Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Pick the choice that you know you will never regret.”

You learned that from Levi. He once said that Erwin taught him that, some time after he joined the Survey Corps. His old friends had been killed during their first expedition, and in a moment of agony Levi had been about to question every choice he'd ever made at that point until Erwin pulled him out of his spiral and gave him a reason to keep fighting. 

The saying stuck with you ever since then. Working in the Survey Corps where death lurked behind every corner and each breath you intake was a miracle in itself, regrets and self-doubt were not scarce. You were a witness to the countless souls who had succumbed to defeat and left the scouts, moving to different branches. 

You’d joined around the same time as Erwin and Miche—over fifteen years ago now. You could hardly call an organization where people dropped like flies a home, but it was the closest thing to one you’d ever had. You’d still choose the Survey Corps over the orphanage you grew up in, where the manager always acted as though a gun were pressed to her head, forced to oversee a group of orphans who knew no better. At least in the Survey Corps, you had decent meals—though the price was your life on the line. But that was the reality of a soldier’s career.

And, you had Erwin. 

So you thought that, maybe, a suicidal organization wouldn't be so bad. 

Of course you were wrong. You should've known what your choices had in store for you, the moment Miche died. 

You still remember the day you received the news. There had been a reported breach in Wall Rose. The Survey Corps and Garrison had cooperated to scout the perimeter of the southern portion of the wall, only to realize there was no hole at all. 

Then Eren had been kidnapped. An emergency retrieval mission led by Erwin had proved successful, at the cost of his arm. You had rushed him to a hospital in Trost upon returning, and then received news of Miche's death. Everything came tumbling down shortly after that.

After the monarchy had been brought down, a titan serum was discovered. And Erwin had entrusted it to you, his closest and most trusted confidant. It made sense at the time—you two had known each other the longest, could read the other's mind on the battlefield, and you never questioned his decisions. 

He had given you the responsibility of choosing whom to give the titan serum to should the case ever arise. You had understood the weight of this responsibility—

—only, you hadn't expected it to be his you were weighing. 

After a long, arduous battle to the death in Shiganshina, the surviving younger cadets of the 104th had been begging you to save the promising Armin Arlert. You remember looking at your dying Commander, hearing everyone's voices drown out as you focused solely on him, face pale and labored, almost nonexistent breathing after barely surviving his suicidal charge. 

At that moment, all you could ever think of were the number of times you had spent together, chatting outside the cabin of your dorms during your trainee days, him sharing about a distant dream he and his late father shared. You had remembered the exact moment you enlisted into the Scouts with him, your first expedition where he had saved you after a moment of nerve-wracking mistake, to the day he'd been promoted to commander and the first person he told was you. 

You had seen the way he slowly, eventually, spiraled down deep into depression the more he buried himself with work, watching soldiers die under his orders. 

All throughout the years, you were a constant glue to his side as you watched your Commander—the man you silently loved—morph into the almost empty husk of his current self. 

And then, with the weight of a thousand deaths heaving against the syringe in your hand, your selfish affection overpowering, you had reached a conclusion then. You chose him.

And you will never forget the look in Erwin's eyes as he woke up a few hours later, his right arm having grown back, the realization that he'd been brought back to this hell. By you. 

Things were never the same between you two since then.

Chapter Text

The street buzzed with life. 

There seemed to be some sort of local festival, what with all the booths and stands arrayed on both sides of the street, vendors calling over potential consumers and voracious children tugging their parents along. A mix of different aromatic food wafted in the air, appetizing-inducing, and with the breezy afternoon weather, it was the perfect hour to accompany the festive mood. 

You watched a carriage roll by on its wheels, still half-awed at the machinery. Two weeks had passed since you arrived at this town, yet you still found yourself captivated with how advanced the world beyond the Walls actually was. Cameras, cars, radios, compact flashlights—you realized just how behind your people back at the island really was. 

Your eyes landed on a booth selling something that caught your attention due to the queue of children waiting. The vendor in the hat each handed them some sort of cone with something soft curled on top of the opening. A delicacy, you realized, upon seeing the children lick at it and face light up in glee. 

You didn't have to wonder long when an exact replica of the delicacy suddenly appeared before your face. Blinking at it, your eyes shifted towards the owner of the hand. 

“Ice cream,” he said. “Thought you should try it.”

You quickly frown, stomach churning in a mixture of discomfort and annoyance. 

“I don't want it.”

The man didn't look offended, as if he was already expecting your rejection. If anything, he actually had the balls to look pleased, which irritated you even more. 

“How long will you keep up the act, Lieutenant?”

“I assure you it's not an act,” you quipped, turning around as you walked. “I don't want anything you have to offer.”

He followed after you in quick steps and caught up, falling into steps beside you. His light blond hair gleamed beneath the afternoon rays, the blue in his eyes peeking through the glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. The faint scent of cigarette permeated from him, making you wrinkle your nose. 

He apparently noticed this. “Do I smell?”

“Very.”

“Weird. I didn't light a cig today.”

“The smell of annoying bastard is innate, I fear.”

He chuckled underneath his breath. He had taken upon himself to finish the ice cream he had ‘supposedly’ bought for you, although you were skeptical he'd done it out of the goodness of his heart. The man beside you was a tough puzzle to read. 

“Such vulgarity behind that pretty face,” he remarked. “Are all Scouts like that?”

A spike of anger at his cooing tone ignited within you. You shot him a fierce glare.

“Watch your tongue, Yeager.”

Zeke Yeager remained unfazed, the subtle smile ghosting over his lips tempting you to throw him over the boardwalk and into the sea.

“It was a compliment, Lieutenant.”

“When I said I didn't want anything you had to offer, that extended to compliments,” you hissed. 

The both of you had stopped walking, facing each other as the white festival noise continued to chatter. Your balled fists trembled beside you while you tried your damndest to hold yourself from hitting him. Within the short timeframe of knowing each other, it was as if he had made it his life goal to fulfill a daily quota of testing your patience. 

He looked down at you, parted his lips to say something when something else caught his attention. His eyes swept past behind you, the smile wiping off of him as he reached up and pushed your fedora lower over your face.

“What—”

Zeke quickly shushed you under his breath. Almost immediately after, you heard nearing footsteps and risked a glance underneath the brim of your hat. A man with more hair on his chin than his head in typical Marleyan uniform had walked over, gait lax and unassuming, hands shoved in his pockets. Zeke's war colleague, you guessed. 

“Didn't know you were a fan of festivals, Yeager,” the man chirped, too gleeful for you. 

You watched Zeke give a toasty smile of his own.

“True that. Thought I should enjoy the natural sunlight once in a while.”

You felt the man's gaze fall on you. 

“And this is?” he asked, and you could feel the grin lacing his words. “Girlfriend?”

Your stomach lurched. A bile of disgust threatened to spew out. You were just about to snap when Zeke laughed. 

“Tempting; she's playing hard-to-get.”

It took everything inside you to hold back a string of colorful curses from shooting. You tilted your head, hiding your face from the man but allowing Zeke to see the sharp daggers glaring through your gaze. You knew he could see you from his periphery, but his grin never wavered as he regarded his colleague.

“Oh?” The man whose name you don't know laughed. “A rare find for a lady to resist your charms.”

“She is definitely a one-of-a-kind.”

Discretely, you pinched his side. He flinched and cleared his throat. 

“Anyway, we should be going. Hope you enjoy the festival, Sergeant.”

As the sergeant bid his goodbye, you gave a curt nod of your own, making sure to hang your head low. You weren't in uniform, but you were still anxious, strolling around in enemy territory in broad daylight. With your enemy. 

“Stop spouting bullshit,” you said once the man was out of earshot.

He snorted. 

“So serious,” he said. “Can't even take a joke.”

“Jokes are meant to be funny.”

“Fortunately my humor is topnotch,” he said, flicking his hair like the dramatic shit he was. 

“Like hell it is,” you grumbled as you continued to walk down the street of yelling vendors. Zeke followed suit. 

“Of course it is. At least I'm funnier than the stickler dude you have for a commander.”

Annoyance spiked once more. You swore one more second you spent in the presence of this man was one step closer to a brain aneurysm from high blood pressure. 

“He's not—”

A figure appeared before you, and you both pause, the conversation dying down. 

Clad in a neat two-piece black suit, Erwin Smith stood before you with the appearance of a typical local businessman, shoulders pressed back and chin steadily lifted. Despite his attire, you could feel his commanding presence oozing out; disguises did so little to mask his air of authority. 

Straight-faced as always, he regarded the both of you coolly. 

“Was that your colleague?” was what Erwin deemed an appropriate greeting at Zeke, who made a noncommittal hum.

“Sergeant Major, high up in the ranks, but don't let that fool you; he's as sharp as a newborn.”

Erwin's gaze flitted over towards you, and there was that tingle of electricity charged with tension you had grown accustomed to ever since bringing Erwin back from the dead. You averted your eyes and decided a random taco stand was worth your attention.

“Did he notice you?” Erwin asked. You looked at him again, about to answer when Zeke did it for you. 

“Did he see her? Yes. Did he realize she's actually an undercover Scout from Paradis? No. Did he leave thinking she's a potential girlfriend instead? Maybe. Does that satisfy you, Commander?”

You weren't exactly sure why, but you panicked and shot him a glare. Of course the bastard had to add the last bit. You didn't even know the relevance, but knowing Zeke Yeager and his inclination to theatrics, you could just about tell he just wanted to incite something.

Erwin's brows knitted just a tad. You suddenly felt the need to clarify. 

“He meant to say that—uh, no, the man didn't catch the disguise,” you quickly say. “We're safe. For now, at least.”

The next few seconds that ticked by were agonizing, to say the least. You swallowed a heavy pit of saliva as Erwin finally offered a curt nod and turned around. 

“How did the meeting with the Azumabito clan go?” Zeke spoke up after a few steps, stepping forward so he could converse with Erwin. You opted to lag behind the two, eyes trailing on Erwin's back as their conversation slowly tuned out of your ears and meshed with the garbled festival noise. 

There it was again. That sinking pit deep in your chest, like somebody was pouring water in your lungs and squeezing the air out of your throat. You always had this feeling every time you and Erwin talked. 

You weren't dense. You could pinpoint the exact moment the air between you had changed. What used to be a warm friendship and camaraderie between you two—hell, you could even dare say it was something more—had turned into something strained for the last three years ever since the events at Shiganshina. 

You looked at your hand. The same one that held the serum that had been injected into Erwin's arm. You remember that day like it was just yesterday. The dispute on the rooftop as the surviving soldiers debated whom to give the serum to, your ultimatum, the way you felt Erwin's freezing skin under your hold as you steadied his arm—the way he looked at you a few hours later when he woke up and realized what you had done, the horror and face of utter betrayal. 

You had brought him back. To this hell, when he had just finally chosen death as his sole freedom. 

He had asked you why.

The conversation you had with him on the night of your return to your headquarters in Trost district resounded in your memories. 

“I did it for humanity.”

The cold in his office, what was once your solace whenever you spent time with him, suddenly felt claustrophobic. Erwin stood behind the desk, separating the both of you as he confronted your decision. 

“I thought we talked about this.” His voice was heavy, laden with all the burden and guilt that you knew he's been carrying ever since he became commander. 

“Right before the charge. You agreed to let me die.”

“I did,” you affirmed, a prickle in your throat. “Before I realized I had a chance to save you.”

“Arlert was there.”

“Arlert was a promising soldier, I won't deny that,” you argued. “But what humanity needs isn't potential. It's surety. And you are the only one capable of achieving that. You handed me the serum, trusting me to save the soldier that can benefit humanity the most, Erwin. I chose you.”

Erwin shook his head, averting his gaze. You had never seen him this emotional. 

“Benefit humanity the most?” he almost scoffed. “Is that really what you see me as?”

You froze. 

No, you wanted to say. No, of course not. 

It was at the tip of your tongue, a confession so deeply ingrained within you, your growing affection for him threatening to pour out in a moment of brief raw vulnerability. You chose him not because you were humanity's most loyal patriot. You chose him not because he could lead soldiers to win this war against titans. You chose him because you loved him, and you knew deep inside that it was a choice driven by selfishness born out of affection. 

You looked at Erwin, seeing the pure desolation in his eyes knowing you of all people had succumbed him into this cruel fate—and could only say, 

“Yes. I was doing my duty as a soldier, working in humanity's best interests.”

“Earth to Lieutenant?”

With a flinch, you quickly blinked the memory away. You had reached your temporary residence—Zeke's home, so to speak. For a house belonging to Marley's War Chief, it was as humble as it could get: A one-storey folk Victorian house, with a gable-front and carved wood spindles fencing the porch. 

You willed your expression to remain neutral as you walked up the front porch, oak floorboards creaking with each step. Zeke held the door open for you and you glared at him in thanks. 

The inside of the house was too inconspicuous for an ostentatious individual like Zeke Yeager, but when he shared that he rarely ever comes home it all made sense. A Chesterfield sofa with color the same as that of caramel stood comfortably and almost furbished atop a royal purple European carpet, facing a coffee table. Behind it and separating the big space was a countertop opening to the kitchen. There was one master bedroom and two guest rooms, all currently occupied by Zeke, Erwin, and yours truly.

As usual, you bolted straight through the living room and into one of the guest rooms—your room—to retire for the night. Dinner wasn’t part of the plan, especially not with your Commander, with whom you’d shared a strained, rocky relationship for over three years now, nor with your supposed enemy-turned-ally, whom you still hadn’t learned to fully trust. Once the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a quiet sigh that had been clawing its way up your throat, then slid down to the cold floor, resting your back against the door as you thumped your head lightly against it.

You were drained. It had been weeks since you and Erwin arrived in Marley (smuggled in by Zeke, no less). The past three years had been a blur of strategic planning and relentless motion, driven by the Scouts’ discovery of the world beyond the walls and the ensuing conflict with Marley. After reclaiming Wall Maria, it was only a matter of time before the remaining Scouts—now led by the current holder of the Colossal Titan, Commander Erwin Smith—reached the ocean. But the elation of that milestone didn’t last long. The island immediately began preparing for potential attacks from beyond its shores. Military advancements, government reforms, and new structural frameworks were swiftly implemented, guided by the knowledge uncovered in Grisha Yeager’s basement.

And, not long after, Marley sent another ship to the shores of Paradis, this one carrying Yelena—Zeke’s personal envoy.

Apparently, the War Chief of Marley wanted to form an alliance with Paradis.

Naturally, you were the first to reject the idea. ‘This is the Beast Titan,’ you had reminded Erwin during one of your officers’ meetings. Hange and Levi had been more accepting of the news, managing to set their personal feelings aside. You, however, were the adamant one; you had advised Erwin against the idea, reminding him of the losses the Scouts had suffered because of Zeke Yeager, and doubting whether the man could ever be trusted. You were certain he was plotting something. 

Erwin, however, had been looking farther ahead—at something you couldn't yet see. He argued that there were more potential gains than losses in such an alliance, setting aside your shared history. The alliance, he said, could connect Paradis to other nations, strengthen diplomatic ties, and improve the island’s political standing in the long run—a claim that later proved true. He was now in communication with the Azumabito clan from a neighboring country and had begun establishing relations with several others that were currently at odds with Marley. 

You and Erwin eventually decided to head to Marley for two reasons: 1) to establish political networks in preparation for the coming war, and 2) to keep Zeke Yeager under close watch. Although Erwin had agreed to the alliance, he admitted he shared your suspicions that Zeke was pursuing his own agenda and had no intention of fully trusting him. Hange and Levi remained on Paradis to oversee logistics, leaving only you and Erwin to navigate enemy territory—with, much to your dismay, the assistance of Zeke Yeager. 

You bit back a muffled scream as you palmed your face with both hands, frustration clawing itself through your throat. This was an indefinite operation—you weren't sure how long it'll take for you to finish your duties here in Marley before going home. 

Having to deal with Erwin on one hand and Zeke Yeager on the other was a torture you didn't want to be burdened with. You couldn't remember the last time you and Erwin engaged in conversation that wasn't about work. And it was tough work trying to refrain from throttling Zeke in his sleep. 

Maybe if I care less about it time will go by faster. 

You stood from the floor and dragged yourself toward the bed, throwing yourself over the mattress with a huff. You buried your face in the pillow and allowed the comfort of sleep to engulf you. 

Chapter Text

By the time you woke up and read the clock by the bedside table, it was already twenty minutes past eleven. The rumbling of your stomach pulled you out of bed, and after briefly washing your face, you tiptoed out of your room. 

The darkness of the night enveloped the entire living room, mirroring the void. You carefully strained your eyes for the candle by the counter and felt the drawers for a light match. Not for long, a flickering ember puffed into existence, casting dancing shadows against the wall. You weren't going to risk turning on the lights and attracting any patrolling Marleyan officer around—if there were even any; you weren't risking your chances all for a midnight snack. 

You sneaked around the kitchen, opening cupboards and the drawers for something quick to eat. To hell with shame, you thought. Food always comes first in your book. 

“There's bread and jam in the rightmost cupboard.”

You almost shrieked. Swiftly turning around, you came face to face with an evidently amused Zeke Yeager.

“Impeccable reflexes, Lieutenant,” he casually commended, hands raised. “Now can you—uh, put the knife down, please?”

You blinked a few times before your gaze fell and you realized your hand had instinctively grabbed a knife. Your eyes returned to him, still wary, but you slowly lowered your hand. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Excellent question,” Zeke said as he walked toward the cupboard. You kept a wary eye on him the whole time. “I wouldn’t feel offended at all if this wasn’t, you know, my house.”

Okay, fair point. All things considered, you were the one trespassing in his kitchen.

“I thought you were asleep,” you said.

“Hard to when there are two war soldiers under my roof.” He pulled out a plastic bag of bread and a jar of jam from the cupboard, setting them on the counter. “Not to mention one of them’s probably itching to kill me in my sleep.”

You huffed. “Maybe if you fixed your attitude, you wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Appreciate the concern, Lieutenant, but my attitude’s as perfect as it gets.”

You were about to retort when Zeke turned, took the knife from your grasp, and replaced it with a jam sandwich. You stared at him, then at the sandwich.

“I didn’t poison it,” he said.

“Hard to believe.” You rolled your eyes but took a bite anyway. The sweetness of the grape jam spread across your tongue. “This better not be expired.”

“I think the way you’re chowing it down says it all.”

You paused mid-chew and looked away from the smug grin on his face.

“Asshole.”

“I try my best.”

With a chuckle, Zeke put the knife back in the rack and returned the bread and jam to the cupboard. The gesture was oddly... sweet. Until you realized your train of thought. 

Sweet? He’s the goddamned Beast, even when we’re in an alliance. You reminded yourself to never trust this man.

You finished the sandwich and looked at him—only to find his eyes already on you.

“What?”

“I just realized this is the first time I’ve actually seen you eat in the house,” he said, arms crossed. “You’re always cooped up in your room.”

“Well,” you trailed off, leaning your hip against the counter to face him, “even your devil Eldian Scout needs to eat, no matter how much I detest seeing your face.”

“Too charming for your taste?”

“Too ugly.” You deadpanned, earning a wholehearted chortle that made him bend over, clutching his stomach. You could never read him—no matter how sharp your insults, he took them all in stride, as if they were his favorite part of the day. It only made him more irritating.

“Keep your voice down or the neighbors are going to report us,” you hissed. “If you want to get hanged by Marleyan authorities, do it yourself.”

Zeke’s laughter finally subsided, though he was still snickering.

“Oh, not to worry. I’ll just tell them my girlfriend came to visit.”

Fury flared in your chest—you were sure horns had sprouted from your head. With a sharp huff, you brushed past him, jabbing him in the side on your way to your room.

“Not funny, Yeager.”

He laughed behind you. “Good night, Lieutenant.”

You slammed the door shut.

—

The sing-song of birds outside the window ushered in the new day. You stifled a yawn as you stepped out of your room, your eyes landing on the individual already in the kitchen area. Erwin was leaning by the counter near the sink, nursing his usual morning coffee—his new favorite drink ever since the Anti-Marleyan Volunteers led by Yelena arrived at Paradis three years ago and introduced imports from abroad. 

You shared eye contact, feeling the sudden heaviness in the air.

“Good morning,” he greeted, low baritone rumbling. You nodded at him. 

“Morning.”

“There’s bread in the toaster,” he said after a while, and you nodded once more as thanks before you walked over. 

You stopped by the cabinet of plates and helped yourself with some toasts, begrudgingly popping in another pair of bread for Zeke (he was your host, after all). You glanced at Erwin and noted his formal attire. 

“Going somewhere?”

He hummed as a response, eyes fixated at some point in the living room. You preferred that than him looking at you, anyway. 

“Some executives of Ostraven are helping me make contact with Belvaria. I’ll be leaving via port before ten.”

It was then that you noticed the luggage sitting on the sofa. Ostraven. It was the nation primarily responsible for supplying weapons to the Mid-Eastern Allied Forces in their ongoing war with Marley, with Belvaria as one of the active frontliners.

Apparently, ever since Marley’s operation to retake the Founding Titan had failed, news of the loss of the Female and Colossal Titans spread throughout the world, alerting nearby nations to Marley’s dwindling military might. It became the catalyst for the current war—one that Erwin had surmised would end in Marley’s eventual victory. He and Zeke also predicted that once the war ended, Marley would most likely invade Paradis to resume their previous objective: capturing the Founding Titan. It was only a matter of time before Paradis joined the conflict, and Erwin’s current goal aside from establishing alliances with nations opposed to Marley, was to search for alternatives to prevent the war—a goal you knew was bleak at best.

You had only visited Liberio, but you already understood the world’s deep-rooted prejudice toward the people of your race. Only the Azumabito clan from the nation of Hizuru were willing to offer their aid—and even then, it was with reluctance. Their true interest lay in the unique resources of Paradis, and you should’ve known their assistance would come at a price. In fact, the negotiations might have fallen apart entirely had it not been for Erwin’s quick wit and tactical eloquence; the Commander had always been a master of persuasion. You were certain that no country would have even considered allying with Paradis if Erwin hadn’t been at the helm.

You glanced at your Commander. He wore a dark business suit paired with a crisp white dress shirt, a tie, and polished shoes. With Kiyomi Azumabito’s assistance, Erwin had established communication with several countries that were beginning—more or less—to cooperate with Paradis, thanks to his persistent correspondence. You hadn’t bothered with the details, but at present, Erwin was operating under the alias Matthias Reinhardt, ambassador of Ostraven, to stay off Marley’s radar. You, on the other hand, were traveling under the name Ilsa Alberich, a political journalist from abroad.

“When will you be home?”

Erwin had been holding meetings with different political figures from nearby countries while simultaneously avoiding Marleyan authorities, so as the only one accompanying him in a foreign land, it was only natural for you to be worried. 

“Day after tomorrow at the latest,” he said, before turning to you. “I need you to stay here and continue the investigation on the Tybur family.”

Tybur family. Despite being Eldian, they were treated far more differently than those living in the Internment Zone. Considered as one of the elites of the world, they held influential power over Marley, making Erwin believe they were actually more than the simple ‘wealthy’ family they were trying to portray themselves as. 

It was your task to uncover that family’s secret. 

“On it,” you affirmed his order. A brief silence followed between you. 

“Is that really what you see me as?”

Erwin’s query echoed in your memories. You bit your tongue and looked away, praying he wouldn’t read your thoughts. 

You hated this. You could never quite look Erwin in the eye without being reminded of your confrontation. It was all.. too complicated. 

“Another thing.”

You looked at him, waiting for further instructions. 

Erwin placed the empty mug on the sink, eyes clouded in an unreadable gaze, as if in deep contemplation. Then, he turned to you. 

“Don’t lower your guard. Am I understood?”

His sudden directive took you for a slight loss. 

“I never lower my guard,” you said defensively.

Erwin’s face never betrayed an emotion, but his tone spoke of an underlying implication. 

“Remember the objective. And.. don’t lose sight of the enemy.”

Your mind immediately went towards Zeke Yeager. Was Erwin hinting at something? You knew you couldn’t carelessly talk about it considering your close proximity to the man in question. 

But..

Lower your guard? Did it seem like that to him? 

Needless to say, you were slightly offended at the thought. Getting chummy with the Beast Titan was an insult to the memory of your comrades. Of Miche. When you first found out about it, you knew you had to be the one to kill Zeke Yeager. The only things stopping you were Erwin’s plans and the alliance.

You still remembered your first meeting with him, two and a half years ago. 

You stood at the far end of the room, leaning against the wall. Your sharp gaze fixed on the man seated at the opposite end of the table, facing Erwin.

The Beast Titan, the War Chief of Marley. Zeke Yeager. 

Seated beside Erwin was Hange, the three of them engaged in a discussion over key points and clauses concerning the alliance. You were already familiar with Zeke’s proposition from the general meeting you’d attended with the other military leaders back on the island. And so, Erwin had brought you, Hange, and Levi here to Liberio for a private dialogue with Zeke—and, safe to say, you hadn’t liked the man.

“Well, that concludes it. All that’s left is for both sides to keep their side of the deal,” Zeke said, reclining against his seat with crossed arms. For a War Chief, he acted too relaxed for your liking. With the way he was continuously throwing out jokes left and right, you’d think the fate of the entire world wasn’t at stake here. It would have been an awkward meeting had Hange not been there to humor him. If you were to describe him, he was the complete opposite of Erwin.

“You have my word that Paradis will keep our end,” Erwin said, “so long as you keep yours.”

Zeke offered a smile that you knew was only for courtesy. 

“Even in war, there are rules we must abide by, Commander. I have enough diplomacy for that.”

You couldn’t roll your eyes further. “Says the bastard who killed an entire village of innocent civilians with no remorse. Drop the courteous act.”

Hange turned to you with a look and called your name cautiously. “We agreed not to be hostile.”

“He won’t crumble to dust just because I said the truth.” Your words dripped in venom. You weren’t planning on warming up to this man just because of a fragile alliance that you knew deep down was a farce. Zeke Yeager was a cunning man of many schemes. 

His eyes flicked over towards you, allowing you to peer the glint of interest twinkling in his face. He even had the audacity to smirk, as if relishing your furor. 

Your name rolled off his tongue in that taunting voice you had grown to hate in the span of an hour after meeting him. 

“Your Lieutenant, if I remember correctly?” He looked at Erwin. “Fiesty. I suppose it’s a must-have trait for your Scouts. Then again, you wouldn’t have survived this long on an island full of titans otherwise. I like that.”

An involuntary growl crawled out your throat. “I don’t need your compliment, you son of a—”

Erwin called your name, and you stopped—albeit begrudgingly. You watched as your Commander rose, his chair sliding back with the movement.

“If there isn’t anything else, we’ll be heading back to Paradis. This has been a fruitful meeting, Zeke.”

Zeke Yeager’s eyes lingered on you for a few more seconds before he finally looked at Erwin. He stood and shook his hand.

“Pleasure is all mine, Smith.”

You couldn’t help your frown. 

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Did Erwin think you were dumb enough to be friends with Zeke Yeager? You, of all people?

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Do you even trust me?”

For a split second, Erwin’s face twitched. A crack in his usual stony facade, but you couldn’t figure out why. 

“Of course I do.” His admittance caught you mildly off guard. “It’s him I don’t.”

Before you could press further, the sound of a door creaking open interrupted your conversation. You turned toward the source and saw Zeke stepping out of his room mid-yawn, his hair sticking up in disarray. He noticed the two of you and froze, his eyes flicking between you and Erwin.

“Hope I didn’t interrupt,” he said. You bit back a curse and looked away, pretending to busy yourself by rearranging the utensils in the cabinet.

“On the contrary, you’re just in time. I’d like a word before I leave for my meeting with Belvaria’s representative.” You couldn’t see Erwin’s expression—and you refused to look at him now, what with all these conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You heard his footsteps grow fainter as he walked toward the living room, Zeke following close behind.

“Belvaria,” you heard Zeke follow with a noncommittal hum. “Right. You mentioned that yesterday. You’re close to sealing the deal with them, aren’t you?”

“Yes. With the momentum of the war currently leaning towards Marley, it's a further incentive for them to agree to my proposal.”

“Mhm. Not to mention Belvaria’s naval force is the most superior among the Allied Forces, so they’ve taken the most casualties.”

You committed the information to memory. Knowing full well that Marley’s naval forces were underdeveloped due to their excessive reliance on the power of the Titans, the Mid-Eastern Allied Forces had taken advantage of the sea—most of the battles were fought there.

“I must say, Smith. It’s only been a few weeks since you arrived and progress with the other countries is going smoothly,” Zeke lauded. “You have your work cut out for you.”

You turned around just in time to see Erwin shake his head. 

“It’s not nearly enough,” he said. “Might I remind you, the Allied Forces are moving rather hastily—they’ll surrender to Marley soon enough, unless they play their cards right at the war’s end, which I highly doubt. Even then, their combined strength won’t be enough to supply Paradis.”

Supply Paradis, he said. As if he saw all those countries as additional munitions to equip your homeland with. You always knew Erwin was ruthless when the situation required him to, but he had certainly grown more callous for the last three years. 

You could hardly recognize him as the bright young cadet you once trained alongside with.

