Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world didn’t end with fire.
It ended with silence.

Anya Forger had seen too many endings in her years as a WISE agent, but this one felt personal — intimate, like a goodbye she’d been too afraid to say.
The smoke of the capital still rose behind her as she knelt beside Damian Desmond, her gloved hands trembling. She had warned him not to follow her, he never listened. Stubborn as he was, she loved him. Anya squeezed her eyes as tears streamed down her face.

His body was heavy in her arms, his dark hair streaked with ash, his hazel eyes dazed and his uniform torn open at the chest where the shrapnel had struck.

The world around them was burning — governments collapsing, empires falling — but her focus was only on him.
His eyes, still that familiar deep hazel, were fading fast.
“Don’t—” she rasped, pressing her hand over the wound.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Sy-on boy, I told you…say-on.” It was a childish nickname, one she hadn’t said in years, but it broke through the noise of gunfire. Damian’s cracked lips curved faintly, a ghost of his old smirk.

“You still… call me that?” he whispered. His breath came out in a soft laugh that turned into a cough. “You always knew what I was thinking, didn’t you, Forger?”
Her throat tightened. Because yes — she did. She always did.
And in the end, that had been her curse.

He lifted a trembling hand to her cheek, leaving a smear of blood. “Then you know… I wanted… peace.”
The sky fractured above them. The sound that followed was not thunder but something deeper — a tearing of time itself. Anya felt it in her skull first, a static whine that made her vision flicker.

“Damian—”
He smiled, faintly. “Don’t cry. I—Anya” And then the world collapsed. Damian Desmond died with her name on his lips. Anya.

When Anya opened her eyes, she thought she was dead.
Everything was too quiet. No sirens, no screaming. Just… birds.
Her hand shot to her holster — but there was no weapon. No blood.
Only a school uniform. A skirt.

The faint scent of detergent and chalk.
Slowly, she looked around.
Eden Academy.
Her dorm room.

She A half-open window letting in the morning sun.
Her pulse thundered. On the wall, her old Eden schedule was still pinned —

“History with Henderson,” “Etiquette with Murdoch.” The clock ticked softly, and her reflection in the mirror made her heart drop: eighteen-year-old Anya stared back, pink hair messy, eyes wide and disbelieving.
“This isn’t real,” she whispered. “This can’t—”

But the mind-voices came rushing in — too many, too loud. Where’s my lunch? I hate math. Did anyone see my new pen?
She clutched her head.
 Her powers — the ones that had long faded in adulthood — were back.

Her throat went dry.
The war. Damian. His last words.
And then—

A voice outside her window. Familiar, precise, exasperated:
“Becky, hurry up! We’ll be late for assembly— wait, Forger? You’re up early for once?”
Her breath caught.
That voice.

She ran to the window and saw him — Damian Desmond, standing below the dorm balcony, in his immaculate Eden uniform. Perfect posture, perfect hair. Eighteen again. Alive.
For a moment she forgot to breathe.
The sunlight caught on his badge, his eyes, and everything inside her screamed this isn’t possible.

He looked up — and their gazes met.
Anya froze.
Her mind filled instantly with thoughts that didn’t belong to her:
Why is she staring like that? Did I do something? She looks… scared. Did something happen?

Her vision swam. Tears pricked her eyes. He was thinking again — alive and unbroken, teasing her, worrying over her.
“Anya?” he called, frowning now. “Are you okay? You look— weird.”
She forced a shaky smile, her heart thundering. “I— I just had a weird dream.”
“Then stop spacing out,” he muttered, turning away. “You’ll make us late.”

She watched him walk off, her pulse loud in her ears.
A weird dream.
Sure.
But when she lifted her trembling hand, she could still feel the warmth of his

blood on her skin.
And in the faint hum of her telepathy, she swore she heard his older voice whisper again:
You always knew what I was thinking, didn’t you?
The clock struck seven.
And time — for the second time — began.

Chapter Text

The first time Anya saw Damian again in class, she thought she could handle it.
After all, she’d faced assassins, dictators, entire nations collapsing.
She’d learned how to steady her breath under sniper fire.
 But nothing—nothing—prepared her for the sight of him at his desk, turning a pencil between his fingers like nothing had ever happened.
The sunlight fell across his hair, the same gold she remembered, glinting faintly at the edges. He leaned back, half-bored, the picture of young arrogance.
But every time she looked at him, she saw the man he had become—the man who had stood between her and a bullet years later, who had smiled even as the sky broke. Who told her not to cry and smiled in the face of death.
She forced her gaze down to her notebook.
You’re not supposed to cry over a ghost that’s still alive, she reminded herself.
“Miss Forger?” came the clipped tone of Professor Murdoch. “Are you with us?”
Her head snapped up. The whole class was staring at her—Becky’s brows knitted in worry, Damian’s lips curved in something between amusement and concern.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, straightening in her seat.
Damian’s smirk tilted slightly. “Spacing out already, Forger? It’s only first period.”
It was meant as a tease, but his tone held a strange hesitation, like he wasn’t sure why he said it.
Her heart lurched.
Through the faint hum of her telepathy, his thoughts brushed against her consciousness—uncertain, fragmented, like echoes of another life.
Why does she look at me like that? Like she’s about to cry. Did I… do something to her?
She bit her lip hard. The world tilted for a second.
The bell rang, saving her from answering. The classroom filled with chatter as students gathered their things, laughter echoing down the corridor.
Anya stayed seated, waiting for everyone to leave, until she felt a shadow fall across her desk.
“Hey,” Damian said quietly.
He never said hey. Not to her. Not like that.
She looked up. His usual prideful mask was missing; instead, there was a strange seriousness in his face.
“You’ve been acting weird since morning,” he said. “Even for you.”
Anya tried to smile, the kind of childish grin that once got her out of trouble. “Maybe I just missed my breakfast, Sy-on boy.”
The nickname slipped out before she could stop it.
Damian froze. His breath hitched—barely perceptible—but she felt it.
“What did you just call me?” he asked, voice low.
The air between them tightened. Her mind filled with fragments from his thoughts—That name… where did I hear it before? Someone said it once. She said it.
She looked away. “It’s just… a thing I used to call you. You hated it.”
He stared at her, searching her expression.
For a second, she thought he’d remember. For a second, she wanted him to.
Instead, he laughed softly, but there was unease beneath it.
 “Figures. You’ve always been strange, Forger.”
He turned to leave, and her chest ached.
But just before he stepped out the door, he paused.
 His shoulders stiffened, and without turning back, he said quietly, almost to himself:
“ you haven’t called me that in a while….but it feels like you have before….”
Anya’s breath caught. The room seemed to hum with something ancient and impossible.
When he was gone, she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. 
It was happening. He was remembering—slowly, painfully.
And time, it seemed, wasn’t done with either of them yet.

Chapter Text

“ agent starlight, you must avoid that place at all costs-“ “ no ! Handler, Damian ! He’s-I have to save him-“

