Explanations (2)

I knew an assassin had to be astute. During missions, especially ones regarding or involving with famous or political figures and whatnot, bodyguards and security cameras are littered everywhere. Dangers lurked behind every corner. One would never know if they are walking face-first into a trap—the consequences of failing were even worse; always ending with certain death. There were crouching tigers and sheepskin-wolves everywhere. Spies and double-agents, power and corruption. Intentions are never clear within the underworld, and unfortunately for the unfortunate, they'd have to suffer the consequences. That is how every situation always changes every second, and why one must adapt and recognize the perfect opportunity to strike.

I was a weird one, in terms of assassination style. In the modern twenty-first century where guns, biochemicals and other conventional forms of weapons were the norm, I've always preferred and stuck with the bare-bone but trusty silver dagger. It didn't mean I wasn't proficient in firearms, though. All it meant was that my senses were far sharper, honed from the many experiences in close-combat—just this intuition alone, honed and developed over the years, has saved this blood-stained life of mine too many times.

That was why I did not make a move, not because of her cuteness, not entirely because I was caught with my guard down—but because I could not sense any form of mal-intent from her.

The staring contest between the two of us was now under a heavy and pressing atmosphere that I did not like. While Rose had held Sicily back, she could not stop his mouth from running though she'd covered it. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I could feel the insecurity building within me, and especially towards the blue orbs of light that now fully surrounded the two of us. It clung like a light bubble and lit up brightly even more so at the tiniest of movements.

I figured the two and two were most definitely related somehow, but that was another thing to fret about for later. My attention turned to scrutinize the little girl once more. Like a father sleuthing around for lies, I daydreamed to myself. I shook my head. That thought... needed to go.

Judging by the little girl's liveliness, clear-cut mannerisms, and speech just now, it was clear she wasn't traumatized or withdrawn like the mass majority of the kids the organization recruited. She seemed way too healthy, even, which was surprising given her age and the circumstances, The unexplained bright orbs of energy was one thing. Her vitality and countenance was another. The little girl glowed a blinding bright, just like a light-bulb; an aura, that was a joyous and heart-warming bright.

It was this, coupled with her sweet, sweet voice that tickled my heart. It was how she stood out so different from the others.

My suspicions dwindled to near nothing. I couldn't find or see anything dangerous about her, and mind you, I've had encounters with both experienced and inexperienced child assassin's. Heck, I was even one before... so I dreaded finding out if she would be the same.

The growing lump at the back of my throat grew all so tighter, leaving my mouth pursed, staring at the little girl, amidst the silence. The stress washed out of my body like a blood rupture. Being both a quiet surprise and relief, I found the little girl was nothing like so.

Against all of the awkwardness and stifling air, her eyes never lingered around the room, or up-and-down me. She didn't try to gauge the best and cleanest strike, or look for the prime opportune to escape. Instead, she pressed further in the staring contest with the two cutest of blinks. The notion that she had lost didn't even cross my mind, for her blinks only further skyrocketed the blinding pressure that rose in my heart. I took a difficult step forwards and returned the blinks.

Her smile grew tight and pursed, before she finally conceded and stared at her shoes. That was when I noticed her deep and steady breathing, which made my brows raised. She seemed as if... she was trying to calm herself... but she did nothing of the sort. The little girl didn't move. Only a brief movement passed before she looked upwards again. Her eyes remained clear.

No suspicious movements, no raised guard, no traces of blood or weapons. Most importantly, her body wasn't tense at all—she showed no signs of restlessness, anxiousness nor willingness nor ability to kill.

It seemed that... that she truly came here looking for a 'daddy.'

I gave a small nod to myself, feeling more and unconcerned about the coincidence.

Everything about her screamed pure intentions and child-like innocence. I pushed the earlier fright and lingering doubts to the back of my mind. She was no assassin; she was a teddy bear. Better yet, a small mammal like a squirrel or hamster. Too much attention and it was a no go; exactly like a cat, a kitten.

She was—err, no, not yet—will be... could be... my daughter?

I sucked in a deep breath and turned her strands of hair.

We needed to talk—one-hundred-and-ten percent so—if she wasn't here to kill me or suicide-bomb the organization. I'll be self-aware and say with somewhat convincing certainty that in today's society, little girls don't willingly get kidnapped to join an assassination organization to find themselves a father. It didn't work like that, or rather, it shouldn't.

Yet it did.

All this time, the metal bars against my back have never felt so warm. The same could be said with the rest of my body—this warm, fuzzy feeling that was slowly but surely eroding throughout. However, not even I could be prepared for another one of her daredevil-like jumps into my embrace. I slammed hard into the bars with the warm, little girl in my arms.

"Stop that," I told her, whilst trying to stand properly. I wasn't sure if it was the impact or her koala cling and her nuzzling-of-my chest thing that was making me stumble. All I did know was that my flushing cheeks were all attributed to her... but I couldn't understand it. Just what was this feeling burning inside of me?

The little girl, as if wanting to help out and answer that question, paused after a split second and turned to me. Our faces less than an inch apart, I watched the content smile on her face turned into a cheeky, cheeky grin. Like before, she left her chin resting on my shoulder with her eyes closed; a content and defenceless expression. That blooming feeling in my stomach kept stirring.

I continued in gentle murmurs, still oblivious and unable to understand what the hot blush on my face and the rest of my body was about. "First off, I'm certain I'm not your... your 'daddy'. And secondly, we need to talk. Who are you? Where are your parents? How... and why are you here?"

The two flutters of her lashes were too captivating, I found, as her eyelids opened and she gave me two blinks. I was the butterfly and she was the flower; inextricably drawn and charmed. The little girl's gaze then wandered on and around, lingering from the concrete ceiling, to her fellow cellmates, and lastly to Rose and Sicily.

I understood it as a request to be left alone during our discussion.