A quiet pang hit you somewhere inside your chest, which you tried to ignore. Deciding this wasn’t a conversation you necessarily had to listen to, you retired quietly back to your room. 

::

“You astound me, Smith.” Zeke lifted his mug and took a slow sip. “I still can’t believe that the very nations once terrified of Paradis are now choosing to accommodate you.”

He studied Erwin, who sat deep in thought.

“Unscrupulous methods are hardly foreign to us,” Erwin finally said.

When the words sank in, Zeke let out a low hum. Unsurprising. In their line of work, avoiding blackmail was nearly impossible. Especially for men in their positions. He would’ve been far more shocked if Erwin had managed to stay clean through his entire term as commander.

“And as I said,” Erwin added, “the Allied Forces aren't sufficient to stand our ground against Marley. We need a stronger deterrent.”

“There's always the threat of the Rumbling,” Zeke suggested.

Erwin's eyes sharply flicked over towards him. 

“It's an option I would very much like to avoid,” he firmly said. Zeke shrugged innocently. 

“I'm just reminding you of your cards; it's the strongest one there is.”

“And the most reckless.” Zeke was mildly surprised that, despite all of Erwin’s cold calculations, he still possessed a semblance of morality. Then again, Erwin Smith had always struck him as the flexible type—the kind of leader willing to make sacrifices when necessary no matter how heartless, yet inclined to choose the path with lesser deaths whenever possible.

A combination of heart and mind, realistic and idealistic. Perhaps that was the virtue of a Scout. Zeke wondered if he could maintain that delicate balance for long. 

“So, you’re planning on communicating with countries aside from the Allied Forces?” Zeke asked.

“Yes. The more allies, the better.”

Zeke levelled a steady stare at him, before he slowly grinned. 

“Risky, but a worthwhile goal—if you succeed. You sure you’re not overestimating yourself, though?”

If Erwin was offended, he didn’t show it. But then again, he almost never showed Zeke any emotion other than steady composure. It had sparked Zeke’s curiosity since the day they first met—what exactly would it take to tick Erwin Smith off?

Erwin stood from the sofa and grabbed his suitcase. He threw Zeke a nonchalant glance. 

“Well, I’ve always been a gambler. Whether it succeeds or not, we’ll both have the pleasure of finding out at the same time.”

Zeke’s grin widened as he watched Erwin head to the entrance, noting the way the blond walked with his shoulders pressed straight and head held high—like the true commander that he was. He was close to actually commending his disposition until Erwin mentioned your name.

“I trust you’ll assist her with the investigation on the Tybur family in the meantime.”

The idea lit up a thrill. He was going to have a field day testing your patience once more. Zeke Yeager was not dense—he clearly knew both you and Erwin Smith held your own doubts about him. But Smith wasn’t the only gambler. And he certainly wasn’t the only one with brains. 

“Oh, not to worry, Commander. I’ll take good care of your precious little lieutenant.” 

Erwin stopped right at the doorway and Zeke was about to question him until he spoke, 

“Yes. I trust you’ll take care of everything.. within the bounds of what’s appropriate.”

Zeke’s brow rose. 

Oh? 

That didn’t sound like his usual response. The Commander had more or less learned to take his sarcasm in stride during conversation.

Erwin didn’t wait longer to clarify. He shut the door behind him, leaving Zeke pondering in the living room. 

Chapter Text

“For a so-called War Chief, you are utterly useless.”

“What do you mean ‘so-called’? I am a War Chief.”

“So you agree you're useless?”

“That's not nice, Lieutenant.”

Zeke was dressed more casually, the armband fastened snugly around his bicep. You didn’t like Zeke—but it wasn’t him that stirred you most this time. It was that strip of cloth. It burned with a sense of justice you hadn’t known you possessed, a constant reminder of the world’s prejudice against the blood you carried: Eldian.

“If you were a useful War Chief we wouldn’t have to go through all the trouble of infiltrating Marley’s headquarters,” you rebutted. After Erwin left, you and Zeke waited deep into the night before slipping out toward his workplace.

“I may be a War Chief. But I’m still Eldian,” he reminded you. “They limit the information they give me.”

The night breeze blew your face. As a port town, Liberio was overflowing with the salty scent of the sea. The Internment Zone had a curfew, but thanks to Zeke’s Honorary Marleyan status, he had the privilege of going in and out without the scrutiny of the guards. You and Erwin had been given a permit to ‘visit him’ under the pretext of ‘business talks’, allowing you the same privilege. Nevertheless, you both snuck out by climbing over the Internment Zone’s walls to avoid suspicion.

“If I get thrown into jail.. I'm dragging you with me by the way.”

“You won't,” Zeke said. “Besides, jail is the lightest punishment Marley can give you. Try worrying about.. becoming a titan, instead.”

“Gee,” you drawled in sarcasm, “thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime, Lieutenant.” 

Asshole, you thought. 

Evenings in Liberio remained lively, despite the clock nearing one hour before midnight. A subtle tension hung in the air, fueled by news of the ongoing war spreading across the continent. Several establishments were still open, bustling with Marleyans going about their nightly routines.

A chilly breeze whistled through the air, and you couldn’t help the wave of longing that washed over you as you gazed out at the sea, toward the direction of Paradis. Even now, it was hard to believe you were walking on soil beyond the walls. Fighting titans for humanity’s survival felt like a distant memory. 

The whipping wind against your face as your horse thundered across the grassy fields. The scent of charred smoke as signal flares burst into the sky. The hopeful—almost naïve—determination that once fueled you about the world beyond the Walls.

So many of your comrades had perished along the way, never seeing the outcome of what you all fought for. Your thoughts drifted to Erwin.

Even those whom you fought with felt like strangers now.

“Are you cold, Lieutenant?”

Zeke’s voice tore you from your thoughts. You mentally berated yourself for allowing yourself to lose track of your current objectives. The Survey Corps was no place for a sentimental soldier. 

“No, mind your business.”

You could make out Zeke glancing at you in your periphery, but he made no further comment. 

You both arrived at Marley’s headquarters before long. The campus was larger than that of the Survey Corps, with rows of buildings housing various offices. To the far right stood several smaller structures, where you could see training grounds—likely for the Warrior candidates Zeke had mentioned. On the opposite side were the soldiers’ barracks, along with the logistics and equipment facilities. At the front stood two main buildings, where most of the executives’ offices and operation center were stationed.

“Under normal circumstances, I would be more than happy to give you a tour of our humble abode,” Zeke said. “Unfortunately we have bigger fish to fry.”

You zipped your mouth shut when you realized you were ogling at the buildings. You cleared your throat.

“Lead the way, then.”

There were guards stationed at the entrance, so Zeke led you around the fenced wall. Climbing over was no problem for both of you. In no time at all, you were making your way toward one of the main buildings.

Zeke entered the first main building and through a series of winding hallways. After stepping up a flight of stairs, you eventually arrived at Zeke’s office. It was more quaint than you imagined: A mahogany desk and chair at the far center, two sofas facing each other and separated by a coffee table. Behind the desk were two windows overlooking the backyard of the entire campus, where another building stood. Rows of bookshelves lined against the wall on one side, and a door on the other side led to what you assumed was the restroom. The sight of the room was a whiplash for you—it was almost the exact replica of the commander’s office back at your headquarters.

“I know it’s luxurious, but you’re free to enter, you know.”

You snapped out of it and glared at him, before shutting the door behind you and walking over, helping yourself on the sofa. “Well? Get on with it already. We don’t have all night.”

Zeke walked over and grabbed something from the drawer in his desk and sat down on the sofa in front of you, laying out the paper on the table. It was a map of the entire headquarters. 

“The building you see outside the window is the library,” he started, tapping on the spot on the map while you briefly glanced out the window. “That’s about the only place you can prowl around without suspicion—it’s a free-for-all space. At the back is the Restricted Section, where our target is.”

You leaned forward and examined the layout of the library, committing it to memory. 

“I’m guessing it’s locked.”

“Smart girl,” Zeke praised with a smirk, infuriating you. He was obviously messing with you. “Yes, it’s locked. And the key's over at the Logistics building. But never fear.”

Your brow rose in question as you watched Zeke stand and head toward the bookshelf. Your curiosity grew as he began to rummage behind the line of books.

“There's no need for it,” you said. “I know how to pick locks.”

Zeke was preoccupied with whatever he was looking for. “I know you’d say that. I don’t doubt your skills at all, Lieutenant. But you shouldn’t underestimate Marley’s security.”

“What?”

“Say you managed to pick the lock without the key. Signs of a damaged knob will be discovered during routine maintenance checks. The last thing we need is for Marley’s radar to pick up.”

He made a good point. Not to mention you weren’t sure how long you were staying here in Liberio. Should Marley discover an infiltration, it would make it difficult for you and Erwin to move around. You mulled it over with a chewed lip. 

“But there's no need for additional headache.” 

He turned to you once more, twirling a newfound key around his finger with an easy smirk. “Useless War Chief no more, huh?”

You crossed your arms and legs with a raised brow. The way Zeke’s eyes followed your motion didn’t escape you.

“You didn’t strike me as the meticulous type.”

“I wasn’t made War Chief just for my good looks, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you drawled sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “And? Won't they notice there's a missing key?”

Zeke gave a dramatic tut as he made his way towards you and offered the key. 

“Of course, a fake key was put in the meantime. Do you seriously think I'm that incompetent?”

You scoffed and snatched the key from his grasp. “Touché.”

After final instructions were exchanged, you stepped out of the office. 

Zeke's job was done; he was better off investigating other areas, being an officer and all. It was up to you to infiltrate the Restricted Section now.

Your eyes swept the hallway for any passing soldiers, relieved to find none. It seemed most had already been dispatched. You’d wondered before why Zeke wasn’t among those sent to the frontlines—he was the War Chief, after all—until he explained that the Warrior Unit was rarely deployed unless Marley grew desperate. Besides, with most of the war being fought at sea, there was little the power of the Titans could do.

You’d first assumed you’d have to return to the flight of stairs you’d taken earlier to exit the main building, but after familiarizing yourself with the headquarters’ layout, you realized the buildings were all connected—except for the training facility used by the Warrior candidates. That made moving around much easier.

And quicker to get captured in the worst case scenario. 

You tried not to think of it. Zeke already shared your planned escape routes should things go awry, so the only thing you could do was trust he’d keep his end of the deal. 

You wouldn’t normally trust him under any other circumstance, but if you were captured, your fake identity would connect you to Zeke. At least that gave you some insurance he wouldn’t betray you—yet.

You headed down the corridor, straining your hearing in the case of footsteps. When the coast was clear, you picked up your pace and followed your memory toward where the library was. A few soldiers were on patrol, but you were quick to scurry and hide inside empty storage and locker rooms. You had the war and the Mid-Eastern Allied Forces to thank for the lack of security. 

In less than seven minutes, you arrived at your destination.

Just as Zeke predicted, there were no personnel hanging by the library. Still, you stayed vigilant and strained your ears as you moved past shelves, wading through a mountain of books. The place was in dire need of cleaning—you were close to sneezing several times and risking your cover. Were Levi here, you would have been subjected to a string of colorful curses directed towards Marleyan’s maintenance team. 

At the thought, you couldn’t help a short-lived smile. You missed Levi—he was perhaps the only other one who shared your distaste for Zeke Yeager and didn’t bother to hide it. 

The light of the moon shone through the library windows and provided you enough visibility to navigate. Once you reached the back of the library, you stopped, eyeing the locked door. 

The Restricted Section. 

You took the key from your pocket and carefully inserted it into the keyhole. One smooth twist elicited a small clack.

With one last cautious sweep around the library, you slipped inside the room. 

The arrangement of shelves wasn't that much different from the main library. You scanned the books and files, eyes skimming past the book spines in rapid movement. 

The Tybur family. They were the first to oppose the Eldian empire’s rule and allied with Marley. This ‘betrayal’ led the world to exalt them for their exemplary moral justice against Eldia’s oppression. Erwin already had his conjectures, but you were moving on the assumption that the family was in possession of the ninth titan that you had yet to discover: the Warhammer Titan. 

Having three titans including the power of the Founding Titan gave Paradis enough leverage in the upcoming war, but Erwin wanted to be sure of the location and holder of the rest of the titan shifters. 

Eren held the Founding and the Attack titan. You were already aware of Reiner Braun being the Armored, and Annie Leonhart as the Female titan. Zeke had the Beast, and he had also disclosed the rest of the Warrior unit to the alliance. Pieck Finger as the Cart titan, and Porco Galliard as the latest inheritor of the Jaws from a former Scout, Ymir. Finally, Erwin had been given the Colossal titan after the events at Shiganshina three years ago. 

That left the identity of the holder of the Warhammer titan, nine titans in total. 

You walked away from the shelves in the center and toward the line of cabinets leaning against the wall. You began rummaging through the files, stopping when your eyes caught the name Henry Tybur. The head of the family during the Titan War. 

This is it. 

You flipped through the files in quick succession, the flapping of pages filling the silence in the room. Histories and timetables etched in the musty scent of old paper told you of stories that had long passed. Realizing they were in chronological order, you skipped to the end of the contents, where the data file of the Tybur family was conveniently listed for you to analyze. 

Erwin was right. They were more than just a wealthy, Eldian family. 

The Tyburs were actually the highest authority ruling over Marley. They had shared the late King Carl Fritz CXLV’s ideology and sold off the Eldian empire to Marley, ending the age of the Titan War. For the last hundred years, the power of the Warhammer Titan had been secretly passed down from generation to generation, but there were no records of them actually using it. 

You read through the family’s history. Willy Tybur, the current head. Your experience with Rod Reiss told you family heads rarely ever inherit the power of the titans themselves. It was just a wild guess, but it had to be someone else in the family—someone close to Willy Tybur, who shared his own view and beliefs. 

The Tybur family tree told you there were several possibilities. You analyzed the list and did a process of elimination via timeline and ages. In the end, you were left with only two probable holders. 

Philip Tybur, Willy’s close cousin. You studied the ID picture of the man in question. He bore a rougher disposition compared to Willy’s geniality, which exuded from the pictures in the file. Thick brows, a crooked nose, permanent frown—if you didn’t know any better, he would have looked more like a gangster than someone from a wealthy, elegant family. 

You turned towards your second guess.

Lara Tybur, Willy’s sister. Compared to Philip, the difference was as clear as night and day. Her picture showed her poise and composure, dressed in a neat dress and hair tied up in a bun. 

Philip and Lara Tybur. One of these was the holder of the Warhammer titan. You were most certain of it. The timeline and the ages all matched up, considering the thirteen-year lifespan of a titan shifter.

You blinked. Thirteen years..

Erwin had inherited the Colossal three years ago. 

That meant he had ten years left to live. 

You froze just as you were about to turn the page of the book you were skimming. Ten years. You had cursed Erwin to this living hell and a short lifespan. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to put the thought away. You had already come to terms with it years ago when Eren revealed the fate of all titan shifters through the memories of Grisha Yeager. You had pushed the fact at the very back of your mind, a still small voice of denial overpowering it. You used the excuse of being busy with war preparations to avoid processing it. As if you could run from it forever. 

As if Erwin had all the time in the world. As if you both did. 

A stinging in your eye told you you had let your thoughts wander too far. You quickly rubbed your eyes and was about to continue your investigation when you heard the door creak open and close. 

Your mind froze, but it didn’t take you long to move. You slipped the documents back in the cabinet and quickly made your way in the dark, heart drumming so loudly that you can hear it pounding in your ear. 

You followed the curve of the walls and realized the room was shaped like a dome. All sorts of thoughts rippled in you. You had brought a small dagger with you just in case, and you weren’t worried about engaging in combat—it’s exposing your identity and risking Erwin’s safety and plan. 

You circled the room until you reached the door. It was shut tight as you remembered. 

Wait.. did I lock it?

You were just about to answer your own thoughts when you heard shuffling footsteps and muffled voices from outside the room. Then, just as your thoughts were whirring, a hand shot up and cupped your mouth. 

Your soldier instincts kicked in. You were about to swipe your leg behind you when the person spoke. 

“It’s me.”

You immediately paused, and that was when you heard the voices outside again. It was too muffled for you to comprehend, but judging by the nearing footsteps, they were well on their way towards the Restricted Section. 

One.. two.. there were three pairs of footsteps, you realized. You seized the wrist of the hand that was cupping your mouth, sharply turning around to glare at the man, but he raised a finger to his lips.

The voices outside stopped, and you heard the doorknob twist. Alarm shot through you. Your eyes darted around the room—no space was big enough to hide in. You reached for your pocketknife, fingers brushing the handle, readying yourself for an inevitable fight.

Then you noticed the door hadn’t opened. The knob kept turning, rattling against the lock. You held your breath and began counting silently, waiting for the people outside to leave. Muffled voices followed—a brief exchange, too low to make out.

Receding footsteps told you whoever was outside the room decided it was not worth checking the Restricted Section. You didn’t dare break the silence, waiting for an extra minute just to be sure. 

Then, you regarded the man before you once more. He was too close for your liking. You had to take a few steps back. 

“The hell are you doing here?”

Zeke sighed. “Saving you, clearly. My hunch was right; you forgot to lock the door before you entered.”

“How did you know they were coming?”

He seemed to have picked up on your tone of suspicion. “A miscalculation. I didn’t expect them to hold a routine patrol at this time around—not with the war going on.” 

Your eyes followed him as he began walking around the room, eyeing the shelves in curiosity. 

“Good thing I came just in time,” he mused. “So this is the Restricted Section..”

“You haven’t been here before?”

“Couldn’t risk it.” He pulled a random book that seemed to have caught his eye and began flipping through it. “With most of Marley’s focus on the war, security around here has been lax. Most of the soldiers have been dispatched to the capital, Belora.”

“Anyway,” he paused as he turned to you, “found what you need yet?” 

You nodded. 

“I did. Erwin was right about the Tybur family.”

Zeke lightly laughed through his nose. “Again, huh? I swear, Smith must be a prophet. His guesses are always spot on.”

You wanted to scoff. Prophet, my ass. If he were, none of what had transpired at Shiganshina would have happened. Maybe so many people wouldn’t have died. Maybe he could’ve found a solution that didn’t end in a desperate, last-resort, suicidal charge. Maybe the question of whether Armin Arlert should’ve been chosen wouldn’t haunt you this much.

“Hello? Earth to Lieutenant?”

You blinked your thoughts away. “What?”

“Time to go. We don’t want morning catching up to us.”

You followed Zeke’s lead as you exited the library together. In no time at all, you were out of the headquarters and on your way back to the Internment Zone. The full moon hung high up in the sky, twinkling against the night backdrop. The stars weren’t visible here unlike back at Paradis. 

The walk back home was uneventful and quiet. There were fewer people hanging on the street now. You knew you still had to identify who exactly was the current Warhammer titan, but the clues you found tonight were sufficient enough. Erwin would have to make do. 

Your chest ached once more.

Minutes later, you eventually arrived back at Zeke's home. 

“We can share our discoveries tomorrow,” Zeke said as he started to make his way towards his room. “Good night, Lieutenant.”

“Zeke.”

His name left you before you realized. By the time he turned around at your call, you were already regretting it. 

“Uh..”

A line of silence followed your hesitation. Zeke patiently waited by the door. 

You weren't sure how to open this conversation. But he was the closest one to the information you sought for. 

“How much.. longer do you have left?” 

It took him a while to answer, maybe because your question came out of the blue. He hummed in thought. 

“Around less than two years.”

The next question felt like lead in your tongue. “Is the thirteen-year rule absolute?”

Leaning against the doorway, Zeke crossed his arms as he regarded you carefully. You suddenly felt vulnerable under his gaze. 

“Yep.” He popped the ‘p’. With the way he casually answered, it was as if he was talking about the weather and not the time runner of his life. 

“How sure are you? Have you seen it for yourself?” You almost didn't bother to hide the desperation in your tone. “Has Marley even tried exploring other options? What if.. there's a way?”

Your series of questions hung suspended in the air, the silence between you thick and agonizing. You tried to hold it off for as long as you could, but there was only so much you could do. Ten years might sound like a long time, yet in the span of an ordinary life, it was nothing more than a fleeting moment. With the way the world was moving, Erwin would likely spend the rest of his days fighting a war—never knowing if he’d live to see its end. You couldn’t leave him to such a cruel fate, not when you were the reason he was still here in the first place. 

You were the one who had prolonged his sentence, three years ago, when you gave him that serum. 

“I'm almost touched, Lieutenant. Do you actually want me to live longer?” 

Zeke's teasing remark pulled you out of your thoughts. You were about to retort when he added, 

“Or, is this about Smith?”

Your heart may have skipped a beat. Schooling your expression, you tried to reign down your emotions. For all his childish antics, Zeke Yeager was still the enemy's War Chief. Letting him clock your vulnerability was the last thing you wanted. 

“Obviously,” you said. “In case you forgot, he's my commander. I have a responsibility to care for his well-being.”

A clear, deliberate lie—carefully crafted and maintained for years. A deception you’d long danced around, too consumed by work and duty to confront matters of the heart. It had become an excuse so familiar to your tongue, almost a second nature, an instinctive response whenever someone mentioned your behavior toward Erwin Smith. You could only pray it was enough to convince him there was nothing more behind your concern.

Zeke stared at you, his own expression unreadable. 

“Sure,” he started, and you could almost hear the sarcasm underneath his tongue. “And here I was, wondering why you always look constipated whenever Smith's in the room.”

The bastard was too astute for your own liking. Just your luck.

“Are you insinuating something?”

“You have feelings for your commander, Lieutenant.”

Like a punch to the gut, the wind got knocked out of you. You suddenly found it hard to breathe as the words got lodged somewhere in your throat.

“What?” you stupidly blurted. 

“I said—”

“No,” you interrupted. “I don't—you're wrong.”

It was a few seconds before Zeke spoke again. 

“You're doubting yourself. You don't know whether you did the right thing, turning the man you love into a weapon of war, do you?”

“I don't—” You flinched. You don't what? What exactly were you going to say? 

That you didn’t love Erwin? But you had—at the very least, you used to. That you were starting to doubt whether bringing him back had been the right choice? You were, though not because you wished he wasn't here. 

No, it wasn't that at all. 

You just couldn’t bear the thought of him spending what little time he had left fighting what you thought was a stupid war. You had dragged him back into a world that refused to grant him peace, all because you weren't ready to face it without him, and every time you saw the weight in his eyes, it felt like your heart was being torn apart all over again. 

“There's no need to villainize your actions,” Zeke said, grabbing your attention. “We've all been there—making selfish decisions in the heat of the moment.”

You refused to say anything, afraid that just one word would be like handing raw meat to a lion. Although, at this point, you had a feeling denial would be futile. 

“Do you regret it?”

You had no idea what he was getting at. Some part of you told you he was purposefully giving leading questions as some sort of trap to extract information from you, but the look in his eyes and the weight in his voice hinted there was an untold story behind Zeke’s words. 

Did you seriously start to regret bringing Erwin back into this world?

You waved the subject away and headed to your room. “Y'know what? I was wrong to think I could even talk to you. Forget it.”

Without so much as a backward glance, you slammed the door behind you, listening to the faint beating of your heart as you let the coldness of your room engulf you. The only light came from the moon illuminating through the window, casting its shadow on the floorboards. 

“Do you regret it?”

No matter how much you kept on asking yourself, the answer kept evading you.

Chapter Text

Faint mirthful voices echoed from the mess hall. You would have joined them if not for the mountain of scenarios that plagued you. 

Not too long ago, the old regime had fallen. A new queen of the walls had been reinstated, and a surge of recruits from the other branches transferred to the Survey Corps. The past few weeks had been spent in preparation for the operation to retake Wall Maria; army morale was high. 

Tomorrow, you were off to Shiganshina. 

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Erwin’s voice broke your train of thought. You were in his office, hanging by the windowsill beside his desk. Despite the high-risk operation you were set to leave for tomorrow, the Commander opted to spend the rest of the night working on paperworks. 

You turned to him; he had traded his military uniform for something more casual—a dress shirt and a pair of slacks. It almost made him look like an ordinary civilian. Until your eyes fell on his right sleeve, hanging limply by his side. 

Every time you were reminded of his new handicap, your heart sank lower.

How was he going to lead the troops in this condition? 

Before you knew it, the question left your lips. 

“There’s really no way for you to stay?”

You saw the way Erwin’s hand paused; he’d been in the middle of signing documents. When he turned to you, you realized how inappropriate your request was.

“Sorry,” you blurted, eyes dropping. He was still your commanding officer and you were his lieutenant. 

A trickling silence momentarily followed, before Erwin broke it. 

“Levi had asked me the same question.”

You looked at him again. “He did?”

Nodding, Erwin placed his quill down and gazed at the stack of paperworks on the desk. You couldn’t see his face from where you were standing. 

“He even threatened to break my legs.” You held back a sound of disbelief. Levi had always been the blunt type. 

“But,” Erwin continued, “one arm, two arms, broken legs or not—my answer will not change. I must be there when we uncover the truth of this world.”

Your chest sank at his insistence. You can’t say you were surprised. Erwin’s unyielding determination, regardless of how stubborn it made him, was, after all, one of the many reasons you had grown to respect him. 

His drive for the truth was why you had decided to devote your heart, both to the cause and to him. 

And yet, it did not ease the anxiety that had been badgering you for the past week. As much as how you wanted to help him reach the truth hidden in the basement of Grisha Yeager, you also wanted him to stay away from the lurking hands of death. Ever since the chaos that had unraveled during the reveal of the Armored and Colossal titan identities, every time you looked at Erwin’s missing limb, you were reminded of the fragile ticking of his clock called life. 

You already knew the lifespan of a Survey Commander did not last long, and yet you chose to endure the punishment of loving him anyway. 

They said never to borrow grief from the future, but what were you to do, if you could already see the headlights of death trailing your beloved?

You didn’t answer him. You turned to look out the window, gazing at the starlit sky and wondering if you would live long enough to enjoy this same scenery tomorrow. 

You heard the legs of Erwin’s chair scrape against the floor as he stood. You didn’t want to look at him—not with the way your throat burned. You thought of Miche, of Nanaba, of all the comrades you’d lost over the years, and you wondered if you’d have the strength to go on if something ever happened to Erwin.

Heavy footsteps drew closer, and before you could drown further in your thoughts, you felt a warm pat on your shoulder. 

It was fleeting, light—almost hesitant. You didn’t dare move, afraid of overstepping. Casual gestures between you and Erwin didn’t come so often, more so since he’d been promoted to commander. You knew there was a line never meant to be crossed, yet you’d be lying if the silent stares that lingered a little too long and subtle smiles you shared when you thought no one was looking hadn’t given you hope for something more from him.

Summoning the courage, you turned to meet his eyes—heavy and meaningful, just as they always were whenever he looked at you. 

“Thank you,” he said, and that was probably the softest you’ve ever heard of him, “for following me this far.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to smack him for sounding so melancholic—as if something bad were going to happen to him. But the moment didn’t last. Erwin withdrew his hand and turned, heading toward his private quarters, bidding you a good night.

Your hand moved before your mind could catch up. You grabbed the back of his shirt, holding him in place. The moment you realized what you’d done, you knew there was no turning back. Tears pricked at your eyes as you squeezed them shut, burying your face in the warmth of his back.

‘I love you’, you wanted to say. ‘Please don’t go’. 

You could feel Erwin tense beneath your touch. What surprised you more was that he didn’t move away—what you were doing was beyond inappropriate. If you’d done a decent job hiding your feelings for him all these years, you were certain he’d figured them out by now.

The silence was thick and almost suffocating, but you didn’t want to move first. You wanted it to be Erwin—to pull back from you, give you the rejection you needed to let go. 

But it never came. 

Erwin turned to face you, and before you could say anything, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer. 

Your mind froze. His scent of deep amber, bold yet refined just like him, wafted and clouded your senses. The warmth of his body enveloped you like a thick blanket. Pounding in your ears was the quick beat of your heart, like adrenaline rushing through your body every time you whizz through the air with your vertical maneuvering gear. And, with a start, you realized you could feel Erwin’s heartbeat reverberating across his chest—rapid just like yours was. 

Then, something warm pressed against the top of your head, and with a faint, low voice, you heard him whisper, 

“I’m sorry.”

Erwin didn’t give you a moment to respond. He let go abruptly, turning swiftly so you couldn’t catch a glimpse of his face. Without another word, he moved toward the door connecting to his private quarters, leaving you standing there, at a loss for words. The coldness of the office pressed in, a stark reminder that the warmth of his embrace was gone, leaving only the echo of its absence.

—

You only woke up because you were drenched in sweat. The heat of summer was merciless as it struck Liberio. You glanced at the clock and read the time in alarm. 

One o'clock. In the afternoon. 

You slept through the entire morning. You could hardly remember the last time your guard was so lowered that your body ignored your usual body clock. With a grunt, you swept your legs across the bed and sat up. 

The night before the mission to Shiganshina. You often had flashbacks of it; the merrymaking of the Scouts at the mess hall, unaware of the hell that would soon befall them, your conversation with Erwin, your spiraling feelings, and the hug filled with unspoken emotions. 

