Chapter 10: Deskbound Surrender
The world narrowed to the taste of salt on Eren’s skin and the sharp, electrical thrill of control. Armin’s hand fisted in his hair, guiding him up from his knees. Eren’s body moved on instinct, a well-trained response to the quiet authority in Armin’s touch. His knees ached from the coarse carpet, a pleasant, grounding pain.
“Stand up. Bend over the desk.”
The command was calm, absolute. Eren scrambled to obey, his movements fluid with submission. He rose, his bare skin gleaming under the relentless fluorescent light of their shabby apartment. He turned, bracing his hands on the cheap particleboard surface of Armin’s work desk. The monitors glowed, the image of Captain Levi’s grainy silhouette still frozen on one screen—a ghost watching them.
Armin didn’t push him down immediately. He stood behind him, a solid presence. Eren felt the warmth of him, heard the soft rustle of clothing. Then, Armin’s palms smoothed over the tight muscles of his lower back, down over the curve of his ass. The touch was possessive, appraising. Eren shuddered, his head dropping forward.
“Look at him,” Armin whispered, his voice low in Eren’s ear. One hand gestured toward the monitor. “We found him. Because of my work. My patience. My skill.” His other hand slid between Eren’s cheeks, a dry, teasing pressure that made Eren’s breath hitch. “You get to come today because I succeeded. You understand? This reward is mine to give.”
Eren’s “Yes,” was a strained, cracked thing.
Armin’s finger pressed inward, not entering, just applying firm, insistent pressure. “What do you say?”
“Thank you.” The words were a exhaled prayer.
“Good.”
Only then did Armin move. He didn’t shove Eren onto the desk; he guided him down, using the hand in Eren’s hair to lower his torso until his cheek was pressed against the cool surface. Papers crinkled under his weight. A USB cable dug into his ribs. Eren didn’t care. His world was the smell of warm electronics and Armin’s soap, the hum of the computers, and the burning anticipation coiling in his gut.
He heard the tear of a foil packet, the slick sound of lube. He closed his eyes, waiting.
Armin entered him in one smooth, brutal stroke.
Eren cried out, a raw sound swallowed by the desktop. The stretch was exquisite, a fullness that bordered on pain before melting into a deep, satisfying burn. Armin didn’t pause for him to adjust. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, each drive of his hips slamming Eren into the edge of the desk. The monitors rattled.
“This,” Armin grunted, his voice losing its measured cool, fraying at the edges with his own pleasure, “is what you needed, isn’t it? To be used. To be reminded you belong to something. To me.”
“Yes! God, yes!” Eren choked out. The desk squeaked in protest with every thrust. The chaotic data on the screens blurred in his vision. He was unmoored, everything—the rage at the dock, the helplessness of the search, the ghost of Levi on the screen—all of it was being fucked out of him, replaced by a singular, overwhelming focus on the point where their bodies joined.
Armin leaned over him, his chest plastered to Eren’s sweat-slicked back. His teeth found the corded muscle of Eren’s shoulder, biting down hard enough to brand. “You’re mine,” he hissed, the words hot against Eren’s skin. “In this world, in that one. In any world. My strategist. My weapon. My good boy.”
The praise, filthy and tender, unraveled something deep inside Eren. A sob mixed with his next moan. He pushed back against Armin, meeting him thrust for thrust, needing more, deeper, harder. The slapping of skin, the grunts of effort, the creak of the cheap furniture—it was a symphony that drowned out Miami, drowned out the past, drowned out everything but this claiming.
Armin’s hand snaked under Eren, wrapping around his leaking cock. The touch was electric. “Come for me,” Armin commanded, his rhythm becoming erratic, desperate. “Now. Show me.”
The dual sensations—the deep, pounding invasion and the tight, swift friction on his cock—were too much. Eren shattered. His orgasm ripped through him with violent, silent intensity, his body seizing, his shout stifled against the desk. He spilled over Armin’s fist, stripes of white painting the scattered papers below.
Feeling Eren clamp down around him in his climax tipped Armin over the edge. With a final, guttural curse, he buried himself to the hilt, his own release pulsing hot inside Eren. He collapsed over him, his weight a solid, comforting pressure.
For a long minute, the only sounds were their heaving breaths and the hum of the laptops. The image of Levi watched on, unchanged.
Slowly, Armin softened, slipped out. He stayed draped over Eren for a moment longer, his lips pressed to the bite mark on his shoulder. Then, with a tenderness that contrasted starkly with their previous frenzy, he helped Eren stand. Eren’s legs were jelly. Armin guided him to their unmade bed, pushing him to sit on the edge.
