Three days have passed since Alouette's meeting with Jackson, and she still hasn't heard back from him. Life flows slowly in the Palace, as if the arrows of the clock were moving through thick molasses. Beyond Alouette's floor-to-ceiling window, Northfair shines blue, hot pink, highlighter green, and blue again, mocking her for her lack of action. Every minute she waits puts Amina in further danger, and she doesn't know what to do. For the first time in days, she's motionless once more. Before, rage was a tidal wave strong enough to blind everything else. Now, though, that anger has quieted—but not faded. She can still feel it lurking deep inside herself, the sharp blade betrayal flung between her ribs weeks ago, with no warning. She's screamed, she's shouted. She's shattered everything in sight. She's thrown everything that reminds her of Harry out of the small square window in the bathroom.

She's knocked on Jesse's door endlessly. She's planned a new course of action a thousand times.

She's waited.

And waited.

What's left, now?

Anger is pointless—it won't bring her sister back. The fire of revenge burns bright, but what's the point in setting everything alight when she needs whatever help she can get? Would she even take pleasure in destroying everything in sight? For months, she's told herself she's not like Harry—she doesn't enjoy inflicting pain onto others. Like that makes her better than him—as if shedding some tears could make what she's done any less atrocious.

Now, though—

Now she wonders if it still stands true. She thinks, she might revel in someone else's destruction, as long as that someone is Harry. As long as she can look at him in the eyes as he goes down and know, with certainty, that he knows she's the one behind the unravelling of his world.

But these are just fickle thoughts. What use is wanting revenge when you cannot carry it out? Does she even have what it takes to go up against him? She thought she did. Now, she isn't that sure anymore. Their last battle has left her scarred, the memory of what damage he can wreck onto others still too fresh in her mind. She doesn't know if she can handle going up against him once more. She cares about the little she has left too much to.

Rain hits her window harshly, drawing streaks against the glass down to the floor. It's been days since the last time she saw the white autumnal sun. It's been days since she's left her room. She doesn't like how people look at her when she does—like they expect her to either break everything or collapse in a puddle on the floor. She's past that, though. After days of screams and heartbreak, she's finally come full circle.

She remembers the night she came back from the Shade headquarters. Everything had felt so pointless, then. She'd felt so empty. She feels like she's gone weeks in the past.

A knock rings through the room.

With a sigh, Alouette gets out of bed. Northfair's lights paint an aurora of red above her head as she walks to the door unwillingly. The simple thought of interacting with anyone from the Palace makes her sick, but she's been waiting for Jackson to get back to her for days. She can't allow herself to stay in her comfort zone—not anymore. Her sister is missing because she chose to stay in it for too long. If she hadn't... If she hadn't. So many people would be alive.

Harry wouldn't. But does that truly matter, in the end?

She opens the door.

No one is on the other side—the white corridor is empty and silent. She makes to close the door, but as she does, her eyes fall on an envelope on the floor.

She instantly feels sick. Still, she picks it up. There's a piece of paper inside, and she unfolds it with trembling fingers. There's a single sentence written on it, four simple words written in a penmanship so familiar that she nearly pukes on the carpet of her bedroom.

What if it is?

The last time she spoke to Harry comes back to her mind in startling clarity.

This is what you do—you destroy.

What if it is?

Alouette drops the letter. The page hits the carpet, and something slips out of a hidden fold on the paper. She picks it up—it's a card, very much like the one she was given when she worked in the Palace. Annoyance and hurt bubble up together inside her. As if giving her leave to move around the Palace as she wishes makes any difference. As if it makes it any better. He's playing with her once more, she can feel it.

What if it is?

Still, it's not a gift she can possibly give back. Intentionally or not, he's just handed her something she actually needs—though she considers dropping it off in front of his doorway split in half out of spite anyway.

She should throw it in a drawer and go back to bed, she knows that. But the hammering of the rain against the window is so loud, and the roof is so close, and she doesn't even know what she wants to do, not really, but it's demanding enough to pull her out of her bedroom. Maybe she hopes the sound of the thunderstorm outside will be enough to drown her dangerously teetering thoughts—maybe she wants the sky to rain on her long enough to wash her guilt away.

