The four of them were trying to muffle their laughter as they whispered in their tent, long after lights-out.
"And then the kitchen lady looked at us like we were criminals," Jack whispered, imitating the woman's stern expression. "Four drowned rats begging for scraps."
"Your face when she asked why we were soaking wet," Annie snorted quietly. "You just pointed at the sky like it had been raining."
"It could have been raining," Jack defended in a whisper.
"On a completely clear day?" Reiner added, trying not to laugh too loud.
"And Mrs. Hoffman from the next tent," Bertholdt giggled. "When we tracked mud everywhere and she started yelling about 'inconsiderate children.'"
"I still can't believe we had to hang our clothes inside," Annie said, glancing up at their wet garments draped from the tent poles like sad flags. "It's like living in someone's laundry."
"At least we got those leftover rolls," Jack said. "Worth it."
"Barely," Annie muttered, but she was still smiling.
The laughter gradually died down as tiredness caught up with them. Reiner was the first to drift off, still smiling slightly in his sleep. Bertholdt followed soon after, curled up in his corner like he always did.
Jack was starting to doze when he heard the soft rustle of someone moving. Through half-closed eyes, he saw Annie carefully stepping over their scattered belongings, making her way to the tent flap.
She paused at the entrance, looking back to make sure the others were really asleep, then slipped outside.
Jack waited a few minutes, listening to make sure she wasn't just going to the latrines. When she didn't come back, curiosity got the better of him. He grabbed his jacket and followed.
The camp was quiet except for the distant murmur of night guards making their rounds. A few cooking fires still glowed between the tents, casting long shadows across the dirt paths. Jack spotted Annie sitting on a supply crate about fifty meters away, staring up at the stars.
She looked smaller out here, even younger than her usual. Her shoulders were hunched like she was carrying something heavy, and even from a distance Jack could see the tension in her posture.
Something's eating at her, he thought. ... Has been since we got here.
He approached slowly, not wanting to startle her. "Couldn't sleep either?"
Annie jumped slightly, then turned to look at him. Her face was carefully blank again, but Jack was getting better at reading the signs underneath. The tightness around her eyes, the way she held her jaw—she was upset about something.
"Just needed air," she said. "The tent gets stuffy."
Jack settled beside her on the crate, leaving some space between them. He'd learned that Annie didn't like feeling crowded. "Want to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?"
"Whatever's got you sitting out here looking like the world's ending."
Annie was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on something in the distance. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than usual.
"Do you ever think about before? Before the attack?"
"Sometimes." Jack pulled his jacket tighter against the night chill. "Henrik mostly. Wonder what he'd think about all this."
"What was he like?"
It was the first time any of them had asked Jack a real question about his past. Usually they listened whenever he mentioned Henrik, but they never pushed for details.
"Kind," Jack said simply. "He found me when I was eight, living in the streets after the orphanage burned down. Could have just given me some bread and sent me on my way, but instead he took me home." Jack smiled at the memory. "He was terrible at business though. Always giving away free bread to people who looked hungry."
Annie's POV
He was kind to you too, Annie thought, watching Jack's face soften as he talked about Henrik. Just like you're being kind to us.
The guilt was getting harder to carry. Every story Jack told, every small kindness he showed them, every moment like this where he treated her like a real friend instead of the demon they we're told Eldian's were—it all made the weight in her chest heavier.
We're going to destroy this place, she reminded herself. All of it. Everything he cares about.
But sitting here in the quiet darkness, listening to Jack talk about the man who'd saved him, Annie couldn't make herself feel like a warrior. She just felt like a twelve-year-old girl who'd done something terrible and didn't know how to live with it.
"What about your family?" Jack asked gently. "Before everything happened?"
Annie's throat tightened. She'd prepared answers for this question, false memories about fictional relatives who'd died in the attack. But looking at Jack's open, trusting face, she found herself wanting to tell him something real.
"My father," she said carefully. "He... he taught me to fight. Said I needed to be strong to survive."
That much is true, she thought. Even if everything else is a lie.
"He sounds like he cared about you."
"In his way." Annie's voice got even quieter. "But caring about someone and being good to them aren't always the same thing."
Jack studied her profile in the dim light. "Did he hurt you?"
The question was asked so gently, with such genuine concern, that Annie felt her carefully built walls start to crack.
Yes, she wanted to say. In ways you couldn't understand. He turned me into a weapon and called it love.
Instead, she just shrugged. "He did what he thought he had to do."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
They sat in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. Annie could feel Jack watching her, probably trying to figure out how to help with problems he didn't understand.
Don't, she wanted to tell him. Don't try to save me. I'm not worth saving.
But the words wouldn't come out.