Page 34 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

"Everything that survived."

My eyebrows rise. "That doesn't sound reassuring."

"It isn't." Iris pulls out a chair. "Several records disappeared years ago."

The statement catches my attention immediately. "Disappeared?"

She nods. "No explanation."

I don't like that. Not even a little.

I sit and open the first ledger, the pages crackling softly. Handwritten entries fill every line, weather reports, harbor logs, damage assessments, and the familiar knot forms in my stomach. This is the story I've heard my entire life. The hurricane arrived, the coastline suffered, people died, storm witches were blamed. Case closed.

I turn another page. Eventually something catches my attention. I stop. Frown. Go back. Read it again.

Iris notices immediately. "What?"

I tap the page. "This report."

She leans closer. "What about it?"

I trace a line with my finger. "'Weather disturbance detected offshore prior to storm formation.'"

Iris shrugs. "That sounds normal."

"No." I point lower. "The hurricane wasn't supposed to begin offshore."

Her expression changes, and I continue reading. "The accepted story says the storm formed near the cliffs."

Iris reaches for the ledger, her eyes moving across the page before she frowns. "That's not what this says."

"No," I say, my pulse quickening. "It isn't."

Suddenly, the room seems to shrink. I turn more pages, faster, and the second report creates another problem. The third creates another. The fourth practically tears the entire story apart.

I examine the documents, then at Iris, then back at the documents.

Iris slowly lowers herself into the chair opposite me. "Tell me you're seeing this too."

"I wish I wasn't," I respond, the answer leaving my mouth immediately. Because if I'm right, then somebody lied. Not recently. Years ago. Generations ago.

I spread several reports across the table. "Look."

Iris follows my gesture. "The witness statements don't match."

"They never do."

"Not those." I point again. "These."

Her eyes move between pages, the confusion on her face gradually giving way to understanding. "Oh."

Exactly. Oh.

Several witnesses describe strange magical disturbances before the hurricane arrived. Others describe lights offshore, unusual currents, distorted weather patterns. None of them mention storm witches causing the disaster. Not one.

I sit back slowly. The silence stretches, neither of us speaking, until eventually Iris breaks it. "This changes things."

My throat tightens. Changes things. The words feel far too small. I spent my entire life carrying a shame that never belonged to me, every whisper, every accusation, every suspicious glance, all rooted in a story everyone accepted without question.