THE PALACE

There are three things Evie has never thought she'd witness. The first, is seeing the Palace without its President. The second is having to manage all of his files. The third, is having been granted access to his office by his personal guard.

She types in the last code and the door opens with a click. The lights turn on in the second she steps inside, and she sneezes. It's only been a couple of weeks since Jackson last walked in here, but the place is in desperate need of some cleaning.

She closes the door behind herself, rounds the President's desk and gets to work, opening the first drawer.

The phone on the desk rings. She sends it a glance and shrugs, opening the next drawer and rifling through the papers. There has to be something—anything—more. This can't be all there is—it's madness.

She's never been particularly close to the President. It isn't that she hasn't tried—quite the opposite. When Harry first took the title, she tried her very best to erase that distance between them—to uncover his thoughts like she never managed to do with his father. And though she learnt how he takes his coffee and the time he wakes up at in the morning, she's never truly got to know him. It might be her biggest fault yet, because his cleverness has always been disarming and she's wished so many times, desperately, that she could be made part of his plans. But that was never an option, not for her at least, because he's as distrustful as he is smart, and he loves to play with foes and friends alike.

He reminds her of a child, at times, going one step forward each day just because he can, toying with people like she used to play with her dolls. Still, though, she thinks of him fondly, because she's certain he isn't moved by the same murky darkness his father was. No, there's a playful nature hidden deep within him, a wonder with the world she can only see reflected in his eyes when he looks at Northfair. For as long as he doesn't lose that spark, there will be hope. For him, for the Palace, for the country. And her job is to make sure he never does.

But it still doesn't solve the matter at hand—just where has he put the authorisations he signed the day he was taken?

The phone rings again, and Evie ignores it a second time. This time, she's annoyed. Why are they calling continuously—everyone that has that number is supposed to know the President is not in his office.

She opens the last drawer and lets out a relieved sigh when she finds what she was looking for. She puts the three papers on the desk side by side, studying the titles printed on them.

CAMERA INSTALLATION AUTHORISATION — OLD COUNTRY

LOWERING OF ELECTRICITY COSTS — DACRAN & SOUTH-EAST

RAILWAY REBUILDING AUTHORISATION — SOUTH-EAST

She scrunches up her nose at the last one. They wouldn't have to rebuild the railways if the Revolution hadn't destroyed them. That organisation is going to become the end of them all—whenever the Palace takes a step forward, they force them to take three backward. Their falseness is enough to make her livid, knowing the reason behind it makes her wish they'd found a way to take them down by now.

And they infiltrated the Palace, and now they have their President, and she has no idea of what will happen next. All she knows is that they must still be on the move, because if Ezra had got his grabby fingers on Harry, the entire country would've known it by now. No, there's still time to make this right. The Palace will find a way. They always have, and they always will.

And in the meantime, she has to make sure their secrets will stay secret. With Harry gone, she and Jackson are the highest-ranking powers within the Palace walls, the only ones that get to know everything that's happening, the only ones that can make decisions. And while Jackson and his team are busy with retrieving Harry and population control, she has to make sure work in the Palace continues as usual, or else they will know. She cannot allow that to happen. Ever.

The phone rings a third time, and now Evie has had enough. She picks it up.

"Good afternoon, this is the President's office." She closes the drawer with her hip and moves to face the closed door of the room.

There's a woman's voice on the other side. "Harry?"

Evie stiffens. "The President is currently indisposed. Would you like to leave a message?"

She hears a sigh. "Evelyn? It's you, isn't it?"

A pause. "Of course, Ms. Bryce."

"Where is Harry?" asks Kiara. There's a faint stiffness in her voice, it no doubt comes from the reality of their last meeting, all the things that weren't said.

How could you let him go?

Evie hasn't been the only person that cares for Harry since the start. Kiara has always been there too, for him, in different ways. She's never understood the reality of Evie's relationship with the President—she's always despised the way she was willing to do anything he asked. Evie understood, at first—Kiara was simply one of those people that care about the morality of their actions. But then Kiara helped Harry to get rid of his father, and that was when Evie realised Kiara didn't have an issue with her lack of morality, but with her.

