7. Sakura #2
“Your magic is.” He glances back. “I can see it reaching. Whatever that thing does, it wants what you have.”
He’s right. My power is straining toward the crystal like a magnet to iron.
“It’s draining magic into... somewhere.” I force focus. “The crystal’s a collector. But the power goes somewhere eventually.”
“The Warding Line.” Torin’s voice flattens with realization. “If someone placed these throughout town, systematically draining ambient magic...”
“They could collapse the protections entirely.”
“We need to report this.” He pulls out his phone. “Caius needs to know.”
“Obviously.” I step toward the device despite his warning. “But—”
I reach out. Not consciously—my hand moves before my brain can stop it.
Torin catches my wrist. Pulls it back. Holds it.
“Don’t.” Quiet but intense. “We don’t know what contact would do.”
“I just wanted to—”
“I know.” He doesn’t release my hand. “Some curiosities aren’t worth the risk.”
We stand there, hands clasped, the siphon humming behind him.
“Thank you.” The words come out raw. “For believing me.”
He tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”
The siphon hums. The cellar presses close. And Torin holds my hand in the darkness like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“We should go.” I finally break contact. “Report this. Let the experts handle it.”
“You are an expert.” He leads the way toward the stairs. “You found this. Identified what it was.”
Caius Sternwolf sits at the head of the Stone Circle.
Anouk stands beside Caius, having arrived minutes after our call. She’s already examined the evidence, already forming theories, already three steps ahead of the conversation we’re about to have.
“A siphon.” Caius’s voice is flat. “Hidden in the merchant district. Active for how long?”
“Impossible to determine without analysis.” Anouk keeps her voice level. “But based on power accumulation, at least several weeks. Possibly months.”
“Months.” Caius turns to me. “And you found it by mapping your episodes?”
“The episodes clustered around specific locations.” I resist fidgeting under his assessment. “Once I realized the pattern was geographic rather than emotional, the search area narrowed.”
“Clever.” Grudging. “Why didn’t you report earlier?”
“Because until today, I thought I was the source.” My voice steadies. “It’s difficult to report evidence when you believe you’re causing what you’re seeing.”
Rhodes glances up. “This is circumstantial. We need more data before—”
“Data?” Aslan cuts him off. “There’s a magical weapon draining our protections. How much more data do you need?”
“Proper documentation. Chain of custody. Verified sources. Protocol exists for reasons, and those reasons are—”
“The Warding Line is weakening while you fill out forms.” Aslan’s voice carries a growl underneath. “People could die, Rhodes. Our families. Our territory.”
“Emotion doesn’t replace procedure—”
“Gentlemen.” Caius’s voice silences them both. “We have a siphon. We have a pattern. We have a witness who can sense distortions our trained investigators missed.” His gaze finds me, assessing. “That’s enough to proceed.”
Torin shifts beside me. Not quite stepping forward, but making his presence felt.
“The siphon uses coven materials.” Anouk’s tone sharpens. “I recognized the crystalline structure from my own inventory. Those components require official requisition.”
“We have a traitor.” Caius’s jaw tightens. “With coven access. Knowledge of our infrastructure. Someone trusted.”
“Not a traitor, dear.”
Everyone turns.
Grandmother Peach sits in a chair that wasn’t there a moment ago, tea cradled in her hands.
“How did you—” Caius starts.
“A believer.” She sips delicately. “Much more dangerous. Traitors can be reasoned with. Believers are certain they’re right.”
“A believer in what?” I step forward.
“Old stories. Old fears.” She rises, moving toward the door with surprising grace. “The Preservers have whispered about the old ways for generations. About what was lost when the familiar system replaced older magics.”
“What magics?” Anouk’s voice sharpens.
But Grandmother Peach is already gone.
Caius stares at the empty spot. “How does she do that?”
“We’ve been asking for decades.” Anouk pinches her nose. “The coven’s oldest records mention a Matchmaker Peach from three hundred years ago. Same descriptions.”
“That’s impossible.”
“And yet.”
Elio speaks for the first time, voice smooth as shadow. “The Preservers have been quiet for years. If they’re mobilizing again...” He trails off meaningfully.
“Then we need to find the other siphons before they find us. This one can’t be the only one.”
“A living detection system.” Elio’s gaze finds me. “That could be useful.”
“She’s not a tool.” Torin’s voice carries an edge I haven’t heard before. “She’s a person.”
“I didn’t say—”
“Her name is Sakura. And she’s not useful. She’s essential.”
Silence.
Then Rhodes, muttering: “Someone’s invested.”
“Someone should be.” Torin doesn’t flinch. “She found in three weeks what we’ve been chasing for months.”
Aslan catches my eye across the circle. Recognition flickers there—or maybe understanding. He knows what it’s like to fall fast.
“Meeting adjourned.” Caius waves dismissal.
As I stand, he adds, quietly: “Elio’s team will neutralize the warehouse device tonight. No announcements until it’s done.”
The walk back to my studio is quiet.
The mist has burned off, replaced by afternoon sun that warms the cobblestones. Mistvale looks peaceful. Idyllic. Nothing like a town harboring threats to its existence.
“You defended me.” I break the silence. “In there.”
“I stated facts.”
“You called me essential.”
“You are.” He doesn’t look at me. “You found the siphon. Identified the pattern. Your magic does what our technology can’t.”
“Still.” I bump his shoulder with mine—a gesture that would be playful if he weren’t so much larger.
We stop outside my studio. The new shelving is visible through the windows, sturdy and stable.
“Thank you.” I turn to face him. “For today. For believing me. For coming with me instead of calling the official team.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I want to.” I take a breath. “You’ve been... unexpected. In the best way. I’m not used to people who show up without wanting anything in return.”
“I want things.”
The words hang between us. Simple. Direct. Loaded.
“What things?”
He’s silent a moment. Long enough that I wonder if I’ve misread everything.
Then: “Your time. Your trust. The chance to know you better.” His gaze holds mine. “I want you to stop assuming you’re too much trouble to be worth pursuing.”
“That’s...”
“Too honest?”
“I was going to say unexpected.” I manage a shaky smile. “But also not unwelcome.”
The air shifts. Warm. Electric. Like something’s been building for a long time and finally can’t hold anymore.
“I should go.” He steps back. “The Network needs reports. And you should rest.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“I know.” His voice softens. “But you deserve care anyway.”
He walks away.
I stand outside my studio, watching his broad back disappear around the corner. The evening air settles around me, cool and still, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke.
I want you to stop assuming you’re too much trouble to be worth pursuing.
I unlock my door. Step inside. The studio smells like sawdust and lavender—his work and my craft, mingled in the air.
The crystals are still mixed—clear quartz and rose quartz, chaos and order intertwined on his sturdy new shelves. I reach toward the display, intending to finally sort them properly.
Then I stop.
I leave the crystals exactly as they are.