The whistle cut through the clearing like a blade, sharp and shrill, vibrating in Arya's bones. It wasn't a bird, it wasn't the wind it was deliberate. A signal.
Ivy reacted instantly. He shoved Arya and Mira down into the snow, his voice a low growl.
"Stay low. Don't move until I say."
Arya's heart hammered so violently she thought it might give her away. The forest loomed around them, every skeletal tree suddenly alive with menace. Shadows shifted between the trunks. Snow crunched slow, steady, closing in.
She swallowed hard, clutching Mira's trembling hand. Mira's skin was ice-cold, her wound making her weaker by the hour. Arya tightened her grip as if she could somehow shield her.
Ivy crouched a few feet ahead, weapon raised, his eyes like fire scanning every flicker of movement. His breath came out in sharp puffs, misting in the frigid air.
Then a voice broke through the silence of low, mocking, confident.
"Well, well," the stranger drawled from somewhere in the trees. "Looks like the General was right. Rats do crawl out of the ruins."
Arya's stomach twisted. The General. Again that name. Whoever he was, his shadow stretched far and deadly.
"Show yourselves!" Ivy roared, his tone hard as steel.
A laugh echoed in response. And then the woods exploded.
Figures burst from the trees mercenaries dressed in dark, weather-worn armor, faces masked with cloth, blades gleaming in the pale light. Two arrows whistled through the air. Ivy moved with startling speed, slamming his shoulder into Arya and Mira, forcing them flat as the arrows thudded into the tree behind them.
"Run!" he barked.
But Arya couldn't move she was frozen by the sudden chaos. She watched in shock as Ivy rose to his feet and, in one fluid motion, fired his weapon. The first mercenary dropped, snow erupting red beneath him. Ivy spun, parried a blade with his own, then drove his elbow into another man's throat.
It wasn't just skill. It was training. Cold, precise, merciless training.
Arya's breath caught. Who was he?
"Go!" Ivy shouted again, snapping her out of her daze.
Arya scrambled up, dragging Mira to her feet. Together they stumbled toward the ruins of the burned village, snow crunching, lungs burning. Behind them, the clash of steel and shouts echoed then cut off sharply.
A figure lunged from the trees, blocking their path. His blade flashed upward. Arya screamed, shoving Mira aside only for Ivy to appear like a storm, slamming into the man from behind. Steel rang against steel, sparks flying as Ivy fought with brutal precision.
The mercenary snarled something guttural, shoving back hard. Ivy caught the man's arm, twisted it sharply, and the blade clattered to the ground. For a heartbeat, their eyes locked like recognition. Like history.
And then Ivy hesitated.
Arya saw it, clear as day. For one dangerous second, Ivy froze instead of finishing the kill.
Why?
The mercenary's lips curled into a grin. "Still can't do it, can you?" he sneered before Ivy slammed the hilt of his blade into his skull, dropping him unconscious instead of dead.
Arya's blood went cold. Ivy knew him.
Before she could ask, a harsh shout rang out from the trees.
"Get the girl! The marked one!"
Arya's gaze whipped to Mira, who stood pale and trembling, her lips parted in horror. The mercenaries weren't here for all of them. They were here for her.
"You knew," Arya whispered, her voice shaking. "They're after you."
Mira shook her head desperately, tears filling her eyes. "No…I swear…. I didn't know they'd come this far. Please, Arya, you have to believe me!"
But Arya's chest was tight with doubt. Mira had already admitted to betraying survivors once. How much of this was her fault? How many more deaths traced back to her desperate deal?
"Move!" Ivy's bark jolted them both. He grabbed Arya's arm, practically hauling her through the skeletal ruins of the burned-out village. Ash crunched underfoot, the air thick with the faint, bitter scent of old fire. Mira stumbled, half-carried between them.
The mercenaries gave chase, their footsteps pounding closer, their whistles slicing through the trees. The sound wasn't random. It was organized, precise like wolves driving prey.
Arya's lungs burned, every breath cutting her throat with cold. Her legs ached, but fear drove her onward. Around them, the ruins rose like jagged bones, blackened walls casting long shadows.
Suddenly, Ivy yanked them both behind a collapsed hut, crouching low. His chest heaved, his eyes narrowed, scanning the woods.
"They're not chasing blindly," he muttered. "They're herding us."
Arya's heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"
Before Ivy could answer, another whistle shrieked not behind them this time, but ahead.
Arya froze. Her blood turned to ice.
From the shadows in front of them, more figures emerged, cutting off their escape. Masked faces. Blades gleaming.
Mira whimpered softly, clutching Arya's arm with trembling fingers.
Ivy rose slowly, weapon poised, his expression grim. "It's a trap," he said. His voice was steady, but Arya saw the tension in his jaw, the faint flicker of something darker in his eyes.
The mercenaries closed in.
And Arya realized, with a sinking dread, that this time they might not make it out alive