Tulip Jones stared into eyes filled with pain, hurt and anger. Eyes which should dance with mischievous laughter, but instead were ancient with their grief. Eyes which knew too much.
Alex Rider stood in front of her. His mouth was a grim line, harsh lines circled his eyes which were now squinting at her, and his forehead creased in concentration.
Mrs Jones knew there would be no doubts in his mind – he had been told that she was the reason he had not known his father – never been taught how to ride a bicycle with John Rider shouting words of encouragement in his ear, had never felt a cool steady hand ruffle his fair hair playfully.
Yes, Alex had had his uncle, and Mrs Jones knew very well that Ian Rider had cared for his nephew deeply – a man who had never shown any emotion, whose every movement had been precise and calculated, but cold, but a man who had always had a tinge of pride in his voice when he had mentioned Alex to his colleges.
But an uncle wasn't a father –no matter fine the line was between an uncle and a father, there was still a line.
So now that Alex was standing in front of her, pointing a gun at her with slightly trembling hands – this was his first attempt at murder and Mrs Jones knew that this small detail would not let his stop him as he thought he was avenging his father – she inconspicuously wiped her somewhat sweaty palms on her dressing gown.
Even though she was very aware that she was perfectly safe thanks to Smithers' ingenious 'safety guard', and books could be filled with the names of those who would dearly love to murder her, seeing the boy who reminded her so clearly of her lost children stung painfully.
Sorrow and guilt welled up inside Special Operation's deputy head like a malicious balloon, and she was horrified to find a lump forming in her throat, almost chocking her.
Mrs Jones thought feeling and admitting emotion, even to herself, was the sign of weakness.
She scorned women who wore their heart of their sleeves, and pathetic were the damsels in distress which filled so many books with unoriginal plotlines, but here she was weeping on the inside because a tall, slight, fourteen year old boy with eyes filled with agony, hated her.
Alex Rider should never have been dragged into this world of deceit, lies, betrayal and death.
He should be immersed in a world of forgotten homework, laughter, and trivial nonsense, when the worst thing which might happen is to be landed in detention for talking back to the teacher.
He should not be forced into this life where mistakes cost lives, and the only thing keeping you alive is your mind and ability to defy death though using others' weaknesses against them.
And now, as Mrs Jones continued to stare into Alex's eyes, the slight edge of vulnerability in them disappeared. The vulnerability which Mrs Jones, famous for her eagle eyes and her piercing gaze from which nothing could hide, had not realised was there until it was gone.
Alex's expression which had been focused but with a slight tinge of childishness changed, becoming cold, hard and deadly. Tulip Jones knew he was squaring himself up to complete the task which he had been sent to do. Guilt and agony ripped through her body like the snarling jaws of a wolf, utterly consuming her.