Page 72 of Roaring Spell

“She fabricated multiple cover stories. For decades.” He produces another folder. “Her travel records are meticulous—she reported every trip to the council, very transparent, very thorough. But when you cross-reference with actual events…” He shakes his head. “She was present at seventeen incidents involving witch-shifter pairings. Seventeen. Over twenty-three years.”

Rhodes leans forward, interest sharpening his usually skeptical expression. “That’s a statistically impossible coincidence.”

“There’s more.” Elio’s voice drops. “I have contacts in the southern territories. Old intelligence networks that remember things most people have forgotten. According to them, there was a Preserver cell operating in Mistvale before Valesh arrived. Small. Quiet. They went dormant about twenty years ago.”

“Right when Valesh joined the council.”

“Right when she would have been positioned to take over.” Elio gathers the photographs. “She didn’t start the cell. She inherited it. Built on what was already here.”

“There could be others. Other members of the original cell. Other Preservers she’s recruited over the years.”

“Almost certainly. But finding them requires finding her first.” Elio meets my gaze. “An archive search will help. But we need to move carefully. If she has allies on the council⁠—”

“Then warning them tips off everyone.” I finish the thought. “We need to present overwhelming evidence. Leave no room for doubt or political maneuvering.”

“That’s the plan.” Elio slides the folder toward me. “Everything I have is here. Use it. Find more. And, Torin?”

“What?”

“The witch is good for you.” His smile loses its edge, becomes almost genuine. “You’ve been alone too long. Eating dinner in your cabin with only your bear for company. It’s nice to see you… not alone.”

“I haven’t been alone. I have the sleuth.”

“You have people who depend on you. That’s not the same as having people who see you.” Elio stands. “She sees you. That’s rare. Don’t waste it.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. So I nod once and leave.

Behind me, I hear Aslan’s voice: “Twenty gold says they’re claiming before the full moon.”

Rhodes: “That’s optimistic. The full moon is in eight days.”

Elio: “I’ll take that bet. Fifty says it’s sooner. Bears don’t wait once they’ve decided.”

I don’t look back. But I’m smiling as I walk out.

I have the folder with all of Elio’s findings. The evidence needs to be organized and cross-referenced with data from Mistvale’s records. If the records show Valesh was in town, then every piece in the folder becomes suspect.

The coven archives exist beneath Thornveil Apothecary—climate-controlled chambers filled with centuries of records. Dusty shelves. Faded documents. Magical preservation spells keeping ancient papers intact.

Sakura is there when I arrive, seated at a long table with stacks of coven requisition logs arranged around her. Her hair is pulled back in a messy arrangement, and there’s ink smudged on her cheek.

She looks up when I enter. Smiles.

My chest does complicated things.

“Elio’s folder.” I set it on the table before I take my seat. “Everything he’s found—the travel records, the cell she inherited, all of it. I’ll walk you through the specifics later. Short version: it’s worse than we thought, and it’s been going on longer.”

Sakura opens the folder anyway, scanning the photographs, the dates. Her expression goes grim and steady—the face of someone who’s already made peace with the scale of what they’re dealing with.

“Twenty-three years.” She sets it down. “Then we make sure our evidence is overwhelming too. No room for loopholes or technicalities that could ruin the whole thing.”

“Exactly.” I reach for the nearest stack of requisition logs. “Shall we?”

Hours pass.

We work through stacks of requisition logs, cross-referencing dates with incident reports. The archive is quiet except for the rustle of paper, the scratch of Sakura’s pen as she takes notes, the occasional triumphant noise when one of us finds a relevant document.

It’s tedious work. Intimate work. The kind of work that reveals character—patience, attention to detail, the ability to sit in comfortable silence without needing to fill it with words.