Octavia awoke early the next morning, risen by the sun shining in her eyes. She looked around to see that she had fallen asleep on the living room couch. Her bedroom was visible through the gaping hole in the wall and the carpet was covered in drywall and dust. Her ears were still ringing and she yawned deeply in an effort to pop them. When that didn’t work, she swallowed repeatedly until her hearing began to resemble its normal state.

She got off the couch and slowly walked around the corner before looking into Vinyl’s now deserted room. Even though she had expected to find the room empty, it still stung to see that her friend was gone. A quick look around told her that the DJ had taken what few possessions she had brought with her, including the bass cannon.

Octavia retreated to the living room, glancing out the window to see Watt Sun in his usual spot across the street, reading a newspaper. He glanced up and upon spotting the cellist, folded up his newspaper and held it aloft, tapping the front page with a forehoof. Octavia frowned as she tried to decipher the meaning before pointing at the radio and giving the Pinkieton an inquiring look. He nodded in response.

She flipped the radio on as she moved past into the kitchen, paying only a small amount of attention to the sound of two news commenters speaking as she looked for the makings of breakfast. She opened the cabinets to find that nearly everything had fallen over and spilled their contents as a result of the bass cannon’s blast through the adjacent wall. A pair of mice raised their heads from the mess before darting back into the shadows of the cabinet. Octavia made a noise of disgust before opening the icebox. Nopony had made a grocery trip yet and already what food remained inside was starting to spoil.

The cellist opened one last cabinet, finding that something had managed to survive the blast: a large case of white wine, which had been saved owing to its copious amount of packaging. Octavia sighed, resigning herself to a plain breakfast of oats as snippets of the conversation on the radio reached her ears.

“...I think we’re going to see a big shift in Equestrian politics as a result of this debate. We’ve never seen such a direct challenge to royal power like this.” Octavia paused, her ears pricked. “There’s simply no precedent for what we’re seeing today, where the royals are actually having to take action to defend their political legitimacy.”

“If you’re just joining us,” the other news anchor spoke, “this morning it was announced that the royals would disband Her Majesty’s Secret Service, pending an investigation into the spy agency. The existence of the agency was only recently revealed to the public. This announcement came as a result of increasing political pressure on the royals in light of news that the recent changeling attack was allegedly in retaliation to the agency’s activities. The target of this investigation will be the head of the agency, one Melody Maker, who was injured in the attack and is currently making a recovery in a Canterlot hospital. Upon her recovery, she will be required to answer—”

Octavia couldn’t listen any longer. She turned off the radio and slumped against the wall, placing her face in her forehooves.

Melody Maker was incapacitated. Quite was missing. Vinyl was gone. And now the one source of legitimacy she had, secretive though it was, had been stripped from her. She glanced up. From where she sat on the floor, the room seemed cavernous, its walls towering over her. The attributes that had made the apartment feel spacious now made it seem desolate, making Octavia feel alone and exposed in its vastness. The ringing in her ears seemed to intensify as she remained there, not moving and dimly hearing the sounds of Canterlot outside.

She rose to her hooves and returned to the kitchen, but her appetite had vanished. The cellist stood in place for a moment, staring blankly at the bland oats sitting on the counter. She glanced over at the wine inside the open cabinet. Except for those rare occasions when skill in wine tasting had proved useful at a fancy gathering, she hadn’t drank alcohol in years. With the role of a secret agent, Octavia had closely monitored her health so as to always be at peak condition when duty called. Blemishes weren’t something one could afford in this line of work.

Octavia stared at the wine for a long moment before reaching into the case and pulling out a bottle, uncorking it with her teeth. She poured herself a glass, inhaling its sweet scent as she did so. Though she had been trained to ask for red wines at any Canterlot party, given their rich taste and their fancier reputation which appealed to the Canterlot elite, she preferred white wines. They were lighter and sweeter, easier on the palate and more crisp.

Octavia took a gentle sip, frowning as it washed over her tongue. It was cheap wine, barely worth the elaborate packaging it came in. She paused for a second, then took another sip.

Vinyl twiddled a empty bottle between her forehooves, letting one corner rest on the surface of the bar as she spun it before letting it fall gently on the side. She stared down at it from underneath the hoodie she was wearing.