She's not dressed appropriately to be out and about in the corridor in her shirt and sweatpants and socks, and people send her odd glances as she walks past them without paying them any mind. When she used to work in the Palace appearances were everything, and she feared their judgement almost as much as she feared the thought of killing Harry. Now, though, it all feels so inconsequential.

There's a group of guards ahead of her, huddled up around a door. Squinting, Alouette recognises Gray and Jayden among them. Jayden glances up and sees her, and for a moment it looks like he wants to say something, but she shuts him up with a look. If he dares to say a word in her presence, she fears she'll scream again.

She's almost past them when the door opens—it takes her just a second too long to realise it's Jesse's door.

Jesse walks out, and Alouette stops in her tracks. His eyes widen when he sees her right in front of him, and the dread on his face is so evident it makes her physically sick. She hasn't seen him in so long—there's a stubble on his jaw now, and the black circles under his eyes are so evident that she wonders if he's even slept once since the Revolution was attacked.

His hand flies to his chest, as if seeing her was enough to strike him down. His leg gives out, and he leans against the frame of the door, breath cut short.

"Jesse?" Alouette whispers, and she's so absurdly happy to see him she nearly starts crying.

He doesn't let out a sound.

That's when she realises he didn't move his hand to his chest out of surprise, but to hide something—something that sticks out to her painfully on his black, black uniform.

A name tag.

His name tag.

A tag bearing Jesse's name, embroidered on the pitch black uniform of the President's personal guard.

Alouette's heart drops—it's only a moment of irrationality, gone as soon as it comes, because she knows that Jesse isn't that kind of person, that he must have a reason to don the Palace's uniform, but it's enough.

Pain washes through Jesse's face, and he locks himself in his bedroom again. The bang of the door is so loud that it leaves her momentarily shocked.

Then, she runs to the door. "Jesse!" She slams her fist on the wooden surface, but there's no reply. "Jesse, please! Please!"

A hand grabs her wrist before she can hit the door once more. "You should leave him be."

Alouette turns around and pulls her arm out of Jayden's grasp. The skin he touched tingles uncomfortably, like a thousand needles into her wrist. "Don't touch me."

Hurt flashes on Jayden's face. "I just—"

"Don't talk to me," she hisses out. She looks from him to Gray, and she doesn't even realise she's looking for a way out until she understands there is no way out. They're stuck here, and Harry's going to continue playing with them, like it's some sick sort of game—a way to relieve his boredom. He must've thought it would be hilarious to torture Jesse like this. She won't stand for this any longer. "Don't try to stop me."

The guards exchange a look, but before any of them can say any word, she's making a beeline for the lift and stepping inside.

She swipes her card and types in the floor number, and the doors close effortlessly. She'll make him regret playing with them this way. She'll make him regret it all. She doesn't know how yet, but she'll find a way.

The doors of the lift open again and she steps out. The people in the new corridor send her even more puzzled glances than the last, but she ignores them and walks straight to Harry's office. She has no care for their customs and policies anymore. If she could, she'd destroy everything.

Evie jumps to her feet in the instant Alouette turns the corner. "You shouldn't—"

Alouette ignores her and pushes the door of the office open so violently it slams against the wall.

Silence falls around her.

Harry isn't alone, but his eyes snap to hers nonetheless from his seat behind the desk. She hardly notices, because the man he was having an audience with turns around, and her breath stops short.

"You," she gasps, horrified, and the man's eyes widen in recognition too. "You." The wave of hate and rage hits her so quickly she only realises she's broken Harry's crystal whiskey bottle against the cabinet several seconds after the fact. "You fucking bastard, you escaped—"

The man raises his hands, eyeing her carefully. "Hey, now—"

Alouette charges at him. "How fucking dare—"

The man shifts to the side just in time to miss her hit, and the sharp edges of the bottle strike the desk with a loud thud instead. She recovers quickly and swings again.

Harry, behind the desk, leans his chin on the back of his hand, faint amusement in his eyes as he watches the scene unfold. The man looks at him pleadingly, and he chuckles and taps a finger on the desk, rings clinking. "Alouette, stop."

Alouette's head snaps to him. "He's the leader of the Shade!"

