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


JPOV

My first thought was Harriet.

Upon reading Hamlet's name at the bottom of that scrap, all I could think was that Harriet was there with him. She was with a member of La Luz: the group that had terrorised her way of life, shattered her security and were still holding her mother captive. And clearly Hamlet was no ordinary member: he had reach and power over this group, that much was clear. It suddenly all clicked very quickly - why wasn't there any backup at the base? Hamlet hadn't called them. Why had there been a delay in meeting the guy? His 'operation' didn't exist - he was covering his tracks and warning the sect of our approach. He was the one who had passed on Vincent's message; all the trouble the Brit had tool in getting here, to deliver Torres' information covertly, was entirely fruitless as he had essentially given it to them hand-delivered.

And then there was Harriet.

Was she still even alive? There was a chance. Hamlet wasn't stupid: he may not have counted on Vincent's little stunt, nor on the fact that we had actually succeeded. He was undoubtedly pissed about that. But he was intelligent enough to know not to assume that we had perished. If, if, Harriet was still alive, Hamlet would wait at least 24 hours to be sure we were actually dead to dispose of her. Maybe even 48. We had the upper hand of knowing about Hamlet, but I wasn't sure how far that went in our favour.

We had moved quickly, Ibrahim turning to the lad and inquiring something in Turkish. He was met with a nod, and within seconds the six of us were running back through the streets, deserted on account of the blast so that the only sound that echoed through were the stomps of our feet against the cobbled ground. The boy was fast, darting quickly round the bends and alleys, resulting in it being quite a trial to keep up. When we reached a main road the sounds of the human police force were still distant but becoming more pronounced. The boy jumped towards a lone parked car, abandoned by the side of the street. He quickly picked the lock and then hot-wired the engine. I started up.

He hopped out the car and walked towards Ibrahim, who just managed to catch his breath. Reaching into his suit, he pulled out a paper note and handed it to the boy.

"Good work, Joseph." He said, still panting a little.

"Thank you, Mr Abe." The boy said, smiling a little at the note in his hand. With a pat on Alek's shoulder, Ibrahim made his way towards the car. Alek nodded and gestured for the boy to follow him and they stepped back, monitoring the area. The rest of us piled in.

Ibrahim had insisted on driving and I really wasn't in the mood for arguing. Since I was the smaller Guardian, I sat in the back with Vincent as Emyl road shotgun. Powering through the streets of Istanbul, Ibrah clearly cared little for the speed limit. For the most part, our journey remained unobstructed, but when traffic did appear, Ibrahim abruptly switched lane, direction or street entirely.

We approached the opposing side of Istanbul within the hour. Each minute saw Emyl glance down at the clock, willing us the move faster. There wasn't much conversation. Actually, there was none. Ibrahim and Vincent were a mix of brooding and seething, mentally kicking themselves for not seeing through Hamlet, but also deeply hurt by the betrayal of their friend, now fiend. Ibrahim was transferring most of his inner battle into driving, while Vincent sat in eerie silence. I knew he was beating himself silly: he had the ability to see inside people's heads, inside their minds, and while he couldn't fully turn off his ability to read auras, loyalty spurred from comradery kept him from fully poking about their heads. If he had, he would have known.

I wish I could voice my support, offer him any sort of comfort. But my throat remained dry and my tongue unmoving - shocked into silence. I shared Emyl's agitation and felt on the edge of tears. My hand drifted up towards the nazar. It was literally less than two hours ago that I had been happy - awoken next to the man I loved, agreed to be his guardian and he returning the promise of protection sealed in a beautiful piece of Turkish culture. It was almost impressive how quickly it had fallen apart, but there was no room to dwell over it: we had to get Harriet and run.

That was about the extent of the plan. As I said, not much talking. But given how well all our other fully developed, argued and thought out plans had been, I wasn't opposing the idea that this much more instinctive approach was the better option. I wasn't even thinking when I opened the car door upon seeing the faintest glimpse of Hamlet's home; Ibrahim hadn't even stopped driving when I landed on the pavement and ran to the door, pounding against it.

It opened on its own and I stepped in. Hamlet's house had always been beautiful, but this new knowledge had twisted it into a shallow den of gluttony and greed. I powered on through the halls, looking in every nook and cranny, before reaching the living room and slamming into my dear friend.

