Chapter Eighteen
Yuri knew.
It was all Anya could think about after he left. The secret she'd kept so close to her, not so secret anymore.
The only consolation, that he wouldn't tell anyone. That he'd keep it to himself, which surprised her, honestly.
It was a new feeling, this sense of vulnerability that she couldn't do anything about. That someone else was in possession of her secret that she couldn't protect.
Feeling assured it was safe with him, but nervous.
It haunted her when she went to bed, bringing back the nightmares she thought were over and woke up late, to find only Yor. Loid had gone to work. Some mission or other.
Anya fed Bond, before remembering it was much too late for breakfast, but he didn't mind. She left him to eat as she took her drawing supplies to the living room, scattering a few crayons on the table.
She took one in her hand as she got to work, a lot of time to make up for.
—
Yuri pinched his nose, taking a deep breath, as he stood outside the door and prepared himself for who waited in the interrogation room.
He opened it.
"Brook." He greeted, coming to stand by the table, not bothering to sit. Wether she told him or not, it would be a short session.
The spy gave a dead stare in return. "What do you want, now?" She said, her disposition tired of his questioning as well.
"Same thing as yesterday. Who's subject 004?" Yuri asked.
A moment of silence. A tip of her head. A sigh like that of disappointment.
"You know who 007 is." Stated Brook in discontentment.
"Stay out of my head." Yuri warned, glad he'd made sure there would be no witnesses, precisely for that reason.
"Who. Is 004?" He repeated, never having so much trouble for one little piece of data.
"If I say I don't know, will you leave me alone?" She asked dryly.
Yuri's fingertips that relaxed like a claw on the table, moved subtly as his index began tapping. His growing impatience with her, apparent.
"I don't. Know." She said, a pointed tone.
"You don't know, but you know who 007 is?" Yuri challenged.
"I only know 'cause I was sent to fetch her. I have no idea who 004 is."
Yuri didn't know if he believed her. If he did, that made his job much more difficult. But he also knew, he wouldn't be able to get anything out of her if she wasn't willing to give it.
"Believe me or not, it's the truth." She responded to his thoughts, Yuri clicking his tongue in annoyance.
This is why he didn't want to come in here.
If she wasn't lying, his only lead was the director and the scientists. And they had yet to find any of them.
Forcefully tapped his finger a few times again, as he considered. Whipped back around to leave the room.
He had lot of work to do if Brook couldn't give him the information.
Walked briskly down the hall, nodding to one of his superiors on his way.
A lot of work, indeed.
—
Twilight walked down the hall with the commanding presence his stolen identity carried. His subordinates, not blinking twice at his perfect disguise.
He wished he could have chosen someone lower on the ladder, but they wouldn't have access to what he needed.
If anyone found out that Lucas Fern wasn't actually here today, they'd know they'd been infiltrated. While they wouldn't know it was him, their defences would raise all them same. Making the next time, much harder.
He returned a nod to Yuri as he turned a corner. Passed a few doors. Found the one labeled 'Records'.
Opened it.
The large room was filled with file cabinets from front to back in aisles to make easy access. Thick and thin binders stored in bookshelves lining the back wall.
A man, occupying a desk at the empty space near the door, looking through papers.
"Oh. Captain" He stood at Twilight's entrance, a nod in greeting "What can I do for you?"
Twilight of course, nodded back. "Everything on the recent lab that was taken down, if you could."
"Of course." The man said, pulling a paper from his scattered desk. Studied it.
"Those are restricted files, you'll need to sign for them." He said, handing him another piece of paper he drew from a drawer.
Twilight had perfected the signature in preparation for this and easily forged the mans sharply pointed style.
The man then retrieved a few binders and files for him, and Twilight left. Locked himself in Lucas Fern's office and set them out on the desk.
Laid open a binder with a flick of his hand.
And began to read.
The first page made of five digit numbers, dated back to at least forty years ago. No names and all labeled dead. The section going on for several leaves.
The tenth page held three digit numbers and no dates, Subject 001, the first entry. The correlating status labeled successful.
Then 002, failure, dead. 003 failure, dead.
004 successful. 005 dead. 006 dead.
Subject 007 successful.
Loid scanned through them quickly, every number under 007, either in progress, or failed.
Or dead.
It held no other information, and he moved on. The next page old and delicate.
The big, bold letters catching his attention, but what he read underneath left him motionless.
"Uh—" He choked.
