The rustling of leaves and the snap of branches in the distance made Levi tense, his hand instinctively reaching for a blade that wasn't there. He pushed Beatrice slightly behind him, his senses sharp.

But then—he heard voices. Familiar ones.

"Oi! There they are!"

Torches flared in the darkness, illuminating the clearing just beyond their hiding spot. Shadows moved between the trees, but instead of enemies, Levi caught sight of cadets in uniform. For the first time that night, Levi allowed himself to exhale.

Farlan was at the front of the group, his eyes scanning the darkness until they landed on Beatrice. The relief in his expression was immediate. "Bea!"

Before Levi could react, Farlan was there, arms steadying her as she swayed slightly. He held her with a gentleness that made Levi's stomach twist in an unfamiliar way.

"Are you okay?" Farlan asked, his hands gripping her arms firmly, his gaze searching her face. "Damn it, you're hurt."

Beatrice gave a tired smile. "It's just a scratch."

Levi clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. "That's what she said before she nearly passed out on me."

Farlan shot him a look before refocusing on Beatrice. "You two shouldn't have been out here alone. You should've waited."

Beatrice let out a breathy chuckle, shaking her head. Levi's brows twitched, his irritation rising for reasons he didn't want to name.

Before Beatrice could reply, another voice cut in.

"We got 'em."

One of the cadets dragged a struggling man forward, his hands bound tightly behind his back. He was one of the pursuers—one of the men who had been hunting them. Several others followed, captured and restrained, their weapons stripped away.

Levi stepped forward, his expression darkening. "Took you long enough."

The cadet, a wiry-looking recruit, grinned. "What, you didn't miss us?"

Levi rolled his eyes. "Like a damn headache."

Beatrice smirked despite herself. She was exhausted, her body aching from the night's ordeal, but relief washed over her as she took in the sight of the captured enemies. It was over.

For now.

Farlan didn't let go of her, his grip still firm. "Come on, we need to get you both back. You need medical attention."

Levi turned away, already heading toward the waiting horses. "Let's move."

Farlan carefully guided Beatrice forward, his touch lingering. Levi didn't look back. He didn't need to. He could feel it—the way Farlan held her, the way she leaned into him.

Something sharp settled in Levi's chest, but he ignored it.

It didn't matter.

They were safe now.

That was all that mattered.

Wasn't it?

The forest had quieted, save for the occasional rustle of leaves under cautious steps and the rhythmic snorting of the horses trailing behind. Beatrice swayed gently on Farlan's back, her arms looped loosely around his shoulders, while Levi followed a pace behind, every sense sharp, every breath slow.

No one spoke. Not really.

Farlan tried once or twice to coax a hum or tired chuckle from Beatrice, but the girl had gone quiet again. Not blank, not cold—just still. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, the heat of her fever obvious, and Levi could see the faint tremble of her fingers where they clutched at the folds of Farlan's uniform.

It made something in him ache. And burn.

"You're limping, Levi-bro," Isabel whispered, appearing at his side like a shadow. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Beatrice looked worse earlier… Is she okay now?" Her voice turned small, concerned.

Levi didn't answer.

Because the image of her limp, bloodied form flashing before his eyes, the way her voice had gone quiet—I always feel at home when I'm with you—was not something he could respond to with words. They arrived at the gates just past midnight. The guards took one look at the group—the blood, the ash, the captured men hauled by the cadets behind them—and waved them through without question. There would be a debriefing in the morning, no doubt. But tonight, they needed rest.

"Straight to the infirmary," Farlan murmured.

"I can walk," Beatrice whispered, lifting her head, but Farlan's grip only tightened.

"Not a chance."

As they entered HQ, the halls were quiet, lamplit, and chilled with stone. Levi finally spoke, low and curt.

"Put her on the bed nearest the wall. It's warmer."

Farlan blinked. "Uh—yeah, okay."

"Isabel," Levi added, his voice softer now, "get the medic."

Beatrice stirred, sitting up slightly as she was settled into the cot. "I'm fine," she muttered again.

"You're not," Levi said, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Stop saying that."

The medic arrived moments later, a scrawny man with tired eyes who took one look at her and frowned deeply. "You're lucky she didn't lose more blood."

"She didn't," Levi muttered, hovering like a storm cloud.

The room cleared slowly—Farlan reluctantly stepping out with Isabel after making sure Beatrice had a blanket tucked under her chin, whispering something that made her lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. Then it was just them.

Levi and Beatrice. The hush of oil lamps. Her shallow breaths.

"You always hover this much?" she murmured, red eyes sliding to meet his.

"Tch. Don't flatter yourself."

"You're not sitting."

"I don't feel like it."

She studied him quietly. "You could've left me."

Levi didn't answer. Still, silence.

"Why?" she whispered, her fingers brushing the edge of the bandage tied around her temple—the one he'd knotted himself.

His eyes flicked to her. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

Beatrice blinked. Her lips parted, but the weight of his voice pinned her in place.

He stepped closer, crouching by her side now, elbows on knees. For the first time since they'd returned, he allowed himself to really look at her.

Hair dishevelled. The bandages were soft and fraying. Her cheeks were flushed, but her breathing had calmed. Her fingers rested near the edge of the cot, trembling.

Slowly, Levi reached out, not touching—just resting his hand close enough for her to see it.

"You scared the hell out of me," he admitted under his breath.

Beatrice stared at him. "I didn't mean to." Her gaze dropped to his hand. For a moment, her own moved toward his… but stopped just shy. She didn't take it. She didn't even seem to realise she'd moved.

"Levi?" she said after a pause.

"Hn?"

"You're... warm."

He blinked.

Beatrice's eyes had fluttered closed again. Her breathing softened. The tension in her brow smoothed.

Levi remained where he was—hand still out, barely touching hers. He didn't pull back. He didn't speak.

He simply stayed.

And somewhere in the quiet, he made a silent vow.

If anyone so much as laid a finger on her again… he'd kill them. Without hesitation. Without mercy.