~———————~

The December air cuts hard as I step from Adrian’s building. Winter has settled in, no mistaking it now. Frost crusts the stone steps. Smoke hangs low over the square, and thin sheets of ice cling to the barracks walls where the early light has not reached them. Children move in lines below, bundled in coats and scarves. Crates of rations go toward the depots. Barrels roll toward the storerooms. Nobody moves quickly unless they have to. Cold hands make mistakes.

The base runs as it should. Efficient. Ordered. Fortified. Catherine waits at the foot of the steps, shoulders squared against the cold, her breath hanging pale in the air. A few of the other generals’ logistics officers linger around a fire pit nearby, warming their hands before carrying orders back to their divisions.

She looks up as I approach. Competent. Steady. Quick with detail. That’s why she holds her post. I give her no speech, only a nod and the order to go. Better she relay word to the others, set our captains in motion, and lay the groundwork while I measure the whole. Adrian speaks to us alone. It falls to me to turn his orders into something the rest can use.

The meeting is still sharp in my mind. Adrian sat behind his desk with the five of us before him. No interruptions. No wasted words. Consolidate the patrols. Fortify the towns. Stock food and fuel while the roads still allow it. Halt outward pushes until spring. Keep communications functioning.

Each order landed with the weight of stone. Cassian pressed back first.

“Momentum matters. If we stop now, we’ll lose ground. I still have people up north. If I recall them, I’ll have to build it back again next year.”

His jaw stayed tight. He had been like that since Jax. Ronan followed, voice low and rough. “Weakness shows when we hold. Pull back now, they’ll see abandonment.” Adrian silenced them with a look. Then came the reasoning. Supplies were already thin. Winter would break roads and lengthen every route. Snow made movement slower, fuel more valuable, and support harder to guarantee. Pushing now meant stretching people we already had trouble supplying.

“We are not abandoning established towns,” Adrian said. “If others require our protection, they may come to us. Winter is the time to consolidate what we possess, not gamble it on expansion. We sharpen now. We advance when the conditions favor us.”

I couldn’t fault the logic. Push too far, and the towns we had built would become weaknesses instead of strongholds. A settlement that needed constant rescue was not territory. It was a drain. The room darkened as he spoke. Shadows stretched where no flame had shifted. Not anger. Reminder.

None of us challenged him again. I reach the square as a squad of boys marches past with kindling piled across their shoulders. None looks directly at me, but their cadence tightens as they pass. They know who I am. Adrian gives the orders. We make them real. His winter plan is sound. Survival first. Discipline now. Strength in spring.

Still, there’s something different about ordering a line on a map to contract and watching children turn around on the road. Cassian falls in beside me as I cross the square. His boots crunch against mine on the salted frost. For a while, neither of us speaks. Drills carry from the yard. Captains call cadence. Rifles crack together in stiff hands.

“The talk in the outlands isn’t dying,” Cassian says at last. “No matter what Adrian says.”

I glance at him. “Adults. North. Men and women both. Always secondhand, but it keeps circling.” His eyes stay forward. He raised it in the meeting too.

Cassian does not usually bring rumors without something beneath them. He laid these out with the same precision he uses for troop positions. Different patrols. Different sectors. Similar stories. A woman near the river crossings, keeping to the tree line. A man teaching children to hunt, bow in his hands, guiding them through it. Cars moving in a line along an abandoned road, steady enough that someone skilled had to be driving them.

Descriptions rough. Sources worse. But the direction stayed consistent.

North.

Never west. Never east. Never south.

“If it’s the same line showing up again and again,” Cassian had said, “there’s something worth checking. Survivors or not, we could be missing an opportunity. Or an enemy.”

Adrian let the room sit before answering. For a moment, I thought he might send someone. Then his gaze settled on Cassian.

“Whispers passed from one frightened mouth to another do not make truth. If adults survived in meaningful numbers, we should have encountered reliable evidence before now.”

Cassian started to answer, but Adrian continued.

