A/N: I've checked my notes and it looks like we'll get into the White Cloud section of the game in about 2-3 chapters. Hopefully, Satiana's story isn't too boring for now. As always, thank you for the new favs and follows! It really motivates me to write more :)

[Black Fog]

Chapter 3: Into the Fire

"I thought I joined a mercenary group."

"You did."

"I wanted to change my ways. That's why I took Jeralt's offer. So why the hell are you trying to make me an assassin again?"

Renard just started whistling a cheery tune as he casually stretched his arms behind his back.

Satiana felt her eyes twitching uncontrollably; the lax tone of Renard's voice only aggravated her further. Talking to Renard was like trying to catch a slippery eel with one's bare hands. He always slithered away from the topic at hand, evading pointed questions, steering the conversation towards safer grounds for himself only.

Satiana slumped in her chair, resigning herself to his verbal gymnastics. "Okay, whatever. So who are you, really?"

Renard simply beamed brightly at her. "Hm? But you already know, don't you?" He tilted his head slightly, blinking innocently.

Oh, this son of a—

Satiana groaned as she rubbed her face into her hands, wallowing in annoyance. "So you don't want to tell me anything," Satiana concluded in resignation. Peeking through the room between her fingers, she glared at him. "Then I won't tell you anything about myself either. You fine with that?" She stubbornly tried to salvage her remaining dignity in front of the man.

Renard laughed at her fruitless attempts. "Sure, I don't really care either way. All I know is Jeralt left you to me, so I gotta at least teach you something useful."

Reclining back into the chair, Satiana huffed. "But you don't really want me here."

"You're right. I didn't," Renard confessed. He headed to the opposite seat from Satiana and crossed his legs fluidly, pressing his hands together on his lap. "Jeralt doesn't like trouble, and you seemed like the harbinger of chaos. But now…" His eyes sharpened, sending shivers down her spine. "You've piqued my interest."

Satiana crossed her arms over her chest, staring defiantly at him with her nose pointed up in the air. "I don't believe you," she started, narrowing her eyes at him. "If it's you, I wouldn't put it past you to kill me in my sleep."

Renard paused as he rubbed his thumb on his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Hm, that's actually a brilliant idea. Mind if I put that on your training schedule?"

If only he weren't Jeralt's friend, Satiana would've stood up and slammed her elbows into his goddamn face, but she had a feeling things wouldn't work out in her favor if she did. She heaved a sigh, shaking her head in exasperation. "Whatever. Just at least tell me why you're so inclined to teach me now."

Renard went silent, musing in deep thought. "Well, at first, I was afraid you were going to bring us right to the authorities. And well…" Renard paused, a cryptic look on his face. "Let's just say I don't mix in well with them either."

"Ah yes, I can totally imagine that," Satiana deadpanned, sarcasm dripping from her voice as she rolled her eyes.

Renard ignored her and continued with his explanation. "And now that I know what you really are, I'm even less worried something bad will happen to that big oaf."

At this peculiar remark, Satiana perked up. "You're saying me being an assassin actually made you relieved?"

"Of course it did," Renard replied instantly, cocking his head to the side as he smiled brightly at her. "Because no assassin can ever get past me. You won't be able to touch even a strand on his hair before I detach your arms from your body."

He spoke with such certainty as if he were talking about how the sky was blue and how flowers grew in the spring, like it was the absolute truth. The underlying threat in his words didn't go unnoticed by Satiana.

He's telling me he'll kill me if I go against Jeralt.

Satiana winced. "Right, I think we've established how…protective you are of Jeralt already. I promise you I won't hurt him. He saved my life. I always pay back my debts in full," Satiana stated with confidence.

Renard hummed in satisfaction. "Sure. I'll take your word for now."

A brief moment of silence passed through them as the conversation came to an abrupt stop.

The longer she spoke with him, the more she felt like he was a giant fog of mystery. At times, Renard indeed looked like an innocent man — a jolly, good old friend with a bland sense of humor — one you could find in any neighborhood or village. But that was only how he wanted to appear. He was mixing in truth with lies; whenever he sounded like he was joking, he was, in fact, serious and vice versa. There was always darkness lurking underneath his docile appearance, and once in a blue moon, it'd slip out from his facade like just now.

