The next day Alouette decides to give Harry some space, and ends up walking into his office in the early afternoon.

"Hello, Lark," he greets her before she can even say a word, still facing the window, not even bothering to turn around. Did he recognise her simply by the sound of her steps?

She forces herself not to be freaked out and steps closer to the desk. "I heard you're throwing a party."

Harry finally turns around partially, glancing at her from over his shoulder. "Me? No." He chuckles. "I know better than to sing victory before it is time. But yes, there will be a celebration. The morale in the palace is low."

"A lot of people seem to be really excited about it."

"It's a foolish man's pleasure to let his guard down before he should," he replies, "don't let the pretty talk trick you, the Revolution is far from obliterated and its counterattack is impending."

"That's terrifying," Alouette replies, sounding scared even though she isn't. At least Harry knows he hasn't already won.

He hums, walking towards the desk and putting the empty crystal glass he's holding down on it. "Fear is your biggest enemy. Once you fear something, it has already won." The residual line of the drink at the bottom of the glass changes at the soft hit. "I have a job for you."

"Oh, you do?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

Harry rounds the desk, and an instant after is right next to her, his fresh scent filling the air around her. "Since we've stopped fighting, now," he murmurs, tugging at her hair gently and making her look at him. "Have we, Lark?"

"Of course." She has to fight the sudden urge to either take a step back or close the distance between them, their closeness playing odd tricks on her mind.

"Good," he breathes. "Prove to me I can still trust you."

"What do you want me to do?"

He lets go of her. "There's a place in the city. An apartment," he tells her, his voice sounding clearer. "I need something from it."

"What do you need?"

"That's nothing you should worry about, actually," he replies. "I need you to take a guard and get it for me."

"You want me to break into someone else's home? That's illegal."

"I'm the president, Lark. I decide what's illegal and what isn't. Besides, I own that apartment, so I'm giving you permission to go inside. In fact, I'm also going to give you its key."

"Then why can't you get it yourself?" She clears her throat when she notices the slight resentment in her voice.

"I sensed that question coming," Harry states, seeming to take some kind of pleasure from his ability to predict her actions. "I suspect someone has leaked the information concerning it, and that it fell in very bad hands." He sends her a quick look. "I'm sure you can figure out yourself why it'd be dangerous for me to go there."

"Then why do you want me to?"

"Why not?" He replies, but lets out a sigh when he realises she'll need him to be more specific before accepting. "They don't know you. If any of my trusted guards go there, they'll know they're with me."

She tilts her head. "How would they?" It's scary to know the extent to which he's aware of the way his enemies act. It makes him a hard target.

"A lot of people like to keep tabs on me, and I'm rather sure they know every detail about every single person I'm usually seen out in the city with," he explains quickly, "they, however, don't know much about what happens in the palace, which means they don't know you."

"It seems dangerous," Alouette admits. It sounds like Harry knows things could take a bad turn and doesn't want to be there to witness it. She can't exactly tell why he wants her to be there for it, though.

"Do you really think I'd put you in harm's way?"

His voice is coddling, as if he's speaking to a child that needs convincing, making her almost feel guilty for her question, and she recognises the hint of manipulation in it.

"If you decided it benefits you? Probably," she says in reply.

Harry lets out a laugh. "What a dark opinion you have of me, Lark," he says lowly. "I can't say you're wrong, though. I do like to play my own games. It's interesting that you noticed." He walks around the desk and sits on his chair, looking at her from the lower position and still managing to make her feel like he's towering over her. "I have no plans that concern your demise."

"Is that a promise?"

"It could be." He tilts his head slightly, observing her with those mint green eyes that are so light and yet so dark at the same time, and Alouette can't say no. It takes one more second to convince herself she's only agreeing to it not to endanger her own mission.

"Then I'll go. For you, Harry, and you alone."

He gives her an enigmatic smile. "I'll let the lower floors know."

•    •    •

Later that day, Alouette is standing next to the front door of an apartment in the city with a guard right behind her.

She unlocks it and steps inside first, her heart beating so violently that she worries the other guard might be able to hear it. She didn't bother asking for his name and she surely doesn't mind now, considering that, even if she did know it, she wouldn't be able to remember.

She can't help but feel like she's walking straight into a trap Harry concocted for her, and it terrifies her even though there's no reason for him to have any ill will against her— not that he knows of, at least.

The apartment is dark and eerily quiet, and she turns on the light to avoid receiving any bad surprises. The room is completely empty, aside from some basic furniture. It looks like it was furnished enough just to look somewhat like a home if anyone bothered to check, but the complete lack of trinkets or mess makes it clear that nobody has ever lived in it.

"Stay here, I'll go look," the guard says behind her, and she jumps, not having expected him to speak.

She looks around, her tension fading away when she realises they're indeed alone in the apartment. Maybe Harry was wrong, or the enemy simply hasn't bothered keeping watch on it.

