Chapter XXIV: The Masks We Wear (Unseen Shadows)
Dawn crept over the edges of Wall Sina, painting Stohess's outer checkpoint in watery grays. Annie stood at her post, watching Sub-officer Aiblinger perform his regular morning ritual - the careful extraction of bribes from merchants desperate to enter the city. Gold coins disappeared into uniform pockets with practiced efficiency, each transaction accompanied by cursory glances at cargo that might as well have been empty air.
"Heard about Captain Brandt?" One of the lounging MPs muttered nearby, his voice carrying that mix of morbid curiosity and idle gossip.
"Set his whole office on fire. They're saying he was trapped inside."
"Poor bastard," another replied, tugging at his ill-fitted uniform. "Guess that lockdown fiasco in Trost really did him in. Word is he was drinking a lot lately. A friend of mine was on cleanup duty—said they found bottles all over the place."
Annie didn't react, keeping her focus on the checkpoint ahead. Brandt's papers pressed against her ribs beneath her uniform felt heavier with each passing hour.
It had only been two days, the Interior Squad had acted fast, their lie was almost artful in its simplicity: a disgraced officer, too drunk to notice the flames caused by a live cigarette, until it was too late. Burnout, booze, bad luck. That's what they wanted everyone to believe.
All the more reason to stay focused, she thought. She now had a clear goal in mind:
Karanes. Six days. Sunrise.
The words burned in her mind like a beacon - home, father, mission's end. All within reach. Her fingers brushed against Brandt's papers, their edges softened by nervous handling. But one name stood out among the bloodstained text, refusing to let her look away: Anja Wolf.
Annie had promised herself she wouldn't interfere anymore. Yet here she was, clutching evidence that could get her killed, all because a name appeared where it shouldn't. Each time had carried greater risk than the last, leaving more unanswered questions.
Annie shifted her weight, boots scraping against the morning frost as she requested a break from her post. Aiblinger barely looked up from counting coins, waving her off with the same disinterest he showed the merchants' cargo. She set off down the muddy road that wound through wheat fields, Stohess' walls gradually disappearing into the morning fog behind her.
What had started as a routine military inquiry had led Brandt down an increasingly bizarre path - a mummified corpse in Trost's sewers, encased in a strange black substance. Broken ODM gear belonging to a Scout who'd been reported missing in Titan territory. His notes grew more frantic, crossed lines and scratched portions suggesting a man racing against unseen shadows.
All of it had led him to a forty-year-old case: the Weiss Estate Incident.
Five servants dead, officially blamed on bandits. But the medical records told a different story - bodies displaying the same inexplicable mummification as the corpse in Trost. It had seemed like a tenuous connection, hardly worth pursuing.
Was this what got Brandt killed?
Weiss. The name had seemed familiar—she'd seen it yesterday on the gala's guest list while helping with preparations.
Graf Friedrich Weiss von Shiganshina.
A quick background check revealed he was one of the many displaced nobles from Wall Maria. Now a military doctor under the Garrison Regiment.
The forged invitations she'd made for Hitch's request now seemed less of an annoyance and more of an opportunity—though pursuing it meant risk.
The man in the black hat and his Interior Squad's involvement suggested this went higher, all the way to the king himself.
Her fingers closed against the two ornate invitations tucked between the pages. For a moment, she hesitated, the weight of the decision settling over her.
She could just walk away, discard it all—let these damned papers burn away with the morning fog, leaving Brandt's mess behind. Focus on her mission. On getting home safely to her father.
But would it be enough to satisfy them? Their mission was long overdue, this wasn't only her last opportunity to ensure Anja's safety, there were valuable prospects…
Understanding the Interior Squad's interest in the case might reveal valuable intelligence. Yet every time she contemplated pulling away, an unfamiliar tightness gripped her chest, one that had nothing to do with tactical advantage.
Deliberate footsteps broke the wheat field's silence. Annie's muscles tensed as she continued walking, measuring each step as she tracked the sound's approach through thinning fog. Too casual for Interior Squad, too confident for a merchant.
"Annie!" Her steps faltered. Hitch.
"Thought I'd find you out here." Hitch approached with her characteristic smug grin. "It's like you're trying to avoid me. Came to see your secret someone? You've got that look again."
"Had an early shift," Annie replied flatly.
