The familiar path wound before Katrina like a scar she'd never quite forgotten. Each step felt heavier, the crunch of snow beneath her boots louder in her ears than it should have been. She glanced at Jon out of the corner of her eye. He didn't say much, just trudged along with that brooding look plastered across his face, Ghost sticking close by his side.
Katrina sighed. He was like a stray pup who'd followed her home. Except instead of barking, he asked too many questions and stared at her like he could figure her out if he just looked hard enough. She hated it. She hated that he made her feel…seen. It was easier when people didn't bother.
"You're awfully quiet today, crow," she said, breaking the silence.
Jon glanced at her, his brow furrowed like she'd accused him of something. "You said I talk too much."
"And you listened? Huh. Maybe you can be trained after all."
To her surprise, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. That caught her off guard. She wasn't used to people smiling at her unless it was the kind of smile that came with a knife in the dark. But Jon Snow? He was different. Too different.
She shook her head and focused on the trail ahead. It was easier to think about the cold, the snow, the distant mountains—anything but the past. Or him. But the closer they got to their destination, the harder it became to push it all aside.
"Katrina?" Jon's voice pulled her from her thoughts. It was softer than usual, almost cautious. She hated that he sounded like he cared. "This place…is it safe?"
She snorted. "Define safe, Snow."
He frowned. "Does anyone live there?"
"Not anymore," she said, her voice sharper than she intended. She saw his expression darken, his ever-present questions practically brimming at the surface. She cut him off before he could ask. "We'll be fine. It's just a ruin. A place to rest, nothing more."
That was a lie, of course. Katrina hated lies—other people's, at least—but this one felt necessary. Jon didn't need to know what this place had been or what it meant. He didn't need to know about the firelight that used to flicker in the windows, the laughter that used to echo through the halls. That was hers to carry.
The clearing came into view sooner than she'd expected. The air grew colder, heavier, like even the land remembered the blood spilled here. Katrina's chest tightened as she stepped into the open space, the skeletal remains of the village stretching out before her.
Broken huts slumped under the weight of the snow, their roofs caved in like crushed skulls. A crumbling stone wall surrounded what was left, the gate hanging askew. She felt Jon stop beside her, his sharp intake of breath telling her he was taking it all in.
"This is where you lived?" he asked after a moment, his voice low.
"For a while," Katrina replied, forcing a shrug. "It wasn't much, but it kept the cold out."
Jon stepped forward, his dark eyes scanning the ruins. His expression wasn't pity, exactly—more like quiet understanding. Somehow, that made it worse.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Katrina hesitated, her gaze fixed on the remnants of what had once been a fire pit. She could still see it in her mind: the flames dancing, children laughing, her mother's hands busy with a pot of stew.
Then the firelight had turned to smoke, the laughter to screams.
"Raiders," she said finally, her voice flat. "They didn't like that we'd settled here. Said we were trespassing. Claimed we were stealing their game, their land. They didn't stop to ask questions."
Jon didn't say anything, but she could feel his eyes on her, heavy with unspoken words.
She turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Don't give me that look, Snow. It's done. They're gone, and I'm still here. That's all that matters."
He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, Ghost let out a low growl. Katrina's head snapped toward the direwolf, her hand flying to her spear.
"What is it?" Jon asked, already drawing Longclaw.
Katrina scanned the trees, her heart pounding. The forest was too quiet. No birds, no wind—just an oppressive stillness that made her skin crawl. And then she saw it: movement in the shadows.
"Wights," she hissed, gripping her spear tighter.
Jon moved to her side, his sword gleaming in the pale light. "How many?"
"Too many," she said, her voice tight. "We can't fight them here."
"Then what do we do?"
Katrina hesitated for only a second before turning toward the largest structure in the village: a stone hall, its roof partially intact. "We make a stand. Inside. Come on."
She sprinted toward the hall, Ghost and Jon close behind. The sound of shuffling feet and guttural groans grew louder, closer, as the wights emerged from the trees.
"Barricade the door!" Katrina shouted as they reached the hall. She slammed the heavy wooden door shut and shoved a broken beam across it, her muscles burning with the effort.
Jon grabbed another piece of debris, wedging it against the door. "This won't hold them for long."
"It doesn't have to," Katrina said, her mind racing. "We just need to hold out until—"
The door rattled, the wights slamming against it with inhuman strength. Ghost snarled, his massive form bristling as he positioned himself between them and the door.
Jon looked at her, his dark eyes full of determination. "Until what?"
