Author's Note
"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."
Nietzsche
For a couple of years, I thought this quote was from Guy Fieri instead of Nietzsche, but that's a story for another time.
THIS CHAPTER OMG. It's too long, I know. I used some outtakes from Arc 1 as inspo, so it might seem repetitive, and not all of it will make sense at once (it will! pinky promise!). I wanted to let myself go and experiment with prose and stuff for this chapter, only to get too close to "purple prose cringe" territory. I know, I tried my best, but apparently, that's not enough. Sigh.
Nevertheless, I hope you like it!
There was no sound Levi enjoyed more than the subtle scratch of his quill against a paper. The black ink swiftly followed the motion of his wrist, turning streaks into letters, words, and finally, sentences. When the ink stopped its flow, resisting his commands, he only had to dip the tip into the pot, and the stream of letters would begin again. He controlled it, and it would always obey—no words would be lost, no story would be left incomplete.
Such a sense of control soothed more than empowered him. Every night, when he knew he would no longer be disturbed by recruits and officials, he would clean his room, light up a candle, and prepare his little army of papers, quills, and inkpots. Before he sat at the desk, however, he always arranged his bed, hoping that the smell of freshly-washed sheets and the calmness of his writing would help him drift into the restful sleep that most residents of the HQ seemed to enjoy.
That day, however, he had retreated to his dormitory earlier than usual. The afternoon sunlight, creeping into the room through a solitary window, was enough to illuminate his desk and the steam of his cup. Despite how much he enjoyed the bitter taste of tea, he generally avoided it during his night-time routine, blaming the drink for his lack of sleep and not the horrors he witnessed every other week.
The date for the next expedition had been set, and not even the careful ink strokes could mask his restless thoughts, reminiscing every detail from his previous battles, imprinted on his mind like the words on that paper: the smoke over the blood, the harrowing screams of his comrades, and the fine but gruesome difference between the slicing and the biting of flesh. Even if he wrote them all down, he couldn't erase them from his head. But, every night, he tried.
Levi left the quill in the inkpot and leaned back in his chair. He grabbed the teacup and brought its rim to his lips. The steam warmed up the tip of his nose, and he closed his eyes, relishing that peaceful setting, inhabited by a haunted man.
Until someone knocked on the door. Once, and then again, quieter.
Levi stood up, muttering a curse and leaving the cup on his desk. The floor creaked with his steps, grunting with him.
He pulled the door open.
On the other side stood none other than Erwin, but the strong smell of cologne surrounding him forced Levi to take a step back. Instead of the corporate uniform, he sported a finer, thicker white shirt, carefully tucked inside elegant black pants. Levi could almost see his own reflection on the shiny tip of Erwin's shoes.
He tilted his head and frowned. "Are you getting married tonight or what?"
Erwin chuckled, "Good afternoon to you too."
"Tch." He scanned his formal appearance again, noticing that his eyebrows had been as carefully gelled as his hair. "What's up?"
"I… need that suit jacket I gave you some time ago. Some mice sneaked into my room and destroyed half of my clothing." Erwin bent his neck to the side, lowering his voice. "You still have it, don't you?"
"Yeah, give me a moment."
He stepped aside, inviting Erwin to enter the room. When Levi opened the wardrobe, it didn't take him long to locate the thick, soft jacket, separated from all the coats and uniform shirts inside.
Levi took it out and passed his hand over it, straightening it, relishing the feeling of the fabric on his fingertips. When he turned around, Erwin stood in front of his desk, examining the papers scattered over it.
"Oi, that's private," said Levi, stomping towards him.
"My apologies," replied Erwin, moving away. Levi handed him the jacket, and he gently bowed his head. "Thank you. I'll bring it back."
"You don't have to. It's yours."
"Still."
Erwin put on the jacket, and Levi observed him button it.
"So, what's the occasion?" Levi asked.
Erwin let out a sigh, arranging the jacket's cuffs. "They appointed the new Chief of Engineering. I'm supposed to attend the celebration in Shadis's name."
"Oh, really? And which ugly weirdo did they choose this time?"
Despite Levi's playful tone, Erwin's expression suddenly sharpened.
"Lhant."
Levi's heart skipped a beat.
He had always hoped that Erwin would never say her name again. That's what they had agreed on, that had been Levi's wish after learning that she had been the one to tell him about their ODM gears. She had been the one to pull him, Farlan, and Isabel out of the Underground, and she had been the one to send all the letters that came after, apologizing for her mistake, asking him to come back, begging for a reply.
And he would reply. But just like every other paper he wrote at night, it always ended up burning in another room's fireplace.
At some point, the letters had stopped arriving, but a small part of him hoped they would return.
No, he needed to forget, and she needed to live, but not the way he did: restless at night, numb during the day, always drowning in grief.
Still, the sound of her surname lingered on, threatening to never leave his mind. He cursed himself for asking that question after assuring Erwin that he, under no circumstances, wanted to know anything about her.
She deserved more than waiting for a bloodstained badge with his name.
"Right," he said with a faint voice. Erwin didn't seem to hear it.
Levi sat back on the chair and grabbed the quill from the inkpot, focusing on the words on the paper without truly reading them. Still, he noticed Erwin's overly-perfumed presence on the other side of the desk, examining him.
Erwin stepped forward, whispering, "Do you want to—?"
"Have fun."
Levi pressed the tip of the quill on the paper, scribbling. But even simply writing would be too quiet, too subtle for all the feelings and thoughts he needed to silence. Instead, he scratched the words on the paper without caring for their quality or the elegance of his calligraphy.
"Alright," Erwin sighed. "Have a good eve, Levi."
His footsteps faded away and disappeared when the door shut. The sound forced Levi to regain his consciousness, noticing the blot of ink surging from the quill's tip, statically pressed on the paper.
He crumpled the sheet and grabbed a new one.
Sophie tapped her fingernails on the champagne glass, noticing how the bubbles ascended, only to dissipate. She hoped to hear the clinking sound of her nails against the crystal, but all the chattering surrounding her muffled it instead.
She felt muffled too, invisible even. Despite being in the greatest of Mitras's ballrooms, decorated in ochre and gold tones, the bright, crimson color of her dress must've been noticeable among the besuited crowds scattered over the room. The moonlight from the majestic, arched windows reflected on the pristine marble floor, but its glow couldn't be so different from the one of her own jewelry—an owl brooch on her bodice, a golden needle securing her half-hairdo. Everything around her was just as impeccable as her appearance and accomplishments, but she was as overlooked as a wardrobe.
