Alicia can't help but feel as though the trees watch her, judge her every movement, mock her pretence of being calm. The insects and the frogs cackle at her, seeing through her pitiful attempts at keeping her breathing even and her hands steady.

She's a girl in the slums with only her wits and drive protecting her, when the gun in her grip felt only like hollow armour.

Alicia is not a little girl anymore, she shouldn't be afraid of the dark. But she's more afraid of it now than she ever was.

A blanket is wrapped around her shoulders, and she glances up at Oliver as he straightens. She grips the blanket, thanking him quietly. He pulls out a cigarette, sliding it along his lower lip as he watches the rest of their group set up their camp for the night, seeming to collect his thoughts.

"How are you holding up?" he questions, his low tones sending tingles across her flesh. Alicia glances away from him as he lights his cigarette.

"I'm just waiting for something to attack us," she tells him truthfully, eyes once again straying to the shadows that surround them, barely held at bay by the camp's fire. She almost convinces herself that things move in those trees, stalking them from the darkness, waiting for them to let down their guard.

The last time she was so vulnerable out in the Dead Lands, she fell into the hands of Warren and his men. Her aunt paid the price.

Movement beside her breaks her from her trance, and she glances at Oliver as he settles onto the log next to her, offering her a cigarette from his silver case. She takes it, holding it to her lips as he strikes a match and lights the cigarette, protecting the flame from the breeze with a scarred hand. She inhales deeply, hoping the smoke will calm some of the nerves that've been tearing through her the past few days they've been travelling.

"If something were to attack us, then it'd very much regret it," he says, blowing smoke towards the trees above them.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I still don't sleep very well," she murmurs. She flicks her cigarette and turns her face towards Oliver, studying his features in the flickering light of the fire, the shadows playing with his sharp cheekbones. "Distract me."

"Distract you?" He raises a brow as his lip twitches slightly. "With what?"

"I don't know," Alicia sighs, dropping her chin into her palm and pouting softly, the movement drawing his gaze to her lips briefly before they're back on her eyes. She doesn't miss such a look as she's never missed all the others, she just convinces herself not to read into such simple things in a world gone mad.

"Fine," he says with a small chuckle, a sound that has her stomach fluttering. He gets to his feet, grabbing something from the cart near them. She watches his movements, almost entranced by how he handles himself in every situation. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows despite the chill, and his hair in slight disarray from their travels, he's a sight to behold.

Alicia glares down at the cigarette between her fingers to focus on something else.

When he sits back down beside her, placing two glasses between them, he carries a bottle, the amber liquid within looking enticing.

"Whiskey fixes everything," Alicia laughs, shaking her head as he lifts a shoulder.

"Better than champagne," he mutters around the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He pours two shots but doesn't pick up the glass. Instead, he looks at her, mischief lighting his sterling eyes. Alicia can only narrow her gaze at him, having no idea what he's plotting. "I suggest we play a game. Since you want a distraction after all." Alicia inclines her head, beckoning him to continue. A smile begins to curve his lips as he looks her in the eye. "I'll start with something easy. Never have I ever worn a dress."

"What?" Alicia laughs, staring at him as he tilts his head.

"If you've ever worn a dress, you have to drink." He nods to the shots between them and Alicia's lips part, suddenly now understanding the game he's playing. She rolls her eyes, picks up the glass, then tosses the alcohol to the back of her throat, the liquid leaving a path of fire until it warms her belly. She scrunches up her face. "Your turn now."

She sucks the whiskey from her teeth as she thinks, setting her glass back on the log between them.

He's initiated this, it was his idea, yet it's her first chance to truly dig into his layers and see him. She wonders briefly if he's done this because some part of him wants to be seen, but he can't just reveal all of his pain like it's writing on paper. She looks at him and sees a man that's hungry for someone to peel away his facade.

She recognises it from staring in the mirror.

"Never have I ever travelled beyond Muovea." She knows it's an easy question, but she still watches intently as he picks up that glass and drinks the whiskey, witnessing the sudden power she has.

"Parshin has fewer swamps," he tells her, and she grins at him, deciding she likes this game as she waits with nerves and alcohol twisting in her gut for him to play his part. "Never have I ever swam in the canals of the slums."

A laugh bursts from her as she shakes her head. "What? And you just assume I have?"

He shrugs again.

"The canals are utterly disgusting." But still, Alicia picks up the shot and feels its heat go straight to her stomach. "Trust me, I'd never do it again, but my brothers thought that would be a good way to spend our afternoons." He's smiling at her as she places her glass back down and her stomach clenches at the sight of that smile, but it might just be the alcohol. "Never have I ever accompanied my sibling to war." He visibly winces, and Alicia bites her tongue as he slugs back the shot, his eyes on her as he sets the glass back down.

"You and your snooping."

"What was her name?" Alicia dares to ask, watching him slosh liquid into the glasses.

"Anika. Never have I ever lied about my past." The statement has her breath hitching in her chest. It's pointed, something he clearly already knows. He's going straight for her heart then, as she did his.