Katrina gritted her teeth, gripping her spear. "Until I figure out how to get us out of this mess."
Jon gave her a look, one that said he wasn't entirely convinced. But he nodded, raising Longclaw.
The wights were coming, and the past Katrina had tried so hard to leave behind was closing in fast. For once, she wasn't sure if she could outrun it.
The sound of the wights hammering against the barricade echoed through the hall like a death knell. Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened, his knuckles white beneath his gloves. Each crash against the door sent splinters flying, the wood groaning under the relentless assault.
"They're going to break through," he said, his voice low but steady.
Katrina was pacing near the far wall, her spear clutched tightly in one hand. Her face was a mask of calm, but her golden eyes betrayed her, flicking between the door and the darkened corners of the room. She was searching for an escape, but there was none. They both knew it.
"Not yet," she said, her voice clipped. "We've got time."
"Time for what?" Jon snapped, his frustration bleeding through. "There's no way out of here, Katrina. No reinforcements. No help. It's just us."
She spun on him, her eyes blazing. "Then stop wasting your breath and fight, Snow! Or are you going to die whining?"
Jon opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by a deafening crack as part of the barricade splintered. Ghost lunged toward the door, his growls deep and feral, a warning to whatever was on the other side.
"We can't hold them here," Jon said, stepping toward the door as the wights' shadowy forms pressed against the gaps in the wood. "If they get in, it's over."
Katrina hesitated, her fingers tightening around her spear. For the first time since he'd met her, Jon saw doubt flicker across her face. She didn't have a plan, and that terrified him more than the horde outside.
"They won't take us," she said finally, her voice a mix of steel and desperation. "Not without a fight."
Jon nodded, his jaw set. If this was the end, he would face it with honor, with fire in his blood. The Night's Watch had prepared him for death—this was always how it was supposed to end. But when his gaze flicked to Katrina, standing tall and defiant despite the odds, something inside him rebelled. She wasn't supposed to die here. Not like this.
The door gave another sickening crack, and a skeletal hand punched through the wood, clawing wildly. Ghost lunged, snapping at the pale, withered flesh, but the door was falling apart faster than they could reinforce it.
Jon stepped closer to Katrina, his voice firm but urgent. "If we stay here, we die. Together."
She glanced at him, her golden eyes wide but fierce. "Then what do you suggest, Snow? Run? There's nowhere to go."
"We lure them in," he said, the plan forming in his mind even as he spoke. "Force them to bottleneck at the door. It'll give us a chance to cut them down one by one."
Her lips twitched into a grim smile. "And what if we don't cut them all down?"
Jon looked at her, his heart pounding. "Then we make them pay for every step they take."
The door shattered before she could respond, the wights pouring into the hall like a wave of death. Their glowing eyes burned in the dim light, their twisted forms clawing and snarling. Ghost leapt into the fray, his massive jaws snapping with lethal precision.
"Hold the line!" Jon shouted, swinging Longclaw in a wide arc. The Valyrian steel cleaved through the first wight, its head rolling to the floor as its body crumbled. Another lunged at him, and he drove his blade through its chest, the cold, lifeless weight collapsing at his feet.
Beside him, Katrina moved like a storm, her spear a blur of deadly precision. She drove it through one wight's eye socket, then spun to impale another. Her breaths came fast and shallow, her face a mix of determination and fury.
"Keep moving!" she yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Don't let them surround you!"
Jon fought with everything he had, but the wights kept coming, their numbers seemingly endless. For every one he struck down, two more took its place. His muscles burned, his breaths ragged, but he refused to fall. Not here. Not now.
"Katrina!" he called, his voice hoarse. He turned to see her back against the far wall, her spear shattered, a makeshift dagger clutched in her hand. A wight lunged at her, and she drove the blade into its neck, but another grabbed her arm, its skeletal fingers digging into her flesh.
Jon didn't think. He surged forward, Longclaw slicing through the wight's spine. It crumpled, and he pulled Katrina to her feet.
"Stay close to me!" he ordered, his voice fierce.
She didn't argue, her golden eyes locking onto his. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The world faded, the snarls of the wights and the crash of battle becoming distant echoes. All Jon could see was her—wild, bloodied, and alive.
But the moment shattered as more wights swarmed, and the fight dragged them apart. Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened as he fought to reach her again, his mind screaming her name even as his body strained against the tide of the dead.
The odds were impossible. The weight of the living and the dead pressed against him, and for the first time, Jon Snow wondered if this was truly the end.