Anya woke with a start. Beads of precipitation trickled down her neck and body, she felt as if she’d drowned and lost her breath. Her chest heaved, and she realized she was… not in the ruins. Not yet. The pink wallpaper and stuffed toys surrounding her bed told her she was home. The smell of pancakes and Yor’s southern stew wrapped around her like a warm blanket. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe she was safe. But the echo of the explosion, Damian’s last words, and the red-stained sky lingered behind her eyelids, refusing to let her forget.
The handler, Sylvia Sherwood, had forewarned her. But she hadn’t listened. All she could think about was Damian — about saving him.she’d seen it coming. Oh god, she thought with a trembling sigh as she rubbed a hand down her face. She had to speak with the handler. Before that, Anya relished in the comfort of being home. After Operation Strix, everything fell apart. Loid and Yor had been arrested. Damian… stopped speaking to her for a while. And Donovan Desmond would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Damian had always been careful, but she knew even he wouldn’t see the threat coming in time. The forger apartment was just as she’d remembered. Like the coziest day dream one would get into during a boring lecture. Safe. Small, familiar, alive. The apartment was a little smaller than she remembered and there was a lot of the couple and family photos displayed in the living room, she found that weird as her father never used to put those pictures on display if they weren’t expecting anyone. Other than that peculiar detail, the only thing that stayed exactly the same were her “parents”. Loid was sitting on the sofa drinking tea and reading his daily news paper-the Ostania times-while yor was brushing bond’s fur. Anya felt a whirl of emotion clutching her chest, she was overcome with an immense sense of happiness and grief all at once she felt like she was going to explode. This moment unravelling before her eyes ironically felt so real despite it all being an act. Anya meant to say hello but her throat was constricted, she couldn’t speak, She hadn’t seen them in so long. Her throat constricted. Her eyes burned. She was crying — tears of happiness she hadn’t allowed herself in years. Anya had to get to the handler. Loid’s eyebrow dipped into a deep furrow. “ Anya…are you alright ? Why aren’t you ready for school ?” He asked, in a calm tone but his thoughts were the total opposite. Has she experienced something at school ? She came back looking really confused yesterday. It was Loid’s usual panicky thoughts, that much she knew. Anya put on her best smile. “ yes, papa, mama, sorry to worry you ! I’m alright. Just a little tired “ she giggled, the fake giggle and smiles came so casually to her even Anya doubted if she was being genuine or not. That had seemed to ease her parents. They smiled so gently and warmly Anya felt those emotions swelling in her eyes again. She assured her parents that everything was fine and she went to her room to get ready.
——
Anya went to the tranquil alley way, the one her father, the infamous westailis spy, took to enter the WISE safe house. The photo-booth was as she remembered-rusty, small and worn down. Anya scanned her surroundings, ensuring she had not been followed and went inside. She hoped the face scanner would recognise her somehow because when she enlisted in the future WISE inserted some radioactive liquid that can be used to identify WISE agents. She clicked the button and waited as it scanned her face and proceeded the information. ‘Scanning successful’ the screen read and then the ground beneath her went down and she was in the office of Sylvia within seconds. “ good afternoon or perhaps good evening…agent starlight” Sylvia Sherwood’s soft voice said as she turned around to face Anya with an all knowing grin. “ took you long enough, I’ve been waiting for you since you’d been brought back” she continued as she got up from her chair and walked toward the interrogation room. Anya was dumbfounded, Sylvia wasn’t supposed to know that she was agent starlight, Anya had only enlisted a few years later at 20 but she was-no, is eighteen now. “ wait, handler ! How do you know it’s me ? You aren’t supposed to know” Anya said as she strode after the woman. “ You’re here because you failed, Starlight. You and agent midnight failed and you two were sent here as a second chance to stop the war Donovan destroyed is planning. You have to kill Donovan Desmond” Sylvia explained, leaning closer to her over the table. Anya was shaken. Wait, hang on, agent midnight ? Who the fuck was that ? Anya thought as she stared at Sylvia’s awfully amused but mostly serious face. “ agent midnight ? Who’s agent midnight?” Anya asked. Sylvia looked taken aback, “ he hadn’t told you ? Weren’t the two of you together? He’s Damian Desmond” Sylvia said as if it were a known fact. Anya hadn’t known, Damian had failed to inform her. “ why do you think I asked you to avoid that place ? Agent midnight was supposed to be sent to the past to kill his father, Donovan Desmond but then you interfered, agent midnight didn’t seem to be responding so we added you into the plan…project rewind.”
Anya blinked, the handler’s words echoing in her ears like the last ringing note of an explosion.
Damian. Agent Midnight.
Her hands trembled. The name tasted like smoke.
“No… no, that’s not possible,” she whispered, her voice catching on every syllable. “He—he wasn’t supposed to know about WISE. He was Desmond’s son!”
Sylvia’s gaze didn’t waver. “He was Desmond’s son, yes. That’s exactly why he was recruited.” Her tone was low, deliberate. “Who better to infiltrate the family than the heir himself?”
Anya’s mind reeled. Pieces of old memories—shared glances, secret smiles, the faint outline of his hand reaching for hers through rubble—flashed before her eyes. The day of the explosion, he had shouted something she couldn’t hear. Then the blast swallowed them both.
“You’re lying,” Anya said, but her voice lacked conviction.
“I’m not,” Sylvia replied simply. “But there’s more. He was sent back too, same as you. The only difference—” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “—is that he doesn’t remember who he is.”
The words hit harder than any bullet.
Anya stumbled back a step, gripping the edge of the metal table. “He… doesn’t remember?”
“His memories were compromised in transit,” Sylvia continued, turning toward the wall where two screens flickered to life. One displayed Damian—back in his pristine Eden Academy uniform, walking through the gates as though nothing had ever happened. The other showed a red diagnostic scan, brain waves flickering erratically. “His mind rejected the transfer. We managed to anchor your consciousness to your younger self, but his…”
Sylvia trailed off, her eyes softening, as though even she pitied the boy.
“Midnight now believes he’s simply Damian Desmond. The second son of the man you’re meant to kill.”
Anya’s chest tightened painfully. “So he’s—”
“—your target’s son and your partner,” Sylvia finished for her. “And if you fail to make him remember before the war begins again, he will become exactly what we both fear.”
Anya’s voice came out as a whisper. “His father.”
Silence. The kind that filled your lungs until you couldn’t breathe.
Sylvia finally spoke, tone quiet but urgent. “You’ve been given another chance, Agent Starlight. Don’t waste it this time.”

Chapter Text

“ Anya ! Stop your hair is tickling me !” Damian laughed as Anya continued snuggling even closer to his chest. “No !
Sy-on ! You’re so cozy!” Anya giggled as she secretly immersed herself in the comforting scent of him-pinewood and cedar.

“ Damian, I-I have this mission at the city square tomorrow and I want you to stay at home, okay ? Don’t follow me or attempt to follow me” Anya murmured as she covered her face in Damian’s neck.

His breath caught whether because she called him by his name, which she hadn’t done since Eden, or because…there was something he wasn’t telling her.

“ Anya…I have to tell you something, It’s not that I didn’t want you to know, it’s just…I didn’t know how to tell you.”

She pulled back slightly, searching his face. His eyes were distant, like he was somewhere else entirely.

“What is it?” she whispered.
He exhaled slowly, brushing his thumb across her jaw.

“ Anya…I am-I am- ms forger ?” He said and Anya scrunched her face in confusion. “ ms forger!” Said a voice that was deeper and older.

Anya sprang up from her seat, as soon as she awoke, the smell of wood and papers filled her senses bringing her back to harsh reality. She was at school, at Henderson’s history class. Anya stifled a sigh and muttered apologies.

Anya’s heart was still racing as Henderson droned on about the founding of Ostania.

The sunlight filtering through the classroom windows felt too bright, too sharp.

For a fleeting moment, she could still feel Damian’s warmth — his laugh, his scent, that weightless moment where the world wasn’t falling apart.
But now, all she saw was his back.
Perfect posture. Neat uniform. Sitting two rows ahead of her like a memory she couldn’t touch.

She took a slow breath, forcing her heartbeat to settle. It was a dream, she told herself. Just a dream. But why did it feel so real?

The voice in her head — the familiar hum of thoughts around her — refused to quiet.
Did I bring my homework?
I wonder what’s for lunch…
Damian looks tired today.
That last thought wasn’t hers. It came from Becky.

Anya’s eyes flickered toward him.
He did look tired — a faint shadow under his eyes, his usual sharp focus softened.

She couldn’t help the ache that pressed at her ribs.

The Damian she’d held in her arms — the man who had whispered don’t cry before the world ended — was gone.

And yet… here he was. Breathing. Laughing sometimes. Completely unaware of everything they’d once been.

When the bell rang, Anya gathered her things mechanically. Becky was talking about some new boutique, her words distant in the haze of Anya’s thoughts.

Outside, the courtyard was loud with chatter and footsteps. The smell of spring flowers and chalk dust hung in the air.

Anya’s communicator — disguised as an ordinary wristwatch — blinked once, faintly. A coded signal.
She ducked into a quieter hallway, pressed her thumb against the watch’s edge, and whispered, “Starlight, checking in.”

Sylvia’s voice came through, calm but edged with that unmistakable gravity.
“Observation update, Agent Starlight?”
Anya exhaled.

“Desmond remains stable. Still no memory retention.”

“Good. Keep it that way. He can’t know who he is yet. Focus on your mission — intelligence gathering around Donovan’s associates at the city square. You have twenty-four hours.”
Then the signal cut.

Anya lowered her wrist. He can’t know who he is yet. The words stung more than she expected. A part of her wanted him to know, wanted him to come to her and tell her everything will be alright and to embrace her until she fell asleep in his arms.

Lunch came and went. Damian sat at his usual table with Ewen and Emile, the two laughing over something she couldn’t quite hear.

Anya sat with Becky but couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting.
Every now and then, their gazes met — quick, unspoken, like the pull of a tide. Damian would look away first, a faint frown on his face.

It wasn’t dislike. It was confusion. The same kind that haunted Anya.

Her telepathy, uncontrolled, brushed briefly against his mind — and what she heard made her fingers tremble on her tray.
Why does she keep looking at me like that?
It’s like she knows me…

…but that’s impossible.

She pulled back instantly, heart pounding.
It wasn’t fair — that she remembered everything, while he didn’t even know why her laugh made his chest tighten.

After classes, Anya walked through the garden path toward the dorms.

The wind carried the soft scent of roses, the same as it had the day before the war — that tiny, irrelevant detail that now felt like fate mocking her.

She stopped near the fountain, staring at the rippling water. Her reflection looked younger, smaller, but her eyes — those were still the same eyes that had seen cities burn.
Her hand curled into a fist. I can’t fail again.

“Hey,” a voice called from behind her.
She turned. Damian stood there, a hesitant half-smile tugging at his mouth.

“You dropped this,” he said, holding out a folded piece of paper — her assignment, probably fallen from her bag.

“Oh. Thanks,” she mumbled, taking it. Their fingers brushed — just slightly — and for one dizzying second, her mind filled with

overlapping flashes.
Blood. Fire. His hand reaching for hers.
Then it was gone.

Damian blinked, shaking his head faintly. “Weird,” he muttered. “Felt like déjà vu.”

Anya’s throat tightened. She forced a laugh. “You’re imagining things, Sy—Damian.”
He frowned at her, puzzled by the way she almost said it — Sy-on boy.
“Right…” he said slowly. “Anyway, try not to fall asleep in class again. Henderson nearly gave you a demerit for your inelegance.” He said in a mock Henderson tone.

He walked off, leaving her standing there with her pulse thrumming painfully.

That night, Anya sat by her dorm window, the city lights glimmering far beyond the Academy gates.

She stared at the faint glow of the communicator on her wrist, then down at the note Damian had unknowingly dropped earlier — doodles, equations, and one sentence scribbled in the corner in his handwriting:

“I keep dreaming of a place I can’t remember.”

Anya’s breath caught.
Because she knew exactly what place that was.

And for the first time since she’d come back, she wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to save him…
or remember him.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun spilled across Eden’s courtyard, painting everything in gold.

Birds fluttered over the fountain, laughter echoed faintly from the field, and for the first time in days, Anya almost forgot she was supposed to be Agent Starlight.

Almost.

Her communicator pulsed once on her wrist — a faint green flash that looked harmless enough to anyone else.

She glanced at it under her sleeve.
MISSION ALERT: Unauthorized data transmission detected near Eden Academy perimeter. Suspect proximity: 200 meters.

Her heart skipped.

That was way too close.
Anya rose from her bench, slipping her book into her bag.

She made sure her steps looked casual as she crossed the courtyard, pretending to look at the sky.

Her telepathy stretched outward like a ripple — dozens of thoughts flooding in:

I’m so hungry.
Homework, homework, homework.
Damian’s handwriting is perfect as always.
Then—
Target acquired. Upload sequence beginning in—

Her breath caught. That voice wasn’t a student. It came from beyond the east fence — where the maintenance shed and loading trucks usually parked.

