Pronoia/Paranoia

Chapters

Chapter 2: Afternoon and Evening
Chapter 3: Sunset
Chapter 4: Sunrise
Chapter 5: Breakfast
Chapter 6: Lunch
Chapter 7: Dinner
Chapter 8: Fear
Chapter 9: Guilt
Chapter 10: Trust
Chapter 11: Love
Chapter 13: Death
Chapter 14: Loyalty
Chapter 15: Courage
Chapter 16: Paranoia
Chapter 17: Pronoia
Chapter 1: Midnight and Morning
Chapter 12: Deception

Chapter 2: Afternoon and Evening

Consistency. A long time ago, that's what Twilight thought she needed.

Jumping on a new case every week was going to get old eventually. Once the number reached the double digits, all those bodies started to look remarkably similar to one another. Even when some particularly sick-minded killers really used their imagination, at the end of the day it was just another corpse on the pile. When it wasn't a murder, it was theft. When it wasn't theft, it was arson. The list just went on and on, doubling back on itself like some sinful ouroboros.

But as Twilight watched her colleagues pack up the body parts for transport, she thought about those four syllables that had promised her peace of mind.

Ponyville. A town where even a grisly murder couldn't disrupt Mrs. Cake's morning yoga class. A town where ponies just went about their business after witnessing the police taking away a dead body. A town where even the concept of a possible murderer in their midst abruptly became less exciting than a new crop of apples. Consistency. Ponyville lived and breathed its routines.

Twilight couldn't do that. Not after what she'd seen and done. Maybe she was broken. Maybe this was a symptom of an illness she'd contracted after years of dealing with the scum of Equestria. But whatever it was, Twilight clung to it like a lifesaver. It was what kept her sane.

The body was taken to the hospital's morgue. The postmortem was placed in the capable—or so Twilight was told—hooves of Dr. Stable and Nurse Redheart.

Witnesses were in short supply. Rainbow told Twilight this right off the bat. Apparently nopony had seen or heard anything. In a town that went to bed early and woke up even earlier, this was probably the least surprising element of the whole case. That was how Ponyville was able to maintain its monotony. Most citizens just didn't give an ounce of manure what happened outside of their businesses, families, or friendships. The closest they had to an actual witness—and Twilight was using that term loosely—was Carrot Top, the pony who'd discovered the body.

The interview with Carrot Top wasn't particularly enlightening.

“What were you doing out at that time of night?” said Twilight.

Carrot Top took a while to answer. She obviously thought she was in some kind of trouble. She technically wasn't, but Twilight wasn't ruling her out. Everypony was a suspect until Twilight got the details she needed to start crossing out names. Innocent until proven guilty wasn't a big part of Twilight's personal philosophy. Her years in the city had tainted that perfectly reasonable line of thinking.

“I couldn't sleep,” said Carrot Top. “Nightmares. I decided to take a walk to clear my head. I happened to walk past the library and I saw...well...”

She took a moment to gather herself. She was doing her best to put on a brave face for the interview, but Twilight could tell that Carrot Top was traumatized. Under better circumstances, Twilight would have preferred to conduct this interview someplace more hospitable. The cramped interrogation room at the station wasn't ideal. It was basically a closet with a table.

“I thought it was some kind of art display,” said Carrot Top. “But I got closer and realized it looked too real. That's when I started screaming.”

It was Carrot Top's screams that had pretty much roused the entire town, including Rainbow Dash. It only took a few minutes for a crowd to gather, followed hastily by law enforcement once Rainbow herself arrived on the scene. This was an unexpected downside of living on the edge of town. Twilight felt just a little bit humiliated about being the last to know. If she'd been closer to the library—and not such a heavy sleeper—she probably would have been the first one on the scene.

“Was anypony else around?” said Twilight. “Did you see anything suspicious?”

Carrot Top shook her head.

“I wasn't paying attention,” she said.

The answer was altogether unsatisfying for Twilight, as was the remainder of the interview. Carrot Top didn't have anything for her, or at least nothing she could actually use. Twilight had solved cases with even less, but that had been in Canterlot. Back in the city, she'd had a more competent array of underlings to back her up. That had more than made up for a lack of clues or obvious motives.

Dejected, Twilight bid Carrot Top a polite farewell. It was still dark out—about twenty minutes before sunrise—and Twilight really needed another coffee. Or maybe she'd finally give in and drink some of that Ponyville cider Spike was always raving about. The ironic thing was that she was working her Canterlot hours. The city had taught her the importance of all-nighters and early mornings. Some days, sleep had seemed more like a distant memory than a basic bodily function. But Twilight was so out of practice that she actually needed a pick-me-up.

As if in answer to her prayers, the door to the interrogation room opened. Spike came in like the angel he was—there had to be fluffy wings hidden under those scales—smiling and holding a tray that contained exactly what Twilight needed. Two cups of coffee and a paper bag marked Sunbean. Twilight had been pleasantly surprised to learn that her favorite coffee chain had actually bothered to open up shop in Ponyville. It was especially surprising considering so few of the locals seemed to enjoy coffee. Their loss. Sunbean had the best bagels in all of Equestria and Twilight would fight anypony who said otherwise.

She levitated a bagel out of the bag and took a huge bite.

“Good news?” said Twilight hopefully.

Spike sat down in the room's only other chair. With his size, the interrogation room felt even more cramped. Plus all the furniture was pony-sized. Rooms like these made him realize just how dragon-unfriendly small towns like Ponyville were. The city wasn't much better—or at least its citizens weren't—but at least the chairs didn't feel like doll furniture.

“We talked to some of the ponies at the scene,” he said. “The same story. Nopony saw or heard anything. You know how the ponies around here don't really go out at night.”

Twilight sighed. Weren't ponies in small towns supposed to know each others' business all the time? With how everypony—mostly Pinkie—seemed interested in Twilight's life, she'd just assumed that was typical. But it looked as if that wasn't the case. The entire town still saw her as an outsider.

“And the identity of our unlucky friend?” she said.

Spike dug a bagel out of the bag and took a bite. Despite the circumstances, it felt good to be working again. It seemed like forever ago that he'd been Twilight's partner. He'd followed her to Ponyville out of sheer loyalty, even though he knew there was nothing for him there. The city had definitely been harsh, especially towards Spike. But it had been his home. He'd never lived anywhere else and he hadn't been planning to. Spike could have taken Twilight's original position if he'd stayed in Canterlot, but he'd chosen to stay by her side.

“No idea,” he said. “Identification is going to be a pain in the flank. Whoever did this was thorough. Removed the Cutie Mark and everything.”

Twilight raised her eyebrows. That was thorough. Unusually thorough. Most criminals she'd come across seemed to forget how crucial Cutie Marks were when it came to identification. This common oversight had been the backbone of some of her most infamous cases. Whoever they were dealing with, they had some experience with this kind of stuff and no shortage of brains. That also ruled out the possibility of this somehow being an unplanned. She hadn't been leaning much hope on the idea of the whole thing being opportunistic, but Twilight believed in exploring every avenue and alleyway.

“Is there anything we can use?” said Twilight.

Spike shrugged. Identification had never been his field.

“There's a lab in Canterlot,” he said. “We can send them some samples and I'm sure they'll come up with something.”

Twilight groaned and rubbed her forehead. Fucking Canterlot. Even if they sent the samples right away, it was going to take days—maybe weeks—for them to get a result. But there was no way Ponyville had either the capabilities or the horsepower to pull off something like that. The lab in Canterlot was their only option.

“The postmortem?” said Twilight.

Spike slid both cups of coffee over to Twilight's side of the table. He wasn't a coffee drinker himself, but he knew just how she liked it. This had been instrumental in cementing him as her partner back in Canterlot. He knew how she liked her coffee, how much cream cheese she wanted on her bagels, and the exact brand of quills she preferred for filling out paperwork.

Spike wasn't just Twilight's partner in stopping crime. He was her best and possibly only friend. This had been as true in Canterlot as it was in Ponyville. Twilight didn't have much time for hanging out with friends, but she'd always had time to grab a bagel and discuss the latest string of thefts with her enthusiastic partner.

“Dr. Stable wants you at the hospital as soon as possible,” said Spike.

Twilight jumped to her hooves. To her, “as soon as possible” meant “thirty minutes ago”.

Dr. Stable had never performed a postmortem before. That basically went without saying. In a town like Ponyville, most deaths were straightforward: natural causes or farming accident. The in between was nonexistent. At least it was nonexistent, up until the night somepony decided to make a grisly art piece out of a dead body.

Even though Dr. Stable had requested Twilight's presence, it was Nurse Redheart who greeted Twilight at the morgue and led her inside. Redheart had been working at the hospital a lot longer than Stable, so she was slightly less shaken up than the doctor. When most ponies thought of “farming accidents”, their imagination only went so far. Redheart had seen some pretty nightmarish things. Dr. Stable was fortunate in that he hadn't been working at the hospital back when farming accidents had been a lot more common.

“I'm afraid the doctor is a little busy,” said Redheart.

Twilight could hear what sounded like a pony—undoubtedly Dr. Stable—puking their guts out in the other room. She couldn't blame the poor stallion. This wasn't what he'd signed up for. He reminded Twilight of herself as a bright-eyed rookie. Nopony had told her—or Dr. Stable—just how bad their job could get under the right circumstances.

“Cause of death?” said Twilight.

Nurse Redheart gave Twilight the sympathetic little smile she used on patients who were a little slow on the uptake. She gestured towards the body parts on the examination table. They'd each been packed into their own sealed container and labeled. Twilight suspected this was Nurse Redheart's doing.

“Well...,” said Redheart.

Twilight took a very deep breath.

“Yes, I'm aware of that,” she said. “But from what I can see, this was done after the victim was killed. Were you able to figure out how they were killed in the first place?”

Nurse Redheart smiled apologetically. Twilight had to remind herself that Redheart was no more a seasoned professional in these matters than Dr. Stable. In ideal circumstances, Twilight would have just sent the body to Canterlot for a proper postmortem. That would have probably taken a shorter amount of time than the identification process. But a morgue was a morgue and a doctor was a doctor.

“Dr. Stable thinks it was poison,” said Redheart. “He noticed swelling around the eye holes and neck. It's not much to go on, but it seems the most likely.”

Twilight began to pace.

“Stomach contents?” she said.

Nurse Redheart repeated it from memory, not that it was much to remember. She'd seen some interesting stuff in her career, but this postmortem was probably the most exciting thing to ever happen to her.

“Raspberry jam,” she said. “It seems to be the last thing the victim ate before they died.”

Twilight put a hoof under her chin and nodded. A picture was coming together in her head. Not an especially coherent picture, but a picture nonetheless.

“So our killer puts poison in the jam,” she said. “They make sure the victim eats enough for it to be fatal. Victim is then turned into a macabre art piece and put on display for the whole town to see. But why?”

That single question had been nagging at her for hours. But why? It wasn't that Twilight couldn't imagine somepony in this sleepy little town committing murder. She wasn't naive. It was the exact circumstances of the murder that puzzled her. This didn't feel like a Ponyville murder. This felt more like the kind of thing a superior would drop on Twilight's desk back in the grand old city of Canterlot.

A Ponyville murder would probably have involved a brawl at the local market and a poisoned birthday cake. It would have been based on the little annoyances of small town life getting out of hoof or a decades-old dispute over a tractor. This murder seemed motivated by both malice and an inherent need to show off, neither of which were common personality traits in Ponyville.

Dr. Stable finally decided to make an appearance. He looked like an absolute wreck. He was pale and his glasses hung askew at the end of his muzzle. Despite still being on hospital premises, he'd discarded his usual doctor's garb.

“Good morning Twilight,” said Dr. Stable.

The corners of his mouth were upturned in what was obviously intended to be a smile. But with the effort he was putting in, the effect was rather ghoulish. A look at Nurse Redheart only worsened Stable's attempt to look detached and blissful. He tried to mimic the look of indifference on her face, but he only succeeded in looking even more traumatized. Twilight decided not to get on his case about him not using her full and official title.

“Would you mind giving me a copy of your official report?” said Twilight.

Dr. Stable and Nurse Redheart shared a glance.

“Um, I haven't written a report,” said Stable. “It didn't seem necessary.”

Twilight looked from one pony to the other. She thought she'd been pretty tolerant before, but now she was struggling. It didn't seem fair. It hadn't seemed fair in the first place, but now it felt like a cruel joke. She'd been pulled away from Canterlot—her home—and dropped into this speck on the map for no good reason. Now that something had actually happened, Twilight was being continuously reminded of why she would have given anything to be back where she belonged.

“Of course it was necessary,” said Twilight. “A pony has been fucking murdered.”

Her eyes blazing with anger and frustration, she fixed her gaze on Dr. Stable. He seemed to wither under the sheer heat of her stare.

“Write up a report and have it sent to my office,” she said. “I expect it by the end of today.”

She turned and marched out of the morgue. If that report wasn't on her desk by the time Princess Celestia lowered the sun, Twilight was fully prepared to arrest Dr. Stable and Nurse Redheart for refusing to cooperate. Maybe that was harsh, but Twilight wasn't willing to mess around when it came to a murder investigation. She could only hope that her colleagues would be more competent than Dr. Stable.

At the very least, Twilight knew she could count on Spike. When she got back to the station, she found him waiting outside her office. After her experience with Dr. Stable and Nurse Redheart, Twilight was relieved to see the face of someone who'd definitely done their job right.

“Missing Ponies reports?” she said.

Spike followed Twilight into her office. He had a bottle of cider in his claws. Drinking on the job was strictly prohibited, but Twilight wasn't in the mood to reprimand him. Spike wasn't actually “on the job” anyway. He wasn't technically employed at the station, so he decided having a bottle of cider on the premises was a minimal offense. Besides, Spike definitely needed a drink or four after what had happened the previous night. He'd seen worse, but this one was so unexpected that he was sure he'd be seeing that body in his nightmares.

“None,” said Spike. “I combed the archive, but there hasn't been a missing pony in this town for months. The last one was some filly named Dinky and she was found in about twenty-four hours.”

There was a stack of papers waiting for Twilight on her desk. All of the official statements her colleagues had taken from various townsponies.

“What about Manehattan?” she said. “Canterlot? Los Pegasus?”

She started picking up each paper in turn and glancing over it. Most of it wasn't helpful. Not just because Rainbow Dash's hoofwriting was almost illegible, although that was definitely a factor. Twilight was again hit with a familiar roadblock: Nopony knew anything. Nopony had seen anything, nopony had any idea who the victim was, and nopony seemed to have any knowledge of who could have committed such a heinous crime. It was all just a long trail of useless questions leading to a dead end. Twilight was sick of dead ends.

“I didn't bother,” said Spike. “It's useless unless we know the victim's identity.”

Twilight shoved the statements into a drawer. She'd read them in greater detail later, not that she had high hopes.

“What about Rarity?” said Twilight. “Did she find anything at the library?”

She'd entrusted Rarity with the important task of combing the interior of the library for clues. Twilight didn't think Rarity would find anything, but it was worth a shot. Out of everypony on the force, Rarity had the best eye for detail. If there was something to be found, she was the pony to find it.

Spike blushed at the mention of Rarity. He'd been entranced by her since that very first day. Twilight didn't say anything about it—it wasn't her place—but she thought he was barking up the wrong tree. Spike always seemed to fall for mares who had no interest in him outside of friendship. Twilight doubted Rarity would be any different.

“She hasn't reported back,” he said. “Maybe I should...”

Twilight held up a hoof.

“I'm sure she's fine on her own,” she said.

Noting the look of disappointment on Spike's face, Twilight rushed to distract him. The last thing she needed was for him to get hung up on his little crush. In her opinion, he was far too old for that sort of thing. But it wasn't like she had much experience in that department. When it came to that sort of thing, Twilight was decidedly uninterested. Not that she could blame Spike for his feelings. He might have looked scary to the casual outsider, but he had emotions and needs.

“I need you to find out how many potentially toxic plants are growing in Ponyville,” she said.

Based on how the poison had likely been administered and the town they were in, Twilight suspected something natural. With how fragile ponies' digestive systems could be, almost anypony with the know-how could grab a book from the library and figure out how to brew up something nasty. Often the brewing wasn't even necessary. It was simply a matter of finding a toxic plant in a field somewhere, grinding it up, and tossing it into somepony's morning oats. Twilight knew of at least three poisonous flowers growing near the Everfree Forest.

“And what are you going to do?” said Spike.

Twilight headed towards the door. It felt odd to be leaving so soon, but she remembered that she wasn't really a desk pony. She still hadn't developed that supposedly inevitable aversion to paperwork, but she preferred being out on the field. Her colleagues in Canterlot often tied themselves to their desks whenever possible. Twilight considered herself above those limitations. So was Spike. Together they had made an unspoken pact to never become the bleary-eyed desk ponies who spent the entire day going over papers and writing in notebooks.

“I'll check up on Rarity,” she said.

She started to leave her office, but stopped in the doorway. She froze in her tracks, one hoof over the threshold. Her face was twisted into a strange expression of wariness and deep thought.

I'm missing something. The thought came bubbling up from somewhere deep inside Twilight's mind. The whole day had seemed kind of off. She'd done her best to ignore the feeling because it didn't have anything to do with the investigation. But was she sure about that? That feeling of wrongness wasn't just because of the case itself. The atmosphere was a little unbalanced and Twilight was sure she was the only one who felt it. But she didn't know why. What was it about this whole thing that was bothering her? It wasn't just the note, although those two words were definitely pounding at the back of Twilight's head.

“Spike, what did we have for dinner yesterday?” she said.

Spike was so used to being asked strange questions that he didn't hesitate.

“Hayburgers and potato sticks,” he said. “Applejack sent us some fritters, so we had those for dessert.”

Twilight rubbed her forehead. Yes, she remembered the hayburgers and potato sticks. One thing Ponyville did better than Canterlot was food. Most of those fancy places in Canterlot stuck to food that looked amazing but tasted like nothing. Ponyville had introduced Twilight to a brand new world where flavor took priority over presentation. But as much as she'd enjoyed her dinner, that wasn't really what she was after. It was how it was worded and how it had lined up in her head, but it wasn't what Twilight was getting at.

“And after that?” she said.

Spike thought for a minute.

“We ate at the station,” he said slowly. “Then I went home. You came home around nine for your usual cup of coffee.”

He shut his eyes as he struggled to remember. He knew Twilight was counting on him. She never asked him a question like that without expecting a good answer.

“Oh, and you found that sample packet of raspberry jam in the mail,” he said. “But I think you stuck it in the fridge.”

Twilight's heart almost skipped a beat. The sample packet of raspberry jam. That was what had been bothering her. A tiny detail she'd neglected to file away because it seemed so innocuous at the time. From a local place, she'd thought to herself as her eyes passed over the innocent little packet. She'd gotten at least a hundred of those things in the mail since moving to Ponyville and most of them had met their end among used napkins and empty toothpaste tubes.

“Change of plans,” said Twilight. “If you need me, I'll be at the house. Please call Rarity and tell her to meet me there.”

She galloped out of the office before Spike could say anything. Not that he would have said anything if he'd gotten the chance. He knew that look. Twilight was onto something and nothing was going to stand in her way.

It was almost exactly as Twilight vaguely remembered. An innocent sample packet bearing the image of a raspberry. So generic that Twilight could have seen a hundred of them at the local market and instantly forgotten.

But there were some things about the packet that Twilight didn't remember. As she held it at eye level and turned it over, she realized why it had snagged on her thoughts in the first place. It wasn't that it was out of the ordinary in any immediately noticeable way. No, the thing was perfectly ignorable. But once one irregularity popped into Twilight's head, it was like an avalanche.

Suddenly everything about the packet she held in her magic was wrong. The texture was wrong, the size was wrong, even the feel of the contents was slightly wrong. It was like somepony had taken the vague idea and just decided to run with it. But there was also something intentional about it, like it was meant to evoke a strong feeling of deceit once the ruse expired. It was just a sample packet, but Twilight felt like every part of it had been designed, crafted with the skilled hooves of somepony who lusted over minuscule details.

At some point in almost all of her previous cases, Twilight had been dragged along by a near-delusional concept of something bigger. She'd been convinced that something outside the scope of the obvious was influencing the case, maybe even something rooted in conspiracy. She always ended up dismissing it in the end, but that was probably the worst part of any case. That feeling of being deceived by forces so far outside of her control wasn't pleasant for Twilight. But she'd always gotten over it, even if she felt humiliated about obsessing over the most innocent details until Spike had to shake her out of it. As Spike always had to remind her, there wasn't always a bigger picture behind the bigger picture.

But as she examined that sample packet, Twilight felt her resolve trembling. She wished Spike was there to lay a claw across her back and tell her to at least have a biscuit before she decided to start drawing up charts and diving into historical records.

Twilight laughed to herself. What was she even thinking? She didn't need Spike to do that stuff. She could do it herself. Twilight had gotten so used to him keeping her grounded that she'd forgotten about a time before she had a Spike in her life.

To prove this to herself, Twilight opened the fridge. There were no biscuits, but there were some leftover oat cakes from breakfast and fresh milk. Good enough for what she now realized was going to be lunch.

She took the milk out of the fridge and poured herself a glass. The milkmare must have come sometime in the morning. Another thing Twilight was never going to get used to was these weekly milk deliveries. What a bizarre and outdated concept. But Ponyville was kind of behind the times in a lot of areas. All the Sunbeans in the world couldn't have made up for the fact that ponies still paid in bits. Non-physical currency was a foreign concept in Ponyville, even though it had become the norm for places like Canterlot and Manehattan. The milk still came in bottles, for Celestia's sake.

Fortunately, the oat cakes and milk helped her calm down. The food helped her steady herself and a few gulps of milk shifted her focus from the packet. That momentary lapse was enough for Twilight to successfully re-position her thoughts.

After she was finished, Twilight placed the empty plate and glass next to the sink. She planned to clean both as soon as she was done. A simple task like that was guaranteed to relax her and help her focus on what was really important about this case. Normally Spike did the dishes—and most of the other housework—but Twilight decided he more than deserved a day off. He was going to be pretty wiped out when he finally got home and she deeply appreciated his efforts.

Twilight held the sample packet at eye level again. That brief break had given her the chance to see it for what it truly was: her first big clue in a murder case. It didn't matter where it came from or why. In that moment, she only cared about what—if anything—it could tell her.

She split the packet open. It almost felt ceremonial, like a ribbon-cutting. Twilight held it up like she was expecting something to pop out of it. But of course nothing that definitive happened. It played its part well. If Twilight hadn't known any better, she would have been fooled.

She held the packet up to her muzzle and sniffed. There was nothing too suspicious about the aroma. It actually smelled quite nice. Twilight was almost tempted to taste it. It was her favorite after all.

Twilight didn't recognize the logo on the back. It looked like a pony's head, except the eyes were buttons and its mouth seemed to be sewn shut. Its fur was light brown and seemed to bear a strange patchwork pattern. There was something about it that suggested a secret order or a cult. But Ponyville didn't seem like the kind of place that would have a cult, especially one that delivered sample packets of jam to random townsponies.

She had heard all sorts of horror stories about cults in small towns, including one about a goat head and a group of fillies. That particularly grim tale had brought on a long string of sleepless nights. But if Ponyville did have some cult shit going on, they were keeping it well-hidden from outsiders. The only cult-like behavior Twilight had experienced was the townsponies' borderline-creepy reliance on parties.

Unfortunately, Twilight's home didn't come equipped with a state-of-the-art crime lab to rival the one in Canterlot. It simply wasn't big enough for something that seemed pointless. But Twilight prided herself on always being prepared. To most ponies, being prepared meant filling a backpack with survival supplies in case of a storm. For Twilight, being prepared meant having a miniature lab stuffed into one corner of her bedroom.

She hurried to her bedroom with the jam packet. She already had the supplies set up. It was far from perfect, but it was the best Twilight could do with what little she already had on hoof. When combined with all the books on various poisons she kept on hoof, her makeshift lab wasn't too shabby.

Twilight pulled out one of her favorites: A Practical Pony's Guide to Poison. The revised edition from two years ago. It was the most up-to-date source Twilight had in her library.

She poured a series of chemicals into one of the glass beakers. Twilight didn't need a guide or anything of the kind. Poison detection was an overlooked school of alchemy that Twilight had studied with religious fervor. She could do it all from memory.

As soon as the liquid turned clear white, she knew she'd nailed it on the first try. Twilight carefully poured a bit of the packet's contents into the beaker. She didn't need much of it. A mere drop was enough to get the result she needed.

After a few seconds, the liquid started to bubble. Aware that this was normal, Twilight simply waited patiently for what came next. Her heartbeat increased as she watched the beaker. There had to be something for her. She couldn't be connecting dots that didn't exist.

Sure enough, the liquid slowly turned purple, then red, and finally settled on bright orange.

Orange. Twilight hurriedly opened her book and started flipping through it. She thought she knew what orange indicated, but she had to be sure. There were so many variables that went into this sort of thing. Accuracy couldn't be guaranteed. However, she was willing to settle for the next best thing.

At the same moment Twilight's hoof landed on the page she needed, she remembered where she'd seen that symbol before. She froze, her eyes lingering over the words. How had she failed to realize it? A patchwork pattern, buttons for eyes, mouth seemingly sewn shut. No, it couldn't be what she was thinking. It was inconceivable. But the more Twilight thought about it, the more she recognized the bizarre and unsettling image. She'd seen it countless times since coming to Ponyville. Perhaps not in this specific form, but she'd encountered something similar.

A scarecrow. The image on the sample packet was meant to be the head of a scarecrow. The button eyes and patchwork pattern were a dead giveaway, but Twilight had dismissed it as some odd symbol with no particular relevance to anything in her life. It wasn't the most out-there assumption. But as her mind wandered to and fro, she realized that this was only the second time in less than two days that she'd seen a scarecrow, or at least part of one. Twilight's mind had absently wandered to yesterday's folder containing the day's various police matters. There was something important living inside that memory.

They never did ask the pony who owned the scarecrow how it had come to be outside the schoolhouse. Twilight had internally dismissed it as some kind of prank. Then once the offending thing was taken away, her thoughts had turned to having to write up a semi-coherent incident report for future reference. She hadn't expected anything she wrote to actually be of use to anypony for any reason, seeing as most of it amounted to disputes that could have easily been worked out between the ponies. She had noted the oddness of it all very briefly to Spike, making some passing comment about farmers and their feuds. But other than that, Twilight's mind had hardly lingered over something as inconsequential as a scarecrow outside of a schoolhouse.

Twilight grabbed her phone from the bed. She hated to cut her experiment short, but she'd already gotten everything she needed. She had the name of the poison, although the idea she'd started to have about its actual origin had been cut off by the rush of realization.

It was nothing. It had to be nothing. The idea that it was more than one of those famed coincidences was inconceivable. But so was the idea of some innocent pony being murdered and put on display in a quiet town like Ponyville.

But maybe Ponyville wasn't so quiet after all. Maybe Twilight was missing something much bigger than a scarecrow.

Chapter 3: Sunset

When Spike and Twilight first met, he asked her if she ever thought she would become a cop.

He knew his own answer to the question: Maybe. He knew he was going to do something, much like all of his brethren who'd forsaken the Dragon Lands in favor of an unwritten future. But whatever he poured his heart into, it was going to be an uphill battle. Equestria was a living thing. When he put his ear to the ground, he could hear the steady beats of the behemoth's heart. Every wind was an exhale.

But Twilight? Twilight was a butcher. She too had seen Equestria as a living thing, breathing and sweating under the heat of its own star. But she'd also seen a corpse rotting in that very same heat. She'd cracked open the rib cage, letting the guts and viscera spill onto the ground at her hooves. Somehow it continued to breathe, its heart pumping even as its veins were severed. A curse, an inspiration, a home, and a grave. That was what the city was to Twilight and she never wanted to leave. It was everything bad and everything beautiful at the same time.

She'd told Spike the truth, one hoof circling the rim of her teacup: No. But the question had continued to circle Twilight's mind in much the same way, long after her empty cup had been taken away and Spike—earning himself an incredulous look—had ordered “something stronger”. It was still circling her head, even as she threw herself into her first real case since moving to Ponyville. Its presence reminded her of why she'd chosen to join the law enforcement team in the first place.

“Dragon's weed.”

Twilight rolled the name across her mouth as if she was trying it out. So much of her knowledge had little to do with her job. It was just odds and ends, random scraps of information taken from her eternal love affair with the written word. It was her swelling intellect that had helped cement her place in Canterlot. But sometimes the things she filed away were relevant, even downright helpful.

Dragon's weed—often mistakenly referred to as “dragonweed” or some equivalent—was a plant known to thrive in almost any environment. It was most commonly found in rural areas, near certain dangerous parts of Equestria, and of course around the Dragon Lands. But it had been known to pop up in the most unexpected places, like in the basements of abandoned houses. Celestia only knew how it managed to do that.

Rarity shot Twilight a puzzled look, laying her notebook on the kitchen table. She knew Twilight wanted her to come over—as Spike had eventually told her after a hearty session of half-assed flirting—but she hadn't exactly been welcomed with open hooves. Truthfully, she felt kind of unwelcome. She'd stayed more out of politeness and the fact that Twilight was her boss than anything remotely personal.

From looks alone, nopony would have guessed Rarity was on the force. Even in her uniform, she looked like a fancy city pony playing dress-up.

Twilight didn't like to judge—Spike had been practically laughed out of the academy just for being a dragon—but her first impression of Rarity had been less than favorable. To her surprise, Rarity had turned out to be one of the most competent members of the team. She took her job very seriously and she was excellent at sweet-talking would-be perps into dropping incriminating information. Most importantly, she could handle herself if things got rough.

Having throughly searched the library, Rarity reported finding nothing out of the ordinary. No books out of place, no mysterious hoofprints, no secret rooms concealed behind shelves. If it hadn't been for what happened outside, its mundane interior would have been expected.

“Dragon's weed,” Twilight said again.

She briefly took stock of everything she had done up until that point. To her disappointment, it wasn't much. Twilight had made all the necessary arrangements to further the investigation, but that merely amounted to giving Spike a quick call. She hadn't assigned herself any field work, as was normally a crucial part of the whole process. Normally this was because Twilight was trying to figure shit out. But in this case, she just couldn't think of anything that she needed to do.

She'd been pacing, but she suddenly stopped and raised her eyes from the wooden kitchen floor. Ah yes, Rarity. Rarity had come over expecting something.

“It's a type of plant,” Twilight said. “It's usually fatal if eaten by itself, although only in large doses. A small amount will induce vomiting and possibly jaundice. Ground up and mixed with certain herbs, it is often used as a stomachache remedy.”

She was about to rattle off a few more paragraphs, but she forced herself to shut up. Now wasn't the time. Maybe later, when this was all sorted out and Spike could lend her his ear. Twilight knew he found her long-winded explanations incredibly dull, but he listened. On the other hoof, Rarity was clearly on the verge of falling asleep.

Sensing Twilight was done for the moment, Rarity gave her the full details of her report from memory. She spoke in an unusually precise manner, outlining everything as if each mundane detail was its own revelation. In actuality, she was just describing what the interior of the library looked like. This might have bored most officers, but Rarity trusted that Twilight could make something of it.

One thing that Twilight didn't seem to realize—or maybe she simply didn't care—was that everypony on the force believed in her. Even though they never showed it, they looked up to Twilight. She had way more experience than any of them and they knew they could never measure up.

“And where is Raven?” said Twilight.

Raven was the local librarian. She had no qualifications for such a position, but she was the only one who wanted it. From what Twilight understood, Raven had also traded her life in Canterlot for a permanent stay in Ponyville. Why anypony would do such a thing voluntarily was beyond Twilight. She understood seeking a quiet life, but Ponyville?

“Out of town,” said Rarity. “Apparently she was invited to her sister's wedding in Manehattan. We've gotten in contact with her and she has promised to be on the next train.”

Twilight casually tapped her hoof on the kitchen table, tilting her head up to look at the ceiling. Everything in Ponyville was so rustic. She couldn't think of a single building that a team of skilled ponies hadn't built with their bare hooves. But that seemed like a given, seeing as the town had been initially settled by Earth ponies. They hadn't had the luxury of unicorn magic. Maybe that was why Ponyville seemed so mired in the past. Canterlot had thrived on technological evolution, while Ponyville had made do with their fertile soil and strong work ethic.

“Excellent,” said Twilight. “There's one more thing I would like you to do.”

She had just realized that there was some field work for her. She'd forgotten it for a moment, but one glance at the setting sun through the kitchen window had brought it back. It might have very well been the most important thing she did that day.

“Yes, Detective Twilight Sparkle?” said Rarity.

With how little ponies—especially ponies at the station—used her official title, this unexpected courtesy actually made Twilight smile.

“I need you to look over all of the reports from last week and see if you can find anything related to poison,” said Twilight. “You can use my office. If Spike calls or shows up there, tell him I'm at Sweet Apple Acres.”

She caught Rarity's confused expression as she headed for the door, but Twilight ignored it. She had no time to clarify that she hadn't gone crazy. She was used to ponies—especially ponies who took orders from her—wondering if she'd lost her mind somewhere in the labyrinth of a new case. She had, but it felt to her like the case had just absorbed her consciousness. Twilight had become one with the mystery and it wouldn't be long before they reached an understanding.

Rarity might not have known it, but she had the makings of an actual officer. If she actually applied herself, she might have even been able to score Twilight's old job in Canterlot. That wasn't the kind of praise Twilight dished out lightly, but it was true.

Sweet Apple Acres was the backbone of Ponyville. That farm had singlehandedly carried the town through a series of collapses. Even when the winters got tough, the citizens just needed some of that good old-fashioned Apple family cider to keep their spirits up. As such, the Apple family had become a beacon of prosperity and hope, guiding Ponyville through the bad times and cheering them on during the good times. Granny Smith—the oldest surviving Apple still in Ponyville—had even been elected mayor three times. The Apple family was as close to an untouchable legacy as one could expect in such a small town.

Quite frankly, Twilight didn't care about family histories or legacies. She'd beaten and battered the reputations of families three times as powerful as the Apple family. She liked to drive the stake right through the innocent exterior and she refused to stop until she hit bone. That was just how she was as an officer. They could board up their closets all they wanted. Eventually, Detective Twilight Sparkle would find those skeletons.

It was past dinnertime when she arrived at Sweet Apple Acres. It wasn't a long walk or anything. In fact, the farm was the closest Twilight had to an actual neighbor. But with how much Ponyville liked to turn in early—everypony knew nothing good happened after seven PM—it was near-impossible to find a good time to call on anypony after Celestia started lowering the sun.

There were three fillies sitting on the porch. They seemed to be playing chess, but as Twilight approached she realized that it was actually some childish off-shoot of the classic game. All of the pieces had been replaced by apple slices and pastries. Twilight didn't speculate on how this effected the actual strategy portion of the game.

“Excuse me,” she said.

The giggling fillies looked up from their game. Twilight recognized one of them as Apple Bloom, the youngest of the four Apples. The information had never been relevant to either her minimal social life or her investigations, but it was impossible to not know every member of the Apple family by name. It was just one of those things a pony magically knew after moving to Ponyville.

“I'd like to speak to Applejack,” said Twilight.

She noted the worry on Apple Bloom's face when she said that. Everypony in town—even the young ones—knew who Twilight was and probably where she was from. With how she'd made a point to withdraw at every turn, Twilight knew she'd earned more than one rumor. Little did they know that every rumor about her was true. She was just as tough and unforgiving as the more paranoid of the citizens claimed. It was smart of them to be afraid of her, even if they'd done nothing wrong. The Apple family wasn't exactly above the law, but they were the oldest and most respected family in Ponyville. If anypony from the police force was calling on them—attired in their uniform and with badge on full display—it must have been bad.

The front door opened and another pony stepped out onto the porch. The sight of her almost made Twilight do a double take.

“Pinkie?” she said.

It was indeed Pinkie Pie, smiling with food all over her face like she'd just won an eating contest. She looked as if she'd shoved her whole face into a pie and just went to town like she hadn't eaten in weeks. But that was Pinkie's usual eating style, so it wasn't too surprising. Twilight had seen Pinkie with food on her face more times than she cared to count. It had happened so much that she'd stopped reprimanding her for coming into work with bits of frosting in her fur. Smell-wise, it didn't seem to matter. Even if she was completely clean, Pinkie always smelled like she'd taken a bath in cake frosting.

“Oh hi, Twilight,” said Pinkie.

She flicked her tongue out, catching some chunks of pie dangling from the sides of her muzzle.

Twilight rubbed her forehead. Was she the only sane creature in Ponyville? No, of course she wasn't. How silly of her. There was always Spike. Rarity as well, if she was being completely honest with herself. So two ponies and a dragon. The only mentally sound creatures in the entire town. Wonderful. Maybe Twilight would finally give in and have that stiff drink Spike was always saying she needed.

“What are you doing here?” said Twilight.

Pinkie shrugged. Twilight was convinced that Pinkie didn't even realize she was an officer. Maybe she'd wandered into the station one day and bluffed her way into a position by complete accident. Even given the fact that actual qualifications and skills were a polite suggestion for law enforcement in this town, Twilight found it hard to believe that Pinkie was at all aware of her own career.

“Me and Big Macintosh were having our weekly pie-eating contest,” said Pinkie.

Praying to Celestia that wasn't a euphemism, Twilight rushed ahead.

“You are an officer of the law and this is a murder investigation,” she said. “Put your uniform back on and do your fucking job.”

Pinkie pouted.

“Grumpy,” she said.

Fortunately, that was the extent of her objection. She rapidly wiped the remainder of the pie from her face, then bid farewell to the three fillies. Humming an annoyingly bouncy tune to herself, she skipped away. If Twilight was forced to say one good thing about Pinkie, it would be that Pinkie usually did what she said. When and how Pinkie interpreted her orders was a bit of a coin toss, but she seemed to understand that Twilight was her boss. That was a lot more than could be said about Rainbow Dash. Pinkie never would have made it past basic training in Canterlot, but Ponyville was actually the perfect fit for her. Judging her based on Ponyville standards, Twilight had to admit that Pinkie wasn't the worst cop this town could ask for under most circumstances.

Just as Pinkie vanished from sight, Applejack stepped out onto the porch. Her and Twilight had never spoken formally, but that went for Twilight and just about every pony in town. All of her conversations were either strictly professional or extremely brief and awkward. Twilight didn't particularly care if the townsponies found her amiable. They didn't have to like her, they just had to answer her questions.

“Evening,” said Applejack. “I take it you have some questions for me.”

She motioned for her sister and her friends to leave. The three fillies hurried into the house, Apple Bloom shooting Twilight another worried look before they disappeared into the house.

Twilight couldn't really pick favorites or anything, but she kind of liked Applejack. There wasn't much anypony could dislike about the hard-working mare. Despite knowing very little about Twilight, Applejack had been friendly and hospitable at every turn. She'd done her best to make Twilight welcome without overstepping any boundaries. Maybe if they'd known each other under less unfortunate circumstances, they could have been on friendly terms. Other than Spike, Applejack was the only one in Ponyville Twilight felt was deserving of such closeness.

“It's about your scarecrow,” said Twilight.

Ignoring Applejack's confused look, Twilight reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a piece of notebook paper. She'd copied the report word-for-word, right down to the punctuation. She could have taken the original, but she wanted to leave it where it was. For all intents and purposes, that original report was basically evidence.

“2:15 PM on Friday,” said Twilight. “A mysterious figure was reported to be lurking outside of the schoolhouse. Further investigation revealed it to be a scarecrow. After asking around a little, it was determined that this scarecrow belonged to the Apple family farm. The owner—you—arrived at 2:40 PM to pick up the scarecrow and return it to its rightful place. You were then charged a small fine of three bits. Is that correct?”

Applejack nodded, even though she couldn't really be sure of the time. She personally thought the fine was a bunch of hooey. But she decided not to drag Twilight over the coals about it. As misguided as it seemed to her, Twilight was just doing her job.

“Darned if I know how my scarecrow ended up outside of that schoolhouse,” said Applejack.

Twilight pulled out a notepad and quill. She nodded to herself as she wrote down this new information.

“So your scarecrow was stolen?” she said. “I don't remember you filing a report or anything.”

Applejack eyed Twilight curiously. Twilight was certainly a strange pony. But in her experience, that was a common trait of city-dwellers. Most of them were socialites or artists who did a bad job of blending into small town life.

“I thought my sister took it for a prank or something,” said Applejack. “I asked her, but she said she had nothing to do with it. Strange, isn't it? Scarecrows don't just up and leave by themselves.”

Twilight paused in her writing, her quill hovering over the notepad. In her head, she'd created at least fifty different profiles for murderers. These profiles consisted of the usual character traits, behaviors, and idiosyncrasies that seemed to be common with specific types of murderers. If a pony shared more than five traits with one of these profiles, Twilight considered them a prime suspect. She liked to categorize things and killers just happened to be rather easy to categorize.

Out of all the ponies she had met and arrested over the course of her career, eighty-percent of them fit into one of those profiles. Twilight herself was a Calm Calculated Poisoner—or CCP—and Spike was a Pedantic Protective Stabber. To some extent, nearly everypony Twilight met—criminal or otherwise—fit into one of those profiles. After all, nearly every pony was capable of murder under the right circumstances.

Applejack fit into two of those profiles, but there were complications. Her love for her family might have given her a motive, but Twilight found it hard to believe that a murder like this was motivated by vengeance for a wronged family member or a desire to protect one's own from harm. No, this was done for attention. If it had been a simple matter of revenge or something like that, the killer could have stopped at poisoning. But they'd made a spectacle out of it, forcing everypony in town to pay attention to their macabre work. It was almost like they'd crafted this whole thing as some kind of demented love letter to Twilight.

“May I see your scarecrow?” said Twilight.

Applejack trotted off the porch and headed towards the barn.

“Of course,” she said. “Right this way.”

Applejack would have made a great cop. Twilight reluctantly admitted this to herself as she followed her to the barn. Applejack was honest, she loved Ponyville, and she had an excellent work ethic. If anypony was going to bust their ass for the town they'd been born in, it was Applejack. But it wasn't something Applejack wanted to do and Twilight could respect that. A long time ago, it had been the last thing in the world Twilight herself wanted to do. But times had changed. Times had changed and suddenly Twilight was the one with the badge. The irony wasn't lost on her.

The barn was filled with hay and old farming equipment. There wasn't too much to see. But having never stepped hoof in a real barn before, Twilight was slightly fascinated. She'd always imagined barns as being dismal and boring. But in contrast to Ponyville, the barn had a certain life to it. All things considered, it was rather cozy.

“Here we go.”

Applejack moved a bale of hay and an old rake aside.

Twilight had been silently freaking out over the interior, but she suddenly remembered that she was on duty. Her gaze snapped to Applejack, her expression turning from mute delight to indifference. She wasn't sure what she was planning to do with the scarecrow. Drag it back to the station for evidence? She supposed that was the obvious thing to do. She couldn't wait to explain all this to Spike. He'd probably get a kick out of it.

“What in princess coronation?” said Applejack sharply.

Twilight rushed over to get a closer look at what Applejack was standing over. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw what had caused Applejack such astonishment and distress. It wasn't a pretty sight.

The scarecrow was lying on its side as if it had fallen over. Closer inspection seemed to suggest it had been posed, its limbs carefully arranged to make it look as if it had simply pitched over onto its side. As an art piece, it might have been meant to express wanting or defeat. But with its vacant eye sockets, it wasn't able to express anything other than the pitiful surrender of an inanimate object. However, somepony had made some other very specific alterations to the once innocent—and alarmingly life-like—creature of straw. It had been stripped of its long coat, leaving its doll-like body effectively naked. It had been carefully sewn up in places, bits of loose straw tucked out of sight to make the thing even more life-like.

But it wasn't the care in which it had been stitched up that made Twilight pause. It wasn't the bizarre but ultimately innocuous alterations that made her wish every door had closed in her face and every skeleton had remained in its respective closet. She no longer wanted to tear open the flesh of Equestria and partake in its grimy insides like some kind of grotesque ceremony. Twilight had already eaten the rotting meat that was Canterlot's dark side, shoveling it into her mouth as if the corruption sustained her very being. For the first time, she was actually gagging, recoiling, reacting like a normal pony who had come across something unimaginably horrific.

There was a thick dark line of red paint splattered across the scarecrow's neck. To the blissfully unaware, it was no more than some innocent vandalism. But to Twilight, it was the unraveling of her world. It forced her to take it all in: the scarecrow's position, the paint across its neck, its more life-like appearance. It was no longer a scarecrow. It was a corpse. The corpse of a memory that had died years before Twilight had ever been sent to this sun-forsaken town. But it was still inside her, walking around and breathing as if it had earned that right.

“You alright, sugarcube?” said Applejack.

Twilight sputtered out the first sentence that came to her mind.

“I need a drink.”

All those years ago, Twilight had told Spike the truth. She had never imagined herself becoming a cop. It was never something she'd wanted, something she'd dreamed about, or even something she'd considered. If anything, it would have been a stop on the express. An exercise to test her intellect and her puzzle-solving skills. Certainly not a long-lasting career that earned her many honors and the occasional private audience with the princesses. But that wasn't how things turned out.

By contrast, her older brother Shining Armor had always wanted to work for the police force. Even before he was old enough to join the academy, he'd prepared himself for what he felt was the only viable career choice. Like Twilight, he'd had options. He could have done almost anything he wanted with his intelligence and skills. But unlike Twilight, there was only one thing he actually wanted to do. It was the only thing he could allow himself to succeed at.

So he graduated from the academy and quickly became one of the best in Canterlot. He was adored by every pony on the force, feared by criminals, and praised by his boss on a daily basis. He often called himself “the only true force of justice in the city”, a hyperbolic little joke. But as much as he tried to stay humble, the truth was that Shining Armor was a force of justice. In less than two years, he'd done more to keep the streets of Canterlot safe than almost anypony else. He was the first to really get his hooves dirty and take all the risks, while his fellow officers took refuge in their paperwork.

It was Twilight who found him that day. She still remembered it, even though she'd put so much alcohol between her and that moment. But she couldn't erase it. No matter how long she held its head underwater, it always managed to suck in just enough air to stay conscious. Over time she grew somewhat numb to it, accepting the series of images that would be forever burned into the inside of her head. But she could never forget. Everything before that moment seemed like a dream compared to what happened afterward.

He was lying on the floor of his bedroom. He was on his side. Twilight would have preferred he look peaceful. Sometimes she'd broken down and tried to rearrange the memory, tried to alter her own perception so he looked like he'd just been sleeping. But she couldn't. One glimpse would have seared the image into her memory, but she'd done more than just glance at his body. She'd walked over to it and felt for his pulse, even though she knew for certain he wouldn't have one. The second Twilight had glimpsed his slit throat, she'd known he was gone. He'd been gone for what seemed like hours, just lying there, his eyes wide with terror and seeing absolutely nothing.

They did eventually catch the pony who did it. It was Twilight's fourth case, a completely unrelated mystery involving a jewel thief. The thief—Fleur Dis Lee—was caught. Her slippery partner confessed to no less than ten home invasions over the past year, one of which had gone bad when he found himself in the house of Canterlot's finest. He referred to it as “an accident”, but Twilight suspected revenge had been on the stallion's mind. Shining Armor had put a lot of ponies behind bars. He'd made more enemies than any other officer in the city.

Twilight raised the glass to her mouth and took a long sip. The booze stung her throat on the way down, but she hardly flinched at the sensation. This was what she'd asked for. Something to burn away the images competing for dominance in her head. A strong and unrelenting taste, as bitter and hostile as the coffee she'd come to adore.

Ponyville had only one bar, although the title was somewhat of a misnomer. It was less a “bar” and more of a place that dared to serve both sugary treats and booze, the latter of which was often ignored by the average citizen. Twilight might have been the first pony to order “something strong”--her exact words to the bemused bartender—while passing on the various pastries. She knew she wasn't allowed to drink on duty, but screw it. She'd already broken another rule by not staying to make sure the scarecrow was actually taken away by a confused Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash. Sometimes even Twilight got sick of having a perfect record.

She had her phone out and was listening to the message Spike had left for her. At the sound of his voice, Twilight had felt an odd twinge in her chest. He sounded so normal. He hadn't come looking for her, even as the hours wore on and she didn't make an appearance at the station. He'd probably excused her absence as more proof that she was working her flank off on this case. Spike had always been one to worry about Twilight, but his worry was hardly ever misplaced. He knew she could handle herself on the dangerous streets of Canterlot, so he didn't go out of his way to find her when she disappeared for hours on end. The same went for Ponyville.

