"Manipulate what?"
"Fear. Memory. The space between life and death." She faced him. "Shadow magic is just what survived after the bloodline was purged. The rest was supposed to be lost."
Tristan's expression didn't change. He stayed tactical which Maren was thankful for.
"You think someone's using that old magic against you," he said.
"I think someone knows what I am. What I could be if I knew how to access it." Maren's voice dropped. "And they're trying to frame me for magical incidents while also triggering my magic to prove I'm dangerous."
"That's a lot of effort to get rid of one witch."
"Unless they want more than just getting rid of me." She moved closer to the fire. "Unless they want what's in my bloodline."
Tristan joined her at the hearth. "Can they take it?"
"Not without killing me. But if they force me to use it, to lose control, they could study it. Replicate it." She met his gaze directly. "That's why I never told the Council. Why I kept that part of myself hidden."
"You thought they'd use you."
"Or exile me. Or bind me like my last town did." Her hands clenched. "Fear of what I might become is worse than fear of what I am."
"But you're telling me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Maren had lots of answers rolling through her mind but none that she could allow herself to admit.
"Because you haven't run yet," she said instead. "And because if something happens to me, someone should know the truth."
The wind howled louder, rattling the entire cabin. The wards flared bright for a moment, then settled.
Tristan moved to check the windows, testing the shutters. "Storm's getting worse."
"We're safe here."
"Maybe" He turned back to her. "If someone's targeting you specifically, they might use the storm as cover. Everyone's sheltering. No witnesses."
"Then what do we do?"
His ice-blue eyes caught firelight. "We stay alert. Keep the wards strong. And if anything feels wrong, we fight."
They settled into an uneasy watch, Tristan near the door and Maren by the fire. Her shadows expanded across the floor between them, connecting them like dark threads.
As a few hours passed, the storm still didn’t let up.
"Can I say something?" Maren said into the quiet.
"Go ahead."
"The person you lost. Were they afraid too?"
Tristan's jaw worked. "No. Other people were. And they made her pay for it."
Her. Past tense. Pain buried so deep it had calcified into something harder.
"I'm sorry," Maren said.
