What had caused the Red Wedding?

This was the question that had plagued Caitie ever since getting her letter back from Maester Aemon. What had caused Roose Bolton to betray his king and ally himself with the Lannisters? What had caused the Freys to invite the King in the North to the Twins for his own daughter's wedding and then, in violation of guest right, slaughter him, along with almost all of the Northern army?

She'd hoped that Jon would be right: that once she'd made peace with her brothers' deaths, she would be able to move on. But he'd been wrong; instead of moving on, she had become unwaveringly curious about why her brothers had died. The questions sat with Caitie while she trained, while she ate, while she slept. It had started as a little tingle in the back of her mind, but it had snowballed into an all-consuming beast. Every time she thought about the information Jon and Sam had given her, the less sense it all made. And the more time she spent dwelling on it, the more determined she was to find out the truth.

After a week of utter misery, Caitie had done what anyone would do in her situation: she had gone to Sam and cajoled him into helping her.

"Are you sure you want to see it?" he pressed, looking around nervously whilst they stood in a shadowy hallway near the library. It was near dusk, and everyone else was at supper; even so, Caitie remained on alert for any unwanted ears.

"Yes," she replied. "I can handle it."

"It'll only bring you more pain, and you've been doing so well. Do you truly want to undo that?"

"Gods, Sam, I said I could handle it." She held out her hand and gave him an expectant look.

He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot.

"Please?" The skepticism on his face didn't go away. "I'm not going to fall into a pit of despair again. I just... I need to see it with my own eyes."

That did the trick; she could see the turmoil fade into pity. It wasn't the emotion she had wanted to elicit from him, for the last thing she wanted was more pity directed towards her. But she would take it if it meant he'd give her what she needed. "All right," he relented. "But you have to promise you'll come find me if—"

"If it upsets me," she finished. "I know. And thank you." She smiled and squeezed his hand.

Sam shook his head, and she could see the disappointment written on his face, but he still handed over the scroll. "Please be careful."

"I will," she assured him. "I promise."

She didn't wait for Sam to change his mind. Turning, she fled down the hall towards her quarters and the privacy she desperately needed. When she got there, she quickly bolted the door, sunk down on her bed, and unraveled the scroll addressed to the late lord commander. First, she skimmed the list of the dead, looking for names of those she'd known in her childhood. Her eyes hovered over the names Owen Norrey and Cerys Norrey for a few extra seconds. When her chest constricted, she decided to move onto the bulk of the letter.

It was vague and disappointing.

There was no more information about the Red Wedding than what Jon and Sam had told her: Robb Stark, the King in the North, had brought his men to the Twins for a wedding between Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey. There, he, his mother, and his wife had all been slain, along with most of his men, betrayed by the Boltons and the Freys.

After that, a list of the "loyal" Northmen who had pledged fealty to Roose Bolton. Caitie recognized more names than she thought she would, and she refused to even glance at her father's name on it.

Well, if she couldn't get the information she needed from this letter, only one option was left to her.

It was time to take Cerys's advice.

Someone would need to cover for her while she went into town, as no one was allowed to leave Castle Black. It would be stupid to ask Jon—he'd never agree to it. And to be honest, Caitie wasn't sure she wanted him to know. He'd been through enough already.

As for Sam, judging by his reaction to her asking for this letter, Caitie doubted he'd help her, either. And expecting him to lie to Jon was a recipe for disaster. Sam never could keep things from him.

Which left Edd and Grenn.

Edd was… well, Edd. Caitie didn't know if he would agree—she could never quite predict his reaction to things. And even if he did agree to help her, he would most likely spend the entire time lecturing her on what a terrible mistake she was making.

So really, there was only one person to ask: Grenn. Caitie knew she should have gone with him first; he had been there for her when she'd gone to get her letter, and she was sure he'd be there for her now. Still, a small part of her loathed the idea of him seeing her so weak.

But he'd already seen it, so she supposed it didn't matter.

The next morning, so early that the sun had yet to rise, Caitie found him in the kitchens, cutting up some onions, thankfully alone. He looked up from his task, and when he saw it was her, he frowned. "You look like shit."

Caitie grimaced. She had tried to look cool and collected, but she must not have done as good a job of it as she'd thought.

Realizing how his comment sounded, Grenn rubbed the back of his neck. "I, er, didn't mean it like that."

