Chapter Nine

Anya wasn't expecting anything after yesterday and when Demetrius extended his hand to walk her to the curb and wait with her for the bus, she could have cried as she took it. She could breathe. It felt like existing wasn't so hard and she never wanted to let go again. He was a safe place to take refuge when she was overwhelmed which was all the time lately.

Rain lightly pattered on the umbrella that Demetrius held over their heads and she didn't want to wonder what had changed since yesterday. He was here now and thinking about him not being around or how long he would put up with her stressed her out. She didn't want to think about it. She wanted to just take the comfort he was giving her now and believe it would stay this way.

Like she was wrapped in a warm cocoon, his hand encompassed her's and in a strange, not completely terrible way, it made her emotional for no reason in particular. Was it relief? Maybe it was everything coming up at once because she suddenly felt like it was safe to feel things.

The rain felt especially appropriate that morning and drizzled

sombrely as if trying to match Anya's mood. It was a little chilly and she didn't mind it. She could have stood there for hours, unmoving, holding Demetrius' hand. Feeling like she was lost in a single moment where she didn't have to move forward, but unable to discard the heavy weight that lay on her shoulders, despite trying not to think about everything that she didn't want to think about.

Where she could hold Demetrius' hand and believe he would never let go.

For the longest moments, a silence between the two afforded a loudness to the rain and Demetrius stood so still, watching it blankly. Waiting patiently, in his own world, like he wasn't really here with her. Anya wished he had the same pull towards her as she did for him, but she knew he didn't. He didn't need her they way she needed him. He only stood here because she was an esper, because she needed him. He had no real affection for her, she wasn't stupid, but she didn't care. As long as he was here. Though she wondered if that dead look on his face was because he'd rather be elsewhere, or if it was something else.

The silence could have reigned for five minutes or an hour, it all blurred together in Anya's mind as she listened passively to the rain. She wasn't sure of the reason Demetrius waited with her, and didn't until he finally spoke, the sound jarring after so long of a stillness.

"Hey." Demetrius said, breaking up the steady thrum of raindrops and he blinked like remembering he was here for a reason. He didn't look at her, his gaze still somewhat faraway, like he couldn't quite pull away from his thoughts. He took a deep breath and let it out as if resigning himself to something. "You remember what I said?" Demetrius issued randomly.

"What you said?"

"That you should do what you want." He looked to some distant point off in the rain, delving into a conversation she wasn't prepared for. Or expecting. "You've been dodging everyone and acting like you're committing a great sin or something, but it's not like the universe cares." Demetrius said and Anya stiffened and stared at her shoes. Why was he saying this all of a sudden? "No one does besides our parents." He added. "They told us how to live, but who says we have to listen?"

"But—" Anya said, taken by surprise at his abrupt lecture.

"If we are so "special", we should be able to break the rules and the consequences be ! #$$%." He swore. "Other people made us this way, they can go ahead and deal with it." He said bitterly.

"But—"

"Look." He sighed exasperated. "You think our fathers know what it's like to be an esper? They don't. Why should they get to decide how we live? They made us like this. It wasn't our choice, and now because were espers we have to live a certain way. But we have our own lives, our own minds. We should get to decide wether we do or not.

"But everyone else. . ."

"What, you think they have to walk on eggshells just to avoid hurting people like we would? They may not be like us, but people hurt each other all the time. Ours might come in a different form, but it's really not any different. What did the director tell you? That. . .you had to stay with him forever because all you'll do is cause pain in the real world?"

Anya said nothing.

"Well. . .he was partially right. You'll cause pain, but so does everyone else." He repeated and looked pointedly down at her, then, face hinting at something bitter and angry. "He told you that because it's better for everyone else. Not for us." He said. "Our parents shouldn't get to decide how we live." Demetrius said, his absolute conviction in this idea swaying Anya. "We should."

And as if Demetrius had just shot cannon fire at her fortress of logic, it careened into a tower and stone crumbled to the ground. She looked up at him, suddenly balancing on a beam of doubt, uncertain.

