THE PALACE

Jayden enters the bedroom in a rush. "What are you doing?!" he exclaims when he sees Jackson rummaging through the things that were left behind.

It's been a couple of days since the President and Lark went missing. He was able to keep them away from her old room at first, not wanting them to go inside and destroy everything while looking for some proof that could tell them what happened—proof that they can't get in the President's rooms, since they're locked and no one knows how to get inside.

But that was only until Evie spoke. She said she saw Mr. Styles and Lark together, and suddenly from the victim his friend turned into the enemy. Jayden thinks it's ridiculous. He remembers her dedication—he remembers the way she looked at him. She could never hurt him—not when she looked at him like he'd just told her every light of Northfair shone for her.

"This is ridiculous—"

"Ridiculous? Did you just say ridiculous?!" Jackson hisses, standing up with a piece of paper in his hand.

"I know her, and she wouldn't—"

"What's ridiculous is that our President is missing and she was the last one to be seen with him! Do you know what's even more ridiculous, though?" He lifts up the piece of paper. "She had the code to open the library door hidden in her wardrobe."

Jayden's eyes widen and he steals the paper from his superior, gasping when he recognises the digits written on top of the paper. What shocks him even more, though, is the longer code written just above it. Only one code in the Palace has that many digits. "Didn't the President change the code to his rooms recently?" he asks quietly.

Jackson crosses his arms. "He suspected someone had accessed his living quarters without his permission. He asked us to check the cameras, but nothing suspicious was found."

"This is his old code, isn't it?" There's dread in Jayden's voice.

He doesn't know what to think, doesn't know what to do. There has to be a reasonable explanation, something that will make more sense than the one he's being suggested right now. He can't accept it—he just can't. He knows Lark. He knows the person she is. She fought the Revolution with him. She told the President good things about him to get him on his good side. She was his first real friend on the upper floors. He can't accept it, because if it is true, it means she lied about everything. It means she used him to get the information she needed. It means she was never his friend. He was only that one idiot she tricked over and over again into doing whatever she needed him to.

"I found it just now," Jackson says, "I'll see if we can access the President's rooms with it later."

"There's a reason for all this," Jayden murmurs. "There has to be." Because no other option makes sense.

"I understand you used to be close with her," Jackson tells him as he walks past him and out of the room, "but you should start entertaining the possibility that she wasn't that close to you at all."

"How can you say something like that?!" Jayden only realises he's shouting when some people in the corridor turn to look at them. "You worked next to her for months," he continues in a lower tone. "How can you turn on her so quickly?"

Jackson looks at him over his shoulder. "My only allegiance is to the President. I care about no one else." He walks back to their meeting room, but Jayden stalks after him.

"Maybe someone took them."

"Maybe she took him. Maybe she's burying him as we're here talking."

"That's nonsense! They liked each other, they—"

Jackson spins on his heels. "What did you just say?"

"They liked each other," Jayden repeats, hissing the words through his teeth. "He glared at me every time he saw me talking to her. He was jealous, and I know she liked him too."

Jackson barks out a laugh. "As if the President would ever be swayed by silly feelings such as these. You must not know him at all if you believe he'd ever let himself be blinded by emotions. No, if he didn't like you, he certainly had a good reason."

"I had the highest grades in my class! He gave me this job not even a month ago. What reason could he have to dislike me?"

"That you're a child, maybe," Jackson spits, stepping into the room.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't use that tone with me," Jackson warns him, a dangerous glint in his icy eyes. "You're good, yes, but don't make the mistake to think you're unique or irreplaceable, because you're neither. If you want to keep this job, you should keep in mind you aren't being paid to speculate on the President's life."

"Whatever happened, you were just as blindsided as I was!"

"And I'm not proud of it." Jackson rounds the table and picks up a white folder, flicking through it. "I'm going to tell you something, Bryce, and you'll listen to my words once and never repeat them."

Jayden takes a step towards him, but his supervisor interrupts him.

"If you think there's just him and us, you're wrong. If you think we're in trouble now, you have no idea of what will happen if they find out we lost the President. So work fast, shut up and help us bring him back unless you want to end up with much more than a high-profile missing person case on your hands."

One of their colleagues walks into the room. "It's been over seventy-two hours and we still haven't found him. Should we give the general alarm?"

"Not a chance," Jackson says fast. "The population can't know he's missing yet. They'll go crazy."

"We might need some extra help," Jayden reasons. "It wouldn't be so bad to have more people on the lookout."

