Chapter Text
Harry was fucked. Categorically fucked.
He looked around the room once more, becoming frantic in his search. The flash drive had to be here. There was no other possible place it could be. Throwing caution to the wind, he pulled out one of the desk drawers, upending the contents onto the floor. He rifled through the scraps of paper. No luck. Cursing, he looked down at his watch. He had only a few precious minutes to find the flash drive and get the fuck out of the room. Dumping the desk drawer on top of the pile on the floor, he sent the contents of the top of the desk flying too. His intention had been to steal the flash drive with no trace, but time was running short and if he needed to ransack the space, so be it.
He rummaged through the wreckage of the desk, finding a watch and a set of cufflinks, which he pocketed without a second thought. Standing up again, he ran his hand through his hair, his eyes darting across the room. He was missing something. Something obvious. He resisted the urge to yell in frustration. It was all bullshit anyway.
He strode over to the bookshelf, examining the titles with speed, hoping for a pattern that jumped out. The titles gave no clues, and as a last ditch attempt, he ran his finger over each book spine, trying to feel for any irregularities. His finger stalled over a book that felt distinctly plastic, despite its worn leather appearance. He yanked the book out, almost sending it flying because it was so deceptively light. The second he saw the cover, he wanted to kick himself. The book claimed to be a dictionary, but had no pages in it. Instead, when he flipped open the cover, he was greeted by a small lock. He shook the book, the sound of the object inside rattling. The flash drive, he thought grimly. He had less than a minute to try and find the key, or to pick the lock.
Taking a deep breath, he put the book down on the desk, clearing enough space so that he could pull the chair up. He pulled out his lock-picking set from his blazer pocket, looking at it for a moment before selecting the right tools. His hands shook slightly as he tried to ignore the pounding of his heart and the ticking of the clock. He was an expert lockpick, and he wasn’t about to be beaten by a safe designed to keep only the laziest of thieves away.
He gently wiggled the tool, feeling each pin click into place. The sound of movement on the other side of the door caused him to glance up, but he let his fingers keep working as his mind raced for a cover story should someone come through the door. The lock on the safe clicked, and Harry wrenched it open as fast as he could, scooping the flash drive up with one swift movement. Straining to make out the sounds on the other side of the door, he realised he could hear the low tones of a man’s voice, closer than before. Unless his eyes were mistaken, the handle of the door shifted slightly, like someone was holding onto it while having a conversation just on the other side.
He glanced around the room once more before making his way to the large bay window. Pausing for a moment, he stared out. The roof sloped almost directly down, the drop from the third floor office dizzyingly high. He hated heights. He tried to peer upwards to see if he could climb up, but a sound from the other side of the door had him looking back to the door. In his mind his countdown clock had reached zero, alarms blaring. The window was his only option.
He popped it open, trying not to shiver from the cold air rushing in, and gingerly stepped out onto the window ledge. He could see now that he was outside that his best course was to climb atop the window, where, if he didn’t shit himself in the process, he could take a small scramble over the gable of the roof and slide down to the expanse of the flat roof behind him.
Willing himself not to ruin another pair of trousers, he began his clamber to the small roof sheltering the bay window. He pulled himself up by the top of the frame, grateful not for the first time for how strong his fingers and upper body were. As he tried to bring his knees up, his foot flailed, going through the windowpane. The sound of shattering glass was startlingly loud in the silent winter morning.
“For fuck’s sakes,” he muttered, yanking himself up the rest of the way. Nothing ever went his way. From the office below, he could hear a shout of surprise. Evidently the owner of the office had returned in perfect time to watch Harry kick his windowpane through. He didn’t have time to dwell on that. All it would take would be for the man to come round to the window and look up; then Harry would be in deep shit. Trying to ignore the terrifying plummet below him, he pressed his body close to the freezing tiles, trying to slow his breathing down so he stopped shaking. One foot at a time, he reminded himself as he scaled up the side of the gable.
