Mission Seven: Just a Housewife
Yor had yet to believe that this was actually happening.
A truly inconceivable thought it was, for everything to be progressing this smoothly. The Shopkeeper had praised her for her wonderful cover, Loid had agreed on letting her move to his home the following morning, and Yor still was unable to tell why she hadn't done this earlier ─ if only she had known it would be this easy! Maybe Yuri wouldn't have to have worried about her sake for this long, or maybe she wouldn't have needed to concern herself about what other people may think of her, or the repercussions for her main job.
With a smile fixed on her lips, she picked a cardboard box up and headed to the bathroom to pack the few belongings there were still left.
Then again, it only worked because Loid-san needed a wife. I don't think anyone else would have agreed…
Her thoughts trailed down into silence, her attention brisked by her reflection in the mirror. Wincing, she shifted her hold in her baggage so that she could furiously scrub off a few specks of blood that had stuck to her cheek after that night's killing.
That was close, she thought, frowning at herself. I need to be more careful from now on.
Starting tomorrow, she would not be living on her own any longer. There would be more eyes to avoid, more people to keep that little secret of hers from.
That being said, the bloodstain was particularly stubborn today ─ no wonder, she thought with a heavy sigh, as it had been given plenty of time to dry, clinging to her skin as opposed to the usual, when blood was still fresh and much easier to wipe out.
So, she rubbed at it more roughly, and smiled when it seemed like it was working. The violent movement, however, had caused her box to tilt over, and while her honed reflexes had allowed her to catch it in record time, some of its contents inevitably spilled over, clattering noisily as it fell on the ground.
Yor cast one glance over to the object in question, and stilled. Her gaze narrowed and darkened.
Even now, she could still hear the phone ringing.
With one last choking sound, he stopped moving.
Yor took one step backwards, drawing her blade back, and couldn't help, for less than a second, but to contemplate the sight she had seen more several times in her life. Crimson red blended with brilliant gold, dripping from the tip to the floor to join the smaller pool of blood that had collected over the prone form of a man.
His name was Kenzo Hirota, and he was the second to die at her hand; a robber to this country, a traitor so disgusting that made Yor's stomach turn. One that had, as if the sins he had committed had not been enough, resorted to backstabbing his partners and keeping the money to himself.
He was nothing but trash, and Yor, the Thorn Princess, had sought to wipe out the dirt from her country. To make this country a safer place to live, free from criminals and traitors infesting her beloved country.
For that, she would do anything. Anything at all.
Lifting her head, Yor found her gaze drifting from Hirota's limp hand. Hanging from over a table he lay to rest beneath, there was a phone, swaying gently from side to side as if wanting to gather her attention.
She did not think much of it. She gently picked the phone up, held it to her ear, and waited in silence.
There, she heard a sigh. "I knew it," was murmured in her ear, far from disappointed but more resigned than anything else.
Yor did not answer, nor did her face change in the slightest. Her eyes, fiery red yet cold, flickered downward; just like waves washing the shore, a beautiful deep scarlet stained the ground, caressing the heel of her boots.
"I'm not going to run away," she was told, followed by a pause from the other side. Whether it was for this person to collect herself, conjure her words, or for Yor to have her chance to speak, would forever be a mystery. "I'll be waiting for you at the dock."
Despite every other cell throughout her body screaming at her, telling her that this was the way things were supposed to be ─ that eradicating the wrongdoers that polluted this country was the noblest duty she could have asked for, Yor heard the faintest of cracks next to her ear.
She forced her grip on the phone to loosen before she would break anything
"There's something left for me to do," the person continued to say, seemingly unaware of what was going on the other side of the phone ─ though Yor suspected she did. Somehow, she always did. "It shouldn't take long." She chuckled, but it was dry, grim. "Not enough for me to make a run for it, at least."
"Why?" The woman on the other side hummed, showing she had Yor's attention. Yet, the words took longer than expected to bubble up from her throat. "Why aren't you running away?"
There was a giggle, and Yor could swear she could see her smile right now.
"If I'm going to die, then I'm glad it'll be you, Yor-chan."
Yor did not know what to say to that.
"There's something else, though. I've left a little something for you. After all of this is over with, come pick it up, okay?"
Sighing, Yor bent down and plucked it out from the floor. For the longest time, she did nothing but to contemplate the object that laid, slightly cold, against the palm of her hand.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath before placing it back on the box it had fallen from. Deciding not to give it any further thought, she set off on continuing with her work from where she had left off.
It was day two since his grounding began, and Conan was already feeling his brain die from understimulation ─ a slow and painful death, smothered by loads upon loads of exam exercises that made him want to tear off his hair in pure desperation for the wrong reasons only.
Allowing himself a respite, Conan rested his forehead to his scribbled notes, and exhaled deeply, reflecting over his current situation, surely not for the first time. Back when Loid had informed him he would be grounded for a week, he had been nothing but intrigued. How was he planning to lay down the law on a child-not-child he had known for a little less than a month? Such a bizarre thought had amused Conan to no end.
Well, he wasn't laughing now, was he? In fact, there were still five days left to fulfill his sentence and he was kind of considering asking for the capital punishment instead.
This is torture, he had absolutely no doubts about it. Being confined to a kiddie-chair, a coffee table and a mind-numbing selection of books, when there was so much for him to do. Like investigating that thief, for example. Not out of interest per se, of course not, but… maybe yeah, he was a little curious. Mostly, he wanted to determine if he was really all that famous, as he had claimed to be, or he was nothing but a fool with an inflated ego that suffered from severe delusions of grandeur.
Besides, if that happened to be true, he would like to know more. For a detective, it was indispensable to be aware of the latest trends, to know about what was going on in this world he lived in, yet strangely, seemed to be slowly detaching himself from.
Groaning, he turned his head, cheek squished against the now crumpled pages of a book he couldn't care less about. Blue dulled with boredom flickered over to a certain piece of paper Loid had placed there earlier. The letters were barely even legible from his awkward position, but since he had already spotted it a few hours ago ─ had scrutinized it until his eyes had grown strained from opening so widely ─ he did not need to read it to identify what it was.
It was a marriage certificate. A forged one, obviously, unless Agent Twilight had a time-leaper friend somewhere to make it possible for Loid Forger and Yor Briar to have married a year before ever agreeing to it in the first place.
She's moving in today, right? That woman.