Evie has the distinct feeling she fears Harry will grant her the role he never granted her—though she's sure it'll never happen, and even if it hypothetically did, she wouldn't care for it. She wants to be Harry's assistant—nothing more, nothing less. He's dangerous, to her. She wants him close, but not too close.

"As I said, the President isn't available," Evie says, "but you can leave a message, if you want."

"Evelyn. I won't repeat myself again. Where is Harry? I've been calling for days and there's been no answer, and there are voices going around..."

Maybe Evie feels bad for her, now. "He's not in the Palace," she gives in.

"Do we know where he is?"

"Jackson and the others are working on it. We had a lead, but it didn't work out."

"Who took him?"

Evie hesitates for a moment before replying. "A certain Lark Ewing, though the name is fake. She might answer to Al as well, though."

"Lark?" There's a heavy silence coming from the other side. "Let me help."

"I've told you his personal guard is already working on it—"

"Then let them work on it," Kiara hisses. "You know Harry trusts me. I can help. The boys can only do so much, they don't have the time to truly look around and follow every lead. I can go everywhere they can't, and you know it."

Evie thinks about it. Working with Kiara isn't ideal, but she does have a point. Having a little more help wouldn't be such a bad idea—she could have her personal little agent looking on it, and who knows, maybe she'll also lead to better results. The thought of besting Jackson in this hunt makes her smile. They're friends, sure, but Harry has always given him too much credit for her liking. Maybe, if she manages to bring him back home herself, he'll be impressed and let her in on his plans from then on. She'd like that.

"He stole a car from Jayden in Pans, and it exploded on a road—"

"He stole a car from Jayden?!"

Evie smiles. "Oh, yes. Your cousin has been especially busy lately. He had the President and the kidnapper, and then lost his vehicle and both."

Kiara lets out a hopeless sigh. "Jayden is too innocent," she says. "He should've realised everyone is a pawn to Harry—even the people on his side."

"Isn't that the beauty of working with him?" Evie comments, sitting on the stiff couch on the side of the room. It's her first time sitting on it—she would've never done that when the President was still there. But he isn't now, and she's always been curious about it.

"I believe it's also why I chose not to work with him," Kiara mutters.

"There's always a first time." Evie clears her throat. "Anyway, the car blew up, but nobody was in it. The road connects Pans and Northfair, but there's a close turn that takes to Dacran. There's your hint."

Kiara hums. "Pans is out because they were running from it—"

"And coming to Northfair would be very risky, not to say that it would make little sense," Evie continues for her.

"That leaves Dacran."

"Think you can make it?"

Kiara chuckles. "I'm closer than you think. Now, how about you tell me everything there is to know about this Lark?"

There's the sound of steps coming from the corridor, and Evie stands up and makes it back to the desk. "I'll call you later." She puts down the phone and stares at it for some moments. "I hope you're even smarter than you seem, Ms. Ewing," she whispers under her breath.

Differently from Jayden, thinking about Lark doesn't make Evie angry. No, she admires her. She's managed to do something no one else ever has. It's impressive, it's surprising. Sure, that puts the Palace at a disadvantage—for now. But they can always take the lead back. They made the mistake of underestimating her once, they won't do it ever again.

She clearly wants to play, and Evie wants in the game. Kiara is only the first step.

She takes the folders from the desk and walks out of the office. She isn't nearly as surprised as she should be when she finds Mr. Lawson in the corridor.

A shiver runs down her spine, and she clutches the letter opener she's just swiped from the President's desk. Now that he isn't here to protect her, she has no intention of letting that foul man get the best of her.

"Good afternoon Mr. Lawson, how may I help you?" she says conversationally, sliding the weapon in her pocket as she walks towards him.

He turns to look at her; those grey eyes glint like danger. "Oh, there you are—I was wondering where everyone had run off to."

"We're all here, albeit busy." Evie tries to hide the tension in her voice, but from the look he sends her, she understands she hasn't done a good job.

"Busy, I imagine." He narrows his eyes at her. "I see the President is missing."

"The President is busy."