She waved it off, regaining her composure quickly, because there were more important things than how she looked. "Can we talk? It's important."

He stared at her, eyes narrowed and uncertainty lacing his features. But then he nodded and set down the knife, allowing her to lead him somewhere more private.

When Caitie was sufficiently convinced there was no one around to listen in, she took a deep breath. "I need a favor."

"A favor," he repeated dumbly.

She nodded. "I need to make a trip outside Castle Black. I know it's not allowed. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Could you just make my excuses? Say I'm… vomiting explosively or something."

Grenn barked out a surprised laugh, but as he searched her face, the amusement left him. "Is this about your brothers?"

She thought about lying, but she had a feeling Grenn would know if she did. "I need answers about the Red Wedding—about what happened to them. I was going to go into Mole's Town and see if some whores might speak with me."

"You want to go to a brothel?" he asked in disbelief.

"Whores talk. That's what Cerys always said. If anyone has the details, it'll be them."

"I—I mean, I guess—" he broke off, completely flustered. Finally, "They won't talk to you without coin."

Caitie grinned, holding up a pouch. "I stole it from Dareon last night at supper." Grenn didn't say a word, so Caitie added, "Don't worry, I'll pay him back."

A part of her felt bad about taking the pouch of coin from Dareon. Although she had never spoken much to him, preferring to keep to her small circle of friends, he had been in her class of recruits. And he'd been nice to her, too.

She consoled herself by promising herself that she would pay him back as soon as she got the money. So, really, it was more like borrowing, just without asking.

Well, she was desperate. And Dareon was from the Westerlands. She thought.

"But we have orders—"

"I'm only going to Mole's Town and back. It's maybe ten minutes away on horseback."

"If the Wildlings catch you—"

"Jon says the bulk of the army is months away. The Wildlings south of the Wall won't risk coming near this area anytime soon."

"It's still dangerous."

"I know that. But it could be my last chance to go into town before the attack. I know how to be safe, and I just... I have to do this. Please?" She only felt a little bad as she batted her eyelashes.

"Seven Hells, you can be persuasive." And yet, he grinned.

She grinned back. "Oh, I know."

"But I'm not letting you go alone."

Caitie's smile died. That had not been what she was expecting. Asking him to cover for her was one thing, but it was another to ask him to put his life at risk. "You can't come with me," she argued. "You could get in serious trouble with Ser Alliser."

"So could you."

"The difference is I'm disobeying an order for myself. I won't let you put your life on the line for me."

He shrugged. "If you're going, then I'm going, too."

"He could execute you."

"Well, we're all about to die, anyway."

"Grenn—"

"No one should be traveling alone. 'Specially not now."

Gods, they were going in circles. "I hope you're aware of what a stubborn bastard you are."

"Yep."

Caitie rolled her eyes. "Fine. But we still need someone to cover our little excursion."

He looked thoughtful, at that, before the corners of his lips turned up into a dry smile. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life." Considering she had no choice in the matter, that seemed fairly obvious.

Grenn held out his hand. "Come with me then."

"Where?"

"To get Pyp."

Caitie blanched. Had he gone mad?

"I promise you can trust him. We don't even have to tell him you're a... you know. But I think he'd get it."

She shot him a skeptical look. "Why in the world would he get it?"

"Well, consider how he ended up here."

It took a second longer than it should have before Caitie's lips parted in a silent O. She'd never realized that Pyp had told anyone else about the lord of Acorn Hall, considering how humiliating he seemed to find it. Then again, he and Grenn were best friends—it made sense that he would.

Still, what mattered here was her safety, and so her first instinct was to flat-out refuse: the more people who knew, the riskier her position. Until she considered the idea.

Two years ago—yes, there was no question what her answer would be. But Caitie wasn't alone in the same way she had been before. In those two years at Castle Black, she had found people she cared for; people she trusted. She wasn't alone, and that mattered.

So maybe she was finally ready to take the step she'd long been mulling over.

"All right," she said. "But if he so much as looks as if he might tell Thorne any of it, my dagger will be at his throat faster than you can say Aegon Targaryen."

"Fair enough," Grenn replied, chuckling. "But I promise he won't. If I thought he might, I wouldn't tell him. I'd never put you in danger."