As annoying as it was to read between the lines each time he spoke to see if he was serious or not, that was what Satiana considered normalcy in the world she lived in. People like Renard made her stay on her toes, but they were much easier for her to read than honest fools like Jeralt. Despite their bantering, Satiana slowly found herself relaxing into the conversation.

Because assassins like him don't kill unless you give them a reason to.

Satiana coughed loudly, clearing her throat once. "So, why the assassin training?" She asked again, going back to the original topic.

"Because that's all I know how to teach you."

"But I don't want to be an assassin anymore."

"Then you don't have to."

"What? But you just said—"

"I said I was going to teach you how to be a first-rate assassin. It's up to you whether you choose to be one or not."

Satiana's nose crinkled in confusion. "I don't get it."

Renard rolled his eyes. "Listen here, kid," he started as he leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table in a comfortable manner. "What do you think is the difference between a mercenary and an assassin?"

Satiana went quiet, the cogs spinning in her head as she tried to come up with a satisfactory answer. She rested her head lightly in the palm of her hands, tilting her head to the side. Her face scrunched up in deep thought, brows creasing, lips shifting. Then, after a few minutes of awkward silence, she finally came up with an answer. "Their purpose…?" She eventually muttered out loud.

Renard dramatically clapped his hands once and then twice. "Wow, great. I have a genius student," he drawled in an overly exaggerated manner, much to Satiana's chagrin. "That only took like, what, five whole minutes?"

She scowled, puffing her chest outwards. "I'm not an idiot, sir Renard," she chewed through her words in annoyance. "Also, that wasn't even a minute!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Also, would you drop it with the sir thing?" Renard requested as he visibly shuddered, rubbing his hands along the goosebumps on his arms. "It gives me the creeps. Just call me by my name," he grimaced.

In response, Satiana replied in a sweet voice. "Sure, teach. What else can this lovely student of yours do for you?" She squeaked out in a high-pitched tone, battering her eyelids rapidly in a show of innocence.

It was obvious she was purposely trying to tick Renard off. If he was in a tavern and a lady of this type strolled over towards him, he'd flip her the finger and tell her to fuck off, but this was Jeralt's new precious child, so he reigned in the murderous intent inside of him.

"Oh shut it, you cheeky brat," Renard snapped. "Just give me another answer to the same question."

"The difference between a mercenary and an assassin?" Satiana raised her eyebrows. "What, like how they fight?"

"Tell me the difference," Renard ordered.

Satiana frowned. "There's not much for me to say. Assassins go for that one-shot kill while mercenaries, I don't know, just fight normally?"

Renard scoffed. "I give you zero marks for that answer. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm such a bad student." Satiana could barely contain the venomous snap from running loose as she seethed quietly in anger. "Then why don't you enlighten me, teach?" She challenged him.

Renard held a finger in front of her face. "First, let me tell you what was wrong with your answer. You said assassins try to aim for a quick kill. You're not wrong, but you're also not correct either. It doesn't matter whether you're an assassin or not. There are times you go for a short battle."

Satiana perked up, Renard's words earning her interest. She leaned in closer towards him. "Like when your opponent is of much larger build than yours." Her eyes twinkled in realization, catching on to Renard's train of thought.

He nodded. "You don't want a prolonged battle against someone who is physically more fit than you are, so you use your speed to overpower them. Hit them fast before they realize what's going on." He paused, then cleared his throat. "Anyways, back to the original question. The point is, it doesn't matter whether you're an assassin or a mercenary. Everyone looks for weaknesses in their opponents. The real difference lies in the way they do that."

Satiana was now listening intently, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What do you mean?" She swung her legs around underneath the table, suddenly feeling giddy and excited.

Renard caught on to her change in demeanor and smirked. "When you're an assassin, you don't need to win the battle. You just need to kill the opponent."

Satiana let his words sink in. She tapped her fingers against the wooden table as she contemplated. "I think I sort of understand what you mean," she started while chewing on her lips in deep thought. "I've killed a lot of soldiers much taller than I am. Even a few low-ranked nobles." She placed her index finger under her chin and made a slicing motion in the air. "One move. That was all it took. If it were under normal circumstances, I would have lost."

"Exactly. You know what you're talking about now," Renard complimented, a lop-sided grin hanging on his lips. "The only reason you won was because you planned it. You hid in the shadows and successfully caught them off-guard. You didn't need to win."

