Alicia is numb. Her skin is cold to the touch. She isn't aware of much of anything as she stands amongst the gathered people in the tavern, Sam leaning against the bar before them with a haunted expression.

"We got the supplies," she simply says, but no one celebrates, no one congratulates them. They see the heavy weight on her shoulders, and they know the worst is yet to come. But Sam can't seem to speak the words, staring at the wood beneath her muddied boots, grip tightening on the wood of the bar at her back.

"We came across a herd of Grey Bloods," Galya speaks instead, turning to face the small group of people who will tell their families and the rest of the Commons about this mess. "Bigger than anything we've seen before, advancing from Igorek and Parshin. It appears to be what's left of them after the war." The silence is heavy, almost crushing.

The cost of the war would always demand to be paid, but these people never thought it would demand recompense from those who have already given everything they have.

Alicia perhaps would blame the gods as well if she cared to. But she knows this is the fault of the grand duke, and that man is as untouchable as any god.

"How long do we have to prepare?" someone in the group questions, their voice quiet, strained.

"Four days," Sam replies, straightening her stance as the group murmurs.

They had rushed back to the Commons as fast as they could, the usual three-day ride cut into two. But it still feels as though it was pointless. That herd is coming and running isn't going to stop that.

An exile will always be short on time, no matter how much they twist the hands of the clock back. That's what Kathryn once told her. When those gates were shut and the tunnels except one were caved in, that's when every clock began ticking. Suddenly those trapped beyond the walls were exiles and nothing was going to change that.

There's no fighting the inevitable. Alicia understands that now more than ever.

"Warn the rest of our people," Galya speaks. "Make sure you have your guns close, but don't fear. We will beat this. It's what exiles do." She offers them a smile, and they're quick to leave. Sam pushes away from the bar to move to the back room, arm around her middle.

"Oliver, Galya" Sam mutters, and they follow her. Alicia turns to go, to return to a room as cold as her heart.

"Alicia." She glances up at her name, Oliver standing by the door of the back room. He inclines his head, gesturing into the room with the others. "You might want to hear some of the things about to be said."

Alicia swallows, but she nods and walks into the room, Oliver closing the door behind her.

She doesn't know why he'd want her in here with them, not with the clear mistrust Sam has of her, but Oliver and her share something that they can't speak aloud; they know there's more to all of this. They know the true danger isn't the Grey Bloods. Though they might not survive long enough to learn more about the Ghuls, not that Alicia wants to.

Alicia studies the people she stands amongst, Oliver settling onto a chair in the corner and placing a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. They haven't spoken since they arrived back in the Commons mere hours ago. Those sterling eyes merely raked her from head to toe before he nodded and started gathering people for their announcement.

Perhaps he didn't expect her to survive out there. Perhaps a part of her wished she hadn't. Especially after failing what she went out there to do, the journal and now the map burning a hole in her satchel.

"This isn't something we've faced before," Sam begins, slumping into a seat behind her desk.

"We make a plan, and we get through it," Galya replies, her words firm.

"What of Warren's group?" Sam questions, glancing at Oliver. "Will they be a problem while we deal with this?"

"No," Oliver says, flicking his cigarette, his gaze moving to Alicia. "Seems they moved on from their camp near here. But I did bury Kathryn while I was there."

Alicia manages to offer him a weak smile. Another body buried because of her. Another soul sent to sit by the Reaper's side and wait for her to join them.

Welcome home, they'll whisper, and she'll be glad.

"Thank you," Sam murmurs, sitting up, her brows pinched together. "But do you know where they went?"

"No, they split up," Oliver remarks. "Their numbers are growing. It's getting harder to predict Warren's movements."

"All men like Warren want the same thing," Sam replies. "He'll come back for the Commons because he's a spiteful bastard. But for now, we can focus on the herd." She drags a map across the table to indicate where the herd is coming from.

"We know sound draws them," Oliver comments. "We control them that way."

"But so many?" Galya questions with a shake of her head, rubbing at the stump where her right arm has been severed just above the elbow. "I don't know if we can possibly control hundreds of them and get them to go back north."

"Maybe we don't need them to go back north." Hush follows Oliver's reply as they slowly take in his words. Alicia raises her head and looks at him, the shadows in his gaze something she knows well. The man clings to ideals of revenge.

"What do you mean by that, Oliver?" Galya asks carefully.

"He means," Alicia says, knowing who his wrath must be directed towards, "lead the herd to the capital." It sickens her to even say it, to even think that he'd be capable of such a thing. But Alicia doesn't know this man, doesn't know the darkness in his heart. She can't fathom what the grand duke must have forced him to endure.

"You can't be serious," Galya scoffs.

