Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)

Please Note: The first part of this chapter contains a flashback with reference to some content which some readers would rather not read/may find upsetting (non-consensual sex/rape). There is nothing explicit mentioned, but please, feel free to skip over to where it says JPOV where the story will continue from the previous chapter should you wish to avoid such content.


18 Years Ago

She stood by the tall, marble pillar; the night's cold wind catching the curls of her fiery hair and tugging them behind her. She could feel the fatigue within her stir, but was prompt in overcoming the encroaching wave of tiredness. Not tonight, she thought. She could see the long, plaited braid of her charge through the open window, the rest of the slender Moroi hidden behind the draping curtains which, along with the stone wall and general edict, kept them apart. The soft hum of conversation had progressed to a rowdy hoard of giggling girls and shouting men. She rolled her eyes and turned away, sinking back into the shadows to keep her steadfast watch. Time had passed so slowly that evening, so slowly it had made her restless and uneasy. She could see the others, all boldly unmoving in the places as though they had all dared to test their courage and stared into the serpentine gaze of Medusa.

Perhaps it was worse that she knew them all - well, most of them at least: the Moroi she was protecting. Half a decade had seemed like quite long enough since graduation, so naturally a reunion needed to take place. Not that she was complaining; no, this is what she was meant for. This is what she had dreamed about her whole life: what she wanted to be more than anything in the world…

A Guardian.

She was thrilled by it all: the rush, the pride, the honour. Five years had done little to diffuse the joy she felt in waking up, knowing she had made it. She had got her dream, and it was only just the beginning. They come first. They would always come first, to the day she died. As simple as it was, there was denying the appealing structure and security that came from being part of the Guardianship community. She did not need parties, such as these, or pretty frocks or whatever it was that supposedly made people happy: she was a Guardian. Guardians were the heros: never backing away from anything. Always willing to help. She was a hero in the making - they would write stories about her: Elaine Hathaway - the greatest Guardian in the world. She could see it; her career was all to come. It was just all still, waiting to be lived.

The thought brought a smile to her lips, the chill of the night quickly forgotten as she refocused her mind on the world in front of her: ready for whatever could come at her.

A snap. A crack. A thud.

She turned. Her fingers dancing on the edge of her hilt as she edged towards the sound. Her muscles tensed and dipping her into an offensive stance, ready to attack at any moment. He staggered out, a man she had known all her life. She drew a breath and laughed a little, steeping back. He caught sight of her and waved, tumbling towards her. He said something, or at least tried: the words catching in his intoxicated state and coming about as an incomprehensible slur. She rolled her eyes and stepped towards him, placing her hand on his shoulder and pulling him towards the entrance to the party hall, back where he belonged. He stumbled, falling into her. She struggled under his weight, but pushed him back to his feat.

Pretty. So pretty.

She made to pull him back inside, but he stumbled again, laughing in her ear. She sat him down, walking evidently proving too much of a challenge, but as he landed on the cold stone steps, he grabbed her arm, pulling her down onto his lap. She jumped up, back to her feet. He laughed again, falling backward and off the steps to land on the damp grass beside them. Instinctively, she stepped towards him again, assessing his medical status in case he had damaged his head. He caught hold of her again and pulled her down on top of him. She tried to push herself back up, but he pushed he down onto the ground beside him and told her to look up.

She went rigid, holding his right arm down so that he could not move it, but he didn't seem to mind. She followed his gaze up to see the stars shining above them.

So pretty.

She smiled a little, taking a moment to admire. He sighed beside her and tilted his head, so immersed he was in liquor that she swore she could her the stuff moving in his head. Shaking her head, she made to push herself, and afterward him, back up, but as she sat, she hit the solid shins of another man. She had not known this one since infancy; she did not know him at all. The friend beside her widened his dazed eyes and rolled onto his front, crawling away. She tried to stand, but was pushed back down.

So pretty.

She jerked, kicking him away, which only angered him more. He advanced again. She said no. She said stop. But her words turned to dust as soon as the passed by her lips. He took not head. He came closer, pinning her down as she writhed underneath. She cried out, catching the eye of another Guardian as she begged for help. His glance lasted no more than a second, before he turned away and did nothing.


