Chapter 24

Thick late summer clouds puff their way overhead as the trainees prepare to pack up and move out. The dorms are somehow larger, now that a quarter of our ranks are gone. Quieter, too. A hush has fallen over us, like a veil of silence sinking to the ground, fog-like and cloying. Despite the painfully evident bewilderment, suspicion, and curiosity laced into every glance I receive, no one approaches to ask me why I'm not gone yet. None of the officers have dragged me out, either, but they've confiscated my ODM gear. Now I'm just a doll, displayed for viewing pleasure, everyone waiting with baited breath to see when my shelf will topple over.

Time is fleeting. The person who believes themselves to be full of it will soon find themselves bereft of its embrace. The person scraping by second by second will either keel over before they collect a minute or find themselves with too many miserable hours left to spend. If the greedy overestimate their wealth–if the destitute cannot escape its whims–then it is the cunning of the individual that stands to make the most off of time's fickle nature.

It won't be long until I'm kicked out of the 107th. For now, all I can do is make the most of the time I have left here with these people.

I refuse to say goodbye, though. That feels too much like admitting defeat. It's like surrendering before a fight: lying down once the bear appears in the woods. The second I listen to that girl with the sand and the headband and decide that this truly is the extent of my capabilities, then her words will become true. The last thing I intend to do is fulfill her expectations. I'm Aliva fucking Moreau, after all, and if there is one thing I am good at it is ignoring my fate.

Mina smooths down the top blanket of the bunk we used to share. "I can't believe you're really going to leave us," she mourns, standing up straight and sighing deeply. Her eyes linger on the bottom bunk before turning belatedly towards the top one. "When we get back from Trost I'll be stuck on the top again, sleeping with some stranger underneath me."

"You'll attract what you admit," I warn her, smiling despite the dull sadness itching its way across my chest. It would have been nice to have more time with Mina. "For all you know, it could very well be someone like Christa or Ymir that gets relocated over here with you."

"I wish." She takes a final look, scrutinizing our folding, picking at air, at invisible specks she keeps finding on the blanket. I indulge her: what's an extra minute here, if not an extra minute spent with her? Finally, when there's nowhere else for her to inspect, Mina deflates and steps back from the bed. "Well then. Do you have everything?"

"Mhm. Do you?"

She shrugs her pack up higher on her shoulders. "Only what I'll need while we're stationed in Trost. The officers say the drill won't take all that long."

This, at least, is news to me. It's been arranged so that I can hitch a ride with the trainees on the way to Trost–which is no doubt Shadis's version of sympathy for me–but as far as the details of the 107th's stay in the district, I'm no longer privy to them. I don't bother to ask Mina how long she expects to be away from the camp. It would be better, I think, if I wasn't counting down the days until my path diverges and stumbles off into uncharted territory alone.

Mina and I weave our way through the bunks, heading for where Christa and Ymir promised to meet us. I hang back, walking in her footsteps, almost reluctant to follow her in full. The little blonde and her gangly brunette bodyguard turn in unison as they see us approach. "Ready to go?" Christa beams, though I notice her smile turn sympathetic when she looks at my pack and my unadorned hips. I notice that she's already got her blades; Ymir doesn't. I can't imagine that she would, though, given her nonchalance and proud disinterest in everything that isn't her companion.

Ymir juts a hip out, putting her weight on her left leg. "They wouldn't be here if they weren't ready, Christa."

She laughs in response, the sound merry and effortless. Their exchanges are as natural as breathing, as harmonious as night and day. The kind of surety that lasts. It's enviable, their dynamic. Mina nods towards the door, and wordlessly, we migrate.

That is until I notice a certain someone meandering the same way we're going. I reach out, placing a light hand on Mina's shoulder. "I'll catch up with you guys later," I say, and I can't help but smile as I watch Christa and Mina's expressions morph into protest. "Promise."

I break away before they can guilt me into staying, dodging and weaving like a hunter stalking through the trees. The prowling wildcat watches me approach, hackles raised, but it stands its ground.

"Aliva," Annie says curtly. Looks like she earned her blades, too.

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Then ask. Don't state your intention as if you're seeking my approval."

I breathe in through my nose, affronted despite myself. "Goodness, Annie. I just wanted to know if Reiner spoke to you about what happened at the obstacle course."

She gives me a look that says, do I look like I care? "What he does is his business."