“Our supply position is already strained. The roads are deteriorating. Every patrol sent beyond our support range consumes food, fuel, and personnel for a report that may prove to be nothing more than children frightening one another. Winter first. Survival first. We will not bleed resources chasing shadows.”

Again, the reasoning held. That’s what bothers me. If he were being reckless, the answer would be easy. Cassian’s jaw locked, but he said nothing more. None of us did.

Now his voice stays low enough that a passing squad cannot hear.

“I don’t want it repeated near the cadets. Or anyone who’d carry it back. The order’s clear. Winter first. Survival first.”

We continue several steps.

“Something about it doesn’t sit right.”

I look at him. Neither of us needs to say which part.

“You keeping track?”

He nods. “Quietly.”

“Good.”

That’s as far as I’m willing to go. Adrian may be right. Probably is, if I judge only what we can prove. Children see shapes in trees. They repeat stories. One moving car becomes three. One older teenager becomes a grown man by the time the story crosses a county.

But dismissing every report isn’t the same as disproving them. We pass the storehouses. Two children wrestle a grain sack up an icy step while another scatters salt ahead of them. Whispers travel easier than supplies.

Cassian lets the subject drop.

“Your recent loss,” I say after a while. “It was Jax, wasn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His breath clouds once. Twice.

“It was.”

Flat. Practiced. The same tone he uses for casualty counts. Jax Rylan. Twelve.

He moved between divisions more than most, never limiting himself to Cassian’s people. I had found him talking with mine often enough. Broad shoulders for his age. Confident without needing everyone to know it. Other children listened when he spoke.

I remember him in the drill yard correcting a younger boy’s stance with two quiet movements of his hands. No shouting. The boy fixed it immediately. Another day, Jax had been tearing across the same yard during a mock skirmish, laughing while three smaller boys chased him. He could hold discipline without draining everything else out of them.

Rare.

“He carried them well,” I say.

Cassian nods. “He did.”

Another few steps.

“Ronan came by for the pyre funeral,” he says. “Gave his sympathies. Surprised me.”

That catches me.

“He said Jax had the right balance. Kept the boys in line without breaking them. Said he appreciated what Jax did with his group.”

Cassian’s mouth tightens.

“I can’t say it that way. Not to mine. If I let it show, they’ll break faster.”

I watch his boots instead of his face. Same pace. Same stride.

“You’ll have to promote someone to replace him.”

“I will.” Too quick. Then, quieter, “Soon.”

The problem is obvious. Pick too old, and puberty takes them out of command soon enough that Cassian has to rebuild the position again. Pick too young, and the weight can crush them before they grow into it. Cassian knows that better than anyone.

“It has to be done,” he says.

“I know.”

I lost one of mine earlier this year. I don’t bring him up. Cassian doesn’t need my grief laid over his. But the memory is there anyway, close enough that I understand why Cassian keeps his eyes fixed ahead.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

His shoulders shift under his coat.

“It’s part of it.”

“That doesn’t make it lighter.”

“No.”

We walk. The generators fill the silence, carrying what the solar systems cannot through the short winter days. Their growl mixes with scratchy music from the loudspeakers, some old tune from the forties that cuts out every few minutes for ration notices or drill schedules.

Cassian turns toward his barracks when we reach the next path.

“They’ll look to me harder now,” he says.

“They already do.”

He pauses.

“But that doesn’t replace him.”

“No,” Cassian says. “It doesn’t.”

Then he goes. I continue toward the training ground. The packed earth is rimed with frost. A fire pit burns near the rail, smoke thick enough to sting my eyes when the wind turns.

Dimitri runs his unit here often. I avoid being near him when I can. Even at meetings I tend to leave a chair or two between us. Pointless, probably, but I do it anyway.

He stands at the center of the field now, hands clasped behind his back. Lean frame. Short dark hair combed flat and somehow still unkempt. Pale eyes. Everything about him looks severe against the gray morning. Kai Moreno stands behind him, uniform sharp, posture exact. Nadia Holt waits beside him with a slate.

