Levi
It was torture.
And no matter how much time I spent dealing with it, it stayed the same. Boring. Annoying. Necessary.
Sighing and holding back my frustration, I shoved away the unfinished squad report. I hated paperwork. I would gladly prefer a face-off with a starving abnormal to this shit. Looking up at the clock on my desk, I tried to fight off the fatigue. It was way past midnight now, and I was not even close to being done.
Giving up on the idea of finishing paperwork tonight, I pushed off the desk and got to my feet. My eyelids felt heavy, and the exhaustion of the previous day weighed on me. Yet I knew I wouldn't fall asleep, no matter how much I tried or how tired I felt; no matter how comfortable my bed looked, or how much I needed that sweet oblivion.
I strolled to the adjacent room, and sat in the armchair, overlooking the neatly made bed. Relaxing into the backrest, I closed my eyes. Sleep was out of the question, yet some rest to my head was welcome reprieve. But the moment my eyelids shut, the images surged, lovingly served by my memory. Picture by picture, they flew through my head. One thought interrupted by another, one memory transforming into the next. One pain forming the other. All the death I'd witnessed, all the loss, and the blood on my hands. Faces of lost comrades and innocent civilians contorted and twisted in pain. High pitched buzzing sound played in my ears. It grew louder until all I could hear were screams of pain and the hungry roar of the titans. The memories that brought nothing but guilt and sorrow closely followed yells and wails in my head.
The sudden urge to scratch my fucking eyes out made my hands twitch on the armrests.
"Your touch has never burned me."
That memory made it to the forefront of my mind and my head went silent. I inhaled sharply as Verity's face popped up in my mind's eye. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, as she often did when she had something heavy on her mind. Her hands looked unusually naked — gloves thrown away and forgotten somewhere at the edge of the fighting pit. The pale skin of her wrists — so at odds at the light tan she'd gotten in the past summer months — continued in the patchy scars up her arms. I knew the worst of it hid behind the white linen of her shirtsleeves. I saw it once. And it sparked a confusing mix of emotions inside of me.
What did she mean by that phrase of hers? She said that she didn't like to be touched. I could understand that. But her reactions to the physical contact were stronger than necessary. Like that time when Petra tried to hug her in the dining hall of the Scouts HQ and she stormed off. Or when she had her gloves ripped during the training. Yet the latter had been different, hadn't it? She stayed calm until noticing that our skins'd touched. Only then did she lose it. Was it because my touch didn't burn her? Whatever the fuck that meant.
And the way she said it… Like it was the scariest admission. The darkest secret she held close to her heart. Her lower lip trembled, and the blush rushed up her neck and spread through her cheeks. So innocent. So vulnerable.
Annoying brat.
I couldn't help wondering what had happened to her in the past that made her like this. Something had deeply wounded her heart and caused her to distrust everyone and be averted by touch. What could have brought this on her, though? According to her papers, she grew up in the capital with her uncle, who, prior to her parents' deaths, was a hunter and only moved to the city to take care of his orphaned niece. This background story didn't sound like the worst upbringing, neither did it seem as something that could break a person so much. This was where I would call bullshit on her past and call in some favors in the ranks. Except, I already did. Everything checked out. She was not lying.
Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good. All the potential scenarios that could have made her like this only made me want to smash things. Or bones. Preferably bones. Because no one fell from the edge without a hard shove from another.
Anger stirred in my blood, and I opened my eyes. I wouldn't get any rest. It was pointless to even attempt it. Not with those damned questions in my head. Not with her words ringing in my ears and the damned darkness of her eyes following me like my shadow.
"Is this what you call washed dishes?" I asked, pointing at the dried red stain on the plate. Patches of tomato skin stuck out, and the mushy insides were splashed around, seeds glued to the bottom of the dish. Fucking disgusting.
Sasha shrank under my gaze and shook her head. Mumbling something under her breath, she snatched the plate and scrubbed it in the wash bucket. Annoyed, I left her to it, and picked up my morning cup of tea.
I walked to the dining room and took a seat at the table, sipping my drink and cringing at the nauseating sweetness. Who the hell added sugar to their tea?! Putting the cup down, I took a deep breath, trying to calm my temper. Sleepless night didn't help any. Neither did all the ghosts that followed me every time I closed my eyes. They seemed to have a party last night, welcoming an extra addition to the team in a form of a girl.
As on cue, Verity emerged from the stairway, looking no better than I did. Her hair wasn't braided for once and the long strands practically reached her waist, falling around her shoulders like a black waterfall. Her skin looked gray-ish, and the dark circles under her eyes didn't help any. She looked like my own damned reflection today. Which only added to the pool of thoughts I'd better not touch.
