The Shatters of Black Stars

Mikasa was so exhausted that it seemed she would drift off the moment her head touched the pillow. But her hopes were not meant to come true. She tossed and turned in bed, replaying the evening’s events in her mind. The feeling that she had narrowly escaped a terrible fate wouldn’t let her go. The bed suddenly felt hard, the sheets twisted beneath her. The anger and resentment toward Eren wouldn’t fade. Mikasa tried to focus on something else, but her thoughts kept circling back to Levi. Why was she even thinking about him? Arrogant. Annoying. Short, too. What could possibly be attractive about him? And yet his cold, calculating gaze wouldn’t leave her head. Her body finally gave out only when she no longer had the strength to think at all. Her thoughts turned to mush, and she kept slipping in and out of restless sleep—the kind that comes after days too full of emotion. Mikasa slept fitfully, waking again and again, unable to find a comfortable position, as if her own bed refused to grant her even a moment of rest. She got up very early. The sunlight had not yet seeped through the walls, leaving only a grayish haze stretched across the sky. Her head ached. Her temples pulsed and burned, and her mind felt hollow—a hole where all the previous day’s turmoil had collapsed. She was afraid. Afraid for Eren. Afraid for herself. She had always been afraid—afraid she wouldn’t be able to defend herself, afraid that Eren might never return. What would she do without him? Mikasa turned in bed, trying to hold on to what little sleep remained. Everything was fine. She was fine. Eren was home. Whatever might have happened yesterday, she had managed to get out. She needed to forget yesterday like a bad dream. Mikasa glanced at the window. Behind the thin curtain, the city was slowly waking. The sight of the walls, the old buildings, the soft green crowns of trees usually calmed her—but not this morning. The fight with Eren still hurt. She shouldn’t have spoken to him so harshly. He only wanted to take care of her, and she was too tired, too overwhelmed to see that. And that bloody stain on his torn sleeve… she had simply lost it. Her heart shattered every time she imagined his skin splitting open, bones crunching, muscles painfully stretching in their place. If she had been there—could she have saved him? Mikasa shook her head, driving away the thought. What good would she have been there, when she didn’t even want to join the army? They had agreed long ago that it was better for Mikasa to stay in the city, where it was safer. Only, it turned out, the city wasn’t so safe either. Still. She shouldn’t think about it too much. The army wasn’t for her. She had to go on building her own life. Eren had made his choice; he wouldn’t always be there, no matter how much she wished otherwise. And Mikasa would have to accept that. She swung her legs off the bed. The wooden floor felt unusually cold beneath her feet. Her head buzzed with fatigue, her eyes stuck together, but sleep wouldn’t come. Inside, only emptiness remained, along with a vague anxiety that twisted her heart like a ghostly hand. Mikasa walked to the window, pulled the curtains aside, and gazed at the sleepy city. The streets were completely empty. Even the lamplighters had not yet extinguished the candles.

⸻・⸻ ♤ ⸻・⸻

Cold water cleared her head a little. The reflection in the mirror looked somewhat fresher. Her eyes still itched from the tears, but the shadow of exhaustion had faded. Mikasa went down to the kitchen, pacing the room like a restless ghost. The clock’s hands seemed frozen in place. What tormented her most was that she hadn’t managed to properly talk to Eren. She waited for him to wake with growing impatience. She wanted to apologise, to press herself close to him, to at least pretend that everything was fine. Mikasa wasn’t ready to lose even the faint shadow of closeness that still remained between them. She would have to swallow her pride once again. She shouldn’t have pushed Eren so hard yesterday. He was tired. He was dealing with important matters. He suffered so she shouldn't. And Mikasa had only made him worry about her as well. Of course Eren had snapped. Gotten angry, like any man would. She shouldn’t have blamed him for simply trying to take care of her. Mikasa paced the kitchen. There were still apples left in the drawer. Perfect — she would try to prepare something for Eren to make peace when he woke.

