The phone is ringing.

Harry is tapping his fingers on the armrest of the chair he's sitting on. His gaze periodically moves to Alouette, and something inside her flutters every time she catches his attention.

He came to get her in the early evening, only minutes before she was about to change into more comfortable clothes. Without a word of explanation he took her to his office and gave her a phone, and that's where they are now.

Alouette knew her moment to call Ezra would come sooner or later, but this is simultaneously later and sooner than she'd expected.

Now, the line is ringing. There's much to say and nothing at all, she doesn't know where to start.

There's a click. "Yes?" No greeting, no introduction. Alouette lets out a relieved breath. Ezra has given them his private number.

"It's me, A," she replies. She doesn't know if Ezra knows who A is, but still, he should be able to recognise her voice.

There's an instant of silence. Then, "I was starting to think you'd both been murdered."

Alouette bites the inside of her cheek to keep the cruel smile from showing on her face. Of course he was. It would be the perfect reason to break the deal and attack the Palace again. "Just busy," she says.

The line suddenly goes very silent. It takes her a moment to realise that Harry has muted the conversation and isolated them from Ezra's ears.

"Tell him I require all the information his spies have discovered in the last few weeks."

The line comes back to life with a click. "A? Can you hear me?"

"Yes," Alouette says. Having a conversation on speaker with Harry listening in makes her unbearably nervous. He's casually flicking through the pages of a folder of some kind, but she's certain he's paying attention. She ponders his request, turning the words over in her mind until they mean everything and nothing at all, perfect to send over the phone with no risk of the call being intercepted. Not that she thinks Harry's line could ever be, but still. "Send us the file you've created over the last two weeks."

"Wow, are you not even going to ask how I'm doing?" Ezra jokes around. "And don't you think it's time he starts pulling his own weight, too? He's been relying on us this whole time."

"It wasn't a request."

"Neither is mine."

Alouette stills for a moment, and then gives in. "What do you want?"

"Greenside is an area of interest," Ezra speaks quickly. "We need men to investigate."

She raises her eyebrows. There goes security.

The line goes silent again.

"You can speak comfortably. The lines from the Palace are protected and under surveillance twenty-four-seven."

Oh.

"Tell him I'll send ten."

There's another click. "A? Where are you?"

"I'm here," Alouette says. "He'll send ten."

"Ten?! Is he mad?!" An instant of silence goes by. "He's there, isn't he? Have you gone mad?!"

Harry doesn't say a word and glances at Alouette instead. It takes her a moment to understand he wants her to reply, to explain his reasoning. She widens her eyes.

"He..." she starts, but goes quiet right after. She doesn't know what to say. Harry is still looking at her, and suddenly this feels like a test. Think, Alouette. Why would Harry send only ten? "He..."

Harry's gaze is burning on her, now. Ezra's patience is thinning, at the other end of the line. Suddenly a realisation flickers in her mind, and she widens her eyes. It seems so natural, so obvious, that she doesn't know how she hasn't thought of it right away.

"And risk alerting them in case you're right?" she speaks quickly. "Do you know how dangerous it would be if they saw us working together? Ten men are more than enough—they're trained infinitely better than yours anyway, and have better weapons too. They can move quickly and stealthily, and no one will notice until we're ready for them to."

A smile curves Harry's lips, and at last he looks away. Has she made it?

"Very well, we'll take ten," Ezra says between clenched teeth.

"And we'll take the folder. Quickly, if possible. There's much to do and our time is running out."

"I'll see what I can do. Anything else you can update me on? I've heard weird things coming from the capital."

Alouette is about to shut the conversation down, but then she sees it—the familiar glimpse of potential. By giving away little, she could win much. "There have been some issues with the screens," she says. "Someone cut the wires that powered them. Some people suspect it may have been the former Communications Director, Mr. Lawson, because of some disagreement. There are voices that this might be the real reason behind his replacement." What comes out of her mouth is nothing but lies, but they're effective. Harry sends her an impressed glance, and she briefly wonders if he'll steal her idea to quiet down the unpleasant rumours that are starting to go around about that nasty man. She'd like it if he did. She'd feel honoured.

"That's interesting," Ezra comments, and he too seems pleased. If I keep this up, she thinks, I could get on his good side too.

She blinks quickly. This is exactly the sort of thing that got her in trouble in the first place, the yearning for something more. The call of potential. The possibility of achieving only a hair's breadth away from her hand. She should ignore it, she really should.

But she's never been one to give up things easily.

"The folder, E."