"But if I were a mercenary, I wouldn't do that," Satiana continued with a small smile on her face. "Because I would just face them straight on and overpower them with my sheer strength."

"I'm not saying all mercenaries would do that, but most of them would." Renard suddenly stood up from his seat and headed towards the kitchen counter. He started fiddling with the cups, filling them with water. "Mercenaries at heart are thirsty bastards for victory. They fight because they love fighting. Unfortunately, we assassins don't usually have a choice in that matter." He returned to the table a brief moment later with two cups. He slid one across the table towards Satiana.

Satiana caught it fluidly, staring down at the tea leaves floating in the cup. She snorted in amusement. "Of course, there would be tea leaves still in the cup. How graceful of you," she teased.

"Hush now," Renard grumbled as he took a sip. "I don't do this often, okay? Back in the old days, someone would do it for me—" He suddenly broke into a coughing fit, choking on his tea as he realized his damning mistake.

Satiana stared at him with a knowing look in her eyes.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. While scratching his head vigorously, he grumbled out. "Me and my loudmouth."

"You used to be a noble?" Her eyes softened as he looked at him with pity whirling in her bright, blue orbs.

Renard groaned as he slumped back into his chair, sliding down the seat in resignation. "Yeah. A heck of a long time ago. I'm just a thrown-away bastard son, though."

"How'd you end up as an assassin?" Satiana asked as she took a sip from her cup.

"When I killed my father and fled the mansion," he dropped a bombshell with such ease as if he were talking about the weather.

For some reason, Satiana wasn't surprised at all. A part of her expected something along those lines. His story wasn't special; there were probably hundreds of noble children in the same position as him out there in the world. She may have spent her whole life caged in a small cell, but there was enough gossip flying around for her to know that a few of the children in the training center were abandoned nobles. Some of them were even sent there by their parents.

"You don't look surprised at all," Renard noted, a cynical smile plastering itself on his face. His eyes flickered with recognition as they met her sullen ones.

She shot him a tired look. "The world's a shitty place, after all."

Renard genuinely laughed, the light returning to his eyes for a sliver of a second.

"Hah. A shitty place indeed."

"You think we should go back and check on them?"

Byleth was strolling casually down the path leading to the forest with Jeralt by her side. It had been about an hour since they left Satiana alone with Renard in their lodging. Byleth glanced up at the sky, absentmindedly watching the royal purple colors blending in with the luscious pink colors emanating around some deeper-colored clouds. Half of the fiery red orb of light had sunken over the horizon, and the crowd of townsfolk back in the village slowly dispersed back into their humble abodes.

"Nah, it should be fine," Jeralt sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Renard may be overly cautious sometimes, but he doesn't pick fights for no reason."

"Knowing how both of them are, I doubt any of them would initiate a fight," Byleth agreed. "They're both too cautious for their own good."

"And you're too reckless at times," Jeralt laughed, lightly patting his child on the head. "Perhaps you should learn a few things from them too."

There it is again—that sinking feeling.

Byleth looked blankly at Jeralt's shimmering gold orbs. "Father, what is it that you really want to tell me?" Her voice was soft and quiet.

He stopped mid-step. Byleth halted to a stop, turning around to meet his pointed gaze.

"Father…?"

The wistful look in Jeralt's eyes made Byleth feel needlessly guilty for a reason she could not comprehend. While the evening was silent and calm, a slightly tensed air permeated the two of them.

Jeralt looked visibly troubled. His hand crept up to the back of his neck, squeezing the muscle, a nervous habit he always had. His skin felt damp, remnants of sweat sticking onto his palms. He sighed heavily before turning his attention back to his waiting daughter.

"You know, I've always wanted to ask you," Jeralt started slowly, eyes flickering off into the distance. "What is it that you want to do with your life?"

Byleth blinked. That was not the question she expected from him.

"What do you mean?" She asked for clarification.

"Well, I've always thought about it, but…" Jeralt trailed off. He clenched his fists, steeling his resolve. "You didn't choose to become a mercenary. I made you live this life."

Ah, so that's what he was worried about.

"Father, I don't mind living this kind of life," her eyes softened as she spoke. "I enjoy fighting. And it's not a bad feeling to help people while I'm at it."

