Pronoia/Paranoia

by TooShyShy


Chapter 11: Love

There were three basic types of murderers in Equestria: those who killed for love, money, etc., those who killed due to some psychological or magical impairment, or those who killed due to some form of dark magical influence. There was a decent amount of overlap between these, but the results were clear cut.

The first was by far the most common. A jealous lover, a desperate and terrified victim, a greedy heir. Solving these cases was like grinding up bones, crushing once living matter into a fine powder. Despite the grisly nature of the act, there was a beauty and satisfaction to the result. Taking a once living thing and breaking it down to its most ineffectual form.

But this case didn't have any bones. No matter how far Twilight forced her hoof into the soft flesh, she couldn't find anything to crush. There were shiny things underneath that fur and flesh, gemstones and bits of glass. She was afraid of cutting her hooves on them, but she couldn't stop herself from digging inside that mess to find them. The pain wasn't real, she told herself again and again. It was just an emotion, a feeling, as meaningless as a song stuck in her head.

Twilight found a coffee and a note waiting for her at the station. Walking into her office, she arched an eyebrow at the offering. A welcome surprise, but she had no idea who had gone to the trouble. Fluttershy? No, she was off tackling yet another load of research for Twilight's sake. While Fluttershy always aimed to please, Twilight doubted she was efficient enough to be in two places at once.

Spike? Twilight's mood stiffened at the name, her expression turning cold. She hadn't spoken to Spike since his unexpected return. No calls, no conversation over breakfast, no laughing and lunch plans before they headed out. The last she'd seen of him, he'd been heading out somewhere. She'd wanted to ask him where she was going, but Twilight couldn't bring herself to say a word. She did notice that he made sure to pause as she entered the room, clearly making an effort to ensure she knew he was going out. A non-verbal assurance that Spike was never going to do anything like that ever again if he could help it. Twilight wished she could have taken solace in that and dropped everything else, but neither of them could pretend that conversation hadn't happened.

Twilight approached her desk and grabbed the note. Thought you might need this, it read. Twilight didn't immediately recognize the hoofwriting, but it was signed by Lyra.

Without hesitation, she trotted to the bathroom and poured the coffee down the sink. As she'd been reminded very recently, faking somepony else's hoofwriting was easy. All it took was a skilled mind and a steady hoof—or horn—to produce an admirable forgery. Better safe than sorry.

Twilight called the Canterlot police force and asked to speak to a certain officer. Over the course of her career, she'd built up a sizable amount of favors that could be cashed in at any given moment. Most cops used these up in a matter of weeks, but Twilight had been a lot more careful. No sense in wasting valuable assets on petty vengeance or a last minute farewell. She practically had a folder's worth of officers who owed her something and she wasn't going to blow it on minor wants. So when Twilight realized that her apartment in Canterlot might have some valuable info for her, she decided it was about time she started using up those favors. She doubted she was going to need them again anytime soon.

“Moondancer?” she said.

She heard a tired groan in response. Her and Moondancer hadn't been on good terms since Shining Armor's death. Their friendship had been fairly on-and-off since they were fillies, but the untimely passing of Twilight's brother was the final nail in the proverbial coffin. All efforts to keep in contact had broken down in the following months, leaving both mares adrift in their respective worlds. Twilight had been the last to know when Moondancer first entered the police academy—a whole two years after Twilight graduated and entered the force—and the first to know when Moondancer swooped in to take the suddenly vacant position of detective. Twilight knew she had no reason to be bitter—it wasn't as if the force could leave her position empty—but there was a horrible finality to the news. With Moondancer having taken her spot, Twilight was bitterly aware that she couldn't just grab her old job at any time.

“What do you want, Sparkle?” said Moondancer.

She probably already knew. With the radio silence Twilight had been maintaining, it was a safe bet that Twilight was just cashing in a favor. While many ponies in Twilight's life still held out hope that she would bust through her cocoon and become a social butterfly, Moondancer had never been that naive and optimistic. She knew there was nothing beautiful under that hard shell.

