Alouette screams and pulls Harry to hide behind the bed. A moment goes by and she realises they're on the upper floors and that nobody will come in through the window, so she stands up and throws Harry's clothes to him. "Get dressed," she mutters, putting on her shirt and pulling out her gun.

She approaches the window, carefully, but can't see anyone outside. Still, they have to leave now. She isn't taking any chances.

They step out on the corridor; her heart is hammering into her chest. She glances around to make sure everything is still, and then they walk away. They don't even get to reach the stairs before they're suddenly attacked.

Alouette is slammed into the wall and a figure plunges towards Harry. She throws a kick between the legs of her attacker and he crouches on the floor. She knees him in the face and throws him aside. One of the men pulls out a gun and points it at Harry's back, but she strikes him with the grip of hers and then grabs Harry's arm.

A figure takes advantage of Harry dropping his guard and jumps him. He's so fast that Alouette barely sees him move. There's the glint of a blade, and then the man falls on the ground clutching his stomach. She sends Harry a glare, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Was I not supposed to kill him?" he asks.

If they were in another situation, she might consider shouting at him. But one more man walks up the stairs, so she threatens him with a gun to get him to move away and then grabs Harry's wrist, and they run down.

The woman behind the desk sends them a dark look when they dash past, and in a moment Alouette knows she's the one that called their attackers—whoever they are.

They run out on the street, and Alouette swears under her breath when she realises there are four more people waiting for them around a vehicle. A vehicle that she has no doubt she's seen before. This morning.

She gasps. They're the same group that attacked the city they were in.

They pull out their guns when they see them, but Alouette is faster and jumps into the side street where she hid the car, Harry right behind her. She unlocks the vehicle and they get inside. Only a moment is wasted to unlock the doors and then they're speeding down the street.

By the time the others get into their cars, they're already too far away.

She shoots Harry a look when they get out of the city, for the first time since they escaped from Jayden and his guards, he seems worried.

"Something concerning you?" she asks lightly, but she can't hide the way her breath is still much faster.

He frowns. "These attacks are concerning."

"I thought you didn't care."

"I didn't," he replies, "this is different, though."

Alouette gives him a confused look. "Different how? It mustn't be a surprise people want you dead."

Behind them, there's a burst of red flames where the city used to be. It looks like they weren't the only reason why they were there.

The look on Harry's face is dark. "The towns they were targeting earlier were irrelevant in the scheme of things. This city, though, has some economical power. If it goes down, there will be repercussions on the economy of the country and the stability of the Palace."

She clenches her teeth to keep herself from commenting on how he should want to protect his people regardless of how much money they bring to him. "You shouldn't worry about the Palace, you're never going back there anyway," she says instead.

He sends her an unreadable look. "Careful, an excess of confidence is always dangerous."

She chuckles. "I could tell you the same."

Silence falls. Now the fire is only a spot in the distance, but still she doesn't slow down. She drives for another hour, maybe two, until she feels safe enough to finally stop on the side of the street. The adrenaline is gone, now, and all she's left with is tiredness and the memory of what happened in the hotel room. What almost happened. Her cheeks warm up.

Harry is still looking at her in that enigmatic way of his. "You really think you can keep me forever, don't you?" he murmurs.

Alouette shrugs. "Why not?"

The shadow of a smile curves Harry's lips, and he opens the car door. He pours some water over his knife, cleaning the blade, and then snaps it closed and puts it back into the pocket of his trousers.

There's a moment of silence. Then,

"I want to make another deal with you," Harry says.

Her attention snaps towards him instantly. This feels like danger, like a trap. Harry would never offer anything unless he knew he'd get something back. She should ignore it, but her curiosity is piqued. "What kind of deal?"

He tilts his head. "You said you wanted to use me, once," he murmurs. His eyes shine dangerously. "Why don't we talk about that?"

Alouette purses her lips. The temptation is high. "What are your terms?" she asks. Somehow, she knows in the second she speaks those words that she's going to regret them.

Harry motions her to come closer, and she leans towards him over the handbrake. He puts his hand on her neck and pulls her closer, and then whispers something in her ear.

A moment passes.

