Chapter 3 Tristan
TRISTAN
The Council Glade sat buried in snow, lanterns strung between skeletal branches casting yellow light across the clearing.
Tristan arrived just after sundown, boots crunching through powder that had already started to freeze over.
The temperature had dropped hard since morning, turning breath to fog and making every exposed surface slick with ice.
Five figures stood in a loose circle near the center stone.
Emmett Hollowell commanded attention without trying, broad-shouldered and steady, gray-blue eyes reflecting firelight.
Beside him stood Miriam Caldwell, silver hair gleaming under her half-moon spectacles, sharp and assessing as always.
Elder Bram, immaculate in dark robes despite the weather, kept his arms crossed over his chest. Two other Council members Tristan recognized but didn't know well completed the circle.
"Ash." Emmett's voice carried clear across the clearing. "Good. We can start."
Tristan closed the distance, cataloguing positions and body language out of habit. Miriam looked calm. Bram looked irritated. The others seemed tense, though whether from cold or concern was hard to say.
"You saw the scorch marks," Emmett said. Not a question.
"Mills photographed them before the snow covered everything." Tristan pulled a folded report from his coat pocket. "Magic signature's wrong. Not fire-based. Not anything in our database."
"Shadow work?" Bram's voice cut sharp through the cold air.
"Don't know yet."
"But you questioned the Pitch woman." Bram's pale eyes narrowed. "Why her specifically?"
Tristan kept his expression neutral. "She's the only witch in Hollow Oak. Standard procedure to ask questions."
"And what did she say?"
"That her magic doesn't work like that. Shadows don't scorch."
"How convenient," Bram said.
Miriam's gaze sharpened. "Bram, we've been over this. Maren's been here two years without incident. Her magic's been tested. She's not a threat."
"Not a threat we've identified yet." Bram gestured toward the woods. "But something left those marks. Something powerful enough to burn through winter wards without triggering alarms."
"Which means it's either very old magic or very new," Emmett said. "Either way, it's not necessarily hers."
"The timing's suspicious." Bram turned to face Emmett directly. "Scorch marks appear the same night townspeople report seeing shadows move unnaturally near the square."
Tristan's jaw tightened. "I haven't received any official reports of unusual shadow activity."
"Because people are afraid to file them," one of the other Council members said. "They remember what happened in her last town."
"Rumors," Miriam said firmly. "Nothing was ever proven."
"Fire killed three people. Her shadows were there. That's not rumor, that's fact."
"Correlation isn't causation." Miriam's voice stayed level, but steel ran underneath. "We investigated her background thoroughly before allowing her sanctuary here. The fire was arson. She was a scapegoat, nothing more."
Bram shook his head slowly. "Perhaps. But the people don't see it that way. They see a witch with dangerous magic living on the outskirts of town, and now they see evidence of magical violence near our lake."
"So we educate them," Emmett said. "We don't throw her to the wolves because it's easier than doing our jobs."
Silence settled heavy over the clearing as wind stirred through pines, sending snow cascading from branches in soft whispers.
Tristan broke the quiet. "What do you need from me?"
Emmett met his gaze. "The town's restless. Winter storms always make people nervous, but this is worse. I've had six people stop by the Mercantile today asking if we're going to 'do something' about the witch."
"Do what, exactly?" Tristan asked.
"That's what worries me." Emmett rubbed a hand across his jaw. "Fear spreads fast in isolated places. Gets people thinking mob justice is the same as real justice."
Tristan knew that particular truth intimately. Had seen it play out in a dozen conflict zones, watched fear turn reasonable people into something ugly and dangerous.
"You want me to keep watch on her," he said.
"Quietly. Not as punishment, as protection." Emmett's expression hardened. "I won't have this Council sanctioning witch hunts. But I also won't pretend the threat isn't real."
"She's not the one in danger from magical accidents," Bram pointed out. "The townspeople are."
"Then we protect everyone." Emmett's voice carried the kind of authority that ended arguments.
"Tristan keeps an eye on Maren. Makes sure she's safe and makes sure the town sees we're taking this seriously.
If something else happens, we'll have someone there who actually knows what he's looking at. "
"And if she is responsible?" Bram pressed.
