Chapter Five

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Wednesday, a week later

Mila hasn't seen Harry in a few days, and after he slammed the door in her face she isn't really sure she wants to either. She can't understand what was so wrong with her wanting to know what happened, and he could have just said that he didn't want her to know rather than just shutting the door.

Right now she is glued in front of the murder board hanging on the wall, desperately trying to see if there is something she has missed, a detail that slipped away. Mila knows it happened not long from her apartment in an alleyway, and that is part of the reason she moved there. After they died she went to live with her aunt Cordelia. Cordelia always kept Mila's best interest in mind, and if she could have given her the world on a platter she probably would have. That is why Cordelia waited until Mila was eighteen before moving away. She wanted Mila to be able to choose for herself is she wanted to go with Cordelia or stay in London. Mila always knew Cordelia wanted to move away long before she had to take care of her, and Mila always felt bad for making her feel like she had to stay, so when Cordelia told her she was moving Mila was happy for her.

Mila closes her eyes trying to force her brain to think, but the longer she so it just causes her hands to shake: aching to hit something. A powerful feeling rushes over her, and for someone who has felt it so many times before it's surprising she isn't used to it by now. The feeling of being stuck in place, but desperate to keep going. Suddenly her fist smash against the wall making a painful scream burst from her throat. Her heavy breathing fills the now quiet room as she leans her forehead against the bent spot on the wall.

Seconds later a knock comes from the door drawing her attention towards it. Mila gathers the last of her energy, and push herself away from the wall, and slowly makes her way towards the door. She doesn't bother checking who it is, and instead just opens the door. If it weren't so quiet you would have missed the sound of her breath getting caught in her throat as her eyes met Harry's. He is standing with his arms behind his back like he is hiding something. He is once again dressed in all black, and his hair looks exactly the same. Harry draws his eyes away from hers, and take a look inside her apartment. "Everything okay?" He examen the room almost as if he is expecting to see someone in there.

Mila realizes he must have heard her painful scream, and that is why he is here at her door in the middle of the night. "Yeah, everything is fine. Just got a little frustrated that's all," she admits ashamed hoping he will leave her alone with her thoughts.

Harry's eyes meet hers once again, and a small wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. "Frustrated over what?" He leans to the side so his shoulder comes in contact with the door frame.

"Over something I can't figure out, something that just doesn't make sense." Mila takes a breath while she searches his eyes for any reaction. "And you." The wrinkle between his brows become more visible, but his eyes are as cold as ever.

"Me? How is it that I have frustrated you?"

Mila sends him a firm glare. "I don't know. Maybe because you were shot, and wouldn't tell me how, and when I actually asked you shut the door in my face." She crosses her arms as if shielding herself from his next words that she imagines will be painful for some reason, but he never answers.

His attention was no longer on her. Harry's eyes search the apartment behind her for the second time, but they suddenly stop at something right behind her. Mila turns her head to see what caught his attention, and when she does so she understands that it is the murder board he is staring at. "What's that?" He asks in his usual slow voice. Before she gets the chance to reply she walks past her, and starts to make his way towards the wall.

"Hey!" Mila yells while hurrying to his side. "You can't just walk inside like that, and that is personal so I would appreciate it if you left," she tells him as politely as she can as she reaches out her hand, pointing at the door. She didn't tell many people about her parents. She didn't really have many people to tell, but that wasn't the point.

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