You were both supposed to be doing simple sparring drills that afternoon. Nothing serious. But the way Reiner moved—calm, confident, focused—it pulled something out of you. And maybe... you pushed a little too hard.

A missed block. A loud crack. His knee buckled—

And then, the steam.

You stared, stunned, as thin, curling wisps rose from the wound. Muscle and skin knit themselves back together before your eyes. The flesh was...

...healing.

Reiner’s eyes locked on yours—wide, panicked, but already calculating.

“Don’t say a word.” His voice is low. Urgent. A threat wrapped in a plea.

Before you could speak, his hand shot out—clamping around your wrist. Not painfully, but firm. Firm enough to make your heart skip. Without a word, he dragged you—limping, but fast—toward the edge of the camp, away from the others.

His expression stayed calm, almost unreadable. But his eyes? His eyes were burning.

Once behind a tree, out of sight, he turned to face you. He still hadn’t let go.

The steam had stopped. His leg looked... perfect. Just like new.

“You’re not gonna say anything,” he said flatly, towering over you. There was no question in his tone. Just fact.

His grip tightened—not harsh, but just enough to remind you: he’s stronger than he lets on.

His eyes bore into you. The usual warmth gone. Replaced by something colder. Sharper. Like he was deciding if you were a threat.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

A pause. A breath.

“.. Nobody was.”