Page 76 of Roaring Spell

Despite everything, I almost smile. “Rain check?”

“Was that a weather pun?”

“Bears don’t pun.”

“That was absolutely a pun.” Her lips twitch despite the tension. “I’m keeping track. That’s five now.”

“I don’t hear a pattern.”

“Sure, Torin.” She steps closer, threads her fingers through mine. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Goodnight,” Anouk calls as she ducks into a side room. “Sleep well.”

But lying in my cabin, staring at the ceiling, remembering the taste of her mouth and the promise of everything⁠—

I’m smiling.

A knock at my door startles me from half-sleep. Before I can answer, a familiar voice drifts through the wood.

“Peach cobbler, dear. For energy. Tomorrow will be eventful.” A pause. “Also, well done. The mist approves of your progress. Very romantic. Very determined.”

By the time I open the door, Grandmother Peach is gone. Just a covered dish on my doorstep and the faint scent of peaches in the night air.

The entire town is invested in my love life.

Even the cryptic matchmaker with impossible desserts.

I take the cobbler inside. Eat a piece standing at the counter. It’s excellent, as always.

And when the morning comes, I write poetry.

Earnest. Awkward. Utterly sincere.

I keep it.

FIFTEEN

SAKURA

The evidence spreads across Anouk’s desk like an accusation.

Requisition logs. Travel records. Incident reports spanning two decades. Every piece we gathered from the archives, organized and cross-referenced until the pattern is undeniable.

“Twenty years.” Anouk’s voice doesn’t waver. But her fingers tremble slightly as she turns the pages. “She’s been operating here, and we never suspected.”

“She was careful.” Torin stands behind me, close enough that I feel his warmth through my jacket. “Reported her own thefts. Made herself indispensable. The perfect cover.”

“The perfect betrayal.” Anouk sets down the documents and presses her fingers to her temples—a rare display of frustration from someone usually so composed. “I sat across from her at council meetings. I accepted her reports. I trusted her assessment of threats to our community, and the entire time she was the threat.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known. I’m the coven leader. It’s my responsibility to protect this community.” She exhales slowly. “But self-flagellation can wait. Right now, we have more pressing concerns.”

She rises from her desk and moves to a cabinet I’ve never seen her open. Inside, rows of documents in leather bindings—older than the ones in the archives. Older than the building itself.

“I’ve found things too. In the oldest records—sections that have been magically redacted. Entire pages erased by a power significant enough to leave scars in the very paper.” She pulls out a bound volume, its cover cracked with age. “Watch.”

She opens to a page that appears blank—yellowed parchment with nothing on it. But when she passes her hand over the surface, ghostly words shimmer into view for just a moment before fading.