The fires burn, hungry for the continuation of its life, desperate to keep raging. Alicia is surprised at first to see the fires, black smoke curling into the sky, blending with the dark clouds that have rolled in. She quickly remembers that all that takes life lives longer in these lands, of course the flames would thrive.

Alicia watches Sam tip the bottle of gin to her lips before offering it to her. Alicia shakes her head, turning her sight back to the distant flames. She buries her hands in the pockets of her black coat, unable to get rid of the feeling of the recoil of the gun in her hands.

So many promises to herself broken. How many more can she break before the masks shatter completely?

They stare in heavy silence—Sam, Alicia, and Galya along with those who were with her—watching the dark mass of Grey Bloods being either devoured by flames or wandering far away until Alicia can't see them anymore. Back home they go, back to the wasteland they crawled from.

The Greys failed to snuff out Muovea's spark today. There's still a home to go back to. Just not for her.

Alicia's eyes move to the figures that approach them, climbing the hill at a slow pace. She lets out a breath as she sees Oliver's stoic figure on the cart empty of its barrels. They all made it. By some miracle they all made it.

Sam leans a little closer to Galya, and Alicia smiles softly as Galya slips her arm into the crook of Sam's elbow, silently glad to see them both happy again, glad that Sam has moved past her need for revenge. For now, anyway.

Alicia watches Oliver jump down from the cart and the first thing he does is reach for the metal container in his pocket and his matches to spark a cigarette. He takes a moment to tilt his head back and savour the first drag of smoke before continuing his approach to them.

"Nothing like a brush with death to keep you feeling alive." Galya is the first to break the silence between them, an easy smile gracing her lips.

"Ain't that the truth," Oliver answers with a husky laugh. Galya offers him a drink of the gin and he takes it with a subtle bow of his head before moving to her side to watch the haze of colour and shadow that blankets the land before them.

"You should have seen Alicia's shooting," Sam says, a smile curving her lips even as Alicia stiffens at her side. Oliver raises a brow, leaning forward to study her. "She has a good eye."

"Luck," Alicia replies quickly. "Merely luck."

Sam snorts, shaking her head. "It was skill, not the favour of the gods."

Alicia doesn't answer, instead choosing to gnaw at the inside of her cheek, feeling Oliver's gaze boring into her.

"We did the right thing," Galya says, lifting her hand to give a gentle squeeze to Sam's upper arm. Alicia's thankful for her interruption, but Sam and Oliver's answering silence doesn't do anything to settle her.

"We did," Alicia confirms.

"Sam," Galya murmurs to the girl at her side, resting her chin on her shoulder. "There's always another way."

Sam turns slightly, brushing Galya's temple with full lips. "I trust you," she breathes.

"How very touching," Oliver speaks, piercing their reverie and Alicia presses her lips together to hide her smile. Sam sends him a threatening look, but he simply flicks the butt of his cigarette away and rolls his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going. I need a fucking bath and a better drink anyway." He takes the remnants of the bottle of gin and moves to the horses. "Alicia." He turns to her, inclining his head and Alicia follows, glad to leave the Dead Lands behind as soon as possible.

Alicia pulls herself up onto the cart after Oliver, settling in beside him as the other carts rumble onto the road ahead of them, leaving behind a horse for Galya and Sam. Oliver grabs the reins, flicking the leather to begin their journey back to the Commons as Alicia watches the landscape around them.

The air is damp with the coming rain as they ride into the trees in silence, descending into the shadows and flickering light. It's peaceful without the looming threat of the Grey Bloods or the exiles. Alicia can almost convince herself she's back in an older life on her way to her aunt's farm with her brothers.

"So, it seems you saved the day," Oliver says, breaking their silence.

Alicia shakes her head and sighs. "No, Sam saved me. We were ambushed by Greys and her quick thinking got us out of the situation."

"You're being modest."

Alicia can only shrug, turning away from him slightly, not wanting this conversation to continue lest she say something she shouldn't. Like tell him she knows her way around most guns and she hates herself for it.

He reaches into the pocket of his trousers for his cigarettes and matches. He offers her one and she takes it without hesitating, the spark of the flame and hiss of the cigarette doing something to soothe her. They fall easily into the familiar rhythm, smoke a silent language between them.

"What do you plan to do with yourself, Alicia?" Oliver questions, studying the tall trees they pass.

Alicia lets herself look at him with his attention elsewhere, lets her eyes follow the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the puckered curve of his full lips, the shaved underside of his dark hair.