Fine, then. I change tactics, stepping out into open air with Annie. We walk slightly away from others, just enough so to guarantee our conversation's privacy. She doesn't exactly look pleased with my being there, but at the same time, matches her pace to mine in the way she used to do all the time when we went on our walks. It makes me a little nostalgic, a little melancholy. "The day you guys all severed ties with me. How did you decide to do it?"

Annie studies me, then turns away. "Does it matter?"

"Yes." When it becomes apparent that I haven't convinced her yet, I lean in closer, offering her a soft smile. "I'd like to leave here with peace of mind."

For whatever reason, that seems to do the trick. She purses her lips faintly; I catch her rubbing a finger on the sleeve of her hoodie. "It was Reiner's idea. He said it would be better to distance ourselves than to get involved with you. It was mercy."

"Mercy," I murmur, sounding out the word and all its implications. "Is that why he froze up when I collapsed? Because it would be more merciful to let me die naturally, than to bear the guilt and weight that would come with silencing me himself?"

Annie stops walking and spins on me, eyes sharp and teeth flashing. "You know all of our secrets. We know none of yours. How is that fair? We did what we did because none of us could trust you back then. Sure, we changed our minds. So what is it that you want me to say, Aliva? What words are you so desperate to hear crawl out of my mouth? That Bertholdt went along readily with returning your medicine to your person, because he enlisted in the warrior candidate program in hopes of ailing his sickly father? That Reiner is caught between the soldier and the warrior in him, and he can't decide which side you're truly aligned with? That he thought to distance himself in the only way he knows how? That I don't give a single fuck about what happens to you so long as you stay out of my way?"

The tips of Annie's cheeks are lightly, gently, dusted rosy by her sudden outburst. It's nice to see her let loose like this. To see her unwind, to lose the composure she wears like armor. I doubt I'll ever see her like this again.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear," I admit. "Thanks."

She falls silent. But she stays by my side, and we walk together like friends might even do. I don't think I'll ever consider Annie a friend in full. But I find something here worth saving, I guess. Something that roots me to this place and reminds me that I have to find my way back to these people.

"Annie. Call in a favor, sometime. I'll do it."

She raises an eyebrow. "Why would I need to do something like that?"
I shrug. I feel lighter now, more at peace. Freer. "I owe you for helping me train. And it gives me an excuse to come back."

She scoffs, but not even Annie can disguise the way the corners of her eyes warp with subtle amusement. "I doubt we'll see each other again."

"Then no need to mention that favor," I tease.

We walk past the cabins and the mess hall. Past the infirmary and the swings, and the tree I remember holding my first true conversation with Annie at. The seasons will change, the trainees will stay here, and I alone will be unable to witness the passage of time here in this place. I alone will move on.

In a lot of ways, Trost feels rather like Shiganshina. The walls are just as high. The streets are just as cramped and disorderly. I make it through the gate with my head held high, but my time with the 107th comes to an end shortly after. The wagon I'm in lurches to the side for a moment. The officer on horseback next to us practically bores a hole straight into my head when he clears his throat and addresses me. "This is where you leave us, Moreau." I nod, not really expecting anything more than this. Even now, having slept on the conversation I had with Shadis and that other man, the rest of what was said still feels like non reality. Of course it was only empty words said to appease me.

Just when I think that's the end, the officer shocks me and everyone else within earshot by continuing to speak.

"Commander Pyxis has been notified of your arrival. A member of the garrison is waiting in the alley behind us to escort you."

Heads bob up from all over the wagon. There's a few that I recognize: Jean and Connie, Sasha and Armin. Each holds a different kind of expression: Armin's, the most concerning. I avert my eyes quickly only to find them locked with Reiner's.

Has he been in this wagon the whole time?

He's looking at me like he doesn't recognize what he's seeing. There's something guarded there, like the way he looked back when I claimed to be an important person with a top secret Marleyan mission of my own. It shocks me to realize that in the six months that have passed since that day in the cave, I can't read him well anymore.

Perhaps I never really could.

"Understood. I'll take my leave, then." The officer nods. He watches me intently as I stand and make my way down the wagon's center aisle, clasping hands and making half-formed promises to write letters or arrange visits to the district barracks when I get clearance to. I've no heart to tell them that once I walk off this wagon, I'll be going dark. It'll be as if we aren't in the same district. As if I was never here at all.