Harry lets out a sigh and leans back against his chair. Behind his picture-perfect frame, raindrops thrum against the glass of the window, dulling the lights of the city beyond. "You should have told me you were planning on paying me a visit," he says calmly. "Then this wouldn't have happened."

Alouette balks. "Excuse me?!"

He stands up. "Alouette Ivenhart, meet Robert Clarke, the leader of Project 278."

Ice falls over her.

No.

This is not happening.

This is not possible.

"What did you just say?"

Harry glances at the man. "You're dismissed."

The man skitters out of the office, closing the door at Alouette's back. She can't take her eyes off Harry.

"Sit down, Alouette," he instructs once they're alone, motioning to the empty chair at her side, but she doesn't move. "Put down the weapon, at least. You'll hurt yourself." He sits back down and flicks through the pages of the open folder in front of him.

"What did you say?" Alouette repeats, voice hard. Still, she forces her fingers to let go. The broken bottle falls to the ground with a crash, spreading shards of crystal all over the floor.

Harry closes the folder and throws it closer to her on the desk.

"What is this?" she hisses through her teeth, not daring to pick it up.

"You're free to read," he bites back. "If you prefer the short version, though, I'll be happy to oblige."

Alouette clenches her teeth and looks down at it.

On the top it reads, 278. Just below, spread wide across the first page, are the words, For Emergencies.

A shiver runs down Alouette's spine. This is not possible. She doesn't even need to open the folder to know what this means.

"The Shade is yours," she gasps out. "You created it." Her legs give out, and she falls down on the chair. "You—you made—"

Harry tilts his head. He's dressed elegantly in a pitch black suit, like always, but he's never looked so starkly inhuman before. "Not quite."

Alouette isn't sure she remembers how to breathe properly. "Elaborate."

"The Palace created Project 278 after I left."

"On your orders."

The corner of his lips turns up slightly. "That, I cannot deny."

Alouette's hands clench into fists, nails digging into her palms. All her muscles are taunt, ready to sprint. She's never harboured this much energy into her body while being so still. She can hardly let the words out when she speaks. "You... For months, you have slaughtered your own citizens—"

"Not quite—"

"—and what for? To—"

"I didn't bring harm to my citizens."

"You must be kidding me," she gasps out. "Your project has led to the collapse of entire cities!"

"That's not my project."

"Do not try to—"

Harry's hand hits the table as he shoots to his feet. "Don't act like you know anything about it," he hisses out.

"Are you really trying—"

He leans towards her, and for a moment he's close enough for her to smell the faint flowery scent that follows him when he's at the Palace. His stare is deadly when he speaks. "Project 278 is not the Shade. It was hijacked."

Alouette is so shocked that she lets out a laugh. "Oh, I can't believe this. You're kidding, right?"

"I'm not." He sits back down and turns his chair away from her. "It was taken over and expanded, and it completely cut ties with the Palace."

"And who did that?" she asks, diffidently.

"That's none of your concern."

"It's plenty of my—"

"It's not."

Alouette clenches her firsts. "If you want this collaboration to work, you're going to have to start talking."

He runs his fingers through his dark hair. He seems oddly on edge; his fingers tap against the desk incessantly, rings shining in the overhead lights. For a moment, she believes he'll shut her down. Then, "Do you really think the Palace and the Revolution are the only forces at play, here?"

"What?"

He clears his throat and stands up. "All you need to know is that Project 278 was taken over and turned into the Shade. That's why it had to be disposed of."

"And you took advantage of the Revolution to do that," Alouette bites out. A sudden realisation comes to her, and she lets out a sarcastic laugh. She doesn't feel like sharing it, but then she catches his puzzled look, and she can't stop herself. "That's what happened when we took down the Shade, isn't it?" She lets out another chuckle, though nothing about the situation is funny. She'd lose her mind, otherwise. "You know, since that day, I've been wondering how it is that we won, when we were fifty against hundreds and everything was going so wrong. But that's just it, isn't it? You took them down from the inside. You couldn't handle losing control of your little project, so you had the ones that were faithful to you kill—"

"So what if I did?"

"Didn't know you'd use the same technique twice in the same day," she spits out. "That's not like you."

