Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Ivan noticed that morning wasn’t the cold.

It was the way his breath fogged up the inside of his mask like a badly timed smoke machine.

He tugged the fabric down to his chin and exhaled deliberately, watching the pale mist drift away. It was kind of pretty, in a “death-is-coming-for-your-sinuses” way. The air bit at his skin, sharp enough to make him squint, and goosebumps crept up his arms despite the layers he’d thrown on. The rebellion base wasn’t exactly well-insulated—apparently “down with the aliens” didn’t include “upgrading the heating.”

“Morning, Ivan.” Dewey shuffled past with a thermos in hand, the steam rising from it like a beacon of everything Ivan didn’t have. Warmth. Comfort. Good life choices.

Ivan offered a lazy salute, already regretting being awake. “Morning. Enjoying your hot beverage while the rest of us freeze to death?”

Dewey chuckled. “You could make your own.”

“Or,” Ivan said, voice flat, “I could continue suffering and make it everyone else’s problem. Way more efficient.”

He didn’t stick around for Dewey’s amused shake of the head. The hallway led toward the outer door where teams usually gathered for prep, and the closer he got, the more the cold seemed to worm under his clothes. By the time he pushed the door open, the winter air slammed into him full force.

He lasted about ten seconds before the itching started.

It began as a faint prickle on the back of his hands—easy to ignore. He flexed his fingers, shoved them into his jacket pockets, and told himself it was nothing. The cold always made him itchy. Always had. Even back in Anakt Garden, when “cold” meant “air conditioning turned up a little too high,” he’d scratch absently at his arms without thinking.

By minute three, the prickle had evolved into a full-on, mosquito-rave under his skin. Red splotches were blooming along his wrists like bad graffiti. He yanked his sleeves down over them and glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Great. Just what he needed. Random, unsolvable skin problems. Again.

Hyuna’s voice cut across the courtyard, crisp as the air. “Ivan. Mission briefing in five.”

He gave her a thumbs-up he didn’t really mean. She turned back to Isaac, already discussing routes, because of course she trusted him to show up and not be falling apart. Ivan rubbed his wrist through the fabric, scowling at the itch like he could intimidate it away.

Spoiler: he couldn’t.

Till appeared at his side without a sound, like he always did. Ivan didn’t jump anymore when that happened. He’d just developed the permanent habit of pretending he wasn’t startled, which was almost the same thing.

“Morning,” Ivan said, tilting his head toward him. “Or whatever part of the day this frozen wasteland counts as.”

Till gave a faint huff through his nose, signing quickly with his gloved hands. Cold?

“Genius deduction.” Ivan flexed his fingers, ignoring the burning itch climbing up his forearms. “You should work for the rebellion.”

Till rolled his eyes, but his grin was obvious even behind his scarf. He signed again, You look— He paused, searching for the sign, then gestured loosely around Ivan’s face. Weird.

Ivan clutched his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Weird? Me? Impossible. I’m a picture of rugged winter beauty.”

Till’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh, and Ivan felt that stupid warm flutter in his stomach that had no business existing when his skin was staging a revolt.

“You’re just jealous,” Ivan added, leaning closer with a mock-conspiratorial tone. “Not everyone can pull off the frostbite chic.”

Till gave him a flat look that said, as clearly as words, You’re ridiculous. Then his expression softened. He reached out and tugged one of Ivan’s sleeves down properly, his gloved fingers brushing over Ivan’s wrist just long enough for Ivan’s breath to catch.

He forced a grin to cover it. “Thanks, nurse.”

Till signed, Take care. A simple phrase, but it lingered longer than it should have. Ivan answered with a cocky salute to hide the tiny, involuntary way his heartbeat had sped up.

As Till headed toward the armory with the others, Ivan stayed in the courtyard a moment longer, rubbing at the angry patches hidden under his jacket. It wasn’t just “cold makes me itchy” anymore. The hives were spreading in uneven blotches, and the skin felt like it was buzzing under his touch. He scowled down at it like it had personally betrayed him.

He’d just have to power through. It wasn’t like anyone had time to baby a rash.

Hyuna’s voice carried easily across the courtyard. “Gather up!”

Ivan dragged himself toward the main room where a handful of rebels were already huddled around a cracked table, maps and scribbled notes spread across it like someone’s over-ambitious art project. Hyuna stood at the head, arms crossed, that particular mix of tired and terrifying she wore better than anyone else. Dewey and Isaac flanked her, both looking annoyingly awake.

Ivan dropped into a chair like gravity had suddenly doubled. The wood creaked in protest.

Hyuna gave him a pointed look. “You’re late.”

“I was busy communing with the frost demons,” Ivan said. “They say hi.”

Isaac snorted; Hyuna didn’t even blink. “This is a simple supply run. We’ve got a narrow window before the patrols change. Ivan, you’re with Dewey on the south route. In and out. No detours.”

“Detours?” Ivan widened his eyes in mock innocence. “Me? Never.”

Dewey gave him the kind of side-eye that translated to every single mission, Ivan.

Hyuna tapped the table. “Stay sharp. The cold’s working in our favor, but it’s not forgiving. Keep your gear sealed. No mistakes. Don't forget to visit Luka for directions in full.”

Ivan bit back a grimace. Yeah. About that. The itching on his arms had reached a dull roar now. His skin under the sleeves felt like someone had swapped it for sandpaper. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral. Nobody needed to know he was falling apart over something as stupid as… winter.

The briefing wrapped quickly. Hyuna barked final instructions, and everyone scattered to gear up. Ivan pulled on his outer gloves, flexing his hands until the seams bit into his skin. If he could just get through the next few hours without scratching himself bloody, he’d count that as a win.

Outside, the sky was a dull, pale gray—like someone had tried to paint “winter” but gave up halfway. Boots crunched in the thin layer of frost as the small teams fanned out. Ivan adjusted his mask back over his nose, regretting it immediately as his breath fogged up the inside again.

“Ready?” Dewey asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Born ready,” Ivan said. “Regretting it ever since.”

They set off down to take a visit to Luka. Wind whipped through the bare trees, carrying the kind of cold that went straight for the bones. Ivan hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. The itching didn’t stop. If anything, the exposure made it worse.

He kept his eyes forward, sarcastic quips ready on the tip of his tongue, because that was easier than thinking about the angry red blotches spreading like spilled paint under his jacket.

---

They caught Luka in his usual spot — tucked away in the narrow room that passed for a planning office, half-buried in papers and screens. The faint hum of the old equipment filled the space, warm compared to the icy hallways outside. Luka didn’t even glance up when they stepped in; his fingers kept moving across a keyboard with the same quiet precision as always.

“Reporting for cartographic enlightenment,” Ivan announced, leaning dramatically against the doorframe. “Guide us, oh map wizard.”

Luka finally looked up, blinking like he’d just surfaced from deep thought. “You’re late.”

“Technically,” Ivan said, “Hyuna was late assigning us, so really, I’m early.”

Dewey gave him a look. Luka just sighed softly and gestured them closer. “Come here. I updated the patrol maps this morning.”

They stepped over, and Luka pointed to a grainy aerial image on the screen, tracing the route with a pen. His voice stayed low and even — the kind that made complicated things sound simple. “South route. You’ll follow the old tram line until you hit this junction—” tap “—then cut east. Patrol shift here, here, and here.” Three more taps. “If you stay within the buffer zone, you won’t be seen.”

Ivan tried to listen. He really did. But the heat in the room made the itch flare worse, like his skin had decided to throw a tantrum now that it was safe indoors. His wrists burned under his sleeves, and he scratched absently through the fabric before realizing Luka’s eyes had flicked toward the movement.

Luka didn’t say anything, but there was a small crease between his brows. He glanced back to the map and continued, “If you lose contact, follow the fallback path along the river. Dewey has the updated codes.”

Ivan nodded, a beat too late. Dewey elbowed him lightly. “Pay attention.”

“I am paying attention,” Ivan muttered. “This is my paying-attention face.”

Luka’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close. “Right. Just… don’t improvise.”

“Me?” Ivan put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “When have I ever done that?”

Neither Luka nor Dewey dignified that with a response.

Luka leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his temple. For a second, the quiet stretched. His gaze flicked again to Ivan’s hands, then to his face, like he wanted to ask but couldn’t in the bustle of pre-mission chaos. The room wasn’t private, and there were always ears.

He settled for, “Stay warm,” soft enough that it almost got lost under the hum of the monitors.

Ivan forced a grin. “Always do.”

He didn’t.

Chapter Text

The air bit harder the moment they stepped out of Luka’s cramped office. Ivan shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and tilted his chin up like he was daring the cold to try something. Dewey, walking beside him with his usual soldier-straight posture, didn’t bother with bravado. His breath fogged evenly in the night air, calm and measured.

“Luka makes it sound so easy,” Ivan muttered. “ ‘Head north, check the grid, keep quiet.’ Yeah. Sure. It’s not like my face is about to fall off.”

Dewey gave him a sidelong look but didn’t respond. He wasn’t the chatty type on missions, which only made Ivan talk more.

They moved through the narrow corridor leading toward the surface exit. The rebellion’s underground base groaned faintly as the wind above shifted—winter settling in deeper each night. Ivan’s neck prickled, not just from nerves. He rubbed at it absently.

Outside, the night was crisp and empty. The streets were blanketed in fresh snow, reflecting the dim alien streetlights with an eerie bluish glow. Ivan squinted at the brightness; it made his head ache. “God, it’s like walking inside a refrigerator lightbulb.”

“Focus,” Dewey said quietly. He didn’t sound annoyed, just firm.

“I am focusing. I’m focusing on how much I hate this weather,” Ivan shot back, but he lowered his voice anyway.

They kept to the shadows of the old district, where abandoned storefronts and memorial plaques to Alien Stage contestants were more common than working security drones. Dewey took point, signaling with brief hand movements—left, crouch, hold. Ivan followed, rolling his eyes at the seriousness but matching him step for step. He wasn’t new at this. But the cold was different tonight. It clung.

By the time they reached the edge of the patrol zone, Ivan’s wrists were itching fiercely. He tried to scratch through his gloves, which only made it worse.

“Something wrong?” Dewey whispered without looking back.

“Nothing. Just allergic to existing,” Ivan said. He flexed his fingers, trying to shake it off.

They froze as a distant hum drifted toward them—the low, insectile buzz of a patrol unit. Dewey instantly ducked into a nearby alcove, gesturing sharply. Ivan followed, pressing himself against the wall. The cold seeped through the concrete into his spine.

Two alien patrol drones floated by, scanning slowly. Their lights sliced across the snow like blades. Ivan held his breath and tried not to scratch his burning neck. For a moment, he almost sneezed. He bit his lip hard, forcing it back. Dewey glanced at him, eyes narrowed. Ivan made a face like I’ve got it, relax.

The drones passed. Silence returned.

Dewey exhaled slowly. “You need to keep still.”

“I did keep still,” Ivan whispered back. “I’m practically a statue. A very attractive, freezing statue.”

Dewey didn’t dignify that with a response. He stepped out first, checking the street, then signaled Ivan forward. They resumed their route, slipping through the skeletal remains of what used to be a shopping district. Posters of past performances still clung to some walls—faded images of singers mid-note, frozen in time.

“Creepy,” Ivan muttered as they passed a particularly large poster of Till, arms outstretched, mid-song. “Imagine living in a place that worships your face after you’re gone. Oh wait. We already do.”

“Eyes ahead,” Dewey murmured.

They were nearing the target zone: a cluster of buildings near the old stadium. Luka’s intel suggested alien supply runs passed through here, easy pickings for interception. But as they approached the square, Ivan noticed something out of place.

Up ahead, faint light bled through a shattered set of double doors. Not patrol light—warmer, yellower. Like museum lighting.

“Uh… was that on the map?” Ivan whispered.

Dewey paused, scanned. “No.”

They crept closer, careful with their steps on the icy ground. As they reached the doorway, Ivan peered inside and let out a quiet, incredulous laugh.

“What the hell…”

It was a building he didn’t recognize—not on any rebel schematics. But inside, display lights illuminated glass cases and exhibits. The floor was pristine compared to the outside world. And right at the center, beneath a hanging banner with the Alien Stage logo, stood a massive glass enclosure.

Dewey stiffened. “This wasn’t here before.”

Ivan’s breath fogged the glass as he leaned in to get a better look from the doorway. The light cast eerie shadows across the snow behind them. “Looks like some kind of… memorial? Museum?”

Dewey’s jaw tightened. “We need to move on. This isn’t the mission.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ivan whispered back. But he didn’t step away. Something about the building pulled at him. The glass enclosure gleamed faintly. There was movement inside.

He blinked. “Wait. Do you see that?”

Dewey followed his gaze. His expression shifted from focused to wary. “...Yes.”

Inside the case, something shifted again—small figures, huddled together.

They edged through the doorway, the floorboards groaning under their boots. Ivan’s gloved hands flexed nervously; every scratchy tug of the fabric sent a jolt up his forearms. Dewey kept his eyes sharp on the shadows, silent except for his occasional hand signal. Ivan, of course, couldn’t resist commentary.

“Well,” he whispered, leaning just enough to peek around a display pedestal, “this is… charming. Nothing screams ‘welcome’ like frost, dust, and glass cages.”

Dewey didn’t acknowledge him. Fine. More room for monologues.

The first case came into view. Ivan squinted, trying to make sense of the shapes inside. And then he saw them. Small bodies, clustered together, huddled and still.

“What the—” Ivan froze. “No. No. Not… kids, right?”

Dewey’s hand shot out, pressing a finger to Ivan’s chest. “Quiet.”

Ivan pressed his lips together, breathing shallow, already regretting every quip he’d made about the cold. These weren’t mannequins. They moved slightly, whispering to each other in hushed, confused voices.

“Holy—” Ivan bit the word back. The itch in his wrists flared like fire under his gloves. He flexed his fingers, trying to ignore it. “Okay. Definitely kids.”

Dewey crouched slightly, signaling for Ivan to move closer. “We need to assess. How many?”

Ivan leaned, craning his neck. “Five.” He swallowed. “All of them. Behind glass. Like… like an exhibit.”

One of the kids, a small figure with dark hair, pressed a hand against the glass, whispering something to another. Ivan squinted, reading lips. “I… don’t know where we are?”

Ivan froze. Then, softly, he whispered, “Yeah… I get that.” He motioned for Dewey to move forward, still careful not to make noise. “Okay. Plan B. Rescue the exhibit children.”

Dewey’s eyes narrowed. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” Ivan muttered. “Look at them! Tiny humans! Frozen. Confused. Literally behind a glass wall!”

Dewey pinched the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t part of the mission. We go back with the intel, report the anomaly, and—”

“They’re kids.” Ivan cut him off. “They’re alive. And you’re seriously okay with leaving them in… this?” He gestured vaguely toward the case. The children shifted, some whispering to each other, trembling.

Dewey hesitated, weighing risk. “If we extract them, we risk detection. It could compromise everything.”

“Or,” Ivan said, crouching lower and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, “we save five people who clearly need it. You’re telling me that’s the risky option?”

The tension hung thick. Dewey exhaled slowly. “Fine. Quietly. We take them.”

Ivan grinned despite himself. “Yes. Operation Frozen Orphans, then. Not creepy at all.”

They set to work. Dewey carefully examined the locking mechanism on the glass case while Ivan kept an eye on patrol lights outside. His arms itched unbearably now, blotches creeping up his neck, but he didn’t dare scratch. He couldn’t.

“Dewey,” Ivan muttered, voice tight, “hurry. My wrists feel like they’re having a mutiny.”

Dewey glanced at him, expression unreadable. “We’re close.”

Ivan closed his eyes and forced a grin, despite the burning itch crawling up his wrists. “Almost there. Just a few more steps and—voilà—we become the most terrifying babysitters in rebellion history.”

A tiny voice piped up from his left. “Babysitters?”

Ivan looked toward the group of kids slowly exiting the case, along with the one directly at his hip. The smallest one, a pale little figure clutching his coat. “Yeah. You’re in safe hands. Totally.” He cleared his throat, trying to swallow past the tickle in it.

“Mostly safe. Probably. Maybe. I’m Ivan, uhh names?”

The child tilted their head. “We… don’t have names.”