Project Apple:
Esper experimentation
An effort to further the capacity of the human mind. Electrical brainwaves theorized to have greater potential than currently accepted in many scientific studies. The mental development of adolescents, best equipped to successfully adapt to the high threshold of the resulting modification . . .
"Uh—"
' . . . . .What. . . . ?' Loid thought, dumbfounded. Unaccepting of what it said. Frozen on the project summary that shouldn't be real. A piece of fiction that was only found in storybooks and movies.
'What is this!?' He wondered at the binder he held up for a better look and read it again, but it didn't change.
This couldn't be right. This didn't make sense. How was this possible?
Read it again.
'WHAT IS THIS?!' He repeated inwardly, dropping it on the desk, a hand to his forehead as he took a step back with the other braced at his hip.
Glared at it.
Stepped forward again to whip the page to the other side as if it would nullify what he just read somehow, but nothing. Whipped it back. Stood up straight.
Paced once in a circle around the chair's desk, hand still to his forehead.
Read it again.
This couldn't be right, he insisted at himself. This couldn't be right. It had to be fake, but he knew there'd be no such thing at the SSS.
Besides, the casing was old, it had been around for a while and he had seen Yuri with these at the lab.
They were real.
What did this mean? Did— Did this mean Anya was—
He couldn't finished it.
Considered the implications.
The organization had successfully created telepaths that could read people's minds. They had successfully experimented on children that could read people's minds.
They had turned children into espers. They had turned . . .They had. . . They had turned. . .
They had turned Anya into an esper. . .Anya could read minds. . .
Whatever Twilight was expecting to find, it wasn't this.
He couldn't move for a long moment. The reality of what he read, battling with his sense of reason.
This shouldn't be possible. This shouldn't have happened. The kids they used, shouldn't have lived like this.
Anya shouldn't have lived liked this . . .
Anya shouldn't have . . . Anya shouldn't . . .Anya. . .An . . .Anya was an esper. . .
Loid thought again, unable to come to terms with it.
Anya was an esper. . . .Anya was an esper. . .
He lowered his hand to rest both of them on the desk and leaned over it.
Turned back to the tenth page in a haze.
Subject 001.
Subject 004.
And subject 007.
She was one of those, then.
He stared at the numbers.
What did he do now?
The question issuing new problems. If Anya was an esper, how much about him did she know? That he was a spy?
He turned to the next page, one he hadn't seen yet. The newer paper, too intact to be the original. A detailed account of a subject from the nineteen-twenties.
'Anya is a telepath.' The thought interrupted.
Their first subject. Subject 10010.
A description of every experiment, every positive, every negative, every little thing they learned from this person. A description of how they died.
The analysis going on for several pages, the scientists who wrote these, bereft of any humanity.
Loid scanned through a few, all of them different in some way. The older subjects filling up the thick binder.
'Anya is a telepath.'
He closed it with a heavy thunk. Looked at the others in weighted indecision.
'Anya is a telepath.'
Her's was here somewhere. A report on her time with them. Answers about her past he'd been questioning for a while.
Did he really want to know? Did he want to go searching for her records of how she achieved her telepathy? What happened to her before she was his daughter? Was it really a good idea? He didn't even know her subject number, would he recognize it as her's if he saw it?
'Anya is a telepath.'
Twilight took a moment to consider, staring at the binder in front him. Black and ominous with spots of fluid staining the aging cover. The tiny crevices forming on the edges.
Picked it up hesitantly.
Put it aside.
Pulled another one in front of him.
—-
To say Yor was proficient with weapons was an understatement.
Her young life, spent learning how to use them. A mastery of almost anything she got her hands on. An everyday object, used to it's most deadly potential in her possession.
She knew how they worked. The amount of force to use for each one. The damage they could do. The type of damage they could do. The wounds they inflicted. How badly.
Knew more on the subject she could ever use. Knew how to hold them. Knew how to throw them. Knew how to cut, fire, slash, strangle, bludgeon and kill with them.
Yor Forger didn't just know weapons, she knew everything about weapons.
And she knew she had never had better use for this knowledge than right now, un-bandaging Anya's arm.
And she knew someone was gonna freakin' die.
She would have asked Anya who did it, but she wouldn't answer. Had been asked before at the hospital with no reply.
That was fine. She'd still find them and pay them back ten-fold. Until every ounce of blood drained from their body. Soaked from the lashes that would tear their skin apart.
Saw the image of what she'd to do them. How she'd do it. The time she'd take. The pain she'd give.