⸻・⸻ ♤ ⸻・⸻

The kettle whistled softly on the stove. Mikasa set a golden-crusted pie on the table, and the sweet scent of apples slowly spread through the room. The heat from the oven made the air heavy, but a faint draft of summer coolness slipped in through the slightly open window. Mikasa sat patiently at the table, waiting as Eren finally wandered into the kitchen, still half-asleep. She couldn’t help but smile at his disheveled appearance. This was the Eren she was used to—sleepy, his hair slightly tousled, his eyes drowsy—familiar, home-like. There was nothing of the soldier about him now. “Good morning!” Mikasa sprang to her feet, fussing over the table, pulling utensils and dishes from the drawers for the pie and tea. The clinking of cups filled the heavy silence. Would Eren say anything? But he stayed silent, staring out the window. Mikasa handed him a slice of pie and poured him tea. Eren mumbled a barely audible thanks, swallowed the food without another word, his gloomy gaze fixed on Mikasa. She couldn’t swallow a single bite. Words itched on her tongue—to say something, to break this oppressive silence—but she had no strength left. All her enthusiasm had vanished in an instant. She’d tried—she’d made breakfast, she smiled at him—but Eren... Without a word, he stood up and left the kitchen. A lump caught in her throat. Bitterness and anger boiled in her chest. She wanted to cry, but she was done with tears. Mikasa washed the dishes, quickly put the cups away, and slammed the towel onto the table. The chair legs scraped sharply across the floor, the back hitting the table with a dull thud. She didn’t want to admit it, but Eren’s behaviour had wounded her deeply. Staying home was unbearable. As long as he was here, Mikasa would be consumed by a suffocating loneliness.

