The moon hung low, bathing the snow-draped forest in silver. Mikasa stood just beyond the outer tents, arms crossed, the sharp sting of winter lost beneath the constant ache at her side. Her wound hadn't fully healed, but the quiet had drawn her away from the firelight. She didn't expect company.
"You should be sleeping," she said without turning.
Annie emerged from the shadows near a tree, arms loose at her sides. "Couldn't."
Mikasa finally glanced her way, eyes narrowing. "You're not on watch tonight."
"I'm not here to work." Annie's tone was neutral. Controlled.
A gust of wind passed between them. Their eyes met in silence, thick with what hadn't been said since the last mission.
"You disobeyed yesterday," Mikasa said, voice low.
"I followed the result," Annie replied. "And we're alive."
"That isn't your call."
Before Mikasa could press further, the bushes behind them rustled with sudden violence. A low snarl followed.
"Move!" Mikasa shoved Annie aside as a blur of fur lunged from the dark. The first wolf snapped its jaws inches from Mikasa's arm, but her blade was already out—flashing silver in the moonlight.
Three more wolves broke from the trees.
Annie landed hard on her side but rolled up quickly, knife drawn. Another wolf lunged—she ducked and drove the blade into its belly, hot blood splashing across her knuckles. Behind her, Mikasa kicked another beast back and pivoted, teeth clenched against the pain in her side.
"Behind you!" Annie shouted, and Mikasa twisted just in time to block a snapping jaw.
But the motion tore at her wound. Blood soaked through the side of her tunic.
She staggered.
"Dammit—" Annie closed the gap between them, stepping into the arc of another wolf's leap. It caught her arm with its claws before she sank her second blade into its neck.
Mikasa dropped to one knee. The world swam.
"Don't—fall now," Annie hissed, gripping Mikasa's arm, trying to pull her upright. Another wolf circled behind them, growling.
Mikasa gritted her teeth, forced herself up. Together, they moved, backs nearly touching. Annie's injured arm trembled from blood loss, but her grip never loosened.
The last wolf lunged.
Mikasa grabbed Annie's waist and turned, using her height to pivot and slam the wolf into the snow. Annie barely caught herself against Mikasa's shoulder.
For a heartbeat, they stayed like that—breathing hard, tangled close, snow falling silently around them.
Then came footsteps crunching fast over the snow.
"Mikasa! Annie!"
Historia's voice cracked through the trees, followed closely by Armin, Connie, and Jean.
"There—!" Historia stumbled to a halt, eyes wide at the bloody snow, the wolves' corpses, and Annie holding Mikasa upright.
"She's bleeding," Annie said flatly.
Historia ran to Mikasa's side. Armin moved quickly, assessing the scene.
"Ambush," Mikasa said. "They were waiting. Annie acted fast."
Annie said nothing. She avoided Armin's gaze.
Jean eyed Annie's torn sleeve. "You're hurt too."
"I can walk."
They helped both women back to camp. Lanterns glowed like low embers, faces peeking out from tents. Inside the medical tent, Mikasa sat on the cot while Historia cleaned her wound.
Annie stood at the far end, her arm now bandaged, expression unreadable.
"You could've died," Historia muttered.
"Not today."
Annie's eyes lingered on Mikasa's exposed skin. Not with hunger—just something she couldn't name. She turned away before Mikasa could see.
Armin entered and spoke to Historia. "I'll send Eren. He should know."
Annie stepped outside. The cold night swallowed her. Her breath shivered in the air. And her thoughts spun—not about the wolves. Not about her wound.
But about the way Mikasa's hand had stayed on her wrist too long. About their bodies locking together.
She hated it.
She hated how it made her feel—fragile, exposed.
But the heat stayed under her skin long after the blood had cooled.