Then she chokes out a breath and staggers back. "I'd never make such a deal with you!" she exclaims.

Harry chuckles. He doesn't seem surprised, but doesn't seem worried either. It's as if he knows that, at some point, they'll come back to this moment, and she'll have a different answer. "As you wish."

Alouette sends him a little glare, but it doesn't hold much weight when they're both too aware of what almost happened between them.

He pulls her chin up with a finger. His eyes are as bright as the stars above their heads. "I want you, Lark," he whispers. "In every meaning of the word."

A shiver runs down her spine. She doesn't know if it feels like a threat, or something else entirely.

"I'm tired of playing games."

A sudden memory comes back to her mind. Him and her, together on the roof of the Palace. It can't have been more than a couple of months since then, now.

I think I'll keep you for myself, after all, he'd told her then.

His lips graze hers, and she's thrown back into the present. "Accept my deal," he whispers.

"No," she replies, but presses her mouth against his all the same. Her body tingles, and he pulls her closer to him. The handbrake is now digging into her thigh, but she can't bring herself to care.

"Accept my deal," he murmurs against her lips, his fingers intertwining into her hair.

"No," she whispers back. She climbs over the gap between their seats and deepens the kiss. The car windows are starting to fog up, now.

He kisses her neck, pulling down the collar of her shirt to reach lower and letting out a pleased hum when he discovers she isn't wearing a bra. "Accept my deal," he breathes against her skin.

Alouette puts her finger under his chin and lifts his head. There's a heated look into his eyes. "You want me?" she asks. Harry answers the question by crashing his lips against hers again. His hands travel up her shirt, but she grabs her wrists and pins them against the seat. "Can you be mine too, then?"

Something flashes through Harry's eyes. He frees a hand and his fingers curl around the back of her neck as he pulls her closer. "Is that a yes?"

Alouette laughs and moves back to her seat. "Not a chance."

He sighs, watching her as she leans back on her seat. "Are you going to sleep?"

She nods, even though she's sure she'll have a hard time doing that with him right next to her. "You should as well."

There are some seconds of silence. "I'll go outside for a moment," he tells her quietly.

She opens an eye. "Are you going to run?"

"There's nowhere to go."

Alouette laughs. "True."

He hums and steps out of the car, closing the door. She tries to wait for him, but then the rush from the day catches up to her, and she falls asleep.

•     •     •

The sky is dark overhead. There are no stars to be seen, not tonight.

"What's the most important thing a president should have?"

Harry tilts his head, the ice of the memory coursing through his veins until he can feel it spread through his chest, into his mind, a frozen layer between him and reality.

A hand runs down his chest. "Are you listening to me?" Kiara looks at him, a paper sheet is hiding the smile he can see in her eyes.

He hums, leaning his head back on the armchair. The ceiling is dark but for the few lights embedded in it. They're so white, just like the stars in the night sky he barely gets to see anymore. His fingers run up Kiara's side, play with the soft lace of her underwear, eliciting a chuckle from her.

"Hey," she says. She pulls his chin up and her lips hover over his. "No touching until you answer."

"What was the question, again?" He's nineteen now, he truly should know better. But it's so easy to get lost in every touch, every graze, every moment that reminds him that this is how it should be, that contact doesn't always mean pain and that there's more to life that that cursed office at the end of the hall.

Kiara laughs and shifts on top of him. She kisses his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Her arms hold him close to her, fingertips dip into his skin and spread warmth through his tired bones. There's a dark shadow clouding his mind, every sound is distant and muffled. He sinks into himself until the memory of the latest encounter fades away and all he can feel is her on top of him and the taste of alcohol on his tongue.

"Again, Harry." She picks up the paper sheet. It fell between them when she held him close, and now it's crumpled up. He fights the urge to straighten it. Her finger traces the line of his collarbone, tangles into the chain of his necklace and tugs at it gently. "I'll kiss you if you answer correctly."

"I see." His thumb grazes her mouth, and her lips part.

