Chapter 40

We relocate to Trost for the reading of the scores. Night falls, the die are cast; everything lands exactly as seen in the office. Mikasa, Reiner, Annie, Bertholdt, Eren, Hitch, Jean, Floch, Marlo and Marco are the 107th's top ten. We seat ourselves in Trost's extensive mess hall and congratulations waft from every corner of the room. I take my time, soaking in the scenery: this is where the 107th was stationed back when I was kicked out of the division. It feels weird being back in Trost in general. It makes me wonder where Betham and Adelheid have scurried off to. If Pixis managed to track them down, or if they're still somewhere off within the walls, making their papafer leaves, fueling the coderoin trade…

"I can't believe we all made it," Mina says, resting her head on my shoulder. She's got an easy grin that hasn't left her face since the results were announced. "After all this time…"

"I'm glad we're still facing this together," Christa agrees. She's seated across from us, sharing space with Ymir, who glances at Christa like she's dumb.

"You do realize that we're all supposed to apply for our assignments tomorrow, right? As in, our separate assignments?"

Christa opens her mouth to protest, but Mina beats her to it. "Well, I guess that depends on if we're splitting up or not. None of us can pick the military police, so…I guess it's between the scouts and the garrison?"

Mina doesn't relinquish her spot on my shoulder to look at me, but when she taps the ring on my finger, I know what she's asking me. "I'm not sure where I'll go." I turn my attention down the table, towards where some of the others are sitting. People are congratulating Jean and Marco in earnest, lamenting their own inability to land themselves in the top ten. I can't hear what they're saying, but it wouldn't take a genius to realize that they're going to take advantage of the spot they earned and head off into the military police. Almost as if on cue, Jean's voice picks up, shouting eagerly.

"We can escape this shithole at last! Comfort and peace awaits us!" I feel Mina bristle. How many people here can say they know what life is truly like in the innermost wall? I rub soothing circles on her back, taking note of all the ways those within earshot have closed off. Forks click idly against plates. I feel for the cadets that didn't place well, the ones that aspired but stopped short of their dreams. I feel, most of all, for Mina. When Jean starts raving about how no one chooses to be here–how, if given the chance, everyone in this room would pounce on the opportunity to relocate inside the inner walls–I move my hand under the table and hold Mina's tightly. Ymir eats nonchalantly, as if she can't even hear what's being said. Christa frowns openly but doesn't say anything.

If I wasn't sitting here, steadying Mina, I think I would have shouted at Jean. Smacked him upside the head for being so inordinately dense, now, of all times. It was Mina's dream to score in the top ten, to make it back into the capital just to reassure her family that she was okay. Is her dream any less valid than Jean's? Any less important? "I didn't ask for this," she whispers, and my fingers clench tighter around her own.

"I know. I know." I kiss the crown of her head, repeating those words directly into her scalp, as if I can transplant them directly into her head this way.

My respect for Jean, in all of those minute exchanges and simple moments, is the only thing that keeps me from doing something stupid. Instead I glance frequently at Marco, who's trying to talk Jean back from the ledge he's nearly thrown himself over. It's only because I'm glancing over so frequently that I notice Eren push back from his seat and stand up.

"Hey."

We're too far away to hear what's said at passive volume, but it must've been worth noting as Reiner snorts his drink out of his nose straight onto Armin's hair. Whatever Eren's said has clearly come at Jean's expense; the taller boy pivots around, all lightheartedness wiped off his face. He leans forward in his chair, punctuating his response with animated gestures. Mikasa's got a hand half-extended towards Eren. Marco's got one near Jean. Yet neither of them stop their respective parties. I keep rubbing circles against Mina's back, raising my head to see better.

Eren glances my way. For a split second his brows knit, no doubt judging me for how I'm holding Mina. He turns back to Jean.

And…raises his voice loud enough for even us to hear from where we sit. "So you're giving up, huh? Just because you don't think you can win against the titans?"

Jean rolls his eyes with the kind of emphasis that feels sort of unnecessary, yet entirely understandable. "Here we go again–"

"So that's it? You're just gonna climb over your comrades and use them as stepping stones to get yourself a taste of the good life. Humanity can't win against the titans, so it's every man for himself, and to hell with the rest of 'em?"

"Eren, that's not–"

Eren's voice crawls up in anger and force. "No, that's exactly it. I'll admit that humanity has lost against the titans before…but only because we lacked information. As long as we have the drive to drag down these walls and look beyond them, we can defeat them all."

For a moment, Mina lifts her head. She's studying Eren, listening intently. But she doesn't let go of my hand.

