Page 45 of Mane Brew

“I believed what I saw. What happens when witch-shifter pairs form. The power spikes. The ward fluctuations. The way everything... changes.” She laughs bitterly. “We were supposed to maintain stability. Instead, we watched the Severing crack more with every new mating. The Architect said we were running out of time.”

Caius shifts against the wall. “Running out of time for what?”

“The full moon alignment.” The witch leans forward, as if sharing a confession. “The ritual site beneath the Registry—that’s when the Severing can be broken permanently, or recast to last forever. The Architect is waiting for optimal conditions.”

Ice slides down my spine. The attack could come at any time.

“The attack on the Registry,” I prompt. “When? How?”

“I don’t know the specifics. That’s above my level.” She meets my gaze with what might be genuine regret. “But I know it’s coming soon. The Architect’s been building toward this for decades. Cordelia Ashworth. The magical dead zones. Leire’s coven betrayal—all of it was preparation. Tests. Refinement of techniques.”

“Decades?” Elio’s tone turns silken. Dangerous. “That’s quite an investment.”

“That’s how long she’s been planning. Placing agents. Gathering resources. Building a network that spans the entire magical world.” The witch laughs again—hollower this time. “You think capturing one cell matters? There are dozens of us. Hundreds. True believers who understand what’s at stake.”

“What about traitors?” The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it. “Agents inside the Protection Network?”

Her expression flickers. Just for an instant—a tell so brief I almost miss it.

But I don’t.

“There’s a traitor.” It’s not a question. “Someone feeding you information about our movements.”

“I don’t know who.” She steadies herself. “But yes. Someone with access to Network schedules. Shipping routes. The Architect recruited them years ago—before any of this started.”

Years ago. Before the matings. Before Zeph’s brewery became a target.

The observation I filed away earlier screams back to the surface. Izag’s absence. His increasing concern about my “obsession” with the chaos witch. The way he’s been pushing for traditional approaches, traditional values, traditional separation of witches and shifters.

No.

I shut the thought down. Refuse to let it take root.

“What’s the endgame?” Caius pushes off the wall. Steps into the interrogation space with predator’s grace. “What happens if the Architect succeeds?”

“The Severing locks permanently. The magical world stays divided—the way it was always meant to be.” The witch’s chin lifts. “And the families that cast the original spell retain their power.”

The weight of that settles over the room. No one speaks.

The captured documents paint a picture I wish I couldn’t see.

I spread them across the table in what used to be the Architect’s office—the room where she coordinated forty years of infiltration, every move calculated, every piece positioned like a chess master playing against opponents who didn’t know the game had started.

No one connected her visits to the incidents that followed.

No one except Elio.

“I’ve been tracking her for years.” The panther alpha appears beside me, silent as his namesake. “The pattern was there—I just couldn’t prove it until now.” He picks up one of the documents. “Vespera Sallow. That’s her name. Old family, old money, old magic. Her ancestors were among those who cast the original Severing.”

“And now she’s trying to preserve their legacy.”

“Their power.” Elio sets the document down. “The ideology is packaging, Rhodes. It always has been. The Severing concentrated magical authority in families like hers. The matings threaten that concentration. Everything else is window dressing.”

I study the spread of evidence. Decades of planning. Hundreds of agents. A conspiracy so vast it makes my careful records seem like a child’s attempt at organization.

“We have to warn the others. Coordinate defenses. Document every⁠—”

“Rhodes.” His hand closes on my shoulder. Surprisingly gentle. “The documentation can wait an hour. You’ve been at this for eight hours straight.”