⸻・⸻ ♤ ⸻・⸻

The morning coolness and calm had long since evaporated from the city streets. The sun had already risen above the wall, flooding the houses with bright light, heating the air, drawing the familiar summer heat ever closer. Breathing was becoming harder, and Mikasa slowed her pace, gradually calming herself. There was no need to rush through the alleys anymore. She had already walked the entire district.  Strolling along the sun-warmed pavement was pleasant. Her thoughts drifted far away, far from the troubles of recent days. Mikasa paid no attention to the passersby, retreating entirely into herself. She didn’t want to go home. Glancing around, she noticed a small café in the distance. Her stomach growled immediately. She hadn’t even eaten breakfast. Money was tight. They had promised to pay her well for singing at the bar, but now there was nothing left of it but a burnt ruin. Mikasa wanted to feel guilty about it, but all she could think of was that she wouldn’t receive a single coin. There were barely any customers in the café. Mikasa took a seat at a small table on the open veranda. Spending money on breakfast when there was still a perfectly good pie waiting at home seemed wasteful. Her own money was almost gone, and Eren could choke on his handouts and his pride. She would not take anything from him. Scanning the menu, she ordered the only thing she could afford—tea. She had counted so much on the money from that last performance. Mikasa rarely sat idle. She was often invited to sing in good venues, but she couldn’t refuse the smaller bars either. She was too afraid of being left without money. And they paid well. On nights when she sang, the little taverns overflowed with people—so many that the kitchens couldn’t keep up with frying, boiling, and pouring. Mikasa never imagined she would be cheated out of her pay. She had even bought a new performance dress. Who could have known the bar would burn down. Just her luck. The next concert was still a few days away. She could ask for payment in advance—but what position would that put her in? No, to ask for something like that would be unbearable. Mikasa slowly sipped her lukewarm, bitter tea. She didn’t like drinking this stuff, but without ordering something, they would have thrown her off the veranda—and she wanted to sit here, to clear her mind while watching the city. From the corner, the waiter shot her disapproving glances. The owner was probably annoyed that she was wasting their time with just a cup of tea. But Mikasa couldn’t care less. She tried to focus on the upcoming concert. After that, she would be paid well, and she would no longer feel so miserable. To shine on grand stages, to sing while all attention was fixed on her, on her voice—that Mikasa truly enjoyed. Not to be the center of attention—no. But to do what she was good at and find pleasure in it. And as for the fact that most of the audience were men, enjoying not her voice but her sparkling dresses and her body—Mikasa tried to ignore that. From the very beginning, it was clear: the only way to rise out of the filth was to hold her head high, radiating unshakable pride. One moment of weakness—and she’d have to fight the admirers off for real. It had happened before. That’s when Eren had gotten her the peculiar lighter. Many men backed off as soon as they saw the gleaming revolver in her hands.  The only trouble was, Mikasa didn’t know how to shoot. And she wouldn’t be able to fire at a person even if she did. She’d seen enough death in her life. Mikasa pushed these thoughts aside. Revolvers, quarrels, concerts—none of it could distract her from that recent evening. Levi’s icy eyes wouldn’t leave her head. Maybe he was right. You don’t earn much with singing alone. If not for Eren, for his money that had helped her more than once, perhaps she would have taken a different path. Many singers had no shame in leaving the stage only to walk straight to some admirer’s hotel room. How easy life would be, if Mikasa could just toss away her pride. Forget principles—accept expensive gifts, necklaces, earrings, gemstones, bathe in attention, enjoy life. But Mikasa couldn’t. It was humiliating to share a bed with someone you didn’t love. She wasn’t naive. She knew perfectly well what followed after an expensive gift. And men—every last one of them—believed that a singer could be bought, as long as they paid enough. Even Levi, that petty thief, a man without any principles, had mistaken her for a courtesan simply because she looked too elegant among all those drunkards. Men always imagined things that were never there. To wear earrings gifted by a patron was the same as confirming that all the poisonous rumours swirling through the city were true. The rumours didn’t bother Mikasa. People could make up whatever they wanted. But the image of untouchable youth worked in her favour. It raised her value. Let the admirers strip her with their eyes while she sang on stage. The more listeners—no matter who—the higher she climbed. Passersby hurried about their business all around. If Mikasa had been a little smarter, she would have found a normal job, like they had. A simple job. A seamstress or a cook. She might have gone to school. Could’ve become a teacher, worked with children. Maybe then Eren would’ve noticed her. Maybe he liked women like that—quiet, gentle, home-bound. Maybe he, though never saying it aloud, thought that after concerts she didn’t mind accepting attention from other men. No. Mikasa wouldn’t allow herself to think that. Nonsense. Eren trusted her, and she was true to her feelings. And just because she had chosen the harder, more principled path didn’t mean she would fall like so many others had. The heat crept in slowly, pressing against her throbbing temples. Mikasa winced, leaned back in her chair, and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. Her trousers clung uncomfortably to her skin. “There she is! The girl from the bar!” The loud voice of an unfamiliar man was swallowed by the noise of the crowd, but Mikasa heard it. Instinctively, she turned, scanning the street. Nothing was happening.  She allowed herself a faint, bitter smile. Her nerves weren’t what they used to be. Too much stress because of Eren, too much fear after that night. Whatever was happening around her now—surely, it had nothing to do with her. At least, it didn’t—until she noticed one of the policemen standing at a distance, looking directly at her. The street stirred: people scattered to the sides, making way for the rushing officers. The harsh rhythm of military boots hammering against the stone snapped Mikasa back to full awareness. Throwing a few coins on the table—for the tea—she jumped up, skillfully leaping over the low terrace railing, not even understanding what had made her react so fast. She hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she had intended to turn that thief in! Though the thought of Ackerman had long since dissolved from her mind, and now she didn’t even want to remember him. But the shouting drew closer, and an unfamiliar fear drove her forward. “Stop her!” The command rang out somewhere very close behind.  What saved Mikasa was the dazed stupor of the people around her—none of them moved quickly enough to clear the way for the police. They just stared in shock as she sped past them like the wind. What kind of trouble have I gotten myself into…She tried to figure out where to run and what to do next. She needed to pick up speed. Her breathing grew shallow as she fought off the sharp pain building in her side, weaving through onlookers watching her fly down the street. The thought that running might be the worst possible decision struck her suddenly—and far too late. The police couldn’t really do anything to her! They had probably only recognised her because she escaped with Levi. She could easily claim he had threatened her with a gun, forced her to help him—if she said that, they’d have no choice but to believe her. But good ideas had a way of disappearing precisely when quick decisions were needed. It would’ve been better not to get mixed up with Levi at all. And now, for the first time, she felt truly scared. She had helped him. If the police caught her, no story about being threatened would save her now. She shouldn’t have helped him! But it was too late—Mikasa was already running. And trying to justify her escape with fear would only sound even more foolish.

