She moved to the kettle, grateful for something to do. The storm battered the cabin from all sides now, wind howling through the gaps in the shutters, snow piling against windows. Inside, firelight painted everything gold and shadow.
Her shadows included. They moved lazily across the floor, more relaxed than they'd been in days.
Because of him. Because he was here.
She poured two cups of chamomile and carried them back to where Tristan sat near the hearth. He'd shed his outer layers, leaving him in just a thermal shirt that stretched across broadshoulders. Firelight caught the angles of his jaw, the sharp line of his cheekbones.
Dangerous thoughts crept through her mind before she pushed them aside.
"Can I ask something?" Maren sat down across from him.
"Depends on the question."
"Fair enough." She wrapped her hands around her mug. "Why Hollow Oak? You could work security anywhere. Military background, tactical training. Cities would pay well for someone like you."
"Cities are loud." He sipped his tea, ice-blue eyes watching her over the rim. "Too many people. Too much noise."
"That's not a real answer."
"It's the one I've got."
She let the silence stretch, waiting. People often filled silence when they weren't comfortable with it.
Tristan didn't seem uncomfortable. He seemed patient.
"Kieran vouched for me," he finally said. "Our families knew each other before. He said Hollow Oak needed someone who understood how to protect without controlling."
"And he thinks of you as someone who knows the difference?"
He shrugged as his gaze dropped to his tea. "Don't always succeed. Your turn," he said. "Same question to you. You could've gone anywhere after your last town. Somewhere bigger, where nobody knew your name."
"Bigger means more people to fear me with more chances for history to repeat." Maren stared into her tea. "Hollow Oak felt hidden. Safe.”
The fire crackled as the wind rattled the shutters. Maren found herself relaxing despite the storm, despite the danger, despite everything telling her to keep her guard up.
Something about Tristan made her walls feel unnecessary.
"The things Bram said about shadow magic," Tristan said carefully. "About bloodlines and forbidden work. Is there more you haven't told me?"
Maren's hands tightened on her mug. She'd already revealed more than she'd planned about the Pitch Sisters, the outlawed magic, the abilities that had been purged from her line. But there was always more. Always another layer of darkness to confess.
"My grandmother was accused of blood-shadow crimes," she said quietly. "Using shadow magic to manipulate memory and fear. The kind of magic I told you about before."
"Accused. Not convicted?"
"Never proven. But accusations were enough back then." Maren set down her tea, needing her hands free. "She was exiled from her coven. Spent the rest of her life moving from town to town, never staying long enough for rumors to catch up."
"What happened to her?"
"Died alone. My mother found her body three days after." Maren's voice stayed level through practice. "She'd stopped eating. Stopped caring. Exile does that to people eventually."
Tristan was silent for a long moment. "And your mother?"
"Kept her head down. Married a human who didn't ask questions. Had me." Maren traced a finger along the arm of her chair. "She taught me control before she taught me anything else. Said our bloodline couldn't afford mistakes."
"That's a lot of pressure for a child."
"It kept me alive." She met his gaze. "When the fire happened in my last town, when they blamed me, I knew exactly what to do. How to survive. How to wait until the truth came out."
