Harry sits up quickly.

The dark blinks back at him, and then the windows open before he can even give the command. Bless automated systems.

Now the light from the city is coming in through the glass, painting everything of a violet shade. He looks at the time, it's only half past four in the morning. Dawn will be in a few, which means he slept a total of two hours and forty-five minutes tonight. It isn't that bad, he reasons. He should've expected it when he chose not to take any sleeping pills.

Harry can't remember the nightmare that awakened him from his sleep, isn't even sure it was a nightmare at all. He feels a thousand times more foolish than what he's willing to accept and he gets off the bed.

The lights are motion-activated and follow him as he makes his way out of his bedroom and into the living room. He pours himself half a glass of Pinot Noir. That bottle alone costs a little over ten grand, but he doesn't mind popping it open so unceremoniously.

He takes a sip and explores the taste on his tongue as he walks towards his black leather couch. He lies down on it, his head on the armrest, his crystal glass in one hand.

The windows in that room open as well and Harry glances as the lights of the city reflect off the cup. The wine is dark red, just like ripe cherries. It isn't nearly as sweet, though. He tips it gently, first one side, then the other, watching how the liquid slides off the crystal. He tips it against his lips and takes another sip. He closes his eyes but does not sleep—darkness welcomes him.

He sits up again, running his hands through his loose curls. He's wearing a silk shirt and black trousers to match, because he's always found fashion to be rather invigorating.

Dress well once, it's a statement. Do it every time, it becomes part of your character. He was much younger than he is now when he realised that dressing well for himself is just as important as dressing well for someone else. If he gets himself to believe he's that made-up version of himself that is always the picture of perfection, he'll start feeling like that even when the obscurity of the night is so dark that not even the lights of Northfair can enlighten it.

He takes an economics research from the coffee table and studies it carefully while drinking, taking his time with both the wine and the papers. He looks over it until the sun rises and then he puts down the empty glass and walks into his bathroom.

After a quick shower, Harry brushes his teeth and shaves the little stubble he has on his jawline and upper lip. He uses makeup to cover the dark circles under his dull green eyes and he's as good as new.

He walks back into the living room in nothing but his boxers and cleans up the glass before putting it back in its place as he waits for his hair to dry. He'd usually never clean up after himself, but his privacy comes at a price. He had to learn to do a lot of things himself just to make sure nobody will enter his rooms. Evie still does, but rarely, and he doesn't mind too much. She's likely the only person he genuinely trusts out of everyone that works under him.

Harry leans against the back of the couch and watches as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky with every passing minute, until it finally peeks through the tall buildings of Northfair, almost blinding him. His city truly is a star among stars.

He walks back into his bedroom and walk in closet and picks out his clothes. He's feeling rather peaceful but not too fancy, so he discards the lace dress shirts and chooses a simple yet elegant one, matching it with a black suit that enhances his shoulders and slim waist.

A glance in the direction of his nightstand makes him feel some type of way, his rings bring all sort of memories to his mind. He shakes his head, he won't lose his mind chasing larks so early in the morning.

By the time he leaves his rooms it's a little past seven in the morning. Evie greets him as he walks past her, but Lark is still nowhere to be found.

"Breakfast in my studio," he instructs, not waiting to see if Evie has even heard him before walking inside.

His office is tidy and bright, a reflection of his rooms on the other side of the floor.

He stops to look at the lights of Northfair, the conversation he and Lark had three days ago coming back to his mind.

Do you think they turned the city into a star because it was too bright to see the stars properly?, she asked him.

They turned it into a star because they could see the stars and aspired to their greatness, Harry remembers he replied. Even though he isn't the reason behind the looks of the city, he feels like he was talking about himself as well.

He too has aspired to the greatness of the stars more than once. He too has believed he could grow tall enough to touch the aether. He's lingered in the belief he could play divinity more than once, and he's crashed to the floor again and again, until he could no longer wash away the memory of the bruises from his body.

There is no easy way from the earth to the stars, he quotes to himself, the memory of Seneca's line sharp in his mind. He's learnt it the hard way, and yet he still hopes, he still wishes that one day he'll manage to build a ladder that will take him so high up above the world that he'll be able to look down at his life as nothing but a sequence of events.

Harry shakes his head at his own idiocy and retreats in the darkness of his studio.

•     •     •

Alouette woke up two hours ago, her heart beating too fast into her chest for her to be able to go to sleep. It's the day of the attack, and she isn't sure she can do it.

