The fire crackled softly in Katrina's chambers, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. She sat on the edge of the bed, absently stroking Dream's fur as the small black cat purred against her lap. Across from her, Jon stood near the hearth, arms crossed, his dark eyes heavy with thought.

It had been a rare moment of peace between them, but Jon, being Jon, wasn't one to let silence settle for long when something was weighing on him.

"You never talk about it," he said finally, his voice low but steady.

Katrina didn't look up. "About what?"

Jon sighed. "The coma. What it was like."

Her fingers stilled against Dream's fur, tension creeping into her shoulders. "Because I don't want to."

Jon stepped closer, watching her carefully. "Katrina…"

She clenched her jaw. "No."

It wasn't often that she shut him down so abruptly, and Jon, to his credit, hesitated. But he wasn't the type to back down so easily either. "I was there every day," he said quietly. "I watched you fight, even when you weren't awake. Whatever happened to you in there, you don't have to go through it alone."

Katrina let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. "That's the thing, Snow. I was alone. And it was hell."

Jon remained silent, waiting.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples before finally meeting his gaze. "It wasn't just darkness. It wasn't peaceful. I wasn't resting—I was trapped. Every time I closed my eyes, he was there."

Jon didn't have to ask who he was.

"My father," she continued, her voice tightening. "His voice, his shadow. Always watching, always whispering. Telling me I belonged to him. That the fire in me would never be mine." Her hands clenched into fists. "And then there was Reynolds."

Jon's expression darkened. "What about him?"

She swallowed. "He wasn't like my father—not exactly. But he was there too. Like a ghost I couldn't shake. And the worst part?" She let out a shaky breath, her golden eyes flickering. "I didn't know if he was warning me or leading me further into the darkness."

Jon's jaw tensed. "Do you think it was just a dream? Or something else?"

Katrina shook her head. "I don't know. But I felt it, Jon. It wasn't just a nightmare—it was like I was stuck in some place between here and whatever hell my father came from."

Jon moved to sit beside her, his hand resting on the back of her neck, grounding her. "You're not there anymore."

"I know," she murmured, though the weight of it still pressed on her.

They sat in silence for a moment, Dream stretching lazily before hopping down from Katrina's lap and curling near the fire.

Jon finally spoke, his voice cautious. "Do you think Reynolds is still a threat?"

Katrina hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't know. I've been asking myself that since the moment I woke up."

Jon's expression hardened. "He betrayed us, Katrina. That's not something we can ignore."

She turned to him, her golden eyes searching his face. "Then tell me, Jon—do you think he's evil? Or just someone who made a mistake?"

Jon's lips pressed into a thin line. "He led you to your father. He lied to us for months. He used your trust against you."

"I know all of that," Katrina said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But he also turned against my father in the end. He let us go. He saved us."

Jon exhaled sharply. "Maybe. Or maybe he just realized he was on the losing side and ran."

Katrina looked away, her thoughts tangled. "I want to believe he's more than just his mistakes."

Jon studied her carefully. "Because he's your brother?"

She hesitated. "Because I know what it's like to be caught between who you were and who you want to be."

Jon was quiet for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "So what do we do if we see him again?"

Katrina met his gaze, her jaw set. "We find out the truth."

Jon's expression was unreadable, but she could see the conflict in his dark eyes. Finally, he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then we do it together."

Katrina leaned into him, her forehead resting against his. "Together."

But deep down, she knew that when it came to Reynolds, the truth wouldn't be simple. And it wouldn't be easy.

Reynolds' POV

The fire in the abandoned cabin was dying, but Reynolds didn't move to stoke it. He sat with his back against the rough wooden wall, his fingers gripping the edge of an old leather-bound book, its pages yellowed with age. He had found it buried beneath the wreckage of an old Wildling outpost—a ledger, a record of names, dates, transactions.

His father's ledger.

He had been searching for answers ever since he left Jon and Katrina. Running wasn't enough. He needed to know the truth—not the half-truths his father had spoon-fed him since childhood, but the reality of what the man really was.

And what he had done to Katrina's mother.

Reynolds had never questioned it before. He had assumed Katrina's mother had been like his—just another woman who fell under their father's influence, another piece in his grand plan. But the deeper he dug, the worse the truth became.

His father hadn't just found Katrina's mother. He had taken her.

The details were vague—his father had been careful never to leave anything incriminating in writing—but Reynolds could piece together enough. There were references to "breeding potential," to "powerful offspring." Cold, calculated words that turned his stomach.

He could barely breathe as he read the next few entries. His father had experimented with different women, seeking something—some combination of fire and shadow, something greater than himself.

And Katrina? She was his greatest success.

Reynolds felt sick.

For years, he had believed that their father was a man of vision, a man who saw the world differently, who understood power in ways others didn't. He had trusted him, obeyed him, because he had nothing else. He had convinced himself that he wanted to follow in his footsteps.

But now he saw the truth.

Their father wasn't a visionary. He was a monster. A predator who used women for his own designs and discarded them when they were no longer useful. He had manipulated, lied, and twisted Reynolds' entire existence into something unnatural.

Reynolds slammed the ledger shut, breathing heavily. He had been complicit in all of it. Every lie, every deception, every moment he spent leading Katrina to that altar, he had helped him.

And for what? The approval of a man who saw him as nothing more than a tool?

A sudden wave of nausea hit him, and he closed his eyes, pressing his palms against his temples. That was when the visions started.

They came in flashes—memories that weren't his, emotions that didn't belong to him.

A woman screaming in the dark. Golden eyes, filled with terror.

A fire burning in the distance. A child's wail echoing through the cold night air.

His father's voice—calm, commanding. She will burn bright, brighter than any before her.

Then, silence.

Reynolds gasped, his body jerking forward as he came back to himself. His hands were shaking.

The visions had been coming more frequently since he had turned on his father. At first, he thought they were dreams. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Had his father done something to him? Had he bound them together in ways even Reynolds didn't understand?

He didn't have the answers. But one thing was clear—he had been wrong about everything.

And he needed to make it right.

Katrina and Jon had every reason to hate him. He had led them into a trap. He had lied, again and again, until even he wasn't sure what the truth was anymore. But he couldn't let that be the end of it.

I have to find them.

The problem was, he had no idea where they were. He knew they had survived—he could feel that much—but Winter was vast, and even his father's reach wasn't enough to track them without help.

He would start with the Wildlings. They always knew more than they let on. Maybe they had seen something, heard rumors of Jon Snow traveling with a woman with golden eyes and fire in her veins.

Reynolds stood, shoving the ledger into his pack. His breath was visible in the cold night air as he stepped outside, the snow crunching beneath his boots.

He had spent his entire life being a pawn. First to his father, then to his own fears. No more.

He would find them. He would tell them the truth. And if they killed him for it?

At least he would die trying to fix what he had broken.