"What does Mr. Styles want us to find?" She asks, rolling her eyes when the guard gives her a suspicious look. "Come on, we'll be faster if you let me help."

He sighs. "It's a book."

"A book? What kind of book?"

"I don't know the specifics, I'm not in the secret services yet."

The statement makes Alouette look at him better, and something drops in her chest when she realises he's young, very young. He can't be a day more than nineteen, and it makes her feel sick. In her mind, the guards surrounding the palace and executing the president's will around the country are older men, but the boy standing in front of her makes her realise it isn't like that.

He's young and has his whole life in front of him, and he dreams of becoming part of Harry's secret service. He reminds her of the boys of the Revolution, that once they hit eighteen they decide to join their army, in hopes of freeing the country one day. He reminds her of Elijah.

The young ones are usually the first to die.

"You've got to know something more about this book, how else are we going to find it?" She asks him, her voice gentler this time around.

"It's an old book," the boy says, making a face. "Hasn't been printed for quite some time. The president's spies use it to send secret messages around, been using that one for more than twenty years. This is all I know." He shoots her a mischievous look. "This is a test for me, you know? The general says that if I pass it, he'll add a bonus to my final grade. Grades are important, the president only picks the best."

Alouette hums. Harry seems very selective when it comes to choosing the people around him. Trust, top grades, they all make for a very tight circle— but a very organised and effective one. It's clear that he values the quality other than the numbers, and while she admires him for it, it also worries her deeply.

After all, she's the enemy. How long will it be before Harry or one of his highly trusted, first-rate spies finds out who she is?

"So I suppose there's some kind of message for the president in it?" She asks, trying to change topic to hide the deep fear that has just bubbled up inside her.

"Either that or he wants us to simply retrieve it, since this place isn't safe anymore."

Alouette gives him a nod before walking into another room, cherishing the calmness of that apartment. If it wasn't for the light of the advertisements coming in through the windows, she'd doubt they're in the middle of the city.

A book. She can find a book.

She starts going through all the books on the bookshelf on her right, frowning when she realises none of them correspond to the description she was given of it.

Where is it?

The longer she stays in that apartment, the more she fears she'll go slowly insane. Even though she knows it's empty, she can't shake away the bad feeling that's overpowering her senses.

She checks the second bookshelf, but she can't find anything there. Couldn't Harry just tell them where to find that book exactly?

Harry.

The guard told her the book is used by the secret services— Harry's secret services. The same organisation he accurately builds. What are the chances that he hasn't had a said over the hiding place of the book?

Alouette knows the answer. None.

Where would Harry hide a book?

Her eyes land on the couch, and she smiles.

In his old bedroom, he hid a box of prized belongings under his bed. What if he did the same here too?

There isn't a bed there, but there is a couch.

She turns on the flashlight and checks right under it, her confidence shaking when she can't find anything.

And yet it seemed to easy.

She moves away the cushions and looks under them, smiling to herself when she finds something.

There's a book hiding under there, its cover yellowish. It's clear that it's very, very old. She found her book. She picks it up and her heart drops when she reads the title.

It's the same book her father used to love— it's just a different copy of it. How did her father get a hold of one of them?

"Oh good, you found it."

She looks over her shoulder, the guard is standing right behind her. But this makes no sense, because if a copy of the book favoured by her father is the book they were looking for, what does it mean for her?

She opens her mouth to reply, but all of a sudden people are shooting the door down and flooding the apartment.

Alouette ducks behind the desk, breathing heavily as she presses her back against the metal in an attempt to make herself as small as possible.

Bullets are piercing through the air, her ears are ringing, her heart is about to fail.

What is going on, what is going on? is the only thought in her mind, repeated obsessively like a mantra. I'm going to die here. I won't see Amina again.

"Take this!"

Something hard and cold is pressed into her hand, and she frowns when she realises it's a gun. "What...?" She only manages to say.

The guard gives her a serious look. "I need you to shoot, I can't do it on my own."

"Shoot?"

Bullets fly through the door and take it off its hinges. It slams on the floor violently, sending shards everywhere around the room. It takes her a moment to realise they come from the shattered coffee table.

"Lark!" He hisses, just as men storm the room.

Alouette blinks. Shoot. She shakes her head, forcing herself to get out of the state of shock she's fallen in. She can shoot. The Revolution taught her.

Her hands are trembling, but she looks around the corner of the desk. A man is walking towards it, and she knows that in the moment he reaches them, they're dead.

She points the gun at him and fires, closing her eyes in the same instant. She can hear the deafening sound and feel the blow, and when she opens her eyes again the man is down.

She's breathing quickly, and adrenaline rushes through her. She can't die here. Not today.

She shoots the next man that enters the room, forcing herself not to stop to think about what she's doing. If she takes a moment to realise it's real people she's shooting at and not targets, she won't be able to fire the gun again.

