Chapter 5 Tristan
TRISTAN
The forge burned hot even in winter, heat bleeding through stone walls and turning snow to steam where it touched the building.
Tristan approached through ankle-deep powder, already cataloguing details.
Smoke rising wrong. Crowd gathered too close.
Silas standing outside with his arms crossed, jaw tight.
Not good.
"What happened?" Tristan asked, reaching the bear shifter's side.
"Lantern exploded." Silas nodded toward the forge's open door. "Icy blue flame, like nothing I've seen before. Burned cold instead of hot."
"Anyone hurt?"
"No. But it scared the hell out of my apprentice." Silas rubbed a hand over his face. "Kid dropped his hammer and ran. Can't blame him."
Tristan moved toward the entrance. "Show me."
Inside, the forge looked like someone had set off a frost bomb. Ice coated one entire wall in crystalline patterns, beautiful and completely wrong. The lantern lay in pieces on the floor, glass scattered in a perfect circle. The air still smelled sharp, metallic, like winter lightning.
"Started normal," Silas said from behind him. "Oil lamp, standard wick. Then the flame turned blue and everything just froze."
Tristan crouched near the glass, studying the scatter pattern. Explosion from within, not external force. He pulled a leather glove from his pocket and carefully lifted a shard. The glass felt wrong against his palm, too cold and somehow hollow.
His tiger stirred, uneasy.
"Shadow residue?" Tristan asked.
"That's what it looks like." Silas leaned against his workbench, arms still crossed. "Same signature as the lake marks, from what Mills told me."
"Who else has been in here today?"
"Just me and the apprentice. We've been working on ward-iron all morning." Silas gestured toward a pile of horseshoes waiting for enchantment. "Normal work. Nothing that should've triggered this."
Tristan stood, scanning the rest of the forge. Everything else looked untouched. Just the one lantern, the one wall. Targeted or random, hard to say.
"The Pitch woman walked past around noon," someone said from the doorway.
Tristan turned. Three townspeople stood clustered in the entrance, faces ranging from concerned to hostile. The speaker was a woman he recognized from the Mercantile, bundled in a thick wool coat.
"I saw her," the woman continued. "Walking up from the apothecary with her shadows all around her. Right before we heard the explosion."
"How long before?" Tristan asked.
"Maybe ten minutes? Fifteen?"
"That's not right," Silas cut in. "The explosion happened at least twenty minutes after I saw her pass by. I checked the time because I needed to pull the horseshoes before they cooled."
The woman's mouth thinned. "Still. She was here. And then this happened."
"Lot of people walk past the forge," Tristan said, keeping his voice level. "Doesn't make them responsible for accidents."
"It's not an accident when it keeps happening." Another voice from the crowd, male this time. "Wards cracking. Strange fires. All since she showed up."
"She's been here two years," Silas pointed out. "Nothing's happened until now."
"Maybe she's getting stronger. Or losing control." The first woman stepped closer, arms wrapped around herself. "Either way, someone needs to do something before people get hurt."
Tristan's jaw tightened. He'd spent the last day and a half watching Maren from a distance, tracking her movements through town. She'd kept to herself, run basic errands, spoken to maybe three people total. Nothing suspicious. Nothing threatening.
Just a woman trying to exist while everyone looked for reasons to fear her.
"I'll investigate," Tristan said. "But I need you all to step back and let me work."
The crowd didn't move immediately, but eventually they dispersed, muttering among themselves. Tristan caught phrases like "Council's too soft" and "should've never let her stay."
Silas waited until they were gone before speaking. "You think she did this?"
"I think evidence points to shadow magic," Tristan said carefully. "But shadow magic doesn't automatically mean Maren Pitch."
"Town doesn't see it that way."
"Town doesn't want to see it that way." Tristan pulled out his notepad, sketching the ice pattern. "Easier to blame the outsider than admit something else might be wrong."
"You sound like you've seen this before."
"Different countries. Same fear." Tristan pocketed the notebook. "Keep the forge closed until I clear it. Don't let anyone touch the glass."
"You got it."