"Janine!" she screamed. Her eyes widened and she leapt from the floor where she had sprawled herself out, her long, strawberry blonde locks fanned out against the cream of the carpet. She wore her pretty, floral dress: the one that she and Emyl had bought whilst Ibrahim and I were in Russia. But it was her expression that caught the eye; It was of pure relief and sheer joy, one that I had never seen before or since.

But I couldn't relish the reunion. I grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door.

"Janine?" she blinked, flustered in such a way that caused her to stumble as she walked.

"We need to go, Harriet. Now." I said, willing her to move faster before-

We were stopped as the very man we were fleeing stood in the doorway to his living room.

"Guardian Hathaway?" he said, the surprise clear on his face.

I did not speak, but pulled Harriet behind me and stepped back into a defensive stance.

"Janine…?" Harriet whimpered a little, casting her brilliant blue gaze on my face as I looked towards Hamlet. Think what you will, but Harriet Conta was always perceptive others; often, she was blinded by affection and her kind heart, but it was a talent worthy of deep recognition.

Hamlet, not so much. "Janine, I don't understand… Are you alright? Where are the others?" the reverend asked with a deep frown creasing his brow.

It was at that moment that Ibrahim walked in.

Hamlet turned to face him. "Ah, Abe!" He said greeted with a smile.

Ibrahim's reply was a forceful right hook. Its impact (partly down to my amendment of his footing, but this was hardly the time to gloat) sent Hamlet staggering back. I took the opportunity and bolted for the door, pushing Harriet behind Ibrahim, we made to make a swift exit as Hamlet, now fully aware of what we knew, pushed himself to his feet.

Emyl brought Harriet close to his chest while Vincent pushed through the crowd. Ibrahim halted him with his palm. "Vincent, don't." he said, using his real and full name to ensure his attention was grabbed.

Vincent only responded with a glare. "I have to know." And with that, he shouldered his way passed Ibrahim and into the room. "Why, Paul? Why did you do it?"

Hamlet groaned, having just gotten back on his feet. With an irritated swipe on his chest, he straightened his cassock out and glared over at the Moroi. "You're the telepath, why don't figure it out." he said, his voice taking a bitter undertone.

Vincent remained unmoving. "Do me this one courtesy, after all: we have been friends for over a decade."

"Oh, Charles," he said with a sigh, sneering over Vincent's pseudonym. "That privileged life you did lead keeps you so far from reality. Some of us actually have to work our way up, and that takes a bit of stomach and grit."

"Money, that was it?" Vincent said with scoff. "Bloody hell, man. And you were supposed to be a man of the cloth."

Hamlet chuckled. "Oh this," he said holding up his cassock, "please: everyone knows faith can provide the perfect mask."

I felt like I was going to be sick. And perhaps with time, I could understand: the temptation of the underground world was beyond alluring and Hamlet had spent a lot of time surrounded by it. But in that moment, I could not see Paul Hamlet, the man: only a nameless thing that repulsed me.

Vincent sighed, running his fingers through his hair, he then shook his head. "Well I must thank you then, Paul; I know now what the colour of betrayal is in an aura. Should come in handy, no doubt." he stared at him for a moment, a sickly smile forming on his lips. "To be or not to be indeed; you chose the madness. How very poetic."

Hamlet rolled his eyes and tutted. "You always were repugnantly melodramatic. Though I will concede, you little stint at our headquarters was unexpected." he said.

Vincent chuckled. "Ah, yes. You failed then. I cannot imagine that going down well with Abuela."

"Oh, you mistake me," Hamlet said. "My primary mission wasn't to prevent you getting to the base…" he trailed off a little before stating simply: "I am to eliminate you altogether."

And with that, he struck: summoning a vast inferno from the fireplace, he ignited the room and showed us hell. Emyl wasted no time bolting out through the corridor and hallways before the blaze could shut his exit, Harriet in toe. The rest of us, not so lucky, as Hamlet's flames encircled us leaving us trapped in the room. I bent down and yanked my gun free from my calf with the full intention of aiming at Hamlet's forehead, but Vincent beat me to it; there was a slight delay, but the water soon came tumbling in, flooding through from the kitchen and quelling the rapid fire.

But it wasn't enough.

Vincent may have had the ability to wield all the Moroi magic, but to a significantly lesser degree. It didn't matter so much when we were in the base and up against a bunch of unmagical Dhampirs and Strigoi, but against Hamlet and his fully specialised fire abilities? Vincent was struggling. But his positioning didn't give me a clean shot; I tried to move, but the flames kept me still, burning my sides and leaving me choking on the smoke. Again, I tuned back to Hamlet. But Vincent was still in the way - there was no way I could shoot without the possibility of hitting him. Move Vincent!

