'Always quiet
Always quiet now
Always silent
Always silent now'
*
It seems a contradiction to find peace in a graveyard. Yet, that is all I feel right now. There is no malice or melancholy, no quiet frustration or pain. Only complete ease, for the first time in months. I find myself focusing on the birds that fly above us, the subtle sound of the breeze, the heat of the sun; and through all of this, I am calm.
In the ground below us there are those in an eternal slumber, living in the peaceful dreams of their happiness. Behind those closed eyes are scenes of pure delight and contentment. Perhaps they are with loved ones, or they're off on their great adventures through the unknown. No longer must they battle their demons, because they're finally freed from the shackles that tied them to their past. All they have is an infinite future.
Standing here, their rest brings me comfort, too. I can feel the calm that seeps into the ground, a blissful release of any fear or indiscretion. In this graveyard, while there may be sadness waiting above the graves from those that miss their loved ones, below is only a sense of joy. Death can bring such peace to those that need it.
But I shouldn't be calm.
I should be crying. I should be screaming. I should be throwing every object in sight while I curse those that have brought us here today. But I'm not. I don't have the energy for it anymore; I couldn't react if I tried.
Even in the week since the incident, there hasn't been an overload of emotions. Instead, we are numb. After months of fighting, months of trying to launch a counterattack and stand our ground, our palace walls were breached and one of our own was taken. Their life was snatched away from them, and even in the torment of their actions, none of us knows how to process the loss.
Whenever we're near one another, our faces are blank, and our eyes are tired. We do not sleep or eat, we barely talk. How can we when nothing will undo the damage that has occurred? We could rebuild whatever burned but it will not change the course of events.
George is dead.
I held his hand as he took his last breath, waiting in anticipation for the final toll of the bell in his life. And then, as if we didn't care for his path to another life, we had to leave his pale, weak body in the debris so we could escape the authorities and the potential of another attack. We weren't allowed time to process it, or to even consider how we could possibly recover from such a loss; we had to immediately move on, as if grief were a steppingstone and could be easily vanquished.
And now we stand in this graveyard, watching a funeral we haven't been invited to from a distance, completely in silence.
Silence often brought me solace, but it also gave me fear. These days, it's such a scary sound.
Today, four of us stand in the cemetery. Me, Harry, Babz and Niall. Zayn is still recovering from his injuries in hospital. He had been put into a medically induced coma to help his body heal from the trauma for a few days, but he woke up this morning. Still slightly groggy and clearly in a lot of pain, but he's alive. That's what matters. If we lost another person that day, I'm not sure how any of us would have coped. Doctors said if he was brought in any later, he almost certainly would have died. That weight has hung over our shoulders since.
Despite our attempts, Louis refused to join us. In fact, he's not said a word to us since the incident. But it's hardly a surprise. After George died, we had to physically drag him from his body to the car and lock him in as he desperately tried to escape and return to his lost love. He kicked and screamed, gave every insult under the Sun, but we had no choice. We needed to get out of there.
At first, we drove into the nearby forest, keeping away from the narrow roads leading to the warehouse so we could wait out the authorities. We stayed there for a few hours, night falling around us as we waited in silence. After some time, we had to knock Louis out to shut him up, but in the quiet, everything made us fearful. Any sound from the wilderness caused us to jump. Only once some of the vehicles by the burnt carcass started to file out did we return to the main road and head to safety.
Nothing felt safe, though. It still doesn't.
We headed to mine and Harry's after taking Zayn to the hospital, but with every attempt at trying to make sense of what had happened our words eventually stopped, and we stared at each other in disbelief. There was nothing to say, and as we watch the funeral for one of our brothers, it's clear there still isn't anything to be said that could justify this pain.
Upon waking up, Louis' meltdown continued, and Niall eventually took him back to his flat. He's been there ever since, and we've been unable to get in contact with him.
I can still hear his screams. That's why the quiet has become so daunting, because in the absence of outside noise, all I can hear is the sound of Louis crying, begging for George to wake up, cursing and threatening us so we could allow him to sit by his side once more. When he lost the energy to fight, he pleaded through sobs, sitting on his knees, and grabbing our clothes. Endless begging for something we couldn't provide him. I'm not sure if I cried more listening to that or watching George die. They both hurt as much as the other.