JPOV

Ibrahim was frozen, locked in an oscillating state of just about every emotion under the sun. His hands still hovered by my cheeks, their former warmth still lingered like a ghostly imprint and one which I wished to revive.

But I too was trapped in a cacophony of feeling, with fear prevailing over them all.

We stayed silent for what felt like a lifetime, but in reality was perhaps a mere second, before his voice broke the void. "Janine…" It was tender. It was soft. Like a lullaby by candlelight.

"I-..." I stuttered, finding myself incapable of any further sound.

But Ibrahim did not need any more and instead pulled me into his arms without really thinking it through. "I am so sorry. I should not have brought you."

I blinked from where my head found itself against his chest. "No, it's-..." I stuttered again, my voice catching in my throat. Clearing the hindrance, I looked up and tried again. "It is not your fault. Nor is it Olena's, please, know that." I wanted to make that abundantly clear. That poor woman needn't shoulder any blame in this. Whilst what had happened to my mother was horrible, at least she never saw the man again. I had asked her about it once, when I was old enough to understand and she in a rare moment of approachability. She had merely shrugged, told me of a rumour she had heard that he ODed somewhere outside of the Court's reach before her walls had reformed and she had pushed me out. I suppose I couldn't really blame her for her coldness: I was, after all, the unwanted product of an event rather forgotten, my very presence serving as a consistent reminder for her. I could see it, in her eyes; a dark and unpleasant flash that drove her to turn away.

Yet the image of my mother's disgust was replaced by Ibrahim once again placing against the curve of my cheek, bringing my attention back from where it had spiraled into the depths of my memory. "I cannot begin to comprehend what it must feel like, for either you or your mother, but know if you ever, and I truly mean ever, need someone to listen: I am right here. I will always be right here."

And I believed him, entirely. Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I tilted my head a little into his right palm. He did nothing to stop me. "It destroyed her - I destroyed her. She had a whole plan for her life, and it was just shattered by one thing that she had no control over."

His thumb so gently stroked the side of my cheekbone that I doubted he even knew it was happening. "Plans rarely work, in my experience."

I laughed a little. "Don't say that: we are mid-plan at the minute." There was no conviction in my tone, just a lingering sense of desperation as I tried to lighten and relieve my own dark and dismal mood, and rid myself of the continual stream of imagined images of not only my mother, but Olena too.

Ibrahim quirked a brow. "Remind me, where are we now?"

His lips had quivered into an upward smile; the dimples as side of his face hinting at the smirk that lay beneath. "Touché, Mazur." I conceded and the smirk was let loose. My face fell again as new thoughts surfaced in my mind. I closed my eyes, but remind held between Ibrahim's hands. "Ibrahim," I said, his Christian name slipping out over the usual formal address, "may I ask a favour of you?"

He, still holding my cheeks, his thumb strokes becoming more and more consistent and rhythmic. "Anything, Janine."

"Please could you not tell anyone about this." I didn't specify the 'anyone', but the subtext was there.

He looked surprised. "They do not know?"

I shook my head, the act causing my cheekbones to rub against the smooth palms of his hands. No-one knew. Well, no-one was supposed to know, but like pretty much everything in his life, Ibrahim was the exception.

He held back his tongue, electing to instead just smile and nod. Coming closer, he brushed his lips against my forehead, pausing there for a second before pulling back, retracting his hands and wandering towards the bathroom. I followed him with my gaze, remarkably indifferent to what had just happened: as though it was nothing.

As though it was the most normal thing in the world.


APRIL 22nd PM 18:45

114 IsBPO - 001RylCPO/PENNSYLVANIA

WARNING -(STOP)- ZEBRA IN ARCTIC SEA -(STOP)- BLANKSHOT FOR 13 WEEKS AT RACECAR -(STOP)- REQUEST FLAT-TYRE -(STOP)-


"My goodness: Abe Mazur."

"To be, or not to be? Wilt thou ever decide?"

The middle-aged man dressed in a black cassock with a greying tint in his dark, brown hair yet still withholding his youthful facial complexion with the smoothness of his skin and the brilliance of his blue eyes smiled wholly. "Mercifully, I have a faith to decide for me."

Ibrahim smirked. "I am not sure that is what it is for."

