Another morning, another day spent in enemy territory. The date in the ledgers and newspapers and Grice's letters was always the same. One thousand and sixty four years away from home. Six into her term. Seven left for a civilian life back in Marley. If the situation didn't improve, her father's request might be his last.

A few days ago, she'd been training as usual, with Jaeger. On the way to the mess hall, the ring wasn't in her pocket. Carolina asked why she was so distressed, and Leonhardt said she was fine. She'd just forgotten something.

Keepsakes be damned, Instructor Brecken said, she had kitchen duty this afternoon. If it was that important, she could check the grounds after she was done. First thing tomorrow, the 104th Training Corps had mandatory service with the Garrison. No doubt, he was only saying it because of her reputation as a truant.

Leonhardt, Kirschtein and Blaus ended up together. Blaus was better with the knife, so Leonhardt ended up fetching the water with Kirschtein. The worst he could do was call her moodier than usual.

"I was thinking about something I have to do tomorrow," Leonhardt said. "And if I have to talk, I can't focus on carrying the water, nor can you."

Kirschtein scoffed. "How are you not freezing?"

"Maybe I've just got better genes."

He laughed, which wasn't what she intended. "You're all right," he said. "You and Reiner."

Leonhardt held her tongue.

Back inside, she got to setting a fire whilst Kirschtein brought more water.

"You figured where you want to go, once you graduate?" Blaus asked. "'Cause I've been doing a little thinking about it myself. I hear the Scouting Legion has undergone a lot of changes from within. The Garrison's always overcrowded and the MPs, well," she snorted, "a fat lot of good they've done for humanity. They're not the real problem. Life ain't that much better if you live closer to the cities than not. Sure, it's not regulated, but no one's going to offer you a hand when the Walls come down."

Great. Now they were having a conversation. "Where'd you grow up?"

"Pardon?"

"Your accent," Leonhardt said. "You don't sound like anyone else here."

Blaus cleared her throat. "I try to speak properly, you know. The attitude around here is that folk from the country a-aren't of much use, save menial labor." She looked Leonhardt up and down. "I've been meaning to ask, uh. You know Reiner, don't you?" Leonhardt gave a slight nod. "Well, last night at the bonfire we were all swapping stories. He says he's from Ragako. But Springer grew up there. He's lived there his whole life before the Titans broke through Wall Maria. He'd have seen 'im, but he told me Reiner was never there. You and Bertholdt neither." She gave a little shrug. "I reckoned that Reiner was really sloshed and meant a different town, but he and Fritz went off to get more beer and I never got to ask 'im. And he wouldn't recall even if I asked him now, I reckon."

Private Ackermann shouldered the door open and let it fall shut behind her. Blaus looked over.

"Mikasa. Are you on kitchen duty?"

Ackermann didn't answer. She nodded to Leonhardt. "Eren was looking for you."

"Tell him I'm busy," Leonhardt said. "He shouldn't have you delivering messages for him."

If Ackermann felt any particular way about the slight, she didn't show it. "He didn't ask me to." She walked over until she was behind Leonhardt's shoulder. She was about the same height as her brother. She reached into her own breast pocket and took out something small. "He found this on the training grounds," she said. "Is it yours?"

Leonhardt glanced at the ring. "Yes," she said. "I must have dropped it." She took the ring, placed it back in her pocket, no emotion.

Ackermann's expression did not change. "You should be more careful," she said.

Blaus chimed in, "I didn't know you wore rings, Annie."

Goddam it all. "It's just a keepsake, Blaus."

…

Despite Grice's presence in the Garrison, they'd yet to actually meet in-person as Paradisian soldiers. The most overt action he'd taken was to provide a disguise for her infiltration into the interior. After it went south, he stopped sending letters for a month. In Marley, he'd probably be promoted to Vice-Commander when all was said and done. She'd be lucky to be a Captain, if she continued to drop the ball during critical moments. Grice's letter didn't cast any blame, just assured her that they'd talk more about her career once she was in Stohess.

Hoover and Braun didn't seem too upset either. They could just be playing along, dedicating their hearts to humanity with all the rest of these devils. When the only real difference boiled down to a coat of arms and culture, what was the sense in buying into someone else's war?