⸻・⸻ ♤ ⸻・⸻

Levi strolled leisurely through the noisy alleys. It would’ve been smarter to stay home, but after his talk with Erd, his mood had lifted, and the sense of danger dulled considerably. Besides, who would expect him to crawl out of his hole in broad daylight? Especially after last night’s little performance. The lazy police wouldn’t even pay attention to someone like him if they saw him in the crowd. Quite the opposite—they’d turn away, just to avoid crossing paths with an Ackerman and ending up with a bullet in their heads. And walking always helped him clear his mind.  As he wandered the streets, Levi imagined slipping into one of Mikasa’s concerts, catching a glimpse of her at least once more. Maybe even exchange a few words. He genuinely wanted to make amends and get a little closer. It was clear now: this attraction wouldn’t fade as quickly as the others. Whenever his mind was free, her image resurfaced. The crowd stirred unexpectedly. Levi felt it in his gut—something was off. They hadn’t spotted him—that much was certain. And who would be insane enough to come after him after what he’d done in the bar? Had someone grown tired of living?  His instincts screamed. Levi had long since learned to trust them. They’d pulled him out of more messes than most people could even imagine.  Forcing himself to shake off the daydream, he focused on the scene unfolding around him. The crowd awkwardly split.  A woman gasped, dropping her basket—vegetables scattered across the cobblestones. People scrambled to catch the rolling onions, a man cursed at a teenager who stepped on his foot—and then, darting swiftly through the parting sea of people, raced a young woman. For a split second, Levi caught her eyes. Wide, startled, burning with flashes of last night’s vivid memories. Mikasa. Shouts from the police and the sharp pounding of their polished boots followed immediately after. In the next instant, a squad rushed past him. His heart stopped cold. What did they want from Mikasa? The gears in his mind spun wildly. Whatever trouble she was in—this was his chance. If he helped her, she’d be grateful. Girls like her could easily cling to you with just the right words. And it’d make up for last night in one stroke. But getting caught like this would be beyond stupid. If Levi Ackerman got himself arrested in broad daylight, he’d never be able to look Kenny in the eye again, no matter what he'd achieved before. No one respected idiots—and Levi would be filing himself straight into that category. He had to decide—fast. The serum wasn’t stolen. The mafia kept the police at bay. Last night, they’d simply seized the chance to catch someone like him—and no doubt some official had been promised a promotion. But after that wild shootout, they wouldn’t come after him for a while. They had wounds to lick. And it wasn’t like they lacked easier targets in this city. The Military Police—idiots as they were—still followed orders. And their commanders had been silenced long ago with fat bribes. That meant Levi didn’t have to worry for himself. And if he could pull Mikasa toward the outer districts, the police would back off.  They never ventured out there. It wasn’t their territory. Levi cursed under his breath. He wasn’t in the habit of helping others, and exposing himself to the police again was supreme foolishness. But he simply couldn’t let that singer suffer because of him. He calmly headed toward the direction the squad had run, silently cursing himself for thinking with the wrong part of his body. If someone above had given the order—if bribes weren’t enough—he was walking right into their hands, practically offering himself up with a smile. Easy pickings. The thought alone made his stomach turn, but Levi was already committed. If he was going to risk it—it’d be all in.  He quickly weighed the odds: the police weren’t carrying ODM gear. Mikasa wasn’t valuable enough to warrant a full operation or backup, so they wouldn’t bring out the wires. That was the only real threat to catching Levi Ackerman. Without them, there was little to worry about. With practiced ease, Levi climbed onto the roof using a drainpipe and sprinted across the sloped tiles. There was no time to waste. Mikasa would run out of breath soon, and while snatching her from the police would be dramatic—it would also be insane. Levi quickly overtook the officers and, to his surprise, saw that Mikasa wasn’t letting them close the distance. She was still ahead, still running, not slowing down. Incredible. Any ordinary singer would’ve collapsed after the first hundred meters. An ordinary singer would’ve been caught already. Mesmerised by her quick, precise movements, Levi nearly missed his moment to jump. He was already calculating his manoeuvre to pull her out. There weren’t many escape routes—but if she kept moving like this, they’d have no trouble slipping away.

