Page 15 of Roaring Spell

Morning: Torin appears with coffee. My exact order, every time. He settles into the waiting area chair—which I’m starting to think of as his chair—and stays until lunch.

Afternoon: He checks in, sometimes bringing food from Moonpetal Bakery. “Sunny’s orders, not mine. Something about a nutrient deficiency she’s not willing to risk.” The pastries are always my favorites.

Evening: He stops by before heading home. Quick. Undemanding. Just making sure I’m okay before the studio closes.

He never pushes. Never demands conversation. Never watches me with the anxiety of someone expecting disaster.

He’s just there.

And despite my best efforts to find it irritating, I’m starting to find it... comforting.

Thursday afternoon, Ember from Eternal Flame Candles arrives with a welcome gift.

She’s a phoenix—sweet, scattered, and prone to spontaneous combustion. I learned this within thirty seconds of meeting her when she burst into flames in the middle of Moonthread Square and had to be extinguished by a passing water witch.

Today, she makes it all the way into my studio before igniting.

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” She holds out a box of beautiful candles—flames in impossible colors, promised to never burn down—just as her hair catches fire. “Oh. Oh no. Not again. I’m so sorry, this happens sometimes, it’s very⁠—”

The flames spread. Fast. Her arms, her shoulders, her entire body erupting in phoenix fire that’s definitely going to set my studio ablaze.

I reach for my water magic, but Torin is already moving.

He shrugs off his flannel jacket in one smooth motion, wraps it around Ember, and smothers the flames with calm efficiency. No panic. No hesitation. Just practical action, like extinguishing spontaneously combusting phoenixes is a normal part of his day.

Ember emerges from the jacket cocoon, smoking slightly, her hair a singed mess. “Thank you. I’m so sorry. It’s the emotions, you know? I get excited and then—” She gestures at herself. “Whoosh.”

“Does that happen often?” Torin examines his jacket. It’s scorched but intact.

“Phoenix.” I shrug.

“Ah.”

That’s it. That’s his entire response. Ah. Like phoenixes bursting into flames is perfectly reasonable and doesn’t warrant further comment.

Ember recovers her composure, delivers her candles with profuse apologies, and departs in a swirl of smoke and singed feathers.

Torin settles back into his chair, scorched jacket draped over the arm. “Interesting neighbors.”

“You have no idea.”

“Tell me.”

So I do. I tell him about Berry and her semi-sentient bookshop—how it picked out a stack of romance novels for me on day one and hasn’t let up since. He tells me the shop tried to matchmake him within a week of his first patrol through the square, and he still doesn’t know how it knew.

He listens. Asks questions. Laughs at the right parts—a low, rumbling sound that does unfortunate things to my insides.

By the time I realize what’s happening, an hour has passed and we’ve traded more stories about this town than I’ve traded with anyone since I got here. He tells me about the bear community in the western woodlands, about the cubs who ask him for advice he doesn’t have.

Right after three o’clock, Torin glances out the window and abruptly stands. “I have an, uh, errand to run. I’ll be back.” He walks out, holding the door open for a woman in her sixties with a councilor’s bearing and a warm smile that reaches her eyes, or seems to. She introduces herself before I can ask.

“Councilor Valesh.” She extends her hand. “I’m on the welcoming committee. We try to greet all new arrivals personally.”

I shake it. “Sakura. I own the studio.”

“I know.” Her eyes move around the space with what looks like admiration. “Radiant Aura. Very inviting. The salt room especially—the crystal placement is unusual. Your work?”

“Two full days of it.”