Twilight cut right to the chase. No sense in dancing around it. They both knew this wasn't a courtesy call.

“Information,” said Twilight. “I need you to check up on my old apartment. See who's living there and if they've noticed anything strange. Maybe a mysterious package or a letter addressed to somepony who doesn't live there?”

She wouldn't have put it past the masked pony to have stashed something in the walls, but she decided to pursue the normal methods of communication first. If those turned up blank, she'd have to call in some more favors and have the whole apartment pulled apart. Twilight knew she was stretching her influence to its breaking point, but she was willing to risk a few blows to her reputation. Truth be told, she didn't expect to return to Canterlot anytime in the near or distant future. She could afford to have a few gold stars taken off her record. First and foremost, Twilight didn't want to leave Ponyville while she was hoof-deep in a case. Even if she'd had a team of professionals willing to pick up the slack, she would have still chosen to stay. As long as she could out-source the dirty work to her allies in Canterlot, Twilight saw no reason to go anywhere.

Moondancer let out another tired groan. She had dozens of cases on her desk and hardly any room for extra work, but she was also a mare of her word. If it wasn't for Twilight, she would have probably been stuck with an internship. It was Twilight's glowing review of Moondancer's skills that had put her ahead of the other applicants. Moondancer disliked owing ponies favors, but she'd promised to make it up to Twilight someday.

“I guess I could do that,” said Moondancer. “Your place has been empty since you left, but I'll look into it.”

Twilight was a little surprised. Empty? With how fast things moved in the city, she would have expected somepony new to have moved in less than a week after she left. Fancy apartments were in pretty high demand in that part of Canterlot. Twilight had been fortunate to find one so close to the station and affordable.

“Any idea why its been empty?” said Twilight.

Twilight could sense Moondancer rolling her eyes.

“You know how these elite idiots are,” said Moondancer. “They believe everything they hear. Somepony started a rumor that your apartment was haunted and now nopony wants to live in it. Ridiculous.”

Twilight sighed.

“In any case, I need the information as soon as possible,” she said. “By the end of today if you can manage.”

She heard Moondancer shuffling papers.

“Oh yeah, I'm sure I can do that,” said Moondancer. “That double equicide and artifact theft can wait until tomorrow.”

Twilight pretended not to hear the sarcasm in Moondancer's voice. She didn't like imposing—if their roles had been reversed, Twilight would have been furious—but it wasn't as if she was asking Moondancer to put her whole life on hold. Despite how annoyed she sounded, Twilight knew that Moondancer wasn't doing anything she didn't want to. Moondancer had probably been following this case with a keen eye ever since Twilight put in that request to the lab. Unable to be there herself, she was likely glad to be helping in some capacity. If this hadn't been the kind of case that would draw Moondancer's interest, Twilight wouldn't have called her.

“Great,” said Twilight. “Thanks for your help. I owe you.”

Moondancer's voice softened for a fraction of a second.

“Yes, you do,” she said. “You owe me a coffee and a donut.”

She hung up before Twilight could say anything else. She didn't want Twilight to lapse into a long-winded apology for the years of no-contact. Twilight didn't need to apologize. Moondancer understood exactly why Twilight wasn't eager to rekindle their friendship. In the end, Twilight had needed more love and support than Moondancer could give. It was a good thing Spike and Twilight had found each other.


Shining Armor and Twilight used to tell each other ghost stories. It started out as a sort of competition, a challenge to see which one of them could scare the other. While Shining Armor was the reigning champion of spooks for several years, Twilight's storytelling started to gain steam with age. She learned her brother's fears and wove them into tales she grabbed from books, creating a unique brew of horror. Even after Twilight came to the conclusion that ghosts weren't real, the tradition thrived. Once a week, her and Shining would turn off all the lights, sit in front of the fireplace, and attempt to give each other nightmares.

