Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading this far! Your support and enthusiasm mean the world to me. I hope you enjoy the journey ahead in Book 2—it's going to be an intense ride. If you have any suggestions, thoughts, or feedback, always feel free to review or DM me. Your input is invaluable!

Book 2:

The snow had not relented in three months. The North was a frozen wasteland, its harshness unyielding, but Jon and Katrina had grown accustomed to its cruelty. It was no longer a place of survival for them—it was a place of waiting.

The small outpost they had taken refuge in sat just south of the Wall. It was a forgotten Watchtower of the Night's Watch, little more than crumbling stone and a half-repaired roof. Yet, it offered a semblance of shelter, and that was enough.

The hearth burned low in the corner of the room, its warmth barely pushing back the biting cold. Jon sat at the table, a map of the North spread before him, his brow furrowed as he traced a path with his finger. Ghost lay by the door, his crimson eyes half-lidded but ever watchful.

Katrina leaned against the wall, her golden eyes fixed on the fire. Dream was curled in her lap, purring softly, but Katrina's expression was distant, her mind elsewhere. She had been quieter these past few weeks, her sharp wit and fiery defiance dimmed by the weight of something she couldn't name.

"You're doing it again," Jon said, not looking up from the map.

Katrina blinked, startled from her thoughts. "Doing what?"

"Staring at nothing," Jon replied, his voice steady but laced with concern. "What's on your mind?"

Katrina shifted uncomfortably, her fingers brushing through Dream's fur. "Just… thinking."

Jon finally looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. "About?"

She hesitated, then sighed, her gaze falling to the fire. "About him. About what's still out there."

Jon set the map aside, leaning forward. "We destroyed the shadow, Katrina. You destroyed it."

"I know," she said quickly, her voice sharp. "But that doesn't mean it's all gone. You said it yourself—there's always something out there."

Jon studied her for a moment, then stood and walked over to her. He crouched down, his hand resting lightly on her knee. "You've been carrying this since the day we left the cabin. What aren't you telling me?"

Katrina looked away, her jaw tightening. "I can still feel it sometimes. That pull. It's faint, but it's there."

Jon's expression darkened. "You didn't tell me."

"Because I didn't want you to worry," she said, her voice softening. "You've done enough for me, Jon. You don't need to keep fighting my battles."

Jon shook his head. "Your battles are my battles. You know that."

Katrina met his gaze, her golden eyes filled with both gratitude and frustration. "I just… I thought it would fade after we destroyed him. But it hasn't. And the longer we stay here, the stronger it gets."

Jon straightened, his mind racing. "You think it's coming back?"

"I don't know," Katrina admitted. "But something is."

Before Jon could respond, Ghost let out a low growl, his ears flattening as he stared at the door. Dream hissed, leaping from Katrina's lap and darting to the shadows of the room. Both of them were on alert, their reactions sharp and immediate.

Jon grabbed Longclaw from where it rested against the wall, his body tense. "Stay here."

Katrina rose, her spear already in hand. "Not a chance."

Jon shot her a look but didn't argue. He moved to the door, pulling it open slowly. The cold wind howled into the room, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and frost. At first, there was nothing—just the endless expanse of snow and trees.

Then, movement.

A figure stumbled into view, barely visible through the swirling snow. They were covered in furs, their hood pulled low, and they moved with a staggering gait as if injured or exhausted. Ghost growled louder, stepping forward, his body low to the ground.

"Who's there?" Jon called, his voice carrying over the wind.

The figure didn't respond. They stopped just outside the threshold of the outpost, their head tilting as if listening. Then they collapsed, their body crumpling into the snow.

Jon exchanged a look with Katrina, then stepped forward cautiously, Longclaw at the ready. Katrina followed close behind, her spear raised. When they reached the figure, Jon knelt, flipping the hood back to reveal a pale, frostbitten face. The man's lips were blue, his eyes sunken, but he was alive.

"Help me get him inside," Jon said.

Together, they dragged the man into the outpost, laying him near the hearth. Katrina stoked the fire while Jon checked for injuries. The man stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked at them, his expression panicked.

"Safe," he rasped. "Am I safe?"

"You're safe," Jon said, his voice steady. "Who are you? What happened?"

The man's breathing was shallow, his hands shaking as he grabbed Jon's arm. "They're coming," he whispered. "They're coming for her."

Jon's blood ran cold. "Who's coming?"

The man's gaze flicked to Katrina, his expression filled with terror. "The fire. The shadow. They're not gone. They're never gone."

Katrina took a step back, her breath catching. "No."

Before they could ask more, the man's body went rigid, his back arching violently. He let out a strangled scream, and then his body collapsed, lifeless, onto the floor.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Jon and Katrina exchanged a look, their faces pale.

"It's starting again," Katrina said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened. "Then we'll face it. Together."