IV.
o h , t o b e a
t i m e - t r a v e l l i n g
i n v e s t o r
—IT WAS A QUARTER past eleven when the taxi stopped at the quaint, humble apartment of Vanya Hargreeves.
The night was as chilly as ever, and Zara once again wished she had brought a coat with her. She had another reason for wanting a change of clothes now, seeing as her red San Diego Zoo hoodie was stained with splotches of white powdered sugar from her escapade at Griddy's Donuts.
Better than blood, at least.
Five, on the other hand, looked entirely unfazed by the massacre just twenty minutes ago. He held the same stoic expression on his serious, rather angular face. It was a scowl that rivaled Cha-Cha's, yet Zara got the odd feeling his pessimism was justified.
The boy had a—what was it called?—ah yes, a resting bitch face.
He didn't talk to her at all as they made their way to Vanya's flat. It was certainly odd, but Zara wasn't sure how to hold a conversation with a fifteen year old boy who also happened to be a mass murderer.
Five immediately vanished when the two of them reached the door to the apartment, only to unlock it from inside a moment later.
The door swung back under Zara's touch, light from the hallway pouring into the room. It was a simple, rather dull looking place. The walls were painted a morose shade of beige, and there was a very high ceiling that contributed to the sense of insignificance. A couch, a few bookshelves, and other such things lay scattered around the living room, but those did not detract from the way the room felt so big; and Zara, so small.
And the most peculiar fact about this peculiar place, was the obvious lack of lighting. Besides the very large windows, Zara spied nothing more than a single chandelier and a few lamps here and there. Even if they were to turn the lights on—not that Five was showing any inclination of wanting to do so—the room would remain very, very dark.
The girl wondered briefly if the sole inhabitant of the apartment bore any similarities to the place itself. Drab. Somber. Unhappy.
Lonely.
Kiki flew off to examine Vanya's strawberry selection, leaving Zara alone in the dark with Five. He watched her with brilliant, cat-like green eyes.
Five had interesting eyes, Zara noticed. They were a mossy green colour with a sort of fierceness to them, and twinkled with a sharp gleam like that of a tiger stalking its prey. His gaze had the power to dissect one bit by bit with the least amount of care.
There were very few secrets you could hide from his eyes.
They held no warmth, rather a cold calculating calm like that of a high functioning computer – he wasn't a human, but a machine, and his eyes sold him out every time he tried to appear amiable and warm. Yet, they were beautiful like old decayed buildings with ivy gripping the peeling walls in a timeless hug.
There was something else, too.
Because deep beneath the mask Five wore with such insistence, he was vulnerable. He was more vulnerable than many people Zara had seen in all her life. And that last smidge of boyish fragility was the only thing stopping her from waltzing back to the Commission to demand a reassignment.