If Finger and Galliard were alive, they'd be ushered on the front lines. Whether you were in the Warrior Unit or a lowly ground soldier, you were still pawns in Marley's proxy battles. Even if she could write to them, there wasn't any guarantee they'd see the letters. Liberio's postal service was heavily scrutinized by Marleyan secret police. Even if you were clever enough to couch everything in entendre, if it was sent from within the internment zone, you'd be better off throwing it out.

It wasn't like they were close to begin with. What would she even say? We're six years deep into this mission, and we've made no meaningful progress. Tell Gabi she shouldn't wait up for her cousin. And tell Galliard I'm sorry about his brother.

None of this was particularly constructive, but the instructor was droning on about ODM gear maintenance and gears while Leonhardt took notes without thinking too deeply. The best weapon to kill a Titan were their blades, or a lucky cannon shot, which was so inaccurate you might as well hope for Wall Maria to magically seal itself, too.

Pure Titans usually wouldn't stay still and let you at their napes. So the exercises with the dummies were more of a means to build muscle memory on the theoretical battlefield. Aberrant Titans were notorious for baiting out a soldier from his horse, or catching him on the wires of his ODM gear, and that would be the end of it. It was customary to take out the heels—as Titans were still formed in the image of Man, according to their textbooks—and dispatch them face-down if it were not possible to slice the nape directly. Many of these Titans might have been sent to Heaven. If one of these subjects were to return to their original form, how much would they remember?

Old friends abandoned or sacrificed in the name of a war inherited. Nothing on the island was hers to keep. Not even her old life.

After the lecture was over, Fritz got up and started talking to Lenz as usual. Lenz went on by herself. Fritz hung back, started walking down the row towards Leonhardt's desk.

"Hey," she said. Fritz had spoken maybe a couple sentences to her in three years of service. She was usually busy sucking up to Lenz, who was either too polite to refuse or had some undisclosed motive. She was the only one Leonhardt hadn't figured out. "Heard that it was your birthday a few days ago." Fritz cracked a sly smile. "Thought I'd congratulate you on staying alive one more year."

"Thanks."

"I would've wished you a happy birthday then, but you were slacking off, as usual. I guess I just forgot." Leonhardt's stomach tensed. She stood up to leave with the other cadets, and Fritz followed her. "With your score, I guess you can afford to be a little lax." This wasn't just about swapping chore duty. "Those MP Brigade men aren't like the lazy idiots you hear about in Wall Sina, are they?"

"What do you want?" Leonhardt said coolly.

"To put in the bare minimum when it comes to civil service. Same as you." Fritz glanced meaningfully at Leonhardt. "I'd rather the two of us stayed friendly."

"Did Instructor Brecken put you on latrine duty again?"

Fritz blinked twice. A short burst of laughter. "Nah, not this time." She was looking at Leonhardt in a way she never had before. "Who's Marcel Galliard?"

An instant, where there was no other recourse but to kill Fritz. Facilitating a training accident by herself would be next to impossible with all these other cadets around. Fritz could just as well be lying about Hoover's involvement, or Braun's. She was imposing her way into Leonhardt's mission, like Carolina and Jaeger.

Fritz shrugged. "Reiner mentioned that you grew up in the same hometown. He was pretty sozzed when he said it though."

The Warriors were loyal to Marley and only Marley. It stood to reason that Paradis and the interior would have their own methods of dealing with abberations in this "last of mankind" farce. Was it possible that Paradis had its own branch of Titan Shifters?

"You've never asked me about my home before," Leonhardt said.

Fritz's expression was difficult to read. "We're going to be stuck together for another year. Why not get to know each other a little?"

"I'm not interested in making friends."

Fritz straightened up. "Ditto."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

…

Before ODM inspection, Leonhardt passed by Braun's seat and said, "Hey. Did you see Fritz at the bonfire, last night?"

Braun went still. "Only for a bit. I got pretty drunk. So I don't remember much of what we talked about. It probably wasn't that important." His smiles didn't tend to reach his eyes.

If he had said anything, he'd sooner die than admit to it. "Annie," Hoover said, catching her eye, "I was just thinking we should review our notes. After practise?"

"Sure," she muttered.

"Yeah," Braun said with a snort, "that's likely."

Hoover stiffened. As Leonhardt kept walking she heard him say, "Shut up, Reiner."

…

Privates Jaeger, Arlert, Lenz and Blaus, wished her a happy birthday. Evidently, Carolina wasn't the type to keep a secret well. But they were bunkmates, and it was easier to let Carolina remain friendly than not. In return for her tolerance, Carolina did not ask anything in return than Leonhardt's occasional time and attention. She'd probably have a standard, unobtrusive existence pushing papers in the Garrison or the Scouting Legion.