And he said it with such conviction that Caitie believed him. Not that she was going to tell him so; it would only go to his head—and embarrass the life out of her. So instead, she snorted. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? You said it yourself: we're all in danger."

"All right, fine. I'd never put you in more danger."

"And I thank you. I do a good enough job of finding it on my own."

"Yeah, you do. But it's one of the things I like best about you."

Caitie tried and failed not to smile at him. "Come on," she said. "If you really insist on joining me..."

Grenn moved closer to her—so close she could feel his body heat, and her words fell away. "Just try and stop me."

"A girl," Pyp said blankly, taking in her appearance with new eyes.

Grenn nodded. "Not just a girl. A lady."

"A lady!" Pyp exclaimed, now looking a mixture of flabbergasted and horrified.

"He wasn't supposed to mention that bit," Caitie grumbled, giving Grenn a harsh look. If she didn't like his face so much, she might have been properly angry about it. "But my name is Caitriona. Hello."

Pyp barely seemed to hear a word she said. "B-but I've said the word 'cock' in front of you!"

She furrowed her brows. "And I've said 'fuck' in front of you. What of it?"

"You're a lady—I shouldn't be saying 'cock' in front of a lady!"

A laugh bubbled up from Caitie's lips. "That's your first reaction? Not 'what the hell are you doing here?'"

Pyp shook his head. "But a lady!" He frowned. "You know, the last time I met a lady, her husband tried to grab my co—I mean my private bits."

Caitie blinked at Pyp's casual reference to his past. The last time he'd spoken about it, it had burst forth in a fit of anger, and he'd refused to speak about it after the fact. But time had made many changes of all of them, Caitie supposed, and it was a good thing that Pyp was able to speak about what he'd suffered without cringing away in embarrassment. "About that," she said, sobering, "I don't think I ever told you, but I'm sorry for how you were treated. And I wouldn't blame you if you had a poor opinion of me for being a lady because of what happened."

Which was exactly why she didn't want Grenn telling him, but there was no going back now. The most she could do was try to mitigate the damage.

Luckily, Pyp didn't look angry; instead, he merely cocked his head to the side. "Why would I? Sam's highborn, and I still like his fat ass. Just... you do know it's dangerous, yeah?"

"It's crossed my mind a few times, yes."

Pyp grimaced. "Right, 'course." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I'm not stupid, whatever that one might tell you—" he nodded at Grenn, who simply rolled his eyes in response "—and I don't wanna assume, but... it sounds like you might be here for a similar reason to me."

"Something like it," she said noncommittally, because she wasn't quite ready to divulge all her secrets.

He smiled. "Right, so. Consider it forgotten, then. My lady."

She scowled so fiercely that Pyp took a step back and raised his hands. "Sorry, sorry. I won't say it again." He sighed. "These high lords—they're real cunts, aren't they?"

Her scowl turned to a wry smile. "You know, I think it's the opposite problem for them."

Pyp chuckled. "Ha, yeah, that's a good point."

As the laughter died, the three of them descended into a rather awkward silence. "So..." Caitie ventured, because she had to know for certain, "you're not angry that I lied to you?"

Grenn, almost imperceptibly, winced at that, knowing all too well where her fear might have come from. She gave his arm a little squeeze.

"I'm not angry," Pyp agreed, oblivious to the interaction. "I'm just sort of shocked."

Grenn laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, so was I."

She arched a brow at him, all but forgetting Pyp's presence. "I seem to recall you saying that you knew."

"No, I said that I thought you were too pretty to be a boy. And you are."

"Why, thank you."

Grenn opened his mouth to comment back, but then both he and Caitie realized Pyp was staring at the two of them with a brow raised. They went quiet, staring down at the floor awkwardly. Caitie was almost sure she was blushing, and her anxiety spiked again.

"Yes, well, anyway," she continued, eager to move on, "I do have a reason for telling you this. I need to make a trip to Mole's Town, and Grenn has insisted on coming with me. Would you mind covering for us?"

Pyp guffawed. "What? Are you insane?"

"No—well, maybe a little. But this is important. You know about my brothers, right?"

"Yeah. They went to war for Jon's brother." As soon as he realized the connection, his face fell. "Oh. Caitie, I'm really sorry."