It reminded me of when I lost my dad, how I would frequently find myself begging Harry to return him to me, to let me go be by his side. That day, the nurses had to drag me away from his lifeless body, and despite how hard I fought no one would let me hold him once more. The very notion that I was refused such a thing made everything worse in the grieving process, but I knew my words would never give me what I wanted. It wasn't that I wanted to just see him again, I wanted him alive.
Louis wants George alive, but we can't do that. We're not God's or magicians. We cannot reanimate the dead like the mad scientist of classic literature. We're only human, and humans are victims to the life cycle. We have no power over it, despite how hard we try.
And because of that, when I close my eyes at night, I see Louis and George. The latter doesn't make a sound, he just stares at me, blood smeared across his face and the final expression of his death permanently fixed on his features. The others, including Louis, attack. Tormenting, repeatedly, every single night. I wake up in a panic just as I've always done, but this time Harry does too. Usually, he's able to hide his nightmares when mine are bad, something I've asked him not to do so I can care for him as he does me, but recently he's been unable to control them.
We hold each other, we cry, sometimes we speak, but we're always hurting. Paying the price for the legacy of our fathers, and the turmoil it's caused for others. I'd like to say it's brought us closer, but in truth, it's because we only have each other to rely on in these moments. To say that death has brought us love seems wrong.
The weather is nice today; I think George would appreciate that. I remember the day one of the team had a BBQ at the warehouse, the day I finally dislodged the Cullinan IX from its ring, and he seemed so joyful in the sun. Instant serotonin, a smile plastered on his face and his laugh echoing around us. It's hard to believe that such an occurrence wasn't that long ago.
Life is so delicate. It can be ripped away in a heartbeat, without any sign or warning. In these moments it's hard to process the loss of someone you had never considered saying goodbye to. You're desperate to remember them without pain but how can you when the thought of them makes your chest ache? How can you say goodbye when your heart and mind are still holding onto the hope that they'll return?
The trees that surround us are beautiful shades of green, none of their leaves falling as the summer allows them to breathe once more. A horse chestnut sits near us, its conkers forming, almost ready to fall but still needing some weeks to fully develop. I notice some squirrels jumping from branch to branch, chasing one another in a playful exchange, before climbing higher and disappearing from my sight. So much life in a place of death.
We watch from afar, waiting for the group to depart and move onto the wake his mother planned. She didn't know any of us and had no idea the double life her son lived. He was a first-class student to her, preparing to follow in her footsteps and consolidate a sturdy career as she did. As a result, we cannot reveal ourselves to her, so we must wait until she's gone to pay our respects to a fallen soldier.
George's death was described as a freak accident. In the reports, they surmised that he had gone to a secret rave in the middle of nowhere, when a fire broke out and trapped many inside the four walls. Those that did make it out eventually fell victim to the flames and explosion. All Hugo's doing, I assume. If we stayed, it wouldn't surprise me if the blame was placed on us. He probably assumed that if he couldn't kidnap Harry and me, we'd all die there that day. I can't imagine he's pleased that neither of those things happened.
But we haven't heard anything since. We know it's because he's plotting another attack, but for now we accept the break. It doesn't mean we're not anxiously awaiting his next move, we're just too empty inside to even consider what it will be.
We should be planning, too. If only we had the energy for it. It is hoped that after laying our friend to rest we will finally start moving again, but it's such a heavy weight that rests on our chests, so much strength is required to remove it.
Since George's death, we have managed to uncover a lot. Harry and I, though numb, managed to distract ourselves a couple of times by going through his belongings. We gained access to his flat a few days after he passed and began sifting through everything, taking his other laptops that weren't destroyed in the fire and examining them.
As expected, there were pictures of us, especially me. Hundreds more than there were of Harry. My face as I walked down the street, visited friends and family, even some taken through the window of my old flat when I would watch the street below at night. Images of me smoking, talking, crying. Every moment of my life from the past year captured by someone I considered family.
There were also screenshots of most of my messages and emails. He'd hacked into my accounts and had been tracking them the whole time, keeping a note of anything that seemed important. There were conversations between myself and members of the team, my work colleagues, my friends, even chains with Dad and his care home. I made sure to hold onto those. Though they've been tainted by the actions of George, they're memories I want to cherish.