The ring, she'd keep in the breast pocket of her uniform jacket. No use flashing it around unless she had any real need. Each Warrior had a preferred method of activation. Braun used a knife. Hoover, too.

…

"It's your birthday?" asked Carolina out of nowhere during lunch.

Leonhardt glanced over. "Who told you?"

"Bertholdt."

That figured. Hoover and Braun had different ideas of what constituted as "justifiable" information to volunteer to the enemy. The last time anyone had asked Leonhardt, it was to confirm her birth records and blood type.

"Hannah was thinking about going into town, the next time we have a day off. We could pool our allowances. Is there anything you wanted?"

Leonhardt had been wearing the same jacket since she was fourteen. She took pretty good care of it, so it wasn't threadbare, but it was getting a little dingy. Easier to manage than their uniforms. Whoever decided white chinos were suitable should've been put on latrine duty. Or thrown over the Wall and fed to his Eldian brethren.

The next time they had voluntary service in Trost, she couldn't talk her way out of accepting a new hoodie. She made a mental note to ask Carolina when her birthday was.

…

Last night, they'd had the first bonfire in a while. The weather was damp, but permitting.

Hoover and Jaeger sat by the waning embers. Braun, Fritz and a handful of cadets took turns swapping beers, trusting the inebriation to keep them warm until they wandered back to the barracks. The more sensible ones had already retired an hour ago.

"Can't sleep?"

Jaeger didn't answer. "Do you dream about it?"

The back of Hoover's neck prickled. "About what?"

"Life before." Jaeger wouldn't look at him. His jaw set. "I used to. It was worse when we were living in poorhouses. I'd wake up and forget where I was. Scared the hell out of Armin." He stole a glance at his nails. "Everything after that day feels like a nightmare."

Hoover said nothing.

Jaeger rolled his shoulders. "My dad and mom, they weren't close. He was always working, he wouldn't come home for months sometimes. And she never talked about it in front of me but she'd talk to Mikasa, when she thought I was asleep. We both remember that." He stole a glance at a discarded flask. "I keep having this dream. Not about Shiganshina. I'm in a room I don't recognize. My father is there, too. I ask him where Armin and Mikasa are. He's ignoring my questions. I try and tell him that mom's dead, and he goes berserk. He tells me that—" a short, sharp intake of breath "—it's my fault. Everything that happened, it's my fault. And if I try to desert the mission, the MPs won't have a body to identify. But that's bullshit, because if he knew something why'd he leave us to—" His eyes glistened in the light. He took a swig of ale, wincing. "It's fucking crazy." He took another swig and coughed, wiping his mouth. "Dad never spoke to me or my mom like that. It has to be a dream. But it doesn't feel like one."

"Do you blame yourself for what happened?" Jaeger's hackles raised. He didn't answer. "What happened in Shiganshina wasn't your fault," Hoover said quietly. "There was nothing you, or I, or anyone could have done differently."

Jaeger's face was blotchy in the flickering light. He scowled. "They should've been destroyed a long time ago," he spat, his voice thicker. "Fucking pestilence on our country is what they are." He blinked rapidly and turned, as if Hoover would pretend not to see. "I mean, an animal, even one that's dangerous to a human, has something to offer from being killed. Titans don't have any use."

Hoover nodded. "You've made up your mind about joining the Scouts."

"Why wouldn't I?" Eren poked at the fire, drawing sparks. "The bitch ate my mother."

Hoover paused. "The bitch?"

"The fucking Titan." He seemed to sway in-place, his expression hitching. "They're parasites."

…

The snow was spread thin across the grounds, retreating with the promise of warmer weather. The sun hadn't set, but it was getting closer to lights-out. Hoover stood alone on the porch overlooking the boy's barracks.

The seasons in Paradis were easier to bear now they weren't living on the streets. When Leonhardt was twelve, she woke up feverish in the almshouse. She was weak enough that she couldn't get out of bed, so Reiner had to go into town and see a doctor. They sat there for hours, while Hoover picked and did his best not to fret, and by the end of the day Reiner was back with Annie in tow. He'd said the doctor chalked it up to heatstroke, rather than consumption.

Pieck's parents would have called it anhidrosis. For a Subject of Ymir, it was natural.