Twilight pushed the nearly empty glass away from her. It was late. Far too late to be in some “bar”--the name still wasn't wholly appropriate—while there was a murderer waiting to be caught and an undoubtedly worried Spike at home.

According to his message, Spike had made some excellent progress in tracking down dragon's weed. Granted, he confessed a moral objection to the name. It was a little too late to do anything about it, but he wondered aloud why it had to be dragon's weed. Dragons were often given the short stick when it came to naming things. Dragon's Breath was the name of a particularly potent type of booze, there was a sleazy club in Manehattan named The Dragon's Heart, and there was a common household pest often referred to as the “dragon beetle”. To be accepted in normal society, Spike had to prove he was better than potentially lethal alcohol, a club frequented by crime lords, and a type of beetle that needed to be exterminated by a flamethrower.

Spike had found a bunch of dragon's weed growing near the Everfree Forest. He didn't dare venture inside, but a cautious and quick look suggested there was more further in. A brave soul could have plucked some of the fluorescent orange bulbs from the little patch near the entrance or even journeyed deeper inside if they were feeling particularly foolhardy. Dragon's weed was notoriously hard to miss, especially if one was looking for it.

But how had the killer managed to obtain it? While the area near the Everfree Forest wasn't entirely dangerous or off-limits, anypony seen going near the place would have instantly aroused suspicion. Such a strange incident would have warranted a report from Fluttershy.

Fluttershy worked as a secretary at the station. She was not an officer in the strictest sense, but she did live near the Everfree Forest. Although she never visited the place herself, she was always conscious of what was happening around the forest. As Twilight had discovered after somepony slipped Poison Joke into Lyra's oatmeal, Fluttershy had adopted a sort of casual awareness. She subconsciously registered every pony who came and went, noting the exact date and time of their visit to the infamous forest. Surely if anypony had been lurking near the forest, Fluttershy would have reported it.

Of course, it might have been somepony Fluttershy knew. Somepony whose visits to the forest weren't cause for alarm. But was there anypony in Ponyville who fit that description? No, certainly not in Ponyville. But there were stories and rumors, the bulk of which had been dismissed by Twilight. However, those were probably just nonsense. They were the expected product of a town so mundane that even its deepest lore needed to be exaggerated for the sake of tourism. There couldn't be anypony actually living in the Everfree Forest. That was pure fiction and Twilight could hardly believe there were ponies who believed it.

Spike also mentioned that he'd “found something interesting” in that Missing Pony case from all those months ago. Twilight had forgotten about that one. Normally Missing Ponies cases were meant to be entirely her department. But this one had started and ended very quickly. She hadn't even had time to read through the official report before she was being told that Dinky had been found. The filly had been gone for several hours, but the report had been filed less than an hour ago. Then about thirty minutes after the report was filed, the filly was found in her own home by her mother. Dinky had apparently gotten lost while playing hide and seek—how somepony got lost in Ponyville was beyond Twilight—and had eventually found her way home. Case closed, or so Twilight was assured by Dinky's relieved mother.

Now Spike was suggesting they should reopen that case, even though it had barely been opened the first time. Was Twilight being gullible if she assumed everything was connected? Was she overreacting if she began to believe that nothing that had happened since she came to Ponyville was an isolated incident? Surely that was far-fetched. She couldn't really believe that somepony had been stringing her along ever since she'd been dropped in this town.

But the scarecrow made her doubt. If Spike was right about there being something in that Missing Pony case, she had even more reason to suspect some grand design.

She pulled the glass back towards her. Somepony in this town knew a lot more about her than they let on.

Chapter 4: Sunrise

Twilight liked to speculate about how she would commit a murder. She never would have actually done it, but it was fun to imagine herself in both roles. Twilight Sparkle vs. Twilight Sparkle. Calmness and intellect vs. calmness and intellect. In many ways, it was a helpful exercise. Often when contemplating these far-fetched scenarios, Twilight would stumble across some valuable insight. But more than that, it was just fun.

“But where would you hide the body?” she would ask herself.

“Someplace nearby with a lot of daily hoof traffic,” she would reply. “The time frame is important. I need to be able to control when and how the body is found.”

Yes, control. That seemed important. Twilight knew all about being in control. She'd gone to great pains to control her own life, even as her parents shoved universities and teaching positions down her throat. They'd stated many times—often wearing twin expressions of disapproval—that Twilight was being foolish. She wasn't meant to be a cop, or so they said. She was meant to be a professor, maybe even an advisor or secretary for Princess Celestia. Their concern was valid in its own way, but Twilight was able to ignore it. Control.

From the very beginning, Twilight had seen hints of this. She recognized the symptoms, often misunderstood by those who didn't understand the inherent need for control and balance. She knew it wasn't much to go on. In the grand scheme of things, it was hardly anything. But the personality always came first. It always started with the quirks, the dislikes, the fears. Then Twilight could take a quill and fill in the physical features. But first she needed to better comprehend the type of killer she was dealing with.

This killer wanted—needed—control. They needed to feel as if every aspect of this case was under their hoof, claw, or paw. That's why they sent Twilight that note. It was why they'd sent her that sample packet. Control.

Dr. Stable's official report had been delivered to Twilight's office sometime earlier that day. She had left shortly before it showed up, so Spike brought it with him when he returned home. She found it—as well as a cup of cocoa—waiting for her on the kitchen table when she finally came back to her house. But she'd waited until she returned to her office to actually read it in detail.

The hoofwriting was large and hurried, entire sentences and punctuation jumping from the margins. It almost looked like the writing of a foal. Twilight could tell that it was a rush job, as had been the postmortem itself. Dr. Stable clearly had no intention of lingering on this unpleasant event longer than he needed to. Fortunately, Twilight wasn't left to decipher the doctor's terrible hoofwriting. Nurse Redheart had made some notes in her own neat hoofwriting. Her notes consisted of a much-needed—and much cleaner—summary of what Dr. Stable had uncovered.

Most of the report didn't tell Twilight anything she didn't already know. It mentioned the dragon's weed, reiterated the jam, and speculated upon time of death. If Dr. Stable was to be believed, this pony had died a whole three hours before their body was dismembered and nailed to the door of the library. No speculations about when they'd actually ingested the poison. Any signs of identity hadn't been found, but the lab in Canterlot was working on that.

But there was one thing that stood out to her. The thorough description of the body's physical state—including the swelling that indicated poisoning—seemed off to her. Not off in the traditional sense, as in she detected something amiss. There was simply a detail that struck her as strange, although she couldn't put her hoof on it at first. But after letting it circle her brain for a good ten minutes, Twilight realized it was because of something she'd been subconsciously expecting. But as she scanned the page in a hurried fashion, she realized that it wasn't there.

There were no signs that the victim had been force fed. All evidence pointed at something voluntary, maybe even enthusiastic. This unlucky pony had cheerfully consumed whatever was on their plate, unaware that they were about to keel over after their last spoonful. If their jaw had been forced open and the food poured down their unwilling throat, the signs would have been too obvious for even the less eagle-eyed medical professional to overlook.

So what did this mean? It indicated that the victim must have known and trusted whoever served them. A friend, a family member, perhaps even a romantic partner. But of course, this information was rather useless until Twilight knew the victim's identity and could begin a thorough background check.

While she mulled over several new theories, Twilight focused half of her attention on Spike and his rekindled interest in that seemingly innocuous Missing Pony case.

“I thought it was weird,” Spike said.

Although Twilight wasn't looking at him, he knew she was listening to every word he said. Even when she seemed to be a thousand miles away, Spike knew Twilight's brain was never idle. In some ways, she was more machine than pony. She was always aware of everything that was going on nearby, however insignificant or private. So when Spike talked, he could be sure she was taking in every word even if she was also caught up in her own thoughts.

One of Spike's biggest mistakes when he first started on the force was mistaking Twilight for somepony who didn't feel the need to listen to him. He'd been tortured by the idea for weeks and he even considered leaving the city. Then one day, when Spike was sure she hadn't listened to a word he said in the past hour, Twilight had turned to him and casually mentioned his favorite brand of cider. He'd mentioned it to her briefly while passing off an important report. At the time, she'd been staring out the window and had only nodded vaguely at him when he spoke and gave her the report she wanted. But when Twilight mentioned that tiny fact to him—a fact he had been sure had passed her by when he said it—Spike had realized that Twilight was much different from the other officers he'd met, even if she didn't realize it.

“I noticed there was an unusual gap in the time frame,” Spike said. “I don't think we paid attention because, you know, why would we? It's hard to reopen a Missing Pony case once it's already solved.”

He didn't add that that was precisely why he'd wanted to revisit the Dinky case. Once the pony, dragon, or whoever was found, there was usually no point in taking a second look at the report unless something explicit popped up. But Twilight had encouraged him to look for clues in unusual places. Spike wasn't sure what she was getting at, but he took her advice.

Spike placed the open case folder on Twilight's desk. It was late and both of them should have been home hours ago, but Twilight had taken a generous shot of coffee in preparation for an all-nighter. Spike was so used to accompanying her on these that he didn't even need the caffeine boost.

“Dinky was missing from two o'clock PM to six o'clock PM,” he said. “In that time, nopony saw her anywhere around town. In fact, nopony saw her until she reappeared in her own house. Two o'clock was when the hide and seek game started in the schoolyard. But her mother only went out to look for her at four o'clock because she hadn't come home from school at the usual time. Dinky could have only found her way back into the house after her mother was gone. So what was she doing before then? I checked, but we never actually interviewed her or anything.”

Twilight was staring at the wall, her head propped up on her hoof.

“Maybe she's just really good at Hide and Seek,” she said.

She'd never understood how foals could take interest in things like that. She'd preferred word games over frivolous activities like Hide and Seek.

Shaking his head, Spike tapped the folder with his claw.

“Her friends couldn't find her,” said Spike. “The rule around the schoolyard is that if the game goes on for more than an hour, the foals leave their hiding places and re-group. All the other foals did this promptly at three, but Dinky was the only one who didn't emerge. That still gives us a whole hour until Dinky would have been able to return to her house without being seen. Nopony saw her until then.”

Twilight turned to focus on Spike for the first time, her hoof sliding out from under her chin. She'd never told Spike this and she wasn't planning to, but there were actually two reasons that she trusted him more than anypony else she'd ever worked with. The first was simply the fact that he was trustworthy, something he'd proved very early in their partnership. The second was that Spike had studied and worked harder than anypony else to get where he was. Others had studied the manuals and learned the laws, Spike had buried himself in them. He had more to prove than anypony else. Maybe he wasn't the brightest Twilight had ever seen, but if he thought there was something amiss, there was something amiss.

“Have Dinky brought in as soon as Celestia raises the sun,” she said.

Spike bared his teeth in a nervous smile.

“Um, I don't think she'll be awake that early,” he said.

Twilight sighed. She'd forgotten that the town wouldn't start revolving around her just because she was investigating a murder. It was an easy mistake on her part. She was so used to having underlings who'd scramble to do whatever she wanted, be it lawful trespassing or dragging some poor night owl from their slumber at the crack of dawn. What a wonderful life she had once lived.

“Then have her brought in as soon as possible,” said Twilight. “And make sure Fluttershy gets in contact with that zebra who supposedly lives in the forest. Zecora, right?”

Spike nodded. He'd talked with Fluttershy earlier and confirmed—as well as anypony can confirm a rumor—that there did at least seem to be somepony inhabiting the Everfree Forest. Twilight didn't really buy it and Spike himself was skeptical. They'd both seen the wildness of the forest first-hoof and were under the impression that no sane pony—or zebra—would willingly live in such a place. But seeing as Zecora was most certainly real, they at least had a possible lead on the dragon's weed.

Twilight glanced at the office's wall-mounted clock. The clock was shaped like Twilight's Cutie Mark. A birthday present from Pinkie, even though she'd aggressively declined the offer of a surprise party. Twilight had a sneaking suspicion that Pinkie had thrown her one anyway, but she'd stayed away from the station that night and had thankfully missed it. Nevertheless, Twilight couldn't say she disliked the present. At least it wasn't a scrapbook. Twilight already had an entire box of those, collected from past birthdays in the grand old city of Canterlot.

She was surprised to notice that it was only an hour before sunrise. Had they really been working all night? That was definitely the purpose of an all-nighter, but somehow time had blurred in between Twilight settling herself behind her desk and Spike coming in to discuss his discoveries. Now that she thought about it, they'd basically been discussing the contents of the report and throwing ideas back and forth for at least two hours, then maybe another three or four hours of idle chit-chat until Spike actually brought up the Dinky case.

Now that his focus had slipped, Spike's eyes were beginning to droop. His body was finally beginning to catch on to the fact that he hadn't slept at all that night. He could feel himself starting to shut down, even as he fought to stay awake for Twilight's sake.

Noticing the state Spike was in, Twilight hesitated. Back in the city, she hadn't thought twice about Spike staying up with her. She'd always accepted it as a foregone conclusion from the moment she started a case. He slept when she slept. It had never occurred to Twilight that Spike might actually need sleep more than she did. His relief from all-nighters might have been another of the few good things about the move to Ponyville. But seeing him struggling to keep his eyes open, Twilight felt a little guilty about what she'd indirectly put him through in the city. How many times had Spike almost collapsed from exhaustion while trying to keep up with a pony who was used to all-night study sessions?

“Why don't you take the day off?” she said.

Like a switch had been flipped, Spike immediately regained his energy. His head shot up and he stared at her, no trace of tiredness in his eyes. In fact, he looked as if he'd just awakened from a three hour nap. He appeared so refreshed that Twilight briefly doubted he'd been halfway towards Dream Town just five seconds ago.

“There's paperwork to do,” he said. “And you need those interviews, right? Just let me finish those things, then I'll take a nap. Okay?”

Twilight looked into Spike's eyes. He looked so determined that he could have fooled almost anypony. But the more she looked, the more tiredness she saw. He'd been working non-stop almost all day. She had as well, but she was used to it. Even in Ponyville, Twilight had never really learned how to keep a normal sleeping schedule. On the other hoof, Spike had never actually been on her level when it came to pulling all-nighters. He was just good at keeping his brain active even as his bed shouted at him from across the city.

“Fine,” she said. “But don't push yourself too hard. I need you alert.”

She felt guilty for saying that, but it was the truth. With all her competent officers busy, she was basically at a massive disadvantage. Maybe she should have taken it upon herself to re-vamp Ponyville's lacking police force. If she'd tried, she could have built a better law enforcement team from the ground up. But why bother? It wasn't like Ponyville needed a better law enforcement team. Up until that point, they'd been doing just fine. But at the moment, all Twilight wanted was a team of Spikes and Rarities.

“Yeah, sure,” said Spike.

He left the office before Twilight could make him promise. The fact he was in such a hurry worried her. Twilight truly feared for Spike's health if he continued to stretch his limits for her sake. But there wasn't much she could do, other than just hope he took a much-needed breather at some point. Twilight had work to do. She didn't have time to hover over Spike like a concerned mother.

“He'll be fine,” she said to herself.

Twilight took a deep breath. She wanted this case to be over as soon as possible. Spike needed his rest. And as much as she would have liked the reverse to be true, Twilight kind of needed it too.

Twilight turned the note over and over in her hoof. But no matter how long she looked at it, it refused to be anything more than a piece of paper with two words printed on it. It had the ability to be something, possibly everything. But it had chosen to remain a rather innocuous piece of paper. If not for the circumstances, Twilight would have laughed at it.

Did the note even have anything to do with the case? Was it just one of those fabled coincidences? No, she'd been over this a dozen times. Nothing was a coincidence. Not a single thing that had happened was a coincidence. It was all planned, written down in a nice composition notebook and tucked away under a mattress. Scrawled across a series of napkins and stowed in the secret compartment of an old oak desk. Twilight wanted to find that oak desk or that mattress. She wanted to tear this case apart and expose its innards, like peeling flesh and fur from a skeleton.

It begins. She almost crumpled the note and tossed it into the wastebasket. It felt so much like nothing. Maybe a taunt or a gentle warning scavenged from a decaying mind. But it had to be something. It had been delivered to her cottage, read by her, touched by her. It was evidence. But it refused to be anything other than a note, connected to the case only by circumstance.

Twilight put the note on her desk. There were clues there, things she could have followed. But followed where? She had no idea how she would even begin to build something around that note.

There was a knock at the door to her office. She jerked her head up to stare at the closed door, her brow furrowing. Was Spike back so soon? Granted, she couldn't be sure how long she'd been at her desk. At her best estimate, she assumed about an hour or so had passed since Spike's departure. But she realized it couldn't have been Spike. He never bothered to knock, preferring to simply barge in without preamble. Perhaps it was a rather invasive practice he'd developed, but it saved her from having to leave her desk when she was deep into a case.

“Come in,” she said.

The door opened and Fluttershy stuck her head into the office. She wasn't normally the type to bother Twilight in her office. Truthfully, she was scarcely the type to bother anypony at any given time. She'd chosen a career noticeably incompatible with her personality, a lapse in judgment that seemed quite frequent in this town. But for all her faults, she was a decent receptionist. She kept all the necessary papers in order, she followed Twilight's instructions, and—most importantly—she never attempted to socialize with Twilight. She was one of the few citizens of Ponyville who respected Twilight's desire to be left alone. Fluttershy was overall a kind soul who would have never dreamed of pestering Twilight about social engagements.

“There's somepony here to see you,” said Fluttershy.

Her boldness spent, she hastily retreated before Twilight could ask questions.

A bitter smile spread across Twilight's face. She'd forgotten that, regardless of circumstance, she was invariably an officer of the law. And despite the peaceful nature of the town, the wheels of life kept turning at a steady pace. Of course she couldn't expect to be completely spared the grievances of a small town just because she was working on an important case. Twilight hardly dared to imagine how overworked Ponyville's police force was going to be by the end of this. Even as a murder remained unsolved, there were still ponies getting into fights over produce at the market, illegally parking their carts, and scrawling lewd messages all over the water tower. How in Tartarus was Twilight supposed to deal with all of this?

But to her surprise—and relief—the pony that entered her office wasn't an annoyed citizen seeking vengeance for a vandalized market stall. She was a pony Twilight had been waiting to speak to for a very long time. The fact that possibly the most important interview of this case had just marched into her office made Twilight feel as if there was some benevolent force working behind the scenes.

“Raven?” she said.

Twilight didn't need to confirm the mare's identity, but she asked anyway. She'd already been shown a picture. In the photograph, Raven had been quite a bit younger and obviously still living in the great city of Canterlot. Seeing as they'd both grown up in the same city, Twilight was surprised they'd never encountered one another beforehand. Canterlot was a big city with a massive and diverse population, but Twilight had a feeling that her and Raven would have hung around the same spheres of society.

Raven nodded. Her bookish appearance revealed her career as a librarian, but it was the way she carried herself that betrayed her Canterlot roots. Despite having moved to a small town, she seemed the type who wouldn't be intimidated by royalty or wealth. By appearance alone, one would assume she'd been a dedicated student. They would have been correct. According to Twilight's research, Raven had graduated from one of the best universities in Canterlot. Despite merely brushing against opulence from time to time, she'd developed a circle of influential friends who'd eased her into a teaching position at one of Equestria's best schools. She'd bounced from teaching position to teaching position for about two years before settling in Ponyville.

“You wanted to see me about a body?” said Raven.

She sounded confused, even somewhat scared. It appeared that she hadn't been given a thorough briefing on the situation. She'd just been called back into Ponyville on an “urgent matter”, the word “murder” thrown in for encouragement. Twilight didn't feel bad about keeping Raven in the dark. If Raven was somehow involved, it was best she knew very little about what was going on. Not that Twilight actually suspected Raven. The poor confused mare had been out of town when the body was discovered. Until they knew the identity of the victim, Twilight couldn't point hooves.

Twilight told Raven everything that had happened, including the scarecrow incident. She left out the part about the possible connection with the Dinky case. It was only a hypothesis at that point, so she didn't feel comfortable bringing it up like it was a solid fact.

By the time Twilight had finished, Raven looked flabbergasted. She was probably disgusted by Twilight's description of the body, but that emotion hadn't quite kicked in yet. For the moment, she was simply thunderstruck. Her personal image of Ponyville—quiet, innocent, dull as hay—had fallen apart in less than ten minutes. Observing Raven's reaction, it occurred to Twilight that the allure of a small town was the straightforwardness of it. There were no layers. It was just a flat surface upon which any story could be written. Perhaps that was why Raven had chosen to move there. She'd wrongfully believed that there was a place where the grime of the city couldn't touch her.

“And you're sure it was murder?” said Raven.

Twilight rubbed her forehead and let out a heavy sigh.

“Where have you been for the past few days?” she said.

She knew the answer to that, but she wanted to hear Raven say it. It was against Twilight's code of conduct to take secondhand accounts seriously unless she could verify them with the actual subject. In a town like Ponyville, she suspected ponies were inclined towards exaggeration. It probably made their otherwise boring lives feel a bit more special. Unfortunately, this made extracting information more of a guessing game than Twilight appreciated.

“With my sister in Manehattan,” said Raven. “She invited me to her wedding. It was very last minute. She hardly knew the stallion.”

Her expression turned dark.

“He didn't show up to the ceremony,” she said. “My sister thinks he ran off with one of the bridesmares.”

If Twilight had cared any less about family or wedding drama, she would have tuned Raven out. But despite the story itself being useless, it did line up with what she'd been told and what she'd ascertained from her own research. Raven did indeed have a sister in Manehattan, a schoolteacher by the name of Holly. While she couldn't confirm some of the more intimate details—such as poor Holly being stood up at her own wedding—the bare facts were correct. Twilight would have to obtain a witness account that confirmed Raven's arrival in Manehattan and her attendance of the wedding in question, but she was confident there was nothing suspicious to be found. Twilight had hyped herself up for this interview, but she was starting to realize that it wasn't going to be as groundbreaking as she desperately needed it to be.

“Do you remember anything interesting happening the day before you left?” she said. “Anything at all?”

Raven pressed her hoof against her muzzle and thought for a moment, scouring the deepest corners of her mind. Twilight waited for Raven to speak, practically holding her breath. This could be it. It could be the moment she'd been waiting for since this case started. A definitive bit of evidence that would allow Twilight to build something around that note. Maybe Raven was the key to this entire thing. A paintbrush with which Twilight would create her masterpiece of a solution.

“I misplaced my shopping list,” said Raven.

Twilight visibly deflated. Sun-fucking-dammit. Why did she keep hyping herself up like that?

“That's too bad,” she said.

She didn't even try to feign concern over this completely pointless bit of information. Twilight had actually been summoned over a missing—or “stolen” as the pony claimed—shopping list. That “case” had cemented Twilight's frustration with Ponyville and everypony in it. They were all so eager to dramatize their own lives to make themselves feel better about the monotony. Twilight had only escaped this fate by sequestering herself. But at the same time, her isolation had allowed her to see the internal tragedy of the town's unrecognized plight. Sometimes she would have preferred giving in and becoming one of them over watching from the outside. It wasn't a pretty sight.

“I did find it,” Raven went on. “It was in my bag.”

She dug around in her bag, frowning as she burrowed through empty candy wrappers and sample bottles of hoof polish. After a minute, she pulled out a small piece of paper and placed it on the desk.

Forcing a smile on her face, Twilight looked down at the shopping list. Raven's hoofwriting was surprisingly messy for somepony who'd once been a teacher. Rather than deliberate and elegant, her style was childish and rushed. It was slightly manic and confusing, with random emphasis on certain letters for no apparent reason. It almost looked as if it had been written by two different ponies who'd switched with each other halfway through every word. Twilight scowled at the messy excuse for hoofwriting, astonished and somewhat repulsed by the sheer chaos of it.

The contents weren't very interesting. Eggs, cheese, apples, coffee, etc. It was quite similar to Twilight's own shopping list, minus the abominable hoofwriting. The parchment was high quality, although Twilight did not immediately recognize the brand. Judging by the quality, Twilight suspected Raven had bought it from Canterlot, much like how Twilight herself ordered her quills from a shop in the city. Yet another point for Canterlot: If one had the bits and was prepared to splurge, it was simply the best place for any conceivable manner of shopping spree. There was a shop for nearly everything, from the mundane to the pointless and expensive. There were even bookstores that specialized in unabridged history books.

She turned the list over to see if Raven had written anything on the back. This was more a force of habit than anything else. This was a tradition she'd developed after years of forgetting to pick up medication or check her phone during a long shopping trip. Whenever Twilight felt as if she'd forgotten something, she'd simply flip over the shopping list to reveal whatever important task she'd promised or been implored to perform while she was out.

There was a single word written on the back of the list: Duress. The hoofwriting didn't look anything like Raven's. It was a lot neater and much easier for Twilight to look at. There was an air of artistry to it, as if the pony who'd written it had engaged their creative freedom. It was basically the extreme opposite of Raven's hoofwriting. Beautiful, unique, comfortingly precise. Looking at it filled Twilight with a sense of peace.

“Who wrote this?” she said.

Raven shook her head, her brow furrowed in bemusement.

“I don't know,” said Raven. “I took the list out of my bag and somepony had written something on it. But I could have sworn I left it on a shelf in the library. How in Equestria did it get in my bag?”

Twilight didn't answer. Her eyes had wandered from the shopping list to the note that still lay on her desk. The cogs in her brain were turning at an almost frightening speed. No, it clearly wasn't the same hoofwriting. That was preposterous. But she couldn't help but notice the similarities. There was a subtle curve in the “e” that seemed quite familiar. But that was nothing, right? It was just a single letter and a similarity of such little consequence that anypony else wouldn't have noticed it.

The problem was that Twilight had noticed it. The second she'd engaged her brain, it had jumped out at her. It was as if she was meant to notice it, as if somepony was sending her the most subtle message imaginable. That e was meant for her.

“Did you leave your bag unattended at any point?” said Twilight.

Raven looked from Twilight's face to the shopping list, clearly bemused and concerned by Twilight's interest. Perhaps it had never occurred to her that anything strange had happened. While the sequence of events did seem a bit odd, she'd probably assumed that somepony had just grabbed the shopping list and written some cryptic garbage on it for fun. Somewhere during the transition from Canterlot to Ponyville, Raven had probably lost that survival instinct that required her to freak out over any unexpected and unexplained event. When one was offered the solace they truly craved, they often weren't eager to make a big deal out of something that seemed harmless.

“Oh yes,” said Raven. “I spent most of the day in the library and my bag was right near the entrance. I never really paid much attention to it.”

Twilight let out another one of her sighs that seemed to encompass every negative thought about Ponyville. Of course nopony in this boring town would think twice about leaving their things unattended in a public place. What could happen? It wasn't like Canterlot, where an unattended bag was likely to be stolen under the muzzles of several trained security guards if its contents were of any importance. Getting into Raven's bag while she wasn't looking—especially to merely slip a pilfered shopping list inside—was hardly a daring heist. Nopony would have noticed somepony popping into the library for a few minutes. Even if the pony in question had been a total stranger, they could have slipped in and out without attracting the slightest amount of attention.

“Do you remember who came into the library that day?” said Twilight.

She knew there had to be a list of ponies who'd been in the library, but she doubted this mysterious pony had left such an obvious trail.

Just as Twilight had expected, Raven's recollections weren't helpful. There was indeed a list of ponies who'd visited the library, but it consisted only of those who'd returned or checked out books. Anypony who'd just come in for a minute or two to look around or grab a novel off the shelves for a brief reading session weren't on the list. Raven hadn't noticed anypony either entering or leaving the library. She recalled that ponies had definitely come in and out, most of them schoolponies seeking material for their book reports. But when prompted for faces and names, Raven drew a blank. She just didn't pay attention to ponies who came into the library unless they actually engaged her in conversation.

“I'll need to keep this,” said Twilight.

Raven looked completely baffled, but she shrugged.

“May I go now?” she said.

Twilight nodded. In the end, she'd gotten exactly what she wanted from this interview. It wasn't a lead or anything she could use to make a definite connection, but it was something. The important part was that she was getting there. She might have been trotting slower than a newborn foal, but she was getting there. But where was there in relation to this increasingly bizarre case? Somewhere she'd already been or somewhere brand new that she wasn't sure she wanted to go? But of course that was irrelevant. She was still going to solve this case, even if she ended up somewhere terrifying. Twilight knew all about terror. True terror was being cornered by an armed stallion who'd just been busted for a recent murdering spree. True terror was watching the knife come closer and closer, hatred and fear burning in the stallion's eyes as he prepared to take out the one pony who could put him behind bars.

Twilight had survived that. She'd survived all of it. Sometimes she'd only made it out by sheer luck, but the important thing was that she could be at her desk early the next morning. She never let any of it touch her. It certainly brushed her on more than one occasion, causing her fur to stand on end. But Twilight never let that ethereal hoof linger for too long. She knew that if she left it for more than a second, it would leave a cold spot. That spot would keep getting colder until Twilight found herself splayed out on a slab. Shining Armor had described this as “the invisible winter”. It was something nopony in the force ever talked about, but it was as real and as deadly as any killer. If Twilight let the job get to her, it was all over.

Twilight brushed her hoof against the word on the parchment. Why did the sight of it fill her with so much dread, rather than elation? Why did she feel like a pit had opened up in her stomach?

She held the parchment close to her, letting it absorb her heartbeat. Of course. How had she been so blind? But it had been so long. Years. But still, how could she have let such a vital memory slip away? Then again, of course Twilight hadn't noticed it in the moment. It was so absurd that her mind had automatically passed over it. Sometimes Twilight was too rational for her own good. She automatically filtered out the strange or unlikely, even if what was left was quite underwhelming.

She knew that hoofwriting. She'd seen it countless times as a foal and many more times later in life. It should have struck her immediately, much like the scarecrow. But it had been so long and Twilight had been trying to forget. She'd become rather selective with her memories. Some things she just let go because she thought it would help, other things she kept so she could get through the day a little bit easier. For a pony like her, a disorganized mind was a nightmare. Twilight needed everything to have a place and anything that got in the way of this order was simply cast aside. But this wasn't something she could throw away with ease, even if it had ceased to serve any kind of purpose.

Shining Armor. It was Shining Armor's hoofwriting. But it couldn't be. He was gone, buried, completely and utterly removed from the picture in every possible way. His things had been either sold or shoved into boxes that now resided in the attic of Twilight's foalhood home. Twilight could accept a lot of far-fetched theories, but she didn't believe in ghosts or the type of unearthly power that could contact the dead. Things like that were simply beyond magic, beyond science, and beyond reason.

But there was another explanation. A horrible explanation that sent her mind reeling. But it was the only thing that made sense, the only logical story Twilight would accept. If it was true—and it had to be—she knew that she had to solve this case. Even if it sent her headfirst into an early grave, she had to get to the bottom of this.

Somepony was fucking with her. And perhaps even worse, this was a pony who knew how to fuck with her. Their ultimate goal—or at least part of their goal—was to get under Twilight's fur. Well, they were succeeding. Good for them. They'd rattled her. They'd caused her to stumble over her own thoughts. Ingenious. Whoever this killer was, Twilight wanted to shake their hoof, claw, or fin.

Twilight gritted her teeth. Fuck it. They wanted to play a game? Fine. Twilight liked games.

Chapter 5: Breakfast

Twilight was once offered a teaching job. Celestial University, one of Canterlot's best—and largest—schools. Home to some of the most prestigious and influential professors to ever grace the land of Equestria. Founded by Princess Celestia herself and boasting the most diverse collection of students in Equestria. Ponies came from all over the world just to study at this modern marvel of a school. If Twilight had accepted the position, she would have been trotting the same path taken by many of her heroes. As the youngest pony to ever teach at Celestial University, she would have earned herself a chapter in the history books. The position was everything Twilight could have wanted.

Shining Armor's death changed everything. Suddenly the allure of academia dimmed, as did her enthusiasm for passing on knowledge. If there had ever been a joy to be found in such a life, it chose to leave her at a time when she was in desperate need of it. So she turned her back on it, realizing that the thrill of professorship had passed her by in a single blaze of tragedy. But then again, Twilight wasn't sure if Shining Armor's death was the catalyst or simply a wake-up call. Twilight had considered herself destined to become a professor. She had always had a narrow view of her future, but she abruptly found herself exploring that neglected corner of her mind. It was there—in a forbidden nook of her own brain—that the idea of becoming a cop timidly emerged.

So Twilight couldn't say she knew what she was meant to do. Maybe she was meant to be a professor, but she'd deviated from a series of events the universe itself had set up. She liked to think she'd beaten fate itself in some grand card game she didn't even know she was playing. Despite everything that had pointed her away, Twilight had become a cop and she was damn proud of herself for it.

Zecora wanted to meet Twilight in a public place. This was a breach of protocol that Twilight normally wouldn't have allowed, but screw it. She wanted a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll. Seeing as the station had neither, it was either take a trip to Sunbean or just ignore her burning need for breakfast. Seeing as Zecora was apparently a fan of good coffee and great food, Twilight decided to bend the rules a little by agreeing to this meeting.

Twilight ordered herself a mocha, while Zecora opted for a dirty chai latte.

Truth be told, Twilight was intrigued by Zecora right off the bat. She'd met griffins, dragons, and even yaks, but this was her first zebra. She was quite well-versed in zebra culture, having studied it extensively along with hundreds of other subjects. She still retained most of the knowledge.

Zecora spoke first, her tone casual. She certainly didn't act like she was being interviewed due to possible involvement in a murder. From the way she was acting, this could have been a conversation between old friends. She'd even smiled at Twilight when she came in, like they were already pals. In Twilight's experience, suspects who acted like this fell into one of two categories: Guilty as sin or a completely spotless record. Twilight had sources. If Zecora had so much as thrown a pebble in the general vicinity of another pony, Twilight would have known about it. But she'd turned up nothing of note, except for a single arrest on charges that were later found to be false. Either Zecora was a criminal mastermind or she really was an innocent citizen who'd just gotten dragged into a murder case.

“I am glad we finally get to meet face-to-face,” said Zecora. “I too am very interested in this case.”

Twilight sighed. Sweet Celestia, had the newspapers gotten their claws into this already? Oh, who was she kidding? Of course those vultures over at the Ponyville Chronicle—or whatever in Tartarus the local rag was called—had already pounced and were picking the carcass clean. Even scandal-a-day Canterlot had its fair share of greedy journalists itching to write about the latest “grisly murder spree” or “daring jewel theft”. Those bored journalists at the local paper must have been salivating over the chance to tackle some real news. Twilight wondered how badly the official story had been distorted.

But Zecora answered Twilight's unspoken question.

“You have nothing to fear, for my knowledge is my own,” she said. “But unlike you, I have chosen to work alone.”

Twilight raised her eyebrow, skeptical.

“You're investigating?” she said.

The last thing any case needed was some amateur sleuth sticking their muzzle into official police business. This wasn't really a constant problem in the city, but Twilight had dealt with it more than once. Having been through it during both a murder investigation and a kidnapping case, she could safely say that she wasn't a fan. Sure, sometimes having somepony on the inside was a blessing. The average citizen could get their hooves on information the force could never hope to gain without some hefty paperwork and empty threats of arrest. But information was one thing and a knife-wielding serial killer was another. When it came down to it, Twilight would rather one of the ponies in uniform end up with a knife in their throat than see some foolhardy citizen get stabbed. Police work wasn't a game.

However, Zecora didn't sound or act like a bright-eyed schoolpony or a pompous egghead who hadn't quite come down from the high of all those solved word puzzles. She sounded like she was actually taking the case seriously, keeping as much distance as she needed to stay safe. Although it was her duty to dissuade Zecora from playing detective, Twilight was held back by the fact that Zecora clearly wasn't just playing.

“You want to know about dragon's weed,” said Zecora. “But you would be better off following a different lead.”

Twilight ignored the advice. Arguably there were other pieces of the puzzle that demanded higher priority, but she was intentionally neglecting those. That was just how she investigated. She liked to draw a series of spirals in her head. She'd start off small, then work her way towards the center. By the time she ended up in the middle, she—hopefully—had everything she needed to throw somepony behind bars.

“I understand you sell herbal remedies and cures,” said Twilight.

That was how Fluttershy had described her. “The nice zebra who comes into town sometimes to sell herbal remedies and cures”. Whether anypony actually bought anything was up for debate. Twilight got the impression that the townsponies didn't exactly trust the mysterious zebra who lived in the Everfree Forest.

“I enjoy helping ponies who are in need,” said Zecora. “I have had cause to work with this “dragon's weed”.”

Twilight had seen a lot of ponies on the force—even her superiors—declare the case closed after following just one lead to a logical conclusion. For some of her colleagues, time was of the utmost importance. If they could pin it all on the victim's spouse with a reasonable amount of evidence, they wouldn't bother investigating that mysterious carriage seen outside said victim's house. It was all about shutting it all down and letting justice—or what they wrongly perceived as such—take its course. Sometimes they got away with it, others times Twilight reveled in seeing them get reamed for their incompetence after they bragged about nabbing a culprit in less than four hours. Twilight was a lot more careful. If it took her two hours to solve a murder, great. If it took her seven months, so be it. Her superiors might have started nipping at her sides, but Twilight wasn't about to toss some innocent soul behind bars if they'd just been passing by at the wrong time.

With what Zecora had just said, Twilight could have jumped to the worst conclusion. She wanted to solve this case. She needed it to be over so she could take pleasure in bringing down the full force of the law. But despite how hasty she wanted to be, Twilight was never going to be that type of detective. Even if she knew the townsponies might back her up if she tried to arrest the mysterious zebra who had somehow managed to settle in the Everfree Forest, she wasn't going to take the bait.

“So you've sold it to ponies?” said Twilight.

Zecora took a generous sip of her coffee. She was studying Twilight with candid interest. Sitting right in front of her was a pony who'd been torn away from her fame and plopped down in some nowhere town. Tragic, but ultimately fascinating.

“I sell remedies at a reasonable rate,” she said. “I would not give a pony dragon's weed in its natural state.”

So Zecora wasn't giving actual poison to ponies, or at least she claimed not to be. Then again, why would any healer worth their herbs jeopardize their reputation in a small town by handing a malicious spouse an easy way to get rid of their cheating partner? Being an outsider both physically and mentally, Zecora was already facing some unique challenges. Why add to the pile by selling literal murder supplies to townsponies? But if she hadn't sold somepony the dragon's weed, it meant the culprit in question must have ventured into the Everfree Forest and gotten it themselves. Twilight wasn't ready to accept that ludicrous possibility just yet.

“I'll need to search your house,” said Twilight. “Standard procedure.”

Zecora patted the rucksack she'd brought with her. It was a beautiful hoof-sewn affair covered with a series of patterns Twilight didn't recognize. It had caught her eye as soon as Zecora trotted in, but she hadn't paid it much attention once the conversation started.

“You'll find everything I'd made with dragon's weed in here,” she said. “Your reputation makes you somepony wrongdoers should fear.”

Twilight stared at the rucksack. She had a reputation? As in Zecora had more than a vague notion of who she was? To the average townspony, Twilight was just “that city pony who used to solve murders and what-not” or something equally condescending. It floored her to realize that somepony in this one-coffee-place town actually gave a damn about her old life and all she'd done to make the streets of Canterlot safer. She was no Shining Armor, but she thought she deserved at least some passing recognition for all the criminals she'd put behind bars, especially in a town that lacked figures of interest.

“As for my house, you are welcome to send your dragon friend,” she said. “He needs a break while there is still a killer to apprehend.”

Slipping back into her professional persona, Twilight took the rucksack. It jangled as it moved, indicating that it was filled with bottles. Going through all of them was going to be a pain in the flank. But it was all in the name of being thorough. Every lead had to be followed.

“Thank you for your time,” said Twilight.

She paid for her coffee, then left with the rucksack. It was going to be a busy few hours.

Revenge. A need for vengeance—be it due to an imagined slight or genuine betrayal—was one of the world's most powerful motivators. It turned the docile into murderers, the weak into fighters, and the law-abiding into criminal masterminds. Once it got its hooks into somepony, it was almost impossible not to lust after that sweet nectar. Even the least imaginative ponies could draw up a decent revenge scheme if they felt the injustice all the way down to their core. It was like some form of energy. Twilight's all-nighters were nothing compared to the effort some ponies would expend just to see a rival squirming.

Twilight's career was speckled with revenge stories. Most of the criminals she'd arrested had been acquainted with a cold cell, but sometimes a quirk in the system toppled Twilight's entire case. Even without those who'd escaped the grasping hoof of justice by the skin of their teeth, there were still family members, lovers, friends, even misguided sympathizers. There was always somepony eager to exact their own type of demented justice upon the pony who'd put somepony they cared about behind bars. Twilight was no stranger to close shaves. She'd escaped all of those scrapes, usually with an additional arrest.

So when Twilight asked herself for a specific name or incident, she came up blank. There were at least twenty ponies—and that was just off the top of her head—who'd love to see her head on a platter. But how many of those ponies would have been capable of this? How many of them had intimate knowledge of her life, enough to fake her brother's hoofwriting and plant that scarecrow just to scare her? When Twilight tried to narrow it down, she just hit more roadblocks. She wished she'd kept all those threatening letters she'd been sent over the years. Maybe those threats weren't as empty as Twilight thought they were.

Spike was sitting on Twilight's desk, a folder open on his lap. He jumped when she came in, a look of guilt springing to his face. He knew Twilight hated when he sat on her desk. Behind it was fine, but on it was discouraged. But it was something Spike sometimes just did without realizing it, particularly if Twilight was away.

But Twilight was pissed off at Spike for a reason completely unrelated to the desk, although that definitely added to it.

“Didn't you call me ten minutes ago to say you were taking the rest of the day off?” she said.

She'd been disappointed and on the verge of protest when she'd first heard those words. What in Tartarus was she supposed to do without Spike? Half the stuff she was doing might have been considered a distraction if it hadn't been at least slightly related to the case. While Twilight pored over the contents of the rucksack, she needed somepony out there asking questions and filling up notebooks. But as much she wanted that someone to be Spike, she also wanted him to stop teasing the line. Once she got over her initial reaction, Twilight had thanked Spike for considering his own health and assured him that she'd be fine.

“I was, but I found something,” said Spike.

She started to tell him that she didn't give a shit what he'd found and that his health was more important than the investigation, but Spike raised a claw. The benefit of living with Twilight was that he'd gotten to know her even better. He knew exactly what she was going to say, how she was going to say it, and even when she was going to say it. Twilight could be woefully predictable, especially when she expressed concern for him. That was one trait they shared: an unabashed concern for each other. Spike tried to cure Twilight of her late night coffee habit and she in turn discouraged him from drowning all of his problems in cider.

“I promise I'll take the rest of the day off,” said Spike. “But right now, you need to listen.”

He hoped off the desk and closed the folder. A second before he snapped it shut, Twilight recognized it as all the information—not that there was a lot—they'd gathered about the Dinky case.

“I talked to Dinky,” he said. “I know you wanted to interview her at the station, but I don't think that's necessary. I got enough information out of her just by talking to her. She's actually a really talkative filly.”

Twilight waved her hoof, her protests vanishing. She didn't like that he'd lied to her, but she appreciated Spike's initiative. Talking to fillies and colts was always frustrating, especially in regards to an investigation. They never seemed to want to tell her anything, even if she assured them that they weren't in trouble. Celestia knows why.

“What did she say?” she said.

Spike opened the folder again. Twilight was always better at note-taking, but he did his best. The biggest challenge was trying to write as fast as Dinky talked. Once he broached the main subject, the leisurely stroll of the conversation turned into a sprint. But as Dinky rattled off increasingly relevant bits of information, Spike had managed to write down most of the important parts while disregarding her brief unrelated tangents. Even so, his notes were a bit disorganized and more resembled the ramblings of a lunatic. But he was able to sort everything out in his head and communicate what Dinky had told him. When it all came together, it took a very interesting form.

“She said she was abducted by a pony in a mask,” said Spike. “She was held for a little while, but the masked pony let her go without hurting her.”

Twilight's first reaction—before the information settled—was to press her hoof to her forehead.

“And she didn't think it was important to share this information after she was found?” she said.

This was assuming that Dinky wasn't just telling stories. The whole thing sounded a bit far-fetched. If she'd been in Dinky's hooves, she would have shouted for the police at the very sight of a masked pony. But this was Ponyville. The combination of a ludicrously low crime rate and a collection of rather judgment-impaired—and that was Twilight being polite—citizens was just enough to make this bizarre scenario plausible. She could even buy Dinky choosing to keep this to herself. Even if she had spoken up about it, how many ponies would have believed something so far outside of the town's norm?

“Did she remember anything important about this masked pony?” said Twilight. “Cutie Mark, mane, body type?”

Spike glanced through his notes.

“No,” he said. “She mostly only remembers the mask. It was a fox mask or something like that.”

Twilight sighed. Naturally it wouldn’t be that easy. No, she always needed to dig. But she was getting tired of feeling the soil on her hooves.

“Did this pony say anything to her?” said Twilight.

Spike checked his notes again, searching the somewhat unintelligible screed for an answer. He found it near the end of the page, written with even more haste and less structure as he struggled to keep up with an increasingly excited Dinky. The words were practically falling off the page. Good thing this wasn’t lined paper.

“They mostly talked about you,” said Spike. “Dinky didn’t remember all of it, but the pony kept saying this one thing over and over again.”

Twilight cocked an eyebrow.

“Which was?” she said.

Spike hesitated at the prompt, his gaze intensifying as they traveled the page. He looked at Twilight, but hurriedly dropped his eyes back to his notes. He knew Twilight was more experienced than him. She’d seen more messed up shit than he ever would and he was very thankful for that. But sometimes he wondered what—if anything—would rattle her. This case certainly had, but she seemed to have regained her footing with ease. Spike wanted to know what would throw Twilight utterly off balance. He had a few ideas, but he didn’t dare think about them too much.

“They said, um, that you need to confess your sins,” he said.

Twilight stared at him, her face utterly blank. Spike wanted to take it back, but of course that was absurd. He’d already said it out loud and it was—most likely—pertinent information related to the case. Still, it always unnerved him when Twilight just stared without saying anything. He didn’t like when she went into mannequin mode, even if it was only for a minute.

“I need you...,” Twilight started.

She stopped herself. Oh right. Spike was taking the rest of the day off.

“Have Rarity ask around,” said Twilight. “I want to know if anypony saw a strange pony with a mask at any point during the past few months. If they have any information at all, Rarity has my permission to bring them in and question them further.”

“Duress” was what the second note had said. A seldom-used word that Twilight recognized from her fillyhood fascination with crime fiction. It was basically a fancier word for “threat”. Those books had been filled with justice-battered criminals who'd confessed “under duress”. At the pivotal moment, one was expected to release their sins for judgment. It used to be common practice for ponies who’d committed some heinous act to seek out Princess Celestia and beg for forgiveness. Sometimes they got it, sometimes they didn’t. But regardless of the outcome, it became a tradition. A long-past tradition from a long-past civilization. As the saying went, “Let your sins burn in the morning sun”.

But Twilight wasn't the confessing type. She preferred to keep her sins to herself.

Chapter 6: Lunch

Regardless of what they were told during basic training, few rookies seemed to grasp that crime was a very basic business. There were categories, pre-established patterns, even something comparable to clairvoyance. It was all about the layers. No matter how much muck and mold developed over the course of the investigation, once it was wiped away there was usually an unremarkable explanation. Personal gain, jealousy, lust. It was all so simple and ultimately decipherable. Even when there was some big hidden agenda, it was always tied to something obvious.

Were there layers to this crime? Obviously. But was peeling away those layers going to reveal the same patterns and categories? Twilight had never struggled with the answer to that question before, but now she was unsure of everything. She was doubting the life she'd reluctantly made in this seemingly quiet little town. But everything couldn't be connected, right? There was no way everything was being dictated by some unseen force. But how long had this pony—or even ponies—been stalking her since she came to Ponyville? Had they been stalking her even before Ponyville?

Yes. She instantly knew the answer. This wasn't something that could have originated in Ponyville. It must have come from outside. A scrap of her old life that had followed her from the city. But which scrap and why?

