Dahlia’s hands clenched in her lap. Junie leaned close, whispered, “He absolutely is a monster.”
“What I am proposing,” Magnus continued, “is a transition period. Business owners on the affected land will have the option to recognize Ironwood authority and continue operating under our protection. Those who prefer not to... will have thirty days to relocate.”
“That’s extortion.” The words were out of Dahlia’s mouth before she could stop them.
Every head in the room turned toward her.
Magnus’s frozen stare found her. Held her. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met. You are...”
“Dahlia Moon.” She stood, ignoring Avine’s hand on her arm. “I own Honey & Hex Bakery. Which, according to your maps, sits directly on your claimed boundary line.”
“Ah,” his features shifted—calculation flickering beneath the mask, “the charmed bakery. Your grandmother was Hazel Moon, yes? A talented woman. The Ironwood sleuth purchased quite a few of her honey cakes over the years.”
“My grandmother built that bakery on Haven Shores land. Land that has been Haven Shores land for a century.”
“Land that was incorrectly designated as Haven Shores land.” Magnus’s smile turned almost gentle. “I understand your attachment, Ms. Moon. Truly. But sentiment doesn’t change historical fact.”
“Andconvenient documentationdoesn’t change the truth.”
The room went very quiet.
Magnus studied her for a long moment. That frigid gaze dissecting her, weighing her, finding her wanting.
“We’ll discuss this further. After the meeting.”
It wasn’t a request.
TWENTY-THREE
DAHLIA
The meeting dragged on for another hour.
Questions from concerned business owners. Procedural explanations from Hux about how territorial disputes were adjudicated. Cal challenging every point Magnus made, his voice growing rougher as the minutes ticked by. Magnus responding with that same measured calm, that same practiced smile, that same absolute certainty that he held all the cards.
Dahlia barely heard any of it.
Her mind was racing, turning over every detail of Magnus’s presentation. The surveys. The maps. The confident way he’d laid out his documentation, as if he had no doubt it would withstand scrutiny.
Too confident,a whisper suggested in the back of her head.Too prepared. He’s had decades to build this case. What has he missed?
She thought about the boundary stones. The ancient markers that had been set by the original settlers, inscribed with wards and territorial magic. Her grandmother had shown them to her once, when Dahlia was young—moss-covered rocks half-buried in the forest floor, humming with residual power.
The stones tell the true story,Hazel had said.Paper can lie. Magic can’t.
If Magnus’s surveys were fraudulent—if someone had altered the historical records—the magical boundary markers would show the discrepancy. They’d been warded to record the true lines, immune to tampering.
All she had to do was find them. Compare them to Magnus’s documentation. Prove that his “historical fact” was nothing but an elaborate lie.
The meeting ended. People began filtering out, voices low and worried. Dahlia stood, stretching muscles that had gone stiff from tension.
“That was brutal.” Junie’s magic had calmed, but her eyes still sparked with fury. “Please tell me we’re going to fight this.”
“We’re going to fight this.” Dahlia’s voice came out steadier than she felt. “But smart. Not reckless.”
“Define ‘smart.’”
“The boundary stones.” Dahlia glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. “The original markers. They’re warded to show the true territorial lines. If Magnus’s surveys don’t match...”