"But. . ." She said and had nothing to say. What he said wasn't wrong. She couldn't refute it. " But. . ." She looked at her feet, trying to understand how to process this.

"I don't get why this is so hard for you, but you can't seriously think you can go on this way. You're going to shrivel up in that room of your's and die without doing anything."

"But my parents—" That was right. No matter if Demetrius wasn't exactly wrong, no matter how assured he was of his own beliefs, she couldn't forgive herself for what happened at the lab. She didn't want to be the cause of something like that again.

"Oh. The electrocution." Demetrius had heard about it from her parent's minds then. "You can't think that was your fault, do you? That was the director's fault. And your parents made a choice to be there. None of that is on you."

"But—"

"No. You're just wrong on this one." Demetrius said, sounding almost annoyed, and Anya blinked up at him as the bus appeared, turning a corner onto their street. "You're overthinking everything. Just go be a kid. You're freaking Damian out, which means I have to deal with it."

"What?" She said. Was that why his speech made so much more sense than last time? Why his thoughts seemed much more fleshed out and planned?

"Yeah. See?" Demetrius said flatly. "You avoiding everyone is hurting them. So stop it or Damian's going to keep bugging me about it."

"Wh—"

"There's the bus. Go." Standing still, Demetrius reached out his hand holding her's, issuing her forth.

"But—"

"Shoo." He waved his now free hand at her.

Taken aback, Anya stared at him for a long moment with a foot on the first step before climbing her way up. She was in daze, walking down the aisle as she kept an eye on Demetrius, and he stuck his hand in a pocket. Her parents weren't here to wave her off and she was struck by the notion that Demetrius had somehow convinced them to leave Anya with him out in the open. Maybe they were hidden nearby.

Soon after the bus pulled away, she sat back in her seat, contemplating their conversation. She felt like a box of carefully organized crayons that had been shaken up. Disoriented and confused. Out of sorts, Anya didn't even know how think through everything Demetrius just said, how to rectify it with everything she did know, and she found herself startled when the bus stopped, staring at the seat's back in front of her. Anya didn't remember the ride to school.

As Anya alighted from the bus and caught sight of her classmates, she slowed taking the last step. They were here again and bickering like last time. It was a more controlled version, with conversational tones and the same hostile words.

Anya came off the bus and something was different. She watched them and though she was filled with knots and an uncomfortable, anxious crawl on her skin, it didn't overpower the new feeling of doubt that plagued her thoughts. It was distressing she couldn't discern what was what.

Still arguing and almost like Anya's presence was passingly observed, Damian, his friends, and Becky turned to leave, not giving her the barest of glances. So invested in their bickering, they naturally came to walk on either side of Anya, taunting their frenemy around her.

Anya barely heard any of it, lost in a labyrinth of what she thought she knew and what Demetrius had told her.

—

Twilight rotated his shoulder for the third time and lifted the binoculars again to his face. The Desmond estate had been disappointingly quiet and he loathed the time it might take to follow this lead. He was eager to get on with it, put an end to Donovan, and finally eradicate any threat to his daughter. If Donovan was connected to the lab, he was connected to Anya, and Twilight didn't like that. Not to mention the war that could not be allowed to take place.

He had considered infiltrating the house, but when Donovan left, Twilight didn't want to waste a second to follow and so spied from his position in a tall building across the street. He laid low in the storage attic of some company building, his binoculars between the slightly slanted, wooden, fixed slats of a window.

He was getting antsy. He'd been on much longer stakeouts, but this mission had him more on edge and feeling more urgent than many of his most dangerous ones had. It had taken much too long to find this trail and it felt as if he'd been chasing it for a while, only to chase it some more. His patience was rewarded however when the sun was halfway to it's peak and Donovan emerged from his door, dressed in the usual beige jacket. A car was brought around for him and he disappeared inside it.