"Aliva," Reiner says, voice warm and rocking. It reminds me of the whiskey in Shadis's office, in the hands of that blonde man. Rumbling, rolling. Twirling in the cup, savored on the tongue. I stand in front of the man I nearly went mad for. All eyes are on us. "I want to apologize–"

"No," I correct him softly, "you don't."

"But–"

"Next time, step aside sooner. Otherwise someone's feelings could get hurt." Let him wonder whether or not I'm talking about my resuscitation, or our exchanges on a whole. My heart is a cannonball shoved between my ribs, slowly cracking the bones it rests upon, slowly bending my insides to accommodate its weight.

I step onto the ground and head into the alley without looking back.

Sure enough, there's a woman in casual clothing and the unmistakable gait of a soldier waiting for me. She nods in acknowledgement. "Let's get going."

We take the alley out the other end, and the second that light strikes her figure, the troop's disposition changes entirely. She becomes a fawning older sister, clinging to me and showing me every passing eatery and boutique. "What a shame aunt raised you in a village that didn't have anything like this!"

I go along as well as I'm able, grateful for the surrender of my trainee jacket and ODM gear. I look the part of a newcomer to Trost, a traveler or a tourist, depending on the way the sunlight casts shadows on my face. We prowl through the streets like women on a mission (which, to be fair, is a pretty accurate description), until we end up at a weirdly posh-looking meadery. Plump bushes mark the perimeter of the establishment, with thick gambrel roofing and tastefully curved eaves. Dark wood and pale white paint clash and compliment each other in the daylight, making the whole building look rather distinct from the rest of the street. I head inside with the garrison woman, who chats eagerly with a staff member before ducking under a potted vine cluster and heading towards the back.

"Knew you'd be here," she mock-grumbles, with the kind of warm exasperation shared between bickering friends. The man she addresses is just as bald as Shadis, with a watery smile that splashes onto his face far easier than Shadis's ever did. He's got a sampling tray of meads and wines sprawled out on the table before him, a charcuterie board to compliment the beverages. He leans forward and plucks a pale white mead from the tray, sniffing it as he does.

"Conversations like these are better had here, don't you think?" His mustache peeks up at the corners as he smiles and motions us to sit. As we do, he samples his current glass, humming thoughtfully to himself in the process. A rather eccentric man, indeed.

Last night, with a flickering candle illuminating the pages, I did a quick scan of my book to understand what kind of man I'd be meeting up with in Trost. He's every bit as lighthearted and affable as past-Aliva claimed he'd be. After meeting him, I feel almost bad about the future he's allegedly supposed to be subjected to. Turning into a mindless titan after succumbing to a tainted vice hardly seems like the way for a man of his stature to go.

Or is that rather fitting?

My wooden chair makes little scooting sounds as I ease it back before sitting down. "This is Aliva Moreau, Commander. Shadis's former trainee."

Pyxis nods his head, raises his glass a hair. "Dot Pyxis. I've been eager to meet you, Miss Moreau."

"It's an honor to meet you, Commander Pyxis."

He snorts and bats my address away. "You're not a trainee anymore, Miss Moreau. Dot is just fine."

The other woman shifts in her seat. Clearly, that familiarity has not been extended to her. "Sir–"

"Have a drink, why don't you?" Judging by the way her lips press thinly together, it's not an appealing offer. Pyxis glances my way. "How old are you, anyways?"

"Eighteen, as of a few days ago."

He nods knowingly to himself. "Such a lovely age for the youth. Full of potential, full of vigor. Go on, then, try one of the meads here. You're of that age now."

I think of the drunken exchange I had with Jean and hide a chuckle by picking one of the light red drinks and raising it to my lips. It's sweet, but not cloyingly so. Like summer strawberries, mint, and honey. Pyxis sets his glass down and laces his fingers together before resting them under his chin. "You know why you're here, yes?"

I nod. "Of course."

"Good. That saves me an explanation, then." Like a cloud drained of water, that loose demeanor of his evaporates, morphing into a more businesslike form. The man before me is head of the garrison troops, that's for damn sure. "Your father has been causing us quite the headache, you see, but we lack enough evidence to topple the den he's set up. If we move on him, the rest of the chain will scatter. If we pry too recklessly, they'll disappear and relocate out of my jurisdiction."

"So I heard." I press my thumb to my glass and peel it back, staring down at the fingerprint left over. A mark on the world, a signature only I can make. A role only I can fulfill. "Does my father seem eager to welcome me back?"

