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Chapter Text

Vi was bleeding. A slow...

Drip… 

Drip… 

Drip…  

From the tip of her nose to the cold, cracked concrete of the interrogation shack. It wasn’t much—just a thin, red rhythm, pooling beneath her chair. 

Her hands were bound tight behind her, the rope digging into raw wrists. No getting out of it this time. Not like last time. Her thumb still ached from that little trick.

A voice cut through the quiet. Feminine. Proper. Piltie. 

"I know you’re awake."  

Vi huffed a soft laugh, tilting back, her chair groaning under the shift. Her head lolled to the side, a few strands of sweaty pink hair falling into her face. She blew them away, then flashed a grin—bloody and cocky, all teeth.  

The woman across from her didn’t smile back.  

She wasn’t from the colony. Couldn’t be. She was straight-backed and the uniform looked like it actually fit her. Dark hair pulled into a severe ponytail, not a single strand out of place. And those eyes—blue, piercing, the kind that could flay a person alive if they wanted to.  

And, yeah. She was hot.  

Vi dragged her gaze over her, slow and shameless. She might be tied up, beaten, and surrounded by a bunch of enforcers waiting for their shot at her, but hell, she wasn’t dead yet. Might as well enjoy the view.  

The enforcer thumbed through a thin notebook. When she spoke, it was cool, detached. “Prisoner 516.”  

Vi cut in, still grinning, “Vi.”  

The enforcer stopped. Met her gaze fully this time. Then, after a pause, “Vi, then. You killed the Superior.”  

Vi shrugged, or as much of a shrug as she could manage with her arms tied behind her. “Yeah. It happens.”  

The enforcer didn’t rise to the bait. Didn’t even blink. She simply asked, “Why?”  

Vi tilted her head, considering. “You want a list?”  

A sharp breath from the enforcer. Maybe a laugh. Maybe just annoyance. “I want you to start at the beginning.”  

Outside, through the cracked doorway, Vi could see the other enforcers watching. Some with their arms crossed, some with batons clenched in white-knuckled fists. They weren’t looking at her like a prisoner. They were looking at her like a dead woman walking.  

She turned back to her interrogator, still grinning, though her heart thudded a little quicker. “Beginning of what? My life? My last meal?”  

The enforcer’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “Start with this morning.”  

Vi blew some blood from her nose, rolling her shoulders, as if stretching away the pain that was already setting in. Might as well talk, she figured. Not like she had much time left.  

And if she was gonna spend her last moments breathing, it sure as hell wasn’t the worst thing to be talking to the hot chick in front of her.

---

Vi had set her traps just outside the settlement, close enough to check them before dark, far enough that no one would stumble over them and try to claim her catch. It wasn’t much, but it kept her stomach from twisting in on itself. Kept her from relying too much on the thin, gray gruel they passed off as food in this place.

By the time dusk rolled in, she was crunching through the snow, boots breaking the thin crust of ice that had formed on the surface. The woods were quiet. Winter had sunk its teeth in deep, and the forest had learned to stay still, waiting for the thaw.

She reached the first trap, crouched down, and sighed. Empty.

Figures.

Vi pulled the snare from the frozen earth, dusted off the bit of frost clinging to the rope, and stuffed it back into her pack. Just one. She needed at least one, otherwise, this whole trip was a waste.

The second trap was across the frozen creek. She picked her way carefully over the ice, her boots skidding once, but she caught herself before she went down. Just as she stepped onto the bank, she noticed them.

Footprints.

Fresh ones, leading toward the shoreline.

Vi narrowed her eyes. Big. Heavy. Someone—or a few someones—had been through here not long before her. She lingered a second, watching the darkening woods. Her fingers fiddling with the seeds in her pocket. A bad habit, paranoia. But paranoia was the only thing that kept a person breathing in this place.

She shook her head, pushed the thought away, and moved on.

The second trap had a rabbit. Scrawny thing, but meat was meat. Vi made quick work of it, resetting the snare with stiff fingers before moving on. By the time she finished checking all six traps, she’d gotten two more.

Three total. Not bad. Not great, but not bad.

By then, the sun was dragging its last light over the trees, bleeding red and orange through the branches. The walk back was a quiet one, the cold nipping at her ears and her nose, the smell of burning wood growing stronger as she neared the settlement.

She crested the last hill and saw the place stirring down below. The forges were dying down, their glow dimming under the thickening night. People were moving back toward their bunkhouses, tired and hunched from a long day.

Vi adjusted the strap of her pack, rolling her shoulders. 

Another night…

Vi trudged down into the settlement, her boots squelching against the slushy mess that passed for a street. The snow had been churned up by too many feet, mixing with mud and filth, leaving behind a thick, clinging slop that made every step feel heavier than it should.

People saw her coming and moved out of the way.

Good.

Her reputation had earned her that much, at least. Even the enforcers, hard bastards that they were, tended to give her space. She caught the usual sidelong glances, suspicion wrapped tight around their tired faces, but she didn’t care. Let them look. Let them glare.

One face, though, was different.

Isha.

A small, wiry thing, no older than ten, all sharp angles and big brown eyes. She was perched on the side of the path, her boots caked in mud, but her grin bright as ever. She bounced on the balls of her feet as Vi approached, her hands already moving in quick, excited gestures.

Found something interesting.

Vi raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? That so?”

Isha’s hands moved faster, signing with eager little flicks of her fingers.

Saw the Superior—

Vi’s stomach turned to ice. Her hand shot up, fingers slicing through the air. Stop.

Isha blinked up at her, tilting her head.

Vi narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. Don’t mess with the Superior. You hear me?

Isha pouted, shaking her head just as fast. Not messing. Saw him. Moving barrels.

---

"What was in the barrels?"

"You’re not here for me, then?" Vi mused.

The enforcer’s blue eyes didn’t waver. "What was in them?" she repeated flatly.

Vi let the question hang. Held her gaze, watching her. Really watching her. The way her hands stayed steady, but her jaw tightened just a fraction. The way her breathing stayed controlled, but her shoulders were too rigid. New at this.

Vi licked a bit of blood off her lip, then smacked her dry mouth together. "Gonna be a long night, huh? At least get me some water first."

The enforcer’s nostrils flared in irritation, but she stepped over to her pack. A waterskin came free, and she stretched it toward Vi, wary but willing.

Vi took it to her lips. She drank deep, letting the water sit on her tongue for a moment before swallowing. Clean. Too clean. It didn’t have the sharp bite of rust or the faint taste of mold that all the water down here had.

She tilted her head at the enforcer, wiping her mouth on her shoulder. "You’re a Proper Piltie , huh?"

A flicker crossed the enforcer’s face. Small. Quick. Most wouldn’t have caught it.

Vi did.

"Barrels, Vi," the enforcer said again, trying to wrest control back.

Vi just smiled, watching her, enjoying the way this was playing out now. "You wanted to hear the story, right? Then let me tell it."

The enforcer clenched her jaw, but after a moment, she huffed, "Fine."

Vi grinned, leaning back, chair creaking. "Where was I?"

"You were talking to the girl," the enforcer said, arms crossed.

"Right." Vi nodded. "So—”

---

Vi’s jaw clenched. Her fingers twitched, but she forced herself to keep her response steady. I said stop.

Isha’s shoulders slumped. Her hands fell to her sides, her face falling with them.

And damn it, Vi hated that look.

She sighed, shifting the strap of her pack before reaching behind her. One of the rabbits came free, cold and stiff in her grip. She handed it over, nodding toward the girl’s bunk. “Take it. Split it with the others.”

Isha’s eyes lit up like someone had handed her the damn moon. She clutched the rabbit close to her chest, nodded fast, then darted off, her small frame slipping easily between the scattered people heading toward their quarters.

Vi shook her head, watching her disappear into the murk of the settlement.

Vi continued down the street, walking over the plank pathway, her boots thudding dully against the warped wood. It creaked under her weight, groaning in protest, but it held. Just like it always did.

Her cabin wasn’t much. A little off to the side, away from the worst of the settlement’s chaos. It was ramshackle, the walls more patchwork than proper construction, and the wind found its way through the cracks far too easily.

Inside, the air was stale and cold. Sparse as it was, it was better than cramming into the bunkhouses with the rest of the prisoners. A bed, a fireplace, a table, a single chair. Not much else.

Vi kicked the door shut behind her, then strode to the fireplace. The ashes were old, gray with disuse. She grabbed a log from the small stack by the hearth and tossed it in, striking a match and watching as the flames licked hungrily at the dry wood.

Warmth crept into the cabin, slow and steady.

Above the fireplace, hanging from a rusty nail, was a silver locket. The chain was tarnished, the surface worn smooth from her fingers running over it. Vi reached for it without thinking, curling her hand around the cool metal, pressing it to her forehead. A breath. A pause. Then she let it go, letting it swing back into place.

She turned to the table.

Rabbit-cleaning was muscle memory by now. Quick, efficient, her hands moving without needing to think. Before long, the meat was skewered and roasting over the fire, the smell creeping into every corner of the cabin. Rich, the kind of scent that settled into a person’s bones and made the cold feel just a little less sharp.

Vi sat on the bed, elbows resting on her knees, staring into the fire. Watching the flames twist and curl, the wood crackle and pop.

Her memories screamed at her.

She clenched her jaw. Shook her head. Focused on the heat instead, on the slow, steady roasting of the meat. She wasn’t there. She was here.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Vi jerked up, hand reaching for her pocket.

" Who is it? "

A pause. Then—

"It’s Eloise!" A squeaky voice muffled by the door. Young, uncertain. "I was just wondering if you’d seen Isha?"

Vi frowned.

She pushed up from the bed and opened the door. The girl stood there, her thin frame swallowed by an oversized coat, eyes wide and anxious.

"No," Vi said, searching her face. "She isn’t at your bunk?"

Eloise shook her head. "No, she was supposed to be back by now. Just thought maybe you saw her."

Vi forced herself to keep her expression even.

"Haven’t seen her."

"Alright. Thanks anyway." Eloise lingered for half a second, then turned and hurried off into the dark.

Vi closed the door.

Sat back down.

Tried to tell herself it was fine.

Tried to tell herself Isha was probably just dragging her feet, playing in the mud somewhere, trying to stretch her freedom for as long as she could before bed.

Tried to tell herself the Superior wasn’t involved.

But she was already reaching for her coat. Already grabbing the cooked rabbit off the fire, wrapping it in cloth, shoving it into her pack.

Because if she was wrong, if Isha had ignored her, if she’d gotten too close to something she shouldn’t have—

Vi didn’t want to finish the thought.

She ran into the night, boots splashing through the slush as she cut a path toward Isha’s bunk. Her breath came in sharp bursts, her body running hotter than it should in the freezing air.

Nothing.

She didn’t see her. Didn’t see anything.

Vi turned on her heel, scanning the ground. The churned-up mud made it nearly impossible to pick out fresh tracks. Too many boots, too much mess. She clenched her teeth, widening her search.

Five steps out.

Ten.

Fifteen.

There.

Small footprints. Lighter. Quick.

Vi followed them, her pace picking up as they led her away from the settlement, toward the tree line. The tracks merged with something else. Heavier prints. The same ones she’d seen earlier by the creek.

Her gut twisted.

Vi broke into a sprint.

The trees grew thinner. The snow-packed earth gave way to sand and stone.

A beach.

And on that beach—

Isha.

The kid was crawling backward, whimpering, her small hands clawing at the wet sand, trying to get away from the large man standing over her. Scarred jaw. Broad shoulders. Eyes like dull glass, unreadable.

Vi saw red.

She forced herself to take in the rest of the scene. Two other men stood near a skiff, arguing. One was tall and wiry, his face gaunt, skin tight against high cheekbones, his mouth curled into a sneer. The other was squat and thick, built like a sack of bricks, his bald head gleaming under the moonlight.

Vi didn’t slow as she hit the beach.

“Hey!”

Three heads snapped toward her.

Isha flinched but kept scrambling, dragging herself back until she was behind Vi, small fingers grasping at the hem of her coat.

Her face was bloodied.

Vi’s fury settled into something cold.

She rolled her shoulders, loosened her stance, but every muscle in her body was taut, coiled tight.

Scar-Jaw watched her approach, expression unreadable. Wiry and Baldy stopped arguing, turning their attention to her.

Vi exhaled through her nose, slow, measured.

"You got three seconds to tell me what the hell you think you’re doing.”

No one answered.

Scar-Jaw tilted his head, studying her.

Vi cracked her knuckles. "One."

Wiry scoffed. "The hell are you supposed to be?"

"Two."

Baldy shifted, feet planting wide.

"Three."

---

"Then, I killed them."

The enforcer rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "You don’t have to play coy. We both know who you are."

Vi’s grin faded, just a little.

The enforcer continued, words even. "I’ve read your file. I know what you’re capable of. What I need is for you to recount it. As best you can. Or—" she tilted her head slightly "—we can cut this short."

Vi huffed a quiet, bitter laugh. "That a threat?"

The enforcer didn’t take the bait.

"Fine.” She licked her cracked lip, the taste of dried blood sharp on her tongue, then leaned forward as much as her bindings would allow. “I—”

---

Vi moved first.

Faster than they expected.

She closed the gap between her and Scar-Jaw in two long strides, her hand already in her pocket, fingers curling around a handful of seeds. She flung them, scattering them like shrapnel across the sand.

They hit the ground and bloomed .

Vines surged up like striking asps, wrapping around Scar-Jaw’s legs, twisting up his calves, digging into his flesh. He snarled, muscles bulging as he ripped free, snapping the vines like rotted rope.

Vi was already moving, tattoos along her arms wriggling as power flooded her veins. She clenched her fists, channeling bloom —the seeds embedded in her knuckles erupted, bark surging over her hands, encasing them in thick, jagged gauntlets. The pain was immediate, blistering, like her skin was splitting apart from the inside.

She ignored it.

Baldy was faster than he looked, purple eyes flashing. He came in from the side, a blur of movement, a fist driving for her ribs. Vi twisted, barely dodging, but Wiry was already there, darting low, sweeping her legs out from under her.

Vi hit the sand, hard.

Scar-Jaw lunged, aiming to stomp her through the earth, but Vi rolled just in time, the force of his boot cratering the beach where her head had been.

She swung her leg, catching Wiry behind the knee. He buckled.

Vi surged up, bark-covered fists swinging wide— crack! —her knuckles slammed into his jaw. Wiry’s head snapped sideways, spit, teeth, and blood flying.

Baldy grabbed her from behind, locking his thick arms around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground.

Vi growled, slamming her head backward. Smash . Her skull met his nose—cartilage crunched. Baldy howled but didn’t let go.

Scar-Jaw was coming.

Vi gritted her teeth and withered .

The tattoos burned. Gods, it hurt.

The vines she’d grown earlier shriveled into nothing, their energy siphoned back into her. Baldy screamed, the moisture in his skin draining in an instant, his strength bleeding away. His grip slackened, and Vi tore free.

Scar-Jaw reached her just as she spun— boom! —a right hook straight to his ribs. Once. Twice. Three times. The bark on her knuckles split, sap mixing with blood as she buried her fists into him, every hit breaking against him.

Scar-Jaw grunted, staggered—but didn’t fall.

He caught her next punch.

Vi’s gut twisted.

Then— wham .

His fist crashed into her stomach.

Vi choked, gasping, vision blacking at the edges. The force lifted her off the ground, sent her spiraling across the sand.

Pain. Pain.

She forced herself up, body screaming. Wiry and Baldy were on her again, kicking, stomping, forcing her back down.

Vi gritted her teeth, spat blood, then bloomed .

The earth erupted.

Thorned roots lashed out, wrapping around Baldy’s throat, tearing into Wiry’s arms. They thrashed, screamed, trying to cut free, but Vi didn’t let up. Didn’t stop.

Her tattoos seared like hot irons dragging over her skin. She clenched her fists, bark gauntlets cracking, splintering, but holding.

She ripped herself free.

Vi swung.

Crack. Wiry’s skull snapped back.

Crunch. Baldy’s ribs folded inward.

Scar-Jaw roared, breaking free from the vines. Charging.

Vi met him halfway.

Their fists collided midair. A shockwave rattled the air between them.

He swung again—Vi ducked, drove her knee into his gut. He grunted, grabbed her arm, flung her sideways.

Vi hit the sand hard, rolled, came up swinging.

Scar-Jaw blocked.

She shifted, twisting, putting her everything into the next blow—her fist drove into his chest like a battering ram.

He staggered.

Vi pressed.

She bloomed , forcing bark and thorns through the wound her punch had left. It grew inside him, splitting muscle, tearing through bone.

Scar-Jaw gasped.

Vi ripped her arm free.

He fell.

Silence.

Vi swayed on her feet.

The world tilted, dark edges creeping into her vision. Her breath came in ragged gasps, all of her burned. Too much. She had pushed too hard. The tattoos on her arms seared, their dark ink writhing beneath her skin, punishing her for the power she had pulled.

Her knees almost buckled. Not yet.

From the woods, she saw them.

Lanterns.

Moving closer.

Enforcers.

Vi swallowed the thick taste of blood in her mouth and turned to Isha, who was still frozen, wide-eyed, trembling. Kid shouldn’t have seen this. Shouldn’t have been here at all.

Vi crouched in front of her, gripping her by the shoulders, trying to keep her voice steady. “Isha. You gotta hide.”

Isha shook her head, frantic, hands moving in quick, desperate signs. No. Not leaving you.

Vi gritted her teeth, forcing a grin she didn’t feel. “Kid, I just killed three men. They’re coming, and you don’t wanna be standing next to me when they do.”

Isha still refused, her lips pressing tight, shaking her head harder.

Vi cupped her face. “Listen to me, yeah? Hide. Keep quiet. Wait till they’re gone. Then get back to the bunk. Tell no one. I’ll be okay. You hear me?”

Isha’s face crumpled, but she nodded, signing one last time. You promise?

Vi hesitated.

Her ribs ached, her body heavy, but she smiled anyway and lied. “Promise.”

Isha swallowed, then darted off, disappearing into the darkness just as the first enforcer crested the hill.

Vi turned away, seeing another ship moving across the lake. 

Her legs felt like stone as she moved toward the skiff, her boots dragging through the sand. She reached the boat, leaning on the side for balance, her blood-slicked fingers gripping the edge.

---

“There was a barrel of Shimmer.”  

For the first time, the enforcer across from her smiled. A small thing—tight-lipped, but genuine in a way. Cute.

“I knew it,” the enforcer said, leaning forward on the rickety stool. There was a bright spark of triumph in those blue eyes. “So,” she murmured, “what happened next?”  

Vi’s grin curled, but didn’t quite reach her eyes.

---  

Vi woke to the dull ache of iron biting into her wrists. A short chain fed through a loop in the center of a metal table, pinning her arms in place. Her head throbbed.

Across from her sat Superior Oslo. He was a gaunt man with slicked-back hair the color of ash, wearing a uniform pressed a little too nicely for the muddy colony. His eyes were a cold, watery gray.

Behind him stood a broad-shouldered enforcer, arms folded across his chest like a living wall.  

Oslo tilted his head at Vi, something between curiosity and disappointment etched on his severe face. “I thought I taught you better,” he said softly, like a scolding father.  

Vi tried to keep her pulse steady, adrenaline humming in her. “I’m a bad student,” she managed, forcing a smirk. “Failed all my lessons.”  

Oslo’s gaze sharpened. “So it would seem.” He pressed his fingertips together, the faintest tremor betraying his anger. “How did you find out about the Shimmer shipment?”  

Vi shrugged, hoping it looked casual. “You weren’t as subtle as you thought.”  

He squinted at her, reading her like a book, then murmured, “No, that’s not it. You’re protecting someone.” A twist of his lips. “That deaf girl, perhaps? She’s the only one who speaks to you.”  

Vi’s heart kicked. She tried to pull her hands closer, to hide the tell, but it was too late.  

Oslo saw the flicker of panic. “I see,” he said with a sigh, as if genuinely disappointed. Then he waved a dismissive hand at the enforcer behind him. “Unfortunately, loose ends must be tied up. I’ll just have to teach her…all the way.”  

Fear spiked hot in Vi’s chest, but she forced a glare to mask it. “Don’t you dare—”  

His nod was slight, a silent command. The enforcer stepped forward, circling the table until he stood behind Vi. She heard the faint jingle of a wire being loosened.  

She had seconds.  

Vi clenched her jaw, dislocating her thumb with a sickening pop to slip it free of the iron cuff. The pain shot lightning up her arm, but she gritted her teeth and bore it.  

The wire came down, biting into her neck—but she got her freed hand up in time, jamming her wrist between the garrote and her throat.  

The enforcer snarled, yanking the wire tighter, trying to saw through flesh and bone.  

Oslo just watched, unmoving.  

Pain exploded as Vi’s face slammed into the table, the dull metal edge cracking across her nose. 

Blood gushed, hot and thick. 

She hissed, tears in her eyes.  

But with her mangled thumb loose, she managed to twist—the chain scraping across the table’s loop. She planted her feet, summoned every bit of strength she had left, and yanked.  

Snap!

The iron loop on the table tore free.  

Vi stumbled backward, chain still attached to one wrist, the other manacle dangling. The enforcer hissed in surprise, losing leverage on the garrote.  

She spun, ignoring the blood pouring from her broken nose, and swung the chain, hard .  

It lashed across the enforcer’s face with a fleshy twack . He reeled, cursing, wire tangling around his arms as he fought to regain control.  

Oslo pushed back from the table, scrambling for the door.  

“No, you don’t.”

She lunged, hooking the chain around the enforcer’s neck, pulling him forward. Her knee smashed into his midsection—once, twice. She felt ribs give, snapping into his lungs. He slumped with a wet groan.  

Oslo was nearly at the exit.  

Vi kicked the enforcer off her chain and hurtled toward the Superior.  

He fumbled with the lock, but his hands shook just enough to slow him.  

Vi slammed into him, driving him into the wall. The breath whooshed out of his lungs. He clawed at her, but she shoved him down, hooking the chain around his throat.  

His eyes went wide. “V-Vi—!”  

She pulled. Hard.  

Oslo gasped, face turning red, then purple, veins bulging along his temples. He thrashed, nails tearing at her arms, blood smearing her shirt as he tried to pry the chain loose.  

“S-Stop—!” he wheezed. “I’ll—”  

She yanked again, metal digging into flesh, cutting him off mid-plea. His words dissolved into wet choking sounds.  

He tried to speak, to beg, but no air came.  

Vi watched, lips curled back, chest heaving. Her mind buzzed with a single, driving thought.

Isha

Oslo’s eyes rolled back as he gurgled. The chain cut deeper, nearly decapitating him as the force severed muscle and sinew. Blood seeped everywhere.  

And then—he went limp.  

Vi’s arms trembled, the chain still in her grip. She let out a ragged breath, then shoved the Superior’s lifeless body aside.  

Her vision wavered, pain roaring back with a vengeance now that the adrenaline was fading. Her thumb throbbed, her nose was a mess of cartilage and blood, her ribs felt like they might be cracked in half—but…

He was dead.

And the other enforcer? She glanced back. He was crumpled on the ground, unmoving.  

Vi spat blood, took a step to the door and collapsed.

---

"Then," she rasped, "I woke up here."  

The enforcer across from her nodded, closing her notebook with a crisp snap . She tucked it under her arm and pushed up from her stool, moving toward the door.  

Vi blinked.  

Wait.  

That was it?  

Panic surged, sharp and sudden.  

"Wait," she said. Her voice cracked, cleared her throat and tried again. "Wait. Please."  

The enforcer hesitated.  

She didn’t turn back right away.  

Didn’t sigh. Didn’t scoff. Just…stood there. Listening.  

That was enough.  

Vi swallowed roughly. "The kid. Isha." She forced the words out. " Please ."  

The enforcer finally turned, arms crossed, face unreadable. "What about her?"  

Vi clenched her jaw, staring at the floor. "She doesn’t deserve to be here."  

No response.  

Vi’s throat tightened. She lifted her head, met those sharp blue eyes.  

"You and I both know I’m dead." Her lips twitched, humorless. "But Isha—she’s just a kid. She doesn’t have anything to do with this. She just… She doesn’t belong here."  

Something flickered in the enforcer’s gaze. Something Vi couldn’t name.  

Thoughtful.  

Calculating.  

A long silence stretched between them, Vi’s own heartbeat pounding in her ears.  

Then, at last, the enforcer spoke.  

"Killing a Superior of the Piltovan Empire is means for execution," she said. "And given how…thorough you were, I doubt anyone’s going to fight me on it."  

Vi felt her stomach sink.  

"But," the enforcer continued, her gaze leveling with Vi’s, "executions of high-priority prisoners need to be carried out in Zaun, under Empire jurisdiction. I’ll need to take you back myself."  

Vi stared.  

The enforcer lifted a brow. "And, of course, Isha will be needed as a witness."  

Silence.  

Then—Vi smiled. Big.

She let out a breath, head tilting forward, eyes burning with so much relief.  

"You’re good, Piltie," Vi muttered. "Real good."  

The enforcer rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.  

She stepped forward, crouching just enough to untie the rope around Vi’s wrists. The second Vi’s hands were free, she flexed her fingers, shaking out the lingering numbness.  

The enforcer straightened.  

"Come on," she said, moving for the door. "Let’s find the girl.”

Chapter Text

The light outside stabbed at Vi’s eyes like broken glass, her boots dragging a groove through the thin crust of snow as they crossed the cracked threshold of the interrogation shack.

The sun had risen in earnest, low and mean, hanging just above the treeline like it was watching her. The snow glittered, but it didn’t look pretty. Cold air bit at her cheeks, slicing through her torn coat and blood-crusted shirt. Her limbs ached with every step, and the throb in her thumb had settled into a deep, bone-deep pulse.

Still, she glanced over her shoulder, lips quirking.

“You got a name?” she asked. “Or am I just gonna have to keep callin’ you Piltie ?”

The enforcer beside her winced at the sun, squinting as she raised a gloved hand to shield her face. Her nose wrinkled slightly, an almost imperceptible grimace breaking through the otherwise perfect composure.

“You can call me Commander, ” she said, clipped and businesslike.

Vi barked a laugh. “ Your name is Commander?” She snorted. “What, you pop outta your mom shoutin’ at troops?”

The enforcer faltered mid-step. “N-No, I did not. I was a normal child.”

Vi stopped walking.

She turned to face her, a lopsided smirk blooming under the mess of cuts and dried blood. “ Sure , Commander.” She raised a hand and gave a sloppy, exaggerated salute. “Bet you came out of the womb in a pressed uniform with a regulation-grade pacifier.”

The Commander’s mouth opened. Then shut. Her jaw twitched once, twice. “It’s a title, ” she muttered, walking faster now.

Vi limped to catch up, still grinning. “Whatever you say.”

The Commander sighed.

Vi only grinned wider.

They passed the edge of the yard, boots crunching over old gravel and patches of frostbitten mud. The colony beyond was waking up slow and sullen—gray-faced workers milling toward the forges, toward the pits, toward whatever hell the Empire had scheduled for the day.

No one met Vi’s eyes.

She didn’t blame them.

A few enforcers watched the pair pass—suspicious, confused, probably angry—but none stepped in. One glance from the Commander, and they turned away, the way people always did when someone outranked them just enough to make it not their problem.

They reached the line of bunkhouses, thin wood walls soaked with frost and time, the roofs sagging under the weight of old snow. Vi stopped in front of the fourth one on the left. Her fingers curled around the edge of the doorway.

She didn’t knock.

She just opened it.

Inside, a dozen kids sat huddled together—some still wrapped in threadbare blankets, others already pulling on boots and belts. The smell hit her first—mildew, old smoke, sweat—but it wasn’t the stink that made her heart seize.

It was the empty corner by the back wall.

Isha wasn’t there.

Her bunk was empty. The blanket half-dragged off the edge, like she’d left in a hurry.

“She’s not here.”

The Commander asked, “Could she be at your dwelling?”

Vi didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the empty bunk, the blanket hanging like a half-finished sentence.

“Maybe,” she said eventually. Her voice was low. Tight. “Yeah. Maybe.”

She turned on her heel, moving quick as she could across the warped plank walkways. The Commander kept pace, silent.

The cabin came into view. Smoke barely trickled from the chimney. The fire must’ve burned low while she was tied to that chair bleeding into the floor.

Vi stepped inside and was hit by the lingering smell of burnt rabbit fat and ash. The air had gone cold again, the warmth all but leeched away. She crossed to the bed with slow, deliberate steps, eyes scanning every corner.

Wasn’t much to check. One room. One table. One bed.

Vi knelt.

She lifted the edge of the thin mattress…and there she was.

Isha. Curled tight like a fox in a den, knees to chest, one arm tucked under her head. Her breath came slow and even. Fast asleep. Probably hadn’t even meant to pass out—just meant to hide, stay small, stay out of the way.

Vi’s chest ached. With relief. With guilt.

She reached out and shook her shoulder gently. “Kid. Hey.”

Isha didn’t wake sweet.

She woke fast.

There was a flash of silver, her little shiv darting out like a snakebite. Vi flinched back just in time, the blade whistling past her nose.

“Shit! Isha!”

Recognition hit and Isha’s eyes went wide. She scrambled out from under the mattress, the blanket tangling around her legs. The shiv clattered to the floor. She launched into Vi, arms wrapping tight around her middle.

Vi staggered a step but caught her, holding her close. Isha was shaking, her small hands clinging to Vi’s tattered coat like she was afraid she might disappear again.

“It’s okay,” Vi murmured, pressing a hand to the back of her head. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Isha pulled back just enough to sign. You came back.

Vi gave her a crooked grin, brushing sweaty hair from her forehead. “’Course I did. Told you I would, didn’t I?”

Isha nodded, eyes wet but stubbornly unblinking.

Knock. Knock. 

"May I come in?" Came the Commander's muffled voice.

"Sure."

The door creaked. The Commander stepped into the cabin, eyes sweeping the room, one hand resting near her rapier. When she saw Isha, she paused. Her posture shifted. Less rigid. Less soldier.

Vi met her eyes. “Found her.”

The Commander gave a slight nod. “Good.”

Isha stiffened beside her, coiling like a bowstring. Her eyes darted to the Commander, then back to Vi, and her hands moved quick—Who is she?

Don’t know. But she’s the reason I’m not dead yet.

Trust her?

Vi’s hands paused, then answered truthfully. No. But we need her.

Isha tilted her head, watching the Commander like she was trying to see beneath the skin.

Vi continued, She’s getting us out of here. 

That got her.

Isha’s eyes widened, lips parting in a soft, silent gasp. Her fingers hovered, uncertain. Out?

Vi nodded. Zaun. Trial. But better than here.

Behind them, the Commander’s voice cut through the silent conversation. “What are you two talking about?”

“Just catching her up.”

Isha nodded helpfully, putting on her best innocent face. Vi didn’t miss the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

The Commander squinted at them both like she knew they were full of shit but couldn’t prove it. Then she huffed, crisp and no-nonsense. “Grab what you need. We need to catch the ferry before it departs.”

Vi gave a lazy salute. “Aye aye, Commander.”

The Commander rolled her eyes and stepped outside, muttering something under her breath about smartasses and rope.

Vi turned to Isha. “You got everything?”

Isha looked herself over, patting each item like a soldier checking for gear. Coat—check. Boots—mud-caked but warm. Gloves—frayed but whole. Then she paused, glanced at the floor.

She bent down and picked up the shiv she’d dropped earlier. Small. Jagged. Probably carved from scrap under the bunk. She tucked it into her sleeve like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Isha nodded once.

Vi’s chest twisted. It was cute. It was also sad as hell.

Kid shouldn’t need a blade to sleep. But the colony wasn’t the sort of place that gave much room for soft things.

Vi turned to the mantle. There wasn’t much else worth grabbing. Her pack was gone, probably picked clean by the vultures who called themselves enforcers. Wasn’t much of a point in looking for it.

But the locket still hung where she left it, swaying gently from the rusty nail above the fireplace.

She reached up and took it, the metal cold against her fingers. She slipped it back around her neck and tucked it under her shirt. The weight settled against her sternum, right where it belonged.

“Alright, let’s go.”

She and Isha stepped out into the light together, the door creaking shut behind them like it was glad to see them go.

Outside, the wind was harsher, cutting straight through her coat. The sky had gone pale and mean, a flat gray smothering the last warmth from the morning sun. The Commander stood a few paces ahead, arms crossed, watching the distant edge of the camp where smoke trailed into the trees.

Vi caught up, Isha sticking close beside her like a shadow.

The Commander said, “You don’t have anything?”

Vi shrugged, pulling her coat tighter against the wind. “They don’t give us much except clothes here. And bruises, if you ask the wrong question.”

That seemed to bother the Commander, just a flicker. A tension in her jaw. A crease between her brows. She didn’t say anything, but her spine straightened like she was trying to shove the discomfort back down where it wouldn’t show.

“We can’t be late,” she said instead, and turned.

She started down the snow-packed path without waiting for a reply, boots crunching. Isha and Vi followed.

They walked for a while in silence. The wind rattled through the bare trees. Somewhere out in the woods, a crow let out a broken, scraping caw.

Vi adjusted her pace until she was just behind the Commander. Close enough to be heard. “You know,” she said, casual, “you probably shouldn’t walk with your back to us. We’re dangerous criminals.”

The Commander didn’t even turn. “If you kill me, you won’t be getting out of here.”

Vi smirked. “Good point.”

“I make a lot of those.”

Another stretch of silence.

Vi’s breath came in sharp little puffs. Her ribs still ached, her thumb throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and the weight of Isha’s presence at her side felt heavier than it should’ve. Not a burden, never that, but a reminder. Of what she’d risked. Of what she’d do again.

“So,” she said, quieter now, just enough to carry, “why are you lookin’ into the Shimmer?”

The Commander didn’t break stride. Didn’t look back.

“That’s classified,” she said.

Vi snorted. “Figures.”

The Commander just kept walking, back straight, pace steady, not even a twitch to show she’d heard.

Vi glanced down and signed to Isha, Stick up her ass.

Isha stifled a giggle behind her glove, her breath misting in the air.

The trail dipped, the trees thinning, and then the lake revealed itself—broad and gray, half-frozen at the edges, the surface rippling with the lazy motion of waves slapping against the snow-dusted shore. Cold light shimmered off it like steel.

At the water’s edge sat the ferry. Not some rickety rowboat—this was a proper slab of reinforced wood and metal, wide enough to fit two wagons side by side. A central chain ran from the deck out across the water, vanishing into the thick fog that blanketed the lake. The chain was massive—rusted in spots, thick as her arm.

Vi stared at the boat and remembered.

The first time she'd seen it, the sky had been the same color—pale, cold, full of promise it didn’t plan to keep. She’d been younger then. Sixteen. Maybe seventeen. She remembered how she was taken from the only home she’d ever known. Thin, bruised, bleeding from the lip. The wind had cut through her clothes on the ride across. Same clothes she was still wearing.

Now, years later, she stood there again. Older. Angrier. Tired in places she didn’t know could get tired.

The Commander glanced back. “Stay close to me. And don’t speak.”

Vi gave a lazy salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Commander. ”

She nodded to Isha, who stuck close as they followed the officer onto the dock.

A couple of enforcers loitered near the ferry’s control station, huddled around a barrel, cards in hand and cigarettes burning low. One of them looked up—grizzled, nose crooked from an old break—eyes locking on Vi. His hand twitched toward the baton at his belt.

But then he saw the Commander.

And just like that, he relaxed, dragging his gaze back to his hand of cards with a grunt. The other didn’t even look up.

Vi resisted the urge to flip them off.

They stepped onto the ferry, the deck creaking underfoot. The Commander didn’t slow. Her eyes were sharp, scanning every corner of the ferry like she expected something to crawl out of the fog. Vi couldn’t tell if she was nervous or just thorough. Either way, she was on edge.

A few meters off, an engineer was crouched low beside a set of screeching gears. He was elbow-deep in the works, grunting as he twisted a wrench against something that refused to budge. The ferry’s chain twitched with each movement, metal groaning

The Commander strode toward him.

“What’s the delay?”

The engineer looked up, blinking behind a pair of soot-streaked goggles. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the uniform, then sighed through his nose and stood, wiping black grease on already ruined pants.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, not quite apologetic. “But the clutch on the main haul assembly’s seized up. Chain system’s out of commission.”

The Commander stiffened. “I’m due back in Zaun immediately.”

The man gave a shrug. “Yeah, well. I’ll get it done fast as I can, but it may be a day or two before the ol’ girl’s runnin’ again. She don’t like the cold, and she sure as hell don’t like bein’ rushed.”

The Commander’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care,” she growled. “Get it done. You have an hour.”

The engineer scowled back, yanking off his goggles and letting them hang around his neck. His eyes, sharp and shadowed with old grease and older years, swept over her uniform. Something caught.

“You serve in the Wastes?” he asked.

The Commander straightened, chin tipping slightly. “Yes,” she said stiffly.

He raised an eyebrow. “So did I. Three years ’til I took some shrapnel to the hip.” He tapped his leg, like it still ached. “You serve under Colonel Joston?”

The Commander hesitated—just a fraction too long. “Uh… yes. He was a good CO.”

Vi narrowed her eyes. 

She was lying and she was lying badly. But why?

The engineer gave a slow smile. “Well. Let me see what I can do. Might have a few parts stashed in the control station.” He didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned and strolled off.

Vi watched him out of the corner of her eye. He veered right—straight toward the control station—but halfway there, he angled over to the enforcers still camped by the barrel. The one with the crooked nose looked up. They exchanged a few quiet words.

Both of them turned to glance over.

Vi tensed.

The Commander’s gaze was fixed out toward the lake like she could will the fog to part. Vi didn’t follow it. Her eye stayed on the two men, on the curl of the engineer’s lip as he muttered something behind his hand.

“What’s going on?” Vi asked, low, not quite a whisper.

The Commander opened her mouth. “We’re going—”

“Cut the shit.”

The Commander balked, then her spine snapped straighter like someone had yanked a chain through it. “Do not speak to me like that,” she hissed, the words laced with command.

Vi just took one slow step forward, shoulders square, voice low and rough. “You gonna give me another order, Commander ?” She didn’t spit the title, but it came close. “Or are you finally gonna tell me who the hell you actually are?”

The Commander’s jaw clenched. Her hand hovered near her belt, not on the blade—yet—but close enough to make a point.

Vi kept going anyway.

“Because right now, all I know is you’re a shit liar, and they know it too.” She jerked her chin toward the engineer and the crooked-nose enforcer, who were still throwing glances their way. “They’re whispering about you. Clocked you the second you stumbled when he mentioned Joston. You didn’t serve in the Wastes, did you?”

The Commander— no, Vi corrected, the imposter —worried her bottom lip like a nervous apprentice caught with ink on her sleeves. Then, slowly, she shook her head.

Vi growled low in her throat, stepping back like the admission physically pushed her. “Okay…” Her fists clenched. “Are you a Commander , at least?”

The woman winced. Shook her head again.

Vi threw her head back, glaring up at the bleak gray sky. “ Fuck… ”

The fake tried to speak, voice cracking under the weight of unraveling lies. “No one asked any questions before so—”

“Shh,” Vi cut her off, one hand snapping up. Her eyes were locked on the dock now. On the quiet way the engineer had circled back. On the way crooked-nose was no longer pretending to play cards. A third enforcer had joined them now. And a fourth was crossing the dock.

“Did you have a plan B?” Vi whispered.

The not-Commander nodded. “I did. But… Hendrik isn’t here. ”

Vi closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose like she could physically press the stupidity out of the moment. “Who the hell is Hendrik?”

“He’s—he was supposed to be working the ferry. Loyal. He was supposed to—” her breath hitched, panic surfacing now, creeping in through the cracks in her voice. “He’s not here.”

“Gods…”

Vi felt Isha press against her side, small and trembling, eyes flicking between the gathering men and Vi like she was trying to work out how fast this was all going to fall apart.

Vi took a breath.

Not a deep one.

Didn’t have time for deep.

“Do you have any seeds, plants, anything on you?”

A quick shake of the imposter’s head.

Vi dropped her gaze and signed to Isha instead. Seeds? Plants? Anything?

Isha blinked, then patted herself down. Her hands dove into her coat pocket and came out with a small, calloused handful of acorns. Not many. Maybe four. Maybe five.

Vi’s brow arched. “You just carry these around?”

Isha shrugged one shoulder, sheepish.

Vi took them without asking. “You’re the best kid I know, you know that?”

The acorns were cold in her hand. Dry. But they held something. A trace of potential.

Vi closed her fingers around them and squeezed.

The pain came fast—bright and sharp, like needles dancing across her knuckles. The tattoos along her arms stirred, faint and sluggish in the cold, but alive. She gritted her teeth as she pulled, siphoning the acorns’ stored energy. It wasn’t much.

A couple scrapes on her arms vanished. The ache in her thumb dulled. Her breath came easier.

Isha’s eyes went wide, lips parting in silent awe.

Vi offered her a crooked smile.

She stuffed the broken shells into her coat, rolled her shoulders with a satisfying pop, and stepped forward.

The not-Commander hissed, “What are you doing?”

Vi didn’t look back. “Improvising…stay with Isha.”

She stepped off the ferry and onto the dock.

The enforcers noticed her.

Crooked-Nose straightened. The engineer stopped mid-sentence. One of the others shifted his stance, thumb brushing the catch of his baton.

Vi just kept walking. Fists clenched at her sides.

“Hey,” Crooked-Nose called. “Where do you think you’re—”

Vi hit him first.

Air exploded from his lungs in a choking wheeze as he crumpled to his knees.

The second enforcer reached for his baton—

Vi grabbed his wrist, yanked him forward, and slammed her forehead into his face. Cartilage crunched. He went limp.

The third came in swinging, clumsy but strong. Vi ducked low, swept his legs from under him, then drove a boot into his ribs as he hit the dock. He gasped and rolled, wheezing.

The engineer shouted something, panic or warning or both, and rushed her with a wrench in hand.

Vi twisted, caught his arm, and used his momentum to slam him hard into the railing. Wood cracked. The wrench clattered to the ground. She kicked it out of reach.

It was over in less than ten seconds.

“Come help me tie them up,” Vi muttered, shaking the sting from her knuckles.

The not-Commander was already moving, snatching a coil of rope off a nearby post.

Together, they worked quickly, binding the enforcers to the railing in a messy but effective knotwork of wrist and ankle. Vi did most of the lifting—slamming them into place when they stirred—but the not-Commander tied the knots fast and tight.

Once they were secured, Vi gave the engineer a solid kick in the boot. “Wake up.”

He groaned, blinking blearily. Vi crouched.

“That actually broken?” she asked, jerking her chin at the ferry’s crank assembly.

He hesitated—then nodded, coughing. “Yeah… bent gear teeth. Caught some ice last night. Been trying to fix it since.”

Vi watched his face.

Wasn’t lying.

She swore. “Shit.”

Behind her, the not-Commander was already looking inland, jaw tight. “The shift change is happening any minute. If they see what we’ve done…”

Vi turned to the lake. “We can’t go back, we can’t swim, which leaves…”

She looked at Isha.

The girl’s face went pale, hands already moving in a flurry of signs. We can’t go across the bridge.

Only choice.

There was a reason the penal colony didn’t bother with walls.

Didn’t need them.

No bars. No fences. No towers.

Because there was nowhere to go.

The lake surrounded it—cold and vast, a gray mirror stretching out for miles in every direction before it kissed land. No boats but the ferry. No fish worth catching. Just water. Empty and cruel.

The island itself was little better. A hunk of frozen stone and pine scrub. The wildlife was sparse—lean and quick. The only reason the prisoners stayed near the colony was simple.

Food. Fire. Warmth.

Everything else was death by distance.

But there was one way out, if you were desperate.

The Grimshank Bridge.

Vi’s eyes found it now, off to the west, half-swallowed by fog. A jagged line of dark woods stretching out across the water like the gods had drawn a knife through the lake. A land bridge.

She’d never set foot on it.

Never wanted to.

Because everyone knew what it was named for.

Grimshank.

No one was quite sure what they were. Not exactly. Some said they were animals. Others said they were men twisted by the forest, cursed by the Ritehart’s roots. Some said they weren’t living at all, just hunger given form.

Vi had never seen one.

But she’d heard the stories.

Whispers from the guards. Tales passed around the bunks. Screams that floated in across the lake some nights when the wind blew right.

No one came back after trying the bridge.

No one.

Vi clenched her jaw, eyes still on that distant scar across the water.

Only choice. She signed again to Isha.

The not-Commander was already rifling through the enforcers’ pockets, working fast but thorough. She pulled out a handful of jerky, a crumpled pack of matches, a few coins that wouldn’t buy anything out here, and a folded scrap of paper that might’ve once been a map. She tucked it away without a word.

It seemed she’d come to the same conclusion.

Vi turned without speaking and headed into the control station. The door creaked open on a rusted hinge, and the stench of oil, old metal, and mildew rushed out to meet her.

Inside, it was cluttered but not useless.

She snatched a battered lantern off the wall. Shook it. Still sloshed. Probably half-full. A small coil of wire sat coiled beside it, next to a cracked mug with a few rusty nails rattling inside. She took those too. Never knew.

In a drawer near the back, she found a roll of stiff gauze, a mostly-full tin of salve, and a tiny folding knife. The blade was dull, but it locked firm. Into the coat it went.

Then, jackpot—an emergency satchel tucked under the desk. Torn, old, but inside were a small tinderbox, a canteen, a pair of thick gloves, and a flare gun with one red stick still intact.

Vi grinned. 

She stuffed what she could into the satchel and slung it over her shoulder. The lantern she kept in hand.

Outside, the wind was rising again. The fog swallowing the lake’s edge had begun to creep inland, swallowing the far end of the dock like a mouth slowly closing.

Vi stepped out, not bothering with closing the door.

The not-Commander had already packed the goods and was fastening Isha’s coat tighter, hands gentle but hurried. The girl’s eyes flicked to Vi as she emerged, wide and searching.

Vi nodded once and signed, We move now. Quiet. Fast. Don’t stop.

Isha swallowed, then signed back. Not scared.

Vi put on her best smile, but looked away when she whispered, "I am."

Chapter Text

Snow churned under their boots, breath white and ragged in the half-light. The bell behind them tolled once, twice—then kept going, the iron note slicing through the pines like a hunting horn.

Trouble coming.

Vi pushed harder.

Everything in her body felt wrong.

The not-Commander’s long stride put her ten paces ahead. Isha kept Vi’s pace, small but quick, fists balled in her coat sleeves.

Branches whipped by. Trunks blurred. The world narrowed to breath, heartbeat, and the steady pound of boots on frozen earth.

Then the trees thinned.

And there it was.

Ahead, jutting from the frozen ground like a splinter of hell itself, stood a spire. Obsidian. Ten feet tall and jagged. Runes carved into the surface, long since worn by time and weather.

No gates. No doors. Just the marker. The warning. The point of no return.

The Grimshank Bridge.

Vi slowed beside it, boots crunching to a halt. Isha pulled up beside her, panting, face pale, eyes wide as she stared at the rune-covered stone. The not-Commander stood just ahead, back turned, staring into the trees.

Vi turned, listening.

The bell was still ringing.

Boots. Voices. The metallic rattle of gear. Enforcers. On the trail.

She looked back at the bridge. The woods beyond were quiet. Still. No birds. No wind. Just cold.

Vi turned to the not-Commander, who still hadn’t spoken. Her hands were clenched at her sides. She looked like she might throw up.

“I’ll go first,” the imposter said and with tentative steps she walked forward.

Isha’s hand squeezed Vi’s.

Vi gave a gentle squeeze back, then they stepped forward together, following the not-Commander across the invisible line.

The first step past the spire was… nothing.

No wave of dread. No unnatural chill. No ghostly whisper curling in their ears. Just the crunch of snow underfoot, the weight of breath in their lungs, the same bone-deep ache in Vi’s ribs.

More woods. Same as before.

Vi hated how much she’d expected something, anything.

But no, just trees.

They walked.

Silence fell over them like a shroud. No talking. No signing. Just the quiet scuff of boots and the occasional sniffle from Isha. The not-Commander moved ahead of them, stiff-backed and silent, eyes scanning the trees like she expected them to reach down and take her.

Vi didn’t speak. Her eyes stayed sharp, darting through every branch, every fallen log. The tattoos on her arms stirred faintly, like they didn’t like the soil here. Like they knew something she didn’t.

Minutes stretched like hours.

Still no birds. No wind.

Just quiet.

After a while, Vi glanced behind her.

The trees had swallowed the spire. The trail. The lake. All of it. Gone.

Just them now, wrapped in a tunnel of frost and pine. Hemmed in on all sides by a forest that didn’t breathe.

“We can stop,” Vi said at last, voice rough in the silence. “They’re not gonna follow.”

The not-Commander didn’t turn. “We need to keep moving.”

Vi groaned, sagging against a tree. Her palm pressed to the bark, the cold sinking straight through her coat. The pain caught up to her all at once.

She tried to push through it. Gritted her teeth. Took a step.

Then another.

And then—

“Y—you can keep goin’,” she muttered, staggering. “But I—”

She winced, breath catching mid-sentence.

“I—”

Her knees buckled. The tree caught her. Or maybe it just happened to be there when she dropped. Either way, she slid down to the roots, back pressed to the trunk, chest heaving.

The world tilted.

Isha dropped beside her in a flash, small hands gripping her shoulder. Her mouth moved without sound, hands flying in frantic, messy signs.

What’s wrong? What hurts? What do I do?

Vi tried to wave her off, but the gesture was more of a flutter.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just…restin’.”

Vi’s eyes fluttered shut. Just for a second.

Slap.

Not hard. But sharp enough to snap her back.

Her eyes blinked open to find the not-Commander crouched in front of her, face too close, worry etched deep. “Don’t fall asleep,” she said. Not unkind. Just scared.

She grabbed Vi’s chin and tilted her head, pulling down one eyelid with a thumb. The cold air stung, and Vi hissed.

“Concussed, maybe. Could be blood loss. Or shock. Or…”

Vi didn’t hear the rest. Her gaze had drifted to the not-Commander’s eyes. So blue . Not the soft, sky kind. Deeper, with flecks of red in the iris.

Too pretty for someone this stupid.

The not-Commander frowned harder and reached for the hem of Vi’s shirt.

“What are you—”

“—checking.”

She didn’t wait for permission. Lifted the shirt.

Vi glanced down.

Her ribs were a mess. Red and swollen with bruises that had gone deep and dark, shifting now into that angry purple that meant something inside was thinking about failing.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Vi didn’t answer.

Instead, she shifted her head slightly on the bark and looked up at her. “What’s your name?”

The woman blinked. Pulled back a little, caught off guard.

Then, after a pause. “Caitlyn.”

Vi snorted, a dry breath that caught on a cracked rib. “Well, Caitlyn … I was under the impression I was catchin’ a one-way ride to the chopping block, so forgive me if I didn’t think to raise my hand and say, ‘Excuse me, my ribs are feelin’ a little tender today.’”

Caitlyn looked at the satchel, rifled through it again with a furrowed brow. “All we have is for minor injuries,” she said. “I don’t… I don’t have anything that’s going to fix this. You need—”

Vi cut her off before she could spiral. “—I know…I know. ”

Her gaze swept the trees, searching. Nothing but gnarled limbs and frost, until her eyes caught a patch of gold bleeding through the canopy where the trees broke just enough to let the light in.

“There,” she muttered, nodding toward it. “Can you help me over?”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Vi didn’t answer. Just met her gaze. Whatever she saw there must’ve been enough, because after a heartbeat, Caitlyn shifted to her feet and offered a hand.

Vi took it.

The pull surprised her—not just because it was firm, but because it was strong . Caitlyn hoisted her up like it was nothing, one arm braced under Vi’s shoulder, the other wrapped around her back.

Vi gritted her teeth as her ribs flared white-hot.

They hobbled together across the frost-bitten clearing, Isha trailing close behind.

Vi leaned heavier than she meant to. Caitlyn bore the weight without comment.

She eased Vi down onto a mossy patch gently, hands careful on Vi’s shoulders. The sunlight hit her like a balm, warm against the freezing hush of the forest. It soaked into her skin, pooled in her lungs.

Isha hovered nearby, arms folded tight, worry drawn sharp across her face.

“I need to get these off,” Vi muttered, nodding toward her coat and shirt. “All of it.”

Caitlyn helped without hesitation, fingers working at buttons, tugging gently past bruises and cuts. The coat slid off, then the shirt, careful not to jostle her ribs. Cold bit at Vi’s skin, but the sun softened it.

All that was left were the bindings wrapped tight across her chest.

Vi shifted, breath shallow. “Turn me a bit. Back to the sun.”

Caitlyn obliged, guiding her until she was facing away.

“Could you?” Vi asked.

Caitlyn paused only a moment, then began to unwind the binding. The linen came away bit by bit, revealing skin marred by more than bruises—old scars, white and silver across her shoulder blades. A life lived hard, worn across the body like armor.

After a minute, the fabric lay in a small pile with the rest of her clothes. The sun spilled across Vi’s back now.

Caitlyn’s voice was soft. “What are we doing?”

Vi’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite pain.

“Growing,” she whispered.

Then she felt it.

A sting at first. A spark. Then the burn. Her spine arched as the tattoo along her back, the briar, began to stir. It writhed under her skin like roots digging through flesh. Thorny lines twisted, shifted. Heat and ache and pressure. Her fingers dug into the earth.

“ Shit ,” Vi hissed through clenched teeth.

Caitlyn stepped back, eyes wide, hands half-raised in stunned confusion.

The vines inked across Vi’s back glowed faintly, alive with something ancient and green. The moss beneath her fingers bloomed. A ripple of life answering a call older than memory.

Vi bowed her head, breath ragged.

Isha crept forward, eyes wide with fear and awe, her small hands already reaching to help.

Vi grunted, shaking her head. “Don’t!”

She didn’t mean to snap—but the word came out sharp, guttural, flayed down to nerve.

Isha stopped.

Vi forced her hand off the earth, palm raised in a gesture of apology. She managed half a breath, half a smile. “Just… not yet.”

Because it was getting worse.

The sunlight burned hotter down her back. The briar answered.

Then it dug in .

The pain wasn’t clean. It wasn’t a burn or a break or a knife—it was violation . Something crawling under her skin. She could feel the vines moving through her. Rooting. Wrapping around her ribs from the inside out , thorned tendrils threading through bone, stitching her back together like a butcherous surgeon who didn’t care how much the patient screamed.

Vi choked.

Her fingers gouged into the moss. Her mouth opened but nothing came out—just a strangled sob, caught in the cage of her chest that no longer fit right.

The briar didn’t care.

It pulled her ribs into alignment with jagged, wrenching force. She felt cartilage grind. Felt a thorn hook beneath her sternum and tug. Like it was tightening a corset around her lungs made of bramble and fire. Every breath came sharper, shallower. Her back arched. Her whole body seized.

“F-fuck,” she gasped, tears streaming freely now, her vision doubled. “Gods, please—”

A sound tore from her throat, so hoarse it barely made it past her teeth.

Caitlyn took a step forward, stricken, helpless. Isha clutched her hand, too terrified to cry.

The vines writhed. Coiled. Burrowed. Rebuilding what was broken, but not carefully. Never carefully. They pierced her from within, wrapped tendons in thorns, set marrow like stone, and left aching green heat in their wake.

Vi bit her lip hard enough to bleed. Her body convulsed once, twice.

And then—

It stopped.

Just like that.

The briar stilled.

The glow faded.

Vi collapsed forward, barely catching herself on trembling arms. Her chest rose in shallow, uneven breaths, and her mouth hung open as she struggled to remember how to breathe.

Tears streaked her face.

She looked up, hollow-eyed and shaking.

Caitlyn and Isha stared at her like she’d grown a second head. Slack-jawed. Eyes wide. Silent.

Vi groaned. “Yeah…” Her voice was a gravelly whisper. “That looked about as fun as it felt.”

She nodded toward the bundled clothes and bindings lying nearby. “Could I get those?”

Caitlyn blinked like she’d forgotten how to move, then jolted into action, fumbling to gather the shirt, coat, and bindings into her arms. Isha crept a little closer, signing slowly. Are you okay?

Vi managed a smile. “Getting there.”

Caitlyn knelt in front of her, holding out the wrappings. Her hands moved automatically, reaching to help.

Vi caught her wrist.

“I can do it.”

Caitlyn froze.

For half a second, their eyes met—Vi’s still bloodshot and bleary, Caitlyn’s wide with something else entirely. Her hands lingered, fingertips grazing the scarred skin of Vi’s ribs. Then her gaze dropped, pulling her hands back like she’d touched a stovetop.

“Of course,” she said quietly.

She turned and stood, the coat flaring at her back as she faced away, arms rigid at her sides.

Vi blinked.

Huh. Wasn’t what I expected. 

Vi didn’t say anything. She just watched her for a second, then got to work.

The bindings slid across her palms as she wrapped them. Each pass steadied her breathing. Gave her back a piece of herself. The shirt went on next. Then the coat, the satchel.

When she finally got back to her feet, Caitlyn turned back around and cleared her throat.

“Shall we proceed?”

Vi nodded, rolling her shoulders gently. Her body was healed, but the memory of pain lingered, a ghostly ache reminding her of what the briar had done. What it had cost.

Caitlyn turned and set off again without another word, her dark hair catching the sunlight in a way Vi suddenly found herself noticing. She shook her head, shoving the thought aside.

Vi extended her hand toward Isha. The girl didn’t move, eyes flickering between Vi’s face and her outstretched palm.

Hesitating.

It broke Vi’s heart just a little.

She knelt slowly, ignoring the way the healed muscles stretched tight, and signed.

It’s still me.

Isha bit her lip, staring into Vi’s eyes like she was looking for something—a shade or monster hidden behind them maybe. After a few seconds, she reached out, her small hand slipping back into Vi’s.

---

The rest of the day passed in that same interminable silence. Just the crunch of boots and the occasional creak of the trees shifting in the wind. All three of them kept scanning the woods. Listening.

But nothing came, which didn’t comfort Vi much.

By dusk, the light was waning to gray, and Caitlyn had found them a little rise in the earth. A shelf of stone crowned with low brush and a natural dip in the rock. Not a cave exactly, but enough to block the wind.

It took longer than it should’ve to get a fire going. The wood was cold and wet, reluctant to burn, but with some coaxing, Vi got it to catch. Flames bloomed in a flickering nest, painting the outcropping in bright orange and dark shadows.

They debated the fire. Risk versus reward. If the Grimshank were real—and close —the fire might draw them. But if they weren’t?

The cold definitely would.

Isha had fallen asleep quickly, curled tight beside the flames. A hand tucked beneath her head, her shiv clasped in the other.

Now it was just Vi and Caitlyn and the fire.

Caitlyn sat across from her, elbows resting on her knees, face lit by the flames. She looked younger in the firelight. Or maybe just less severe. That tightness Vi had come to associate with her shoulders had softened slightly, jaw unclenched.

Vi poked at the fire with a stick. “So…what’s your deal?”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, she almost looked amused. “My deal? ”

Vi leaned back, poking the fire again, the embers flaring briefly. “Yeah, Caitlyn, your deal. Why are you actually here?”

Caitlyn sighed, eyes shifting toward the flames.

Vi’s jaw tightened. “Don’t do that. I deserve to know.”

Caitlyn said nothing, just stared into the fire, the shadows flickering across her face.

“Hey!” Vi snapped. The noise startled Caitlyn, who met her gaze abruptly.

For a moment Caitlyn held her eyes, measuring something in the silence. Then she let out a slow breath, shoulders dropping slightly.

“I started noticing signs of Shimmer in Zaun,” she said quietly. “So, I decided to look into it.”

She shifted, pulling her coat tighter. “My inquiries led me to an enforcer here named Hendrik. He claimed he had proof they were using Shimmer at Stillwater. So, I…” Her voice trailed off. Jaw tightened. “I stole my mother’s uniform and came here myself.”

Vi blinked, then laughed—a short, surprised bark.

Caitlyn’s eyes flashed, suddenly defensive. “What?”

Vi waved a hand, grinning crookedly. “Nothing. Just… ballsy is all. Stealin’ your mom’s uniform? Sneaking into Stillwater?” She shrugged. “Go on.”

Caitlyn huffed softly, but the tension eased. “I planned to come, gather evidence, and leave. Quietly. But the Superior kept me glued to his side. I couldn’t move, couldn’t investigate anything.” Her eyes softened, gaze dropping back to the flames. “Then… you happened.”

Vi nodded.

“After you killed him, I overheard the other enforcers talking. They said you’d been at the handoff. You became my only lead.”

Vi’s mouth twisted bitterly. “How… practical of you.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, hesitating like she wanted to argue. But instead, she just nodded once. “You know the rest.”

The silence stretched again, filled only by the crackle of the fire, the snap of wood, the soft breathing of Isha sleeping nearby. Then, when the minutes went too long, Vi looked back at Caitlyn. The question had been gnawing at her like a sore tooth, and she couldn’t deal with the ache anymore.

“Why didn’t you just leave me?” Were you actually planning to drag me back to be executed?”

Caitlyn’s eyes flickered, surprised, turning quickly to meet Vi’s. Her lips parted, as if she had an answer ready, then closed again. She looked back at the fire.

“No.”

Vi studied her carefully, brow furrowing. “Then why? For my testimony? It wouldn’t mean shit to Pilties. I’m not—”

“—the Superior told me about his lessons .” Caitlyn cut her off, bitterness in the words. “For the prisoners. He bragged to me about them, like—like I was in on the joke.” Her voice grew tight, angry. “I—I just…”

Her words faded off, lost to the popping flames.

Vi stared at her profile, the firelight painting shadows along the curve of her cheekbones, the stubborn line of her jaw. Caitlyn looked hurt. Angry. Ashamed, even.

“You just what?” Vi asked, quieter now.

Caitlyn turned back, meeting her eyes directly. “I couldn’t just leave you there with those people.”

Vi’s throat went dry. No jokes came this time, no quick retort. Instead, she looked down, suddenly unable to hold Caitlyn’s gaze, unable to name the warmth that had crept into her chest.

She cleared her throat softly, muttering, “Guess I owe you one.”

Caitlyn gave a faint smile, barely there, before looking back to the fire again.

Chapter Text

Vi woke with a hand clamped over her mouth.

Her eyes snapped open, muscles tensing with a flood of panic. Before she could move, Caitlyn’s face came into view, close in the orange dawn light. She looked… wrong. Paler than before. Hollow around the eyes. Her cheekbones sharper, like she'd missed a week of meals in a single night.

Her other hand was raised, a finger pressed to her lips.

Silence.

Vi stilled.

Caitlyn nodded once, then pulled her hand away. Vi sat up slowly, eyes scanning the woods. The fire was out, ash smoldering in the ring of stones. The frost was thicker this morning, clinging to their clothes, their lashes. It hadn't snowed, but it felt like the world had frozen just a little deeper in the dark.

Vi nudged Isha awake with the same warning pressed to her lips that Caitlyn had given. Isha surfaced from sleep like someone drowning, lashes trembling with silent questions, fingers already tightening around the handle of her little shiv. When she was coaxed upright, the three of them pressed close in a tight knot of nerves.

Then Vi heard it—

A single timber crack somewhere behind their camp. A heartbeat later came the soft pop of a twig snapping. Vi pushed Isha behind her and looked to Caitlyn. She jerked her head toward the thicker pines to the east. Message received. They began to creep, boots sinking in the crusted snow with a sound that felt far too loud.

