In a single movement, Harry frees himself from Alouette's embrace and spins them around so that she's standing in front of him. "Why?" he demands, his grip tight on her shoulders.

She can't look into his eyes. Her gaze wanders beyond him, to the darkened window. A ray of light is peeking through a corner, where the tape was scratched off. "I just can't," she forces herself to say. "The Revolution is my home. I was always supposed to be here, not..."

"That's bullshit." Harry interrupts her so suddenly that she jolts. He lets go of her, as if the lie has stung him. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, collecting himself before continuing in an even tone. "I refuse to believe you. You don't wish to stay here."

"Don't tell me what I want to do! You don't know anything—"

He freezes her with his gaze. "I know you better than you know yourself, Alouette." The name stings coming from his lips. "Do you know why?" He takes a step forward, she takes one backward. "It's because I know that look on your face. You got a taste of what it means to call the shots, and now you will not settle. You will not bow your head to Ezra's will again. He isn't enough to hold you down, and you know it." His lips curve in a humourless smile. "So don't tell me you want to stay, because staying here would mean burying yourself alive."

"And you would be better?" Alouette realises she's raised her voice a moment too late. "What makes you think I'd be happy to obey you instead?"

Harry doesn't seem shaken by the threat. He straightens his pose and observes her for a long moment, tilting his head, as if he's silently evaluating her. "I must've given you the wrong impression, and for that I apologise." His voice is eerily calm. "I do enjoy seeing you do your thing, and I wish nothing more than to encourage it. However—" he steps closer to her, "—don't make the mistake of forgetting whom you're talking to. While I will let you run free, I will not accept any threat to my position coming from you."

Alouette flinches. "I didn't mean—"

Harry puts on his shirt at last. "I do hope you didn't." His tone is conversational, now. "I still thought it would be opportune to remark it, since I know how these things go. My point is, my will is something you'll never be free of, no matter where you are. I'm simply offering you a chance to shorten the chain of command above you—besides, it would be downright insulting for you to submit to Ezra, especially after all you did to escape him."

Alouette bites her tongue, because Harry's right. She isn't foolish enough to believe she could overtake him, and she doesn't even think she wants to. As long as he lives he will stand above her, and she's going to try her best to make sure he lives for a very long time still. No, she's never desired a country, nor the Revolution—she merely wants the power to choose. She wants to choose who she wants to be, what she wants to do, what she wants to stand for, and that's what Harry's offering her. He doesn't want her around as an assistant, or a secretary. He will not order her around—he hasn't done so in a long time. He wants her around because he can offer her shelter and freedom, because being around him doesn't make her anyone's servant. His authority permeates the country from the top of the Palace to its darkest nooks and corners. Having only him above her is the closest thing to freedom she could ever hope to have. And it's tempting. It's so tempting.

But she's made a promise.

"It's not about Ezra—" Her voice dies out. She could get angry, she should shout at him and make him back off, because everything sounds better than having to tell him the truth. What would Harry know about promises, about trust, about caring? She's seen the Palace—there's little love in it. It's a lion's den, and everyone is constantly ready to strike. She's done her job to corrupt the little in it that wasn't already ruined beyond recognition. There's secrets, there's lies, there's threats, there's power. That's the language Harry speaks. How could he understand anything other than that? Someone that kills a man without a second thought will never understand what it means to care so deeply you have to give up your desires in favour of someone else's—and it hurts. It hurts to know that, despite how close they are, there will always be that crack between them, a crack that runs so deep, so far back, that she fears it will never be filled. But she's not a child, and neither is Harry. Arguing is pointless, and he would be able to tell she doesn't mean it. "I made a promise," she whispers.

"A promise?" Harry sounds lost—like he wasn't expecting it. Alouette doesn't blame him. Who would there be for Alouette to promise anything to?

"I promised Amina I wouldn't leave again."

Harry frowns, and betrayal flashes through his eyes, disappearing as fast as the crack of thunder comes after lightning. "A promise to a five-year-old child."

There it is. The crack is breaking the ground under them deeper. The line is telling exactly why they are so radically different—raised to be different, raised to be apart. "A promise to my sister."