Tristan left through the back entrance, avoiding what remained of the crowd. The sun hung low now, turning snow orange and shadows long. He needed to check on Maren, make sure yesterday's confrontation at the apothecary hadn't escalated.
His comm crackled. "Ash, you there?"
"Copy."
"Emmett wants you to escort Maren Pitch home." Mills's voice carried tension. "Make sure she gets there safe. Thomas Wells is gathering people at the Silver Fang. Talking about 'handling the problem' themselves."
Tristan's hand tightened on the comm unit. "Where is she now?"
"Last I heard, still in town. Diana saw her near the Book Nook."
"On my way."
Tristan changed direction, angling back toward the square.
The temperature had dropped with the sun, turning breath to fog and making every surface slick.
He found Maren outside Lucien's bookshop, clutching a paper-wrapped bundle and looking like she was debating whether to go inside somewhere else or just leave.
"Miss Pitch," he called.
She turned, silver eyes finding him immediately.
Even in the fading light, she was striking.
Tall and poised despite the obvious tension in her shoulders, black curls escaping a loose braid to frame high cheekbones and smooth brown skin.
The flowing black dress and cloak made her look like she'd stepped out of old folklore, dangerous and beautiful and utterly calm despite everything happening around her.
His tiger went very still.
"Officer Ash," she said quietly. "I assume this isn't a coincidence."
"I'm here to walk you home."
"Walk me home or make sure I leave town?"
"The first one." He moved closer, lowering his voice. "There's been another incident. Tensions are high. Emmett wants to make sure you get back safely."
"Another incident." She didn't sound surprised, just tired. "Let me guess. Something broke, and I was nearby."
"A lantern at the forge. Shadow magic signature."
"Of course it was." Her grip tightened on the bundle. "And now everyone's convinced I'm responsible."
"Some people are." Tristan scanned the square, noting which windows had faces pressed against glass, watching. "Which is why I'm here. To make sure nobody does something stupid."
She studied him for a long moment, those silver eyes searching for something. Her shadows moved around her feet, barely visible in the dimming light but present. Watchful.
"Alright," she said finally. "Let's go before I become tonight's entertainment."
They fell into step together, Tristan positioning himself slightly between her and the town center. Professional distance but close enough to respond if needed. The walk toward the forest path started quiet, just boots crunching through snow and wind stirring through bare branches.
"You've been watching me," Maren said suddenly.
Tristan didn't bother denying it. "Council orders."
"And what have you seen?"
"Someone going about their business. Running errands. Talking to maybe three people." He kept his gaze forward, scanning the treeline ahead. "Nothing that warrants the fear I'm seeing in town."
"But you still think I might be dangerous."
"I think someone's using shadow magic to cause problems. Whether that's you or someone else, I don't know yet."
She made a soft sound that might've been a laugh. "At least you admit you don't know. Most people have already decided."
"I'm not most people."
"No. You're not."
They left the town's edge behind, lamplight fading as forest pressed in around them. The path to her cottage cut through dense pines, snow unmarked except for a few animal tracks. Isolated. Vulnerable.
"They're going to blame me for this," Maren said quietly. "No matter what you find."
"Maybe."
"Definitely." She pulled her cloak tighter against the cold. "I've seen this before. Once fear takes root, evidence doesn't matter."
Tristan wanted to argue, but he couldn't. She wasn't wrong. He'd seen it happen in too many places, watched fear turn reasonable people into something ugly and dangerous.
"Can I ask something?" Maren's voice pulled his attention back.
"Go ahead."
"Why did you take this assignment? Babysitting the town witch can't be high on anyone's priority list."
"It's not babysitting. It's protection." Tristan paused, choosing his words carefully. "And I took it because someone needed to. Because letting fear run unchecked is more dangerous than any magic I've seen."
Her silver eyes caught his ice-blue gaze and held it. The shadows around her feet stilled completely, no longer restless.
They reached her cottage as full dark settled over the woods. Warm light glowed through the windows, smoke curled from the chimney, and the whole place looked like something out of a fairy tale. Safe and separate from the world.
Maren paused at her door, turning to face him. "Do you need to check inside? Make sure I'm not harboring dark forces or plotting the town's destruction?"