They’d scarcely made twenty paces when the forest screamed. It started as a wet, choking yowl, somewhere between a child’s wail and a rodent being pulled inside-out. Then it bent upward—splintering into a shrill, impossible note that rattled Vi’s teeth and made the briar under her skin twitch. The sound bounced between the trunks, multiplying, so she couldn’t tell where it came from or how many mouths were making it. All she knew was that it was close. Too close.

Caitlyn quickened her pace, but she was swaying, unsteady in a way Vi hadn’t seen yesterday. Isha clung to Vi’s coat, breathing in quick, juddering bursts. 

From behind them, a voice cried out.

“HELP ME! GODS HELP ME, PLEASE!”

The words were almost human. Almost. But there was something wrong. They came out too sharp in places and too flat in others. No cadence. No breath between them. Like the voice wasn’t speaking, just playing the memory of a scream it had heard once. A bad echo wearing skin.

They hopped a small frozen creek. Isha slipped, but Vi caught her with one arm, yanked her up, and they scrambled together up the far bank. That was when Vi saw it.

A shape stepped from behind a tree, not ten strides ahead.

She dropped, yanking Caitlyn and Isha down behind a rotted log slick with frost and lichen. The snow swallowed them whole, muffling their breaths as Vi pressed a hand over Isha’s mouth and signed with the other. Don’t move.

Then it spoke in the hollow voice of a woman.

“Kara. Where are you, baby?”

A pregnant pause.

“Kara, sweetheart. It’s mommy…”

Footsteps crunched across the crusted snow.

Vi pressed Isha’s face into her coat, felt the girl’s fists clench tight in her side. Caitlyn was frozen next to them, eyes wide, teeth gritted. Her skin had gone even paler than before, so pale it nearly matched the frost coating her lashes.

The footsteps stopped.

Then something began to click . A soft, steady tuk-tuk-tuk , like bone tapping wood. Over and over again.

“Kara,” the thing said again, its voice closer now. “Come here, darling.”

It screamed.

That same shrill, raking shriek the other one had let out. It scraped against Vi’s skull like nails down glass. She clamped her teeth shut and held Isha tighter, felt the girl trembling like a leaf.

The sound cut off and there was silence for but a moment.

Vi could feel it. A presence. A stillness that meant something was just on the other side of the log.

“It’s okay,” the thing whispered, saccharine and empty all at once. “The monsters are gone now.”

Vi’s gut twisted. Slowly, with the barest tilt of her head, she looked up over the mossy ridge of the log.

And there it was.

Looming just above Caitlyn.

It had probably been a person once. She could see the scraps of prisoner’s garb still clinging to it, frozen into its flesh. But the shape was all wrong now. Limbs too long, fingers ending in black tips that twitched. Its skin was frostbitten and stretched tight, torn in places around the joints like it had grown too quickly for its shell. The face was half-gone, lips peeled back in a smile it couldn't quite shut. And the eyes, what was left of them, were black and weeping.

It stood motionless.

Inches from her.

Vi could hear the wind wheezing through its lungs.

It hadn’t seen them.

Couldn’t see them.

From the creek, ice cracked. Vi turned her head slowly, careful not to disturb the snow crusting the log’s edge. Down by the water’s edge, another figure dragged itself into view.

A man, or something that had been one. His jaw was missing, just a ragged hole beneath his nose, ringed in frozen gore. His tongue lolled uselessly from the shredded gap in his face, a gray-pink lump rimed with frost. His right hand was missing too, the arm ending in a splintered stump that trailed sluggish black ichor like candle wax and his eyes… gods, his eyes. Like the woman’s—black and slow-weeping, the way tree sap leaks from a split trunk.

He made no sound as he lurched forward with wet, sucking steps through the slush.

The woman-thing above them tilted her head at the noise. The twitching of her fingers slowed. Her body turned as though sniffing on instinct, drawn toward it.

Vi didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.

The two of them drifted toward one another through the clearing like leaves in a still pond. Step by agonizing step, until they were within arm’s reach—

And then something strange happened.

They recoiled.

Not sudden, not violent. Just… repelled. Like magnets flipped to the same pole. The man staggered back a step. The woman twisted slightly away. They wandered again, slowly veering in opposite directions, never crossing paths again.

Vi stared, trying to make sense of it.

Minutes passed as they wandered aimlessly. Long, cold, breathless minutes.

Then, somewhere deeper in the woods, another sound. Something else moving. Branches breaking. Both things paused. Their heads turned and like puppets on a single string, they began to lumber away, vanishing into the treeline with stiff, twitching strides.

Gone.

Even after the monsters had vanished into the trees, they stayed down. Still as corpses. Listening. Snow began to fall in slow, silent flurries, more ash than weather.

Finally, Vi gave a small nod and began to rise and Isha followed. She clutched the shiv tighter than ever, knuckles pale, and Vi signed. Are you okay?

Isha nodded. Her lips were pressed thin, and her eyes were still wide and wet. Brave, sure, but terrified all the same.

Vi reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

Then she turned to Caitlyn.

“ You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Caitlyn snapped.

But she didn’t look fine. Not even close. Her skin was pale as paper, veins showing faint blue beneath the surface. Not the kind of fear-pale Vi had seen before. No—Caitlyn looked ill. Drained. Her eyes were sunken, and her lips had lost all color. 

Vi hesitated. “Hey, seriously are…?”

She trailed off as Caitlyn leaned heavily against a nearby tree. Her hand barely found the bark. She didn’t meet Vi’s eyes.

“Can we please keep walking?” she muttered.

Not a question.

A plea.

Vi blinked. “Yeah… uh. Yeah. Okay.”

---

A few hours slipped by beneath the trees, the three of them weaving through frost-bitten roots and low-hanging branches, the hush around them unbroken but for the sound of trudging boots. Caitlyn kept herself at the front, shoulders rigid, posture soldier-straight in spite of the way her steps dragged more with every passing minute. She didn’t speak. Didn’t look back.

Vi’s concern grew with every crunch of snow.

Beside her, Isha gave a small tug on her coat sleeve. Vi glanced down to find the girl looking up at her, brow furrowed in silent question. Her hands moved carefully in the cold air, signing. Were those—

The sign that followed was one Vi didn’t know. A flick of the fingers, an odd motion across the mouth.

Vi arched a brow.

Isha stuck out her tongue.

Vi huffed softly through her nose. “Ah.” Then she mirrored the unfamiliar sign back at her. “Grimshank.”

Isha nodded gravely.

I don’t know…hopefully. They were easy enough to avoid.

Can you fight them?

Vi smirked faintly. I can fight anything, but fighting is loud.

Isha’s mouth pressed into a thoughtful line, then she nodded.

We have to be quiet.

Isha grinned. I’m good at quiet.

Vi smiled and reached out, ruffling Isha’s hair. The girl ducked, grinning, swatting half-heartedly at her hand. Felt good, that grin. Too good. Like sunlight through cracks in a prison wall. She felt it lodge in her chest, right beneath the locket resting against her ribs. That familiar ache.

She pushed it down. Didn’t have time for soft things right now. Not out here.

Isha nudged her again, small fingers dancing in the air. What about her?

Vi followed her gaze to Caitlyn, still trudging ahead. She signed back, She’s… complicated.

She’s an enforcer.

She’s a complicated enforcer.

Isha rolled her eyes and punched her lightly in the arm.

Vi laughed, a quiet puff of breath that almost made her forget how damned cold it was. The sound must’ve carried, because Caitlyn glanced over her shoulder just then. Gods, she looked worse. Pale like ash, lips cracked, her eyes glassy in that way that meant whatever was wrong was still eating at her. She blinked slow, unfocused.

Vi looked around. Up ahead was a cluster of rocks—big ones, old and moss-choked, perched on a rise that gave decent visibility in all directions.

“Let’s take a break,” Vi said, already steering Isha toward it

Caitlyn didn’t argue, didn’t say anything at all. She just veered after them with a numb nod, like it took more effort to refuse than she had left.

---

Vi handed Isha a strip of jerky from the dwindling stash, watching as the girl tore into it with the focused ferocity of a ferret. She perched on one of the rocks, knees tucked up, eyes scanning the trees even as she chewed. 

Vi let her gaze linger a moment, just long enough to make sure the girl was okay. Then Vi’s eyes shifted to Caitlyn, who hadn’t moved to sit, hadn’t asked for food. She was still standing just off the rocks, her arms wrapped around herself, as if to keep her insides from spilling out.

Vi stood, walked over, and caught her by the elbow.

“Come on,” she muttered. “Let’s talk.”

Caitlyn followed without resistance. They rounded a boulder, Isha still in sight.

Vi turned, arms crossed. “Alright. What’s goin’ on with you?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer at first. She just stared past Vi’s shoulder, then blinked slow, like waking from a deep sleep.

“Caitlyn.”

That got her attention. She swallowed roughly, throat working like it hurt.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Vi pressed, her tone softening, just a little.

A heartbeat passed. Then Caitlyn muttered, voice hoarse, “In Zaun.”

“Seriously? That was—”

“—three days ago,” Caitlyn finished for her.

Vi blew a breath through her nose. “Well shit. You can have my portion for the day.” She pulled a strip of jerky from her coat pocket and pushed it into Caitlyn’s hands.

Caitlyn stared at it. Then she shook her head.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Vi muttered, trying to press it back into her hand. “I’ll be fine, just—”

Caitlyn’s hand shot out.

Grabbed her wrist.

Like iron.

Vi’s heart skipped a beat. “Caitlyn,” she said carefully. “Let go of me.”

But Caitlyn didn’t. Her grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. She was staring at Vi’s wrist. At the vein there.

“I’m so thirsty, Vi,” she whispered, her voice shaking like the flame of a candle near the end of its wick.

Vi tried to yank her arm back, but it didn’t budge. Her stomach dropped, instincts flaring.

“Caitlyn. Let me go.”

Still nothing.

“Hey,” Vi said softly. “Look at me.”

Caitlyn didn’t move. Her lips were slightly parted, a low growl emanating from her throat. Her eyes stayed fixed on that wrist, locked in some terrible inward spiral.

“Look at me.”

Slowly, like it cost her, Caitlyn tilted her head up.

Vi’s breath caught.

The flecks in Caitlyn’s eyes, the tiny red flecks had bled out. Fully. Her irises weren’t blue anymore. They were red. Deep, glowing red, like coals in a dying hearth.

Vi went very still.

A vampire.

Caitlyn was a godsdamned vampire.

And Vi—brilliant, bleeding-hearted Vi—didn’t have a single seed on her. No seeds meant no bloom. No bloom meant no stake. Meant no defense, no backup plan, no nothing . Just a heartbeat and a prayer. And the thing in front of her, the one she’d talked with by firelight, who’d pulled her up from Stillwater and said she couldn’t leave her behind, now had her wrist in an vice grip and was breathing like—

Wait. She wasn’t breathing. How hadn’t she noticed Caitlyn hadn’t breathed this whole time? Not once. No fog on the air. No rise or fall in her chest. Just stillness. Cold and still.

Vi’s heart thudded louder. “Caitlyn,” she said, soothing, like calming a cornered animal. “I know you’re thirsty. I get it. But you just need to hold on a little longer, alright? You’re still in there. Just…hold on.”

Caitlyn’s eyes, red and burning, didn’t blink. Her lips parted, voice a rasp just above a growl. “I can just take a taste. I can stop.”

She took a step closer.

Vi’s breath hitched.

Caitlyn leaned down. Her mouth opened. Fangs glinted—long, white, needle-sharp.

“No,” Vi breathed.

Her fist drove into Caitlyn’s side. It landed solid, but Caitlyn barely flinched. Not even a grunt. Her mouth was at Vi’s throat.

“Please don’t,” Vi whispered, trembling now. “Stop. Please.”

And just like that, she did.

Caitlyn froze. The grip released and she stumbled back a step, eyes wide. The red dimmed slightly.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t… I wouldn’t—” Her voice broke. “Gods, Vi, I wouldn’t.”

Vi’s chest heaved. Her pulse thudded so loud it felt like it echoed off the trees. She brought her hand to her neck without thinking. No blood. No bite.

Just a heartbeat and Caitlyn, standing three feet away, looking like she wanted to sink into the ground and never come up again. Her voice, when it came, was quiet as snowfall. “Just get a branch.” Her arms hung limp at her sides. Her shoulders slumped. “You know what to do, Thorn.”

Vi didn’t move.

The wind cut between them, gentle, carrying frost and silence. Isha sat on the rock behind them still chewing, still unaware. The forest groaned softly around them, boughs creaking.

Vi stared at her. At Caitlyn. Who had sat with her by the fire and told her I couldn’t leave you in that place . Who had looked at her like she mattered. Who had touched her gently and winced when she laughed.

Caitlyn, the thing Vi was made to kill.

Her hand curled at her side.

She saw the shape of it in her mind—wood, sharpened, driven into a chest. Quick. Final. Clean. Like she’d been trained and if she looked at Caitlyn long enough, she could almost see it. The way her jaw would clench, how the red in her eyes would bloom, how she’d go down on her knees, cold and hollow and—

Stop.

The firelight. That voice by the flames. “I couldn’t just leave you…”

“No,” Vi said.

Caitlyn blinked. Her throat bobbed with a swallow she didn’t need.

“You have to,” she whispered.

Vi shook her head. “If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve. You didn’t.”

“I almost did.”

“But you didn’t.”

Then Vi, gods help her, stepped closer.

Chapter Text

What the hell am I doing?

The question throbbed in her skull, hammering in rhythm with her heart as she took another slow, careful step toward Caitlyn. She knew better—hell, every instinct screamed at her to stop. To turn around, grab Isha, and put as much forest between them and Caitlyn as she possibly could.

But she didn’t.

Couldn’t.

What the hell am I doing?

The vampire stood perfectly still. Watching. Waiting. Those crimson eyes dimming slightly, flickering uncertainly, like coals starved for fuel. She was starving and desperate and godsdamn dangerous.

And Vi was stepping closer.

“You shouldn’t do this,” Caitlyn murmured. Her voice cracked softly on the words. Like she was trying to talk a friend down from the ledge. “You shouldn’t.”

Obviously.

Vi almost laughed, raw and bitter, but the noise died in her throat.

Her heart thudded against her ribs. Her muscles tensed in preparation, nerves tingling all the way down to her fingertips. She felt the briar beneath her skin, stirring, restless, uneasy. It knew what Caitlyn was. What she could do.

The King's voice rang in her mind. Better to do the thing than live with the fear of it.

Vi lifted her chin slightly, meeting those blood-red eyes.

“Got a better idea?” she whispered. 

Caitlyn’s mouth parted slightly, like she was about to argue. About to warn her again. About to plead. But she said nothing, the words frozen between her teeth. Her fists clenched at her sides, tendons standing out like steel cables beneath porcelain skin.

Vi took that final, irrevocable step forward. She wondered, just for a fleeting second, if maybe she’d just made the worst mistake of her life.

Caitlyn let loose a low growl, not loud or violent. It was the kind of sound that slid under your skin and made the animal part of your brain start looking for a tree to climb. Her eyes flicked toward Isha.

Vi’s own gaze followed instinctively.

The girl was still there. Still sitting on the rock where Vi had left her. Her small form tucked into herself, arms wrapped tight around her knees. Still safe.

Caitlyn’s gaze snapped back to Vi. Her eyes burned brighter now, fiery and desperate, narrowed to thin slits. She hissed, voice breaking harshly against her teeth. “Last chance.”

Vi’s jaw tightened. She was stubborn, it was her greatest virtue…or her greatest fault. Right now, she couldn’t say which. Maybe both.

She didn’t look away. She couldn’t afford to. “We need each other,” Vi said quietly and then she reached down, fingers trembling slightly, and rolled up her sleeve.

Cold air bit into her skin, making her shiver. The veins in her wrist stood out blue and vulnerable. Every instinct she’d honed over years of survival screamed at her to cover herself. Protect herself. To not be so stupid.

Her pulse drummed under her skin. An invitation.

Caitlyn flinched as though struck. “Vi—”

“—you stop when I say.”

The vampire’s chest shuddered and for a moment Vi thought she might collapse under the need of her own hunger. Then Caitlyn stepped in, slow, trembling, as if every inch cost her some piece of restraint she could never get back.

Vi’s muscles coiled, the briar whispering too close, too close, too close , but she held her ground. One heartbeat. Two. Caitlyn’s cool fingers brushed Vi’s forearm, drawing it closer. The touch was frighteningly gentle, reverent almost.

Caitlyn’s lips parted, her fangs sliding into view. Then came the prick and a flash of pain. The fangs slid deeper, throbbing spreading slowly through her wrist, up her arm, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Vi’s first instinct told her to wrench free—to shove Caitlyn away, to fight—but she locked her knees and stayed.

Caitlyn closed her eyes, lashes fluttering. Her mouth sealed around the wound, throat working in gulping swallows. Vi watched, unable to look away as Caitlyn’s face shifted, second to second. The hollows of her cheeks filled. The sharp, knife-like lines of her cheekbones softened. Color returned to her lips, blooming gently from pale death to a living flush. 

Vi’s vision fuzzed at the edges. A hollow drum thudded behind her ears, matching Caitlyn’s pulls. She exhaled through her teeth, forcing herself to count each beat— one, two, three —while the briar under her skin writhed, wanting to bloom, to protect, to lash. 

Four, five, six.

Lightness spread up her arm and across her shoulders. Her legs wobbled.

“Stop,” she rasped.

Caitlyn didn’t move. Her fingers tightened in an instinctive clutch. Seven, eight —each swallow faster than the one before.

“Caitlyn.” Vi’s voice cracked. She pushed, not hard enough. The vampire’s grip was iron again.

Nine —her knees buckled. Stars burst behind her eyes.

The briar surged, answering the threat. A lance of green-gold pain shot through Vi’s arm, and thorns erupted just beneath the skin at her wrist—tiny, vicious barbs scraping against Caitlyn’s mouth. The vampire jerked, fangs slipping free with a wet pop . Red smeared Vi’s skin; red stained Caitlyn’s lips.

Caitlyn staggered back two steps, eyes wide, irises a blazing, liquid crimson. She swallowed once more, then clamped a hand over her mouth as if horrified by her own need. “Vi—” Her voice trembled. “I—I’m sorry, I couldn’t—”

“What the hell, Caitlyn?!” Vi snarled, clapping her hand over the bleeding punctures. Hot dizziness spun behind her eyes, but anger shoved it aside. “I told you to stop.”

Caitlyn recoiled another pace, shoulders hunched as if Vi had struck her. Blood glistened on her lips. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— I’ve never…” Her voice frayed to threadbare silence.

“Never what?” Vi demanded.

A brittle pause. Caitlyn’s gaze skittered away, shame written clear across her. “Fed on someone,” she whispered.

Vi stared at her, mouth open slightly, mind tumbling over itself trying to sort out how exactly she was supposed to react. Because, shit, what was she supposed to say to that ?

She was pissed, of course she was. Her arm throbbed, hot and angry beneath her hand, blood smearing slick against her fingers. But beneath the anger was something else she didn’t want to look at too closely. Something softer, messier. Something that had felt the tremor in Caitlyn’s voice when she’d confessed that this was her first time, her first feeding.

Godsdammit.  

As if things weren’t fucked enough already. Now, on top of running from Stillwater, from Grimshank, Vi had herself saddled with a baby vampire. Of all the luck she could’ve drawn, this was it. Absolutely fucking perfect.

She pressed harder on the wound, dizzy nausea swirling through her gut, and thrust her other hand toward Caitlyn, finger stabbing the air between them.

“Listen up, Piltie,” she growled. “If I ever see your fangs anywhere close to Isha, I swear—”

Caitlyn nodded quickly, eyes wide and earnest beneath the red still staining her irises. “I wouldn’t harm her.”

Vi clenched her jaw, teeth grinding together hard enough to ache. She couldn’t trust a vampire. Simple as that. No matter how sorry, how sincere, how godsdamn confused she looked. Trusting vampires got you dead. Every person in Zaun had learned that lesson the hard way.

And yet…

Vi sighed, long and slow, anger bleeding into exhaustion. She needed Caitlyn. Like it or not. Needed her eyes, her strength. She was useful—valuable, even. And Vi wasn’t fool enough to throw away tools she could still use.

“Fine,” she spat and turned away from the vampire. One step toward Isha and Vi stopped cold, her blood turning to frost.

Isha sat on the rock, eyes huge, frozen like a statue.

Vi followed the girl’s stare, and her gut clenched so tight it nearly doubled her over.

A child stood at the edge of the clearing.

She was small, dressed in rags that might’ve once been winter clothes, but they were shredded now, crusted in ice and stiff with blackened blood. Her skin was frostbitten blue and peeled raw in patches. Her belly gaped wide, a ruinous hole torn into flesh, dark and empty and wrong. Fingers on both hands ended in frost-blackened stubs, her arms unnaturally long, drooping almost to her ankles.

Black ichor leaked from her eyes in thick, tar-like trails down her ruined cheeks.

It opened its mouth, jaw cracking impossibly wide, lips splitting along frostbitten seams, and that wet, choking howl ripped free.

Everything hung still for one breathless heartbeat. The forest went silent.

Then it moved.

The thing dropped to all fours, limbs twisting and popping grotesquely, and began to skitter toward them like some broken, nightmarish spider, shrieking as it closed the distance, too fast, too damned fast.

Vi’s instincts kicked in before thought could catch up. She snatched Isha by the arm, hauling the girl behind her just as a pale blur slashed across the snow-packed clearing.

Crack.

The creature slammed into a trunk hard enough to shiver bark from the wood. It slid down the bole, twitching, a tangle of limbs and rags. Where it had been, Caitlyn now stood—fangs bared, eyes a molten blood-red, breathless and perfectly still but for the taut rise of her shoulders.

Isha clutched Vi’s coat with both hands, eyes wide as moons. Her fingers moved, searching for the shape of a question. Vi crouched just long enough to sign, later.

A wet pop sounded. Vi’s head snapped back.

The little monster was rising.

Bones crooked where bones shouldn’t bend, vertebrae grinding. It wobbled, then straightened, the hole in its abdomen yawning wider. It shrieked again. And from deeper in the trees came an answering crash. Heavy footfalls. Branches shattering. More of them.

“We gotta go,” Vi hissed.

No argument. Caitlyn backed toward them, her eyes never leaving the skittering girl-thing. The vampire’s hand shot out, grabbing Vi’s free arm, steering them.

They tore through the trees, snow pluming at their shins, pine needles raking icy welts across cheeks and forearms. The forest tunneled in frantic blurs of black trunk and hoarfrost.

“Don’t look back,” Caitlyn warned.

So, of course, Vi looked back.

Five shapes pursued them. One dragged a shattered leg through the drifts, two ran on all fours, the girl crawled fast, belly scraping crimson trails, and the last—tall, twisted—bounded from trunk to trunk, limbs contorting mid-leap. All of them leaking that same black sap, all of them shrieking in choir-discordant hunger.

“Shit, shit, shit—” Vi spat between breaths, her hand instinctively slapping the empty pouch at her belt. Seeds. If I just had seeds… Bark gauntlets, thorn lashes—anything. But the pouch was hollow.

A ridge loomed ahead, nine feet of rock ribboned with ice. No time to think, only to move.

Vi scooped Isha and hurled the girl upward. Isha’s boots smacked stone; she scrabbled for purchase, then flopped over the lip with a muffled oof . Caitlyn was beside Vi, crouching, fingers laced to make a stirrup.

“Go,” the vampire rasped.

Vi planted a boot in Caitlyn’s palms; Caitlyn heaved, and Vi shot up the rock face. Fingers bit into a crack rimed with frost, muscles screaming as she hauled herself to the crest. She swung a leg over, grabbed Isha’s coat, yanked her farther from the edge.

“Come on!” Vi shouted down.

A blur of black.

The tall twisted one slammed into Caitlyn. It hit her square in the chest, driving her back against the ridge. Snow exploded. Black sap splattered the rock.

Caitlyn’s hiss was all fury. Her hands clamped around the monster’s wrists; she twisted, bones snapping like dry twigs. With a brutal pivot she flung the thing sideways. It crashed into a pine, trunk splintering on impact, then crumpled to the ground in a pile of too-long limbs.

Caitlyn sprang, digging fingers into the stone and climbing with feral speed. Vi reached down, grabbed her forearm and hauled. Together they got her onto the ridge top as shrieks echoed below.

Then they tore off again. Every lungful of air felt like razors, Vi’s calves burning and Isha’s small hand slipping with sweat in her own.

All of sudden, Caitlyn lurched to a halt, yanking them sideways into the shadow of a massive spruce. Vi’s back slammed into rough bark; Caitlyn’s arm clamped across her ribs like a steel bar. The vampire’s other hand rested on the hilt of her rapier, half-drawn.

“ Quiet ,” Caitlyn mouthed.

Vi swallowed, throat raw. She held Isha close.

The sound was like nothing Vi had ever heard—sinew straining, bone creaking, groans too dry to be breath. She risked a glance around the trunk.

Gods.

There were more. A dozen, maybe more, scattered through the trees ahead, standing perfectly still. Just... watching. If you could call it that. Eyes leaking black sap, heads tilted at angles no neck should bend. One shifted, and Vi saw its ribs stretch. Actually stretch, like something inside was pushing against the bones from the wrong direction. There was a crack, a faint screech, and the ribs settled again.

Vi pulled back, her hand clamping around Isha’s head, shielding the girl’s sight.

What the fuck are these things?

From behind came the shrieking again.

The ones that had been chasing them, tearing through the snow, howling like something in pain was wearing the idea of a scream. They were heading straight for them.

Vi’s breath caught in her throat. She tensed, ready to run, to fight, to do something , but Caitlyn’s grip turned to iron again—an arm across her stomach, locking her in place.

“Don’t,” Caitlyn whispered. Not a plea. A command.

The footfalls pounded closer. The howling built to a crescendo, and Isha shook in Vi’s arms, her small fingers curling tight in the folds of Vi’s coat.

Twenty strides.

Vi gritted her teeth.

Ten.

The trees trembled with the force of it. Snow blew up in bursts from the ground, churned to slush beneath clawed feet and shattered hands.

Vi snarled under her breath. Her hand flexed, itching for a weapon she didn’t have, for thorns she couldn’t bloom.

Then—

Then they were past.

One by one the monsters blew past their hiding spot, so close Vi could feel the wind of them on her face, the stink of death and cold and rot curling in her nostrils. Not a single one turned. Not a glance. Not a flinch.

Vi stayed frozen, heart thundering against Caitlyn’s arm.

The creatures charged into the trees with the others, those watchers. The still ones. And the shrieking stopped.

All was quiet.

Caitlyn risked a cautious glance, the edge of her face just visible past the bark. A heartbeat later she retreated, eyes locking with Vi’s. She jerked her chin back the way they’d come.

Vi nodded and guided Isha. 

They started back in the direction they’d fled, moving in half‐steps. The ground was softer here, quieter, the crust broken to slush and pulp. Their footfalls made only the faintest squelch, easily lost amid the drip of thawing ice. Every fifty paces or so Caitlyn paused, head tilted, eyes scanning. Each time she moved again, Vi followed, matching her slow, deliberate gait. Isha walked, tucked between them.

Minutes stretched into aching spans that felt like hours. They were moving at a snails’ pace, but that’s the thing about snails—

You never hear them.

---

Vi scooped another fistful of snow from a low branch, packed it tight, and pressed it to her lips. Meltwater seeped through the cracks in her fingers—mineral-bitter, pine-tainted—but at least it had seen the sky before her mouth. She’d drunk worse in Stillwater. There, you boiled every drop or rolled the dice on rust, rot, or worse.

Beside her on the fallen trunk, Isha nibbled at her own clump of snow, glare locked on Caitlyn with all the subtlety of a guillotine. It didn’t take a genius to tally Caitlyn’s sins: Piltie. Enforcer. Vampire. Any one of those was enough to sour a Zaunite’s stomach; stacked together they were downright poisonous. The kid’s shoulders stayed hunched, her little shiv never far from her palm.

Caitlyn, for her part, knelt a couple of paces off, pretending to be very interested in tightening the strings of her ruined boots. Every so often she risked a glance toward Isha, mouth shaping a hesitant smile, only to look away when the girl’s scowl burned hot enough to melt the snow between them. The red in Caitlyn’s eyes had shifted back to that deep blue and she kept them lowered now.

Vi flexed her bitten wrist, testing the fresh bandage. She caught Caitlyn peeking at her through her lashes, and Vi let her arm drop back to her side. No reason to make the vampire squirm more than she already was.

Isha wriggled a little closer on the log, her hands signing something that made Vi splutter.

“What?” Caitlyn asked.

Vi cleared her throat. “She asked…” She flicked her thumb toward the sky, where light slanted cold and gold between the trees. “Why you’re not burning.”

Caitlyn blinked, clearly caught off guard. Then, to her credit, she chuckled. A small sound, but genuine. “The whole sunlight thing? Just superstition,” she said, brushing a pine needle from her sleeve. “I actually quite enjoy a nice sunbath, when I can get one.”

Vi signed it to Isha.

The girl huffed, clearly annoyed her mental bestiary was out of date. She signed again. Vi snorted.

“She wants to know about silver and wooden stakes.”

Caitlyn nodded, expression sobering. “Those work,” she said simply. “So do decapitation, fire… you know. The usual methods.”

Caitlyn was right. Vi did know.

Isha was still looking at the vampire. Can you kill the Grimshanks?

Vi frowned. She translated the question for Caitlyn.

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. She studied Isha, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then she said clearly, “I’ll protect you.”

No bravado. No impossible promise. Just a statement she clearly meant to make true.

Vi felt the kid’s shoulders loosen by a hair. Isha nodded once, tucked the shiv back into her coat, and leaned against Vi’s side. Exhaustion pulled at the girl’s eyelids; the terror of the chase was finally ebbing, leaving nothing but bone-deep fatigue.

Vi slipped an arm around her. Over the top of Isha’s head she locked eyes with Caitlyn.

There was something in that gaze.

Not the hunger, not this time. That was buried. No, this was something else entirely—soft, patient, almost… warm, like a hearth fire. A look Vi had seen before, but never pointed at her. Not like that.

Maybe it was care. Maybe it was feigned care. Either one would be dangerous.

You couldn’t trust a vampire. Not really. Not ever. That was the first rule, the first lesson drilled into her by every Thorn, every corpse they’d dragged home with a hole in its throat.

Still, that look made something nervous coil low in Vi’s gut, and not for the usual reasons. Not the hard learned survival reasons. This was…something else.

Vi tore her gaze away, jaw flexing.

She stared out past the treeline, past the sinking sun and the long shadows crawling like fingers through the snow. Her arm tightened around Isha. One thing at a time.

First: keep the kid safe.

Second: survive the night.

Third… well… she didn’t…she glanced at Caitlyn again. 

Caitlyn stood in a shallow spill of dying gold, head tilted back, eyes closed, soaking in the last shred of daylight. She looked… different like that—peaceful, almost human. The sunlight cut a fine edge along the line of her jaw, caught in the loose strands of her dark hair. Her mouth curved in a faint, lopsided smile, baring the hint of a gap between her front teeth.

Vi’s gaze tracked lower, too low, over the length of her long legs. She caught the slow rise of Caitlyn’s chest in a breath she didn’t need to take, the way her coat pinched narrow at the waist—

What in the hell was she doing?

Heat flared behind Vi’s cheeks; she jerked her eyes away, heart thumping stupidly. She’s a vampire, Vi. A Piltie fang-monger who nearly drained you dry. You don’t let your guard down around something like that, let alone… admire it.

Vi cleared her throat, pretended to inspect the bandage on her wrist again. The bite stung as if in reprimand. Good. Pain meant alertness. And alertness meant Isha stayed breathing.

Chapter Text

They needed shelter and soon.

The sky was inked deep purple by the time Vi saw the fort rise from the treeline, black stone walls silhouetted starkly against the bruised twilight. Stars had begun to scatter across the sky, tiny pricks of cold white peering down, indifferent to the three small figures trudging through the snow below.

The fortress was old, the stone weather-worn and crumbling like teeth rotted by time. Vi narrowed her eyes, inspecting the entrance as they approached. A great iron portcullis, half-eaten away by some corrosion, twisted and pitted like acid had gnawed it thin. Beyond lay the courtyard, bathed in shadow, littered with shapes hunched beneath armor crusted in frost, bones protruding through the gaps.

"Welcoming," Vi muttered.

Caitlyn stepped forward without hesitation, but slowed just as she crossed the threshold, as if she were pushing through a sheet of invisible webs. She paused, head cocked slightly, then stepped fully through, tension easing from her shoulders.

"Guess no one's home," Vi said dryly, following Caitlyn into the courtyard.

"It would seem so," Caitlyn agreed, casting wary eyes over the armored remains.

There wasn't much left. Corpses stripped down to skeletons, old armor rusted to brown and frozen solid into the ground. A scattering of ancient swords lay strewn about, their edges dull with neglect and the passing of seasons. Vi’s eyes drifted to the far wall, where long, deep gouges marred the stone. Three parallel slashes, each one wide as her forearm.

Vi gestured toward the gouges with her chin. "Ever seen anything that can do that?"

Caitlyn eyed the marks warily, tracing their jagged depth with her gaze before slowly shaking her head.

Vi tutted softly. "Great."

They moved on, steps careful, silence heavy as the fortress walls loomed higher around them. The place had taken a beating over the years—collapsed roofs, blocked corridors, whole wings choked with fallen stone. Eventually, Vi spotted an open doorway that led to what she figured were soldiers' quarters, the heavy timber door hanging loose on a rusted hinge.

Inside, the room was small and narrow, just big enough to hold a few bunks and some rotting wooden trunks, but most importantly, a hearth sat dark and waiting at the far end.

"Well, that's something," Vi muttered, already breaking apart a nearby chair for kindling. Caitlyn took a quick look around, fingers brushing the grime-coated walls before sitting quietly by the hearth.

Isha snapped a match against the stone, the tiny flame sputtering weakly before licking to life. Vi cupped it with both hands, shielding it from the draft that wormed through cracks in the walls. She guided Isha’s trembling fingers to the kindling stacked in the hearth. Dry splinters crackled, then caught, orange tongues spreading through the broken chair legs Vi had fed into the pit.

Warmth crawled out into the room, chasing the chill from Vi’s joints. She sat back against a trunk, bare feet stretching toward the blaze. Isha nestled close, shoulders sagging as the heat finally reached her. From a pocket Vi pulled the last two strips of jerky—paper-thin, tough as boot leather—tore them in half, and passed the larger pieces to the kid. Isha mouthed a silent thank-you around the first bite.

A few minutes passed in crackling quiet. The heat dulled Vi’s aches enough that her eyelids drooped. She glanced down to sign something, but Isha was already out, her cheek slack against Vi’s arm. Exhaustion had claimed her mid-chew. Vi eased the girl onto a moldering pillow, slipped off her own coat, and tucked it over thin shoulders. Isha curled into the leather with a sigh, shiv still clutched beneath the coat like a bedtime toy.

“She's lucky to have you,” Caitlyn murmured.

Vi shrugged, eyes on the flames. Compliments were harder to stomach than pain. 

Caitlyn’s voice dropped, hesitant. “I… I’m sorry that I—”

“—Stop.” Vi cut her a sideways glare. “Just… stop. I know.”

Silence swallowed them again, broken only by a chair leg collapsing in the fire, sending sparks skittering up the chimney throat. Vi let the sparks rise and fade before speaking.

“How long,” she asked at last, “have you been…?” She flicked two fingers at Caitlyn, a gesture that could’ve meant everything or nothing.

Caitlyn drew her knees up, rested chin on forearm, eyes reflecting ember-gold. “I was born like this,” she said.

Vi whistled. “Pureblood, then. Must be one of the old lines.” She ticked names off on fingertips. “Let me guess… Drayton?”

Caitlyn shook her head.

“Veraza?”

Another shake, lips twitching toward a smile.

Vi narrowed her eyes, thinking through lessons blearily remembered from Thorn catechism. Old Piltovan families, the ones with crests older than the city’s walls. “Kiramman?”

A faint, rueful curve of Caitlyn’s mouth. “Got it in three.”

Vi let her head thunk back against the trunk, one knee drawn up, fingers idly worrying a splinter from the floorboards. “How’s an heir to one of the great houses still a fledgling?”

Across the flames, Caitlyn’s cheeks colored—fire-glow or slow-blooming blush, hard to tell. “I’ve always had…sources,” she murmured. “Tonic blends, stored reserves—ethically acquired.” She grimaced. “And I don’t think… I don’t want to…”

Vi snorted. “You don’t have to explain your diet plan to me, Piltie. Just surprises me. Thought all you Higher Vamps had ‘bloodbags’ or whatever.”

“Some do.” Caitlyn’s jaw tightened. “But I always found it… cruel.”

Vi tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because they’re people, not pantries,” she said. “If I can live on stored blood, or animal, or anything else, why wouldn’t I? Mother taught me that power isn’t an excuse to make others suffer.”

Vi studied her carefully, searching the shadows of her face for the hint of a lie, a trick, anything that would give her away. She had known a lot of liars—good ones, bad ones, masters of the art—but this? Caitlyn’s eyes didn’t shift or flinch. Her voice hadn’t wavered. Nothing but quiet conviction etched in every careful word. Either she was the most cunning liar Vi had ever seen, or she didn’t know how to lie at all.

“You’re so weird,” Vi said flatly.

Caitlyn stiffened, chin rising slightly, a flicker of hurt crossing her expression before she smoothed it away behind her usual mask of composed reserve. “I suppose I am.”

Vi sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face. “I don’t mean…” She groaned inwardly. Words had never been her strong suit. “You’re just, you’re not what I thought.”

Caitlyn’s brow knitted gently. “What did you think?”

Vi snorted bitterly, gesturing vaguely. “You’re a Piltovan heir, a pureblood vampire, and an enforcer—or at least pretending to be. I figured…” She shrugged, helplessly. “Well, I figured you’d be more of an asshole.”

Caitlyn blinked, then let out a small, startled laugh, shaking her head. “I’ll try harder next time.”

Can’t trust her. A vampire will always answer the thirst.

Vi bit the inside of her cheek and turned her gaze to the hearth.

Don’t get attached to the bipedal mosquito. Not now. Not ever.

The fire popped again. Curiosity got the better of her and she stole another glance. Caitlyn was watching her, head slightly tipped, expression so… open it hurt to look at. No mask, no Piltie hauteur—just quiet, earnest attention, like Vi was some puzzle she wanted to understand instead of prey she meant to use.

Gods, that face was a liability. Vi could practically read the thoughts marching across it. Regret for earlier, worry for Isha, some wary hope Vi couldn’t name. If Caitlyn had been a proper blood-leecher, she’d have worn a smile sharper than her fangs and hid every truth behind silk words. Instead she sat there looking a heartbeat away from apologizing again.

Vi opened her mouth to say something—what, she wasn’t even sure, maybe to break the quiet, maybe to tell Caitlyn to stop looking at her like that—but Caitlyn beat her to it.

“I—” the vampire started, then faltered.

Vi lifted a brow and made a lazy little go-on motion with her hand.

Caitlyn hesitated, then, just as Vi tried again to speak, she blurted, “Your locket.”

Vi blinked. “My what?”

“Your locket. I… noticed it earlier. You keep touching it. It seems… important. Is it from someone?”

The instinct to shut down, to wall every memory behind barbed wire, rose sharp in Vi’s chest. Secrets were safer buried. She opened her mouth to deflect, but the lie tasted foul as it touched her tongue.

“My sister,” she said instead, fingers drifting to the silver locket tucked beneath her shirt. The metal was cool, always cool. “Powder gave it to me when I took the ink.”

Caitlyn didn’t push, didn’t prod, just nodded—eyes blue and solemn in the fire-light. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Vi muttered, thumb rubbing the tarnished edge. “She had good taste in junk.”

“What was she like?” Caitlyn asked quietly.

Vi’s thumb froze on the locket. The question hit her harder than she’d prepared for. She swallowed, her throat suddenly raw, then forced a faint smile.

“Annoying,” Vi said softly, eyes unfocused, fixed somewhere beyond the fire’s glow. “She’d follow me everywhere, yapping my ear off. Always laughing, always joking about something.” She paused, a small, strangled sound rising halfway up her throat before she cut it off. “She’d draw on anything she could get her hands on. Drove me fucking crazy.”

The memories surged like floodwater. Powder’s laughter bright in the Zaun-gray gloom, her scribbles on the walls, the fierce hugs she’d give Vi when no one else was looking.

Her jaw clenched hard enough to ache, eyes stinging. “I need sleep,” she rasped abruptly, a wall slammed down between her and the past. She rolled onto her side, turning away from Caitlyn, fist clenched around the locket, pressing it tight against her chest.

Behind her, the vampire’s silhouette stood sentinel against the ruin, rapier across her knees, blue eyes fixed on the dark.

Vi let her eyes drift shut.

---

Another dead pinecone thunked into the growing pile at Vi’s feet. She wiped a numb thumb against her trousers and crouched to sift through the patchy snow beneath the pines again. Cold bit into her fingers, but she ignored it, focused on the hunt for any scrap of life left in these woods.

A shadow fell over her shoulder. Caitlyn held out another cone. Vi took it, turning the woody scales against her palm, searching for that barely-there tingle of residual energy. Nothing. She clicked her tongue, shook her head. Caitlyn only nodded and moved on, sweeping low boughs aside with careful gloved fingers.

They’d spent the better part of dawn like this, after deciding the fortress was safe enough to risk daylight. Weak sun glimmered through high, thin clouds, but everything under the trees remained locked in frost. Most cones they found were dry husks, hearts long dead—useless for her briar. Vi was starting to think the entire forest was as drained as she felt.

Then Isha bounded up, boots crunching excitedly, a bundle of five—no, six—pinecones hugged against her chest. She dropped them with a soft clatter and signed, Found these near that big stump! A grin split her wind-pink face.

Vi couldn’t help returning it. She signed back, Thank you. One by one she pressed her thumb to each cone’s base, eyes half-lidded, reaching for that smallest flicker of life.

“No… no… no…” She halted on the fourth. A subtle hum thrummed beneath her skin. Vi’s smile widened. “Maybe.”

She closed her eyes, centered her breath, and eased a sliver of will into the cone. The briar stirred in answer—slow, aching, but alive. Gold-green warmth pulsed once through her forearm. The cone shivered, a few scales flexing as if waking from a long sleep.

Vi exhaled, eyes snapping open. “This one’s got a spark.”

Isha rocked on her heels, triumphant. “Yes!” she mouthed.

Vi checked the last two cones, both duds, and set them aside. She plucked off the living seeds and tucked them away. Four in total.

Caitlyn reappeared, snow dusting her coat. “Any luck?”

“One pinecone,” Vi said, standing. “Better than nothing.”

Caitlyn smiled, and Vi’s stomach twisted itself into a tight, stupid knot. She looked away quickly, rubbing the back of her neck and glaring at a patch of snow. Clearing her throat, she said, “We need to keep moving.”

Without waiting for an answer, Vi headed toward the stump where Isha had found the pinecones. It was a beast of a thing, claimed by frost and moss, gnarled roots protruding like knobby fingers from the thawing earth. Rot had sunk into the wood, peeling away layers of bark like flaky skin.

Vi pried off a large slab with the pocket knife. Underneath, squirming sluggishly in the sudden daylight, were a cluster of thumb-sized beetles—scarlet shells streaked with vivid blue veins, mandibles clicking irritably.

She picked one up by the shell, holding it out toward Caitlyn and Isha with a grim little smirk. “Breakfast.”

Isha’s nose scrunched up immediately, shaking her head in disgust.

Caitlyn stepped closer, inspecting the beetle. “Fascinating,” she murmured. “They’re Aurochs beetles. Their diet consists primarily of detritus, and the vivid coloration indicates a defense mechanism, probably some mild toxin or deterrent in their secretions. Completely edible after removing the head.”

Vi arched an eyebrow, shaking the bug for emphasis. “All I know is you can eat ‘em.”

Caitlyn let out a breath of wry amusement. “Moments like this make me grateful I’m on a liquid diet.”

The laugh that bubbled from Vi surprised her. “Lucky,” she said. “Speaking of… do you need—?” She gestured vaguely to her wrist, feeling heat creep up her ears.

Caitlyn’s smile slipped into something soft. “You should eat first,” she said. “I can wait.”

Across the stump, Isha frowned at them both, little brows knitting. She signed, Can’t we eat something else?

Vi shook her head, signing back, This is all there is. She tried for a reassuring grin; it probably looked more like a grimace.

With a dramatic sigh, Isha held out her palm. Vi twisted off the beetle’s head and handed over the glistening body. Isha made a face but shoved it into her mouth, chewing fast, shoulders bunching as she swallowed.

“Attagirl,” Vi muttered, suppressing her own shudder. She popped a beetle for herself next, brine and iron filling her mouth.

Isha and Vi choked down a few more beetles apiece— crunch, gush, swallow —then rinsed the taste with handfuls of meltwater. It wasn’t pleasant, but at least Vi’s stomach quit gnawing on itself.

Small mercies.

She signed to Isha, keep watch.

The girl gave a brisk nod, wiped an errant smear of beetle juice from her chin, and turned outward—shiv ready, eyes combing the silent pines for movement.

Vi turned to Caitlyn, rolled back her coat sleeve, and peeled away the gauze. Two neat punctures, scabbed but angry red, stared up at her. She palmed one of the living seeds. “Your turn.”

Caitlyn took Vi’s wrist in cool fingers, pupils dilating and blue irises bleeding to red. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Heat crawled up Vi’s neck—annoyingly, stupidly. She yanked her gaze away. “Just drink already,” she snapped, fingers tightening around the seed.

Fangs broke flesh. It was a clean bite. Sharp twin stings, followed by a deep pull that went up Vi’s arm and a dull ache rolling through her shoulder. She winced but held steady.

Caitlyn kept her eyes open, locked on Vi’s face. Gulp after gulp. Vi felt the vampire’s throat working, felt her own pulse hammer against Caitlyn’s tongue.

“Stop,” Vi breathed.

This time Caitlyn did. She withdrew, lips slick with red, pressing gentle pressure with her thumb to seal the punctures. A tiny rivulet of blood escaped; her tongue darted out, catching the drop before it fell. She stepped back two paces, breathing hard though she didn’t need the air.

Vi flexed her hand, gauging the rush of light-headedness. Manageable. She fished a fresh strip of gauze from the satchel, wrapped it tight, then tucked the seed away.

“Better?” she asked roughly.

Caitlyn swallowed, color blooming faintly in her cheeks—life borrowed from Vi’s veins. “Yes,” she said, eyes cooling back to blue. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well.” Vi rolled her sleeve down. “Don’t make a habit of staring while you drink. Creepy.”

A flash of embarrassment crossed Caitlyn’s face. “Noted.”

From the stump, Isha signaled all clear and spun her shiv once in bored fingers. Vi answered with a thumbs-up. The kid’s gaze flicked to Vi’s bandaged wrist, then to Caitlyn—assessing—but she said nothing.

---

Vi forced herself to stay focused as they marched, eyes sharp for tracks, ears straining for any noise that didn't belong. She tried to use the routine to keep the memories at bay; fruitlessly. Zaun, Powder, that night. The way it all unraveled. The guilt tightened in her chest.

No. Vi clenched her fists, shaking the ghosts from her mind. Stay in the present.

But the present had its own distractions, chief among them the vampire a few paces ahead. Vi kept catching herself cataloging Caitlyn’s movements. The way she drifted over snow without leaving more than a whisper of a print, how she turned her head at the faintest twig-snap. Stop it. Eyes on the woods, not on—

Caitlyn halted.

Vi almost crashed into her back. “What—”

The vampire didn’t answer, just stared. Vi stepped around, Isha at her hip, and saw it.

Thirty feet ahead a body lay sprawled in the snow, limbs canted at odd angles. That alone wasn’t unusual out here. What froze Vi’s blood was the state of the torso. Ribs peeled outward like the petals of a flower, sternum split, nothing inside but shredded dark. A starburst of frozen gore glazed the surrounding drift.

Vi moved closer, breath pluming white in the still air. She crouched beside the mangled corpse, studying the twisted limbs and stretched, frostbitten flesh. The leaking eyes, black and glossy with sap, stared sightlessly toward the canopy.

A Grimshank, no mistaking it.

She tilted her head, frowning as she inspected the burst chest. She followed the marks with her eyes—jagged bones, shredded tissue. Whatever had done it had clawed its path to freedom from within.

A chill crawled along Vi’s spine. Her gaze slid away from the body, to the churned snow beside it. Tracks—odd, crooked prints. Three deep grooves raked into the earth as it dragged itself forward.

Something new. 

Something worse.

Chapter Text

Two days.

Two days of silence, of hunger, of wind-chapped skin, and snow that felt like wading through wet ash.

How long was this godsdamn land bridge?

Vi trudged another few steps before her body simply said no . She dropped onto a flat stone beside their meager fire with a groan, joints popping like dry branches. Her toes were numb. Her boots were soaked. The snow had melted through seams that weren’t supposed to leak, and now her socks clung to her skin like cold death.

She gritted her teeth and yanked the laces loose, peeling the boots off and flinging them beside the fire. The socks followed, slapped wet against a scorched stone. Her toes were a lovely shade of corpse-white, tinged blue at the edges. She held her feet toward the heat.

Fuck. Her feet hurt. Her back hurt. Her hips felt like someone had taken a staff to them in her sleep.

Isha shuffled closer, dropped a handful of dried twigs onto the blaze, then curled up against Vi’s side, seeking warmth. Vi draped an arm around the kid automatically.

Across the fire, Caitlyn sat in her usual crouch, one knee up, arms draped over it. Silent. Watching. Eyes soft. Lips parted. That faint little line between her brows like she was reading something on Vi’s face she hadn’t found an answer for yet.

“What?”

Caitlyn blinked, then gave a small shrug. “Nothing. Just… watching.”

“Creepy,” Vi muttered, but her voice came out tired instead of reprimanding.

Caitlyn’s gaze didn’t waver. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I… worry.”

“Staring is your solution?”

“I’m making sure your heart is beating normally.”

“What?”

“I can hear it,” Caitlyn said plainly. “I can always hear it.”

Heat crept up Vi’s ears—annoyance, embarrassment, exhaustion all wrestling for first place. Embarrassment won, which only went to make her angry.

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “We’re fine. So… stop.”

Across the flames Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed. “I need to know you’re okay,” she said. “You won’t tell me if you’re not.”

Vi opened her mouth to argue.

Then shut it again.

Because Caitlyn was right.

She wouldn’t. Never had. Not with the King, not with Powder, not with any of the Thorns. You didn’t talk about hurt. You walked it off. You buried it. You ground your teeth and marched until your body gave out, and then you crawled. That was how you survived.

Silence stretched. The fire popped.

Finally Vi muttered her lie, “I know my limits.”

“Your limits are currently frostbitten,” Caitlyn replied, chin tilting toward Vi’s toes. “And your core temperature’s dropped again. Your pulse is slow.”

Vi glared, but it had little bite left. She flexed a stiff foot, wincing as pins and needles stabbed up her calf. “It’ll pick back up.”

Caitlyn didn’t look convinced. She rose, crossed to Vi’s side of the fire, and crouched—movement smooth as a cat. “May I?”

The question, spoken far too gentle, made Vi’s skin prickle. “What, going to gnaw on my feet now?”

Caitlyn huffed, then pulled off a glove and pressed a cool palm lightly to Vi’s ankle. “Circulation,” she explained. “I’m… warmer now than you think.” A faint flush colored her cheeks.

Vi gritted her teeth but didn’t yank away. Caitlyn’s hand was, in fact, warmer than her toes. 

Dammit.

“Fine,” Vi muttered. “Just don’t make it weird.”

A ghost of a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Caitlyn wrapped both hands around Vi’s foot, gentle pressure coaxing warmth back into numbed flesh. It shouldn’t have felt good, but it did, an aching relief that seeped up through bone and sinew. Vi bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to sigh.

Isha shifted beside her, then stood and quietly moved closer to the fire, curling into herself with her coat pulled tight. Vi barely registered it. Her attention rooted to Caitlyn’s hands.

Gods, no one had ever touched her like this.

She’d been patched up, stitched, slung into infirmary bunks with blood on her knuckles and grit in her teeth. She’d been handled like cargo, like a problem, like a threat.

But this?

This was something else.

Vi closed her eyes. Caitlyn’s palms traced a path up her leg, kneading gently, working warmth back into aching muscle. Vi’s breath caught in her throat—quiet, involuntary—and she exhaled slow through her nose. She hadn’t even realized how tightly she was wound until the knots began to ease, one by one.

It wasn’t just the cold melting.

She’d never been taken care of. Not like this. Not without expectation. Not without strings.

“Does that feel better?” Caitlyn’s voice was just a breeze across the fire.

Vi nodded, kept her eyes shut. Her heartbeat was picking up again— dammit —and she knew Caitlyn could hear it. Probably already had. Blood was traitorous like that.

She shifted, uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with pain. Rubbed her thighs together, trying to work out the stiffness. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Vi cracked her eyes open just enough to watch. Caitlyn’s head was bowed, dark hair slipping forward to veil most of her face while she worked her fingers along the tight muscle. Something in the image—those careful hands, that gentle concentration—should have felt wrong. She was at a vampire’s mercy. The very notion ought to make her skin crawl.

Instead it made something inside her shiver in a way she couldn’t name.

Caitlyn looked up, blue gaze meeting Vi’s. “Do you want me to do your other leg?”

The question was soft, as if the answer mattered. As if Vi’s comfort mattered.

A treacherous part of her wanted to say yes.

Her throat tightened. “No,” she rasped, the word coming rougher than she meant. She gave a quick shake of her head, more a jolt than a gesture. “One’s fine.”

Caitlyn’s hands stilled. She sat back on her heels, studying Vi’s face for a heartbeat. Then she simply said, “All right,” and withdrew, folding her gloves back on. No hurt, no argument—just a quiet respect Vi wasn’t ready for.

Heat flooded Vi’s cheeks. She tugged her damp sock closer to the fire and muttered, “Thanks,” barely louder than the crackle of the flames.

Caitlyn settled on the far side, gaze turning outward to the dark trees.

For a while Vi did nothing but stare into the blaze, chasing shapes in the embers. She let the crackle and pop drown out the wind, the ache, the absurd awareness of the vampire sitting just across the flames.

Caitlyn finally broke the hush. “Do you think it’s hunting us? Whatever burst from that Grimshank?”

Vi shrugged, watching her boots steam as the leather thawed. “Maybe.”

Silence again. The fire chewed a knot and spat sparks.

Vi shifted, flexing her toes, testing how much life they’d regained. She tilted her head toward Caitlyn without quite looking at her. “You must get bored.”

That drew a blink from Caitlyn. “Pardon?”

“You don’t sleep,” Vi said, nudging a half-burned stick deeper into the flames. “That’s gotta be boring.”

“It can be.”

“So what do you do? All night with no one to talk to. What, count the stars? Whisper to bats?”

“Reading,” Caitlyn said. “Sometimes fencing drills. And… poetry.”

Vi’s eyebrows shot up. “Reading poetry?”

“Writing,” Caitlyn corrected, cheeks tinting faintly. “When there’s time.”

“Well,” Vi said, grinning now. “You’ve got to recite one for me.”

Caitlyn recoiled slightly, horrified. “No. No, I—I don’t—”

“Oh, come on.”

“They’re not very good,” Caitlyn said, crossing her arms. “And they’re… personal.”

Vi leaned back, folding her hands behind her head. “Exactly why I want to hear one. Can’t keep all those secrets locked up forever.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “I’ve already told you more than I should’ve.”

Vi smirked. “So what’s one bad poem between friends?”

Shit.

Fuck.

Shitting fucking shit.

Had she just said friends ?

Vi sat there, blinking at the fire, trying to summon an insult or a joke or anything that could claw the moment back under control. But her mind was doing cartwheels and setting itself on fire instead.

Why the hell had she said that?

Friend. Like she wanted Caitlyn to be one. Like she already was.

She should—

“I have one,” Caitlyn whispered. “If you want to hear it.”

Vi managed a shrug that she hoped looked casual and not like her insides had been swapped with flapping chickens. “Sure,” she drawled. “Let’s hear it.”

Caitlyn gave a tiny nod. Then she spoke.

“The moon does not ask the sun for warmth.

She takes what she can.

A silver thief on borrowed time.

Every night she dies a little—

and every night, she returns.”

Silence stretched for a long moment.

Vi swallowed, then said, “…That’s actually… not bad.”

Caitlyn’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I wrote it when I was a teenager.”

Vi smiled, couldn’t stop it. “An angsty teenage vampire,” she said. “Must’ve been a sight.”

Caitlyn scoffed, rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t that dramatic.”

“You just compared the moon to a dying thief. That’s pretty dramatic.”

A flush crept up Caitlyn’s neck, but she met Vi’s grin with a wry tilt of her head. “Poetry’s meant to be dramatic. It’s about… feeling.”

“Mmhm.” Vi leaned back on her elbows, still smiling. “Bet you had a whole book of that stuff. Leather-bound. Embossed initials. Probably kept it hidden under a floorboard next to your diary.”

Caitlyn glanced aside, ears tinting pink. That was all the confession Vi needed.

“Oh my gods,” Vi crowed, pointing. “You did. You absolutely did.”

“It wasn’t under the floorboards,” Caitlyn muttered.

“But you had a diary.” Vi’s grin widened. “Bet you wrote pages about the first boy you were head-over-heels for.”

“Girl.”

Vi’s smile faltered. “What?”

“It was a girl I wrote about,” Caitlyn said. “Her name was Anika. She fenced better than anyone in our class. I… admired her.” A tiny, self-deprecating curve touched her lips.

Vi stared at her, the fire snapping between them. The grin had slipped, not all the way gone but... stalling. She tried to say something clever, tried to find a quip or jab, but her throat locked up instead.

“Oh,” she said, brilliant as always.

Caitlyn’s lips quirked. “Oh.”

Vi rubbed the back of her neck, heart thumping faster than it had any right to. “Right. Cool. Makes sense. I mean… yeah.”

Gods, she sounded like an idiot.

Caitlyn tilted her head. “Problem?”

“No,” Vi said too fast. “No problem. Just… surprising.”

“Why?”

Vi opened her mouth, realized she didn’t have a good answer, and shut it again.

Caitlyn’s smile spread just enough to show the smallest edge of fang before she bit it back. Her gaze flicked, almost involuntarily, to Vi’s chest—no doubt clocking the hammer of Vi’s pulse.

“You should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Vi croaked. She pushed to her feet a little too quickly. Whatever this strange flutter in her ribs was, she wanted it smothered in a pillow of exhaustion before it drove her mad.

Isha, still dozing near the dwindling fire, stirred when Vi settled. Vi gathered the kid close, curling her body protectively around the small frame. Isha gave a sleepy hum. Within moments her breathing evened, warm little puffs against Vi’s coat arm.

Vi stared at the flames until they blurred. 

Sleep.

But her mind wouldn’t quiet. It replayed everything.

She squeezed her eyes shut, listening instead to the rise–fall of Isha’s breath, the distant sigh of wind through frozen bough, the soft hiss of fire. On the far side of the fire Caitlyn shifted into a watchful crouch, rapier across her knees, silhouette still.

For a fleeting second Vi wondered if the vampire could hear her thoughts the same way she could count a heartbeat. Probably not. Thank the gods.

---

When Vi first heard the singing, she was filled with a dark dread. The hair on her back bristled, and she growled and barked at the darkness. 

She began to see shapes prowling in the woods. They were ghost dogs, shadows sneaking between trees, eyes glinting. She growled and barked at them, but didn't pursue. 

The sun had sunk into an orange glow beyond the edge of the world. The family was in the cabin, and Vi was out trotting through the snow, anxious to get back to them because she knew food would be coming soon. Then, atop a small hill by the apple tree—an apparition. Her body snapped to attention, and Vi growled, the hairs on her back standing on end. 

It was a wolf, just a stone's throw from her, its silvery coat half-lit in the dying light of day.

It came toward her in a sleek, soundless jaunt. Vi barked and snapped at the air. It slowed and stopped just beyond her lunging distance. 

Its smell was alien, confusing, but laced with a clear and potent confidence, a supreme assuredness. It didn't seem to be afraid of Vi at all, nor did it threaten. Its mouth hung slack, and steam came from it's muzzle in happy puffs. This calmed her for a moment and in the next redoubled her anger. Vi growled from the deepest, most murderous part of herself.

Its mouth didn’t move.

"Hello, child."

Vi snarled at it. It took another step forward, and its eyes caught the last of the sunlight, glowing in a fantastic array of yellows.

“You bark and snarl. But look at our face. Are we not of your kind?" it asked.

Vi couldn’t answer. She could only growl softly.

"Is our face not like your mother's? Do you remember her?"

The sudden scent of distant memory came to her, and she felt a pang of loneliness. Vi hadn’t seen her mother or any other dog since she was small. Since she had come to the farm, her only family had been the animals she lived with and a few of the more tolerant men. Vi searched for dim, fragrant memories. 

What had become of her family? Vi had spent every day with them, and then one day... all gone.

The wolf paced back and forth, keeping a small distance from her, its eyes ranging over the farm. Vi saw some strange, haunting glamour in them, something that glittered with secret, distant power.

"The people in that house, they're not your family. We are. We share ancient blood.”

Vi saw two dark shapes come over the hill by the apple tree. More wolves, moving silent with heads lowered. She barked at them.

"You hate us and love them. But do they love you? What are you to them? Aren't you the lowest of the low? Always getting the last of the food, the smallest scraps? Imagine living differently. Imagine taking your own food. Killing. Drinking lifeblood. Being master over others."

The two other wolves slunk down the hill. The skin on her back tightened again, but the strange hypnotic power of the wolf held her still. 

"You could leave this house and come with us. We range the forests. We've seen rivers wider than this whole valley. Mountains that go up into the clouds. Lakes with no end but the end of the world. Places with no houses or men at all. You could be with us. We could be your brothers and sisters."

The other two wolves came closer. They were unmistakably females, both young and well muscled. Their confidence was not as absolute as the older wolf's, but they showed no fear as they came to Vi. 

The older wolf stepped closer, close enough that it's steaming breath tickled Vi’s snout.

"There are worlds, child. There are such… ecstasies."

Vi recognized the allure that lit its eyes now,  the unspeakable longing that glimmered in their depths. It had seemed that whole time to be some fantastic, alien desire. But it was far simpler than that. 

It was hunger.

Old, patient hunger.

Older than memory. Older than fire. Older than the first time a wolf had dared slink close to a man’s campfire and beg for scraps.

That hunger had crossed every frozen river and range to find her here, now.

Vi could still see it's face. That last moment—before the other wolves lunged, before the dream shattered in blood and snow and fear.

---

Vi jolted awake, breath tearing out of her in ragged bursts. Her heart slammed against her ribs like it wanted out, and for a moment she didn’t know where she was…

She was…

She was…

…here, in the cold, on the ground.

Across the fire Caitlyn straightened, worry written plain on her face. “Nightmare?”

Vi sucked in a shaking breath, scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “M’fine.” The words rasped out raw, waving the vampire off with a brusque flick of her wrist.

Caitlyn didn’t press. Just sat back again, watching Vi the way she always did.

Vi shifted her focus, glanced around camp. “Where’s Isha?”

Caitlyn tilted her chin toward a nearby boulder.

And sure enough, a moment later, Isha emerged from behind it, adjusting the waistband of her pants, yawning wide enough to crack her jaw.

Isha caught Vi’s eye and gave a sleepy thumbs-up. She returned the gesture, then reached for the socks.

Thick, scratchy wool things. They clung to her feet like a second skin, rough but dry, and in that moment, they might as well have been spun from clouds and miracles. She grunted as she jammed her toes in fully, then reached for her boots.