He flinches. She figures out why just a moment too late.

"Harry, I didn't mean—"

He blinks a couple of times, then turns around and takes the hoodie from the bed but doesn't put it on. "Of course," he says, but he doesn't sound like he's reproaching her. His voice is plain, but not threateningly so. It sounds like he's trying to make her believe her words haven't touched him, though Alouette knows they must've. "I don't have to explain why it isn't beneficial to you to organise your life around the promises you make to children though, do I?"

Alouette sighs. "I get where you're coming from, but it's my sister, and I promised."

"Some promises are meant to be broken. It would be a useful life lesson—the world hardly caters to people's whims."

"How could you say that?!" she hisses. "You don't break your promises either! You gave up on going back to the Palace nearly two months ago because of a promise you made to me." She's so angry she can hardly think, which is why she lets her mouth chase her thoughts carelessly. "Besides, she's my sister. Wouldn't you do all you can to keep a promise you made to your sister, too?"

Harry tenses up. Alouette freezes. For a moment, neither of them moves. He stares her down, and she has all the time to regret ever speaking before he goes in the bathroom and slams the door. The lock clicks, and the shower is turned on. By the time Alouette reaches the door, every sound on the other side is drowned by the running water.

She folds in on herself, her knees to her chest, her hand on the door. There's a lump in her throat, but she doesn't cry. She can barely breathe, the weight of the things she said and heard is smothering her.

When her legs start aching, she stands up. She considers leaving the room, but not being here when Harry comes back would make her seem weak, and she can't let it happen. She can't fight with one of the few people that are actually on her side in this place.

"Fuck, Alouette," she mutters under her breath, sitting on the bed. How is she supposed to fix this? Is it even hers to fix?

She feels so lost. In truth, she's been feeling like this ever since she got back to the Revolution with Harry, two weeks ago. Everything seemed so obvious, so linear, that a quiet, hidden part of her couldn't help but think it was wrong. In her experience, whenever things seem too easy, they never are.

She'd thought she could be at the Revolution alongside her father and still keep seeing her mother. She was wrong.

When Amina was born, she let herself believe she'd have her family back, but she was wrong. Her mother disappeared, and her father died.

She thought Asher could come to a deal with Harry back in February, but even then she was wrong.

She's wrong, wrong, wrong. Life does not care about her expectations. It doesn't care about making things quick or easy or less painful. So, when she saw the future she let herself dream of lined up straight in front of her two weeks ago, she knew it wouldn't be that easy. She couldn't let herself be fooled. Maybe that was why she made that promise, even though, deep down, she knew Harry would bring her back with him. Maybe it was her way to mess things up so that life wouldn't step in and do it for her. It was the most harmless way she knew to bow down to that eternal rule of existence that has whipped her around like a ship at the mercy of a tempestuous sea ever since she was born. Maybe, she thought self-sabotage would hurt less. Even then, she was wrong.

Why can she never get anything right? She couldn't keep her family together. She couldn't look after her sister like her father wanted. She couldn't do the only thing the Revolution asked of her. She can't be part of the Revolution, but she can't stay by Harry's side. Is she destined to live her life treading edges sharper than their corresponding ravines are deep? She can feel herself slipping, and she wants to let go so badly. She wants to let herself fall and see if she truly will crash, or if something in the way will block her path. She wants to save, she wants to be saved. She wants to fight but she doesn't know what to fight for. She wants to crash and burn, she wants to fly so close to the sun that it will melt her wings. She wants to fall back on earth and see every river and valley and ocean and artificial tulip field on her way down. Maybe it was her need for both self-destruction and self-actualisation that let her kiss Harry for the first time so many months ago, because she realised that, one way or the other, he would be it for her. Her destruction and her salvation; death in angel's clothing and life in the devil's pressed suits.

Her fingers grasp the bedsheets. She's a disappointment. She was given an opportunity, and she wasted it. Her chance to change the world has changed nothing but her. And now she's letting it go, because that's what she does. She lets thing go. She lets the tide carry her—with the only difference she's the one that blew the winds this time. She's kicked a hole in the hull of her ship, and now it's sinking. She's lost something in the way, but she can't tell what it is.

