14. Torin #2
Her cheeks flush. The temperature in the archive rises slightly—her magic responding to emotion despite her control.
“Here.” She pulls a document from the pile, clearly redirecting the conversation before her power creates weather patterns in a climate-controlled space.
“Three years ago, two days before the Blackreach massacre. Materials requisitioned for ‘ward maintenance.’ Valesh approved the request and reported the supplies as used. But look—” She points to a subsequent report.
“The ward maintenance was never performed. The materials just... disappeared.”
“And Valesh was the one who flagged the discrepancy.”
“She reported her own theft.” Sakura’s voice is grim. “Made herself look responsible while covering her tracks. It’s actually quite clever, in a horrible way.”
“Twenty years of being clever in horrible ways.”
We find more. A request for crystalline components that matches the siphon materials exactly—same quantities, same specifications, same rare minerals that aren’t available through normal channels. A pattern of reports, always from Valesh, always flagging issues she herself created.
“She’s been stealing in plain sight.” Sakura sets down the final document. “Building her network piece by piece while everyone trusted her to keep them safe. Generations of witches looked to her for protection, and she was the threat all along.”
“We have enough.”
“We have plenty.” She stretches, arching her back in a way that draws my attention to places I’m trying not to focus on. The line of her neck. The curve of her waist. The way her shirt rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin.
Focus.
“This should be sufficient for the council to act.” She catches me looking. Doesn’t seem to mind.
“Should be.”
“But you’re not confident.”
“I’m confident in the evidence. Less confident in how it’ll be received.” I gather the relevant papers, forcing my attention to practical matters. “Valesh has allies. Friends. People who’ve trusted her for two decades. Some of them won’t want to believe.”
“And some of them might be Preservers too.”
“That’s the other concern.” I meet her gaze. “We don’t know how deep this goes. How many she’s turned. How many true believers are sitting on the council, waiting for her signal.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Processing. Then she reaches across the table, takes my hand.
“We’ll figure it out.” Her fingers intertwine with mine. “We have the evidence. We have allies. We have each other.”
“Each other.”
“Is that not—” She hesitates. Vulnerable. “After last night, I assumed—”
“You assumed correctly.” I squeeze her hand. “We have each other. That’s not in question.”
The tension in her shoulders eases. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“I should probably stop holding your hand so we can organize these documents.”
“Probably.”
Neither of us lets go.
We work late into the evening.
At some point, Anouk appears with tea and sandwiches—observes our joined hands, says nothing, leaves with a knowing expression that suggests the entire coven will hear about this by morning.
Later, Leire texts Sakura approximately thirty-seven times (I count the phone buzzes) requesting updates on “investigation matters and also definitely only investigation matters.”
“She’s persistent.” Sakura silences her phone after the fortieth buzz.
“She cares.”
“She’s nosy.” But there’s affection in her voice. “She also wants to know if you’re a good kisser.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That it was classified information.” Her eyes sparkle. “For security purposes.”
“Very responsible.”
“I thought so.”
I watch Sakura organize papers. The careful way she handles each document. The furrow between her brows when she double-checks dates. The way she hums softly under her breath—a habit she probably doesn’t realize she has.
“At some point, appreciation becomes fixation.”
“I passed that point weeks ago.” I reach across the table, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Before I even had a name for what this was, if I’m honest.”
“I didn’t try to—” She stops. Laughs. “Okay. Maybe a little. You were very large and very unexpected.”
“And now?”
“Still very large.” Her hand covers mine where it rests against her cheek. “Less unexpected. More...” She searches for the word. “Essential.”
The word hits me like a physical blow. Essential. Not tolerated. Not accepted. “Essential.”
“Done.” She sets the final page on the stack, voice slightly breathless. “That’s everything we need.”
“That’s everything we can find. There might be more.”
“There’s always more. But this is enough to start.” She turns to face me fully. “What happens now?”
“Now we present to Anouk tomorrow. Lay out the evidence. Let her decide on the action.”
“And tonight?”
The question hangs between us. Loaded with possibility. With promise.
“Tonight...” I reach for her, sliding my hand along her jaw. She leans into the touch, eyes fluttering half-closed. “I walk you home. Make sure you’re safe.”
“Very chivalrous.”
“Very practical. I don’t want you alone.”
“So this is about protection.”
“This is about not wanting you out of my sight.” The honesty slips out, raw and unfiltered. “This is about spending most of my life being steady and responsible and suddenly wanting to be reckless.”