“Hey,” she called out to the barkeep, who responded promptly. “Another Dos Equines,” she ordered, slapping a bit on the bar.

“You’re the boss,” the barkeep said as he swept the bit into his pocket and pulled out another bottle of beer, placing it in front of Vinyl.

“You’re damn straight I am,” she muttered to herself before pushing the bottle to her lips. The beer went down easy and Vinyl gave a satisfied sigh. The first sip was always the best.

She glanced around the room. There were only a few other patrons given the early hour, all of them pairs of friends who had come inside to share a drink and chat. Their pleasant conversations were about as far removed from Vinyl’s present mood as possible.

“I’m the boss,” she murmured under her breath. “Nopony tells me what to do...”

Vinyl looked around at the other patrons. She couldn’t understand how they could be so happy. All of them, so blissfully unaware of what was happening around them and just enjoying the company of friends. Vinyl found herself envying them.

She lifted the bottle to take another sip and caught sight of the logo on its surface. It was the silhouette of two ponies, sharing a bottle and smiling broadly at each other. Below was the tagline, ‘You don’t always drink, but when you do, do it with Dos!’

“Shut up,” Vinyl grumbled before taking another sip.

Octavia swayed unsteadily as she reached into the cabinet and pulled out another bottle of wine. Three empty bottles were perched on the counter as she wrenched out the cork of the next one and poured yet another glass. With every sip she felt her muscles loosen and her tension fade. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so relaxed.

The cellist strolled out onto the balcony, carrying the bottle and glass with her. She leaned against the railing, looking down at the midday traffic passing down the street.

Across from her, Watt Sun sat facing the window, still reading his newspaper. As Octavia watched the street traffic, she noticed there seemed to be an unusually high number of mail delivery carriages on the street. They were a common sight in Canterlot, but there were currently no less than three parked in front of the building. The carriages were covered to protect the packages within, their sides decorated with a prominently displayed EPS logo and a flashy advertisement with the words ‘WE SHIP ANYWHERE!’

Octavia’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock at her door. She returned inside, placing the bottle and glass down as she swayed unsteadily across the room to the front door. She leaned against the door for a second, taking a deep breath and shaking her head rapidly, trying to clear her mind. She rubbed her eyes quickly and straightened her mane, trying her best not to look like she wasn’t under the influence of alcohol before opening the door.

Amber was standing on the doorstep, looking at Octavia with a concerned expression. “Hello there,” the elderly mare greeted the cellist. “I just wanted to check in on you. I heard you had a fight last night.”

Octavia winced. “...Yes, we did.” She paused, trying to think of something else to say. “She left this morning,” she added.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Amber said sympathetically. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Octavia couldn’t think of anything less appealing, but in her present state of mind she decided there wasn’t any harm in it. Besides, it wasn’t like she had anything worthwhile planned. She opened the door wide, stepping aside to let Amber in before trotting across the room to pull the curtain closed. It wouldn’t do to have Amber spot Watt Sun, especially given that he had been here last night.

“My word, what happened to your wall?!” the elderly mare exclaimed, gaping at the massive hole where Octavia had been flung out of her bedroom.

“...Inadequate construction,” the cellist answered after a beat. “Yes, that’s it. They just don’t make them like they used to, right?” She gave Amber a forced grin as the elderly mare took a seat on the couch.

“This building is nearly a century old,” Amber commented.

“...Yes. That’s...what I meant. It’s a good thing they don’t still make them like they used to.”

The elderly mare raised an eyebrow at Octavia but shortly changed the subject. “Well, you should talk to the maintenance pony about that wall. But enough about that; do you know if Vinyl will be returning?”

“No, I don’t,” Octavia answered as she sat down on a chair opposite the couch. “I don’t even know where she is.”

“Any idea where she might have gone?”

The cellist frowned. “Why are you so concerned about her?” She was dimly aware of the fact that normally she would never be so blunt with what was essentially a stranger, but in the fog of her thoughts she dismissed it.

“I’m just concerned for you, dear,” Amber said, giving Octavia a kind smile. “Such a strong friendship like yours would be a terrible thing to waste.”

Octavia paused. In the silence, the dull ringing in her ears began to return. “Yes, it would,” she answered. “Tell me, you’re experienced in these matters. Do you think there’s any mending this relationship?”