The door opens. Harry's wearing different clothes, but his hair is dry. He looks down at Alouette, but she can't bring herself to meet his eyes.

"Do you trust me?" he asks.

Her reply couldn't come faster. "Yes."

"Then let me take care of it."

She looks at him worriedly, but there's no hesitation in his eyes. There hardly ever is. "I don't want to break my promise," she whispers.

"I understand."

Alouette doesn't know what makes her say the next few words. She can't tell when she started trusting Harry so blindly, enough not to ask questions, not to wonder, not to stall. "Then yes."

He grabs his coat and leaves the room. She moves too slowly—by the time she gets off the bed and steps out in the corridor, he's already gone. She bites her lower lip nervously, but even if she wants to follow him, she doesn't know where to go.

She finds herself roaming the building, down the twisting corridors, ignoring the few people she walks past. She forgot her knife in their room, but she doesn't bother going back to get it. She's walked these hallways with no weapons for over a decade—no matter how hard she tries to fight against it, it's still her home. No fight will be aimed at her here—not when she isn't around Harry.

She has no destination in mind, but she still finds herself in front of the door of her bedroom, the one she's shared with her sister for so many years.

She opens the door; the room is empty. A tattered stuffed bunny is on the floor, in the corner, and the windows are still darkened. Nothing has changed, even though it's been over six months since she's last stepped foot in here. The air smells of dust and wood, the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickers along with the heartbeat of the generator. When she throws herself on the mattress, its springs creak loudly.

Alouette sighs, looking up. The ceiling is darkened with dust, speckles of an inverse night sky. Enlightened by its poor apology of a sun, it almost looks pretty.

Something rolls along her collarbone. When she picks it up, she discovers it's Harry's ring. She's long since cleaned it, and the green stone set in it stares down at her. It's bright; it reminds her of the dress she wore at Harry's celebration, nearly a lifetime ago, now. She was so scared he'd kill her if he found out who she was, back then. How things have changed.

The stone catches the light, and she brushes it with her thumb. She wonders what it is. It looks like an emerald to her, but she's never been good at recognising the stones in priced jewellery. It isn't like she's seen many growing up. Whatever it is, it's a pretty colour. It's her favourite colour. It's brighter than Harry's eyes, though, and warmer than his gaze. His stares have always been like an emerald that's frosted over, cold and detached even when he doesn't intend to be. He sees the world through ice and she sees it through the fire of her burning heart—how fitting. Their romance is the sharpest edge and the hardest fall of all. She doesn't mind. Every bird has to fall first if it wants to learn to fly, and Alouette is no different.

She traces the inside of the ring with her finger, there's an S engraved on it, inside the band just under the stone. S like Styles? It's the most likely option, but why would Harry regard a family ring so highly? She was of the impression that his relationship with his parents wasn't the best.

With another sigh, she lets it dangle on Harry's necklace, right next to the cross. A peculiar choice for a pendant for someone like him. Maybe it's another family heirloom. She'd ask, but she isn't sure she'd be able to find the words.

The door opens and a gasp rings through the room.

"Al?!"

Alouette looks beyond the cross and ring and finds Amina standing in the frame of the door, Elodie not far behind. "Ami?" she says, a little surprised, sitting up and crossing her legs. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

Amina laughs. "Class? It's eight, silly!"

Alouette shoots up. "Eight? What do you mean, eight?"

"Weren't you avoiding dinner time on purpose?" Elodie asks, stepping in the room as well and closing the door.

Dinner. When did it get so late? No wonder hardly anyone was around. Then, a moment later, she realises it's eight in the evening, and she doesn't know where Harry is, and she also isn't where she should be.

Elodie sends one look at the alarmed look on her face and nods in Amina's direction. "So it actually wasn't on purpose, I owe you a cookie."

Amina sits on the bed and cuddles Mr. Bunny. It hasn't been washed since their father gave it to her as a gift a few years ago, and by now it's so dirty its original colour has faded to dusty grey. "Two cookies."

