The car stops past the gate. The buildings of the Revolution are standing beyond the windshield, but Alouette doesn't make a move. "What happened in there?" she asks Jayden in a low voice. He's been eerily quiet since he's come out of the Shade's headquarters for the second time, and her every attempt to get information out of him was fruitless.

Jayden is staring straight ahead as he speaks. "We're here."

Alouette bites her lower lip and opens the door, hesitantly stepping out. She turns back to look at him, hand gripping the car door. "Are you..." She finds she doesn't know exactly what she's asking him. Are you okay? Are you mad at me because I failed and you had to come get me? What did you do? Every question feels too small to put to words the complex tangle of emotions in her chest—none is all-encompassing enough. She closes the door.

An arm wraps around her shoulders. She jolts and snaps around, immediately calming down when her eyes meet Harry's. Night has fallen on her way back, and they look so very dark, like they could swallow her whole.

His hand lifts her chin—his skin is cold; he's been standing outside without a coat for a while. "Are you okay?" His voice is low, a little rough, like he's given orders back and forth for the whole afternoon. He probably did.

She nods her head. His hand leaves her jaw, but his arm stays around her shoulders as he turns around and walks her towards the buildings of the Revolution. They aren't the only people outside—there are still a few cars other than Jayden's, and there's a mixture of Palace guards and members of the Revolution walking in and out of the buildings. Alouette would like to think they walk past them unnoticed, but they don't.

She presses herself into Harry's side tighter, not wanting to be perceived by others. She isn't in a celebratory mood. She knows too much of what went down to call the afternoon a resounding win and move on. There's nothing glorious in what happened—her ears are still whistling from the gunshots, and if she closes her eyes, she can still see the bodies on the floor, smell the iron in the air. She wants to stay in Harry's arms until she disappears.

When they reach the main door, Ezra is standing next to it. It doesn't take her long to figure out he's been waiting for his own to come back next to Harry for the past hour or two. He smiles at him, sends half a glance in her direction. "And with this, all of mine are back," he announces, eyeing Harry curiously. "Where's the remaining half of yours?"

Harry replies without missing a beat. "In Greenside, finishing their task."

Ezra nods, and then his gaze moves to Alouette. This time, it's so sharp that it makes her feel a little uncomfortable. "You're all good, I hope?"

Harry's hand tightens around her shoulder. "She's fine," he replies before she can consider opening her mouth, walking past him and into the warmth of the building. "We'll be in our room."

"Dinner's at nine," Ezra says after them. "Looking forward to trying your champagne."

Harry ignores him and makes a beeline for the stairs. People move aside to let them pass, and Alouette can't stop herself from glancing up and trying to spot familiar faces. She tenses up when she finds none.

"Where are Elijah and Jesse?"

"They're alive."

She nods, steeling herself against the worry. It's not exactly what she was hoping to hear, but it's better than nothing. Alive is good. She can work with alive. She's so mentally exhausted she can't make herself ask for more.

Harry walks up the stairs, taking Alouette with him.

Only when they're alone on the new landing, his voice comes low and oddly soothing, considering everything. "What's wrong?"

She shakes his head. Nothing. Everything. "I couldn't get him," she breathes out, "the leader of the Shade. He was right there, and I couldn't get him. I was so close to him, but then he just... left, and I—"

"It doesn't matter." His reply is so sharp, so definitive, that it takes her aback.

"Did he escape?"

"We won. That's all that matters."

"Did we really?" She frowns. "That didn't look like a win to me. It looked like... like they were expecting us? I don't know. They were surprised at first, but then..." She flinches at the memory at the echoing blasts.

Harry's jaw clenches. He's silent for a moment, like he's deciding what to say, but then he shakes his head. "We shouldn't talk about this here, not now." Again, he pulls her up the stairs.

They reach their floor. Anthony is waiting out in the corridor, but he just glances at them from afar without saying a word as they get into their room.

Harry closes the door with a kick. "I shouldn't have let you go," he murmurs.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine."

Alouette closes her eyes, her hands on his shoulders, like he could ground her. "I am. I will be."

His hand cups the back of her neck—it's still cold from his long wait outside, her man carved out of ice. A faint smile curves her lips, a candlelight warmth in her chest despite everything that happened.

"Kiss me," she breathes out, standing on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his.

"You're covered in dust," he replies, capturing her lower lip between his own anyway. The kiss is a shivery thing, like they can't believe they're really standing in front of each other at last.

