Operation Strix was almost over. Twilight—no, Loid Forger these days—had successfully infiltrated Donovan Desmond's inner circle. The mission that had consumed a year and a half of his life was finally bearing fruit. Three to five months, maybe less, and he'd have all the intelligence he needed about Desmond's war plans. Then it would be time for the clean exit. A staged accident, perhaps. A fake death that would allow Twilight to disappear back into the shadows where he belonged. Loid Forger would have to die. The thought should have brought him satisfaction. Mission accomplished, objective complete. Instead, it left a strange hollow feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite identify. "Papa, let's go to the park!" Anya's voice cut through his brooding thoughts. He glanced out the window—winter had turned everything gray and lifeless, and dusk was already creeping in despite the early hour. The logical part of his mind catalogued all the reasons this was a bad idea: cold weather, approaching darkness, the risk of Anya catching a chill. But lately, he'd found himself wanting to make her happy more than usual. "Alright, but it will be a short outing." The words came out before he could stop them. He grabbed his coat, telling himself this was just part of maintaining his cover. A good father would indulge his daughter occasionally. Yor was still at work, so it was just the three of them—him, Anya, and Bond—making their way through the quiet streets toward the park. Where does she get so much energy? Loid watched Anya burst into motion the moment they arrived, running freely across the empty playground with Bond at her heels. Even in the dying light, her enthusiasm was infectious. She was still so young. The thought hit him unexpectedly. What would Anya be like as an adult? Would she keep that bright, cheerful spirit? What career would she choose? Would she find someone to love, get married, have a family of her own? I won't be there to see any of it. The realization struck him like a physical blow. He'd only been part of her life for such a short time, but to her, he was Papa. She'd attached herself to him completely, trusted him unconditionally. And when the mission ended... "Loid! Anya!" A familiar voice called out across the park. He turned to see a figure wrapped in a pink coat and chunky white scarf approaching them. Even bundled up against the cold, he recognized her immediately. "Mama!" Anya shrieked with delight, abandoning her game to run toward Yor at full speed. Loid felt his chest tighten—but in a good way. The sight of Yor after a long day had become something he looked forward to without realizing it. When had that happened? When had seeing his fake wife become the highlight of his real day? "Hi!" Yor greeted him with that soft smile that made something warm unfurl in his chest. She caught Anya in a fierce hug. "I was on my way home when I saw you two." "Hi, Yor. Welcome back." He couldn't quite hide how genuinely pleased he was to see her. There was something about Yor's presence that affected him in ways he couldn't categorize. Her voice, the way she moved, the gentle way she interacted with Anya—it all made him feel... what was the word? He'd puzzled over it countless times without success. Calm? Happy? Safe? None of those seemed quite right, but they were close. "How was your day, Anya? Were you a good girl today?" Yor asked, still holding their daughter. "Yes, mama! I was good today!" Anya giggled. "Oh, I know you were good. You're always good." Yor peppered Anya's face with kisses, and Loid found himself shaking his head with fond amusement. Yor really was a doting mother. Anya was lucky to have her. I'm going to miss this. The thought slipped past his mental defenses before he could stop it. Usually, when these dangerous thoughts occurred, he was quick to suppress them, to remind himself that he wasn't really Loid Forger—he was Twilight, a spy on a mission. But this time, something distracted him. "It's snowing!" Anya's delighted exclamation drew his attention upward. Fat white flakes were indeed falling from the darkening sky, catching in the lamplight like tiny stars. Anya extended her small hand to catch them, still secure in Yor's arms. She looked so little clinging to her mother's neck, her eyes absolutely shining with wonder over something as simple as snow. When did I stop noticing things like that? But it wasn't just Anya whose eyes were shining. Yor's gaze was turned skyward too, red eyes sparkling like gemstones as snowflakes caught in her long, dark lashes. She wore her hair down today—he'd always preferred it that way, though he'd never admitted it, even to himself. The cold had painted her cheeks and nose pink, and her lips looked soft and inviting in the lamplight. She's beautiful. He'd always known that, of course. It had been one of the practical reasons he'd chosen her for this arrangement. But seeing her like this, with snowflakes melting in her hair and wonder written across her face... She'd never looked more beautiful. Before he could think, before his analytical mind could intervene, he found himself moving closer. The moment felt suspended, dreamlike. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Anya's forehead. That's normal. Fathers kiss their children. But then, carried away by something he couldn't name, he turned to Yor. He meant to kiss her forehead too—a familial gesture, nothing more. Instead, his lips found hers. Time seemed to stop. He expected her to pull away, to stammer apologies, to hit him the way she might have months ago. Instead, her eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned into the kiss. I should stop. I should pull back and apologize. But he didn't. The snow continued to fall around them, creating a private world of white silence. Anya giggled softly from where she was still nestled in Yor's arms, as if this was exactly what she'd been hoping for. And Loid let himself believe, just for a moment, that this was real. It's part of the mission, he told himself desperately. Kissing my wife maintains our cover. But even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. The mission had nothing to do with the way his heart hammered against his ribs, or the way Yor's lips felt soft and warm against his, or the way everything else in the world seemed to fade away except for this moment, this family, this life he'd built on a foundation of deception. When they finally separated, neither of them spoke. The snow fell heavier now, dusting their shoulders and Anya's hair with white. In the distance, Bond barked happily at the flakes, trying to catch them in his mouth. This isn't real, Loid reminded himself. None of this is real. But as he looked at Yor's flushed face and bright eyes, as he felt Anya's small hand slip into his, he found it increasingly difficult to remember why that mattered. Three to five months. The countdown felt different now. Not like a mission timer, but like a death sentence. Author's Note: Sometimes the most dangerous enemy isn't the one you're hunting—it's the life you accidentally fall in love with while pretending to live it. The snow falls on both truth and lies alike, but which one will Twilight choose to embrace?