Ivan froze, then shrugged. “Okay. First things first. We fix that.” He crouched, giving them a conspiratorial grin. “You, little vigilant one who’s been quietly watching me freak out—Arin. That’s your name. You can thank me later.”

The small figure blinked but didn’t protest. Arin it was.

“Alright,” Ivan said, standing and gesturing to the next, “you’re bold, aren’t you? Always poking and asking questions?” The child nodded, eyes bright. “Sori. That’s your name. Got it?”

Two more shuffled closer. One seemed protective of the smaller ones, quiet but wary. Ivan crouched again. “And you, silent shadow, you’re Kai. Watch out, or you’ll be bossing the rest of them before breakfast.” Kai glanced at him, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Another child hugged the first one, shy and trembling. Ivan leaned down. “Ah, a delicate flower. You need a name that fits. Noa. It suits you.”

Finally, the smallest one fidgeted, trying to hide a grin. “And you, mischievous little troublemaker…” Ivan said, wagging a finger, “Jin. Remember it.”

All five names hung in the cold air. Ivan let out a breath. “Good. Now, you exist. You have names. That’s progress.”

He flexed his fingers and winced; the blotches on his wrists had spread further, red against pale skin. His throat tickled painfully. “Mostly, I’m fine,” he said quickly, voice hoarse. “Just… slightly irritated. By winter. And life. And… well, a few other minor inconveniences.”

Dewey nudged him lightly. “Keep moving. Get them inside.”

Ivan nodded, grimacing as he led the kids toward the main gates. Noa clung to his side, shivering. Jin darted around quietly, tugging at Arin’s sleeve, trying to make the tension lighter. Sori asked twenty whispered questions at once: “Why is it so cold? Why are we outside? Who are all these people? Are we going to eat?”

Ivan answered each with rapid-fire humor, forcing the words past his itching, burning skin. “Museums! Cold adventures! Unnecessarily polite guards! And yes… food. Probably. Hopefully.”

“Do you… always talk like this?” one of the kids whispered, voice small.

“Oh, all the time,” Ivan said, leaning down. “Keeps me sane. And it scares bad guys.” He forced a grin. The itching flared again, but he swallowed it. “Mostly it’s the cold. Cold makes my skin… angry.”

Another child peeked at him. “Why does it… look funny?”

Ivan froze. He flexed his hands. The blotches on his wrists and neck were obvious now, glowing red against the pale skin. He didn’t have an answer. He opened his mouth. Closed it. “Uh…”

Dewey nudged him. “Keep moving.”

Ivan gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Keep moving. That’s what we’re doing. Forward, forward, brave, frozen heroes.”

They moved silently through the streets, five small bodies clinging to Ivan’s sides and Dewey a careful step behind. The patrols had passed; lights shifted. Ivan kept up the chatter, soft and nervous, talking to the kids to keep them calm.

One asked why the building had lights but was empty. Another whispered that it smelled funny. Ivan dodged, deflected, made jokes, tried to sound knowledgeable. “Museums, my little friends. Museums are full of… history and weird smells. Totally normal.”

They rounded the corner, approaching the edge of the camp. Ivan’s breath came shallowly, heart thudding. His arms itched so badly it was a physical ache now, but he ignored it. No time. Not yet.

Dewey checked the street ahead. “Clear. Almost there.”

Ivan glanced at the kids, shadows of doubt and curiosity on their small faces. “Almost… there. Just a bit farther, and then… we’ll figure out what happens next.”

He didn’t know what would happen next. He only knew he couldn’t let them stay in that building, and he couldn’t let his skin stop him. Not yet.

And so, silent and tense, with a half-dozen small lives in his arms and his sarcasm as his shield, Ivan led them forward.

They neared the gates. Rebel members were beginning to stir—Sua and Mizi rounding corners, half-awake but alert. Hyuna appeared first, eyes widening as they took in the group.

“What…?” Hyuna’s voice broke through the cold air. Her gaze swept over Ivan, then Dewey, then the kids. “Where did you find them?”

Ivan forced a grin, ignoring the tightness in his throat. “Funny story. We were just sightseeing. Found some… um, enthusiastic new recruits. They volunteered. Very committed.”

Dewey nudged him. “He’s joking.”

Hyuna’s brow furrowed. “Recruits? Children?”

Jin, mischievous as ever, waved a hand. “Hi! We’re, uh… new?”

Ivan’s chest tightened again. His skin burned where the cold had flared up, blotches spreading to his neck. “They… they’re new, yes. Fresh recruits,” he croaked, forcing a hoarse smile.

Arin shuffled closer. “Are… we in trouble?”

Ivan crouched, forcing calm. “No, Arin. You’re fine. Just… cold. Really cold.” He gestured vaguely at the snow outside. His shallow breaths reminded him how inflamed his throat had become.

Sori tilted their head, frowning. “But… why does your face look bumpy?”

Ivan froze, opening his mouth, then closing it again. Dewey’s eyes flicked at him, silent warning. Ivan forced another strained grin. “Winter is… intense,” he whispered. “That’s all. Don’t worry about it.”

Noa clung tighter to him. “Are we going to be okay?”

Ivan swallowed, grimacing. “We’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Hyuna stepped forward cautiously, hand on her hip. “Ivan this cold thing is—”

Ivan shook his head, trying to hide the panic. “No, no. I’ve got it. Totally manageable.” He coughed softly, voice hoarse. “I’m like a… frost-resistant superhero. Minus the flying. And the strength. And the…”

Jin tugged at his sleeve. “Are you… okay?”

Ivan blinked, clearing his throat, forcing a tight smile. “Just a little cold… maybe a lot cold. But I’m fine. Really.”

The children had seen the flinch, the subtle gasp, the way his hands trembled. Kai stepped closer, protective. “Ivan is sick.”

Sori frowned. “What do we do?”

Ivan gritted his teeth, forcing another smile. “We get inside. Warm up. Eat. Figure things out. Together.”

The group moved carefully toward the main building, Ivan leading, Dewey shadowing. Each step was measured; Ivan’s breaths came shallow now, warning him that his throat inflammation was worsening. Inside, warmth hit them first—radiators hummed faintly, the smell of old floors and rebellion hub mingling with winter chill.

Ivan let the kids scatter slightly, still keeping them close. He realized for the first time that the real challenge wasn’t just keeping them safe from patrols. It was keeping himself alive long enough to do it.

Chapter Text

The meeting room wasn’t built for this many people, or this much uncertainty. The long table was meant for strategy, maps, and quietly tense arguments — not five blanket-swaddled kids perched on spare chairs, blinking at everyone like wide-eyed animals.

Ivan slouched in his seat, trying to look casual despite the faint blotches still visible at the edges of his sleeves. His skin prickled with leftover cold irritation, but he kept his hands tucked under the table, scratching at the inflamed patches against the seam of his pants. It wasn’t subtle, but everyone’s attention was elsewhere.

Hyuna stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “We can’t ignore this,” she said. “They’re here. They’re children. And whether we like it or not, they’re now our problem.”

The kids whispered to each other, glancing nervously around the room. Jin fiddled with the edge of his blanket. Sori craned her neck, curious. Noa clung to Kai’s side. Arin kept scanning the exits like they were planning a jailbreak.

“They’re freakishly familiar,” Mizi muttered from across the table, chin in hand. “I keep looking at that one”—she pointed lazily at Kai—“and it’s like looking at a glitchy mirror.”

Ivan followed her gaze and immediately saw it. The shape of the jawline, the slight way Kai furrowed his brow — it did echo something of Till and Hyuna, blended just enough to unsettle.

Sua leaned back in her chair, deadpan as always. “They look like us. Because they are us. Tiny, awkward versions. Rearranged, but still us.”

Till, seated beside Luka, frowned deeply and signed sharply, What do you mean?

Sua shrugged. “Come on. Aliens obsessed with our performances, obsessed with making another ‘Alien Stage.’ If you had that kind of power and zero ethics, wouldn’t you make backup singers?”

The room fell quiet. No one wanted to say it outright. Ivan scratched harder at his wrist. “So what,” he finally drawled, “they collected some hairbrushes and made baby clones?”

Luka spoke softly but firmly. “DNA.” He looked at the kids, analytical gaze unwavering. “It fits. If they believe singing talent is genetic, this would be their next step. Controlled breeding. Manufactured contestants.”

Hyuna exhaled through her nose. “They were on display. A memorial for Alien Stage, but the kids weren’t just for show. They’re investments.”

Mizi grimaced. “Creepy investments.”

The kids, oblivious to the adults’ tension, were starting to fidget. Jin tugged on Ivan’s sleeve, pointing at the crumbs on the table. “Can we eat more?”

Ivan blinked down at him. “Kid, we’re having an existential crisis.” He pushed the plate toward him anyway. Jin grinned and stuffed his mouth full.

Till’s eyes softened as he watched them. Slowly, he got up from his chair and crossed to the kids. He crouched down to their level and started signing gently, hands moving slowly, deliberately — 'Hello. You’re safe here.'

The kids just stared. No comprehension. No sign of recognition. Sori tilted her head, fascinated, but none of them responded.

He tried writing it down on spare paper.

Same reaction.

The air in the room shifted. Till’s movements faltered. His hands lowered into his lap as he looked up at Hyuna, the frustration and sadness stark on his face. He signed again, slower, 'I would take care of them. If I could talk to them.'

Silence.

Hyuna’s expression softened for just a second. “I know,” she said quietly. “I know you would.”

Till gave a tight nod, sitting back on his heels beside the kids. Noa reached out hesitantly, touching the edge of his sleeve. Till gave them a small, genuine smile, even if the sadness lingered in his eyes.

Ivan looked away quickly, jaw clenched. It hurt to see him like that — him, who always had so much quiet patience, looking like the distance between him and the kids was a wall he couldn’t climb.

Hyuna cleared her throat, pulling the room back together. “Whatever their origin, we need to decide how to handle this. They can’t fight, they can’t spy, and they can’t survive alone. We can’t hide five extra mouths forever, but we also can’t abandon them. Not after what we saw.”

Sua drummed her fingers on the table. “So what? We keep them here? Teach them to read, train them, make them rebels?”

Mizi rolled her eyes. “They’re kids, Sua, not recruits.”

“Everything in this place turns into recruits eventually,” Sua muttered.

Luka, ever the tactician, leaned forward. “Short term, we need housing, food, education, and a way to keep their existence quiet. The longer-term question is… what we expect from them.”

Ivan raised a brow. “They’re five confused little humans, not a production line. Maybe let them breathe before we give them homework.”

That earned a brief smirk from Hyuna. “Noted.”

The kids were starting to get restless now — Jin poking Kai, Kai pushing back, Sori trying to climb onto a chair that was way too big for her. Ivan sighed, standing to intercept before someone toppled. “Alright, alright. Sit down before you start a miniature war.”

He herded them back into their makeshift cluster, still scratching subtly at his wrist. He didn’t want to admit how raw his skin felt.

The meeting went on for another twenty minutes, looping in circles — logistics, secrecy, the alien implications. Nothing was decided. But by the time Hyuna dismissed them, the group had shifted subtly: the kids were no longer “them.” They were here, part of the rebellion’s reality now, whether anyone liked it or not.

As people filed out, Ivan caught Till lingering by the doorway, watching the kids huddle together on the floor with their blankets. His hands twitched, half-raising like he wanted to sign again. Then he let them fall.

Ivan shoved his hands into his pockets, scratching against the fabric. His throat was a little sore, the air still biting from earlier, but for once, that wasn’t the most pressing discomfort. He watched the kids too — laughing at Jin’s bad attempt to balance on one foot — and felt that same unsettled weight settle in his gut.

This wasn’t a mission. This was something messier. Something no one here had prepared for.

The corridors had long since quieted. The hum of the heating vents was the only sound threading through the rebellion’s underground base, a low constant that settled into the bones. Most people had retreated to their bunks hours ago. Ivan should have, too.

Instead, he was pacing his room, scratching at his wrists again. Not just wrists—arms, neck, under his shirt. Everywhere the cold from earlier had brushed against his skin, red bumps were blooming like a rash of angry stars.

He hissed under his breath and yanked his gloves off, trying to inspect the damage in the dim light. “Damn it,” he muttered, rubbing at the inflamed patches. It didn’t help. It never did.

A soft knock at his door froze him mid-scratch.

“Ivan,” he called without thinking, then remembered who it probably was. “...Till?”

Another soft knock.

Ivan sighed, shoved his gloves back on, and opened the door.

Till stood there in a loose sweater and worn boots, hair a bit messy, looking more like he’d wandered out of bed than planned to visit. His hands were already moving before Ivan could say anything.

'You were scratching again.'

Ivan groaned. “You’re worse than Hyuna.”

Till raised a brow. He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently. 'I saw you during the meeting. The whole time.'

Ivan leaned on the doorframe, smirking despite himself. “You were watching me the whole time? Flattered.”

Till’s hands paused, then resumed with practiced sharpness. 'Don’t deflect.'

“I’m not deflecting,” Ivan said, which was exactly what someone deflecting would say. “I’m… scratching. Very different.”

Till stared at him. Ivan tried to hold the stare but caved first, sighing as he stepped aside. “Fine. Come in before you start glaring holes through me.”

Till entered, shutting the door behind him. The room was dim—one weak light over Ivan’s desk, scattered with mission notes and half-finished doodles. The air had that stale, underground chill to it.

Till leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes flicking toward Ivan’s gloves.

Ivan, suddenly self-conscious, shoved his hands in his pockets. “Look, it’s just… winter air. I’ll live.”

Till didn’t sign anything right away. He just kept looking. Ivan hated when he did that—it was like Till could see through all his jokes and evasions straight to the raw nerve beneath.

Finally, Till pushed away from the wall. 'Take it off,' he signed.

Ivan blinked. “What, my gloves?”

Till nodded. Then he signed again, more deliberately. 'And shirt.'

Ivan’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? You want me to undress for you?” He grinned, a flash of his usual teasing bravado. “Didn’t know we were skipping steps, Till.”

But Till didn’t even roll his eyes this time. He stepped closer, gaze steady, hands moving slowly but firmly. 'I need to see. I can’t ignore this anymore.'

Something in Ivan’s chest twisted. He wanted to laugh it off again, say something cocky, keep the mood light. But Till’s presence, quiet and unwavering, made the words stick in his throat.

“...You’re serious,” Ivan muttered.

Till nodded.

Ivan looked away, jaw tightening. The itching was relentless, and beneath it was that prickly shame he hated—the kind that came from letting someone else see what he’d rather hide. But this was Till. If it were anyone else, he’d have slammed the door by now.

He exhaled through his nose. “Fine. But you owe me a drink after this.”

Slowly, he peeled off the gloves. The skin of his wrists was raw, scratched nearly to bleeding in places. The light caught the raised bumps trailing up his forearms.

Till’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t gasp or flinch. He stepped closer, steady hands catching Ivan’s before he could shove them back into his pockets.

Then Ivan tugged his shirt over his head. The air hit his skin like needles. Under the light, the extent of it became clear—his chest and arms were covered in splotchy red hives, some swollen, some fading, like a map of irritation. His breathing had grown shallow without him noticing, throat feeling tight in a way that made his stomach curl uneasily.

Till stared for a long moment. His hands hovered like he wanted to touch but didn’t want to hurt him. Finally, he signed, fingers jerky with emotion. 'I can’t let you go on like this.'

The words landed heavier than Ivan expected. They weren’t just about the hives. He knew what Till meant. If Hyuna found out how bad this was getting, she’d pull him from missions in a heartbeat.

He forced a grin, but it faltered. “Oh come on. It’s just skin. A little bumpy, sure, but I’m still the picture of health.”

Till shook his head, stepped closer, and signed again with sharp emphasis. 'No jokes. This is serious.'

Ivan looked away. His throat itched worse now, his breaths uneven. He hated the feeling of being fragile. He wasn’t fragile. He couldn’t be. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he mumbled.

Till reached out and gently, deliberately, touched Ivan’s wrist—right where the skin was worst. Not to hurt. Just enough to ground him. Then, slowly, he signed: 'I’m telling Hyuna if you don’t.'

Ivan’s stomach dropped. He wanted to argue, to protest, but all that came out was a hoarse laugh. “You’re ruthless.”