Armin fetched a warm washcloth from the bathroom, cleaning Eren with a methodical gentleness that made Eren’s throat tight. He said nothing. He didn’t need to. The care was its own language.
Once Eren was clean, Armin pulled on a pair of boxers and sat beside him on the bed, his shoulder pressed to Eren’s. He picked up his own laptop from the floor, the one that hadn’t been part of the desk-bound chaos.
“We need to be smart,” Armin said, his voice back to its analytical calm. He opened a browser, his fingers flying over the keys. “A direct approach to an address associated with a public business is risky. Levi values control above all else. Showing up unannounced could be seen as a threat. He could vanish again.”
Eren, his body humming with a deep, post-coital exhaustion, leaned his head on Armin’s shoulder. “What, then?”
“We find a buffer. An intermediary he might trust.” Armin’s brow furrowed in concentration. “The news clip was about his shop. He has a business. That means he has a digital footprint, however faint. Customer reviews, supplier lists, local business permits…” He trailed off, typing rapidly.
Eren watched the lines of code and search results reflected in Armin’s blue eyes. This was Armin’s element, his version of dominance. The intellectual pursuit, the puzzle. It soothed Eren as much as the physical submission had.
“Here,” Armin said after a few minutes, turning the screen. “A motorcycle customization forum. Very niche. Mostly dedicated to vintage Japanese sport bikes and insane performance mods.” He pointed to a username: SilentDrifter87. “Look at the posting history. Technical specs, incredibly detailed. A disdain for ‘flashy’ custom jobs. A few… surprisingly poetic lines about the feel of a machine at 180 kilometers per hour on a empty back road. And look at this.” He clicked a profile page. It was barren, except for a location: Columbus, OH. And a join date: three years, two months ago.
“Right after the Final Battle,” Eren murmured.
“Right after we all arrived here,” Armin corrected softly. “It’s him. It has to be.” He chewed his lip. “We can’t message him directly. He’d ignore it or bolt. But… we can message someone who knows him.”
“Who?”
Armin navigated to another profile. MechaniQueen. “Active poster. Asks SilentDrifter87 a lot of technical questions. He answers, sometimes with just part numbers, sometimes with short, cryptic advice. Based on her posts, she’s local to Columbus. And she’s organizing a charity ride next month. A ‘Ride for the Fallen,’ supporting veteran mental health services.” Armin looked at Eren, a fierce light in his eyes. “She’s tagged him in the event thread. Asking if he’s sponsoring again this year.”
“He’s involved with the community,” Eren said, the idea feeling alien. Captain Levi, helping organize a charity motorcycle ride.
“In his own way. Probably just wrote a check to make her go away.” Armin allowed a small smile. “But it’s a connection. A public event. If we show up there, it’s a coincidence. We’re just two guys interested in bikes, paying our respects. We see him. We gauge his reaction. We don’t corner him. We let him see us.”
Eren stared at the forum thread. A plan. A real, tactical approach. It felt like taking a full breath for the first time in years. The helpless rage that had been his constant companion receded, replaced by a sharp, focused energy. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow,” Armin said, his gaze fixed on the forum map. “We drive. It’s a long haul, but flying leaves a trail. Cash for gas, generic motels.” He was already calculating, the strategist fully engaged. “We observe the charity ride perimeter first. Find the best sightline.”
Eren nodded, the plan settling into his bones like a new kind of order. He watched Armin’s fingers hover over the trackpad, ready to dive deeper into this digital reconnaissance. The familiar, restless energy that usually churned within him had quieted, replaced by a focused calm.
Then Armin’s phone, lying screen-down on the rumpled sheets, began to vibrate.
It was a harsh, rattling sound in the still room. They both stared at it. Armin’s personal phone rarely rang. His brow furrowed as he picked it up. The screen showed an unknown number with a 607 area code. “New York,” he muttered. “Sasha.”
He answered, putting it on speaker. “Sasha?”
But the voice that crackled through wasn’t Sasha’s. “—seriously, Levi, hold on, I’m doing the thing—oh! Hi! Is this… Armin Arlert? Oh my god, it went to voicemail, hello? Hello?”
The voice was bright, instantly familiar, a shard of a past life polished by a new, effortless confidence. Aria Reyes. Eren’s breath caught in his throat. He locked eyes with Armin, seeing his own shock reflected there.
