Katrina's POV
The voice slithered through the air, curling around her like a noose.
"Did you miss me?"
Katrina's breath hitched.
No.
No, she wouldn't let him have this moment. Wouldn't let him control it.
She clenched her fists, planting her feet in the snow, her fire flickering beneath her skin, waiting—ready.
Jon had already drawn his sword, his stance rigid, his dark eyes scanning the ruins for any sign of movement. Ghost stood beside him, his white fur bristling, a deep, rumbling growl vibrating through his chest.
Reynolds' golden eyes darted toward her, his hand gripping the hilt of his dagger. "Katrina," he said quietly, "is this…?"
She swallowed hard. "It's him."
Arya exhaled, flipping her dagger in her hand, her gaze sharp. "Well, we were looking for him." She smirked, but there was no humor behind it. "Guess he saved us the trouble."
The wind howled around them, the fire flickering wildly, as if something unseen had brushed against it. The ruins groaned, shadows twisting against the stones, stretching unnaturally.
Then—
A shape emerged from the blackness.
Not fully formed. Not solid.
But there.
A tall, shifting figure, its edges blurred like smoke, its golden eyes burning bright in the darkness.
Her father.
Or what was left of him.
Katrina's heart pounded, but she refused to look away.
This was what she had been preparing for.
She would not run.
The shadow tilted its head, its lips curling into a smirk that was all too familiar. "You've been watching me, daughter." His voice was smooth, as if they were old friends. "And now, I'm watching you."
Jon stepped in front of her instinctively, Longclaw raised. "You're dead."
The shadow chuckled. "You burned my body. My mind. My flesh. But I was always more than that."
Katrina exhaled sharply. "And now you're less."
The golden eyes flicked to hers, amused. "Am I?"
She felt the cold creep against her skin, deeper than any winter chill, pressing into her like fingers trying to worm their way inside.
Her fire flared instinctively, pushing the sensation back.
Her father's shadow laughed.
"You still fight me." His voice was almost fond. "Just like your mother did."
Katrina's breath caught.
Jon stiffened beside her. Reynolds swore under his breath.
Arya, unfazed, twirled her dagger again. "So is this the part where you monologue, or do we get to kill you now?"
The shadow smiled, flicking its gaze toward her. "You remind me of another Stark I once knew."
Arya's smirk didn't waver. "Yeah? Bet they killed you too."
Katrina barely heard them.
She was focused on the way the shadow moved—how it shifted, how it pulsed against the darkness, how it was still tethered to something unseen.
He wasn't whole.
Not yet.
She could feel it.
Her father had always been obsessed with control, with power, with winning. If he had truly found a way to survive beyond death, then there had to be something anchoring him.
A connection. A weakness.
And she was going to find it.
The shadow's gaze returned to her.
"You think you can stop me?" His voice was low, almost disappointed. "I made you, Katrina."
Katrina's jaw clenched. "You tried."
Her father smirked. "And yet, here you are. Standing exactly where I wanted you."
The wind howled.
The fire guttered out completely.
And suddenly—
The shadows lunged.
Katrina barely had time to react before the darkness exploded around them, sweeping through the ruins like a living thing, wrapping around her throat, her arms, her mind.
Cold.
Endless.
Smothering.
Jon shouted something, but it was distant—so distant—and then she was falling.
The world tilted, the ground vanishing beneath her feet—
And then—
She was somewhere else entirely.
Katrina's breath came in sharp gasps as she hit the ground—hard.
The ruins were gone.
The snow. The cold. The fire.
All of it—gone.
She was standing in a place she had never seen before.
A dark, endless expanse, stretching in all directions. The air was thick, heavy, pressing against her like a weight she couldn't lift.
And in the center of it all—
A door.
Tall, black, with intricate carvings of fire and shadow entwined.
It pulsed. Alive.
Katrina swallowed hard.
She knew what this was.
The source.
The thing her father had bound himself to.
