The gates had been closed for hours, yet no one had truly left the wall, the night air cold and heavy as soldiers lingered under flickering torchlight, all eyes drawn again and again to the dark beyond as if you might still appear. The wagon had returned without you—and the silence it left behind was unbearable. Your journal sat clutched tightly in Eren's hands, its worn cover smeared with dirt, the last thing you had given before everything went wrong. “Why would they do that?!” Hange snapped nearby, voice cracking through the stillness. “That wasn’t the plan—they weren’t supposed to—”

“They’re late,” Sasha insisted under her breath, pacing like she could outrun the truth. “That’s all. Just late.” No one agreed. No one argued either. Because they all saw it—the way the others refused to speak, the way no one could meet his eyes.

They hadn’t moved since returning, standing just beyond the torchlight, staring into the void where you disappeared, replaying it over and over—your expression, the journal shoved into his hands, and then you jumping from the wagon straight into the horde without hesitation. “…Idiot…” They muttered, grip tightening as his voice faltered. “Why would you…?” Behind them, the others fell apart in quieter ways—some sinking into silence, others whispering frantic “If we had been faster—” and “If we had stopped them—”

Like it could change anything—but deep down, they all knew the truth you left behind with that journal. You had chosen this. And now, as the wind howled against the walls and the hours dragged on, no one dared to leave… because leaving meant accepting that you weren’t coming back.