I woke. The morning was crisp and cold. The winter days here were always so. I had grown accustomed to the cold, though I longed for warmth in these days of hardship.

I stood, clothed myself, strapped my sheathed knives to my chest, touched Death to my lips, and set off.

I stood at the cave entrance long enough to say goodbye. I would never be coming back to this place. I'd stayed here for years and faced the painful memories only for revenge. Now I wished to leave. Go as far away as possible. Calen and I would make a new home for ourselves, somewhere far, far away from here.

And today I would finish my enemies or die trying.

I set off. Running. No need to get my bearings; I took this path every day.

Usually with Calen, though. Today was different. There was no one to talk to, no one to share my thoughts with. So I ran in silence.

There was a light snow falling. To a poet, the flakes would be beautiful. To a scientist, they would be unique. To a child, they would be amusing.

To me, they were an annoyance. They blocked my sight, even a bit, and that could mean the difference between life and death. Their light falling would mask the sound of a drawn sword, or a fired bowstring, or footsteps.

And I needed to hear those.

Sometimes, I longed for noise. My life, ever since my enemy destroyed my people, was filled with silence. There was no sound, save the occasional conversation from Calen. He wasn't much of a talker, though, which was fine with me. Neither was I. But there was something in me that longed for noise. The sound of a city. Chatter, cars, music.

I had none of that here. Except for the light crunch of my own footsteps, and the dangerous white noise from the falling snow, the day was silent.

So I was understandably surprised when I heard a gunshot.

My mind told me I couldn't dodge a bullet, so I didn't move. The echoes drowned out any way I could've told where the shot came from. But I wasn't wounded. And no visible puff of snow showed where the shot had landed.

Another shot. This time, I saw the flash. Again, the shot didn't touch me. I doubted the gunner was aiming for me, seeing as how I was such an easy target. I sprinted toward the flash.

It was a teenager. My age, sixteen or seventeen. Holding a handgun.

His eyes widened when he saw me, though he made no move to aim his gun.

I slid to a stop, twenty yards from him.

"You're…you're alive?" he asked, sounding amazed.

I didn't know what he meant. But I smiled unintentionally at the sound of longed-for noise. And not just any noise; a voice. Speaking to me.

"I am alive," I said, choosing my words carefully. I was startled at how loud I seemed to myself. "Why?"

"Do you come from…that place?" He gestured to my home.

"I do," I said. "What do you know of it?"

"I know it's no strawberry farm," he said with a short bark of laughter. "Who are you?"

"My name is Alyssa," I said. "And who are you, holding a mortal weapon in this place?"

He lowered it. "My name is Garrett," he said. "I'm searching for my enemy."

"And who is that?" I asked.

His expression went hard. "The one who did all this," he said, waving his hand at the destruction behind me. "I want his head on a pole and his hands on my wall."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," I said. I held out a hand for him to shake, crossing the distance between us. "I've killed that man's second. Now I'm working on flushing the rest of them out."

He stared at me. And glared.

He raised his gun, pointing it at my head. "Get down," he growled. "Down. Now!"

I didn't argue. I put my hands up and sat on the ground.

He fired.

I winced and closed my eyes, but felt no pain. No impact. What?

I opened my eyes, shook my head to remove snowflakes, and looked at Garrett. His gun was smoking, but it was pointed over my head.

I whirled. A body lay stretched out on the snowy ground, already dotted with white flakes. I jumped up and ran to him, rolled him over.

It was one of my enemies. He was bleeding from a wound in his chest, a perfect shot, through the heart.

"What bullets do you use?" I asked him.

"They're encased," he said. "Harmful to anyone."

I nodded my approval. I shed not a tear for the dead man; he deserved everything he got and more. My only wish was that the shot had hit a lung, or the jugular, so he could bleed out and feel pain. This man had killed my people. My family. He should feel pain.

I stood. "They know we're here," I told Garrett. "Did they know about you before? And are you alone?"

"They knew about me," he said, with a shrug. They've been tracking me for months. And vice versa. As for whether I'm alone?" He smiled.

"Not anymore."