Silently raged as she bandaged Anya's right arm back up, before moving on to the left. The wounds normally tended to by Loid who asked Yor to fix her up while he was on a mission.
Took care of her legs before Anya hopped off the kitchen stool.
"Anya." Yor began as she put the hydrogen peroxide away. The want to ask if she was okay, instinctive. How she was doing.
'Of course she's not okay. It would be a miracle if she was okay.' The thought overriding the impulse.
But Yor wanted to say something. She felt she should be able to talk to her about this. Help her through it, but didn't know where to start. The sensitive topic hard to broach, not knowing if it would set Anya off again.
'Maybe it would be better to give it time first.' She thought.
Anya had been pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing, maybe she'd want to talk after she felt comfortable again.
"Nevermind." Yor smiled at Anya who'd stopped to look at her.
'Mama is acting weird.' She thought, watching her tidy up the kitchen, putting supplies away with the unused bandages.
Not caring to dive into her mind at the moment, having her own things to consider, the sheets of colourful paper spread over the coffee table, more important as she went and sat down.
Some of the crayons rolled off the edge as she dug out the papers they buried, the plots drawn out for plan B. The carefully curated ideas that were guaranteed to work.
. . . She hoped . . .
She hadn't had a lot of luck so far, but felt confident in her new schemes. She couldn't give up just because Damian was being difficult. Her Papa had dealt with much scarier scenarios.
If he could fight bad guys every day(it wasn't every day), she could try as many times as it took to befriend Desmond.
Anya picked up the first page she had done this morning. A picture of Loid in the car at school and Bond in the passenger seat beside him.
This one would definitely work, she thought.
If Damian wouldn't let her bring Bond to his house, she'd bring Bond to the school. She'd have Papa come pick her up one day and bring him there.
They'd walk up to the school entrance where she'd be waiting for him. Bond of course, would want to see Becky before Anya went home and they would pet and play with him, generally having a marvellous time when: Oh? What's that? Damian was passing by?
What a coincidence. How entirely unplanned and completely accidental. Anya would beckon him over to see her beautiful dog and he'd love him right away. He was too irresistible not to. The plan was foolproof.
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .Unless dogs weren't allowed on the grounds. . . . .and now that she thought about, why would Damian be anywhere near the school entrance if he lived in the dorms. . . . .crud. . . .
She'd have to modify it.
She picked up the second drawing, a sheet mostly covered in red and orange with a speck of yellow. The paper unrecognizable to her.
Did it have something to do with fire she wondered? She didn't remember any plans that included fire, but it looked like fire.
Anya rotated it a couple times, unhelpfully moving her head with it as she did so.
. . .
. . .moving on.
Her third idea, (the least optimal one) to pay attention to what he liked and take interest. She'd discovered that people were drawn to others with similar hobbies and decided manipulation might be best. Then again, it was said that opposites attract but on the third hand, she'd already unintentionally tried that and it didn't work.
She sighed at the drawing of her and Damian talking, feeling depressed just looking at it.
He'd probably say something akin to: "I like being a jerk and telling everyone they're not good enough to hang out with me." Or "All of my favourite hobbies include rich people things a commoner like you couldn't afford." Or "I'm only friends with people who can tolerate my awful personality."
She could hear him now, wondering how she'd respond to his theoretical answers. Could she? Maybe she should think of something else.
Well, whatever, she'd make it work. If she kept stockpiling strategies, one was bound to succeed eventually.
She flipped one of the pages over to the blank side, a new idea to scribble all over it, when someone's thoughts proclaimed their presence outside the apartment, intruding on her task.
A voice fixed on concepts that repeated on a loop, mulling and calculating in deliberation. Racing at break neck speeds in a calm fashion, though powerfully and loudly.
She wouldn't have noticed it it it wasn't so obvious. Their thoughts screaming for attention that reached out to her wether they realized it or not. It wasn't a rare occurrence but sometimes she was more aware of someone's state of mind, than they were themselves.
Anya would have left it alone for the dizziness that started to plague her, but instinct told her not to.
And as she focused in on it, she was surprised to recognize it as her Papa who thought in a composed flurry. He maintained clarity and collectedness, but it boomed out in torrent waves. Like a well-handled sturdy boat on a storming ocean. A boat that had too much experience, to not be able to ride this one, however tumultuous or different this one seemed to be.