“Oh yes,” the elderly mare said breezily. “A good friendship doesn’t end so easily. Anything can be mended if you just give it the time and care it needs. True friends are always there for you.”

A small smile crept across Octavia’s face. “Your mask is slipping.”

Amber cocked her head to one side. “I beg your pardon, dear?”

“Amber believes me and Vinyl are in a romantic relationship,” the cellist replied. “And I wouldn’t know what experience she has in these matters, if any at all.”

The elderly mare stared back with a blank look on her face before scowling. With a flash of green light, she transformed into a perfect replica of Octavia. “Curses, you two keep seeing through my disguises. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m getting sloppy.”

“How did you find this place?” Octavia’s mind was now far more alert, although it wasn’t enough to entirely cut through the fog of drunkenness in her mind.

“You have your friend to thank for my visit,” the changeling said. “Of course, we would have found you eventually. One of our operatives was in the building when Vinyl Scratch walked past him in the hallway. Given our past experience, I was sent to investigate, by which I mean take the form of your gullible, annoyingly friendly neighbor.

“I’m afraid this is where the chase ends,” she continued. “It’s a shame, I know; I was enjoying it too. But we have the building surrounded, so it’s only a matter of time now.”

“The building is surrounded?” Octavia replied in surprise. Something clicked in the back of her mind. The mail carriages gathered in front of the building. Hiding in plain sight as mere delivery ponies, allowed access to any building. They ship anywhere...

SHIP.

“I must say, I think I prefer you drunk,” the changeling commented with a snicker. “You wear your emotions on your sleeve. Even more than usual, I might add.”

“I wouldn’t count on victory just yet, if I were you,” Octavia muttered. “We have agents monitoring the building at all times. The only reason they haven’t attacked yet is because they’re waiting for you to make the first move.”

“Oh please, you think we don’t know about your stupid Pinkieton guards?” the changeling scoffed. Octavia’s mouth went dry. Her bluff had been called. “Any idiot with half a brain could have noticed that pony watching you from across the street.”

The cellist started before racing for the window and whipping the curtain aside. In the apartment across the street, two changelings were wrestling Watt Sun to the floor. Though he continued to struggle, the two changelings had already tied him up, rendering him helpless. As she watched, one of the changelings drew the curtain closed, hiding the fight inside. Octavia felt her blood run cold.

“So, this is how this is going to work,” the changeling said casually, as if discussing the weather. “You and I are going to have a nice conversation while my comrades below finish getting ready, at which point they will take the form of royal guards and come up here to place you under arrest. Since both dear Con Mane and I admire you, we’d rather you wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to fight us and forcing my comrades to kill you right here and now.” She gave Octavia a wide smile. “Does that sound agreeable?”

The cellist’s heart beat faster as she stared at her doppelganger, hardly daring to breathe lest she reveal her panic to her enemy. “Con Mane and you?” she muttered, trying to keep her voice under control. “Who are you?”

The changeling grinned broadly. “I am no one. And yet, I am everypony I have ever met. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I see.” Octavia sat down again, glaring at her own face across from her. “You’re a parasite. A parasite with no identity of her own who can only live off the identities of others.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” With another flash of green light, Octavia was staring at a perfect replica of Con Mane. “Who needs any old identity when you can be me?” the changeling said, throwing a cocky grin at the cellist.

“Why are you working for Mane? Why let a pony send you here in his place?”

“Right, a stallion that every guard in the city is looking for should just waltz down the street and drop by for a visit.”

“But why work with a pony?” Octavia asked. “I could understand attacking Princess Celestia, Cadance or Shining Armor, deplorable though that is, but Con Mane’s enemies are not your enemies.”

“Au contraire,” ‘Con Mane’ retorted. “This is but the first move in a larger game. Do you really think we are so singularly focused on those few who defeated our queen?

“Equestria’s love is powerful enough to sustain us for generations to come,” the changeling went on. “We’re not going to turn away from it after one mere defeat. We are on the cusp of war, Agent Octavia. A long war that will take place in the shadows, rarely seen by pony eyes. And the first step in our glorious conquest will be to remove Equestria’s first line of defense in this war: its spies. This is what Con Mane has given us.”

There was a knock at the door, followed by a gruff voice. “Royal guard, we’re here to search the premises.”