“Hello? Can you hear me? This is Aria. Aria Reyes? From… from before? I’m with—Levi, stop glaring at me, you’re making my hands shake—okay, he says hi. Sort of. More like a grunt. Anyway, Sasha gave me this number. Said you were looking for… people.”
In the background, a deeper, infinitely weary voice cut in, muffled but unmistakable. “Get to the point. We don’t have all day.”
“I am getting to the point!” Aria’s voice softened, becoming more urgent, more real. “Armin, Eren… if you’re there. We’re in New York. Binghamton. Something’s… happening. Legal stuff. It’s a mess. Sasha’s on her way to us. Levi thinks—well, he thinks we’re a target now. That finding each other might make things worse.”
Another rustle, the phone changing hands. Levi’s voice came through, closer, clearer, stripped of all preamble. “Aria’s being polite. We’ve been made. A lawyer is sniffing around about her past, her origins. It’s a liability. Your connection to Sasha is now a potential vector. If you’re planning something stupid like a reunion tour, reconsider.”
Armin found his voice, thin with disbelief. “Captain?”
A heavy sigh traveled through the speaker. “Don’t. Just listen. You have a lead. On me.”
It wasn’t a question. Eren flinched. Armin’s face went pale. The grainy forum photo seemed to burn from the laptop screen.
“Your digital footprint is amateur hour,” Levi continued, his tone flat. “Wipe it. The charity ride idea is a trap. My design. I monitor the forum. Saw your queries. Knew it was one of you the second that ‘MechaniQueen’ account got a new follower from a Miami IP with laughable encryption.”
Armin’s mouth opened, then closed. He’d been outmaneuvered before he’d even moved.
“Here’s the new directive,” Levi said, the old command structure snapping into place despite the years and the distance. “You will not come to Columbus. You will drive to Binghamton. You will be here by Thursday. Aria will text you the address. You will tell no one. You will not use your real names on the road.”
“Why?” Eren burst out, the word rough. “Why now?”
A moment of silence. Then Levi’s voice, lower. “Because the walls are coming down. Either we control the collapse, or it buries us.” A faint, softer sound followed—Aria whispering something, her words unclear but her tone soothing. Then Levi again, finality in every syllable. “Move. Now.”
The call ended.
The dial tone buzzed in the silent, sunlit Miami apartment. The hum of the laptops, the distant sound of a boat horn on the bay, it all rushed back in. Eren looked at Armin, the careful plan of minutes ago completely obliterated. The direct line to their past had just spoken, and it had given them an order.
Armin stared at the phone. His hand trembled slightly. Then he took a deep, shuddering breath, and his eyes snapped to Eren’s with resurrected clarity. “We pack. We take the route up the coast, avoid major toll systems. We use cash.”
He was already moving, pulling a duffel bag from the closet. The submissive was gone, folded away. The strategist was back, armed with a new, terrifying set of variables. Levi was alive. Aria was with him. And they were all in danger.
Eren stood, his body humming with a new, electrifying purpose. The displaced rage had found a direction. A target. He didn’t know who the lawyer was, or what the legal threat meant. He only knew that a threat to them had finally taken a shape he could fight.
“I’ll get the car ready,” he said, his voice steady.
Armin nodded, throwing clothes into the bag with ruthless efficiency. “We stop for burner phones first. One each. No communication between them.” He glanced at the laptop, at the frozen image of SilentDrifter87. A ghost who had just reached out and grabbed them by the collar. “He’s been watching. This whole time.”
Eren picked up his own phone, looking at the now-dark screen as if it might hold more answers. The peppy, familiar echo of Aria’s voice played over in his mind, underscored by Levi’s profound exhaustion. They were real. They were together. And they were calling for backup.
He shoved the phone in his pocket and headed for the door, the Miami heat hitting him like a wall. Their search was over. Something else had begun.
The heavy silence after Levi’s call didn’t last. It shattered into a frenzy of motion.
Armin was already stuffing laptops into protective sleeves, his movements precise and economical. “Burner phones first. Then cash. Enough for gas, food, motels. No cards.” He didn’t look up, his mind clearly racing through logistical chains. “We take the I-95 north, but we ditch it for state roads after Jacksonville. Fewer cameras.”
Eren stared at him for a second, the reality hardening. Levi had been watching. He’d seen Armin’s search. He’d laid a trap and they’d walked right into it. A strange pride mixed with the shock—Levi was still Levi. Then, the implication hit. “He thinks we’re in danger. That we’re a liability to them.”