The leather was stiff, but dry now, and they slid on easier than they had in days. She laced them tight, flexed her toes, let out a slow, satisfied sigh.

Felt like heaven.

Couldn’t afford to ignore blessings, not out here.

You take what you can get.

Isha buckled her coat, checked the shiv on her belt; Caitlyn dusted snow from her pants and cinched her rapier to her waist. Once the embers were kicked flat, the three of them slipped between the pines and let the hush of the forest swallow their footfalls.

Caitlyn took point, silent as ever. Isha walked in the middle, small footprints stitching neatly inside Caitlyn’s path. Vi brought up the rear, eyes flicking for threats.

Time bled away in a rhythm of footsteps and frostbitten silence.

Trees.

Rocks.

Snow.

More snow.

Hours passed like that.

Then something snagged Vi’s eye.

She slowed. Narrowed her gaze. There—half-covered by windblown powder, but fresh enough to catch the sun.

Tracks. Small. Four-toed.

Rabbit.

“Cait, wait,” Vi whispered.

Caitlyn halted at once. She glanced down, saw what Vi was staring at, and tilted her head. “Food?”

Vi nodded, already moving with careful steps.

Isha and Caitlyn followed. The rabbit tracks wove through tufts of dead grass and the crumbling branches of a long-fallen pine, buried in frost. Vi kept her breath slow, eyes sharp.

Then she heard it. A faint crunch. Not from her. Not from them.

There.

Two hundred feet ahead, just beyond a copse of spindly spruce—motion. A twitch. The barest flicker of life. A rabbit. Fur white as the snow, damn near invisible, but Vi caught the movement. It paused near a tangle of brambles, sniffing the wind.

Vi dropped to one knee and pointed, letting the others see. Then her fingers went to her coat pocket, closing around one of the pine seeds.

Caitlyn’s fingers closed over Vi’s wrist, gentle but firm. “Save it,” she breathed.

Before Vi could protest, the vampire stripped off a glove and brought a fingertip to her mouth. A razor flick of fang and a bead of dark crimson welled. She drew the rapier, its steel whispering free, and dragged that single drop along the fuller.

The metal drank the color like thirsty parchment.

Caitlyn lifted the blade, sighting down its length. Vi caught the flash of red in her eyes and felt the prickling crawl of power roll off her skin.

The rabbit twitched again, ears swiveling.

Caitlyn whispered something in a language Vi didn’t know, no louder than wind through pine needles. The blood on the steel shimmered, broke apart—then flew.

It left the rapier in a thin, whistling thread, slicing the air faster than sight. A heartbeat later the rabbit jerked, then collapsed soundlessly, a neat crimson bead blooming at its neck.

Snow drifted down from an overburdened bough.

Caitlyn exhaled, eyes cooling from red back to blue. She wiped the blade clean, sheathed it, and slipped her glove on as if nothing at all were strange about what had just happened.

“You never mentioned you knew hemocraft,” Vi muttered, still staring at the thin red line the blood-thread had left in the air, already fading like smoke.

Caitlyn shrugged. “You never asked.”

Typical.  

Vi rolled her eyes.

Isha had already crept up the slope toward the rabbit’s body. She reached the carcass—then froze, gaze skimming past the limp body to something lower on the far slope. Her shoulders bunched, shiv in hand.

Vi felt the prickle before she saw it, an itch behind her skin that the briar always gave when there was danger. She and Caitlyn crested the rise.

There was a tree, or what was left of one. Massive, split straight down the trunk by a lightning strike so fierce it had blackened the wood to charcoal. Every dead branch bristled with twine, dozens of lengths, and at each dangling end a dull metal symbol spun slowly in the wind—runes, teeth shapes, twisted things that caught the sunlight like tarnished mirrors. They clinked together with a faint, unsettling chime.

At the base, knelt a corpse. A skeleton, picked clean. The bones pale and brittle.

Its hands were bound behind its back with that same twine. Around its skull, a crown of thorns still clung. Twisted wire and vine, rusted now, soaked with something that might’ve once been blood. A hollow circlet for a sacrifice.

Vi felt Caitlyn step forward, foot crunching on a patch of ice. Instinct took over. Vi threw an arm out, stopping her with a firm hand to the chest.

“Don’t,” she said.

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed, confused. “Why?”

Vi didn’t answer right away. She just stared at the clinking metal, the binding twine, the husk of what had once been a person. Her chest felt tight. Cold. Not from the snow.

“It’s a warding tree,” she said at last. “We can’t disturb it.”

Isha had crept up beside her. Her fingers found Vi’s and squeezed.

Vi signed the same words she’d spoken, so Isha could see. The kid’s brows lifted slightly in understanding, then her face went stony again. Good kid.

Caitlyn’s eyes swept over the corpse, then the runes, then back to Vi. “A ward against what?”

The wind blew through the branches above, making the charms rattle.

“Demons.”

Chapter Text

They followed a narrow stone path that wound out from behind the warding tree like some ancient artery. It led uphill and as they climbed, the trees began to thin, the pines giving way to a wider clearing, and then…

Signs of life.

Old life. Forgotten life.

Nine cottages, scattered in a loose crescent beneath the hill’s crest. Wood blackened with rot and time. Thatched roofs sagging with snow, some had caved in completely. Others stood crooked but intact. A few had been burned, their timbers charred through, the wind moved through the gaps making them sigh.

A long dead hamlet.

Vi slowed her steps, boots crunching frost, gaze roving across the ruins. A stone well sat at the center. She approached it and saw that the rope and bucket were gone. In their place was a noose of thick hempen cord.

Vi reached out and flicked it. The rope swayed gently, creaking.

Caitlyn came to her side, eyes scanning the hamlet. “Did demons do this?”

Vi shook her head. “No. The tree’s too close.”

Isha was peeking into one of the cottages, her fingers curled around the splintered doorframe. She looked back at Vi and signed, Checking.

Vi gave her a nod and followed, stepping carefully over the threshold after the girl.

What little light filtered in through the warped shutters painted everything in a sickly pale gray. Snow had crept through cracks in the walls and pooled across the floor in uneven patches, half-melted, half-frozen again. The smell was of ash and damp wood. Dust danced in the shafts of sunlight.

The space was cramped. One room, maybe two at most once, but the second wall had collapsed, leaving jagged beams exposed like ribs. A hearth sat at the far end, long cold. A handful of rusted cooking tools were still scattered near the hearthstone, a warped pan, a cracked and blackened kettle.

The bed was against the far wall, made of thick planks and rope that had long since sagged into a hollow.

In it lay two skeletons. One larger, ribs wide, spine bowed protectively around the smaller frame nested against it. A child. Tiny arm bones still wrapped in the remnants of a wool sleeve.

On the floor beside the bed lay a knife. Iron, once honed keen, now red-brown with rust. The blade’s hilt was slick with old oxidation, but Vi could still see the dark stain that had seeped deep into the grain of the wood.

Isha’s breath hitched. She signed, Why?

Vi knelt, picked up the knife between thumb and forefinger. The metal flaked. She set it back down. Starved. Afraid… Maybe both.

The kid nodded, lips pressed thin. She understood too much already.

Vi’s gaze swept the room for anything useful—cloth that wasn’t riddled by moths, a pot that hadn’t split from frost—but there was nothing worth the weight in a pack. Just sorrow and dust.

She drew the blanket up over the bones, tucking it around brittle shoulders that would never feel warmth again. Pointless gesture… but leaving them bare felt worse.

They stepped back into the open, gray daylight. The wind had snapped colder, worrying loose thatch into brittle rattles. Vi scanned for Caitlyn and spotted her a cottage over, bent beneath another sagging doorway. The vampire straightened as Vi and Isha approached.

“Anything?” Vi asked.

Caitlyn gestured inside.

The room beyond was in better shape than the one they’d just left—roof mostly intact, hearth still whole. But on the earthen floor a skeleton sat slumped against the wall, hands folded neatly in its lap. Its right leg ended at the knee, the bone cut clean, a saw’s work.

Vi’s gaze drifted to the rough-hewn table a few feet away.

The missing limb lay there. The flesh long gone, but the story plain enough.

Caitlyn stepped back into the snow, closing the door with a soft pull. “A hard choice,” she said. “Demons outside or famine within.”

Vi exhaled a plume of white. “Same one we’ve got.”

---

They chose the least-ruined cottage on the western edge of the crescent. Vi scraped a ring of snow and dirt clear of the hearth, coaxed a spark from a match, and soon a guttering fire licked at split boards she’d hacked from a table. The smoke trickled up the chimney stone; thank the gods, the flue hadn’t choked shut.

Outside, Caitlyn drained the rabbit then handed the carcass across the threshold. Vi skinned and gutted it. Isha found a length of iron poker in the ashes, and together they rigged a spit over the flames.

Grease began to hiss, the smell set Vi’s stomach clawing at itself.

Caitlyn settled near the door, polishing the rapier with a scrap of linen. Her eyes tracked the slow rotation of the spit. “Do you know what kind of demons they were warding against?”

Vi shook her head. “I’m only a novitiate. Never got all my roses.”

That made Caitlyn pause. “Roses?”

“Marks,” Vi said, tapping the briar tattoo that twined her forearm. “Master Thorns have six. I only earned two before—” She gestured vaguely at the world, at Stillwater, at everything that had gone wrong.

“So… no ideas at all?” Caitlyn folded the cloth, waiting.

Vi sighed, letting her shoulders sag. “Out of the Seven Sins, my guess is sloth, greed, or gluttony. Hunger fits. But no Thorn has laid eyes on a demon in—” she shrugged “—two centuries, maybe more. Not after the Schism.”

Isha’s brow pinched. She gave Vi the sign for tell me —two fingers tapped against the heart.

Vi turned the spit, then crouched so Isha could see her hands and read her lips together.

“When Zaun broke from Piltover,” she signed and said, “the church broke, too. Two halves of the same faith pulling different ways.”

Her fingers painted the shapes in the air.

Jan’ahrem, both palms opening like blossoming flowers.

Primadan, one fist closing tight with knuckles forward.

“They were brother and sister. Zaun followed Jan’ahrem—Goddess of living things, wild things.” Vi let her hands ripple like wind in grass. “Piltover chose Primadan—God of gears and progress.” Thumb clacked against forefinger, the sign of turning cogs.

“Difference turned to doctrine, doctrine to war.” She mimed a blade striking, once, twice. “And where there's strife, there's demons.”

Caitlyn watched, silent, rapier across her knees as she sat by the hearth.

“Jan’ahrem couldn’t bear it.” Vi’s voice dropped. “She gave herself—body, spirit, everything—to stitch a wall between the mortal world and the other side.”

She drew a flat line in the air, then layered her palm over it— seal.

“In that moment the demons were bound. But the goddess was gone. We lost our teacher. Piltover lost its restraints.”

Vi let her hands fall. The fire popped; fat spattered on the hearthstone.

Isha’s hands framed another question. Then why are demons here?

“Because somebody must've cracked that seal,” Vi answered. “And from what we’ve seen? It definitely wasn’t last winter. The decay in this place…has to be decades.”

Caitlyn’s brows knit. “The marker,” she murmured, recalling the obsidian spire. “It wasn't a warning, it’s a wall.”

Isha’s fingers moved again, slower this time, shaping a grim truth. We’re in a prison for demons.

The three of them let the crackle of the fire fill the room for a while. Outside, the cottage walls groaned under a gust, and the noose by the well creaked on its rope. No one said what they all seemed to be thinking.

They were fucked.

Surrounded by Grimshank. Their supplies were thinning. And the cold was biting harder every night.

Vi’s jaw clenched. She rubbed the back of her neck, let her breath go slow through her nose.

Then she glanced at Isha.

The kid had gone still, staring into the fire, one hand resting over her chest like she could press the fear back down. Her eyes were wide. Wet, but not crying. Brave. Braver than most would be.

Vi couldn’t fix the world, but she could do this.

She forced a grin. “Hey.” Vi caught her eye, and signed confidently.

We’ll get out of this. You’ve got a Thorn and a vampire —she tipped her chin toward Caitlyn— watching your back. Then she added aloud, “And tonight we’ve got a roof, an actual bed, and real meat that isn’t beetles. That’s practically luxury.”

Isha’s shoulders eased; a faint, reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. She signed, Luxury —one hand fluttering like a silk fan—and Vi felt a pinch of warmth unfurl in her own chest.

“Exactly.” Vi sliced a strip of sizzling rabbit free, blew on it, and passed it over.

The kid took it, eyes brightening as the grease singed her fingers a little. A real, honest grin this time.

Vi tore off a strip of meat for herself. Warm, a little gamey, but tender enough to chew without effort. Grease slid over her bottom lip; she chased it with her tongue, not wasting a drop. When she glanced up, Caitlyn was staring. Eyes fixed on Vi’s mouth, cheeks faintly flushed.

Caitlyn’s jaw flexed, she looked abruptly away and lurched to her feet. “I’m going to…find more firewood.”

Isha, mid-chew, watched the door swing shut. She signed as she chewed, What’s her deal?

Vi lifted a shoulder, tried for casual. No idea. 

Isha arched an eyebrow.

Vi chewed slower now, staring at the empty doorway. She could still feel the weight of Caitlyn’s gaze on her lips, like a phantom touch that hadn’t quite faded. Heat, entirely unrelated to the hearth, crept up her neck.

---

The sky was sliding from bruise-purple to ink by the time Caitlyn’s shadow filled the doorway again. She ducked inside with an armload of splintered chair-backs and table legs, frost steaming off her coat. A mute thud, thud, thud as the wood hit the packed-earth floor.

“Picked the cottage two doors down clean,” she said.

Isha scooped up a pair of spindle legs and fed them to the fire. Sparks leapt, gnawing eagerly at the fresh fuel.

“Find anything else?” Vi asked.

Caitlyn shook her head.

Figures. 

Caitlyn lingered by the hearth, eyes drifting to Isha. She cleared her throat. “Could you…” She fumbled for a second, then tried again. “Would you teach me? The signing, I mean.”

Isha blinked, not quite catching the words. Vi lifted her hands and translated. She wants to learn to sign.

The kid’s brow puckered. Why?

“Because I’d like to talk to you,” Caitlyn said.

Isha turned to Vi. Should I?

Your choice.

Silence stretched while the flames crackled. Then Isha gave a tight little nod.

A smile, small but genuine, curved Caitlyn’s mouth. She moved closer, sat, and held her hands out, palms up, like she was surrendering to a lesson.

“Where do we start?” she asked.

Isha sat straighter, all business now, like a pint-sized professor ready to whip the room into shape. She pointed at herself and tapped her chest, mouthing the words. I. Then pointed at Caitlyn. You.

Caitlyn mimicked the movements. “I. You.”

Isha gave her an approving nod, then raised a hand, palm at an angle, and made a gentle push forward. Hello.

“Hello,” Caitlyn echoed.

Vi leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching it unfold. The fire threw shadows up over the beams, painting Isha’s face in warm flickers. 

Thank you , Isha signed next—one hand tapping fingers against her chin, then moving forward.

Caitlyn fumbled it, her wrist stiff, but tried again when Isha corrected her. This time it was smoother. Passable.

Isha didn’t smile, but she did grant a single approving nod. Vi smirked. If Isha ever ran a classroom, she’d have students trembling in their boots.

Next came food, friend, safe. Simple things, but good ones. Isha repeated each sign slow, then let Caitlyn try. Every time the vampire got close, the kid adjusted her fingers with a sharp tap or a guiding nudge.

Vi found herself mouthing the signs too, hands twitching along with them. Muscle memory. She’d learned them with the Thorns and taught Isha when she lost her hearing. Took to it quick. And now… hell. Seeing Isha teach, she hadn’t expected how much pride she’d feel.

Caitlyn was getting faster now. She signed safe again—thumb brushing over a flat palm—then pointed at Vi.

Vi arched a brow. “Safe?” she repeated.

Caitlyn nodded. “With you? Yes.”

Vi scoffed and turned away, but the corner of her mouth twitched up.

They went on like that for a while. Slow, steady repetition, clumsy fingers turning graceful under Isha’s instruction. Until the girl’s movements began to falter, hands sluggish, blinking harder between signs. Her next sign came with a yawn so wide Vi almost expected her jaw to crack.

Caitlyn caught it. Thank you.

Isha smiled, then pushed herself upright and wandered the few feet over to the bed. She didn’t say goodnight, collapsing in a pile of limbs and an old quilt. Asleep within minutes.

Vi stood and stretched, joints popping. She turned back to the hearth, gaze flicking to Caitlyn, rabbit-bone picked clean in her fingers. “You’re a quick learner.”

Caitlyn shrugged, but her smile was a touch smug. “I had top marks at the Imperial Academy.”

“Of course you did,” Vi muttered, letting the bone drop into the hearth. Then she slid down the wall until she was sitting next to Caitlyn, shoulders brushing.

“Thanks for that.” Vi tipped her head towards Isha.

Caitlyn glanced sideways. “It isn’t too difficult—signing, I mean.”

“Most people don’t bother,” Vi said. “Takes effort to talk to people who can’t hear you.”

“She deserves the effort.”

The straightforward certainty of it tugged at Vi in a place she usually kept armoured. “Careful, you’ll ruin my opinion of Pilties.”

“Perish the thought,” Caitlyn said dryly.

Fire-glow danced over the dust-grimed walls. Vi let her eyes trace Caitlyn’s profile. The high cheekbones, the jaw relaxed for once, eyes half-lidded. Too easy to look. Too hard to look away.

She cleared her throat. “Top marks in everything, huh? Bet you were insufferable.”

“Only occasionally,” Caitlyn said. Then, quieter, “It was expected.”

“Yeah,” Vi muttered, thinking of bruised knuckles, of Thorn drills before dawn, of expectations. “I get that.”

The silence stretched between them, not heavy, just… still.

“What will you do, when we escape?”

Vi snorted under her breath. “You sound so sure we will.”

“Have to have some hope.”

“And she’s an optimist too.”

“And you’re dodging my question.”

Vi looked down at her hands. Scarred things. Thick-knuckled, callused, a mess of old breaks and split skin that never healed right. One of her fingers didn’t straighten all the way. She turned them palm-up, stared at the old burn along her lifeline. It was shaped a bit like a crooked smile.

“I don’t know,” she said, quieter now. “Didn’t think about it. Didn’t… plan. Thought I’d die in that place. I just wanted to make sure Isha was safe. That was the only plan I had.”

Vi set her hands on the ground beside her, thunked her head back against the wall, and closed her eyes.

After a long moment, Caitlyn’s voice came through the hush. “We’ll get out of here. And you’ll get the chance to think about the future.”

Vi gave a dry, humorless chuckle, but her breath caught as something brushed against her hand. Caitlyn’s fingers, cool and tentative, grazing the scarred back of her knuckles. Vi’s gut clenched, and before she could think, she jerked her hand back, folding it tight against her chest.

Caitlyn withdrew just as quickly.

Vi swallowed thickly, opened her eyes, and forced herself to look at Caitlyn. “What about you?” she asked roughly. “Any plans after all this?”

Caitlyn’s eyes were thoughtful, distant. “I’ll have to face my parents. Hope they listen to reason.”

“Do they usually?”

“My father does,” Caitlyn said with a faint smile. “My mother, on the other hand…”

Vi nodded. “Gotcha.”

Caitlyn sighed, shoulders tight with nerves. Vi knew that look—recognized the crease forming between her brows, the subtle way she worried her bottom lip. It was almost comforting to know Caitlyn wasn’t always as composed as she pretended.

Vi let a crooked grin slide across her face. “Don’t worry, Cupcake. I’ll get you home so your mom can yell at you properly.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Cupcake?”

The grin widened. “Yeah. Because you’re sooo sweet.”

Nailed it.

A blush rushed over Caitlyn’s cheeks, staining them scarlet even in the dim firelight. She narrowed her eyes, trying for a glare that didn’t quite reach dangerous. “Don’t call me that.”

Vi nudged her gently with a shoulder, voice teasing, playful. “C’mon, you know you like it.”

Caitlyn scoffed, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She straightened her back, clearly trying to think of a retort, finally settling for a defeated, “Well, you’re… you’re…” Her lips pursed in frustration. “I can’t think of something right now, but I will.”

Vi laughed, relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. “Can’t wait to hear it.”

That laugh turned to a yawn and a silence settled, but it wasn’t awkward. More like a blanket pulled up against the cold. Vi felt her eyelids droop, exhaustion seeping in.

Caitlyn shifted and spoke softly, “Sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“You don’t sleep at all.”

“That means my watch never ends.” The corner of Caitlyn’s mouth lifted.

Vi smiled back, couldn’t help it. Small and stupid as it was. Her heart thudded, embarrassingly loud in her own ears and she knew Caitlyn could hear it.

Vi didn’t care.

No, that wasn’t true. She cared a lot. Cared enough to be terrified, if she stopped to think about it. But thinking never got her far in the first place.

She didn’t want…she wanted…she shouldn't…

She tilted her head, until it came to rest against Caitlyn’s shoulder. The warmth of her coat. The slight give of muscle underneath. The faintest hitch in Caitlyn’s chest.

Caitlyn went stiff, if only for a second. Not pulling away, not leaning in, like a rabbit before the bolt. Then slowly, her body softened. Shoulders dropped. Chin turned the barest fraction, enough that Vi felt a strand of dark hair brush her temple.

The fire crackled. Outside, the wind moaned low through broken beams.

“Wake me if anything moves,” Vi whispered.

She didn’t dare lift her head to look.

Caitlyn’s nod was nearly imperceptible, but Vi felt it all the same. Felt it in the shift of weight, the quiet strength behind it.

“Sleep,” Caitlyn murmured.

It had been years since Vi had been this close to anyone besides Isha and she didn’t count…not like this. A decade of bruises, fists, kicks, and batons; a decade spent learning to expect nothing but hurt. Touch meant pain. Warmth was just weakness she couldn’t afford.

She hadn’t realized how starved she’d been for something else, something gentle, until now.

Her throat tightened, eyes burning hot behind her lids. Vi sniffed, forcing the tears back before they could slip free. She wasn’t about to start bawling like some soft Piltie. Not here, not now.

But Caitlyn must’ve heard anyway. Of course she had. Vi braced, expecting questions and concern, something she wasn’t ready for.

Instead, Caitlyn hummed.

Softly at first, barely louder than the wind sighing through gaps in the cottage walls, then louder. It wasn’t a song Vi knew, but the melody wrapped around her, warmer than the fire, heavier than exhaustion.

She felt Caitlyn’s head tilt slowly, cautiously, coming to rest lightly atop hers. Soft hair, the faintest scent of pine and snow, leather and iron.

Vi held her breath, her heartbeat loud enough to drown out the tune for an instant. She waited for the panic, the impulse to jerk away, to shield herself. But it didn’t come.

Instead, slowly, she exhaled, letting her body ease into that quiet comfort. The tears burned again, sharper this time, but Vi let them fall—silent and hot against her cheeks.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither did Caitlyn

Chapter Text

The sky was blue and cloudless, a harsh, glaring kind of bright that made Vi squint. Mid-afternoon warmth turned drifts to slush that clung to boots and soaked trouser cuffs; icicles wept steadily from the overhanging boughs, a slow, tinkling rain of meltwater.

Vi trudged a little ahead, scouting the slope. The hamlet lay out of sight behind them now, only a smear of chimney smoke marked the cabin they’d left, and every step away from the warding tree set her nerves humming. But it was either starve or fight, and that wasn’t a choice at all.

Vi pushed a clump of dripping needles out of her face and glanced back up the track. Isha had her hands up, showing Caitlyn the SHSL alphabet—thumbs, fingertips, wrists all flicking through the air. Caitlyn mirrored each shape, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. Vi felt her mouth tilt into a grin.

Then she turned forward again just as two starlings burst from a nearby spruce, black-and-white wings flashing against the sky. The sight made her blink. They were the first birds she’d seen since they came onto the bridge. She followed them into the sky, until they crossed paths with the sun. 

Vi looked away and braced a palm against her brow, peering downhill. Beyond the thinning trees the slope levelled into a shallow hollow, and there—cold light glinting through trunks—lay a pond. Its surface held a milky skin of ice.

Tucked just off the shoreline, shaded by a crooked birch, was a cabin. Unlike the husks they'd seen in the hamlet, this one looked whole. Sagging a bit, sure, but its roof held and the walls stood firm. A small pier jutted out onto the water, its supports sunk deep in the shallows. A fishing cabin, maybe.

She lifted a hand and gestured to Caitlyn and Isha, then pointed down toward the pond.

“Let’s check it out.”

Caitlyn nodded, catching up to her with long strides. “We may need it with the storm coming in.”

Vi turned, blinking at her. “What storm?”

Caitlyn raised a hand to the northern sky.

Vi followed her gaze, and there it was. A heavy wall of cloud creeping over the horizon like a bruise spreading slow. Low, dark, smeared with pale streaks of snow. Wind already swayed the trees in the far distance.

“We’ve got a few hours before it gets here,” Caitlyn said.

Caitlyn signed, storm for Isha—thumb pivoting from temple into clawed fingers—and the girl’s eyes widened at the clouds building in the north. No one needed more convincing. They went down the slope, boots sucking at sodden earth. Reeds poked through the meltwater along the pond’s rim, rattling in the growing wind. Vi mounted the warped plank steps, each one groaning protest beneath her boots, and tested the cabin’s door.  Unlocked.

“After you, Cupcake,” she murmured, swinging the door open and gesturing grandly.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, stepped forward… and slowed like she’d walked into hip-deep water. A pressure Vi could almost feel tugged at Caitlyn, then released. The vampire slipped across the threshold and straightened.

Good. Means it really is vacant.

Vi ushered Isha in next, then followed, closing the door.

Like all the homes in the hamlet, the cabin bore the long sleep of abandonment. Cobwebs veiled the corners, and dust lay thick on every surface, turned silver by the soft light bleeding in through warped shutters. But this one… this one felt untouched.

No signs of looting. No scorch marks. No hasty flight or struggle.

The table stood square in the center of the main room, chairs pushed in like they'd been left after supper. A pitcher rested neatly on a tray, though the water inside had long since evaporated to rings of mineral dust. Cabinets stood shut, shelves still lined with dishware and cutlery, arranged as though waiting for hands that would never return.

Vi moved past the hearth—stonework solid, blackened but not broken—and tested the hallway. Her boots thudded against old floorboards. The first door she tried opened on a bedroom. Large. Big enough for two adults. The bed dominated the room, its frame thick and carved with curling motifs. A sheet of dust lay like snow across the mattress. A dresser stood in the corner, squat and stubborn-looking. She didn’t bother with the drawers.

She backed out and crossed the narrow hall to the next door. This one was smaller, the paint around the handle scuffed by years of little fingers.

Hand-painted letters flaked but still visible: Orianna.

Vi paused, hand resting on the doorknob.

Then she cracked it open.

The room beyond was dim. A child’s room. Toys lay scattered across a faded rug—carved animals, a wooden soldier missing its arm, a pair of cloth dolls propped up in the corner. A low bed rested beneath the window, its quilt rumpled.

On the walls, drawings had been pinned up. Flowers in bright scribbles, a bird mid-flight, what looked like a horse, its legs too long and ears too short.

Vi felt a tightness rise in her chest.

She reached for one of the drawings—a purple bird, wings like hands, beak smiling—and brushed a fingertip across its edge. The paper was brittle with age.

Behind her, she heard Caitlyn’s boots creak on the floorboards, then fall still. Watching, but not interrupting.

Vi let the drawing go and pulled the door quietly shut. Then she nodded down the hall. “We’ll stay here. It’s a good place to ride out the storm.”

Caitlyn nodded and turned with her, walking back toward the main room. The light had gone thinner, colder—clouds creeping closer, muting the sun into a dull smear across the shutters. Vi tugged her coat tighter and found Isha in the kitchen, rifling through a drawer full of tarnished cutlery.

Vi poked Isha gently on the shoulder. The kid looked up, a fork in hand.

Vi signed, I need to hunt for food. Let’s go.

Isha’s mouth tightened. She shook her head and signed back, I need to teach her.

“You sure?”

The girl nodded and threw a quick glance toward Caitlyn, who was wiping dust off a shelf with the back of her coat sleeve.

Vi hesitated. Her gut didn’t like it—leaving the kid behind, not knowing what might be lurking in the woods. But Caitlyn had kept them safe so far. Had fought through Grimshank and hell to get them out. Had protected Isha more than once. Her jaw clenched, fingers fidgeting before she finally settled on, I want to keep you safe.

Isha stepped closer and signed, She’ll keep me safe.

Vi’s gaze drifted back to Caitlyn. The vampire stood framed in the hazy light, brow furrowed in focus as she sorted through some old supplies on the counter—shelves of dry goods long gone to rot and mice. But Vi saw how Caitlyn’s eyes flicked toward them, how she was listening without making it obvious, how she shifted just slightly, ready to move if something went wrong.

Vi sighed and signed to Isha, Stay inside. 

Isha rolled her eyes. Duh.

Vi ruffled the kid’s hair, a quick tousle that made Isha wrinkle her nose but didn’t stop the smile that snuck past. Then she turned, grabbed a sharp knife from the block—sliding it into her belt—and crossed the room to where Caitlyn stood.

“Isha’s staying in,” Vi said. “You good to watch her?”

Caitlyn dusted her hands off and met Vi’s gaze. “Perhaps we should all go. Strength in numbers.”

Vi shook her head. “I hunt faster on my own.”

And it was true. Less noise, less motion, less scent in the air. Just her and the woods and whatever still lived in them.

Caitlyn didn’t argue. But her lips thinned and she said, “Very well. I’ll keep her safe.”

Vi lingered for a second longer than she meant to, watching her. Studying the way Caitlyn’s mouth moved around those words. Vi searched her face, found whatever it was she needed, and leaned in, whispering, “Thank you.”

Caitlyn blinked, and something seemed to shift between them. Then Vi stepped back and said louder, “I’ll be back before dark.”

She cinched her coat tight and pulled the door open to a wall of wind. Cold bit at her cheeks, tugged at her hair.

A glance over her shoulder. Caitlyn was already moving to close the shutters, and Isha was dragging a stool into place, ready to resume the lesson.

Vi stepped out into the storm’s shadow.

---

She’d found tracks an hour out. A human bootprint, wide tread, deep set in the half-thawed slush. And another. Not alone. Grimshanks, no doubt. She’d veered south.

Took her longer, but she’d caught a second trail…

Now, the field-dressed carcass of a burkol was slung over her shoulder. The thing was heavy, built like a stocky badger with tusk-like incisors and thick winter fur. Good meat. It was warm against her back and dripping every few steps. She could feel the blood soaking the seat of her coat, a sticky warmth that clashed hard with the numbness crawling up her legs.

The seed had bloomed clean, roots snapping its neck in a heartbeat. Her arms still ached from the magic's backlash. 

She looked through the pines and saw that the sun smeared red behind the clouds, a dying ember barely holding the horizon. Above that was ink and steel, whorling and roiling. The storm hadn't broken yet, not fully, but the first flurries were already slanting through the trees. Sharp as needles. A cruel, searching kind of cold.

Vi kept to the trees, boots slipping now and then on half-frozen mud. Every sound seemed louder. Her breath, the creak of leather, the soft thud of the burkol’s limbs against her back. Her eyes kept alert for danger.

She could see the slope now, the pond below and the cabin nestled against it. Smoke curled from the chimney. 

By the time she reached the porch, her legs were fire and her breath was steam in the freezing air. Snow had begun to cling to her shoulders and hair, melting slow in the heat of exertion.

She raised a hand and knocked, three short raps.

There was a pause. A scuff. The scrape of furniture moving across floorboards. Then the door creaked open, just a hair, before swinging wide enough for Caitlyn to step out.

Vi gave a nod. “Just me.”

Caitlyn nodded back and slipped aside, holding the door long enough for Vi to duck inside. As soon as the door shut, Caitlyn slid a chair back under the handle.

Vi slung the carcass onto the kitchen counter. Blood seeped slowly from it, pooling on the countertop before dripping onto floorboards below.

Isha approached, her eyes wary. She signed, What is it?

Vi frowned, searching her mind for a word that wasn’t there. She spelled it out instead: B-U-R-K-O-L.

Isha’s face stayed puzzled, but she gave a resigned shrug. Can we eat it?

Vi nodded, drawing out her knife, and began cutting thick strips of meat.

She glanced back at Caitlyn, who stood near the shudders, eyes fixed absently on the snow beyond. “Sorry, Cupcake. Not much left for you. Bled out on the way back.”

Caitlyn shook her head gently, dismissing the apology with an idle wave. “I’ll be all right.”

Vi snorted softly. “You’re a bad liar.” She pointed the tip of her knife toward Caitlyn’s face. “Eyes are turning red again.”

Caitlyn pressed her lips thin, turning slightly away as if hiding might change the truth of it. “I’ll manage.”

Didn't take long for Vi to finish butchering the burkol, handing pieces to Isha one by one. The girl skewered the meat and set them above the fire, fat already beginning to drip and sizzle against the hearthstone.

She washed her hands in a basin filled with meltwater, fingers stinging from the cold, then wiped them roughly on a tattered cloth before moving quietly over to Caitlyn.

“Hey,” she murmured, keeping her voice low. “Look, I don’t need you going all feral on us. I can get you some of the burkol’s blood. Might not be the best, but…” Her voice trailed off as Caitlyn’s face shifted slightly. A tiny wrinkle at the bridge of her nose, the smallest curl of her lip. Barely noticeable, but Vi had watched her enough to catch it immediately.

“What's wrong?” she asked, frowning. “Are burkol’s bad for vampires or something?”

Caitlyn shook her head quickly. “No, no—it’s just…dead blood doesn't taste particularly pleasant. Animal blood even less so.”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “What's that mean?”

Caitlyn hesitated, searching for the words. “Would you enjoy drinking spoiled milk?”

Vi’s nose wrinkled instinctively. “No.”

“There you go.” Caitlyn gave a faint shrug. “It’s similar.”

Vi reached out before she’d fully thought it through, fingers circling Caitlyn’s wrist gently but firmly. Caitlyn paused, glancing down at her hand, surprise flickering across her face.

“You deserve—” Vi began, but the words jammed in her throat, thick and awkward. A growl of frustration scraped from her chest instead. She jerked her hand back, tugging roughly at her coat until it slipped from her shoulders, landing in a heap on the floor. She shoved the sleeve of her shirt up her arm, baring the skin beneath. The gauze around her wrist was grubby and stained, edges unraveling.

She thrust her wrist forward again, stubborn now. “Just drink some, okay?”

Caitlyn stared down at the bandage, then slowly lifted her eyes to meet Vi’s. Caitlyn held her gaze, something unreadable shining behind those blue eyes. "You don't have to. I can drink the—"

Vi huffed, a flush crawling up her neck and burning her cheeks. "I know I don't."

A smile ghosted across Caitlyn's lips, soft and barely there, but enough to set Vi's heart stumbling in her chest. The vampire reached out slowly, fingers cool and gentle, carefully peeling back the gauze. Beneath were two neat puncture wounds, scabbed over from last time.

Caitlyn hesitated, then brought Vi's wrist slowly to her mouth. Her lips pressed warm and soft against the inside of her wrist.

Had Caitlyn just…kissed her?

Before Vi could fully grasp the thought, fangs punctured her skin. A bright jolt of pain made her breath catch, followed quickly by a slow, aching warmth. Caitlyn's eyes drifted shut, her throat working softly as she drank.

Vi held her breath, unable—or unwilling—to move, her heart beating hard enough she knew Caitlyn could feel every thundering pulse beneath her lips.

A lock of Caitlyn’s hair slipped forward, hiding her face. Without thinking, Vi lifted her free hand and brushed it gently back behind the vampire’s ear. She needed to see Caitlyn clearly, to watch her face as she drank.

Caitlyn’s eyes drifted open slowly, lids heavy, the red of her irises darkened to wine in the low cabin light. Her mouth softened against Vi’s wrist, a flicker of surprise and something warmer, gentler, moving across her face.

Vi’s pulse fluttered harder beneath Caitlyn’s lips, her heartbeat loud enough that surely even Isha could hear. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Caitlyn drank a heartbeat more, then another, and finally—with a shiver that ran through both of them—she let go.

The vampire sealed the wounds with a soft press of lips. When she spoke, it was barely louder than the crackling coming from the hearth.

“You always taste good.”

The words shouldn’t have made Vi’s stomach flip the way they did. Yet there it was, heat flooding her cheeks, matching the throb in her wrist.

“Might be all the beetles,” she managed, aiming for dry humor and missing by a mile.

Caitlyn’s mouth curved. “Doubtful.”

Vi tugged her sleeve back down, suddenly very aware of how close they were standing, how her hand still rested against Caitlyn’s cheek. She lowered it—slowly, because yanking away felt wrong after everything—and cleared her throat.

“Right,” she muttered, voice rough. “Isha’ll burn the meat if I don’t turn it.”

She fled to the hearth. Her fingers fumbled, nearly dropping a spit, and she cursed quietly under her breath.

Isha tracked her movements closely. What’s wrong?

Nothing.

The kid arched a skeptical eyebrow but didn’t press.

Vi reached over and tugged open the satchel, fingers searching until they closed on the roll of gauze. She wound it around her wrist, pulling it tighter than she probably needed to, but at least the pressure distracted her from the rush of her blood and the feel of Caitlyn’s lips lingering against her skin.

She tied the bandage off, flexed her fingers, then exhaled slowly, willing her heartbeat to quiet. It didn’t.

Vi snuck a glance over her shoulder. Caitlyn had moved to the shutter again, eyes fixed on the swirling snow beyond, fingers to her lips like she could still taste something sweet.

---

“How does she keep doing that?” Caitlyn asked, looking thoroughly bewildered as Isha triumphantly raked their makeshift betting chips, a set of spoons and forks, toward herself again.

Vi leaned back on an elbow, lips twitching into a lazy grin. “Isha’s a card shark.”

Isha beamed proudly, fingers quick as she signed, Easy way to win food creds.

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, catching enough of the signs to grin knowingly. “Perhaps we could play King’s Run. 

Vi snorted. “You mean the game that requires absolutely zero skill.”

Caitlyn opened her mouth, readying a retort—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

At the cabin door.

The room went still. Vi felt her muscles tense, every nerve on edge. Isha’s smile vanished, replaced by eyes wide and wary. Caitlyn rose smoothly, the humor draining from her face in an instant, replaced by focused, predatory calm. 

No one moved. No one breathed.

Outside, the wind howled, battering against the shutters, rattling the hinges.

Vi’s hand slipped to her pocket, fingers brushing against the pine seeds within. Her heartbeat hammered against her ribs. Slowly, she stood, and her eyes locked with Caitlyn’s.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The doorknob rattled.

Then a voice came through the door—low, rasping, almost human. Almost.

“We remember this place.”

Vi’s blood ran cold.

No one answered.

Caitlyn pressed a hand to Isha’s shoulder, guiding her backward, down the hall. The kid didn’t argue, her eyes locked on the door, chest rising and falling too fast.

“We know you’re in there.”

The doorknob rattled once more. Vi took a step back, keeping herself between the door and the others, her fingers closing tighter around the seed. Her mouth was dry.

“Let us in.”

Each word twisted with something wrong. Rage, yes—but hunger too. Not just for blood or flesh, but something deeper. Older. Vi swallowed hard.

Caitlyn moved with Isha, shadowlike down the hallway.

Vi followed, walking backward, never turning her back on the door.

“We only wish to kill you.”

Wood cracked and splintered as the chair beneath the door shattered, sending pieces skittering across the floor. The door groaned open, wind howling through the gap, snow swirling in thick flurries around the figure standing hunched at the threshold.

Vi’s heart slammed to a stop in her chest.

It was tall, impossibly tall, spine curled and bent beneath the frame, skin pale as death, almost translucent, veins like black threads pulsing beneath. Its arms hung grotesquely long, ending in three-fingered claws that scraped over the floorboards, leaving shallow gouges with every twitching movement. Its face was a nightmare, mouth gaping impossibly wide, rimmed in slick, needle-like teeth—black and glistening—oozing sap that dripped thickly onto the wood, sizzling wherever it landed.

A demon.

It cocked its head, golden lidless eyes catching the fire light, reflecting it back with a hellish gleam. Watching her, watching Vi specifically. Its mouth stretched wider, splitting impossibly far up its cheeks, a mockery of a smile.

“Thorn,” it rasped, voice crackling. “We know your scent.”

Vi forced herself to breathe, to move, shifting her stance protectively between the demon and the others. She heard the whisper of steel leaving its sheath. She didn't need to look to know Isha was hidden behind Caitlyn, shiv in hand, eyes wide in terror.

The demon’s claws twitched, leaving fresh gouges in the wood. It leaned forward.

“We’ve waited,” it whispered. “We’ve hungered.”

Then it lunged.

Vi’s fists bloomed mid-swing—bark-armor exploding from the seed in her palm and racing up her forearms in a lattice of living wood and thorn. The punch landed flush on the demon’s jaw. Bone cracked. Black sap sprayed.

The thing flew backward, smashing through the table, and slammed into the far wall hard enough to stove a rib out through its skin.

“RUN!” Vi shouted, already spinning on her heel toward the hallway.

She heard Isha’s frantic breathing, Caitlyn’s calm, insistent urging. They were already at the back door, wrenching it open into the storm beyond. Snow and cold blasted in.

Creak!

Vi dropped instantly, ducking low just as those cruel claws slashed through the space her head had been. Carved into the plaster, shrieking against wood, the demon’s face half-caved but already knitting itself back together. Its breath was sweet rot and hot sap.

Vi snarled and spun, gauntlet swinging. The demon caught the hit with its arm this time, bones snapping sideways with a wet pop . Didn’t stop it.

She bared her teeth. “Come on then.” Backing toward the open door.

From behind her came a howl.

Grimshank.

Vi’s gut clenched. She couldn’t afford to look back. Couldn’t afford even one glance. The demon’s shattered limb cracked hideously, bones snapping and grinding, reforming back into shape. 

It laughed.

The sound was wrong. Wet and gurgling, like it was choking on it’s own sap.

“Oh, Thorn,” it rasped. “Our children will find your corpse such a sweet nursery.”

It struck.

Vi barely twisted aside in time, the claw catching her shoulder, raking deep through leather and flesh alike. Her coat shredded. Hot blood spilled down her side.

She didn’t scream. She pivoted with the blow, planted her foot, and slammed her gauntlet into its chest

The impact crushed bone with a crunch . The demon reeled, but only a step.

Vi lunged again, driving her knee into its gut, then followed with a savage backhand, black teeth and black sap spraying across the cabin floor. The thing’s grin never faltered. It snapped its jaw toward her face, needle teeth grazing her temple.

A crash behind her. Wood splintering. Caitlyn’s voice, a sharp grunt of pain.

Vi risked a glance through the open door.

The pier was a narrow strip of slick wood, suspended over black ice. On it, Caitlyn danced like a shadow made flesh, rapier flashing silver and red through the storm. Four Grimshank pressed around her, slashing and snapping, their long limbs flailing, claws biting the air. Caitlyn spun, parried, struck. Blood and sap spattered in thin arcs across the snow as she kept herself between them and Isha.

Vi’s heart lurched—and that moment of distraction nearly got her killed.

The demon struck.

She rolled aside as claws bit into the floor, boards shattering beneath the blow. Before Vi could regain her feet, it slammed into her and drove her through the doorway. The world tumbled around her—snow and sky, ice and wind—until her back hit the frozen planks, breath punched from her lungs in a pained gasp.

The demon loomed above her, gaunt and monstrous, golden eyes blazing in the darkness. Snow gathered on its pale skin, black sap dripped from its grin.

The sap burned.

Vi screamed, the skin and cartilage on her ear melting.

Crack.

A red bead slammed between the demon’s eyes, a perfect shot. Its head snapped back, and it toppled sideways off of her, limbs flailing.

Vi scrambled up, breath ragged, vision swimming. The demon was already healing, face twitching as torn muscle knit and bone reset.

She growled, driving her gauntlet down—once, twice, three times.

Crunch. Crunch. Squelch!

The demon’s skull shattered beneath the blow, face turned to pulp. Black sap sprayed up in ropes and spatters, hissing where it touched the snow.

Vi turned, scanning.

Two of the Grimshank were unmoving on the ground. The third still fought Caitlyn. But the fourth—

Where’s the fourth?

Then she saw her.

Isha, out on the pond. The ice groaned beneath her, but she was sprinting, desperate. Chasing her was a Grimshank. A teenager once, twisted now—its right arm missing, jaw crooked.

“Where do I aim?” Vi shouted.

Caitlyn grunted. “Stomach!”

Vi withered her gauntlets, hand diving into her pocket. Her fingers closed around a seed. She focused. Tightened her will like a noose.

The wind shrieked.

Vi threw.

The seed cut through snow and sleet, a green blur across the ice.

It slammed into the Grimshank’s gut.

Then bloomed, briars flaring.

Roots exploded outward, thorns tearing through flesh like paper. The Grimshank was lifted off its feet as the growth erupted from inside, its back arching, limbs flailing, mouth open in a scream that ended in a wet, choking gargle.

Isha stopped running.

Vi could just barely make her out through the sleet and stinging snow, the girl frozen in place, eyes wide as the body of the Grimshank steamed behind her. But the ice—Vi saw that, too. Cracks spider-webbing from the impact, long silver lines snaking beneath Isha’s boots.

Vi stepped off the pier. Her breath fogged, torn away by the wind the moment it left her mouth. She raised a hand and signed, Stay.

The girl nodded and obeyed.

Vi kept moving, slow and low, boots slipping on the uneven sheen. The storm howled around them, swallowing every sound. The wind slapped at her, shrieked in her ears, tore through every seam in her coat like claws.

She reached the first crack and crouched low. Her legs trembled. She signed again, Belly. Then pointed down.

Isha dropped flat, pressing her chest to the ice.

Vi nodded. Good. That was good.

Slide.

Isha began inching forward. The ice creaked and groaned, protesting every shift of weight.

Vi backed up with her, keeping a hand low in case the girl needed to be pulled. Each step was pain. Her side still bled, her ear burned like it was being eaten alive. But she didn’t care.

Crack.

Heavy. Wet.

Vi turned.

It wasn’t Caitlyn.

It was the demon.

Its head was a ruin of pulp and black sap, half its face gone, teeth exposed in a permanent rictus. But it walked. Limped. Each step wrong. But still it came. Still it bled. Still it smiled.

It raised one clawed arm and pointed at her.

“Thorn!” it bellowed, its voice screeching over the wind. “You know not how to kill us!”

Vi stared it down. Jaw tight. One hand behind her, flat, telling Isha, Stop.

Then she stepped forward, between Isha and the thing, planted her feet on the groaning ice.

The demon was right.

Vi didn’t know how to kill it. Didn’t know what it was, what it wanted—only that it wouldn’t stop. Not until she and Isha were meat. Not until that black sap was coating every inch of her bones. And Caitlyn. Gods, Caitlyn. The thought ate at her. If she wasn’t here now, it meant…

Don’t think about it.

The demon took another step, and the ice beneath it split further, jagged lines racing toward Isha. Vi felt the crack reverberate through her boots.

She couldn’t let it get closer.

Vi stepped forward.

One hand behind her, still telling Isha to stay flat. The other clenched tightly around the last seed. Had to make it count.

The demon’s ruined face tilted.

Then it lurched.

Vi pivoted. Just out of reach. The claws swiped through empty air. The ice cried out beneath them.

She moved further sideways, away from Isha, boots slipping, catching again. She needed the thing to follow.

It did.

Step. Crack.

Step. Crack.

“We are due a debt,” the demon growled, distorted by its twisted mouth, a hundred voices seeming to scream through one. “You shall pay the price!”

Vi ducked under another wild swipe. The wind howled louder, as if even the storm was screaming.

CRACK!

Fuck.

The lake went still beneath her.

A moment suspended in frost and breath and blood.

She felt it before it happened—the air shift, the weight lurch, the ground vanish. She did the only thing she could.

Vi lunged forward, wrapped her arms around the demon’s ribcage, and held it.

The ice gave way.

They plunged together.

Water swallowed them. The cold hit like a dozen knives all at once. Darkness closed over her head, and all she knew was the demon’s limbs thrashing, the sap burning in the water, the roar of her own heartbeat as she dragged the seed to the demon’s head and—

The bloom answered her will like a wildfire answers a spark.

Green-gold light seared through the murk, vines erupting from the seed with desperate, murderous urgency. Thorns as long as daggers punched into the demon’s flesh, drilled through eye-sockets, split its jaw, threaded through its ear canals. Every needle that pierced it siphoned the thing’s raw, corrupt vitality, turning its own healing into fresh, living wood.

Vi felt the backlash howl up her arm—like molten metal poured through her veins—yet she clung harder, driving the briar deeper, wrapping, caging, sealing. The demon’s claws shredded her coat, raked flesh, but the vines knit faster than it could tear, binding tendon, pinning limbs, locking spine.

A prison of living thorn.

It froze beneath her hands, no longer flesh but a snarled trunk shot through with black sap that sizzled and bled into the freezing pond. An obscene statue, sinking toward the silt.

Vi tried to push away, but her arms felt too heavy. Fire seared across her back where the claws had raked; she tasted copper. Darkness pressed from every side. She kicked, but her boots barely moved.

Up. Have to get up.

Her chest burned. The world narrowed to a roar in her ears and a scatter of silver sparks across her vision. She reached, fingertips brushing the underside of the ice, but there was no strength left to break it.

Everything blurred. Shapes hovered above, distorted by the water.

Then the ice shattered.

Two pale hands plunged through, seized her shoulders, hauled. The world tilted; air, wind, and sleet slammed into her face as she breached the surface. Vi coughed, water and red foaming from her mouth, vision swimming.

“Vi!” Caitlyn shouted, hoarse and frantic.

Vi lay flat on the ice, muscles seized, teeth chattering so violently she swore her skull would crack apart. The world stuttered in and out—snow on her lashes, Caitlyn’s face a blur above her.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Her body wasn’t hers anymore.

“Vi, stay with me,” Caitlyn said again, sharp with fear.

Vi tried to answer, but what came out was a garbled mess of lips and air.

Her fingers wouldn’t close.

Then she felt herself being lifted—Caitlyn’s arms strong around her shoulders and knees. The vampire was shaking too, though not from cold. Vi could tell.

She could barely keep her eyes open, lashes heavy with frost. Her head lolled against Caitlyn’s shoulder. She thought she heard her own name whispered again and again.

Then, a thought broke through the haze.

“Isha?” she mumbled.

“She’s safe,” Caitlyn said quickly. “She’s safe. I promise.”

That was enough. Vi’s eyes closed again.

Slap.

“Vi. Stay awake. Just a little longer.”

Wood beneath her now. Firelight flickering. She blinked. Blurred edges of the cabin swam into view. She felt something drag across her legs, her boots coming off. Her soaked coat peeled away. Cold air bit at every patch of exposed skin.

Caitlyn’s voice again. “Help me get her clothes off.”

Vi tried to speak but couldn’t. Her jaw clamped, tremors violent now. She blinked again. Isha—sweet, wide-eyed Isha—was there, arms full of blankets bigger than she was.

Put down. Caitlyn ordered. Big fire.

Vi was naked. Every inch of her skin screamed, raw and freezing, like she was being flayed by air itself. Her muscles spasmed in waves she couldn’t control. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe right.

She closed her eyes, just for a second.

Then warmth. Real warmth. 

Blankets over her and Caitlyn’s body pressed in behind, bare skin to bare skin. She was solid and still and there , arm wrapping carefully around Vi’s shuddering chest, her hand spreading wide beneath Vi’s sternum.

“Sorry,” Caitlyn whispered at her ear, words thick with something Vi couldn’t name. “This might hurt.”

Vi wanted to say don’t care , but all that came out was a strangled noise in her throat.

Two points of pain at the side of her neck. Her body arched at the hurt, but it wasn’t the worst she’d known. Not even close. And what came after…

Not blood loss. Not weakness.

Cold drained out of her in pulses—like it was being siphoned away, one heartbeat at a time. A rush of heat bloomed in its place, slow but steady. Her limbs didn’t feel like stone anymore. Her breath came easier, less ragged.

She wasn’t sure how or why. Hemocraft? Another vampire thing? Didn’t matter. It worked.

Caitlyn’s hand rubbed gently up and down Vi’s sternum.

“You’re okay,” Caitlyn whispered. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Over and over. A litany. A tether.

Vi blinked, trying to stay awake. But the warmth, the fire, Caitlyn’s voice…

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she didn’t fight it.

Chapter Text

Her back was warm.

Sore too. Her whole body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder and stitched back together. Vi groaned low in her throat as her eyes cracked open.

Sunlight.

The cabin was bathed in it, golden and still. She was lying near the window, the morning light cutting across her skin, bright against the dark curls of the briar tattoo twining over her shoulder and spine.

The fire had burned down to ash. Isha lay curled in a blanket nest beside it, little more than a lump of fabric and tangled hair.

Vi tried to sit up and nearly cursed aloud. Her body objected with every motion. She was naked under the pile of blankets, and when she pulled one aside, she saw fresh scars carved raw and pink down her shoulder. Her right ear stung, and when she reached up, her fingers brushed the missing tip. 

Burned clean off. Fucking demon.

Footsteps creaked on the old boards behind her.

Vi twisted with a wince, pulling the blanket up around herself. Caitlyn approached from the hall, dressed in a long shirt that hung loose past her hips, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

She knelt beside Vi, the morning light catching in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Vi coughed, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m—” Her words dried up the second she saw Caitlyn’s neck.

A vicious scar, fresh and angry, carved across her skin in three jagged lines—claw marks that started just behind her jaw and ran diagonally to the collarbone, puckered and pink at the edges, too deep to ever fully fade.

Vi reached for it, for her, but stopped just short, fingers curling into a fist. Her hand dropped.

Caitlyn watched her. “Nothing I did worked against it,” she said quietly. “And it… it bested me.”

Vi’s throat closed. “Cait—”

But Caitlyn cut her off. “Good thing I had your blood to regenerate.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Vi pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “I just—I should’ve been able to stop it. That’s what I’m meant for.”

She was a Thorn. She was made to protect.

“I should’ve been able to fight off one demon.”

“Stop.”

The word seemed to echo across the room.

Vi’s brow knit, eyes flicking back up.

Caitlyn said, “You said it yourself. A Thorn hasn’t seen a demon in centuries. And you,” her voice softened, like she couldn’t quite believe it “,you put one at the bottom of a pond.”

Vi’s mouth opened, a retort burning behind her teeth. “I—I…” Her fists clenched beneath the blanket. Her gaze dropped again, drawn like a hook to the ragged scar along Caitlyn’s neck. Rage twisted hot and sharp inside her, aimed at nothing and everything. “I failed. You could’ve—”

She bit the words off, jaw locking.

Could’ve died. 

Vi shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t be staring at a vampire like this. Shouldn’t be aching at the sight of her pain. But Caitlyn wasn’t just some bloodsucker hiding behind charm. She was steady. Smart. Gentle in all the strange, quiet ways that Vi had never known she needed. She could’ve drained them dry the night they met.

But she hadn’t.

She’d stayed.

She’d fought.

She’d protected.

Vi looked up again, breath catching in her throat. “It hurt you.”

“It hurt you too.”

Vi turned her face away, shrugged with a bitterness she couldn’t swallow. “Yeah, but I don’t…” Her voice trailed off into nothing. The word clung unsaid. Matter.

Caitlyn’s expression changed, softened. She moved closer, like Vi was a wild animal that might bolt if she moved too fast. She leaned in, fingers light under Vi’s chin, tilting her face up until they were eye to eye.

“You matter,” Caitlyn whispered.

Vi’s breath hitched.

Caitlyn’s voice went quieter still. “To me.” And she moved in closer.

Vi held her breath, lungs aching, eyes wide.

Their foreheads touched, just the barest pressure, but it settled something deep in Vi’s chest and unsettled everything else. Caitlyn’s voice was barely there. “I thought you were going to die.”

Vi’s heart lurched so violently it felt like it might tear free from her ribs.

Caitlyn’s nose brushed hers, feather-light, warm in a way that made Vi want to shiver. Her eyes were closed, lashes trembling. Her lips—gods, they were close. So close Vi could feel the shape of them in the space between them.

All she’d have to do was lean forward.

Just a fraction.

And yet…

She felt paralyzed.

One part of her—maybe the strongest part—wanted to fall into this, to close the distance and let it happen, to see what it felt like to be wanted like this. To be held, not just because she was useful or strong or angry, but because someone saw something in her worth keeping.

The other part—the one forged in scars—whispered that it was a trap. That if she reached out, it would vanish. That she’d ruin it.

Her fingers twitched under the blanket. Her jaw clenched.

Still, she didn’t pull away.

She didn’t move forward.

“I haven’t… never…”

Caitlyn didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back, didn’t ask for more. She just nodded, thumb brushing softly along Vi’s jaw, like the motion alone could say, It’s okay. I know.

Vi breathed, “Cait…”

She didn’t know what she wanted. Her whole body was alive and locked up at the same time. She’d never been kissed. Never been held like this. Not gently. Not like she was wanted.

How was she supposed to do this?

The moment was heat and terror and longing. She could feel herself sweating, burning from the inside out. Her cheeks were flushed so hot they could’ve melted ice in seconds.

And then Caitlyn pulled away.

Just like that.

Vi felt the relief hit first, but it came tangled up in a twist of something sharp and aching. Like losing something you’d never had.

Why had Caitlyn looked at her like that?

Like she mattered. Like she was something worth waiting for. Like she was—

“Beautiful,” Caitlyn whispered. Her thumb lingered on Vi’s cheek, a touch too warm for someone who was supposed to be so cold.

Then she stood and said softly, “I’ll get your clothes.”

Vi didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

She watched Caitlyn move, the quiet swish of her steps across the floor getting fainter and fainter. The moment she was out of the room, Vi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

It trembled out of her and slowly, with a hand that shook, Vi touched her cheek. Fingertips traced where Caitlyn had touched her.

Now that it was gone, Vi realized just how much she had craved it. Not just wanted it—needed it, like a sapling stretching toward the sun through frostbitten soil. It had crept up on her slow, invisible, inevitable, that yearning. And now, with Caitlyn’s warmth absent from her skin, it felt like something vital had been pulled loose from her chest. Like Caitlyn had taken something important with her. Or maybe…

Maybe she’d left something behind.

Vi couldn’t name it, not exactly, not in any way that made sense. She just felt empty. Hollow in that quiet, aching way, like the aftermath of a dream you can’t remember but still mourn.

Or had she always been this way?

Had the emptiness always been there, and only now did she feel it for what it was?

“Fuck,” she muttered, leaning her head back against the wall.

This was supposed to be simple.

Caitlyn was a vampire. Vampires were monsters. That was scripture, wasn’t it? Written in blood, a truth that was undeniable and immutable.

Vi had seen monsters. Fought and killed them. Most of them wore human faces, hiding behind them like masks. But she knew how to spot them. Knew the stench of them, the cold sadistic glee they carried like a sickness.

And when she looked at Caitlyn?

She saw a woman who had pulled her from a frozen grave. A woman who shielded a child with her own body. A woman who bled for them. Who whispered softness where the world had only ever barked orders or slung fists.

There were a lot of things Vi thought when she looked at Caitlyn.

Monster was a word that grew fainter and fainter among them.

Vi spotted movement near the hearth, the blankets shifting and falling away. Isha was stirring awake with a sleepy grunt, limbs tangled and hair wild, rubbing at her eyes like a bear waking from hibernation. Then she blinked and noticed Vi, a wide smile breaking across her face.

Isha came lurching up from her tangle of blankets in a stumbling rush and before Vi could so much as brace, the girl barrelled into her. The impact forced a hiss of air from Vi’s lungs, yet she hardly minded; there was an honest, ferocious warmth in the way the kid clung.

After a heartbeat, or ten, Isha pulled back just enough to sign, You’re alive.

Vi nodded.

That was all Isha needed; a grin split her face, bright and shaky, and she dove in again for a second embrace, fiercer than the first. Vi felt the tremble in Isha’s shoulders. The faint, hitching breath. Then the warmth of it, hot tears soaking into the crook of her neck.

When Isha finally eased back, she scrubbed at her cheeks with both sleeves. Her grin was gone, replaced by something much more fragile. Her fingers moved slowly, forming the words, Don’t do that again.

Vi tried for a smile, but before it could take root she saw that Isha’s hands were starting to move again. She looked serious and wary and certain all at once. She drew a deep breath, fingers pausing as if to be sure of the shape, and then signed.

You’re my family. You don’t get to leave.

The sting of tears was almost immediate. Vi could feel the traitorous bastards trying to escape. She sniffed, her sinuses burning. She clenched her jaw, her lip wobbling.

Isha was looking at her so earnestly and Vi wished she could say more. That she could tell her how much she cared. But the words were gone and her heart was breaking. Vi’d had a family, but they were gone and burned to ash with the rest of her past.

Maybe it would be okay if she started a new one?

Maybe it would be okay if she had a sister again?

Vi met Isha’s gaze and held her blanket with one hand and signed with the other.

I’m the dirt under your nails, kid. Ain’t nothing getting me out.

Isha gave her a wide, crooked smile and socked her lightly in the arm. Vi winced, clutching at the spot with a theatrical groan that made the kid snort through lingering sniffles.

Then Isha signed, We should probably get going soon.

Her eyes drifted across the cabin and spotted Cait near the back wall, standing just where the firelight faded into shadow. She was dressed again, back in that battered uniform, the dark blues and greys sharp against her pale skin, the high collar hiding just enough of the wound at her neck that Vi almost forgot it was there.

Cait stood at a polite distance, her posture straight. In her arms were Vi’s clothes, folded neat as could be.

Vi signed to Isha, Grab the extra burkol and any supplies we can carry.

Isha nodded and moved off without question.

Vi stood, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself, and padded softly over to Cait.

She stopped a foot short, unsure what to do with her hands—or her face—or her everything. “Thanks, cupcake,” she mumbled, a little too gruff, trying to sound normal and failing.

Cait offered the bundle of clothing. “I patched them up as best I could. I’m not much of a seamstress.”

Vi took them, fingers brushing Cait’s for a heartbeat. “I’m sure it’s fine.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Cait tilted her head. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

That made Vi freeze.

She remembered Cait’s arms around her. Her voice whispering you’re okay over and over again. Her bare skin pressed to Vi’s frozen back. The bite, the blood, the—

Vi shook her head, a little too fast. “No, I—no. I’ve got it.”

She beat a retreat down the hall and shut the bedroom door with a quiet click . She stood there a moment, forehead pressed to the wood, and let out a long, shuddering breath.

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid…”

Why’d she have to get like that? 

Vi clenched her fist. She was a godsdamned mess, body and mind alike. 

One thing at a time, Vi. One thing at a time. Just get your clothes on.

She turned from the door, shrugged off the blanket, and tossed the clothes on the bed. Vi grabbed her underwear first, wincing as she bent. Her ribs protested, a twinge sharp enough to make her pause halfway through. “Come on,” she muttered. She got them on, then pants, hitching them over her hips and fastening her makeshift belt.

Next, the thick socks.

Then came the hard part.

The binding.

Vi sat on the edge of the bed and started wrapping. Each pull across her ribs was a test of grit, breath sharp between her teeth, jaw locked tight. She’d worn a binding since she was thirteen, it made it easier to hide from the enforcers. It wasn’t like she was big in that particular area, but it was a comfort to her now. A minute or two of work later and it was secured to her chest.

She leaned over and picked up her shirt.

There was a rough patch job on the back and shoulder where she’d been clawed, the stitches pulled taut through mismatched fabric. The wool was thick and heavy, clearly cut from a blanket. Vi snorted under her breath.