"Oh yes, sure." Hitch planted herself directly in Annie's path, her smirk widening. "Now, it's three days until the gala and I'm getting nervous. You know how loose my tongue gets when I'm anxious..."
Annie met her gaze evenly, reaching into her jacket. Her fingers brushed past Brandt's papers to pull out one of the ornate envelopes. "Here. You'll be Lady Sorglos."
Hitch snatched the invitation, running her fingers over the raised seal with undisguised glee. "Is this legit?" She looked up, then quickly shook her head. "You know what? Don't even answer that. I don't want to know." Her grin turned sly. "Was starting to think you wouldn't honor our deal."
Annie turned back toward the walls. "We should return."
"Sure." Hitch tucked the envelope safely inside her jacket, stepping beside Annie. "Got one for yourself too?"
A slight tilt of her head.
"I don't get it. After all that talk about pointless noble gatherings." Hitch's voice carried that particular tone suggesting she'd solved some great mystery. "Unless... Don't tell me he's a noble!"
Annie kept walking as the morning fog began to thin. Hitch's chatter washed over her.
"Tough nut to crack, are you? Have it your way." Hitch's enthusiasm remained undampened. "I for one am happy you're being less weird. I'll get to have fun and have a front-row seat to see you do, erm... whatever it is you do to have fun, and who knows, maybe I'll get to meet this mysterious someone you're so crazy about."
"And how did you manage on your end?"
"Don't worry, it took some convincing and half my wages, but I found the perfect dresses."
Annie listened without comment, her mind already working through the days ahead. Wall Sina loomed closer now, the fog lifting enough to reveal its imposing height. There was something almost enviable about her roommate's blissful ignorance.
But Annie couldn't afford to relax. Anja had been invited too. She'd have to tread carefully—avoid her if she could.
Focus.
Get through this like always. Find Weiss, investigate, don't blow your cover, then wait for Karanes. Simple.
A gasp. "Is he going to—" Hitch's voice cut through her thoughts.
Annie's eyes snapped upward. A dark shape plummeted from the wall. The impact echoed across the morning stillness - a sickening thud followed by screams from the gathering crowd.
"Clear the area!" The guards by the gate moved from their posts, voices rising above the panic. "Everyone back!"
Annie pushed through the surge of people, Hitch following close behind. The body lay sprawled on the ground, blood spreading across the cobblestones from the Military Police uniform. When Annie glanced at Hitch, her roommate's face had gone pale.
"That's... Sergeant Hauser..." Hitch managed.
The name clicked immediately into place in Annie's mind—Brandt's aide, she had seen his name in the investigation's notes. A cold realization settled in as she took in the sight of the blood seeping from Hauser's cracked head.
Suddenly, six days felt very far away.
***
Heinrik's reflection wavered in the glass cabinet, superimposed over rows of medical instruments that glinted in the light. The soft ticking of a small table clock in the corner filled the otherwise quiet tent as Hange drew another vial of Anja's blood.
He lounged against the corner as he always did, uniform crisp, that familiar half-smile playing at his lips. Anja had grown used to these quiet moments with him—real or not, his presence carried the warmth of better days.
"Another test?" His voice held that teasing tone he'd always used when treating her scrapes and bruises. "You're handling it better than you did when that cat scratched you, remember?"
That was different, she thought back, maintaining their silent dialogue while Hange drew another vial. I was eight, and that cat was evil.
"Sure it was, imp." His reflection shifted, mimicking the way he used to ruffle her hair. "And I'm sure you didn't provoke it at all."
Anja kept her expression steady as Hange pulled the needle away, but a flicker of a smile betrayed her thoughts. Her isolation was better than the alternative, but still… It was hard not to miss the simple things, the people, her friends —Sasha's contagious laugh, Armin's wisdom, and even Mikasa's quiet presence… Her mind drifted to Annie, wondering if she'd found her place among the Military Police—or at least someone she could tolerate. But it was impossible to know. She could only hope they were all faring better than she was.
"They're fine, I'm sure." Heinrik said, his expression softening as he read her unspoken doubt. "You'll see for yourself soon enough, I'd bet."
Do you really think so? She hesitated. Her silent responses directed to his reflections had become second nature to her.