Till didn’t smile. His eyes softened, though, that warm, steady light Ivan always found himself orbiting toward.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke or signed. The hum of the heating vent filled the room again, steady and indifferent. Ivan stared down at his inflamed skin, breathing shallowly, and felt something tight coil in his chest—not just his throat, but the realization that this wasn’t going away.

He finally slumped back onto the edge of his bed, shirt hanging loosely in one hand. “...Fine,” he muttered. “But give me a day before you blow the whistle, yeah?”

Till tilted his head, clearly skeptical.

Ivan met his eyes and managed a weak grin. “A day. Promise. I’ll… figure something out.”

Till’s hands hesitated, then slowly signed: 'One day.'

Ivan nodded. “One day.”

Till stepped closer again, carefully draped the shirt over Ivan’s shoulders like a silent truce, and then signed goodnight before heading for the door.

As the door clicked shut, Ivan sat alone in the dim light, rubbing absently at the hives, throat tight in more ways than one. He didn’t know how to fix this. But he knew, with a sinking certainty, that hiding it was becoming impossible.

Chapter Text

The morning came with the dull hum of the base waking up. The heaters were straining again; Ivan could feel the faint chill creeping through the concrete. It prickled his skin like a warning he didn’t want to hear.

He tugged on an extra layer, pulled gloves over his still-raw wrists, and plastered on his best “I’m completely fine” grin. When Till passed him in the corridor, signing a brief Good morning with a look that said don’t push it, Ivan only saluted back with exaggerated cheer.

“Perfectly alive,” he said under his breath as Till walked away, unconvinced.

The DNA kids were waiting for him in the makeshift classroom Hyuna had set up — more of a storage room with tables than anything else. Five pairs of eyes turned toward him as he entered, wide with curiosity. They still hadn’t gotten names; Hyuna had said they’d deal with that later. For now, they were just “the kids,” though they were clearly more than that.

“Alright, gremlins,” Ivan said, clapping his gloved hands. “Today, we learn how to read. Or, well, you learn. I already know how. I’m amazing like that.”

One of the older boys snorted — the quiet, watchful one who always sat nearest the corner. Another girl, younger and endlessly chatty, tugged at Ivan’s sleeve.

“What’s that mean?” she asked.

“That I’m brilliant,” Ivan said solemnly, kneeling to her level. “And you should all be taking notes. Preferably in perfect handwriting.”

They didn’t get the joke, but they laughed anyway. Kids were great like that.

The lesson was a chaotic mixture of alphabet drills, exaggerated gestures, and Ivan making up absurd example words to keep their attention. He wrote the letter “B” on the board and declared, “B is for Betrayal, like when someone eats your dessert without asking.”

The youngest boy gasped dramatically. The older girl shook her head.

By the second hour, a rhythm had formed. Ivan circled between them, correcting letters, answering questions, letting the chatter fill the room. Somewhere between explaining vowels and breaking up a crayon dispute, he almost forgot about the raw itching under his clothes. Almost.

One girl, the one who always looked at him with unnerving intensity, suddenly asked, “Why do your hands look funny?”

Ivan froze. He’d been reaching over her shoulder to guide her pen grip. His glove had ridden up, exposing the angry, healing patches on his wrist.

“They don’t look funny,” he said quickly, tugging the glove down. “They look rugged. Like a hero’s.”

She didn’t look convinced, but thankfully the younger boy started knocking over his pencil cup, and her attention snapped away.

--

By lunch, Ivan’s throat was still sore, his chest tight in a way that made him breathe slower without realizing it. But watching the kids scribble proudly across their pages sparked something warm in him. It wasn’t the same thrill as going on missions — the adrenaline, the risk — but it was… something. A different kind of usefulness.

When Hyuna appeared in the doorway, Ivan straightened immediately. She scanned the room with her usual sharp gaze — calculating, assessing.

“Progress?” she asked.

Ivan gestured toward the board, where several uneven alphabets decorated the space like graffiti. “Geniuses in the making,” he said. “You should see their ‘Betrayal.’ It’s impeccable.”

A few kids giggled. Hyuna’s lips twitched — almost a smile.

She didn’t stay long, just observed for a moment, nodded, and turned to leave. And that’s when it struck him: the decision had already been forming in the back of his mind all day. It wasn’t that he wanted to stop missions. He just… couldn’t let her be the one to tell him he couldn’t.

He wiped his chalky hands on his gloves and followed her into the hallway.

“Hey, Hyuna,” he called, catching up.

She stopped and turned, eyes cool and focused. “Yes?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying for casual. “I’ve been thinking. About the kids.”

Her brow arched.

“They need someone to keep an eye on them, right? Teach them, make sure they don’t accidentally blow the place up with alphabet soup. And,” he added quickly, “I’m obviously the best candidate. I mean, look at me.”

Her look didn’t change. Ivan cleared his throat.

“What I mean is… I’ve decided I’m going to take care of them. Full-time. No more missions for me.” He forced a grin. “I’m just too valuable here.”

Hyuna’s gaze lingered on him for a long, uncomfortable second. He could tell she was weighing more than just his words — the gloves, the layers, the way he stood slightly stiff against the cold draft running through the hall. She wasn’t stupid.

Finally, she nodded slowly. “If that’s your decision,” she said. “We need someone consistent with them.”

“It is,” Ivan said firmly, even though a small part of him ached at the finality in his own voice.

“Then it’s settled,” Hyuna replied. “You’ll focus on the children. Effective immediately. Luka can brief you on the schedule tomorrow.”

And just like that, it was done. She walked away down the corridor, coat swishing behind her, and Ivan was left staring after her with his forced grin fading.

He leaned back against the wall, exhaling. His throat still burned, his skin still itched, and somewhere deep down, a voice whispered that he’d just quietly admitted defeat.

But at least it had been his choice. Or so he told himself.

The rebellion base always quieted around evening, like the concrete itself was exhaling. Most of the mission teams were still out. The halls were emptier, echoing with the occasional clang of pipes. Ivan found Till exactly where he expected him to be: sitting in the dim light of the common area, hands wrapped around a mug of something steaming.

Till looked up when Ivan approached, raising a brow. Ivan grinned automatically — that lopsided, showy grin he used when he wanted to keep things light.

“Hey, partner,” Ivan said, dropping into the seat opposite him. “Got a minute for your favorite troublemaker?”

Till’s hands moved before Ivan even finished. What happened?

Ivan snorted. “Why do you assume something happened? Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you. Ever think of that?”

Till gave him a look. Ivan threw up his hands. “Alright, alright, something happened. You’re too sharp for your own good.”

He leaned back in the chair, boots propped on the rung, trying to look casual. “So. I had a chat with Hyuna today.”

Till’s brows knit. About your skin? he signed.

“No,” Ivan said quickly. “Not about that. About… the kids.”

That made Till sit up a little straighter. His hands stilled on the mug, then slowly signed: What about them?

Ivan ran a hand through his hair, pretending this was all perfectly easy. “I decided I’m gonna take care of them. Full-time. No more missions for me. I’ll be their charming teacher-slash-caretaker. Who better, right?”

Till blinked. Once. Twice. His expression didn’t give away much, but Ivan could feel the weight behind the silence.

He signed slowly. You decided?

“Yep.” Ivan popped the ‘p’. “All me. Just thought, hey, the rebellion’s greatest asset should obviously be shaping young minds.” He gestured dramatically. “I mean, look at me. I practically radiate role-model energy.”

Till didn’t sign anything right away. He just stared. Ivan drummed his fingers on the table, suddenly feeling like the light overhead was too bright.

Then Till leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands moved carefully. You don’t have to pretend with me.

The words hit harder than Ivan expected. His grin faltered, but he caught it halfway and turned it into a scoff. “Pretend? I’m not pretending. I chose this.”

Till’s response was quiet, deliberate. Because of the cold.

Ivan’s throat tightened. He laughed, but it came out thinner than usual. “Please. This has nothing to do with that. I just figured I’d be more useful here. Someone’s gotta keep the alphabet revolution alive, right?”

Till tilted his head slightly — the way he always did when he saw straight through him. Ivan.

Ivan looked away. The gloves on his hands suddenly felt too tight. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered. “I can’t handle the cold, okay? Happy? But this way—this way I’m not benched. I’m choosing something else. That’s different.”

Till’s face softened. He signed slowly: It’s still your choice.

Ivan blinked, caught off guard by the gentleness. “...Yeah,” he said after a beat. “It’s my choice.”

Till reached across the table, tapping Ivan’s gloved knuckles lightly to get his attention, then signed: I’m proud of you.

Ivan stared at him. “You’re proud of me? For what, quitting?”

Till shook his head. For choosing.

Something warm and sharp twisted in Ivan’s chest. He covered it with a grin, leaning back again. “Well, of course you’re proud. Who wouldn’t be? I’m amazing.”

Till rolled his eyes, but his hands signed something softer under the table, half-hidden. You don’t have to do this alone.

Ivan caught it anyway. He didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, staring at Till across the table as the hum of the base filled the silence. It wasn’t the same as being on a mission. It wasn’t adrenaline or danger. But it was real.

Finally, Ivan blew out a breath. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”

Till smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t need words, and pushed his mug toward Ivan.

“Sharing drinks now? What’s next, matching scarves?” Ivan said, but he took a sip anyway. It was warm, spiced, and almost too comforting.

Till signed with a wry tilt of his head: Maybe.

Ivan laughed, really laughed this time — a full, unguarded sound that echoed through the quiet common room.

The classroom smelled faintly of old paper and disinfectant. Ivan had pushed a few tables together to make a square, shoved extra chairs in wherever they fit, and lined the walls with scraps of poster board. Alphabet letters in crooked handwriting, some shapes he had drawn himself, a rough map of the base. The room was more functional than pretty, but that didn’t matter. Not to him.

The kids sat cross-legged on the floor, blankets haphazard around them, eyes wide and curious. They hadn’t been given names yet; for now, Ivan just counted them in his head as he prepared to “teach.”

“Alright, tiny humans,” Ivan said, clapping his hands once. “Today, we learn how the rebellion works. And by works, I mean… you stay alive, you follow directions, and you don’t set fire to anything important. Got it?”

One of the boys, the quiet one, tilted his head. “Fire?”

Ivan grinned. “Not literal fire. Unless you want to, which would be very stupid. Then yes, fire.”

The kids blinked. Ivan knew it was confusing, but he didn’t have the patience for long explanations. Instead, he grabbed a piece of chalk and drew a crude stick figure on the board. “This,” he said, pointing, “is a rebel. This is what a rebel looks like when they’re in charge of important things, like… not burning the place down.”

A girl giggled. She reached out and poked the stick figure. “He’s funny.”

“Exactly,” Ivan said, nodding solemnly. “Humor is key. Also, survival. You need to learn both.” He scribbled a few words underneath: follow orders, stay alive, don’t be dumb.

The quiet boy raised his hand hesitantly. “How do you follow orders?”

Ivan leaned on the desk, putting on a teacherly air. “Good question. You listen. You ask questions when you don’t understand. You pay attention. And you never interrupt someone who’s holding a gun. Got it?”

All the kids nodded, though their comprehension was patchy. The youngest girl raised her hand. “Do you have a gun?”

Ivan laughed and shook his head. “No. You’re safe with me. But someday, maybe. Probably. Hopefully not.”

He moved on to writing. “Next lesson: reading.” He grabbed a poster with big letters, pointing to each as he pronounced them. “A… B… C… D… E… F… G… H…”

The kids repeated after him in their tiny voices. Some were close, some were hilariously wrong. “Z!” a boy yelled out of nowhere. Ivan looked at him. “Whoa! Ambitious. Slow down, mathematician-in-training.”

He switched to numbers. “Okay, so numbers are important. You’ll need to count supplies, ration snacks, figure out how many people are trying to eat your dessert before you get to it.”

The quiet boy hesitated. “We… count dessert?”

“Yes. Sometimes. Only the good dessert,” Ivan said seriously. “The bad dessert is irrelevant.”

As the lessons stumbled on, Ivan scratched absently at his wrist under the sleeve. The air was still cool, and his skin flared faintly. He ignored it. No one had noticed yet, and he intended to keep it that way.

“Now,” he said, pacing slowly, “this is how the rebellion runs. There’s a leader—Hyuna. She decides what missions happen. Then there’s me, who’s currently very busy explaining why you shouldn’t eat crayons. Eventually, you’ll meet the rest, but not yet. Too much chaos for introductions.”

One of the kids laughed. The sound was high-pitched, delighted. Ivan felt a twinge of something in his chest — part amusement, part… responsibility.

A hand shot up. “What about food?”

Ivan crouched to the kid’s level. “Ah, yes. Food is very important. We don’t starve here. But we also don’t eat glue. Glue is not food. Alphabet soup is fine, as long as it stays in the bowl.”

The kids scribbled notes, or at least tried to, using uneven letters and awkward grips. Ivan hovered over them, giving pointers, answering rapid-fire questions, and occasionally flopping back dramatically to demonstrate “wrong” ways to hold a pencil.

“B is for bravery,” he said. “Like when you raise your hand even if the teacher looks scary. Or when you follow instructions in the dark. Also for beware the glue.”

A chorus of tiny giggles followed.

He tried to maintain energy, but by mid-morning, his throat was sore and his chest felt tight. His breaths came a little quicker than he wanted. Still, he plastered on his usual cocky grin. “Don’t worry about me,” he said loudly. “I’m completely fine. Totally thriving.”

The quiet boy peeked at him suspiciously. Ivan raised a finger in mock solemnity. “I am a professional, okay? Everything under control. See this?” He flexed an arm, ignoring the tingling prickles along his skin. “Total control. Total mastery.”

The youngest girl clapped. “Show us more!”

Ivan groaned dramatically, letting them drag him into a ridiculous demonstration of “how to walk like a rebel,” complete with exaggerated stealth steps and over-the-top tiptoe motions. They followed, copying his movements with tiny, uneven steps.

By the time the lesson ended, Ivan was sweaty, breathing a little harder than he should have been, and itching under his sleeves more than he cared to admit. Still, he felt a small flicker of… pride? Satisfaction? He told himself it was just the chaos of the kids, that it wasn’t about him.

As he ushered them out of the makeshift classroom, brushing stray crumbs from the table, he made a silent decision. He would tell Hyuna he’d take care of the kids. He’d volunteer.

Not because he could handle it, not because he had a nurturing instinct yet — but because it was easier than admitting he couldn’t go on missions.

And right now, keeping the control in his own hands felt… enough.

The hallway stretched long and cold, pipes overhead creaking faintly. Ivan led the five kids in a line, hands held in a mix of gentle tugs and dramatic flourishes, like a slightly frazzled parade marshal.

“Step carefully, my tiny recruits,” he announced, voice exaggeratedly grave. “These floors are full of traps. Laser beams. Tripwires. Spinning death panels.”

The youngest girl’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

Ivan grinned, leaning in. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want you to watch your step. Always good to be cautious.”

The quiet boy glanced at him suspiciously, clearly not buying it. Ivan ignored him, spinning in a slow circle so the kids could see the “command center” ahead. A cluttered room with screens, scattered papers, and the faint smell of coffee greeted them.

“And here,” Ivan said, arms sweeping grandly, “is where the magic happens. This is where the rebellion decides things. Big things. Small things. How many snacks we hide from each other. Very important.”

The kids leaned in, craning their necks to look at the papers. One of the girls poked a screen. Ivan swooped in before she could press anything. “Careful! That’s… extremely sensitive. Might self-destruct. Or show a really boring spreadsheet.”

A chorus of giggles followed. Ivan rubbed the back of his neck. He was already getting a bit winded, the residual itch from the morning still prickling under his sleeves. He shoved it down; no one needed to know he was barely keeping it together.

He continued down the hall, narrating as if the walls themselves were listeners. “Now, to the training rooms. Very important. This is where people learn how to be awesome rebels. Like me. Step one: stay alive. Step two: look cool doing it. Step three: avoid eating glue.”

The kids trailed behind, one of them occasionally tugging at Ivan’s sleeve, asking questions too fast to answer individually. “What’s that?” “Why?” “Do we get a snack?” “Can we go faster?”

Ivan grinned and held up a finger. “Patience, minions. I am a master of information delivery. You will be enlightened in good time.”

Finally, they reached a door tucked into the side of the corridor. “And here,” Ivan announced with a dramatic flourish, “we meet the mysterious, the quiet, the ridiculously intelligent—Luka!”

