The camp felt colder now.
Not from the snow or the wind—but from the silence.
No one spoke when Raine returned.
They looked at her. They moved around her. But no one spoke.
She moved through the clearing like a ghost, still barefoot, blood dried in the lines of her hands. She didn’t stop to clean it off.
She wanted to feel it. She needed to.
Faylen’s blood.
His life.
His name.
The girl who kills.
That’s what they were calling her now.
She heard it in their eyes.
⸻
Wren was the first to approach.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t judge.
Just held out a warm cup of something herbal.
Raine took it with shaking hands.
“He was just a boy,” she whispered. “I didn’t even know him.”
“You didn’t kill him on purpose.”
“But I still killed him.”
Wren didn’t argue. She didn’t offer forgiven