As I tried to find an opening, Ibrahim went for another approach. Crouching down slowly, he rested his hands against the ground and willed it to quake. Hamlet, feeling the vibration in the ground smirked and dipped his hands slightly. Ibrahim's cry was excruciating as he pulled back with some very serious burns against his palms. Not helped by the wound in his shoulder, and with Vincent trembling on the verge of tears, I realised I needed to act. The smoke was increasing quickly, and soon I'd lose all ability to see. Now or never. Forgive me, Vincent. With my hands trembling as I raised them, wrapped round the grip like a snake in coiled murder, I got a fix on Hamlet and fired.

The sound echoed horribly through the thick air like a rockfall in a cave. Through the thick cloud, I saw Hamlet fall; hand clutching his throat, the bullet having sliced through his carotid artery. Blood pooled out of its side and he landed on the burning floor with a look of shock and complete bewilderment.

But he wasn't the only one…

Vincent doubled over, crying out as he grasped his arm. From where I stood, I saw Ibrahim push himself up and run towards his friend. The torrent of water that had battled the blaze had stopped, but the flames themselves were losing their former intensity as their conjurer slowly faded away.

I dropped my gun back to my calf and ran to join Ibrahim at Vincent. The bullet had scraped across his arm, causing a blood loss, but not severing any major veins, arteries or organs. Under normal circumstances, he'd survive without question and I'd pull him up and tell him to suck it up. However, with his use of magic, he was already significantly weaker and this did not look good.

I saw Ibrahim's panic and he tried to keep his friend both awake and alive and perhaps able to stand so we could get out of here.

"Come on, man," he said, tearing off the sleeve of his suit's balzer and wrapping round Vincent's wounded left arm.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Vincent's reply came in the form of a strangled curse.

This was my fault. I couldn't stop the thought repeating in my head like a record tape caught on loop. I had to fix this and I knew a sure fire way of doing so.

Ibrahim's face dropped when he saw my stake brushing against my palm. In his eyes, I could see his torment - the moral battle that raged deep within his mind. He valued me highly, but Vincent…this was his life.

It is amazing what you will do for survival.

He looked away as I can through my palm. It still stung, but my ability to manage pain had been increased considerably in the past few days. Bringing my bleeding hand to Vincent, I held it over his mouth and prayed that it would work. The sting of Vincent's fangs lasted only a moment before the endorphins kicked in. I could feel my body losing itself - sinking into the sensation of a Moroi bite.

"Janine," Ibrahim's voice broke through my fantasy and his hand caressing against my cheekbone eased me back towards reality. "Let go."

I didn't want to. I wanted to stay, locked within a sea of ecstasy away from the horror that was my world. But I knew I couldn't - no matter how much I deluded myself, in the end I was always going to have to accept my world and fight on through it.

And so, I pulled back.

Vincent resisted a little, but Ibrahim forced him down. My vision began to neutralise and I could see the flames still glaring and blazing; there heat, having been masked by the endophytic sensation, now returned and scalded. We needed to get out. Vincent was gasping, but his colour had returned to his features. With a smile of relief, I turned towards the door leading out of the living room and through to the front door and the relief fell away; the flames, now without their master's control, now roamed free and freely blocked us in. I scanned the room for another way out, casting my gaze towards the kitchen entrance. The smoke was getting thicker and thicker, making it shy of impossible to see any further than about three feet.

"..." Vincent mumbled something. Ibrahim, snapped his head round and gave his full attention to his friend.

"What is it?" he asked.

Vincent tried to clear his throat and then rasped again. "Paris…" he said.

I frowned, not seeing how the capital of France was going to help us out, but Ibrahim registered only understanding and smirked.

I decided to hold back.

Vincent, coughing through the heat, pushing himself to his knees as Ibrahim positioned himself as if he were about to run a 100m sprint. With what little energy he had, Vincent focused: summoning his air ability to clear the smoke from around Ibrahim; I ran over to steady him as he looked as though he could fall at any time. Ibrahim, taking a deep gulp of the fresh oxygen, tipped his weight back before slamming forward against the ground. The floor ruptured and roared: the quake bellowing as though shouted from the heavens. Such was its magnitude, I could see the shockwave as it shuddered through the air and slammed into the wall of the living room. It crumbled like sawdust through fingers, falling to the ground and exposing the outer world, and with it came fresh air l, diffusing the thick layer of smoke, but added fuel to the flames. As though given a shot of adrenaline, they shot up and roared with twice their former intensity. I tightened my hold on Vincent and forced him forward, running out of the new exit and onto the street. Ibrahim followed behind and we collapsed in the middle of the road.

