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
Slowly, I blinked awake. My eyes were heavy and dry, it took a few attempts before my body allowed me to peel my eyes open.
The room was dimly lit, only the golden hue of the late morning sunrise filtered through the half-drawn curtains. I shifted, trying to come to my senses, everything felt wrong.
I expected to be surrounded by that terrifying and familiar scent—the sterile hospital smell that I regularly woke up in when I felt like this.
My heart stumbled into a panic, only for a second, until I realised I wasn't in that dreaded hospital bed, restrained.
I was just in a bed, asleep.
And I thought I was alone until I heard it— a soft snore.
My eyes darted around the room. I felt a little stiff but managed to sit myself up enough that I could see my surroundings. Familiar surroundings.
In the corner, sitting on a chair, I saw a person slumped asleep. His legs were stretched out, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilted to an awkward angle, like he had fallen asleep there unintentionally.
Harry.
Asleep on the chair in the corner of his spare room.
I shifted again, and this time the bedsprings beneath me creaked, a faint noise, but it was enough to have him wake up from his half sleep.
Harry's eyes fluttered open, disturbed by the sound. And a second later, as if he had taken a second to process what was going on, his eyes widened and he sat upright on the chair.
Harry was up on his feet, awake and alert when he approached me at the side of the bed. He left a distance of a few feet between us.
"Hey. Hey, Winter." His voice was thick, my eyes darted around the room again. "It's just me. It's me, look at me."
I did as he said, I looked at him. "Harry?" My throat hurt when I spoke, I wasn't too sure why. "What's going on?"
Harry looked surprised by something I had said. "You know me?"
Beside me, at the edge of the bed, Harry took a step closer and then lowered himself to his knees. When he extended a hand, I took it, loosely, still a little unsure of my exact situation.
"You're Harry." The name felt strange to say. It was too familiar for a stranger, but too distant for someone I should've known intimately.
But I knew him.
"That's it, good." His breath caught. Just a little. "Do you know who I am?"
My chest ached, my body felt bruised on the inside. "I... you— I know you." I repeated it because it was the only thing I could say. I could only repeat the words, feeling like there were distant memories trying to fight their way back inside of my head.