"Then we'll deal with it appropriately. Through the Council. Through proper channels." Emmett's gaze swept the circle. "Not through fear and accusations."
Miriam nodded approval. The other Council members seemed less certain but didn't argue.
Tristan considered the assignment, running through logistics and complications. Surveillance work in a small town where everyone noticed everything. Protecting someone who'd already been judged guilty in most people's minds. The kind of mission that could go sideways fast if he wasn't careful.
"How close is 'keep watch'?" he asked.
"Use your judgment." Emmett shifted his weight, snow crunching under his boots. "But close enough to respond if something happens. To her or around her."
"She lives alone. Outside town limits."
"I'm aware."
"People will talk if they see me coming and going from her place."
"Let them talk." Emmett's jaw set firm. "Better than letting them act."
Tristan nodded once, accepting the assignment even as he catalogued the dozen ways it could complicate things. He'd done harder jobs with worse parameters.
"One more thing," Miriam said, stepping forward slightly. "Be fair to her, Tristan. She's been through enough already."
"I'm always fair."
"You're always thorough," Miriam corrected. "There's a difference."
Tristan didn't argue. She wasn't wrong.
"Anything else?" Emmett asked the circle.
"Increase patrols around the lake," Bram said. "If something's testing our wards, we need to know immediately."
"Already done." Tristan pulled out a small notebook, flipping to a marked page. "I've got three teams rotating twelve-hour shifts. They’re coordinating on reinforcing the physical barriers."
"Good." Emmett looked around the circle one more time. "We meet again in three days unless something urgent comes up. Stay sharp. Stay fair. And for the love of everything sacred, don't let fear make us stupid."
The Council began to disperse, members drifting back toward town in pairs or alone. Tristan started to follow, but Emmett's voice stopped him.
"Ash. Hold up."
Tristan turned back. Emmett waited until the others were out of earshot before speaking again.
"I know this isn't your favorite kind of assignment."
"It's fine."
"It's not." Emmett's expression softened slightly. "But you're the best person for it. You don't jump to conclusions. You don't panic. And you don't let personal feelings get in the way of doing what's right."
Tristan stayed silent, unsure where this was going.
"Maren's a good person who's had a hard time of it," Emmett continued. "She doesn't trust easily. Probably won't trust you at all, at first. But if something's targeting her or using her magic as cover, she'll need someone who can see past the fear to the truth."
"I'll do my job."
"I know you will." Emmett clapped him on the shoulder once, solid and brief. "Just remember—sometimes doing the job right means protecting people from themselves. Townspeople included."
Tristan nodded, understanding the deeper warning. Don't let the mob happen. Don't let fear win.
"Kieran vouched for you when we brought you on," Emmett said. "Said you were solid. Reliable. Someone who'd do what needed doing even when it got ugly."
"He's generous with his praise."
"He's accurate with his assessments." Emmett's mouth quirked slightly. "Watch yourself out there. Winter makes things strange, and strange makes things dangerous."
"I've handled worse."
"I don't doubt it." Emmett turned toward town, pausing once to look back. "For what it's worth? I hope you're wrong about the danger."
"Me too."
Emmett disappeared into the trees, leaving Tristan alone in the clearing. Lanterns swayed overhead, casting shifting shadows across white ground. Wind picked up, carrying the scent of pine and cold stone.
Tristan pulled his coat tighter and headed for the southern path. He had surveillance routes to plan and a watch schedule to adjust. The practical work helped, gave him something concrete to focus on instead of the uncomfortable truth settling in his gut.
He'd been assigned to protect someone the whole town already saw as guilty.
Which meant if he did his job right, he'd be standing between Maren Pitch and every person who thought they knew better.
His tiger stirred restlessly, uneasy with the weight of what was coming.
"Yeah," Tristan muttered into the cold. "I know."
But liking it didn't matter. The job mattered. Keeping people safe mattered.
Even when they didn't want to be saved.
He emerged from the woods near the town square. The Griddle & Grind glowed warm in the distance, and for half a second he considered stopping for coffee. But duty pulled harder than comfort.
Tomorrow he'd start surveillance.
Tonight, he'd prepare for everything that could go wrong.