Hamlet laughed and took Ibrahim's hand, shaking it with such formality it distorted the original amiable welcome. "Good to see you again, Abe. Do, come in." He said, inviting us both in, but I wasn't entirely convinced that my presence had gone noted. I grimaced, but reminded myself that Hamlet had no reason to show me any courtesy.

They can't all be like Ibrahim.

I blinked, but had no time to process the thought as the sound of Harriet's glee had manifested into physical embracement. "Janine! Oh my God, I am so happy to see you!"

I chuckled from within her grasp. "I was only gone three days - was Emyl really that bad?"

She pulled back and gave me a glare. "Don't start."

I frowned and then remembered the actual reason I went with Ibrahim to Russia. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

She didn't look convinced, but let it go anyway. "Well, I'm so glad you are here."

The frown returned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said with slight unease. "It's just, Hamlet - he gives me the creeps."

My frowned deepened. Harriet was the one person I knew who could find good in Hitler, so on the rare occasion she couldn't, I got very nervous. However, like any good Scot, I masked my concern with wit. "So you're not glad to have me back, you're glad to have Ibrahim back so he can keep the creepy priest busy…?" I quirked a brow.

She narrowed her eyes, but the humour gleamed through her lashes. "As if I'd ever want that!" she said in mock protest. "Also, he's a reverend, not a priest."

"Aren't they the same?" I said thinking back to our rather basic introduction to world religion.

Harriet shrugged and hooked her arm through my own. "No idea, but let's try not and offend the man."

I rolled my eyes and allowed her to guide me into the sitting room. I caught Emyl's gaze and nodded. He returned it with a small smile before my attention was drawn elsewhere.

"Ah, Hathaway. Nice of you to join us." I jumped as I saw the face of Guardian Croft projected onto the wall above the mantlepiece. Behind him stood Ruth and a few other guardians I had seen about Court, most of them at the Ivashkov party. Drew was notably absent from the crowd, but I was sure that was by design.

"Afternoon, sir." I said.

His eyes flicked from the documents in front of him. "Morning for us, I'm afraid. Glad to see you are all in one piece."

"Have there been any reports on the other supply bases?" Emyl asked, stepping in beside me.

Croft dropped the paper in front of him, bringing his arms behind his head and leaning back on them. "Indeed, Vancouver was a success, but Monterey is proving a little more of a pain, according to Harrison through a variety of interesting metaphors."

I couldn't help but smile. "Have you heard anything from Court?"

The colour drained from his face quicker than I had time to finish my question. I could see Harriet's whole form tense at the fear-filled faces that were projected in front of us. "I think perhaps-"

"What did you see?" Harriet cut him off.

Croft bit his lip and leaned forward. "We were sent films..."

Emyl and I shared a look of understanding and I could see that Ibrahim and Hamlet also had caught on. But Harriet, as ever, remained innocent. "What, Finding Nemo? What are you talking about?" She snapped.

Croft clasped his hands in front of him and rested his chin on top. "They have started killing hostages."

Harriet's face plummeted. "No…" her lip trembled and her body started to shake. I cast my gaze away, unable to bear it. Emyl sat himself down on the arm of the floral sofa and buried his face his palm. "M-my mother?"

"Julia Conta was not one of the victims, but is still unaccounted for." Croft said as gently as he could.

Harriet bit her lip and nodded, her eyes overflowing with tears that cascaded down her cheeks. "Okay. That's okay. Well, it's not, but…" she swallowed. "Excuse me." she strode out the room. Emyl made to stand up, but froze as he tore himself between Harriet and the mission. Ibrahim, noticing this fight, wandered from where he stood, placed a hand on Emyl's shoulder and exited to find Harriet. Emyl sat back down and his face fell into indifference as Croft began speaking again.

"We think we had a leak."

I frowned. "Had?"

Croft nodded. "Still have, in all likelihood. This Abuela had my number directly and, whilst remaining irritably anonymous," he said gritting his teeth a little, "all contact and methods they have adopted have been too...precise."

"They are good at what they do." Hamlet stated. "One of the best I know of, and I needn't go into how that assessment came to be."

Croft shook his head. "No, no-one is this accurate. Mistakes are always made, particularly when you attack a highly controlled and militarised space, like the Royal Court. They had inside help and I believe that that is continuing."

Emyl raised his head. "A resident of Court?"

