Attack on Titan: Wolfborn

Chapter XX: Stalking Ground

Twilight crept over Trost, casting long shadows across the ruins and bathing the broken cityscape in muted purples and deep blues. In a small clearing amidst the rubble, three young soldiers had carved out a makeshift rest area, if one could call a pile of debris and a scavenged chair restful.

Hitch sprawled in the chair, her messy light brown hair framing a face etched with boredom. Her Military Police jacket hung open, revealing a wrinkled shirt beneath. One boot rested atop a chunk of fallen masonry as she idly picked at her nails.

Nearby, Boris leaned against a partially collapsed wall, his short, ashen blonde hair ruffled by the evening breeze. His eyes scanned the empty streets with a mix of wariness and resignation. Dennis, a lanky young man with close-cropped dark hair, lay flat on his back on a relatively clear patch of ground, staring up at the darkening sky.

“So, anyone know when we’re actually getting out of here?” Dennis asked, stifling a yawn.

Boris shrugged. “Think they didn’t mention it for a reason. Can’t imagine they want us to know how long we’ll be stuck here.”

Hitch snorted from her perch. “If I’d known I’d be sent to Trost, I would’ve joined the Garrison. At least they get to sit on top of the walls instead of poking through titan leftovers. Should’ve counted our blessings when we got to pick our regiments early, huh?”

“Yup, thought we hit the jackpot getting assigned so quickly,” Boris said, shaking his head. He shifted uncomfortably against the crumbling wall, his eyes scanning the shadows. “Now look where we are—mucking about in the middle of a giant graveyard. We should be in Stohess, not in this dump of a district.”

“It’s not that bad,” Dennis said, sitting up. “At least we’re not dealing with actual titans. Or with those inspections.”

Boris leaned back against the crumbling wall, rubbing the back of his neck. “They're a real pain in the ass. Never know what kind of people you'll run into.”

Dennis chuckled, shaking his head. “Tell me about it. Some Scout girl lost her mind during the first day of the lockdown a few days ago. She started yelling and fighting us. Made a real scene.”

Hitch raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Oh yeah? Sounds like typical Scout drama to me. Those guys are always one bad day away from a meltdown.”

Dennis smirked, nodding. “Yeah, you’re not wrong. Makes you wonder how they stay sane out there.”

He paused for a moment, then called out, “Hey, Dreyse, think that idiot is done searching yet?”

A sly smile played across her lips. "Oh, don't be so harsh on our hero. Hmm, don't know. Should be here soon to complain about our lack of dedication."

Boris pushed off from the wall. "It's your turn to check on him, Hitch."

Hitch's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"What? I went last time," Boris said, unmoved by her incredulous look.

"Fiiine, I'll go. Such gentlemen, making a lady do all the work."

Dennis grinned, tilting his head slightly. “Just tell him if he's done. I wanna go back already. My delicate constitution isn’t built for all this... patrolling.”

She made a show of reluctantly getting to her feet. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too comfortable over there,” She gave a mock salute and sauntered off towards a nearby alleyway.

As she wound her way through the rubble-strewn streets, the nonchalance she usually wore so easily began to slip. The ruins around her felt unsettling, almost ghostly. She couldn’t help but wonder how many titans had rampaged through this place, how many had flooded the city during the attack on Trost. Hearing about it was one thing; witnessing the aftermath was another.

“Good thing we have that inner wall,” she muttered under her breath, glancing around as if the wreckage might suddenly spring to life.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. A small black bird was perched on a crooked signpost, watching her intently with one beady eye. Hitch stared back, wary, before continuing on.

“Marlo!” she called, her voice bouncing off the empty streets. “Where the hell are you?”

She paused, the quiet pressing in around her. Then, from inside a crumbling building came a faint rustling. Against her better judgment, she stepped through the doorframe, the wood creaking under her weight.

"Marl-AAAH!"

Her call turned into a shriek as the black bird from before swooped past her, cawing as it darted out of the building.