Alicia grew up around men, was partly raised by her brothers in the smoke of the slums before they left for war. She imagines that there were many men like Oliver in the war, men that could see through people, men that held shadows within the hollows of their cheeks that resemble the Reaper's darkness.

She thought he was dead. But no, all this time he's been doing the Reaper's work, just as she has. Maybe she'd have such shadows too if she weren't so accustomed to hiding them.

That sterling gaze of his strays to Alicia and she's quick to cease her study of him to watch the slow burn of the cigarette between her fingers.

"I haven't had to think of a future since I was exiled," Alicia murmurs, brows pinching together as the words leave her mouth. She hasn't thought of much since her pa died in her arms and she flipped a switch within herself. The only thing she can care about is her next step, and hopefully that'll take her to bed.

"We need more people like you in the Commons, someone resilient."

"What makes you think I'm resilient?"

"You've made it this far, haven't you?" He watches her in that way of his, and she's entranced by the way he seems to see through her. Rarely do people see her, see how much she's endured, how much she sacrificed for her family, how much she relied on her ma that it drove her to exile herself to a land of the undead when the woman betrayed her.

But he can't possibly know all that. He's just needling at her to see what she'll offer up to placate him. Like trying to win favour with the Reaper. She's done that enough already.

"I chalk that up to luck," Alicia replies, causing Oliver to chuckle and shake his head.

"There's no such thing. There's coincidence, but luck is something we make for ourselves." Alicia frowns at him as he drags smoke into his lungs and expels it towards the trees above them. "You're a survivor, Alicia, no matter how much you try to deny it."

Survivor. The word shouldn't make her jaw ache from clenching it so hard, but it does.

"You've got that wary look in your eye. My sister used to get it after she'd steal one of my mother's dresses." The sorrowful note in his tone doesn't escape her notice, but the sudden flare of annoyance in her chest claims her entire focus.

"You clearly think I'm hiding something," Alicia begins in a sharp tone, twisting to face him more fully, "so why don't you tell me what it is and we can both move on?"

Oliver lowers his chin, looking at her from the corner of his eye. "How did you know about the supplies at the Costa mill?"

"I told you—" she starts.

"And what dealings would you—the daughter of an equestrian with Traveller blood—have with smuggling refugees from the war?"

Alicia takes a deep drag of the cigarette, trying to calm the sudden nerves that twist in her stomach.

"And this," he continues and before she can even draw in a breath, his fingers brush against the skin of her throat under her scarf and tug forth the leather cord kept safely tucked in her shirt. On it dangles a ring with bright sapphires. "What's a poor girl from the slums doing with this?"

"I stole it," Alicia says weakly as she pulls away from his grasp, the leather slipping from his fingers but the ghost of his touch remains imprinted on her skin.

"But didn't sell it or trade it for supplies? How odd."

Alicia's spine stiffens and she would much rather leap from the cart than be subject to listening to his words, however true they may be. "What is it you think I am?" she spits.

"You tell me," he replies evenly, his gaze steady as he watches her squirm.

Alicia understands more fully why he's one of the ruthless souls leading the Commons in their fight for survival, not just because he can gut a man as easily as any animal, but because he's digging beneath her skin with just his words. And Alicia is letting him. "My family has money, is that what you want me to say?" she says in a rush.

He shifts towards her, giving her his undivided attention as he pins her with his sterling gaze, but he doesn't reply.

"After the war, we got lucky." She tosses her cigarette to the road, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the winding path ahead. "It's as simple as that."

Half-truths are easier to swallow than outright lies.

His sterling gaze flicks between hers as he places the cigarette between his lips. "No," he murmurs, his voice rough and quiet. "I don't believe it's as simple as that." He turns his focus back to the road as well, but Alicia has a distinct fear that this discussion hasn't even begun in earnest yet.

Alicia watches Sam smile for her people, glass raised, the light of the oil lamps shining through the golden liquid within.

"To surviving another day," Sam declares, chin tilted up.

Alicia's hazel eyes travel over the faces of the people before her as she drinks her own whiskey, their laughter and excitement an infectious thing. The smile only leaves her lips as she finds her gaze levelling on the man that moves to Sam's side, saying something to her that has her smiling. Oliver Narovich has affected Alicia more in their brief encounters than most have been able to in an entire lifetime.

Alicia tosses her drink to the back of her throat and is quick to grab another.

They won, they lived, the herd has been diverted and no one died. But Alicia's struggle continues. She's lost amongst a sea of unfamiliar faces in a world that demands something of her she can't give. Her only concern is her next step, but she has no idea what that's meant to be.

