Fleur De Lis was not at the train station. Lyra had expected Fleur to pounce on her the moment she awoke, yet she didn't catch so much as a glimpse of Fleur as she boarded the train.

Lyra should have been relieved at her good fortune, but instead the lack of conflict thoroughly rattled her. It had taken quite a while for Lyra to craft a position of escape last time, so why was Fleur suddenly being so lax?

Maybe she wasn't here in the first place, Lyra thought.

It was a strange line of thought. At its roots it made perfect sense. Granny Smith's description had been rather vague, Lyra hadn't seen any evidence of Fleur's presence, and there was no way Fleur could have tracked Lyra down. But at the same time, Lyra was unwilling to believe in coincidences.

The train ride was surprisingly uneventful, although Lyra jumped at every noise. She almost wished something would happen. A disguise hastily shed, a sudden altercation, a suspicious occurrence, anything. Something definite to distract Lyra from the doubts crowding her mind.

Lyra half-expected to be captured the second she stepped hoof in Canterlot. She grasped the hem of her skirt and tried to tug it a bit further down her flank. While she was sure her Cutie Mark was entirely concealed, Lyra couldn't help her sudden paranoia.

Canterlot looked much the same as it had before. The towering buildings hadn't changed, the excess of shops was still evident, and the air remained thick with magic.

Lyra hailed a taxi carriage. Somepony was going to be very surprised—and pissed off—to see her.

Although Canterlot is usually regarded as a whole, only ponies who've lived there appreciate its diversity. On the surface, it's a collection of businesses and high class apartment buildings occupied by the wealthy and ambitious students. But if one looks a bit closer, they'll see all the illegal potion dealers, the con artists peddling their snake oil in back alleys, and all the other bad seeds tucked into a dark corner of the city.

Lyra was well acquainted with “bad seeds”. It was of her opinion that most of them were not “bad”. They simply misunderstood or shunned by the city's indifferent social hierarchy.

In the middle of the less reputable section of town, there sat a small cottage. To casual passerby, the cottage appeared deserted. The shades were drawn, the garden outside was overgrown, and the entire building had clearly seen better days. However, the mailbox—often stuffed with advertisements—was emptied once or twice a week. Nevertheless, nopony actually saw the house's mysterious resident.

Lyra arrived at this specific cottage and knocked on the door. She waited a moment, then pushed open the unlocked door and walked inside.

The interior of the cottage was surprisingly clean. It appeared to be in a state of chaos, but it was organized chaos.

There was a bed in one corner of the room. Sitting on the bed was a mare with thick glasses and her mane tied back in an untidy ponytail. She looked up from the book she was reading with an annoyed expression.

“Shut the door,” she said.

Lyra hastily closed the door with a backward kick.

“I'm...,” she started quickly.

The mare waved her hoof dismissively. She slammed her book closed and eyed Lyra impatiently.

“You're Lyra Heartstrings,” she said. “I'm Moondancer. There, introductions finished. Coffee?”

She indicated a coffee machine balanced precariously on a stack of books. Before Lyra could respond, Moondancer jumped off the bed and trotted over to the machine. She gave the coffeepot a shake, grumbling about cheap coffee beans from across the sea.

Lyra sat down on the floor.

“How did you know my name?” she asked.

Her and Moondancer had corresponded many times, but they'd used code names. Lyra knew better than to attach her real name to anything important.

Moondancer laughed.

“Who else would you be?” she said. “Your code name was a dead giveaway, Ms. “L Harp”.”

She turned away from the coffee machine.

“Coffee will be ready in a few minutes,” she said.

Moondancer returned to her seat on the bed. Unknown to Lyra, Moondancer had been keeping up with Lyra's story for quite some time. She'd tracked Lyra through the newspapers and even formed a little mental map of her whereabouts. Moondancer referred to this as “research”, but in reality she found Lyra rather fascinating from an entirely psychological point of view.

After studying Lyra for a few minutes, Moondancer spoke.

“Did you know somepony's been following you?” she said.

Lyra shook her head. She now understood the feeling of dread that had been resting in her stomach.

Moondancer trotted across the room to the dresser. She opened the top drawer to reveal a collection of notebooks. The notebooks were of varying color and seemingly arranged from oldest to newest. Moondancer levitated what appeared to be the oldest notebook—judging by its many signs of wear—from the drawer and tossed it at Lyra.

Surprised, Lyra caught the notebook in her magic. She opened it to the first page and started reading the neat and narrow hoofwriting.

Time T.

D. Hooves

P. Pie

Lyra stopped reading, a frown on her face.

“Are these...?” she started.

Moondancer slammed the drawer shut. The sound rang out like a cannon blast in the quiet cottage.

“You're a conspiracy theorist, right?” she said.

Lyra had come to dislike those words, but she nodded. It was as good a description of her as anything else.

