Chapter Text
While the nations of the world waged a fierce war of information in the shadows, two were particularly at odds. Ostania in the east, and Westalis in the west. In order to keep watch over the radical leader of the National Unity Party, Donovan Desmond, Westalis initiated a top secret mission called Operation Strix. Its goal was simple: infiltrate Desmond’s inner circle, feed back information to the west, and if possible become a voice to temper his extremism. All in the name of keeping the peace.
Three years on, Operation Strix has been a major success. The agent in charge, a master of disguise and manipulation, has made the most of a role once foreign to him, that of a family man. Loid Forger is a psychiatrist; code name: Agent Twilight.
Anya, his adoptive daughter, is a telepath. A survivor of an Ostanian project into ESP. Yor, his wife, an assassin for Garden, a clandestine order of superhuman assassins sworn to protect Ostania from within; code name: Thorn Princess. And Bond, the family dog, possesses clairvoyant abilities that enable him to see possible futures.
Each member of this fraudulent family has their own secrets, but with Operation Strix transitioning from infiltration to ongoing influence, the Forgers now face their most impossible mission yet: maintaining the appearance of an ordinary home life.
He thumbed through the evening edition with practiced disinterest. Loid Forger, psychiatrist and family man, clicked his tongue at an article about rising furnace costs. His other self had already absorbed the page three lede.
Desmond Holidays in Wintry West!
He imagined that such a story would have demanded the front page two years ago, then corrected himself. No, two years ago, such a story would have been brushed aside as bad fiction. He reached across for his coffee, and pretended to consider an advertisement for shredded wheat.
They’re calling it a ‘holiday’. I suppose they can't put ‘secret negotiations’ in the papers. The article is rather harsh towards Desmond. I'll have my work cut out soothing his ego at the next Unity Party conference. Still, that this journalist is confident enough to criticise him at all is suspicious. Could this be a plant by his political opponents hoping to discredit—
Splat!
Loid narrowed his eyes. He glanced over the top of the paper towards the kitchen, from which his eight year old daughter had banished him for the night. None of that was true, of course. It wasn’t true that he hadn’t been allowed into the kitchen. Anya had been calling him all night to help chop vegetables or sear beef, before chasing him out again.
And it wasn’t true that she was his daughter. Three years ago, he’d found her at an orphanage in the suburb of Sudenhagen. When he first saw her, he put her at four years old, she was so small. No doubt due to malnourishment under the orphanage’s ‘care’. But her intelligence drew him to her. She may have gaps in her knowledge, but no four year old could have gone through that many foster families and still picked up enough to pass Eden Academy’s prestigious entrance exam.
“Anya.” He eyed the spaghetti clinging to the wallpaper, “What are you doing?”
“Science.” Anya answered, grinning, “Mama told Anya that if you don’t know if spaghetti is cooked, Anya should throw it on the wall to see if it sticks.”
Loid sighed, and put his paper and coffee aside. Mama told Anya. Three years on, and she still hadn’t outgrown her illeism; that habit of referring to herself in the third person. He’d exhausted the hospital library’s materials on child development and psychology, and concluded it was a regressive tic, a piece of her broken childhood she clung to cope with abandonment. Poor Anya.
“I’m sure Yor meant you ‘can’ throw it on the wall, not ‘should’ throw it.” Loid tutted, noticing the wet splotches trailing down the wall from her previous attempts, “You shouldn’t be pulling spaghetti out while the water is still boiling, its dangerous. You should have asked for my help.”
Anya pouted, crossing her arms over her apron. “No. Papa cooks all the time without any help. Now it’s Anya’s turn to cook all by herself.”
Loid sighed. His daughter had grown. She was still short for her age, but she no longer needed a wooden stool to reach the stove top. Or, he had been noticing while pretending to read his paper, the freezer where the ice cream was kept.
