The remaining forty-eight hours of the Azure Coast retreat were a surreal blend of idyllic paradise and hidden paranoia. For the members of Squad 5, excluding Max, it was the first time in their lives they were allowed to simply be teenagers. The weight of the world, the threat of the Guuts, and the rigid discipline of the HPF were washed away by the tide, if only temporarily.
Day Two: The Tournament
The second morning began not with a bugle call or an alarm, but with Eren screaming, "INCOMING!"
Max, who had barely slept after his midnight excursion to the lighthouse, jolted awake on his sun lounger just in time to see a volleyball hurtling toward his face. He caught it instinctively, the impact stinging his palms.
"Volleyball tournament!" Eren announced, wearing swimming trunks and a pair of sunglasses that were far too big for his face. "Squad 5 versus the Instructors. Loser has to cook dinner."
"I did not agree to this," Edy protested from under his umbrella, where he was reading a book on fluid dynamics.
"Too late, nerd! You're the setter!" Eren dragged him up.
The "court" was a patch of sand Jod had leveled out. A fishing net was strung up between two palm trees. On one side stood the imposing figures of Jod and Raina. On the other, the motley crew of Max, Eren, Malina, and Edy.
"No Fluids," Jod warned, cracking his knuckles. "Raw skill only."
"Fine by me," Malina said, her competitive spirit igniting. She tied her hair back, her eyes narrowing at Raina.
The game was chaos.
Eren cheated constantly. Every time Jod spiked the ball, Eren would blur slightly, moving faster than humanly possible to save it.
"I saw that, speedster!" Raina yelled, laughing as she served the ball with lethal precision.
Edy was surprisingly useful. "Wind velocity is five knots north-east," he muttered, adjusting his glasses. "Max, move three steps to the left."
Max moved. The ball dropped exactly where he was standing. He bumped it up.
"Malina, kill it!" Max shouted.
Malina jumped. For a second, she forgot the "No Fluids" rule—or maybe her natural strength was just that overwhelming. She spiked the ball.
BOOM.
The ball hit the sand on Jod's side with the force of a mortar shell. Sand exploded outward, showering Raina and Jod. When the dust settled, the ball was buried a foot deep in the beach.
"Point!" Eren cheered.
"That was excessive force," Jod grumbled, spitting sand out of his mouth, though he was grinning.
They played for hours until they were exhausted, sweaty, and covered in grit. They forgot about the war. They forgot about the scars on their bodies. For a few glorious hours, the biggest problem in their world was whether Eren had touched the net or not.
But every time the ball rolled out of bounds, Max would jog to retrieve it. And every time he bent down, his eyes would flick upward, scanning the grey, jagged tooth of the lighthouse on the cliff.
Are you watching this? he wondered. Are you analyzing our teamwork?
The tower remained silent, a tombstone against the blue sky.
The Second Night
That evening, true to the bet, Jod and Raina (who had technically lost due to Eren's cheating and Malina's brute force) cooked dinner. They grilled fresh fish caught by the locals, serving it with spicy rice and tropical fruit.
After dinner, the group sprawled out on the patio of the villa. Raina was teaching Malina how to braid hair—a sight that terrified Eren more than any monster.
"If you pull it too tight, I will dislocate your thumb," Malina warned, though she sat perfectly still.
"Relax, killer," Raina soothed. "You look pretty. Accept it."
Max excused himself, claiming he needed to find a better signal for his datapad.
He slipped away into the darkness.
He retraced his steps from the night before, moving through the palm grove and up the jagged rocks. The wind was stronger tonight, howling around the base of the lighthouse.
Max entered the service hatch. The smell of rot and old oil hit him again. He climbed the spiral stairs, faster this time, his Void senses stretched to their limit. He reached the top, burst through the trapdoor, and scanned the catwalk.
Empty.
He checked the floor. The smudge he had seen yesterday was gone, washed away by the salt spray or... cleaned.
Max ran his hand along the railing. He checked the rusted roof. He even leaned over the edge, scanning the cliff face for hidden caves or climbing gear.
Nothing.
It was as if the figure had never existed.
"I know you're there," Max whispered to the wind. "I know you're watching."
He stood there for twenty minutes, shivering in the cold, waiting for a sign. A sound. A flicker of movement. But the lighthouse gave him nothing but silence.
Frustrated, Max punched the iron railing. The metal vibrated, a dull, hollow sound that mocked him. He turned and descended into the dark, leaving the mystery unsolved.
Day Three: The Calm
The final day of the vacation was slower, heavier. The realization that they had to return to reality hung over them like a gathering storm cloud.
Jod took Max aside in the afternoon. They walked along the shoreline, the waves lapping at their boots.
"You're distracted," Jod said. It wasn't a question.
