The knock came again three steady raps that echoed through the thin walls of their hideout.
Ivy's grip tightened on his knife. His eyes flicked between Arya and Mira, then toward the door. Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready to strike.
Arya's breath caught in her throat. She thought of the message on the rock: We know where you are.
The silence stretched. Whoever was outside didn't knock again. They were waiting.
Mira leaned closer to the window, her movements ghostlike. "It's bait," she whispered. "They want us to panic. If you open that door, you'll be dead before you take two steps."
But Ivy shook his head. "No. Listen."
Arya strained her ears. Beneath the faint howl of the winter wind, she caught it breathing. Quick, uneven. Whoever stood outside wasn't calm. They were desperate.
Ivy moved with silent precision, motioning for Arya to stand behind him. With his free hand, he unlatched the door.
The door creaked open.
A man stumbled inside, collapsing to the floor in a heap. His clothes were torn, blood soaking the fabric. His face was bruised, lips split.
Arya gasped, rushing forward. "He's dying"
"Don't touch him!" Mira hissed, yanking Arya back. "Could be a trap."
But Ivy crouched beside the stranger, inspecting his wounds. "No trap. He's been beaten, chased. Look" He lifted the man's sleeve to reveal a mark carved into his skin: the crest of the General's army, slashed through with a blade.
A deserter.
The man coughed, blood flecking his lips. His voice was hoarse. "Y-you… must listen. I know… where the evidence is. Proof of the General's crimes."
Arya froze. The word proof felt like lightning through her veins.
"Where?" Ivy demanded.
The man's eyes flicked to Arya, as though he saw something in her that gave him strength. His hand trembled as he reached into his coat, pulling out a crumpled map. "Here… archives beneath the Ministry. Files… videos… everything. He can't hide if the world sees."
Arya's heart pounded. This could be it. The weapon we need.
But before she could ask more, the man convulsed. His body shook, then went limp in Ivy's arms.
Dead.
Mira cursed under her breath. "Damn it. Dead men leave nothing but trouble."
Arya took the map from his hand, smoothing it on the table. Her fingers traced the inked lines, the coded marks. "He risked everything to bring this. If what he says is true, the General's finished."
Ivy's expression was hard, unreadable. "Or it's bait. They could be luring us into a trap."
Mira leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "He's right. You walk into the Ministry, you won't walk out. You'll be surrounded before you breathe."
Arya looked between them. Her pulse raced, but her voice was steady. "Then we don't walk in like prey. We plan. We use this map, we study their patterns, and we strike when they least expect it."
For a moment, neither Ivy nor Mira spoke. Then, slowly, Ivy nodded. "If we do this, we do it smart. No mistakes. No hesitation."
Mira gave a dry laugh. "Spoken like a soldier."
Her words were meant to cut, but Ivy ignored her. His eyes stayed on Arya, and in them she saw something fierce a determination that matched her own.
The following days blurred into tense preparation. They studied the map by candlelight, tracing routes, marking guard shifts. Mira, surprisingly, knew the city's underbelly well hidden tunnels, abandoned service passages, places the General's men rarely checked.
"Don't ask how I know," Mira muttered one night as she sketched a shortcut through the drainage tunnels. "Just be glad I do."
Arya didn't ask, but the unease grew in her chest. Mira's knowledge came from somewhere, and every time she spoke with too much confidence, Arya wondered if the past betrayals Mira hinted at were catching up to them.
Still, the plan began to form: enter through the tunnels, bypass the outer patrols, and reach the Ministry archives before dawn.
Every step was risk. Every heartbeat counted.
The night before they set out, Arya found Ivy alone on the balcony, the cold wind ruffling his dark hair. He stared out at the city lights, jaw clenched.
"You're thinking about the past again," Arya said softly.
He didn't turn. "I can't escape it. Every move I make, I wonder if I'm repeating the same mistakes."
Arya stepped closer. The distance between them felt like a chasm she desperately wanted to cross. "You walked away from them, Ivy. That wasn't weakness it was strength."
Finally, he looked at her, eyes heavy with guilt. "And if I get you killed? Will you still say that?"
The question stole her breath. She searched his face, saw the cracks beneath the stoic mask he wore for everyone else.
Without thinking, she reached for his hand. His fingers tensed at first, then slowly curled around hers. Warmth spread through her chest, even in the freezing air.
"If I die," she whispered, "at least it will be fighting for something that matters. With someone I trust."
For the first time in days, Ivy allowed a small, fleeting smile. It wasn't joy, but it was real. "Arya…"
Before he could finish, Mira's voice cut through the quiet from the doorway. "Touching. Really. But if you're done making moon eyes, we've got a Ministry to break into."
Arya pulled her hand back quickly, heat rushing to her cheeks. Ivy just gave Mira a withering look before turning back to the city lights.
But Arya's heart wouldn't stop racing.
At dawn, they moved. Cloaked in darkness, guided by the deserter's map and Mira's secrets, they slipped into the tunnels beneath the city. The air was damp, heavy with rot. Every step echoed too loud.
Somewhere above, the General's army marched, believing themselves untouchable.
But Arya, Ivy, and Mira carried a different truth in their hands: the storm was coming.
And when it broke, no one would be left standing in its path.