"I know that. I can see that from the way you fight. You know some people call you the Ashen Demon?" He pointed out.

Byleth shrugged. "I don't really listen to gossip."

Jeralt snorted. "That's just like you."

The cool air blew around their profiles, making Jeralt shudder slightly. The sun disappeared behind the edges of the forest, turning the sky pitch black. The moonlight cast a silver glow around Byleth's shimmering blue hair — a keepsake of her mother. Jeralt felt a wave of nostalgia hit him, and he suddenly laughed bitterly.

"Ashen Demon, huh?" An image of Sitri's angelic and beautiful smile entered his head, and Jeralt couldn't help but feel his heart sinking. It was much easier to make Sitri smile, unlike his child.

Byleth quietly studied her father's flitting expressions, recognizing the sorrow, hurt, and warmth in them. She may not be able to understand the different emotions, but she was able to indicate them. Byleth never liked interacting with people, but it didn't mean she wasn't intrigued by them. She just simply stood quietly in the background, observing them all.

Byleth didn't know why but her father was feeling guilty about something. The empty hole where her heart should've been ached, and Byleth felt her lips twitching, trying to frown.

"Father, what do you want me to do?" Byleth found herself breaking the silence.

Jeralt's forlorn gaze fluttered towards his daughter. "Hm?" He made a noise of recognition. "I just want you to find for yourself what you want to do."

"Right now, I just want to stay by your side. Is that not enough?"

Jeralt's eyes widened in pure shock. He felt his hands tremble as Byleth's confession sank deeply inside of him. It wavered his lonely soul — one that had lived and seen enough of the world to know it was a desolate place if one had nothing to care for.

It was the first time his daughter ever appreciated his existence in such a straightforward manner. Perhaps Satiana was rubbing off her in some way.

"Hah, you cheeky brat," he snorted, feigning indifference, but the way his voice slightly quavered didn't go unnoticed by Byleth's piercing stare.

Byleth had a shadow of a smile on her face. She didn't have a name for the weird, numbing feeling that was tickling her insides, but after watching the way Jeralt conversed with Satiana, perhaps this was what some called 'endearment.'

Byleth still couldn't exactly pinpoint what her father was worried about, but she hoped she was able to communicate even the slightest bit of her intentions to him — that she followed her father's step to be a mercenary because she trusted him.

"Father, we should head back now. It's getting dark," Byleth suddenly broke the conversation.

Jeralt smiled at her. "You're right. We can't leave those two bickering for too long." He could vividly imagine Satiana and Renard glaring and throwing insults at each other, and he felt himself holding in a laugh.

"We should stop by at the tavern for extra food. We have an extra mouth to feed now, after all," Jeralt brought up.

Byleth nodded in agreement, turning on her heels heading back towards the village.

She suddenly stiffened, her eyes narrowing at the small beacon of light flickering from the village's direction.

"Father? Is that…?"

Jeralt raised an eyebrow, following Byleth's line of sight towards the village. A few specks of visible light now scattered across the buildings like fireflies. His gaze hardened immediately, sensing that something was wrong.

"Are those lights from torches? But no one uses them in the village," Jeralt muttered with a frown.

"Yes, so those torches must be from outsiders then," Byleth stated the obvious.

The wind picked up around their profiles, permeating the air with tension and hostility.

Jeralt cursed under his breath. "Bandits or thieves, huh? Let's hurry back."

Byleth didn't need to wait for his orders. She was already sprinting across the plains.

Satiana sniffed, an acrid odor entering through her nostrils. Her nose screwed up, lips thinning into a grimace. "Is it just me, or do I smell something funny in the air?" She waved her hands in front of her nose, chasing away the nasty smell.

Renard took a quick whiff, expression hardening as he suddenly bolted up from the chair. The wooden object fell to the ground with a loud crash, scattering splinters across the floor.

Satiana winced as she nervously stood up after him. "W-What's wrong?"

"What does this smell like to you?" He spoke rapidly in a monotone voice.

The serious gleam in his eyes put Satiana on full alert, her senses heightening. She took a quick sniff, recognizing the foul scent immediately. "Smoke. Burning wood," she barked out.

There was no time for more questions. On pure instinct, she sensed danger and leaped away from the dining table, scrambling towards the wall behind her. She snapped her head to the front door an instant before it crashed into the ground and a black-clad intruder dived into the living room.

