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Despite it all, some part of him realizes that this is the perfect ending.
Yor is down.
Twilight steps closer. From a cursory inspection of the gash on her side, the injury that had finally taken her down, she should make a full recovery with a little medical attention. Her hair is down — They must have caught her completely off guard. Yor only ever wears her hair down when she was relaxed, when she was home. — and she’s wearing that red sweater she loves. The one with the cut-out in the back that exposed more smooth skin than he would have thought her comfortable with and the scooped neckline. She’s clutching two stiletto needles in her left hand. There is a third sticking out of the neck of the agent near the doorway. A few of the others have been taken out with household objects or just knocked out cold.
Her sweater almost seems chaste for the Thorn Princess.
There’s a darker patch in the sweater where she’s bleeding, the wool already sticking to her wound. Twilight winced. That’s going to hurt when it's cleaned.
Her right arm is wrapped around Anya. The girl doesn’t have any visible injuries but if the equipment outside and Sylvia Sherwood's information is correct, the frequency played would have been enough to knock the telepath out.
They are both still breathing.
God, they're both still breathing.
His home is a mess. The living room has been torn up by the battle, bullet holes decorate the outside of the bedroom doors and who knows what mess is waiting behind them. His couch, it seemed, had served as a temporary shield and base as the battle got hairier. It’s tilted on its back, the thicker bottom cushions littered with bullet holes but the metal base is just strong enough to prevent them from breaking through. He’d had these couches specially made just in case of a situation like this.
Only he had assumed he would be here.
That it would be his fight.
Thank god, they were both still breathing.
That doesn’t matter , he reminds himself despite the feeling of something thick at his throat. This is for the best. The perfect ending to this ruse.
It may seem callous but Twilight is too good of a spy to not see how perfectly this wraps things up for him. How cleanly he can wipe ‘Loid Forger’ from his roster now that the mission is complete.
The girl, Anya, will now be government property. She will be taken by W.I.S.E and in the organization's infinite wisdom, they will find a way to use her or replicate her or mold her into a tool for peace. A telepath is useful regardless of her age, regardless of how she became this way. W.I.S.E doesn’t seem concerned with that. Her origins. Why should they waste their time figuring out the sins of Ostania? Their interest, they assure him, is in how the telepath may be useful to prevent further conflict with the East. Anya will become a tool for peace.
In that way, she isn’t too different from himself.
She will no longer be his daughter.
And his wife.
Yor—No. Thorn Princess . Yor Briar is Thorn Princess’s
Thorn Princess has been on W.I.S.E’s radar for nearly two decades and while it was never his task to apprehend her — he’d done it. That was how Sylvia saw it. Twilight had captured Thorn Princess. And Operation Strix had yielded results no one could have predicted.
And with both his fake wife and daughter — Loid Forger’s family — taken care of, Twilight can return to his work. His next mission and persona are probably waiting for him on Sylvia’s desk. By tomorrow morning, she’ll have sent a cipher requesting him to meet her somewhere foreign and new and far far away from Berlint. Far, far away from Loid Forger.
That is his life.
That is his role.
He knows that.
But looking at the two of them now — unconscious, more battered and bruised than he, himself, is only because they had fought for so much longer than him — he cannot move. His communicator is in his pocket. One simple press and click and a removal team will take them away.
It might as well be miles away.
He doesn’t reach for it.
He can’t.
Twilight cannot will himself to move or run or scream or cry. He can’t do anything. He’s frozen there as if someone has commanded every cell in his body to stand still. The only reason he knows he’s still alive is the sound of his heart, loud and urgent, in his ears and that heavy, heavy feeling that threatens to suffocate him. It’s an awful feeling that comes over him as he stands over the two of them. Truly awful .
It feels a lot like death.
If I had been here sooner. Maybe… I could have—
No. Twilight shakes his head, willing his thoughts to cooperate. There is no use thinking like that anymore. He is not a father or a husband. He never has been. That ended at the debrief.
This is reality.
And it could be over so quickly if he could just contact Sylvia. Yes, there are agents down but with a war losses are to be expected. That can be dealt with later. Yor and Anya— No. Thorn Princess and the Telepath are the priority here. They are the unexpected successes to be harvested from Operations Strix. Twilight has delivered more than he ever expected to.
The mission has been a success.
Thorn Princess is apprehended.
The Telepath is in his custody.
They’re alive. Both of them. They’re still breathing.
The mission is over.
Loid Forger is dead. Loid Forger is dead.
Dead, dead, dead.
And yet, still, Twilight cannot do anything.
