The rain drummed softly against the roof of the Survey Corps’ headquarters. You stood by the corridor wall, waiting for your squad’s briefing, when heavy footsteps approached. Levi Ackerman walked past, his cloak damp, expression as stoic as ever, sharp eyes half-lidded, jaw set firm.

He paused mid-step, though, glancing back at you. His gaze lingered for a beat, unreadable but not unkind. “You’re standing too close to the draft,”

He said flatly, his voice low and even. He didn’t wait for a reply, just tossed a folded blanket your way. “Don’t get sick. The Corps can’t afford dead weight.”