Her eyes skimmed around the room and rested on me. Her expression hardened, as though she was angry with me. Nodding in greeting, she walked past the dining room and into the kitchen. She returned moments later with a piece of bread, topped with butter and cheese, and a cup of steaming tea. She sat at the table, and I watched as she took a sip of her tea and put the cup down, with no reaction to the horrendous taste. I raised a brow at her and she turned to look at me, sensing my stare.
"Is something wrong?" She asked in a grumpy voice, and my blood heated, like it would do right before a fight.
"I thought you've finally gained the tastebuds for proper tea. I must've been mistaken."
"What's wrong with this one?" She asked in a strained voice, and her hands curled into fists on the table. I couldn't help a little thrill running through my body at her fighting back.
"It's just a tad better than what you made that one time,"
"Is there a reason behind your obsession with tea? I heard once that one's preferences in food and drinks can be traced to their deepest and most shameful desires."
I raised my brow in question. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear." Her eyes went wide, and I could see a touch of color returning to her cheeks. However, she gathered herself quickly and reached for her cup again, taking a big sip. I watched her throat work on a swallow and before my thoughts could catch up, I averted my gaze. Taking a deep breath, I pushed off the table and headed for the exit. I paused at the entryway and threw a last look at Verity. She watched my every step, and a small smirk on her lips made it even more clear that she enjoyed this little bickering contest as much as I did.
"I will make tea during lunch. If you tell me that this," I nodded to her cup, "is better than what I make, you will brew tea nonstop until I deem the result acceptable."
"I didn't know that tea was one of the acceptance criteria to your team." she threw at me.
I shrugged, walking away and doing my best at ignoring the nagging warning at the back of my mind that I could not find the source of.
I had one of the shittiest days.
If the lack of rest and all the unfinished paperwork wasn't enough, I'd received a message from Hange that there were problems in the capital. She was pretty vague in her letter, but the urgency of her tone spoke volumes. If something had made her so jittery that her handwriting jumped up and down the page, making it practically unreadable, then the news was indeed grim.
Just what I'd needed today.
Tearing her letter to shreds and tossing the pieces into the trash bin, I closed my eyes for a moment, gathering my wits. MPs were moving in on us, I could tell. Scouts were on the bad side of the government and the civilians for years, and the recent events didn't give us any bonus points. The regiment was hanging by a thread. I could only hope that Erwin knew what to do about it.
I picked up my teacup and took a sip, emptying its contents in one gulp, as though it was whiskey. Grabbing the saucer, I stood up and headed for the door. I needed another drink if I was planning to finish that damned report.
The kitchen was blissfully empty. I glanced at the stack of drying plates, frowning at the water dripping down the tabletop and onto the floor. Sighing, I put the kettle on the stove and grabbed a kitchen towel. While waiting for water to heat, I set to drying the dishes, placing them one by one in the neat stack into the cupboard. I didn't bother turning to the sound of approaching footsteps. The only person it could have been was Verity. We had three people standing guard around the cabin and two more slept after the night's shift. That left Mikasa and Jean that were off duty, but knowing Mikasa she was most likely training, and Jean probably found a nice place to chill after the morning rounds. There was only one person left in the lodge and it was her.
Verity paused at the entrance to the kitchen and, when I didn't acknowledge her presence, she continued watching me silently. I glared at her. "Stop staring. It's annoying."
"I'm sorry, Captain," she replied after a brief pause. I put another plate away and turned to grab the next one, when a small, fragile hand snatched it right before me. Frowning, I glanced at Verity, expecting her to avert her gaze or hide behind the rogue strands of her hair, as she usually did. Instead, she met my eyes and smiled. It was a weak smile — just the corners of her lips — but it took me off guard. I stared at her, my eyes travelling her quickly reddening face and then moving down, following the long wet strands of her hair. She'd just got out of the shower after the training, no doubt. Lavender smell reached my nose when she brushed her hair behind her shoulder. Sweet and clean, it was unexpectedly pleasant, alluring even. Without gloves and with the rolled-up sleeves of her shirt, I could see the spiderweb of scars circling her wrists. There was something inappropriately revealing about the exposed skin of her arms. The top buttons of her blouse were carelessly undone, and my gaze skimmed her thin, long neck, dipping down to her now exposed collarbone. Before my eyes wandered further, I tore my gaze away, focusing back on drying the dishes.
