When we came back down the mountain hand in hand, the old-timers clucked their tongues and got all meddly, saying things like “I guess she had that planned the whole time” and “wonder how long that’ll last”. I wanted to tell them to piss off, mind their own beeswax, but you know me, Captain Polite, I’ll probably say thank you to the sniper that cuts me down in my prime.

The mountain itself looked a little worse for wear, the top sheared off at an angle like a knife had sliced off a dollop of butter. In the purple twilight it was still glowing, dim red rivulets of molten rock sliding down its sides, setting small fires in the sparse forests at the treeline.

“Are you worried about that?” he said.

“Nah,” I said, “that’s for the clean-up team, I have other duties.” I kissed him, to remind him where we were going, and why.

In the little cabin the Agency had rented for me, we made sweet, sweet love by the light of the cooling mountain. In the morning he was gone like he’d never existed, but I’d expected that.