Hollow Oak looked peaceful from the outside.
It wasn’t.
He reached the Council Hall steps just as the wind died briefly, silence settling like a held breath.
His tiger lifted its head inside him. Something was coming.
Something that didn’t belong in winter.
2
MAREN
Dawn broke cold and gray over Hollow Oak, the kind of winter morning that made everything feel brittle.
Maren Pitch stepped carefully through snow at the forest's edge, her basket already half-full of wintergreen and frost-kissed rosemary. The herbs grew wild here where the Veil pressed closest, nourished by magic seeping through ancient wards. She preferred gathering early, before the town woke and started staring.
Her shadows moved with her, thin ribbons of darkness curling around her ankles like affectionate cats. They'd been restless since yesterday's storm, humming with an energy she couldn't quite place.
"Easy," she murmured, crouching near a patch of silverleaf. "Just herbs. Nothing to fuss over."
The shadows settled, though they didn't quite relax.
Maren pulled her black cloak tighter and reached for the plant. Her fingers, long and elegant despite the cold, worked quickly through stems and roots. She needed enough shadowbane for three batches of warding tea. Freya's apothecaryhad been low since the solstice rush, and winter always brought more nightmares, more restless spirits pressing against the Veil.
More reasons for people to need protection.
A ripple of wrongness shivered through the air.
Maren froze, one hand still buried in snow and earth. The distortion rolled over her like a wave of heat in reverse, pulling rather than pushing. Her shadows recoiled violently, snapping back toward her body so fast they left frost patterns on the ground.
"What—"
The magic pulsed again, sharper this time. Her silver eyes flared with light as power surged unbidden through her veins. The basket tipped, spilling herbs across white snow in a scatter of green and gray.
She pressed both palms flat against the frozen ground, grounding herself the way her mother had taught her. Breathe. Center. Control.
The distortion faded, leaving only the sharp scent of something that smelled like burnt metal and old fear.
Maren's hands shook as she gathered the spilled herbs. Her shadows crept forward hesitantly, testing the air like tongue to a sore tooth.
"It's fine," she whispered. "We're fine."
She didn't believe it.
The walk back into town felt longer than usual. She kept her gaze forward, basket tucked against her hip, black curls escaping the braid draped over her shoulder.
Hollow Oak stirred to life around her as she crossed from forest to cobblestone. Smoke rose from chimneys. Lanterns flickered in windows. The Griddle & Grind's door stood propped open despite the cold, warmth and cinnamon spilling into the street.
Maren kept walking.
A group of women stood outside the Hollow Mercantile, bundled in thick cloaks and scarves. Their conversation died as she approached.
"Morning," Maren said quietly.
One woman nodded. The others just stared.
Maren passed them without slowing. She'd lived in Hollow Oak for two years now, long enough to know which faces would soften and which would stay stone. These were stone.