Even if his supposed father hadn't told him about it by himself, Conan would have figured that out, anyway. Just yesterday, in a quick trip to the toilet ─ also the only break he had been allowed from the dozen of modern history books he had long memorized in his first childhood ─ he had passed by that certain room that had been empty since they had moved there.
Loid had been cleaning the windows while Anya, well… It was hard to tell. Peeking into the room, Conan had been witness to how she had tripped on a bucket filled with water, and had wisely chosen to leave just as the horror started to seep into Loid's features. Now complete with furniture and a spacious bed, the room lay in waiting somewhere at the end of the hallway, foreboding the arrival of yet another member of this little forged family Twilight was putting on together for his own objectives.
So it's really happening, huh? Living with a murder suspect. Shinichi had never believed he would see the day that would happen.
Yor Briar ─ no, Yor Forger. Who might or might not have killed Masami Hirota-san…
He groaned, louder this time, forcing his gaze away from the certificate. No matter how intense was the urge to up and tear the damned thing to pieces, Loid would easily get another one so it would amount to nothing ─ nothing but further trouble for Conan himself, clearly.
The sound of a door opening reached his ears, yet Conan pretended he had heard nothing at all, and went back to his studies. Though, from the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of Loid who, throwing a polite, horribly fake in his eyes, smile over his shoulder, walked into his own while carrying a few boxes.
A figure came in after him, stopping right at the doorway, and soon enough, Conan felt her gaze falling on him. Diligently, he kept on writing, barely even conscious of a frown on his own features that, certainly, had not been before.
It wasn't until the sound of steps heading away from his position that he lifted his head. Being an unwilling member of a family built upon secrets and appearances, Shinichi knew how foolish of him it would be to trust what his own eyes were seeing; a young woman with a kind smile on her face and a gentle cadence in his voice ─ trusting that would definitely be a mistake.
Yor was nothing but bright and gentle. The ones who shone brighter, however, were usually the most dangerous to encounter ─ these monsters that blended so seamlessly were the deadliest Shinichi had ever had to deal with. Which was saying a lot, probably.
Bubbly and bright as always, and definitely unaware of the secrets this woman probably hid behind that clueless facade, Anya bounced on her feet and offered her a welcome so warm that made the one Conan gave her look gelid as though it had been fabricated in the North Pole itself ─ a description that might be accurate even if Anya had not been there. It was hard to describe a welcome as warm and cozy when there had been none to begin with.
"I'm going to show Mama around!"
"Once we get settled in, we'll practice for the interview."
Oh, great. This day was surely getting better and better.
Finally, the woman retreated somewhere into the kitchen, with the pink-haired girl in tow, and he allowed his breath to escape after being confined in his lungs for so long. For a moment, he considered voluntarily forgetting about their encounter at the cemetery a while back, about her murmured apologies to the resting place of her supposed friend and turning over a new leaf.
Paranoia was but a high-maintenance friend with little over a few thousands red flags, certainly one he did not want to keep around if he was to live under the same roof as that person. A suspicious individual he would obviously have to keep a careful eye on ─ every single day, minute, second, for the rest of their existence, or at least, until this pretend family inevitably crumbled apart at the end.
He might be a lot of things, an overachiever for some, an idiot with a lack of survival instincts to others, but he knew his limits. Yor had only been, like, two seconds with him and he was already feeling drained from thinking too much. He would probably be tempted to walk himself back to the orphanage by the end of the day, and might have committed to it the following morning.
Besides, what was there to say she had actually murdered Masami Hirota? Nothing but a single specific instance of odd behavior probably brought by grievance, or maybe genuine repentance for not believing in her when she was needed the most ─ something she had almost been murdered about, so he supposed it was clear that that much had happened.
He truly had nothing to justify his suspicion towards her. Nothing, but a hunch.
Only that his hunches had yet to be proved wrong thus far.
"This is Niichan's room!"
"Oh. Everything is so neat and organized!"
It was surprising how she still found something good to say, Conan would openly admit to it, at least. For he knew what a sight must have been, so widely different to what his supposed sister's had been. Where Anya's room overflowed with life; stuffed toys, pink, and every single thing she could her little hands ─ or Loid's ─ on, Conan's was… lacking, so to say.
When Loid had asked how he wanted to decorate it, he had told him to leave it as it was. There was no need to overcomplicate things, all he needed was a bed, everything else was pretty much an accessory he did not need.
Because that isn't my room, had been Shinichi's thought then, and was his thought as it stood now. This isn't my home either.
And he wasn't about to replace those. All he needed was to return there, to the one place he truly belonged, and forget any of this ever happened.
Suddenly, he was broken out of his own musings, alerted by the sound of steps approaching from the entrance. Conan returned to his work, no matter how utterly mundane, and tried not to react when he noticed they were heading down the corridor, as they were supposed to.
"You could take a break," offered Loid.
But as tempting as that offer sounded, Conan shrugged it off, and went back to writing. In turn, the spy hesitated, standing idly with the boxes in his arms, watching him work for a moment, or two, before he deflated in a heavy sigh Conan tried not to raise an eyebrow to.
"I'm aware you aren't happy with this," he said.
This time, Conan effectively rolled his eyes. "Well spotted."
"But you're only making things harder this way." Loid turned back to leave, sending one glance to the boy from over his shoulder, adding, "Harder for you, I mean."
Having said that, he disappeared somewhere to the back of the house, and soon, his voice joined all the others that had been present yet ignored, their concrete meaning muffled by the walls of the welcomer's brand new room ─ but something else remained, even though Conan could feel it but not describe it to utmost perfection. There was something on the way Anya cheered, for whatever reason, so excitedly at that. Even on the way Loid's voice, though much calmer, pierced through with outstanding clarity, or even Yor's gentle giggling warmed the air around…
There was something, even if Conan could not put his finger on what it was. And this something, whatever it was, was ridiculously strong. Strong enough to make him forget, for less than a second, that all of this was but a mirage.
It took him a little longer to realize that his hand had stopped moving, a scribbled word cut off in the middle.
A pen was gently settled onto the table, the chair scratching against the floor as the boy stood up. He walked away, a sigh hung on his lips, musing about how important it was to keep a watch on her, and that being shrunk, really, should not stand in the way of his duties as a detective. Besides, Loid-san told me to take a break, so it would be stupid not to use that opportunity to sneak away from his, uh, predicament, without the risk of his sentence being extended further from what he would be able to withstand. Especially when I have the chance to do this…
Yor's bright scarlet gaze fell on him the moment his head poked from behind her doorway.