There's a pause of an instant, and she glances at the guard. He's hiding behind the bookshelf, a tense posture and a firearm held tightly in his hands, seeming way more at ease than her. He's got his side covered. She looks around and shoots another, and another, and another. Most of her bullets hit the walls and furniture, but they're close enough to the men's bodies that they stop with a start. The guard takes them down quickly.

All of a sudden she sees someone sneak up behind the guard, and she points the gun at them. She narrows her eyes, trying to get the perfect shot, her finger hovering over the trigger, a deep calm settling into her bones as she prepares to fire. Then, they look up.

Her eyes widen, and his do too in the second he sees her as well. Those dark brown eyes, the same colour of chestnuts in autumn, that feel so much like home. That gaze she'd recognise anywhere.

"Elijah," she whispers, but nobody can hear her over the gunshots.

Her chin is trembling and her eyes get wet, but she forces herself to blink the tears away. He looks at her, too, seeming to be just as shocked as she is.

It's only been six weeks since the last time she saw him, but it feels like a century. She isn't the same person she was a month ago and neither is he, because the Elijah she knows is funny and sarcastic and always looking for a reason to skip out, not fearless in battle with a gun in his hands.

Her own fingers are shaking, they're shaking so violently she convinces herself she can hear the firearm rattle. She automatically lowers it, and Elijah does too.

Time has stopped around them, and she can't even hear the sounds around her anymore. All that matters is Elijah, standing on the other side of the room and looking as surprised as she does. She wants to run to him and hug him and ask him a thousand questions and take him away from that apartment, but her feet are glued to the floor.

He mouths something, but she can't make out what he's saying.

A hand lands on her arm, and she's wrenched away from her bubble. The guard is crouching right next to her. She hasn't even seen him move.

"What are you waiting for?!" He exclaims. "Shoot!"

Shoot.

How could she?

"Shoot, Lark!"

The sound of her name shakes something inside of her, and she raises her gun again.

Shoot.

Her finger grazes the trigger.

Shoot, Lark.

Elijah is looking at her as if he believes she'll put a bullet in his skull.

Shoot.

She aims, a concentrated look on her face. Now more than ever, she hopes she's a good shot.

"Shoot!"

The tension is released like the crack of a whip, and she fires. The bullet goes right through the wall, next to Elijah's head. He ducks behind the couch and she can't see him anymore.

"Fuck, you missed," the guard says, and she nods quickly even though she can feel relief washing through her in waves.

"Sorry."

"It's okay, at least you got some."

She did, get some. Some men of the Revolution. It is her family that's now lying on the floor at her feet, and she feels disgusted with herself. She fired at the Revolution. She shot her own people.

If she hadn't, the guard would've known.

But she shot at the closest thing she has to a family. She's sure that, if she goes around the room and looks at the faces of the people she fired at, she'll recognise some of them. They've probably seen each other in the corridors at some point, dined in the same hall.

And now some are hurt, some are dead. And it's only because of her.

She's a murderer.

She's always thought her first and only victim would be Harry.

But Harry asked her to go on a mission, he put her in danger. He made her a murderer.

With a start, she suddenly realises the true meaning of his words.

Prove to me I can still trust you.

He knew he was asking her to walk right into a trap, he wouldn't have told her to go otherwise.

He had her shoot someone on purpose. He wanted her to kill for him.

A gunshot resonates in the air, and the young guard pulls her to the ground just in time for it to miss her head. He fires a couple of bullets in that same direction, and then it's silent again.

"Do you have the book?" He asks her quietly, and she nods. "We have to make a run for the door. They're too many. Reload the gun."

She does, trying to ignore the way her hands are trembling. Elijah is hiding just a few feet away from them. What if he's hurt? What if the guard shoots him?

The guard takes the gun from her and reloads it when he realises she's too on edge to do it herself, and she wonders how stupid she must look to him. He seems to have it together way more than her, and yet he's surely younger than her. Even though he'd gladly kill her if only he knew who she is, she finds herself hoping he won't die today.

"Go."

She stands up and rushes to the bookshelf, firing some bullets through the air and trying to make sure they won't hit anyone. He shoots as well, and they rush to the door.

Elijah is right there, his brown eyes wide as he looks at her. She can sense his fear, read his thoughts.

So much for these missions being danger free, isn't that right, Elijah? They're both stuck there and both wish they were somewhere else. And she has to pretend she doesn't know him when all she wants to do is hug him. She feels like she's actually dreaming and he isn't truly there— her mind can't process it.

The guard is about to turn the couch, and when he does he'll see Elijah. She has to act fast.

"Careful!" Alouette shouts, emptying her cartridge in an empty hallway, and the guard instinctively turns in that direction, shooting as well before realising nobody is there. "They hid again, shit."

She glances where Elijah was, but he isn't there anymore. He took it as his opportunity to hide somewhere else. A weight is lifted off her chest.

They get to the entrance and run outside, and only a matter of seconds later they're speeding away.

Alouette is sure she's left her heart in the apartment.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. x
Miki