"Spare me the lies." He takes a step towards her. "I know everything, and I also know how desperate you are to keep it a secret from them."

Evie stiffens.

"So, you see," Mr. Lawson continues, "I think we can help each other. Unless you'd like me to stream the disappearance on all the platforms I own—and they're a lot."

"I have no interest in making deals with you."

"It would only be some intelligence from the Palace, maybe some money as well," he says, "all things you'd have no trouble getting a hold of. The President will never know, I promise."

Evie glares at him. "I will not betray this country for you. Not now, not ever." She pulls out the letter opener and points it at him. "Now leave, or I'll call security."

"You're such a bitch!" He spits on the floor, inches away from her shoe. "Enjoy my exposé, then."

He turns around and Evie watches him go, her hand already reaching for her personal phone.

He doesn't know yet, but he's made a terrible mistake when he threatened her. While she could've dealt with some threat against her person—it wouldn't be the first—there's no way she'll let him compromise the control of the Palace over the country.  It'll be her pleasure to call the Palace's hound on him.

He gets into the lift and the metallic walls close in front of him, and she looks through her contacts with ease, sitting on her desk and bringing the device to her ear, humming to the beat of the beeping of the line.

Her call is picked up. "Evie?" a low voice says on the other side.

"Hey, Jackson, where are you?" Maybe it's a little extreme of her, but it isn't the first time Mr. Lawson annoys her and she, truly, is tired of it. She doesn't know what it is with men, but they somehow always think they can do and say whatever they want with no consequences. No, she'll only take that kind of behaviour from one man—mostly because he is, indeed, the only one that can follow his every whim—and he isn't even in the Palace. But Evie knows he'd approve. This is exactly what he would do.

"Just out of the Palace's walls," Julian replies.

She smiles. Luck is in her favour, today. "Don't come in," she says. "I'm sending you down a little present."

"What sort of present?"

"Nothing much." She checks out her heeled shoe, it's so clean that she can see the shape of her face reflected on it against the bright light on the ceiling. "Just a lost little lamb that's threatening to stream our problem on every screen in the city."

There's a short silence on the other side. "You must mean Mr. Lawson."

"Correct."

"Same old?"

Evie shrugs, even though she knows he can't see. "Thought you'd enjoy a little chase to let off some steam. Unless you're too busy?"

"I'm never too busy for that."

"Just as I thought." She hops off the desk. "Let's make a bet. I say you catch him before he gets home."

Julian tuts. "You're underestimating me, now. I say I'll do it in five."

"If you do, I'll buy you dinner," Evie replies. "The clock's ticking."

He closes the call. She fixes her clothes and her hair in her reflection on the black screen of her computer, slides her phone back in the inner pocket of her jacket, and walks down the corridor.

Three minutes later, her phone rings.

"I set a new record," Julian speaks on the other side of the line.

Evie chuckles. "Did you catch him, Jackson?"

"You know the answer to that question," he replies. "Now, are we thinking west woods or road to Dinstead?"

"I never want to hear his name again. Surprise me."

Julian hums twice. "Start thinking of replacements. Our Communications Director will be indisposed indefinitely, starting now."

•    •    •

DACRAN

It's late afternoon when Alouette silently enters the building, Harry only some steps behind her.

She's feeling nervous as she walks up the many stairs that bring her to her floor—it's been so many years, there's no telling what will happen in the second she'll ring that doorbell. But she's running out of options, now. She has nowhere else to go. She needs this.

They get on the sixth floor and she stops in front of the door on the left. She takes a deep breath, and then rings the doorbell.

From the other side only comes silence.

Alouette frowns and rings again, then again. "Mom?" she calls when no one answers. She knocks on the door. "Mom, are you here?"

No answer comes.

Alouette calls again, and then there's a click behind her. She gasps and turns around, and relaxes visibly when she recognises her mother's middle-aged neighbour. Panic rushes through her when she thinks about Harry, but he's already hidden down the staircase. Knowing him, he likely sensed her calling out loud would attract someone's attention.

"What's all this ruckus in the staircase?" she mutters, glaring at her.