Both are useful. Both know exactly what Dimitri expects.

“Reset,” Dimitri says.

A boy steps forward. Dimitri raises one hand. The child stops. Not hesitates. Stops.

His arm hangs over the fire pit, locked in place while heat rolls against his skin. His face tightens. A tremor starts along his jaw. Seconds pass. The skin reddens. Dimitri releases him. The boy jerks backward and grabs his wrist. Kai marks something down.

“Again.”

Another child falters. A girl this time. Dimitri catches her mid-step. Her arms lock awkwardly, one foot barely settled beneath her. She can’t correct her balance. The strain starts in her shoulders, then works down through her body. He watches. She shakes. Only when her lips begin to twitch does he let her move. Nadia makes another mark.

I grip the rail. His report from the meeting comes back to me.

“The assisting vector has begun to break down.”

Clinical. Precise. Delivered mostly to Adrian.

“The carrier remains within projected replication tolerances. Secondary transmission is stable for now, though the recombinant linkage is already showing measurable degradation. My model still puts functional propagation through late spring. By summer, the plague component should decouple from the host strain. Once that happens, it loses transmissibility and the remaining infections should collapse without a viable chain.”

Most of the technical language had washed past me. Adrian understood enough.

“My thanks again, Veynar.”

That small courtesy had brought back something Adrian said years before the plague, when Dimitri’s work was still theory and preparation. ‘Even I could not have reactivated the plague’s contagious spread without Dimitri. It would have been impossible without him.’

Adrian doesn’t hand out praise casually. Dimitri found the way to make the plague ride another virus. Without him, none of this happens the same way. I hate the man. I can’t call him stupid.

“Again.”

Another boy steps near the pit. Dimitri catches him over the flames. Longer this time. The skin on the boy’s forearm darkens. Blisters rise. A cry tears out of him. The corner of Dimitri’s mouth moves.

There.

That’s the part I can’t excuse as training.

“Release.”

The boy drops, clutching his arm. He can’t stop the sobs. Dimitri flicks two fingers toward Kai.

“Compound duty. He’s useless here.”

Kai gestures to two others. They lift the boy. Nadia writes another line. Nobody questions him.

I could walk onto the field. The thought comes clean and immediate. Not challenge him. Just appear. Make him know another general is watching. He would probably ease off, if only because he dislikes interference more than he enjoys the spectacle.

My hand loosens from the rail. I stay where I am. This is his division. Adrian knows how Dimitri operates. Bringing it to him would accomplish nothing. Dimitri’s useful, and usefulness carries weight here.

The boy disappears toward the compound. Burnt cloth and scorched skin hang in the air.

“Reset,” Dimitri says.

The line obeys. I remain long enough to watch the next child step forward. Long enough to know exactly what I am leaving.

I turn from the rail and continue toward the operations building. The wood ahead splits somewhere near the depot. A loudspeaker crackles overhead. “East hub ration adjustment. Patrol rotations posted at eighteen hundred.”

The old music stumbles back through the static. For half a second I miss the modern songs I used to complain about. My own commanders are waiting. I turn further away.

Dimitri’s pale eyes pass over me as I leave. Whether he noticed how long I stood there, I can’t tell. I don’t look back.

The lights hum when I enter our operations room. Maps cover the walls. Dominion’s black eye hangs at the far end with my division banner beside it. Rosters, ledgers, and rotation boards already cover the table. Catherine did her work. So did the others.

Christina waits with her administration captains. Corey’s survival captains have already taken the map side. Bryce has Fighting Ops clustered opposite them. Catherine stands with Logistics, ledgers open. I take the head of the table. The room quiets.

“Dominion’s plan is set. We consolidate for winter. No expansion. No new towns. We support the three hubs and coordinate things here until spring.”

Pens move. “Administrative first.”