Anya picked up her pace. Just a quick scan, she told herself. No need to panic. If she played it right, no one would ever—

“Hey, Forger!”

She froze.
Of course.

Damian was walking toward her, hands in his pockets, looking impossibly distracting and annoyingly good in sunlight. His eyes resembled molten honey.

“What are you doing near the fence?” he asked. “Trying to skip detention again?”

Anya blinked rapidly. “N-no! I was just—uh—getting some fresh air!”

He frowned, clearly not convinced. “Right. Because out of all places, the storage yard is the best spot to breathe?”

Anya bit her lip. “You sound like my father.” She deadpanned and
that earned her a faint smirk.

“Well, someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

Before she could argue, her communicator buzzed again, sharper this time.
Signal spike: immediate vicinity.
Her pulse raced.

“Damian—” she began, but too late. A faint click sounded from behind the fence, followed by a burst of static.

Her instincts kicked in. She grabbed his arm, shoving him down just as a tiny drone zipped past where his head had been.

They hit the grass in a tangled heap.
Damian blinked up at her, stunned, his breath caught between confusion and disbelief. Their faces inches apart.

“What the hell was that?!”
Anya forced a shaky smile.

“A…bird?”

He stared at her. “That was not a bird, Forger!”

“Okay, fine! Maybe…a weird flying toy! Someone probably lost control of it!” She scrambled to her feet, brushing grass from her skirt.

The drone was gone now — vanished into the sky as if it had never existed.

“Are you okay?” she asked, turning back to him.

Damian was still on the ground, blinking up at her. “You literally tackled me to the dirt, Forger. I think my pride’s the only thing bruised.”

Anya couldn’t help it — she giggled. “You’re welcome, then.”

He huffed a laugh, standing and brushing himself off.

“You’re impossible.”
But as she looked at him — that faint crease in his brow, the worry hidden beneath sarcasm — her heart softened.

This version of him wasn’t the war-hardened agent she remembered.

He was innocent. Still whole. Still the boy who didn’t yet know what the world could take from him.

“Seriously,” Damian said after a pause, lowering his voice.

“That thing could’ve hurt someone. You sure you’re okay?”

Anya nodded quickly. “I’m fine. I’ve had…practice.”
He looked at her curiously. “Practice?”
“Uh, from dodgeball,” she said lamely. “I’m really good at… dodging stuff.”

He gave her a look that said I don’t believe you for a second but didn’t press further.
They started walking back toward the main courtyard.

The air between them was lighter now — quiet, comfortable, their shoulders brushing every now and then.

“Thanks,” Damian said suddenly.
Anya blinked. “For what?”

“For pushing me out of the way.” He glanced aside, the faintest color rising in his cheeks.

“Even if your methods are… unconventional.”
She smiled, small and genuine. “Anytime, Sy—” She stopped herself. “—Damian.”

He tilted his head slightly at the near-slip, as if recognizing something familiar in her tone but unable to name it.

“You’re weird, Forger,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now. “But… I don’t mind it.”

Later that night, back in her dorm, Anya sat by the window, watching the moonlight spill across her desk.

Her communicator blinked once — mission report confirmed. The drone had been a surveillance prototype, one linked to a Desmond subsidiary.

It had been scanning Eden’s network.
A minor threat, Sylvia had called it.

But to Anya, it felt like a warning.
She looked down at her hands — the same ones that had once failed to save him.

Then she thought of his laugh, the way his eyes softened when he thanked her.

Maybe, she thought, saving him this time didn’t have to mean fighting.
Maybe it just meant… being here.

Her mind brushed faintly across the threads of thought outside — sleepy students, lazy dreams, and one particular voice, quiet, uncertain:

Why do I keep thinking about her?
Anya smiled faintly.

Goodnight, Sy-on boy, she whispered silently.

And for the first time since coming back, she didn’t dream of the world crumbling before her eyes.

Chapter Text

Anya sat at her desk, chin in her hands, staring at the neat curve of Damian’s
handwriting two rows ahead.

He was focused as always — posture perfect, hair gleaming in the sunlight.

Every now and then, he’d glance at his notes, bite his lip, or tilt his head slightly when he didn’t understand something.

The little habits she had forgotten she remembered.

It was strange, she thought, how alive he looked.
How ordinary this all was — the sound of pencils scratching, Becky whispering beside her, the rustle of uniforms.

How could the world she remembered — burning skies, collapsing walls — have ever existed if this was real?

She lowered her gaze. Maybe that was the cruelest part of time. It let her see him again, but not touch what they’d lost.

“Anya.”

She blinked up. Becky was staring at her. “You’ve been spacing out again! You were literally staring at Damian for like five minutes.”

Anya nearly fell out of her chair. “Wha—No! I was just…studying his handwriting!”
Becky raised an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh. Totally normal behavior.”
Across the room, Damian looked back, puzzled.

His eyes met hers for the briefest second before she jerked her gaze away.

Her heart fluttered.
She could almost hear his voice from another time — older, wearier.

You never did learn how to hide your thoughts, Anya.
She swallowed hard and looked back down at her notes. I have to focus. No distractions.

But her pen trembled.

That afternoon, she found herself wandering to the courtyard again.

The fountain glimmered under the sun, the same spot where they’d been almost hit by that drone yesterday.

Damian was already there, seated on the edge of the fountain, a book open on his lap. When he looked up, his expression softened.

“You survived detention, Forger.”
She made a face. “Barely. Mr. Henderson lectured me for twenty minutes about ‘elegance.’”

He chuckled. “That sounds like you.”
“Hey!”

He grinned, then gestured for her to sit beside him. She hesitated, then did.

For a moment, neither spoke. The sounds of the academy — laughter, footsteps, wind rustling through the trees — filled the silence between them.

Finally, Damian said, “You really weren’t scared yesterday, huh?”
Anya blinked. “Scared?”

“When that-that thing almost hit us. You just pushed me out of the way like it was nothing.”

She looked down at her hands. “I’ve…had practice,” she said softly.

There it was again — that hint of mystery that tugged at him.
“You talk like you’ve seen things,” he murmured. “Like you know more than you should.”

Her throat tightened. Because I do.
But she just smiled faintly. “Maybe I’m just really good at guessing.”

Damian shook his head, amused, but there was curiosity in his eyes — the kind that used to get him in trouble.

He sighed and leaned back, looking at the sky. “You’re strange, Forger.”
She smiled a little. “You said that yesterday.”
“I meant it both days.”

She laughed, and for a heartbeat, it felt normal.

The sunlight on his hair, the faint breeze, the way he looked at her like she wasn’t a stranger.

But as his gaze lingered, something in her chest twisted — guilt, longing, fear.
He didn’t remember the world she’d lost. The lives. Their life.

And she couldn’t tell him.
If she did, he’d never smile like this again.

That night, as the moon climbed over the dorm roof, Anya lay awake, listening to the quiet hum of the night.

Her communicator blinked once. Report pending: drone incident contained. Civilian suspect apprehended. No exposure detected.

She exhaled slowly. It should have felt like victory — mission accomplished, threat neutralized.

But instead, her mind kept drifting back to Damian’s laugh by the fountain.

The warmth in his voice.
The way he said her name.
And for the first time, she wondered —
If saving the world again meant losing him all over,
could she really do it?

Chapter Text

ANYA

That day, Anya finally decided she couldn’t stay stuck in her Eden dorm for another second.

She needed a break from classes, missions, and the constant pretending and even Damian, it hurt her so much that he couldn’t remember the life that they had, all the memories, them. She desperately wanted him to remember. More than anything,

she wanted to see her parents. She hadn’t spent any real time with them since coming back to the past—the last time she saw them, she immediately left for school without acknowledging them, her heart always somewhere between this timeline and the last.

She missed them. Badly. The thought alone made her chest tighten with an ache she

never quite got used to.
Anya stepped onto the quiet stone path leading out of Eden, exhaling into the crisp morning air.

That was when she heard it.
There you are Agent Starlight. Thank goodness.

She froze.
That thought—smug, scratchy, and absolutely infuriating—could only belong to one person. She turned slowly, her eye twitching in anticipation.
George. Freaking. Glooman.

One of the office staff back at HQ. An annoying, nosy buzzard of a man who always found a way to be in the middle of everyone’s business.

Anya blinked. George? Here? That didn’t make sense. He was supposed to be undercover back or rather in the future in####. Undercover, as in not

walking around Eden tailing like a caffeinated moron.
Her jaw clenched. You’ve got to be kidding me.

Without wasting another second, Anya lifted her wrist and brought her watch-communicator close to her mouth, keeping her eyes locked on where she heard his thoughts from.

“Officer—” she paused, because the codename was ridiculous and always would be, “—GuArt, this is Agent Starlight. Stairwell rendezvous. Now. Over.”
Static crackled, then the reply came almost instantly.

“Roger. And I heard that snort, Starli—”
She cut the feed with a firm tap before he could finish embarrassing himself—or her.
Anya lowered her wrist and exhaled sharply.

What the hell was Glooman doing here? And why did she suddenly have that sinking feeling that her peaceful trip home was about to turn into a mission she never asked for?

“ hey ! Starlight !-“ Anya cut him off with a hard smack on the head. “ what do you want now, guart ? And make it quick” Anya hissed, all humour lost from her tone.

“ heh, you weren’t this cold when you were eighteen, you know, you were sunshine incarnate-“ Anya interrupted him with a scoff “-but anyway, I came to warn you about what happened with the drone, so apparently it’s someone from the future trying to sabotage WISE, which is also why I’m here to inform you and not Sylvia ‘cause she couldn’t reach you. Apparently the drone affected the network connection of WISE” he continued.

Anya stepped back until her back hit the wall of the stairwell. Shit, that was why Sylvia didn’t contact me afterward-didn’t contact me for the whole week, Anya had been completely preoccupied with thoughts of Damian and herself she completely forgot about Sylvia and the mission.