“He knows we’re a vulnerability,” Armin corrected, zipping a duffel shut. “A connection he can’t control. He’s bringing us in to contain the breach.” He finally met Eren’s gaze, his blue eyes sharp. “Which means the threat is real. And it’s close.”
That lit the fuse. Eren’s earlier calm evaporated, replaced by a vibrating need to move. He grabbed his own bag, throwing in clothes with no regard for folding. Jeans, shirts, boots. The physicality of preparation grounded him. They worked in tandem, a well-rehearsed dance born of countless sudden retreats in another life. In ten minutes, the apartment was stripped of anything useful, any trace of their true identities.
Eren scooped up his keys from the chipped ceramic bowl by the door, the familiar weight a comfort. “Garage.”
They took the service elevator down to the building’s dank underground parking. The humid, oily air was a shock after the apartment’s conditioned sterility. Their footsteps echoed off the concrete.
And there it sat, gleaming under a solitary fluorescent light like a panther in a cage. A 2024 black Dodge Challenger, all aggressive lines and dark tint. Eren had spent six months of back-breaking dock wages and a sketchy financed loan on it. It was excessive, loud, and utterly him.
Armin shouldered his bag, nodding toward the mundane sedan parked next to it. “We should take that. Less conspicuous.”
“No.” Eren’s voice was final. He hit the fob, and the Challenger gave a deep, thump-thump chirp, its lights flaring. He popped the trunk, shoving his bag inside. “I am not leaving this behind.”
Armin looked at the car, then at the determined set of Eren’s jaw. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He sighed, a sound of pure resignation. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
He walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid in with the effortless grace of someone who considered driving a tedious chore beneath him. He may be an absolute dom in bed, but he was a passenger prince in the car. He immediately began connecting his phone to the console, pulling up mapping apps.
Eren got behind the wheel, the leather seat hugging him, the dashboard glowing. He turned the key. The engine roared to life, a bass-heavy growl that vibrated up through the chassis and into his bones. The sound was a promise of speed, of power, of escape. He backed out of the space, the tires squealing slightly on the smooth concrete.
They emerged from the garage into the blistering Miami afternoon. The sun glared off the white pavement, the ocean breeze doing little to cut the heat. Eren navigated the dense traffic with aggressive ease, the Challenger’s horsepower a latent threat under his control.
“First stop, that electronics place off 27th,” Armin said, his eyes on his screen. “Then the bank. Then we’re gone.”
Eren just nodded, weaving through traffic. The familiar streets passed in a blur of pastel stucco and palm trees. His mind wasn’t here. It was already on a highway heading north, toward a threat, toward Levi, toward a version of Aria he hadn’t heard in years. The lawyer, the system, the unknown—it was all a formless enemy. But for the first time in a long time, he had a direction. He pressed the accelerator, feeling the car respond, a surge of raw potential.
He was driving toward a fight. Finally.
Finally, the muted roar of the Challenger’s engine became the only sound that mattered. It swallowed the Miami humidity, the lingering echo of Levi’s commanding voice, the static of their old life. The highway unfolded ahead, a gray river cutting through endless swaths of green and suburban sprawl. Eren’s hands were steady on the wheel, his focus absolute.
Armin stared at his newly purchased burner phone, its plastic shell feeling cheap and anonymous. “He knew it was us. The forum was a honeypot.”
“He’s always been steps ahead.” Eren’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “Even when he wasn’t in the room.”
“It’s infuriating.” Armin chucked the phone onto the dash. “And reassuring. In a profoundly annoying way.”
A ghost of a smile touched Eren’s lips. He downshifted, weaving around a sluggish sedan with a smooth surge of power. The car responded like a part of his own nervous system. For hours, they rode in a comfortable silence, the thrum of the road a physical therapy for Eren’s frayed edges. The ever-changing scenery—flatlands giving way to gentle hills—was a passive indicator of progress.
As the sun began to dip, painting the sky in violent streaks of orange and purple, Armin spoke again. “Take the next exit. There’s a motel called the ‘Sunset Vue’. It has poor exterior lighting and no visible security cameras according to the street view archives from two years ago.”
“Archive diving already?”
“While you were enjoying third gear.” Armin’s tone was dry. “The bathroom tiles are probably pink. But the parking lot is large and obscured by pines.”
Eren took the exit. The motel was a single-story, L-shaped structure of faded blue siding. Armin was right about the pink tiles, visible through an open curtain in the office. A flickering neon ‘VACANCY’ sign buzzed like an angry insect.
