The cold wind whispered down from the peaks as Arya adjusted her pack, pulling her new coat tightly around her shoulders. The fabric felt stiff, unused, a sharp contrast to her already battered boots. Caleb trudged ahead with the map clutched in his gloved hands, the only sound being the rhythmic crunch of their footsteps against the frosted earth.

  Charles walked beside Arya, occasionally glancing over at her with a small grin. "Bet you didn’t think we’d be climbing mountains when you woke up late this morning,” he quipped, the condensation from his breath puffing like smoke in the chilled air.

  “Funny,” Arya replied flatly, adjusting her pack as she looked up at the darkening sky. The clouds were a deep slate gray now, heavy with the promise of snow. "The officer wasn’t kidding about the weather."

  Caleb stopped abruptly and motioned for them to gather around. He spread out the map, its corners flapping slightly in the wind. "We’ve got a long hike ahead," he said, tracing the path with his finger. "This pass here will get us around the main Colonial lines. If we make good time, we’ll reach the valley by late tomorrow. We camp tonight somewhere near that ridge."

  Arya nodded, looking at the jagged trail ahead, her eyes narrowing. "It’s going to snow soon. Better to keep moving before the storm hits."

  The trio kept walking, the snow was falling quickly now, filling their steps and leaving no trace behind. They came upon a small wooden cottage, nestled between two large boulders, their dark gray colour contrasting with the white and snowy surroundings.

  The hut itself was made of the same light brown Polylepis wood found in the valley, a small metal tube extruded from the roof to form a small exhaust, probably for a small furnace. The side facing towards the snow that lay between them contained a door with a lock, it looked thin, unsuitable for the cold of these mountains.

  Arya uneasily eyed Charles, slowly raising her musket towards the door. Caleb slowly stepped towards the snow, but if anyone was in there, they would have heard them coming.

  He grabbed the rusted chains securing the lock and yanked them hard, the brittle metal snapping under the force.

  “Locked from the outside,” Caleb noted, his tone uneasy. Slowly, he pushed the door open, the rusted hinges letting out a long, shrill screech. Halfway through, he froze, his face going pale as snow.

  “By the stars—” Caleb murmured, barely above a whisper.

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  Arya stepped closer, curiosity overtaking caution. “What is it?” she asked, brushing past him gently to see for herself.

  The cottage’s interior was dim, the faint light seeping through the window doing little to lift the shadowed corners. Across the small room was a single bed, its covers disheveled and dusty, situated near a rusted furnace in the far-left corner. The pipe from the furnace extended upward to meet the exhaust they had seen outside.

  A table stood near the center of the room, cluttered with debris. An overturned oil lamp lay on its side, unlit oil pooling across a map of the valley. At the far end of the table rested a smaller wooden box, its surface riddled with copper wires trailing from it into the wall behind them.

  Her eyes fixed on the wooden chair by the table, where a figure sat slumped, clad in the faded green uniform of a Canist soldier. The figure posed no threat, the uniform now draped over a skeleton whose bones jutted through in places. The remnants of frost clung to the decaying fabric, and tiny white icicles had formed on the skull’s jaw and within its hollow eye sockets.

  Arya pushed the door open further, the heavy wooden slab groaning against the cold air as she stepped inside. A musket rested between the skeletal legs, its barrel pointing upward toward the jaw.

  Inside, the air was colder than Arya expected, and her breath emerged in small white clouds. To her right, a wooden rack stood by the door, draped with stiff, frozen animal hides that now seemed as lifeless as their former owner. She rubbed her gloved hand over her tanned nose, brushing off flecks of snow.

  “This has to be at least a year old,” Charles muttered, stepping in sluggishly behind her. He kicked the snow off his wool-insulated boots and nodded toward the skeleton. “The eight-pointed sun of the Canist still marks the uniform, and it’s barely worn.”

  The three checked the rest of the cabin in silence, but they could find no valuables besides the strange box. Arya walked closer to it, she could now see that there was a small lever next to it with two flat metal circles on it.

  “What do you think it is?” Charles asked, narrowing his eyes at the strange contraption.

  “Looks like one of those telegraphs, like the ones they were setting up in the village,” he added, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

  Caleb scoffed. “Have you ever seen one up close?”

  Charles hesitated for a moment, then shook his head.

  “Thought so,” Caleb muttered.

  Before anyone could say another word, a sudden fizz cut through the night, followed by a sharp pop.

  The three men exchanged uneasy glances before inching toward the cabin door. Steeling themselves, they carefully peered outside.

  The snow-covered ground was bathed in an eerie red glow. Above the hut, a ball of light hovered—burning, swaying slightly in the frigid air. A flare.

  The realization sank in like a lead weight.

  Someone was watching.

  And worse, someone had just raised the alarm.