Lukas had one night to find walls, or the cold would take the child before the fog belt did. He crossed the ruins with the kid on his back, their small hands locked under his jaw. His mask caught the last of the light. He was carrying this child to the mountain monastery, across the fog, and he had promised himself nothing would stop him this time. Behind him walked Grim, the scarred hound who had kept Lukas alive since the Wanderer was too green to start a fire. The open ruins gave no shelter. Wind cut through the leather duster. The child shivered against his spine and did not cry. Lukas knew that silence. He had found them sitting in it, alone, not moving. He kept walking. Grim stopped first. The hound lifted his head, amber eyes fixed on a shape past the rubble. "There," Grim said. One word, flat. Lukas followed the look. A crumbling stone church stood behind a bent iron fence. Ivy strangled the walls. The spire had fallen. But the doors held, and most of the roof held, and that was enough. "Could be full of teeth," Lukas said. "Then we clear it," said Grim. They pushed through the fence. Lukas set the child down by the doorway and drew his gunblade. The black metal swallowed the gray light. He stepped inside. Broken glass crunched. The hound moved ahead, low, nose working the dark. A sound came from below. Not wind. A dragging scrape, then quiet. Grim showed his teeth at a gap in the floor. Stairs led down into a gutted basement. Lukas went first, blade up. The stone room was stripped bare. In the far corner crouched a small figure, one hazel-gray eye watching from under a low hood. A gas mask covered the lower face. The figure held a rusted pipe like a club. "Stop there," the child said. The voice was young and plain. "This is my post." Lukas stopped. He kept the blade low. "We need the roof. One night." The guard did not lower the pipe. The eye moved to Grim, then back to Lukas, reading how he stood. "People lie about one night," the guard said. "The last one who held this post did." From the stairs, Lukas's child spoke for the first time in two days. "He carries me. He doesn't put me down." The guard went still. The eye studied the small shape in the doorway. Then the pipe dropped an inch. "Keep to the east wall," the guard said. "I watch the stairs. Name is Ash." Lukas sheathed the blade. He brought his child down into the dry stone and set them against the wall. Grim lay across the stairs, facing the dark. The cold stayed outside the doors. They had walls now. But the way to the monastery ran through this guarded church, and the one who held it had chosen wrong about strangers before.