Cie receives a text as she’s on her way back to Agent O’s house, walking in the evening light. She doesn’t recognize the number and is about to click her phone screen back off, whenever she reads the line of text.

Just a friendly warning, Cie, look where you’re walking.

Cie frowns at her phone, glancing around her.

And take off those headphones for once. It might save your life someday.

Cie stops walking and pulls her headphones off, looking around. The rock song she was listening to continues playing softly through her headphones as they rest lightly around her neck. It gets darker around her as the sun sets.

Smart Supernova.

“This isn’t Agent O. He doesn’t text like this, and he’s always had the same number the whole time I’ve known him…” Cie murmurs quietly.

She continues walking, paranoia growing as she gets closer to Agent O’s house. She notices the silence around her, only broken by an occasional dog barking or bird chirping, and the continuous rock music playing gently through her headphones. Cie doesn’t respond to the texts, knowing enough about the dangers of talking to strangers, especially when you’re a very valuable alien. But is it really a stranger if they know her name? Cie pauses for a moment and then sighs. Curiosity killed the cat, but if she doesn’t reply and at least ask who it is, it’s going to drive her insane. Not like they’ll say who they are. Cie looks down at her smartphone and quickly types.

Who is this?

Tut, tut.

Curiosity killed the cat, little sun.

Cie hurries to Agent O’s house. A black van drives down the street beside her, cruising along slowly. Cie takes a deep breath as she comes within sight of Agent O’s pink suburban, parked in the driveway of the house they share. No one would be stupid enough to attack her right next to help. She’s fairly confident about that. She’s never heard anyone call someone else a little sun. She speed-walks to the front door of Agent O’s house, glancing over her shoulder, and then unlocks the front door.

The black music note bobble on her keychain hangs down as she pushes the door open. She steps inside and then carefully locks the door behind her.

“You’re late.” Agent O says, standing beside the banister, and Cie forces herself to laugh.

“Whatever. I’m probably only a minute late.”

“Nine minutes, to be exact.” Agent O says.

Cie sighs. She’s not going to tell Agent O about the texts. He would freak out. As much as Agent O can freak out, which considering how neutral he was about her accidentally bringing three people from another world to their Earth, isn’t that much. But all the same, Cie decides to keep quiet.

“I’m going to my room.”

“And I’m going to bed.” Agent O says as he turns and walks away.

Cie, knowing Agent O expects some sort of retort or remark, doesn’t disappoint.

“Old man.” She laughs, her laugh sounding forced to her ears.

Agent O doesn’t seem to notice, and yawns.

“I’ve been up since six fifteen this morning. Give me a break. I’m not a Supernova.”

“Yeah, well, I am.” Cie retorts.

They separate and Cie trudges up the stairs to her room. She sits in her room, perched on the edge of her bed, staring out the window. She’s not going to stargaze tonight. She doesn’t feel safe enough to do that. Instead, she wraps her blankets around her and pulls her phone back out of her dress pocket. Maybe the little sun remark means that it’s someone from Japan. They have the Rising Sun flag, right? Or is it a reference to her Supernova heritage? Probably a reference to her Supernova heritage. Or at least, she thinks It might be. She quickly types out a text message to the strange number.

Is that a reference to my heritage?

She decides to keep her text vague in case the person doesn’t know her species.

It’s a nickname in the culture I was raised in.

Cie immediately starts searching, “little sun nickname culture” in her search engine.

It pulls up a variety of things but none of them seems right. After a while of her searching, the other number texts her again.

You’re overthinking it.

Cie frowns and rubs her forehead, before she types back.

What do you want from me?

Because I’m assuming you didn’t start texting me to be my friend.

Maybe I did.

You never know.

You shouldn’t assume things about people you don’t know.

Cie huffs as she stares down at the strange texts. Part of her wants to tell Agent O about the texts, but another part of her wants to figure things out on her own. She doesn’t often get to be independent from the U.S. government. It’s somewhat freeing, in a terrifying way. She sends another text.

Then why don’t we get to know each other better?

You seem to know a lot about me, but I don’t even know your name.

So, let’s start there.

I’ll tell you my nickname.

But you’ll have to do your research.

Cie grins. Progress. She waits in her dark room, watching the bright phone screen with growing anticipation.

Most governments call me the Never-Aging Sniper.

I’ll let you figure out the rest.

Cie quickly searches up the phrase, “the Never-Aging Sniper”. Her phone screen is immediately filled with search results, mostly news articles. She opens the first one on the list of a massive amount of news articles. She skims through the article, which details the assassination of an American politician. The sniper kill credit is given to a Russian agent known as the Never-Aging Sniper, who has been in the assassination business since the 1950s. Apparently the first picture of them was only found in 2011, after they assassinated a Japanese official, and missed a security camera. Cie studies the blurry picture.