“Ah, the cavalry has arrived,” the changeling said, getting up off the couch and strolling over to the front door. Octavia remained rooted to the spot. She considered making a run for it before the changeling turned around and smiled at her with Con Mane’s smug grin. “And don’t you think of going anywhere, darling. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your bodyguard across the street, right?”

The changeling opened the front door as she watched Octavia, turning back to the doorway to find herself facing the mouth of a huge cannon.

There was an explosion of sound that nearly deafened her as the world suddenly became filled with bright colors around her. The changeling barely had time to register the thin strands of colored paper fluttering in the air before a hoof came flying at her, colliding with her head and promptly sending her to the ground.

Octavia watched on in stunned shock as Sharp Eye leapt over a bright, blue cannon aimed at the door and delivered a flying kick to the changeling, pinning her to the floor. Another swift blow to the head caused the changeling to lose conscious and her disguise, which melted away with a flash of green light. The Pinkieton looked up at the cellist, who merely gaped back.

Sharp Eye cleared her throat. “Well, don’t just sit around, let’s get you out of here!”

“What...what...what is that?” Octavia stammered, pointing a hoof at the cannon.

“Party cannon. Standard Pinkieton equipment,” the young mare explained, patting the top of the cannon.

“But...how did you know to impersonate a guard?”

“Oh, I heard her as I was coming upstairs,” Sharp Eye said, reaching under the coffee table to pull out a small microphone that was hidden underneath.

The cellist looked aghast. “You bugged our apartment?”

“You can thank us later. Now grab your weapons and let’s get out of here!”

Octavia moved to grab her bow-sword, but stopped short. “Wait, we can’t leave Watt Sun behind. The changelings are holding him in the other apartment.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Sharp Eye shot back, already reaching into a saddlebag to pull out a set of equipment. “You focus on getting out of here.”

“No.” Octavia’s voice was stern, and the Pinkieton looked up to see her gripping the handle of her bow sword tightly. “You two are the only ones I can count on now. If I weren’t to help you, I wouldn’t be worth my title as an agent.”

Sharp Eye considered Octavia for a moment before nodding. “Alright, if you insist.” She pulled a grappling hook out of her bag tied to a long section of rope and showed it to the cellist. “Have you used one of these before?”

“You’re joking, I hope,” Octavia replied with a satisfied smirk. She grabbed the grappling hook from the Pinkieton before walking out onto the balcony, facing the apartment across the street. “Watch and learn.” She raised the hook and drew it against the string of her bow, aiming for a spot just above the balcony of Watt Sun’s apartment. After a moment she let the hook fly, watching it sail through the air at the apartment building across the street. It looked to be on target...

Until it smashed through the glass door of Watt Sun’s balcony, disappearing into the folds of the curtain before retracting and catching hold of the balcony railing. There was an awkward silence as the tinkle of breaking glass faded. Sharp Eye glanced at the half-finished bottle of wine on the counter before looking up at Octavia, who blushed.

“I might be a little rusty at the moment,” the cellist said.

The sound of hooves galloping down the hall reached the two ponies’ ears. “You know what, good enough,” Sharp Eye muttered before tying the rope around the balcony railing and attaching a small pulley to turn it into a makeshift zip-line. Octavia sheathed her sword and the two nodded at each other before grabbing hold of the pulley and pushing off the balcony, launching themselves over the street.

Octavia glanced down to see a few passing ponies stop and point up at them. She looked up as they were closing in on Watt Sun’s apartment to see the two changelings pulling away the curtain to see what had just smashed through the window. With perfect timing, the cellist swung her body backwards before swinging forwards and letting go of the pulley, launching herself up over the balcony railing and straight into one of the two changelings.

She collided hard with the changeling, striking it with her rear hooves before they tumbled over each other, ripping the curtain off the wall and quickly becoming entangled in it as it fell on them. Octavia lashed out blindly, catching hold of something hard nearby. Frantic, she hit it repeatedly, her hooves flailing out in front of her as her breathing became heavy in the suffocating folds of the curtain...

“Octavia! Agent Octavia!” Suddenly all was light and air again as the curtain was yanked off of her. The cellist looked up to see Sharp Eye standing above her, holding a vase over her head. Upon catching sight of the cellist, the Pinkieton quickly lowered the vase. “Oh, it’s you.” She glanced down at the changeling, whose face was now covered in a rather alarming number of purplish bruises. “I thought you were the...erm...one in trouble,” Sharp Eye explained.

