Page 29 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

I stop. So does Finn. A man stands outside a nearby shop, his face red, anger radiating from every line of his body. Recognition arrives immediately.

Thomas Weaver. I know him. Unfortunately. His brother served aboard the Sea Sparrow, the crewman who never came home. The grief in his eyes makes my stomach sink.

Thomas points directly at me. "You think people don't know what you've done?"

Several nearby conversations immediately die. The street falls quiet. I force myself to remain calm. "Thomas⁠—"

"Don't," he grunts, his voice cracking, raw emotion bleeding through every word. "My brother is dead."

The accusation hangs between us, heavy, painful. I swallow. "I know."

"No." He shakes his head violently. "You don't." His eyes shine, whether from anger or grief, I can't tell. "He's gone because of you."

The words strike harder than I expect. Not because I believe them. Because he does.

Thomas takes another step forward. "Murderer."

The street becomes completely silent. My chest tightens. I have heard worse. Far worse. Yet somehow this hurts more. Perhaps because grief is standing behind the accusation. Perhaps because part of me understands why he needs someone to blame.

I open my mouth. No words come. For once, I don't know what to say.

Finn does. "That's enough," he says, the sharpness in his voice immediately drawing attention.

Thomas turns toward him. "You stay out of this."

Finn doesn't move. "Gladly," he says, his gaze remaining steady. "Once you stop accusing innocent people."

Thomas laughs bitterly. "Innocent?"

"No proof says otherwise."

"My brother is dead."

Finn nods. "I know," the response arriving quietly, firmly. Not dismissing the grief. Acknowledging it.

Thomas falters, only slightly. Finn continues. "You're angry."

"Damn right I am."

"You have every reason to be," he says, the admission surprising everyone, including me.

Finn takes another step forward. "But grief isn't evidence."

The street remains silent. Thomas's hands clench. "You think I don't know that?"

"I think you're hurting." Finn's voice softens. "And I think whoever caused this wants people blaming Reina."

Thomas looks away first, the fight beginning to leave him. Not completely. Just enough. His shoulders sag, the anger remaining though the certainty does not.

Finn continues. "If you want justice for your brother, find the person responsible."

Thomas doesn't answer. The silence stretches. Then he turns and walks away, no final accusation, no argument. Just grief, raw and unfinished.

The crowd slowly begins dispersing, conversations resuming, life continuing as though nothing happened. I remain standing where I am.

Finn glances toward me. "You okay?"

The question feels almost absurd, yet the concern behind it is real. I look at him—at the man who keeps stepping between me and the town's anger, at the man who keeps demanding evidence when everyone else settles for fear, at the man who somehow makes me feel less alone.