Interlude [h.s]

fifty-six

"Harry!" Alouette shouts. She stares at the blade that has just barely missed her head. It shakes a couple of times and then falls to the floor, the cheap wood of the door frame not being enough to hold it up.

Harry appears and picks it up in a deliberately slow motion. "I wasn't aiming at you," he simply says, as if that will make it okay.

"Who the hell were you aiming at, then?!" She steps inside and closes the door with a kick. "You nearly took my head off!"

"If I'd meant to strike you, that nearly wouldn't be there," he comments, back to playing with the knife in his hold, and then pauses. "On second thought, the entire sentence wouldn't be there, because you'd be dead."

"Is that supposed to reassure me?!"

He tilts his head. "I was merely stating a fact."

"Well, you can keep your facts to yourself," Alouette mumbles, walking past him and into the corridor. She's just come home after having a run in with the Revolution and almost killing a couple of its members, she doesn't have the strength to deal with Harry's antics. "You should give over the knife, now. I don't trust you with it."

"I have no intention to give it back to you."

"Can you stop antagonising me over everything?!" she spits. She's a glass, and Harry's the drop that made it overflow. She's tired of everything—of the Revolution making things harder for her, of Harry continuously trying to pick a fight, of having to be away from her family and friends.

"Forgive me if I would like to keep the only weapon I have to protect myself," Harry hisses out.

"You're always acting so dramatic, when the truth is that you had it coming! None of this would've happened if you weren't such a shit—" She interrupts herself right before saying something of unforgivable. She knows that, if she wants Harry to work with her, she should never attack his pride.

His gaze darkens. "Finish the sentence, if you dare."

She should back away, but he used the same tone from yesterday, the one that made her take a step back. She can't do the same now as well. "You did a terrible..."

Her back is slammed against the wall and the knife is an inch away from her neck. She gasps but doesn't move. Harry is staring her down, as if he expects her to cower away and beg for his forgiveness. But she doesn't, because she won't let him win. His is just an act just like hers is—she knows what pretending to threaten someone looks like too well to fall for his tricks.

"To be fair, I don't want to kill you either," he murmurs. "I'm simply reminding you that I could. So watch your mouth, and remember whom you're talking to." He lowers the blade and closes the knife again before sliding it into his trousers. "Before you say a word, I didn't use it to try to escape, so I'm not giving it back to you."

He walks away, and Alouette gets into her father's bedroom and slams the door.

She's sure she hates Harry at times.

• • •

Later that afternoon, Alouette decides to go have a shower—partly to have a reason to avoid Harry a little longer and because she wants to wash away the feeling her confrontation with the representative left on her.

She still cannot believe she dared to point her gun at him—at them. It isn't the first time she aims at the Revolution, but the last time she'd had a reason to excuse it. She'd done it to make Harry trust her and not to blow her cover. She'd done it because of her loyalty too, in a sense, because she needed him to trust her in order to carry out the task she'd been given. Now, though, she can't say it was Harry's fault anymore. She chose to point the guns at them, and she did it herself. And for a moment, there, she was ready to press the trigger. If any of them had come at her, she would've. No, it isn't like the first time.