Harry is in his office, sipping a cup of black coffee while going through the papers Evie left on his desk earlier today. There are a million things to do after the robbery that took place a couple of days ago, and so far there seem to be no leads. He hates the feeling being one step behind the Revolution gives him. He hates the lack of control, the horrifying sensation of having been played.

There's a knock on the door and he looks up. He considers not answering and hiding into his studio for the rest of the afternoon, but he can't. Being the President means he can't run away anymore, he can't ignore situations and hope they'll get solved by themselves. If he doesn't do it, who will?

"Come in," Harry says, staring down at the cup in his hand. Lacing his black coffee with whiskey. Bad or good idea? He shakes his head and stands up. Definitely bad.

Jackson walks into his office, a dark expression on his face. "We've just heard from the warehouse in the west woods," he says, "it looks like the Revolution attacked it together with NorthFair Bank."

"It's too late," Harry replies instantly. A two day late report only means one thing.

"It was reported as soon as the head controller came back from the city. How would you like to proceed, sir?"

Harry is quiet for a moment.

"A few of my men and I can go there and conduct a thorough investigation," Jackson suggests, but Harry shakes his head. While he doesn't doubt the ability of his personal guard, there's more to it than there seems to be.

"Have the log record sent to me right away," he tells him. "We leave in one hour. Take two of your men and ten guards."

"Will do, sir." He gets out of the room, and Harry is alone again.

The Revolution made a statement.

They attacked one of the most well known banks in the city and one of his most secretive warehouses at the same time. The warehouse was the real objective, the bank only a decoy.

He leans back against his desk, tapping against the cold surface.

Two days are enough to erase all evidence, but it's also an awfully delayed report. They had to know it would be enough to raise suspicion. It would've been smarter to simply wait for him to find out and feign ignorance. A two day late report means that the warehouse has known about it for days and hasn't done anything about it.

He tilts his head. No. The Revolution isn't that careless. If they chose to report it two days later while knowing the risks, there has to be a reason.

How many people work at the warehouse in the west woods? Seven, and thirty-two guards take turns protecting it day and night. He doesn't have to look it up, it's part of all the useful information he has memorised. He's always had a very good memory, and while it's a curse sometimes, it's a blessing in disguise more often than not.

The guards can't report attacks to the Palace and don't have access to the inner warehouse, so there has to be someone on the Revolution's side higher up. The guards that were on shift have to know what happened, he reasons. He has to find out if any of them were hurt.

If nobody is hurt then they simply let them through. It's an easy step. That excludes all the guards that weren't on shift at that time. He'll keep a close eye on them, but he can't prove they sided with the Revolution. He won't kill ten guards just to weed out a couple of bad apples. He nurtures the spies in his own organisation, keeps an eye on them, tests them from time to time, waits for them to ultimately prove their guiltiness. Only then he strikes them down.

His father believed in preventive methods, but Harry works smarter than that. True allegiance can't be found easily, and he won't strike against someone unless he truly believes they aren't his anymore.

That leaves the seven people that work inside.

All Revolution? Not a chance. Seven people are too many, it's too dangerous. Besides, the Revolution has to know how their last warehouse conquests ended up. They wouldn't make that same mistake twice.

At least one person doesn't know anything and at least one person is Revolution, he thinks. No, at least two are Revolution. They wouldn't have been able to pull that off with only one person on their side.

They reported it two days late even knowing the risks because someone that wasn't part of it found out. It might seem like a stretch, but he knows it isn't. After carefully analysing everyone's behaviour and motives, it becomes the only rational explanation. He also knows they reported it only after the head controller came back—chances are he's the one that found out. All the others inevitably had to already know.

The person that reported it is either innocent or extremely guilty. It isn't unlikely for someone to believe that reporting a crime will somehow prove their innocence. Harry isn't foolish enough to fall for that.

The guards can't be proven innocent nor guilty, so they won't be his focus. He'll keep an eye on them from afar.
He's looking for at least two people.
The head controller is likely innocent.
He'll check the log files of the Palace and compare them to the warehouse's and depositions. The ones that are guilty will try to lie their way out of it.

And then, the final step: he has to make a statement. What better way to prove to the Revolution that he hasn't cowered away than to visit the warehouse himself?

Harry sighs and turns his head. Maybe he should put whiskey in his coffee after all.

Evie comes into the office to let him know the Palace log record was sent to him, and he turns to the screen of his computer.

