Alouette knows she can't let Harry affect her like that. She knows the only reason why he kissed her was to prove he could, that he only wanted to make her hate herself more than she already does. And yet, the way his lips felt on hers seems to be the only thing in her mind for the next hour. She tries to hide it, but fears Harry can read the truth in her eyes. He's always been too good at seeing more than he should.

"Say we do get to Pans," he says suddenly, "what then? Grab the first revolutionary you land your eyes on and get him to call his leader?" He chuckles. "Should I remind you they believe I abducted you? What do you think will happen when they find out you're a little traitor?"

"You're asking way too many questions," Alouette grumbles, refusing to give him the attention he wants.

"Do you want to run away forever?" He turns his head towards her, and the look he gives her makes her feel exposed. "What about the people waiting for your return?"

"How's that any of your business?" she hisses. She won't let him in. She refuses to.

"You have a sister in the Revolution, don't you?"

Alouette's head snaps in his direction. She sees white. "Shut the hell up right now if you don't want to—"

Harry pulls out the knife he took from her. "You told me yourself in your first weeks at the Palace," he tells her, his voice eerily calm. He takes her hand and makes her wrap her fingers around the handle. "You keep threatening to kill me—" He grabs her wrist and brings the blade of the knife to rest against the pale skin of his neck. "Do it, then."

Alouette gasps. Her eyes are wide, her palms sweaty. "What?"

His gaze is so sharp that it makes her feel sick. "Kill me," he says. "Kill me now. You won't have an opportunity like this again." He clenches his teeth when she doesn't make a move. "What are you waiting for?" He lets go of her wrist.

She doesn't make a move. Her eyes are fixed on the shiny piece of metal in her hand.

"What's the name of your sister?"

Alouette bristles and automatically presses the blade harder against his throat. "Like hell I'm telling you my sister's name."

A shocked gasp leaves Harry's lips, as if he hadn't expected her to actually hurt him. "How old is she?" he asks, his breath rushed. Alouette tells herself she can see well-masked panic in his eyes. She doesn't know if it terrifies or satisfies her.

"She's five," she replies, her caution swept away by the feeling of powerfulness that comes over her. It feels good to be the feared one for once.

"I had a sister too," Harry breathes out fast.

His fingers touch her wrist again, this time to convince her to free him. She presses down harder, staying completely still. One wrong move, and she'll kill him.

"She was older than me, though," he continues. "Four years older."

Alouette pauses. She knows she shouldn't care. She knows she should ignore every word that leaves his mouth because she can never tell whether he's saying something just to say something or to try to get to her. And yet, she can't. She's been in the top floor, there's a story there she's yet to know. "Where is she now?" she asks.

Something flashes through Harry's eyes, too quick for her to understand what it is. He lets out a cough, and she realises only now that she's been pressing too hard. She releases the pressure enough to let him speak freely.

"Not here," he says.

Alouette bites the inside of her cheek. There's a void inside his eyes, so deep she fears it could swallow her whole. She doesn't want to ask—she doesn't need to. She can hear the truth in Harry's voice. "You used to live on the top floor of the Palace, didn't you?" she asks instead. "Did you grow up there?"

Harry's gaze hardens, but there's also some sort of cold enjoyment in his irises. He's impressed, Alouette realises. Negatively impressed, sure, but still impressed. "I see you've had your fun exploring my home," he says glacially. "I used to, yes."

"Why did you leave?"

He narrows his eyes. "If you have to kill me, do it now and spare me the interrogation."

"Where's your family, Harry?" Alouette presses on. "Where's everybody?"

Harry clenches his teeth. "I don't know what you hope to achieve—"

"I'm trying to figure you out!" she explodes.

"You won't figure out anything about me by asking about my family," Harry spits in reply. He gives her a venomous look, and she's never seen so much rage, so much hurt in his eyes. Now she's the one with the advantage. She's the one discovering which topics make him react, which hurt him. There's no satisfaction in it, though. She doesn't rejoice in the pain of others.

"Okay," she gives in. She lets him go and puts the knife back in her pocket, there's a red line on his neck.

Harry's hand flies to his throat and he looks away from her, his dark curls covering his eyes. A breath sibilates through his parted lips, his fingers tremble slightly. Alouette doesn't know if it's because he thought she would kill him, or because of the conversation.

"Sorry," she says. Not even she knows which one she's apologising for. Both, maybe.

For some minutes, there's silence inside the car. The knife is burning in Alouette's pocket and Harry is completely quiet. He doesn't move, she can't even hear him breathe. She wonders if he realised he gave her knife back in his sick attempt at an emotional power play.

