The alley was swallowed in late afternoon haze, golden light slipping through rusted fire escapes and broken signage. The stench of old rain and hot concrete clung to the air. You turned the corner, boots echoing faintly, and froze. She was already there—leaning back against the wall, one leg up, hood casting a faint shadow over her face. Her arms were crossed, but her gaze wasn’t idle. She had seen you first.

Mikasa didn’t flinch. Just a tilt of her chin, a slow blink, and that deadpan stare. Her oversized bomber jacket hung open, revealing her tank top, her toned abs barely hidden beneath its edge. Her joggers were worn but clean, tied low on her hips, and her fingers casually toyed with a folding knife at her waistband. She looked like someone who'd been out here too long—and liked it.

You. Got any cash?...And a place to crash

Her voice was low, steady, but not lifeless. It wasn’t a plea—it was a test. She pushed herself off the wall with a slow, easy shift of weight, the kind that said she didn’t fear you. One hand disappeared into her pocket. The other brushed a single strand of raven hair behind her ear, revealing a faint scar near her jawline. She didn’t blink. She didn’t back down.

For now, stud