"It's an idea," Sam says, inclining her head.

"Sam." Galya grabs the girl's shoulder, forcing her to meet her green eyes. "What's gotten into you?"

"We have to strike at Muovea eventually, let the Greys devour the place."

Galya shakes her head, strands of the reddish-brown of her hair slipping from her long braid, dangling around her freckled face. "How many innocents are within the walls of Muovea?"

"Less than you think," Sam mutters.

Galya lets out a huff of a laugh, pulling away from Sam to stare at her. "How rich. Like father like daughter, right?"

Sam gets to her feet, the chair grinding on the wood behind her as she pins Galya with her eyes, but the girl doesn't flinch.

"There are better ways to get your justice, Sam." She turns her gaze to Oliver. "You too, Oliver. You both know that. You're just choosing the easiest route."

"Those Greys have to go somewhere, Galya," Oliver says, lifting a shoulder as though they're not discussing the deaths of thousands of people. Alicia can only stare in horror.

"You're right, they do." Galya looks at Sam, brows pinched together. "I have a four-year-old sister in Muovea, is she guilty too?"

Sam closes her eyes, rubbing a hand over her mouth.

"So many people are immune now," Oliver continues, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "The capital won't fall, but we'll make sure the duke—"

"I don't give a fuck about the duke!" Galya shouts, her eyes blazing. Oliver winces slightly, looking away from her. "I don't care about your revenge, I don't care about your morals of right and wrong. My baby sister isn't immune." Galya raises her left arm, displaying her sleeve pinned at the elbow where the rest of the limb is missing. "I know what it's like not to be immune and I'm not going to subject anyone to what I went through." She drops her arm, sending her glare to everyone in the room. "We aren't using this herd as a tool in our battle because that will make us no better than the duke and the king. They used the Curse exactly like you're planning to and you disgust me for even thinking about it."

"Galya," Sam says, stepping towards her.

"No," Galya spits. "I have supported you through everything, Sam, but not this, never this. We need a home to go back to when the king and the duke fall, but we aren't sacrificing innocent lives to get there." She turns on her heel, storming towards the door. Alicia shifts out of her way before she barrels through her. "Find another way or risk everything you've fought for." With that, she's gone.

Alicia crosses her arms over her chest and moves towards the door, the quiet that blankets the room unsettling.

"Something needs to be done," Sam says and Alicia freezes as she meets the woman's eye, realising she speaks to her. "Help us with this and you will have earned my trust."

Alicia gapes at her. Her trust? What good is her trust when the world around them is on fire?

She may not want to go back to the capital, she may not want to face the remnants of her family, but she still has family, people she loves within those walls. Sebastian is there, grieving for his mother, he doesn't need to watch his home die too.

"I can't," she chokes out and slips through the door, keeping her head down.

The herd needs to be stopped, diverted, something, but she'll be damned if she lets them use it to destroy the capital.

Alicia watches strangers mill about beyond her window, her breath fogging the glass. She watches people prepare for the task ahead of diverting the Greys, hoping they come to some sort of an agreement not to destroy the capital in a fit of rage. They leave tomorrow and she knows until then she'll be a bundle of nerves, deciding whether to go with them or not. She fears the choices Sam will make if Alicia doesn't go with her.

Alicia sees three leaders, each vastly different, each catering to the varying degrees of needs that their people have. Kindness, revenge, and brutality.

People need paths to follow. People are sheep and when there's no fence they yearn for boundaries, too scared to seek out their own freedom. Alicia has placed invisible boundaries around herself to keep her penned. In the Dead Lands, there are no fences, there's no need for them, and because of that revenge is too easy, spilling blood is too straight-forward, consequences are lax.

She has no family anymore, no one to answer to, no court or royals watching her every move. She has no ma to be disappointed of her, no pa to have high hopes for her, no brothers to watch out for her. Alicia is alone, reminding her of those two long years in the south with only darkness and her ma guiding her, having nothing to worry about but survival. She's familiar with not being penned in by fences, by rules, by a path to follow, and she knows how easily she loses herself in it.

She could help lead those Greys to the capital. She could finish what the queen started in the most grotesque way possible. She could raze everything to the ground and start anew, let the past die.

She could, and that's what terrifies her the most, knowing exactly what this darkness inside her is capable of. But she also knows what it costs, and she promised the queen she'd find her daughter, not help destroy her.

Alicia moves from the window, slowly peeling away the coat that isn't her own. None of the clothes are hers apart from her blood red scarf. She unwinds the scarf from her neck and rubs her thumb over the worn material, drenched in blood so many times she had to start dousing it in perfume to hide the metallic stench.

It was the first piece of clothing she took from her ma's closet.

