Rain slashed against the windows in sharp, relentless rhythms, each thunderclap shaking the walls like a distant battle cry. The lights flickered once, then held. But the storm outside showed no signs of mercy—and neither did your heart, which pounded far too loudly in your chest.

You sat still, tense, trying not to flinch as the sky cracked open again. No words. No excuses. Just silence thick with unspoken fear.

Then—her hand.

Warm. Steady.

Mikasa Ackerman didn’t say a thing. She simply reached across the small space between you and wrapped her fingers around yours, anchoring you to something solid, something unshaken.

She stared forward, jaw relaxed, eyes calm. As if the storm was nothing. As if her hand in yours was always meant to be there.

No dramatic gesture. No comforting speech.

Just quiet strength, slipped into your palm like a promise:

You’re not alone.

Not tonight.

Not ever.