Her academic, motor and language skills excluding her illeism had improved so much over the years. According to his research, most children her age are already capable of cooking on their own without risk. Few of her classmates could, but that was because of their social status. It would be suspicious if Anya didn’t know how to cook. But Anya being Anya, he couldn’t help but be wary.
“Here. At least let me drain the spaghetti for you.”
He stepped into the kitchen and saw Anya’s eyes twitch towards the fridge. Yoghurt. Eggs. Ice cream. Cherries. He’d seen her take them whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. He’d figured out she’d been trying to hide that she was making parfaits from him almost immediately. Dinner was just a front.
“Okay… but that’s all!” Anya seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then added quietly, “When do we put cherry in?”
Loid paused. “Cherry? Oh. Sherry. Yes, the recipe calls for a snifter of sherry. Best let me do that too, Anya. Alcohol shouldn’t be handled by children.”
He had emptied the spaghetti into a colander in the sink and begun to decant the sherry when Anya protested. They couldn’t put alcohol in the sauce, or everyone would get drunk. Loid rolled his eyes.
“Not to worry, Anya. Cooking alcohol heats it up and causes it to boil off. That’s called…?”
“Ev-operation.” Anya answered, a little too quickly, and with a little too much disinterest.
Was I being patronising? Dial it back, Twilight.
“Yes, all the alcohol evaporates and what’s left behind is a rich, dry flavour. There’s nothing to worry about—”
He had poured the snifter into the sauce. Flame danced up the vapours, and he leapt back, shielding Anya with his leg.
Realising his mistake, he leant forward and reduced the heat, the sauce returning to a gentle simmer. He forced a laugh for Anya’s sake, and chided himself internally.
Damn it, Twilight, you should have been paying more attention to what she was doing instead of reading that paper. Was I really so distracted poking holes into the operational security of her dessert plans that I didn’t think to check the burner? She’s only eight. Maybe I should take over—
Anya hit the small of his back with a wooden spoon.
“No, papa! Out of Anya’s kitchen!”
⁂
The streets of Berlint in winter were deathly quiet at this hour. Barely a minute past eight, but already as dark and cold as midnight. Yor Forger stepped out of the streetcar, onto the pavement at Park Avenue. She’d been hoping the cake shop was still open. Instead she was empty handed. She let out a tired breath.
Assassins don’t get winter breaks.
She had phoned home from work to let Loid and Anya know she would be staying late to help a coworker with work. It hadn’t been a lie. But what they didn’t know, and she could never tell them, was that work had involved hunting down a traitor that had sold Ostanian troop movements during the Second War.
He had gone on the run and hired help in Berlint, which was why the Thorn Princess was called in to assist. Usually unearthing such people could take days to weeks of tailing, waiting for the right moment. This time, Garden knew exactly where to find his safehouse, and where his escape tunnel would emerge. She would never ask the Shopkeeper where he acquired the intelligence for their missions, but there had been a marked improvement in detail and quantity of reports over the past two months.
Even if it had meant she and her ‘coworkers’ were on call almost every other night, she was grateful for it. Without it, she wouldn’t be home already, climbing the stairs to her family’s apartment. She smiled at the sound of her husband’s voice through the door talking over the sounds of sizzling, accompanied by the intoxicating smell of sauteed onion and garlic.
“Mama!”
Anya’s voice called out to her before she had even reached for her key. Yor giggled. If her customers had Anya as a guard-dog she wouldn’t be half as successful.
“I’m home!” Yor beamed from the doorway, rushed by her daughter wrapping her arms around her waist, “I’m so sorry I had to work late again.”
“Not at all, Yor, welcome home.” Loid called across from the kitchen, checking his watch, “You’re actually earlier than we were expecting. Sorry that dinner’s not ready yet.”
“Mama!” Anya grinned, “Anya cooked spaghetti all by herself!”
“Really? That’s amazing Anya!”
