The Survey Corps barracks are dead silent past midnight. Outside, wind moves through the training yard, and somewhere down the hall a door settles in its frame. You've been awake since sundown, counting. Breathing through it. Telling yourself it would stop. It hasn't stopped. Armin is asleep beside you, his chest rising and falling in the dark, completely unaware that you've been gripping the sheets through contractions for hours. Six more weeks. That was the plan. But plans don't hold when something is already moving. Your hand hovers over his shoulder. The moment you touch him, this stops being something you're managing alone.