You never had a chance to speak with Erwin about it, because immediately the next morning, you departed for Shiganshina. You knew there was no place for sentimentality, so you had thought about confronting Erwin when you returned—except, by the time you did, your relationship with him had already broken down. 

Relationship, you scoffed. What relationship? There wasn’t anything between you. 

Sure, maybe you were closer to him than the rest of the veterans, but that was only because you had trained with him as a cadet. As far as skills were concerned, Erwin relied more on Levi. And although you were capable enough, you weren’t exactly the brightest bulb in the room; Erwin and Hange were more on the same level when it came to strategizing, at least. Even Miche had been more efficient in combat. You were an average soldier, who only miraculously managed to outlive the rest of your comrades. 

There wasn’t anything between you and Erwin—nothing, save for the nights you both snuck out of the cabins during training, lying beneath the stars and dreaming of a world beyond the Walls. Nothing, except for the times he held you close after every expedition, when you came back a little more broken, mourning another fallen friend. For the moments you saved him, and he saved you, on the brink of death while you were outside the Walls. For the long nights spent in his office, trading laughter and quiet conversation. There wasn’t anything between you and Erwin—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Gone were those days, you realized. And now, while Erwin was gazing far ahead into the future, you clung desperately to the past. 

You felt a lump in your throat. Again. This ball of sadness for something that never was returned again, lodging itself somewhere deep in your chest. 

Stand up, you told yourself. A soldier has no time for tears in war. 

After taking a bath, you put on fresh clothes and stepped in front of the vanity mirror. You'd lost a bit of weight, you noticed, as you stared at the less-than-fuller cheeks than you remembered. A huge sigh escaped you, and that was when your eyes caught the drawer, slightly ajar. 

You were about to shut it when curiosity got the best of you. After a moment of deliberation, you pulled it open instead. 

There were several articles inside, most were what you'd probably call random house gizmos, but only two stood out amidst the pile of dust-coated junk: a thick leather book and a worn-out baseball. You grabbed the book first and flipped it open, pausing when you realized. 

A photo album. Of Zeke's childhood days. 

You felt like you were trespassing someone's private memory, but you couldn't tear your eyes from the photo that rose before you: a newborn Zeke being cradled by whom you assumed was his mother.

The first time you'd seen Dina Fritz, it was when Eren found the journal his father had left for him. It was an old family photo of Grisha's first family, and Zeke had probably been two, three years old in it. You didn't have the chance to analyze it at the time, but now that you looked close, it seemed that Zeke had inherited most of his mother's features: dust-blonde hair, light blue eyes—you were fairly certain if he shaved that atrocious beard and put in more effort to look more put-together, he would have been the spitting image of her. 

You turned the page and was met with another photo. Zeke had probably been about a year old in this; he was playing with a box of toys on the ground, round blue eyes lit up in full-blown innocence. You proceeded to the next: Zeke sitting on his father's shoulders, glee etched on both of their faces while the background showed what looked like a riverbank and warm sunset-orange hues cascading the shot like a filter. 

The next photo seemed to be taken before Zeke's warrior trainee days, probably during a parent-child event at school. 

.. Was he crying?

Certainly, the more you squinted your eyes at the photo, the more it looked legit; the corners of young Zeke's eyes were glistening, and his nose slightly red. Even then, you thought that was the happiest he looked, as he stood side by side with his mother. Your fingers traced the surface of the photo, almost in disbelief of how contrasting the younger Zeke looked in comparison to the present. You bet he'd been less annoying at this age. 

Deciding that was enough perusing, you shut the book and tried to process the brief glimpses of what you just saw of Zeke's childhood. Trying to reconcile the photos to the current Zeke that you now know was a challenge. You carefully put it back inside the drawers, your eyes shifting toward the baseball. 

That's enough snooping around, you thought as you stepped out of the room. You guessed Zeke had probably left for work.

Since there wasn’t anything to do, you went around the house doing chores. You weren’t the cleanest person around, but years of hanging around Levi had rubbed off on you; he used to nag your ears every time he walked into your pathetic excuse of an office. Hange would laugh at you for it, before Levi snapped at her saying she was in no position to laugh. 

You began to wonder how the two of them were faring. Erwin had left them to run the regiment back at Paradis in the meantime.

You were so lost in your cleaning you barely realized the passage of time. The next time you read the wall clock, it was already three. 

Standing in the middle of a spotless living room, you realized there was nothing left to do. Your eyes flitted over toward the window, watching warm tones deck the sky in layered marmalade colors. It hit you that you had never taken the time to tour around Liberio. You were so busy with war preparations and being depressed about the truth outside the Walls that you didn't even get the chance to relish the fact that you were in another land. Granted, said land wanted you and your loved ones dead, but you'd been constantly exposed to the hatred of the world for the last three years that you were almost sick of moping over it. Let them hate us for all I care. 

After about a moment of contemplation, you decided it wouldn't hurt to step out, so step you did. 

The whiff of the sea was a staple; a mix of salt, seaweed and minerals pervaded in the air. Bustling street noise laced with chattering civilian conversations danced along. You meandered about, no particular destination in mind, and watched the world move around you. 

A woman pushing a stroller. A shop owner sweeping the road in front of his store. A group of friends gossiping in front of a Cafe. A man walking his dog. The flapping wings of a flock of birds soaring overhead.

You wondered what life would be like, without war. Would you be able to live like these people? 

Your thoughts carried you away from the heart of the city, and the scene before you began to change. You found yourself standing on a sloped, man-made riverbank, landscaped to frame a picturesque view. Across the water, houses rose in staggered layers, their reflections trembling faintly on the river’s surface.

“Oops—watch out—!”

It happened in a snap. Your hand shot up just in time to intercept something whizzing toward your face at breakneck speed. When your mind processed it, you turned your palm and examined the object in your grasp. 

A scuttle of footsteps over the field approached you. 

“Sorry, miss—hey, you should apologize too.”

You looked up and saw three kids elbowing each other sheepishly. 

“It was an accident,” one of them said, rubbing the back of his head as he slightly bowed his head. 

“But you caught it anyway,” the only girl crowed, awe gleaming in her eyes. “That was fast, miss!” 

Fast? A smile threatened to crack. Flying with your vertical maneuvering gear was about a thousand times faster. 

“Don't mention it,” you said as you handed the baseball back to the kids. The boy in the middle, who looked the oldest, accepted it and looked at you. 

“Are you from around here, miss?” 

It took you a while to respond. Your pseudo identity had already been strongly established by Zeke and backed by Kiyomi Azumabito, so there weren't any holes in your disguise. 

“No,” you finally said after a while. “I'm from abroad.”

The three kids gleamed in excitement and began introducing themselves. The two boys were brothers, Rowan the older and Cael the younger one. The girl was their neighbor, Elen. Apparently, they often played catch here by the riverbank after school. You introduced yourself using your fake identity.

“Ms. Ilsa, your throw is strong,” Cael complimented after he caught your ball. You weren't sure how it happened, but the kids managed to drag you in and you decided to humor them. 

“Really? Sorry.” You swore you toned down your strength. It seemed your years of being a soldier had stripped away part of your delicacy.

Elen laughed gleefully. “Don't be! Throw harder!”

“Not fair!” Cael whined from the other side of the field. 

Elen stuck her tongue out. “Boohoo. This is a girls vs boys!” 

You smiled at their exchange. It was moments like these that reminded you of that naïve dream you once carried: a peaceful world, free from all this fighting.

The ball landed in your outstretched hand. You gave the boys enough time to prepare before you swung your arm and let the ball zoom into the air in a smooth arch; it was a fairly decent throw.

“Ack—!” The ball slipped through the tips of Cael’s fingers, changing its trajectory. As he ran to retrieve it, Elen whooped the same time Rowan groaned. You felt a bit sorry for the boys, until your eyes followed the flying baseball as it landed on the grass near a child. 

You froze when you realized. 

Cael also paused in his tracks as he neared the child who had picked up the baseball reluctantly. A girl with a red armband.  

Your mind buzzed with all sorts of thoughts. An Eldian, just like you. You read the discomfort plastered over the brothers, and a grip of hesitance seized you. Until—

“Hi! Wanna play with us?”

The air suddenly lifted. You watched, dumbstruck, as Elen popped beside a frozen Cael and flashed an amiable smile at the Eldian girl, who seemed just as shocked as you. Her face paled, and before she could answer, a woman not too far from her called and beckoned her over. Frantic, the girl shoved the baseball into Elen’s hands and ran toward whom you assumed was her mother. 

When you snapped out of it, you lightly jogged over toward the trio as Rowan calmly berated Elen. 

“Elen..”

“What?” the girl shrugged. “The more the merrier, right?”

“Our parents told us not to talk to them, remember?”

“Your parents did,” Elen corrected. “My dad said we should all treat everyone equally.” 

Rowan scratched his cheek, doubtful. “Well.. yeah, but—”

“And my mom said this whole war is stupid. They just keep on fighting and fighting.. there’s no end to it!”

The two brothers shushed her in a panicked tone. You realized it was because of you. 

Rowan sent you a sheepish look. “S—sorry, Ms. Ilsa. It’s not what you think—Elen doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Oh I know exactly—” 

Cael elbowed her so hard in the stomach. You finally found your voice. 

“It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone.” It was a hard pill to swallow that even kids their age were aware of what went down in society. You didn’t blame the Eldian girl for running away. 

Both brothers visibly sighed in relief. The conversation didn’t last long, because you heard a voice calling Rowan and Cael. When you turned, you noticed a middle-aged woman at the top of the hill. 

“Oh, we gotta go,” Rowan said, waving at you before shooting Elen a knowing glance. “Goodbye, miss Ilsa! Elen, see you later; don’t do anything stupid.”

“Please, I’m not Cael,” she countered, earning a noise of complaint from the said brother. The two of you watched the boys race up the hill toward the sidewalk. Once they were out of sight, Elen turned to you with expectant eyes. 

“You think so too, right, Ms. Ilsa?”

“Huh?”

“That this war is stupid. Who cares about Edlans or whatever, right?”

The words got caught in your throat again. A mix of relief, elation, and sadness welled in your chest; it was the knowledge that not everyone outside the Walls viewed you as devils. Suddenly, that bleak future you thought of was beginning to feel hopeful. 

If not today, then.. maybe in the future..

You thought of Erwin, and the ten years you had left with him. 

In spite of it all, you managed a somber smile. You crouched in front of Elen and patted her on the head. 

“Your parents are kind people.”

Elen studied you, wide innocent eyes scanning your face. Then, she erupted into a smile. 

“You’re kind too, Ms. Ilsa.”

A few minutes later, you watched Elen hike up the hill toward whom you assumed was her father. You were left on the riverbank, your lone shadow cast over the grassy field as the sun began to set in the horizon. You sat down and gazed at the distant skyline. 

You didn’t enjoy the solitude for long. Footsteps from behind you rustled with the weeds as it approached. The pungent smell of cigarette entered your nostrils. 

“Mind if I join you?”

Somehow, you didn’t feel like being hostile today. 

“Do whatever you want.”

He sat down on the grass, leaving some space between you.  

A few seconds passed by in silence. There were still a couple of children playing by the river and a pair of lovers enjoying a picnic not too far from you briefly caught your attention. 

The scent of smoke returned, and your nose crinkled. 

“You stink.”

Zeke laughed through his nose. 

“Cut me some slack, Lieutenant. I'm a bit stressed today.”

The last thing you wanted was to ask him how his day was, but figured the information wouldn't hurt. You decided to humor him, trying to sound as uninterested as possible. 

“You? Stressed?”

“Mhm.” He puffed a smoke out. “The naval fleet's doing a piss-poor job at sea; the Allied Forces sank two of our battleships today. And word has it that Marrow Bay is in need of reinforcements.”

Marrow Bay. You wracked your memory for why it sounded familiar. 

“The port in Odiha?”

When Zeke confirmed it, you mulled over the news. Marrow Bay was a huge inlet used as a port in Odiha city, a coastal area located in the southern part of the mainland. It served as a strategic position for commerce due to the river that connected the city to the other side of the continent while being an advantageous stronghold for naval defense. As far as you were concerned, it was the second-largest port in mainland Marley next to the one in the northern city, Karifa Port. 

If Marrow Bay was at risk of being destroyed, it would be a huge blow to Marley's defenses. 

Huge blow would be underestimating it, you thought. You were no war strategist like Erwin and Zeke, but your experiences as a soldier were enough to tell you it would be like if all three walls of Paradis fell down, leaving you with zero defenses against the titans. 

“Let me guess,” you started, “Marley's finally dispatching you to the frontlines?”

Zeke hummed noncommitally. “Not yet. But they're considering. They'll probably send the Warrior unit a few months from now; this war's been going on for too long already.”

“Shouldn't you be excited?” you flatly asked. “You get to throw rocks at defenseless soldiers again. Isn't that your favorite hobby?”

“I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but ‘defenseless’ and ‘soldiers’ don't really work well together.”

You absolutely hated it whenever he made a good point. And it’s not like he was stupid, either—he was just… like Erwin, if Erwin ever decided to act more like a laidback asshole. 

“You didn't deny it was your favorite hobby.”

It took him a while to respond, so you discreetly glanced at him. There was a certain unreadable haze in his eyes, like he was gazing at something far into the future—or past; a look you rarely ever see on him. 

“Really, who enjoys war?” 

Your head turned, fully looking at him now. Zeke's gaze stayed glued on the horizon, absentmindedly chewing on the butt of his cigarette.

“The only reason we're forced into this is because of our blood, no?”

There it was again. An underlying wistfulness. You heard it last night during your confrontation, but you'd been too lost in your emotional outburst to delve on it. Now that your head had (somewhat) cleared, you were finally able to study Zeke Yeager closer. 

You weren't sure if he was genuinely pondering, or if this was all a ruse to entrap you. You remembered Erwin's warning to never lower your guard down, especially around a man like Zeke Yeager, whose true intentions regarding the alliance still remain a mystery to you. 

But you analyzed him, and despite all parts of your brain cautioning against him, your gut feeling told you he was actually serious. For once.

You gave his words a thought. The recent memory with Elen and the kids came to mind. Your eyes fell on the blades of grass below you as you casually ran your hands across it. The faint prickling tickled your palm.

“No.”

Your answer had Zeke glancing at you.

“‘Blood’,” you began, eyes drawn towards the verdure beneath you. “You make it sound like our birth was the reason. It's not that, at all.”

“It's because.. people are hateful. And scared. And stupid. It's because we refuse to talk that we fight each other,” you finished, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. You never really thought about it because you were so busy hating his guts and his glasses made it difficult to focus, but now that you realized, Zeke's eyes were of a much lighter blue than Erwin's deep cerulean. 

He looked at you unblinkingly, devoid of all his usual sass, and you briefly wondered if this was the real Zeke Yeager underneath that wry mask. 

“But then the world wouldn't be all that—they wouldn't have been hateful, scared, or stupid if Eldians didn't exist.”

“You didn't strike me as a pessimist.”

“Pretty sure I didn't give you a whole ‘rainbows and unicorns’ impression either, Lieutenant.”

You lightly pursed your lips. Oh how he was just begging to be smacked. 

“Don't act stupid. I'm saying it's not us who needs to disappear—it's the world that needs changing.”

“Dunno about that. I'm not Christian; I don't really believe in the whole Jesus thing—” 

“Gods, you're aggravating.”

It started off as a snort. You watched as Zeke began to shake, trying to hold down his laughter. 

“Will you be serious for once?”

Zeke pointed at you, a hint of laughter ghosting his words. “What?—you're smiling too.”

You blinked when you realized. Since when did you..?

Zeke’s laughter subsided, but a glint of humor remained in his smile. “You should smile often. Don’t be constipated like Levi—it ruins the beauty.”

“Oh, like you’d know anything about beauty.”

“I know I act humble, Lieutenant, but I have my fair share of admirers.”

“Marley’s standards are at an all-time low, I see.”

You made a gagging expression and Zeke laughed again. The mood had turned.. lighter. You didn’t know how it happened. He was still as infuriating as ever, but.. 

I’m just in a good mood, you concluded, looking back at the horizon. The sun had begun to sink into the line of the ocean. Silence trickled into the gap of your conversation, but this time, it was comfortable. The afternoon breeze blew past you, carrying the smell of nature. The people by the riverbank had begun to disperse as evening was about to roll; you were the only ones left sitting. 

“‘Changing the world’, huh,” Zeke mused, breaking the silence. “You have an awfully idealistic view, Lieutenant.”

You hummed. “I’m a Scout—we all have naive, almost innocent dreams of the future. What else are we supposed to do, anyway?”

Zeke followed your line of sight and stared at the setting sun with you. 

“So you think it’s fine?” he asked. “Being born like this. With the blood of a monster.”

A monster. That was definitely one way to put it. You wondered if you’d act the same as the rest of the world if you weren’t born an Eldian. You thought of Erwin again, wondering if he was better off resting in a grave than fighting for a better future. 

“I think.. we were born because someone wanted us to be here,” you finally said after a bout of lengthened quietude. “So even if a thousand.. or millions, or the whole world calls you one, existing isn’t a sin.”

“Really? Would you say the same for me?”

You turned to him. He sounded almost doubtful. A feeling indescribable grabbed you by the chest, and you looked away just as quick. 

What were you doing, having this conversation with him? And yet, the words left your lips anyway. 

“Well, you just gotta live and find out.”

A brief pause. “What if I do that and find no one?”

“Then.. I guess you have to become one yourself.”

Your conversation ended with the wind. You didn’t bother looking at Zeke anymore. Your curiosity had definitely been piqued, but there was this level of vulnerability you hadn’t expected to hear from him, so you let his questions be. You didn’t know Zeke Yeager at a deeper level—and you sure as hell didn’t want to. But in essence, he was the same as you. 

The walk home was short and quiet. Almost peaceful. None of you bothered to strike up a conversation, and you thought about keeping it that way as you headed to your room when Zeke called you. 

No nicknames, no titles. Not even with that mocking tone he used to call you with. Just your name. You almost had to do a double take. 

“What?”

He stood in front of the door that led to his quarters, hand on the knob but facing you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face at first, but he eventually offered a quiet smile. 

“Good night.”

He stepped inside his room, leaving you standing outside yours with swirling thoughts. Erwin’s words of warning echoed in your ears. Don’t lose sight of the enemy. 

You hadn’t. You knew to keep your guard up. Whatever Zeke Yeager was scheming, you knew yourself enough that you’d never be caught off guard. This was still the Beast titan, wonder boy and War Chief of Marley. The one who killed Miche. The man you almost lost Erwin to back at Shiganshina. 

You entered your room, leaving behind the unnecessary thoughts.

Chapter Text

Zeke knew you and Erwin didn’t trust him. 

To be fair, he hadn’t been exactly transparent when he proposed his clauses to your alliance. He knew all too well how radical his plans were to those who did not share his ideals, which he’d inherited from his predecessor, Tom Ksaver.

He’d truly only wished for one gain out of this alliance: the euthanization of the entire Eldian race. 

It had felt like a plausible solution. None of the atrocities in history would have happened if only the power of the titans didn’t exist. Tom Ksaver wouldn’t have lost his family from suicide. Zeke wouldn’t have had to endure years of discrimination from Marley and pressure from his own father, when all he’d ever wanted was to live like a normal son, for once. 

If there was one thing Zeke Yeager learned, it was that the existence of the subjects of Ymir had sparked a catalyst to this never-ending suffering the world had witnessed. Complete eradication was the only answer. After all, it would have been better if he hadn’t been born.

But then, you said existing wasn’t a sin. 

And Zeke wanted to know what made you reach that thought, even after leaving the Walls of Paradis, setting foot on a distant, foreign land, where hatred and malice dominated. Zeke wanted to understand why you could still believe in the goodness of life, even after the world had given you reasons otherwise. Was it naivety? Innocence? But you were far from those. You had experienced first-hand how dirty the world really was. 

Then, groundless positivity? Or was it the nurtured trait of a Scout?  

Zeke chewed on the butt of his cigarette as he entered the Internment Zone. The sky was painted dark with intermittent flecks of stars. 

A day had passed since Smith was expected to return. He didn’t think much of it—it wouldn’t be the first time it happened, especially since he was abroad. You, however, were still restless; you tried acting nonchalant, but Zeke could read through you. 

You weren’t exactly an expert when it came to hiding emotions—it was written all over your face, every time he watched you and Smith together, the unexplainable hurt and longing plastered all over you when you thought no one was looking. It didn’t take long for Zeke to realize. 

Not that he necessarily cared. Whether you were past lovers, a fling, or just unresolved tension. If anything, Zeke had thought he could use your feelings to his advantage. 

Hushed giggling reached his ears. Zeke noticed a small group of younger women eyeing him and offered a curt nod and practiced smile. He wasn't lying when he told you he had his fair share of admirers. 

His house came into view after a few minutes of walking. Zeke still couldn’t believe he’d been coming home so often lately; he never used to. Back then, he either slept in his office or crashed at his grandparents’ place.

Now, coming home to a lit house was a sight to behold.

Zeke walked up the front porch, one hand casually fit into his pocket while the other reached for and turned the knob. A soft clack announced his entrance. He was almost tempted to sing “Darling, I'm home”, imagining the face you'd make, when he paused at the doorway. 

Oh. 

There you were on the sofa, head tipped back, peacefully asleep. An open book—one you’d borrowed from his shelf—rested loosely on your lap. 

Zeke softly closed the door, walking over in light footsteps. 

This was.. new. He had to do a double take, because it wasn't like you to show such level of disregard in front of him. 

You looked peaceful. Softer. He was so used to your glowering and sharp insults that the sight was a whiplash. Zeke stopped and stood right in front of you, gazing down at your inert form, without a single care in the world. 

You were probably waiting for Smith. 

Zeke studied your features closely, realizing this might be the only chance he'd ever get. The gentle curl of your lashes, the soft curve of your nose, the way your lips parted ever so slightly. Your chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, and he thought this must be what you'd look like if you weren't caught up in the middle of war.

A few stray hairs had fallen across your cheek, their ends brushing against your nose. You stirred in your sleep, a faint crease forming between your brows.

His lips twitched. 

His hand moved on its own. He began to reach for your face—and froze. 

As his eyes fell on his own outstretched hand, a thousand thoughts ran through him in a span of a second. 

Zeke didn't get the chance to rationalize them all. Because in the very next second, he heard the sound of the doorknob twisting.

Snapping his hand back, Zeke turned around just in time to catch Erwin's gaze as he stepped through the entrance. 

He watched the way Erwin's neutral eyes fell on your sleeping figure, then back to him. Zeke could very much imagine the gears turning in his head. 

“You’re back.”

Erwin walked over and settled his suitcase on the single-seater sofa. Maybe it was just Zeke, but he thought he looked.. cautious. 

“Yes,” Erwin said. “The meeting took longer than expected, and the ongoing war made crossing the sea a risk, so the scheduled departure was delayed.”

Zeke hummed in response as Erwin seemed to study him. The air felt thick, like an invisible charge of electricity hung above them. 

“How are things on your end?” inquired Erwin. 

Zeke scrunched up his nose. “Same old. Your lieutenant managed to get her hands on valuable information the night you left,” he paused, turning to you. “.. Though as you can see, her report will have to wait; wouldn’t want to ruin her beauty sleep, would you?”

When he turned to Erwin, Zeke saw how he was already looking at you. 

“Lucky you, Smith,” Zeke said, “landing yourself a loyal subordinate.”

Erwin’s eyes tore from you and he silently regarded Zeke for a moment. 

“Yes. I suppose I have you to thank for looking after her.”

Zeke held his steady eye contact, trying to read into his tone. After a while, he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, heading for his room. 

“Eh, she can handle herself just fine. Move her back to her room, would ya? I’m out for the night.”

As Zeke walked past Erwin, he noted that the Commander never took his eyes off you. When he entered his room, Zeke realized there might be more to your relationship than met the eye.

::

Erwin’s feet dragged him in front of your sleeping figure. After a second of staring, he reached out and caressed the stray hair that had fallen over your cheek. He stiffened when you stirred, about to pull his hand back, when your face turned and you nuzzled your cheek into the palm of his hand. 

At a loss, Erwin stared at you, frozen in place. He only snapped out of it when he felt your temperature. 

Hot. He realized with a start you felt feverish to the touch. 

Just to be sure, he moved his hand and pressed his palm against your forehead. After a second, he lifted the open book on your lap and put it to the side, before carefully hooking an arm behind your knees and neck, lifting you from the sofa. 

A subtle frown pulled his brows. Were you always this light? Or did you lose weight?

He carried you to your room, steadily lowering you on the mattress. You began to stir. 

“Erwin..?”

He thought you were mumbling in your sleep, but when he looked down, your eyes had fluttered open, half-lidded and drowsy. He gently shushed you. “You're running a fever.”

“You're back.” Relief coated your voice. Somewhere inside Erwin's chest, something squeezed.

“Yes,” he said. “I'm back. Now rest.”

Erwin briefly left the room, returning with a damp cloth in hand and realizing you were still awake. He gently placed it over your forehead, feeling the way you slightly shivered, so he adjusted the blanket over you. 

He then looked around, stopping when his eyes landed on a wooden chair in front of the vanity. Erwin hefted it up and set it beside the bed. 

“.. Erwin, it's fine,” he heard you say just as he sat down. “It's just a fever. It'll shave off tomorrow. You should go rest.”

“I am resting,” Erwin said, leaving no room for rebuttal. When he lifted his gaze, he caught your stare. An emotion he couldn't pinpoint gleamed in them. 

The glinting stars out the window provided minimal light inside the room. A tranquil atmosphere hung in the night breeze as the two of you continued to study each other in the silence. A thousand thoughts ran through him at that moment, all of them laying at the tip of his tongue. 

He should say something. Anything, to fill in the silence. But try as he may, nothing came up. Erwin wasn't sure when it started. But at some point, he occasionally found it hard to breathe around you. 

It came as a surprise. He was Erwin Smith. He was a master of his word, an expert in everything concerning speech. He'd confronted international representatives, stood before military chancellors, and taken part in countless political debates ever since the truth of the world came to light three years ago. He had hundreds of soldiers under his command, rallying them with undaunted charisma.

Yet, all that eloquence, all that strength—everything he'd ever built and everything he'd ever been—all of it came crumbling down every time he stood in front of you.  

Before you, he was not the man his men admired and looked up to. 

“Alliance or not, we are still in enemy territory,” he admonished. “You'd do well to take care of your body.”

You coughed, voice laced with a hint of coarseness. “I know. It's not serious—I'll pull my own weight; you don't have to worry about me dragging you down.”

You misunderstand me, he wanted to say. Did you really perceive him as someone so heartless? You were never a burden; to Erwin, you had always been an anchor. Strong-willed, steadfast, kind—you possessed the kind of strength that was resilient. The qualities he had grown to admire you for. 

Yet, he did not correct you. Maybe it was for the better—that you saw him as the cold Commander he deliberately portrayed himself as. Maybe then, it would hurt both of you less, when his time ran out. 

The silence returned and as all the unsaid thoughts drifted with the night, Erwin welcomed the temporary escape of sleep.  

—

When you woke up the next morning, you felt infinitely better. You sat up, remembering the cloth on your forehead too late as it flopped on your lap. You stared at it for a few moments, still a bit groggy, before you turned to the bedside table and saw the water basin. Beside it was another damp cloth. 

So Erwin had changed the cloth for you sometime during the night. Your chest fluttered at the thought. He was impossible to read—cold one moment, then quietly tending to you the next, even after just returning from an overseas meeting.

Shaking the thought away, you opted not to dwell on it. Trying to read into your Commander's thoughts was like convincing the world you weren't a monster. 

You stood and headed for the restroom to wash your face. After dousing yourself with the coldness, you instantly felt alert. Changing into fresh clothes, you walked out of your room just in time to hear familiar voices. 

“—ly be a matter of time before they make their move.”

You stopped by the doorway when you caught sight of the living room. Zeke was the first one to notice you from his periphery. 

“Well, well. If it isn’t sleeping beauty. Feeling better, sweetheart?”

You courteously greeted him with a middle finger. Zeke chuckled the same time Erwin looked over his shoulder, as he had taken the single-seater sofa, back facing you. 

“Good morning,” he addressed, as straightforward as ever and a stark contrast to Zeke. “How are you feeling?”

You walked over toward the sofa across Zeke. There was a mug of coffee for the both of them perched on the coffee table, tendrils of steam still curling upward. You sat down. 

“Good,” you answered curtly. “What were you discussing about?”

Erwin’s eyes scanned you head to toe. “Aren’t you hungry?”

The question was so out of place that you blinked at him a few times. 

“Hun—.. no.” You hesitated. “I'm good. I'll eat later.”

“You sure?” Zeke added from across you, lone brow raised. “Smith said you came down with a fever. You should eat breakfast, Lieutenant."

This was a whole new level of weird; it made your skin tingle uncomfortably. Your eyes jumped between Erwin and Zeke.

“I get it, I'll eat. After this discussion. You aren't planning on leaving me out, are you?” You sent a look of suspicion toward Erwin's way, who stared at you for a good few added seconds as if analyzing you, before he shook his head. 

“No. It's not a confidential subject.”

