//------------------------------//
// A False Front 
// Story: Leap of Faith 
// by A bag of plums 
//------------------------------//

“Thanks for coming over, girls.”
 
Sunset Shimmer sat in her apartment’s living room, Fluttershy and Rarity across from her. The former unicorn was swathed in a fuzzy gown and her feet were snugly encased in bunny slippers. The heater was turned up full blast and all three of them held a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
 
Rarity ran a critical eye over her fiery haired friend, checking for any signs of discomfort. “Think nothing of it, Sunset. We’re just glad you’re alright.”
 
Fluttershy sipped timidly at her hot chocolate; her mind kept rewinding the previous day when Sunset had dashed into the burning building, for her bag, no less. When the firefighters had carried her friend out, soaked and unconscious, Fluttershy had almost burst into tears. Principal Celestia had wasted no time in calling an ambulance and when it arrived, Sunset was taken away with an oxygen mask on her face and a drip in her arm. It had shaken all the Rainbooms, but poor Fluttershy had not gotten a single wink of sleep last night from worrying about her friend, all alone in the hospital.
 
So that morning, Fluttershy had waited until the sun had risen to call Rarity, who by either luck or unconscious synchronization, had been about to call her so they could go see Sunset together. But when the two of them had arrived at the hospital later that morning, it turned out that Sunset Shimmer had been released from the clinic only an hour earlier. Another short drive later, they now sat in Sunset’s apartment, feeling weary but relieved. 
 
“It wasn’t that serious,” Sunset shrugged, sounding braver than she had felt. From the bags under her friends’ eyes, it was evident that they had been worried sick; there was no need to add to it by telling them just how terrifying the experience had been. “Honestly, I don’t remember all that much of it.”
 
“You ran,” Rarity reiterated with pursed lips. “Into a burning building. A burning building, Sunset! Of course it was serious, Sunset! What if something had happened to you?”
 
Sunset Shimmer at least had the good grace to look ashamed. Looking back on it, being hauled outside wet and unconscious by firemen probably hadn’t been too good for Rarity, or any of her friends’ peace of minds.
 
“I’m sorry,” Sunset said, chastised. “But I had to do it, Rarity.” Before the fashionista could say another word, Sunset produced her still-damp school bag and pulled out the journal. By some miracle the sprinklers hadn’t ruined it, only left a small stain on the spine.
 
“Is that…?” Rarity said, her eyes wide. Fluttershy peeked up from her phone to look.
 
Sunset nodded. “The journal. I had to save it, Rarity.” Now that she had her friends’ full attention, Sunset continued, “I know, I know. It was stupid of me to run into a burning building, but I couldn’t leave it behind. If it had burned up, we’d have no way of contacting Princess Twilight any more. Not to mention,” Sunset’s expression grew thoughtful and borderline grim. “If there’s no journal on this side to connect to Equestria, there’s no guarantee that Twilight’s portal would be able to get to us anymore. I couldn’t risk it.”
 
Silence reigned as the two girls individually contemplated what would have happened if the magical link between their worlds had been severed. At last, Rarity coughed and patted Sunset on the arm.
 
“Well, I’m sure Twilight will appreciate you going into a blazing inferno for the sake of your friendship, hmm?”
 
“But that’s just the thing,” Sunset dropped the journal and stood up. “When I went in there, I saw a lot of smoke, but no actual flame.” She ran a hand through her already disheveled hair and pouted. “Have they looked into the cause of the fire yet?”
 
Rarity shrugged. “As far as I know, the Canterlot High’s been roped off since yesterday afternoon, darling. Only the firefighters have been allowed inside.”
 
Fluttershy mumbled something, but it was too quiet for anyone to hear.
 
“I hope it’s not going to be like this all weekend,” the fashionista said to herself, eyebrows scrunched. “The thought of all that party food, sitting unrefrigerated… ugh.” Rarity finished with a shudder.
 
Another mumbled something from Fluttershy, which also went ignored.
 
Sunset ducked into the kitchen for some more hot chocolate. “Well, it’s snowing now, so it won’t be all bad. Not like when Pinkie left the fridge open during the summer fair.”
 
“Girls!” Both Rarity and Sunset jumped at Fluttershy’s outburst. The pink-haired girl was on her feet, phone in hand and looking a little mortified at her own daring. She fell back into the couch before saying, “Um, Rainbow just shared this with me. I-it’s this morning’s news.” Fluttershy passed Rarity the phone before taking a large gulp of hot chocolate to calm her nerves.
 