Christina looks up. “People and inventory,” I start with her. “I want verified headcounts from every town and our company here by Friday night. Food, fuel, medicine, blankets, tools. If you don’t have eyes on it, it isn’t there.”

“We’ll run two passes,” Christina says. “Field tallies tomorrow, reconciliation before the weekend. That’ll catch gaps.”

“Add spare parts. Stoves, pumps, solar, boilers, wire.”

“Already on the inventory.”

I nod.

“Survival.” Corey steps toward the map.

”Small team in each town. Everyone else here. Hunting, foraging, wood, water checks. Midwinter rotation. Nobody stays out there all winter. Bring them back before cold, hunger, or injuries start stacking.”

“We’ll stagger experience,” he says. “Veterans with newer hands. Nobody carries a post alone.”

“Travel gets worse from here. If a town gets cut off, they live on what’s close.”

Corey taps three points around the hubs. “We’re marking deadfall, reliable water, and hunting ground inside a day’s walk. Extra wood gets staged close enough for Fighting group to haul after storms.”

“Don’t strip the bark.”

“We won’t.” Good.

“Fighting.” Bryce moves forward.

“Three small teams per town. Pick steady people. If a route closes, they need to hold without support. No heroes.”

“We’ll send our steadies.”

“Monthly rotation. Escort the supply updates when Logistics moves. If weather breaks the route, stop. Nobody pushes blind.”

Bryce studies the board for a moment.

“Light escorts. Regular runs. We can keep the cycle.”

“Training here continues. Perimeters, building clears, night watches.”

He nods. That is enough for him.

“Logistics.”

Catherine is already turning a page.

“Resource counts across all holdings.”

“We’re current through the last drop,” she says. “Fuel is stable. Food is thin in the southern town, but they can hold two weeks if weather closes the roads. Medicine only holds because we tightened rationing. Tools and weapons are fine. Salt is the problem. The river depot is nearly out.”

One of her captains slides the numbers across the table.

“You’ll split at the river.”

She nods. “South along the mainland. East for the peninsula,” Catherine says. “Alternating runs when weather allows. Every trip moves with Fighting’s rotation. No orphan runs.”

I look at her. “If a wagon sticks six miles out, children freeze before the food reaches them.”

“Then we keep loads light,” she responds. “Means more trips, but easier routes. We’ll pre-stage caches if the snow stacks deep.”

“Mark them.”

“Already done.” She taps the ledger. “Paper and memory. Maps burn.”

I let that sit for a second. Catherine does not wait for me to finish thinking anymore. Neither do most of them. Christina has already built a second verification pass. Corey has paired experience without being told. Bryce is calculating escorts before I finish assigning them. They’re learning where the problems will be. Regardless how young they are.

“Good,” I say. “Make it happen.”

Chairs scrape. The room breaks apart into smaller conversations almost immediately. Catherine points two captains toward the salt problem. Corey and Bryce meet over the map without waiting for me to tell them their routes overlap. Christina catches one of Catherine’s people before she reaches the door and asks for the latest town counts.

Nobody waits for another speech. I watch them go. They’re still children. That doesn’t mean they’re incapable.

~———————~

The square has shifted by the time I leave. Evening has settled over the base, and the lights burn brighter against the snow. Thin chimney smoke curls from the barracks, while a steadier plume rises from the generator sheds beyond them. I turn toward my quarters.

Laughter stops me. Bright. Edged.

Kira.

She stands near the yard with three of her commanders gathered close. Jason Hale hangs near one shoulder, lanky and eager. Linh Tran stands nearer the other, already wearing some of Kira’s swagger as if she borrowed it with the coat. Marisol watches more than she speaks.

Kira sees me. Her lips curl.

“So the grand plan is consolidation.” Her voice rises just enough to carry. “Pull everyone tight, trim the edges, and call that strength.”

Jason laughs before he seems sure whether she is joking. “But I thought that’s what you said we shouldn’t do?”

Linh cuts in. “Strength is movement. Anyone can sit behind walls.”

