Page 14 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

Aldric finally raises one hand, and the chamber quiets, not completely but enough. His expression radiates concern, the perfect leader trying to maintain order. "Please," he says gently. "Everyone deserves the opportunity to speak." His gaze settles on me. "Miss Quinn."

I meet his eyes. "Thank you." The words taste bitter.

I turn toward the crowd. "I understand your fear." Several people scoff, and I continue anyway. "The storm that destroyed the Sea Sparrow was not my doing."

"That's what you'd say." A few people laugh. I ignore them.

"I have spent years protecting this harbor."

A fisherman shakes his head. "That doesn't mean you're innocent."

"No," I keep my voice steady. "It doesn't." Silence falls briefly. "But neither does being a storm witch make me guilty."

The room immediately becomes restless again. Aldric sighs heavily, a disappointed grandfather witnessing unfortunate events. The performance would almost be impressive if I didn't know better.

"My friends," he says softly. "No one wishes to accuse without cause." I stare, because that's exactly what they're doing. He folds his hands. "But we must also consider the safety of our community."

The crowd quiets, listening, trusting. "How can our children sleep peacefully? How can our wives rest?" His voice remains calm, measured. "How can our fishermen leave the harbor each morning knowing dark forces may be waiting for them?"

Several people nod. Fear spreads quickly, and Aldric knows exactly how to feed it. "How many husbands must die because a witch wishes them harm?"

The room erupts. Voices rise everywhere—anger, fear, agreement. My stomach turns, not because he accused me but because he didn't, not directly. Aldric never says the words himself. He simply places them in everyone's mind and lets them grow.

I straighten. "I wish no one harm." The statement disappears beneath the noise. "I have never harmed this town." More voices, more accusations, more fear.

Aldric lowers his gaze, a disappointed leader burdened by difficult circumstances. The performance continues, and I suddenly feel exhausted, deeply and completely. Years of service, years of sacrifice, years spent protecting these people, and none of it matters. Not today. Not when fear offers an easier answer than truth.

I look around the room at faces I've healed, people I've helped, families I've protected. None of them meet my eyes. The realization hurts more than the accusations.

I draw a slow breath, then another. When I speak, my voice remains steady. "I did not cause that storm."

No one answers. No one believes me. The truth hangs in the air anyway, alone and unwanted.

I turn toward the door, and Lisa immediately joins me. "Reina."

"I'm done." My voice sounds distant, even to me.

No one stops us. The crowd parts as we walk, whispers following. They always do.

I reach the doorway, one hand touching the handle, when a deep growl cuts through the chamber.

"Enough."

The room becomes silent. Every voice, every whisper, gone. I freeze. The sound doesn't belong to any council member, and curiosity pulls me toward the narrow gap between the door and frame. I glance back through the opening

A man stands near the center aisle, tall and broad shouldered, dark hair, storm-gray eyes. Recognition comes immediately. Finn Blackwater, the returned rescue captain, the man I passed on the cliff path, the man who looked at me as though he hadn't already decided who I was.

Aldric frowns. "Mr. Blackwater."

Finn's expression remains hard. "What evidence do you have?"

The question lands heavily. Nobody answers.

"What evidence?" Finn looks around the chamber.

Aldric folds his hands. "People have concerns."

"That wasn't my question."