She forces herself to get dressed as usual and then goes to work, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible. Around her, life in the Palace flows like every other day; everyone is unaware of the storm that's about to come. Being the only person that knows is going to drive her insane.

Throughout the entire day she somehow manages not to act suspiciously, even though she refuses to bring Harry anything in fear of him reading the truth in her eyes. She can't bring herself to see him, she already feels sick without needing to meet his gaze.

By the time a quarter to four rolls around, she's sure she's about to retch. But she can't show the mess of feelings that's about to take her down, so she stands up and excuses herself before walking to her room.

There, she changes into different clothes. Shoes she'll be able to run in, but that still look professional enough not to raise any suspicions. She's glad Harry hasn't seen her at all today, because it gives her the perfect excuse.

Alouette takes the gun from under the bed and loads it. In only ten minutes the Revolution will storm through the walls, and the Palace will be under attack. Her goal is to make Harry disappear before it all happens. She has to pace it perfectly—get Harry into the stairwell before the attack, take him down during it, shoot him just as word of the aggression reaches the upper floors. If she's diligent enough, by the time they start looking for their missing president she'll already be in a car directed out of Northfair.

It all boiled down to this, all the months of teasing and pining, all her explorations and all their conversations. This is what she's always been working towards. This is the—not so grand—finale.

Alouette hides the gun in her clothes and walks out again.

She knocks on the door of Harry's office and automatically steps inside. Harry is standing behind his desk, a folder in his hands.

"You've been busy today," she comments, letting out the sentence she rehearsed in her mind a thousand times. "I barely got to see you."

Harry glances at her. His green eyes make her feel sick. She mentally damns their colour of spring grass, the picture of an innocence he doesn't have. "Why, did you miss me?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." The lie burns on her tongue, but she keeps a straight face. "I was hoping you could make some time for me even though I'm not showing up at your door in the middle of the night?"

Something inside him relaxes at the mention of their meeting from some days ago. "Now?"

Alouette smiles. "When else?"

"I'm busy now."

"I should leave you to it, then." She takes a step back, but only because she knows he won't let her go.

"Wait."

Alouette bites her lower lip not to smile again. Her hands are trembling, so she hides them behind her back before he can see.

"People might bother us."

"Then let's go somewhere we won't be found." She feels guilty, but only for a moment. He gave that one to her.

Surprisingly, he nods and puts down the folder in the middle of the table. He'll never pick it up again, Alouette's traitorous mind whispers in her ear, and she turns around to hide the grimace on her face.

Harry steps towards her and she wraps her fingers around his wrist, giving him a troublesome smile as she pulls him out of his office and into the corridor.

She checks the time on the screen of Evie's computer as they walk past, only five minutes to go.

She pulls Harry into the secret stairwell and presses her lips against his. Her hands are on his wrists to keep him from touching her body, she can't have him finding the gun on her.

Alouette smiles at him again and walks down the stairs facing him, kissing him every few steps and murmuring little useless comments into his ears from time to time.

She feels sick, so sick, but she has no other option.

"Where does this staircase bring?" She finally asks just as her count reaches zero.

There's a faint tremble but no sound, she can't help but be glad that the walls around them are shielding them from sound. She's sure he hasn't picked up on it, she only did because she was waiting for it. Now she truly has no other option.

"Out of the Palace, into the walls," Harry breathes against her lips, and she lets out an intrigued noise.

"Will you show me?"

She's just as bad and wicked as he is.

"If you want me to."

No, she's worse than him. She's a thousand times worse, because he trusts her.

They make their way down the stairs between stolen kisses and little chuckles, and Alouette tries her best to pretend she also doesn't know what's waiting for them at the end of the stairs.

Then, just like that, they reach the ground floor.

"Now what?" Alouette whispers against Harry's neck.

He slides a panel and puts in a code, and a secret door opens right in front of her. As soon as it does the screams and gunshots of the battle reach their ears and they both still.

Alouette is about to forcefully push him out, but then he puts his hands on her shoulders.

"Wait here, I'll see what's happening."

He walks out first. Alouette doesn't even have time to let out the breath she's been holding all this time before he's violently slammed against the wall.

As quick as lightning, Nathan pins Harry's arms behind his back and pats his figure in search of weapons. "Crazy to think you don't have anything to protect yourself on you," he mutters when his search comes up empty. "You're too trusting, sir." The appellative is mocking, and Alouette can see Harry knows it too in the way his features twist for a second.

