Interlude [h.s]

eleven

Harry is tired of this.

He'd assumed the people he hired were worthy, but he just discovered that isn't truly the case.

Ever since he was notified about the warehouse issue yesterday night, he hasn't been able to go to sleep. He's enraged at them, at his agents and at himself too, because how couldn't he notice it earlier? It isn't like him to let these things fly right under his nose like that, especially when it comes to treachery in his own organisation.

It shouldn't have gone unnoticed for so long. He should've known.

The Revolution is the disease that is slowly destroying his country, eating it away from the inside in the name of some bigger morals. But Harry knows they're just words and that their objective is the same as his.

They both strive for dominance, and in order to achieve it they have to suppress the opposing force.

Harry knows that silent battle won't be ended without the complete annihilation of one of them, and it's one he will win. He's fought many battles in the past, some dark and bloody, some hidden and diaphanous, but he's never lost one. No matter how long it takes, he'll bring every single member of the Revolution to the ground at his feet - either to kneel before him, or dead in the sand.

This time will be no different.

The black limousine stops in front of one of his warehouses, and Harry gets out as soon as one of the guards opens his door for him.

He takes some steps forward, stopping and narrowing his eyes as he glances up at the tall structure before him in the bright white light of winter, putting on his black leather gloves.

One of the guards stays next to the limousine and the other two approach him, positioning themselves one in front of him and one behind him with their hands on their firearms as he walks towards the door of the building.

The first guard opens it with a set of keys and steps inside first, giving him a nod a second later, letting him know it's safe to come in.

Harry enters the warehouse, not taking off his black overcoat even though the warmth of the air around him grazes his pale cheeks. He glances around the large room, raising an eyebrow when he catches the shocked look on one of the men's face.

He isn't fazed by his surprise—he knows he's the last person he expected to see today. He doesn't usually visit his warehouses, as he prefers leaving the on site job to his guards. It's always rather dangerous for him to officially get out of the Palace, especially since the Revolution is out free.

Probably going inside one of the Revolution's dens isn't the smartest thing for him to do, but his hurt pride claimed revenge after his delay in discovering their treason, and he's never been one to run away from vengeance. In fact, he cherishes it. There's nothing better than crowning his own victory with the other party's punishment.

And especially this one time, he knows it's a win he'll enjoy. The knowledge of what they did makes his blood boil. He isn't gullible nor naïve, and he won't have the people that work for him disrespect him in such a way.

He knows he's young, a bit too young for the job he took on maybe, but that doesn't mean he should ever be underestimated. That's always everyone's biggest mistake.

They might as well dig their own grave in the instant they start believing he isn't a danger to them, because that's exactly the reason why they'll go down. He's yet to find an opponent worthy of him, and at this point, he doesn't believe there is one.

There's nothing more dangerous than a man that has nothing more to lose. And he lost everything a long, long time ago.

He focuses his attention back to the room as his eyes get used to the suffused light inside.