“Nice work, cupcake,” she muttered.

The seams were crooked and uneven. Half of it looked like it might come apart the first time she shrugged wrong, but damn if it didn’t make her smile. Seemed Cait wasn’t perfect at everything.

There was something oddly comforting in that.

---

The storm had broken while she was out of commission, leaving behind a fresh canvas of white for them to carve their way across. That was all they saw after leaving the cabin. Snow and snow and even more snow. Luckily, it meant that Grimshanks were easy to spot. Vi’d found a couple tracks and they’d swung wide around them. 

It was strange.

Not the snow, but the way the world stayed the same. The longer they walked, the more the woods began to twist in on themselves. Not in any visible way, not like something changing —more like a memory being replayed just slightly wrong. A particular gnarled tree with a blackened scar halfway up the trunk. A narrow outcrop of stone that leaned like a crooked finger pointing at the sky. A shattered stump she could’ve sworn she’d already passed twice.

Each time, her gut twisted tighter.

They weren’t doubling back. She was sure of that. She’d made damned sure. She’d cut markers into the trees, drawn little slashes with her knife low to the ground, always on the right-hand side. None of those markers had repeated.

And still each step forward felt like they were walking deeper into something that didn’t want to let them out.

By the time dusk began to settle in, burning low along the horizon, Vi found them a good spot to stop. High ground. Tight lines of sight. Shelter just enough to break the wind but not so much that they'd be trapped if something came clawing in the dark.

She knelt to cinch up her boots and that’s when she saw it. Something carved into the bark of a tree maybe twenty paces away, roughly man-height, too precise to be natural, too old to be recent.

A spiral. Long and thin, like it had been drawn with a single unbroken line. Something about it scratched at her memory, like a half-remembered song from childhood. Her brows knit.

“Cait, you see that?”

Cait was crouched nearby, eyes scanning the treeline. She turned toward the tree Vi was pointing at and squinted. “No. Is it a Grimshank? Demon?”

Vi shook her head. “No. It’s… it’s like a spiral. Marked on the bark.”

She took a step forward, drawn not by logic but by something more elemental. A pull beneath her ribs, insistent and wordless.

Cait rose immediately, one hand already on the hilt of her rapier. “Vi?”

The closer she got, the more the world seemed to narrow. Sounds faded. The wind dulled. Even the cold seemed warmer.

Cait’s voice came sharper now, closer. “Vi? Don’t—”

“I’m just gonna check it out,” Vi said, her fingers reached for the symbol before the thought had even finished forming.

“Vi, I don’t think you should—”

But her hand was already there, skin brushing the carved lines.

Everything stopped.

She froze mid-step, completely paralyzed. It felt like being locked in stone, her body no longer her own. Her breath halted, her limbs refused to obey, and yet her eyes moved—wild and frantic—scanning what little they could see.

The light was fading fast now, gold dying to gray where the sun bowed out behind the trees.

And in that light, to her right, where the dying sun cast long shadows across the snow, something stepped forward from nothing. Not from the trees. Not from the ridge. Not from any direction at all. One moment there was empty air, and the next, a figure stood in it as if time had simply hiccuped them into being.

They wore white. A robe that might’ve once been fine, now torn and ragged at the hem, catching the wind in slow, lazy curls. A long staff in one hand, hooked at the end like a shepherd’s crook. The hood was drawn low, shadowing the face.

There was a blur, and then Cait stood between Vi and the stranger, rapier drawn, pointed right at them. “Stay away from her.”

The figure stopped. Tipped its head slightly, as if puzzled. “Caitlyn?”

Cait blinked. The tip of her blade dropped a fraction. “…Viktor?” she whispered, the word heavy with disbelief.

The figure lifted a hand and pushed the hood back. The face that emerged was younger than Vi expected. A man in his early thirties, maybe, with long brown hair brushing his shoulders and a clean-shaven, angular face. He looked at Cait with something between regret and disappointment. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Neither are you. Jayce said you were in Krexor.”

“ The Man of Progress says a lot of things,” he said, the words sharp with disdain. “Does he know his betrothed is…?” He gestured, not at anything, just a vague flick of fingers toward the snow, the woods, the air itself. “ Here ?”

Cait didn’t answer. Her silence was very telling.

Viktor nodded like he’d expected it. Like he knew her, truly knew her, in ways Vi had never even imagined. There was no gloating in his gaze, no cruelty—just a long weariness, a tired sort of acceptance that made the space between them feel suddenly ancient.

“And what of your two companions?” he asked, almost teasing. “Are we collecting strays, Caitlyn?”

“I’m helping them escape,” Cait said flatly.

Viktor’s head tilted, the corners of his mouth quirking like he didn’t quite believe her. Then he laughed—quiet and amused and sad.  “You’re serious?”

A long moment passed. Dusk deepened. The wind rustled the frayed hem of his robe.

“Are you going to send me back?” Cait asked at last.

Viktor didn’t answer right away. He studied her for a moment—really studied her, like she was a puzzle he used to know the shape of, now twisted into something unfamiliar.

“…Even if I could,” he said, “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

Then his gaze slid to Vi.

“How was she able to see the mark?”

Cait hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Viktor’s eyes glinted, amber flaring as he assessed her fully. “Well,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You might actually be useful. ”

“What?”

But Viktor didn’t explain. Didn’t so much as glance back at her. He turned instead, robe trailing like mist, and began walking straight into the woods where the shadows gathered thickest.

Vi’s body released all at once.

She collapsed to her knees with a choked gasp, every muscle screaming in protest, lungs flooding with air. Her hands braced against the snow, fingers clawing deep as she heaved a breath, then another, then another.

Viktor didn’t look back. “Follow me,” he said. His voice was calm and final. “You don’t want to be here after dark.”

Chapter Text

Viktor was a smug, cryptic prick with a god complex.

And Vi? She was cold, sore, humiliated, and seconds from punching the next thing that so much as looked at her wrong. Her fists clenched at her sides, tight enough her arms trembled. If she’d had nails, they would’ve bitten into her palms.

She followed behind Caitlyn and the mage, Isha beside her. 

Vi’s thoughts kept chewing the same bone. The looping trees, the spiraled mark, the freezing grip in her limbs—it all stank of strange magics. Viktor walked like it was all beneath him. Whatever spell had twisted this place and made Vi think she might be going crazy, he cut through it like a knife through threadbare cloth.

Maybe because he’d built it.

They reached a patch of forest where the light simply failed. No fade, no softening into dusk, just a hard edge where the world went black. The trees here looked starved of color, their bark gray, like the life had been leeched from them root to crown. The air was colder, and not just with snow. This was the kind of cold that made your soul shrink.

Viktor stopped and raised his staff, the top of it glowing a pure blinding white. One of the shadows near the base of a gnarled pine didn’t vanish beneath the glow. It stayed. Viktor reached out and waved a hand. Light flowed into the edges of that void like molten gold, tracing seams where none should exist. A rectangle. Hinges. A handle.

A door.

It opened with no creak.

Vi squinted into it, expecting darkness. But all she could see was light.

Viktor stepped into it without a word. One moment, robe trailing behind him. The next, gone. Swallowed whole like he’d never been there.

Caitlyn hesitated just long enough for Vi to catch the flicker of tension across her shoulders. Then she straightened her spine, chin tilted high, and stepped through without looking back.

Vi looked down at Isha, whose fingers were already wrapped tight around hers. Vi gave her hand a squeeze. “Ready?”

Isha didn’t answer, but her nod was firm. Brave, even if her grip was trembling.

And then they stepped through.

There was a flash.

When her vision cleared, Vi found herself blinking in a room that smelled like oil, parchment, and something sharp and citrusy— citronella? She wrinkled her nose.

They were standing in what looked like a workshop.

Wooden benches filled the space, cluttered with tools and contraptions she couldn’t begin to name. One table was crowded with alchemical supplies: beakers, burners, stoppered vials filled with swirling liquids in vibrant and strange colors. Another had rows of delicate instruments.

Notes were pinned across every available wall, diagrams drawn in tight precise handwriting, and symbols etched in chalk or ink or gods-knew-what else. Some of them moved.

Viktor stood at the far end of the room, already shedding his outer layer. The white robe was gone. He’d hung it up on a hook by the door, like it was just a raincoat.

Now he wore dark brown slacks, held up by suspenders, and a crisp white shirt rolled to the elbows. The image was jarring. He looked…normal. Vi watched as he limped slightly to a stool and sat down, exhaling like the weight of the day had finally caught up with him.

Viktor swiveled on the stool, his amber gaze locking onto Vi.

“Why did you get on the bridge?” he asked. His tone wasn’t cruel, just cold. Analytical. Curious in the way a surgeon might be, looking at something broken. “Are you suicidal? Or just crazy? Perhaps both?”

She glared. “I killed the Superior.”

Viktor’s brows rose, just slightly. “You… did?” He blinked once. “Well. I doubt you remember me—I was only at the colony for a night. But I can say with certainty…” He exhaled, lips curling into a faint, brittle smile. “He got what he deserved.”

His gaze slid away and he turned to face Caitlyn, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I understand why they’re here,” he said, motioning vaguely toward Vi and Isha. “They’re running. That much is obvious.” His words sharpened. “But why are you here, Caitlyn? Why Stillwater?”

Caitlyn crossed her arms and shot the question right back. “Why are you here? I haven’t seen you in years and now I find out you’ve been here. Why ?”

“I became a distraction,” he said simply. “Jayce and I grew too… close.” His mouth twisted on the word. “And I was told my talents were best suited in Krexor. Diplomatic for exiled, I suppose. As you can see…” He gestured around the room, dryly theatrical. “I never arrived at my destination.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“Now, answer my question.”

“There’s shimmer back on the streets of Zaun.”

“And what did you learn in Stillwater?”

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched.

Viktor tilted his head, those too-bright amber eyes sliding back to Vi like she was a curious gear in a machine he hadn’t quite figured out. “What’s your name?”

“…Vi.”

“Vi,” he said calmly, “ask Caitlyn what she learned in Stillwater.”

Vi frowned. “Why?”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, patience thinning but not yet gone. “You’ll understand in a moment. Please. ”

Vi turned, confused but curious, to Caitlyn. “What did you learn in Stillwater?”

Caitlyn’s teeth ground together. “They’re smuggling shimmer through Stillwater.”

Vi’s brow drew together. “Why didn’t you just tell him that?”

Viktor didn’t smile, but something shifted in his posture—like a puzzle piece sliding into place. “Who are you going to bring this information to?” 

Caitlyn winced. “That’s classified.”

What the fuck?

“Cait?”

Viktor’s voice came again “Ask her my question.”

“Caitlyn… who are you going to tell?”

Caitlyn hesitated, just for a breath, then she said, “My mother.”

Viktor’s eyes flicked down, as if confirming a hypothesis.

“Why?” he asked.

Caitlyn’s jaw locked. “That’s classified.”

Vi felt it first, a shift in the air. A ripple. Her spine snapped rigid, instincts flaring.

Viktor didn’t raise his voice. “Ask her my question.”

“What is wrong with you?” Vi snapped. “Why are you—”

“Ask her,” Viktor said, “ why she’s going to her mother.”

Vi turned back to Caitlyn, but the words caught in her throat. Caitlyn was pale, paler than she should be. Her mouth was open like she wanted to scream, but—

“Cait—” Vi started, but stopped short.

Because something was around her throat.

Cait’s eyes went wide and her hands flew to her neck. For a split second, it was like some invisible thread had cinched tight around her throat—her body trembling, her jaw forced shut.

“ Cait! ” Vi rushed forward, catching her before she could fall, bracing her with both arms. “Hey—hey! Look at me! ”

Viktor didn’t move, but his staff made a soft chime as he tapped it once against the ground. Whatever unseen force had her went slack. Cait collapsed forward, shivering into Vi.

Viktor sighed, like someone annoyed by bad weather. “It would seem that Caitlyn has been hexed.”

Vi’s pulse pounded like war drums. “Hexed?” she snarled. “What the hell? Who— who did this to her? She was fine before. She was—”

“—How old were you when they inked your skin?”

Vi blinked.

He was watching her again, eyes sharp, gleaming with that too-bright amber. “You are a Thorn,” he said, not asking. “How old were you when they carved their mark into you?”

Vi hesitated. Her arms were still around Cait, who clutched at her coat with shaking hands.

“…Ten,” she rasped. “I was ten.”

Viktor’s expression twisted—not with smugness this time, or that damn knowing look—but with anger. Not at her, but for her.

“They didn’t teach you properly,” he said.

“I—what?”

“They gave you weapons, but not the knowledge to wield them.”

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out. There were too many things she didn’t understand, and she hated that.

Viktor didn’t wait for an answer. “I will speak more with you later.” Then he turned, limping toward one of the larger desks.

Vi felt Cait stir against her, and turned just in time to see Isha crouched low beside them.

Are you okay?

Cait nodded. Her fingers moved sluggishly, but they answered. It stopped when he tapped the staff.

Viktor rifled through stacks of parchment, tools, and dusty tomes until he found what he needed—a crystal. A jagged shard of clear quartz. He rolled his sleeve up further and knelt before Cait.

“This will not hurt her,” he murmured.

Vi watched him with suspicion, one hand still on Cait’s back, the other clenching into a fist.

He knelt slow, like it hurt him, and his face was drawn tight with strain. But he held the crystal up and pressed it gently against Cait’s chest, just above her heart. His lips moved in a whisper, and Vi leaned closer, catching fragments of ancient Shuriman.

“ …Reveal. Heart. Bind… ”

The air shimmered. Something shifted.

Viktor flinched. His eyes flashed—pure white, just for a second—and his hand jerked back.

He grunted. Then he glowered. Then he growled. “Fucking Black Rose.”

Cait gasped and then she convulsed.

Her whole body arched in Vi’s arms, limbs flailing as if she’d been lit on fire. Vi barely had time to brace before Viktor’s staff rang out again, a sharp chime like struck glass, and the force vanished with a hiss.

Cait went slack.

Vi held her tighter.

Viktor muttered to himself, “Those witches… they’ve placed some sort of Geas on her. An intricate pattern, subtle in its weaving.”

“You said it wouldn’t hurt her!”

“Apologies. I let my emotions get the best of me. We shouldn’t discuss this further in front of her. It may trigger the pattern again.”

Vi stared at Cait. Blood was leaking from the corners of her eyes now, streaking down her pale cheeks like tears. Her lips moved but no sound came out. Her entire frame trembled in Vi’s arms.

“Is she okay?” Vi asked, her voice cracking.

“I do not know.”

Vi’s jaw clenched. “You’re supposed to be some great mage, right? Help her!”

She was a breath away from screaming at him, from hitting him, but Viktor just stared. His face unreadable. Then, after a long moment, he said, “I will need time. And you… you all need rest.” He stood, slower than before, favoring his leg with every motion. “Can you carry her?”

Vi stood, Cait seemed to weigh nothing in her arms.

Viktor turned and limped to a nearby door, placing his hand flat against the wood. The seams glowed, pale white light spilling from beneath, and the door swung inward on its own.

Beyond it: a small simple bedroom with no windows. Just a cot tucked into the far corner, a worn blanket folded neatly at the foot, a washbasin on a low stand, and a narrow shelf stacked with folded cloth and bandages. It smelled faintly of dust and old cedar.

Vi stepped inside and lowered Cait gently onto the bed, brushing some stray strands of hair away from her face. Her fingertips lingered a heartbeat too long, tracing the curve of Cait’s cheek.

Viktor stood at the door. “I will create a kitchen and bath chamber,” he said. “The doors will be open to you.” Then, without waiting for thanks, he turned and walked away.

Vi barely noticed.

Cait looked bad. Her lips were pale. Her hands twitched with tremors that didn’t stop.

A quiet knock on the frame made her turn. Isha peeked her head in, wide-eyed, then signed, He’s gone.

Vi nodded, her eyes flicking back to Cait.

A snap drew her focus again. Isha signed, I’m going to explore.

Vi hesitated. Her instinct was to say no. To tell her to stay. To clutch every piece of her too-tight world in her arms and not let anything else break. But she forced herself to breathe. To think.

She signed back, Be careful.

Isha nodded and disappeared into the hall.

Vi turned back to Cait. “Cait?”

Nothing.

She reached for Cait’s hand. “Cupcake?”

Still nothing.

Her heart kicked harder, breath coming faster now, ragged and short. Panic sat coiled in her gut, ready to pounce.

“Okay,” Vi whispered, trying to center herself. “Okay okay okay…”

She grabbed the knife from her belt, her fingers slick with sweat. Without pausing, without flinching, she dragged it across her palm. The blade bit deep, and hot red blood welled up at once. She hissed through her teeth and pressed the bleeding hand to Cait’s mouth.

“C’mon,” she murmured. “C’mon, Cait… take it. Please.”

She felt a subtle twitch against her palm, Cait’s lips parting just a little. “Just drink,” she whispered softly, voice coaxing, almost pleading. “It’s okay, Cait. Take what you need.”

Cait’s lips pressed more firmly against the wound, soft and cool at first, then slowly warming. Vi exhaled, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “There you go, Cupcake. That’s it.”

She felt Cait’s mouth fully close around the cut, a gentle pressure building. The slick heat of her tongue traced the wound. Then came the faint scrape of teeth, tentative but hungry, drawing blood more eagerly now, pulling life back into her.

With each swallow, the tremors wracking Cait’s body eased—fading until they vanished entirely, replaced by her usual stillness.

Vi felt something ease inside herself too, the clenched fist of panic releasing its grip on her heart. Her free hand stroked softly through Cait’s hair, smoothing tangled strands, fingertips gentle against her scalp.

“Don’t worry,” Vi murmured, leaning close enough that her breath stirred Cait’s dark hair. “We’ll fix this. Whatever’s wrong, we’ll fix it.”

She wasn’t sure who she was reassuring more, Cait or herself.

What the hell had Cait gotten herself into?

Vi’s head was spinning. Betrothed? To who? Jayce? That "Man of Progress" Viktor mentioned? And what in the hell was the Black Rose, and why had they gotten their hooks so deep into Cait that they couldn’t even speak about them without her choking? Viktor had called it a Geas. Vi didn’t know what that was exactly, but she knew enough. Some twisted mage shit, a curse of some sort.

But why? Why silence her?

Maybe Viktor would enlighten her, if she could force him into speaking plain for once.

Gods. Just days ago, Vi had been worried about whether her traps would hold rabbits, or if her boots would make it through the winter. Now here she was—carving herself open to heal a vampire, trapped in some mage’s pocket plane that was inside of a demon prison, hunting answers that only seemed to lead to more questions.

She slowly pulled her hand away, thumb brushing lightly across Cait’s bottom lip, smearing away the last traces of red. This was the longest Vi had seen her with her eyes shut. Those deep blues—always watching, always measuring, always seeing her—were hidden, and Vi missed them. 

More than she wanted to admit.

Her throat tightened. 

Stupid.

She blinked fast, biting the inside of her cheek. Felt a hot sting behind her eyes. Godsdamn it, she wasn’t going to cry. 

Why did Cait have to have such a stupid, beautiful face? It pissed Vi off, how much she liked it. How much she liked her. How much she wanted—no, needed —to keep her safe.

A sudden urge struck Vi.

It felt slow, awkward, clumsy even. But she leaned down anyway, pressing her lips gently to Cait’s forehead. Her mouth lingered there for just a heartbeat, warm skin beneath her lips, the scent of Cait’s hair filling her nose. Vi pulled back quickly, cheeks burning like she’d stuck her face too close to a fire.

“Fuck,” she muttered, straightening abruptly.

She rubbed her face, trying to banish the heat from her cheeks, then stalked over to the pile of linens and bandages. She grabbed a bandage, fingers shaking slightly as she wound it tight around her palm, wincing at the sting of the wound. Pain she could handle. Pain made sense.

Vi turned toward the door, paused, and looked back over her shoulder at Cait one last time. Then she turned and stepped through.

She knew exactly where she’d find Isha. And sure enough, as she stepped quietly down the hall, there was an open and inside was the kitchen. Isha was perched on a chair, hunched forward like a stray cat, gnawing at a loaf of bread with one hand while gulping milk straight from a glass jug in the other.

Isha froze, wide-eyed, crumbs scattering from her mouth and landing on the table. Vi smiled and signed, Slow down, or you’ll throw it all back up.

Isha paused sheepishly, lowering the jug and carefully swallowing. Her next bite was noticeably smaller, more cautious. She chewed deliberately, eyes flicking toward Vi as if checking for approval.

Vi nodded, and moved over to lean against the table. She reached out a hand and wiggled her fingers.

Isha raised an eyebrow but passed over the bread without protest.

Vi took a bite and promptly groaned. “Oh gods ,” she muttered around a mouthful. It was still warm, the crust thick and flakey, the inside soft. Real bread. Not trail rations or month-old hardtack, not stale root cakes or roasted tubers scraped from the edge of freezing. Bread.

She shut her eyes and let herself feel it for a second.

Isha was grinning when Vi opened her eyes again.

Right?, she signed.

Vi nodded fiercely, mouth too full to answer. She took another huge bite before reluctantly handing the rest back, snatching the milk jug as trade.

A few gulps in and she let out a breath like she’d just been through a war. “Maybe Viktor’s not so bad,” she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Isha signed, Is she okay?

Vi sobered, set the jug down on the table. She signed back, She will be. I fed her.

Isha nodded, small and solemn, then returned to her bread, both of them falling into a comfortable silence. 

Then, just as Vi had started to relax, Isha signed, Have you two kissed yet?

Vi choked, milk spraying from her mouth and all across the table.

Isha shrieked with laughter, arms wrapped around herself as she practically fell sideways on the chair. Vi sputtered, face beet red, hand slapping at her chest as she tried to clear her throat.

“What?!” Vi gasped. She signed and said it all at once. “No! I’m—we’re not like that!”

Isha scoffed, flicking a crumb at her. I’m deaf, not blind.

We’re not!

Isha rolled her eyes and made a dramatic kissy face at her, then pointed and signed, That’s you two.

“Brat,” Vi growled, lunging forward and snatching the bread away.

Isha laughed again, shoulders shaking, smug and entirely too pleased with herself.

Chapter Text

Vi hadn’t taken a proper bath since she got to Stillwater.

She’d wiped the grime off in the cold lake, sure. She’d scraped her hands clean with snow and used rags soaked in whatever half-clean water she could find. But it’d been a decade since she’d been able to soak in a warm bath. The water had been deep and steaming. The soap had smelled like cedar and something sweet—lavender, maybe, or mint. 

It might as well have been heaven, but it was odd to be clean. It felt like she scraped off her armour. 

She stood now in front of the narrow mirror bolted to the wall, a towel hanging loose around her hips, steam curling off her skin. Her hair was still damp, flattened awkwardly to one side.

Grey eyes stared back at her, rimmed with fatigue. They roamed over her body: her crooked nose, the scar on her top lip, the other across her eyebrow, the fresh claw marks across her shoulder, and a dozen other small cuts and breaks that had healed. She could count her ribs, see the sharp line of her hip bones. There wasn’t a bit of fat on Vi. She was all skin and bone and muscle. 

Scarred. Callused. Broken.

Vi was so far from beautiful that she didn’t know the word for it. She swallowed, finger tracing over her cheek to try and feel what Cait saw. She didn’t understand it. She shouldn’t care. She never used to. What did it matter how she looked? She’d never had the luxury to worry over it. There were always bigger things. Frankly, there still were, but suddenly Cait’s opinion of her mattered. 

Vi growled and stalked away from the mirror, frustration rolling hot beneath her skin.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered under her breath. She shouldn’t even be thinking about this. There were demons, mages, curses, and godsdamned secret societies lurking at every turn. She had far bigger things to worry about than some…some crush.

There. She’d admitted it to herself.

She had a crush. On Caitlyn.

On a vampire.

A fucking vampire.

Vi snorted bitterly, pacing across the small room. It was absurd, irrational, ridiculous and yet her heart kicked harder every time she pictured Caitlyn’s eyes. Her stupidly perfect face. Her stupidly perfect mouth. Vi really, really wanted to kiss her.

She cursed softly. Gods, what the hell was wrong with her? Vi’d done a lot of stupid things—gotten into fights she shouldn’t have, stolen food from enforcers, mouthed off to people who could’ve snapped her in half without blinking. But this…this took the cake.

She scrubbed her face with her hands, groaning softly as she admitted to herself that the very thing that made it stupid—that Caitlyn was a vampire—somehow made it better. Made it exciting. Dangerous. Forbidden. Vi felt her skin heat at the thought, warmth pooling in places she didn’t want to think about right now. It was wrong for a Thorn and a vampire to be anything but mortal enemies. That was the rule, the law, the scripture inked into her skin.

But Vi always liked breaking rules.

She bit her lip, slowing her pacing, thoughts spiraling. What would Cait taste like? Would her mouth be cool, or warm from the blood she drank? Would she be soft beneath Vi’s callused hands? Would she sigh if Vi touched her? Moan, maybe?

Gods— fuck!

Vi snapped her head up, cheeks flaming.

“What the hell are you doing?” she snarled at herself, fists clenched tight enough that her palms stung.

She shook her head roughly, chasing the thoughts away. She needed to get dressed. Needed clothes and sleep. She needed to stop thinking about Cait’s soft mouth and blue eyes and—

“Fuck,” she whispered again, grabbing her clothes from the shelf and tugging them on roughly, desperately forcing her mind blank.

There were far, far bigger things at stake than Vi’s stupid feelings.

Besides, Cait was betrothed. Promised to some man in Piltover. Vi couldn’t actually have her, not permanently. Not the way she secretly wanted, deep down, buried beneath layers of denial and bravado.

The thought cut the wind straight out of her sails, leaving her hollow. Her shoulders slumped as she tugged her shirt on, Cait’s uneven stitches brushing roughly against her.

She shook her head, bitterly mocking herself. Caitlyn probably had some great marriage waiting for her, some bright future with balls and gowns and banquets. What the hell could Vi ever give her? A fugitive from a dead order. She deserved better than Vi.

Vi scoffed softly, the sound empty in the small, quiet room.

Marriage. Gods, she was being ridiculous. Why the hell was she even thinking about marriage? Vi hadn’t let herself imagine anything like that—not once, not ever. That kind of soft fantasy didn’t belong in her life. It wasn’t for her. Never had been, never would be.

It was a stupid crush. Nothing more. Caitlyn was just the first woman who’d looked at her with kindness, who’d smiled at her like she was something worth keeping around. That was all. It didn’t matter that Caitlyn was pretty—beautiful, really—because that’s all it would ever be. A stupid crush, born from loneliness and desperation.

And Vi would just have to learn to live with it.

She stepped out into the main workshop. The motes of light that floated above the benches and shelves had dimmed now, shifting from sterile white to a soft, golden glow—mimicking candlelight.

Vi crossed the room and pushed into the bedroom without a sound.

Isha was curled up on the spare cot they’d found. Her hair still damp, sticking to her cheek in clumps, one foot poking out from under the blanket. Her eyelids flitted softly, the telltale signs of dreaming flickering across her face.

On the other side of the room, Caitlyn lay on her cot. She hadn’t stirred. But the pallor that had painted her skin was fading now, replaced by a faint, warm hue. She looked… peaceful. At rest.

Vi moved, sinking down between the two beds, her back resting against the wall. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her head came to rest against her thighs, eyes sliding closed. 

---

Sleep had claimed her swiftly, dragging her under. But, she barely had time to dream before a sharp poke jolted her awake.

Viktor stood over her. “It is time to talk.”

Vi groaned, forcing herself upright on stiff legs. Every joint protested as she stretched. “Are you just gonna keep asking me questions?”

Viktor shrugged, already turning away. “If necessary.”

He stepped from the bedroom into the main workshop, and Vi trailed after him, rubbing grit from her eyes. They crossed the wide space, where Viktor led her toward a staircase Vi could’ve sworn hadn’t existed before.

Vi frowned, gaze flicking between Viktor and the newly formed steps. “You must be a pretty advanced Prismatist if you’re creating whole pocket planes.”

“I have devoted my life to studying the Pattern of the Arcane, and yet I still have much to learn.”

They climbed in silence a moment before Vi spoke again. “Thought Pilties didn’t trust magic. Too dangerous, isn’t that what they say?”

They crested the staircase, stepping into a vast library—rows upon rows of books stretched outward, disappearing into shadows. Overhead, instead of a ceiling, there was a starlit sky; countless constellations flickered softly in an impossible night.

Viktor halted briefly, considering her words, his voice quieter, almost distant. “Piltover fears what it cannot control. I was an exception. My partnership with Jayce afforded me certain…privileges.”

Vi followed him deeper into the library, their footsteps muffled by the plush rug. Curiosity gnawed at her. Viktor kept dropping that name.

“You keep mentioning this guy, Jayce. Who the hell is he?”

Viktor hesitated, his step faltering just a fraction before he recovered smoothly. His tone was careful, guarded again, but Vi heard something buried beneath it—bitterness, regret. Maybe both.

“He is the Emperor of Piltover—”

Vi stopped in her tracks. “Oh,” she said lamely, feeling suddenly very small beneath the infinite stretch of stars.

Viktor kept walking. “—But I didn’t bring you here to discuss Piltovan politics.”

Easy for him to say. Vi’s mind was reeling. Emperor. Caitlyn was betrothed to the Emperor . Not some noble’s son. Not a councilman's brat. The Emperor. Of Piltover. She swallowed hard, felt the lump catch in her throat.

She was still chewing on that when she realized Viktor had stopped. He’d taken a seat at one of the long reading tables tucked beneath a low arch of shelves, the surface cluttered with books and parchment. Notes scrawled in elegant, impossibly fine handwriting filled every margin.

He gestured to the seat beside him.

Vi sat down, crossing her arms.

Viktor laced his fingers together, elbows resting on either side of a thick, leather-bound tome. “I’m going to ask you questions,” he said. “Are you prepared?”

Vi rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

A hint of a smirk tugged at Viktor’s lips. “You are Thorn. What are you capable of? And please do not speak to me as if I am a layman. I have studied.”

Vi leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other and fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. Her eyes flicked across the cluttered table before settling back on him. “I can bloom and wither and grow to heal myself.”

“That is all?”

“Is there supposed to be more?”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitched again, this time with something more like disappointment than amusement. He grabbed the tome beneath him and began flipping through the yellowed pages.

Vi watched him in silence, her leg bouncing as he flipped and flipped and—

“—There was a war,” she said, suddenly defensively. “The king needed soldiers.”

Viktor scoffed without looking up. “I’m aware of Silco’s activities. And his practices.”

“I volunteered,” Vi snapped, fists clenching.

“I’m sure you did,” Viktor murmured. He still hadn’t looked up. “You seem like a very brave woman. You were probably a brave child.”

Vi grit her teeth so hard her jaw ached.

Was that pity in his voice?

She didn’t need his damned pity. She’d chosen to fight. How dare he—

Viktor slid the book toward her abruptly, his finger tapping at the faded illustration. Vi glanced down despite herself. There, rendered in delicate lines of green and gold, stood Jan’ahrem—verdant and angelic, wearing a gentle smile that made Vi’s chest tighten uncomfortably.

She sighed, frustration creeping into her voice. “I don’t need a history lesson.”

“Do you always bristle so easily?” Viktor asked dryly.

Vi’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a Thorn,” she shot back. “It comes with the territory.”

The mage smiled faintly, conceding with a nod. “Fair point. But all I’m trying to do is help.”

“ Right , you don’t have any other motive?”

Viktor gave her a steady look, amber eyes calm. “Helping you helps me. So please?” He tapped the page again, more gently this time.

Vi hesitated, then exhaled, gesturing for him to go ahead. “Fine.”

“What do you know of the Schism?”

Vi shrugged. That, at least, was a question she could answer. She leaned forward and repeated the story she’d told Isha in the cottage days ago.

“Good, good,” Viktor said absently when she had finished. “Do you know Jan’ahrem’s role in creating the Thorns?”

Vi shifted in her seat, uncomfortable beneath his gaze. “She was a goddess. She gave the Thorns their powers, their connection to nature.”

“Yes,” Viktor said slowly, “and after the Schism, how do you suppose the Thorns were still able to wield her magics?”

"The king never said, I'd heard it was some sort of—"

Viktor cut her off by flipping the page, pointing to another faded image, this one of an intricate briar, twisting into delicate patterns across a figure’s back. “She gave her blood to the Thorns,” he said softly. “And with that blood…”

Vi leaned closer, reading the tiny script beneath the illustration. Her breath caught, a whisper tumbling from her lips before she could stop it.

“My briars.”

Viktor nodded, grave and intent. “You have a shard of divinity marking your skin, Vi. You are the last of her legacy. The final remnant of a dead goddess.”

Vi stared at the page. At the twisting briar inked across the illustration’s back. At the script beneath it. She stared so long her eyes blurred. Her breath went shallow. Then, all at once, she stood—pushed her chair back with a sharp scrape and jabbed a finger at the book. “No.” She shook her head. “No, I was told it was alchemy. Some weird blend of potions and spells. Not a fucking goddess. Maybe mines different or something. Why would he lie? He wouldn't— ”

Viktor simply shook his head.

Vi pointed at him now, but no more words came. Her throat was tight. Her chest tighter. She looked down, pressed her palms into her eyes until stars danced in the dark.

“What the fuck?” she whispered.

She started pacing, feet thudding softly on the ancient rugs, arms wrapped tight around her chest like she could hold herself together that way. It was all too much. 

She took a breath, but it came out shaky.

Viktor’s voice cut through the storm in her head. 

“This is why you were able to see through my illusions. Why Caitlyn could speak to you so freely despite the Geas . Your mere presence repels harmful magics.”

Vi stopped. Turned toward him, but didn’t speak.

“Even now,” he went on, “you’re more than you know. More than they allowed you to know. What Silco did, what he made of you, was only a fragment of what you are. You have such glorious potential .” Viktor leaned forward, his voice gaining heat, the calm precision fraying at the edges. “You were never meant to serve as cannon fodder in some border war. You were meant to protect us from the other side. You were meant to heal us. All of us. To be the hope we lost. To be her—”

“— Stop. ” Vi’s voice cracked like a whip through the library. Her hand shot up like it could physically push the words away. “Just… stop.”

The starlit sky above them dimmed, as if the heavens themselves had gone quiet.

Vi sank back into the chair, elbows on knees, head in her hands. Her fingers dug into her scalp, nails pressing just shy of pain. She needed an anchor. Something to keep her from flying apart.

“That’s not me. I fight. I protect. I survive. That’s it. I’m not some—”

“—If you want to leave this prison, you will have to be.”

Vi’s head snapped up.

Viktor met her stare. “Only divinity can kill demons and send them back to the other side.”

“I don’t know how,” Vi said. It came out like a plea. “I don’t know how to be what you’re saying I am.”

“I can teach you.”

“You’re not a Thorn.”

“No,” Viktor said, and he tapped the tome between them. “But I have studied. I’ve read the old rites. The forbidden scriptures. Witnessed the residual bloom in the Ritehart and catalogued what remains of the First Grove.” 

“Helping you helps me,” she said slowly, repeating his own words back to him.

Viktor inclined his head. “That is correct.”

---

Vi stared blankly at the kitchen wall, chewing mechanically on a strip of jerky. It was tough as boot leather, salt-heavy and dry, but she didn’t care. Her brain was working too hard to bother with taste. Every new piece of information rattled around inside her like loose bolts in an overworked machine—Jan’ahrem, Silco, Jayce, Black Rose. It was too much, and she needed to do something to keep from coming apart at the seams.

She was mid-chew, when she heard the soft creak of a door behind her.

Caitlyn walked in.

Vi felt the corner of her mouth twitch before she could stop it, and gods help her, she smiled. She caught herself, fumbled the grin into something crooked and awkward, and muttered around the half-chewed jerky, “H-hey.”

Caitlyn smiled back and crossed the room without a word and sank into the seat beside Vi at the table. Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched out like taffy, sticky and clumsy, until Vi swallowed the last of the jerky with a rough gulp and cleared her throat. “Glad you’re awake. Or, y’know… conscious.”

Caitlyn gave a small nod. Her lips parted like she was going to speak, but then she stopped, closed them again. Her eyes stayed on the table.

Vi hated the silence more than she feared the answer. “So… you’re engaged to the Emperor?”

“...I am,” Caitlyn said, quiet. “But Jayce and I… we’re not—he’s like a brother to me. My parents supported him during his rise. In return, I was betrothed to him. It was arranged. We’ve never… it’s political. That’s it.”

Vi nodded. Her fingers flexed on the tabletop. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say to that?

Caitlyn reached over, her thumb brushing over Vi’s scarred knuckles.

Vi looked at her, startled. “Cait?”

“Do you believe me?”

Vi met her gaze. That face—gods, that stupidly beautiful, distracting face. Her deep blue eyes were so open and honest and just a little scared. And Vi did. She believed her, right down to her bones.

“Yeah,” Vi whispered.

Cait gave the faintest of smiles. “I never wanted any of it.”

“I know,” Vi said, because she did. Somehow, impossibly, she knew.

Cait smiled.

Vi smiled back.

Then it slowly faded and Vi realized something else was happening. She was leaning in. So was Cait. Closer and closer still. It felt like gravity, like inevitability, like fate. She couldn’t resist this any more than the moon could resist rising into the night sky.

Still, she tried. Just for a little longer…

“You’re a vampire,” Vi whispered, barely audible.

Cait’s forehead pressed gently to hers. “You’re a Thorn,” she murmured back.

Vi’s nose brushed against Cait’s. “You’re engaged.”

“I am.”

Their lips were an inch apart. One shift, one heartbeat, and they’d be touching. Vi could feel the thunder in her chest. Badum. Badum. Badum. She knew Caitlyn could hear it.

But she didn’t know what the hell she was doing. This was reckless and stupid and dangerous and so fucking good it hurt .

“I—” Vi swallowed, lips trembling. “You matter to me too.”

Then Caitlyn kissed her.

And gods .

She was soft, impossibly soft, lips pressing into Vi’s like they’d kissed a hundred times before and Cait had been wanting to this whole time. Vi made some sound—something between a gasp and a whimper and a prayer—she didn’t know, didn’t care. All she could do was kiss her back.

Cait pulled away a fraction, just enough to ask, “Can I kiss you again?”

Vi nodded, lips already chasing hers.

Cait’s hands tangled into her hair, and Vi was smiling as Cait kissed her again, and again, and again. Small, laughing kisses, like she was trying to memorize the shape of her mouth. Vi laughed too, because it was ridiculous and terrifying and perfect .

And for once, she let herself have something good.

Chapter Text

Vi hadn’t found a good way—hell, any way—to tell Isha and Cait that she had the blood of a dead goddess inked into her back. Viktor’s revelations rattled around in her skull, but every time she thought to say something, the words dried up, shriveled, or got drowned out by… well. By Cait.

Turns out kissing was really, really great.

Cait’s lips and hands and the way her body had pressed close—Vi could still feel the ghost of it on her skin. She smiled to herself as she walked, caught off guard by a happy little flutter in her chest.

Which, of course, meant she immediately caught her toe on a raised root and nearly went sprawling.

Viktor, stalking ahead in that ever-immaculate white robe, paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder, eyebrow arched. Then he kept walking, haughty as ever.

Cait was beside her in an instant, steadying Vi. “Are you all right?”

Vi felt her cheeks heat. “Yeah. Wasn’t really paying attention.”

Cait’s lips curled into that wicked, knowing smile that Vi was starting to love a little too much. “Oh?” she teased. “And what was so distracting?”

Vi ducked her head, rubbing the back of her neck and mumbling, “Just… stuff. Things. Walking.”

Behind Cait, Isha caught her eye and made a series of exaggerated, mocking kissy faces, hands smooshed together, lips puckered. Vi glared at her, mouthing stop it , but she couldn’t quite kill the grin tugging at her mouth. Vi shook her head, cheeks still burning, and barked, “C’mon, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” Anything to get the attention off her stupid smile. She surged ahead and caught up to Viktor.

“Where are we going?” she asked, matching his long stride.

Viktor didn’t so much as glance over. “To a place of resonance. The Pattern is strong there.”

“And that’s good for my training?”

He nodded.

Vi glanced over her shoulder. Cait and Isha were trailing behind, hands flying in SHSL as they signed rapid-fire conversation. Cait’s lips twitched with laughter; Isha’s were stretched in a too-big grin. The world’s most dangerous pair of gossip-mongers.

Vi turned back to Viktor, lowering her voice. “Couldn’t they have stayed in your little pocket plane?”

“No. It does not exist without me to maintain it. Besides, we will not be returning.”

“What? Why not?”

“There is no need.” Viktor’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “You will either succeed in killing the demons… or we die. Fast or slow, it will happen. I would prefer the quick way.”

Vi sighed, long and slow. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

He gave her what, for him, passed as a winsome smile.

Vi scoffed and they walked on in silence. Here, the trees grew closer together, but younger—pines and spruce that hadn’t yet reached the heights of the old woods, their needles a bright, desperate green. Now and then a white-barked birch interrupted the line, scars of black still showing where fire had once run wild. 

She kept an eye out for Grimshank, but there’d been no tracks, no sign, since they’d left Viktor’s conjured safe haven that morning. That was fine by her. 

Vi leaned in a little. “Did you find out anything about the… other thing?”

Viktor didn’t look at her, but he nodded, almost imperceptibly. He answered in the same quiet, careful tone. “I can resolve the problem if I am able to see the one who caused it. Otherwise, it will persist. There are… layers to this sort of work.”

Vi worried her lip, teeth catching on the chapped skin. Of course it couldn’t be easy. Of course Viktor needed to see the person who cast the Geas in the first place. Which meant, inevitably, they’d have to face the Black Rose head-on.

She let out a breath through her nose, one thing at a time. First, they had to get off this damn bridge.

She glanced back and caught Cait watching her, those deep blue eyes soft and searching. She smiled when Vi met her gaze, and gods, it did something to her chest. Twisted her insides into knots.

Vi smiled back, then turned back around quickly.

What were they?

She wasn’t sure. They hadn’t talked about it. Just lips, hands, shared warmth. No words, not really. Which… maybe she should’ve expected. Turns out, Vi wasn’t a great communicator, never had been.

Well, that was another thing to tack onto the ever-growing list of things she needed to fix.

Viktor stopped as the forest broke open around them—a perfectly circular clearing of white. The air here buzzed with a quiet, tense energy, the kind that set Vi’s teeth on edge. He limped over to a scorched, fallen log and sat with a pained wince, shifting his bad leg. Cait caught up first, her hand brushing Vi’s elbow before she turned to Viktor. “Why are we stopping?”

Viktor just looked at Vi, one eyebrow cocked in a way that said, Should I tell them, or you?

It was better to do the thing, than live with the fear of it. She squared her shoulders, drew a breath, and said, “So… Viktor and I had a talk. Evidently there’s some stuff about being a Thorn that I didn’t know.”

Cait and Isha both focused on her with matching expressions of alarmed curiosity, which was almost funny if Vi hadn’t been ready to crawl out of her own skin.

She tried to keep it simple. “Turns out that my tattoos…well, um…they’re inked in Jan’ahrem’s blood. That’s why I can do all the… things.” She threw a quick, self-conscious shadow-box into the air, hoping to lighten the mood. It didn’t work.

Isha’s eyes went wide as saucers. Are you a goddess?

Vi shook her head, signing and saying at the same time, “No. Not a goddess. Not even close.”

Isha’s face fell a little.

Viktor cleared his throat and added, “At best, she is a demi-god. A living conduit to the lost divine. The last of Jan’ahrem’s legacy.”

Vi groaned, scrubbing a hand over her face. “I’m not—” But she had no idea how to finish that. Not normal? Not special? Not…

“So why are we here?” Cait asked.

“Viktor says I’ve got some glorious potential I need to unlock to kill demons.”

Isha’s head whipped between them. You can kill them? she signed, hope sparking in her eyes.

Vi pointed at Viktor, shrugging helplessly. “He says so.”

They all looked to Viktor then, as if he was the only adult left in the room. He smoothed his robe, eyes glinting like candlelight behind glass. “Only divinity can kill what comes from the other side. Vi possesses a shred of that divinity. She only needs to learn how to use it.”

Cait’s brow furrowed and she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “So we’re here to… do that? How, exactly?”

Vi found herself nodding along. “Yeah, I’d like to know too. Does it involve drinking weird tea or meditating in a snowbank, or…?”

Viktor just smiled that thin, infuriating smile of his. “The simplest solution is often the best. The two of you will spar. There is no teacher like necessity. When your blood is tested, when you are pushed past your limits.”

Vi looked over at Cait, who just gave a helpless shrug .

“Sure, yeah. Let’s spar. Just… do you have any seeds?” She patted at her empty pockets out of habit.

“You will not need them.”

Vi frowned. “Pretty sure I do. How else am I supposed to match her?” She jerked a thumb toward Cai.

Viktor exhaled through his nose, the way a teacher might when a student asked what two plus two was for the third time in a row. “Was Jan’ahrem the goddess of seeds?”

Vi narrowed her eyes, bristling. “No.”

“Exactly.” Viktor pointed with the head of his staff toward the clearing around them. “The seeds are but a catalyst. Jan’ahrem was not bound to a pouch of dried pods.” He tapped the ground beside him with a dull thunk . “The soil. The trees. The grass. All growing things were her domain. And they are yours, too.”

Vi stared at the ground. At the roots, at the wilted grass, at the soft loam beneath the birch leaves. All growing things were her domain, huh?

“So what do I do?” she asked, not looking up.

“I am not certain.”

“What happened to all that study talk?”

“We are testing my hypothesis,” he said calmly, like she was just another experiment in a long line of magical science. “If this doesn’t work, we will try something else. Unless you have some brilliant contribution?”

Vi huffed.

“I thought not.”

Cait was already in the center of the clearing, stretching her arms overhead, her coat folded neatly on a nearby branch. The sight should not have been distracting. It was , but it shouldn’t have been.

Vi rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck, and stepped opposite her. “Don’t hold back, Cupcake.”

Cait tilted her head. “You’re sure?”

Vi smirked and crooked two fingers at her in challenge, adding a wink for good measure. She thought— thought —she saw a hint of pink bloom across Cait’s cheeks.

And then Cait moved.

A blur of shadow and speed, and Vi barely twisted out of the way in time to avoid a strike to her jaw. She pivoted on instinct, throwing a right cross where Cait had just been—only air.

A kick from Cait landed.

Vi staggered back, boots skidding through the snow, breath catching in her chest. She stayed upright by sheer grit, but Cait didn’t let up. She was on her again, flickering like a trick of the light, never staying still long enough to hit.

Vi reached out, to anything, to everything. Nothing answered. She ducked, swiveled, pivoted—pure muscle memory from a hundred fights. But she was always just half a beat behind.

A blow hit her in the ribs and sent her flying, tumbling through the snow like a tossed doll. She hit hard, rolled twice, and came to a wheezing stop. She lay there, chest heaving, eyes on the pale sky through the trees. Her side screamed in protest. Her pride did too.

She slammed her fist into the snow and growled, “Godsdamnit, do something !”

But the ground didn’t answer. The trees didn’t stir.

Vi grit her teeth and forced herself up to one knee, coughing. “You gonna give me a hint, Viktor?”

“You must command the green. It is yours. Like the Pattern, it responds to a strong will. Focus your intent and shape it.”

She coughed again, spitting a bit of blood from her coppery mouth into the snow. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Go again,” he said, like that answered anything.

Vi dragged herself upright and trudged back to the center of the clearing. Cait was waiting there, worry etched between her brows. Vi gave her another wink—this one shakier than the last—and mouthed, I’m good .

She dropped into her stance, fists raised, shoulders loose and nodded.

Cait shifted. Then she moved, faster than thought.

Vi took the first hit, grunted, but twisted just enough to catch Cait’s side with a solid punch of her own.

It landed.

It did nothing.

Her fist slammed into Cait’s ribs like she’d punched a wall. All that strength, all that training, and it meant nothing against Cait’s vampirism.

Vi ducked just in time to avoid a hook, then a straight jab, then a spinning kick that whistled past her nose. One, two, three strikes—Vi danced between them by instinct, breathing hard, chest burning. 

“C’mon. Work for me.” She felt her briars writhe, twitching beneath her skin. But it felt wrong—off.

The distraction cost her. One millisecond of hesitation and her legs were gone, swept out from under her like a rug yanked by a showman. She hit the ground hard. Again. The snow didn’t even bother to soften the blow.

She lay there, glaring up at the sky.

Stupid plants, you’ll fucking listen to me!

She brushed snow from her arms, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “Again.”

Cait’s expression twisted, concern written in every line of her face. Vi saw it and hated it.

“C’mon, Cait,” she snapped. “I can take it.”

Cait didn’t answer, just set her jaw and came at her again.

Vi barely blocked the first hit, a body combo that cracked across her arms and forced her back a good two paces through the snow. The second hit landed—ribs again. Always the ribs. She grunted and barked, “Listen to me!” at the ground like it might finally wake up and remember whose side it was on.

Her briars shifted. Pain bloomed sharp and sudden across her back like salt poured into an open wound. Vi hissed between her teeth, staggered—

Then drove a punch into Cait’s gut. It landed, solid. She followed it with another, pure reflex, hoping something would crack through. Nothing. She might as well be punching a boulder.

“ Obey! ” Vi roared.

But the only thing that answered her was more pain. Her briars twisted, seared, but gave nothing back.

Cait’s fist buried itself in her stomach, as her whole body folded around the blow. All the air rushed out of her in a choked wheeze and she collapsed to one knee, gasping.

Cait was on her in an instant, hand under her arm, voice tight. “We’re stopping.”

Vi shook her head. “No—”

“Vi, you’re bleeding.”

“I’ve bled worse.”

“You’re not winning this way.”

Vi looked up at her, eyes wild, jaw trembling with the effort to hold herself together. “I’m trying , Cait. I’m trying and nothing’s working and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing—”

Cait pressed her cool forehead to Vi’s and whispered, “Breathe.”

“I need to go again. I need to figure this out, Cait—”

“—Just breathe.”

For a second, Vi hated it—how gentle Cait was, how sure. But she did as she was told. One shaky breath. Another. The cold air burned all the way down, but it helped. The world narrowed to Cait’s hands, the press of her forehead. Vi’s pulse slowed.

Cait smiled, something soft and private just for her. “Good. Another.”

Vi sucked in another lungful. And another. Until finally, she rasped out, “Thanks.”

Cait grinned, then pressed a quick, feather-light kiss to the tip of Vi’s nose, so swift and bright it almost made her laugh.

Behind them, Viktor cleared his throat. “I have some insights.”

Vi shot him a glare over Cait’s shoulder. “Like that I got my ass kicked?”

“Among other things.” 

With Cait’s help, Vi hauled herself upright.

“When you bloom, you create. When you wither, you decay. Yes?” Viktor waited for her nod. “But you must achieve a middle-ground. A channeling. A way to—”

A howl split the air. Long, ululating, too close for comfort. Grimshank. The sound scraped every nerve in Vi’s body raw.

Everyone froze.

Cait’s eyes flicked toward the treeline, jaw set.

Vi signed to Isha—two fingers forward, then down—and the girl was moving before she’d finished. Then turned to Cait and Viktor. “Let’s go.”

No arguments or questions. The four of them vanished into the forest, the snow swallowing their tracks as branches snapped back into place behind them. The clearing faded into silence like it had never been touched.

---

Vi reached out her hand, eyes shut tight. She tried to remember Viktor’s words. Command the green. She could feel the briars shifting restlessly across her back, but it was like holding a blade by the wrong end.

She gritted her teeth, willing herself to find that spark. To feel something, anything.

Nothing. Just a hot stab of pain, like the briars were punishing her for every wrong thought.

She opened her eyes and let out a strangled growl, fists clenching at her sides. Across the fire, Isha was watching her with wide, worried eyes. As soon as Vi met her gaze, Isha looked quickly away, pretending to study her boots. Vi ran a trembling hand through her hair, scowling at the ground, then stared into the heart of the campfire—the only bright thing for miles.

Useless. She was useless.

How the hell was she supposed to do this?

She stood abruptly and stalked to the edge of the firelight. The night yawned wide and empty before her, every tree a watcher.

Boots sounded behind her and Vi knew it was Cait. She didn’t say a word. Just stood beside Vi, tall and silent, hands tucked in her pockets, eyes on the woods.

Vi let her breath out slow, barely more than a whisper. “I can’t do this, Cait. It won’t listen to me.”

For a long moment, Cait said nothing. Just the fire crackling behind them, wind whispering in the branches. Then, soft as the snow underfoot, Cait replied, “Maybe you should be listening to it.”

Vi turned, brow furrowed. 

Cait went on, “Piltover is all about control. About order. We make plans, build walls, write rules. Even Viktor. He thinks he’s above it, but I can see it in him. Everything’s a problem to be solved. Controlled.” She glanced sideways at Vi, eyes gleaming in the low firelight. “I think he might be wrong. Jan’ahrem wasn’t the goddess of rules or order. She was wild and untamed. When you try to control a wild thing, it lashes out. It runs. Maybe your briars… are the same.”

Vi frowned, staring at the line of penumbra as it faded into darkness. She’d been forcing it, demanding, barking commands like an enforcer. She shook her head. “What, I’m supposed to… what, ask nicely?”

Cait smiled, just a little, brushing her shoulder against Vi’s. “I don’t know.”

Vi looked at her hands, at the scars mapped across her knuckles. Cait’s fingers slipped through Vi’s and the world steadied around the touch. “But I know one thing. You can do this,” she whispered, like it was the simplest truth. Then she leaned down and kissed Vi, slow and soft, just as she had the first time.

Vi felt the smile spread across her lips before Cait pulled away. Her chest felt lighter, her heart steadier. She watched as Cait made her way back to the fire, then turned to look out into the night, drew in a lungful of freezing air, letting it shiver through her bones. 

“Okay. Okay, okay,” she muttered.

She knelt in the snow. Brushed it aside with her bare hands until her fingers touched the black soil underneath, cold and alive and ancient.

Between Wither and Bloom. Channel. Listen. You can do this. You can fucking do this…

“C’mon,” she whispered to the dirt. “Talk to me.”

And she listened. Harder than she’d ever listened for anything in her life. She listened to the trees creak overhead, the hush and shift of snow falling from high branches, the wind sighing between trunks, the fire’s distant pop and crackle. The longer she listened, the quieter everything else got. The world peeled back, one layer at a time and then there was nothing. Not emptiness, not absence. Just… different. A hush so total it felt like being underwater, heavy and still.

From somewhere deep beneath her palm—

Badum.

A pulse.

Badum.

A thrum.

Badum.

She heard it clear now, so faint she could’ve missed it if she’d tried. The song of the earth. The wild old drumbeat of everything that grew and lived and died and grew again.

Her briars shifted. The lines inked across her back stirred, but this time it didn’t hurt. The pain was gone, replaced by something thrilling. She could feel her blood singing to the rhythm beneath the earth.

Vi didn’t command. Didn’t force. She just… listened.

Chapter Text

Vi’s eyes fluttered open, her lashes crusted with frost. She blinked, squinting into a blast of orange light that speared straight through the branches, burning out the shadows and forcing her to shield her face with a numb hand. Her knuckles were raw, dirt caked beneath her nails.

She sat back on her haunches, joints creaking. The world had changed. All around her, the snow was gone without a trace, as if winter had fled in the night. In its place, a wild tangle of grass and flowers burst from the ground, all green and white and yellow, the colors sharp and impossibly vivid. The air smelled alive with damp earth and fresh life.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

Her fingers ran through the grass. It was cool and dewy, growing thick. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze: snowdrops, primrose, little yellow stars she didn’t even know the names of. 

Vi laughed, short and sharp, then helpless and breathless, all disbelief and wonder at once.

She pressed her palm flat to the earth again. 

Between Wither and Bloom. Channel. Listen. 

A violet unfurled right beneath her fingers, stem rising up from the damp soil, petals opening in a slow stretch toward the morning sun. Vi smiled, broad and bright and shaky with relief. Her briars shifted across her back with a strange new kind of harmony. 

She turned, searching the edge of camp for witnesses—proof that this wasn’t just some dream. Cait was there, leaning against a tree, lips curved up in a proud, impossibly beautiful smile that made Vi’s stomach swoop. Beside her, Viktor watched in silence, face as guarded as ever. But even he couldn’t hide the glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

Then, before Vi could say a word, Isha barreled into her. The girl’s arms wrapped tight around Vi’s waist, nearly knocking her backward. Isha signed wildly, hands almost too quick to follow— This is amazing! You did it! —her grin so wide Vi thought it might crack her face in two.

Vi hugged her back, breathless and grinning, a wild laugh bubbling up again. 

“I guess I did.”

---

They moved through the forest in single file, boots squelching in the slush. The earth beneath Vi’s feet thudded with every step. The old heartbeat of the wild. Hers now.

Viktor limped a few paces ahead, staff clicking against root and stone. “Now that you’re able to channel, you should be able to bloom and wither on command.”

Vi nodded, almost grinning. She reached out, fingers brushing the trunk of a young birch. Leaves burst open in a whisper, a fresh spray of green unfurling right under her hand. She grinned, then tried the opposite—pressing her palm to an old pine branch. The needles curled, browning and falling to the forest floor.

Viktor watched all of it with a kind of clinical satisfaction. “Good.”

“So I should be able to god-punch stuff now, right?”

Viktor let out a long-suffering sigh. “That is the theory.”

She smirked and gave her fist a test squeeze. Didn’t feel different. It was still just her hand, calloused and scarred.

They crested a small rise and stopped where the land dipped into a shallow, muddy creek. Water slid slow and glassy over stone, babbling quietly. Isha dropped to her knees and dipped their waterskin into the current.

Viktor exhaled through his teeth and eased himself down onto a large crooked tree root, one hand braced against his thigh.

“You okay?”

“I’m used to it,” he said, brushing her sympathy away. 

Awkwardly, Vi patted his shoulder. Viktor only grunted, so she let it be and drifted over to where Cait stood at a slight rise.

“Hey.” She bumped Cait’s shoulder.

Cait glanced over. “Hey.”

Vi wasn’t really sure how to broach it, but her mouth got ahead of her brain—as usual. “You kissed me.”

“I did.”

Vi rubbed at the back of her neck, not meeting Cait’s eyes. “You kissed me a few times after that, too.”

“Mhm,” Cait said, smiling now.

Vi shifted her weight, scuffing the mud with her boot. “So… are we—I mean, I understand if you don’t want anything more than that. I know we’ve got bigger priorities than… that.” She finished lamely, wincing at her own lack of eloquence.

Gods, she sounded like an idiot.

“Look at me.”

Vi felt cool fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face up until she was staring straight into Cait’s eyes—those dark blue depths that saw right through every bluff and bravado she’d ever learned.

“If I didn’t want more than that,” Cait said, her thumb brushing lightly along Vi’s jaw, “I wouldn’t have kissed you the first time.”

Vi swallowed hard, heart thundering loud enough to drown out the babble of the creek.

Cait leaned closer, her words quieter, every syllable anchoring Vi like a hand pressed to her chest. “And I wouldn’t have done it again. And again. And again.” There was the faintest quirk to her lips, a little teasing and a lot of sincere.

Vi couldn’t breathe for a second, caught between disbelief and a strange, giddy relief. Her cheeks were burning, her pulse too fast, but she didn’t look away.

Closer still Cait leaned, her lips brushing Vi’s ear. “I want you badly, Vi. I want you to be mine.”

As she pulled back, there was hunger in Cait’s eyes, open and bare, and it made Vi dizzy how much she wanted to see that look again and again. But it also scared her, just a little, how much she wanted to give in to it.

Her mouth had gone dry. Completely, traitorously dry. She tried to say something, anything, but her tongue felt three sizes too big and her thoughts were static.

Cait’s face flickered with sudden worry. “Oh no. Was that… was that too much?”

Vi shook her head, maybe a little too quick. “No! I just, uh, I just need some water. Thirsty. From all the walking.” She jerked her thumb in Isha’s direction, already backing away, boots squelching in the mud.

She practically fled to the creek’s edge where Isha knelt, heart pounding so loud it hurt. She crouched down beside her, splashing cold water over her face and gulping some straight from her cupped hands. Anything to get a hold of herself.

Isha side-eyed her with an amused smirk and signed, Smooth.

“Shut up.”

She took another sip from the creek, cold water burning its way down like she’d just swallowed a lump of ice. Her heart still hadn’t gotten the memo to calm down. Cait was glancing her way, a crease of worry still between her brows.

Gods, why was this so hard?

All she had to do was—

Something hit Cait.

Vi heard it first—a crack of impact, a sharp gasp—and then Cait was gone, ripped from view.

“Cait!” She was moving before the word left her throat. “Viktor! Protect Isha!”

She vaulted the creek like it wasn’t there, boots crunching against the bank. A boulder jutted from the slope and Vi hit it full stride, using the momentum to launch herself forward. She landed just in time to see Cait pinned beneath—

A demon.

It loomed over her, a pale, stretched nightmare, body too long and too thin, joints bending in ways they shouldn’t.

Vi bloomed without thinking. A shard of hardened root shot up through her palm and formed into a crude, jagged knife. She hurled it with all the fury in her chest— thwack! —it struck the demon’s jaw, shattering one side of its sneer. The thing reeled—

And Vi was there.

Gauntlets bloomed around her fists and she screamed as she drove an uppercut straight into the demon’s gut. Wood and vine cracked against whatever unholy flesh it had, and the thing went flying, slammed into a tree trunk with a crunch that shook the branches overhead.

Breathing hard, Vi turned and offered Cait a hand. “You okay?”

Cait was shocked, but she nodded.

Vi pulled her to her feet.

There was a flash of light at the creek—Viktor, no doubt—and the guttural howls of Grimshank followed right after, too many, too close. Vi’s eyes flicked back just in time to see the demon twitch.

Cait squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll take care of Isha. Kill this thing.” And then she was gone—vanishing in a blur of motion, coat snapping behind her as she darted through the trees.

Vi turned back just as the demon got to its feet, pulling the root-knife from its jaw. Black sap dripped thickly down its chin.

“We searched for many moons for the wizard,” it rasped. “Thank you for delivering him to us.”

Vi didn’t reply.

Her fists were already rising, gauntlets creaking as the bloom settled into something mean and jagged. She rolled her shoulders, stepped lightly on the balls of her feet. Watching. Waiting.

The demon began to circle her. Its golden eyes never blinked. Never wavered.

“You have changed, Thorn,” it hissed, sniffing the air. Its smile stretched wide, too wide, black sap threading between its black teeth. “You reek of her.”

Crack.

Vi didn’t need to look. She felt it in her spine.

Three Grimshank, close enough to smell the rot.

But she wasn’t about to turn her back on a demon.

Vi exploded forward, ducking low beneath a raking claw. The air hissed above her, but she was already driving a hook into the demon’s side. Her gauntlet landed with a crack like a tree splitting. The thing let out a strangled, wheezing sound and went tumbling through the brush, crashing into a thicket of alder.

Just enough space bought.

The Grimshank were on her.

The first lunged, mouth gaping, and Vi met it with a spinning backhand. Bone snapped. Spine folded. It dropped like a sack of wet meat.

But the second was faster. Its arm lashed out, jagged bone jutting from its ulna like a blade, and caught her across the chest. The impact staggered her, knocked the breath from her lungs and tore fabric and skin alike. She roared, more in rage than pain.

Then the third came in wild, fist flailing. One lucky swing caught her just above the temple. Her vision went white-hot. Her knees buckled for a second—

—but only for a second.

Vi surged, grabbing the Grimshank by its twisted neck and slamming it to the ground so hard it bounced.

