The rock with its cruel message still lay on the table, wrapped in crumpled paper. For hours, no one touched it, as though picking it up again might summon the faceless hunters waiting beyond their walls.
Arya sat by the window, staring at the jagged hole in the glass where the wind now whispered through. Ivy had boarded it up, but the cold still seeped in. She hugged her knees to her chest, refusing to let her fear show, though inside she was unraveling.
Ivy hadn't spoken since reading the message. He sat in the corner, knife in hand, sharpening it against a stone with slow, deliberate strokes. Mira shifted restlessly nearby, her face unreadable.
Finally, Arya broke the silence. "They know we're here."
Ivy didn't look up. "They always knew. The city just gave us time."
His voice was calm, but Arya heard the storm beneath it. His hands were steady, but his jaw was clenched tight. She studied him for a moment, then asked the question she'd been holding back for weeks.
"Why you? Why us? They aren't just after survivors. They're after you."
Mira's eyes flicked up at that, sharp and watchful.
Ivy froze for the briefest second before resuming the rhythm of the blade. "Does it matter?"
"Yes," Arya said firmly. "If we're risking our lives together, it matters."
The silence stretched. Mira leaned forward, curiosity glittering in her eyes. Ivy sighed, finally setting the knife aside. His gaze rose, shadowed, to meet Arya's.
"You want the truth? Fine. I wasn't just a survivor. I was one of them."
The words dropped like a blade into the room.
Arya stiffened. Mira's lips curled into something close to a smirk.
Ivy continued, his voice low, almost reluctant. "Years ago, before the massacres began, I was a soldier under the General. Not by choice conscription. They trained me, used me. I carried out orders I didn't understand. I… carried out orders I didn't question."
He looked down at his scarred hands, flexing them as though he still felt the blood there. "When the killing started, I saw villages burn. Families executed. I thought it was war. I thought it was necessary. But it wasn't. It was slaughter. And when I refused to follow the General's command, they turned their guns on me. I barely escaped."
His words hung heavy in the room.
Arya's throat tightened. Images of her own family her parents lying in the snow, her home in flames rose unbidden. And Ivy… he had been on the other side of that once.
Her heart wavered between rage and something softer, something she didn't want to name.
Mira broke the silence with a bitter laugh. "So that's it. The loyal soldier turned traitor. No wonder they're hunting us. You're not just a survivor, Ivy you're unfinished business."
Ivy's eyes hardened. "Say what you want, Mira. But I walked away. I've been running from them ever since. And now they want me dead just as much as anyone who resists them."
Arya stood slowly, crossing the room until she was standing in front of him. Her voice was quiet but sharp. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because I thought you'd see me as one of them," he said simply. "And maybe you do."
Arya's chest ached. Part of her wanted to scream, to accuse him, to blame him for every drop of blood she'd lost. But another part deeper, quieter saw the pain in his eyes. Saw the guilt that never left him.
"I don't know what I see," she admitted. "But I know what I need. Someone who won't give up. Someone who'll fight with me, not against me. Can you still be that?"
Ivy's answer was immediate, fierce. "For you? Always."
Their eyes locked, something unspoken sparking between them. A bond forged in fire and blood, fragile but unbreakable.
That night, Arya couldn't sleep. She tossed on her mattress, Ivy's confession replaying in her mind. His past was a knife between them, sharp and dangerous, but she couldn't deny what her heart whispered: she trusted him. Against reason, against logic she trusted him.
She rose quietly, moving to the small kitchen. The air was cold, the shadows deep. She poured water into a tin cup, her hands trembling faintly.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
The voice startled her. Mira emerged from the dark, leaning against the wall. Her hood was down, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
Arya frowned. "What's your excuse?"
Mira shrugged. "I don't sleep much. Not after what I've done."
Arya stilled. "What do you mean?"
Mira's smile was thin, bitter. "You think Ivy's the only one with blood on his hands? I betrayed people, Arya. Sold out survivors for scraps of safety. Families… children. The General doesn't let anyone walk free without paying. And I paid with their lives."
Arya's stomach turned. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you deserve to know the people you're trusting," Mira said softly. "You and Ivy you look at each other like you're the only good left in this rotten world. But what if you're wrong? What if the people closest to you are the ones who'll break you?"
Her words slithered into Arya's mind, planting doubt where none had been.
Before Arya could reply, a noise shattered the moment a knock on the door. Three sharp raps, deliberate and steady.
Arya and Mira froze. Ivy was already awake, weapon in hand, his body tense. He gestured for silence.
Another knock.
Arya's heart hammered. Whoever it was… they had found them.
Ivy pressed his finger to his lips, then mouthed a single word: "Run."