Page 79 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

Gideon rubs a hand across his face, then asks, "How certain are you?"

I almost laugh, not because it's funny but because I asked myself the same question, repeatedly, every time I found another name, another disappearance, another accident, another beneficiary.

"Read enough of them and certainty becomes difficult to avoid."

The room falls quiet again. Iris slowly sits down, the chair creaking beneath her. Then she looks directly at me. "You think Aldric is behind all of it."

I meet her gaze. "Don't you?"

That earns silence. Not denial. Silence. The most revealing answer available.

Gideon studies the reports one last time, then closes the folder, the sound echoing through the archive. When he finally looks up, something has changed. The doubt is gone. Not entirely. Enough.

"I believe there's something here."

Coming from Gideon, that's practically a confession. Iris notices too, the corner of her mouth twitching. "That's the closest you'll get to him saying you're right."

"I know."

"I heard that," Gideon mutters.

"Good."

For a moment, the tension eases, only a little, because the reality waiting beneath the humor remains. Aldric. The deaths. The disappearances. The storms. Everything.

I pull another map onto the table—the harbor, trade routes, merchant districts, shipping lanes. Several red markings cover the page.

Gideon's attention sharpens immediately. "What are these?"

I point toward the markings. "Recent incidents."

His expression darkens. The red marks form a pattern. Not random. Never random. Another merchant vessel lost. Another independent trader attacked. Another route disrupted. The incidents keep increasing, faster now, more frequent, more aggressive.

Iris studies the map, then looks toward me. "You think he's accelerating."

"Yes." The answer leaves immediately. Neither of them argues, because they've seen the reports, they've seen the damage. Every week brings another incident, another loss, another family grieving. The pace has changed. Whoever is behind it is no longer patient, which means something is coming.

The realization hangs over the table, heavy and uncomfortable.

Gideon studies the harbor map, then asks, "When?"

I don't answer immediately. Instead, I pull another document from the pile—festival schedules, merchant invitations, trade contracts, harbor reservations. The room grows quiet as I place the document in front of them. Recognition appears almost instantly.

Iris looks up first. "The Moon Tide Festival."

I nod, and the words feel heavier now. Every year wealthy buyers arrive—merchants from neighboring islands, trade representatives, shipping investors, people with money, influence, connections. The festival transforms Moonhaven. For a few days, the harbor becomes the center of coastal trade. Everyone comes. Everyone watches. Everyone spends.

Gideon's expression hardens. "If Aldric controls the routes⁠—"

"He controls the deals," I finish the thought.

The realization settles heavily between us. Independent merchants disappearing. Competition removed. Trade routes consolidated. The timing suddenly feels impossible to ignore.

Iris stares at the invitation list, then slowly lowers it. "He isn't preparing for a storm."

"No," Gideon folds his arms. "He's preparing for the festival."

The words land like a hammer, because they fit. Perfectly. Too perfectly. The recent attacks, the missing merchants, the accelerated incidents—everything points toward the same destination. Moon Tide. The largest trade event of the year.