Maren woke to gray dawn light filtering through gaps in the shutters.
Tristan's arm remained draped across her waist, his breathing deep and even against her neck. His body radiated heat, and for a moment she let herself pretend this was normal. That waking in his arms was the beginning of something instead of the end.
The thought stung deep into her chest.
She'd given in to wanting him knowing exactly what it meant. A goodbye disguised as surrender. One night to feel what it was like to be chosen, to be wanted, to be held by someone who saw past her shadows to whatever person existed beneath.
Because she'd have to leave. The mob wouldn't stop hunting her. The Council wouldn't stop debating her fate. And Tristan would keep standing between her and violence until someone decided he was as guilty as she was just for defending her.
She couldn't let that happen. Wouldn't let him sacrifice everything he'd built here for someone the town had already condemned.
Maren slipped from his arms carefully, holding her breath when he stirred but didn't wake. Her clothes had dried near the fire. She dressed quickly, efficiently, ignoring the ache in muscles still tender from last night.
Her shadows clung to him even as she moved toward the door. They wrapped around his sleeping form like they were reluctant to leave, like they'd found something worth protecting and didn't understand why she was walking away.
She understood their confusion. Leaving felt wrong on every level.
But staying felt worse.
Maren pulled them back forcibly, commanding them to follow despite their resistance. They obeyed eventually, trailing after her like sulking children as she slipped out into the cold.
Snow had fallen overnight, covering tracks and burying evidence. Good. The mob would have a harder time finding the cabin and hopefully assume she'd fled farther than she had.
The walk to Hollow Oak took an hour through snow that grabbed at her legs. Dawn light turned the world soft, painting everything in shades that felt like mourning. By the time she reached the town's edge, people were starting to clear paths, tend animals, and going about morning routines that pretended yesterday's hunt hadn't happened.
Maren kept to alleys and back paths, avoiding main streets where she'd be recognized. The apothecary sat dark and quiet, but she knew Freya would be awake. The nature witch kept healer's hours, rising before dawn to tend plants and prepare remedies.
She knocked softly on the back door. Once. Twice. Then waited.
Freya opened it wearing a robe and concern. "Maren. Thank the Veil you're alive."
"For now." Maren slipped inside quickly. "I need supplies. Traveling supplies. And I need to say goodbye."
"Goodbye?" Freya closed the door and threw the bolt. "Where are you going?"
"Away. Before the Council decides for me." Maren moved to the shelves where Freya kept dried herbs and preserved remedies. "I won't let them bind me or give them the satisfaction of exile. I'll just leave on my own terms."
"And Tristan? Does he know about this plan?"
"He'll figure it out when he wakes up alone."
Freya was quiet for a moment, watching her gather supplies. "You slept with him."
Maren's hands stilled on a jar of fever-reducing tea.
"I can see it on you," Freya continued. "The way you're moving. The way your shadows keep reaching back toward wherever he is. You finally let yourself have something good and now you're running."
"I'm protecting him."
"From what? From being happy? From caring about someone who actually deserves it?" Freya crossed her arms. "The town's going to blame him whether you leave or stay. At least if you stay, you can face it together."
"Together gets him exiled too. Or worse." Maren shoved jars into her bag with more force than necessary. "I won't do that to him. He's already lost too much because of fear and stupidity."
"So you're making his choices for him?"
"I'm making the only choice that keeps him safe."
"That's bullshit and you know it." Freya moved closer, her green eyes sharp. "You're running because you're scared. Not of the Council or the mob or the doppelgänger. Of him. Of what it means that you let yourself want something."