All attendees kept chattering with one other in an unintelligible talk of repetitive frequency. Eventually, someone would laugh, break the pattern for a single moment before the murmur began again.
So she tried to create her own noise: first with her fingernails, and then by humming some piano melody she had heard not so long ago. It wasn't an act of boredom but rather a test of how much her presence could break through that miasma of impassive babble.
Her humming became slightly louder, but the scenery and actors remained the same: fake laughs, perfectly ironed shirts, full glasses of champagne in their hands.
Sophie quieted herself with a sip from hers, hoping that the drink would ease the nervous embers still flaming inside her chest.
She had the title. She was the Chief. After all those years of hard work and endless meetings, filled with rehearsed speeches and smiles, she had reached the top. She had proved everyone wrong, breaking through that close-knit world with her sharp mind, just as he had told her to.
Inevitably, she found herself questioning what lay above that summit she had so relentlessly chased. All the answers came at once, whispered by the same familiar voice.
Once you become Chief, we'll go to that lake.
We can think about having kids when you become Chief.
Nothing and no one will ever hurt us.
That was it. That was the moment they had been waiting and fighting for: the turning point, the true beginning of their lives. The world had always been against them, and now it was at their feet, with her as Chief, and with him by her side.
But the spot next to her was empty that night.
I have some important meetings, he had said in his sweet, enveloping voice. I'm terribly sorry. You know I would've loved to be there. You understand, don't you?
She had gotten used to his discourse, to the point that he no longer reminded her that he was doing this for them, that he loved her. Before he could even begin that part of his speech, she would nod, extending her lips into a mechanical smile, accepting his melodic, repetitive apologies.
In the end, she didn't mean to cause any trouble. The power she aspired to—and now possessed—wasn't meant to be handled with recklessness, and neither was him.
Sophie straightened her back, eyes scanning the luxurious room. She had run out of small talk, and everyone had already given her their congratulations in all ranges of honesty. Retreating into a corner seemed like the only option left.
And then? Would her life start when the party ended? Would the knot in her stomach untangle? Would her fingers stop shaking? Was that how happiness was supposed to feel like?
The playful tap on her shoulder intensified those feelings for a moment. She gasped, turning around, searching for its source.
Nothing.
But as she turned on her heels again, she noticed the tall figure standing by her side. The blue eyes she knew so well intersected with hers, and with the sight of his sharp jawline and joyous smile, her heart bubbled like the champagne in her hand.
He winked at her.
"Asbel!" she gushed, throwing herself into his arms. She could've spilled the entirety of her drink all over his fine-cut, dark vest, but she focused only on relishing his presence, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
His pinewood perfume surrounder her, but he didn't. Instead, he patted her back.
"Easy now, let's not make a scene, hm?" he whispered.
She moved away as quickly as she had jumped onto him. Her heart stopped quivering, only to sink deeper along with her voice. "Yes, of course." Still, that didn't stop her from widening her eyes as an instinctive, silly smile drew on her lips. "It's just… I thought you couldn't make it."
"Ah, I managed to make some arrangements. This is a special occasion after all." Asbel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, cocking an eyebrow. "Now that's a rare sight."
"Hm?"
"Your hair."
"Oh, right," she whispered, masking her flustered expression by combing the loose, brown strands with her fingers. The feeling of her locks brushing her bare shoulders sent a shiver down her spine, but her goofy grin remained. "I thought I would wear something different for the special occasion."
Asbel placed a hand on her waist, bringing her closer. He pressed a kiss to her temple.
And in her ear, he whispered, "You look beautiful."
Another shiver traveled through her, but she used that sudden impulse to bend her neck towards Asbel, parting her mouth. Their lips met in a brief, intense kiss until Asbel moved away, his eyes nervously switching between all the different, yet same-breed guests.
When his gaze finally settled on her, she noticed that wrinkle on his forehead: the one she always dreaded, the one she always tried to avoid.
"Why aren't you with everyone else?" His whispers, rather than brush her lips, cut through them, forcing her to open her mouth and reply.
She gulped, readying her explanation, careful to not phrase it as an excuse. "I've talked to everyone already."
"So?"
She blinked, searching for her mistake in his eyes. "So what?"
"This is your celebration. This is your power. And you should parade it as much as you can." He got closer, softening his gaze. "You deserve it."
"But I've already—"
Her voice faded when he cupped her cheek, barely brushing his thumb over it, making her long for it.
"Don't be afraid to be a little selfish, dear," he said before moving away, taking his closeness with him. The hand on her waist slid to her lower back, guiding her towards one of the closest crowds. "Come on, I think I spotted Rod and the others over there."
He was the one to lead the way, always pulling every single one of her strings, so thin and carefully wrapped around her limbs and mind that she could never tell which one he would choose next. But wasn't he right? After all the hard work, the endless meetings, the detailed blueprints, and the backstage negotiations, didn't she deserve to parade her authority and brilliance?
Yes. She deserved that title and all the selfishness around it. She deserved to be by his side, among all those fine lineages and elegant bureaucrats. And for a fleeting moment, as she approached the crowd, she remembered every punch from the Police, every spit on her documents, every face disgusted by her sole existence. That jealous, venomous trail of hate had followed her all the way to that grand ballroom, always dragging her back. Until she had met him. Until he had shown her how to turn it into her strength, to use it as an impulse.
And just one step away from that clique, she realized she deserved more than being among them: she deserved to be above them.
Asbel halted his walk, and consequently, so did she. A trio of men turned to face them.
She recognized Rod Reiss and the importance of his presence, but the names of the other two struggled to click in her head as instantly as they should have. She recalled seeing the tallest, white-haired man and his luscious beard at her wedding. There had been too many names, too many complimentary greetings that day, but if he was close to Reiss, and if Asbel wanted to be within that group, it could only mean that he was part of the Government.
Devon—that was the name.
The third man resembled her age. She had witnessed him around Asbel's office rather regularly, and while their interactions had never gone beyond greetings and farewells, she had always stared a bit too long at the freckles covering his face—a feature she had never seen in the Underground. His appearance that night was somewhat different from the one of those fleeting hallway crossings: his bronze, thick hair had been carefully parted and combed, hiding his distinctive curls. Reminiscing their acquaintances, she recalled the man introducing himself as George. She had thought of him as one of Asbel's friends, but no, he never used that word—colleague, at most.
"Gentlemen," greeted Asbel, bowing his head at the trio.
"Barnes! What a surprise," said Devon. Noticing the tension on his forehead, Sophie could tell he didn't consider it a pleasant one. "I thought you would be in Yackel until next week."
"That was the plan, but I managed to seal a deal with the Aurions earlier than expected."
