The small camp was quiet that evening, the fire crackling softly as the three of them settled in for the night. Ghost sat near the edge of the clearing, his ears twitching at every faint sound, while Dream curled up next to Katrina, her green eyes half-closed but watchful. The snow had slowed, leaving a crisp, clear night with stars scattered across the sky.

Jon sat on a log, sharpening Longclaw with methodical strokes, his dark eyes occasionally flicking to Reynolds. The younger man sat cross-legged by the fire, poking at the flames with a stick, his golden eyes distant. Jon's mind churned with the weight of something that had been bothering him all day.

Earlier, when Reynolds had spoken about his mother and his years of running from the shadows, he'd mentioned a Wildling settlement north of the Wall—one that Jon recognized. It was a settlement that had been wiped out years before Reynolds claimed to have lived there.

Jon had tried to brush it off as a simple mistake, a slip of the tongue, but it gnawed at him. Something about Reynolds didn't add up, and it unsettled him.

"Reynolds," Jon said casually, his voice cutting through the quiet. "You said earlier that you and your mother lived in the Frostpeak settlement?"

Reynolds looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. "Yeah. Why?"

Jon kept his tone neutral, though his eyes sharpened. "The Frostpeak settlement was overrun by wights long before you would've been old enough to live there."

Reynolds blinked, his expression momentarily blank before he quickly recovered. "Oh. I—" He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "I must've mixed it up. We moved around a lot, you know? It's hard to keep all the places straight."

Jon nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "Right."

Reynolds shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Katrina as if seeking backup. "It doesn't really matter where we were, does it? The point is, we were running."

Katrina, who had been silent up until now, glanced between the two of them. "Jon, what's this about?"

Jon set Longclaw aside, his voice calm but firm. "I'm just trying to understand. If we're going to trust each other, we need to be honest."

Reynolds held up his hands defensively. "I've been honest. Look, I probably just got the name wrong. It's not a big deal."

"It feels like a big deal," Jon said, his dark eyes narrowing. "If you're hiding something—"

"Stop." Katrina's voice cut through the tension like a blade. She sat up straighter, her golden eyes flashing. "Jon, enough."

Jon turned to her, frowning. "Katrina, I'm just trying to—"

"No," she interrupted, her tone sharp. "You're trying to find something wrong. And for what? Things are going okay right now, for once. Why can't you just let that be enough?"

"Katrina," Jon said, his voice steady but firm. "If he's lying—"

"He's not lying," she snapped. "And even if he is, does it really matter? Look at where we are, Jon. Look at what we're dealing with. Maybe you're not used to things going well, but I am tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Jon stared at her, his expression conflicted. "I'm not trying to ruin anything, Katrina. I just want to make sure we're not walking into something worse."

Katrina stood, Dream hopping off her lap with a disgruntled meow. She stepped closer to Jon, her golden eyes fierce. "You don't have to protect me from everything. I can handle myself, and I trust him. So stop looking for problems that aren't there and just… be happy for once."

Jon's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he looked away, his hands tightening into fists. "Fine."

Katrina sighed, her anger softening slightly as she sat back down. "I know you mean well, Jon. But sometimes, things are just… things. Let them be."

The tension hung in the air for a moment before Reynolds spoke, his voice quiet. "I get it, Jon. You're protective. And I respect that. But I'm not your enemy."

Jon glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Let's hope not."

The camp fell silent again, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Jon resumed sharpening Longclaw, though his movements were sharper, more deliberate. Katrina leaned back against the log, her gaze fixed on the fire, her jaw tight.

Reynolds poked at the flames, his face half-hidden in shadow, his golden eyes flickering in the firelight.

The tension between them didn't dissolve entirely, but for now, it was set aside. Yet, deep down, Jon couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong—and that they would pay for ignoring it.

The days stretched on as the group moved further north, the landscape growing harsher with every mile. The air was colder here, the snow deeper, and the shadows seemed to linger longer in the sparse daylight. Yet, despite the unforgiving environment, Katrina and Reynolds seemed to be growing closer.

