Spring has come early to the tiny coastal town of Port Sitka.

The cold lingers, but the snow has melted. Restaurants are beginning to open up their outdoor seating areas. The trees are starting to sprout buds. People are walking around at a more leisurely pace, taking longer stops to chat with their neighbors.

And I am starting to get seriously frustrated.

I’ve taken a small beachside cottage that was up for rent, short or long leases. It’s snug and cozy, but it’s lonely at night. I told myself that the accommodations didn’t matter too much, because I wouldn’t be here long.

But it’s been a week in this town, now, and I’ve yet to make any progress. Here I am buying groceries, because I’ve stayed here too long to keep eating at restaurants for every meal.

I’m floating around the grocery store slowly and aimlessly, drifting up and down the aisles. Doing a mental review of the phone call I had with Mags, my handler.

It was my first night in Port Sitka, and I was stretched out on my new bed. Tired from my long day of traveling, but still trying to get on Mags’s nerves a bit.

“Leyla,” he’d said, by way of greeting.

I hate it when he uses my real name. Such a stupid, needless risk.

“Mags,” I said sweetly, and could almost hear him frown on the other end of the line.

He doesn’t care for this nickname I've given him, so I make sure to use it liberally whenever he calls me Leyla.

“Settled in?” he asked.

I flexed my toes, which were sore from being in heels all day. “I just got here.”

“Any run-ins with the mark, yet?”

“Again, I just got here.”

“Five hours ago,” Mags said. “Which means you’ve already lasted longer than any of the agents we sent to Port Sitka before you. None of them even made it to their first touch-base call.”

I sat up sharply on the bed, suddenly thinking about retrieving my weapon.

“You didn’t disclose that information in my briefing, Mags.”

“It's irrelevant."

"The hell it is."

"We don’t have you on the same mission as the agents we sent before you, Leyla.”

“And what was their mission, exactly? Don’t say that it’s need-to-know, because I do need to know.”

There was a silence while Mags considered how much to tell me. I used the time to cross to my purse and pull out my M1911 pistol. A standard-issue handgun, nothing special - the Colt government, some call it - but it gets the job done, and if agent after agent hasn’t made it out of Port Sitka, I’d rather keep it close by.

I was just starting to re-check all of the windows when Mags finally answered.

“The agents aren’t dead, Leyla. They all broke off contact immediately upon arrival in Port Sitka, then eventually came back to base and refused the mission, one by one. None of them could remember anything about their time in Port Sitka. Except one, who said he thinks he came close to completing the mission, though he ultimately failed. He said he remembers a woman with 'unusual green eyes'. Not what she said, or did. Just the eyes.”

I stared into the distance, trying to wrap my head around that. If I was talking to anyone else, I’d have assumed that they were joking.

Mags doesn’t joke.

What he was telling me was bizarre, to say the least. But I was distracted by the notable gap in his explanation.

“You didn’t answer my question, Mags. What was the mission they all refused?”

I could practically hear Mags gritting his teeth. He didn’t want to tell me.

“There’s… a kid that we need to deal with.”

And there it was, the explanation for all this secrecy. I slammed my pistol down on the night table, scowling at the phone.

“Mags! I do not accept jobs that revolve around kids! Call me soft, I don't care, I will not-”

“No one is asking you to,” he interrupted. “That’s what we sent the others for, isn’t it? All we need you to do is handle the woman protecting the kid, and then we’ll send in someone else to get him. They’ll make it look like an accident, when they take him. He’ll just disappear, nice and clean. You won’t be linked to it in any way.”

That I might be implicated was not my issue with this, but of course Mags would assume that.

“What happens to the kid after they take him?" I asked, feeling queasy. "What do you want him for, anyways?”

“He’s the illegitimate son of a high-ranking Stasi official. The official in question is a double agent, working for us, but he’s - not being very cooperative.”

“So you’ve blackmailed him, then? Not turned him.”

People who willingly switch sides tend to be cooperative. People who are forced to do not.

“Yes,” Mags said bluntly. “He thinks the kid is safe, stashed away in Port Sitka, the last place anyone would ever go looking for the child of a Stasi official. He’s got the kid living with two agents in a farmhouse a few miles outside of town. We believe that he would be more cooperative if his son was in our custody, instead of theirs.”

I sighed deeply, smoothed down my slacks, and picked up my weapon from the night table. Hating everything about this mission, wishing I was back in the Eastern Bloc. But work is work.

I swung my pistol around my finger by the trigger guard, then caught it again. “So you want me to take out this woman protecting the kid?”