⸻・⸻ ♤ ⸻・⸻

Mikasa was running on sheer willpower. Her breath was failing her, and she cursed her lungs—for enduring entire concerts with ease, yet unable to handle a few minutes of sprinting now. Her legs burned, a sharp pain stabbed at her side, but she kept running, no longer knowing what she hoped for or where she was even going. Home was in the opposite direction, and there was nowhere to hide in the city. Shops and buildings surrounded her—no cover, nowhere to vanish. Mikasa threw a sharp glance over her shoulder. The police were right behind her. Letting out a groan, she surged forward again, determined to at least try to escape now, cursing Ackerman with all her strength for disturbing her peace not once, but twice. She had seen him in the crowd—there was no mistake. And what enraged her even more was how this arrogant criminal strolled freely through the streets, while she—a law-abiding, rather well-known singer—was forced to flee from the police. How humiliating. How absurd! A bitter image flashed through her mind—her guests learning why the next concert was canceled. She pictured herself not in her sparkling gown before the shining grand piano, but wearing prison garb, singing arias for jailhouse rats while an angry Eren would eventually pull her out—If he even remembered to. Maybe they would release her the same day—but the chase alone was enough to stain her reputation. The rumours would spread, as they always did. Suddenly, a short figure appeared before her out of nowhere.  Startled, Mikasa let out a cry, barely managing to slow down before slamming into the very cause of all her troubles. “For God’s sake—what do you want from me now?!” she burst out, dodging around him. Her lungs burned from running, and only now did she feel how dry her throat had become. Gasps and whispers rippled through the onlookers. “Hey—it’s Levi Ackerman!” came a voice from behind, and Mikasa saw how close the police had gotten. “For starters—hello,” Levi smirked, matching her pace with ease. Oh, Mikasa would love to give him a piece of her mind now, but Levi continued, calm as ever: “I’ll help you escape,” he said, breathing evenly, as if he hadn’t been running at all. Yet he’d run just as far as she had. Mikasa shot him an indignant glare. This was the last thing she needed. Now the police would be absolutely certain she was working with this criminal. But he was her only lifeline—and with growing hesitation, she reached for it, hoping Levi could pull her out of the mess and away from endless interrogations. Weighing her options quickly, Mikasa followed him, feeling her muscles nearly at their breaking point. Levi darted through narrow alleys Mikasa would never have thought to take. They seemed to lead nowhere, yet each sharp turn opened into another passageway, another twisting corner. The police boots still hammered the cobblestones behind them, refusing to give up. They were close—too close. Almost as if they knew these backstreets just as well. “Persistent bastards,” Levi hissed, glancing back. “Well, that was a nice run,” Mikasa muttered, breathless and fuming. Before them rose a tall stone wall, twice the height of a man, blocking the next courtyard. To either side, tall buildings loomed—two, three stories high. They were trapped. “Thanks for the help,” Mikasa snapped, once again regretting ever crossing paths with him. Levi shot her a single irritated glance that sent a chill down her spine. Mikasa fell silent. She wasn’t in a position to argue. What if Levi had lured her here on purpose? What if the police had been misled, tangled in the labyrinth, and now she was alone with this notorious, ruthless criminal? But Levi stepped back a few paces, took a running start, and leapt against the vertical wall of the neighbouring house. He paused for barely a moment, pushed off, and sprang up onto the stone barrier blocking their path. Mikasa could hardly believe her eyes. With practiced ease, he hooked himself over the top, pulling himself up. But her astonishment turned bitter when she realised she was being left behind. So that’s it. Ackerman was simply cutting his losses, saving his own skin. She was ready to lash out at him—even though she was barely catching her breath, lungs ablaze—but Levi suddenly turned, extending his hands down to her. He stared directly at her. Mikasa stared back, like a rabbit caught in a snare. “Well? Hurry up,” Levi said, annoyed. “I... I can’t,” she faltered, her voice trembling. Did she really want him to see how scared she suddenly was? Levi clicked his tongue in irritation. Clearly, she didn’t trust him. Not what she was expecting from him. But there was no time—the police were almost on them, and they had to move now. He leaned down further, anchoring his boots into the stone on the other side. “You’re tall—you’ll reach.” Mikasa stepped closer, hesitating to grab his hands. How awkward this was. And now, in daylight, it was even more obvious just how small Levi was. Could he even hold her? “You sure you can hold me?” she asked nervously. Levi snorted, clearly insulted. “You can stay down here. I don’t mind.” Fine, Mikasa thought bitterly, glancing around nervously. The sound of footsteps was dangerously close. Levi was already preparing to slide down the other side when Mikasa suddenly grabbed his wrists. He nearly lost his balance, barely managing to hook his boots into the stones. “Warn me next time,” Levi grumbled, swearing under his breath as he grabbed her elbows, pulling her upward. Heavy, he thought—but it wasn’t as hard as he expected.  