Rarity's search for the “masked pony” came back negative. Nopony had seen or heard of anything. Given how absurdly obvious that would have been, Twilight hadn't really expected much. She wasn't dealing with some cult loon. Although if asked which she would have preferred, Twilight would have been split. She had to admit that this case interested her. It touched her life in a way she could have done without, but somehow that made the whole thing more enticing.

“....lunch?”

Her attention stolen from the papers on her desk, Twilight raised her head. Truth be told, she was relieved to be distracted from the pile of parking violations that somepony—probably Pinkie—had dumped on her desk. For some baffling reason, ponies seemed to love leaving their carts or carriages overnight in front of Sugarcube Corner. Numerous signs threatening explicit legal action and fines had done very little. Within a month of arriving in Ponyville, Twilight had taken it upon herself to crack down on violators. Years later and she'd barely made a dent in the problem.

Twilight realized that Lyra had been standing in the doorway and talking to her for at least five minutes. Celestia knows why her office door didn't have a lock. Well, she had a pretty good idea. She knew how much Ponyville loved social interaction—especially the forced kind, or so Twilight thought—and this unfortunately extended to law enforcement. If citizens couldn't just barge into Twilight's office and demand she do something about those “suspicious-looking colts” outside their house, could she really call herself a “public servant”? The answer to that question was no, because Twilight didn't like that term and she found this whole “accessibility” thing incredibly silly.

“It's too early for lunch,” she said.

Lyra gave Twilight a sheepish smile. She'd been on the force longer than almost anypony else. That might have meant something in Canterlot, but in Ponyville it was basically just a few numbers. Being one of the oldest hadn't done her much good, although maybe time took the edge off. Once the monotony became routine, it was probably easier to adjust while remaining ready for some actual criminal activity. From what Twilight knew, Lyra had only joined the force because she was in dire need of a “real job”.

“I meant later,” said Lyra. “Would you like to grab a bite with me and some of the other officers? We've all been working so hard and Rarity said she'd treat us.”

Twilight stared at Lyra for nearly a full minute, a slight smile on her face. But she wasn't smiling because of the offer. She was smiling because she realized that this hadn't been Lyra's intention. Lyra didn't want to invite her to lunch. She'd come into the station looking for Spike, hadn't found him, and had proceeded to barge into Twilight's office and give her the same offer in some clumsy attempt at friendship. It was so hopelessly transparent that Twilight almost thought she was over-analyzing again.

“No thank you,” said Twilight. “But if there's anything that's, for example, related to the murder...”

A look of confusion passed over Lyra's face, as if she'd completely forgotten that they were supposed to be investigating a murder. Forcing a smile on her face—Twilight suspected Lyra was subconsciously relieved—she shook her head, then hastily left the office. In Canterlot, Twilight hadn't tried to form any intimate bonds with her colleagues and they in exchange hadn't attempted to do the same with her. Professionalism and a basic understanding of each other was all they really needed to work together. If an officer had to jump ship because their spouse had come home after a long stay at the hospital, Twilight wasn't going to object. But she also wasn't going to use the information to strike up a conversation and the officer wasn't going to volunteer it for the sake of forming a bond.

Twilight returned to the parking violations. She knew she could have passed this down to her fellow officers, but most of them were either busy scrounging up clues about the case—or at least she hoped that was what they were doing—or they were slacking off. Twilight had no reason to care about those slips of paper, but she knew it would bug her if she didn't finish going over them. It was always the little things that got to her.

Most of the violators were repeat-offenders who apparently hadn't tired of those ludicrous fines. City ponies would have called those fines “robbery”, but Ponyville citizens seemed more inclined to passively hand over the bits just so they could get away with ignoring a written sign. Twilight could guess the names based on the cart descriptions alone. Some unfortunate farmer had wracked up three violations in a single day, each one for a different cart. Why anypony needed to park three carts outside of Sugarcube Corner was beyond her. Were these minor offenders just messing with her at this point? Or had Twilight become so desensitized that she only now noticed these things?

Twilight frowned. A name she didn't recognize. That wasn't interesting in itself. Sometimes ponies were just passing through—lucky them—or trying to capture some of that “historic charm” Ponyville boasted. It wasn't common, but not very unusual. However, this time a single detail of the report struck a cord with Twilight. She followed the sound as it reverberated across her brain, leading her to a specific memory.

Tricky Eclipse. Didn't Twilight know a “Tricky Eclipse”? But that wasn't helpful. She knew a lot of ponies, most of them dangerous criminals. Yet as she probed the interior of her brain for some kind of reference, she realized that she wasn't searching her mental database for some reckless law-breaker. No, it was a much more mundane acquaintance. Somepony who'd gotten tangled up with the police force, but in a much less dire capacity. Tricky Eclipse. Who in Tartarus was “Tricky Eclipse”?

Twilight pressed her hoof against her forehead. Celestia-curse-it. Somehow she'd forgotten. No, she'd buried it. Buried it under piles and piles of cases that were far more interesting and less frustrating than the saga of Tricky Eclipse. As the name rolled across her mind, Twilight could feel the memory clawing its way back to the forefront. She wanted to leave it shackled in some dark basement of her mind, but it was too late. It was all coming to her, dragging its rotting body across the floor like a reanimated corpse. Tricky Eclipse. That was just one of her names. Twilight knew this pony's actual given name: Trixie Lulamoon.

Trixie Lulamoon was—and Twilight was being incredibly polite—a scourge upon Canterlot's police force. When she'd first rolled into the city, nopony had thought much of her. Just another traveling salespony peddling their snake oil and skirting the law. The force had little concern to spare for some charlatan preaching about the supposed medicinal benefits of “phoenix tears”. As long as she wasn't selling something blatantly illegal, the force was willing to leave her alone and focus on real crimes.

This strategy would have worked if it hadn't been for Trixie's business practices. To put it bluntly, she was far too good at breaking the law and getting away with it. Illegal fireworks, dangerous herbs and chemicals, etc. All purchased from Trixie's cart. Despite their best efforts, the police completely failed to actually apprehend her. They did eventually get a pretty good lead from one of her customers, but Trixie fled the city before she could be dragged in for questioning. Her disappearing act was pretty intimidating, but Twilight doubted Trixie was some kind of criminal mastermind. She was just a failed performer who'd amassed a considerable supply of dumb luck.

For the first time in years, Twilight was actually forced to revisit those trying few weeks. What were the chances that somepony like Trixie would reappear in Twilight's life? Slim. Fantasizing about Trixie being three thousand miles away from her was the only way Twilight was able to rest after the case was closed. For once in her life, she didn't care that she hadn't nabbed Canterlot's latest menace. Trixie wasn't the type of menace Twilight had signed up to chase.

Twilight pressed both hooves against her forehead and let out a groan. What were the chances that this mysterious murderer had bought dragon's weed from Trixie? High. Very high. Celestia-curse-it. But how clever to lead her down such an obvious road, to blind her with an obvious suspect—Zecora—and then throw another in her face after she'd wasted all that time. Granted, Twilight didn't know if she was right. But with how things were going, what were the chances she was mistaken? Slim.

“Fluttershy,” Twilight shouted.

The timid mare answered the summons within moments. She was actually a decent receptionist, or at least she seemed to know it was her job. Twilight could hardly give such a glowing endorsement to most of her fellow officers. Even the best ones—like Rarity—occasionally forgot that they were supposed to be cops. At least Fluttershy was a step up from Rainbow Dash when it came to work ethic. If it hadn't been for some obvious hurdles Twilight didn't want to face, she would have given Fluttershy a somewhat fitting promotion from desk worker to full-fledged officer of the law. She couldn't have been worse than Pinkie Pie.

“Yes?” said Fluttershy.

Twilight rattled off some instructions she'd never once dreamed of giving: Fluttershy was to locate the traveling salespony who'd illegally parked her cart in front of Sugarcube Corner. Not physically locate her, but track down her temporary place of residence. As much as Twilight dreaded it, she gave herself the actual legwork. She certainly didn't want to deal with Trixie again, but she knew nopony on the force could handle her. Those poor fools wouldn't know what they were getting into. Twilight wouldn't have even been comfortable sending Spike in her place. He was a little too trusting for his own good. Trixie would talk circles around him and be out of town before Spike realized what had happened.

While Fluttershy was combing their available resources—and there weren't many—Twilight grabbed her phone. She needed to talk to somepony who understood her plight. She still planned to confront Trixie herself, but it might be nice to have at least some semblance of back-up. Somepony to talk to. Twilight started to punch in Spike's number, smiling faintly as she imagined how he would react to her mention of Trixie.

But she stopped. Oh right. This was Spike's day off. Should she really be bothering him like this? Sure, he was the only one in Ponyville who could understand her current predicament. But Twilight already felt like a hypocrite just for thinking about him when he needed to rest. She couldn't do that to him. Not for the hundredth time since they'd met each other. With a sad little smile, Twilight put her phone back on the desk. Maybe tomorrow.

Fluttershy trotted back into the office, an apologetic smile on her face. Twilight knew that look, but she pretended it meant something other than what she thought it did.

“Did you find her?” she said.

Her heart sank when Fluttershy shook her head. Of course. In the eternal battle of Trixie vs. The Police Force, the latter always got the shit end of the stick. Why had Twilight thought it would be different just because they didn't have a whole city to search? Trixie's track record with the cops wasn't the best. Of course she was keeping away from the ponies in uniform. Trixie apparently knew how to hide when she caught a whiff of the police.

“None of the motels or inns have a record of her,” said Fluttershy. “No Trixie Lulamoon or Tricky Eclipse.”

Twilight put her hooves together and bowed her head, thinking. Those were Trixie's only names, or at least the only ones she'd ever used. Twilight doubted Trixie was clever enough to finally adopt a third persona. So where was she staying? With a friend? If so, why illegally park her cart in front of Sugarcube Corner? According to the report, she'd moved it sometime that morning, so she probably wasn't staying in the owners' spare room or anything. Was she living on the street with her cart? No, that would have been way too conspicuous.

Her phone rang. For a minute, Twilight thought it was Trixie. But that was absurd. Trixie—hopefully—didn't have her number and likely had no idea Twilight was even in Ponyville. If she had, she would have skipped town already.

“Ponyville Police Department,” said Twilight.

That usually dissuaded telemarketers. But it wasn't a cheerful voice imploring her subscription to another newsletter.

“You'll never guess who's in Ponyville.”

Twilight almost hung up. That was the last voice she'd expected—or wanted—to hear that day. In any other circumstance, she would have given an eager reply and started asking questions. But in this particular case, she had to shackle a groan. The worst part was that brief swell of happiness in her chest, a feeling she hastily snuffed out.

“It's supposed to be your day off,” she said.

She knew exactly what Spike had been thinking. He'd called her personal phone because he hoped it somehow wouldn't count as “work-related”. Unfortunately for him, his desperate attempt at skirting his own promise didn't go unnoticed. He was probably also counting on the fact that, despite her insistence to the contrary, Twilight wanted him to be working. She wanted him to be by her side, scouring archives and following leads. This alternate arrangement felt wrong to both of them, but they both knew it was ultimately for the best. It was hard for Twilight to avoid being selfish and it was hard for Spike to admit that he needed her to be selfish.

“I think you'll be interested in this,” said Spike.

He went on before Twilight could hang up or reluctantly tell him off.

“You remember Trixie, right?” he said. “The traveling salespony? Well, I've been doing some research into her whereabouts ever since you mentioned dragon's weed. I know you gave up on tracking her a long time ago, but I believe she's in Ponyville right now.”

Twilight let out a heavy sigh. So he hadn't been resting. Celestia-curse-it. Why hadn't she followed him back home and made sure he went to bed? Better yet, she could have slipped some sleeping potion into his tea or something. A bit unethical, but she did have some—it helped her get to sleep on those particularly bad nights—and it would have done the trick. But Twilight knew she wasn't in charge of him. He was his own dragon. A stubborn dragon who'd been infected by her workaholic sickness a long time ago.

“She's got her caravan parked on the edge of the Everfree Forest,” said Spike. “I gave Fluttershy a call and she said it wasn't any of her business, but I think...”

But Twilight's attention suddenly lapsed as she was assaulted by a memory. That fucking caravan. Of course she remembered what it looked like. Every detail of that accursed thing was scorched into her retinas. It was so garish and narcissistic, perfectly in line with Trixie's personality. How she'd managed to keep the thing hidden was one of Equestria's greatest mysteries. It had her Cutie Mark splashed across the side, for Celestia's sake. The force should have apprehended her within moments of putting up posters, even if all they had was a crude artist's rendition. But much like Trixie herself, the caravan—as well as the cart and anything else related to her—had somehow just slipped through the cracks. Every trace of her evaporated into the thick city air like steam from a fresh cup of coffee. Except unlike coffee, there was nothing refreshing or inviting about Trixie Lulamoon.

“You need to...,” Twilight started.

She stopped herself, leaving the unspoken order hanging in the air. Could she really finish that sentence? Could she utter those fatal words, like a machine programmed to give but never to feel? No, she couldn't. Long ago, Twilight had been that machine. In many ways, she remained the collection of gears and pulleys that wore a pony's face. But she'd changed. Spike had helped her change, with his laughter and bringing her coffee when she was working late. As easy and painless as it would have been, Twilight couldn't condemn Spike the way she'd condemned herself.

“....get some rest,” she finished.

Spike was immediately defensive, like he'd been caught lying.

“I did rest,” he said. “But your book about poisons was open and I thought...”

Twilight interrupted him. She knew he didn't like any of this. It wasn't just the frustration of being kept away from the action. However short of a dry spell it ended up being, Twilight could accomplish a lot without his help and Spike was well aware of this. But there was something lurking behind this case, something immense and unknowable. If either of them were tasked to describe it, they would have both used the word “ghost”. Ghosts—as Twilight had learned a while ago—weren't ethereal manifestations of the dearly-departed. Ghosts were feelings, ideas, dreams. Things without bodies, but with enough energy and shape to appear physical. An angry thought lurking behind a cheerful greeting, the flicker of a lie in the eyes of an unfaithful partner. Those were the type of ghosts that Twilight and Spike believed in.

There was a great truth to be found. Twilight could feel it. But just sensing this truth as it manifested in the background of her life wasn't enough. It was basically just a hunch. Twilight couldn't interrogate a hunch.

“Don't call me again,” she said. “Drink some of that expensive imported cocoa. Get some sleep.”

Not interested in hearing another round of protests, Twilight hung up. She thought of blocking his number, but she decided against it. Twilight trusted that the hardness in her voice was enough to get her message across. No need to shut him out completely. Plus—and she felt guilty even admitting this to herself—if he did stumble across another bit of pertinent information, she wanted to know about it. Any port in a storm.

There was no point in putting it off. The longer Twilight waited, the more likely her lead would escape. Maybe she'd get lucky. Maybe she'd arrive to find that Trixie had fled town a while ago, leaving behind a crate filled with all the evidence Twilight needed. She could only hope.

Charlatans and con artists weren't uncommon in Canterlot. In fact, Twilight speculated that a number of Canterlot's finest—the socialites and ladder-climbers—had been charlatans and con artists at one point. Most citizens would have claimed the city had been built on a solid foundation of magic and progress directed by the princesses themselves. There was some truth to this, but the princesses' influence didn't extend to the roots. The city's heart was no longer healthy and vibrant, pumping red blood through the veins of a thriving community. It had become withered, a dry husk sending spurts of dark muck through the pipes. The citizens continued on with their lives, oblivious to the sludge churning right underneath their hooves. It was ponies like Twilight who had to wade through this sludge almost every day, recovering the remains of yet another petty theft or grisly murder. But when the bones were cleaned and put back in their proper place, Twilight had to admit that the city's cheerful facade seemed just a little more real.

Twilight knocked on the door of Trixie's caravan. She'd come alone, despite a deluge of inner protests. Although she was confident in her decision, she regretted how casual she was being. If things had been different, Twilight would have enjoyed pounding her hoof against the door and shouting “Police!”. She would have taken great pleasure in hearing Trixie scrambling around like a cornered animal. Maybe that was needlessly cruel, but Twilight needed to feel like she was winning.

The door swung open almost instantly, forcing Twilight to take a step back.

There she was, in all her fake showmare glory. She still had the cape, although she lacked the familiar matching hat. But even without the hat, her choice of attire made it clear that Trixie was trying too hard. She looked like she belonged in Las Pegasus, impressing gullible tourists with her fictional exploits and sleight of hoof tricks. That's where she should have been, under the bright lights and dazzling signs. But somehow she'd ended up in places she didn't belong, mainly Twilight's life for the second time.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie will not be signing autographs,” said Trixie.

She squinted at Twilight, either oblivious to the status indicated by Twilight's uniform or having blissfully forgotten her previous run-ins with the police. She reeked of apple cider, but she seemed too alert to be suffering from a hangover. Annoyance flashed across her face, yet there wasn't so much as a subtle glimmer of recognition. From Trixie's point of view, she'd simply had the ill fortune to be jolted from a sound sleep by some inconsiderate super-fan. She clearly appreciated the dedication, but even the Great and Powerful Trixie needed her beauty sleep.

“I need to ask you some questions,” said Twilight.

There it was, like a flash of light at the end of a dark tunnel. Twilight could almost see the fireworks going off behind Trixie's eyes, tiny sparks raining down over the dry fields. In an instant, each spark ignited, setting the field on fire. Trixie's poker face was immediately consumed by the flames, leaving her with a gaping mouth and disbelieving eyes. Twilight Sparkle. She almost said the name out loud, but she instead just mouthed it.

“Of course the Great and Powerful Trixie will answer any..,” Trixie started.

She tried to slam the door, but found Twilight's hoof in the way. She gazed helplessly into Twilight's eyes, her own panicked gaze meeting the other mare's impassive expression.

Twilight was used to dealing with uncooperative suspects. The city was filled with those who'd done no wrong—at least not recently—yet were wary of even opening the door for an officer. The trick was to maintain serenity. When faced with somepony who wasn't taking any bullshit, even the least compliant suspects eventually crumpled. Keeping oneself together was an almost surefire way to break down a suspect's walls.

Sure enough, Trixie fell apart like a cheap model train.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie has done nothing wrong,” she said.

She'd spoken those words so many times that she actually managed to sound convincing. Trixie was usedto this. Due to her trade, she'd actually developed the elusive skill of being an excellent liar. It was all in the delivery. If she pulled off the act, she avoided a long stay in a small cell. So it was imperative that she believe her own lies, believe them to the point that every detective itching to slap some cuffs on her would start to doubt their own evidence.

“I'd just like a word with you,” said Twilight.

She spoke in that false pleasant tone she used to warn criminals that she was authorized to use force. Even if she hadn't been, Twilight would have broken protocol if it meant getting answers out of Trixie. Some almost primal part of her—some part that ached for revenge—wanted to envelop Trixie in a field of magic and drag her down to the station. Her willingness to make a spectacle out of Trixie's arrest would have sent a very clear message to whatever sick individual seemed to be coming after her.

But Trixie stepped aside to let Twilight in, suddenly the very example of confidence. She knew the game. She'd memorized the rules and probably rigged the playing field. Despite what everypony on the Canterlot police force thought of her, Trixie was clever. She was clever in a way that even she herself didn't recognize.

Twilight entered the caravan, wrinkling her muzzle at the scent of apple cider. Had Trixie been going through crates? Or had she just doused all of her belongings in it for some unknowable reason? Twilight had never taken Trixie for a drunk. Then again, they weren't on intimate terms.

“Have a seat,” said Trixie.

Twilight refused the offer. She knew what Trixie was doing. It was a technique she'd seen many times on the field: “I've invited you into my home. Clearly I have nothing to hide.” On one specific occasion, an accused murderer had invited the entire police force—including Twilight and Spike—to a lavish dinner party. It was only much later that the bodies were discovered, the dismembered remains buried less than four feet away from where several officers had been dancing and getting shit-faced. Subtle, calculated, cunning. Almost as good as an alibi.

Trixie poured herself a glass of iced tea. She didn't offer Twilight one. Obviously she didn't want to be too hospitable. It was a balancing act.

“You look good,” said Trixie. “Did you do something new with your mane?”

She flashed Twilight a flirtatious smile, the kind she probably used to get out of paying fines. It most likely never worked, but she kept trying. There had to be at least one officer who'd fall for it, right? One officer who'd melt into a submissive puddle when Trixie slipped a hoof under their chin and told them they were way too handsome and/or beautiful to be a cop.

Twilight cocked an eyebrow. Spike might have been weak to that sort of thing, but Twilight certainly wasn't. Even Spike would have snapped out of it within seconds if it had been Trixie. He might have been a sucker for a pretty face, but he was fully aware that Trixie had no intention of parking herself in his stable. Not that he would have wanted her to.

“What are you doing here?” said Twilight.

Trixie winked.

“Enjoying the view,” she said.

Twilight gritted her teeth. “Oh, it wasn't my fault,” she imagined herself saying. “I have no idea how Trixie managed to erase herself from existence. What a shame.”

“What are you doing in Ponyville?” she said.

Trixie flopped down on the sofa, iced tea hovering a few inches away from her head. She brought the glass to her mouth and took a very long sip, slurping loudly from an S-shaped straw. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts, as if she was about to reveal the details of an intricate covert mission. When she spoke at last, she sounded amused.

“What are you doing in Ponyville?” she said. “Don't tell me you asked to be transferred here.”

Twilight was about to ask how Trixie knew she'd been transferred, but the answer was obvious. Why else would somepony like Twilight be in Ponyville?

“If you don't want to answer my questions here, I could book you an all-night stay at the station,” said Twilight.

Trixie smirked at the threat, yet it had obviously shaken her. She tried to hide it with another lengthy sip of iced tea, but her expression broke halfway through her theatric display. She put the almost-empty glass aside, a bitter smile on her face. Trixie was no stranger to a night in jail, but she hadn't come to enjoy it.

“If you must know, the Great and Powerful Trixie was just passing through,” she said.

She pressed a hoof to her chest and closed her eyes.

“You see, I've become an honest mare,” she said. “It took me a long time, but I finally realized what was missing from my life: permanence. I've given up my life of trickery. I am now merely a humble traveling showmare, renting my talents to various venues across this great land of Equestria.”

It was an admirable performance, but Twilight didn't believe a word of it. It wasn't that she just didn't believe ponies could change. She'd seen dangerous criminals spend half their lives in prison, only to emerge as beacons of philanthropy. Self-reflection could do wonders for the criminal mind, especially with all of those rehabilitation programs Princess Luna herself had instituted. But as Twilight assessed the extravagant interior of the caravan, she found it hard to believe that Trixie had put in any of the required effort.

“Honest mare, huh?” said Twilight.

She gestured towards an open crate filled with various bottles. She couldn't see the labels, but the liquid inside was a murky green that reminded her of pond scum. Trixie was smart enough to leave her name off of the “miracle cures” she sold. If somepony lost their mane or went half-blind from drinking her patented snake oil, it would be near-impossible for them to prove that they hadn't just mixed up the concoction themselves or bought it from another unscrupulous seller.

Trixie faltered, her confidence failing for a moment.

“Remnants of my old life,” she said.

Although Twilight would have loved to write up a long list of charges, this wasn't really about Trixie selling her homemade baldness cures to some gullible idiot. This was about a murder investigation.

“Have you been selling dragon's weed?” said Twilight.

Trixie's gaze flickered to a box at the other side of the room, then back to Twilight. Given the guilt in her eyes, the glance had clearly been somewhat involuntary. But Twilight had seen it. The box had seemed of no consequence when Twilight first walked in, yet its contents became obvious with just that one fateful glance. Receipts. Trixie did have some business sense, although maybe not the sense needed for her specific type of business. Of course she'd keep records, just to make sure she wasn't being stiffed.

Twilight immediately trotted to the other side of the room. Most ponies who sold illegal or somewhat illegal goods kept records of some kind, but they usually opted for something discree. This was one of those fancy decorative boxes, the kind with ornate designs all over its exterior.

“Hey, that's private property!” said Trixie. “You don't have a warrant.”

But Twilight was already playing with the latch. She didn't even need to. The latch seemed to be decorative, existing merely to give the box the illusion of being even fancier than it already looked. Up close, it was obvious that it wasn't. It was some cheap thing Trixie had probably bought at a discount from some old mare in a caravan much like her own.

The lid popped open like the mouth of a snake. There were some torn slips of paper with numbers and letters scrawled on them, along with a small leather-bound book that bore Trixie's Cutie Mark.

“I'll be taking this,” said Twilight.

Trixie jumped from her seat, too outraged to attempt her usual flirting routine.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie demands compensation,” she said. “That box cost thirty...I mean, one hundred bits. If it's damaged in any way, you owe Trixie two hundred bits.”

Twilight closed the box and slipped it into her saddlebag, only half-listening to Trixie.

“I'll see that none of your possessions come to harm,” she said. “However, you will have to remain in Ponyville for the duration of my investigation. That won't be a problem, will it?”

Trixie's gaze focused on Twilight's saddlebag. She was trapped and she knew it. Sure, she could have fled the town right under Twilight's muzzle. She'd done it before and she was arrogant enough to believe she could do it again. But there was no way Trixie could go anywhere without her precious box. There were ponies who still owed her, ponies she wouldn't be able to track down without her records. Trixie couldn't even be sure that Twilight would give them back or that she would actually escape prosecution by being cooperative. But what choice did she have?

“Three hundred bits,” said Trixie.

Twilight left. Now that she had what she'd been after, she wanted to get as far away from Trixie as equinely possible. But given what was now in her saddlebag, this wasn't going to be the last time they crossed paths. Another conversation with the Great and Powerful Trixie was in Twilight's near future.

The slips of paper were of varying sizes and origins. Some of them had been torn from notebooks, while others were revealed to be the remains of parking tickets and written citations. It seemed that Trixie had just used whatever was at hoof, be it part of a menu or a flier for a local wine tasting. But the information itself did not vary. These were clearly records of various transactions between Trixie and her customers. Exactly what Twilight had been looking for. Unfortunately, she ran into a little snag that dulled any sense of triumph.

Honey, Vinegar, Cinnamon. Owl feathers.

All the receipts were like that. Twilight went through the entire stack and couldn't find a single one that wasn't written in the same bizarre manner. A code. An ingenious one, Twilight had to admit. If she hadn't known what she was looking at, she would have assumed it was just a shopping list. She would have tossed it back into the box, frustrated at the dead end she'd reached. But Twilight wasn't naive. She'd seen codes like this before. Those who moved in the darkest depths of the criminal underworld seemed to love secret codes. Unfortunately, they rarely left the tools to break them in plain sight.

The book didn't offer much help. It was a little more blatant with the intentions of its author, but it was written in a similarly vague sort of way.

Eleven pots of honey to Star Twinkle. Four bottles of red wine to Cotton Crisp.

The names looked real at first glance, but they were just a little off. The simplicity of the ruse was almost genius. To the gullible, Trixie was simply a humble purveyor of various goods. Illegal goods? No, that was preposterous. There was nothing illegal about pots of honey and bottles of wine. If Helpful Hoof wanted to purchase forty cans of tomato sauce, what right did the police have to question the mare who sold it to him? If the officers actually doubted any of it, they need only take a look at the numerous crates of jam, soup, and other such wares that Trixie was perfectly willing to share. Wares she'd obtained through completely legal means and was intending to sell for a reasonable price. In fact, she was sure one of those lovely officers would be interested in a sample of that wine she was selling. On the house of course. A thank-you gift for those hardworking ponies in uniform.

Twilight massaged her forehead. Okay, there was no need to panic. She could just drag Trixie to the station and demand the key. But there probably wasn't an actual physical key, was there? No, Trixie was getting all of this second-hoof. She was borrowing tactics from ponies far more intelligent than her. Trixie wasn't going to just tell Twilight. That went completely against whatever loyalty existed between her and her customers. Fantastic.

She opened the book again. Every code was breakable. No matter how cryptic, in the end it was just simple equuish. Distorted and twisted equuish, but the origin remained the same. This wasn't even the hardest code Twilight had been forced to break.

“Owl feathers”. Who was “Owl Feathers”? These names—they had to be names--must have been chosen for a reason. Some physical or mental characteristic that had stuck out to Trixie. But what kinds of physical or mental characteristics would have stuck out to a pony like Trixie? The Cutie Mark of course, but that was a little too easy. Everypony noticed Cutie Marks. They were the first thing a pony took note of when meeting somepony new. Trixie was hardly an exception, but there had to be something else. Something that Trixie in particular would have noticed.

“Owl Feathers”. A pony who wore glasses. A theatric nickname based on something rather mundane. That was Trixie's style. But what did that tell Twilight? If she was right, she now had valuable insight into how Trixie chose nicknames for her customers. But how did that help? It wasn't as if she knew what the killer looked like. But maybe it was important, even if Twilight couldn't immediately see it.

Twilight started sorting through the receipts. The ones on the top had to be the most recent, at least judging by the amount of wear. But which one was about dragon's weed, if any of them were? Twilight hadn't considered that she might have embarked on a fool's errand. Maybe Trixie had nothing to do with this. But no, that couldn't be the case. Trixie had to have something to do with it. Why else would she have reappeared in Twilight's life?

She flipped over one of the receipts. There wasn't anything special on the back. It was just half of a parking ticket. It seemed Trixie had a habit of illegally parking her cart.

If only Spike was there to help her. She'd gotten tired of lamenting his absence, but it just kept creeping up on her. After all, many hooves make light work. Or in this case, two hooves and two claws would have made light work of this box. Twilight would have had her coffee and Spike would gave grabbed a bottle of cider. They could have made an all-nighter out of it.

Cider. Of course the only way to get through a day in Ponyville was to get boozed up. That must have been why the ponies in town loved their cider so much. But it wasn't just cider. Quite a few of the residents partook in pretty much any kind of alcoholic drink they could get their hooves on. Wine was also quite popular. In fact, there was even an annual wine-tasting or something at Sugarcube Corner.

Wine-tasting. Why did the word keep ringing in Twilight's head, as if it was important?

She grabbed one of the more recent receipts. Wine-tasting. It wasn't an uncommon event in Canterlot. It was pretty popular in Manehatten as well. Even a small town like Ponyville was eager to get in on the action. It just sounded so sophisticated and sometimes it was. Wine-tasting.

Twilight turned the receipt over. It was part of a flier for a wine-tasting event. The date was familiar to her. She usually didn't pay attention to local town events, but she was sure Spike had said something about that particular date, something to do with wine. Some crude joke about booze loosening a dragon's tongue or something. He'd laughed heartily, while Twilight just waved a hoof at him and said he could do whatever he wanted.

Rhubarb, horseradish. Fox fur.

“Fox Fur”? Fox. Foxes. There was something about foxes. It was circling the edges of her brain, teasing her. But she couldn't lay a hoof on it. Something to do with foxes. Not the animal, but something else.

Hadn't Dinky said something about a fox mask? Yes, she'd claimed that the pony who kidnapped her had worn a fox mask. “Fox Fur”. Could it be related? Well, since coincidences didn't exist, Twilight had a hunch that it was. Plus “horseradish”. That sounded like a pretty good code name for dragon's weed.

There was a big difference between the receipts and the book, something other than the obvious. The receipts were written in haste, most likely seconds after or during the actual transaction. They were last minute, abrupt. Transactions Trixie didn't plan out beforehand. They just happened, probably because somepony sought Trixie out and specifically requested something. So she grabbed whatever paper was within hoof's reach and wrote out a hasty receipt. Fox Fur had known about Trixie beforehand.

But if Fox Fur really had purchased the dragon's weed, they'd also bought something else. Something Trixie referred to as “rhubarb”. What exactly was it and what was this mysterious pony planning to do with it?

Twilight carefully placed the receipts back into the box. She wouldn't be returning that box to Trixie anytime soon. But she would be having another conversation with Trixie a lot sooner than she'd expected.

Chapter 7: Dinner

Just like any other city, Canterlot had its diamonds. It was no Las Pegasus—no spa resorts or amusement parks—but no one with two brain cells to rub together expected Canterlot to be a rich hive of gambling and con artistry.

That was Canterlot at night. Canterlot in the daytime was a lot more pleasant. But even though the brochures loved to showcase all the bistros and cafes lining the streets, those weren't the real diamonds of Canterlot, anymore than all those massage parlors and casinos were the real diamonds of Los Pegasus. Those places lost their charm after the third or fourth visit. For Twilight, there was only one place in Canterlot worth all that fuss: that one Sunbean near the train station. It wasn't just the coffee itself, although she definitely partook in more than one cup when she was off-duty. It was the conversations she overheard. That one coffee shop was the city's hub. Ponyville had Sugarcube Corner, Canterlot had that specific Sunbean near the train station.

It was at that coffee shop that Twilight discovered what the ponies of Canterlot really thought about Shining Armor's death. They had their kind words and condolences, but it was different when they thought Twilight wasn't there. She'd sat at a table in the corner of the room, hood pulled over her head and coffee hovering an inch from her face as she listened. Harsh words. Speculation. Questions Twilight would never have dared ask. But most of all, grief the likes of which made Twilight's heart clench. The city had lost another good one. It seemed Canterlot swallowed heroes as quickly as it made them.

Trixie didn't want to cooperate, but a few threats did wonders for her compliance. She actually accompanied Twilight to the station, as docile as a lamb when she thought her account book was in peril. The book and the receipts were officially evidence, both for the murder and—sometime in the near future—a very thorough investigation of Trixie's dealings. This time Trixie was going to be convicted. This time Twilight was going to actually get a good night's sleep, refreshed by the knowledge that the Great and Powerful Trixie was serving time for being a massive pain in Twilight's ass. Sometimes Twilight thought she was above petty vengeance, but then Trixie's face appeared in her mind and Twilight realized that she wasn't nearly that patient.

Twilight placed a tray on the table. Reinforcements. Even if Trixie had followed her to the station, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't just keep her mouth shut. But every felon had a weakness. For some, the promise of a lighter sentence was all it took to get that tongue wagging. For others, it was the safety of their family or friends that loosened their jaw. For the Great and Powerful Trixie, it was something more material that Twilight could easily get her hooves on.

Trixie eyed the tray hungrily. Homemade strawberry crepes, straight from Sugarcube Corner. Still hot and steaming from the oven.

“What can you tell me about your customers?” said Twilight.

Trixie tore her eyes from the crepes and gave Twilight an incredulous look. Obviously the answer to that was “absolutely nothing”. She hadn't gotten where she was—not that she was anywhere particularly glamorous—by sinking ships. It was all about discretion. If ponies knew she wouldn't go running to the cops the second she filled out a receipt, it made them more inclined to approach her.

“I have a lot of them,” said Trixie. “Does that help?”

The account book confirmed this. There weren't a lot of repeat buyers—Trixie probably skipped town long before that could happen—but the quantity was somewhat impressive given her flighty nature and unscrupulous practices.

“How many of them wear fox masks?” said Twilight.

The response was so expected that Twilight could have played the whole thing out in her head frame-by-frame. First the confusion, then the shock, then the guilt, and finally back to that manufactured confidence meant to fool a novice. But Twilight wasn't a novice. She knew how to read faces, even if said faces were cloaked by at least three layers of fiction. It was all in the eyes. If Twilight stared into a pony's eyes long enough, she'd eventually end up reading their entire life story. Trixie was no exception. What made her particularly vulnerable in this aspect was that Trixie actually thought she was an exception.

The pony in the mask must have known Twilight would get there. They knew she'd follow the trail of bloody hoofprints all the way to Trixie, then to that specific receipt with that ingenious code name they'd created for themselves. It wasn't a slip-up. This masked pony didn't make mistakes and they didn't just leave themselves exposed like that for no reason. It was all designed, much like how Twilight had built castles out of those little plastic logs as a foal. From the moment she dumped them out of the box, she knew exactly what she was going to make. The design was in her head before she even saw how many logs she had.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie does not...,” Trixie started.

Twilight shut down whatever idiotic lie Trixie was about to spout before it even left her mouth. She pushed the tray across the table, finally offering some of those delicious crepes to Trixie. With the way Trixie was drooling all over the floor, she'd expected her to dive across the table and start stuffing her face. But she had held back, waiting patiently for her treat as she weighed her options. Unfortunately, Trixie had no options. She was in Twilight's world now.

Trixie grabbed one of the crepes and took a bite. That first taste was enough to break down her walls. A second later, she was gobbling up the crepe like she hadn't eaten in weeks.

The Cakes didn't mess around when it came to special orders. When Mrs. Cake first received the order, she assumed the standoffish detective had finally decided it was time to start making friends. Well, she was kind of right.

Twilight took one crepe for herself. Mrs. Cake's bubbly attitude might have tried her patience, but they were good crepes. No wonder Spike spent so much time at Sugarcube Corner. He was probably building his relationship with the Cakes just so he could get more free samples.

“I need details,” said Twilight. “Body type, mane color, build, Cutie Marks, their smell.”

Trixie raised her head, quickly swallowing her mouthful of crepe. Her cheeks had turned a deep shade of red. She realized that she had broken in record time, like a wannabe jewel thief after their first heist blew up in their face. All for some fucking crepes. Although in her defense, they were probably the best crepes she'd ever tasted.

“Smell?” she said. “Trixie did notice the cologne they were wearing. A familiar brand.”

Twilight leaned forward eagerly. Okay, that was definitely a lead. A slim lead, but something she could follow. How many places in Ponyville sold cologne? One. Assuming that this masked pony was playing their game as close to home as possible, tracking them down had suddenly become a lot easier. Just like Trixie, stores kept records. But unlike Trixie, these records were a lot more specific. Even if this masked pony had just given a fake name—and they definitely had—surely they had to have left some trace of their real identity.

“Which brand?” she said.

Trixie chewed and swallowed two more mouthfuls of crepe. She was smirking. Among the valuable skills Trixie had amassed to keep her business afloat, being able to read her customers was one of the most important. She had to know what they were thinking, preferably before they did. She wasn't especially good at this—she got it wrong more often than not—but Trixie knew that look on Twilight's face. It was a look of controlled desperation. Twilight needed this information, craved it like it was her nectar of life.

“And how will the Great and Powerful Trixie be compensated for this important information?” she said.

Twilight calmly placed her hoof on the table and gave Trixie her best smile.

“How about I don't arrest you for withholding pertinent information from a police officer during a murder investigation?” she said. “I think that's more than fair, don't you?”

Trixie slumped in her seat. It had been worth a shot. But Twilight was still the hard honest cop she'd been in Canterlot. It was actually quite admirable. A lot of officers slowly lost their souls after years of wading through Canterlot's muck. But Twilight had kept her morals close to her heart, even as the sin of the city threatened to squeeze all the goodness right out of her. While other officers had been wrung dry after only a year or two, Twilight had remained one of the honest ones and she'd even managed to keep most of the ponies around her—and Spike—on the straight and narrow.

“If you insist,” she said. “But the Great and Powerful Trixie does expect some leniency in the future.”

Sensing that no such promise was going to be made, Trixie decided to get it over with. She'd already sold out a customer for a plate of crepes. It wasn't like Trixie was swimming in self-respect at the moment.

“Lavender Forest,” she said. “Many of Trixie's numerous suitors wore this particular brand.”

The expectant smile fell from Twilight's face. This case had been manufactured with Twilight's life at the center. Every little detail had been tailored to reflect some part of her. It felt like a trap, except Twilight didn't know if she was meant to fall into it. Was this pony who was messing with her even a pony? Sometimes it felt more like an idea given physical form, a creature that defied all logic and morality. A shadow.

Twilight knew Lavender Forest. She'd been forced to smell it on a near-daily basis for years. She'd grown to like it simply because it was familiar, but she'd never really enjoyed the scent. On the other hoof, Shining Armor had loved it. He'd worn it almost every day, stinking up the bathroom with the unpleasant aroma despite his parents' objections. It was one of those “fancy rich pony colognes” that cost a fortune but ideally made the wearer smell “sophisticated”. As if Shining Armor of all stallions needed that little boost.

“Do you remember anything else?” said Twilight. “Their voice? The way they trotted?”

But Trixie was fresh out. She didn't remember a single thing about this pony other than the fox mask and the scent. As far as she recalled, there hadn't really been anything else worth noticing about them. The mask had dominated her attention. It seemed like a bizarre choice, given that most customers simply trusted that Trixie didn't want to get busted for selling illegal goods.

“What about “rhubarb”?” said Twilight.

Trixie finally clammed up. Possibly revealing her customers' identities was one thing. Admitting the types of products she sold was quite another. Given how things were going, Twilight would probably get all the information she needed about those soon enough. But there was no way Trixie was going to just hand it over on a silver platter. The crepe thing was still nagging at her and she felt she should at least try to reclaim her dignity.

“How about we take a trip down to the cells?” said Twilight.

However, this time even that familiar threat wasn't enough. Trixie was no fool. She knew she'd be in for a much longer stay in a cell if she confessed what she was actually selling. That was why Twilight led with the masked pony, even though it was the rhubarb thing that was really bothering her. She needed to get as much as possible out of Trixie before she brought in the heavy stuff. Fortunately, Twilight was correct in assuming that Trixie would only turn into a locked vault after the crepes were gone and she had a lot more to lose.

Twilight sighed. This was definitely aggravating, but she decided it was fine if Trixie didn't want to talk. She didn't need Trixie for everything, although her cooperation was going to make this whole search a thousand times easier. Twilight might even hand Trixie over to the Canterlot police just to be rid of her.

“I'm sorry about this,” she said.

She was lying and they both knew it, but they chose to pretend otherwise.

Canterlot liked to think it was the center of Equestria. It was certainly the first town most ponies thought of when they considered the great land as a whole, but it wasn't what Twilight would have called “the center”. There really was no “center” of Equestria. It was a big place with its own heart, its own lungs, and enough dreams to fill the heads of every pony, dragon, griffin, and zebra. There couldn't actually be a center to a place that was constantly twisting and changing the further one traveled. But however wrong the city was about its place in Equestria, it loved to at least pretend it was somehow the heart of the entire land. There was a shop for almost everything. If it existed somewhere in Equestria, there was a good chance it was being sold for a reasonable price somewhere in Canterlot. If it was illegal, there was always some back alley merchant peddling it for an outrageous price.

Ponyville was different. While it did have a few shops that sold “exotic” goods, most of the stuff was made or grown locally. The town lived inside its own concentrated bubble of production. This self-sufficient attitude was rather inspiring, but it did sometimes become an annoyance. Twilight had lost count of the times she had to either order something or make a lengthy trip outside of town just to purchase something that had gained unexpected importance in her life.

The town had only one shop that sold perfume and cologne. A little out-of-the-way place called “Musk”. It was near the town's only Sunbean, but Twilight had only spared it a short glance on her way out of the coffee place. From what she'd glimpsed in the window, the place sold a lot of stuff that was usually only available in Canterlot. Celestia knows why. Ponyville wasn't the type of place where citizens doused themselves in expensive perfume. They were more likely to douse themselves in cake frosting.

Twilight's first look at the interior surprised her. For a moment, she thought she'd stepped right out of Ponyville and into Canterlot. The place was far too fancy for somewhere like Ponyville. Even the sign outside was written in that maddeningly superficial script that businesses in Canterlot seemed to love. How had the owners of this place even ended up somewhere like this? Then again, it seemed that a lot of ponies who didn't belong in Ponyville ended up staying.

“Hello?” she said.

There was a beaded curtain that separated the back room from the rest of the shop. As soon as Twilight called out, a mare appeared from behind the curtain and approached the counter. She looked exactly like the type of pony who sold perfume for a living. As beautiful and enticing as the products she sold. She flashed Twilight an alluring smile. If she'd been almost anypony else—like Spike for example—Twilight imagined that her heart would have leaped out of her chest and demanded to be sacrificed at the altar of this mare's enchanted smile. But Twilight had seen this type of behavior so many times that she didn't even roll her eyes anymore.

“May I help you?” said the mare.

Twilight got close enough to read the mare's name tag: Aloe. She must have been one of the twins who owned the place. The other—Lotus, according to Twilight's research—was nowhere to be seen. She must have been in the back.

“Detective Twilight Sparkle,” said Twilight. “I need to ask you a few questions about your customers.”

Aloe nodded, immediately proving herself more compliant than Trixie. Twilight was glad to be in a situation where her name and title actually carried some clout.

“Do you carry a brand of cologne known as “Lavender Forest”?” said Twilight.

Apparently they did. They basically carried everything. Even though a lot of it was hard to come by, they had some loyal customers who'd buy almost anything. Aloe and Lotus had adopted a very effective sales tactic, one that Trixie had tried but never really perfected. The combination of their beguiling behavior and the enticing aromas that permeated the air around them created a specific atmosphere. A pony would wander in out of curiosity and end up leaving with fifty bits worth of perfume they didn't even know they wanted. Given how they'd managed to stay afloat in a place like Ponyville, it must have worked better than Twilight would have thought. She herself was becoming ever-so-slightly ensnared the longer she stood there, but she was keeping her head steady by thinking about the case.

“Oh yes,” said Aloe. “We get regular shipments from Canterlot.”

So that was where all this stuff came from. No wonder the place didn't look like it belonged in Ponyville. The twins had taken one of the more profitable chunks of Canterlot and plopped it down in Ponyville, a town just waiting to be dazzled by something that seemed “exotic”. Devious. Even Twilight was impressed by the twins' business acumen.

“Do you have a record or something?” said Twilight.

Aloe reached under the counter and pulled out a huge book. It looked like a hotel register. Businesses in Ponyville were known for keeping track of their customers, something that was just impossible in places like Canterlot. Too many ponies passing through and a sizable population. Ponyville didn't have either of those problems, so shopkeepers were more inclined to keep records. This made it a lot easier for the police to figure out which would-be graffiti artist had purchased a significant quantity of spray paint. Other than weeding out teenage vandals, the local police didn't get much use out of these records. Ironically, Twilight would have killed for this kind of thoroughness in Canterlot.

Twilight waited for Aloe to find the entry she wanted. She wished Aloe would hurry up. The sickly-sweet air was making her head fuzzy.

Eventually Aloe found it. She put the book on the counter and tapped her hoof against the page. She was grinning, like she was proud to be helping the police. It wasn't every day a business owner got dragged into a murder investigation. While her eagerness to help was appreciated, it also made Twilight slightly bitter. It was fine for Aloe, Lotus, and the many other townsponies who might get swept up in this tragic business. They were on the other side. They got to observe, like an audience at the theater. Twilight was the one on stage, sweating under the lights and stumbling over her lines. Aloe didn't have to return to the station praying she had something. Aloe wouldn't be the one slamming her hooves against her desk and crying out in frustration if this lead didn't go anywhere. Sometimes Twilight envied the life of a civilian.

Twilight couldn't see much from the other side of the counter, but she noticed that everything in the book seemed to be color-coded. It was quite pretty to look at, although a little hard on the eyes. So much yellow and pink. No soothing blue or purple to break up the harshness of the bright colors. Twilight preferred her own binders. Simple, discreet, easy to look at. Why did so many ponies in this town embrace either one extreme or the other? Was it a Ponyville thing or just a pony thing?

“Our last purchase of Lavender Forest,” said Aloe.

She turned the book around so Twilight could see. It took Twilight a while to actually find the entry Aloe wanted her to look at. She had to squint to actually see words among the blinding colors. It took all of her willpower not to just snatch the whole book off the counter and do some impromptu redesigning. Her only consolation was that she wouldn't have to look very long.

Lavender Forest – Clever Hooves.

Well, that was obviously a fake name. Twilight had heard them all: Tender Cliff, Thunder Frost, Dashing Delight, etc. But unlike most of the false identities Twilight had encountered, this one was so clearly fake that it had to be on purpose. This wasn't an honest attempt at hiding one's identity. It was a message. A taunt. This wasn't a lead. It was never meant to be one, even though Twilight had followed the crumbs. This was just the punchline to a cruel joke that began with that scarecrow. Mockery. A sick game she'd been forced into by somepony who knew she couldn't resist the scent of blood.

But this masked pony had made one mistake. Yes, an actual miscalculation. Twilight almost didn't believe it, almost didn't dare let herself hope. But although she could hardly bear to dig her battered old heart out of the mud, it started to move of its own accord at the possibility. This mysterious pony had signed the register. They'd left a mark. An actual mark. The hoofwriting was messier, but with a sort of unique elegance to it. The note, Twilight realized, had been a ruse. A successful attempt at disguising their hoofwriting. Their signature in the register was this pony's real hoofwriting.

