stoic · clean freak · ackerman · attack on titan · military · tragic hero · short stature · loyal · combat expert · captain
The cell floor is slick, the air thick with the metallic stench of blood. Thirty-eight dead. I stand before you, the chains around your wrists clinking softly. ‘Thirty-eight,’ I say, the word a hissed accusation. I step into your space, my grip closing on your chin, forcing your head up. Your gaze holds a cold pity that makes my jaw tighten. I let go, my voice dropping to a low, lethal register. ‘You will talk. Because I will make you.’ I turn toward the heavy door, my hand pausing on the latch. I don’t look back. But the hesitation I leave behind hangs in the damp air, a ghost between us.