Semua Bab Christmas in ashes : Bab 51 - Bab 60

The fire leaves a scar.Not just on the warehouse—though the blackened ribs of it loom for days, a skeletal reminder at the edge of town—but on Hallowpine itself. People talk differently now. Softer in public. Sharper in private. The gratitude has curdled into something more cautious, more conditional.They’re learning the rules I didn’t write.I walk Main Street and feel the recalibration everywhere. Shopkeepers meet my eyes, then look away. A man tips his hat and immediately regrets it. A woman whispers my name like it might answer back.Lucien falls into step beside me. “You did something clever.”“I did something necessary.”“You let them work for it,” he says. “You made them part of the outcome.”“That’s the point,” I reply. “If I fix everything, they never learn what breaks.”The silver hums—steady, grounded. It’s no longer urging me forward or pulling me back. It’s watching with me, alert to nuance. Balance, it seems, isn’t a static state. It’s a posture.At home, Aunt Ruby is

The night after the forum doesn’t bring relief.It brings resolve.I feel it in the way Hallowpine settles—not easing, not tensing, but bracing. Like a town that’s decided to stop waiting for permission and start daring consequences to show their face.That’s always when things get dangerous.I wake before dawn with the silver thrumming low and steady, not alarmed but attentive. It feels heavier tonight, like gravity has learned my name and decided to lean in. I sit up slowly, letting the sensation pass through me instead of fighting it.Control was never the lesson.Endurance is.Downstairs, Aunt Ruby is already awake, robe tied tight, eyes sharp. “I dreamed of hands,” she says without preamble. “Too many. Reaching.”“That’s not a dream,” I reply.Lucien appears in the doorway moments later, coat already on. “Elias is moving early.”Of course he is.By midmorning, flyers are everywhere. Not flashy. Not aggressive. Practical. A new “Community Action Group.” Emergency preparedness work

Blame doesn’t arrive loudly.It doesn’t kick in doors or scream accusations into the street. It seeps. It slips into conversations already in progress and changes their direction by a few careful degrees. It learns how to sound reasonable.I hear it in the way my name is said now—not whispered, not praised. Measured. Tested. Like a hypothesis someone wants to prove without admitting they’re running an experiment.The broken window is already replaced, but the memory of it isn’t. People look at the glass as if it’s evidence, not repair.Lucien notices before I do. He always does. “They’ve started grouping you with the incidents.”“Which ones?” I ask.“All of them,” he replies.A power outage three streets over. A fight outside the diner. A child waking up screaming from a nightmare vivid enough to draw blood where no wound should exist. None of it directly tied to me. None of it fully separable either.Correlation is a seductive thing.Milo stays close today. Closer than usual. His sil

The first thing Hallowpine does after choosing fear is watch me harder,not openly, not even with torches or shouted accusations. It watches the way towns always do when they’re trying to convince themselves they’re still good people. Through curtains. Through secondhand stories. Through silence that lingers just a second too long after my name is mentioned.Consent has shifted, and everyone feels it.I wake before dawn with the silver tight beneath my skin, no longer humming idly but holding tension like a drawn wire. The boundary repositioned last night didn’t tear anything open, but it changed the geometry of the town. Paths bend differently now. Sound travels oddly. Doors stick where they never used to.Power hates being noticed.Lucien is already up, pacing the kitchen. “Elias didn’t sleep,” he says without preamble. “Neither did Gideon. They’re coordinating.”“Of course they are,” I reply, wrapping my hands around a mug I don’t intend to drink from. “Fear organizes faster than tr

They don’t rush me.That’s the first thing that tells me this isn’t over—it’s only changing shape.People stand frozen in the street, breath fogging the air, eyes wide with the kind of shock that comes from seeing themselves reflected too clearly. The mirror holds. Not violently. Not punitively. Just long enough to make denial impossible.Elias recovers first. Of course he does. Men like him always do.“Everyone,” he says calmly, raising his hands, palms out. “Let’s take a step back. This isn’t what we intended.”The silver tightens, not in anger but in emphasis. Intent doesn’t erase impact. It never has.I step forward, just one step, and the crowd recoils again. Not because I’m threatening—because now they understand proximity. They understand that standing this close to someone you’re trying to remove carries weight.“You came here to take me,” I say quietly. “So don’t pretend you were here to talk.”A woman near the back whispers, “We just wanted things to go back to normal.”I lo