Either way, Daimon would demand an explanation, which meant paying the Director a little visit. With a heavy sigh, bastards, Daimon crossed his arms again, dragging his tongue from one sharp canine to the other. He'd gone back to watching Wanda from the corner of his eye. She'd seemed preoccupied, it made him curious. He was mildly tempted to look into her thoughts, a little payback for the intrusion, but his method was more painful. The idea flitted away as fast as it had come, anyway; the woman had saved his life, he could forgive the accidental mind reading. That made him indebted to her now, and though it was far from a proper payment, he'd started by removing the stains from her clothes while she wasn't looking. Any more questions Daimon had about the barrier could only be answered through experimentation, so he filed them away, and leaned against the opposite end of the window frame to face her. "A telepathic master of disguise from Sokovia," he observed, a small smirk on his face. "Why'd you leave home?"