Chapter 3

With dawn comes enough light for Jean to see their progress. Or lack thereof. They'd dug a hole. It was wider than Jean's boot and deep enough for his arm to disappear in. Size wasn't the problem. The solid planks of house embedded in the dirt were. Marian had chosen this section to dig their hole under because it was sturdy. In the dark of night, neither had realized that this section was so sturdy because a section of unbroken wall had been burrowed into the dirt.

Jean pushes against the wall, trying to gauge how much farther down it goes. There is no give. He tries shoving his fingers into the dirt right at the edge of the wall, but he can't feel where the wall ends. Only dirt and splintering wood.

"Well crap."

Jean starts at Marian's voice, but nods, silently thankful he'd snuck his Scout's cloak back before she'd woken.

"Yeah. Crap," Jean says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Either they take their chances and keep digging at this hole, or they gamble on starting over at a different spot.

"Do you think we can still dig under that?" Marian asks. She crawls closer to the hole and traces the seam between wall and packed earth, her black braid sleep-mussed and falling over her shoulder.

"I don't know," Jean says. All he knows is that his head hurts, his mouth is drier than cotton, and his stomach is starting to rumble. Thankfully, his left foot had gone numb sometime in the night. He isn't sure if it's the cold or the injury itself, but he'd take it.

"Do you think it would be safe to crawl under even if we could reach the end?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think the others will come back?"

"I don't know!"

The silence that follows falls heavy over the pair. Jean sighs and rubs his eyes. It's not her fault—the weight that presses against his shoulders, the fear bubbling in the back of his throat, the blood splattered freckles and gleam of white titan teeth burned behind his eyelids. It's not her fault.

"They'd be here already. If they were going to come back," Jean says quietly, hoping she'll take it as the apology it is. Marian glances at him from the corner of her eyes. Whatever she sees in his face makes her deflate. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, then crawls to the opposite edge of their bubble. She knocks against the debris surrounding them, pausing to tug at bits and swipe dirt from the edges. With a huff, Marian settles before a chunk of wall made up of shattered windowpane and starts scooping handfuls of dirt.

"What are you doing?"

"You're welcome to sit around and pout, but I'm getting out of here," Marian says as she tosses a handful of dirt centimeters away from Jean's leg.

"Pout!" Jean sputters. He ducks away from the next scoop of dirt that goes flying dangerously close to his head.

"What would you call it? Snapping at me like I'm some dog..." Marian mutters, then pauses in her digging long enough to glare over her shoulder. "I'm tired and thirsty and scared too, but I'm not taking it out on you, Jean."

She draws out his name like it's a dirty word. Jean isn't sure if it's anger at the way she says it or shock that she remembers his name from their brief introduction three mornings ago that makes his stomach flip. Either way, he finds himself scowling.

"Not all of us got to sleep all night, Marian."

The next scoop of dirt lands on Jean's shoulder before he can dodge it.

"And whose choice was that?"

"Someone had to do it!"

"Right. Someone had to make sure we didn't get splinters in our sleep," Marian says with a theatrical shudder. She keeps digging, her throws getting wilder and wilder. Jean rolls his eyes and sucks in a deep breath before speaking.

"Look, I tried to apologize—"

"No, you tried to pretend nothing happened and hoped I'd let it go!"

"Would an apology make you happy?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I'm sorry then!"

"Good!"

"Fine!"

"Fine," Marian spits. Her digging pace increases until the thumps are quick as thundering hooves. Jean scowls and shoves his fist into the first hole they'd dug. The dirt is cold, compact, and just as thick as Marian's big, stupid—

Thump.

They freeze in place.

Thump.

Thump.

The broken bits of house encasing them creak. The next thump showers them in dust.

THUMP.

The earth itself vibrates against the incredible weight of each footstep. And it is a footstep. A titan's footstep. The sound haunts Jean's dreams enough for him to be sure. He fumbles for his sword hilts. The gear is broken, but the swords, maybe he could use the swords.

THUMP.

The wall of debris closest to Jean trembles, then starts to shift. Jean scoots back, bopping his head on the big supporting beam, and bumping into Marian.

THUMP.

This step brings half of their bubble down. Planks snap. Splinters rain. Creaks and groans screech around the pair cowering against the support beam.

THUMP.

THUMP.

Jean can't peel his eyes away from the wood cage encasing them. It's shifting. It's wobbling. The only thing keeping them from being crushed is falling down.

Marian yanks Jean's shoulder, pulling him away from a falling glass pane. The glass lands with a tinkle.

Thump.

Movement slows. Jean's silent prayer of stop, stop, stop, please, stop grows more insistent with the hope that it might actually happen.

Thump.

The sound is farther away. Jean finally lets himself breathe as the debris settles into stillness. He takes stock of their surroundings, noting how the supporting beam above their head hasn't moved. The first hole they'd dig is completely covered in broken bits. Above them, there's a gap about the size of Jean's fist letting light in. Maybe they can use that to get out.

It isn't until Jean tries to move that he notices the death grip on his arm. Marian clutches at him. Shivers ricochet up and down her. It's the wide, wet eyes that make Jean's eyes skitter away like a timid street cat.

He hates it when people cry. He doesn't know how to comfort himself, much less anyone else.

It's then, in the silence that follows their second life or death experience in just as many days that Jean allows himself to think about things from her perspective. She'd left her farm yesterday to deliver horses, something she'd probably helped do many times before. Like anyone living in remote villages, Marian had probably seen titans, but the fact that she was still alive meant she'd probably never seen one up close. Why would she? This delivery happened a dozen times throughout the year, and, at least as far as Jean knew, there'd never been any incident before yesterday. There shouldn't be. Not with the path being moderately travelled and a group of experienced Scout's leading the way.

This never should've happened. But it had. And none of it was some civilian girl's fault. Jean swallows the thick phlegm in his throat and what remains of his pride before speaking.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you. None of this is your fault."

He waits for a response, expecting acceptance or some kind of quip. Instead, he gets a smothered sniffle.

"You're the Scout. The soldier. How am I supposed to believe we'll get out of this if you don't?" Marian says thickly. She scrubs her face and ducks her head, a red blush marring her cheeks.

It makes Jean think of how the Colossal's steam had turned his skin red. How they'd been blown away over and over, how no one was able to get near the titan, much less lay a blade to it until Armin's sacrifice.

There wasn't time to believe or hope. Not with fear and adrenaline pulsing in their veins. Not with hundreds of lives, hundreds of dreams and futures and possibilities resting on their shoulders. There was only time to try. To move from one plan to the next until they found one that stuck.

Jean sucks in a breath and raises his eyes to Marian's.

"It's not about believing," he says, "it's about trying again and again, even when there's no reason to believe."

Jean jerks his head towards the fist-sized hole.

"So, let's try again."