Jon watched them from a short distance, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as they walked ahead of him. Katrina was laughing—laughing—at something Reynolds had said, her golden eyes bright in a way Jon hadn't seen in weeks. Reynolds grinned back, his easy, confident demeanor contrasting sharply with Jon's quiet intensity.

Ghost trotted beside Jon, his crimson eyes flicking between the siblings as if sensing his master's unease. Dream, as always, was perched comfortably on Katrina's shoulder, her tail flicking lazily.

Jon tightened his grip on Longclaw, the weight of the blade familiar and grounding. Something about Reynolds still didn't sit right with him. It wasn't just the inconsistency about the settlement; it was his entire presence. Reynolds was too charming, too easy to trust—traits that Jon had learned to be wary of in a world like this.

"You're staring again," Katrina said, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk.

"I'm not staring," Jon replied evenly, though he didn't look away.

Katrina rolled her eyes, slowing her pace until she was walking beside him. "What is it now? Did he breathe wrong?"

Jon's jaw tightened. "I'm just keeping an eye on things."

"An eye on Reynolds, you mean," she said, her tone pointed.

Jon didn't respond immediately. Instead, he glanced at Reynolds, who was now a few paces ahead, humming softly to himself as he adjusted his pack. "Doesn't he seem… too comfortable to you?"

Katrina raised an eyebrow. "Too comfortable? With what?"

"With everything," Jon said, his voice low. "This land, this journey, even the shadows we've faced. He talks like he's been running his whole life, but he moves like he knows exactly where we're going."

Katrina sighed, rubbing her temples. "Jon, we've been over this. He's my brother. If he's acting comfortable, maybe it's because he feels like he's finally not alone anymore. Did you ever think of that?"

Jon frowned. "And what if it's something else? What if he's leading us into something we can't fight?"

Katrina stopped walking, forcing Jon to halt beside her. She turned to face him, her golden eyes blazing. "You're so determined to find something wrong with him that you're missing the bigger picture. We've made more progress with him than we ever could have on our own. Why can't you just let it go?"

"Because something is wrong," Jon said sharply. "You don't see it because you don't want to. But I've learned to trust my instincts, and they're telling me he's hiding something."

Katrina's expression softened slightly, though her voice remained firm. "Maybe he is. Maybe we all are. But if you keep looking for ways to tear him down, you're going to tear us apart instead."

Jon stared at her, his dark eyes conflicted. "And if I'm right?"

"Then we'll deal with it," she said, her voice softer now. "But until then, can we just try to move forward without looking over our shoulders every second?"

Jon exhaled heavily, nodding reluctantly. "Fine. But I'm not ignoring my instincts, Katrina. Not again."

Katrina nodded, her expression unreadable, before turning back to join Reynolds. As she walked away, Jon felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name—unease, frustration, maybe even jealousy.

Ghost nudged his leg, breaking him from his thoughts. He reached down, running a hand over the direwolf's thick fur. "What do you think, boy?" he muttered. "Am I wrong about him?"

Ghost didn't respond, of course, but his gaze lingered on Reynolds, his crimson eyes glowing faintly.

That night, the three of them set up camp near a rocky outcrop, the firelight casting long shadows across the snow. Katrina and Reynolds sat close to the flames, talking in low voices, their laughter occasionally breaking the quiet.

Jon sat a short distance away, sharpening Longclaw with deliberate strokes. He watched them out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tight as he caught snippets of their conversation.

"Do you remember the time we used to carve wooden animals?" Reynolds was saying, his tone light. "I had a bear that always fell over because I didn't carve the legs right."

Katrina laughed softly, her golden eyes warm. "You mean the bear you said was standing because it was 'resting?'"

"Exactly," Reynolds said with a grin. "It was a creative choice."

Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened. The camaraderie between them felt genuine, but something about Reynolds' ease still bothered him. His stories, his charm—it all seemed too perfect, too rehearsed.

As the night deepened, Jon leaned back against a tree, staring up at the stars. Ghost lay beside him, his head resting on his paws but his ears alert. Jon's instincts screamed that something wasn't right.

But for now, he said nothing. He would wait, watch, and be ready for the moment when the truth revealed itself—because Jon Snow had learned long ago that trust, once misplaced, could be a fatal mistake.