The chance to investigate Yor Briar and her supposed involvement in Masami Hirota's murder.
Though obviously surprised by his appearance, she smiled down at him, warm and gentle.
Conan wasn't sure how to react to that.
Nor was he sure how to react to Anya's wide eyes, for her attention was drawn back to him from reasons he did not feel in the mood of trying to figure out. This was normal, however, so it didn't really bother him as it probably should.
Loid spared not a single thought, unlike any of the other two. "I'll come get your boxes once they're empty," he said as he stepped into the hallway.
Conan watched him for a second ─ for a second, he could swear ─ when Anya's quiet gasp drew his attention back to the front, or rather, the empty boxes that were suddenly there, leaning against the wall after their use came to pass. Blinking, the detective raised his gaze, and could not stop his mouth from dropping open at the sight that awaited him.
"Loid-san, I've got everything put away."
In front of him awaited a fully decorated room that, certainly, had been mostly empty just now. The fact sank slowly, yet it was never truly processed, not really, since his brain was fighting to work through the shock, barking orders all around to close the jaw that remained open, and try to appear a coherent, normal person ─ or the closest he could manage.
Loid was standing next to her in no time at all ─ of course, because he hadn't even made it two steps before she had called him over ─ a pleasant smile drawn in his features that made Conan wonder where his common sense had disappeared to ─ because how why wasn't he freaking out right now? Even Anya had the decency to look reasonably surprised at her skill.
He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog of bewilderment away from his thoughts, distracting himself with letting his gaze wander about, searching for anything interesting enough to keep him entertained and functional. The room was only so big, so it didn't really take him long to spot a framed picture sitting on her desk, and decided that would do.
Standing on his tiptoes, two figures welcomed his sight. One of them was Yor herself, and next to her was a man that bore a striking resemblance with the aforementioned woman. He was younger than her, but definitely an adult, or at least, older than Shinichi himself ─ his real self, that was, not the six-year-old runt that couldn't look over a single desk without having to stretch himself beyond human limitations.
Yeah, he wasn't amused about that.
"His name is Yuri."
Spooked at the sudden interjection, the boy all but spun around to stare, wide eyed, at Yor's probably permanent smile of hers. She seemed to remain oblivious about the fact that she had almost sent him straight to cardiac arrest, though the raised eyebrow coming from Loid told him it didn't go the same way for him.
"That's my little brother," she added. "Though he isn't that 'little' anymore, is he?"
Conan stared back and uttered no response.
Loid took over. "You said he's also a civil servant?"
Yor looked away from the boy to his father, and nodded. "He seems quite busy lately," she told him. "So I've only spoken to him on the phone."
"I should properly introduce myself once the entrance exam is over."
Now, that was something Conan wanted to see ─ how they were going to explain to a man that his sister had been married to a random dude for an entire year without him being any the wiser. Being a spy and everything, Conan normally would have thought that this was probably nothing to worry about, that this was a scenario he had long considered from the very beginning. One that he had whipped out a plan to counter, and that he was just waiting for the moment to execute it.
Only, Conan had once heard him say ─ what was it again? 'Concussive recovery method'?
From that day on, he hadn't been able to look at Twilight in the same light again.
Conan's gaze rose to meet Yor's face who, oblivious to her scrutiny, continued on conversing with Loid. A bead of sweat slipped from the boy's forehead, though he knew for sure it wasn't born from anything akin to distress, or even a stuffy hot day or sickness.
She bought it pretty easily, though.
Yor seemed to be… how to put it? Naïve, the word popped into his head first and foremost. Polite, would probably be the second, hadn't it been long obscured by the rest of his overflowing thoughts. The way she moved, the way she spoke or even how she smiled ─ it was hard to spot anything that denoted anything remotely shady, that would be worth noting for future use. Anything that would tell him that, yes, she actually was a criminal.
Yet, there was nothing at all. And that was what frustrated him the most.
But then, suddenly, there was. Scarlet eyes grew wider than what he had ever seen them doing, and in two long strides, she had crossed the room.
"A-Anya-san!" she stuttered. "I'll take care of that!"
Conan followed her gaze, and indeed, he found the pink-haired little girl in question, and her big confused green eyes peering up at the woman from where she crouched next to a box.
Her arms were stretched forward, hands spread open as if ready to strike, to pluck the girl off the ground and away. Away from what, though?
Despite what Conan would have predicted, Anya obediently stepped away as per the woman's wishes, uttering not a single whine in dismay. Having successfully pried those sticky little hands of hers out of her belongings, Yor breathed out in what Conan could only interpret as relief.
No one, literally no one ─ not even the spy, for crying out loud! ─ seemed to give the matter any further thought than that. It slipped from their minds easily enough and straight to irrelevance, forgotten at the mention of cookies or whatever as they left the room, all of them, together.
But Conan didn't. For a moment longer than necessary, he lingered at the doorway, watching the box through narrowed eyes. He snapped himself out of it right away at the much familiar feeling of being observed.
And sure enough, his senses weren't lying to him. His lips curved into a faint smile as he turned to Loid, and promptly crossed over to the other side of the corridor, to the door that stood directly opposite from Yor's room.
"Toilet," was all he said. Loid raised an eyebrow at him, so he rolled his eyes. "You sealed the window, remember? I'm not going anywhere."
Loid stared at him, and while it didn't last further than a single second, Conan had to ward off a wince coming. At least, he managed to keep the carefree smile up until the spy hesitantly left him alone, rooted in that empty hallway with the sole company of his own thoughts.
He sent one last glance over his shoulder. Nobody seemed to be coming, or even pay attention to him, which was a nice gesture on their part, actually. Because it allowed his fingertips, that once had stretched over to graze the doorknob, to slip away. Quietly. Carefully.
His arm did not even have time to rest, to hang limp and useless at his side after falling. The boy had bolted off by then, and he was tugging at another door knob again, all but throwing it open ─ which he surely would have done in his hurry, wasn't his need for silence so present in that hurried, half-baked plan of his.
Only when he heard that gentle click Conan allowed himself to breathe out. Back resting against the door, the boy waited, attentive to any noise that would speak of someone else's presence, which he found none.
Looks like I'm safe, he thought. For now.
It was such a ridiculous situation, he grimaced at the realization, for a full-fledged detective of his caliber to be sneaking around adult's gazes like a mischievous little kid, breaking in cold sweat at the mere thought of being found out by a woman who, if someone were to judge by looks alone, wouldn't even kill a fly. Or Loid, he wasn't sure what would be worse ─ even if Yor turned out to be a murderer in the end.
