Harry Styles, a secret service agent working for British intelligence is tasked with finding the killer after a series of brutal but calculated murders across Europe. His mind is sharp, he's smart, arrogant and works with a precision that leaves no...
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Winter.
It took me a few minutes to figure out where I was. My mind had been a mess the past few hours...or few days. I couldn't be sure how long it had been since I felt normal. Harry didn't seem to, but I remembered everything after leaving the hotel. The bike, the car, the cabin and the fire.
The only part a little foggy to my memory was leaving the hospital. I knew Harry had come to get me, and that he'd carried me out, but I didn't remember getting from A to B. I could only guess he got Niall to drive us.
Now, I was in my bed, in my flat. I had on the same outfit I'd been wearing in the hospital, what I'd been provided with. My dress was destroyed, ripped, burnt. Covered in my blood, and a mix of a few other people's blood too. Part of me wanted it back still, my pink dress. The one I'd worn when Harry told me I looked beautiful.
My room was empty, not that I'd expected for Harry to be in here, but there was a tiny little part of me that hoped he'd be the first thing I saw when I woke. Pulling myself from my bed, I realised just how much pain I was in when there was this pressure and agony that manifested in my chest and spread through the rest of my body. Every part of me felt stiff. I remembered being hurt, punched and kicked when I was down. But I also remembered ripping a man's throat out with my bare hands, gouging out another man's eyes with my nails, and watching as Harry slit the throats of the remaining people. So it was safe to say they got what was coming to them.
After sliding on a pair of fluffy socks, I left my room. It was late morning, I could tell by the light from the sun peeking through the windows, a golden hue throughout my entire flat. It was silent besides the sliding of my feet along the floor, not able to muster up enough energy to actually walk.
As soon as I entered my living room, my footsteps came to a halt.
Because asleep on my living room couch, was none other than Harry.
With his face buried in a pillow, letting out soft snores, he lay face down on his stomach, his arm draping over the edge.