Jean scoffs. "So that's your big plan? The power of friendship–really? Look around, Eren. Do you see anyone agreeing with you? We were trainees together: but everyone else here is a realist. Not a dreamer like you."

Eren scowls, glancing down. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. So why don't you and the other realists just go off to your cozy jobs in the interior, where you won't have to worry about a damn thing? Where you can enjoy yourself and get fat off your new life there. Having a defeatist like you around would only fuck us over."

Jean finally laughs, that kind of hot-headed defensive sound as he gets up in Eren's face. "Oh, I will go, and I'll enjoy every damn second. Not all of us are suicidal blockheads just waiting to jump in bed with the titans."

There's a beat of silence. I see Eren's mouth move, but I'm not sure what he says. Jean looks for all the world like he's settled that argument of theirs. Settled and won.

And then they're both swinging.

"Told you," Ymir says, nudging Christa. "They were too pent up to not fight one last time."

"Oh, shh." Christa slides a thin coin towards Ymir, who gladly takes it and pockets it. It's a funny image, to think that the freckled brunette has somehow managed to convolute our dainty blonde enough to get her into gambling.

Whoops and cries ring out in almost too-eager exclamations. It's as if this fight has become a desperate source of eased tension for the fresh cadets that were hanging on their argument's every word. The fear of the titans is understandable. Can self-preservationists be blamed when standing in the shadow of one of those beasts? I at least have no right to judge someone like Marco and Jean. Not after bending over backwards just to get back into the 107th for my own selfish purposes. And at the same time…the drive to do something, to cling to desperate frenzied hope is understandable, too. If we acknowledge our inability to fight back then we devolve into chaos. More than impressions and keeping up appearances, we need people that genuinely believe we stand a chance. We need people like Eren.

Carla would want me to follow him, no doubt. To become a scout.

…But can I? Will I?

Mikasa scoops Eren up, effectively ending the squabble then and there. The two boys still chirp unsavories back and forth at each other, affronted at the dismissal of their combat and high on the elation of their success. Of our collective victory, our collective achievements. This morning we were trainees. Tonight, we are cadets. Tomorrow evening…we will be recruits.

Mikasa carries Eren out of the mess hall, with Armin getting up to follow them shortly after. Christa and Ymir make their exit shortly after, announcing that they're heading off to the dorms. Mina and I stay close together as our friends leave. Only when we're alone does she raise her head and make an effort to at least appear to be eating.

"You don't have to pretend, you know," I tell her. "Not with me."

She nods and, after a belated moment, drops her fork. It goes down like a white flag, sodden and tattered. "It's just…god, I was so close. I thought I was, at least. For a second during the test I felt like I was on top of the world. It felt like, hey, you've got a fair shot–but I didn't get it. And even though I've always thought I was being realistic, considering every possible outcome, only now that I know I can't pick the military police is it dawning on me that I never truly considered having to pick anything else."

My gaze softens as I look at Mina. She looks…lost. I would be too, I think, were I in her position. "What if you wrote a letter and gave it to Marco? When he gets to the military police stations, maybe he can pass the letter off to your parents. Or at least to someone who could get it to them."

Mina starts shaking her head as if on instinct, then– "I…actually might do that. Thank you." Her eyes twinkle in the low light as she turns to me, head on, looking into my eyes for the first time since Jean opened his big stupid mouth. "I'm going to head back to the dorm and start writing."

I nod. "Room's all yours. Take your time." As she gets up, I reach out and pinch the ends of her blue ribbon. The tie comes loose, freeing half a head of her hair, and she turns around with a laugh in her throat and an ease to her grin that I've missed.

"Hey!"

I reach back and tie the ribbon at the base of my braid. "I'm taking this as collateral. So you can't get too sad writing your letter and lock me out of the room to wallow."

She sighs, though still smiling, as she unties the other pigtail and does her hair up in a ponytail instead. "Alright, alright."

Mina leaves like a dancer, flitting down the rows of cadets until she bounds out of sight entirely. I watch her go, a bemused smile stuck on my face, before returning to my food. I eat. Say all the right things to all the right people.

Marlo slides into a chair next to me when I've let my guard down. I glance over at him, curious as to why he'd approach me, but not enough to actually ask. So instead I return my eyes to the mingling hall, scanning for a girl with wavy hair. "Where's your better half?"

He shrugs as if he already knows. "Found someone to watch the moon with." What a funny expression. It makes me think of the time Reiner and I spent on the rooftop; before I know it, my eyes are seeking him out, but he's speaking into Bertholdt's ear, pulling back every now and then to laugh at something Connie says to him. Chills spring up my arms and I glance away.