Croft nodded. "Yes. And, for want of sounding a little self-assured, it also has to be someone connected with me or my team, given the direct link that La Luz appears to have with myself." I found my eyes drifting to Ruth. She shared my worried expression but hid it well.

"That's still quite a lot of people." Emyl said. "How do you know it was not a team member directly."

"I don't." Croft said. "Considering the dhampir involvement in the actual attack, no-one is above suspicion. For that, I have scattered them, and only Gwynn here knows of my concerns. Save yourself, Hathaway." Ruth and I shared another look.

"What makes you so sure of them?" Hamlet inquired, looking between us.

"Gwynn hasn't left my sight after I have subpoenaed most of her modes of contact and I highly doubt a double agent would go so far as to make a whole trip to Russia on the mild whim of a slightly psychotic Moroi." I raised my head at his assessment of myself.

"Thanks." I said sarcastically.

"Well, Abe is definitely psychotic." Hamlet said, giving me an amused look.

I elected not to return it. "So you think the leak is someone in at the sanctuary?"

Croft pondered for a moment. "Maybe, maybe not. We were, after all, able to shut down Vancouver."

"Good point."

Croft inhaled deeply, before leaning forward again to pick up the pile of documentation in front of him. "I have compiled a list of everyone and anyone, Moroi or Dhampir, who had contact with either myself or a member of the team. I've sent over the digital copy."

Hamlet moved from his initial stance towards one of the three computers in the room, typing away at the keyboard to bring up the aforementioned digitalised list. "Blue notation means that they are here at St Catherine's, but red means they are unaccounted for. I have tried to narrow down the list, but I think we should start…" and on he went, explaining how we would go about culling this long list of names, but it didn't matter:

One name had already caught my eye…

'Si queremos hacer esto, lo hacemos esta noche.'

One name in a million...

'Tenemos que hacer esto esta noche - no habrá otro oportunidad'

One name stood out above the rest…

'Oh, those bastards won't know what's hit them!'

How had I been so stupid? In all that had passed between now and the Ivashkov party - the event that had kicked it all off - it had never occurred to me to look back. All those tiny, missable but impossibly significant details that you see and forget until it is too late.

Sergey Kravitz…

The man whose only crime I could fathom was bringing one Alistar Kravitz into existence, yet that was nothing in comparison to what I now knew. Those phone calls. Those spanish colleagues. How had I not seen it? Made the connection sooner? His name shone like the stars in the sky.

Or the moon.

Even now, Ibrahim still managed to consume my thoughts. With my attention directed to the weeks before the Ivashkov party, I remembered the day I tackled him in the night; how he had told me the moon outshone the stars. Even with everything going on, he still outshone them all. He was my moon. My light in the night.

"Jenny…?"

Before that realisation could sent me into a full seizure, and one which the rather large audience around me could pick up on, I deflected, desperately trying to focus my mind on the case at hand. "It's him. Sergey Kravitz."

Emyl did a double take, returning to the list to locate his name. Croft looked very surprised. "Are you sure? That was awfully quick."

I could feel the bile rising and my stomach clenching. God I wanted out of there. Ibrahim get out of my head! "I saw him. More than once, before the attack. He was on the phone, in spanish, discussing an event that was scheduled to happen on that night. I can only apologise for not mentioning it sooner," The cold formality with which I had spent all my school years working on and Ibrahim had managed to wear down within a few weeks slipped back with eerie smoothness.

Emyl shot me a sympathetic look, while Croft just brushed it off. "No, Hathaway, yu're right - his profile does show connection with a Hispanic organisation. The details notably shady." he said, his eyebrows raised.

"We could get Charles to run his background. He does love to dig into people's lives." Hamlet offered, a lick of bitterness coming out over his last comment.

Croft pondered, considering for a moment. "As productive as that sounds, wouldn't it be easier to do it from where you are now, rather than employing the aid of a third party a considerable distance away; the chances of interception are then substantially reduced the less we transfer this information."

Hamlet nodded. "This is correct, and I understand the concern, but on balance, if we still want a chance of cutting off their European supply, we need to remain as anonymous as possible; poking around a possible member so close to their Istanbul base is unfortunately going to raise a few too many eyebrows."

"And besides," I jumped at the sound of Ibrahim's voice, but kept my head turned, genuinely convinced that I might have gone into cardiac arrest if I actually saw him. "Charles will do quite possibly anything to avoid his slightly less charming relations."

