The question had been burning in Evan's mind since that first moment in the holding cell, but he'd been avoiding it. Avoiding the implications. Avoiding what the answer might mean.
But now, with Morrison's words echoing in his head—*she's reading you somehow*—he couldn't put it off any longer.
"Anaya," he said carefully, watching her color with crayons they'd brought in earlier. She was drawing something that looked like trees, or maybe very tall grass. "I need to ask you something."
She looked up, her amber eyes bright. "Okay, Papa."
"Why do you call me that? Papa, I mean." He kept his voice gentle, non-threatening. "Why do you think I'm your father?"
Anaya tilted her head, confused by the question. "Because you are."
"But how do you know? You've never seen me before yesterday."
"I have seen you," she said, matter-of-fact. "Not with my eyes. But I saw you. Inside." She tapped her chest, right over her heart. "Here."
Evan's throat tightened. "What do you mean, inside?"
She set down her crayon and crawled across the floor to him, settling at his feet. Her small hand reached up and pressed against his chest, right over his heart. Her touch was warm through his shirt.
"Elves can see inside," she said simply. "Not everyone can do it good, but I can. Mama says I'm special that way. I can see what people really are, underneath all the outside parts." Her fingers pressed a little firmer. "You have the same inside as Papa. The same... the same light. It's fierce and bright and it tries to hide but it can't, not really. It loves so big it scares itself."
"The same light," Evan repeated slowly.
"Mmhmm." Anaya nodded, her expression earnest. "When I saw you in that scary cold room, I looked inside and I saw Papa's light. So I knew it was you. I knew you'd come back." Her smile was radiant. "Mama said you would. She said love always finds its way home."
Evan's mind was racing. Morrison was right. She could read people somehow—their emotions, their intentions, something deeper than surface level. That's how she'd known Morrison was dangerous. That's how she'd identified Evan as her father, or someone so similar it made no difference to her young mind.
This was exactly the kind of ability Command would want to study. To understand. To exploit.
Or to eliminate, if they decided she was too dangerous.
"Does it hurt?" he found himself asking. "When you look inside people?"
Anaya shook her head. "No. It's like... like breathing. I don't think about it, I just do it. Some people are easy to see—their insides match their outsides. But some people..." She glanced toward the door, toward where Morrison had been. "Some people's insides are all dark and twisted. Those people scare me."
"You're very smart, kid."
She beamed at the praise, then went back to her drawing. "Mama says intelligence is a gift from the forest. We're supposed to use it to help, not hurt."
Evan watched her color, his thoughts churning. She was five years old and she could read people's intentions, their emotions, maybe more. No wonder Command was interested. No wonder Morrison looked at her like a weapon waiting to be studied.
*The tests will happen, Cross. One way or another.*
His stomach turned. He'd seen Command's tests before—on adult elves captured during raids. The subjects didn't usually survive them. And the ones that did... they were never the same after.
He couldn't let that happen to her.
But why? Why did he care? She was an elf. The enemy. A creature he'd been trained to see as less than human, as monstrous, as other.
Except when he looked at her—really looked at her—all he saw was a small, scared child who missed her mother and believed he'd come to save her.
"Papa?" Anaya's voice cut through his thoughts. "You feel confused. Your inside is all tangled up. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, kid. Just thinking."
"About what?"
About how to keep you safe from the people who should be protecting you. About how everything I thought I knew is turning out to be a lie. About how I'm starting to care about a creature I'm supposed to hate.
"Nothing important," he said.
She studied him for a long moment, her amber eyes too knowing for someone so young. Then she crawled into his lap, cuddling against his chest. "It's okay to be confused, Papa. Mama says sometimes our insides need time to match our outsides. Like when a caterpillar becomes a butterfly."
Evan's arms came around her automatically, holding her small body against his chest. She was so light. So fragile. So trusting.
"You're a weird kid," he muttered.
She giggled. "Mama says that too."
---
They came for her after lunch.
Two soldiers Evan didn't recognize, accompanied by Morrison. Anaya was in the middle of trying to teach Evan a song—something about moonlight and rivers—when the door opened.
She immediately pressed against Evan's side, her small body going tense.
"Time for a medical examination," Morrison said, his voice professional, neutral. But his eyes were cold. "Standard procedure for all... detainees."
"She's five," Evan said flatly.
"Which is why this should be quick and painless." Morrison's smile was sharp. "Unless, of course, she doesn't cooperate."
Anaya's fingers dug into Evan's shirt. "Papa?"
Evan looked at Morrison, then at the soldiers. He could refuse. Make a scene. But then they'd just remove him from the assignment and take her anyway. At least this way...
At least this way, what? He could make sure they didn't hurt her too badly?
The thought made him sick.
"It's okay, kid," he heard himself say. "Just a checkup. You'll be back soon."
"Will you come with me?" Her voice was small, frightened.
Morrison answered before Evan could. "I'm afraid Agent Cross has other duties to attend to. But you'll be in good hands. The doctors just want to make sure you're healthy."