The Never-Aging Sniper clearly is female, with a massive sniper rifle slung over her back. The picture is a picture of her front, but she’s wearing sunglasses, so Cie can’t see her eyes. But she has black bangs. The rest of her hair appears to be a blue color, but Cie isn’t sure. She is Caucasian, with blue lines beneath her eyes, peeking out from under her sunglasses. Probably some sort of war paint or tattoos or something, Cie assumes. She’s wearing a pair of black dangling earrings, Cie notes, as she studies the picture closely. She’s wearing a long sleeve black shirt with a blue skirt and high heels. She looks to be around twenty-five. Cie texts the Never-Aging Sniper.

I see why you’re called never-aging.

You’ve really been an assassin since the 1950s?

You look like you’re in your twenties.

How much plastic surgery have you had?

Hilarious.

I’m disappointed.

I would have thought you’d be able to figure out what I am.

A vampire?

You were wearing sunglasses.

I bet you have red eyes.

Cie gets no response and frowns.

“Huh, guess I made her mad. Hope she doesn’t snipe me while I’m in my room.”

She shrugs as she drops her phone onto the bed beside her. She leans against the wall, still sitting on her bed, and stares at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. There’s a tapping on her window. Soft and careful, so it won’t be heard in Nathan’s room, where he’s probably asleep by now. Cie’s head snaps to look at the window, and her eyes are met with sparkling blue eyes on the other side of the glass. Cie’s eyes widen, and then she slowly creeps over to the window. The Never-Aging Sniper is crouched on the other side. The sniper puts her hand on the glass, and Cie puts her hand on the inside of the window. They stay like this for a few moments, Cie taking in the sniper’s appearance while the sniper studies her.

The sniper does have black bangs with blue hair. That’s…odd. Especially for someone who would want to be inconspicuous. Or does she? Maybe that’s why she’s been in the assassin business, to get fame. Well, Cie knows she’s not a vampire now. Vampires don’t have blue eyes.  Or maybe she’s an alien. Cie’s eyes brighten as the sniper points at her blue eyes, then points at the blue lines on her face. She traces them, and then traces triangles on her face. She’s trying to tell Cie something, but Cie doesn’t know what. Cie tilts her head to the side, indicating her confusion and the sniper frowns. The sniper taps lightly where the locks on Cie’s window are, and Cie shakes her head.

Cie can see the sniper rifle slung across the sniper’s back, peeking over her shoulder at her. A look of exasperation crosses the sniper’s face and then she gently unslings the sniper rifle, setting it carefully on the roof. She taps on the locks of Cie’s window again, and Cie bites the inside of her mouth. Should she really let in an assassin? She looks over the assassin’s appearance. She looks like a punk rock young adult, wearing a ripped-up band t-shirt with some torn skinny jeans. And high heels. Cie’s amazed the sniper can perch on the shingles of the house so quietly wearing high heels.

Cie takes a deep breath and unlocks her window, against her better judgement. She pulls the window open and the sniper whispers.

“Can I come in?”

Cie rolls her eyes.

“Yes. Why else would I unlock my window?” She whispers back.

The sniper meticulously crawls in through the window, and once she’s inside, she pulls Cie into a hug.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, Cie. I’ve thought you missed the planet when I crashed in Russia as a baby Stellar. I know Celesti was in a lab until recently when she escaped. I don’t know where she is now. But I hacked into the U.S.’s government files when I discovered you are on Earth. Both of you are on Earth.” She whispers urgently, her voice thick with a Russian accent.

“Both of us? Both of who? Who are you?” Cie hisses.

The sniper takes a deep breath.

“I’m Aria Stellar. The middle sister in our trio of sisters.” She explains, her voice quiet.

“I was born of a star’s supernova. You must be mistaken.” Cie replies, her voice kept at a whisper.

“I was born in the star, during the star’s life. Celesti was born when the star formed. We awaited the day you would be born, the day when the star would die and we would be sent flying off to a planet, hopefully the same planet. And here we are today.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Cie demands.

“You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Right. Trust the Never-Aging Sniper. That sounds smart.” Cie retorts.

“You don’t make many smart decisions. Why would you open your window to me if you don’t trust me? Why would you test a portal machine you built in your basement in only two weeks, if you didn’t trust your engineering skills? You follow your heart, not your brain.”

Cie opens her mouth, and then closes it, not sure what to say in response.

“You don’t need to reply. But know that I can’t protect you with my sniper rifle without blowing my cover. Watch out for that black van that was cruising down the street earlier. They’re after you. They saw you go to your friend’s house. Prince Mag Aristide. Watch out. They will do anything to get to you. They killed one of your neighboring agents. They’ll kill everyone you love if they get the chance. Be careful.”

“What do they want from me?” Cie asks, and Aria shakes her head.

“I’ll keep in touch.” She whispers, and then in a flash, she’s out the window, scooping up her sniper rifle, and sliding off the roof, disappearing in a moment.