The changeling beneath Octavia groaned and stirred. In response, the cellist grabbed the vase out of Sharp Eye’s hooves and smashed it on the changeling’s face. Its movements quickly ceased.

Octavia stood up and the two ponies ran over to a corner of the room where Watt Sun was entrapped in a cocoon lying on the floor, apparently waiting for the changelings to carry it away. The cellist cut through the cocoon with her sword and she and Sharp Eye pulled the quaking stallion out. He was shivering and covered in green slime, but very much alive.

Suddenly the sound of hooves pounding on the front door filled the room. “Royal guards, open up!”

“And that would be our cue to leave,” Sharp Eye muttered, pulling Watt Sun to his hooves. The two mares helped the stallion back outside, where they emerged into the daylight to see several ‘royal guards’ taking flight from the balcony of Octavia and Vinyl’s apartment.

“Hold it right there!” the lead guard bellowed, flapping in place above the street and flanked by a few guards on each side. Octavia drew her sword and the two Pinkietons braced themselves as they heard the front door splinter behind them.

Sharp Eye audibly gulped. “Should we jump?” she asked in an undertone.

“I think we’d break our legs if we did that,” Octavia pointed out.

The lead guard yelled again, “Give yourselves up peaceful—”

There was a sudden blast of noise as a beam of bright, blue light suddenly shot through the air, striking the lead guard square in the back and sending him tumbling to the ground, entangled in a swirling mass of blue magical energy. They looked up to see Vinyl standing on the roof opposite them, levitating her bass cannon next to her and wearing a smug grin.

The door to Watt Sun’s apartment smashed apart as the changelings behind them forced their way in, still in disguise as royal guards. Octavia’s mind raced as one last means of escape came to her. “Both of you, grab the rope!” she yelled. The two Pinkietons didn’t hesitate, swinging over the edge of the balcony railing and gripping the rope tightly. Octavia followed suit, holding her sword over her head as the changelings closed in.

Watt Sun’s eyes suddenly widened. “Wait, you’re not going to—”

“Hold on!” Octavia hollered, bringing the sword down and slicing the rope just below the grappling hook. The three plummeted to the ground, holding onto the rope for dear life as they swung across the street. The growing crowd of passersby below gasped as the three ponies hurtled towards the apartment building.

Luckily for the two Pinkietons, somepony on one of the lower floors had stepped outside onto her balcony to see what all the commotion was about. Said pony ducked as the two sailed in through her open door, letting go of the rope and landing harmlessly on the floor of the apartment within.

Octavia wasn’t so fortunate. Being lower on the rope, she hit the wall just below the balcony, causing her to lose her grip and tumble to the ground. Her only saving grace was that she had hit the building just above the first floor, making the fall quite short. She landed on the sidewalk forehooves first, tumbling onto her side with a pained grunt. She lay on the cement, looking over herself for a second. Aside from a couple of fresh scrapes, she had gotten through unharmed.

“AaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” The panicked scream of Vinyl coming from above was shortly cut off. Octavia looked up to see her friend hovering but a few lengths over the street, her face straining and her horn glowing brightly as she was encased in her own magical aura. It gave out briefly and Vinyl dropped quickly before she caught herself with her levitation spell again, but that too shortly faded and the unicorn fell the last remaining short distance to the earth with a small thud.

“Ow. I...am not dead,” Vinyl said, almost in disbelief. “That went better than I expected.” She quickly stood up and charged her bass cannon. A few well-aimed shots sent three more disguised changelings dropping like flies.

“What are you doing here?!” Octavia exclaimed.

“I think the better question is what are we doing here?” the DJ retorted. “Run!”

The two agents made a break for it, with Vinyl firing off a few more shots to give them some cover. “What about the Pinkietons?” Octavia yelled.

“They can take care of themselves! Besides, we’re the ones they’re after!”

The two ducked into a nearby alley, racing through while the guards desperately tried to catch up. Several of the disguised changelings flew into the alley, where they found themselves easy fodder for Vinyl’s cannon. By the time the changelings managed to regroup and make it through the alley to the busy street on the other side, the two agents had vanished.

