Glass Heart Syndrome

Chapter 16

The morning after the raid brought a biting chill that seemed to seep into Eren's bones. He stayed close to the back of the safehouse, eyes fixed on the fading embers of the hearth, thoughts turning over like restless waves.

When Niall returned, his expression was alight with satisfaction. "The council's already scrambling," he said, a dark edge to his tone. "They don't know where the breach came from, which makes it easier for us to keep pushing. Well done."

Eren gave a silent nod, feeling only a hollow echo of accomplishment. He felt Alista's eyes on him, sharp and knowing, but he kept his gaze averted. The weight of the previous night lingered, a tension he hadn't yet been able to shake.

Niall gestured for him to follow, leading him through a narrow, dim hallway toward a small room at the back. The room was sparse, containing only a rough wooden table and two chairs. Niall took a seat, motioning for Eren to do the same.

"Sit," he said. Eren complied, the air between them thick with unspoken tension.

After a brief silence, Niall spoke, his gaze steady. "You handled yourself well last night, but I need to know something before we go any further. This path isn't for those who are halfway in, halfway out. You're either all in, or you're a liability."

Eren met his gaze, the shadows beneath his eyes betraying his fatigue but not his resolve. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Niall's mouth curved in a faint smile, though it held little warmth. "Words are cheap, Eren. I need proof. And so does the rebellion."

Eren's jaw tightened. He understood what Niall was asking, and a part of him recoiled. He thought of the guard he'd killed, the lingering specter that haunted his thoughts. But he couldn't afford hesitation, not here, not now.

"Tell me what you need," he replied, his voice low and steady.

Niall leaned back, the dim light casting shadows across his face. "There's a man. A council informant. He's been giving away our positions, our routes. He's the reason we've lost some of our people."

Eren nodded, his gaze hardening. "Where do I find him?"

Niall handed him a scrap of parchment with an address scrawled across it. "He frequents this place. You'll find him there tonight. Do what needs to be done—and make sure there are no loose ends."

Eren tucked the parchment into his cloak, the weight of the assignment settling over him like a shroud. He left the room without another word, the cold air outside biting at his skin, matching the chill growing within him.

---

The tavern was a dim, low-ceilinged place, the air thick with the scent of stale ale and damp wood. Eren slipped into the corner, cloaked in shadows, his gaze scanning the crowd with careful intent. He spotted the informant quickly enough—a wiry man with a nervous energy, his eyes darting around the room as if he expected betrayal at any moment.

Eren watched, waiting, letting the minutes stretch as he observed the man's every movement, every anxious glance. He recognized the telltale signs of guilt, the way the man clutched his drink like it could ward off his fears.

Finally, as the crowd thinned and the hour grew late, the informant staggered to his feet, weaving his way toward the exit. Eren slipped from his seat, following at a careful distance, his footsteps silent against the cobbled street as he trailed the man through the winding alleyways.

The informant's path led them into a narrow side street, the walls pressing in on either side. Eren quickened his pace, closing the distance between them in measured, silent steps. He reached out, grabbing the man's shoulder, spinning him around to face him.

The informant's eyes went wide with fear, his hands coming up in a feeble attempt at defense. "Wait—please—I don't know anything!"

Eren's grip tightened, his gaze cold and unyielding. "You've been selling out the rebellion. People have died because of you."

The man's face twisted in desperation. "I had no choice! They— they would have killed me if I didn't give them information!"

A flicker of something passed through Eren—a faint, unwelcome echo of sympathy. But he pushed it aside, his mind hardening, steeling himself against the pull of compassion. The man had chosen his path, and now he would face the consequences.

Eren drew his blade, the metal glinting in the faint moonlight. The informant's face crumpled, his voice breaking into a pathetic whimper. "Please... I was only trying to survive."

The words struck a nerve, raw and exposed. They mirrored Eren's own thoughts, his own justifications. But this was different, he told himself. This man's survival had cost others their lives.

In one swift motion, Eren plunged the blade forward, the weight of the act settling over him as the man crumpled to the ground. He stood there for a moment, staring down at the body, feeling the quiet, hollow ache that followed in the wake of violence.

He'd done what was necessary, he reminded himself. He'd fulfilled his part, proven his loyalty. But as he turned to leave, a question echoed in the back of his mind, persistent and unyielding.

How many more choices like this would he have to make? How much further would he descend before he became someone he no longer recognized?

---

Back at the safehouse, Niall awaited him, a look of approval in his eyes as Eren entered. "Did he talk?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"No," Eren replied, his voice steady, though the weight of his actions clung to him like a shadow. "He didn't say a word."

Niall nodded, a faint smile curving his lips. "Good. You've proven yourself, Eren. The rebellion has no room for weakness. Remember that."

Eren inclined his head, feeling the unspoken verdict settle over him. He was part of this now, bound to it by blood and silence. There was no turning back.

As he lay awake that night, the room cloaked in darkness, he found himself staring at the ceiling, his mind restless. The cost of survival weighed heavily upon him, and he knew that each choice, each act, was etching itself deeper into his soul, shaping him into something colder, something harder.

Ezura had demanded sacrifices, and he'd given them willingly. But as he drifted into an uneasy sleep, he couldn't escape the sense that with each sacrifice, he was losing something he could never reclaim.