The swirling, spicy smell of cigar smoke had become a comfort, an unusual sign of refuge from the world above this below basement room of a desk, two chairs, a lamp, and an ashtray that had piled high and begun to spill and stain the wood it sat upon.

The source of the smell, The Handler, ironically never used that chair behind the desk, preferring to make that her seat. "Gives me a better look at the faces," I remember her saying when I asked. "If no one else will remember the faces, I will."

I suppose that's what I respect about her. She never wanted to forget us, even though we were little more than letters most of the time. Quite literally.

"This'll be our final meeting, J. Hopefully for good." She took another long drag of her cigar, lips done up in red. Red means something good's happened. A lucky color. "They're disbanding Alphabet."

That brings a silence. A few more drags of her cigar. The smell of leather and spice gets thicker. "They're disbanding us?" I don't care to think about how scratchy my voice sounds.

The Handler nods and she gives me a smile, a slash on the tally board. "Yes. Effective a debrief  back at headquarters tomorrow with all six members, Alphabet will be retired from the front lines and action. Permanently, if I have anything to say about it."

"Did you hate working with us that much, Handler?"

The Handler made a snort of a laugh, coughing up her latest inhale of smoke, the burn coursing through her mouth and nose as she gave a few pounds of her fist to her chest to get the last of it out. And she looked at me.

"Knew you picked up something other than wires and shit from O. That damn mouth." It comes out in shining sparks and saddened gray wisps of smoke, but she was still smiling. "Keep that on you and you won't do half bad back home. Actually, that reminds me..."

The Handler leans back and starts rummaging through drawers, cigar drooping out of her mouth and trickling ash onto her blouse and grumbling. It's a bit strange, knowing that this is the last time I'll ever be in this below basement room, without the dark wallpaper and faux filing cabinets without anything actually in them, papers are always read and burned here. It's not just cigar ash in the tray after all. Not that anyone but us can prove that.

In fact, not many people apart from us can or will be able to prove this space existed after we leave. That is- well, was, the purpose of Alphabet in the first place. To never know it existed. To never know we existed. I somewhat hate to think we've completed that goal quite nicely.

The Handler turns back around with a folder in her hands, one of the few that had survived being within this place most likely, and handed it off to me with a red grin. "A going away gift, for old time's sake." The Handler's breaking many a record today, smiles at the forefront, gift giving a close second.

"I hope this isn't a cigar box shaped like a folder like the chocolate box awhile ago."

"Shut up and open it, brat."

"I think twenty-four is a bit old for being a brat."

"Shush or I'll take it back."

A laugh tickles it's way out of my throat but I hold the folder closer anyway, just to make sure she doesn't take it. Jostling it around, it had a noticed lightness to it, so most likely nothing more than a few documents within it, or at the very least one object. It hadn't made any clattering noise though, so there was doubt to it being a trinket of any kind, not to mention the packaging being out of place for something of that nature. Now that I could see it clearer, it was one of those folders with twine wrapped around a button to keep it secure, artistically tied into a bow which actually just made it much more difficult to untie. As most things tied into bows do. Cause great inconvenience to everyone involved.

Instead of investing anymore time into the tie, my pocket knife came out of its secret compartment and sliced through the twine with a little snap noise along with a grumble from The Handler as I flipped open the folder to find only three things within it, as expected. The first thing to attract my attention was two Theacanian passports. Their navy blue color and golden lettering was unmistakable. The confusion stemmed from the fact that there were two, not one. Actually feeling their leather covers in my hands was... strange. The national emblem of a dove on both was something I'd only seen in books most of the time despite it being my native country.

In one of the passports was a picture of me, how they got it I'd never know. With a name. No J. Instead, there was an actual, full name in typed letters. Juniper. Juniper Orient. I remember talking about it long ago with O, what name I'd like to have if I ever got the chance to have one. We settled on nature names since it'd make it sound like our parents were creative or something silly like that. Not like we'd ever know them, apart from the fact that we definitely weren't related by blood. No one in Alphabet was, to prevent any blood-related contingencies.

"Then, who is the other one for?" When I looked up at The Handler, her eyes had a shine to them that said nothing but to look. So I did. And it was there.

Orchid Orient.

There was a picture of O in other passport beside that name. It felt strange seeing that name and the face that went along with it. The blue eyes and dark hair and tan skin that I'd pushed to the back of my mind for as long as possible.

"I made some calls back home to some people who owe a favor or fifty to you guys." The Handler's voice was a bit hoarse, I could smell the smoke getting thicker as she probably took another drag. "Wanted to make sure credit was given where credit was due."

"What do you-"

"They're all in the records, Juniper. All of them. A to Z. I made sure of it. Every single one of their faces. Z's got most of 'em, wanted to make sure you got one that was... important."

"... Important doesn't even begin to cover it, Handler."

"Please, just call me Hannah. You haven't even seen the last thing."

The passports already had my hands trembling like wire bomb, what else could there be to give? I placed them both back inside the folder like the precious cargo they are and finally pulled out the final item within, a piece of paper. A picture would be the better word for it. A picture of O and I.

I was standing beside her, scrawny and willow-like with the smallest smile on my face, glasses for once not obscuring my eyes in the light and there she was. Shorter than me, but taking up so much more space, spiritually speaking. We were holding hands in what looked to be a living room, smiling for the camera.

We never took a picture. Much less one like this. When did she-

"I remember every face. I also happen to be an excellent artist."

"Handl... Hannah, I don't know how to thank you for-"

"Don't thank me. Take her home. She deserves it."

For the first time ever since I had seen O-, Orchid, fall into the water, since I D had never left that ballroom, since T had suffocated, and since I had seen too much and too little-

I cried in front of Hannah. And she held me.

They were here. They were here.

I miss them.