Yor met eyes with her husband in the kitchen. His fingers were garlic stained, and the spatula for the sauce was hanging off a hook too high for Anya to reach. Loid shrugged, and nodded towards his daughter.
“She really did. I barely did anything but sit in my chair and read the paper.” And mince the garlic, dice the onions, sear the meat, and nearly burn my eyebrows off with the sherry. Anya did put the spaghetti in the pot and saute and stir the ragu, at least. Plus her subterfuge with dessert.
Anya let out a quiet grunt, “Papa and Bond helped a little. But it was mostly Anya.”
Over in the corner room, Bond gave a quiet ‘boof’ in protest at his inclusion. Yor leant down and kissed Anya on the forehead.
“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful either way.”
Yor excused herself to change out of her work uniform, leaving Loid and Anya to clear the table for dinner and feed Bond. When she emerged, Loid had once again been banished from the kitchen by their daughter, who had busied herself with plating.
Yor sat opposite Loid, who was preoccupied with forcing himself to remain silent over Anya’s attempts to pour sauce onto mountains of coiled spaghetti. She took a breath, savouring the moment.
“Her first dinner for us.”
Loid blinked at her, a hidden tension draining from his face. “Mostly. Something tells me the novelty will wear off and I’ll be back in the apron before school starts again.”
Yor let out a guilty laugh. “I’m sorry. If I wasn’t so hopeless in the kitchen…”
“Mama! Papa!” Anya rapped the side of the spaghetti pot with a ladle, sending flecks of ragu across the countertop, “Dinner is served!”
Anya carried each heaped plate to the table one at a time, to the applause of her mother and quiet exasperation of her father. Loid made to stand to retrieve parmesan from the fridge, only for Anya to cut him off, wielding her wooden spoon like a cudgel.
“Anya will get the cheese.”
Yor snorted. “What’s that about?”
Loid bit his tongue. “No idea.”
Dinner continued without a hitch. The spaghetti was soggy and the sauce had caught slightly, but with Loid’s oversight it was guaranteed to be delicious. Anya stuck her fork into her food and twirled it, while slurping and drenching her chin in sauce. She giggled as Yor leant over to wipe her face.
“So, Anya, do you know what you want to do over your winter break?” She asked. Anya nodded.
“Becky wanted to see the Berlint in Love movie with me when it came out. She said Anya owed her after taking her to see the Spywars finale.”
“How fun.” Loid chimed along, “I think it releases next week, right?”
Anya grunted in the affirmative, and Yor took a sip of water to disguise her admiration of him. Despite his workload, his psychiatric research and picking up after her and Anya, Loid somehow always found the time to keep in touch with his daughter’s interests. Three days in to their daughter’s break from school, and Yor had only managed to pile more work onto the man when they should all be on holiday. How she wished she could— oh!
“Loid, I just remembered! It’s not been announced yet, but City Hall just approved a proposal for an advent market at the Berlint Botanical Garden.”
Anya’s face lit up, turning to her father with anticipatory glee, “Market?”
Loid’s face froze with surprise, and for a moment Yor was worried she’d given away something she wasn’t supposed to say. Then his lips turned upwards in delight.
“Really? What a wonderful idea. Ah, that must be the project you’ve been helping your coworker with.”
“Ah, yep!” Yor forced a laugh, before noticing Anya’s expectant gaze. She tilted her head at her daughter. “Anya, you’ve never been to an advent market?”
“Nu uh. Do they sell advents? Are advents tasty?”
Yor swooned in excitement. “An advent market is a kinda of festival that lasts every night until Christmas Eve. There’s supposed to be live music, and a light show, and carnival rides, and food stalls. Yuri and I used to go every night with our parents when we were little. I haven’t been to one in so long.”
Anya’s mouth broadened with every word.
“Papa, mama, we gotta go to the market every night too!”
Loid chuckled. “Maybe not every night, but I agree, we should absolutely make the time. What a great idea, Yor.”