Alongside everything were more notebooks, too. Around 50, all filled to the brim with every single finding he made. Conversations I had with him and others, how I spent my days, my usual schedule, my call logs, my spending habits. Everything that defined how I lived my life. It became clear as we searched through the documents that my flat had also been bugged, and Harry took Niall with him to remove as many as they could find. We also searched the house and uncovered a few more. There's still a worry that some remain, but every evening we search again to make sure.
Babz made sure to check her house too but didn't find anything. We tried to tell Louis, but he didn't respond.
Considering everything that happened, Harry and I have divulged more details to the team, though. We let them know about our parents' journals, the role of them in the original heist plans and why Hugo has been acting this way. We told them we discovered what was being hidden, and what Hugo is after, but didn't expressly define what just yet. In our minds, the fewer people that know about the replica diamonds, the better. We don't want more people getting hurt as a result of holding onto the one thing Hugo wants.
In these conversations, I also mentioned my father and Santine's mother, Marla. It's clear that their relationship may also be a motivation for Hugo. There hasn't been much else uncovered in Dad's belongings about her, only a few vague mentions here and there, meaning it was a well-kept secret for some time. But to completely disregard it would be foolish.
Connor Hall and Marla Charles loved each other too much, that was their crime. Instead of the kiss of a wave, their love brought a crashing tsunami. It was not peaceful or warm, it was chaotic and cold. To them, their love was passionate and safe. But outside, it only brought danger. A storm that could destroy cities. A fight that could wipe out entire communities. A rapture that ended their world.
Love. It arrived, perhaps unexpectedly, and held them so tight. They melted into the touch and accepted the warmth of its embrace. They heard it call their names and listened to every soothing word it spoke. Until one day, love became entangled in malice, and suddenly it threatened their lives.
Love killed Marla Charles, I believe. Love could have killed my dad. I think he would have been content with the idea of dying alongside her. Before I was born, he probably would have left and ran to the opposite end of the earth to be with her. That's the type of man he was. He'd risk everything for those he loved. He did for me, and if given the chance, he would have for Marla.
What a pity his wish never came true, and he never got to write that story.
They became a hostage to love. It did not save them in the end. At least they're together now.
I hope George is safe too, protected by those we've lost in this war. Dad would like him. Maybe he's looking after him, now. He always dedicated his time to caring for those that needed it most. Better than most people, alive or dead. My hero.
The four of us are leaning against some older gravestones under the trees, watching from a distance while we take sips from a small flask Niall brought along. I didn't bother to ask what was in it, quickly realising it was Scotch. A drink I'd only started enjoying because of Harry. It's all he really stocks in his house, other than some luxurious old wines.
It's passed around the group every few minutes, some words said in between but never anything of substance. Funerals are usually filled with idle chatter to add some noise to the void that aches inside, but it's hard to find words right now. George had betrayed us, but he was one of us. And to watch him die like that scarred us. What is there to say? Nothing will undo it.
After some time, Niall clears his throat. 'She looks like a ghastly woman,' he states, referring to George's mother.
We all nod in agreement, and part of me wants to laugh. George always said how serious she is, how straight-faced and intense she could be. He wasn't sugar coating it. Even in her sadness there's something quite stoic about her demeanour. Not a woman to be messed with. I admire it. 'Do you think she'd like any of us?' I ask.
Niall scoffs at this, bringing the flask to his lips and taking another small sip before handing it to Babz. She's been very quiet today, her mind focused on Zayn. She'll be headed straight to the hospital once we've paid our respects. 'She'd hate me, I think. Babz too.' She shoots him a glare. 'You can't blame me for saying that! Look at you, even at a funeral you're wearing leather.'
I watch the two as she hits his arm, almost enjoying the playful exchange, but the energy quickly evaporates. 'She'd like you, Atlas. Everyone likes you. You bring out the best in people,' she says, handing the beverage to me. I offer a small smile to her in thanks for the words. 'You have kind eyes. That's what people need at a time like this. Reassurance that there is still good in the world. You're a confirmation of that, I think.'
