"Heard there was trouble at the lake last night," one of them said, voice pitched to carry. "Scorch marks. Magic gone wrong."
"Always something with winter storms," another replied.
"Or with witches who can't control their shadows."
Maren's jaw tightened, but she didn't turn. Didn't respond. Experience had taught her that defending herself only made things worse.
Her shadows pressed closer, protective.
She rounded the corner toward Freya's apothecary, relief loosening the knot in her chest. Freya never judged. Never whispered.
The sound of something shattering stopped her cold.
Maren spun toward the noise. A child's wooden toy lay in pieces on the cobblestones, surrounded by glittering shards from what had been a glass bottle. A little girl stood frozen nearby, eyes wide and filling with tears.
"Lily!" A woman rushed forward, scooping the child up. "Are you hurt?"
"I didn't touch it, Mama! It just—it just broke!"
The woman's gaze snapped to Maren. Accusation crystallized in her expression, sharp and immediate.
"You," the woman said. "You were right there."
"I didn't—" Maren started.
"Your shadows!" The woman's voice rose, carrying down the street. "I saw them reach toward her!"
Maren's shadows had been moving, restless from the earlier distortion. But they hadn't touched anything. Hadn't even come close to the child.
"My shadows don't break things," Maren said carefully. "They're not?—"
"Not what? Not dangerous?" The woman clutched her daughter tighter. "Stay away from us. Stay away from my family."
Other townspeople emerged from shops and doorways, drawn by the commotion. Maren recognized most of them. The baker. The blacksmith's apprentice. Rufus Tansley from the Mercantile.
None of them stepped forward to help.
"I didn't do anything," Maren said again, hating how her voice shook.
"That's what you said in your last town too, wasn't it?" The woman's face flushed with anger and fear. "Before people started getting hurt."
The accusation made Maren’s throat tighten, dredging up memories she'd tried to bury. Her old town. The fire. The deaths she'd been blamed for despite having nothing to do with it.
"That's enough."
Freya Bloom appeared beside Maren, one hand settling on her shoulder. The nature witch's green eyes, usually soft and warm, had gone hard as flint.
"Your daughter dropped her toy," Freya said, voice calm but carrying steel underneath. "Things break. Maren was ten feet away."
"But her shadows?—"
"Are no more dangerous than my plants or Twyla's tea." Freya's grip on Maren's shoulder tightened fractionally. "Unless you'd like to start accusing every magical person in Hollow Oak of causing accidents?"
The woman's mouth worked silently. Her daughter had stopped crying, watching the exchange with wide, curious eyes.
"Come on," Freya said quietly to Maren. "Let's get those herbs inside."
Maren let herself be guided away, hyper-aware of every eye tracking her movement. Her shadows curled tight against her legs, practically invisible in broad daylight.