Sunset shuffled to the couch. “What’s it say?”
 
“Canterlot High Blaze: A Mountain out of a Molehill.” Rarity read aloud. “Friday afternoon at Canterlot High… fine example of leadership under pressure…fire department responded in record time…. Et cetera et cetera,” she scrolled down to the bottom. “Firefighters report that the fire was extremely small and non-threatening, and caused by an overheating electrical outlet which set alight a stack of cardboard boxes in a broom closet. Hmm. So much for your heroic tale of friendship,” Rarity muttered, sounding just a tiny bit disappointed despite herself.
 
“I still could have suffocated,” Sunset said reproachfully. She pulled out her own phone and quickly found the story. It matched what Rarity had said; a small fire which had burned itself out by the time it had been found. The verdict was that the snow had somehow melted into the wires, causing an electrical short, which had then gone and set the cardboard on fire. “And I don’t know. This seems… too ordinary?” Ordinary didn’t seem like the term Sunset was looking for, but any further word-searching was abruptly cut short by a faint scratching sound.
 
“What’s that noise?” Rarity cocked her ear out, trying to locate the source. “You don’t have… mice, do you, dear?” She pulled her feet up onto the couch and peeked around nervously. “Please don’t let it be mice!”
 
“I think it’s coming from the door,” Leaving Fluttershy to calm Rarity down, the flame haired girl straightened her gown and shuffled off to answer the door.
 
Just as she suspected, the scratching sounds were coming from the other side of Sunset’s front door. Specifically, the area near the handle and the lock. Was someone trying to break in? She frowned; it was just past noon, surely any burglar would wait until nightfall to try housebreaking?
 
Sunset’s hand closed on the doorknob silently, the other reaching for a baseball bat that she kept in the umbrella stand for such an eventuality.
 
She prepared herself to fling the door open.
 
One, two…
 
“Three!” In one smooth motion Sunset gripped the knob and pulled, bring the bat to bear. “Aahhh!”
 
There was a startled cry, and before Sunset knew it, something struck her dominant wrist and a pair of hands were yanking the bat out of her hands. The girl stumbled back into her apartment and raised her fists before lowering them.
 
“Velvet?! What are you- are you okay?”
 
Standing on her doorstep with Sunset’s bat in her hands, was Velvet Breeze. The latter part of Sunset’s question came spilling out when she beheld Velvet’s sooty jacket, her rat’s nest of hair, and her overall exhausted profile. She looked, Sunset thought with concern, as if she were about to collapse on the spot.
 
Velvet Breeze didn’t even seem to register Sunset’s question at first. She swayed on her feet before her eyes finally focused onto Sunset’s troubled face.
 
“Oh. Sunset. You’re home,” Velvet said blandly, as if she couldn’t muster the energy to be surprised. The girl glanced down at the bat and grunted. “Sorry about that. Reflexes.”
 
Sunset accepted the bat back, deciding it would be better for the both of them if she didn’t question what kind of reflexes cumulated in a perfectly executed disarming maneuver. “Okay… you want to come inside?”
 
For a heart-stopping moment, Sunset was afraid Velvet was going to say no. The word was certainly forming on her lips, but a whiff of cocoa scented wind blew out the door and engulfed them both. Velvet’s decision was made for her.
 
“Well, maybe just a little while.”



It took almost an hour and three mugs of heavily caffeinated hot chocolate to get Velvet Breeze coherent again. Rarity had insisted on tidying Velvet’s hair and would have dusted off her jacket too, but Velvet seemed extremely protective about anyone going near her arms; she shied away from even the smallest touch. Sunset sat by and watched another fruitless attempt by Rarity to get that smeared hoodie off and inwardly apologized. She still hadn’t told her friends about her encounter with Velvet in the bathroom and it was probably because of that injury that the blue girl was so defensive about her personal space.
 
“So, uh, Rarity,” Sunset said at last to distract her friend. “How’s studying for midterms coming along?”
 
“All right, I suppose. I think I’ve got my literature and mathematics down pat, but I still need to brush up on my computer and multimedia notes.”
 
“You take notes for that class?” Sunset said incredulously.
 
“I take notes for every class, Sunset! It’s a key part of my study plan.”
 
“Yeah, but multimedia? Really? Half the stuff Mr. Pierce teaches doesn’t even make it into the weekly tests.”
 
“Mr… Pierce?” Velvet mumbled, startling everyone. They’d half-forgotten she still listening.
 