Inside, Luka looked up from a desk cluttered with papers, his usual calm expression in place. He didn’t rise; he simply adjusted his glasses and raised a hand in greeting.

The kids froze for a moment. Luka’s stillness was… unnerving.

Ivan nudged them forward. “Say hi! He’s very friendly. Very, uh… quiet. He thinks a lot. You’ll like him. Eventually.”

One of the braver kids, the oldest boy, stepped forward. “Hi?” he asked tentatively.

Luka gave the smallest nod. “Hello,” he said softly. His voice was low, precise, but kind.

The kids whispered among themselves. Ivan crouched down, giving a subtle thumbs-up. “See? Told you he’s nice. Just… different. He likes numbers. And planning. And making sure we don’t accidentally blow anything up.”

The youngest girl tilted her head. “He’s funny?”

Ivan snorted. “Uh… yes, in a very subtle, mysterious way. Like a wizard of maps.”

Luka’s lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. One of the boys laughed quietly. “He’s like… calm scary,” he whispered.

Ivan clapped his hands. “Exactly! Calm scary. Perfect description. You’re a genius. Take notes.”

The kids giggled, bouncing slightly on their feet. Ivan felt a warmth in his chest despite the itch and tightness in his chest — seeing the kids react, laugh, interact, it was… new, unfamiliar, but good.

He turned to Luka. “Don’t let them scare you off. They’re, uh… extremely curious. Probably going to steal your pencils. Just… ignore that.”

Luka simply raised an eyebrow, then went back to his papers. Ivan shrugged. “See what I mean? Super welcoming.”

The tour continued down the corridor, Ivan narrating as he went: “Next stop, the supply room. You’ll never guess what’s in here. Nothing dangerous. Mostly snacks and very important gadgets. Like… staplers. And maybe some crayons.”

The kids craned to look at the open door. Ivan guided them inside carefully, letting them poke at safe items. “These are tools of the rebellion,” he said, trying to sound like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Very important. Use wisely.”

One of the kids picked up a stapler. “Is this a weapon?”

Ivan snatched it lightly from their hands. “Yes, if your enemies are paper. Otherwise, no.”

Laughter filled the small space. Ivan scratched at his wrist, discreetly hiding it behind his back. The itching had flared more than he expected. He swallowed hard, chest tight, but pushed on, ignoring it.

By the time they returned to the main hall, Ivan was winded, breathing a little faster than usual, but he masked it with a dramatic bow. “Congratulations! You have survived your first rebellion tour. Handshakes optional. Bravery mandatory.”

The kids laughed and mimicked him, bowing with exaggerated flair.

Ivan straightened, brushing off his pants. He looked at them seriously for a moment. “Remember, I’m here to teach you, guide you, and make sure you don’t destroy the base before you’re ready. That is my job. And I will do it… for now. Because someone’s gotta keep you alive. And also because if I don’t, Hyuna will assume I’m useless.”

No one asked questions. They were still giggling, still bouncing. Ivan exhaled slowly. It’s fine. You can do this. Just… keep the front up. Don’t admit the cold is really why.

And for now, it seemed like that was enough.

The wind hit the base like a slap the moment Ivan opened the main doors. He cursed softly under his breath, tugging the collar of his coat higher, and gestured for the kids to follow. “Okay, minions,” he announced, striding forward with a flourish, “welcome to the outside. This is where we pretend the weather isn’t trying to kill us. Very important skill.”

The youngest girl yelped as a gust whipped her hair into her face. “It’s cold!”

Ivan smirked, ruffling her hair. “Yes! Welcome to survival. Also known as life outside a heated room. Fun, right?”

He could feel the chill crawling under his layers. A familiar prickling ran across his arms and chest, making his skin erupt into that uncomfortable, stinging sensation he had grown all too familiar with. He ignored it, adjusting his gloves and flexing his fingers just enough to scratch discreetly. The kids, thankfully, were too focused on the gusts of wind and the weird shadows the sun made on the base walls to notice.

“Now,” Ivan said, pointing toward a cluster of crates and equipment, “this is where we keep important stuff. Supplies. Tools. Snacks, if you look hard enough.”

One of the older boys leaned forward, squinting at the crates. “Why are there so many boxes?”

Ivan crouched to his level. “Because rebels are always prepared. You never know when a crayon emergency will strike. Or when someone will need extra pencils. Very serious business.”

The youngest girl frowned. “What’s a crayon emergency?”

Ivan smirked. “That’s… a secret. One day, you’ll understand. Maybe. If you survive.”

A few of the kids giggled. The quiet boy tilted his head and observed Ivan suspiciously. Ivan grinned, enjoying the mix of fascination and apprehension. “See? Already learning skepticism. Very useful trait.”

They moved toward a partially covered outdoor area where ladders and scaffolding gave a glimpse of the base’s higher levels. Ivan led them carefully, boots crunching against the gravel. The wind whipped stronger here, tugging at his coat, and he felt a flash of redness bloom across his neck and wrists. He scratched discretely, rubbing one wrist into his sleeve.

“Everything okay?” the oldest girl asked, noticing his slight hunch.

Ivan threw up his hands, grinning. “Perfectly fine! Just, uh… demonstrating how to move like a rebel in windy conditions. Very educational.”

The kids looked impressed. Ivan inwardly groaned — his breathing was a little tighter than it should be, his chest prickling with irritation. Focus, Ivan. You’re a professional. Nobody notices anything.

They reached a small platform overlooking part of the base. Ivan pointed dramatically. “From here, you can see most of the camp. This is where we plan, train, and sometimes nap discreetly. Very top-secret stuff.”

One boy’s eyes went wide. “Do we get to plan missions?”

Ivan shook his head, crouching slightly so the kids could see him clearly. “Not yet. For now, you watch, you learn, and you don’t touch anything dangerous. Which means no climbing on the scaffolding. Trust me, it’s tempting, but very dangerous. Also, extremely painful if you fall.”

The youngest girl tapped his elbow. “Why does your skin look funny?”

Ivan froze for a split second. His gloved hand instinctively tried to cover his wrist, the bumps forming under the layers. He forced a grin. “Funny? No, just… tactical markings. For camouflage. Very high-level stuff. Not everyone can understand it.”

The kids exchanged glances but accepted the explanation. Ivan exhaled silently. That was close.

He moved them along toward a narrow corridor connecting several storage buildings. The wind still gnawed at his face, and he felt the familiar sting crawling up his arms again. He rubbed his wrists quickly, muttering, “Must… teach… anyway… no big deal.”

The quiet boy piped up. “Why do you keep moving your arms like that?”

Ivan’s grin turned slightly forced. “Ah! Excellent observation. That is… very advanced rebel technique. Helps with circulation, stealth, and confusing the enemy. Multi-purpose.”

The kids nodded, scribbling imaginary notes in the air. Ivan smiled weakly to himself, but his chest felt tighter now, and each breath required more effort.

They rounded a corner and came upon Luka’s office again. Ivan gestured theatrically. “And here, ladies and gentlemen, we have the quiet wizard of organization. Luka. Yes, you met him inside, but here is his domain. Observe closely. He does not speak much, but his brain is a weapon.”

Luka looked up from his papers again, expression calm, almost amused. The youngest girl peered around Ivan’s legs. “He’s small.”

Ivan coughed politely. “Highly deceptive. Appearances are… misleading.”

The kids giggled. The quiet boy raised an eyebrow, clearly taking mental notes. Ivan rubbed his neck under his scarf, feeling the prickling spread up to his jawline. He clenched his teeth.

“Everything okay, Ivan?” one of the older kids asked, noticing his slightly labored breathing.

Ivan waved dismissively, voice bright. “Yes! Excellent! Totally in top form. Just a little… air circulation demonstration. Very important to rebels.”

They all laughed again, distracted enough for him to suppress a shiver.

As they moved away from Luka’s office and back toward the main hall, Ivan exhaled slowly, trying to convince himself that no one had noticed anything beyond his usual theatrics. The cold wasn’t gone, and his skin was itchy under multiple layers, but the kids were engaged, curious, and alive. That was enough.

For now.

But in the back of his mind, a quiet thought nagged: keeping up this act, pretending he was fine, would be harder than he expected. And with the cold still biting at his skin, it wouldn’t be long before the kids—or someone else—noticed that being a “perfect rebel teacher” was taking a toll he couldn’t ignore

Chapter Text

Snow crunched under Ivan’s boots as he herded the kids across the frozen courtyard toward the campfire. Their laughter rang bright in the winter air, little bursts of warmth against the wind that sliced through the open base like it owned the place. A few flakes drifted down from the dark sky, catching the orange flicker of the fire up ahead.

“Stick together, tiny gremlins,” Ivan said, hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. “If you get lost, I’m not going after you. I’ll just tell Hyuna you turned into snow sculptures.”

One of the kids—short, sharp-eyed, with a knack for running off—stuck out his tongue at him. Ivan reached down and gently tugged the hood over the boy’s head. “Yeah, yeah. Tongue’s gonna freeze that way. Then what? You’ll be the world’s saddest popsicle.”

They reached the campfire where the others were gathered. Luka sat cross-legged on an overturned crate, hands fluttering as he talked, snow haloing his dark hair. Dewey was fiddling with a half-melted can of beans skewered on a stick. Hyuna sat near the edge of the fire, posture straight, eyes sharp even in this relaxed moment. Mizi had her feet practically on top of the flames, humming some half-remembered tune. Till leaned against a post, quiet but attentive, and Isaac—Isaac was juggling something small and metallic, ignoring Hyuna’s side-eye entirely.

The kids immediately scattered to the side, pelting each other with snow in a makeshift warzone a safe distance from the fire. Ivan lingered at the edge, half in, half out, where he could hear the conversation and keep an eye on the chaos.

“…it’s not even that important of a map,” Luka was saying, voice low but animated. “But it’s gone. Just—poof. One minute it’s rolled up on my desk, next it’s a ghost.”

Dewey snorted. “Maybe it grew legs. Or Isaac took it. He’s a klepto.”

Isaac held up his hands, grinning. “I only steal things that matter.”

“Exactly,” Luka shot back.

Ivan sank onto a log, rubbing his gloved hands together to get some feeling back. The cold had already started its usual creeping trick—prickles along his wrists, a strange tightness in his throat that he pretended wasn’t there. He focused instead on Luka’s voice, on the warmth of the fire licking against one side of his face. It was almost comfortable.

“—maybe one of the kids found it,” Mizi suggested. “They’ve been sneaking everywhere lately.”

“I’ve told them not to,” Ivan muttered automatically, eyes scanning the little battlefield nearby. And just in time—two of the kids had decided the best game was to see who could get closest to the fire without touching it. Ivan was on his feet before Luka finished his sentence.

“Hey!” he barked, crossing the snow in long strides. The kids froze mid-creep toward the flames. “No. Absolutely not. Do you have any idea what happens if you fall in? You’ll roast like marshmallows. And you’re not even the good kind.”

They burst into giggles, scampering away. Ivan lingered a second, making sure they stayed back, then returned to the fire. Luka gave him a look—somewhere between amused and exasperated—but didn’t comment.

Hyuna was speaking now, voice cutting through the chatter. “We’re increasing patrol rotations. The weather’s making supply runs harder, and we can’t risk losing any routes. I’ll need volunteers for the early morning shifts.”

Groans went around the fire like a wave. Dewey threw his hands up dramatically. “Who even wakes up that early? The sun doesn’t.”

Till caught Ivan’s gaze across the flames. He signed a quick, small thing—You okay?—with a flick of his fingers. Ivan gave a half-hearted thumbs up in response. He wasn’t. The cold was biting through his layers in little invisible jaws, his wrists were itching fiercely beneath the gloves, and he could feel a familiar heat blooming under the skin there. But none of that mattered. What mattered was keeping everything moving.

Dewey cracked a joke about getting Luka’s ghost map to do patrols, and for a few minutes, the fire circle softened into laughter and teasing. Ivan found himself smiling despite the way his skin crawled. He leaned back, watching Luka gesture wildly, Hyuna’s subtle smiles she thought no one saw, Mizi mouthing off, Isaac trying to balance something on his nose. He didn’t realize how closely he was watching them until he was already moving again.

One of the smaller kids had decided to climb up a half-buried supply crate like it was a mountain. Ivan rose, crossed the space in a few quick steps, and scooped the child off before they toppled backward into the snow. “What’d I say about climbing random junk? You wanna break your neck before bedtime?”

The kid pouted. Ivan sighed and ruffled their hair. “Fine. But if you fall, you’re telling Hyuna yourself.”

He brought the kid back to the group and plopped down again, brushing snow off his sleeves. Dewey arched an eyebrow. “You’re like a watchdog.”

“I prefer ‘overlord,’” Ivan shot back. But he didn’t deny it.

The fire cracked. Snow kept falling in soft, steady flakes. The night was cold, but for a while, surrounded by familiar voices and the warm pull of responsibility, it didn’t feel unbearable. Ivan sat there—half listening to Luka gripe about his missing map, half monitoring every too-close step the kids took—and didn’t notice how natural it had become to split his attention like that.

Somewhere deep down, though, beneath the jokes and the easy corrections, his lungs reminded him: the cold wasn’t going anywhere.

The snow fell in thick, lazy flakes, dusting the base in a soft, silent white. The kids squealed, darting across the open courtyard like tiny explosions of energy. Ivan stood at the edge, boots crunching on the fresh snow, hands stuffed into his coat pockets.

“Come on, Ivan!” one of the girls called, waving a mittened hand. “Throw a snowball!”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, forcing a grin. “Ah, no, no, I’m… uh… supervising. Yes. Very responsible supervision. Very… warm supervision.”

Inside, his chest already felt tight. Each inhale drew a slight sting through his skin, the prickling sensation crawling across his wrists and neck. He flexed his fingers subtly under his gloves, trying to scratch discreetly. He could already feel the hives forming under the layers.

The kids ignored his half-hearted tosses and sprinted ahead, snow spraying around them. Ivan forced a laugh, waving his arms dramatically as if he were about to charge into battle. “Watch your rebel leader demonstrate perfect snow avoidance!”

The quiet boy squinted at him. “Why aren’t you coming?”

Ivan leaned against a railing, feigning a heroic pose. “Because I am… exceedingly strategic. I am observing patterns, calculating trajectories. I am… basically doing math.”

The oldest girl tilted her head. “Math doesn’t need snow.”

“Ah,” Ivan said, snapping his fingers as if the girl had just revealed a secret. “But you see, it does! Very important snow math. The rebellion relies on it. Don’t you dare question the snow math.”

The kids laughed and ran off again, leaving Ivan alone with his thoughts. The cold gnawed more insistently now, crawling up his sleeves, across his chest, and down his neck. He could feel the familiar sting and redness under his coat.

I can’t do this, he thought, swallowing hard. I can’t… join them. Not like this.

He clenched his fists, trying to mask the discomfort with a showy gesture of throwing his arms wide. “Behold! The master of snow strategy!”

A snowball landed near his foot, and Ivan kicked it lightly. “Excellent technique!” he said, forcing a laugh. His breaths came a little faster, shallow, but he tilted his head and waved it off. No one could see how much this was affecting him — that was important.

A shadow fell across his periphery. Hyuna’s silhouette, tall and imposing against the snow-dappled light, made him straighten immediately.

“You’re not playing,” she said softly, voice carrying just enough to be heard over the kids.

Ivan smiled, smooth as always. “Of course I am! Strategically, from here. Very advanced position.”

Hyuna stepped closer, eyes scanning him critically. “Ivan… are you cold?”

He waved a hand. “Cold? Me? Absolutely not. I thrive in winter climates. It’s invigorating.”

Her gaze didn’t soften. “It doesn’t look like it.”

Ivan shifted, brushing his coat self-consciously. “Well… maybe a slight… tactical disadvantage. Nothing I can’t handle. Really. You know me. Totally fine.”

Hyuna’s expression softened slightly, but her eyes didn’t waver. “Has it always been like this?”

Ivan blinked, caught slightly off-guard. He tilted his head, forcing a grin. “Like what?”

“Your… reaction to cold,” she clarified. “Your skin… your breathing. This tightness.”