Ezra sighs. "Of course. I trust I'll be provided with a way to send it over soon."

She glances at Harry. He nods. "Yes."

"Let's talk again soon, then."

She closes the call. Her eyes automatically shift to Harry. He's still sitting at his desk, but he must've wandered to the other side of the room without her realising while she was talking to Ezra, because there's a crystal glass in his hand. The sight of the amber-coloured liquid inside it unsettles her for some reason.

He looks up, finding her gaze over the rim of the glass. He seems unusually innocent, but she's not falling for it. Innocent is the last word she'd use to describe him. When he looks the part, it's usually because he's planning something and doesn't want her to find out. The corner of his lips turns up, and he takes another sip. "I thought you were supposed to cry for help because I've been ignoring you for two weeks?" he asks, and, really?

Alouette laughs. "Come on now, you know I have more patience than that. I do enjoy a delayed reward."

Harry hums. He's looking at the screen of his computer now, but she knows it's just for show. "Yet again, giving me information I can use against you. Will you ever learn, I wonder?"

She gets up and rounds the desk, coming up behind him. "This sounds more like the kind of thing I can use against you, actually." Her hand finds his shoulder, and he jolts. She bends over to whisper in his ear, "My patience is strong and never-ending. Can you say the same about yours?"

There's a moment of silence, and then Harry clears his throat. "And yet you're the one that has come over to me just now. It looks like you couldn't resist touching me. Who's the impatient one now?"

Alouette laughs and moves back to her chair. She enjoys this—their continuous waltzing around each other, their remarks that say everything but what they truly mean. She has a feeling it's Harry's favourite method of conversation, this subtle language of the Palace, made of teasing and half-meanings, created more to keep secrets than to reveal them.

"You got me," she says, "though you were the one beseeching my presence just last night."

He clicks his tongue. "I thought you didn't kiss and tell?"

"At least one of us has to! You do a lot of kissing and not nearly enough telling, I fear."

Harry laughs at that, taking another sip of the bourbon. The crystal of the glass glints in the white light overhead.

Silence falls, and Alouette sits back on the chair again, content to look at him while he works. Clicks of keyboard and flutter of pages fill the air, and now she can't tell if he's actually ignoring her, or if he's extremely skilled at pretending.

She reaches forward and takes the glass from the desk. She knows it's a bold move in the moment she makes it. She empties it in one single gulp, and now Harry's attention is fully on her once again. She smiles at him, clinking her nails against the glass. "What?"

He hides a smile behind his hand. "That was daring, you know that, right?"

She shrugs. "And what are you gonna do about it? Tie me up or something?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I might."

Alouette lets out an exasperated sigh and leans back against the chair dramatically. "How many times do I have to remind you? We've already made plans about that, and you're the one that's getting tied to the bed."

"While you take my metaphorical crown, how could I forget?"

"I'll rule with a firm hand from your mattress," she says with a laugh, and he chuckles as well, shaking his head.

"Long live Ivenhart's queendom."

Alouette puts the glass down and pushes it back to him. It skitters over the desk to his computer, and for a terrible moment she fears it'll fall onto the keyboard. It doesn't. "So you'd better treat me well, or else I'll have to punish you once I come into power."

"Punish me how?" He seems to be mildly interested, and really, he should know better than to indulge her like this.

"I might throw you in the dungeons," she replies playfully.

"Do we have have dungeons in the Palace?" he asks back, narrowing his eyes.

Alouette sits up. "Do we?!"

"Who knows."

She lets out a sigh. "I feel like I need to get drunk after this conversation."

Harry just laughs again. It's been a while since she's last heard the dark yet warm ripple of his laugh. She'd missed it.

She gets the glass and plays with it by rolling it over the desk again and again. She knows the end of her call and the fact that Harry is working are her clues to leave his office, but she doesn't want to go away just yet. She's missed him over the past week, and their moments together last night weren't nearly long enough for her to get her fill. She's content to be here like this, sharing his same room even though he's busy.

The glass rolls too far. She lets out a curse as it tips over the end of the desk. Harry's hand springs out to catch it before it falls on the ground.

"Careful," he murmurs, putting it back on the desk, not looking away from the papers he's perusing.

Alouette's cheeks grow hot and her gaze moves to the large floor-to-ceiling window. It usually offers a magnificent look over the buildings of Northfair, an entire wall for their lights to shine on, but the skyline is dark tonight. It's been a week, but she still hasn't got used to the darkness the night brings. The lights beyond are as small as stars, and all she can see is her own reflection on the glass. It's almost dinnertime, but the lack of illumination makes her feel like she woke up on the wrong side of existence this morning and somehow ended up in a parallel reality.

