Dew still clings to the grass when Sylvia steps out of her apartment. The sun is still breaking over the horizon. The people on the streets are the kinds of people who don 't have anywhere to go or don 't remember where they 're supposed to go. Sometimes both. The coffee in her hand is self-brewed. It tastes like shit.

It 's a half hour-long train ride to her destination or an hour-long walk. She always walks. At some point, the sidewalk ends and she 's traveling a dirt road, and at some point, the dirt road ends and she 's cutting through grass on memory alone. She 's never had a problem with memory. She wishes she did.

Every time, she gets there at 0630 hours, and every time, she stays the whole day, half-unfinished coffee nestled in the grass beside her shoes. It 's fortunate the two days of the year that she visits are still warm, but she doesn 't imagine the weather would change much about this routine.

It 's better this way, she thinks. That they 've never had to witness the things she 's had to do. She hopes that wherever they 're watching her from now, it 's at least comfortable. She hopes they don 't mind her choices 'but mostly she hopes they 're not watching at all. She doesn 't know if she could do what she does if they knew that the cost of peace and the cost of preventing deaths like theirs involves more death. Couldn 't live with them knowing she plays a part in that.

Then again, if they 'd never died, she would never have been driven to those choices to begin with. In her dreams, they live in a house with china cabinets and bookshelves and a record player that 's always singing. The messiest room in their home is their daughter 's, and they scold their dog when he tracks mud in. Her husband tells her she 's beautiful, and she laughs and tells him she knows.

She 's only as good a spy as she is because she has nobody to keep secrets from.

2000 hours always comes faster than she expects. When she leaves the tiny plot, she passes by a third gravestone. Unmarked. Expectant.

'

'Now, onto your next assignment, which will in fact endure for the entirety of your semester. '

Becky peers surreptitiously at Anya, who is, for what must be the 500th time today, wiping her nose and looking at the back of her hand like she expects to find boogers. She 's been distant for some time now, especially so since Becky had found her crying in the bathroom, but this is just weird. Then again, she 's heard of people adopting odd coping mechanisms.

Suddenly, Anya pales, getting a look on her face like their teacher has just announced that their next assignment will be a group project.

'As for the details ' ' Their teacher 's face splits into an entirely too pleased-with-himself grin. 'You will be working in pairs! '

The class erupts into chatter. Friends reach out over their desks to tap each other on the shoulder, asking to be partners.

'Quiet down, quiet down, ' Mr. Evans calls out. 'I haven 't said how you 'll be choosing your partners yet, so don 't get overly excited. I 've yet to describe the project itself, either. '

Becky winces. Getting picked for a group project, where Anya is concerned, is what most people fear when teams are picked for gym class. Only, at least in gym class, people actually want Anya on their team because she 's fearless and hardheaded 'literally. She hits most balls and tackles most people headfirst. Unfortunately, her intelligence has become just as noteworthy, but for all the wrong reasons.

Right now, Anya is staring down at her hands in mild panic. Becky grabs one of them, squeezing. 'It 's fine, ' she whispers. 'I 'll be your partner. And if Mr. Evans tries to assign them himself, I 'm sure I can pay him off to make some changes. ' Anya looks at her gratefully, and Becky gives her hand another squeeze.

'Your assignment will be to read a book that I assign to you as a pair, then create a product that represents what you think are the most important themes, or singular theme, of that book. ' Anya turns green. Becky isn 't sure her best friend even knows what a theme is. 'Now, as for partners, I will go down the roster in alphabetical order by first name ' 'Anya 's face is becoming an unseemly shade of sick with each passing second ' 'but as I do believe in the positive outcomes of cooperation, I will allow you to pick your partners. Consider yourselves lucky. '

The entire room lets out a collective sigh of relief. Anya is back to her pink, cherub-faced self. 'Now, ' Mr. Evans continues. 'Let 's begin. Anya Forger. '

Becky lets go of Anya 's hand to raise her own, only for another hand to shoot up like a rocket launching out of orbit. Confused and disoriented by this unpredictable turn of events, Becky blinks dumbly at the back of that classmate 's head.