“Then out with it.” You rarely ever talked so firmly to Erwin, but he made no comment of it. He began to explain. 

“Belvaria has agreed to ally with Paradis. They're willing to lend their naval battalion to support us if need be. In exchange, they want access to our anti-titan equipment.”

Your brows pinched together. “Anti-titan..? They mean our vertical maneuvering?”

“To be more precise, the thunder spears.” 

“Aren't they—” you made air quotations, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes— “‘more advanced’—than us? They had the last hundred years to manufacture something similar. Besides, you can't use the thunder spears without mastery of the vertical maneuvering gear.”

“That's what I told them during the meeting,” Erwin acknowledged. “Apparently, their intent is purely research. Belvaria has devoted its resources to naval warfare in recent years, leaving them unequipped and inexperienced in direct titan combat. With access to our equipment, they aim to design weapons that don't require employment of the vertical maneuvering gear suited for engagements against Marley’s titans.”

“Don't they have Kresnovia for that?” Zeke interjected. You turned to him. “And they're part of the Allied Forces. What do they need Paradis' thunder spears for?” 

You were familiar with the nation of Kresnovia. While Belvaria focused more on improving their naval forces, Kresnovia specialized in manufacturing weapons for ground warfare. Word had spread that they'd been developing their own anti-titan weapon behind the scenes, although none of the sort had made its appearance in the war yet. But, it was just as Zeke said: Kresnovia was one of the countries enjoined in the Allied Forces—Belvaria shouldn't be needing Paradis’ outdated weaponry to design their own. 

You watched the way the hue in Erwin's gaze shifted. 

“That leads me to the next information I've gathered. Apparently, tension has risen even among the Allied Forces. Belvaria's representative avoided disclosing the full details, but I suspect their relationship with Kresnovia isn't as stable as we initially presumed.”

After a moment of silence, you scoffed, reclining on the sofa with crossed arms. 

“Infighting, huh? Typical. I'm not even surprised anymore.”

Zeke's eyes were glued on the mug he was nursing. He took a sip. 

“Belvaria has been spearheading this war. The fact that Kresnovia's not backing down means they have something up their sleeve.”

Nodding, Erwin looked at him. “Precisely. I surmise it's connected to their anti-titan weapons development. If they've managed to actualize it, they could become a key player in the closing act of the war.”

“And when that happens, even Belvaria will have to bow down,” Zeke finished. “They wouldn't need Paradis’ help in subduing Marley. In short, you worry negotiations with Kresnovia will fall through.”

Erwin nodded grimly. A bout of silence settled above the living room as the news sank in. Your eyes went from Erwin to Zeke. It felt surreal to listen to them openly discussing together. Their inferences and ideas flowed almost seamlessly, you forgot your alliance was operating under a sham. 

“I won't deny my concern,” Erwin began, grabbing your attention. “But at the very least, Kresnovia has agreed to an audience with me. They're sending an undercover representative.”

That perked your interest. You sat up straighter. “When?”

“A week from now,” he said. He looked at Zeke. “Marley's military subdivision in Liberio is holding an officers’ gala, as I've heard. They plan to infiltrate and pose as an international reporter.”

You weren't unfamiliar with such social functions—you've had plenty of opportunities to attend similar gatherings back at Paradis. Every time Erwin was summoned to the Interior, he often brought you and Levi with him as escorts. You could never quite forget the piquant smell of booze and perfume mixing with the spice of fancy meals, the obnoxious laughter of military heads who reeked of alcohol, and the level of bull and sugarcoating you had to endure in the face of those snobby nobles. Not to mention the fair number of noble women who batted their lashes at Erwin; safe to say, you and Levi had been far from enthusiastic. 

“Why make a gala your rendezvous point, of all places?” you asked. 

“It'll be where all the VIPs gather,” Zeke said. “Military officials, wealthy businessmen, international journalists—you name it. Every powerful, influential figure will attend. I'm betting they plan to collect intel during the gala.”

“Even you?”

He nodded. “Especially me. As well as the rest of the Warrior unit. Attendance is mandatory for us.”

You mulled it over. Certainly, a gala of such scale was akin to a goldmine for information gathering. Still, with such important people convened in one place, you wondered whether it was safe enough to move around. 

“Does Marley even have the time to spare?” you pointed out, frowning. Now that you thought about it, holding a gala smack in the middle of war didn't seem too battle appropriate. You recalled the state of affairs out at sea—if what Zeke had told you wasn't a lie, then Marley's naval forces were barely holding out. 

Then again, the reason they could pull a stunt like this was because they were sending Eldian soldiers over to the front lines. 

This time, it was Erwin who spoke. 

“Government propaganda. With the current situation, Marley wants its people—and countries all over the world to know that the war hasn't shaken them. And looking at the list of attendees, I expect we won't be the only ones attending for covert operations.”

You bit your lip as you imagined the cluster of Marleyan elites gathered in one place. You dreaded the level of ego you will have to humor.

“One more thing,” Zeke added. Both you and Erwin looked at him. “The Tybur family will be there. Seems like the best opportunity to pin down the Warhammer titan’s identity.”

Oh. Right. You almost forgot about that. You began to give Erwin a rundown of the information you'd gathered the other night.

When you were done, he commended you. “Good work. With that in mind, we can monitor the Tybur family during the event as well.”

As your meeting came to an end, Erwin excused himself and retired to his room. Your eyes followed him as he disappeared behind the door. When you looked back at Zeke, his eyes were already on you. 

You hadn't expected that. “What?”

Zeke slightly tilted his head, amusement flashing through his stare. 

“I wonder if Smith's dense, or just deliberately ignoring your blatant feelings.”

Shit. You knew he'd already hit bullseye the other day, but you were hellbent on dodging his throws. “Will you combust if you don't spout bullshit for ten minutes?”

“As a matter of fact, yes I do,” Zeke said, grinning. You wanted to sock him right then and there, but seeing how it was too early to be riled up by his rage baiting, you made your way toward the kitchen.

“Don't make me regret allying with you, Yeager,” you warned.

You heard Zeke chuckle followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps. You ignored his approaching presence as you opened the fridge and scanned the contents. 

“You know how to cook, Lieutenant?"

You flinched when his voice boomed right beside your ear. The bastard was peering over your shoulder, too close for your liking.

“Do you want to die?”

“Well, I'm dying in about two ye—oomf—”

You shoved his face away in disgust. “Do it faster.”

Zeke rubbed the spot on his cheek and had the gall to pout. “That's harsh.”

You stared at him, a sudden guilt washing over you. Immediately after, Zeke began to shake and snort. 

“Did you actually feel sorry?” he laughed. “You're too easy to read, Lieute—woah, woah—I’m sorry! I won't do it again!”

He'd grabbed your wrist just in time to stop the kitchen knife from plunging into his eyeball. You could feel your face heating up as you clenched your teeth. What were you thinking, getting caught up in his play? He was just mocking you at this point. 

“I swear to Wall Maria I will slit your throat one of these days.”

Despite your apparent irritation, Zeke slowly broke into a smile. 

“Maybe going down by your hands wouldn't be so bad.”

The unexpected sincerity in his voice made you loosen your grip. Certain he was messing with you again, you pulled your hand back from his and huffed, turning away. 

“Do me a favor and get out of my sight.”

“Sure you want that?” His tone seemed to be alluding to something. “And here I was, thinking my generosity could help.”

You frowned at him. “What are you getting at?”

Zeke’s eyes scanned you head to toe, that annoying smile irking you more.

“You don’t have anything to wear to the gala, do you?”

Freezing, the realization hit you—you hadn’t brought anything remotely socially appropriate. In your defense, lounging around at a fancy gala was the last thing on your mind when you packed your things.

“I’ll—think of something,” you uttered. “I don’t need your help with that.”

Zeke didn’t sound convinced. “Really? I haven’t thrown any of my late mother’s stuff—I think there are enough dresses for you to choose from.”

You looked at him. His mother. If memory served you right, her name was Dina Fritz. A descendant of the royal family, she had been at the forefront of the Eldian Restorationists led by Grisha Yeager, who all but unfortunately got dispatched to Paradis as Pure Titans after a whistleblow by none other than their very own son. 

At least, that was what you had learned from the journal written by Grisha Yeager, which he left in his basement. When it came to personal perspectives, you had yet to hear the story from Zeke himself.

“You’re fine with that?”

Zeke laughed through his nose, although it sounded more like a scoff. “I assure you, there’s no need to walk on eggshells around me; I’m not sensitive about my past, Lieutenant.”

He sized you up. “Although, you seem taller than she was, so maybe it’s better to get you a new one. There’s a boutique where I usually shop at, I can take you there.”

“Don’t bother. If you’re fine with it, I can tweak it with a sewing kit.” You folded your arms. “I’d rather avoid spending on useless clothes.”

“Who said you’re using your own money?” Zeke raised a brow. “Consider it a gift from me.”

Your chest did a funny thing. You glared at him. “I’d rather die. Anyway, you do have a sewing kit?” 

“Can ask from my grandma,” he mused, looking out the window above the kitchen sink. “They live not too far from here.”

As you studied his side profile, it hit you that he still had living relatives. The imagery humanized him, as much as you hated to admit; you had quite a difficulty picturing the man who had reduced your comrades to rubble during the battle at Shiganshina, a loving grandson. Despite the weeks you had spent here in Liberio, you still know almost nothing about the enigma that was Zeke Yeager.

The silence was broken by the rumbling of your stomach. 

Zeke turned to you just in time for you to avert your gaze. 

“Lieu—”

“One word, and this knife is flying to your eye.”

Chapter Text

A whole week passed and the day of the gala finally arrived. 

You stood in front of the vanity, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. 

It felt like you were intruding. 

Dina Fritz had been a petite woman, you thought. Zeke had offered you an entire wardrobe of fancy dresses along with a sewing kit he'd borrowed from his grandmother, true to his words. You had been working on tweaking it the whole day yesterday, and despite being a few years worn out, your adjustments managed to make it look brand new. 

The top was a white chemise, its off-shoulder, puffed sleeves slipping just low enough to reveal a fair stretch of skin—neither too modest nor too bold. A brown corset, laced up along the front and back, cinched snugly around your waist. The beige skirt fell in soft, tiered layers to the floor, full and fluid with every step. You paired your outfit with the military standard-issue boots you'd brought from Paradis, couldn't care less if people called you a fashion terrorist; it got covered by the skirt anyway. Overall, nothing extravagant—but refined enough for a gala.

Except—you couldn't reach your back. 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you stared at yourself. You still haven't tied the lace behind you, the angle too difficult to reach. You were just about to try a different angle when a knock rapped from your door.

From outside, you heard Erwin's muffled voice calling your name. 

“Are you done?”

Muttering a curse, you fumbled with the strings behind you. 

“Uh—yeah—no—just a sec.”

There was a moment of pause, then, “Do you need assistance?”

You looked at your reflection again, noting down the beads of sweat that had begun to collect on your brow. You've been fiddling with this thing for the last five minutes already. Briefly wishing Hange had been here, you resigned to your fate and sighed. 

“Yeah.. if it's alright.”

Another pause—then the doorknob turned. From the reflection in the mirror, your eyes met Erwin’s just as he stepped inside. He halted by the doorway, gaze tracing the line of your back. You weren’t faring any better; the black suit and tie did wonders to emphasize his physique. You could already picture the line of elites who’d be staring the moment he walked into that gala.

Your eyes caught Erwin's once more just as he peered back into the mirror. When you realized you had both been staring, Erwin cleared his throat and gently shut the door close behind him. Your eyes fell on the bottle of unused perfumes on the vanity, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks. 

Erwin walked over, soft steps padding over the floor. Each step seemed to echo louder than the last, sending charges of what you could only describe as electricity down your spine.

Mind whirring, you tried to break the silence. “I can't reach my back.”

Erwin stopped right behind you, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat the moment his fingers reached for your lace. You tilted your head, pulled your hair to the side, allowing him better visibility.

“Zeke lent you this?” When you looked at him through the mirror, his eyes were focused on your back, jaw set and tight. You simply nodded. 

As his fingers glided across your back, feeling the strings loop around in a tie, you tried your best to reel your thoughts from wandering toward anything unnecessary. For a man of his build and rough exterior on the battlefield, he was surprisingly gentle with his hands.

“Is it too tight?”

The low rumble of his voice had you swallowing a pit of saliva. He was staring at you through the mirror, eyes guarded yet intense. The air felt… suffocating. 

When you didn't answer right away, you felt a finger hook beneath the string. He gave it a gentle tug, and you bit back a gasp, your hands finding its grip on the edge of the vanity. The table creaked.

“Is it too tight?” he repeated, never taking his eyes from you. You suddenly found it difficult to breathe, thoughts buzzing in a series of haze. 

“No, sir.” You sounded breathless, as if you'd just ran a marathon. You couldn't describe the effect this man had on you. “It's.. fine. Thank you.”

You thought you saw something else flash in his eyes, but it disappeared as fast as it came. 

Erwin looked away, and the charm of entrancement was dispelled. The air that had been withheld from you seemed to come rushing back like a tidal wave.

“We cannot be seen together,” he said. “I will be making my way there first. You and Zeke will follow later.”

The thought of acting as Zeke's plus one brought a weird tingle in your stomach. As if facing snobby elites weren't hard enough, you had to act as his escort for the night. Your displeasure was probably written all over you, since Erwin looked over and added, “You have enough experience in similar settings, I trust you'll act accordingly.”

You turned around and faced him, not convinced. “The difference is that Apeshit is annoying. I can handle the nobility. Stopping myself from snapping his neck is another issue.”

Erwin studied you closely. You swore you saw his lip twitch in… amusement?

“You've been spending a lot of time with Levi.”

“Yeah—well, Levi's much more tolerable. And I obviously trust him more.”

Erwin stared at you for a bit more. “Don't forget your task.”

The air turned more somber. “Yeah. Monitor the two suspects.” You paused. “And keep an eye on anyone Willy Tybur makes contact with.”

The other day, you and Erwin had a private discussion. 

“You want to meet Willy Tybur? In person?”

Erwin had taken the opportunity to slip inside your room shortly after Zeke left. You were already aware he had his own reservations against sharing every detail with him, so it didn't come as a surprise. 

“From what we've gathered,” Erwin began, “the Tybur family holds the reigning authority over Marley. I intend to exhaust every means of diplomacy possible before the war escalates and draws Paradis into it.”

You mulled over the idea. As much as how dismal the situation was, you understood Erwin completely—ideally, avoiding war altogether was the best thing you could hope for. The military heads back at Paradis had been clamoring for equipping the island with the necessary munitions and firepower for defense against hostile attacks. Of course, you understood the concept of contingency, but the council executives save for Commander Dot Pixis weren't receptive toward diplomacy. 

“Despite being Eldians themselves, the Tybur family's the one pushing for a united front against Paradis,” you mused aloud, leaning against the windowsill. Outside, on the ledge, you eyed a gray sparrow hopping about. “Even the Allied Nations are backing them. Hypocritical bastards, if you ask me.”

Erwin fell into silence for a while. 

“Precisely why I must speak with him,” he said. “Only after we identify the Warhammer. I'd rather move with all our cards definitive and ready beforehand.”

“Huh.” You stared at him, arms crossed. “What ever happened to your gambling addiction? Did the Colossal eat it away?”

You weren't used to him being so cautious. Commander Erwin Smith, although a decisive man, did not shy away from gambling risks whenever the situation called for him to. 

“We are eminently lacking manpower,” Erwin said. “You and I cannot afford to move hastily.”

You pressed your lips together, nodding. “Right.”

“And,” he added after a brief pause, “on the night of the gala, monitor security closely. If anything occurs, be prepared to engage.”

“You sure you'll be fine?” you asked him. “You make it sound as if.. something's going to happen.”

Erwin remained impassive, unreadable. 

“Merely words of caution. Of course, I hope this evening goes by smoothly. But as we've already discussed, we have enough grounds to presume Kresnovia is operating separately from the Allied Forces. Anything could happen.

You nodded. “Alright. I'll keep that in mind.”

He didn't make a sound of acknowledgement, merely stared at you, allowing you to glimpse the calculative gaze dancing across him. At that moment, his face shifted, a movement so minuscule you almost missed it. His brows furrowed. 

“Erwin?” He seemed.. contemplative. 

At your voice, he blinked and lightly shook his head, as if physically dismissing whatever thoughts you weren't privy to. 

“It's nothing. I will see you at the gala.” He curtly nodded, rounding his heel. You watched as his large strides led him out, and with a soft clack, you were left alone in the silence.

::

Zeke glanced up just as Erwin stepped out of your room. After changing into his formal wear, he'd been leisurely lounging by the sofa, a book in hand, which he took from his shelf earlier as a means to pass time.

“Everything good?” he asked, noting the unexplainable demeanor painting the Commander. Smith looked at him and like the flip of a switch, schooled his face back into his trademark neutral stare. 

“Yes. Then, I will leave matters here to you.”

Zeke observed, a casual arm draped over the back of the sofa and a pair of curious eyes trailing after Erwin as he made his way across the living room and toward the door.

Once he was gone, he directed his attention back to the door of your room. He'd be remiss if he didn't know you and Smith had your own plans, although he wasn't surprised at all; he was also moving independently according to his own goals—he already knew he neither had Paradis nor Marley's support. 

He snapped the book shut and stalked toward the bookshelf on the wall. After depositing the book in its rightful place, he scanned for another read, eager to entertain himself for the next hour or so. With a finger absentmindedly tapping his lip and other hand resting languidly on his waist, he briefly weighed whether perusing a book he'd read a hundred times already or teasing you would be more productive of his time.

He heard the door creak open, and Zeke turned. 

“Lieutenant, excellent timing. Why don't you joi—” 

Whatever remark he'd wanted to utter was instantly wiped from his tongue. Zeke stared, almost uncharacteristically dumbfounded, as you stepped out of your room.

He knew it had been his idea. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you in his mother’s dress. You had altered it, yes, but kept its essence—the antique elegance preserved beneath your modern touch. Maybe it wasn't the most current fashion, but it met the gala’s military standard with quiet grace. And Zeke would be damned if anyone else could rival you tonight.

And—of course, you just had to choose that dress of all things.

Zeke shook away the memories. 

“Excellent timing?” You raised a brow at him questioningly. He cleared his throat and put on a practiced smile. 

“Nevermind that—my, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Lieutenant?” He grinned and walked over, eyes scanning appreciatively. As he stopped a few steps before you, he dramatically offered his hand. “I must be the luckiest man tonight to have the honor of escorting you.”

You deadpanned at him. Perhaps you hadn't realized it yourself—but Zeke thought the intensity of your glares had toned down for the last few days. 

“And you don't look like a walking piece of shit, for once. Maybe only fart-level this time,” you said right to his face as you side stepped around him and headed for the sofa, blatantly ignoring his outstretched hand. Zeke chuckled as he looked at you, before he eventually followed your lead and sat right across you. 

“Just to set this clear, it was Smith's idea,” he said defensively, in a faux mocking tone. “So if you're frustrated with the arrangements, take it up to your Commander.”

He watched the way you parted your lips, probably about to curse at him again, but paused. You stared at him warily, before you scoffed and averted your gaze. 

“When we're at the gala, do me a favor and don't piss me off. Marley wouldn't want their wonder boy's pig head rolling across their shit-mopped floor.” 

“You certainly have a way with words, Lieutenant."

You mumbled something under your breath, but it was too low for Zeke to catch. He levelled a steady stare on your figure; the silence allowed him a moment to take in your outfit once more. 

You weren't unpleasant to look at, at all. While Zeke had almost no interest in that department, he wasn't a blind man; he knew how to appreciate beauty, and seeing attractive female war soldiers wasn't new to him—he literally worked with Pieck, the Warrior unit's very own goddess of beauty even among Marleyan soldiers. 

Yet, there was a unique charm about you he couldn't exactly pinpoint.

“I know it was your idea,” you suddenly spoke, breaking his train of thought, “but I hope you don't mind me wearing this.”

Zeke offered a disarming smile. “Your concern touches me so. But I thought I already told you I don't care about my past.”

“And,” he quickly added, gesturing to her outfit, “I gotta say—you have quite the talent in sewing. I gave you an entire wardrobe to choose from. Why pick that?”

You raised a brow at him, but answered nonetheless. “No particular reason. I just grabbed whatever from that pile.” You fell into silence. “Can I ask you something?”

That was a first. Zeke was internally taken aback at your sudden curiosity—it almost made him smile. 

“Are you finally interested in me, Lieutenant?”

Undeterred, you shot your question, “Why didn't you throw these out?”

Your words seemingly bounced against the recesses of his brain. Zeke tried to maintain the weight of his unfazed smile, although he had to admit—he hadn't been expecting that kind of question from you.

“Couldn't be bothered,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, you never know when I'll need to dress up in fancy frills. But now that I look at you, it's a good thing I didn't; it looks like it was made for you. Although it kinda checks out.”

Your inquisitive look prompted him to clarify, so he did.

“My mom always said she'd wanted a daughter—although, well.. that didn't quite work well for her, now did it.” It came out more of a statement than anything. He didn't mean to make it awkward, but the way the air shifted and your face twisted into an expression as if you were unsure of what to say told Zeke maybe he talked too much. 

Ever since he had betrayed his parents to Marley, Zeke had done his best to push their memory out of his thoughts. He deemed them unnecessary obstacles in his path toward his ultimate objective. 

He already knew what had happened to his father, but the fate of his mother remained a locked vault. 

“Do you miss her?”

Zeke broke free from his internal monologue and stared at you. “Huh?”

Your eyes had fallen, focused on a spot on the coffee table between you. “I mean your mother.”

Zeke could feel his heart pounding. “What makes you say that?”

“I.. saw your photo album,” you confessed. “It was in the drawer of my room.”

He swallowed a silent gulp. Oh. He wasn't sure what to make of that; that photo album held an entire childhood's worth of memories—all of which Zeke had buried long ago already.

“Hard to miss someone I've lived longer without than with.”

Besides, at this point, Zeke would rather much admit he had more affection for his grandparents and predecessor than his own parents. Not with the way they had treated him. 

“Care to share what photos you saw?”

It took you a while to answer as you pinched the puff of your sleeve. “Only a few. One of them showed your mother wearing this thing.

“Thought you said you randomly picked the dress.”

“I did.” You crossed your arms and lifted your gaze towards his. “It.. just sort of happened.”

Zeke hummed, allowing a momentary pause in the conversation. He closed his eyes and he could still hear a string of laughter, a period of ephemeral happiness before it all came tumbling down. 

“It was Parent-Child Day,” he began, as if some sort of invisible power had loosened his tongue. Zeke himself wasn't sure why, but he wasn't as opposed to telling you as he thought.

Eldians and Pureblood Marleyans attended the same school, but were segregated by class. Teachers were a mixed set of Eldian and Marleyan, simply because the government didn't want to risk possible Eldian extremists teaching children potentially mutinous doctrines. Nevertheless, they still celebrated the same school events. 

“My parents said they couldn't come—something about work or stuff, I don't really even remember now. But I do remember my grandparents showing up instead.”

You listened attentively, probably the longest you'd ever given him your attention without throwing threats and insults, which was refreshing. 

Although, Zeke enjoyed the rougher side of you as well. 

“It was as normal as you can imagine—me looking at the other kids, jealous of having their parents by their side. Then boom—mom arrived, all sweating and panting. I was six, so I guess you could say I got a bit emotional on the side.”

A trickling silence fell. The stare you were giving him was unnerving, as if you were reading through his mind at that very moment. And Zeke didn't like to be read—he wanted to be the one reading others. 

You said the three words that simultaneously shattered and made him whole, no louder than a whisper.

“She loved you.”

A flurry of anger spiked, but Zeke reigned it in. I've moved on from it. 

“I was no more than a tool to her.”

You looked at him, and there was something swirling in your eyes. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disappointment. Nor was it the usual hatred you used to look at him with. It looked kinder. 

“What you feel toward her doesn't have to change. But you can't look at me in the eye and tell me she never saw you as a son.”

Zeke's eyes fell on the table. Something was twisting itself inside his stomach. So deep, he wasn't sure where it came from. Maybe it had been there for a long time—so long, he had forgotten its name.

He scoffed. 

“Please, Lieutenant, spare me the bull. You're not gonna preach to me about how parents can never hate their children, are you?”

“No,” you said, Zeke was mildly surprised you answered immediately. “I won't say something stupid like that. I know.. there are people out there who hate their children.”

When Zeke finally lifted his eyes, the somber in your gaze told him of a heavy thought you couldn't be bothered to unburden. 

“But.. that wasn't the feel I got from those photos.” You paused, and looked at him. “Regardless of what she did, or failed to do, if she never truly loved you, she wouldn't have smiled like that.”

Zeke thought about his mother—how, even if things hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped, she was always the first to encourage and defend him whenever he felt he’d failed his father.

He thought about the way her eyes never showed an ounce of anger when he'd sold them to Marley, dooming them to a perpetual nightmare, where the only peace left was death.

“And if you truly believed she didn't love you, you wouldn't have spent so much time, revisiting those pages,” you finished. “It was the only thing in that drawer that wasn't covered in dust. You kept on opening it. Zeke, deep down.. you already knew, didn't you?”

Zeke held your stare, a heavy pit of a mixture of different emotions balling and contorting in the back of his throat. He stayed as still as a rock, afraid that one movement would send him deeper into this mush of a water dam that had opened during the span of this conversation. 

When he didn't answer, you spoke once more, “For what it's worth, your mom.. she's no longer wandering around the island in a nightmare. She's at peace now. I hope you find some, too.” 

It shouldn't have hit him as hard as it did, but that was exactly what happened. It felt like some tangled ball of yarn somewhere in the back of his mind had unraveled before him, and all that tension collecting inside him had uncoiled, finally free from the shackles of his past. 

He took a closer look at you, and you weren't looking at him in pity, nor disappointment, nor hatred. It looked kinder. Perhaps, something like understanding. 

When his voice found him again, Zeke released a low chuckle. Not hollow, but something that sounded like defeat.

“Like I said, you have a way with words, Lieutenant.”

And then, you did something that made his heart flutter. You smiled at him. 

“Yeah—shocking how calmer I can be when you're not pissing me off, huh?”

Zeke stared at you, which was beginning to feel quite repetitive; he'd been staring at you a lot these days, one would think he'd get used to it by now. But perhaps it was the pipeline from crass banter to heartfelt conversation, or the glow in your smile, or the dress, or something else entirely—maybe—it was just you. 

Something warm bloomed in his chest. Oh. 

Oh. 

He fucked up bad.

Chapter Text

You held your breath as you walked into the building, a wave of nausea washing over. 

The gala was held inside a building in the Liberio's military subdivision. It wasn't as fancy as the ones held in mansions, but the area was spacious and minimally decorated with the right amount of sophistication. The entrance led to a short bricked corridor, with pillars lining by the walls and sconces flickering and casting shadows. Muffled voices and a melifluous harmony coiled together like a silk thread, flowing from the main hall.

“Breathe, Lieutenant,” you heard Zeke say from beside you. “We're not diving underwater.”

“I know,” you hissed in reply. “Maybe you're used to talking with your snobby higher-ups on the daily, but I'm not.”

“What do you mean? Smith's right there.”

You were about to snap at him when he grabbed your hand and looped it around his arm. You gave him an incredulous stare. 

“There. You're supposed to be my date, remember? We have to act the part.”

It took everything within you to refrain from withdrawing your hand. Your skin tingled in what you could only describe as disgust. 

“More like babysitter. Let's just get this over with.”

You knew you were the one who said it, but you allowed yourself to be led by Zeke as the both you stepped through the entrance into the main hall. Immediately after, a flood of overwhelming noise and dazzle flashed before you. A crowd of well-dressed figures floated across the polished floors, laughter and clinking of glass echoing here and there and tugging you to the brink of overstimulation. A musical ensemble were arrayed on a platform to the side of the hall, playing a series of classical pieces that didn't need a musical connoisseur for appreciation. On the other side was a long line of buffet tables carrying a plethora of mouthwatering cuisines. Aside from the attendees, waiting staff with trays and security in uniform weaved through the crowd, accommodating the guests.

“Lieutenant, you're squeezing me.”

Biting back a yelp, you flinched and whipped your head when you felt the low whisper of your company beside your ear. You glared at him, earning a cheeky smile in return. 

“Don't get so close,” you whispered back. 

“Now, why shouldn't I? It'll sell our act easier, right?” 

“We don't have to pretend when no one's—” 

A new voice suddenly called. 

“Hm? Why—isn’t that our wonder boy, Chief Yeager? And here I thought you decided to raincheck!” 

You froze rigid before instantly plastering a smile as Zeke did the same. He maneuvered you around with ease so that he was facing the individual, half-shielding you. 

“Colonel Hayes. Glad you could make it, sir.” Zeke saluted. “Also, I wouldn't miss this gala for the world. The head chef's a personal friend o’ mine—I don't get to eat fine three-star dishes every day, you see.”

The man let out a short-lived laugh. He looked to be in his mid-forties; though dressed in a fine suit, his stocky build spoke of a man once suited for the battlefield. A growing stubble added a few extra years to his face, but the warmth of his smile softened his otherwise imposing presence.