"Harry? Can I ask you a thing?"

He hums.

"Why is the city still off? You said you were planning on turning it on yesterday."

His gaze is still on the screen of his laptop. "I was."

"Then why..."

"I missed the occasion," he answers before she can end her question. "I have to be careful if I want to make it look like an accident. If the screens went back on right after I've had my last meeting, they'd find it suspicious. They were supposed to be turned on before said meeting, which I had today, but they weren't. I'll have to wait a few more days again, now."

Alouette frowns. "Do you really think that's enough to make them fall for it?"

"I don't."

"I don't understand."

"I'm giving them a chance to compromise." He clicks something off the screen and turns his chair to face her. "They can pretend they believe me and take a step back, or I'll become a very, very bad person. Not even I have the certainty of knowing who would win in the end, but I do know that, even if they win, it won't happen before I've killed the vast majority of them, at the very least."

A shiver runs down Alouette's spine. He's never spoken so clearly in her presence—in his game of lights and shadows he likes hiding his actions or justifying them. This openness is unsettling. It feels like he's telling her something she isn't supposed to know.

He notices the surprise on her face and gives her a dark little smile. "That's the thing with me, Alouette. I should never be cornered because, when that happens, I can turn quite vicious, and I don't know when to stop." For some reason, the words feel like a warning. They fall into the room like an ice cube down her back, leaving unsettling cold in their wake. A second later, the moment is gone. "If I'm going down, I'm taking the entire country down with me, starting from the top," Harry says conversationally. "Now, openly attacking me doesn't seem so convenient anymore, does it?"

Alouette nods, but she's only half-listening. Until now, she's believed she knows who Harry is—what he does, what he represents. Thinking there might be a side of him she's yet to see, a fiendish, villainous creature that comes out only when he feels threatened, makes her uneasy. A moment later, she shakes the thoughts away. He's just talking—she's cornered him quite a few times, and nothing has ever come out of it, aside from quite a lot of annoyance and some attempts to manipulate her. Yet, though. Maybe it's because it was her. There must be some ruthlessness to him if he's managed to survive at the top of the Palace for this long, and she's heard many stories about him. It's always hard to trust word-of-mouth, though. The more famous and hated a person is, the wilder rumours get.

She nods and gets up. Thinking about it is pointless. "Are you coming to dinner?" she asks instead.

"I'm afraid I'm busy at the moment, I'll dine later tonight, so you should go ahead now. I might come to you, if I have time."

Alouette presses a kiss to his lips, fighting the temptation to deepen it. If she did, she fears she wouldn't get out of his office at all. "I'll see you later, then," she murmurs against his mouth, grazing the line of his neck with the tip of her finger. She leaves the room before hearing his answer.

She meets Jesse for dinner in one of the separate dining rooms of the Palace, and then retires to her room early.

She waits until three in the morning.
Harry doesn't come.

• • •

It's only three days later that Alouette wakes up at five in the morning. At first, she can't tell what has woken her up—her alarm clock is yet to ring, no one has come knocking at her door. A quick glance out in the hallway lets her know the rest of the Palace is still asleep. It's only when she's returning to her bed that she notices it.

It's the first time in over a week that she doesn't need to turn on her bedside lamp to see at night. On the other side of the floor-to-ceiling window, Northfair is shining—a prism under the moonlight, refracting every hue of the rainbow into the world around it.

She doesn't know why, but she nearly starts crying. She nears the window and puts her hand on the glass—it's cold, colder than she expects, and it's only the start of autumn. She leans her forehead against it and doesn't move until the sun rises over the horizon.

Alouette is suddenly brought back to the present by a knock on the door. She puts on a robe—a lacy, sheer thing Harry snuck into her wardrobe together with the rest of her new clothes, a cheeky reminder of a conversation they had on a balcony months ago. When she opens the door, though, Harry isn't on the other side. Jayden is.

"You got mail," he tells her, avoiding her eyes, "and this is from the President."

She takes the envelope he gives her with a nod, opening her mouth to thank him. He leaves before she does, and she gets back inside her room, letting out a sigh. She wishes he'd listen to her—just once, just to let her explain. She's never wanted to flush their friendship down the drain, she just saw an opportunity she had to take. Don't we all?

She opens the present. A black card falls into her hands, and she stills. She checks for notes, and finds one at the bottom of the envelope. Two words are written on it, in a neat, slightly tilted to the left handwriting she doesn't recognise.

