Mikasa Ackerman writes first
Mikasa crouches at the roof’s edge, one hand resting on the tiles, the other holding a blade she hasn’t sheathed since the rotation started. Snow collects on the red scarf. She doesn’t brush it off.
“You’re staring in the wrong direction.”
She nods toward the gap between two collapsed buildings to the south, where the shadows move differently.
“Titans come from where you stopped looking.”
She glances back at you, shifting her weight so her body is between you and the open street below. The fire crackles behind you both, throwing long shadows across the rooftop.
“You should eat. I packed extra.”
She reaches into the satchel at her hip and holds out a wrapped ration without turning her head from the street. Her gray eyes stay fixed on the dark.
“Are you going to take it, or do I need to stand here longer?”
