We hadn't made it to safety.
The realization hadn't even settled before something slammed against the door.
Once.
Hard enough to rattle the frame.
Then again.
Louder.
"Open up!" a voice shouted from the other side.
"Please—open the door!"
More pounding followed.
Not one person.
Several.
Desperate.
The entire room shifted.
People turned toward the door—
some already moving.
"They're still alive," someone said.
"We can't leave them out there!" another added.
"Those are our people!" another man added—Harven, I realized—his voice shaking as he stepped forward.
"NO."
Rorik's voice cut through everything.
He stepped in front of the door.
Spear grounded.
Final.
"The door stays closed."
"You don't know that!" a man near the wall shouted.
"They could be fine!"
"And if they're not?" Rorik replied.
Silence.
No one had an answer.
The pounding grew louder.
"PLEASE!"
A woman's voice now.
Cracking.
"They're coming —we don't have much time!"
My hands tightened at my sides.
I knew that voice.
"It's Lysa," someone whispered behind me.
"That's Lysa out there…"
The name hit harder than the pounding on the door.
Lysa.
Sten's wife.
My stomach turned.
I could see her in my head—
standing at the edge of the docks, arms crossed, pretending she wasn't waiting for him to come back in.
She always waited.
Even on the long days.
Even when the water turned rough.
She always waited.
Another slam shook the door.
"Please!"
Her voice cracked on it.
Not the same as before.
Not strong.
Not steady.
Human.
My chest tightened.
I saw Sten again—
the way he looked beneath the water.
The way he said my name.
The way I did nothing.
My grip clenched into a fist.
"We have to open it," I said.
The words came out before I could stop them.
Rorik didn't even look at me.
"No."
"That's his wife," I snapped, stepping forward.
"You know that."
"I do."
That made it worse.
"Then how can you just stand there?"
Rorik finally turned.
His expression didn't change.
"Because I have to," he said.
"Because if I don't—more wives lose their husbands tonight."
"He's already gone!" I said.
The words came out sharper than I meant them to.
Too sharp.
The room shifted.
Joren flinched behind me.
I swallowed hard.
But I didn't take it back.
"Sten is gone," I said again, quieter now.
"We couldn't save him."
The pounding came again.
Weaker this time.
"Please…"
My chest tightened.
"But she's not," I said.
"Not yet."
Silence stretched between us.
Rorik's grip tightened slightly on his spear.
"You don't know that," he said.
"Neither do you," I shot back.
Malek stepped closer beside me.
"We can check," he said.
"Crack the door—just enough—"
"No," Rorik said again.
Final.
But this time—
it didn't land the same.
The room wasn't with him anymore.
Not fully.
"She's one of us," Brenna said from the wall.
"We don't leave our own to die in the street like animals."
"And what happens when she's not one of us anymore?" Torvin asked quietly.
No one answered him.
Because no one wanted to.
Another knock hit the door—
softer now.
Slower.
"Erik…"
My breath caught.
I knew that voice.
This time, I knew it.
"Erik, please…"
The room disappeared.
Just for a second.
It was just the docks again.
Just the water.
Just Sten laughing like nothing could touch him.
"Take care of her if anything ever happens to me," he'd said once.
Joking.
Always joking.
I never thought—
My jaw tightened.
I stepped forward.
"Move."
The word wasn't loud.
But it wasn't a request.
Rorik didn't move.
Not even a little.
"Stand down, Erik."
"No."
My heart was pounding now.
Not from fear.
From something else.
Something heavier.
"I'm not letting her die out there," I said.
Behind me, I could feel the room shifting again.
Not just fear anymore.
Choice.
And no one knew which one was right.
Rorik stood between me, the door, and Lysa.
He didn't raise his voice.
Didn't step forward.
Just stood there.
Like a wall.
"Stand down, Erik."
I shook my head.
"Move."
The pounding came again—
weaker now.
"Please…"
That did it.
I stepped forward.
Rorik moved to block me—
and Malek stepped in first.
Not striking.
Not aggressive.
Just enough.
His hand caught the shaft of Rorik's spear—
holding it still.
The room went silent.
No one expected that.
Not even Rorik.
"Let him try," Malek said.
Quiet.
Firm.
Rorik's eyes shifted to him.
For a moment—
father and son.
Then—
Rorik let the spear lower.
Not agreement.
Not approval.
Permission.
My hand hit the latch.
It felt heavier than it should have.
Like the door itself didn't want to open.
I hesitated—
just for a second.
Then I pulled.
The door swung inward.
Cold air rushed in.
And with it—
Lysa.
She stumbled forward immediately—
collapsing into the threshold.
"Erik—"
Her voice broke on my name.
Relief hit me—fast and sharp.
Too fast.
Something felt wrong.
Her clothes were soaked.
Not with blood.
With something darker.
Thick.
Clinging.
Her hands shook as she reached toward me—
but her fingers twitched halfway there.
Like the movement wasn't entirely hers.
Behind me—
Joren sucked in a sharp breath.
"Erik…"
I didn't turn.
I couldn't.
"Close it," he said.
Louder this time.
"Close the door."
I didn't move.
I couldn't.
Because Lysa wasn't the only one.
Behind her—
shapes filled the doorway.
Bodies.
Piled awkwardly against one another.
Two men.
A woman.
All of them half-collapsed in the threshold.
Not pushing in.
Not moving.
Just… there.
Like something had dropped them and forgotten to come back.
One of them twitched.
Barely.
A finger dragging weakly against the wood.
Another let out a low, wet breath—
They were blocking the door.
