Insurgence [h.s]

four

Alouette's eyes snap open to the ceiling of her room. Gleams of fuchsia and lime green shine against the white from the window, making her eyes sting. She doesn't know how long she's been out, but it's still raining outside, the corridor is still silent, and the stiffness of not having moved around for hours isn't in her muscles.

Frowning, she sits up. She's still wearing the clothes she picked out earlier, and there's an ache in her hip that tells her she must've fallen down pretty hard. She tries to brush her hair out of her face, but pauses when she notices her right hand is bandaged. She pokes at the sterile gauze experimentally, frowning when pain from her palm answers her call. She must've gripped that piece of glass much harder than she'd planned to—the thought of it cutting her skin hadn't even crossed her mind.

The shattered glass. Her eyebrows furrow as the conversation she had with Harry comes back piece by piece. His arrogance, the coldness in his eyes. The alcohol on their clothes, the letter opener in her hand, the shard of glass against his neck.

"Fuck," she mutters. She jolts in the instant the sound leaves her throat, but upon a quick inspection of her surroundings, she discovers she's alone. Completely alone—the only sound she can hear is the tap-tapping of rain against the window, like cold fingers calling for her attention. It takes her a moment longer to figure out what piece of her interaction is still calling to her, but when she does, her eyes widen, and she sits up. "Amina." She stumbles out of bed. Her head spins, and she nearly falls down again. Her breath picks up, anxiety needling at the back of her mind. Her sister is missing.

She scours the room, trying to ground herself. There must be something she can do. A way out—an idea. She's used to making plans by now, but nothing comes to her mind. Her brain is a blank slate; every thought echoes in the void until it dissipates, leaving her empty and panicking. What is she supposed to do?

What even is left, now?

Her family is missing. Her friends are missing. She's alone in her enemy's lair. Enemy. The word makes little sense. It leaves an odd taste on her tongue. No, Harry isn't an enemy. An enemy is something a stranger could be, and it's not enough to describe the way she feels about him now. Harry isn't a stranger. Harry is so far from being a stranger that it makes her feel sick to her stomach. He was hers, once. Once—mere days ago—she traced his naked body with the tips of her fingers, pulled him into her, loved him like they were the only people in the world. Enemy isn't enough. It trivialises their relationship in a way she cannot accept. Is there even a word to describe someone you love so deeply that their betrayal cuts deeper than a knife to the heart? Someone so deeply woven into you, that even after they've taken everything from you, your first instinct is to go to them to cry about your loss?

Alouette shakes her head, blinking her tears away before they start falling down her cheeks. She can't keep thinking like this. Her sister is missing; she needs to do something. She can't just sit down and take it while she could be in danger. She forces herself to ignore the shiver than runs down her spine at the thought in a desperate attempt to keep the clarity she's just regained from leaving her mind again.

She must do something. But she can't help her sister while she's locked within the walls of the Palace. She needs to get out first.

Alouette nods to herself. Now that a plan is slowly forming in her mind, she's starting to feel less lost. She locates her shoes next to the bed and slides her feet into them—no heels, they're not practical to run in. Then, she looks for a weapon. There's a tray with food on the table on the opposite end of the room—not the same one from earlier, she notices. Someone took care to replace it, as if she could sit down and eat while Amina is nowhere to be found. Thankfully, though, the cutlery isn't missing. She takes the knife and puts it into the pocket of her trousers. It's dulled and sticking out by half, but she can't be too picky.