He shook his head with a dejected sigh, finally stepping away from the door to proceed with what he had actually been trying to do, or inspect, more specifically.
Raising his head, he easily found the box in question, right at the place where it had been left ─ clearly, it had probably been less than a few minutes ever since they had all left, even if to him it sure felt a lot longer. There wasn't anything remarkable about this, at least at first glance.
It was, just, a box. A large one, if anything, labeled as 'Bedroom I' with black permanent marker and in a rather neat calligraphy. Just by looking at it, Conan could get the sense that Yor was quite the organized and practical person, as demonstrated by how she decorated her room in seconds, and the way everything had looked like in the end. Everything was put into place, neat to the point of perfection, giving off the impression that every single item had been there from the beginning of time, and not until recently.
Everything, but the box in question. It stuck like a sore thumb at the same corner where he had first spotted it, bound to collect dust if Yor didn't do anything with it soon. It begged the question, why hadn't she put the things inside somewhere else, like she had done with literally everything else? Surely, nobody wouldn't go through all the trouble to bring it along if it wasn't necessary or held any personal value.
Unless it's something you can't put on display. Conan frowned, crouching over the mysterious cardboard box. Something you are supposed to hide from plain view.
So, he paused to take a deep breath in, then carefully, opened the box just enough to stick a hand inside. Fingers twitching upon contact with something else, Conan frowned profusely, just a second away from starting to imagine what this woman could be hiding in there, though, he realized he didn't have all that time to spare, and quickly pulled it out.
For a single heartbeat afterwards, his body refused to move, and his eyes, too busy with blinking at the strange object that rested atop his palm, failed to process what they were truly seeing.
Although he hadn't dared to stop and think about what he had exactly been expecting to find, a cassette tape was beyond what he could have imagined.
What's this? He wondered, turning it around for further inspection. Yor's name was inscribed on it, by a person whose handwriting, while neat and clean, didn't resemble what he had seen in the box itself in the slightest. It's not Yor-san's, was the obvious conclusion to make. But maybe it was left behind for her? Someone close to her, since she was keeping this with her. Possibly someone who wasn't around anymore, if it truly turned out to be a recorded message, like he had first assumed.
Maybe, in this unassuming tape he was holding, was a voice who Yor wouldn't be able to hear any longer, thus fueling her wish to keep it alive, close to her, wherever destiny may take her.
I wonder if there's something I could use… His head shot up, wondering if he would find something to let him hear this message if he snooped around a little longer, yet at first glance, it didn't seem likely. A massive wave of disappointment washed over him; if only he had access to his old cassette player… Unfortunately he had left it at home so it was a big no.
Heaving out a heavy sigh, Conan glared at the tape as if it was to be blamed for his massive misfortune, but it lay motionless and useless on his hand, uttering not a single word of the many secrets it may hold within.
It's probably for the best. How many times had Ran told him not to stick his nose in other people's business? Crime suspect or not, everyone had a right for privacy so he couldn't just, she had said once in an infuriated huff, overstep those boundaries for a silly mystery or whatever.
This thing right here was probably one of those so-called 'boundaries' he wasn't supposed to tamper with, and probably held much more sentimental value than he was allowed to peer into. Therefore, maybe, the right thing was to put it back where it belonged, and return from where he had come from, never to think about it again... Empty-handed…
He promptly stuck it firmly inside his pockets and left.
The cassette tape felt heavy as he walked into the living room, but since it wasn't noticeable for anyone but himself, he supposed it was all in his mind, so all was good. Smile fixated on his face, he allowed his footsteps, that once were muffled by urgency, to resound all over and alert everyone about his presence.
Yor was the first to react to it. Her smile was brighter than before, too, and it took everything from Conan not to stare ─ not to scrutinize in hopes of revealing anything that proved it wasn't as real as it looked like to his own eyes. He wasn't successful, though, either on restraining his detective urges or on finding anything at all, and had to content himself to just watch her set some cups on the coffee table. There were four in total, so he assumed one of them had been prepared for him; an absolutely touching gesture Conan barely reacted to.
"Conan-san." She drew his attention away from the cups and back to her. "I made some cocoa for you."
Though he had long figured out that much on his own, the boy still found himself faltering for reasons he couldn't exactly rationalize, but made Yor giggle either way. She stepped away so that Loid could set a tray of cookies down, and took a seat.
It fell on him a second too late that he was the only one left standing, so he sat down on the sofa right beside Anya ─ who, Conan noted right away, couldn't even sit still to save her life. She bounced lightly on her spot, kicking her legs with a smile so broad and bright that almost made him jealous. To be able to smile so carelessly, blissfully unaware of the true nature of those around them, or even the possibility of them not being the ones they claimed to be.
It was natural, though, since she was a child. Children did not have the need to stand on the tip of their toes every day, watching out for anything that might come to attack them or kill them.
A flinch later, however, her smile grew more tense, her face a bit paler. Conan crooked his head in pure curiosity, until he noticed the cup she was holding between her hands. Oh, I see. He chuckled to himself. She must have burnt her tongue or something.
Now that the mystery was solved, Conan cast one long look at the cups spread all over the table, or rather, the ones that remained since Anya had already seized one for herself. By scent alone, he could recognize the contents of two out of all three of them; coffee, the sacred beverage he had grown to love since middle school, brought by necessity after a particularly complex case that brought a few weeks' worth of all-nighters. Hauling himself off his bed and making it to school in one piece would have been impossible otherwise, so he wasn't even exaggerating when he said that he would forever be grateful for its existence.
It was hard to fight off the dissatisfaction that wanted to settle onto his features at the realization that those weren't for him. Cocoa was lighter in color, so it made it clear which one was supposed to be his. Thus, not wishing to suffer from the same destiny Anya had, he carefully cradled the cup in his hands, waiting for it to cool off.
Though he might not need to, after all. He used to drink his coffee while it still was a little hotter than people would be comfortable with ─ boiling, Ran used to say, and he couldn't say he was wrong. It's not coffee, though. Children aren't supposed to get coffee.
Even though he wasn't a child. Or am I?
Peering inside his cup, the boy contemplated his own unreadable expression reflected on the surface.
Conan stared up at Shinichi; a boy with a face far too young, yet a gaze far too old.
