Katrina's POV

The morning light filtered through the old wooden shutters, casting soft golden streaks across the stone walls. Katrina stirred slightly, still tangled in the warmth of Jon's arms, her head resting against his chest. His breathing was slow, steady, his hold on her gentle but firm—like even in sleep, he wasn't willing to let her go.

For a moment, she just stayed there, existing in the stillness, letting herself feel safe. Letting herself feel loved.

It was a rare thing—peace. She and Jon had spent the last few weeks fighting—against enemies, against shadows, against her own mind being taken hostage by her father.

But here, in his arms, she didn't feel like a warrior or a weapon or some cursed soul caught between life and death.

She just felt like herself.

Jon shifted slightly, his grip around her waist tightening as he stirred. Katrina glanced up at him, taking in the sleep-heavy look in his dark eyes, the way his curls were a mess from sleep.

"Morning," she murmured.

Jon's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. "Morning."

She traced lazy patterns along his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. "Arya and Reynolds will be back soon."

Jon sighed, brushing a hand down her spine. "Mm. Not yet."

Katrina raised a brow, amused. "Not yet what?"

"Not ready to let go of you yet." His voice was still thick with sleep, and gods, it made something warm twist in her chest.

She huffed softly, but didn't move either. "I guess we can stay like this a little longer."

Jon smirked. "That's generous of you."

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest never left.

Then—

A sound.

Faint. Distant.

But enough to shatter the moment entirely.

Katrina felt Jon tense before he even fully processed it himself.

She sat up quickly, grabbing her tunic from the floor and slipping it over her head in one motion. Jon was already reaching for his sword, his expression sharp as he moved to the door.

"Jon—"

"I heard it too," he said quietly.

Katrina swallowed, her muscles tensed, waiting. Listening.

The sound came again—this time closer. A soft rustling outside, like someone stepping through the brush.

Jon pressed a finger to his lips in silent command before slipping toward the door, cracking it open just enough to peer outside.

Katrina stayed close behind, heart hammering against her ribs.

Then—

A shadow moved outside the door.

Jon's grip on his sword tightened.

Katrina's fire itched beneath her skin, ready to be called forth if needed.

And then—

The door burst open.

Arya strode inside first, looking entirely unfazed, followed by Reynolds—both of them carrying water skins and looking mildly confused at the way Jon had his sword drawn.

Reynolds raised a brow. "Well. Nice to know you missed us."

Jon let out a slow breath, lowering his sword, but his shoulders remained tense. "You were taking too long."

Arya scoffed. "We were getting water, Snow."

Katrina exhaled, brushing her fingers through her hair, trying to slow the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She glanced at Jon, and she could see it—the way his body was still wound tight, the way his mind was already racing toward the worst-case scenario.

She reached for his hand, squeezing it once. A silent reminder.

Jon exhaled. "Fine. But next time, don't take so long."

Reynolds grinned. "Would you have come looking for us, Snow?"

Jon shot him a look. "Obviously."

Katrina sighed, shaking her head. They had no idea.

No idea how close Jon had been to fighting the first thing that walked through that door.

No idea how much had changed between them last night.

She met Jon's gaze again, and for a split second, it was just them. Just the two of them in that quiet space of understanding, a space where words weren't needed.

And she knew.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.

Because whatever was coming next—

It was going to be worse.

Reynolds' POV

The fire crackled low in the center of their camp, casting flickering shadows against the cold stone walls. Reynolds sat a little apart from the others, watching the flames twist and shift, his thoughts darker than the night around them.

Jon and Katrina sat close together, murmuring quietly. He could tell Jon was still on edge—he always was—but it was different now. The way he watched Katrina, the way he lingered near her, it wasn't just worry anymore. It was fear.

Because they all knew the truth now.

Her father's shadow wasn't just fading—it was growing stronger.

And there was only one way to stop him.

Reynolds clenched his fists, staring at the fire as the realization settled deep into his bones.

It had to be him.

It was always supposed to be him.

From the moment he was born, he had been a tool—a piece in their father's game. And even when he had tried to break free, even when he had tried to carve out a different path, the past still clung to him like a curse.

He had spent so long trying to prove that he could be something more than his father's pawn.

Now, maybe this was his chance.

He stood suddenly, the movement drawing Arya's attention. She had been sharpening her dagger, but now her sharp grey eyes were locked onto him. "What?"

Reynolds hesitated. She's going to hate this.

"I need to do something," he said.

Arya's eyes narrowed. "Reynolds—"

Before she could say more, he turned and strode away from the fire. He felt her gaze burning into his back, but she didn't follow. Not yet.

He found Katrina standing just outside the camp, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared up at the moon. The silver light made her look softer than she really was, almost fragile. But he knew better.

"Katrina."

She turned at the sound of his voice, her golden eyes meeting his. "Reynolds. What is it?"

He swallowed. He had to do this. But saying it out loud? It felt impossible.

"I know how to end this," he said.

Katrina frowned. "We already have a plan."

"No," he said quietly. "I have a plan."

Something in his voice made her straighten, her expression shifting from confusion to something sharper. "What are you talking about?"

Reynolds inhaled deeply. "I've been thinking about it since you saw the memories. Our father… he doesn't just exist in the shadows. He exists in us."

Katrina stiffened. "Reynolds—"

"We share his blood," he pushed on. "That's why he can keep coming back. But it's different with me. I was made for him. He raised me, shaped me. I still feel him, even now."

Katrina's eyes widened, horror dawning on her face. "No."

Reynolds clenched his fists. "If I let him take me instead—if I become the vessel he wanted you to be—"

"No." Katrina grabbed his arm, shaking her head. "You don't get to decide this, Reynolds."

"I do." His voice was firm, but not unkind. "Because it has to be me."

Katrina's grip tightened, her fingers digging into his skin. "We'll find another way."

"There is no other way."

Katrina's breath hitched. "You think this will fix things?" Her voice broke slightly. "That sacrificing yourself will erase what you did?"

Reynolds flinched, but nodded. "Maybe not. But it's the only way I can make up for it."

Her golden eyes burned into him, her expression desperate.

Then—

"Make up for what?"

Jon's voice cut through the space between them.

Reynolds turned to find him standing nearby, Arya at his side. Jon's face was unreadable, but his grip on his sword was tight.

Arya, though—she looked furious.

"Tell them you're lying," Arya snapped, stepping forward. "Tell them this is just another one of your stupid ideas, and you'll change your mind in the morning."

Reynolds swallowed the lump in his throat. "I can't."

Arya's nostrils flared, and for the first time since he met her, she looked like she might actually hit him.

Jon exhaled sharply. "This isn't your decision to make."

"Yes, it is," Reynolds said. "And you know I'm right."

Jon's jaw tensed. "There's another way."

Reynolds shook his head. "If there was, Katrina would've seen it in the visions." He looked back at his sister. "Did you?"

Katrina's throat bobbed as she swallowed, but she said nothing.

That was the answer.

Jon swore under his breath and ran a hand through his curls, pacing slightly. He looked furious—not just at Reynolds, but at the world itself.

Arya, though—Arya just stared at him, something unreadable in her expression.

"You're a fool," she whispered.

Reynolds chuckled softly. "Yeah."

Her hands clenched at her sides. "You're our fool."

Reynolds felt his chest tighten.

He had never belonged anywhere before. Not truly. Not with his mother. Not with his father.

But now, standing here, seeing the hurt in their eyes—

Maybe, just maybe, he had found something worth protecting.

Even if it meant losing himself in the process.