"Definitely. You've got that expedition coming up, right?" His grin widened. "You might even get to train with them sooner than you think
Hange held the fresh blood sample up to the fading light, her usual enthusiasm tempered by what seemed like growing confusion. "Perfectly normal," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "Despite everything we've seen..." She pressed her fingers to the skin around the puncture site. "Temperature dropping again. Petra, the notes."
Petra nodded, her pencil scratching softly against the paper as she recorded her observations. After a moment, she set the notebook aside and reached for a folded blanket. "Do you need it?"
"Thanks..." Anja murmured. She didn't feel cold, not really, but she accepted the blanket, grateful for the kind gesture. As she wrapped it around her shoulders, her gaze shifted back to Hange, who was holding the blood vial high, her brow furrowed.
"Is everything okay?" Anja asked.
"No... no, it's just..." Hange adjusted her glasses, her eyes fixed on the bright crimson of the fresh sample. "Your healing follows a completely different pattern from Eren's."
Petra's hand moved unconsciously toward her own face, mirroring where Anja's eye patch now sat. "Is that why she still hasn't...?"
"Most likely." Hange's enthusiasm built as she examined the vial. "While Eren's body responds with heat and regeneration, yours..." She gestured for Anja to expose the scarred flesh on her back – their usual routine. Anja shifted the blanket off her shoulders, letting it drape over her lap, before turning slightly to allow Hange a clear view.
"Your body preserves its wounds, transforms them. You don't regenerate so much as adapt."
Hange's fingers hovered just above an old burn, her gaze narrowing. "Take this wound from Trost. Instead of healing, it's scarred differently. The controlled incisions I made around it show the same cold, unchanging response, while the original damage remains untouched. It's as though your body conserves its energy rather than expending it, unlike Eren, who burns through his freely."
She paused, her excitement tempered by caution. "That might also explain why titans seem to overlook you—they may have difficulty registering your presence at all. But that's just a theory for now. There's still so much we don't understand about how titans perceive us."
Petra hesitated, then offered tentatively, "Maybe now that the parasite is gone, things will start returning to normal, haven't her blood samples improved?"
"Unlikely." Hange shook her head. "Her condition predates the parasite - if anything, I suspect it was suppressing her natural abilities."
Through the glass, Heinrik's reflection drifted to examine the medical instruments, his attention seemingly elsewhere.
Hange's expression grew serious. "When they called me to examine the sewers in Trost, before Anja admitted to killing Tius... they'd found his body covered in a black substance. The composition was identical to the parasite we extracted from her eye."
Petra's voice was careful, measured. "Isn't that the same thing we found in our last expedition? When Eld..."
"Yes. The exact same."
"But I was never outside the walls," Anja protested, "not until you took me out there." She noticed Heinrik's reflection turning back toward them, his shape becoming sharper, more focused.
"Not that you'd remember," Hange said, her voice gentler now. "You've described your episodes as moments lost in a red haze, haven't you? Fragments that never quite fit together?"
"I... I think so, yes." The admission felt heavy in her throat. Those red-hazed moments haunted her almost as much as her nightmares.
"Ask her what she thinks," Heinrik suggested, his attention now fully focused on Hange. "She clearly knows something. Might as well hear it."
"What do you think?" Anja found herself echoing her brother's prompt.
Hange paused her pacing, fixing Anja with an unusually direct stare. "I think I haven't got enough evidence to confirm it fully, I still believe you were responsible for what happened in the sewers. But I need something else to confirm the other incident."
She hesitated, adjusting her glasses thoughtfully. "The titans we encountered outside the walls, affected by the substance, showed unusual behavior. And then there was that pale titan in Trost..." Her voice took on a sharper edge of curiosity. "It's strange. titans are drawn to Eren like moths to a flame, but this one... It ignored him entirely or the Armored Titan for that matter. It just went after you."
"Could it be? Maybe it wasn't after you specifically." Heinrik suggested. "She mentioned they acted erratically, attacked animals too, didn't they?"
Anja felt a flicker of hope at her brother's words. That's right…
"In the expedition," Petra said quietly, "the sick titans didn't even care about us at first, but later that changed. They moved like they were working together."
"Exactly," Hange replied, her brow furrowing as her thoughts seemed to quicken. "But the one in Trost… it was alone. Could it be different?"
She gathered her notes with a frustrated sigh. "There's something I'm missing. I'll need to review the Trost files again. Unfortunately, we're out of time for today..." Her gaze shifted to Petra with a faint smirk. "After all, our resident Hero has other responsibilities."