He clapped Zeke by the shoulder. “Nonsense. With your contributions to Marley, I bet you're given more privileges than any other Honorary Marleyan.”

Zeke laughed good-naturedly. “Well, I'm still Eldian. They treat me like any other.”

Colonel Hayes shook his head in mild disappointment. “If those higher-ups of yours know any better, they'd learn to keep their cards well tended.”

“You're too kind, sir.”

The colonel's eyes fell on you, as if finally noticing your presence. His brows shot up in curiosity. 

“Oh? My apologies—I didn't know you brought with you a fine young lady tonight.” He politely tipped his head and you returned his greeting. You couldn't help but think how similar he acted to Commander Pixis, just slightly.. rougher around the edges. 

“My friend from abroad, Ms. Ilsa Alberich. She's a travelling journalist,” Zeke introduced, turning to you. “This is Colonel Otto Hayes, in-charge of the battalion stationed at Fort Salta.”

Fort Salta. You recall it was the airship research base at the southern mountainous region. “Nice to meet you, Colonel.”

“Journalist? Well you're in the right place; this gala's jam-packed with all the juicy scoop you can find.” He swept a casual arm around. “I can introduce you to some friends—” 

You were just in the middle of thinking up a good excuse to decline his offer when someone arrived and called his attention. The colonel paused and leaned down as the attendant whispered something in his ear. 

“Looks like I'm needed elsewhere,” he said, addressing you and Zeke. He gave you an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Ms. Ilsa. Please do find me later if you're in need of an exclusive interview.”

You politely waved your hand. “Thank you for the kind offer, Colonel. I'll consider it.”

You watched the colonel walk away, smile never fading as you spoke through your teeth. “He's.. a bit odd.”

“I was dispatched to cover for his station a while back—said if it weren't for me, his squadron would have had more casualties.” Zeke nodded at a passing waiter as he grabbed a glass from his tray. “He's been treating me like an in-law since then.”

“That explains it.” You refused his offer for a drink. “He's friendlier than I would have imagined.”

Zeke scoffed before he took a sip. “Watch yourself around him. He's known to have.. a fondness for pretty women younger than him.”

Your face scrunched up in displeasure. “Eugh. Good thing I'm not young.” Your eyes did a cursory glance around the hall. “Enough about him. Do you see the Tyburs anywhere?”

“They're probably running late. We're up for a long night tonight, Lieutenant."

Great. Just great. 

You and Zeke meandered around the area for a few minutes, with him introducing you to a fair number of soldiers and comrades in his department. You had to resist the urge to jump back every time he circled an arm around your waist, but you didn't miss the opportunity to send a discrete glare his way whenever he said too much. He was clearly enjoying himself. 

“They're making.. children wait on the guests?” You said once you both walked away from the last group of fancy-dressed military figures he had just introduced you to. You noticed the armband around the children and realized why. 

Zeke followed your line of sight. “Those are the Warrior candidates. They probably did it to save them the time of hiring new ones just for tonight.” 

You looked at the children—probably no older than nine or ten, ducking their heads around the crowd of attendees as they carried trays and towels to and fro. Some of the guests even regarded them with apparent disdain. 

“How old were you when you..” Your question trailed off, hesitant. Zeke seemed to have figured you out. 

“Seventeen,” he answered, and you tried picturing these children, a bit older and hardened from training, sacrificing the rest of their long lives to inherit a power (more like a curse, you thought) just to gain a right to live normally. Even then, the mistreatment never completely stopped. 

You withdrew your hand from his arm and scanned the room. The Tybur family was still nowhere in sight.

“I'll go look around.” When you turned back to Zeke, his eyes were gazing down. “What are you looking at?”

He blinked and looked up at you again. “Oh, nothing. We've already established our presence—I think you can go around on your own now. Just don't go out of the hall, wouldn't want you to get lost.”

“I'm not a kid,” you scoffed, and didn't wait for a reply. You turned on your heel and stalked away, eager to find the Tybur family amid this mass of guests. 

You estimated the party to have started around two hours ago, yet you were already seeing signs of intoxication among some of the guests. A combination of alcohol and spicy cologne was wafting in the air, and your nose crinkled in sensitivity. You weren't much of a drinker yourself, and Erwin himself had told you to keep a guard up tonight. Many of Marley's military heads had gathered, even those from different areas of the mainland; you wondered how they could be so relaxed when the Allied Forces seemed to be targeting their most used ports in the southern and northern border. 

Your throat screamed for a drink. You noticed an Eldian girl in uniform standing by the pillar beside a potted fern, carrying a tray of drinks. 

“Excuse me. Do you have something non-alcoholic?” you inquired just as you approached her. 

As the girl looked up at you, she blinked a few times, as if astonished by your presence. “Oh, yes. We serve fruit juices, if you're interested.”

“I'll have that.” She grabbed a glass on the tray and gingerly handed it to you, which you accepted with thanks. 

As you took a sip, the cold sweetness of the beverage filled up your tongue. You turned around and stood a few spaces beside the little girl as you observed the hall, your back close to leaning against the marbled pillar. 

It wasn't until your third sip did you call out the blatant staring. “Is there something on my face?”

From your periphery, you noticed the girl slightly flinching as she looked away. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“For.. making you uncomfortable.”

You looked down at the girl. She seemed more of the aloof type. Your eyes did a rough scan; blonde, blue eyes, a prominent Greek nose—maybe half-Eldian. “You didn't make me uncomfortable.”

She nodded and said nothing. Your curiosity was piqued, but before you could speak up, a third voice rang through the air. 

“Zofia—ah—aren't you the Chief's friend?”

“Gabi, mind your manners..”

You looked away from the girl who you now know as Zofia and turned to see two more children in uniform with the Eldian armbands approaching, one a brunette girl and the other a blond boy. 

You slightly tilted your head. “You know me?”

“Of course we do, miss,” the brunette girl grinned. She seemed to be more of the cheeky type. The blonde boy behind her seemed uncomfortable and frantic, on the other hand. “The Chief has been introducing you to almost everyone in the hall.”

Almost immediately, Sofia and the boy shushed her in harsh whispers. “Gabi!” 

You didn't mind it, though. “What's wrong?”

The boy stepped forward, as if shielding Gabi. “Please forgive her, miss—we're not allowed to speak with the guests.”

Oh. Zofia's staring earlier suddenly made sense to you. “Well.. I don't mind. It's alright.”

Both Zofia and the boy looked like they just heard the most bizarre statement. Gabi on the other hand only smiled wider. “Wow—the Chief must like you a lot, miss. Tonight's the first time I've seen him all over a girl.”

Zofia stepped forward and flicked Gabi on the forehead. “Stop running your mouth. Falco and I will get into trouble too.”

You were too busy thinking over Gabi's words to mind their bickering. You already knew Zeke had been way too engrossed in your disguises, but.. did it really look like that?

You weren't sure how to describe the weird tingle in your stomach. 

“Oh? Ms Ilsa, your ears are getting red.” As soon as Gabi pointed it out teasingly, earning another round of rebuking remarks from her friends, it felt like a punch to your gut. 

“You're mistaken, Ze—the Chief and I, we're just friends—”

“I'd like a glass of water, please.”

Another voice joined; low, smooth, baritone breaking through the conversation. And your heart dropped. 

That voice—

Your attention shifted and right there, standing behind the Warrior candidates, was Erwin. 

As the three candidates fumbled around with the tray in their hands, handing him a glass of water, your eyes never strayed from his. Your breath caught itself in the back of your throat, and your legs felt frozen in place. Your Commander was an expert in masks, and his expression remained unreadable even as he accepted the drink. He gave you a wordless nod, subtle and smooth, and perhaps to the ignorant eye it was merely a gesture of courtesy, but to you it seemed more like a reminder of the task he had given you. 

Don't be distracted. Remember the objective. 

He thanked the Warrior candidates and walked away, but your eyes stayed glued to his back. You could hear the kids whispering amongst themselves. 

“I haven't seen that guy around here before..”

“Didn't you listen during the orientation? They said he's an ambassador from Ostraven.”

“He doesn't feel very ambassador to me,” Gabi commented out loud, thoughtful. “He looks more like a war general.”

You snapped out of your rumination and addressed the candidates. After thanking them, you turned on your heel, deciding to head to the restroom to compose yourself. Expertly weaving around a few stumbling drunk guests, you slipped into the women's restrooms and stood in front of the marbled sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. 

You craned your neck, stretching and feeling tension in your muscles dissipate.

Focus. Focus. 

The muffled conversations and music drowned out in your ears; you imagined yourself back at Paradis, straddling your mare as it galloped across the sloping hills, the smell of freedom and nature embracing you. 

Your eyes snapped open and you buried your face in your hands, breathing in a large, muted sigh. You heard one of the cubicle doors open followed by approaching footsteps, which stopped right beside you. Then, the gushing sound of water as the faucet was turned. 

When you dropped your hands, you almost choked. 

Staring at you in the mirror was none other than Lara Tybur. 

Only the sound of pouring water echoed against the tiled walls of the restroom as she washed her hands. You could hear the thumping of your heart as it picked its pace when you realized you had finally caught one of your targets. 

“May I help you?” 

You inwardly cursed. You were too obvious. Might as well act the part. 

“Sorry for staring, I was surprised.” You smiled amicably, jumping into your disguise as you turned to face her. “Miss Lara Tybur, right? Ilsa Alberich, a journalist. I've been wanting to meet you.”

You thrusted out a hand.

She twisted the faucet off and took a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress, turning to you while wiping her hand. Every movement was fluid, screaming in grace and elegance. She was as true to the photo you'd seen of her before: hair tied in a high bun, simple yet refined choice of clothing, and a posture so straight it made you feel like a bum. Not a twitch of emotion in her expression, so it was a challenge to try and read into her. 

You waited for her to finish wiping her hand, yours still outstretched awkwardly. When she was done, she carefully folded her handkerchief inside out, tucked it back inside her pocket and finally gave you her full attention. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she queried, shaking your hand. Straight to the point. 

“Just a few questions which I hope you'll be willing to answer.” 

An inquisitive brow rose. “Won't my brother be more suitable for that?”

The cautious type. You expected just as much. “Of course, I would very much like a word with Mr. Willy Tybur as well, on another occasion. But the public is already well acquainted with him; my publishing company thought it would be nice to learn more of your thoughts, miss Lara.”

A brief, pregnant silence ticked by. You tried your best to maintain a friendly, disarming smile, but the straight face you were receiving made it just a tad bit of a challenge. You could practically imagine the gears turning inside her head as she weighed your request. 

“Very well.” You mentally heaved a sight of relief. “Five minutes of my time is all I can offer, miss Alberich. I'm afraid I cannot give you any more.”

You paused. “Fiv—um, right now?”

“Yes. Ask away.”

Oh. Your thoughts began spiraling, trying to formulate a question. The Allied Nations, an international organization that had been founded years ago to maintain peace and security, was the first thing that came to mind. 

“The Allied Nations will be holding the International Forum next year. Will the Tybur family be attending?”

“We have received an invitation,” she answered. “My brother has expressed his eagerness in attending.”

“What are your thoughts on the issue concerning the state of the displaced subjects of Ymir around the globe?”

This time, Lara took a moment to process. 

“A hundred years ago, the 145th king Carl Fritz brought a large portion of the Eldian race with him and retreated to a distant island. This act raised a conclusive separation; the remaining Eldians did not share the king's sinful ideologies, so the continued mistreatment and prejudice against them would be unfounded.”

“So you agree on the Allied Nation's intentions on a united front against the people on Paradis island?”

Lara regarded you in the eye. “Yes. It would do the world a great benefit if all nations redirect our attention toward Paradis and launch a combined effort to suppress the island's hostility.”

You tried to maintain a neutral expression, but her answer was a disappointment. “Hostility? … But Paradis has been secluded from the outside world for a hundred years—they haven't made any confrontational moves.” 

“Precisely why we must make our move first,” Lara swiftly countered, voice unshaken and gaze determined. “My brother has always made his stance known: the most effective defense is a strong offense. We would be remiss to pass up this opportunity.”

You pressed your lips together, at a loss for words, wondering how a person could be so intent on immediate violence without giving a chance for peace talks. Your people had been ignorant of the truth outside the Walls until three years ago—whichever way you looked, a frontal attack on Paradis would be uncalled for. 

Even then, you schooled your expression, morphing what you hoped was a smile. “Thank you for your time, miss Lara.”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “Yes. Five minutes have passed. If there isn't anything else, I must head back.”

You watched as she turned and headed for the door. As soon as it opened, you were almost surprised to see Willy Tybur's face pop from beside the door. You immediately ducked away from view. 

“What held you up?” You heard him ask just as the door shut close. Quietly, you tiptoed closer to the door, straining your ear. 

“I ran into a journalist and humored her for a bit.”

“Journalist?” Slight pause. The fading footsteps told you they were walking farther. “What did she want?”

“Do you not have faith in me, brother?”

“That's not what I meant.” You couldn't hear the rest of their conversation by then. You eased your breathing for a few seconds, regaining your composure after the unexpected confrontation with Lara Tybur. 

You had thought she would have a different opinion from her brother, but maybe you placed your hopes too high. You took a mental note to relay your conversation to Erwin once the night ended; should he ever get the chance to meet Willy Tybur, knowing the family's shared opinion and motivations would be an asset—considering the kind of negotiator Erwin was, he could work with the information you gained.

After you evened your breathing, you smoothened the invisible wrinkles of your dress and stepped in front of the door. You grabbed the handle and pulled it open, about to step outside when—

“Oomph—”

Your hands shot up to steady the person who had bumped into you, steadying their balance. You heard a faint, high-pitched tink of metal hitting the floor.

“Are you alright?”

The woman looked to be in her mid-thirties, with short dark hair cut into a bob and a vintage red dress. Judging by her expression, you guessed she was a little tipsy.

“Hm? Oh.” Her voice had a sluggish lilt to it. “I'm so sorry, miss, I wasn't being careful.”

Once you were certain she wasn't going to fall, you retracted your hands and scanned the floor around your feet. A shiny object caught your attention and you bent down to pick it up: a golden brooch with a peculiar design: a mountain with a glacial horn and what seemed like sun rays protruding. 

“Is this yours?”

The woman looked both surprised and relieved. “Oh my, thank you, miss.”

“It's nothing.” You smiled and handed her the accessory. With a nod, you walked out of the restroom and entered the main hall once again, the whiff of extravagant dishes and cologne and alcohol momentarily making your head spin. 

You swept your eyes around the hall, stopping on a familiar pair up ahead near the window and engaged in conversation with a few military figures. Willy and Lara Tybur. It didn't take long for you to pinpoint the other suspect, Philip Tybur, lounging by the desert table. The rest of the family members were scattered around the hall, mingling with the other guests, but they were the least of your concerns. 

You squared your shoulders and drew a steady breath, readying yourself for the long stakeout ahead. 

Chapter Text

Zeke was nursing a glass of wine near the beverage station, a separate table from the buffet, while lazily scanning the room. He'd spent the last hour entertaining a variety of guests from his superiors to businessmen from other regions, exchanging small talk, and he was beginning to lose interest. 

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't the biggest fan of parties. Zeke liked to think of himself as a rather decent conversationalist, if he did say so himself, but there was only so much energy he could conjure, having to maintain a fake smile in the face of all these strangers. 

Not to mention, as soon as you had gone your way, he almost immediately lost the energy to stay and keep up pretenses; he wanted to think it was because pushing your buttons had become sort of a more amusing method of self-entertainment, but the indescribable awareness that had been whispering inside his head earlier said otherwise. 

He noticed a figure in his periphery approaching from his side and glanced over, unsurprised at the familiar presence. 

“Another glass, please.”

Zeke glimpsed at the man's empty glass before returning to his own, taking a sip. 

“They serve good White Bordeaux,” Zeke said, feeling the gaze of the man standing a few steps beside him.

After receiving another glass from the attendant, the man turned, his back almost resting against the edge of the table. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Although I prefer its red counterpart.”

Zeke hummed. “I see you have a more old-fashioned taste.”

“I prefer the term classic,” Erwin smoothly countered, sipping from his glass. 

A smile tugged his lips. He knew they had to keep up a front, so they shouldn't be too overly familiar. 

“How's Liberio going for you, Monsieur?” 

Erwin didn't bother glancing at him, his neutral gaze casually sweeping across the hall. He looked uninterested, but if there was anything Zeke learned about him in the last few months, it was that there were only two things about Smith that were constantly at work: his eyes and his brain. 

“A lively city,” Erwin supplied. “I quite enjoyed the seafood.”

“Great to hear.” Zeke briefly looked at him. “Still, a shame you had to visit during these.. tough, times. I would have been more than glad to give you a tour.”

“The sentiment is much appreciated, Chief Yeager. Unfortunately, I am not here for sightseeing.”

“Unfortunate, indeed. Being an ambassador of a neutral country feels too much of a heavy labor.”

Zeke could feel Erwin's growing displeasure and held back a grin. He always did like walking on a tightrope. Ostraven, despite acting as a neutral nation during the current war, was secretly funding the Allied Forces, specifically Belvaria, according to Zeke's intelligence network. The Head of State of Marley had nominated Smith as national of a neutral state, mainly for ensuring safe passage of foreign diplomats across the mainland; it granted him smoother travel in and out of the neighboring countries, which was convenient for his confidential meetings with other representatives. How the Azumabito pulled the necessary strings behind Smith's alias, Zeke wasn't privy to. Still, it was worth commendation.

“On the contrary, I am honored for the opportunity to act as intermediary,” Erwin said. “Once the war ends, I suppose I shall take up your offer for a tour.”

Zeke gave a lopsided smirk, knowing full well that once this war ended, Marley would jump into another—this time, against Paradis. “Gladly.”

Their conversation came to a momentary halt as a noble woman approached the table and requested a drink. Upon accepting, she turned and batted her eyelash at Erwin, asking if he was interested in a dance. Zeke had to commend Smith—he had politely declined without so much as a glance at the cleavage she was obviously trying to show.

The woman accepted his rejection in stride and sashayed away, hair swaying in rhythm with her hips. If Zeke's memory served him right, the woman was a wealthy Marleyan elite whose father was a major shareholder in the company that funded several of the military's projects.

“Popular, aren't we, Monsieur Renaud?”

There wasn't a twitch in Erwin's expression. “I would like to say the same of you, Chief Yeager.”

Zeke shook his head. “Not interested in that department.”

“Is that so? I expected otherwise—with the way your comrades spoke about your company.”

Company. Zeke wanted to snicker. “Word sure travels fast.”

“Are they mistaken?”

Zeke gave it a thought. “I'll leave that to your imagination.”

The ensemble began playing a different piece. A serene, hymn-like melody that sounded more lyrical softly trickled into the air as a variety of strings intertwined like fabrics of cloth. Some couples had led themselves to the center of the hall for a dance. 

Zeke's gaze aimlessly wandered among the sea of guests, momentarily drowning in the music. 

“By the way, Monsieur,” he began, glancing at Erwin and inwardly savoring the slight twitch of his brow every time he called him that, “how’s the situation with Ostraven? Still planning to hold on to that neutrality pact?”

“I was under the impression your higher-ups have already informed you; Ostraven will continue to uphold our neutrality.”

“I heard Dalenov ground troops have been moving across your nation's borders without permission.” That wasn't a lie. According to Marleyan intelligence, battalions of land troops have been using the valleys on the borders of Ostraven for faster transportation of equipment and reinforcements. It was a blatant violation of the international law of respecting rights of neutral powers. 

“Our Head of State has not made any formal declarations regarding the issue,” Erwin said. “To date, I have only been given orders to act as neutral ambassador—I have no say regarding the matter.”

Zeke knew that Smith's alias, though meant only as a pretense to stay off Marley’s radar, was still an official role granted by the state of Ostraven after its confidential alliance with Paradis. Discussing political tactics with the Commander was both an engaging and productive use of his time. 

“Surely a highly educated man like you has your own opinions?”

As the musical piece picked its space and evolved into something that sounded more like a bittersweet waltz, Zeke could almost feel Erwin mentally articulating his response. 

“Dalenov's disregard for the laws of neutrality is indeed a cause for concern,” he said. “However, presently, none of their forces have displayed acts of aggression against the natives living near the border; it's safe to say they are merely using the constructed roads as a means for transportation, considering it's more efficient on fuel and time.”

“Presently, sure,” Zeke rebutted. “But as the war enters into its final acts, you can't guarantee it. Ostraven is known for its mountainous terrain and geographical advantage. It'll only be a matter of time before the Allied Forces invade.”

“Are you insinuating that Ostraven should join hands with Marley?”

“Merely a suggestion, Monsieur,” Zeke said. “They wouldn't want to wait too long before making a decision—war waits for no one.”

“Nor does it favor the hasty.” Erwin made a slow motion with his hand, watching the way his drink swished inside the glassware. He shot him a sidelong glance. “Do not confuse caution with procrastination, Chief Yeager, Ostraven prefers to have all relevant information before making their move.”

The melody had long left its melancholic tune and began a more upbeat rhythm, the couples on the dance floor lost in their movements as they swayed with the beat. 

Zeke’s eyes swept over the moving bodies and blurred faces, then—it halted, fixed on a figure across the hall. Somewhere in his chest, his heart stirred. 

“I remember you calling yourself a gambler,” he said. “Was that all for show, Commander?”

A sudden stillness gripped the air that had thickened above them, clouding the conversation in quiet pressure. It was as if the ensemble itself had paused their playing. Yet, both their gazes remain transfixed at a point in the distance.

“No,” Erwin answered, straightforward still. “But position comes with high risks; reckless bravery is no longer an option.”

As Zeke stared at you from across the hall, the skin of his arm burned in the memory of your touch.

“Even if the other side beats you to it?” 

He finally tore his eyes away from you as the question left his lips, turning to Erwin, whose gaze lingered for a moment longer. He turned to Zeke, and for a second, a charge of electricity seemed to zap. 

“I always have contingency plans, Zeke.” His voice was low, nearly drowned by the din of the hall, yet there was a new look in his eyes—one that looked challenging, a dare—something Zeke hadn’t seen on him before.

He realized the conversation had long drifted to something more personal. 

But he thought about his entire life, and the goal he'd been fighting for—what was Zeke, if not a risk-taker? 

He placed his now empty glass on the table, stepping closer toward Erwin. 

“Next time you hold your cards too close, Commander, make sure your people know the game you’re playing. You can’t afford to lose anything valuable.”

Zeke once wondered what it would take for a man as stolid as Erwin Smith to crack; the Commander was a fortress of composure, a hard case to read, yet the hardened blue of his gaze and the firmness of his jaw told Zeke the answer had been before him all along.  

Rounding his heel, Zeke turned with an air of finality, ending the conversation. He was certain Smith had pinned down his liability—

—but in return, Zeke had figured out his. 

—

Nothing was out of the ordinary. 

You drank from your glass, having lost count of the amount of sips you had taken in the last hour. All the while, your eyes never strayed too long from Willy and Lara Tybur. Philip was too lost in a drunken spiel near the fountain, entertaining a noble lady who seemed just as inebriated. 

Judging from their disposition alone, you were almost certain Lara Tybur was the Warhammer, but you withheld your judgement until conclusive evidence showed itself. Willy Tybur seemed to jump from one conversational partner to the next, military figures to businessmen to foreign diplomats, you were getting tired just looking at him. Lara Tybur, you noticed, did not stay too far from him—another observation you tucked in your brain for Erwin to decipher later. 

“Ms. Ilsa Alberich?”

You turned to the voice, catching the gaze of a man probably in his mid-thirties, dark hair slicked back and a noticeable scar on his lip. 

“Yes? And you are..?”

He smiled and offered you a business card, to which you slowly accepted. 

“Leon Fischer, Press Secretary of the State Department of Norfeld.”

After shaking hands with the man, you asked what he needed.

“I was hoping we could discuss scheduling future interviews with our spokesperson,” he explained. “It’s regarding the refugees who recently arrived along our borders following the naval conflict off the coast of Norfeld.”

“Oh.” Your head spun, feeling a headache about to take over. “Yes, of course. I’ll contact my press company.”

“That would be much appreciated.” Leon Fischer nodded, smiling. “Also, if you don’t mind me asking, I heard you’re on cordial terms with the War Chief?”

Zeke? You blinked a few times at him, wondering what he was getting at. You knew Zeke had introduced you to a number of guests, and you did appear to be well-acquainted with each other (for the sake of your disguise), but you didn’t forget to stay wary of anyone who tried to pry into your relationship with him. 

Relationship? What relationship?

The word had long gone blurry between the two of you, you realized. “Um, yes. We.. met abroad.”

“I heard he’s not one to usually bring a plus-one with him to these occasions—not even those in his department,” he began, and you’d be deaf not to notice the tone in his words.

“Oh, um—”

“Ms. Ilsa.”

A hand found itself on your back. Your attention was stolen from Leon Fischer by none other than Zeke himself, as you turned and found him offering a polite smile at the man before you. 

“Apologies for interrupting.” He sounded mildly sheepish, but you could tell it was merely for show. “I’d like a word with her, if you don’t mind.”

Leon Fischer seemed to have read his intentions and only nodded. “Of course. If you’ll excuse me, then.”

You watched as he stalked away, leaving you and Zeke, but not before the brief second where your eyes noticed the familiar brooch on the front pocket of his suit. A mountain with glacial horn and sun rays. Was it a new Marleyan fashion trend?

“You look like you were constipated,” Zeke pointed out, breaking the silence as he fully turned to you. He finally withdrew his hand and you could feel your shoulders easing from its absence. 

You deadpanned at him. “Yeah? Wonder whose fault it is.”

“Wha—are you saying it’s me? Moi?” He looked offended, and the accent was so awkward you had to laugh. “I’m the one who saved you from what looked like a pending boring conversation.”

“Right—as if you’re any better a conversational partner.”

“Of course I am, I just made you laugh.”

“Did not,” you retorted, although the words were tangled in a chuckle. 

Zeke playfully squinted at you, lifting a finger close to your face. “Careful, Lieutenant—I see your nose is about to stretch.”

You rolled your eyes and slapped his hand away. “I’m not fucking pinocchio.”

“I would be disturbed if you were.”

Your brows scrunched in confusion before you understood. “You’re disgusting.” By then, Zeke was already shaking in restrained laughter. 

“This is why we watch our language, Lieutenant.”

“Shut up. Like you’re one to talk.”

It didn’t take Zeke long to recover. He straightened himself and cleared his throat, but before any of you could continue your conversation, a new voice called. 

“Yeager!”

You turned the same time as Zeke, almost jumping out of your boots when you realized he looked familiar. Bald and bearded, you remembered it was the man you had ran into with Zeke on the boardwalk during the local festival about two weeks ago. The way he was walking told you he probably had too much to drink. 

“Sergeant.” Zeke saluted. “Good to see you’re enjoying yourself.”

The man staggered but managed to stay upright. His cheeks were dusted with red, and there was a hazy look in his eyes as they fell on you; your nose wrinkled in mild disgust. 

“And I see you brought your friend with you again,” he slurred, stepping closer. You instinctively stepped back. “I guess she’s not playing hard-to-get anymore?”

In one swift movement, Zeke stretched an arm, gently pushing you behind him while his eyes never left the man. “Well, even she couldn’t resist falling for my charms, Sergeant.” 

His lips were pulled into a tight smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have an appointment on the dance floor.”

Dance floor, he said. You didn’t have a chance to think before Zeke grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you toward the center of the hall where pairs of guests were floating with the music. 

“Zeke, what are you doing?” you whisper-hissed. He stopped and pulled you in front of him. 

“What does it look like, Lieutenant? I’m taking you for a dance.”

The words had long but escaped your tongue. Around you, influential figures glided across the floor, lost in the hush of their private conversations. Some were drunk, giggling and stumbling over their feet, and some were simply drowning in the intimacy of their partners. The light from the chandelier above you shone in warm hues and cast shimmering light like crystals, and as you focused on the man before you, with the radiance capturing the light blue in his eyes, you almost thought Zeke looked charming. 

Almost. 

Almost. 

Zeke called your name, and you were almost surprised at the level of softness in his voice.

“Well? Won’t you humor me just for tonight?”

Perhaps it was the boyish gleam in his eyes, or the playful grin dancing on his features. You found yourself accepting his outstretched invitation, the palm of your hand finding his. A flash of something tender shone in his gaze as you accepted him, and with your permission, he pulled you closer.

The music had begun to shift into something lighter, the strings evoking a sense of melancholic beauty and harmonic shift. It seemed to transform the air in the hall into something that felt more intimate—almost romantic. 

Zeke guided you across the hall, hand on your waist while the other held your hand. You started off slow, following his lead in steady, measured steps, almost hesitant. You weren’t new to this—you had enough experience every time Erwin brought you with him to the Interior back at Paradis. But you never expected to apply what you’d learned in a dance with Zeke, of all people. 

Your eyes met, and you almost had to avert your gaze when you realized the close proximity. 

“So you do know how to dance,” Zeke commented, the end of his lips quirking upward. “You continue to surprise me with your many talents, Lieutenant.”

