Page 73 of Roaring Spell

Sakura attacks the documents with methodical precision, creating organized piles, flagging pages with colored tabs she apparently carries everywhere.

I should be focused on the investigation. Instead, I keep stealing glances at her. Noticing the way the lamplight catches the silver streak in her hair. The way she tucks stray strands behind her ear with an impatient gesture. The way her magic hums quietly beneath her skin, present but controlled.

“I found three requisition anomalies and documented two instances of materials disappearing after Valesh approved their use.” I set down my stack. “I’m capable of multitasking.”

“Multitasking between investigation work and memorizing my face?”

“The memorization happened weeks ago. Now I’m just... appreciating.”

Her cheeks flush. The temperature in the archive rises slightly—her magic responding to emotion despite her control.

“Here.” She pulls a document from the pile, clearly redirecting the conversation before her power creates weather patterns in a climate-controlled space. “Three years ago, two days before the Blackreach massacre. Materials requisitioned for ‘ward maintenance.’ Valesh approved the request and reported the supplies as used. But look—” She points to a subsequent report. “The ward maintenance was never performed. The materials just... disappeared.”

“And Valesh was the one who flagged the discrepancy.”

“She reported her own theft.” Sakura’s voice is grim. “Made herself look responsible while covering her tracks. It’s actually quite clever, in a horrible way.”

“Twenty years of being clever in horrible ways.”

We find more. A request for crystalline components that matches the siphon materials exactly—same quantities, same specifications, same rare minerals that aren’t available through normal channels. A pattern of reports, always from Valesh, always flagging issues she herself created.

“She’s been stealing in plain sight.” Sakura sets down the final document. “Building her network piece by piece while everyone trusted her to keep them safe. Generations of witches looked to her for protection, and she was the threat all along.”

“We have enough.”

“We have plenty.” She stretches, arching her back in a way that draws my attention to places I’m trying not to focus on. The line of her neck. The curve of her waist. The way her shirt rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin.

Focus.

“This should be sufficient for the council to act.” She catches me looking. Doesn’t seem to mind.

“Should be.”

“But you’re not confident.”

“I’m confident in the evidence. Less confident in how it’ll be received.” I gather the relevant papers, forcing my attention to practical matters. “Valesh has allies. Friends. People who’ve trusted her for two decades. Some of them won’t want to believe.”

“And some of them might be Preservers too.”

“That’s the other concern.” I meet her gaze. “We don’t know how deep this goes. How many she’s turned. How many true believers are sitting on the council, waiting for her signal.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Processing. Then she reaches across the table, takes my hand.

“We’ll figure it out.” Her fingers intertwine with mine. “We have the evidence. We have allies. We have each other.”

“Each other.”

“Is that not—” She hesitates. Vulnerable. “After last night, I assumed⁠—”

“You assumed correctly.” I squeeze her hand. “We have each other. That’s not in question.”

The tension in her shoulders eases. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I should probably stop holding your hand so we can organize these documents.”

“Probably.”