The last ghost story Shining ever told Twilight was about a fishermare who was pulled into the lake by the spirits of a lost shipwreck. The story shouldn't have scared Twilight. He'd told worse and his descriptions of the ghosts were severely lacking. But somehow Twilight became fixated on a particular image: the abandoned rowboat adrift in the middle of the lake, the floor scarred with scratch marks. Nopony who came across that boat would know what had happened to that poor fishermare. They might deduce that there'd been a struggle, but none of them could have contemplated the horror of being dragged into a dark unforgiving lake by ghostly hooves. Nopony could ever truly understand the fishermare's terror and desperation in the last moments before the depths took her.

Shining Armor had won that final round. Twilight had been up all night, huddled under her covers and trembling. She'd never been particularly scared of lakes or the ocean before, but she just couldn't imagine what it was like to be dragged under water and never found again. An unfinished story.

Twilight closed the folder on her desk. She wasn't going to let Bronze Hoof's story remain unfinished. He didn't deserve that. Twilight wanted to know everything that had happened to this stallion and why. If this case hadn't been so deeply entwined in her own life, that would have been sufficient motivation to get her this far. This entire case was a troubled spirit and Twilight wanted to lay it to rest. She couldn't believe she was thinking this, but she really wanted her boring Ponyville life back.

Why did Twilight keep thinking about Bronze Hoof? Of course he was the secondary victim in all this, the one who'd lost his life because of her. Because of her. Yes, that was what had been bothering Twilight ever since she'd seen that box of photographs. No matter where she turned, she kept seeing her own reflection staring at her, each version of her slightly distorted. It was like living in a house of mirrors. Bronze Hoof's death? Her fault. Fluttershy getting pulled into this? Her fault.

Twilight was starting to get a headache. No. It wasn't really her fault. She couldn't pin this all on herself. She hadn't asked for any of this. Twilight hadn't asked to be stalked, to be mocked, to be pulled into this tangled web. She couldn't blame herself for the actions of somepony who hadn't even revealed themselves. Or could she? The more Twilight thought about it, the more she was beginning to wonder if she'd triggered this herself, if there was something she could have done all along. So many missed opportunities, so many decisions she regretted.

Her hooves shaking, she shoved the folder into her desk and grabbed her book of poisons. But even as Twilight turned her mind towards another task, those words kept pounding at the front of her skull: Your fault, your fault, this is all your fault, you did this, this is all your fault, you did this....

Sweating profusely, Twilight flipped to the section she wanted. Household Poisons. Common herbs and such found in almost anypony's home that could be dangerous if mixed correctly or incorrectly. Rhubarb. What could it be? Was it something common or something rare? Trixie was refusing to cooperate on this front despite numerous threats of sentencing, leaving Twilight to puzzle this out herself. But so many poisons fit the description. Which one had the masked pony purchased and what did they intend to do with it? Did they even have plans for it or was this another mind game, a distraction? A distraction from what?

The words on the page began to wobble. All your fault, this is all your fault, your fault, you did this, you did this. Twilight pressed her hoof against her forehead and shut her eyes. Sweet Celestia. She should have slept, should have at least closed her eyes for ten minutes. That headache was coming in strong. All your fault, your fault, your fault.

She flipped back to the entry on dragon's weed. She hadn't bothered perusing it again, but now she was curious.

Dragon's weed—or “dragon weed” as some incorrectly call it—is most often found growing near and around places inhabited by dragons. Although the high temperature and humidity are ideal, this resilient weed can thrive in almost any environment.

She rubbed her eyes. Twilight already knew all of this, but she kept reading.

It is normally dangerous when consumed, although there are some exceptions. Due to their unique anatomy, dragons are able to consume this weed with little or no ill effect. In fact, some dragons have been known to keep a stockpile of it nearby for special events. It supposedly has a unique taste when mixed with mead.

The words started to tremble. Twilight rubbed her eyes again and squinted at the page. Her tiredness must have finally been catching up with her. It had come over her all at once, desperate to drag her someplace she could rest. But Twilight continued, ignoring her body's climbing need for sleep.

One of the more unique uses of dragon's weed can be found in various history books. Ponies once thought they could use it to see ghosts or contact the supposed spirit world. Neither of these have been found to be true, but some mediums insisted a small amount of dragon's weed allowed them to go into a trance.

