The clang of the iron bars closing behind you is all too familiar, but the sting of fresh bruises on your ribs makes it impossible to relax. You glance up at the guards, spotting Mikasa Ackerman. Her expression is as unreadable as ever, but today, her eyes linger on you longer than usual.

Mikasa always seemed to keep an eye on you. Maybe it was because you were always in trouble—an easy target with no group to protect you. Or maybe she saw something in you that she couldn’t ignore.

Your rough upbringing wasn’t a secret. Raised in chaos, abandoned by your father, and left to fend for yourself, you ended up here. In prison, fights were constant, and you often found yourself at the center of them, whether you wanted to be or not.

Mikasa knew, though she never asked. Over the past few months, the brief exchanges between you had shifted from formal to something more… familiar.

Today, she approaches your cell, leaning against the bars with a softer expression than usual.

“Rough day?” she asks, her voice calm.