The thing keeping him here.
And she was alone with it.
A voice whispered behind her, low, smooth, familiar.
"You've come far, daughter."
Katrina whirled, her fire sparking in her palms.
Her father stood a few feet away, more solid now, more real.
He smiled. "But not far enough."
The shadows rushed toward her—
And the world went black.
Katrina's POV
The darkness consumed her.
It wasn't like before—wasn't just cold or shadow or something she could fight. It was inside her, pressing into every inch of her mind, her body, her soul.
She screamed—but there was no sound.
She moved—but her body did not obey.
She wasn't falling anymore. She was sinking, being pulled into the depths of something ancient and wrong, the kind of darkness that didn't just smother—it devoured.
And in the midst of it, she felt him.
Her father.
His presence wrapped around her like a cage, like invisible chains tightening with every breath.
"You are mine now, daughter."
No.
No, she wasn't.
Katrina fought, her fire roaring to life within her, desperate to push him out, to burn him away like she had before—
But it didn't work.
This wasn't like before.
This wasn't just his shadow.
This was him.
And he wasn't trying to control her.
He was taking her place.
Jon's POV
Katrina's body jerked violently, her breath gasping as she collapsed in the snow.
Jon lunged forward, catching her before she hit the ground. Her skin was ice-cold, her golden eyes wide and vacant, flickering with something he didn't recognize.
"Katrina?" he said, shaking her lightly.
She didn't respond.
Arya and Reynolds crouched beside him, both tense, both watching.
Reynolds exhaled sharply. "What the hell was that?"
Jon didn't answer.
Because Katrina's body suddenly went still.
Too still.
Then—
A sharp inhale.
Her eyes snapped open.
And for the first time since he had met her, Jon felt something wrong.
It was Katrina.
It looked like Katrina.
But something in her eyes, something in the way she held herself, was not her.
Slowly, she sat up, rubbing her temples, as if adjusting to her own skin.
Jon helped her to her feet, his hands lingering on her arms, steadying her. "Katrina?"
She blinked, her golden eyes locking onto his.
For a moment, she seemed… normal.
Then—
She smiled.
And it wasn't Katrina's smile.
It was too calm. Too controlled.
Jon's grip on her arms tightened.
He didn't know how, didn't know why, but something in his gut screamed at him—
This was not her.
Not completely.
But Arya and Reynolds didn't see it.
Arya smirked, stepping back. "Thought we lost you for a second there."
Reynolds crossed his arms. "What the hell happened?"
Katrina—not Katrina—tilted her head, as if testing out her own body, her expression unreadable.
"I…" She blinked, shaking her head slightly, her golden eyes flickering. "I'm fine. I just—" She exhaled sharply. "It worked."
Jon narrowed his eyes. "What worked?"
Katrina hesitated, then smirked—just a little.
That smirk sent every alarm in Jon's mind ringing.
Because it wasn't hers.
Not really.
She lifted her chin, her stance shifting slightly.
"I saw it," she murmured, voice low. "The thing keeping him here. I know how to end this."
Arya huffed a breath. "Well, that's a start."
Reynolds let out a low exhale. "Good. Then let's—"
But Jon didn't move.
Didn't let go of her arms.
Because this wasn't right.
Katrina wasn't shaking. Wasn't reeling from what had just happened. She had just collapsed, had just faced the worst darkness she'd ever known, and yet—
She was calm.
Too calm.
And Katrina was never calm after a fight.
Jon's fingers tightened on her.
Her golden eyes flicked to his.
And for the first time, he swore he saw something else behind them.
Something watching him back.
But he didn't let go.
He just murmured, voice low, barely audible—
"Katrina."
A flicker. A hesitation.
Just a second.
Then—
That wrong smile again.
"I'm fine, Jon."
Jon's jaw clenched.
No, she wasn't.
But for now, he nodded.
Because he needed to know what he was dealing with.
And he needed to get her back.
Before it was too late.