Kira turns toward her with a pleased smile. “There. She gets it.”

Linh straightens. That’s the trick of Kira. One look from her and the girl seems half a foot taller. Kira gives people permission to become whatever version of themselves wins her attention. Then she looks back at me.

“Better than some generals.”

“We’ve both been here for years,” she adds. “I’ve just been a general longer. You learn what men want when you’ve had enough time to handle them.”

“Funny you didn’t mention that in Adrian’s office.” Her smile holds.

“At least Ronan and Cassian had the conviction to disagree with him.” I give her a small false pout.

“Didn’t want to upset him?” Her expression slips for half a second. Then the smile returns.

“Why waste my voice when his mind was set? I save it for things that matter.” She shifts her weight, deliberately. “Besides, I know how to make a man listen when I want him to.”

Jason laughs too loudly. Linh moves closer. A few children passing through the square glance toward Kira. Boys hold the look too long. Two girls near the barracks mirror the angle of her stance without seeming to notice they are doing it.

Kira sees them too. Of course she does. She gives them a quick smile. Both girls brighten. That’s why the rot spreads. Not just sex. Not just vanity.

Attention.

She makes people feel chosen, then teaches them what they have to become to keep being chosen.

“Rhea.” Ronan’s voice comes from my left. “I need your eye on something. Time sensitive.”

His tone is even. Serious enough to be useful. Kira swivels toward him.

“An eye? I guess that’s all she has.” Her smile turns suggestive. “I could give you the rest, if you’d ever take it.”

Ronan sighs. “It can’t wait.” He doesn’t look at her. Kira’s smile hardens.

“You’ll come around eventually, Ronan. No one resists me forever.”

Nothing.

I almost enjoy that more than I should. I step toward him. Kira lets us go. Jason trails after her when she turns away. Linh and Marisol follow, both walking a little more like her than they did a few minutes ago.

Ronan and I cross the square. Snow begins before we reach the far path. Not enough for a storm. Just a light sift that catches in the lamps and melts where the stone still holds a little warmth.

“What did you need my eye on?”

“Nothing.”

I look at him. His mouth edges upward.

“You looked like you wanted out.”

I look away before he catches the first pull at my own mouth. The smile gets out anyway.

“Thank you. For the extraction.”

“Not a problem.”

We walk another few steps.

“I’ve got real food,” he says. “Better than the mess.”

“That your emergency?”

“Could be.”

I glance at him. Ronan shrugs. “Food’s better with company.”

Not the first time he has offered. What he brings to afternoon group meals is usually better than whatever came out of the main kitchen. I should go back to my rooms. I’ve got notes to finish, rosters to sign, and enough small problems to fill the rest of the night.

Instead I picture thin broth in the mess hall.

“All right.”

“Good.”

We turn toward his officer barracks. His suite is on the second floor. The lower level is mostly empty this time of night, commanders and captains likely still eating with their divisions.

Ronan opens his door and steps aside. The first thing I notice is how familiar everything looks. Same layout as mine. Bedroom down the short hall. Living and dining space around a wood stove set into brick. Kitchen tucked to one side. Meeting room. Narrow deck facing the trees.

Apparently Adrian built all five of our officer buildings to the same plan.

“You’ve never been in another suite?” Ronan asks.

“No.” I look toward the kitchen. “It’s exactly like mine.”

“Adrian likes predictable and repeatable.”

He starts working before I can answer. Heat lives deep in the stove bricks. Ronan sets a pot to warm, cuts bread, and lays out smoked meat with a small jar of pickled red peppers. The smell of real stock fills the room.

“It’s not that light stuff from the mess,” he says.

“I noticed.”

I can only sigh. “I miss restaurants,” he states over his pot. That surprises a laugh out of me. Ronan looks over. “What?”

“You don’t strike me as someone who spent much time in restaurants.”

“Didn’t.” He turns back to the pot. “Still miss having them.”

Fair.