Renard slid himself behind the wall nearest to the entrance, a sword already in his hands. Unluckily for Satiana, she was facing the door, and the intruder immediately spotted her.

"Hey, kid! Put your hands up in the air!" The thief shouted, pointing a dagger in her direction.

She fixed her gaze momentarily onto her two swords lying on the kitchen counter to the left of Renard. "O-Okay!" She pretended to be unhinged, panic making its way onto her paling face. "J-Just don't come close to me!" Satiana screamed as she leaned harder against the wall behind her, hunching her back in a show of anxiety.

He thinks I'm just a normal kid. Keep it that way.

From the corner of her wavering gaze, she saw movements from Renard as he reached over to grab her two swords.

"Good, now dish out all the valuables you have. Make it quick!" The thief snapped at her.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Just give me a moment." She pretended to search the drawers behind her. Making a loud racket, she scratched and banged her hand against the wood. "Damn, where did I put those jewels?" She spoke loudly on purpose, gaining the attention of the thief.

"J-Jewels? Someone has jewels in this scrawny village?!" The thief exclaimed in disbelief, taking an excited step towards her.

That was his fatal mistake because the moment he walked past the wall Renard was hiding behind, the hilt of a sword came flying right into his face. The thief's body crashed onto the wooden floor with a loud thud.

Renard threw Satiana's swords at her, and she grabbed them fluidly. The thief groaned in pain; his head bled as a concussion caused his vision to sway.

"Sorry, pal, but we don't have time to deal with the likes of you…!" Renard slashed his sword against the thief's back, causing his body to jerk against the ground.

The thief went silent, his body motionless.

"…Did you kill him?" Satiana quietly asked as she took a few steps towards the bandit lying in front of her.

Renard snorted. "Why? Feeling guilty? He would've stabbed you if you didn't fight back."

Satiana shook her head. "No, I know that. Survival of the fittest. That's how the world has always been."

But it doesn't mean such violence should be regarded as normalcy…

"It's nothing. We should head out and check on the other villagers," Satiana stoically replied, pushing the distracting emotions down to the deepest end of her heart.

There's no time to waste. I can't let another massacre happen again.

Renard proudly smirked at her. "Good. I thought you'd still be traumatized from the war. Seems like I was worried for nothing."

"To be honest, I'm still shaking," Satiana confessed, a wry smile on her face. "I thought I was used to this by now, but it's different when you're actually…actively thinking instead of repeating the motions like a mindless puppet."

She gripped the sword in her hand tighter. "It's harder to kill when you choose to do it yourself."

Renard fixed his gaze on Satiana's frozen form. He sighed, then shifted towards her, patting her shoulder lightly.

"Get used to it," Renard softly spoke, his cold eyes showing warmth for a brief second. "Feel the weight of your decision. How heavy a human's life is. That's what we live through every day as fighters who choose to hold a blade to protect."

Not kill, but protect, huh?

There was no denying that murder was murder at the end of the day. No matter how one tried to glorify it, killing was killing. But this world didn't allow them the choice of not fighting back. They either fight, shedding blood with their own hands…

Or run away, watching others being cut down.

Either way, there would always be a pile of corpses trailing behind them.

Then I might as well choose the path that leads to the least amount of deaths.

"I…want to protect people with my own hands," Satiana found herself declaring with determination. She stared directly into Renard's eyes. "I will kill, not because I was ordered to, but to protect more lives than I've ever harmed with my careless actions."

Renard nodded. "Good. Then go out there and save some lives, kid."

Satiana felt a rush of adrenaline fueling her energy, and she sprinted out the open doorway, ignoring the sharp pain in her legs, leaving Renard behind to take care of the remaining mess inside the house.

The moment she stepped out into the open air, she froze. Heart in her mouth, ice in her veins, she stared horror-stricken at the scene in front of her blazing eyes.

"What…the hell is this?"

Most of the village was on fire, the flames rapidly chasing after the tenants scrambling away from their shelter. Thieves and bandits, dressed from head to toe in black capes and cloaks, were running rampant, threatening and cutting down those that disobeyed their orders, jetting blood all over the ground. They didn't spare the children. Everyone was being slaughtered. The screams of terror reverberated down the streets as children started wailing, screeching for help.

