"I came to say goodbye, Uncle."
She pushes a scrap of paper under the smudged glass. Unfolding it, he finds an address in the familiar crisp handwriting.
"I'll be traveling a lot, but the Times can pass on letters," she is saying. "I… I'll see if I can get you a subscription, so you can see the photos."
He nods; there will be masses of red tape to sort through, prison being what it is, but he's never known his niece to go back on her word. "I'll look forward to it."
She's silent, spreading her hands out on the table. He waits. She refuses to meet his eyes.
"I'm proud of you," he says after a moment.
"The hell you are." Now her glare pierces him. "Why did you bother taking me in, if all you wanted was another pawn?"
The little girl stared him down.
"Remi, was it?" He knelt in front of her. No answer. "My name is Leon," he said softly. "I'm here to take you home."
"No."
Bronev blinked. The girl's lower lip trembled, but her gaze didn't falter. She had her father's intensity.
"I seen you watching me. You're not my daddy."
Little ingrate. She knew nothing of the hoops he'd jumped through, the favors he'd called in, to convince the commander that raising an agent from childhood was a worthy experiment. All this for her. "Your daddy won't be back, pipsqueak."
A tiny fist collided with his cheek. Tiny, but strong and quick. "Shut up!"
Before she could attack in earnest, he seized her wrists. The girl yelped, squirmed, but held her tears in.
"Enough." The word left her still and silent as a rag doll. He frowned. Her collection of bruises was impressive… were all from playground squabbles, or did less innocuous things happen at this orphanage?
"Your daddy… sent me to take care of you," he found himself lying. "To give you a new home."
A tear rolled down the girl's cheek. "Did the bad people get him?"
"…Yes."
As he lifted her up, as she buried her damp face in his shoulder, he wondered how much truth was in that second lie.
His niece's curls have always reminded him of Rachel. Her eyes, however, are her own: large, dark, glittering. She stares at him in silence, waiting for an answer to her question.
"Forgive me," are the only words he can come up with.
She looks down, shakes her head.
"My little star," he whispers.
"I can't." She hides her face in her hands. "I'm some kind of monster… You fucking used me, Uncle. And I let you. I could have…" She breaks off, taking several deep breaths. "I love you so much, but… I can't."
His throat tightens, though he knows he ought to say he understands.
"Time's up," the guard calls. She gets to her feet.
"Be well, Uncle Leon."
"Emmeline," he says as she turns away. She looks back. "I'm sorry," he says.
A nod, and then she's gone.
"…Now, there's no need to be afraid of a good sharp kitchen knife. A sharp knife is always the safest. However, it is still important to treat it with respect…"
"Like this?"
His research was piling up, but the six-year-old's giggles drove the thought from his mind. She was settling in so well, even answering to her new name. "Precisely. If you'll finish that, I'll set some water on to boil…"
An hour later, he steadied her hand as they ladled out the pasta sauce. "Can we eat now?" she asked.
"But of course, my little star; why else would we have cooked all of this?" He handed her a plate, then looked the other way as she skipped to the table, flinging bits of tomato sauce across the room. When he reached his chair she was already digging in.
"Good work, Emmeline," he said softly. She grinned at him, a pasta-filled, sauce-covered grin.
I love you, he thought.
But he had so much work to do.
His cell door closes with a clang.
I love you so much, my little Emmeline.
He dares not say so out loud.