The reports have been his lifesavers in more than one occasion. His little secret. Only four people in the Palace know about them, him included. He's discovered people become quite brave when they believe they can do anything and then get onto the system of the warehouse they work at and cover up their actions with a simple hack. Little do they know that their every moment, every step, every action is sent to the Palace even before it gets recorded on the warehouse logs, though. It's the easiest way to prove someone's lying.

They're one of his many smart little inventions. He's only been the President for six years, but he has quickly discovered that secrecy is the best way to run an operation. His father believed he could keep his title by making everyone fear him, but that can only get someone so far. In the end, he was taken down by his own and nobody was able to stop it.

He's better than his father. Intimidation gets him a long way, but it's his mind that brings him to the end of the race. Secrets and manipulation are just some of the things that make him more dangerous than his father. He knows how to slither into someone's mind and make them believe his truths—or get them to show him their weaknesses, at least.

His words are the colours with which he paints the picture of his makeshift reality, his actions the steps of a dance of which only he knows the moves.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" Evie asks, as annoyingly dutiful as always.

"I need three cars ready in fifty," he tells her. It wouldn't be safe for him to go into the west woods without a security detail.

His breath hitches in his throat, so quiet that no one hears but him. The west woods. He was so focused on making a plan that he didn't even realise the true meaning of the words.

He hasn't been to the woods out of Northfair for years. A shiver runs down his spine, and he covers it up by taking a sip of his coffee and wishing it was something stronger instead.

He feels like a child sometimes. His hands are trembling slightly, and he puts them under the desk to hide them from Evie's curious eyes.

You don't have to go, a traitorous voice says in his mind. You can sit here and wait for someone else to do the work.

But he's never been one to dismiss the importance of a statement. The sudden irrational fear of the Revolution realising the west woods are one of his weaknesses strikes him and he nearly doubles over. Nearly. But he isn't a child, so he schools his expression, clenches his teeth and grips the edge of the chair he's sitting on under the desk, and he's completely still. Completely unaffected. He's seconds away from throwing up, whether because of his memories or his hate for his own emotions he doesn't know, but to Evie he only looks like he's focused on the log record.

He will go to the west woods. He will show them what he's capable of. He won't surrender to the ghosts of his past—how could he ever hope to rule over a country if a place is enough to make him topple over?

No, he won't let his father win. He won't let the Revolution win. He only needs—

"Inform Miss Ewing that I will require her presence."

"Of course." Evie gives him a nod and walks out.

The door closes with a click, and this time Harry does pour a little whiskey into his coffee.

He's so fucking stupid.

Harry spends the following fifty minutes going over the log file, memorising all the names, places and times from two days ago. He copies the most important details on a separate table and sends it to his phone just in case he forgets anything, even though he knows it isn't likely. He pulls up the pictures of his employees and associates the names with the faces, and he's ready to go.

He doesn't have to stop by his room to get his overcoat, Evie drapes it over his shoulders as he walks past.

Jackson joins him with Bryce and Mathias as he steps into the lift. Lark is nowhere to be found, he's momentarily glad that he doesn't have to see her so soon. He doesn't want to admit he only wants her to come with him because he doesn't think he can do it alone, but he can already tell that she will know. She's too smart not to.

A chuckle escapes him in the silence of the lift. He's always had a thing for self-destruction.

The lift opens and he steps out. He walks down the corridor and takes the second lift, the one that will take him straight to the bottom floor.

A guard opens the door for him and he steps out in the fresh air. It might be the end of August, but it certainly doesn't feel like it. He supposes he should be glad it isn't particularly windy today.

There are three black cars with tinted, bullet-proof windows in front of him, guards all around them.

Mathias runs in front of him and opens the door of the middle one for him.

He sits inside and crosses one leg over the other, checking the front pocket of his black overcoat to make sure his leather gloves are in there. He runs his hand through his dark curls and then turns his head.

Lark is sitting next to him, wearing the black pantsuit from earlier today and a long black coat. They have to be quite a sight sitting next to each other like that, he thinks.

She tilts her head and gives him a little smile. "Where are you taking me?"

Mathias and Bryce get in the car as well—on the front seats—and the convoy drives out of the safe walls of the Palace.

The car ride takes about an hour, that they spend mostly in silence. He exchanges some words with Lark here and there but keeps it to a minimum, too stressed to act as nonchalantly as he usually does.

