The blade at your back was steady. Unyielding. Around you, more figures landed—dark green cloaks snapping in the wind, the hiss of ODM gear still sharp in the cold air.

Your hood slipped back as you turned your head, just enough to see the man behind you. Grey eyes. Black hair. The wings of the Survey Corps on his jacket.

His voice didn’t waver, but something in his expression shifted. Recognition. Disbelief. The kind of look reserved for ghosts.

The other Scouts kept their blades raised. A boy with a shaved head stared openly. Another with two-toned hair looked like he’d stopped breathing.

The order was calm. Absolute. His eyes never left yours.