'Wonderful! ' says Mr. Evans, voice cheery as he brings his pen to paper. 'Miss Forger with Master Desmond! Next, Becky Blackbell. '

'

When every student has been paired, Mr. Evans announces that for their convenience, the seating will be shuffled so that each duo can sit together for the duration of the project. Perhaps for most of the class it isn 't such a pain, but Anya moves to the front of the room like her limbs are tied to steel poles, green orbs wide open like maybe she can suck this reality in through her pupils and rearrange it in her brain.

Damian pretends he doesn 't see any of her reluctance. He thanks their teacher once they 're handed their reading assignment and looks down at the sheet of paper.

Pride and Prejudice.

Doesn 't sound particularly objectionable.

'Pree-juh ' Dice? Prej-oo-dice? '

She 's sounding the word out under her breath, confusion puckering her brows. Scowling at her, Damian shoots her a haughty look. 'It 's 'prejudice, ' you spring onion. '

Anya flinches. 'Spring onion? ' She glares at him. 'Who are you calling a spring onion?! '

The bell rings. They 'll have to find time to meet in the library. Damian slams his notebook shut and stands, scoffing as he does so. He eyes the sprig of hair that eternally springs from her head, and Anya claps her palms to it, glaring at him. Damian lays a bored look on her. 'Who else? '

She remains in her seat, glaring up at him. 'I 'll be in the library at lunch,

Sy-On Boy.

'

His hackles immediately rise. 'Don 't call me that! ' he says through his teeth.

'

'Don 't call me that, '

' she mocks, words sticky and high.

Damian 's jaw drops. 'Are you eight years old?! '

Sticking her tongue out at him, Anya flies out of her seat with her books in her arms, whirling out of the room without a second glance.

'

'Glooman! ' Becky rages. 'George Glooman! If I didn 't know any better, I 'd say Desmond planned it like this! To get back at me for some small thing I have no clue about! He can be so vindictive! '

For a second, an image of Becky choking Damian floods Anya 's mind, revealing to Anya just how displeased with Damian Becky really is. She gives her best friend a careful sideways look, but Becky seems completely at ease with her violent thoughts.

She waves around the paper Mr. Evans handed to her. 'And what is this 'this '

Emma?

What is that? I 'm supposed to read a book about a girl named Emma? What could a story about a girl named Emma possibly have themes about? ' Becky huffs. 'What book did you get? '

'

Pride and Prejudice,

' answers Anya, careful to enunciate as Damian had earlier.

'Oh, that sounds like something from

Enemies in Love

. I 'm so envious! '

'I 'm going to go to the library now. I 'll come to you later. '

'Well, alright. I 'm glad to see you looking a little happier. I 'll save you a cookie before they run out, ' says Becky as she waves goodbye. Then she takes the turn into the hallway that leads to the cafeteria.

Anya blinks. Somehow, without her realizing, she hasn 't thought about home since being partnered with Damian. Frowning, she continues down the hallway, stepping into the library and spotting Damian already seated at a table. To Anya 's surprise, he doesn 't sit at the head of the table. In fact, his back is to the entrance, and it makes him look ' strange. Defenseless, almost.

As she nears, she notices that he 's located two copies of their book on his own. There 's also a notebook under his hands. She sidles up to the chair caddy-corner to his 'the head chair 'and asks, 'Whatcha doin ', Sy-On Boy? '

Damian jumps. 'Mother of god, Forger! ' His face is the color of a tomato as he claps his notebook shut. 'That 's none of your business! And I told you not to call me that! '

Anya reaches to grab one of the books. She flips through it, eyes nearing falling out of her head. 'It 's so big, and the words are so small! ' Squinting, she cranes her neck, scrutinizing the text. 'And so long! ' She looks up at Damian in terror.

