The morning after Bowen Marsh launched his secret investigation at the Wall, a thick, suffocating fog rolled down from the Frostfangs and swallowed Mole's Town whole.
The air was noticeably colder than it had been the day prior, biting at exposed skin with an icy edge that promised snow. Winter had not just knocked on their door; it had kicked it open.
Serena walked briskly along the frozen path, holding a thick woolen cloak tightly around her shoulders. Beside her, Yoriichi and Lyra stuck close, the twins practically buried in the heavy furs their mother had bought for them with the trading post's profits.
"Step carefully, sweet wolves," Serena murmured, her breath pluming in the freezing mist. "The mud from yesterday has frozen solid. It is like walking on broken glass."
"I can hear it, Mother," Lyra said cheerfully, her small boots crunching on the ice. Despite her blindness, the young girl moved with incredible confidence. Her hearing has sharpened so acutely that she could map the texture of the road simply by listening to the sound of their footsteps. "The ice sounds hollow near the wagon ruts. It's safe on the edges."
Serena smiled, pride warming her chest despite the bitter cold. "Good girl. Keep close to your brother."
Yoriichi walked in silence, his crimson eyes scanning the dense fog. He did not need to speak; his presence alone was a comforting anchor for his mother and sister.
Unbeknownst to the family, they were not alone on the road.
Thirty paces behind them, hidden by a dilapidated wooden fence and the thick morning mist, a man named Pete crouched in the frozen mud. He was shivering, though not entirely from the cold.
Pete pulled a brass cylinder from his heavy coat—a far-eye, a Myrish spyglass he had won in a drunken game of dice from a smuggler. He extended the lenses, pressing it to his right eye to track the Stark woman's movements through the fog.
He didn't dare go any closer. Ever since the incident in the shop, Pete knew exactly what his fate would be if he was caught within striking distance of that family. He still had nightmares about the red-eyed boy throwing that rusty dagger into Orik's thigh with the force of a ballista.
Nuts broken, Pete thought, a violent shudder running down his spine, causing goosebumps to erupt on his arms.
He had heard the whispers in the brothel. The local women who were on good terms with Serena talked about how that seemingly frail, beautiful woman gave brutal martial lessons to any drunken freerider who tried to outsmart her or lay a hand on her. She was a terror wrapped in silk, and Pete wanted no part of her.
Through the magnified glass of the far-eye, Pete watched Serena and her children approach the back door of The Black Cache.
Just as Serena pushed the heavy oak door open to usher Lyra inside, the little boy paused on the threshold.
Pete held his breath.
Through the swirling fog, from thirty paces away, Yoriichi slowly turned his head. His gaze cut perfectly through the mist, locking onto the exact gap in the wooden fence where Pete was hiding. Even through the distorted glass of the far-eye, Pete could see the boy's deep, bottomless crimson eyes staring directly into his soul.
It was a visionless situation. There was no logical way the boy could see him through the fog and the wood. Yet, he was looking right at him.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Pete's heartbeat spiked violently against his ribs. He dropped the spyglass into the mud. He felt an overwhelming, primal instinct that the boy had just warned him through his eyes alone: I see you. Come closer, and you die.
"Run," Pete whispered to himself, scrambling backward in the dirt like a frightened crab. He turned and sprinted back toward the brothel as fast as his legs could carry him.
At the back door of the shop, Serena noticed her son lingering in the cold.
"Yoriichi?" Serena asked, turning back. She followed his gaze, squinting into the thick, grey mist, but could see nothing but the vague shapes of rundown shacks. "Son, is there something that way?"
Yoriichi stared at the spot where the spy had been for one more second. Then, he turned back to his mother, his expression perfectly calm.
He shook his head slightly. "Nothing of importance, Mother. Only a frightened rat running back to its hole."
They entered the warmth of the shop, greeting old Silas, who was already stoking the hearth fire. They quickly fell into their usual, comfortable routine. Serena tied an apron over her dress and began cleaning the countertops and organizing the ledger, while Yoriichi sat cross-legged by the fire, reading a history book aloud for Lyra to listen to and memorize.
As the morning progressed, the shop opened its doors, and a slow trickle of customers began to arrive.
Most of the local women work in fields occasionally coming to barter fresh eggs or woven baskets for winter supplies. Over the past years, Serena had earned their genuine respect. They saw her as a strong, confident, albeit strange woman who had successfully built a safe haven in a town famous for its cruelty.
One of the regulars, a stout farmer's wife named Maeve, set a basket of pale, frozen turnips on the wooden counter.
"It's a bitter one today, Serena," Maeve said, rubbing her coarse, red hands together for warmth. "The mud is like iron, and the fog is thick enough to drown in. Winter is truly baring its teeth."
Serena smiled warmly, weighing the turnips with practiced ease. "It is indeed, Maeve. The Frostfangs are sending us their worst. You'll need more than just flour for these. I have some dried mutton and a thick bundle of wool that hasn't been picked over yet."
Maeve's eyes lit up gratefully. "You're a blessing, you are. Much better than the old days when that fat pig tried to cheat us out of every copper." She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice. "Speaking of strange things, though... have you noticed how quiet the Crows are today? Not a single black cloak passed me on the Kingsroad. Usually, they are swarming the tavern by now."