"The Aurions?" he scoffed. "Come on, They only make business among themselves."
Asbel wet his lips and replied, "It would be more correct to say that they only make business among those they trust." Sophie's gaze switched back and forth between Asbel's delighted expression and Devon's dumbfounded one. Rod took a sip from his glass, but that didn't stop her from noticing a subtle, satisfactory smile on his face.
"Besides, no deal in the world would make me miss my wife's election party," he said. Asbel pulled her closer, and Sophie's cheeks immediately tensed into a grin, but even if they hadn't, she feared no one would've questioned it.
"How lovely," muttered Devon, with so much spite in his voice that it could fill everyone's glass for the rest of the night. And she knew just how to make it taste even more bitter.
"Oh, he's too good. No matter how long and hard he works, he always makes time for me." Sophie extended her smile, glancing at Asbel as she placed a hand over his shoulder. Were those words lies or simply what she wanted to hear from him? "I'm glad he's so thoughtful, but I always tell him that he doesn't have to. If anything, I'm also very familiar with the rigor and commitment needed in this sort of… matters."
Devon laughed out loud. "Well, I hope you do, now that you have been burdened with being Chief."
"Burdened ? No, not at all." Sophie blinked several times, purposely overblowing her stun before continuing, "I came from nothing, but everyone here has given me a chance to succeed. And I'll do everything in my power to make the Kingdom succeed as well." Her eyes briefly settled on everyone around her as she crafted the words they wanted to hear, and the words she had told herself over and over since she had placed that golden needle in her hair. "This is… what I've always wanted to do."
Devon's face turned paler than his beard when Reiss lifted his glass towards Sophie.
"Committed and rigorous indeed," he said, and Sophie felt Asbel patting her back with the utmost subtlety.
She breathed out and smiled.
The conversation moved on, and even though she tried to blend in, her tone never quite matched theirs. Hunting trips, gossip from people she had never heard of—yet they all seemed to know—and business chatter were some of the topics covered. Her glass had quickly turned empty, whereas theirs still had room for more than a few gulps.
But this time, she didn't tap her fingernails or hum to assert her presence. Asbel's arm hugged her frame, even after she had taken her hand off his shoulder. But she always craved a little bit more from him: a glance, a whisper of her name, an invitation for her to join the conversation. Those gestures, while humble and scarce, never failed to light up her world more than the crystal chandelier above them.
She stared at him, expecting any of those things or any variation of them, even though she had no grounds to believe he would give them to her. And despite that harsh, close-to-real thought, she couldn't take her eyes off his, so oblivious to her admiration. She observed how they wrinkled at Devon's gibberish, how he bent his neck with his perfectly tweaked laugh, and how those thin lips of his always whispered the precise words and kissed the precise places to put her under the same spell she now witnessed him casting.
She was being admired too, albeit not by him. It hadn't taken her long to notice George's gaze fixed on her. Unlike Asbel's icy and sharp eyes, his were dark and big, but, just like whenever she saw his freckled face in a hallway, she couldn't help but stare back for more than a few seconds. And during those brief intersections between her wandering eyes and his static gaze, she imagined that it was Asbel who stared at her so ardently. For once, she learned what it was like to be adored, not with passion, but with devotion. And, by staring a bit too much, she realized she enjoyed that feeling a bit too much.
Asbel's hand slid to her waist, forcing her out of that dreamscape. She turned to him, cheeks boiling in shame, but he simply smiled at her. And that smile warmed her heart more than a hundred glares from a handsome stranger.
"Everything alright?" he whispered.
Sophie nodded, "Mhm. I.. think I need a refill. Do you need a drink?"
"Ah, I'm good. Thank you."
She smiled and took a step back, noticing how Asbel struggled to let go of her. Even after he did, the invisible imprint of his hold still lingered on her skin.
Sophie let out a sigh of relief when she found a butler at the end of the ballroom, serving more champagne to more elegant guests, all scattered around, immersed in their own conversations. When that golden liquid filled more than half of her glass, she thanked the butler and headed towards Asbel's side once more, still enchanted by the smile he had gifted her.
"Lhant."
The voice behind her, calling her surname, was deep and dominant, but its familiarity scared her the most. Sophie turned around, only to find Erwin standing in front of her, eliciting his signature, imposing elegance.
"Smith," she breathed out, too tense to draw the overused smile she had given to everyone in that room.
"I believe congratulations are in order." He cocked an eyebrow and his glass of champagne at the same time.
She imitated his gesture. "Yes, thank you."
Before the rims of their glasses met, Erwin pulled back just slightly. "Oh, I'm afraid Hange couldn't make it tonight, but they said they would set up a private celebration with you sometime next week."
Sophie resisted the urge to scoff at his words. A private celebration with Hange meant relentless rambling about Titans and weapons—a knowledge and partnership that had added even more value to her position. But just like Asbel and George, she was also wary of calling Hange a friend, just as she was wary of Erwin's presence that night.
"That's very kind of them," she said, bowing her head. "I look forward to it."
They finally toasted, but her sip was larger than his, a cautionary gesture to numb the awkwardness of their encounter. When she lowered the glass, she could still feel the clinking sound of their toast echoing in the tiny space between them, vibrating at almost the same frequency as her trembling fingers.
She talked over it. "Perhaps you will be the next celebration. It's not the first time I've heard Shadis praise your proposals."
"I'm flattered," he chuckled, but she remained still. "Too bad things in the Corps don't change as fast as they do in Engineering."
She bent her neck. "In what way?"
"Oh, forgive me, it's just that…" Erwin tapped his fingers on the glass, wrinkling his eyes. "How long have you been part of Engineering? Three, four years?"
"Three years, yes."
"And you are Chief already. That's impressive."
"Uhm, well, Chief Lloyd had trouble keeping up with his age, and… election was called." Her smile faltered, but she straightened her back, adjusting her discourse as well. "I've worked very hard to earn my spot at the Board, and they didn't fail to see that."
"Right, of course. Hard work goes a long way." He cleared his throat, only to lower his voice. "But I also heard you got married…? Last year?"
"Yes," she said almost instantly. And then, she noticed the doubt in his eyes, forcing her to reconsider. And exaggerate. "Almost two years now, actually."
"Oh." He softened his voice. "What a perfect alignment of events. You must be very happy."
Was she?
"Of course," she replied, accompanied by a breathy laugh. "How couldn't I?"
He took a step closer, maintaining his seriousness. Sophie gulped. The source of all her anxieties returned, flooding her. Their last encounter had been a quiet, quick meeting in his office, with her begging him to recruit a pair of skilled Underground scoundrels, promising him unprecedented success in his missions if he did. Whether he knew the depth of her relationship with Levi, she did not and did not want him to know.