This time, it's the woman next to me who speaks. "We can only speculate. Of course, your being a former trainee will be a potential cause for suspicion, but as long as you're unaffiliated with both the 107th and the garrison in Trost, it's unlikely that his wariness will last long."

"How long until he drops his guard, then?"

The two members of the garrison exchange a look before Pyxis grins. "That all depends on you. When you've found something of use, come here. Ask to make a reservation for the day after at noon. We'll exchange information then."

"And if I don't find anything to incriminate him and the rest of the coderoin trail? How long will you wait?"

All amusement fades from the man's wrinkled eyes. It's all business, now. "Half a year. No more."

I nod and process the time frame while I take another sip of the mead. Half a year is a lot of time, subjectively. Enough time to weasel my way back into the life of the man whose new source of income destroyed the last of the oleuropein-producing farms in this place. That is, if he's truly involved. If he's not, I'll let the trail go cold. If he is, though…I guess it depends on what kind of man he's become and what kind of woman I'm willing to be in order to accomplish my goals.

Like he can read my mind, Pyxis changes directions, attacking the only reason I'm even entertaining the thought of getting involved with all of this. "I was told you wanted a favor in exchange for your cooperation."

"Yes." Mindful of the woman next to me, I school my face into affable disinterest, as if my desire is merely a passing fancy, not the thing I'm staking everything on. "I need to get back into the 107th."

This, at least, seems to catch the commander off guard. "If you desire to re-enlist, the 108th will be formed shortly. You could join up with them."

"No," I say, shaking my head. "It has to be the 107th. Preferably the same region as before."

Pyxis clicks his tongue. "We won't be able to explain away your absence to your peers if you rejoin them without reason. No one is supposed to know you're affiliated with the garrison for this, Miss Moreau. Even if I pull a few strings, the best I can do for you is have you relocated into one of the other three sectors of the 107th under the guise of a transfer. That will be the extent of my involvement. Whether you survive or not will be up to you."

"Of course."

The man before me offers me a satisfied smile, extending his hand over the table. "Shall we shake on it, then?"

It's not a perfect deal. There's much to be desired, starting with the fact that I'll only earn his favor if I betray my father and ending with the notion that this won't get me back to where I truly belong. But at least this is a start. I'll have to lie and cheat and backstab a little bit more to get back to that cramped little camp with the people I've undoubtedly let into my heart, but I'll do it. I'll do it or die trying.

I grasp his hand firmly. "You have yourself a deal, Commander."

"Dot."

"Pyxis," I compromise, and he grins.

"Pyxis it is."

The garrison woman, after watching me stare helplessly at the address scrawled down on the piece of paper she hands me, guides me out of the shopping districts and towards the residences across town. She escorts me until just a few streets over from my alleged destination, leaves me with a slew of verbal directions, and vanishes into the nearest alleyway.

I make the rest of the journey alone, careful not to lose track of my progress by slipping into my thoughts.

The street my father lives on is a lot wider than the one in Shiganshina. It's evenly cobbled, with carriages and horses dotting its length. Lovely two story houses adorn both sides of the way, with pale gray brickwork and gleaming red tiled roofs. Unease cords its way into my throat, making me nauseous that one of those large standalone houses is the one I'm supposed to find, until I pass the fountain mentioned in the troop's instructions and find my shoulders relaxing. Rather than one of those stocky houses, the building I'm due to approach is more like an apartment complex, three stories tall with dozens of windows. I head up the walk and dart inside before I can lose the courage to.

The inside is cool, well-tempered for it being late summer. A parlor unfolds to my right; stairs to the left. I single out a friendly-looking woman with a weirdly large purse and approach her. "Excuse me," I interject, keeping my tone courteous and innocent. She glares down the length of her nose at me, but I plunge onwards anyways. "I was wondering if you know where the Moreau residence is?"

At the mention of the Moreau name, her whole person lights up, the mole above her lip shooting upwards as she laughs. Similar, in a weird way, to the freckle in the corner of my lip. Although she's got lighter hair than I do, the kind of tawny brown that looks like unevenly stained wood. "I should've known! You're the spitting image of your father." At that, she stoops downward–damn, she's tall–and cups my cheek affectionately. I'm too stunned to stop her. "Betham went upstairs to grab a cigar. He'll be right back down, so why don't you wait for him here?"