“I hate conspiracy theorists,” said Moondancer. “Always going on and on about how the clouds are actually holograms, the princesses are lying to us about the sun, blah blah blah. Peddling your baseless beliefs on street corners and forcing your overpriced magazines on naïve young ponies. Ranting about UFOs and cover-ups like anypony with common sense is going to take you seriously. You're all fools living in some silly fantasy world.”

Moondancer let out a frustrated sigh.

“That being said, sometimes you’re right,” she said.

The coffee machine had begun to beep, indicating the coffee was ready. Moondancer automatically headed towards it.

“I too am a seeker of truth,” she said.

She levitated the coffeepot and summoned two mugs. A grin darted across Moondancer's face as she poured the coffee. There were few things in life she appreciated and even fewer things she tolerated. Coffee fit into both camps.

“I guess we're allies for the time being,” she said.

She offered Lyra one of the mugs. Lyra took it gratefully.

“Why did you come here?” asked Moondancer.

Lyra related the entire story. Although she managed to omit certain details—such as her conversation with Granny Smith—Moondancer was able to glimpse between the lines. The edges of the story were soft, as if Lyra harbored a fondness she herself did not realize.

“I take it you have my photograph,” said Moondancer.

Lyra laid a hoof protectively upon her satchel.

“I take it you have what I want,” she said.

Moondancer eyed Lyra with newfound respect. She did not believe Lyra was a businesspony by any definition, but she appreciated Lyra's realization of where they stood. This was not a friendship. If anything, it was two business partners reluctantly pooling resources for the sake of a common goal.

“I promised information, you get information,” said Moondancer.

She trotted over to the dresser and opened another drawer. This time she withdrew a light brown folder bulging with papers. With little hesitation, Moondancer threw the folder at Lyra's hooves. The folder burst open as it hit the floor, scattering papers, photographs, and newspaper clippings in front of a startled Lyra.

“Holy Tartarus!” Lyra blurted out.

She scrambled to repack the folder's contents. Lyra had expected one or two pieces of parchment, not a novel.

Moondancer took a sip of her coffee, savoring the rich bitterness.

“The photograph,” she said calmly.

Lyra reached into her satchel and pulled out the photograph. She handed it over with the same lack of reluctance.

Moondancer studied the photograph. She didn't smile, but she gently ran a hoof across the photo. She did this lovingly, as if hoping her soft touch could reach one of the mares in the photograph. Moondancer's eyes burned, but the tears never emerged.

“I call them cracks,” she said quietly. “When something breaks through your memories and you get a look at a history that couldn't be real.”

She closed her eyes.

“But you want it to be real,” she whispered. “You'd give anything for it to be real.”

Lyra thought of the other photograph in her satchel. She thought of the smiling face of a mare who only seemed to exist in memories that didn’t seem real. She thought of a home so far away she could not even imagine the distance.

“Anything,” Lyra agreed.

Moondancer's fridge was surprisingly well-stocked. Despite being a shut-in, Moondancer's life had a certain admirable efficiency to it. Dirty dishes were soaked in a magical cleaning solution of her own invention, her few items of clothing—mostly identical sweaters—were neatly folded by her bed, and she'd utilized a spell that caused the smell of lavender to consume all others.

Lyra took a container labeled “Dinner” out of the fridge—prepped a week in advance along with many others—and found it contained pasta and vegetables.

“Deliveries,” said Moondancer before Lyra could ask. “I happen to know a few discreet services that will deliver anything you want, no questions asked. The packages always come around midnight.”

She was lying on her bed again, book open in front of her.

Lyra was too hungry to question the legitimacy of these “discreet services”. She dug into the food with gusto.

Moondancer cocked her eyebrow at Lyra's enthusiastic gobbling, but she didn't comment.

Despite being consumed by her appetite, Lyra's thoughts were racing. She couldn't stop thinking about Fleur. While she could accept that Fleur had somehow gotten wind of her whereabouts, she could not accept that Fleur had missed a chance to nab her.

Maybe she didn't want to nab me, thought Lyra. Maybe she was following me.

She frowned and wiped her mouth with her hoof. That would mean two ponies were tailing her. Were they both on the same side? Was there perhaps a third side Lyra had not yet discovered? More importantly, why would Fleur be shadowing her?

As far as Lyra knew, Fleur had one purpose and one purpose only: keeping Lyra out of trouble. It was a court order that brought them together and that court order was very clear in its intentions. Therefore, shouldn't Fleur have grabbed Lyra and dragged her in front of a judge to report she'd violated the terms of the legal agreement?

She knows I know something, Lyra thought. They know I know something.

She wished she'd been able to clean out her apartment in Manehatten. However, what would Fleur find if she went there? A history book with several pages missing, an old book, and several notebooks filled with one phrase. Everything important was either in Lyra's saddlebags or her satchel.

Lyra glanced at Moondancer. She didn't know how she was going to explain that they were both in danger. She wanted to leave, but where would she go? What could Lyra do, where could she hide?

I might have nowhere to hide, but I have something to do, she thought.

She opened the folder, allowing it to release its bounty. It was going to be a long few days.