Alicia was to be the next queen of Muovea and she was going to be a great queen. She stopped listening to her mother's poisonous words to make certain she was on the right path, one of her own choosing. Alicia was going to save the people in the slums, stop the Reaper's Curse, and rescue the exiles.

What impossible goals she set for herself, a girl who came from nothing and had to claw for every scrap she had.

"Chasing away your sorrows?" Galya asks as Alicia starts, looking to the girl. She nods to the half empty glass in Alicia's hand, knuckles pale with the grip she has. She lets out a quiet breath, easing her hold and offers a polite smile to the girl.

"Celebrating," Alicia amends, but Galya smiles a knowing smile, leaning against the bar and raising her hand to the barkeep.

"We haven't had much of a chance to talk," Galya says, blowing a strand of her russet hair from her eyes.

"Dealing with a herd of Grey Bloods doesn't leave much time for social callings."

Galya nods and thanks the barkeep for her drink before she turns to Alicia. "But it does give us the opportunity to see who people really are," she murmurs, taking a sip of her drink as her green gaze studies Alicia's face.

Alicia sinks a little further into her corner, clearing her throat and studying the milling people before them.

Alicia's secrets have no place to hide beneath such heavy scrutiny.

"I'm getting ahead of myself," she continues, smiling and placing her drink down on the bar. "I haven't even introduced myself. Galya Evgenia." She offers her hand to Alicia. Alicia studies the pale and slim hand for a moment, hesitating for too long before she takes it, Galya's grip firm and sure. "Former dancer for La Revough academy. Former being the operative word here." She waves her other arm, amusement in her gaze as Alicia glances warily at the missing limb.

"I know," Alicia replies, taking her hand from Galya's to nurse her drink again.

"You know?" Galya quirks an eyebrow.

"You invited the nobles of Muovea to a show, danced beautifully, then robbed them all blind. You were exiled for it, though officially you came into contact with the Curse."

Galya shrugs. "The rebels were no more, someone had to fight back."

Alicia manages a small smile, remembering that event with a kind of fondness. Of course, she was one such noble robbed blind but she'd handed over her jewels with a gun waving in her face, her ma with an ugly sneer twisting her lips beside her, like she expected Alicia to do something. Alicia wasn't betrothed to the prince then, but she also wasn't a fighter anymore. And besides, she was in awe of these people who had just pulled off a robbery of a theatre full of Muovea's finest.

"Alicia, right?" Galya asks and Alicia nods. "Last name?"

"Just Alicia." A loud laugh draws Alicia's attention and she glances towards where Sam converses with some of her people, tipping her head back and laughing, the wild curls of her dark hair spilling down her back. Galya follows her gaze and her features soften as she witnesses the sight.

"It's rare she allows herself to smile like that," she muses. "She means well, you know." Galya turns back to Alicia, her lips pressed together. "She has this pain within her that she turns into anger, but she'd die for her people without hesitation."

"I know," Alicia replies, remembering the determination in Sam's eyes on that cart as they were surrounded by the dead. "She shouldn't have to though."

"None of us should have to do half the things we do." Galya takes a gulp of her drink before placing the glass back down on the bar. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and steps closer to Alicia. "Besides, you two have something in common."

Alicia narrows her gaze. "And what's that?"

"You're a noble," Galya says, glancing at Sam even as Alicia's breath freezes in her lungs. "A noble with something to hide."

Alicia lifts her chin and looks Galya in the eye, the words sickening her but she refuses to show it. "Is my past going to be a problem?" she questions, ice in her tone. The singing and dancing continues around them, a haze of noise and movement. Everyone continues on with their lives, it's simply the way of the world. The world demands she keeps moving forward with it or risk being left behind, a feeling she already knows well.

"You've fought for this place." Galya leans back on the bar to observe the people before them. "You've helped us when you didn't need to. I don't care who you were before, only who you are now, and you seem like a good person."

Alicia drinks at that.

"But people around here love to hold grudges." Galya glances at Alicia and taps the corner of her eye. "Watch each of them carefully. We may be exiles, but this is still Muovea and Muoveans are known for how much they love their revenge."

"Thank you for your considerate words," Alicia says, a bite to her tone. She places her glass on the bar and moves past Galya, but the girl grabs her arm, stopping her escape.

"One day we'll get back to the capital and take back our home, as a noble, you could help with that, help prevent bloodshed." Alicia pulls her arm from Galya's grip, not looking back at the girl as she walks away. Alicia grits her teeth, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat to hide their trembling. She doesn't look at Oliver as she passes him, his gaze on her.

