Chapter 8

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The flight to Paris went by smoothly, and upon landing in the airport, my partner and I immediately set off in search for Miranda Leroy's home to the west of the city.

"We should be getting close, now." I said after thirty minutes of walking. I was surprised such an old woman lived so close to the busy part of the city.

"Thank God," Sato breathed in relief and smiled. "First I was forced into a flying hunk of metal for eleven hours, and now we have to walk to this lady's house?"

"You're the one who didn't want to drive in a car." I reminded, not looking up from the GPS on my mobile screen.

"I have my reasons to fear the streets in Europe," Sato justified, sticking his nose in the air. "And besides, don't you feel a little pressured?"

"By what?"

"So many people are looking at us," he said under his breath, almost self consciously. "Do we really have to wear our hero suits out in public like this?"

"Yes," I replied curtly, glancing up at different street names as we passed signs. "We're here on hero business."

"I get dressin' up in front of the ol' lady is important," he huffed, letting his arms fall from the back of his head and to his sides. "But this seems a little excessive."

We turned a street corner into a nice neighborhood and I rolled my eyes. "Where would you have suggested we changed, then? It's not like we could go up to any random doorstep and ask to use their bathroom."

Sato huffed. "Someone's extra sarcastic today."

I shrugged, not paying any real attention to him as I skimmed the addresses of the houses we passed.

"What's got you so talkative, anyway?" He asked another question. "You almost seem... happy."

"I think your imagining things," I replied dismissively. "I'm not acting any differently toward you than usual."

He hummed doubtfully at me. "I've got my eye on you, little lady."

"Don't call me that," I scolded, shooting him a glare before comparing the numbers on my GPS to the ones on the house in front of us. "We're here."

At that, Sato whipped his head up to the cute house in front of us. It screamed friendly with its pale yellow paint job and cliché white picket fence. A few colorfully flowered bushes rooted the front of Miranda Leroy's home, and in the windows you could see crocheted drapes hanging from the rail above them.

"Wow," Sato said. "This is definitely an old lady's house."

"Quit being so insensitive," I scolded him for the thousandth time that day whilst popping the front gate open. "Try to act professional in there — no, don't even talk at all."

"He— What?!" He squabbled offendedly as he followed me up to the front doorstep. "Don't treat me like a kid!"

"Keep your voice down," I shushed him. "And I wouldn't if you didn't act like one."

He pouted down at me and slouched, making me even more irritated than I already was with him.

Turning away, I knocked on the door instead of his face and waited in anticipation for it to be opened. Within thirty seconds, the lock unshackling could be heard from inside.

A short, plump old woman poked her head out, clear surprise written all over her wrinkled face as she gawked up at us.

Sitting on her nose looked to be a pair of reading glasses, and her aged grey hair was pulled back into a tight bun on her head. Her eyes were a strange hazel color, and if you looked close enough, little brown specks could be made out near her pupil in her right eye.

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