“Had to learn to cook instead,” he says. “Lot of mouths to feed back in Boston.” His attention lingers on the pan, but I don’t think he’s looking at it anymore.

Then he gives the pan a quick toss. “Got good at it.”

The moment passes. He’s back at the stove like it never happened.

“And modest.”

He gives me a look. “I am good.”

I smile. “No argument.”

We eat at the low dining table. The food is plain, but after a day of cold air and clipped orders, it lands differently. The peppers bite hard before the sweetness comes through. The broth actually tastes like something.

For a while we don’t talk. I don’t mind. Outside, a sentry calls the hour. The stove ticks softly. Snow brushes the windows.

“You gave clean orders,” Ronan says eventually. “My captains were comparing notes.”

“They were Adrian’s orders.”

“You made them usable.”

I look at him.

“There’s a difference,” he says. “I’m better leading a fight. Passing someone else’s plan down, making it mine, that’s harder.”

“He thinks ahead.”

“Too far sometimes.”

“Yes.”

I turn the cup between my hands.

“But it holds. Usually. His plans feel like he’s run the same winter ten times and picked the one that breaks the least.”

Ronan nods once. That’s one of the things I respect about Adrian. He sees farther than the rest of us. Maybe that is also why Cassian’s reports bother me.

We clear the plates and step onto the deck. Snow falls steadily now, whitening the railing and softening the pines beyond it. The yard has thinned to sentries and the occasional courier. Even the generators sound farther away.

Ronan rests his arms on the railing. “Saw you at Dimitri’s training yard earlier.”

The burned boy comes back immediately. “I stayed longer than I meant to.”

“So did I,” Ronan says. “He calls it training.”

“He’s strong.”

“Not physically.” His mouth twitches. “I could take him.”

“He’d stop you.”

“Me or the fire.” Ronan shrugs. “Can’t stop both.”

I look at him. “You’re sure?”

“Sure enough.”

“Comforting.”

He shrugs slightly. “Would still be a bad fight.”

“I could blast him from a distance.” Half a joke, but Ronan’s mouth edges upward. “I’ve easily reached that far before.”

“Not fair.”

“No.” I let the smile come. “But satisfying.”

“Very.” Then his face settles. “He wastes pain.”

The smile leaves me. “That’s your problem with him?”

“One of them.” Ronan scrapes snow from the railing with his thumb. “Pain has a use. Fear has a use. You push someone until they know what they can survive. Dimitri doesn’t care what they learn.”

There it is. Not my argument. His.

“He finds the weak point,” Ronan continues. “Then keeps pressing because he likes the sound.”

I think of the boy beside the fire. “He won’t be stronger tomorrow.”

“No.”

“He’ll be afraid of failing in front of Dimitri.”

“Fear can sharpen you.”

“Or break you.”

Ronan looks at me. “Then you pushed too far.”

I hold his gaze for a moment. I’d expected an argument.

“You leave more room for it than I do.”

“Probably.”

“Too much more.”

His mouth twitches. “Probably.”

I look back toward the yard. “We can’t interfere anyway. Adrian wouldn’t tolerate it.”

“No,” Ronan says. “He’d punish all of us for infighting. Probably harder than the kids.”

“He knows we’ll heal.”

Ronan nods. Our bodies knit quickly. That doesn’t make pain imaginary. The children don’t have what we have. Push them too far, and the damage stays. Dimitri knows that too.

Ronan scrapes snow from the rail with one thumb. “Never liked people who waste strength.”

For him, that may be as close to condemnation as Dimitri gets. We stand quietly for a while.

Then Ronan says, “You know I fought Adrian once.”

I turn. “I’ve heard pieces.”

“Everyone has.”

He keeps his eyes on the trees. “Most make it sound like I challenged him. Power play.” A short breath leaves him. “It wasn’t.”

I wait.

“Normal General Bout. Asked him earlier. He gave me that odd little calm smile of his and agreed. Crowd was there. Mine, his, anyone who wanted to watch.”