"It's... well, I'd be lying if I said it's all right. But that's why I need to go into town: to find out what happened. Which is where you come in. If anyone asks—"

"Tell them we're vomiting explosively," Grenn finished, nudging her arm with his elbow. "Please?" he added when Pyp hesitated, looking as though he'd refuse.

"I… fine," he relented, shaking his head. "But if your plan goes to hell, I don't know nothing about it."

Caitie nodded. "I think that's fair. Thank you, Pyp."

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed, the corners of his lips quirking up only slightly. "Don't worry about it."

She turned to Grenn. "All right, I'll pack my clothes, and then we'll be off?"

The two men stared at her in confusion.

"I can't very well walk into a brothel dressed in black, now, can I? I found a dress in a pile of clothes down in the cellar. Hopefully, the whores will be more forthcoming if I look like a girl." Silence permeated the room, and her irritation grew. "What?"

"Seven Hells," Pyp laughed. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?"

Caitie smiled wryly. "I might be insane, but I'm not that insane." She eyed Grenn. "Well?"

Grenn cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm ready whenever you are."

"All right, then." She drew herself up to her full height and tried to sound confident. "Let's go find a whorehouse."

As far as dresses went, the one she'd chosen was on the plain side. It was a bland grey, made from wool that itched terribly, and it didn't fit right—too tight in the chest area and too short. Whoever had owned it had to have been younger than Caitie. Nevertheless, when she put the dress on and looked down at it, she remembered how much she missed her old wardrobe.

After all her buttons were buttoned and she strapped one of her daggers at her waist and a small knife in her boot, Caitie finally emerged from behind the trees. She could see the gate to Mole's Town overhead, only a few steps away.

"I'm ready to go," she said.

There was no answer, and for one scary moment, Caitie thought Grenn had left. But when she glanced around, it was an entirely different story. He was standing as still as a statue, not looking at her face.

Caitie cleared her throat, and he snapped his gaze to her eyes. "Well, you definitely look like a girl."

She curtsied jokingly.

"I'll wait here with the horses. Stay out of sight." He placed his hands on her shoulder. "You're sure you'll be okay on your own?"

Caitie laughed. "I've faced an army of wights—I think I'll be fine."

"Ah, yeah, you can handle a brothel, no problem."

Caitie smiled, turned, and started towards the entrance to Mole's Town, but she hadn't even gotten a few steps away when she made a split-second decision and spun back around. Before she could change her mind, Caitie stood on her tip-toes and kissed Grenn's cheek. "Thank you."

And then, before she could see his reaction, she walked away, towards her answers.

The brothel was a large, multistory building, sandwiched between a row of smaller ones, with a thatched roof, and plenty of windows, though more than a few were broken. The breadth of the building was overshadowed by how run-down it was; moss and rot covered the place. Even the door was rotting, and Caitie had to force herself to touch it, even with gloves on.

Upon entering the brothel, the first thing she noticed were the breasts. Nearly every woman but herself was naked from the waist up, sitting on men's laps, laughing loudly or kissing them, or even more than that. Caitie knew she must have looked uncomfortable at such a public display, because at least three of the whores who were not otherwise engaged watched her with pure amusement on their faces. The men only leered.

Caitie ignored it all as best she could, looking for the one person she desperately wanted to see. She moved through the room; through the rows of long tables and between the columns supporting the upper levels, all the while ignoring the sea of piss-drunk men and moaning women, searching every inch. Finally, at the very back, where the main room met the hallway, she saw a flash of brown hair and heard a baby gurgling.

Caitie's heart lifted as she followed the sound and came into the room just as Gilly put her son in his little make-shift crib.

"Seven Hells, he's gotten big."

Gilly turned around. Her face was white. "C-Caitie?"

Caitie grinned. "Hello, Gilly. It's wonderful to see you." And it was. Gilly looked nothing short of incredible. Living in a brothel couldn't have been easy, but she seemed so full of life compared to when Caitie had last seen her—now that she and her son were safe.

"I thought you were dead," Gilly said, rushing forward to squeeze Caitie tightly.

"Nearly. But I managed to avoid it—for now, anyway."

When Gilly pulled away, her face hardened. "My father—Sam said he was dead, too, but… is he really?"

Caitie nodded.

"Good."

She raised her eyebrows. Gilly wasn't one to express delight in someone's demise. Then again, even the kindest people had exceptions.