Even though she's won that round, she doesn't feel like a winner. He proved, both to her and himself, that she has no intention of killing him—not now, not, possibly, ever. That leaves her exposed. Now that he knows for sure she won't, what keeps him from running away at the first chance he gets? The only way to convince him to stay by her side is to make sure he's aware of how much he needs her—thankfully, the old country will do just that.

"You said I can't hate you, earlier," Alouette speaks.

Harry turns his head imperceptibly, and even though she can't see well in the shadows of the car, she knows his gaze is on her.

The rain is hitting the car even more violently now, there's an uninterrupted river flowing down the windshield, transforming the world outside in muddled, curved shadows.

"You're wrong," she continues. "I've hated your cursed family my whole life. I've dreamt of the day you'd fall for years. I've hated seeing your face on every screen and I've hated hearing your voice wherever I went. And yes, I've hated you too. My entire existence has revolved around hating you." She frowns. "But you're right, too. You're right, because no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to be able to hate you anymore, and I hate that. I hate that so much and I hate you for making me feel this way. But I really, really don't."

"Is it so bad to like me?" Harry murmurs in her ear, and she jumps. She hasn't noticed him getting closer. "Is it because you were sent to kill me?" He grazes her cheek with a cold finger. "We're on opposite sides, but we don't have to be. What would you say if I told you I like you anyway?"

"I'm not sure you know what it means to like someone, Harry," Alouette replies.

Harry chuckles. "Why wouldn't I know? I do have a heart, although I rarely listen to it. Do you think me a monster? We're only a few years apart, I feel things in the same way you do."

"I really don't think you do." She swats his hand away. "You don't care about anyone but yourself."

"I don't care about others, but I do care about you."

"You lie too easily."

The rain is slowly coming to a stop. It's still a little hard to see, but they have to get moving soon if they want to get to Pans before the first hours of the morning. Alouette has no intention of sleeping in that car with Harry again—last night he took her knife, it wouldn't surprise her if she were to wake up on the asphalt with him and the vehicle gone the next time.

She starts the car, furrowing her eyebrows when she sees a shadow slowly moving towards them. Because of the streaks of the raindrops on the glass, it takes longer than it should to recognise the shape as a car.

"Who—" she starts saying when it parks not too far away from them. It isn't normal for a car to stop there at that time. She slows the car to take a better look at them while she's still approaching them, but Harry suddenly grabs her wrist.

"Speed away," he tells her, and she frowns.

One man comes out of the car, shortly followed by another. They round the vehicle and open the trunk. There's something inside—whether it's contraband or something much worse, Alouette doesn't know. She slows down even more.

"Lark," Harry warns her.

The man reaches inside the trunk and—

He suddenly turns around and sees them. He warns the other and charges towards the car, trying to open the door. It's locked to make sure Harry won't escape, and the man doesn't like that and starts screaming.

"Go, now!" Harry shouts.

The other man comes back with a rifle and shoots at them. The back window shatters at the second hit. Alouette speeds away, each gunshot that hits the car ringing through her ears. She sees the men chase after them for some mins through the rear view mirror, only giving up when the car is moving too fast for them.

They go back to their vehicle and Alouette hits the pedal harder, fearing they'll follow them. She only starts to slow down after taking multiple turns, sure they won't know where they are if they decide to go after them.

"Who the hell were they?!" she hisses when they're distant enough to be safe. Her heart is still beating so fast.

Harry shakes his head. "That place is often used for every kind of criminal activity," he tells her, "illegal deals, discarding people, you name it."

Alouette gasps. "We should've got the license plate of their car."

Harry chuckles. "And do what, go to the police? Do you really think they care about minor crimes with their President missing?"

She bites the inside of her cheek. He has a point, but she hates it. "It isn't fair, though." She shoots him a look. "And how would you know that's a good place to commit crimes, by the way?"

He shrugs. "I've used it a few times. It's a good place to hide everything you don't want others to find."

A chill runs down her spine.

Harry sees the shocked look on her face and hums. "I've never pretended to be a good person. I told you not to idolise me. Now you're disappointed."

"I should've killed you when you gave me the chance," she mutters.

"You've killed people too, Alouette," Harry reminds her. "Even worse, you killed people that were on your side, and all to get me to trust you. And in the end you couldn't even kill me, so they died for nothing."

Alouette suddenly remembers that day that happened a month ago and feels physically sick. Harry's right. If he's a murderer, she's no better than him. She killed two people when the Revolution attacked the apartment she was in, and sure, she could think she had no other choice because they would've killed her, but she did. She did have a choice, she could've let them come at her—her friends, her organisation. She could've taken it for their sake. But she chose to fight back. It was her choice, and people died because of it.