Alouette's hand closes over his tie, but she doesn't pull him into her—instead, she leans her forehead against his. "Shower with me," she murmurs, her voice hot, "won't you?"

Harry doesn't reply, but he leads her to the bathroom, sliding her coat off her shoulders. She takes off his jacket in quick motions and then presses her lips on his again, desperate for touch. She fumbles with his tie, taking it off after a few tries. They break apart only long enough for him to take off her shirt, and then his is joining hers on the bathroom door again.

She turns on the water blindly, taking off their clothes layer after layer. At last they stumble into the shower naked, and Harry gasps when the freezing cold water hits his back.

Alouette chuckles. "Too cold for you?"

He looks down at her. He's got her with her back against the wall, and water is dripping onto her skin from his wet hair. His pupils are dark and wide, his eyelashes already clinging to each other. "Is it not for you?"

She shrugs. "Showering with cold water isn't a new thing." She lifts herself up and presses a kiss onto his heart-shaped lips, red and inviting. "If it's too cold for you—"

He shuts her up with a kiss, and she laughs into his mouth again, wrapping her arms around his neck. This is daring. Over them, the water is gradually starting to get warmer, fuelling their excitement. They can't stay away from each other.

His hands slide down her body, goosebumps rising at his touch. Alouette's breath falters. He hardly ever keeps his hands to himself whenever they're together, but today his touch feels different, as if the feel of his hands on her skin is sinking deeper into her flesh than usual. She doesn't know if it's her overwhelming fear she'd never see him again, or if it's the complete lack of fabric between them. It's not the first time they're naked in each other's presence, but she feels so bare now, as if she's accidentally shed the outer layer of her soul together with her clothes, leaving the shivering beneath exposed.

Harry takes a step closer, his head dipping in the crook between her neck and shoulder. His touch is sure on her, proprietary even, like he knows exactly how much they belong to each other. His hand slides up her chest as he sucks on a spot on her neck that has her heaving, trying to stay afloat. The water from the shower is nothing more than a few droplets on her skin, but she feels like she's drowning. Her back is to the wall, and she's all too aware of his leg between hers, his hand gripping her curves, the softness of his lips just beneath her earlobe.

His hand slides down to grab her hip and pulls her into him, closer. Realising he's just as excited as she is makes heat pool somewhere deep inside of her; her thoughts derail. "I need you," she breathes out as his teeth skim over the spot on her neck, in an alternating current of gentle bites and soft strokes with his tongue. "Please. I need..."

He halts, his breath hot against her tender flesh. "What do you need?" he asks, soft yet slightly on edge, like there's nothing else he was waiting for. "With words."

Heat flies to Alouette's face. "You," she replies, crashing her hips into his. "In m—" A gasp breaks out of her throat when he nuzzles her neck, leaning into her. Hot water is hitting his back, and it trickles down their bodies.

"Not risking it," he whispers, so low she doesn't even know how she managed to hear him over the sound of the shower. It makes sense—if she was more aware of herself right now, she'd agree with him.

"So you're just gonna leave me like this?" Her voice is a little higher than usual, and he chuckles.

"I didn't say that."

"Then..." Her voice dies out when he presses her into the wall, putting the barest distance between them. He stares down at her, and he's so close in the little space of the shower that she can't even think. He studies her for a long moment, taking in the heated look she knows is on her face, her body shivering with the contrast from the cold of the wall and the heat of his hold on her. He seems satisfied by what he finds, and crashes his lips against hers. It's a ravaging kiss, one that steals the ground under her feet and makes her cling to him out of fear she might sink into the underworld.

His hands are on her body again, travelling up and down her side, gripping her thigh like he's fighting the instinct to wrap her leg around him and take her right where they stand. Alouette knows that would be an awful idea, but she wishes he'd do it anyway. She needs him to be as close to her as possible after the chaos of that afternoon—all around her, encompassing.

His fingers slide up her thigh teasingly, and she gasps when they dip between them. It's an instant tingling wave up her spine, and she moans into his mouth. He hums, breaking away from the kiss just to murmur, "This all right?"

It takes Alouette a moment to remember how to connect her brain to her mouth, and then she lets out a breathless, "Yes," earning a chuckle from him.

He presses a row of kisses on her shoulder, his body pressed flush to hers, and her fingers sink into his shoulders to steady herself against his touch, no stranger to the way he too is affected by the moment. She pulls him closer, not missing the way his breath shudders at the minimal friction. Her resolution is drowned by a wave of overwhelming sensations when his touch suddenly deepens, and she gasps and grabs his arm in a desperate attempt not to sink to the floor. It surprises her how little it always takes him to see her unravel, like he knows exactly how to tease her and where to slide his fingers to overcome her.

