"Is it an excuse when Officer Ash witnessed it himself?" Miriam spoke for the first time, her sharp gaze finding Tristan. "You were present during at least two incidents, weren't you?"
"Three," Tristan confirmed. "The stream, the candle at the safe house, and the fountain today. In each case, Maren's magic responded to external stimulus. It didn't initiate the damage."
"You're biased," Thomas Wells said flatly. "You've been protecting her from the start. Defending her at every turn. How do we know you're not covering for her?"
"Because I document everything. Because I follow evidence instead of assumptions." Tristan pulled out the notebook, holding it up. "I have detailed records of every incident, including magical signatures that don't match Maren's baseline. Someone is copying her work, and they're doing it well enough to fool casual observation but not close analysis."
"Then show us the evidence," Bram said. "If you're so certain she's innocent, prove it."
"Gladly. As soon as I'm done collecting it." Tristan met Bram's pale gaze directly. "Investigations take time. Jumping to conclusions because they're convenient doesn't serve justice."
"Justice?" A man Tristan didn't recognize pushed forward. "What about safety? What about protecting our families while you gather your precious evidence?"
"Maren's been relocated to a Council safe house under guard," Emmett said. "She's not walking freely through town. She's not a danger to anyone."
"She's here right now!" The man's voice rose, spittle flying. "Standing in this hall after being told to stay away. Flaunting Council orders like they don't apply to her."
"I summoned her," Emmett said coldly. "She's here because I ordered her presence. Any problem with that?"
The man backed down, but others were already pushing forward, emboldened by numbers and fear.
"My daughter saw her in the mirror?—"
"My wards cracked the moment she walked past?—"
"Shadow magic everywhere she goes?—"
"Enough." Emmett's voice cracked like thunder. "This isn't a mob. We have procedures. We have laws. And we will follow them."
"Your procedures aren't keeping us safe," Thomas Wells said. "Maybe it's time we took matters into our own hands."
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Tristan shifted his weight, positioning himself more firmly between Maren and the growing hostility. His hand found the knife at his belt, not drawing it but making its presence known.
"You want to take matters into your own hands?" Tristan's voice stayed level, calm, utterly confident. "You'll have to go through me first. And I promise you don't want to do that."
Wells's eyes narrowed. "You threatening citizens, Officer?"
"I'm protecting someone under Council jurisdiction from vigilante violence. There's a difference." Tristan let his gaze sweep the room meeting each hostile stare with unwavering certainty. "Maren Pitch is under official Council protection. Anyone who touches her answers to me personally. And I spent a decade in combat zones dealing with threats significantly more dangerous than frightened shopkeepers."
The silence that followed pressed heavy as winter snow.
Tristan held the silence, let it stretch, made every person present understand exactly what they'd be facing if they chose violence.
"This is inappropriate," Bram said, his voice tight. "Officer Ash is clearly compromised. His objectivity is questionable at best."
"His objectivity is fine," Miriam countered. "What's inappropriate is this entire gathering turning into a witch hunt barely disguised as a town meeting."
"People are scared, Miriam. They have a right to express that fear."
"They have a right to be heard. They don't have a right to incite violence." Miriam stood, her slight frame somehow commanding more presence than men twice her size. "We will investigate. We will find whoever is causing these incidents.But we will do it properly, through established channels, with evidence and testimony and everything else that separates civilization from mob rule."
"What about when more incidents happen while we wait for Officer Ash to find his precious evidence?" Wells asked.
"Then we adapt as needed," Emmett said. "But we don't condemn someone without proof. And we sure as hell don't let fear turn us into the monsters we're supposed to be protecting against."
The crowd shifted, some faces showing agreement, others still hard with suspicion. The balance remained precarious enough that Tristan’s tiger began to try and flex his seriousness.
A woman near the front stepped forward, older, her face lined with years of worry. "I've lived in Hollow Oak my entire life. Seen a lot of things, good and bad. And I'll tell you this: fear makes us stupid. Makes us see enemies where there aren't any and forget that we're supposed to be better than the humans who hunt and discriminate against us."