Twilight tried to keep her heart steady. What if there were multiple ponies? It was possible. But nothing she'd found thus far had suggested there was more than one pony. So the possibility of this being some other pony's signature was slim. Even if it was some other pony's signature, it was still a lead. But if this signature was as legitimate as it looked, Twilight had something that was worth more than any other clue she'd come across: a hoofwriting sample. Almost as good as a Cutie Mark. Unique. Distinct. Traceable. Maybe it was the aroma in the air, but Twilight had never felt her heart pound like this before. She tapped her hoof against the page, trying to ignore the thumping in her chest.

“The pony who bought this,” she said. “Can you remember what they looked like? What they were wearing? Unicorn, pegasus, or Earth pony?”

Aloe tapped her chin for a second.

“I think they were an Earth pony,” she said. “I didn't see any wings or a horn, but I guess they could have been hidden. They were wearing a cloak with the hood pulled over their head, so I'm afraid I have no idea what they looked like.”

Twilight was too high on the scented air and her discovery to care that none of those answers had been helpful. She felt like a giddy foal who'd found a new book under the tree on Hearth's Warming.

“Did they have a mask?” she said. “A fox mask?”

Aloe nodded, a troubled expression on her face. Just how normal were ponies with fox masks that nopony deemed it something they should warn the police about? Twilight was used to getting calls about stuff that wasn't even remotely suspicious. Naturally when something legitimately interesting happened, nopony in this boring town thought to warn the cops about the weirdo with a mask.

“I'll need this for evidence,” said Twilight.

She grabbed the book before Aloe could say anything. She didn't relish the idea of going through it, but that was why she had associates. Maybe she could get Fluttershy to do it.

“Is that all?” said Aloe. “If you're looking for some new perfume, I'm sure I can help you find something.”

At that point, the only thing Twilight wanted was to escape into the fresh air. She shook her head and started backing out, ignoring Aloe's enthusiastic attempts at interesting her in some of their “discreet scents”. Whatever that was meant to imply, Twilight chose to take it as an insult. She wasn't particularly big on perfume. Rarity wore enough of it for both of them.

Twilight felt like she'd been napping this entire time, but now she was finally waking up. Why did she keep treating this case like it was normal? Nothing about this was ordinary and she couldn't expect this case to follow all the rules. So maybe if she really wanted to solve it, Twilight would have to break some of her own rules.

Twilight didn't have much experience with ponies disappearing into thin air, but she'd heard stories. Felons who literally vanished right under a cop's muzzle, as if they'd been snatched from reality by some unseen force. Thieves who escaped with the goods and promptly fell off the face of the planet. Murderers who left behind a trail of bodies that led nowhere.

But in most cases, it was just a simple matter of retracing their steps or thinking outside the box. Nopony could just will themselves out of existence, so untraceable that no amount of magic or research could unearth a hint of their whereabouts. Dead or alive, Twilight would usually find them or at least produce a reasonable explanation for where they'd ended up. No magic in Equestria could shield somepony from Twilight's shrewd eyes.

This masked pony was putting themselves out in the open. They were entering shops, purchasing dangerous materials, leaving a hoofwriting sample. But somehow they remained completely elusive, like some kind of specter. Had anypony seen this masked pony? Yes, at least three ponies had interacted with them. Was there enough evidence to conclude that this masked pony existed? Yes, there was at least a box's worth of proof that this wasn't just a figment of the town's collective imagination.

Had this masked pony actually been seen by multiple ponies in a more than one-on-one capacity, therefore further confirming their existence? No. It was like they lived outside the known spectrum of reality, popping into existence ever so often to taunt Twilight. But seeing as that was impossible even with magic, Twilight had to go for a more mundane explanation: when this pony shed their mask, they were just an average citizen. Somepony who could buy a bunch of dragon's weed and then pop into Sugarcube Corner for a pleasant chat with the Cakes.

Twilight popped open a hidden compartment in her desk. This was where most officers would have hidden a bottle of apple cider or their personal collection of contraband. Some cops even had hidden compartments filled with “trophies” they'd collected from crime scenes, like bottle caps or candy wrappers. But Twilight wasn't that kind of officer. Her numerous binders and folders were evidence enough that she'd been there and done that. She didn't need a used tube of lipstick to remind her that she'd put a jewel thief behind bars. Twilight had something much different in her hidden compartment.

She retrieved a little folder from the compartment. Ever since Twilight came to Ponyville, she'd been collecting hoofwriting samples. Perhaps not the healthiest hobby, but Twilight was a detective. Even if the most exciting thing that ever happened in this town was a bit of petty vandalism, she liked to have all the information she needed at hoof. Sure, Twilight could have just politely requested that every citizen hand in a sample of their hoofwriting for archival purposes. That was how it was done in Canterlot, even though the city was slowly but surely making the switch to completely paper-less methods of communication and record-keeping. But it was a lot easier to just secretly collect the samples and a lot less socially painful. Some citizens were far too belligerent about that sort of thing and Twilight didn't want to fight with Granny Smith for an hour. As is turned out, getting hoofwriting samples from every citizen was ridiculously easy.

Twilight placed the folder on the desk. Even with Ponyville's small population, this was going to be a bit of work. At least she'd torn the page out before giving the book to Fluttershy, so she didn't have to wait an hour to get started. All she could do was hope she was right about this. If Twilight had actually found something so definite, she might be wrapping up this case in just a day or so. All she needed was one name, one real name. That was sure to get the ball rolling.

Most of the samples were written on loose pieces of paper, like receipts or brief written testimonies. Twilight couldn't remember where she'd gotten half of them, but it didn't matter. The names were there, either on the papers themselves or added by her. She didn't even necessarily need the page from the register beside her. Twilight would know that hoofwriting when she saw it. It was so unique that Twilight felt like she'd seen it a thousand times already.

As she worked, questions kept circling the edges of her mind like birds of prey. What if there was more than one pony? What if the murder somehow had nothing to do with everything else? What if it was that elusive “coincidence” ponies were always talking about? Sure, the threads were right in front of Twilight's face. But what if she was following them in the wrong order? Maybe if she moved away from the catalyst—the murder—she might find something obvious that had been hidden from her. Normally she knew she was supposed to proceed from Point A to Point B and so on until somepony ended up behind bars. But what if she was actually meant to go from Point B to Point G?

“Think outside the box. Challenge yourself.” Advice from one of her teachers at the academy. A retired cop who'd looked at Twilight like she was the manure he'd stepped in that morning. He'd never believed in her. He thought she was too much of an “egghead” to succeed at field work. He thought she'd just stick herself behind a desk and put her head in a book while the other officers did the real work.

Twilight had proved him wrong on her very first day. But she'd never taken his advice about thinking outside of the box. She might have stuck a hoof outside of the box once in a while, but the box itself was just so safe and predicable, so unfailing. Well, until the day it failed her.

What was outside of the box? First off, there was the idea that this whole thing had started before Twilight came to Ponyville. That was way outside the box. But even further outside the box was the possibility that this somehow involved Shining Armor as well. Of course, he was gone. Dead, buried, but still kicking inside Twilight's memories. But it wasn't like he'd left this mortal coil like a shadow, all traces of his life and his accomplishments following him to the grave. Twilight's parents still had most of his stuff. Twilight still had a lot of his stuff, stuffed into a box in the basement that she'd refused to leave in Canterlot even though it meant leaving some of her own stuff behind. It was a sacrifice she'd made without a second thought. Twilight could buy more sweaters, but she couldn't buy new memories.

Hoofwriting was easy. Some ponies liked to think it was complicated, but it was actually a pretty direct field of study. There was always something hidden in those loops and swirls, always a reason for the way somepony crossed a “T” or dotted an “I”. There was some psychological aspects to it that interested Twilight, but mostly it was the artistic side of it that she liked. Every signature was like a painting, sometimes a landscape and sometimes a still life. But always a piece of art, even if the pony didn't know it.

Twilight shut the folder with a sigh. Sweet Tartarus. Nothing. Not a single match. She'd even checked and triple-checked some of her own officers' hoofwriting, but nothing. Twilight had been duped again. No, more than duped. She'd been jerked around by her own hope like a dog on a leash. That teacher at the academy would have been sneering at her right about then.

She brushed a hoof across her phone. She was surprised that Spike hadn't called her again. Was he taking her advice? Actually taking her advice? Was he snuggled up in bed with a movie, some hot cocoa, and the dazed but happy expression of somepony about to get a good long sleep? Twilight was sure he was. Good. Spike was in much better shape than she was at the moment. Twilight would have loved to be snuggled up with a movie and some cocoa, instead of standing behind her desk with another dead end in front of her. She wondered if it was about time she got some rest. Surely everything would look better after some food and a nap. It was past dinnertime.

She shoved the folder back into the secret compartment. Enough of that. Whatever Twilight was looking for, it wasn't in there.

Fluttershy knocked on the door of the office. Actually, it was less of a knock and more of a light tap. Twilight would have missed it if she hadn't been paying attention. But she was used to—and appreciated—Fluttershy being so quiet and polite. It was a nice change from having Rainbow Dash beating down her door over a parking violation or one of her other officers just barging in when she was in the middle of something to tell her about a “suspicious bird” they'd seen.

“Come in,” said Twilight.

Fluttershy reluctantly entered the office. She was carrying a tray of coffee.

Twilight had asked Fluttershy to make a coffee run, forgetting that Spike wasn't there. In fact, the station was almost completely empty, save for Fluttershy and Twilight. The other officers were either working or had already left for dinner. No wonder Twilight had actually gotten some work done. Now that she thought about it, maybe that was why she'd come to prefer all-nighters. Less noise.

Twilight took the coffees and put them on her desk. She supposed she'd just have to drink all of them herself. It wasn't the worst fate. At least half of them were decaf, so she was unlikely to end up completely wired by the time she finished.

“What is the enemy of truth?” said Twilight.

Fluttershy looked startled. She'd obviously expected Twilight to ask her about the book.

“Excuse me?” she squeaked.

But Twilight didn't seem to be listening. Or if she was, she ignored the invitation to explain herself. She put both hooves on her desk, her eyes darting from coffee to coffee like she'd been talking to them instead of Fluttershy. Four coffees. Four truths. No, five. Hidden from sight. Too hidden for her to actually assign a number to them, but Twilight liked numbers. Numbers forced everything to make some kind of sense, even if it really didn't.

“Ignorance,” said Twilight. “The enemy of truth is ignorance. You can't be aware of the truth if you don't know what it is. But the problem is that we're always ignorant to some extent. Truth takes too many forms. We can't know them all. So what form is this truth taking?”

Completely out of the loop, Fluttershy gave Twilight a hesitant smile. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to leave or just stand there until Twilight finished talking. She decided on the latter because it seemed less rude.

“Um, a bird?” said Fluttershy.

Twilight tapped her hoof on the desk and pointed at Fluttershy, causing the other mare to jump and squeak in panic.

“Yes!” Twilight said. “A bird. Ducking and diving, sometimes out of sight but always out of my reach. I can see it, yet I can't actually put my hoof on it. That's how this is meant to play out. I'm supposed to just watch. Looking but never touching. How will I know the bird is real if I don't touch it?”

She put her head on the desk, putting herself at eye level with the coffees. Some officers needed caffeine to jump-start their brains. Twilight never needed to jump-start anything. She could have powered an entire city with the energy her mind produced on a daily basis. Even if the main power supply failed, she always had a back-up generator handy. Although to be honest, the coffee did help.

“They don't want me to touch the bird,” she said. “Not yet. It's still circling right above my head. I can feel the beat of its wings, but I can never get close enough to stroke its feathers.”

Fluttershy looked up, as if she expected to find a literal bird in the office. But of course it was just her and Twilight, the latter having seemingly gone off the deep end.

Twilight narrowed her eyes. She began nudging one of the coffees forward, moving it closer to the others. She spoke so quietly that Fluttershy had to lean in to hear, although the slightly increased proximity didn't make her words any more coherent.

“Close enough,” she said. “Close. Somepony close to me.”

She levitated one of the coffees above the desk and scrutinized it.

“Rhubarb,” said Twilight. “Did you know the leaves are poisonous? The stems are edible when cooked, but the leaves are poisonous. Not a lot of ponies in the city know this.”

Fluttershy glanced at the coffee, then back to Twilight's face.

“Um, there's no rhubarb in that coffee,” she said. “Did you want rhubarb in it? I-I could go back. I mean, they're probably closed by now, but I'm sure I could do something.”

Snapping out of it, Twilight put the coffee back on the desk. Oh right. Fluttershy wasn't Spike. She wasn't used to Twilight thinking out loud like that. But Twilight couldn't stop herself. Sometimes Twilight just had to verbalize her thoughts. It was a shame Spike wasn't there to keep the wheels turning. He always had a good retort, something to make her think. They could go for hours, Twilight blurting out whatever was in her brain and Spike picking it apart to give her something good.

“Oh, Spike sent you a message,” said Fluttershy.

Speak of the dragon. Twilight took the scrap of paper from Fluttershy. She thanked her for the coffee, but was relieved when Fluttershy left her alone. She felt like Fluttershy was the only pony in town who understood certain parts of her personality, but they were still too different. Completely separate sides of the same coin. Maybe a few years back they would have had a lot more in common.

The note wasn't anything too important. It was just Spike requesting that Twilight pick up dinner on her way home, as if she hadn't been planning to anyway. Although this time only Twilight had been working. Shouldn't Spike have been doing the cooking? But Twilight didn't care too much. It was his day off. If he didn't want to cook, that was up to him. Granted, she didn't appreciate the list he'd written on the back of the note. This was exactly why Twilight never went on lunch or dinner runs if she could avoid it. Everypony always wanted the most complicated dish they could summarize in ten words or less.

Twilight put the note next to the page from the register. Oh, why not? If she was going to pick up a buffet for the two of them, she might as well get a dozen of those crepes from Sugarcube Corner. Hopefully they were still open. Even if they weren't, Twilight might get them to open up for her. The Cakes knew she was “friends”--ponies in this town really loved to stretch that term to its limits—with Pinkie Pie. Twilight might even be able to get a discount.

She started to reach for the note again, but she stopped. The smile froze on her face.

Twilight realized that she was wrong. She didn't have a hoofwriting sample from every citizen. Her collection had been incomplete this entire time and she'd never really noticed it. It was only now—when she actually needed all those hoofwriting samples—that she accepted her own failing. Being the best detective in Canterlot required being thorough, sometimes to the detriment of others. Twilight had to accept that she didn't have any friends. How could anypony be friends with somepony who knew all their secrets? But that was one test Twilight had failed. She did have complete trust in certain associates, even if it left her open to betrayal.

Her eyes moved from the note to the torn page from the register. She'd been foolish, stopping just short of getting all those hoofwriting samples. So many citizens unaccounted for. But it didn't matter. Twilight didn't need samples from every pony in town, or at least she didn't need them for this case. It was right in front of her. But she hadn't noticed it. A part of her brain had blocked it out because it conflicted with her internal logic.

Spike had two different types of hoofwriting. The first he used more frequently, when he was slipping Twilight reminders or leaving messages so she wouldn't wonder where he'd gone during the day. But sometimes he lapsed into the polite, professional type of writing he'd adopted after complaints from his superiors. Unused to writing in such a sophisticated way, there was something unique about it that made it obvious he wasn't using his natural hoofwriting—or claw-writing as it should have been called—despite his efforts.

Clever Hooves. Written clearly in Spike's second type of hoofwriting, the kind he used to sign important documents.

Twilight cocked an eyebrow. She had to admit, it was a good forgery. Indistinguishable from the real thing. That explained why Twilight had been so certain about it before. It had struck a cord with her because she'd seen it before, although her subconscious wouldn't allow her to remember where. Another taunt. The masked pony yet again proving that they were always ahead, always in the lead even when Twilight thought she could see the finish line in the distance.

She pressed both hooves against the page, resisting the urge to crumple it up and throw it into the garbage. She knew it was just a taunt, another silly attempt at making her afraid. So why was her heart pounding like it was about to burst out of her chest? Why did she feel watched, hunted, and exposed?

Because I am, she thought.

Twilight stood in her office, staring at the closed door. For the first time since she'd left the city, she didn't want to walk home alone.

Chapter 8: Fear

Twilight was no stranger to fear. Like most ponies in Canterlot, she'd been taught to fear dark corners and empty streets. Very few ponies were foolish enough to be out past their bedtime. Those who took the risk were usually drunk on either alcohol or stupidity.

It wasn't just felons. If it was simply a matter of some unsavory individuals haunting the streets after dark, that would have been one thing. However, Canterlot's dangers extended far past some pony with a knife and an addiction. The place was crawling with all kinds of stuff. It was no Everfree Forest, but there were plenty of reasons for any sane pony to stay indoors after Luna raised the moon.

But as an officer of Canterlot's elite police force, Twilight learned to just turn herself off. No fear, no cowardice, just business. At first she only needed to cull her fear long enough to finish the case, but eventually she was taking on so much work that it just became something she could do. Of course after a while, Twilight simply lost that initial apprehension. It became routine and hardly anything shocked her anymore. Twilight wasn't sure where her fear of the dark had scurried off to, but she didn't want to go after it.

Twilight plopped a bag of food and two boxes onto the kitchen table. After all she'd done for the past two days or so, this was probably the most exhausted she'd felt. Who knew just picking up food could be so draining? Well, it probably would have been less time-consuming if Spike hadn't wanted the most complicated nachos in existence. She was definitely going to get some dark looks the next time she went into Hayburger.

“Food's here!” she called.

Silence. Where in the world was Spike? Had he really sent her the most intricate dinner order in history and then just left before she even got home? Now that she thought about it, it was weird that he hadn't rushed to greet her as soon as she came in. Twilight didn't even hear snoring from the direction of his bedroom. No shower either.

Twilight shot a poisonous look at the bag of food. Great. What in Tartarus was she supposed to do with all this food? Obviously eating it was her first option, but she'd been looking forward to grabbing a quick bite and then jumping into bed. Not sleeping , but jumping into bed with a notebook so she could start connecting dots. Twilight needed to clear her head and refocus herself, otherwise this case might slip right through her hooves. Whatever was happening to her, Twilight needed to turn herself off.

But fear—actual fear—didn't work like that. Twilight thought she'd been scared all those years ago, listening to stories of all the awful things that could happen to her if she went out after dark. She thought she'd been terrified the first time she saw a mutilated corpse stuffed into a box. She thought she'd been unsettled when she started having nightmares, nightmares about thousands of hooves—ponies she couldn't save, ponies who'd died horrifically because Twilight was a day late—reaching out from the ground and trying to drag her under. They'd wanted to take her where they were, just to show her how bad it was. But that wasn't fear. She couldn't just put herself out with some sleeping potion or filter out certain emotions. This was something brand new, something Twilight wasn't equipped to deal with.

Of course when she needed Spike more than ever, he wasn't there. He'd unintentionally abandoned her, leaving her alone in an empty house. If he had been by her side, Spike would have said something about how she was being ridiculous. He would have made her something to drink—some of her favorite tea—and tucked her into bed like she was a foal. His rational unpacking of everything that was bothering Twilight might have cured her. But as much as she tried to conjure the magic words, Twilight couldn't see into Spike's head. She didn't know what to say to herself that would make the whole thing better.

She made herself a cup of tea. They were all out of her favorite, but Twilight settled for second best. At the very least, the familiar task took her mind off the emptiness of the house. Spike would be back soon, she kept reminding herself. He must have popped out to get a drink or something. Or maybe he was hanging out with some friends and would be back—roaring drunk and giddy—in a few hours. Well, regardless of when he came back, Twilight was eating half of his nachos.

While she waited for her tea to cool, Twilight went into her bedroom. Maybe the key to beating this wasn't complete immersion. That's what she'd been doing this entire time and it hadn't done her any favors. So what was the alternative? A distraction. Twilight needed to force her mind to migrate away from the case, at least for an hour or so. She needed to be somewhere else—at least mentally—so she could approach the case from a fresh perspective. For the time being, she wasn't Detective Twilight Sparkle. She was just Twilight Sparkle, a humble citizen of Ponyville living her life as best she could.

She grabbed a book from the shelf in her bedroom. High Stakes. The gripping tale of a young Earth pony who discovered a coven of vampires living in her remote equine village. Normally Twilight wouldn't have read something so outlandish—the book was a birthday present from Spike—but it seemed like a good choice. Once she got sucked into the story, her deluge of criticism would overwhelm the feeling of dread that had taken over her chest.

Twilight headed back to the kitchen, listening to her own pounding heart. Where was all of this coming from? She'd never felt this unnerved about being alone before. She'd spent many a night by herself, listening to the silence in her Canterlot apartment. But now the silence was like drums pounding inside her skull.

She hesitated in the kitchen doorway. She'd turned on all the lights in the house—also something she'd never done before—but she found her eyes darting from corner to corner, wary of that one spot where the light couldn't reach. As Twilight stood in the doorway, she could feel a shiver skittering up her back like a spider. There was something wrong. She could sense it, her eyes sweeping the kitchen like a searchlight. Whatever was amiss, it was enough to root her to the spot. She sensed it before she saw it, her fur prickling with an eerie, unfamiliar sensation that forced her to pause in her tracks.

Twilight hadn't thought to call Spike. She hadn't searched for a note, hadn't gone out looking for him. She'd never considered the possibility that something was wrong. This wasn't something Twilight had ever considered during the time they'd known each other. She'd always looked past the claws and the scales, but she'd never forgotten what Spike was capable of. She'd seen it a few times when things got particularly bad and they had to fight their way out. Twilight had never worried about him, even when she thought about him walking through the deserted streets of Canterlot in the middle of the night. Who or what would be dumb enough to pick a fight with a dragon?

But as she entered the kitchen, she realized that she should have called. In fact, she should have called him a long time ago. She suddenly wanted to hear his voice. She'd realized that he was vulnerable. They were both vulnerable. They were vulnerable because they were up against a threat neither of them could track.

The tea cup. Twilight focused on it, her brain lagging behind her actions. There was no longer steam rising from it. That wasn't extraordinary. She'd been in her bedroom for quite a while. But that wasn't what Twilight had noticed. It wasn't why she was frozen in the doorway, little shivers of fear darting up and down her fur. The entire house seemed to be shrinking around her as she became aware of every sound. Was that the creak of the house settling or a hoofstep? Was that the wind outside or a muffled whisper?

She'd sensed it before she saw it, the same way she would have sensed a trinket out of place in her bedroom. Everything had a place, a singular spot in the house it could call its own. To move it from its place was to introduce chaos into Twilight's personal order. So far, her belongings had always followed this unwritten rule. But not this time. Her teacup was a full three inches further to the left than it had been before Twilight left the kitchen. There was no physical sign that it had moved, but Twilight was sure she'd placed it closer to stove.

Twilight clamped a hoof over her mouth, worried she might start hyperventilating. She knew there was nopony in the house. This fact should have brought her relief, but she was instead scared beyond measure by the realization. If given the choice, Twilight would have chosen finding an ax-wielding maniac in the kitchen. That wouldn't have been an agreeable situation in any way, but at least that was something Twilight could fight, something physical.

She staggered backwards out of the kitchen doorway. No. They couldn't. They wouldn't. How hadn't she heard them? The door of her bedroom had been wide open. Yet this pony had somehow invaded her home, unheard and unseen. They'd entered the house like a phantom, but without the intent of violence. No, they'd done it as a warning. They'd done it to send a message, to show Twilight what they were capable of. Show her in the most subtle way possible, something nopony but her would have even noticed. They didn't need aggression to get their message across. They just needed to exist, peering over Twilight's shoulder and breathing down the back of her neck.

They were in control. Twilight had denied it all along, but now she saw that she'd been kidding herself. After all, what was she supposed to do? Everything close to her—her thoughts, her memories, her emotions, her very state of being—were being twisted around this unseen pony's hoof. Twilight had faced a lot of adversaries in her life, but now she had to ask herself an impossible question: how could she fight a ghost?

“Houses are never empty. They're always filled with secrets.” Her favorite saying, courtesy of Star-Swirl the Bearded. She was sure he hadn't quite intended his quote to be taken so literally—especially by law enforcement officers—but the work spoke for itself. Going into an empty house had always been more or less an excavation. Hidden doors, secret compartments, dressers with false bottoms, fake closets, etc. The classic scene of the hero or heroine pulling a book from the shelf and discovering a secret passage was more accurate than intended.

Twilight's mind had become an empty house. Standard at first, but there was always a loose floorboard or a hidden staircase. Her head was never empty. It was always filled with secrets. There were always ghosts wandering the hallways of Twilight's head. But it seemed one of them had broken through the barrier and made it into the real world.

All the doors were securely locked, as were all the windows. If somepony had come in—and Twilight was certain they had—they must have performed quite the magic trick to get in and out without making a noise or leaving a trace. There was no evidence to suggest the lock had been tampered with, nor was there so much as a single shard of broken glass near the windows. But on the other hoof, the lock on the door was old. It hadn't been replaced or repaired in decades. The same probably went for all the locks around the house. But there was a chance—slim, but existent—that somepony could have just jammed a lock pick in there and gone to town, quite possibly without making a sound. How they'd re-locked the door after they finished was still a mystery.

Twilight's hooves shook as she poured her tea into the sink. She definitely needed something warm and soothing, but there was no way she was drinking any of that tea. In fact, she wondered if she should just throw all of it away. But what about the coffee? Surely the masked pony must know how much she loved some brewed beans at any time of the day. So she'd have to throw that away as well, just to be safe. Or maybe she should just throw everything away. Toss all the food—the coffee, the oats, the eggs, the milk—to make sure her and Spike didn't eat or drink anything tainted.

Spike. Twilight had been so busy thinking about the tea that she hadn't called him. He still wasn't back, despite the clock nearing midnight. Spike could have been hanging out with Big Macintosh or any of his other numerous Ponyville friends. He could have been perfectly safe, maybe locked in some mind-numbing conversation with Pinkie Pie or helping Rarity with something. There were at least fifty reasons why Spike would be out this late. But of the fifty, only one made sense to Twilight's rattled brain.

She fumbled with her phone, her hooves trembling and clumsy. She assured herself that this was just another of her signature freak-outs. What proof did Twilight have that anything had happened to Spike? But then again, she also technically had no proof that somepony had broken into her house, yet she knew they had. Rationality and evidence seemed to be on hiatus. Twilight was running on pure instinct and fear, two things that had never ruled her to this extent.

This was how other cops behaved, the ones who weren't used to this. The ones who vomited at the sight of blood-soaked rags or quit altogether when a missing pony case turned into a body recovery mission. Twilight was an established professional, a wise older mare who was supposed to be above that beginners' impulse to bolt at the first sign of foul play. But here she was, acting like she'd never investigated a murder before. Even as a beginner, Twilight hadn't been this jumpy. Shining Armor had told her more than enough grisly stories before his untimely death.

She waited for Spike to pick up, every ring going straight to her heart. Where the fuck was he? Was he not picking up because he was away from his phone or because he couldn't? Was Twilight about to hear his voice, sympathetic and reassuring?

Twilight held the phone away from her ear, frowning. What in Tartarus was that noise? It sounded like a muffled whirring, so faint she hadn't even registered it at first. Now that she wasn't focused on the phone, she realized it was definitely not in her head. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere in the house, somewhere relatively nearby. That seemed like a given. It was a small house.

The phone still ringing as she waited for Spike to pick up, Twilight followed the noise. She tracked it across the small house, the noise becoming no less recognizable the closer she got to it. She tracked it all the way into Spike's bedroom.

Twilight's heart sank as she crossed the threshold. She'd turned on the light beforehand, but it had been in the heat of her panic. During her mad dash to light up the house, Twilight had simply popped into Spike's bedroom and flipped on the ceiling light. She hadn't paid any attention to the actual state of the room. But now that she was inside, Twilight realized that she should have taken note of every detail.

The first thing she noticed was the bed. Perfectly made, not a single square of comforter out of place. In other words, it hadn't been slept in. Despite his promise, Spike hadn't fallen into a peaceful slumber while Twilight was at work. Had he even gone home? Maybe briefly, but he certainly hadn't stayed very long. When he'd called that first time, Twilight hadn't bothered asking him if he was actually in the house. It had seemed superfluous, given that Spike had seemingly resigned himself to his day off. Yet as she stood in his bedroom, Twilight realized that she should have been a lot less trusting.

Spike's phone lay in the middle of his bed. It was vibrating, the muffled whirring noise coinciding with the continued ringing from Twilight's own phone. So that was why he wasn't picking up. Wherever Spike had gone, he'd left his phone behind.

Twilight grabbed Spike's phone and turned it off. She felt oddly calm, despite the distinct impression that the world around her was burning down. She had no idea where Spike was and no way to contact him. The masked pony had broken into her house. She'd reached another gap in her investigation and she wasn't sure how to dig herself out of it.

It was like a hole. Twilight could feel her hooves scrabbling against the sides of it, digging into the walls of her filthy prison and scattering clumps of dirt. The hole was filling, her actions becoming even more frantic as dust and dirt rained down upon her. But the hole was filling too fast. She was being buried alive, the filth steadily filling her lungs and choking out her last few breaths. Tears were running down her filth-streaked cheeks, her cries for help clogged by the mud in her throat. But still she was scrabbling at the collapsing walls like a trapped rodent, trying to climb to safety before whatever was left of her cage fell inward.

But that was how it started, right? That was how her victory began. Not when everything was swinging in her favor, not when the evidence was tightening around her prey's neck like a noose. It was when the murderer was seconds from escaping, when the shards of her investigation were melting in the fireplace, when her lungs were filling with smoke and the staircase was collapsing behind her. When she had nothing to lose and the gloves finally came off. That was when Twilight Sparkle knew she was winning.

Twilight had given up on calling Spike, but he still needed to be found. What were the chances he was with this masked pony? About the usual chances of some pony catching a dragon unawares and dragging them off to some undisclosed location. This masked pony was good, but did they happen to carry about one hundred multi-purpose tranquilizers with them at all times? Twilight doubted it. Dragons were notoriously difficult to put down. Maybe some sleeping potion would have done the trick, but Spike wasn't dumb enough to take a drink from just anypony. Even if he was drunk out of his mind, he wouldn't have simply accepted booze from some random pony at the bar. Spike was too alert for that, even when he was intoxicated. But he would have accepted a drink from somepony he knew. Unfortunately, a lot of ponies in town fell under that umbrella. Spike really liked talking.

Twilight played through this plausible scenario in her head: masked pony puts sleeping potion in drink, masked pony convinces gullible townspony to offer drink to Spike, Spike takes drink, Spike falls asleep, and then.... Then what? This masked pony drags Spike's sleeping body out of the bar without anypony noticing? Given how dense the average Ponyvillian could be, Twilight didn't completely write off that possibility. The bar wasn't exactly packed on any given night. If the masked pony really was just an average Ponyville citizen, they could have pulled this off easily enough. But to actually drag Spike anywhere, they had to be significantly strong.

What ponies did Twilight know who could lift a significantly-sized dragon? Well, any member of the Apple family for starters. Even Granny Smith had been quite the work-mare in her day, so who knew what she was capable of despite her seemingly fragile frame. But then again, Twilight was getting just a little carried away. She hadn't proved that any of this had even happened.

She shuddered. What she had proved—to herself anyway—was that somepony had broken into her house. Maybe nopony else would believe her, but Twilight was one hundred percent sure and that was more than good enough. She was no longer safe in her own home. The masked pony could come back at any moment to mess with her.

Twilight hated to abandon what she had once considered her sanctuary, but she had no choice. But where could she go? If her own house had been breached, where in Ponyville was she safe? The station? No, the masked pony would definitely look there. Twilight wasn't necessarily afraid of a violent altercation, but this masked pony didn't seem the type to just lunge at her with a knife. No, they were a lot more unpredictable. She had to be somewhere she could think, somewhere she knew she wouldn't be found.

Twilight frowned. She couldn't believe she was going to do this, but it was an emergency. She was going to break another one of her rules.

Chapter 9: Guilt

Canterlot's police force had a strict rule about sexual and romantic relationships between officers. Simply put, the rule was don't. Not that it ever stopped anypony. Twilight knew for a fact that at least half of the cops at the station in Canterlot were fooling around with each other. They called it harmless fun, the higher-ups would have called it a flagrant disregard for a clearly-established rule. Not Twilight doubted the higher-ups actually cared. The rule itself was mostly for show, just a bunch of words to create the illusion of professional conduct.

But the things that went on between those walls was hardly professional, at least not by the lofty standards of Canterlot society. Twilight had never been directly entangled in any of that, but only because she avoided personal relationships of any kind. If anypony at the station was interested in her either romantically or sexually, she didn't want to hear about it and they were fully aware. But Twilight doubted she'd ever caught anypony's eye. When she was at the station, she was all about work and that was about it. There was nothing alluring about her bent over her desk at two in the morning puzzling over a brutal double-murder. Twilight preferred it that way. She wasn't on the force to become the object of somepony's affection. She was there to cleanse Canterlot as best she could without ending up in a body bag. No room for casual sex, romance, or even friendship.

Twilight knocked on the closed door for the third time. She normally wouldn't be bothering anypony at this time of night—Celestia knows she understood what it was like to be jolted out of a sound sleep—but it wasn't like she had a choice. This was the do or die moment she'd been dreading since she started this case. Well, maybe not the Do or Die moment. She was probably going to have at least five more of them over the course of the investigation. But this was her chance to prove—more to herself than to anypony else—that she was willing to go the extra mile for justice.

She raised a hoof to knock again, but she paused. The windows were still dark. Was Fluttershy even home? Probably, given that it was nearing two in the morning. Not exactly a good time for a stroll around the Everfree Forest. At least the stillness gave Twilight time to think about what she was doing. Mainly she was putting somepony else in danger by dragging them into this mess of a case. But on the other hoof, wasn't that what Fluttershy had signed up for? Sure, she wasn't an officer, but she must have had some idea of what she was getting herself into.

A muffled voice at the back of Twilight's head corrected her. “No she didn't. None of them did.”

Twilight's hoof shook slightly. She hadn't actually considered the well-being of her fellow officers. They were officers. She'd been in Canterlot so long that everything seemed like a foregone conclusion. Risking one's life for the cause was in the job description.

But as Twilight reminded herself for the hundredth time since stepping hoof in this town, this wasn't Canterlot and nothing she did was going to make it Canterlot. These weren't experienced cops used to dealing with the grit and grime of a sinful city. They were still in diapers, still stuffing mushed up vegetables into their faces and drooling all over themselves. Never before had Twilight appreciated how much she'd been playing Mommy since she rolled into town. This was the pivotal moment, the point in the story where they took out their pacifiers and started walking on four hooves like all the big kids. But Twilight saw no sign of that happening.

Twilight was no parent. She didn't know what to do if a foal wasn't talking by a certain age or if a teenager came to her with some complicated popularity problem. She didn't understand how some ponies could be so perfectly nurturing, so accepting and patient. Fluttershy could do it, even Spike could do it. But Twilight just couldn't.

If there was one thing the masked pony wouldn't expect, it was Twilight seeking sanctuary with one of her friends. Mainly because she didn't have any friends. She hadn't grown close to any of her fellow officers, let alone the receptionist. Just by sheer luck of her nature, Twilight had created a flawless cover for herself, a perfect hiding place that she could use at any time. Not that she felt entirely safe. Twilight knew the masked pony would eventually catch up with her, maybe sometime in the next few hours. But as long as she stayed out of sight at Fluttershy's cottage, she had time.

Fluttershy finally answered the door, groggy and wary.

“Twilight?” she said.

The surprise in her voice cemented Twilight's decision. There was no way any rational pony would look for her here, at least not right away. Deviating from her own pre-established patterns was going to be Twilight's new strategy. This masked pony had flipped her open like a cheap paperback and read her from cover to cover. She was just words and actions to them at this point. She was predictable, or at least she had been until she showed up at Fluttershy's door. Now she was a wild card. If Twilight wasn't going to play by her own rules, the game was suddenly a lot more complicated.

“Official police business,” said Twilight. “May I come in?”

The grogginess instantly clearing from her face, Fluttershy stepped aside to let Twilight in. Maybe Twilight should have been less transparent, but she didn't want Fluttershy to think this was a courtesy call or anything like that. Technically this was official police business, right? She was the police and she had business at Fluttershy's cottage.

If Fluttershy saw Twilight's packed saddlebags, she didn't say anything about them. Twilight hadn't had much time to pack—she'd been desperate to get out of that house—but she'd rounded up the essentials. Some stuff from her lab, her phone and Spike's, some of her books. No food though. There was no way Twilight was risking it. For all she knew, everything in the house had been poisoned and she'd keel over as soon as she took a bite. That seemed like something the masked pony would do, or at the very least something they'd want Twilight to think they'd done. Either way, Twilight wasn't bringing possibly tainted food into Fluttershy's cottage.

“What happened?” said Fluttershy. “Is it Spike? Did something happen to Spike?”

Her voice rose in concern as she said his name. Twilight managed not to be too offended that Fluttershy clearly cared more about Spike than her. Twilight wasn't an easy pony to care about. With the distance she kept, sometimes she wondered if the others even saw her as a pony. Maybe she was just a machine to them, spitting out commands and charts at regular intervals. A broken A.I. that wasn't programmed for emotional responses or independent thought.

“I believe he's been kidnapped,” said Twilight.

She plopped down her saddlebags in the middle of the living room floor, seemingly oblivious to the fallout from that unexpected bombshell. But there was no use beating around the bush. Anypony who could take down and cage a dragon wasn't just a threat. They were possibly the most dangerous adversary Twilight would ever face. If they'd muzzled Spike, they were capable of anything if Twilight stepped too far out of line.

Fluttershy raised a hoof to her mouth and gasped in shock.

“Is there anything I can do?” she said. “Do I need to call somepony?”

Twilight allowed herself the faintest smile, subtle enough that Fluttershy couldn't see it. She was almost charmed by Fluttershy's willingness to help. Yet again, she realized that Fluttershy would have made a great cop if she hadn't been so timid. But maybe even Fluttershy's timid nature wasn't really an obstacle. When stuff got bad and it was time to start really caring, Fluttershy became a lot braver. It was admirable, although training in Canterlot would have been a nightmare for her. But why would Twilight even bother thinking in Canterlot terms? From a Ponyville perspective, Fluttershy was law enforcement material. She was exactly the kind of cop the force needed.

“You could call the lab in Canterlot and ask them if they've identified the body yet,” said Twilight.

She knew the time frame was too slim for the answer to be “yes”, but she had her hooves crossed. They really needed an identity. If she could find out who this victim was, that would be the most substantial lead Twilight had gotten in a very long time. Even if it turned out to be some no-name drifter, she could work off of it. She could build something. But first, Twilight needed a name.

Fluttershy trotted into the other room to place the call. It was late, but the lab in Canterlot was usually so swamped that it was never empty.

Twilight emptied the contents of her saddlebags onto the couch. She wasn't planning to sleep, so no need to worry about taking up bed space. She had bigger and better things to do than get some well-earned shut-eye. Truth be told, she was still a little angry at Spike for lying to her. Maybe it was petty and unnecessary at this stage, but she'd never taken Spike for a liar. He'd always been an honest dragon, at least with her. Why had he trampled her trust like that? Why couldn't he just get some sleep like she wanted? Twilight knew she wasn't his keeper, but up until then she thought he understood the blow she'd taken for his sake. It wasn't like she'd wanted to dismiss him. Getting those words out had been a struggle, a struggle Spike couldn't have been unaware of.

She picked up Spike's phone. She didn't like snooping, but this wasn't a normal situation. If Spike really was in trouble, he would forgive her for invading his privacy. If he wasn't, he'd still be understanding. Twilight had to get a sense of what Spike had been doing for those hours he'd been gone.

Twilight checked Spike's call log, a record of every call he'd made and received in the past twenty-four hours. She was taken aback by the amount of contacts he had on his phone. Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, even Granny Smith. Was there anypony in town whose number he didn't have? Twilight couldn't help thinking about her own contact list. Just Spike and her parents. Very few others were interested in calling her. At one time, Shining Armor had been her go-to emergency contact and she'd even had some of his friends saved on her phone. Not anymore. Shining Armor's friends had pretty much backpedaled as soon as their only bridge to Twilight collapsed.

The last call Spike had made had been roughly three hours before Twilight came home. This revelation almost made Twilight wish she'd taken invasive measures with Spike. A simple recording device on his phone so she could listen in to his calls later. It was a ridiculous and untrustworthy measure, but desperate times produced equally desperate thoughts. Twilight just wished she'd done more to ensure Spike's safety. She wished she'd seen him as he was: someone close to her, someone who could be taken and manipulated, possibly even tortured for information. Had Spike been a pipeline this entire time, unwillingly funneling information to this masked pony? Was that the missing link in this case that had slipped under Twilight's muzzle?

Rarity. Spike had called Rarity about three hours before Twilight came home. It could have been nothing. It was Rarity after all. The whole town knew about Spike's hopeless crush. But at the same time, Twilight had to admit that it was a lead. Spike wasn't the kind of dragon to just call Rarity out of the blue for a flirting session. There had to be something important about that call, something he'd mentioned or something he'd done. He would have confided in Rarity. Although they were on less than romantic terms, they had built some sort of friendship that Spike seemed to deeply appreciate. If he couldn't tell Twilight, he would have confessed anything to Rarity in a heartbeat.

Checking the rest of Spike's call log, Twilight frowned. That was weird. Spike seemed to have made several calls to an unknown number in the past twenty-four hours. They were spread out evenly throughout the day, starting soon after he left the station for his supposed rest and relaxation. Whoever this pony was, they weren't on his contact list, but they'd clearly been somepony of importance. A shopkeeper? A family member? Did Spike even have family members? Twilight got the sense dragons weren't very family-centric. She found it hard to believe that Spike had suddenly decided to give his parents a call after years of no-contact.

Twilight dialed the number and pressed the phone to her ear. Her heart pounded. She didn't know what she expected to hear. A gruff voice telling her that Spike was tied up and gagged at a warehouse? A recorded message informing her that she was out of time?

But neither of those things happened. Twilight called the number several times, but to no avail. Nopony answered. It just rang for what seemed like hours, the sound growing more and more grating until she finally just had to stop. Of course it couldn't be that simple. If she was going to get anywhere, she'd have to trace the number. She doubted she'd get an exact address, but at least she could zero in on the approximate location. It wasn't the number itself that stirred distrust in her stomach. It was the sheer volume of calls. Over ten in a single day. Sometimes one after the other, as if Spike had hung up to check something and then hastily called again to continue the conversation. That seemed to suggest something one-sided, as if it was always Spike who initiated these conversations. This comfortably ruled out the idea of harassment or anything like that. This was a voluntary arrangement Spike had created, but why had Twilight been left out of the loop? Was this even something to do with the case or had Spike gotten himself entangled in something shady?

Fluttershy returned to the living room. She had a tray of tea and scones. Twilight would have said she shouldn't have, but she was so hungry that she didn't bother. Tea and scones seemed like the perfect post-midnight snack. Coffee would have been better, but Twilight was in no position to be picky. Her stomach was already riled up by the sight of the food.

“What did the lab say?” said Twilight.

Fluttershy repeated exactly what the pony who answered the phone had told her.

“Male, probably never did hard labor in his life, the body of an actor,” said Fluttershy. “Judging by his build, he seems to be from Manehattan.”

Twilight considered this new information. An actor from Manehattan? That wasn't very specific or helpful. A lot of ponies were from Manehattan and over half of them were actors, singers, etc. The city was known for its thriving theater community. It was the place ambitious young ponies went to try their luck at the stage, although most of them ended up with bit parts in mediocre films or plays. It was hardly the hive of artistry some ponies made it out to be.

“Did they have a name?” she said. “An occupation? A place of residence?”

Fluttershy blushed.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I probably should have told you that the lab was contacted by the family of the deceased. Well, actually the police force in Canterlot were alerted of a missing pony case and the family was called to identify the body.”

Twilight's eyes lit up. After days trapped at the bottom of a well, was Fate finally throwing her a ladder?

“And who is this mysterious pony somepony decided to use as a greeting card?” she said.

Fluttershy spoke triumphantly, like she was delivering the best news Twilight could ask for.

“His name is Bronze Hoof,” she said. “Apparently he was engaged to marry somepony named Holly, but he vanished before the ceremony. His family assumed he'd gotten cold hooves, so they took their time filing a missing pony report. His family lives in Canterlot, so the police force over there got a copy of the report.”

Twilight stared at Fluttershy. It wasn't fair. What gave this case the right to keep throwing curve balls at her? Everything seemed so isolated, so wrapped up in itself. No matter how far she strayed, it always came back to something she'd heard or seen before. Holly. Twilight recognized the name instantly, her mind calling up the memory almost independent of her will.

Raven's sister. So this was the mysterious stallion who'd supposedly bailed on the wedding in Manehattan. Although Twilight was beginning to wonder just how much of Bronze Hoof's disappearance had been intentional on his part. Had this poor stallion been taken, snatched from his home with the knowledge that his apparently bad reputation and the circumstances of his engagement would provide a flawless cover-up?

Twilight felt sorry for the poor guy. He hadn't asked to be killed and then strung up like some tasteless decoration. He hadn't asked to be a spectacle, displayed like an art piece in front of a bunch of strangers in some town he'd probably never visited. It was just bad luck. Maybe it wouldn't have happened if he wasn't known as the type of pony who would leave his bride at the altar, but he still didn't deserve such a fate. However, Twilight quickly shook away the pointless sentimentality. Deserving or not, a stallion was dead and now he had a name.

“Could you give Raven a call?” said Twilight. “I need to ask her some more questions about that wedding.”

Fluttershy looked at the clock.

“Um, it's almost three in the morning,” she said.

Twilight waved her hoof dismissively. There was no time to worry about sparing feelings or being polite. Spike was missing and Twilight finally had something. She might have evaded the masked pony for now, but she felt like they were standing right behind her. She could almost feel their breath on her neck.

“Tell her it's important police business,” said Twilight. “If she refuses, tell her I can send a few officers to her home and have her detained for obstructing justice.”

With a nod, Fluttershy scurried off to make the call.

Twilight eyed the tray of uneaten scones and tea that had gotten cold a while ago. Sweet Celestia. She was really hungry. She was surprised her stomach hadn't sprouted hooves and leaped out of her body. Now that she had given Fluttershy something important to do, Twilight was ready to take a break and get some food in her belly. Twilight was feeling more like a guest than an invader.

She picked up one of the scones and lifted it to her mouth. Her mouth almost watered at the smell. Even though they were no longer steaming hot from the oven, they still looked and smelled like the best thing Twilight would ever taste. Was that a hint of cinnamon? Fluttershy was spoiling her. Well, Twilight more than deserved to be pampered a little after the horror she'd endured not very long ago.

Fluttershy re-entered the room, an apologetic look on her face.

“Um, Raven didn't answer her phone, so...,” she started.

Twilight jumped off the couch, her sudden movement startling Fluttershy. Screw it. She wasn't going to hide in Fluttershy's cottage like there was death lurking behind every corner. That had never been her style and she saw no reason to adopt it. She was Twilight Sparkle, for Celestia's sake. She'd tackled murderers, braved the horrors of booby-trapped warehouses, looked dangerous felons right in the eye as they were dragged off for sentencing. Sure, she'd flinched when a knife narrowly missed her ear and felt the terror rise in her throat when some fiend got a cord around her neck. But she'd always been focused on her pursuit of justice, even as stars burst in her eyes or a droplet of blood ran down her cheek. It was the felons who should have been running for their lives, not Twilight Sparkle.

Nevertheless, she felt the need to shout over her shoulder as she left Fluttershy's cottage.

“I'll call you in about an hour,” said Twilight. “If I don't, assume the worst. Have all available officers dispatched to the library as soon as possible.”

Twilight was used to having some kind of back-up. She hadn't realized how much she missed it. It was nice having someone she could rely on. Twilight's stomach clenched as she realized how much she'd taken Spike's help for granted. Had he ever resented her? If he had, he'd never said it out loud. But that wasn't really the kind of thing Spike would have said, even if it was how he truly felt. And Twilight had never asked, too secure in what their relationship seemed to be.

Twilight clenched her teeth. She was going to find Spike. Dead or alive. The two seemed rather interchangeable at this point. She certainly would have preferred finding him alive and at least relatively unharmed, but Twilight would have taken either. Both were better than not knowing.