Twilight shook her head to clear it. The words were starting to blur together. Yet she kept reading, determined to at least finish the paragraph.

Given the lack of evidence, most scholars have concluded that this is completely false. Although eating a tiny amount of dragon's weed will not kill you, it will make you extremely sick and most likely induce a hallucinatory state. This likely accounts for the so-called “trance”. However, some scholars had speculated that a small bit of dragon's weed mixed with some other herbs of its kind could theoretically lead to a heightend sense of awareness. This hasn't been tested extensively, but that hardly matters seeing as this entire thing was Twilight's fault.

Twilight blinked, staring at the page. The words twisted before her, rearranging and changing right before her eyes.

It's all your fault, Twilight. You call yourself a warrior of justice, yet you've caused so much pain. No wonder Spike is hiding things from you. No wonder Cadence doesn't speak to you anymore. You're just a hypocrite hiding behind a facade of righteousness. I'm sure Shining Armor would be impressed. You've somehow managed to fool everypony into thinking you're the one in control.

Twilight stumbled away from her desk. Her head was throbbing and the room was spinning. What in Celestia's name was going on? She clutched the side of her head and groaned, shutting her eyes as a stripe of pain blazed across her skull.

You've never helped anypony in your life, Twilight Sparkle. You like to think you have, but you haven't. What about the family of that jewel thief you put behind bars? What about Cherry Blush? What about that poor colt who ran away from home after you tossed his mother in prison? What about the ones you left behind, Twilight Sparkle?”

Twilight tried to defend herself, but she could barely speak. She felt like her head was being torn apart.

“I didn't mean to...,” she managed.

There was a harsh laugh, followed by the sound of a hoof thumping against the floor.

Oh, you didn't mean to? I guess that makes everything alright. As long as you didn't mean to break up families and destroy relationships, I'm sure those ponies will forgive you. Of course, the ones who died might be less willing to let you off the hook. Remember them, Twilight Sparkle? The innocent ponies who met an unthinkable fate because of your detective work?”

Her eyes still shut, Twilight collapsed onto the floor.

That wasn't my fault,” she tried to say. “I was just doing my job.”

But before the words could leave her mouth, the darkness overtook her.


For a short period during her filly days, Twilight had been plagued by horrible nightmares. There was no running theme or storyline to them. They were just bad dreams, often based on some innocent event her young mind distorted into something ghoulish.

But as suddenly as they started, the nightmares stopped. After thinking it over for a while, Twilight eventually concluded that it had something to do with having recently changed bedrooms. It was soon after she moved bedrooms that the nightmares stopped entirely. There had been something about that small cramped room that had sent Twilight's young imagination into overdrive. While she did occasionally have bad dreams in her new bigger bedroom, they weren't nearly as frequent or as vivid.

Shining Armor joked that it was because Twilight's new bedroom was closer to his. She no longer had to fear monsters with her big brother so close at hoof. Twilight laughed and dismissed the idea, but later she wondered if it was true. Truth be told, she did feel safer in her new bedroom.

By the time Shining Armor moved out, Twilight had learned to fight her own nightmares. It was a skill she'd learn to appreciate after graduating from the police academy.

But Twilight couldn't fight smoke. She couldn't fight her own shadow. She couldn't fight the demons that lived inside her own head. She could fight something as physical as a pony or as abstract as an idea, but nothing in between.

Twilight awoke on the floor of her office, groaning and shaking her head. She felt as if somepony had struck her over the head with a heavy object. She half-expected to reach up and feel a trickle of blood running down her forehead. But of course there were no physical signs of an actual blow. Twilight hadn't been hit over the head. She'd been drugged.

She struggled to her hooves. How long had she been out? Couldn't have been long, given that the office wasn't filled with anxious ponies wondering where she'd been. A few hours? No, surely somepony would have found her. A few minutes? Ten? Maybe twenty? That seemed more in range, but Twilight couldn't be sure until she got a look at the clock. With the way her vision was swimming, she felt like it had been hours.