Harry takes my hand in his upon hearing this, bringing it to his lips and planting a soft kiss to my knuckles. A delicate action that we've come to own in the months we've known each other. These small gestures mean as much to us as the words, I love you, do. He keeps my hand in his, our grip dropping between us. 'I think it would take her a while to like me,' he adds.
Babz laughs a little in response. 'You're charming, so you'll find a way to make her warm to you eventually. No woman can resist those eyes, H.'
He takes the flask from me, drinking the remaining drops before placing it in his pocket. 'True. Atlas went from throwing things at my head to letting me kiss her in an alley within a short time. It's a skill.'
I hit his arm at this, lightly pushing his side. He smiles at me, one that feels genuine for the first time in a while, before leaning in to give me a quick peck.
'We're at a funeral, stop with the smooching, love birds!' Niall calls out, kicking some moss in our direction.
But the mention of our whereabouts seems to cut through any break in the tension we felt, reminding us of the turmoil we've endured. I wonder how many more funerals I'll have to attend this year. This is the third. Above average, and still as painful as the last. I hoped after Dad's there would be some time before the next, but it only took a couple of months for this moment to arrive.
Eventually, the crowd around the casket disperses, making their way to the car park and filing out towards wherever the wake is. We've decided to have our own personal one after this, but it'll just be Harry, Niall, and me. Babz said she'd try and stop by, but since Zayn woke up, she's been itching to get back to him. She said she missed his eyes and never wants to go another day without seeing them. I'd never deny her that right.
With small steps, we make our way over to the site, holding our breaths in anticipation. It's a smaller casket than I imagined. I'm not sure why I assumed it would be bigger. The exterior is a rich mahogany, with an extract from a poem engraved on the lid.
God's garden must be beautiful
He only takes the best.
It's been lowered into the ground, some dirt thrown over and a few flowers placed on top. I had brought my own today so I could honour him too. A red tulip, just like the ones I planted near Dad's grave. In my mind, if he hasn't found him already, it will help guide George towards the safety of my father.
We stare down into the hole for a while, our breaths the only sounds heard in the wind. It's peaceful. Calm. Relaxed. A slight tranquillity in the moment, despite what it brings. In many ways, it feels like George is asking us to remember him not through our words but an ease in our hearts. To move on knowing that he is finally resting and free. An apology for what he did, but a reassurance that it wasn't our fault, even if it is.
He reminds us of the smiles, the laughs, the hugs, and the chatter. Small moments that seemed insignificant but now hold greater depth. In the sickness of our grief, we seem to find relief in our memories. A faith that while his body has been laid to rest, his soul lives on, because our love for him allows it. He may not be here anymore, but he's found a new home. And that feels like enough.
My hand raises, and I throw the tulip down, watching it rest perfectly on top of the casket. Was that Dad's doing?
'I feel responsible,' I announce, a statement I have felt since his death but hadn't said aloud.
I hear some sighs around me, like my words seemed to offer some relief to the others after they had held onto guilt this past week too. 'So do I,' Harry claims, his eyes downcast on the grave.
'I wish he came to us so we could have helped him,' Babz says, moving to sit on the grass, her legs dangling over the edge of the open space. We all join her, feeling somewhat closer to George in this moment. 'I know it won't change anything, but if he just said something, maybe this wouldn't have happened.'
Niall sighs at this, picking at the blades of grass next to him and throwing some below. 'I mean, we all say we would have helped, but would we?' Our heads turn to him in question. 'We're a tight knit group, and it's true that we'll always look out for each other, but how are we supposed to trust someone that worked against us? How would we find it within ourselves to even consider helping him after finding out something like that?'
A bold question, perhaps not one to ask at a time like this, but I suppose it needs to be said. Because even if we claim to offer kindness in hindsight, a small part of my brain has been nibbling away for the past week. A voice telling me that even if we wanted to help him, we would have found it difficult given the betrayal. All of us take loyalty so seriously; it's not easy to forgive and forget.
But he had no choice. He was a young boy that was unwillingly dragged into something, forced to do the work of a villain because of their vendetta against Harry and me. We should feel guilty. We should be crying and cursing the Gods for allowing this to happen. We are the reason he's dead.
