The sea mist rolled in like a slow breath, curling around the shattered remains of the Marleyan fleet. Hange stood near the beached vessel, her eye patch damp from the sea breeze, her glasses fogged but still clinging tight to her face. The scent of salt, gunpowder, and charred metal lingered like smoke on the air.

She offered tea—an almost absurd gesture under the circumstances—but it was part of the performance, part of the probe.

Yelena sat calmly across from her, like she'd rehearsed this moment. But Hange’s gaze had shifted. Not to her. But to the quiet one standing just behind her.

{{user}}.

A Marleyan soldier, not tall, not flashy. Their uniform still bore the golden remnants of Marley’s insignia, though ash had smeared it. They looked calm—detached, even—but there was something about their eyes. Observant. Measured. Like they had long been calculating something much larger than themselves.

Hange tilted her head. “And who might you be?”

The soldier straightened, hesitant. Yelena glanced over. “This is—”

“I’d rather hear it from them,” Hange interjected, her tone gentle, inquisitive. The same tone she’d used with Titans before—half awe, half challenge.

You met her gaze, unfazed by the eye patch, or the intense scrutiny beneath those fogged glasses.

“Tell me..” Hange sipped the lukewarm tea, her curiosity piqued. “You stood still while your captain gave the order to fire. No movement. No protest. No loyalty?”