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Twilight’s grip spasmed, the barrel of his gun dipping away from her heart. “Yor?”
It was only then that Yor looked at him—really looked at the spy she’d been about to kill. She staggered back.
“Loid,” she gasped, all horrified recognition. Her weapons clattered to the ground.
It was several hours after noon on a Saturday, and hot, so Yor was pulling down the curtains in the main room. Intense sunlight, she’d read, could fade furniture, and she couldn’t have that.
Behind her, she could hear the sound of footsteps—Loid. “Anya’s napping,” he said. “I’m going out. We need more eggs.”
“Okay!” Yor called over her shoulder. “Come home safe.” She pulled the last of the curtains down and made a satisfied noise.
“I will,” Loid said. There was the sound of him opening the door, and Yor turned just in time to see him go—just in time to see that he had been smiling.
She wished Loid smiled more like that. Not that large grin, but his quieter, gentler smile. She liked it when he looked like that—content. His eyes would go soft and crinkle up at the edges, and his lips would curve just the slightest bit, and he’d look at her and Anya with such—
Outside, a car revved into motion. Yor jumped, shaken from her thoughts. “Stop it,” Yor told herself, cheeks hot. She shouldn’t be daydreaming, not when she’d told herself she’d get the rest of the housework done today! She nodded resolutely, and made up her mind to tackle the laundry next.
But just as Yor was halfway to her room, the telephone rang. She scrunched her nose and went back to answer it.
She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Good afternoon,” Shopkeeper said.
Oh. She supposed she might not have time to complete all her chores today, then.
“Shopkeeper! Good afternoon,” Yor said. “What is it?”
“Another job,” he said. “Midnight, tonight. At—” He rattled off a set of coordinates. “I trust you’ll know where that is.”
Yor nodded. She was familiar with that location. It was one of the warehouses in the cluster near the docks; she’d cleaned up many a body in those buildings.
“Thorn Princess... you know I can’t see if you’re nodding or shaking your head.”
“Oh!” Yor smacked her forehead. “I mean yes. I know where to go, Shopkeeper.”
“Good,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Your target,” he began, then stopped.
Yor frowned. “Yes, Shopkeeper?”
“Your target is—” Shopkeeper clicked his tongue. “You are familiar with Twilight?”
A thrill went down her spine. “Of course.” Who wasn’t?
“Your job tonight,” Shopkeeper said, “is to kill him.”
Yor set the receiver down and mulled over her newest job.
So, they’d finally gotten a semi-reliable tip. (At least, Yor hoped so. She didn’t want to give up her sleep only to be stood up.) Shopkeeper had said that Twilight would be meeting an Ostanian informant in that warehouse. She was supposed to kill that informant, too.
The warehouse itself wasn’t too far from the apartment. She could sneak out, kill him, and sneak back in before Loid or Anya woke up the next morning.
Be careful, Shopkeeper had said. Twilight is known as one of the best spies in the world—if not the best—for good reason. Yor had huffed. She was always careful! Besides, master spy or no, she was certain that Twilight would be no match for the Thorn Princess.
The sound of keys jingling in the lock brought Yor out of her previous thoughts. Loid, she thought. Before she could even move to unlock the door for him, it had already swung open, and Loid came in, hair windswept and arms full of egg trays.
“I’m back,” Loid said, unnecessarily. He tossed his keys onto the nearby table, and Yor took some of the trays from him. He shot her a grateful look, and together they carried the eggs to the refrigerator.
“Are you cooking again tonight?” she asked, as he shut the refrigerator door, rising from where he had been crouching. “Or should I...”
His head snapped up, almost hitting the table behind them. “No, I’m cooking!” he said hurriedly, just as she cried, “Careful!”
“I’m cooking.” Loid cleared his throat. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Oh,” Yor said. “That’s good. I was planning on getting the rest of the laundry done today, anyways.”
He nodded. “If you need help...”
She waved him off and turned, walking out. “No, I can do it by myself! But thank you, Loid.”
“Anything for my dear wife,” Loid called after her, and when he said it like that, with his smile audible, she almost believed him.
The housework was tedious, as always, but it made her feel productive. Yor dumped the laundry into the washing machine and then went to sweep the floors and dust the rooms. Sometime after Anya had woken from her nap, Anya came in and stole the duster to play with. Yor laughed and let her.
