"That something's actively interfering with your spells. That's not instability, that's sabotage." His expression hardened. "And whoever's doing it wants you to take the fall."
Maren wanted to argue and say he was reading too much into accidents and coincidence.
But the ice was still cracking outside her window, and her shadows had wrapped around him like he was safety, and nothing about any of this felt like coincidence.
"Tomorrow," she said finally. "We tell them tomorrow. Tonight I just want to pretend I'm not the town's favorite scapegoat."
Tristan nodded once. "Tomorrow, then."
He moved closer to the door like he was actually going to leave, and something in Maren twisted at the thought of being alone again with her unstable magic and the darkness pressing in.
Or at least that’s what she told herself.
"The tea's still hot," she said before she could think better of it. "And you did get cold. Technically."
Tristan paused, hand on the door. "Technically."
"So you might as well stay until you're warm again."
"That could take a while."
"I have plenty of tea."
The corner of his mouth lifted properly this time, a real smile that transformed his whole face from hard planes to something approaching warmth. "Then I guess I'm staying."
7
TRISTAN
Four days.
That's how long it took for fear to turn into violence.
Tristan stood in the Council Glade listening to Emmett outline the third vandalism incident with a jaw so tight his teeth ached. Dawn light filtered through bare branches, turning snow blue and cold.
"Blood symbols on her door," Emmett said, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Wards slashed. Garden destroyed. And a message—Leave or burn."
"When?" Tristan asked.
"Before dawn. Maren heard something around four but they were gone by the time she got outside." Emmett's expression hardened. "Three incidents in four days. Each one worse than the last."
Miriam Caldwell stood beside Emmett, silver hair gleaming in the pale light. "This has to stop before someone gets hurt."
"Someone will get hurt," Elder Bram said from across the circle. "The question is whether it's the witch or one of our people."
"Her name is Maren," Tristan said flatly. "And she hasn't done anything to warrant this."
"The townspeople don't see it that way." Bram's pale eyes stayed cold. "Three magical incidents at the lake, the forge, and the wards. All shadow-signature. All near her."
"Correlation isn't causation."
"Tell that to Thomas Wells and his friends gathering at the Silver Fang every night." Bram gestured toward town. "Fear is spreading. People want action."
"So we give them action." Emmett's voice cut through the tension. "Just not the kind they're expecting. Tristan, you're taking Maren to the northern safe house. Today."
Tristan's gut twisted. "That's what they want. Her isolated, vulnerable, easier to target."
"She’s already isolated where she lives. Better to have her safer, with strong wards and someone actually watching her back." Emmett met his gaze directly. "I won't have mob justice in my town. But I also won't leave her exposed to escalating violence. This buys us time."
