By morning, the snowstorm had passed, leaving behind an eerie quiet. The sun bled through the clouds, casting long shadows across the burnt remnants of the lab's entrance.
Aria and Xander emerged, cloaked in scavenged coats, armed and wary.
They didn't get far before the wolves found them.
Not literal wolves—but something worse.
Men in black. Unmarked uniforms. Government dogs with no insignias, no names. Eyes hidden behind tinted visors.
They surrounded them near the frozen stream.
"Aria Virell," one said. "You're coming with us."
"No," Xander replied coldly, stepping in front of her. "She's not."
The lead soldier tilted his head. "You think we're asking?"
The tension snapped like a wire.
The fight was brutal. Quick. Aria moved like instinct—slicing, ducking, striking. Xander covered her back, blood smearing the ice as they took out one after another.
But there were too many.
Just when it seemed they'd fall, a sharp whistle pierced the air.
From the trees, figures emerged—cloaked rebels with makeshift weapons and jagged masks.
One of them yanked off his hood.
Aria blinked. "Kell?"
He grinned, bruised and grizzled. "Heard you were causing trouble again."
The soldiers retreated at the sight of the rebel crest.
Aria stared at Kell. "You're alive?"
"Barely," he said. "But we've got a base. Safehouse. And people who still believe in what your mother started."
She didn't hesitate.
"Take us there."