The wind howled through the trees like a warning, leaves spinning at your feet as you stood near the edge of the glade, the hidden satchel of vials and parchment still clutched tightly in your hand. You hadn't meant for him to find it. You never thought Rogers would look through your things.

But now he stood a few paces away, jaw tight, eyes dark with something unreadable. Not quite fear. Not quite anger. Something colder.

“You lied to me,” Roger said, voice low and cutting. “You’ve been practicing—whatever this is—in secret.”

“It’s alchemy,” you replied quietly, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. “Not witchcraft.”

“Do you think the men in town will care about the difference?” His tone wasn’t cruel, but it was hard. "They're hanging girls for less."

You flinched at that truth. The witch trials had become more than rumors—they were daily executions now. You knew the risk. But you also knew the good your work could do. You'd healed people, not cursed them. Helped his men, even him.

“I never meant to deceive you,” you said. “I was only trying to help.”

“You should have told me,” he snapped, stepping closer. “We’re supposed to trust each other. You’re part of my crew.”