Jackson shoots him a hard look. "The only thing you'll have that way is a hunting party." He turns to look at the other. "Do we have any news on his whereabouts?"

The newcomer, Cooper, sighs. "His card was used in Whitsen, but when the police arrived nobody was there."

Jackson frowns. "That means that whoever took him is well out of Northfair by now."

"And the President, too," Jayden interjects. "His card is protected by a code outside of the Palace, isn't it? I don't believe he'd ever give it away, so if it was used by someone in Whitsen, that someone was surely him."

"Likely to alert us," Jackson continues for him. "No one knows about his master codes, so they can't have forced him to use them. He did it on his own accord."

Jayden nods. "And that means he's alive."

"Should we wait for him to find a way to alert us again, then?" Cooper asks, but Jackson shakes his head.

"The longer he's out there, the more dangerous it will be, both outside and inside of the Palace. It's a race against time at this point." He throws the folder to their colleague. "Take a look at this for me, won't you? The President was working on it when he disappeared, I found it on his desk."

Cooper nods. "Will do. Should we put the Palace on lockdown?"

"Lock everything down," Jackson agrees. "Nobody comes in, no information goes out. Make up a lie to explain why no more videos are being aired. The population can't know yet, but they surely know the Palace was under attack a couple of days ago. We don't want this to inspire new acts of rebellion."

"We'll shut down the eventual revolts quickly and efficiently."

"Won't that just make the citizens angrier?" Jayden asks. "The last couple of days have been hectic in Northfair, the President isn't going to make statements about what's happening, now you want to bring the Palace guards to the streets? They'll side with the Revolution if they haven't already."

"That's a good point," Jackson agrees. "They can't think the President abandoned them. We have to make up a fake statement and a reason why he can't give it himself."

Cooper widens his eyes. "You want write a fake speech and pretend it comes from Mr. Styles?! He'll have you killed in the moment he steps inside the Palace again!"

"I'm here to make sure the Palace won't fall before the President comes back," Jackson says. "Mr. Styles knows I'll do everything it takes to save it, him and his reputation, which is why I'm the head of his personal guard. I'm willing to lose my head to make sure he doesn't lose his. He can fire me or punish me however he pleases when he comes back—but he'll come back to find the Palace in order, and that's all that matters."

"We can watch some of his old videos and make up a text that sounds believable enough," Jayden suggests. "If we do it well enough, not only people will believe it, but Mr. Styles could... potentially... not have us all killed for it when he comes back."

"If he comes back."

Jackson glares at Cooper. "The Palace won't be defeated by a twenty-three year old girl."

"A non-existent twenty-three year old girl, nonetheless."

Jayden turns his head just in time to see Brooks step into the room.

"I did some digging after Evie told us about Lark," the man announces. He's only a couple of years older than Jayden, but he's been part of the President's personal guard for almost a year. Out of all their colleagues, he's the only one that's somewhat pleasant to be around. "Truth be told, I'd already looked into her before, but not much had come up. But now..."

"What did you find?"

"I've come to the conclusion that the Revolution has some really good computer scientists," Brooks replies, sitting down on a chair and putting his feet on the table. "Not good enough, unfortunately. They hid the creation date of the account but didn't think about our logs. I crosschecked and found out that Lark Ewing's account was created five months ago."

"And yet she's twenty-three." Jackson shoots Jayden a glance he doesn't miss. "A fake name for sure."

"I couldn't find anything about her real identity, though. Either it was never uploaded, or they did an amazing job of erasing everything. I won't lie, I'm impressed."

"You're impressed, but I find it alarming," Jackson comments. "Bryce, take a couple of others and chase every hint you hear of out of Northfair. Brooks can do the same from inside the Palace, I'll worry about keeping up the appearances and keeping them off our back with Cooper. The others will focus on maintaining the security inside the Palace and city, let them know." He walks towards the door but stops to look at them. "And Cooper, come talk to me, come talk to me about that folder. That title is peculiar. For..." The rest of the conversation fades down the corridor as he leaves with Cooper.

Brooks lets out a hum.

"Is it me or things are starting to spiral out of control here? The President was just kidnapped by a twenty-something year old and we're also talking about faking presidential speeches now."

Another guard grunts. "Don't remind me. I've worked for Mr. Styles long enough to know he won't let this go."

"As long as the Palace still exists when he comes back."

"As long as it still exists," Jayden repeats.

As long as it still exists. It hasn't even been a month since he was promoted, and yet everything is about to fall into pieces. The last couple of days have been crazy. He would've never expected the Revolution to attack the Palace, he would've never expected the President to go missing.