"He'll get mad at you if you don't know the answer," she insists, but she's already starting to melt into his touch. He pulls her closer, the feeling of skin against skin is oddly reassuring. A lazy hunger bubbles up inside of him, and he pulls down the strap of her bra and kisses her shoulder. "I don't want that to happen," Kiara continues, but her voice is breathy now. Her back arches when he nibbles on her neck. "Harry."

"Will you give me a suggestion?" he murmurs, but he's barely paying attention to the words leaving his mouth. He's about to drown into his mind, deep deep down, to that dark spot where there's no pain, no fear, just shadows and silence. Just him and her, at the bottom of the ocean, the Palace so far away he can't even see its lights anymore.

She lets out a breathy sound, halfway through a moan and a laugh, a sound he's learned to recognise as hers. "It starts with c."

He looks up at her, a flash of trouble in his eyes. "Oh, really?"

A scandalised look touches her eyes. "Harry!"

"Harry."

Wind comes, and it flattens the tall, yellow grass in a wave. He isn't wearing a coat, and it blows right through his shirt and into his bones. His hand slides into the pocket of his trousers.

"Harry."

"Harry."

"Harry!" A hand slams on the table, he jumps up. His father is looking at him, with those eyes that are so cold and so dead. They don't send a shiver down his spine, though, not anymore. Looks can't kill. Everything else does.

"I apologise, father." A bow of his head, a mostly sincere-sounding apology. He's learnt to walk that thread. He leans back on the chair, the bruises on his back sting and he clenches his teeth not to let out a sound.

His father pinches his nose. "I said, what is the most important thing a president should have?"

Harry's gaze is off in the distance. He can still see the smile in Kiara's eyes, her touch down his chest and into his clothes, down down until he met spring. Yes, her hands. Her mouth. Her...

"Harry!"

He jolts. What were those lips saying? She whispered the answer into his ear at some point, he's certain of it, but everything is so faded, so... distant. His memories from the day before are failing him, his mind is a blank slate. He's never had nothing to say before. He's never been so empty, yet he can feel his blood run faster in his veins.

"Control!" his father shouts. "It's control!" He's seething. "Without control, you are nothing. You must have control—whoever you can't control is a weakness. Too many of them, and your system will fall."

Am I a weakness in your system?, he thinks.

"If you let yourself be controlled, you've already lost."

"Accept my deal."

"No."

Whoever you can't control is a weakness. If you let yourself be controlled, you've already lost.

The words sting in a way he's never known before. More than bruises, but in a subtle way. In a sneaky way. They slide into his mind and fill up the spaces between his discarded thoughts, tying them all together in a way he's never known before.

"He got to you again?" Kiara asks when he shows up at the door on the bottom floors leaving a red stain on the frame. Her uncle studies him with dark eyes, and then brings her cousin into another room before the child can see him.

"It won't be like this forever," Evie murmurs as she walks past him, an aching look into her eyes, as if she truly believes those words would be of reassurance to him. They are not.

If you let yourself be controlled, you've already lost.

His fingers tighten around the handle of the knife.

Am I a part of your system?

There's a mosaic in his mind, of shadows and stars, galaxies of thunder and resentment.

He is not a doll. He is not a prisoner.

"Please don't go!" Kiara runs after him in tears. She grabs his arm and spins him around. "You don't have to go! We can leave, we can—"

"He only wants to talk."

"He will kill you!"

Harry walks towards the car, blade in hand.

His mind is a black hole.

You can't control me. You can control me. You can't control me. You can control me. You can't control me. You can control me. You can't control me. You can control me.

"Harry!"

You can't control me. You can control me. You can't control me. You can control me.

You can't control me.

"You bastard!"

You can't control me.

"Harry."

You can't control me.

"Harry!"

He's curled up on a pool of blood. It seeps into his clothes, hair, soul. His chest hurts with every breath he takes—there's no denying he has a few broken ribs. His mind is dazed, his thoughts unfocused. The blood from a split lip is marking his throat red, the taste of iron is on his tongue.

"Harry!"

He looks up. Kiara is in front of him, her eyes wide. There's a body between them, but she's only looking at him.

"Harry," she pleads, as if she can see that he isn't truly there.