Blood dripped down her ribs, her temple, but her stance was solid.

She caught a glance of the demon climbing back to its feet, watching her from the trees.

Vi pivoted hard, boots skidding in the wet earth as the Grimshank lunged again, ulna-blade stabbing for her ribs. She caught the bony limb mid-thrust, teeth grit, and twisted. The thing howled and she swung it like it weighed nothing, slamming it spine-first into a tree with a sickening crunch .

Before it could slide off the trunk, she wrenched it back around and used it as a club, driving it down on the Grimshank she’d choke-slammed a heartbeat earlier.

The sound they made—bones cracking, air rattling from ruined lungs—was final.

Vi turned.

Caught the demon’s claw on her gauntlet just in time.

The impact sent her skidding back, boots tearing trenches, shoulder screaming. She barely had time to roll as a flurry of slashes came raining down. One grazed her back, sap and bark flying as she twisted between trunks.

She dropped low, hand hitting the earth.

Vines erupted from the soil, wrapping the demon’s ankle tight. It shrieked, tugging at the binding.

Bought her a second.

Vi ran at it.

The demon ripped free, but she was already there.

She caught its next claw, her gauntlet locking tight around the bone-thin wrist. Then she drove a brutal uppercut into its gut.

Once. The body bent.

Twice. Something cracked.

Vi bared her teeth. 

She could feel her briars humming now—thrumming with that same pulse she’d heard beneath the earth, that same rhythm that wasn’t just in the dirt, but in her blood, in her fists.

Vi shifted, weight low, and drove another punch into the demon’s chest. Her jagged gauntlet tore through that slick, pale skin like paper, cracking ribs and splitting it wide. Black sap exploded out, hissing as it hit her gauntlet.

She reached in. Grabbed it right by the sternum.

The demon shrieked, mouth stretching into a too-wide scream.

Vi growled and heaved, lifting the thing clean off the ground, slamming it head-first into the earth. The impact shook the trees, mud and snow and splinters flying in every direction.

Its neck snapped with an ugly crack , head twisted at a wrongness that made her stomach lurch, but she wasn’t done.

Vi bloomed.

Roots curled up around her boot. Then she brought her heel down on the demon’s skull.

Wither.

The roots blackened, hardened. Bones cracked beneath her.

She raised her foot again. Bloom . New vines wrapped tighter, guiding the weight. Down. Wither . The impact echoed in her knees, in her spine, in her soul.

Over and over, like a drumbeat, like a ritual.

Bloom. Wither. Bloom. Wither.

Until the thing’s head was gone. Until the forest floor was soaked in black ichor and speckled with shards of skull like broken porcelain. Until her root covered boot dripped with sap and pulp. 

It was dead.

Vi staggered back a step, boots squelching in the mess.

It was fucking dead.

She spat on the twitching ruin of the demon, black ichor sizzling where it landed.

“Vi!” Cait’s voice cut through the trees.

Vi spun toward the sound and took off at a sprint, every ache in her battered body shoved down beneath a rising tide of purpose. The hum of the earth thrummed with her steps, her blood still singing that wild, feral rhythm.

She crested the slope and saw her—Cait, coat torn, face bloodied—ramming her rapier through the gut of a Grimshank, twisting until the thing gurgled and dropped.

Just past them, Viktor and Isha crouched behind a prismatic, oily sheen of magic, holding back another demon. The shield shimmered and bent. The demon pressing against it was all rage, one of its arms torn to ribbons, yet already knitting itself back together. Its torso was riddled with holes—Cait's work—but it kept coming.

Not for long.

Vi launched herself from the slope. She hung for a second, weightless, before gravity caught up. Trailing roots and leaves like a comet’s tail.

She came down like a meteor.

THWACK!

Her fist slammed into the side of the demon’s skull, exploding in a crunch of cartilage and bone. It flew backward, crashing into the creek, water shooting skyward.

Vi landed in a crouch and followed without pause. The demon flailed blindly as it clawed to stand. She didn’t give it the chance.

It swung.

She caught the arm mid-air.

Teeth grit, muscles straining, she pulled and pulled and p—

Pop! Schlep!

The arm tore free, thick tendons and black sap sloughing out. The demon shrieked.

Defenseless now.

Vi set to work.

No flourish, no finesse. Just fists.

She roared as she brought one gauntlet across— crunch —into its ribs. Another— crack —snapped through its pelvis. Then another. And another. Her arms moved on instinct, muscle and memory and rage all tangled together.

Screaming. Growling. Grunting.

Punching.

Punching.

Punching.

The briars burned under her skin, but not with pain—with purpose . They guided her blows. Fed her fury. 

By the time she stopped, her knuckles throbbed and her shoulders ached with every breath. The thing on the ground… wasn’t a thing anymore. Just a lump of ruined meat and shattered pieces, wet and silent and steaming in the cold air.

Vi’s legs gave out. She dropped to one knee at the edge of the creek, water lapping at her boot. Her gauntlets sizzled where the sap clung, the thorn and bark groaning until they fell apart. 

The adrenaline was ebbing now, trickling out of her veins and leaving only the aftershock. The pain came creeping in, little pinpricks of fire everywhere the demon’s sap had splattered her. Her coat was peppered with holes, fabric curling black at the edges, little burns eating through to the skin beneath.

Footsteps behind her.

And then Cait was there, crouched down in front of her, a steadying hand reaching for Vi’s shoulder, eyes searching her face, her ribs, her arms. Checking for wounds, for breaks, for anything worse than the obvious.

Vi managed, “Is everyone okay?”

Cait’s gaze lingered on the gash on Vi’s temple, the red blooming along her collar. But she nodded. “We’re okay. Isha and Viktor are back by the rocks, nothing got through. Just you being reckless as usual.”

Vi let out a shaky, relieved laugh. “Good.”

She tried to stand, bracing one hand on her knee, but her leg gave out. She hit the mud again, breathing hard.

“Give me a hand, Cupcake?”

Cait’s grip was iron firm and more than enough to haul Vi upright. Vi slung an arm around Cait’s shoulders, biting back a groan as pain shivered through her. Cait dipped down a little to take more of Vi’s weight, moving slow, careful, her own coat streaked with blood.

Together they staggered back toward the others. Scattered all across the creek bed, seven Grimshank sprawled in broken heaps, their bodies twisted and leaking.

Isha met her gaze from the far bank, worry etched deep on her face. Vi mustered a smile and gave her a shaky thumbs up. Isha’s relief was obvious, shoulders slumping, hands dropping from a ready sign.

Cait was already steering her away from the mud, murmuring, “Let’s find you a nice sunspot, Flower.”

Vi snorted and let herself lean a little heavier on Cait.

---

She leaned back on the mossy rock with a sigh. Her wounds had faded beneath the soft gold of dusk and the briars had calmed, curling meekly across her back.

Cait and Isha sat a short ways off, deep in  silent conversation.

Next to her, Viktor sat on a flat stone with Vi’s ruined coat spread across his lap. The acid burns and tears left by demon sap and Grimshank were blackened scars across the leather.

She watched as Viktor’s thin hand swept over the worst of the damage. Oily light shimmered beneath his fingers, the wounds in the coat sealing shut as if time itself was running backward. When he finished, the coat looked just as it had that morning—maybe better.

“You gotta teach me that one.”

“It would be difficult for you.”

She narrowed her eyes, more curious than annoyed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A sly little smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “You lack patience, Vi.”

She couldn’t help but grin. “Fair point.”

He handed her the coat. Vi ran her hands over the leather, marveling at the work. “Thanks, Viktor… And—” she glanced over to where Cait and Isha were still talking, the girl’s laughter echoing faint— “thanks for protecting her.”

Viktor shrugged. “We’re allies.”

Vi rolled the newly mended coat between her hands, working the stiff leather, thinking. Dusk pressed in, blue and gold, fireflies starting to spark in the shadows. Viktor’s expression was as stony as the rock beneath him.

She hesitated, then said, “One of the demons mentioned you.”

He didn’t look at her. Just flicked a bit of dirt from his cuff.

Vi went on, “Did you… fight them? Or something?”

Viktor was silent a long moment, then at last he said, “I captured one. Over a year ago. That is how I learned, for a certainty, only divinity can kill them.”

Vi nodded, unsure what to say to that. Silence stretched between them, easy for once, just the buzz of dusk and the distant sound of Cait’s laughter with Isha.

Finally, Viktor said, softer than before, “We’re close to the end of the bridge. I can feel the marker in the Pattern.”

“How long do you think?”

“Two days, at least.”

She studied him, really studied him. The shadows under his eyes, the tightness at the corners of his mouth. “There’s something bad waiting, isn’t there?”

Viktor nodded, not even bothering to mask the truth. “Yes.”

Chapter Text

“She's out,” Cait called softly, nodding toward Isha, who lay in a bundle of blankets.

Vi nodded back, legs stretched out toward the fire, heat licking at her feet. Sparks drifted lazily upward. She watched them dance, orange climbing higher and higher until it faded into black.

Cait walked over and dropped down beside her, sitting close but not too close. Just enough to make Vi’s heart start doing that dumb, nervous flutter again.

They sat like that a moment, quiet except for the fire’s crackle and the occasional pop.

Vi cleared her throat. “Viktor said we’re close to the end of the bridge.”

Cait folded her arms around her knees. “That’s good,” she murmured.

Vi nodded, her thumb found a chipped nail and worried at it. She tried to breathe steady. She failed.

“I was thinking about what you said.”

Cait stiffened beside her. “You don’t—” she started, too quick. “I was just being—I shouldn’t have said that.”

Vi glanced over. “Did you not mean it?”

Cait’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked away, teeth tugging her bottom lip. Then she looked back. Straight at Vi.

“I meant it.”

Vi smiled, small and lopsided, turning her gaze back to her hands. The chipped nail, the dirt under her fingers, the little tremble she couldn’t quite will away. “I haven’t ever been with someone,” she said, barely above the crackle of the fire. “I don’t know how to do any of this.”

Cait’s hand found hers. Cool fingers curled around calloused ones. “Well,” she said softly, “what do you want to do?”

Vi looked at their joined hands, the way Cait’s thumb traced lightly over her knuckles. Her gaze went up until her eyes met Cait's. The firelight painted her in copper and gold, shadows dancing across the delicate lines of her face. She swallowed.

“Can I kiss you?” she whispered.

Cait nodded, but she didn’t move. Didn't close the distance. She was letting Vi do it, letting her choose.

Vi hesitated.

Then she reached out, the pads of her fingers brushing gently along Cait’s cheek, calloused skin catching on smooth.

Cait leaned into the touch.

That gave Vi the courage to lean closer. Her hand slid behind Cait’s jaw, thumb tracing the line of her cheek. She watched Cait’s eyes flutter shut. So she closed hers, too.

And she kissed her.

It was slow and a little clumsy. Vi’s lips were chapped, and she hadn’t exactly had the opportunity to freshen up. But Cait didn’t seem to care. She made a soft hum in her throat and her hand fisted into the front of Vi’s coat, pulling her closer.

Cait’s mouth opened and Vi followed, hesitant but curious, her tongue brushing Cait’s in a way that was strange and new and really, really good.

Vi wanted more. Wanted it like she wanted air after a fight, like water after a long run. She pressed in, chest to chest.  Her hand drifted lower, fingers brushing the edge of Cait’s belt.

“Can I?” she mumbled.

Cait nodded quickly.

Vi’s fingers fumbled, just a little, but she managed to work Cait’s shirt free, untucking it with a gentle tug, parting the fabric from her waistband. Her hand slid up under it. Then, slowly—oh, so slowly—she laid her palm against Cait’s stomach.

Soft.

So soft.

Warmer than she’d imagined.

Vi didn’t know if she was trembling from excitement or terror. Probably both. Definitely both. Her heartbeat was galloping behind her ribs, shaking every breath loose.

She almost forgot to keep kissing her.

Cait hadn’t—she was all lips and tongue and hunger, every kiss bolder than the last. Her fingers tangled in Vi’s hair, nails grazing her scalp, urging her closer.

“You can touch me.”

Vi’s hand slid higher, tentative at first, then more certain, until her palm cupped Cait’s breast beneath the rough fabric of her shirt. For a second her brain just… blanked. Nothing but heat and the frantic rush of holy shit, holy shit, holy shit echoing in her skull.

Cait’s words shuddered out. “That’s it. Just squeeze.”

So she did and Cait’s lips moved down, kissing along Vi’s jaw, then lower still. At the same time, Vi’s thumb brushed over Cait’s nipple and she felt it stiffen, felt Cait smile, her mouth pressed to Vi’s skin like she was tasting every little shiver and gasp.

Cait kissed further down, right to the hollow of Vi’s neck, lingering there. Each press was deliberate, like she was mapping every inch of her, claiming it.

Vi whispered, “You can.” Her own voice was unrecognizable—thick, needy, more raw than she’d ever let herself be. She didn’t even know what she meant; only that if Cait wanted something, she’d give it, gladly.

Cait's answer was a low, hungry growl that sent a full-body shiver up Vi’s spine. A sound she’d never expected, bassy and possessive and so unlike the composed Piltover enforcer she’d first met. It thrummed straight through her, settling somewhere deep and bright and hot.

It should have scared her, that kind of want. Should have made her wary. Instead, Vi found herself aching for more.

Cait shifted, moving to straddle Vi’s lap. Her hand tangled tighter in Vi’s hair, tugging her head to the side for better access, exposing her throat. 

Cait eyes shone bright red in the dark, pupils thin slits. The points of her ears elongated, her lips pulling back to reveal those gleaming fangs. She looked terrifying and beautiful all at once, and fuck, it was the hottest thing Vi’d ever seen.

Vi nodded.

Cait descended.

She started with a kiss right at the crook of Vi’s neck. Then another, just beneath her ear. Then down, slow and unhurried, along her collar. As they came up again, Cait’s lips paused over her pulse.

A scrape. A hint of fang. A hesitation.

Vi’s hand found the back of Cait's head and pulled her closer.

Then came the bite.

A sharp sting and everything shifted. Pain gave way to something else. Hot and dizzying and like her whole body had been lit from the inside. A gasp punched from her throat. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Cait moaned against her neck, vibrating straight into Vi’s chest. Her fingers—now claws, sharp and black—dug gently into Vi’s hair, her back. Not hurting, only holding.

Vi felt her grind down, rolling her hips slowly, caught in the same rush. As if something primal was singing through both of them now, calling them closer, closer, closer. With every beat of her heart, Cait’s body grew warmer, the icy perfection of her skin now glowing with life.

And then it stopped.

After a moment that felt like forever, Cait pulled back, fangs slick, chest heaving. She trembled, holding herself back. “You taste… gods,” she murmured, her voice warped, deeper, edged with something not human. “ You taste so good .”

“You’ve only had me.”

“I only want you,” she hissed against Vi's ear.

Vi felt stupid for asking. Stupid for thinking it, stupid for needing to say it aloud with Cait’s lips still wet from her blood. But the question came anyway. 

“Why?”

Caitlyn pulled back just enough to see her, really see her, those burning red eyes scanning Vi’s face as if searching for the cracks and loving every one she found. Her black claws traced Vi’s jawline, featherlight and possessive.

“You’re kind,” Cait whispered, “and brave, and you make me feel safe.” Her hands came up, claws gentle as they cupped Vi’s cheeks, holding her steady in the firelight.

“You’re strong and beautiful.” Her voice went softer, almost reverent. “You make me want things I didn’t even think I could want.”

Vi tried to meet her gaze, but embarrassment won, and she looked away, mumbling, “You’ve only known me a week.”

Cait leaned in, her lips brushing Vi’s forehead. “I know enough.”

The words tangled up in Vi's chest, a knot of hope and fear and everything she never let herself say out loud. “What about… after?” she managed. “If we escape. If we live. What then?”

“We stick together, we—”

“—Cait, it’s just… your family, the curse. Everything you’re tied to. I’m gonna help—I want to help—but…I’m a criminal to the empire, a fugitive. I don't fit in your world. I can't.”

For a second, silence. The fire popping, the wind picking up, carrying a trace of pine and ash.

Cait’s fingers, still tipped in those predatory black claws, brushed a lock of pink hair back from Vi’s brow. The touch was almost absurdly gentle, considering how monstrous Cait looked at that moment.

“I’ll make you fit,” She said stubbornly. “Where I go, you go. That’s it.”

“You can’t just—”

But Cait pressed a claw to her lips, silencing her. “I want you, Vi. I want to make you fully, undeniably mine. I know my nature." She gestured at herself. "I'm territorial, possessive, needy. All the things I shouldn't be, all the things I am. And it's so hard to control myself around you. But...” She hesitated, claws flexing against Vi’s cheek. "...If you don’t want me like I want you, we can still be friends. I won’t push, I won’t… take what isn’t given. But I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you.”

Vi wished she had the words—some smart, poetic way to tell Cait how fucking good it felt to be wanted like this. But words were slippery, tricky, unreliable things, and Vi was never good with them anyway.

So instead, she took Cait’s clawed hand in hers, squeezed tight, and leaned up to kiss her again.

She tasted copper, but beneath that was warmth and hunger and all the fierce want Cait had held back. Cait kissed her back like a drowning woman gasping for air, fingers tightening into Vi’s hair.

Vi deepened the kiss, all hesitation burned away. This was simpler, better than words. Let Cait taste the truth, let her feel how much she wanted her too. She pressed her advantage, tipping Cait back until she was lying flat against the blanket. The fire painted gold into her midnight hair, made her fangs and eyes shine—monster, lover, both.

Vi settled between her legs, never breaking the kiss until she had to breathe. Then she pressed her mouth to Cait’s jaw, her throat, where her pulse would be—finding every patch of cool skin, every tremble.

And then, emboldened by that wildness still burning in her, she bit down. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark. Enough to make Cait whimper, to arch up beneath her, hands gripping Vi’s back, claws flexing but careful.

Vi hovered above her ear. “You’re mine, too.”

---

She woke to a hand on her shoulder and Cait’s voice in her ear.

“It’s watching.”

Vi blinked the sleep from her eyes, heart already lurching. Her neck ached from where she’d fallen asleep half-upright, slumped against Cait. The fire had long since guttered to ash.

She followed Cait’s gaze and saw it, just beyond the edge of the trees.

A demon.

Squatting at the treeline, slightly obscured by mist and branches, its unnatural form eerily still.

Vi was on her feet in an instant. “Make sure we’re not surrounded."

Cait nodded.

Vi stepped down the hill, letting the earth flow through her. Briars writhed, gauntlets blooming—thorn and wood, bark over knuckle. Her boots left divots in the snow.

She stopped about twenty paces off. The demon tilted its head.

It spoke first. Its voice was layered, a dozen whispers echoing together. “You are quite skilled, Thorn. We commend your martial prowess.”

Vi bared her teeth and took another step forward, her fists raised. “That’s real nice of you,” she growled.

The demon lifted a hand, palm outward in supplication. “We only came to speak.”

“I don’t think we've got much to talk about.”

It laughed out a strange, choking noise. “Then we will not mince words,” it rasped, voice splitting across octaves. “We will let you pass unharmed if you give us the wizard.”

Vi squared up, jaw set. “Why do you want him?”

“We are owed a debt.”

“One of you said that before, what’s that mean?”

Its smile widened, impossibly so, lips peeling back to show all those needle teeth. “We were promised satiation, but we were betrayed. Locked in this frigid cell. Now our children starve on scraps, gestate in squalid hosts.”

“Who made your deal?”

“The wizard’s master. The one who called us, then abandoned us. He is gone, but his debt remains. The wizard is the key. Give him to us, and the bridge opens for you and the rest.”

She tightened her fists, feeling her own heartbeat drum in her ears. “And if I don’t?”

The demon’s smile vanished, all mirth gone. Its voice dropped to a hiss, flat and final. “Then you will all die.”

Vi set her feet, ready for whatever came next. “Guess we’re at an impasse, then,” she said, daring it to make the first move.

“Are you certain this is the path you wish to take, Thorn?”

She nodded, glaring at it.

The demon stared back, those lidless golden eyes burning holes through the dawn mist, hungry and hollow and ancient as sin itself. It held her gaze for what felt like an eternity, then whispered, every word a ghost in her ear, "Remember we gave you this chance to save them.”

With that, it turned. Its whole body contorted, limbs snapping and lengthening, joints bending the wrong way as it dropped to all fours and galloped back into the woods. Branches snapped, brush parted, and then it was gone—nothing left but the memory and a sick feeling in her gut.

Vi stood rooted for a long moment, heart hammering in her chest. Eventually, she blew out a shaky breath and turned back toward the camp. Cait, Viktor, Isha—all of them were waiting and watching.

She walked back up the hill. When she reached the others, she didn’t sit, just planted her feet by the fire and let the silence stretch. Her hands still trembled, but she kept them jammed in her coat pockets.

At last, she turned to Viktor. “They want you real bad.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened, the lines of his face pulled taut. He waited, so Vi went on. “It said you had a master. Said he started all this.”

For a moment, Viktor looked truly rattled—an odd, haunted glint in his eyes. He opened his mouth, shut it, tried again. “I had a teacher… once. But it was many years ago. He is gone.”

Vi let out a long, slow huff, staring into the dying coals. “Well, seems like they need you to pay for his sins.”

“That is often the way of it.”

“At least we know what they want. That’s something,” Vi said, forcing a shrug, trying to sound lighter than she felt.

Cait shot her a crooked smile. “Look who’s the optimist now.”

Vi winked, trying for cocky. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me, Cupcake.”

That got a frown from Viktor and a giggle from Isha, who signed something Vi didn’t catch but looked suspiciously like teasing. Vi felt the heat creep up her neck. She cleared her throat, shifting her shoulders in a vain attempt to look leaderlike.

“Anyway, we’ve got a bridge to cross. Let’s get moving before I change my mind and let the demons have Viktor after all.”

That got another giggle from Isha and even coaxed a ghost of a smile from Viktor. Cait bumped Vi’s shoulder on her way past.

Vi glanced back at the smoldering fire, the empty woods, the faint trace of where the demon had waited. She blew out a slow, misting breath. Then she turned and followed her people, the morning sun at their backs and the last of the bridge ahead.

Whatever waited for them, they’d face it together.

Chapter Text

A day passed with nothing but the crunch of boots through snow and the steady creak of trees overhead. The sky bled from gray to bruised purple to pale gold again, but no more demons came. No howls of Grimshank. Just the rhythm of survival.

Another day wore through them. The silence pressed closer. Not even birdsong—just their own breath, the tap of Viktor’s staff, the soft whisper of Cait at her side, the occasional crunch of Isha stepping where she shouldn’t.

It was late on the second day when things changed. The undergrowth thinned. The forest now grew around crumbling paths, broken columns tangled in frozen vines. They were walking through the corpse of something old, the bones of a civilization that must have died decades before any of them were born.

Vi brushed a block with her fingertips, pausing just long enough to feel the ridges of chiseled script—long since worn away by wind and weather. All around them, the forest had eaten this place, but couldn’t quite digest it. Here, a toppled pillar; there, a crumbling stair half-swallowed by roots. Faded carvings of faces with empty eyes stared out from beneath the bark.

The deeper they went, the thicker the ruins grew. Broken houses jutting from the ground, stone lintels listing under the weight of ice. Signs of old lives clung to everything: rusted lanterns, a child’s frozen toy peeking out from a drift, shattered glass glittering under the frost.

There were bodies, too. Not as many as Vi would’ve guessed for a place this dead. Those that remained were little more than shapes. Bones hunched beneath torn coats, hands still clutching some last useless comfort. Most were so old, they looked like they’d grown into the city itself. 

They turned down a narrow alley. The wind whistled between leaning walls, carrying a sour tang of rot.

Cait stopped dead, pressing herself flat against the stone. Her hand flicked up. Vi didn’t question it. She backed against the wall, motioned for Isha and Viktor to do the same.

They waited. Breath steaming, muscles tensed.

Then, there was movement. Corpses at the mouth of the alley, hunched and lurching, skin frostbitten, arms too long.

A dozen Grimshank, maybe more, staggered past in a loose, hungry pack. Vi held her breath, feeling the familiar twitch of her briars, ready to bloom at the first sign of a fight.

But the monsters kept going, slow and stupid, vanishing further into the ruined city. Vi waited until the last of the Grimshank groans faded into nothing. Only then did she risk a whisper, “How close are we, Viktor?”

He peered down the alley. “It’s here in the city.” Viktor stepped forward first, leaning on his staff, eyes fixed ahead as though seeing something none of them could. The rest fell in behind him, trailing him through the twisted streets as if he were a compass needle.

Vi moved just behind, scanning rooftops and alleyways. She knew how this worked, the demons knew they were coming. They'd set the stage already. They were just waiting for their cue.

Stick to the plan.

Minutes slipped past.

Then Vi saw it: an eight-foot obsidian spire rising from the city square, black stone glinting under the noon day sun. The marker. Ancient runes etched its surface, lines weathered by time.

Her heart jumped into her throat—and in the same heartbeat, Cait's gaze snapped up to the roof of a nearby two-story building.

There, hunched at the edge, a demon leered down. Its golden eyes gleamed, mouth splitting into a needle-toothed grin. Another emerged from the shadow of an alleyway ahead. Behind them, a heavy thud shook the ground as a third landed from somewhere above. Four more crept silently from ruins, closing off any easy route out.

Vi bloomed her gauntlets, wood and vine crawling up her forearms. She whispered, not looking back, “Get Isha to the marker. Viktor, stay close.”

The demons moved in. Their gold eyes locked on her, teeth bared, claws dragging furrows through the ancient street.

Cait was a streak of midnight blue and white. One heartbeat she was beside Vi; the next she’d snatched Isha up and was gone, fast as a shadow fleeing dawn.

The demons noticed—three turned to pursue, but Vi was faster.

She launched herself forward with a roar. The first demon lunged, its arm arcing out, but Vi ducked under it, catching the limb in both hands. With a surge of will she bloomed, thorns biting deep into demon flesh.

She twisted, bones snapping like rotten wood, and flung the demon aside, its body shattering a stone column.

Another slashed from her left. Vi pivoted, caught its wrist on her gauntlet, and withered—the bark blackened, strength surging—she shattered the thing’s arm at the elbow, driving her knee up into its gut, vines curling to trap it in place.

A third pounced from behind, needle teeth flashing for her throat. Viktor’s staff crackled with oily light, knocking it aside for a split second—enough for Vi to catch it with a hook to the jaw that sent black sap flying.

Ahead, Vi heard a shout.

Cait.

Her head snapped toward the sound, heart thundering. A demon had tackled Cait, slammed her into the stone, its claws slashing into her again and again. Her coat was shredded, blood spattered on the cracked road.

Then Cait kicked it.

Launched it.

The thing went crashing through a nearby building in a spray of stone and rotten wood. Isha scrambled to Cait’s side, tugging at her arm, desperate to get her up. Cait rolled to her knees, but she was staggering—hurt, dazed, and vulnerable.

Vi’s breath locked in her chest.

No time.

She dropped to a knee and slammed her gauntlets into the ground.

The earth answered.

Briars erupted around her, thick and knotted and cruel, wrapping around the demons. They screamed—those hollow, hungry wails—as the vines twisted around arms and throats and pulled them back.

“Move!” she barked, grabbing Viktor's arm.

He winced, leg nearly buckling, but they ran—limping and weaving through the ruined street.

They were halfway to Cait when one of the demons broke through.

Viktor turned, staff whipping up, oily light crackling. With a flick, he conjured a razor-thin pane of prismatic energy. He hurled it behind them, the magic slicing through the demon and bisecting it with a shriek.

Another dropped from above, jaws wide. Vi didn’t break stride, her fist came up and caught it across the jaw with a blow that sent it cartwheeling through the empty square.

Vi could hear the rest of the demons stampeding behind them, claws raking the stone, voices howling and hissing. No time to breathe. No time to think.

She slid to her knees beside Cait, shoving an arm under her shoulders and hauling her up. “C’mon, Cupcake, on your feet—”

Blood was everywhere, but Vi saw the wounds on Cait’s side were already closing, flesh knitting together as she bared her teeth and forced herself upright. The coat was ruined, but Cait was alive. That was all that mattered.

Viktor was right behind, staff spinning, oily light swirling at his fingertips. He snapped his hand out and a shimmering shield flared to life, just as the next demon barreled into it. The impact cracked through the air like thunder.

Vi met Cait’s eyes—saw the pain, the stubborn fire there—and barked, “Go! Now!”

Cait nodded, scooped Isha up one-handed, and was gone in a streak, boots barely touching the ground. Isha clung to her, wide-eyed, arms locked tight around Cait’s neck.

The demons were climbing across the buildings,  slipping around Viktor’s shield. Their eyes caught the light like gold coins under water. Their limbs contorted and dragged them closer, faster.

“Come on!” Vi shouted.

Viktor grunted, dropped the shield, and immediately the weight of hell crashed down. The demons fell from ledges, pounced from walls. The air thickened with snarls and stink.

They ran.

Vi’s boots pounded broken flagstone, her lungs burning. The marker loomed ahead. Just past it, she saw them—Cait crouched low behind the obelisk, shielding Isha with her body, fangs bared, eyes wild.

A demon lunged. Viktor struck first, his staff blazing with a shaft of light that speared through its chest, pinning it to the ground. It writhed, screeching, and Vi’s gauntlet came down like a hammer, caving its skull in with a wet crunch .

Thirty paces.

Vi rolled under a slash that split the air beside her ear. She came up, but another demon was already on her, tackling her to the ground.

It snarled, claws raised—and froze.

A blade of shimmering light punched clean through its temple. It went limp, collapsing atop her. Vi shoved it off with a grunt, scrambled to her feet.

A demon darted in and slashed Viktor's shoulder open with a sickening rip.

Vi grabbed it by the spine before it could finish him. She withered. Bark turned black and brittle on her arms, vines tightening, draining, crushing.

Vertebrae snapped and the demon collapsed.

Twenty paces.

Vi kept moving.

She ducked under a swipe, boots skidding. Another demon came from the side, she met it with a punch that collapsed its ribs. The thing wheezed, staggered.

Claws raked across her thigh. Hot pain flared down to her knee. She hissed, caught the bastard’s arm as it tried to slash again, and hurled it sideways into a cracked pillar. It hit with a crunch and didn’t get back up.

Ten paces.

Another demon lunged from above.

She met it midair, caught it around the face, squeezed and crushed. Its head burst in her grip like overripe fruit. Black ichor splattered across her gauntlet.

A snarl behind her.

She spun, Viktor had fallen. One of them had him by the leg, dragging him back.

Vi turned to run to him, but another demon was on her in a blink. It cut across her back and her vision flared white.

Twick!

A red beam punched through the back of the demon’s skull. It dropped like a sack of meat.

Vi reached for Viktor.

But then something grabbed her. Arms like iron bands.

And suddenly she was in the air.

Weightless.

Wham.

Everything went black.

And then—

Color.

Pain.

Sound, rushing back all at once.

Cait’s voice, sharp and panicked, cutting through the haze. “Vi!” 

Vi blinked.

Tried to breathe.

Everything hurt.

She coughed, spat blood. The world swam, blurry and streaked with red—then she saw him. Viktor. The demons were dragging him away, limp and bleeding, down a shattered avenue. Two of them lumbered behind, keeping guard, their gold eyes never leaving her.

Cait’s voice, ragged with fear, called again—closer now. “Vi, please! Come on!”

Vi twisted, vision pinwheeling. The marker loomed. Just a few steps and she could be out, across the threshold, free. She could leave. Just go. It would be so damn easy.

But that wasn’t her way. She was a Thorn. If she left him, she’d never be able to look at herself again.

Cait and Isha were waiting at the base of the marker, both wild-eyed, both silent. Cait reached out a hand, desperate. Isha’s eyes were shining with terror.

Vi staggered toward them, every step agony. She took Cait’s hand, squeezed it so tight it hurt. “I have to get him.”

Cait nodded, eyes dark, jaw tight. “I know you do.”

Vi let go of her hand, turned to Isha, and forced herself to smile as she signed, I’m not leaving.

Isha’s hands flew, fingers trembling. Promise?

Vi met her gaze and nodded, even as dread twisted tight in her stomach. Then she shrugged off her ruined coat, stripped away her shirt, leaving herself bare to the waist except for the bindings across her chest.

Sunlight poured across her back and the briars moved, humming under her skin, weaving together flesh and sinew.

Vi took one last look over her shoulder—at Cait, at Isha, at the safety she was leaving behind. Then she turned, jaw set, and sprinted after Viktor and the demons.

She took the most direct route through shattered homes, over crumbled walls, vaulting windows and kicking off broken buttresses. Her boots scraped tile and splintered wood. She followed the scent of blood and demon, the sound of Viktor’s voice. The world narrowed to that. Every leap, every grip, every gasp dragged her closer.

She burst from a shattered window, landed hard, and tore across what must’ve once been a garden, its statues eaten by time. The ruins funneled her forward, always toward the spire she glimpsed between broken arches—a church, or what was left of one, white marble streaked with green, tall windows staring blind into the sun.

Vi didn’t bother with the doors. She smashed through, shoulder-first.

Inside, shattered pews lay scattered. At the far end, atop a raised altar of polished stone, Viktor knelt—surrounded by half a dozen demons, their golden eyes glowing hungrily.

Behind them rose a tree. It burst up through the altar, bark smooth as ivory, branches stretching wide. And at its heart was a rip in reality. A slender tear about a foot long, edges flickering, seething with something dark and otherworldly.

A way out.

Or a way in.

“Hands off my wizard, assholes!”

Vi ran straight at them. The old clarity taking hold, the kind that takes over in a fight, when there’s no room for doubt.

The demons broke from their circle, five peeling off to meet her with claws outstretched and mouths splitting wide. Only one stayed at the altar, crouched behind Viktor, whispering poison into his ear as Viktor’s gaze locked on the leaking tear.

She barreled into the first demon, sent it crashing through a pile of pews in a shower of splinters. No time to check if it was dead. Had to get to Viktor.

Vi bloomed, briars roaring up from her hands as she slapped them to the ground. Vines exploded out, twisting and snaring, catching two of the demons by the legs and hauling them back, screaming, claws scrabbling. The other two dodged aside.

One of the bound demons shrieked, trying to gnaw itself free. Vi’s gauntlet hooked up under its top row of needle teeth and she pulled.

Rip!

The demon’s head tore nearly in half, sap spraying, the body flopping bonelessly to the floor.

A blur in the corner of her vision— thud!  

One of the others hit her full on, and suddenly she was airborne. She smashed high through a stained-glass window, glass and sunlight and blood all mingling in the air.

Still mid-air, she focused.

Her right gauntlet shuddered, the thorns and wood unraveling and shooting out in a snaking, living line. The thorns punched through the chest of the other bound demon and yanked, dragging her back inside like she was tied to a winch. The world spun and suddenly she was back in the nave, boots skidding on stone, gauntlet reforming around her fist with a wet, eager snap.

She hit the floor running, letting the momentum drive her fist clean through the demon’s chest, the impact echoing through the church. It dropped, legs twitching, sap painting the marble.

On the altar, Viktor was whispering the same sick cadence the demon behind him was feeding into his ear, eyes glassy and wide. 

Shit. 

She turned just in time. A flash of black teeth, a blur of claws. Vi ducked, felt needle fangs graze her cheek. Pivoted, boots slipping, as another swipe carved the air at her ribs. She didn’t see the third one until it was too late.

Schlik!

Claws punched through her gut, cold and slick and final, their tips poking out bloody through her abs.

Vi snarled and backhanded the demon so hard it tore loose from her body, went crashing back across the ruined pews. She staggered, vision tunneling, blood flooding down her stomach. Had to stay up. Had to stay awake. 

Another demon lunged. Vi blocked with her gauntlet, bone and bark shrieking together.

Sunlight painted fire across her back. She reached for it, felt the briars inside scream and grow .

Agony like nothing she’d ever known. Her wounds burned, twisted, knit themselves back together. She howled, the pain sharpening her focus.

Another slash, she caught it. Reshaped her gauntlet, thorns writhing as a blade grew from her knuckles.

She drove it home. Once , straight into the gut. Twice , up under the heart. Third time , through the demon’s skull.

It went still, dead weight sliding off her blade.

The tear was growing. Vi could feel it now, a pressure behind her eyes, a wrongness in the air that made the blood in her veins itch. It widened with a slow, wet stretch, black sap dribbling down the tree and onto the altar stone. Whatever was on the other side… it wanted in.

She raised her fist and fired .

The blade snapped off her gauntlet like a crossbow bolt, thorns spiraling in the air. It punched into the skull of the demon whispering into Viktor’s ear. The thing slumped sideways, jaws clicking shut mid-incantation. But Viktor kept whispering, voice climbing, faster, more desperate, eyes rolled back white.

“Fuck.”

Two demons left.

One lunged. Vi ducked under claws that whistled past her face, countered with a cross to the ribs—felt bone shatter under her fist.

The other snapped for her throat. She jammed her gauntlet into its jaws, blocking the bite as needle teeth scraped against bark. She bloomed fast, let the rage flow out, and spikes erupted from the gauntlet—dozens at once, stabbing through the demon’s face and skull. It jerked, sap hissing, and fell off her arm, lifeless.

One left.

She closed the distance in a heartbeat and drove an uppercut up under its chin, every muscle behind it. 

CRACK!

The demon’s head snapped so far back the top of its skull kissed its own spine. Dead.

Vi didn’t waste a breath. She crossed the nave in three hard strides. Viktor was still on his knees, whispering faster, eyes fluttering white, oblivious to the carnage behind him.

She dropped to her knees, grabbed his shoulders, shook him hard. “C’mon, Vik! Snap out of it!”

No response. His mouth kept moving, lost to the rhythm of whatever poison the demon had left in his head.

Behind him, Vi saw movement through the ruined doors. A lot of movement.

Grimshank. Dozens of them, maybe more, pouring in from every street and alley. Hobbling, twitching, jaws wide. The air turned cold with their howling.

No time.

Vi clenched her jaw. “Fuck. Sorry about this.”

She cocked back and punched Viktor square in the jaw. Hard. There was a crack—maybe tooth, maybe jawbone—and Viktor’s eyes rolled up. He went limp.

The tear stopped growing. The wrongness in the room held its breath.

Vi hoisted Viktor over her shoulder.

Then she ran.

The Grimshank came flooding in, wailing and slavering, limbs too long and eyes too empty. She burst through the nave, leapt straight out the shattered window.

Hit the ground, staggered, kept running.

Vi sprinted through the garden, skidding on patches of ice and frostbitten grass. The world blurred—stone, wood, snow, red, white, gold, brown—all smeared together in frantic speed. She crashed through the flimsy wall of a house, barely felt it break. Everything burned—her lungs, her legs, her arms.

Was she running the right way? Had to be. There—she recognized the twisted fence, the broken arch, the gnawed stone lion. Yes. Closer now.

Behind her, the Grimshank were gaining, a stampede of claws and teeth and shrieks. The noise was deafening, a hellish drum that pounded in her skull. Couldn’t look back. Couldn’t slow down. One stumble and she’d be meat for the horde.

She growled, pushed harder.

There. The marker. And beyond it, Cait and Isha. Cait stood her ground, rapier out, the blade bleeding , casting out red streaks that crackled and hissed as they flew. Each beam whistled past Vi, so close she felt the wind of it on her torso, punching through the Grimshank just behind her, dropping bodies in her wake.

Vi could barely breathe.

Come on, come on, come on!

Ten paces.

She pumped her legs harder, heart jackhammering, lungs ripping fire with every breath.

Out of the corner of her eye, movement.

A demon, eyes locked on her. It lunged from the rubble.

Cait wasn’t looking. Her rapier was leveled at something else. Too slow. Too late—

A flash of silver.

Isha’s shiv spun through the air, end over end, and buried itself deep in the demon’s cheek. The impact jerked the creature’s head sideways, just enough to throw its attack off course. Its claws raked harmlessly through empty air.

Three paces.

Two.

One.

She crossed the marker and her boot hit a raised stone.

Vi stumbled, arms locking around Viktor’s limp body, twisting in mid-fall to shield him as they went down. She hit hard, her left side dragging across the rough cobble, skin tearing open, blood smearing.

The horde slammed into the barrier behind her, claws and teeth and gnashing hunger meeting empty air with a thud that shook the stones. But the ward didn’t budge. Not a crack, not a shimmer.

Isha and Cait were on her in an instant.

Vi tried to sit up, everything screaming in protest. Cait had already grabbed Viktor, hauling him off Vi’s shoulder with a grunt and checking his pulse.

Isha threw herself at Vi’s unbloodied side, arms locking around her ribs, breathing hard.

Vi coughed, tried to laugh, and ended up wheezing. “Nice throw, kid.”

Isha’s cheeks were red, eyes shining with leftover terror and pride all at once. Had to make sure you came back.

The demon slammed its claws against the invisible barrier, its golden eyes blazing. Words ripped from it, layered and echoing, a furious symphony of hate.

“WE ARE OWED, THORN!”

Behind it, the Grimshank answered with a howl, dozens of broken throats in awful harmony. The choir of hell.

Cait whispered, “Let’s go.”

Vi nodded, forcing herself to her feet despite the ache and burn. She spared the demon a final glance—those lidless eyes glaring, claws scraping fruitlessly at nothing—then turned her back.

They moved deeper into the dead city, Viktor slung across Cait’s shoulder, Isha tucked close at Vi’s side, her small hand gripping tight.

Behind them, the horde kept howling.

But Vi didn’t look back. She just flipped them off.

Chapter Text

It was like stepping from one world into another.

The instant they crossed the marker, winter simply… ended. No frost clinging to stone, no ice underfoot, no clouds hanging heavy overhead. The air was warmer here, still and dry.

They walked streets stripped bare, windows empty, doors hanging by rusted hinges. Statues stood in the plazas, their faces eroded into formless masks. Viktor stayed limp across Cait’s shoulders, his head bouncing faintly with each step, the only sound besides the whisper of their boots.

By the time the sun started bleeding out across the rooftops, Vi’s legs felt like lead. They found a library—what was left of one—its great dome split down the middle, half caved in to let the evening light spill across a graveyard of shelves. Books lay in sodden heaps, melted together into unrecognizable lumps of leather and papery pulp.

They eased Viktor down in the driest corner they could find. His face was pale, lips slightly parted, eyes twitching beneath their lids like he was chasing something in a dream he couldn’t quite catch.

Vi slumped down, boots sliding out in front of her until she was half-sprawled against the wall. Every muscle screamed, but sitting still was almost worse, her body knew the fight was over and wanted to cash in on all the pain she’d been ignoring.

“You don’t think it’s ‘cause I punched him, do you?”

Cait shook her head, eyes still on him. “I suspect it’s more to do with the tear.”

“Yeah.” Vi let her head flop back against the wall with a dull thud. “Figured. Just… y’know. Making sure.”

Isha was already poking around the ruined shelves, pulling apart rotted books and dropping them when the pages came away in her hands.

Cait moved quietly and lowered herself to the floor beside Vi with the same deliberate grace she always carried. Without a word, her hand came to rest against Vi’s abdomen, fingertips brushing over the jagged pink scars.

Vi sucked in a breath through her teeth. The wound was knitted over, briars having done their work, but the flesh was still sore. “I’m fine,” she muttered, the words more for Cait’s sake than her own.

Cait didn’t move her hand. Instead, she met Vi’s eyes—those sharp, searching blues. “I should have gone with you. I—”

Vi cut her off before the guilt could gain momentum. “Cait, don’t. Look, we made it. We’re out.” She let out a laugh that immediately turned into a groan. “We’re practically back to Piltover already.”

The corner of Cait’s mouth twitched at that, though her gaze still held worry. “We still have to get through the Ritehart.”

Vi shrugged, wincing a little. “Doesn’t have demons, though.”

That earned a real smile. Cait’s hand left her stomach only to cup her cheek, thumb brushing lightly, and Vi leaned into it without thinking.

Somewhere behind them, Isha dropped something with a dull metallic clang that rang briefly in the cavernous ruin. Vi didn’t look; her focus was fixed entirely on Cait. She leaned forward until their foreheads met, eyes slipping shut, noses bumping. The closeness settled something deep in her.

Cait’s voice came softer, like she was afraid of startling her. “Could I try something with you?”

Vi cracked one eye open. “Yeah.”

“I’ve never actually done this,” Cait admitted. “So just… tell me to stop if you get uncomfortable.”

Vi nodded. Cait’s fingers slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, her thumb finding Vi’s pulse with unnerving accuracy. “Breathe with me,” she said. “In sync. In and out.”

Vi let out a quiet laugh. “You don’t breathe.”

“I know,” Cait replied, and there was a hint of a smile in her voice. “It’s meant to put us in tune with one another.”

“Alright.”

Vi inhaled slow, deep, letting it fill her chest until it ached, then exhaled in a steady stream. Cait followed—not with breath, but with the subtle rise and fall of her body, matching the rhythm perfectly. After a few cycles, Cait began to murmur. It wasn’t any language Vi knew. The syllables rolled smooth and strange, half-formed and yet sharp at the edges, carrying a weight that prickled along her skin. She’d heard it before, always when Cait hemocrafted.

Everything around Vi began to dissolve—edges softening, colors bleeding together. She felt herself suspended, weightless, like her heartbeat was the only thing keeping her tethered.

Then she heard it, not with her ears, but from somewhere inside her skull. Cait’s voice. " Can you hear me?"

Vi’s breath caught, and she whispered into the strange quiet, “What the fuck?” Her own voice sounded distant, as though she were speaking underwater.

Light began to coalesce in front of her, faint at first, then brightening into the flickering outline of Cait. It wasn’t quite her body, more like her shape carved from candle fire, constantly shifting as if it couldn’t quite decide what form to settle on.

“Vi?” Cait’s voice was steadier now, warmer.

Vi blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah… yeah, I can hear you.” She glanced around at the empty expanse around them. “Where are we?”

“In our minds,” Cait said simply, stepping closer.

As she moved, Vi noticed the space behind her wasn’t empty after all—it was alive with images, faint as smoke at first, but growing clearer the longer she looked. They came in bursts, like someone flipping through an unsteady projector. Moments, snatched out of time. Familiar, strange, some blurring before she could pin them down. Vi herself in most of them. A stern, beautiful woman with streaks of grey in her dark hair. A tall man in a white suit, sharp-eyed and handsome. Demons, black and gold. Blood.

Each image flared into existence for only a heartbeat before dissolving into another. It was dizzying, like trying to catch water in her fingers.

Cait came closer still, until she was standing directly before Vi, the light of her form painting faint patterns across the endless dark. She reached out, her hand finding Vi’s.

All those shards of memory burst into motion, fractaling out into a stunning kaleidoscope of color and shape.

Not random. Not chaos. Her.

Every facet of her, caught in Cait’s gaze—her fists and her fury, her scars, the laughter that slipped out when she wasn’t thinking, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she stood between danger and everyone else without thinking twice.

Vi caught Cait glancing over her shoulder, and it hit her, Cait must be seeing the same kind of flickering montage. That thought was enough to send heat creeping up her neck. And, of course, her mind had to go and wander straight into that territory—kissing pressed up against walls, teeth dragging along skin, the hungry sounds they made when it was just the two of them, the way Cait’s hands always knew exactly where to go.

Cait’s lips curved, like she’d caught every last thought, and she stepped in closer. Then she leaned down and kissed her.

It was—gods—it was strange . Not bad. Not even close. Just… impossible to pin down. Kissing in this mind-space didn’t feel like lips on lips so much as the rush you get when your heart finally catches up to something your head’s wanted for too long. Like being seen.

And then it was real again. Warmth. Pressure. Cait’s smile against her mouth.

“Sorry,” Cait whispered, “that’s all I can do.”

Vi managed an unintelligible mutter and Cait chuckled softly before stealing another quick kiss.

“How’d you do that?” Vi asked when she got her voice back, still a little dazed.

Cait leaned in, voice dropping to that soft, almost hesitant tone. “You are blood of my blood.”

She said it like it was supposed to clear everything up.

“Oh,” Vi said, nodding slowly in what she hoped passed for understanding.

From the way Cait’s eyes narrowed—warm, amused—Vi could tell she wasn’t buying it. “You share my blood,” Cait explained, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth. “It lets me communicate with you this way.”

Vi tilted her head. “I haven’t heard of that before. Is it… normal for vampires to do that?”

For someone without a pulse, Cait managed to blush deep enough to show. “No. Only to their…” She hesitated, like she had to weigh the word before letting it out. “… Sangrélié .”

Vi blinked at her, blank as a brick wall. Hunting vampires? Yeah, she’d done that. Learning the finer points of their culture? Not exactly her hobby.

“Right,” Vi said, dragging the word out. “And that is…?”

Cait worried at her fingernail, eyes fixed somewhere just past Vi’s shoulder. She opened her mouth like she was about to speak, then shut it again, her jaw working as though she were tasting the words before letting them go.

Vi thought about filling the silence, something about mysterious vampire jargon or how Sangrélié sounded like an overpriced wine, but something in the air told her not to. This wasn’t the moment to be glib. So she kept her mouth shut, watching, waiting.

When Cait finally spoke, it was so quiet Vi almost missed it. “My bondmate.”

Vi blinked, and for once her brain didn’t have a quip locked and loaded. Instead, heat crept uninvited up her neck, blooming hot across her cheeks.

Cait must’ve taken her silence for something else, because she rushed on, words spilling fast, her composure fraying in a way Vi rarely got to see. “It’s ancient, and it’s… probably wrong, by modern standards. But I read about it, and I wanted to try and—well, it worked. I didn’t know if it would, but then it did, and now we’re…” She hesitated, biting at her lip. “But we don’t have to be, not if you—”

Vi’s chest tightened. She’d fought demons today, sprinted through a dead city, taken claws to the gut, and somehow this was the thing threatening to take her out of commission. Caitlyn Kiramman, voice trembling, eyes flicking between Vi’s and the floor like she was waiting for judgment.

Gods, she was cute when she rambled.

Vi leaned in before Cait could spiral any further, closing the small distance between them and pressing her lips to hers. She poured her answer into the kiss, slow and certain, letting it stretch just long enough for Cait to feel it.

When she pulled back, Cait’s eyes were wide, like she’d just been handed something she wasn’t sure she deserved. Vi lifted her hand, calloused fingers brushing along Cait’s jaw until her palm cupped her cheek.

“I already said you’re mine.”

Vi watched as Cait’s irises darkened, bleeding slowly into that deep, impossible crimson. The change was hypnotic, a predator’s gaze tempered only by the curve of Cait’s lips as she leaned closer.

“I can’t wait to get you all to myself,” Cait whispered, and there was no mistaking the promise in it.

A sharp metallic clang snapped Vi’s attention away. She turned, already half-ready to put a fist through whatever decided to interrupt, only to find Isha standing a few paces off, one hand on her hip, the other holding a dented bit of metal.

The kid was glaring like she’d just caught them defacing a holy relic. Then she lifted her hands and signed, You two are gross.

Vi narrowed her eyes. You were the one saying I should kiss her.

Not in front of me.

That earned Isha a wide, toothy grin. Vi signed with deliberate exaggeration, Then turn around.

---

The library was still dark when Vi woke, the air cool and dry against her face. A faint violet haze bled through the cracked dome overhead—the sky caught somewhere between night and morning, bruised purple with a handful of stubborn stars still clinging on.

She would’ve liked to keep her eyes shut a little longer, but there was movement.

Viktor.

He was standing, back to them, motionless except for the smallest twitching in his fingers.

Cait was already up, moving silent as shadow. She crouched beside Vi, offered her a hand, and pulled her to her feet without a word. The air still had a strange, heavy stillness to it—the kind that made every sound feel too sharp, too loud.

Vi shook off the last threads of sleep, boots crunching softly against the warped floorboards as she closed the gap. Viktor didn’t so much as flinch. Just stood there, spine rigid, shoulders locked, head tilted slightly toward some point beyond the cracked library wall. His breath was slow. Too slow.

Cait was already mirroring her, circling in from the opposite side, her shadow long and thin in the bruised pre-dawn light. Her hand rested just above the hilt of her rapier, not quite drawing, but ready.

Vi stepped in closer, angling to get a look at his face. When she did, her stomach sank. His pupils were blown wide, so dark they’d nearly swallowed the amber ring of his irises. He looked… not here.

She glanced across at Cait, who gave the slightest nod, every muscle tight as a bowstring.

Vi lifted her hand, waving it in front of his face. No reaction. 

Alright, let’s try this.

She snapped her fingers.

Viktor jerked like he’d been doused in cold water, stumbling back a half-step. His pupils shrank to something more human, blinking fast, like the world had just slammed back into place around him. He looked between them, eyes clearing by degrees. Then his hand came up to rub at his jaw, and he winced.

“We… made it past the marker,” he said, almost disbelieving.

Vi nodded. “Yeah. You okay?”

He gave a dry, humorless huff. “Other than my jaw and a few cuts, I am fine.”

Vi’s eyes narrowed a little. “No weird thoughts? Urges? You were out for a while after you looked into the tear.”

Viktor tilted his head as if checking himself, then shook it. “Not that I can recall.”

She studied him for a long moment, watching for the tells—darting eyes, shallow breathing, that faint stiffness in the shoulders she’d seen in too many people trying to hide something. Nothing. His gaze was steady, breathing even. And Cait, who was sharper than a hawk, hadn’t spoken up.

Still…

Vi let herself relax a fraction, but the doubt didn’t leave her entirely. She’d be keeping an eye on him.

“Are we still in the city?” Viktor asked.

“We’re on the outskirts,” Cait answered, finally lowering her hand from her rapier. “We should be in the Ritehart soon.”

Viktor nodded slowly, gaze drifting toward the empty street beyond the library’s broken wall. “Good.” He scanned their surroundings for a moment, eyes moving like he was counting the angles and distances without meaning to. Then, almost absently, he asked, “Did you grab my staff?”

Vi sucked her teeth. “Sorry. It… got lost in the rescue.” She didn’t bother trying to dress it up, there hadn’t exactly been time to search for it when she was fleeing and fighting demons.

But Viktor only shook his head, dismissing the apology with a flick of his hand. “I am not a sacrifice to the other side. It is worth losing a stick.”

Before Vi could answer, Cait spoke up. “I’ll go wake Isha.” She moved off toward the shadowed corner where the kid had nested among crumbling shelves.

Vi nodded after her, then turned back to Viktor, slipping under his arm to take some of his weight. He leaned on her without protest, but they’d barely gone three steps before his pace faltered.

“Stop,” he said.

She did and Viktor eased away from her, bracing one hand against the wall as he stepped into the open street. His movements were slow at first, deliberate, like someone testing a fresh wound. Then, without warning, he straightened fully, letting his arm fall to his side. No hunch. No limp.

He took a step. Then another. Smooth. Fluid. Not a wince in sight.

And then he laughed.

It wasn’t sharp or bitter, the way Viktor’s chuckles usually were. This was different—open, unguarded, startled at his own joy. It was the first time Vi had seen him truly happy.

And somehow, that was what put the unease in her gut.

He broke into a jog, boots whispering over the cobbles, before accelerating into a full sprint down the empty street. His robe flared out behind him, each movement a clean, effortless thing, like his body had been remade in the night.

It was beautiful.

It was horrific.

She stood rooted in place, watching the amber flash in his eyes as he ran.

What had he seen in that tear?

Chapter Text

The Ritehart Forest was so green it made Vi’s head hurt.

A week—maybe more, who could say—of nothing but the dead hush of snow, then suddenly there were ferns, wildflowers, even soft moss underfoot. Every color was a punch to the eye. She stopped and just… stared.

Isha’s hands were already filled with berries, her mouth ringed with a suspicious red. She grinned and signed, Never saw so many all at once.

Vi couldn’t help herself; she grinned back, then yelped as Isha hurled a handful of berries straight at her face. They splattered, cold and sweet-smelling, down her neck and collar. Vi picked two off her shoulder and tossed them back, nailing Isha square in the forehead.

Cait was further down the slope, crouched low, running her fingers through a patch of wild violets. The light here came in shards through the trees, puddling butter-yellow on leaves and filtering over Cait’s hair, limning her silhouette in gold. For a moment, Vi just watched her, the way her hands moved, the way her lips slightly parted as she traced petals.

Viktor walked past, his hand trailing across bark, fingertips brushing moss, skimming leaves as if every surface had something to whisper to him. He moved like a man half-blind yet certain of where each step would land. Vi found herself watching closer—shoulders square, eyes narrowed—waiting for a hint that would show what he was hiding. 

The wind shifted then, tearing through the green. Leaves hissed, branches creaked, and in its wake came the stink of decay riding the air. Vi froze mid-step, instincts screaming. Cait straightened from the violets, her hand falling to her rapier’s hilt in the same heartbeat.

They gathered quick and tight, the four of them. Vi and Cait slipped to the fore, shoulder to shoulder without needing to speak it. Isha padded close behind, knife already in hand, her expression set hard despite the smear of berry juice around her mouth. And Viktor—Vi caught the curl of his fingers, light scattering between them, fragile, dangerous, a prism of shifting colors that didn’t belong to sunlight.

The smell thickened as they moved.

Vi’s stomach turned with each step, the sour tang coating the back of her throat. The forest, so alive a moment ago, seemed to hush. No birdsong, no rustle of small things in the underbrush. 

She heard it before she saw it. The drone of flies, a hungry chorus rising in the silence. Her shoulders tightened. She raised a hand, slowing their pace to a crawl.

Then the corpse came into view.

The woman hung there like a butchered animal, swaying faintly with each breath of wind. Rope bit into her wrists, arms stretched high above her head, the weight of her own body pulling her spine into a cruel curve. Her feet dangled, toes pointed toward the moss.

Naked, stripped of anything human but her shape. Dried blood streaked down her thighs in dark, crusted rivers, painting her skin with a story Vi wished she didn’t have to read. Worse still was her stomach. Split open from sternum to navel, peeled back like the covers of a book. Hollow inside. Whatever made her more than just flesh and bone had been scooped out, leaving only an empty shell swarming with flies.

Viktor’s voice cut through the quiet. “This was ritualistic. A sacrifice.”

Vi turned her head. He was pointing at the tree the woman hung from. At first all she saw was bark and shadow, but then the grooves revealed themselves—thin cuts curling across the trunk, weaving into patterns her eyes didn’t want to linger on.

She turned her attention the ground. It was covered in boot prints, muddied and faded now, had to be at least five people.

Vi’s gaze moved down to Isha. The girl just stood there, knife in hand, jaw locked tight, eyes hard and unblinking. Vi laid a hand on Isha’s shoulder, then signed with the other, Let’s keep moving. Nothing we can do for her now.

They didn’t look back. The drone of flies faded after a few steps, replaced by the crunch of boots and the vegetal rot of the Ritehart, but the memory hung on.

Flies buzzing. Flesh burning. Strained screaming.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Isha kept rubbing at her mouth, like she could scrape the taste off her tongue.

After a while, Cait spoke. “I recognized the runes.”

Vi looked over, “Yeah?”

“They’re Chyrrith,” Cait answered, eyes flicking back in the direction of the corpse. “I wasn’t able to translate, but I recognized it. Ancient Hemocraft.“

“Well, that’s fucking great. Can’t just have a nice, normal forest, can we? Gotta have blood magic and dead women and…” Vi trailed off, jaw tight.

Cait’s hand slid into hers. Vi almost said something—some quip, some deflection—but then the whisper came, soft against her ear, softer still in her mind.

She felt it before she understood it. That gentle press, like a knock against the inside of her skull. She let it in.

The bond flared, but not as all-consuming as before. Her eyes still saw the Ritehart’s green tangles, still heard the crunch of boots and Viktor’s measured breaths, but Cait was there too—threaded between her thoughts. 

No words. Not this time. Just feelings.

Calm, like a still pond at dawn. Logic, firm as stone underfoot. And adoration that was steady, quiet, but fierce in its way.

Vi’s chest loosened by degrees. The smell of rot in her nose, the memory of hollow flesh strung up—it didn’t vanish, but it dulled. Put in its place, weighted properly, instead of gnawing at her.

She glanced sidelong at Cait, and Cait didn't look back. Didn't need to. She was already there, walking step for step in Vi's mind, their souls touching in places deeper than skin ever could. 

Vi squeezed Cait's hand, the calluses of her own fingers rough against the hollow of Cait's palm. For a heartbeat, the forest dissolved—no corpse, no danger, nothing but the sacred space between their pulses. Cait turned her head just enough for Vi to catch the curve of her lips, a smile meant only for her, intimate as a whispered confession. She squeezed back, firm and sure, her thumb tracing slow circles that sent currents of warmth spiraling up Vi's arm and settling in her heart.

---

Vi’s breath came ragged, ears ringing with the crackle of flame and the shrill cries of dying things. The farm was burning—smoke black against the sky, fat and choking, stinging her eyes. Her paws left wet prints where they touched the earth, stained through with red that wasn’t hers, though plenty of it was. Every step stuck, pulled at her. The stink of rot and char clawed down her throat.

She was only a pup. Too small. Too weak. The corpses sprawled around her seemed endless, their broken limbs twisted wrong, faces slack, eyes dull. She whimpered, tail tucked, but she kept moving. Searching. Always searching.

She nudged one body, then another. None moved. None breathed.

Then she saw her. Still. Broken. Gone. Utterly gone. Vi stumbled toward her, chest heaving with the sharp, shattering knowledge: she’d failed. Failed everyone.

A shadow fell across her. Hands seized her by the neck, sudden, strong. She thrashed, claws scrabbling at the earth, teeth snapping wild. Panic drove her. Fight, run, anything . But the grip was unyielding. Firm. Familiar.

Through the smoke, through the ruin, she knew those hands. They weren’t cruel. They were pulling her back. Hauling her out of the wreckage before it swallowed her whole.

And still, Vi fought. Because she couldn’t leave them. Because leaving felt worse than burning.

---

Vi woke up gasping.

Sweat stuck to her skin, hair plastered to her temples. Every muscle screamed tight, ready to fight or run, but her body wouldn’t choose which.

Cait was already there, both hands holding Vi’s face. Eyes wide, scleras shining in the dark.

“Breathe, Violet,” Cait whispered. Calm, but hard enough to cut through the panic. “Just breathe.”

Vi’s fingers found Cait’s coat and clenched hard, her knuckles white in the blue fabric. Her gaze darted around—trees, shadows, shapes that didn’t make sense. Where was she? Smoke in her nose, fire in her ears, blood on her paws—

“Violet.” Cait’s voice snapped sharper this time, tugging her back. “Breathe.”

Vi froze, forced herself to meet Cait’s eyes. Blue, steady, unyielding. She clung to them. Then, ragged, she dragged in air. It tore at her throat, shaking her chest.

“Good,” Cait said, her thumbs brushing the sweat and tears from Vi’s cheekbones. “Again.”

Vi obeyed. Another breath. Another. Each one shaky, but each one pulling her further from the fire. The crackle and the screaming dulled, faded, until it was just Cait’s voice, Cait’s hands, Cait’s eyes holding her together.

So she dragged Cait down, lips crashing against hers. Vi needed to not feel this, needed anything else. Cait’s lips were warm, her skin soft beneath trembling hands. For a second it worked. For a second it was good.

Then— flash . A demon lunging from the dark.

She clung harder, desperate, pulling at Cait’s shirt. Her hands shook, her lips pressed hard, too hard, like force could erase memory.

Flash —corpses, split open, blood congealed, skin cold.

She needed more. Needed to lose herself in Cait. Fire seared behind her eyes, her body aching to escape itself. She tried again, fumbling, frantic, until Cait caught her wrist and held it still.

“Stop.”

