Page 27 of Roaring Spell

“So I’m not crazy.”

“You were never crazy.” Torin’s voice cuts through my spiral. He’s still working on the shelving, not looking at me, but the weight of his words is unmistakable. “Your magic was trying to tell you what your mind didn’t know yet.”

Silence.

Leire’s eyebrows climb toward her hairline. She mouths “wow” at me behind Torin’s back.

I shake my head frantically. She grins wider.

“So.” Leire claps her hands, breaking the tension with characteristic grace. “Girls’ night tonight. Duskfire Brewery. Eight o’clock. You’re coming.”

“I don’t think I’m up for⁠—”

“That’s exactly why you need it.” She grabs my hand, squeezing. “Isolation makes hard things harder. Let us help.”

Anouk nods. “Bring yourself. We’ll provide the rest.”

They leave—Anouk with dignified efficiency, Leire with a whispered “We’re definitely talking about the bear, you’re not escaping that conversation”—and I’m alone with Torin again.

He continues hammering like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just say the most validating words anyone’s ever spoken to me while building furniture in my disaster zone of a studio.

“You should go tonight.” He doesn’t look up.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Aren’t you going to warn me to be careful? Not reveal sensitive information?”

His lips curve—the closest thing to a smile I’ve seen from him. “They’re not civilians, Sakura. Leire’s mated to a Network member. Anouk runs the coven. They are your friends, and they need you as much as you need them.” He sets down his hammer. Meets my gaze. “You deserve more than you let yourself believe.”

He leaves before I can respond.

And I stand in my repaired studio, surrounded by new shelves and scone crumbs, wondering when I started thinking of him as more than a monitor.

Duskfire Brewery is controlled chaos.

The renovated building sits on the edge of The Hollow—stone and timber, fairy lights tangled with hop vines, a beer garden sprawling out back where pixies chase fireflies through the early evening air. The interior is warm amber and copper brewing equipment and strategically placed buckets that I’m trying not to think too hard about.

The chalkboard menu changes as I watch—“Liquid Courage (actual courage included)” shifting to “Memory Lane Ale (taste your happiest memory)” and then to “Dreamweaver Stout (vivid dreams, slightly prophetic, we are not liable for prophecies).”

Buckets. Why buckets?

“Weather witch!”

Zeph waves frantically from behind the bar, apron covered in fresh mysterious stains, already pouring something that’s smoking slightly. “I heard about your store! Get over here and tell me everything, I made something new to celebrate!”

I navigate through the crowd, dodging regulars and a floating tray that appears to be serving itself. A pair of vampires in the corner wave as I pass—Marcus and Thalia from the coffee shop, apparently enjoying a date night that involves blood-red wine and knowing smiles.

“What are you two doing out?” I ask as I pass.

Thalia’s centuries-old eyes sparkle. “We like to watch the young ones navigate romance. Very entertaining. Very dramatic.”

“There’s no romance to navigate.”

“Your weather says otherwise, dear.” Marcus raises his glass. “Very ‘imminent claiming.’”

I dodge away before they can elaborate.