Jon's POV
Something was wrong.
Jon had spent years surviving in a world that wanted him dead. He had learned how to listen to the things people didn't say, how to recognize the shift in a man's posture before he drew his sword, how to read the wind before a storm hit.
And right now—
Every instinct screamed at him that Katrina was not herself.
He had felt it the moment she woke up. The way she held herself. The way her golden eyes flickered just a little too long when she looked at him. The way her smirk came too easily, too controlled.
Katrina wasn't controlled.
She was a storm, untamed, unpredictable, always shifting, always burning.
And right now—
She was still.
Too still.
Jon tightened his grip on Longclaw, watching her carefully as she walked ahead of them, leading them deeper into the ruined valley.
Reynolds wasn't paying attention. Arya was keeping an eye on him, but Jon knew she hadn't seen it yet.
Not like he had.
Because he knew Katrina.
He knew the way she moved, the way she fought, the way she felt even in the smallest of gestures.
And this?
This was not her.
Jon inhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay calm. He couldn't act yet. Couldn't say it yet. He had no proof, only instinct, and if he confronted her now—if he was wrong—
Then he would break something between them.
And if he was right—
If this wasn't her—
Then he needed to figure out how to get her back.
"Where are we going, Katrina?" Jon asked carefully, his voice steady.
She turned slightly, her golden eyes flashing in the low light. The smirk that curled on her lips was small, almost teasing, but wrong.
Jon hated it.
"We're going to finish this," she said simply, as if it were obvious.
Jon nodded slowly, stepping closer. "And where exactly are we finishing it?"
Katrina tilted her head. "The First Shadow's core. The place where the binding began. We sever it there, and he's gone."
Jon exhaled. "And you just… know that now?"
Her golden eyes locked onto his.
And for a second—just a second—Jon swore he saw something behind them.
Something that wasn't her.
Jon's pulse quickened.
But she only chuckled, turning back toward the ruins. "You doubt me, Snow?"
Jon didn't move.
Didn't answer.
Because yes. Yes, he doubted her.
But not her.
Not his Katrina.
The thing wearing her.
Reynolds' POV
Reynolds was too focused on Arya to notice anything else.
Which was… probably a bad thing.
He knew they were walking toward something dangerous. He knew they were about to go up against an ancient, unnatural force.
But gods, Arya smirked at him, and his brain short-circuited.
"You're staring," Arya muttered, not looking at him.
Reynolds huffed. "Can't prove that."
Arya shot him a glance. "I can."
Reynolds sighed, rubbing his temple. "Fine. Maybe a little."
Arya hummed. "That's what I thought."
Reynolds tried very hard not to grin like an idiot.
Which meant he wasn't paying attention to Jon.
And definitely wasn't paying attention to the fact that Jon was watching Katrina like she was a stranger in her own skin.
Jon's POV
Jon waited.
Watched.
Tracked every little detail.
The way Katrina's steps were too even.
The way her voice was too smooth.
The way she hadn't once—not once—reached for him, not even absentmindedly.
Katrina was tactile. She touched.
And right now—
She hadn't even brushed against him.
Jon's chest tightened.
He didn't know how.
Didn't know why.
But he knew one thing for sure.
That was not his Katrina.
And he was going to get her back.
Even if he had to kill the thing inside her to do it.