His gaze snapped to mine—sharp, focused and a little startled.
“You’re selling it?” he asked, and there was no hint in his words about what he was thinking.
“Yes,” I responded, trying to mimic his tone, but probably failing. It was usually so easy to talk to him—notrecently, since I realized what he was to me—but in general.
He didn’t respond right away. Savla’s silences were never empty. They pressed, evaluating and weighing. He looked back at the potion, then at me again.
“Why does it feel like there’s more to that?” he asked quietly.
Because he knows me. Because he listens even when I don’t speak.
I took a slow breath before I explained. “It’s not just a potion. It’s… it’s a piece of my grandmother. She used to make remedies like this. Not as flashy, maybe, but…” My voice wavered a little. “She always said a good potion should feel like a hand on the shoulder. A little warmth and a little courage.”
Savla’s eyes softened. It was subtle, but I felt it like a shift in the air.
“She taught you?” he asked.
I nodded. “She taught me everything. She took me in as her apprentice when—” The words snagged. I looked down at my hands. “When my father… wasn’t interested in teaching me.”
Savla didn’t move, but the air around him changed—not hotter, but denser, like a shield forming around me. Drawing me closer even when he was telling himself he couldn’t touch me.
I kept going, quietly. “My parents wanted apprentices they could mold into perfect Greyleaf successors. I was… too soft forthem. Too curious. Too messy. They said I lacked discipline.” A humorless laugh escaped me. “Grandma said discipline was for soldiers, not potion witches.”
That pulled a small sound from him—not a laugh, but close, a soft exhale that said he agreed.
“She took me into her workshop when I was six,” I continued. “Showed me how ingredients react, how intention shapes magic, how potions are half power and half heart.” My throat tightened. “She made me feel like I was worth teaching. Worth keeping.”
Savla was still watching me, but differently now—like I’d opened a door he’d never realized existed.
“And now,” I said, lifting the potion, “I want this to help witches who need what I needed. A way out and a way forward... A place to land when they fall.”
There was silence again, but then Savla stepped closer, slowly and deliberately, until his knee brushed mine. It wasn’t accidental and it wasn’t careless. Nothing he did wasevercareless. It was the kind of closeness he only offered when he couldn’t hold himself back.
“Then I’m helping you,” he said, his voice low.
“You don’t have to—” I started, but he cut me off.
“I want to.”
The words hit me harder than any spell ever could.He took the potion from my hands, examining the shimmer with reverence, then set it down carefully.
“You’ll need an online storefront,” he said, already slipping into problem-solving mode. “A secure one. With options for bulk orders and enchantment proofing. The witch market websites can be a risk unless you know the safe vendors.”
I blinked at him. “You know about… witch e-commerce?”
One corner of his mouth tugged upward—the smallest smile, but a real one.
“I’ve bought a lot of specialty resin,” he deadpanned.
It made a warm laugh spill out of me, unexpected and embarrassing. His smile grew a fraction. Just a tiny fraction, but enough to make my heart stumble all over itself the way it loved to do when it came to him.
“I can help you set it up,” he said. “All of it. The storefront, the payment wards, the distribution routes.” He paused. “You shouldn’t do this alone.”
The words were so gentle, so careful, they felt like hands around my heart.
“Savla… that means a lot,” I whispered.
His jaw flexed—but not with the usual irritation. It looked like it was flexing with emotion he wasn’t sure how to hold.
