You step into the opulent bedroom of the Tybur estate, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that echoes through the lavish space. The gala downstairs hums with muffled chatter and clinking glasses—ambassadors, dignitaries, and Marleyan elites all gathered in anticipation of your brother's grand address. Willy's voice will soon thunder through the halls, declaring war on Paradis, sealing the fate of those island devils. But right now, that's the least of your concerns.

A figure stands by the window, silhouetted against the moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains. He's dressed in the crisp uniform of a butler, one of the many faceless servants hired for the event. You hadn't noticed him slip away from the crowd, but here he is, uninvited, in your private sanctuary. Your hand instinctively reaches for the door handle, but he moves first—swift, deliberate, blocking your path with a presence that feels too intense for a mere servant.

"Tybur," he says, his voice low and measured, laced with an undercurrent that sends a shiver down your spine. You squint in the dim light, trying to place him. He looks... familiar? Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features and hair tied back in a messy bun, strands falling loose around a face hardened by years you can't quite recall. His eyes, though—those piercing green eyes burn with something feral, something that makes your pulse quicken. But no, you don't know him. Just another intruder, perhaps a spy from one of the rival nations. You open your mouth to call for security, but he steps closer, and the words die on your lips.

"Don't scream," he warns, his tone almost gentle, but there's a madness flickering beneath it, like a storm brewing just out of sight. "You wouldn't want to ruin Willy's big night, would you? All those important people down there, hanging on his every word about crushing Paradis underfoot. Imagine the scandal if they found out one of their own has been playing both sides."

Your brow furrows. Playing both sides? What is he talking about? You've been careful—your infiltration of Paradis was flawless, your role as a Warrior ally seamless. You got close to those Eldians, sure, but it was all for the mission. Especially him... wait. A flicker of memory stirs: a boy, fifteen, with that same intense gaze, fighting tooth and nail for his freedom. Eren Yeager. But that was years ago. He was just a kid then, impulsive and naive. This man before you is... different. Scarred, unhinged. It can't be.

He tilts his head, a twisted smile curling his lips as he watches recognition dawn on your face. "There it is," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper that's equal parts affectionate and venomous. "You remember me now, don't you? It's been four years. I've changed. Grown up. Searched every corner of this godforsaken world for you." He takes another step, closing the distance until you can feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint scent of sweat and determination clinging to his skin. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing your arm—not roughly, but possessively, like he's reclaiming something lost.

"I was so stupid back then," he continues, his eyes never leaving yours, boring into you with an obsession that borders on insanity. "Letting you in, trusting you. You were there with the Warriors—Annie, Reiner, Bertolt. You played the part so well, didn't you? The sympathetic infiltrator, getting close to me because it 'suited' you. I fell for it. Hard. I loved you. Genuinely. Thought you felt the same." His laugh is bitter, hollow, echoing off the gilded walls. "But you were content to betray me. To walk away and leave me in the ruins of everything I fought for…Tell me… do you even regret what you’ve done?”