Shame hit like a gut punch, made her nauseous . Her stomach lurched; her hands trembled. “I’m sorry, I—” 

Cait’s thumb skimmed the corner of Vi’s mouth. “Just feel it,” she whispered. “Don’t hold it back.”

Vi shook her head, violent little jerks like she could rattle the feeling out of her skull. Weak. Useless. Too much. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have a single scrap of something good when so much had gone to rot because she wasn’t enough. She had failed, she had failed, she had—

“I couldn’t—” The confession broke on a jagged breath. A sob climbed up and split her chest. “I couldn’t—”

Her throat closed. Tears blurred everything into smeared light and shadow. She tried to swallow but it just tore more sobs loose, ugly and loud, shoulders hitching with each one.

“Hey.” Cait’s palms framed her cheeks again, cool and unshakable, guiding Vi’s gaze to hers. “What couldn’t you?”

Vi’s mouth opened, closed. The word stuck. Images stampeded in its place—smoke, red-soaked dirt, a still body she should’ve saved, should’ve— “Powder,” she rasped at last. 

Saying the name split her clean down the middle. It was like tearing open a wound she’d stitched and stitched and stitched, only for the thread to snap all at once. Vi tried—Gods, she tried—to shove it all back down where it belonged, under the scar tissue, under the years. But it surged anyway. Pain, hot and raw. Fear, sharp as broken glass. Grief, a weight she’d carried so long she’d stopped noticing until it crushed her flat.

Why now? Why here? When she finally had something worth holding onto? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Her breath hitched, strangled, coming only in sobs. Each one scraped her lungs like they’d been lined with rust. Her whole body shook with it.

Her hand shot to the locket at her throat, clutching it like it could anchor her, like it could drag her out from drowning. Cold metal bit against her palm, cutting into her skin as if punishing her for surviving when so many hadn’t. She pressed it tighter, harder, as if pressure could undo history.

“Powder,” she choked again, voice cracking into nothing. Saying it felt like flaying herself open.

Vi felt it then, the press of Cait trying to form the bond. She flinched against it, shoved back hard. No. Not like this. Not when she was raw and broken and ugly. She was a thorn, wasn’t she? She was meant to be strong. The shield, the fist, the one that kept everyone else standing. She wasn’t supposed to fall apart. Not supposed to be seen like this.

But Cait’s voice slid through the cracks anyway. “Please… let me in.”

Vi forced her eyes open. And there they were, those blue eyes shining like lanterns in the dark.

The fight drained out of her, all at once. She couldn’t hold the door shut any longer. Couldn’t keep Cait out when she was begging like that. So she let go.

And Cait was there. Inside. The bond snapped into place, not gentle, not gradual, but consuming.

They were fragments together. Shards of memory. Fire roaring high, smoke choking the sky. Bloody hands pressed against wounds that wouldn’t close. Mud swallowing boots, sucking down the dead. Corpses heaped like trash, eyes glassy and blind. Vander’s great shadow, fallen. Mylo’s laughter silenced. Claggor’s voice, forever gone. Powder’s face lit by the blast, her eyes wide with hurt that had never stopped.

Vi knelt in the muck, knees sinking deep into it, the stink of blood and smoke in her nose. The castle burned behind her, flames leaping high, charring stone and eating timber as if it had always been kindling. Screams wove with the clash of steel, voices she knew, voices she didn’t, each snuffed out one by one until the sound became just noise.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight. Her hands were stained red, trembling so bad she couldn’t close them to fists. Her family was gone. All of them. Everything she knew was gone, set alight and swallowed in a single night.

She folded in on herself, arms wrapped tight, rocking like she could hold what was left of her together. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Croaked. Sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Words beaten dull by repetition, nothing more than air and ash.

Movement in the dark drew her eyes. A shadow slipping closer. Vi flinched hard. Maybe it was one of them. A vampire come to finish the slaughter. Maybe that was good. Maybe it would end here, and she’d join the rest. Be with them again.

She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the bite.

Footsteps stopped in front of her. Knees bent, cloth whispering against mud. After a fearful moment, Vi opened her eyes to see a woman with eyes like bright blue lanterns, lit with some strange emotion she couldn’t name.

Safe. Vi felt safe. Against all sense, against the ruin still burning around her, that was the only truth that landed.

The woman reached out without a word and pulled Vi in. Vi broke against her, clutched at her, fingers digging, terrified she’d vanish too.

Cait whispered, “I have you. You’re okay.”

Vi clung tighter, burying her face against Cait’s neck. The words slipped through her like medicine, seeping into the cracks she couldn’t patch herself. She sobbed, shoulders heaving, the sound raw and childlike, tearing loose from a place she hadn’t touched in years.

Cait’s hand moved, stroking her hair in gentle passes. The other wrapped around her back, holding her as if she might splinter apart if left alone. “Shhh.”

The fight drained away, piece by piece. She cried until the sobs dulled, until the ache hollowed out. Her breathing steadied, though her chest still hitched now and then. 

And then came the shame, hot and ugly. She felt stupid. Pathetic. Weak. Like she’d ruined everything by cracking open, by letting Cait see all the broken pieces she’d worked so hard to bury. She pressed her forehead harder into Cait’s shoulder, hoping it might hide her, hide what she’d become.

Cait held her, but after a while Vi heard the faintest sniffle.

She stiffened, pulling back just enough to see Cait’s face in the darkness. Tears clung to her lashes, her eyes shining wet.

“You okay?” Vi rasped.

Cait huffed out something halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “I’m okay.” She brushed her thumb over Vi’s cheek as though the tears there were her own. Then, before Vi could say anything else, Cait drew her back in, arms tight around her. She shifted, lowering them both until the forest floor pressed cool beneath their weight. Leaves whispered under Cait as she arranged Vi against her chest, one hand still combing through Vi’s tangled hair.

“Close your eyes, I’ll be right here.”

Vi did. Eyes shut, breath slow.

Cait whispered, “I won't leave you.”

---

Vi couldn’t find it in herself to look at anyone. Her chest felt hollow, scraped out, and still she carried the heavy bruise of shame. Stupid. Weak. She hated how it lingered, hated how raw she still felt, hated that Cait had seen all of it. Better to ignore it. Pretend it hadn’t happened.

Her eyes stayed low, fixed on the earth. She didn’t dare glance back. 

Viktor had probably heard her every ragged breath, every broken word. The thought made her stomach knot. Gods, she wanted to hit something. Anything. Break her knuckles on bark, split the skin, let the sting push all of it away. Or scream until her throat was raw and she had no voice left to betray her.

She walked faster than the rest. Head down, fists curling and uncurling at her sides, desperate to bleed the energy off somehow.

A whistle cut the air. Vi’s head snapped up, searching the treeline.

THWACK!

Pain flared white-hot in her side, stealing her breath. She looked down, stunned, and saw an arrow shaft jutting from her ribs, feathered end quivering with every shuddering inhale. Vi staggered back, clutching her side, red heat spilling down her ribs until everything felt slick. She stumbled to a fallen log and dropped behind it, boots skidding in dirt.

Blood soaked her shirt, spread fast, too fast, and with each inhale she felt the air scrape wrong—shallow, wheezing, never enough. Panic clawed at her throat. 

The arrow had clipped her lung.

She looked up, vision swimming, and saw Cait crouching over her like a wall, rapier raised, her silhouette sharp against the blur of trees.

Another whistle. Then another, almost like a conversation.

Vi flinched as an arrow hissed past, splitting air close enough to ruffle her hair before vanishing into the trees. Then another, burying itself in the dirt inches from Cait’s boots.

Vi pressed her palm near the wound, felt blood pump hot between her fingers. She tried to draw in air, but it hitched, rattled, and came out thinner than before. Her chest spasmed, coughing red onto her lips. She sucked another breath anyway, teeth clenched against the white flare of pain. Her vision tunneled, black creeping in from the edges.

“Cait…”

---

Caitlyn’s world narrowed to the crimson soaking Vi’s side. Every sense sharpened to a painful edge—sound, sight, scent—all screaming Vi, Vi, Vi. Vampires felt everything far keener than humans, and right now the weight of that gift was agony. Her fury wanted to rip free, to set the forest alight with vengeance, but she forced herself still. Rage could wait. Vi couldn’t.

Her eyes swept the treeline. Shadows danced, but the pattern of whistles told her more than eyes alone—hunters, moving, communicating. And there—fifty meters out, a break in the canopy, sunlight pouring down in a shard of safety. If she could get Vi there…

Caitlyn ducked lower, pulling Vi gently with her, shielding her body with her own until the log’s bulk was between them and the trees. She raised her hand and signed toward Isha, who crouched in cover with Viktor. I’ll deal with hunters. Get Vi to sun. North of here.

Isha’s nod was immediate. Viktor pressed closer to her, already preparing something. 

Good.

Caitlyn turned back to Vi. Her bondmate was pale, her breaths ragged, flecked with blood. Every hitch of her chest shredded Caitlyn’s composure. No, she couldn’t afford to break. Not now, not when Vi needed her.

Cradling Vi’s jaw, Caitlyn whispered, “This will hurt.”

She bent low, lips brushing Vi’s skin, then sank her fangs into her neck. The taste of her blood hit like fire and lightning both, but Caitlyn held fast to control, releasing only a thread of venom into her bloodstream. Just enough. It would slow her heartbeat, slow the flood of blood leaking from the wound, buy precious minutes.

Caitlyn withdrew, the taste of Vi heavy on her tongue, her fury hot in her chest. She pressed a kiss to Vi’s fevered forehead, whispering, “Hold on, darling.”

Then she rose, rapier in hand, her eyes narrowing on the trees where the whistles had come from. 

Caitlyn couldn't smell them through their tricks—oil rubbed on skin, bitter herbs strung along belts, ash smeared across exposed flesh. But nothing they carried could blunt the thunder of their hearts in her ears, or the hot rush of blood racing through their veins.

She blurred into motion. The green of the forest whipped by, leaves hissing in her wake. One heartbeat and then she was there, standing before a woman crouched with a shortbow half-drawn. There was a brand behind her ear and she wore dark leathers. She barely had time to widen her eyes before Caitlyn’s rapier drove clean through, point bursting out the back of her skull. The hunter toppled wordlessly, and Caitlyn ripped the blade free, already listening past the thud of the corpse.

A whistle cut through the trees. Another answered. Then silence. The woman did not reply.

Panic. She could hear it—feet shifting, hearts quickening. They were retreating.

“That won’t do,” Caitlyn murmured.

She surged forward again, claws extending as she passed another figure fleeing between trunks. His scent was sweat, fear, leather. Her rapier wasn’t needed. She opened his neck with a single swipe, blood spraying hot as he fell in a gurgling heap.

The third didn’t make it three steps. She was on him in a blink, hand clamping around his throat. His bow fell, his legs kicked uselessly at the air as she lifted him high, her claws dimpling the flesh of his neck. He choked, gasped, his blue eyes wide, terrified.

Caitlyn’s hate burned behind her calm words. “Who are you?”

The hunter’s throat worked under her claws, a desperate rasp forced out between choking gasps.

“ Bairn kom Dorane. Mëat kom Blessed. ”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t understand the language.

Her ears twitched—Vi’s breath, ragged and wet, faltering behind her. The sound cut through the fog of rage.

She didn’t have time for this.

Her gaze flicked back to the hunter’s wide blue eyes. He’d tell her nothing useful now, not without someone who could unravel that unfamiliar tongue. Maybe Viktor could.

So Caitlyn squeezed. Not enough to kill, but enough to choke the fight out of him. His limbs thrashed weakly, then slowed, then went limp. She listened, he was still alive; barely. That would have to do.

She shifted him with one arm like he weighed nothing and turned, sprinting back through the trees. 

Caitlyn burst into the clearing, the stink of blood and sweat hitting her. Her fangs lengthened instinctively, saliva flooding her mouth before she forced them back with a hard swallow. Isha and Viktor had dragged Vi into the shaft of sunlight she'd marked—both of them panting, both stained red. Vi groaned with each breath, a wet rasp that made Caitlyn's heart twist like there was a blade in her chest.

The unconscious hunter slid from her shoulder to the moss with a dull thud. She didn’t spare him a glance, her hands went to his quiver, pulling free an arrow. The shaft had ordinary fletching, but the head…

Serrated.

The hunter stirred, groaning, lids fluttering. Caitlyn pivoted in a heartbeat, rapier at his throat before he could rise. “Keep him restrained.”

Viktor lifted his hand, weaving light into a dome that shimmered and solidified around the man, pinning him to the earth. The shell held steady despite the hunter’s weak thrashing.

Caitlyn flicked her eyes to Isha and signed, Cloth. As much as we have.

The girl nodded quick, already digging through their satchel, pulling free torn shirts, spare bandages, anything that would hold.

Only then did Caitlyn kneel beside Vi. Her bondmate’s face was a pallid mask and each inhale rattled her chest, liquid and broken. Caitlyn’s hand found hers.

“I have to push the arrow all the way through,” she said softly.

Vi’s lips twitched into something caught between a grimace and a laugh. She squeezed Caitlyn’s hand, knuckles turning white. “Figures.”

Caitlyn’s grip on Vi’s hand tightened, their fingers laced like iron links in a chain. Her voice was calm, deliberate, though her insides twisted into knots.

“I’m going to roll you on your side. As soon as the arrow comes out, you need to grow. Do not pass out.”

Vi gave a jerky nod, jaw tight. Caitlyn pressed her palm to Vi’s shoulder and eased her onto her side. Her claws flashed, slicing the back of Vi’s shirt apart until the fabric peeled away.

There it was. A cruel gleam of steel, peeking faintly out of the skin between Vi’s ribs. 

Lucky.

She signed to Isha, Press here, hard, when I push.

Isha moved instantly, cloth in hand, her small palms braced and ready.

Caitlyn turned her eyes to Viktor. “Keep her still.”

He shifted closer, threads of light wrapping around Vi’s arms and shoulders like bands.

Caitlyn exhaled once, steadied her hand, and gripped the shaft.

Then she pushed.

Vi’s growl rumbled low and feral, guttural with agony. Her right hand clenched Caitlyn’s with crushing force, knuckles grinding bone on bone. The other spasmed against the ground, black veins of withering racing out across the grass, every plant-life touched shriveling into ash-dark husks.

The resistance gave way with a sickening burst. The serrated head tore free through Vi’s back, slick and red.

Vi’s groan broke into curses. “Fuck—fuck, fuck—”

Caitlyn snapped the serrated head clean off, her fingers drenched in Vi’s blood. The steel clattered to the moss. Her other hand wrapped around the shaft jutting from Vi’s side and, with a sharp tug, she pulled the length free. Blood welled hot and fast, pouring from the wound as Isha pressed at it with the cloth.

“Grow, Vi. Now. Please.”

For a few seconds there was nothing but Vi’s ragged gasps, her shuddering frame, the rattle of her lung. Caitlyn’s own panic clawed at her ribs. Then—

Light.

The briars beneath Vi’s skin stirred, writhing like a nest of serpents. They glowed faintly, a blend of gold and green, sickly and beautiful. The vines pulsed, crawling beneath the torn flesh, stitching as they moved. Muscle knitted. Skin crawled closed. The bleeding slowed, sealed, and left behind only the faintest lattice of scar.

Vi slumped with the effort, her head lolling against Caitlyn’s arm, breath shallow. Caitlyn cradled her close, relief rushing in so hard it nearly crushed her. 

The fury in her chest remained, but it bent now around something far greater—love, desperate and unshakable. She brushed a blood-matted strand of hair from Vi’s face and whispered, “I’ve got you, darling.”

Chapter Text

Her bloodlust had ebbed now that Vi was safe. She was feeling more rational, less feral. And so, Caitlyn nodded to the prismatist standing beside her.

The light-shell Viktor had cast shimmered, then broke apart, fading back into nothing. The hunter lay sprawled on the moss where Caitlyn had left him, chest heaving. His eyes found her immediately.

Caitlyn shifted slightly and said, “Speak.”

The man blinked at her, bewildered, lips parting only to shape words she didn’t understand. Harsh syllables tumbled out, thick with an accent that dragged them rough across her ears: “Bairn va Dorane. Mëat va Blessed.” He spoke again, slower, almost pleading, but it made no more sense than the first time.

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. She mimed the motion with her fingers—pointing at her own mouth, then at him. “Talk. Explain.”  But he only repeated himself, voice rising, guttural and desperate. The words carried weight, she could feel it, but they were lost to her.

She exhaled through her nose, fighting down the press of frustration.Her gaze flicked to Viktor, who lingered at the edge of the sunbeam. “Did you catch any of that?”

“I do. It’s Noxian, but not the kind spoken now. This dialect is older. Centuries older.” He adjusted his robes, amber eyes narrowing on the hunter. “He said: Child of Dorane. Food—or Meal—or simply Meat—of the Blessed. ” Viktor flicked his fingers toward the man. “That is what he is calling himself.”

Caitlyn’s brows drew together. “Can you translate?”

Viktor’s shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug. “I will try.”

Her gaze returned to the captive. “Why are you out here?” She gestured curtly for Viktor to pass it along, which he did.

The hunter’s words spilled out again. Viktor listened, then translated, his tone quieter now. “He says, We bring back food. We keep away intruders. ”

Caitlyn’s hand tightened on her weapon. “The woman by the tree—” she pointed back toward the place where the corpse still hung, “—did you kill her?”

Viktor gave the words shape again in the hunter’s tongue. The man’s expression shifted—something reverent there, a trembling pride. His reply was almost soft.

Viktor’s mouth thinned as he translated. “It was her honor. She was… gifted.”

Caitlyn’s knuckles whitened around the rapier hilt as she watched the hunter smile, the expression was just…wrong.

“To the Blessed?” she pressed.

The smile lingered. Devotion, not fear.

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened. Just as she suspected—a cult.

“Who is Dorane?” she asked next.

Viktor crouched closer, repeating the words in the man’s language. The hunter’s reply was pure worship. Viktor translated, “Father.”

The title hung heavy in the air. Caitlyn filed the name away with the runes and the sacrifice. Each piece painted this scenario all the clearer.

“Where are your people?”

Again Viktor relayed the question. The hunter’s eyes flicked up, sharp for the first time. His lips pressed shut. Silence.

Caitlyn’s face hardened. “Where?”

Still nothing. His jaw worked, but no sound came.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. A growl—not human, but something deeper—curled up from her throat. She hated wasting time, hated leaving questions unanswered, but they couldn’t sit in this forest interrogating a fanatic forever.

“I can make him speak,” Viktor said.

Her eyes flicked to him. “With some enchantment?”

Viktor gave her a flat, humorless look, the kind that told her exactly what he meant.

She straightened, shoulders rigid. “No.”

“Caitlyn, if he will not speak, then what use is he? You have already killed his companions. We cannot simply let him go.”

“We’re not going to torture him.”

Viktor’s squint deepened, his voice edged with something colder. “This is where your moral scruples lie? He and his people will not grant us the same kindness.”

Her jaw worked, teeth grit against the truth of it. But there were lines she would not cross, even here. Not with Vi recovering in the moss beside them. Not with Isha watching.

“We can bring him with us,” she said at last. “Maybe we can earn his trust. If he speaks, he may lead us to more answers.”

Viktor’s look was skeptical, his disapproval worn plain. But before either of them could argue further, a shift in the air made Caitlyn still.

The copper hit her nose first, that tang of fresh blood.

Her eyes snapped back to the prisoner just in time to see Isha standing in front of him, knife slick in her hand. The man gurgled wetly, eyes bulging, both hands clutched at his throat where a wide gash spilled scarlet down his chest. His body folded inward as if trying to hold itself together, but the wound pumped faster than he could cover.

The girl stepped back, her small frame taut, her hands trembling though her face stayed hard. The knife dripped once, twice, before she wiped it away on her pant leg.

Then her fingers moved.

Only us.

The hunter slumped sideways, blood spreading dark beneath him.

Caitlyn’s stomach twisted, her mind catching up to what her nose had told her first. She looked at Isha, really looked—the rigid line of her spine, the faint shake in her knuckles, the hollowness in her eyes. A child, and yet not. A survivor who had decided the world would get no mercy from her.

Isha turned without waiting for judgment. She walked straight back to where Vi lay unconscious in the sunspot. Kneeling, she set the knife carefully in the moss beside her and held Vi’s hand as if to reassure herself she was still breathing.

Caitlyn’s throat tightened. She couldn’t even find the words.

Viktor broke the silence. “Well…it seems the question of what to do with him has been settled.” Then, he too, turned and went back to the sunspot.

The vampire’s gaze returned to the hunter. She watched him twitch out the last of his life, red gushing then trickling out of him. Those blue eyes fixed on nothing at all.

The sight made her sick. Not because of his death necessarily, but because of how thirsty it made her.

---

Every step was a reminder. A hot, stabbing ache that burned worse than claws or fists ever had. She’d been slashed, crushed, even nearly gutted, but being shot—that was something different. Each time her ribs shifted against the half-healed hole, she clenched her teeth, tried to walk like it didn’t matter. 

No point in whining. 

The forest was quiet, save for their footfalls and the occasional bird startled into flight. A kind of silence that pressed down, soured by the stink of blood and the memory of the hunter choking on his own. Cait hadn’t spoken aloud, but the bond had filled in the gaps, recounting what happened while Vi lay healing.

Her eyes kept straying to Isha. Over and over, like a tick she couldn’t shake. The kid walked steady, knife strapped at her belt again, face unreadable. Too unreadable for someone that young. She should’ve been laughing about the berries still staining her chin, or complaining about the pace. Not carrying the kind of silence that made her seem older than Viktor.

Vi’s gut twisted. She knew she should say something—hell, anything. Ask if Isha was alright. Tell her it wasn’t her fault. Thank her for stepping up, maybe. But every time she opened her mouth, the words died. Where the fuck would she even start? How do you tell a kid that killing a man was just another line in a long road she never should’ve been forced to walk? That Vi understood, because she’d crossed it too, too early, too young?

So she said nothing and just walked. One sore, limping step after another.

The light drained out of the forest until the trees were just black pillars against a darker sky. No fire tonight, not with cultists prowling somewhere out there.

They settled in the hush of shadow. Viktor leaned against a trunk, his head tipped back, eyes closed. Cait sat cross-legged nearby, her rapier resting across her lap, cloth moving along the blade with quiet, practiced strokes.

And then there was Isha. The girl hadn’t drawn close. Instead she perched on the edge of the circle, knees tucked up, knife at her belt, eyes fixed on nothing. Not watching. Not resting. Just… somewhere else entirely.

Vi crossed the short distance and lowered herself onto a root beside her. 

For a long while, they just sat beside each other. Close enough to be present, close enough to let Isha know she wasn’t alone even if Vi still had no damn clue what to say.

Isha shifted at last, her eyes flicking to Vi, then her hands came up. When was your first time?

Vi didn’t need to ask what she meant. She swallowed and signed back, slow. I was ten.

Isha fidgeted for a second, before she signed, He wasn’t my first.

I know.

Silence pooled between them, thick as tar. The forest creaked around them, but it felt far away. Finally, Vi forced herself to ask, Why’d you kill him?

The girl didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed locked on the dark trees, jaw tense. Then her fingers moved. He hurt you. Isha looked down at her hands, at Vi's blood still under her nails. Couldn't trust him. We can only trust each other.

Vi let out a long breath, nodding. No argument in her, not for that. Sometimes the Pilties actually sent bad people to Stillwater and sometimes you had to defend yourself. Vi could still remember the stench of the first bastard who tried to force himself on her. She’d been fourteen, he hadn't been. Vi'd made sure he couldn't try to hurt anyone ever again. After a moment, her mind returned to the present, to the girl she saw as her sister.

I wish you didn’t have to be here.

For the first time that night, Isha turned fully toward her, brows drawn. Where else would I be?

Vi’s lips tugged into something that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite anything else. She signed, With a good family. A good home. Maybe some friends.

The answer that came back was small, but the smile behind it was real enough. But then we wouldn’t be together.

That broke something loose in Vi’s chest, a bittersweet ache that was equal parts pride and sorrow. She managed a crooked smile in return, shaking her head at the kid—at her strength, her stubbornness, the unfairness of it all. Vi slipped an arm around Isha’s shoulders, drawing the girl close until she fit against her side. The tension in Isha didn’t fade right away, her muscles still held that coiled stiffness, like she expected to be scolded or pushed away.

An owl called somewhere high above, its hoot rolling through the trees. 

Vi shifted, free hand lifting so Isha could see. Next time… unless you don’t have a choice, talk to one of us, okay?

Isha nodded, but she didn’t look up.

Vi let out a slow breath. She wasn’t sure what else to say—hell, what was there to say to a kid who’d just slit a man’s throat? Any words she tried would come out wrong, and she knew it. So instead, she gave what she could. What she’d never had when she was Isha’s age, what the Thorns had never given her.

Comfort.

She eased back until she was leaning against the trunk of the tree and let Isha rest her head against her chest. The girl didn’t fight it. Her breath came slow, steadying by degrees, the tremor in her small frame fading. Vi just sat there with her, silent.

It wasn’t enough. Gods, it was nowhere near enough, but it was something. And Vi would give it, again and again, for as long as the kid needed.

---

Their next day began before the sun had crested, the forest still draped in blue-grey shadow. Gold bled low through the canopy, scattering in thin ribbons across the moss as they moved. Their pace was careful, sound dampened to nothing but the occasional creak of leather. Caitlyn’s head shifted constantly, eyes cutting across every line of brush and branch. She moved like a predator, senses honed to every subtle wrongness the woods could offer.

Vi walked beside Viktor. She kept her voice low, pitched only for him. “Everything good?”

Viktor’s brow quirked.

Vi gestured vaguely toward his leg.

He followed the motion, then let out a slow breath, as though it was tiresome being reminded. “I am fine.”

Vi nodded, eyes flicking away for a moment. “Nothing… weird happening?”

That earned her a tired sigh. “I am very aware of the peculiar nature of my recovery.”

She parted her lips, about to say more, but Viktor raised a hand.

“I am not certain why it happened. What I do know is this: for the first time in my life, I feel no pain. I am whole.” 

Vi looked at him for a long moment, then nodded again. “Viktor, I’m happy for you. Really. It’s just…”

“The origins of the cure,” Viktor finished for her, saving her the trouble. His knowing amber eyes glinted faintly in the dawn light.

Vi exhaled. “Yeah.”

“You know as much as I do,” he said quietly.

After those last words from Viktor, they had gone on in silence. 

Nearly an hour later Vi’s eyes caught the bulge of fruit hanging pink among the green. She slowed, plucked what she could reach—five in all, round with knobbled bumps near their stems—and passed them around. They ate as they walked. The taste was off, sour-bitter with unripeness, but it was food, and food was fuel. She wiped the excess juice off her mouth with the back of her wrist.

That was when the whistle cut the air.

Vi froze, shoulders hunched, every muscle pulling tight. The four of them dropped in unison into the thick spread of sword ferns. Their fronds curved high, offering concealment. Cait’s hand brushed Vi’s shoulder, then pointed.

There was a flash of movement. A woman ran hard through the trees to their left, dark tan skin flashing between the greens. She wasn’t dressed like the hunters they’d faced before—no armor, no bow, just clothes of mottled green and brown, an orange bandanna tight at her neck.

Another whistle.

The arrow followed, hissing fast through the air. It struck deep into the back of her calf. She cried out, tumbling into the ferns, thrashing as she tried to rise.

Vi’s fists clenched. Instinct kicked in—get up, help her, she’s bleeding—but before she could surge forward Cait’s hand locked on her arm and yanked her down.

Vi snapped her head toward her, eyes narrowing, anger bristling hot in her chest. She could feel Cait pressing faintly at her mind through the bond and she let the vampire in.

“Stay here, please. I’ll deal with the hunters.”

“I can help, I—”

“—You can get hurt,” Cait cut across her thought. “I can’t. Please stay here.”

Vi clenched her jaw, fighting the hot rise of protest. Every part of her screamed to stand up, to fight at Cait’s side, to break the bastards aiming arrows at wounded women. But Cait’s voice in her mind was unyielding, and behind it lay something deeper—fear. Not of the hunters. Of losing Vi.

So Vi nodded. The bond eased away, leaving her alone in her head again.

Through the ferns she watched. The hunters emerged between the trees, three of them. Seemed to be the size of their packs. Two women, one broad-shouldered man with an ill-kept beard shadowing his jaw. They spoke in that old tongue, the harsh syllables carrying across the clearing. Their heads turned toward the woman in the orange bandanna as she struggled to her feet, limping hard.

The bearded one reached for her.

The air beside Vi shifted and she didn’t need to look to know. Cait was gone.

One blink and Cait’s rapier punched clean through the hunter’s temple. His eyes went wide, his mouth opening like he had something important to say, then he sagged sideways and fell like a sack of grain.

Credit where it was due, the other two were brave, they rushed the vampire without hesitation.

The first slashed wild, a cut meant for Cait’s chest. Cait stepped sideways with a fencer’s ease and drove her rapier up into the hollow beneath the woman’s arm. Steel tore something vital, and the hunter folded, clutching at herself as blood sprayed hot and red.

The last tried to rush, blade raised, but Cait was already gone, circling behind. Her rapier tip blossomed crimson from the woman’s chest as it slid straight through her heart. The hunter crumpled.

Vi straightened and started moving towards the carnage. She was halfway to Cait when silver sliced through the air.

Her stomach dropped.

The knife came fast, a glint of steel catching what little light filtered through the canopy. Cait moved easily, head tilting just far enough that the blade hissed past her cheek and vanished into the undergrowth.

Cait’s eyes narrowed. Red welled up in them, bright, burning. For a heartbeat she looked less like her Cait and more like something the woman on the ground had every right to fear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the woman stammered, scrambling backward on her hands and heels. She couldn’t have been more than twenty—mousy brown hair tangled, freckles dark across her dirt-streaked face. Wide brown eyes locked on Cait like she’d just seen her death.

Vi stepped in, throwing herself between them before Cait’s glare could turn into anything worse. “Hey,” she barked, raising both hands. “It’s good. You’re good.”

The woman froze, chest heaving, gaze darting between Vi and Cait. Her hand shook around the necklace she clutched—at the end of it hung a crooked hourglass carved in green stone, worn smooth by touch.

Behind Vi, she heard Isha and Viktor catching up. The woman’s eyes flicked to them, then back to Vi.

“You’re with a vampire.”

Vi glanced back at Cait and stated the obvious, “Yeah.” Then her eyes moved to the snapped shaft sticking out of the woman’s calf. The broadhead had burst out next to her shin, blood running in uneven lines down her boot. Vi tilted her head toward it. “You want help with that?”

The woman flinched, dragging her leg back a few inches, face tight with mistrust. Vi kept her palms up where the woman could see them, forcing herself to sound casual as could be.

“Look, we just wanna help. I get it, must be hard as hell trusting anyone out here. But we’re not with them.” She jerked her chin toward the corpses cooling in the ferns behind her. “Clearly.”

The woman’s brown eyes flicked from Vi to Cait, to the knife still sheathed at Isha’s hip, and back again. Fear sat clear as day in her face, but behind it was calculation. Vi recognized that look—the measuring kind, the one she’d worn herself a hundred times. Weighing strangers, deciding if they were lifeline or executioner.

Seconds stretched, heavy with silence.

Then finally she muttered, “Fine.”

Slowly, she edged her leg forward again. Her breath came quick and shallow, but she didn’t pull away this time.

Vi gave her a small crooked smile, more confident than she felt. “Alright. Sit still, okay?” She crouched down in front of her, planting her boots in the dirt. Up close the wound looked nasty, but definitely not fatal.

“You’re gonna want to bite down on something,” Vi muttered, already reaching toward the arrow. The woman hesitated, then took off her belt, wedging it between her teeth.

Cait loomed just behind them, red eyes fixed like daggers on every movement, but she didn’t interfere. Viktor was watching too, arms folded, expression unreadable. Isha stood with her hand on the hilt of her knife, eyes flicking between the trees as if daring anything else to come at them.

“On three,” Vi said, gripping the shaft close to the wound. “One—” 

She yanked.

Chapter Text

Vi sat with her back against one of the twisted trunks, the rough bark digging into her shoulders, and glanced toward the stranger as she finished tying the makeshift bandage. The bleeding had slowed, though she still winced each time she flexed her foot. The cover of the tree tangle wrapped around them, a dark cocoon in the Ritehart, safe enough for now.

“So, you got a name?”

The woman’s brown eyes flicked to her. “Do you?” she shot back.

Vi smirked, unfazed. “Vi.”

There was a pause before the answer came. “Eve.”

“Well, Eve,” Vi leaned her forearms on her knees, “why were you being hunted?”

For a moment Eve’s jaw worked like she wasn’t going to answer. Then her shoulders slumped, and she looked down at her bound leg, fingers knotting in the orange bandanna at her throat. “I… I escaped their village.”

Vi nodded slowly, her eyes flicking to Cait before settling back on the woman. “Why were you there?”

Eve’s look was incredulous, like Vi had just asked her the dumbest thing imaginable. Her lips parted, then pressed together, and finally she forced it out. “I was food.” Her gaze shifted, almost reluctantly, toward Cait. Her hand lifted, brushing at the green stone hourglass hanging at her throat. “For them.”

Cait asked, “Are there other vampires?”

“A family of them.”

“Great…” Vi frowned, shaking her head. “But, I thought those cultists were the food.”

“They are.” Eve’s eyes darted away, deeper into the trees, as though she expected the shadows themselves to listen. “But not for the family. They’re for… the thing they worship.” Her lip curled. “It demands purity. They… they can’t be tainted.”

Silence followed. The wind slid through the forest canopy, carrying with it the sour tang of damp earth and something faintly rotten. Vi caught herself watching Eve's shoulders hunch, like every breath was weighed down by memory.

It was Viktor who finally spoke. “Where are the rest of your Firelights?”

“Didn’t you know? The Firelights are gone.”

Cait tilted her head, gaze narrowing on the woman’s necklace. “Then why do you still carry their symbol?”

Eve glared at her. “Nostalgia.”

Vi could tell from the flicker in her eyes that she was lying. Badly. But she didn’t call her on it. Whoever the hell the Firelights were, they mattered to Eve. That much was clear.

Vi said, “Eve, like it or not, you need us. You’re not gonna make it far with that leg and those psychos prowling around here. So… work with us?”

Eve furrowed her brows, lips twisting. “I’m not working with no enforcer.”

Before Vi could answer, Cait cut in. “You act as if I want to work with a terrorist.”

“We’re not terrorists.”

Cait tilted her head. “So there’s a we now.”

Eve’s jaw worked, grumbling and looking away.

Before the silence could turn into fight, Vi butted in. “Whatever bad blood your groups have, you need to squash it. Enemy of my enemy and all that.” She shot Cait a pointed look. “Right, Cait?”

For a moment Cait’s eyes flared crimson, the predator in her rising, but then she tamped it down. Her lips pressed thin, and she gave a small nod. “Yes.”

Vi turned back to Eve. “I’m from Zaun. I get it. Pilties suck, believe me. But dying because you won’t work with one? That probably sucks more.”

Eve’s fingers tightened around the crooked green hourglass at her throat, her mouth pulling into a frown. She didn’t argue, but the silence that followed was thick as she weighed her pride against her odds.

Vi leaned back, arms folding across her chest. “Look, you want to make it out of here alive? You don’t have to like us. Hell, you can spit in our faces once we’re out. But for now, you stick with us. Deal?”

Eve’s brown eyes flicked from Vi to Viktor to Cait, then to Isha—small, silent, watching with that too-old gaze. Finally, Eve muttered, “Fine.”

Not much, but Vi would take it. “Thank you. Now, where are we going?”

Eve didn’t answer her right away. Her eyes flicked to Cait. “You… I need—”

Cait seemed to sense what she was about to say. Her shoulders eased, her presence softening, no longer the looming predator Vi knew she could be. “I’m not going to hurt your people. I swear it.”

That earned a small nod from Eve, the tension in her jaw loosening, if only a fraction. Then her gaze shifted back to Vi. “We’ll need to move past the Maw’s village and keep north. Once we’re clear of that, I can get my bearings. I’ve never been this far south before.”

“Alright. Sounds like more of a plan than we had.” Vi’s eyes dropped to the crude bandage at Eve’s leg. “You good to go?”

Eve drew in a breath, braced herself, then gave a curt nod. She extended a hand toward Vi. A silent request: trust, however temporary.

Vi clasped it without hesitation, hauling her up. “Then let’s move.”

---

They walked until the last light bled out between the trees, the forest turning black and silver. 

By the time they stopped, Eve was already swaying on her feet. For all her suspicion, she dropped into sleep almost instantly. Must’ve been running for days, Vi figured, chased like an animal until her body gave out.

Isha went not long after, curled with her back against a root, knife pressed to her chest. Viktor leaned on a tree trunk, his head tilted at that odd angle he always had, the glow of his amber eyes dimming until they were barely embers. Both gone to sleep quickly, leaving only the two of them.

Cait sat at Vi’s side. The red glow of her sclerae caught what little moonlight filtered down. Her fingers wove between Vi’s without a word, her grip neither too tight nor too loose.

Vi stared at their hands, scarred knuckles against Cait’s pale fingers. 

Then the bond pressed at her mind, she didn’t fight the intrusion.

“Are they actually terrorists?” Vi asked, the words carrying clean across the tether.

“That’s what we call them. I believe they’ve chosen the title of freedom fighters though.” Cait sighed, then went on. “My mother spoke of them often, and I’ve heard of the aftermath; everyone in Piltover has. Bombings, killings, chaos scattered like ash across the city.”

Vi stayed quiet.

“But…” Cait continued, softer now, “I don’t know. Maybe she was wrong. Like she was wrong about Stillwater. She called that place a cage for the violent, when it was mostly a grave for the desperate.”

Cait leaned, her shoulder pressing against Vi’s. “It’s like nothing I knew was true, her voice carried along the bond, low and heavy. “I wish I—”

She stopped short, wincing, the thought breaking apart before it reached Vi fully.

Vi frowned, turning to look at her. “You okay?”

Cait’s head dipped once, her face calm but her words betraying the stumble. “Yes. I… I shouldn’t have tried to say that. I thought that maybe, in the bond…”

Vi shifted, bringing up a callused hand to cup Cait’s cheek. Her thumb brushed across cool skin. “We’ll fix it. Then you can tell me all your dirty little secrets.”

That earned a laugh. Cait leaned forward until her forehead rested against Vi’s, red-tinged eyes softened in the dark.

“What are you wanting to know? I could tell you a few now,” she said, the words brushing across Vi’s mind like a tease, but there was something genuine under it too. A willingness to open doors she’d kept closed.

Vi smirked faintly, their noses almost brushing. “Guess I’ll start with the good ones.”

“You already know about my poetry… and my first crush…”

Vi waited, curious, watching as little motes drifted loose from Cait—greens, golds, and blues spinning like fragments of glass caught in a breeze. Cait’s thoughts, Cait’s memories, fracturing and reforming.

“This will sound ridiculous,” Cait went on, “but I couldn’t tie my shoes until I was nine.”

Vi’s brows shot up. “Really?”

Cait nodded, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “Utterly confounding to me. I could solve logic puzzles my tutors couldn’t, but laces defeated me.”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “How about you?” Cait asked.

“Good or bad?”

“Let’s stick with the good.”

Vi thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I used to make windchimes. Stupid little things, but fun. I’d use forks, bottles, scrap metal—whatever I could get my hands on. Twist ‘em together with some old twine I found. My neighborhood in Zaun was littered with ‘em. Nobody ever knew who put ’em up.”

Cait’s eyes softened. “Your secret was much better than mine.”

Vi smirked. “Didn’t realize it was a competition.”

“Another secret,” Cait said, her tone mock-serious, “I’m very competitive.”

Vi snorted. “That doesn’t count.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s obvious.”

Cait leaned closer, her nose brushing Vi’s, her grin edged with challenge. “Just because something’s obvious,” she whispered across the bond, “doesn’t make it not a secret.”

The longer Vi held Cait’s gaze, the more she caught something buried deep within it. Not hunger exactly—at least not the kind Vi knew how to name. It was heavier, stranger. Something that made her feel both seen and lost all at once, as if Cait knew a language that Vi had never learned.

“Yeah,” Vi muttered. “I guess so.”

Cait’s hand tightened around hers, cool fingers trembling faintly with restraint, and beneath it Vi felt the pulse of need.

“You need to feed?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to frighten Eve more than I had already.”

Vi gave her hand a squeeze. “So considerate.”

Cait rolled her eyes, but her composure cracked, giving way to something shy. Her head dipped, words soft. “Could I… sit in your lap while I drink?”

The question was so tentative Vi almost laughed. Almost. “Yeah. Just… be quiet, okay?”

Cait shifted excitedly, her body moving with that liquid grace of hers. One leg swung over Vi’s as she straddled her. She lowered herself, careful with the weight, though Vi didn’t mind in the slightest. The heat of her pressed close.

Vi tilted her head, exposing the shorn side where the burn scar still curled her ear. The gesture was instinct more than thought, baring the vulnerable line of her throat to the woman she trusted most.

Cait leaned in, slow, almost reverent. The cool brush of her nose pressed against Vi’s skin as she inhaled. The sound was a low purr, vibrating against Vi’s neck, a hum of hunger and want that sent a shiver down her spine.

Vi felt her shift—small changes at first, then more pronounced. Claws extended, tracing lightly across Vi’s back. The tips dragged over her shirt, catching here and there as Cait adjusted her hold. Her ears lengthened into fine points, twitching at every sound in the night.

Then came the graze of fangs. Just a whisper of sharpness against her throat, not breaking the skin yet, just hovering. Teasing. Testing.

One of Cait’s clawed hands threaded into Vi’s hair, combing through before curling tight at the base of her skull. Not painful, but firm. Possessive.

Then Cait bit her.

A single, perfect puncture, the press of fangs sliding in with an exquisite pain. The rush of blood was instant; Vi felt it rip through her, hot and dizzying, like a fever in her veins. Cait’s lips latched tight, her claws flexing, hips rolling down to grind slow against Vi’s lap.

The shock of it drew a sound from her—a gasp, half-swallowed and animal. Her arms locked around Cait’s back, clutching her close.

Cait’s hips rocked, her thighs clamping Vi’s waist in a vise. She drank, and Vi felt it everywhere, an ache that radiated out from her throat and pooled molten in her belly. Each pull of Cait’s mouth sent a pulse straight between Vi’s legs, and the friction of cloth on cloth as Cait ground down was maddening—barely enough, insistent, inescapable. The little whimpers Cait made as she fed vibrated through Vi’s skin, and soon her own breath was coming ragged, her body moving helplessly in counter-rhythm.

Any residual pain faded quickly, replaced by heat, by a trembling pressure that built and built. She shifted under Cait, felt the wetness already soaking her through, and a thrill of helpless need. Vi’s hands, meant for fighting, now only gripped at Cait’s hips, feeling them flex and cant against her.

Suddenly it was over, Cait pulled away. Her lips black in the moonlight, her eyes burning red.

Cait’s tongue slid over the wounds, licking away the blood in lazy, possessive circles. Then her lips grazed Vi’s ear as she whispered through the bond, “Gods, I need you.”

Her mouth left a dark ribbon of blood as she pressed kisses along Vi’s jaw, her lips impossibly soft. She licked a droplet from the hollow of Vi’s throat, then let her fangs graze the skin just below, teasing, barely breaking the surface. Her words came out in a growl. "Let me taste you everywhere. Let me fuck you until you can't even remember your name."

Cait’s words hit harder than the bite, the raw need in them obliterating every thought in her head. She wanted to laugh, to deflect, to crack a joke, but her body wouldn’t let her. Instead, she just hung there—caught under Cait’s weight, lips parted, heart slamming, heat flooding lower and lower until her breath came in quick, helpless bursts. She swallowed, tried to act casual.

Failed.

Cait’s hips rolled again, driving their bodies together. Her claws fanned across Vi’s back before slipping under the shirt, tracing the ridges of scar and muscle. “You want this,” Cait whispered. “I can see it, I can feel it.”

“I do, I just—hell, I want you so bad it hurts. But we’re out here, in the middle of…” Vi waved a hand at the forest, at the others asleep a stone’s throw away. “…everything.”

Cait’s face softened. Not the hunger, not the want—those were just barely leashed, simmering beneath her skin—but the way she looked at Vi changed, a sudden and total focus. “You think I care about that?” She asked, her claws tracing lines down Vi’s ribs. “I want to mark you. I want them to know who you belong to.”

“I’m yours, Caitlyn. All yours. We just…can’t. Not right now.”

Cait’s claws flexed against Vi’s ribs, a shiver running through her.

“I’m trying so hard,” Cait confessed, her voice trembling in Vi’s head. “But gods, Violet…I need you.”

There was a ripple in the bond and suddenly Vi saw herself in one of the fractal’s drifting away from Cait—her own body, splayed open and wanting. Naked, her head thrown back, moaning and writhing on a bed of moss, every inch of her marked by Cait’s mouth, Cait’s hands, Cait’s bloody red eyes. She saw it with impossible clarity, as if the memory had already happened, as if Cait had lived a thousand lifetimes of it before even asking permission.

Vi’s breath hitched, her face going hot.

Other images drifted by. Vi straddled and helpless. Vi with her thighs bruised from Cait’s grip. Vi with scratch-marks raked down her spine. Vi coming apart over and over because Cait needed her to.

The worst—or best—part was how much she wanted it, how wet it made her.

All at once, the bond snapped shut. Vi shuddered, the flood of images vanishing, replaced by the hush of the forest and the red glow of Cait's embarrassed, averted eyes.

“I am so sorry—” Cait whispered, her voice ragged on the edge of panic. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to—gods—that was too much.” Her claws vanished quickly, her face almost comically red even in the dark. She slid off Vi’s lap, landing cross-legged, hands folded demurely.

Vi reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her back. “Don’t.”

Cait blinked. “Vi—”

“I know.” Vi’s hand came up, tracing a thumb along Cait’s high, pale cheekbone. “I want it too. You’re just more honest about it than I am.”

Cait blinked at her again, mouth opening and then closing. Her eyes flicked from Vi’s lips to her own hands, then back again. She looked so completely thrown off her axis that for a second Vi felt sorry for her.

Vi leaned in and let their lips touch—not a kiss really, but a promise. “When we’re somewhere safe and alone,” she whispered, “I’ll let you wreck me, Caitlyn Kiramman. You have my word.”

Cait’s eyes closed, and she bit her lip so hard Vi thought she might be trying to eat it. When she opened her eyes again, the storm of need behind them was—if not calmed—at least banked.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Chapter Text

Eve broke the morning quiet as they walked. “I, uh… heard some noises last night.”

Vi shot her a sideways glance. “Uh-huh.”

Eve cleared her throat, adjusting the Maw shortbow on her shoulder as she limped along. “So… you and the vamp are… y’know. Together?”

“Yep.” Vi forced her face to stay neutral, but she could feel the heat creeping up her neck anyway. 

Eve leaned in a little, words dropping to a whisper. “I can help. We’ve had people in the Firelights who were Thralled before—”

Vi chuckled softly. Eve froze, brows drawing down in confusion.

“She’s not Thralling me,” Vi said, shaking her head. “Cait’s… different.”

The skeptical look Eve gave her was almost pitying. She tugged the bandanna at her throat, eyes narrowing. “That’s what they all say. Until it’s too late.”

“You don’t know us. You don’t know her. I’ve got more reason than most to hate vamps, doesn’t mean all of ’em are bad.”

Eve’s mouth worked, but she didn’t push it. Her hand went back to clutching the green hourglass necklace, muttering something Vi didn’t bother catching.

Vi’s eyes were already forward. Cait had slowed, her gloved hand lifting. Fingers cut through the air, two, north, approaching.

Her gut tightened. She leaned toward Eve, whispering fast, “Stay with Viktor.”

The woman read the tone for what it was and backed off quick, limping toward where Isha and Viktor were.

That was when Vi felt the tap at her mind. She let it in, and the bond snapped into place.

Cait’s voice brushed across her thoughts. “Just play along.”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Vampires.”

The brush ahead rippled like water disturbed, fronds bowing as something formless sliced through them. Vi shifted, boots grinding softly against the earth, putting herself squarely between the others and whatever was coming. Her fists clenched as she braced for a fight.

Then the shapes resolved into figures. Two of them. A man and a woman, close enough in bearing to mark them as kin. Fraternal, but unmistakably twins. Their skin was pale as a picked bone, their hair long and straight and black. They wore simple, but finely made clothes.

Their eyes burned red. Both of them fixed on Cait.

The man smiled, lips thin. His voice carried a thick, rolling accent as he spoke perfect Pilt. “Ah. Hello. I did not expect to meet another Strigoi today. Did you, sister?”

The woman’s reply was silence. She stood utterly still, gaze unblinking, like a statue.

The man’s head tilted. “May I ask what you are doing in our Ritehart?”

Cait’s shoulders were straight, chin high, every inch of her the noble she’d been raised to be. Her coat caught the thin light, the rapier at her hip gleamed faintly, and her voice came out cold, clipped, and too precise.

“I am escorting escaped convicts back to Piltover for sentencing.”

The words dropped heavy in the stillness, but Vi felt her gut clench. Cait’s tone was steady, her stance perfect, but it rang false to Vi’s ear. Too stiff. Too formal. She was no liar. And with predators staring her down, Vi really wished she was.

The silence stretched. The man’s eyes narrowed faintly, flicking from Cait to the group huddled behind Vi, then back again.

The man’s smile didn’t falter, but something colder flickered in his eyes. “You are young,” he said with mild amusement. “So perhaps you are unaware—the Ritehart belongs to the Dorane.”

“I did not mean to offend.”

“There’s no offense taken on my part.” The man spread his pale hands, an almost conciliatory gesture. “Although, I cannot say the same for my Father.”

The woman’s voice cut in, whisper-thin and rasping. “He is most displeased that you killed his children.”

“They attacked us,” Cait said, steady.

The man inclined his head as though conceding a point. “Of course. Everyone is on alert after we were attacked by the Firelights. My deepest apologies for the misunderstanding.” His voice softened, but there was no warmth in it. “But their deaths are still on your hands.”

Cait’s fingers tightened on her rapier, the sound of her glove creaking loud in the silence. “How do we proceed?”

The woman’s gaze slid past her, red eyes glinting as they settled first on Eve, then on Vi. She raised a long, pale finger and pointed. “We want the Firelight.” Her hand shifted toward Vi. “And the woman. Father enjoys the women best. This one looks strong.”

Cait’s lips peeled back, baring her fangs. “You cannot have her.”

The man threw his head back and laughed. “Do you actually care for the human?” His eyes gleamed red, his smile stretching wider. “Oh, this is too good. What a disgusting creature you are.”

Vi’s fists curled, every muscle begging to break, to swing, to end this, end him. “You don’t wanna do this.”

The laughter stopped. His smile faltered into a sneer, all humor gone in an instant. His eyes slid to her, sharp as daggers. “Do not speak to me, suczka—”

In a blink, Cait’s rapier cleared its scabbard. The steel hissed as it struck, thrusting straight for the man’s skull.

His head tilted just enough, the tip slicing air a hair’s breadth from his temple. A smirk touched his lips even as the blade passed.

Light flared. 

Viktor’s hand lifted, threads weaving into a dome that snapped shut around himself, Isha, and Eve. The barrier shimmered, sealing them in like insects in amber.

And in that same instant Vi felt three things at once—

Her heartbeat.

The rhythm of the earth beneath her boots.

And the bond.

—Time seemed to slow.

Cait was off-balance, her thrust overextended, her side bare. The woman was already lunging at her, claws drawn to tear her open.

Vi’s foot came down with a crack that shivered through the roots beneath them. Wood tore upward at her call, stabbing up from the earth. The shard punched through the vampire woman’s hand mid-lunge, stopping her attack cold. She shrieked, crimson eyes blazing, blood spilling dark down the pale of her wrist.

Vi closed the distance in a second. 

Cait’s rapier sang. But the man flowed around each thrust, head tilting, body twisting with inhuman grace. His smile never wavered.

“This is interesting,” he purred, dodging another steel bite by a centimeter.

Roots surged at Vi’s command, twisting up into her hands until one solidified into a stake. She drove it straight for the woman’s chest but the vampire caught her wrist mid-swing. Claws dug into her skin, cold strength holding her back. The woman’s lips peeled back in a snarl, fangs flashing as she hissed, “Thorn!”

Vi growled, arm trembling against the vampire’s iron grip, but through the bond she felt Cait. Not words—instincts. Angles. Movements. The melding of their subconscious.

Her body reacted before her mind did. Vi ducked hard, the motion ripping her free of the woman’s claws just as the man’s hand slashed through the air where her skull had been. 

Vi’s stake whistled back toward the woman’s chest, but pale claws deflected it, raking her forearm open. Hot blood spattered bark. She roared, slamming her boot down—roots lanced upward, spearing through the woman’s thigh. The vampire shrieked, tore herself free, and lunged again, teeth snapping for Vi’s throat.

Beside her, Cait moved like a storm. Rapier flashing, she pressed the twin brother hard. The man’s claws lashed, rending shallow gouges across Cait’s coat, scoring her arm. Her blade kissed his ribs in return, leaving blood trailing down his white shirt.

The bond thrummed like a second heartbeat.

Duck—Vi dropped beneath the woman’s claws, countering with an elbow to the jaw. 

Step left—Cait slid past a raking slash, riposte sliding deep into her foe’s shoulder. 

Vi’s stake caught the woman in the ribs, splintering bone, missing the heart, before claws slashed into her side and knocked her breathless. She staggered but planted hard, roots surging from the soil to wrap the vampire’s leg, dragging her down. The woman screeched, tearing free again with strips of her own flesh.

Right side, high!—and Vi swung up in time to intercept another hit from the man, the impact shattering bone in her wrist but stopping the strike.

Cait’s rapier darted like lightning, leaving long ribbons of blood across the brother’s chest. His claws raked down her shoulder in return, tearing cloth and skin. She gritted her teeth, refused to yield ground, their bond snapping with Vi’s fury—forward!—and her blade drove deep into his gut. He roared, backhanding her so hard she spun, her jaw snapping out of place with the blow.

Vi tackled him, the two of them crashing to the earth in a mess of teeth, claws, and dirt. Vines burst from the ground, writhing like serpents around his throat and arms, pinning him down. His hands clawed and tore at them, blood spraying as thorns bit into his pale flesh. She raised the stake overhead, ready to drive it down into his chest—

—but the sister’s boot crashed into her ribs. The air left her in a grunt, and she was hurled sideways. Vi tumbled through the underbrush, rolling hard until her shoulder cracked against a root. She forced herself up, chest heaving.

The woman was already on her. Her foot smashed into Vi’s chest again, slamming her against the thick trunk of a tree. Bark dug into her spine, and blood spattered from her lips.

She saw claws descending. Then Cait was there.

The rapier slid through the vampire’s stomach. Blood poured down the blade as Cait snarled, twisting the weapon. The woman screeched, back arching, her hands scrabbling against steel that held fast.

But the brother wasn’t finished. He ripped free, a blur of pale rage, claws sweeping for Cait’s throat.

Vi pulled the earth’s thrum into her palm, forcing it sharp and jagged. A dagger of root burst from her fist. With a snap of her arm, she hurled it. The makeshift blade spun through the air and sank deep into the man’s eye.

The vampire howled, blood and jelly spurting down his cheek. He reeled, clawing at the embedded dagger, his strike at Cait thrown wide.

Cait ripped her rapier free from the woman in the same heartbeat Vi rolled across the dirt, roots shivering against her palms as she drew another stake into being.

The sister staggered forward, screeching, her claws outstretched. Vi lunged to meet her. The world narrowed, nothing but the bond humming in her head.

They struck as one.

Cait’s blade slid up beneath the man’s ribs, puncturing through skin and bone. At the same moment, Vi drove her stake into the sister’s chest, the jagged wood splintering as it sank deep.

Twin screams ripped through the forest.

Neither Cait nor Vi stopped. Their bodies moved together—rapier and root twisting, shoving deeper, forcing through with brutal strength until steel and wood punched out the backs of their prey.

The twins spasmed. Blood bubbled up their throats, spilling down pale chins. Their eyes locked on one another in some silent communion, hands reaching out blindly, grasping for each other even as their strength failed.

Then they collapsed, pinned in their death throes by Caitlyn’s blade and Vi’s stake. Their bodies convulsed once, twice, thrice, then went slack.

Vi panted, shoulders heaving, blood running hot from her ribs. She looked at Cait. Cait looked at her. The bond thrummed in wordless relief.

The twins’ bodies began to shrivel, their pale flesh collapsing inward. Blood hissed as it dried, bones snapping brittle beneath their own weight. In moments, the corpses weren’t corpses at all—just ashen husks that broke apart and scattered on the forest floor, carried away in the breeze.

Vi’s knees gave out at the same time Cait’s did, the two of them dropping, foreheads pressed together.

“Are you okay?”

Vi forced a grin. “Nothing a little sun won’t fix.” She winced as she shifted, ribs grinding. “You?”

“I need some blood.” Cait said, her eyes flaring faint red.

Vi tilted her head, baring the shorn side. “Go on.”

Cait’s arms wound around her, holding her with a gentleness that almost didn’t fit the fangs that followed. Her nose pressed into Vi’s skin, and then teeth sank in. The bite sent a jolt through her, sharp and hot, followed by the steady pull of Cait’s feeding. Cait moaned softly, the sound muffled against her throat.

Ten long seconds, then Cait pulled back, lips stained dark, tongue flicking over the last traces of blood. Her eyes drifting back to blue, her wounds healing.

Vi swayed, a little light-headed now, every break and bruise and cut shrieking for attention, but none of it surprised her. She’d been beaten down worse before. This? This was just another day.

Cait steadied Vi as she rose, an arm sliding firm around her waist.

“How’d you do that with the sword?” Vi muttered as they staggered into a patch of sunlight breaking through the canopy.

Cait’s eyes flicked down to the rapier, its blade still slicked with ash-dusted blood. “Steel is an alloy. My blade happens to have silver folded into it. A gift from my mother, she wanted me prepared for anything.”

Vi let out a rough chuckle. “Figures. I’ll have to thank her when I meet her.”

Cait lowered her gently into the sunbeam, easing her down until she was seated in the dirt. She began stripping away Vi’s shirt, the fabric sopping with blood and torn half to ribbons again. Vi hissed as it peeled from her wounds, but let it go, arms falling heavy to her sides.

The others approached in staggered silence. Isha first, her small hands balled into fists, eyes locked on Vi with that tense, too-old expression. Then Viktor, watching everything with a scholar’s detachment. And finally Eve, limping forward on her bandaged leg.

Isha and Viktor seemed relatively untouched by what they’d just witnessed. But Eve—Eve stared like she’d just seen Jan’ahrem return. Her gaze tracked Cait, then Vi, then the ash scattered across the ground where the twins had fallen. Her lips parted, closed, then parted again as though words failed her.

Vi caught the look and almost laughed, it came out as a wheeze instead. “What? Never seen a vampire and a Thorn play tag-team before?”

Eve’s eyes shot to her, wide and disbelieving. She shook her head slowly, whispering under her breath, “a Thorn?”

Vi jabbed a thumb at herself, a bloody, crooked smile on her lips. “The one and only.” She turned her body until her back faced the shaft of sunlight. Already the warmth seared across her skin, sparking something deep under the surface. “Might wanna look away for this next bit.”

Isha was quick to act, tugging at Eve’s sleeve, pulling her a few steps aside. Eve stumbled, eyes still wide and locked on Vi, but she didn’t fight it. Viktor didn’t move—just adjusted his stance, his amber gaze narrowing, as though every detail was being etched into memory.

Cait never let go of her hand.

The briars stirred. Thick cords of vine and thorn writhed across Vi’s back and shoulders, glowing faintly gold and green. She clenched her jaw, grit her teeth hard enough her temples ached, as the work began. Bones groaned, snapping back in place. Torn muscle squirmed beneath her skin, latching onto itself with every agonizing throb.

Her vision blurred with the pain, but she forced herself still, breathing deep through her nose. Around her, the plants felt it—answered it. Moss spread thick, flowers opened to the sun, ferns sprouting from the dirt, all of it feeding off the energy bleeding out of her. The air smelled of sap and soil, sharp and green.

Minutes crawled by like years. Then, at last, the glow dimmed. The briars stilled, their barbs curling tight under her skin, dormant once more.

Vi sagged forward, panting, every muscle sore as though she’d just fought another battle. But when she looked down at herself, the wounds were gone. Only scars remained, old and new etched together.

Viktor said, “We’ll need to keep moving. Killing them was necessary, but now we will be hunted.” He extended a hand, holding out the shirt he’d mended—knitted clean, not a trace of blood or tear left.

Vi grinned as she took it. “Thanks, Vik.” Then pulled it over her head.

Cait hadn’t looked away from the north. “You’re right. Their line will have felt their deaths.”

“Love that we pissed off the family of vampires.” Vi sighed.

“Confrontation is inevitable,” Viktor replied. “We trespassed in their woods, kill their servants, then their kin—it would be naïve to expect no answer.”

Cait slid her arm under Vi’s and helped her up. Vi’s legs protested, muscles still sore from the healing, but she forced herself upright.

“Then let’s keep moving,” Cait murmured, her eyes still on the shadowed forest ahead. 

---

They pressed north, every step bringing them further into the forest’s heart. The silence was loud, broken only by their breath, their boots and the whisper of branches overhead. The number of corpses grew the further they went—men, women, children—strung up and left to rot. Sacrifices, their blood long since leached into the soil.

The earth itself seemed poisoned. Vi felt it under her soles, the rhythm of it warped. Wrong. Where she usually felt a steady pulse of life and growth, here it ached like a bone set poorly. Hemocraft clung to the air, the stink of copper burning her nose.

By noon they reached a creek. The water was fast, silver-bright as it rushed over stone, and at least it promised something clean in this place. They crouched in the creek bed, filling skins, washing dirt and blood from their arms. The water was a cold relief.

Vi sat on a slick rock, boots braced against the current, her ribs still aching despite the briars’ work. Isha perched nearby, her knife in hand, turning it over and over. Viktor dipped his hand into the current, watching droplets fall from his palm as if studying the way they refracted light.

Caitlyn didn’t sit. She stood on the bank, her rapier still in hand, gaze sweeping. Even here, even now, she looked carved out of the virtue of vigilance itself.

It was Eve who finally broke the quiet. She sat with her bandaged leg stretched out, staring down into the water as though it held answers. 

“I’ve never seen one die before.”

“With our luck? You’ll probably see more of that soon,” Vi said sardonically.

Eve’s jaw clenched. Her teeth ground together as she muttered, “Good.”

“What did they mean?” Viktor asked, “About the attack? Did your people provoke them?”

Eve dragged her eyes from the stream and met his gaze. For once she didn’t spit her words, just spoke flat. “One of our foraging groups ranged too far south. The family took them.” Her hand went to the green hourglass at her throat, thumb rubbing its smooth edges. “We tried to arrange a trade.” Her mouth twisted. “Didn’t go well. So we tried to get them out.” She fell quiet, her eyes lowering. The water rushed past, filling the gap in her voice. Then she gestured to herself, a bitter laugh in her breath. “That… also didn’t go well. I was captured. Managed to get out.”

The bandanna at her neck fluttered with her words, bright orange against the grey of the woods. Vi studied her a moment, the lines in her face that didn’t belong to someone so young. Survivor’s lines. She knew them all too well.

Cait turned and said, “We’ll get you back to your people.”

Eve didn't answer.

Chapter Text

Viktor lifted a hand, tracing the air with two fingers. Light bled out from his gestures, weaving into shapes that weren’t there a moment ago. Tree-bark patterns crawled up from the dirt, shadows doubled and deepened, leaves layered upon themselves. In minutes, their little clearing vanished into the camouflage of the Ritehart. 