But despite their apparent, respectful exchange, what they both knew was how that deal had ended: for him, with a successful Captain at the expense of familiar corpses. For her, with silence. A silence that, despite no longer taking the shape of an empty mailbox, was still so loud around her that no champagne toast, ballroom chattering, or powerful parade could quiet it completely.
Erwin cleared his throat. "I'm glad to see you are doing so well, then."
"Yes, I am," she gulped, clearing any grief, longing, or memories from her mind. "The past is in the past."
That last sentence had carelessly escaped her lips, but she did notice Erwin's expression changing, softening for a moment, only to tense again.
"I see," he whispered. Sophie opened her mouth, ready to correct herself, but Erwin continued, "Well, this has been a pleasure. I should, uh, do my rounds."
"Of course," she replied, using the silkiest voice in her book. But she could still sense doubt in his eyes. She took a step forward and forced another smile. "Oh, and if the Corps ever need any special equipment, I'll be happy to help."
His lips parted. The bait had worked.
"I appreciate it." Erwin bowed his head, and the wrinkles on his forehead disappeared under the brightness of the chandelier. "Not many are willing to contribute to our cause, and Hange has always praised your work and… discretion."
"Always," she asserted, tilting her chin. "I trust the Corps will bring freedom to Humanity."
Erwin smiled and extended his hand. "And I trust your support will help us achieve that."
She concurred with his gesture, smiling widely as they shook hands. Partnership sealed, crisis averted without any doubts, only the reliance she required for her job, and Asbel demanded for his success.
Erwin slid his hand away from hers, and she anxiously waited for him to turn around and leave.
But just as he began to, Erwin pivoted his body back around, opening his mouth.
"Oh."
Sophie stretched her neck towards him. "Hm?"
"Captain Levi sends his regards."
All the constant chattering in the ballroom disappeared. Sophie's vision blurred, erasing every guest around her. Holding for dear life to her champagne glass, she fixated her attention on Erwin's blue eyes, begging him for the explanation her throat was too tight to voice. And even if she could, she wouldn't know which question to ask.
And before she could choose one, Erwin bowed his head, turned around, and walked away, merging with the distant, blurred crowds.
She remained on the same marble tile, blood boiling, mind frozen.
And when her senses finally managed to fill the gaps around her—the talking and laughing, the noble presences, the sharp footsteps, and the clinking glasses—all the confusion and anger faded away, leaving room for the one question she should've asked.
Why?
That why encompassed more than one matter on its own. Why had he left her alone? Why had he never replied to her letters? Why couldn't she forget about him? Why had he sent his regards but not his presence? Why hadn't he reached out before? Why him? Why now?
She turned around, searching for a familiar face like a mouthful of air to fill her lungs with. Which one was she exactly after? Him or him ?
She found neither.
She stomped towards the balcony at the end of the room, not even bothering to shut the stained glass door behind her. The cold, night air caressed her skin and heightened her senses, but it didn't silence the tempest inside her chest, so she reached out for the one thing that would.
She finished the entirety of her glass in just a few gulps.
Sophie couldn't recall—and didn't mind—where she had placed the empty glass. Her hands were now tightly clutching against the balcony's metal railing, her head hanging low, observing the pavement, carriages, and people underneath. She was above them all indeed, yet a flooding sense of vertigo surrounded her, spinning in her head, ringing in her ears. Her breathing became as shallow as her presence in that ballroom, and the tightness of her corset only exaggerated it. The loop in her head remained, refusing to leave.
Why?
All those years without any contact with him, not a single reply to her letters, and now there he was, haunting her on her greatest night. And despite all the emotions brewing inside her, there was no trace of the one she had convinced herself to feel the most: hate.
And that realization hurt her more than his sudden, backhanded appearance; the truth that, no matter how much his vanishing—and now his return—had damaged her, she couldn't hate him at all.
And she asked herself again, why?
"There you are."
Sophie turned towards the voice with a gasp, substituting the sight of the path and people below with the highness she belonged to.
Asbel stood just a few steps away, a full glass of champagne in his hand. Sophie gulped at his sight and trembled as he approached her with strong, calculated steps.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
Her eyes began to water, but no tears came out, and only a cracked voice left her lips.
"No, I… I… just…"
Asbel took another step forward, and Sophie's grip on the rail became tighter, even though he wasn't frowning at her.
Yet, she thought.
She glanced at the glass in his hand, and before he could ask any more questions she couldn't answer, she grabbed it and gulped down the champagne. As she did, she fixed her eyes on the sky above, avoiding his inquisitive presence.
The booze burnt and bubbled in her throat, but it also clouded her mind, numbing her body, helping her forget.
And when she lowered the glass, she found herself subject to that dreaded sharp, blue, furrowed gaze, as if he were recording every single reprehensible gesture of hers, carefully storing and locking it away from her.
"That wasn't very elegant," he said.
"I know, I…" Sophie rubbed her forehead, hoping to erase the embarrassment as well. "I'm sorry. I… got a bit overwhelmed in there."
"How so?"
Her reply was to turn around again, once more staring at the sky instead of the people below. She tried to count the stars to calm herself, but they were so faint, so insignificantly small, that the effort only anguished her even further.
She noticed Asbel's hand on her back, but that pressure wasn't as reassuring as she thought it would be. He placed himself next to her, and from the corner of her eyes, she saw his.
"Sophie?"
She looked away, her faltering breaths struggling to fill her lungs. "Can we go?"
"Go where?" Asbel playfully scoffed.
"Home." She finally turned to him, widening her eyes and softening her voice. "Please."
"But we've barely—"
"Asbel." She could barely maintain her gaze on him for more than a few seconds, it always drifted somewhere else; to the metal railing surrounding the balcony, the patterns of the glass door, or the dark horizon behind Asbel. Only when she laid her hand over his shoulder, supporting herself, could she tilt her chin towards him. "Please."
His jaw tightened, and she could almost follow the train of thought inside his brain, calculating all the consequences of their impromptu exit, all the chattering that would follow in that room.
Asbel looked around, pursing his lips. "Alright."
Sophie had always dreaded carriage rides. Even when accompanied, she had always found them too unstable, too long, too boring.
But, for once, she found calmness in the trip back home. She had rested her head against the small window frame, the velvet of the curtain brushing her cheek. She had noticed every up and down of the road, sudden but rhythmical. Her thoughts, however, struggled to find such balance, and the haziness from the party drinks had only aggravated their instability.
