“Ash,” Emmett said, tone steady, “can you do this job?”
“Yes,” Tristan said.
“Can you keep investigating objectively?”
“Yes.”
“Can you protect her and this town at the same time?”
That was the real question.
Tristan thought of Maren’s cottage door painted with blood symbols. The safe house in the storm. Her wrists. The scars.
Then he thought of Wells’s little girl, clutching her mother’s skirt in a house with fracturing wards.
“Yes,” he said again. “I can.”
Emmett held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. “Good. Because I’m not replacing you mid-crisis because Bram doesn’t like your answers.”
“Someone needs to make hard calls,” Bram muttered.
“Hard calls aren’t the same as reckless ones,” Emmett snapped back. “You want to ease the town’s fear? Fine. We issue a statement. Miriam and I will go on record that the Council is actively investigating. That we have a suspect.”
“Which we do,” Bram said. “The witch.”
“The construct,” Emmett corrected. “The doppelgänger. That is the threat. Not Maren.”
“You can’t separate them,” Bram insisted. “Same face. Same magic. The longer she stays, the stronger it gets.”
“Or,” Miriam cut in, “the longer she stays, the more we learn. The more she can help us stop it. Her magic is part of the problem, yes, but it’s also part of the solution.”
Bram scoffed. “You’re gambling with our people’s safety on a witch with a cursed bloodline.”
Miriam pushed her glasses up her nose. “I’m gambling on the idea that we’re capable of more than fear. That we can see nuance. That we don’t repeat the same mistakes that drove her here in the first place.”
Emmett’s gaze moved to Tristan again. “In the meantime, you keep doing what you do best. Track patterns. Follow evidence. Protect the vulnerable.”
“Which one is she?” Bram asked. “Vulnerable or dangerous?”
“Right now?” Emmett said. “Both. Which is why she needs someone like Ash watching her back instead of a mob at her door.”
Wind gusted through the Glade, spinning snow into brief spirals. The temperature dropped another notch. Tristan felt frost forming on his lashes, the burn in his lungs when he breathed.
“The storm’s turning,” Miriam said quietly. “We should wrap this before we all freeze solid.”
Emmett nodded. “Here’s where we land for now. We do not pursue binding. We do not exile. We investigate. We keep her under protection, not punishment. Anyone who takes matters into their own hands answers to this Council.”
“And if there’s another incident?” Bram asked.
“We deal with it case by case.” Emmett’s tone brooked no argument. “Not with blanket condemnation.”
Bram exhaled, a sharp, white plume. “Fine. But when this blows up, nobody gets to say I didn’t warn them.”
He turned and stalked out of the clearing, black coat vanishing into the wall of white.
Miriam watched him go. “He worries about the town,” she said. “Even when he’s being an ass.”
“I know,” Emmett said. “Doesn’t give him a license to hunt witches.” He looked to Tristan. “Find her. Make sure she’s safe. And keep your head clear, Ash.”