They can't possibly know what they're asking of her, can't possible know what they're demanding she sacrifice. She exiled herself to leave the hard choices behind. She won't repeat the past, not anymore.

Outside, the brisk air pinches her face but it doesn't help clear her mind as she hopes. Galya's words are on constant repeat, reminding her of the life she left behind, the life she'll never escape.

If they dig far enough, they'll realise her connections with the duke, her ties to that tomb, and her friendship with Lena. They'll realise she's aligned with the rebels and then they'll keep going. How did she become involved in such things? It won't be long before they begin to unbury all the bodies she put in the soil.

Alicia is no longer a Zalana, no longer a follower of her family's schemes. Alicia is no longer betrothed to a prince. Alicia's an exile. She refuses to be anything more than that. She's tried to be more and it got people killed.

They can't know who she is, what she was within those walls. She'll unravel if they do, and unravelling will finally be the end of her. She's aware that might not be such a bad thing, but if Alicia dies, then Kathryn's sacrifice is worthless.

Approaching Oliver's house, Alicia is relieved to be leaving behind celebrations she doesn't feel like partaking in. They bought themselves more time, but the clock of inevitability is still ticking.

Ahead of her, in the misty dark of the street, a figure moves. Alicia squints, already knowing the paths the patrols along the wooden walls make from her time observing from Oliver's window. All she does is watch, and this movement is out of place.

Slipping into the shadows of a sagging building, the slats of wood splitting with age, she watches the figure approach the wall. They have a hood covering their head, their shoulders drawn forward, hiding their true height and figure. Alicia peers into the dark, struggling to see from the limited glow of the few street-lamps as the figure pauses by the wall before hurrying away.

Alicia doesn't follow them. She's been the one skulking in the dark enough to know that if it were her, she wouldn't hesitate in silencing someone who'd seen what they shouldn't have. And Alicia's gut is telling her she shouldn't have seen what she did.

Glancing around the street, she spies no one else, all of them too busy celebrating. The perfect night to slip around unnoticed.

She chews the inside of her cheek before marching forward, counting the throbbing pulses in her throat to focus on something other than the unease twisting up her insides.

She should just go to Oliver's house, shut herself in her room and polish off the rest of the whiskey waiting for her as she intended when she left that bar. She should do a lot of things; mind her business, keep her head down, never even whisper her own name, but she continues marching forward instead, boots crunching on gravel, breath fogging the air.

By the time she reaches the wall, there's no sign of the figure, but her heart still rages in her chest. Brushing her fingers along the wood, she searches for what they could have possibly been doing here.

When she was the Raven—a mere shadow in the streets—bricks in certain buildings would be hollowed. Messages would be found within, encrypted orders and requests from the rebels who needed her and who had the coin to spare for her particular skills.

As her fingers snag on a piece of parchment, Alicia isn't surprised. She tugs it out, slips it into her sleeve and is gone before anyone can notice her, far more aware of her surroundings than the previous figure was.

She moves straight to Oliver's house and doesn't waste another moment in slipping inside and locking herself in her room, the parchment burning a hole in her sleeve.

She shouldn't even have it. She shouldn't be involving herself in anything other than moving forward. But her ma did always used to say her curiosity was going to be the death of her and now she's not here to snatch the note from her grip.

With her back to the headboard of her bed and a candle flickering on the table beside her, Alicia pulls the parchment from her sleeve and opens it. She squints at the note, trying to make sense of it.

Alicia has had to learn countless codes, numerous ways of hiding messages in letters. She had dealings with a wide range of people, and each network had their own hidden language.

The fact that she doesn't understand this code makes her bang her head against the wall and let out a huff of breath that does nothing to ease her nerves.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the rattle of the front door closing and the footsteps that walk past her room. She shoves the note under her pillow and stares at that door, waiting for Oliver to burst through and begin demanding answers of her she can't possibly give him.

The footsteps pause, the shadow of them darkening the sliver at the bottom of the door, and she holds her breath.

He sees through her, sees past her mask of naiveté, the mask that she's a lost girl in the wild, looking for a home because she can't go back to the one she left behind. In a way, that mask isn't entirely false.

But he doesn't come barging in. Instead he moves and Alicia listens to the sound of his footsteps as they go upstairs and then the house of ghosts is quiet again.

Alicia lays down, her hand slipping beneath her pillow to brush against the encrypted note. She sighs and squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep, and willing herself not to dream of sterling eyes that see more than she wants them to.