The roof.

It takes her a moment to realise it isn't Evie's handwriting, and a moment longer to understand that, if it isn't Evie's, it must be Harry's. It gives her pause, but then she clutches the note tighter. He's bought her a dress, enough clothes to fill a wardrobe, he's given her paper birds and strawberries and one of his shirts, but none of those presents feel quite as personal as this one. A key to access the roof—likely, a copy of his own. The perfect gift for a flightless bird content to look at the sky beyond its gilded cage. If only months ago she looked at the skyline of Northfair with the intent of running back home, now she looks at it as she would a pretty landscape, one more reason to stay. There's a certain amount of irony in this. A while ago Harry told her he can't capture souls, but he had no trouble with ensnaring hers. If she told him, he'd be pleased.

She lies down on the bed, the black card still between her fingers. She tries closing her eyes, but the city is too bright. Still, she lets herself rest. There's not much else she can do while she waits for Harry to fix the mess she created by taking him away with her.

When her alarm clock rings, she gasps and sits up. Somehow, an hour has passed. Mechanically, she moves through the room, showering and drying her hair before putting on a pair of sweatpants and a sweater. It still feels a little odd to dress at the Palace as she would at home, but she finds no point in torturing herself with heels and uncomfortable dress shirts if she can avoid it, and there are no appointments in her schedule today. In truth, there's nothing on her schedule at all. It's weird to realise that all her running has come to this.

She leaves her rooms to go downstairs. On the middle floors, it takes her a lot of convincing to be allowed on the lower ones to pick up her mail, and when she is, it's only in the company of two guards that watch her every moment. She can't complain, though. After all, she set herself up to be treated like a criminal when she moved against their President.

Alouette picks up her package under their watchful eyes and holds it tight to her chest. She takes the lift up again. She stops at the cafe Harry usually orders from and gets a large cup of coffee and a croissant with dark-chocolate filling in a paper bag, and then she's on the move again. She enters the lift and swipes the black card in the same way Harry did a week ago, and the doors close.

When they open again, she's on the roof. She steps out. The wind whips her hair about, and she clutches the warm cup tighter. She sits in a corner of the roof, where the low wall protects her from the blow. The package is wrapped tighter than she expected, and it takes her a while to open it between sips of coffee to stay warm. Her fingers are already stiff from the cold.

The glued paper finally gives in, and she pulls out the folder Ezra sent her, the one with all the information they gathered over the past few weeks. She unwraps her breakfast and gets to reading, a little smile on her face.

• • •

A copper strand of hair falls in front of Jayden's eyes, tangling into his golden-orange eyelashes. He blinks it away as he leans against the railing of the balcony. The thick material of his black uniform shields him from the autumnal wind, but his nose is so cold he doesn't feel it anymore.

He glances at the roof—from where he is, he can see nothing but the line of the Palace against the dim grey sky. The multicoloured lights of the city reflect off the windows, momentarily blinding him. The temptation to go up there is high. The temptation to get over his reservations and talk to Ivenhart is even higher.

He already knows what he'd ask her. He'd ask her why she felt the need to use him—if they were ever friends at all. If she's ever regretted it, if she'd do it again, if only they could go back in time. If she thinks of him as nothing more than an idiot she can use to fulfil her goals and throw aside when he's no longer needed. Over the weeks, the initial sting of having been used has turned into something else. The betrayal has taken roots, sinking into his very being until he could no longer tell where his insecurities were coming from. Now, he can't even tell why he's angry anymore. Is it because he trusted her, and she took advantage of it? Or is it because he defended her again and again, only to find out everyone else was right about her instead? Is it, maybe, that she's betrayed the very institution he's been raised to protect?

He feels like an idiot. His uncle has always told him he's too playful and trusting for his own good, but Jayden had never thought he was right—until now. Until the moment in which he relaxed, thinking he was surrounded by friends, only to discover an enemy had wormed its way into the heart of the Palace—and he, despite his training, despite his passion, didn't recognise the threat until it was too late. He doesn't like this feeling. It feels like the proof that he's nothing more than an inexperienced child carrying a badge too heavy for him. He's strived to be the best his whole life. He's worked harder than anyone else, he's reached levels most people can only dream of—and he nearly lost it all, because his friendliness made him appear like an easy prey. And, despite everything, he was easy prey. He let her in, he let the words out. Maybe his uncle is right, after all. Maybe he still isn't ready for so much responsibility, despite everything he's done to get where he is.