Max kicked a shell. "Just thinking about the training, sir."
Jod stopped. He took off his sunglasses and looked at Max. "You're a terrible liar, Max. Your eyes have been glued to that north cliff for two days."
Max froze. Jod had noticed.
"Is there a threat?" Jod asked, his voice dropping to his commander tone. "Did you see something?"
Max hesitated. He had the thread in his pocket. He could tell Jod right now. I saw an HPF officer spying on us.
But then what? An investigation? Lockdown? Interrogations? Jod would go on high alert. The peace would be shattered. And without proof—without a face—it would just lead to paranoia.
"No threat," Max lied, looking Jod in the eye. "Just... the lighthouse reminds me of the asylum in Oakhaven. It gives me the creeps."
Jod studied him for a long moment. Max held his breath.
Finally, Jod put his sunglasses back on. "PTSD comes in many forms, kid. Don't let the ghosts of the past ruin the present. If there's nothing there, stop looking for it."
"Yes, sir," Max said.
"Good. Now come on. Eren is trying to surf. I want to see him fall."
They walked back. Max watched Eren paddling out on a board, shouting challenges at the ocean. Malina and Edy were sitting on the shore, watching him.
Max decided to let it go. For now. He took one last look at the lighthouse, burned the image into his memory, and turned his back on it.
The Return
The sun began to set on the third day, casting long shadows across the villa. The transport ship descended from the clouds, its engines humming, blowing sand across the beach. It looked like a metal predator invading their sanctuary.
"Pack it up," Raina ordered, zipping up her tactical bag. "Vacation is over. Back to the grind."
The mood shifted instantly. The smiles faded. Postures straightened. They weren't teenagers anymore; they were Squad 5.
Eren groaned as he hauled his bag over his shoulder. "Can we just... stay? We could live off coconuts. I could fish."
"You caught a boot yesterday, Eren," Edy reminded him, checking his datapad. "Your survival probability is less than 12%."
"I hate your math," Eren muttered.
They boarded the ship. As the ramp closed, sealing them inside the dim, amber-lit cabin, the sound of the ocean was cut off, replaced by the recycled air of the ventilation system.
The flight back was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence for most of them.
Malina was sleeping, her head resting against the window. She looked rested, the tension in her brow smoothed out. The scar on her stomach was healed, and her spirit seemed repaired.
Eren and Edy were playing a card game on the floor. Eren was laughing, trying to cheat, and Edy was calmly calling him out on it. They were bickering like brothers.
Raina was cleaning her pistols, humming a tune she had heard on the radio at the beach. Jod was reviewing mission logs, back in his element.
They were happy. They were recharged.
But Max sat alone in the rear seat, staring out into the darkness of the clouds.
He twirled the tiny black thread between his fingers.
Who are you? The question cycled through his mind like a broken record. Why didn't you attack? Why did you just watch?
He thought about the Mimic who turned out to be a human. He thought about the missing pages of the book. He thought about Zog's secrecy. And now, the watcher in the lighthouse.
It felt like invisible strings were being pulled around them. They were getting stronger, yes. Level 2. Titan strength. Speed. But were they players in the game, or just pieces on a board?
"Max?" Eren called out, tossing a chip at him. "You alive back there? You're staring at nothing again."
Max snapped out of it. He shoved the thread deep into his pocket and forced a smile. "Yeah. Just tired."
"We're descending," the pilot announced.
HPF Headquarters
The transport touched down on the landing pad of the Headquarters with a heavy thud. The hydraulics hissed.
The ramp lowered.
The warm, salty breeze of the Azure Coast was a distant memory. Instead, the cold, sterile wind of the base hit them. The sky here was grey, reflecting the steel of the massive complex. Searchlights swept the tarmac. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter.
"Home sweet home," Raina said dryly, stepping onto the concrete.
Eren stretched, his back popping. "Back to the dungeon. I miss the sun already."
"Focus," Jod ordered. "Debriefing in 0800 hours tomorrow. Go to your dorms. Unpack. Sleep."
The group began to walk toward the main entrance. Eren, Edy, and Malina were chatting about the beach, recounting the volleyball game, laughing about the sand in their boots. They walked with a lightness in their steps.
Max trailed behind them. He looked up at the towering black monolith of the Command Center. He looked at the hundreds of windows.
Somewhere in there, Somewhere in there, a man who used to be a monster was locked in a cell with no memory.
Max felt a weight settle onto his shoulders—heavier than any gravity spell Edy could cast. He was back. But while his friends had returned refreshed, Max had returned with more questions than he had left with.
He adjusted his bag, lowered his head, and walked into the shadows of the Headquarters, the black thread in his pocket burning against his leg like a brand.