Caitie hastily changed the subject, not really wanting to think about the mutiny for longer than necessary. "How are you, though? No one's mistreated you?"

"I've gotten looks, but nothing else. Sam made sure the madame wouldn't give me other work."

They both knew what "other work" meant, but the reassurance from Gilly allowed Caitie to relax a bit. Hearing it from Sam and Jon hadn't been enough.

She glanced over her shoulder at the baby. "I heard you picked a name. Sam must have been overjoyed."

"Yeah," Gilly said, smiling softly. "He was."

"Did he get that look on his face where he's trying to play down how excited he is, but he just ends up looking nervous, instead?"

"He did! I thought he was upset at first when I named the baby after him."

"Somehow, I don't think he could ever be upset with you."

Gilly's smile faded, and Caitie realized she must have touched a nerve. "Could I see him?" she asked, trying to distract away from her comment.

With a smile, Gilly stepped aside so Caitie could take a better look. Little Sam was even bigger than she'd thought. The baby boy had to be twice the size of Arthur at that age. He was looking around as if trying to figure out the world. When he noticed her and smiled, big dimples formed.

Caitie couldn't take her eyes off the baby. It was incredible. Against all the odds—against Craster and White Walkers and mutineers and everything else—Little Sam was here; alive and happy and mostly safe.

If anything was evidence that some good existed in the world, it was this.

"But Caitie, what are you doing here? No one's allowed to leave Castle Black."

Gilly's voice cut through her thoughts, and Caitie forced herself to remember why she'd come in the first place. "It's a long story," she said. When Gilly waited, expecting for her to elaborate, Caitie bit her lip, thinking. "Well, maybe you can help me. I'm trying to find out what happened to the Northern army—the specifics. Have you heard anything from the whores here?"

"No, I'm sorry, Caitie," Gilly said, brow furrowed. Caitie's heart sank until she spoke again. "Wait, I think a couple of Northern deserters came through here."

The sinking feeling stopped, replaced with hope, and all other thoughts left her mind. "Do you know who saw them?"

Gilly paused to think. "I'm not sure. You could ask the madame."

"Where can I find her?"

"Down the hall and to the left."

"Thanks. Oh," Caitie snapped her fingers and bent down to pull out the knife in her boot. "Here. In case anyone bothers you."

Gilly took it gingerly. "Thank you," she said, "but I don't know how to use it."

"Right, sorry. It's not too difficult. Just make sure not to grip it too tight or too loose. And when in doubt, go for the eyes. Or the inner thigh. There's an artery there—one little cut and they'll bleed out."

Gilly smiled at that.

Taking one last look at Little Sam, Caitie stood to leave, only stopping when her friend called her back. "Wait, Caitie." Gilly seemed unsure, her voice wavering. "Has Sam—has he said anything about me?"

"He said you weren't pleased with him for sending you here."

"I wasn't. But…" Gilly's face was sad, but also resolute. "I understand. Would you tell him that? And that I miss him?"

"Of course. Anything else you'd like me to relay?"

She shook her head.

"Well, in that case, I'd better go. But Gilly? It was really good to see you."

Gilly smiled a watery smile, and Caitie almost asked her to come back to the castle. But it was a stupid idea. Castle Black was home to some of the worst men in Westeros—they made Craster look positively kind by comparison. At least Caitie knew how to defend herself properly if she were found out. Gilly, even with the knife, didn't. It wasn't the best solution, but she was still better off in this place.

So, before Caitie could change her mind, she left Gilly with her son and went about finding the madame of the brothel.

It didn't take her long to run into the woman in question. She was standing in the hallway, not even ten steps away from Gilly's room, yelling at one of her whores—for what, Caitie didn't want to know.

When Caitie approached, the ugly older woman turned towards her and glared. "We've got nothin' you want," she snapped.

Caitie ignored her tone. "I was told you have a girl who saw some Northern soldiers."

The madame narrowed her eyes. "What's it to you?"

Pulling out the pouch of coin, Caitie lifted her chin and said, "I'd like to talk to her."

For a heartbeat, the madame stared at the pouch, thinking, and Caitie jiggled it so she could hear the coins rattling.

"Fine," she relented, grabbing the whore she had been yelling at not a minute ago by the wrist. "Go find Cass, girl, and be quick about it." Grateful for a reprieve, the whore scurried off. As soon as she was gone, the madame reached out and grabbed the pouch from Caitie's hand. Caitie scowled, but she managed to keep her temper in check. As long as she got what she needed, she would grit her teeth and bear the hostility.

