17. Vogue

Eyelids fluttering,I blink my eyes open, the fuzzy edges of sleep still clinging to my mind. There's light creeping in through the curtains, too early for anyone decent to be awake. But as my vision clears and I see Harrison curled up on the other side of my bed, still in his clothes from last night. For a second, I just stare, my mind racing to make sense of this unexpected sight.

Then I remember he said he was staying on the couch for a little bit. I guess the couch was too uncomfortable, so he moved to the bed and fell asleep.

He didn't take advantage of the situation, which is sweet. That thought alone has warmth flooding through me, a smile easing onto my lips despite the tension that knots my stomach when I think about why he's here. My eyes flick to the gun, complete with silencer, on the table next to his head, and I shiver.

Protection.

I slide out of bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. Harry's out cold, and I'd rather get dressed and do my routine without having someone in the way. My feet touch the cool floor, and I shiver from the chill of the early morning. Heading to the bathroom to clean up quickly, I pull on yesterday's jeans and a fresh shirt, my movements quick and quiet.

With Harry still out, I tiptoe into the kitchenette. The routine is comforting and automatic. Making tea, even the boiling kettle doesn't wake him, I slide a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and start on my packed lunch. I'm going to have to hit the shops today after classes, for sure. As the kettle reaches boiling point, I pour the hot water into my mug, the steam curling up like morning mist.

I lean against the counter, cradling the mug, letting the warmth seep into my hands. This is my life now, teetering on the edge of normal and nightmare. But I've always been good at balancing. My grip tightens on the mug as I realise this is different.

A sharp crack splits the silence, followed by the splintering groan of the front door being kicked off its hinges. Hot and fast, adrenaline surges through me. I drop my tea, ceramic shattering against the tile, hot liquid soaking my feet, is just a distant noise as my attention snaps to the four masked intruders flooding into the flat.

Harry is up in an instant, eyes snapping open, confusion wiped clean by the sight of masked men charging toward us but getting caught very briefly off guard by the man on my bed, which gives Harry a second to move.

He growls, already rolling off the bed, reaching for the gun on the table next to his head. He raises it, sleek and deadly as the first abductor lunges at him, a blur of movement and malicious intent. Harrison doesn't hesitate. The gun pings, an almost silent blast in the confines of the room, and the man stumbles back, clutching his thigh. Blood blooms bright against the dark fabric of his pants.

I scream, but I'm not sure the sound comes out as I stand there helpless when two men come for me.

"Vogue, move!" Harry's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding. But my feet are rooted to the spot, the world tilting on its axis as the men reach me, their movements coordinated and lethal.

Hands grab for me, pulling me away from the scene unfolding. My heart hammers against my ribs, every instinct screaming fight or flight. But there's no escaping their iron grip.

The abductors' desperation is like a live wire, sparking violence as they claw at me. I'm tugged left and right, their hands unyielding and rough against my skin. The scent of sweat, blood and fear hangs heavy in the cramped space of my flat. A gruff voice hisses threats into my ear, but it's all drowned out by the throb of blood in my temples. This isn't some nightmare I can wake up from; this is real, and it's terrifying.

"Let go of me!" My voice is hoarse, barely recognisable as I struggle, kicking at any part of them I can reach. But there are two, and I'm just one person—just Vogue, who should be worried about exams, not whether she'll see another sunrise.

"Harry!" It's a desperate plea for the man who swore to protect me. There's no answer. Instead, another gunshot pings through the air—a sound that chills me to the bone. In that split second, the grip on me falters, and hope surges wildly.

I'm yanked harshly forward. I try to look back, to catch a glimpse of Harry, to see if he's okay. But there's only a fleeting image of him crumpled on the floor before my head is yanked back.

"Harry!" My scream is muffled by the hand that clamps over my mouth.

"Shut her up," someone orders, and terror spikes through me like ice water. What does that mean?

Panic grips me, sharp and brutal, as the abductor's hand grips my hair tightly.

I want to fight, to scream, to do anything but be this helpless piece of meat in their hands. But options are scarce, fading faster than the light from the windows we leave behind.

"Please," I gasp out, not above begging. Not now. "Don't?—"

"Sorry, sweetheart, nothing personal," he says, and there's almost a hint of genuine regret in his tone. Or maybe that's just my wishful thinking.

He grabs my arm, and I try to pull away, but it's useless. His grip is iron. Steel. Unforgiving. The needle pierces my neck, and it stings.

I gasp as the fluid is pushed into my veins, and within moments, the world starts to spin. Sounds warp. The edges of my vision blur. I'm falling, or maybe the earth is tilting. I can't tell up from down anymore.

"Keep her steady," someone commands, a voice coming from far away or maybe right next to me. Hands grip me tighter, and I want to shake them off, to claw and kick and escape. Instead, my limbs feel heavy and disconnected, like I'm submerged in water.

The last thing I see before darkness claims me is Harry on the floor, bleeding, and then, nothing—just the void, pulling me under, leaving my fate a question mark hanging in the balance.