Bringing herself halfway back to her senses, Twilight looked around. Fortunately, she was alone. No knife-wielding masked pony standing in the corner, waiting to deliver the final blow while challenging Twilight's penetrating gaze. But surely that would have been too crude and abrupt. It would have lacked the satisfaction of making a spectacle out of Twilight's death. But then again, why drug Twilight in the first place? Another scare tactic? A valuable theory, but a ludicrous one. This went a little beyond scaring Twilight. This was too calculated for that.

“Hello?” she said.

No answer. The station seemed to be as empty as it had been before Twilight passed out.

She quickly assessed her own physical state. A slightly upset stomach, some lingering drowsiness, her vision was still a little wobbly. Were these entirely the effects of the drug or had her tiredness amplified or altered some of the effects? How had the drug been administered in the first place? Despite her woozy state, Twilight still remembered pouring that coffee into the sink. She hadn't even touched the cup. So how in Celestia's name had she been drugged?

Twilight thought back. She'd been feeling a little out of it for quite some time, but she'd blamed it on lack of sleep. But who was to say she hadn't been drugged hours ago and she just hadn't realized it? She'd been so eager to brush off anything abnormal. It was possible this had been building up for a long while, yet Twilight had dismissed it as tiredness. There was no telling where or how this had begun.

She trotted up to her desk and started opening drawers. Twilight wanted to see if anything was missing, although she doubted the masked pony's ultimate goal was to get their hooves on some of the case files. They'd had plenty of chances to do that. They couldn't have been after her book of poisons either. If their goal was to slow Twilight down, that wouldn't have been a very efficient method. It was more likely the masked pony had left a message for her somewhere.

But there was nothing in her desk. Everything was in its place, nothing removed, added, or vandalized. So what had the masked pony been after this time? Could it really have been another scare tactic and Twilight was severely underestimating the masked pony?

Twilight eyed the box of photographs next to her desk. Was it just her imagination or had it been much further from the desk before she passed out? Despite bringing it to the station with her, she hadn't wanted to look at it. Twilight should have shoved it in the evidence locker or something, but she couldn't bring herself to stash it out of sight either. She wanted to make sure that nothing happened to it, but she also didn't want to be anywhere near it.

She started taking photos out of the box. They all seemed to be the same. No secret messages or anything. If the masked pony had been going through it, they must have not found what they wanted. There was nothing out of place. Twilight was reminded of the teacup incident. She was starting to wonder if that teacup really had been moved or if she'd been scaring herself. She was also beginning to doubt that the box had been moved. Could Twilight even trust her own memory anymore?

Shaking her head, Twilight tossed the photos back into the box. Maybe she had just passed out from tiredness. Maybe she had left that teacup in that exact position and forgotten. Maybe she'd moved that box closer to the desk without even noticing. Anything was possible. If only that headache would go away.

She started to turn away from the box, but something occurred to her. Twilight turned back to the box and picked up one of the photos, the one at the top of the stack. There was something off about it. She held it close to her face and examined it in greater detail.

Twilight's heart skipped a beat. This photograph hadn't been there before. She was sure of it. While it was in the same style as the other ones, there was a distinct difference to it. While Twilight had been able to find herself in the others, she couldn't find a single trace of herself in this one. This photo didn't even look as if it had been taken in Canterlot. The background was far too simple and rustic to have belonged to that grand city. So who had the masked pony been following and why did they want Twilight to know?

She squinted. She could make out something familiar at a corner of the frame. The shape was odd, but she couldn't quite make out who it was. Was it somepony she knew? Fluttershy? Had the masked pony turned their attention towards Fluttershy instead? Twilight's heart sank at the very possibility.

She turned the photograph over. There was a single word scrawled on the back: Sisters. Was that a clue or was it nonsense? Twilight was betting on the former, but flipping the photo around and looking at it again gave her nothing.