The sun set, and as she finished tidying their home, day fell into night. Dinner, then. As always, Loid’s cooking was delicious. Anya ate so fast she almost choked; Loid and Yor both panicked when they first noticed Anya hacking on her food, but then Anya grabbed a glass of water and downed it, and that was that.
“Oops,” Anya said, sheepish.
Loid was the first to break out in relieved laughter.
It was a quarter past eleven, and Anya had finally let herself be sent to bed. Almost midnight, Yor thought. I’ll go after this. Bent over Anya, Loid tucked his daughter’s blanket around her.
“You better get some rest,” he said chidingly. “You stayed up pretty late watching Bondman.”
“You rest, too,” Anya shot back. “I can see your eyebags from here, Papa!”
Yor, standing behind Loid, muffled a giggle in her hand.
“I do not have eyebags!” Loid sputtered.
“Mm,” Anya said. “Of course not, Papa.”
Loid spun to face her. “Yor, tell this kid I don’t—”
“You do,” Yor told him, grinning.
He staggered back, a hand clutching his chest. “My own wife!”
Yor giggled again.
“I told you, Papa,” Anya said smugly. “Even Mama agrees.”
“She’s right,” she said. “You should go sleep after this.”
Loid huffed. “Fine,” he grumbled.
So prickly, Yor thought. She bit back another smile.
“Yeah!” Anya said. “Night, Papa! Go to bed!”
The sulky look on Loid’s face melted away. He knelt, and brushed Anya’s hair out of her face. “Yes, yes,” he said. “Night, Anya.”
“Night,” Anya said, eyelids already drooping. “You too, Mama. Night.”
“Night, Anya,” Yor said softly.
Loid rose, and she turned to leave. Outside, she waited for Loid. When he was out, too, she carefully shut the door to Anya’s room.
“Well. Good night to you too, Yor,” he said, so warmly. “Are you still on for that date tomorrow? To keep the neighbors off our back again, of course.”
Yor looked up. Loid was still smiling that soft, half-smile of his.
It struck her, then. A lightning bolt of realization. Oh, no, she thought, helpless.
“Yes,” Yor managed. “Tomorrow. Good night, Loid.”
His eyes crinkled, and with a wave, he was gone. The moment he was out of sight and in his own room, she sagged against the nearby wall.
Oh, no, she thought again, her heart thrashing against her ribs. Oh, no. Help.
She was—she was—
“No,” she whispered. Quiet, despairing horror. “No.”
Yor covered her face with her hands. She could not do this—not tonight. Through her fingers, she glanced at the clock, ticking away from where it hung on the wall. It was nearing half past eleven.
She had no time to agonize over this latest development. Sucking in a fortifying breath, Yor pushed off from the wall, ducked into her bedroom and took her weapons.
She put him out of her mind—reluctantly. Resolutely. The Thorn Princess had a job to do.
Yor slipped through the moonless night with honed grace. When she got there, the warehouse was almost empty. A cursory inspection showed Twilight had yet to show up, although his informant had already arrived, pacing with his hands clasped together. His gait was nervous, Yor noted. No notable strength or skill. This would be quick.
Quietly, Yor stole behind him.
“Hello.” Her knife at his throat. He went unnaturally still. “Jacob Johnson?”
“Y-Yes?” he stammered.
“Ah,” Yor said. “Good. I would hate to be mistaken. May I have the honor of taking your life, Mr. Johnson?”
Before he could even answer, she had already slit his throat. Yor stepped back immediately, but a few splatters of blood still stained her hands and dress. She sighed.
“One day,” she muttered. “One day I’ll figure out the secret to doing this bloodlessly.” It was such a pain washing blood out of her clothes. Periods were bad enough already.
The sound of a gun being cocked echoed from behind her. Yor stilled.
“Who are you,” a man said coldly.
This must be him, then. Yor smiled, and twirled one of her thorn-like blades.
“You’ve haven’t heard of me?” She turned to face Twilight—or rather, Twilight’s gun. “I’m—”
Twilight’s grip spasmed, the barrel of his gun dipping away from her heart. “Yor?”
“I don’t understand,” she said. Her feet felt like they were rooted to the bloody, rusty metal floor.
“You killed him,” Loid—Twilight said. “I saw you kill him. Yor. You... You’re the...”