A stony silence followed, only broken when a woman's voice asked, "Someone here to see me?" As it turned out, the woman who spoke—Cass, Caitie guessed—wasn't a woman at all. It was a girl, only a few years older than Caitie. Nineteen at most.

The madame grunted. "This one wants to talk." She jerked her thumb at Caitie.

Evidently, this wasn't a request Cass usually got, because she shifted between her feet and shot Caitie a bemused look. "Um, okay."

"Could we speak somewhere more private?" Caitie asked.

"I'm not givin' you one of my rooms just to talk," the madame said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Go sit out in the main area if you have to."

Caitie pursed her lips. "Fine."

She followed Cass to a smaller table towards the back, thankfully devoid of others, and sat down across from her. "My friend said you met some Northern deserters."

"I did. They liked me best," Cass said, straightening with pride.

She could see why. Cass was easily the prettiest woman in the brothel—long dark hair, dark eyes, perfectly symmetrical features, and pale, flawless skin. Caitie may have been mildly envious. She certainly hadn't gotten so lucky with her long, slightly asymmetrical nose and freckled face. It didn't help that she had to keep her hair above her shoulders all the time.

Not that any of it mattered. What mattered was finding out the truth. "I want to know what exactly happened to the Northern Army. The events that led to the Red Wedding, specifically."

Cass furrowed her brows but agreed, telling her all she knew, and by the time she finished, Caitie was ready to flip the table on its head. "Are you sure?" she pressed the whore.

"Aye—the King in the North broke faith with House Frey to marry a lady from Volantis."

"And then he beheaded Rickard Karstark for killing two Lannister cousins in revenge for Jaime Lannister's escape."

Cass nodded in confirmation.

"So his men left, and Robb Stark went crawling back to Walder Frey, who conspired with the Lannisters to betray him along with the Boltons." Caitie rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the headache coming on. "And what of the Ironborn?"

"The king sent the Greyjoy heir to the Iron Islands to broker an alliance, but they invaded and took parts of the North. Winterfell, Deepwood Motte; I'm not sure where else."

Before Caitie could ask—or even think—anything else, a large, balding man sat down next to her and put his hand on his thigh. "'Ello there, pretty thing. Haven't seen you here before."

She could smell the alcohol on his breath. It only disgusted her further, and she had already been close to her peak of disgust already. "Go away."

The man remained undeterred, his hand creeping higher. "Aw, don't be like that—"

"I am not in the mood to give you a second chance. Get your hand off my thigh and leave."

The man turned from lustful to angry immediately, evidently unused to being refused in a brothel. "I'll leave when I want, whore."

What came next happened within seconds: Caitie's fingers wrapped around his wrist and forcefully removed his hand from her thigh; he broke out of her grasp and grabbed her behind, trying to pull her closer, but she was too quick. The dagger on her belt was at his groin before he could react. One little cut, that was all it would take.

"Call me a whore again, and I'll make sure you never have the pleasure of one for the rest of your life," she hissed, the blood pounding in her ears and a red hue tinting her sight. She increased the pressure of her blade. The blood drained out of his face. "Now, get the hell out of here before I decide to skewer you instead."

He scrambled away and out the door, but not fast enough, as Caitie still managed to nick his pouch of coins.

Good, at least now she'd be able to pay Dareon back.

Taking deep breaths to calm her temper, she returned her attention to Cass. The whore was looking at her with an inscrutable expression, but Caitie ignored it.

"Thank you for the information," she said, pulling out a generous amount of coins from the new pouch and setting them on the table.

"Uh, you're welcome." Cass pocketed them and sent Caitie a brief, uncomfortable smile.

Caitie tried with all her might to smile back, to pretend she was calm, but her muscles wouldn't move. She gave a stiff nod, instead, and with every ounce of strength she possessed, used the table to push herself up and, on shaking legs, walked out of the brothel.

I honestly considered rewriting this plot thread, because I wasn't sure if it's plausible and it felt slightly contrived, but... aw, screw it. It's my story. I'll do what I want.

PS: I hope this goes without saying, but stealing is bad, kids. Caitie's a hot mess at the moment. Don't look to her for life advice.