espionage [h.s.]

TWENTY FOUR

A.N. updates will be slowing down from now on bc I'm at uni and don't have as much time, but I have a few more pre-written chapters & I'll still try to update as much as I can x

Remember to be an active reader, vote & comment to let me know what you think of the story and whether you want it to continue

HARRY

My movements are slow and steady as I walk into the bar for Stefan's funeral reception, my eyes met with a sea of black clothes and somber faces from the second I push through the doors. Although we didn't actually hold a funeral for him because his family requested his body be transported back to Bulgaria to be buried, we decided to hold a gathering anyway, out of respect. For him, and for his memory.

I scan everyone in the room, noticing small groups of people talking quietly, while some others are seated at the bar. Everyone seems to be here, both trainers and trainees alike, but I suppose that isn't much of a surprise. The bar being open is a rarity, it doesn't happen very often, so when it is open, everyone shows up to get their alcohol fix. It doesn't really matter whether the occasion is happy or sad.

As I make my way through the room, I briefly stop to talk to a few people, although my eyes continue to flit around until they finally land on Rochelle, seated alone at the end of bar, sipping at her drink. Her body is clad in a simple black dress, the tight material clinging to her dark skin and accentuating her curves. Her glossy hair has been curled at the ends, a few strands falling across her face which has been made up with simple makeup, pretty brown eyes rimmed a little darker and full lips left bare. She looks beautiful, and I don't doubt for one second that she stole everyone's attention as soon as she walked into the room. That's what she's best at.

But even still, there's no denying that she looks sad, her back turned on everyone else as she sits there alone, looking at nothing besides the bottom of the glass in her hand. I watch her for a while, the conversations around me turning into a blur as I observe the way she blankly stares into space, momentarily snapping back to order another drink before zoning out again. My gaze slides over to the few empty glasses already placed beside her, which are smoothly removed by the hired bartender just as my eyebrows furrow at the sight of them.

"You need to talk to her."

I almost jump at the sound of a voice suddenly speaking from beside me, turning my body slightly to find Connie now stood there. Like everyone else, she's dressed in black, sporting a long-sleeved black dress with her short hair tied into a bun, her eyes also rimmed darker as they switch between shooting Rochelle concerned looks and gazing up at me expectantly.

"Why do I need to talk to her?" I ask in response, feigning indifference. Obviously I'm concerned about Rochelle too, but I can't have anyone here knowing that. "Aren't you her best friend here or whatever?"

"Yes, but she won't let me talk to her," she responds with a huff. "Whenever I try, she just brushes me off or changes the subject. It's like she isn't allowing herself to mourn, like she thinks it'll make her weak."