He would've never expected Lark to be behind it all.

The feeling of betrayal is suffocating him, even though he knows his own emotions should be the last thing on his mind in this moment. It's his fault if he was silly enough to believe she was on his side, it's his fault if he thought them almost dying together made them closer. In the end, he'd been the only one risking his life.

The President told him he should only focus on him and the tasks he gives him weeks ago. He should've listened.

•     •     •

DINSTEAD, 40KM FROM PANS

Alouette opens her eyes and frowns at the bright artificial light shining above her head. She blinks a few times, slowly putting the room into focus.

When she sits up, a coat falls off her shoulders and onto her lap. She looks down at it and sighs. She glances up and spots Harry on the other side of the room. He's curled up in a corner, his face hidden into his arms.

"Idiot," she whispers under her breath, standing up and walking towards him.

There's the familiar weight of her gun at her side, but she doesn't remember picking it up the night before. Truth be told, she doesn't remember much at all after she was attacked. Her fingers tremble around the coat at the memory. It makes her physically sick to think someone wants her dead, but what scares her even more is not knowing who it is.

But she's safe, now. She's safe and she's okay, and that's all thanks to Harry, even though she hates to admit it. She freaked out at him last night, but he did save her life. He saved hers and she saved his; she wonders where they stand now, what it means for them. Knowing Harry, likely nothing at all. She tells herself not to overthink it—she tells herself the only reason why he did it is because she's more useful to him alive than dead. Harry is a man that only acts based on convenience—it'd be preposterous to even think there's something else behind his actions.

Still, she crouches next to him. She doesn't dare touching him, remembering the way he jumped the last time she did that, but she covers him with the coat. He doesn't make a move, and she stands again. She studies his sleeping form, wondering when he went to sleep, and if he's about to wake up. She's never been around someone that sleeps as little as he does. She barely has enough time to put two thoughts together by herself.

He doesn't seem to be about to wake up though, so she makes sure the windows and front door are locked and walks into the bathroom of the apartment.

Alouette locks the door behind herself and turns on the shower—water comes, but it's cold. She strips off her clothes regardless and jumps under the shower head, taking some soap she found in one of the cabinets with her. Luckily enough, the apartment seems to have been used recently—or at least furnished for every occurrence. She can thank the Revolution for that. Hopefully, by the time they realise someone got inside they'll already have left.

She washes herself as fast as she can, not wanting Harry to wake up before she comes back, and gets out. She takes a towel and dries herself back up, putting her clothes on again and walking out of the bathroom while drying her hair. She'll have to buy more clothes, both for her and Harry. There are so many things she should do, she's starting to lose count of them all.

She might've been part of the Revolution for the majority of her life because of her father, but she's never truly participated in it until recently. She isn't made for long survival missions out of the safety of the headquarters—or of the Palace, too. That's what Elijah trained for. But she isn't him, and in the time he was learning all about the safest corners in every city and the shop owners that will never ask questions, she was training to become a spy in the Palace. She was studying maths and enough economics and statistics not to be discovered, learning the perfect way to hide a gun in her clothes and how to walk on high heels.

Despite her best attempts to be quiet, Harry wakes up in the instant she walks back into the other room. In a matter of seconds he's standing up as well, but he somehow manages to make it look not rushed. Like she just happened to stumble upon him waking up. He looks graceful and elegant even when he isn't wearing his suit, even when he can't have slept more than four hours in a row. Maybe Alouette hates him a little for that.

"You should have a shower too," she tells him, stepping back into the bathroom and checking the cabinets and making sure the window can't be opened before stealing away the key to lock the door and walking out again.

Harry raises an eyebrow, but she ignores him.

"Do I get no privacy?" he insists, and Alouette turns away from him.

"Don't worry, I have no intention of coming in the bathroom with you. You get all the privacy you want as long as you aren't looking for a way to escape."

He tilts his head. "You'll have to start trusting me sooner or later." He doesn't seem to be bothered by her very obvious lack of trust, though. He looks amused.

"I hope you aren't trying to convince me you have no interest in running away," Alouette replies, "because that would be ridiculous, even for you."

Harry studies her face at her sharp reply. "If it confused you enough to convince you to let me go, I likely would," he says. "But I fear I'd be wasting both my time and yours."

