“Oh,” she gasped, waving a hand in front of her face as her voice trembled. “Hanna… that’s— that’s exactly how the coven was born.”
Tabitha reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “Zara’s mom created this coven because they needed refuge and they had nowhere to go. They swore the coven would always remain a haven for any witch in need.” Her smile creased with pride. “You honoring that promise… it means something. Something real.”
My eyes burned, and I laughed a little to hide it. “It’s what Grandmother would’ve wanted. She spent half her life helping witches who couldn’t help themselves and sometimes even when she couldn’t afford it. Now that I finally have something to offer, I want to help, too,” I admitted.
“You have her heart,” Tabitha whispered.
I shook my head, rubbing my thumb over the corked bottle. “She taught me that magic should make life better. Not just richer. And—” I swallowed. “I want this potion to do that. Toreallydo that.”
Floria sniffed loudly—an unmistakable ‘I’m emotional but pretending I’m not’ sniff.
“Well then, we’ll help you,” she offered. “We’ll help you bottle it and brand it and get it on the market. And we’ll make sure every witch in trouble knows there’s a fund waiting for her.”
Zara finally broke into a watery grin. “I still think you deserve all the profit… but I’m proud of you. This is wiser and kinder than anything I’d have ever thought of.”
I felt my chest loosen—not with pride, but with belonging.Realbelonging.
The coven gathered around me, passing the potion around gently, admiring the shimmer, the scent, the meaning. They didn’t just see a product. They saw legacy and they saw hope.
Somewhere deep inside, I felt my grandmother’s magick hum in quiet approval.For the first time since leaving home, I felt like I wasn’t just making potions. I was making a future—for myself, and for witches I hadn’t even met yet.
Zara whooped so loudly I nearly dropped the bottle, and somewhere in the chaos that followed—the excited chatter, the immediate brainstorming about distribution and pricing andoh, we need cute labels—I felt it.
Warmth. Not from the potion. From them. From this room full of chaotic, wonderful, ridiculous witches who’d caught me at my lowest and decided I was worth keeping.
This is what it feels like,I thought, clutching the bottle against my chest.This is what Hearthlight is supposed to give people.
The feeling of finally, finally being home.
I found Savla exactly where I knew he’d be—in the rooftopworkshop, crouched beside Ribbon, who was sprawled on his back like the world’s largest, heaviest dog begging for belly rubs.
He looked… peaceful. Which was infuriatingly attractive, considering peace looked like something he rarely allowed himself.
I climbed the last few steps, clutching the small wooden box to my chest. The box that heldthepotion.
Savla’s head tilted the moment he sensed me—before I made a sound, before Ribbon’s croak announced my arrival. Our growing bond pulsed instinctively, that soft flicker of recognition he always pretended not to feel.He stood slowly, brushing clay dust off his palms.
“You’re early,” he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes tracked me like he was trying to read the entire reason I existed.
“I, um… needed to talk to you,” I said, trying to keep any hint of emotion from my voice.
He stilled completely. Savla Everlock could freeze more intensely than winter.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I added quickly.
He didn’t relax—because Savla only relaxed in extremely rare, possibly mythical circumstances—but he did nod toward his workbench.
“Come here,” he said in his gruff voice that meant no nonsense.
I sat on the stool opposite him, heart tapping unevenly against my ribs. He leaned one hip against the bench, arms crossed, waiting with that quiet patience that made me feel seen. Or examined—or both.
I took the time to admire his towering form and his delicious, broad shoulders that were justbeggingfor me to hold onto them before I shook myself out of my near-stupor. I opened the wooden box.
The potion glowed softly inside, that green shimmerreflecting in his dark eyes. He didn’t reach for it, but something in his expression warmed.
“You finished it,” he murmured.
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “And I’m… going to sell it.”
