The square did not return to normal.
Not really.
Evergreen Falls pretended—lights were fixed, the market reopened, the choir finished its songs—but something invisible had cracked. People spoke in lowered voices. Eyes followed Maya everywhere she went. Even the snow seemed hesitant, falling slower, as if the town itself was waiting for permission to breathe again.
Maya sat on the edge of the paramedic van, a foil blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her hands trembled—not from cold, but from exhaustion so deep it felt like gravity had doubled.
"You're lucky," the medic said gently, checking her pulse. "No injuries. Probably shock."
Maya almost laughed.
If only you knew what luck actually cost.
Rowan stood a few feet away, arguing quietly with a police officer. His voice was calm, controlled, but Maya could hear the iron beneath it—the same tone he used when danger pressed too close.
"She fainted," Rowan said. "That's all."
"And the ice?" the officer asked. "The lights stabilizing? Witnesses say it centered around her."
Rowan's eyes sharpened. "Witnesses exaggerate."
Maya closed her eyes.
I didn't exaggerate anything, she thought. I did exactly what they saw.
The charm lay heavy against her chest. Too heavy. Its warmth flickered, uneven now—like a pulse struggling to stay steady.
Rowan returned moments later, crouching in front of her.
"They're letting us go," he said quietly. "For now."
"For now," she echoed.
He nodded. "They don't know what questions to ask yet."
Maya hugged the blanket tighter. "They will."
"Yes," Rowan said. "And when they do, we won't be here."
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"I'm moving you," he said evenly. "Somewhere safer."
Maya stared at him. "You can't just decide that."
"I can," he replied, voice low. "And I will."
"Rowan—this is my home."
"And Eirwyn knows that," Rowan said. "Which means it's no longer safe."
She opened her mouth to argue—but the memory of ice crawling toward children stopped her.
"…Where?" she asked softly.
Rowan hesitated. "There's a place outside town. Old. Shielded. It belonged to my family once."
"You didn't mention family."
"I don't," he said simply.
⸻
The First Crack
They reached Maya's apartment close to midnight.
The hallway felt colder than usual. Too quiet. Rowan paused before unlocking the door, senses sharp.
"Stay behind me," he murmured.
"I know the drill."
Inside, nothing appeared disturbed—but the charm flared the moment Maya stepped over the threshold.
She gasped. "Rowan…"
He felt it too. The temperature dropped slightly, frost whispering across the windowpane.
"Don't touch anything," he warned.
Maya didn't move.
The charm's glow flickered—then dimmed suddenly.
Her heart dropped.
"It's—" she swallowed, "it's weaker."
Rowan cursed under his breath. "Using it in public drained it. And Eirwyn's presence accelerates the cost."
"What cost?" Maya whispered.
Rowan didn't answer immediately. He knelt, examining the charm closely.
Then he froze.
There—barely visible—ran a thin hairline fracture across the gold.
Maya's breath caught. "Is that a crack?"
Rowan's jaw clenched. "Yes."
Panic surged. "Can it be fixed?"
"I don't know," he admitted.
The words felt heavier than any magic.
Maya sank onto the couch. "So that's it. I save people, and the thing keeping me alive starts breaking."
Rowan looked at her sharply. "Don't talk like that."
"But it's true!" she snapped, tears finally breaking free. "Every time I do the right thing, something worse comes after. Every time I'm seen, I lose something."
She pressed her fists to her eyes. "I don't want to be chosen anymore."
Rowan crossed the room in two strides and knelt in front of her.
"Maya," he said firmly, gripping her hands, "look at me."
She didn't want to—but she did.
"You are not a tool," he said. "You are not a sacrifice. And you are not alone."
"What if the charm breaks completely?" she whispered. "What happens to me then?"
Rowan didn't hesitate.
"Then I become the shield."
Her breath stuttered. "Rowan—"
"I mean it," he said. "Whatever the cost."
The words weren't dramatic.
They were dangerous.
⸻
A Dangerous Promise
Rowan stood and paced the room, restless energy radiating off him.
"Eirwyn pushed too far tonight," he said. "He exposed himself. That means he's confident."
"Or impatient," Maya offered weakly.
"Both," Rowan replied. "Which makes him reckless."
He stopped suddenly, decision settling into his posture.
"I'm going to confront him."
Maya shot to her feet. "Absolutely not."
"He won't stop," Rowan said. "And the charm can't take another public surge."
"You said winter magic feeds on grief," Maya said. "What happens if you face him?"
Rowan met her eyes.
"I won't hold back."
Fear clawed through her. "Rowan, that's exactly what he wants."
"Maybe," he said. "But he won't expect this."
She grabbed his arm. "You promised we'd face this together."
"I am," he said quietly. "This is how I protect you."
She shook her head, tears streaking down her cheeks. "You don't get to decide to disappear for my sake."
His expression cracked—just slightly.
"I already lost someone because I hesitated," he said. "I won't lose you too."
The room went still.
Maya stepped closer, pressing her forehead against his chest.
"Then don't leave," she whispered. "Not without me."
His breath hitched.
The charm pulsed weakly between them—then warmed.
Rowan wrapped his arms around her carefully, like she was something fragile and invaluable all at once.
"I don't know how to do this without risking everything," he murmured.
Maya held on tighter. "Then we risk it together."
For a long moment, neither moved.
Outside, snow began falling again—soft, slow, deliberate.
⸻
Watched
Later, after Maya finally slept—exhaustion claiming her completely—Rowan stood by the window, staring into the dark street below.
He felt it then.
That familiar pressure.
A whisper of winter.
Eirwyn's presence brushed the edge of his senses—amused, patient.
"You always overpromise," the whisper seemed to say.
"And you always bleed for it."
Rowan's eyes hardened.
"Not this time," he muttered.
His gaze flicked back to Maya, asleep on the couch, the cracked charm glowing faintly at her side.
Whatever destiny demanded next—
He would meet it head-on.
Even if winter consumed him whole.