Page 26 of Mane Brew

I sit alone in my brewery, surrounded by bubbling tanks and soft light, replaying those words until dawn.

Some patterns are worth tracking.

I think about the way my magic keeps targeting him specifically, and how he keeps coming back anyway.

I’m starting to wonder if I’m one of his patterns.

I’m starting to wonder if he’s one of mine.

6

RHODES

Iwalk back to the office instead of driving, which accomplishes nothing except delaying the moment I have to sit with the silence of my own apartment and think about the words I said before I left.

Some patterns are worth tracking even when they don’t fit protocol.

True. Unprofessional. I stand by both.

Caius is still awake when I pass Stoneheart territory—predictably, given the hour and the amount of paperwork he generates when he can’t sleep—and flags me down before I can pretend not to notice him.

“You look like a man who said something he can’t take back.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mm.” He falls into step beside me anyway, unbothered by my denial. “Anouk had the same look, before. Right before she stopped fighting it.”

“I’m not fighting anything.”

“You alphabetize things when you’re upset. Bram mentioned it.” Caius’s look is entirely too knowing. “Bram mentions a great many things.”

I make a note to speak to Bram about discretion. I don’t deny the alphabetizing.

Caius doesn’t push further, which is its own kind of mercy, and peels off toward home with nothing more than a nod that somehow manages to communicate an entire paragraph of you’ll figure it out eventually.

I finish the walk alone.

Tomorrow is girls’ night at the brewery, which I’ve learned means the taproom closes early and I am, by unanimous and unspoken agreement among everyone who knows either of us, not invited.

I’ll give her the space. Document the quiet hours as productively as I can manage.

But I’ll be within earshot of Duskfire regardless, the way I’ve been within earshot of it more nights than my patrol schedule strictly requires, and if anyone asks, I have a perfectly reasonable explanation prepared.

I’m still working on making it sound true.

7

ZEPH

The invasion begins at seven o’clock.

I’m in the back, adjusting the fermentation levels on tank two, when the front door bangs open with the particular violence that signals Leire’s arrival. She’s brought reinforcements—I can hear Sakura’s cheerful greeting to my regulars, Anouk’s measured footsteps crossing the worn floorboards.

They’ve found me.

“The taproom’s closed for private business!” Leire calls out, and I hear the scramble of my few remaining customers gathering their things. “Emergency intervention in progress!”

Emergency intervention. That’s not ominous at all.