Page 27 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

"No," I agree, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "It just means I'm not sleeping in my truck."

She huffs out a laugh, soft and surprised, like she'd forgotten she still had one left in her after a week like this. "Good. The springs in that thing are terrible anyway."

I tighten my arm around her and watch the light sweep past the window, slow and steady, the same rhythm it's kept for sixty years guiding ships home through the fog — and think that finally since I came back to Moonhaven, I now understand what it's been waiting to guide me toward all along.

11

REINA

Ishould be focusing on the investigation. Instead, I spend most of the time trying not to think about Finn. The effort proves useless. Every task somehow circles back to him, every quiet moment becoming dangerous in its own way. I organize records inside the lighthouse and remember the way his hand lingered against mine. I repair a damaged lantern and remember the look in his eyes when he defended me before the council. I step onto the balcony to check the weather and remember waking beside him after pulling him from the sea.

The memories refuse to leave. Worse, my body refuses to ignore them. The bond remains steady, persistent, an awareness resting beneath my skin. Not painful, not overwhelming, simply there. Waiting.

I grip the balcony railing and stare toward the harbor as the town below continues its routine—fishing vessels leave the docks, merchants open their shops, people move through the streets. Life goes on. Mine feels strangely suspended.

A knock sounds downstairs, and my pulse immediately skips. "This is ridiculous."

The bond offers no opinion. The knock comes again, and I already know who it is, the certainty alone sending warmth rushing through me. Annoying. Very annoying.

When I get to the door, I've gathered enough composure to function. Barely.

Finn stands outside, the sight of him creating the same reaction as always—that immediate pull, that impossible awareness. His gaze settles on mine, something flashing across his expression. Recognition. Relief. Perhaps he's feeling it too.

"Good morning," he says.

"Is it?"

His mouth twitches. "You seem cheerful."

"I blame you," I say, the response escaping swiftly.

Finn blinks, then laughs, the sound immediately making the situation worse. I step aside. "Don't look so pleased with yourself."

"I'll do my best."

"You won't."

"No," he admits, his grin widening. At least he's honest.

The lighthouse suddenly feels smaller than usual. Finn glances toward the stack of ward reports resting on my table. "Any new discoveries?"

The question helps. Investigation is safer territory. Far safer. "Nothing useful."

I grab my satchel. "Which means we'll probably find something today."

Finn's eyebrows rise. "That sounds backwards."

We leave the lighthouse together, the coastal wind greeting us immediately. By now, walking beside Finn feels surprisingly natural, the realization should probably concern me. Instead, it settles somewhere warm inside my chest.

The path north remains quiet, neither of us speaking for a while. Not because conversation feels difficult. Because it doesn't. The silence feels comfortable, easy, a strange thing to share with someone I've known for such a short time.

Eventually Finn glances toward me. "You didn't sleep well."

I sigh. "You sound disturbingly confident."

"You have shadows under your eyes."

I immediately look away. "Maybe I was working."