Anya dragged a hand down her face.
“Fine,” she muttered, straightening. “Tell me everything you know. Then you leave. I have somewhere to be.”

GuArt blinked. “Your parents?”
The words hit her harder than she expected. She didn’t answer, and he seemed to get the message.

He softened — for once. “Look, Starlight… just be careful. Whoever’s behind that drone isn’t just playing. They knew where and when to hit. Someone is tampering with timelines. Multiple threads, multiple consequences. If WISE loses control of the network, we lose our future. And you—”

He stopped himself.
Anya’s eyes narrowed. “Me what?”

GuArt exhaled a breath, “ you know what” and he left. All Anya could hear was what he didn’t say, if you don’t focus, we loose everything and you loose Damian.

She gritted her teeth, eyes burning as she stepped outside the stairwell and crashed into something-someone-hard.

She rubbed her head, “ watch where you’re-“ the words died on her tongue as she saw the person before her, his smirk infuriating but never failed to make her stomach flutter. It was Damian Desmond. Of all people.“ Damian. Hey” she said, hoping she sounded like her cheery eighteen year old self.

DAMIAN

Damian couldn’t speak. He was at a loose for words before her-he always was but this-this was different. He could feel it in his bones, something was pulling him toward her, he couldn’t name it.

He felt so familiar with her, which was odd considering they haven’t spoken much since the incident at the gala, Damian couldn’t understand how she could still speak to him after all that.

That was also why he was quite confused when she started acknowledging him these past few weeks, especially with that odd flying object.

Odd flying object. Oh, oh-he recognised it, from one of his father’s books in the Desmond library archives.

He watched as Anya tilted her head-her pink hair falling from her shoulders, and green eyes devoid of its usual impishness. She wore a tight smile which made his chest ache with a feeling he dared not name.

Damian finally cleared his throat and ran a hand down his hair, regaining equanimity. “Anya. I wanted to…apologise for how I behaved at the end of term gala. I’m truly sorry.” Damian blurted and squeezed his eyes shut as if bracing himself to be slapped.

ANYA

Anya stared at him, end of gala-oh-right she was supposed to be mad at him.

You’re a real peasant that shouldn’t even be here in the first place, get out of my sight.

That sentence hit her like a blow. Anya often forgot about uncomfortable feelings she’d felt in the past but this-that-she would always remember-his hands on her shoulders shaking her and screaming at her.
It wasn’t the Damian she got to know over the years-the one that braided her hair, kissed her like there’s no tomorrow.

She missed him so much.

Anya found it difficult to look at the Damian before he now, after she remembered the incident. It was as if both Damian’s she knew were two different people perhaps they are-one is older, better version of himself,the other, younger and not well developed version. One version broke her the other healed her.

Anya sighed, her shoulders slumped as she tried to relax and keep her emotions in check-which was hard as her teenage hormones weren’t in check.

“ it’s alright, Damian.” She said softly, eyeing the dark locks of his hair and looking anywhere but into his gold eyes. She felt him step forward, reaching to tuck a fallen strand of hair but immediately retracted his hands. “If there-if there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way” she said and turned to leave but she felt a tug on her sleeve.

“ Anya, please, we were talking just fine these past few weeks. Don’t pull away now.” Damian pleaded, something in Anya cracked at that. She wasn’t here to be upset with him, she was here to save the world, save him-help him remember everything.

Anya took his hand from her sleeve, she clutched it for a while before dropping it at his side. She closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. “ Damian…I just need a little time to process everything. I’ve been dealing with a lot. Okay ?” She said as she finally looked into his eyes, she almost fell over by the sheer beauty of them.

The sheer beauty of him.

Damian shook his head and let out a self deprecating laugh. “ yeah-of course. I’ll leave you now.” He said as he reached for her hand and kissed her fingers. Anya’s eyes widened-in the future, he always did that before saying goodbye. Damian dropped her hand as if it burned him.

“ uh-sorry-I don’t know what came under-uh-over me ! I’m going to go now, bye-bye Anya !” He laughed as he quickened his pace, heading to the Eden dorms.

Anya stood there and watched as his form became tinier as he went farther away. When he was far enough, she burst into laughter-forgetting about everything, and remembering his face as he said “bye-bye Anya” and the way he got so flustered. Anya then gathered herself, regaining her cool composure of a WISE agent, she should focus but oh was she having fun.

The bus took longer than usual. Anya didn’t have a watch to check the time. She sighed as she slumped further into her seat-focusing on an unusual rock on the ground.

“ hey,kid do you know when the bus is coming’” an old lady asked as she pointed her walking stick threateningly at Anya.

Anya raised her hands in surrender, “ uh…I’m not sure mam” Anya replied meekly as she heard loud thoughts from the lady’s mind.

Hello### or shall### I say #### starlight ?

Anya’s face turned to stone, her body was immobile while her thoughts raced a thousand miles per second.

Were her powers just flickering ? Anya slowly turned her head to the lady and…

Chapter Text

Anya’s gown shimmered like liquid starlight as she stepped into the banquet hall, sequins catching every flicker from the massive chandelier above.

The place looked straight out of a fairy tale—crystal glasses clinking, golden light spilling over polished floors, students laughing way too loudly, and teachers pretending not to notice the “definitely not champagne” in the punch bowl.

Loid had surprised her with the gown after she earned her latest Stella—second to last before graduation. She’d screamed, obviously. The dress wasn’t just pretty—it was divine, like it had been spun from moonlight and a little bit of smug pride.

For once, her dad’s thoughts weren’t full of spy nonsense or mission codes. Just one soft, normal thought: She deserves a night to just be happy.
And she really wanted to be happy—except her heart was doing backflips.
For the first time ever, Anya Forger was nervous. She’d been wanting to ask Sy-on boy to dance all evening, but of course he was being his usual dramatic, stubborn self.

His mind said one thing, his mouth said the opposite, and yet—she knew.She just knew he wanted to dance with her. Maybe even more than she wanted to dance with him.

…Or maybe she was just being an idiot. Because Damian Desmond was currently surrounded by a swarm of girls. Pretty ones, too. The kind who laughed at everything he said and touched his arm like it was made of gold. They clung to him like ivy to a wall, and Anya’s stomach dropped like a rock.
She couldn’t exactly blame them, though. Damian was—ugh—annoyingly attractive.

Captain of the football team, Imperial Scholar, perfect hair, stupidly nice suit… tall, confident, sharp-jawed, dreamy. Gross. She was getting carried away again.
Anya puffed out her cheeks, scanning the glittering room. And then—

“Anya! There you are!”
A blur of sparkles and perfume crashed into her—Becky, of course—pulling her into a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of her. Becky looked like she’d stepped off a runway, her curls bouncing as she pulled back, instantly frowning.

“Anya, what’s wrong? You look like you just found out math class got extended an hour.”

Anya hesitated, her voice small. “It’s just… Becky, I want to ask Damian to dance.”
Becky blinked. Then she slowly leaned back, eyes wide, before gasping like Anya had confessed to committing treason.

“WHY?!” she shrieked, clutching her pearls (okay, fake pearls, but still). “Anya, babe, I love you, but that boy has the emotional range of a breadstick!”
Anya groaned, pressing her face into her hands.

“I know! But I just… I don’t know, I feel like if I don’t do it tonight, I’ll regret it forever.”
Becky sighed, throwing her arm dramatically around Anya’s shoulders. “Fine.

But if you faint or he says something stupid, I’m dragging you straight to the dessert table. Deal?”
Anya giggled despite herself. “Deal.”

Anya giggled despite herself. “Deal.” “ oh ! And step on his toes, they’re useless like the rest of him” Becky threw over her shoulder as she was approached by random guys.

For political purposes, of course. And just like that, under the soft golden lights and the sound of a slow, romantic song starting up, Anya took a deep breath. Maybe—just maybe—it was time to be brave. Anya didn’t remember when she actually started liking Damian, she reckoned it was in third grade where he gave her one of his pens during the exam when no one gave her any, but deep down, she knew it was long before that, before she even understood what it meant to like a boy.

She didn’t know when she started walking, her legs were carrying her at their own accord, her heart thrummed with each step like a dance, a nerve racking dance with risky moves.

As she approached the swarm of girls surrounding Damian, his gaze locked with hers the instant she approached, suddenly it was just the two of them in that banquet hall, suddenly it was them back in art class where Anya gave up her poor impression of bond to be paired with Damian’s petrifying griffin model. Anya’s lips curled and she only hoped she was smiling and not just showing him her teeth.

He didn’t smile back, he just looked at her like he was seeing a person for the first time in his life.

He closed his eyes briefly and averted his gaze to the girl in front of-blonde, green eyed, sophisticated-everything Anya wasn’t and wouldn’t be. She didn’t let that stop her, Anya known for being stubborn, every time she was told to finish her history homework she just wouldn’t do it, despite being reminded or reprimanded, at least she was consistent.

As she walked closer to the crowd, whispers started going around all the same “ look it’s the forger girl approaching Desmond” nothing new there.

The crowd of girls automatically parted at the sight of her, some girls were persistent and some girls were simply intimidated.

The girl Damian was talking to regarded her like the dirt stuck on her shoe as she wrapped her arm around Damian as if he were her prize.

Damian continued staring at her, his right eyebrow arched and eyes feigning boredom. She stood toe to toe with him, staring up at him with iron determination as he looked at her blankly.

The small part of her, the one that told her not to do this, was laughing so hard Anya thought it was not in her head. “ what do you want, forger ?” Damian said, his voice smooth and impatient, as though the mere presence of her irked his very being. Yeah, this was a terrible idea but she was too late to retreat.

Anya swallowed hard. “I—uh—I wanted to ask if you’d dance with me,” she said, her voice wobbling like a baby deer on roller skates.
For a split second, the whole world went silent. Even the orchestra seemed to pause, violins hovering mid-note.

