Interlude [h.s]

sixty-nine

A couple of days have passed since the day Harry found the book. Alouette hid it in her bag and made sure to always bring it with her when she went out, but he never brought it up. She's starting to think that maybe it isn't nearly as important as she thought it was.

She's cooking, now. Cooking is a bit of a stretch, actually. Making something that is hopefully edible would be more fitting. It truly isn't her fault considering she was never much accustomed to kitchens, given she was never one of the cooks at the Revolution. She only knows the basics, which is rather scary when she's hopefully not destroying the kitchen for someone like Harry, but she finds reassurance in knowing that if she's bad at cooking, he's probably worse.

She did consider buying pre-made food or something that doesn't need to be cooked, but it's been a month, and she can't keep buying unhealthy stuff that Harry regularly leaves there.

"What next?" Harry asks, leaning against the kitchen table. There's an entertained edge in his voice, like he's having fun seeing her try to come up with a plan.

"We stay here for now," she replies, not lifting her gaze from the carrot she's cutting. She takes a slice and puts it in her mouth, it tastes a little like cardboard and desperation. She misses the food of the Palace.

He raises an eyebrow. "So you have no plan."

She doesn't speak.

"My offer is still standing, you know."

She rolls her eyes. "I have no intention of accepting your proposal."

He tilts his head. "Never?"

"Not now, not ever."

"Don't be so definitive," he says, sarcasm in his voice. "You never know what will happen next."

She looks up at him. "You—" There's a slicing pain on her finger and she lets out a hiss. She looks down; she's accidentally cut her finger. "Fuck."

Harry rounds the table and takes her hand, putting it under the running water of the kitchen sink. He turns the tap off and wraps a paper napkin around her finger, quickly and methodically. "Rule one of using a knife: always look at your target," he tells her. He lets her hand go instantly, and she sends him a confused but intrigued look.

"Thanks."

He doesn't reply and she goes back to the cutting board; despite the pain and interruption, there are no red stains on it. She throws away the carrot and puts everything else in the sink anyway.

She turns to look at Harry. "What about I go buy some eggs and make some pancakes instead?"

•     •     •

Elijah is waiting in the street near Alouette's mother's apartment. He's checked the area routinely many times in the past couple of days, but he's never crossed paths with her before. He's starting to think he has it all wrong and she's never come here in the first place. Or maybe he remembers the address wrong. The possibilities are endless.

His phone rings and he picks up. "Yes?"

"Elijah."

He lets out a sigh. He isn't surprised to hear from Ezra. The time he was given is getting dangerously shorter. "I still have some days," he reminds him.