To human senses, it was just another twist of roots and ferns. But no illusion could hide the hammering of a heartbeat. Not from vampires. Not unless you stopped it altogether—and that wasn’t an option she cared to think about.

Isha sat off to the side, perched on a stump with one knee curled tight against her chest. Her gaze wandered, fixed on the blaze of orange sunlight cutting through the green canopy.

Vi clapped a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder before settling beside her. She dug into her belt and pulled out three knives, their wooden blades deadly sharp—freshly bloomed to be so.

She held them out across her palm. 

Isha’s eyes flicked down, then back up. 

Made them for you, Vi signed.

Isha’s small hand darted out, snatching the knives from Vi’s palm. She weighed them for a moment, the wood gleaming faintly in the last streaks of orange light.

Vi signed, I wish I didn’t have to do this. But you need to know how to protect yourself.

Two of the blades were set carefully on the stump beside her, lined up like treasures. The third she held tighter, turning it over in her palm. Vi had shaped it simple—a hunting knife, clean and balanced, the kind you could rely on whether you were skinning game or stabbing something that wanted you dead.

They should work better than the kitchen knife you’ve been using, Vi signed, lips quirking.

Isha nodded, her mouth twitching as she shaped her hands. I don’t think I’ll be chopping carrots anytime soon.

Vi laughed softly, shaking her head. For the first time in a while, Isha smiled. It was small, crooked, but real—and gods, it was good to see.

Vi’s smile faded as fast as it had come. She pressed her thumb into the knife’s spine, feeling the grain, then looked Isha square in the eye.

I need you to pay attention. 

Isha nodded.

She set the knife flat on her palm and tapped the blade-tip once, then flattened her hand out and pointed. For humans, cut here—she gestured to the pulse of her neck. If you can’t get the throat, here—she slid her hand down to the inside of her thigh, where the femoral artery ran—and here—she tapped the underside of her wrist. If you’ve got to stab someone in the torso, keep stabbing until they stop moving. Don’t stop. Make sure they can’t fight back.

It felt like she was talking to herself. Vander’s voice seemed to echo out of her. His lessons. His warnings. His ghosts, bleeding out through her hands.

Isha’s gaze didn’t waver. She was all attention, every flicker of sunlight caught in her eyes.

Vi signed, For vampires—you run. You hide. Mask your scent if you can. She pointed down at the dirt, then tapped her chest. If we’re in a fight, it’ll be hard for them to pick your heart out when everything’s chaos. But if you’re cornered…

She caught Isha’s wrists and guided them with the knife until the tip pressed right beneath her own sternum. The wood bit shallow through the fabric, marking the spot.

Vi held her there, making sure Isha was reading her lips. “Right under the bone. Push. Don’t stop, no matter how much they scream, no matter how hard they thrash. You drive it through, ‘cause hesitation will get you killed.”

The words sat in her throat like ash. Vi wanted to give the kid something better than this. But the world didn’t care what she wanted, and mercy wasn’t worth a damn if you didn’t live long enough to spend it.

Isha nodded once, jaw tight, her small hands gripping the hilt with a strength that didn’t belong to someone her age. And Vi felt the hollow ache of knowing she’d just made the girl a little more like her.

Isha signed, thank you, I can do this. I can help.

I know you can. And Vi meant it. The kid wasn’t soft anymore, not after all this. She hated the truth of it.

Her eyes drifted to where the sun dragged itself down, smearing the sky in blood and rust. Then she turned back, making sure Isha caught her hands. You get enough to eat?

Isha nodded quickly and signed, Did you?

Vi gave a single nod. She’d had something, enough to quiet her gut for a while. Good enough.

So they sat there together, watching the horizon bleed out into the dark, minutes dripping past. The forest spoke around them—branches groaning, leaves hissing with the faintest stir of breeze, some bird far off called.

Vi drew a deep breath through her nose, held it, then let it ease out slow. That was when the prickle hit. The sense she hated most. Not quite sound, not quite sight, but that itch in the bones, the back of the neck alive with warning. The briars along her back stirred of their own accord, whispering beneath her skin like restless snakes. Vi narrowed her eyes, forcing herself not to snap her head about, not to spook Isha. Her gaze combed the forest.

Then she spotted it—something hulking, a hundred feet out. The dying sun smeared its silhouette into the branches, but the eyes—those were clear. Ten feet off the ground, twin sparks of reflection that cut through the dusk.

Vi’s lungs froze. Breath turned to stone in her chest. Every instinct she’d ever trusted told her to look away, to blink, to move, but she couldn’t. The thing held her there, locked like prey.

And then it spoke.

No mouth moved. No sound crossed the distance. The voice came from the shadows, came from the silence, came from right beside her, intimate as a whisper in her ear.

K

I

N

The word curdled in her blood.

Her briars writhed hard enough to sting, their thorns biting her back, like they wanted out, wanted to scatter into the dirt and crawl away. Her heart pounded so loud she swore Isha must hear it.

The kid tugged at her sleeve. What is it?

Vi didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her hands were ice, her body caught between fight and flight and some third urge she couldn’t name—the pull to step closer, to see what called her family.

The creature shifted, or maybe the forest shifted around it, the shape smearing like a shadow under water. A trick of the light. Or not.

The eyes didn’t blink.

Another whisper, closer still, threading into her skull like smoke through cracks in the floorboard.

S

T

R

A

Y

A claw, long as her arm, curled around the trunk of an oak. No skin left to hide it—just tendon stretched thin, cords of muscle gleaming wet in the dying light. The bark splintered under its grip, bleeding sap like the tree itself was afraid.

Vi’s stomach turned as the rest of it shifted forward. Antlers jutted from its crown, not smooth, not proud, but cracked and jagged, blackened with rot. Fur hung in patches, matted, crawling with things she couldn’t quite see. And beneath—gods—limbs that didn’t make sense, too many, bent wrong, writhing like it hadn’t decided what shape it wanted to take.

The eyes burned green.

H

U

R

T

I

N

G

Vi flinched and when she blinked—Cait was there. Beside her, solid as stone, rapier in hand, jaw set tight. No sound of her approach, no warning—just there. And Vi felt a stab of panic because Cait shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t see this, shouldn’t be anywhere near this thing.

The creature leaned forward, and the blur of its face began to sharpen. Vi wished it hadn’t.

The mouth resolved first—slack and ruined, the muzzle of a bear long dead, lips pulled back from teeth yellowed with rot. Gums cracked, jaw hanging wrong, drool—or was it pus?—dripping into the soil. It didn’t breathe, but she swore she could smell the filth.

It opened that dead mouth.

B

E

G

G

I

N

G

The thing convulsed.

It twitched, spasmed, every limb jerking in directions no body should move. The antlers scraped across the trees with a sound like knives drawn across stone. Its eyes—those green-burning pits—locked on hers, and suddenly they were all she could see.

B

O

U

N

D

Rot peeling back from bone, sloughing off in wet sheets. Tendons snapping like bowstrings, spraying filth. Bellies split wide, rivers of slick entrails coiling out across a floor of crawling maggots. Blood boiling out of sockets, eyes dissolving into slurry. Teeth cracking, falling loose, gnashing still in twitching gums. A forest of bodies hung on thorns, flayed raw, their mouths still working though no sound came.

All of it hammered straight into Vi’s mind. No air, no escape, just endless red, endless ruin. She could taste it—copper and rot and bile filling her throat.

She blinked.

And it was gone.

The creature, the visions, just gone.

Her chest heaved like she’d just run ten miles with a boulder on her back. Every breath scraped raw down her throat. Her fists wouldn’t unclench. She didn’t even notice the tears until Cait’s hands were on her face.

Cool, steady palms, thumbs brushing the wet away, Cait’s voice cutting through the ringing in Vi’s ears.

“Vi. Talk to me. I’m right here. Vi, please, please, look at me.”

Her lips trembled as she swallowed, dragging her eyes to meet Cait’s. Those blue eyes holding her together by sheer force of will.

“Did you see it?” The words broke out of her ragged, almost a sob.

Cait stilled. Her fingers pressed just a little harder against Vi’s cheeks, but her face gave nothing back.

“It was right there,” Vi insisted, her voice cracked, hoarse and hollow. “I heard it. It—it spoke to me.”

Her throat tightened, another tear slipping hot down her cheek.

Cait’s jaw worked, her lips parted like she wanted to say something—anything—but no words came. Just that look. That terrible, quiet look.

And Vi knew.

Cait hadn’t seen a damn thing.

---

It had taken time. Vi’s body had fought every step toward sleep, jerking awake at the smallest sound, every muscle ready to spring. But at last, with Caitlyn’s arms around her and the weight of exhaustion dragging her down, Vi’s head found her lap. The tension in her jaw slackened, her breath slowed, and Caitlyn felt the quiet tremors finally ease.

Caitlyn stared out into the darkened forest, her eyes sweeping through the trees again and again. She’d seen nothing. Heard nothing. But that didn’t matter. Vi had. And Caitlyn believed her—because Vi didn’t frighten easy, didn’t cry like that unless there was something real clawing at her. Even if she wouldn’t let Caitlyn reach for the bond, even if she thought she had to hold it all herself. Especially because of that.

Her hand hovered above Vi’s hair, hesitation burning in her fingertips. She ached to soothe her, to prove she was here, that she’d shoulder the weight if Vi would only let her. For a moment she nearly drew back, afraid the touch would wake her, would remind Vi that she wasn’t allowed to rest.

But Caitlyn couldn’t stop herself.

So slowly, so carefully, she let her fingers sink into Vi’s hair.

And instead of flinching, Vi leaned into it, a soft, unconscious surrender that made Caitlyn’s chest ache.

If she had a heartbeat, it would have fluttered.

She combed through Vi’s hair gently. It shouldn’t have been pleasant—gods, it was a mess, greasy and clumped, strands stiff with dried blood, knotted into mats that tugged against Caitlyn’s fingers. But she cherished every strand. It was perfect because it was Vi.

Caitlyn let out a soundless sigh. She loved this human. It terrified her how much. The weight of it pressed deeper than the hunger ever had, deeper than duty.

Her mother’s voice haunted her memory.

Don’t get attached. Not to humans. Their lives burn fast and brief, and their deaths will ruin you. We are meant to endure, not to love.

Caitlyn’s hand trembled in Vi’s hair, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She bent down slightly, nose brushing the crown of Vi’s head, breathing in the salt-and-iron scent of sweat and blood and the faintest trace of wild that always clung to her.

Dangerous, yes. Fatal, perhaps. But Caitlyn had no strength to resist it.

Vi shifted in her sleep, mumbling something low, incoherent. Her brow furrowed, lips trembling as though caught in another dream she couldn’t escape. Caitlyn stroked her temple, whispering words she didn’t even mean to speak.

“I’m here, love.”

She hoped that one day Vi would feel the same as she did. That Vi would look at her not just with trust, not just with reliance, but with that same depth of devotion Caitlyn carried. She knew Vi cared for her; she’d felt it in the bond, flashes of affection breaking through the walls Vi kept around herself. But she’d also seen the chasm underneath—how starved Vi was for tenderness, how empty her life had been of it.

A child soldier at ten. A prisoner before she’d become a teenager. Then nine years swallowed whole by Stillwater, treated like she was nothing but a problem to be crushed underfoot. Every scrap of affection in Vi’s life had been stolen, broken, or twisted into something cruel.

It made Caitlyn furious. Furious at Zaun for eating its children alive. Furious at Piltover for grinding them down to ash. Furious at the empire for chaining her bondmate and leaving scars no blade could carve deeper.

Yet here Vi was. Still good. Still protective to a fault. Still holding on to scraps of humanity Caitlyn wasn’t sure she herself could have saved if their fates were reversed.

Perfect. That was the only word Caitlyn had for her. Perfect in her defiance, in her scars, in the way she still cared despite every reason not to.

Her fingers curled more tightly into Vi’s hair.

The words tumbled in her mind, relentless, a flood she couldn’t stop.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

They pressed against her ribs, against her throat, aching to spill free. A litany she couldn’t speak aloud, not yet, not without risking Vi pushing it away. So Caitlyn kept the words inside, pouring them instead into the way her hand stroked through Vi’s tangled hair, into the way she cradled her.

She would protect her. Gods, she would. She would hold her, keep her, care for her—against every shadow, every monster, every twisted thing that the world could throw at them. 

And still the thoughts came. Not just love, not just devotion, but images of other things—heat, closeness, the brush of lips, the grind of their bodies pressed together. Possession and tenderness both, tangled in ways Caitlyn tried not to linger on now. 

Later.

There would be a later. Lust could wait.

Now was for safety.

Now was for Vi’s peace.

She bent and pressed the faintest kiss into Vi’s hair, closing her eyes. Then she leaned back, brushing a lock of sweaty hair from Vi’s temple, scanning the forest once more.

---

She didn’t startle awake the way she expected to. No violent lurch upright, no fists clenched, no briars snapping to life at her back. Just… stillness.

Dreamless. Blessedly empty after everything yesterday had shoved into her skull.

The first thing she felt was warmth across her face. The sun bleeding through the trees, prying her eyes open with a slow, golden insistence. She blinked against it, lashes sticky, throat dry.

When her vision cleared, Cait was there. Sitting above her, lips moving softly with words that Vi couldn’t quite catch.

Vi’s chest tightened. She almost didn’t want Cait to notice she was awake, to let this moment stretch longer, to pretend the world outside of them didn't exist.

But Cait’s eyes flicked down, catching hers. And just like that, the whispering stopped.

Vi frowned. Something shifted subtly, like a pressure she hadn’t even known was there slipped away all at once.

Her breath caught.

A shield. Psychic, quiet, hidden—but it had been there, wrapped around her like invisible arms. Protecting her even while she slept.

Her throat rasped with dryness, but she managed a whisper. “Thanks.”

Cait tilted her head. “For what?” she asked, light, almost coy, as if she didn’t already know.

Vi gave her a look. “You know.”

For a moment, Cait said nothing, only smiled that small, knowing smile of hers. The smile faded into something gentler, and after a long pause she asked, “How are you feeling?”

Vi rolled the question around in her head before answering. The easy thing would have been fine, or don’t worry about me. But Cait’s gaze pinned her too well for lies. “Better,” she admitted.

And it was true…mostly. The creature’s burning eyes weren’t etched into her skull anymore, not the way they’d been last night. She could open and close her eyes without seeing green fire waiting in the dark.

But the words… those lingered. 

She shifted upright, rubbing a hand over her face, briars prickling against her back with restless unease. Her jaw worked, tight with thoughts she didn’t want to give voice to. What had it meant? Why her? What kind of thing looks at her—out of all the people in this gods-forsaken world—and calls her kin?

Cait’s hand brushed her shoulder, steadying her. Vi glanced up, caught the concern there, and quickly looked away again.

“Better,” she repeated, softer, though the word tasted hollow.

Chapter Text

Cait’s hand cut through the air. Hide.

The group sank into the sword ferns, the fronds curling over them like green shields. Isha crouched low, heart thumping in her chest. She kept her eyes fixed on Caitlyn, who signed, Twelve. One vampire.

Isha nodded, throat tight.

She edged forward just enough to peer through the shifting ferns. Ahead lay what looked like the bones of a hamlet—half-fallen walls, sagging roofs, moss gripping stone. Noon light speared down through gaps in the trees, cruel and bright, bleaching everything so harsh it almost felt cheerful. But the figures moving among the ruins stripped any comfort from the scene.

Tall shapes, armed and watchful. The vampire stood out even from this distance—broad, heavily muscled, his bulk dwarfing the men around him. His head was shaved close, dark hair cropped neat against a skull that seemed built for breaking through stone. Even standing still, he radiated strength, shoulders squared, chest like an iron wall. The others moved around him, deferent, wary, like enforcers orbiting a Superior.

Vi’s hands moved. Cait and I, direct attack. Viktor, Eve, stay at range, cover fire. Isha—stay with them, stay hidden.

Isha nodded, quick. She reached to her belt and pulled free one of her wooden knives, the grain rough against her palm. It wasn’t much, not against what they faced, but it was hers. Her grip tightened until her knuckles went pale.

Beside her, Eve was already stringing her bow, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a thin line. Viktor adjusted his robes, hands moving through some sort of sequence.

She took one more look at Vi. Strong, certain, signing orders with hands steady. Isha wanted to believe that steadiness, to draw from it. She breathed deep, forcing her shoulders to settle.

Her knife felt heavier than it should.

She would help. She could help.

Vi scooted over and her hand came down on Isha’s shoulder, firm and warm. Isha turned, met Vi’s eyes, and the two of them shared a nod. No words, no signs—it said everything.

With that, Vi crept forward, Caitlyn a shadow at her side. The pair moved low, every step measured, every muscle coiled for what came next.

Out in the hamlet, the vampire turned his head, nostrils flaring, scanning the area like a wolf testing the wind. But his focus snagged on the humans milling around him—his thralls, the living. Their stink, their heartbeats, the shuffle of their boots filled the air. He didn’t notice the hunters slipping closer through the sword ferns.

Isha’s pulse hammered in her ears as she slid along the undergrowth, keeping low. Viktor gestured for them to move toward the shack squatting at the edge of the hamlet. Its roof sagged, shingles gone to moss, the door hanging crooked. Once, hunters had likely skinned deer there, smoked meat in the rafters. Now it would serve as cover.

Eve crouched ahead, arrow nocked and ready, her sharp eyes sweeping for gaps in the thralls’ loose circle. Viktor followed close, robes rippling faintly with shifting color. Light bent around his hands in thin threads—sunbeams refracted into prisms that scattered across his fingertips. Each gesture reshaped the glow, splitting it into sharp panes or folding it into shadow, weaving concealment and misdirection as they moved.

Isha brought up the rear, knife tight in her hand. Her stomach felt like a pit, but she forced her steps steady. She kept her eyes on Vi for as long as she could, drawing from her strength until the trees and shack walls blocked her view.

The air in the hamlet felt heavy, noon sun glaring overhead, shadows sharp and deep. Isha pressed her back to the shack’s wall, chest tight, watching Viktor signal the next move with two swift flicks of his fingers.

It was beginning.

Eve moved first, bowstring snapping as the first arrow shot into the open. It struck true—one of the thralls staggered, collapsing into the dirt before he even knew what had hit him. Another arrow followed, then another.

Beside her, Viktor lifted his hands, light spilling like molten glass between his fingers. He fractured it, bent it, pulled threads of brilliance into razor-thin shards that cut through the air. Where they struck, thralls clutched their faces, blinded and stumbling.

Isha clutched her knife tighter. The fight roared around her in silence—shapes colliding, mouths shouting soundlessly. Her world narrowed to Eve and Viktor—their movements, their safety, the two adults who stood between her and danger.

She tried to make herself smaller, pressing into the shack’s wall, praying to whatever gods listened that no eyes would find her. It was what she had done in Stillwater, crouching in shadows, folding herself into nothing until the danger passed. It had worked before. It had to work now.

Eve yanked another arrow from her quiver, her face set with grim focus. But out of the corner of her vision, Isha caught shapes moving. Three of the Maw, slinking low through the ruins. They were circling, cutting behind them.

Isha’s throat closed, panic clawing up, but she moved. Her hand shot out, tugging hard on Eve’s sleeve. Eve’s head snapped toward her, brows furrowed, but in that instant the warning was enough.

The arrow meant for Eve hissed through the air, grazing her hair instead of punching into her skull. She twisted, bow coming up, her eyes widening in sudden realization as she saw the ambushers for herself.

But Isha had no time to feel relief. A blur of motion crashed into her vision—Viktor, yanked off his feet like a doll. 

The vampire had him.

One massive hand clamped around Viktor’s robes, dragging him effortlessly from cover. Light still sparked desperately from his fingertips, refracting wildly across the trees and scattering rainbows into the dirt, but the vampire’s grip was iron.

Vi’s words flashed across her mind.

Run from vampires! 

So she ran.

Her hand shot out, gripping Eve’s sleeve, yanking her hard enough that the archer stumbled. Isha didn’t wait for permission, didn’t check to see if Eve would follow—she just dragged her, legs pumping, lungs burning.

She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Vi was there, and Vi could handle it. Vi had to handle it.

The two of them sprinted, boots crunching over weeds and loose stone. Isha found the nearest house—its roof caved, windows gaping with jagged teeth of glass. Without hesitation, she pulled Eve toward it, shoving her through a broken window frame.

Isha scrambled after, glass biting at her palms as she pushed through. Inside, the air was stale, thick with the scent of rot and dust. Furniture lay splintered, the remains of a life long gone. She ducked low, dragging Eve with her until they pressed behind the carcass of a heavy oak table, its legs bowed, its top warped with age.

Her chest heaved, knife clutched tight in her hand. Eve’s eyes flicked toward her, but Isha didn’t meet them. She pressed her palm flat to the floorboards, heart hammering in her throat.

One breath.

Two.

Then she felt it.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Three of them.

Isha raised three fingers toward Eve. The archer gave a nod and slipped her bow across her back, drawing a dagger instead.

Isha pressed her palm harder into the warped floorboards, trying to feel, to map their steps through vibration. She couldn’t tell exactly where they were, but one of them was getting closer.

Eve leaned just enough to peek around the splintered edge of the table, then ducked back, her lips shaping the words slowly. “One’s moving to the kitchen.”

Isha caught it. Nodded once. She pointed behind her, toward the shape closing in, then at herself, then mimed stabbing. 

Then she pointed to Eve, gestured toward the kitchen, and mimed the same stabbing motion.

Eve’s eyes went wide, surprise flickering there, but she gave a firm nod.

Isha’s knife shook in her grip. Her fingers were slick with sweat, her stomach roiling, but she held on tighter. She had to. She forced herself to breathe, slow, quiet.

The vibrations deepened. Heavy. Close.

Whoever it was stood right on the other side of the table. She could see the faint shadow cast along the floorboards, see dust stir with each step.

Isha raised her knife, knuckles white, heart drumming so loud she thought it might give her away.

And then the footsteps stopped.

Right above her.

Eve moved first. She dashed for the Maw slipping into the kitchen. The thrall turned at the last second, and Eve’s blade glanced wide, sinking into wood instead of flesh.

That was enough to draw Isha’s quarry. The shadow by the table shifted, boots scraping as the woman turned to aid her companion.

Isha moved.

A feral growl tore from her throat as she lunged out from behind the table. The thrall barely had time to glance over her shoulder before Isha was on her back, legs locking around her waist, knife raised high.

The blade came down with all the strength Isha had, burying itself in the soft of the woman’s neck.

Hot blood spattered her hand. The woman shrieked, jerking violently, clawing at Isha’s arms, trying to wrench her off. But Isha didn’t let go. She yanked the knife free, teeth bared, and drove it down again.

Once. Twice. Again and again, each strike punctuated by a wordless snarl, each stab fueled by every fear and every memory the world had scarred her with.

The thrall staggered, body thrashing beneath her, blood spraying across the dusty floorboards. Isha’s vision tunneled red, her pulse roaring through her skull, until all there was in the world was her knife and meat.

At last the woman collapsed, weight sagging under Isha like a sack of stones, her thrashing slowing to nothing. Isha slid free, gasping, face and hands painted in crimson.

She looked up.

Eve’s opponent was down. The man twitched on the floor, blood bubbling thick from the wound in his chest where Eve’s blade had found its mark. His breath came in shallow gasps, body already failing. But there was no time to take comfort in that.

The third Maw came crashing in. A boy, no older than sixteen, his face streaked with dirt and sweat. He closed the distance in an instant, fist slamming into Eve’s face. She stumbled, her head snapping to the side, body toppling to the floor.

Isha’s heart clenched and she bolted forward.

The boy turned on her, his lips pulled back in a snarl. A blade gleamed in his hand, slashing wildly through the air. He swung with no rhythm, no thought—just panic and fury, desperate to drive her back.

But then Eve moved.

From the ground, she lashed out. Her dagger plunged into the boy’s thigh, sinking deep into muscle. His scream tore across the room—not sound Isha could hear, but one she could see in the violence of his mouth, in the veins bulging at his neck. His leg buckled, blood spilling dark and fast down his trousers.

That was her chance.

Isha surged forward, knife cutting quick. The blade kissed his wrist, opening it wide. Hot blood poured in a sudden rush. The boy’s face twisted with shock as his fingers spasmed open, the tendons severed. His weapon clattered uselessly to the floor.

She didn’t let him recover. Didn’t give him time to grab her, to strike with his other hand, to do anything but bleed.

Isha lunged, knife driving deep into the boy’s belly. The shock in his eyes flared, his mouth opening in a silent scream. She wrenched the blade free and stabbed again. And again. And again.

Each thrust was hard, fueled by panic and the need to survive. The blade punched through cloth, through flesh, through the resistance of muscle, and every time she felt the jolt of it rattling up her arm. The boy staggered, hands scrabbling weakly at her shoulders, his body trying to fight even as the strength left him in gouts of blood.

She didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

Her knife went back and forth, back and forth, until the fight drained out of him entirely. His eyes glazed, rolling back as his knees buckled. On the final thrust, her knife lodged deep; she yanked it free, and his body gave out, collapsing to the floorboards.

Isha stumbled back a step, chest heaving. She couldn’t hear her own panting, but she felt it—every ragged breath burning in her chest.

The boy lay still. No twitch, no breath. No threat.

Only then did Isha realize she was trembling so hard her teeth ached from it, her whole body wired like a bowstring pulled too far. She stared at her hands—small, bloodied, shaking—and forced her grip tighter around the knife.

She looked down at the still bodies sprawled across the floorboards, their blood seeping into the cracks. The stink of iron filled her nose. They’d deserved it. They would have killed her. Killed Eve. Killed Vi and Caitlyn and Viktor. They’d tried to hurt her family, and she had stopped them.

She had helped. She had fought. She had stopped them.

Isha straightened her back, shoulders squaring the way Vi’s always did. She looked to Eve.

The archer was already watching her, eyes wide, fixed on the carnage smeared across the floor. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, jaw working as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t bring herself to.

Isha lifted her hands. We need to find the others.

Eve didn’t catch every movement. Isha saw the flicker of confusion in her eyes, the way her brow pinched. But something in the urgency of Isha’s face must have carried the meaning, because Eve gave a short nod and stepped forward.

Isha knelt, pressing her knife into the boy’s trousers, and wiped off the tacky blood.

Eve was already at the door by the time she was done, bow clutched tight, her body angled low as she leaned just enough to peer outside. The sunlight spilled harsh across her face, making her eyes squint. Then she turned, meeting Isha’s gaze, and pointed toward the far side of the hamlet.

Isha padded to her side, careful not to let her boots scrape the floor. She leaned forward, following the line of Eve’s finger.

There, in the distance—one of the cabins collapsed inward, its timbers shuddering as something massive tore through it. Splinters burst like shrapnel, a roof beam tumbling in a cloud of dust.

---

The vampire’s claw cut the air where her head had been a heartbeat ago, the wind of it raking her hair back. Vi ducked under and Cait darted in at her side like a silver streak. Her rapier flashed, a perfect thrust aimed for the heart.

But the bastard twisted, his chest shifting just enough. Steel bit deep, but not where it needed to. His snarl split wide as his fist came crashing down, hammering into Cait’s ribs.

Cait went flying, smashing through the cabin wall in an eruption of timber and dust.

“Cait!” Vi’s roar ripped from her throat.

Her right gauntlet came across, cracking square against his jaw. The hit carried every ounce of fury in her bones, launching his massive frame through the wall after Cait. Wood and stone shattered around him, and he went tumbling end over end across the dirt, a blur of muscle and blood.

She sprinted after him, gauntlets writhing as they wound up for another strike. The vampire was staggering upright, his head whipping toward her, mouth frothing with blood and rage.

She hit him before he was ready.

Her fist arced up in a brutal uppercut, the full weight of her body and the bond’s fire driving behind it. His head snapped back, teeth cracking, blood spraying into the noon sun. The ground trembled under the force, dust and leaves exploding outward.

For a moment—just a moment—she thought she saw his knees buckle, thought she’d dropped him.

She barely had time to breathe, let alone celebrate the hit. Faster than her eyes could follow, the vampire’s hand shot out and clamped around her torso.

The world spun as he heaved her up and slammed her down with bone-cracking force. The earth caved under her back, air ripping out of her lungs. Stars burst behind her eyes.

She blinked and saw his shadow blotting out the sun. His massive frame loomed above her, claw reaching high, black nails gleaming with her blood. She tried to move, to roll, but her limbs felt too heavy.

Then the light came.

A spinning disc ripped through the air with a hiss. It sang as it cut, and in the next instant the vampire’s arm was no more—severed clean mid-bicep. The claw fell useless into the dirt beside her, twitching.

The vampire reeled back, a shriek tearing out of him. He clutched the stump, red burning in his eyes.

And Cait was there.

Her rapier pierced straight through the monster’s chest, driving into the heart. The steel sank deep, and the vampire gasped, body locking rigid around the wound.

He tried to turn, to claw her, rage still flaring even as death gripped him. His lips peeled back in a final, hateful snarl.

But another disc spun through the light, cleaving the air with impossible precision. It took his head clean off, the cut so sharp it left a frozen moment where his body still moved, still reached. Then the head fell, and the corpse sagged backward.

By the time it struck the ground, it was already unraveling. Skin flaking, muscle crumbling, the entire bulk of him scattering to ash that blew apart on the wind.

Cait stood over her, rapier still wet with ash and blood. Her shadow fell across Vi.

“Do you need some sun, flower?”

Vi grimaced, dragging in air through clenched teeth. Every nerve in her body screamed, and the ache in her ribs told her exactly how many bones weren’t sitting right anymore. She managed a nod. “Yeah. Few things… snapped.”

Cait’s expression softened and she slid an arm under Vi, easing her upright before helping her out of her shirt. The fabric peeled away, then Cait laid her flat again, gentle as she could, and rolled her onto her stomach.

The sun burned warm across Vi’s bare back. Already she felt the itch begin—the familiar crawling under her skin. The briars stirred and writhed beneath the skin. She gritted her teeth as they tore through, curling over her shoulders and down her spine, latching to shattered bone and torn muscle.

It hurt. It always hurt. 

Vi hissed through the pain, fists digging into the dirt, sweat dripping from her brow.

Cait crouched beside her, a hand resting lightly between her shoulder blades. Then she raised her voice, calm but carrying, directed toward the others. “We’re all clear. You’re good to come out.”

Movement stirred at the edge of the clearing. Viktor emerged, robes torn at the shoulder, one sleeve stiff with dried blood. A shallow cut marked his cheek, swelling already bruising around his eye, but he was upright. Breathing. His hands still glimmered faintly with refracted light, threads of color spilling out and fading as he let the magic go. 

Then Vi felt a ripple through the bond and Cait whispered, “Oh no.”

Vi’s heart lurched. She snapped her head up, twisting despite the pain still flaring through her body, following Cait’s gaze.

Eve walked out first, a bruise on her jaw, flecks of blood on her clothes and hands.

Behind her was Isha.

The girl stood stiff and straight, her neck and cheeks spattered dark red, her hands drenched in it. Blood slicked her knuckles and streaked her arms where it had run and dried.

For a heartbeat Vi couldn’t breathe.

She scanned the girl in a rush, eyes searching for wounds. None. No limp, no hitch in her breath. It wasn’t hers. The blood didn’t belong to her. Relief hit Vi so hard she almost collapsed back into the dirt.

But it didn’t last.

Gods, she wished it didn’t have to be this way. Isha’s shoulders were square, her chin up, but her eyes… there was something raw there, something Vi had seen too many times before in her own reflection. Wide, haunted, not yet able to settle on what she’d done.

Vi hated it. She hated that the world demanded this of her. That a girl this young had to take up a knife and carve her place in it with blood. She hated that she couldn’t protect her from it.

And worse—worse than the hate—was the thought that followed.

I’m proud of her.

Chapter Text

“I recognize that tree!” Eve said, excitement bubbling through the words. She pointed off to the east, toward a massive trunk leaning at a forty-five-degree angle. Its roots jutted half out of the ground, the whole thing braced heavily against its neighbor like it had fallen mid-struggle and never given up.

Eve’s eyes brightened. “We’re north of the Maw village. A day, maybe two more, and we’ll be back home.”

The effect was immediate. Shoulders lifted, eyes widened. A little spark of life returned to the weary bodies around her. Even Vi felt it—like a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been dragging had lightened, if only a little.

But the light was fading fast, the last scraps of sun slipping through the trees. Instinct said to stop. Camp. Rest before the dark swallowed them whole. The group slowed, preparing to drop packs and settle in.

But Cait stopped all that when she said, “Don’t.”

Everyone froze. Vi turned to her, frowning. Cait stood rigid, head tilted slightly, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the woods.

“What?” Vi asked quietly.

Cait didn’t move her gaze from the treeline. “It’s not safe.” She lifted her hand slightly, pointing west. “There are Maw. Close. Moving.”

Vi felt her stomach sink. That spark of relief guttered out as quick as it had come. She took a slow breath, rolling her shoulders as the briars along her back stirred restlessly.

“Then we keep moving.”

Cait gave a small nod and pushed forward, the others falling in line behind her. The woods closed in tighter as the last of the sun bled out, shadows stretching long between the trees. Their footsteps were too loud, every snapped twig echoing like a scream in Vi’s head.

Minutes passed. Just enough for hope to almost creep back in. Then Cait froze again, one hand raised.

“There’s more,” she whispered and pointed north.

The group stiffened, eyes darting.

Before Vi could speak, Cait turned, scanning the opposite side. Her mouth pressed into a grim line. “South, too.”

Vi’s gut knotted. An uneasy feeling slithered its way up her spine. Herding—that’s what it felt like. Not a hunt where prey got to slip away, but a slow, tightening ring meant to close and crush.

“Can we push through?”

Cait’s head tilted, listening. For a long moment there was only silence, and Vi felt the whole group waiting for her answer. Finally Cait’s brow furrowed, and she said, “It sounds like…” Her voice faltered for a second, then she finished, “It sounds like a thunderstorm.”

Vi kept her face neutral, but inside her thoughts were a whirlwind. If it sounded like a storm, that meant numbers. An army of them sweeping the woods. And with that many Maw, there was no way to tell if vampires stalked among them, hiding in the rush of bodies. Cait’s hearing was sharp, sharper than anyone’s, but even she couldn’t separate the growl of thunder when it became one endless roar.

Options bled away with every heartbeat. Stay still, they’d be crushed. Run, they’d be chased. Fight, and they’d be swallowed whole.

Vi swallowed hard, glancing at Isha, at Eve, at Viktor.

This wasn’t just danger. This was a noose tightening around their necks, they just had to hope they survived the fall.

Her jaw was set, every word coming out rough. “Cait and I will lead. You three hang back, stay hidden as best you can.”

They all understood. No one argued, no one pretended this was anything but bad. Viktor’s face was pale under the bruises, Eve’s hands clenched, Isha’s eyes wide but steady. Each of them gave a solemn nod.

Isha lingered a moment longer, small hand slipping into Vi’s, squeezing hard before she turned and followed the others into the ferns. The shadows swallowed them quickly, green fronds bending back into place.

Vi turned to Cait and without thinking, grabbed her hand. She started east, boots crunching soft in the pine needles. Cait came along, silent, her fingers threading with Vi’s.

The bond flared to life and Cait’s presence filled her mind. “There’s so many of them. Too many...”

Vi’s chest tightened. She forced her lips into a grin, tried to let the bravado bleed through the bond. “We can take ‘em.”

Cait didn’t buy it, but she didn’t argue either—just squeezed Vi’s hand harder.

Minutes dragged, the moon rising in the sky, the dark settling in.

Her heart thudded faster and faster as they moved and she was able to see less and less. The forest was a press of black trunks and twisting shadows, every rustle a threat. 

Then Cait froze.

Vi’s instincts flared hot, her hand tightening on Cait’s. She followed her gaze—and her stomach dropped.

A pair of eyes burned back at her from the dark, scleras drowned in blood. Not wide, not searching. Watching. Fixed squarely on her.

Something clawed at her mind, something ethereal and suffocating trying to drag her into stillness. For a second, she almost choked on it—then her briars stirred, twisting under her skin. Thorns dug in, tearing the smothering weight apart. The presence recoiled, and she was free.

From the dark, a voice rolled out low and smooth, steeped in the hard edges of a Noxian accent. “So it’s true,” the eyes said. “You are a Thorn.”

Vi’s jaw clenched. She let go of Cait’s hand and her gauntlets bloomed to life. Bark shifted up her arms. She squared her shoulders, planting her feet.

“Yeah,” she spat back.

Then the dark changed.

From the direction of those eyes, globes of pale white light lifted into the air. They hovered above the clearing, cold and unblinking, bathing everything in their pallid glow.

Through the bond, Cait’s panic spiked, jarring Vi. Her own heart kicked harder in response, but she didn’t let it show on her face.

A moment later, she understood why.

Shapes moved in the trees—too many shapes. More Maw than she could count, their forms loping out from between the trunks, jaws working, eyes glinting. They formed a ring, closing every gap, cutting off every path.

And among them were five tall, still figures, separate from the press of bodies. Their eyes burned brighter, red scleras cutting through the gloom. Vampires.

Vi’s gauntlets itched, her muscles coiling to strike, but her stomach sank. Even for her, even for Cait, this was bad.

The owner of the voice stepped forward, into the light.

He was tall, full of lithe grace, moving with a poise that made everything around him seem bestial in comparison. His clothes were cut sharp and perfect, a long coat of layered blacks that gleamed faintly where the light struck polished thread. His hair was stark white, combed back with meticulous care, every strand in its place.

His red eyes never left her.

He smiled, faint and cold. “We’ve finally found you.”

It happened in a blink.

One moment they were a dozen paces away, red eyes glinting in the pale glow. The next, shadows split and bled into the air, and the vampires were there—around them, behind them, too close.

Vi swung first. Her gauntlet slammed into the face of one that lunged for her. Bone shattered, the body flung backward into the dark. Cait’s rapier flickered beside her, a gleam of silver steel as she drove back another. For a few breaths it was chaos, claws against bark, snarls clashing with the crack of gauntlets.

But there were too many.

A hand like iron clamped around Vi’s arm, wrenching her blow aside. Another crushed against her shoulder, forcing her down to one knee. She snarled, briars writhing, but claws dug into the joints of her gauntlets, pulling and tossing them away. Cait cried out through the bond as they forced the blade out of her grip, two of them twisting her arms behind her back.

The elegant one stepped forward, tutting lightly, like a teacher scolding children. “No more of that.”

Vi thrashed, every muscle screaming to break free—until her eyes caught the glint of silver.

A stake, its tip pressed against Cait’s back. Just below her shoulder blade, close enough to pierce her heart with the faintest push.

Vi froze. Her breath heaved, teeth grinding, but she stilled.

The vampire inclined his head. “Apologies, but I must take precautions against individuals so dangerous.”

He squatted down until his red eyes were level with hers. That cold smile never left his face.

“I believe introductions are in order. I am Lord Vladimir Dorane.”

Vi met his gaze and said nothing. Her glare was answer enough, a furnace of fury that could have burned holes through steel.

But Vladimir only smiled wider.

Then his eyes narrowed, squinting as though he were peering through her skin. His head tilted a fraction, his nostrils flaring.

“Kristo, go grab that one.”

Movement stirred behind her. The crunch of boots in dirt. Then the sound of a struggle, muffled grunts, fabric tearing. Vi’s stomach clenched as the Prismasist was dragged forward, his face pale, blood dripping down his temple, his hands bound tight behind him. He fought to keep his feet under him, but the vampire shoved him down, forcing him to kneel beside her.

Vi’s eyes darted past him, scanning the treeline, the dark. No sign of Isha. No sign of Eve. Just shadows and the ring of red eyes around them. She let out a slow breath through her nose, holding on to that sliver of relief. One mercy in all this—they weren’t here.

Vladimir’s gaze slid between her and Viktor. “I was certain,” he said softly, almost conversational, “that you had a child with you. And a Firelight.”

Vi didn’t flinch. Her jaw stayed locked, her glare as steady as it had been since the moment his eyes found hers. “Your people killed them.”

“We didn’t find their bodies.”

“We buried them. We don’t leave our dead strung up and rotting.”

For a moment, silence. 

Vladimir studied her, his expression unreadable, weighing her words. Then, finally, he sighed, his eyes narrowing with faint disappointment.

“A shame,” he murmured. “That Firelight had spirit.”

Vladimir rose from his crouch. 

“Now that everyone is here, let us get to the reason for this little rendezvous.” His gaze slid down to Vi again. “You killed my family. My children. Who I sent to negotiate.”

Vi’s heart galloped, but she didn’t move.

“And when I sent more to kill you, you killed them as well.” His voice sharpened with each word, though the calm never slipped from his face. “That is very impolite. You have no idea how impolite that is." He leaned closer, his cold smile returning. “But I think you will learn quickly.”

Vi’s eyes widened before she could stop herself. Her gaze darted toward Cait, then to Viktor.

The bond pulsed, Cait’s fear and fury rippling through her chest, but Vi forced herself to breathe slow, to keep her glare steady on the vampire lord.

Vladimir spread his arms wide like a preacher before a congregation. His voice carried over the hush of the Maw.

“You see, it’s simple, so even if you're a cretin, which you may be, you’ll be able to understand it. You don’t mess with the order of things. And the order is this…The Ritehart belongs to me, everything in it, and I punish those that take from me."

He set his cold hand on Vi’s shoulder and squeezed. “Do you understand?” He let go of her and started to pace slowly. “I could have used you, molded you...but you killed my people. More than I’m comfortable with, so for that you will have to pay.”

Her whole body shook. Breath came ragged, shallow, almost too fast to catch. She tried to hold it together, tried to keep her jaw locked, but tears burned at the corners of her eyes. She hated it. Hated that Vladimir could see it.

He drifted away from her and stopped before Cait. His crimson eyes lingered on her like she was something rare in a collection. His smile thinned.

“I have use for you.”

Vi snarled through clenched teeth, jerking against the claws pinning her arms, but the vampire only dug in harder.

Vladimir stepped back toward her, gaze lowering. “And you…I have not drunk a Thorn in decades.”

The briars along Vi’s back writhed in protest, thorns biting at her skin. She wanted to spit at him, to curse him, to throw herself forward no matter the cost—but she couldn’t. Not with Cait and the silver stake.

Then his head tilted, turning to Viktor.

Vladimir inhaled deeply, and his face scrunched in disdain. “But you… You are a threat, mage. And worse—tainted meat.”

His pale hand clamped around Viktor’s throat.

“No!” Cait twisted, struggling hard enough her wrists bled against the claws restraining her. Vi lunged against her captors, her body thrashing, but the strength of the vampire forced her back down.

The Prismatist tried to lash out, light igniting in his palm. 

"Postoj!" Vladimir growled, his free hand curling into a fist.

The light vanished and Viktor’s boots scraped furrows in the dirt as he was lifted effortlessly, one-handed, into the air. His legs kicked weakly, robe twisting around him as he clawed at Vladimir’s wrist. His face reddened, veins bulging as his breaths grew thin and shallow.

“Please!” Vi’s voice broke, raw and ragged. “Please don’t do this! Don’t—please!”

Her words didn’t reach him.

Vladimir didn’t even look at her. His hand tightened, and with ease, he twisted.

Crack.

It echoed in Vi’s ears.

Viktor’s body went slack, the amber light guttering from his eyes.

Vladimir let him drop to the dirt like a broken doll, turning his gaze back to Vi as though nothing of importance had passed.

Vi’s scream tore out of her throat, feral, unbound, the bond itself shuddering with her grief and rage. She snarled, “I’m gonna fucking kill you, I swear it! You motherfucker! I'll rip—”

The vampire lord nodded to someone behind her.

There was a brief excruciating pain in her head, then everything went dark.

---

Isha stayed low in the ferns, heart pounding so hard she swore it might tear out of her chest. She hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t dared to breathe too loudly. Every muscle in her small frame trembled with the effort of holding still, but she didn’t move. Not when Viktor’s body hit the ground with a sickening limpness. Not when Vi’s screamed.

And not when they struck her down.

The illusion Viktor had cast—his last gift—still held, flickering faintly, bending light around her and Eve. It clung stubbornly even now, even though he lay broken in the dirt.

Vi was dragged away. The briars on her back writhed faintly, protesting even in her unconsciousness, but they couldn’t stop what was happening.

Caitlyn… Caitlyn wasn’t dragged. Isha’s breath caught when she realized it—she walked with them. Willingly. Her shoulders squared, her head held high, even with the silver still glinting at her back. But Isha could see it in her face—the stiffness, the control. A mask over something deeper. Through the blur of tears, Isha thought Caitlyn looked like a prisoner who had chosen her chains, if only to protect someone else.

And then they were gone.

The vampires melted back into the trees, Maw swarming at their heels. 

Isha and Eve waited. And waited longer still, until the illusion faltered.

It broke like a candle snuffed—Viktor’s last spell collapsing in on itself, nothing to shield them now.

Eve was the first to move. She straightened, her bow clutched tight in one hand, the other raking through her hair as though she might tear it out. Her face was pale, eyes wide, her breathing fast. Panic sat on her like a cloak she couldn’t shake.

Isha felt it too. Fear, deeper than she’d ever known, a pit opening wide inside her chest. But she forced herself to swallow it down. Vi needed her.

She rose on unsteady legs and crossed to Viktor. He lay in the dirt, his neck bent at an angle that made her stomach twist. His eyes were still open, glassy, staring at nothing.

Isha knelt beside him. Her small hands hovered above his face for a moment, trembling, before she reached down and gently closed his eyes. It was all she could give him now—one last kindness. Her throat burned, but no tears came.

She stood again, wiping her palms on her trousers, and turned her eyes toward the path the vampires had taken. Toward Vi. Toward Cait. Her chest clenched, but her feet moved anyway, carrying her after them.

A hand landed on her shoulder.

Isha spun, startled, and found Eve there, her face etched with desperation. Her lips moved, forming a word Isha couldn’t hear but could understand all the same. 

“No.”

Eve’s grip tightened, her eyes wide and pleading, telling her without sound what Isha already knew. To follow now was suicide.

Isha yanked her shoulder free from Eve’s grip, frustration hot in her chest. Her hands flew, They’re my family.

Eve’s face tightened. She spoke—her lips moving too quickly in the dark for Isha to catch. Panic muddled the words, her gestures rough, jabbing north. Firelights. She wanted to go to them. Wanted to run.

Isha shook her head hard, her hands slicing the air with another refusal. She wouldn’t. Not without Vi. Not without Caitlyn.

Eve’s mouth opened again, but the words never came. She froze, her head snapping toward Viktor’s body.

Isha followed her gaze.

Viktor twitched.

At first it was just a spasm in his leg, then a jerk of his arm. His back arched in a severe convulsion, his neck snapped back into place with a wet crack she felt through the soles of her boots.

He rolled, gagging. His mouth opened and black sap poured out, thick and ropy, splattering into the dirt. Steam curled where it struck the ground, the stench sharp and acrid, burning Isha’s nose. He pushed onto his hands and knees, shoulders heaving, bile and sap spilling until it dripped in long strands from his chin.

Isha stumbled back, eyes wide, knife already in her hand.

Viktor lifted his head slowly. His face was a mess of sap and blood, his body trembling, but his eyes—his eyes blazed.

Not the soft amber she knew.

Gold. Glowing in the dark.

Isha’s pulse thundered as she dragged Eve back, clutching her hand tight. Her other hand came up, knife trembling, pointing straight at Viktor.

Those burning gold eyes locked onto hers. For one terrible instant, she thought he was going to lunge.

Instead, his face twisted. A pained wince, and his left hand convulsed against the ground. Flesh rippled, bones shifting under skin. His fingers stretched, bending too long, fusing until three clawed digits scraped into the dirt.

Isha’s stomach turned. Her breath came fast, her grip on the knife slick with sweat. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she stood frozen, watching.

Viktor’s mouth moved. Words poured from him—too soft, too broken for her to read in the dark—but his lips shaped something deliberate, repeated, like a chant. A spell, she guessed.

The clawed hand jerked once more, then stilled. The transformation stopped, caught between man and demon. His chest heaved, black sap dripping from his mouth and pattering hot into the earth.

He stayed crouched on all fours, shoulders shaking, as though the effort of holding himself together cost him everything.

Isha tightened her grip on Eve’s hand and raised her knife higher, her whole body rigid.

Whatever Viktor had become—whoever he still was—she didn’t know if she was watching a friend fight to come back, or a monster fight to break free.

Chapter Text

Vladimir’s voice was the first thing she heard, dripping with that same polite venom that made her skin crawl. Her head throbbed like someone had split it with an axe. The world swam in and out of focus until it steadied on the pale glow of the sinking moonlight reaching toward the horizon. The sky was clear, cruelly beautiful, stars sharp against the black.

They were under a dead tree, its massive, skeletal branches clawing at the heavens. The ground was hard-packed dirt, slick with a faint shimmer of old blood. Around them, she could make out the silhouettes of other vampires, standing watch, their red eyes flickering like embers in the dark.

Then she saw Cait.

She was held upright against the trunk, her hands manacled above her head in bands of silver. The chains fastened to an iron bar that stretched across the breadth of the tree, keeping her suspended so that only her toes brushed the ground. The silver had already burned through her wrists, blackened marks etching into pale skin.

Vi tried to move, but pain flared through her shoulders. Her arms were tied behind her with thick rope, the knots biting into her wrists. She sat in a wooden chair that creaked with every breath, too tight to even shift her weight.

Vladimir’s voice drifted back into focus. “You stole our hemocraft and made this.” He gestured toward Cait with disdain. His tone turned bitter, steeped in centuries of resentment. “We were Strigoi—powerful sorcerers, guardians of blood and spirit—but all of that is lost now to your thieving empire and its lust for progress.”

Vi’s jaw ached from clenching. She didn’t even know what he was talking about—didn’t care. All she saw was Cait, bleeding, barely keeping her head up.

Then Vladimir turned. His eyes found her, gleaming with satisfaction.

“Oh,” he said, smiling wide enough to show a hint of fang. “Excellent…Karlo, you may begin.”

A vampire stepped from the circle behind him—short, dark-haired, with a lean build. His eyes burned red beneath the shadow of his brow as he approached Cait, the silver manacles clinking softly in the still night.

Cait stirred, her head lifting weakly as Karlo came close. He raised a clawed hand and drew the edge along her forearm. The flesh parted easily. Blood welled up, dark and thick, running in slow rivulets down to her arm before dripping to the dirt below.

Vi’s whole body seized. The ropes groaned as she pulled against them, her muscles screaming. A feral growl tore from her throat. 

Vladimir moved in front of her, blocking her view, his pale face filling her vision.

“Have you ever seen a feral vampire? One so starved for blood they’ll do anything to get it?” He smiled, and there was something almost childlike in it—an expression too gentle for the cruelty it held. “It’s a beautiful sight. You can hardly recognize the person they once were, as they’re reduced to pure instinct. To hunger. To truth.”

Behind him, Vi could hear the soft, wet sound of droplets hitting the ground. Her teeth ground together so hard she thought they’d crack.

She didn’t answer him. Wouldn’t.

Instead, she glared up at him with every ounce of fury left in her—eyes burning, chest heaving, every heartbeat pounding fight into her veins.

He studied her and leaned in close.

“So brave,” he whispered mockingly. 

Vi knew exactly what kind of man Vladimir was. He was just like Superior Orso. A little man in his little kingdom. The kind who needed control like air, who fed on obedience and fear and the trembling silence of those beneath him. 

So she did the one thing that would wound him most.

Vi spat in his face.

It wasn’t much but it hit true, streaking down his perfect cheek.

For a heartbeat, everything went still. Vladimir froze, disbelief flashing through his red eyes like a crack of lightning. Then the mask shattered. His face twisted into something ugly, all the elegance and faux civility gone, fangs bared in pure rage.

The backhand came faster than she could see.

The impact cracked across her jaw, pain exploding through her skull. The chair went with her—ropes, wood, and all—flung like they weighed nothing at all. She hit the dirt ten feet away, the breath blasted out of her. The world tilted, the night sky spinning overhead.

Her shoulder flared white-hot where she’d landed on it wrong. Splinters bit into her wrists where the ropes strained against the wood. She gasped, coughing grit from her mouth, vision swimming.

Somewhere above her, Vladimir’s voice thundered. “Ty nic nie warta suko!”

Vi didn’t understand the words, but she didn’t need to, to know what they meant.

He was on her in a blink.  His boots slammed into the dirt beside her, and his hand clamped tight around her throat, hoisting her back upright.

“Shut…” Vi wheezed, the words scraping past his hand, “…the fuck…up…”

---

They crouched at the edge of the treeline, the smell of damp earth and smoke thick in the air. The village below was quiet, eerily so. Five long, squat wooden lodges formed a rough half-circle in a clearing. It reminded Isha uncomfortably of the bunks in Stillwater.

Torches burned in iron sconces at even intervals, their orange light pooling in small circles, barely cutting into the dark. Shadows stretched long between them. Only a handful of Maw moved among the buildings, walking slowly as they kept watch. No vampires. Not here, at least.

Farther off, past the lodges and through the thin veil of smoke rising from dying campfires, stood a dead tree. Even from here it was unmistakable—huge and skeletal, its branches rising high. Behind it, barely visible in the moonlight, loomed an old manor. Its walls were pale and flaking, its windows cracked, yet it stood proud amid the decay.

That’s where they were. Vi and Caitlyn. Isha could feel it.

Beside her, Viktor lifted his hand—the wrong hand. The clawed one. His movements were stiff, the light catching against the snow white skin. Isha tried not to look at it too long, her stomach knotting. It was still Viktor, she told herself. It had to be.

He pointed toward the tree, then glanced back and began to sign. Vi and Caitlyn are there.

Isha blinked at him. When did you learn to sign?

He didn’t answer. The gold light behind his eyes flickered faintly as he turned back toward the village.

Eve crouched on Isha’s other side, eyes sharp and darting, her bow resting across her knees. Her voice was barely a whisper, but the shape of her lips was clear enough in the torchlight. We need a distraction.

Isha followed her gaze to the torches. To the wooden walls.

Dry timber. Resin-soaked from years of exposure. And a dozen ways for a fire to spread fast.

She looked at the closest lodge—its thatched roof sagging, the base piled with old barrels and tools. Firelight licked at the edge of her imagination. Smoke curling. Panic spreading through the Maw. 

They all knew what had to be done.

Eve went first, ghostlike, slipping from the cover of the trees. Isha followed close behind, crouched low, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her teeth. The air was cold and heavy with the stink of rot, torches flickering along the narrow paths between the lodges.

A lone Maw shuffled ahead, her back turned. Eve crept behind her. She moved quickly when the moment came—one hand over the woman’s mouth, the other drawing her dagger across the throat. Blood came in a dark rush and the woman spasmed once, then went limp.

Eve eased the body down against the wall of the longhouse, her eyes flicking to Isha. 

Go.

Isha nodded, adrenaline thrumming, and darted forward. She grabbed the nearest torch from its iron sconce, the heat biting at her fingers. She hesitated only long enough to look up at the thatch above her.

She hurled the torch.

It hit the roof with a dull whump, sparks bursting into life. The flame caught greedily, racing across the dry straw, eating through it with frightening speed. Within seconds, the whole edge of the roof was aflame, red light cutting through the dark.

The first lodge was burning, smoke rolling out thick and fast.

Isha turned, ready for the next. She sprinted toward the second lodge.

Then—fingers clamped around her shoulder.

She jerked in surprise, spinning halfway around, knife ready, but it was Viktor. His eyes glowed bright gold in the firelight, his face unreadable. He raised his clawed hand and reached past her.

A thin disc of refracted light bloomed in his palm. It sliced forward in a blink, and Isha barely registered the blur of motion before it struck the Maw rounding the corner.

The man froze mid-step, body splitting clean from shoulder to hip. He collapsed in two smoking halves, the edges sizzling where the light had cut.

Isha’s breath hitched, but she didn’t stop to look. She couldn’t.

She seized another torch from the post beside her, turned, and threw it up onto the roof of the next longhouse. The flame caught instantly, leaping bright and wild, licking at the sky.

Within moments, the village was alight.

---

“You Thorns don’t know when to quit,” Vladimir snarled, his fangs flashing as his grip on her throat tightened. “It could’ve been easy. But now—” His lips peeled back in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “—now it’ll be much, much worse.”

Vi could feel her pulse hammering against his fingers, the edges of her vision tunneling as black spots danced before her eyes. It would’ve been so easy for him to finish it—to twist, to snap, to end her like he had Viktor.

But then his eyes shifted.

Vi caught the change, the way his expression faltered. A flicker of orange light spilled across his face, reflected in the crimson of his eyes. He turned just enough for her to see it too.

Fire.

A roaring column of flame rising behind the dead tree, painting the night in red. The smell hit her next—burning pitch and timber—and then the faint echoes of movement, of shouting, of panic.

Vladimir cursed and dropped her.

The chair hit with her, one leg splintering under the impact.

She didn’t waste the breath it took to be grateful. She rolled to her side, gasping, and glanced toward Cait.

Her heart stopped.

Cait hung there with her hands manacled in silver, blood running down her arm in thick red streaks. Her head drooped, her breathing shallow, her skin far too pale.

Vi swallowed hard, forcing her trembling hands to move. She pressed a palm flat against the ground, just enough to make contact. Focus. A faint shimmer crawled from her fingertips, barely visible in the dim firelight.

A blade of wood coalesced between her wrists. She angled it carefully and began to saw against the ropes.

In front of her, Vladimir barked orders. His words had gone from theatrical disdain to icy fury. “Kristo! Take your sisters and deal with it.”

Vi looked up just in time to see the one he’d called Kristo step forward. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a loose white shirt open to the sternum, his skin and hair pale as moonlight. His features were fine, almost beautiful.

Two women slipped from the shadows behind him. One with hair black as pitch, the other a flame-colored red that seemed to catch the firelight as she moved. They glided toward the burning lodges. 

Vi’s wrists burned. The rope was giving—fiber by fiber—but every motion felt like an eternity. Her heart hammered in her throat, the sounds of crackling flame and distant shouts pressing in around her.

As she sawed away, Vladimir’s hand slipped inside his coat, fingers curling around something unseen. He drew out a small, withered heart; probably a child’s.

He whispered something. Words that didn’t belong in the air. They slithered, dark and thick, twisting into her skull even though she didn’t understand them. The air around the dead tree grew colder.

“Heed me, creature.”

The heart began to beat.

The ancient tree behind him split with a sound like bones cracking. Its gnarled bark heaved outward, splitting into a gaping wound that bled pus and rot. From that wound, something crawled out.

A nightmare.

It dragged itself into the moonlight—a hulking mass of fur and sinew, the hide patchy, matted, reeking of decay. Its limbs bent wrong, joints twisted like it had been torn apart and crudely remade. The desiccated skull of a bear, yellow teeth bared beneath curling antlers that scraped the branches above.

Vi felt her stomach drop.

The creature threw back its head and screamed. Not sound—something deeper. A noise Vi felt in her soul, like the whole world was groaning in agony. The air shimmered, and firelight bent in on itself.

Vladimir’s expression never changed. He raised his hand and clenched his fist around the heart.

The creature buckled mid-howl, its massive body twisting, tendons snapping taut as if dragged by unseen chains. Steam rose from its flesh where invisible bindings burned against it.

“Obey!” 

The creature’s scream twisted into a snarl, vibrating through the ground beneath Vi’s knees. Its claws gouged trenches into the dirt as it thrashed against whatever unseen force held it bound. The stench of scorched flesh hit the air—sap and rot and something far fouler. The bark of the dead tree behind it split wider with every convulsion, as if the very roots wanted to tear free and flee from what it contained.

Vladimir’s hand remained clenched around the pulsing heart, veins blackening up his wrist as the creature’s struggle fed his control. “Scour the forest,” he commanded. “Find who is responsible for this insult and kill them. Bring their bodies back to me.”

Its entire form twisted once more, folding impossibly as if being drawn backward into itself. A ripple of darkness swept across the earth, and the creature was gone—leaving behind only claw marks, smoldering soil, and the faint stink of blood and burnt pine.

Vi realized she’d stopped breathing.

Her mind raced, every scattered image and whisper snapping into place. The forest. The antlers. The green eyes that had looked at her and whispered kin.

Her throat tightened. “You…bound a Leshy.”

A god born from Jan’ahrem’s will, each one was a keeper of the wild’s balance—life, death, and the green that swallowed both. They weren’t meant to serve anyone. They were the forest.

To bind one was to chain a piece of the world, to wound the land so deeply it would never fully heal.

And this vampire had done it, chained it in undeath.

Vladimir turned toward her slowly as he saw the revelation cross her face, letting the faintest smile tug at his lips. The firelight caught his eyes, setting them ablaze in shades of crimson and gold. “Bound?” he said, as though amused by the suggestion. “Tamed, my dear Thorn. You make it sound cruel.”

“It’s supposed to be dead! It’s supposed to be with Jan’ahrem!”

“I’m sure the goddess won’t mind me borrowing one of her blessed children. After all, the rest are already with her.”

Vi’s jaw flexed. She sawed harder at the rope until the last fibers snapped, the memory of Viktor’s death burning behind her eyes. She rolled her hands, keeping them tucked behind her back, praying Vladimir wouldn’t notice that she was free.

Then she tried something new.

---

Isha couldn’t hear what Viktor said, but she saw his mouth move.

Eve nodded, then grabbed Isha’s hand and they ran.

The firelight blurred behind them, torches and embers flickering through the trunks as they darted into the trees. Every breath burned in her throat, her legs screaming with the effort, but she didn’t look back. She could feel the heat, could see it bleeding across the ground. The forest itself seemed to be exhaling smoke.

Then Eve stopped, yanking Isha down behind a fallen log.

Through the gaps in the brush, she saw Viktor standing in the clearing. The gold light in his eyes burned so bright it almost hurt to look at. His hands were spread wide, the claw flexing. The air around him shimmered, bending, refracting, warping as if the world itself was splitting under the strain of whatever power he was drawing.

Two planes of pure light unfolded at either side of him. They hovered in the air, vibrating with energy. Then he flung his arms forward.

The planes shot through the smoke with a sound Isha could feel—a hum that thrummed in her chest and made the dirt shift beneath her knees. They cut through the first line of Maw pouring from the lodges like wheat before a scythe. Limbs fell, torsos split, blood spraying as the light burned where it passed. 

Isha flinched and pressed closer to Eve, who stared over the log, wide-eyed and unblinking. The planes wheeled through the crowd, carving and cutting. Viktor moved like a conductor, his arms guiding them in long, smooth gestures—each motion graceful and terrible.

From the smoke, three vampires arrived in a blur.

---

He had to focus. Focus was everything.

The world blurred around him—fire, ash, and movement smeared into one endless, suffocating blur. His head pounded. The seal pulsed against the inside of his skull. The voice—its voice—scraped and hissed at the edges of his mind, eager, hungry, whispering in a tongue that was both his and not.

Let me in. Let me help.

Viktor bit down hard on the inside of his cheek until he tasted the sap. The pain gave him an anchor. He forced his lips to move, reciting the words of the sealing incantation. “By light’s fracture… by the prism bound… I deny thee form…”

The whispers thinned, retreating. He dragged in a breath, feeling the weight of control settle back into his body.

When he looked up, three vampires were there, their silhouettes stark against the burning ruins. One male, tall and broad-shouldered, his white shirt torn and blackened by smoke. The two females flanked him—one dark-haired, eyes like obsidian; the other red-haired, her mane blending into the fire.

They moved together, soundless, perfectly in sync.