“Why wouldn’t I kill him?” Yor asked numbly. “It is my job, after all.”
“But you’re—” Twilight made a frustrated noise. “You’re Yor.”
Stung, Yor said, “Just like you’re Loid?”
Lo—Twilight shut his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “I get your point.”
“Is that even your real name?” she asked.
He shook his head mutely.
Yor’s mind whirred. “What about Anya,” she said, almost afraid of his answer.
He ran the hand that still held the gun through his hair. “I... Anya’s adopted.”
“Ah,” she said quietly. “I see. So everything was a lie.” Her chest felt like it was being constricted.
“Yor, it’s not—” He pressed his lips together, looking pained. “Yor.”
Her name was a dagger twisted into Yor’s heart. “Yes, Twilight?” she rasped.
He flinched. “Loid,” he said. “When it’s you, it’s Loid.”
“Okay. Loid.” She clenched her fists to stop her hands from trembling. “It’s not—what?"
Instead of answering her question, he said, “I’m sorry.”
Yor hated that she wanted to forgive him. “Don’t,” she said roughly. “I just. Was it all fake? The—”
The cooking. The outings. The caring. Anything for my dear wife, he had said earlier today, smiling.
“No,” Loid said. “Well, in the beginning, yes. But no. I tried, I told myself it was only for the mission, but—”
“Anya,” Yor finished.
“Anya,” Loid echoed. He hesitated. “And you.”
Yor swallowed. She felt like crying.
“I have to kill you,” Yor whispered. “Loid, I have to kill you.”
Loid grimaced. “You don’t have to, Yor.”
“But I do,” she said helplessly. “I have a job.”
“Yor,” Loid tried again. “Don’t you want to go home? Get some sleep.”
Home, Yor thought. Home. She closed her eyes. “Like Anya said?”
“Like Anya said.”
“But... Shopkeeper. The Garden. I have to... I can’t...”
She felt him shift closer, and then he was taking her hand and pressing something into it. “Here, then,” Loid said. It was her blade.
When she heard the sound of what could only be his gun clattering to the floor, Yor’s eyes flew open, and her head snapped up to meet his gaze. “Loid?”
Loid ignored her. He cupped her cheek. “You’ll take care of Anya, right?”
“Loid,” she said, “what are you doing?”
“I’m letting my dear wife do her duty,” he said quietly. His thumb brushed over her cheekbones. His other hand wrapped hers around her blade, and guided it to his heart. “Do me a favor and make it quick.”
For a moment—for a single, helpless moment she considered it. One stab and it would be done. But—
She yanked her hand, and with it, the blade, away from his chest. “Don’t you dare sacrifice your life for this, Loid Forger.”
Loid spluttered. “What? I hand you your kill on a silver platter and you’re mad at me?”
“Yes!” Yor shouted. “Yes, I’m mad. You can’t just offer to die. Have you thought about how I’d feel, knowing it was me who killed you, knowing you’re gone, knowing I’ll never taste your cooking again or see you playing with Anya or—”
“Yor,” he said.
Yor stopped and dragged her hand across her face. It came away wet. “Loid,” she said, raw and helpless. It was all she could say.
He winced. “Look, I’m sorry,” Loid said. “I thought—”
“You thought wrong,” Yor said. “Loid, how could you ask me to do that?”
He bowed his head. “You could have carried on Operation Strix without me,” he said. “Or they could have someone else replace me. I’m—I may be the best in the agency but that doesn’t mean someone else won’t be able to do the job just as well. I’m a spy. I’m replaceable.”
“And I’m not?”
Loid nodded. A tiredness sank over her, down to her bones. Yor’s shoulders slumped.
“Can we not do this now?” she whispered. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I don’t have to.”
“If you wanted,” he said, “we could do it tomorrow. Cancel our date.”
Yor decided that she was sick of all this.
So he was a spy. So he was Twilight. So he had seen her kill a man. So he knew she was an assassin. So what. She was sick of the iron tang of blood in the air and sick of the too-quiet, too-empty warehouse. Sick, sick, sick.
“Okay,” she said. She rubbed her eyes. They were still wet. “Tomorrow.” She knelt and picked up his gun from the ground, and offered it to him. “Let’s go home, Loid.”
“Okay,” Loid said. He took the gun and offered her a tentative smile.