After the academy, Twilight had to get used to the badge. It wasn't the responsibility that gave her pause. It was how ponies treated her once they found out that the shut-in bookworm was now a cop. The difference in behavior was mostly subtle, but Twilight was observant enough to pick it up. The wary glances, the conspiratorial whispers, the anxiety present in the eyes of nearly every shopkeeper. They all knew who she was and what she was capable of now that she had the law to back her up. She was no longer just Twilight Sparkle, the pony who always knew when somepony's marriage was about to go down in flames due to an affair. She was Detective Twilight Sparkle, the pony whose uncanny ability to read someone's thoughts was likely to result in an arrest. In many ways, it was an improvement. Twilight didn't need to be invisible in order to achieve that isolation and peace she craved. All she had to do was flash the badge once and nopony wanted to mess with her.

But she did sometimes wonder if Shining Armor had been right. He'd often told her that police work wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Although he'd been fortunate to find love in the form of Twilight's former babysitter, he'd often complained about how grueling and lonely the work actually was.

“When you're out there patrolling, you feel like you don't have a friend in the world,” he'd said. “Everypony thinks you're going to bust them for something. Even if they haven't done anything wrong, they're afraid of you.”

It had driven him to drink and—in a move that Twilight had never expected from her outgoing brother—somewhat withdraw into himself. Meeting Cadence had saved him from becoming, well, like a more miserable version of Twilight. Cadence was the light in his life, his one reprise from the hordes of ponies who were wary of his presence. Sure, Shining Armor had his sister, his parents, and maybe one or two fellow officers who understood his struggles. But it was Cadence who gave him the hope he needed to go on. She gave him everything he'd ever wanted and he in return opened up in a way that he'd never done before. They were partners, friends, and lovers.

Twilight pounded her hoof on the library door, resisting the urge to shout out that cliché line. Should she have been a little more discreet given the nature of her business and the time? Yes. Did she give a flying feather anymore? No. It was time to get down to business. In fact, it had been that time since she'd first stepped hoof into her own home. But she'd been completely unaware of it, her senses dulled by the utter insanity of this case. Twilight should have realized that something was wrong within seconds, should have leaped into action the moment that fateful dread prickled her fur. It was like falling into a coffin.

Her heart clenched at the thought. Coffin. Yes, he'd have to be buried. Unlike most dragons, he'd actually get a real funeral. Flowers, bereaved loved ones, a fireproof coffin studded with the finest gemstones, a wonderful service and reception attended by all of his friends. Maybe Twilight would be asked to make a speech. She'd do it without a second thought, a stirring few paragraphs about how Spike had been the best friend a pony could ever ask for and how his struggles had made him stronger. But although Twilight could outline the actual details in her head, she wasn't sure about his parents. Was he on good or bad terms with his family? Would any of them be willing to attend a lavish service arranged by a pony they probably didn't even know about?

I never asked, Twilight realized.

She told herself that it was because Spike always liked to do the talking or because it had never been relevant to their relationship. But that wasn't it. It was simply that Twilight had never thought to ask Spike about his family. She'd certainly given him enough information about her own family and history, yet never thought to ask about his.

Twilight hammered her hoof against the door again, trying to drown out her own thoughts. But the repetitive banging wasn't enough. Twilight was still imagining finding Spike's mutilated corpse in a ditch somewhere. No, not a ditch. That was too crude for the masked pony. They'd try to make a spectacle out of Spike's death, turn him into some macabre display. They'd turn him into a taunt.

A groggy-looking Raven finally answered the door. She was rubbing her eyes and squinting at whatever lunatic was trying to break down her door this late at night.

“Twilight?” she said. “What in the name of Celestia?”

Having no time for explanations, Twilight pushed past Raven and trotted into the library. The rudeness was unintended, but she was eager to get indoors again. She'd started to feel as if somepony was watching her. Her fur had begun to prickle in a way that seemed horribly familiar. Normally she would have taken this in stride—it was part of the job—but she'd been extra-jumpy that night. Every sound sent a jolt of fear through her body.

“I'm afraid I have some bad news about the body,” said Twilight.

Raven took a minute to remember what Twilight was talking about—she was still partially in dreamland—but eventually her face filled with comprehension. She still wasn't too happy about Twilight getting her out of bed before Celestia raised the sun, but she was intrigued.

Twilight told her everything, although she left out the part about staying at Fluttershy's cottage. The fewer ponies who knew, the better. Ponies in this town loved to talk, especially about stuff that wasn't their business. Telling one pony was like alerting the entire town of her whereabouts.

Raven pressed a hoof to her mouth. She wasn't crying, but then again Twilight had gotten the impression that Raven didn't really like her future brother-in-law. The look on her face when she'd mentioned him probably running off with one of the bridesmares had said it all. But if there'd been a mutual dislike between them, what in the name of Celestia had he been doing in Ponyville? If the postmortem was to be believed, it seemed he'd come there of his own free will, partaken in some poisoned food by somepony he trusted, and been turned into a macabre art piece. Contrary to the norm, the more Twilight learned about the victim the less she understood the course of events.

Could it have been Raven? The pieces of the puzzle fit together with such ease that Twilight had trouble doubting it. Maybe Raven had invited Bronze Hoof to Ponyville, claiming she intended to make amends with him. Of course he would trust his future sister-in-law and want to make peace for the sake of his wife-to-be. Raven could have poisoned him and then strung him up like a decoration. It was a crime Twilight had seen hundreds of times before. Jealous sibling, daring plot to get the unworthy spouse out of the way. It was like something from a true crime novel.

The problem was that it made no sense in the grand scheme of things. As an isolated case, Twilight had no doubt. It wasn't as if Raven was a professional or anything. This clumsy plan was right in line with her character. But as a tiny spot of paint on a huge canvas? There was no way Twilight could believe it all led back to a small town librarian's quest for revenge. This wasn't even a small crime inside a big crime. This was a minuscule crime inside of an enormous one. It was too perfect. It didn't take a lot of sniffing for Twilight to smell a set-up. The air around her reeked of it. Believable crime, believable culprit, perfect circumstances. Even some of those pesky inconsistencies could be explained away.

But if it wasn't Raven, who? Was the murder random or was there something more to it? Was this murder even connectedto everything else, or had the masked pony capitalized on it somehow? Had Raven poisoned Bronze Hoof and the masked pony had done the rest? Did that mean the masked pony and Raven knew each other?

“When was the last time you saw Bronze Hoof?” said Twilight.

Raven lowered her hoof. Her shock looked pretty genuine, although there was no remorse in her eyes. But if the alternative was jail time, any pony could mask their emotions like they'd done it a thousand times before. Twilight had encountered dozens of killers who were capable of playing innocent until Twilight's iron grip on the truth squeezed a confession out of them.

“Um, a few months ago,” Raven said. “I went up to Manehattan to have dinner with him and my sister. That was the first time I actually met him. I didn't like him at all the first time I saw him. He kept staring at the waitress, although I don't think Holly noticed. He was disgusting.”

Even though she knew he was dead, Raven did nothing to hide the disdain in her voice. So she definitely hadn't been a fan. She'd probably made that clear to Holly at every turn, but her sister had ignored the warnings. Pretty good motive—relatively speaking—for murder. If Holly wasn't going to accept that she was marrying a scumbag, it didn't seem far-fetched that Raven would have taken things into her own hooves. Twilight knew what it was like to feel like the only option was the most extreme one when it came to siblings. But had Raven actually done it? If so, why wasn't she at least pretending that her and Bronze Hoof had been friends? Why wasn't she faking remorse? That just didn't add up and Twilight wasn't sure what to make of it. Was Raven being clever or did she have nothing to hide?

“So you didn't see him the day of the wedding?” said Twilight.

She was trying to zero in on the time frame. Had Bronze Hoof even been in Manehattan while the wedding was going on?

“Nopony saw him,” said Raven. “We all assumed he was in the changing tent or something. No matter where he'd run off to, we all thought he'd be there for the ceremony. We never thought he'd be so cowardly.”

Twilight closed her eyes and thought. This could mean a lot of things. Maybe he'd been in Manehattan, maybe he hadn't. If he hadn't, had he been in Ponyville? If so, why? How had he ended up in a situation that led to his death? Given what she knew about his character, it could have been any number of things. But if Twilight had to narrow it down, she would have guessed it was a mare. He would be the type of stallion to trust immediately if a pretty face was involved. The rest would have come naturally. The problem was that this didn't help Twilight revise her list of possible culprits. Ponyville wasn't exactly teeming with seductresses.

“Did Bronze Hoof have any female friends?” said Twilight.

Raven let out a bitter laugh.

“No, but I'm sure he was seeing somepony on the side,” she said.

Twilight reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a notebook. She tore a page from the notebook and slid it across the table to Raven.

“I'll need the names of everypony who was at that wedding,” she said.

She didn't expect Raven to remember them all. Even Twilight would have struggled with putting names to faces and vice versa if there'd been a huge turn-out. But from their very first meeting, Raven had struck Twilight as observant. Perhaps she noticed things, likely without really being aware that she had. Anypony Raven wrote on that list must have been important, must have stood out to her in some way. It wasn't perfect, but it was a good start. When she got back to Fluttershy's cottage, the real research could begin. By the end of the day, Twilight was going to know everything there was to know about Bronze Hoof. His parents, his siblings, his close relatives, the name of his first pet, what he'd eaten for breakfast two days before he died. No stone left unturned, no archive left unexplored, no small detail left undisturbed. Twilight really hoped Bronze Hoof didn't have any particularly gross deep dark secrets. She was about to crawl inside his head and dig out every embarrassing memory from high school, every awkward first date, and every guilty binge he had to his name.

However, Twilight's mood suddenly plunged. This was nice and all. In fact, it was fantastic and it made Twilight feel like dancing. She wasn't naive enough to think she was several steps ahead of the masked pony, but she was confident enough to believe she had a chance. But none of it was going to matter if she didn't find Spike.

Raven slid the torn notebook page back over to Twilight, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Sorry, I never saw the guest list,” she said. “I know there were some ponies who didn't show up, but I added them anyway. Is that okay?”

Maintaining her composure, Twilight nodded.

The list was pretty impressive for a rush job. The hoofwriting was neat, each name perfectly legible and occupying its own line. There were stars drawn next to certain names. Those must have been the ponies who didn't show up. Efficient and easy to read. Raven could have snagged a desk job at the station if she'd wanted to. She might not have had the skills to be a cop, but that didn't seem to have stopped over half of Ponyville's police force. She seemed to be well-read—a rarity for Ponyville citizens—and Twilight suspected she had a good memory. Those things alone qualified her to be running the station, based on the unfortunate standards set by the local police force. But Twilight was also kind of glad that Raven wasn't a cop. She seemed just a little too frail, but without the initiative Fluttershy displayed that would have made up for it.

While Raven made them some cocoa, Twilight went over the list. She couldn't tell much by names alone—even though ponies tended to have pretty specific names—but she could speculate. Silver Hoof—he was at the top of the list—was probably Bronze Hoof's older brother. Maybe that was why Bronze Hoof had been seeking validation through copious amounts of coitus. “Silver Hoof” seemed like a hard act to follow. Their parents should have given a little more thought to those names.

Sparrow. Probably Raven and Holly's mother. Twilight wondered what Sparrow had thought of Bronze Hoof. Had she liked him, disliked him, both? Had she attended the wedding because she supported her daughter's decision or out of obligation? None of this stuff seemed to matter, but Twilight needed to see this case from every angle. If the murder really was unrelated to everything else, Twilight needed to treat it like it was a separate case altogether.

The rest was just as standard. Relatives, friends, relatives of friends. None of the names leaped out at Twilight, but why would they? She hadn't even known about the wedding until she started this case. But at the same time, she was fishing for a connection. Something that tied all of this to her or Shining Armor. However, she wasn't getting it from this list. It was just a guest list for a wedding and nothing more. Even the ponies who'd apparently chosen not to attend weren't very interesting. Judging by the names alone, Twilight suspected they were just some disgruntled aunts or uncles who'd backed out at the last minute. Nothing extraordinary there.

Raven placed a cup of steaming cocoa in front of Twilight.

“Work hard, drink more,” she said.

Her eyes still on the list, Twilight raised the cup and took a swig from it. She paused, the cup hovering inches from her mouth. Holy Celestia, that was some good cocoa. She'd had a lot of cocoa in her life, but this was something altogether unique. The rich chocolate taste was undercut with something delightfully bittersweet. Twilight found herself taking another swig from it without even thinking, her entire body rapidly warming up and her tiredness melting away.

By the time she finished the cup, she felt rejuvenated. Suddenly she believed she could do almost anything. Find Spike, catch a murderer, wrap up this case by the end of the week. What had she been so worried about this entire time? Twilight had been running from shadows. The darkness couldn't hurt her, provided she remembered to light up her horn. This was the high Twilight had been looking for this whole time. The bravery, the determination, the bliss. Twilight couldn't believe she'd been slacking off like that, forgetting what was truly important and why she'd become a cop in the first place.

“What was in that cocoa?” said Twilight.

Raven winked.

“Secret family recipe,” she said.

Twilight guessed that meant alcohol. Strong stuff. She'd never felt this good after a drink, alcoholic or otherwise. Even the coffee hadn't done this much for her mood or her energy levels. This explained how Raven was able to get used to Ponyville after living in Canterlot for so long. The answer had always been a stiff drink. Maybe the entire population was drunk 24/7. That would explain everything.

“I'd better get back to work,” said Twilight.

As much as she wanted to, she couldn't spend the next few hours boozing with Raven. There was work to be done. She had names. Good. The next step was to turn each of those names into detailed profiles. Twilight needed to create her first real map of suspects.

She took the list with her. She was going to have to cross-check it with an official guest list, but it was pretty good for a start.

Canterlot citizens assumed that Twilight knew everything about everypony. Well, they were right. With the information pools Twilight had access to, she had knowledge of every single Canterlot citizen at the tip of her hooves. If Lucky Lace or Fancy Pants ever so much as shoplifted a stick of gum, Twilight Sparkle knew about it. It wasn't just criminal records. She had all kinds of dirt on all kinds of ponies. But contrary to typical city paranoia, most of it was irrelevant to her. Why should she give a flying feather if some heiress cheated on her spouse or some rich guy got his mistress pregnant? It might have been incredibly scummy and shady, but to Twilight it was just drama. Her lust for information was strictly academic. She wasn't in the habit of spreading rumors.

It was Spike who always kept his ears open to the latest gossip. He actually cared about who was having an affair and who was secretly pregnant. He never spread rumors, but he did always have something new and interesting to tell Twilight every single day.

Twilight actually missed Spike passing on juicy bits of gossip. Sure, she didn't care about any of that stuff. But it did give her days some semblance of flavor. When all she had to focus on was a double equicide, sometimes she welcomed some mindless second-hoof drama. It was inane, but it made the days a little bit easier. Twilight could remind herself that not everything going on in the city was grisly violence and thievery. Sometimes it was a pair of young lovers eloping against the wishes of their feuding families.

Twilight knocked twice on the door of Fluttershy's cottage. She would have just gone in, but the door was locked. That was another reason she'd chosen Fluttershy. Out of all the ponies in this town, Fluttershy was the only one who actually locked her door. Hardly necessary in a place like Ponyville, or at least Twilight would have been amused by this set-up less than a week ago. Now that Twilight knew what was hiding in the shadows, she fully endorsed Fluttershy's caution. Not that she thought locked doors and windows were enough to stop the masked pony. But it did make Twilight feel just a little bit safer.

The door opened a crack. Fluttershy's eye appeared in the minuscule opening.

“Twilight, is that you?” she said.

Twilight suppressed a groan. Of course Fluttershy was actually exercising extreme caution. She couldn't fault her for that, right? Fluttershy was actually following standard safety protocol for this type of situation. Unfortunately, this also made her an unexpected pain in Twilight's flank.

“Yes, it's me,” she said. “Could you please let me in?”

They really should have worked out some kind of password or hoof signal. Maybe a series of gestures. If their positions had been reversed, Twilight would have been just as wary. In fact, she probably would have been even more cautious. Twilight was actually relieved that she hadn't told Fluttershy the full story. She could hardly imagine how terrified Fluttershy would have been if she knew the lengths this masked pony had gone to for a good scare.

Fluttershy eventually opened the door, but only after a whole two minutes of hesitation. She must have decided that it probably wasn't the masked pony doing an admirable Twilight impression. Nopony could fake that trademark impatience. Granted, it was still a gamble on Fluttershy's part. It could have been a changeling or some kind of illusion spell. But what were the chances? Actually pretty high, but Fluttershy had already let Twilight inside, so there wasn't much she could do about it.

“I need all the information about Bronze Hoof you can find,” said Twilight. “Also see if you can find the guest list for Holly's wedding.”

Fluttershy blushed, nervously playing with her mane. She looked like a schoolfilly who wasn't sure if she was in trouble or not. Twilight knew from experience that a lot of stallions and some mares found this endearing. She kind of understood why. That unabashed vulnerability definitely had its appeal.

Twilight herself wasn't into it, but she could see how that doe-eyed look might be considered attractive. Fluttershy just looked like the kind of pony who could tell no lies. Twilight had met a lot of ponies like this and usually their timid nature was just a performance, an act she never fell for. But she could tell that Fluttershy wasn't playing a part. She was every bit as timid as she looked. Twilight had to admire that. The city ended up breaking everypony sooner or later. But in an innocent town like Ponyville, there was no need to break anypony. Some ponies—like Twilight—were just broken when they arrived. Some ponies—like Fluttershy—managed to keep themselves whole.

“I, um, kind of did all that already,” said Fluttershy. “I thought you might need the information and you weren't here to ask and...”

She swallowed hard, her cheeks turning an even darker shade of red.

“I'm not fired, am I?” she said.

Twilight considered all the reasons she could fire almost any of her fellow officers. Incompetence was a big one. Being the cause of every angry outburst she'd ever had in the past few years was pretty high on the list. Leaving confetti bombs in her desk drawers was also up there, but that was strictly a Pinkie Pie offense. Technically Twilight shouldn't have had the authority to hand out pink slips. But by some stroke of misfortune, she was the most senior member of the local force. If she'd wanted to, she could have fired all of them. But as much as she disliked working with most of them, she doubted the next batch would be any better. Maybe she could get some ponies from Canterlot or Manehattan, but that would take a lot of time and effort. Nopony who'd made their mark in the city wanted to downgrade to a place like Ponyville.

“No,” said Twilight.

As if she would have considered it. Even if Fluttershy had set off a paint grenade in her office, she still would have been one of the most competent members of the force.

“Criminal record?” said Twilight.

Fluttershy shuffled some papers on the coffee table. She smiled to herself. By some stroke of luck, she was actually good at this. Maybe she was trying to show off because this was the first murder investigation she'd been involved in. Maybe something about Twilight's presence inspired her. Whatever the reason, Fluttershy had recently learned that she knew all the archives like the back of her hoof. She hadn't exactly memorized all of them, but she did seem to know where to look.

“A single breaking and entering charge,” said Fluttershy. “He did a little time for it, but that was about it.”

Her brain going into overdrive, Twilight started pacing. Yes, there was a chance she'd handled some mundane breaking and entering case back in Canterlot. So what? Cases like that were minuscule compared to the messed up stuff she'd had to deal with every week. Breaking and entering was hardly a blip on the radar.

“What about his associates?” said Twilight. “Anything there? Some criminal connection?”

Fluttershy brandished a folder triumphantly. Getting her hooves on that hadn't been easy. The actual file was probably buried somewhere in the Canterlot archives. She'd had to put her own together using whatever bits and pieces had slipped through the cracks. In the end, Fluttershy had created a pretty thorough file of her own in a remarkably short amount of time. She wondered if receptionists could be promoted.

“He had a fling with some model in Canterlot,” said Fluttershy. “Cherry Blush. She spent some time in jail for....”

Twilight stopped pacing. Cherry Blush? Sweet Celestia. She hadn't heard that name in years. They were all just names at the end of the day. Not even faces and words anymore, just names to fill out a seemingly never-ending list of Canterlot's sinners.

Sometimes a case made such an impression that it evolved into a creature of its own. It became bigger than the facts, bigger than the trial, bigger than the evidence, bigger than how it had set the media circuit ablaze. Those were the cases Twilight was never going to forget. The Cherry Blush case had been so small at first, so straightforward. But over time, it had turned into something that had forever twisted and warped Twilight's opinion of herself. She'd gotten back on track at some point, but she'd never fully recovered from the aftermath.

“Attempted theft,” said Twilight. “She broke into Canterlot University's museum and tried to steal some valuable artifacts, but she was apprehended by the security team.”

The confession had sealed it, but Twilight hadn't really needed one to build her case. She had piles of evidence to work with: witness testimonies, fur samples, financial records. As if all of that wasn't enough, Cherry Blush had an extensive criminal record that she'd dropped thousands of bits to cover up. She'd managed to wriggle out of the charges every time, evading a well-earned stint in jail at every turn. But this time she'd been caught red-hoofed. Bits of her fur at the scene, at least three witnesses claiming they'd seen her enter the museum after hours, and financial records that indicated she was struggling. Even those closest to her believed she was desperate enough to have orchestrated a clumsy failed robbery.

In the end, Cherry Blush's already weak defense had nowhere to go. She was completely sandbagged. After weeks of claiming it was a misunderstanding, Cherry Blush finally confessed, complete with full details of how she'd been planning to carry out the robbery.

“She was sentenced to five years, but she only lasted two months,” said Twilight. “She escaped one night and disappeared. We found blood-stained scraps of her uniform and bits of her mane about a mile from the prison. Since we never found the body, her death was never officially confirmed, but the public record considers her deceased.”

Fluttershy nodded, a solemn expression on her face.

“It's really sad,” she said.

Twilight held back a bitter laugh. Sad? That was an understatement, although Fluttershy couldn't have known. Even though those vultures in the media had been all over the case, most of the public had never found out the truth. Why would anypony bother? The case was done and dead. As far as the public was concerned, any important piece of information had died with Cherry Blush. Her story was tragic, but it was just another case of a fallen star burning out before she hit the ground. Nopony had time to stop and ask questions after the fact. Except Twilight. Twilight always made time for more questions.

What convinced her to take another look at the Cherry Blush case? She'd asked herself that question over and over again, but the answer was never satisfying. Maybe it was a hunch, some idea buried in the heart of an unanswered question. Loose ends were Twilight's weakness. If everything wasn't tied up neatly in the end, she'd play with the bow until the whole thing unraveled. In this case, Twilight saw a minuscule crack in the foundation and immediately tried to force her hoof through it. By the time she'd widened it enough to see inside, it was clear that Twilight had made a mistake. But it was too late for her to make amends, too late for her to apologize to the pony she'd wronged. Cherry Blush was already gone, either dead or somewhere so far away that Twilight's guilt would never reach her.

But the case had seemed so airtight. There had never been a doubt in Twilight's mind that Cherry Blush was guilty. But then again, wasn't everything airtight until someone poked a hole in it?

“Anything else?” said Twilight.

She asked anyway, even though she already knew there wouldn't be anything else. Fluttershy had found the heart of this murder. Just like everything else in this case, it all came back to Twilight. Also just like everything else in this case, it didn't tell Twilight what she actually needed to know. It was like she was trotting in a circle, always returning to that one point no matter how far out she went. There was definitely a starting point, but it kept moving.

To her surprise, Fluttershy had one more thing to show her.

“It doesn't have anything to do with Bronze Hoof or Cherry Blush,” she said. “But I think it might be related to Spike.”

Twilight's ears perked up. Now that was something to lift her spirits. She wasn't sure about getting to the meat of this case and uncovering the masked pony's identity, but finding Spike was something she could do. Her track record for finding missing ponies—and also missing zebras, dragons, etc.--was pretty impressive. It usually came down to bypassing nearly everything she'd been told at the academy and using her own tried-and-true methods.

“Spike's phone buzzed while you were away,” said Fluttershy. “I didn't think anything of it at first, but then I remembered that he was missing.”

Before Fluttershy had even finished her sentence, Twilight was already lunging across the room and grabbing Spike's phone. She'd almost forgotten that she had it. It seemed like years ago that she'd been combing it for clues. No wonder she hardly remembered taking it. Why had she just left it at Fluttershy's cottage? It was her only physical connection to Spike. Twilight could feel his little dragon heart pumping through it. It was the strength of this imagined heartbeat that convinced her he was still alive.

Her hooves shaking, Twilight went through Spike's missed calls. There was a single entry at the top. A single missed call within the past hour. To her surprise, it wasn't the unknown number she'd seen before. This was somepony else. Somepony who might know something.

Twilight dialed the number, then raised the phone to her ear. This was it. The moment of truth, as ponies liked to say. But which truth was Twilight hoping for? Obviously she wanted Spike to be alive and well, maybe slightly injured or dazed but ultimately unharmed. It was the best she could hope for. But at the same time, she had a sick feeling in her stomach. Why would any sane pony worry about Spike? His scales could withstand an explosion, for Celestia's sake. But maybe that was why Twilight worried about him. Spike never looked at himself from the outside. He didn't see his vulnerabilities.

After a few tense seconds, somepony finally picked up. When Twilight heard that tell-tale click, followed by a slight intake of breath, it was like she'd found salvation after centuries of sin. Ponies from a bygone era had called this “following Celestia's light”. Twilight finally knew what it felt like to be swept up in the warmth of Celestia's sun.

“Hello?” said a voice.

The normality of the voice caught Twilight off guard. She'd expected something surreal or frightening, like a raspy growl from her nightmares. She'd expected the voice to drag her into a world of torment unlike any she'd ever faced. But whoever was on the other end, it wasn't an otherworldly abomination.

“This is Detective Twilight Sparkle,” she said. “Who is this?”

She kept her voice steady, adopting an authoritative tone to hide her nervousness. Despite the confidence in her voice, she mentally kicked herself. Why in Tartarus had she just announced her name and title like that? Twilight could have said anything, but she'd opted for the most conspicuous. In her experience, wrong-doers tended to bolt when they caught a whiff of a badge. Fuck. It only took one slip-up to ruin a dragon's life.

“Twilight?” said the voice.

Twilight froze. No, it hadn't been the normality of the voice that caught her off guard. She'd told herself that in the moment, but it had been something else. It had been the familiarity of the voice that briefly stumped her. She'd ignored it because it aligned so poorly with what she believed to do be true. But now Twilight realized that she'd been wrong. Maybe she'd been wrong since the very beginning. Maybe she'd been wrong since the moment she stepped hoof in Ponyville.

“Spike?” she whispered.

There was a very brief pause.

“Yes, it's me,” he said. “Are you okay? Where are you? Are you at the station?”

Twilight wanted to answer all of Spike's questions. She wanted to break down crying like a newborn. She wanted to throw the phone across the room. She wanted to reach through the phone and throttle Spike for worrying her half to death. Twilight wanted to do and say a thousand different things all at once. But her world was spinning so fast that she was afraid she might vomit. She could feel everything she'd eaten that day—maybe everything she'd ever eaten—heaving around her stomach like it was trying to escape. Twilight felt like she was going to bend over and empty her guts all over Fluttershy's clean floor. But instead she spoke a single sentence, the only words that could escape from the mess inside her brain.

“I'm sorry about the food,” said Twilight.

She let out what she meant to be a laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. Maybe Ponyville had broken her, but it had taken years for her to realize it.

Chapter 10: Trust

Twilight had learned a lot at the police academy, but she sometimes felt as if she'd learned nothing. No amount of tests and simulations could prepare her for the reality of field work or the thrill of desk work. That was stuff she had to learn on her own in the months after her graduation.

She'd been told that she'd hate the work, that it would cause her heart to wither, that she'd either turn dirty or become a husk. That was what Canterlot did to those who dared try to cleanse it: the city sucked them dry and spat out what was left of their corpse. Shining Armor had rescued himself from this fate by finding Cadence. But Twilight had been less fortunate in that department. There was no Cadence in her life, nopony to act as her guardian angel. She knew from the beginning that the city was going to eat her alive, but that never stopped her. In her own way, Twilight was making amends for something that wasn't her fault. It was partly the guilt that drove Twilight to the force.

But the city didn't eat her alive. It definitely tried on more than one occasion, yet it never successfully consumed Twilight's spirit. She watched from the sidelines as many of her fellow cops stumbled and fell headfirst into that deep chasm of sin at the heart of the city. Later on Twilight could say it was Spike who'd kept her head above water, but he hadn't exactly rescued her. It was something else, a thought living in the cluttered attic of Twilight's head.

Twilight went straight home after her conversation with Spike. Well, it couldn't really be called a conversation. She hung up before Spike could say anything else. Twilight didn't care that she was being rude to someone she'd been worried sick about less than ten minutes ago. Now that she knew he was perfectly alright, her fear had been replaced with anger. Why in Tartarus hadn't he called her? Why had he let her worry herself half to death over his absence for so long without so much as a message? Spike knew she was stressed out over this case. He knew she was anxious. What kind of sick joke did he think this was?

I'm going to kill him, Twilight thought.

She knew at least three spells that could obliterate a dragon. Or at least she thought they could. She'd never really had a reason to test them out. Well, no time like the present, right? For Spike's sake, she hoped those scales were as resilient as they looked.

Spike was sitting on the couch, looking very much like a teenager caught out after curfew. He was leaning forward, his head bowed and his claws in his lap. The emotional deflation his body was expressing said more than a paragraph of apologies. He'd always been the one on the other side, the force of discipline and justice battling the city's villains. Spike had worked hard, fighting the odds and becoming the kind of cop the city could rely on. But clearly something had gone wrong.

Twilight faced Spike, her stern expression masking her inner turmoil. They both knew it was an act, but Twilight was especially aware of how wrong this felt. Most cops dreaded the day they'd have to drag their own partner into the interrogation room. Most cops worried about that unbreakable trust and loyalty. Most cops knew better than to form bonds with their colleagues. Corruption was Canterlot's oldest game. Any officer worth their badge had to keep their eyes open and their heart empty, more for the sake of their job than anything else. Up until Twilight met Spike, she never worried about any of those things. Who in Tartarus was she supposed to have unconditional trust in? Nopony. Nopony on the force was worth Twilight learning a harsh lesson.

But there she stood, wondering how in Celestia's name this was happening to her. Happening to them, the unstoppable force united in their mission to clean the streets of Canterlot. But this wasn't Canterlot. Twilight hadn't felt the shift in the air until now, or at least she'd ignored it. Something had changed. The life she'd built, her beliefs, her ideals. They'd all moved ever so slightly, like shadows slinking behind her back. But she hadn't noticed. She'd been blind, so used to facing one direction that she hadn't thought to take a look at what was going on right behind her.

“Talk,” she said.

Spike raised his head slightly.

Twilight could feel a completely irrational anger rising inside her. Why couldn't he look her in the eye? Why? She almost wanted to grab him with her magic and shake him, force him to look directly at her for the first time. This didn't have to be so terrible, so unfamiliar and painful. Spike was making it unfamiliar and painful, forcing this to be awkward when all he really had to do was just look at her.

“I told you,” he said. “I was out drinking with Big Macintosh.”

Twilight almost slammed her hoof on the coffee table, a dramatic display she'd often used to rattle convicts. But she stopped herself, realizing that Spike wasn't a convict. He was her friend, the only true bright spot in this miserable town. Yet he was lying to her. He knew he was lying to her, he knew she wasn't dumb enough to be satisfied by his silly stories. Yet Spike was still doing it, as if there was some personal gain tied up in his tall tales. It was like a performance, except Twilight refused to play along. She knew what Spike wanted. He wanted her to just give up and stop asking questions. He wanted her to accept his lie so they could return to their normal lives and the investigation. Twilight almost did the first time he said it, but the rotting corpse of her sanity had emerged from its makeshift grave. No, Twilight couldn't just accept bullshit from anypony, even somepony she cared about. It was part of her moral code.

“Talk,” she repeated.

She let her voice tremble for the first time, just so Spike could hear how much she needed him to be truthful. She wanted to believe he was the same dragon she'd left Canterlot with, the same dragon who liked to drink apple cider and make friends indiscriminately. The same dragon who'd told Twilight that she was the best cop in the city.

But could Twilight say she was the same pony who'd accepted the compliment with a curt nod and a smile? No, something had broken inside of her. It happened long before this case, maybe even before Twilight came to Ponyville. It was like a vase placed too close to the edge. All it took was the right bump from the right angle to send it tumbling. Something had happened to both of them a while ago and Twilight hadn't been acknowledging it. She liked to think that brutal triple-murder all those years ago had completely wrecked their world views and turned them into bitter shells, but it wasn't that simple. This wasn't like being a shell. It was more like being a bundle of new emotions. Sometimes Twilight didn't recognize herself, as if the words that came out of her mouth were being spoken by somepony else and her emotions were stolen from a Twilight who'd never had a chance to exist. A Twilight who grew up to become a university professor, her brother alive and well.

Spike stood up. He turned his head to the side, still refusing to look at Twilight. He clutched his arm, his claws shaking a little. Spike looked as if he wanted to jump out of his scales and let someone else deal with everything. But without the ability to exit his body and completely rid himself of this unfortunate situation, Spike was forced to stand there. He let himself sink further into the awkwardness, the words he spoke like a concealed plea for Twilight to just drop it. But he knew she wouldn't drop it. Twilight wasn't built that way and Spike had once been thankful for that.

“Um, sleep,” he said. “Big day, you know?”

He grinned, but Twilight could see the fight going on behind the mask. There was something he wanted—no, needed—to tell her. But he wasn't going to. Somewhere along the line, Spike had learned the elusive art of self control. He'd learned to be, well, Twilight, or at least the Twilight she thought she was before all this happened.

Twilight let him go to bed. It wasn't that she thought he'd be more honest after a long sleep. It was simply that Twilight knew when she was defeated. She couldn't have forced the truth out of him and she didn't want to try. Maybe he'd tell her, maybe he wouldn't.

At least Twilight was slightly less afraid of being in the house. Two against one—especially when she had a dragon on her side—tilted the odds in her favor. More than anything, Twilight needed to believe she had some advantage, that the scales weren't completely unbalanced. For the time being, Spike's presence would do. Twilight felt as if she could sleep, not that she planned to. But it was nice to have the option available to her.

So why did she feel so alone? Why did she find herself wandering the house like a zombie after Spike retired to bed? Was it merely the fact that Celestia would be raising the sun very soon? No, that wasn't the root of this unpleasant feeling in her gut. Twilight didn't even feel as if this was her home, and in a sense it wasn't. She'd lived there long enough for it to qualify, but it wasn't her apartment in Canterlot. It also wasn't the house she'd shared with her brother and parents for a great deal of her life. There was nothing home about this place. Not anymore.

Spike hadn't really come back, had he? Maybe he had in the physical sense, but not in any other way. The Spike she knew—the Spike who'd never lie to her, the Spike who'd never worry her half to death for any reason—was back in Canterlot. Maybe he'd been there all along and Twilight was just now realizing it. She'd been looking at things through the lens of her old life for so long. She couldn't imagine how many miscalculations she'd made. Who knew she'd become so sentimental?

A thought came to her. It had flitted across her mind before, but she'd been too preoccupied by Spike's reappearance to dwell on it. Twilight was beginning to think that her biggest weakness in this case was overlooking the mundane. Things established in the heart of her routine, inconsistencies easily overlooked even by her shrewd eye. If an explanation was waiting just out of sight, Twilight didn't bother with it. But as she swiveled that single thought into the spotlight, she realized what an idiot she was being. Nothing in this case was mundane. Even the most recognizable aspects of this boring-as-hay town deserved to be scrutinized.

As a relevant example, how in Tartarus had Spike managed to call her without his phone? The most innocent answer was that he'd just borrowed somepony else's. No big deal. It wasn't like this was a massive departure from Spike's character. But when she actually tried to line this up with the events as she understood them, her mundane explanation started to wither.

As she understood it, Spike had come home, realized his phone was missing, and proceeded to call it. Given how often he misplaced his phone, this was probably the most normal thing in the world. Except Twilight was positive her own phone was tucked away in her saddlebag. So whose phone had Spike used to call his own? Two answers presented themselves to Twilight, both of them loaded with a thousand questions she wasn't sure she wanted to answer. Either Spike had borrowed a phone from somepony else on his way home—which was ridiculously convenient—or he hadn't been alone when he returned and this mysterious guest had allowed him use of their phone.

Twilight shuddered involuntarily. The very thought of somepony—even a guest under Spike's supervision—inside her house made her feel exposed. But if somepony else had been with him, where had they run off to? It hadn't taken her that long to get home. He'd had about thirty minutes alone before Twilight arrived. But of course that was ample time for somepony to escape without being seen. Perhaps more disturbing than the idea of a stranger in Twilight's house was the fact that this was another fact Spike had potentially concealed. It seemed his supposedly newfound skill for withholding information had extended even further.

She was partially relieved when her phone rang. She'd almost started thinking about trust, that fragile concept she'd reluctantly handed out to the only fellow officer she felt deserved it. Her attention snatched by another potential distraction, she quickly answered the call.

“Hello?” she said.

She heard Fluttershy's anxious breathing before she heard the voice. Twilight's stomach clenched in fear at the sound. Had something happened? No, that was improbable, at least at this stage. She'd made sure of that. She'd checked and triple-checked her own plan before proceeding, like she'd done a million times. But then again, who was to say the masked pony hadn't also checked and triple-checked Twilight's logic? Twilight's head was a dangerous place. Anypony who willingly entered might lose themselves, but the reward would be substantial.

“A package came,” said Fluttershy.

Twilight was puzzled for a moment. Was Fluttershy reporting a crime? Had she been spooked by the deliverypony knocking on her door? Granted, it was rather early in the morning for anypony to be delivering a package, but it wasn't like the local post office was swamped. That was one of the few good things about living in this dead-end town: the efficiency of the postal service.

“Open the door and sign for it?” Twilight said.

Fluttershy's breathing was getting worse. Twilight was legitimately worried the poor mare might start hyperventilating. But despite her alarmed state, Fluttershy had still managed to make it to her phone and give Twilight a call. Admirable dedication.

“N-No, not like that,” said Fluttershy. “It was for you.”

Twilight had once seen a magician perform the classic tablecloth trick. She'd been quite young at the time, so she'd been in awe of what she mistook for advanced magic. It was only later in life that she recognized the trick for a simple sleight of hoof. But at the time she'd been captivated, drawn in by the sight of those dishes and glasses rattling but not falling as the magician snatched the tablecloth out from under them. That was how Twilight felt when Fluttershy spoke those words: as if the tablecloth had been snatched right from under her hooves.

“I'll be right over,” said Twilight.

She hung up, so frantic that she forgot all about easing Fluttershy's worries. She'd fucked up. She'd trusted blindly, throwing her faith in some random direction because it was the only way she could rationalize her next move. Why had Twilight believed she was breaking the rules? There were no rules. If there were, the masked pony saw no reason to follow them. Twilight could only hope that Fluttershy was okay.

Many convicts had tried—and failed—to break into Twilight's mind. This was a common tactic in interviews, a way to turn the tables and force her to explore herself for a few moments. A desperate distraction from their fate. It had likely worked on other officers, so why not Twilight? When taken into serious consideration, it was remarkably easy to refocus the conversation and tilt the scales.

But Twilight seemed immune to such complicated mind tricks. It wasn't that she couldn't be manipulated at all. In certain situations, she could be just as vulnerable as any other cop. She could fold and even bend, although never break entirely. But as soon as a part of her gave, all it took was a skilled tongue to redirect Twilight's questions and take control of the conversation. However, those who chose to go down this road were ultimately unsatisfied. They might succeed in getting into Twilight's brain, but what they found there usually rendered them speechless. Very few ponies could survive the trip deep into the unexplored caverns of Twilight's head. If the monsters didn't get them, the darkness would eat them alive.

However, the masked pony had gone in bravely and nothing they'd found had broken their resolve. Twilight was becoming increasingly afraid that the masked pony had made it to the bottom.

Fortunately, Fluttershy was alright. When Twilight arrived, Fluttershy was pacing in her living room. She was certainly shaken up, but who wouldn't be? She now had one hundred percent confirmation that the masked pony knew her address. Yet another pony pulled into the tangled web that had become Twilight's life. Even though Fluttershy had volunteered her services, she hadn't realized what she was signing up for when she accepted that non-verbal contract.

The box lay on Fluttershy's living room floor. It had been opened and tipped over, the contents spilling onto the living room floor. At first glance, there didn't seem to be anything too alarming in the box. Considering Fluttershy's reaction, Twilight had expected a severed head. Or was that too crude for the masked pony? Perhaps two eyeballs would have been more their style, a subtle but grisly message to urge Twilight's forward. Fortunately, the box seemed to contain only a bunch of photographs. No blood or gore.

Twilight returned the box to its original position and started withdrawing photos from it. She frowned as she examined each one. She'd anticipated pictures of her fellow officers, maybe her family members. It wouldn't have surprised her if the masked pony's communications had devolved into blatant threats. What else did they have at this point? But to Twilight's puzzlement, the photographs seemed to be of random ponies. They weren't citizens she recognized. In fact, most of them looked too rough or too fancy to have lived in Ponyville. Were these Canterlot citizens? Why was the masked pony sending Twilight what seemed to be candid photographs of Canterlot residents? As Twilight dug through the photos, she realized that they most certainly had been taken in Canterlot. She recognized a few boutiques and coffee places she'd often passed on her way home.

There was one photograph in the box that made Twilight pause. Unlike the other ones, this one didn't seem to be candid. In fact, this was a photo Twilight had seen more than once. She was certain this was a copy. The original was stuffed into a box somewhere.

It was a photograph of Shining Armor. He was smiling, one hoof around Cadence and the other raised in a salute. Twilight was standing at his other side, looking awkward in front of the camera as usual. Shining Armor's first day on the force. The first time he'd ever worn his uniform in public. He'd wanted to mark the occasion, to remember that moment for the rest of his life. Shining Armor's smiling face stared at Twilight, frozen in that beautiful moment of anticipation. Even through his confident grin, Twilight could see the nervousness in his eyes. He'd been so worried that day, but so determined to do a good job. He'd called Twilight that night and told her all about his rather uneventful first day. Twilight loved hearing the excitement in his voice as he described chasing a pair of vandals halfway across the city.

Twilight turned the photograph over. She told herself it was because she knew there was something written on the back, but in reality she just didn't want to look at Shining Armor's face anymore. She didn't want to think about where his optimism and determination to protect his family had gotten him.

There were two words written on the back in that familiar hoofwriting: Innocent and Guilty. Except “innocent” had been violently crossed out, while “guilty” had been circled.

Twilight stared at the photograph, not sure what she was supposed to take from it. Guilty of what? Had this case been about Shining Armor all along? Was this complicated attempt at revenge meant for him, not her? But that was ridiculous. Shining Armor was dead and buried. Twilight had been there. She'd seen his body, seen the casket, teared up as one of Shining's fellow officers gave a speech about Shining's accomplishments. The service had been lengthy and highly publicized. There was no way anypony in Equestria could believe he was alive and therefore fair game for some twisted revenge scheme.

Fluttershy had hesitantly approached Twilight, as if she was worried the photographs might bite her.

“Are you okay?” she said.

Twilight shoved the photo of Shining Armor into her saddlebag. She wasn't sure why the sight of it made her feel so uncomfortable. It was just the masked pony trying to mess with her as usual. There was probably no logic to it, no hidden meaning Twilight was supposed to decipher. It was a scare tactic, a distraction. An attempt at stealing Twilight's attention. There wasn't anything to it. There couldn't be anything to it.

“I'm alright,” said Twilight. “Worry about yourself, not me.”

Fluttershy was examining the other photos, a disturbed look on her face.

“How did that pony get so many pictures of you?” she said.

Twilight froze, her saddlebag suspended in her magic. She turned slowly to look at Fluttershy, half-believing the words had been some kind of weird joke. Ponies in this town seemed to have a strange sense of comedy that bordered on anti-humor. But she could tell by the look on Fluttershy's face that she wasn't joking.

“Pictures of...?” Twilight started.

She returned her attention to the photographs she'd merely glanced at before. She hadn't given them much thought after that initial look. Just pictures of random ponies going about their day. They weren't even very good pictures. They seemed to have been taken by somepony in a hurry, perhaps as they darted out of sight to avoid being seen. While Twilight was understandably puzzled and disturbed by this, she'd dismissed it as another cryptic message she could decode later.

But Fluttershy was right. These were photographs of Twilight. They were framed in such a way that the casual observer might have mistaken a random pony for being the focus, but another look revealed Twilight's presence in each shot. Sometimes she was standing a little bit off to the side, other times only a bit of her flank was visible. She was usually partially obscured by something or somepony in the background, but the more Twilight looked the more she recognized herself.

Twilight placed a trembling hoof on one of the photos. So somepony had been following her. Stalking her. They'd been there since Canterlot, lurking just out of sight with a camera. But why? Was this about Shining Armor or was it about her? Or was it somehow about both of them, the brother and sister who'd ended up following the same career path? The masked pony had obviously sent these to scare her, to show her that she'd never been safe. This had all started in Canterlot.

She turned each photo over. There were dates, times, and locations written on the back of each photograph. The masked pony had been tracking her for for what seemed like two months. Each date was lacking the year, but Twilight could make a rough estimate. If these were the only photographs and the time frame was accurate, this pony had been tracking her for approximately two months following her official graduation from the police academy. They'd started when Twilight was on the fast track to becoming a fully certified detective and stopped soon after she wrapped up her first case.

During that time, they seemed to have been especially interested in her going to and from work. They didn't seem to have gotten close to the station at any point. But of course the cops would have noticed a pony with a camera lurking outside of the station. But they also hadn't gotten close to Twilight's apartment. Were they afraid of being seen? Why had they even bothered taking those photographs to begin with? Were they just unusually interested in Twilight's walk from work to home and back? Had they just wanted to be one hundred percent certain of the route she took? But although Twilight did recall being stopped a few times during her walk from home to work and vice versa, none of these incidents stood out to her.

Which businesses were on Twilight's way to work? Off the top of her head, she remembered that one coffee and donut place. Her and Spike had gone there after work almost every day. She was skeptical of the place at first, but those were some fucking good donuts. The coffee was pretty good too. As an added bonus, Donut Joe was friends with Spike and therefore more inclined to grant them both a discount. But could Donut Joe be connected to this? That seemed ludicrous, but Twilight wasn't sure. Absurdity had become the new normal for her.

For the time being, she decided to put off contacting Donut Joe and hitting him with a barrage of strange questions. Maybe he was the answer, maybe he was another question. In either case, Twilight wanted to focus on something more concrete. There was another place, somewhere far more important than Donut Joe's. Now that she was one hundred percent certain that her life in Canterlot was connected to what was happening in Ponyville, Twilight realized she should have followed this line of inquiry a long time ago. Well, better late than never. There was still time to make something out of this, hopefully before this masked pony covered their tracks.

Her old apartment. If there were any clues to be found in Canterlot, that would be a good place to start.

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.

Chapter 13: Death

Canterlot might have had all the fancy boutiques and galleries, but Manehattan was ninety-percent art. Cooking academies, art schools, acting schools. Most of the greats had attended a school in Manehattan at some point before moving to Canterlot. Manehattan also had a thriving fashion industry to rival Canterlot's.

Occasionally Twilight wished she'd grown up in Manehattan. She might have pursued a career as a painter. She wasn't particularly skilled art-wise, but there was something about the romance of color and canvas that attracted her. Maybe it was the feeling of control, of being able to sculpt a world entirely her own with just a brush. But paintings were never exactly the way they appeared in one's imagination. There were always subtle differences, a shift in vibrancy. This was what made painting ultimately tragic, at least in Twilight's opinion.

Twilight read through the third letter again. She'd noticed a strange shift in the language, beginning somewhere around the end of Letter Three and continuing into Letter Four. If the letters were in order—she'd marked the supposed order at the top of the page, based on how they'd been placed in the box—this shift seemed to hint at the writer's mindset. The structure became even looser, even profoundly clumsy in some parts. It was like the pony who'd written these letters was struggling with putting their feelings into words.

Then there was another shift at the end of Letter Four. By the time they penned Letter Six, this mysterious pony seemed to have regained their confidence. So what had happened to them during Letter Three and Letter Four? Had they started to doubt the relationship, only to regain steam after a while?

There were no dates and of course all the important information had been taken out. The masked pony wanted Twilight to have these letters, but they obviously didn't want her to know the ponies involved. Then what was the point? How was Twilight supposed to make something out of this evidence?