Despite the twisting of your stomach, you managed a scoff. 

“Did you think you could humiliate me if I didn’t?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “No. Just a bit disappointed.”

“Why?”

Both your steps began to pick up. He was light on his feet, which surprised you as the rhythm of the music dictated your movements.

“For missing a chance to teach you.”

You raised an inquisitive brow, but something inside you seemed to stir. 

“Are you drunk right now?”

“I’m not,” he denied, and you believed him. He looked completely sober, so you couldn’t blame the new air around him to alcohol. Still, there was something different in the way he carried himself tonight. It was as if he had been released of an invisible, imaginary burden—warmer, more relaxed—

And more put together, you finished, finally taking the opportunity to take all of him in. He had put on a navy blue suit, the first two buttons unfastened. His hair was styled neatly, wavy locks deftly swept back, a stark contrast to his usual, go-to shaggy style. He even seemed to have trimmed his beard, abandoning the excessive bush and going for a cleaner look that emphasized his jawline. What didn’t change was the pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, adding a touch of sophistication. 

You blinked. 

No way, you immediately thought, feeling the panic coming in. There was no way you were beginning to think Zeke Yeager was handsome.

“Like what you see, Lieutenant?”

You snapped out of it, sputtering. “What—no, I’m not—”

He laughed, the corner of his eyes crinkling. The light above you seemed to filter him—that had to be it. You tried convincing yourself it was nothing but the intimacy in the air brought by the music that was messing with your thoughts. 

“Keep laughing and I’m stomping your foot,” you threatened, feeling the heat creeping up your face. 

A lopsided smirk made its way on his expression.

“My bad—you just look too pretty not to tease.”

You fumed. “I swear, Yeager, you and your jokes—”

“I’m not joking, Lieutenant,” he interrupted, catching your fury and redirecting it. “That dress suits you; you look beautiful.”

You were gobsmacked. Every insult you had in your book was expertly thwarted, and the worst part of all was that Zeke didn’t bat an eye—he looked and sounded sincere, and you weren’t sure which was worse: the fond look in his eyes that was starting to send warm tingles down your spine, or the loud beating of your heart at the scary thought that this whole thing between you was morphing into something else. 

Ignoring his compliment, you tried changing the topic. “I haven’t seen you light a cig for the past week. Did you finally get diagnosed with lung cancer?”

He quietly laughed through his nose. “Well.. you did say you hated the smell.”

You looked at him, taken aback at the confession and wondering if it was another one of his pranks. Did he stop smoking in consideration for you? But it didn't make sense. Why would he? 

The music peaked in a crescendo, the harmony of the orchestra blazing through the hall in a flowing melody. Zeke spun you around, and when he pulled you back in front of him, you locked eyes once more, breathless. 

The light from the glass chandelier shone from above you, catching the blue of his eyes. Warm, light, and a touch of spontaneity—his eyes reminded you of the sky you'd galloped under as you straddled your horse, racing through the grassy hills back at the island. 

“You're squeezing me again, Lieutenant.”

You vaguely realized the tightness of your grip. “Oh. Sorry.”

As the musical piece gradually came to a halt, so did your dance. You watched, almost in a trance, as Zeke slowly took a step back, his hand still connected to yours. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted your hand to his lips, chaste kiss ghosting over your knuckles. Warmth bloomed beneath your skin and spread through your chest. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as your eyes remained fixed on him.

“As much as I want to keep you for the rest of the night, Lieutenant, all good things must come to an end,” he said, a tone of teasing. “Say hi to your commander for me.”

“Huh?”

You followed his line of sight and felt the familiar grip in your heart.

Marching through the sea of guests dancing in the center of the hall was Erwin; large, heavy strides with purpose weaved him around the swaying bodies. 

“That's my cue.”

You felt movement and when you looked, Zeke was about to walk away. 

“Where are you—”

He suddenly stopped and looked back, both brows raised. You realized why: you had grabbed his wrist. Even you couldn't believe it, you quickly let go. 

What was going on with you? 

Zeke's eyes, filled with calculating curiosity as he gazed at you, eventually shifted towards the approaching figure. For some reason, you were too scared to look. 

“I'd like a word.” 

Zeke regarded Erwin, expression unreadable save for the tightness of his jaw and the blatantly fake smile. You couldn't put a finger to describe the weird air. Breathing suddenly felt a challenge as you stood in the middle. 

“Of course, Monsieur.”

Then Zeke glanced at you, and turned and walked away. You watched his retreating back for a moment longer before you gathered the courage and fully addressed Erwin, only to see him extending his palm. 

“May I have this dance?”

You raised your gaze to meet his, and after a moment of recollection, took a deep breath. You accepted his gloved hand and allowed him to steer you closer, your bodies flushed against each other as the ensemble began a new piece. 

You weren't sure when it began, but the couples around you had slowly thinned out, leaving only a number of you left in the center. The music this time carried a slower rhythm, notes carefully arranged to pull you into a quiet musing. It was a marked contrast from the previous song that felt more romantic—this was played deliberately slower, softer, evoking a more sorrowful cadence.

The heat of the close proximity between your bodies made it difficult to breathe. Your hand burned as it grasped Erwin's, and his free hand sent cold shivers blooming from your waist as he held you close. Even his dress glove did little to hide the electricity darting between your palms, and you inwardly darted a prayer hoping he wouldn't hear the drumming of your heart. 

Erwin led your dancing, gliding across the floor in slow steps, none of you eager to break the solemn silence. 

Then, he dipped his head, lips next to your ear as he drew you closer in what—to a bystander—would look like an intimate slow waltz. 

“Debrief.”

One word. You blinked as you looked across his shoulder, mind still catching up with the sudden turn of events. You hated it whenever he did that—sending your stomach into somersaults without even understanding the gravity of his own actions. Typical Erwin. 

“I've made contact with Lara Tybur. Unfortunately, she seems to share the same opinion as her brother; our chances for a successful dialogue feel nil."

“And the Warhammer's identity?”

“Already located our suspects. I've been keeping an eye on them,” you told him, eyes darting on a passing couple. You lowered your voice. “Have you met with Kresnovia's representative yet?”

A few seconds passed. 

“Yes. We agreed to meet at the back of the hall.”

Your mind raced with the news. “Be careful. Marley's security has been making their rounds around the building. And we still don't know Kresnovia's stance regarding Paradis.”

“I'm aware.” You tried to ignore it, but the closeness of his lips to your ear sent shudders down your spine, you had to stop yourself from flinching each time he spoke. 

A silence that was neither comfortable nor displeasant lulled your conversation. The music had evolved to a melancholic melody that seemed to be tugging your heartstrings. 

“And Zeke?”

The sudden name drop from Erwin's lips had you pausing for a moment. 

“What about Zeke?”

A few slow steps. 

“I see you've gotten closer.”

A pin drop of silence fell between you. You vaguely realized your heart had picked its pace as all sorts of thoughts raced through your mind, excuses frantically meshing at the tip of your tongue, and you blurted the first coherent thing your brain could muster. 

“We're not close.”

“Is that so?”

The tone of skepticism dripping from him only made your stomach churn. Your Commander never raised his voice outside of giving orders during an expedition, but at that moment, you could almost feel the discontent brewing underneath his tone. 

“You're the one who told me to keep an eye on him.” You weren't sure why, but you felt the need to defend yourself. “Figure out his true intentions for the alliance.”

“And yet it didn't seem that way earlier.”

It hit you. The dance. Of course Erwin had seen you. The thought brought a brief panic as you thought about Zeke—just how much did he see?  

“It was just a dance. It didn't mean anything.”

You felt movement, and Erwin finally pulled back. As you lifted your eyes to him, the spark of intimidation from his hardened gaze conveyed everything. 

“I don't think he shares the same sentiments.”

You swallowed thickly. The stiffness in your steps made your dancing feel awkward and rigid—had it not been for Erwin leading you, you would have stumbled a few times by now. 

“Are you accusing me of entertaining him?”

There was the slightest twitch of his brow. “No,” he said. “Though I don't see you discouraging his advances, either. You didn't strike me as the type to let your personal feelings cloud your judgement.”

You didn't miss the implication in his tone, and the rueful notes floating in the hall didn't help the tension bubbling between you two—as if the three years of build-up were finally bursting forth. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, unable to make sense of the feeling rising in your chest. Anger? Frustration?  

Was he just that dense? 

You studied him closely, drowning in the deep blue of his unreadable gaze. The more you looked, the more you realized his eyes carried the depth of the ocean: bottomless, cold, and mysterious—much like the man himself. 

Flashes of that dreadful nightmare at Shiganshina three years ago came barreling. Personal feelings? You wanted to laugh. It was because of those feelings that you were here, agonizing over the man before you. 

“For a friend who's known me the longest, I thought you'd understand me better than that.”

The spaces between Erwin's brows furrowed. If he noticed the shake in your voice, he made no comment. You rarely ever emphasized your friendship ever since Shiganshina. 

“You said it yourself,” he said. “You chose me to save humanity.”

“I did it because I cared. And I didn't want to lose you.” 

You spoke as if there was something lodged in your throat. The look on Erwin's face as soon as the words left you slipped just long enough for you to catch the surprise written all over him. Your confession hung between you two, drowned amid the ceaseless chatter and the music; the dancing had stopped, and the both of you stood frozen in place as you stared at the other.

At this point, you were too shaken to realize you had all but almost spelled out your feelings—feelings of the past—right to his face. 

You didn't wait long for his response. You harshly pulled your hand from his grip, and that was when he seemed to snap out of it. He tried calling your name but you had already rounded your heel and marched away from the mass of dancing couples, who were all too lost in their drunken haze to even comprehend your conversation. With each step that took you farther from him, your heart sank lower in your chest.

Chapter Text

As you darted across the hall, avoiding stumbling bodies, you weren't sure where you were heading. All you knew was that you wanted a breath of fresh air, away from all these snobby Marleyan elites, away from the system that trampled on your people, from this stupid war that was robbing you of the life you've dreamed of beyond the Walls. The music playing from the ensemble was beginning to suffocate you; your throat burned and your eyes stung, but you tried to even your breathing, focusing on directing one foot in front of the other, again and again, and again—

A sudden hand grabbed your wrist, and you spun around. 

“Lieutenant, where are y—” Zeke paused when he saw your face. Concern rippled across him. “What happened?”

You blinked the unshed tears away and wrenched your wrist from him, looking away. 

“Please, Zeke. I'm tired.”

Perhaps he could tell you didn't have the energy to deal with him right now, since he didn't make an attempt to follow after you. You headed straight to the back of the hall, passing by waiters; since they didn't stop you, you guessed it was fine.

The white noise eventually faded to incomprehensible muffles the farther your feet led you. Footsteps echoed against the cold dark walls, and by the time you reached an intersection in the corridor, you had lost track of time. 

You rounded the corner and found yourself in front of a glass balcony door where smaller panes were fixed within the larger glass, giving an illusioned puzzle of the outside view. Stepping forward, you tried pushing it open, relieved to realize it wasn't locked. You pressed your palm against the panels and gave it a heave, noting how the lack of maintenance was probably why it felt heavier to push, nonetheless you managed it as it groaned as it swished open. As soon as you stepped out, the evening breeze blew past your face, filling your lungs with newfound relief. 

You took a few steps until you stopped by the railings, nose wrinkling when you noted the dust coating it and the scent of rusted metal leaking from somewhere; you decided against resting your hands. As your eyes took in the scenic view of the night bustle of Liberio city, lights twinkling like stars in a sea of buildings, your mind wandered back toward Erwin. 

You had probably already dug your grave. The only thing left to do was lay in it. 

With lips pressed tight, you bit back a groan. Why did he have to bring up Zeke Yeager of all people? 

“I don't see you discouraging his advances, either.”

A roll of guilt waved over you, which didn’t even make sense. You told yourself it was all just in Erwin’s head, deliberately making assumptions just so that he could power trip you—but your Commander wasn’t the kind of man who’d ever use his own authority to lord it over his men. Not even the power of the Colossal titan could change that one fundamental trait.  

And, you felt worse, realizing that even after mulling it over—you couldn’t deny his accusation after all. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the shuffling footsteps and hushed voices that seemed to be coming from the lawn below. Carefully, you discretely peeked over the railings, pausing when you realized it was just soldiers patrolling. 

You didn’t think much of it until you noticed the load of crates they were hauling. As your interest got piqued, you craned your neck higher, trying to make sense of the conversations jammed by the crickets and wind. 

“Contact… equipment… ready.”

You mentally grumbled when you couldn’t pick it up. As you shifted to step closer, a disgruntled voice from below startled you. 

“Who’s there?”

You slunk back, using the shadows of the balcony roof to camouflage against the darkness. Heart beating, you mentally counted the silence away, fingers flexing from the tension. The conversations from below had stopped. 

“.. What are you doing?”

“.. Nothing. Sorry. I thought there was someone on the balcony.”

You didn’t hear anything after that. After a while, you carefully stepped forward once more, peeking at the garden. None of the soldiers were in sight. 

You sighed in disappointment as you turned and headed back inside. Just when you thought you had an excuse to avoid the elephant in your own thoughts and pretend you still had a task to do. You couldn’t help but think this must have been some sort of torture, expecting you to focus when you now not only had one man to tiptoe around but two. 

“You didn't strike me as the type to let your personal feelings cloud your judgement."

The ugly feeling returned to your chest, gripping you by the neck. Three years should have been enough—clearly, your heart had plans your brain wasn't aware of. Your complicated feelings toward Erwin had long drifted with the passing of time, but you couldn’t explain the guilt that was eating you.  

It was insane, you thought, how Erwin still held sway over you even after everything. How the mere thought of him could hurt you this much. 

Maybe—maybe you loved him a little more than you thought. 

But you thought about everything else—from your broken friendship to the war, from the deadline of his life to the whole other situation with Zeke. You had no other words to describe this thing with Zeke. You weren’t even sure what happened—what exactly changed. All you knew was that everything you’d ever cherished and held close to your heart was beginning to slip from your hands, and the future was morphing into this murky uncertainty. It always did, but right now, you were fumbling desperately with your hands, grappling for just something—anything—to hold on to. 

You were lost, stranded in a sea called the turmoil of your emotions. 

Faint voices made you halt. Your eyes searched for the source, and as you found it, you felt the air withdrawing itself from you.  

Down the corridor, just far enough that you remained unseen, stood a familiar woman who looked far too drunk to even hold herself upright. An arm was wrapped around her, steadying her, guiding her—and the emptiness of the hall made her breathy, incoherent giggles echo like they were meant for you alone. She leaned into the man holding her as if he were the only thing keeping her from collapsing. Erwin.

At the back of your mind, you knew it was most likely the representative Erwin was supposed to be secretly meeting with. The rational part of your mind told you it was all merely a show—the same thing you were doing with Zeke. You of all people knew Erwin was not one to let his emotions guide him—it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. 

Yet as the emotions came hurtling back at you like a torpedo, your throat began to burn. The corridor seemed to sway in your periphery, reeling and twisting like you were static in a moving maze. 

You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t continue, pretending that your previous conversation with him didn’t absolutely wreck you. That the coldness in his eyes didn’t sting. 

Before the tears could even escape, you felt a presence behind you—a warm palm pressing gently over your eyes. 

“Don’t look.”

His voice was devoid of its usual mockery, replaced with something softer—uncharacteristic for a man of war like him. A tug grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from the scene. You didn’t bother to fight back as he pushed open a random door and entered with you. 

As the door shut close behind you, your gaze found its way to the floor, staring at the two pairs of shoes facing each other. A heavy silence bore down, floating in the air and weighing your shoulders. 

“What are you doing?”

Your question sounded more like a statement—quiet, even, straight. When you finally lifted your head, you found Zeke’s eyes fixed on the doorknob, his hand still resting there, gaze shadowed by the dimness of the room. A strip of light from a window slipped over your head.  

He straightened slowly, but he didn’t withdraw his hand. Your back pressed against the door, and still your eyes held his. The thin band of light slipped over his face, catching the shift in his gaze—focused now, intent—and directed at you. 

“You looked like you were about to cry,” he admitted quietly, and you were too lost in the storm of your emotions to even be bothered by how close he was 

“Mind your own business.”

“Believe me, I’m trying. But—” he paused, a faint crease forming between his brows, an expression of brief conflict crossing his face.

“You’re making it a bit difficult for me, Lieutenant.”

You chased after words that were running away from you, never looking away, even when Zeke's hand rose to your face. Soft knuckles traced the flesh of your cheek, sending goosebumps across your skin. Maybe—if you were a lesser woman, you would have nudged your face into the warmth of his hand, let yourself loose from the chaos of your current circumstances, consequences be damned. 

Instead, your voice found its way back. 

“Get away from me.”

The expression on Zeke's face did not shift, unsurprised. But his hand, so dangerously close to cupping your face, slowly withdrew. 

“Don't let it get to your head. Our alliance doesn't change anything.” 

You turned, twisting the doorknob as you made your exit. Zeke neither made a move nor called for you as you stepped into the hallway, heading straight back to the main hall. 

::

The urge to run home—not to the Internment Zone, but some place far, far away—had been barrelling at you for the last few minutes. But alas, you had a duty. So you sucked it up, bit your cheek as a way to wake up, and willed yourself to stay alert as you stood near the pillar by the buffet table, keeping a close monitor on Willy and Lara Tybur. 

You had helped yourself with a slice of cake for your dessert for the night, eyes casually sweeping across the sea of faces while you absentmindedly tapped the prongs of your fork against the now empty ceramic surface of the pastry plate in your hand. Most of the attendees were already long gone in the murk of their intoxication, and although you were not much of a drinker yourself, the thought of escaping your current conundrum—even if only through the fragile touch of alcohol, was tempting. 

So lost in your thoughts and the occasional glance toward your targets’ direction just in case they changed location, you failed to notice a drunken guest behind you stumbling and teetering toward you. 

You stifled a surprised yelp as he bumped into you, accidentally freeing the fork in your hand as it clattered to the floor, sliding right underneath the buffet table. The man who was too drunk to realize had already waltz away without so much as a glance at you. The staff who had been managing the buffet had left, and it wasn’t like you were eager to order child waiters to retrieve your fork for you. 

With a huff, you left your plate on an unoccupied cocktail table nearby and crouched. You didn’t worry too much about ‘behaving improperly’, seeing how no one would probably even notice you crawling on the floor behind the buffet table. 

You pinched the edge of the tablecloth and lifted it, just high enough for you to glimpse underneath. Your eyes were quick to zoom in on the fork and—

Something caught your eye. 

A black box tangled in colored strings was strapped to one of the legs of the table. For a split second of stupidity, you thought it was a surprise gift prepared for one of the guests. 

But—you blinked, looking closer, confused.

Because what you first thought were strings turned out to be wires. And typical surprise gifts didn’t come with red flickering dots like lasers.

Your heart leaped when your brain clicked into place.  

With a start, you jumped back up, head reeling, eyes widened. The hall of people continued their merrymaking; couples danced, musicians played piece after piece, guests inhaled glasses of liquor, all of them utterly oblivious. 

Your heart rattled against your chest. A bomb. Someone had planted a bomb inside the hall. 

Your brows pulled tight. But how did something like that get past the roaming guards and security? 

With the number of patrolling soldiers in uniform, it almost felt ludicrous. 

Your eyes flicked toward the entrance just in time to see several servants and guests beginning to slip outside. But what caught your attention wasn’t just that they were leaving—it was how. They didn’t move in groups, but in scattered ones and twos, each departure spaced out, as if they were trying a little too hard to look inconspicuous. And that was when you saw it. 

The golden brooch pinned to their breastpockets. 

The mountain and the sunrays. 

A shuddering breath of horror poured past you as you whirled around, frantic—only to almost bump into Zeke, who halted before you could. 

“Lieutenant.” A curious brow raised as soon as his eyes collided with yours. “Something up?”

So panicstricken, you didn’t even have the chance to recall your last conversation with him. You fisted the front of his blazer, tight and apprehensive. 

“Zeke—this is bad—we need to leave. Now.”

The frown in his expression only deepened. He studied your face. “What?—what happened?”

“No time,” you hissed, yanking him by the wrist as you spoke in quick syllables. “It’s no longer safe here, it’s—”

You froze on the spot, gasp at the tip of your tongue as icy dread filled your bones. 

Mind reeling back toward Erwin and the woman you had seen him with at the back of the hall, a sharp static electricity and fear ran up your spine. The representative of Kresnovia. 

You remembered the woman you had bumped into in the restroom. 

Without a word, you let go of Zeke’s wrist and turned around to sprint to the back of the hall, but this time it was Zeke’s turn to grab you. He called your name.

“I don’t understand, what are you—”

“A bomb,” you hissed underneath your breath, eyes blown wide and borderline hysteria claiming you. Zeke’s face twitched in disbelief.

“What?”

“It’s a trap. I need to get Erw—”

Somewhere behind you, an explosion erupted. 

Chapter Text

Ten minutes earlier…

With a steady gaze, Erwin regarded the other individual in the room. A palpable tension, charged with electricity, hung in the air like a looming threat. A dim-lit office that seemed like an unused meeting room felt somewhat too fragile to contain the both of them. 

They’d been going back and forth for the past thirty minutes, shorter than his usual dialogues with other country representatives, but Erwin could tell none of them were as sharp and inscrutable as the woman who was currently roaming around the room with her hands casually behind her back, finding interest with some of the books on the shelves. 

Her footsteps bounced against the walls, the only penetrating force amid the silence. 

“Well? Is that everything, Commander?” Her words were coated in faux sweetness, velvet voice smooth and silk like soft fabric. 

Erwin stared at her from the other side of the room, seated behind a long conference table, the smell of wood permeating. His eyes followed her every step, cautious but sharp. 

“Would I be correct to presume your relationship with Belvaria isn’t as straightforward?”

She looked at him. All throughout their conversation, that ice-cold smile had never wavered. Not that he was one to talk—his straight face was just as unyielding.  

“Oh my. Did they snitch on us the moment they allied with Paradis?”

“On the contrary, they refused to disclose anything regarding both of your countries' ties. This is merely an inference on my part.”

Humming, she continued to leisurely saunter around the room.

Margaret Becker. She’d slipped in under the false identity of a reporter, playing the part of a tipsy socialite—laughing too loudly, flirting with several of Marley’s highest-ranking officials. Erwin could tell she was practiced in stealth; she knew exactly which words to use to make men talk.

Luckily for Erwin, he was just as adept in that department—albeit in a different method.

“Hizuru, Ostraven, Belvaria—one by one, you’ve managed to make these countries fall at your feet,” she spoke. “What’s your secret, Commander? Is it merely intelligence? Or were there.. underhanded methods involved?”

She stopped beside the window, glancing at something outside. 

“We have a common enemy.

She laughed. “I see. The enemy of an enemy is a friend, indeed. But,” she paused, turning around to look at Erwin. The light of the moon illuminated her figure, shadowing her expression. 

“Do you really believe that everything will be solved once Marley's out of the picture? Paradis and the world, hand in hand, singing friendship hymns?”

She paced in slow motion toward the other end of the room, tracing the edge of the conference table. “I was under the impression you weren't the naïve type, Commander.”

“You assume right. If anything, it will probably only be one less competitor to face.”

She sent a glance his way, expression the same. 

“So why are you so insistent on making all these alliances? I bet your dialogues won't end with Kresnovia; many countries have it out against Marley.”

Erwin took a few moments to ponder. Only a handful of the military heads back at Paradis were receptive to the idea of opening dialogues with the rest of the world. Most were reluctant, pushing for militaristic ameliorations in preparation for war. And although Erwin wasn't exactly against improving the island's defenses, he didn't want to put away the notion for peace talks completely off the table.

“The subjects of Ymir have been under harsh scrutiny for the last hundred years,” he said slowly. “Currently, Paradis does not have the means to protect itself with the entire world against them.”

A few seconds passed before Margaret spoke.

“Do you want to tell the world Paradis is harmless and stop all hostility against the island? I never thought you had such a high sense of moral justice.”  

She stopped right across him, palms flat on the table surface. 

“You seemed like the ruthless type—crush down whatever stands in your way for the greater good.”

Erwin held eye contact for a few seconds, silence dominating the air. Her words brought back biting memories of gruesome deaths and bloodshed, all under his command; the life of a Commander was far from easy, and Erwin had witnessed every brick laid onto his shoulders.

Three years ago, he thought he would at last be freed of his burden. Death, after all, was the simplest release.

But you had pulled him back from it—and now, the consequences of that choice had come for you both.

“I admit I am not far from the perception you have of me. My hands are just as bloodied as any other man of war.” 

He recalled the moment he'd stepped into that basement, holding all the answers he'd been searching for. The world was larger than the one they were familiar with, and then, before they realized, the enemies were no longer titans. This, Erwin had already guessed—he just hadn't imagined it would be the entire world.

“But the battle we have been fighting turned out to be a mere puddle when faced with the vastness of the sea. Titans are not the same as humans. Peace talks should never be discarded.”

Margaret hummed, turned around to stalk toward the window once more, stopping to gaze at the outside scenery. 

“Do you think the world will accept Eldians?”

“I believe that humans are capable of reasoning when granted the chance.”

She began meandering toward the other end of the room, steps both casual yet also deliberate. Erwin’s eyes followed her.

“They had the last hundred years yet nothing has changed,” she pointed out.

“During the last hundred years you speak of, civilization in Paradis had no means of contacting the outside world.”

Somehow, Erwin thought of you, and the dream you once shared with him. Of a world free from pointless fighting. He had thought it was a noble yet impossible dream. 

Humans will never stop fighting until only one man remains standing in this world.

He had seen it countless times. The people of Paradis were never truly united even when backed into a corner by titans. The world outside was constantly at war over dominion and resources. Marley was unaware of the many volunteers who'd been working to undermine them. The Mid-Eastern Allied Forces were plagued with infighting. 

Erwin's dream had been realized. He had proven his father's theory. Now, with the truth of the world laid out for him, he realized he needed a new dream to push forward. 

He thought of you and your dream, and maybe—there was a reason he was still here. To help you achieve yours, just as how you had helped him with his.

He knew he had hurt you—of that, he was painfully aware. And he had no intention of undoing it. If earning your hatred meant easing the pain you would feel once his time was up, he would accept it without hesitation. Because when he left, he would do so knowing that the peaceful world you had always dreamed of would finally be yours—a future where you would no longer have to fight.

“The situation has changed, and we are more than willing to communicate.”

Margaret turned to him. 

“A risky gamble, Commander.”

“I have always been a gambler, miss Margaret. And so far, my hand has never strayed far from right.”

She had stopped pacing back and forth around the room, arms languidly crossed and hips jutted out as she eyed him.  

“I can see why you managed to convince all those countries. You have a way with words, Commander.”

“And yet you don't seem persuaded.”

A soft chuckle left her lips. Margaret began circling the table, steps deliberate as she neared the chair Erwin sat. The clicking of her heels against the marbled floor echoed and bounced against the office walls. 

“A woman must play hard-to-get. It keeps you thrilled, entertained.” Each step swayed her hips tauntingly, punctuating every lilt of her voice, sweet yet promising drops of poison. 

“I must admit, when news of Paradis’ Commander reaching out spread through our higher-ups, I thought it was going to be some old, wrinkly man.”

She finally stopped beside him. The faint cologne mixed with a hint of alcohol wafted in his nostrils. With a hand on the table, Margaret slightly leaned down, a seductive tilt of her head, allowing him to see the lone beauty mark dotting below her glossy lips. 

Erwin turned, chin slightly lifted to look her in the eye, ignoring the cleavage she was blatantly trying to invite him to.

“Who would have thought the Commander they spoke of was a charming gentleman like you?”

In his periphery, a hand was approaching his face. She was just an inch away from him when he grasped her wrist, neither firm nor gentle. His eyes never left hers.

“Let us maintain professionalism, Miss Margaret.”

Her smile widened, clearly amused. 

“Hm. So stiff. Do you have someone, Commander?”

Erwin tightened his jaw. 

“A man of my position has no time for intimate relationships.”

Laughing, Margaret withdrew her hand. 

“Of course, of course. A man like you prioritizes your work above everything else. I admire your dedication, I truly do,” she said. “But Kresnovia remains resolute.”

Erwin was unsurprised. “It was never your intention to ally with Paradis.”

She tutted. “Don't take it to heart, Commander, it's not because we think your island is the home of the devils. We never bought Marley's propaganda.”

Her voice trailed off in a brief pause, words hanging like a ton. “We simply have.. different objectives.”

Erwin's thoughts stirred and hummed, sprinting like a race. Kresnovia never planned to consider his proposition. Yet they agreed to meet tonight, anyway. 

He already had a bubbling omen in his gut, but this conversation had sealed the deal. 

His eyes fell to the glinting accessory pinned to her front pocket. 

“Your brooch has loosened.”

Margaret's face twitched for a fraction of a second—the first crack Erwin had seen on her. She was quick to plaster back a smile as she slowly rose and straightened herself. Turning around, she padded over toward the window once more. 

“It truly is a shame,” she said. “If you were Kresnovian, I think we could have dismantled Marley a long time ago.”

