They weren't supposed to be separated. But the titans had shifted course. The squad had been forced to split: north and east. Erwin had made the call—Levi would lead the northern route. Beatrice, with Isabel and Farlan, would push east to intercept the smaller herd.

She didn't argue.

Neither did Levi.

But neither of them looked entirely convinced.

"Three hours," Levi said quietly before launching. "Regroup at the clearing west of the valley."

Beatrice nodded. "I'll be there."

He stared at her for a beat too long. Then disappeared into the trees.

The first ten minutes were fine. The wind rushed past her face. Her goggles filtered the sunlight as usual. Isabel's laughter buzzed in her ear through the comms. Farlan flanked her left, steady and focused. But there was a strange pull in her gut.

Like her center of gravity had shifted. No glances over her shoulder to find Levi already tracking her six. No voice saying "drop low, I've got the upper flank." No subtle rhythm to fall into, no silent synergy telling her exactly when to strike.

She missed him. And worse—she was slower without him.

Meanwhile, on the northern route, Levi felt it too.

The formation wasn't off. The cadence wasn't wrong. But it wasn't complete.

Every time he cut a line, there was a breath—heartbeat—where he expected someone to cross behind him, to clear the angle he left open, to see the field like he did.

And she wasn't there. He cursed under his breath more than usual. It wasn't that the mission was harder.

It was just… less.

The fog was starting to lift when Beatrice arrived at the clearing. Her boots hit the mossy dirt. She exhaled sharply, her blades slick with blood, one shoulder scuffed, her goggles cracked slightly along the edge. Nothing serious. But she looked around anyway.

He wasn't there yet. Her heart sank for a second. What if—

Then—

Fwssshhk.

Gear lines snapped between branches. A blur of black and silver landed hard on the grass.

Levi.

Without a word, he stormed across the clearing and gripped her by the arm, eyes sweeping over her gear, her shoulder, her cheek.

"You're late," he said tightly.

"You're early."

"You're scratched."

"It's nothing."

He said nothing.

But he didn't let go of her arm.

And when Isabel and Farlan finally arrived—panting, scraped, joking—neither of them missed the way Levi's hand lingered too long on Beatrice's sleeve, or the way her shoulders settled only once he was beside her again.

Later That Week: Headquarters

Keith Shadis didn't do fondness. Or softness. Or sentimentality. But he did understand formation efficiency. And what he saw in the last five missions—what the reports said over and over again—was that two particular soldiers moved like one unit when together, and stumbled just slightly when apart.

So when he walked into the briefing room and dropped the new squad roster on the table, he didn't even look up.

"Dalca. Ackerman. You're assigned under me. Permanent formation. Effective immediately."

Isabel gasped. "What?!"

Farlan blinked. "Wait. Together?"

Levi, arms crossed, grunted. "Tch."

Beatrice turned to Shadis slowly. "Sir… just us?"

Shadis raised a brow. "You want to argue with results, Dalca?"

She shook her head, cheeks warm.

He turned to Levi. "You lead. You manage. You take care of her, or I'll pull your teeth out one by one."

Levi didn't blink. "She's safer with me."

"Damn right she is," Shadis muttered, already walking out.

Isabel, of course, could not let it go.

"You guys have your own squad? Your own squad?! This is, like, the origin story of the century! I was here! I saw it happen!"

Beatrice buried her face in her hands.

Farlan patted her back gently. "Congrats, Dalca."

She groaned.

Levi said nothing. But he looked over at her—watching her shoulders shake with soft laughter under her fingers.

And for the first time in weeks, his lips twitched at the corners. Because he didn't need a full squad. He didn't need a formation of twenty.

He just needed her.