"I said get out!" Freya's hand slammed down on the counter, rattling jars and sending dried herbs scattering. Green light flared around her fingers, power responding to anger.
Thomas backed toward the door, but his gaze stayed locked on Maren. "Mark my words. Something's coming for this town, and it's following her."
He left, door slamming hard enough to make the windows rattle.
Silence pressed heavy in the aftermath. Sage had gone very quiet, clutching a purple flower in both hands.
"I should go," Maren said.
"Don't." Freya's voice gentled. "He's an idiot. His wards are failing because he's too cheap to hire proper maintenance, not because of you."
"But what if he's right?" Maren looked down at her hands, at the shadows curling around her wrists like shackles. "What if something is following me?"
"Then we'll deal with it." Freya crossed to her and gripped her shoulders firmly.
Maren wanted to believe her. Wanted to trust that friendship and good intentions could stand against fear and suspicion.
But she'd been here before. Knew how this story ended.
"I need to go," she said again, pulling away gently. "Before anyone else decides I'm responsible for their problems."
She gathered her basket and headed for the door, shadows pressed so close they barely existed. Outside, the square looked the same as when she'd entered. Same snow. Same buildings. Same town.
But the whispers had started. She could feel them spreading like ice across water.
Maren Pitch cracked the wards. Maren Pitch brought darkness.
Maren Pitch was dangerous.
5
TRISTAN
The forge burned hot even in winter, heat bleeding through stone walls and turning snow to steam where it touched the building. Tristan approached through ankle-deep powder, already cataloguing details. Smoke rising wrong. Crowd gathered too close. Silas standing outside with his arms crossed, jaw tight.
Not good.
"What happened?" Tristan asked, reaching the bear shifter's side.
"Lantern exploded." Silas nodded toward the forge's open door. "Icy blue flame, like nothing I've seen before. Burned cold instead of hot."
"Anyone hurt?"
"No. But it scared the hell out of my apprentice." Silas rubbed a hand over his face. "Kid dropped his hammer and ran. Can't blame him."
Tristan moved toward the entrance. "Show me."
Inside, the forge looked like someone had set off a frost bomb. Ice coated one entire wall in crystalline patterns, beautiful and completely wrong. The lantern lay in pieces onthe floor, glass scattered in a perfect circle. The air still smelled sharp, metallic, like winter lightning.
"Started normal," Silas said from behind him. "Oil lamp, standard wick. Then the flame turned blue and everything just froze."
Tristan crouched near the glass, studying the scatter pattern. Explosion from within, not external force. He pulled a leather glove from his pocket and carefully lifted a shard. The glass felt wrong against his palm, too cold and somehow hollow.
His tiger stirred, uneasy.
"Shadow residue?" Tristan asked.
"That's what it looks like." Silas leaned against his workbench, arms still crossed. "Same signature as the lake marks, from what Mills told me."
