Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.


Her hair is splayed over the couch cushion, its startling orangey-red clashing wonderfully with the deep blood red of the couch. She's clutching a white throw pillow tightly to her chest. A bowl of half empty popcorn sits on the table in front of her, and a glass of something honey-coloured. The DVD logo bounces around on the dark television.

Ian leans against the wall and grins. He's investigating what movie she watched—he thinks he sees a case on the coffee table—when she wakes up.

"Ian?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Jack," he says.