Page 63 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

The officer doesn't answer, because he already knows. That realization settles heavily in my chest. This isn't a search. It's a performance. A hunt.

The authorities spread through the lighthouse. Minutes pass. Then a voice shouts from upstairs.

"I found something."

Every muscle in my body tightens. No.

The guard descends carrying a small wooden box. I immediately recognize it—or rather, I recognize that I've never seen it before. The officer takes it, opens it. Silence falls. The contents spill onto the table. Several rings. A broken pocket watch. A silver chain.

The room begins spinning. I examine the objects, then at the officer, then back again.

Those are definitely not mine and shouldn’t be in there.

The officer lifts one of the rings. A fisherman standing near the doorway immediately pales. "That's my brother's."

The words echo through the room. Another woman gasps. A second man steps forward. "The watch." His voice breaks. "That belongs to my father."

The atmosphere changes instantly. The room grows heavier, darker. People begin staring at me. Not with suspicion. With certainty.

I back away from the table. "I've never seen those before."

Nobody responds. The officer closes the box, his expression hardening. "They were discovered in your home."

"I know where they were discovered." My voice rises. "I didn't put them there."

The officer remains unmoved. Several townspeople have gathered outside. Word travels quickly in Moonhaven far too quickly.

I look around desperately, at the guards, at the witnesses, at the evidence. Everything feels wrong. Too neat. Too perfect. Exactly like the cloak. Exactly like the magical residue. Exactly like every accusation.

"They were planted."

The officer sighs, almost sadly, as though he's heard the excuse already. "You may explain that to the council."

My stomach drops. The officer steps forward. "Take her."

The words arrive harder than any accusation. Two guards move toward me. I don't fight. Not because I'm afraid. Because it wouldn't matter. The outcome has already been decided.

One guard produces iron restraints. The sight makes my chest tighten. "No." The word barely leaves my mouth. The shackles close around my wrists, cold metal biting into my skin. Humiliation burns through me.

The guards begin leading me outside. The lighthouse disappears behind me. My home. The only place that ever truly belonged to me.

People crowd the path below, watching, whispering, staring. Nobody speaks directly to me. They don't need to. The looks say enough.

The walk toward town feels endless. Every step grows heavier, every whisper grows louder. The shackles rattle softly with each movement. I focus on the ground, on breathing, on surviving the next few minutes.

Then a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

"What the hell is this?!"

My eyes close briefly. Finn.

The guards stop. The crowd parts slightly. Finn strides toward us, his expression dangerous. Not angry. Beyond angry. The sight alone makes several townspeople step back.

His gaze immediately drops to the shackles. The temperature around us seems to drop. "Take those rusty disgrace off."

"Step aside." The lead officer scoffs

Finn doesn't move. "I said take them off."