In response, he rolls his eyes. 'Can 't you read, peasant? '

Heat bursts through Anya. She draws her fists to her sides, book clutched in one. 'Did you partner with me to be mean to me? '

The acidity on his face falters, and his cheeks flush. 'You 'you're hardly worth the effort! '

'Then why? '

'Ch 'charity! '

How should I know!

Anya hears.

I did it on a whim!

His voice is followed quickly by a flash of her side profile, but she has no idea when or where it 's from. She looks very sleepy though. Her eyes narrow. 'You think I 'm going to sleep instead of read and make us fail! '

'

What!

That 's ridiculous! '

'You don 't? ' She cocks her head, accusation entirely wiped from her voice. Damian 's face somehow burns even brighter, a shade of red she doesn 't think she 's ever seen.

'How would I know! I don 't think about you! ' shouts Damian, grabbing a book and opening it to a page in the middle before shoving his nose in it. 'Read to chapter five while we 're here! '

Anya is about to refute him, that she knows he thinks about her, when the librarian hustles out from behind one of the shelves, features pinched. 'You two are entirely too loud! '

'Sorry! ' Anya squeaks. Damian looks chastened.

'Don 't let me hear you again, ' she hisses as she slinks away.

With wide eyes, Anya glances at Damian. He meets her gaze. She snickers, and he immediately reddens again before scowling down at his book as his shoulders come to his ears.

'

The other girls navigate around her carefully as she arranges the afternoon tea for the meeting she 's been assigned to serve, but Yor doesn 't notice, too lost in thought. Loid has been home for a few days now, though he makes his presence sparse. It 's been inordinately quiet. Anya, who 's always been more than eager to pester Loid, remains quiet. Oftentimes, she seems too afraid to even look at him.

Is that how her mind reading works? Yor picks up the silver tray and heads for the conference room. Does it have something to do with eye contact? Or is it unpredictable? Should she be more stunned by this development? But some part of her feels like she always suspected this. Anya has always seemed a little too aware for her age. Mind reading makes all the strange little pieces click together.

It 's Loid she finds more astonishing. One minute he 'd been kind, doting, gentle. Patient. The next, he 's watching her with calculating eyes, as if trying to determine her threat level. It 's disheartening 'but she understands the paranoia. She 's always been awkward and unsettling. It's a miracle he ever chose her as his wife to begin with.

Disheartened, she sets the tray down and bows. The men ignore her as they run overtime discussing something Yor has no need to know. Once she returns to the kitchen, she grabs her coat and timecard.

'See you tomorrow, ' Millie chirps.

'Bye, Millie. '

Her coworker smiles, waves, and is the last of Yor 's colleagues out the door. Matthew appears a minute later. 'The Shopkeeper would like to see you tonight. Olif isn 't in town, so you 're not needed at his headquarters for the time being. '

'Thank you. '

He slips out into the hallway again. When Yor follows after, he 's already vanished. Taking the back exit of the building, she steps out onto a tiny cobblestone alley, following it down to a fork and turning left. After several more narrow streets and various turns, she arrives at her stop, entering through a nondescript door. Flora 'of both the innocuous and treacherous variety 'brush against her as she winds down the dirt path. When she comes to a heavy willow, she waits.

'Thorn Princess. ' The Shopkeeper appears as if stepping out of a mist.

'Sir. ' She ducks her head.

'I 've a new assignment for you. '

'Oh! Will I be taken off of my current client 's roster? '

'No, no, ' he shakes his head slowly, smoothly, like his spine is particularly well-oiled. 'This mission is one and the same. '

He extends a document that Yor takes without hesitance. When she sees the photo on the page, her heart stops. Staring back at her is Loid 'but not the long-suffering, genial Loid from only days earlier. This Loid wears an expression void of emotion, save for the serious tilt of his brow. He doesn't look like somebody who has ever smiled before. He's wearing his usual green suit.