"A cookie and a carrot."

Amina scowls. "No one wants a carrot."

Elodie crosses her arms. "Mr. Bunny does."

Amina blinks a couple of times, then looks at her stuffed pet. "A cookie and a carrot," she gives in.

Alouette falls back on the bed next to her sister. The mattress creaks even louder this time around, and she makes a mental note to ask Ezra to replace it tomorrow. She doesn't know how she dealt with it for years, but now it's driving her crazy.

"You're never at dinner." Amina's gaze is on her from the corner of the bed, a little wide-eyed ghost gripping a faded toy that once used to be nearly as big as she was.

"I dine with Harry in his room," Alouette replies easily. "It wouldn't be nice to make him eat alone."

Amina's eyes shine at the mention of Harry. "Can't he eat with us too?"

"People wouldn't like that."

"Because he's bad?"

"He's—" She's stuck. She wants to say he isn't bad, but that would be a lie. But again, she can't explain to her sister why she'd be around someone that's bad. It's hard to explain to a five year old that the world doesn't exist in black and white, but in a multitude of greys. "You have nothing to fear from him," she says in the end. "Neither do the other people here, but they haven't understood it yet." Not if they don't raise a hand against him, a voice in her mind adds.

"And you?"

Alouette stands up. "I should go. I need to talk to him about something, and—"

"People at dinner said he's leaving," Amina says. "They said he isn't leaving alone."

Alouette tenses up and looks down at her sister. She doesn't dare to say a word.

"Are you leaving with him?"

"I... I don't—" Her gaze shifts from her to Elodie. The look on her face is unreadable.

"I think you should."

Alouette's attention falls back on Amina instantly. "What?"

Her sister holds the stuffed bunny tighter to her chest. "You should go."

"I can't—I won't..."

"You should." Amina smiles, but she looks a little sad. "I know you can't stay here, and I also know it isn't my fault. I..." She pauses for a moment, looking for the right words. "I don't want to make you sad. You're happy when you're around him, and if he leaves you'll be sad again."

Tears well up in Alouette's eyes and she pulls her sister into a hug. "I'm not sad," she murmurs, "I'm not sad, do you hear me? I'm alright. I'm alright, and I'm not going to leave you."

Amina hugs her back, but then shakes her head. "Don't lie, Al."

"I'm..."

"I want to swap promises."

Alouette frowns and kneels on the floor. "What does that mean?"

"I don't like the promises we made anymore. I want to change them."

"Change them how?"

"Promise that if you have to go, we'll see each other often," she says, playing with the ear of her bunny.

Alouette's heart jumps in her throat. "Amina..."

"Promise it! We changed promises, now you have to promise."

"I promise," she whispers.

Amina turns up her head. "Now we have new promises."

Alouette stands up, but she doesn't know what to say. Her eyes wander to Elodie's again, but she isn't saying a word and her face isn't betraying anything, and Alouette wonders what has happened at dinner. Did Elijah say something he shouldn't have? Did Jesse?

"Now you can go." To the Palace, back in her rooms. The possibilities are endless, and Alouette is uneasy, because she doesn't know what has changed her sister's mind and, once again, she feels guilty. Is it her fault if her sister has learned to settle, to accept things as they come even when they sadden her?

"It's bedtime," Elodie says, breaking the silence.

"Yes, right." Alouette doesn't move.

"Come to breakfast tomorrow?" Amina asks, and Alouette nods.

"I'll be there at eight sharp," she promises, because it's one of the few promises she actually doesn't feel guilty about making. It's one she can keep.

They say their goodbyes, and then Alouette is roaming the hallways again. She's skipped dinner, but her stomach is still closed and she isn't hungry. Her argument with Harry has left her with a void in her chest.

She finds her way back to their room, but it's still empty. She collapses on the bed and pulls up her knees, listening to the sounds of the building around her—a distant chatter, the flicker of the lights in the corridor, her own breath leaving her lungs. Her hand closes around Harry's ring.