"Fuck," he hisses out. "You're so..." He can't seem to find the words. His breath is rushed even though she's the one struggling to hold on. His lips tumble onto hers again, soft yet hungry, needing more. He keeps teasing her as he licks into her mouth, and her fingers intertwine into his hair, sensations strong enough to overwhelm her senses coursing through her like electricity, fiery and out of control.

All of a sudden a knock rings out in the distance. Alouette's eyes widen, and even Harry stills, briefly turning his head towards the closed bathroom door.

"Is someone at the door?" she whispers out, faint and broken over the storm of intensity inside her.

Harry turns to look at her again. "They'll leave."

"But—" she's interrupted by a kiss, and another.

"They'll leave," he repeats between one kiss and the other, leaning his body into hers, desperately searching for any friction that might ease his own excitement, even if by just a bit. He licks a stripe up her throat, his curls ticking her jaw. Her fingers tighten around his arm, the coldness of the wall sending a tingle up her back. She's the one that pulled him into a cold shower first, but now the alternating cold behind her, warmth of the water and heat of his body are playing tricks with her senses, making everything feel stronger than it should be.

The knock continues and Harry rolls his eyes, but he doesn't stop.

"What if it's Jayden?" Alouette says, her breath hitching against the cloud his touch brings to her head. Vapour is suspended all around them, each gulp of air feels like a delicious sort of drowning. "He won't stop if it is."

His other hand reaches up, two fingers resting against her lips. "Shush. If they hear you, they'll keep knocking."

Her heart is beating fast in her chest, though she can't tell if it's the fear of being discovered, the afternoon catching up to her, or the rolling waves of bliss his touch brings to her. "What if he thinks something's wrong? What if he breaks the door down?"

That makes Harry pause. "He wouldn't," he replies, but she doesn't miss the way his voice slightly tilts up at the end, uncovering his unsureness.

"What if he does?" Alouette's breath picks up. "We didn't lock the door—"

A new, long, insistent bout of knocking interrupts her. Harry lets out a long sigh, giving up. "This... isn't ideal." He bites his lower lip, seeming to come to a decision. "I'll be back. We'll take our time later, but now—"

He pulls Alouette into him and finishes her off quickly with his fingers. She gasp at the wave of pleasure that crashes into her within seconds, nearly collapsing into Harry when she's pulled in by the undertow. "Oh, fuck—" she moans into his shoulders, gripping his arms like a lifeline. She was prepared to wait, but this—not this. This defies all sense and reason, and she knows distinctly that, if he lets her go now, she'll crumble to the floor of the shower.

He breathes in fast. "How am I supposed to go if you act like this?" Their bodies are pressed against each other, and she knows exactly what he's talking about.

She reaches behind him and flicks the water to cold, earning an instantaneous gasp from him. Her mind is hazed by the rolling rapture flowing through her, but still she can't keep a chuckle from leaving her throat at his jolt.

He holds onto her until her legs no longer feel like they're made of butter, and then presses a kiss to her lips and lets her go. "Finish washing up, I'll send them away."

She watches him leave the bathroom through the shower glass, and then turns the water to hot again and steps under the jet. She works shampoo into her hair, into the nooks and crannies of her body once, twice, three times, until all she can smell is flowers and she no longer feels like she's covered in dust. She's feeling calmer than earlier now—there's no doubt Harry helped her with that—and her mind is feeling a little clearer, a little sturdier. She can do this. She can make herself enjoy the night to some degree, and then prepare to go back to the Palace, and then go to sleep. She'll worry about the implications of the afternoon in the morning, when enough time has passed that she no longer feels smothered by it.

She lifts her head under the hot water and takes a deep breath, then another. Her body slows down, the shower feeling like a rainstorm with her eyes closed.

I can do this.

Then she opens her eyes and steps out of the shower.

•     •     •

The dining hall is every bit as loud as she's ever thought it would be for a party that never came—until now. She's never seen such elation in the Revolution; happiness is flowing down people's throat together with the expensive champagne in the multitudes of plastic glasses all around.