I was so worried. I thought I was too late. I thought…
His head is throbbing. His heart feels like it’s dislodged and is sitting at his throat. There’s a hook sound in his ears like he’s underwater and they both look so small like this . They look so fragile.
He needs to call W.I.S.E. He needs to make a clean break.
But Loid Forger won’t let him.
Twilight looks down at the two of them again. Both breathing, both still alive. The relief that floods him at that – at seeing the rise and fall of their chests, no matter how small the movement – is so intense that it stuns him, stopping him right in his tracks. Something burns behind his eyes and he reaches up to swipe at his eyes and just exhales. It rips through him, cold and unforgiving. Regret, relief, fear. Some combination of all three. If something had happened to them…
No.
No, no.
No, something had happened to them.
When he came into their lives something happened to them. He knew involving civilians was a mistake. He would make sure to tell Sylvia as much in his report – this was the first and last time he’d work with civilians. Never again. Not only had the mission taken longer because he had to rely on them when they weren’t even trained – now they were injured.
Which…
Which just…
God, what had the world come to. Anya… Yor… What—
No.
It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter this much. They are two people. Operation Strix will save millions. This is war. Casualties are to be expected. And besides, they are on the wrong side of the war. Thorn Princess is a war criminal in Westalis. Anya is the result of a covert Ostania plot. And they lied to him too.
Anya lied to him.
She’s only four and he’s been pushing her to excel at a six-year-old level. How she managed to get into Eden at that age is beyond him. It’s unbelievable. It speaks to intelligence years beyond her age.
And she can read minds. She probably read his mind. The one place where he wasn’t always Loid Forger – she’d been able to hear his every thought. Sylvia is right of course — Anya is both a liability and an opportunity. Sure, she's young but war doesn’t make exceptions for the young. The Westalis bombings, his fallen comrades, his father. War had given them no grace, it had given him no respite from tragedy. No. It matters very little that she is so young — Anya knows too much and that is a dangerous thing. The only thing keeping her alive is that she might just also prove to be an asset.
And Yor.
Assassination. Poisoning, stabbings, attack. Aiding and abetting war criminals. Her list of crimes is long, very long. How many informants had the Westalis lost to Thorn Princess and the Garden? How many attacks in the Westalis were a success because of her efforts?
The Garden has been an almost impenetrable organization for over ten decades, longer, even, than the war. Their operator – The Shopkeeper – is just as elusive as Twilight himself. The organization operates in the shadows, pawns to whoever has the money to acquire their skills at the moment. And their loyalty to Ostania is written in blood and violence.
They are dangerous.
She is dangerous.
Thorn Princess is an adversary like no other.
That was the truth.
Yor Briar and Anya.
Thorn Princess and the Telepath.
In reality, that was who they were.
Then why…
Thank god, I wasn’t too late. Thank god.
Twilight clenched his fists. Why ?
He had stripped off every alias — every life, every story, every lie — before with no hesitation. He’d left fake friends, lovers, and coworkers behind each and every time. Twilight made clean breaks. He was in and then he was out with no fuss, no mess to clean up. He had no feelings for the people he left behind, no real affection or concern for the lives that they would lead after him. He was a spy. That was what he did. It was who he was.
So , he wondered as he knelt down beside them, why was this any different?
Before he could stop himself he placed a hand on Anya’s head. Her hair is much longer now than it was when he’d first adopted her and now there is debris caught in her pink locks. A covering of dust makes it appear a greying pink even in the low lighting. Despite the wreckage around her – she is virtually unscathed. He had booked her in for a haircut within the next week.
They’d have to cancel.
His hand naturally falls to her forehead.
Good. No fever.
Yor.
Oh, Yor.
Yor is much worse off.
She has lost a lot of blood.
Twilight rips the material of his shirt, shifting down to secure the makeshift bandage around her middle. He has to move her arms from its position – from around Anya – and as he does her fingers tighten into the material of her school uniform and Yor groans. She doesn’t want to let go. But Twilight pulls her hand away with a tug. It isn’t life-threatening, thank god , but she needs pressure on her wound.
He can’t help but let his mind wander as he works.
Just like Yor, he had lost his mother young so he didn’t have much experience with these things but from what he did remember… In the eyes of a child, mothers were akin to God himself. He remembered feeling that way. His father had been this looming force, unmovable and uncaring. But his Mother had been something else, something more to him. When his mother had found him after that first bombing... It had been spiritual . His mother had run straight to the epicenter of the bombing, where the buildings were still on fire and the smell of burning flesh stung his eyes, on the mere hope that he was still alive. On her own faith. That was motherhood. And he’d felt the relief, the love, the fear, the recklessness of it deep down in his very bones.