Sitting on opposite ends of the bench, Sophie and Asbel had remained silent the entire ride, and only after one of the road's bumps did she notice that his hand had been grabbing hers the whole time. That gesture wasn't surprising, but his quietness, empty of reprimands and lectures about her behavior, was.
He held the door open for her, both when exiting the carriage and when entering their manor. In both instances, she whispered a thank you, loud enough for him to hear, quiet enough to not hold any meaning.
Her pettiness towards him was more of a reflex than a deliberate search for conflict. As she walked up the stairs leading to their dormitory, her only intention was to remove that heavy outfit, cosmetics, and jewelry. Then get in bed, and then, forget. Everything else was trivial, no matter how reckless and sinful it was to have such a thought in such a cautious world.
She no longer paused to admire the portraits decorating the hallway or the vases of freshly cut peonies that perfumed every corner. Once she arrived at the dressing room, all candles had been lit up, and her vanity table had been cleared and cleaned. There was no trace of all the powders and accessories she had left scattered around before heading to the party. She also no longer questioned who arranged them and when. She only knew that, whenever there was any mess, no matter how small, it would be gone before the next break of dawn.
Standing in front of the mirror, she removed every tiny hairpin tangled in her hairdo, and then the golden needle holding all the locks together. She avoided her own reflection, dreading to see more faults than she already knew were there. Instead, she grabbed a hairbrush and combed her loose hair. She then took out her brooch, then her necklace, and then…
Asbel's arms surrounded her. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his breathing brushing her cheek.
"I love it when you wear your hair like that," he whispered, running his fingers through the long locks, placing them aside, exposing her neck. "Don't you ever cut it, hm?"
With her gaze still fixed on the jewelry on the desk, her body remained just as unresponsive. But wasn't that what she wanted? Wasn't that affection what she had hoped for during the entire party?
Asbel placed a chaste kiss behind her earlobe and then trailed more kisses down her neck, each one longer and deeper than the one before. One hand rested on her waist, the other one toyed with the lace at the back of her corset.
Every breath of his sent a shiver down her spine, and every kiss burned her skin, speeding her heartbeat, shallowing her breathing. But it all converged in uneasiness rather than desire.
She tilted her chin, only to see her much-feared reflection: pale skin, sunken eyes that no makeup could cover, Asbel's arms and lips all over her.
She turned around, forcing him to step back. Her motion had been too fast, too instinctive, channeling the impulsiveness of her Underground self, back when she was just a scared, lonely kid. And he stared at her as if that same kid had broken his most expensive vase.
Before she could find—or craft—a suitable reason for her behavior towards him, Asbel crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. But in his stillness, he rushed her to talk.
"So, I guess I'll ask again. Is something wrong?"
"No… I…" She gulped, but her voice still cracked. "I don't feel really good."
"Obviously, if you drink champagne like a brute."
"I…" Sophie looked all around until her eyes settled on the golden needle resting on the board, threading together all of her troubles, allowing her to build the perfect excuse with just enough truth in it. "I think I'm just nervous about being Chief."
"Ah, I see." Asbel approached her, and his expression softened the closer he got. "It's a lot of responsibility, yes, but you've already proven that you can shoulder it, haven't you?" His eyes scanned her, his lips briefly tensing into a smile. "You'll do great."
Sophie shook her head. "But everything has been so fast, I—"
Sophie tried to take a step back, but her body already leaned against the edge of the vanity table. And despite being trapped, her thoughts ran unleashed, tying together all the loose ends: Erwin's suspicion, Devon's criticism, Reiss's approval. They all converged into a single point, a threatening abyss she had been too blind to see, but that now stared back at her.
Too bad things in the Corps don't change as fast as they do in Engineering.
"What?" scoffed Asbel. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You did this."
Asbel choked a laugh. "I did what, exactly?"
Her throat tightened, a subconscious force begging her to stop that impulsive nonsense, to not ruin what she had worked so hard to achieve. But, had she?
"You made me Chief," she said. "You bribed the Board to elect me."
Asbel let out another scoff, his eyes and smile widening like never before. "What are you talking about?"
His stillness was almost threatening, and she couldn't stop her voice and fingers from shaking. "It's the only way. It's been too soon, half of them don't even like me—"
"No one likes anyone around here," he interrupted her, shaking his hand. "I told you that as long as you do as you are told, they won't go against you."
"But Devon, and Campbell, and—"
"They are just jealous."
"No, no." She pushed herself back, hanging her head. The sharp edge of the table sunk against her lower back even further, but the pressure couldn't match the one in her chest, forcing her to gasp for air with every word she spoke. "This is wrong. I shouldn't be doing this. I… I'll… I'll resign. I'll go back to being a Sup—"
Asbel materialized in front of her. She tilted her chin, but the moment their eyes intersected, she turned her head away.
"Sophie, look at me." Asbel cupped her cheek, forcing her to face him. His sharp features were now a blurry sight, a mix of drunkenness and the watering of her eyes. He leaned closer, whispering, "You deserve this."
Her intoxicated state clouded her perception, but it heightened her senses enough for her to see beyond his words. All the times he had said that same sentence, she had never questioned it. She had always followed through with his wishes—for her sake, for their success, as he would say. But now, in that enveloping haziness, neither his touch nor his words felt real. And with each passing second, their golden rigging crumbled at her feet.
"Tell me the truth, " she pleaded, begged. "Asbel, tell me the truth."
She clenched her jaw, readying herself for the dark truth or the white lie that would follow. His fingers pressed more on her skin.
He sharpened his gaze, his voice cutting through the air. "You did this, dear."
Sophie opened her mouth, but before a single word left her lips, Asbel withdrew his touch and turned around. And with his leaving, she clutched to the board's edge for desperate support.
Sophie stared at the carpet under her feet, tracing the circular patterns, his words repeating in his head with no end nor beginning between them.
Asbel cleared his throat, breaking the cycle in her head. "Now, I'm sure once you get some rest and sober up, you'll stop this… crazy nonsense."
"Wait."
By the time she tilted her head, he was already next to the door, barely turning to her as he spoke, "Goodnight, Sophie."
She straightened her back, watching in the slowest of motion how his arm reached for the doorknob, how he pulled the door open, how he was about to leave without a reason. Again.
Her fingernails dug into the table. There had to be a way to make him stay, to make him care. And suddenly, all the strings of control and restraint holding her together disappeared.
"I miss the Underground," she shouted, then gulped, then whispered, "Sometimes."
Asbel let go of the door. The hinges screeched, and then the lock clicked. Somehow, the air in the room got heavier, asphyxiating her as if she had just been thrown into a deep well, dug by none other than herself.