Harry lets out a short laugh. "Oh, Alouette." His voice is dry, hard. "All your foolish ideals and desires. Have they ever taken you anywhere worthwhile, I wonder?"

"What right do you have to judge me?"

His fingers stop tapping on the desk, and he scoffs. "You've always been quite hypocritical."

"Do you still think this is a game?"

"Do you?"

"This isn't a game."

He looks at her for a long moment, an unreadable look in his grey-green eyes. Behind him, lightning shatters the black sky. "Then why are you asking?"

Alouette clenches her teeth and looks away. The thunderstorm is so loud she can barely hear her own thoughts, now. Everything is so absurd that it doesn't feel like she's really here, right now, in Harry's office, sitting in front of him, with his gaze boring a hole through her. It makes her want to break things. It makes her want to push him and scream at him just to see him reach his breaking point—if he even has one. It makes her want to grab the broken bottle on the floor and see just how deadly the sharp edges of his betrayal are. She once told him it would be quite evil to do bad things for bad reasons; she wonders if this would fall in that same category. Would she even mind?

But she'd get no satisfaction from harming him, nothing but momentary relief, pointless and dangerous. There's no easy way out of this situation, no action to take that could ease the pain of what she allowed him to do. Revenge doesn't bring people back to life.

She needs to clear her head, but it seems impossible with her sister missing and so many things being wrong. She's desperately trying to stay afloat, but it seems all Harry wants to do is pull her under. She hasn't breathed in days. Everything has been going wrong since they left for the Revolution weeks ago, since that conversation they had in the car, when Harry told her he'd killed Asher out of boredom. She should've seen the truth then—that someone like him could never be a good person.

He'd been planning everything since the start—the other organisation, the attack, the death of the Revolution. He's been keeping secrets, all this time—the truth behind their win against the Shade, the leader... the leader.

Alouette's head snaps up. "You had him lock me up," she says in shock. "He works for you. You told him to, didn't you?"

Harry looks up from the folders he was checking while waiting for her to speak. She can see the truth in his eyes before he can even let out a word.

"Why did you?" He knew how important it was to her. She'd explained it to him, but he'd sent her on a pointless chase that had taken her away from everyone else, and he'd had her locked into a room, away from the fight. "Why did you?!"

His reply is low when it comes. "How couldn't I?"

She bites on her tongue to keep herself from letting out a scream. All this time, everything she's done—has her existence been following his screenplay the whole time? Did he ever even belong to her, or was he only the director of her life?

There will be no going back.

Is she destined to make the same mistakes, over and over again? How can she get out of this hell, when her every move is scripted? When everyone's move is scripted?

Harry tilts his head, and an unamused smile curves his lips. "You look like you've realised something about me, Alouette. Have I managed to disappoint you, at last?"

Is she going to keep falling for his games, while he keeps moving people in the direction he wants? Is this really all there is to him—manipulative intelligence with no boundaries, with no feelings, with no soul? Has she been seeing something that isn't there all this time?

"You manipulated me."

He laughs and looks away. "Oh, come on, Alouette. Why would I ever?"

"You've manipulated everyone." She looks at the window, at the rain streaking the glass, in a disperate attempt to keep her emotions in check. "Why did you do that to Jesse?"

"Is that what you came here to talk about?"

"Yes."

He stares at her for a very long moment, trying to make out the truth in her eyes. She doesn't know what he sees, but when he looks away, he seems strangely let down. It only lasts for a moment, though, because then he's turning his lips up in a cold half-smile. "I did it for fun." Alouette's breath hitches, and he gets up and rounds the desk. "I figure I've grown used to having the Revolution working for me, after all," he says, and his voice is ice-cool, but tense. "I enjoy the irony of it."

She doesn't know what to say—there are no words for what she's just heard. He's taken her fool, fleeting hope down with him, and now there's nothing to light the path ahead.

He picks up the folder she left on the desk. "If that's all, you're free to go."

If that's all, you're free to go.

She's tired of being played with. She's tired of being used.

She's tired of everything making so little sense; of having to fight to breathe in this hellish place. She can't handle the consequences of her past choices anymore—but can he?

What if it is?

She turns around and storms out of the room.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter x
Miki