Eren parked at the far end, backing the Challenger against a dense thicket of trees. It disappeared into the shadows. They paid in cash for one night, giving false names to a clerk who didn’t look up from her game show.
The room smelled of mildew and industrial cleaner. The bedspread was a synthetic nightmare of geometric browns. Armin immediately began a sweep, checking the vents, the edges of the furniture for anything unusual. It was a ritual.
“It’s clean,” he declared, sinking onto the edge of the stiff mattress. The adrenaline of the day was leaching away, leaving behind a hollow, shared anxiety. “What do you think Aria meant by ‘legal stuff’?”
Eren leaned against the dresser, arms crossed. “She said a lawyer. Levi thinks we’re a ‘vector’.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Someone knows she’s not from here. Really not from here.”
“And they want to prove it.” Armin pulled his knees to his chest, a vulnerable gesture he rarely allowed himself. “To what end? Study? Exploitation? A news story?”
“Doesn’t matter. We stop it.” Eren’s statement was simple, absolute.
Armin looked at him, really looked at him, in the sickly yellow glow of the bedside lamp. The boy who had raged against the walls of the world was now a man whose rage had a new, specific target. It hadn’t softened; it had been sharpened into a blade. “How?” he asked, not with doubt, but with a strategist’s need for parameters.
“However Levi tells us to.” Eren pushed off the dresser. “He’s got the layout. We’re the reinforcements.”
“You’re that willing to follow orders? Just like that?”
Eren’s green eyes flashed. “It’s not an order. It’s a front line. He’s on it. He needs soldiers.” He walked to the window, peering through a crack in the blinds at their hidden car. “I’ve been waiting for a front line.”
The tension in the room shifted, thickening. It was no longer about the external threat. Armin watched the rigid line of Eren’s shoulders, the way his hands flexed at his sides. The submission from earlier was a pressure valve, a temporary release. The energy was building again, seeking a different outlet.
“You’re wound tight,” Armin observed, his voice deliberately neutral.
Eren didn’t turn. “Drive was long.”
“It’s more than that.” Armin stood. He didn’t approach. He let his presence be felt across the room. “You’re thinking about seeing them. About him.”
A muscle twitched in Eren’s jaw. “So?”
“So you’re in your head. You need to be here.” Armin’s tone left no room for argument. “On your knees.”
Eren turned then. The conflict was plain on his face—the pride, the instinctive bristle at being commanded, warring with the deeper, desperate need for the clarity that surrender brought. The motel room, with its stained carpet and generic art, faded away. This was their space, their established geography.
He didn’t speak. He held Armin’s gaze for three long heartbeats, then his eyes lowered. He walked to the clear space of floor near the foot of the bed and sank down onto his knees. The posture was practiced, immediate. He placed his hands on his thighs, palms up, and looked ahead, waiting.
Armin approached slowly. He stopped in front of Eren, looking down. This was never about humiliation. It was about distillation. Stripping away the chaos until only the essential remained. He placed his fingertips under Eren’s chin, tilting his face up.
“Why are you here?”
Eren’s voice was rough but clear. “To serve. To focus.”
“Who do you serve?”
“You.”
Armin’s thumb brushed over Eren’s lower lip. “And when we get to Binghamton? When you see him?”
Eren’s breath hitched. “I serve the mission. I follow your lead. And his.”
“Good.” Armin let his hand drop. “Stay.”
He turned and went to the shower, turning on the water to let it heat. The mundane act, the steam beginning to fog the cheap mirror, was part of the ritual. It said this was normal. This was stability. When he returned, Eren hadn’t moved a millimeter. The tension in his shoulders had softened, the line of his back less rigid.
Armin didn’t praise him. The obedience was its own reward. He simply gestured toward the bathroom. “Clean up. Then sleep. We drive early.”
Eren rose, his movements fluid. The space between them now was calm, charged with a silent understanding. In the bathroom, the hot water washed away the grime of the road and the last remnants of his scattered fury. When he emerged, the room was dark, save for the light from the parking lot slicing through the blinds. Armin was already in bed, his back to the door, pretending to sleep.
Eren slid under the covers. The distance between their bodies was a deliberate, charged space. He stared at the water-stained ceiling. “Armin?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think she’s… the same? Aria?”
Armin was silent for so long Eren thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, softly: “No. And yes. Levi sounded the same. Just more tired.” He rolled over, his face pale in the half-light. “We’re all the same. And we’re all different. The context changed us.”