"M-Miss," a weak cry for help turned Satiana's attention to the child crawling underneath her feet. Tears stained his bruised face, blood dripping down the open wound on his cheeks. "H-Help me!" He sobbed.

Satiana felt her heart sinking in despair as she knelt down to the kid. She quickly patted his head once, holding back the stinging sensation in her eyes as she lifted the kid into her embrace. "Don't worry," she whispered, voice trembling from an emotional concoction of unrestrained anger and sorrow. She soothed his back with her hands as she ran back to Jeralt's lodging, carrying him in her hands. "You'll be safe…!"

She sprinted past the open doorway. "Renard? You still here?!" She yelled.

"Here!" Renard's voice came from behind the wall.

She walked over towards him, stepping over the corpse along the way. Renard's eyes landed on the shivering kid in her arms. He cursed loudly.

"What the hell is happening out there?!"

"The village is on fire. The thieves are killing everyone," Satiana quickly explained as she placed the child onto one of the empty chairs. "Hey, kid. I want you to stay here, okay? You'll be safe upstairs. Can you make it up there yourself?" She gripped the kid tightly by the shoulders, staring directly into his eyes.

The child absentmindedly nodded at her, his eyes still watery. "O-Okay. I'll go upstairs."

"Don't forget to close the door, alright?"

The child slowly crawled upstairs, hiding himself in one of the vacant rooms. Satiana turned her attention back towards Renard, her jaws clenching with fury. "I'm going to kill them all," she snarled, taking a step towards the exit when Renard's hands gripped her shoulders, yanking her back.

"I get how you're feeling but calm down first!" Renard raised his voice over the chaos. "Why are the thieves burning the houses down? It doesn't make any sense."

Satiana was breathing heavily, the adrenaline clouding her thoughts. "I don't care if it doesn't make sense. They're killing people out there as we speak, Renard!" She glared into his eyes.

He stared unflinchingly back at her. The darkness roiling in his mossy, green eyes made her jaw shut with an audible click. His eyes were foggy, but the sharp gleam in them deadly, ensnaring her in an air of barely leashed menace.

"Listen to me," his stern voice commanded, and she awkwardly nodded in response. "Here's your first lesson as my student. You're a failure as an assassin if you can't make level-headed decisions."

"R-Right," she stammered out, wincing under his smoldering gaze.

"Now think. They're burning the village down. Why? If they wanted to steal, they wouldn't need to resort to such theatrics," Renard started musing.

"Fire tactics are often used to make your opponents move in a specific manner," Satiana added quickly, feeling her head slowly cool down.

"So they're trying to chase people out of their homes," Renard concluded. "But what for?" He contemplated, rubbing his chin in deep thought.

"They're searching for something," Satiana muttered. "Or they just want to wipe this village out of existence…" she trailed off.

At first, she didn't understand what had happened. It was like a lightning bolt struck her, sending shudders down her spine. The transition wasn't seamless, jarring even, but her thoughts ran clearer when she wasn't preoccupied with the rage boiling inside of her. The adrenaline rush came to an abrupt stop, and she felt the heat inside of her turning cold.

She froze, expression icy and pale with horror. Something clicked inside of her, and before she knew it, she gasped out loud, clasping her hands over her mouth at the sudden realization.

Renard, noticing her change in demeanor, stared at her with worry in his eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?"

When the emotional storm raging inside of her came to an end, she found herself noticing little things that had been nagging at her subconscious. Like how the old man in the market mentioned that bandits had been lurking in the forests for months. Or how the thieves were actively harming people, especially the children. The fire tactic she often used back in her days in the facility was to rat out any survivors.

Black cloaks were covering some of the thieves.

"It's them," she whispered in a near-silent voice, throat clogging up in fear.

"What?" Renard stared at her confusedly.

She turned towards him, eyes widened. "They're not normal bandits. They're being used."

"Used? By who?" Renard narrowed his eyes, suspicion crawling underneath the darkening orbs.

"Don't you understand?" Satiana slowly shook her head. "This place is only a few miles away from the war. The war that involved regicide, Renard."

Renard's eyes mirrored Satiana's, bulging wide in understanding. "Shit."

Satiana laughed bitterly, tears welling up in her eyes. "It's my fault. They're here for survivors like me."