He walks past her and into the bathroom without as much as another word. Alouette almost reaches for him as he surpasses her as a reckless little corner of her mind makes her feel gratefulness towards him for what he did last night. Whatever the reason behind his actions was, he saved her. He could've run away, but he stayed and helped her, and even though she's trying to dismiss it as an act based on convenience, she can't ignore the truth. And the truth is, that he really didn't have to. He didn't have to, but he still did it—whether it was for her, for him or for every other devious plan he's coming up with, does it really make a difference?

But she doesn't stop him because thanking him would be admitting defeat, and the bathroom door closes between them.

Alouette sits in the corner of the room, staring at the coat Harry left on the opposite side of the room when he stood up. They need to get out of Dinstead as quickly as possible—it won't be long until the assassin's body will be found, if it hasn't already been. She doesn't need that kind of attention—not when she's moving around with possibly the most searched for person in the country.

It's still very early in the morning though, so they don't have to run just yet.

She looks at the digital clock in the corner of the room and frowns when she realises it's already been over twenty minutes.

"Harry!" she calls for him loudly, immediately scolding the false hope that comes over her. Harry won't get out of the bathroom just because she tells him to. She stands up and walks to the door when he doesn't answer. "Harry," she calls again, this time knocking on the door as well.

She's yet again met by silence, and puts her ear on the door to hear any sounds coming from inside. But it's completely silent.

"Harry! I swear..." She knocks on the door again, her mind already running to the layout of the room. He can't have found a way out, can he? The windows are locked, she made sure of it, but maybe he found a way to open them. Maybe he broke them and the door shielded the sound from her ears. "Harry!" She opens the door fast and gasps at the sight in front of her.

Harry is standing in front of the sink wearing his dark jeans and nothing else. He turns his head towards her and gives her a dark little smirk when he sees the shock painted on her face. A strand of wet hair falls in front of his face, grazing his long eyelashes. He brushes it back, the thin bracelet around his wrist glints in the electrical light of the bathroom at the movement.

It takes Alouette all she has not to look away from his face—and she still fails miserably. Her gaze travels down the pale line of his neck and between the two birds tattooed under his collarbones. Black lines paint the skin of his arms and shoulders, and the dark shadow she's seen back at the Palace once turns out to be a butterfly on his torso.

She follows the lines of his muscles back up when her eyes go dangerously low, up his chest, throat, lips curved into an impish smile, until she meets his green irises.

"You know, if you wanted to see me naked you could've just asked," he says. His eyes are laughing at her, and she feels her cheeks get hotter.

"Why didn't you answer?" she snaps instead.

He hums. "I could've, but I didn't have to," he replies. As if it's a worthy explanation to justify making her think he somehow jumped out of the window.

Alouette clenches her teeth to keep herself from saying something she'll regret. "Put something on," she tells him, giving him one last glance and frowning when she suddenly notices something.

It isn't the first time she catches a glimpse of him shirtless, but only now, under the bright light of the bathroom, she sees the long, faint lines of old scars that cover his back and sides.

He follows her gaze to one he partially covered with the tattoo of a birdcage on his side and tenses up, grabbing his sweater and putting it on even though his hair is still wet. He grips the sink, his hands are trembling slightly. For once, he's the one that can't meet her gaze. "Don't ask about my family ever again, Lark," he mutters, and shuts the door with a kick.

Alouette stares at the door he's just slammed on her face, still in her surprise. "Hey," she murmurs after some moments, putting her hand on the wooden surface, but can't bring herself to knock.

She searches for the right words to say, but can't find any. She's never been particularly good at comforting people, and she isn't even sure Harry wants to be comforted at all. Knowing him, he'd admit to anything and everything just not to face his own vulnerability.

"Just be fast," she says in the end, and walks away from the door.

She nears the windows and look at the street below, for the first time in days she doesn't know what to think. She's always thought Harry has a perfect life—born amongst riches, the son of the most influential man in the country, raised to take his father's place. That he's never experienced any hardships, that everything has always been handed to him on a silver platter. Now, though, she doesn't know how much of that image she's created of him in her mind is real, and how much of it is fake—and she knows she cannot ask.

Now she knows there's a reason why Harry doesn't like to talk about his family, and maybe she feels guilty for forcing him to answer her questions while holding him at knifepoint.

She feels like she just entered a room she should've never even touched the door of without the consent of the homeowner. She can't shake away the feeling that it's wrong. She should've told him she was coming in, she should've only opened the door a little bit to make sure he was still in there. She should've done so many things differently, but she didn't. She feels like she should be apologising, but she doesn't know what to apologise for. She feels like she's walked past an invisible boundary she didn't even know Harry has set, found out something he's never meant for her to discover.