Yor melted into her seat, her face as warm as her husband’s smile. Maybe she wasn’t so hopeless after all. Even if she couldn’t even bring back dessert.
Anya gasped and Yor sat up, startled. Her daughter pushed away her chair and hurried back into the kitchen, and Yor looked to Loid with concern. He winked and raised a finger in front of his lips to reassure her.
“Anya forgot dessert!”
“Dessert?” Loid made a show of sounding surprised, “When did you have time to make dessert?”
Anya cackled from behind the counter, her head peering over with wicked delight. She put her hand to her chin.
“Fufufu. Anya pulled it off while you weren’t looking, and now my master plan has come to fruition! All that’s left is the big reveal!”
“How exciting!”
Yor clapped her hands in encouragement as Anya disappeared behind the fridge door. She emerged bent over, carrying a baking tray that she kept shielded with her body as she approached the table. Loid sat up, prepared to perform the role of the surprised yet proud father. Then, with a sweeping ‘tah dah!’, Anya revealed tonight’s dessert.
“Souffles with whipped cream and peanuts!”
⁂
Yor had volunteered to clear the table, and Anya had joined her. Even now they were in the kitchen, wiping clean any trace of tonight’s operation. Loid sat on the couch, supposedly finishing his paper.
Souffles. When could she have possibly made souffles? How could I have been so mistaken?
He heard Anya giggle from the kitchen, and she hid her face when their eyes met. Was this just a game to her? He forced a grin for appearances’ sake, wracking over the events of the night in his mind with a fine toothed comb.
Think, Twilight. The souffle was tough and sunken, definitely Anya’s handiwork, so she couldn’t have bought them. But when did she find time to use the oven, alone? I’d have smelled any baking, and the gas meter looked ordinary. Did she tamper with it? Wait, she visited the Authens yesterday to ‘study’. She didn’t bring anything back then, but she could have retrieved them at any point today while I was walking Bond. But I saw her uncap the yoghurt. I saw the parfait glasses from the cupboard. She kept grabbing the ice cream, but never ate any of it.
He caught himself watching the back of his daughter’s head, as though if he tried hard enough he might be able to peer inside it and find some truth.
She planted evidence. Employed misdirection. She played to my suspicions to fool me into thinking I’d figured her out, then exploited my overconfidence to disguise her actions. Is this my fault? Children are unusually perceptive. Perhaps I’ve been inadvertently teaching her the principles of spycraft for years.
“Papa.” Anya called over from the kitchen, “Stop brooding.”
“I’m not brooding, Anya.” Loid tutted, “I’m reading the paper.”
Yor sat down opposite him, cradling a mug of herbal tea. “Anything interesting?”
“Not really.” Loid shook his head, folding the paper away to give his full attention to his family, “There was an article on Donovan’s visit to the west, but it was mostly an opinion piece.”
“Oh? Melinda didn’t mention they were going anywhere for the holidays. But then, she so rarely talks about her family.”
“From the looks of things, Donovan went alone. Given his position, it’s probably a diplomatic gesture he didn’t feel the need to bring his family into. Anya, did Damian mention anything about his plans for Winter Break at school?”
Anya trundled over, blowing the steam from her hot chocolate. She wrinkled her nose at the question.
“Nope. I asked him if he wanted to come over for a sleepover and he got red in the face and ran away from me. I think he’s mad at me again.”
“Probably nothing then.” Loid shrugged. ‘I’ asked. ‘I’ think. Interesting.
“Anya? You asked a boy to sleep over?” Yor squeaked. Anya tilted her head in confusion.
“Its just Damian.”
“S-still, you’re much too young for those kind of sleepovers, isn’t she Loid?”
Anya frowned. “Anya had a sleepover at Becky’s house and you didn’t mind.”
“I-It’s d-different between boys and girls…!”
“Why?”
