"That's different," Maren said quietly. "You and Kieran are mates. Tristan and I are just?—"
She stopped, not sure how to finish the sentence. What were they? Guardian and charge? Investigator and suspect? Two people thrown together by circumstance who'd somehow become something more complicated than either of those labels allowed?
"Just two people who keep looking at each other like the rest of the world doesn't exist," Freya finished, amusement coloring her tone. "Yeah. Real different."
"Freya."
"I'm not pushing. I'm just observing." Freya added the last bundle to a canvas bag and slid it across the counter. "But for what it's worth? I've seen the way he defends you. That's not duty, Maren. That's personal."
Maren accepted the bag, her fingers clutching the handles harder than necessary. The town meeting kept replaying in her mind; Tristan's calm assertion that anyone who touched her would answer to him personally, the ice-blue steel in his eyes when he'd positioned himself between her and violence, the absolute certainty in his voice when he'd said he'd spent a decade dealing with worse threats than frightened shopkeepers.
He'd made himself a target to keep her safe.
The thought should've triggered her carefully maintained independence and refusal to be anyone's burden. Instead, itmade her feel something warm and dangerous and entirely too tempting.
"Thank you," she said to Freya, meaning more than just the herbs.
"Anytime." Freya pulled her into a quick hug, warm and grounding. "You're not alone in this. Remember that."
Sage hugged her next, small arms squeezing tight before pulling back with a gap-toothed smile. "Come back soon. The shadows like it here."
"I will." Maren touched the little girl's cheek gently. "Take care of those flowers for me."
"I will. I'm very responsible."
Despite the accusations, the fear, and the very real possibility of exile, Maren found herself smiling. "I know you are, sweetheart."
Tristan opened the door, checking the street before nodding that it was clear. Maren gathered the bag and moved toward him, her shadows following behind like reluctant children being called home from play.
"Thank you," she said to Tristan as they stepped into the cold.
"For what?"
"For tonight." She pulled her cloak tighter against the wind. "You didn't have to defend me like that."
"Yes, I did." His voice stayed level, matter-of-fact. "It's my job."
Freya's observation echoed in her head. "You made yourself a target to protect me."
Tristan was quiet for several steps, boots crunching through snow. "Would you have preferred I stayed silent? Let them work themselves up into doing something we'd all regret?"
"No. I just…" Maren struggled to find words for what she was feeling. "I'm not used to people standing up for me. Not like that.It cost you credibility probably with half the town. They'll say you're compromised now, biased, too close to see clearly."
"Let them say it." Tristan's jaw set in a line she was beginning to recognize as stubborn determination. "I'm not interested in being liked. I'm interested in keeping you alive and proving you're innocent."
"Why?"
They'd reached the edge of town, where the truck was parked. Tristan stopped and turned to face her fully.
Snow caught in his dark hair, melting against skin still warm from the heated hall. His eyes reflected lamplight from distant windows, and for a moment he looked almost vulnerable, almost unsure.
"Because you deserve better than being judged for things you didn't do," he said finally. "Because watching people suffer for crimes they didn't commit is how I lost?—"
He stopped abruptly, jaw clenching.
"How you lost who?" Maren asked softly, thinking of the grief she'd glimpsed in him before, the carefully buried pain that surfaced sometimes when he thought she wasn't looking.
"Someone important. Someone I couldn't save." His voice went rough around the edges. "I won't make that mistake again."
