Page 60 of Mane Brew

“But if we break it, we release the Withering.”

“Not release. Weaken.” Peach leans forward. “The seal won’t break entirely. Not if there are enough mated pairs to reinforce it. Your combined magic—channeled through the ritual site—can break the Severing and strengthen the containment. Heal the wound while holding back what’s been festering inside.”

“Enough mated pairs.” Rhodes steadies into the processing mode I’ve come to recognize—classifying, fitting pieces into his mental filing system. “How many is enough?”

“Four pairs is sufficient.” Peach’s gaze finds us again. Holds. “Three can attempt it, but the reinforcement would be incomplete—enough to break the Severing, not enough to be certain the seal holds. Four gives us the balance we need.”

The implication settles heavy on my shoulders.

Four pairs.

The three mated couples plus Rhodes and me.

If we were mated.

“The full moon alignment is approaching.” Peach stands. Her moment of exhaustion passes, replaced by the familiar energy I’ve known for years. “They’ll attack when they’re ready—we don’t know exactly when, only that it’s coming soon. We break the Severing before they can stop us, or they recast it forever.”

“Soon.” The slightly hysterical edge in Sakura’s delivery says she’s processing too much information too fast. “We’re breaking an ancient curse and fighting evil cultists at some undefined point in the near future. That’s... that’s a lot to process.”

“It is,” Torin agrees. “But we’ll face it when it comes.”

“That’s not reassuring, Torin.”

“I know. But we don’t always get reassurance.”

Despite everything—the revelations, the fear, the weight of two hundred fifty years pressing down on all of us—a laugh escapes me. The sound is too loud in the quiet room. Too bright for the darkness of what we’re facing.

But Leire grins. And Sakura giggles. And even Anouk’s composure cracks enough for a small smile to appear.

When I glance at Rhodes, his eyes hold something that might be wonder—at the chaos I can’t help creating even in the middle of a crisis.

“We’ll be ready.” Caius rises. Draws Anouk up with him. “The Protection Network. The coven. Everyone who can fight.”

“Good. The mated pairs will need to be at the ritual site at first light tomorrow morning.” Peach moves toward a door I’ve never noticed before—a door that shouldn’t exist, visible now in a way it wasn’t moments ago. “The chamber beneath the Registry. I’ll show you the path.”

The others file out in pairs.

Leire and Aslan first, his hand on the small of her back, her head tilted toward his shoulder as they whisper plans I can’t hear. Sakura and Torin follow, his massive frame curved protectively around her belly, her weather magic sparking anxious clouds that he brushes away with gentle fingers. Anouk and Caius bring up the rear, their composure firmly back in place, presenting the united front that’s kept Mistvale stable through crisis after crisis.

Through the windows, I catch glimpses of Mistvale settling into night. The mist curls golden around the streetlamps—not quite the deep amber of fated pairings, but close enough to set the gossip network buzzing.

Rhodes and I remain.

Peach pauses at the impossible door. Looks back at us with eyes that have seen two hundred fifty years of waiting.

“He loved me.” Her voice is soft. Private. Meant only for us. “Your ancestor. He loved me completely, without reservation, without fear. That’s what the Severing took from the world. Not just magic. Not just power. Love that was absolute.”

Rhodes’s grip on my hand tightens.

“Is that why you’ve been watching us? Waiting for another Blackthorn to find a witch?”

“I’ve been watching all of them. Every generation. Looking for the affinity to manifest, for the magic to remember what it lost.” Peach smiles. Sad and knowing and impossibly ancient. “But, yes. I hoped. When you started arguing with her four years ago—those spectacular, legendary arguments that half the town came to watch—I hoped.”

“We were arguing. Fighting. We couldn’t stand each other.”

“You couldn’t stop circling each other.” Peach’s smile deepens. “Hate and love are closer than people think. Both require attention. Focus. The inability to look away. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

She disappears through the impossible door before either of us can respond.