Hoover perspired less after the injection. He was better at hiding a flush than either of them. He didn't sweat so much as glisten. The spells used to be a lot worse, especially right after their deployment. Reiner was flushed like a lobster. Their bodies simply needed time to adjust to the effects of the serum. It would be uncomfortable for a while, but eventually they'd get used to it. As if it was that simple.

He leant into the banister just to feel the grain against his wrists. He'd taken a book with him, on the pretence of reading, but he couldn't settle down. He could see his breath, but wasn't even shivering.

Last mock-expedition, when Blaus commented that Reiner was physically steaming in the cold, he chuckled and said, "Guess I've got good genes."

He was charismatic enough to brush off discrepancies like that. No surprise that he'd fit in and let Hoover fall into step beside him. The two of them had garnered plenty of admiration from a bunch of impressionable, shellshocked Paradisians desperate for a hero. Easy to drag others into a lie when you were so good at fooling yourself. Deep down, Reiner would always be the terrified boy, begging for mercy under the beech tree.

Bertholdt wasn't as confident, but he'd always been an excellent marksman. His quiet nature was mistaken by others for passivity. Reiner's other half, the boys would call him, and Bertholdt would offer a tight-lipped smile and let Reiner clap him on the back like they were kids again.

When they asked, why do you want to become a solider, his mind would conjure the kindly man who'd taken them in after Shiganshina fell. His death, whatever led him to it, was a more useful gift to the Warriors than the scant amount of money left in his pockets, or the clothes they took. With a few changed words, Bertholdt had a ready alibi. The Titans had ravaged a small village south of Wall Rose. He and Reiner and Annie were the only survivors, and they'd been struggling to get by ever since.

No one ever thought twice. This penal colony was their birthplace, and the King's iron grip on education and history limited their imaginations to the span of each gleaming Wall, hitherto impenetrable. So they let their military fall by the wayside whilst the government grew more corrupt and the divide between economical classes widened. It was a miracle anyone from Shiganshina was permitted past Wall Rose—but of course, the interior still needed able-hands to do the farming and fishing, ready to give up their lives for Paradis. All Bertholdt cared about was finding the Progenitor and going home, and looking after his comrades in Marcel's stead.

"Where've you been?"

Leonhardt said nothing, just wandered to the other side of the banister. "Did Doctor Jaeger ever mention having a son?"

Hoover paused. "Not that I recall."

"Fritz said she talked to Reiner. About Marcel." Hoover wouldn't look at her. "Did she, or not?"

"I don't remember," Hoover admitted, heat creeping through his skin. "He and Ymir and a couple of the cadets were off by themselves. I was talking to Eren."

"About what?" She sneered. "What, it's OK for you and Reiner to lie right to his face?"

"That's not the point. What you're suggesting would be impossible. Dr. Jaeger would have to live many miles away from our hometown in order to cross the ocean. He couldn't return to Shiganshina without raising questions."

"What if he wasn't even Paradisian to begin with?"

Hoover shook his head. "You're scared. You're looking for the simplest explanation. We have to stick with what we know to be true, and Eren doesn't factor into the plan after we graduate."

She glared at a point above his right shoulder. At times like these, she still looked like a kid, hungry to prove herself. Bertholdt was better at disguising his feelings as indifference. Annie always had to insist hers into being, and Reiner had to make himself useful off the goodwill of others. Marcel, if he'd lived, would no doubt suffer from his own hamartia—a word that Armin had taught him from one of his battered notebooks. From the old world, though Arlert had only the breadth of his own imagination.

"I really hope you're right," she whispered. "Because I don't know what we're going to tell Reiner otherwise."

Bertholdt shrugged. "Whatever we have to."

She pulled her hood back up. "How much does he remember?"

Hoover stiffened. "Just his hometown."

Leonhardt turned, her heel leaving a slight divot in the earth. "Do you miss it?"

Most days, it would be easier to wake up in Paradis as a sentient udometer. Hoover looked at his hands. He'd forgotten what it was like, to have callouses and bruises that yellowed on his skin. "Of course."

He was used to being alone, but he had parents awaiting his return, whose love for him wasn't conditional or frayed, or so they always told him. Harbouring empathy for these cadets would only make it difficult to do what was necessary when the time came. Just look at Reiner, split between his feelings and his duty to Marley. And unlike Pieck and Porco, Bertholdt couldn't afford to get his feelings mixed up with duty, even for duty's sake. It was just as likely one of them would be coming home in a box, or not at all.