“Stupid bird,” Hitch grumbled, clutching her chest. Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal until a rancid smell hit her like a slap. She gagged, covering her nose. In the corner, the shriveled remains of several rats lay in a pile, their tiny bodies twisted and dried up.

“Hitch?” Marlo’s voice echoed from outside. “You okay?”

He stepped into the doorway, tall and lean, his dark hair slightly tousled, and his grey eyes scanning the room with concern. “What happened?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, waving a dismissive hand. "Just got ambushed by a bird with an attitude problem."

Marlo frowned, but didn’t press further. “I think I found the sabotage site,” he said, all business, turning to face the street.

“You don’t say,” Hitch drawled, her tone flat and disinterested. “So, are you finished here or what?”

“No, there’s more ground to cover. We need to be thorough.”

Hitch groaned and trailed after him. "Right, well, just make it quick. Some of us have important napping to catch up on."

As they walked, Marlo glanced over at her. “Where are the others?”

“Hmm?” Hitch replied absently. “Oh, just sweeping another area. Veeeery diligently.”

Marlo shook his head slightly.

Hitch caught up to him, a teasing smirk curving her lips. “So, you dragged me out here just to get me alone, huh? How smooth.”

Marlo’s face flushed crimson. “What? No! I—Look, I know we’re just supposed to be patrolling, but something doesn’t add up. Why haven’t the inspections turned up anything?”

Hitch couldn’t quite hide the amusement in her gaze. “Maybe they’re hoping we’ll get bored and call it quits.”

Marlo’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he scanned the empty, crumbling streets. “We’re chasing ghosts.” he muttered.

Hitch sighed, nudging a piece of rubble with her boot. “Yeah, well, I could’ve told you that. This whole patrolling thing feels like a joke.”

Marlo snapped, frustration boiling over. “Think about it—no one’s been able to get in or out of the city since the attack without permission. Now every gate's locked down tighter than ever.” He turned to her. “Whoever did this is still here. Somewhere.”

Leaning against a half-toppled pillar, Hitch raised an eyebrow. “And you think you’re going to crack the case everyone else missed? I know you’ve got that righteous streak, Marlo, but is this about ‘doing the job’ or are you hoping to score points with the higher-ups?”

Marlo reddened a bit. "I just think it's worth a shot," he said, his voice low as he stared down the empty road, as if it held all the answers. "If there's something everyone else overlooked, we might be the ones to find it. Besides, it's what we're supposed to do."

Well, this should be entertaining, at least. And hey, watching Marlo squirm is always fun. "Alright, hero," she smirked. "Lead the way."

The area was like a wound in the city's fabric – a clearing surrounded by ruined buildings, most reduced to little more than piles of debris. Hitch's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the desolate scene. So this is where the Scouts set up their mysterious tent.

“This is it…” Marlo murmured, crouching to examine the ground. "What do you think they were doing here?"

Hitch shrugged, crossing her arms. "No idea, but they sure picked an isolated spot." Her eyes traced the countless boot prints in the dirt, evidence of the many soldiers who had already combed the area. "I'm sure people have gone over this place a hundred times. We're probably just wasting our time."

Marlo crouched lower, his brow furrowing. "Take a look at this."

She knelt beside him, following his gaze to a series of small, dark droplets on the ground. "Is that... ink?"

"It's fresh…” Marlo muttered, his eyes scanning the area with newfound intensity.

Marlo began following the trail, his movements precise and focused. Hitch trailed behind, her heart rate quickening despite her attempts at nonchalance. The bootprints stopped abruptly where the dirt gave way to stone slabs in what must have once been a courtyard.

A pungent odor assaulted Hitch's nostrils. She wrinkled her nose, watching as Marlo zeroed in on a section of paving stones near a partially collapsed building. One of the stones was smeared with that dark, inky fluid.

"Dead end?" Hitch asked, hope mingling with disappointment in her voice. "Great, we can go back now and tell everyone we found some spilled ink. They'll be thrilled."

Marlo shook his head, pointing to the dark stain. In the fading light, it almost looked like... "Is that a handprint?" Hitch whispered, her usual confidence deserting her.

The substance was thick and tarry, forming a murky outline against the stone.

