The sun hadn't fully risen yet. Its first light brushed the edge of the sky in soft gold and sleepy pink, just enough to cast long shadows across the courtyard where the wagons waited, where packs were loaded, and the last murmured orders floated in the cool morning air. The cadets were gathering. Graduation day had arrived. And Beatrice was already there.

Barefoot on dew-soaked grass, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, she stood behind the line of supply carts near the eastern wall, hiding in plain sight. Her breath came out in little clouds, heart pounding, clutching a small cloth bundle in her hands.

They hadn't seen her yet. She wanted it that way. For just a few seconds more. She watched them—the trio that had become her entire world. Farlan, tightening his gear and checking Isabel's pack even though she could do it herself. Isabel, bouncing on her heels, was trying to hide her tears behind excitement. And Levi, quietly adjusting his straps, every movement sharp and purposeful, always watching, always thinking. She swallowed hard. Then stepped out into the open.

Isabel saw her first.

"Bea?!" she gasped, and suddenly all three of them turned.

Beatrice smiled softly and walked forward, her hands still clutching the cloth bundle to her chest. "I wasn't going to let you leave without saying goodbye."

"You're not supposed to be out of the barracks yet!" Farlan said, voice warm with fond exasperation.

"I won't tell if you don't," she murmured, stopping just before them.

She held out the cloth bundle, unwrapping it with care.

Inside were three small charms. Tiny star-shaped tokens, carved from smooth pieces of dark wood, each wrapped in a thread of silver string.

Isabel gasped. "Are these—"

"Charms," Beatrice said. "For safety."

She handed one to each of them.

Isabel sniffled so hard it sounded like a hiccup. "You're trying to kill me with kindness—"

"And this one's for you," Beatrice said, turning to Levi. She reached into the folds of the bundle and drew out a carefully folded piece of fabric—rich slate grey, edged with a subtle stitch. It was plain. Understated. But elegant. Refined. And folded with the precision of someone who took great care. Levi blinked at it. Beatrice held it out to him with both hands.

"It's a cravat," she said quietly. "I made it from the fabric you liked. The one from the scarf you adjusted for me. I… thought you'd look nice in it."

He took it, slowly. His fingers brushed hers. He said nothing. But the way he unfolded it—delicately, like it was something rare—made her breath catch.

Isabel beamed through teary eyes. "Ohoho, look at him—he's already calculating how many shirts he owns that'll match it."

Farlan leaned in and stage-whispered, "He's going to wear that until the day he dies."

"Shut up," Levi muttered, but his voice was quiet. Too quiet.

He didn't let go of the cravat. Didn't stuff it into a pocket or hide it away. He just held it, thumb tracing the edge of the fabric like it grounded him. Then, after a beat, his eyes met Beatrice's. And he stepped closer.

"I need you to listen," he said.

Beatrice's eyes widened.

His voice dropped, low and firm. "Don't trust anyone. Not completely. Not even the ones who smile a lot. Especially the ones who smile a lot."

Beatrice nodded. "Okay."

"Keep your gear ready. Practice even if you're alone. Keep something sharp nearby. If someone looks at you wrong—"

"Levi—"

He stopped.

Because she had reached forward. Slowly. Carefully. And wrapped her arms around him. His breath stilled. Her head rested just under his chin, her hands fisting gently in the front of his uniform. She was warm and soft and very, very real. And Levi didn't move. Not for a long moment. Then—just barely—his hand came up. Rested between her shoulder blades. His thumb pressed lightly against the spine of her back. He didn't say anything else. But his grip didn't loosen either.

"I'll be okay," she whispered.

"You'd better be."

She smiled into his coat. When she finally stepped back, Levi's hand lingered—like he wanted to say something more. Like something sharp and heavy was caught behind his ribs. But all that came out was a rough little sigh. Farlan was next. He didn't hesitate. He scooped Beatrice up in a hug that lifted her off the ground and spun her once.

"You're going to join us soon," he said, voice full of sunshine and steel. "I'll wait for you. In the Survey Corps. Okay?"

Beatrice nodded, eyes stinging. "I'll get there."

"I believe in you," he said, setting her down.

Isabel was already crying by the time she got her turn.

"Don't look at me," she sniffled, wiping at her nose. "I'm fine! Totally fine!"

Beatrice laughed. "Liar."

Isabel pulled her into a crushing hug anyway. "You're gonna write, right?! I want letters! Full ones! With doodles! And star maps!"

"I'll write."

"And I'm gonna make fun of you if you fall in love with someone else before we meet again."

Beatrice blinked. "What?"

"I SAID WRITE!"

Then, in a softer breath: "I love you, Bea. We all do."

Beatrice smiled and squeezed her tightly. "I know."

As the wagon started rolling away, Beatrice stood on the grassy field, the sunlight brushing over her hair. Levi didn't look back. But he did adjust the cravat around his neck, fingers lingering near the knot like it was a tether.

And Beatrice? She watched until they vanished over the hill—holding her own carved charm close to her heart, with the first morning wind threading between her fingers.