The title settled uncomfortably in Anja's chest. Hero. As if endangering her friends, and losing control of herself could ever be considered heroic.
Petra nodded, rising from her chair. "We should get you to training."
"Of course," Anja said, standing carefully within the framework's constraints. She felt Heinrik's reflection following her movement, his presence steady despite everything. Petra stepped outside the tent.
Before following, Anja turned back. "Thanks for everything you're doing, Section Commander." If all these tests could keep her from hurting anyone else, she'd endure them gladly.
"Don't mention it!" Hange's eyes lit up with that familiar scientific gleam. "It's not every day you get to study such unique specimens. With you and Eren I'm having a field day! So different and yet..." She trailed off, something clicking behind her eyes as she adjusted her glasses. "Actually, before you go - there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Anja raised an eyebrow. In the glass, Heinrik's reflection turned back to watch. "Sure."
"Back in Trost, you were the first to identify Eren in his titan form," Hange said, her voice taking on that careful tone she used when approaching a new hypothesis. "The others mentioned how certain you were. I've been wondering - how did you know it was him?"
The question caught Anja off guard, pulling her back to that moment amid the chaos and smoke. "I..." She paused, trying to put words to something that had felt as natural as breathing. "His eyes. When I saw them, it wasn't like looking at a titan at all. It felt just like... like Eren looking back at me."
"Huh..." Hange tilted her head, and for a moment Anja thought she might press further, but then she just shrugged. "Oh well, see you later." She was already turning back to her notes, the question apparently forgotten as quickly as it had occurred to her.
Anja found Petra waiting outside, arms crossed against the afternoon breeze. "What did Hange want? More blood samples?" she asked with a slight smile.
"Just another question about Trost." Anja adjusted the straps of the framework, the metal digging into familiar spots. Even after weeks of training with it, the weight still threw off her balance during maneuvers.
"She can be intense sometimes," Petra said softly as they put some distance from the tent, her hands gentle but sure on the framework's controls "She means well though, like all of us. We just want to help you. I'm sorry if I doubted you before…"
"No, don't worry," Anja said, cutting in. "I understand." The solitude, the examinations, the constant oversight—it was a small price to pay to keep others safe.
Petra was quiet for a few steps before speaking. "I noticed you lost your flares during practice yesterday." She reached into her jacket and pulled out what looked like a standard flare pouch but with subtle modifications to its straps and closures. "May I show you something?"
When Anja nodded, Petra stopped and turned to adjust the pouch's straps across Anja's chest.
"On my first expedition, I lost half my signals. The straps would come loose during long gallops." Her fingers worked deftly as she demonstrated how the modified buckles locked into place.
"I added extra securing points here and here. Haven't lost a flare since." Petra stepped back slightly to inspect her handiwork, tilting her head as if evaluating the fit.
"The Captain doesn't always show it, but he values preparation like this—and trust most of all. It's not something he gives easily, but I can tell he sees worth in what you can do, even if he won't say it directly."
A small smile touched her lips as she made a final tweak to one of the straps, ensuring everything was secure.
"Oluo's going to be... well, Oluo. Always trying to imitate the Captain. Gunther, he's naturally serious, but he'll warm up once he sees you can handle yourself. The trick is to let their criticism roll off—listen, but don't let it get to you. They mean well, even if they show it oddly."
"Thank you," Anja said softly. But something in Petra's tone, the way she spoke about the others, made her pause. "You're saying this as if you're not training with us."
"I... I won't be," Petra said after a brief pause, adjusting the strap of her own gear, her movements suddenly hesitant. "Since the expedition is coming up soon, I thought I'd spend some days with my family. Captain Levi gave me leave."
"Oh, I... I see."
"Hey, cheer up." Petra's voice grew warmer as they approached the training field, where the others were already gathering. "Yesterday was just about getting used to the framework during basic maneuvers. Today you'll be practicing formations - just signals and teamwork."
She paused, making sure the framework's controls were secure. "You're more ready than you think. Trust your instincts, don't worry about the flares, you won't lose them now."
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the field where Levi and the others waited. Colored flares lay arranged on a wooden table, their metal casings catching the light.
"You've got this, imp." Heinrik's voice came from behind her, carrying his familiar reassurance. "If you forget which to fire, I'll remind you."
