The squad cut through the district like a well-trained, exhausted wrecking crew. It was the fourth market in five hours. The sun hung low, gold smearing across rooftops. Every surface they passed smelled like spice, smoke, and fruit juice gone warm in the sun.
"You heard him," Eld muttered under his breath, brushing berry pulp from his sleeve. "All the berries. Especially boysenberries."
Gunther sighed. "Do we even know what those are?"
"They look like blackberries had an affair with a raspberry," Petra replied calmly, already balancing two overfilled satchels like it was just another Tuesday.
Oluo groaned. "Why in all the fucking walls would he want berries?"
"Because he said so," Eld shot back. "Do you want to be the one who comes back without them?"
Oluo made a face.
"…No."
First stall.
"Do you have any boysenberries?"
The merchant squinted. "Boysen-what?"
"Berries. Deep red. Kinda angry-looking."
"…You mean currants?"
"NO."
Second stall.
"Do we look like a fruit shop?"
"You are a fruit shop!"
Third stall.
"Sold out. Some noble's chef came through this morning."
"DAMN IT."
They were sticky. Tired. Purple-stained. Petra had a grape in her boot. Oluo had slipped on a rogue pear and nearly taken out a chicken vendor and an elderly couple.
Four and a half hours later.
Petra emerged from a quiet, tucked-away stall with a modest wooden basket cradled in her hands. The squad froze when they saw her face. Her eyes were wide. Glinting with disbelief.
"I found them." She held up the basket like it was the Crown Jewels. The berries inside were perfect. Deep red, almost black, glistening with dew.
Gunther whispered, "They exist."
Eld exhaled like someone who'd just survived their fifth close call with death.
Oluo blinked.
Then scowled. "So... the Captain's berry obsession is real."
Petra just smiled faintly, carefully setting the basket into their cleanest crate.
"I don't think it's about the berries."
They all turned to her.
"What do you mean?" Gunther asked.
She didn't answer right away. Just stared at the fruit. "You don't wake up one morning demanding boysenberries unless it reminds you of something."
A beat.
Eld frowned thoughtfully. "Or someone."
Petra shrugged one shoulder, tone light but knowing.
Oluo groaned. "You're saying this whole berry crusade is about Captain Dalca?"
"He cleaned her room himself."
And then there it was. The realization that passed silently between them. A series of exchanged glances.
And then—Oluo muttered under his breath.
"He's so gone."
The trail twisted through forest and field, quiet but for the occasional chirp of birds or creak of leather. The wheels crunched over stone and dirt, and the scent of pine drifted faintly through the cracks in the wood.
Inside the carriage, it was silent. The kind of silence that pressed in behind your ribs and reminded you not to speak.
Eren sat stiffly on one side, every muscle alert, like the benches might swallow him whole.
Across from him sat Captain Beatrice Dalca. Red eyes. Goggles pushed up onto her pale hair. Her gloves were still on, hands folded neatly on her lap, legs crossed at the ankle like she were attending a tea service rather than heading to a makeshift fortress after a trial. And Lieutenant Dahmous, her most trusted.
She didn't fidget. She didn't look bored. She just sat. Perfectly still.
Eren didn't know if she was looking at him or through him. Either was terrifying.
Next to him sat Levi. His arms rested casually on his knees. Boots braced. Shoulders relaxed. He looked comfortable. Which was somehow worse.
Levi shifted smoothly into his seat beside her. Their shoulders brushed. Neither moved. Not even a blink.
Eren swallowed. Hard.
Nobody sat that close to Captain Dalca.
And she let him.
The wheels rolled on. No one spoke. Eren tried not to look. He really did. But the silence made his skin itch. And he cracked.
"Captain Dalca?"
Her head turned. Not fast. Just enough to see him. Her eyes locked on his like they'd been waiting.
"Yes?" Her voice was smooth. Even. It offered nothing.
"You… fought at Shiganshina, right?", "They called you the White Death."
Beatrice blinked once. Slowly.
"I was there."
"They said you took down more titans than two squads."
A beat of silence.
Then, "A lot of people died." Her voice dipped slightly. No anger. No pride. Just a fact. "The name means nothing."
Eren nodded. Awkward. Embarrassed. Then, idiot that he was, he looked at her again.
A second too long.
She didn't even notice. But Levi did.
He turned his head—just slightly—and glared. Not a glance. A murderous, sharp, soul-freezing glare.
Eren jerked upright, a chill racing down his spine. Okay. Message received.
The silence returned. And then—Beatrice spoke.
Still calm. Still forward-facing. "Try not to be afraid all the time."
Eren blinked. "I—I'm not—"
"Fear wastes energy.", "You'll need all of it."
Eren flushed.
And that's when it happened again. Levi's eyes cut toward him like daggers. Not one word passed his lips—but the message screamed: Don't. Stare. Don't even think about it.
"Don't look at her," Levi said finally, voice flat.
Eren's head snapped forward. "What?"
"Eyes forward, Yeager. Before I give you something to fear."
Beatrice's mouth twitched slightly at the corner. Not a smile. But something amused.
Levi didn't even glance her way. But his knee pressed just barely into hers as the carriage rumbled forward.
And Eren?
He didn't say another word the rest of the way.