Binoculars down, muscles ready, Twilight made a quick route back to his car, glad he was wearing a disguise beforehand. He would keep his distance, but Twilight wasn't going to risk being recognized.

The key was turned, the engine ran, and Twilight followed Donovan at a safe distance. He kept this up until they were out of the city, and Twilight kept at least three vehicles between him and his target.

For the next couple hours they rode the highways, making good speed and Twilight constantly checked for anyone following. He believed Donovan was unaware of him, but someone could have poisoned their drinks other than him and Twilight wasn't about to let his guard down.

It was a little past noon when Donovan turned off the highway into a little town and Twilight followed him at a fair distance. The roads were poorly occupied and if Donovan noticed Twilight's vehicle at all on the highway, Twilight wanted as much space as possible to make him look the least suspicious. To this end, Twilight waited until Donovan made a left onto the large property of a nicely kept house and veered off in the opposite direction after seeing Donovan enter the house. For a few minutes, Twilight drove, pulling into a parking lot of some shop and made his way back on foot.

Getting as close as he dared, Twilight made a painfully roundabout route through the woods surrounding the house, planting himself high up where generous leaves and branches would obscure him from view. With his binoculars, he positioned himself the best he could to peer into the windows.

The house was a good ways away. The best he saw of small figures in the first floor windows was a good trade-off for stealth and secrecy. In one of these windows was the side of Donovan Desmond's head, and the knees and hands of someone in a rocking chair. The rest of the person was not in view.

Twilight stayed here for a good hour and watched as Donovan pulled thick files from his briefcase and handed it to the mystery person. Slow, fumbling fingers went over them, taking a good look. The hands struggled with turning over a page and slapped Donovan's offered one when he attempted to do it for them.

Twilight was there for hours. Other than the files, he saw nothing else of note to theorize on. Who was this person? How were they affiliated with Donovan?

There was no point to asking these questions right now, he decided, and climbed down the tree as Donovan walked out and left in his car.

There was no point when Twilight could meet this person directly.

Twilight had come prepared and made a disguise exactly that of Donovan's. Same clothes, same face. He went to the house and walked right in as Donovan had.

"Oh." A woman paused as she was passing through the entryway and bowed slightly, surprised. Her uniform looked like that of an senior caregiver, and she smoothed it nervously as she straightened stiffly. "Sir, did you forget something?" She said, slightly flustered, not uncomfortable, but unsure of herself like she wanted him to have a good impression of her. Like she respected him.

"Yes." He said and gestured for her to lead the way, hoping to avoid guessing who the recipient was.

"Yes, of course." She spun on her heel and turned to the halls.

Twilight followed her through a corridor bare of any portraits, paintings, or memorabilia to suggest what kind of person lived here. The house was immaculately kept with few personal touches. As if the resident had disdain for anything that wasn't purely practical.

The lady stopped at a door. "Ma'am? Your grandson is here again. He says he forgot something."

"Let him in." The shaky hands Twilight saw earlier did not match the voice. It was strong, steady, and clearly enunciated. The door opened and Twilight stepped inside to see an ancient woman sitting in a rocking chair by the window just out of direct light that was quickly dimming. For such an old person, her posture was rail straight and her eyes gleamed with severe depths. The cartilage in her neck had become prominent with age as the skin seemed to sink inwards and stretch at the same time. It had left her with many wrinkles, though the definition of her face was maintained, coloured with age spots here and there. She had managed to hold onto the majority of her stark, white hair and it was clasped in a tight bun at the base of her skull with military precision. She had the bearing and confidence of a general in their prime, and if it weren't for the evidence of age and physical decline before him, Twilight could have believed she currently was one.

She removed a hand from the blanket over her lap and gestured magnanimously to the other chair by the window. Twilight took it and the caregiver closed the door before taking her leave.

"What did you forget?" Her gaze bore into him and though his disguise was impeccable, Twilight felt immediately in danger of being found out. "Was there something else left to discuss?"