Damian blinked, stunned—and then his lips curled, not in that shy, almost-soft way he sometimes looked at her in class, but in the kind of smirk that could slice glass.

The blonde girl beside him giggled, the fake kind that made Anya’s skin crawl.
“Dance with you?” Damian said, his tone sharp with disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Forger. This isn’t one of your little… games.”

A few people snorted. Someone whispered, “Oh my god, she actually asked him?” Another laugh echoed from somewhere in the crowd.
Anya felt her face go hot, her stomach twisting. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Damian’s expression faltered for the tiniest moment—barely noticeable—before he turned away.
“I’m busy,” he muttered, voice lower now, like he was trying to make it sound less cruel.

But the damage was already done.
The laughter around her was sharp and echoing. Her heart cracked right down the middle.

“Right,” she whispered, forcing a tiny smile that hurt worse than crying. “Of course. Sorry for wasting your precioustime.”

And before anyone could say another word, Anya turned and bolted.
Her heels clicked furiously against the marble, her vision blurring. She pushed past couples, waiters, golden curtains—anything and everything—until the heavy ballroom doors slammed shut behind her.

The night air hit her like a splash of cold water. She stumbled into the gardens,
the sound of the party muffled behind her. Fairy lights glowed in the hedges, and the fountain shimmered under the moonlight, but none of it felt beautiful anymore.

Anya pressed her hands to her face, breath shaking. Her mascara stung her eyes, and the silver sequins on her dress blurred through her tears.
Why did I do that? she thought miserably. Why did I ever think he’d say yes?
She sank down onto a stone bench, her shoulders trembling.

The distant

laughter from the hall was replaced by the chirp of crickets and the quiet hum of the fountain.
And then—footsteps.

She froze.
“Anya.”

His voice was low, uncertain.
She didn’t look up. “What, come to laugh some more? Or to tell me you didn’t mean it, because that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Damian exhaled, the sound tight. “No. I just—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have run off like that.”
Anya laughed bitterly, blinking through the blur.

“Why not? I already embarrassed myself in front of half the school. Might as well make a dramatic exit.”
He flinched. “That’s not what I wanted to happen.”
“Oh really?” She shot him a glare, finally looking up—and oh, he looked wrecked. The confident, perfect Damian Desmond looked like someone had knocked the wind out of him.

“Then what did you want to happen, huh? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were having a great time.”
“I just—” He faltered again, his voice softer now, almost guilty. “People were watching. I didn’t want to—”

“To what?” Anya snapped. “Be seen dancing with me?”
He opened his mouth, but no words came.
The silence between them stretched, filled only by the sound of the fountain and the faint hum of music from inside.

Anya shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks. “You know, you didn’t have to humiliate me. You could’ve just said no.”

Damian took a step closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know.”
Anya stood, the silver fabric of her gown rippling under the moonlight. “Then why did you?”

He looked at her—really looked—and for once, there was no arrogance, no smirk. Just regret. “Because I’m an idiot.”
Anya blinked, stunned, but before she could respond, the ballroom doors opened again and a burst of laughter echoed into the gardens. Damian glanced back, then at her, then back again.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said quietly.
Anya gave a watery laugh, brushing her tears away. “Good luck with that, Sy-on boy.”

He smiled faintly—the smallest, saddest smile—and for a moment, under the moonlight and music, neither of them said anything else.
The night carried on inside without them, but out here, it felt like time had slowed, just two people standing in the quiet ache between pride and apology. But, many years later, Anya did end up forgiving him and they were happy, until…

————————————-

The van jolted violently, and Anya’s head smacked against the cold metal floor. Stars danced behind her closed eyelids. When she tried to sit up, leather cuffs bit into her wrists, preventing her movement. The interior smelled of antiseptic and metal, a sharp, sour scent that made her stomach turn.

The van finally stopped with a screech. The rear doors swung open, and light flooded in. Anya’s first instinct was to bolt—but the restraints, though loose enough for movement, weren’t to be underestimated.

She tested them quietly, flexing her fingers and let the ripple of her power weaken the strength of the cuffs. A little trick she thought herself. The cuffs clicked, freeing her. Her pulse spiked. There was a small opening in the van, are these people stupid or what ? She crouched low and easily slipped through the opening.

Her memory flickered—the old lady at the bus stop, the weird static in her head, her powers sparking like bad Wi-Fi—and then, nothing. She didn’t even remember the lady even moving toward her. Rookie mistake, starlight.

She brushed off her skirt and crept forward, keeping to the shadow of a half-collapsed wall. The only structure still standing looked almost too perfect: white, gleaming, sterile. It was like someone had dropped a hospital in the middle of a ghost town.

The walls shimmered faintly under the floodlights. Cameras lined the perimeter like vultures. Cold, mechanical eyes watching.
Anya squinted. Of course. Donovan’s aesthetic: Cold, expensive, and soul-crushing.

“How am I supposed to get past all those cameras?” she muttered.
Then her gaze landed on a dented trash can a few feet away.
Her lips twitched. “...No way.”
Cut to: Anya Forger, top agent of WISE , crawling into a garbage bin. It smelled like rust and old noodles.

“Ugh—ew—if I get tetanus, I’m suing someone,” she grumbled, curling into a ball. Then she used her legs to push, rolling herself closer to the back wall like some deranged raccoon.

The metal groaned, echoing in the dead air.
When she finally stopped, she cracked the lid open just enough to peek out.
No guards. No movement. The cameras here were… dismantled. Wires dangling like someone had gotten to them first.
Her heart skipped. Weird. And not the good kind of weird.
She slipped out of the bin, brushing dust off her gown—Loid was going to have an aneurysm when he saw the dry-cleaning bill—and tiptoed toward the back door.

That’s when she heard footsteps.
Soft. Careful. Not the “I’m a guard doing my rounds” kind. More like “I know exactly where you’re going, kid.”

Anya spun, blade already in hand—the one she kept hidden in her sock (because you never know when you might need to stab someone).
The figure stepped into the light.
The old lady.

Anya’s grip tightened. “You!”
The woman just smiled. Then, before Anya could blink, she reached up and ripped off her face.

The illusion peeled away like smoke. The wrinkles vanished, the stooped posture straightened—and beneath it all was long red hair, sharp eyes, and an all-too-familiar smirk.

“Sylvia?!” Anya hissed.
“In the flesh,” Sylvia Sherwood said, flicking a strand of hair out of her face. “No need for the dramatics, Starlight. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be compost.”

Anya stared, completely unimpressed. “Wow. Comforting.”
Sylvia’s smirk deepened. “We’re the ones who cleared your path. Cameras disabled, guards rerouted. You really think you made it this far on your own?”

Anya blinked. “So… you kidnapped me for fun?”
Sylvia raised an eyebrow. “It was a controlled extraction and I couldn’t contact you through your communication device.”
“Right,” Anya said dryly, crossing her arms. “Next time, maybe try sending a text instead of a tranquilizer.”

Sylvia gave a non committal hum at that. Sylvia’s gaze flicked toward the glowing doors ahead—the facility’s interior pulsing with sterile white light. Her tone shifted, low and serious. “You’re inside the Desmond Facility. Donovan’s newest project where he is working on his plan that’s supposed to take place in the future-the bombing.He’s already here, somewhere inside. You have to find out what he means to do or at least how he plans to execute the bombing.”

Anya felt her heart drop at that. The memories of Damian bloody on her lap came to mind, the way she saw the life leave his eyes. She exhaled, putting away all the pent up grief she prevented herself from releasing. If she wants to save Damian and the world, she has to pull herself together.

“ I’m going in Sylvia.” She said in a cool, detached tone. She was 20 years old Agent starlight again. “ be careful, starlight” Sylvia muttered, and Anya didn’t have to look back to know that she was gone.

The hallways hummed. Not the comforting hum of electricity, but something deeper—mechanical, pulsing beneath the floor like the building itself had a heartbeat.

Anya’s shoes barely made a sound against the pristine tiles as she moved through the corridor, sticking to the edges where she could hide in the shadows. The air smelled sterile, like bleach and cold metal, the kind of scent that promised nothing good ever happened here, the smell was familiar to her.
Her eden uniform was the worst thing to be wearing in a situation like this, couldn’t Sylvia have warned her before hand ?

She pressed her back to the wall as a pair of guards passed, their boots synchronized like machines. Their minds were blank—too blank. Trained suppression. Whoever they were, they’d been conditioned not to think too much.
Classic Donovan move.

Her stomach twisted. She shouldn’t even be here—alone, underdressed, half-blind without her telepathy at full power—but if she turned back now, she’d never forgive herself. WISE would never forgive her and her parents-god her parents.

The corridor opened up into a large observation hall, windows spanning floor to ceiling. Beyond the glass, rows of machinery blinked with life—massive drones hanging from mechanical arms, tanks filled with shimmering fluid, and test subjects floating in suspension pods like ghosts trapped in light.
Her breath hitched. No way. This tech—it’s too advanced. Not for this time period.

She stepped closer, pressing her hand against the cold glass. One of the machines bore the Desmond crest etched faintly across its side.
Then she heard it—his voice.

Deep. Controlled. Every syllable deliberate, carrying that same unnerving calm she’d grown up fearing through headlines and secret briefings and sometimes through her father’s and Damian’s minds.

Donovan Desmond.

Anya ducked low, slipping behind a control panel, heart pounding against her ribs. Through the glass, she could see him standing in a white lab coat, arms clasped behind his back. A lab technician beside him nervously adjusted their clipboard.

“The prototype exceeded expectations,” the tech stammered. “But the signal interference—it reacted strangely near Eden Academy.”
Donovan hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting. So proximity to certain individuals triggers instability.”

He turned slightly, his sharp profile visible beneath the harsh fluorescent light. “Perhaps it recognizes its target.”
The technician hesitated. “You mean the boy—?”
“—my son.”

Anya’s nails dug into her palm. Her chest felt tight, her pulse deafening in her ears.