She steps out, and she can see the moment in which the gaze in Harry's eyes turns from worried but hopeful to utterly betrayed. He stills and his lips stop moving before her name—her fake name—can leave his mouth.

Her finger is on the trigger and the barrel of her gun is pointed at him, but she's suddenly powerless. Her hands are trembling and so are her legs. Alouette is suddenly all too aware of the breath in her lungs and the heartbeat in her chest, her head is spinning and she feels faint.

Harry looks at her like she's already shot him. Like her treachery has come way before the act she's here to do.

"Lark?" He calls out to her, a question he doesn't need the answer to in his voice.

Nathan pushes him harder against the wall, as if he believes he could escape. It makes Alouette almost let out a laugh. The door is now closed and all the guards are too busy fending off the attack on the other side of the Palace to notice their President standing right there. There's nowhere for him to go. No place for him to hide. He's officially out of the safety of his office, he won't get out of it.

They got him. You got him, a voice says in her mind, but she can't cherish the thought. For the first time, she wishes Harry hadn't let himself be tricked.

Nathan brings his radio to his mouth, his strong arm keeping Harry still. Harry might be a fighter, but he can't win against him nor against her, as long long as she keeps her gun pointed at him. He knows it, so he doesn't make a move.

"We got him," Nathan says, Alouette has no doubt Ezra got the message.

There's nowhere for her to go but down.

They're so close. Home, she says in her mind. She can do it. She will do it. If only she presses the trigger, she'll be back to the Revolution by evening. She'll hold Amina in her arms and see Elijah again.

"Lark, what are you doing?" His question is slow, his voice poised. Alouette doesn't need to read his mind to know he's quickly going through all his possibilities. He's certainly thought up at least ten different escape routes by now, but he's still here. He's still here because he knows she's standing too far away; even if he frees himself she'll have plenty of time to shoot him. Harry doesn't like uncertainty.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. Her vision blurs for a moment, but she doesn't dare to wipe away the tears in her eyes. She can't give him a chance to escape.

There will be no going back.

"Are you going to press the trigger?" He asks. The tone of his voice is conversational now, as if they were still sitting on the couch in his office sharing strawberries. It makes Alouette feel sick.

Harry will not go down like a scared cat, screaming and pleading for his life. Even if there's nothing for him to do, even if his fate is already written, he won't give them the satisfaction to have him kneel at their feet. He'll take that bullet without a sound before he begs for mercy.

"Alouette," Nathan warns, and Harry's eyes lose focus for a second before boring into hers again.

"You lied to me," he murmurs. For the first time, a genuine emotion flashes on his face. Surprise but understanding, betrayal and sorrow. It isn't a question. He doesn't need her to confirm what he already knows.

Alouette shakes her head and takes a step backwards. "I'm so sorry," she whispers even though she knows her apology is worth nothing.

Another warning comes from Nathan. "Shoot him, we don't have the whole day."

"You came here to kill me?" Harry lets out an incredulous laugh. "Just like that?"

Alouette's chest is heaving and the shock coursing through her body could be enough to stop her heart altogether.

She needs to press the trigger. She needs to do it now, before they get discovered.

Home. Home. Home, she chants in her mind. She can do it for them all—she will do it for them all. Harry had it coming.

Be strong, Alouette, she tells herself. You've always known this is how it would end.

Harry raises his chin. "Shoot me, then," he tells her. "Press the trigger. This is what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

Alouette's breath hitches in her throat. Nathan's grip loosens on him, just a little, and Harry properly turns to look at her. Now that she can see more than just his side profile, she feels even sicker.

He frowns when she doesn't move. "What is it, Alouette?" His tone is mocking as it lands on the syllables of her real name. "Do you need me to press it for you?" The question is rough, his gaze hard. For the first time he looks at her like he truly despises her, and she can't let out a sound.

Nathan slams him harder against the wall. "Shut the hell up," he spits in his ear, as if he thinks Harry's words are what's freezing her. "Shoot, Alouette."

Alouette tries to regain control of her body. She follows her arm from her shoulders down to her fingers, that are trembling against the trigger of the gun. She takes off the safety with a click and takes aim. It'll be a clean shot, and then she'll go back home.

Harry's eyes are on her, but there's no fear in them. No panic, no pain. His gaze has fallen silent and for some reason she finds it even more terrifying. As if he's somehow always known this is how he'd end up, as if he's been waiting for someone to be smart enough to trick him for years.