"Jenny!" Emyl's voice mixed with the raging sound of the burning building. Through the dust, rubble and flames, Hamlet's body lay limp, but his eyes stayed open, glaring lifelessly at us; a shudder ran through my broken body, but I shook it off and turned to face Emyl only to be met with Harriet's embrace.

"Oh my God! Are you alright." She said, holding me tightly and I suspected it was not solely for my benefit.

"I'm fine. A bit bruised, but completely fine." I said, sinking into her arms. There would have been a time I would've pulled away or even flinched, but gone was that inhibition and all that remained was a need to be with my friend.

I was only pried from her arms by the disheartening sound of Vincent's groan. I cast my gaze back and took in the damage. He was in tatters: his eyes were bloodshot and heavy; his mouth ringed in the stain of my blood from his fatal kiss; his suit was beyond any form of repair and the burns over his body appeared as the icing on the top of this dismal cake. But he was alive, breathing and ever so slightly smiling.

Ibrahim fared little better. A strong part of me just wanted to swoop him away from it all and bury him in a sea of comfort until every inch of his person had mended, but I knew that wasn't going to happen.

Instead, I opted for practicality as I purposefully marched towards Vincent, scanning his injuries for anything I could deal with now. "Can you walk?" I asked.

He looked down and his legs, extended out on the pavement in front of him and frowned. "Umm, perhaps?"

Without further ado, I hoisted him up, allowing him to use me as a crutch. If I thought holding Ibrahim up was tricky, the taller and a little more spider-like Vincent was another level entirely. Seeing my struggle, Emyl made to take my place, but Vincent caught my arm before I could let go.

"Thank you, Janine," he said, his grey eyes sparked with gratitude and, somewhat contrary to their colourless disposition, with life. I did not need to be a telepath to know what he was talking about; I could still feel the prick in my palm, but I resisted looking down, instead just nodding with a little yet genuine smile.

He was handed over to Emyl and relished the sensation of not having a man over six foot leaning on my small and beaten frame. I could hear Ibrahim's chuckle and turned to face him. I didn't care that the others were or were not watch, so freely ran my hands over his upper body, primarily checking for any broken limbs, but also enjoying the added excuse to touch him. He appeared equally partial to my actions which made me smile.

"Shoulder alright?"

He turned his head to glance and grimace at the poor thing before shrugging. "Just about. How is your palm?"

For the first time, I looked down at it: the gash was clear and still bleeding a little. I placed my other hand over it and covered both it and my face with a smile. "Fine." I said.

Ibrahim cocked a brow. There was no way I was going to convince him that I was fine, but we hadn't time to argue anyway for the fire that consumed the house next to us had raged for long enough and with such intensity as to catch the attention of the human forces. Indeed, I would almost feel sorry for them with not one but two burning buildings to contend with had the circumstances been a little different. As it was, there was no pity, nor even remorse, as we all piled back into the stolen car. Vincent occupied the front seat next to Emyl as driver, leaning against the the passenger door to restrict bloodflow in his upper arm.

What a sight we must have been as we walked into that service stop about one hundred miles south of the Bulgarian border. We had quickly decided we needed out of Istanbul, out of Turkey all together, particularly now that there was a scattered terrorist sect on the loose with absolutely nothing to we also figured that it would be best to clean ourselves up before we attempted to cross the border. Emyl and Harriet, despite scolds from the fire, faired the best, unsurprising given how quickly they managed to vacate Hamlet's rage, but the rest of us looked like we should be in the legions of the undead. It probably didn't help that we were also driving a car that was technically stolen. Regardless, I just glared at the sneering man behind the counter as I purchased numerous first-aid supplies and some new clothes.

"Bastard." I muttered, walking out of the shop.

"Yes, my love?"

I stopped and rolled my eyes, turning to the smirking Moroi.

He just grinned. "Told you, you needed to work on your pet names."

"Unbelievable." I said. "You going to take that off." I nodded towards his half-torn blazer which he still was wearing, though I suspected that he hadn't noticed.

"In public? Good gracious, Janine!" he gasped, placing his hand over his chest as if to over-convey shock.

I narrowed my eyes, but could not help the smile. Levity, however crude its manifestation, was in dire need and I was quite grateful for Ibrahim's particular brand of witticism. "Just get it off." I said, putting down the many plastic bags that I was still holding.