But then Twilight finally recognized the Cutie Mark. She wasn't sure how she'd missed it the first few times. Willful ignorance was likely the culprit. But as Twilight looked again, she could no longer deny what she was being shown. Suddenly she felt even more sick to her stomach. There truly was a darkness in Equestria, something so filthy and twisted that it didn't even need a physical form.

The photograph was of Cadence. She was scarcely in the frame, but Twilight could tell that it was her. The Cutie Mark was a dead giveaway. It might have been a coincidence, just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But Twilight wasn't naive. She knew exactly what she was seeing and it scared her more than anything else she'd encountered in this case.


In the weeks following Shining Armor's death, Twilight had asked herself a lot of questions. There'd been nothing for her to solve, no mystery for her to puzzle out. She knew exactly why and how Shining had died. But the questions kept coming.

There were certain things about his death that only Twilight, her parents, and Cadence knew. That was why Twilight had distanced herself from them after Shining's death. She couldn't bear being reminded of the truth, of having the answers to those questions right in front of her. Twilight didn't want the truth. She wanted to live in a world where Shining Armor was still alive, where her and Cadence were able to maintain contact, where she didn't have to carry these burdens. Equestria was a paradise for many, but for Twilight it had become Tartarus.

Twilight was surprised to find that she still had Cadence's number in her phone. They'd had very little contact in the past few years, but they were still on semi-decent terms. Cadence sent Twilight a birthday present every year—often with a generic card—and Twilight in exchange sent Cadence a bottle of wine on the anniversary of Shining's death. These gestures seemed meaningless given the emotional distance between them, but Twilight feared the day her and Cadence would lose contact entirely.

Cadence was the other half of the “we” Twilight had once been a part of, a “we” that had included Shining Armor. The relationship the three of them had built could only really be described as “cozy”. After all, Cadence had been Twilight's friend—and babysitter—first. Rather than breaking that friendship, Cadence's romance with Shining had only strengthened the bonds associated with it. Twilight sometimes thought that her friendship with her brother wouldn't have lasted if Cadence hadn't been in their lives.

The phone slipped from Twilight's hooves and fell to the floor. Swearing, Twilight snatched it up with her magic and dialed again. She'd been trying for about six or seven minutes and Cadence hadn't answered. Had Cadence changed her phone number? It was possible, seeing as they hadn't actually spoken to each other in years. Those presents were the extent of their contact. But surely Cadence would have given her a heads-up if she'd changed her number, even if they never spoke on the phone. Or would she? Twilight knew she'd changed after Shining's death. It hadn't occurred to her that Cadence might have also gone through a personality shift in order to cope. Was the Cadence she imagined the same Cadence Twilight had last seen at her brother's funeral?

Pushing those gloomy thoughts out of her head, Twilight tried again. She glanced at the photograph on the desk, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of it. Was Cadence in danger or was the masked pony messing with her? Was this photograph a threat, a warning, or a tease? Had something already happened to Cadence and the masked pony was mocking Twilight for being too late? If any of this was the case, why had the masked pony suddenly shifted focus? Were they just targeting everypony in Twilight's life one by one?

Granted, Twilight had no proof that Spike had been kidnapped. If anything, his behavior indicated something else. But if the masked pony really was trying to get Twilight worked up, they would probably target Spike at some point. They might even go after her parents. Was anypony in Twilight's life safe as long as this case remained open? Twilight was beginning to worry that what the masked pony really wanted was to get rid of everypony Twilight cared about.

No answer. Twilight cried out in frustration, resisting the urge to throw her phone against the wall. She ran a shaking hoof through her mane and groaned, turning her eyes toward the ceiling as if she expected to find something there. Where in Tartarus was Cadence? Was she alright, was she in danger, was she dead, was she alive?

Twilight called the Canterlot police station. She knew she'd run out of favors from Moondancer, but this was an emergency. She'd beg and cry if she had to. Anything to get a peek through the looking glass and see what in Celestia's name was happening on the other side.