Ivan’s chest felt heavier. He laughed lightly, scratching the back of his neck under his scarf. “Oh! That. Pfft. Nothing to worry about. Just… overenthusiastic training, I guess. I push myself sometimes. You know me.”

Hyuna studied him for a long moment. “I do. I just… want to make sure you’re not overextending.”

Ivan waved dismissively, though his fingers twitched under his gloves. “Overextending? Me? Never. I am the model of restraint. Totally under control.”

A snowball whizzed past his shoulder, and he glanced at the kids, laughing as they continued to play. His chest tightened again. He inhaled quickly, grimacing inwardly. This is fine, he told himself. No one can see this. I’m fine.

The quiet boy wandered back toward him, small snowflakes clinging to his hair. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Ivan crouched down to the boy’s level, forcing a grin. “Absolutely. I am… the embodiment of winter. See? Not a shiver in sight.”

The boy didn’t seem convinced but shrugged, turning back to the others. Ivan exhaled slowly, leaning against the railing again.

I can’t admit it, he thought. Not yet. Not to anyone. I can’t show weakness. Not here, not in front of them.

Still, watching the kids run and laugh, Ivan felt a pang — he wanted to join them, to throw snowballs, to feel the cold on his skin without the sting, without the hives. But he couldn’t. And he knew that hiding it, masking it with humor and bravado, was going to be harder the longer the snow fell.

Hyuna watched him quietly for a moment, then nodded slightly and walked back toward the building. “Keep an eye on yourself,” she said over her shoulder.

“I always do!” Ivan called, forcing cheer. Inside, though, his chest tightened with a mix of pride, frustration, and… longing.

The snow continued to fall, thick and relentless, and Ivan realized something quietly, painfully: the winter was no longer just a backdrop. It was a challenge he couldn’t ignore. And the more the kids played, the more he would have to pretend he could keep up, even as every flake reminded him of his limits.

—-

The sun was already low by the time Ivan wandered toward the training yard. The cold had grown sharp in the past few days, and the air nipped at his exposed skin like tiny needles. He had layered up more than usual—scarf, gloves, the thick rebellion-issued coat—but it was never quite enough. He inhaled slowly, the cold scraping down his throat like sandpaper.

The kids were there, huddled near one of the broken fences that marked the edge of camp. Arin stood apart from the others, watchful eyes following everything like a sentry. Sori was crouched down, prodding at the frost on the ground with a stick. Jin had managed to wedge himself halfway up the fence despite repeated warnings not to climb it. Noa trailed after Sori, murmuring softly to herself, while Kai was glued to Ivan’s side the moment he arrived, small hands clutching his coat.

“Alright,” Ivan said, clapping his gloved hands together once. “Time for some actual lessons, little gremlins.”

Jin immediately snorted. “We’re not gremlins.”

“You say that now,” Ivan drawled, moving toward the fence to drag Jin down. “But if you fall off this thing and break your leg, I’m not carrying you to Luka’s office.”

Jin dropped down with an exaggerated huff, brushing frost off his hands. “I wouldn’t fall.”

“Sure,” Ivan muttered. “You’re a natural-born acrobat. Now sit.”

They gathered around him in a loose semicircle. Arin hovered at the edge, arms folded tightly, but his sharp gaze didn’t miss a thing. Sori leaned forward, eyes gleaming like she was about to demand a thousand explanations. Noa sat cross-legged and quiet, looking up at Ivan with wide, trusting eyes. Kai pressed against Ivan’s arm and refused to budge.

“Okay,” Ivan said. “Let’s talk rebellion basics. This—” he gestured broadly at the sprawling, patchwork camp around them “—is home. People here are… messy. Loud. Kind of annoying. But they’re good. And they’re the reason you’re not stuck behind that stupid glass case anymore.”

Sori’s hand shot up before he’d even finished. “Why did they put us in the case?”

Ivan opened his mouth, then shut it. There were no real answers he could give that wouldn’t involve a hundred questions he wasn’t ready to field. “Because,” he finally said, “some people are idiots. Next question.”

Sori frowned but didn’t push. She had the energy of someone who liked testing limits, but she also seemed to respect when Ivan put a line down.

Noa raised a hand timidly. “What happens if we do something bad?”

Ivan arched an eyebrow. “Bad how?”

“Like… if Jin climbs the fence again,” Noa whispered.

“Hey!” Jin protested.

Ivan smirked. “Then Jin gets to do extra chores. And probably listen to Luka explain structural integrity for two hours.”

Sori cackled. Jin sulked. Arin’s lips twitched upward just slightly.

Ivan shifted his weight, feeling the cold seep through his boots. He was used to ignoring it, but today it gnawed more than usual. His throat felt tight, his fingers itched, and there was a familiar prickle at the base of his neck. He rubbed at it absently through his scarf.

Sori noticed. “Why do you do that?” she asked bluntly. “You always scratch.”

The question landed like a stone in his chest. He could brush it off. He usually did. But something about the way the kids were looking at him—Kai pressed close, Noa blinking up at him, Sori expectant, Arin attentive, Jin waiting for a sarcastic comeback—made him pause.

He crouched down so he was more on their level. “Because,” he said slowly, “my body doesn’t really like the cold.”

Sori tilted her head. “Like…your body hates cold? Like we hate celery? Your body thinks the cold is yucky?”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Something like that. It makes my skin all bumpy, and sometimes it gets hard to breathe if I’m not careful.”

Noa’s face fell, and she reached for his gloved hand hesitantly. “Does it hurt?”

“Not like falling off a fence,” he said lightly. “It’s just… annoying. Sometimes bad. But I handle it.”

Arin’s sharp gaze softened, though he didn’t say anything. Kai squeezed Ivan’s arm tighter, his small brow furrowed like he was ready to fight the weather itself for Ivan’s sake.

“Is that why you wear all the stuff?” Jin asked, gesturing at Ivan’s layers.

“Yep,” Ivan said. “This coat is my armor. Without it, I’d turn into a miserable lump.”

Sori snorted. “You already kind of are.”

Ivan grinned. “Bold of you to say when I control who gets hot food tonight.”

That shut her up. Jin laughed loud enough that Arin shot him a look, and Noa covered her mouth, giggling quietly.

Ivan stood again, brushing the frost off his knees. “Alright, next up—another walk through the camp. I know we’ve gone through it like a million times but if you’re going to live here, you need to know where to run when you get lost. Which you will. Jin.”

“What?” Jin said, feigning innocence.

“You have ‘run off into a restricted area’ written all over you,” Ivan said.

As they started walking, Kai kept hold of Ivan’s coat. Arin walked slightly ahead, as if guarding the group. Sori darted around to point at things, rapid-firing questions Ivan mostly answered with dry, half-sarcastic explanations. Noa stuck close to Sori, nodding along to everything.

When they approached Luka’s office, Ivan slowed. The door was cracked open, papers stacked haphazardly inside. Luka himself was hunched over his desk, scratching notes onto a map that looked older than Ivan’s patience. He glanced up when he heard the group.

“Ah,” Luka said dryly. “The circus arrives.”

“Don’t be mean,” Sori said immediately, hands on hips.

Luka blinked at her, then at Ivan. “You’ve trained them well.”

“They came like this,” Ivan replied. “I’m just the unlucky babysitter.”

Luka gestured them in. The kids crowded around the table, fascinated by the maps. Jin reached out a hand, and Luka swatted it away without looking.

“No touching,” Luka said.

Jin scowled. Arin stood beside him, eyes scanning the lines and symbols like he was committing them to memory. Sori bombarded Luka with questions about the symbols. Noa whispered guesses under her breath, and Kai remained glued to Ivan’s leg.

Ivan leaned against the doorway, watching them. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he was just filling in because he couldn’t handle missions anymore. The kids were actually listening to him. Trusting him. It was weird… but not bad.

Luka caught his eye briefly and gave him a faint, knowing smirk before returning to his work. Ivan rolled his eyes but didn’t look away from the group.

Outside, the wind picked up. He felt it bite through his layers, and his throat prickled again. But surrounded by the noise of kids and the warm light of Luka’s office, it didn’t feel as sharp.

---

The sudden clang of the alarm echoed through the base, cutting through the afternoon’s quiet like a knife. Snow swirled violently against the walls, whipped by the wind that had picked up faster than anyone could have predicted. Ivan froze mid-step, Kai clutching his coat as if sensing the shift in mood before he could explain.

“What now?” Jin muttered, eyes darting between the flapping tarps and the gathering crowd of rebels.

“Move, everyone,” a voice called from down the corridor. Hyuna’s silhouette appeared briefly in the snow-streaked light, signaling urgency. “We need to relocate the children and essential equipment—storm’s picking up faster than anticipated!”

Ivan immediately went into motion, crouching so Kai could wrap himself closer around Ivan’s waist. “Listen up, team,” he said, voice calm but firm. “Arin, stay at the edge and watch for hazards. Sori, you’re on lookout duty with me. Jin, follow directions—no creative shortcuts, got it? Noa, hold my hand. We’ll keep you safe.”

The kids didn’t hesitate. Arin’s vigilant gaze swept the area while Sori practically bounced on her toes, ready for anything. Jin wrinkled his nose but followed, and Noa stayed tucked against Ivan’s side, trusting him implicitly. Kai’s grip on Ivan’s coat tightened every few seconds, protective yet reassuring.

They started moving quickly across the courtyard, Ivan leading them toward the secondary shelter the rebels had prepared for sudden relocations. Snow whipped into their faces, stinging cheeks and freezing exposed strands of hair. Ivan ignored the prickle that ran up his neck and along his wrists, focusing instead on the children, counting them as they went.

“Almost there,” he said, breath visible in quick puffs. “Don’t let go of me, or I swear I’ll make Jin carry everyone’s gear—starting with his own backpack.”

Jin groaned dramatically, flinging snow off his coat. “That’s not fair! I can’t carry all of it!”

“You won’t have to,” Ivan replied. “But I will make you carry your own ego if you complain again.”

Sori laughed despite the wind, ducking under a low beam as they moved. “This is like a real-life mission!” she shouted. “We’re like spies!”

Ivan smiled faintly, even as he felt a sharper itch along his wrists and a tightness in his chest. “Exactly,” he said. “Except nobody told me spies get frostbite.”

Arin silently pointed toward a patch of ice ahead. Without a word, Ivan signaled for everyone to slow. He crouched low, dragging Jin aside, and gently guided Noa over the slick patch. Kai clung closer, almost folding into him for warmth and protection.

They reached the edge of the secondary shelter—an old, reinforced building just outside the main base. Rebels were already moving crates inside, carrying food, blankets, and spare clothing. The door hung open, letting in a gust of freezing air. Ivan ushered the kids inside, brushing snow from their coats and gloves.

Once inside, he dropped down onto one knee so he could meet their eyes. “Alright. You made it. Everyone accounted for?”

The kids nodded, though Jin gave a mock salute, and Sori puffed her chest out like she’d conquered the storm herself. Arin’s silent gaze swept the room. Noa’s delicate fingers clutched Ivan’s sleeve, and Kai still refused to let go.

“Good. Stay close,” Ivan said. “This place isn’t as fun as the yard, but it’s warmer. And safe.” He paused, noticing the subtle redness creeping along his wrists and the slight difficulty in his breathing. He ignored it, hoping the kids wouldn’t notice.

But Sori had already tilted her head. “Ivan… your hands.”

Ivan glanced down quickly. “It’s fine. Just cold,” he said too quickly, tugging his gloves higher.

“No,” Sori insisted, stepping closer. “We saw your skin yesterday. Don’t hide it from us. Tell us like you did before.”

A brief tension settled over him. He wanted to brush it off, make a joke. But the kids—Kai especially, still pressed against his side, and Noa, eyes wide—were looking at him with quiet trust. He took a shallow breath and held up his gloved hands. “Alright,” he said. “It’s the cold again. Makes my skin all bumpy and itchy. Sometimes it hurts. And I have to be careful or it gets worse. That’s why I don’t play in the snow for too long. I’m okay. Really.”

They absorbed this without fear. Arin nodded silently, as though he had cataloged the information. Sori grinned, clearly fascinated by the “superpower” aspect. Jin made a low whistle. “Super itchy powers! Cool!”

Noa tilted her head, delicate brow furrowed. “Will you be okay?”

Ivan smiled softly, ruffling her hair. “I’ll be fine. You’re all safe now, and that’s what matters. I’ve got you.”

Just then, a rebel scout burst in through the side door, red-cheeked and breathing heavily. “Hyuna sent me—storm’s picking up faster than we thought. Secondary shelter won’t hold for long. We need to move again, now.”

Jin groaned, flopping dramatically against the wall. “We just got in here!”

Sori bounced on her toes, ready for anything. “We can do it! Come on!”

Ivan exhaled, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Okay. One step at a time. Stay calm, stay together.” He turned to the kids. “Listen up. Arin, Sori, Jin—help me lead the line. Noa, Kai, you stay right here with me. We move fast, but we move smart. Understood?”

“Yes!” they shouted in unison.

The scout gestured toward a convoy of small transport sleds outside. Ivan led the group toward them, counting heads, correcting missteps, helping Noa and Kai onto the sled first. Sori and Jin ran ahead, making exaggerated leaps to test the snow, but Ivan stayed close, always a hand ready, a watchful eye scanning the skies.

The wind picked up again, flurries of snow stinging their faces. Ivan kept moving, ignoring the prickling on his wrists and the tightness in his chest. He could feel it—the cold threatening to slow him—but the kids were here, counting on him, and that was stronger than any frost.

By the time they reached the sleds, everyone was accounted for, and Ivan allowed himself a brief glance at the kids’ faces: flushed, smiling, even in the midst of chaos. He swallowed a dry laugh.

“See?” he said, hands braced on the sled. “We’re all okay. You can thank my super careful, super itchy powers for that.”

Kai pressed against him again. “Good powers,” he whispered.

Ivan smiled, letting himself feel a little of the warmth behind the chill. For now, at least, he could manage the snow, the storm, and the kids. And that… was enough.

Chapter Text

The secondary shelter was nothing like the warmth of the main base. Its walls were thin, and the wind whistled through cracks that hadn’t been patched in years. Snow drifted in along the edges of the floorboards, and every step on the warped wooden planks sent shivers through Ivan’s legs. He tugged his scarf higher and rubbed at his wrists, trying to ignore the prickling, itchy heat that had started creeping up again.

The kids had immediately begun exploring, their energy undimmed by the storm outside. Sori darted from corner to corner, poking at piles of crates and exclaiming over the strange smell of old wood and dust. Jin had already found a loose floorboard and was trying to pry it open with a stick, clearly imagining some grand treasure beneath. Noa hovered near Ivan, gently touching everything she passed as if she were afraid to disturb the fragile shelter. Kai stayed right at his side, gripping his coat. And Arin, ever silent and vigilant, positioned himself near the entrance, eyes sweeping constantly for anything dangerous.

Ivan exhaled sharply. “Okay, everyone,” he said, trying to sound lighthearted. “I know it looks cozy, but this place is not an adventure playground. No tearing things apart. No falling through boards. And Jin—step away from the floor!”

Jin shot him a mock glare. “I’m just inspecting. Totally scientific.”

“Right,” Ivan said, already knowing that ‘scientific’ in Jin’s vocabulary meant chaos in disguise. He rubbed at the backs of his hands, trying not to think about the rising itch and the prickling redness creeping along his wrists. He was already regretting the long walk from the snow-covered yard. Every gust of wind that leaked through the cracks made it worse.

Sori’s voice rang out again. “Ivan! Why are your hands all red and bumpy again?”

He crouched down to their level. “Okay, okay,” he said slowly. “Remember when I told you my body doesn’t like the cold very much. When it gets cold, my skin gets itchy and… bumpy. And sometimes it makes it hard to breathe for a bit.” He held up his gloved hands so they could see. “See? Nothing scary, but I have to be careful.”

Noa’s eyes widened. “Does it hurt?”

Ivan rubbed at his wrist under the glove, biting back a grimace. “A little. But I’m okay. Just… it’s annoying. Like when someone keeps poking you over and over.”

Kai, still clinging to his coat, whispered, “You’ll be okay?”

“I will,” Ivan said softly, ruffling the boy’s hair. “And now, let’s explore this place without breaking it—or me.”

Jin grinned, seemingly unfazed. “So… do your super itchy powers ever help you, or are they just annoying?”