Thirteen years of uninterrupted service was difficult to fathom at twelve years old.

She said, "I'm going to clear my head. We'll talk about it later."

…

On the way to the training field, she caught sight of Jaeger by himself. He was approximating a kick. He wasn't close to perfect, but he seemed to understand the point of grounding himself. Too perceptive for his own good, in spite of all of his idealistic, pigheaded talk. He wasn't putting on airs, like Braun and Kirschtein.

He turned, back to attention, and waved.

That wasn't an invitation, Jaeger.

"You're still out?" he called. He didn't flinch, like she was expecting. He started jogging towards her.

"I just wanted to go for a walk by myself," she said, once he was in earshot. "Evidently that's not going to happen now."

"It's still dark this time of year," Jaeger said. "I'll walk back with you."

Leonhardt let him trod along in polite silence.

"Thanks," she said. "For finding the ring."

"It's no problem."

She'd done him a favour, keeping him at arm's length. It was the only way she could protect him without lying through her teeth. He'd wind up in the Scouting Legion, and she'd stay on course, wasting away behind a desk in Stohess, and never have to worry about his bright eyes again.

"Are you cold?" he asked, suddenly wary.

She was trembling a little. Hands drawn to fists at her sides. She didn't turn away or knock him to the half-thawed earth. She glanced down at where his heart should be. He wasn't particularly aware, regardless of whether he was underfoot.

She said, "Want to spar?"

…

By the last couple of spars, Jaeger started opening up. He wasn't above deceit—he'd kick up dirt or try to fake her out, but never cheap tricks. His chivalry was holding him back. "In a fight," he panted, "your opponent isn't going to be sporting. It's your life against his."

Leonhardt nodded. "You're smarter than I took you for."

He scoffed. "C'mon, it's just common sense."

He wasn't laughing when she flipped him over. "Now I don't have to go easy on you."

Jaeger groaned. "Are you serious?"

"You were serious," she said, "a second ago." This close, her bangs fell across his face. His eyes were green. His pulse fluttered under the skin of his throat. "I told you not to let your guard down."

Jaeger, breathing hard, struggled against the cold dirt. Bravado shifting into awareness of their proximity. He managed to get his legs up. The ground knocked out from under her. Ankles pinned. The exaltation of his success was all over his face—his eyes shining in the lamp-light, his grip clammy. Close enough to bump noses.

"I did it!" he exclaimed, the same tone as when she flipped him on his ass the first time. Up close, he was awfully loud.

She drawled, "Don't let it go to your head." As they got back to their feet, she was staring at his face, under his eyelids. The skin there smooth and flawless. Each day brought them closer to the inevitable. She couldn't look him in the eyes and play along forever. Not in any good conscience.

She moved closer, reached up to frame his jaw in her fingers without thinking about the consequences until he croaked, "Is this part of the lesson?"

Leonhardt pressed the pads of her fingers in, slightly. Hand on the back of his neck. His skin was feverish. She tipped her head up, so her lips barely touched his jugular. She could bite down, now, and draw the steam into her lungs like air. The same phantom taste of iron. Spinal fluid. A moment of ambiguity, full of potential, and she could serve the remainder of her term twice over and still flounder for an explanation when it came to him.

"Uh," he said.

"Stop talking," she said, her voice small and halting in a way she could not disguise. He lowered his head. Their mouths met, teeth clicking together. His hands groped for purchase, settling on the back of her head and her waist.

On the way back to the barracks, her skin still tingled.

…

Braun and Hoover were mistaken. So was Carolina, and her light teasing about how often Jaeger asked to partner up. It had nothing to do with Jaeger as a person but his existence, itself an enigma. The only one who hadn't caught on was Jaeger himself.

Each time he sat beside her, or agreed to train with her, asking innocuous, unimportant questions about her false life on Paradis and sharing bits of his childhood in return, she became less of a Warrior and closer to this façade. An ordinary girl he would not outlive by twenty three. After graduation, perhaps he'd come to visit her during leave, and let him say a lot of sappy, stupid things that usually made her itch to hit something solid.

The summer before graduation, she cornered him after ODM practice. She fed him some half-hearted lie about Bodt catching her slacking off, which he never stopped to question. He saw her cool veneer and the truth beneath it, close enough to grasp at her ennui but not its cause. Like a kick he couldn't master, only block, he'd push for her to stop bullshitting and say whatever she meant.

