The fires at the perimeter camp crackled low, their embers dancing like lazy fireflies in the fading dusk. The debrief had ended hours ago, but the Survey Corps lingered—patching gear, sipping tea, stretching sore limbs. The scent of metal and steam still hung in the air, mixing with the pine smoke.

Beatrice sat on a low crate just outside the main tent, legs tucked beneath her, cloak folded neatly beside her. Her hands were bandaged at the wrists—nothing serious—but Farlan hovered anyway.

"Don't touch that," he muttered, crouched in front of her. "You're going to loosen the wrap."

"I'm not touching anything."

"You're literally scratching it."

"I'm not."

Farlan sighed, grabbed her hand gently, and began rewrapping the gauze like it was some ancient art. "Honestly. You fought like a demon and still somehow get a paper cut that looks like you wrestled a buzzsaw."

"I didn't wrestle anything," Beatrice muttered, cheeks faintly pink. "I just… landed rough."

Farlan gave her a warm, crooked smile. "Well. I'm still proud of you."

From across the fire pit, Levi sat on an overturned barrel, silent as ever. One leg propped up, arms loosely folded. He watched. Didn't interrupt. But his gaze flicked toward Beatrice more often than the fire.

And then—

"AHA!"

The flap of the supply tent blew open violently as Hange burst through, arms triumphantly raised and hair even more explosive than usual.

"I knew I forgot something important—BUT I FIXED IT."

Beatrice blinked. "Um… what?"

"You." Hange marched across the camp toward her. "You, my darling albino enigma, who fought like a sky demon but flinched every time the light shifted! You thought I didn't notice?"

"I—I didn't say anything—"

"You didn't have to!" Hange stopped dramatically in front of her and produced… something from her coat. A black velvet pouch, which she opened with flair.

Inside, a pair of sleek, lightly tinted goggles glinted in the firelight.

"Ta-da!" she beamed. "Custom lenses! Reduced glare! Soft UV filter! These are so you don't have to squint like a mole in direct sunlight."

Beatrice stared. Everyone else paused. Even Levi looked up fully now, eyes narrowing as he focused on the goggles.

Hange offered them gently. "I've been tinkering with the lens options since I read about ocular photophobia in congenital albinism. Your eye reflex during combat? Tighter when moving eastward—the sun in your periphery. Fascinating, but not sustainable. Now, with these—no glare blindness, no migraines, no more flinching."

Beatrice hesitated—then reached out with both hands.

And put them on, the tint was light—a rose-grey hue—but it dulled the sharpness of the fire, softened the glare of the flames. The shapes around her dimmed just enough to soothe the constant prickling in her eyes.

She blinked. Then blinked again. And for the first time in so long, the world didn't sting.

Hange waited, watching closely.

And Beatrice… Smiled. Wide. Beautiful. Honest. The kind of smile that made her whole face glow, not just with relief, but joy.

Isabel gasped. "She's smiling! Like, real smiling!"

Farlan was frozen mid-bandage, staring at her like she'd turned into a star.

Levi… Levi lowered his leg from the barrel and stood. Slowly. He didn't say anything. Didn't move forward.

But something in his chest tightened.

Because Beatrice looked brighter than any constellation she'd ever shown him.

"Thank you," she said softly, hands pressed over the goggles. "These are… perfect."

Hange preened. "I knew it! I knew they'd fit!"

Then she turned on her heel and marched off into the night, shouting something about improving visibility during fog runs and "Oculocentric enhancements," whatever that meant.

Beatrice turned slightly. "Do I look weird?" she asked.

"You look..." Farlan said, almost reverent, "like yourself."

"You look functional," Levi said flatly.

Isabel threw a pinecone at him.

"She looks beautiful, you grump."

Beatrice laughed, the sound quiet but crystalline.

Levi's gaze lingered.

He didn't smile.

But he didn't look away, either.