“The boy will play his role,” Donovan continued. “As will she. The anomaly. The one WISE tried so hard to hide.”
Anya froze.

“If the timelines are truly fractured,” Donovan said, “then she doesn’t belong here. And if she continues to interfere… the reset must happen.”
The technician’s hands trembled. “And the others, sir? The agents sent from—”
“Dispose of them.”

A low hum started to rise in the room—machines coming online. The drones hanging above shifted, their sensors glowing a soft crimson.
Anya’s every instinct screamed to move.

She backed away quietly, her mind spinning. He knows. He knows about me—about the time split. Her vision swam for a second. She needed Sylvia—no, she needed to get out.

A soft scuff of a shoe behind her.
Anya turned sharply, blade flashing out—

“Woah—!”
The blade stopped an inch from Damian’s throat.
He looked just as startled as she felt—hair mussed, tie undone, chest heaving like he’d been running.
“Damian?!” she whispered harshly. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I—uh—followed you,” he blurted, then winced. “Okay, that sounds bad, but you vanished from the bus stop and there was this van and—just—what is this place?”

Anya blinked, brain short-circuiting. “You followed the van? Are you insane?”
He folded his arms, trying to look dignified despite the fact he was literally trespassing in his father’s top-secret lab. “You were kidnapped! What was I supposed to do, ignore it?!”

“Um, yes! That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do!”
A metallic clank echoed nearby. Both of them froze. The drones in the next room shifted again, scanning the hallway.
Anya grabbed his wrist, yanking him behind a control pod. “Quiet,” she hissed.

“And don’t move.”
He nodded, but his gaze stayed on her—something flickering behind those gold eyes. Something pained, familiar.
When the noise faded, she exhaled shakily and released his hand. “We need to get out before—”
A loud alarm blared. Red lights exploded across the hall, bathing everything in crimson.

Damian flinched. “What—what’s happening?!”
“They know we’re here!” Anya snapped, pulling him down another corridor. “Move!”
They sprinted through the maze of white hallways, her heart hammering as she scanned for an exit. Doors slammed shut behind them, security shutters descending one by one.

She spotted a maintenance hatch and shoved it open. “In here!”
They tumbled inside—a narrow duct that echoed with their breathing. Anya crawled forward, Damian close behind. The sound of boots and static voices filled the air behind them.

“Anya,” he whispered, “what is this place? Why does it have my family’s name on everything?”
“ I-“ she started but thought better of it, “ you won’t believe me.” she muttered, trying to steady her breath

They dropped out into a storage bay—dark, lined with crates and faint blue light spilling from a cracked door ahead.
Damian looked pale. “That voice earlier... was that—my father?”
Anya didn’t answer. She just nodded once, her face grim.
He pressed a hand to his temple suddenly, staggering.

“Damian?”
He gasped, clutching the nearest wall. His vision blurred—fire, metal twisting, screaming, someone’s voice calling his name—her voice—
He saw an explosion. Smoke. His own hand reaching toward someone who was crying, holding him in their lap.
Then darkness.

“Damian!”
He blinked hard, the vision vanishing. Anya’s face swam into view—worried, hands gripping his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely. “Just—dizzy.”
She frowned. “You’re not fine. We need to—”
“Anya,” he interrupted, voice low and steady now, “I think you’re going to start explaining. Everything.”

The way he said her name—soft, sharp, pleading—made her chest tighten. She wanted to tell him everything, every impossible truth. But there wasn’t time.
Instead, she swallowed, glancing at the flickering lights above. “Fine. But not here.”
The guards’ voices were getting closer again.
She grabbed his hand, pulled him toward the emergency exit. “We’ll talk once we’re out.”

He squeezed her hand tighter, grounding himself. “You better,” he murmured.
They slipped into the night just as the sirens reached full volume, sprinting across the cracked earth toward the ruins—two shadows against the red glow of a building that held too many secrets.

And somewhere deep inside that facility, Donovan Desmond smiled faintly as he watched the security feed flicker to black.
“So,” he murmured, “the anomaly has found the boy again.”

Chapter Text

On the last year of Eden ( flashback)

Damian Desmond stood in the imperial gardens, the evening sun spilled gold, painting everything in a soft haze that shimmered against the marble fountains and rows of blooming azaleas. Laughter echoed faintly from the ceremony hall, but here, it would be just them — two students standing at the edge of everything they had worked for. Today was the day Anya became an imperial scholar. Today was also the day Damian Desmond asked her to be his girlfriend.

Damian had become an imperial scholar the previous month. By right, he should be glad he finally beat her at something all these years later, but all he could think about was how they did it together. Not just him. Them. Anya forger and Damian Desmond.

He knew he’d messed up last year at the gala, but he’d been making it up to her slowly by giving her sweets, standing up for her and sitting beside her willingly, without making any excuses, during breaks. He also learned how to make those little origami swans because he heard she liked them, they don’t quite resemble a swan but it’s enough.

Right now, all that matters is getting over his nervousness because it was ridiculous, they see each other every single day. Yeah, it’s no big deal, he told himself.

That’s when he spotted her sitting by the fountain, her gown—soft pink and white—fluttering in the breeze, the Imperial badge pinned neatly to her chest. The setting sun caught in her hair, turning it rose-gold, and for a moment, Damian forgot how to breathe. He was smitten at eleven, but he knew he was in love since six whether he liked it or not.

Anya looked up when she heard footsteps. Her eyes lit up instantly( it was devastating), a small smile curving her lips. “Sy-on boy,” she greeted teasingly, voice light, but soft in a way that made his chest ache.
He rolled his eyes, pretending not to melt. “You really have to stop calling me that,” he said, walking closer. “I’m an Imperial Scholar now, Forger. Show some respect.”

She grinned. “Hmm… you’ll always be Sy-on boy to me.”
He groaned dramatically, but his heart was racing. “You know,” he said, stopping a few steps away, “I have something important to tell you.”
Anya tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her face, her hair falling from her back to the side of her shoulder. “What is it?”

Damian rubbed the back of his neck, trying to steady his nerves. “You, uh… you remember how we made that dumb deal in third year? About whoever becomes an Imperial Scholar first gets to order the other one around for a day?”
Her smile grew. “Oh, I remember. Should I prepare my resignation letter now?”
“Not exactly.” He took a breath, the kind of deep, life-changing breath one takes before doing something terrifying.

“I’m calling in that deal. My order is…” He paused, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “Go out with me.”
The words hung between them, trembling and bright like the edges of sunlight on water.

Anya blinked, mouth parting slightly. For a second, Damian thought he’d messed up—that he’d completely misread everything. But then her lips curved into a smile so radiant it made every anxious thought vanish.

“ You didn’t have to order me but yes,” she whispered, voice steady but eyes glassy with emotion. “I’d like that.”
For a moment, the whole world went still. The wind seemed to hush, the gardens quiet except for the faint hum of cicadas and the splash of the fountain behind them. Damian didn’t know what to say, so he laughed—soft and breathless and completely overwhelmed.

Anya laughed too, that warm, familiar sound that always pulled him back from the edge. And when she stepped closer—just close enough for their hands to brush—he knew, somehow, that this was exactly where he was meant to be.

Present day ( Eden dorms)
Damian gasped and sat upright in his bed, drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved, his heart slamming against his ribs as flashes of that memory — or was it a dream? — blurred through his mind. The gardens, her voice, that word. Yes.
He pressed a trembling hand to his temple.

“Anya…” he whispered before he even realized he’d said it aloud.
But then something else hit him — another image, sharper and darker than the first.

A different room. A different him. A dim office bathed in harsh light, the smell of smoke and gunmetal in the air. A woman with crimson hair stood across from him — Sylvia Sherwood, her expression hard.

“Agent Midnight,” she said. “You can’t save everyone.”
“Watch me,” he replied, his own voice calm but cold — a voice that didn’t belong to a schoolboy.
And then—
A flash of fire.
A roar of an explosion.
A pair of green eyes looking down at him, full of tears.

Damian jerked forward, gasping again as if he’d surfaced from deep water. He looked around wildly — just the dorm room, the faint moonlight through the window, the quiet breathing of sleeping students.
His hands shook as he touched his face. He didn’t remember any of that. He couldn’t have.
And yet… it felt real.
Too real.
He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his heartbeat. The image of

Anya’s smile lingered in his mind — sweet, familiar, achingly warm — and he didn’t understand why it made his throat tighten.
All he knew was this:
Something was happening to him.

Something old.
Something lost.
And somehow… it all came back to her.

“ hey, Damian, you alright ?” Ewen asked as he buttoned up his shirt. “ you’re gonna be late again if you don’t hurry up bossman-” Emile swallowed before continuing”-I heard the dorm mother is making the students do the dirty dishes as punishment this week, yuck” he wiped his hand on his shirt, Damian winced. That sure woke him up.

“ yeah, I’ll, uh, get ready” Damian said as he went to the bathroom. Damian thought about the lab and finding Anya there three weeks ago, he’d wanted, so badly, to forget that. Forget ever knowing that his father almost injured him with some machine called a…drone ? And Anya was really different, this wasn’t the Anya he knew for almost all his life-she seemed more… serious, anyone going to Eden knew Anya forger never had a serious bone in her body. She was more mature? She stared at him with an emotion in her eyes that he was too afraid to name.

Yet, somehow, back at the lab, that strange push-and-pull between them had felt familiar—like a scene he’d lived before but couldn’t place. There was something he’d wanted to tell her in that moment too, something that clawed at the edge of his memory. It wasn’t a confession, not about liking her… it was something deeper. Something about him—who he was, what he’d done. But the harder he tried to remember, the faster it slipped away.

Damian dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled as he made his way through the morning corridors of Eden. The polished floors gleamed like always, portraits of founders stared down disapprovingly, and the faint hum of gossip filled the air.
Ordinary morning. Ordinary life.
Except nothing about it felt ordinary anymore.