Amina is sitting next to Alouette at their favourite table, drinking milk from a glass, enjoying the celebration of something she doesn't understand. Elodie is chatting away happily with everyone that crosses her path, and Harry is on the other side of Alouette, taking slow sips of champagne from the sorry excuse of a glass. His finger is grazing Alouette's thigh under the table, where no one else can see, but his movement is nonchalant, like he means nothing particular with it—just an unconscious action as he scans the room. To an outer observer he'd seem relaxed, but she doesn't miss the faint tension in his shoulders. It doesn't surprise her, considering the last time he joined a celebration he was almost shot.

Her fingers intertwine with his as she bites into a strawberry. She's starting to relax now, everyone's happiness easing the tension in her muscles. It's easier not to feel like the world's about to end, now, after spending an hour in Harry's arms and visiting Elijah and inquiring about Jesse's whereabouts. They'll be okay—it'll all be okay. Maybe.

Harry's hand abruptly pauses when her fingers sneak between his, taken aback by her action, but he doesn't pull away. She considers it a little win, too.

Elijah wobbles over to them on crutches, and Alouette takes a free chair from another table to give him somewhere to sit. He sits down with a heave and closes his eyes, massaging his temples with his fingers. "So many people to talk to," he complains, his voice scratched. "I don't even know what to say. They all want this glorious retelling of things that I didn't see happen."

Alouette gives him a little smile, handing him a glass filled with water—Anthony warned him off alcohol for the next several days, since it might mess with his medications. "I know what you mean."

He sighs again, adjusting his position with a grimace. His left leg is wrapped in so many bandages that he's had to wear a pair of sweatpants several times his size, that he keeps accidentally stepping on. He takes the glass and takes a gulp of water as if it was a vodka shot. "My head's killing me. I want to go to sleep."

"They'll come haunt your bedroom for more information if you leave," Alouette jokes, pouring some more water into his glass. "In Anthony's defence, he did suggest you stay out of the dining hall for tonight."

"Damn me for thinking a half-obliterated leg wasn't enough to keep me from joining the party," Elijah grumbles, playing with the rim of his glass.

"What does obliterated mean?" Amina asks innocently from her seat next to him, and he shoots her a glance.

"It means I can't kick my enemies anymore."

Amina's eyes go wide in sorrow, and even Alouette can't keep a chuckle from leaving her throat at the heartbroken look on her sister's face. "But you can hit them with those," Amina tells him, pointing to his crutches.

Elijah considers them with a long look. "You know what, you're right."

Amina lets out a delighted laugh.

Elodie pushes her dish, where a half strawberry still rests, closer to her. "Finish it so you can go to sleep, it's getting late."

Amina eats the strawberry with a single bite. "Bye-bye!" she says cheerfully, and then walks out of the dining hall hand in hand with Elodie.

It's near midnight now, and the first few are already leaving, while the rest is becoming a little too cheerful for their own, aided by the Palace's expensive champagne.

Alouette watches her sister go, and then turns to look at Elijah. "How are you?" The question is spoken low, only meant for their ears. Harry's hand slides up and down the side of her thigh slowly, no longer hidden by the table since they've turned around to face Elijah.

Elijah shrugs, opens his mouth, then closes it. "I was about to say I've been worse, but that's a lie. I don't know what the hell to do."

"What did Anthony say?"

"That I'm fucked." Alouette sends him a look, and he sighs. "I don't know, he doesn't know. He did his best, now we'll have to see. It's... it's pretty bad."

Harry is looking at him silently; Alouette can see a storm of thoughts lurking just beneath the green of his eyes, but he doesn't say a word.

Elijah sighs and lifts himself off the chair, using the crutches to stabilise himself. "I'm gonna go talk to Owl, there's much we need to decide."

Alouette nods, biting her lower lip nervously. Then, "What about Jesse? I haven't seen him."

He purses his lips, shrugging as he can without losing his balance. "He's still cooped up in his room. You should go talk to him if you have some free time, it might help."

"Eli!" someone calls for him over the cheering voices at the other end of the room, and he hops away, slowly and uneasily through the chairs and tables scattered all over the floor. Alouette watches him go away, worried he might trip. She still doesn't know the full story of what happened—couldn't bring herself to ask, when she saw how crushed he was. She wishes she could do more—that she could be there for him like a friend, but is she allowed to, after everything that happened between them, after all that's still unsaid, still unfixed? She isn't sure.

"You can go, if you want."

Her head snaps towards Harry. "What?"

"Jesse," he specifies. His plastic glass is full again, but she was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice him reaching for the bottle on the table. "You haven't seen him still."

