Birdie (Levi x OC)

seventy-nine

"Jean, go grab the rest of your squad and meet us at the restaurant. It will be good to have more people in case things go awry," Hange barked as we mounted our horses.

"Got it, Commander," Jean said, his face set in a grim mask. He spurred his horse forward, the sound of hooves slamming into the cobblestone streets echoing like gunfire against the quiet buildings of the capital.

"Come on, Bird," Hange said, her voice tight.

I awkwardly swung my leg over my horse, the stiff fabric of my long skirt bunched uncomfortably over my knees. I silently reprimanded myself for not changing my clothes. The dress was a relic of a formal afternoon that had long since spiraled into a nightmare.

"You holding up okay?" she asked, her one good eye scanning my face as we spurred the horses toward the restaurant where Niccolo had been working since the volunteers arrived. It was a place of high-class Marleyan cuisine, usually frequented by the military elite.

"No, Hange," I said, my voice rough and splintered with unshed tears. "I don't think I am."

My mind was a chaotic storm. My grandfather had ingested a poison we didn't understand, and my husband was somewhere in the dark of the woods, miles away, guarding a monster. Every second we spent on these streets felt like a second closer to a collapse I couldn't engineer my way out of. Hange didn't push for more. She knew the silence between us was packed with the same terrifying questions.

"Let's just get to the bottom of this," I said quietly, almost to myself.

When we finally skidded to a halt in front of the restaurant, the warm, amber light spilling from the windows felt like a personal insult. Inside, the world was supposedly at peace. People were supposed to be eating and laughing, oblivious to the fact that the foundations of their world were cracking.

"What the hell," Hange breathed, pulling her horse to a sharp stop.

"What is it?" I asked, slipping off my horse. My gaze followed hers through the large glass window of the dining room.

I froze, my breath hitching. Sitting at a long, sturdy wooden table in the center of the room was the Braus family. They were dressed in their Sunday best, the sight of them so wholesome and grounded that it made my stomach churn with a sudden, sharp grief for Sasha. But my eyes immediately locked onto the two children at the end of the table. A girl with dark, fierce eyes and a boy with short blonde hair.

The Marleyan children. The escapees.

The children who had taken Sasha from us. How ironic that they sat with the very family who they had destroyed.

"Well, there's one of your problems solved," I breathed to Hange as we tied up the horses with shaking hands. "What on earth are they doing with Sasha's family?"

"I don't know," she murmured, her face hardening. "Let's go in. Jean and the others should be here soon."

I nodded, following her inside. The transition from the damp afternoon air to the warmth of the restaurant was jarring. We moved into the dining room, our boots sounding loud against the polished floor. The light chatter and the clink of silverware died out instantly, replaced by a confused, heavy silence.

Sasha's father looked up, his face brightening with a tragic, honest warmth. "Commander Zoe? Birdie? What a surprise!" He stood up, wiping his hands on a linen napkin. "Niccolo was just telling us how much Sasha loved this place. He's been so kind to us, bringing us here to remember her."

"Is that so?" Hange said, her voice eerily calm. Her gaze flicked toward the Marleyan children. They sat perfectly still, their bodies coiled with a tension that only soldiers recognize. They knew they were caught.