[ It is cruel to the point of worrying, a world that won’t bend beneath her fingers. Digging at the wood, pounding at the windows - none of it does any good. The closest building remains locked to her. Inside, lights are thrown out against the panes of glass, blots of orange and almost watery; the way they blink, there and not there, there and not there, makes Mikasa feel like the buildings themselves are laughing at her.

Eventually, when her mittens are bloodied and her boots soaked through, she slumps down against the nearest wall. The tablet is still alien to her and by now her fingers are resistant to moving, struggling rather unwillingly in the biting chill.

Typing, such as it is, does not go well. ]

c an someoeopen the

[ She didn’t mean to send the incomplete message but there it is, bouncing around the network, as unhelpful as anything.

The second one comes almost two minutes later. ]

door

[ What door, you may ask? – Good question. ]

[ Mikasa kneels over a crackling fire place, in stark contrast to the above prompt. Her coat is off, hanging over a chair to drip ineffectually onto the floor, and her boots are likewise deposited near the door - the tidiness involved is clear military, for obvious reasons. The scarf remains on, though. Her lips and eyelids are almost pale with hectic slashes of pink high up on her cheekbones; going from extreme cold to the thin beginnings of livable heat is an adjustment, telling its story in patches on her skin.

There had been a stack of newspapers in the corner for kindling. Mikasa had kept a few, including the most recent one, for the sake of dates and notable events in the area, but nothing was familiar. The rest had been hurled into the fire without forgiveness.

When the door creaks open, the entering party is held in her peripheral vision. Mistrustful without being aggressive, her back straightens as a prelude to action not taken. A cold person looking for shelter could be a threat, or - they could just be a cold person looking for shelter.

In a clipped tone, neither brusque nor kind, ]

Close the door.

[ Irony. ]