Legacy // H.S

41.

'Nothing lasts forever'

*

Harry

'It's just a case of getting it done, now.'

'We've been ready for months, Henri.'

'Debatable, Claude. Besides, if you were that desperate you could have tried to steal the jewels yourself.'

'Who's to say I haven't already?'

'Very funny. I'll see you tomorrow, alright. I've just got to the house.'

The evening is warm, still humid from the heat of the day. At this time of year, the country spends every other week in a heatwave, newspapers claiming it's hotter than whatever tropical place they can think of. Barbados? Hotter. Bahamas? Hotter. Maldives? Hotter. As if the heat is the same in Britain as it would be abroad.

On the radio, a newsreader goes through a climate report, the same I've heard on the there for the past two days. An endless cycle, really, but something the mundane public grip onto. I wonder what my life would have been like if I'd succumbed to a normal life, too. If my father were not a monster or a thief, if my ambitions were noble and my world the same as others. It seems boring in theory, but when I compare it to the chaos I have now, it seems like an easy choice to make.

Inside, I imagine Atlas making dinner. She likes to do that these days. Testing recipes out on me in the hopes that I'll give her a good review. I think she enjoys seeking my approval, being praised. It makes her feel good, though she's perfectly aware how bright she shines already. Maybe she's taking a nap, though, or reading a book. She might still be training, her aim much improved with her left hand after the right was taken out.

Every scenario seems like a perfect one, to me. A promise of forever. A secret to keep.

Outside the house, everything is quiet. No cars passing by on the street or pedestrians talking amongst themselves. It's that point in the evening where people are either preparing to sleep or go out, no doubt some noise beginning in the next hour or two. But past our gates and hidden behind those walls, everything is tranquil for us.

I smile to myself, thinking of our evening. Food, wine, training, sex. The same as always. A routine we're settled in.

That same smile sits on my face as I exit the car, as I lock it, as I take my bag out the boot. Even as I walk up the stairs. But the minute I notice the front door open, it falls. Like the first drop of water, a poignant ringing as it hits the ground.

It could be nothing, Atlas simply leaving it like that and forgetting. Maybe it was intentional, a surprise waiting for me inside. Perhaps she's ready to ravish me like they do in the movies, her body bare and her eyes alight.

I know her, though. Surprises, especially at a time like this, are foolish. She'd rather leave clues or tell me outright. Not something as mysterious as this, as unsure as this.

My hand cautiously moves to the gun in my pocket. Loaded with bullets as always, and ready to shoot with the safety off. I have another in my bag, with a few blades if needed. These days, we're excessive with our levels of protection, even if Hugo has lost all power he once had. I think a part of us will always be scared, and it seems to be wise to allow fear to peer in if it means keeping us on our toes.

Inside, the radio plays. A station that's default at this point, never changing because neither one of us can be bothered to tune it. All noise ends there. Silence, no sizzling sounds of cooking or walking or even living. It's eery, the way the air settles and the house remains still. Most people think of their homes as a living entity, a beating heart usually located in the kitchen where most happy memories are made. For a long time, I've felt like that too. Almost hearing the breaths each time it wakes with us.