The hallway was long and dim. The air still smelled like smoke after the attack on the palace. Alex walked beside Mikasa.
Alex carried heavy gas canisters on his shoulder, but he kept up with her. His thoughts were somewhere else.
They turned a corner. Soldiers were clearing rubble. Shouts, metal sounds, and the faint smell of burning still hung in the air.
Alex looked at Mikasa. Her face was calm but focused, her eyes scanning every corner. Always alert.
"Hey, Mikasa," he said softly, barely louder than the noise around them. "Do you ever think about the sea?"
She didn't answer. Didn't look at him. Her eyes stayed ahead, her body tense like she hadn't heard him.
He kept going, his voice light but steady. "It's out there, you know. Beyond the walls. A huge ocean, bigger than anything. They say it's so wide, it makes you feel small. But maybe… free, too. I've never seen it myself."
Mikasa stayed quiet. Her boots made soft sounds on the stone floor. She shifted her gear and winced a little, though she kept walking straight toward Historia's room.
Alex didn't stop. He adjusted the canisters and spoke more quietly, almost to himself. "I keep thinking about it lately. The sea."
Mikasa's pace slowed slightly, just for a moment. Her hand hovered over her injured side, fingers curling, then relaxing. But she still didn't look at him. Her silence felt as strong as the walls of Paradis.
Alex breathed out gently. "I'd like to see it someday," he said, almost in a whisper. "Just stand there. Feel the wind, the salt air. Maybe it's silly, but… I think it's worth it. Don't you?"
Still no answer. No nod. No glance. Only her steady steps and the quiet sound of metal from her gear.
Her face stayed blank, but her eyes shifted down for a second—then forward again. If he hadn't been watching, he wouldn't have noticed.
They reached Historia's door. Mikasa stopped. Her hand touched the handle. Her posture was tight, like she expected danger even now.
Alex stood behind her, the canisters heavy in his hands, watching her closely.
"Stay close," she said, her voice low and sharp.
Alex nodded and followed her inside. The room was empty. Historia wasn't back yet from her speech. The noise from the hallway faded. It was quiet here.
Mikasa walked to the window and looked outside, still watching for trouble.
Alex set down the canisters. He looked at her, her shape lit by soft light. She stood still, scarf loose around her neck, hand resting on her blade. He could feel the weight she carried—Eren, duty, everything. She looked strong, but tired.
"I meant what I said," Alex spoke softly. "About the sea. If I ever get the chance, I'm going. Maybe you'd want to come too."
Her shoulders tightened a little. She didn't move, didn't speak. But her fingers twitched on her blade. Just a little.
Alex didn't say more. He leaned back against the wall. The silence grew between them.
The silence in Historia's quarters was a fragile thing, broken only by the faint creak of the door as it swung open. Historia stepped inside, her posture regal but her eyes tired.
Her blonde hair was neatly pinned, but a few strands had slipped free, framing her pale face. She glanced at Mikasa by the window, then at Alex leaning against the wall, her expression carefully neutral.
"Mikasa, Alex," she said, her voice steady but formal, like she was addressing a council chamber. "Thank you for waiting. There's news."
Mikasa turned from the window, her hand still resting on her blade. "Your Majesty, is it the attackers? Have they found who sent them?"
Historia shook her head, setting a small stack of papers on the desk with a deliberate calm. "Not yet, but the council's digging. The rifles from the armory—some had Paradisian markings. Forged, maybe, but it's enough to make them think someone inside is involved." Her eyes flicked to Alex briefly, then away, as if he were just another worker in her service. "They're looking at everyone close to the crown."
Alex felt a prickle down his spine. He shifted, the ache from the gas canisters fading under the weight of her words. Inside Paradis. His mind churned through the timeline—851, maybe 852, the Yeagerists stirring, the MPs scheming.
He had to keep his knowledge locked tight, but Historia's glance, however brief, felt like a warning. He stayed silent, watching her carefully.
Mikasa's voice cut through the room, sharp and low. "Everyone close to the crown… like him?" Her eyes locked on Alex.
Historia's expression didn't falter. She straightened, her tone clipped and professional. "Alex is a trusted worker. He's proven himself in the armory and before that in the stables. The council's suspicions are just that—suspicions. We don't have time for baseless accusations when we're under attack."
Alex caught the faintest edge in her voice, a defensive note she quickly buried. She was playing her part too well, keeping Mikasa at a distance from whatever bond they'd built. He wondered if it was for his safety or hers.
Mikasa's gaze didn't soften. "He's too lucky," she said, her words precise. "The chandelier, the bullets, the armory. No one's that lucky." Her fingers twitched on her blade, and Alex felt the room shrink, her scrutiny pinning him like a titan's stare.
"Mikasa," Historia said, her voice firm but not harsh, "I need you focused on the threat outside, not chasing shadows within. Alex is no spy. He's here to help, same as you."
Mikasa's jaw tightened, but she gave a curt nod, stepping back. Her eyes lingered on Alex, though, and he knew she wasn't convinced. The sea, his words about freedom—they'd stirred something in her, but not enough to dull her instincts.
A sharp knock at the door broke the tension. A scout, his cloak stained with dust, stood panting in the doorway. "Your Majesty, Captain Levi's orders. Defectors spotted near Wall Rose. They've got iceburst stone explosives—enough to breach a gate or worse. Small group, but they're moving fast."