The city was nothing like the frozen wilderness they had left behind.
Here, the streets buzzed with restless life. Neon lights bled through the winter mist, painting the cracked pavement in streaks of blue and red. The hum of traffic, the clatter of boots, the shouts of vendors it all pressed in on Arya, overwhelming after weeks of silence broken only by gunfire and snow.
For a moment, she stood frozen on the edge of the crowded street, clutching the borrowed coat around her shoulders. Her breath caught in her throat. This wasn't safety. This was chaos disguised as civilization.
Ivy noticed her hesitation. He touched her arm gently but firmly, guiding her forward. "Keep moving. If we stop, we stand out."
Arya forced her feet to move, her boots crunching slush instead of snow. Behind them, Mira kept her hood low, her face pale but her eyes flickering everywhere. She hadn't spoken much since the escape. Arya didn't know whether to pity her or to watch her closely.
They had made it. They had escaped. And yet… Arya's instincts screamed that danger wasn't gone.
They found shelter in a rundown apartment on the city's edge, a forgotten building where no one asked questions. The landlord didn't care about names, only cash. Ivy handled the negotiation, his voice cold and even, and when the man hesitated, Ivy simply laid a knife on the counter not in threat, but in quiet reminder of the kind of tenants they were.
The room was small, damp, but it had four walls and a door that locked. To Arya, it felt like a palace compared to icy nights in the woods.
That first night, she lay awake on the thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling. She should have felt relief. Safety. But every time a car backfired outside, she jumped. Every time someone laughed in the alley, her chest clenched with fear.
It was Ivy's steady breathing in the next room that anchored her. He hadn't once let his guard down, not truly, but knowing he was close… it mattered more than she wanted to admit.
Days blurred into weeks.
They learned how to blend in. Arya dyed her hair darker, cutting it short until she hardly recognized the reflection in the mirror. Ivy found work as a mechanic under a false name, his hands steady even when his eyes remained sharp. Mira helped in markets, always returning with scraps of gossip, though Arya never knew how much to trust her.
The city swallowed them up.
And yet, in the quiet spaces between survival, something unexpected grew.
One evening, Arya found Ivy repairing a broken chair in their apartment. His hands were rough, scarred, but precise. She lingered in the doorway, watching him work, and for the first time she saw not just the soldier, the survivor but the man beneath.
"You're good at that," she said softly.
He glanced up, surprise flickering across his face. "At breaking things. Not fixing them."
"But you're fixing this," she pressed, stepping closer. "You're fixing us. Keeping us alive."
For a moment, his walls cracked. A faint smile touched his lips. "And you? You're the reason we keep moving. You don't let me give up."
Her chest tightened. She hadn't expected the warmth in his words. She hadn't expected how much they would matter.
Their eyes held longer than before. Longer than was safe.
Arya looked away first, heat rising to her cheeks. "Don't get sentimental, Ivy. We're not out of this yet."
"Maybe not," he admitted. "But maybe… we deserve moments. Even if they don't last."
Despite their fragile peace, shadows crept closer.
One morning, Arya went to the market for bread. She handed over coins, collected the loaf, and turned only to freeze.
A man stood across the street, watching her. His coat was too heavy for the weather. His eyes too sharp.
She recognized that look. A hunter.
Arya's pulse thundered. She walked faster, weaving through the crowd, refusing to run. She didn't dare look back. By the time she reached the apartment, her hands were trembling.
Ivy noticed instantly. He closed the door behind her and demanded, "What happened?"
"Someone was watching me," she whispered. "I know it."
Mira stiffened in the corner. Her eyes darted, guilt flashing before she masked it. "It could be nothing. Paranoia. The city's full of eyes."
But Arya wasn't so sure.
That night, she couldn't sleep. She heard Ivy moving quietly, checking the locks again and again. His voice carried softly through the wall when he spoke words he thought no one could hear.
"They've found us."
The following days grew heavier. Every shadow felt like a threat. Every knock on the door made Arya's heart race. She and Ivy began carrying weapons even in daylight, hidden beneath coats.
But it wasn't all fear.
It was during this fragile time, this balance between danger and stolen peace, that Arya began to see what she hadn't before the way Ivy always positioned himself nearest the door when they sat together, the way he cooked extra portions though he rarely ate much himself, the way his gaze softened when it lingered on her, even if he never said a word.
And one evening, when the tension became too much, Arya found herself whispering into the silence:
"Ivy… if we don't make it through this…"
He cut her off sharply. "Don't. We will."
She swallowed. "But if we don't"
He turned toward her then, his eyes burning with something unspoken. "I won't let you die. Do you understand me? If it costs me everything, you live."
The raw certainty in his voice stole her breath. For once, Arya didn't argue. She just held his gaze, her heart racing, a truth blooming inside her she couldn't yet name.
But fragile peace never lasts.
One night, as snow began to fall again over the city, a rock shattered their window. Arya leapt to her feet, Ivy already drawing his weapon.
On the floor lay the rock wrapped in paper. Ivy unrolled it, eyes narrowing at the words scrawled in black ink:
"You can't hide forever."
Arya's blood ran cold.
The city wasn't safety. It was a cage. And the hunters were already closing in.