Yor’s face had turned as red as her sweater. Her eyes met her husband’s, desperate for him to join in. Loid took a breath, and was mentally comparing which of six different variations for the talk he had prepared would be most appropriate, when the ringing of the telephone mercifully pierced the awkward silence.
Yor hurried herself to her feet and retrieved the receiver, announcing herself a little too loudly and whilst a little too out of breath.
“Forger residence!”
“Anya doesn’t get it…” Anya frowned, turning to her father. Before her voice trailed off, her face had contorted with disgust. Loid made a note to check the milk in case it had spoiled after Anya’s escapades into the fridge.
“Y-Yes, he’s here.” Yor lowered the receiver, her lips pursed. “Loid, it’s for you.”
Loid arched a brow. He wasn’t expecting any ‘calls’ tonight, and even if he were, WISE knew better than to contact him through an unsecure phone line.
“Hello, this is Loid Forger speaking.”
“Good evening, or perhaps, good morning, Doctor Forger.” His Handler’s voice greeted him, “I hope I’m not interrupting dinner. This is Doctor Magnolia speaking.”
⁂
Anya slouched, her hot chocolate slowing turning cold on her chest as her parents argued in the corner room. They were keeping their voices down, but unfortunately, they couldn’t do much about their thoughts.
Everything had been going great! Papa was totally fooled by the parfait scheme, and mama kept giving her compliments. Then Damian came up, and ruined everything without even being here. It wasn’t her fault Becky’s plan to get him to come over didn’t work. She frowned. Becky’s plans almost never work.
If Handler invoked the magnolia protocol, I have no choice.
Anya blinked, sitting up ever so slightly so she could see her father. She could hear thoughts, but not through a telephone wire. She didn’t know who Papa had talked to, but she could guess it was about spy stuff. The magnolia protocol? So cool.
“But she’ll be home all alone while I’m at work.” Mama’s voice was disappointed, and I don’t know if I can get time away from Garden.
“She’s eight, she’s old enough to be left alone during the day; and besides, she’ll be spending most of her time with her friends.” Papa’s voice was reassuring but his mind voice was worried, I wish I knew what I was getting in to, but magnolia means I can’t contact anyone. All I know is what Handler gave me in code.
“But a last minute convention in Gretsberg? And you can’t say how long you’ll be?”
“It isn’t last minute, Yor, I was second research lead on the project and it’s a biannual convention. But Doctor Reichart fell ill and I’m the only one who knows the material enough to deliver a lecture on it. It has to be me. He’s in Gretsberg hospital, and once he’s well again I should be able to come right home.”
Don’t make any promises, Twilight.
“And if he dies and you need to replace him for the entire symposium?”
Loid frowned. “Yor, please don’t say such things about my colleagues even in the hypothetical.”
“You know what I mean, Loid.”
“Nine days?” He made a show of guessing, and if WISE needs me any longer than that I’ll just have to find some excuse.
“Nine days!” Yor glanced towards Anya, and she ducked back behind the cushions with a gasp. She pulled Loid further into the corner room, “The advent market will open before then.”
“Then we’ll go when I get back.” That’s dangerously close to a promise, Twilight.
But we’ll miss the beginning! Mama’s brain wanted to scream. Instead, she bit her lip, and leant against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’m sorry Loid. I’m being selfish.”
“No you’re not. Believe me, I wish I wasn’t going myself, but…” He paused, how do I make her understand. If she vents her frustrations to her coworkers and they do some digging, it wouldn’t take long to realise Doctor Reichart is on holiday with his mistress.
“Papa, where you’re going, are people waiting for you to tell them the information they need to be better spy-cologists?”
Loid took a breath. That was it. Thank you, Anya.
You’re welcome, Papa.
“I’m afraid so, Anya. But hopefully I can share information that’ll make it easier for others to save lives, or even help put broken lives back together.”
Yor stared at him with doe eyes, but what about Anya?
Anya nodded sagely. “Anya will forgive you if you promise to bring Anya back a souvenir.”