Anja drew in a deep breath, feeling the framework settle against her shoulders like a second skin.
She could feel it in the way the other scouts looked at her, something expectant in their gazes.
Petra gave the framework's controls one final check, her eyes meeting Anja's with quiet confidence.
"Ready?"
***
The sudden crack of fireworks shattered the silence, their explosive burst tearing through the air. Annie flinched. The crowd's cheers came muffled, distant, like sounds underwater. She stared past the sea of faces, past the floating banners and scattered petals, her mind replaying the sickening thud of Hauser's body on cobblestones.
"Miss? Miss? Please, we can't see!" A small voice cut through the noise, tugging at her sleeve. Annie blinked, her attention snapping back to the present as the girl's wide blue eyes looked up at her, pleading.
Her mother hurried forward, apologetic. "I'm so sorry, she's just excited about seeing the parade, could we—"
Annie gave a quick, distracted nod. "Sorry... Yes." She stepped aside, mechanically opening the chain to let them pass.
Through gaps in the surging crowd, she caught glimpses of the procession - horses decked in military finery, banners flapping sharply in the wind. Brandt's documents, hidden beneath her jacket, pressed against her like a constant, unshakable weight.
"Someone needs to get her head straight," a voice remarked nearby.
"Drinking on duty? That's a new low."
Annie ignored the comments. They were as irrelevant to her as the dust kicked up by the passing horses. She had far more pressing matters on her mind.
Three days.
Three days since Hauser's body hit the cobblestones, and now the city bustled with celebration, like nothing happened. The thought gnawed at her—who was next? Was it a message? No, they couldn't possibly know about the documents. Then again… Was this a deliberate purging of connections, cutting off every loose end?
So far, they hadn't made another move.
Focus.
The scene before her sharpened as she forced herself to observe with clarity. Through the crowd's shifting mass, she caught sight of the carriage in the distance. Anja waved enthusiastically to the masses. Annie knew she probably hated the parades, the spectacle – it wasn't her thing. But at least there was a certain protection that came with being in the public eye.
The thought slipped in unbidden. Could they come for her? No, not in the open. It wasn't their style.
Her gaze swept to the nobles' viewing stand, where gloved hands offered polite applause, faces masked with practiced interest. Their refined restraint stood in sharp contrast to the jubilant crowd below. Many of them would gather for tonight's gala - perhaps Weiss was already among them, but she had no way of knowing. Even if he were, he seemed an unlikely target. His connection to Brandt's investigation was too tenuous.
The tension that had been building in her chest all morning now felt heavier. She was starting to see threats in every shadow, and the familiar weight of the ring against her finger grounded her in the moment. Maybe there would be no further moves. Maybe Hauser's death had been enough to satisfy them—
Something nagged at the edge of her thoughts. Another high-profile death connected to Brandt would be too conspicuous, too dangerous. They'd have to aim for someone less obvious, someone on the periphery.
Her fingers grazed the edge of the folded papers inside her jacket, careful to make the motion appear casual. With a slight shift, she slid them out just enough to scan the details. There it was—Hitch's name buried in the testimonies.
Hitch, who had been stationed by the western gate since this morning. Isolated. Far from the crowd. Far from witnesses.
Her feet were moving before the thought fully formed.
***
"You're not even watching the parade anymore," Jean said, leaning against the wall beside Marco. The music from the procession nearly drowned out his words.
Marco didn't look away from Annie's retreating form. For weeks he'd been watching her take these unscheduled walks, disappearing down alleys only to emerge somewhere unexpected. "I told you, something's not right about-"
"About Annie, yeah." Jean scoffed. "Let me guess - more mysterious behavior?" He studied his friend's face, noting the unusual intensity in Marco's normally gentle expression "If you've got a thing for her, there are less creepy ways to show it, you know?"
"You're not listening." Marco straightened as Annie turned down a side street. "Haven't you noticed? She is now taking posts outside the walls, makes long detours during patrol. Always writing in that notebook of hers."
"Riiight... Because taking walks and keeping a diary is definitely suspicious—" Jean stopped, realizing he was talking to empty air. Marco had already slipped into the crowd. "Great. Thanks for the conversation."
***
Annie weaved through the celebrating crowd, each step measured despite her urgency. The streets felt wrong now - every shadow a potential threat, every glance possibly hostile.