Marlo leaned in, hand outstretched as if to touch it.

"Seriously? Don't touch that!" Hitch hissed, grabbing his wrist. "What are you, five?"

"Shhh!" Marlo whispered. "Keep it down. We don't know if there's someone else around."

Hitch rolled her eyes, forcing levity into her voice to mask her growing unease. "There's no one else around here. Unless you count the rats. And maybe whatever died to make that smell."

As if in response to her words, a hollow sound echoed beneath their feet as Marlo shifted his weight. His eyes widened, without wasting a minute he began prying at the stones with his knife.

"Oh no," Hitch groaned. "Stop that, don’t even think about—" She watched in dismay as Marlo pulled out stone after stone, stacking them nearby. Soon, a yawning darkness was revealed below, the pungent smell intensifying. Marlo peered down into the gloom, then looked back at Hitch with an all-too-familiar glint in his eye.

Hitch threw up her hands. "Absolutely not. No way. We are not going down there. You hear me? Not happening!"

Hours later, Hitch found herself wondering how, exactly, she'd ended up in this situation.

Night had fallen, and all four members of their team – herself, Marlo, Boris, and Dennis – were gathered around the ominous opening. A rope dangled into the abyss, and Marlo was finishing his preparations to descend, a lantern tied securely to his waist.

“Can’t believe he talked you into this,” Hitch muttered, shooting daggers at both Boris and Dennis.

Boris shrugged, a hint of amusement in his voice. "What can I say? He made a good point. If we find something down there, best case, we earn a promotion or at the very least, we get to escape this hellhole.”

"And if it goes sideways?"

Dennis smirked, jerking a thumb toward Marlo. “We’ll just blame him.”

Marlo, still busy testing the strength of the rope, didn’t even react, too focused on the task ahead.

Hitch huffed, a mixture of exasperation and something that felt dangerously like concern bubbling in her chest. "Screw this," she growled under her breath, grabbing a lantern of her own. "I’m going down there too. Someone's got to make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

As Hitch descended into the darkness, following Marlo's faint lantern light, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd lost her mind. The stench hit her like a physical force. Even with her nose covered, the foulness seeped through, making her eyes water and stomach churn.

The tunnel stretched before them, a maw of crumbling stone and stagnant water. Parts of the ceiling sagged ominously, and every step felt like a gamble. They clung to the sides, avoiding the murky water that lurked in the center.

"This place looks like a sewer," Marlo muttered, glancing around. "Probably collapsed during the Titan attack…”

"Oh great," Hitch replied, "so we're not just in a sewer, we're in a collapsing sewer. This keeps getting better and better."

Cautiously moving forward, they noticed an inky substance smeared across the walls, dripping like thick sludge from cracks in the stone. With each step, the air grew heavier, pressing down on them in a thick, suffocating weight.

A skittering noise echoed ahead, sending a jolt through Hitch. She stifled a scream as Marlo’s hand gripped hers, too tightly to be just for balance. Her pulse quickened. What was that?

“Everything alright down there?” Dennis’s shout came from above, his voice unnervingly distant in the confined space.

"Just peachy!" Hitch called back. "We're having a wonderful time in this deathtrap, thanks for asking!"

"We're fine," Marlo called up. "Just... keep an eye out up there, okay?"

They pressed on, the oppressive darkness broken only by the weak glow of their lanterns. Hitch found herself jumping at every shadow, every drip of water. This is insane, she thought. We should go back. We should—

Her thoughts were interrupted as they rounded a corner, the weak light of their lanterns now barely penetrating the gloom. Suddenly, Marlo froze, his grip on Hitch's hand becoming painfully tight.

"What is it?" she whispered, peering around him. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in horror.

Smoke curled from Captain Elias Brandt's cigarette as his carriage rolled to a stop before the cordoned-off ruins. He checked his silver pocket watch, before stepping out, his polished boots crunching on broken stone. The journey from Stohess had been long, but duty called. Thin fingers smoothed his blonde mustache as he surveyed the perimeter. The site was barely a block from where the killings had occurred, right under their noses all this time.

