They left that night.
Kael killed the guard with a single, silent strike. Rhea trembled as they led her through the back of the camp, through broken fences and half-buried crates.
It wasn't escape—it was war in slow motion.
The supplies they stole weren't much, but they were enough. Food. Water. A map. Ammunition.
They didn't speak as they ran. Every breath was a countdown.
By dawn, the valley was behind them, and the mountains loomed ahead like jagged teeth.
"I'm sorry," Rhea said, her voice barely audible.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Aria replied.
"Yes, I do," Rhea said. "I shouldn't exist. That's why they want me dead."
Kael stopped, turning to her. "That's exactly why we don't let them win."
It wasn't comfort—but it was truth.
And sometimes, that was enough.