As if a spell was cast over him, the mirage vanished altogether, leaving him blinking owlishly, rather dumbly, he had to admit. A magic spell that had taken physical form, capable of breaking abruptly into his field of vision, yet a bit too close to his eyes to be recognized as nothing more than a blurry blot Conan supposed it was a hand.
He sat back and blinked, finally distinguishing a cookie ─ a cookie, of all things. It didn't make things any clearer.
Yet, at the same time, it somehow did. "Want one?" Because it was her hand ─ it was Anya, staring at him with those wide eyes of hers, her mouth full of food ─ though it didn't impede her from speaking, to Loid's evident dismay ─ as she held the offering to him.
Hesitantly, he accepted it. He studied it for a second, then raised an eyebrow, "Is this edible?" he wondered out loud. Considering Anya was messing around when the old man made these, if I remember correctly.
Anya winced in response. Loid gave him a pointed look and, once more, Yor laughed softly at the scene.
For now, he would push everything to the back of his head, decided Conan. Believe it or not, the cookies were not half-bad, so maybe it wouldn't be that much of a big deal if he allowed himself to indulge in his most primal desires. Just for a little while.
He quietly sipped in his cocoa. At least Loid had remembered not to put too much sugar this time around. Or told Yor not to, which was essentially the same thing.
The mock interview that came afterwards left much to be desired, and probably had Loid considering changing careers, Conan was willing to bet. He would, at least, if he was in his shoes.
Now, Conan had kind of expected Anya's responses to be lacking at best, proper for a little kid's naivety and poor knowledge of the world. But certainly, he hadn't counted on them being Imminent-Call-To-Child-Services level of bad ─ remarking that all she did in the afternoon was to watch TV all alone with his brother with such a bright smile on her face had been kinda disturbing, actually.
That without even taking into consideration Yor, who was a grown adult. Somehow she had mistaken the question about passing the exam with passing away and had gone ahead listing out a few gruesome ways of dying ─ barely any of them were natural causes to begin with which, while extremely questionable, was not enough to call the police on her. Needless to say, it was not quite the answer Loid had been looking for.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Loid turned to the last member, and likely last remaining hope. The boy looked over at him when he was addressed, arms not leaving from where they cushioned the back of his head, a leg swung over his knee as he waited, comfortably, for whatever question he was to shoot at him.
Yet he sighed again, instead. "It's hopeless," he lamented, passing a hand to his face. "There's no way we'll survive the interview at this rate."
Conan raised his eyebrows.
"Let's give up getting them into that school."
"Loid-san!" Yor interjected. "Please remember your late wife's wishes!"
The boy, on the other hand, slowly leaned away from the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't get a question?" he asked him, truly puzzled about whatever this meant.
Loid shot him a pointed look from between his fingers. "Would I even get a proper answer from you?"
"I don't know. I mean, you can try."
Deciding against uttering any response at all, the spy plucked out the glasses he had been wearing ─ for whatever reason. Conan doubted that putting on some glasses would magically make him look like an elite school interviewer, but whatever. He had known lots of people like this, people that lived out of dramatics and the like, so he didn't give it any further thought.
"Alright. Let's go out for a bit."
Conan froze. What?
"Let's broaden our horizons," Loid said as he stood up. "Become versed in what is normal for an upper-class family and make sure that we're all on the same page."
A family outing, that was apparently the best idea the great spy had. One that Anya was delighted to learn about, judging by the way she was already jumping off the couch with a delighted squeal, unlike a certain young boy who remained rooted in his spot, unmoving ─ this couldn't be any good. He knew what was coming next, and he could do absolutely nothing to stop-
Ah, there it was. A migraine. Great.
"I'm grounded, though," Conan said, trying his best to ignore it in favor of looking as nonchalant as possible. "Staying home is the basis of being grounded, isn't it?"
It took a single look from Loid to give up to his fate. He slid off onto the ground before the man got the chance to utter a single word.
"Are you sure?" the boy asked. Just in case. "Believe me, you don't want to take me with you."
It was almost as gratifying as disturbing to see such a puzzled expression on the spy's face. "Why?" he asked.
To which the boy shrugged. "Just because."
This… was not exactly what I had in mind.
The thought had sparked into existence before Twilight could even think of preventing it, a constant buzzing whispering at his head that remained, stubborn despite the screams, the chaos that had infested the ambience. He did his best to shake it away, to remind himself that this was nothing but a minor inconvenience he would have to sort through if he wanted to go back to his mission.
Because, even if he hadn't accounted for an event of this nature, he should have seen it coming either way. Throughout all his years working as one of the most skilled spies his country has ever given birth to, Twilight had learned that, no matter how much you planned your next step, the unexpected would always be a factor to consider. No matter how flawless, a plan was always bound to falter ─ a spy must always be flexible, capable of carrying on with his mission, no matter what.
Therefore, an event of this magnitude should have been considered in his plans, well before stepping out of his home. It shouldn't have been a motive good enough for him to freeze over where he sat at his fancy, expensive seat he had reserved at the theater, nor should have sent him in a state of mind where he reevaluated all of his past actions to this day, or where he questioned his own supernatural-level of bad luck showing lately.
And certainly, he shouldn't have blinked at the scene displaying in front of his very own eyes ─ that of a man sprawled across the stage, having gone eerily still after a stage light had abruptly dropped on his head. He shouldn't have sat, deadly still, as he squinted his eyes enough to see the blood collecting in a pool under his body.
Alas, he did. All of the above, in that order.
"What, what?! Anya can't see anything!"
There was a sigh in response. "You're not supposed to, you know."
The graphic death of an opera singer on stage had been shocking on its own, it was far from the most unsettling experience he had to live through today. For there was this young boy right there; him, and his impressively fast reflexes that had allowed him to clap a hand over Anya's eyes. Which was an action the spy would surely have been grateful about, hadn't he been too busy trying to understand what had happened.
There should have been a split of a second between the light falling and the singer dying, and somehow, Conan had prevented the girl from seeing the deed ─ something that not even Twilight, a skilled spy that relied on his reflexes honed over the years to survive, had managed to do.
It was almost as though the boy already knew this was going to happen and had just been waiting for it. Almost. Because that just now didn't make sense ─ he's a kid, Twilight. There's no way he could have-
His line of thought was cut off so abruptly that, for a moment there, Loid was left reeling by the momentum. The culprit of it had been a little hand, the only one available, reaching from over Anya to his hat. Before he could even question how he had done such a thing, the boy had shoved it over the girl's eyes and hopped off his seat.
