The halls of Winterfell were quieter than usual, the soft hush of falling snow muffling the usual sounds of training in the yard. Katrina and Arya sat together in a corner of the Great Hall, where the fire burned high, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. They had taken their meals here for the past few nights, away from the formal settings Sansa preferred. Katrina liked it better this way—less pressure, more warmth.

Arya was sharpening a small dagger, her hands moving with practiced ease. "So," she said, not looking up, "what did you think of Jon when you first met him?"

Katrina smirked, leaning back against the stone wall. "You mean aside from the brooding?"

Arya snorted. "Obviously."

Katrina exhaled, considering. "Honestly? I thought he was… different."

Arya's eyebrow lifted, amused. "Different how?"

Katrina stretched out her legs, resting her arms on her knees. "Most men like him—fighters, warriors—they're predictable. They act tough, they talk a big game, and they either try to control you or dismiss you. But Jon?" She shook her head. "He wasn't like that. He didn't try to impress me. He didn't try to make himself look important. He just was."

Arya listened, twirling her dagger between her fingers. "Sounds about right."

Katrina glanced at her. "He pissed me off at first, though."

Arya grinned. "That definitely sounds about right."

Katrina laughed softly. "He was always looking at me like he was trying to figure me out, like he could see things I didn't want him to see. And that irritated me."

Arya smirked. "And now?"

Katrina hesitated, staring into the fire. "Now I get it. He wasn't trying to control me or judge me. He was just watching, trying to understand. He doesn't expect me to be anything other than what I am." Her voice softened. "And I think that's why I love him."

Arya's smirk faded into something more thoughtful. She set the dagger down, resting her chin in her hand. "He loves you, too. I've never seen him like this before."

Katrina smiled faintly. "Yeah, I know."

Before Arya could respond, the heavy doors to the Great Hall creaked open, and Jon stepped inside. He was still dressed in his thick furs, his dark curls damp from the cold. His gaze found Katrina almost immediately, and he gave a small nod toward the door.

"Come with me," he said.

Katrina glanced at Arya, who smirked and picked up her dagger again. "Better not keep him waiting."

Katrina rolled her eyes but stood, following Jon without question. Whatever he wanted to talk about, she had a feeling it was important.

And deep down, she knew—whenever Jon Snow asked her to walk with him, something was about to change.