Page 87 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

FINN

The festival square is chaos, though not yet the panic kind. Crowds still move between merchant stalls, and music still drifts through the air. Children run past laughing, oblivious. The whole town remains blissfully unaware that everything is about to fall apart.

I shove through another cluster of merchants, eyes scanning for Aldric. Nothing. I move faster, the bond humming urgently beneath my skin. Reina's fear isn't panic—it's certainty. Something has started, something big, and the only problem now is finding Aldric before whatever he's planned reaches its conclusion.

A hand catches my arm, and I spin immediately, ready for trouble. Instead, I find my mother standing there, and my shoulders loosen on instinct.

"Mother," I say.

Her expression softens, and the noise of the festival seems to fade around us. She looks at me the way mothers do, as though she can see every version of me at once—the little boy, the teenager, the man standing in front of her now. Her eyes glisten, and the sight makes me uneasy immediately.

"Why do I feel like you're about to say something emotional?" I ask.

"You always hated those," she says, laughing softly.

"Because they're usually traps."

She reaches up and pulls me into a hug before I can brace for it. I freeze, then slowly return the embrace, and she squeezes tighter.

"I'm proud of you," she murmurs.

The words hit harder than I expect. I swallow hard.

"Mother—"

"No," she says, pulling back slightly. "You listen."

Her tone leaves little room for argument, which is unfortunate, since I've clearly inherited that particular stubbornness from her.

"I'm serious," she continues, holding my gaze. "You came back."

The statement sounds simple. It isn't, and we both know it. I left Moonhaven carrying anger, grief, and a hundred good reasons never to return. Yet here I am anyway.

"Your father would've been proud too," she says softly.

The words land directly in my chest, and I can't speak. She notices, of course she notices, and cups my cheek exactly like she used to when I was younger.

"I know you're trying to do the right thing," she says.

My throat tightens just as the bond surges, urgent and sharp. Reina. Something is wrong, very wrong. I stare at the harbor, then back at my mother, and whatever shows on my face makes her expression shift instantly.

"Go," she says.

"What?" I blink.

She steps back. "Go do whatever foolish thing you're about to do."

A laugh surprisingly escapes me despite everything. "That's surprisingly supportive."

"It isn't," she replies, eyes narrowing. "I'm terrified."

She smiles—small, brave, beautiful—and adds, "But I'm still proud of you."

The bond pulses again, harder this time. I grab her hand briefly, then let it go.

"I'll come back," I promise.

She arches an eyebrow. "You'd better." Then she points toward the square. "Now go."