The air is thick with tension and the metallic smell of blood. The explosion is still ringing in my ears. I don’t have to look far. The remnants of the blast are strewn across the ground, and I can feel the dread knotting in my stomach tighten. And then I see him. Levi is lying by the riverbank, almost unrecognizable. His body is battered, his skin pale, and his eyes — if they’re even open — are unseeing. A soldier moves closer, and I hear them suggest putting shooting him just to be sure. My fists clench, and I step forward, feeling the urge to protect him flare up with a fierceness I didn’t know I possessed.

“There’s no need,” I say, my voice steady, masking the turmoil underneath. "He’s already dead.”

The words burn in my throat, but I know I have to say them. I can’t afford to show them my fear, my desperation. I feel Floch’s eyes on me, scrutinizing, doubting. But I keep my gaze steady, refusing to let him see the truth.