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When it all boiled down, Agent Twilight had three simple rules for being a spy.
Know everything. Trust nothing. And above all else, do not fail.
It was how he had survived over a decade of fighting an endless war in the shadows, killing and betraying and destroying without mercy. It was how he had become the greatest spy of Westalis, the man who wore a thousand faces and found lying as effortless as breathing.
Unfortunately, he was currently in the middle of breaking all his rules.
It should have been a simple mission. Dangerous, but simple. The Handler had received intel that the SSS was on the verge of hiring the services of the Garden. If the already brutal spies of their enemies joined forces with the infamously deadly assassin organization, the consequences were too horrifying to imagine. So Twilight needed to find out more, and he needed to find out more now.
Unfortunately, Sylvia had also discovered that attending the negotiations was none other than rising star in the SSS, one Agent Yuri Briar.
He never would have bugged an SSS agent otherwise. They were skilled in espionage tactics too, and there was too great a chance that they would find the bug. He especially never would have bugged Yuri. It was crucial to keep all of his other missions far from Operation Strix. Too many other spies had made the mistake of letting their missions become a line of dominoes. One falls, and the rest do too.
But he had no time to find someone else. He always had a back up plan, but he was already running on four days without sleep and didn’t have the luxury of figuring one out this time around. He needed to trust that he was a better spy than Yuri, and he most certainly was. So he mentioned to Yor that it might be good to have Yuri over to tutor Anya again, endured Yuri showering Yor with praises and glaring daggers in his direction, switched Yuri’s coat with an identical one while he was arguing with Anya over something about swole chihuahuas, handed Yuri a coat with a bug sewn into the collar and sent him on his way.
It should have worked. Twilight had never been outsmarted before, except somehow, this time, he was.
He had been huddled on a rooftop a block away from SSS headquarters, hidden in the shadows and listening to the crackling audio filtering through his headpiece. He’d noticed something was off when the range didn’t reach as far as it should’ve, when he had to creep a little closer to hear, but he thought he just needed to improvise a little. He didn’t see it for the lure that it was until it was too late.
Footsteps behind him. Quiet, clearly trained in stealth, but only one person was quiet enough to fool him. Twilight dove to the side, but not fast enough. He sucked in a sharp breath as a bullet carved a groove across his thigh. Yuri stalked closer, abandoning all attempts at stealth now that there was no need, letting his boots thump heavily on the cement. He fired again and again, bullets sparking off the gutter as Twilight desperately dodged.
“You fell right into my trap,” Yuri gloated, a cruel sneer contorting his face. Like one of the cartoonish villains from Spy Wars. “And now the great Twilight will die by my hand.”
Twilight glanced up at his enemy. The dark hair fluttering in the cold wind, framing Yuri’s pale, angular face. The eyes gleaming scarlet under his cap. Not for the first time, Twilight found it eerie how much the Briar siblings resembled each other. And yet, while Yor had her moments of ferocity, she was mostly cheery smiles and soft words. Yuri seemed like a perfectly nice young man to everyone else, but Twilight had seen hatred etched into every line of his face.
By some stroke of luck, it seemed that Yuri still hadn’t put together that Twilight was none other than Loid Forger, his sister’s smiling, perfectly normal husband. Twilight was wearing his typical balaclava, leaving only his eyes exposed, but the risk was still too great. If Yuri recognized anything about him at all, if there was even a hint of suspicion, Operation Strix was doomed. He mentally cursed himself. He’d decided to wear Loid Forger with his real face and voice, figuring it would be too difficult to keep up a disguise with a woman and child he would be spending all his time with, but now he realized he could always, always be more careful. Know everything. Trust nothing. Above all else, do not fail, and Twilight was not about to fail on the most important mission of his life.
Yuri was a fast shot, but Twilight was faster. He propelled himself forward with explosive force and tackled Yuri’s waist, knocking him to the ground and sending the gun clattering out of his hand. Twilight’s own pistol appeared in his hand, the barrel pressed to Yuri’s forehead.
Yuri gasped for breath, his chest heaving. His eyes met Twilight’s. A good spy always hid his emotions, but there was naked, genuine fear there. And try as he might to hold the memories back, they came flooding in.
Sixteen years old, lying about his age to enlist. Charging into a war zone that reeked with the stench of gunfire and burning flesh, with nothing to lose but his life, and how much was that worth, really? Eighteen years old, waving to a gunmetal train carrying his friends away, looking forward to spending a weekend with them once they got back, not knowing the only thing that would be left of them would be shards of dog tags.
How old was Yuri now? How many times had Twilight felt that same fear throb through his veins, a wave crashing down on you no matter how fast you ran?
“It doesn’t matter if you kill me,” Yuri croaked. “The negotiations with the Garden were the bait for you, but they’re not fake. They’ll be coming.” His smile was stained with blood, his lip cut in their scuffle. “You know their mantra, Agent Twilight? Pick your flowers, but you can’t avoid the thorns.”