Even if it was his choice to keep it from us, even if he blindly thought he could save us by complying, even if in his final moments he threatened to kill me; it only happened because of us.
It's a bitter pill to swallow.
Babz rests her elbows on her knees, letting her face sit in her hands. 'We'd have to. It's what families do. No one is left behind, no matter how bad it is. As much as it would hurt, we'd still protect him.'
I nod at her words, looking over to her. The bags under her eyes are so deep-set these days. She's barely slept this week, staying beside Zayn's bed at every hour of the day and refusing to close her eyes in case something happens. We offered to take it in shifts, but she needed to be there. He's her home.
'How many more people are we going to lose in this battle?' I question without realising, assuming it remained in my head until their faces turn up to face me.
Harry pulls out a cigarette from his suit jacket, lighting it quickly before speaking with it between his lips. 'I wish I knew, little gem.'
'I don't think this is the end, though. It's just the beginning,' Babz states, vocalising all of our fears.
Harry passes the cigarette to me, my lips placing over the moisture he left on the filter while I take a deep drag of it. The smoke fills my lungs, still burning them slightly after the damage caused to them after the fire. Doctors advised I stay away from cigarettes. I should probably listen, scratching away another year of my life each time I inhale the nicotine and tar. I'm usually good at listening to instructions. I'm not sure I know how to anymore.
I watch the embers burn at the tip in front of me, knocking some of the ash off in the grass next to me so it doesn't fall into the grave. Harry takes it from me after a few moments, replicating my movements.
'Whatever we do, more people are going to die. It's inevitable,' Niall tells us. He's perhaps the more rational one out of all of us, never hiding from the truth despite how traumatising it may be. We need to hear it, though. There's no point hiding from it anymore.
Harry passes the cigarette back to me and clears his throat. 'We need a new hacker.'
It's surprising, considering none of us had ever indulged the notion of replacing George, or even going ahead as we planned after he died. I suppose we hadn't really given much thought to it this week. Our minds have been elsewhere.
Niall laughs, somewhat unexpectedly. 'We need more than a fucking hacker at this point, H.'
'So, we're doing it. We're still going ahead with the heist?' Babz asks, but there's no disbelief in her voice or anger at the assumption after all we've endured. No, in her words I detect hope.
It's not what I expected, to be honest. But they've all worked on this project so much longer than I have. This is their lives' work, the most important thing they will ever do. And now it's become mine because I'm not ready to end it just yet.
History is for the risk-takers, not those that abandon their dreams. Legends aren't made through giving up.
Harry leans back on his hands, the cigarette resting between his lips after I passed it back. 'I think it would be a disservice to those we've lost if we don't complete the task. They died while helping us. It's only right to finish what we started for them. To finally beat Hugo.'
'He'll still be after us, though. He's more motivated than he was before, Harry,' I remind him, taking the cigarette once more to finish it off. 'Are we doing this for the fallen soldiers or simply to beat the enemy?'
He lets his eyes wander over to me, inspecting my face as his eyebrows fall into thought. 'Both. We can't do one without the other. Whether we like it or not, we have to take him down. If we go down, he does too. There's no question about it. He can't win. Not after what he's done to us.'
Silence settled between the four of us, letting the words sink in. In its essence, this is a battle cry. The call to war, just as Hugo wanted. But we can't let him win. For everyone we've lost, we need to beat him. We need to pull off the one thing he never could, the one thing none of them could.
We're going to make history, and we're going to win while doing it.
'What do you think George would want in this moment?' I ask after some time.
Babz smiles lightly, picking some daises that sprinkle the grass and throwing them onto the coffin. 'He'd be buzzing for it.' Somehow, we all find it within us to laugh at this. I can just hear his cheers as we prepare for the day that we steal the Crown Jewels. I can see his smile while we make our way to the Tower. I can sense his presence in this very moment.
He feels happy and safe and warm. No longer scared. Free. He just wanted to be free.
And now he's flying above the clouds, touching the Sun, and soaring through the sky.
'Well, you said you discovered what Hugo was after. I don't see why we can't move ahead with this again. Some more practice and we'll be perfect, I reckon,' Niall chimes in, his sunglasses sliding down his forehead to his nose as he nods.
