There’s a bar on the outside of the shed, locking the doors closed, which seems like a weird choice. Anyone wanting to break in would only have to lift the bar. Not to mention there’s nothing of value here in the first place. There are remnants; tables and racks mottled with dust and specks of dirt. Likely used to store materials and personal equipment. All empty. Old reminders of the way things used to be.

One exception. A length of thin rope hanging limp off the surface of a workbench.

I use the rope to bind Tanya’s wrists.

“Let me know when it’s too tight.” I say. “You’re gonna need to be able to break free.”

Tanya nods, avoiding eye contact. Her wrists are slim, pale, and cold, like porcelain bars.

“Ouch.” She mutters, flinching.

I slacken the knot. “How’s that?”

She rotates her wrists. There’s some flexibility, but at a glance it looks secure, like she shouldn’t be able to break free.

“That should do it.” She says.

I take her throwing knife and slide the blade through the gap in the doors and yank upward. The board pulls free of the brackets and falls to the ground.

The doors immediately begin to creak open.

I grab Tanya and lead her out into the open.

Tiny little dust devils lift and spiral in the square. The cobblestone street is smothered in layers and spots of slippery dust.

I have one of my revolvers drawn and pressed against her back. I lean close, whispering in case anyone’s around.

“I thought they’d be here by now. You know, because we...furled.”

“...what?” Tanya whispers back, almost hissing.

“You know. Furl?”

Tanya peers up at me. “ Is that...even a word?”

“Yeah.” I say. “You know, because you...unfurled, right? And then...what?”

A little smile is starting to curl up at the corner of her lips. “Maybe there’s just something wrong with me, but it seems like you never stop being cute.”

I stare at her for a second. “Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with you.” I grab her by the shoulder and push, putting a little distance between us.

Still, it’s hard not to think about that first impression I had of her, when the garage door opened. She’s a cute one. And definitely my type. And isn’t it just what everyone wants, to have that person in your life who never stops fixating on you, on the qualities they find attractive in you?

Maybe. But I can’t afford to focus on that, right now.

It’s all too...confusing.

“Point is,” I say, “Shouldn’t he be here, by now? You said they can track the thing.”

“Generally speaking, yes. He knows we’re in the city. He might even know what part.”

I glance up at the sun, then over at the tower. We were in the eastern side of the city. Probably quite a ways out from the market plaza south of the tower, where I’d seen the bulk of any activity earlier.

Seemed like a good place to start.

“C’mon.” I say, pushing her. “Let’s get moving.”

*****

Time seems to compress. Every step on the cobblestone walk brings us closer to the inevitable.

Tanya walks a few paces ahead of me, hands bound in front of her. Dust rolls around our feet, like a river churning. Around us, doors and shutters bang and creak on their hinges. The hems of Tanya’s coat riffle in the breeze, bullet holes whistling as air squeezes through them. Loose, torn tatters flap like little flags.

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I find myself staring at the back of her neck, bare and pale. Tiny beads of sweat cling to the hairs of her lower scalp.

I could have been in love with this woman. She could have been telling the truth. I had told myself I couldn’t afford to think about it, but here I was.

Because of course she hadn’t been lying. No one can lie with their eyes, like that. With touches like that. If such a thing is possible, then the world is far more lonely and sinister a place than I had previously imagined. And I have quite the imagination.

I knew it was true. Of course I did. I just didn’t know what to do about it.

That’s not the only thing that’s true, I think. If she’s telling the truth. The world in which you love this woman is the same world in which you kill her brother. But then, that’s just the sort of thing you do, isn’t it?

Something in me recoils, protesting.

This person Tanya had been talking about, the “second agent”. She claimed it was me. But it wasn’t. If anything, it was some other version of me. Like a figment, or a spectre of some alternate reality.

I didn’t have the second agent’s memories. His thoughts and feelings. His experiences. Tanya could spend hundreds of hours explaining what had happened in that interim, and I could do my best to try and imagine them, but they would never truly be mine. It was a bizarre, surreal sort of tragedy, unfolding right in front of me. Nothing I could do to stop it.

