Chapter 24 Tristan
TRISTAN
Tristan was halfway to Moonmirror Lake when the shouting started.
He stopped mid-stride, head turning toward town. Multiple voices, overlapping, carrying the particular tone that meant fear had turned into action. His comm unit crackled before he could move.
"Ash, we've got a situation." Mills sounded breathless. "The witch attacked someone at the northern grove. Witness saw her summon her shadow and everything. Thomas Wells is organizing a search party."
"Maren wouldn't—"
"I'm just telling you what people saw. Wells has maybe twenty people with him, all armed, all pissed. They're tracking her into the woods."
Tristan was already moving, reversing course at a dead run. "Where exactly?"
"Northern grove, heading northwest. They lost the trail about ten minutes ago but they're spreading out." Mills paused. "Emmett's trying to call them back but nobody's listening. This is going sideways fast."
"Keep Emmett updated. I'm going after her."
He cut the connection and pushed harder through the snow. The path he'd broken earlier helped, but not enough. Powder still grabbed at his legs, slowing progress that needed to be fast.
The northern grove appeared through the trees. He found the cleared area immediately, snow pushed aside in perfect circles that could only be shadow work. Frost-wort scattered across exposed ground. Claw marks in tree bark where something had struck hard.
And boot prints. Dozens of them, all converging from different directions.
Thomas Wells emerged from the trees, flanked by six others. All carrying clubs, knives, and one shotgun that Tristan recognized from the man's shop. Their faces were flushed with cold and conviction.
"Officer Ash." Wells's voice carried challenge. "Come to help us find your witch?"
"She's not my witch. And you need to stand down before someone gets hurt."
"Someone already got hurt. Maya Brennan saw the whole thing. Said the witch summoned a shadow demon, attacked it, made it look like she was defending herself." Wells stepped closer. "But Maya's smart enough to recognize theater when she sees it."
"That's not what happened."
"You weren't there. Maya was. She saw shadow magic, saw that creature, saw the witch standing in the middle of it all." Wells gestured to the others. "We've got families to protect. Council gave you three days and you've got nothing. Time we took matters into our own hands."
"The Council gave me an extension. I have until tomorrow."
"Tomorrow someone might be dead." Wells moved past him, following tracks that led deeper into the forest. "You want to help, help. You want to stop us, try."
The others followed, weapons ready, faces set. Tristan counted twenty people, all hunting someone who couldn't defend herself without proving them right.
He pulled out his comm. "Mills, tell Emmett the mob's armed and organized. I'm going after Maren before they find her."
"Copy. Be careful."
Tristan pocketed the device and studied the tracks. Boot prints headed northwest, stumbling in places, showing exhaustion. The mob had lost the trail somewhere but they'd pick it up again eventually if he didn't move faster.
He shifted partially, letting instinct rise. His vision sharpened, picking up details regular sight would miss.
Something inside him pulled hard toward the northwest. Not logical. Not tactical. Just certainty that she was that direction, that she needed him, that every second wasted was a second closer to losing her.
The forest blurred past, snow barely slowing him with shifter strength driving each stride. The trail grew fresher. She'd come this way recently, moving fast but starting to slag. He found where she'd fallen, the impact site obvious in disturbed snow.
Then the tracks veered sharply west. She’d gotten turned around in the storm, circling back toward the lake despite her best efforts.
Tristan pushed harder. Behind him, voices echoed through the trees. The mob spreading out, getting closer, their numbers turning search into inevitability.
Moonmirror Lake materialized through the trees, its surface frozen black beneath fresh snow. The shoreline stretched empty except for one figure collapsed near the water's edge.
Maren.
She sat in the snow, staring at the lake with unseeing eyes. Her cloak was soaked, her lips tinged blue, and her whole body shook with cold.
"Maren." Tristan dropped beside her, checking for injuries. No blood. No obvious wounds. Just exhaustion and exposure pulling her under.
"The water remembers," she mumbled, her voice slurred. "Mother said it remembers. Where shadows sleep. Where the water never freezes but it's frozen now. Everything's frozen."
"We need to move. Can you stand?"
"Tried to find it. Tried to see. But the water won't show me." Her silver eyes found his, unfocused. "She hid it here. I know she did. But where? Where would water remember?"
Hypothermia. She was delirious, speaking in fragments that might be meaningful if he could parse them.
Tristan pulled off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Come on. Up."
Her head lolled against his shoulder. "Let them find me. Easier that way."
"Not happening."
He lifted her easily despite her height, cradling her against his chest. She made a sound of protest but didn't fight, just curled into his warmth like a child seeking comfort.
Voices echoed closer. The mob would reach the lake within minutes.
Tristan turned away from the sound and headed deeper into the forest, away from the search party, away from town.
The safe house was too obvious, they'd check it immediately.
But there were other places, other shelters, spots he'd catalogued during patrol that could hide them until she recovered enough to think clearly.
Maren's breathing evened out against his chest. Passing out or falling asleep, hard to say. Her dark shadows wrapped around them both, seeking his warmth, pressing close in a way that felt protective and possessive.
His instincts screamed right with every step, even as logic said this was insane. Running from the people he was supposed to serve. Harboring someone the mob had decided was guilty. Choosing her over duty, over town, over everything he'd built here.
But she fit against him like she'd been designed for this exact position, and the pull that had led him straight to her hummed satisfied in his chest.
Snow fell heavier. Behind them, the voices faded as the mob lost the trail. Ahead, shelter waited in the form of an old hunting cabin barely visible through the white.
Tristan kicked the door open and carried Maren inside, already planning. He needed fire, warmth, protection. Tomorrow they'd figure out the rest.
Tonight he just needed to keep her alive.