Chapter Text
Tick.Tick.Tick.
Time passed. Or maybe it didn’t. She couldn’t tell anymore.
The sound came from somewhere above her—steady, unchanging. It filled the silence, carved it into pieces she couldn’t hold onto long enough to count. She had tried once. Maybe more than once.
She didn’t remember.
The wall in front of her was bare. No cracks. No marks. Nothing to follow, nothing to measure. Just a flat stretch of emptiness that stared back no matter how long she looked at it.
She blinked.
Nothing changed.
A breath left her, shallow, uneven. The air felt stale, like it had been sitting there longer than she had.
Why am I here?
The thought came slowly. Heavy. Like it didn’t belong to her.
She pushed herself up, her movements uncertain, like her body needed permission she didn’t know how to give. The room was small. Too small. Every step ended too quickly.
She traced the walls with her fingers.
Cold.
Smooth.
Unfamiliar.
There had to be something. A mark. A sign. Anything.
Something that said she existed here before this moment.
But there was nothing.
Only the neatly placed food rations in the corner—always there, always the same.
There had to be something that she should remember, it felt too strange to not remember anything. So she traced her fingers all along her body, to find any sign.
Her hand paused.
Just above her chest.
Her fingers hovered before pressing lightly against the skin.
A scar.
Not fresh. Not old enough to forget completely.
It didn’t hurt.
But something about it felt… wrong.
Like it meant something she was supposed to know.
Her brows drew together faintly.
She waited.
For a memory. A feeling. Anything.
Nothing came.
Her hand slowly dropped back to her side.
Tick.Tick.Tick.
She stopped.
The counting—if it had ever truly been counting—fell apart somewhere between one breath and the next. Something in her gave way, not suddenly, not violently, but quietly, like a thread snapping where it could no longer hold. The need to move, to search, to understand—it all slipped from her grasp, leaving behind a dull, empty stillness. Her chest rose unevenly, a sharp breath breaking through before settling into something shallow and uncertain. For a brief moment, panic flickered, weak and unsteady, but even that faded too quickly to matter.
There was no point. There hadn’t been for a while.
She hadn’t touched the food. Not recently—maybe longer than that. The water remained where it always was, untouched, unnoticed. It didn’t matter anymore. Slowly, as if even the effort demanded too much from her, she lowered herself onto the cold floor. The chill spread through her back and limbs, seeping inward until she could no longer tell where her body ended and the cold began.
Her gaze drifted upward, settling on the ceiling. It looked no different from the walls—blank, unmoving, endless in a way that made time feel meaningless. With each breath, her body grew heavier, as though something within her was quietly draining away. Strength, perhaps. Or the will to keep going. Her fingers twitched faintly against the floor before going still.
She didn’t move again.
She didn’t try to think. Didn’t try to remember.
She simply lay there, suspended in a silence that no longer felt like anything at all.
Time passed—if it could still be called that.
Then something broke it.
A sound, sharp and out of place, cutting through the stillness.
Metal shifting. A door opening.
Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, before settling toward the source.
The door opened slowly.
Light slipped into the room in a thin line at first, then widened, cutting through the dim stillness she had grown used to. Shapes followed—four figures stepping in, their movements controlled, deliberate. They wore uniforms. Structured. Clean. Unfamiliar.
And yet—
Something in her chest tightened.
Her gaze fixed on them, unfocused at first, then sharpening just enough to catch the details—the lines, the color, the way the fabric sat against their shoulders. She knew it.
Not in a way she could name.
Not in a way she could understand.
But it was there.
A recognition that didn’t feel like comfort.
It felt wrong.
Sharp. Sore. Like pressing against a bruise she didn’t remember getting.
Her breath hitched.
No—
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. Panic rose suddenly, violently, clawing its way through her chest as her heartbeat stumbled into something too fast, too loud in the silence. She didn’t wait to see their faces. Didn’t need to.
She pushed herself back, hands slipping slightly against the floor as she tried to move away, her limbs slow and unsteady from disuse. The cold ground dragged against her as she shifted, retreating on instinct alone, like distance could undo what she was feeling.
Her back hit the wall.
She didn’t stop there.
Her fingers pressed flat against the surface, searching for something—an escape, an edge, anything—but there was nothing to find. Nowhere to go.
Her breathing turned uneven, shallow pulls of air that never felt like enough.
She still couldn’t remember.
But her body did.
And whatever it remembered—
it was afraid.
The four of them tensed almost immediately.
A movement in the dark—deep within a basement that should have been empty—was enough to put them on edge. No one spoke. Their attention fixed on the figure pressed against the far wall, half-hidden in shadow, barely more than a shape at first glance.
Then it moved.
Among them, the shorter man stepped forward without hesitation.
His approach was steady, controlled, each step measured as he closed the distance between them. He didn’t rush. Didn’t hesitate. By the time he reached her, she still hadn’t found her footing.
He crouched down in front of her.
In one swift motion, the blade was at her throat.
Cold.
Precise.
The edge rested just enough against her skin to remind her it was there—not deep, not careless, but deliberate. A warning more than an attack.
Up close, he could see her properly now.
Too thin.
Too still.
Her movements lacked strength, like her body had already given up long before this moment. There was no resistance in her posture, no real attempt to fight back—only that sharp, unsteady breathing and wide, unfocused eyes.
For a brief second, something about it struck too close.
Familiar in a way he didn’t care to examine.
He ignored it.
This wasn’t the time.
His grip on the blade remained firm, unmoving.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, voice low and even, pressing the edge just slightly closer.
A thin line broke across her skin.
A drop of blood followed.
Her breath hitched sharply, catching somewhere between her chest and throat as panic surged back through her, stronger this time, harder to control. The cold edge at her neck didn’t help—it grounded everything too much, made it real in a way she couldn’t escape. Her thoughts scrambled, slipping through her grasp before she could hold onto anything long enough to form an answer.
“I… I don’t know,” she managed, the words breaking apart as they left her, barely steady enough to be heard.
The blade didn’t move.
He watched her.
A second passed.
Then another.
Silence stretched, heavy, waiting for something more—but nothing came.
Before it could go any further, another voice cut in from behind, calmer, measured.
“Levi. She’s not in any condition to attack us,” it said. “We should check Grisha’s basement first.”
The name reached her before the meaning did.
Levi.
Something in her body reacted instantly.
A sharp, involuntary tension ran through her, her fingers curling slightly against the floor as if bracing for something she couldn’t see. The sound of it—his name—felt wrong in a way she couldn’t explain. Familiar, but not safe. Like something she was supposed to remember… but didn’t.
Her vision blurred.
Her eyes burned before she even realized why.
Tears gathered, spilling over too quickly, her breathing turning uneven as a tremor worked its way through her body. She began to shake, small at first, then harder, like something deep inside her had been disturbed.
She didn’t understand it.
Didn’t understand him.
But her body did.
And it wasn’t calm.