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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Harry Styles.
It was almost eleven at night. The office was eerily quiet besides the occasional rustle of papers and the soft hum of overworked computers. Almost everyone had gone home, a long time ago, leaving only a few lights on and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air.
I glanced over at Niall, who was hunched over his desk, who'd opened up a packet of crisps, the rustling of the foil was louder than anything I'd heard in hours. After shovelling a few in his mouth and crunching down on them, his fingers tapped on his keyboard again.
We'd been at this for two days. It had been two days now since I'd seen Winter after she told me to leave her flat after I'd brought up her past that she refused to acknowledge.
I'd told Niall everything about what happened since Winter and I left the hotel together on New year's day. Everything about the crash, the motorbike following us, and how it had all been orchestrated by Louis fucking Tomlinson. Who was my Boss' new favourite person. That know-it all-fucking smile. How he deceived fucking everyone in this office. I'd not seen him, because if I had seen him, I'd have snapped his fucking neck. But I'd heard everyone else chatting about just how fucking wonderful he was.
Surprisingly, he believed me when I told him. Maybe it was the evidence— all of the grazes and cuts that littered my face and hands. He'd picked us up from the hospital straight afterwards, but I hadn't explained anything to him. So we'd been trying to research him.
The only things I'd learned in the extensive hours of researching, was that similarly to Winter, he barely seemed to exist, there were breadcrumbs of a person, a profile that seemed real upon a brief glance, that seemed authentic to anyone. It was enough to look real to someone who wasn't digging. But we were fucking digging. Nothing added up, nothing made sense and it was clearly all fake. He wasn't who he said he was.
"I don't understand why you haven't told Marshall what happened." Niall spoke, the first words spoken between either of us in a good few hours. He was chewing on his crisps. "Louis tried to kill you. I feel like that's a cause for concern."
I swore I'd explained this to him a hundred fucking times already. "And what happens when he says why he tried to kill us?" I raised my brows, a question that he did not answer. "That I was with Winter—the girl everyone is trying to catch. When he tells Marshall I brought the assassin to his New Years party?"
Niall sighed, slumping back on his chair in defeat. I'd told him he didn't have to stay late and work on this shit with me, but he claimed to be weirdly invested in it now. And he was. He'd spent hours dancing with Winter, as had Louis, unbeknownst to the fact he was going to try and kill her the next day. Niall probably trusted him as much as she had that night. I never liked him from the second he was introduced, but I didn't think it would become what it did.
"I can't say anything." I said, then clarified. "I won't say anything."
"But he's gonna be at the office." Niall reminded me.