“Yeah,” Sunset nodded, pleased to hear Velvet speak. “He teaches computer, but he’s kind of weird.”
 
Rarity sniffed in disapproval. “Try overly violent. Did you know, he used that collapsible pointer of his to knock out two of the baseball team’s members for disrupting his class? Rainbow Dash was on the warpath when she found out.”
 
“Sounds like somebody I used to know,” Velvet said thoughtfully, not seeing the borderline Neolithic looks that the three other girls were shooting her.
 
“What kind of school did you say you went to before CHS?” Sunset queried after she cranked her jaw back up.
 
“A small one.” Draining her mug, the blue girl looked at Sunset and her friends meekly. “I’m sorry I missed Pinkie Pie’s party yesterday. It couldn’t be helped.”
 
“I’m sure Pinkie understands,” Fluttershy said soothingly. “You couldn’t have known there was going to be a fire. We’re lucky everyone made it out okay.”
 
Sunset could have sworn that Velvet had a guilty look on her face, but then Twilight’s letter came to mind. There’s no need to start being overly paranoid about things.
 
“Y-yeah. I heard you almost didn’t make it out, Sunset.” The look in Velvet’s eyes was suddenly focused and genuinely startling. “I’m so glad you’re unharmed.”
 
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad.” The lie came easier and easier the more she told it, but it was obvious that Velvet didn’t believe her.
 
 “Sunset.” Velvet‘s hands gripped her shoulders; Sunset could feel their wiry strength through her dressing gown and she had to fight the urge to recoil. “You have to take better care of yourself. My- that is, I would be… very unhappy, if you got hurt, or killed, or kidnapped.”
 
“Kidnap- what?!” Sunset cried, finally scurrying back into the welcoming arms of Rarity and Fluttershy. “What the hell are you talking about, Velvet?! What aren’t you telling me?”
 
“I’ve already said too much,’ Velvet whispered. She jumped to her feet. “I should go. Thank you for having me, Sunset. I’ll see you on Monday.”
 
“Velvet! Wait!” Rarity made a grab for the retreating girl, but for someone who looked like she was about to pass out she could move pretty quickly. The door was already shutting by the time the three Rainbooms had gotten up.
 
Sunset stamped one bunny-slippered foot in frustration. “What is up with that girl?”
 
Rarity patted her friend on the back in a futile attempt to placate her. “Reading between the lines, dear, I would hazard a guess that Velvet either is delusional, or has a bit of a crush on you. A rather creepy, obsessive crush...”
 
“We’ve been over this, Rarity! I’m pretty sure she does not have a crush-"
 
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
 
“Is that someone’s phone?” Sunset snapped more harshly than she meant to. Fluttershy and Rarity shook their heads, the pink haired girl pointing timidly to the magic journal. It was shining with an arcane glow and vibrating gently against the coffee table.  
 
“Finally. Maybe Princess Twilight can make some sense of what I’ve told her.”
 
As Sunset read Twilight’s letter, her friends watched uncertainly as the former unicorn’s face went from confident, to puzzled, to dumbfounded, to borderline horrified. Finally, the journal slipped from Sunset’s nerveless hands and unto the floor.
 
After a full two minutes, Rarity coughed politely. “…Sunset? Darling, what did she say?”
 
“Twilight… she found Velvet in Equestria.”
 
         “Oh, good. Did she ask her about-"
 
“She’s dead.”
 
“…what?”
 
“Twilight found Velvet’s grave in Equestria.” Sunset licked her suddenly dry lips and rushed to the window just in time to see a hooded form whip around the corner. “It… it says she’s been dead for over a year.”
 
All the color had drained out of Fluttershy’s face, leaving both her and Rarity almost the same color. “B-b-but if Velvet’s d-d-dead…” she squeaked fearfully.  “Then who were we just talking to?”



Velvet Breeze slowed to a stop a block away from Sunset’s home, breathing heavily. She’d really said too much back there, almost given away her real purpose for coming.
 
Nothing is true, everything is permitted, Velvet repeated to herself like a mantra. The life of an Assassin was a lonesome one, but she’d known that ever since her sister had died and the Mentor had taken her in. But it hadn’t been until now that Velvet had seen what that truly meant. Even if Sunset thought of her as a friend, Velvet knew deep in her heart that it could never be. It hurt more than she thought it would.
 
