The barracks were quiet. The lamps had been dimmed. The halls echoed only with the distant creak of old beams and the occasional whisper of wind outside.

Beatrice sat on the cot in the squad's private quarters, her cloak tossed neatly over a chair, her goggles resting atop her journal. Her hands, though clean, were still faintly shaking.

The battle was over. The titans were dead. But the images… stayed.

Too many.

Too close.

Her vision had kept her alive. Their synchronicity had carried them through. But there'd been a moment—just one—when her gear jammed midair, and she'd fallen into a blind patch of fog with no backup but herself. She'd recovered.

Levi had covered her blind side before the titan reached her.

But it had been close.

"Your pulse is too high." She looked up.

Levi stood in the doorway, a cup of tea in one hand, the other tucked in his pocket. His coat was off. His cravat loose. He looked tired. But not from the fight. From watching her.

Beatrice offered a faint smile. "Didn't know you monitored that too."

"I notice everything," he said, walking over and setting the cup beside her. "Especially when you're pretending to be fine."

She looked away. "I… I didn't expect it. That moment."

"You didn't break."

"I almost did."

He crouched in front of her, eye-level now.

"That's not weakness."

She blinked, startled by the gentleness in his voice.

"I've almost broken," he said, quietly. "You recover. That's what matters."

Beatrice stared down at her hands. "It scared me."

He nodded. Then, almost like it hurt him to say it: "It scared me too."

Her breath caught.

Silence pooled between them.

Levi reached out—slowly—and took one of her hands in his. Not tightly. Just enough to still it. She squeezed back.

And he stayed. All night.

Not at her bedside.

Beside her.

Boots off, back against the wall, head tilted toward the door.

Ready for anything.

The next mission came quickly.

Another recon sweep. No confirmed titans. "Simple," they'd said.

But Levi didn't trust simple. And when they arrived at the rendezvous point, there was a new face among the support squad.

A quiet man. Pale eyes. Civilian boots. No corps badge. Just observing.

"Agent from HQ," he said coolly when Beatrice glanced his way. "Orders from the Commander-in-Chief."

Levi's eye twitched.

"You're in my unit," he said flatly. "You follow my rules."

"Of course."

But the man's eyes lingered on Beatrice a second too long.

Not threatening. Just studying.

Levi noticed. He didn't say anything then.

But Beatrice stayed unusually close to Levi's flank on that mission. Not because she felt unsafe, but because his presence was magnetic. Grounding.

The agent kept trailing behind. Not interfering. But always watching her moves. Writing things down. Too precisely.

As the mission closed out, the squad regrouped in a clearing. The agent handed over his notes to the officer in charge and began walking toward Beatrice again.

Levi stepped in his path. Dead centre. Silent.

The agent blinked. "I was just—"

"You're done here."

"I have questions for—"

"You've seen enough."

Beatrice, halfway through pulling off her harness, paused. "Levi?"

His eyes didn't leave the agent. His voice dropped an octave. "Don't ever stare at her like that again."

The agent stiffened. "I wasn't—"

Levi stepped forward. Just once.

The forest went still.

Farlan and Isabel, who had been quietly reloading gas tanks nearby, froze mid-motion.

"I don't care who sent you," Levi said, quiet and sharp. "She's not a specimen. Not a subject. She's my soldier. You report on her performance, not her person."

The agent swallowed. "Understood."

Levi didn't move.

The man retreated.

Fast.

Beatrice looked at Levi for a long moment afterward.

"You didn't have to—" She reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against his forearm.