Page 85 of Impawssible Magic

“And failing. At least with us.”

“With us.” She looks up, fierce. “But how many others didn’t make it? How many witches were ‘handled’ before they could find their mates?”

I don’t have an answer. The documents don’t offer one either—just lists and warnings and the cold accounting of a centuries-long campaign.

“The Severing. Mate potential. Ancient conspiracies trying to prevent witch-shifter claims.” She looks at the folder, then up at me. “I just wanted to sell crystals.”

“Too late now.”

“Apparently.” She looks up at me, expression complicated. “This is bigger than us, isn’t it? Whatever the Preservers were doing, whatever they tried to stop—it’s not over.”

“No.” I pull her against my chest. Feel her relax into me, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder. “But it’s not your burden to carry alone. It’s not even our burden to carry alone. Mistvale has the Protection Network. It has the coven. It has...” I gesture vaguely at the cobbler. “Whatever Grandmother Peach is.”

“That’s oddly comforting.”

“I try.”

Three hours later, we’re at Thornveil Apothecary.

The shop smells the way it does—herbs and potions and a faint floral undertone I’ve never been able to identify. Floor-to-ceiling shelves hold ingredients with labels I can’t pronounce. The compounding room in the back hums with quiet magic. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into another century.

Shadow is curled in a basket near the fire, looking nothing like the flat-eyed puppet from the Warding Line. His fur is glossy again, his eyes bright and aware. When Leire kneels beside him, he lifts his head and chirps—a soft sound, tentative. Apologetic.

I stay back. Watch. This isn’t my moment.

Anouk appears beside me, silent despite the heavy apothecary boots she wears. “He’s been asking for her since he regained full consciousness.”

“How long did the recovery take?”

“All night. The control spells were layered—years of them, built up like sediment. It took hours to dissolve them all.” She crosses her arms, watching Leire approach her former familiar. “He’s brave. The pain must have been considerable.”

“He had a lot to make up for.”

“Did he?” Her voice sharpens. “He was enslaved. Coerced. Made to betray the person he loved most in the world. What exactly does he need to make up for?” She pauses. “Don’t answer that. It was rhetorical. I’m in a mood. Ignore me.”

“Everything all right?”

“Peachy.” The word drips sarcasm. “Caius showed up at three in the morning to interrogate me about the documents Grandmother Peach copied. Apparently I’m responsible for monitoring ancient matchmaker witches now. Nobody told me that was part of the coven leader job description.”

“I’m sure he was just being thorough.”

“He was being Caius.” She rolls her eyes. “All stern intensity and professional boundaries. Gods forbid he show a human emotion. The man has the warmth of a particularly uptight glacier.”

I say nothing. Anouk doesn’t notice the irony.

“Hey.” Leire’s voice is gentle, pulling my attention back to her reunion. She reaches out, lets Shadow sniff her fingers. “How are you feeling?”

Better. The word appears in the air above his head—faint, shimmering. His familiar bond with Leire is broken beyond repair, but he’s still magical enough to communicate. Clearer. The fog is gone.

“Good.” She scratches behind his ears. “That’s good.”

I tried to warn you. More words form, each one seeming to cost him effort. In the alley. I tried to break free long enough to tell you the truth. But the control reasserted itself before I could manage more than a few seconds.

“I know. I understand now.”

I’m sorry. The letters shimmer. I tried to fight it. Every day, I tried. For two years, I screamed against the cage they put me in. But the magic was too strong. I couldn’t⁠—

“I know.” Leire’s voice cracks. “I know you didn’t choose it. I know you fought. Shadow...” She takes a breath. “I forgive you. Really forgive you. Not just saying the words—meaning them.”