“No, you’re not there to harm anyone. What we need is information. If the Commies have someone who can do some kind of - brainwashing, hypnosis shit, and it actually works… Just find her, alright? Figure out who she is. How she does it. And stick to protocol, Leyla.”

I stir from my thoughts, come back to the present. Realize that I’m standing still, staring blankly at the cluster of bouquets for sale at the grocery store.

I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my frustration. My mark is either very good at keeping herself hidden, or Mags doesn’t know what he’s talking about. No one’s come in or out of the farmhouse even once in all the days I’ve spent scoping it out.

I’m not used to being outplayed. It shouldn’t be taking me this long to find her.

I’m going to work my hair into one big tangle if I fidget with it anymore, so I gather it up and draw it over my shoulder, let it spill down my front. The quiet music playing over the grocery store speakers changes, switches to a new song: Dedicated To The One I Love, by The Mamas & the Papas.

And still, I’m just standing here, looking down at the flowers.

Maybe I need to expand my definition of unusual eyes. Mags made it sound sinister, so I’ve been looking for someone whose gaze unsettles me. But that’s not turning anything up.

I normally like vague instructions. It means room to improvise, and a little room to play, too. But this is a step too far. I don’t know what to do, where to look.

I become suddenly aware that I’ve fallen too far into my thoughts, and allowed someone to sneak up on me. Without even looking, I'm absolutely certain that somebody is standing right behind me, motionless.

I turn very slowly, and find myself staring into the most stunning pair of green eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.

My breath stills in my chest. I feel my mouth drop slightly open. My eyes widen, looking into hers.

I can’t force myself to stop. I just stare and stare.

And she stares back, this woman before me. She’s looking right into my eyes, the same way that I’m looking into hers. We’re staring at each other.

She’s the first one to move. She starts to lift a hand towards her face, then changes her mind, drops it back down again. I finally manage to tear my gaze from hers, to look at what she was reaching up to hide.

I was so swept away by her eyes that I didn’t notice the scar. That’s saying something, because it’s quite a scar, and it doesn’t make any sort of sense on her.

She has a very gentle face, all soft curves. Her skin is bruised a little darker around her eyes: signs of exhaustion. Her loose brunette curls are pinned up, but one has escaped, and it kisses her temple before twirling down to rest against the side of her face.

So the scar - which speaks of a deep, serious wound - is a surprise. It starts on her forehead, cuts down diagonally through her left eyebrow. Then onto the curve of her cheekbone, suggesting a very near miss of her left eye. From her cheekbone, it continues all the way down to her jaw.

The scar cuts a sharp, shiny slash across what’s otherwise a very gentle sight. Interesting, but my eyes go right back to hers. They’re gorgeous, a shade I’ve never seen before in my life.

Only now am I really absorbing the fact that she’s looking at me as if I’m just as interesting as she is.

I have no idea how long we’ve been staring at each other, but the same song is playing.

She closes her eyes, like she’s listening intently to something. Then she looks at me again, her eyes shining with curiosity and wonder.

“Who are you?” she breathes, so quietly that I almost don’t hear her.

“I - I’m...” I’m Agent Forgot-Her-Cover-Story, apparently. Staring into those eyes has knocked every other thought from my mind. “Who are you?”

“Rose!” someone calls, before the woman can answer.

We both turn to see one of the grocery store employees hurrying towards us.

He looks extremely uncomfortable as he approaches Rose. He speaks to her quietly, but I’m a professional-grade eavesdropper.

“It’s Charlie,” he says. “He’s, um…”

Rose blinks, then looks around, as if just now realizing that something is missing. Her face pales.

“Where?” she asks, then immediately sets off after the employee when he begins to walk.

I follow after them, hanging back a little.

The employee leads Rose to an aisle at the far end of the store, then points to the lowest shelf. At first, I don’t see the problem, but when Rose drops down to her knees in front of it, I do.

There’s a little boy - five, maybe six years old - curled up, tucked into the shelf. Hugging his knees, shivering, tears streaming down his face. It looks like he knocked several boxes of cereal out of the way in his rush to get into hiding. A few of them have popped open, leaving shredded wheat squares all over the floor.

“Oh, Charlie,” Rose says softly. “Did you get scared? I was only gone for a moment, sweetheart.”

Charlie blinks his wide, dark eyes at her, and doesn’t answer.

“Nobody’s coming for you, honey,” Rose says gently. “It’s just me. Come on out, and we’ll go back to the house, okay?”