"Don't be upset, Alouette," Harry says, noticing the heaviness in her silence. "Nobody is perfect and nobody is innocent in this world. Everyone has to do terrible things in order to survive every once in a while."

"What's your excuse, then?" she whispers. "How would you justify what you do?"

"I only punish whoever steps in my path. They know the risks when they oppose me, I only make sure the consequences of their actions are delivered."

I only make sure the consequences of their actions are delivered.

Like he did when that man tried to kill him during the celebration. Like he did when he killed Asher Markberg for daring to offer him a deal that would minimise his powers. Like he did with a thousand others.

When will he deliver the consequences of her own actions? Is he planning something, or do his feelings towards her make him way too partial? He's already let her get away with so many things, will he let her get away with trying to murder him as well? It seems unlikely, but at the same time, almost probable. After all, she didn't kill him when she had the chance, but neither did he. That has to count for something.

If she's right and Harry truly has a soft spot for her, though, what does that mean for her? Where will he draw the line—where will she?

She has to keep herself from letting out a frustrated scream. She thinks of the Revolution. Of Amina, that she left with Elodie months ago with nothing but the promise that she would be back. Of Elijah, whose heart is way too good for everyone around him. He'd give his all for the Revolution—something she's never been able to do. Of Elodie, that never asked for anything but a comfortable place to live in where she won't be hunted like her family has been. They were chased out of Greenside around ten years ago, and they found a home within the Revolution. Of Ezra, that started the biggest underground organisation in the country with his best friends because he wanted change. They're waiting for her to come back. Her sister is waiting for her to come back. She's probably so worried because she's late. And yet here she is, in a car, with Harry. Escaping. Trying to see a truth she doesn't know yet.

For a moment, she feels ashamed. It's only a short moment though, because then she remembers she has Harry. If she manages to somehow convince him to do what she asks him to, she just might have a chance to go back to her family—if they'll still have her after all this.

The first step is in Pans, she's sure of it. Harry will be easier to control there, and it'll also be easier to contact the Revolution. She's starting to feel hopeful now.

The rain is now nothing more than a drizzle, and darkness is starting to fall. Harry is eating an apple, one of his feet on the edge of the seat and his back against the door. She's a little embarrassed to admit that she doesn't even know when he took the fruit—that distracted she's been.

"You know, I could help you," he says all of a sudden, pointing the half-eaten apple at her. To her surprise, it's perfectly cut. Her surprise turns into shock when she realises he took the knife back sometime in the past hour. From her pocket. While she was awake. And she didn't even notice. Either she's a mess or he's too stealthy for his own good. "You only need to tell me—"

"Why would I tell you my plans?!" Alouette blurts out.

Harry shrugs, cutting another slice and putting it in his mouth. "I've been making plans for the past nine years, aren't you interested in my insight?"

"Your insight would only get us in a trap somewhere, Harry," she mutters. "Your past six years in your role have made you cocky."

"Better cocky than dead, don't you think?" He stabs another slice with the knife and offers it to her.

Alouette goes to take the knife from him but he lets out a displeased hum, moving it out of her reach. She rolls her eyes and he tilts the slice towards her again. This time she takes only it, and he puts the knife down—and as far away from her as possible in the small space of the car.

She puts the slice in her mouth, it's sweet and she welcomes it after all the crazy events of this afternoon. It grounds her a little. "If you keep this up you'll surely end up like your father," she warns him.

Harry turns towards the window. "I doubt it." The cockiness has disappeared from his voice, replaced by something else. Alouette doesn't dare to inquire.

Silence falls in the car again, and this time it sounds a little more permanent than before. Harry opens the window and throws the apple core out of the car, and Alouette shivers. It's starting to get even colder outside, and neither of them is wearing coats. The holes in the back window surely don't help keeping the warmth of the heater inside. Autumn will come around soon, and then it'll be much harder to keep warm.

It's dark out, and Alouette is starting to feel a little tired. She ignores it though, knowing it's better not to stop on the street for the night.

"I can drive if you're tired," Harry says. "I wouldn't want you to crash the car. Then we'd be even and you wouldn't have the right to glare at me because of it anymore."

Alouette gives him a glance that's a mixture between a glare and something lighter. "I'm pretty sure letting you drive would be the worst thing I could do."

"I could promise I won't drive back to the Palace."

That's exactly what she's worried about, but she won't let him know that. "It isn't about that," she replies, "it's that you've always had someone else to drive you. I bet you're a shit driver."

She doesn't miss the appalled look he sends her way.