The young Assassin forced her thoughts away from the happy scene she had just fled and focused on the mission. After the fire had started, she had hidden in the kitchens and waited for night to fall. With the school cordoned off, it had been childishly simple to pick the lock on Wolfgang’s office and get access to all his papers. With their contents safely on her phone’s memory banks, all that was left to do was send it back to the bureau and wait for further instructions.
 
With one last, lingering look back at Sunset’s flat, Velvet began the cold and lonely trudge back to her place on the other side of town. She stopped only to throw a box of matches away into the trash.
 


The Templar agent adjusted the scope on her rifle, bringing the snowy road below into sharp view. From here, she could easily spot anyone coming or going, and still have plenty of time to put a bullet into them before they even heard the shot being fired.
 
The gun itself was a complex affair, part dark grey metal and part laminated walnut wood, but all business. She’d put it together herself, using parts from all over the world to ensure that it was every bit as good as she was at the job. And she was the best.
 
The agent peered through the scope, sweeping left and right methodically. She had been lying here for almost twelve hours, barely moving save to brush the occasional snowflake off the scope lens. Any other man or woman would have either given up or frozen to death by now. But not her. She would stay up on this godforsaken rooftop for as long as she needed to, or until her weapon rusted away. Hopefully not the latter.
 
The police hadn’t been able to gather much from the security cameras back in Fillydelphia, which meant that the Templars didn’t have much to go on when it came to tracking down who had taken the key to Cobalt’s papers. The Grand Master had been less than pleased, at least until she had arrived on the scene. From there it had all been a simple matter of retracing the Assassin’s footsteps from the broken window all the way up to the roof where they had first entered, then cross referencing it with the manner in which the guards had been killed.
 
Most Assassins fought with some degree of finesse. Their basic training ensured that combat was quick, lethal, and economic; nothing overexerting or loud. The fight in the office had been anything but: it had been flashy, anger-fueled, and desperate. The fighter was good but obviously not Assassin trained, at least not on core basics. This deduction narrowed the choices down to two, and then taking into consideration that the agent had personally killed one of them four years ago, it could only mean that Dewdrop was the one she sought.
 
The agent breathed out a thin stream of fog. While being out here wouldn’t kill her, it was still a lousy way to spend the day and the sooner she was back in Manehattan, the better, even though it would mean going back to the Templars. This was what she was reduced to: a hitman, taking orders from some delusional bureaucrat with more ideas about changing the world than he knew what to do with.

A rare flicker of annoyance flared up in the agent’s chest, like a coal in a long-dead fireplace. Once this all blew over, she would find the Templar Grand Master and give him a piece of her mind. Then she remembered who was really pulling the strings and quashed the little ember of irritation, stowing it in a box for later. For now, there was nothing for her to do but lie here and wait for Dewdrop and whoever might be accompanying her to come along.
 
The day wore on. The wind blew and blew, each gust bringing with it a fresh layer of icy powder. The Templar agent glared through the scope of her gun, watching as the sparse few cars that dared brave the weather passed by below, ignorant of their hidden observer.
 
Then the wind changed direction and the agent stiffened. She sniffed at the air. Sniffed again.
 
The agent shook the snow off herself and took up a proper firing position, one elbow cocked out, the other arm steadying her rifle. She would know that scent anywhere.
 
A motorcycle rounded the corner in the far distance, nothing more than a cone of light.
 
The agent took in a breath of frigid air and held it. The rifle gleamed in her hands, unshaking and deadly as the plague. She looked through the scope one last time, finger curling around the trigger.
 
The motorcycle roared into view, breaking through the veil of falling snow like a battering ram. The agent caught a flash of dark leathers and black helmet with sea blue hair streaming behind the rider like a banner.
 
The agent smiled thinly. Gotcha.
 
Then she fired twice.



Dewdrop had been speeding along the empty road when she suddenly lost control of her bike. One moment her ride had been humming along, the next she was fighting for control. She wrenched the handlebars to the side and slammed on the brakes, but instead of the squeal of tires against asphalt there was the tortured screaming of metal scraping on road. Dewdrop barely had time to register that her tires had both burst before the bike flew off the highway, smashed through a wooden barrier and ploughed into a snowdrift.
 
Freezing powder invaded the top of Dewdrop’s leathers and the underside of her helmet, making her gasp. The visor cracked as her head was thrown against the handlebars. Her vision spun and she tasted blood.
 
Ow.
 