She turns her head and glances at the coat on the side of the room. In her imagination it shines, a remembrance of last night, when he covered her with it. When he showed her a side of himself she didn't even know existed—Harry isn't gentle, he isn't caring. And yet, he still lent her his coat because she was cold.

Alouette shakes her head and looks away, if she thinks about it any longer her brain will start hurting. She slides her hands in the pockets of her trousers and frowns when her fingers graze the side of her gun. It's placed in the holster at her side exactly how she usually puts it, under the jacket of her pantsuit, but she's quite sure she isn't the one that put it there.

She takes the firearm out and stares at it with a confused look on her face, as if she expects it to tell her how it ended up at her side again.

Harry comes back and catches her in the act. "We're in it together, are we not?" he asks, and everything she's thought about saying vanishes into thin air.

She looks up at him, and for once she can't hide the very clear surprise in her eyes. She's never thought about their crazy adventure as something they're doing together—in her eyes, it's only ever belonged to her. He's just the enemy she's trying to save, the missing piece of a puzzle she's yet to see. But, for some reason, he doesn't feel like her hostage anymore. She doesn't know if it excites or terrifies her.

"We'll have to leave soon," Alouette tells Harry, walking away from the window—and walking away from him, too. "Let's wait for your hair to get dry first, though." She most definitely doesn't need him to get sick—or to attract unwanted attention. She goes back to sitting in her corner of the room, warning him to keep his distance from her with a glance.

Harry grazes the window with his fingers, she can almost see the instant in which he stills at the cold of the glass. He lets his hand fall, the glass is now partly fogged by his breath and two dots are in the spot previously occupied by his fingers. He blinks and the moment is shattered.

He side-glances at her, and the same sarcastic smirk that welcomed her before in the bathroom slides back onto his face. "What should we do as we wait?" he asks, but his arrogant smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Should we play twenty questions?"

Alouette can't keep a laugh from escaping her throat. "As if you'd ever answer."

Harry laughs as well, but he doesn't deny.

"You know what, I actually like that idea," Alouette says after some seconds. "How about I ask you questions and you answer?"

Harry tenses up. "It doesn't seem very convenient for me."

"True," Alouette agrees, thinking about it for a moment. "How about, if you answer my questions I'll see about giving you a dinner more substantial than bread from two days ago?"

He hums. "Is this the best you can do?"

"I'm afraid you're the professional negotiator here, not me."

"I seldom bargain, Lark. I don't accept any deals that aren't strictly convenient for me."

"Then, how about..." Her voice drifts away as she thinks about what she's willing to give to receive something in return. "How about you get an answer from me too?"

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Only one?"

"Of importance directly proportional to the answer I'll require from you," Alouette adds fast. "So that neither of us will be forced to give up an important secret for an unjust price."

"Is it to protect yourself, or me?"

"I'd like to think it's for the both of us."

Harry narrows his eyes. "I get to keep the knife, too."

"Only as long as you don't use it to attack me or to try to run away," Alouette replies.

He taps his finger on the window pensively, his ring clinks against the glass. "You have a deal."

She looks down to hide the smile that curves her lips. "Tell me about the books," she instructs.

"Which books?" he asks, and she glances up. There's a frown on his face, and she does believe he's genuinely confused for once.

"The books your secret service uses," she explains. "How many copies are there? Who chose that book specifically, and why?"

"Those are a lot of questions," Harry muses, but there's a half-smile on his face.

"I almost died for that book." Her tone is serious. "You owe me some answers for that alone."

"Did you, though?" He asks that question so quietly that for a moment Alouette wonders if he intends for her to hear him at all. "Twenty-five copies, the majority of which are in the Palace. I believe my father picked that book. The reason is none of your concern."

Alouette has to try harder than she'd like to admit to hide the shocked look on her face—such a rare occurrence it is to get an actual answer from Harry.

"I believe it's my turn, now," he continues, not giving her any time to process his words. He speaks the next sentence with no hesitation, as if it's been simmering in the corner of his mind for a while. "How many things have you lied to me about?"

Her heart drops. Harry is still standing close to the window, studying her with that look he often has that makes her worry he'll read into her soul. A part of her believes neither of them is breathing—it's like time has stopped, like the world is no longer spinning, like every breath released between them is waiting to hear her answer.

"I've never studied business," she whispers. It isn't what Harry asked of her but it breaks the tension regardless, and he lets out a chuckle.

"I figured."