It had been about sparring, at first, but he wasn't clever enough to pick up on her ulterior motives. He didn't seem to dwell upon Ackermann, no matter how desperately she clung to him or that scarf.

She'd never snuck anyone into the barracks, and she didn't plan on starting now. It seemed like an obvious way to get caught. Nothing could deter him from signing his life away to an underfunded military regime. But he ought to learn how to treat a girl.

…

In a couple weeks, she woke up in the girl's barracks without an appetite. Carolina insisted she mull over the porridge anyway, and Leonhardt went along with it. It didn't get any better. She couldn't manage a full lap around the field without falling over.

She vomited before she could help it, and Carolina volunteered to take her to the infirmary. Everyone was speculating about her and Jaeger and all those late training sessions. None of it had ever amounted to much.

At twelve years old, the medical staff in Marley didn't really talk specifics beyond venereal disease. Warriors were not encouraged to make families of their own—defying the odds, it would be an Eldian bastard. A Warrior's internal temperature was elevated a few degrees, thanks to the serum, and it would be impossible for anything to survive.

Back then, it ultimately meant nothing. Civilian life was never in her future. As if Marley needed anymore half-Titans running around, the doctor might say to his assistant, just loud enough to be overheard.

At sixteen, she had to go to the infirmary like any ordinary girl. The doctor didn't seem to think anything of it and chalked it up to food poisoning, because she hadn't eaten. He was only saving face, not for her sake but for the military's reputation.

In Paradis, pregnancies were a faster path back to the fields, in wedlock or disgrace, usually in the same tone as bastard or whoreson. Incidents were more common before the decree to lower the age for the draft.

An honorable soldier, he said, would dedicate oneself for the good of humanity. It was the right thing to do. Leonhardt was looking out the window, the bright lights beyond, anywhere but his face. The same old diatribe about dedication to the fatherland with a few changed words.

Carolina would be inconsolable, in her place. Not everyone could be a Warrior.

After the scare, even when Leonhardt was cleared for training, Carolina would sulk at the table during mealtime, while Diamant and a couple of the obsequious cadets expressed sympathies and surprise about Leonhardt's speedy recovery. Leonhardt never made it a point to converse with anyone, and she wasn't going to start now. These bad moods always cleared up.

Carolina wasn't talking to her before lights-out either. She barely would look at Leonhardt as she took her spot in the top bunk. Leonhardt stared at the wooden slat separating them. She wasn't going to beg Carolina to reveal her feelings. Ingratiating oneself with other people just implied weakness. Even the nicer ones couldn't really help but push their luck.

That night, they had a short, awkward heart-to-heart where Carolina got a little emotional as she expressed her concern for her comrade's well-being, and Leonhardt did her best to afford her some dignity.

…

The next time they'd speak to each other, it was in Trost.

A mess of viscera already going cold and sickly-sweet smell of rot. Clump of black hair saturated with blood and brain matter. The ODM gear, torn from the wires when the Titan ripped its prey from the wall, was found battered but intact not too far from the body. If she didn't check the canister, she wouldn't ever have to know for sure who it had belonged to. For her own sake, she did not look.

When the woman from the Garrison asked for a name, Leonhardt's eyes caught on the discarded gear. The woman went over to it. Five syllables, and Leonhardt didn't weep. That luxury had been stamped out of her long ago.

As long as the spine and brain remained intact, a Warrior could survive just like any Pure Titan. She'd never given a thought to trade her powers for mortality, with the bruises and weariness, just for a concrete end to her guilt and false promises of going home. Marley did not reward failure or half-measures.

After graduation, life didn't come to a screeching halt. The Garrison could always use some extra hands, despite the lack of a foreseeable threat. Better, to not be caught unawares. So the graduates were carted off to Trost to attend to Wall Rose.

The rest of the 104th didn't notice a missing cadet. When the flash of lightning struck, a shockwave so intense, the survivors said, it rattled the cannons and shook the Wall itself. Jaeger and the survivors formed an impromtu squad to combat the Colossus Titan, but the damage was already done.

The captains were lining up the survivors into groups, establishing a chain of command that quickly broke down under the stress of the Titans' onslaught. Hoover melted easily into the panicked throng of civilians and reappeared just in time for deployment.