"Take care of Anya!" was the boy's only warning, which, sadly, was processed far too late.
When he finally understood what was going on, the boy was already far from his reach ─ darting towards the stage, where the dead body was, without even looking back.
"Come back here-"
He made to stand up, yet failed when he caught, by the corner of his eye, yet another tiny hand clutching onto the rim of his hat. It forced his attention to shift to her, his hand flying to keep the object in place, and hopefully, her away from incoming trauma over witnessing something a child should never come across.
At least this child. He wasn't sure what to think about the one currently rushing to meet a corpse ─ a boy who, for the record, had not even blinked an eye even after someone had died in front of him. He supposed he should stop that from happening, at the very least.
"Conan!" he tried again, but of course, there was no response. Gritting his teeth, he glanced over to Anya, and back to Conan.
And then to Yor, after she had sprung to her feet.
"Don't worry!" she told him, though the disturbingly bright smile that curved her red lips upward was probably the farthest from reassuring. "I'll watch Conan-san!"
He raised a hesitant hand. "It's not watching…"
Yet, his words fell to deaf ears because she, too, had left. His hand remained there, hanging on plain air, as he thought over all the steps he had taken to lead him to the current situation.
Though he gave up easily, pressing it against his face to muffle an exhausted sigh instead.
Conan had not been the first to get to the body.
In fact, he had been far from that, to the point that it was almost laughable. Almost, namely because he failed to see a hint of anything remotely amusing on his new midget of a child status ─ a state of being that prevented him from seeing anything, even after running off to the front of the theater.
All he could see was the blood dripping from over the stage and all over his gaze.
"Francis! Are you alright, Francis?!"
Even though he couldn't see the scene, Conan could still answer that question for himself. Surely, that woman who was screaming ─ whoever that was ─ would also be able to, were she to try.
"What's the meaning of this?!" a male voice joined in. "Why was this light hanging from a measly rope?"
Rope? Conan blinked in surprise. Normally, stage lights would be affixed to a larger, sturdier support structure, but this? It was basically waiting for an accident to happen.
Or actively hoping for it.
"No, uh, I-I didn't…" It was another man, with a much gruffer voice. "It wasn't supposed-"
A little frown pinched his face when standing at the tip of his toes did nothing to improve his condition. I can't figure it out like this. With that in mind, the child's gaze wandered about, searching for a way to let him see what was happening up there. There were no stairs, none that connected the audience to the stage, in any case.
So, he tried the next better thing, and felt around for something to climb up. His fingers twitched at the felt of an uneven edge on the surface, which wasn't perfect, but he supposed it would have to do.
Besides, it wasn't all bad ─ he paused, turning his head upwards to see the distance he would have to climb up, which was probably three or four times his size, and realized that yeah, maybe it was.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted himself off the ground.
Only for his hands to be yanked away from the ledge they were climbing onto, with a loud, "Conan-san!"
It was followed by the feeling of being settled gently onto the floor, instead of the humiliating dive into a shameful heap at the floor he would have expected after losing his grip. Therefore, he blinked up in confusion as hands slid away from under his armpits, but froze in his spot upon noticing scarlet red eyes, staring at him up from close.
"You mustn't do that!" Yor said from where she crouched in front of him, a stern frown caressing her features. "It's dangerous! You could get hurt."
Conan had the feeling that his definition of 'dangerous' varied from what this woman thought it was, but decided not to comment on it. Instead, he laughed quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching in both nervousness and irritation.
What now? he thought, grimly. With her right here, there's no way-
"Here, let me help you instead."
Conan's brain stuttered. "Huh?"
From that point on, and for the next several seconds, Conan wasn't certain of what had happened. Because he must have suffered from a sudden fainting spell or something, because otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to explain what occurred next. There had been absolutely nothing, nothing but, perhaps, a breeze caressing his bangs ─ he had, just, blinked, and as if it was magic, it had happened.
Yeah, no way ─ he must have definitely blacked out. Because there was no way he was up several meters off where he had just been, perfectly capable of seeing the body on his own, while up on the stage he had been trying to climb on. However, he suspected, that being the case, Yor would have probably said something; surely she wouldn't just stand there, smiling at him as if nothing had happened ─ as if he wasn't about to lose his mind there.
It doesn't matter… I guess. Conan pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, and decided it would best to focus on the body. Now that he was there, apparently.
Predictably, by the time he had finally managed to haul himself up the stage, there was a crowd forming around the deceased opera singer ─ and by crowd, he was referring to exactly three people.
That perked him up. Oh, a three-suspect case! he thought, pleasantly surprised about it ─ 'pleasantly', to some degree. He was aware that someone dying wasn't ideal, he was not a monster, but it was hard not to be just a little excited at the opportunity to exercise his detective skills. He sure needed it.
For the sake of appearances more than anything, Conan schooled his expression into childish curiosity, and threaded forward ─ Yor serving as a presence that he could not shake off, trailing down somewhere behind him silently as if trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
At least she didn't seem to be stopping him? He still wasn't certain of what his opinion on the matter was.
For now, he focused on the case. More specifically, he turned his attention to these suspects; it was surprising how handy it was to just stand back, and observe, in cases of this kind. If only the police force relied on that old trick once in a while, the criminal rate of this country would have gone down quite a bit, Shinichi believed.
He started on the bigger guy, the one that continued to pace back and forth, trying, and failing, to stop an anxiety attack to strike him on the spot. "This isn't happening," he continued to pace, or stumble was more likely, as continued to mumble to himself, as if a mantra, "This isn't happening… This isn't happening…"
There was a loud groan ─ surprisingly, different from his own ─ resounding from where another man, fairly smaller than the other, sat next to the corpse. "It is!" he yelled, angry beyond comprehension. The bigger guy actually stopped in his tracks, incidentally, directly behind the other.
It didn't save him from the daggers glared from the smaller man, as he easily turned fully to spat back, "And it is your fault!" He held up a rope, which Conan assumed to be the one he had been talking ─ yelling ─ about earlier, and the boy took that opportunity to take a better look at his hands. "The great lighting technician didn't realize this thing?" He threw away the rope in anger. "As if I'd believe that!"
"I checked last night! It wasn't there, I swear! Director, you've got to believe me!"
Conan eyed them both for a second, then snuck up closer to the rope in question.
"He… really is dead." A clatter of what he assumed to be high heels had Conan glancing over. The third suspect was a woman, tall and slender; she couldn't stop biting her nails, even if her life went with it. There was some powder on her sleeve as she raised, and Conan realized that it was no wonder ─ this one had to be the makeup artist.