When Harry comes back to their room it's ten. Alouette's thoughts are like a bottomless well she still hasn't managed to emerge from, and so she's still awake.

She sits up instantly, and the ring falls back into her clothes. "Where did you go?"

"Ezra's office."

"What were you doing?"

Harry's eyebrow raises at her storm of questions, but he doesn't comment. "Taking care of it. I will need you to trust me."

"I do," Alouette replies, with no hesitation.

"Good." He makes to take off his coat, but she immediately stands up.

"Keep it on." She grabs hers and walks to the door. A thought is forming in her brain, too quickly to be stopped. "There's somewhere I want to take you."

Harry sends her a puzzled glance.

She checks the corridor to make sure no one is around and then walks out, Harry right behind her. She takes him through the twisting doors and to the stairs, and then up up up, and then down the hallway of the top floor to that little dark room with its little dark stair and its little dark door, that she picks with ease with a hairpin.

She walks out on the roof.

The wind is cold tonight, and loud. In the distance, the lights of Dacran shine like a precious jewel, though it isn't as bright as it once was. Her coat is flying around her, and if she closed her eyes she'd feel like she's caught flight. It's the freedom only a bird in captivity would feel, a mere reflection of the world outside, but it gets her anyway. Her eyes shine as she walks towards the end of her makeshift world.

"You showed me Northfair on the roof of the Palace once," she tells Harry, loud enough to be heard over the bellowing wind. "This is the sight I grew up with."

Harry joins her at the wall. The wind is waving his coat through the air, his curls are mussed like never before.

"It's no Northfair, but..." Her voice dies out when Harry turns to look at her, and he's standing so close she can almost feels his breath on her face. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I shouldn't have... you know. I just... my sister isn't a random person. She matters to me, and I can't just—"

"I understand." Harry sits on the wall, and a second later he's lying on it. Alouette is on one side of him, the void on the other. Her head spins, and she feels like she's the one that might lose her balance instead of him. "The first time I came to Dacran I was seven," he says in a quiet murmur. Alouette can only hear him in virtue of their closeness. "It was then I realised my world was identical to dozens more, all scattered around this country, albeit a little brighter. Do you know what it meant?"

Alouette shakes her head and kneels on the ground against the low wall, studying the light of the city shine on his side profile.

"It was fake," Harry continues. "I lived in a man-made bubble where nothing was real. If nothing was real, was I nothing more than a fake boy in a fake world?" He chuckles. "Probably. That's when I thought that, if nothing was real, at least I should've tried to be." His hand falls over the void, fingers playing in the wind a dozen floors above ground. "My word is the only part of me that's worth something. I understand your need to keep your promises."

"I trust you," Alouette whispers, but the air currents bring her words to his ears anyway. She undoes the clasp of the necklace. She takes Harry's hand and slides his ring back on his finger.

He looks at her through his dark eyelashes. She's moved closer, and they're only a breath apart. "Are you trying to propose?" he asks her in a whisper, and she laughs.

"Get off the wall before you fall off."

He grabs her by the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss. It's a heated one, one that warms her up even though the weather around them is freezing cold, his hands are on her and her head is spinning and maybe she's the one that's going to fall off the roof, not him.

They break apart, and they're breathing fast clouds up in the air. She's half-lying on top of him, and she can feel his heart hammering in his chest.

"Don't you want to know what my answer would be?" Harry murmurs against her lips.

Her heart skips a beat, but she can't tell why. "What would it be?"

He moves her off him and stands up. "It's a secret."

"Secrets can be bought," Alouette hurries to say, clasping the necklace back around her neck and following him as he walks back to the door. "It's one of the first lessons you taught me."

He shoots her a glance over his shoulder. "This is an expensive one."

"What would you like in exchange for it?" She doesn't even know why she's so eager to find out—she's feeling a little foolish, a little reckless and dangerous, tonight. It must be the cold.

Harry stops and turns around. He lifts her chin with a hand and grazes her lips with his thumb. He's so close to her that for a moment she believes he'll kiss her. Then he says, "Your soul."

Sorry for the little wait! I hope you enjoyed this chapter x
Miki