She helped with her legs, clumsily finding footholds along the wall, finally managing to catch the edge of the stone barrier with her hands. Just in time. At that very moment, the battered squad turned the corner. Levi dropped back down quickly, glancing up at Mikasa with a flicker of concern. Would she dare jump? Contrary to all his concerns, Mikasa landed from the wall with surprising ease, her feet touching the ground in near silence. Levi immediately grabbed her hand, pulling her deeper into the hidden, twisted alleys of his city. As the tension in her chest slowly faded, Mikasa listened to the voices of the frustrated policemen growing more and more distant. When Levi finally released her hand, she exhaled. They had shaken them off. Only now could she breathe deeply—and feel the burning in her chest, the dryness in her throat, the dull ache in her legs. She shifted awkwardly, trying to ease the tension in her muscles. Levi, without any shame, looked her over. He let his eyes linger on the half-open blouse, the fine drops of sweat clinging to her flushed face. Her skin glowed from the run, black lashes quivering slightly, her parted lips releasing faint, uneven breaths... Exquisite. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with her heavy breathing. His gaze clung to the flushed Mikasa, and for a moment, the world narrowed to nothing but her and the sound of her breath. “Do I have something on my face?” Mikasa snapped, adjusting her blouse, irritated by his stare. Her cheeks were already burning from the run—hiding well the sudden, unwanted blush creeping beneath. “You dress like a boy,” Levi remarked dryly. Mikasa raised her head sharply, her brows drawing together—if only she could wipe that smirk off his face. A slap would certainly teach him not to insult her again. But she held back. They were alone again, and once more, she had trusted him without thinking. Chose to run with a criminal instead of turning him in. Would she ever start using her head? Levi stepped closer—far too close. Mikasa instinctively tensed, standing straight, a chill running down her spine. That sharp, scrutinising gaze paralysed her. He was studying her far too intently. “Something wrong?” he asked. “Why would you think that?” Mikasa shot back with a touch of sarcasm. She had just fled from a pack of policemen—those who were supposed to protect people like her. Otherwise? No, perfectly ordinary day. “Your eyes are red,” Levi observed. Mikasa abruptly turned away. Levi stepped closer—unbearably close—and her heart skipped, beating harder. The nervousness was unexpectedly... pleasant. Levi reached out slightly, as if about to touch her, and Mikasa flinched forward, brushing his shoulder. She needed to get out of this alley, wherever she was. Anywhere but here. “None of your business,” she muttered. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know the way. She’d figure it out. The city wasn’t a maze. “In polite society, people say thank you after being rescued,” Levi called after her.  Mikasa turned sharply. “You’re hardly polite society,” she snapped. Levi wasn’t about to let her off so easily. His heart, barely calmed from running, began to flutter again. Her rudeness, her defiance—something about it stirred a strange, unfamiliar feeling inside him. In a few quick steps, he caught up and blocked her path, forcing her to stop. Mikasa stared at him defiantly. His icy eyes still burned. “It’s because of you I’m in this mess,” she exhaled. Because of Levi, she was now neck-deep in trouble. She wanted him gone—but he wouldn’t let go, and truthfully, she wasn’t fighting him that hard. That frustrated her even more. This unappealing, short, rough man she had once pictured now stood before her as something entirely different—sharp, capable, and willing to help. He could’ve walked away. Left her to deal with everything herself. But he hadn’t. “I need to get home,” Mikasa added quietly, softening. She no longer knew what to do. Her cheeks burned with shame, Levi’s stare seared her with its cold fire. Her peaceful, quiet life was once again crumbling. Everything was blurring together—Eren with his endless problems and shouting, Levi with his unsettling presence that upended her world. She only wanted to rest, to collapse into bed and close her eyes. Even the argument with Eren no longer seemed so terrifying—Mikasa simply wanted to be home. She almost stepped forward but hesitated, shifting awkwardly, and finally forced out a single word: “Thank you.” Levi smiled faintly, accepting the gratitude, and stepped aside. “You don’t even know where you’re going,” he called after her, and Mikasa spun around angrily. Damn Levi Ackerman! “Then lead me out of here,” she said sharply, and Levi smiled. “Your wish is my command.”