Reynolds' POV

The fire crackled between them, the only warmth in the otherwise freezing night. The shadows of the trees loomed around them, closing them in, making the space feel smaller than it was.

Reynolds sat across from Katrina and Jon, his heart pounding as he prepared to tell them everything. He could see it in their faces—Katrina's guarded skepticism, Jon's quiet intensity, Arya's unreadable expression as she sat a little further away, her eyes flicking between them all.

But he felt her.

He wasn't sure when it had started—maybe it had been the moment he first noticed how easily she moved, like a whisper in the dark, or maybe it was the way she had looked at him earlier, assessing, weighing, deciding.

Whatever it was, it was there now.

And it was dangerous.

Because Arya Stark was not someone to fall for.

Not unless you were ready to bleed.

Reynolds exhaled, dragging his focus back to Katrina. "I've spent the last few weeks tracking down whatever scraps of information I could find about our father. His past. The things he did before either of us were born." He looked at her, his golden eyes steady. "He didn't just take your mother, Katrina. He chose her. Deliberately. He was searching for something—some bloodline, some connection to fire and shadow. You weren't just a mistake. You were designed."

Katrina's jaw tightened, her fingers clenching around the fur draped over her lap. "I already knew I was an experiment to him."

Reynolds shook his head. "It's worse than that." He swallowed hard. "Your mother fought back. She almost won."

Jon's expression didn't change, but his grip on Longclaw tightened.

Reynolds continued, forcing himself to push through it. "She knew what he was trying to do. She knew what he wanted from you before you were even born, and she tried to stop it. But she didn't just run—she fought. She almost killed him before he…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "Before he ended it."

Katrina was silent for a long moment. Then, she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "So I was always just… a means to an end?"

Reynolds hesitated. "Not to her."

Katrina's golden eyes flicked up to him, searching his face for any hint of a lie. She didn't find one.

Jon was the first to speak. "And the shadows?"

Reynolds' stomach tightened. He had been hoping they wouldn't ask, but of course, they would.

"They're still there," he admitted. "Whatever Katrina did, it wasn't enough. Not completely." He sighed. "I think he bound himself to something else before he died. Something older. I don't know what, but…" He exhaled. "He's waiting."

Jon's expression darkened, and Katrina let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through her hair. "Of course he is."

Silence fell over them, the fire crackling between them like an unspoken truth neither of them wanted to say.

Then, finally, Katrina sighed.

"I don't know if I can forgive you," she said, her voice raw. "Not completely."

Reynolds nodded slowly, his chest tightening. He hadn't expected her to.

"But," she continued, looking at him, "I think I can find it in my heart to try."

His head snapped up, surprise flickering in his golden eyes.

Katrina exhaled. "You did terrible things, Reynolds. Lied. Led me into a trap. Made me question everything. And I will never forget that."

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze hard.

"But you also saved me. And I think you're trying."

Reynolds' throat felt tight, but he nodded. "I am."

Katrina smirked slightly. "Don't make me regret it."

Reynolds huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "I won't."

And for the first time in a long time, he meant it.

Later, after Jon and Katrina had moved to their own corner of the camp, Reynolds found himself standing near the edge of the trees, staring out at the dark wilderness beyond.

He wasn't alone.

He felt her before he turned, her presence slipping in beside him like a second shadow.

Arya.

She didn't say anything at first, just leaned against the tree beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"You're still thinking," she finally said.

Reynolds smirked slightly, tilting his head. "I do that sometimes."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "I've noticed."

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it was… charged. Something unspoken hung in the air, something neither of them was ready to address.

Finally, Arya broke the silence.

"You don't really know who you are, do you?"

Reynolds exhaled through his nose, his lips curling slightly. "Not even a little."

Arya studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good."

Reynolds blinked. "Good?"

She smirked, stepping closer, her sharp gray eyes flickering with something he couldn't quite place. "Means you're not pretending anymore."

And before he could respond, she was already walking away, disappearing into the dark.

Reynolds let out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

Gods help him.

He was in so much trouble.

Reynolds' POV

The fire burned low, the embers crackling as Reynolds sat across from Katrina and Jon, his golden eyes sharp with purpose. The night was still, but the tension between them was anything but. He had been turning the plan over in his head for days now, refining it, questioning it, and finally, deciding it was the only way.

And now, as he looked at Katrina, he knew she would understand.

"We can't wait any longer," Reynolds said, his voice steady. "If we keep running, if we keep hoping that the shadows will disappear on their own, they won't. Our father bound himself to something before he died—something old, something that's keeping him anchored to this world."

Jon's jaw tightened. "And you think you know how to stop it?"

Reynolds nodded. "I do."

Katrina leaned forward slightly. "How?"

Reynolds exhaled. "There's a place, deep beyond the Wall—far past the Frostfangs, past any Wildling camp or known land. The First Shadow. It's where he drew his power from. It's where it began." He paused, watching their reactions. "If we destroy whatever he's bound to there, we end this. For good."

Katrina was quiet for a long moment, processing.

Then she nodded. "Alright."

Jon turned to her, his dark eyes sharp. "No."

Katrina's brows furrowed. "What do you mean, no?"

Jon clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "I don't trust him."

Reynolds felt irritation spark in his chest. "You don't have to trust me," he snapped. "Trust her." He gestured to Katrina. "You know this isn't over. You know he's still out there. And if we don't do this now, he'll keep coming back."

Jon's gaze didn't waver. "I'm not letting her walk into a trap."

Katrina scoffed. "Jon, I can handle myself."

Jon turned to her, his frustration clear. "That's not the point, Katrina! We don't know if this is real. We don't know if it'll work. And if it's a trap, we could be leading you right back to him."

Katrina narrowed her eyes. "And if we do nothing? What then?"

Jon exhaled sharply. "We find another way."

Katrina's golden eyes burned. "There is no other way."

Reynolds watched the two of them, sensing that this wasn't just about their father anymore. This was about them—their trust, their choices, their fear of losing each other.

And Jon was afraid.

That was the real problem.

Katrina stood, her hands clenched at her sides. "I'm going."

Jon stood too, stepping closer. "Katrina—"

"No," she cut him off, her voice firm. "I'm not waiting around for something worse to happen. I'm not going to sit here and hope that my father just gives up and disappears." Her gaze softened slightly. "Jon, I need to do this."

Jon's expression wavered, but he didn't back down. "I won't let you go alone."

Reynolds crossed his arms. "She's not going alone."

Jon shot him a glare. "You're not exactly reassuring."

Before anyone could say another word, Arya stepped forward. "I'm going too."

Jon turned to her, eyes widening. "Arya—"

She smirked. "What? You think I'd let them go off on their own?"

Jon looked between the three of them, his frustration growing.

"Jon," Katrina said, softer this time. "I need you to trust me."

Jon was silent for a long moment, his hands clenching at his sides. His dark eyes flicked between her and Reynolds, the tension in his body screaming no, but his heart telling him he was losing this fight.

Finally, he exhaled. "I don't like this."

Katrina gave him a small, sad smile. "I know."

Jon turned to Reynolds, his voice low and dangerous. "If anything happens to her—"

"I know," Reynolds said firmly. "And it won't."

Jon wasn't convinced.

But he didn't stop them.

That night, Jon sat alone by the dying fire, Ghost curled at his feet. The space where Katrina had been felt too empty, too wrong.

He hated this.

Hated waiting. Hated not knowing.

He trusted Katrina—he loved her—but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid.

Because for the first time since he met her, he couldn't protect her.

And that terrified him more than anything.