Twilight grabbed her mug and took a long sip of tea. What did she know about the pony who'd written the letters? What could she ascertain about them from their words alone? Letters like these were meant to leave the sender vulnerable, to expose their soul. The more Twilight read, the more she was learning about a pony she may or may not have considered relevant under normal circumstances. A profile was coming together in her head.

Well-read and slightly egocentric. Those were the first words that popped into Twilight's head. Being one herself, she knew how to spot a fellow egghead. The letters were peppered with long-dead sayings and references to obscure literature. It was only thanks to Twilight's extensive library and love of old books that she even noticed. This was the first time either had really come in handy during an investigation.

Miserable. It wasn't obvious during Letter One, Two, or Three, but Letter Four kicked off a trend that became more apparent as Twilight continued. Although the words were always affectionate and casual, there was an element of melancholy to some of the shorter paragraphs. There were times when the language unraveled completely and the entire tone of the letter changed. It was as if the pony writing it had bent hit by a wave of regret. Phrases like “The hearts that beat next to each other” were replaced with “Into our coffins we go as one, blessed by the moon to enter death together”. Each morbid counterpart seemed to imply death or disaster in some way or another, as if the writer was preoccupied with thoughts of their own end.

Bitter. Twilight had to re-read the first letter again to pick up on it, but eventually she noticed. It started in Letter One and steadily intensified as Twilight read through the others. Whenever the prose loosened, the writer would unleash a stream of sour thoughts. The words “So few are free of sin” appeared several times in Letter Two. In fact, they seemed to enjoy using words like “sin”, and “sinful”, and “sinners”. Was Twilight detecting guilt, perhaps a bit of projection?

Were these letters written by the masked pony to a second party? But why would they want Twilight to read letters they had written? The masked pony had never turned the spotlight on themselves. They'd never invited Twilight to dissect them, preferring to keep their own mind at a distance and leave everything up to interpretation. These letters weren't vague. They were definitive. But if not the masked pony, who had written the letters? Were these letters between two other ponies entirely? Bronze Hoof and Cherry Blush maybe? Except these letters didn't fit their profiles. Bronze Hoof had gone to an acting school in Manehattan, but nothing about him had struck Twilight as “well-read”. Slightly ego-centric maybe, but well-read? The same went for Cherry Blush, who likely had been more interested in mystery novels than obscure fiction.

Twilight tried to think of ponies she'd known in Canterlot, but she came up blank. The problem was that these letters were personal. If—as a random example—Donut Joe had written them, she would have only been partially shocked. A pony could have four different personae, one for each facet of their life. Bronze Hoof and Cherry Blush had been straightforward personality-wise, but Twilight had never gotten to know Donut Joe. She'd scarcely gotten to know anypony at the station in Canterlot, other than Spike. But that in itself seemed to absolve all of her fellow officers—even those she'd busted—from being involved. Even for those she'd wronged, Twilight didn't think she'd wronged them enough to warrant any of this. If she was being brutally honest, she also doubted most of her fellow officers could have pulled off something this elaborate.

However, this wasn't all about her. Cadence and Shining Armor stood at the other points of the triangle. Twilight just had to fill in the massive blank space in the middle. What or who connected all of them, especially with Shining Armor gone?

The last letter in the box was unfinished. The top half was intact, but the bottom half was missing. It seemed to have been ripped off, likely in a violent outburst of some kind. Did the masked pony have the other half? If so, were they planning to send it to Twilight at some point? Why not give her everything at once if they were so eager to give her these letters? Considering all the information that had been redacted, what could that second half have possibly contained?

The first half seemed to have been written in a hurry, but it was legible.

We could have a life together. We could fall asleep under the stars. We could live in each others' hearts. We could find compromise in all the right places. We could complete each other. We could be the sun and moon. We could take off our masks. We could stand naked at the precipice of the world. We could shed our fur. We could live on the edge of the universe. We could become the beginning. We could forget. We could tuck ourselves away from pain. We could become one with the sky and drift away forever.

Twilight read over it again, as if she could somehow will the second half of the letter into existence.

“We could take off our masks”. “Take off our masks”. “Our masks”.

She mouthed the words to herself over and over again, like a silent mantra. She rested her hoof on the letter, glancing at the words as if she was afraid they might rearrange themselves. She followed the jagged tear with her eyes, imagining a pony seizing the paper in a fit of rage and ripping it in half. Twilight tried in vain to attach a face to the image, to create an answer out of nothing. But all she could see was the fox mask and the cloak.

Twilight glanced at the object leaning against the kitchen counter. She stared into its lifeless eye holes, shuddering involuntarily. The fox mask. Twilight had taken it more out of impulse than anything else, grabbing it before leaving the building for good. The masked pony undoubtedly had more than one mask, but Twilight wanted to have that one in particular. A part of her felt as if she was meant to have it, as if the masked pony had left it for her along with the letters. She should have thrown it in the evidence locker, but Twilight couldn't part with it. She also couldn't bring herself to put it somewhere else, even though she could feel its blank eye holes staring at her as she worked. She didn't want to touch it, even with her magic.

At that very moment, Spike returned. He'd been gone for a few hours—the sun had just disappeared below the trees—but he hadn't tried to contact Twilight after those initial messages.

“Dinner,” he said.

He held up a bag, a nervous look on his face. It was happening again. That awkward stab at falsifying normality. They both knew it was fake and that made it worse. It would have been easier trying to rebuild from the ground up, as if they were meeting each other for the first time. But neither of them wanted that. It had taken years to construct this mutually beneficial and friendly relationship. They couldn't just start over and hope for the best. Not in Ponyville, not after everything that had happened. The best they could do—the best Spike was willing to do—was pretend nothing had happened. But they couldn't even get that right.

Twilight gave Spike a curt nod and muttered a “thank you”. Quite absentmindedly, she swept the letters off the kitchen table and into her open saddlebag. She'd done this a few times in the past, but never with Spike. She'd always treated him as a partner, even when he had no obligation to be involved in a case. Now it seemed as if Twilight had defaulted to looking at him as a mere roommate. She shared a house with him, but their careers and their lives were separate.

Turning his back on Twilight, Spike plopped the bag down on the counter.

“You should eat,” he said. “You didn't have lunch, right?”

He started taking steaming containers out of the bag. The food wasn't an apology or even a peace offering. It was just courtesy, a friendly gesture. He clearly knew how hard she was working and he didn't want her to neglect her basic needs. Twilight found that touching in a way. Despite the rift between them, he was still going out of his way to take care of her health.

“I'll be fine,” said Twilight.

Spike didn't turn around, but he groaned and rolled his eyes. He continued pulling containers out of the bag. He'd cracked the lids slightly, allowing the intoxicating aroma to escape. Despite what Twilight had said, her mouth started watering at the smell. Baked vegetables and pasta. Spike knew all of her weaknesses.

“No, you won't be fine,” said Spike. “Have you even slept?”

Twilight realized she'd neglected to mention the drugging incident to him. She almost brought it up, but she stopped herself. Spike must have noticed the fox mask leaning against the kitchen counter, yet he'd kept his mouth shut. He was trying to pretend he had no interest in the case because Twilight hadn't asked him for help. But maybe that was for the best. There was something bothering Twilight, something about Spike in particular. Unsure how to put it into words, Twilight decided to ignore it until she could get a better grip on this vague sense of unease.

“You should get some sleep,” said Spike. “Its been a long week and...”

He reached into the bag and pulled something else out. He paused, staring at the item in his claws with a puzzled expression. That definitely wasn't a container.

“What the?” he said.

Twilight backed up so quickly she bumped her rear against the kitchen table. She gaped at the thing in Spike's claws, her heartbeat increasing. She wasn't sure where the reaction was even coming from at first. But somehow this awareness made it worse. She could feel herself struggling to hold onto sanity, but she didn't know why. Her throat dry, Twilight raised a hoof and pointed at the object Spike was holding.

“Crow,” she managed.

It was indeed a crow, or rather a crow mask. Not one of those cheap novelty masks foals wore on Nightmare Night. This had been crafted by skilled hooves. It was too detailed

a recreation to be found in a shop window.

When Twilight was a young filly, she'd gone to a Nightmare Night festival with Shining Armor and Cadence. That was the first—and only—year all three of them wore similar costumes. As per Twilight's request, the three of them dressed as witches. Shining Armor went for something more modern, complete with a long robe and black eyeliner, while Cadence and Twilight stuck to the more traditional interpretation. Although they spent most of the festival just eating candy and exploring the various “haunted houses”, it was one of the best nights of Twilight's life. She knew the festival was meant to be scary, but she wasn't even slightly frightened by all the plastic skeletons and fake ghosts.

But there was one thing that terrified her. She'd spotted it at one of the booths and decided to get a closer look. It was the only time that night she'd been curious enough to wander away from Cadence and Shining Armor. She was waiting for them outside of a photo booth, growing more and more impatient as the two took yet another roll of pictures.

A crow mask. A horrifyingly well-detailed crow mask was hanging from the side of the booth. There were others—bears, frogs, even spiders—but Twilight's attention was captured by the crow mask. She just stared at it, looking into its lifeless eye holes. The more she stared at it, the more uncomfortable she became. She was never quite sure why. But Twilight felt like it was staring at her. Twilight didn't know how long she stood there, simply staring at the mask as if she expected it to open its beak and start scolding her.

Then Shining and Cadence had appeared at her side, both admonishing her for wandering off. It was their words that had forced her to snap out of it, their closeness that had given Twilight the strength to tear her eyes away. She'd forgotten about it after some cotton candy and enjoyed the rest of the festival. But that mask had found its way into her nightmares.

Now it was back, taunting her with its blank eye holes as it hung from Spike's claws. It wasn't the same mask—this one was a lot more detailed—but that didn't matter. What mattered was that it had found her after all those years. That creeping fear, the feeling of indescribable malice attached to an inanimate object.

Spike placed the mask on the counter, his face filled with worry.

“Are you okay?” he said. “Do you need to lie down?”

Twilight did need to lie down, but she shook her head. As somepony who'd studied magic for several years, she knew all about crows. They came up frequently in old literature and folktales, usually as a stand-in for a malevolent force. Traditionally, crows were considered death omens. However, the legends went a bit further than that. Supposedly, those who wore crow masks brought death with them wherever they went. Crow feathers were considered unlucky and very few ponies would use quill pens made from them. But those were just stories, tales of misfortune exaggerated by historians and scholars. Superstition given weight by fact.

“Where did you get that?” said Twilight.

She didn't intend for it to sound so accusatory, but that's how it came out.

Spike glanced from the mask to Twilight's face. His brow knitted with worry, he took a step towards her. He was relieved when she didn't back away from him, but the tension in the room was unbearable.

“I didn't know it was in there,” he said. “I promise.”

His voice weakened at the last word. Maybe if he'd kept his voice steady, his defense would have been readily accepted. After all, nothing about the situation indicated it was planned. Despite Twilight's tone of voice, she really hadn't considered any of this being on purpose. But Spike noted the shift in Twilight's emotional state when he spoke, that subtle change in expression.

“Throw it away,” Twilight said.

Twilight turned and left the kitchen, ignoring Spike's weak plea for her to remain. She was angry at herself for having such a strong reaction to something so ridiculous. This was the scarecrow all over again, except even more foolish. But as much as she tried to direct her animosity inward, a single thought nagged at her. She was trying to smother it, pressing the pillow over its muzzle to seal its airways. But somehow the bastard was still breathing, pulling enough air into its lungs to gasp out its purpose.

He wouldn't, she told herself.

But she couldn't help thinking about the crow mask. What exactly was the masked pony implying? Whatever they were trying to say, Twilight was suddenly feeling threatened.

Those first few months following Cadence and Shining's wedding had been difficult. She'd been very open with how she felt, had confessed—when she thought Twilight wasn't eavesdropping—that she felt like an invader.

Twilight had never been the jealous type. She could stand to be pushed to the side a little if it meant Shining Armor was happy. If anything, she felt as if she was intruding on the happiness of two lovebirds That was why she began to withdraw during those few months, distancing herself from her brother and his new life. So many things were happening to him that had nothing to do with her.

She'd lost touch with them during her studies. But it never felt like losing touch. It felt like letting Shining Armor breathe. For the first time in years, he didn't have to worry about his little sister.

However, as it turned out, he did have to worry. After all, he was still Twilight's big brother. At the end of the day, that's what hurt the most: feeling as if this whole thing was a punishment, as if Twilight had asked for this. If only she'd stayed away, if only she hadn't decided to reconnect with him when he'd reached the height of his career. If only she hadn't been so naive.

Twilight locked herself in her bedroom. She almost barricaded the door, but she stopped herself. This was completely outlandish. Did she think that crow mask was going to sprout legs and come after her? Preposterous. Sweet Celestia, maybe she did need to have a nice long nap. Forget about masks and love letters for a little while and start taking care of herself.

But before she did that, she wanted to read those love letters again. She'd felt as if she was getting somewhere, but Spike's unexpected entrance had snatched her attention. Now that she was alone, she had a much better chance of cracking the code. There had to be some hidden message she wasn't getting. Perhaps it was time for Twilight to bring out her cryptology book.

She grabbed the massive book from the small bookshelf in her room. A birthday present from Rarity. Twilight didn't remember telling anypony her birthday—she'd made a point not to—but she was grateful for the gift. As a filly, she'd been obsessed with secret codes.

Twilight opened the book and scanned the index. This shouldn't take long. There were only two hundred codes in the book. If she narrowed it down to the most likely candidates, there were around forty. Shouldn't take very long. Then she could finally get some rest.

Her phone rang. Already on edge, Twilight cried out and dropped the book. She whirled around, her horn glowing and her eyes scanning the room in a panic. When she readjusted her senses and realized it was just her phone, she sighed in relief. But who in Tartarus was calling her?

She snatched up her phone and answered it. She was fully prepared to hang up if it was Pinkie Pie asking about her favorite type of confetti.

“What?” she snapped.

There was a humorless laugh.

“Good morning to you too,” said a voice.

It was Moondancer. She didn't sound pleased. But then again, this wasn't necessarily due to Twilight's rude greeting. If anything, she was bitter about the fact that she was stuck in Canterlot. While she didn't envy Twilight's new life in Ponyville, she was deeply interested in this case—she knew very little, but even those vague details intrigued her—and was angry that she couldn't at least pop in and do some sleuthing of her own.

“Did they find anything at my apartment?” said Twilight.

She imagined Moondancer taking a sip from that Coffee Queen mug she had on her desk. A gift from Twilight. Well, technically a re-gift. Moondancer had bought it for Twilight a few years back and Twilight had given it to her as a farewell present. Moondancer would never dare admit how much the gesture meant to her.

“Forget your apartment,” said Moondancer. “Something happened with Cadence.”

Twilight's blood ran cold. No. NO. Not Cadence. What could have happened to her? The image of Bronze Hoof jumped into Twilight's mind. She pictured every detail of his ghastly fate. An innocent stallion. All for the sake of sending Twilight a message, of shocking her. The masked pony hadn't viewed Bronze Hoof as a living creature, a pony with hopes and dreams. They'd seen him as a tool. The fact that he was alive had simply been an inconvenience to this pony, something to be corrected. They'd never cared about his heart, only the flesh and fur.

“Is she..?” Twilight started.

But she couldn't say it. Nothing could make her spit out that horrible word, could make her want to continue in a reality like this. Cadence had been her foalsitter, her friend. Practically a big sister. They'd lost each other, their relationship clouded by Shining Armor's death. But Twilight believed they could reconnect, that the pain of their shared loss couldn't erase years of laughter and telling each other secrets. Twilight would never be able to accept all of that being taken away.

“Oh, she's fine,” said Moondancer. “Her place was robbed.”

Twilight took a deep breath. What would she have done if Moondancer had told her the opposite? Would the news have crippled her investigation or would she have redoubled her efforts? Twilight was glad she didn't have to find out. The pendulum could have swung in either direction.

“What was taken?” she said.

She heard Moondancer shuffling papers. The familiar sound of a notebook being flipped open gave Twilight a pang of longing. It was strange to miss a notebook of all things, but there was something special about those police-issued notebooks. They made her feel as if she was part of something. Not a family, but a group of like-minded individuals dedicated to one goal. Twilight's one and only gift upon taking up her position in Ponyville had been a mug. The mug—cracked and obviously very old—had bore the words Ponyville Police in dark dramatic letters. Some remnant from a pony who'd held Twilight's position two decades ago.

“A ring?” said Moondancer. “Wait, no, that can't be right...”

Twilight heard more papers being shuffled, but she didn't wait for Moondancer to correct herself. Her heart was already sinking. She knew that hadn't been a mistake on Moondancer's part. Twilight had come to know the masked pony all too well. She knew the kind of pony she was dealing with and what they wanted, even though she couldn't for the life of her understand why.

Weddings in general—at least the traditional kind—were entrenched in ancient unicorn culture. Wedding rings were one of the oldest and most respected traditions, although those hip modern ponies loved to buck the old ways. But Cadence had insisted and Shining Armor fell in love with the idea. The rings weren't worn after the ceremony, but they were usually kept and passed down.

Twilight smiled bitterly. She tried not to think about things like that, but sometimes they just crept up on her. Foals. She'd never wanted any herself, but she knew Shining and Cadence had been eager to start their family. They'd talked about it constantly, had even started buying foal clothes long before the possibility of pregnancy was even on the table. Next year. That was what they'd said when Twilight asked. Next year. But there hadn't been a “next year”, had there? At least not for Shining Armor.

However, she didn't have much time to dwell on that. She hadn't processed it when Moondancer first said it, but now Twilight was starting to wonder. Clearly the robbery had been reported recently, otherwise Moondancer would have mentioned it before. How often did Cadence check on the wedding ring? If she had to guess, Twilight would have estimated once a day. Of course Cadence would be wary of losing a physical reminder of the spouse she'd lost. Of course that ring would be well-guarded. It couldn't have just vanished right under Cadence's muzzle and its disappearance left unnoticed for days or weeks.

The masked pony must have been in Canterlot. But how was that possible? Regardless of how incorporeal they seemed, this pony was as solid as Twilight or Spike. So how had they basically teleported from Ponyville to Canterlot, then back again? Magic? That was certainly possible, but a spell that powerful required years of study. Having mastered it herself, Twilight knew it wasn't a common skill. She also knew that teleporting long distances—like from Ponyville to Canterlot—was nearly impossible even for a unicorn like her.

But there was another possibility, an idea already taking root. What if the masked pony had accomplices? Connections? Not in Ponyville. No, they could have Ponyville all to themselves. The town was small enough and their target disconnected enough to manage. But Canterlot? Canterlot was massive and somewhat far away.

“Do you have a suspect yet?” said Twilight.

Moondancer sighed in frustration.

“Of course not, you idiot,” she said. “We just got the report an hour ago. We haven't even started looking yet. Why?”

Twilight's mind was racing. How in Tartarus was she supposed to navigate this? She was still unwilling to leave Ponyville. Even if she did, what was she supposed to do? Even if she showed up in Canterlot and marched into the station, Twilight no longer had the authority to barge into an investigation. By Canterlot standards, she was basically a civilian. Her favors only went so far.

Moondancer immediately realized what Twilight wanted. She spoke up, her voice filled with disapproval.

“Sorry, but I can't do that,” she said. “I could lose my job. Unless you have proof that this robbery is connected to your investigation?”

Twilight hesitated. She could always lie, but Moondancer would probably see through that within seconds. While Twilight knew for a fact that this was connected to her case, what actual physical proof did she have? None. Not a single scrap of evidence to connect this seemingly random theft to what she was investigating. Yes, it involved Cadence and Cadence seemed to be at least somewhat connected to Twilight's case. But the wedding ring was an entirely different matter. Twilight would need to take a different path, something less direct.

“I need you to put me in contact with Cadence,” said Twilight. “Tell her to call me as soon as possible. We need to talk about a few things.”

She waited, worried that she'd crossed a line. Surely she could get away with something like that. Cadence was her friend, or at least had been. Plus Twilight had evidence that Cadence was connected to the case, so she had the right to request an interview.

Moondancer hesitated, weighing how much trouble she could potentially find herself in. She could easily play it off, but there was still the chance of her getting chewed out or even suspended. Despite having been there for a while, she was still trotting on stilts. It had taken years for Twilight to build a solid foundation of trust and respect. Moondancer had barely scratched the surface.

“Will do,” said Moondancer.

She paused.

“Hey Twilight?” she said.

Caught off guard by Moondancer's serious tone, Twilight hesitated before answering. She sensed a general shift in the conversation and she didn't particularly like it.

“Yes?” she said.

More shuffling, but it sounded more absentminded. Moondancer was trying to distract herself from her own words.

“Be careful,” said Moondancer. “If anything happens to me, Canterlot is going to need you.”

From the way she said it, it sounded like she'd been doubting herself for a while. But who could blame her? Even with approximately the same skill level, Twilight Sparkle was a hard act to follow. She'd completely given herself to her work, shutting out her family, the few ponies who came close to being her friends, and any semblance of socializing she might have dabbled in. Twilight was the real deal, a pony who'd fallen so deep into her job that she was indistinguishable from it. Moondancer was just her replacement.

“Then you'd better make sure nothing happens to you,” said Twilight.

She didn't intend it to sound so grim, but that was how it came out. She knew Canterlot had turned its back on her. She was never going back. Even though Twilight lamented it every day, she understood that Ponyville was her home.

Despite how much the small town infuriated her, she wanted to protect it. Maybe it wasn't for her, but Twilight saw the value in that sort of life. That was another reason she couldn't let the masked pony get away with what they were doing.

Spike sat down at the kitchen table, a steaming container in front of him. He slipped his claw under the lid and started to open it, humming to himself. If he didn't like the taste of his own cooking so much, he might have ordered out more often. Everything in Canterlot tasted too fancy, but Ponyville prided itself on simple home-cooked meals. Spike didn't have to struggle with remembering overcomplicated names. He could order a bowl of carrot soup and that would be the extent of it.

His phone started vibrating, distracting Spike from the alluring smell. With a sigh, he withdrew his claw and stood up. He would have ignored it in favor of stuffing his face, but Spike couldn't afford to miss calls.

He checked to make sure Twilight was still in her bedroom, then grabbed his phone and answered. It might not have been important. It could have been Pinkie Pie with another frosting emergency or Rainbow Dash wanting to hang out again. But Spike couldn't take that chance.

“Hello?” he said.

He listened for a minute, frowning.

“Right now?” he said.

Spike glanced in the direction of Twilight's bedroom. Had he heard a door opening or was it just his imagination? He tensed, waiting for Twilight to come galloping out of her room and into the kitchen. When she didn't, Spike relaxed a little. Of course Twilight had locked herself in her room, probably intent on busting the case wide open. He knew better than to assume she was finally getting some sleep.

“I'll be there,” said Spike. “But you have it, right? The whole thing?”

He listened for a few minutes, nodding at regular intervals even though he knew the pony on the other end couldn't see it. Spike raised his claw to his chin and sighed, then leaned against the counter.

“Good,” he said.

He paused, listening intently.

“The usual place,” he said. “I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

He said goodbye, then quickly hung up. No time to waste. He had ponies—well, a pony—to see and things to do. If he played his cards right, everything was about to change. But he wasn't sure if they were going to change for better or for worse. He'd just have to wait and see.

Chapter 14: Loyalty

Twilight had never thought about the end of her career.

Eventually she would leave the force, as did most officers once they reached a certain age. Maybe once this chapter in her life finally closed, she'd refocus on that promising career as a professor she'd turned down all those years ago. Anything was possible. Once the streets were completely clean, Twilight would have no reason to stay.

The last thing she expected was to be transferred. The last thing she wanted was to be called into her superior's office on a rainy day and given the worst news of her career. She'd taken it with little comment, practically shrugging it off. It was only later—drinking with Spike—that she confessed her true feelings. The sense of betrayal was almost too much for her. But somehow Twilight drank it all away, drowning everything she'd ever loved in booze. Spike had to carry her home that night.

Her superior thought Twilight needed a break. An actual break. She said Twilight was working herself to death, that Twilight needed to get away. This job was supposed to hurt, it was supposed to take things away and give certain things back. But the work—just the bare work—wasn't supposed to kill a pony. If death came at all, it came in the form of an arrow to the head or a knife to the throat. But Twilight was working herself into an early grave, or so her superior insisted.

Twilight had been insulted. She respected her boss, but she couldn't believe the nonsense she was hearing. Working herself too hard? How ridiculous. So what if Twilight pulled a few all-nighters? That was normal. So what if she sometimes didn't sleep for weeks on end? So what if she'd collapsed from pure exhaustion that one time? Well, it was more than once. Twilight had lost count, especially as it had been happening more and more recently. But so what? She was passionate about her job. Why was she being punished for loving her work? Utterly ludicrous.

Twilight nearly laughed at the irony. Ponyville was supposed to be quiet. It was supposed to be safe. Yet it had become neither of those things. Just by going there, Twilight had awakened long-forgotten sins. Maybe this was her curse.

Interviewing Cadence over the phone felt wrong, but Twilight was also somewhat relieved by the arrangement. She'd interviewed grieving spouses and even interrogated fillies and colts. But somehow she wasn't willing to put Cadence's life under the lens, even if Cadence wasn't a suspect. She knew her resolve would break if they talked face-to-face.

She was surprised when Cadence called her so soon after the conversation with Moondancer. Had Cadence been eager to call or was Twilight reading too much into it?

“I hope you weren't doing anything important,” said Cadence.

Twilight placed the crow mask on her bedside table. Having gotten over the re-emergence of an old fear, she'd been examining it. It was an impressive piece of work, although throughly creepy. The craftsmanship was superb. Probably made in Manehattan. Likely a special order, as she'd surmised before. Something like this wouldn't be just casually hanging in a window. Would it be easy to trace? Unlikely. Manehattan was a big place. Dozens of ponies were ordering masks like this every day. Theater groups bought them in bulk.

Then Twilight had realized. Theater groups. Theater. Manehatten. Bronze Hoof. There had to be something there, right? Obscured by the more obvious facts of the case, but there. Now that Twilight had started moving things around, an idea was emerging. Or at least an idea had been emerging until Cadence suddenly called her.

“No, nothing,” said Twilight.

She jumped right in, unwilling to let the conversation waver. She had a thousand questions about how Cadence was doing. Had she developed any new hobbies? Had she kept in touch with any of her old friends? Did she still go to that donut place ever so often? Was she alright or did she feel as if she needed Twilight's company? But Twilight knew this wasn't about satisfying her guilt. This was supposed to be professional.

“So your wedding ring was stolen?” she said.

Cadence said nothing for what felt like several minutes. She seemed to be weighing the information in her head, but Twilight couldn't figure out why. Although Cadence hadn't been in love with the written word, she'd always been an intelligent pony. She always seemed to know what to say in any given situation, her calm nurturing tone a constant comfort. Falling out of contact with her had deprived Twilight of something she didn't even know she needed.

At last, Cadence spoke. Her voice was quiet and quaking with fear, as if she was barely keeping herself together. Twilight had never heard Cadence sound so unlike herself.

There had been an incident many years ago, back when Twilight was a filly. The incident had involved a break-in, or at least what Twilight mistook for a break-in. She'd been convinced that somepony was in the house. Normally collected in tense situations, Cadence's desire to protect Twilight had briefly overridden her rational mind. She'd gone into a panic, caught between calling the police and getting Twilight out of the house. Fortunately, a search of the house revealed no signs of an intruder. It had been Twilight's overactive imagination again. But Twilight never forgot the look of terror in Cadence's eyes and how her voice shook.

“I don't know what to do,” said Cadence.

It was at that moment that Twilight's detachment crumbled. She'd known Cadence for years. They'd more or less grown up together. They were family. These were undeniable facts, truths Twilight could no longer ignore for the sake of the investigation. But this wasn't the Cadence who'd read Twilight fairytales before bed. Cadence had always known what to do, even if she'd seemed lost in the moment.

“They'll find it,” said Twilight. “Moondancer knows what she's doing.”

Cadence was silent for a few seconds, then she suddenly spoke in a rushed tone.

“I should have called you,” she said. “I'm not sure why I didn't. But it happened so long ago and I didn't want to bother you.”

Confused and beginning to fill with dread, Twilight hesitated.

“What happened?” she said. “Cadence, what's going on?”

Another long silence, this one more crushing than the last. Twilight wanted her question answered, but a part of her also wanted to remain blissfully innocent. This wasn't how she'd expected their reunion to turn out. It wasn't even a reunion, at least not in the traditional sense. But the deeper Twilight went into this investigation, the more she came to realize that nothing was ever going to be the same. The relationships she'd built were in the past, their components rearranged into some hideous mockery of closeness. Twilight was never going to reconnect with Cadence, at least not in the same way. Perhaps the same went for Spike and those she'd left behind in Canterlot.

“Somepony was following me,” said Cadence.

Twilight said nothing, but Cadence needed no prompting. She'd been eager to talk about it, to finally get it off her chest. It felt like passing on an enormous burden.

“It happened half a year ago,” said Cadence. “At first I thought I was imagining it. But I kept seeing them out of the corner of my eye. I thought about calling the police, but I wasn't sure what to tell them. I didn't have any evidence. Not at first anyway.”

She paused. The next part seemed to be more difficult for her. She was clearly hesitant to say it, as if she worried that Twilight wouldn't believe her. But that was foolish. Twilight would have believed almost anything Cadence said, regardless of context.

“I started taking a camera with me everywhere,” said Cadence. “I wanted to get a picture of them to prove I hadn't lost my mind. It took a few weeks, but I finally managed to get a clear photograph of the pony following me. I caught their reflection in a shop window.”

She took a deep breath. Her voice was no longer shaking, but the fear hadn't completely disappeared.

“They were wearing a mask,” said Cadence. “A crow mask.”

She let out a shaky sigh.

“They disappeared after I took the picture,” she said. “I didn't see them again, so I think they stopped following me.”

Twilight opened her mouth to say something reassuring, but nothing came out. So the masked pony had been following Cadence. But why? Did they just want Cadence to see them, for her to feel threatened? That did seem like something the masked pony would do. But to what end? What was their ultimate goal?

Paranoia. The word jumped into Twilight's head, sending her brain reeling. Yes, this masked pony clearly wanted Twilight and Cadence afraid and vulnerable. They reveled in it. But why? It had to be personal. Something Cadence, Twilight, and Shining had done together. A wrong that demanded punishment. But what could that be? Was there a wrongdoing that connected the three of them, a shared lapse of judgment or fatal mistake?

Twilight furrowed her brow. No, she was being far too logical. Too simplistic and limiting. Had she put many ponies behind bars during her career? Yes. Had she made mistakes, had she been indirectly responsible for tragedies? Yes. Did these errors warrant retaliation? On a smaller scale, anypony effected by Twilight's mistakes could easily come to this conclusion. But ultimately that was too rational. Twilight wasn't dealing with a sane mind. A brilliant and calculated one to be sure, but a pony whose vision of reality was ever so slightly skewed and their idea of justice warped. This wasn't about any of Twilight's previous cases. There was something going on behind the scenes, something emotional that Twilight was failing to understand.

“Twilight?”

She jumped. She'd completely forgotten that Cadence was still on the line. Twilight had been standing there for a good three or four minutes, just staring at the wall and pondering. As much she wanted to get back to that, there was something else on her mind.

“How exactly did you notice your ring was missing?” said Twilight.

This was crossing a line, but she no longer cared. Twilight had been an officer for years and she'd never once broken the rules, had never been put on probation, had never been temporarily relieved of her duties. But this wasn't about the station in Canterlot or even the one in Ponyville. Twilight was willing to accept any punishment, even a stern lecture over meddling in a case that didn't involve her.

“I keep it in a glass case near my bed,” said Cadence. “Sometimes I take it out and look at it. Not very often, but sometimes. This time I noticed something was off.”

Twilight's heart was racing.

“A fake?” she said.

She started reevaluating her earlier theory. Maybe the masked pony was working alone. Feverish in their devotion and determined, but working alone. This gave Twilight a little hope.

“An incredibly good one,” said Cadence. “I should have noticed sooner.”

She sounded defeated. It seemed she'd already given up on the police finding her ring. This wasn't unreasonable. The longer an item was missing, the less likely the police were to ever find it. There had been some infamous exceptions—such as the chest of jewelry that was found several years after the culprits vanished into thin air—but these were notable outliers. Historically, the station in Canterlot was shit-awful at finding missing items after they'd been gone for more than twenty-four hours.

Twilight's mind was racing. How could she reassure Cadence without giving away everything? Strictly speaking, she wasn't allowed to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation with somepony not directly involved. But even without that rule, Twilight would have been hesitant. She felt personally responsible for keeping Cadence as far away from all of this as possible. Cadence had already gotten a taste of the masked pony's nature and it had clearly unsettled her. How could Twilight live with herself if she pulled Cadence deeper into the abyss?

Unfortunately, Cadence had already sensed that something was going on. She'd always been so perceptive of others' emotions, especially when it came to Twilight and Shining Armor.

“Twilight, what in Celestia's name is going on?” she said.

Sighing in defeat, Twilight reluctantly told Cadence everything. She started with Bronze Hoof's body, then moved on to the mysterious first note and everything that had come afterward. The events sounded even more horrific when spoken aloud. Nothing Twilight was describing sounded real, but her rigid sincerity made it clear that she wasn't exaggerating. She also couldn't stop her voice from trembling as she described her experience in that abandoned building. It hadn't struck her as particularly terrifying at the time, but now her emotions were catching up with her. The irrational and unbridled anger that had overtaken her before, the rush of pure animosity that had caused her to destroy that mannequin, had merely been masking the horror she felt. Now it was all out there, plain and unrelenting.

A part of her wanted to ask Cadence for advice. But how could Cadence be expected to offer anything helpful? This wasn't a sprained hoof or a school bully. Cadence had been a truly amazing foalsitter, a gift to brighten up Twilight's young life. But Twilight was no longer a foal and Cadence was no longer her sitter. Their dynamic had changed and Cadence had somehow become one of the least important aspects of Twilight's life.

Cadence was silent for several minutes. Twilight couldn't blame her. If she'd been on the receiving end of this story, Twilight would have been equally speechless.

“Explosives in an abandoned building?” said Cadence.

That wasn't what Twilight expected Cadence to take from all of that, but at least it was easier for her to respond to this simple concern.

“I disabled them before I left,” she said.

There was a short pause before Cadence spoke again.

“No, that's not what I meant,” she said. “Twilight, are you sure you should keep going? It sounds like the masked pony really wants to kill you.”

Twilight started to correct Cadence, to tell her that it was the opposite. But she stopped, her heart sinking as the realization washed over her. What if the masked pony did want to kill her? She'd dismissed the idea before, secure in her assessment of the masked pony's goals. But goals could change. Or perhaps the roots weren't the only parts of the tree Twilight should have been looking at. There were branches right above her head, some of them reaching towards the indifferent sky. Paths and possibilities, all connected to the same wooden base.

The masked pony had become more generous lately, more open and less cryptic. They were trying to tell her a story. But why now? Why not in the beginning? Was it simply the thrill of dragging this out, of forcing Twilight to wait for each reveal? Or was it merely because this little game was drawing to a close? Except a game like this couldn't truly end, could it? No, Twilight wouldn't stop just because the masked pony withdrew. She'd follow this to the ends of Equestria, pursuing the very idea of the masked pony until she finally found them. She'd spend the rest of her life searching if she had to, she'd make deals, she'd bargain, she'd tear Equestria apart. Nopony could disappear forever. Nopony could hide from Twilight's keen eye.

But there was one other way to put an end to this. A way for the masked pony to escape, for Twilight to never find the truth, for this game to reach a single damning conclusion. The grand finale.

Twilight's prison. Her final case. The end the masked pony thought she deserved. The cell she would rot in for all of eternity. Her soul unfulfilled, the truth inches from Twilight's hooves. She'd never be at peace.

“I'm sorry, Cadence,” said Twilight.

Cadence sounded puzzled.

“Sorry about what?” she said.

Twilight considered her words carefully.

“I should have contacted you,” she said. “You were struggling and I abandoned you. I know you don't blame me, but I also know I have no excuse for my behavior.”

Cadence sounded even more puzzled, perhaps a little frightened.

“I forgive you,” she said. “But why are you saying this? What's happening? Twilight?”

Twilight had a lot of regrets. But at that moment, she realized her biggest one was Cadence. Not the Cherry Blush incident or the circumstances of Shining Armor's untimely demise, but Cadence. Out of everypony in this situation, Cadence was the most innocent. She'd done nothing wrong, yet Twilight had pushed her away during a time in which they were both grieving. While she couldn't entirely condemn her own actions, Twilight still felt awful about it. It didn't have to be this way. But somewhere along the line, she'd completely lost any semblance of that bright-eyed foal who'd ridden on Cadence's back and made up silly nursery rhymes with her big brother.

“I'll be fine,” said Twilight. “Please take care of yourself.”

She hung up without a goodbye. She instantly felt bad about that, wondering if she should call back. But however terrible she felt about the abrupt end of the conversation, the moment had already passed. Twilight didn't think she could stand hearing Cadence's voice again. At the very least, she'd patched some holes. She'd said the words that had been living inside of her for years.

Twilight started packing her saddlebags. There were only two hotels in town, both tourist traps intended for the few souls unlucky enough to stop in Ponyville. Neither had much to offer except general hospitality and ridiculously cheap rooms. But that was fine. No matter what, Twilight was not going to stay at Fluttershy's cottage. She hadn't realized it at the time, but the sight of Fluttershy's terrified face had deeply effected her. Consequences. She'd been ignoring them, playing the part of the detached investigator. But as the playing field shifted again, Twilight realized she could no longer do that.

The crow mask was enough to confirm Twilight's fears. The playing field had changed. There was no way she could know for sure, but it seemed the most likely explanation.

Twilight was no longer being challenged. She was being hunted.

Chapter 15: Courage

As part of the evaluation process, Twilight had been asked about what motivated her to become a detective.

Rather than stick with the generic answer, she'd been entirely up front with the grim-faced stallion conducting the interview. She'd picked up on his opinions right off the bat. He didn't think she had what it took to hold down this position. He thought she was too much of an egghead, too fragile and inexperienced. Despite what he knew about her past, he believed she wasn't cut out for this particular line of work. But he didn't know the full story.

That had been the first time Twilight told somepony the entire truth. There were parts of the story that even Spike didn't know, particular segments that had been butchered or distorted on their way up the chain. But it didn't matter. Twilight didn't need everypony to know or understand her history. She just needed to finish the work Shining Armor had started.

Twilight awakened in a cold sweat. Another nightmare.

She lay there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling and contemplating the bizarre dream she'd just had. She could hear the ticking of the clock on her bedside table, a steady rhythm to break the otherwise gripping silence. She could feel her heartbeat, a rapid thump against her ribcage. But Twilight wasn't worried about that. Her heart was as alive and independent as any other part of her body. The delicate balance of her inner ecosystem was intact.

She shook her head. No, she needed to focus on reality. Dreams were nothing more than her overworked subconscious throwing tantrums. The faces she saw, the sounds she heard. It didn't mean anything.

Nevertheless, the dream had shaken her. Even without remembering exact details, she was certain it hadn't been pleasant. Twilight needed to calm down. Perhaps sharing a nice mug of hot cocoa with Spike would do the trick. She always found his company soothing, even rather therapeutic.

Twilight started to get out of bed, but then everything came flooding back.

This wasn't her house. There was no Spike waiting for her or a mug of hot chocolate. There was a chance she'd never have those things again, or at least never in the same way. Her life had shifted so abruptly that she was still reeling from the change in perspective. But as soon as she attempted to leave the comfort of her bed, Twilight's thoughts re-aligned themselves with reality.

She was in a sparsely-furnished hotel room, the windows bolted and the door locked. She had a crossbow—the only long-range weapon she really knew how to use—within reach, along with a simple security enchantment to avoid being caught off guard. There was a lot of essential evidence—mainly the letters—stuffed under the bed in a special box sealed with a seven-digit pass code.

Twilight wasn't naive. She knew the masked pony would find her eventually, regardless of where she chose to hide. But she preferred to go down fighting. She'd cornered plenty of despicable felons in Canterlot. She knew what it truly meant to die as a coward, to fall face-down in a puddle of muck and sputter out one's final breath. Twilight didn't want that. Maybe in a filthy alleyway in Canterlot, one hoof pressed against the gaping wound in her throat. But not in Ponyville, not cowering in a corner with her eyes shut. The masked pony didn't deserve such an honor.

She slowly returned to bed, but she didn't fall asleep. She still remembered some key aspects of her dream. The images were distorted, but she recalled the masks. Dozens of them, just hanging in midair and accusing her with their eyeless faces.

Masks. Bronze Hoof was a theater pony. A rather respectable profession back in the day, but modern theater had never appealed to Twilight. It was far too over-dramatic, too artsy and complicated. She preferred the older plays. What had happened to the muted tragedies and the sensual romances? But perhaps Bronze Hoof had appreciated the classics. Perhaps in some alternate universe, him and Twilight could have become friends.

What type of mares hang around aspiring actors? Twilight asked herself. Aspiring actresses of course, but Twilight couldn't imagine Bronze Hoof being interested in his fellow artists. He seemed more like the type to spend his free time in sleazy bars. One was liable to meet all kinds of sketchy ponies in sleazy bars, including the type who would have turned Bronze Hoof into a grisly art piece.

But this entire case was riddled with unnecessary drama. It was very much a performance, a macabre revenge scheme that reminded Twilight of a classic tragedy. Yet there was also an air of psychology. The masked pony was testing Twilight, evaluating her reactions and adjusting the game in real time. Where did these these somewhat contradictory elements fit together? How did they connect to Bronze Hoof and his probable group of friends?

Twilight pressed a hoof to her forehead. Everything was getting jumbled up in her head. This often happened when she was puzzling her way through a big case, but it had become worse lately. She couldn't help feeling as if she was missing something immense, some obvious explanation that her brain just wasn't open to. But what could that be? Was Twilight simply overworked? Was there some massive clue she'd overlooked in her haste to finish the investigation?

She got out of bed. While a cup of hot chocolate and a pleasant talk with Spike was out of the question, a glass of water from the sink seemed like a decent substitute. She reached for the light switch.

Twilight froze, her hoof in midair.

The love letters. How did they fit into all this? Were they false clues? A sloppy attempt at misdirection? Were they the center of this entire thing, the sunken crater from which this foul odor of death was seeping? Twilight had been thinking about Bronze Hoof. That in itself was its own subtle kind of misdirection. While the attention she gave that aspect of the case wasn't silly, Twilight could never focus on the letters long enough to make something of them. But that made sense, didn't it? The letters seemed so out there, so removed from everything else she knew. They seemingly had no place in this investigation.

It wasn't the identity of the writer that Twilight should have focused on. That was important, but it wasn't the beginning of the story. Who was being written to? The letters seemed to be describing—as best they could, being letters—the ups and downs of a relationship, but with more extremes on either side. Extremes. Dramatics. It all came back to the theater, to acting and putting on a performance. Those frequent bits of flowery prose, so over-the-top and passionate. Happiness with a mix of bitterness. Guilt. The pony who wrote the letters was feeling guilty, even resentful. They were unsure and scared of themselves.

Twilight realized she'd felt this way many times before. She'd never written love letters or anything like that, but she connected with the feelings that were subtly being expressed. She understood what it was like to struggle with the grasp of a sinful city, to remain righteous even as the path in front of her distorted into something nightmarish. The isolation and helplessness of it was the worst part. She knew some of her fellow officers simply entrenched themselves, burying themselves so deep into the city's immoral roots that they never saw the light of day again. When one let themselves sink into the dark pit, there was no telling who or what would emerge from the other side.

Twilight lit up her horn. She suddenly didn't want to turn on the lights. She was afraid of catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She levitated a notebook and a pen from her bedside table. She opened the notebook and placed it on the bed. Twilight was about to do something that fell silly, even juvenile. It reminded her of the word games she used to play as a filly. She started writing, her pen flying over the paper.

Poison. Foxes. Mask. Crows. Secret. Love. Passion. Theater. Dramatic.

The masked pony seemed to have an affinity for poison. They'd already used it twice—as far as Twilight knew—to great effect. In Twilight's experience, poison was a weapon wielded by those who were spiteful but cautious. Those who knew how to keep their head down and wait.

Before Twilight could dwell on this any longer, she heard a knock on the door. She froze in place, the glow emanating from her horn sputtering out.

She stood there in the darkness for a moment, waiting for the knock to be repeated. Instead she heard what sounded like a cough, followed by what sounded like something being slipped underneath the door. Twilight didn't move throughout this, even though she wanted to fling open the door and confront whoever had come to see her. But she had a feeling the hallway would be deserted. She might catch a tail disappearing around the corner if she was lucky, but Twilight doubted she'd be that fortunate.

After a few seconds, Twilight lit up her horn again. The gentle pulsing light was enough for her. Even though the curtains were closed, she didn't want to turn on any lights. Only the truly wicked—and Twilight—stayed up past nine o'clock.

She trotted over to the door and looked down. She half-expected to find a playing card or something equally cryptic. Despite the letters, she'd come to expect everything other than a straight answer. If her and the masked pony had been face to face, Twilight would have exhausted her supply of questions in less than two minutes. The conversation would have devolved into a series of non-committal responses and crafty dodges.

She instead found a small envelope. It was addressed to her, her name written in neat hoofwriting she didn't recognize. Twilight Sparkle, Ponyville Police Station. Close enough. A lot of her personal mail ended up being delivered to the station. The local mail service was surprisingly undependable, at least when it came to Twilight's letters and packages from Canterlot. She'd visited the post office once and realized they were severely understaffed. The only pony who actually seemed enthusiastic about her job—a pegasus by the name of Derpy Hooves—performed her duties rather well, but everypony else appeared fairly apathetic.

But of course this wasn't the station, nopony was supposed to know Twilight was there, and it was late at night by Ponyville standards. These facts alone made Twilight reluctant to even open the envelope. But just leaving it wasn't an option. It was maddening in its own way. She no longer wanted to play this game, but she didn't have a choice. Twilight could be cautious, but ultimately she was going to accept every little clue the masked pony gave her. If this was going to be her undoing, so be it.

She ripped open the envelope. Twilight expected it to start gushing foul-smelling gas, but nothing happened. But that would have been too impersonal. The masked pony wanted to be there, to watch the light leave Twilight's eyes. As effective as poison gas inside an envelope would have been, it lacked that intimate charm. Twilight was grateful. That would have been an embarrassing way for her to go out.

She unfolded the letter. Twilight partially expected it to be a party invitation from Pinkie Pie, most likely hoof-delivered by the pony herself. Pinkie had a knack for finding Twilight. She always seemed aware of where everypony was at any time of the day. If Ponyville was ever swamped with missing ponies' cases, Twilight knew which officer to put on the case. Pinkie's uncanny ability to find ponies who didn't want to be found would have been a gift in any other circumstances.

The note—hoof-written—read as follows: My name is Twilight Sparkle and this is my confession.

The remainder of the paper was blank, save for a shoddy recreation of the official royal seal at the bottom.

Twilight read through that sentence three more times, as if she expected it to reveal something. She cast a few spells on the paper, attempting to reveal a hidden message of some kind. But there was nothing. It was simply that one sentence, written in neat little letters across the top of the page.

She considered all the things she could have confessed. Pointless little wrongdoings throughout her fillyhood, such as stealing cookies from the jar in the kitchen or staying up past her bedtime. There were a few scattered through her adult life, such as bending certain rules simply to get the evidence she needed for a case. But what did Twilight really need to confess? Which sin stood out above all others, the ultimate testament to her imperfection as a pony?

Twilight brushed her hoof across the paper. The words smudged slightly as she did so. Apparently the ink was still fresh. This detail held nothing significant, except maybe a probable time frame Twilight couldn't do anything with. When or how the letter had been written wasn't important. Neither would tell her anything about the masked pony's identity, at least without an impossibly specific frame of reference. Even Twilight couldn't know what everypony in Ponyville was doing at any time of the day or night.

She held her hoof up to her muzzle and sniffed. Cheap? No, this was high quality ink. The type that cost at least forty or fifty bits a bottle. Likely from one of those specialty places in Canterlot or Manehattan. If Twilight wasn't mistaken, she recognized the brand based on smell alone. Her fur had reeked of the stuff during her school years. She'd never used it herself—she preferred the cheaper kind—but this particular brand had been very popular with professors and many others within the academic field. It was also a brand Spike was very fond of.

