Page 85 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

A knock sounds from below, and moments later the lighthouse door opens. Finn appears carrying a basket, and the sight softens something inside me.

"There you are," he says, grinning the moment he sees me.

"You found me," I say, crossing my arms.

"I'm exceptionally talented," he replies.

"You walked to the lighthouse."

"I said what I said."

Despite myself, a smile creeps across my face, and Finn notices immediately..

He climbs the remaining steps and holds up the basket between us. "Food," he says simply.

"You bribed me?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"I prefer prepared," he says.

I laugh softly, but Finn's expression shifts in an instant, the humor draining from it as concern takes its place.

"You look worried," he notices.

The observation lands too quickly for comfort.

"I feel something," I admit.

His attention sharpens. "What kind of something?"

"I don't know," I say, glancing toward the sea. The answer frustrates me, mostly because it is true.

Finn studies my face long enough to realize I am not joking, and the teasing disappears entirely.

"You think it's connected?" he asks.

"Yes," I say, the answer leaving me without hesitation, without doubt.

He follows my gaze toward the harbor, where the festival carries on below us—joy, celebration, excitement, exactly as it should. That bothers me more than obvious danger would.

Finn rests a hand against my back, and the contact steadies me more than I expect.

"We'll figure it out," he says.

I nod, trying to believe him, trying not to let the anxiety swallow me. The feeling keeps growing, like a tide rising slowly beneath the surface, waiting, watching, preparing. And I can't shake the certainty that we are running out of time.

The festival reaches its peak after sunset. Lanterns light the harbor in gold, music echoing between buildings as visitors crowd every available street and merchants display their finest goods beneath fluttering banners. The entire town feels alive.

I move through the crowd carefully. Not everyone is pleased to see me, and conversations stop the moment I pass, only to continue in lowered voices once I have gone by. I ignore them. My attention stays fixed elsewhere, on the disturbance that has grown stronger—not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for me. A strange pressure lingers beneath the celebration, like thunder hiding behind clear skies.

The sensation leads me toward the central marketplace, toward the largest gathering of visitors, toward Aldric.

The moment I spot him, my steps slow. Something about him feels different. Not his appearance, but his demeanor. Confidence radiates from him, and the careful restraint he usually wears like armor seems thinner tonight.

Aldric stands surrounded by wealthy merchants, buyers, investors, dignitaries from distant ports, all listening like he is the only voice worth hearing. Everyone laughs at his stories. Everyone treats him like the successful harbor leader he has spent years pretending to be.

I stop near the gathering, far enough away to avoid attention, close enough to hear every word.

Aldric lifts a glass, and the crowd quiets on command.