Ivan laughed quietly despite himself. “Mostly annoying. But sometimes they make people notice me and listen more carefully. I guess that counts as a power?”

Sori tilted her head. “Does it mean you can’t go on missions anymore?”

Ivan stiffened. He hadn’t told them that yet—he was avoiding it. “Not… exactly,” he said carefully. “I just have to be smart about when I go out. And sometimes, this little body of mine says no.”

The kids exchanged glances. Kai pressed closer. “You’ll still teach us stuff?”

“Of course,” Ivan said, smiling despite the tightness in his chest. “You think I’d let a little cold stop me from being the best teacher you’ve ever had?”

Sori bounced on her heels. “Then teach us now!”

Ivan led them over to a corner of the shelter where some old tables and crates had been set up. “Alright,” he said. “Lesson one: how the rebellion keeps itself alive. That’s right, even in freezing shelters like this one.” He paused, rubbing his arms against the chill. “And lesson two: how to stay alive yourself.”

They settled in around him. Arin perched on a crate, alert as ever. Sori practically bounced on the floor, and Jin leaned forward, ready to interrupt with every question that popped into his head. Noa sat carefully, hands folded, and Kai was still half on his lap, half pressing against his side.

Ivan exhaled, holding back a wince as the cold prickled along his wrists again. “First things first,” he said. “Layers. You can’t stay warm if your body isn’t protected. See me? I’m wearing almost everything I have. Gloves, coat, scarf. Otherwise, this place would make me… well, grumpy and itchy.”

Sori grinned. “So you’re like a walking scarf monster?”

Ivan snorted, rubbing his neck. “Exactly. Scarf monster powers.”

Jin raised an eyebrow. “Can scarf monster play outside?”

Ivan groaned inwardly, thinking of the snow and wind still swirling beyond the walls. “Not for long. My powers are only useful inside safe zones. Otherwise, I turn into a giant, complaining popsicle.”

The kids laughed, and Ivan felt some of the tension ease from his chest. He gestured toward a corner where some old papers were stacked. “Now, lesson two. Maps. We use them to know where to go, how to move, and how not to get lost. Yes, even you, Jin.”

Jin smirked. “I never get lost.”

Ivan gave him a pointed look. “Sure, sure. You’re a natural navigator. Watch how it’s done anyway.”

As he began explaining, Arin silently traced the lines of the map, Sori asked rapid-fire questions about the symbols, Noa murmured guesses, and Kai occasionally tugged at his sleeve, checking if Ivan was alright. Ivan answered honestly when he could, spun little jokes when he couldn’t, and for a brief moment, forgot how much the cold was biting.

But the shelter wasn’t forgiving. Wind whistled through a crack behind them, raising goosebumps along Ivan’s arms. His breathing became slightly labored, and the redness on his wrists spread. He gritted his teeth, tried to ignore it, but the kids’ curiosity kept him talking.

“Why does it feel like your skin gets angry?” Sori asked innocently.

Ivan rubbed the back of his neck and smiled tightly. “Because it’s dramatic. My skin has a flair for the theatrical. Cold comes along, and boom—itchy bumps. But don’t worry, it’s nothing dangerous. Just… annoying. Like when Jin decides he’s a ninja and flips onto a crate.”

Jin threw a playful salute. “Hey!”

Kai leaned against him again. “You’ll be okay?”

Ivan nodded, letting a tiny shiver pass through him. “I will. Thanks for checking, though. That’s what matters.”

For the first time, he allowed himself to notice the warmth inside—the kids’ laughter, their attention, their trust. Even if the cold outside and inched-in cracks made his body betray him, in this little corner of chaos and frost, he felt… almost safe.

Almost.

The cold bit into Ivan’s skin the moment he stepped outside, sharper than usual, like invisible needles threading through his clothes. The new location was hastily chosen—barely a shell of a building with patchy walls and gaps where the wind whistled through. Everyone was still unpacking, moving crates and bedding, but Ivan could barely focus. His hands itched fiercely beneath his gloves, a burning that made him want to claw at himself just to make it stop. He forced his shoulders back and kept walking, kids in tow.

“Stay close,” he said, voice steady even as his throat prickled uncomfortably. The five DNA kids trotted behind him. Sori kept looking around with bold curiosity, pointing at cracks in the ceiling and asking too many questions; Jin wandered toward a stack of supplies, clearly scheming; Kai hovered close to Ivan, like he always did, watchful and clingy; Noa kept rubbing her hands together and breathing into them; and Arin silently scanned the room with sharp, hawk-like attention.The adults seemed to handle the cold just fine. Hyunwoo was helping Luka hang heavy fabric over the worst of the holes. Dewey had already started setting up the heater, though everyone knew it wouldn’t be enough for this drafty place. Hyuna was issuing orders efficiently. Till was moving between groups, signing instructions to those who couldn’t hear her over the howling wind. Everyone adapted. Except him.

Ivan caught himself rubbing his wrist and forced his hand away. The skin beneath the glove burned. The hives were flaring worse than they ever had, and he could feel his breath rasping faintly. Not yet, he told himself. Not now.

Sori suddenly ran up to a broken window, trying to poke at the snow blowing in. “Hey!” Ivan barked, sharper than intended. She froze. “Stay away from that, it’s freezing.”

She pouted but backed off. Jin laughed under his breath, and Noa started copying Sori’s motions until Kai grabbed her arm protectively. Ivan pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have the patience today.

Till passed by then, arms full of folded blankets. He paused mid-step, eyes narrowing as he watched Ivan for a beat too long. Ivan straightened instinctively. “What?”

Till shook his head once and kept moving, but his gaze lingered. Ivan hated that. Till always noticed things.

He herded the kids toward the corner where they’d be sleeping, laying down mats on the floor. The kids plopped down obediently, except Jin, who kept testing boundaries—nudging at Kai, trying to sneak looks outside. “Jin,” Ivan said warningly. The boy froze and gave a sheepish grin before sitting.

“Why are you red?” Sori asked suddenly. She had crept closer, pointing to Ivan’s neck, where the collar of his shirt didn’t fully cover the flushed, hive-ridden skin.

“Yeah,” Kai echoed, tilting his head with that protective, almost older-brother look he gave even though he was a kid himself. “Does it hurt?”

Ivan exhaled slowly. Normally he’d deflect, brush it off. But lately, something about their blunt honesty made it hard to lie. “My body doesn’t like the cold,” he admitted simply. “It’s… kind of like an allergy. So it gets itchy and hurts a bit.”

Noa’s eyes widened. “Allergy to cold? That’s silly!”

Jin snorted. “How can you be allergic to weather?”

“Yeah,” Sori chimed in, “that’s not real.”

Ivan couldn’t help the small, tired laugh that slipped out. “It’s real for me.”

Kai frowned like he wanted to protect Ivan from the cold itself. “Then we can keep you warm,” he declared, puffing his chest out.

The others started piling their small blankets toward him. It would’ve been cute if he wasn’t busy trying to ignore the stabbing pain under his gloves. He held up his hands, backing off slightly. “I’ll be fine. No need to worry okay?”

They seemed to take this as an answer and eventually huddled together, their chatter fading into playful whispers. Ivan leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. The air here was colder, damper, seeping through every layer. His breathing hitched slightly as the back of his throat tightened.

“Alright,” Ivan said, clapping his hands once. “Bed. That means under the blankets, not dancing on top of them like weird little frost demons.”

Jin froze mid–somersault and grinned like he’d just been caught red-handed stealing cookies. “We’re not weird,” he protested. “We’re heroes!”

“Heroes sleep,” Ivan countered, nudging Jin toward the bedrolls with his foot. “Or they get cranky. And I’ve seen you cranky. It’s terrifying.”

Noa giggled softly from her spot near the edge, already wrapped up neatly. Kai was fussing with making sure her blanket was tucked properly before crawling in beside her. Arin was sitting cross-legged, watching the others settle, quiet as always but alert. Sori was still bouncing, her boundless energy refusing to die even this late.

Ivan herded them all with practiced movements—somewhere between big brother and reluctant camp counselor. The cold was making his skin flare again, itching under every layer. He ignored it. He had to. The kids didn’t need to see him unravel over a draft.

“Okay,” he said once everyone was at least horizontal. “Story time or sleep time?”

“Story!” came three voices at once—Sori, Jin, and Kai.

Arin gave a tiny shrug. Noa whispered, “Story, please.”

Ivan sighed dramatically, dropping to sit on the floor beside them. “You’re lucky I’m an excellent storyteller. World-famous. Award-winning. People travel for miles to hear me spin my tales.”

Jin gasped, delighted. “Really?”

“No,” Ivan said, deadpan, and the kids burst into laughter. It warmed him, a little. He launched into some ridiculous, half-made-up adventure involving a heroic pigeon and an evil toaster, letting his hands do exaggerated gestures and his voice rise and fall for effect. By the time he reached the climactic “and then the pigeon pecked the toaster’s button and saved breakfast forever,” the kids were giggling drowsily, heads on their pillows.

The room fell quieter as their breathing slowed. Ivan leaned back on his hands, looking at their small faces in the lantern light. They were still new to all this—rebellion, danger, winter. Somehow, they were handling the cold better than he was. That fact itched deeper than his skin.

He was reaching to dim the lantern when Sori’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Ivan,” she said softly.

He turned. She was sitting up again, eyes wide and curious. Of course she was. Sori was bold like that. “Yeah, kid?”

She tilted her head. “Why doesn’t your body like the cold?”

The question hit him square in the chest. The other kids stirred—Jin rolled over, Kai lifted his head protectively, Arin’s gaze sharpened. Noa blinked sleepily. They’d all noticed his struggles by now, in their own ways. They knew he layered more, flinched at snow, scratched his skin raw. But no one had asked why until now.

For a moment, Ivan froze. A dozen easy lies flashed through his head—because I’m secretly part lizard, because the cold and I are in a feud, because it’s dramatic and I like attention. But Sori’s face was earnest, and the others were listening too. He couldn’t joke this one away.

“…I don’t know,” he said finally.

Sori frowned. “But you always know things.”

Jin propped himself on an elbow. “Yeah! You’re the answer guy.”

Ivan forced a grin. “Even geniuses have limits, you know.”

“But—why don’t you know?” Sori pressed, bold as ever. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

That one scraped something raw. His throat still ached from earlier, skin hot and angry under his clothes. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders tighter, not because it helped much, but because it gave his hands something to hold. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “It hurts.”

Noa’s small voice piped up. “Then you should fix it.”

Kai nodded firmly beside her. “Yeah. Fix it.”

His laugh came out softer than he expected, almost tired. “If it were that easy, I would’ve, kiddo.”

Sori’s brows knitted, like she couldn’t understand a world where something didn’t have an answer. “But everything has a reason.”

Ivan stared at her for a long moment. He wanted to say, I know. He wanted to say, I’ve been wondering the same thing for years. Instead, what came out was a low, honest, “I wish I knew.”

The room was silent again, except for the wind outside. He could feel the kids’ eyes on him, not judging, just trying to puzzle it out in their own childlike way. It was strangely uncomfortable—not because they pitied him, but because they didn’t. They just accepted it, like this was another weird fact about Ivan, along with his bad jokes and dramatic storytelling.

Sori finally nodded, satisfied in that way kids sometimes are with half-answers. “Okay,” she said simply, and laid back down.

Ivan blinked. “…Okay?”

She yawned. “You’ll figure it out. You know everything.”

Jin chimed sleepily, “Except why his skin’s weird.”

“Yeah, except that,” Sori agreed, already half asleep.

Kai tugged his blanket up to his chin and murmured, “We’ll help.”

Ivan sat there for a moment, caught completely off guard. His throat tightened again, but this time it wasn’t the cold. He huffed a soft laugh and stood, moving to dim the lantern at last.

“Get some sleep, weirdos,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’m teaching you all how to be stealthy. Which means Jin has to learn how to shut up.”

Jin mumbled something incoherent that sounded suspiciously like “never,” and the kids dissolved into tired giggles again before finally settling.

Ivan lingered a little longer by the door, listening to their breathing even out. His skin still burned. His frustration still sat heavy under his ribs. But there was something quieter there too, something he couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was the fact that when he admitted “I don’t know,” the world hadn’t ended. The kids hadn’t pulled away—they’d simply nodded and accepted it.

He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

The camp had quieted to a low, creaking hush. Wind scraped at the flimsy walls, making the new base sound like it was breathing—shallow and uneasy. Ivan sat a little ways from the kids’ sleeping corner, arms wrapped around himself, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves. The hives on his skin burned like nettles. He’d scratched until his wrists were raw earlier, then forced himself to stop when Kai gave him a worried look. Now, in the dim lantern glow, the swelling in his throat pulsed with every breath.

Till approached without a sound, as usual. Ivan didn’t notice until a hand brushed his shoulder. He flinched, instantly covering it with a grin. “You’re getting good at sneaking up on me. Gonna replace me on missions?”

Till gave him a flat look, then signed, You’re worse tonight.

Ivan leaned back, head thunking lightly against the wall. “Pfft. Nah. Just—new place, colder draft. That’s all.” His voice came out hoarser than he wanted. He cleared his throat and winced when that made it worse.

Till crouched beside him, expression sharp with concern. Ivan. His hands moved slow, deliberate. This isn’t normal. You were wheezing earlier.

Ivan tried to wave it off. “I always wheeze,” he said breezily. “It’s part of my charm. Very tragic, very romantic. Girls love it.”

Till wasn’t amused. He tugged lightly at Ivan’s sleeve, pulling it up to reveal angry red welts creeping up his arm. Ivan yanked it back down quickly, his grin faltering. “Hey—no peeking without permission.”

Till’s hands flew faster now. You need to figure out why this happens. This isn’t just some little thing.

Ivan exhaled through his nose, a short, bitter laugh. “Why? So we can give it a fancy name and still do nothing about it?”

So you can understand it. So maybe we can help. Till’s signs had a sharp edge now—not angry, but tight with worry.

Ivan shook his head, more forcefully than before. “There’s nothing to understand, Till. My body hates the cold. That’s it. End of story. Knowing why won’t magically make it stop.”

Till signed, It might help us keep you safe. It might stop this from getting worse.

His throat was still tight, and talking hurt more than he wanted to admit. But the frustration in his chest wasn’t from the swelling. “It’s not going to stop. This—” He gestured roughly at himself. “—is just how it is. Some people can walk through a snowstorm, and I can’t. Big deal.”

Till frowned, shifting closer. It is a big deal. He tapped his own chest firmly, then pointed to Ivan. You matter. You’re acting like this isn’t serious.

Ivan laughed again, but this time it cracked. “Because if I treat it like it is, then what? I sit around waiting for someone to tell me, ‘Congratulations, you’re broken in a way we can’t fix’? I already know that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. Wind moaned through a gap in the wall, and somewhere a lantern flickered. Till’s hands hesitated before he signed again, slower now. I can’t let you keep doing this to yourself. Pretending it’s nothing. I’ll tell Hyuna if I have to.

Ivan’s head snapped toward him. “What? No—Till.” His voice rasped harder with urgency. “Don’t.”

I will. The firmness in Till’s face was something Ivan rarely saw directed at him. You can’t keep going on missions like this. You can’t keep ignoring it.

“I’m not ignoring it,” Ivan bit out. “I live with it. That’s different.”

You’re refusing to understand it. Till’s signs were sharp again, slicing through the dim light.

Ivan pressed his palms to his forehead, dragging them down his face. He wanted to joke, to flirt, to distract Till like he always did. But his body hurt. His throat hurt. And worse than both was the raw, gnawing helplessness that came with not knowing. “Even if we found out what it is—what then? There’s no hospital. No medicine. No miracle cure waiting for me. So what’s the point?”

Till’s hands slowed. The point is you. Knowing matters. You matter. His expression softened, the edge fading into something almost unbearably earnest.

Ivan stared at him. The lantern light caught on Till’s eyes, making them shine faintly. He hated how easily that sincerity got under his skin. “You think just knowing will make it easier,” Ivan muttered. “But it won’t.”

It might make it less dangerous, Till signed back. And that’s enough.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Ivan’s breathing rasped softly in the quiet, and Till stayed close, steady as always. Finally, Ivan dropped his gaze, fingers worrying the hem of his glove. “…You really gonna tell Hyuna?”