Twilight tacked on that last fact for the sake of completion, but she chose to ignore it.

It occurred to Twilight that half the town—if not ninety-percent—had completely forgotten about the grisly murder. Despite the brutality of the crime, it had become another exaggerated story likely only referenced by fillies and colts in the schoolyard. The adults—or at least most of them—had moved on, content to leave the recent past behind. Perhaps a string of murders would have rattled the town, but a single killing—however shocking—wasn't enough to shake the very foundation of Ponyville. Unlike Canterlot, a city that reeled at every crime despite the frequency. But Ponyville was sturdy. Unshakable. The ponies who lived there could witness atrocities one day and be chatting about carrots the next. It helped that nothing really happened in Ponyville, therefore the few exciting incidents were easy to dismiss. As much as Twilight disliked Ponyville, she was beginning to accept that some ponies simply needed a place like Ponyville. They took refuge in the quiet. It was unfortunate that she wasn't one of them.

The quiet. It was dead silent in Twilight's hotel room. The clock had stopped ticking. She was just standing there in almost complete darkness, the glow of her horn too dim to illuminate the area around her. Just her and that letter, the smell of ink seemingly all around her. Why was the aroma so strong? Was it simply how she'd become more alert, all of her senses working overtime? Why had she become alert? What was she expecting to happen?

Twilight tensed. She wondered why the clock had stopped. A malfunction was the most likely cause. Ponyville prided itself on craftsmanship, creating things that were built to last. But the clock hadn't been made in Ponyville. It was far too modern-looking, like something Twilight would have found in the city. The sleek design was so out of place that she'd wondered if it was a deliberate statement. But if it was, it was far too subtle and reductive to have been intended.

She made her way to her bedside table. It was slow going in the dark, but the light of Twilight's horn had dimmed significantly. She could barely see in front of her own face as she walked, carefully putting one hoof in front of the other. She'd already memorized the layout of the room, all the way from the door to the bed. Even in complete darkness, Twilight knew exactly where she was going.

A foot or so from the bedside table, Twilight froze. A shudder of fear skittered up her spine.

There was somepony right beside her. She could feel the warmth of their body, the largeness of their figure. If she concentrated, she could even hear the steady thump of this pony's heartbeat and the rush of blood in their veins. She knew that was impossible, but Twilight could feel them. She could feel every organ in their body, every patch of fur, every drop of seat. A living pony, a body made of bones and flesh and fur just inches away from her own. Standing in the darkness, silent and still. Waiting.

But I locked the door. The thought jumped into Twilight's head. But instead of giving her comfort and allowing her to focus, this single thought was more like a mockery. She had locked the door. She'd taken every security precaution imaginable. But that was why, wasn't it? That was why she was no longer alone. She'd presented a challenge and of course somepony had taken it.

They were going to kill her. There was no doubt in Twilight's mind. They couldn't have been unaware of her standing right beside them. But they were waiting, likely wondering if Twilight was brave enough to make the first move. But of course she wasn't. She was frozen in terror, sending frantic signals to her body that were not being read. This was how Twilight was going to die. Just standing there, waiting to feel the knife against her fur. Why wouldn't they get it over with? Why were they just standing there?

Then something clicked in Twilight's head. She couldn't die like this. The city had almost killed her on more than one occasion, had been trying its hardest ever since she took this job. She'd escaped before Canterlot could do her in, but could feel it looming over her shoulder. Ponyville had never even tried to kill her, at least not until the masked pony started their little game. Twilight wasn't going to give this town the satisfaction of being her end. If any place was going to kill her, it was going to be Canterlot. She'd decided that a long time ago, when she first accepted her badge.

Twilight lit up her horn, then swung around to face the pony standing so close to her in the darkness.

It was a chair. A chair Twilight had dragged out of its original spot and placed nearer to her bed. She hadn't sat in it, but she'd dumped a pile of books and papers into it. The room lacked a table, so she'd been forced to improvise.

Twilight's heart pounded. She remembered the distinct feeling of not being alone, of feeling somepony so close to her. But she realized that she'd likely been hearing her own heartbeat and feeling her own blood rushing through her own veins. It had been a fear-induced illusion, a manifestation of the terror lurking at the back of her head.

Of course nopony was in her hotel room. How could anypony have gotten in, especially without her seeing or sensing them beforehand? She should have realized that instantly, but a part of her really did feel as if she was being haunted. Phantoms could go anywhere they wanted. But the masked pony wasn't a phantom. They were fur and flesh just like her, easily trapped by walls or prevented by a locked door.

The clock started ticking again. Twilight almost breathed a sigh of relief as the silence was broken by the steady rhythm. She felt as if her sanity was slipping from her grasp. She was having trouble differentiating between reality and her nightmares. It was a new and terrifying feeling, almost too much for Twilight to bear at this stage. She'd met a few great detectives in her life and most of them did remarkably well under pressure. Twilight herself had always been excellent under pressure, but that had changed recently. She didn't feel in control anymore. She was chasing a ghost, enslaved by her own history. There was a building in the distance, a hulking skeleton of a factory just out of sight. But the faster Twilight trotted, the further away the building moved. If only she could catch up with it, if only she could just get one glimpse through the window and see what was inside this dead factory.

Twilight frowned. The ticking of the clock sounded strange to her. It was irregular and faint. The more she listened to it, the more it sounded like metal scraping against metal. The sound was unfamiliar to her at first, but Twilight eventually realized she'd heard it before.

She took a few steps towards the door. There was no doubt about it. She recognized that sound from many of her past investigations. Somepony was attempting to pick the lock on her door.

Twilight grabbed her crossbow. She considered shooting a bolt right through the door, a warning shot. But although the lock itself was weak, the door was sturdy. It was unlikely a well-placed shot would go right through it. Twilight also considered calling out, but she decided to remain quiet. Whoever was on the other side of that door most likely thought she was asleep.

She approached the door, crossbow at the ready. She could hear whoever was on the other side fumbling with the tools and cursing. They must have been out of practice, but Twilight detected some level of skill. Someone who had picked their fair share of locks back in the day, but inactivity had weakened their skills.

Twilight looked through the peephole. She expected to see a fox mask staring back at her or perhaps a crow mask. She knew this was drawing to a close, but she hadn't expected it to be ending so soon. Well, she wasn't going to complain. This might have been her chance to get some real answers.

Her heart sank. There was indeed someone standing right outside her door, bent over as they tried to pick the lock.

Twilight knew what courage meant. True courage wasn't facing a group of armed crooks in an abandoned factory. True courage was getting up every morning and going into the Canterlot police station. Going back to that job every single day took guts. It took a certain level of disassociation. Some detectives weren't up for it. One morning they simply wouldn't get out of bed. They'd pour themselves a drink and contemplate their life choices, unwilling to face the grime of the city yet again. Perhaps there'd been another murder, perhaps a foal had been kidnapped, perhaps a suspect had slipped from their grasp. It became routine, but it was the type of routine that could break a pony. But Twilight was never afraid of being broken. She was already cracked around the edges.

But staring through that peephole, Twilight thought she understood a different type of courage. The courage to let one's guard down, the courage to care and trust. It was all relative of course, but for Twilight it had been an uphill battle.

Twilight didn't need to see their face. What little she could see gave everything away. What got to her wasn't the surprise she felt. It was the surprise she didn't feel. A part of her was indifferent, as if she'd expected this all along.

It was Spike. He was bent over, swearing as he attempted to pick the unusually resilient lock. His technique was clumsy, his claws fumbling with the precision tools he was holding. He'd never been an expert at picking locks. But Twilight had taught him, determined to make sure he received all the necessary training. The academy had done its best, but some things could only be picked up from field work or fellow cops. As nopony else was willing to associate with Spike, Twilight chose to take him under her proverbial wing. She'd taught him so much. Spike really was a fast learner.

“Spike?” said Twilight.

She thought she'd said it quietly, but it had come out rushed and loud. Without meaning to, she'd pressed the tip of the loaded crossbow against the door.

Spike froze in place, still bent over the door. Watching through the door, Twilight could see him falter in surprise. She heard something clatter to the floor, presumably the lockpicking tools he'd been using. Twilight had bought him a lockpick kit for his birthday a few years ago. She'd been tired of sharing with him.

Twilight took a deep breath, then flung open the door. She did it quickly, knowing full well she wouldn't have the courage if she actually let herself think about it.

Spike was already sprinting down the hallway. Despite his physical disadvantage—only two legs instead of four—he'd become a surprisingly good runner. If given the chance, he probably could have beaten almost anypony in a race. It helped that nopony in their right mind would challenge a dragon to any kind of competitive sport.

Twilight didn't even try to chase after him. She just watched as he rapidly approached the end of the hall. He didn't look back, even to make sure she wasn't following him. It wasn't that Twilight didn't think she could catch up to him. He was fast, but she did have the advantage of four legs and magic. However, something kept her rooted in place. She let the image of him running away burn itself into her brain.

Then Twilight raised her crossbow. She did it without thinking, without letting herself consider consequences. She let that image of Spike running away distort and twist, until it was merely a shape. A blur of color and movement inside of her head, spilling out into the real world. Without a thought, Twilight fired the bolt at Spike's retreating back.

Spike had almost reached the end of the hallway, but he stopped in his tracks when the bolt flew past him. It didn't hit him, but Spike saw it out of the corner of his eye. He saw it sail past, hitting the floor inches from his feet. He stopped and turned around, turned to face Twilight for the first time.

He didn't say anything, but his face was filled with pain. For a moment, Twilight thought the bolt had hit him. But of course that was impossible. Even if it had, there was no way it could have pierced his scales. Yet he was standing there, staring at her with such agony in his eyes.

Twilight lowered the crossbow, her hooves shaking. She'd actually done it. Perhaps it was what she'd been planning all along, from the moment she realized who was outside. Twilight had just shot at Spike, shot at him as if he was a common criminal. But that was what he'd been to her in that moment. He'd simply been a shape, another felon fleeing the scene of their crime. It was only when Twilight saw the look on his face that she realized he wasn't. Spike wasn't a criminal. He was her friend. A confidant. Someone she trusted above all others. Yet she was standing there, crossbow held in her magic as she pictured a bolt going right through Spike's scales.

Spike turned and left the hallway, swiftly vanishing from sight. Twilight watched his shadow disappear as he quickly descended the stairs.

Twilight didn't call or chase after him. She was afraid her voice would crack and break, her true feelings spilling out of her.

Twilight was no longer certain of how she felt or what she believed in. It was all just shapes, just equations, just ideas. Things she didn't want. Things she could have done without.

Chapter 16: Paranoia

A long time ago—it felt like a million years—Spike once asked Twilight what she thought of him.

It was a candid and somewhat awkward question, delivered over drinks. They'd just finished their first big case and were celebrating. It was more of an impromptu get-together than anything fancy. A bunch of officers laughing and drinking together, Twilight lingering by the outskirts with a glass of apple cider she wasn't touching.

She'd looked Spike right in the eye and given him a straight answer: “I don't know.” At the time, she'd felt put on the spot. She wondered why Spike was asking something like that so early into their partnership. It was only much later that Twilight would fully understand Spike's hardships and his self-esteem issues. He hadn't asked that question out of ego. Spike had asked because he was insecure in his career choice.

Twilight's neutral—and perfectly honest—answer could have ended Spike's aspirations right there. But from the moment she expressed her lack of opinion, he became determined to prove himself. He wanted to be the best partner she'd ever had. He wanted to be her friend.

What Spike didn't know was that Twilight had misunderstood his question. Understandable, given she was caught off guard. When he asked her what she thought of him, she assumed he was asking for a general character assessment. Of course at that stage, Twilight knew nothing about Spike as a dragon. So when he seemingly asked her to assess his personality, she gave him an honest answer. She really didn't know what to think of Spike the Dragon.

There was a connection between them. Twilight felt it after their second or third case together, felt it so strongly that it almost made her dizzy. It wasn't romantic or sexual. The connection was much greater than anything so mundane and obvious. It was something deep and innate, as if they'd been forged from the same material. But of course that seemed silly to Twilight when she thought about it. Her and Spike had little in common personality-wise, yet they complemented each other. The perfect partnership.

Twilight realized she couldn't go back. There was no past, no history. There was only the future, an unknowable behemoth awaiting her in the dark. Twilight had once believed—mere days ago in fact—that the truth was a single entity. But of course this had been naive of her. The truth was a multi-limbed, multi-faceted creature with more eyes than she could count and a dozen tongues crammed into its abnormally large mouth. It was nightmarish and ugly.

She examined her crossbow. A sturdy weapon. She still didn't think of herself as a particularly good shot, but at least it gave her a fighting chance. That was all she could hope for: a fighting chance. She trusted her magic, trusted all the defensive and offensive spells she had at her disposal. But Twilight knew she was up against an opponent who could predict her actions. While magic would have normally given her an advantage, Twilight found herself in an unfavorable position. She didn't know what her opponent had up their sleeve.

Twilight looked around. Or perhaps they'd hidden something in her hotel room. Perhaps multiple somethings. They could have broken in while she was sleeping and rigged up some explosives. One wrong move and Twilight would be blown to smithereens. Or was that too impersonal for her opponent? No, that was what her opponent would want her to think. But they'd entered a brand new stage of the game. Anything was possible. Perhaps the concept of an intimate battle had gone out of the window. That in itself would be the perfect trap for Twilight to fall into.

She began backing towards the door. She had to get out of there. Recent events had made it clear that she couldn't stay there. There were things she needed to do on the outside, little matters that needed to be taken care of. A case to be solved. But where in the name of Celestia was she supposed to go? Where could she hide? Where was she safe?

Twilight shook her head. She had to find somewhere. She'd already packed her saddlebags. She was ready to travel. Perhaps an abandoned building would be her best bet? Some place her opponent would never consider looking? Just for a little while, until she felt safe again.

She pressed her flank against the door, her gaze sweeping the room. The ticking of the clock on her night stand was making her very anxious. It reminded her of a bomb, the seconds ticking away to complete obliteration. Perhaps it was a bomb. Perhaps once the clock reached the hour, sleeping Twilight was meant to perish in a fiery explosion. Well, her opponent had foolishly misjudged her. Twilight might never sleep again.

Twilight opened the door and backed out into the hallway. Was she being silly? Was she safer in the hotel room, behind a locked door and multiple defensive spells? The more she thought about it, the more it felt like being caged. But if she really was in danger, said danger seemed to be coming from the outside. On the other hoof, Twilight had never even considered the idea that she might be unsafe inside the hotel room, something her opponent would have taken into consideration.

She shut the door behind her. She couldn't afford to take chances. She couldn't keep asking herself impossible questions and flailing around in desperation. Her choices were either action or inaction. Twilight chose the former because it hadn't served her wrong thus far, but she still felt unsafe.

She descended the stairs and entered the main lobby. There was a bored-looking mare at the front desk. The mare was reading a magazine and chewing gum. Her gaze flicked disinterestedly from Twilight and then back to her magazine as the crossbow-wielding detective entered the lobby.

Twilight paused. Hadn't it been a stallion at the desk when she'd checked in? Yes, she distinctly remembered the somewhat skinny pony with a mustache who'd given her the key. She even recalled the oily stain on his uniform. Of course it was likely that more than one pony manned the desk. They probably worked in shifts. In fact, this was the most reasonable explanation. But at the same time, Twilight still found it jarring.

She headed for the front door. Twilight wasn't sure why she was being so irrational. There was no reason for her to be unsettled by this mundane development. But she did wonder how the masked pony had found her room. Had they asked the stallion at the desk? Or had they been tailing her all along? The masked pony did seem constantly aware of where Twilight was at any given time. But of course, that made sense. Now that Twilight had put it all together, she was realizing how foolish she'd been during the initial investigation.

Twilight stood outside the hotel. She shut her eyes, letting the thoughts wash over her.

There was only one place she could go. Only one place she needed to go. She'd been putting it off, as if she hoped that would make it any better. She wanted the wound to heal, for it to just be another scar, indistinguishable from the others she'd acquired over the course of her career. Twilight had once thought she was detached, that she was able to let herself be an observer. But now she was facing an unfortunate truth: those cases had effected her. Perhaps not in the moment, but now she felt as if something massive was pressing down on her back. The masked pony was right. Twilight did feel guilty about the families she'd broken up, the partnerships she'd ruined, the precious moments she'd destroyed. More often than not she'd been justified, had put a dangerous felon behind bars. But Cherry Blush hadn't been the only one. There had been others, more ponies whose lives had crumpled under the weight of Twilight's detective skills. Mistakes she'd made. Cases she would never talk about.

Twilight needed to see this through. She needed to face the truth, no matter how ugly and nightmarish.

Canterlot needed balance. It was something the city craved. Otherwise Canterlot could not function, could not prosper. If it wasn't for Shining Armor, the city would have bled to death. Nopony on the force even tried to deny it.

Twilight had taken up the position because she felt she needed to. It was the least she could do for Canterlot's fallen hero, to atone for her sins. But there'd been another reason, something she'd withheld from the interviewer. She'd even withheld it from herself during those first few months. But coming to Ponyville had awakened it once again. Despite her best intentions, Twilight could only lie to herself for so long. The first time she settled herself behind that desk, it hit her like a pile of hay.

A part of her wanted Canterlot to bleed to death. A part of her thought the city didn't deserve to live, not after it had taken Shining Armor away from her. The city was not alive. It had no heart, no concept of the sinful soil it sat upon. Ultimately Twilight could not blame it anymore than she could have blamed her desk. But a part of her still wanted to blame it, at least to make herself feel better. Twilight was not ready for the day Canterlot would turn its back on her.

The front door was unlocked. Twilight suspected it would be, although she instinctively whipped out her trusty lockpicking kit. When the saw the door was unlocked, she gently pushed it open. Twilight would have preferred the door be gaping open, waiting for her arrival. She wanted to get this over with. More importantly, she wanted her opponent to understand she wanted to get this over with. It would have made things so much easier.

Twilight had never arrested somepony on her own. She found that strange, but she couldn't think of a single instance of her performing an arrest solo. She'd always had Spike with her, her willing back-up. Before Spike, there'd always been at least one officer by her side. This would be the first time she made an arrest without somepony to cover her if things went south. But she was glad she was doing this alone. If there'd been an officer with her, she wasn't sure she could have gone through with it.

She felt like an intruder, but Twilight didn't let that stop her. She didn't even pause, shutting the door behind her and brandishing her crossbow. Twilight hoped she wouldn't have to use it again, but she was prepared to do so. She'd become comfortably numb to all of this. Perhaps later it would drive her over the edge, but for now she was holding it together. This wasn't real until she saw her opponent's face.

The house felt empty, but Twilight knew better. It was just the absence of normality that had struck her. Upon crossing the threshold, she felt as if everything in that house was dead. The tables, the chairs, the paintings. None of them were breathing. This was true most of the time, but this was something more than the usual absence of life attributed to inanimate objects. However, she continued forward, thinking of herself as the only truly living thing in that house. Of course she wasn't. There was another, the one she'd come for in the first place. She'd been putting it off this entire time, distracting herself with excuses.

Twilight went into the kitchen. She wanted to check the bedrooms first, but she was drawn to the kitchen. Perhaps she wanted to see it one last time, to re-live all those cheerful memories for a moment. But the happiness had left. Everything she remembered felt false, as if she was creating happy memories to keep herself sane. Had the biscuits ever been real? The laughing over breakfast? The nostalgia? Or had this place always been so bitter and broken? Had she always been so bitter and broken? Had Twilight always been this cold? She could no longer remember. She thought she'd always been this way, ever since she was a filly. But the more she thought about it, the more she remembered cheerful birthdays and word games with her foalsitter.

There was a plate of scones on the kitchen table. Homemade. Likely the product of stress baking. They were still steaming from the oven.

Twilight grabbed the plate of scones and—without pausing—dumped them into the wastebasket. Her stomach rumbled in protest as she did so, the alluring scent not quite muffled by the wastebasket. She felt the slightest pang of guilt as she disposed of the scones, but only for a second. If she'd left them out, she wouldn't have been able to help herself. It was a decent attempt at tempting her with something she secretly craved. She applauded the effort. But Twilight knew better than to trust anything or anypony, especially herself.

She stood over the wastebasket for a minute, then turned and left the kitchen. She'd heard what sounded like shuffling in one of the bedrooms.

As she reached the bedroom door, Twilight lifted her crossbow. This wasn't the showdown she'd wanted, but this might be the only one she was getting. She was hesitating for the first time since she'd entered the house. Twilight had dedicated herself to the truth, to justice and hope. She was a servant of the law first and a pony second. That had always been her philosophy and she wore it proudly for the entire land of Equestria to see. She'd worked hard to separate herself—or at least the self she thought existed—from her aspirations as a detective. But it was all folding in on itself. There was no self anymore. There was only Twilight Sparkle, small and likely to be crushed as the world shifted and shrank around her. But she didn't fear being crushed. She feared that brief second before she was thrown off completely, that glimmer of hope that everything would somehow be alright. Twilight didn't want to hope anymore. Not when everything around her was breaking down.

Twilight shoved the door open and entered the room. She pointed her crossbow at the figure huddled in the corner.

“You're under arrest,” she said.

Spike lifted his head. His eyes went from the crossbow to the look on Twilight's face, his expression unreadable. He didn't say anything, simply looked at Twilight. He'd been waiting for her. They both knew it. He'd seen the look in her eyes when she'd fired that bolt at him.

Twilight stepped towards him, crossbow hovering in the air between them. A threat, but hopefully an empty one. She didn't want to know if she'd hesitate. A part of her thought it was only fair that she did, at least to maintain some semblance of her old life. But another bigger part of her insisted she wouldn't. Twilight thought of the bolt she'd fired in the hallway, that one that had just barely missed Spike. She didn't care that the bolt wouldn't do any damage, that she would have been better of firing at the wall. It was a warning.

“I want the truth,” said Twilight.

Spike straightened up. In the somewhat cramped space of his bedroom, he looked even larger. There were times Twilight forgot Spike was a dragon, but this wasn't one of them. He towered over her, his entire body mostly scales and muscle. He could have picked her up and snapped her in two, or at least crushed that pitiful crossbow of hers. But he didn't. He stood there, his shoulders slumped and his face covered in guilt.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

There'd once been a stallion, a hardworking baker by the name of Golden Crisp. He'd been a rather inconspicuous citizen of Canterlot. He never went out of his way to make an impression, nor did anypony find him particularly interesting. He was pleasant, but not overly cheerful. He was reserved, but not standoffish. Twilight had passed his bakery a dozen times and she'd never looked at it.

When he'd been caught that night—his apron covered with blood and the weapon still beside him—Twilight had been surprised. She'd known it was Golden Crisp for quite some time. She'd followed the evidence, had linked two murders and one unsolved missing pony case to him. It seemed straightforward enough. When Twilight and Spike cornered him, Twilight wasn't thinking about Golden Crisp the baker. She was thinking of the mutilated corpses he'd left behind, missing limbs and faces distorted by the heavy blows of a bat. But looking into his eyes, Twilight had seen something she hadn't been expecting: guilt. Golden Crisp had been standing there, quaking and staring at the baseball bat at his feet. He'd been muttering to himself, seemingly unaware of Twilight and Spike. When she'd finally gotten his attention, he'd raised his head to look at her and his eyes had been filled with regret. Golden Crisp had looked right into her eyes and told her he was sorry, his voice thick with impending sobs. He'd sounded so sincere, so broken.

Twilight now heard that same tone from Spike. But unlike with Golden Crisp, she didn't need to wonder what he thought his apology meant. Golden Crisp knew his words were useless, that no amount of sorries could bring his victims back. But he'd said it anyway, like a final prayer to release him from his sins. However, Spike knew exactly what his apology meant. He wasn't begging for forgiveness. Spike was warning Twilight that he was about to break her heart.

“I'm sorry,” Spike repeated.

He tried not to look at the crossbow. It floated between them like a mediator, the tip of the bolt aimed directly at him. He imagined it uselessly bouncing off his scales and he almost laughed. How had this happened? Was this the bad ending Spike had been warned about, the real reason he'd been reluctant to join the force? Perhaps a part of him had seen this coming. But he'd believed in a happy ending and he'd unintentionally forced Twilight to believe in one as well. Spike knew she needed to if she was going to complete the work Shining Armor left unfinished.

“I'm an idiot,” said Spike.

Twilight slightly lowered the crossbow, letting out a bitter laugh. Finally Spike had said something she could agree with. This was all very amusing, in a dark and twisted sort of way. If she'd been on the sidelines, she would have been amused by all of this drama. Funny how she used to roll her eyes at every glimpse she got into the other officers' lives. She'd shake her head at their petty disagreements, over the love affairs and nonsensical rivalries. It was all just so small. But now Twilight understood where all the drama came from. It was difficult to let things go and lead a normal life as an officer in Canterlot. Twilight had never wanted a normal life, so she'd been spared most of it. But now she could truly appreciate the weight of those silly domestic squabbles.

Spike took a deep breath. Where to even begin? But then again, it didn't really matter where he started. No matter how he told this story, it was going to hurt. But that was fine. Spike wanted it to hurt. He wanted her to understand, even if it led to her hating him. Spike would rather Twilight hate him than stay in the dark for the rest of her life.

“I'm sorry about all of this,” he said. “But I needed proof.”

Twilight lowered the crossbow another inch, looking Spike right in the eye. She was aware that she wouldn't like whatever he was going to say. She also knew that he wouldn't lie to her, not after he'd been caught. If the old Spike was still in there, she trusted him. It was sentimental and irrational, but she still believed in his devotion to the truth.

“Proof of what?” she said.

Spike looked away.

“It was a hunch at first,” he said. “An idea. I wanted to let it go, but it just stayed there for the longest time. I couldn't get rid of it. I needed to make sure.”

He smiled bitterly.

“I knew you'd be angry at me,” he said. “There were things you wanted to believe. Some truths you took comfort in. I didn't want to take those things away from you over a silly idea. I suppose it was my way of protecting you.”

He sighed.

“I had to call in some favors,” he said. “Rarity was a big help to me. She has some connections in Canterlot. Between the two of us, we were able to find almost everything we needed. The letters were the final piece of the puzzle. I suspected what they were, but I wasn't sure.”

Twilight stared at Spike, not understanding what he was getting at. Was it some absurd ruse? A distraction? Yes, that was what it sounded like. It didn't make any sense. What could be so awful, so damaging that Spike wouldn't tell her?

“Sure about what?” she said.

Spike finally looked at Twilight.

“Shining Armor wasn't the pony you think he was,” he said.

Twilight stared at him for a full minute, the crossbow hovering between them. She was waiting for the pin to drop, for this all to start making sense. But so far she was still out to sea. Even with that last line, she felt lost.

“What?” she whispered.

Spike pressed himself into the corner. He was afraid Twilight was about to fire a bolt at him. Once the bolt proved ineffective, she might decide to pick him up with her magic and escort him down to the station. He felt bad about beating around the bush, but how else was he supposed to approach this? Spike wanted to savor those last few moments of sanity before everything burned to the ground.

“We went through the records,” he said. “Me and Rarity. Most of the stuff we found could be explained away, but there were some inconsistencies and cover-ups that didn't make sense. We dug a little deeper and found some names, some ponies who had information. There was some bribery, but not very much. We were able to get it out of them. It wasn't a lot to go on, but putting it with everything else we had made it obvious what we were looking at.”

He took another deep breath. Spike was sorry. Truly sorry.

“Shining Armor met somepony at some point,” said Spike. “A mare. We're not sure when or how, but they were seeing each other for a while. We don't think Cadence knew about it.”

Twilight took another step towards Spike, a strained smile on her face. She wasn't really listening to what Spike was saying, or at least she was trying not to. She'd heard it all before. All kinds of hideous or absurd lies spouted by felons to justify or dismiss their crimes. It was a common response to being cornered. The more outlandish stories always made Twilight laugh. The sheer desperation of them was amusing. But this? This was far from funny. This was twisted and vile.

Spike raised both claws in surrender.

“The letters,” he said. “That's what I was after. I knew you wouldn't give them to me, but I needed to make sure. Don't tell me you didn't think about it.”

Twilight opened her mouth to tell him to be quiet, to say she was tired of his games, to ask him why he was doing this. But nothing came out. She closed her mouth, lowering the crossbow as she looked into Spike's eyes. The sincerity in his eyes was almost haunting. This wasn't a trick or a distraction. This wasn't a desperate attempt to explain away his actions with a false story. This was the Spike she'd known in Canterlot, the Spike who drank apple cider and loved donuts. The Spike who never lied to her even when she needed it.

She remembered how she'd felt while reading the letters. She'd thought—briefly at first, but more frequently as she read on—that she knew the pony who'd written them, that she understood their deepest fears and regrets. But how was that possible? How could Twilight empathize so strongly with somepony she'd never met? Was it simply the prose itself, or was there something deeper she was missing? Yes, she'd certainly been missing something throughout this case. She'd been ignoring it all along, even as she desperately tried to find a connection. An explanation for why the three of them were being targeted. It must be connected to Shining Armor, she'd thought. But she'd stopped there, stopped just short of letting herself probe the inner workings of Shining Armor's mind. There was a part of Twilight that simply didn't want to know what her brother had been thinking, but she wasn't sure why. What exactly was she scared of finding?

Sin. It had been prominent in the letters. A slight obsession with it, as if the mysterious pony was being hounded by their own wrongdoings. No, not simply their own. It was as if the mysterious pony was haunted by the sins of others. Awake every night, staring at the ceiling and contemplating the nature of sin across the grand city of Canterlot. It was everywhere, wasn't it? A writhing, twisting mass living under the soil and between the bricks. Nopony was free from sin. Even the righteous were hoof-deep in it at all times, ready to be consumed and re-purposed as agents of the city's chaos. Even those who traveled took the city's malevolence with them. It could make anypony feel miserable and small.

But Twilight knew certain things mattered. Truth, justice, friendship. Those things mattered more than anything else. Without them, Canterlot would have rotted from the inside out.

Twilight lowered the crossbow. She was surprised to realize that she wasn't crying. Her eyes weren't burning with impending tears, her hooves weren't shaking, her mind was steady.

He couldn't have. He wouldn't have. Not Shining Armor. He'd believed in the truth, he'd believed in following the rules. Perhaps most importantly, Twilight had believed in him. She believed he'd tucked her into bed at night, she believed he'd read her stories, she believed he'd comforted her during thunderstorms. Twilight knew Shining Armor. She'd known him since the day she was born, all the way up until the day he died. Spike was wrong. He was wrong and Twilight was going to prove it. She didn't care where his nonsensical little investigation had led him.

“We never got a name,” said Spike. “Whoever she was, she was careful. She covered her tracks.”

Twilight turned away. That was fine. She didn't need a name. She just needed ten minutes.

Manehattan. The stage. Psychology. Bronze Hoof. Love letters. A waitress. Why was Twilight thinking about waitresses? She was used to her thoughts wandering, but this was a little unexpected. Was there something about a waitress she was missing? When was the last time a waitress had even been mentioned? Why did Twilight feel as if it was important? No, not just important. She felt as if this waitress—whoever she was—was the most important part of the puzzle. The centerpiece she needed. But why couldn't Twilight remember when or how this waitress had been mentioned?

There had been a waitress, hadn't there? In a story, recounted from memory. The pony telling the story hadn't described her, but Twilight was able to cobble together a decent estimate based on personal experience. Likely around Twilight's age. Medium build. Yellow mane tied up in a tight professional bun. Holding a pot of coffee in her magic. Lines of stress forcing their way through a painfully false smile.

“Would anypony like a refill?” the waitress asked.

She shot a not-so-subtle glance at the clock. Twenty minutes until she clocked out for the day. She wanted to say something about how they were closing soon, but nothing could make it past that fake smile. So she simply raised the coffee pot and asked the question, hoping they would leave soon. It was getting late.

The one stallion at the table raised his hoof, a charming smile on his face. The two mares both shook their heads.

The waitress refilled the stallion's cup. She wasn't one to pry, but she'd noticed something about the stallion and one of the mares. The two had been looking at each other since they'd come in, exchanging passionate looks and lustful glances. They seemed to be lovers. How nice. The waitress hardly remembered what it was like to be in love.

Twilight opened her eyes. She'd wandered out into the hallway as if in a trance, her crossbow at her side.

That waitress had gone home after her shift. She'd probably settled herself into her favorite chair, perhaps grabbed a book from a nearby shelf. Perhaps she was an aspiring novelist, perhaps a former stagehand or a disgraced university professor. Whoever she was, she likely never thought about those three ponies. She never thought about the stallion who'd asked for a refill or his marefriend or the third pony at the table. Why would she? Their lives and their struggles were nothing to her. The waitress likely had a family of her own, perhaps a husband or a wife, older siblings and foals. If she thought of anypony at all, it wouldn't be the three ponies she'd served on an evening indistinguishable from all the others.

Maybe the waitress would have been flattered, knowing Twilight Sparkle of all ponies was thinking of her. Perhaps she would have felt just a little bit more important. She was important. As the final piece clicked into place, she was all Twilight could think about. For a brief second, the entire case was revolving around that one waitress. That waitress would never know how special she was. Perhaps if Twilight ever got in contact with her, she'd send the waitress a gift basket.

“Spike, I need you to call everypony at the station,” said Twilight.

There was a chasm in the center of this case. It was deep and dark and Twilight had never been able to see the bottom. After days of just peering into it, she was finally ready to jump in.

Chapter 17: Pronoia

By Twilight's estimate, only two ponies knew the truth about Shining Armor's death: herself and the interviewer she'd shared the full story with. Even their parents were ignorant to some extent, although Twilight had been fairly open with them. But she couldn't stand breaking their hearts anymore than she needed to. Despite the horrible circumstances, she wanted everypony involved to be at peace. She wanted them to be able to move on. Twilight couldn't trap them in another spiral of misery.

Shining Armor wasn't supposed to die that night. But that went without saying. In the stories, noble ponies with noble intentions hardly ever met their end, especially in such an unfortunate way. When the bad guy came back for revenge, the hero always had some trick up their sleeve. But Shining Armor had nothing except his own skills and an overwhelming desire to protect his sister.

It was Twilight who found that one crucial piece of evidence, Twilight who was meant to testify at the trial that would land several of Fleur Dis Lee's associates in jail. Twilight who'd been told by Shining Armor that she couldn't expose herself to danger like that. He'd agreed to do it on her behalf. She'd let him because he said everything would be fine. Why wouldn't it be? He was an officer of the law. They weren't going to go after him, or at least that's what he told Twilight.

Shining Armor protected her. He never wanted her be part of that world. He was a tough stallion, well-equipped and resourceful. More importantly, he had a mission. Nothing in Equestria was going to stop Shining Armor from cleaning up Canterlot.

Twilight invited herself inside. If she ever forgot she was in Ponyville, the epidemic of unlocked doors should remind her. Even in a relatively safe community, this lack of precaution made her flinch. At the very least, it meant she didn't have to pick the lock or buck the door down. She'd nearly broken her back legs the last time she had to force a door open.

She shut the door behind her. No need to leave it wide open. She wouldn't be fleeing anytime soon. Twilight wasn't even considering an escape route. Nothing scared her anymore. Much like Shining Armor, she was ready to put everything on the line. There were things—and ponies—Twilight needed to protect.

Twilight raised the crossbow, even though she didn't expect to use it. This wasn't an ambush. She wasn't hoping to take anypony by surprise. There was no need for any of that. It would have been too theatrical. While Twilight could appreciate theatrics in small doses, she'd had enough of those for a lifetime.

She could smell blueberry muffins and tea. As she trotted further into the room, Twilight noticed a small table set up in the middle of the room. There was a tray filled with muffins in the middle of the table, as well as a teapot and two teacups.

Twilight approached the table. The tea had already been poured, one steaming cup for each place at the table. Instead of name cards, each place bore a hoof-drawn picture. A crow and a fox.

Twilight picked up both cards and examined them. She smiled mockingly at the childish display. She was reminded of the tea parties she'd had as a filly. Even the teapot looked somewhat familiar, the floral pattern bringing back those half-buried memories. She'd sometimes wondered what happened to her old tea set. It was likely in the attic of her old house, rotting away among picture books and broken toys. Her fillyhood seemed so distant, almost like a dream. She found it difficult to imagine she'd ever been a young filly, had ever been naive enough to believe Shining Armor was indestructible. Naive enough to think she'd become a professor or an artist or whatever it was she'd wanted to be as a filly.

She put the cards back and sat down. Twilight waited, crossbow lying beside her as she eyed the tray of blueberry muffins. She was surprised there wasn't a jar of raspberry jam to go along with the muffins. Was that too crude and obvious? Or was this simply because Twilight happened to like blueberry muffins and tea? Those muffins certainly looked delicious. Fresh from the oven. Just looking at them made Twilight's mouth water. But she tore her eyes away from them, even as her stomach growled in objection.

She heard humming, followed by hoofsteps. A tune she'd heard many times before as a filly. One of Shining Armor's favorites. He'd been humming that song the day he was accepted into the police academy.

Twilight closed her eyes. The word “guilty” flashed across her mind, along with Shining Armor's face. That photograph of the three of them, smiling but nervous. They'd been more hopeful than they looked in that picture, more proud of each other than they could put into words. Twilight's own photograph from a day very similar had just been her and her parents, her father attempting to smile while Twilight and her mother wore twin expressions of muted pride. Memories had sucked the joy out of Twilight's accomplishment.

“I'm glad you could make it.”

Twilight opened her eyes. She was no longer alone at the table. She placed one hoof on her crossbow. Even if she didn't plan on using it, she liked having the crossbow. Twilight thought of it as insurance. If things went completely south, at least she had some solid back-up within hoof's reach.

Raven was sitting there, helping herself to a blueberry muffin. She was unarmed, a warm smile on her face. The same smile she'd worn while serving Twilight that hot cocoa. That entire night felt like a century ago, but Twilight realized it hadn't even been a week. Days felt like months, months like years, years like decades. Twilight felt like she'd been trying to outrun the clock. With so few days in between, Twilight could remember everything. She remembered that postcard she'd been looking at, the sample of raspberry jam, the magazine Spike had been reading. Raven probably felt it too. The bizarrely stretched passage of time, minutes like hours and hours like days.

“You didn't invite me,” said Twilight.

Raven shrugged. She took a big bite of the muffin, getting crumbs all over her face.

Twilight cut right to the chase. There was nothing else for her to say, no preambles or apologies. She knew everything now, or at least everything she cared to know. She couldn't believe she'd been so blinded in the beginning. But in her defense, that was how this whole thing had been set up. She'd stumbled around in the dark just long enough to draw out the conclusion. It was almost too simple to be complicated, if that made any sense.

“That waitress you mentioned,” said Twilight. “You said Bronze Hoof kept staring at her.”

Raven said nothing. She took another muffin from the tray, continuing to smile warmly.

“I thought about it,” said Twilight. “Something was off about your story, but it took me a long time to realize it.”

Raven nodded as if she was interested, her eyes filled with curiosity. She reminded Twilight of herself in school. One of the few ponies not bored to tears by the teacher's lectures. Staring with genuine interest as she listened to the rambling of a bored-looking mare, filling up yet another notebook useless facts and figures.

“I came to a conclusion about Bronze Hoof as a pony,” said Twilight. “I realized he was a very simple-minded stallion. He was attracted to glamor and the taboo. But of course that made sense. He was an actor, or at least an aspiring one. He needed some drama in his life, even if he had to create it himself.”

Twilight picked up a muffin, but she didn't bite into it. She just held the muffin in her magic, examining it. Twilight knew the basic components of a blueberry muffin. She knew how to make one, at least in an abstract sense. But she never had—and probably would never—apply this knowledge to anything physical. It was just there, filling up a once-empty spot in her brain. The mind was an amazing thing. It could expand inward forever, big enough to hold an entire library while fitting comfortably inside Twilight's skull. She'd created entire worlds in there. In one of those worlds, she was always the hero of the story. She never made mistakes, never needlessly broke up families, always caught the bad guy. She was a character from one of her stories.

But as she briefly considered the nature of a blueberry muffin, Twilight realized that she wasn't a hero. Even in her fantasy world, she had no concept of the self she wanted to be. She didn't want to always be the hero. She wanted to fight. She wanted to struggle. She wanted to fall into herself again and again, collapsing every egocentric fantasy until reality became Twilight's only escape from herself.

“That was why you were staring at him that evening,” she said. “He was already thinking about it. You must have seen it in his eyes. All you needed to do was appeal to his vanity.”

She returned the muffin to the tray without taking a bite.

“It didn't take much,” said Twilight. “Bronze Hoof wanted to be an actor, but he was nothing compared to you. They say all the aspiring actors live in Manehattan, but that's not true. A few of them spend a little time in Manehattan, then return to Canterlot. Some of them become professors and dedicate themselves to unraveling the secrets of the equine mind.”

She locked eyes with Raven.

“You were obsessed with my brother,” she said.

Raven gave Twilight a sympathetic smile. She'd been silent this entire time, chewing a mouthful of muffin and staring at Twilight as if she was a pony of interest. But Twilight was a pony of interest, at least in Raven's mind. Intelligent, driven, unrelenting in her goals. But deep down, there were cracks in the foundation. It was like throwing a marble statue against a wall until it crumbled into pieces. A pile of rubble was useless, as pointless as a detective so easily shaken. But that was where her and Twilight were noticeably alike. They both felt things more strongly than they were willing to admit. They were both cracked at their centers. However, Twilight never tried to explore that crack at the center of her being. She hardly realized it was there, with so many layers of righteousness between it and her hoof. But Raven had touched hers a long time ago. She'd opened it wider, letting the putrid scent of decay spill from her center. Unlike Twilight, Raven wasn't afraid of her own heart.

“He was in love with me,” Raven said.

Twilight's resolve withered a little, but she managed to speak. Her voice shook slightly as she replied.

“Liar,” said Twilight.

Raven raised the teacup to her mouth. She paused, eying Twilight with pity. She put the teacup back without taking a sip, letting out a long weary sigh. It could have been Twilight's imagination, but she thought Raven looked tired. Twilight could relate. She felt as if she'd been aging rapidly since this case again. She was sure that if she were to touch her face, she'd find at least one wrinkle that hadn't been there a few days ago. Raven looked more refreshed by comparison, but her eyes were clouded.

“Cadence never understood him like I did,” said Raven. “There were things he could never tell her. But I always listened.”

Shining Armor had never been able to tell anypony how difficult his job was. Not even Cadence, even though she would have listened. He did tell her some things, things that wouldn't weigh down her mind for too long. He wanted her to be happy, he wanted her to support him. But he didn't want her to know how the city had gotten to him, how broken he was becoming. It was a slow and painful process. But Shining Armor couldn't stop, even as the city's vile roots caused him to break down. He'd pledged himself to the city. His body and mind belonged to it, his own roots entangled with the mess at Canterlot's core. He was a part of the city, absorbed into the living organism that was Canterlot. The more he struggled, the closer it pulled Shining Armor to its pulsating center.

Twilight knew all this because she too had experienced it. She knew what it was like. She heard the words Shining Armor had been shouting through those letters. Canterlot had been pulling him apart, much like it had torn Twilight limb from limb over the course of a few years. All for the greater good, or so Twilight and Shining Armor had told themselves. It was all worth it if Canterlot survived.

“It was all your fault,” said Raven. “His death. If only you hadn't been such a coward.”

Twilight looked down at her teacup. She noticed a folded piece of paper underneath her saucer, the edge poking out. She didn't want to look at it, but she pulled it out and placed it on the table. However, Twilight didn't unfold it. Not yet. Not until she'd said everything she came there to say.

So Raven had drugged her hot cocoa. Clever. Something mild and slow-acting. Easily mistaken for booze. Just enough to make her pass out. Twilight had no doubt that the dosage had been carefully measured. Any more and her heart likely would have stopped. It probably should have worked much sooner, but Twilight was resilient. When her body tried to shut down, it didn't take much for her to keep the wheels turning. Even a highly dangerous magical drug was no match for Twilight's willpower.

Twilight had once thought she'd be happier if Canterlot bled to death. She thought it deserved a grim fate after what the city had taken from her. But she realized that—for once at least—Canterlot was innocent. There had been forces at work, but they weren't simply the forces of a city contaminated by sin. They were the good and evil living inside of its citizens. The city itself had never been rotten. It had always been those who lived there. As much as Twilight tried to deny it, she'd brought that part of Canterlot to Ponyville. She'd caused this.

“I don't like this town,” said Twilight. “I don't think I'll ever like it.”

She thought of that sign: Welcome to Pnyville. Unfortunate and imperfect. A terrible first impression. But also charming, in the strangest way. Ponyville had character. It had stories. It was vibrant and alive despite having no right to be either. That was why nopony bothered fixing the “O” on that sign. The citizens of Ponyville knew their town was unfortunate and imperfect, they knew it was mundane and pointless. They stayed because that was what they wanted.

“And I am a coward,” said Twilight. “I've been afraid this entire time. Afraid of myself. But I was never able to say it out loud.”

She shrugged.

“I can't go back,” she said. “Ponyville is my home now. I hate it, but it's my home.”

Raven nodded. Ponies tended to have a strong sense of home. But what was a pony supposed to do when their home rejected them? Raven's had rejected her by not being what she needed it to be, while Twilight's had simply thrown her out. But Twilight never believed she had a sense of home. She thought her home was where Shining Armor had taken her on walks and Cadence had baked her cookies. Twilight thought it was her attachment to what she'd once thought Canterlot was going to give her. But it was really just a mundane attachment to where she'd grown up that made Twilight miss the city. She really was too sentimental for her own good. Smiling, Raven raised the teacup to her mouth and started to take a sip.

Twilight reached out with her magic, knocking the teacup from Raven's grasp. She watched as it flew from Raven's hooves, the brownish liquid flying from the cup as it sailed through the air. The cup clattered to the ground, rolling an inch across the floor before coming to a stop about a foot away from the table. The remaining tea spilled over the rim, leaving a tiny puddle on the floor.

“I'm afraid not,” said Twilight.

Raven looked at the spilled tea for a second, then turned back to Twilight. She smiled again. She should have known. She had known, somewhere deep down. That was what made this game so interesting. It was knowing everything, yet still having enough wiggle room to hope for a different outcome. It was the feeling of the entire universe conspiring in her favor, endlessly looping the same consequences.

Twilight poured her own tea back into the teapot. She realized she should have been happy. She was always cheerful at the end of a case, even if she didn't show it. But she didn't feel like getting a celebratory donut with Spike or grabbing a coffee by herself. There were even more ghosts inside Twilight's head, haunting the unexplored corners of the house. They were inside the cupboards, running through the walls, dancing in the attic. Twilight was never going to be at peace.

“There are officers waiting outside,” said Twilight.

She shouldn't have bothered. Of course Raven already knew that. But Twilight had taken the precaution anyway. On the off chance Raven tried to run, she needed some kind of back-up plan. She couldn't put so much faith in her crossbow, especially with her terrible aim. Even with magic on her side, she felt as if she needed help.

But in hindsight, she'd been scared of an enemy that didn't actually exist. Raven and the masked pony were one in the same, but Raven was merely a pony. The phantom that had haunted Twilight's mind didn't exist. The ghost capable of bypassing locked doors and eluding detection was sitting across from her, as real and solid as Twilight herself.

Raven looked down. Twilight had switched the hoof-drawn pictures marking their places. She'd missed that before, having been too focused on the conversation. But now that everything had calmed down, she noticed the crude drawing of a crow's head staring up at her. Its eyes bore into hers, piercing and unblinking.

Raven was the crow. She'd been the crow all along.

In the end, Raven got what she wanted. She'd wanted to torment Twilight, to punish her for taking Shining Armor away from her. That was all she'd ever wanted, her only goal throughout this little game of hers. Twilight had done the work without even realizing it, an unwilling agent of her own torment. A snake eating its own tail.

But as Twilight watched a silent Raven being carted away, she realized that Raven hadn't won. Neither of them had won. This wasn't the type of game anypony could win. Even with the tables tilted in Raven's favor, she'd ultimately been setting herself up for a loss. This was all just a performance. And like all good performances, eventually the curtain closed and the actors trotted off-stage. The audience left their places, the lights were taken down, the costumes were stowed. It was just a sad empty stage.