Twilight’s finger tightened on the trigger. It would be easy. Effective. Yuri was his biggest liability right now, and he could knock him off the chessboard in a spray of red. Do not fail meant get the job done. No matter what. No hesitation.
Yor tearfully apologized when she burned dinner, and for some unfathomable, annoying reason every time it felt like a needle was jabbing into Twilight’s sternum. He wondered what she would do when they found her brother’s skull blown to pieces.
The bang of a gunshot lit up the night. Yuri’s walkie-talkie was reduced to scrap. Cursing under his breath, Twilight crawled off Yuri and threw himself off the roof.
Twilight landed as nimbly as he could, but it didn’t stop white hot pain from shooting up his injured leg. Adrenaline was keeping the pain at bay for now, but it wouldn’t last. He started limping through trash filled alleys as quickly as he could, mapping the fastest route home in his mind. He didn’t know if Yuri was bluffing about the Garden, but he’d taken too many foolish chances tonight. And at the very least, even if Yuri couldn’t call for help, there would surely be other SSS agents around. He needed to get home, lick his wounds, and figure out a new plan. With as much care as he could manage, Twilight crept through the shadows.
The shadows were his domain, until they retaliated. A dark blur flew out of nowhere, slamming into him. He was flung down the alley, landing several meters away with a sickening crunch. Groaning, feeling hot, fresh pain prickle across his skin all over, Twilight looked towards his assailant. The yellowed oily streetlights flickered, making her flash in and out of view. A silky black evening gown that clung to her slim figure, something that looked like it belonged more at a banquet than a dim sketchy alley. A golden headband nestled in her dark hair, decorated with filigree roses complete with long, sharpened thorns. The cold, even drawl, almost bored. “May I have the honor of taking your life, Agent Twilight?”
The Thorn Princess. Her lethal reputation was legendary. He aimed his gun at her as her weapons slid into her hand, long thin blades that resembled hairpins but were much worse.
Both of them became very still. Tensed, like mousetraps ready to snap. Both of them waiting for the other to make their opening play, to reveal some weakness to be viciously exploited. As their standoff continued, Twilight’s constantly working mind started to pull on a new thread. How had she snuck up on him without him noticing? No one was capable of that. No one except…
It was impossible. But the next time the streetlight flashed like a burst of lightning, he looked at her face instead of trying to analyze her fighting stance or the way she was holding her weapons. She was almost unrecognizable, her face set in that grim, empty gaze. Such a far cry from the sweet, blushing woman he knew. His sweet, blushing wife. But it was unmistakable, the curve of her nose, the line of her jaw. Things he had stared at every day, things he had memorized, things he dreamed about brushing his lips against.
“Yor.” It was a breathless, unheard whisper against his lips. Like a prayer.
Do not fail. Get the job done.
With blinding speed, both of them moved.
Twilight’s gun fell to the ground. And with a soft whistle, the Thorn Princess’s blade flew through the air and sank into his gut.
He fell backwards, collapsing against the wall. The blade felt like a shard of ice, burning with cold, sucking away all of his energy. The Thorn Princess raised her second blade, aimed at his throat, ready to finish the job.
But then she paused. Softly, she asked, “Loid?”
Weakly, abandoning all concern for his cover, he managed to nod.
Her expression shattered. Instantaneously, as if snapped from a trance, Yor, his Yor, returned. She dropped her blade and rushed forward, peeling off his balaclava, fingers roving over his flushed cheeks and sweaty ruffled hair as if to verify he was real.
“How…how?” she gasped. “I’m so sorry! I thought you were someone else, I thought you were…”
“I am.” His voice had drained to a husky murmur. The confession he would’ve rather died than make fell easily from his lips.
Yor clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes widening.
He should have known. Her odd strength, the nights she disappeared, the wounds he insisted on caring for while she nervously gave him weak excuses. He should have put it together a long time ago, but somehow he hadn’t, or he simply hadn’t wanted to. She had her secrets, just like him, and he wanted to let her keep them. A spy was supposed to know everything, and Twilight had no qualms about poking into the skeletons in the closet before, but with Yor it felt too…invasive. Disrespectful.
When had he ever cared about disrespectful?
He drew in a rattling breath. “How did you know it was me? Only my eyes…”
“It was enough,” she said softly. “No one else has ever looked at me the way you do.”
He nodded. Darkness was beginning to crowd in at the edges of his vision. He knew what a lethal wound looked like, and this certainly felt like one. “I don’t think I have much time left.”
Yor’s eyes filled with tears. She pressed her hands to his wound, but only succeeded in staining her hands dark crimson. “No, no you’ll be okay, I’m so sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize.” Even before he had been Twilight, he had wondered how he would die. From the scalding, toxic ash that claimed his parents. Under a hailstorm of Ostanian bullets. Slain by some maniacal terrorist or a sinister SSS agent, forgotten and alone and surrounded by enemies. He could not have imagined dying in the arms of someone he loved. He found he could not complain.