'You 're to kill this man. '

Yor tries to navigate these murky waters. 'Is he ' is he any different from the people I 've already killed while guarding Olif? '

'He is Twilight. Have you heard of him? '

'Only in passing. '

'He 's WISE 's best agent. Nearly indestructible, I 'm told. I suspect it may be far more facilitating to locate him outside his work hours and dispose of him then. '

'Do you ' know? ' Yor swallows. 'What he does in his free time? '

'Not I, myself. ' The Shopkeeper begins to examine several of the plants bordering their meeting spot. 'I 'm told by our client that he seems to have taken up a residence locally. He has a family, though I 'm sure it 's a facade. '

Her heart is punching against her chest, its own defibrillator creating its own electricity as every nerve in her body begins to buzz. 'Is this a recent development? '

'Oh, no. Years, I 'm told. They 've only just been able to locate his cover. '

'And ' his cover family? '

The Shopkeeper peers over the sunflowers he 's fussing with. He gazes at her evenly. She feels her palms begin to prickle with sweat. 'I 've never seen you take such an interest in a target before. '

'I 'm just curious. I 've never had so many details given to me, and particularly not when two of my missions are related. '

'Well, his family is unimportant. He 's the threat. '

Relief surges through Yor, but when the adrenaline dies away, there 's still a tightness in her lungs. 'It seems a shame to dismantle a family like that, ' she finds herself whispering.

The Shopkeeper rises to his full height, and Yor 's breath catches. She stops herself from stepping back. The look he gives her is long, unreadable. Finally, he says, 'That 's neither of our concerns. It never is. Good and bad are nebulous, as are men, but our duty is not to philosophize. We are tools, you and I. We are the weapons necessary to ensure peace, and peace is maintained only through sacrifice. '

He pauses. 'You have yet to fail a single mission, Thorn Princess. Should you choose to forego this one, know that the consequences will be dire. '

Despite being unsaid, the threat is clear. Yor nods mutely. 'Thank you, Sir. '

The storm over his face parts, and he smiles again. "How is that husband of yours?"

"He's fine." She returns his smile, hoping hers looks ordinary even if her body is fighting her every breath.

'That's good to hear. You are dismissed. '

He turns his back on her, tending to his plants, and Yor hurries quickly back outside, blood roaring in her ears, breaths coming in short bursts. She passes one streetlight, two, then three before realizing she 's just shy of sprinting. Coming to a stop, she presses the back of her hand to her forehead and crouches to her knees. A single, long inhale. A single, long exhale. Repeat.

She had to have known this would happen. Very few men are able to stop her, and Twilight hadn 't just stopped her 'he 'd held on to her stilettos. She hadn 't been able to pull out of his grasp. He 's obviously a fantastic asset to Westalis, which makes him a fantastic threat to Ostania. And historically, she 's always assigned those kinds of targets. Because

she

is the best at what she does.

It no longer feels like a boon.

'Are you alright? '

Yor jerks up with a gasp, nearly clipping the chin of the woman looming over her, but the stranger dodges nimbly. Standing face-to-face, Yor sees she 's not a stranger. 'Sylvia! '

Her eyes brighten. 'Hello, Yor. What are you doing out at this time? It 's not safe. '

'I was just 'just running an errand. And getting some air. '

Sylvia 's brow wrinkles. 'You don 't look well. '

'I ' I received some bad news. '

Her gaze softens. 'Ah. I 'm sorry. ' Yor nods, dropping her eyes. 'Would you like to talk about it? '

'I ' I don 't think I could explain it. '

'Well, that 's fine too. '

They descend into silence. Eventually, Yor gathers the courage to ask, 'What are you doing out so late? '

'I just returned from an annual family visit. '

'Oh! You 're not able to see your family often? '

'Just twice a year. '

'You 're welcome to spend time with ours whenever! Loid and Miss Anya are both fond of you. I 'I am too, of course! '

When Sylvia smiles, she 's even more stunningly beautiful, and Yor realizes with a start that the woman in front of her may not be who Yor thinks she is.

