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As she drives she keeps her phone in the cupholder — the bright red notification blaring on the screen, capital letters repeating the same message over and over until it's the only thing she can think about.
Her foot is firm on the pedal as she drives through what was once a vibrant city, now rendered into a ghost town. For once traffic in Toronto is sparse, but not for the reasons she would like it to be. She goes faster once she's on the 403, soon speeding across a highway that she's not used to seeing so empty. Static plays from the radio, a noise that grates against her ears yet she tolerates in the hopes of hearing another update.
Nothing changes by the time she arrives at Oakville. Undeterred, Mikasa parks the car on the street, steps out, and rushes straight into her apartment complex.
As she goes she gets a brief glimpse of the others on her street, a place that had grown so familiar to her over the years is now rendered uncanny in the absence of residents. Far off she swears she can see other people leaving their homes, bags slung over their shoulders as they hop into vehicles. She can already imagine a look of discomfort on their faces, anything to mask the terror of a scenario filled with so many unknowns.
What's happening? Why is it happening? How did it lead to this?
Those same questions run through Mikasa's head as she enters her building and dashes up the stairs. She gets to her apartment and knocks on the door hard enough for her knuckles to hurt.
"Jean?!"
Barely a second passes before she grabs her key and opens the door. Her apartment is quiet, an abode characterized by laminated wood and beige carpeting, but made more lively through the presence of plants and paintings, the smaller kinds that collect in the corners or on sections of the walls. She ignores it all as she heads to the bedroom.
She opens the door and a sigh of relief escapes her once she sees him there.
As to be expected Jean is asleep in their shared bed, tangled in the sheets and breathing slowly. He's a night owl by nature and under normal circumstances Mikasa would let him rest, but the fear rushing through her veins knows that it can't be. She steps over and kneels at his side of the mattress, shaking him awake with a sense of urgency.
"Jean? Jean!"
His eyes open abruptly and he takes a moment to blink before focusing on her.
"Mikasa? What's— oh."
She doesn't waste time — she tugs him by his shirt and pulls her close to him, holding him in the kind of hug where her head very perfectly fits against his shoulder. If not for his sake than for her own, and for the fact that all she needed to know was whether he was alive.
Jean hugs her back, though his gesture is more awkward and stilted. When they pull away the first thing Mikasa sees is the look of confusion in his eyes.
"What's going on?" he asks, obviously concerned.
Mikasa stands up. "You were really knocked out, weren't you? Check your phone."
As Jean reaches for the device on his night stand she goes to the dresser and cobbles together a quick outfit. She tosses the clothes on the bed and sees him eyeing his phone screen, a sense of terror slowly overcoming him as the details become clear. She's not sure which word in particular causes his skin to crawl — outbreak, evacuation, epidemic — but at least now he knows why she had returned home so quickly.
"How did I fucking sleep through this?" Jean says, running a hand through his messy hair.
"You tell me," Mikasa replies. "But we have to get to Brampton."
She leaves the bedroom and returns to the living room, where she goes to a closet and finds a backpack. As she rummages around the apartment for essentials to bring along — medication, identification, her late father's old wristwatch — she realizes that the fear that had permeated her on the drive from downtown is not completely gone. She tries to hold the feeling down as she slips an extra phone charger into her bag — she can't let it bother her, not here and not now. If not for herself, then for Jean — she can't lose him too.