"Who else has been in here today?"
"Just me and the apprentice. We've been working on ward-iron all morning." Silas gestured toward a pile of horseshoes waiting for enchantment. "Normal work. Nothing that should've triggered this."
Tristan stood, scanning the rest of the forge. Everything else looked untouched. Just the one lantern, the one wall. Targeted or random, hard to say.
"The Pitch woman walked past around noon," someone said from the doorway.
Tristan turned. Three townspeople stood clustered in the entrance, faces ranging from concerned to hostile. The speaker was a woman he recognized from the Mercantile, bundled in a thick wool coat.
"I saw her," the woman continued. "Walking up from the apothecary with her shadows all around her. Right before we heard the explosion."
"How long before?" Tristan asked.
"Maybe ten minutes? Fifteen?"
"That's not right," Silas cut in. "The explosion happened at least twenty minutes after I saw her pass by. I checked the time because I needed to pull the horseshoes before they cooled."
The woman's mouth thinned. "Still. She was here. And then this happened."
"Lot of people walk past the forge," Tristan said, keeping his voice level. "Doesn't make them responsible for accidents."
"It's not an accident when it keeps happening." Another voice from the crowd, male this time. "Wards cracking. Strange fires. All since she showed up."
"She's been here two years," Silas pointed out. "Nothing's happened until now."
"Maybe she's getting stronger. Or losing control." The first woman stepped closer, arms wrapped around herself. "Either way, someone needs to do something before people get hurt."
Tristan's jaw tightened. He'd spent the last day and a half watching Maren from a distance, tracking her movements through town. She'd kept to herself, run basic errands, spoken to maybe three people total. Nothing suspicious. Nothing threatening.
Just a woman trying to exist while everyone looked for reasons to fear her.
"I'll investigate," Tristan said. "But I need you all to step back and let me work."
The crowd didn't move immediately, but eventually they dispersed, muttering among themselves. Tristan caught phrases like "Council's too soft" and "should've never let her stay."
Silas waited until they were gone before speaking. "You think she did this?"
"I think evidence points to shadow magic," Tristan said carefully. "But shadow magic doesn't automatically mean Maren Pitch."
"Town doesn't see it that way."
"Town doesn't want to see it that way." Tristan pulled out his notepad, sketching the ice pattern. "Easier to blame the outsider than admit something else might be wrong."
"You sound like you've seen this before."
"Different countries. Same fear." Tristan pocketed the notebook. "Keep the forge closed until I clear it. Don't let anyone touch the glass."
"You got it."
Tristan left through the back entrance, avoiding what remained of the crowd. The sun hung low now, turning snow orange and shadows long. He needed to check on Maren, make sure yesterday's confrontation at the apothecary hadn't escalated.
His comm crackled. "Ash, you there?"
"Copy."
"Emmett wants you to escort Maren Pitch home." Mills's voice carried tension. "Make sure she gets there safe. Thomas Wells is gathering people at the Silver Fang. Talking about 'handling the problem' themselves."
Tristan's hand tightened on the comm unit. "Where is she now?"