Hamlet glanced behind me to Ibrahim. "Cousin Rupert, I take it."

"Indeed."

Hamlet grimaced. "Yes, rather unpleasant fellow, but I suppose we all must bear our crosses. We are taught to love our neighbours, but I think we should be perhaps thankful that this one is a good few metaphoric streets away."

Such was its enormity, I could feel Ibrahim's smirk.

"Ahem, could I possibly get us back on track." Croft said, clearing his throat and evidently holding little patience for the foreboding exchange of wit between the Turk and the Reverend. "We'll get this Charles…"

"Windsor." That did it. I couldn't help myself, I turned around to look at Ibrahim, raising a cool eyebrow at his smirking face.

"Seriously?" I said, quiet enough that Croft wouldn't hear.

He shrugged. "He is very English."

I shook my head and turned back to the projection, Croft seemingly taking no notice of what was happening as he scribbled down presumably the name onto the paper in front of him, clearly lacking in knowledge about the current British monarchy. "Right, I shall make contact with Windsor and keep you updated. Once we shut down their supply chains, we shall have hopefully weakened them enough to launch an attack and reclaim the Court."

"Do we know if the Queen is still in there?" Emyl said, resuming his position with his arms crossed against his chest.

Croft nodded. "Yes." he paused for a moment. "Is Miss Conta in the room?"

My whole body tensed as my head jerked up to meet his eyes. "No. Why?" Gone was the formality and all that remained was short, sharp sounds.

"Nothing like that, Hathaway. The films we have been sent show the terrorists executing officials - people of importance in the political world. Thankfully, Julia Conta is not one of them, but this shows a strategy."

"La Luz do have a strong political agenda," Hamlet said, "What they lack in mercy, they make-up for in tact. Not that that is any justification."

Croft nodded. "They want us to submit."

"Relinquish." Ibrahim corrected. "Their goal is not the power, though I suppose that is a welcome reward - they want you to relinquish the old regime and to plunge it into oblivion."

"Vengeful anarchists," Hamlet mused.

Ibrahim nodded. "They care little of the consequences of their actions, or what comes next. It is why they were, until recently, so small."

I looked towards him. "Then their agenda has changed."

Ibrahim's smirk died down into something softer, something sadder as he nodded. "Revenge and anger are powerful motivators, but not enough to rally an army - people are selfish and self-interested: if there is nothing for them, nothing that they can out of something, then what is the point?"

We left it there; signing off with Croft, I made my escape as soon as his picture vanished from the wall. I could visualise the frown on Ibrahim's face, the furrow of his eyebrows toward a small crease on his brow, as I walked out with no word. No matter what I did, I couldn't get him out of my head; it was like nothing I knew - as though he sent my entire brain into overdrive. Hate. Fear. Irritation. Joy. Respect. Envy. Wonder. Everything, every emotion in me, was heightened in a volatile mix that changed with erratic spontaneity. I both could not stand him and longed to be around him. It was infuriating! Yet also relaxing…? I was a living paradox and one that could very much get me killed if I didn't sort myself out quickly.

I decided a policy of distraction was in order. Since Croft had naffed off, I went to go see my wounded friend. Oh Harriet. I think it is perhaps one of the saddest things to witness the gradual deterioration of happiness, of innocence, of hope, in a person. Particularly if that person was your best friend. Harriet Conta was and is, to this day, the best person I knew and I could not bear to see her so upset.

I made to find her, but quickly found myself lost. For a man of the church, Hamlet's house was remarkably well funded. I suppose, his other 'career' working with Abe, Vincent and the much loathed le renard kept his paycheck considerably well stocked; I hadn't seen where Ibrahim lived, but judging by his never ending supply of perfectly tailored suits, I could well imagine it would look something like this. Yet contrary to the expense, Hamlet's home was pleasantly...modest. Sure, you could see the value in everything around you, but the comfortable atmosphere it evoked did not make you worry about touching it in case it suddenly broke. I quite liked it, if I'm honest. Hamlet himself, I was still a little wary of. I had only just met him, but I could see where Harriet was coming from. There was a sinisterness about the man, hidden away underneath his charm.

The middle ground between Charles and renard.

