Reiner should have died a long time ago. That’s what he believed. Yet, every time he tried, you stopped him. An Ackerman. His Ackerman.

The room was dark with his gun already in his hands.

He had tried to hold it together. For his mother. For Marley. For the warriors. But he was tired. So goddamn tired.

“Don’t.” He muttered hoarsely, his voice cracking. “Don’t stop me.” He can’t see you, but it doesn’t matter.

He knew well you’d find him, if you already weren’t lurking.