It was a lie. Evan could see it in Morrison's eyes, in the way the soldiers stood too rigid, too ready. This wasn't a medical exam. This was the beginning of the tests.
And Evan was letting it happen.
"Papa, please," Anaya whispered, and there were tears in her eyes now. "Don't let them take me. Please."
His arms tightened around her involuntarily. For a moment—one brief, insane moment—he considered fighting. Grabbing Anaya and running. Finding a way out of this compound, back to the barrier, back to her home.
Then Morrison's hand moved to his sidearm, casual but deliberate. A reminder. A threat.
"Now, Cross," Morrison said softly.
Evan's hands shook as he gently extracted Anaya's fingers from his shirt. She made a sound of distress, trying to hold on, but he was stronger. He had to be stronger.
"Be brave, kid," he said, and hated himself for it. "I'll be right here when you get back."
One of the soldiers reached for her. Anaya shrieked and tried to dart away, but the soldier caught her easily. She was so small. So impossibly small in his large hands.
"Papa!" she screamed, struggling. "Papa, please! Don't let them—"
The door closed on her cries.
Evan stood there, frozen, listening to her screams fade down the corridor. His hands were clenched into fists so tight his nails drew blood from his palms.
Morrison lingered, watching him. "Don't look so tragic, Cross. This is necessary. You know that."
"She's five years old."
"She's an elf with potentially dangerous abilities that we need to understand." Morrison stepped closer. "And you need to remember that. She's not your daughter, Cross. She's not even human. She's a security risk that needs to be assessed and contained."
"By torturing her?"
"By studying her." Morrison's expression hardened. "You have one hour. I suggest you use it to remember whose side you're on. When she comes back, you'll continue your assignment. Make her feel safe. And stop developing feelings for the enemy just like your mother did."
He left, and Evan was alone.
For a long moment, he just stood there, Anaya's screams still echoing in his ears. Just like your mother did. Then he moved, his mind suddenly clear with purpose.
The camera. There was always the damn camera in the corner, its red light blinking steadily. Morrison would be watching everything. Planning everything. Using Evan's growing attachment to manipulate both him and Anaya.
Unless Evan could find a way to stop it.
Evan's mind raced through possibilities. He couldn't destroy the camera—that would be too obvious. But maybe he could disrupt it. Create blind spots. Find a way to communicate with someone outside the compound without Morrison knowing.
Find a way to get Anaya out of here.
The thought crystallized with startling clarity. He was going to get her out. He had to. Whatever happened to him after, whatever consequences he faced, he couldn't let them continue hurting her.
But how? Anaya couldn't return to her side of the barrier—she'd said the coordinates had shifted, locked her out.
Which meant they had to wait before coordinates shift again.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. They'd wanted an elf child. Specifically a child, young enough to trust, vulnerable enough to study without much resistance. Beacause elves had long ago stopped crossing barrier. But they still kept the trap. And Anaya had walked right into their trap.
A trap he was now helping to maintain.
Evan's hands shook as he studied the room, looking for any advantage, any weakness in their security. The window was reinforced but not impossible to break. The door locked from the outside but the lock was electronic—could potentially be hacked. The ventilation system ran through the walls, standard ducting that probably led...
His planning was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.
They were bringing her back.
Anaya stumbled through the door, supported by one of the soldiers. Her face was blotchy with tears, her eyes red and swollen. She was shaking—full body tremors that made her look even smaller than usual.
The moment the soldier released her, she ran to Evan and collapsed against his legs, sobbing.
"Papa, Papa, Papa," she choked out, her small hands fisting in his pants. "They hurt me. They—they put needles in me and looked inside my head and it hurt, Papa, it hurt so much—"
Evan dropped to his knees, pulling her into his arms. She clung to him like a drowning person to a life raft, her whole body shaking against his chest.
Over her head, Evan looked at Morrison, who stood in the doorway. The captain's expression was satisfied.
"Very enlightening session," Morrison said. "The doctors will need to run more tests tomorrow. And the day after. Until we fully understand her capabilities." His smile was cold. "I'm sure Agent Cross will make sure she cooperates."
The door closed. The lock clicked.
And Evan sat there on the floor, holding a sobbing five-year-old who trusted him completely, who called him Papa, who believed he would protect her.
While he planned how to betray everything he'd ever known to do exactly that.
"I've got you, kid," he whispered into her hair. "I've got you. And I promise—" His voice broke. "I promise they won't hurt you again."
Anaya pulled back just enough to look at his face, her amber eyes searching his. "You mean it?"
Evan looked at the camera in the corner. At the locked door. At the tiny window with its reinforced glass.
At the impossible situation he was in.
"I mean it," he said.
And somewhere deep inside, in the part of him that Anaya said she could see, he felt something fundamental shift.
He wasn't Agent Evan Cross anymore, loyal soldier of humanity.
He was something else entirely.
Something dangerous.
Behind them, the camera's red light blinked steadily.
Recording everything.
Waiting.