Mikasa smiles and buries her nose into the bright red scarf around her neck. It's lopsided and lumpy and pretty much a length of holes stitched together, but it's also soft and warm and made just for her. She smiles at the memory of Eren handing it to her the night before Carla and Maria went back home. Apparently he'd wrangled Christa into teaching him, which is something Mikasa would have paid to see.

The gritty blade-sharpener Armin had gotten her is tucked securely in her jacket pocket, ready to be used if necessary, and she smiles as she runs her knuckles over the bulge it makes.

Her brothers know her well.