A flash of movement caught her eye—someone matching her pace through the crowd. She changed direction, cutting through a group of merchants. The footsteps followed, too precise to be a coincidence. The Interior Squad wouldn't be so blunt. Unless that was the point—to make her panic, to force a mistake. More faces appeared in shop windows—laughing, cheering, celebrating. But there—another figure, staying just at the edge of her vision. One follower, or two?
The crowd thinned as she moved farther from the heart of the celebration. Through gaps between people, she caught sight of Hitch's post—empty. Her stomach tightened. Of all days for her to abandon her station. Unless… had they already gotten to her? The thought died unfinished as footsteps synchronized with hers again, closer now.
Relief washed over her when she finally caught sight of Hitch emerging from a pastry shop, powdered sugar dusting her uniform as she bit into what looked like a cream-filled bun. Irritation clouded Annie's gaze as she seized Hitch's wrist mid-bite.
"What the—" Hitch's indignant protest was cut short by Annie's grip tightening.
"Someone's following me," Annie muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible, tight with controlled fear. "Don't react, just keep walking."
Hitch swallowed hard, nearly choking on her pastry. "What did you do—"
The silent command in Annie's eyes made her swallow the rest of her words. Annie could see the questions forming on her roommate's face - probably assuming this was about their forged invitations or some other minor infraction. If only it were that simple.
They moved quickly through the thinning streets, Annie's grip never loosening. Ahead, an alley between two shops came into view.
The shadows within seemed too thick for afternoon light, like a trap waiting for the wrong move. Annie's pulse quickened. Better one of her choosing than theirs.
"Annie, what's going—" Hitch's whisper trembled slightly, all traces of her usual smugness gone.
"Quiet." Annie's words were sharper than she meant them to be, the fear peeling away her usual composure.
They pressed themselves against the cool stone wall, the world outside fading into a distant hum. Hitch's pastry lay forgotten in her clenched fist, crumbling onto the cobblestones.
Annie's body was coiled, ready to spring. One set of footsteps. Definitely one. The shadows at the alley's entrance shifted.
A heartbeat of silence. The footsteps grew louder.
Then movement - a figure stepping into view. Annie didn't hesitate. She launched forward with terrifying speed, her elbow connecting with brutal precision against their face.
A sickening crack split the air, followed by a strangled grunt. The figure stumbled backward, clutching their face as they collapsed. As they fell, their hand shot out, catching Annie's jacket and tugging it open.
Annie barely registered the movement, her mind still racing with possibilities - more attackers, a weapon, a signal to others. She stepped back, ready to strike again, but the figure on the ground only groaned weakly, blood streaming from their nose.
Recognition hit her like a physical blow.
Marco?!
"Sorry," Annie said brusquely, the words coming out stiff and unconvincing. "You scared me." Her face had already settled back into its practiced mask of indifference, though her mind raced with implications. Why was he following her? How long had he been watching her?
Marco groaned again, his hand pressed against his bloodied nose.
"Oh." Hitch's voice wavered between relief and disbelief, her earlier fear dissolving into awkward amusement. "Well, that's one way to reject someone's attention." She brushed pastry crumbs from her uniform, trying to regain some dignity. "Maybe next time try to be normal and say you're not interested?"
Annie didn't respond. She motioned sharply for Hitch to follow, already moving toward the street. The sooner they put distance between themselves and this mess, the better.
They were halfway down the next street when Hitch's curiosity got the better of her irritation. "Hey, isn't that one of the guys from your old training corps?" She laughed, though the sound was strained. "Geez, no wonder you never talked to them if that's how you all got along."
"Doesn't matter," Annie muttered, her tone shutting down further conversation. Their footsteps faded into the sounds of celebration, swallowed by the crowd. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just made a serious miscalculation, but there was no taking it back now.
***
Marco stayed on the ground, his hand pressed to his bleeding nose, wincing at the sharp throb spreading through his face. His thoughts spiraled, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
"What's wrong with her?" he muttered hoarsely, shifting to one knee, his palm brushing against the cool, damp cobblestones.
Something pale flickered at the edge of his vision.
He blinked, the sting of blood and sweat blurring his focus, and glanced down. Papers. A few loose sheets scattered near a shallow puddle, edges already curling from the damp.
Frowning, he reached toward them.