Charlie considers, then scrambles out into her arms, knocking over a few more boxes in his hurry. Rose gets back to her feet, holding him, and he buries his tear-stained face into her neck.

Rose looks at Charlie, then glances down at the burst boxes of cereal.

“I’ll be right back to pay for that,” she tells the employee. “Mind if I just get him some air, first?”

The employee nods, and Rose heads for the door, cradling Charlie in her arms.

She has the slow walk of someone perpetually exhausted. Her movements are downcast, quiet, controlled. Like someone who’s been sacrificed to the machinery of the world over and over again, and now only wants to go unnoticed. Someone who does not want to be seen for their potential usage.

Is that what it is? Is this economy of movement her way of staying invisible? Her small stature is made even smaller by it, this way she contains herself.

I pick up her abandoned shopping basket, pay for everything inside, and pay for the cereal, too. Then I go out onto the sidewalk, take a look around.

Rose is still there, holding Charlie, who looks like he's starting to calm down. I approach slowly, wary of spooking him. Rose’s tired eyes dart to me, then immediately away again.

I set the bags down in front of her, struck with the sensation of making an offering at the feet of a goddess.

Rose was staring just as openly as I was, before, but now she can’t seem to look at me.

I lean my shoulder against the wall, slip my hands into my pockets. “Rose, is it?”

I get the sense that she’s not listening to me, though she seems to be listening very intently to something else.

“What? Oh, yes, hello.” She nods at the bags. “What’s…?”

“It’s paid for, darling,” I answer, and then, when Rose looks taken aback - “Consider it my apology, for staring at you like that. I'm afraid I couldn't help myself.”

“Oh - no, it’s okay.” Her gaze drops to the sidewalk, and she puts a hand to her scar. “I’m used to it. It’s the first thing people see about me, and I don’t blame them.”

“That’s not why I was staring.” I tilt my head to the side, meet her gaze with mine. “Nor was it the first thing I saw about you. Your eyes... they're breathtaking.”

Rose blinks her stunning green eyes at me. She turns hastily away, tucks the stray curl behind her ear.

"Thank you."

“But I am curious,” I admit. “Where’d you take that scar, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Rose hesitates before she answers, choosing her words.

“I was trying to help someone who was in trouble. It didn’t work out, that time.”

“Let me guess.” I make a sympathetic face, nod at Charlie. “His father?”

She laughs, shakes her head.

“No, a stranger. It's complicated. And I’m not Charlie’s mom, I’m his babysitter.” She smooths a hand over his back. “He just kept, um - finding himself in trouble, so I thought I should take the job, stay close by.”

I don't know quite what to make of that. There’s a brief silence, and then Rose speaks again.

“You’re new to Port Sitka.”

“I am.”

“Staying long?”

I’ve recovered my grasp on my cover story, by now.

“Maybe.” I pull a frustrated look onto my face. “I don’t know. I’ve been in town for a week, and I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere.”

Rose is immediately intrigued. “Nowhere with what?”

“I’ve been thinking of buying some land here. Staying long-term. I’m sick of city life, thought it couldn’t hurt to try a small town. But I haven’t found a place that suits me, yet.”

For some reason, this puts a surprised, delighted smile on Rose’s face.

“Really?” she breathes. “You’re thinking about staying? As in - staying, staying?”

Why does she look so - just - genuinely excited to hear that?

Reading strangers quickly and accurately is an essential skill in my line of work, and I’m pretty damn good at it. But I’m finding myself stumped by Rose. If she’s an opposition agent, she’s a five-star actress.

And if that’s not what she is… then what is she? Does Mags have his intel wrong? Or am I letting myself be played, for the first time in as long as I can remember?

It’s hard to say, but it’s also hard to look into those eyes and believe that her enthusiasm is insincere.

“Maybe,” I say again. “I just wish that I had someone to show me around, help me find-”

“I can help you!” Rose says instantly, eagerly. “I’ve lived here my whole life, I can show you everything! Oh - if Charlie can come with us, that is. I can’t-” She drops her voice to a whisper. “I can’t leave him alone for too long.”

I return Rose’s smile, then try it out on Charlie. I’m not here to hurt him, and I hope he can sense that.

He peeks out at me shyly, his head burrowed beneath Rose’s chin. When I smile at him, he sort of starts to smile back at me, then quickly turns his face away.

“Sounds like a plan,” I tell Rose. “So long as he doesn’t mind me spending some time with the two of you?”

She smiles, looking at me warmly. Again, I get that sense that she’s listening to something.

“No,” she says. “I don’t think he does.”