Alouette is lying down on her bed, wearing nothing but a white lacy nightgown and underwear. She discarded her bra as soon as she entered the room, and it's now lying next to her on the bed.

She rereads the letter in her hand, a smile on her face, that tug at her heart becoming stronger as she goes over her sister's words again and again. She's been taking it out of the little spot she hid it in every day since it first arrived, but the more she reads it, now, the farther away her old life seems to be. The farther away the Revolution seems to be.

It's like they're on the other side of the world, even though she knows it isn't the case. They're only some hours away from her, and yet they seem to unreachable, now.

The cream silky bedsheets smell like lavender and she turns around on top of them, putting the letter aside and staring at the white ceiling. She could get used to that. To living like that. Somewhere where everything is made of fancy textures and everything is handed to her.

She'll miss it when she goes back home.

It's a shame she doesn't get to share it with anyone else, she's sure Amina would love it. Amina would love everything in that beautiful building. She'd feel like a princess.

Alouette wonders if Harry knows how lucky he is, if he's aware of the fact that he was dealt all the right cards even before being born, that he was handed a life most people would dream of having and yet never obtain. Everything is waiting to be taken by him, he just needs to say the word. Some people are more fortunate than others.

She dims the lights, the contrast of their luminescence painful against the obscurity of the night outside. It's a little after one in the morning, but she still hasn't been able to fall asleep.

The Revolution granted her two more weeks to get ready, or so Nathan told her. She should be happy that they listened to her request, but she isn't. It stresses her out to be reminded of her upcoming deadline.

Especially after the conversation she had with Harry some days ago.

She didn't expect him to be so ready, so... willing. But, at the first chance he was given, he jumped on it. He seemed glad, even, as if he was grateful that, whatever it was that was between them, it obtained a more familiar form. Something he knew how to deal with.

And now, she isn't sure where she is, with him. She enjoyed playing some games with him before, but now she feels... lost. What's acceptable for her to say or do, now? She doesn't know.

They haven't talked in the past couple of days. She tried her best to stay as far away from him as possible, and Harry seemed to listen to her wishes, because she didn't see him even once, even though they were walking the same floors.

Alouette wonders if he's trying to sort through whatever happened some days ago in the car as well, or if he's just busy. It's probably the second, since he never seemed to be too bothered by everything that goes on around him. She's sure it means nothing to him, too. That he just went along with it for fun.

Normally she'd take a step back, but as it is, she knows she was just offered the perfect path to follow. She might not mean much to him, but as long as he's willing to take down his defences around her, even just a little... it's all she needs. She just has to thread carefully around him and test him, again and again, to find a way in through the walls he put up around himself. And she has to do so without him noticing.

That's the hardest part, considering how perceptive he is. He won't let her waltz in through the front door, it'll be too much if he only does as much as opening a sliver to allow her to look in. But he might be more willing to open up and less suspicious, if he believes that all she wants is to have him naked in her bed. Which makes it the perfect excuse.

When did everything get so complicated? It's always been, she supposes, but she never noticed it in the same way she is now.

A part of her wishes she was still in the Revolution, but another is very, very glad that she isn't there. Here she has a purpose, something to do. She can go out if she wants. She can stare at the skyline without it being deemed weird. She can get coffee whenever she wants and eat only things she likes. She wonders if the Revolution will feel even more suffocating than before when she comes back.

But even though she has every cosiness at the palace, the people she cares about are at the Revolution. She wonders if it'd be weird to ask Nathan to send a letter to Elijah. There are only so many things her little sister can tell her through her letters. She'd like to know how things are actually going there, through the eyes of someone who has the necessary maturity to understand them. She'll have to see what he says the next time they meet.

Longing comes over her again and she lets out a sigh, sitting up and brushing her hair out of her face.

She can't sleep.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she stands up and puts on a sheer white robe, more not to look severely underdressed than anything else. Not that she expects anyone to be out in the corridor. She's pretty confident she'll be the only one around, considering the late hour. And that's exactly what she wants.

She walks out of the door and to the kitchen, a couple floors down. Luckily enough, the lift doesn't break down when she uses it.

One of the lights turns on as soon as she steps inside, illuminating the room just enough for her to see. She opens one of the cupboards and takes out a glass, filling it with water and drinking it slowly, letting the clear drink flow down her throat as she tries to push away the sadness she feels in her chest.

When she's done she cleans it and dries it before putting it in its place and walking out again. She walks slowly as she goes back to her room, giving herself some time to clear her head just enough to fall asleep without the roaring of her thoughts in the background.

She's close to her door when she sees him.

He's walking in the hallway, not too far away from her, like a lost fawn. As someone that keeps moving even when they don't know where to go, unable to settle.

She shouldn't stop, but she does.