"I'm sorry," Alouette says fast, "do you know where the woman that lives here is?"

The woman crosses her arms, but decides to answer anyway. "Haven't seen her in a couple of years," she says. "Left one day with a bag, never came back. I'm surprised she didn't put the apartment up for sale."

She couldn't, a voice in Alouette's mind says, because your father owned the flat, and he left it to you.

"Oh, I see," Alouette says shakily. "Thank you anyway."

The woman rolls her eyes and goes back in her house, slamming the door loudly. Alouette turns to look at the apartment again, a tightness in her chest.

It's been years since she's last seen her mother, and now she's left, and she doesn't know where she went. If she's okay. If she ever thinks about her—about them.

Is this another of her attempts to forget about her father? Was leaving them not enough? She knows she should feel sad, but anger courses through her instead. How could she leave like this, not telling anyone? Not telling her daughters?

She still remembers the last time they talked, all the things she screamed. All the things Alouette wishes she'd said. But her father had just died, and Amina was so small, and her mother didn't want to see her because she reminded her of Daniel so much it—in her words—made her feel sick, and she was just so lost.

This is just another betrayal, another way for her to say they're not the family she wants anymore—because to Léonie Ivenhart, Alouette and Amina were hardly more than Daniel's children. She'd loved them, but she'd loved them because she'd loved their father, and when he left, she couldn't bear the sight of them.

Another rejection.

There are hands on her shoulders, and Alouette realises Harry is standing to her side.

"Are you all right?" he asks her quietly, and she nods.

"Let's go in." For a terrifying moment, she fears her mother changed the passcode before leaving—but she didn't. The number clicks in, and the door opens.

The apartment is dusty, and there's not much to show—just a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom and two bedrooms. Alouette tries the lights, but they don't turn on—unsurprisingly. It's likely been years since anyone has paid for the electricity and water.

She looks around better, and frowns when she realises her mother has changed the decor completely. She feels like she's just entered a stranger's home, and it makes her uneasy. At the same time, though, she's grateful there aren't any pictures hanging anymore, no signs a family has ever lived here in sight. Léonie has been thorough in her expunging.

She ignores her parents' bedroom and goes for the one that was once hers. When she opens the door, she's taken aback when she realises nothing has been left the same, and her childhood bedroom is now a guest room in the pale tones of beige, a large bed on one side of the room.

"We can stay here," she announces, walking back into the living room and putting down the bag. She'll need to clean around, but it's starting to get dark now, and the days she's spent driving are catching up to her. She goes through the pockets of her bag, and frowns when she discovers she doesn't have nearly enough money left. "Do you have some money on you?" she asks, and for a moment she expects Harry to laugh at her and comment on the way she snapped his black card in half.

Instead, he slides off the ring on the index of his left hand and throws it at her. "You can sell it."

She catches it and looks at it. It's a simple thing of heavy silver, a stone on top, one she's barely noticed before. It isn't the one with the green stone—he's still wearing that one, and something tells her he'd never part from it.

"Just so you know, the whole ring goes for about fifteen thousand," Harry tells her conversationally, and she's so surprised she almost drops it. "Don't take less than eight thousand at least."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alouette says, maybe her head is spinning a little now.

She puts away the ring and then makes a slightly sad dinner with the food leftovers, and by then the sun has long set and she checks every corner of the house until she finds a still working torch and turns it on, enlightening their path through the flat.

She changes the bedsheets in the guest room—her bedroom—while Harry's in the bathroom, and throws herself on top of the blanket, torch in her hands.

She can't believe the situation she's in right now. It seems absurd just to think about it.

Harry comes back and steals the torch from her, nestling it between their pillows. Alouette turns to look at him in the yellow shade, the lights of Dacran glint on the side of her vision.

"I'll sell your ring tomorrow," she murmurs.

"I won't miss it," Harry replies, leaning forward to press a kiss against her lips, intense enough to make her head spin.

"What was that for?" Alouette murmurs, but she's already sliding closer to him, her fingers nestled into the fabric of his shirt.

A fleeting look rushes through his eyes in the deem electric light. "It felt right."

