Interlude [h.s]

eighteen

Alouette is sure she hates Harry.

She hates the way he gives her orders, the way he looks at her, the way he talks to her. She hates the way he walks away from her and even the way he breathes around her. She hates him. Every single part of him, with no exception.

Twenty-eight days to go. A deep nervousness has settled into her bones, replacing the giddiness she'd felt until that moment. Twenty-eight days aren't many. They'll be over quickly. She doesn't even know if they're enough. What assures her that in less than a month from now she'll be exactly where she needs to be with Harry?

Maybe she should ask for some more time, but she doesn't want the Revolution to think she's too scared of doing what she's supposed to and replace her. It's her job, and she wants to be the one to carry it to the very end. She deserves it, after having had to deal with him for so long.

She doesn't know if she wants to laugh or hit herself whenever she realises that she actually liked him for a little while. She enjoyed talking to him, she had fun toying with him. While he still intrigues her way more than she'd like to admit, she won't let it cloud her rationality anymore.

Alouette won't ask for more time. She'll make the few weeks she has last. But she does need to tell Nathan about her progress — her nonexistent progress. Maybe she'll ask for some tips on how to find out more about Harry. After all he's a spy, differently from her. He knows what he's doing.

She puts on a comfortable pair of shoes and heads out of her bedroom. They're meeting a bit later than usual for safety reasons, today. Three in the morning seems a way safer time to discuss their plans of murdering the president in the stairwell.

Alouette realises her mistake a second too late.

She hasn't stopped to make sure nobody is out in the corridor.

But she only figures out she forgot to do that when she turns around and discovers Harry is standing right behind her.

She clutches the handle of the door and crashes against it, her eyes widening before she can get a hold of herself. Her heart is hammering in her chest and she can feel it in her ears, and Harry smiles at that very obvious display of fear.

It isn't a welcoming smile. It's a cold, unfeeling one, the kind a hunter would make before shooting a deer. It's the smile of someone that knows they have the upper hand and have no intention of letting it go. The one of someone that knows they've already won.

She's terrified, and he knows. It's only three in the morning, but her day isn't off to a great start in the slightest. She doesn't know what's worse; whether the fact that he caught her or him now knowing he has the power to scare her. Ever since she first walked into the palace she's always tried her very best not to show the intimidation he makes her feel, but now he knows. He just gained a power over her she wasn't ever planning on giving him.

Her mind is spinning and her chest aches as her thoughts scramble to make up a logical excuse for her being out of her room at that time.

Why hasn't she waited a little more?

"Isn't it a little too late to be roaming the corridors, Lark?" Harry narrows his eyes at her.

She gives him a once over. His white shirt is untucked and his black tie is loose around his neck, as if he just put it over his head and forgot to tighten it. The black jacket of his suit is resting crumpled up over one shoulder, and Alouette suddenly understands what happened.