From a seat in a small fast-food joint nearby, Octavia and Vinyl watched the guards through a window, keeping their heads low to stay out of sight. The changelings dispersed, searching for the two ponies in every direction, but none approached the restaurant. The two ponies breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hold on a second,” Octavia said as a realization dawned on her. “That was strangely convenient timing for you to show up right when we needed help. How do I know that you’re the real Vinyl Scratch?”

Vinyl smiled before using her magic to levitate her goggles off her head, revealing a shining black eye hidden underneath. “Remember giving me this?”

“I remember you asking for it,” Octavia grumbled. Vinyl chuckled, rubbing the back of her head. “In that case, why did you come back?”

“Just...I dunno, felt like the right thing to do,” the DJ answered just as a waiter arrived at their table. Vinyl glanced up at her. “Oh, uh...two fries, please.”

“I don’t want any fries,” Octavia quickly added.

“I’m not ordering for you,” Vinyl scoffed. The cellist stared back for a moment before sighing.

“I’ll just have a glass of water. I’m starting to get a headache,” she grumbled. The waiter nodded and left. “So that’s it, then? You returned because ‘it felt right?’”

“...Yeah. You’re welcome, by the way,” Vinyl grumbled, avoiding Octavia’s gaze. The cellist glared at her in silence. “That’s the second time I’ve saved your skin.”

“This coming from the mare who I have had to free from imprisonment twice,” the cellist retorted. Vinyl bit her lip.

“So what, that makes me the wing mare here?”

“Well, you’re certainly the least mature one, not to mention that you clearly don’t take this job nearly as seriously as I do,” Octavia said, crossing her forelegs over her chest.

“Yeah, well you’re totally uptight and stuck-up,” the DJ retorted.

“You’re lazy and uncoordinated.”

“You’re obsessed with this job.”

“You’re the sorriest excuse for an agent I have ever met,” Octavia hissed.

“You’re...” Vinyl pointed a hoof at her fellow agent, but her next words were a long time coming. “...You’re...right.” She lowered her hoof and looked down at the table separating the two. “You’re right.” Octavia’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as the DJ slumped in her seat. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Octy. I just want to make music. That’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“Oh, now you’re just being melodramatic.” Octavia sighed. “This isn’t a question of want, Vinyl. It’s a question of duty.”

“It wasn’t for me,” the DJ replied. “I never did it out of duty. What made you become a spy in the first place?”

“Me? Oh...” The cellist paused and thought it over for a few seconds. “I suppose it was a chance for me to do some good. My music career wasn’t going anywhere at the time, and this was my opportunity to give back to the country that had given me so much. What about you?”

Vinyl shrugged. “I dunno, it sounded cool. Mainly I just needed the money at the time.”

Octavia sighed in exasperation. “You know, there are more important things than money, Vinyl.”

“Notice it’s always the financially secure who say that,” the DJ replied with a smirk on her face.

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“Oh come on, your family’s always been rich.”

“We were not rich!” Octavia cried in an indignant tone. “As a matter of fact, I’ll have you know that my family was the poorest on our block!”

“Oh wow, how painful that must have been. To be the only family on the block who could afford only one golden chariot. The horror,” Vinyl mocked, a broad grin stretching across her face.

Octavia glared back. “You’re so immature. How did I ever get stuck with a mare like you as a partner? We’re simply nothing alike!”

Vinyl’s expression became more serious. “If you didn’t like working with me, why didn’t you just find a different partner?”

“I...” The cellist faltered. “I don’t know. To be honest, I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me before. I could have always gone to Melody and told her we were incompatible as partners. And yet I never did.”

A thoughtful silence fell between the two as they looked away from each other, thinking over their times together as secret agents. Octavia lifted her head to face Vinyl. “Did you ever speak to Melody about me?”

“Me? No, I just never questioned it. She assigned us together, said we’d make a good fit, so I figured that was the end of the story. When I met you, I thought there was some mistake. How could we ever be a good fit for each other? But...things always worked out somehow.”

Octavia placed a hoof on her chin and gave a thoughtful hum. “Perhaps Melody wanted to show us that even two ponies as different as us could get along.”

Vinyl looked over at Octavia, meeting her gaze. “Maybe we owe it to her to prove her correct.”