Ibrahim smiled and removed his tatter blazer, tossing it on the ground like the leftover bud of a cigarette. He then examined his shirt and glanced up at me. "This too?"

I cocked a brow. "You look like you have been dragged through a bush by a pack of ravenous dogs." I said flatly.

He looked and nodded, removing it too. I handed him the shirt I had just bought from the less than impressed man in the service stop. He eyed his suspiciously. "Well, so much for bespoke tailoring."

"Oh, quit your moaning: it fits, it functions, it's got some nice colours and it's not covered in blood or smoke." I replied shoving it into his arms.

A deep smile covered his features and he took the shirt from my grip. "I live for your logic, Janine."

I rolled my eyes, but took the compliment. Before he could stick the new shirt on, I examined his wound. It was nowhere near healed, but at least we had managed to fend off infection, and now we had an entire supply kit of our own to keep fending it off. Cleaning and redressing it, I tidied Ibrahim up before bringing my hands up to his cheeks and placing my lips on his, giving him a gentle kiss, before going in search of Vincent.

I found him sitting on a pile of used tyres. He seemed in an almost meditative state, his eyes staring into space as his body remained in perfect stillness. As I approached, he moved his head and gestured for me to join him. "Ah, Guardian Hathaway: my hero."

I bit my lip. "You know, I was the one that shot you."

"If I'm honest, I probably deserved it," he said, with a little wink. "Is that for me?" he asked, nodding towards the bag.

I handed it to him and he too pulled out his newly bought outfit, eyeing it with the same suspicion as Ibrahim. I rolled my eyes. "It isn't poisoned."

"Hmmm, good to know." he said, musing a little. He winced as he peeled his shirt off. I was quick to aid him and halted him any further once it was off to administer first aid to his wound. Unlike Ibrahim's, this wound went all the way through, severing through his arm, but still quite a way from the bone, resulting in it being painful, but primarily a flesh wound. It seemed the compulsory first aid training that we had to do every year at St Vlads was paying off and in a big way. Certainly Vincent was happy about it as he sat reaping the benefits in a remote service station in northern Turkey.

"Nice to see that you heeded my advice with regard to Abe," Vincent said, smirking a little as I redressed his arm.

I looked at him through narrowed eyes and hummed. "I did heed it, just decided to ignore it after."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. I suppose my judgement has lost some of its former reliability."

"Hey," I said, bringing his attention. "This wasn't your fault."

"I know," he said, "it is just a little hard to digest the fact that I could have known this sooner had I bothered to look properly. I saw Hamlet's aura on multiple occasions and there was always something there that I could not place, but it was out of friendship that I did not pry. How foolish of me."

"Morality is not always pretty." I said, tying the bandage and leaning back.

"How right you are." He said and sighed. "The worst part is that if I could do the all again, I would do the exact same thing."

I smiled. "I think that says more about your faith than your folly."

Vincent smiled. "Thank you, Janine. I think you may have redeemed yourself for shooting me."

I frowned. "I thought you said you deserved it…"

"I lied."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, causing him to chuckle as he slid on the shirt over his beaten body. Harriet emerged from the station shop looking a little more like herself. Emyl was sorting out stolen ride out for petrol and, after I had sorted him out, Ibrahim had went to give him a hand. Harriet stood in the sun, relishing it's feel for a moment before glancing and then walking over to Vincent and I.

"Are you doing any better," she said though did not specify to whom she was talking.

Not one for modesty, Vincent decided he would answer that one. "Much, thank you."

Harriet smiled. "I hear you are the man with the plan here,"

Vincent grinned and nodded. "That I am. Ibrahim and I have a mutual acquaintance who can get us a plane out from Burgas, and hopefully you back to Pennsylvania."

"You are not coming with us?" Harriet said, taking a seat on his other side.

He snorted. "Do I desire running headfirst into a land we know to be occupied with an active terrorist sect? I think I'll pass on the visit to the colonies."

Harriet laughed lightly and I rolled my eyes. "I believe it is called America, mate."

"And could really survive another day with cousin...Rupert was it?" Harriet added.

Vincent considered. "You raise good points, and I suppose we mustn't ignore history." I shook my head. He smiled and continued. "Alas, your attempts at persuasion will ultimately prove fruitless: we are to land in New York and I shall return to Britain." his tone change, the light-hearted banter dissipating in place of solemn brooding. "I think I shall need to, perhaps, rethink a few of my...choices…" he said, before a ghost of a smile crossed his features. "Indeed, I feel even Rupert's company is progressively becoming more and more desirable."