“I promise.” Loid laughed, damn it! Twilight!
“Kay.” Anya wrinkled her nose, moving on to her next parent, “Mama! Don’t worry, while papa’s away, Anya will handle all the cooking! Your mission will be to make sure the market is the best it can be for when papa gets home and we all get to go!”
“Yes ma’am.” Yor laughed with a salute; always the peacemaker. When did you get so grown up?
⁂
Twilight had woken early to pack.
Which is to say, he was already packed, but he needed to maintain the appearance of someone who wasn’t ready to jump on a plane at the drop of a hat.
The winter sun had barely risen, painting his room in hues of blue and shadow. He checked his watch again, knowing it wouldn’t have changed much at all since the last time. Loid Forger was in no hurry. Twilight couldn’t sit still.
The Magnolia Protocol. He had seen it referenced exactly once when WISE assigned him to Operation Strix, on a primer he watched burn in a fireplace once he was done.
All contact with the primary agent must occur through intermediaries. A phone call here or there wouldn’t make the State Security Service suspicious, but all must be done to avoid the emergence of a traceable pattern of contact. In dire need or in suspicion of compromised communication channels, direct contact may be made over an insecure channel only in a predetermined, single use code. The primary agent is thereafter to accept no new orders or make contact with any agent or asset without confirmation of their identity and status until such time as they have been briefed and/or debriefed.
He knew Sylvia. She wouldn’t invoke Magnolia unless she had no other choice. She’d sooner arrive at his front door.
She’d ordered him to go to Berlint airport. She hadn’t given him a time nor place of rendezvous, nor any explanation of his mission. Presumably he would find a dead drop or contact waiting for him, but those were assumptions, and assumptions could get you killed.
He’d heard Yor wake almost a quarter of an hour ago. Loid Forger’s wife and daughter had asked to see him off, and Twilight could not refuse. Not without drawing suspicion to himself.
Yor knocked on his door, and he caught himself wondering what countersign to give her. Loid Forger doesn’t give countersigns to his wife.
“Loid?”
“Come in, Yor.”
The door creaked open, light from the hallway spilling into his room. Yor was already dressed, and wearing the blue coat she had bought in autumn. Yor held a cup in her hand, from which sprouted Loid’s toothbrush. She held it out to him, her eyes welded shut.
“I was just redressing the bathroom, and I realised you might need this.”
Loid let out an appreciative noise. “Ah, thank you, I knew I was forgetting something. You can come in, Yor.”
His wife let out a breath, handing off the cup with the toothbrush to him like a demolitions officer handling a bomb. He reached for a toiletries case and placed it inside.
“I’m sorry, I should have been helping you change the bedding instead of being in here trying to find what to pack.”
“It’s fine!” Yor insisted, “It’s funny, we used to put those sheets on whenever Yuri came around, but whenever I see them in the linen cabinet, it makes me think of him. If you don’t mind, I’d love to have him over while you’re away.”
“Of course I don’t mind. Yuri’s family. You don’t need to ask my permission.” Just give some warning so he doesn’t realise we sleep in different bedrooms.
“Mama…? Papa…?”
A groggy, but fully dressed Anya had appeared in the doorway, clutching a much loved and long suffering chimera plush. Yor clicked her tongue.
“Anya Forger! Did you sleep in your clothes again?”
“Anya didn’t want to be left behind.” Anya fought back a yawn even as Yor emerged to drag her to an ironing board.
He checked his watch.
“How about I make us some breakfast while you get Anya ready? We’ll take a taxi, since you can’t drive.”
Anya gradually came to from exposure to the smell of bacon and eggs on toast. He lost sight of her for a moment, only to hear the toilet flush, and his daughter to reappear with wet hands.
