5. Anouk #3
“They haven’t.” My magic flares—anger and determination and the fierce refusal to let Mathilda’s death mean nothing. “We have the journals. We have evidence.”
“You have fragments. Enough to know the truth, not enough to prove it to a skeptical council.” Grandmother Peach’s eyes are older than her face, sharp with centuries of observation.
“Cordelia will deny everything. She’ll spin the story, question your objectivity, suggest that your…
relationship with the wolf alpha has compromised your judgment. ”
“There is no relationship.” The denial comes automatically. Too quickly.
Grandmother Peach’s smile deepens. “No? Then what were you doing when I knocked? Comparing scholarly notes on personal space?”
Silence. Damning, obvious silence.
“That’s what I thought.” She finishes her pie with the satisfied air of someone who’s won an argument without trying.
“The Preservers will use it against you, dear. Any hint of impropriety, any suggestion that you’ve been…
influenced by shifter concerns. They’ve had their eyes on you since you took leadership. ”
“Let them try.” Steel enters my voice. “I’ve led this coven through worse. I won’t be intimidated by traditionalists who murder elderly women to protect their secrets.”
“Good.” Grandmother Peach rises, brushing invisible crumbs from her skirt.
“You’ll need that fire. The path ahead isn’t easy—exposing the Preservers, undoing centuries of damage, rebuilding what was lost.” She pauses at the door, looking back with an expression I can’t quite read.
“But you don’t have to walk it alone. Not anymore. ”
Her gaze flicks between me and Caius. Meaningful. Annoying.
“It’s just standing back while certain stubborn people figure it out.”
She vanishes into the morning light before I can respond. The pie remains on the table, half-eaten and impossibly fragrant.
The silence she leaves behind is thick enough to taste.
“Golden mist.” Caius’s voice is carefully neutral. “That means—”
“I know what it means.” A fated pairing forming somewhere in town. The mist has been announcing potential matches since Mistvale’s founding. “It doesn’t mean anything. The mist has been wrong before.”
“Has it?”
I don’t answer. We both know the truth.
The mist has never been wrong. Not once in centuries of recorded history.
“We should get these journals back to my office.” I start gathering the leather-bound volumes, my movements sharp with efficiency. “I’ll need to cross-reference Mathilda’s notes with the archive redactions. See if we can build a coherent timeline of the Severing.”
“Anouk.”
“And we should interview Cordelia’s associates. Find out who else might be compromised—”
“Anouk.”
I stop. Force myself to meet his gaze.
Caius is watching me with that steady intensity that’s always made me want to either kiss him or flee the room.
“We will figure this out. The conspiracy. The Preservers. All of it.” He crosses to stand before me, close enough that I feel the warmth.
“But whatever happens with the investigation, whatever Grandmother Peach implies about the mist—I’m not going anywhere. Whether you want me to stay or not.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a promise.” His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.
“I’m not good at letting people through.”
“I noticed.” His thumb traces circles against my palm. “Fortunately for both of us, I’m very good at being persistent.”
“You’re good at being stubborn. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” His smile is slow, warming his stern features. “According to Torin, stubbornness and persistence are the same thing. Just depends on whether the person describing it approves of the goal.”
“Torin is not an authority on romantic philosophy.”
“He successfully claimed Sakura despite her literally raining on him for three months. I’d say he’s got some credibility.” Caius lifts our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “I’ve never minded complicated. I’ve never minded stubborn. I’ve never minded waiting.”
The gesture is old-fashioned. Courtly. Romantic nonsense I’d mock in anyone else.
Except my pulse doesn’t agree. Except something in my chest turns over, slow and unfamiliar, like a lock finally finding its key. I don’t mock it. I don’t move away, either.
Caius laughs—a real laugh, surprised and warm. “Your magic has no filter.”
“Your fault.” But I’m smiling despite myself. “You’re a terrible influence.”
“I try.” He releases my hand, stepping back with visible reluctance. “Now. Let’s get these journals analyzed and start building a case against the woman who murdered your elder. I believe you mentioned research.”
Right. The investigation. The conspiracy. The centuries-old secret that’s already claimed one life and will claim more if we don’t stop it.
I gather the remaining journals, my walls sliding back into place out of habit more than conviction.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, the future doesn’t feel like a series of obligations to endure. It feels like a path to somewhere worth going.