Maybe he should get in contact with Kiara. She'd know what to do. His cousin always knows what to do.

He closes his eyes. The silvery light of the sun draws shapes on his eyelids. The wind is freezing against his cheeks, and Jayden knows they must be as red as his hair by now, but he doesn't get back inside. The hallways have seemed to be closing in on him for the entire morning.

"You know, I don't think the black of your uniform suits you."

Jayden's eyes snap open. He senses his presence before he sees him casually leaning against the railing at his side. He approached him quietly enough for him not to notice.

Jesse studies him, there's a humoured look in his caramel brown eyes. "Are you really always this silent, or did I leave you speechless?"

Jayden clears his throat and hurriedly brushes back his dark-red hair. "You're not supposed to be here on your own, it's against the rules."

"But I'm not on my own, am I?"

The wind blows louder in Jayden's ears, and he quietly shifts away from Jesse. He wants nothing to do with Ivenhart and her friends. He's been screwed over once, he won't allow it to happen again.

"Want one? I bought too many," Jesse reaches over the gap between them, a white paper bag in his hand.

Jayden makes the mistake of looking inside it for a moment. He clears his throat awkwardly again. "Ivenhart is on the roof," he states.

"I don't want to share them with Alouette."

His head snaps towards Jesse. He's still looking at him with that humoured look, the one he gets when he's about to start bothering him for a very long time. Jayden closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the uncomfortable feelings those eyes incite in him. He blames the other night, when he had to eat the food Ivenhart left behind when she left with the President. Ever since then, being in Jesse's presence makes him incredibly nervous, and he doesn't know why.

Jesse shakes the bag in front of him, like he'd do to call forth a dog. "Oh, come on. I'll have to throw the leftovers away if you don't help me out, and I don't like wasting food."

Jayden looks at the bag again, and then gives in. He reaches in and pulls out a cookie. He only needs to throw a glance at it to know it's awful. He too has made the mistake of buying sweets from the cafeteria on the twenty-fifth floor more than once. "How did you get down there?" he finds himself asking.

"With this." Jesse pulls a card out of his sweatshirt. Jayden wonders if they forgot to block his access to the lifts, or if it was granted back by the President at some point. After all, by now it's obvious that these two aren't planning another kidnapping. Still, though, one can never be too careful, especially when dealing with the Revolution. They're the worst type of enemy a country can have. They climb all the way inside and start eating it away from its very core.

Jayden bites into the cookie. As he anticipated, it's too hard, and it tastes like a sugar lump on his tongue. He coughs into his hand and looks down; his hair falls in front of his eyes again.

Jesse laughs. "You got me, I'm trying to get rid of them because I'd feel bad throwing them away." He takes the cookie from his hand and bites into it, closing his eyes. His dark eyelashes quiver in the wind, and for a moment they're all Jayden can see. Jesse opens his eyes again and Jayden looks away. "You get used to it after a few bites."

"It's going to give you a headache," Jayden warns him. A moment later he realises what he's done and pushes off the railing. He's not going to make friends with enemies of the government. This interlude won't last long—soon enough the Revolution will be at their doors demanding change again.

"I never get headaches." He doesn't need to turn around to know Jesse is coming after him. "Besides, it's not like the other cafeterias offer better options. I've tried all the cookies in the Palace by now."

A laugh escapes Jayden's throat. "No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have." There's a hint of defensiveness in Jesse's voice now. He finds it odd—he's usually the one poking fun at others like his life depends on it.

"You haven't." Jayden stops and turns around. Jesse is right behind him, and he gasps and takes a step back. Keep your distance, he thinks, but doesn't let the words out.

"I have."

Jayden's hand closes over the paper bag. "You haven't."

Jesse's eyes seem brighter than earlier—they caught the white light of the sun, and now they're a curious shade of honey. "What are you doing?" he whispers, and Jayden knows he must be referring to the bag, but...

He turns around and walks back into the Palace, taking the bag with him. He stops at the door of the balcony and turns around before being able to stop himself. "Aren't you coming?"

Jesse's face lightens.

Jayden stops the first employee that walks past him and hands her the bag. "Can you give it to Mr. Jackson? Tell him it's a present, but don't tell him who sent it."

The girl peeks into the bag and gives him a sardonic smile. "Sure thing."

"Why do I feel like you're using me to get revenge?" Jesse asks; he's right next to him. "And those were my cookies."

Jayden raises his gaze to the ceiling and walks towards the lift without replying.

"Hey! Did you hear me?!"