Anya tried to sort through them, but they were hard to read. Loid's thoughts, jumping from one thing to the next, and back again. She had never heard him so thrown.
As a spy, he controlled emotions and his mental state carefully, rarely in a position to let himself relax or let his guard down.
In any situation, he immediately assessed and cooly gauged the next steps to be taken. Any new information processed and instantly adapted to. While he seemed to have absorbed whatever happened, there was also an incredulousness he couldn't get over that she never felt from him.
She wanted to withdraw, leave him before she passed out from the overload, but the same instinct told her not to.
So Anya pushed through the forming headache and managed to identify a few thoughts, concentrating hard, and quickly regretted it.
The following reaction, sending a shiver down her spine that tensed her back and shoulders as she realized he was recalling moments, about her. Memories and instances that were about her. Connecting dots he hadn't noticed before in relation to her.
Anya bolted upright, her mind racing out of there if that was a thing her brain could do. The eerie feeling that was too similar to when Yuri found out, causing her to shake.
The relief she felt from disengaging with his mind, severely tamped by the bated apprehension that crawled in goosebumps along her arms.
And though she retreated, she still felt the thoughts that raged towards her, scraping at her defences.
The secrets, poked and prodded at, that she'd worked so hard to protect as Loid skirted just of of reach. The panic that waited on the sidelines, edging closer and closer to seize her.
She could feel her heart stop as he neared the door. The hand Loid placed on the knob, hesitating there.
Anya may have been keeping him out as much she could, but in a single moment it was brushed away in insignificance, as excess notions suddenly settled like dust in Loid's mind, a particular few blasting louder than ever.
'Anya is a telepath. . . '
She stilled completely, the crayon falling from her hand. Dread engulfing whatever hope she had left that he didn't know. An inkling of terror at what would happen when he came in.
'How do I do this? How will she react? How upset will she be?'
A cold sweat began to cling to her skin. Her vision, flawed by the unsteady focus of her eyes.
'How can I thwart enemy bombs, infiltrate rival forces, prevent international crises, and this is somehow worse?'
His voice cutting deep and hard. Announcing her worst fears that were thrown back at her.
The blood paled from her skin, her weighted limbs anchoring to the floor. Large eyes pinned to the entryway she couldn't stray her gaze from, waiting in horrid anticipation.
Waiting and watching the door where Loid stood just outside, returning from a mission to the SSS. A mission to gather intel from the records and files that he'd read.
Where Loid stood, aware of everything she'd worked so hard to keep secret, dragging the boxes she'd sealed away into the light to look at them.
Where Loid stood, because he was a spy and that was what he did.
Where Loid stood, because he had seen the data.
Because Loid knew.
Anya sharply inhaled as doom crushed her soul into splintered remnants. As it incinerated the smallest piece of her spirit into nothing but ashen rubble, burnt by the sun she'd let herself bathe in for too long. The spy family she'd let herself live with for too long that had endangered all that had to be hidden.
She inhaled again, as the doorknob twisted like a knife in her gut and was pushed open.
Inhaled a third time when Loid entered the apartment. His eyes landing on her staring back at him and froze in place.
The sudden quiet of his thoughts, stopping him in his tracks. Instant silence consuming every braincell in a black hole. The sole understanding that Anya had heard every word, prevailing.
That Anya had heard every word. That Anya had head every word.
And then that left him too, replaced with a force of emotion that could've knocked Anya over. Filled him with nothing but pure alarm and urgency.
The need to say something to dispel the horror forming on his daughter's face and calm the irregular breathing.
The need to say something, but it was smothered in the resounding quiet that suffocated them. In the hush that spoke more than any word ever could.
They held the other's gaze as Loid failed to speak. Failed to form coherent sentences. Failed to disperse the painful tension that oozed in each surface and crevice.
One word that he managed to think clearly and absolutely, every other conception lost in a darkened vacuum.
"Anya." He said quietly.
Panic and adrenaline stabbed into her. A jump from her heart as it started again.
The word, a catalyst to shoot up off the floor, the papers fluttering at the swift motion.
A movement so sudden, it startled Loid into inaction as he watched her flee. As he watched her sprint down the hall to slam the bathroom door closed, harder than she meant to, and locked it shut.
Anya struggled to catch her breath where she leaned against it, chest pounding to send her heart into her throat. Quickened further at the sound of Loid coming closer. A vague sense that Yor intercepted him when she exited the kitchen, the strange scene mystifying her.