"Yes. I want to hear more of your thoughts." Twilight said in hopes that was the purpose of Donovan's visit. The purpose of the files he showed her. "It never seems enough considering your years of wisdom and experience."

Twilight resisted the urge to nervously drum his fingers when the woman narrowed her eyes at him, seeming to think deeply. "You always were obsessively meticulous." She said and held the stare for a moment longer. Then sighed, her features barely shifting at the action. "The day has been long, I am too tired."

"I may not be back for months." Twilight argued but Donovan's grandmother had already turned to look out the window and didn't answer. She watched the darkening clouds float by for several minutes as she rocked in the chair, completely ignoring him.

"Grandmother?" Twilight spoke after a few more minutes and she turned back to him vacantly. Slowly.

"Donovan." She spoke as if she'd forgotten he was here. "You should be at war." She said and Twilight wondered if Donovan had planned to already launch an attack by now. The thought was unsettling if Twilight was only finding out about it now. He could have been too late. Another moment of silence and she narrowed her eyes again. Her voice grew hard. "You should be winning."

"I am." Twilight assured her and it seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

Anguish slowly clawed across her face the moment he said it, a slow, shaky hand raising. "No. No, no, no." She moaned, as it reached for her face. "You're losing! You lost! Everything is ruined!"

"Grandmother?!" Twilight reached for her but she batted his hand away. He had the distinct feeling that this wasn't about the present anymore. Had Donovan already lost a war? But Twilight would have heard if Desmond was involved in any. Had he lost a war he wanted to start before he could?

"Everything is ruined, it's all ruined. . ." She mumbled. "We lost, we lost, it's all ruined. . ." For the next moment, Donovan's grandmother held her face, her words descending into quieter and quieter tones until they ceased. The creases in her forehead gradually eased and she suddenly had a motherly look about her when she looked back up at him. She reached for his hand and he gave it. With her other, she reached for his face and pulled him closer to lovingly caress his face. She sighed. "It's alright." She said softly. "You'll win next time." Donovan's grandmother whom Twilight still did not know the name of, lightly patted his cheek.

"I will." Twilight said and it wasn't a lie.

Then without warning, she took a firm hold of his jaw, fingers clasping at his cheeks. She had an iron grip, rough skin, and Twilight resisted the urge to pull back. She held his face close to her's. "You must." She hissed, her disposition flipping in an instant. "Another failure will not be forgiven." The woman's hard, unrelenting eyes drilled into his, and though he was taller, it felt like she was staring him down. Her nails left imprints when she released him. Twilight could feel them. "It won't be forgiven." She muttered as she leaned back, returning to the view out the window as she mumbled to herself. Twilight let it go on for a little while until the muttering stopped and her face relaxed, once again focusing on the scenery outdoors.

It wouldn't be forgiven? Twilight thought. How important was this war to her? What was it's purpose?

"Grandmother?"

She looked back at him. "Donovan." She repeated like earlier. "What are you doing here? You have planning to do."

"I came to visit." He said.

Her face flickered briefly with displeasure. As if he had more important things to do. "You will win." She decided, looking at the dipping sun, and it appeared traces of their previous conversation hadn't completely left her.

Twilight wondered how he was going to get the information he wanted if her mind kept wandering like this. Playing along with her memories seemed best, but it might not get him far.

"Grandmother." He took her attention. "What would you say if I planned to launch the war tomorrow?"

Her eyes snapped to him in surprise, startling Twilight. This reaction was far stronger than he expected. "Has your position changed? When did this happen?" She said breathlessly.

"No. Nothing has changed." Twilight said automatically.

She drew breath as if she could sit any straighter. "Then I would call you a fool!"

"As I expected." Twilight said. A lie. When would this war occur? What position was Donovan in? Twilight thought he would launch as soon as possible, perhaps he wasn't ready? When had he planned to launch a war before? What was Twilight missing? "Of course, I should wait." He said, hoping to draw some details from the woman, but she only sighed in annoyed disapproval.