“Wanting to be reckless.” Her hand covers mine on her face, fingers intertwining. “What does reckless look like for you?”
“This.” I lean closer, until our foreheads nearly touch. “You. Wanting things I’ve never let myself want. Kissing a beautiful woman in her studio instead of maintaining professional distance.”
She kisses me.
Soft at first. Tender. Her hand slides from mine to cup my face, fingers tracing my jaw with the same care I showed her. The gentle rasp of calluses from her work—crystals and herbs and all the tools of her trade.
Then deeper. Her body shifts toward mine, and I pull her closer without thinking—need overriding the caution I’ve cultivated for years. She tastes like tea and determination and everything I’ve been afraid to want.
When we break apart, her eyes are bright. Her breathing uneven. Her magic hums against my skin, warm and electric, reaching for me the way it has since the beginning.
“You feel plenty,” she whispers. “Anyone who thinks otherwise hasn’t been paying attention.”
“You’ve been paying attention.”
“From the beginning.” She traces my bottom lip with her thumb, and I have to fight the urge to pull her into my lap.
“The steady bear who shows up every morning with coffee. Who arrived at my door the morning after my studio was destroyed before I’d even asked.
Who writes poetry about storms he wants to hold.
Who threw himself in front of a magical explosion without hesitation.
” Her voice softens. “You’re not unfeeling, Torin.
You’re the opposite. You feel so much you had to build walls to contain it all. ”
“You see too much.”
“I see exactly enough.” She kisses me again—quick, fierce, a promise and a demand. “When this is over—when Valesh is caught and the siphons are destroyed and the town is safe—I want more than kissing.”
My blood heats. Pools low in my body. “Define more.”
“Everything.” Her eyes hold mine, fearless despite the vulnerability in them. “I want everything. With you. If you want that too.”
“I want that too.” The words come out rough. Desperate. “I’ve wanted that since I saw you arguing with crystals in your shop and creating indoor rain. Before I knew you were my—” I stop myself. Not ready to say that word. Not yet.
But she hears it anyway. “Your what?”
“My reckless choice.” I brush my lips against hers. “My beautiful disaster. My storm.”
“That’s from your poetry.”
“Everything’s from my poetry now. You’ve ruined me for normal conversation.”
She laughs against my mouth. The sound is sunshine and rain and every weather pattern I’ve learned to read on her face.
“Then we have a plan.”
“A very good plan.”
The archive wards spike.
We break apart in an instant—instinct overriding desire.
“Someone’s outside.” Sakura’s power crackles at her fingertips. “The archive wards detected—”
I’m already moving toward the stairs. Up through the apothecary, passing Anouk on her way to investigate. Out the back door into the misty evening.
The street is empty. The mist roils with agitation, disturbed by a presence that’s already fled.
But I catch the fading trace of magic. Someone was here. Watching. Waiting.
Anouk says, “Valesh’s people. Or Valesh herself.”
I search for ten minutes. Find nothing. By the time I return, Sakura is standing in the doorway with Anouk, arms wrapped around herself.
“They’re gone?”
“Whoever they were. They know we’re investigating. They’re monitoring our movements.”
“Wonderful.” She exhales. “Romantic evening ruined by sinister stalking. Very on brand for my life.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “Rain check?”
“Was that a weather pun?”
“Bears don’t pun.”
“That was absolutely a pun.” Her lips twitch despite the tension. “I’m keeping track. That’s five now.”
“I don’t hear a pattern.”
“Sure, Torin.” She steps closer, threads her fingers through mine. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Goodnight,” Anouk calls as she ducks into a side room. “Sleep well.”
But lying in my cabin, staring at the ceiling, remembering the taste of her mouth and the promise of everything—
I’m smiling.
A knock at my door startles me from half-sleep. Before I can answer, a familiar voice drifts through the wood.
“Peach cobbler, dear. For energy. Tomorrow will be eventful.” A pause. “Also, well done. The mist approves of your progress. Very romantic. Very determined.”
By the time I open the door, Grandmother Peach is gone. Just a covered dish on my doorstep and the faint scent of peaches in the night air.
The entire town is invested in my love life.
Even the cryptic matchmaker with impossible desserts.
I take the cobbler inside. Eat a piece standing at the counter. It’s excellent, as always.
And when the morning comes, I write poetry.
Earnest. Awkward. Utterly sincere.
I keep it.