Anya was too panicked, too distraught to understand their brief conversation that slid under the door in jumbled noise. The oxygen that was left in her lungs, stolen by the thought that he'd told her, as an abrupt, terrifying silence ended it.
Loid moved to pass by Yor and Anya shrank at the sound of him coming to stand outside the bathroom. Heard the light tread of his steps stopping not two feet away from her, the piece of wood separating them.
The rap on the door as he said her name again, quiet and laden with weight.
"Anya."
An action that added to her overwhelmed nerves and brought her to tears. A reality her mind disengaged from in protection. A reality that was falling apart. A reality she heard less and less as noises faded. As sounds fell away into the distance.
Wanted to ignore that her body shook, that she was light-headed and unbalanced. Needed to hide as she climbed into the bathtub and huddled in the bottom.
Her head obscured behind her knees that she drew up, blocking her vision. Her hair tangled through fingers that clutched at her scalp.
A fuzzy acknowledgement that even though her chest heaved and wracked, she couldn't breathe. A fuzzy acknowledgement that she cried, but made no sound.
An acknowledgement quickly drowned in rejection of outside influences. Of anything that tied her to this moment in time. Of willful dissociation from the muted tones that emanated far off, indistinguishable nonsense drifting further and further away.
Her consciousness of the people in the hall, stamped down to keep the notion from surfacing, the notion of what Loid knew. Of what he'd told Yor that compelled her mental withdrawal.
The hyperventilation torn through with sobs at the slightest heed of it.
The sound followed by raised noises she quickly shut out as her nails dug into her scalp.
She couldn't handle that Loid knew. That Loid and Yor would leave her. That the premature abandonment that would've inevitably happened was already here.
A certainty that this was worse than the worst things she'd experienced. A certainty she'd be unable to cope without her family that she'd grown so used to having.
No, she couldn't do this. She couldn't do this. She couldn't think about it, it hurt too much.
Anya shoved it down, deep, deep, down where there was no light. A chasm fracturing in her mind to swallow it where she couldn't find it. Where she couldn't see it.
Sealed her mind away, sealed her thoughts and memories where they couldn't hurt her. Leaving her in darkened nothingness that numbed her brain.
The little pulses of indiscernible sensations bouncing off of her that she barely observed in her current state. Unaware of how much time passed when there was a—
BANG!
A loud, cracking thud she almost registered reverberated through the walls as it tried to cut into her senses.
The words, distant and meaningless when feet of an invading presence pattered on the tiles.
The voice that sent vibrations in the tub, swiftly jumping in front of her to place his hands over her own. Hands that encapsulated her head.
Anya's detachment persisting despite it, the action gaining little understanding.
Didn't respond to the voice that strived for any sort of reaction, any sort of way to get through to her when it abruptly stopped.
The momentary lapse unnoticed by her that made the next one jarringly evident.
"Anya!"
The noise ripped at her mind and she struggled to seal it. The present too difficult to be in, too difficult to accept.
Things that were left in the dark, being pulled into daylight. Dim recollection of what they were supposed to be.
No.
Pushed them back. Put them in a fortified safe that boomed loudly as she slammed it closed. Slammed it down in urgent intensity. Slammed it down into an abyss where she hid every darkness. Hid every memory too painful to remember.
The rip sealed.
Thoughts forgotten.
Memories buried.
Shook her head in flat out rejection as she dived inwardly deeper. The voices quieter than they'd ever been.
Almost didn't notice the wetness that still streamed from her eyes, the hiccups when she couldn't breathe. The emotions that poured out in subconscious reflex.
Anya.
She heard in dulled syllables, easily brushed it aside. Easily-
"ANYA!"
A strike that collided into her, slashing at the barriers a second time.
That safe, somehow dragged instantly back out, fighting to free it's contents. A threat it would spill her into the world again, that became more tangible every second.
That the pressure on her skull became more tangible every second, the hands that clasped her head, too apparent. Too real.
Her own, that were stuck underneath, pushed at them as she shook her head again, but he stayed firm. Keeping a piece of the reality she was trying to avoid, glued to her skin.
The loud force of urgency in his tone hounded the walls she held up, the words nothing but noise she couldn't understand. Noise she didn't want to understand.
Noise that made her confront the locked box leaking at the seams, unable to fix it. Noise that made it shudder and rattle as is it dripped things she didn't want to know. That made it burst open, breaking the deadened veil she'd wrapped around herself.
The flood of it's contents washing over her to remind her of why she hid them in the first place. The hurt that drove into her heart, fresh all over again.