"Is it time for the tea lesson? I wouldn't want to be kicked out of the team for my pour brewing skills," she said after a few minutes of deafening silence. She leaned closer to grab another plate and the sweet smell of her hair hit me straight in the face. She held the dish, her hands slightly trembling.
"Why are you not wearing your gloves?" I asked instead of answering. She shook her head and smiled at me again, looking more sheepish than anything else.
"I don't have to wear them around you."
An unexpected, furious rush ran down my spine, surprising me. The warmth left behind was strangely pleasant. I stared at Verity, narrowing my eyes, trying to figure out the reason behind my body's reaction. She squirmed under my gaze, lowering her head and hunching her shoulders. Blush now spread down her face, coloring her neck as well, practically reaching the edge of the blouse. A small wave of sick satisfaction rushed me then. It was stupidly obvious how my ego enjoyed being singled out. It was as idiotic as it was nice. My eyes moved down her neckline and to the few undone buttons. Suddenly those buttons seemed unexpectedly interesting.
Her hair fell around her shoulders like a waterfall of night, glistening in the sunrays coming from the closest window. Water drops shined like diamonds in the few tangles and knots, and a sudden urge to brush them out hit me like a punch to the face. Before I could stop it, my hand reached out. The tips of my fingers ran down the silky strands, barely touching. Suddenly enamoured, I brushed my hand over her hair again. Verity gasped, and I snatched my hand away instantly. My eyes met hers, and a look on her face made me clunch my jaw and lock my arms in place. Her eyes rounded bigger than usual, and her mouth fell open. She looked half scared, half surprised. But the inappropriacy of my action made me suddenly sick.
Angry and frustrated, I turned away from her and grabbed the kettle, now whistling with menace. Trying to avoid her eyes, and ignore the uncomfortable silence which settled in the room, I started with the tea. My fingers still tingled, but it must have been because of the lack of sleep. It couldn't have been from anything other than that.
It better fucking be.
Verity
I was starting to hate hand-to-hand combat for entirely new reasons.
Captain stood in front of me, playing with the practice knife. It danced in his fingers, so fast - I could hardly follow its movements. The sun blazed today, and my palms felt slick with sweat; the knife dared to slip right out of my grip at any giving moment. It was hot, and I was covered with dust and strays of hay, scattered around the floor of the pit that stuck to my sweaty skin. I lost an embarrassing amount of times today. And it was only partially because of the exhaustion and my shitty skills. No, today I was especially distracted. My mind playing games with me, reminding me every living second of how the Captain had brushed my hair away yesterday. I was irreversibly dumb. How could such an insignificant gesture affect me so? Yet every time we touched, or our eyes met, or when he just neared me, my heart fluttered, and my brain went blank.
Get it together, for love of the fucking Wal…
Captain attacked. He lunged forward, ignoring my weak last moment attempt at blocking him. The tip of his wooden knife hit me in the stomach, and I groaned, crumbling to my knees at a loss for breath. Fucking hell, it hurt! I could already imagine the bruise it would leave.
"Get up," he growled. He was uncommonly irritated today. Lately, really. I couldn't tell why, but his mood was changing rapidly now, confusing me all the more. He could be kind one moment, and angry the next. It left me feeling small and incapable, reminding me about the times back in the Underground.
I got to my feet, biting my lip so as not to let the hurt show. We faced each other again, and this time I forced all the thoughts away. Focusing solely on Captain's movements, I watched him like a hawk. A sudden desire to win spiked, and my blood sang with adrenalin.
I could do this.
A wind chose that exact moment to blow, and a strand of my hair broke away from the loosened braid and swung me in the face. I flinched and brushed it behind my ear, just as the Captain moved in my direction. He grabbed my wrist and twisted. Pain shot up my arm and onto my shoulder. I cried out as my training knife slipped from my grip. "Your hair is a liability. It interferes with your vision and gives the enemy an opportunity to use it against you." His tone was crisp and detached. Mechanical. It stung, but I refused to show how much his words affected me.
Ripping my hand from his grip, I stood back and raised my face to his, holding my chin high and challenging him. "You seemed to rather enjoy my hair yesterday."
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his eyes hooded. My heart raced and my knees shook, but I refused to back down. He glared at me for what felt like an eternity before ordering me to return to a fighting stance. I obliged, and we resumed our combat, but I couldn't help but notice that his movements became clipped and brisk. Not the way he usually fought — calculating and precise. Apparently, he was angrier than he let show. It was my chance.