"Ah. Er. Thank you…"

"Adelheid," she finishes for me, something fox-like in her warm expression. "Though you can call me–"

"Aliva." I whirl around. Behind me, halfway between the first and second floors, a man stands with both hands gripping the stairway's railing. He's larger than he was when I saw him last. He's been eating well. And his clothes, too: they're finer, cut of a cloth I can't even name. Gold flashes at his wrist. I spy the ring on his finger, and the emotions exploding onto his face, and find myself relaxing. This is what I wanted. This…

What can I call this?

I don't know what to name this. I am relieved to be reunited. My conscience is lighter, for the first time in years. But the part of me that remembers the hardships of living as a refugee bristles at the sight of my father's well-endowed figure. I'm not stupid. Coderoin has only gained traction within the walls as of late; the manner with which Betham carries himself isn't something that he could acquire overnight.

If anything, he's been like this all along.

I stay silent as he finishes descending the stairs. Say nothing as he approaches, half-running and half-walking until he sweeps me up into his arms. "When I got that letter, saying you'd flunked out of recruitment and were heading home, I almost didn't believe it, but here you are. Alive and well."

He pulls back to inspect my face, beaming. I feel ill at ease, yet in the moment, all I can think to say is, "I didn't flunk out, I just…"

"I know, I know," he hushes me, wrapping me back up in another hug. How different he seems from the man I remember, the one who sent me off to pay for my medicine with my last keepsake. "All that matters is you're finally here. I held out hope, of course, that you'd eventually pay me a visit, but you never–"

I pull back with a sudden sharpness. "Wait. What?"

Betham blinks. Like he's only belatedly realizing what he'd said. He clears his throat. Offers me a weak smile, the kind meant to appease without any real intention behind it. "Well, it's a long story, and I'm sure you're tired from traveling. Why don't I show you to your room, and we can talk about it after I get back?"

My brows clench together. "Get back?" I echo. "You're leaving already?"

"Well," he starts, "I have an appointment I can't miss." But his eyes betray him. I follow where they lead to find Adelheid, who I'd all but forgotten about, standing just behind me. Almost as if she'd wanted to slip out of view and let Betham and I have our moment. Which shouldn't be surprising; it's what any considerate person would do, really.

Except now that I'm looking at her, now that I'm looking at him, I can't stop thinking about her hand on my cheek. Her hand, with chilled metal wrapped around one of her fingers, that very same metal now gleaming up at me.

Gold and a glittering, large gem.

This time, when Betham clears his throat, I hardly hear him over the noise flooding into my head. My thumb reaches instinctively to the wedding band I've worn every day and night since losing my mother. The ring I thought was half of a matched set. "I, ah, should introduce the two of you," he fumbles, voice weird and low. It's so dissimilar to the firm hardness of the man I remember, the man willing to do anything to keep his family afloat in an unfamiliar district stripped of their wealth and their pride.

We don't have the money, Efa.

I know.

If those bastards hadn't–we never would've been stuck out here–she wouldn't have to talk to some hick doctor–

I know, Betham, I do. But we're not in Stohess anymore. We don't have the kind of money we used to.

Business will pick up soon. Then the three of us can buy back all our stuff. Maybe move up to a bigger house, if you want it. Or maybe out to Trost. Whatever you and Aliva want.

Or maybe it was always like this. Maybe the memories I lack are ones that would have warned me about this sort of thing.

"Adelheid, this is Aliva. My daughter."

Adelheid smiles again. Her breath smells of warm milk. "I've heard so much about you, honey. That's why I recognized you the second I saw you."

Betham seems overjoyed by her warm reception of me, so much so that he plunges ahead in his effort to assimilate us to each other's existence. "And Aliva, this is Adelheid."

At the sound of her name, she creeps closer to his side. He reaches out and places his hand dangerously low on the small of her back.

"Adelheid is my wife."

A/N: I got to leave work early today, and then my new keyboard got delivered (though I did have to go on a whole package reclamation arc after it got package-nabbed), so it was easy peasy to crank out another chapter for all of you! I hope the story isn't boring any of you. I promise that this is all still relevant to the series we know and love!

Speaking of, I know the show is ending soon, so I'll do my best to keep updating regularly as I switch from full time to part time during the upcoming semester. That way, even if AOT is over both as a manga and an anime, you'll still have something loosely similar to look forward to.

Last order of business: the official ship names for some of the pairings in here have arrived! We've got Reiva for Reiner x Aliva, Ereva for Eren x Aliva, Livean for Jean x Aliva, and Vina for Mina x Aliva.

Until next time!