Two months later.

Blood splatters Alicia's cheek, cold and carrying a stench she'll never be able to wash away. She flinches, her lips twisting in disgust.

"Search that one too," Kathryn commands, standing over the Grey Blood she just felled with an agile swipe of her blade. Kathryn sheathes her blade at her hip, flexing her fingers and letting out a breath.

"Yeah, I know," Alicia grumbles. She adjusts her crimson scarf around her nose and mouth, trying to escape the reek of the creatures. Her hands fumble through the pockets of the corpse before her as her stomach churns, but she refuses to be sick.

"Let's just get this done," Kathryn says, dragging one of the Grey Bloods towards the pile they've created.

They remind Alicia of Ghuls, their greying flesh stretching over protruding bones. But they behave like the starved drunks in the slums, they were indeed no more alive.

Alicia sighs as she stands, staring at the items she procured from the creature's pockets. A box of matches and a packet of cigarettes.

"You can trade these?" Alicia asks, holding up her find. Kathryn dumps the body on the pile with a grimace, wiping her gloved hands on the cloth tucked into her belt.

"We can." Kathryn approaches her, looking down at the body with ashen blood leaking from the puncture wound in its skull. "The Commons will appreciate anything at this time."

"You still haven't told me much about the Commons," Alicia says, shoving the items into her satchel resting against her hip, a bag she rarely parts with. She learned long ago to always have supplies at the ready in case she needs to make a hasty escape.

Kathryn shrugs. "There's not much to say. It's a small community of exiles that decided to make a place that's relatively safe in the Dead Lands." She bends and tucks her hands under the Grey Blood's arms, glancing at Alicia.

"I know that," Alicia murmurs, hefting up the creature's legs, refusing to think of these things as the people they once were. It won't make ending their suffering any easier. "But you still haven't said why you're not there, why you stay in the cabin."

"The Commons is a target." Together they move the Grey Blood to the pile they've made today. "If the duke ever decides to make certain those he exiles really do perish, then he won't have to look very far. I'd rather not get caught in that fight, especially if he has that army of warriors you mentioned."

"Fair, but I think Sergey has other things on his plate." Alicia is reminded of the journal in her satchel, the book feeling like it carries more weight than it actually does. He doesn't have control of the Ghuls yet. At least, he didn't when she exiled herself and she hopes that hasn't changed.

"You would know, future Queen of Muovea."

Alicia rolls her eyes and focuses on dumping the body on the pile, not the underlying bitterness in the woman's tone.

Kathryn and her husband were trapped beyond the walls of the capital just as the Zalanas came into fortune and power. A fortune and power that Alicia fought and bled for, but Kathryn doesn't need to know that part.

"Powder," Kathryn says, holding out her hand. Alicia digs into her satchel and procures the skin filled with black powder and hands it to her aunt. She sprinkles some over the bodies, hands the skin back to Alicia before lighting a match and tossing it onto the bodies. The flame flares and engulfs them quickly.

Alicia wrinkles her nose, but it's a job that needs doing. Not only do they need to clear out the Grey Bloods that get too close to the cabin, but burning the bodies will hopefully stop the spread of the Reaper's Curse to animals. Animals that they need if they have any hope of surviving out here.

"Let's get back to the cabin before it gets dark." They begin walking, the wet ground sucking at Alicia's boots. Mud clings to the ends of her grey dress and she can't help but curse her wardrobe once again. Most places so close to the walls have already been picked clean and finding decent clothing that aren't dresses has become a struggle. Her only comfort is that at least they're warmer than the only thin shirt she has left.

Fog curls around her skirts like waves of white smoke. The mist presses against the earth, suffocating the life from the muddy land. Alicia narrows her eyes, refusing to allow her mind to play tricks on her as her heart beats faster.

"And besides," Kathryn is saying, dragging Alicia from her thoughts. "You don't want to be at the Commons right now anyway. They're currently battling the Ruga flu."

"Gods," Alicia mutters, remembering the harrowing nights she spent at her brother's side when he was infected with the Ruga flu. When her ma ordered the door to be shut and for no one to go near him.

Nathalia was willing to let her son die to save her other children. Alicia forgave her for it long ago, but her actions two months ago put things into perspective.

"You also shouldn't be around the people of the Commons considering who you are."

"As you keep reminding me," Alicia sighs.

Kathryn stops, her hand going to her sword. Alicia frowns and opens her mouth to question her, but then she hears it too. The snap of a stick, an intake of breath.

They're not alone.

She peers into the trees, but the shadows are too dense to see anyone.

There's no growl of a Grey Blood, no stumbling figure. Which means only one thing.

"Get to the cabin," Kathryn hisses.

Alicia doesn't question her. Gripping her skirts, she runs, Kathryn close on her heels. They leap over fallen logs, dodge trees and brambles, and break through the treeline. The cabin is nestled in a clearing, the glow of light within offering warmth and safety.

