Chapter 9 – The Quiet Flame

The barracks had lost their edge. No yelling, no steel clashing. Just footsteps echoing softer than usual, as if the entire outpost had taken a breath it didn't know how to hold. Since Mikasa's injury, the sharp rhythm of command had dulled into a heavy lull.

Annie stood outside the infirmary, one foot pressed against the wooden beam, arms crossed, jaw clenched. She'd been there for minutes, or longer. She'd watched Armin enter first, carrying a worn book. Sasha and Connie came later with their nervous chatter and extra bread. Even Jean had shown up, lingering awkwardly like he didn't want to admit he cared.

Annie didn't care. She told herself that again. She was only here because not showing up would be suspicious. Because too much silence drew eyes.

The tent flap moved with the wind. Lantern light flickered from inside.

She finally stepped in.

The warmth hit her first—then the stillness. Mikasa lay on a cot near the center, bandaged shoulder exposed under the light. Her hair was damp, falling loosely around her face, curling slightly at the ends like it had dried wrong. She looked… less like the woman who barked orders and more like a girl someone forgot to carry home from war.

Mikasa opened her eyes. "Took you long enough."

Annie raised an eyebrow. "Didn't realize it was a schedule."

"Everyone else came earlier." Her voice was lower than usual, thick with fatigue but still sharp.

Annie walked over without asking and sat beside the cot. Her eyes flicked to the wound, then back to Mikasa's face.

"Did they all fuss over you?"

Mikasa didn't answer right away. "More than I liked."

Silence stretched. A wind pressed faintly against the canvas, tugging at the edges.

Annie hesitated, something uncharacteristic pulling at her chest. She stared at a strand of hair lying across Mikasa's cheek, gently sticking to the edge of her mouth with the shallow breath she took. Without thinking, Annie reached out and brushed it back, slow and almost clumsy.

Mikasa's eyes tracked the motion.

Their gazes locked.

The moment didn't pass—it thickened.

Mikasa didn't speak. Neither did Annie. Their eyes held, like something unsaid was being dragged between them, unwrapped silently. It wasn't warm—it was heat wrapped in old bruises and punished defiance. A fire left to smolder instead of blaze.

Annie lowered her hand. She didn't pull away abruptly. She just let it fall.

"You should've stayed down that day," Mikasa said finally, voice softer.

"I didn't ask for saving."

"You didn't have to." Mikasa shifted, wincing. "You nearly got yourself crushed."

"You do realize I'm not your responsibility," Annie muttered.

"No," Mikasa said. "You're my soldier."

Annie tensed. "You always keep eyes on me."

Mikasa didn't blink. "Because you don't flinch when you're supposed to."

Annie gave a faint scoff, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe I just know when I'm being tested."

"You're always being tested."

Annie looked down for half a second, something unreadable passing through her face. "Better that than drawing attention the wrong way."

Mikasa exhaled and looked toward the ceiling.

Annie turned halfway, fingers flexing by her sides, but didn't leave.

"Eren doesn't trust me," she said quietly.

"He never did," Mikasa said. "Not since the training corps."

"I don't care what he thinks," Annie added, sharper now.

"But you care what I think."

The quiet returned, more biting now.

"I care when it means getting punished for nothing," Annie bit out.

"You're not punished for nothing," Mikasa said, eyes meeting hers again.

Annie clenched her jaw, but didn't speak this time.

The tent flap opened, the moment severed like a blade through string.

Eren stepped in, his eyes narrowing the second he saw Annie standing close to the bed.

"I didn't expect you to still be here," he said, voice clipped.

Annie didn't move. "I was just leaving."

"You should," he said. "We've got new reports. And you've got assignments."

Annie gave Mikasa one last glance. The other woman had already shifted her gaze to Eren, her face unreadable again.

She left, boots silent against the packed dirt.

Outside, the air was sharp with late sun and distance. She walked past the barracks, past the old practice grounds, her hands shoved deep in her coat sleeves.

The way Mikasa had looked at her…

It had made everything worse.

Inside the tent, Eren crossed his arms. "You trust her too easily."

"I don't trust her," Mikasa replied, staring at the spot where Annie had stood.

"Then why protect her?"

Mikasa didn't answer. Not with words.