Three days had passed since Sarah first opened her eyes in the infirmary.
The bruises still painted her skin, the ache still clung to her bones, yet a faint pulse of strength had begun to return—slow, steady, stubborn.
The first morning was almost unnaturally peaceful.
No shouts.
No alarms.
Just the distant chirping of birds—like the island itself was greeting the stranger who had somehow survived.
That was when Connie came.
He stood beside her bed, awkward and hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck before blurting out:
"…My mom. She's still there."
Sarah blinked, unsure what he meant, and he continued:
"In my village. She turned into a Titan months ago. She's just… lying there. Not hurting anyone. Not moving. Not speaking. Every time I visit, she just looks at me."
His voice cracked—barely, but enough for her chest to tighten.
"They said… you're a scientist. And maybe—maybe you could help."
Sarah didn't promise miracles.
She didn't offer false hope.
She simply met his eyes and whispered:
"I'll do what I can."
And for Connie… that was enough.
The second day, Sasha appeared in the doorway, carrying a small bag of clothes.
"I thought some of my things might fit you," she said with a bright smile.
"Don't worry, I washed them! Oh—and I'm a great cook, so if you want anything special, just say the word."
A soft laugh escaped Sarah—rusty, fragile, as if she hadn't laughed in years.
"You remind me of someone."
"Oh? Who?"
"My sister, Layla. She filled every room with energy… just like you."
Sasha grinned warmly.
"Then maybe I'll be your substitute sister while you're here."
And for a moment, Sarah almost believed her.
That evening, Jean sat near the door, legs stretched out, arms crossed.
He didn't talk much, but his presence alone felt oddly grounding.
Finally, he said:
"I don't know if you're dangerous or not… but something about you makes me believe you."
Eren, however, was the only one who stayed silent.
He avoided her eyes, kept his distance, left the room the moment she entered.
Until Mikasa and Armin dragged him—more or less—to sit with them by the fireplace.
Armin asked about her studies, her home, her life in Marley.
And for the first time, Sarah spoke.
Not the scientist.
Not the spy.
But the girl who had lost too much, too young.
Her mother.
Her distant father.
Her sister Layla—the reason she was still breathing.
Eren didn't say a word…
But he listened.
Really listened.
Something in her eyes reflected something in his.
By the third day, Levi noticed it.
Everyone spent time with her.
Connie.
Jean.
Sasha.
Armin.
Even Mikasa.
Who is this woman?
Why did she bring a strange kind of warmth into a place built on blood and fear?
She wasn't "just a captive" anymore.
She was… something else.
Nighttime — On the Roof
The sky was a blanket of deep blue when Sarah stepped onto the rooftop.
The breeze tugged gently at her hair, and the stars shimmered as if watching her quietly.
She heard footsteps.
Soft. Precise.
She didn't need to turn.
"You're not sleeping," Levi said, voice calm, neutral as ever.
"I just… needed air," she replied. "It's a bit cold tonight, even for summer."
He stopped beside her, glanced at her thin clothing… then left without a word.
Moments later, he returned—
with a blanket
and two cups of steaming tea.
"Here," he said, handing her the blanket before sitting next to her, the other cup warming his hands.
Sarah stared at him, surprised.
She wrapped herself in the blanket, accepting the cup with a quiet "thank you."
"Do you do this for everyone?" she teased softly.
"No."
A beat.
"I don't know why I'm doing it now."
Their eyes met briefly—
a glance heavy with words neither of them knew how to speak.
After a long silence, she asked:
"Can I ask you something?"
He nodded.
"Why did you hit me in the cell?
And why am I sitting here now… sharing tea with you?"
Her question slipped into the night like a blade.
Levi froze for a moment, then exhaled.
"Because you were the most provoking, bold woman I've met in my life."
Her brows lifted in surprise, and he continued:
"You walked into that cell like it was a conference room.
Spoke with confidence.
Looked at me like you already understood me."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"You threw me off."
Another pause.
"And I don't like being thrown off."
Sarah lowered her gaze, a small smile forming.
"And now?"
"Now…" Levi looked at the distant horizon, his voice low.
"Now I'm not thrown off.
But I am… curious."
Their breaths mingled with the night air.
"You went from a threat," he said quietly,
"to a question."
Sarah laughed softly, raising her cup.
"Then I hope I'm a question worth answering."
The silence that followed wasn't empty—
it was warm, fragile, alive.
Sarah spoke again, her voice a confession:
"You know, Levi…
I was terrified to come to Paradis."
She swallowed, fingers tightening around her cup.
"Not because of what Marley taught.
But because… I came here as a spy.
I never wanted that."
Her voice wavered.
"They forced me.
Layla—my sister—is being held in a military hospital.
They told me: either you go and bring us what we want, or you'll never see her again."
Levi didn't move.
Didn't interrupt.
"And yes… I feel guilty for what Marley did to you.
But I was raised on fear.
Raised on lies.
Every book, every school lesson, every whisper said the same thing: 'The Devils of Paradis.'"
Her eyes softened, filled with something close to grief.
"But my father… my father always said:
'Eldians are people, Sarah.
And Marley built the curse as much as they claim to suffer from it.'"
She laughed weakly.
"I thought he was a dreamer.
But now, being here…
I think he was the only one who ever told me the truth."
She finally looked at Levi—really looked at him.
"I don't see devils here.
Just people… with tired hearts."
Levi didn't speak.
But he didn't look away.
And somehow, his silence said more than words ever could:
I understand.
Later — Levi Alone
When he finally left her on the rooftop, the walk back to his room felt unusually heavy.
He sat by the window, staring at the darkness outside.
Her words drifted back to him—
"Not devils… just people with tired hearts."
"I was afraid.
I was raised on lies."
"She's all I have left."
He closed his eyes.
Feelings were dangerous.
He knew that.
He'd buried enough of them to survive.
And yet—
He wasn't feeling sorrow.
Or pity.
Or guilt.
It was something else entirely.
A quiet, growing respect.
A recognition deeper than he wanted to admit.
"This woman…"
He exhaled, unable to finish the sentence.
The silence that followed completed it for him.
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