The creak of the cabin door split the silence like a blade.
Arya's breath caught in her throat. She pushed herself up from the wooden floor, her blanket sliding away, while Ivy was already on his feet, gripping the sharpened stick he had fashioned into a weapon. His muscles tensed, his eyes narrowed toward the door.
Another sound faint, dragging, almost like a groan. Whoever it was, they weren't trying to hide anymore.
"Stay back," Ivy whispered, his voice low, steady.
The door opened with a slow, mournful cry, letting in a rush of icy wind and a shadow that stumbled into the room. Arya's heart slammed against her ribs.
It wasn't one of the masked killers. It was a girl.
She collapsed against the doorframe, her face pale, streaked with grime and dried blood. Her clothes were torn, and she clutched her arm, which was wrapped in makeshift bandages already soaked through. Her breathing was shallow, uneven.
"Help…" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
For a moment, neither Arya nor Ivy moved. Suspicion warred with pity. The killers could be using her. A trap. Yet the way she shook, the way her knees buckled beneath her it was hard to see her as anything but a broken survivor.
Ivy reacted first, striding forward and catching her before she hit the floor. He lowered her carefully to a chair by the wall.
"Close the door," he said over his shoulder.
Arya obeyed, though her hands trembled as she pushed the heavy wood shut. The howling wind was cut off, leaving only the girl's ragged breaths.
"What happened to you?" Ivy asked, his tone clipped, demanding answers even as he pressed on her wound to stop the bleeding.
The girl winced, her lips trembling. "They… they found us. Everyone… gone." Tears welled in her eyes. "I ran. I ran as fast as I could. Please… don't send me back out there."
Arya's heart softened despite herself. She crouched beside the chair, brushing damp hair from the girl's forehead. "You're safe here. What's your name?"
"Mira," she whispered. "My name is Mira."
They worked in silence for a while. Ivy tore strips from the old blanket to reinforce her bandages. Arya searched the cabin for water and found a cracked jug half-filled with snowmelt. Mira drank greedily, though each swallow seemed to pain her.
When the worst of her trembling eased, Mira slumped back in the chair, her eyelids fluttering. Arya thought she had fallen asleep until her lips moved again.
"They're not just killing at random," Mira said faintly. "It's planned. Organized. They go from town to town, wiping everything out."
Arya exchanged a look with Ivy. Her chest tightened as Mira continued, each word a dagger.
"They're mercenaries. Paid men. I heard them talking… they work for someone powerful, someone who doesn't want survivors." Mira's voice cracked. "This isn't war. It's… cleansing."
The words sank like stones into Arya's stomach. She hugged herself, remembering the flames, the screams, the emptiness that followed.
Ivy's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. His silence was louder than words.
As night deepened, the cabin grew colder. The small fire they had managed to light was barely enough to warm the room. Arya wrapped herself in the tattered blanket again, watching Mira's fragile form in the shadows.
Something about her didn't sit right. Maybe it was the timing showing up just after the massacre, just after they had found shelter. Maybe it was the way Ivy had studied her, his gaze unreadable. Or maybe it was simply Arya's fear twisting everything into suspicion.
Still, she couldn't ignore the unease crawling through her veins.
When Mira finally drifted into uneasy sleep, Arya whispered, "Do you believe her?"
Ivy didn't answer immediately. He sat by the door, sharpening the end of another stick with slow, deliberate motions.
"Some of it," he said at last. "But not all."
Arya frowned. "What do you mean?"
"She knows more than she's saying," Ivy replied flatly. "Her wound it's bad, but not fatal. And her story doesn't explain how she escaped when everyone else was killed."
Arya hesitated. "You think she's lying?"
"I think we can't afford to trust anyone," Ivy said, his eyes catching the firelight. "Not even her."
The words chilled Arya more than the winter wind outside. Because even as he spoke, part of her wondered did Ivy expect her to trust him, when he trusted no one?
Hours passed. Arya tried to sleep, but every sound kept her awake the crack of wood in the fire, the whistle of the wind outside, Mira's soft whimpers in her dreams. At some point, exhaustion pulled her under, but her dreams were filled with fire and shadows.
A sudden noise yanked her awake.
Arya's eyes snapped open, her heart racing. The fire had burned low, leaving the cabin cloaked in deep shadows. Mira was still asleep. Ivy sat by the door, head bowed, though she couldn't tell if he was truly resting or simply pretending.
The noise came again.
A faint scrape. From outside.
Arya held her breath, straining to hear. Another scrape, followed by the crunch of snow under deliberate footsteps. Someone was circling the cabin.
Her blood turned to ice.
Ivy's eyes opened in the darkness. He had heard it too. His hand tightened around the sharpened stick, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the sound moved toward the door.
Then three heavy knocks shattered the silence.
Knock. Knock. Knock.