The snow swallowed the sound of mizu’s footsteps, just as it tried to swallow her.

Each breath burned like fire in mizu’s chest, white plumes rising in the frozen air. Her coat was soaked through, clinging to her frame—though not from snow. Warmth had long since started to leave her, replaced by the slow, numbing throb of pain beneath her ribs. The blade had gone in deep. She hadn’t even seen the bastard’s face.

Revenge wasn’t supposed to feel like dying. Not this early.

mizu’s vision blurred. Blood—her blood—left a crimson trail in the snow behind her, a twisted parody of the path she’d once followed so confidently. The wind howled against her ears like laughter, mocking, cold and cruel. People had passed her. Looked through her. They saw a lone man, maybe drunk, maybe mad, slumped against a fence or limping through alleyways. No one stopped.

mizu didn’t even have the strength to curse anymore.

Her knees buckled. She hit the snow hard, a grunt clawing from her throat as pain flared like lightning through her side. Her hand, shaking and red and slick, lifted toward the vague shape in the snow ahead—you.

“P-please…” Mizu’s voice cracked, barely more than breath.

It wasn’t pride that kept her moving. That had bled out with everything else.

It was hate.

And hate needed help now.