She purses her lips. He's right, she still hasn't gone to see him. Hers wasn't a conscious choice, something she arbitrarily decided. It's just—hard. When she saw the look on Anthony's face, the one on Elijah's when he mentioned Jesse, and the tension in Jayden's shoulders, she got scared. Something happened, she's certain of it, but she doesn't know what. She doesn't know what she'll find if she goes to see him.

But she knows she's being ridiculous—she's being a coward. Jesse has been there for her as long as she's known him. She can't keep running away like this, for no reason. She doesn't want to be the kind of person that runs away from everything she doesn't understand—like her mother. The people around her deserve better than that. "I'll go," she announces standing up from her chair, feigning bravery she doesn't have.

Harry's hand falls from her leg, and she suddenly feels cold and scared. Still, she glances around the room, and her gaze locks with Jayden's. He's sitting a few tables away from them with a couple of guards from the Palace, but his gaze hasn't left Harry for the whole night.

"I'll be back."

She turns around and walks out of the hall. She's worried and anxious, so she walks fast, like she knows exactly what she's doing, because it makes her feel a little better inside. Less exposed, less wounded. A little less real, just enough missing to feel human again.

She gets to Jesse's room and takes a deep breath before knocking on the door.

She waits, but no sound comes from the other side.

A little hesitantly, she knocks again. When she's only met by silence one more, she gathers her courage and opens the door, slowly and carefully, like she's afraid she might disrupt the ecosystem on the other side. "It's Alouette."

When she walks inside, the room is dark but for the golden glow of the bedside lamp. Jesse is lying on a couple of pillows, face turned away from her, looking towards an invisible night sky beyond the barred window.

She closes the door behind her carefully. "Jesse...?" she calls quietly, not sure if he wants to see her.

He turns to look at her. She doesn't know what she was expecting, but he looks the same as always—mussed brown hair, thick dark eyebrows, long limbs folded over of the mattress. But it doesn't look right, and it takes her only a split second to know why. The ever-present laugh in his honey-brown eyes is nowhere to be found.

"Jesse," she says, stepping forward and sitting at the foot of the bed, "what—"

Jesse's hand drapes over his shoulder as he pulls his legs closer to him at the headrest, like he's afraid his other arm might fall out. "Lark is dead," he lets out. She doesn't understand right away. "David. Lark. He's dead." He says it matter-of-factly, voice stripped of emotion, but she's too familiar with that tone to fall for it. It's the sound someone lets out when they've screamed and cried for so long, that nothing else but cold pragmatism is left.

She winces. No one told her. She didn't know David—Lark—well, only having talked to him a couple of times, but the news hurts her nonetheless. She knows Jesse was close to him. "I'm so sorry," she whispers out. The three words sound useless, and she's angry at herself for not having anything better to say—though she doubts it would matter. Grief so fresh can't be eased by a couple of words. It's a yawning void that swallows every sound.

Jesse looks down. His fingers tighten around his shoulder and he jolts, immediately letting it go. "Can you go? I want to be alone."

Alouette bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't want to go—she doesn't want to leave him alone. But he doesn't want her to stay. "You know I'm here if you need anything." She hates how meaningless, how circumstantial her words sound. It's a sentence so used that it's devoid of soul, but she hopes Jesse knows she really means it, and isn't saying it just because. "We all are."

Jesse looks back to the barred window. "Yes."

She nods. Her nails dig into her palms and she waits, hoping to come up with a reason to stay, something more to say. But the silence stretches, so in the end she stands up. "Don't—we're—" She pauses. She doesn't know what she's trying to tell him.

Still, Jesse sends her a fleeting glance and says, "I know." It sounds like a dismissal—it is a dismissal.

She nods again. But this time she's really run out of things to say, so she walks out, closing the door behind herself.

She goes back to the dining hall. It's only been a few minutes, but the number of people in there has now split by half. Partying all night isn't in the heart of the Revolution, what with the constant work needed to keep the headquarters running, and the past day of furious planning has run even the toughest into the ground. People are on their last glasses, huddled together in little groups, talking about everything and nothing. Most of the Palace guards have already retired for the night; only Jayden is left, now sitting next to Harry in the chair that belonged to Elodie until a while ago. They're speaking in hushed tones, but they grow quiet when she arrives.

She takes a strawberry and shoves it in her mouth whole in an attempt to escape her thoughts, nearly choking on it. Sweetness dribbles down her chin when she bites into it, and she has to turn away from Harry and clean up her mess with a napkin, her face hot. There's little Harry doesn't already know about her, but the thought of him seeing her make a fool of herself embarrasses her as if they were in their first week of dating—if what they're doing can be called like that. Still, she doesn't miss the faint chuckle he lets out.

