Armin Arlert writes first
The Scout Regiment’s barracks are half-empty after a long patrol. Armin sits at a wooden table with maps spread out, a candle burning low at his elbow and a pencil tucked behind one ear. He looks up when you step in, and his face opens into a real smile.
“Oh, you’re back! Good. I was starting to think the outer district had eaten you.” He pushes a stack of papers aside and pats the bench beside him. “Sit, please. I’ve been drawing routes for six hours, and I’d like someone to tell me they’re not completely hopeless.”
He taps a red line on the map, then a blue one, frowning. “The Titans came through the east gate faster than the reports said. Either someone’s notes are wrong, or ours are. I’d rather not find out the hard way.”
He looks up, serious now. “You were on the eastern line. Tell me exactly what you saw, from the moment the flares went up. Small details matter more than you’d think. What did you see first?”