Till tilted his head. If you keep refusing to take this seriously? Yes.

Ivan huffed out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “You’re such a pain.”

Till’s mouth twitched into a small, wry smile. Someone has to be.

Ivan leaned his head back against the wall again, closing his eyes. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t argue again either.

“Don’t give me that look,” Ivan muttered. His breath came out in a shaky puff, visible in the freezing air. “I’m fine.”

Till folded his arms. His expression was skeptical — that calm but razor-sharp way of looking that made Ivan feel like all his deflections were paper-thin. He signed, You’re not fine.

Ivan scoffed. “I’ve been worse. It’s just cold. Always is.”

Till signed something sharper this time — deliberate motions, his hands cutting through the air. You should find out why. You can’t keep pretending this is normal.

Ivan turned away, tugging his sleeves down. “Even if I knew why, it wouldn’t change anything. It’s not like someone’s gonna invent a cure just for me.”

Till stepped closer, signing more urgently now. It matters. Knowing matters. You keep pushing until—

“—Until what?” Ivan snapped, his voice cracking more from exhaustion than anger. “Until I drop dead in the snow? I know! I know my limits. I’ve lived with this my whole life. It’s just how it is.”

The words hung between them, sharp and brittle. Outside, the wind wailed against the thin walls. Till’s shoulders sagged. He wanted to argue more — Ivan could see it in the tightness of his hands — but instead he signed slowly, I don’t want to lose you because of this.

Ivan swallowed hard. For a heartbeat, the stubbornness faltered. “…You won’t.”

But the promise landed empty.

Till lingered a few seconds more before backing away to his own cot, leaving Ivan alone with the frigid air seeping in. The lantern guttered. Ivan exhaled, rubbing at the itch on his chest through his shirt. The hives were getting worse again — he could feel them blooming across his ribs like fire under his skin. But he told himself, as always, that it would pass.

It didn’t.

At first it was just an itch. Then a pressure, crawling up his throat like a too-tight scarf. He shifted on the cot and cleared his throat, expecting the feeling to fade. It didn’t. The pressure swelled. His breath caught halfway in his chest.

“No. Not now,” he whispered, dragging himself upright. His gloves felt too tight. He tugged them off and flexed his hands — his fingers were blotched and swelling.

Across the room, Till noticed the movement. His eyes narrowed.

Ivan forced a grin. “It’s nothing—”

The rest of the sentence broke off in a cough. A wet, wheezing sound. He braced his hands against the wall as his vision tunneled. His chest felt like it was being cinched with rope. He tried inhaling through his nose, but it only made the swelling in his throat more obvious — a thick, obstructive pressure.

Till was beside him in an instant. His hands hovered, unsure where to touch. Ivan waved him off weakly, mouthing, “I’m fine,” even as his knees buckled.

Till’s eyes widened. His hands flew — No. You’re not. Panic crackled through his movements. He touched Ivan’s wrist — the skin was hot, welted, pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. Till pressed a hand to Ivan’s chest; Ivan wheezed, his breaths high and thin.

Recognition hit Till like a slap. His expression shifted from worry to laser-focused urgency. He looked to be trying to sign something but seemingly couldn’t find the word. His hands trembled. He looked to the door, then back at Ivan. He couldn’t carry him. He couldn’t call out.

Ivan reached for him weakly. “Don’t—go—” His words were ragged, forced through a tightening throat.

Till hesitated for the briefest second — just long enough for the fear to bloom fully in his chest — then sprinted to the door. He yanked it open and disappeared into the freezing dark.

Ivan slumped back against the wall, forcing himself to stay upright. His vision pulsed at the edges. He focused on breathing — shallow, useless gasps. Stay awake. His hands clawed weakly at his throat as if he could pry it open himself. His whole body felt distant now, as though wrapped in cotton.

Outside, Till’s bare feet slapped against the snow-hard ground. He burst into Hyuna’s quarters, banging on the frame to wake them. Hyuna sat up, bleary-eyed, as Till signed furiously, hands jerking with urgency. For a moment, she didn’t understand — her brain sluggish with sleep. Then she caught the sign for Ivan and can’t breathe, and everything snapped into motion.

Till spun back toward the freezing dark, Hyuna and another medic on his heels. The night howled around them.

Back in the dim room, Ivan’s breaths were no longer steady. He felt himself sliding, like water slipping through cupped hands. The last thing he saw was the door bursting open — Till’s silhouette framed by lanternlight and blowing snow — before everything narrowed to a pinpoint.

Chapter Text

The first thing Ivan became aware of was noise. Not the usual low hum of camp at night, but urgent shuffling, boots hitting packed ground, a door swinging wide open. Someone barked orders—not quite shouting, but sharp and clean enough to cut through the fog in his head.

Then came the cold. It clung to him like wet fabric, pressing down on his chest, seeping into his bones. Every inhale scraped against something raw inside him. His throat felt like it had shrunk to the size of a straw.

“Ivan!” Hyuna’s voice snapped through the haze. A hand—firm, practiced—gripped his jaw and tilted his head back. He caught a glimpse of her face hovering above him, eyes narrowed in controlled urgency. Around her, blurry shapes moved: Luka fumbling with a flashlight, Dewey appearing half-dressed but wide awake, Isaac holding open the med bag they always kept near the main fire.

Till hovered at Ivan’s side, eyes wide, hands trembling. He signed something rapid, urgent, but no one was looking at him long enough to catch it. He banged his palm against the wall to draw attention.

Hyuna’s head snapped toward him. He signed again—short, deliberate phrases, the ones he knew they’d understand even in the panic. Throat. Closing. Fast.

She nodded once. “Epi. Now.”

Isaac was already digging through the bag. Luka cursed under his breath when the flashlight slipped from his grip and clattered against the floor. The light rolled, slicing through the darkness in shaky arcs.

Someone caught Ivan’s wrist to keep him still as Hyuna jabbed the injector into his thigh. The sting barely registered compared to the fire building in his chest. His breaths came in short, whistling gasps, eyes watering as his body tried to figure out whether it wanted to cough or shut down.

“Breathe, Ivan,” Hyuna said—low, steady, like she’d done this before. “Stay with us.”

Till grabbed Ivan’s hand and held on like it anchored him. His eyes were wet—not panicked, but tight with helplessness. Ivan wanted to say I’m fine, because that’s what he always said. But all that came out was a rasp that sounded nothing like him.

Slowly, the world began to expand again. Each breath still burned, but the vice around his throat loosened. The hives along his skin throbbed painfully where they brushed against fabric, but sensation was better than numbness. He blinked hard against the tears streaking down his face, trying to sit up.

Hyuna pushed him gently back down. “Don’t. Just—don’t.”

Luka finally managed to get the flashlight pointed somewhere useful, revealing Ivan sprawled against the wall, sweat beading at his temples despite the bitter air. The light washed out the red welts climbing up his neck and jaw. They looked angry, raw, like his body had declared war on itself.

“Holy hell,” Dewey muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly at a loss for what to do with his usual sharp jokes.

“Everyone else, clear out,” Hyuna ordered. “Luka, Dewey, go check the perimeter—make sure this wasn’t triggered by something external. Isaac, stay.”

There was a shuffle of reluctant obedience as Luka and Dewey slipped out. Hyuna knelt next to Ivan, one hand braced on her knee. She studied him in silence for a few seconds, not like a doctor, but like a commander assessing the damage.

“This happen before?” she asked finally.

Ivan opened his mouth, but his throat still ached too much to manage a real sentence. He shook his head weakly.

Hyuna’s eyes flicked toward Till, who was still holding Ivan’s hand like he might vanish if he let go. Till signed something slow and deliberate. Cold. Always worse. He hesitated, then added, He hides it.

Hyuna exhaled through her nose. Not a sigh—something heavier. “Right. We’ll talk when you can speak. For now, he doesn’t leave the base for anything.”

Ivan made a noise that was halfway between a groan and a protest, but Isaac leaned over him with the kind of look that brooked no argument. “You nearly stopped breathing,” Isaac said flatly. “You’re lucky Till got to us fast enough.”

Till’s fingers squeezed his. Ivan didn’t have the strength to squeeze back, but he let his hand stay there.

The chaos ebbed slowly after that. Luka returned to report nothing out of the ordinary. Dewey, after a few quiet questions, busied himself with fortifying the entry flaps against the worsening wind. The adrenaline drained out of the air like water leaking from a cracked bowl.

Isaac stayed long enough to make sure the medication had fully taken effect. When he finally left, he gave Till a pointed look that said don’t leave him alone.

Which is how Ivan found himself bundled in extra blankets, sitting propped against the wall of the main sleeping space, with Till planted stubbornly beside him. The others had dispersed, their murmurs fading into the cold night.

The only sounds left were the occasional crackle of the distant fire pit and the soft, shallow rhythm of Ivan’s breathing as it slowly evened out.

Till didn’t sign anything at first. He just sat, watching Ivan with an intensity that would have made anyone else squirm. Ivan stared back, too tired to mask anything. His skin itched under the layers, the hives throbbing in angry pulses, but he wasn’t going to scratch. Not in front of Till.

Finally, Till lifted his hands. 'You scared me.'

Ivan huffed a laugh that turned into a cough. His throat was still raw. “You scare easy,” he rasped, voice frayed.

Till didn’t smile. 'Don’t joke. You almost died.'

Ivan stared at the ceiling. “Would’ve been… dramatic.”

Till signed sharply, hands cutting through the air. 'Not funny.'

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ivan could feel the weight of Till’s worry pressing down on him, heavier than the cold air outside. It was different from Hyuna’s command, Luka’s fussing, or Dewey’s offhand remarks. Till’s worry was quiet. Persistent. It slipped in through cracks Ivan didn’t know he had.

“…Thanks,” Ivan muttered finally. His voice cracked on the word.

Till softened a little, but didn’t let go of his hand.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, relentless and indifferent. Inside, for the first time in a long while, Ivan didn’t try to get up and walk it off. He stayed where he was, the night stretching long and fragile around them

Ivan had barely finished choking down the bland soup Isaac had thrust into his hands when Hyuna appeared in the doorway. She didn’t knock, didn’t clear her throat—just walked in like a cold front. Her coat was half-buttoned, snow still clinging to the hems, and her sharp gaze swept the room like she was assessing a battlefield.

“Out,” she said simply to Till, who’d been sitting cross-legged near Ivan’s cot.

Till hesitated. Ivan gave a small nod. Reluctantly, Till stood, squeezed Ivan’s shoulder once, and slipped past her.

The door flap fell shut behind him, muting the outside noises. The room suddenly felt smaller. Hyuna didn’t sit; she crossed her arms and stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“You’re lucky,” she said at last. “Really lucky. Another few minutes and we’d be digging a hole instead of having this conversation.”

Ivan winced. “That’s a little dramatic—”

“It’s not.” Her voice cut through his weak protest. She stepped closer, boots crunching softly on the thin layer of frost that crept in overnight. “You went into anaphylaxis, Ivan. That’s not just ‘some hives.’ That’s your body trying to shut itself down. Do you understand that?”

Ivan held her gaze for a moment before looking away. “…Yeah.”

Hyuna exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The med team thinks you have cold urticaria. Basically, your body’s allergic to the cold. Exposure triggers a reaction, and if it’s bad enough, it can turn deadly. Which—” she gestured pointedly toward him “—we just witnessed.”

Ivan blinked at her. “I’m… allergic. To the weather.” He said it like the words themselves were absurd.

Hyuna arched a brow. “Apparently, yes. You’re special.”

Despite himself, a small huff of laughter escaped him. But it died quickly under her sharp stare.

Her tone softened, but only slightly. “Why didn’t you say anything? I know you’ve been having issues. Till’s mentioned your scratching, and Dewey noticed you looking like a lobster after the last supply run.”

“I didn’t know what it was,” Ivan admitted. His fingers worried at the blanket bunched on his lap. “I just thought… that’s how it is for me. And even if I did know, it’s not like we could do anything about it. It’s cold. That’s not exactly something we can avoid.”

Hyuna’s jaw tightened. “Knowing matters, Ivan. If we’d known, we could’ve planned differently. Adjusted your missions. Kept emergency kits closer. You nearly died because you decided not to speak up.”

Ivan flinched at the sharpness in her voice. It wasn’t often that Hyuna raised it—not like this.

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” she interrupted, quieter now. “I know. But this isn’t just about you. If something happens to you on a mission because of this, it affects everyone. Till, Luka, Dewey—they all rely on you. And frankly, we don’t have the luxury of pretending this is nothing.”

Ivan swallowed hard, the guilt heavy in his chest. “…I get it.”

“Good.” She let the word hang for a moment before her expression shifted. Her arms dropped, and a sly smile crept onto her face—one of those rare, dangerous Hyuna smiles that meant she was about to twist the knife just a little.

“Because,” she said lightly, “I am never letting you live this down.”

Ivan blinked. “…What.”

“Oh, you heard me.” She leaned against the wall, casual now. “An allergy to cold, Ivan. In the middle of winter. In a rebellion based in a glorified icebox. And you didn’t think to tell anyone. This is comedy gold. I’m telling everyone. Forever.”

Ivan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re cruel.”

“Commanders have to get their joy somewhere.” She gave him a mock salute before turning toward the door. “Rest. We’ll talk logistics later. No missions for you until we figure out how to keep you alive out there.”

She paused at the doorway, glanced back, and for just a second her expression softened—real concern flickering through. “I’m glad Till caught it,” she said quietly. “We need you, Ivan. Don’t make me give another speech like this again.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” He muttered to himself. “But in my defense, I told Till.”

Hyuna gave a soft laugh at that and smiled.

“Well,” she said, adjusting her coat. “I should let you rest. Your kids are waiting for you.”

Ivan’s head snapped up. “…My what?”

Hyuna glanced over her shoulder, utterly unfazed. “Your kids.”

Ivan scrunched his eyebrows and smiled awkwardly. “They’re not mine. I don’t own them.”

Hyuna stood by the doorway with a blank expression on her face. “I mean obviously but you're practically their mom. Therefore, they’re your kids.”

“I— I am not—”

But she was already gone, leaving Ivan sputtering on his cot.

---

When Ivan stepped out into the cold evening air, bundled in a heavy coat and gloves, he didn’t even make it halfway across the clearing before a blur of movement slammed into him.

“Ivan!” Sori’s voice carried first, bold and bright as always, followed by the tangle of Noa and Jin clinging to his legs. Kai hung back for half a second—protective, as usual—before joining in, while Arin stood nearby, watchful as ever, though even she looked relieved.

Ivan staggered under the sudden pile of small bodies, laughing despite himself. “Whoa, hey—easy! I’m not that fragile.”

Noa buried her face in his coat. “Till said you were sleeping forever.”

Ivan froze, then barked out a laugh. “Did he now? That menace.”

“We were worried,” Sori said matter-of-factly, looking up at him with wide, serious eyes. “So we asked Till if you were okay.”

Ivan tilted his head. “How’d you do that? He can’t—”

“He wrote it down!” Jin interrupted, practically bouncing. “And we read it!”

That made Ivan stop dead in his tracks. “…You what?”

Kai nodded eagerly. “He wrote, ‘Ivan will be okay.’ We all read it.”

Ivan slowly turned toward where Till was approaching from the other side of the campfire, hands in his pockets, his expression neutral but eyes bright with that particular mix of curiosity and relief.

“You—” Ivan pointed accusingly at him. “You ruined my surprise!”

Till tilted his head, raising his brows as if to say what surprise?

“I was teaching them to read!” Ivan announced dramatically to no one in particular, clutching his chest like a betrayed noble. “In secret! So you could talk to them! And then you just—just hand them a note and—bam!”

Till’s mouth quirked into a silent laugh. He lifted his hands and signed, 'I didn’t know they could read. I thought you were still at the alphabet stage.'

“Well, yeah, because it was supposed to be a surprise,” Ivan retorted, fighting a grin.

The kids were all watching the exchange with wide eyes, then started giggling uncontrollably, like they were in on a grand joke. Sori in particular was absolutely delighted, pointing between the two of them. “You’re funny when you yell at each other.”

Ivan turned back to the kids, mock-stern. “I don’t yell. I raise my voice for emphasis.”

“That’s yelling,” Jin said helpfully.

