"Time for what?"
"For you to find out who's actually causing the magical incidents. And for the town to calm down before someone does something they can't take back." Emmett's jaw set firm. "I'm not exiling her. I'm protecting her. There's a difference."
Tristan wanted to argue. Wanted to say forced relocation was just exile with better optics.
But he'd seen the blood symbols and the message. He knew exactly where this kind of escalation led if left unchecked.
"Fine. But I want doubled patrols around the safe house. And anyone who comes near her answers to me directly."
"Done." Emmett nodded once. "Mills is bringing the wagon. Get her there before midday. I don't want her spending another night in that cottage."
"What about her property?" Miriam asked. "We can't just leave it unguarded."
"I'll assign someone to watch it," Emmett said. "Make sure the vandals don't escalate to arson."
The meeting dissolved so Tristan headed toward the forest path that led to Maren's cottage.
He found her outside, staring at the vandalized door with her shadows pressed close. She'd wrapped herself in her black cloak, arms crossed tight, looking smaller than he'd ever seen her.
Her voice stayed level, carefully controlled. "This is the third time in four days."
Tristan crouched to examine boot prints in the snow. Three different sets, all adult-sized, all wearing standard winter boots. Could be anyone. "Council's moving you to the safe house."
"A safe house." Her voice went flat. "You mean a cage."
"I mean protection." He stood, scanning the treeline. "These incidents are escalating. Next time it might not just be property damage."
"And whose fault will that be?" Bitterness crept into her tone. "Mine for existing, or theirs for deciding I'm the monster?"
"Theirs. But that doesn't keep you safe."
She looked at him for a long moment, silver eyes searching. "How long?"
"Until things calm down and I find who's actually behind the magical incidents." Tristan pulled out his comm unit. "Mills is bringing a wagon. Pack what you need."
"For a few days that'll turn into weeks. Months." Maren shook her head. "I know how this works. Temporary becomes permanent becomes 'maybe you should just leave.'"
"Not if I have anything to say about it."
"And what do you have to say about it, Officer Ash?" She stepped closer, shadows swirling. "You're following orders.Relocating the problem so the town can pretend everything's fine."
Tristan held her gaze, refusing to back down. "I'm keeping you alive. There's a difference." He gestured toward the vandalized door. "This isn't justice. It's fear looking for a target. And I won't let you be it."
A moment passed before she quietly finally said. "Fine. Give me twenty minutes."
She disappeared inside. Tristan used the time to photograph the damage, catalogue the boot prints, memorize every detail. The symbols were ancient folk magic, fear-work designed to unsettle. Effective but crude. Someone with just enough knowledge to be dangerous.
Mills arrived with the wagon just as Maren emerged carrying two bags and her basket of remaining herbs. She'd changed into practical layers that suggested she'd done this before. Packed for exile.
The thought made Tristan's tiger snarl.
"Safe house is provisioned," Mills said, helping load the bags. "Firewood, basic food stores, clean water. Should be comfortable enough."
"Comfortable," Maren repeated, climbing into the wagon. "Right."
The ride north took thirty minutes through increasingly dense forest. Tristan kept scanning the trees, looking for anyone who might be following. The safe house sat in a clearing barely visible from any main path, built low and sturdy with smoke-dark stone and reinforced shutters. Wards shimmered across every surface, stronger than anything outside Council headquarters.
"Wait here," Tristan said, jumping down.