Alicia reaches the door first and shoves through it before twisting out of the way as Kathryn bursts through.

The first crack breaks the silence and Alicia cries out as wood splinters right near her face. She slams the door closed and the next bullet thuds into it.

Other exiles. Kathryn has been warning her for two months that not all of them have decided to play nice in the Dead Lands.

Alicia was content to pretend her words held no truth.

Glass shatters, spilling across the floor. Alicia ducks her head to avoid the spray of shards and the bullets that follow them.

When Alicia turns to her aunt, looking for guidance, the woman is shouldering her precious shotgun with a fierce look in her dark eyes.

"You need to get out of here," she says as she presses her back to the wall beside a shattered window. Alicia stays crouched beside a cabinet of pots and pans, staring up at her aunt with wide eyes.

"And leave you behind? Not bloody likely."

Before she answers, Kathryn ducks out of cover and fires a shot, the bang of the gun making Alicia's teeth clack together as she flinches. Kathryn lurches away from the window, clicks open the shotgun, and shoves too more shells into it. "I gave you an order."

"I'm not leaving you."

"They're after me, not you. Take the tunnel under the cabin."

Alicia gapes at her as the woman fires back, the resounding shots outside beating against the wood.

"They're surrounding the cabin, Alicia. Go!" Kathryn shouts over the gunfire.

Alicia's gaze flicks to the fur rug by the fireplace, the trap door that'll take her out of the cabin hidden beneath.

But she can't leave her aunt behind. She's the only one Alicia has left.

"No," Alicia growls and opens her satchel. Kathryn whirls around and has the rug pulled aside and the trapdoor open before Alicia can even blink.

"David hid a lot of supplies in an ancient ruin somewhere in the Dead Lands," Kathryn says. "These exiles want it, and they won't stop until they get it. I won't have you caught in the crossfire."

"But—"

"If I have to ask you again, I may as well shoot you myself."

Eyes widening, Alicia scrambles over to her aunt. She meets the older woman's fierce gaze before dropping down into the shadows.

Kathryn slams the door closed after her, and Alicia is plunged into darkness.

She crawls. Mud soaks into her dress, splatters into her mouth, clings to the loose tendrils of her hair. She trudges through it on her stomach with shots ringing out overhead.

Alicia knew her relative peace in the Dead Lands wouldn't last very long. Wherever she goes, trouble just has to follow.

An exile should remember that they will die in these lands, and there is nothing they can do but fight.

Alicia doesn't want her aunt's words in her ear, not when she's leaving the woman behind, but she can't possibly deny the truth in them.

Clambering through the mud, she finally sees a glimmer of sunlight and pulls herself into it. She doesn't get a moment to take a breath before she's grabbed and hauled the rest of the way out of the tunnel. Mud splatters onto her face as she rolls along the ground and the person above straddles her. There's a struggle of hands, her cries rising into the air, almost feral as she grapples and claws.

Alicia can't see through the mud in her eyes.

Fingers wrap around her throat, sinking into the soft skin with a vengeance.

Alicia blinks—hard—trying to dislodge the mud even as blood hums in her ears and air refuses to enter her lungs.

She needs to see her attacker. She needs to look them in the eye, see the one who's finally sending her to the Reaper.

Alicia's vision clears and she looks up at the man with the snarling features. There's a hideous thirst in his emerald eyes that Alicia can only curl her lip at. The man isn't doing this for any other reason than he's a greedy piece of shit. It's not the way Alicia plans to die.

Alicia rears up and slams her forehead into the man's nose. He howls. Blood gushes down his front, covering Alicia's stained dress in sticky warmth. Alicia takes the moment to scramble out from under him and stagger to her feet.

She runs, her gaze on the forest. She doesn't look back, she can't. Even though she leaves her aunt behind.

Trusting that her aunt can save herself after being an exile for four years, Alicia stumbles into the forest and escapes.

They have a rendezvous. She prays to whatever higher power exists in this forsaken world that her aunt makes it.

The night curls around Alicia like the wings of a raven, holding her in its black depths. Her eyes haven't closed since she began running through the swampy lands. She twitches with awareness, fingers numb around the blade in her grip, skirts weighed down with thick streaks of muck.

She won't admit to herself that she's lost. She won't admit that she's been turned around countless times in the dark.

Alicia stops, her feet aching horribly as she leans against a tree, sucking in much-needed air. She bows her head, trying to breathe, trying to ground herself, to separate herself from this awful fear plaguing her.

The trees crack with the wind, groaning as they wake from their slumber to watch Alicia with hungry eyes.

She shouldn't have left Kathryn behind. She should have stayed and fought by her side, died if she needed to. It would have been an honour to give her life for a woman like her aunt.

