Page 68 of Roaring Spell

The wild magic responds to my fear, to my surging power, and the weather starts to churn.

Control. I need control.

But control has never been my strength. Survival has. Running has.

I’m very good at running.

“Torin, we’ll never get through here if Valesh is controlling everything. We need to go back. Tell the others that something might be out here. With Anouk and the others, we’ll be able to counteract this magic.”

Torin stops, shoving away a branch that hit him twice. Once going past it and once after he passed. “I think you’re right. We’re not making any progress right now.”

I pull Torin toward a gap in the trees. “There’s a path—I feel it⁠—”

The path opens before us like the forest is responding to my need. Maybe it is. The Overgrowth has opinions about everything. Right now, those opinions seem to favor escape.

We come out of the tree line and keep walking—through mist, through the darkened streets of the Hollow, past closed shops and sleeping homes, until the familiar shape of my studio comes into view.

Torin pulls me inside. Locks the door. Checks the windows. He settles beside me—close enough to touch, but holding back. Giving me space.

Then he turns to face me. “How are you feeling? Your magic was reacting strongly.”

“Overwhelmed. Terrified. Furious.” I manage a weak smile. “The usual cocktail.”

“Any urge to create dramatic weather?”

“Constant urge. Remarkable restraint.”

“I’m impressed.”

“You should be. It’s taking significant effort.” I look at the window, where rain is still falling—lighter now, but persistent. “That’s probably mine. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He moves closer. Slow. Careful. Giving me time to pull away. “You’re processing a lot.”

“I’m always processing a lot. That’s the problem.”

“It’s not a problem.” He’s near enough now that I can feel his warmth. “Sakura. Earlier. Before Valesh left. You said you don’t want to leave me.”

My heart stutters. “I did say that.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His hand finds my face—gentle, impossibly gentle for someone so large. His thumb brushes my cheekbone. “Because I don’t want you to leave either. Not the town. Not me.”

“Torin—”

“I know the timing is terrible. I know we’re in the middle of an investigation, that there’s a Preserver agent, that everything is complicated and dangerous.” His voice drops. “But I need you to know. Before anything else happens. You’re not too much for me. You never could be.”

I lean into his touch. Let myself feel it—the warmth, the safety, the promise of a future I’ve never allowed myself to imagine.

“I’m not good at this,” I whisper. “At feelings. At letting people in. My emotions have always been problems to be managed, not things to share.”

“Then let me help you share them.”

“What if they’re too big?”

“Then I’ll hold them with you.” His forehead touches mine. “I have hands big enough. Remember?”