Chapter 8 Maren
MAREN
Despite the front she put on, Maren felt more exposed by leaving her home. And by only the second night, she had already wished she hadn’t left.
Maren watched through the safe house window as snow turned the world into a wall of white. Wind howled through the trees, bending branches until they groaned. The wards hummed against the onslaught, holding steady but strained.
She'd lit candles throughout the main room, their flames casting restless shadows that merged with her own. The fire in the hearth burned hot, but cold still crept through cracks in the shutters.
The patterned knock sounded at the door.
Maren opened it to find Tristan covered in snow, his dark hair white with it, ice-blue eyes sharp despite the storm battering him.
"You shouldn't be out in this," she said, stepping aside.
"Neither should you if something goes wrong." He stamped snow from his boots and entered, bringing cold air with him. "Safe house hasn't been used in over a year. Lots of assumptions that everything works properly."
"So you're staying."
"I'm staying."
Maren closed the door and threw the bolt, sealing them inside together while the storm raged outside.
Tristan shrugged off his coat, hanging it near the fire. His thermal shirt clung to broad shoulders, damp from melted snow. He moved to the hearth and crouched, adding wood with practiced efficiency.
"How long?" Maren asked.
"Storm? Could be all night." He straightened, scanning the cabin like he was cataloguing exits and weak points. "You have enough supplies?"
"For a few days at least." She moved to the kitchen, pulling down two mugs. "Coffee?"
"Yeah."
She prepared it in silence, hyper-aware of him in the small space. The cabin suddenly felt intimate with Tristan inside.
"Here." She handed him a mug.
Their fingers brushed. Heat sparked through the contact, sharp and unexpected.
Tristan's gaze flicked to hers, something unreadable passing through those ice-blue eyes before he looked away.
They sat at opposite ends of the small table, steam rising between them. Wind rattled the shutters. Snow hissed against glass.
"You don't have to stay," Maren said quietly. "I know how to handle storms."
"It's not the storm I'm worried about."
"What then?"
"Everything else. Vandals using the storm as cover. Magic destabilizing under pressure. You being alone if something goes wrong."
"I've been alone for two years. I'm used to it."
"Doesn't mean you should be."
She wrapped both hands around her mug forcing herself to believe that’s that what just caused the sudden warmth through her chest. "Why do you care?"
"I told you—"
"No. Really." She leaned forward slightly. "Why do you care about someone the whole town wants gone? It can't just be duty."
Tristan was quiet as he studied his tea like it held answers. Finally, he let out a heavy but quiet sigh as he said, "I know what it's like to lose someone because people were afraid. Because fear made them dangerous."
"Who did you lose?"
His jaw went rigid. "Someone who mattered."
The finality in his tone said the conversation was over. Maren didn't push.
One of the candles on the mantel flickered violently, not from a draft though. The flame stretched and twisted like something was pulling at it from the inside.
Maren's shadows recoiled.
"That's not wind," Tristan said, standing.
"No." She moved toward the candle, watching the flame dance unnaturally. "It's magic. Something's interfering again."
The flame turned blue at the edges, cold light mixing with warm. Maren reached out instinctively, trying to sense what was causing it.
Her magic responded and lurched sideways.
The candle exploded in a spray of wax and blue fire. Tristan yanked her back, his arm around her waist as flames spread across the mantel before dying just as suddenly.
They stood frozen, his arm still locked around her, both breathing hard.
"You okay?" His voice came out rough near her ear.
"Yes. But my magic isn't."
He released her slowly. "What just happened?"
Maren stared at the scorched mantel, her hands shaking. "Something called to my magic. Like it did at the stream. But stronger this time."
"Called to it how?"
"Like there's another shadow witch nearby. But that's impossible." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm the only one in Hollow Oak."
"Are you sure?"
"Shadow magic is rare. Bloodline magic, passed down through families." She moved over to the window, staring out at the storm. "My mother was the last in our line besides me. And she's dead."
"Could someone be copying your signature? Using it as a weapon?"
"Maybe. But they'd need deep knowledge of shadow work. The kind that's forbidden."
"Forbidden how?"
Maren's shadows curled tighter, protective. She'd never told anyone the full truth about her bloodline. Never trusted anyone enough. But, right now, she felt like she needed to.
"My family line isn't just shadow witches," she said quietly. "We're descended from the Pitch Sisters. Old magic. The kind that was outlawed three hundred years ago because it could manipulate more than shadows."
"Manipulate what?"
"Fear. Memory. The space between life and death." She faced him. "Shadow magic is just what survived after the bloodline was purged. The rest was supposed to be lost."
Tristan's expression didn't change. He stayed tactical which Maren was thankful for.
"You think someone's using that old magic against you," he said.
"I think someone knows what I am. What I could be if I knew how to access it." Maren's voice dropped. "And they're trying to frame me for magical incidents while also triggering my magic to prove I'm dangerous."
"That's a lot of effort to get rid of one witch."
"Unless they want more than just getting rid of me." She moved closer to the fire. "Unless they want what's in my bloodline."
Tristan joined her at the hearth. "Can they take it?"
"Not without killing me. But if they force me to use it, to lose control, they could study it. Replicate it." She met his gaze directly. "That's why I never told the Council. Why I kept that part of myself hidden."
"You thought they'd use you."
"Or exile me. Or bind me like my last town did." Her hands clenched. "Fear of what I might become is worse than fear of what I am."
"But you're telling me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Maren had lots of answers rolling through her mind but none that she could allow herself to admit.
"Because you haven't run yet," she said instead. "And because if something happens to me, someone should know the truth."
The wind howled louder, rattling the entire cabin. The wards flared bright for a moment, then settled.
Tristan moved to check the windows, testing the shutters. "Storm's getting worse."
"We're safe here."
"Maybe" He turned back to her. "If someone's targeting you specifically, they might use the storm as cover. Everyone's sheltering. No witnesses."
"Then what do we do?"
His ice-blue eyes caught firelight. "We stay alert. Keep the wards strong. And if anything feels wrong, we fight."
They settled into an uneasy watch, Tristan near the door and Maren by the fire. Her shadows expanded across the floor between them, connecting them like dark threads.
As a few hours passed, the storm still didn’t let up.
"Can I say something?" Maren said into the quiet.
"Go ahead."
"The person you lost. Were they afraid too?"
Tristan's jaw worked. "No. Other people were. And they made her pay for it."
Her. Past tense. Pain buried so deep it had calcified into something harder.
"I'm sorry," Maren said.
"Don't be. Just don't let them do the same to you." He looked at her across the firelit space. "Whatever your bloodline can do, whoever you could become, that's not what makes you dangerous. Fear does."
"How do you know I'm not dangerous?"
"Because I've seen dangerous. Lived with it. Survived it." His expression softened fractionally. "You're not it."
The simple statement caught her off guard with how much it meant to hear that opinion.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"For what?"
"For saying that. I needed to hear it."
He looked almost sad for a moment but then his mouth quirked slightly. "Takes more than forbidden bloodline magic to scare me."
"What does scare you?"
Tristan’s quirk faded, firelight painting shadows across his face.
"Failing again," he finally said. "Not being strong enough when it matters."
She decided not to push further. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, something fragile and dangerous settled between them in the silence that followed.
Maren didn't know what it was, just that she couldn't afford to trust it.