[King's Landing]

The air in King's Landing was thick with ash and dread. Larra stood in the shadows of her tavern, her fingers brushing the rough stone wall of the hidden tunnel. The faint cries of the smallfolk echoed in the distance, a reminder of the chaos above. She had no time to waste. The Sept was gone. Margaery, Loras, Mace—all of them, gone. And now, the city burned with fear and fury.

Her Queen's spies moved like ghosts through the streets, whispering to mothers clutching children, to old women hobbling on canes. "Follow me," they murmured, their voices steady but urgent. The smallfolk hesitated, their eyes darting to the smoke rising from the Sept. But they had no choice. Trust was a luxury they couldn't afford.

The tunnel beneath the tavern was narrow and damp, the air heavy with the scent of earth and mildew. Alysanne's men guided the women and children through, their lanterns casting flickering shadows on the walls. The children whimpered, their small hands gripping their mothers' skirts. Larra's chest tightened. She had seen too many children suffer in this city. Too many lives lost to the games of the powerful.

Above ground, the City Watch prowled the streets, their gold cloaks gleaming in the firelight. But Alysanne's men were among them, blending in, their faces blank masks of duty. They kept their distance from the tavern, their presence unremarkable. No one suspected the brothel was anything more than it seemed.

The first group reached the end of the tunnel, emerging near Rosby Road. The Blackwater Bay stretched before them, dark and endless. Ships waited in the shadows, their sails furled, their crews silent. Alysanne had paid them well, but gold wasn't enough to buy loyalty. She had promised them something more: a chance to defy the queen who had turned the city into a pyre.

One of the women turned to Larra, her face streaked with soot and tears. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Larra hesitated. The truth was complicated. She had her reasons—vengeance, duty, a flicker of hope that the world could be better. But none of that mattered to the woman in front of her. "Because no one else will," she said simply.

The woman nodded, her grip tightening on her child's hand. She stepped onto the ship, her shoulders straight despite the fear in her eyes. Larra watched her go, a strange ache in her chest. She had saved them, but for how long? The city was a trap, and Cersei's wrath was far from spent.

Larra's hand tightened on the hilt of her dagger. She didn't trust the silence. Not after what Cersei had done. The Queen's ruthlessness had no limits. If anyone discovered the evacuation, the consequences would be swift. And brutal. She glanced at the door, half-expecting it to burst open. But it stayed shut. For now.

Back in the tunnel, another group was waiting.

In the tunnel, a child began to cry. Alysanne's heart clenched. She moved quickly, crouching beside the girl. "Shh," she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from the child's face. "You're safe here. Just a little farther." The girl nodded, her tears still wet on her cheeks. Larra forced a smile, but her chest ached. Safe. The word felt hollow. None of them were safe. Not truly.

Above, the tavern door creaked. Alysanne froze. Her men in the City Watch were supposed to be stationed outside, keeping watch. But if someone had slipped past them... She rose, her dagger ready. The footsteps grew louder. Closer. Her breath caught. Then a familiar voice called out. "Alysanne. It's me."

Relief washed over her. It was Ser Joran, one of her most trusted men. He stepped into the cellar, his face grim. "The streets are crawling with gold cloaks," he said. "They're searching every building. It won't be long before they come here."

Alysanne's jaw tightened. She had expected this. But hearing it made it real. "How much time do we have?" she asked.

"An hour. Maybe less." Joran's voice was low, urgent. "We need to move faster."

She nodded, her mind racing. The tunnel could only handle so many at once. And the ships at Blackwater Bay wouldn't wait forever. She turned back to the tunnel, where the line of evacuees stretched into the darkness.

Larra took a deep breath and turned to her men. "Keep them moving," she said. "We don't have much time."

As Joran disappeared, Larra climbed the stairs to the tavern's main room. The air was heavy with the scent of ale and sweat. Her men sat at the tables, their faces tense. They knew the stakes. If the gold cloaks found them, it wouldn't just mean death. It would mean failure. And failure wasn't an option.

The night stretched on, the stars hidden behind a veil of smoke. Alysanne's spies worked tirelessly, their movements precise, their faces unreadable. But beneath the calm, tension simmered. One misstep, one careless word, and it would all fall apart.

She moved to the window, peering through the cracked shutters. The street outside was eerily quiet. Too quiet. Her fingers drummed against the sill. Every second felt like an hour. Every shadow seemed to move. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.

Behind her, one of her men cleared his throat. "Larra," he said. "What if they find the tunnel?"

She didn't turn. "They won't," she said firmly. But the doubt gnawed at her. What if they did? What if this was all for nothing? She pushed the thought away. There was no room for doubt. Not now.

The sound of boots on cobblestones made her stiffen. She leaned closer to the window, her pulse quickening. A group of gold cloaks rounded the corner, their lanterns casting long shadows. They moved slowly, methodically. Searching. Her hand went to her dagger again. She counted the seconds as they passed the tavern. One. Two. Three. They didn't stop.

She exhaled, her shoulders sagging. But the relief was short-lived. This was only the beginning. The gold cloaks would be back. And next time, they might not pass by so easily.

Back in the cellar, the line of evacuees was thinning. Larra watched as the last few women and children disappeared into the tunnel. Her chest tightened. This was it. The moment she'd been working toward. But it didn't feel like victory. It felt like survival. Barely.

Joran reappeared, his face streaked with dirt. "That's the last of them," he said. "The ships are waiting."

Larra nodded. "Good. Get the men out. I'll stay behind."

Joran frowned. "You can't. It's too dangerous."

"I have to," she said. "If the gold cloaks come, someone needs to distract them. Buy the others time."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "Go," she said. "That's an order."

Joran hesitated, then nodded. He turned and disappeared into the tunnel. Larra stood alone in the cellar, the lantern light flickering around her. The silence was deafening. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. This was her choice. Her burden. And she would bear it. No matter the cost.

And then... a sound. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoing through the tunnel. Larra froze, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at her belt. Her men tensed, their eyes narrowing in the dim light.

A figure emerged from the shadows, his face obscured by a hood. Larra's heart pounded. Had they been discovered? Was this the end?

The man lowered his hood, revealing a face she hadn't seen in years. "You've been busy," he said, his voice low and familiar.

Larra's breath caught. It was him. The one she thought she'd never see again. Her mind raced, questions flooding her thoughts. But there was no time for explanations. The city was burning, and the smallfolk needed her.

"We'll talk later," she said, her voice firm. "For now, help me get them out."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. Together, they worked in silence, the weight of the past hanging between them. The night grew darker, the air heavier. But Larra didn't stop. She couldn't.

The ships sailed one by one, their passengers huddled together, their faces pale with fear and relief. Larra watched them go, her heart heavy but resolute. She had done what she could. The rest was up to them.

As dawn approached, the city began to stir. The fires had died down, but the scars remained. Larra stood at the edge of the bay, her cloak pulled tight against the chill. The man stood beside her, his presence both comforting and unsettling.

"What now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Larra looked out at the water, her mind racing. The game had changed. Cersei had made her move, and the city would never be the same. But neither would she.

"Now," she said, her voice steady, "we fight."