Chapter Text
He is lucky, they tell him. He stood at death's door and returned. Half a face is a small price.
The ridges of his skin feel alien to his fingers, a ghost of sensation lurking under a topography of betrayal. It wasn't the fire that burnt away his faith. No, that feeble fool lingered, it's dying breath the smuggled signal to MI6 that went unanswered.
Two-faced, M had once called him. Hypocritical bitch.
His reflection looks less awful than it feels.
Half a face and his whole faith, the cost of survival. His name is a small price for rebirth.