The ground around them was a ruin—timber charred to embers, bodies smoking in heaps. Ash drifted down like snow, catching in Viktor’s hair, clinging to his robes. His lungs burned from the heat, but his mind—his mind was sharper than it had ever been.

The male vampire stepped forward, head tilting slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Our father killed you.”

“He did.” The words came out layered, his own voice laced with something deeper, inhuman—like two people speaking through the same throat. His pupils shimmered gold, the glow bleeding outward through the veins of his neck and hands. “I am… more now.”

That made them hesitate. The red-haired one hissed softly, baring her fangs. The dark-haired one’s eyes flicked between her siblings.

The male glanced to either side, giving the faintest nod.

They began to circle him.

---

The world was on fire.

From her place beneath the dead tree, Caitlyn could see the inferno blooming across the village. A third lodge was burning now, flames crawling hungrily up its thatched roof. Even from this distance, she could make out the panic—the scurrying shapes of the Maw trying to douse the blaze.

Everything felt sharper than it should. The heat. The scent of smoke. The crackle of burning timber that she could feel through her skin more than hear. The air shimmered, the world too vivid to be real, urging her to move—to feed—to fight.

She looked up at her hands. Blood ran from the long, open wounds on her forearms. The silver manacles glowed faintly where they bit into her wrists, searing her skin whenever she tried to heal. The smell of her own blood was maddening.

The thirst twisted inside her. It made her tongue ache, her throat dry, her senses bloom with cruel clarity. She hated it. Hated how much she wanted what she couldn’t have.

Caitlyn shut her eyes and tried to breathe through it. But that was when she felt it.

A pressure against her mind. It was like a door unlocking somewhere deep within her chest, a warmth that spread through the numbness.

Vi.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Hey, Cupcake. I got free.”

Without thinking, she sent everything she felt—joy, disbelief, fierce, trembling love—rushing through the bond. Vi flinched below, glancing up from where she lay sprawled on the ground. Their eyes met—hers wide, wild, still shining with adrenaline—and Caitlyn felt the warmth of Vi’s answering grin flicker across their link.

“Now we gotta get you out,” Vi said.

“I can’t.” Caitlyn looked up at the manacles biting into her wrists. “My restraints are silver. They—”

“—They’re still just cuffs, and you can slip ‘em. Just do what I tell you.”

---

Eve pointed, lips moving slow so Isha could catch the words. Firelights are in that one. She gestured toward a burning lodge across the clearing, its roof sagging inward, smoke curling into the sky.

Isha nodded, heart pounding. The two of them slipped from behind the treeline, crouching low as they crossed the scorched earth.

Eve broke into a run, darting between the bodies and smoldering wreckage. Isha followed.

Then something snapped tight around her leg.

She didn’t even have time to cry out. The world spun as she was yanked backward, her knife flying from her hand. The ground tore at her arms and shoulders, dirt and splinters biting into her skin as she was dragged across the forest floor, faster and faster, until the firelight vanished behind her.

Darkness swallowed her.

Her body jerked to a stop, suddenly weightless. Isha twisted, kicking wildly, and realized she was hanging upside down, several feet off the ground.

Then she saw them.

Eyes. Burning green, bright as witchfire, peering at her from the dark.

The smell hit her next—rot and pine sap, wet fur and open graves. Her stomach lurched. Her knife hand twitched instinctively, and she found another of her blades still strapped to her belt. She ripped it free and swung with all her strength.

The blade struck something solid. Bone.

It hit the bear skull dead on, the impact ringing up her arm. The knife glanced off, leaving not a scratch.

Isha’s chest heaved. She snarled and swung again, harder this time, gritting her teeth against the pain. Nothing.

The thing looked at her, head tilting slowly, almost… curious. Its massive body shifted, fur rippling with wet decay, antlers scraping softly against the low branches above.

Then, without its mouth moving, it spoke into her mind.

C

A

L

M

The voice wasn’t like speech at all. It wasn’t heard, but felt—deep and slow, like a pulse through the earth. 

Isha froze. Every instinct screamed to fight, to struggle, to run, but the word rolled through her again.

C

A

L

M

Her breathing slowed and she felt herself drawn into the creature’s gaze.

S

E

E

---

The red-head flashed forward, claws outstretched, her face a snarl of hunger and hate. Viktor felt the hiss of air as she closed—then brought his claw up in a perfect line, slicing her forearm clean through at the elbow. The wound didn't bleed; the flesh simply sheared apart, cauterized by light, the limb spinning away.

She screamed.

Then the male was on him, slamming Viktor to the ground with both hands. The impact would have shattered a normal man's spine. He felt his teeth crack together. Sap filled his mouth, but his mind stayed clear, fixed on the geometry of the fight.

He let the male seize him by the throat, feigned slackness, let the dark-haired woman close, her fangs bared, ready to clamp down on his exposed wrist. Let them think him dominated. His left hand twitched with effort, clawed fingers convulsing, then splayed. Gold light guttered between them, and a split-second later he drove it home—his wrist flexing, the edge of a refracted disc slicing upward.

Light bisected the woman right down the middle.

For a moment she hung there, confusion warping her face before her body fell apart—two halves sloughing away from each other, each side curling as it hit the dirt. The bisecting cut had sealed the wound, cauterized it down to the bone. She didn't even bleed. The halves twitched, then stilled.

The next heartbeat, Viktor wrenched himself free of the shocked male's grip and slammed the heel of his palm up with a surge of light into the vampire's jaw. The impact was seismic; teeth shattered, head rocked back with a wet crack.

The man crumpled, mouth lolling open, dislocated and ruined by the blow.

The red-haired vampire staggered to her brother’s side, howling as she clutched her cauterized stump. But she wasn’t done—her hate outburned any pain. She lunged for Viktor as he stumbled upright, his own body a wreck, trembling from the effort of holding together—mind, body, and soul.

She struck like a snake, fangs aimed at his neck.

Reflex took over.

The clawed hand shot up and buried itself in her throat, the talons shearing through skin and sinew. She tried to scream, but he closed his fist, splintering her windpipe. He squeezed until she stopped moving, then tossed her still body into the flame with a burst of light.

Viktor glanced back and found the male healing and staggering.

Their eyes met and Viktor already knew he’d won.

---

Vladimir turned from the flames, his expression stricken, the firelight gilding his pale face in shifting hues. He stalked toward his sons—Karlo and a younger vampire who stood too still, too quiet, eyes bright and hungry.

Through the bond, Vi reached for Cait. “Now, Cait. Do it.”

Cait set her jaw. Her hands flexed above her head, the manacles biting deeper into her wrists. Vi could see the strain in her arms, the faint tremor of effort.

Then Cait twisted her right thumb.

The pop of dislocation was silent. Cait gasped through her teeth, her whole body shuddering as she forced her hand to turn just so, pushing past the silver’s burning edge. The metal bit deep, flaying skin from the bone as she slid her wrist down, the slick of blood easing her way.

“Almost there,” Vi whispered into Cait’s mind, pressing her palm to the ground waiting for her moment. “You’ve got it.”

Cait pressed her lips together. The first cuff slipped free with a wet scrape, the sound buried beneath the roar of the fire.

She didn’t pause.

Her other hand followed—another twist, another crunch of bone and muffled hiss of pain. Vi could feel the fire in her bondmate’s mind, the ache, the single-minded focus. Cait drew her hand through the narrow ring, tearing skin and leaving streaks of red on the silver.

And then she was free.

She fell forward to her knees, hands trembling, wrists bleeding freely onto the dirt. The silver cuffs clattered softly beside her, one rolling until it struck a root and came to rest.

Vladimir turned at the clanking.

The ground split beneath him.

Roots erupted from the earth, thick and gnarled, coiling around the vampires as they drew close. They shot up in a rush, wrapping around pale throats and reaching claws. Karlo snarled as one lashed around his arm, thorns digging into his skin. The younger vampire leapt backward, but another tendril snapped up, catching his ankle mid-air and dragging him down into the dirt.

Vladimir turned to vapor, slipping through the roots as they struck.

His sons weren’t as fortunate.

Karlo’s roar turned to a strangled gasp as the thorns dug deep, puncturing through ribs and lungs. The roots coiled tighter, faster, crushing pale limbs. His brother’s scream cut short as the vines wound around his skull, the crack of bone echoing through the clearing. The air filled with the stink of iron as their bodies were squeezed until they burst, collapsing into ribbons of red and grey before disintegrating into ash that scattered across the dirt.

Vi didn’t stop until there was nothing left but the hungry creak of the briars twisting in the air. 

Only then did she lift her head, eyes locking on Vladimir as he coalesced a few strides away.

His eyes narrowed to slits as he examined the carnage around him. Little flecks of white ash from his sons fluttered in the updrafts, settling on his coat and hair. His gaze rested on Cait for a long, loaded moment, and for the first time, Vi saw something in him that almost looked like regret…or maybe fear.

She didn’t get a chance to ponder, because in the next moment he was on her.

Vi ducked, his strike tearing a line through the air where her head had been. Her counter caught his ribs square as her gauntlets formed, and the shock split the earth underfoot. He barely staggered. The man was like stone wrapped in finery.

He backhanded her with a burst of Hemocraft. It wasn’t a hit, it was a detonation—blood and force made one. The ground rippled, and Vi went tumbling end over end, crashing into the roots of the dead tree. Bark splintered around her, and her ears rang with the hollow sound of her bones protesting.

By the time she got her breath back, Cait was already on him.

She moved like lightning—fangs bared, eyes burning bright. Her claws flashed in quick, slashing through the air. Vladimir parried the first with his forearm, the second with a twist of blood that hardened midair into a crimson blade. The third tore a shallow line across his jaw.

He glowered.

Vladimir swept a hand across the air, fingers curling. The blood Cait had drawn leapt from his skin, stretching into a whip that lashed around her wrist. She tried to pull back, but it held fast, digging deep into her skin, smoking where it touched.

“Such spirit,” Vladimir said softly, tightening his grip.

He yanked her forward, slamming his knee into her stomach. Cait coughed blood across his coat. Before she could recover, he raised his other hand, and the very blood from her wound surged out, swirling in the air like ribbons of red light. It twisted, writhing, then speared through her, bursting out her back in a spray of gore.

“Cait!”

Vi hit him full-force. The impact sent them both flying. She caught his jaw with her left gauntlet and felt teeth crack under her knuckles. She drove him into the ground, the soil exploding around them. Her right fist came down, again and again, the strikes ringing like thunder.

He bled, but his blood didn’t fall. It moved. It slid from his wounds and crawled back toward her fists, trying to cling, to burn, to burrow. But it couldn’t take root. The briars beneath her skin hissed and blackened it where it touched, the Thorn in her rejecting it utterly.

Vladimir snarled, baring all his teeth. 

Vi barely saw the hit coming.

One instant he was on the ground, the next behind her, his hand slamming through her side. She felt the claws punch clean through muscle, the hot sting of her own blood spilling down her thigh. He yanked free, and she roared, spinning with a wild swing that caught his face mid-turn. Bone shattered under the blow.

Cait was already there, limping, bleeding, eyes wild. She leapt onto his back, fangs sinking deep into his neck. For a second, Vi thought she had him.

Then he screamed and his blood answered. 

It poured from the wound like molten metal, searing through Cait’s mouth, her throat, her veins. She wrenched back, gasping, the skin of her neck and arms smoking where the crimson touched. She dropped to the dirt, convulsing, eyes wide and blind with pain.

Vi staggered toward her, every breath a knife stabbing her. She barely made it a few steps before Vladimir struck again.

His shoulder hit her square in the chest. She flew backward, slammed into the dead tree hard enough to make the whole trunk groan. The air tore from her lungs. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled.

Vladimir fell to a knee, his pristine black coat in ruins, the fine lines of his face ruined by cracks of crimson light pulsing under his skin. Blood ran from his mouth, thick and dark, dripping down his chin.

She turned her head and saw it through the smoke—escaped Firelights and Maw tearing into one another.

“After all they knew was gone, I found them. I saved them. I gave them a home, a purpose.” The vampire lord was standing again, his posture regal despite everything. The skin on his face was knitting together, the bones beneath audibly shifting back into place. The wounds along his neck sealed, his teeth regrew, blood hissing as it evaporated from his lips.

Vi’s mind went back to the ruins—the city devoured by demons, streets thick with bones, homes hollow and silent.

And suddenly, she understood.

The Maw were the survivors. The ones that had run.

A raw fucking deal for those people. Real raw. But Vi wasn’t about to waste her last breath arguing philosophy with a narcissist vampire who thought turning survivors into thralls counted as salvation.

So she spat blood into the dirt at his feet in reply.

Her knees trembled as she pushed herself upright, every muscle screaming. Bark dug into her palms as she used the dead tree for balance. The briars under her skin stirred—slow, sluggish, but alive. Still answering her. Still hers.

She looked up. Cait was moving too.

Her lover dragged herself to her feet, shaky but standing. Blood streaked her face and neck. Her coat was torn to shreds, and one of her arms hung limp at her side. But her eyes were locked on Vladimir with a fury that burned through the pain.

Vladimir watched them both, silent now.

The smirk was gone. The condescension. The theatrical ease that had carried him through every word before.

He raised his hand and licked the blood from his palm, eyes never leaving her. His tongue trailed through the red, and his pupils dilated as he stepped forward.

Vi braced herself, fists curling, gauntlets hardening, ready to charge him again.

But then he stopped.

His head tilted slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows. He turned toward the trees.

And then the Leshy was there.It towered over them, its frame shrouded in mist and ash. 

In its clawed hand—small and limp—hung Isha, still holding onto her knife.

Her head lolled to one side, dark hair sticking to her face. Her skin was pale. Too pale. Her chest didn’t move.

Vi’s world narrowed to a single, suffocating point.

Her breath caught. The noise around her dulled. All of it fell away. She stared at the girl’s still form, her sister, every heartbeat pounding grief and guilt into her skull.

Through the bond, it hit Cait a second later. The same storm of emotion—rage, anguish, disbelief—surged between them until it was impossible to tell whose was whose.

Vladimir’s smile returned, cruel and thin.

That was it.

Vi didn’t think. Didn’t plan.

The briars under her skin flared, burning bright with hate. The gauntlets writhed as she powered forward. Cait was beside her in the same instant—one heartbeat, one will. 

Together, they launched at Vladimir.

---

The Leshy had shown her green...and pain.

It had been everything all at once: roots digging into her skin, breath torn from her lungs, the heat of her blood fading to cold. She’d understood, in a way words couldn’t hold. It wasn’t cruelty. It was purpose. The Leshy had to kill her, had to bring her to the master. But it didn’t have to keep her dead.

Somewhere in that hollow place between moments, it showed her why.

The endless forest. The rhythm of the earth pulsing slow beneath her feet. The whisper of the wind through leaves that were older than the first people. All things alive. All things connected. Pain and mercy—woven as one.

When her heart stopped, the world didn’t end. It expanded.

She fell into an endless dream where time had no edges, where she could see through the eyes of crows and feel the roots drink deep in the soil. The Leshy was there, towering and terrible, but also strangely kind. Its voice filled her.

Return, little one.

And she did.

The pain came back first. Then breath. 

Isha’s eyes flew open.

She gasped, air burning her lungs, chest seizing as though her body didn’t quite remember how to live. She was lying on the ground now—the Leshy crouched above her, it blotted out the moon. It was watching her, green fire smoldering in its skull.

She pushed herself upright, dizzy, the world around her sharp and bright and different. The smell of blood and smoke hit her at once.

The fire made everything unreal—colors too bright, shadows too long, heat swallowing everything. Isha blinked hard, forcing her eyes to focus. 

Down the slope, Vi and Caitlyn were fighting.

Vi’s fists crashed against Vladimir’s guard, the ground shattering beneath every strike. Briar and blood mixed midair. Cait darted around the vampire’s flanks, her claws raking, but she was slow—limping, one arm barely lifting. Vi was bleeding too.

Every blow landed slower, weaker.

Vladimir didn’t slow. He was faster now, his wounds sealing as fast as they were made. He drove his knee into Vi’s ribs, then turned, sweeping Caitlyn’s legs out from under her. She hit the ground hard, gasping, her claws scraping dirt. Vi roared and lunged again, reckless, but he caught her by the throat and slammed her back into the ground.

Isha’s stomach turned. She tried to move, but her body felt foreign—too new, too wrong. The Leshy’s green light pulsed faintly through her veins, making her vision swim.

Then, from the fire’s edge, something changed.

The air shimmered.

Out of the flames, Viktor walked.

At first, she thought it was a trick—smoke playing shapes in the heat haze—but no. He was real. And terrifying.

The gold in his eyes wasn’t a glow anymore, it was a blaze. Light bled from the cracks in his skin like molten glass, tracing every vein, every scar. His robe was burned away in places, revealing flesh scored with symbols that writhed faintly, alive.

The ground dimmed around him, shadows bending with his steps.

He walked toward them, calm, unhurried, fire curling away from him like it feared to touch.

Vladimir turned, still holding Vi aloft. His face twisted, red eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Demon—”

Viktor raised a hand.

Reality bent.

A pulse of light exploded outward and for a second, everything was gold. Flames froze mid-flicker. Ash hung in the air. The pressure made Isha’s teeth ache, made the Leshy stir behind her.

Then it all snapped back.

Vladimir stumbled, blood pouring from his nose, his hand falling away from Vi’s throat. Vi dropped to her knees, coughing. Caitlyn was already moving, dragging herself upright, eyes wide at the sight of Viktor.

The vampire lord’s face twisted with fury. He reached into his coat and pulled free the shriveled heart.

“Kill the demon!” he commanded.

The Leshy shrieked. The sound tore through the clearing, shaking the leaves from trees. Its body convulsed, green fire erupting from its joints, antlers scraping furrows in the ground as it tried to resist. But the compulsion in that heart was absolute. Its head turned toward Viktor.

Viktor didn’t move. His golden eyes burned brighter, his mouth whispering words of power.

Then the forest split.

Light and shadow collided.

The Leshy swung its arm. Viktor met it with a wall of blinding radiance, the impact rippling through the air in a shockwave. The force sent ash and leaves spiraling. The two forces slammed together again and again—divine fury and infernal will, god versus demon—each blow distorting the world around them.

Caitlyn moved while the vampire lord watched his monster. She darted forward, half-crawling, half-running, and lunged—not for his throat, but for the heart.

Her claws raked across his hand. Flesh split. She wrenched the heart from his grasp and it went rolling into the grass.

Vladimir roared, spinning, and backhanded her, the strike sending her flying. She crashed through the dirt, rolled, and tumbled toward the chaos of battle where Firelights and Maw clashed amidst the flames.

Vi was already on her feet, glancing over at Isha.

For a fleeting second, their eyes met.

Isha raised a trembling hand and gave a thumbs up.

Vi grinned.

Then she turned and hit Vladimir.

The punch connected with cracking thunderclap. His jaw snapped sideways, and his body slammed into the dead tree hard enough to split it. The trunk cracked from base to crown, sending splinters flying.

Vi’s gauntlet twisted and reshaped mid-swing, the briars hardening into a jagged blade. She drove it into Vladimir’s chest with a roar, the impact shaking the ground.

The blade sank deep, but missed his heart.

Vladimir growled through the pain. Then his hand shot up, gripping Vi by the wrist. Before she could wrench free, he slammed his forehead into hers.

Vi staggered back, blood running down her brow.

Isha’s heart lurched and she crawled forward through the ash and dirt. The Leshy and Viktor were still battling in the distance, their clash lighting the night in alternating bursts of gold and green, but all Isha could see now was the glint of that shriveled heart lying just a few feet away.

Vladimir ripped Vi’s blade out of his chest and kicked her hard in the ribs, sending her sprawling.

Isha threw herself forward, snatching the heart from the ground. It pulsed in her hand, wet and cold and wrong. She nearly dropped it, bile rising in her throat at the texture.

Vladimir’s head snapped toward her.

Vi noticed. She rolled, reaching for the first thing she could—the silver manacles.

The vampire lord took one step toward Isha.

And Vi was on him.

She looped the manacle’s chain around his throat and pulled.

The silver hissed against his skin, smoke curling from the contact. Vladimir roared, thrashing, but Vi held fast, teeth gritted, every muscle flexing.

Isha could feel the vibration of the struggle through the ground—the tension, the power, the hate.

Vladimir clawed at the silver, his skin blistering under it. He twisted, trying to wrench free, but Vi dug in her heels, dragging him back with brute force, every line of her body lit with the briar’s glow.

Isha stared down at the heart in her palm. It beat faster now. Each pulse shuddered through her bones, through her teeth, through her soul. And with every beat came a flicker of memory.

She saw them.

One after another.

Maw—men, women, children. All of them gifted. All of them made to bleed, their bodies carved out and fed to the old forest god. She saw them strung up in the woods, heard the wet thud of blades, felt the forest’s sorrow in her veins. The Leshy’s chains were forged in selfish sacrifice. Years and years of it.

The reality of that horror made her shake. She looked up through her tears, and there was Vladimir—fighting against Vi’s hold, face twisted, red eyes blazing with hate and fear. The silver burned trenches into his neck. His hands were slick with blood, but still he pulled.

Isha looked down again at the pulsing heart. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her knife.

No more.

She plunged the blade in.

It sank to the hilt.

There wasn’t a grand pronouncement—no thunder, no flash of divine wrath. Just… stillness. The Leshy’s scream cut off mid-note. The green fire winked out. And where that ancient, tortured god had stood a heartbeat before, there was nothing.

Then wind.

A cool, gentle breeze rolled through the clearing, washing over them like a balm after a long summer’s day. It carried the smell of pine and wet earth, of growing things. The fires bent away from it, flickering lower, and the air felt clean for the first time in days.

Isha’s body trembled. She felt the forest exhale, and a smile broke weakly across her face.

It disappeared as she saw Vi on the ground.

Vladimir’s hand clamped around Isha’s neck, lifting her off the ground. Her feet kicked uselessly, air scraping from her throat. She slashed with her knife, desperate, but he caught her wrist in his other hand. Bones cracked. The pain was white-hot, a shock that made her vision burst with stars.

Her knife fell.

He yanked her closer, fangs bared. The world tunneled—firelight, blood, the reek of ash and rot. His eyes were all she could see, twin pits of red hunger.

Flash!

Vladimir jerked sideways, half his face tearing open. Flesh vaporized, revealing bone, teeth, the sinew of his cheek. Isha swiveled her eyes and saw Caitlyn through the haze—standing beside a freshly drained Maw, her hand still raised, eyes glowing.

Vladimir snarled, his gaze snapping toward her.

That was the moment.

Isha twisted the other way, her good hand finding the last knife still strapped to her belt. She yanked it free and drove it up with every ounce of strength she had left. The blade sank deep into his neck.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He may have been an old monster, but he still had the human instinct to survive. His eyes went wide, primal fear replacing centuries of arrogance. Blood poured down his chest, thick and dark. He released Isha, staggering backward, both hands clutching at his throat.

Isha fell hard, the ground rushing up to meet her. Her ankle twisted beneath her, a jolt of pain racing up her leg. She rolled onto her side, growling, watching as Vladimir towered above her. His face was a ruin of fury and pain, his breath coming in ragged snarls.

Then his expression changed. Confusion. Shock. His eyes went wide.

Vi was right behind him.

Vladimir’s back arched violently, a guttural gasp tearing from his gaping throat as a wooden stake erupted through his chest, bursting from between his ribs. 

He looked down at it, eyes watering, disbelief carved deep into his face. Blood welled from his mouth, spilling down his chin. His lips moved, forming words—something meant for Vi—but Isha couldn’t make them out.

Then Vi twisted.

The wood splintered deeper.

Vladimir choked and Vi kicked his legs out from under him. He dropped to his knees. The wind caught his long coat, making it billow as his body started to tremble.

His gaze swept the battlefield of his home—the burning longhouses, the fallen Maw, the Firelights pressing through the smoke. He saw his children’s ashes scattered across the dirt.

And for one brief moment, there was something almost… human in his face. 

Despair.

Then the light left his eyes.

His body began to crumble, the flesh turning gray, cracking like dry clay. Another gust of wind passed through the clearing, scattering him into a fine ash that shimmered briefly in the firelight before fading into nothing.

Isha sat where she’d fallen, her broken wrist cradled against her chest, her whole body trembling.

The sky above was paling, twilight giving way to dawn. The dark bled slowly into soft blue, and through the branches, the first sliver of sun touched the treetops, coloring the smoke gold.

A shadow crossed her vision, and then Vi was there. Limping, bloodied, her body one massive wound. She knelt down and gathered Isha into her arms without a word.

The moment Vi’s hands found her, Isha broke.

All the strength she’d held on to through the night—the terror, the rage, the numb disbelief—splintered. She buried her face into Vi’s shoulder, the smell of ash and sweat and pine filling her lungs, and the sobs came hard. Her body shook as she clung to the only thing that felt solid left in the world.

Vi just held her, one hand cradling the back of Isha’s head, fingers threading gently through her hair, the other arm wrapped tight around her back. Isha could feel the tremor in Vi’s chest, the steady beat of her heart against her ear.

A moment later, another body folded around them both. Caitlyn.

She sank to her knees beside them, moving slowly, as if afraid they might both vanish if she wasn’t careful. Her hand came to rest on Vi’s shoulder first, then slid to Isha’s, her thumb tracing steady circles against the girl’s arm.

For a long time, the three of them just stayed that way—breathing, holding, the sunrise washing over them.

The light crept across the clearing, chasing the last of the shadows. It touched Viktor’s resting form, where he knelt unmoving beside the ruins. He glared at the broken weapons, blood-soaked soil, and the still faces of the fallen.

But when he reached them, his expression softened.

Isha looked up, her face streaked with tears, and met Vi’s tired eyes. Caitlyn leaned against Vi’s shoulder.

They stayed there as the sun rose, holding each other while the night’s ghosts drifted away into the light.

Chapter Text

The sun was high by the time they left the ruins of the village behind. Smoke rose in lazy pillars from the longhouses, twisting up into the brightening sky.

They walked in silence.

The Firelights that remained—ten of them—kept their distance as they followed behind. Even with Eve limping alongside, trying to offer a word or two of comfort, Vi could see the unease in their eyes. Fear, awe, grief—it was all tangled together in the way they looked at her and the others.

She didn’t blame them.

They had come as strangers and turned the Firelights’ entire world upside down.

They’d done it. What the Firelights hadn’t managed in years, they’d done in a single night—killed the vampires of the Ritehart, broken their dominion, and freed the Leshy.

She looked over the others.

Viktor walked ahead of them, his posture stiff, head lowered. His left hand hung at his side, the long clawed fingers flexing now and again as if they ached. The gold had gone out of his eyes, but there was something quieter, deeper behind them now. Regret, maybe. Or acceptance. Hard to tell.

Cait moved beside Vi, her coat torn and streaked with dirt and dried blood. Her fangs were gone, her face pale, her gaze fixed somewhere far ahead. Vi could feel her through the bond—tired, wary, but present. Cait didn’t need to speak. Neither of them did. The connection said enough.

Isha trailed a few paces behind, her wrist splinted, her clothes stiff with blood. 

They walked on, the smoke thinning and the air smelling of pine again. The forest was alive—birds calling from somewhere unseen, wind shifting through the leaves. It felt…normal.

By the time they stopped, twilight had faded to deep indigo. Eve and the Firelights lit a small campfire, the flames snapping weakly in the chill wind. Its light didn’t reach far; just enough to push back the dark. Everyone sat close and talked softly, heads bowed, movements sluggish.

All the while, Vi noticed Cait listening to their stories.

About Zaun.

About family.

About what they were fighting for.

The sky was black as they ate—hard bread and a handful of dried fruit—and before long, most of them were asleep. The Firelights collapsed where they sat, heads pillowed on packs or each other’s shoulders. Isha lay curled near the edge of the firelight, her chest rising slow, clutching her splinted wrist close to her chest.

Vi leaned back against Cait, the vampire’s arms wrapped around her middle, and her chin rested lightly on Vi’s head. 

The forest was quiet except for the fire’s low crackle and the whisper of wind through the needles.

Vi let herself drift into dreams. But even there, she felt the faint tug of Cait’s mind reaching out. Words not spoken, but felt through the bond.

Viktor’s voice spoke, “I’ve sealed its presence away for now… but it is not a permanent solution. If things get worse…”

“You can’t ask Vi to do that,” Cait replied.

“She’s the only one who can.”

The words hung there, resonating like the dying ring of a struck bell. No further thoughts came. No argument. Just the quiet hum of the bond, the echo of unspoken dread.

After that, there was nothing. No dreams, no visions—just a deep, merciful dark.

And through it all she felt Cait’s presence. Warm and soothing and protective.

---

When Vi woke, the world was pale and gold, sunlight spilling over the treetops. Her face was warm where it touched the light, her back still pressed against Cait’s chest. The fire had burned down to ash. Around them, the camp was stirring—Firelights yawning, shifting, stretching sore limbs.

Cait whispered into Vi’s hair. “There’s a group of humans coming from the north.”

Vi blinked sleep from her eyes, rubbing at the ache behind them. “More Firelights?”

Cait shook her head slightly. “Not sure. But I’d hope it’s that, and not something worse.” Her gaze shifted toward the treeline. “I would hope we killed all of the Maw. It would be nice to have a day without someone trying to kill us.”

“You’re not wrong, cupcake.”

Across the camp, Viktor was already awake, crouched near the ashes of the fire. His clawed hand turned over a handful of soil, the blackened earth glinting faintly in the morning light.

The trees rustled from the north.

A sharp whistle split the quiet morning air—three short bursts, then a pause, followed by two long ones.

Everyone in the camp froze. Vi’s hands formed her gauntlets automatically.

Then, from the trees, came a man’s voice. “Feather falls, flame rises!”

Eve was on her feet before anyone else, her eyes wide. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted back, “Smoke clears, wings open!”

Then figures emerged from the tree line. Half a dozen at least, maybe more. And at their front, towering over the rest, was a Chirean—a bat-like humanoid. His fur was a deep brown, his ears long and sharp, his eyes a pale green.

Eve grinned, wide and unguarded in a way Vi hadn’t seen before. “Scar,” she breathed.

“Eve,” the Chirean replied, his grin matching hers as he strode forward. He swept her up in his arms before she could say another word, spinning her and laughing. “You’re alive, you stubborn little flame.”

“Barely,” Eve said against his shoulder, and Vi saw her smile falter for just a moment before it came back.

Behind him, the rest of the new arrivals stepped into the clearing. The moment their people saw them, the air shifted. Relief spread through the camp like a spark catching dry grass. The Firelights who had survived the Ritehart stood, some running forward, some limping, some simply staring in stunned disbelief before collapsing into each other’s arms.

Tears. Laughter. Quiet words Vi couldn’t hear but didn’t need to.

Eve pointed toward Vi, her expression softening as she spoke quickly to the Chirean. Scar followed her gesture, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Vi.

Vi caught the look, straightened, and let her gauntlets wither. She rolled her shoulders once, then stepped forward to meet him.

Scar approached and when he stopped before her, he extended one clawed hand. “Name's Scar, I hear you’re the one to thank for freeing our people,” he said. His voice was deep and rasping.

Vi glanced down at his hand, then took it, her grip firm. “Vi. And it was a group effort,” she said, jerking her chin toward her companions. “But… yeah. Guess you could say that.”

Scar studied her for a heartbeat longer than was comfortable. His gaze flicked to Cait next—the fangs, the bloodstained coat, the unnatural stillness. Then to Viktor, standing slightly apart with those faintly glowing eyes, and finally to Isha.

His brow furrowed, a shadow of unease crossing his features.

Eve caught it and stepped in close, laying a hand on his arm. She said something Vi couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, it eased the tension in his shoulders.

Scar nodded slowly. Then he looked back to Vi. “Well,” he said finally, “a Thorn is always welcome among us…and I’ll trust that Eve’s judgment is sound regarding the company you keep.”

Vi nodded as he spoke.

“The Grove is a few miles east of here,” he went on. “We’ll move out soon. There’s food, clean water. Shelter. You and yours look like you could use all three.”

“Appreciate it,” Vi said, meaning it.

Scar grinned faintly, then turned, gesturing for Eve to follow. As they walked back toward the Firelights, the others straightened—hope sparking where there’d only been weariness before. Eve cast one last look over her shoulder at Vi, smiling.

Vi sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck. “Guess we’re not sleeping in the dirt tonight,” she muttered.

---

The march north was sparking with unbridled excitement as the Firelights conversed softly with one another. Vi felt the thrill too, her heart beating just a bit faster as the forest grew denser, the path winding through towering trunks draped in moss, the ground soft with pine needles and loam.

By about midday, the sun filtered down in shards of light. And then Vi saw a shimmer.

It hung like heat in the air, faint but visible, stretching between the trees in a gentle curve. A ward of invitation. Vi felt the hairs on her arms stand on end as they neared it.

The first of the Firelights passed through easily, one after another. But when Cait stepped forward, she stopped short—the shimmer rippled outward, solidifying into a lattice of luminant spellcraft that blocked her path.

She frowned, testing it with her hand. The ward sparked faintly at her touch, refusing her.

Scar turned, his expression unreadable. Eve glanced between him and Cait, then stepped forward. 

“You may enter.”

Cait tested it again, and this time, her hand passed through. She hesitated only a second before following Vi in.

The Grove opened before them.

Homes had been built high into the trees, their walls of pale wood and woven vines, connected by rope bridges that swayed gently in the wind. Below, terraced gardens spilled down the slopes, bursting with crops—corn, roots, and bright blossoms Vi hadn’t seen since she was a girl.

Windmills turned slowly on the higher ridges, their vanes creaking softly. The sound of running water filled the air; a river cut clean through the center of the settlement, glimmering beneath wooden footbridges and hanging lanterns.

And in the middle of it all stood an ancient tree—massive, its bark gnarled and gray. Its crown reached above everything, leaves so thick they made their own weather, cool and dim beneath its shade. Around it, Firelights worked—tending the crops, hauling water, repairing tools.

Vi stopped walking for a moment just to take it in. The scent of wet earth, the hum of wind through the canopy, the distant chatter and laughter of people.

Cait came up beside her, the sunlight striking her pale skin in fractured gold through the leaves. “It’s beautiful,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” Vi murmured. “Didn’t think places like this still existed.”

Isha’s eyes were wide, darting from one wonder to the next—homes carved into trees, crystal lanterns strung across bridges, windmills turning slow and steady in the sun. She craned her neck to watch a group of Firelights climbing a vine ladder, their laughter ringing faintly through the branches.

Vi couldn’t help but grin. The kid had only ever known cell walls, broken towns, and blood. Seeing her here—shoulders loose, eyes bright—felt like watching a flower bloom out of stone.

Vi reached out and ruffled her hair. Careful, you’re gonna trip with your mouth hanging open like that.

Isha batted her hand away half-heartedly but smiled up at her anyway, a real smile this time.

Viktor was a few steps behind, his clawed hand brushing against a low-hanging branch as they walked. The faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips—barely there, but enough for Vi to see it. It didn’t last long, though; his gaze drifted, distant, haunted, as if he was searching for something in the quiet that he couldn’t quite find.

Then the noise hit them.

The Grove had noticed the returning Firelights.

People came running—faces alight with hope, some with tears already brimming before they reached the edge of the crowd. The first reunions were like sparks—sobs of joy, laughter that broke and caught, hands clasped tight as if to make sure the other was real. A woman threw her arms around Eve, crying into her shoulder. Two young men collided mid-run, nearly toppling over as they held on.

But not every face held joy.

Farther in the crowd, Vi saw one man stop short—his smile fading as he scanned the group, searching for someone who wasn’t there. His lips moved, calling a name. No answer. He asked again. Still nothing.

Another Firelight—soot-streaked and bandaged—stepped forward and spoke softly. The man’s shoulders crumpled, his knees hitting the dirt.

All around them, the sounds of celebration mingled with grief.

Vi watched it all in silence, her throat tight.

Cait’s hand found hers, fingers threading through without a word. Vi didn’t look at her, but she squeezed back.

Then her eyes shifted, following everyone else’s as the leader of the Firelights approached.

Coming from the riverbank, walking side-by-side with Scar, was a man Vi almost didn’t recognize at first.

He moved with purpose—the kind of stride that belonged to someone who’d carried responsibility for far too long. His hair was pulled back into tight silver-white braids, a few loose strands brushing his cheek. The scars across his jaw and temple weren’t the kind you got from one fight—they were the kind that came from a lifetime of them.

He wore leathers and canvas, tools hanging from his belt, and over one shoulder was a curved green blade unlike any Vi had seen before. His skin was dark, his frame lean but coiled, every line of him hardened by years of surviving.

Vi’s heart skipped.

He’d grown from the boy she remembered—scrappy, quick, always with a grin too big for his face—into something else.

She stepped away from Cait without thinking, her feet moving on their own.

The man noticed her then. His brow furrowed, head tilting slightly as if she were a ghost he wasn’t sure he believed in. Then his eyes widened, recognition dawning on his face.

“Ekko,” Vi breathed.

She didn’t wait for permission—just crossed the space between them and wrapped him in a hug, arms locking tight around his shoulders.

He went rigid. Then his arms hovered uncertainly before one came up to rest against her back.

“Vi,” he said quietly, disbelief roughening the word. Then, after a long pause, “You’re alive.”

She squeezed him harder. 

When she finally stepped back, his eyes searched her face. “You look different,” he said.

Vi smirked. “So do you. You’re taller.”

That earned her a snort, the first crack in his composure. “Yeah, well. I had to grow up.”

“Yeah.”

Ekko’s eyes flicked past her shoulder, his expression tightening. “I see you’re traveling with some… interesting people.”

Vi turned to look where he was staring. Cait stood a few paces away.

“Guess you could say that.”

She gestured for Cait to come over.

Cait approached. The Firelights nearby had gone still, eyes narrowing as they took her in.

When Cait reached them, she extended a hand, her voice even and polite. “Hello. I’m—”

“—an Enforcer,” Ekko said flatly.

Cait’s hand froze midair before she quietly let it drop to her side. The shift in Ekko’s tone wasn’t loud, but it carried weight—years of bitterness, of battles fought in alleyways and smoke-choked streets, of the boots that had trampled his home.

Vi’s stomach sank.

In her rush—the relief, the shock—she’d forgotten. Forgotten what the uniform meant here. What Ekko and his Firelights had lost to men and women dressed just like her.

Something dark crossed Ekko’s face and Vi didn’t see any trace of the boy who used to tinker with scraps and clockwork. The artificer’s apprentice was gone. What stood before her now was something forged in steel.

“The only reason you’re allowed here is because Eve vouches for you.”

His gaze flicked from Vi to Cait, pinning her like a blade point. Around them, a few Firelights had stopped their work, drawn by the tone of his voice. Hands hovered near weapons, not yet hostile—but not trusting, either.

“Ekko, c’mon…” Vi started, her voice low, placating. “She’s not—”

He cut her off with a look.

Cait stood her ground. Her posture was calm, but Vi felt her pulse through the bond—a quick flutter of nervousness. She lifted her chin slightly and spoke. “I understand who I am,” she said. “And what my people have done to Zaun. To all of you. It’s wrong…it’s wrong. My whole life—I never—I was only ever told about what the Firelights have done, never the reason. But I’ve seen what was taken from you and I don’t want to do that.”

Ekko’s eyes narrowed, studying the vampire in front of him. For one long breath Vi felt the whole camp hold itself, waiting on whatever verdict their leader would give. 

At last he sighed. “Alright. And,”—he turned, scanning them quickly, before landing on Viktor—“what’s wrong with him?”

Vi hesitated. “He’s…uh,” she mumbled, hunting for phrasing that didn’t sound absolutely horrible and landed on. “Cursed.”

Ekko let out a small, humorless laugh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he is,” he said, like he hadn’t expected anything less. “Of course.” Then he shrugged his shoulders. “I know just where to put all of you.”

---

Vi poured the water over herself, washing away the dirt and blood that had solidified on her skin. The water wasn’t warm, but the ritual of cleaning herself was soothing. She looked down, watching the water run in thin, rust-colored streams down the slope and spill into the grass. 

Vi dipped the rag once more and dragged it over her shoulders, feeling the grime peel away in streaks.

When the last of the blood had been washed away, Vi stood and wrung out the rag, watching the water drip red-brown. Then she dried off and pulled on the clothes the Firelights had given her. The first new set she’d worn in years.

They didn’t fit right—too stiff in the shoulders, too loose around the waist. Still, she couldn’t deny the strange comfort of clean cloth against her skin. She rolled the sleeves up, flexed her hands, and tested the way the seams stretched across her back.

From where she stood, she could see down into the heart of the Grove—lanterns glowing, figures moving between rope bridges, the clang of a forge far off. Ekko had put them out here on the fringes.

“Privacy,” he’d called it.

Vi knew better.

Safety for the Firelights—safety from them. From the vampire and the demon.

They tried their best, but Vi could see some Firelights trying to subtly spy on them. Ordered by Ekko no doubt, she couldn’t really blame him for the caution.

Vi sighed and started up the ladder. The rungs creaked under her weight, the wood damp and softened with age. 

The treehouses were perched high above the grove. Two huts faced each other across a rope bridge that swayed in the evening wind. The bridge was narrow, its planks warped and moss-slick, the ropes humming faintly when she stepped onto them. Lanterns hung from the railings—battered tin ones, their glass panels etched with Firelight symbols that spilled amber light across the leaves.

The huts had been built long ago—older, dustier, the wood greyed by weather and years of use. Their roofs sagged in places, patched with scrap metal and tar cloth. Four cots lined the walls of each, blankets folded neatly at the foot.

Vi crossed the bridge. The Grove looked almost peaceful from here, lights glowing between the branches like a constellation that had fallen and decided to stay.

When she reached the other side, she pushed open the rough-hewn door. It groaned against the frame, and the scent of stew hit her immediately—thick, savory, something with roots and beans and whatever else the Firelights had scavenged from the forest.

Isha was sitting on the floor, legs crossed beneath her, hair freshly washed. The new clothes they’d given her hung loosely—simple tunic, roughspun trousers—and seemed to swallow her. A small pot was beside her, steam curling up toward the ceiling.

Vi signed, You haven’t eaten?

Waiting on you.

Vi huffed a quiet laugh through her nose and settled down across from her, knees cracking as she sat, and reached for the ladle. She filled two wooden bowls, setting one in front of Isha and keeping the other for herself.

For a while they ate and filled their bellies.

The only noise was the soft clatter of spoons and the distant song of crickets rising through the leaves. The Grove might’ve been uneasy with them here, but in this small corner of it, Vi let herself breathe.

Isha set down her bowl, the faint scrape of wood against wood loud in the quiet. She looked at her hands for a long time, fingers fidgeting, then glanced up at Vi before dropping her gaze again.

Vi frowned and set her own bowl aside, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She signed, Everything okay?

Isha hesitated, then signed back, I want to sleep by myself tonight.

Vi blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected.

You’re sure? 

Isha nodded quickly. Then her mouth quirked into a grin, eyes flashing with mischief. She signed, Plus, I know you and Cait are going to—

Vi lunged forward and swatted at her hands before she could finish the sentence, face going red hot. “Oh, for—!” she started, but Isha had already toppled backward laughing, clutching her stomach and wheezing soundlessly, shoulders shaking with glee.

“Not funny,” Vi muttered, though the words came out strangled and entirely unconvincing. Her ears burned. “You’re way too damn smug for your age, you know that?”

Isha sat back up, grinning wide, her fingers flying as she signed, You blush too easy.

Vi rolled her eyes and leaned back on her hands.

That just made Isha laugh harder.

Eventually the mirth faded, leaving behind a comfortable silence. Vi reached over and nudged the pot lid shut. She studied the girl for a moment—the way she tucked her knees close, the faint smile that hadn’t quite faded.

“You really okay?” Vi asked quietly.

Isha nodded again. I just want to see what it’s like. To have a space that’s mine. Even for one night.

Vi gave a small nod. “Yeah. I get that.” She stood and brushed the dust from her pants. “Alright then, boss. Pick whichever bunk you want. I’ll crash across the bridge.”

Isha beamed, proud and a little bashful all at once, then began setting up her cot. Vi lingered at the doorway for a moment, watching her settle in.

Night, kid.

Isha looked up and signed, Night, Vi.

Vi smiled before turning to cross the rope bridge. The boards swayed gently beneath her feet, the night air cool against her skin as she made her way to the other treehouse—its windows dim, its door hanging slightly ajar.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. 

Vi started setting up her cot, unrolling the thin blanket, then laid her locket on the windowsill where moonlight caught the edges of the silver.

Once that was done she sat down on the cot. She flexed her toes on the wood, then traced the scars across her knuckles with her thumb. How much had she had to kill to get here? Had to be dozens at least, all of the marking her in some way, some—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Can I come in?” Cait called, words muffled through the door.

Vi's heart betrayed her immediately, thudding fast against her ribs. For a moment she just sat there, hands clenched, pulse loud in her ears. Then she swallowed, rubbed a palm over her face, and forced her voice steady.

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Cait opened the door.

Vi stood from the bed a little too quickly, the cot creaking beneath her. “You, uh—” She cleared her throat, rubbing the back of her neck. “You look good in beige.”

Cait glanced down at herself—Firelight clothes neatly fitted, the color dull against her skin but somehow still elegant. Her mouth curved into a small smile as she looked back up. “Not exactly what I would have chosen.”

“Yeah, well, makes you look less like someone about to arrest everyone.”

“That’s the goal,” Cait murmured, stepping fully inside. She closed the door behind her with a quiet click, shutting out the hum of the Grove.

She walked up to Vi, slow and sure. When she stopped in front of her, close enough that Vi could smell the faint trace of soap clinging to her, Cait leaned in and whispered, “Your heart’s racing. Why are you scared?”

Vi blinked, throat dry. “I’m not,” she lied.

Cait tilted her head, one elegant brow rising. “Oh, Violet.”

Her hand came up, fingertips brushing Vi’s cheek. The touch was feather-light, but it burned like she’d been branded. Vi froze, breath catching as Cait’s thumb traced her tattoo.

Vi couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. The world narrowed to Cait’s eyes—sharp and blue and unbearably gentle. Her mouth opened, tried to form words, any words, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

Cait smiled, the kind of smile that made Vi’s stomach drop and her chest ache in the same instant. “You don't need to speak.”

Vi felt Cait reach out with her mind. A soft brush, careful, asking rather than taking. Vi let her in. The bond sparked alive between them.

Cait’s presence filled the space behind her eyes. Vi felt her sift through the edges of her thoughts—the fear, the doubt, the ache she’d buried deep. Cait didn’t dig. She only looked, and Vi knew she was seeing it all anyway.

“I don’t expect anything from you.”

Vi swallowed, her throat tight. “I know… but I want—”

The words slipped away before she could shape them. So she pushed the feeling instead. Lust tangled with affection, heat with safety, want with something deeper she didn’t dare name.

Cait’s eyes softened, the bond pulsing between them.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Vi whispered.

“That’s okay.”

Cait's hand slid back, fingers carding gently through the shorn part of Vi’s hair, nails grazing her scalp in a way that sent shivers down her spine. Vi’s breath hitched, the sound sharp through her nose, her heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to bust out.

Cait pressed herself close and her eyes flicked down to Vi’s lips, then back up—searching, asking.

Vi gave the smallest nod. That was all it took.

Cait leaned in and Vi met her halfway. 

The kiss landed soft at first. Then it deepened, Vi’s breath catching as everything inside her—fear, longing, relief—spilled forward all at once.

Her hands found Cait’s back, palms splayed against the curve of her shoulder blades. She held her close, desperate and careful in the same heartbeat. Cait’s fingers tightened in Vi’s hair, her sigh ghosting against Vi’s mouth before she kissed her again.

The bond deepened—bright and wild and blinding. Emotion bled through it in streaks of color: gold warmth, deep crimson longing, the blue ache of trust. Cait’s feelings mixed with hers until Vi couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Cait pressed forward, step by step. Vi moved with her, too lost in the push to think. When her back met the wall, the impact was soft, the breath slipping from her chest in a shaky laugh that barely escaped before Cait’s lips found hers again.

The wood behind her was cool, grounding against the rush of heat crawling up her neck. Through the bond she could feel everything—Cait’s focus, her patience, the careful control beneath the rising tide of emotion.

It wasn’t hunger. 

It was reverence.

It radiated back and forth between them, amplifying until Vi’s legs went weak and her hands braced tight against Cait’s waist as though she were afraid of floating away. The room was dim, the only light spilling in through the window: moon-washed and blue, painting Cait’s features in stark, holy contrast.

Vi wanted to see her. All of her.

She barely had the thought, but Cait caught it—of course she did—and her lips curled up at the edges. She stepped back. Then she peeled her shirt up, a drag of canvas over pale skin, and tossed it to the floor.

Vi’s brain fizzed out.

She stared. Couldn’t not stare.

The scar at Cait’s neck burned silvery in the light. Her collarbones gave way to the bare swell of her breasts and the flat of her stomach. She was all unfathomable strength and frightening beauty, and Vi’s mouth went dry just looking.

She gulped, pulse skipping. Cait grinned and stepped in to close the gap again. Her hands found Vi’s jaw and she kissed her—harder this time. The heat of it banished every other thought.

Vi staggered, caught herself with a hand at Cait’s hip, hungry for more but terrified of too much. She let herself fall into the kiss, the taste of Cait’s tongue.

Cait hooked a hand around the curve of Vi’s ass and drew her closer, thigh notched perfectly between Vi’s legs, pressing up.

Vi clung to Cait like she was the only thing tethering her to the earth. The friction was immediate, shocking, right where she wanted it. She rolled her hips once, and the jolt of sensation made her gasp, the sound muffled in Cait’s shoulder.

Cait’s hand slid up Vi’s back, fingers splaying wide, nails grazing lightly over the fresh-washed skin. The other hand remained at Vi’s hip, guiding every grind. “Does that feel good?” Cait whispered.

Vi nodded, unable to trust her voice.

Yes, gods yes.

The bond swelled between them, Cait’s pleasure and Vi’s own looping, feeding, amplifying. When Cait kissed her again, it was soft but it went deeper than anything Vi had ever known. In the bond, Cait’s happiness unfurled like a blossom in the sun.

It made Vi ache.

“Can I take this off?” Cait asked, tugging at the hem of Vi’s shirt.

Vi’s jaw worked, for a moment unsure, then she nodded. Cait smiled, then leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth—gentle, reassuring, not asking her to move until she wanted to.

She tugged at the hem, and when Vi didn’t resist, Cait drew the shirt up and over her head, careful of every inch. The air struck Vi’s skin, cool and electric. She shivered, arms crossed awkwardly over her chest, feeling a sudden rawness that prickled at her eyes.

The bindings she wore for support, for concealment, pressed tight around her ribs, the fabric stained and ragged from nights spent running and bleeding and never daring to relax.

Vi stood there, half-naked, breath stuttering in her lungs. She’d never let anyone see her like this. Never even thought about it, not in the years since Stillwater—since she’d remade herself into armor, muscle, and threat.

Her skin flushed hot, the warmth blooming up her neck and across her ears. She tried to look away but Cait caught her chin, tilting it up so their eyes met. The vampire’s pupils were huge, swallowing blue into midnight.

Cait’s hands came up, gentle as summer wind, and traced the pale lines puckered across Vi’s stomach. Thin, jagged slashes radiated from one side of her belly, the skin there warped and shiny. Memories of the demon’s claws flashed behind Vi’s eyes. She sucked in a breath, chest tight.

Cait’s fingers followed the scars.

Her mouth softened, her brows pinched in a delicate grief, and Vi felt the flood of feeling through the bond.

She’d expected hunger from Cait—the teeth, the bite, something feral lurking beneath the skin. But when Cait leaned in again, her mouth was gentle, her lips landing at the tender hollow of Vi’s throat.

Then her hands went to the binding.

“Is this okay?” Cait asked.

Vi nodded again.

Cait’s hands slid up until they found the edge of the old cloth, fingers slipping between the binding and Vi’s skin. She was so deliberate—no rush, no force, just the constant hum of permission in the bond, a question with every movement.

Vi’s hands curled at her sides, nails digging crescent moons into her palms. She bit down the urge to flinch, to cover herself, to run.

Then Cait started to unwind the strip of fabric, coaxing it loose from Vi’s ribs. Inch by inch, the pressure faded and Vi’s chest opened up to the night air.

When the binding finally came free, Vi stood perfectly still, arms loose at her sides, breaths shallow and uneven. She’d always thought she looked wrong—too flat, too scarred, too much muscle cutting sharp instead of curves. But the way Cait looked at her—hungry but also awed—made Vi want to stand there forever.

“Beautiful.”

Vi snorted and tried to look away. “Shut up, you sound like a—”

Cait kissed along her collarbone, and the complaint fizzled to a whimper.

She let her hands roam, mapping Vi’s chest, then trailing down to her stomach. The scars were kissed and counted, each one worshipped in turn. When Cait’s mouth traveled lower, Vi shivered, the tension giving way to need.

She wanted more. She wanted all of it.

Cait sank to her knees and looked up at her.

“Oh fuck,” Vi whispered.

Cait hooked her fingers in the waistband of Vi’s pants, looking up to meet her eyes. She waited for the tiniest nod before moving, peeling the pants down slow, bringing Vi’s underwear with them. The fabric slid free, drawing goosebumps up Vi’s thighs, and pooled around her ankles.

Vi felt naked in a way she’d never been—exposed, trembling, every scar and secret revealed.

Cait touched Vi’s hip, thumb brushing the ridge of bone. Her other hand slid up along the outside of Vi’s thigh, fingers splaying wide, and Vi felt herself shake, the anticipation burning through her.

Cait pressed a kiss to Vi’s navel, then lower, then lower still. The hair and scars along Vi’s lower belly caught the moonlight as Cait nosed her way down.

Vi’s legs went to jelly.

She braced herself against the wall, knuckles white, because she knew—she just knew—if she didn’t, she’d melt straight through the floor.

Cait’s mouth hovered over the ache between her thighs, a hush in the air as she waited for permission, her eyes searching Vi’s face.

Vi nodded again.

The first kiss was barely more than a whisper of lips, but it sent a shock through Vi’s whole body. She hissed, hips bucking forward instinctively, hunger and terror and hope all knotted at the base of her spine. Cait’s tongue flicked out, tasting her, and Vi bit down hard on a gasp as the heat spiked and spread up her chest.

Cait pushed Vi’s thighs wider, bracing her with both hands, and began to work her mouth in earnest. Her tongue was slow at first, drawing tight, teasing circles, then flicking quick and shallow. Vi gasped and shuddered against the wall, knuckles scraping splinters from the rough timber as she tried and failed to stay upright.

“Oh, fuck—Cait—” The words ripped out of her. “Cait, I ne—fuck—bed, please.”

Cait pulled her off the wall and down onto the nearest cot, not breaking rhythm, sinking back between Vi’s legs as the cot creaked and shuddered beneath them. She hooked Vi’s knees over her shoulders, pressed her open, and said, “Hold on.”

Vi’s hands shot out, desperate for something to grip, and Cait guided them into her hair. Vi tangled her fingers and held tight.

Cait’s tongue was devastating and every time Vi’s hips jerked or her breath hitched, Cait hummed—low and smug, vibrating up into where Vi ached the most—until Vi was shaking.

She was going to come.

Fast.

It was embarrassing how fast.

“Cait, I—I—” The words fizzled to static as Cait latched to her clit, sucking with just enough pressure to push Vi over. Her whole body arched, the orgasm surging through her body like she’d been struck by lightning.

Cait didn’t stop—slowed, but didn’t stop—lapping gently, drawing the pleasure out, milking every aftershock until Vi went limp, breath coming in shallow, shuddering heaves.

When the trembling finally ebbed, Cait eased off, pressing one last kiss to Vi’s inner thigh before crawling up beside her. She lay on her side, close enough that Vi could see the shine smeared across her mouth.

Cait’s tongue flicked out, collecting the taste of Vi from her lips.

Vi watched, transfixed and mortified and wildly turned on all at once.

Cait grinned and nuzzled into the crook of Vi’s shoulder. Her arms wrapped around Vi’s waist, holding her so close Vi wondered how they’d ever been apart at all.

They lay that way for a long time—the night quiet except for the thudding of Vi’s heart. She almost didn’t notice Cait peppering her neck and jaw with soft kisses, or the gentle way her hands mapped Vi’s ribs, her hips, the old wounds written into her skin.

Eventually, Vi found the words to speak. “Can I… do the same for you?” She turned her head, searching Cait’s face, a pulse of nervousness fluttering under her ribs.

Cait smiled, almost apologetic. “If you want… but it won’t be quite the same. My body doesn’t…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely at her chest, and Vi understood.

No blood flow.

But Vi remembered what did get Cait off.

So she tilted her head and exposed her throat.

The vampire’s mouth parted, her tongue darting across the edge of a fang. Her blue eyes shifted, going red.

Cait leaned forward, her nails curving over Vi’s jaw, tilting her head back to expose more of her pulse. Her mouth hovered just above the skin, not touching, just breathing in the scent of her blood.

The bond pulsed with a new intensity—hunger, yes, but not just for blood. It was hunger for this moment, for Vi, for the shape and taste and total surrender of her. And beneath it, something ancient in Cait’s voice, a growl threaded with need.

“Say it,” Cait whispered, the syllables barely contained. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Vi answered without hesitation, because she was. Completely.

Cait’s eyes blazed. She pressed her lips to Vi’s throat, fangs dimpling the skin, and let a low, feral moan vibrate through them both. “Stay still,” she murmured, and the command thrilled through Vi’s bones, her muscles going slack, pliant under Cait’s touch.

Cait’s hands gripped Vi’s skull, the fingers lengthening, darkening, nails curling into claws that dug deliciously into the flesh. Her ears sharpened, the tips peaking, and she pressed down, pinning Vi to the thin mattress of the cot. The bond vibrated with lust and need so raw it chased out every other thought.

Then the fangs pierced.

Vi gasped, but the pain was nothing—a pinprick, a hot flash, then an overwhelming wave of heat that rolled over her skin, pooling between her legs and up through her chest.

Cait moaned as she drank. It was helpless, wanton, her whole body shaking above Vi as the blood poured through her lips in hot, surging pulls. Vi felt herself being emptied and filled in the same instant—her pulse hammering, her vision sparking with color, her entire existence reduced to the wet, sucking sound at her throat and the clutch of Cait’s hands at her head.

She should have been scared. She should have been terrified to be held down like this, to feel her life siphoned in greedy, shuddering gulps. But the bond told her everything she needed to know. The thirst wasn’t to kill. It was to be as close as possible. To taste her. To have her.

Vi knew that Cait had no blood flow, but Cait had Vi’s blood pumping into her now. So maybe...fuck it, she had to try.

Her hand moved—slow, shaking—down the vampire’s stomach, over the smooth skin, and then cupped between Cait’s legs. She was hot there, shockingly so, the heat radiating through the soft, damp fabric. Vi’s fingers pressed gently, then a little harder, god, Cait was wet.

Cait’s hips jerked in surprise. The bond spiked with an ache of need, a fever under her skin. She whimpered around Vi’s throat and ground her hips into Vi’s hand.

Vi slipped her fingers beneath the waistband, sliding them down until she met slick, hot skin. The heat of it made her dizzy. She circled her fingers, slow at first, then harder, feeling the muscles in Cait’s thighs shudder and tense around her wrist.

She had no idea what she was doing, but let the bond guide her.

Inside.

So she slid her finger into Cait's pussy. The sensation shocked her: impossibly soft, impossibly hot, the muscles gripping and fluttering around her. Vi curled her finger and Cait arched, the movement so involuntary and desperate it made Vi’s whole body tremble with pride and pleasure.

Cait’s mouth sealed tighter to her neck, the sucking now deeper, pulling love and pain and hunger in equal measure. The bond exploded with sensation—Cait’s pleasure was her own, a feedback loop of heat and want that churned in her belly and sent aftershocks through her thighs.

Vi started to thrust, tentative at first, then with a confidence that surprised her. Cait rode Vi's touch and quenched her thirst in perfect synchrony, the two hungers feeding one another as Cait pumped herself on Vi’s hand and drank from the pulse in her neck. Every noise she made went straight through Vi, turning her insides to jelly. The muttered curses, the sharp little gasps, the heady moan when Vi added a second finger.

Cait’s whole body went rigid as she came, letting out a high and broken cry that she muffled against Vi’s skin. Her pussy squeezed Vi’s fingers so hard she thought she might leave marks inside, and the wet clutch of it was…

Perfect. So fucking perfect.

She kept her hand moving, slow now, coaxing every last tremor from Cait’s body. Above her, Cait’s fangs retracted and her mouth gentled, pressing easy kisses over the bead of blood welling on Vi’s neck.

They held each other for a long while, Vi’s hands cradling Cait’s hips as the aftershocks rippled through them both. The bond was a humming wire, still shuddering with pleasure and stunned delight. 

Cait curled around her, burying her face against Vi’s throat, and the two of them collapsed sideways onto the cot, still tangled together.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

The bond spoke for them.

A cacophony of gold and rose light swirled between their hearts, thrumming with everything words could never hold. It wasn’t gentle; it roared with feeling, overflowing until Vi thought it might break her apart.

She’d forgotten what happiness felt like—the kind that wasn’t earned through a fight or found in a moment stolen between chaos. This was different. Whole. It filled the cracks inside her and left her trembling, breathless, terrified it might fade. But she didn’t want to let it go. Not this time.

Cait’s lips brushed her throat, then her jaw, then the hollow of her cheek. Each kiss carried a pulse of warmth through the bond—small flashes of affection and gratitude, of belonging. Vi tilted her head back, her hands still tracing lazy circles over Cait’s spine, afraid that if she stopped, the world might end.

When Cait pulled back, she hovered above her, her face close enough that Vi could count the flecks of red glinting in her now blue eyes. Her mouth was stained dark, a faint smear of blood along her lip, and her smile was soft.

Vi stared, unable to breathe. The blood, the fangs, the eyes—it should have made her look monstrous. Instead, it made her look alive. Human, in a way that defied what she was.

“Gods,” Vi whispered, the word slipping out without thought. “You’re perfect.”

Cait blinked, surprise flickering in her expression before it melted into something tender. She leaned down, resting her forehead against Vi’s.

The bond shimmered between them, golden light pooling in the space where their skin met. 

For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like a weapon. She felt… seen. Held. Loved.

Love.

She loved.

I love...her. I love Caitlyn.

The thought slammed into her mind.

She hid it immediately, buried it down deep. It was ridiculous. Reckless, even for her. She hadn’t even known Cait for a month. Not really. Not in the way that years of living beside someone teaches you—the quiet mornings, the fights, the ordinary things. What they had was chaos and blood and stolen moments in between. It shouldn’t have been enough.

But it was.

No one had ever made her feel like she wasn’t broken, wasn’t dangerous. Like she could be soft without being weak.

Not one had been like Cait.

She swallowed hard, her heart hammering again for a whole different reason, and forced her face to stay neutral. Cait didn’t need to see that. Not yet. Vi didn’t even know how to say it out loud.

Cait stirred against her, shifting just enough that their eyes met again. Even in the dark, Cait’s gaze was sharp, searching. She always looked at Vi like she was something worth studying, worth understanding.

And damn it, that look made Vi’s stomach twist.

Her throat felt tight. “What?” she asked, her voice low, a touch defensive even to her own ears.

Cait’s smile was small, gentle. “You’re thinking too loudly.”

Vi shrugged, playing for casual.

---

And Caitlyn let her get away with it, because she had heard and felt it all. Vi loved her. Truly loved her. So Caitlyn would wait until Vi was ready to tell her. For now, knowing was enough.