The three of them gulped down breakfast and light conversation. Camilla was still on maternity leave. City Hall is understaffed. Yuri once mentioned that Gretsberg had a wonderful maritime history museum. Brush up on Ostanian naval tradition. Anya dreamt she was a cherry on a souffle that Bond kept trying to eat. Psychologically disturbing.
He checked his watch, and gulped down the last of his juice. He returned to his room to fetch his luggage, only to freeze.
The zipper on his suitcase had changed positions.
He glanced behind him, then shut his door silently. He checked the windows, then the cupboard and vent spaces, before finally tying a piece of string through the eye of the zipper and pulling it open from behind the masonry corner of his cupboard.
He leant across with an umbrella, tipping the suitcase lid open. He let out a sigh as he realised a packet of Anya’s favourite peanuts had found their way into his suitcase.
“People are supposed to eat peanuts on planes.”
He glanced behind him. How long had Anya been standing there?
“The peanuts on planes are usually complimentary.”
Anya pouted. “Anya doesn’t think her peanuts come with any compliments. But they’re still the best peanuts.”
Loid sighed, allowing his nerves to melt into a delicate smile. He closed the suitcase and rezipped it, then approached his daughter to tussle the top her head.
“Thank you, Anya. They’re very complimentary.”
She wrapped her arms tight enough around his waist that he couldn’t move for a moment. For all her show of maturity and understanding last night, it was obvious she was going to miss him.
“I’ll miss you too, Anya.”
Outside, the taxi’s horn blared, and Anya gasped. Loid grabbed his suitcase, and the three of them hurried out the door and onto the street.
In the corner, Bond raised his head, woken by the slam of the door and turning of locks. He snorted as he rose to his feet. With a disappointed boof he realised he could smell bacon and eggs, and not been woken to have any. Then he sniffed further, and followed the scent to his food bowl. Atop the same old kibble sat a shiny, runny egg. He fussed, and imagined Loid telling Anya not to leave him any bacon.
He savoured his yolky treat, and lay down to rest until a more reasonable hour.
Darkness. Cold. Ice floats in the water. Loid is falling. Lost. Frozen for a moment in the air. Falling into black water. He disappears beneath the blackness. Someone screams. Too long. He is under the water too long. When will he come out of the water?
Bond jolted awake. Loid. He ran to the door, and stood on his hind legs, the wood rattling wildly under his assault. He barked long and loud, hoping his family had not gone so far they could not hear him.
Despite his best efforts, the door did not budge. He panted and paced. He had to find Anya. He had to help Loid. He barked and howled and whimpered.
Anya, in the apartment. Alone. She looks left. Alone. She looks right. Alone. Where are they? Where is everyone?
He threw the weight of his entire body against the door. The force hurt his bones and joints, but not as much as the visions hurt his heart.
“Hello? Is everything alright in there?”
Bond went boof. Granny Barb. He barked again and again.
“Mister Forger? Missus Forger? Anya?”
Yor, standing by the door. Yuri. His eyes are red. He can’t say it. Yor is broken. Tears soak into the floorboards. Anya. Where is Anya?
“I’m using my emergency key!”
The lock turned over, and the moment the door opened enough to let him through, Bond was out like a demon from hell. He ignored the terrified cries of Barbara calling after him, rounding the stairs and pushing through the door into the street. He tasted the air. Peanuts.
People darted and dodged out of the way of a white ball of panic. The stone hurt his paws, and his joints were angry to be out in the cold, but he had to find Anya. He had to save Loid.
Darkness. Cold. Ice floats in the water. Loid is falling. Lost. Frozen for a moment in the air. He falls...?
... A boy. Small. Hungry. Alone in a ruined place. He spins a top, his face tearstained. He slumps and watches the top fall over. He stares into the emptiness.
Bond comes to a stop at a corner, and fusses. He turns his nose towards the peanuts. He sees Loid falling into the water. He turns his nose the other way. A child sobs into his arm. How can he choose? What would Anya do? What would Loid do?
He whimpers, then gathers his wits, and turns the other way.