Erwin's hands slowly felt the grainy edge of the table, feeling the weight hefted against his palms. The room was so quiet he could hear his own breathing, and his senses were prickling sharp.

“We can still achieve that if you choose wisely.”

Margaret stopped in front of the open window, back turned slightly to him while the moonlight framed her silhouette, shadow cast over the floor. Her hand slowly lifted to adjust the brooch. 

“Kresnovia is choosing wisely. We choose freedom. And in this world, Commander, to gain freedom—someone else must lose theirs.”

The hairs on his skin stood like a warning. Perhaps it was the blood of the Colossal that ran through him, but Erwin's instincts veered him to the right just in time. 

A gunshot. 

A sharp sting on his cheek told Erwin the bullet had grazed him. With a grunt, he flipped the conference table and took cover just as a barrage of bullets flew toward him.

Erwin was just about to plan a counterattack when the first bomb exploded. 

Faint yelling and crashing reverberated from down the corridor outside. Staggering, Erwin tried to stabilize himself as the ground beneath him shook and vibrated. 

It came from the direction of the hall. 

Clenching his jaw, Erwin balled his fist. Were you alright?

A few seconds passed before the explosions stopped. 

A feminine chuckle shattered the tense silence. “Come now, Commander. Don’t make this any more difficult.”

Erwin’s eyes darted around the room in a hurry. 

“I have to admit, it wasn’t easy trying to get a hold of you, had you not reached out to us on your own, this night would have played a lot more differently,” she said.

A trap. They had baited him. But this was a larger scale than he had expected—if Erwin was their target, why did they have to bomb the—

It clicked. 

“The Warrior unit.”

Brief silence. Then, she laughed. Footsteps began approaching him, so Erwin used that chance to formulate a plan as he leaned against the upturned conference table. “You really live up to your reputation as Paradis’ brightest Commander.”

The attacks on Marley’s ports finally made sense; they’d been a decoy, attracting most of Marley’s forces to Marrow Bay and Karifa port. Their real target had been Liberio all along, home of Marley’s titan shifters. 

An attack like this required an inside job. But Erwin wasn’t interested in finding out whoever betrayed Marley—it was essentially none of his business. 

“You were the trickiest variable, Commander.” Sweet, sickle honey voice. Her tone never wavered. “Out of all the titans, Kresnovia has been wary of the Colossal the most. Its destructive force paired with your quick wit was a challenge to work around. You could transform right now and save yourself, but—” 

The footsteps stopped. 

“—our sources say you had infiltrated Liberio with a comrade from Paradis. Surely, whoever they are, they’re still in close vicinity.”

Erwin’s thoughts whirred to life. His heart drummed against his chest in quickened rhythm as the skin on his cheek sizzled in steam; the graze was beginning to heal. His eyes fell on a block of wood that had fallen by his feet. 

“No matter—as long as it isn’t the Ackerman, I’d say we have a good chance of taking you out.”

As soon as she stopped talking, Erwin made his move. He chucked the wood to his left, hearing the piercing gunshots at the unexpected movement. Ambling to the right, he stepped into view and sent a quick glance outside the window—a shooter hidden by the shadows, silhouette now faint against the moonlight. 

Of course. No wonder she kept looking outside. 

Margaret had already drawn a pistol and immediately fired. Erwin jerked to the side to avoid the shot, but the shooter outside managed to hit him in the shoulder.

Hot, searing pain flared as Erwin staggered, but he regained his balance in a split second and kicked the conference table, sending it crashing into Margaret. She squealed as it slammed her against the wall beside the window.

“You fucker—”

Erwin lunged forward, one hand protecting his nape as he twisted at sporadic moments to dodge the barrage of bullets. None of Margaret’s shots landed, but several from the shooter outside struck him in non-vital areas. He pushed through with clenched teeth, knowing the power of the titans would heal him.

The conference table was apparently too heavy for Margaret to push away. She cursed and struggled to free herself, but it was too late. Erwin wrenched the pistol from her hand and yanked her to the side, forcing her in front of the window.

“No—!” she gasped, sharp teeth bared. “You—”

A series of gunshots thundered. Margaret jerked as Erwin held her there, using her body as a shield. His brows furrowed as he realized—they didn’t care if they hit her.

Erwin aimed the pistol out the window and fired three quick shots. A faint grunt sounded, followed by the thud of a body collapsing to the ground.

When he turned back to Margaret, a crazed grin was carved across her face despite the blood trickling down her lips. Her teeth were stained red as sharp slits glared at him.

“You can try harder, Commander—” she coughed— “but this war won’t end until the power of the titans falls.”

Unfazed, Erwin rested the nozzle of the gun against her chest, pausing when he felt something hard and vibrating. Alarmed, he yanked open her blazer and saw it: wires connecting to a container and a power supply, strapped around her body.

A manic laugh escaped her.

“I’ll see you in hell.”

Sputtering a curse, Erwin whirled, shielding his nape, and dove for the ground just as an explosion erupted. 

Heat seared across his back as flames roared through the room, walls and glass and pillars collapsing in on themselves. Splinters of wood punched into his skin, and Erwin didn't even get the chance to think of his next move when part of the roof gave way and crashed down.

—

The acrid smell of blood and smoke was what greeted you first. 

Mind still addled, you groaned from the soreness of your limbs as you sat up amid the rubble. Yells and gunshots mixed in the air as people ran, panicstricken. 

As your vision became clearer, so did your thoughts. You didn’t have the time to properly gauge your environment when sobbing reached your ears. Turning, your blood ran cold when you saw an attendant helping a fellow waiter whose legs got squashed beneath a portion of a broken pillar. 

You immediately ambled for them, wordlessly wedging your fingers underneath the cold cement as you heaved and groaned. 

The waiter gasped. “Miss—”

You managed to lift it and grunted in between words, “Pull him out.”

Within seconds, you were guiding the pair and weaving through the hall. Only then did you finally get a good look at the situation: uniformed Marleyan soldiers were firing at several figures who—based on the brooches you recognized—were already familiar to you as the ones who had planned the attack. Fallen bodies and shattered glass littered the floor, soldiers and socialites alike. Flames had erupted in several areas of the hall, turning it into an even more unforgiving battlefield.

You were leading the front, keeping an eye out for stray bullets and attackers, when another explosion erupted not far from you. 

Fuck my lif—how many bombs had been planted?!

You jerked around too late. A pillar came crashing between you and the pair of attendants, vibrating the floor and sending swirls of gust and winds as you shielded your face with an arm. 

“Shit—”

From where you stood, you heard a round of bullets from the other side of the pillars. Gurgled screams from the pair you had just rescued sent chills down your spine and an unhealthy amount of irrational anger. 

Civilian casualties should be limited. Even you were aware of this unspoken rule during war. The scent of death mixed with the rush of adrenaline had begun to spike your emotions. 

“Halt! Turn around!”

You glanced over your shoulder to see a soldier aiming his gun at you.

“I said turn around! Hands above your head!”

Your eyes dropped to the brooch pinned to his chest, and you narrowed your gaze. Clenching and unclenching your fists, you prepared your move. In one swift motion, you spun around, knocked the gun from his grasp, and seized his arm. Using the brief moment of his surprise, you twisted his limb, drawing a pained howl from him before yanking him forward and delivering a sharp kick to his jaw.

The momentum sent him to the ground with you landing on top of him, foot firmly propped on his neck. The man grunted and sputtered from his own saliva. 

“Are you from Kresnovia?” you questioned, brows pulled tight. “What's your objective?”

The gun you had seized from him was now stuffed in his mouth. You watched the man's face redden from the bruising force of your boot, bloodshot eyes bulging and widening as he glared at you. 

When he showed no signs of answering, you didn't spare him mercy. You pulled the trigger. The body beneath you jerked and blood splattered everywhere, including your face. 

As you stepped down from the corpse, you could feel the blood pounding in your head, heaving a sigh as your arm fell at your side, gun heavy. 

You looked around you. Screaming, gunshots, debris, bodies—all in a mix of cacophonic chaos. Erwin. 

Like a snap, you flinched. Erwin. You had to get to him. 

Your gaze swept around the hall. It was going to be a pain having to move across with the mass of gunning and stray bullets, but you had no choice. You needed to regroup. 

After a quick assessment, you decided that moving behind the broken pillars near the walls would be your best option. Most of the fighting was happening at the center of the hall, and you figured staying to the side would spare you the trouble of getting caught up in the chaos.

You stepped over rubble and debris, crouching and hiding behind broken down pillars as you moved from one spot to the next. Body alert, you kept a wary eye around you, gun at the ready. Despite the smoke curling around the area, you had observed the hall many times during your stakeout that you knew you were almost to the back exit of the hall. 

Just around this pillar was the corridor that would lead you to the back of the hall. Just as you took in a deep breath and stepped out, a flurry of movement came at you from the side. 

Your instincts jerked you back, dodging the swing of a knife just in time. The man before you twisted and looked you in the eye just long enough for you to glimpse the brooch on his shirt, smeared in blood. You backed up against a broken pillar, breathing heavily. 

The man recovered quickly and yelled as he brandished his dagger, plunging it toward you. You dodged, flinching at the sharp clang of metal striking the pillar behind you.

You raised your gun, but he was faster—his kick knocked it from your grasp, a sharp twinge shooting through your wrist and forcing a grunt from you. Before you could react, he struck you hard across the face, the impact sending you reeling, your whole body jerking with the blow as your vision blurred for a moment.

You fell to the floor and heard approaching footsteps behind you. Large, rough hands grasped you by the arm and forced you to stand as you strained your vision and tried to shake the blur away. Your attacker had picked up your fallen gun and aimed it at you. Frantic, you tried to twist and thrash but the man behind you had a firm grip. 

As the man wiped a trail of blood from his lips, you knew you had to act fast. With a grunt, you bent down, using the momentum to heave the man behind you as you kicked his legs and threw him over your shoulder. A gunshot rang, but seeing how you didn’t feel any pain, you guessed it missed you by a hair’s breadth. 

Your eyes flicked up, watching the man aim his gun at you for a second time. You hoisted the man beneath you and used him as a shield just in time for several gunshots to ring.

“Wha?!—You little—!”

You moved instantly. Throwing the limp body aside, you lunged forward, feral instinct taking over as you grabbed the man’s wrist and forced the gun upward. Shots cracked through the air as the two of you grappled for control. He tried to wrestle the barrel down; you blocked with your knee, kicked at his legs, but he countered with his own.

It didn’t take long to realize brute strength wasn’t on your side. The man roared as he finally overpowered your resistance, dragging the gun downward—so you let him. Instead of fighting the angle, you redirected it straight toward his own feet and squeezed the trigger. The man howled, collapsing under the sudden burst of pain.

Your eyes never left his. You tore the gun from his weakened grip and drove a kick into his stomach, sending him sprawling across the floor. As he clutched his ruined leg, groaning, you leveled the gun at his head and fired. You started to pull the trigger again—just to vent the adrenaline still clawing through you—but the empty click told you the magazine was spent.

Panting heavily, your eyes scanned the mess. You were exhausted beyond measure, running solely on instinct and spite after all the explosions and gun fire. With a sigh, you chucked the useless gun and limped your way out of the scene, determined to get to Erwin and leave this place before another explosion buried you into the rubble. 

It didn’t take long for you to arrive at what you assumed was supposed to be the exit, but your eyes scanned the pile of broken bricks that had fallen from a portion of the roof. 

Blocked. You couldn’t get to the back of the hall like this. 

Frustration clawed out of your throat in the form of a guttural curse. You slammed the back of your fist against the wreckage, head hung low. 

Shit. Erwin. You squeezed your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lower lip. Was he alright? Did they ambush him?

Your thoughts cut off instantly. The cold, mechanical click of a gun cocking behind you jolted through your spine, dragging you out of your head and back into the moment.

“Hands up, and turn around. Slowly.”

You exhaled a heavy breath. Hands raising, you followed the order and turned around, coming face to face with a familiar face as he aimed a gun at your face. 

Your brows instantly pulled as your mind tried to recall his name. Leon, was it? Although now that you were looking at him, it was most likely an alias. 

Just how many people had infiltrated tonight? At this point you were certain they had inside help. 

“Ms. Ilsa Alberich,” Leon drawled out your fake name, the amiable impression he had donned earlier was now nowhere to be found. “I knew it. You weren’t just some international journalist. You’re the one Erwin Smith snuck in here with.”

He mentioned your commander’s name. Your eyes widened in realization. No wonder all those men were adamant to take you out. They knew who you were. 

“You know Erwin,” you said. “Where is he? And who the hell are you people? Is Kresnovia seriously attacking Liberio head-on?”

Leon Fischer laughed. “One of ours is with him. Your Commander’s probably already in hell right now. And you’re next.”

Your eyes fell on the nozzle of his gun, watching the way his fingers hovered over the trigger. Your legs felt like lead. Your head was still reeling from all the explosion and the fighting earlier, ears drowning out the noise, and everything around you seemed to move in slow motion. 

A shot was fired, and you flinched. 

Your eyes flew toward Leon, watching his smirk turn into wordless shock. He stared at you with wide eyes, before he slowly sank into his knees and fell forward, face first. 

Someone stood behind him. 

You stared in shock as Zeke lowered the gun, the barrel still smoking. He looked like he’d just clawed his way out of his own private hell—chest heaving, shirt plastered with blood you were almost certain wasn’t his. His blazer was gone, discarded somewhere behind him, and his carefully styled hair now looked like it had weathered a full-blown storm.

Your eyes were glued to him as he called your name and walked over in quick long strides, grabbing you by the arm. 

“You okay?” He sounded like he’d just ran a marathon. His eyes scanned you from head to toe. “The initial explosion separated us. I thought something had—”

He caught himself and didn’t bother finishing. You realized then that he must have spent the last half hour searching for you. The guilt stung—you’d been too focused on getting to Erwin that Zeke hadn’t even crossed your mind.

“I’m fine.”

He looked at you and frowned, lifting a hand to wipe something off your face. You realized it was blood. 

“It’s not mine,” you said before he could ask. 

Sighing, Zeke rubbed the space between his eyebrows. “I figured. Anyway, it’s not safe staying inside. We need to get out of here.”

He grabbed your wrist but you didn’t budge.

“I can’t leave Erwin.” 

Zeke looked at the blockade of wreckage before turning to you. “You can’t get to him either. Smith’s sharp; he can take care of himself. And he can transform if he’s cornered, the fact that he hasn’t means he’s got it all covered.”

You bit your lip and alternately glanced at him and the wreckage, momentarily torn. 

Zeke sighed and grabbed you by the arm, forcing you to look at him. He called your name again, and you realized he had called you more times tonight than he’d ever did for the past few weeks. 

“Listen to me. Smith has the Colossal. I have the Beast. We can protect ourselves just fine—but what about you?”

You hated that he made it sound like you couldn’t protect yourself, but you understood where he was coming from. 

“It’s you that you need to think about more. We’ll get out of here, and knowing Smith, he’s probably already on his way outside too.”

After a moment of contemplation, you released a sigh. “Fine. Let’s get out of here.”

For the first time since reuniting with him that night, Zeke let out a cheeky smile. He patted you on the head. 

“Atta girl, Lieutenant. You listen well to orders—no wonder Smith values you.”

You sputtered, incredulously staring at him as you swatted his hand away. 

“Do you want to die?”

“Not tonight.” Zeke bent down and grabbed the gun that had flown out of Leon’s hand. He wiped it and handed it to you with a wink. You scoffed, snagging it roughly from him, then turned on your heel about to walk away when he grabbed you by the hand.

Irritated, you huffed at him. “What now?”

“You can’t move comfortably with that.” He gestured to your outfit and you raised your brow. 

“You can’t possibly be telling me to strip.”

Zeke shook his head with a tut. 

“I’m a gentleman, Lieutenant. Of course not.” He stepped behind you. “Allow me.”

You found yourself tensing as you felt his fingers deftly work with the strings behind your corset. In the next moment, he had slipped it off and you could feel the rush of unobstructed air filling your lungs. 

He was right. You felt lighter now, and your movements weren’t as stiff. 

“You’re welcome.” Zeke stepped in front of you, smiling appreciatively before it quickly disappeared. “Now follow my lead. Stick close.”

The gunshots had lessened to a noticeable degree. Smoke curled and wafted in the air, tension trailing after you like remnants of a battle as you weaved around the debris and wreckage and occasional fallen bodies. Your visibility had reached an all-time low with all the smoke, at this point you were hoping Zeke knew where you were headed. 

He suddenly stopped and stretched an arm in front of you, forcing you against a tall wreckage while he craned his neck to scan the area. You looked at his arm and immediately frowned. 

“Stop treating me like a kid. I can protect myself.”

He seemed to realize and withdrew his hand, but still kept a wary eye. “My bad, Lieutenant. But your Commander entrusted you to me, I guess you have my sense of responsibility to blame.”

Pah. “Sense of responsibility, my foot.”

Besides, since when did Erwin ask Zeke to take care of you? You were almost certain he was messing with you again. 

Zeke suddenly tensed next to you. “What?”

He shushed you, and you immediately readied your gun, straining your hearing. You heard it then. Footsteps. 

You adjusted your stance. Beside you, Zeke lifted his gun, signalling you to wait. 

The footsteps approached, nearer and nearer, and you held your breath. 

“Chief Yeager?”

You and Zeke exchanged glances, then he cautiously lowered the gun before stepping out. 

“Colonel Hayes.”

You followed out behind him and saw the man in question, suit covered in soot and a few bruises on his face. He noticed you and nodded in acknowledgement. 

“So you were here. Good thing I ran into you,” he gestured the both of you over and Zeke stepped closer. 

“What’s the situation?” 

The Colonel looked grim. “Bad. Kresnovia’s launched an attack, together with Dalenov. Several areas in Liberio are already under siege.”

You balled your fists as your thoughts flew toward Erwin, now certain he’d been baited into a trap. You could only hope he was alright. So it was Kresnovia, after all. 

But.. Dalenov? That country was affiliated with the Mid-Eastern Allied Forces. How did he know they were in cahoots with Kresnovia?

“We need a counterattack,” Zeke said. “Has Marley dispatched the units already?”

“The Operations Command already deployed our men to engage,” he paused, grimacing. “But we were taken by surprise. Civilian and military casualties are high.”

Zeke fell into a momentary silence. “I’ll contact my unit. We’ll have to take this battle far from downtown if possible.”

The Colonel nodded, clapping him by the back as he beckoned him over. “Yeah. It’s a good thing I found you here. My men secured a passage nearby, you and your friend can leave through there.”

You trailed behind the two men for the first few steps, eyes scanning the Colonel from behind, trying to put your finger on why something felt off. And that was when you saw the ring on his finger, hand still resting on Zeke’s back. Blood running cold, your eyes shot wide open. 

Glacier mountain and sun rays. 

“Zeke—get away from him!”

Zeke tensed and looked over to you, confusion rippling across his face as you lunged forward. You swore your legs felt like lead and time slowed down. 

You watched the Colonel take out a gun and aim it at Zeke’s head from behind. A terror so foreign to you gripped you by the neck as you screamed. 

Bang!

Blood spattered. Your eyes widened as Zeke jerked away, twisting just in time to avoid a fatal hit. He whirled and drew his gun faster than the Colonel could aim again and shot him thrice in the chest. The Colonel choked on his blood before he fell to the ground, blood oozing out. 

Frantic and breath ragged, you grabbed Zeke by the shoulder, scanning his injury. “Your ear—”

“It’ll heal,” he grunted. His eyes were on the Colonel's fallen body, brows pinched tight. “Bastard. He was colluding with Kresnovia all along.”

The side of his face was steaming, a sign of his healing powers in action, but you were still too shaken up. Zeke finally turned to you and gently peeled your hand from his face. 

“Lieutenant, you’re cute when you’re worried, too.”

You glared and hit him on the chest. “Do you think this is a joke?!”

He groaned from your punch, holding back a laugh. “No, but your concern touched me. Thank you.”

His sudden gratitude rendered you speechless. He smiled. “Had you not yelled, my head would have been blown off.”

You were at a loss. It wasn’t like you had planned on yelling and saving him—it just sort of happened. Now, you asked yourself why you did it. He was still your enemy, right?

Right? 

You didn’t get the chance to rationalize that thought, because a shuffle of footsteps began approaching you from all sides. Both you and Zeke tensed as you turned, back to each other as shadows emerged from the smoke and armed soldiers had you surrounded. 

Kresnovian soldiers. 

You cocked your gun the same time Zeke did. 

“So.. any plan?”

You glared at the soldiers in front of you. “I got a plan. We blow their heads off.”

From behind you, Zeke snorted. 

“Definitely the best plan you’ve ever come up with.”

—

You had run out of ammo. 

Fortunately, with your corset off, your movements were less  restrained and more agile. You dodged and twisted around the mess of bodies as they lunged at you. 

“There’s no end to this!” You yelled over the chaos, risking a glance at how Zeke was doing. You were surprised at how much of an agile combatter he was. 

You twisted to the side to dodge the swing of a knife. With a huff, you hopped on a wreckage and used that momentum to jump and deliver a kick right to your attacker’s face. You straightened and panted in heavy breaths, flicking an annoying stray hair off your face. 

Your head tilted when you heard footsteps coming, but before you could call Zeke, he was already by your side. 

“Reinforcements. We need to go.”

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you along. The both of you weaved around piles of wreckage, bolting through the smoke. You covered your nose and mouth with an arm as you ran after Zeke, occasionally glancing behind to see if your pursuers were on sight. 

“Where’s the exit?!”

“I can’t see with all this smoke!” Zeke cursed. “The longer we stay here the more dangerous it’ll be.”

The both of you stopped when you realized you had run into a dead end. 

“This is a dome-shaped hall,” you told him. “Let’s just run along the wall and—”

A gunshot rang, landing on the wall beside your face. Zeke cursed and pulled you behind him as soldiers stepped out of the smoke and aimed at you. Enemy reinforcements. 

Just your luck.

You looked at Zeke from behind. 

“Hey. You haven’t transformed.” He didn’t budge. “What are you waiting for?!”

A thought crossed your mind. 

“Are you—..”

Did he refrain from transforming for your sake? You didn’t want to believe it, but with all the things going on with him, the notion didn’t seem too farfetched. 

The soldier in front signalled the rest to take aim. You grabbed the back of Zeke’s shirt in a panic.

“Zeke—”

You heard him curse under his breath. Zeke whirled around, pulling you closer to his chest while his free arm stretched in front of him. 

As the barrage of the gunshots rang, you felt hot sizzling steam erupt from the man next to you. A crackle of heat and electricity shot from his outstretched arm and you had to shut your eyes instinctively as the room shuddered. 

By the time you opened your eyes again, a humongous, half-formed hairy limb was obstructing your vision. Your eyes stung from the high temperature, light headed and mildly reeling from the impact when it dawned on you: Zeke had partially transformed his arm to shield you both. 

You turned your head to see him grunting with a string of curses as he pulled his arm out of the mound of flesh. He didn't bat an eye and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you along.  

You tried to glance back at the soldiers, but the titan limb was large enough to block their view as you slipped into the fog. Your throat stung as you coughed, letting Zeke practically drag you across the hall. You had been worried you’d run straight into a horde of enemies outside, but the moment you and Zeke stepped out of the building, the courtyard was nearly empty, save for a few scattered pieces of debris.

You glanced behind you, seeing the broken down building you had exited out of and several roaring flames engulfing a portion of the campus at the back.

The night sky twinkled as silent as a ghost as Liberio city drowned in a cacophony of loud explosions and gunshots. 

A distant rumble beckoned for your attention. In the distance, you could make out three titans engaging with flying jets. 

“Aren't those..” Your voice trailed off as you turned to Zeke, who was already gazing at the direction. 

The Jaws, the Cart, and the Armored titans. They’d already been dispatched by Marley to intercept the surprise attack. 

“You should go,” you told Zeke. “Before they start to question you.”

He looked at you, face taut with tension. For a brief moment, you could actually pinpoint the conflict written all over him. 

“What?”

“As soon as you find Smith,” he started, “go to the harbor. Head back to Paradis.”

Incredulous, you stared at him. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Liberio isn’t safe anymore, and I doubt there’s anywhere else here in the mainland where you can stay without compromising your identities. The operation’s finished. Go home.”

He didn’t even give you a chance to share your input. Zeke immediately rounded his heel and stalked forward, footsteps heavy with purpose as he walked out of the courtyard. 

“Wait, Zeke—”

“I’ll stay within the vicinity,” he cut you off without looking back. “Keep an eye out for Smith.”

Once he was a good distance away, your eyes caught the way golden yellow crackles of electricity ran across his skin, glowing brighter and brighter. You instinctively raised an arm to shield your face as a gust of wind and heat swirled the street, whipping your hair behind you. You planted your feet firmly on the ground, neck craning while your eyes followed the burst of transformation, growing higher and higher. 

Slowly, you lowered your arm as you took in the sight of the Beast titan, a hairy creature with long limbs—what used to be the abomination of your nightmares three years ago was now ironically one of your only allies. 

Zeke’s titan bellowed out a roar and wiped out a street of running soldiers with a long kick. Crashes and explosions danced around you, and you were almost sure this was what hell looked like on earth. 

A squeal from behind you caught your attention. You whirled around, seeing a Kresnovian soldier dragging a civilian woman by the hair and about to round the corner of an alley while a child cried and begged as she delivered futile hits to the soldier. 

“Let her go! Let her go!”

You bolted for them immediately, wasting no time. 

By the time the soldier realized, it was too late. You had lunged and locked him in a headlock, crashing the both of you to the ground in a struggle. With a gargled cry, you twisted his neck and heard a sickening crack!, a quick painless death as the soldier fell limp in your hold. 

Heaving pants, you ambled back to your feet and turned around to address the woman and the child, pausing when you realized. 

“Elen?”

The child who was blubbering in her mother’s arms stopped her crying and turned to look at you. Recognition dawned in her gaze as she released herself from her mother, cheeks streaked with tears, eyes wide as saucers and lips parted in surprise. 

“Ms. Ilsa? Is that—is that you?”

You stepped closer and crouched in front of her, grabbing her by the shoulder.

“It’s not safe here downtown—” you looked at the woman you thought was her mother— “head to the outskirts of the city, you’ll be safer there.”

The woman nodded frantically and grabbed Elen by the wrist, a rushed and quiet “Thank you so much” leaving her lips before they made their way. Elen looked at you one last time before she allowed herself to be pulled away, and you watched the pair disappear into one of the alleyways. 

The tension still hadn’t left you completely. When you heard a loud crash nearby, you nearly shrieked and gave away your location. You looked back at the heat of the battle and saw Zeke’s titan swatting at enemy jets as they flew overhead like flies, firing missiles. 

Then a single, thunderous shell exploded from somewhere in the distance, striking the Jaws Titan frighteningly close to the nape. You watched in horror as the nimble titan crumpled, crashing into the ground with an impact that rattled the earth beneath you.

It brought the Jaws down.

Your head snapped around, frantic, searching for the source.

It couldn’t be—

Had Erwin’s suspicions been right again? Had Kresnovia actually finished developing their Anti-Titan Artillery? But there had been no reports of it ever being used during the war—so why now—

And then it hit you. Kresnovia had targeted Liberio for one reason: to eliminate Marley’s titan shifters in a single, devastating surprise attack using their new weapons.

Your eyes snapped toward Zeke’s titan, suddenly fearful for the vulnerability he was now subjected under. 

With balled fists, you crossed the street, fully intending to provide backup when a blurry shadow stepped out of a nearby alley. You jerked around, arms raised in preparation for an attack when you froze mid-stance. 

“Erwin?!”

Your Commander, battered and bruised as he supported himself against a firewall with a hand, paused as soon as his eyes landed on you. A flood of relief rushed through your veins as you erupted in a sprint toward him. 

“I’ve been looking for you!” You almost sobbed in relief and resisted the urge to smack him. The spattered blood on his shirt was alarming. “What’s with all this blood? What happened?”

Compared to your barely contained panic, Erwin was almost unnervingly composed. He looked like he’d just walked out of hell, but aside from the harsh rise and fall of his chest, he seemed completely in control. His tie had come loose, and his normally gelled hair was a mess—a stark contrast to how he’d looked earlier that evening.

His eyes scanned you in a hurried yet intense assessment. “Are you hurt?”

You wanted to scoff at his face. “You’re asking me that?!”

“Apologies.” He shook the topic away. “I just thought—where is Zeke?”

You tried to collect yourself after the sudden turn of events, trying your damndest to steady the erratic beating of your heart with all the chaos around you. Explosions continued to bring down buildings. Flames roared and devoured the streets. Gunshots and screams pierced the air like a song of death. The adrenaline was rushing to your head. 

“Out fighting. He said we should—”

You froze at that exact moment. 

A few meters behind Erwin, a soldier leveled his gun and cocked it. Instinct took over before your mind could catch up. You seized Erwin by the arm, yanked him around, and swung your body behind his.

The gunshot cracked through the air—

—and darkness closed in on you before the pain fully registered.

Chapter Text

Erwin could count on one hand the times in his life where he’d truly felt helpless.