Next visitation day, Diamant caught on. "Ever had one, Annie?" Leonhardt caught herself staring. She shoved her hands in her pockets. "No." "My grandmother used to make them," Diamant said. "But the ones here are about as good as hers."

Hours before, she'd found Arlert curled up in the shadow of a second-storey's eaves, unharmed, out of gas. It would be Ackermann who went over to him, who touched his arm. It was Leonhardt who posed the question that had been eating away at her since that morning.

Eyes on his knuckles, curling into the fabric of his ragged chinos, he would not look at any of them. His shoulders shook. In a stumbling voice that no one could understand very well, he began to rattle off names. Zeramuski, Wagner, Carolina. They'd called out to each other, if they weren't immediately killed. Carolina managed to seclude herself between one of the narrower alleys. Eventually she'd stopped screaming.

Jaeger, he said, had given his life to save him.

Such should have been the tragic, but conclusive end to the 104th Trainee Corps' suicidal bastard.

…

"He's one of us," Leonhardt said afterwards. "He has to be."

The three of them were hunkered down in the shell of a building that used to be a tenement. Hoover was crouched down next to her, which he hadn't done since they were kids. Braun kept pacing.

"I knew something was wrong with him," she said, her voice small. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. "I should have said something."

"The interior mission was a wash. We can't afford to be sidetracked." Hoover forced a little smile. "We have to stick to the plan. You've got the grades to make it into Stohess. That's more important."

Leonhardt's shoulders stiffened. "We've been looking at this from the wrong perspective," she snapped. "The King doesn't have any real influence. The MP Brigade and their sponsors in Mitras are the ones who'll have answers about Dr. Jaeger."

"What's Eren's father have to do with this?"

Hoover's terrified expression mirrored how she felt. "Eren's father has been missing for a while. We thought, if anyone might know why Eren did what he did-"

Braun looked from one to the other. "D'you hear yourself? It would be a blow against humanity, to admit to knowing what we do now. Nothing we say or do would excuse Eren's actions in the eyes of the military, much less these people we swore to protect. They all want him killed." He shook his head. "I just can't believe it. He seemed like a normal kid to me." He really didn't remember anything, did he? She didn't look at Hoover for confirmation. Braun exhaled. "Look, I understand what you're going through is difficult. It's difficult for me, as well. You've got to get your act togeth―"

Leonhardt wheeled around, grabbed him by the front of the shirt and slammed him with all her might into the nearest wall. Hoover's cry of alarm did nothing to dissuade her.

"We can't keep avoiding this forever," she spat, meeting Braun's eyes from below. "Right now we're going to allow humanity to deal with the fallout. But it's going to catch up to you soon, and it's not going to just be you that's made a pariah." Braun grunted, seemingly unaffected by the blow. "Don't lose sight of the mission," she said. "For humanity's sake as much as ours."

She let him drop. Turned away, refusing to look at Hoover. The only difference between them was how thoroughly the lie had seeped into his consciousness.

…

Waking up to sunlight. Feverish, the taste of salt and iron in the back of her throat. Her new dorm had curtains. Life in Stohess's Military Police HQ meant little beyond a change in scenery. Ennui settling in with the lack of any meaningful progress or purpose. The sound of crickets replaced by horse-drawn carriages and conversations from passersby. Maybe the occasional drunken brawl outside during the evenings. Those were pretty easy to break up. Leonhardt didn't usually get patrol duty. It would seem putting a stop to fights, with or without resorting to force, was directly antithetical to the MP MO. Lately they had her pushing papers.

Days turning cyclical and uneventful. The hollow in her chest made for a better companion than her new roommate.

"You can't lay there like a dead fish," Dreyse said, already half-dressed. "We need to be downstairs in ten."

Leonhardt got up. She walked over and pulled her hair into a bun. "Why aren't you downstairs already?"

Dreyse sniffed. "Freudenberg's a stickler for protocol. He's a pain in the ass. I get why he's so serious, but he's the only one who cares."

Anything to get away from her faster. "Eren Jaeger's supposed to be going on trial soon. The Scouts have got him locked up." Leonhardt hummed noncommitally. "He was in your division, wasn't he? What was he like?"

Leonhardt shrugged. "He seemed like he'd make a good captain one day, if he didn't get himself killed first." Dreyse looked a little underwhelmed. "What were you expecting?"

"I dunno." She shuddered. "It's a horrible idea, isn't it? A human turning into one of those things."