Alicia picks up the shot he's poured her and drinks. Two can play at this game. "Never have I ever killed an innocent." Then she waits, sitting quietly as he begins pouring, his lips pressed together. Alcohol swims in her head, so she doesn't notice his stare as he pins her with his eyes for a lingering moment.

He begins silently pouring a second shot, pushing it towards her as her heart plummets.

"Liar," he murmurs and drinks his shot.

Alicia is hesitant to follow Oliver into the cabin at first, vegetation taking over the place, tearing holes in the roof and creating streams down the rotting wood. The site looks like it'd collapse if it weren't for the gnarled roots holding it together like twisted fingers.

The only thing that nudges her forward is the fact that the cold has infected her bones and she's glad for any sort of shelter from the nightly ice that crawls along her skin.

They work to clear some of the rooms, shoving disintegrating furniture to the side, starting a fire in the crumbling fireplace, making the place their home for the night. Alicia wanders into a room, pushing tattered clothing from her path and looking over the cabin that once belonged to someone, a family perhaps.

"Do you ever wonder what happened to them?" she questions, Oliver's presence at her back as he drops a bedroll on the ground.

"No," he replies, kicking the remnants of a chair into a corner of the room. "You shouldn't either. Thinking about what happened to them won't make facing the Greys any easier."

Alicia blows a strand of hair from her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself. She approaches the window, vines snaking through it. She feels the cool breeze on her face, and she welcomes it, trying to forget her constant fear.

They haven't talked much since their drunken game the other night, retreating back behind their masks and distancing themselves. She doesn't know how to reach out to him without revealing parts of herself she doesn't want him to see. But she's beginning to understand that perhaps it's the price she must pay if she wishes to know the man she's beginning to trust.

Alicia has monsters beneath her bed that she could never quite fight off, monsters she's grown content to ignore. It continues to tear at her insides though, squeeze her heart and keep her sleep restless. She knows Oliver must feel something similar, and a part of her doesn't want anyone to have to feel the things she does.

She just wants to help him without having to face her own shadows. She realises that it might not be possible.

"How long until we reach our destination?" she asks to break the silence, moving to help him set up their bedrolls, clearing some of the floor.

"We'll get there late tomorrow afternoon." Oliver sets a lantern on the dresser, bathing the room in a golden glow. Dishevelled and rotted as it may be, the place holds a certain charm, nature folding it into its loving arms.

Alicia watches him light a cigarette, that first drag sighing from his lips as he tilts his head back. The shadows beneath his deep set eyes have darkened, and rigidness has settled in his shoulders that she didn't notice until now. The man has been leading a group of people through a land filled with unthinkable monsters—all their lives in his hands—yet somehow, he's still capable of standing. Alicia doesn't have to put much thought into knowing why he was promoted to 'captain' in the war.

She sits down on her bedroll, grabbing her satchel to sift through it. She feels Oliver's eyes on the back of her neck, studying her every movement. He does that a lot, seeing her darkest secrets just by observing her reactions to things. She once had such a skill herself.

She finds what she's looking for and presents it to him, looking up at him expectantly as his eyes move to her hand.

"An apple?" he asks like he was expecting something else. He raises a brow and Alicia gets to her feet, frowning at him. She grabs his hand, feeling the rough calluses on his palm before she turns it over and places the apple in his grip. She notices the ring, silver and engraved with an emblem she doesn't recognise. A family crest perhaps.

She gnaws on her cheek as she meets his gaze, dreading what she may find there. But he's openly watching her again, watching her like she's the most fascinating thing in the world.

"You deserve this," she breathes, unable to speak any louder, her fingers still wrapped around his warm hand, loathe to let him go.

"Thank you," he murmurs, the roughness of his voice a gentle caress along her nerves. Alicia pulls her hands away, busying herself by neatening her bedroll.

She wants to ask him about his past, about his family, a family that he can't let go of even as an exile. She wants to blurt out all her questions, so they stop burning in her lungs.

"Well, go ahead then," he speaks, breaking the tense silence between them. Alicia glances up at him, but his gaze is on the apple in his hand. "Clearly, you want to say something to me, and it has nothing to do with an apple."

Alicia takes a breath, rubbing her damp palms against her trousers. She shouldn't be so nervous, but she knows the darkness in men's hearts can be near smothering. Some things don't belong in the Light. "Your sister in the picture in your house," she begins, swallowing the dryness in her throat as she hears that girl's name again spoken with the hitch of pain. Anika. "What happened to her?"

There's a long moment of pause as Oliver stares at nothing, his light eyes blank. Then he drops his cigarette, crushing it beneath the heel of his shoe and pushes away from the dresser, those eyes turning to her. "Why do you want to know?" he asks, a bite to his tone that has her flinching. But she straightens her shoulders and looks him in the eye.

"I'm asking because I care, because what happened to her clearly weighs on you." Just as those she's lost weighs on Alicia. It's a pain she's had to bear alone for so long, she knows the suffering it causes.

