They found her in a house that wasn't a house anymore.
The roof was gone. The windows were jagged holes. The door creaked in the wind like a mouth refusing to close. The air reeked of burned cloth, mold, and something older — the kind of scent that lived in walls after death had taken root.
She was under the rusted stove, knees drawn to her chest, surrounded by a small nest of ash and bone.
Elias didn't speak at first. He didn't even step forward. He simply watched.
Her eyes were open. Unblinking.
She was no older than nine. Face smudged black with soot, hands curled around a splintered spoon like a dagger. Her coat was two sizes too big and held shut with wire. Her hair had been singed on one side, leaving a patch of exposed scalp like a wound the fire had forgotten to finish.
One of the boys behind him whispered, "Should we get her?"
Elias raised a hand. Wait.
The girl looked up slowly.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said. Her voice was soft but clear, like she hadn't spoken in weeks and had practiced every syllable in her head.
"I believe you," Elias said, taking one step forward. "What's your name?"
She stared at him. Said nothing.
"You alone?" he asked.
"I killed a man," she answered instead.
That made the others go still.
Elias didn't blink. "Why?"
"He kicked over the soup pot. Mama screamed. He laughed. Then he turned and—" She stopped. Her throat worked like something was caught in it. "So I hit him with the axe. Then again. Then again."
Silence returned. The wind moved through the hollow house like a sigh.
Elias nodded once. "You can come with us."
"Why?"
"Because if you stay, you'll die. And if you come with us…" He hesitated. "You'll still suffer. But slower."
She stood without a word. The spoon dropped from her hand, landing in the ash with a soft puff.
As she stepped forward, Elias noticed her boots — one leather, one cloth, both frozen stiff.
"What's your name?" he asked again.
She looked at him with eyes that were too steady, too calm.
"Rana," she said. "But it doesn't matter. Everyone who knew it is already gone."
Elias didn't correct her. He just handed her half a biscuit from his coat pocket and turned back toward the road.
Behind them, the wind carried the smell of smoke and something faintly sweet — the kind of smell that lingered after flesh had burned clean.