I continue my exploration of the mall. I decided before coming here that even though I'll get her a few books, I want to get her something more suited to her age, some kind of toy maybe. She likes playing some games on her tablet, but that's about all the toys she has.
I wander through the mall, drifting in and out of random toy stores, each with the same neon pink aisles of girls' toys. None of them really scream at me, though. The ages for these toys are labeled in bold on the corner of each box, her age items are mostly little educational light-up toys, tablets to help kids learn letters and words, little pink fake kitchens and plastic food.
How did I never notice how advanced she is? I mean, I knew, but not the extent. She's reading and understanding concepts that even Bucky and I have no idea about.
Not saying I'm brilliant with my junior high education, but I've never regarded myself as particularly dumb. One of those stones has got to be feeding her this intelligence, because otherwise I have no clue where it comes from.
After what feels like way too much shopping, I finally decide to take a break, slipping into a store for home goods. The shelves are filled with countless knickknacks and decorations. I only came in here because we seriously need more utensils and plates. As I peruse through the store, I get a weird feeling of eyes watching me.
Spending so many years as a weapon, you get used to the feeling of being watched—not to mention followed—and of course, I'm all too aware of the sense of bloodlust. I slip through aisle after aisle, carefully tracking every person around me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. I can smell the scent of my old friend—death. Someone is definitely following me, and I don't mean mall security. But no matter how I try, I can't catch a glimpse of the threat.
A small voice tells me I'm just being paranoid, that I've spent too many years with my guard up and can't turn it off. But the assassin in me is far louder. I don't know who found me or how, but I intend to shake them for now.
I'll find out the rest later.
If I slip back out of the store and into the main part of this four-story mall, I'll have an easier time of losing them. Doesn't seem like they'll attack me here—too many people, I guess.
I wonder if it's Hydra, or maybe some government agency has gotten me on their radar. No time to figure that out now, though. I make for the exit of the store and stop when I spot a large box out of the corner of my eye.
The picture on it shows a large purple teepee tent with cute pink stars on it. A little girl is lying on her stomach, coloring away, half inside the tent.
I did come here with a goal, and while self-preservation is important, whoever is following me doesn't show any signs of revealing themselves at this moment. I crouch down to read the details on the box. The measurements tell me she'll fit inside for years to come—especially considering how she is, for some reason, already small for her age. I can picture her curled up in there with a book, making it her own little space to read.
I hear footsteps stop behind me, fully aware of the eyes on me now—but they aren't the same as before. No bloodlust. No danger.
"Kids love those," a delicate voice says.
I stand to my full height and glance over to find an older woman. Short silver hair, wrinkles showing her age clear as day, a delicate cream sweater over her black tank top and slacks, a single string of pearls around her neck. Her stained red lips turn up into a smile.
"I got my granddaughter one last year. She loves the thing and barely leaves it. I decided to get her some decorations for it this year," she says, pointing to something on the shelf.
I respond with a small smile, stepping to the side and letting her grab what she wants. Funny to think that this woman in front of me, offering advice, is probably younger than me.
She grabs a set of little white twinkle lights, tossing them into her cart. I notice a giant pink fluffy child-sized couch with some kind of character in a little pink dress on it. I think it's a mouse or something—I've seen it on some of the cartoons Mira watches.
"Well, have a good day, dear." She nods before pushing her cart off.
It's not a bad idea, I guess. She's usually either on the couch or the floor when she reads. I pick up the tent and head for the register. On the way, I pass a cardboard bin of round stuffed animals. Children dig through it, pulling out assorted ones before running back to their parents. I grab one and find it seriously soft and squishy. She'll need a pillow, I guess. I grab a purple one with large eyes and, for some reason, a cow's nose and little ears before heading off to check out.
The feeling of being watched has disappeared—and the bloodlust with it. Why, though?
It certainly wasn't that older woman. Did their suspicions about who I was disappear when I continued shopping instead of running?