Page 54 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

I watch the door, the answer coming easily. "Everything."

Finn laughs softly, the sound fading quickly, because he understands exactly what I mean.

I move toward the table. The diary remains open, his suspect list resting beside it. The investigation, the tunnels, the relic, the storms. Every path keeps circling the same handful of people, and after this morning, one of those names feels much harder to ignore.

Finn joins me beside the table, our shoulders brushing, the contact sending warmth through the bond. Neither of us pulls away. The silence feels different now. Certain. Focused. Whatever doubts remained between us have disappeared. No more half measures. No more waiting for someone else to solve it.

I look at the diary, then at the suspect list, then at Finn. "We finish this."

His gaze holds mine, a slow smile appearing. Not playful. Determined. "Yeah," he says. "We do."

And this time neither of us looks away.

20

FINN

The proof is sitting right there in Reina's palm — a picture of a fragment of carved old stone, faintly warm, etched with the same spiraling sigil we found scorched into the dead wards. Real and undeniable.

"It's not a theory anymore," she says, turning it over in the lamplight of the boathouse, her voice unsteady in a way I've never heard from her. "The relic exists. Aldric's been lying to this whole town for decades."

"We did it." I drag a hand down my face, half a laugh breaking loose, the adrenaline of the tunnels still hammering through me — the chase, the near-miss, the hour we spent not breathing until we were sure no one followed us back. "Reina, you know what this confirms. Something else can affect the storm."

She looks up at me, and something in her face cracks open — not fear this time, not the careful composure she wears like armor, just raw, unguarded relief.

"Years of people looking at me like I was the storm. I almost thought I was behind it myself."

"You are welcome" I snicker softly.

"You believed me before there was proof."

"The good in you is not what can be masked. Others are blind because they aren't seeing you from the point I do. I have seen all of you." I close the distance between us, my hands finding her waist. "And I accept all of it,”

Her breath catches. The drawing of the relic plus the fragment she finds slip from her fingers onto the worn boathouse table, forgotten the second my mouth finds hers.

This kiss isn't like the first time. That one was hunger and disbelief, two people falling into something neither of us meant to want. This one is slower, deeper, full of everything we've been too careful to say out loud .

I trust you, I choose you, I'm not going anywhere.

"Finn." She pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes bright in the lamplight. "I love you."

The words hit me harder than the storm that nearly drowned me. "Say that again."

"I love you," she says, steadier now, like she's testing the shape of it and finding she likes how it fits. "I've been trying not to. I've spent six years convincing myself I didn't deserve to be chosen by anyone, let alone fate, and then you came back to this town and made it impossible to keep believing that."

" Good because …”My voice comes out rough. "I love you too. I think I've loved you since the first night, when you sat across from me in that lighthouse and told me you'd rather be alone than be a burden to anyone. I wanted to tear that belief apart with my bare hands."

She laughs — a real laugh, wet at the edges — and kisses me again, harder this time, her fingers fisting in the front of my shirt like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.

"Take me upstairs," she commands against my mouth.

I don't need telling twice.

The loft above the boathouse is small and familiar now — the smell of salt and cedar thick in the air, moonlight spilling through the single round window. I get Reina's coat off her shoulders the second we're through the door, my mouth finding her throat while her hands work at my shirt with a steadiness that wasn't there the first time. This isn't desperation anymore. This is certainty.

"I want to remember this one," she murmurs, tipping her head back to give me better access to her throat. "Slow. I want to feel every second of it."

"Then that's what you'll get."