The forest swallowed their footsteps, thick with fresh snow and the hush that followed bloodshed. Moonlight filtered through frostbitten pines, casting long shadows that crawled alongside them. The air was sharp—knife-sharp—and each breath stung like truth unspoken.
Solene moved quietly but stiffly. The gash across her shoulder throbbed beneath frozen cloth. Every few steps, she hissed between her teeth. She hated weakness. Hated showing it even more.
Seraphyne noticed, of course. She didn't say anything for a while, just adjusted her pace to match.
"There's a cave ahead," Seraphyne finally murmured. "I used it last night. Dry. Sheltered. No bones, if that's a selling point."
Solene gave a humorless smile. "Luxury."
The cave was little more than a gash in the hillside, its mouth half-covered by snow-heavy brush. They ducked inside, lit only by the soft blue glow of Solene's fingertips and the residual heat still clinging to Seraphyne's skin. Shadows clung to the walls like memories.
Seraphyne knelt by the wall and ignited a small flame—black, like ink in motion. It danced low and quiet, warm without light.
Solene watched it, then dropped her pack and sat. Every movement hurt. She pulled off her cloak, revealing the wound. The blood had frozen over, but the skin beneath was jagged and angry.
"You should let me look at that," Seraphyne said, quieter now.
"I'll survive."
"I didn't say you wouldn't. I said you should let me look."
Solene didn't move.
"Why do you care?" she asked.
Seraphyne didn't answer right away. She stood, stepped closer, and slowly knelt beside her. The fire behind her cast long, eerie shadows across the cave wall.
"I don't," she said. "Not yet."
Solene met her eyes.
"Then why?"
Seraphyne's voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Because it's the decent thing to do. And I'm trying to remember what that feels like."
Solene said nothing. But she didn't resist when Seraphyne reached for her.
She peeled the shredded fabric away carefully, fingers cool and steady. Solene hissed as the air hit raw skin. Seraphyne unfastened a small vial from her belt and uncorked it. The smell was sharp—clove and steel.
"This'll sting," she warned.
"Do it."
The liquid hit the wound like fire. Solene bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Seraphyne's hand moved gently over her shoulder, wiping away the excess.
"You've had worse," she said.
"Every week of my life."
Seraphyne glanced at her. "Family?"
Solene didn't answer.
The silence between them stretched long again, filled only by the flicker of flame and the quiet drip of melting snow outside the cave.
Finally, Solene broke it.
"My mother used to tell me that I was a curse given flesh," she said softly, eyes on the fire. "Said I was born wrong. Cold where there should've been fire. Weak. Useless."
Seraphyne didn't move. Just listened.
"My brother tried to drown me when I was seven," Solene went on, voice thin as cracked ice. "Nerys stopped him. She always did."
Seraphyne's voice was low when it came. "Is that who you're waiting for?"
Solene nodded once.
Seraphyne's hands didn't stop working—bandaging, wrapping, tying with surprising gentleness.
"She sounds brave."
"She's everything," Solene said before she could stop herself.
Seraphyne didn't comment. Just tied the last knot and leaned back, studying her work.
"You're lucky," she said after a beat. "To have someone who would fight for you."
Solene looked at her then—really looked. And saw something under Seraphyne's steady mask. A flicker. A tremor behind her crimson eyes.
"Did you?" Solene asked.
Seraphyne leaned back against the cave wall, drawing her knees up.
"No," she said. "I ran before they had the chance."
"Who were they?"
Seraphyne hesitated. Then: "My blood. My throne. My prison."
Solene stared at her. "You were royalty."
"Still am, technically," Seraphyne said, smiling without humor. "A demon princess, exiled for not being cruel enough."
Solene raised an eyebrow. "You seem plenty cruel to me."
"Only when I want to be."
"And now?"
Seraphyne looked up at the cave ceiling. Her eyes reflected the black flame like mirrors.
"Now, I'm just tired."
The words weren't dramatic. They were real. Stripped of performance. And they sat between them, heavy and true.
Solene shifted closer to the fire, wincing at the ache in her shoulder.
"I don't trust you," she said.
"You shouldn't."
"But you can stay."
Seraphyne looked at her.
"For now," Solene added.
A pause.
Then Seraphyne gave a small, quiet laugh. "How generous."
The storm outside deepened. The wind howled like something grieving. But inside the cave, the silence was warmer.
They didn't talk again that night. But neither one slept alone.
---