"If you're trying to kill me, a heart attack won't do it."

"Of course I'm not, Grandmother." Twilight said and as he considered how to further investigate, her eyes wandered to some point on a wall and stayed there.

Twilight again wondered what was in those files Donovan had, and why he'd showed them to his grandmother. Did it concern the war? Was there any chance Twilight could steal them? He needed more information on this war! He decided to go right for it. "What are you hoping to gain with this war?" He said, but when she spoke it wasn't an answer.

"Finish your dinner." She said quietly at the wall, though Twilight had to guess she was talking to him. "Then you can go strategize with your uncle all you want." She mumbled.

"I finished my dinner." Twilight said. "What am I planning with my uncle?" He asked, instantly intrigued, and she chuckled lightly. A vacant expression was plastered on her face as if she heard him but it was filtered through her damaged brain.

"You should know better than I. You two and your secrets. . ."

"Which uncle? I don't remember."

She clicked her tongue. "You only have one uncle, don't be daft." She said half-heartedly, still facing the wall.

"What was his name?"

"You know his name."

"Say it anyway." Any information Twilight had on Donovan or his family could be useful.

"Damon. He's waiting for you. He said he had something to show you."

"I'll go soon." Twilight assured her and something pressed at the back of his head. A suspicion he couldn't quiet. Donovan hid his grandmother away. There was very little mention of other family members when it came to spy reports and newspapers. "What's his last name?"

"Same as yours." She said, confused concern screwing her features. "What's wrong with you today?" The face faded to continue staring blankly at the wall.

"Damon?" She suddenly turned to Twilight, mistaking him for someone else now. "Donovan is being strange."

"I'll talk to him." Twilight answered, hoping she'd forget all about this later.

"He's speaking nonsense." She trailed away again to the wall. "He can't lead the war like this. . ." Her features tightened into a frown. "I'll have to whip him back into shape."

". . .Yes. . ." Twilight said. ". . .Grandmother, what is our last name?" He asked again.

"You two are so strange." She muttered.

"What is it?" Twilight said patiently.

She huffed through her nose at him, exasperated. "It's Dempewolfe, you crackpot." She shook her head at the wall, deep concern knitted in her eyebrows. "You and Donovan. . ."

Dempewolfe.

Desmond was not Donovan's original last name.

Donovan Dempewolfe.

A whole different person, a life, that Twilight didn't know about and his fingers tapped anxiously on the arm of his chair.

Twilight knew a lot less about Donovan than he thought.

"Why is this war so important to you?" Twilight tried once more, hoping for more insight than the crumbs he did have, but he was losing her.

She hummed thoughtfully, drifting into the recesses of her mind, and didn't answer.

"Grandmother?"

"Finish your dinner. . ." She mumbled.

Twilight didn't think he was going to get anything else from her today. He stood and she didn't even blink. He left the room, leaving her muttering to herself under her breath.

"Your uncle's looking for you."

Twilight gently closed the door behind him, instantly casting his sight about for the caregiver. He wandered into a couple rooms until he spotted her in the kitchen, preparing medications for Donovan's mother. Twilight waited until she saw him.

"Oh! Mr. Desmond." She bowed. "How was your visit?"

"Fine. Grandmother's mind is wandering again."

"Oh. Yes." Her brows furrowed. "Mrs. Dempewolfe is declining more quickly these days."

"Does she ever forget who she is?"

". . .occasionally." She responded and looked genuinely sad.

"What do you tell her when that happens? How do you remind her who she is?"

She hesitated, a little surprised he was speaking to her this much. "I say; You are Demetria Dempewolfe, mother to Dominic and Damon, and wife of Diego. You are Demetria Dempewolfe, once a general and warrior."

"Mmm." Twilight rumbled in his throat thoughtfully. "Very good." He turned on his heel and left.

The drive back home was agonizingly long, feeling ten times the actual length. Twilight drummed his fingers constantly on the wheel, his antsy nerves aching to act on this as soon as possible.