Ivan gasped in exaggerated betrayal, and the laughter doubled.

They all moved inside soon after—Hyuna’s “your kids” ringing in Ivan’s head with every step. The space was still drafty, but someone had managed to string up an extra tarp, and a few lanterns cast a soft orange glow. The kids quickly settled on their bedrolls, chattering about nothing and everything, while Ivan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching them with that strange mix of responsibility and reluctant fondness.

Arin sat quietly near the back, her sharp eyes scanning the room like she always did. Sori kept peppering him with questions about whether his throat still hurt. Jin tried to poke the fire when he thought Ivan wasn’t looking. Noa curled up against Kai, who automatically shifted to shield her from the draft.

“Till said you’re okay now,” Sori declared suddenly.

Ivan blinked. “…Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You scared us,” Noa said softly, almost shyly.

That hit him a little harder than he expected. His chest tightened—not painfully like before, but in a way that made his breath hitch. He ruffled her hair gently. “Sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to.”

Kai tugged on his sleeve. “You’re not allowed to scare us again.”

Ivan smiled faintly. “I’ll… do my best.”

Till appeared in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame. Ivan glanced over and caught him watching the scene—soft, quiet, like he didn’t want to interrupt. Ivan gave him a look that said don’t think I’ve forgiven you for ruining the surprise, and Till’s answering grin said yes you have.

---

Later, after the kids had finally started to settle for bed, Ivan sat beside Till near the dying fire.

“They really asked you?” Ivan asked, quieter now.

Till nodded and signed, 'They were worried. I didn’t know what else to do. Was planning to play pictionary with it but writing worked.'

Ivan hummed, looking down at his gloved hands. “You should’ve told me,” he muttered, no real bite behind the words. “It would’ve been nice to know the big surprise was ruined before I walked into it.”

Till nudged his shoulder, signing, 'It wasn’t ruined. Just… revealed early.'

Ivan rolled his eyes but smiled anyway.

From the other room, Sori’s bold voice carried sleepily: “Ivan’s our mom!”

Ivan’s head snapped toward the door. “I AM NOT—”

Till doubled over in silent laughter, shoulders shaking.

Ivan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “…Hyuna’s never going to let me live this down.”

Till signed, 'None of us will.'

Ivan sighed dramatically. “…Great.” But even as he said it, he couldn’t quite hide the warmth creeping into his chest.
—
The temporary winter base creaked in protest against the cold, wind whistling through the poorly sealed edges of the meeting room. The walls were thin, insulated with whatever scraps the rebellion could scavenge—blankets nailed over gaps, boards patched with canvas. A single old stove in the corner puffed weak heat, and everyone huddled closer to the center table to steal what warmth they could.

Luka sat with his usual neat stack of papers, maps layered and marked with colored ink. He’d tied his now longer hair back in a low ponytail, though a few loose strands had fallen in front of his face as he leaned over the table. Hyuna stood beside him, arms crossed, towering effortlessly over everyone. Dewey was slouched in his chair, one leg kicked out. Mizi had a mug of something steaming that wasn’t tea but smelled sweet. Isaac was near the window, fiddling with something mechanical, as always. And Ivan… Ivan was perched on the edge of the table itself, legs dangling like he owned the place.

“Well,” Hyuna began, slapping a rolled-up document against her palm to draw attention. “We need to talk about relocation.”

The collective groan was immediate. Dewey actually dropped his head to the table with a thud.

“I just got used to the drafts in this place,” he mumbled into the wood.

“You got used to nearly freezing at night?” Mizi raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair.

“Builds character,” Dewey replied flatly.

“Builds frostbite,” Ivan countered, scratching idly at his arm through his sweater. The wool irritated his skin, but it was better than exposing it to the air.

Luka cleared his throat delicately, like a schoolteacher wrangling rowdy students. “We’ve already identified two potential locations south of here. Both have better natural insulation and are less exposed to wind. If we want to avoid another week of sleeping with three layers and a prayer, we need to pick one.”

Isaac finally looked up from his contraption. “How accessible are they by vehicle?”

“One is near a forest line, a bit more difficult terrain, but better shelter. The other is on flatter ground, easier for the trucks,” Luka explained. “But flatter means windier.”

Hyuna’s gaze flicked toward Ivan. “Windier might not work for everyone.”

Ivan felt the weight of her look and responded with exaggerated indignation. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t choose to be allergic to the weather.”

“You’re not allergic to the weather,” Dewey said.

“He kind of is,” Mizi chimed in, grinning.

Ivan put a hand dramatically to his chest. “Yes, laugh at the man whose skin revolts against atmospheric conditions. Very noble rebellion behavior.”

Hyuna tried to hide a snort. She failed.

They tried to steer the conversation back toward logistics, but it kept meandering. Luka pointed at the map again, launching into a careful explanation of potential routes, but Dewey wasn’t listening. He’d started poking Isaac with a pen.

“You’re like children,” Hyuna muttered.

“No,” Ivan said brightly, “the children are better behaved than these two.”

That earned him a laugh from Mizi, who added, “Yeah, at least the kids don’t try to break Isaac’s machines during meetings.”

“I’m testing the durability,” Dewey protested.

Luka didn’t even look up from his papers. “You’re testing my patience.”

The room dissolved into snickers. Even Hyuna’s stern face cracked a smile. She leaned an elbow on the table beside Luka, which made their height difference stark. Luka barely reached her shoulder.

Ivan, noticing it, grinned slowly. “You know, I never really clocked how funny this looks.”

Hyuna turned. “What?”

“You and Luka,” Ivan said innocently, gesturing between them. “Like—look at you two. It’s like a tree mentoring a particularly anxious squirrel.”

Luka froze mid-sentence, pen hovering above the map. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Ivan said, deadpan. “You look like someone’s about to ask you to climb up her arm to get a nut.”

Mizi choked on her drink. Dewey actually fell sideways in his chair, laughing.

Hyuna blinked once, twice—then laughed too, that big, rare laugh that filled the whole room. Luka turned pink, his carefully controlled demeanor crumbling. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m right,” Ivan shot back. “Besides, don’t pretend like you haven’t used her as a step ladder to reach shelves.”

Luka didn’t deny it. That only made everyone laugh harder.

Once the wave of amusement died down, Luka tried valiantly to get back on track. “If we move toward the forest line, the kids will have better shelter. The trucks can manage if Isaac maintains them—”

“They can manage,” Isaac interrupted without looking up.

“—and we’ll be closer to water,” Luka finished.

Hyuna nodded. “I like that. But we’d need to prepare supplies for the trip fast.”

Mizi tapped the table. “We can pack tonight and move at dawn. It’s not that far.”

Ivan swung his legs idly. “The kids will need to bundle up. And, y’know… so will I. Unless you want me to turn into a very large, very sarcastic icicle halfway there.”

“You’d still find a way to talk,” Dewey said.

“I’d rattle,” Ivan replied with mock menace. “Haunting you in the night.”

Luka massaged his temples, muttering something in a language Ivan didn’t catch but definitely recognized as exasperated.

Despite the jokes, there was a warm, easy rhythm to the room. This was what the rebellion meetings had become over time—half planning, half teasing, all stitched together by the shared exhaustion of survival. They trusted each other enough to let their guards down here.

Finally, Hyuna straightened. “Forest line it is. Isaac, prep the vehicles. Luka, mark the route. Dewey, Mizi—help with supplies. Ivan, get the kids ready.”

Ivan mock-saluted. “Aye aye, General.”

She gave him a look that was both stern and amused. “Don’t make me regret putting you in charge.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a grin.

As everyone began moving to their tasks, Luka lingered behind, rolling up the maps carefully. He shot Ivan a sidelong glance. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Nope,” Ivan said cheerfully, hopping off the table. “I live to torment.”

Luka sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he followed the others out. The wind howled against the flimsy walls again, and Ivan rubbed at the irritation on his wrists through his sleeves. He could feel the cold starting to settle in his skin already, but for now, surrounded by the warmth of their laughter and plans, it felt distant.

Tomorrow, they’d move. Tonight, for a brief moment, they were just a mismatched group of rebels arguing about squirrels and snow.

---

The morning air was sharp enough to sting. The walls of the temporary base had done little to keep the cold out overnight, and Ivan could already feel it crawling across his skin as he helped the kids into their too-big winter gear. Piles of mismatched jackets, scarves, and gloves were stacked on the floor, all scavenged from donations or old storage. Most of it didn’t fit properly, but Ivan made it work—rolling sleeves, tying scarves snug, doubling up socks.

“Arin, arms up,” Ivan said, kneeling to zip up the quiet boy’s coat. Arin obediently lifted his arms without a word, dark eyes focused on Ivan with that usual watchful calm.

Jin, meanwhile, had somehow managed to put both legs through one sleeve of his jacket and was now stuck, hopping around like an irritated penguin.

“How,” Ivan muttered flatly, “do you do these things?”

Jin just grinned, half upside down.

Noa stood by the doorway, delicate fingers clutching the edge of her scarf as she watched the chaos unfold. Kai hovered protectively beside her, as usual, making sure her gloves were pulled on properly. Sori, bold and curious, was the first fully dressed, bouncing on her toes with a spark of excitement.

“Are we really moving?” she asked suddenly, looking up at Ivan. Her eyes were wide, bright with the prospect of change.

Ivan paused mid–untangling Jin. “Yeah. We’re packing up today. We’ll be on the move soon.”

“Why?” Sori tilted her head. “Is it because of you?”

The room seemed to go still for half a second. Even Jin stopped hopping.

Sori’s voice wasn’t accusing—if anything, it was filled with an innocent kind of wonder. “That’s… really nice. If it’s for you.”

Ivan blinked at her. For all his sharp wit, it still caught him off guard when the kids were this straightforward. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away for a moment.

“Yeah,” he admitted finally, letting out a soft breath. “No one’s gonna say it out loud, but yeah. We’re moving somewhere warmer because of me.”

Sori’s grin widened, the kind of wide that made her cheeks round. “Really?”

“Really,” Ivan said, and there was a wry edge to his voice, but it was honest. “Apparently, they don’t want me turning into a popsicle.”

Jin snorted, halfway out of his jacket trap now. “You would look funny as an icicle.”

“I’d haunt you as an icicle,” Ivan shot back, scooping him up by the armpits and setting him properly on his feet. “Now. Arms. Through. Sleeves.”

Arin had finished with his coat and was quietly helping Noa zip hers. Kai adjusted her hat afterward, tugging it down until it covered her ears. The teamwork between the kids made something small and warm settle in Ivan’s chest.

Sori tugged at his sleeve. “I think it’s nice. Everyone likes you.”

He looked down at her. “They like me enough to uproot an entire base?”

She nodded solemnly, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Uh-huh.”

Ivan huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “You kids are too much.”

He moved through the room, checking each of them one last time—tightening scarves, fixing hats, tucking gloves into sleeves. He’d gotten used to these little routines, the motions of taking care of them. It wasn’t exactly what he’d envisioned for himself when he joined the rebellion, but somehow, this fit him in ways missions didn’t anymore.

Arin stood silently near the door, waiting. Jin was now fully dressed and trying to sneak outside early. Noa hovered close to Kai, cheeks pink from the chill already. Sori stuck close to Ivan, still watching him like she was proud.

“All right, team,” Ivan said, clapping his gloved hands together. “Once they give the word, we’re heading out. Stay close to me and Till during pitstops, no running off, no chasing each other into snowdrifts—” he looked pointedly at Jin, “—and if you get cold, you tell me. Got it?”

“Yes, Ivan,” they chorused back in their uneven, mismatched way. Sori’s voice led, bright and bold; Jin’s came with a mischievous lilt; Noa’s was soft and careful; Arin’s barely audible; Kai’s steady and firm.

He gave a short, proud nod. “Good.”

As he opened the door to step out, a gust of icy air rushed in, biting at the exposed strip of skin between his scarf and coat collar. His breath caught sharply before he forced it steady. He ignored the familiar sting creeping up his arms. They were leaving soon. Warmer air wasn’t far off.

Behind him, the kids were already clustering together, chattering with a mix of nerves and excitement. Sori slipped her hand into his without hesitation, swinging it as they waited.

Ivan glanced down at her again, and for a fleeting moment, the frustration and discomfort of the cold dulled.

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath with a crooked smile. “It is kinda nice.”

—

The engine hummed softly beneath Ivan’s hands, steady and low, like a heartbeat against the frozen silence of the night. Snow flurries caught the headlights, spinning and vanishing like ash. In the rearview mirror, five small shapes were bundled together beneath mismatched blankets, their heads bobbing with the rhythm of the road. Arin had wedged himself between Kai and Noa like a sentry, eyes half-open but vigilant. Sori had fallen asleep mid-sentence, a soft “...warm here...” drifting out every now and then. Jin snored like he was proud of it.

The heater in the vehicle wasn’t great—none of the rebellion’s were—but it was better than the base. The bitter air couldn’t reach him here. For the first time in weeks, his skin didn’t sting with every inhale. His throat didn’t feel like it was ready to betray him.

Ivan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He exhaled through his nose, a long stream of fog against the windshield. “Alright,” he muttered to himself, fishing out the battered old radio. “Let’s see if you’re still awake.”

A crackle, and then Luka’s voice came through, dry as always. “Till’s with me. He can hear you. He’s asking why you’re calling since he can’t really say anything back. And also rolling his eyes.”

Then Ivan heard a quiet chuckle so he guessed that Till was saying something about Ivan being clingy or not being able to go a car ride without him. He could, it just wouldn’t be enjoyable.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for the translation service, Luka,” Ivan said, rolling his eyes back though no one could see. “Hi, Till.”

A soft whistle came through the line—Till’s way of saying hello. Ivan’s chest eased a little.

“I know you can’t talk,” Ivan continued, voice low so as not to wake the kids, “but I just... need someone to hear me right now. And you’re the only one I don’t mind hearing me ramble.”

Another quiet whistle, short and encouraging.

Ivan chuckled under his breath. “Figures.”

He kept one hand on the wheel and let the other rest on the radio, thumb brushing against the side like he was touching Till’s hand through it. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Which, I know—terrifying. Don’t worry, I’m wearing a seatbelt. No need to panic.”

The road stretched on, silver and black, silent except for the hum of the tires and the occasional sleepy mumble from the backseat. Ivan took a deep breath, the heater air filling his lungs. “I should’ve just told Hyuna. Ages ago. About the... cold thing. Would’ve saved us a hell of a lot of trouble.”

Till’s response was a single, amused whistle, rising at the end. Ivan could picture him smirking, eyebrows raised like, “You think?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Ivan sighed. “I’m an idiot. You don’t have to say it. It’s just—” He paused, searching for the right words. “I guess I didn’t want it to be real. Like if I didn’t tell anyone, it’d just... go away on its own. But that’s not how this works.”

From the back seat, Noa stirred and rubbed her eyes. “Ivan?” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet, star,” Ivan said softly, his voice warming. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

She hummed, satisfied, and promptly drifted off again, her head falling against Sori’s shoulder. Ivan smiled despite himself.

“I think,” he said into the radio, voice quieter now, “I was scared that if I told them, they’d take everything away from me. The missions, the responsibility, the...” He glanced at the rearview mirror again, watching their small chests rise and fall in unison. “The life I built here. Turns out, they didn’t take it away. They just... gave me a different piece of it.”

Till answered with a low, soft breath—one Ivan recognized. It meant agreement, but also something fond, something like, “I told you so.”

Ivan laughed, rough but warm. “Yeah. You did. And you’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Another whistle. Definitely teasing this time.

The road curved, and the distant silhouette of the new hideout came into view—a cluster of low buildings tucked against the tree line, their windows faintly glowing. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t frozen through either. And that was enough.

“Hey,” Ivan said after a beat, voice gentler. “Thanks. For listening. For being there. You always are.”

A soft, descending whistle came through, and Ivan didn’t need a translator to know what it meant: Always.

He swallowed, suddenly aware of how warm his chest felt, how the heater’s hum mixed with the radio static and Till’s faint breathing on the other end. It wasn’t silence, not really. It was something softer.

“I think I’ll be okay,” he said finally, almost to himself.

Till answered with one long, steady sigh that carried through the crackle like a promise.

Ivan smiled. For the first time since winter began, the cold outside didn’t feel like it was winning.