This is when Alouette knows. He'll never let her win. Even if she shoots and kills him, he'll bring her soul straight to Hell with him in the second he leaves this earth. He's looking at her like he knows he will haunt her for the rest of her life. Those same green eyes she's once compared to spring grass will be the same ones staring back at her from the darkness of the night, when nobody is awake but her.

The gun is starting to get warm in her hold, and Alouette feels like it's sucking life right out of her.

Come on, she thinks. It's a simple action. Close your eyes and let your finger press the trigger. It'll be over before you can say your own name.

She bites the inside of her cheek and tries—she tries—to follow her own advice, but her body doesn't answer her mind.

She can't move. She can't—can't can't can't—her fingers are sweaty. There are people screaming all around her and booms resounding and she can't—

"Shoot," Nathan says.

No, her heart screams.

Passionate kisses on dim-lit balconies, choked laughs in the blankets, suggestive gazes and strawberries—those fucking strawberries. Her traitorous mind will be the reason for her undoing.

"Shoot," Nathan repeats. This time it sounds more urgent.

Shoot, the voice in her head echoes. Go home, you're done.

No no no, the rest of her pleads. Her own heart is pleading her to show the same mercy Harry is refusing to beg for.

You'll be my annihilation, Harry told her once, but he was wrong. He'll be her destruction, her undoing. This will be it for her. She cannot—

Nathan pulls out his own gun. "I can do it," he tells her, and presses the barrel against Harry's temple.

The safety is removed and Harry is still staring at her and this time there's the ghost of something in his eyes and she should close hers and turn around but—

"Stop." Alouette only realises the word has left her mouth when the older man furrows his eyebrows.

"What—"

"I think it's a bad idea," she says fast. The dam has been opened and now the words are flowing out of her mouth before she can stop them. "If we kill him, what then?" she asks. "What happens next? Someone else takes his place and they're just as ruthless as he is and we'll be back to the start again. No—"

"What are you saying?" Nathan asks, and he seems to be oddly intrigued. He doesn't lower his weapon, but he stops to listen.

"The Palace and everyone in there, they're loyal to him," Alouette motions towards Harry, even though she hasn't been able to divert her eyes from his in minutes. "As long as he lives, they'll be loyal to him. That means—" She's breathing so fast that her voice breaks and she hopes—she hopes—she's making sense. "As long as we have him, we'll be one step ahead of everyone else."

"We've tried to come to an agreement—" Nathan starts, but she interrupts him.

"Things were different back then. We were playing by his rules, and we lost. But now—" She lets out a shocked chuckle. "Now, this is an opportunity."

And truly, she can see it in Harry's eyes that he'll convince Nathan to press that trigger himself before he lets her or anyone else control him, but he doesn't say a word, and that's all that matters.

"Are you sure?" Nathan asks, and Alouette nods vehemently.

Chances can be created.

"Okay, then," he says. "I trusted your father and I will trust you." He presses Harry harder against the wall and ties his hands behind his back with a cloth, tightening the knots before putting his hand on his shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid," he warns him.

They quickly pull Harry out of the courtyard by one of the holes in the wall and suddenly they're out and shoving him in the backseat of the car the Revolution got ready for them. He falls down on the seat as Nathan slams the door and straightens himself with some difficulty as Alouette and Nathan get in the front seats.

Alouette turns her head to look at him when he sits on the seat right behind her and locks the doors before he can even think of escaping. "Careful," she warns him, and he sends her a sharp glare.

His hair is a crumpled mess and so are his clothes, but he's here and he's alive and truly, nothing else matters to her in this moment. She still doesn't have a plan, doesn't know what to tell Ezra, and Elijah, and everyone else, but she'll figure it out as they go.

For now, there's only a command in her mind: RUN.

She may not be running from the silence but from the loudest building in the city, she may become the disappointment of the Revolution and stain her father's name but she doesn't mind, because for once she's doing what she wants to do.

It's an elating feeling to step away from the path that was built for her, and for the first time she truly grasps Harry's words and essence. She finally managed to shatter the system, and now she makes the rules.

Nathan starts the car and in a matter of instants they speed down the streets of Northfair, leaving the chaos of the attack behind.

It's a devastating loss, but for some reason it feels like an overwhelming victory.

She's so taken by her thoughts that she doesn't even realise a car is racing towards them until it slams into their side.

Did you really think Interlude was about to end?
I hope you enjoyed this chapter x
Miki