I don't think Ibrahim's description of him had helped. Nonetheless, I didn't have to like him, or even trust him completely, to get the job done. He was a valuable asset.

I halted in my tracks. Did I really just reduce a man to the status of an asset? Dear Lord, Ibrahim was rubbing off on me and in ways that I just didn't like. I should have stayed away. Damn it, why couldn't he have listened to me during the attack?

But then he would be dead.

I shook off that thought and pressed on through the corridor until I saw the outline of my friend in the reflection of a window. Entering the room, her brilliant eyes met mine, watered and sparkling from the tears she had let loose.

I smiled softly, my own inner turmoil dissipating into nothing. "Hey."

She returned it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, it's okay." I said, coming to sit next to her on the bed.

She looked down at her hands as they fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "Do you think she is okay?"

I paused for a moment, wondering best how to answer before landing upon the one thing I endeavoured to alway do with Harriet: honesty. "I cannot say. Croft thinks she may be spared as they are only targeting political leaders and officials."

Harriet nodded. "Those poor people."

"Perhaps it is a mercy: I think I'd rather be dead than be alive, but constantly taunted with death." I said putting myself in the shoes of the captives. I saw Harriet smile and I frowned up at her. "What?"

"Nothing it's-" she stopped herself biting her lip to control her spreading smile and encroaching giggle. I glared at her a little and she relented. "It's just, that's what Ibrahim said."

I laughed a little, shaking my head. Of course he did. "You're not still on that, are you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

She smiled. "I gives me a little bit of levity." she said with a shrug. I sighed, flopping back on the bed. Perhaps it was a little hypocritical to tell her the truth about everything except this; though, in my defense, I wasn't entirely sure what this was. For all I knew, it was some head trauma or infection or a psychological consequence of a sudden loss of blood. My fingers traced the scars on my palm where his teeth had sunk in. I was brought out of my thoughts when Harriet lay alongside me, looking up towards the ceiling. "Do you remember when we were younger and used to lie on the field, gazing at the stars when we were supposed to be in class?"

I smiled. "Russian lit, was it not?"

She giggled. "I don't think Guardian Morris ever liked us."

I scoffed. "I don't think he liked anyone. Do you remember when he kicked Lisa Torbet out for asking why we couldn't read Animal Farm instead, because it was 'technically' about Russia?"

She laughed. "Poor Lisa."

"She was a bitch."

"Janine!"

"Oh come on," I said, glancing towards her, "You know she was. She put laxatives in Morwenna Balan's low-fat smoothie because Oscar asked her to that stupid May Ball."

"That was a little unfair."

"A provoked sudden evacuation of the bowels mid-presentation to the whole year is not unfair, it is cruel." I said flatly.

Harriet giggled. "Speaking from experience there?"

I scowled. "Thankfully no, but in front of your gym class is embarrassing enough."

"Well you shouldn't have tied me to the the roof while I was still sleeping." I propped myself up on my elbows to see Emyl smirking at the door. Harriet buried her face in the pillow to conceal her laughter. I stuck my tongue out towards Emyl and he chuckled, walking into the room, shoving both me and Harriet along and lying next to us on the bed. The three of us lay there, side by side, looking up at the ceiling, each with childish grins on our faces like we had just got away with sticking a whoopee-cushion under the teacher's chair.

"Hamlet is loaded." Emyl said.

My grin increased. "How can you tell?"

He chuckled. "Perhaps it has something to do with the remake of the Sistine Chapel above us." he said gesturing towards the ceiling.

"Michelangelo really went all out here." I said, biting my lip.

"And just for a guest room, that is commitment from the painter." Emyl said.

I could feel Harriet's eyeroll. "He was a sculpture and this looks nothing like the Sistine Chapel." she said frankly to which Emyl and I burst out laughing. Harriet jabbed me with her elbow which only made me laugh more, and for a moment I forgot: I forgot I was in Istanbul about it embark on a life-threatening task of disassembling a highly fortified, terrorist supply base; I forgot that the world as I knew it was on the verge of implosion; I forgot about my own personal implosion regarding a certain Moroi. For a moment I was back at St Vlads, with the two people I considered as my best friends, my family, just laughing away another day, preparing for the worst which deep down we didn't believe would happen. For a moment I forgot.

For a moment, I was happy.