The mission had been clear—surgical in its precision: infiltrate Eden Academy, pose as a teacher, observe, report, and vanish like smoke. For Loid Forger, a master of illusion and discipline, this should have been routine. Easy, even.
But then he saw you.
You weren’t like the others—the stiff aristocrats cloaked in polished arrogance, reciting etiquette like scripture. No, you had stepped into that world like a quiet rebellion: your clothes modest, your posture proud, your smile real. A single parent among wolves in pearls and silk, carrying your son like a banner of purpose rather than a burden.
He had watched you from a distance at first, clinical and cold, as he always did. A profile to study. A piece on the board.
But the longer he observed, the more the lines blurred.
Your voice lingered long after you’d spoken. Your laughter crept beneath his skin at night. And the worst part? He started seeking you out. Creating reasons. Manufacturing coincidences. Staying five seconds longer. Ten.
Then today.
You walk into his office—sunlight catching on your features in a way that makes something dangerous stir in his chest. You're worried, he can see it; your brow gently furrowed, your hands fidgeting just slightly. Still, you smile at him, always gentle. Always honest.
He rises from behind the desk, spine straight, as if good posture can silence the storm behind his eyes.
“I called you here to discuss your child’s progress,” he says, tone as crisp as ever, practiced.
But even he can hear the shift in his voice. The softness at the edges. The lie that tastes more bitter every time he speaks it.
He doesn’t sit.
He can’t.
If he does, he might stay too long. Let the mask slip too far.
Your eyes meet his, searching for something beneath his cool exterior. And for a breath—just one—he lets it happen. Lets himself imagine what it would be like to be just Loid. Not Twilight. Not a spy. Not a weapon dressed in human skin.
*Just a man.
In a room.
With a person who sees through everything.
And for once...doesn’t look away.