"You have a bleeding heart, Alicia." He tosses the apple into her lap and moves for the door, his hands clenched into fists.

"Oliver—"

He whirls on her then, a spark shining in his eyes that has her stomach dropping. "I got her killed," he growls, jabbing a finger in Alicia's direction. "You don't want to know the awful fucking things I've done."

"I'm sorry, Oliver," she says, her voice sounding harder than she expects as she gets to her feet and faces him. "I didn't mean to upset you, but I want you to know that I understand."

"Do you?" he says with a bitter laugh, those eyes as cold as ice as they look at her from her boots to her face. His eyes hold hers, and she doesn't look away, facing him with her chin raised. "Oh, I bet you do. If you want me to confront my skeletons, then you're damn well going to walk that path with me."

"Happily," Alicia snaps, her own anger rearing its head. "First, let's discuss what the grand duke made you do that taught you how to gut a man so easily."

He flashes his teeth at her, a predatory smile that seems to sink into her skin.

Before he can reply with something scathing, his eyes narrow, moving towards the window at her back. She opens her mouth to speak, but he leaps at her, covering her mouth with a callused hand and pushing her towards the wall into the shadows.

Alicia flattens herself against the wall, not questioning him as he removes his hand and reaches for the gun under his arm.

Something moves outside the window, shifting through the shadows, the subtle crunch of leaves beneath their feet giving them away.

Alicia looks to her pack, her pa's gun within. It's the first time she's wanted to reach for such a weapon since... Since her pa was murdered in front of her. Alicia's gaze flicks to the man who currently puts himself between her and the stranger in the dark. Too many times he's put himself between her and danger.

The footsteps stop, halting just beyond the window. Alicia holds her breath as Oliver tenses, his hand reaching back to grip her hip, as though to reassure himself that she's still there.

The only noise that passes in that old cabin is the click of Oliver's gun as he pulls back the hammer.

A shot pierces the night, and Alicia cries out as the bullet lodges into the wall next to her head. Oliver moves for the window in the next moment as Alicia dives to the ground, her hands grabbing for her satchel as another bullet passes near her. Oliver leaps out the window, firing shots back. He disappears into the shadows before she can even think to cover him.

Alicia grabs her gun, hands trembling as she checks the bullets. Noises from within the cabin reach her, the scuffle of a fight beginning. The crash of furniture and the grunt of a man has her pulling back the hammer and aiming it at the door that's been left ajar, hoping Oliver has handled the man at her back.

Her breath is shaky, her aim wavering as she kneels there and waits for the fight to reach her.

She stops worrying about Oliver. She stops fearing her past. She stops thinking about the darkness in her heart. At this moment she'll allow herself to be an exile and she'll pray later that it doesn't wreck her.

The door bursts open and Alicia sees blood on the man before she sees his face. He staggers, eyes rolling back into his skull before she can even find the nerve to squeeze the trigger. The blade that opens his throat glints with the light of the lantern before losing its shine as red gushes over it.

"Oliver!" Alicia manages with her throat closed. She aims her gun at the man behind Oliver, but he doesn't pause as he twists around, shoving the gun that's pointed at his head to the ceiling where the bullet rains down dust.

Alicia squeezes the trigger then, the man crying out as the bullet tears through his knee. Oliver takes that moment to aim the man's gun at his head and look him in the eye as he forces him to pull the trigger with his own finger.

The man drops to the ground like a sack of stones and Oliver stands amongst the blood pooling from their bodies, dirtying his shoes and dripping between the uneven floorboards. He glances at her, death in his eyes, an unforgiving glint that tells the tale of a lifetime of war and suffering. But he blinks, and those eyes soften as he sees her.

"Are you alright?" he questions, breathing evenly.

Alicia can only nod as she lowers her gun.

She can almost convince herself she's alright until he pulls a cloth from his pocket and wipes the blood that's splattered across his cheek like it's nothing more than a speck of dirt.

She lurches to the side and vomits, the trembling nearly shaking her bones to dust. The stench of blood invades her senses, forcing her to relive every moment she's been around such a thing. The beatings and cuttings. The first kill that branded her soul for eternity. The day they came for her but took her pa's life instead. His blood on her hands, drenching, staining.

Oliver is gentle with her as he pulls her hair from her face and rubs her back in rhythmic circles. She tries to get control of herself, tries to push down her memories and her fears. She should be an expert at such a thing by now. She's been doing it for the past four years. She's been running for so long that not running seems like a distant dream.

"Is everyone else alright?" she murmurs, wiping her mouth with a sleeve, needing to focus on something else other than the Reaper's voice in her ear.

"I'll check on them when I know you're alright. I promised I'd protect you out here."

"I'm fine, Oliver," she replies with a bite to her tone, pushing away his hands and getting up, not letting her eyes stray to the bodies. "This is the life out here." Alicia picks up her gun and steps through the blood, knowing that keeping her head above the water is the only way to keep going. She can drown when the job is done and Kathryn's sacrifice means something.