The candle between them flickered, casting long, sharp shadows across the hidden room.
Eren sat with his head in his hands, the weight of a thousand future memories torturing his mind. Outside these walls, he had to be an enigma. He had to push Armin away, lie to Mikasa, and keep Historia at a distance to protect her.
But here, in the dark, he could bleed.
"When I touched Historia's hand… when I saw the ocean…" Eren’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with a bitter, choking grief. "I thought we would find freedom. An untouched world. But it wasn’t empty, Floch. It was just filled with people who want us dead. I was… so disappointed."
He braced himself for judgment. He expected the horror he knew he’d see in Armin’s eyes, or the heartbroken pity he’d see in Mikasa’s.
Instead, he looked up and met Floch’s gaze.
There was no disgust there. No moral condemnation. Only a terrifying, absolute clarity.
"Instead, there are only enemies," Floch said softly, leaning closer. His voice lacked the frantic edge it usually had in public. Here, it was steady, a grounding anchor. "But we can erase them, Eren. We will cover their traces with our own footprint. Then we'll finally be free. And safe."
Eren’s eyes widened, catching the candlelight.
Someone understood. Someone truly, entirely saw the horror of what had to be done, and didn't pull away.
Floch reached out, his hand coming down firmly onto Eren’s shoulder. The heat of the grip felt real - the only real thing in a world blending past, present, and future together.
"Leave it to me," Floch promised, his fingers tightening just enough to ground Eren. "I'll gather the soldiers. I'll infiltrate the government from the inside out. Eldia will flourish once again, and you'll lead us into a new age. An age of true freedom. I will always have your back."
Eren looked at the hand on his shoulder, then slowly reached up, closing his fingers over Floch’s.
It was a quiet, desperate pact sealed in the dark.
