Page 71 of Mane Brew

The circle flares.

Power rushes through me—not mine, but part of me somehow. Zeph’s magic finding my presence and using it as an anchor. The mated pairs’ power weaving with hers, with me, creating a pattern that shouldn’t be possible but is.

The seal cracks.

Not breaks—cracks. Fractures spreading through ancient stone like lightning frozen in rock.

From below, the Withering screams.

It’s not a sound. Not really. It’s awareness pressing against barriers that are suddenly, terrifyingly weak. Two hundred fifty years of grief and rage surging toward freedom.

No.

The word forms in my mind with absolute certainty. Not yet. Not like this. Whatever is down there, whatever those severed matings have become—they can’t be released. Not until we understand what they are. Not until we’re prepared.

I pour that certainty into the circle. Into Zeph. Into the ritual that’s both breaking and reinforcing, healing and containing.

Not yet. The seal holds. The Severing breaks, but the seal holds.

Zeph’s magic responds. Her chaos finds purpose—not just breaking the Severing, but channeling the combined power of four partnerships into reinforcement. Healing the curse while maintaining the containment.

She’s not just breaking the Severing.

She’s rebuilding the seal.

The light becomes unbearable. I close my eyes and hold onto her hand and trust—trust that she knows what she’s doing, trust that her chaos will find its way, trust that whatever happens next, we’ll face it with our fingers intertwined.

The scream fades.

The light dims.

When I open my eyes, the seal is whole. Not cracked. Not weakened. Reinforced by the power of four partnerships—three mated, one choosing.

Grandmother Peach stands at the center of the chamber, tears streaming down her ancient face.

“It’s done.” Her voice breaks on the words. “The Severing is broken.”

Around the circle, the mated couples sag with exhaustion. Leire collapses against Aslan, who catches her with the easy familiarity of long partnership. Torin’s arm wraps around Sakura, his other hand pressed protectively to her belly. Caius shifts back to human form, his arms immediately finding Anouk, pulling her close.

Zeph sways.

I catch her.

“Easy.” My arm wraps around her waist, taking her weight. “I’ve got you.”

“We did it.” Her voice is hoarse, exhausted, triumphant. “We actually did it.”

“We did it.” I pull her closer, not caring that we’re covered in blood and debris and two hundred fifty years of magical residue. “It’s over.”

“Not everything.” She looks up at me, her amber-green eyes finding mine. “We had a conversation pending. About possibilities.”

“Tomorrow?”

I should say yes. Should maintain proper distance, proper procedure. Should catalog today’s unprecedented events before allowing further unprecedented developments.

Instead, I say: “Tomorrow.”

Her smile is exhausted, radiant, perfect.