Insurgence [h.s]

eight

Three days have passed since Alouette's meeting with Jackson, and she still hasn't heard back from him. Life flows slowly in the Palace, as if the arrows of the clock were moving through thick molasses. Beyond Alouette's floor-to-ceiling window, Northfair shines blue, hot pink, highlighter green, and blue again, mocking her for her lack of action. Every minute she waits puts Amina in further danger, and she doesn't know what to do. For the first time in days, she's motionless once more. Before, rage was a tidal wave strong enough to blind everything else. Now, though, that anger has quieted—but not faded. She can still feel it lurking deep inside herself, the sharp blade betrayal flung between her ribs weeks ago, with no warning. She's screamed, she's shouted. She's shattered everything in sight. She's thrown everything that reminds her of Harry out of the small square window in the bathroom.

She's knocked on Jesse's door endlessly. She's planned a new course of action a thousand times.

She's waited.

And waited.

What's left, now?

Anger is pointless—it won't bring her sister back. The fire of revenge burns bright, but what's the point in setting everything alight when she needs whatever help she can get? Would she even take pleasure in destroying everything in sight? For months, she's told herself she's not like Harry—she doesn't enjoy inflicting pain onto others. Like that makes her better than him—as if shedding some tears could make what she's done any less atrocious.

Now, though—

Now she wonders if it still stands true. She thinks, she might revel in someone else's destruction, as long as that someone is Harry. As long as she can look at him in the eyes as he goes down and know, with certainty, that he knows she's the one behind the unravelling of his world.

But these are just fickle thoughts. What use is wanting revenge when you cannot carry it out? Does she even have what it takes to go up against him? She thought she did. Now, she isn't that sure anymore. Their last battle has left her scarred, the memory of what damage he can wreck onto others still too fresh in her mind. She doesn't know if she can handle going up against him once more. She cares about the little she has left too much to.

Rain hits her window harshly, drawing streaks against the glass down to the floor. It's been days since the last time she saw the white autumnal sun. It's been days since she's left her room. She doesn't like how people look at her when she does—like they expect her to either break everything or collapse in a puddle on the floor. She's past that, though. After days of screams and heartbreak, she's finally come full circle.

She remembers the night she came back from the Shade headquarters. Everything had felt so pointless, then. She'd felt so empty. She feels like she's gone weeks in the past.

A knock rings through the room.

With a sigh, Alouette gets out of bed. Northfair's lights paint an aurora of red above her head as she walks to the door unwillingly. The simple thought of interacting with anyone from the Palace makes her sick, but she's been waiting for Jackson to get back to her for days. She can't allow herself to stay in her comfort zone—not anymore. Her sister is missing because she chose to stay in it for too long. If she hadn't... If she hadn't. So many people would be alive.

Harry wouldn't. But does that truly matter, in the end?

She opens the door.

No one is on the other side—the white corridor is empty and silent. She makes to close the door, but as she does, her eyes fall on an envelope on the floor.

She instantly feels sick. Still, she picks it up. There's a piece of paper inside, and she unfolds it with trembling fingers. There's a single sentence written on it, four simple words written in a penmanship so familiar that she nearly pukes on the carpet of her bedroom.