Rope in hand, the boy observed the three suspects for a while longer. His shoulders dropped in defeat.
I might have spoken all too soon.
"This…" the makeup artist began, her voice shaky as if it had been hard to find. "It's almost as if… As if someone…"
"As if someone wanted him dead? Yeah, pretty much."
All heads craned as one, three sets of wide eyes darting towards where the voice had come from, and found the source easily enough ─ though the part of the decoding of what their eyes were met with was a different thing altogether.
The kid turned his head slightly, as if confused by their reaction.
The smaller man ─ the director, actually ─ was the first one to wake up from his stupor. His gaze dulled, his words rolling from his tongue just as enthusiastically, "What's a kid doing here?"
"Antagonizing you," the boy chirped back.
Before responses of any kind could be given, the child had turned his attention back to the rope. He fiddled with it in between his fingers for a while, then nodded to himself.
"Yup, murder."
"What do you mean with 'murder'?"
"Well, 'murder' means to cause death-"
"I know what murder is!"
"Oh!" The boy grinned. "You should have told me earlier, then!"
He received a groan in return ─ oh, would you look at that? Someone eager to commit murder right next to a dead body! It was nice to see some things had not changed after being shrunk.
"What I meant to say is that there's no way it's a murder!" The director was shouting now. It still didn't faze him. "Even if someone did mess up with the light setting, nobody would be able to predict how long the rope was going to hold on-"
"Sure they could."
He held up the rope at them, holding carefully from one end of it ─ with a handkerchief, naturally, he was a detective. With a smirk, he waited as the three shuffled closer, then waited some more. And more.
It was hard to keep his smile from falling.
"See?" he asked, just in case.
"Not quite," admitted the woman.
"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking at," added the bigger guy.
"Uh, a rope?" the director tried.
This better be a joke.
"Are you serious?" When nobody answered, he felt his eyebrow begin to twitch, as if suddenly granted with life of its own. "You seriously can't see anything odd in this? At all?"
The three exchanged clueless looks. For a moment all too brief to be considered criminal in nature, Shinichi seriously considered taking a rather sinful path.
"Oh, that's such a clean cut!"
Conan faltered, then, with a look as dumb and dull as the bunch in front of him, shifted his attention to the woman who had crouched closer. She was smiling as if in awe, her eyes on the piece of evidence he had been trying to get the others to see.
"They did it so easily, even though they used a knife…" she observed. It's a little choppy and messy, though. Mentally, she giggled to herself. It reminds me of my first kill. Ah, it's so nostalgic!
A broad, brilliant grin spread like wildfire, "Right-?!" before he stopped himself. Clearing his voice, he tried again, "Right."
Once again, he shifted his attention away from that smiling woman, lifting his head. His eyes squinted against the blinding brightness of a properly illuminated theater stage, but throwing an arm over them seemed to make the trick.
"Seems our culprit is amazing," Conan praised with fake bewilderment. "To be able to climb all the way up there at the beginning of the show."
When he looked back down, the kid wasn't all that surprised to see three sets of squinty gazes as they, too, turned their heads up as if it would magically make them understand what in the world they were talking about.
Only Yor had her attention on him, quiet and awaiting the rest of the deduction ─ which was… kind of nice, actually. Back when Shinichi had been an actual child, being allowed in the vicinity of a crime had been nothing short of a herculean task, and even on those times where he had actually run into them, hardly anyone had been interested in listening to a child-like he was ─ even if, back then, his deductive abilities could have used a bit of work.
It wasn't until he was a teenager that more people had gradually begun to listen to him, and he was pretty proud of his accomplishment when he rose into popularity as a prodigious high school detective. After being unexpectedly shrunk, he had been forced to bid all of his well-earned reputation goodbye and prepare himself to have to fight again for his voice to be heard.
He was definitely starved for attention if he was happy to receive it from a murder suspect.
"After climbing up, all the culprit had to do was to wait," Conan resumed from where he had paused. Yor nodded her head, attentive to his every word. "Once the victim was in position, all they had to do was to cut the rope with a knife."
"I see!" The woman clapped her hands together. "Then it fell on our poor victim, leading to severe head trauma and death!"
"I…" Conan moistened his lips, staring at Yor for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "That was a bit too much information."
"Eh? Was it?"
The boy faltered, unsure of how to reply to that. Slowly, he looked away, and turned again at the three suspects ─ whose faces displayed different degrees of startled and disturbed at what they had come to hear. Conan chose to mark a strong contrast to them, grinning widely, as if blissfully ignorant of the world around him.
"Now then!" he chirped, his gaze wandering over each and every one of their faces, scrutinizing them to his heart's content. "I wonder who out of you three…"
He stopped at the last, smaller man ─ which, incidentally, was much taller than him, but decided to ignore that fact for now, and raised his eyebrows.
"That was a joke. I already know it's you."
The culprit sputtered. "Wha-?"
Unable to fight the urge to roll his eyes, Conan explained, "Blisters in your hands. Toned muscles, especially in your arms and legs. Flexibility. You're clearly a gymnast. Or were one, in any case."
He waved over to the other two, and just as boredly, continued, "That guy is limping, and that lady is wearing stilettos." The culprit winced, and it only made Conan's grin widen ─ he wasn't even faking it this time around. "You three were the first to get here, shortly after the accident. You can't climb down that quickly when you're injured, and putting on those heels fast enough is too difficult to risk it."
He sensed the director opening his mouth, so he added, with a pointed look, "Before you said that she could have climbed up all the way up with stilettos without breaking her neck, please do yourself a favor and think it over again. That's definitely impossible."
Too focused on his prime suspect he was, the shrunken detective completely missed Yor sweating profusely.
"But someone like you certainly would manage," Conan said with a shrug. "All you had to do was to set the trick up beforehand. But being the director, I suppose it wouldn't be too hard for you to find a timeframe where nobody would spot you messing with the light equipment."
"And… Why should it be one of us three?"
"Because the killer is one of the few that hurried to approach the body."
"What makes you think that?"
The boy brazenly pushed forward, crouching over the dead body with no sort of warning to stick his little fingers inside his pant's pocket. Yor took a hesitant step forward in response, her hand left to hang somewhere in front of her as something else altogether gathered her attention.