The cars stop at the start of the road that brings to the warehouse and Mathias gets out quickly, opening the door for Harry. Bryce opens the door for Lark, and they both step out.

"Mathias, stay here with Miss Ewing and a couple of guards," Harry instructs, walking around the car. "Mr. Bryce and Mr. Jackson, with me."

He will not take Lark with him. He'll deal with the warehouse on his own.

Lark seems to be a little confused, but doesn't say a word. Mathias opens the door of the car for her and offers her something to eat, and Harry knows he can leave her alone.

The remaining eight guards join him and they walk away, farther into the woods. Harry focuses on his own breath and tries to ignore the crinkling of the leaves above his head and the fall of faraway branches. The walk only takes about ten minutes, and then the warehouse can be found in a small artificial clearing. It was his father who built it there, believing nobody would've ever found it.

As always, he was wrong.

His guards check the perimeter to make sure there aren't any surprises waiting for them and then walk him to the door.

Harry puts on his leather gloves as he walks inside. He doesn't want to leave fingerprints, doesn't want those turncoats to touch his hands—not that they'd ever dare to graze him with a finger, that is.

Bryce and Jackson follow him inside, their hands on the weapons strapped at their sides. The seven people inside seem surprised, but not too surprised. They knew he would come. It only goes to prove his theory.

"Welcome, sir," a man says, and Harry shoots him a glance. Dark hair, blue eyes. The head controller.

"I don't have much time," Harry says, his expression stoic. It's a lie, but not really. He doesn't want to spend a second too long in there while Lark is waiting for him to come back.

"Of course," the man says, and then looks at another. "Simmons."

Simmons steps forward. "They came two days ago."

"At what time?" Jackson asks for him, and Harry is thankful even though he'll never let him know. He hates wasting time asking stupid questions.

"Five in the afternoon," he replies, and Harry nods imperceptibly.

So far, everything checks out. He'll wait for him to finish his story and then trip him up, as he always does. As the man talks, Harry walks around the main room, glancing around but not touching anything, his attention focused on the reactions of the employees around him. It's easy to see if they have something to hide that way, and nervousness works wonders in similar situations.

"They attacked us and entered the warehouse so fast. There was nothing we could do," Simmons continues. "They smashed the inner vault..."

"Smashed?" Harry asks.

The man gulps. "Yes. To open it."

Jackson opens the log record of the warehouse on one of the computer screens. "Checks out."

"There are no logs for the vault after five, then?" Harry asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"Exactly," Simmons says.

Harry hums. Then why does the log record of the Palace say you opened the vault at 5:20? He doesn't say it, though. He wants him to believe he trusts him. "Was everyone on shift?"

"I wasn't here," another man says. He has a long blonde beard. Wyatts.

Harry distinctly remembers seeing his name in the morning and evening logs. He passed through the main door twice. "For the whole day?"

"I got a free day to visit my family."

"Checks out," Jackson says.

Harry nods. "Who else wasn't here?"

"I wasn't," another says. Russell, Harry recognises easily.

"Checks out," Jackson tells Harry, and this time he's right. He wasn't on the records from two days ago. "Where were you?"

"My sister was sick, I had to take her to the hospital."

Harry walks past him and scrunches up his nose at the mention of his relative. He doesn't need the memories the word gives him in that moment.

"I wasn't here either," the head controller says. "I was in Greenside for work. I had it reported as soon as I found out."

Harry doesn't need Jackson to say a word, he already knows he's saying the truth. It doesn't exclude he might be Revolution as well, but it also doesn't confirm anything. He'll have to keep an eye on him.

"I left in the early afternoon," another says. Fletcher. Harry distinctly remembers seeing his name on the records multiple times throughout the afternoon and evening of two days ago. As guilty as they come.

"I was here," a man says, stepping forward. Price, Harry thinks. "I was in the back checking the records for the entire day. I heard a lot of commotion and came here to find out the Revolution was here and the vault had been broken in."

It matches with the movements recorded in the log files.

"Why didn't you report it right away?" Harry asks. This time he's genuinely intrigued.

Price blushes a little. "I was told only the head controller could report to the Palace." He isn't lying, Harry can hear it in his voice and see it on his face.

"Who told you that?" Jackson interjects.

"Wyatts."

Wyatts shoots Price a deadly glare.

Harry stops in front of the only man that still hasn't spoken. "What about you?" he asks, feigning friendliness.

