CIAN
I sat there with the weight of it pressing down on my chest until it felt physical, like something heavy had been laid across my ribs and left there on purpose.
Madeline. The magic users. The way they had all turned on me.
The pieces had been there for a while now, scattered across days of unease and half formed suspicion, but they had refused to settle into anything coherent until this moment. I had been accused of killing Ophelia Cottonwood, a witch with enough power and experience to put up a real fight if I had even tried. It had never made sense. Not the accusation, not the certainty with which they had delivered it, especially when the evidence had pointed so clearly to one of their own.
None of that had mattered.
The magical community had closed ranks overnight. Doors shut. Voices went quiet. Allies vanished. I had gone from being tolerated to being a pariah, cut off from the very people who could have balanced the threats pressing in on my pack.