He hadn’t been given the luxury of mourning his father for long. Erwin couldn’t even remember crying much at the funeral—too weighed down by a guilt that told him he had no right to shed tears. Again and again, he’d watched death take his comrades far too early while he selfishly continued to live. And each time it happened, it felt as though another fragment of his humanity was carved away, until all that remained was an empty shell.

Yet despite the terror of it, death was a foe Erwin never bowed to. He stood as a symbol of pride and purpose for his men—the guiding light that carved their bloody path forward.

Erwin Smith was a man who never lowered his head to death, no matter how ruthless it became.

But in that moment, as the full weight of your body collapsed against him, he learned just how easily a single life could bring him to his knees.

It happened too quickly. One second you were in front of him, the next you had twisted to shield him with your body. Erwin caught you in his arms just as you fell limp in his hold, and it was as if the weight of the entire world had come crashing down on his shoulders. He crumpled to the ground with you in his arms, blood running cold at the sight of your pale face. 

A swift movement ahead had him lifting his gaze just long enough to see the soldier aiming the gun once more, this time at him—before a large limb slammed on top of him. Blood spattered like a mosquitos’, and Zeke’s titan bellowed out a roar that sounded like anguished fury. 

Erwin brought his eyes back to you, lying motionless against the pavement, head on his lap. It took a few more moments before it finally sank in. 

A shuddering breath left him. With trembling hands uncharacteristic of him, Erwin cradled your face close to his chest as he held back a sob clawing out of his throat. He croaked your name, over and over, feverishly praying to a god he didn’t believe in. 

“Please—” he begged, the pathetic whine of his voice foreign to his own ears— “please, don’t close your eyes.”

His vision blurred and cleared like a camera’s lens, as if his own consciousness was slipping in and out from the sheer panic. Heavy, ragged breaths seemed to only worsen his breathing, and he was almost sure he was about to succumb to his anxiety until a hand grabbed him by the arm. 

“Smith!”

Erwin snapped his head, coming face to face with an equally distraught Zeke, body still steaming and titan marks etched deep beneath his eyes. He briefly glanced at you before he clenched his teeth and returned his attention to Erwin.

“Snap out of it! She needs first-aid, get out of here already!”

Blinking, Erwin tried to collect his thoughts amid the pounding in his head. This wasn’t like him—losing his composure—he was never one to allow himself to be swayed. He swallowed a deep breath and tried to even his breathing. 

Zeke nodded and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll cover you. Get to one of the buildings.”

“You understand, don't you?” He added, looking back back at Erwin. “Liberio's done for. If you don't want to get caught in the crossfire, you need to go back to Paradis.”

Going back to Paradis meant abandoning their mission, and possibly jeopardizing their hard-earned alliances that Erwin had painstakingly spent the last months trying to seal. But one look at the situation and he knew Zeke was right—staying in Liberio was a lost cause. 

Swallowing heavily, Erwin scooped you in his arms and nodded at Zeke. 

“Thank you.”

“Don't,” Zeke said, back turned to him. “You're making me feel sick. Just go.”

Erwin rounded his heel and made his way down the street, never looking back. A barrage of gunshots pierced the air and soon after, the ground trembled as a monstrous roar erupted. 

A tall, empty building stood not too far. Erwin briefly glanced at you and felt a sick twist in his stomach when he noticed the red soaking behind you, staining his arms. Your breathing had become labored. 

After ensuring the block was safe, Erwin crossed the deserted street and rammed the door open with his shoulder, the door groaning under his weight as it creaked open. Erwin shut the door behind him and made a hurried scan around the barren room. Upturned chairs and tables told him the occupants had left the place in a hurry following Kresnovia's attack. 

Erwin carefully settled you on the table, your cheek resting against the surface. His eyes were trained on the wound behind your shoulder where the bullet had penetrated. The back of your shirt was soaked in blood. 

Turning around, Erwin began rummaging inside drawers and cupboards. He found clean towels and gauze in one of them and went to apply firm pressure against your wound, watching the way your blood soaked through the first one. He immediately added another towel, keeping a steady pressure against the back of your shoulder and began wrapping gauze around the area to stabilize the bleeding.

Sweat collected on his brows and began trickling down his temple. You needed immediate surgery. But given the situation, performing it now would cause even more severe complications. 

There was only one way if he wanted to save your life: You need to get to Paradis. 

After he stabilized the gauze, Erwin stepped back and collected himself, breathing in and out, trying to even the rapid beating of his heart. Even then, he could hear distant gunshots and yells outside. 

He needed to get to the harbor immediately, secure a fast craft, and get on it with you. 

The harbor will be filled with shooting. Liberio port was most probably where the Kresnovian troops made their landfall. 

His eyes fell on his own hand. Then, there was only one way to secure an exit. Something only he could do, with the flick of a hand. 

As Erwin straightened himself, he was about to walk away when something grasped his hand. He stopped in his tracks, looking back, seeing you struggle to sit up. 

He called your name and gently grabbed you by the shoulders.

“Lay down.”

You grimaced. “It's… fine. Are you… heading for the port?”

“It's not fine.” His eyes scanned you in worry. “Just lay back down. I will return for you.”

“What about Zeke?”

Your question caught him off-guard. He stared at you, the momentary silence hanging in the air as he thought about the man in question. Zeke hadn't mentioned anything about coming along. 

“Stay here and rest,” Erwin said, lifting a hand to brush the stray hair away from your forehead. You blinked at him, probably taken aback at the sudden gesture, but he didn't care. “Don't think about anything. Prioritize yourself.”

You looked at him for a few more seconds. 

“Don't.. come back for me.”

“That is out of the question,” he interrupted. “We are both leaving.”

“It's not like your titan can carry me. Erwin, listen: find a boat and—”

“I am not leaving you.”

“Then are you going to die here with me?” you snapped. Your face was going paler and paler by the second, and the more Erwin looked at you the more he truly realized just how utterly weak he was in front of you. 

“Do not tell me to abandon you.” His voice was resolute, bordering desperation and leaving no space for debate. “Please. I won't do it. I can't.”

You looked at him again, and he knew he must have looked like a mess. Shaking, desperate—you had stripped him of his proud composure without even realizing. Erwin never even knew how fragile he was until at that very moment. Suddenly, the thought of losing you ignited a visceral fear he had never known before. 

“I will see you at the harbor in an hour,” he said, trying his best to stop his voice from shaking. “Lie low and stay alive.”

Erwin turned and walked out of the building without wasting a second. Gunshots and thunderclaps of detonation boomed from different directions. Far in the distance, he could make out silhouettes of titan forms masked behind mountains of smoke from all the fires that had erupted. It was as if hell had climbed out of the depths of earth and consumed Liberio, ravaging it to the ground. 

Erwin turned to the direction of the port. He could make it in half an hour if he ran, but the issue was that the harbor was most likely packed with Kresnovian ships. 

If he could use his titan to obliterate them, then their chances of escaping would increase. 

Sending one last look at the door behind him, Erwin broke into a full sprint down the street, keeping himself close to the sidewalk and sinking into the shadows of alleyways to hide from any potential shooters. He needed to get far away from you so that you wouldn't get caught up in the blast of his transformation. 

After several minutes had passed, a sudden downpour arrived, but Erwin continued to run until a particularly tall building caught his attention. As soon as he reached it, he tried ramming the door open to no avail. He turned his attention to the glass window pane and readied his stance before he lunged forward and crashed into the window, shattering the glass beneath his weight. He tucked himself and rolled into the ground, picking a shard before he made his way to the stairs without stopping. 

After practically leaping several flights of stairs, Erwin eventually reached the rooftop. As soon as he stepped out, harsh pellets of rain pecked him in the face, his drenched suit sticking close to his skin. What looked like literal hell spanned out before and around him: buildings ablaze despite the rain, uniformed soldiers and equipment scattered around, engaged in battle, and titans locked in a tussle against flying enemy jets. 

Erwin's eyes locked on a point in the far horizon—the port. With his titan, it wouldn't even cost him thirty minutes to get there. His only concern was the Anti-Titan Artillery, but the rain could serve as an effective deterrent. 

He turned to the opposite direction where he left you, only allowing himself brief respite, before facing the direction of the harbor. 

The whipping wind continued to slap his face, drenched hair glued to his forehead. In his hand, he held the glass shard he'd picked earlier, its edges digging deep into his palm. 

For a moment, he didn't move. 

Then, Erwin took a step, and another, picking his pace, and gradually erupting into a full sprint. 

Within seconds he reached the edge of the roof and used his momentum to leap off. For a millisecond, his surroundings paused as he seemed to levitate in the air. 

As soon as gravity began to pull him, Erwin held out the shard in front of him with his free hand, snug and tight. He slashed his palm, watching the blood ooze and flicker from gravity. 

Sparks of electricity trailed up from his wound, and a searing heat engulfed him as he fell. 

—

A loud explosion roused you from your pseudo-nap. 

Immediately after, heavy, white-hot ache shot from your wound. Your shoulder hung limply and useless by your side as you slowly sat up, grimacing with each movement. Labored breaths panted out of your lips, and for a second, your vision blurred and spiraled. 

Knowing you couldn't afford to pass out, you bit your cheek and willed yourself to focus on the sting in your mouth instead of the pain in your shoulder. 

How many minutes had passed? 

All you really remembered was blacking out seconds after Erwin had run out of the building, most likely off to secure a route to the harbor and prepare a fast craft for your escape. He had given you a one-hour margin of preparation to meet him there. 

With great effort, you heaved yourself off the table and planted your feet on the floor—only, you underestimated the unbearable pain from your wound and the fact you couldn't even stand straight. Sharp pain jolted your entire body and you crumpled to the ground with a pained yelp. 

Your vision was momentarily spotted in black. Trails of sweat dropped down your temple just from the pain. You wanted to cry. 

“Do not tell me to abandon you. Please. I won't do it. I can't."

You gritted your teeth. If you didn't show up, he'd come back for you. You didn't know how you knew this—you just somehow did. You couldn't recall ever seeing him so frantic and uncomposed as he did earlier, you were almost certain it had been a fever dream. 

Now, you knew that begging voice you heard as you were slowly sinking into unconsciousness had belonged to Erwin. 

“Please—please, don't close your eyes.”

You tried to steady your breathing—as steady as a person with a gunshot wound could breathe—and slowly pushed yourself on your feet, hand stabilized on the edge of the table. 

If you were going to die, you might as well go die on the battlefield. 

You practically dragged yourself out of the empty building and stepped outside. Rain pelted from the heavens and doused the streets. Gunshots continued to echo from different directions, but you tried to focus on the harbor in the far distance. A line of buildings were consumed by hellfire, flanking the road leading up to the port. The pavement had been reduced to rubble, imprints embedded as if something big and heavy had stepped on them. The Colossal titan. 

All you had to do was follow the wreckage. With one hand resting on the building, you limped your way down the sidewalk, hoping no one would notice your pitiful form. Seeing as how no one open fired, they were probably too busy trying to kill each other than target a seemingly harmless civilian. 

The rain messed with your vision. Your clothes were soaked and clinging to you like glue, sending cold shivers down your skin. You hugged yourself in an effort to stay warm, teeth chattering as you continued to make your way through the deserted street. 

You stumbled a few times, but each time you forced yourself back up and pushed through. Each step was a labored effort, and you often found yourself resisting the urge to pass out. 

As soon as you arrived at the harbor, you were met with a scene of utter desolation. The docks had been crushed like ants, and pieces of what you could tell were parts of sunken ships scattered along the shoreline, floating aimlessly in the ocean. 

Where was Erwin? 

Your eyes cautiously scanned the entire dock. No signs of Erwin nor of the Colossal. The humongous foot imprints that belonged to his titan had abruptly stopped. 

Yells and shuffling footsteps reached you. You whipped your head behind and saw clouded figures in uniform lugging heavy guns. You didn't wait to see whether they were Marleyan or Kresnovian and immediately ducked around the corner of the building, away from their direct line of vision. 

Breathing heavily, you steadied yourself with a hand on the wall. Your vision was hazy. Your legs felt like goo. Erwin wasn't here. 

A heavy sigh escaped you, and the adrenaline that got you plowing through a battlefield in the rain quickly evaporated. Your hand slid from the wall and your legs gave out, unable to carry your weight any longer. 

But before you could fall, an arm slipped behind you just in time, catching you. 

With half-lidded eyes and limbs screaming in exhaustion, you gazed at your savior. 

“I don't know if I should praise or scold you for walking around with that injury.”

Despite his best effort to sound upbeat amid the current situation, concern screamed in his expression as he scanned you. Zeke carefully helped you sit, back leaning against the wall. 

“You're pale,” he pointed out, pressing a hand to your cheek. “And cold. Why aren't you with Smith?”

Your brain was too muddled to come up with a lengthy response. “Boat.. meet at.. the dock..”

Fortunately, Zeke caught on quickly. “I saw his titan a few minutes ago heading to the dock and figured he needed help. But as soon as I got here, he disappeared.”

He looked around. “Where the hell is he..?”

The rain continued its harsh punishment. Your heavy eyes tried to take all of him in: titan marks still visible underneath his eyes, and his skin was smoking hot, sizzling as raindrops landed on him. The blood on his clothes had long evaporated, and the lens of his glasses misted with the fog of rain. 

Your shaking hand slowly lifted and grabbed hold of the front of his shirt. Zeke paused and looked back at you, gaze electrifying even through the dotted droplets on his glasses.

“Come with us,” you managed to croak, throat so parched it felt like sandpaper. Zeke's eyes widened just a tad, before he turned somber. 

“I appreciate it, Lieutenant. But I can't leave my unit behind.”

You balled your fists, scrunching his shirt. Why must he start acting like a War Chief now of all times? You wanted to hit him, slap him, insult him, yet all you could muster was a deep, pained frown. 

“But..”

He rested a palm on your cheek, gently nuzzling. The heat of his hand sent warmth and you relished in the feeling. 

“Relax. I'm not going to die. You need that surgery asap, though. We need to find Smith.”

Zeke was about to carry you when you waved him away. “I can.. walk.”

He pressed his lips together, evidently hesitant, but acceded. Helping you up, he slung your uninjured arm over his shoulders and supported you as you both lugged down the harbor. 

“Shit.”

He suddenly jerked and stopped you from taking a step  further, taking shelter behind a building as a series of gunshots rang in the air.  

Zeke looked down at you and you watched the way his jaw clenched. His grip by your waist tightened protectively. It was only by then you noticed he had a pistol in his free hand. 

“Why won't you.. transform?”

Your question had him pausing for a split second. 

“If I transform and leave you here, you'll be a sitting duck.” He adjusted his hold on you and examined his gun. “Just leave the fighting to me. I'll take you to Smith no matter what.”

His words ignited a feeling you couldn't put into words. Zeke Yeager was your enemy, and here you were, wounded and in a vulnerable position, with no one else to trust. Were Levi here, he'd be screaming at you for even daring to show your weak side to the enemy. 

Yet, not a single alarm blared in your head as you leaned against Zeke for support. Your head was as heavy as lead, throbbing like a drum while you tried to navigate through the pain. The rain did its best to obstruct your vision, you couldn't see 10 steps ahead of you even if you tried; you could only hope Zeke knew where he was leading you to. 

He held you tight against his side, burying your face in his chest as you faintly heard gunshots ring out. You tensed, half expecting for either of you to get shot, but nothing. 

He was more skilled with a gun than you thought he would be. 

Footsteps and grunts were nearing you, but you had no idea if they were Zeke's Marleyan colleagues or not. The hairs on your skin stood electrified. 

Muttering a curse, Zeke suddenly jerked and pulled you aside, pushing your back against the wall of a nearby building. 

The pain jolted through you and you hissed. “Hey—”

Right at that moment, a gunshot thundered and Zeke bucked against you, groaning. Both hands rested on the wall beside you as if he was caging you with his body. His gun fell to the ground by your feet, out of ammo. You realized a second later what he was trying to do. 

“Zeke—” you gasped— “you—” 

He got shot. 

You heard him release a labored chuckle. “I thought I told you. It'll heal.”

“That doesn't mean you should—” The words left you at a loss, and so did the anger. 

His forehead fell on your shoulder, heaving deep breaths like he was mentally counting, gathering strength. You tried to steady him, but you were barely holding yourself up. 

You began to panic. You couldn't have the both of you stuck here wounded in the middle of a battlefield. 

“You idiot, don't you dare—!”

His body shook, and you realized he was laughing silently. Vexation poured from you, but before you could act on it, he moved and lifted his head from your shoulder, gazing at you. 

His blond wavy locks stuck to his forehead, glasses beaded in rainwater. He just got shot, but he didn't look as pale as you expected, probably due to his titan powers. The heat of his body radiated even against the turret of rain pelting from above, and you briefly wondered if a high body temperature was a trademark of all who possessed the power of the titans. 

“I told you, Lieutenant. I can't protect you properly if I transform.” 

A thunder of footsteps approached you from behind Zeke. Your eyes widened in panic, but he remained calm. Yet another trait he infuriatingly shared with your Commander. 

Before you could speak, a huge silhouette slid behind Zeke with a roar, swiping its humongous hand at the incoming foot soldiers. You craned your neck and recognized the Armored Titan.

Dismembered bodies and flickering blood flew in the air at the surprise attack. Soldiers ran and screamed, some cocking their guns at the titan in futility.

“Just in time,” Zeke murmured, before he grabbed you and jostled you down through the harbor, leaving the Armored to cover the both of you. 

“Don't look back. Keep up with me.”

You continued to let yourself be towed by him, occasionally stumbling on your own feet, yet you heard not one word of complaint from him.

He stopped and pulled you with him, peeking around the corner. 

“Kresnovian soldiers,” Zeke said to himself, frowning. “Just how many of them infiltrated?”

He turned to you and paused. 

“What?”

Zeke stepped closer and grabbed your face, looking intently at you. 

“You look like a ghost.” Concern dripped from his every word. 

You probably did. Running around a battlefield with a gunshot wound was unheard of, you should have long succumbed to sleep already. But the adrenaline was pulsing through you like a relentless flame. 

You parted your lips. I'm fine, you wanted to say. But right at that moment, your ears caught something and you turned. 

Was it your imagination?

But Zeke had followed your gesture and looked out at sea. 

Then the sound came back. A distinct horn, dull amidst the rain but undoubtedly there. 

You squinted and finally saw it. A silhouette of a boat in the fog, floating near the dock. Someone stood on the deck. 

Your heart leaped. Erwin. 

“Son of a bitch,” Zeke said, an annoyed smirk tugging his lips. “Took you long enough.”

You couldn't relish in the moment longer, because gunshots returned. You looked at the direction the same time Zeke did.

“They've spotted us,” he grumbled. Your heart fell. Erwin was right there, probably a 30 to 40-meter sprint. And it wasn't like he could moor the boat over and help cover for both of you either. 

You looked up at Zeke and watched the way his jaw tightened, brows knitted together in a calculative gaze. Just as how Erwin would look like in the middle of an expedition. It unnerved you how vastly different yet similar they were. 

A moment passed, and he turned to you. “Go.”

You stared dumbfounded. “What?”

“I'll cover for you. Run as fast as you can, Smith won't be able to anchor the boat.”

“Wait—”

“Just as you wished, Lieutenant, I'll transform this time.”

No, you thought. That wasn't what you wanted. What you wanted was for him to—

“Come with me.”

Zeke looked at you, and for a split second, his expression softened—solemn, almost sad. A face you had never before seen on him.

Then he did something you didn’t expect. He drew you into his chest, one firm hand cradling the back of your head as he lowered his face into your hair, nuzzling gently.

Your body stiffened at the contact. It wasn't the first time your bodies were snug close—he'd touched you countless times that night, but those instances were born out of protective necessity and hurried moments. 

This was something entirely different. It briefly reminded you of your shared dance at the hall. 

Evocative. Intimate. 

Amid the downpour, you could faintly hear the beating of your heart. But what stood out more was the thrumming of Zeke's chest, beating almost at the same pace as yours. 

The moment ended abruptly, like a fabric of cloth torn away from your hands. You watched as Zeke turned around and ran toward the group of soldiers in the distance without a word. You called back for him, arm outstretched and a foot forward, when the honking returned and you looked back at the boat where Erwin was waiting. 

With a heart as heavy as iron and sinking like a rock, you turned on your heel and sprinted for the pier. 

The wind and rain whipped against your face. You barrelled your way through the storm, summoning all the strength and speed into your legs. Somewhere behind you, the ground trembled. A barrage of bullets flew in the air but you focused on getting to the edge of the harbor. 

The closer you approached the more distinct the boat became. Erwin was waiting for you at the edge of the boat, and as soon as your eyes met, time seemed to briefly stop. Relief spread across his features, and he stepped forward. 

He called you through the rain, beckoning you to jump; he was ready to catch you, arms already open. Soaked with the rain, you had never seen him so ruffled: a few unfastened buttons, his dress shirt in tatters, hair unruly and fluttering with the wind. A far cry from the elegance of the Commander you always knew. 

Your limbs screamed and your head pounded. Your pace slackened as you eventually reached the edge of the dock. 

Erwin called your name in confusion. You had stopped running. 

You looked behind you. In the far distance, you could make out Zeke's titan acting as distraction. 

Somewhere inside you, your chest stirred and ached. He made his decision. He wasn't coming with you. 

Erwin's voice pulled you back. He called your name once more.

You didn't wait any longer. You leaped off the harbor, the wind whistling in your ears and the lapping waves meters beneath your figure as you soared. 

Erwin caught you in a grunt and you held back a pained groan as the impact jolted your wound. As soon as his arms wrapped themselves around you, you felt the fatigue catching up. You allowed yourself a moment of weakness as you fell limp in his hold, lightheaded and dizzy. 

—

When you came to, you could still hear faint explosions and tremors. Your body screamed in protest as you slowly sat up, an arm supporting you while your other one throbbed. A brand new roll of bandages had been carefully wrapped around your shoulder. 

You felt the swaying of the boat as it slammed against the waves. The rough weather clearly made smooth sailing a challenge. Not that you were necessarily complaining. 

With a heaving breath, you lifted yourself from the worn down couch you'd been resting on. The cabin was cramped and empty and smelled salt like the sea. You carried yourself out the door and saw Erwin at the aft, manning the craft. He noticed you as soon as you stepped out of the cabin.

“Go back to sleep.” It was an order, voice firm and laced in exhaustion. 

You glanced behind him and could still make out the harbor of Liberio. 

Erwin called your name once more. “Go inside.”

“What about Zeke?”

As soon as the name left your lips, Erwin's face hardened. 

“He chose to stay in Liberio.”

“Still… he looked out for me.” 

“I'm sure you already asked him,” he said. “If he wanted to come with us, he would have accompanied you all the way.”

You averted your eyes from him and watched the sloshing waves slap against the hull. The rain had let up just a tad, increasing visibility, and while you knew it was good for Erwin who was manning the craft, it was also disadvantageous in the case of enemy ships who were giving chase.

When you looked at him again, you caught the scrutiny in Erwin's gaze, as if he was reading your thoughts. A sense of guilt began to gnaw at you.

“Have you..” His words briefly trailed, almost hesitant. A twitch of a brow. “Have you come to—”

He didn't finish his question—couldn't—even though you had a scary inkling what it was. 

Because a thunderous, percussive bang suddenly pummeled the air, piercing your eardrums. 

A loud impact landed on the sea, right next to the craft, sending tunnels of wave lapping and pushing against you. You lost your balance and was sent tumbling around the deck, gritting your teeth at the impact that shook your wound. 

Erwin's voice faintly rang from the aft, frantic and yelling at you to take cover, but you were too disoriented to gather your thoughts. When you lifted your head at the darkened sky, all you could make out were a few flying jets overhead. 

They deployed their fighter jets to chase after you. 

One look at the boat you were on told you you weren't equipped to engage them in combat. It was a simple ribcraft with a mini cabin, with no cannons and guns on board; made just for speed and a quick survey. You were at an alarming disadvantage. 

A sudden tug on your uninjured arm had you tumbling to Erwin's side. 

“Erwin—”

“Keep your head low,” he ordered, eyes never straying from the sea. His hands made quick work on the helm console, steering the wheel in such skill you hadn't before seen him display. 

“Brace yourself.”

It was his last warning before he pushed the throttle. The engine roared louder than ever as the craft lurched forward; had it not been for Erwin's firm grip on your arm, you would have stumbled backward.

Overhead, Kresnovia's jets continued to rain bullets at your boat. Erwin maneuvered you like the tail of a fish, weaving around and dodging the attacks expertly, but you knew he couldn't keep this up forever. 

Your heart pounded against your ribcage as the bleak realization settled: your little fastcraft won't be able to outrun literal fighter jets.

“Erwin!” you yelled amidst the crashing waves and whistling mortars. “You have to transform!” 

Your Commander paid you no heed. 

“Erwin!” 

His jaw was tight and gaze hard. 

“Their target is the Colossal Titan!” You grabbed his sleeve to get his attention. “As long as you transform, you won't drown even if the boat—” 

“You will die,” he interrupted, eyes set ahead. You almost faltered. 

“We can't let the enemy take the Colossal out! If you're gone—Paradis will be done for!” 

A mortar was shot and Erwin cursed. He made a sharp turn and the boat veered, stealing your balance. As the cannons landed on the surface near your boat, sending sea droplets raining on the deck like a fountain, Erwin pulled you closer and wrapped an arm around your shoulder to steady the both of you. 

Only when the succeeding shots paused did Erwin bother to break the silence. 

“You told me your decision three years ago was because you didn't wish for me to die.”

You remembered your conversation in the dance hall. As his words settled, you found the courage to lift your gaze to meet his. 

The usual coldness in his eyes was nowhere to be found. Instead, what you saw was something softer. Honest. A stark contrast in the danger you were in.

“I feel the same way,” he confessed. “My safe return would be meaningless alone.”

Dumbstruck, you stared at him. The jets overhead roared back to life, a signal of the next incoming barrage. 

Erwin pulled you in front of him and wrapped an arm around you. “Stick close.”

You wrapped your arms around him in response, feeling the dread build up in your chest as you craned over his shoulder and looked at the flying jets. Each had a beeping red dot near the tail section, and jutting out of each side you could faintly make out the outline of some kind of gun equipment. 

Your grip tightened, frantic as you realized. 

There was no escape this time. 

Your heart lurched as the next second passed, and then, right before your very eyes, several of the fighter jets suddenly exploded in the air. 

You flinched as your eyes shot wide. The movement caught Erwin's attention. He followed your gaze and looked at the sky just in time for the next few jets to explode. Sparks erupted like fireworks and pieces dropped and sank into the ocean around you in flames.

What was happening? Did someone plant bombs?

Then it hit you. They didn't explode. Something hit them.

You turned to the direction of Liberio port, and there you saw. 

The Beast Titan stood at the harbor, facing your direction. You watched the titan grab a portion of the roof of a nearby building, crushing it in his grip and getting into a stance that was all-too familiar. 

It was ironic, you thought. The last time you saw him launch something, you were on opposite sides of the battle, itching to kill each other. 

Now, he was hurling rocks to help you and Erwin escape.

The last of the fighter jets had been smashed to smithereens, and Erwin took that chance to speed the craft. The farther you got, the more indistinct the island became. Zeke eventually became a dot in the darkened horizon. 

As the engine remained the only piercing sound in the silence of the night, the strength in your legs dissipated. You sank down to the deck, back against the rail. 

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

Erwin had approached you and kneeled by your side, a gentle touch on your shoulder as he assessed your condition. With the immediate danger eliminated, the boat continued to speed forward even without anyone manning the helm. 

Erwin was about to hoist you up when you broke the brief silence. 

“This war needs to stop.”

You could feel his stare as the words settled between you. You already knew this battle you were fighting in wasn't as simple as eradicating the titans, but the scope of the consequences didn't quite sink until tonight. 

So many innocent people were dragged. 

You thought of the kids you met on the riverside of uptown Liberio, the candidate warriors who were most probably around the same age, Zeke's grandparents, all the civilians who had been caught in the crossfire. You wondered if they managed to escape alright. 

If they were all evil, maybe it would have been better to hate them. It was a matter of survival. 

But not all of them are. 

And even if they were, you realized, killing them wouldn't solve anything. 

Then you thought about how demanding you sounded to Erwin. ‘This war needs to stop.’ It was easier said than done. You knew better than anyone Erwin's efforts toward diplomacy, and the lengths he would go to ensure Paradis’ survival in this conflict. 

Your Commander never stopped fighting, even after going beyond the walls, uncovering the truth in the basement, and reaching the ocean. 

“I know.”

His answer finally made you look at him, the firm resolution clear in his eyes. 

For some reason, you just wanted to cry. 

“I'm sick of fighting.”

Something in his eyes shifted at your words. Like he was pained to hear it. A second passed and he moved closer to you, cupping a gentle hand behind your head and pulling you closer so that your head rested on his shoulder. 

He never said anything, and you were grateful for it. 

The boat rocked against the waves as the engine continued to hum. Zeke had made a decision to stay, and one glance at it before you left was enough to know that Liberio was a lost cause. You could only hope he found a way to escape with his comrades. 

With every mile you put between yourself and Liberio, the closer you got to your home.  

But you knew this fight was far from over.