No. 62 Claremond Street

4.2 // The Girl in Purple

The subtle but annoying clack-clink and clippity-clonk snaps Tony's lingering awestruck gaze on his favorite superhero, Michael Olmsted. He turns over his shoulder with a grunt.

Tony flinches, eyes widening when they see a girl approaching him, from his house. How did- How did she come from there?

Everything the teenager wears is purple: oversized coat, t-shirt with four weird stick people, knee ripped jeans, lopsided sunglasses, thick-soled shoes, and even her watch that peers out of her coat sleeve. Her brown hair, that hangs loose over her shoulders, is also streaked with purple.

The mysterious girl adjusts her sunglasses, munching on her gum as she walks down the cobblestone pathway. "Why's it so damn hot these days?"

Tony's jaw drops when he sees the cobblestone crack under her shoes, how did she- that happen? He looks at the girl again, but gets blinded when she retrieves something from her coat pocket. It takes a while for his eyes to get accustomed and correctly identify the "something".

It's surprisingly not purple. It's yellow - no, gold. And round, really thick too. A golden pebble? Tony squints his eyes, recognizing the jagged edges on the pebble. Okay, a golden pebble with five sharp edges. A chain dangles from it, which the girl uses to don around her neck. She holds the swaying golden pebble in place.

Tony blinks his eyes rapidly, before examining the distant weird pebble. It can't be a pebble, right?

The young boy creases his forehead when a sharp pricking sensation hits it. He looks up to find the mysterious girl staring at him. 

"It's my badge," she says, holding the five-edge 'pebble'. "Proof that I'm an agent from the Covert."

Tony raises his brows, so she's from the Cob- Covert?

"You must be Anthony Banks. One of the owners of No. 62 Claremond?" The girl asks, pointing to the house. She smiles, "Hi, I'm agent Racoon, one of the two officers assigned to your case."

One of the two? Tony muses. So M-Micheal's from the Covert too? He flits his gaze to him.

"I'm Thomas Banks," Tom says, drawing his grandma's bronze mirror out of the blue handbag hanging on his shoulder. As expected, the mirror's screen displays a gold crest amidst the dark cloudy background, a C with curvy ends engraved on its center.

This crest has appeared once before; right after the SOS call to the Covert was abruptly disconnected.

"I used this to contact the Covert," Tom adds.

"Can I see that?" Michael asks. A small smile appears across his lips when he sees Tom furrow his brows while bringing his mirror closer to him. "Just need it for verification."

Tom stares at him for a moment, noticing the flecks of neon blue in his black irises He exhales slowly, handing over his grandma's mirror.

"Thanks," Michael says, inspecting the mirror. The white round tracker is still held in his right hand. "Can you tell me when and where you got this mirror?"

"No," Tom replies. "Sorry, but I don't see the point of answering this. You guys have also checked and confirmed that's mine. I mean, that's how you got my name."

Why should he tell he found it in Diselhock's dusty attic six months ago? They should be investigating the dead guest in his house.

Micheal nods in silence, though something like a small mutter escapes his lips. After a minute of turning it around, he hands the mirror back to Tom, noticing his tracker's sole light flicker from orange to green.