Page 25 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

Hope. A feeling I stopped trusting a long time ago.

The mate link pulses quietly between us, not demanding, not forcing, simply present—a reminder that neither of us is facing this entirely alone. I glance back at the damaged ward, then at Finn, then at the coastline stretching endlessly ahead. The evidence points at me. The town already wants someone to blame. And yet Finn stands here looking at the same proof and refusing to believe it.

The realization settles unexpectedly. Warm. Comforting. Terrifying.

Finally, I sigh. "Fine."

Finn's eyebrows rise. "Fine?"

"We investigate."

His smile appears instantly, victorious, and I immediately regret everything. "Don't look so pleased."

"I'll try."

"You won't."

"No," he admits, the answer coming far too quickly. Despite myself, I laugh, the sound surprising both of us.

Then the moment fades. The cliffs remain. The damaged wards remain. The mystery remains. Finally since the storms began, I no longer feel like I'm carrying the burden alone.

And evidently, that changes everything.

10

FINN

The storm wards along the north cliff path are worse than I expected — three more collapsed since yesterday, their protective runes scorched black at the edges like something burned them out from the inside. Reina crouches beside the nearest one, fingers hovering over the ruined sigil without touching it, her jaw tight in the way I'm starting to recognize means she's holding something back.

"It's not mine," she says, before I ask. "The signature's close. Too close. But it's not mine."

"I believe you."

She glances up at that, surprised, like she's still waiting for the moment I stop saying it. We've spent the whole day like this — climbing the cliff path, comparing the dead wards against the ones still standing, cataloging every place the magic feels wrong in a way she can sense and I can only trust her word on. Twelve hours of her shoulder near mine, her voice low and focused, her hands deft and sure even when her composure is anything but.

By the time we make it back to the lighthouse, the sun's long gone and the wind off the water has turned cold enough that she's shivering before she gets the door shut behind us.

"You're freezing." I shrug out of my coat before she can argue and settle it over her shoulders, my hands lingering a beat too long against her arms.

"Finn." Her voice is quiet. Careful. "You can’t keep doing that."

"I know I don't have to."

She looks up at me, and the lighthouse beam sweeps past the window behind her, throwing gold light across her face for half a second before it's gone again — ocean eyes, freckled skin, that stubborn set to her mouth that I've wanted to kiss since the moment she pulled me out of the water and I felt the bond lock into place like something that had been missing my whole life finally found.

"This doesn't change anything about the investigation," she says, like she's reciting it to herself.

"No," I agree. "It doesn't."

Neither of us moves.

"Reina." Her name comes out rougher than I mean it to. "Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me this is a bad idea and I'll go sleep in my truck and we'll be back on the cliff path by sunrise like nothing happened."

"That's the problem." Her hand comes up, fingers curling into the front of my shirt. "I don't want you to stop."

That's all I need.

I close the distance and kiss her — finally, after a day of forcing myself not to — and she comes up onto her toes to meet me with a hunger that knocks every careful thought out of my head. My coat slides off her shoulders and hits the floor. Her hands are already working at my shirt impatiently, which doesn't match the composed, guarded woman I've watched hold this whole town together for a week. I like this version of her. I like it more than I should.