The acrid smoke from his cigarette barely masked the putrid stench rising from the exposed sewer entrance. The rookies who had stumbled onto this mess hovered nearby, shifting nervously, but he paid them little mind.

Brandt's spine stiffened the moment he spotted movement—two figures in Military Police uniforms, their boots crunching on the cracked pavement as they emerged from the shadows of the investigation site. His breath hitched. The distinctive patches of the First Interior Squad gleamed on their uniforms, like a threat sewn into the fabric.

The taller one, dark-haired with steel-grey eyes, passed him without a glance, as if Brandt were nothing more than a discarded piece of debris. His companion, shorter but no less imposing, followed close behind. Brandt stood there, frozen, watching them walk past as though he'd been turned to stone.

Without realizing it, the cigarette had burned down to his fingers. The sharp sting snapped him back, and he jerked his hand, crushing the half-finished cigarette under his heel. His fingers trembled as he reached for his pocket watch.

What was the Interior Squad doing at his crime scene? He was here under Commander Dawk's direct orders.

Shaking off the distraction, he directed his attention to the creaking ladder leading into the murky depths below. Each rung pulled him deeper into a miasma of decay and stagnant sewer water.

The flickering light from oil lamps illuminated the area, Military Police soldiers milled about, securing the perimeter. Tarps had been strategically placed, obscuring sections of the tunnel. Yet, there were others present, members of the Garrison Regiment, working on what appeared to be a bewildering array of wooden supports along the walls.

"What are these people doing here?" Brandt demanded. "This is a classified Military Police investigation."

"We're here because if we weren't, you'd be conducting your precious investigation under a pile of rubble."

A tall, broad-shouldered man with white hair and beard stepped forward, pale amber eyes regarding Brandt coolly.

"Captain Albert Weiss," the man introduced himself, his tone clipped and devoid of any false politeness. "Your superiors requested our assistance when it became clear these tunnels were about to come down on your heads."

Brandt's jaw clenched. "And are you finished?"

"Unless you want to risk being buried alive, no. These old sewers are like a rotten tooth after the titan attack. One wrong move and the whole thing could bring down half the district above."

"Fine. Just keep your people away from our investigation."

Weiss's expression remained impassive, but a hint of irritation flashed in his eyes. “Respectfully, I don’t give a damn about your investigation. Don’t bother us, and we won’t bother you. Simple as that.”

Brandt's lip curled into a dismissive smirk. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied with a condescending air, turning on his heel. Without giving them another thought, he strode toward the tarp-covered entrance.

Sergeant Hauser waited by it, looking slightly green around the gills. Beyond the heavy fabric, the chamber opened before them, the south wall roughly carved out to expand the original tunnel. Crates stood stacked, making a makeshift wall, while a table in the center displayed the evidence laid out for inspection.

"Sir," Hauser gestured toward a dark mass hanging from the ceiling like some nightmarish stalactite. Black viscous liquid still dripped from its torn surface. "We extracted a corpse from inside about an hour ago."

The body lay nearby in an open bag. Brandt approached, studying what remained. His eyes narrowed. After fifteen years in the Military Police, he had seen his share of horrors, but this... this felt different. These remains appeared ancient, desiccated, more skeleton than flesh. The surface was riddled with holes, as if it had endured some unseen torment.

"Cause of death?"

"Uncertain, sir..." Hauser shifted uncomfortably. "Could be the work of a titan, the structure somewhat resembles titan vomit. But the state of the corpse... we've never seen anything like it."

Brandt frowned. A titan down here? The tunnel was barely holding together as it was… "We need an expert opinion on that... structure."

"We could ask someone from the Scouts—"

"No." The word came out sharper than intended. But after a moment's consideration, Brandt grimaced. "Fine. One expert. They examine that… thing only. Nothing else."

Hauser led him to the makeshift evidence table. A Scout Regiment jacket lay there, scraped and dirty but surprisingly intact. Beside it, fragments of ODM gear twisted beyond recognition, several broken blades, and a cadet corps jacket. Within its folds, a bloodstained napkin bearing the initials "N.T."

