AN: Just something I had to get off my chest after finishing Azran Legacy. Speaking of which, this story contains minor spoilers for both Azran Legacy and Unwound Future. I recommend playing those first if you don't want those stories ruined.

Oh yeah, and some characters may seem OOC. This is just to fit with the mood I wanted to create.

A man was sitting alone on a park bench.

It was a quiet little park where one could normally go to be alone with his thoughts. From the park bench, the man could watch the Thames River flowing peacefully by. Normally it would have been quite a relaxing activity, but this poor man had too much on his mind to care.

Today was an important day for him. Today was so important that he had abandoned his habit of wearing one of his infamous disguises, and had simply gone out in a plain brown coat and a hat. He felt a bit exposed, but that didn't matter at the moment.

Across the river was a quaint little restaurant that sat right on the opposite bank. That's right, the man thought, that restaurant, the Thames Arms. I forgot that the real one is still standing. Maybe I should move to a different spot. It only reminds me of that day and… of her. The memory only did more to crush his already broken heart. Something's wrong with me, he decided. I don't usually get this upset.

He was so absorbed in his grief that he almost didn't hear the sound of footsteps approaching. When he finally noticed them, he quickly yanked his hat down over his face. It was annoying, really; He had been so confident that he wasn't going to run into anyone today.

The footsteps proved to belong to a well-dressed man with glasses, who seemed to be simply taking a walk. He gave the man on the bench a smile and said "Good Morning" in a polite, friendly way.

"I've had better," the man in the hat accidentally let slip.

"I'm sorry to hear it," said the man in the glasses. "Perhaps we could chat for a few minutes. It may help take your mind off things.

"Er… All right," said the first man, resisting the urge to pull his hat down further, which he knew would only look more suspicious. "So… do you come here often?"

"Actually, no," said the second man. "I don't live in London. I'm just here to meet with an archaeologist friend. I hope to leave soon. There are…certain people I don't wish to meet."

"Same here. I have a few enemies that I'm trying to avoid."

"It seems that you lead a rough life."

"It's not really that bad. I'm usually good at avoiding people if I need to."

"Is that so?" the second man asked as he sat down on the bench beside the man in the hat. "That sounds like a useful skill to have."

"Eh, anyone can learn it, really," the first man said. "It's a parlor trick."

"I think I see," said the second man. He played with his glasses for a bit, which was beginning to seem like an unconscious habit. "Anyway, you still sound a bit distressed. Would it be better if I left you alone?"

"Hmm? Oh no, you can stay. It's just…"

"Yes?"

"Do you know what today is?"

"It's Wednesday, but I don't think that's what you meant."

"Right, of course you wouldn't know. Today marks the anniversary of the day the love of my life was stolen from me by a rival."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's just…I never got to tell her, see? And now she's…gone. And I'll never get to see her again."

"I understand your pain," the other man said as he gripped the bridge of his glasses tightly. "I lost my wife and daughter once."

"I'm… sorry."

"Don't be. That was ages ago. I've been living a new life since then. Well, technically it was since…" He let go of his glasses. "Well, that story is very long, and it's not worth your time. Anyway, I haven't done much to distract you, have I?"

"Don't worry," said his companion. "You've actually inspired me a bit."

"I'm glad to hear it," the man in the glasses said with a smile. He suddenly looked at his watch. "Oh dear, would you look at the time? My deepest apologies, but I really must be going. Farewell." He stood up and began to walk away.

"Wait!" called the man who was still on the bench. "I forgot to tell you my name. It's Paul, er…" Why am I telling this man my real name? he instantly chided himself. Why did I say anything in the first place? Well, no matter. I need to think of something soon. I can't very well call myself Don Paolo. "Phillips," he said. "Paul Phillips."

The other man gave an amused smile. "Nice to meet you then, Mr. Phillips," he said. "My name is Desmond Sycamore. I hope that we'll have the pleasure of meeting again soon." And with that, he turned around and left.

What Paul had said about being inspired was the absolute truth. Starting a new life, eh? He pondered the idea for a bit. Yes. Yes, maybe it's for the best. He gazed out across the river at the Thames Arms again. I'm sorry, Claire, but there's nothing left for me now. I tried so hard to preserve your memory, but after everything I've seen and heard in the last few months, it's clear you've done that for yourself. I'm going to restart my life now. Goodbye.

And he somehow got the feeling that Claire would have wanted it that way.

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