He tries to stand up, but his leg gives out. He slips on the pool and stops his fall with his hands. Now they're red too. He hisses as his body hits the floor. The hit crushes all that was still left intact in him, and he's having trouble breathing.

The body doesn't move.

Now Harry's eyes are wide too. His hands are trembling, his breath is coming out in hurried gasps, but it feels like no oxygen is entering his lungs.

The white of his father's eyes. "You're the devil!"

His chest is growing tighter and tighter. He gasps, gets up, slips, falls. Crashes, again and again, and something is breaking inside of him—something he didn't even know was there in the first place.

"Harry, are you okay?" Kiara asks, but he can't breathe. She takes a step back when the pool threatens to touch her shoes, but then looks at him. She truly looks at him, and sees him for who he is. For who he isn't. For all the things he wishes he was, for all the ones he doesn't want to be. Understanding flashes through them, a spark through the thunderous clouds inside the office. She takes a step forward and extends her hand towards him.

Harry tries to reach out, but they're too far apart, and everything hurts. Every breath, every movement, even his heartbeat brings pain. The rush in his veins starts to settle, and he suddenly realises that, if he doesn't stand up now, he never will. Maybe it's because his mind is starting to spin, his thoughts are becoming muddled, and the blood on the floor is his as well. He grips the desk with a force he doesn't have. His arm screams in pain, it's probably broken as well. There's red in the corner of it.

He takes a step forward, his legs shake under his weight, his ankle stings. And then, he takes Kiara's hand. She pulls him into her, over the body on the floor. He trips and falls, but this time she's here to catch him.

"It's okay, it's okay," she mutters, brushing his hair back with trembling hands. "It will be okay. It'll be our secret." She frowns. "We won't say a word, right?"

Her touch awakens something in him, and his consciousness snaps back into him like a rubber band pulled too far away. He gasps, turns, shivers, trembles, and something in him snaps.

He screams. Until his voice is raw, until his body is numb. Until the guards run inside and find the cooling body of his father. Until Kiara makes up a lie and he's brought to his rooms. When he no longer has a voice to scream with, he thrashes. He breaks the desk and the door, the headboard, every object he can find until Kiara grabs his wrists and pins him back onto the mattress to keep him from getting hurt any further. His body is breaking, and so is everything inside of him.

But, among the agony and the ache, there's something else. Something so different and unknown that he doesn't even know what it is, at first. It only strikes him when his state starts to catch up to him, and he fades in and out of unconsciousness. Between streaks of rushed voices and darkness, he understands.

It's freedom.

It's a warmth that spreads through his chest, chasing away the cold of the darkness trying to steal him away.

I won't belong to anyone ever again, he promises. And then, the night pulls him into its embrace.

Harry stops next to the car, knife in hand.

I won't belong to anyone ever again.

There's a spot, right under the vehicle. He's the one that had it put there. Call it a safety measure, a last chance. If he stabs it just right, the car will explode.

He walks past the window. Alouette isn't moving. The slow rising and falling of her chest tells him that she's asleep.

If the car explodes, its location will be automatically sent to the Palace. A last call for help, to be used in a desperate situation, when everything else is lost. All of this will be over.

The handle of the knife is starting to warm up in his hand.

I won't belong to anyone ever again.

The metal digs into his skin as he kneels next to the back of the car. He reaches under it with his hand, feels for the spot with the tip of the knife. He finds it, and his knuckles turn white.

There's a pause of a heartbeat, maybe two.

I won't belong to anyone ever again.

His hand hurts because of how tightly he's gripping his weapon. He puts his knife in position and closes his eyes.

Up and done, he tells himself.

He clenches his teeth, gets ready to move the blade up.

Three.

Two.

One.

His arm is starting to hurt a little, the phantom pain of the break from six years ago.

He will not belong to anyone ever again.

Zero.

The knife doesn't move.

He thinks of Alouette, sleeping in the car. He thinks of life, of spring, of thunder.

His fingers hurt when he lets go of the handle, and the knife falls on the ground.

He hides his face in his hands, something feels different inside of him. "Shit," he mutters.

Above him, the sky judges him silently.

Thank you so much for the 300k on Interlude! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. x
Miki