"That so?"

"Mhm."

I sigh. "And you're here…"

"Because she wanted me to pass along a message."

"Ah." I lean back in the chair. "Couldn't do it herself?"

Marlo's brow twitches. His lips are faintly downturned, as if he finds all this revelry to be inappropriate. He sits straight-backed in the chair. A real ass-kissing bootlicker, through and through. If an instructor stormed in right now they'd scorn all of us but him. "Like I said. Moon watching."

Someone starts singing, and then suddenly everyone who's got half a mind to carry a tune is too, and I'm closing my eyes to soak it all in. I'm not familiar with the words like everyone else; I listen to the various cadets fumble over their bridges, swaying and stretching the verses as they see fit. "So? What's the message?"

"She wanted to say thanks. And sorry." I crack an eye open to glance at Marlo. He reads my gaze and shrugs again. "Thanks for letting her teach you. And sorry for what Heidi said." That surprises me. And I think Marlo can tell. He stands up, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else now that he's done his civic duty as Hitch's messenger. "They had a fling of sorts. Hitch called it off after she heard what Heidi and the others did."

I make a thoughtful noise in the back of my throat. What else am I to say to something like that after all this time?

Marlo leaves, and I'm alone again, watching Reiner and Bertholdt's faces go slack before they walk out, too. Floch has wandered off to comfort Jean. Marco is hanging around Sasha and Connie, trying and failing to understand the improvised song the two of them are singing. Something in me begins to boil up. Some urge, to sing louder than the rest of them, to weave an auditory tale through the chords of the masses. I want to stitch together a song from all this monotony, a song like warm-barreled autumns and wood twisted and thick. I rise like a fever and make my way out of the mess hall, humming a tune, losing focus.

"This world is cru-el to the people that it loves…"

I duck into a darker side of the street. Open air from the night crunches above me, blackberries thick and heady, a ripe bush in the sky. The lights flicker lazily, reflecting shallow puddles of rainwater and glistening cobblestone roads. The walk to the dorms is short. Short enough that I've lowered my guard, humming along, trying to remember words that aren't coming to mind.

I found the corner and immediately there's hands on me, seizing my shoulders. The fight comes instinctively. Adrenaline has me pushing back, grappling against my attacker in a contest of strength. One that I am losing. "You," he seethes, a voice unmistakably masculine. I struggle to pivot us, to get the light onto his face, but I know it's unnecessary. The green eyes that I know so well flicker prominently even in the low light.

"The fuck is your problem Eren?" I shove off, pushing against his chest—pounding against it, even—but he won't let my shoulders go.

"You were there. You saw it happen."

"What on earth are you pissing on about?" I crane my neck, glancing around us. "Where's Armin and Mikasa?"

He shakes me by the shoulders, ignoring my questions entirely. His gaze is almost starved, desperate, rabid. No—it's haunted. His eyes are bloodshot where they finally catch in the light. "When the wall broke. When that titan…"

My strength falters. "Eren, what—"

His jaw twitches. His grip bears down against me, even more painful than before. "You were there. Tell me you were there."

"I was there," I finally say, giving up trying to push him away until he gains his senses back. His voice is thick and irregular. Like he can't even hold himself together, and that's why he's lashed himself against me.

"What did you see? Tell me."

I don't want to relive that moment. I look away, but it's all rushing back: the house crumbled over Carla's leg. The beam, the pairs of hands prying in vain against its weight. Hannes squaring off against the titan. Blood raining down like water, the blade peeled up from the ground, the foot amputated. Eren shakes me again, this time harder. My neck dances in painful jerks, making me push him away yet again, scowling, anger boiling to the surface. "Why are you doing this?"

"TELL ME."

There's—

There are tears in Eren's eyes. And, just like that, my guard begins to drop. "I…your mom. I tried to get her out of the house. It collapsed. She got stuck. You and Mikasa showed up…and then Hannes…he sacrificed himself. Bought us time to get Carla out."

I expected Eren to flinch, or scowl, or condemn me for speaking of his mother. But he's just nodding, lost to himself once again. "Yes," he says. "We were there. We saw it."

"Hannes is dead."

I feel my face warp with confusion. "Yes," I tell him, saying it slowly. Something dread-like begins to stir in the pit of my gut. "Hannes is dead, Eren. We saw him die."

"Then"—Eren chokes on his own words, and his eyes go vividly white—"then how was I talking to Hannes just now?"

A/N: And so starts the Trost arc...