Page 33 of Roaring Spell

“You’ve had episodes at all three locations?”

“Severe ones. The magic feels... wrong there. Poisoned.” I wrap my arms around myself. “Like the air itself is sick.”

“Then we should investigate.”

I wait for him to pull out his phone. Call for backup. Request official authorization.

Instead, he puts on his jacket.

“Coming?”

I stare at him. “Now?”

“Unless you have other plans.”

“I was going to reorganize my crystal inventory.”

“That can wait.”

“The clear quartz is mixed with the rose quartz.” I gesture at the chaotic shelves. “It’s complete anarchy.”

“Life-threatening.” His voice is completely flat. “Mineralogical chaos of the highest order.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Never.”

“Your face says otherwise.”

“Bears don’t have expressive faces.”

“That’s a lie,” I say, and he doesn’t argue.

The corner of his mouth quirks. Almost a smile.

Stop flirting and investigate the magical anomaly.

“Fine.” I grab my jacket. “But if this is nothing, you’re helping me sort crystals.”

“Deal.”

The morning mist clings to the cobblestones as we walk through Moonthread Square. It’s early—shop owners just opening, first customers trickling toward the bakery. The air smells of fresh bread and the particular dampness that Mistvale wears like a permanent accessory.

Torin adjusts his stride to match mine. A small accommodation given the difference in our heights, but he does it without comment. Without making me feel small or inconvenient.

“You walk fast,” he observes.

“I have short legs. Efficiency is required.”

“You walk like you’re trying to outrun your thoughts.”

I glance at him, surprised. “That’s... uncomfortably accurate.”

“I do the same thing. When the bear gets too restless, when there’s too much in my head.” He shrugs. “Walking helps. Movement helps.”

“And when walking doesn’t help?”

“I build things. Or write.” He doesn’t elaborate on the writing. “Or I find the source of what’s bothering me and deal with it directly.”