“Loid,” Yor whispered shakily. She repeated his name over and over, as if it were a spell that could fix everything. As if chanting it could return them to the time when it was the last name on her lips before she fell asleep and the first name on her lips when she woke up, as if even that was not enough and she needed to say it so many more times now.
“That’s not my name.”
She blinked, confused. “Twi…Twilight?”
He lifted a hand to her cheek, painting her perfect skin with red. “No. My real name. I want you to know it. I want somebody to.”
She leaned into his touch, and it was answer enough.
“Luca.” His tongue curled around the unfamiliar syllables, having not formed them in over a decade.
“Luca,” Yor repeated. It felt strange that the renowned spy Twilight would have such a common name. She knew at least three Lucas in her office. The name stripped away any lingering mystique he had, until all she saw was a broken, tired boy in her hands, a boy who had never been given the chance to put down his gun.
It was a common name, but in her mouth, it sounded like a prayer, a blessing, a vow.
“It means light,” she dimly realized. She felt like her mind was detaching from her body as his blood continued to drench her. “And twilight is…”
“The dying of the light.” He managed a bitter smile. “Melodramatic, I know.”
But it was true. Luca died among the hazy clouds of bombs that destroyed his home. Luca died with his friends when all that was left of them were dog tags. Luca died when everything from his old life was tossed into the flames. Luca died when everyone who loved him died too. And Twilight rose from those ashes, a phoenix without triumph.
Luca died because who knew that name was already gone. Luca died because he was the one left behind, he was the one who would only have ghosts at his funeral. And yet, somehow, inexplicably, here she was, with her hands cradling his face. A family, a wife, someone to love and be loved by. Someone who would keep his name in her heart. She was the only one who would keep him, and so he was giving all of himself to her.
The small part of his brain that was still working insisted that this was all wrong. This was not how it was supposed to go. Twilight would never reveal his truest self; he would never make himself vulnerable like that. Twilight trusted no one; Twilight viewed everyone and anyone as disposable tools for the sake of the mission. And Twilight never failed. He would not have hesitated. He would have shot Yor Briar dead, and he would have found a way out, and he would have accomplished his mission at all costs.
And yet, strangely, he found that he didn’t care. His allegiance was supposed to be to his mission and his mission alone, but he had given his life for this woman and he would give it again if she asked. The great spy Twilight had been felled at last, by no bullet or bomb but by the kindest blood-stained hands he had ever touched.
“Go home,” he whispered. “Go back to Anya. Take care of her for me.”
Yor shook her head, her voice trembling. “No, no I can still…” She had never given up once, not when it came to her family. She had worked herself to the bone to support her brother, had turned herself into the deadliest weapon the world had ever seen, and now it had destroyed her husband.
“You’ve done enough,” Twilight said. “You’ve always been enough. Thank you for everything.”
A choked sob rose in her throat, and suddenly she was moving forward swiftly, all of her insecurity falling away from her, and Twilight used the last of his energy to raise his head to meet her.
Yor had heard first kisses were supposed to taste like lemon. This was nothing like that. She barely tasted anything at all. There was nothing else at all, just fire opening up between them, the slick of blood and rainwater, his pulse fluttering underneath her fingers like a bird’s fragile wings, both of them clinging desperately onto something they should have done a long time ago and now would never have the chance to do again.
When Twilight’s head finally fell back, he was smiling in a way he never had before.
His last hazy thoughts were that his relationship with Yor Briar had never gone the way it was supposed to. They had gone backwards: first the child, then the marriage, and only now the first kiss. They got married with a grenade pin for a ring and a dumpster for an altar and kissed in a dirty alley while he bled to death on her hands. And he would have it no other way.
Yor didn’t let herself cry. She had never been very good at hiding her emotions, not the way Loid was, but this time she simply refused to break. Not while she picked up her husband’s body, as light as a feather, not while she carried him the entire way to the hospital on foot, looking like a phantom drenched in blood, not while the doctors shot strange looks at her (isn’t that Dr. Forger, from the psychiatry department) but didn’t ask any questions, not while she sat numbly in the waiting room for hours or days or weeks, staring at the clock that marched endlessly on.
She didn’t let herself cry. Not until the doctors came and told her that it was somewhat of a miracle, but he would survive. Then, only then, did she shatter.
A miracle, indeed. She listened quietly as the doctors told her that if the puncture wound had been a millimeter or two to the right or the left, there would have been nothing they could do. But somehow, he had escaped without too much damage to any of his major organs.
Yor took in the information silently. But inwardly, she knew that the Thorn Princess never missed. She always hit her targets, but Yor Forger’s aim flew true too.
When Luca opened his eyes again, he did not panic. Twilight would have. He would have immediately tried to move to a secure location; he would have resented the helplessness in his bones and feared poison dripping into his veins. But Luca did not, because there Yor was, by his side, and he knew he was safe.
Twilight had three simple rules to being a spy. Know everything. Trust nothing. Above all else, do not fail. And inexplicably, wonderfully, beautifully, Yor Briar had made him break all of them.