"The corpse was wearing the cadet jacket," Hauser said, pointing to the napkin. "This was in the pocket."

"Any progress identifying 'N.T.'?"

"Not yet, sir. We're cross-referencing with both recent casualties and historical records..."

Brandt lifted the Scout jacket, turning it over in his hands. Convenient—perhaps too convenient, something about it still nagged at him, even though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. "Where was this found?"

"By those crates, along with the ODM gear. The gear's serial numbers don't match anything distributed in Trost."

Brandt frowned, rubbing his thumb over the rough fabric. As he did, he felt something prick his finger, a small pine needle caught in one of the scraps. He glanced at it briefly, “Run the serials again. And check if they've been logged in any of the older archives.”

He turned his attention back to the sewer entrance. "What about the tunnels?"

"Dead end now. Collapsed about thirty meters ahead. But according to the Garrison, they branch throughout the city. Some might even extend beyond the walls."

Brandt ran his fingers along the rough-hewn wall. Whoever had done this had taken their time. But they'd left evidence behind – intentionally? Or had something gone wrong?

Had the killer sealed their own escape route? Or was there more buried deeper, beneath the rubble, waiting to be uncovered?

"Explore every inch of these tunnels," Brandt ordered, keeping his voice low. "Document everything. But keep the Garrison out of it. They don't need to know what we're looking for."

As his team dispersed, Brandt's gaze returned to the cocoon. The putrid smell turned his stomach, but he couldn't look away. Captain Weiss caught his eye from across the chamber, expression unreadable. His fingers tightened around his pocket watch. That corpse and its strange cocoon were mysteries for another day.

In the dim light, the silver surface of the watch caught the dripping black liquid from above, distorting his reflection. The Scout jacket, the broken ODM gear with its mismatched serial numbers, the extensive sewer network, each piece made sense on its own, yet together they painted a picture he couldn't quite grasp, as if he were looking at a reflection in broken glass.

The afternoon bell tolled somewhere above, muffled by layers of stone and earth.

Someone was walking the streets of Trost right now, hidden in plain sight. Someone who knew these sewers intimately, who could move through the city undetected, walking among civilians and soldiers alike.

Brandt's fingers closed around the pine needle he'd found in the jacket's fabric. Such a small detail, it nagged at him like a splinter under skin. No pine trees grew within Trost's walls. Their killer wasn't just infiltrating the city they were moving freely beyond it.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Anja woke naturally. No nightmares, no screams—just the soft warmth of the morning sun streaming in, dust motes drifting lazily in the golden light. The stillness felt almost unnatural after so many weeks of chaos.

She lay there still, savoring the unfamiliar peace of feeling truly rested. Her mind felt unusually clear, like a slate wiped clean. Outside, soldiers moved through the streets below, their stances relaxed, so different from the rigid patrols of the lockdown that had only ended yesterday. Some stopped to chat with civilians, a rare, unhurried calm settling over the district. A small smile crept across her face.

Fragments of a dream lingered, just out of reach something about her brother, about home. The warmth of it comforted her, though the details had slipped away.

Tomorrow was the regiment selection ceremony. After a long month, she'd finally see her friends again, maybe even talk to Mikasa and Armin. And Eren... The thought lingered a moment longer than the others. For once, she actually had good news to share. Her smile widened at the thought.

The headaches that had plagued her just five days ago were gone, and even the memories of Trost felt softer, less jagged. She felt... lighter. Ready for whatever came next.

As she dressed, Anja caught her reflection in the small mirror above her washbasin. The dark circles under her eyes had faded, and there was color in her cheeks again. Her fingers brushed against her brother's pendant as she slipped into her uniform jacket.

The floorboards creaked softly under her feet as she descended the stairs to the common room. The murmur of low voices fell silent. Levi sat at the far table, steam rising from a teacup before him, his green cloak draped neatly over the back of the chair, ODM gear secured like he was ready for deployment. Across from him, Hange leaned back in her chair, her usual energetic demeanor strangely muted.