She didn't want to remember this, she didn't want to be here.
She tried to put them back, but it wouldn't work, it was too late.
She couldn't cry hard enough at what it meant, a wish he'd leave her alone if he was just going to desert her.
Barely heard herself as she threw a crying gasp out nowhere in particular.
"Don't leave Anya! Don't send Anya baaack!" She bawled into the room, unaware if anyone answered.
Her thoughts consumed with what she'd do without them. How to go back to being without them. The family she finally had, wrenched out of her grip.
She didn't want to look at them, didn't want to hear them. Scared of the result she knew was coming. The want to hide until it was all better, but it would never be better. Not if they were gone.
The quiet tone that drifted to her after an eternity, carrying words she knew she misheard. The sound of it bubbled in water and hysteria.
Knew she'd be deluding herself if she believed it to be true when he said it again.
We're not going anywhere.
She wanted more than anything for it to be real, but couldn't take it if it wasn't.
You're not going back.
Anya hiccuped at the possibility, afraid to let the voice in. Afraid that it was false.
The knowledge of Loid's stance on the family's situation, abundantly clear to her.
"Anya!" He forced his way through. "We're not going anywhere!" The sentence, bursting the bubble that incased his words. Flung at Anya to rest in her thoughts as she cried harder.
She wanted to believe it.
She wanted to believe it.
But Papa was a huge liar.
"I promise!"
The two words rang out in decisive clarity that caught a sob in her throat, making her pause with a shuddered inhale.
Another after a beat of silence.
The vow that demanded recognition, strangling the last of her instincts that closed her off from awareness. The perception of her Papa being here, of Yor by her side, growing distinct.
The hesitation to trust what he said, that he was lying. The part of her that had always trusted him, instructing her to do it again, but faltered.
He had never lied about a promise before, she couldn't stand the thought he would ever. This one, too weighted for her to deal with if he broke it.
"Anya." His voice lowered. "I promise."
And she knew he meant it, the substance behind the loaded subject, firm, and steadfast.
It cracked at the dam holding an expanse of all that she dared not hope for as it fissured the wall she'd built up, the reservoir that kept it back. The seeping barrier that chipped and split as she began to cry again. A barrier that, as strengthened and reinforced as it was, crumbled far too easily for how strong it had stood. The immense force that erupted, decimating it as Anya bawled at the release. As she bawled at the relief she was unsure she'd ever feel.
The porcelain tub, echoing at her wail, loud and raw. Too much she'd held in with every intention to keep it there.
The bareness she felt on her head, unnatural, when Loid let go to lift her into his lap. A chill she didn't know she had until he held her to him.
Untangled her fingers that were woven in her hair and gripped at him, a feeling of safety he'd always provided to her that she reached for.
"Everything's fine." Loid placed a hand on her pink head. "We're not going anywhere." He murmured as Yor pet Anya's hair, the action comforting.
"I promise."
—
What had Loid done?
He thought looking down at Anya in his lap. The incident that had her crying for a good long while, putting her to sleep from exhaustion.
What had he done?
How could he promise that he was never going to leave her? How could he promise something so utterly and absolutely foolish? How was he going to explain this to the Handler? How was he going to sort this?
He couldn't very well go back on his word either, especially when it was so important to Anya, it would break her heart.
He needed her to be okay when she had the panic attack, but what was he thinking?! At the time it seemed like a good idea and it was the right choice, but now that he had a moment, he reconsidered the assessment.
Having a family as a spy, was generally regarded as implausible. The work he did, the frequent uprooting he did, it was no way for a family to live. Not to mention the risk to all of them if his identity was found out.
When Operation Strix ended, should he just keep the truth from W.I.S.E.? Should he try to continue working without them knowing he was still caring for Anya?
It wouldn't work, he concluded.
They would know. They were an intelligence agency after all.
Loid rose from the tub to carry Anya out of the washroom, Yor close behind. Carried her to her room to tuck her into bed but even in sleep, she clung to his shirt.
They had to gently pry her fingers away to lay her down and cover her in blankets. Her face, red from crying and still wet.
Bond, coming to join Anya as Yor kissed her on the forehead before they left, flicking out the lights.
Loid closed the door. 'Debating is pointless.' He thought.
The promise he'd stay was already made, and he didn't think he could break it even he wanted to.
If this was what she wanted, he'd keep it. No matter what happened now, she was stuck with him.