The fog had lifted. The bodies had been burned. Steam and sweat still clung to skin and steel as the squad settled into their post-mission routine.

Beatrice crouched at the edge of the gear station, a bucket of water at her side, and her manoeuvre gear dismantled into pieces around her. Her goggles sat pushed up on her head, lenses streaked faintly with blood and steam, catching the moonlight like thin glass. She worked in silence—hands steady, motions methodical.

Levi sat beside her, equally silent, his gear laid out like an anatomical dissection. A rag hung from his fingers. His blades had already been scrubbed clean.

They didn't speak.

They didn't have to.

Her brush paused for a moment, caught in a stubborn groove along her blade's edge. Levi reached over and took it gently from her hand—didn't ask, didn't comment. Just ran the cloth in one fluid motion over the blade, wiped it once, then returned it.

Beatrice blinked at him. "Thanks."

"Tch. You missed a spot."

She smirked softly, then turned her attention back to her cables. For a while, the only sound was the soft clinking of metal and the hum of nearby cicadas.

Then Levi said, without looking at her:

"You saved him."

Beatrice paused.

"I saw it coming. No one else did."

"I know," he said.

A quiet breath passed between them.

"I wouldn't have," she added, "if I hadn't been able to see. The goggles… they didn't just help me. They helped him."

Levi didn't answer at first.

Then:

"Good."

She glanced up. "That's all you're going to say?"

His eyes flicked to her. Then to the way her hands moved. To the dried blood on her sleeve. The scratch on her cheek. The faintest tremble in her fingertips that she probably didn't even notice.

And then, in a rare moment of softness:

"You fought like hell today."

Beatrice blinked. Her heart thudded against her ribs.

And without thinking, she replied—

"I followed you."

Levi looked down at the blade in his lap. And for a flicker of a second, the weight of her words settled between them like gravity.

Then he stood.

"Next time," he muttered, "try not to dive into titans bigger than you."

She grinned. "No promises."

Later that evening, as the squad prepared for rest, Beatrice stepped out of the main tent, tying her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Erwin was leaning near the supply crates, clipboard tucked under one arm, watching the stars with a thoughtful expression.

He turned as she passed. "Beatrice."

She paused. "Erwin?"

"You're adapting well."

She bowed slightly. "Thank you."

He studied her for a moment. "Do you know why Levi keeps you so close?"

Beatrice blinked. "I… I assumed it was for efficiency. I can support his blind spots. We've trained together the most—"

Erwin smiled slightly. "That's only part of it."

Beatrice tilted her head. "Then why?"

He stepped forward, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel personal.

"Because you're the only one who doesn't hesitate when he moves."

She swallowed.

"Most people follow Levi because they're afraid not to. You follow him because you understand him. Without needing to ask. That's rare."

Beatrice looked down, hands fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

"I didn't realise he noticed."

"He does," Erwin said. "More than he lets on."

She blinked up at him.

"And if I were you," Erwin added, already turning away, "I'd start realising how much you mean to him."

He left her there under the stars, wind brushing her hair, goggles still tucked under her arm.

Beatrice stood still. Eyes lifted skyward.

And for the first time in a long time, the sky didn't feel quite so big.