She pulled them back firmly.
Whatever had just happened between them, whatever almost-moment they'd shared, it couldn't go further. Not with threats circling outside and accusations waiting in town and three days left before the Council decided her fate.
But as she watched Tristan check the windows with careful, competent hands, she couldn't stop thinking about how his magic had felt wrapped around hers and if she had just unearthed something that she would be no longer able to ignore.
13
TRISTAN
The storm broke on the third morning, leaving behind a world transformed into crystalline silence.
Tristan drove toward Hollow Oak with Maren beside him, neither speaking much. The joint warding circle had changed something between them, created an awareness that made even simple proximity feel charged. Every time their shoulders brushed, he remembered the feel of her magic winding through his, cool and silver and impossibly right.
He couldn’t deny the impossible anymore. She was his mate. But he shoved them down and focused on the road.
The town emerged from the trees with snow-draped rooftops, icicles glittering from eaves, and smoke curling from chimneys into pale blue sky. Peaceful on the surface. But underneath, something felt wrong.
People moved through the streets with their heads down, hurrying between buildings instead of stopping to chat. Windows that should've been thrown open to greet the clear weather remained shuttered. The usual morning bustle at Griddle & Grind was notably absent, Twyla's café showing only a handful of customers through frost-rimmed glass.
"They're scared," Maren said quietly.
"Yeah." Tristan guided the vehicle toward the town square, cataloguing faces and body language. "Something happened while we were gone."
They found out what when they reached the Mercantile.
The front window had cracked in a starburst pattern, though the glass still held. Frost coated the damage in intricate spirals that looked almost deliberate, almost artistic. A small crowd had gathered, speaking in low voices that died when they noticed Maren.
Rufus Tansley emerged from the shop entrance, his rugged face set in hard lines. "Happened last night during the storm. Lantern inside exploded, same as the forge incident. Cold fire everywhere."
"Anyone hurt?" Tristan asked.
"No. But it's the third one this week." Rufus's gaze slid to Maren, not quite accusatory but not friendly either. "Always shadow signature. Always when she's nearby."
"I've been at the safe house for three days," Maren said, her voice steady despite the tension Tristan could feel radiating from her. "Two miles north. Warded and sealed."
"Wards don't mean much when the magic goes through them like water through cloth." This from a woman in the crowd, wrapped in a heavy shawl despite the warming sun. "My daughter saw shadows moving in her bedroom mirror last night. Shadows that looked like a woman."
Tristan's jaw tightened. The tracks he'd found, the shadowy figure in the storm, the twisted presence Maren had sensed. All of it pointed to something deliberately mimicking her signature.
"What exactly did your daughter see?" he asked.
"A reflection that wasn't hers. Tall, dark hair, silver eyes." The woman's voice shook slightly. "She screamed loud enough towake the whole house. By the time we got there, the mirror had cracked straight down the middle."
Silver eyes. Dark hair. A description that could've been Maren herself.
Or something wearing her face.
"I'll investigate," Tristan said. "Document everything. But jumping to conclusions won't help anyone."
"Jumping to conclusions?" A man stepped forward from the crowd, face flushed with anger. "My shop's been broken into twice. Cold burns on my door. Shadow marks on my walls. And you want us to wait for more evidence?"
"I want you to let me do my job." Tristan lowered his voice, projecting the calm authority that had defused a dozen hostile situations in worse places than this. "Fear makes people see threats where there aren't any. Let me find the truth before we start assigning blame."
"The truth is standing right there." The man pointed at Maren. "She's the only dark witch in Hollow Oak. Always has been. And now suddenly we've got shadow magic causing chaos everywhere she goes."
Maren didn't flinch, but Tristan saw her shadows draw tight against her body, pressing close like frightened children. She'd spent years being blamed for things she didn't do. He could see the weight of that history in the set of her shoulders, the careful blankness of her expression.
"I didn't cause this," she said, her voice carrying clearly across the square. "My magic has been unstable, yes. But I'm not the one attacking your homes and shops."