Years ago, the government employee had turned up in the middle of the night at their door looking ragged, expression mildly frenzied. At the sight of her, Loid had explained hastily that she was not just an employee with the State Security Service, but also one of his more psychotic patients 'named Sylvia 'who often showed up without warning to be therapized. They'd disappeared into the night, Yor under the impression that Loid would be administering aid to his patient.

Knowing now that Loid is a Westalis agent, however, Yor wonders how much of his claim had been true, and how much false. Perhaps Sylvia isn't actually a government employee. Perhaps she and Loid are familiar with each other in some other capacity. Could she know about Twilight? Yor can't help but stare.

'I appreciate that," Sylvia says easily. "In fact, I may just take you up on it. Are you heading home right now? '

But then again, by all appearances, the woman in front of her does seem rather like a normal person. Very beautiful and commanding 'just the kind of woman Yor wishes she could be. Whatever Sylvia's relationship to Loid may actually be, Yor is sure he's safe. So she sets aside her speculating to provide her full attention. 'I am! '

'Would it be too much of an imposition? '

'N 'not at all! '

'Wonderful. I even have biscuits. '

'Miss Anya will be happy. '

They fall into step together, arriving at the Forger residence within minutes. Yor 's hands are no longer shaking as she feeds the key into the lock. Pushing the door in, she gestures for Sylvia to enter first.

'Mama? ' Anya peeks out from around a corner, mouth parting in stupor when she sees Sylvia. 'Boss Lady. '

'Miss Sylvia has biscuits, Anya. '

Anya 's face lights up. Sylvia hands the package to Yor, who disappears into the kitchen. A minute later, she returns with a platter, cookies stacked around it in a neat, overlapping circle. 'Would you like some tea? '

'Just water is fine. Is Loid home? '

'Papa hasn 't come home yet, ' says Anya, face blank as she reaches for a cookie, then snaps it in half. Bond surveys the choices, snuffling around the legs of the coffee table for crumbs. 'Scruffy Head is sleeping. '

Disappointment floods Yor. Sylvia must think she 's a wife who can 't even keep her husband home. Maybe this makeshift family was never meant to work out.

'What could that useless man possibly be doing at this hour? ' Sylvia snorts, taking a seat in the armchair opposite a snoring Franky. She does nothing to soften her footsteps, and consequently, Franky startles awake. He blinks blearily at Sylvia, then straightens suddenly, now wide awake.

'Hello! ' he greets like a mouse.

'Hello. '

No more salutations are exchanged. Sylvia seems content to watch Anya shovel cookies into her mouth while Franky stares at her, entranced. 'What 's your favorite flavor? ' Sylvia asks when Anya swallows.

'The ones with peanuts! ' She shoves another such cookie into her mouth.

'How is school? '

Anya makes a face. 'Hard. I have to read a book with my partner, who 's mean. '

'That 's unfortunate. Are you able to talk to your teacher about finding a new partner? '

'Well, we picked partners, and for some reason he picked me, so I don 't think so. '

Sylvia raises her eyebrows. Anya leans over the table to grab a napkin, and Yor comes forward to comb Anya 's hair back before it can fall into the cookies. Once the girl wipes her mouth of crumbs, she sits back on the sofa, glancing at Sylvia with her head askance. 'He doesn 't like me at all. '

'Would you like a ribbon? ' When Anya nods, she gestures to the floor in front of her. 'If you come here, I 'll tell you something. '

Anya ambles over, turning around to face Franky when Sylvia spins her finger before kneeling. Sylvia gathers her pink strands in her hands, then pulls a green ribbon out and winds it around the ponytail. 'The only way to make a mean boy nice is to tell them you don 't like them because they 're mean. '

Anya wrinkles her nose. 'He doesn 't care if I like him. '

Sylvia smiles behind Anya 's back, then pats her shoulder when she 's done tying the bow of her ribbon. 'What book are you reading? '

'

Pride and Prejudice.