Three weeks since that night at the lab, and he still hadn’t been able to shake it—the way Anya had looked at him, like she knew every secret he didn’t even know he had. The way she’d moved with this silent confidence, the faint flicker of something otherworldly in her eyes when she’d told him to trust her.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and caught sight of her down the hall—Anya Forger, pretending to look at the notice board but clearly pretending not to notice him.

She looked… tired. Her pink hair was tied messily instead of its usual neat pigtails, and there was this distant, haunted look in her eyes. But when someone called her name, she still smiled. That same small, sunshine smile she always wore when she didn’t want people to ask what was wrong.
It hit him harder than expected.
Why won’t she just look at me?
He approached her, slow, deliberate. “Morning, Forger,” he said, keeping his tone light, teasing even, like the last few weeks hadn’t happened.

She froze.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t even blink.
Instead, she muttered something about forgetting her textbook and slipped into class before he could say anything else.

The first bell rang. Class began.
Damian took his seat—and watched, with growing irritation, as Anya quietly picked up her bag and started moving toward another desk.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Before she could escape, his hand shot out on instinct, catching her wrist. Her skin was warm. Softer than he remembered.

“Don’t avoid me now, Forger, we’ve come so far from that phase,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear. He thought of those days when she used to avoid him and hide in toilets just to make sure she doesn’t cross paths with the dude that embarrassed her in front of practically everyone in their cohort. He didn’t blame her,though.

Her head snapped up, and for a moment, green eyes met gold—sharp, startled, and then… something else.
Something soft.

The world tilted.
And then—
He wasn’t in the classroom anymore.
He was somewhere else.

A couch. A dimly lit room. Warm light spilling over two figures—them.
Anya, older, laughing quietly, leaning against him with her head resting on his shoulder. His arm was around her. Her hand was tracing lazy shapes across his wrist as if she’d done it a thousand times before. He could feel the faint scent of her shampoo, the sound of her heartbeat under his palm—
“Damian,” she’d whispered in that memory, her voice full of warmth and something like love.

Then—
A flash.
A siren.
Smoke.
Gone.
He blinked hard, stumbling back into reality, breath ragged.

Anya stared at him, alarm flickering across her features. “Damian?”
He dropped her wrist instantly, his heart pounding. “N-Nothing,” he muttered, looking away. “Just… dizzy.”
She hesitated, then turned back toward her seat. Her expression shuttered—calm, unreadable, the same mask he’d seen at the lab.
But her pulse had jumped too. He’d seen it.

After class, Damian didn’t let her escape this time.
The moment the bell rang and the crowd surged toward the door, he grabbed her hand again—not roughly, but with enough force that she knew there was no point arguing—and led her through the maze of hallways.
“Hey—where are you—Damian!”
He didn’t answer.

He didn’t even know what he was doing.
All he knew was that if he didn’t talk to her now, he might lose his mind.
He shoved open the door to an unused classroom and closed it behind them. The faint dust motes glowed in the sunlight slicing through the blinds. Silence pressed in around them.
Anya crossed her arms. “You planning on telling me why you’re dragging me
into suspicious empty rooms, or should I start screaming now?”

Damian managed a smirk despite the tension thrumming in his chest. “Go ahead. I’ll tell everyone you were the one chasing me.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a step closer. “You’ve mentioned.”
Something electric cracked between them. The kind of quiet that makes breathing feel loud.
He raised a hand—hesitated—and then brushed his fingertips lightly against her cheek. Just enough to make her breath catch.
Her eyes softened. “Damian…”

“Whatever it is you’re hiding,” he said, voice lower now, almost a whisper, “I’ll find out. One way or another.”
Her lips curved faintly, a hint of fond exasperation in her tone. “God, you’re so stubborn.”

He smiled—small, real. “Guess you rubbed off on me.”
They stood there, close enough that every word felt like it could tip into something dangerous, but neither moved.
Neither dared to.
Finally, Anya stepped back, clearing her throat. “You should get to lunch before
your fan club starts sending a search party.”

He huffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets again. “Right. Wouldn’t want them thinking I got abducted or something.”
She smiled faintly but didn’t look up. “Yeah… wouldn’t want that.”

Anya’s POV

When Damian left, the air in the room didn’t settle.
It hummed.
Anya pressed a hand against her chest, steadying the rapid pulse beneath her skin. His touch—his words—his eyes.

Everything about that moment had felt like déjà vu, like stepping into a memory she wasn’t supposed to relive.
She sank into one of the old desks, exhaling shakily.
How could someone from the past still make her feel like that?
Because it wasn’t just him now—it was every version of him she’d ever known.
The boy who gave her his pen in third grade. The man that made her hot chocolate when she had a rough mission.

The young man who promised her they’d be together.
The Agent Midnight who held her hand in the ruins and told her to run.
Her throat tightened.

She wanted to tell him everything. Every secret, every scar, every moment they’d lost. But she couldn’t—not yet.

Her watch buzzed suddenly, the soft chime breaking the stillness.
Anya blinked and tapped it. “Oh, it’s working now?” she whispered.
The projection flickered to life above the device, revealing Sylvia’s sharp, familiar face.

“Took you long enough,” Sylvia said, crossing her arms. “I’ve been trying to reach you since the lab incident.”
Anya straightened. “Why’d you leave me Sylvia ”

“Damian followed you didn’t he ? Be glad I didn’t drug him too,” Sylvia interrupted briskly. “You’re welcome, Starlight.”
Anya groaned softly. “You could’ve maybe come with me into unknown buildings next time?”

A faint smirk. “You survived a bomb attack, this was nothing.”
“Great.”

Sylvia’s expression sobered. “Now, tell me what you saw in that facility.”
Anya took a deep breath, replaying the images in her mind—the sterile hallways, tanks filled with shimmering fluid, and test subjects floating in suspension pods like ghosts trapped in light, the whispered conversations about weaponized drones and a world order built on destruction.
And then—Damian.

“Donovan knows I’m here ,” she said quietly. “He said the project-the drones recognised their target-which was Damian, Sylvia..”
Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. “Donovan has been thinking ahead, he knows about agent midnight’s true identity seems like he also built machinery from the future, right ?.”

Anya swallowed hard. “You knew.”
Sylvia didn’t deny it. “He was one of ours before the fall. You just didn’t know it yet.”
Anya’s hand trembled slightly, her pulse quickening. Damian—her Damian—had been Agent Midnight all along and now she found out that Donovan had been trying to harm him all along. The man she’d lost in the explosion. The one who’d told her to live.

She looked out the window, where sunlight spilled over Eden’s immaculate lawns. Somewhere out there, Damian was thinks none of this existed—not knowing he was unraveling piece by piece, just like she was.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Then I guess the past isn’t done with us yet.”

“ well, this is good, starlight, you did well” Sylvia said, this was a clear dismissal yet she had one more thing gnawing at her and only 30 more seconds left. “ hey, Sylvia, would it be alright for me to visit my parents? And maybe I can ask my fa-agent twilight for help” Anya did her best to make it seem like a suggestion rather than a request. Spies never asked for anything, they were to be the heroes no one talked about and were to be grateful with what they had.

Sylvia’s expression softened for a millisecond before going back to being inscrutable. “ you may do what you wish without making significant changes to the timeline, for instance, you cannot date Damian now, you can only do so next year. But, you won’t be around for next year because you’ll finish your mission-helping Damian remember his identity and destroying Donovan’s plan with agent midnight” Sylvia paused, “ oh and agent twilight doesn’t exist in this timeline anymore, he’s no longer s WISE agent.” She explained and Anya’s eyes widened.

Chapter Text

The moment Sylvia’s projection blinked out, the room felt colder.
Anya stared at the fading blue light above her wrist, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and dread. Twilight… gone? He hadn’t just retired or gone underground. He didn’t exist as a spy in this timeline.

Her father — the man she grew up believing to be unshakably heroic — was now just Loid Forger, a parent with a job that didn’t involve saving the world in secret.

He wouldn’t recognize the signals she might send. Wouldn’t know how to help her navigate a convoluted mission buried in time.
She was alone.

And worse — she wasn’t allowed to be with Damian. Not until the timeline aligned. Not until Agent Midnight awoke. Not until Donovan’s plans were shattered.

She pressed both hands to her temples, swallowing a trembling breath.
You can’t break the timeline. You can’t lose him again.

But her heart didn’t understand rules or boundaries or the cold logic of cause-
and-effect. It remembered everything her mind tried so hard to bury — the way Damian used to lace their fingers together subconsciously, the way he’d tilt his head slightly when she rambled, the quiet warmth in his eyes when he said her name.

And the explosion.
The blood.
The way he’d pushed her behind cover even as he bled out, whispering, “Anya…

run.”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Not again. Never again.

A loud bell rang from outside the empty classroom, snapping her back to reality.
And with it came a sinking reminder:
Damian would be leaving tomorrow

The school trip had been announced casually — a week-long excursion for top students only, part of some elite leadership program.
Damian had earned it.
Anya technically had too, but she’d been quietly removed from the list by the Board.

“Overqualified,” they had written in her notification email.
Which was laughable. They didn’t know the half of it.
Truth was:
WISE needed her in the capital for a separate mission — one tangled deep in Donovan’s research facilities.
She couldn’t tell Damian.
She couldn’t even tell Becky.

So she walked the halls pretending nothing was wrong.
But when she saw Damian shoving books into his locker, muttering under his breath at something Emile said, her chest tightened.

He was going to leave.
For eight days.

Eight days of silence, confusion, and that haunted look he wore every time those broken memories clawed back into his mind.
He needed her.
But she couldn’t stay.

Damian tried to focus on packing the notebook he’d need for the trip, but his mind kept drifting to the image of her face earlier — the way her eyes had widened when he touched her, like she was seeing someone else superimposed
over him. Someone she knew.
And that vision.
That couch.

Her older, leaning against him, fingers drawing lazy shapes across his wrist — a gesture so intimate his entire body had lit up with warmth and terror.