He hears the pause in her steps and looks up, locking his eyes with hers, and her breath hitches in her throat.

She's never seen them look so dark, so shadowy. It isn't an amused darkness like the one he'd exhibited in the limousine, but an obscurity gloomier than she's ever seen. His eyes are still green, but the gaze inside them is everything but. There's ice in his eyes, a lonely frozen land with no sign of life or joy.

Dead. His eyes look dead. There's no other word that can describe the lack of everything in them.

Alouette should go into her room and lock her door, but she doesn't.

She can't.

She doesn't know what comes over her, but as soon as he's close to her she says, "Quite a night to be roaming around, sir."

Harry stops walking in the instant she speaks, and turns his head towards her. He looks in her direction, but it's like he can't even see her, like he's seeing right through her and staring at the wall behind her instead. "Pardon?"

She's never heard him speak so low, so coldly before. It sends a chill down her spine, but she tries her best to ignore it. "I was quite surprised when nobody came to find me in the last two days," she continues, a hint of playfulness in her voice, referring to the conversation they had some days ago.

Come on, a voice in her head whispers, say something. Bite back. I know you can.

"I was busy." An equally freezing statement. Alouette doesn't know why it hits her so hard.

She should leave it at that. She should leave it at that, because Harry doesn't seem to want to have any kind of conversation. But she can't leave him like that. It doesn't feel right.

"If I'm not wrong, some nights ago you said you'd smoke with me." She looks at him tentatively. "I wonder if that offer still stands."

He observes her, and for a second she can see a flicker of something in those golden green eyes of his. She wonders how such a warm shade can look so cold.

"I'd never break a promise whispered in the air of the night," he then murmurs. His voice is still glacial, but she chooses to ignore it and walks inside.

She widens her eyes when she realises her bra is still on her bed, and she can only throw it under the blanket before Harry comes in as well.

Alouette lets her gaze scan him, from his head to his feet, taking in the sight of him.

He's wearing no makeup and his brunette hair is disheveled, as if he just finished running his fingers through it again and again. The black jacket of his suit and his tie are missing also, and the sleeves of his white shirt look like they've been hastily rolled up. The stare in his eyes is icy and unfeeling, and it agitates Alouette more than she'd like to admit.

This isn't the Harry she knows. This is some other person, someone that makes her want to cower away and never come out again.

All the lightness he seemed to have is gone, and for the first time, Alouette is scared. She's scared of the person that's now staring at her as if she too is part of the furniture of the room.

But at the same time she knows, she hopes, that it isn't truly him. That he's hidden somewhere deep inside his mind, so far into the gloom that she isn't even sure her words are reaching him.

"I thought we were supposed to play, sir," she says tentatively, taking a step towards him. "Or have you left the game?"

She's careful as she teases him, trying to bring out that part of him that she knows is in there. The part that made his eyes light up the other day in the car. She's cautious while she tries to call it to come out and play, to peek through the obscurity looming over him like a dark cloud.

"I wonder, does this mean I've won?"

Harry narrows his eyes, and she can see a glimmer in his eyes, as bright as the first star of the night, but fading away quicker than a dying fire. "Are you trying to cheat your way out of the game?"

She presses her lips together to hide a smile.

There you are.

"I'd say it's what you're trying to do instead, sir." She doesn't even pay attention to what she's saying, all she cares about is that she's talking, and Harry is responding to her.

"I don't need to run away, Lark," he replies smoothly, "I always win."

"I wonder if your confidence is coming a bit too early," she muses, walking out on the balcony while taking the pack of cigarettes from the desk.

She might've asked Nathan to buy it for her just for that moment, but that's not for Harry, or the guard, to know.

Harry doesn't reply, but walks with her outside.

The chilly air of the night is still as it hits her exposed skin, so still that she wonders if they haven't just stepped into a simulation instead.

She takes a cigarette and offers the pack to Harry, staring at him as he takes one out as well and holds it between his lips. She hands him the lighter and he nears the flame to its end, taking a long drag when it's lit.

"Come here," he murmurs, holding it between his middle and pointer finger, and she does, letting him light hers as well.

He puts the lighter on the short wall between them and the deep, deep fall that separates them from the city below and rests his hand on it, holding the cigarette over the overhang as he looks at her attentively, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"What are you thinking of?" he asks her, quietly, after some instants, and she shrugs, staring at the smoke rising in the air.

She's pretty sure telling him what's on her mind isn't the brightest idea, considering who he is.

He hums, and she wonders if he realises it too. "A secret for a secret?" He asks her, sitting on the wall, the balcony on one side, nothing on the other.

It'd be so easy to throw him off right now. So easy, one push and he'd be gone. And then she'd be able to go back home.

But she doesn't.

