Hearthlight.
The name had come to me in the middle of the night, somewhere between my third failed attempt and the moment everything finally clicked. A potion that gave you that feeling—that deep, bone-settling certainty that you were exactly where you were meant to be. That you belonged.
And with Savla’s shimmers woven through it...I swallowed hard. When family members or mates drank from the same batch, they’d feel each other. Not telepathy, nothing invasive—just warmth. A quiet awareness that their people were out there, thinking of them—that they weren’t alone.
Distance won’t matter. The shimmer connects you.
I didn’t know why that made my eyes sting. And then—there it was again. The faint, familiar scent drifting up from the bottle. Light and sweet, like honey warmed by summer sun.
Dandelions.
My grandmother’s signature touch. The ingredient she’d added to every single recipe she ever taught me, because she said magick should always smell like something worth remembering. My heart twisted and warmed at the same time.
She’d be proud of this one, I think. I hope.
I set the bottle down before I could change my mind, then gathered it carefully against my chest and headed toward the coven hall. My palms tingled—not with magick this time, but nerves. Pure, ridiculous, what-if-they-laugh-at-me nerves.
You’re being dramatic. They’re your family now. They literally caught you sneaking cinnamon bread to Savla at three in the morning and only teased you about it for a week.
Inside, the coven was already gathered around the long table. Someone had made tea—the good kind, with the honey that Tasia spelled to never crystallize. Zara waved at me with a spoon dripping with said honey, her smile bright and completely unsuspecting.
Tabitha raised an eyebrow. It was that specific eyebrow. The one that saidyou’re carrying more emotional weight than that bottle, sweetheart, and we both know it.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and channeledevery ounce of Hanna-who-told-her-parents-exactly-where-they-could-shove-their-merger-marriage.
“I want to sell it.”
The words came out too fast, tumbling over each other like they were trying to escape before I could stuff them back down. I held up the stoppered crystal bottle, and even in the warm light of the hall, it glowed from within—green and shimmering and alive.
“This potion. The new one.” My voice wavered, and I hated it. “The one Savla helped me make.”
Silence. Every witch in the room was staring at me.
Great. Fantastic. This is fine.
“I want to call it Hearthlight,” I continued, because apparently my mouth had decided we were doing this whether my brain agreed or not. “It... it makes you feel like you belong. Like you’re home. And if people who love each other drink from the same batch, they can feel each other. Just—warmth. Connection. Even if they’re far apart.”
I was rambling. IknewI was rambling. Tabitha set down her teacup with a soft clink.
“Let me see it,” she said.
I crossed the room on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else and placed the bottle in her weathered hands. She held it up, turned it slowly, watched the light ripple through the green.
The scent of dandelions drifted between us. Something flickered in her eyes—something old and knowing and impossibly soft.
“Your grandmother,” she murmured. “I’d recognize her signature anywhere.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Tabitha looked at me for a long moment. Then she looked at the bottle and finally back at me.
“Hanna, that’s your best work yet. You’re going to make a fortune with it and you should keep every cent.” She said it proudly, like a good friend advocating for my success.
I swallowed, shaking my head. “That’s not what I want.”
Tabitha’s expression softened. “Then whatdoyou want, dear?”
“I want the profit to go into a fund,” I whispered, but the room was so quiet that I knew they were hearing every word I was saying, my voice steadying as the idea settled into my chest. “For witches who don’t… who don’t have a place to go. Who can’t support themselves or escape situations.” My throat tightened. “Like the one I was in or that Tasia was in. Like I’m sure many others still are.”
The room went still—but not silent. It was a warm stillness, the kind that held you and it was only broken by odd sniffles here and there.Zara blinked hard, the spoon forgotten in her hand.