Ronan shifts against the railing, and for a second there is something almost amused in the movement. “I like to spar.”

“I’ve noticed.”

His mouth pulls at one corner. “Thought it’d be fun.”

“With Adrian?”

“Seemed reasonable at the time.”

That gets a small laugh out of me. His follows, quieter, and doesn’t last as long. “Good for morale too,” he says. His thumb runs once along the edge of the rail. “And I wanted to know.”

“Know what?”

He looks out through the falling snow. “What kind of man I was following.”

I wait.

His shoulders lift in a faint shrug. “You can tell things in a fight.” There’s no challenge in the words. No boasting either.

“I’d heard he could fight. Heard he was dangerous. Figured I’d see how much of it was real.”

“And?”

Ronan gives a quiet breath that might have been a laugh once. “Turns out I was asking the wrong question.”

“What happened?”

“I thought it’d still be a fight.”

His fingers settle around the rail. “Fists. Timing. Endurance. Things I understand.” A faint smile touches his mouth again. “I was pretty good at those.”

“Were?”

He glances at me. “Still am.” There he is.

The smile fades when he looks back toward the trees. “I thought I’d handle it.”

He rubs his palms once against the railing, as if remembering where to put them. “It never became a fight.” The humor is gone now.

“He didn’t rush. Didn’t strike. Didn’t posture.”

Ronan’s jaw shifts. For a moment, he seems to be searching for a word he still doesn’t have. “The space changed.”

I say nothing.

“Air got heavy. Dark felt wrong.”

His hands close around the railing. Not hard. Just enough that I notice. “My body reacted before my head. Locked up. Strength had nowhere to go.”

He looks down at his hands and gives a small, humorless shake of his head. “That was new.”

“Then the fear hit.”

I’ve seen Ronan angry. Amused. Bloodied. Drunk once, though he’d deny it. I’ve never heard him sound like this.

“Not pain,” he says. “Dread.”

He looks down at his hands. “Clean. Immediate.”

The words come slower now. “Like there was no edge. No way through. No version where I came back.”

He brushes a little snow from the railing, though there’s barely anything there. “After that, there was only him,” Ronan says. “No crowd. No noise.”

His jaw tightens, but there’s something else in his face I can’t place. “Just Adrian.”

I remember the stories from the people watching. The air turning wrong. The yard falling silent. Dread spreading through the crowd without anyone understanding why.

Ronan stares into the trees. Then, strangely, his mouth pulls at one corner. “Hell of a way to find out.”

“Find out what?”

The expression disappears. “That the stories were underselling him.”

“I lost.”

Simple.

“The fear took everything else.”

He finally looks at me. “I knew what continuing meant. Wasn’t a fight I could win with punches.”

“What did Adrian do?”

“Nothing.”

That answer lands harder than I expect. Ronan lets out a quiet breath and looks down at his hands again. “That was the worst part.”

“He never changed. Never raised his voice. Never came closer.”

His fingers flex once, then settle. “Didn’t have to.”

He looks away. “That’s what stayed.”

I leave the silence alone. He offered me something he doesn’t enjoy admitting. I’m not going to make him explain it twice. After a while, his grip loosens on the railing.

“So,” I say with a glance, “how long until Kira finally wears you down?”

Ronan turns his head toward me. “She won’t.” The answer comes quickly enough that I almost smile.

“She seems convinced otherwise.”

“Kira’s convinced everyone wants her.”

“A lot of them do.”

“I don’t.”

He’s still looking at me. I brush snow from my sleeve. “I noticed.”

His mouth shifts slightly. Not quite a smile. “You asking for a reason?”

I look at him. “No.”

“All right.” Something about the way he says it makes me suspicious that he doesn’t believe me.

“You did ruin her evening,” I say.

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Definitly worth it.” There’s enough of the usual Ronan back in his voice that the tightness from before finally eases.

“She is a problem, though.” His expression settles with a grunt. “She just wants the attention.”

