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Orfelinat . Diana doesn't speak a word of Romanian other than the few phrases she learnt on Duolingo in between missions with 47. Still, it's similar enough to French and Portuguese in writing that she can make an educated guess as to what most of the road signs mean here. A friendly English-speaking truck driver had pointed her in the direction of the old orphanage. From there, her GPS did the trick, the compass pointing confidently towards the coordinates she had entered years ago.
It had been a long ten years, she muses as she continues the hike up the Bucegi mountains. It took her a long time to take Providence down without him, without 47. Sure, she never intended for him to get involved with the administrative duties of the project, but to witness both him and Edwards disappear off of the face of the Earth was not something she had even remotely considered. She kept up her part of the deal, playing the perfect Herald. The violence of their assignments wasn’t new, but the injustice certainly was. It was hard to look in the mirror sometimes, but she had no choice. Without 47, she had been disarmed.
A rock slips beneath her foot. When Edwards had gotten himself killed in a road rage incident of all ways, Diana had known it was her time to strike. Without anyone as close to Edwards as her, she was the automatic pick for the new Constant. And over the course of seven years, she had taken Providence down. The organisation was dead, she had made sure of it. Yet, there was still no sign of 47 anywhere. She had begun to fear he might actually be dead.
That was, until two days ago.
Diana had an alert out on the name Tobias Rieper, just in case he appeared in flight logs or passenger lists anywhere in the world. For the first time since she had last seen him, it pinged. She had stared at the notification on her phone for a good minute, trying to determine whether this was real. But it was. Tobias Rieper was taking a flight from Tel Aviv to Brașov-Ghimbav. There was no doubt about it; Brașov was so incredibly close to the Asylum that he could have only one reason to come there: his past. The breadcrumbs were almost too easy to follow. It could be a trap. Diana finds herself willing to risk it.
Diana had booked the next flight to Bucharest, rented a car, and now here she is, hiking up a mountain. What is she expecting to find? She’s not even sure herself.
Something in her tells her to walk past the first few ruins and rubble she encounters on the Asylum grounds, opting instead to explore the building overlooking the steep mountainside. It seems as desolate and void of any other humans as every year she comes here, but Diana is willing to cling to hope. It’s all she has right now. She doesn’t see any traces of anyone being present or having been here, but that’s exactly why 47 could still be nearby. He’s invisible, untraceable.
“You.”
He’s older, but he hasn’t aged. His voice seems deeper though, and more gravelly. The kind of sound one gets from strong alcohol and sleepless nights. She recognises it in her own as she responds.
“Forty-seven.”
He shakes his head.
“Tobias. My name is Tobias.”
A shudder overtakes her. The wind is icy cold at this height, biting at her face and hands. She really should have brought gloves, but she didn’t have much time to prepare. 47 carefully steps closer. He reminds her of a fox, skittish but agile.
“Who are you?” he asks. There’s a pistol in his hand, she sees that now, but he’s not aiming at her. Not yet, anyway.
“My name is Diana.” Don’t you remember me ? she wants to ask. Don’t you remember us ? But for now, she repeats her name. “Diana Penelope Burnwood.” She holds her breath as she searches his face for any sign of recognition, but there’s nothing there.
“I’ve seen you in my nightmares, and you’ve found me here, and yet I have no idea who you are.” Diana takes a step closer to him. She wants to touch him, hold him, and be held by him, but he takes a step backwards.
“We’ve known each other for a very long time,” she replies, but 47 shakes his head again.
“Miss, I’ve never met you before.”
Diana takes a deep breath, and places her rucksack on the dusty stone of the courtyard. As she zips it open and reaches into it, she hears the telltale sign of a pistol being aimed at her and the safety disengaged. It’s not the first time she’s faced the barrel of his gun, but it is the first time she’s afraid he might fire a lethal shot.
“I’m unarmed,” she reassures him.
“I’ve found no-one from my past ever is,” 47 replies. He’s not entirely wrong, but all that Diana is carrying is pepper spray, and she doubts that would take him down much longer than half a second. He’s aiming down the iron sights of the gun, and it’s with trembling hands that she retrieves a memory stick and an envelope from her pack.
“Everything is on here,” she tells him. Diana places both items on the ground. “Everything. Your youth, how we met, and what happened ten years ago. I don’t know what happened to you after that, but I’ve continued to log everything I’ve done up until this morning. Just…please don’t shoot me.” Her voice breaks, and she hates herself for it. She’s not going to cry. She refuses to. Not until she’s back in her rental car.
“Leave.”
Diana bites back a sob and nods, zipping her rucksack back up and hoisting it onto her shoulders. She turns around and walks out of the courtyard, never daring to turn around and look back to see whether he’s picking up her offerings. If he doesn’t, that’s her entire life history out in public if anyone else ever finds the memory drive. She’d immediately have multiple bounties out on her head. She’s not sure she’d care, not without him in her life.
Two years pass by without any sign of life from 47, and Diana figures that’s it.
He’s gone.
She’s just spoken to Victoria on the phone, who’s enjoying her new teaching position at Boston University. Her foster daughter suggested she might want to visit her for an extended period of time this summer; to get away from the dreary London weather. It’s not a bad idea, Diana agrees. Perhaps she might.
She showers and takes care brushing out her hair afterwards. It’s no longer red; she decided to accept the grey a while ago. The length is something she’ll never agree to say goodbye to though, no matter how much her preferred hairdresser tries to convince her to go back to the pixie cut she had in her twenties. Diana pulls a robe around her shoulders and begins to lock down her home for the night. She sighs as she glances into her yard, still and silent as always. The curtains she closes shield her from the world.
When she reaches the living room, she freezes.
“I’m unarmed.”
“I’ve found no-one from my past ever is,” she replies.
“It’s taken me two years, but I’ve found it,” 47 states, calmly standing in the middle of the room. She’s not sure how he’s managed to get into her home; Diana has the most extensive security system on the market, and a night guard. She absentmindedly hopes that her guard is still alive, and not dead in a cupboard in her entryway.
“What?” she asks, confused. 47 reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar-looking vial.
“I had to track down the estate of Silvio Caruso.” He also retrieves a syringe, holding both of them out to her. “It turns out they never cleared out the lab in Sapienza, and Silvio was holding on to this.” Diana steps forward with trembling hands.
“It’s the antidote to the memory-erasing serum,” she deduces. 47 nods.
“I trust you.”