He barely bent his neck towards her, but his voice alone was enough to send a shiver down her spine. "What?"
"I—"
"Say that again." He turned on his heels, stomping towards Sophie, making her both fear and wish that the floor would crumble under their feet. "Word by word."
When he stood in front of her, with his head held up high, and his eyes looking down on her, she felt the smallest she had ever been.
And with a tiny, trembling voice, she repeated herself. "Sometimes I miss the Underground."
She lowered her head, focusing on the carpet design again, readying her body and mind for the retaliation brewing in Asbel's deep, menacing breaths.
"Why?" he asked.
"I don't know, I…" Her eyes glanced at him before looking down again, concealing the teardrop running through her cheek. "I don't think I belong here."
"You've always belonged here," he hissed, extending his arms. "Look around, Sophie. Don't you want this?" She followed his command, looking at the beauty and luxury that surrounded her. But in her meditating silence, Asbel leaned in, his voice becoming almost intelligible. "Don't you want me?"
Her gaze settled on his, only to reveal the rarest sight of him, one beyond the cracks in his icy presence and below the pretense of power and influence: an insecurity so deeply built within him, she wondered why she hadn't seen it more often.
"I… I do, but…" Her voice trailed off, too weak to battle the same demons inside him that still lived with her.
"Then what do you miss so much? Hm? How you got beat up every time you left that basement? How that scum killed your father? How they would've raped and killed you if the Police hadn't found you first?"
"You don't understand, I—"
"No, I think you are the one that doesn't understand." He rested both hands on the board, leaning closer, trapping her further. "You have no idea of what's at stake here. Or… everything I've done to give us the life we deserve."
"Then tell me! Please!" she cried. "Tell me why you are always away, why I always wake up alone, why you barely look at me when you are with those people I don't even know."
"Since when do you care about such things?"
"Since the moment you stopped caring about me!"
Sophie heard a crack.
She let go of the table's edge, acknowledging the resulting numbness in her hand. Asbel took a step back, scanning her, but his eyes weren't as menacing as before.
"I care about you," he whispered. "Everything I do is for us."
"Fuck that."
"I beg your pardon?" Asbel closed on her once more, every step becoming a larger threat. "What did I tell you about cursing?"
"This is what I mean." She paused to wet her lips and contain the tears that threatened to escape. "It's all rules and protocols, and do this , and do that , and Careful Sophie, don't swear or they won't take you seriously. You won't be Chief if you swear, even in our own house. We won't be happy unless you are Chief, you deserve this, no one will hurt us … Whatever! I can't do this anymore!"
She could've stopped right there. She could've bitten her tongue, lower her head, and accept her place in that room. But if there was truly someone out there who cared about her, someone who saw beyond those golden walls, someone who was willing to listen, she had no reason to quiet herself.
The tears came first. Her voice followed.
"I'm Chief now, and I'm not happy."
She had expected him to shout, to argue, to fight not only against her but also for them. Instead, the only thing she had was his petrified expression, pale and static, with his gaze fixated on her.
Every second of that judgemental silence stung her lungs more than the worst of his reprimands or unannounced absences. The single step separating them was the furthest away they had ever been.
"So, what do you need to be happy? Hm?" he said, with a gentle yet quiet voice. "Whatever it is, I'll give it to you." His tone was too calculated, too artificial. And even in that fakeness, she could see unnamable anguish in his breath, sunken with his eyes, lingering in his words. "Tell me, Sophie."
His command got lost in the space between them. Sophie scanned him, searching for the sentiments he so carefully hid away, any reason for his distance, any alibi for his coldness.
But the emptiness in him was the same one in her answer.
"I don't know."
Asbel pursed his lips, nodding, condemning. "Alright, so you come home after storming out of the most important night of your life, you accuse me of bribing the Board, then you tell me that you miss a place that has done nothing but hurt you, and now you claim that you aren't happy but are unable to explain what you need to be happy." He lowered his head, taking a deep breath. "So, you've either lost your mind or there's something you are not telling me."
There was no threat in his voice, but his words and sight were enough to make Sophie's skin bristle.
"I'll ask again, and I better get an honest answer this time," he said, tilting his head and sharpening his eyes. "Is something wrong, Sophie?"
She gulped, but that didn't ease the knot in her throat. Could he listen? Could he understand?
No, not him.
But perhaps there was someone else who could. And she could pretend he still would.
Captain Levi sends his regards.
She closed her eyes, picturing dusty basements, musty air, and hanging lanterns. And then, a rooftop, the smell of freshly-made tea, a flickering candle, a metal needle, and a rusty knife.
"I just… wish you were around more often. I wish... things weren't so… complicated. I wish we could be together without all these people and… pressure around us." When another tear streamed down her cheek, she opened her eyes, meeting reality in Asbel's eyes. "I miss you."
He blinked one, two, three times. "But I'm right here."
She lowered her head, focusing again on the tangled, cyclic patterns of the carpet, stuck on a complex monotony that stopped them from going astray. With her head hanging low, she took a step forward, and then another, until she could feel Asbel's distant presence enveloping her. She hugged him, burying her head in the crook of his neck, tightening her arms around his body, drowning in that elusive warmth, wishing she never had to let go of him the way she had let him go. And wishing that he would return to hug her back.
Asbel wrapped his arms around her as well, although not as tightly. His breathing brushed her neck, his words engraved in her mind beyond her control.
"This is what you are meant to do, Sophie," he whispered, running his fingers through her hair. "This is your place. Your… gift, everything you are, everything you've been through was for this moment only. For you to be Chief. For us to be together. Here, and not in some… slum."
She nodded, drying her tears on the soft fabric of his vest. He placed his hand on the back of her neck, pressing her head further against his chest, his words intertwining with his heartbeat.
"No matter what happens, don't you ever forget that."
In the dead of that cold night, only when she lit up her cigarette did she notice the dent on the balcony's stone railing.
Sophie closed the cigarette case and placed it inside her skirt's pocket. As much as she had craved that nicotine rush for the entire eve, her eyes were fixed on that diagonal crack. The more she stared at it, the less she pressed her elbows on the rail. Her rational, calculating side knew that something as thin as a paper roll wouldn't threaten an ages-old structure, even less so on an island surrounded by the tallest, most powerful walls. But her cultivated instinct and painful experience told her otherwise.
The embers of the cigarette sparkled like the stars in the sky, a trail of smoke swirling around her. She traced the dent with her fingernail, noticing the dust collecting underneath, knowingly contributing to the careful, patient, long-due erosion that would eventually break that stone in two.
