Was this psychological warfare?
Zeke immediately recognized the tactic. Separate interrogation—a classic strategy. When a group is captured, splitting them apart allows the interrogator to exploit the gaps between their statements. Each person, unsure what the others have confessed, becomes vulnerable to traps disguised as casual questions.
He exhaled slowly. His mind was still sluggish from the long sleep, but the logic of it clicked back into place.
They're trying to bait me.
He had already written the script back in Shiganshina Town—brief, clean, impossible to contradict. We're orphans.
Picked up on the street. Nothing more, nothing less. He had assumed the kids were smart enough not to overshare.
So when Erwin pressed him, Zeke simply smirked. "I don't know what those kids told you, but it's true. I picked them up on the same street."
"Which street?" Erwin leaned forward, frowning. "You expect me to believe you just found them?"
"Carnaby Street," Zeke replied smoothly, his tone almost bored. "Plenty of abandoned children there."
Erwin's eyes narrowed. He hadn't expected Zeke to catch the trap so easily. "You're saying hundreds of parents abandon their own flesh and blood? In the same place? I've never heard of such a thing."
Zeke chuckled under his breath. "Then, Captain, your world is smaller than you think." His tone carried both mockery and pity. "On that street alone, two to three hundred children are abandoned every year. You soldiers who claim to represent justice—you know nothing of the filth beneath your shining walls."
Erwin fell silent, but Levi scoffed. "Tch. Don't make me laugh. There's no place darker than the underground city."
Zeke's golden eyes flicked toward him, amused. "Then you've seen very little of the world."
That earned him a murderous glare.
Levi's fists clenched, but Erwin raised a hand, signaling him to stand down.
"Why," Erwin continued, calm but insistent, "are there so many abandoned children in your city?"
"Because people are careless, selfish, and afraid," Zeke answered dryly. "You've probably never married, have you, Erwin? Never been in love? Many think children are the fruit of love, but most are born by accident. And when indulgence fades, they become burdens. Those children are cursed before they can walk—called 'devil spawn' by the same parents who created them.
Feared, resented, tossed aside to save face."
The words came cold and detached, but something in Zeke's expression darkened. The stitched-up monkey doll lying near him seemed to echo the bitterness in his voice.
Erwin watched him quietly. "Then tell me—where exactly do you live?"
"Liberio," Zeke replied without hesitation. "But don't bother looking for it. It's a place your government can't reach—a dark spot wiped clean from your maps."
Erwin's gaze sharpened. "Then take me there."
Zeke's lips curved faintly.
Erwin's composure faltered. No cracks. None.
Those two kids had said the exact same thing.
"I was abandoned on Carnaby Street, in Liberio, right after I was born."
When had they synchronized their stories?
At Shiganshina Town? Impossible—they'd barely spoken then.
Erwin's jaw tightened. The only explanation left was that they'd rehearsed it long before capture
Every word, every pause.
He exhaled. "You're all too coordinated. You've had anti-interrogation training, haven't you? Your confessions were prearranged."
Zeke didn't answer—he only smiled.
He'd drilled it into those kids' heads: If you don't know what to say, say less. The less you talk, the fewer mistakes you make. Silence is your shield.
He trusted they remembered.
But then Erwin leaned forward, voice dropping low. "There's one thing you might not know, Zeke.
The day I brought you back, I contacted the Shiganshina District government. I asked them to locate the records of a young man named 'Zeke.'"
Zeke's expression didn't flicker. "Your bureaucracy works fast," he said with a faint, mocking smile.
Erwin's brows furrowed.
No twitch. No panic. Perfectly steady heartbeat. The man before him was either telling the truth—or a master liar.
Erwin sighed. "You're right, our government isn't efficient. But I did reach out before the district fell. And while I was waiting for their report…" His eyes hardened. "Shiganshina was overrun by Titans."
Zeke's lips quirked upward. "So unlucky for you, then. Guess my records are gone."
Erwin's gaze was unwavering. "Maybe. But I still found something."
That got Zeke's attention. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he smoothed it away.
Erwin took a folded document from his coat and set it on the table between them. "You're good," he admitted. "Your lies are seamless. But even perfect lies leave shadows."
He unfolded the page slowly, eyes glinting. "You seem to have forgotten one crucial detail—your father."
Zeke stiffened.
Erwin's voice dropped into a deliberate calm. "Thirteen years ago, outside the wall, our former captain—Keith Shadis—found a man wandering alone. A doctor. His name was Grisha Yeager. He said he came from beyond the walls."
Silence filled the cell.
Zeke's fingers twitched once against his knee.
Erwin leaned forward, his tone almost gentle. "So tell me, Zeke. If your father was discovered outside the walls thirteen years ago… how could you have been living safely inside them in Liberio?"
The room went still.
For the first time, Zeke had no ready quip. His eyes flicked briefly to the doll at his side, its crooked smile seeming to mock him.
The impeccable lie had cracked.
And Erwin—patient, calculating Erwin—was already prying it open.