Jennings takes a deep breath. "I arrived here at six. There were wounded guards all over the warehouse so I ran inside and discovered the vault had been emptied."

He isn't lying.

"Why didn't you report it?"

"Simmons said it was better to wait for the head controller to come back to decide the best course of action."

"And you believed him?"

There's a gasp behind him.

"He helped me a lot when I first started working here. Of course I did."

Harry nods and walks away. "Mr. Bryce? I've heard enough. Accompany me back to the car."

Bryce nods and runs to his side.

Simmons opened the vault for the Revolution.
Wyatts was there during the attack and convinced Price not to report it.
Fletcher passed through the main doors more times than he can count after five, he helped the Revolution carry everything outside.

And they all survived a Revolution attack completely unscathed.

Russell, the head controller, Price and Jennings seem to be innocent, but he'll have someone keep an eye on them to make sure.

For a moment, Harry wonders what the Revolution promises everyone to get them so easily on their side.

Harry stops walking. "The four of you are dismissed," he says, motioning to the ones he deemed innocent.

They nod and walk out of the warehouse.

Harry turns to look at the remaining men. "Simmons, Wyatts and Fletcher. Kill them," he tells Jackson, and then glances at the red-headed guard next to him. "Mr. Bryce, let's go."

They step out and Bryce closes the door.

Only then the screaming starts.

They make their way back to the cars in silence, followed by four of Harry's guards.

"Do you have a cigarette?" Harry asks nonchalantly as he takes off his black gloves, staring straight ahead.

Bryce shakes his head. "I'm sorry, sir."

Harry hums. "What a shame."

"I'll make sure to always have cigarettes on me from now on," the young man mumbles to himself and Harry raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say a word.

• • •

Alouette is standing in the woods. She saw something move on the branches while she was sitting in the car, so she decided to investigate.

It took her some minutes to finally discover what caused the movement she saw, but now that she has she's glad she got up.

There's a squirrel on a tree close to the car. She doesn't dare to get too close to it, not wanting to scare it, and just looks at it from afar, a smile on her face. The animal doesn't seem to have noticed her presence, too busy with a nut of some kind.

It's been so long since the last time Alouette stepped out of the city that the fresh air around her seems to have a flower scent. She can't see any flowers anywhere though, so she's probably only projecting. She missed being out in the open.

She hears steps coming closer and walks to the cars again, immediately smiling when she sees Harry.

He's standing tall in one of his usual black suits, his long black overcoat still effortlessly draped over his shoulders. The fresh August air has mussed his curls and he looks like a vision, seemingly so out of place in the middle of the woods. His beauty is daunting in the best possible way. He looks like one of those dreams you can never truly wake up from, the ones that haunt the deepest corners of your mind even after years. To her he's danger personified, the kind that lures you in regardless of how hard you try to stay away.

"Where were you?" he asks her, raising an eyebrow.

Alouette walks to him and takes his wrist, too excited to watch her behaviour. The guards are standing far away, giving them some privacy.

"There's a squirrel! I'll show you," she tells him. She's always had a soft spot for animals. She's lost count of all the times she begged her father to let her keep a pet—not that it ever worked, though.

She walks towards the trees again, but she has to stop when Harry doesn't move. She turns around and gives him a confused glance, but then sees her hand on his wrist.

"I'm sorry," she apologises, letting go of him instantly. "I didn't mean to, I got excited. Come with me."

"No."

Alouette frowns. "Why not? The squirrel is right here—"

Harry freezes in his spot and takes a step back, something flashing through his eyes before disappearing again. "No," he interrupts her.

"But why—"

"I don't like animals," he says fast.

His confession is followed by a moment of silence, and then Alouette tilts her head in confusion. "You don't like animals? Why?"

Harry doesn't reply, and she realises she overstepped.

"I'm sorry for asking. You don't have to tell me," she tells him gently. It feels a little too much like a rejection, and Alouette doesn't even know why it saddens her a little. She walks back towards him. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," she tells him. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Before Harry can answer Mathias comes and offers him a cigarette. He puts it between his lips and the guard lights it for him before walking back towards the car.

He takes a long drag and closes his eyes as he breathes out the smoke, not saying a word. Alouette watches—almost transfixed—as it parts from his lips and rises into the air before fading against the afternoon sky.

Some seconds go by, but right when Alouette convinces herself he won't reply, he does.

"Friends, sure."