Inevitably, she wondered about her first crack, the one too small to notice at first, but deep enough to be beyond repair. And then, she wondered about all the tiny erosions that had made it weaker, and finally, broken.
That night, the one for which she had been promised unconditional happiness, unlimited power, and everlasting love, had also been the one to ignite her resentment, her deception, and her suspicion. A resentment that had driven her marriage into a deep hole, a deception of love based on their wicked partnership and understanding. And a suspicion that had allowed her to discover the truth behind her success, the Underground business , as he had called it. It had been weeks of careful planning, hidden passages to the Industrial City and backhanded meetings until she had found out his secret. Only for it to culminate in nothingness, in the acceptance of silence and compliance, with only wishes of revenge she had been too scared to execute. Until Levi had returned, just as she had wished.
It all circled back to the same question from that other night in front of a mirror, a golden needle presiding their fall. If being Chief wasn't what she was meant to do, then what was? Had Yormgen been a glimpse of a life beyond blueprints and power or had it been another desperate delusion of hers, fueled by the same poisons that still ran through her veins?
She only knew one way to fight those doubts, one she had done over and over in meetings, prison cells, and letters: to prove herself, to demonstrate that she deserved that position, that it wasn't his or anyone else's. That, indeed, all of her sufferings had been worth it for that moment only. Despite how much she despised the pain that came with that title and the corruption of her past, her return to Stohess had shown her that it was still better than being invisible again. Or worse, at the mercy of others.
She leaned in, observing the Engineering Department's entrance staircase from above, counting the steps as a way to soothe herself before going back into her office. The taller her tower, the fewer people would dare to climb it, to take away from her the only thing she had truly, ever deserved.
"Lhant."
She turned towards the male voice calling her surname, only to find a tall figure at the end of the balcony. Even with just a side lantern between them, she could still count the multiple wrinkles on his cream shirt.
"Charles," she greeted him, immediately taking a puff on her cigarette. He approached her, hands in the pockets of his blue trousers. With every step he took, she blew more smoke into the chill night wind.
"What are you doing in here so late?" he asked.
"Research. For the new armament."
Charles cocked an eyebrow. "I haven't sent out that project yet."
"I know." She tapped the edge of the cigarette on the railing, focusing her sight on the fallen ashes. "I must say I'm surprised to see you here. Work must be truly bad for the laid-back Charles to stay in the office after-hours."
Charles scoffed, "Careful, Lhant. If you keep sharpening your fangs, you might just bite yourself."
She gave him a sly smile and turned her back on him, obliviously staring at the misty horizon covering the Walls. She allowed herself ten more minutes of break time, ten more minutes to inhale that quietness she had so-long craved.
But Charles's footsteps grew closer instead of further, to the point she could almost feel his breath on her neck as he spoke, "May I ask you a personal question?"
She clicked her tongue. "It's not like I can prevent you from it."
"Still, it's polite to ask for permission."
Sophie turned around, tilting her head to match his gaze, hiding behind his lenses, stained with reflections from the lantern's light. "Sure."
He scanned her, and so did she, fearing his question and his lack of appeal to the authority she once had.
"Why are you here?" he finally said.
"I told you, I was—"
"I mean here ," he interrupted her, furrowing his eyes. "Why did you come back?"
She took another smoke from her cigarette, meditating her response, slowly letting it go like the vapor trapped in her mouth.
"I wanted to help the island," she replied, only to correct herself. "I had to help the island."
"You see, that's the thing," said Charles, sharpening his gaze. "I don't believe you. And neither does Hange, nor Zachary, nor anyone who works in this building."
"You see, that's the thing," she repeated with just a slightly more condescending tone. "I don't really care about what you, or Hange, or Zachary, or anyone who works in this building thinks."
Charles straightened his back, sticking his chest out, but Sophie could not tell whether it was with pride or resent.
"You want to be the Chief, don't you?" he asked.
She pushed herself back, perplexed at both his question and boldness, but that didn't make her answer falter.
"It's not about what I want. It's about what it's needed." She rolled the cigarette between her fingers, her gaze switching back and forth between the dent on the rail and Charles's inquisitive, expectant face. "In case you haven't noticed, there are great things at stake here."
"And I agree that we should let great people handle them." The sudden, cheerful tone of his voice was enough for her to fix her attention back on him, even more so when the hands in his pockets stuck out to reveal a notepad and a pencil. Before she could question it, he began scribbling. "Here, I'll write you a new contract. Zachary won't let you take the official title, of course, but I'm willing to give you my salary difference, Board, and management privileges. Starting… tomorrow, let's say?"
"I'm not falling for that," she hissed. "You can tell that to Hange too."
"Falling for what?" Charles briefly lifted his gaze off the paper, but the tip of the pencil kept sliding. "Come on, Lhant, you've helped us reach in a month what we couldn't do in two years. You deserve it."
Before she could retort further, she found his hand extending her that same paper, the same words he had said written on it. His signature lay at the bottom, with a blank space next to it, awaiting for hers.
"Sign this, and it's all yours."
Sophie felt a twitch in her arm, an impulse to reach out, grab that paper, and sign it, even with the ashes from her cigarette if necessary. The spasm turned into a cold shiver traversing her spine.
She could go back to that power, to the world she so well knew. A pain she would control, rules she would set. No one else to judge, manipulate, or belittle her. No Military's good girl, no trapping husband, no sleazy hallway looks and spits, no more cracks and ruins in her castle. She would return to the same things she had chastized in that stormy night, in the gleam of a single candle, hiding in a barren land, but on her own terms this time.
She could do it all over again: prove herself, and earn her spot.
"No."
She exhaled the word, and some of the remaining smoke in her mouth escaped with it.
Charles frowned. "Because you don't want it or because you don't believe me?"
"Because you are right." She looked over her shoulder, eyes fixed on that distant mist behind her. Calm, enveloping, and also threatening. "I'm not doing this for the island."
"So?"
Instinctively, she rested her hand on the railing, her thumb tracing that crack on the stone in the same way she sometimes traced the scar on her thigh. A constant, painful reminder of what she had and lost, what she had been and become.
"I'm doing this for myself," she admitted, the words struggling to leave her throat. "For everything I've been through."
"That's no path to redemption."
"It's not about redemption," Sophie growled, turning on her heels, and leaning her elbows on the railing. She focused her gaze on the mist swirling around the cobblestones below. "You wouldn't understand."
Charles placed himself next to her, imitating her posture, but bending his neck towards her.
"I know you had a… troubled past, but everyone has their own demons, Sophie."