Who were the Dempewolfes? Why had Donovan changed his name? How was it possible? The Desmonds had a long history of prominence and politics, how had Donovan so smoothly become a part of that? Why was Demetria and her grandson so bent on this war? What position was Donovan in that had to change? It could be anything. To information he didn't have, lack of supplies or support. . .That was it.

Donovan no longer led the country. He no longer had the support to hold that position. Which meant he didn't have control of the military.

Donovan needed the National Unity Party to be the ruling party again.

But that led Twilight to his next line of thinking: Why hadn't he launched the war when it was? What was he waiting for?

After a couple hours of driving, Twilight turned off the highway and into the outskirts of town. The late evening had summoned most people back to their homes and the steady rumble of his vehicle on the road amplified the restless knowledge that he wasn't back home yet, that he wasn't immediately able to act on this.

Along with his fidgety fingers, Twilight tapped his left foot and his mind was less on the road and more on how he might follow up on his new line of investigation.

He had things to discuss with Franky.

—-

Yor spun the knife, glinting again and again as it caught the light in the afternoon sun, and swiped her hair out of her face as she peered down below. The roof of the school was indeed the best place to surveil possible threats, and while Loid was gone on a mission, her watchful eyes were unrelenting. She'd been here all day without any incident, and expected it would stay that way. All the danger they'd faced necessitated it, but except the kidnapping, rarely anything happened at the school.

Yor kept low to the roof as she made another round across the shingles, and searched the trees in particular. Outside, they were the best hiding places, and while she had little cover from those who might hide in them, she figured she could sacrifice a little bit of safety for the view and advantage of high ground. She was confident in her skills and there were very few who could match her speed and agility. If she had to act, she was sure she could get to Anya or kill the offender, or both, before anything could happen.

However, it always paid to be careful. She had seen arrogance take people down before.

Yor continued to spin the knife, a habit she wasn't sure when she picked up, and scanned every nook and cranny for any movement or unusual activity. There was barely anyone around, the classes all in session, and the most she heard were from the birds and the wind. She picked a central spot on the roof and sat for a moment, leaning into her hearing to make up for any blind spots. In her vigilance, she checked the sky for any threats and got up again, too paranoid to sit still for long.

She took another sweep.

And paused. Yor wasn't sure what called her attention to a specific tree on the south side of the school and she faltered on her next step, hesitating. Maybe it was the way the tree swayed in the wind, or the shadows that just didn't seem quite right. Maybe it was both. Either way, Yor's focus was drawn to it and she studied it carefully. She took in every detail she could, discerning the placement of branches and the shape of the tree. The colour of bark that. . .looked a little off.

Until an arrow burst through the shield of leaves, launched at her face.

The spike in her heart was the barest of moments, and in instant, Yor's blade came free from her hand, strong momentum throwing it forward as she smoothly stepped aside. The offending projectile harmlessly passed by.

The knife did not.

Like most attacks Yor made, her knife flew with masterful precision and she knew it hit her target when a body fell from the tree. A crossbow followed. He was dead.

It was a pain to check the grounds again before coming down from the roof to see the body and she retrieved her knife from the bloody mess that used to be his eye. She searched his pockets for any identification, baubles, or clues, and found nothing.

This was the second attempt on her life, she considered. Who was targeting her and Loid? Or was it only to get rid of them so they could take Anya? That seemed more likely. But take her where? Was this Donovan's doing? He was one of the few who would know Anya was an esper. It was a valid guess, but she was hesitant to latch onto the idea without more information.

. . .She should have thought to only maim him, keep him alive, and demand answers.

The end of the school day was drawing near and Yor cast about her for anyone nearby. There was no one. No one had seen.

Yor considered the corpse before her.

She had to get rid of the body quick. If she called in an anonymous tip, police and security would be around for the next few days and she and Loid would no longer be able to spy from the roof. Not to mention how much it would scare the children.

Yor sighed disappointed. Calling it in had often saved her so much trouble.