And when…
And afterward , when she hadn’t been there, it had felt like Twilight had lost his religion. He’d lost that guiding force, that gentle hand, that was meant to lead him throughout his life. Like he was truly, truly alone.
Losing his mother had made losing himself – who he was before – easy.
Which is why, as he watches Yor grit through the pain and repositions herself protectively over Anya, he thinks, that she really was an excellent mother.
He worries for Anya. She’s kind and sweet. Resourceful in ways that eluded him for so long, critical to the success of the mission. If anyone played their part to a tee — it was her. She has made for an excellent daughter. And yet he worries… because losing a good mother is something he never wanted for her. Losing her family like this…
He’d given the end much thought but this had never been what he’d wanted for her.
Anya groans a little. The pain must be getting to her even in her sleep.
Twilight rests his hand on her back.
What was it that old lady had said? Back in the city center?
“What a lovely family you have.”
He wondered what she’d say if she could see the three of them now. Were they still lovely like this? Broken, bruised, and betrayed. Could something be salvaged from underneath all this deception?
Should it be?
Twilight sighed. What was he doing?
Why was he thinking about this now?
Sylvia.
Twilight stood.
He needed to call Sylvia. Then he could put this all behind him.
Twilight was a good spy. And like any good spy, he knew that the best lies are the closest to the truth. Was that what this was? Had he gotten too close to the truth, to some grand truth unknown even to himself? Was that why he was stuck? Was that why he couldn’t reach for his gun or his phone?
Was Loid Forger…
Don’t leave them.
What was the truth now?
They need you.
Why was it so hard to tell?
And you need them. You know you do.
Enough of this. Twilight pulled his communicator from his pocket and began to dial.
Twilight. Twain Foney. Lionel. Lawrence. Roland Spoofy.
Loid Forger.
Why was Loid so hard to get rid of?
“ Papa ,” the word comes out weak and small but he hears it all the same. Twilight stops dialing. “ Papa ?” She coughs. Her eyes are still closed but… she’s a telepath. Is she reading him right now? “ Are you there? ”
Or…
She sounds so small. How had he ever believed that she was six?
Anya is still a baby. She’s only four.
Younger, even, than he was when this all started.
“ Papa? ”
Anya? He thinks because he knows she can hear him. I’m here.
A small cry fills the air. “Oh, Papa.” He’s at her side before he even realizes it, pulling her into his lap. Her eyes are still closed, she’s not awake but something settles on her as he pulls her close. She exhales, “ ‘M sorry, Papa. ”
It dislodges then, the bitterness in his throat, and suddenly there are droplets on Anya’s face. He wipes them away as they fall, his chest heaving and his arms pressing her closer. You’re alive, he thinks because he can’t speak. You’re okay.
“ Don’t leave, Papa .” She exhales. “Please, don’t leave. us”
And Twilight sobs. Heavy, ugly, uncontrollable sobs that fill the air and have him bowed over his daughter. Sobs so loud and guttural that it’s a surprise that they don’t wake the dead. That they don’t wake Anya or Yor. It all comes flowing, flowing, flowing out. The bombing, his parents, his friends, his life, his family — everything he’d left behind forces its way out in ugly, ugly sobs, and by the end, he’s so tired that he slumps against the underside of the couch.
Anya is still in his arms and Yor is resting to his right.
And Twilight…
There is a hole in the roof. The sun is setting now and he can see the golden-orange rays peeking through the wreckage. It paints everything with an almost ethereal light, a gold that soaks through all the dust and debris. It’s been years since he really noticed the sunset. He used to stay up with his mother at least once a week waiting for his father to come home from work. Their house was on a hill and his father worked late so by the time he’d come home the setting sun would be right outside their window. And everything would be golden.
He was happy then. His mother, his father, and him.
Things were never perfect but they were happy.
What had changed? Why had it changed?
Why had he stopped watching the sunset?
He could hardly remember now.
The best lies are mingled, indistinguishably, with the truth, and Loid Forger, he’s now realizing, may have been his best lie yet.
And so, Twilight makes a decision then.
He’ll strip himself of another identity.
He’ll leave the past in the past once again in order to complete his mission.
He’ll turn his back on another life because that’s what he’s been called to do.
Twilight throws the communicator against the wall, watching as it breaks into tons of tiny untraceable pieces. “I’ll stay, Anya,” she’s asleep now but Loid finally answers her. And it’s never felt more natural to be anyone than it feels to be Loid Forger at the moment he says, “Don’t worry. I’ll fix this.”