A scoff escaped her mouth. "Demons, you say?" She passed the tip of her tongue over her front teeth, wishing they would turn into the fangs Charles feared. "You were saved a spot in this Division the moment you were born into the distinguished Bryant family. You have always lived within the golden walls of Sheena, attending fancy parties and prestigious schools. You don't know hunger, you don't know defeat, and you very much don't know sacrifice." She noticed his face turning paler, his gaze wavering behind the lens of his glasses. "So tell me, Charles. Where are your demons?"
Her breathing became shallower in anticipation. For what, she did not know. His expression showcased no sympathy but also no anger at her words, no intention to defend himself, no honor to fight for.
"Coward," she thought. But why would someone who had never had to fight for himself, fight back?
Charles took a step back, shaking his head. "Your suffering isn't an excuse for your actions."
"But it's a reason," she replied in a heartbeat. Her fingertips pressed more into the cigarette, more ashes falling from the tip as more words than intended escaped her lips. "It's the reason why I can't… let go."
"Of what?"
She turned around with a scoff, placing the roll between her lips, muffling her voice. "Doesn't matter."
The city's outline on the horizon seemed to have turned even more distant, more opaque. Charles remained by her side, but she continued to smoke, unbothered.
"Regardless of your lack of respect for me, I do respect your work," he said. "And it seems to me like you also want to be respected, but believe me when I say that this attitude isn't playing in your favor."
"I don't think that changing my attitude will earn me such respect either."
"Let's give it a try," he said, and Sophie frowned. "If I assign you to the new projects, will you stop this… bitter act?"
"What bitter act ?" she retorted. "I delivered all my assignments, didn't I?"
"In-between dismissing your superiors, stealing my cigarette case—a gift from my wife, I might add—and evading confidentiality protocols."
She hissed. "A guard following me around the office isn't a confidentiality protocol. "
"It is when we are at war, and we don't want another war inside our walls." He took a step forward, leaning his hip against the rail. Sophie moved away from him. "I'm not here to tell you anything we haven't discussed already, Lhant. If you adhere to the rules and do your job without troubling the Division, you'll be rewarded accordingly. You might as well use that as an incentive."
"An incentive to what? To behave ?" she hissed. "I'll do so when the Police stop spitting on my feet. And when I get to see those rewards."
"Well, I believe Hange and I already offered you a fair set." He extended the note towards her, and as much she tried to not look at it, the space between her and the paper was too short to ignore. "Treat us with the same fairness, and we will concur."
Sophie crossed her arms, pressing them against her chest, containing her quivering heartbeat. "I'm not going to sign that."
"Then what is it that you want?"
The smoldering air from the cigarette in her hand invaded her nostrils, forcing her to remember another hazy night, another question she had been too young and blinded to reply to. And when the imagery became too vivid, she smashed the tip of the cigarette on the railing, extinguishing its fume.
This time, she didn't have to hold on to a pretense to answer. The echoes of Levi's voice, so recent and real, strengthened her in a way she never thought was possible, one she had never experienced before.
Those gears weren't the reason why you were important to me
"I want the team that I asked for. I won't start any project until I have it." She clenched her jaw, readying herself to voice the first of the many wishes that had been neglected. "And my manor."
"The one in Ehrmich?" he asked, and Sophie nodded. "Fair, I'll consult it."
"No, you'll get it," she corrected him, only to adjust her own tone as well. "Get it, and I'll… adhere to the rules."
Charles pursed his lips, gently swaying his head until the rumination stopped. "Very well."
He took another step forward, but Sophie no longer felt the need to move away. He folded the paper with his promises, placing it back into his pocket.
"One more thing," asked Sophie.
"Hm?"
"Your sister… she works at the College administration, right?"
"She does, yes."
Sophie rolled her shoulders. "A kid will apply for admission. I'm not sure when, but…" His face suddenly appeared in her mind, along with his teary eyes and harrowing wails. "His name is Dan."
"Dan what?"
"Just… Dan. He doesn't have a surname" she said, briefly closing her eyes. "Get him in."
"Sorry?" he snorted. "The College is an incredibly selective institution, I can't ask my sister to—"
"He'll take the exam, and he will pass it, but we both know that the moment the administration sees that he doesn't have a surname, they'll put his application away." She tilted her head, and so did he. "Come on, Charles. It's an incredibly selective institution indeed."
He bent his neck, staring at the lamp between them, but Sophie's eyes stayed on him, trying to read every thought traversing his mind.
After a seemingly endless silence, Charles turned to her. "Airship project. Send me the drafts next week, and I'll talk to her."
"Will I get my team for it?"
"Yes."
"Deal."
She extended her arm first, and he followed, although with a calculated slowness in his motion. But when their hands met, his grip was tighter.
"I better get to work, then," she smiled.
She tried to pull away, but his hand didn't stop grasping hers, and a sudden sense of danger overflew her veins.
"A word of advice, if you'll allow me," he whispered, but Sophie's senses sharpened.
"Hm?"
"One would think that after what happened with Barnes, you would be more cautious when mixing business and pleasure."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she said, a sly smile drawing on her face.
"That, perhaps, instead of excusing your mistakes, you should learn from them." Before she could inquire further, he broke their handshake and turned around, barely bending his neck towards her when he spoke, "Have a good night."
Sophie observed him walk away with slow, carefree steps, his silhouette merging with the darkness at the end of the balcony.
"Don't you want your cigarette case back?" she shouted.
Charles stopped in his tracks for just a moment.
"I know you'll return it eventually."
Author's Notes
A couple of chapters back I wrote something like " we don't want to unpack Asbel's and Sophie's relationship (yet)".
Yeah, here we are. Let's slowly open that can of worms because Sophie became extremely disconnected from reality as a result of that relationship. And that's the reason behind the Nietzsche quote; her morals and perception of the world had been skewed, and even though Yormgen was a nice break from all that, there is so much a sabbatical year(s) can do for you if you don't actively change your way of thinking.
Notice that Sophie is pulling on Dan the same move that Asbel pulled on her. Yes, Dan is quite a dedicated student, and even Charles has to put up with Sophie because she *is* good at her job, so they both deserve those opportunities. But isn't that the same subtle corruption that messed her up in the first place?
There's even more to unpack from that little flashback, but oh, we'll get there.
Anyway. What a woman. At least she's trying her best, letting go of that "I suffered for this, so I deserve it, and if I don't have it there's no point" train of thought, which impacts her relationship with Levi for the better. More on that next chapter! It's full of fluff and feel-good stuff for our man! Yey!
I actually wrote like, half of it during an 8-hour train ride across Sweden, so it should be out relatively soon...
Thanks for reading. As always, I love hearing your thoughts!