"Let it try." Tristan joined her at the window, close enough to feel her heat. "I've survived worse threats than a shadow construct with delusions of personhood."
"Have you?" She moved to face him, silver eyes reflecting firelight. "Because that thing out there isn't just strong, Tristan. It's smart. It knows how to manipulate, how to feed on fear. And it's getting stronger every day the town stays terrified of me."
"Then we end it. Tomorrow we search the lake, find the locket and destroy it before the construct can fully stabilize." He kept his voice level, confident, projecting certainty he wasn't entirely sure he felt. "We know what we're fighting now. That's half the battle."
"And the other half?"
"Figuring out who activated it in the first place." Tristan turned back to the window, watching snow swirl in patterns that felt almost deliberate. "Someone found the locket, stole your blood, and bound the doppelgänger to your signature. That requires knowledge, planning, and a reason to want you destroyed specifically."
"Everyone in Hollow Oak wants me destroyed right now."
"Not everyone. And most of them only started wanting you gone after the incidents began." Tristan's mind worked through possibilities, discarding and considering. "Whoever did this started planning before the first accident at the lake. They knew about your bloodline, knew about the locket's existence, knew where your mother likely hid it. That's specific knowledge that most people wouldn't have."
Maren was quiet for a long while, her shoulders tense. "Moira said the records about the Nightwell Locket were in the Book Nook archives. Anyone with access could've read about it."
"Who has access?"
"Lucien controls who sees what, but researchers come through. Council members occasionally. Anyone with legitimate scholarly reason." She rubbed her arms, cold despite the fire. "Tracking down one person from potentially dozens isn't going to happen in two days."
"Then we focus on the locket. Remove the weapon, and the person behind this loses their power."
Wind slammed against the shutters hard enough to rattle the entire structure. The wards flared bright for a moment before settling back to their steady hum. Whatever was out there was testing defenses, looking for weaknesses.
Maren flinched at the impact, her shadows drawing tight. "It's not going to stop. Even if we destroy the locket, whoever activated it will just find another way to come after me."
She was determined to point out every thing that had him worried. But that was his job, not hers.
"We will. Because I'm not letting that thing get another shot at you."
The fear of losing someone again to violence born from fear and hatred.
Maren studied him in the firelight, her silver eyes searching. "You meant what you said outside. About losing me not being an option."
Tristan considered denying it, falling back on professional distance and Council obligations. Instead, he found himself speaking truth.
"I spent three years watching people I cared about die because I wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough, didn't see the danger until it was too late." His jaw tightened, old wounds still raw beneath scar tissue. "I'm not doing that again. Not with you."
"I'm not asking you to save me."
"I know." He wanted to say more, but he knew not now. Not until he figured out what it was he wanted himself.
"You should rest," Tristan said finally, stepping back and putting necessary distance between them. "Tomorrow's going to be rough, and you need sleep."
"I don't think I can sleep after seeing that thing wearing my face."
"Try anyway. I'll keep watch." He moved in the direction of the door, checking wards and locks with methodical precision. "Nothing's getting through tonight."
She climbed to the loft, her shadows trailing behind like exhausted children. Tristan listened to her settle, heard the rustle of blankets and the soft sounds of someone trying to convince themselves they were safe enough to sleep.
He added wood to the fire and positioned himself where he could watch both the door and the windows. His back ached where the doppelgänger had struck, a reminder that shadow could cut flesh as easily as steel.
The storm continued its assault, supernatural fury wrapped in winter weather. Tristan marked time by the rhythm ofwind and the flicker of firelight, keeping watch while Maren's breathing slowly evened out into sleep.
His mind wouldn't quiet. It kept replaying the moment he'd seen the construct wearing her face, kept feeling the surge of primal terror when shadows had lashed toward her with killing intent. Kept remembering another time, another person he'd failed to protect from fear turned violent.
His mate had died because people discovered what she was and decided that made her dangerous. Had died while he'd been away, believing the town they'd chosen was safe enough to leave her alone.
He'd been wrong. And she'd paid for that mistake with her life.