For the longest time Dewdrop lay in the snow, stunned and in a daze from the crash. Only when the stars in her eyes went away did the Assassin crawl out from under her bike and into the open air; luckily the heat from the engine had melted a large enough hole for her to get out without too much trouble. The rear wheel stuck up into the air, scraps of black rubber still clinging to the rim. From the looks of it the bike itself wasn’t damaged too badly, but without both tires she was going nowhere fast. At least the compartment which held the papers was still locked.
 
As Dewdrop moved to pull her bike out from the snow, something on the rim caught her eye: a narrow groove in the metal, as if something had augured its way through her ride and shredded the tire on its way through. Something like a drill… or a bullet.
 
Just before she had lost control of her bike, hadn’t there been a sound? An echoing crack like a gunshot? Dewdrop instinctively dropped down on her knees, making herself a smaller target if, as she suspected, there was a gunman. Her head and eyes swiveled all around but the falling snow was too thick for her to see any further than a few dozen meters in any direction.
 
This was bad. If the sniper was good enough to hit her bike while it was moving, they’d have no trouble killing her now that she was standing still.
 
However, Dewdrop still had one card left to play. Drawing a short, straight-edged sword from inside her jacket, the Assassin forced herself to calm down and focus. Gradually her heartbeat slowed and her vision darkened, taking away the flurries of snow and replacing them with a featureless dark expanse. When she looked back down at her hands, they were highlighted in blue. Dewdrop smiled to herself; it had taken years to master, but using eagle sense always gave her a faint thrill of triumph.
 
With any visual distractions removed, Dewdrop crouched behind her bike and peeked out at the road and the surrounding buildings. If the sniper was lining up another shot, she’d see him in bright red. But there was nothing but grey all around.
 
“You’re a hard woman to kill, Dewdrop,” a voice rang out from behind her. Dewdrop stiffened and spun on the spot, keeping her sword out and ready.
 
Not ten paces away was another woman all dressed in a tight, black outfit, all covered in straps and buckles. She had pale mauve skin and her green and brown hair fluttered in the snowy breeze. Her entire body was highlighted in a brilliant red. A heavy pistol hung on her belt next to a black crystal badge in the shape of the Templar cross.
 
“Mirror Match…” Dewdrop held back a snarl. Mirror Match was one of the Templars’ most prolific assassins. Originally an Assassin like Dewdrop, Mirror had switched sides abruptly after six years of flawless service to the Mentor. Why she had changed sides was still uncertain but Dewdrop didn’t really care; if she stood in the way, she would die like any other Templar would.
 
Mirror Match saw the glare on Dewdrop’s face and smiled. “Sorry about your bike, but it was either that or you, and I’d much prefer to deal with you in person.”
 
“I’ll kill you.”
 
“Articulate as always,” Mirror Match said, the smile not leaving her shapely face. “You haven’t changed at all.”
 
“Shut up.”
 
The Templar agent took a step forward, her arms outstretched like she wanted a hug. “My, my. You are in a bad mood, aren’t you? If I’d known you would be so cranky, I’d have bought you dinner first. It worked pretty well with Satin.”
 
“I said shut up!” Dewdrop roared, red mist filling her vision. She dashed forward, sword whirring at Mirror Match’s neck in a silver crescent.
 
Mirror Match took a step backward and the sword missed. Dewdrop felt the Templar’s boot crack into the side of her head and her helmet went flying. She recovered just in time to parry the blade of a trench knife that Mirror had drawn from her shoulder. Their weapons clashed together and they pushed against each other, but to Dewdrop’s dismay she was the one being forced back.
 
Dewdrop kicked at Mirror’s legs and she stumbled, giving Dewdrop the chance to go on the offensive. Mirror’s blocks were lightning fast but Dewdrop was unrelenting and eventually one of her strikes would break on through. Her sword sheared through a strap on the Templar’s leg, but didn’t draw blood.
 
Then Mirror headbutted her and Dewdrop was sent stumbling back. Mirror Match drew her gun and fired, the bullets crashing into the Assassin’s sword and tearing it from her hands. Dewdrop responded by unsheathing both her hidden blades and charging at the Templar, screaming bloody murder.
 
Mirror fired again but the bullet missed and Dewdrop was on her in an instant, twisting the gun from her hands and stabbing with her free arm. The Templar kneed her in the gut and they staggered apart. Blood trickled from a tiny cut on Mirror’s stomach, eliciting a small laugh from the killer.
 
“So, that’s the way it is...” she said softly. Dewdrop raised the gun to finish it, but before she could pull the trigger, Mirror Match leapt backwards and vanished.
 
