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Lynette watched her brother's brow dig ever deeper into his forehead from over her teacup. He said nothing so far, but his pen jumped across the papers spread across his side of the table - crossing out something here, a circle there, and many scribbles all around. She couldn't begin to guess what about his plans had him so worked up, nor did she intend to grapple with it. When she got involved in plans, they struck her with intense indecision. She gladly would follow with anything that Lyney decided was best.
Shockingly, however, he seemed to be having a hard time. She waited for him to express his troubles to her, even if it was to bounce plans off the surface of her skull. And as Lyney continued to stew in silence, Lynette cleared her throat.
"Brother…" she prompted, a hint of warning just beneath her tone against attempting to fool her. Lyney had a huge issue with trying to keep her out of the loop, either protecting her or otherwise unwilling to worry her, and she highly disliked that tendency of his.
Even if he didn't tell her something, however, Lynette would simply find out in a different way, so he might as well come clean.
"I've got a bad feeling about this mission." Lyney rapidly tapped the side of his pen against the table, gnawing on his lower lip. "No matter what, I just can't come up with a plan that I'm entirely sure about."
Lynette blinked slowly at him. She sipped at her tea, a low hum at the back of her throat. An onlooker might think she was deep in thought. That couldn't be further from the truth. Lyney spoke and she simply gave space for his words to stretch between them. Another sip, and she set the cup down on the platter.
"Whatever you decide on, I fully trust your plans," she told him.
He smiled anxiously with a low chuckle. "Don't worry, I'll get this figured out. There's just something… I don't feel good about here." He shook his head. "Never mind. It's probably pre-mission nerves getting to me is all."
Lynette said, "Don't forget, I'm in this with you. If you can't trust your own decision-making powers, you can trust me, can't you?" And she always performed with excellence, at least in matters not related to machinery.
At last the deep furrows of his brow softened. "I do trust you, Lynette. You're right."
Lyney would regret allowing her words to soften his guard.
*
The sky was black, absent a moon among the numerous stars. Their mission lacked a spotlight for what would come. Lyney would accompany his sister only partway to the mansion before they had to split up. She, with her heightened senses and superior stealth skills, headed for the mansion's entry point that they had identified ahead of time, while Lyney remained hidden and at the ready to provide support once she reemerged. They each moved according to his plan, and Lynette's movements were deft and assured by having the decisions laid out in front of her.
But the dread remained in a tightly coiled pit in Lyney's stomach. He couldn't shake that feeling from before, where something was just off about this mission.
Time passed; Lynette took longer than expected to return. The coil in his gut tightened the tension in his shoulders. Like a bow drawn taut, Lyney trembled at the edge of his hiding place, barely held back from shooting straight into the mansion after his sister. Now he regretted not raising his concerns to Father - she had always taught them to trust their instincts. He should have at least mentioned it to her.
The lights in the mansion came on, flickering in alarm as a wave across the building. Lyney held his breath. Come on, come on, Lynette, get out of there.
He recognized his sister's shadow in a window, just before the glass shattered and Lynette threw herself from the second story.
"Lyn—!" Lyney swallowed her name so hard his throat cramped. Instead he ran, the slippery-wet grass foiling him as he struggled for purchase in his sprint. He watched her fall, roll, attempt to rise, and then collapsed. A figure appeared in the frame of broken glass. He pulled his hood lower over his head, and finally reached his sister's side.
The glass had torn through her clothes and skin both, in deep lacerations that bled profusely. When he reached her, Lynette tried to push herself up, but her right arm crumpled under her weight. One of her ankles seemed swollen.
An alarm cut through the blaring ringing in Lyney's ears. People were shouting, dogs were barking, and he heard the grinding of metal as mechs powered up. They had to get out.
He pulled Lynette's arm around his shoulders and hauled them both to his feet. Lyney took on nearly all of her weight, and made a mad dash for the cliffs, adrenaline carrying him and his sister over the edge.
"Hold on!" he yelled over the rush of wind and pounding of blood through his ears. She did, and he curled an arm around her as he threw open his wind glider with the other.
He hurled flame at the cliffside from his Vision, and the twins dove for the forest at the bottom of the cliffs.
*
Somehow they made it home, but Lynette wasn't safe yet.
The Knave met them at the door and directed them both to a room. One of their other siblings appeared almost immediately to help Lyney lay Lynette on a bed. He turned to Arlecchino, despair and guilt both raging through him.
"Father—" he began to apologize for his mistakes, the way that he had put their family in danger for it.
She stopped him from speaking, redirecting his attention to the now-unconscious Lynette. There were more important things to handle rather than his regret.
He and their siblings cleaned and dressed Lynette's wounds. They insisted upon tending to him as well, even after Lyney tried to shoo them off. He hadn't realized how many scrapes that he had gained in their racing escape from the mansion. And then in a whirlwind of activity, his body numb to it, they were abruptly left alone in that suffocating room.
Gradually, Lyney's guilt ate its way out of his numbness, and Lynette's eyes fluttered open.
He stood up so fast that he nearly toppled right over again. Planting his hands on the bed, he leaned over his sister, gasping, "Lynette!"
Her lashes fluttered in confusion. A blank gaze up at the ceiling, her eyes flickering slightly to the left and right as she caught back up to her own memories. Then she blinked, and turned her focus fully onto Lyney.
"It was a set-up." Uncertainty darted across her face. "I think. I didn't make any noise, but when I got to the target… suddenly there were hired guards there, alert. They knew."
Lynette's recounting only confirmed to Lyney that he should have listened to his gut feeling. If he had, then this wouldn't have happened; Lynette wouldn't have been so badly hurt in her escape. He collapsed back into his chair, snatching up Lynette's hand in both of his, squeezing it against his forehead. His eyes screwed shut, fearing tears but his ducts were dry.
"This is my fault. I had a feeling and I didn't follow it. I shouldn't have pushed ahead." He should have alerted Father.
Lynette shook her head. "It's not just your fault. I was just as much a part of this as you were, and I didn't have keep an escape route in mind."
"It was my plan."
"Brother." Lynette's eyes narrowed. He knew her mood wasn't have as harsh as the glare she sent him.
He refused to heed it. "You were just following along with what I laid out for you."
"No." Her hand in his grasp squeezed, a pulse that connected their hearts as one. She continued, enunciating each word with a firmness that demanded not to be argued with. "We do these missions together. Don't you understand? We're in this together; we share the burdens."
Lyney swallowed against the constriction of his throat. He sighed as if relenting. "Right. Together."
Her gaze remained steady; he could tell that she knew how nauseating and searing the guilt continued to broil in his gut. They shared their burdens, yet there was still a part of him that wouldn't set down the full weight of his own. Twins set apart by less than an hour between their first breaths, but as the older one, Lyney felt a duty to protect his younger sister.
Lynette tugged him closer, eyes closed as she curled to the edge of the bed as best as she could with her bandages and injuries beneath. She shared comfort with him in their mutual proximity to the other, and though Lyney felt such profound shame itching across every inch of his crawling skin, he still found reassurance in being close to his sister.
"You're such an idiot," she murmured, knowing his anguish as her own.