He gives a slight nod. “And teaches everyone around her to want it too. Doesn’t help that Dimitri and Cassian usually give her exactly what she wants.” I glance at him. He shrugs. “Adrian too, when he feels like entertaining her.”

“That’s why the kids look up to her,” he says sighing. “They see everyone watching her. Some of them start wanting that for themselves.”

I think of the two girls in the square straightening when Kira smiled at them. “I know.” I don’t like saying it. He’s right.

“She poisons cohesion though,” Ronan says. “Makes everything about her.”

“Yes.”

Enough. I’m tired of giving Kira any more of the evening. Somehow, bringing her up managed to sour the mood more than I expected. Maybe that was a mistake. I look north, toward the dark line of trees beyond the base.

“Wonder if the stories die after winter.”

Ronan follows my gaze. “The adults?”

“Yeah.”

He settles against the railing again. “Nothing like it south.”

“Not that we’ve heard.”

“Kira’s people would spread it if they had.”

“Probably improve it first.” A quiet huff escapes him. Close enough to a laugh.

“Dimitri’s wouldn’t bring it up, “he responds.

“No.”

Ronan watches the trees a moment longer. “Cassian wouldn’t invent it either.” That’s the part that keeps catching. Cassian has no reason to make the north more complicated for himself than it already is.

“No,” I agree again. We leave it there. Nothing we can prove tonight.

Ronan shifts his weight against the rail, shoulder angling slightly toward me. “You and I have it easier down here.”

“Easier. Not easy.”

“Never said easy.” I glance toward him. There’s already the beginning of that look on his face. I know where this is going. “The weather’s kinder,” I say. “Doesn’t mean we go soft.”

His mouth pulls slightly. “You still leave too much room,” he says.

I give him a look. “And you still push too hard.”

His shoulder lifts. No surprise. No irritation. We could probably have this argument with half the words.

“Still think I’m wrong?”

“Usually.”

His smile finally breaks through.

“There she is.”

I smile back before I can stop myself. We stay outside until the snow begins forming a real film over the boards.

Back inside, Ronan warms the last broth and pours tea. The stove ticks while heat works back into my fingers. We finish the tea in silence. It’s comfortable. That bothers me less than it probably should.

“You were right to drag me out,” I say eventually. “Although I didn’t need saving.”

“I know.”

“But I needed the pause.”

Ronan meets my eyes. “I’ll do it again.”

I don’t argue. He rinses the plates. I pull on my coat. At the door, he steps aside. “Thank you,” I say. “For the food.”

“Anytime.” He looks toward the empty table. “And thanks for not making me eat alone.”

We step out onto the stairs in front of the building. The square is mostly quiet now. Sentries move along the perimeter. Thane and Lena cross from the mess, talking low. Thane sees us and gives a quick respectful nod.

Lena looks from Ronan to me. She lingers half a second too long. Amusement touches her face. Then she follows Thane inside.

I say nothing. Neither does Ronan.

The snow crunches under our boots. A loudspeaker clicks somewhere across the base, then stays silent, as if someone considered making an announcement and changed their mind.

“You could stay longer,” Ronan says.

Not a question. I look at him. “I could.”

A beat passes.

“But there’s work.”

“Always,” he nods.

I take the first step down. For a moment I don’t take the second. Then I do.

Past the barracks, a captain calls a final count. Another voice answers. Numbers pass down the line without me there to demand them. Catherine’s caches are already marked. Christina is checking counts twice. Corey and Bryce are coordinating routes. My orders are moving without me.

I look north over the fence. The trees hold their dark beneath the snow. Beyond them are Cassian’s patrols, bad roads, empty towns, and stories Adrian has decided aren’t worth chasing. He may be right. For winter, that has to be enough.

The wind comes from the north, thin and sharp against my face. I turn toward my building. Behind me, Ronan’s door closes. Across the base, lights burn behind frosted windows while smoke and snow drift together over the roofs. The night beyond our small town stays dark.

.

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