Winters don't count years. They just stack. By the time my knife felt like it belonged to my hand, I had seven winters in my bones and hunger had carved itself into my ribs like a tattoo you couldn't wash off.
Kado woke first, always. His limp hated mornings and made sure everyone knew. Quiet didn't wake because he never really slept. He watched the mouth of the tunnel with that stillness that makes even dogs nervous. I opened my eyes last, because I liked pretending I could keep sleep longer than anyone else.
Breakfast was a joke we kept telling. A thumb of old bread. A strip of rabbit that remembered when it used to be meat. Three sips of water from the clay jar. Quiet cut everything with his knife, perfect lines, then slid me the bigger piece. I pushed it back. He pushed harder, eyes flat. Kado grunted like the argument bored him.
"Eat," he said. "Argue after you have a pulse."
We tapped the dirt once with two fingers. Our circle. It didn't look like much, but it kept us alive.
Kado's eyes flicked toward the tunnel mouth. "Smoke on the ridge. Could be food. Could be death. Either way, we move."
We crawled out into a morning the color of bruises. Wind scraped our faces raw. Kado leaned heavier on his bad leg but didn't stumble once. Quiet slid forward like the air belonged to him. I kept my head low, knife under my shirt, ribs reminding me I wasn't helpless.
The market was where it always decided to exist - between a burned-out shrine and a wall that looked like it wanted to fall. Fires burned low so the smoke wouldn't gossip to the wrong people. People moved like they'd been invited to die but promised to bring something first.
A woman guarded five turnips with both hands like they were her children. A man tried to trade fish that smelled like a second day of regret. A boy sat with a basket of ash tokens, little clay coins stamped with a circle and a notch. One token might buy soup. Three might buy a bed. They didn't feed you. They just fed hope.
Kado didn't step into the open. He never did. He counted heads, weapons, exits. Quiet touched my sleeve - three taps, his way of saying watch the edge. Two boys in new boots drifted near, levy kids playing predator.
Then we saw him. Teeth Smile. That's what everyone called him, because he showed too many of them whenever he talked. He was young, but the cruelty in his hands had gotten old fast.
"Good morning," he said, voice stretched wide. He spread his arms like he was offering comfort. "Levy day. Keep the roads safe. Keep the bad ones from smelling your children. You know the price."
Someone near the fire choked a laugh. "Safe from who. You?"
Teeth Smile's grin widened. "From the ones with fewer manners."
His boys drifted left and right. People gathered their things. Those with nothing worth taking just took themselves.
Kado's shoulder pressed mine- warning. "Out through the thin," he muttered. He nodded toward a slit between two walls. "Quiet first."
Quiet slipped into the gap like it had been carved for him. I followed, head down, knife ready. Kado limped last, his weight silent.
We were almost clear when someone blocked the exit. Knife backwards in his fist. Smile learned from Teeth Smile.
"Tax," he said. "And the pot."
I didn't have a pot. Just a knife and a talent for bad luck. Kado didn't answer. He left the choice to me.
I loosened my grip on the strap at my side, made it look like I was going to drop something. His eyes clicked to it like a crow spotting shine. He leaned forward. Quiet moved. Dust right in his face. Kado's knife kissed his ankle, fast. The man folded, choking on his own noise.
Another boy lunged from behind. Knife low. I stepped in instead of back, brought my arm up, bone against blade. Pain lit my wrist but I didn't let go. I drove my elbow into his face. Felt cartilage crack. He staggered, blood spraying.
Teeth Smile appeared, arms open, voice calm. "Enough. No one needs to bleed more than they already have this year. Levy. Then we all keep moving."
Kado stood firm, blade raised. Quiet's knee pressed down harder on the boy gasping in dirt.
"Rule," I said, words leaving before my head caught them. My voice tried to sound older than me. "No starving widows. If you take from a burned door, you bring back double when you can."
Teeth Smile tilted his head, amused. "Selling rules now, are we?"
"You're already buying them," I said.
He laughed. Not because he wanted to. Because relief pulled it out of him. He plucked a turnip from a basket, raised it like a toast. "Levy. And a rule. Done."
He left. His boys followed, one bleeding, one limping. The market exhaled. People moved like nothing happened, because nothing happening was safer.
We dragged the ankle-cut boy into shadow. Kado crouched. His leg shook. He ignored it. "Village?" he asked.
"Rain," the boy spat too fast. A lie.
Before I could speak, Quiet stiffened. His hand tapped my sleeve. Three short beats. Watch.
I followed his eyes. At the edge of the road, a white mask stood. Bone smooth. Empty slits. No symbol. Just nothing.
The mask tapped a post. Three knocks. A triangle. Then turned and walked away like he had somewhere better to be.
"He saw us," I whispered, mouth full of iron again.
Kado's face didn't move. "He knew we were here before we woke. Root. Or something worse."
Quiet's fingers signed quick, sharp: hide. Spiral. Now.
We didn't run. Running makes you edible. We slid into shadow, then the ditch, then the tunnel that pretended it didn't want us.
Inside, stone swallowed the world. Our ledger wall waited - four tallies cut deep. One crooked, my fault. Beside them, a notch, promise mark. I pressed my fingers to it. Cold. Heavy. Real.
Kado's voice came low. "Rule. If you make it outside, you keep it here."
"No starving widows," I repeated. My throat hurt, but I didn't stop. "And don't make rules you won't bleed for."
Quiet traced a circle in dust, drew two lines inside. Promise. Debt. Ours.
That night we sealed cracks with mud, set wires with bone beads, taught the air to whisper for us. We moved like we were already ghosts.
When the lamp burned low, I dreamed of spirals on my chest, my mother's hands shaking, the white mask tapping three times. I woke to dripping water counting seconds like it owned them.
Somewhere down the tunnel, stone knocked back. Three. Two. One.
I didn't go look. Not because I wasn't afraid. Because I was.