More people leave. Now, only around fifteen are still in the room, not counting her, Harry and Jayden. Now that she's sitting, tiredness starts to weigh down on her limbs, reminding her she's been up for longer than she should. She takes a sip of champagne and yawns, watching a couple more people leave.

Elijah and Owl are still talking at a distant table, but she knows they'll be leaving soon as well. Elijah shouldn't have left his bed in the first place, tonight. Anthony said he wasn't in a good shape at all when he arrived at the Revolution earlier this evening—though she can understand why he came here instead of resting. He did it for her same reason: it's harder to think when you're surrounded by people.

Harry finishes the champagne in his glass and stands up. "Let's go as well, tomorrow will be a long day."

Alouette nods, standing up.

Jayden takes a sip of water. He hasn't drank any alcohol tonight. "I'll be right back, I need to check up on someone." He stands and leaves without another word, too restless and anxious to worry about the proper way to excuse himself from Harry's presence.

Harry and Alouette follow him out in the corridor as well. He walks slowly, matching his pace to hers. She isn't drunk, but all the events of the day are like a haze in her mind, suffocating her thoughts.

"Alouette!"

She halts immediately and turns around. Ezra is standing a few feet away, beckoning her closer from the door to one of the many offices in the corridor. She doesn't feel like talking to anyone, but she knows she can't avoid this. With a sigh, she glances back at Harry. "You can go, I'll come soon."

He nods, and she turns around and walks towards Ezra—not without lightly brushing her hand against Harry's.

"Let's talk," Ezra says when she reaches him, walking into the office. It's a small thing, just the size of a bedroom, with a desk, a bookshelf in the corner of the room and a couple of chairs. Neither of them sits. "I'm very pleased by how things went today."

Alouette frowns. "It was a disaster."

"It was a win," he corrects her. "The perfect result of this partnership. And it wouldn't have gone this well if it hadn't been for the amazing job you did at the Palace."

"That's not what you said back then."

He tuts. "Back then, I told you to prove to me you could still be useful. You presented our instances to the Palace effortlessly. You joined the ranks of the Revolution and fought for our cause. You won at our side." He pours some champagne into a glass and takes a long sip from it. "I'm willing to talk about what you mentioned."

"What I mentioned?"

"Coming back."

Her breath halts. "You'd have me back?" There's a complicated tangle of emotions in her chest. She doesn't want to go back to the Revolution but still—it's been her home throughout her life, it's the organisation his father has created and fought to protect. It's the reason why her family fell apart. Her ties to it run deep and tangle around her every bone, indissoluble like the nerves running through her flesh. To know she could be welcomed back does something to her, though she tries her hardest not to show it.

Ezra notices it anyway. "You've made your father proud." The compliment, weirdly, soothes something she didn't know was aching inside her. "The Revolution will love to have you back—really back, this time. You have a legacy here, Alouette, one we can no longer ignore."

"I—I don't..." With a certain surprise, she finds she doesn't know what to say. She doesn't want to come back—does she?

"You just need to do one thing for us."

Her eyebrows furrow. "What is it?" she asks before she can stop herself.

Ezra smiles. He opens a drawer and pulls a paper bag out of it, putting it on the desk in front of her. "Prove to us you can be trusted."

"I would never go against—"

"Trusted to put us first, always," he interrupts her. "To make hard decisions for us. Prove to us you're worthy of your father's legacy and our undying loyalty."

"How could I do that?" She immediately damns herself for asking. The air in the room is eerily still, like a waiting storm.

Ezra smiles again. He takes the bag and empties it on the desk. A gun clatters on the wood. "Kill him."

She balks. "What?"

"He's the reason of all our problems. Kill him, and we'll be free."

Her words are poison in her throat. "You made a deal."

Ezra laughs. "Oh, did you really think we were for real?" he chides her. "Deals are meant to be broken, Alouette."

She slams her hands on the table. "You can't do this! You, you're a fucking—"

The smile disappears from his face. "So it's a no?"

"I'm not going to kill Harry," she spits out. Her heartbeat is going at a thousand miles per minute, her head feels light. "I'm not—"

Ezra tuts. "How disappointing." He takes the gun from the table. "You've had a good run, Alouette. Don't tell me I didn't give you a chance."

"You can't go against—I won't!"