“The context sucks.”
A faint, breathy laugh escaped Armin. “Yeah. It really does.”
Eren woke to the smell of cheap coffee and the sound of a torrential downpour. Armin was already dressed, sipping from a paper cup, watching the rain sheet down the window. “Great day for a discrete approach,” he said, without turning. “No one will be looking twice at a car.”
The roads were rivers of gray spray. The Challenger cut through them, a dark ship on a choppy sea. Eren drove with preternatural focus, the wipers a frantic metronome. Armin monitored police bands on a scanner app, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Just north of Richmond, his breath caught. “Speed trap, half a mile. Three cruisers tucked under an overpass. Slow down. Now.”
Eren eased off the accelerator, letting the car bleed speed. He merged behind a lumbering truck. As they passed the concrete shadow of the overpass, he saw the silhouettes of the cruisers, lights dark. They slipped by, invisible.
“Your foresight is creepy sometimes,” Eren muttered, his heart rate settling.
“It’s data,” Armin corrected, but he looked pleased.
They switched drivers at a damp, deserted rest stop in Pennsylvania. Armin drove with pragmatic efficiency, both hands at ten and two, his speed exactly matching the flow of traffic. Eren watched the world go by, the rolling hills now shrouded in low, racing clouds. The sky felt lower here, pressing down.
His burner phone buzzed on the console. An unknown number. A text. It contained only an address in Binghamton and a time: 2300.
“He never was one for hello,” Eren said, showing Armin the screen.
Armin glanced at it. “Precision timing. It’s after dark. Less chance of casual observation.” He paused. “It feels like a deployment order.”
“It is.”
The final hours of the drive were tense and quiet. The rain lessened to a mist, blurring the bright lights of arriving towns. Binghamton announced itself with a sign, then a maze of older streets lined with tall, narrow houses. The address led them to a quiet, residential block. The house was a two-story colonial with beige siding and a dark, shingled roof. It was neat, utterly ordinary. The only notable feature was the sheer number of satellite dishes and antennae clustered on the chimney.
Eren killed the engine two houses down. The sudden silence was deafening. They sat in the dark car, watching the house. No lights were on. No movement at the windows.
“It’s 2258,” Armin whispered.
At exactly 2300, a single light flicked on in a downstairs window. A porch light followed, bathing the front steps in a yellow glow. An invitation. A command.
Eren’s hand found Armin’s, squeezing once, hard. Then he opened his door. The cool, damp air smelled of wet earth and distant woodsmoke. They grabbed their bags from the trunk and walked toward the lit house, their footsteps loud on the quiet street.
Before they reached the steps, the front door opened.
Levi stood in the rectangle of light from the hallway. He looked older. Not in a degraded way, but in a manner of someone carved by a constant, high-pressure wind. His hair was the same, his posture perfectly straight, but the lines around his eyes were deeper. He wore simple black trousers and a grey sweater, devoid of any insignia. He looked at them, his gaze sweeping from their faces to their bags, assessing, cataloguing.
No greeting. No smile. He just stepped back, holding the door open.
Armin went first, his head held high. Eren followed, his heart hammering against his ribs. They crossed the threshold.
The interior was a paradox. The front hallway was normal—a wooden bench, a coat rack. But to the right, the living room had been transformed. Blackout curtains hung over every window. One wall was a bank of monitors, some showing news feeds, others cycling through security camera views of the street, the back yard, the interior of the garage. A large whiteboard was covered in what looked like legal jargon, case numbers, and the repeated name ‘VANCE’. In the center of it all, lounging on a stark modern sofa that looked violently out of place, was Aria.
She stood up. Her hair was shorter, styled in a sharp, fashionable bob. She wore designer jeans and a soft-looking cream sweater. The casual confidence was new, but her smile, when it came, was instantly, devastatingly familiar.
“Took you long enough,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost in a world without wall-mounted gear.”
Then she was moving, closing the distance in quick strides, and throwing her arms around Armin’s neck. He stiffened for a half-second, then melted, his bag dropping to the floor as he hugged her back fiercely. Over her shoulder, his eyes found Eren’s, wide with a shock of pure, unguarded joy.
Levi closed the front door with a soft, definitive click, sealing them in. He engaged three separate locks, each with a distinct, heavy sound.
“Sentiment later,” he said, his voice cutting through the reunion. He walked past them toward the kitchen, not looking back. “Kitchen. Now. We have a problem to solve.”