She smiles. "I see," she says, and then crashes her lips against his. It's a new thing, for them, to act so eager and foolish, one she's just starting to grow into, but already likes way more than she should. It feels electrifying to kiss Harry, and the memory of what happened last night makes her face feel hot.

She lies next to him on her stomach even though her fingers are itching to touch him again, and the realisation that they're in a bedroom together, and they're alone, makes the air around them grow hotter. She wants to touch him again. She wants to kiss him again. But she doesn't do either, because there are so many promising expectations woven into the night ahead that she can barely breathe.

Harry is the one to break the stasis. His eyes are a darker shade of green as he moves closer to her and slides a hand up and down her spine. "You know," he whispers, his voice heavy, "this is the first time we sleep in the same bed since the Palace."

"Is it?" There's a little tension in Alouette's voice. She hears the hint in his, and now it isn't just in her head anymore, because she knows he's feeling it too. She's struck by the memory of all the times they spent the night on the same mattress—of all the things they did, and of all the ones they didn't do. The second group heaves down on her mind, demanding her attention. Her cheeks are in flames.

"It is." Harry pulls her into his body, her back is against his chest, now. "Just think of all the things we could do," he murmurs in her ear, "such freedom is disarming, isn't it?"

Alouette shudders, and he chuckles. His breath hits the back of her neck, it's unexpectedly warm. Tingles run down her spine.

"I haven't forgotten about last night." His hand slides down her side, slowly. It reaches her hip and then goes up again, and then up and down in a continuous, torturous motion.

"What's there to forget?" Alouette breathes out.

"You tell me." His hand goes down again, and then he's unclasping the holster from her side. He puts it on the edge of the mattress and gives it a little shove, and it falls on the floor loudly.

Her breath hitches. "You might have to remind me."

Harry hums. "How may I remind you?" His fingers slide into her pocket and take her knife. He puts it on the edge of the bed, then takes his own knife and puts it next to it. They both join the gun on the floor. "Like this, maybe?" He bites her earlobe and his hand slides under her shirt. He cups her breast, and Alouette lets out a whine.

"Harry, I—" Her breath falters, and he chuckles; warmth touches her cheek. She's about to combust.

"Look at you now," he whispers, "and yet you were so demanding last night. Where has that bravery gone?" He pulls her hips toward his. "I was looking forward to making you melt under my touch. It's unfair I didn't get to do it because of that car."

Alouette's mind is a puddle, his touch on her is so intense, so warm, and there's nothing stopping them, now. Dacran is shining on the other side of their window, and she's certain they're about to be swallowed by its lights.

"Tell me how you want me to touch you," Harry continues, she's never heard his voice so warm, "with details, possibly."

Heat spreads down her lower stomach, and she needs his touch on her. She needs to feel him, she needs him to relieve that warm tension building up inside her. She takes his hand and brings it to the source of that heat, and then turns to look at him over her shoulder. "It isn't kind to make a woman beg."

He chuckles and unbuttons her jeans, sliding them down her legs. "Do you want to know the real reason why I'm glad we're sleeping together, tonight?" he murmurs, lifting her knee and sliding his fingers down her inner thigh. His touch is so eager, and she's struck when she realises it matches the eagerness inside of her. She doesn't want to circle around with him tonight, she doesn't want to wait or be teased, and she knows he can read it on her face. He licks a spot on her neck, and Alouette's hand slides into his hair, tugging at it. He lets out a low hum, that makes his chest vibrate against her back.

"What is it?" she gasps out. His hands on her body warm her up so much she feels like she could burst in flames, she needs more—she needs him to do more.

Harry brushes his nose against her cheek. "I get to make you scream my name."

A whimper leaves her lips at his whispered confidence, and then his fingers are exactly where she wants them, and it feels so good a thrill runs through her entire body.

"Take it as a thank you for not sending me over to the Revolution," he murmurs in her ear, "or payback for the little stunt you pulled last night." He doesn't need to specify what he's talking about for her to know it's about the way she made him beg. "Whichever you prefer."

She'd like to say his name doesn't leave her lips for the entire night, but that would be a lie.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter x
Miki