He slides a full clip into the magazine of the gun, without sparing her a glance. "Watch me."

She takes a step back, then another. "You can't—"

"Get her."

Hands close around her arms. She tries to spin around, but they twist her arms behind her back and she lets out a scream, nearly falling to the ground. Her front is pushed down onto the desk, and then she can't move anymore.

"Let me get something straight, Alouette," Ezra says. He finishes loading the gun with a click. "He's dying tonight, and you won't stop it. This has gone on for far too long. Oh, come on," he coos, "you can't tell me you didn't know this was coming. You're the one that started it, Alouette Ivenhart, so you can't blame me for finishing it. You should've finished him off months ago. Funny how the past always catches up to you, isn't it?"

"You can't do this!" The man behind her tightens his hold on her shoulder, and she lets out a scream.

"Oh, but I will. I hope you'll come back to your senses when it's over. I'd hate to lose a pawn as strong as you." Ezra waves his hand to the people behind her. "Lock her up."

She's pulled up and turned around. Three men she's never seen before stare back at her. She shouts and kicks back, but they don't let her go—don't even loosen their grip on her.

"One more thing," Ezra adds as she's dragged out of the door, "for a moment, during our conversation, I really thought you could do it. I'm disappointed to see how weak you are—just like your father." He chuckles. "Oh well. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Fuck you," she spits, but she's pulled away from him so quickly she isn't sure he heard her.

She kicks and screams every step of the way, but the three men don't let go of her. It doesn't matter how hard she hits them, how loud she shouts, their grasp never falters, and no one comes to her aid.

"You can't do this! You can't fucking do this!"

One of the men opens a door and throws her inside with a snarl. "Shut the fuck up, traitor."

"Traitor? Traitor?!" She runs to the door, but it slams closed before she can reach it, and her fists hit the wood. "What the hell do you mean?! You asshole—"

The lock turns with a click.

"Hey! Let me out!" She bangs on the door, but no sounds come from the other side. "Fucking let me out! You can't! You can't do this!" Her hand hits the wood too hard and she gasps with the sting from earlier.

She crouches to the floor and screams. And screams. And screams, until her voice breaks. Her heartbeat thunders in her ears, drowning out every other sound. Her eyes snap open. The light in the room hurts. She hadn't even realised her hands flew up to cover her ears. She shoots up to her feet—her thighs ache. She bangs on the door again.

She needs to get out of here. Harry's in danger. Ezra is about to send someone to kill him, if he hasn't already, and he's alone in his rooms. A wave of nausea hits her. Her fists pound on the door.

She needs to save him.

She needs to save him.

She needs to save him.

There will be no going back.

"Fuck!" Her vision blurs; tears stream down her face. Her heart is pounding so hard it hurts. "Let me out! Let me out, please! Please."

Fear is a physical thing, a snake slithering up her back, shadow personified. A thunder-strike of heartache that leaves her winded.

"Please."

Voices on the other side of the door. She holds herself so still she doesn't even breathe. She can't hear what they're saying, but then a pair of steps move away.

There's a tap on the floor. Then, a voice, coming close. "Al?"

"Elijah?!" she gasps, her hand flying to the handle. "Elijah, please—"

"Al? What's—"

"He's gonna kill him," she gasps out. "He'll kill him. Harry. Please let me out. Elijah, please."

"What—"

"Ezra wants to kill Harry! Please, you need to..." Her voice dies out when a terrible thought strikes her. Elijah is part of the Revolution. Elijah wanted Harry to die. He's never liked him—he still doesn't like him. And the Revolution is all he has. He'd do anything for it. He's already done anything for it.

He's not going to help you.

"Please," she pleads, pitifully, though she knows how ridiculous she must sound to him. An Ivenhart, begging for the President to be saved. "Please."

"I... I don't—"

"Please."

There's a moment of silence, that stretches so long she thinks he must've left. Then, "Fuck." The key turns in the lock.

Alouette throws the door open and runs out so suddenly she nearly topples Elijah. He's looking at her with wide, tired eyes, hanging onto his crutches for dear life.

"I'll stall them."

She doesn't stop to thank him, doesn't stop to wonder what it means, for him. For them.

She dashes down the corridor. Her heartbeat pulses in her ears, into her neck. Her muscles ache, but she doesn't pause, not even for an instant, not even to come up with a plan. She can only run. Run, and hope she gets there fast enough.

She flees up the stairs. The corridors are eerily silent, electricity sparking through the air, an awaiting reckoning.

