Page 17 of Impawssible Magic

“Pre-warding technique.” I pick up the photograph. “The Preservers use methods that predate modern warding frameworks. Her protections were built to detect hostile intent crossing a threshold. Their entry magic is old enough that it doesn’t register as intent at all—it reads as ambient. Like asking a lock whether a key is dangerous, rather than whether it belongs.” I set the photograph down. “She did everything right. Her wards aren’t the problem.”

The same evening I watched her through her window. The same night her lights stayed on too late.

I was right there. Watching from the shadows like some useless⁠—

“You couldn’t have known.” Caius doesn’t look up from the photograph. “The bird was placed during the day.”

“Who is she? What do you know about her?”

“Leire Firesinger. Twenty-eight. Charm specialist.” He pulls out a thin folder. “Complicated history with her former coven. There’s more.” He flips open the folder. “Her old coven had ties to some extremist factions. Nothing proven, but enough rumors that⁠—”

The door bangs open.

Veren Tahann strolls in like he owns the place, which, knowing foxes, he probably thinks he does. His sharp green eyes glitter with barely contained glee.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I have information. Dramatic information. The kind that requires appreciation and possibly applause.”

Caius pinches the bridge of his nose. “Veren. We’re in the middle of⁠—”

“Yes, I know. The charm witch situation. I’ve been watching her.” He produces a small notebook with a flourish. “Did you know she talks to her crystals? Not just talks—has full conversations. The amethyst is apparently ‘being difficult’ about its placement near the window. Very relatable. I too would be difficult if someone tried to move me toward morning light.”

“This is relevant how?” I ask.

“Context, Aslan. Context is everything.” Veren perches on the edge of Caius’s desk, ignoring the wolf’s growl of displeasure. “She’s scared. Not the obvious kind—she hides it well. But she checks her wards every few hours. Looks over her shoulder when she walks. Jumps at shadows.”

His voice loses some of its theatrical edge. “Whoever’s leaving her these little presents is good. Patient. They’ve been at this for a while.”

“You’re certain?”

“I’m always certain. It’s annoying, I know.” He grins, sharp and knowing. “Also, your tiger has been circling her shop like she’s hiding fresh meat. Half the town has noticed. Sunny at Moonpetal Bakery asked me if you’d gone feral again.”

Again. Because of the Starfall Incident, which we don’t discuss, ever.

“I am not to engage. I was keeping an eye on her.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Veren’s grin widens. “Keeping an eye on her. Sure. Four hours in the same shadow watching a woman argue with a crystal. Very normal.”

“Veren.” Caius’s voice holds a warning.

“Fine, fine. I’ll stop torturing the emotionally constipated tiger.” He slides off the desk. “The point is—she’s in danger. Real danger. The kind that requires actual protection, not whatever brooding thing Aslan’s been doing.”

Caius sets down the photograph. “That’s why I’m assigning him to protection detail.”

Veren’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “Him? The man who just spent three days lurking outside her shop like a Victorian ghost with boundary issues?”

“I don’t lurk.”

“You absolutely lurk. You have resting lurk face. It’s your whole aesthetic.”

Caius intervenes before I can respond. “Aslan is the best I have. Quiet. Observant. Intimidating without being threatening.”

“Debatable on that last one,” Veren mutters.

“She needs someone who won’t spook her,” Caius continues, ignoring him. “Aslan, you’re officially assigned. Time to engage. Introduce yourself this afternoon. Don’t be...” He gestures vaguely at me. “Whatever this is.”

“Brooding,” Veren supplies helpfully. “The word you’re looking for is brooding. With a side of emotionally unavailable and a garnish of tragic backstory.”

“Get out of my office.”