"Captain?" Anja straightened, pleasantly surprised. "I didn't expect to see you here. How's Eren doing?"

Levi set down his cup. "You can ask him yourself. We're going to see him."

Her heart leapt. "Really? I'll grab my equipment—"

"Forget your gear," Levi interjected, rising smoothly from his seat. "You won't need it. Meet me at the outer gate in ten minutes."

Hange glanced up, offering a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. But Anja barely noticed, her mind already racing ahead to seeing Eren again.

"Sure thing!" she answered cheerfully, practically bouncing back up the stairs to fetch her boots. Behind her, Levi's footsteps receded, the front door closing with a soft click.

She touched the pendant one last time, humming quietly to herself. Everything felt right for once.

Shadows stretched longer across Trost's streets by the time they passed through the outer gate. The guards straightened at their approach, one offering a small wave, a face she recognized from her speech last week, though the memory felt strangely distant, like looking through clouded glass.

"Nice to see morale improving," she said, adjusting her stride to match Levi's shorter but steady pace. Her uniform felt comfortably familiar as they walked. "For a while there, I thought the speeches weren't helping at all."

"Tch... People will believe whatever story makes them feel safe."

A wagon rattled past, soldiers in Garrison uniforms offering crisp salutes to Levi before their faces brightened with recognition at the sight of Anja. One carried a little girl on his shoulders, her laughter floating back to them on the morning breeze. Something tugged at Anja's memory—Heinrik carrying her through Shiganshina's market square, weaving between stalls and crowds. The memory felt warm but fragile.

They followed the main road past the refugee settlements. Fields stretched out on either side, dotted with people working the stubborn earth. Their tools scraped against the resistant soil, the sound carrying across the quiet expanse. The steady rhythm of Levi's ODM gear punctuated their steps.

"It's pointless," she murmured, more to herself than Levi.

Levi glanced at her.

"Nothing really grows out here," she continued, gesturing at the sparse grass. Her fingers brushed the pendant unconsciously. "We tried when we first came to Trost, after... after everything. They had us working these fields from dawn till dusk, but not even the weeds would take." She chuckled softly, the sound falling flat in the empty air. "We used to say the land was like Eren, too stubborn for its own good."

"That when you started stealing?" Levi's tone remained neutral, almost disinterested.

"It doesn't make me proud, but you only had three choices..." Her hand tightened into a fist at her side. "Work for scraps, starve, or join the military."

"Must've known the city well by then," Levi observed casually. "All those back alleys."

"Had to. The Military Police weren't exactly fond of refugees." She smiled faintly at the memory. "Especially the ones who kept slipping away."

They veered onto a narrower trail, leaving the busier road behind. Without her gear, Anja felt light, almost bouncy. Behind them, Trost's walls had shrunk to a grey line on the horizon.

"How much further until we reach Eren?" she asked.

"Getting tired already?"

"No, just..." She looked around, suddenly aware of how quiet it had become. No birds, no wind. Just the crunch of their boots on gravel and the metallic song of Levi's gear. "Where are we going exactly?"

"Somewhere quiet. Away from prying eyes." Levi's gaze swept the horizon. "You know, your brother liked these paths. Said they reminded him of hunting trails back home."

The mention caught her off-guard. A gust of wind whipped her cloak around her legs, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Her right eye twinged, and her fingers grazed the edge of her cloak, seeking a familiar grounding. The motion sparked something—a half-remembered moment from five days ago, slipping away like water...

"Captain..." She hesitated, "What was my brother like? As a soldier?"

Levi's steps didn't falter. "Why?"

"I just..." She slowed her pace, her gaze drifting to the ground. "I've been thinking about him more lately. Since that day in the street, when I thought I saw—" She stopped, frowning. What had she seen?

"Have you now?" Something in his tone made her look at him more closely, but his expression revealed nothing.

The road began to slope downward, the terrain growing rougher. Their boots scuffed against loose gravel and brittle grass, the sound sharp in the summer stillness.

