Operation 007 (SpyxFamily)

Chapter Sixteen

      The first thing Anya noticed when she got home was her parents awkwardness. Yor showered her with affection, not wanting to put her down, so happy she was home. Safe. With thoughts of Loid hidden underneath, his identity as a spy. She couldn't stop thinking about it. How highly aware she was of him.

Nor Loid about her.

They'd finally had it out. She'd wondered if it would ever happen.

But there was also something else in Loid's mind.

Anya.

That above all else, she was safe and at home. An immediate thought to never let her leave the house again, which was ridiculous. A dedication to finding the director and putting an end to him. He never thought he could be so angry when the doctor mentioned her gashes. He felt he'd come to play the father very well if he cared more for her than he anticipated. His thoughts marinaded in a suspicion he couldn't leave alone, despite this.

Clawing curiosity.

An itch that gnawed at him.

This is what Anya noticed. It was hard to not peek into his head for it.

And it scared her.

He didn't bring it up.

But he wanted to.

To ask how she knew things, how she seemed to get into his head, theories that couldn't possibly be true, but it was late. They were all tired and Anya needed sleep. If there was something going on with her, he'd figure it out tomorrow.

He did not.

Anya slept most of the next morning, only waking to go back to the hospital. The doctors tested for any and everything they found in the lab records. Her limbs were re-dressed, and Loid, told to change them daily.

A visit to Noah.

A proper time to ask was not found. Or the day after, Anya sleeping heavily from fatigue and stress.

That was fine.

There'd be time.

He could wait.

—————

Two days.

Loid had thought and considered and ruminated and puzzled for two days while Anya slept, recovering. Spent two days trying to track down the director with little to go on. Two days trying to unravel the mystery that was Anya. Two days trying and failing to make the pieces fit together. Two days spent working to distract himself from the host of questions he had for his daughter, fighting the urge to ask them while he sat with her eating at the table. He wanted to ask about the director. Who he was. His name. His appearance. Anything, really.

W.I.S.E. hadn't been able to collect intel yet on what the SSS had, the information kept closed, but to a scarce few. Their only lead to the director was cut off. Then Anya. Their best shot. He wanted to ask her, mixed with the hope that she'd forget about him. Erase him from her past. At least until they caught him and put him in jail.

Or killed him.

It could happen on the job.

But until that happened, a part of him loathed to bring him up. She just got away from him, he couldn't push his agenda like that.

Not that one, anyway.

What he really wanted to know was how she knew it was him that night. It nagged and nagged at him. He'd considered that she was just wildly intuitive, more so than he previously thought. The idea that she heard him at the political event, an insane, fantastical idea. There was no way that could actually happen. A coincidence. There was a possibility that she had picked up on his personal traits during these incidences. His gait, maybe. Facial expressions she was familiar with. Quirks that would have been invisible to anyone else. Or facial cues and body language that told her what he was thinking. He'd met spies that were trained for that sort of thing. The idea she was so naturally intuitive was implausible, though. It'd almost have be a sixth sense at that level. But what other explanation did he have? He watched her eating and debated.