It was funny that she now referred to Canterlot as “The Other Side”. When she'd lived there, she'd felt as if the rest of Equestria didn't really exist. Her experience began and ended in the city, the land beyond an afterthought. She'd known there was more out there. She'd even seen some of it. But to Twilight it was a dream, a fantasy she'd created for herself. Her world didn't need to be bigger than Canterlot. But somehow Canterlot had become that fantasy land she almost felt didn't really exist.

“What now?” said Moondancer.

Twilight snapped out of her strange thoughts. She felt as if she was going to start hyperventilating, but she kept herself together.

“I need you to give me Cadence's phone number,” she said. “Or call her yourself. It doesn't matter. I just need somepony to get in contact with her and tell me what's going on.”

She thought for a minute that Moondancer was going to hang up on her. She was basically asking for private information that she had no right to obtain. Twilight didn't think Moondancer was willing to risk her job for something so vague. However, Moondancer must have heard the restrained panic in Twilight's voice.

“Okay, I'll call her,” said Moondancer. “Do you want to stay on the line or....?”

Twilight replied in the affirmative. She was flipping through the possibilities in her mind. If something had happened to Cadence, surely the force—and by extension Moondancer—would have known. Sometimes stuff that happened in the city was buried, but Cadence was a special case. She'd been a friend to almost every officer on the force, regularly showing up to see Shining while he was on duty and bringing donuts almost every day. The entire force had come to feel protective towards her, as if she was a guardian or sibling to all of them. They likely weren't keeping tabs on her, but surely any report that came in which might hint at something having happened to her would have been taken very seriously.

There was the sound of shuffling papers, followed by a few muffled beeps and a long pause. Moondancer seemed to be calling Cadence directly through the force's private line. As a result, the call was most likely going to be recorded and saved to the archives. This was a cautionary measure that indicated Moondancer was also worried.

Twilight listened intently, feeling more and more sick to her stomach as the silence dragged on. The first time she'd ended up on a kidnapping case that turned into a body recovery mission, she'd experienced a similar feeling. First an overwhelming sense of unease had hit her, forcing her to stop in her tracks. The deeper she'd gone into that abandoned warehouse, the more she'd felt as if something was horribly wrong. Long before the scent hit her and she saw that rotting hoof poking out from behind a crate, Twilight had been certain of what she was going to find. She'd felt it in her heart, her stomach churning even before she laid eyes on what was left of that poor stallion. That feeling of death and decay had been absorbed into the walls, leaving an imprint so strong that Twilight was able to sense it the second she crossed the threshold.

Then Twilight heard a muffled click, followed by a long exhale. She realized that Moondancer had been holding her breath the entire time.

“Hello?” said Moondancer. “Cadence?”

There was another terrifyingly long pause.

“Moondancer?” said Cadence.

Twilight almost collapsed in relief. Thank Celestia. Cadence was alive. She was alive. Her eyes filling with tears, Twilight realized that she hadn't heard Cadence's voice in years. She'd missed that gentle motherly tone, the sweetness of which had sung her to sleep on more than one occasion. The lullaby that had touched Twilight's young life, filling her dreams with images of sunsets and cotton candy. She barely even remembered the song, but she recalled hearing Cadence's humming in the hallway as she drifted off.

“Uh, are you okay?” said Moondancer.

She sounded sheepish, even a little annoyed. How had she allowed Twilight to get her so worked up? It was like some obscure curse. They hadn't talked in years, yet when Twilight needed something Moondancer found herself bending to her former friend's will. It was as if they were connected by some malicious force.

“Oh, I'm getting by,” said Cadence. “What about you? Enjoying your job?”

She sounded so normal that it made Twilight's heart hurt. Maybe Cadence hadn't changed at all. Perhaps only Twilight had felt the need to fall into herself, to hold onto memories and dreams until the two became interchangeable.

“No, not at all,” said Moondancer. “It's fucking awful, pardon my language.”

She paused.

“Is anything wrong, Cadence?” she said. “Anything at all? I have Twilight on the line and she seems very worried for some reason.”