"Family is important." Harriet said, taking hold of Vincent's hand a giving a gentle squeeze.

He smiled. "And continually underappreciated." he added.

Emyl returned, holding in his hand a phone. The judgy guy at the station appeared to have had a change of heart upon finding himself at the receiving end of Emyl's towering intimidation and Ibrahim's…'charm'. Either way, I didn't ask any questions.

We contacted Croft immediately. The signal was patchy at best, but we managed to convey what had happened. Croft was shocked, to say the least, but he maintained his composure for the brief time we were in contact. We were also able to get an update on his side of events: Mexico was still proving a challenge and, more notably, our actions were getting the attention of Abuela and in serious ways. It seemed the safe houses were no longer safe: La Luz had raided a number of them during our time away, adding to her already long list of hostages, which still included, on a national level, the Queen and, on a more personal level, Harriet's immediate family. The latter of which remained unconfirmed which was perhaps a good thing, for the proof of life that La Luz were giving for Tatiana saw her beaten and tortured as the group attempted to force submission through fear.

Arguably the worst part was, it was working - the footage that Croft continued to receive was a mix between the culling of political officials, the torture of the monarch and ceremonies which celebrated the welcoming of new members: those of our community too terrified to fight back. It was heartbreaking to watch and even more heartbreaking that we could not do anything to stop them.

Well, not yet at least.

With Mexico still in operation, La Luz still reigned strong. Not to mention, since Kravitz and Guerra proved a bust, we still had no idea who the mole was in our ranks and if they were still there. Croft was careful with what he divulged: meticulous to the point of insanity, but given the events that had just occurred in Istanbul, I don't think I could ever properly trust someone again.

But right now, that was not our priority. We had done it: messy as it had been, we had shut down the Istanbul base. La Luz had lost their European contact and with the sect scattered as it was, it was be months, nay years, before they could even think about returning to the level that they had been. Had we made the Turkish streets more dangerous by releasing a bunch of untamed and angered terrorist members with nothing else to lose out? Most definitely, and that was something I was struggling to live down. But right now, we needed to get back and so, we did.

After concluding the phone call with Croft, Ibrahim returned the device to the man, who mumbled something unpleasant that I decided to ignore, before we hopped back into our stolen vehicle and drove north, over the Bulgarian border. Vincent managed to compel the human official to let us pass with no checks or indeed any delay to the point where we drove through with an ease akin to driving through a set of traffic lights. Still heading north, and after a few more hours, we soon found ourselves at Burgas Airport. Vincent hobbled out of the car, his legs numb from sitting down for too long, as he went in search of his 'chap' at the airport. The rest of us took the opportunity to stretch out in the light of the descending sun before he came back, gesturing us to follow. Sneaking in through service doors and eventually onto the runway where the cargo planes resided, I caught glimpse of a man in a pilot's suit. He waved over to Vincent with a smile and gestured to come aboard.

Since the nature of Hamlet's betrayal was so extreme, I eyed the man with no little suspicion. As did, I believe, everyone else there, including Vincent. If the man was offended, he took no notice and instead just invited us all in to sit in the back of his plane. I strapped myself next to Ibrahim, with Vincent on his other side and Harriet and Emyl opposite. Not really caring that they could all see, I lodged my head into the crook of Ibrahim's neck and felt his sigh as he shifted his body closer. I was aware of his discomfort on his other shoulder, so was careful not to cause him to move too much.

From where I sat, I could see the tension in Emyl's shoulders; flashes of our flight into Court came into my head and I smiled a little, if not for the little familiarity that it brought. Only this time, Harriet noticed: she, no longer distracted by those insignificant details, tenderly took his hand in hers and held it tight. He glanced over towards her and it was in that moment that something changed and a deeper level of understanding was obtained.

Vincent, for his part, seemed content to watch the sight of the descending sun as it's fading light came in through the expanse of the large door, even if he did have to lean forward to see past Ibrahim and myself.

"Well then..." he said as the engine started up. "To the colonies!" he shouted over the growing roar.

Harriet and I laughed as Ibrahim smirked and Emyl frowned; my humour stayed with me as I watched the giant slip-door begin to close, the plane succumbing to the darkness. But just before the door closed fully, I caught sight of a figure: standing on the runway and looking towards us. It remained for a second, before it slipped back into the shadows and the door finally shut.