He didn’t know her like that.
He’d never been that close to her.

And yet his nerves had recognized it.
His skin had remembered.
He shoved his book bag closed a little too hard.

“Woah, bossman,” Ewen said, raising both brows. “What did that bag ever do to you?”
Damian forced a breath. “Nothing. Just… thinking.”

Emile leaned over dramatically. “Is it Forger? It’s Forger, right? Because she was acting kinda—”
“Drop it,” Damian snapped.

Both boys fell quiet.
Because the truth was, Damian didn’t understand what was happening to him, and every time he tried to approach her, it felt like reality tilted sideways. Like he
was walking into a memory he shouldn’t have.
And tomorrow he’d be stuck on a trip for a week without any answers.

He didn’t know why, but the thought of being away from her made something inside him twist, sharp and hollow.
Why does it feel like I’m leaving something important behind?

Anya stood in the shadows of the courtyard, watching the Imperial Scholar group practicing formation for tomorrow. Damian stood in the center, posture straight, jaw set, wearing that faint, proud expression he always got when he excelled at something.

He looked good like that. Strong. Determined.
But also tired.
Haunted.

Like he was fighting a battle he couldn’t see.
She stepped forward without thinking — one step, two — her hand half-raising to call him.

But then Sylvia’s voice echoed in her mind:
“You cannot date Damian now. You’ll break the timeline.”

Anya froze.

Her fingers curled painfully at her sides.
Every instinct screamed at her to protect him, to tell him the truth, to stay where she could watch over him.

But fate — time — destiny — all conspired to pull them apart.
She slipped back into the shadows before he could see her.

Later that night, Damian lay in his dorm bed, staring at the ceiling. His roommates were asleep, the room dark except for the faint glow of moonlight.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had stood outside earlier.
Someone familiar.
Someone who made his heartbeat spike.
“Forger…” he muttered under his breath, rolling onto his side.

The idea of not seeing her for eight days made his stomach tighten uncomfortably.

He didn’t know why it hurt this much.
He barely knew what she meant to him anymore — friend? rival? something else?

But the ache felt old.
Like he’d felt it before.

Like he’d lost her once already.
And losing her again — even temporarily — felt unbearable.
He pressed a hand to his chest.
Why does it feel like I’m missing a part of myself?

Anya packed her covert gear quietly, slipping blades and encrypted tools into hidden compartments.
Tomorrow she’d infiltrate Donovan’s secondary lab.
Alone.

Her watch pulsed once — a warning, not a message. Time was shifting, trying to correct itself. That meant Damian’s memories were resurfacing faster than planned.

That meant danger.
She shut her eyes and felt her heart twist.

I’ll protect you. Even if you never remember. Even if I have to pretend we’re strangers all over again.
She sat at the edge of her bed, hugging her knees.
Just don’t… forget me completely.

Damian scanned the crowd boarding the charter buses, eyes darting instinctively toward the spot Anya usually occupied between Becky and the railing.
She wasn’t there.
“Hey, bossman,” Ewen said, “Becky said Anya took the day off. Fever or something.”
Something in Damian’s chest cracked quietly.
“Oh,” he said.

He didn’t know why he felt disappointed.
He didn’t know why the world suddenly felt a shade duller.
He didn’t know why it felt like losing her all over again.
He just knew that as the bus pulled away, an inexplicable ache hollowed him out.

From behind a tree across the courtyard, Anya watched the buses drive off.
She saw Damian turn once — like he felt her absence.
Her chest clenched painfully.

“Sorry, Damian,” she whispered.
“But this time… I’m going to save you before you ever have to die again.”
She turned away and disappeared into the woods, toward her mission.
Toward the past she could no longer escape.
Toward the future that still belonged to them — if she could survive long enough to reach it.

Chapter Text

Damian returned to Eden eight days later looking exactly the same and somehow completely different.

The eight days she spent infiltrating the Desmond research facilities where she uncovered things that only exist in the future. She saw Damian’s name and hers circled in red ink, over and over.

He stepped off the charter bus with his bag slung over his shoulder, posture straight, expression cool. To everyone else, he looked perfectly normal—just another elite student returning from an elite program.
But Anya saw it instantly.

The slight slump at the corner of his shoulders.
The way his fingers twitched like he’d been subconsciously reaching for something the whole trip.

The faint tiredness beneath his eyes.
Eight days.
Eight days without her.
Eight days without him.

Anya kept to the far side of the courtyard, half-hidden behind the bulletin board, pretending to look at the new festival notices. Her mission was complete, but her body still carried tension—too many close calls, too many shadows moving behind Donovan’s walls.

She hadn’t slept more than three hours in a row.
The moment she saw him, the exhaustion broke like a wave.

He’s back.
She didn’t call out. Didn’t wave. Didn’t even move.

But Damian’s head snapped up anyway—like a tether had yanked at him from across the crowd.

His eyes found her immediately.
And for a second, the world stilled.
He froze mid-step, breath catching, expression flickering with something raw

and unguarded—relief, surprise, and something he didn’t have a name for yet.
Then Emile crashed into him from behind, knocking the moment apart.
“Bossman! Man, I thought you died on that trip—”
“Emile,” Damian hissed, shrugging him off. “Move.”

He barely waited before crossing the courtyard.
Anya straightened subtly, palms damp despite her steady expression.
When he stopped in front of her, he didn’t speak right away.

Just looked at her.
Like he had been waiting to confirm she was real.
“You… came today,” he finally said, voice soft in a way she rarely heard.
“You’re back today,” she replied simply.
Something unreadable flickered across his face.

Their reunion didn’t have time to settle.
A teacher suddenly appeared behind them with a clipboard and a too-cheerful smile.

“Ah! Forger, Desmond. Perfect. I need two responsible students for the Cultural Festival prep. You’ll be assisting in the main hall.”
Both snapped to attention.

Damian frowned. “Sir, surely—”
“No excuses,” the teacher declared. “You two work well together. Off you go.”
Damian muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I hate fate.

Anya hid a smile.

Inside the main hall, chaos reigned. Students were painting banners, assembling stages, moving equipment, arguing over color schemes. It smelled like sawdust and acrylic paint.

Damian exhaled slowly. “This is a disaster.”
“Becky’s group was here earlier,” Anya said. “So yes.”

He snorted—short, amused. “Point taken.”
The teacher handed them a crate of art supplies.
“This goes to the backroom. Work together. Don’t break anything valuable. Which is everything.”

Then he vanished into the mess.
Damian sighed. “Come on.”

Anya followed him toward the back corridor. The crate was heavy, so Damian
took most of the weight without a second thought.
It was such a small gesture.
But after eight days apart, it felt like a crack running through her armor.

They reached the storage room and set the crate down.
Anya brushed dust off her hands. “We need to organise these by category.”
“Painfully logical. Fine.”

She pulled open the crate—and immediately froze.
Inside were dozens of delicate lanterns.

Bright red, hand-painted, made of thin paper.
The kind that tore with a single careless touch.
“Great,” Damian muttered. “The most fragile things known to mankind.”

“Don’t break them,” she said.
“Me? What about you? You trip on air.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I do not.”
“You do.”

“Name one time.”
“Last month. The stairs. You kicked me in the shin and blamed gravity.”
Anya opened her mouth, closed it, then sighed. “Okay… maybe one time.”
Damian grinned.

And something in her chest fluttered helplessly.

They started sorting the lanterns, an easy rhythm forming between them. Anya unfolded them gently; Damian tied them with matching cords, his fingers brushing hers every now and then.

The touches were brief.
Accidental.

And yet each one left a warm imprint on her skin.
Their banter softened. Their movements synchronized. They didn’t need to talk to know what the other was reaching for. It felt… natural. Familiar. Like they’d done this a hundred times in another life.

Once, Anya reached for a lantern and found Damian’s hand already there.
They both froze.

Their fingers overlapped lightly.
Damian swallowed. “Uh—sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she said quietly.

She didn’t pull her hand away.
Not immediately.
He didn’t either.
Something warm and soft and terrifying pulsed between them before Damian finally cleared his throat and stepped back, ears flushed.

Halfway through sorting, Damian spoke without looking up.
“You weren’t here the day we left.”

Anya stilled.

Damian tied another cord too tight. “I waited.”
Her breath caught.

“You were sick?” he asked. “Becky said—”
“I wasn’t sick.”
He stopped tying.

Slowly, he raised his eyes to hers.
“Then where were you?”
The air shifted.

Anya chose her words carefully. “I… had something urgent to do.”
“Urgent,” he repeated softly. “And you didn’t tell anyone?”
“It wasn’t something I could tell people.”
He studied her face, searching for something she couldn’t give.

But he didn’t push.
Instead, he nodded once—small, accepting, trusting.
“You’re here now,” he murmured. “That’s enough.”

Her heart squeezed painfully.
He was relying on her.
Believing her.

Choosing her, quietly and without fanfare.
And she—
She was softening.
More than she should.

They finished organizing the lanterns and stepped out into the hallway again. The noise of the festival preparations rushed back in—shouting, laughter, footsteps.

But around them, the air felt still.
Warmer.

Damian shifted slightly, brushing against her shoulder. He didn’t move away.
“You know,” he said, voice low, “these past eight days felt… longer than they should have.”

Anya’s pulse skipped.
“Oh?” she said gently. “Why?”
He looked at her.
Really looked.

“Because you weren’t there.”
For a heartbeat, time seemed to hesitate—hovering between them, golden and fragile.

Anya opened her mouth—
But a teacher shouted from across the hall, breaking the moment.
Damian blinked, stepping back quickly, ears burning.
“W—we should get back to work.”
“Yeah,” she murmured.

As they walked side by side, close enough that their hands almost brushed again, Anya allowed herself one small thought—dangerous, foolish, impossible:
Maybe fate wasn’t trying to separate them.

Maybe it was trying to guide them back.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Gently.
Trusting each other again, one fragile step at a time.