A whimper escapes her, sounding like a wounded animal with no salvation. How many lives have to be taken around her before the Reaper finally decides to stop having his fun? It's her soul he wants, after all. She already signed it over to him when she began her crusade in the slums.

The snap of a stick has her flinching, the sound a jolt to her senses. She pushes away from the tree, knowing she must keep moving if she has any hope of survival. Survival was a thing she never thought she'd have to consider again. Food, warmth, medicine, all things she had mistakenly thought she'd always have provided for her when their fortunes changed with the toss of a coin and the pull of a trigger. She had begun to rebuild her life on the foundation of blissful naiveté.

Her feet move, her breathing shallow as she stumbles over wood and rock, following the dying flame of hope within her soul.

The snap echoes again—closer—like a beast is upon her trail. Alicia freezes, willing her heart to stop raging so she can listen. Her blood pumps in her ears, like the beat of a drum pounding in her head, nearly smothering the subtle steps that approach her.

Alicia turns, shadows swirling around her, fingers of ice tickling the back of her neck. She spins around, trying to catch the movements that advance. She holds her blade in both hands, the moonlight glinting on its surface as her hands quiver. But everything within her is preventing her from raising that blade, from preparing herself to make a killing blow.

Something darts from the shadows, leaping at her. Her scream is cut short by the fist that slams into her cheek, tossing her to the mud, the blade tumbling away. Throbbing pain spreads across the side of her face that she barely has time to consider before a boot sinks into her stomach, causing the air to burst from her lungs as she's propelled onto her back. Her wheezing is loud in her ears as she curls in on herself. She wraps trembling arms around her middle like a cowering babe. Sickness rolls within her, threatening to boil out of her.

"Got you."

Alicia cringes at the voice, far too close to her. She cries out as a fist clenches in her hair and drags her into an upright position. She grapples with the wrist that holds her, scalp searing with hurt.

Alicia's face is brought closer to her assailant's, and she sees emerald eyes in the vague light of a lantern over her shoulder. She's faced with a savage grin, teeth crooked, one missing.

The man who attacked her at the cabin. A small part of her she thought had died wishes she'd done more than knock out his tooth.

"Hello, darlin'."

"Get your hands off me," Alicia demands, trying to keep her voice firm, control quickly slipping from her fingers as she sees others behind the man leering at her.

Too many for her to possibly fight alone. She knows when odds aren't in her favour.

"I think we should have some fun first." The man stands, hauling Alicia by her hair. She screams, kicking her legs out, laughter following her through the trees. She tries to get her feet under her, tries to lash out at the man, but the attempts are futile and only result in pain in her scalp.

"Stop squirming," the man barks at her, and she can only answer with a pained shriek as rocks cut into her, the grip on her relentless.

She's tossed, and she rolls through mud, choking on it. She manages to get to her hands and knees, a shoddy camp before her, people looking at her with curiosity.

"I've found some treasure."

She scrambles back as she sees only the eyes of wolves, knowing her life is teetering on the edge of a crumbling cliff. Hands reach for her, and she cries as she hits them away, fear a living thing that claws at her insides.

Her pack is ripped from her, thrown to a shadow in the woods, lost to her. Her skirts are torn, shredded like parchment as emerald eyes follow the path of his hands. Alicia kicks and slams her heel into his mouth. The man yelps, staggering away with a hand going to his bloodied lips. Those bright green eyes turn feral as he advances again.

"Jeramiah!" The voice is the crack of a whip, piercing through the man's fury and jolting him to a standstill. An older man steps towards the scuffle, shoving past the few onlookers. There's an aged cigar between his teeth, burnt down and chewed, but Alicia's gaze lands on the rifle he slings over his shoulder. "What kind of a man throws himself on a lady without even asking her name first?"

Alicia's gaze passes between the two men as she trembles, tears running unchecked down her cheeks.

Her attacker wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a permanent sneer on his dirty face. "She was at the cabin."

"And that's a reason to attack her?"

"You're a pig," Alicia spits.

"Tie her up," the man with the cigar says, turning his back on the whole ordeal and returning to his camp. "We need to keep looking for the other one."

"Wait—" she protests, but hands grab her again, and no matter how much she struggles, she can't escape them.

Her back is forced against a tree, ropes bound around her, digging into her wrists and ankles.

"What other one?" she shouts, looking past the man with the emerald eyes as he tightens her restraints. "Please, don't hurt her!" Cloth is shoved into her mouth, and she bites onto it as he ties the gag around her head, muffling her shouts and pleads.

"Be a good girl." The man stands and spits blood to the forest floor.

Alicia has never been much of a good girl, she wouldn't have survived in the slums if that were the case. "Go fuck yourself," she manages around the cloth.

His eyes spark with anger and then his knuckles slam into her mouth. Alicia doesn't get to register the pain before the Reaper's shadows consume her.