"A secret?" She can't deny she's intrigued. She moves closer to him, not missing the way fire sparks into his eyes at her action, melting the remaining ice. She silently gulps as she reaches up to graze the second button of his shirt, that's already undone. She plays with it for an instant, the nacre cold under her finger, before letting it go again. "I'm enjoying this conversation more than I thought I would. What's yours?"

She glances up at him mischievously, offering him a little smile as she breathes in the smoke.

He muses on the answer, not taking his eyes away from hers. "I think it would be quite nice to take you over the very railing I'm sitting on right now, with the city lights blinking underneath us."

She gives him a hard look. "I'd like to discover if that mouth of yours is good at anything aside from teasing."

"Trust me, Lark, I excel in all kinds of teasing."

Alouette offers him a smirk. "That's for me to decide though, isn't it?"

Harry chokes back a laugh, taking another drag and staring at the skyline of his city.

"You told me two secrets," he then states.

She shifts closer to him. "What's your second secret?"

"I wouldn't mind showing you all the things my mouth can do."

She looks away to hide the shock on her face. She still isn't used to hearing someone be so straightforward about that kind of thing. She wonders about all the things he'd be willing to say, just not to say what truly matters.

"But this isn't the time nor place."

Alouette glances at him. "I'm thinking it isn't the time or place either."

He opens his mouth to let out another little secret to match hers, but she silences him before he can speak.

"Hold onto that one. I'll claim it one day."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Did you just make me your debtor, you mischievous little bird?"

"Maybe," she replies with a little shrug, smiling a bit as she looks at the flickering lights of the city below. "Can I tell you another secret?"

"At this point it'd be quicker if you sold your soul to me instead."

She laughs, the sound fading away into the night before she speaks. "You aren't nearly as bad as I thought you'd be."

"You thought I was bad?"

Alouette looks up at him, but he doesn't seem to be upset. He's amused, at most.

"Your fame precedes you, sir," she tells him jokingly, but she knows he can see the truth behind her words. "I'm not selling my soul to you, by the way. In case... in case that's a thing."

"It isn't," he replies, "but what a shame."

She leans on her side against the wall, her own cigarette forgotten between her fingers as she observes him bring his to his mouth. That pink, heart shaped mouth of his, so pretty and yet so filthy. "Oh yeah? What would you have done with my soul, Mr. Styles?"

He stares her down from where he's sitting, leaning his arm on top of his raises knee. "I would've locked it in a cage and let it fly over Northfair at night," he whispers, as if it was a secret only for her to hear. "I believe it would've shone brighter than the lights of the city or the stars above it."

His words leave her speechless and she looks away, not knowing what to say. She's never heard such a dangerous, but beautiful, reply before. It reminds her of who the man she's playing with actually is.

"I'm afraid the standards you hold me up to are a bit too high," she ends up saying.

"I believe that's relative, too."

"Is there anything that isn't relative to you?"

A silence follows her reply and she looks up at him, discovering that his gaze has darkened again, something she can't read in it.

She's about to say sorry, even though she doesn't know what for, when he finally speaks.

"Only physical pain."

The three small words seem so out of place coming out of those same lips that only minutes ago wondered about making her his right on top of the balcony, and they leave her speechless again.

She ponders what could have brought him, a man who has everything, to say something like that, and the silence grows between them as Harry keeps smoking.

"Thanks for tonight, Lark," he says after some more minutes, getting off the wall, and she doesn't know if he's thanking her for the smoke or something else entirely.

She takes some step backwards to give him some space, only nodding.

He lets his eyes travel over her body, a burning look in them. "And thanks for the visual. I shall not forget it anytime soon."

Alouette thanks the cold of the night for dimming the warmth that rushes to her cheeks when she realises she's still wearing that lacy nightgown. "Is that a promise?" She asks him in reply, trying to hide the awkwardness she's feeling with confidence.

He gives her a dark chuckle, putting out his cigarette before walking inside again.

She observes him as he gets out of her room without as much as a goodbye, and then puts out hers as well, throwing it away.

She sighs, staring out into the shiny night, for an instant wondering what it'd be like to grow wings like her name suggests and fly all over the city, like Harry said.

She wonders if she'd finally feel free then, when the stars melt into the lights of the city and the other way around, and she wouldn't be able to tell where the earth is.

But none of those thoughts can make her forget the conversation she just had with Harry, none of them can sweep away the feeling blooming inside of her.

She'd never thought she could talk to him so frankly, so honestly. Despite all the secrets they both carry and the teasing, there was something of so genuine in their conversation, something she isn't sure she's ready for.

He said so many things, some brushed off as little useless confessions, some more meaningful, and of all the words he spoke, she doesn't know if any correspond to the truth.

And it really shouldn't matter.

But it does.