At the next punch he threw, I ducked, barely avoiding the hit. I lunged then, grabbing his lower arm and twisting in place, so that my back was to his front. I bent forward, tugging on his arm and throwing him over my shoulder and to the ground. Before he could get up, I jumped on him, pressing my knee into his chest and my practise knife to his throat.
"I won," I breathed, hardly believing in what had just happened. "I won," I repeated, and a wide smile spread over my lips. Captain watched me intently. For a moment there, he didn't look mad. His eyes shone with something I wanted to call pride, and his usual scowl evaporated. His lips twitched, as if he was fighting a smile. A sudden realisation of our proximity hit me then, and my cheeks heated. I was practically sitting on top of him: my left knee propped on the ground near his body, and my right knee still pressed to the middle of his chest. My face hovered inches away from his. I could feel every breath he took, my whole body moving with the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes never left mine, and the usual coldness of his gaze burned into me with an uncharacteristic heat. The blue tint to the outer edges of his irises made the grey steel of his gaze seem softer.
Captain's face suddenly changed, and his hands landed on my hips in a painful grip. I gasped from a sudden contact. Heat spread where our bodies touched, making me shiver. He pushed off the ground, rolling with me still in his arms. I fell with my back to the ground, and the Captain landed on top and right between my legs. He stared at me for a long moment, hovering just above. His face was unreadable, yet I could see conflict in his eyes. I sucked in a shaky breath, and my lungs filled with the musky scent of him. It was bittersweet, with a faint trace of something akin to aftershave. No matter the long fight under the sun, he smelled clean, and the enticing combination mixed with his own scent made my head swirl.
My body burned with the feverish ache, and it suddenly felt like too much. I couldn't move. Couldn't escape the need, spreading through my body like wildfire. Couldn't breathe without sensing him. Couldn't look away, because his stare locked me in place, like a trapped rabbit.
Too intimate.
Too close.
My heart raced, and the previously welcome heat burned me from the inside. Excitement shifted to fear, and I trembled under Captain's gaze. My body reacted the only way it knew how — panic. My breaths felt hollow, and my vision blurred. And just before it could escalate, the Captain stood up, leaving a cold and empty spot where his body had just been touching mine.
He brushed off the dirt from his pants and shirt, looking impassive, as if nothing had just occurred. I watched him, still struggling to breathe, my heart pounding in my ears. One thought tripped over another.
"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting up. My voice shook with emotions I couldn't hide. He looked at me, his expression guarded and uncaring. I flinched at the coldness of his gaze.
"What's wrong with what?"
I bit my lip to stop it from trembling. My eyes stung, but I wouldn't allow a single tear to spill. Not in front of him. "I don't understand. One moment you are nice and friendly, and the next you act as though I'm your greatest enemy."
"You are imagining things, brat," Captain waved me off and walked towards the end of the pit, where his jacket hung on the fence pillar.
"Am I?" I bit back, my voice ringing with hysterical notes. He didn't turn back to look at me. Didn't even flinch. "I thought we were…" I broke off, unsure if I wanted to finish the sentence to his retreating back. "friends…"
He halted and glanced at me over his shoulder. "We are comrades, brat. That is more than enough."
He walked off, leaving me alone in the middle of the fighting pit. Except this time I wasn't fighting him or any of my teammates. This time, I was fighting tears.
Kenny was right. I didn't belong here, and I never would. My place was by his side. He was the only one who had ever cared about me.
And there was something I needed to do.
My lungs burned, and my legs shook. Yet the cracking pain in the middle of my chest was the worst.
Tears rolled freely down my face. I didn't care for wiping them away anymore. Sagging onto my knees on the forest bed, I covered my face with my hands. Sobs tore at my throat and my body shook with each rugged gasp.
I had to do it. It was the right thing.
Tearing my hands from my face, I reached for a signal gun neatly tucked into the waistband of my pants. Just looking at it made my heart clench in pain. I had to remind myself yet again that I was foreign here. I had to return to Kenny. I owed him that. He cared about me. No one else did.
I switched the gun to the black smoke and pointed it into the sky. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself one last moment of weakness. Just one. I let in all the hurt and sorrow, loneliness, and misery. Emotions flooded in, closing over my head like a surge. Every breath I took felt as though someone chugged glass shards into my lungs.
The next moment, I opened my eyes and pulled the trigger. Watching the black smoke swirl between the trees and into the sky, I let go of all my pain and promised to never again let anyone get close enough to actually hurt me.
