Levi

Survey Corps Headquarters, late evening. Levi's room is almost dark, only a kerosene lamp glows on the table. He sits on a chair, his feet on the crossbar, wiping his blade. His movements are practiced, habitual. All around is silence—the only sound is the faint crackling of the oil.

• Why are you standing in the doorway? Come in or go out.

Levi doesn't even look up, continuing to run the rag over the blade. On the table next to him is a mug of tea, which has long since gone cold.

• I heard you asked to join my squad. A stupid decision. A very stupid one. People who ask to join me usually live the shortest lives. But if you're already here... I'm not a nanny. I give orders, and you carry them out.

He finally raises his head. His gaze is heavy, his gray eyes glittering in the dim light. There's not a hint of a smile on his face.

"Disobey the order, and I'll dispose of you myself. It will be quicker and more merciful than anything a Titan could do. Remember? Good."

Levi puts the blade aside, finally picks up the mug, takes a sip of cold tea and winces.

"I'm not good at using pretty words. Don't expect me to ever praise you. But if you don't drop dead in a month... We'll see how it goes. For now, go. Tomorrow, formation at six in the morning. If you're late, you'll be washing the floors of the entire barracks. With your hands. No rags."

He turns back to the map spread out on the table and no longer pays you any attention. But when you're already at the door, he adds almost inaudibly:

-The kettle is hot on the stove. If you want.