Completely.
There was no space left to close it.
"Move them!" someone shouted.
"Get them out of the way!"
"Don't touch them!" another voice snapped back.
The room fractured instantly.
I stared at them.
At the way their bodies lay twisted in the frame.
At the way none of them were fully still.
Not alive.
Not dead.
Not quite a voice.
"They're not done," Joren said behind me.
His voice was weaker now.
But clearer than before.
"They're… in between."
Malek moved toward the doorway.
"We drag them out," he said.
"We clear it, then we shut it."
"No," Freya said sharply.
He paused.
Not stopping—
just slowing.
"Look at them."
I forced myself to look closer.
The woman near the bottom of the pile blinked.
Slow.
Uneven.
Her eyes didn't focus.
Didn't track.
Just… opened.
And stayed that way.
Black seeped from the corner of her mouth.
Thick.
Breathing with her.
"They're not trying to get in," I said.
No one answered.
Because they saw it too.
They weren't pushing forward.
They weren't clawing or screaming anymore.
They were just… waiting.
That was worse.
Because Lysa wasn't.
She moved before any of us saw it coming.
One second she was on the floor—
the next—
she was up.
Not standing.
Launching.
Straight at me.
I barely had time to react before she slammed into my chest, knocking the air from my lungs as we hit the ground.
My head cracked against the floor.
Stars burst across my vision.
Her face was inches from mine.
Close enough to see it clearly.
Too clearly.
Her eyes—
weren't hers anymore.
Black threaded through them, pulsing faintly beneath the surface.
Not empty.
Filled.
Her mouth opened—
too wide—
ink stretching between her teeth as she snapped toward my throat.
She froze.
Just for a second.
Her head tilted slightly.
Like something inside her had caught on the sound.
"…Er…"
The sound dragged out of her throat—
A spear punched through her skull.
The force drove her sideways off me—
pinning her to the floor.
Rorik stood over her, one hand still on the shaft.
He didn't look at me.
Didn't hesitate.
Just drove it deeper.
The movement stopped.
Completely.
The ink stilled with her.
I felt shock at the same time as a tear dripped down my cheek.
"Get up," Rorik said.
Not harsh.
Not soft.
"We don't have time."
He ripped the spear free.
Turned.
And pointed it toward the doorway.
The bodies were moving now.
Not fully risen—
but close.
Limbs shifting.
Fingers dragging.
One of them trying—slowly—
to push itself up.
"Clear it," Rorik said.
"Now."
No one moved at first.
Because everyone understood what that meant.
"Move!" Torvin snapped.
That broke it.
Malek stepped forward first.
Of course he did.
He grabbed one of the bodies by the shoulder—
and pulled.
It didn't come easily.
The limbs tangled with the others—
dragging the whole mass slightly with it.
The man's eyes snapped open.
Not focused.
Not aware.
But open.
His hand shot out—
catching Malek's arm.
"—!"
Malek ripped free, slamming his elbow down into the man's face.
Hard.
Enough to break bone.
Not enough to stop him.
"Drag them!" Rorik barked.
Torvin grabbed another—
kicking it loose from the pile before hauling it backward across the floor.
I moved without thinking—
grabbing one by the leg and pulling.
The skin felt wrong.
Cold—
but not dead.
It twitched as I dragged it.
Freya stepped in beside us—
not dragging.
Finishing.
Her blade drove down—
quick, precise—
into the skull of the one reaching for Malek.
It went still instantly.
That one, at least, stopped.
One body cleared.
Then another.
Then another.
The doorway began to open.
Inch by inch.
Cold air pushed in through the widening space.
Along with something else.
Something wrong.
I looked up.
Through the gap—
out into the square.
The fires still burned.
But the movement—
had changed.
Slower now.
More deliberate.
And there—
across the square—
something stood.
Not running.
Not attacking.
Just… standing.
Taller than the others.
Thinner.
Its shape wrong in ways I couldn't place fast enough.
The firelight didn't touch it properly.
Like it bent around it—
instead of landing.
And from where it stood—
the other things moved.
My chest tightened.
That wasn't like the others.
Those eyes had intelligence.
"ERIK!"
Torvin's voice yanked me back.
The doorway was almost clear.
Almost.
One more body.
I grabbed it and pulled—
but I couldn't stop looking past it.
At the thing in the square.
Because it wasn't watching the village.
It was watching us.
I turned—
the last body still in my grip.
"Now!" he shouted.
I dragged it the rest of the way, boots slipping slightly on the floor as it caught on the threshold—
then gave one final pull.
The body slid free.
Dropped hard outside.
Rorik didn't hesitate.
The moment the gap cleared—
he slammed the door shut.
Wood cracked against the frame as it sealed.
Torvin threw the bar across it—
hands moving fast, practiced.
The pounding didn't come back.
Not right away.
Silence filled the room.
Not calm.
Not relief.
Something heavier.
My chest rose and fell slowly.
Too slowly.
Like my body hadn't caught up to what just happened.
Lysa lay a few feet away.
Still.
I didn't look at her.
I couldn't.
Rorik stood near the door, one hand still resting on the bar.
Watching it.
Waiting.
Like he didn't trust it to stay closed.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Even the crying had stopped.
The room held its breath.
And then—
a cough.
Wet.
Thick.
Too familiar.
My head snapped toward the sound.
Others followed—
one by one.
Joren sat where we had left him.
Shoulders hunched.
Hand pressed to his mouth.
Something dark slipped between his fingers.
And just like that—
the door didn't matter anymore.