Alouette doesn't know if to feel glad that he isn't getting mad at her or upset because of his reply. Her pride might be a little wounded. "Was I that bad?"

"There was room for improvement." His tone is light, but his impressive list of achievements makes her feel a little embarrassed all the same.

How ridiculous she must've looked to him, trying to solve all those minor problems it likely wouldn't have taken him more than ten minutes to figure out. It's crazy to think that, out of all people, she is the one that managed to trick him. She'd feel proud of herself for that alone, but part of her feels like she cheated. After all, if he's there with her, it's only because he thought he meant something to her—which he does. Unfortunately for him, though, more than someone she almost fell for, to her he's a winning hand, a key to open all doors.

"Why didn't you fire me, then?"

He shrugs and steps away from the window.  "I suppose I was curious."

Alouette furrows her eyebrows. "Curious?"

"No one had ever dared to lie straight to my face like that, before."

Her heart falls out of her chest. "What?"

Harry sits down on the opposite side of the room, his back against the wall. That arrogant little smile is back on his face. Alouette thinks he wears it both like a crown and a mask, a shield to hide what he's truly feeling from her. "Why do you think Evie asked you to cover up for her instead of covering up for you?" he asks. "You didn't truly think she believed you wouldn't be able to buy a suit, did you?"

Alouette's mouth falls open. "She was scared of lying to you?!" Suddenly her panicked behaviour from that day of some months ago makes so much sense.

He lets out a cool little chuckle. "Why are you so surprised?"

"I never stood a chance, did I?" Maybe she feels a little betrayed. "She knew you'd find out."

"It isn't easy to keep secrets from me, Lark."

They both hear the hidden meaning behind his words in the second they leave his mouth, and she looks away from him. She doesn't feel guilty, but she can't hold his gaze—because even though she doesn't feel guilty for almost completing her job, she is filled with remorse for lying to him, manipulating him and making him think that, for once, he'd found a person that wouldn't stab him in the back in the second he lowered his guard.

She knows she betrayed his trust. She knows it was the most precious gift he'd given her, more valuable than the beautiful green satin dress he'd asked Evie to get for her and rarer than anything else he would've given her if only she hadn't put an end to it. She knows she'll never get it back.

Maybe that's why the same person she whispered her thoughts to in a cold night that took place only a week ago feels so distant now. It's only been a week, seven days, over half a million seconds and a hundred thousand breaths since she asked him to stay. And despite everything, despite her lies, her betrayals, her empty threats, he did stay. He could've left her side so many times in the past week, and yet here he is, still by her side, just like she asked him to.

In the past she thought of him as a monster, a devil, a fallen angel, but only now she's starting to realise none of these words apply to him. She fears they're all only different masks he uses to hide what truly lies underneath. For the first time, she finds herself thinking that maybe Harry is just as lost as she is. Why else would he choose to stay by her side, when he could've returned to his fancy Palace so many times? Maybe, just like her, he too is experiencing the thrill of straying from the path others have built for him.

"We should go now," she announces, standing up and walking to the entrance. "Don't you dare setting the place on fire or leaving things behind so you'll be found, Harry," she adds, just to fill the silence that has settled into her soul.

He hums. "Harry, Harry, Harry... I must admit I miss when you used to call me sir."

Alouette is taken by surprise enough to drop the gun just as she's strapping it back at her side. "I have no intention of calling you sir ever again, Harry," she mumbles, picking it up and going out of the door.

"That's a shame."

Alouette is going to scream. She's sure of it.

They exit the building and go back to their car, taking a different route to avoid passing through the street in which Alouette was attacked last night.

They get into the car and she speeds away instantly, not wanting to stay there for a second longer not to risk falling in the middle of the police investigation.

"Now, how the hell do I get out of this town?" she murmurs, looking at the street signals, and she hears a low, humourless laugh come from Harry.

"I suppose you lied about being from here as well, then."

She turns to look at him, flinching when she discovers he's spinning her knife—his knife, now—around his fingers, his position relaxed and a studiously lazy look in his eyes. "Can you stop that?" she asks tensely. The last thing she needs is to be accidentally stabbed by Harry while they're still in town.

He pauses for a moment, but goes back to his unnerving newfound hobby right away. "Don't worry, it won't slip unless I want it to."

Alouette narrows her eyes. "Is that a threat?"

Harry sends her an amused glance. "Does it feel like one?"

She closes her eyes for a second to fight the sudden urge to crash the car. Nobody manages to irritate her quite like Harry does—and the worst thing is that he knows it.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter x
Miki