Thus, by the time Conan was stepping away from the corpse, and raised his hand to reveal a small dagger in between his fingers ─ smiling all the way, obviously ─ Yor had already glanced away. Her eyes widened slightly at whatever she must have spotted, far off into the back of the theater, then raised her hand over in the air, as if signaling for someone to come over.
In doing so, she gathered Conan's attention. He glanced over in askance, before he finally realized that the door was wide open now, allowing a flux of uniformed men to invite themselves inside. The sight didn't surprise the faux grade-schooler, in fact, it surprised how he hadn't been met with it earlier; being used to crime and death, meeting with the police was not exactly a rare thing in his life, but for Conan, he supposed it should be.
Besides that whole ordeal of being shrunk, hospitalized and sent over to the orphanage, Conan believed he had yet to meet the police in that form. Which was pretty impressive, actually, because he hadn't exactly been staying out of trouble's way ever since. Or rather, trouble hadn't been staying out of his way ─ which wasn't exactly true, Ran would say, but she wasn't there so he wasn't about to listen to her.
Therefore, there wasn't a good enough reason for Conan to flinch, to react at all, when a brown hat popped up into his sight. Conan had definitely never met that one large inspector with the thick mustache that approached, standing a few meters away from the scenario, shaking his head as he realized, from what Conan had been able to read from his lips, he should have entered from the backstage.
But for the Shinichi dormant deep within him, it was hard to stay impassive, with the innocent little smile plastered all over his face as the man's gaze wandered over to his form before shifting somewhere else without truly seeing him.
Inspector Megure, a part of him wanted to say. Wanted to smile and talk his head off about what he had observed and deduced. But as it was, he could only stand back, watching as all kinds of emotions passed by his face, including, but not limited to surprise, at the crowd that had formed around the dead body.
"Ah!" Yor motioned to the director, the culprit, with a polite smile of her own. "Here is the murderer, Police Officer."
Megure took his time to blink. "I'm the inspector, but…"
Then had to blink again when a child, a child, walked over to the edge of the stage and handed him something which, though hesitant, Megure accepted. Confused, he studied the small package in between his hands, before realizing, much to his increasing bewilderment, that it was a piece of cloth; a handkerchief wrapped around something.
Despite being a full-fledged inspector, the man stumbled backwards upon realizing there was a dagger inside.
"It was placed inside the victim's pocket," said Yor, her face pinched in a concerned frown. "Could the criminal have really placed it inside, Inspector?"
Megure spluttered incoherently, but eventually broke himself out of his stupor by shaking his head. He cleared his voice, lifting his head to meet this woman in the eyes, and again, felt himself falter.
Yor simply waited patiently.
"Who…" he began. "Who are you?"
Yor seemed surprised at the question.
"Oh, I'm just a housewife! Please, don't mind me."
Megure hadn't been able to wipe the odd, somewhat disturbed, expression from his face, even after the case was inevitably closed and promptly left the place with the culprit in handcuffs. Which wouldn't be a big deal at all, only that this time, Conan was more or less starting to share that one feeling.
He still didn't know what really happened.
Yor seemed to be unable to piece together either, but her case was probably a lot more severe than his. Because, while he wasn't capable of telling how this came to be, he was still perfectly aware of the impression this woman had gotten on him. Despite her being absolutely clueless about it all.
As per her 'suggestion' ─ which, really, had nothing to do with her at all. The woman had only smiled his way as the child handed him the evidence and the guy had drawn conclusions entirely of his own ─ the rope and dagger had been taken away for fingerprint testing. Once then, they would have concrete proof that this man had murdered the opera singer on cold blood ─ not that it was really needed for nothing but proper procedure of law. Everyone in the audience, and even the other two individuals who had been freed from suspicion, had accounted for her testimony of the weapon being found in his pocket.
Just before leaving, though, Megure had turned over to face her. He had nodded curtly, in the same way he used to do when he was Shinichi. And even though Yor had never been able to deduce what that meant, Shinichi knew he was thanking her.
Thanking her for all her hard work.
Even though I did everything, Conan thought, gloomily. To make things worse, I can't even complain about it.
He pressed a hand to his face and breathed out. Right now, all the boy could do was pray that Anya had kept Loid entertained enough not to pay much attention to the stage. There was so much he could withstand for one day, he didn't need any more on his plate.
"Conan-san, are you okay?" Conan took his hand away from his face to look up to where Yor was crouching in front of him. "Are you tired?"
He was ─ exhausted, actually. But for motives that she wouldn't understand, nor were her business at any rate.
"Maybe a little," was all he conceded to her.
"It's no wonder you are," she replied, looking at him straight in the eyes, as if searching for any other signs of discomfort. Finally she gave up with a sight, and for some reason, a smile crept up on her face. "But you were amazing back there!"
Conan blinked in surprise. "I… Was I?"
Yor nodded her head. "You'd make a great detective, if you ever want to become one."
Conan did not know what to answer, nor did he know how to stop his mouth from hanging open. Thankfully, Yor seemed to be extremely oblivious to his dumb disposition and stood back again.
"Let's go back to Loid-san and Anya-san," she told him. "I believe we should try the stairs this time."
With that, the woman hesitantly took a step away, her head turning from side to side in search of a way out of their current predicament. Conan did nothing at all, but to watch her approach the makeup artist from before, no doubt, to ask for directions.
In silence, he continued to watch her. His feet grounded, but his mind drifting somewhere, far, far away.
"There are a lot of other options." The voice in his memory sighed, weary beyond comprehension. In fact, that was probably not the first time that conversation had arisen, and certainly, it wouldn't be the last. "Why don't you sit back and reconsider?"
"I already have, plenty of times," he had replied then. His fists had been clenching, his voice raising an octave higher than it should. "Why… What's so bad about being a detective, anyway?"
"I just don't believe you're cut for that job, Shinichi. Better give up on it before it's too late, don't you think?"
"Conan-san!"
Conan blinked back to reality. Yor had apparently noticed him straying somewhere away from her and rushed to join him. Once there, she nodded over to the woman he had spotted her talking to earlier, and said, "This kind lady has shown me where the next exit is."
The boy offered nothing but a hum in return, but Yor hardly seemed to mind. "Should we go back?" she asked, and though she received no answer at all, she took a tentative step forward. It wasn't until the child followed her stead that she took another, and started on her way back.
Conan remained silent throughout it all, but inside his mind, surged a chaotic mess of thoughts that not even he was capable of untangling.
A/N
jirokishisuzuki: Sorry, I've no plans for it at the moment. There will be plenty of chances in the future, I think ;)