11. Sakura #2
“My relationship with Torin.”
Anouk’s lips twitch. “That too. She asked me last week if the claiming rumors were true.”
“There are claiming rumors?”
“There are always claiming rumors when a witch spends time with a shifter.” She sips her wine. “I told her it was none of her concern. She didn’t appreciate that answer.”
The door bursts open. Zeph appears carrying what looks like a small keg and several bottles of various colors.
“Emergency alcohol delivery.” She deposits everything on the coffee table with the enthusiasm of someone who’s been waiting for an excuse to break out the special reserves.
“Regular wine for the regular people. Special brew for those who want to see colors. I’ve been experimenting with emotion-specific batches.
” She starts arranging bottles with surprising precision for someone who usually embodies chaos.
“Now. Who’s ready to drink their feelings and plan revenge? ”
She pours glasses for everyone.
“To Sakura.” Zeph raises her glass. “Who had her studio destroyed by cowardly bastards and is still standing.”
“Still standing,” Leire, Anouk and I say in unison.
We drink.
“So.” Zeph settles onto the couch with the gracelessness of someone who’s already had a few. “Let’s talk about who we’re going to destroy.”
“The investigation is ongoing—” Anouk starts.
“Boring. I want revenge planning. I want dramatic speeches about justice. I want—”
“Evidence,” Anouk interrupts. “Then we can plan revenge.”
“Evidence is less satisfying.”
“Evidence is what keeps us from accidentally destroying innocent council members.” Anouk’s voice is dry. “Though at this point, I’m not convinced any of them are innocent.”
“You think there’s more than one?” Leire asks.
“I think Valesh isn’t working alone. The siphons, the sabotage, the systematic attacks on the Warding Line—this is coordinated. Planned. She has help.”
“A cell,” I say quietly. “Like the one that targeted Leire.”
“Exactly like that.” Anouk sets down her wine. “The Preservers operate in isolated groups. Losing one cell doesn’t compromise the others. Valesh’s been in Mistvale for twenty years—long enough to recruit, to position, to build a network of believers.”
“Twenty years of planning. And now they’re targeting me.”
“They’re targeting what you represent.” Anouk’s eyes are sharp. “A witch with the potential to claim a shifter. A match that would strengthen the Warding Line. Everything they’re trying to prevent.”
“I haven’t claimed anyone.”
“Not yet.” Zeph grins. “But we all know it’s coming.”
The door opens without a knock.
“Don’t mind me, dears.” Grandmother Peach lets herself in, a fresh cobbler already finding a home on Leire’s counter like it’s always lived there. “I heard about the studio. Terrible business. Terrible, clarifying business.”
“How did you even—” Anouk starts.
“Best not to ask.” Grandmother Peach settles into the armchair as though she’s been part of the evening all along, fixing me with that particular attention of hers.
“You’re angrier than I’ve ever seen you, dear.
Good. Anger is honest. Grief pretends to be smaller than it is.
Anger doesn’t bother pretending.” She pats my knee.
“Don’t let anyone talk you into being smaller about this.
Not even yourself.” She rises just as abruptly as she arrived, cobbler forgotten on the counter.
“Mind the bear tonight. He’s had a difficult day too, in his own quiet way. ”
And then she’s gone—out the door before anyone thinks to ask how she knew to come, or where she’s off to next.
Zeph pours more wine. “To cryptic old women and their impossible desserts.”
We drink.
The others leave in stages.
Zeph first, swaying slightly, promising to “destroy anyone who threatens my friends” with cheerful menace. Anouk next, already composing investigation notes in her head, her goodbye brisk and efficient.
Leire looks me over with a maternal eye. “You should sleep,” she says, but makes no move to usher me toward the door.
I rise from the couch. “I’m falling for him.” The admission comes out quieter than I intend. “More than I know how to handle.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “So stop handling it, and let it happen.” She opens the door. “Goodnight, Sakura.”
I walk home through misty streets, the golden light of lamp posts casting soft shadows on the cobblestones. The mist drifts around my ankles—not agitated, not worried. Calm. Content.
The mist has opinions about you two.
Maybe it does. Maybe the whole town does. Maybe even the weather itself has decided I belong here, with these people, in this place.
With him.
My studio comes into view—dark, damaged, waiting to be rebuilt. And there, on the front steps, a massive shape sitting guard in the moonlight.
Torin.
He stayed. Like he said he would.
“You should be sleeping,” I call out.
“So should you.” He stands, brushing off his jacket. “Leire’s wine is famous for its side effects.”
“I feel fine.”
“You look exhausted.”
“Flatterer.” But I’m smiling. “Thank you. For staying.”
“I told you I would.”
“Most people don’t keep promises like that.”
“I’m not most people.” He moves toward me, and in the moonlight, his expression is soft. Unguarded. “How was girls’ night?”
“Emotional. Grandmother Peach appeared. Cryptic advice was given.”
“That tracks.” His lips twitch. “She cornered me again yesterday. Said I was ‘making progress but still glacially slow.’”
“Did you take her advice?”
“I’m trying.” He’s close now. Close enough to touch. “Sakura, about the studio—”
“I’m not leaving.”
“I know. That’s not—” He takes a breath. “I want to help rebuild. Not just the Network. Me. Personally.”
“Why?”
“Because it matters to you. And you—” He stops. Starts again. “You matter to me.”
The words hang between us. Simple. Honest. Terrifying in their directness.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay?”
“Okay, you can help.” I smile up at him. “But I’m warning you—my organizational system is very specific.”
“More specific than my color-coded cabinets?”
“Much more specific.” I step past him toward the studio door. “We can argue about crystal placement tomorrow.”
“Is that a promise?”
“It’s a threat.” I laugh, and the sound surprises both of us. Light. Free. Not the laugh of someone who just had their life threatened.
The laugh of someone who’s finally found where she belongs.
“Goodnight.”
I go inside. Lock the door. Lean against it and breathe.
Through the window, I watch him walk away—massive and solid and exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
I fall asleep to the sound of rain—soft and gentle and perfectly calm. No storms. No thunder. Just peace.