𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐀 | 𝐋. 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐍

𝐈.𝐗𝐈𝐈

"If I score his attention, it's because he expects the worse from me," Valen said. "I'm sure you've noticed, but him and I seldom are on good terms." She sighed as she adjusted her sleeve cuffs. "He couldn't care less for my presence."

"Don't say such a thing," Petra half-assured, half-reprimanded. "He does care. He's just not an expressive individual." Valen's focus drifted to the tree line. "I will say, he can get frustrated with us at times. Once, he and Section Commander Hange lasted a week without talking. But he would never wish us any bad."

"I presume you're right..." Valen drawled, still stuck on the woods enclosing them—Petra's sappy commentary impressed her none. Unlike Valen, Levi had willingly recruited Petra for the Special Operations Squad—nor had she slapped him across the face after challenging him to a spar.

That being said, their relationship existed in a unique context.

"Eld!" Petra shouted—Eld had emerged from the courtyard doors, lugging along baggage of his own. "I thought you and Gunther had departed for Calaneth in the morning."

"I had a delay. Gunther headed on his own this morning," Eld grunted. The second horse dawdling in the courtyard—a brown, robust stallion chewing at a struggling patch of grass—belonged to him. He effortlessly hoisted his duffel over his shoulder and joined them. "Valen. How's the day treating you?"

"Fine, as it always does." Aside from Petra, Eld had grown fonder of Valen—when her gas supply had unexpectedly ended on the course yesterday, he'd offered to bring her a fresh pair of canisters. Amiable workplace relationships interested her here and there.

"That's nice," Eld responded softly. "Well, I would love to continue our farewells, but I'll be on my way. I promised my folks I'd be in Calaneth for dinner." He waved. "I'll be seeing you guys on Sunday."

"Of course. Goodbye, Eld!" Once he secured his bag to his horse, Eld hopped on its saddle and acknowledged them with a curt nod. The women watched on until he was one with the green. Petra crouched, collecting her belongings. "I'll be going, too. My parents must be waiting." She beamed at Valen. "Take care. I'll try and see if I can bring you back anything from Calaneth. Even if it's just a rock."

"There's no need."

Though she did crave a pastry.

Petra's mare kicked her legs and dashed in the same direction Eld's had. As soon as she faded, Valen raced inside the castle. She had the whole weekend at her disposal, and she intended to make proper use of every second. Tomorrow morning, she'd hike the rugged terrain north of the castle, indulge in a solitary picnic at noon, and by sunset she'd be drying off from a relaxing bath in the spring.

But before she could do any of that, she needed to open that book—

"Valen."

She wanted to punch the wall.

Spinning on her heel, the Captain stood behind her, centered between the walls. He too had relinquished his uniform for more casual clothing, exchanging the button-up and leather straps for a gray shirt and black trousers—the only thing he'd conserved was the scowl. 

Like a week ago, seeing the normally uptight man dressed in everyday clothing muted the anger she harbored toward him, but only partially. Nothing could erase the mangled snake from her memory.

Because she was not on duty, Valen withheld a salute—not that she saluted the man on duty, anyway. Maybe he was taking things easy, but she, on the other hand, had tasks of her own to tackle. Now that she was on better terms with everyone, her evenings for the past week had been spent alongside her squadmates—chopping wood with Gunther, helping Eld check inventory, tending to the horses with Petra, and resisting the urge to pour soup on Oruo. By the time she returned to her quarters, she'd curl up under the covers and slumber until morning came, and the book she'd filched from Hange collected dust under her bed.