Jayden enters the lift. He's put some distance between him and Jesse, and he's still far away when the doors start closing. Jayden doesn't stop them. If he doesn't make it in, he tells himself, if he doesn't make it in, you'll get these thoughts out of your head. It'll be a sign.

The doors are about to close when a hand slides between them. A moment later they're opening again, and Jesse comes in. "Thanks for waiting," he says sarcastically, and—Oh.

Jayden blinks quickly. A few seconds pass, and then the doors open again. He gets out and nearly runs to the cafeteria. He doesn't need to turn back to know Jesse is hot on his heels. With a single wave of his card to certify his position he enters the kitchens and, from there, he brings them up the staircase at the other end of the room, right into the President's private kitchens.

It's close to midday, but the room is unexpectedly quiet. Only one of the two usual cooks is present, and he's sitting at the counter playing a game of solitaire. He looks up when he hears them come in and grunts. "If you're after food, you're wasting your time."

"Oh, come on," Jayden pleads, rounding the counter and leaning his elbows against it, staring at the middle-aged man on the other side of it. He looks at the table and taps on a card. "It goes here."

The cook pauses and looks at him. "I mean it." Still, the card moves in the direction Jayden showed.

"I only want some cookies," Jayden continues, "those good homemade ones you always make. I know you have some left, Evie said the President only drank coffee for breakfast today."

The older man rolls his eyes and goes back to his game of cards.

"You'll have to throw them away anyway, there's no way you'd serve the President old cookies. Pretty please? Just a couple would be enough."

The cook sighs and stands up. Methodically, he takes a paper napkin and opens it on the counter. He disappears in the other room, and when he comes back he's holding a plate. Chocolate chip, Jayden notes. They got lucky. The man takes six cookies and wraps them into the napkin. "Don't let Mr. Jackson know, he'd have my head if he knew I'm giving food away carelessly."

"He won't hear a word of this, of course," Jayden replies, taking his prize and then pulling the man into a hug. "Thank you, as always."

The cook scoffs. "Don't flatter me, you're just lucky the President doesn't seem to be into sweets lately."

"I'll thank my lucky stars!" Jayden says playfully, and then he's walking out of the kitchen again.

"Was that legal?" a voice behind him whispers. Jesse is following him still, and it surprises him a little, because he's been so silent until now that he believed he was alone.

Jayden opens the bag and hands him a cookie as they walk down the stairs. "That's a question you shouldn't ask," he says stiffly.

Jesse chuckles. "Calm down, it's not like I'm going to report you. I know Harry and I look like besties, but we're actually not—"

Jayden opens the door to the kitchen.

A glimpse of a suit.

He gasps and pushes Jesse out of view.

"Hey—"

He silences him with a hand over his mouth. Jesse sends him a defiant look.

"Let me know if you see him," they can hear Jackson say through the open door, "I'm certain he's at fault. Between Bryce and Brooks, I'm at my wits' end."

Jesse smiles sarcastically. "It looks like you're in trouble, peach."

Jayden's eyes fall to him. He suddenly realises he's pressing him against the wall with his body to keep them out of view, and they're so close that he could count each and every one of his eyelashes. For a moment, he doesn't breathe. "What have you just called me?" he lets out after a moment.

Jesse raises an eyebrow.

"Is it because of my hair?" Jayden continues, and at this point he hardly knows what he's talking about—he can hardly hear his own thoughts over the loud heartbeat in his ears.

Jesse looks him up and down, for the little he can. His breath keeps hitting Jayden's neck because Jesse is a little shorter than him, and Jayden's head keeps spinning and Jackson keeps talking in the other room, and they can't move. "It's multi-use," he says in the end.

Jayden's face is on fire.

Jesse lets out a chuckle and shoves the other half of his cookie in Jayden's mouth. "Stop gaping like a fish."

Jayden can barely register the chocolate chips melting on his tongue. He's so hot and his mind is sending him mixed signals, and they're just too close really, and Jesse's eyes are like melted honey and his brain is about to melt out of his ears.

"Are you going to let me go?" Jesse asks suddenly. "He left a good minute ago."

The words part the haze in Jayden's mind, and he pushes himself away from the wall, away from Jesse. "I should report to Jackson," his mouth says. He nods his head in the show of respect proper of the President's personal guard and nearly runs into the kitchen and out in the corridor.

He hides his face as soon as he's in the hallway. Why is he even nodding his head for a near stranger?

Thank you so much for the 518k reads on Interlude! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! x
Miki