The sky was the wrong color.

It wasn't night, and it wasn't morning, just the bruised shade of gray, thick with smoke that seemed to be breathing out of nowhere.

I was running, though I couldn't say from what or toward where, my boots slapping against stone slick with blood or rain, maybe both. My chest heaved, ribs screaming, and something warm dripped down the side of my face, but I didn't stop. Voices rang out behind me, sharp and familiar, one of them screaming my name, only it wasn't Jason.

I turned a corner and the world twisted. A tower fell without a sound, flames reaching skyward without a roar.

A figure stood in the wreckage, tall and faceless, wearing an insignia I couldn't remember but still feared. He raised a hand.

Pain followed. Bright and immediate, like being torn inside out.

Then came the screams.

And the fire.

Always the fire.

A blade flashed through the air, but it wasn't mine. It belonged to someone else. Someone important. Then a voice came, heavy with grief and ash.

"Run," it said. "Don't look back."

I should have.

I woke up drenched in sweat, chest heaving. My pulse was fast, my breath shallow. Veyne wasn't where she'd been. I pushed myself up slowly, muscles stiff and sore. The fire was still alive, its light flickering against the trees. She sat a few feet away, arms around her knees, head down, completely still.

When I walked over and sat down next to her, she didn't move.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice etched with concern.

She didn't answer.

I leaned forward, voice lower. "Veyne."

She didn't look at me. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I just..." I paused, words catching halfway up my throat. "You're shaking."

That got a reaction. Barely. Her jaw clenched. She looked away from me, out into the trees.

"Couldn't sleep," she said. "Thought I'd clear my head."

I didn't push. I sat there in silence until she finally said something, and I wished she hadn't.

"My family was killed during the first surge, five years ago." She said with a low voice.

I looked at her but she didn't meet my gaze.

After a moment, I nodded once. "I'm sorry."

The fire crackled between us but she didn't react.

I stared into the flames until my eyes blurred.

Eventually she stood.

"We should rest. We have to keep moving."

I nodded, though I wasn't tired anymore.

She lay back down without another word.

I stayed by the fire, staring at the flames a little longer.

Over the next couple of days, the silence between us began to shift. As we walked through unfamiliar terrain with no clear destination, at least not one I could name, I got to know more about my savior. She'd sometimes drop pieces of her story. Small unguarded moments that didn't feel like a confession, more like facts she didn't think mattered.

Her family was gone, but she never talked about them directly. Instead, she mentioned towns burned down during the surge, people disappearing overnight. Names of places that meant nothing to me seemed to weigh on her.

She never volunteered details, but I caught fragments. Mentions of a brother, a town she once called home, a name said quietly. I realized she didn't care about it anymore. Like it was all behind her, dead weight she'd already dropped. Or at least, that's how she made it seem.

I started paying closer attention to how she looked. Dark hair pulled back, loose strands around the edges. Brown eyes that never stopped moving. A thin scar ran across her wrist, barely there but enough to catch the light. Her clothes were worn but clean, nothing wasted or flashy. She carried a faded linen pack slung over one shoulder, patched in places, battered from the road, but orderly in the way only someone careful with what little they owned could keep it.

"You're staring," she said without looking at me.

I blinked. "Sorry. I was just..."

The words trailed off before I could catch them. I didn't know what I was going to say.

We kept moving, the path uneven beneath our feet. Wind shifted through the trees, and I focused on the sound of it, pretending it had pulled my attention.

I didn't notice Veyne had stopped until I nearly walked past her. Her arms shot out, catching me across the chest. "A town," she said, voice low. I followed her gaze.

At a distance, a cluster of stone-and-thatch cottages sat low in the valley ahead, barely enough to qualify as a town. It looked more like someone had dropped a handful of shacks and left them to sulk. Roofs slouched under their weight, and thin, steady smoke curled from a few chimneys.

Before I could say anything though, her hand clamped around my arm.

And just like that, the air folded inward.

There wasn't time to flinch, let alone protest. One second I was standing on a ridge, staring down at a sad excuse of a town, and the next thing I knew, the ground was different beneath my boots and the wind had changed direction. The scent of old woodsmoke and livestock hit me like a slap.

Teleportation. Right. She could do that.

I hated it, and so did my stomach.

"You're welcome," she said, already walking.

I could have sworn I saw her smirk.

I stood there for a beat, swallowing bile, and trying to will the ground to stop tilting under me. My legs felt like they'd been reattached by someone in a hurry.

Veyne didn't wait. Of course she didn't.

I caught up.

The town, or what passed for one, was quieter than I liked.

No merchants shouting, no dogs barking, no clatter of hooves on stone. Just wind, some smoke, and the eerie feeling that every eye was watching from behind a curtain or half-shut door.

Most of the structures looked thrown together. Stone walls that leaned, thatch patched with whatever hadn't rotted yet. A couple animal pens sat half-collapsed, no animals in sight. Someone had tried to fix the roof with what looked like a wagon wheel.

We walked down the dirt path that served as the main road. A few people moved around in the distance, but nobody came close. Nobody said a word.

I kept my voice low. "Friendly place."

Veyne gave me a smile. The dry kind that said, you're not going to like this.

She tilted her head toward a weathered post by the side of the path. I followed her gaze and spotted them. Faded sheets nailed into the wood, corners curled from wind, rain, and time.

Wanted posters.

One of them looked like me if you squinted and imagined I was sleep-deprived and guilty of something worse than bad decisions. The other had sharp eyes, though the sketch made her look about thirty percent taller and twice as villainous.

I stared for a second. "They really captured my best side."

Veyne tilted her head. "They made me look scary."

"You are scary."

"Apparently not enough."

We stood there, the breeze tugging at the edge of the paper. The ink was faded, but the word VARIANT was stamped over her face, and mine. Except I wasn't. Hers had a few more words under it which claimed she was armed, unstable, high threat. Mine just said associate, for which I shouldn't have been as disappointed as I was.

Before I could start thinking too hard about that, Veyne spoke.

"Think they'll make a move?"

I gave the street another look. The windows, alleys, posters.

Something moved ahead. A figure came out of the shadows, walking toward us with slow, steady steps.

"If they do, you get to live up to your poster." I said quietly.

Before he was close, the old man spoke. "You looking for shelter?"

The man stood ahead of us, blocking the path without making it obvious. His coat was worn but intact, boots too clean for someone who belonged out here. His face was long and thin, skin weathered, one eye cloudy with age. Gray-black hair hung past his shoulders, tied back in a loose knot. He looked like someone who was used to bad news.

When we didn't move or respond, he stepped aside without a word, nodding toward a cluster of thatched roofs down the path.

“There’s an empty hut near the edge. It’s yours for the night.”