The barracks were quiet. Most of the squad had already settled in for the night, the flicker of lanterns dimming behind curtains and the sound of boots hitting the floor giving way to the occasional snore or sleepy murmur.
Beatrice sat cross-legged on her bunk, the pale moonlight filtering through the high window casting soft silver across her sheets. Her goggles rested on the folded corner of her blanket—carefully placed, lenses turned inward, the silk cloth Levi had given her wrapped gently around them. Her fingers traced the stitching on the edge of the cloth. It was practical. Unadorned. Folded precisely the way he folded things. Her lips tugged into a smile.
On the small shelf beside her bed sat an open journal. Its pages were lined with neat, delicate script—a quiet, daily ritual she'd kept since her early training days. Words rarely came easily, but here, she could unravel them slowly.
She dipped her pen and began to write.
Day 142:
Today was the first time I flew without squinting. The light didn't blind me. The movement didn't blur. I felt… steady. Like I wasn't guessing anymore.
Hange said I shouldn't adapt alone. Isabel said I look like a moon assassin. Farlan smiled at me like I was someone he's always believed in.
And Levi… He didn't say much. But he was there. The way he always is.
Her pen paused. She looked at the goggles again—how they glinted faintly even in the dark.
I didn't realize how much I'd been shrinking until they gave me space to grow.
She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking.
Then added—
Tonight, for the first time in a long time…
I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
She closed the journal softly and placed it under her pillow. The bed creaked slightly as she lay back, fingers resting on her stomach, her breath slowing. The night wrapped around her like a second blanket, quiet and kind. From the hallway outside, faint footsteps passed. Unhurried. Familiar. They paused near her door.
Didn't knock.
Didn't say anything.
Just… lingered.
And then kept walking.
She smiled to herself.
Because somehow, without speaking, she knew:
He always checks before he sleeps.