Interlude [h.s]

sixty-four

THE PALACE

Jayden is standing in Lark's bedroom for what feels like the thousandth time. Ever since he came back to the Palace he's found himself coming here over and over again, trying to make sense of everything that happened. It's hard, though, and he's starting to wonder if, maybe, he's playing a game too complicated for him. There must be something he's missing.

Why would the President help her escape and run away with her? Has he lost it? He shudders. He'd surely be executed if people could read the thoughts in his mind.

But he was so close. He had the President, he had her. And then he had neither, and no explanation as well. He wants to shout and break things. This isn't a game—not for him, not for the people trying to keep the Palace from collapsing. And while they're trying their best, Mr. Styles is running around the country without a care in the world. It seems like the worst possible moment to be taking a holiday.

He sits on the bed, and frowns when something crinkles under him. He immediately stills, listening to the sounds in the corridor and making sure nobody is about to come. Then, he stands up and pulls up the mattress. There's nothing, and yet he heard something.

He opens the strap and slides a hand under the fabric that covers the mattress. His fingers touch paper. They hook around his little discovery and he pulls it out, slowly, not wanting to break it.

When it's finally in his hands, he sees it's a letter. He opens it, slowly, carefully.

The names on the paper sheet melt on top of each other, he's never heard any of them. It's signed by someone called Amina, though the letter itself tells him that the penmanship belongs to a certain Ellie. The name Elijah appears in it as well, though it's nearly impossible to determine who he might be to the others.

But he's certain that whoever wrote it doesn't belong to the Palace, so the name on top of the page speaks clear.

Al.

There's no doubt in his mind that the nickname belongs to the girl he's come to know as Lark. His lips curve in a smile, but then he's struck by the realisation that there's no joy in it.

He knows this is an important hint. He should give it to Jackson, or tell Brooks to start a new search with that name. But, for some reason, he can't do either.

Instead, he folds it again carefully and hides it in the inner pocket of his black uniform.

The door is pushed open, and he gasps and turns around. Cooper is standing in the doorway, and Jayden can barely keep his relief from showing. Unfortunately, though, it doesn't last long.

"Remember the car they stole from us?" Cooper asks, and Jayden nods.

"How could I forget?" Truthfully, the only thing dimming his embarrassment whenever he thinks about that moment is that the person that screwed them over was none other than Mr. Styles himself.

Cooper gives him a grim glance. "It has just exploded, we're to check it out."

Now Jayden feels sick.

• • •

OLD COUNTRY

Night has set, and the stars are glinting above. The last, dying flames are enveloping the car, rising towards the sky like hands in prayer. The asphalt is cold under Alouette's back, but not uncomfortably so. She takes a deep breath; the air smells of metal and burnt rubber. On one side, in the distance, she can see the lights of the city they were just in—though she doesn't know if what she's seeing are the advertisements or the fire that might be eating it away in this very moment. On the other side, she can see nothing but darkness.