Babz pushes his arm playfully, letting his hand come round to her shoulder. 'How are we supposed to practice when the entire structure of the Tower we've been slaving away on is gone, smart arse?'
'You've still got the plans, H?' Niall asks, looking over to us.
Harry nods at this, letting his hand take my own again. 'I made sure to make copies of every stage.'
'Then we need to crack on and recruit some more people so we can start building it again!'
Babz pulls away, standing to her feet and brushing some of the grass from her skirt. 'That thing took months to build. And people aren't going to readily join us after what just happened.'
It's true. Even if it were an easy feat, by now word will have travelled around the other groups of criminals across the continent. Our name has been tarnished, and it's unlikely people will want to work with us. They may not know why it occurred, but the very fact that so many of our team have been hunted and killed is enough to deter anyone.
The rest of us stand up, Harry and I walking to the other side of the grave to join Niall and Babz. His arm rests around my shoulders, fingers delicately drawing patterns on the skin. 'I think I know someone that can help, funnily enough,' he states, smiling down at us.
'Who? What idiot would willingly join a team of people being killed one by one?' Niall questions, standing on Harry's other side.
Harry taps his nose playfully, before flicking the end of it. 'That's a secret.'
After some bickering between the two, the group disperses. Babz heads to the hospital, and Niall tell us he has a previous engagement to get to. He's probably sleeping with someone, as always. I've never known someone to engage in sex as much as him, and that's saying something, considering how much Harry and I enjoy it.
It doesn't feel as heavy as it did when we arrived, even in the peace of the graveyard. The air is lighter, and somehow the ache in my chest has lessened. It's still there, still hurting when I focus on it too much, but for now it isn't clouding every corner of my mind and reminding me what I witnessed that day.
As we make our way to the car, Harry grabs my wrist, stopping me from entering the vehicle. His expression is slightly anxious, worry lacing his features. 'You sure you want to stick around with the team, little gem?' he asks. 'I can help you find safety elsewhere if you want. Don't force yourself to stay with us.'
Instead of answering, I stand on the tips of my toes and gently take his face in my hands. Slowly, but with so much conviction, I lean forward and attach our lips in a warm embrace. Every time I kiss Harry, it feels like sparks are flying around us. Tiny fireworks exploding in a symphony of light. Bright and bold, loud and boisterous. Just like our love.
I pull back slightly, my thumbs circling his cheeks. 'I love you. Where you go, I go. Remember? We once said we'd possessed each other's souls, and I stand by that. I am not leaving.'
He sighs, leaning into my touch, his hands coming to delicately hold my wrists. 'I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt again. Every time you are, it feels like a piece of me dies.'
I shake my head, smiling softly to him. 'Wounds heal, Harry. They always do. It hurts now, but it won't forever. And hey, at least I've got some cool scars now!'
The cut on my arm from the knife George stabbed me with is still healing, stitched up in the hospital when we took Zayn there. On my head are a few more stitches, but nothing too severe. The doctor's said those may not leave a mark, but it depends on how long they take to completely heal. I'm not worried, though. It will serve as a reminder of my strength that day. And a reminder of who we fight for.
Harry also has some cuts and bruises from the day, but the most significant wound is that on his neck. When the explosion went off, the one that killed George, he ducked to protect me from the flames. In the process, his neck and part of his arms burnt, for which he's having to get cleaned and redressed frequently by Graham.
Harry walks us back slightly until I'm caged against the car and lets his forehead lean against my own. I suck in a sharp breath, looking up at him. Despite my playfulness, there will always be a fear within me about our fate. I will never stop worrying about him. 'Please don't die on me,' I whisper, watching as his eyes close.
He lets our lips attach once more, kissing me slow but hard. As if it will be our last. Every kiss feels like our last these days. 'If I do, it will be protecting you.'
I smile once more, letting my hands move to rest on his chest.
'Likewise.'
----
A/N: Welcome back. Updates will resume every Friday. I missed you guys, and I missed the team. This book is about to be crazzzzyyyyyyyyy.
If you haven't already, I'd love it if you could check out my new story Haze. The first part is up, with updates every two weeks, and it's one I'm really proud of.
Love you lots!
Stay safe, big love xxx