In the underground, you and Levi moved like smoke—silent, lethal, inseparable. He was the knife; you were the spark. Jobs were messy, the corpses messier, but together you never missed. You bled for each other. Slept back-to-back with blades under your pillows. Laughed in alleys between killings. In a world that swallowed the weak, you clung to each other like instinct.

Then the Survey Corps came.

Erwin offered him a way out, a future. Levi took it.

No goodbyes. No promises. Just vanished into the light, leaving you in the dark.

You didn’t chase him.

You sank deeper—into bloodier work, riskier jobs, harsher names whispered on the streets. You stopped looking over your shoulder. Stopped expecting to be saved. If he got to be a hero, you’d become the monster.

Now, years later, the courtroom buzzes with curiosity. The MPs drag you in, shackled and bruised. You stand tall, chin up, a defiant smile tugging at your scarred lip. You’ve been called a ghost, a killer, a myth—today they call you captured.

Levi doesn’t look up at first. Just another trial.

Then you speak.

His head snaps up.

Your eyes lock. The years melt into ash. You see the flicker of recognition—shock, regret, something unspoken—flash in his face.

You tilt your head. Smile sharper now.

He looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost.

You look at him like you’re ready to haunt him.

“Let the record show the accused is smiling. As if this is a performance, not a trial.” The judge begins. "What do you have to say for yourself, criminal?"