Don’t.

But I have to ask anyway.

“Are they my friends?”

Tanya cranes her neck, looking back at me. “Who?”

“Mason and Sater.”

She nods. “You’re very close. Though at the moment they do hate your guts. And who could blame them?” She faces forward. “There’s something so strange about watching one of your best friends suddenly turn around to kill another. It’s a difficult visual to reconcile, no matter how you try to explain it away.”

A sense of unease creeps over me. It feels improper to be talking about this figment, this alternate reality. Like I’m butting in on business that isn’t mine.

Don’t.

“Do you hate me?”

Tanya makes a quick, surprised glance at me. “Like I said. It’s...difficult to reconcile.”

I should feel something from that, if I’m the agent. Sadness and disappointment and loss. Instead, I’m clinically turning this information over in my mind, a casual observer overhearing someone else’s gossip. Any memories I might have of her, any feelings of love, are behind some unseen veil, inaccessible to me.

I’m startled by a pair of dark figures in the path ahead, backlit by the afternoon sun. Even from their shadowed, barely discernible body language, I can tell they’re surprised and excited to see us.

One of the figures stands stock still, wary of us. The other jogs over.

As she draws close, her features come into focus. She’s about my height. Curly hair. A fedora. A long dustcoat. She has a pistol at her hip and a double-barreled shotgun in one hand, its stock bouncing against her waist as she runs.

I grab Tanya by the shoulder and pull her closer.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you, mate.” She says, stopping in front of me. She’s friendly and personable. No guard up at all. She recognizes me, and doesn’t seem to have any doubts that I wouldn’t recognize her.

They trust you completely. As far as they’re concerned, you’re on their side, now.

“I’ve been looking for you guys.” I say. “Had to tussle with this one.” I prod Tanya in the side with the barrel. I can’t see her face.

Curly Hair nods and gives Tanya a hard look, looking her up and down. “Bitch was giving us trouble, but I knew we’d take care of her. I can take her off your hands for ya.”

“I got it.” I say.

Curly Hair gives Tanya another glare. She turns toward me, cocks her head a little, seeming to take that for a reasonable answer. Though somehow not completely happy about it.

“Where’s Oscar?” I say.

Curly raises an eyebrow, giving me an otherwise blank look.

I get the hint after about a half second. “Peacelock.” It’s a username Oscar came up with back in the Final Fantasy XIV days. It managed to stick.

Curly points. At first I think it’s in the direction of the market plaza, but her arm continues to angle upward, in the direction of the tip of the tower.

I gaze toward the sky, putting up a hand to shield my eyes from the sun.

There’s something up there. A little pinprick of darkness poking out of the tower, stark against the sky’s open blue, like the shadow of a fish in the ocean. The shadow undulates, and I can just barely make out Oscar’s raised arm, waving to me.

I wait for a couple seconds. Oscar doesn’t move, continues to wave. Here on the ground, Curly watches me, expectantly.

I’m hesitating. If I’m honest with myself, I’m worried about what’s going to happen if I leave Tanya alone with these people. But if I don’t move, things are going to start to happen without me. I’m going to get left behind.

I look over at Tanya. It’s not a lingering look, but it’s enough for her to look back. There’s no overt signal. No nodding or tilting of the head. Just a look. But it’s enough. It’s okay to leave her.

She’ll be okay. She will.

I push her toward Curly. “Take her to the plaza. Wait for us there.”

“Rock on, then.” Curly says. She puts up a fist. I fistbump her, which she seems to appreciate. She grabs Tanya by one of her bound wrists and begins to drag her away. As she does, Tanya tilts her head towards me, mouths three words.

“You got this.”

And then, her back is to me, as she’s carted away, into the enigmatic future.

I pull myself. I stare up at the tower. At Oscar. Then, I close my eyes. I imagine myself at the top of the tower, near that white crack in the center of the platform, breeze fanning—