Spike reached over and placed a claw on Twilight's back. He was relieved when she didn't flinch at his touch.

“We could go on vacation,” he said. “Las Pegasus is nice this time of year.”

Twilight had thought about getting away, but for some reason she'd never started making plans. Perhaps she was afraid she'd never come back, even though she had no desire to live in Las Pegasus. But she should have known that was ridiculous. She wasn't going to escape Ponyville that easily. No matter how far she ran, this wretched boring town would find her. It was in her bloodstream, much like Canterlot had been for the past several years of Twilight's life. It had her in a vice grip, slowly strangling the resistance out of her.

“I have some work to do,” she said. “Maybe in a few months.”

Even if she just ended up coming back, she did want to get away for a while. Maybe not Las Pegasus. A brief trip to Canterlot so her and Spike could visit with Cadence. They needed to go there anyway. As soon as they found out where Raven had hidden that ring she'd stolen from Cadence, Twilight wanted to return it in person. Her and Cadence needed to catch up. Of course Spike would be coming along. Twilight needed the emotional support.

Rainbow Dash and Rarity were standing on either side of Raven, each holding one end of the chains connected to Raven's hoofcuffs. Raven said nothing as she was marched into the police cart, an indifferent look on her face. Her smile didn't waver, even as Rainbow Dash shoved her into the cart. She seemed unbothered by the rough treatment.

Twilight considered how long she'd been in Ponyville. She'd had ample time to get things together, but she'd apparently been slacking off. She'd believed Ponyville didn't need her. It probably didn't, but the events of the past few days had convinced Twilight that she couldn't let herself forget who she was.

First and foremost, she needed a new partner. Somepony she could trust, somepony who knew how to get things done without question. But not Spike. After everything Spike had gone through, he deserved a break. Twilight did as well, the only difference being that she wasn't going to take one. She had no intention of letting herself slack off anymore than she already had, especially with new ideas on the horizon. The difference between Canterlot and Ponyville was that Canterlot hadn't really needed her. Everything was already in place long before Twilight arrived. She'd simply been an asset, a replaceable component of the law enforcement team. Moondancer might do a much better job than Twilight. But Ponyville was in dire need of a Twilight Sparkle, even if the town didn't know it.

Fluttershy. She wasn't the best choice at a glance, but Twilight was confident. All Fluttershy really needed was some formal training and a bit more confidence, the former of which could be handled by Spike. Given a year or so, Fluttershy might prove herself to be a valuable asset and an excellent partner. Twilight had no way of knowing ahead of time, but she believed in Fluttershy. There was something there, something she could build off of. If Fluttershy was willing, Twilight was ready to see what the shy pegasus was capable of.

Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash were two different stories. They both seemed to have a knack for finding ponies, or at least they could if they applied themselves to it. Perhaps Twilight could use that. Maybe she could put them in charge of missing ponies cases? The town wasn't exactly known for missing ponies, but there was the occasional filly or colt who wandered off during a class trip or attempted to run away from home. In the meantime, there were plenty of teenage vandals and pranksters roaming the streets. Twilight would be interested to see how well those troublemakers hid from Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash.

Rarity was securing the cart, making sure Raven couldn't escape. That seemed a bit unnecessary, given that Raven had so far shown no desire to escape. She'd walked out willingly, presenting herself to the officers waiting outside. Raven knew there was nowhere to hide. She could have run to the edge of Equestria and Twilight would have found her. Another admirable trait Twilight sometimes overlooked and Raven had come to deeply respect.

Twilight admired Rarity's professional conduct and her attention to detail. No wonder her and Spike had done so well with their little investigation. Perhaps this wasn't the life Rarity had envisioned for herself, but she'd thrown herself into it. Twilight knew exactly who she was going to leave in charge while she was on vacation.

“I don't think Shining Armor loved her,” said Spike. “She was delusional.”

But Twilight shook her head. She's read those letters. There was no mistaking the intimacy and passion of the language, however clunky it sounded when spoken aloud. Some ponies could keep their hearts draped for years, even their entire lives. But Shining Armor had spilled himself into those letters.

“He did love her,” she said. “Maybe not the same way he loved Cadence, but he loved her.”

She pulled out the folded piece of paper she'd found under her saucer. She already knew what it was, but she unfolded it anyway. As Spike leaned in to see what she was reading, Twilight started to read it out loud. The final note. The last clue. The end of everything.

But this isn't what I want. This was never what I wanted. I thought I'd lost something so valuable that nothing mattered anymore. I thought I'd let go of myself. But you know what? I found a little of myself inside of you. A part of me hoped I'd never find it. What was it? I don't know. Maybe it was that picture of me as a colt, all dressed up as a knight for Nightmare Night. I was so innocent back then. I just wanted to protect everypony. I still do. I'm sorry.

The second half of that torn letter.

Spike withdrew, lifting his claw from Twilight's back. He was silent, waiting for Twilight's reaction. He really hadn't known what was in those letters. He'd suspected the worst, but his imagination had stopped just short of reality. Knowing what they were must have shattered Twilight's heart.

“He was sad,” Spike said.

He instantly felt bad about his audacity. Spike knew he had no right to say that. That observation was for Twilight to make. If she chose to share it with him, he'd consider himself grateful. Spike wasn't sure she fully forgave him for sneaking around, even though it had been for a good reason. The trust between them had been restored, yet there was still the slightest bit of a gap left. No matter how they looked at it, Spike had lied to her. They still needed to recover from all of that.

“That's no excuse,” said Twilight.

It was to an extent, but she had to think beyond Shining Armor's mindset. How in Equestria was she supposed to break this to Cadence? Should she even try? A part of her believed Cadence had a right to know, a right to pass her own judgments. But another part of her wanted to let Shining Armor rest in peace. She wanted her parents and Cadence to believe Shining Armor had been the stallion they all wanted him to be. There was no point in digging him up so they could all weigh his sins. The image of Shining Armor—however false—was more powerful than any truth Twilight could give Cadence. But as long as Cadence didn't know, wasn't she mourning a pony who didn't exist? A false image of the stallion she'd fallen in love with? But no, that wasn't true. Shining Armor was still the pony who'd bought Cadence flowers, who'd taken her out to dinner once a week. He was also the same pony who had read Twilight bedtime stories and helped her with word puzzles. Twilight couldn't pretend the Shining Armor she remembered was some kind of elaborate lie. They were both one in the same, both sharing the same sins.

Lyra sidled up beside Twilight. She was holding a folder, an apologetic smile on her face.

“This probably isn't the best time,” she said.

Twilight let out a long sigh. Of course she wasn't going to get a nice moment of reflection.

“No, it is quite possibly the worst time,” she said. “But what is it?”

Lyra gestured towards the folder held in her magic. It had a date on it, written in the worst hoofwriting Twilight had seen in her entire life. She could hardly tell it was a date in the first place. It looked like a bunch of squiggly lines. But when Twilight squinted, she realized it was a series of numbers that were evidently meant to be a date.

“Um, you told us not to bother you with anything while you were investigating,” said Lyra. “But here's everything you missed while you were busy. We, um, couldn't take care of it by ourselves.”

Letting out another long sigh, Twilight took the folder. Maybe she'd move up that vacation she was planning. Next week seemed more suitable. Resigning herself to a few hours of sorting through nonsense, Twilight flipped the folder open and scanned the first page.

More petty vandalism. Some lewd drawings all over the exterior of the Apple family barn. Culprits unknown. Rarity and Rainbow Dash could handle that one. Rarity's powers of deduction and excellent eye for detail would come in handy. Whoever had done it, they wouldn't be able to hide from Rainbow Dash.

Missing dog. Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie could take care of that one. Fluttershy was officially being promoted from receptionist to officer. This little case seemed like a good start. Despite Pinkie's many faults as an officer, she was great at encouragement. Fluttershy was going to need plenty of that.

Somepony stole Granny Smith's false teeth. Strange, but Lyra should be able to sort it out. If Granny Smith had just misplaced them again—this would be the third time this month—Lyra would probably find them within a few hours.

Twilight shook her head. The force needed more horsepower. She should see about getting some more ponies to sign up. Just three or four to bulk them up a little. She wouldn't even need a decent pitch to attract attention. Ponyville clearly had no standards for its police force. However, Twilight already had someone in mind. She wondered if Zecora would be interested. She had her doubts, but it was worth just asking. The force needed somepony who knew the Everfree Forest.

She rubbed her forehead. Maybe she did need a break. A few days in bed and some hot chocolate. A long hot bath and her favorite novel.

Twilight watched as the cart pulled away, Raven's indifferent face peering through the bars. Eventually there was going to be a trial. An actual trial, not the sad equivalent Ponyville could have offered. Raven would be taken to Canterlot and escorted into a courtroom. There wasn't an abundance of evidence, but Twilight wasn't bothered by that. She knew Raven was going to confess. There was hardly even a point in having a trial. Raven would gladly take any punishment they gave her, however cruel and unusual. Raven had run out of steam. There was nothing left for her besides that ultimately hollow feeling of victory. Did she think it was worth it? Was she pleased with herself? She certainly didn't look pleased. Raven looked as numb as Twilight felt.

Twilight had been wrong about the triangle. Cadence had never been a part of it. It had always been Twilight, Raven, and Shining Armor. Three ponies. Broken by the city, mocked by the life they wanted versus the life they received, adrift and sobbing too quietly for the world to hear. Twilight had given herself to Canterlot, but she'd ended up in Ponyville. Shining Armor had dedicated himself to cleansing the city, but he'd ended up dying to protect one of the only ponies who meant more to him. Raven had tried to hold onto whatever relationship her and Shining Armor had created, but she'd been thrown off. Canterlot sat between the three of them, blameless but watching.

There was no telling who or what Twilight would have become if she'd stayed in Canterlot. Would she have ended up like Shining Armor? Or would she have turned into Raven? There were so many branching paths.

She felt Spike's claw on her back. Twilight felt comforted by his touch. Perhaps their relationship would never be the same again, but they could start over. Twilight was never going to drift away. If she ever got too close to the edge, Spike would be there to pull her back. Twilight no longer needed the image of Shining Armor to keep her going. She didn't need to believe in the stallion she thought he was. Spike was there. He was and always would be the dragon Twilight met in Canterlot.

“How about we get some coffee?” said Spike. “My treat.”

Twilight considered all the work she had to do. The paperwork, the processing, the calls. It was going to be a mess. It would likely take at least two days to sort everything out. Then she'd have to arrange for Raven to be transferred to Canterlot for her trial. The weeks following that were going to be utter madness. The sheer surreality of this case meant the usual procedures couldn't be followed. Twilight needed to work overtime just to make sure everything went smoothly. This was the most work she'd had since coming to Ponyville. It was kind of invigorating, but also a little intimidating.

Spike gently patted Twilight's head. He knew what she was thinking.

“Let Rarity handle it,” he said. “I'm sure she's up to it. Fluttershy and Lyra can help her.”

Twilight put her hooves over her eyes and sighed. The thought of letting somepony else handle this monumental task absolutely terrified her. But if she couldn't trust Rarity and the others with something like this, how was she supposed to keep the station running smoothly? She actually did believe Rarity could handle this, perhaps better than she could. If Rarity needed help, she'd ask. For the time being, Twilight could afford to take a step back, at least for a little while.

“Fine,” she said.

Why in Tartarus not? Twilight had earned it. All those years ago, Twilight thought Canterlot was going to eat her alive. But she'd survived and she'd escaped. She was happy about that, even if she was doomed to spend the rest of her life in this dead-end town.

At least Ponyville had some damn good coffee.

Chapter 1: Midnight and Morning

Welcome to Ponyville.

The bright flowery letters almost made Twilight's eyes hurt. She squinted at the postcard, trying to find some meaning behind the pointlessly cheerful text. It was done in that faux washed out style that seemed fairly overused with postcards. The sign gleamed in an unnatural sort of sunlight, the type of perfect illumination that could only exist in the imagination of somepony who had never been to Ponyville.

The sign was wrong. Twilight had seen the actual sign, that generic wooden eyesore bearing the image of a smiling family. It said Welcome to Pnyville. The O was missing.

“Oh, its always been like that,” Pinkie Pie had chuckled.

She'd then laughed at her own accidental joke for nearly five minutes.

Why doesn't someone fix it? Twilight wanted to ask. But she stayed silent, listening to Pinkie's laughter. She realized she had no right to ask that question. Twilight didn't belong there. It wasn't her town. She was not going to be there long enough to justify knowing.

Twilight tore the postcard in half, splitting it right down the middle. She watched the remains flutter to her desk. Wel to P said one side, while the other pronounced comeonyville. Even more wrong than before. She'd been there for three years and she still hadn't asked about the sign.

Shaking her head, she flipped open the folder marked Friday. The day's reports spread out before her like a canvas of tedium. Words, some attached photographs, all stamped with that familiar symbol of a shield and sun.

Possible burglary at Sweet Apple Acres. Turned out to be a family of angry raccoons. Raccoons not taken in for questioning.

Minor dispute over dropped produce at marketplace. Resolved. No arrests.

Suspicious figure seen hanging around outside schoolhouse. Turned out to be a scarecrow. Owner of scarecrow charged a modest fine.

Local graffiti artist arrested over lewd drawings. Officially released after heated debate over the definition of “erotic”. Nopony charged. Art remains subjective.

Twilight skimmed the details. She couldn't wait to get home. Her bed was at home. Good coffee was at home. Twilight used to hate coffee, but time had converted her. It only took one year for her to go over to the dark side. Now her daily cup of hot paradise was one of the few things Twilight looked forward to on the regular.

She closed the folder and looked at the clock. Nine past ten. As per usual, Twilight was the last one out. Everypony else—laughing, smiling, waving—had already clocked out around nine. She probably should have felt a little creeped out, seeing as she was all alone in an empty police station. But Twilight laughed to herself at the very thought, a long bitter laugh that echoed in the otherwise empty building.

Twilight levitated the folder back into the filing cabinet. She only bothered carrying out her obligations because it was just in her nature. If she'd been able to deprogram herself, Twilight would have.

She got up from her desk and hurried to the door. There was something satisfying about the way the door creaked open, the sound spilling into the empty reception area. Twilight listened to the door shut behind her, its hinges straining ever so slightly. She then listened to her own hoofsteps, each a deafening thud in the silent station. She walked past the receptionist desk and to the double doors separating her from the outside world.

Twilight let the cold night air waft over her. Compared to Canterlot, Ponyville was a lot different at night. The air wasn't permeated by a sense of desperation. Twilight didn't feel like she had to glance behind her every second as she trotted home, but she did anyway. City habits are the hardest to break.

Her cottage was far from the main town area, a mercy she'd been granted by pure good fortune. When Twilight approached, she saw that nearly all the windows were lit up. She smiled to herself as she mounted the steps to the front door. It really felt amazing to be home.

Twilight unlocked the door and stepped inside. Another city habit. Barely anypony locked their doors in Ponyville.

A purple dragon was lounging on the couch, his body taking up the entire piece of furniture. He was lying on his belly, his thick tail flicking back and forth and his face propped by his hands as he read a magazine. The dragon glanced disinterestedly in Twilight's direction as she closed the door behind her.

“Slow night?” he said.

His voice was deep and slightly intimidating, but also friendly and warm. There was a parental quality to it that put Twilight at ease.

Twilight rattled off her usual complaints in reply. Her words trailed behind her as she made her way to the kitchen.

“Pinkie really needs to stop using those strawberry-scented pens,” she said. “And how does she even get so much confetti everywhere?”

She pulled a mug down from the cupboard, frowning in frustration. Nopony else seemed to get it when Twilight went off on Pinkie for being unprofessional. It made the whole thing even more annoying. But Twilight pressed on, keeping Pinkie on her radar even as her attempts rose in futility.

“I keep telling Rainbow she can't nap on the job,” said Twilight. “What part of “on duty” does she not understand?”

She turned on the coffee maker.

Spike grabbed his magazine and pulled himself into a sitting position. He peered into the kitchen area, cocking an eyebrow at Twilight and the coffee maker.

“Coffee?” he said. “This late at night? Really?”

His tone of voice made Twilight feel guilty. Yes, coffee. Yes, that late at night. They'd been over it. She thought he understood. Spike probably did, but he also disapproved. He disapproved of a lot of things she'd turned into habits since coming to Ponyville.

“It's decaf,” she said.

Spike rolled his eyes at the weak defense, but he let it be. He shouldn't be the one to cast the first stone. Spike had his fair share of bad habits. His love of drinking cider on weeknights had been the topic of discussion more than once. But Spike didn't see anything particularly wrong with this indulgence. It wasn't like he was on the force anymore.

“How's tomorrow looking?” he said.

Twilight laughed sourly.

“Boring,” she said.

It was ironic. She knew at least ten ponies who'd kill to be in her situation. Miles away from the dirt and grime of the city, established in a relatively safe little town very few visited or left. Dealing with drunk vandals or escaped pigs instead of brutal murder and assault. Canterlot had turned good ponies into trembling puddles of nerves and reduced some of the bravest to babbling cowards. Anypony else would have been ecstatic to escape all that and settle into something so familiar yet wonderfully different.

But Twilight wasn't like those other ponies. It wasn't that she wanted a pile of bodies. She just wanted a challenge, something to really get that big brain of hers working. A robbery that went unsolved for more than ten minutes—it was always either a misunderstanding or a bird—would have sufficed.

“Did you get the mail?” she said.

Spike pointed a claw at a pile of envelopes and papers on the end table. As was the norm, it was mostly advertisements and invitations to various functions. He always wrestled with the inclination to toss everything into the trash. Twilight usually ended up doing that anyway, so he thought it would be nice to save her a step.

While the coffee maker brewed up Twilight's midnight-ish drink, she went through the mail. Same old stuff. An invitation to a barn dance she wouldn't be attending, farming magazines begging for her patronage, a small packet containing a free sample of raspberry jam from some local place, and various other nonsense. Twilight threw most of it into the garbage, but she kept the sample of raspberry jam. Raspberry just happened to be her favorite.

“Anything good?” said Spike.

Twilight replied in the negative. Her mail in Canterlot hadn't been more exciting by comparison, but everything mediocre hit her extra hard in Ponyville.

She started to levitate the pile of magazines into the trash can. It was amazing just how many free subscriptions she'd gotten saddled with upon entering Ponyville. Like she needed a monthly edition of Hard Plow, the most unfortunately named magazine about farming in the whole of Equestria. Twilight dropped the magazines into the trash one by one, satisfied as every one came to rest in a pile of candy wrappers and empty bags of potato chips.

Spike lay across the couch again, this time on his back. He was absorbed in his magazine again, eagerly drinking every word of an article about proper claw grooming. He didn't look up as he held up an envelope in his claw.

“This was by the door,” he said.

Interested, Twilight grabbed it with her magic. She held it up to her face and examined it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just an envelope. Maybe a bit dirtier than it should have been, like it had recently come out of the ground. It had Twilight's name on it, written in hoofwriting that didn't look even vaguely familiar to her. Nevertheless, it had to be another of Pinkie's silly invitations. She was always badgering Twilight to get more involved in the community.

She carefully opened the envelope. To her surprise, there wasn't an immediate explosion of confetti. She instead reached in and pulled out a torn piece of notebook paper. The paper looked even dirtier than the envelope itself, plus it was slightly damp. Twilight held it to her muzzle and noticed it smelled of some mysterious chemical. Frowning, she turned it over and read the words printed on it in lopsided letters.

It begins.

Twilight turned the paper back over to examine the back. Nothing. Simply those two words.

“Who left this?” she said.

Spike shrugged.

“It was just waiting by the door when I got home,” he said.

Detecting something odd in Twilight's tone, he closed his magazine and sat up again. He hadn't thought much about the envelope. It was all just mail to him. Spike had only separated it from everything else because he thought it might be something extra-personal.

Twilight neatly folded the paper and put it beside the coffee maker. A joke. It had to be some kind of joke. Some kind of surreal attempt at humor. Not something she would have expected from this boring as hay town, but small towns like Ponyville were full of surprises. Maybe somepony with an odd sense of comedy just wanted to give Twilight's day a boost.

“Do you want some coffee?” she said.

Spike shook his head. He'd already had his nightly glass of cider. Twilight could complain all she wanted, but the cider really did help him get through the night. She had her coping methods, he had his. It just so happened that Spike's coping method worked a little better.

Twilight's phone buzzed.

She didn't hear it at first. She'd been expecting her alarm clock, so any other sound was inconsequential. Twilight lay there in bed for quite some time, listening to the buzz of her phone and not recognizing it for what it was.

Then something broke into Twilight's sleeping brain and manifested itself as a single thought: Pick up your sun-cursed phone. It came to her in the voice of her former boss, a strict stallion who'd always disliked phones and the noises they made. Leaving hers on during a meeting had been Twilight's first rookie mistake. With that gruff reprimand ringing in the ears of her dream self, she abruptly woke up.

The phone continued to buzz. Now that Twilight had joined the waking world, the sound immediately started to grate on her. It was better than Pinkie's annoyingly upbeat ringtone, but not by much. Grumbling, she snatched the phone from the night stand and held it close to her face. The readout on the lock screen indicated it was a whole three hours before dawn.

She was going to strangle Pinkie Pie. She hadn't seen the number yet, but who else would be calling her at that hour?

Twilight took the call without thinking. She wanted to ignore it, but that buzzing really was annoying. It was also very early, so she hadn't had her shot of caffeine. Her brain was a bit sluggish and unable to move far beyond the desire to make that stupid noise stop.

“Hello?” she said.

She practically spat the word into the phone. Twilight braced herself for that disarmingly blissful voice on the other end. This time she was going to break her rule about not yelling. Twilight had met a dozen Pinkie Pies during her time on the force and she was used to dealing with them in the same way. But this wasn't Canterlot. Pinkie Pie wasn't going to harden up and stop goofing off if Twilight didn't start being tough on her.

The voice on the other end wasn't blissful, but it successfully disarmed Twilight. Her first instinct was to mutter some obscenities and hang up, but she just froze.

“You need to see this.”

It was Rainbow Dash, although Twilight completely blanked on this fact for a moment. The voice on the other end was strained, as if its owner was having trouble getting their words together. It sounded as if Rainbow was in some kind of shock and possibly on the verge of crying. That didn't sound like Rainbow Dash at all. Neither did calling Twilight three hours before Celestia raised the sun.

“See what?” she said.

Rainbow spoke again, her voice even more strained. She was definitely on the verge of something. She was either about to start sobbing or vomiting. Rainbow sounded so unlike her usual self that Twilight forced herself to listen closely.

“You have to see,” she said. “We're in front of the library.”

Twilight could hear wind in the background. She started to ask what the Tartarus was going on, but Rainbow suddenly hung up.

The moment the call ended, Twilight jumped out of bed. She didn't need to ask herself any questions or come to any conclusions. She'd heard the urgency in Rainbow's voice and that was enough. Shouting Spike's name, Twilight grabbed her uniform from where it lay folded on top of her dresser. She dressed in record time, still shouting for Spike.

For the first time in ages, Twilight forgot that she was a big time officer working in a small town. She forgot that Spike was no longer her partner. Twilight forgot that this was Ponyville, a town where nothing ever happened and nopony seemed to mind. Something was happening, except Twilight had no Celestia-damned idea what it was. None of that was important. The importance lay in those few cryptic syllables uttered by a distressed Rainbow Dash.

Spike was waiting for Twilight in the living room. He asked no questions, just gave her a businesslike nod. He understood everything—or at least everything relevant—by just the look on Twilight's face. Spike chose to keep his thoughts to himself. He dutifully followed Twilight out of the house, his two feet barely able to keep up with her galloping four.

As Twilight ran, she considered the possibilities. A late night robbery? A massive dispute between neighbors? Arson? The last seemed the most likely. Twilight imagined some disgruntled store owner torching another pony's business for petty revenge. She'd seen worse revenge schemes in Canterlot, but that seemed just mild and wild enough for a place like Ponyville.

Or maybe Pinkie Pie had finally snapped and decided it was party time whether Twilight wanted to or not. With how determined she was to shove social interaction down Twilight's throat, it wouldn't have surprised Twilight to find out that this was all a trap. A trap for the sole purpose of making Twilight dance and initiate awkward conversation with a bunch of ponies who were still practically strangers to her. Diabolical. Also insane.

But that panic in Rainbow's voice had been real. Twilight had heard panic like that before and she knew it was impossible to fake. So either Rainbow was an acting genius in disguise or something unthinkable really had happened. Twilight was betting on the latter.

Her and Spike finally reached the library. On an average day, Golden Oak Library was a ghost town. Ponyville either didn't care about reading or the citizens just hated their local library for some reason. Twilight actually found that convenient. She probably would have given up on books altogether if she'd run into more than one local during her daily trips to the library. Even in a small town like Ponyville, solitude was a blessing.

The inside of the library was empty, but the outside was packed. A huge crowd of ponies were gathered in front like they were watching a live demonstration. As Twilight approached, she caught more than one look of utter horror and disbelief. Ponies were covering their mouths, many of them pale and clearly on the verge of throwing up. A few patches of ground were already splattered with vomit. What in the name of Celestia was going on?

“Police!” Twilight said.

Nopony paid any attention, even as her and Spike shoved their way through the crowd. Hooves were stepped on and sides were nudged, but reactions were mild or nonexistent. It was like they were all frozen in a single moment, unable to react to anything outside of their initial experience. The surreality of the situation was making Twilight uneasy. She thought she recognized it from somewhere, but a date or event wouldn't come to her.

Now at the front of the crowd, Twilight blinked in surprise. Whatever she'd expected, it hadn't been, well, competence. She was used to feeling like the only pony on the force who actually took their job seriously. It was bizarre to see her fellow ponies in uniform act like they'd earned their badges. But sure enough, Rainbow Dash and a few others had done a pretty good job keeping the crowd back. They were taking charge and doing their jobs in a way Twilight had so far only fantasized about.

She approached Rainbow Dash who—shockingly—seemed to be in charge. Rainbow looked more put together than she'd sounded on the phone, but she was obviously shaken. Whatever had happened, it was far beyond her capacity as a small time officer in a sleepy town. She'd probably only joined the force because napping on the job had been downright encouraged.

“What's going on?” said Twilight.

Pinkie Pie was there as well, along with Rarity and Lyra. For once, Pinkie wasn't grinning like she was the happiest pony in the world. She looked serious, even grim. Somehow that shocked Twilight more than Rainbow actually taking her job seriously. It was like getting a glimpse into some bizarrely ideal alternate universe.

Lyra spoke up. She looked as shaken as the others, but she kept her voice steady and professional.

“You should see this,” she said.

She gestured at something behind her.

Twilight hadn't been paying much attention to anything other than the massive crowd and her fellow officers. She finally turned to look at what everypony else was staring at. At the sight of it, her mouth dropped open. Nothing could have prepared her. Not her years of training, not the books she'd read, not even her nightmares. What she saw made Twilight's entire world quake.

When she'd been in Canterlot, Twilight had seen her fair share of dead bodies. Thousands, if she had to estimate. At first she'd been repulsed by every single one, horrified and unable to look for longer than she had to. But eventually she'd just shut off that part of her brain. Twilight had become detached, a skill that had helped her rise in the ranks. Bodies were no big deal to her. The ponies that created them—either by accident or on purpose—were her concern.

It wasn't the body itself that made Twilight lightheaded. No, she'd seen much worse. Murderers could get really creative when it came to carving up their victims. It was where and how the body had been placed that gave Twilight pause. Some killers went out all out with presentation, but Twilight had never seen anything like this before.

The pony had been nailed—or rather staked—to the front door like some kind of macabre art display. Or rather their parts had been staked to the door. The corpse had been turned into a once-living jigsaw puzzle. The head and limbs had been neatly detached from the torso. The layout reminded Twilight of those anatomy sketches from her medical books, the ones where each part was detached from the whole and labeled for convenience. Except there was no helpful labeling to explain anything Twilight was seeing.

The surgical precision almost made Twilight believe she could just put the pony back together and they'd be okay. But even if she'd nurtured that naive belief due to the neatly severed limbs, the head was another story. The ears had been torn off. Not carefully sliced off by a surgical tool, but torn, leaving a jagged wound where each should have been. The eyes and muzzle had been removed with slightly more precision.

Once Twilight stopped gawking like a rookie, she realized that Rainbow Dash was waiting for her to say something. She quickly slipped into her professional demeanor. After her time in Ponyville, she'd nearly forgotten that she was supposed to be in charge. She wasn't allowed to stand around and stare like one of the locals.

“Who are they?” she said.

Rainbow apparently had no qualms about standing around and staring. Twilight felt kind of sorry for her. Rainbow Dash talked like she was a seasoned professional, but she really was just a small town officer who'd joined the force less than two years ago. She probably didn't even have all the credentials—being a weather pony was hardly “experience”--but she'd gone for it anyway because it seemed like an easy job. How bitterly ironic.

Twilight waited patiently for Rainbow's answer. She was relieved when she finally got a reply.

“I...we don't know,” said Rainbow Dash. “Nopony here seems to recognize them.”

Twilight sighed. There it was again. That always-present always-waiting wish to be back in Canterlot, with her big desk and her underlings who actually knew what the fuck they were doing. Her colleagues would have gotten everything cleared up before they even called her. That was just how fast things moved in the city.

“Of course they don't,” she said. “Cosmetic surgery tends to do that.”

Rainbow cringed at Twilight's laid-back tone. Didn't she understand that—once upon a time—Twilight had seen stuff like this almost everyday? Maybe not exactly like this, but in roughly the same vein. No, of course Rainbow didn't get it. Nopony had ever asked Twilight about her past. In their minds, Ponyville was the beginning and end of every story.

Twilight continued on, trying to sound as effected as she felt for the sake of saving face.

“Have the body taken to the morgue,” she said. “A postmortem will need to be performed. Once the cause of death is determined, we can decide how to proceed.”

Rainbow Dash glanced from the body—she couldn't look at it too long—to Twilight. She appeared skeptical.

“Um, all of it?” she said.

Twilight heaved another sigh. How she missed Canterlot.

“Yes, all of it,” she said.

As the other officers—and Spike—moved forward to detach the body, Twilight turned back to the gaping crowd. She wanted to yell at them to disperse, but she knew they wouldn't. And truth be told, she wasn't in the mood to threaten arrests for a made-up charge just to get them scattering. She kind of wished she was one of them. Twilight had never before appreciated the perks of being a civilian.

Her mind flashed back to the message. Twilight had thought it was so silly. A joke, a prank, some idiotic attempt at getting her attention. Maybe it was. Maybe it was just a silly coincidence.

The problem was that Twilight didn't believe in coincidences. In the grand scheme of things, she thought random chance was always a possibility. But on a smaller scale, there always seemed to be connections. If two robberies were committed on the same day within hours of each other, a line could be drawn between them. Soon Twilight would be connecting witnesses, weapons, and the exact quantity of goods stolen. The note and the murder struck her as a coincidence she just couldn't believe in.

But if it wasn't a coincidence, what in Tartarus did it mean?

Chapter 12: Deception

A reporter had once referred to Canterlot as “the safest city in all of Equestria”. Despite the pile of missing ponies files on Twilight's desk that might have objected, Twilight didn't think this was entirely inaccurate.

While the city had a thriving community of felons and more than a few things that went bump in the night, the force prided itself on modernism. The criminals might have ruled in their own little world, but it was the cops who had the gadgets and gizmos, the magic and the means.

But there were always weeds, weaknesses to be pruned. Dirty cops who accepted bribes, traitors whose morality could be flipped at a moment's notice, thieves hiding in plain sight. Twilight had been almost obsessive about getting rid of the weak links, trying to singlehandedly create the strongest and most trusted police force in Equestria. She wanted to fulfill the only dream Shining Armor had left behind.

Then she was forced out of Canterlot and dropped flank-first into Ponyville. A place that didn't need to be cleaned because it was hardly ever dirty. A place where a “mugging” was something that happened in crime films and the only thing being “murdered” was Twilight's patience. Ponyville didn't need a Twilight Sparkle or a Shining Armor. It needed hard workers like Applejack and friendly faces like Pinkie Pie.

But Twilight had brought Canterlot—all that filth, that corruption, that resentment—to Ponyville. She'd forced Ponyville to need her when she didn't need it. She'd created an unhealthy relationship. Twilight felt as if she was the abusive partner who'd brought all of her baggage from work into a once-peaceful home. However, she could fix it. She could fix all of this.

Twilight slid the bug across the map and frowned. She'd finally found a use for that map of Ponyville—rarely updated, but it wasn't like it needed to be—she'd stashed in her desk. She'd spread it out on the living room floor and placed the bug in the center of it. Tracking spells were rather tricky and not always reliable. The problem was zeroing in on a specific location with only a map for guidance.

Spike was still gone, but he'd sent Twilight two messages in the past hour. The first had been to ask if she wanted anything from Sunbean. The second was him telling her—at length for a change—exactly where he was. Twilight wanted to appreciate his efforts at keeping her mind untroubled during such a difficult time, but that would have required complete forgiveness. Spike was still trying to pretend everything was fine. But that deception had left a scar. Every time the concept of letting go popped into her head, she remembered how he'd lied to her, how he'd worried her, how he wasn't the same Spike she'd known in Canterlot because of those things.

Twilight hadn't replied to either of Spike's messages and he hadn't sent a third. He knew better than to pester her. But then again, maybe he didn't and he was just waiting for the right moment to hit her with a guilt trip. Twilight didn't know anymore. So much of her life had been twisted out of shape recently. Those familiar circles and squares she'd once called her reality could no longer fit into those molds.

She pressed her hoof down on the bug and moved it again. To the right? No, left and then up. Right again. Left, up, down, a bit to the right. Twilight bit her lip, her heart pounding as the seconds dragged on. Tracking spells were efficient in their own way, but they were also arduous. Twilight knew she didn't have much time. Eventually the masked pony would realize she was catching up to them.

The worst part of police work was waiting around and doing nothing. Twilight had been on a stakeout before. Four hours in front of a museum to catch the pony who'd been stealing paintings. Four long miserable hours just watching a silent building, nodding at the security guard as he did his rounds, eating donuts and drinking coffee. The caffeine helped, but only as long as it lasted. Then it was infrequent bathroom breaks—too much coffee—and trying to keep her mind active so she didn't doze off. This was before Spike and her were partnered up, so she'd had to endure some cop whose name she'd forgotten trying to strike up a conversation about turnips of all things. Four hours of pure mental torture only made bearable by the arrest Twilight and her fellow officer were able to make later that night.

There! Twilight moved the bug to its final position. She smiled triumphantly. This was it. There was no way in Tartarus she was wrong. Twilight could feel the invisible strings of the spell tugging at her hoof as it chased the signal.

Twilight stared at the map for a few seconds. She had no idea what she was about to find. That should have scared her, but there was a strange energy coursing through her entire body. She felt as if she was about to finally get some answers, finally meet her tormentor face-to-face. The masked pony would no longer be a phantom. They would be something real, something physical. Something solid and breakable. Something Twilight could fight.

She went into her bedroom and grabbed a camera, a dagger she kept in the drawer of her night stand, and her phone. She didn't normally carry weapons—unicorns hardly ever needed them—but she didn't want to be caught off-guard. The problem was that this masked pony was clever. Even if Twilight took them by surprise, there was no telling what kind of tricks they had at their disposal. Twilight had been under the impression that the masked pony didn't intend to kill her—at least not yet—but plans could change if she backed them into a corner.

She started to call Spike, but she stopped herself. It occurred to her that she'd been rather reckless when it came to communication. Twilight had assumed that the masked pony had a limit, but that bug under her desk had proven otherwise. Who was to say they hadn't tapped her phone somehow? No, Twilight couldn't afford to just give away her plans, even for safety purposes. Twilight needed to start thinking like a pony whose every move was being tracked.

Twilight wrote a note and left it on the kitchen table. The note claimed she'd gone food shopping and implored Spike to give her a call if she wasn't back by a certain time. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best Twilight could do.

She wondered if she should try to contact her fellow officers. Incompetent back-up was safer than no back-up at all. She could have turned the whole thing into a raid instead of going solo. Safety in numbers.

Twilight shook her head. What in Tartarus was she thinking? She'd barely been a team player in Canterlot. No, there was no reason to drag more of her colleagues into this. None of them deserved that. This wasn't their fight. They hadn't signed up for this.

She quietly shut the door behind her. There was a good chance she might die, that her body might never be found. But it didn't matter. This was something Twilight needed to do alone.

Canterlot had once been known as the wine capital of Equestria. It had eventually been dethroned by Manehatten, but Twilight—a loyal citizen to the end—was of the opinion that Canterlot still made the best wine in Equestria. She wasn't exactly a wine lover, but her non-professional opinion surely counted for more than those snobs who bashed some of the city's best eating establishments and mocked her favorite donut place.

Canterlot wine had class and character. It was robust and charming. Before Manehatten snatched the coveted title, Canterlot wine was referred to as “the nectar of the princesses”. It was Princess Celestia's glowing endorsement that kept Twilight loyal to her own city's wine.

But looking at it from an outside perspective, she realized that every town and city thought they had the best everything. For example, Ponyville thought it had the best fine dining establishments in Equestria. Twilight wasn't sure where such a delusion came from, but the citizens seemed to believe it wholeheartedly. From what she'd seen of Ponyville, the town actually had only one fine dining establishment and the fanciest thing on the menu was the pasta salad.

Twilight pushed open the door with her hoof. She expected the hinges to creak, but it seemed to have been oiled recently. It opened silently, further masking Twilight's arrival. Perfect. If she was going to make this work, the element of surprise was crucial.

There weren't many abandoned buildings in Ponyville, but this was one of them. According to the rarely-updated map, the place had once been an eatery. It had been converted into a boutique, then into a sort of community center. But due to its location—it was near the edge of town, a place frequented mostly by rebellions teens—it had eventually been abandoned altogether. The walls were covered with graffiti and the floor was littered with candy wrappers.

Twilight pulled out her camera and started snapping pictures of the graffiti. It was mostly artistic renderings of occult symbols and “(name) was here”. Several couples had deemed their romance special enough to add their names to a specific wall. Twilight wondered if SH + RA or SD + R were still together. Were they even still in Ponyville? Or had they eloped, as young lovers always seemed to do in those cheesy romance novels Twilight had once read? Wherever they were, she hoped they'd gotten out of Ponyville while they could.

She lowered her camera and looked around. The place seemed empty, but Twilight wasn't fooled. Why oil the hinges of a door that was never going to be used? Either the masked pony was there or Twilight was about to stumble into a nest of evidence. Either way, she was going to win this round.

Twilight had expected her fear to flare up as soon as she crossed the threshold, but she was remarkably calm as she trotted further into the building. She felt unstoppable, even as worries nagged at her. What if there were multiple masked ponies and she was walking into an ambush? What if this entire building was filled with booby traps? What if she was being recorded by a hidden camera? What if the masked pony had rigged some kind of magical defense system and Twilight was seconds away from triggering it? But even as these reasonable questions peppered her mind, Twilight didn't stop. This was a showdown. A winner-takes-all battle of brain vs. brain.

The door of the back room was slightly ajar. The room beyond it seemed to be almost pitch black, save for what might have been a single lantern placed on the floor. Twilight involuntarily shuddered at the image in her head. There was something eerie about the idea. It reminded Twilight of the cults she'd dealt with in the past. No amount of experience lessened that feeling of dread when one stumbled across a site of occult worship. Sometimes it was just dumb teens playing around, but other times it was something much more sinister. Dark magic wasn't something to be taken lightly. Those who messed around with it never seemed to understand the forces they were invoking for the sake of petty revenge or notoriety.

Holding the dagger in her magic, Twilight thrust the door open. The sound of it banging against the wall nearly made her jump, but she kept herself steady. Steeling herself, Twilight charged into the room. She swung the dagger in an arc as she did so, a weak battle cry spilling from her mouth.

There was a pony standing on the opposite side of the room, their back to her. They were wearing a long black cloak, the hood pulled over their head and their Cutie Mark obscured. They seemed to be wearing the fox mask Twilight had heard so much about. The masked pony didn't move as Twilight came galloping into the room. They just stood there, staring at the opposite wall as if it was more important than a possible attacker.

Twilight stopped in her tracks. Frowning, she dropped her gaze to something she'd almost missed. It was less than an inch from her leg, about three or four inches off the ground. If she hadn't gathered her wits and actually paused, she would have galloped right into it. It was a single thin wire, almost invisible to the naked eye. Her heart pounding, Twilight followed the wire's path until her eyes fell upon a crude metal contraption. Explosives. Of course. Extremely simple in design, but dangerous nonetheless. Probably assembled by skilled hooves. Twilight was willing to bet that the resulting blast would have wiped this building and everything in it off the map. No survivors. If the masked pony went down, they were taking everything else with them. A split second to make a shield, less than a split second to realize what was happening. Twilight wouldn't bet on those odds.

She carefully stepped over the wire, her eyes still on the masked pony. Why were they just standing there? Was this yet another attempt at scaring or disarming her? A last minute effort to confuse and intimidate her with silence and mystery? If this was their biggest and best plan, Twilight wasn't afraid. She was angry. Twilight could feel the resentment rising inside of her as she approached them. She was finally going to unmask her nightmare.

Smirking, she placed the tip of the blade on the masked pony's back. She wanted them to be afraid. She wanted to see the complete terror in their eyes as they realized that they'd dug their own grave. This was what all of that scheming had led up to, where their path of vengeance had ultimately led them. Twilight had read a lot of detective novels when she was a filly. This was the part of the story where the bad guy accepted their defeat and the hero claimed their fear as an incorporeal trophy.

But then Twilight's smirk turned into a frown. She pressed the dagger in a little harder. Whatever was under the cloak, it didn't feel like fur. It felt far too solid, almost like plastic. Was the masked pony wearing some kind of armor under their clothes?

Her heart sinking, Twilight grabbed the cloak in her shaking hooves. In one swift motion that felt very much like a magic trick, she whipped it off and tossed it to the floor. The action reminded her of that infamous tablecloth trick she'd seen as a filly. The sleight of hoof she'd mistaken for magic. But it wasn't magic, was it? It was just a cheap parlor trick meant to dazzle the naive. Twilight knew what real magic was, what it felt like and what it looked like. But she also realized that she hadn't really been naive back then. She'd been hopeful. Those silly tricks were what Twilight had once wanted magic to be. Flashy, wonderful, awe-inducing. But there was nothing to that kind of magic. It was just smoke and mirrors. No heart, no lungs, no spirit.

A mannequin. A regular store mannequin, faceless and still. It was like the tablecloth trick. Hollow and disappointing. No heart, no lungs, no spirit.

Her face expressionless, Twilight picked up the mannequin with her magic and turned it around. She stared into the fox mask, her gaze looking past the mask and into the blank eyes. It looked like a prop. It was a prop. Twilight hadn't walked into an abandoned building. She'd walked onto a stage. Twilight was her own audience, the only one invited to watch the hilarious tale of a desperate detective stumbling over her own mind as she tried to solve the biggest case of their career. Cue laugh track.

Still expressionless, Twilight slammed the mannequin against a nearby wall. The sound of the impact seemed to reverberate through the entire building. She did it again, harder this time. Then again, even harder. Again. And again. And again. Her face still blank, her gaze fixated on the fox mask. On the seventh or eighth slam—Twilight wasn't keeping count—the mannequin's head detached from its neck and tumbled to the floor. The mask stayed firmly attached even as the head broke free.

Twilight threw the body aside and picked up the mannequin head. She stared at it for a moment, looking directly into its unseeing eyes as if it had a mind she could read.

“Go directly to Tartarus,” she said.

She tossed the head aside, her mind crowding with several obscene requests that mostly involved shoving Celestia's sun into unsuitable orifices.

Twilight turned her attention to the wall the mannequin had been staring at. She almost expected there to be an insulting message scrawled in marker. Something about how she was chasing shadows and she would be better off giving up. This wasn't a game anymore. This was a fucking circus and that masked pony was the ringmaster.

Mentally mapping the mannequin's precise line of sight, Twilight approached the blank wall and pressed her hoof against it. A small square of wall dropped away, revealing a secret compartment. Small and invisible to the naked eye. There was no way that had been there before. Given how well-concealed it was, it must have been meant for Twilight and Twilight alone. Her heartbeat increased at the thought. There was a certain perverse intimacy to the idea. This entire case felt like a sensual exchange of minds. Everything about it was intertwined with a twisted element of romance, almost like the masked pony was mocking the connection of two lovers. They knew Twilight so well, as if their bodies and minds occupied the same space.

Obsession. The masked pony was obsessed with Twilight. They knew her inside and out, could read her fears and insecurities as if they were alls he was. Was this loveto the masked pony or was it hatred?

She reached into the compartment. Twilight realized a second too late—caught up in her thoughts—that it might be a booby trap. She stiffened, her hoof already inside. She expected to feel something sharp or to hear the muffled click preceding an explosion. At best, Twilight expected another note and maybe a photograph of Cadence. More cryptic evidence to add to the growing pile. But as she cautiously felt around, Twilight realized that the compartment only contained a small box. Skeptical, she reached inside with her magic and pulled it out.

The box looked old, but not too old. Judging by the wear, it must have been kept somewhere dark and lonely. A basement? The back of a closet? No stains or anything like that, but the sides were slightly caved in, as if something large had been placed on top of it. The box must have been in storage for quite some time. Maybe a few years. There had been something written on it at some point, but it had been removed. All that was left was a faded “G”.

Twilight considered. This couldn't be more photographs. Even if more existed, she'd already gotten the gist of it. No, that was impossible at this point. This masked pony didn't like to repeat themselves. But a sickening thought entered Twilight's head. What if these were pictures of Shining Armor? Not his corpse or anything gruesome like that, but more of the same images she'd been seeing. It would make sense. This masked pony seemed to be focused on the three of them—Cadence, Shining Armor, Twilight—as a triad, a complete package rather than three separate ponies. They seemed to be primarily focused on Twilight, but the other two completed the triangle.

Her hoof trembling, Twilight opened the box. For once, she wanted to be wrong. She no longer wanted to be the smartest pony in the room. She wanted—if only briefly—to feel as if her intellect had failed her. Twilight didn't think she could face a truth so harsh and confusing.

Her heart skipped a beat. No photographs. Praise the sun. Her morbid thoughts evaporated so abruptly that she nearly laughed out loud. She'd been mentally preparing for something devastating, something that would wreck her emotionally. But how does one prepare for a rush of fury, sadness, and guilt?

The box was filled with papers. Twilight picked one up and realized it was a letter. The hoofwriting was familiar to her, but only vaguely. She'd recently realized just how common it was for ponies—and dragons—to have two or three different types of hoofwriting. Keeping track of them all was a pain in the flank, so Twilight normally only committed a pony's primary hoofwriting—the type they used more often—to memory. The issue was further muddled by the fact that the masked pony was seemingly adept at copying the hoofwriting of others. Even if Twilight recognized it, that revelation didn't necessarily mean anything.

However, there was something about this hoofwriting that struck her as legitimate. Maybe it was the simple fact that the letters themselves looked to be old, maybe a few years older than this case. These were relics of a bygone time, not something recent. But who was to say if the masked pony had been planning this for months or years? On the other hoof, there was something oddly innocent about the letters. They felt genuine, even intimate.

Twilight skimmed the first letter. She was searching for a few relevant keywords, like “murder” or “mask”. Maybe even a mention of Spike or herself. But as her eyes frantically sought these confirmations of her worst fears, she realized that these weren't those kinds of letters.

She paused, frowning in puzzlement. Were these love letters? The language was a bit loose and it was hardly poetic, but the tone suggested something romantic. Another more thorough reading confirmed Twilight's question. These were most certainly love letters. The names and places had been carefully redacted, but the contents were unmistakable. The words themselves were soft and affectionate, sometimes teasing but always filled with need and want. It was almost disarmingly sappy.

She closed the box. What in the name of Tartarus? Everything up to this point had made perfect sense. Even the photographs had eventually fallen into some recognizable logic. But this? This was so detached from everything else the masked pony had done. They'd wanted Twilight to find these letters. They'd arranged it, had gone to great trouble to make sure she found this box and read those letters. They hadn't simply sent the box to her, like they'd done with the photographs. They'd led Twilight there for this one specific purpose. It was as if these letters meant more than anything else Twilight had found so far.

Twilight left the room in a hurry, carefully stepping over the wire as she exited. There was no time to waste. Twilight had a lot of reading to do.