Dewdrop blinked. What the hell?
 
She swiveled back and forth with the pistol. A sharp, throbbing pain was building up in her abdomen and the side of her face hurt from Mirror’s powerful kick. There was no way she’d be able to use eagle sense like this.
 
Then Mirror Match’s trench knife came whistling out of the snowstorm, the thin blade turning once in the air before embedding itself in Dewdrop’s right thigh with a sickening squelch and sending her down on one knee. The Assassin cried out in surprise and pain, but then Mirror Match came sprinting out of nowhere, juking left and right to avoid the remaining three bullets in Dewdrop’s gun.
 
Against her protesting body’s wishes, Dewdrop forced herself to stand. Both her hidden blades scythed at the Templar but she avoided them easily, seizing Dewdrop’s hand and using the exact same maneuver to twist the pistol from her hands. She followed up by firing three swift punches into Dewdrop’s side, each one making her black out for a second.
 
Dewdrop felt hopelessness overwhelm her; she knew she was outmatched. Mirror was just too fast, too skilled, and too strong for her to beat, and as if to prove it the Templar got her left arm in a lock and twisted it behind her back, pulling each muscle and tendon to the breaking point. The edges of Dewdrop’s vision began to darken as her consciousness slipped away from her with each passing second.
 
“Sorry it had to be this way,” she faintly heard Mirror Match say before the Templar agent pulled just that tiny bit harder and casually dislocated her arm.
 
White hot pain flared up in Dewdrop’s entire side and she screamed, but then Mirror Match chopped her on the neck with the blade of her palm and the Assassin knew no more.



Mirror Match observed the unconscious Assassin’s body for a few seconds before blinking. The girl had put up a decent enough fight, but in all honesty there hadn’t actually been any chance of her winning. The superficial cut on her belly had already stopped bleeding, and any further injuries would be gone before the hour was up.
 
No contest at all, really.
 
Ignoring Dewdrop for the time being, Mirror went over to the bike and used a skeleton key to open the storage compartment. A cursory glance confirmed what she had suspected: The Assassin had been transporting the papers from Cobalt’s office to the bureau in Trottingham. They were all still here, stacked neatly in spite of the crash. She nodded to herself with satisfaction and closed up the compartment.
 
It took fifteen more minutes to move both Dewdrop and the bike back to the abandoned block of flats where she had left her rifle, and ten minutes more to clean up the blood and bullet casings back at the site of the crash. By the time she had finished, Mirror was feeling much better about the whole thing. Soon she would be back at her penthouse in Manehattan, and out of this ridiculous outfit, and a couple hundred thousand dollars richer to boot.
 
Her car was parked in a side street, and after disassembling and stowing away her rifle she hurried inside, turning up the heat as far as it would go. She had already called the police to investigate a motorcycle crash, but it would be better if she wasn’t around to answer any of their questions. Mirror Match started the engine and called her boss.
 
“Sir,” she said as neutrally as she could.
 
“Mirror Match,” Her boss answered, his voice tinny and artificial on the speaker. “Is it done?”
 
“Yes, sir. Mission accomplished.”
 
“The Assassin is dead?” Her boss pronounced the word ‘Assassin’ as if saying it somehow made him unclean.
 
“Yes, sir. The Assassin is dead by my hand.”
 
“Good. And what about the papers? Do you have them?”
 
Mirror glanced back at the flats where she had left Dewdrop and her bike. “No, sir. The Assassin didn’t have them. I would guess that they were either destroyed or handed off to someone before I killed her.”
 
There was a disappointed pause from the other end of the phone, and Mirror Match smiled darkly as she imagined what her boss was thinking.
 
“…Very well, if that’s the way it is...” he said after a full minute. “If that’s all, then you can come back to Manehattan for debriefing. Payment will be wired to your account as usual.”

“Thank you, sir.”
 
“Just get back here as soon as you can. We have much to do, and the Templars need you to do your part.” There was a click, and the line was cut.
 
Mirror Match sighed and put the phone away, pulling the car out onto the snowy road. Through the endless sea of white, she fancied she could hear the wail of sirens as the police closed in on her location. While she doubted Dewdrop would tell them what had really transpired, the Templar had made sure to disarm her and stow her hidden blades in her bike with the papers. With any luck, Dewdrop would be out of commission long enough for Wolfgang to finish his task in Canterlot.
 
Sleep well, Dewdrop. Tell dear Frigid I said hello.