'

'How wonderful! '

Like a buzzer has sounded and she's won a prize, Anya is abruptly attentive. 'Do you know it? '

'Like the back of my hand. '

'Will you tell me everything that happens? '

'Shouldn 't you read it yourself? '

Anya looks away shiftily. 'Please? '

'Well, alright. Here. '

Sylvia rises from the armchair to sit on the couch, bringing Anya with her. Yor watches everything, overjoyed that Anya is making a new friend, but also dejected. Sylvia makes a much better mother than her. Smart, resourceful, and thoughtful 'why didn 't Loid choose her? Even Franky can 't tear his eyes from their company.

Perhaps being filled with all this doubt and insecurity will make killing Twilight easier, though. But he 's been so kind to her, regardless of it being a facade 'at least he's had the courtesy to pretend to be kind to her. Yor purses her lips and dismisses her train of thought, tuning into Sylvia 's storytelling.

Just as she begins to describe Mr. Darcy 's confrontation with Elizabeth, the lock of the front door clicks. Everybody quiets, turning to see who their unexpected guest will be. When Loid enters, he freezes.

'Loid! ' exclaims Sylvia. There 's something off putting about her smile. 'How nice to see you here. I thought you were never coming home. What do we owe this wonderful visit, so late at night? '

'I ' I was running an errand. '

Her laugh is icy. 'My, my. Run any more late night errands, and this nice man may just steal your wife right out from under your nose. '

Franky raises his hands hastily, shaking them like he 's trying to fend off a fly. 'Definitely not, I 'm, err, that wouldn 't ' '

'Biscuit? ' Sylvia smiles again, lifting the platter with just her thumb and forefinger. Yor, intimately familiar with the weight and feel of all their plateware, reels back at the woman 's strength. 'I brought them. '

Loid doesn 't answer. He joins the party like he has a stone tied to his back, wearing an expression to match. When he takes a vanilla biscuit from the plate, Yor has an epiphany: it 's the first form of sustenance he 's touched in their apartment since they discovered each other 's identities. She 's only received the command today to dispose of Twilight whether in his private or working life, but Loid has already considered this possibility. He 's been one step ahead of her this whole time. Her fingers curl. How else has he been preparing?

'What are you doing here? ' There 's a strain to his voice.

'How cold. I happen to like your family, you know. Yor invited me in when we happened upon each other in the street. '

His gaze flies to hers, only to dart away when he finds she 's already staring at him. His dismissal pokes at her chest. Wrings it out. 'It was accidental, ' she explains softly.

'Quite the happy accident, ' says Sylvia sunnily as she rises and sweeps past Loid. 'Well, I 'll be taking my leave now. '

Franky jumps to his feet. 'Me too! '

'You ought to be more present at home, Loid. We 're not all lucky enough to have such a nice family, and people like Yor are particularly hard to come by. I 'm sure you 'd hate for her to leave you 'or worse, for something to happen to her. '

Loid stiffens. The three of them watch as the door falls shut on Sylvia, Franky stumbling after her. Once the coast is clear, they all glance at each other. Nobody says a word. Loid is the first to shatter the tension by turning away, abandoning the living room for his bedroom. There 's an unmistakable weariness to his shoulders, though the rest of him moves with the confidence of somebody who has lived here for years.

'Papa locks his door now, ' whispers Anya, and sure enough, they hear a faint click echo down the corridor. Bond sighs by her feet.

It hadn 't occurred to Yor to lock her own door, but in that moment, she realizes something: if she 's been conscripted to kill Twilight, who 's to say he hasn 't had the same directive from his own higher-ups?