Dawn came slowly to the Northern Reach, a pale wash of light stretching over the frozen pines. Ashen moved through the woods with Lira wrapped in his cloak, her small hands gripping his tunic as if afraid the trees themselves might swallow her. Snow crunched beneath his boots, too loud for his liking, but the storm last night had erased any soundless routes.
He needed shelter. Somewhere remote. Somewhere Ironhand wouldn't think to look.
Lira's voice broke the stillness. "Is he following us?"
Ashen scanned the treeline. "Not yet."
"Will he?"
"Eventually."
Her breath hitched. Ashen glanced down. Her eyes were red from crying, but she bit her lip to keep from shaking. Brave, for a child. Braver than most adults he had met.
"Listen," he said. "When we reach safety, I'll find someone to take you in."
Her face tightened, the color draining. "I don't have anyone."
Ashen exhaled, frost curling from his lips. He hadn't expected that answer to twist something in his chest.
"Then I'll find someone," he said. "Someone trustworthy."
"Like you?"
He stiffened. "I'm not..." He stopped himself. Explaining what he was to a child would only terrify her. "We'll talk about it later."
They moved on, deeper into the forest. The cold bit harder as the wind picked up, carrying with it the distant howl of wolves.
Ashen paused.
Not wolves. Men. War horns, short, clipped blasts meant to signal a search pattern.
Ironhand's mercenaries.
He crouched behind a fallen log, pulling Lira down with him. Through the branches he could see dark shapes moving between the trees. There were half a dozen armored trackers sweeping the area.
"We have to go around," he whispered.
But Lira pointed to the ground beside them. Ashen followed her gaze.
Their tracks. Too exposed.
He scooped her up and sprinted through the underbrush, choosing the steepest ridge he could find. Snow sprayed from his boots as he carved a path up the incline.
Shouts erupted behind him.
"Over there!"
He didn't look back. The ridge leveled out into a narrow cliff ledge overlooking a frozen river. The drop was twenty feet, lethal but luckily it had snowed.
Lira clung to him. "What do we do?"
Ashen adjusted his grip. "Hold tight."
He slid down the cliff's icy face, bracing their fall. Snow exploded around them as they hit the riverbank. Pain shot through his knees, but he kept moving, ducking behind the bend in the river.
Shouts faded above.
He set Lira down gently. "Can you walk?"
She nodded, though her legs trembled.
They followed the frozen river until a small hunting cabin emerged from the trees, its roof sagging under the weight of snow.
Ashen picked the lock with a hairpin, easing the door open. Inside, dust clung to the air. Old furs hung on the walls, and a stone hearth sat cold and empty.
It would do.
"Stay inside," he said, stepping out to gather wood.
By the time he returned, Lira had curled up by the hearth, watching him with cautious hope. Ashen built a fire, flames crackling to life.
"Are… are you hurt?" she asked.
He shook his head. "You?"
"No." She hesitated. "Thank you."
Ashen stopped mid-motion. Gratitude was unfamiliar territory. Most people he interacted with didn't live long enough to offer it.
"You should rest," he said.
Lira curled closer to the fire. "Will he find us tonight?"
Ashen sat near the window, sharpening his dagger. "Not tonight."
"But tomorrow?"
He didn't answer. Her eyes drifted shut anyway, exhaustion finally overtaking fear.
When she was asleep, he slipped outside to check the perimeter. The snow had already begun to cover their tracks. Good.
He stood at the edge of the treeline, senses sharpened by cold and instinct.
And then he saw them.
Across the river, barely visible in the dim light, there were three figures in dark armor. Ironhand's men. Scouting. Searching.
Ashen's grip tightened on the dagger.
He had taken Lira to protect her. But he hadn't considered what it meant.
Protecting her meant staying.
Staying meant being hunted.
He looked back at the cabin, where a small shape slept beside the fire.
For the first time in years, the Silent Knife felt a stir of something he couldn't name.
Responsibility.
He sheathed his blade and stepped back inside, sealing the door against the cold.
Ironhand would come. Ashen knew it.
But so would he. And this time, Ashen wouldn't be the one running.