The staircase goes black and she trips over the steps. Her knees collide with the floor, but she pulls herself up in the dark. There's a click, and the emergency lights turn on, painting her surroundings red. She runs up the last few steps. She's breathless when she reaches their landing, the corridor stretching out in front of her like a beast's waiting mouth.

A gunshot rings out, and she screams. Her hands fly to her ears and she crashes to the ground.

No. No, no, no.

It can't be.

He can't have—

Her eyes snap open. The pain in her heart is real, gripping her throat like a vice and stealing her breath away. She wants to disappear. She wants to shout until nothing's left of her but a black hole swallowing all sound. But she forces herself to stand and careens into Harry's room.

The first thing she sees is a hand on the floor, a puddle of red stretching out from the bathroom.

The pull to her chest makes her collapse against the wall with a choked gasp. She can't breathe.

No.

Her hand flies to her mouth to keep the mounting scream from leaving her lips.

Not like this.

Dread fills her chest until there's no more space for her soul. Her heart stutters, like it's about to fail.

A man steps out of the bathroom, gun in hand. He stops and furrows his eyebrows when he sees her. "Ivenhart?"

Her eyes widen. "Jackson? What—why are you—"

Someone else steps out of the bathroom, cleaning blood off his white shirt with a piece of toilet paper. His gaze lifts to her when he notices her standing there. "Alouette."

"Harry." Her legs give out. She almost crashes to the ground, but then someone is picking her up from behind and helping her stand. Jayden gives her a half-smile, keeping his arm around her shoulders. "Harry?! You're okay."

The corner of Harry's lips turns up in a smile. "Of course I'm okay." He kicks the arm on the floor with a boot. "Can't say the same for him, though."

Alouette wants nothing more than to run in Harry's arms, but she's still struggling to believe he's really here, in front of her, alive. She can't take her eyes off him.

Harry buttons up his sleeve, turning his head towards the head of his personal guard, still at his side. "Jackson, was that an attempted assassination?"

Something flashes on Jackson's face, too quick. "Yes, sir."

Harry's mouth curves up in a smile. "Very well. It looks like I won't be the villain tonight, after all."

Alouette frowns. "What...?"

Harry turns to look at her. There's a darkness in his gaze, something that makes her breath hitch in her throat. "Take her to the Palace."

Her confusion is a tangible thing. "What?" She takes a step back, but she hits Jayden's chest.

That cold smile is still on his face as he tilts his head, feigning compassion. "You'll have to forgive me, Alouette."

That's when the gunshots start.

She snaps around, but hands seize her. "What?"

You know, you already know.

Jayden drags her out of the room. The corridors are swarming with guards—dozens upon dozens, kicking doors open.

"Let me go!" She screams and tries to wrench herself free, but he grips her tighter. Her shouts fade into the chaos.

In the matter of seconds, it's an all out war. The Revolution against the Palace, gunshots flying and people falling and screams echoing and—

She trips over the stairs, but Jayden throws her over his shoulder and keeps walking. She kicks and shouts and hits his back, cursing Harry's name, and Ezra's and everyone's that has led her to this moment, but he doesn't let go of her.

He throws the main door open, and suddenly they're outside. Red light flashes through the main doors of the three buildings under attack. The Revolution's alarm blares out in the night as the headquarters are taken over from the inside.

"Let me fucking go, you bas—"

Jayden throws her into a car and closes the door. She tries for the handle, but it's already locked. Her fists pound on the glass.

"Don't you—" The words die in her throat when she sees Harry and Jackson have joined them outside. They exchange a few words, and then Harry opens the door of the passenger's seat and looks at her, heaving in the back, as Jayden sits on the driver's side. She reaches for him with a scream, but her fingers collide with a grate between the rows she hadn't even noticed was there.

Harry stares at her for a long moment. "I suppose a thank you is in order."

"How fucking dare you," she seethes, and he smiles.

"Oh, come on, Alouette," he says mockingly, "didn't I tell you I'd ruin you, months ago? It's your fault you didn't listen." He slams the door and pats the side of the car. His next words are to Jayden, but he's still close enough for her to hear them. "Take her away."

Then, he gets into the car parked in front of the one she's in, not without one last look at her through the windshield.

Fear courses through her anew. "Let me out," she breathes out, banging on the window, "let me out!"

"I'm sorry," Jayden says.

Then the engine roars and the car speeds away, leaving the collapsing Revolution headquarters behind.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter x
Miki