9. Leire #2
He leads me into an alley—narrow, shadowed, exactly the kind of place a smart person wouldn’t go. The cobblestones are slick with mist that didn’t burn off back here. The walls press close. It smells like old rain and rust.
I go anyway.
The alley dead-ends at a brick wall covered in faded graffiti—someone painted a poorly drawn dragon decades ago, and generations of magical residents have added to it until it’s become a collaborative mess of color.
A sprite has added glitter to the dragon’s eyes recently.
Someone else painted tiny flowers growing from its nostrils.
Shadow is gone—vanished like mist. I spin around, and—
A woman blocks the exit. Mid-thirties, forgettable face, eyes as flat as Shadow’s. She wears dark clothing that seems to blur at the edges when I try to focus on it. She holds out an envelope.
“Who are you?”
She doesn’t answer. Just sets the envelope on a crate and walks away, footsteps silent on the damp stone.
My hands shake as I pick it up. The paper is expensive—heavy stock, cream-colored, the kind used for formal invitations. Inside: the Preserver symbol—that same angular pattern from my crystals, from the Registry records—and three words in elegant script.
The Severing holds.
I make it back to the shop on autopilot.
My legs carry me through the square, past the fountain, past Grandmother Peach’s sample table (she looks up as I pass, her too-bright eyes tracking my movements with an expression I can’t read), past the selkies and the troll and all the normal people having a normal day.
By the time I reach Whisperwind Charms, I’m shaking so hard, I can barely get the key out of my pocket. My vision is blurry. My chest feels like something is sitting on it—a weight I can’t push off.
Aslan is waiting.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His head lifts the moment I come into view, nostrils flaring. His whole posture sharpens—from relaxed waiting to coiled readiness in the space between heartbeats.
“What happened?” He’s moving before I reach him, hands catching my shoulders, steadying me. “Leire. What happened?”
The concern in his voice undoes me. I tell him everything—words tumbling out in a rush. Shadow appearing. The wrong emptiness in his eyes. Following him into the alley like an idiot. The woman, the envelope, the message.
He takes the envelope. Reads the three words. His jaw goes tight, muscle jumping.
“They’re escalating.”
“No shit.” I laugh, and it comes out cracked. Wrong. “They used him, Aslan. They used Shadow to get to me. My familiar. My—” The word sticks in my throat. My heart.
Aslan crouches in front of me. When did I sit down? I’m on the steps leading up to my apartment, and I don’t remember getting here. His hands are warm on my knees—grounding, solid, real.
“What if he wasn’t acting of his own will?”
I stare at him.
“The way you described him. The flat eyes. The lack of response.” His voice is steady, certain. “That doesn’t sound like a familiar who chose to betray his witch. That sounds like a familiar who’s being controlled.”
Controlled. Not betrayed. Controlled.
“He testified against me. At the coven tribunal—”
“Did you see him say those things? Or did someone tell you he said them?”
I try to remember. The tribunal room with its cold stone walls and colder faces.
The elders reading out Shadow’s “testimony” while I stood there with my magic guttering like a candle in a storm.
They’d told me Shadow testified. I never actually heard him speak.
Never saw him in that room. They’d kept him “separate for his protection.”
Protection from what? From me seeing the truth?
“I didn’t see him.” My voice drops to a whisper. “They said he couldn’t face me.”
“Or they couldn’t risk you seeing his eyes.”
“Oh god.” The tears come. I haven’t cried about Shadow since the first week after the exile, when I ran out of tears and had to start functioning on pure spite instead.
A hand touches my shoulder. Warm. Heavy. Aslan’s hand, resting there with an awkwardness that somehow makes it more comforting. He’s clearly out of his depth with crying women. But he’s trying.
“We don’t know for certain.” His voice is quiet, steady. “But the pattern fits. If the Preservers had access to your old coven...”
“They manufactured the whole thing.” My voice comes out flat, scraped raw. “The betrayal. The exile. All of it.”
“It’s possible.”
“Possible. My whole life imploded because of a lie, and you’re saying it’s possible?”
“I’m saying we need more information.” His hand squeezes my shoulder. “But we’re going to find out. Whatever it takes.”
I look up at him. He means it. Every word.
“Why? Why do you care so much?”
The vulnerability that flickers across his face is there and gone so fast I almost miss it. “Because no one should have to face this alone.”
It’s not the whole answer. But it’s enough. For now.
“Partners, then.” I extend my hand. “In this investigation. In figuring out who these bastards are and making them pay.”
He takes it. His palm is warm, calloused from shifting and fighting and whatever else tiger shifters do with their hands. The contact sends a jolt through me—pure physical awareness. Heat racing up my arm, pooling in my chest, making my heart kick against my ribs.
His thumb moves against my knuckles. Could be accidental. Doesn’t feel like it.
“Partners.”
He doesn’t let go right away. Neither do I.
They want me to run? They want me gone?
They have no idea who they’re dealing with.
“So. Where do we start?”
His mouth curves—the closest he gets to a grin. “I know someone who might trace the magical signature on that envelope. And Elio mentioned having information about the Preservers in the old records.”
“Then let’s talk to them.”
I stand. My legs are still shaky, my eyes swollen from crying. But beneath the grief is iron. A reason to fight. A reason to stay.
Aslan rises beside me. His shoulder brushes mine as we turn toward the door. He doesn’t move away.
Neither do I.
“Ready?”
I think about Shadow’s empty eyes.
They don’t know me at all.
“Ready.”
We walk out into the mist. The Preservers wanted to drive me out of Mistvale. Instead, they’ve given me a reason to stay. And a partner to fight beside.