The forest swallowed them whole.
Every step crunched against the snow, too loud in the deathly silence of dawn. The trees rose like skeletal giants, their bare branches clawing at the sky, and the air grew colder the deeper they went. Arya pulled Mira's arm over her shoulder, steadying her weight, though the effort made her own muscles ache.
Ivy led the way, his eyes sharp, scanning every shadow. His posture was tense, his weapon raised as though he expected an attack at any moment. Arya wondered if he had slept at all, he looked carved from stone, unyielding, unreadable.
But Arya's thoughts were consumed by the footprints.
Someone had been watching them. Someone had circled their cabin and walked away, leaving only that chilling knock behind. Whoever it was hadn't killed them in the night. But why?
Her mind spun with possibilities, each worse than the last.
Behind her, Mira hissed in pain as her wound pulled. "I can't… keep up," she muttered.
"We can't stop," Ivy said firmly without turning.
"We'll collapse if we don't," Arya shot back, frustration sharpening her tone. "She needs rest. We need rest."
Ivy paused, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes met Arya's, hard and unyielding, but after a moment he sighed, relenting.
"Ten minutes," he said.
They stopped at the base of a gnarled oak, its roots twisting above the snow. Arya eased Mira down, pulling the blanket tighter around her thin frame. Mira's skin was pale, her lips nearly blue. Arya feared she wouldn't last another day if they didn't find shelter or help.
Ivy crouched a few feet away, scanning the ground. His fingers brushed against the snow, revealing another faint indentation.
A boot print. Fresh.
Arya's heart skipped. "They're following us?"
"Or leading us," Ivy muttered darkly.
The words made Arya's stomach knot. She turned to Mira, hoping for reassurance, but Mira avoided her gaze. Instead, she stared into the trees, her jaw tight.
"What aren't you telling us?" Arya demanded suddenly.
Mira's head snapped toward her. "What?"
"You know something," Arya pressed. "The General, the mercenaries you've seen more than you've said. And if someone's following us, maybe it's because of you."
Mira's eyes widened, hurt flickering across her face. "You think I want this? That I asked for it?"
Ivy's voice cut in, cold and steady. "Whether you wanted it or not doesn't matter. If they're tracking us, we need to know why."
Mira's lips trembled. For a moment, Arya thought she would refuse. But then Mira dropped her gaze, her shoulders sagging.
"I knew one of them," she whispered. "Before all this started. He… he promised to protect me. To let me live if I gave him information."
Arya's breath caught. "Information? About what?"
"The survivors," Mira admitted. "The ones who fled before the massacre. I told him where some might hide. I thought…" Her voice broke. "I thought he was saving me. But he lied. He killed them all."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Arya's chest ached with horror, betrayal, pity, and rage all at once.
"You led them to people," Ivy said flatly, his voice like a blade.
Mira's eyes filled with tears. "I didn't know! I swear I didn't know what he would do. And now he's hunting me too. Please, you have to believe me."
Arya wanted to comfort her, wanted to believe her words. But Mira's confession had cracked something fragile inside her.
If Mira had betrayed others once, what stopped her from betraying them now?
They moved again, tension thick as smoke. Arya walked in silence, Mira leaning heavily against her, Ivy a dark shadow ahead.
At last, the trees thinned, opening into a clearing. In the center stood the remains of a village burned houses, charred beams jutting from the snow like broken bones. The stench of ash lingered in the air, faint but undeniable.
Arya's stomach twisted. This was no accident. This was slaughter.
As they stepped cautiously into the clearing, Ivy raised his hand, signaling them to stop.
"What is it?" Arya whispered.
He pointed to the ground.
Arya followed his gesture and saw it: a symbol carved into the snow, blackened with ash. A circle crossed with jagged lines strange, haunting, deliberate.
Mira gasped softly, her face draining of color.
"It's their mark," she whispered. "The mercenaries. Whenever they finish a massacre, they leave it behind."
Arya's blood ran cold. Her eyes darted around the ruins, suddenly certain they were being watched.
Then, from somewhere in the trees, a sharp whistle pierced the air.
Not a bird. Not the wind.
A signal.
Ivy's head snapped up, his weapon raised. Mira clutched Arya's arm, trembling.
"They've found us," she whispered.