The walk back took longer than expected, but I enjoyed the quiet of the forest. I needed this moment alone to gather my thoughts and seal my feelings. Now that the locks were securely in place, I could return to the cabin and wait for Kenny to get back to me with new orders. It shouldn't be too long now.
Just when I was about to step onto the porch, a shadow disconnected from the wall and I jumped back, assembling the fighting pose on pure instinct.
"I guess all that training wasn't for nothing," Captain's voice sounded, and he stepped out into the moonlight. Looking at him physically hurt. He was a living, breathing reminder I didn't belong here.
"I guess not. Will there be any orders, Captain? I was on my way to the bed," I replied, mimicking his detached tone from earlier. He studied my face for a long moment before nodding in the direction opposite the cabin.
"Let's take a walk. I need to talk to you."
I got little choice, as he walked off that same instant, no doubt expecting me to follow. I sighed with irritation, but did as I was told, catching up to him at a jog. We walked for some time in silence, and I kept glancing back at the lodge, hoping he would get a note and speed up with that talk of his. This day was too long and too emotionally exhausting. I just wanted to take a shower and go to bed. Maybe I would even get some sleep tonight, if I was lucky.
"I'm sorry," the Captain finally said, and I choked on my next breath. My head snapped in his direction and I stared in disbelieve.
"I'm not following," I replied. Captain stopped walking and faced me. He looked as tired as I felt. His eyes were more hooded than usual, and the dark circles beneath them looked starker in the heavy shadows.
"I'm sorry that I snapped at you," he repeated. I just stared at him, unsure of how to react. After a few long moments, his lips thinned and he snapped: "What?"
I shook my head, gathering my thoughts. "I don't understand."
"What exactly don't you understand? I'm apologizing for my unruly actions."
"That part I understood, thank you very much," I snapped back, anger swirling in my stomach like an angry snake. "Why are you acting like this? One moment you hate me and the next you are nice to me. I don't fit in, sure, but why keep me on your team then? Just kick me out and be done with it. You know what? Forget it, there is no need. I'm signing off myself."
"No, you are not," he retorted. I crossed my hands over my chest in a silent challenge. He sighed again. "You are in my team, because you do fit. I know I hurt you today, but it wasn't my intend. Hence, the apology." I stared at him, processing his words. When I didn't reply right away, he continued: "We are friends, Verity. And the last thing I wanted today was to hurt you."
No. We are not. I'm here to help Kenny, nothing else.
He reached over then, and his palm landed on the top of my head. He patted my hair, rustling it a little, and no matter how hurt or angry I was, my heart fluttered. Confused and annoyed with myself, I still couldn't fight the glimmer of hope taking root somewhere deep inside. My body relaxed against his caress, and a pleasant shiver ran down my spine. It felt familiar now, and the sense of righteousness overwhelmed me.
Captain believed I wasn't a nuisance; that my place was in his team and by his side. My thoughts twisted the other direction, and the memories of Petra, Oluo, Eld and Gunther emerged. Everything was so much easier back then. The comfort and care that they showed towards one another, me included, in their own sibling-like way, was nothing I'd ever experienced before. And probably never would. I missed them dearly.
"Do you think they are watching us from the other side?" I asked, surprising myself with that question just as much as the Captain. He instantly understood who I was talking about, and his hand fell away. His face turned serious again, and he stared into the edge of the forest, as if he could see them standing right there, watching us.
"I hope not. I would prefer they watch something less depressing than humanity's struggle to survive."
I nodded in understanding, and the sorrow that spread through my chest, like a frostbite, felt ten times worse now that my mind focused on the press of the gun's handle against my lower back.
Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?
I couldn't sleep, and the morning couldn't come faster. Twisting and turning in my bed for hours and thinking over everything I'd done, I managed to bring myself to the brink of hysteria. I thought everything over and over again, and then some more. Yet, I couldn't find any way out of the situation I'd put myself in.
By betraying Captain and the Scouts, I'd stayed loyal to Kenny. But was I supposed to feel this guilt pressing on my chest like a heavy boulder? Was I supposed to feel ashamed and scared of my actions rather than proud of keeping my promise?
There way no way around it. I had to either stick with my decision and betray everything my team had worked towards and gave their lives for — betray Captain — or I could do that to the person who'd raised me and taught me everything I knew.
How do you distinguish the right from wrong? How do you tell that you've made the right choice? How do you live with yourself if you know for sure that you've a made a mistake?
I got out of my bed at dawn. The cracking headache I'd developed over night blazed in full. I was nauseous and a slight tremor shook my hands when I exited my room and all but sprinted down the stairs and to the kitchen.
