20. Caius #3
Veren leans over and plucks the pen directly out of Rhodes’s hand mid-sentence. “For the record, I’m confiscating this until you agree to enjoy one evening without a citation.”
“I need that.”
“You need several things you don’t get tonight. Dance with someone. Insult a stranger. Live a little.” Veren examines the pen, decides it’s unremarkable, and pockets it anyway.
Elio watches the crowd with the satisfied expression of someone whose intelligence network has been thoroughly vindicated.
“Six known regional cells,” he says quietly, leaning toward me.
“Possibly more. But they’re weakening—every new claiming hits their structure like a crack in a dam.
We don’t have to find them all at once. We just have to keep going. ”
“I predicted this, you know,” he adds, surveying the room. “The claiming. Years ago.”
“You predicted everything,” Torin points out mildly. “Some of it had to be right eventually.”
“I have a ninety-three percent accuracy rate.”
“You made that number up.”
“I did. But it sounds impressive.”
“My foxes predicted it first.” Veren doesn’t look up from Rhodes’s confiscated pen. “I have it in writing. Somewhere. I’ll find it eventually, and when I do, Elio, you’re going to hear about it for weeks.”
“Your foxes predict everything. It’s not impressive when you’re wrong nine times out of ten.”
“Nine times out of ten I predict something entertaining. That’s a better ratio than being right about something boring.”
Vera has arrived at some point, and she’s deep in conversation with Grandmother Peach about council reconstruction and long-term security measures.
Grandmother Peach nods seriously at whatever Vera is saying, but I catch Peach glancing toward Zeph with an expression that can only be described as calculating.
Interesting.
The future stretches ahead of us—complicated, challenging, full of threats we haven’t identified and problems we haven’t solved.
There are more Preservers out there, more agents to hunt, more secrets to uncover.
The Severing still holds, even if it’s cracking.
We need more pairs, more allies, more time.
Later, we walk through The Hollow under a sky full of stars.
The mist has thinned to a silver shimmer, and the streets are quiet. Most of Mistvale has retreated to their homes, but the night feels alive—humming with potential, charged with possibility.
“Peach said the number was never fixed,” Anouk muses. “Just that it takes enough pairs, freely chosen, to outweigh what was lost.”
“We have three.”
“However many more it takes, then. That’s a lot of matchmaking, regardless.”
“Peach has been doing it for centuries. She probably has candidates in mind.” I think of her meaningful looks at Zeph. “I think she’s already started.”
“Who do you think is next?”
“I have my suspicions. But Peach plays a long game.” I tuck her against my side as we walk. “It’ll happen when it happens.”
“That’s very zen for a wolf.”
“I’ve learned patience. From an excellent teacher.”
“Me?”
“You. Circling you taught me more about patience than a lifetime of leadership ever did.”
“That’s either romantic or an accusation.”
“Can’t it be both?”
We stop at the entrance to the apothecary, and I realize I don’t want to leave her. Not tonight. Not ever.
“Come back to the territory.” The words come out before I can second-guess them. “Not for a night. For—as long as you want.”
“I have responsibilities here. The shop. The coven.”
“And I have responsibilities to the pack. We’ll figure it out.” I take her hands. “I’ve spent years wanting you. I’m not interested in part-time anymore.”
Her eyes search mine. “You’re asking me to move in with you.”
“I’m asking you to build a life with me. Whatever that looks like. Wherever it takes us.”
“That’s very fast.”
“We’ve been circling each other for nearly a decade. I think we’ve established the slow approach doesn’t work for us.”
Her laugh is soft, surprised. “Fair point.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a ‘we’ll discuss the logistics.’” But she’s smiling, and her magic is humming warm approval, and when she kisses me, it feels like an answer.
Yes.
Always yes.
The bell at the Registry rings one more time—distant, joyful, another pairing forming in the town that magic built. The sound echoes off the cobblestones and fades into the night.
“That’s the third one today,” Anouk observes. “The magic really is accelerating.”
“Peach was right. It’s unraveling faster than anyone expected.” I wrap my arms around her, holding her close beneath the stars. “More pairs forming. More work to do. More complications to navigate.”
“Are you worried?”
“No.” The answer surprises me with its certainty. “I was worried before. About the future, about whether I could have both—the pack and you. About whether wanting you was selfish.”
“And now?”
“Now I have you. And everything else seems manageable in comparison.”
She leans into me, and I hold her, and the mist swirls around us in patterns that I’m beginning to understand. Not anxious anymore. Not hiding anything. Just… complete.
“The magic knows what it wants,” Anouk whispers against my lips.
“So do I.”