Forest Clearing Near Karanes, Inside Wall Maria – Late Morning, Days After the Stohess Incident
Inside the hut, Meeyn lounged against the rough wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent, arms loosely crossed. The morning light filtered through the branches above, dappling his pale face with shifting patterns of shadow and gold.
Across from him, Annie sat cross-legged, stiff as stone.
The borrowed cloak still hung from her shoulders, its warmth long faded. Her bare feet were tucked under her, toes pressing into the dirt. She stared at the floor — not because there was anything to see, but because it kept her from looking at him.
At the red-eyed man across from her.
The one who'd changed everything.
She didn't know how long they'd been there — hours, maybe. Maybe more. Time moved strangely now. Blurred.
Like she wasn't part of the world anymore.
Just watching it spin.
What am I even doing here?
The thought surfaced, unbidden.
Not with the Scouts. Not with Reiner and Bertolt. Not in custody.
Just... here. With him.
She should've run.
Should've fought back, tried to escape, tried to finish her mission or disappear into the woods — anything other than this. Sitting in a half-broken hut like some stray dog someone decided to keep.
And yet...
Annie's gaze flicked up.
Meeyn hadn't moved.
He was half-asleep, maybe. Or maybe just pretending to be. Hard to tell with him.
She studied his face.
There was something behind his expression — something too still. Like he didn't really live in the moment. Like he was always five steps ahead, already knowing how this conversation, this day, this week would end.
And for some reason... he hadn't left her behind.
He didn't chain her up. Didn't interrogate her. Didn't even ask for loyalty.
He just let her stay.
That was the part she didn't understand.
Why?
Why was she still here?
Why hadn't he killed her after the fight?
Why did he let her build that wall?
Why did he save her?
And deeper than that, darker — why did she let him?
Annie's jaw tightened, her thoughts spiraling.
She didn't trust him.
Couldn't.
But...
Her fingers curled slightly into the dirt.
Four years.
Maybe six, if she was lucky.
That's what she had left.
The Curse of Ymir would take her — like it took all Titan shifters. Like it would take Eren. And Reiner. And the others.
She had time.
But not much.
Four years wasn't long enough to fix anything.
To finish anything.
To matter.
Unless—
Her throat tightened.
Unless she spent it on something that mattered to her.
She blinked.
That thought hadn't felt like her.
Her? Wanting something?
No — she didn't get to want things. She was a weapon. A spy. A monster in a girl's body.
She wasn't supposed to hope for more.
But sitting in this quiet clearing, surrounded by trees and warmth and silence that didn't judge her...
With someone who, for reasons she couldn't understand, saw her — not as a tool or a threat, but just as someone worth protecting—
The thought came back.
Quiet.
Persistent.
Could I stay?
Live out what time she had left here?
With him?
The idea should've felt insane.
It should've made her recoil.
Instead... it just sat in her chest, soft and heavy, like an unfamiliar warmth spreading through old, cold cracks.
She looked at him again.
Meeyn.
Still half-reclined. Still expressionless. But somehow — without doing anything at all — he made her feel seen.
A thought flashed through her mind:
What if we had children?
It hit like a crack in the armor.
She blinked — once, hard — her breath catching for half a second.
What the hell was that?
Children?
Her?
The idea was laughable. Ridiculous.
But it stuck.
Maybe not now. Maybe not soon.
But part of her — some deeply buried, long-dead piece — imagined a smaller version of herself, of him, running through the trees outside.
Not a weapon. Not cursed.
Just... alive.
She bit the inside of her cheek, hard.
No. That wasn't possible.
But still...
She allowed the image to stay for just a moment longer before burying it again.
Meeyn finally stirred, stretching with a lazy grunt.
"You're staring at me," he muttered without opening his eyes.
Annie jumped slightly, then looked away sharply, heat prickling in her cheeks.
"I'm not," she muttered.
Meeyn cracked one eye open, smirking faintly.
"Hm. Sure."
She didn't answer.
Her mind was already somewhere else entirely.
Four years.
Maybe six.
That was all.