The procession moved through Hollow Oak's streets slowly. People emerged from houses, drawn by the commotion. Word spread quickly about the shadow witch that had saved them and nearly died protecting people who'd wanted her exiled.
By the time they reached the apothecary, a small crowd had gathered. Not hostile. Not fearful. Just watching, reassessing, seeing Maren Pitch as something other than the monster they'd decided she was.
Freya and Kieran got Maren inside, up to the guest room they kept for emergencies. Tristan followed as far as the doorway before Freya stopped him.
"You need medical attention too," she said. "Hypothermia, blistered hands, probably frostbite in your extremities. Let Kieran check you while I work on Maren."
"I'm fine."
"You're not. And collapsing won't help her." Freya's expression softened. "She's stable, Tristan. Let us help you both."
He wanted to stay by Maren's side until she woke up. But Freya was right. He was useless like this, barely standing, shaking with cold he'd been ignoring.
Kieran guided him to the main room, sat him near the fire that Sage was carefully feeding with small logs. The little girl looked up at him with solemn eyes.
"You saved Pretty Maren," she said.
"She saved me," Tristan corrected. "And the whole town."
"That's what Mama said." Sage placed another log carefully. "The shadows were scared but they helped anyway. That's very brave."
Kieran worked on Tristan's hands, treating blisters and checking for nerve damage. The pain was distant, secondary to the pull toward the room above where Maren lay unconscious.
Time passed in a blur. Kieran finished treatment, wrapped Tristan's hands in gauze, forced him to drink something hot that tasted medicinal. The fire slowly drove cold from his bones.
Eventually, Freya appeared on the stairs. "She's awake."
Tristan was on his feet immediately, ignoring Kieran's protest. He climbed the stairs two at a time, following Freya to the guest room.
Maren lay propped against pillows, bandages wrapped around her ribs, her face still too pale but her eyes open and aware. Her shadows curled around the bedframe, calm for the first time since he'd met her.
"Hey," she said, her voice rough but steady.
"Hey yourself." Tristan stopped in the doorway, suddenly uncertain. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got torn apart by my own shadow and fell in a frozen lake." She smiled despite everything. "So, better than expected."
"The town saw," he said. "Saw you save me. Emmett cleared your name officially."
"And Bram?"
"Apologized. Grudgingly. But he did it."
Maren looked toward the window, where late afternoon light filtered through frost patterns. "Do they believe it? That I'm not dangerous?"
"Some do. Some need more time." Tristan moved closer. "But it's a start. Better than exile or binding."
"Much better." She looked at him, silver eyes searching. "You should be resting. Freya said you nearly died from hypothermia."
"So did you."
"Which is why we're both here recovering instead of out there." She patted the bed beside her. "Sit. You look ready to fall over."
He sat carefully, mindful of her injuries. The bond hummed between them, stronger now after sharing the locket's backlash. Not complete. Not sealed. But present enough that being near her settled something restless in his chest.
"Thank you," Maren said quietly. "For diving into that water. For believing me when no one else did."
"You're my—" He stopped, the word catching in his throat. Mate. She was his mate. The bond confirmed it, had confirmed it the moment they'd destroyed the locket together. But saying it now, while she was injured and vulnerable and still processing everything, felt wrong.