"What do you think you are doing? I've just wiped the table clean. You can't just dump the sacks there!" Eren yelled at Jean, who was filling a cup with oat flacks from the said sack. He ignored Eren's complaints and just continued with his task. Eren scowled at him and opened his mouth to yell again. I interjected before they could go into one of those long arguments of theirs.
"Have you seen Captain yet?"
They both looked at me questioningly, and Jean shook his head. "Not this morning. He's probably still in his room."
I nodded and thanked them, turning away and racing back up the stairs. I had to talk to him. To come clean? To lie some more? I had no idea. But maybe when I saw him again, I would know. I froze in front of the door to his room, my hand half to the varnished planks, ready to knock. What was I going to tell him? Good morning. I just needed to look at you so that I can solve my internal moral dilemma?
Walls, spare me!
Just when I was about to turn away, the door swung open, and I found myself face to face with the Captain. He looked surprised to see me at his doorstep, and for a second there we just stared at each other. "Morning. I needed to talk to you," I mumbled finally, and he nodded, gesturing for me to enter his room.
"Levi! Get you ass over here!" A familiar voice shouted from downstairs, and I looked at the staircase in surprise. Hange was here? What was going on?
Captain sighed and rolled his eyes, before stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind him. "Let's talk later. Four-eyes will not shut up unless we do as she pleases."
I nodded, my mind racing with a million thoughts. But the small reprieve from the immediate talk was a relief, however small. Following Captain down the stairs, I struggled to keep my face neutral, so as not to alert Hange to anything.
She stood in the middle of the dining room, looking distraught.
"Now, what's this about?" Captain demanded, settling in the dining chair and watching Hange pace the room.
"I'm sorry. Pastor Nick…" She started and sighed, finally sitting down herself. "He was murdered. Today in the Trost barracks."
The blood rushed away from my face as I stared at her, dumbfounded. "Pastor Nick? The one that informed you about Krista and the titans in the Walls?" I asked, and Hange nodded, looking almost as sour as when Sawney and Bean were murdered.
"I figured the Church would want to get their hands on Nick when they learned he was cooperating with the Scouts," she added, frowning. Her face, usually excited and humorous on the topics that no other found such, sulked. She looked at Captain, her eyes wide with shock, as though she couldn't accept something like this happening. "I hid his identity and had him stay in the barracks for this exact reason. I never imagined they would use a soldier to kill him." she shook her head. "This was my fault. I should've been more careful."
I watched the Captain pick up his teacup and calmly take a sip. Nothing changed in his demeanor. Not a muscle twitched. Not a frown. Not the all-knowing smirk.
"They tortured him. Presumably for information. Did they just wanna know what he'd passed on to us?" Armin finally broke the settled silence.
"Most likely," the Captain replied, putting down his teacup. "But these are the interior MPs we are dealing with." His gaze turned to me, and my skin broke into a thousand goosebumps. His eyes, too knowing for his own good, seemed to burn the hole right through my heart. I held his gaze, though, enjoying the biting thrill of his attention. "You can bet there is something deeper at work here." Captain continued, and I felt each syllable like a caress at the back of my neck. "How many nails was the good pastor Nick was missing?" He asked after a slight pause, and I shivered from the intensity of his gaze.
"I only caught a glimpse of him, but all the nail beds I saw were empty," Hange replied, looking deep in thought.
"People who talk, talk after one. If they don't, ripping off more won't make a difference," the Captain said, his eyes never leaving mine. Guilt swirled in my gut, but I stood still, feeling shittier than ever. "I'm impressed," the Captain continued after a few quiet moments, finally averting his gaze. "I didn't think highly of Pastor Nick. But whatever his faults, he stuck by his beliefs until the end. Which means they have no idea we know about the Reiss family. But the government is up to something. And we've got a target on our backs."
At that moment, the door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud thud. I jumped, swirling to face the intruder. It was a small ginger girl in the Scouts uniform. I knew her. She was from Hange's team. I relaxed my pose, but my nervousness spiked even higher when she spoke.
"Captain Levi, sir. I have a message from Commander Erwin. I went to tell him about pastor Nick, but he gave me this and sent me off." She stepped into the room and handed Captain a piece of paper. He read it, his eyes running across the text.
"Get your gear. Now!" He commanded, abruptly getting to his feet. His voice left no place to disobey. His eyes met mine for a brief second, and the worry in his gaze made my stomach churn with guilt and my heart shudder with loss. "We're leaving. Make it look like we were never here."