"He was a skilled soldier," Levi said finally, each word measured. "But unpredictable. In combat, especially. Like something else would take over." He paused, glancing ahead as they continued down the path. "The kind that could keep fighting long after others would've fallen. Saw him take down three titans once, even with a broken arm."

Anja's breath caught. Her right eye throbbed, a dull pulse that seemed to echo in her skull.

"Not unlike some reports I've read recently," he added, almost to himself.

A cloud passed over the sun. The path had led them into a hollow, old trees casting long shadows across their way. Their branches reached overhead like grasping fingers, and Anja could have sworn they moved even though there was no wind.

"Ever been out this way before?" Levi asked, his tone deceptively light. "During your refugee days?"

"No," she answered, then frowned. "I never went this far from the walls. No reason to."

The path ahead split in two. Levi chose the darker route without hesitation, leading them into a copse of dead trees. A crow called somewhere in the distance the first sound of wildlife they'd heard in a while. The trail had narrowed, forcing Anja to walk slightly behind Levi. The metal of his gear caught the weak sunlight, flashing like signal mirrors.

"Captain," she started, uncertainty creeping into her voice as her eye throbbed again. "Are you sure this is the right—"

"Something wrong with your eye?"

"No, it's nothing." She forced her hand down, not realizing she'd raised it. "About Eren..."

"Wondering where we're keeping him?" Levi's tone remained casual, almost conversational. He turned slightly, studying her with that unreadable gaze. "There's a farmhouse ahead. Not far now."

The path widened slightly as they emerged from the copse. A weathered building stood alone in the distance, its wooden walls grey with age, backed by a small cliff that rose sharply behind it. Fields of dead crops surrounded the structure, the stalks bent and withered, while patches of grass swayed gently in the breeze, and old fences lined the perimeter, creaking softly in the wind.

A glint of metal caught her eye – probably just a weather vane catching the sun. She blinked and it was gone.

"Eren's been staying there?" she asked.

"Among others." Levi's boots thudded steadily against the dirt, the sound unnaturally loud in the oppressive stillness. "Good spot. Clear lines of sight. Defensible position." He paused, his gaze sweeping the landscape. "If it needed to be."

The casual observation made Anja look at the landscape with new eyes. The rolling hills around them, perfect for concealment. The cliff face behind the house, preventing escape in that direction. The open field offering no cover...

"Terrain matters," Levi said. "Especially when you're outnumbered."

Something in his tone made Anja's skin prickle. Her eyes darted to the hills again.

"Like that incident during your training." Levi's tone never changed, but the air around him seemed to grow colder. "Your instructor's report was... vivid. About what they found in that forest."

Anja's world tilted. The memories, once hazy and fragmented, now surged to the surface with sickening clarity. She could smell the musky scent of the slavers' sweat. Their leering faces swam before her, lips curled in cruel smiles.

And then, the blood. The screams. The savage, animalistic joy of tearing into soft flesh, of painting the forest floor crimson. It was all so real, so visceral.

"Butchery," he continued. "They had to identify the bodies by their teeth." He turned his head, fixing her with a stare that seemed to strip her soul bare. "Rage can turn even the most civilized person into a beast."

Anja's right eye pulsed with agony, the pain intertwining with the vivid flashes of memory. She could feel the blood dripping down her face, taste the coppery tang on her tongue. The shadows lengthened, twisting into the shapes of the mangled bodies she'd left behind.

"Tell me," Levi's voice cut through the haze like a razor. "Did it feel the same during the battle of Trost?" He paused, letting the words sink in. "Funny how the past has a way of catching up with you."

And suddenly, she was there again. The city in chaos, Titans looming over her like grotesque giants. The fury, the bloodlust…

"Curious thing about that day," he continued, each word falling like stones in still water. "Every casualty was accounted for. Even the ones they could barely identify." His steps never faltered. "Except one."

Nac. The name reverberated in her skull, an accusation and a condemnation all in one.

They were close enough now to see the farmhouse's details. The door hung slightly ajar. The windows were dark, watchful. More glints of metal from the hills now – unmistakable this time.

"But you wouldn't know anything about that," Levi said softly. "Would you, Anja?"