Cadence was silent for an entire minute. Her silence made Twilight feel as if she was intruding. It was a ludicrous idea given the circumstances, but Twilight felt the guilt rising in her chest. She'd distanced herself because she wanted to give Cadence peace of mind. It didn't matter where the blame fell or how Cadence chose to cope with the truth. What mattered to Twilight was that Cadence was given the chance to move on, to forget and forgive. But in order for this to happen, Twilight needed to make some sacrifices.

“No, everything is fine,” said Cadence. “Please tell Twilight that I'm alright.”

There was a long awkward pause in which Moondancer seemed at a loss. Fortunately, Cadence spoke before Moondancer was forced to think of something.

“Take care of yourself,” said Cadence. “Try not to overwork yourself. Get some sleep if you can.”

Twilight opened her mouth to say something, to ask Moondancer if she could speak to Cadence. But her tongue seemed to be locked in place. She just stood there, mouth half-open and her vision blurred with tears. There were so many things Twilight wanted to tell Cadence. She wanted to apologize for her lack of contact, she wanted to ask why Cadence had changed her phone number, she wanted to finally ask where exactly Cadence had chosen to place the blame. She wanted to know if there was something she could do or say that would make everything better.

But the only thing that came out of Twilight's mouth was a small exhale as Cadence finally hung up. Her chance—maybe her only chance—had slipped away. She was alone again, save for Moondancer's impatient voice.

“Anything else?” said Moondancer.

Twilight hung up without replying. There were things she could focus on, things that made sense and needed to be solved. The masked pony had been in her office, had left the photograph for her for some unknown reason. The masked pony might have been watching her at that very moment.

She frowned. Why was she feeling so watched, so exposed? She'd been feeling like this the entire time, but it had gotten worse during the past hour or so. Was it something about the office? Why did Twilight's office of all places make her feel so vulnerable? Was it just the fact that the station was empty? That might have been part of it, but it wasn't the whole thing. No, there was something else Twilight was missing.

She trotted over to her desk. Despite knowing the masked pony had been in the room, Twilight hadn't bothered fully examining her office. She was still reeling from having been drugged. But now that she thought about it, why had the masked pony bothered drugging her just to slip a photograph into the box? They could have done that at any time. Had that conversation—as one-sided as it had been—actually happened or had Twilight imagined it? Had she shut her eyes because of the pain in her head or because a part of her didn't want to see the masked pony's face? The deeper Twilight reached inside herself, the more questions she found that she didn't want to answer.

Twilight stuck her head under her desk. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, only that it was probably going to be there. The desk was pretty much the only piece of furniture in the room. Hoof-crafted and older than Twilight. She couldn't imagine where it had been before ending up in her office.

There was something stuck to the underside of the desk. Twilight almost missed it, but she lit up her horn and looked again. At first she mistook it for a strange imperfection in the design. However, she brushed her hoof against it and realized it wasn't even part of the desk. It had cloaked itself, taking on the color of the wood in order to blend in. The second Twilight removed it, it reverted back to its original color.

She placed the object on her desk. It looked like a mechanical beetle about two times smaller than her hoof. It whirred and pulsed as Twilight examined it. She'd seen something like it a long time ago in Canterlot. Ponyville was the last place she'd expected to find something like this.

Twilight tapped the mechanical beetle with her hoof. If she wasn't mistaken, this sophisticated little piece of technology was a recording device. Tiny, discreet, and able to blend in with the surrounding area. There were more expensive ones a pony could buy, newer models that were virtually undetectable. But this was one of the older models, probably one of the test bugs the Canterlot police force had been using before Twilight joined.

A grin spread across Twilight's face. The problem with technology like this was the hoofprint it left behind. There was a reason the older models weren't really in use anymore. As the Canterlot police force had discovered at the tail end of their trial run, these little bastards were just too easy to trace. All it took was a skilled unicorn and a basic tracking spell. This rendered the otherwise impressive technology completely useless to the force.

But this bug was going to be very useful to Twilight. The masked pony had made a mistake. As with any game of strategy, one mistake is all it takes. Especially if you're playing against Detective Twilight Sparkle.