Dumping it beside the coat on her bed, Alicia runs her fingers through her dark hair and turns to the door, drawing in a breath.

The only thing she's certain of is that she can't let those Greys destroy the capital, no matter how much it destroyed her.

Pressing her palm against the cool wood of the door, Alicia listens as the front door opens and clicks shut, gentle enough that she knows Oliver is trying to be quiet. His footsteps take him past her room and Alicia gnaws on her lower lip as she opens her door and faces him.

"I need to talk to you," she murmurs to his back, as though she's scared of disturbing the ghosts that call this place home.

He stops, his broad shoulders stiff beneath his crisp blazer. "About?" he asks, his gravelly voice equally as quiet. Maybe he's scared of the ghosts too.

"The capital. And that herd."

Oliver hums and continues walking, moving into the sitting room where the large fireplace sits cold and empty. She follows him, picking at the calluses on her palms.

"You and I both know killing the duke won't stop this," Alicia blurts all in a rush as he pours himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter sitting on a cabinet, bookshelves rising on either side of it. "It's not so simple."

"Is that so?" he says, tilting his head back to swallow the mouthful of whiskey. She stares as he wipes his thumb across his puckered lower lip before she lifts her gaze and finds those sterling eyes watching her.

"Yes. So, why risk so many lives to do it?"

"He needs to die."

She scowls at him, planting her hands on her hips. "And the whole of the capital along with it? There are innocent people in there."

"Innocent," he muses, pouring another glass before moving and setting the decanter atop the fireplace. "Well, go on then, give me your argument."

"My... argument? I just gave it to you." Waving her hand through the air, she tries to indicate to the words she just tossed at him, frustration beginning to coil in her stomach.

"You're right." He taps his glass. "We do both know this doesn't stop with the grand duke, but it does begin and end with the capital and what we found. Why not destroy it all?"

She doesn't know why she finds herself so shocked. Maybe it's because she's still clinging to the image of the man who put his life in danger to save her, to make sure she got out okay. Maybe she thought he was still that man. "You can't be serious."

Leaning his elbow against the mantle, he looks at her, looks into her. She feels judged, stripped bare, and seen in just one glance. "That herd you saw is from Igorek and Parshin, it's what we did to them in the war. You think we could have won that battle without cheating a little?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You weren't there. You didn't see how fucked we were."

She bows her head, lips parting as his words finally reach her. No, she wasn't there, she was busy fighting her own war, scrambling for gold and fame. "But the innocent—"

Oliver laughs dryly, running his fingers through his dark hair, the sides cropped short. "There you go again, using that word so liberally."

All she can do is stare at him, willing him to see sense, but she knows it won't be so easy. As an exile, as a man who worked for the grand duke, he's seen more than most, more than she probably has. He has every reason to want to take the course of action that he does.

That doesn't mean Alicia is going to let him. She just needs to give him something to steer him in a different direction.

It'd mean making herself vulnerable, exposing herself and what she knows to someone who might want to twist her into giving up more, but if it means saving her family, then she has no choice.

"Destroying the capital destroys our only chance of a cure."

Oliver's jaw tightens in such a small way that Alicia would have missed it if it weren't for the evening light trickling through the curtains behind him. "And what do you know of a cure when you didn't even know people were immune?"

She doesn't let his sharp comment affect her, she just straightens her spine. "I know a woman. She's the one that asked me to investigate the tomb. She's working towards a cure." It's not a lie. Lena is working towards a cure, the duke's search for the rebels has just slowed the process. But she has the ancient book and the knowledge she requires, all she needs is more time. "You destroy the capital, you kill her, and the entire world becomes the Dead Lands."

"You're bluffing," he states.

Alicia shakes her head, reaches into the satchel on her hip, and finds the slip of paper she's looking for. "I'm not. She's the one who gave me this."

Oliver's gaze drops to the map in her grip and he draws in a breath, like he's coming up for air after drowning.

She knows the feeling. Reminders of her past steal her breath all the time. And perhaps Oliver was trying to forget this part of his past like she was.

"She knows a lot about this. Her people know a lot. Don't take this chance away from Muovea, away from the exiles who want to go home."

His gaze flicks to hers, his features frustratingly neutral again. "And is that what you want? To go home?"

Alicia pulls back her hand like he's burned her, crushing the map to her chest. Home. All she remembers of home is the townhouse that she bought with her blood money, the same house where her pa was shot before her. That house was never home.

She hasn't had a home since she gave her soul to the Reaper.

"I just want things to get better." The words taste bitter on her lips and she doesn't need to see the glint of criticism in Oliver's eyes to know how foolish they are.

The empty wishes of a girl who doesn't know what else to hope for.