Page 80 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

The room falls silent. Outside, gulls circle above the harbor, ships drift across calm water, and the town continues preparing for celebration, completely unaware of what's happening beneath the surface.

I look at the evidence spread across the table, then at Iris, then Gideon. The three of us have reached the same conclusion, and none of us like it. Because if we're right, Aldric isn't merely covering old crimes anymore. He's clearing the board, making room for whatever comes next.

And with the festival drawing closer, we're running out of time.

29

REINA

The sea is calm. Almost painfully so. The waves roll against the shore in slow, familiar rhythms, the same sound I've fallen asleep to, the same sound that greeted me every morning, the same sound that once made this place feel like home.

I stand by the cliffs and stare toward the horizon. The wind catches my hair, the lighthouse rising behind me, and I simply stand there, watching, remembering.

Moonhaven has never loved me. Not truly. It tolerated me, needed me, blamed me, feared me. But there were moments. Small ones. Moments that felt real—a child waving from a fishing boat, a fisherman leaving fresh bread at my door after I guided him through rough waters, a widow thanking me for repairing the protective wards around her home. Tiny pieces, tiny moments, the kind that convince you to stay. The kind that make leaving hurt.

My gaze drifts across the harbor. Fishing vessels sway gently, workers move along the docks, and life continues as though nothing has changed, as though the town hasn't spent months accusing me of murder. The bitter thought settles in me.

I start walking, past the cliffs, past the path leading toward the lighthouse, my feet seeming to know exactly where to go—the market square, the old stone fountain, the overlook near the eastern shore. Places that shaped my life. Places I loved despite myself.

A familiar laugh reaches my ears, and I pause. Several children chase each other through the square. One nearly collides with me, and the boy freezes, recognition flashing across his face. For a brief moment, uncertainty appears. Then his mother calls him away, and the child runs back to her. The woman avoids looking at me, and the ache returns immediately.

I continue walking. The town has already decided who I am. Maybe it always had. Perhaps I was simply too stubborn to notice.

I stop outside the archive. The windows are open, books lining the shelves inside, though Iris is nowhere in sight. A faint smile touches my lips. How many afternoons had I spent there pretending I wasn't lonely? How many conversations began because Iris refused to let silence exist for too long? The smile fades, and I keep moving.

The clinic comes next. I stop farther away this time. Lisa is inside, busy as always, helping, healing, saving people. A part of me wants to walk inside. Instead, I stand there quietly, looking, remembering. Then I continue on.

The harbor is my final stop, the place where everything always begins and ends. The sea stretches endlessly before me—blue, beautiful, dangerous. I inhale deeply, salt filling my lungs, and a strange peace settles over me. Not happiness. Acceptance.

If I leave tonight, these may be the last places I see. The realization should hurt more. Instead, it feels inevitable. The town already wants me gone. Perhaps I should finally give them what they want.

The lighthouse is quiet when I return. Sunlight filters through the windows, dust drifting through the air, and the familiar sight tightens something inside my chest. I climb the stairs slowly, then begin packing. The task should feel impossible. Instead, it feels strangely easy.

A few clothes. Several journals. My grandmother's records. Important documents. Only the things that matter. The pile grows steadily as I fold another shirt, then another.

A knock sounds downstairs. I freeze, the bond stirring immediately. Finn, of course. The timing doesn't surprise me. Not anymore.

A moment later, the door opens below, footsteps following—fast, purposeful. By the time he reaches the room, I'm already standing beside the half-filled bag.

Finn stops. His gaze moves from me to the bag, then back again. The silence that comes feels dangerous.

"What are you doing?" he finally asks.

I force myself to answer. "Packing."

The word sounds ridiculous spoken aloud. Finn stares, waiting, as though expecting the punchline. When none comes, his expression darkens.

"No."

I blink. "No?"

"No," the answer arrives instantly, firm and certain.

I cross my arms. "That's not your decision."

"It becomes my decision when you're planning something this stupid."

I look at him. Finn stares right back. Neither of us looks away, and the silence stretches.