His tiger went very still.
"What happened to your wrists?" He had a hard time trying to control the anger that was beginning to burn inside of him at the thought.
Maren's hands stilled. She set down her bowl carefully, not looking at him. "It's not pleasant."
"Most true stories aren't."
She was quiet for a moment, shadows curling protectively around her shoulders. When she finally spoke, her voice carried the flat quality of someone reciting facts rather than reliving trauma.
"My last town thought I caused a fire. Three people died. The mayor decided binding my magic would make everyone feel safer." She lifted one wrist, tracing the scars. "Iron cuffs enchanted to suppress shadow work. Wore them for six months before the real arsonist was caught."
Tristan's jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. "Did they apologize?"
"They let me leave without burning me. That was apology enough, apparently." Her smile held no warmth. "The cuffs came off but the scars stayed. Reminder that fear doesn't need proof."
"That's not justice."
"No. But it's human nature." She met his gaze directly. "Which is why I know how this ends, Tristan. The vandalism will continue. The fear will spread. Eventually the Council will decide it's easier to make me leave than to keep fighting for me."
"That’s not my end game."
Something flickered in her silver eyes. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why stand between me and them? You don't know me. Don't owe me anything." She stood, moving closer. "So why riskyour position, your reputation, to protect someone the whole town's decided is guilty?"
Tristan stood too, closing the space until they were near enough that her shadows brushed against his boots. "Because I've been the outsider. Been the one nobody trusted. And the only thing worse than people fearing you is people deciding you deserve it."
He'd revealed more than he intended, but Maren didn't push. Just nodded slowly, understanding written across her features.
He reached out without thinking, fingers hovering near her wrist. "Can I?"
She hesitated, then extended her hand.
He cradled her wrist gently, thumb brushing over the white lines. His tiger rumbled, protective and furious at old wounds he couldn't prevent.
"They were wrong," he said. "The people who did this. They were wrong."
"I know."
They stood like that for a moment too long, her wrist cradled in his palm, shadows and breath mingling in the space between them.
Then Tristan released her carefully and stepped back. "I should go. You need rest."
"Will you come back tomorrow?"
"Every day until you're home." He shifted toward the door. "Lock the wards. Break the beacon if anything feels wrong."
"Tristan?"
He paused, hand on the door.
"Stay safe out there."
"You too."
Outside, the forest felt colder than it had before, but the warmth that had now slowly started to spread through Tristan made it almost indistinguishable.