Somehow, he always ended up in these situations, no matter how well he planned it, something always went wrong. Maybe it was about the time pressure. Maybe it just caused him to crumble slightly.
In hindsight, the book was so fucking obvious; he was mad at himself that he hadn’t gone to the bookshelf immediately. As he reached the top of the gable, he felt himself begin to smile. Finally, things were going his way.
A loud ripping sound punctuated the still air. “Shit,” he muttered, looking down at where his shirt had gotten snagged on the jagged edge of a broken tile, tearing his shirt and scratching himself in the process. The sting was sharp, but not enough to occupy his mind. He was more focused on the blood. He shook his head. It never fucking went his way.
Sliding down the other side of the gable as carefully as he could, he gripped to the tiles to slow his descent, before jumping the small gap onto the flat roof. Finally, feeling like he was slightly on solid ground, he checked his blazer pockets, making sure the flash drive was still there. Once he’d reassured himself the precious cargo was safe, he looked down at the scratch on his chest. It bleeding heavy enough that it was starting to soak through his white shirt. He let out a string of curses under his breath and tried to push against the wound to stem the bleeding a little more. The last thing he wanted was for his blood to be found all over the roof.
With a final glance around, he took off over the flat roof to the far side of the building where the tall oak tree he’d scouted from the van sat, its branches a short drop away from the edge of the roof.
He sat down on the side of the roof first, his feet dangling over, as he stared at the distance he needed to navigate. He could do this, he reminded himself. He’d literally trained for this. Sure, it was a risk, but it was a calculated risk, he reassured himself as he flung himself off the edge. For a split second, he thought he’d done alright. Then he collided with the trunk, hard. Wrapping his arms around it, he just managed to cling on. Pain exploded in his side, so forceful he thought he was going to throw up. For a moment, his vision swam and dark spots appeared. Panting heavily, he spent a good thirty seconds trying not to cry out at the pain radiating from his chest and arms.
He hated calculated risks. He was too bad at maths for them to ever work.
When he’d finally worked up the courage to, he looked down at his arms, bracing himself for the damage. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realised they were just covered in red marks and cuts from where the small branches had whipped him during his brief fall, but that his limbs were still intact. His chest was a different story, and with a tenuous-at-best grip on the tree, it wasn’t the moment to start prodding. He shook his head slightly, before swallowing and setting his jaw. He could do this. He’d gotten through worse. From where he was, he could see the white van he needed to get to. He could do this, he repeated to himself.
Trying his best to ignore the searing pain in his chest and the aches in his arms, he climbed down the tree as gracefully and effortlessly as he could, ending in a crumpled heap at the bottom. From the base of the tree it was only a short sprint to the surveillance van, but the pain in his chest was so severe he was instantly winded, focusing all his effort on not throwing up. The distance felt like miles.
He made it almost halfway before he had to stop to retch, the pain becoming unbearable with the heaving of his chest. He let out a yell of frustration before trying to centre himself. He could do this. He’d gone through literal hell, waded through waist high mud and shit, and finished with a smile on his face. He grit his teeth. This was what he was trained for. He dragged himself forwards, every step punctuated by a string of muttered curses.
After what felt like an eternity he reached the van. He didn’t wait before wrenching the door open, collapsing onto one of the seats in the van.
“Jesus Christ, Styles,” Liam, his handler, said, jumping back in shock. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Uh,” Harry pointed to the bloody rip in his t-shirt, followed by the angry red lines on his arms. “Roof tile. Tree.” He pointed to the lower right side of his chest, grabbing it dramatically. “Also tree.”
“Did you consider not throwing yourself at a tree?” Liam asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Hey, you weren’t there. It was a calculated risk.” Harry leaned back in the chair, trying to slow his breathing. Every breath caused another stab of pain, which in turn made him feel like throwing up. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to scrub away all evidence of how much pain he was in. It wasn’t in his training to show his pain.
“Did you get the flash drive?”
He patted his blazer pocket gingerly, feeling for which on the flash drive was in, and pulled it out with considerable effort. He tossed it as best he could over towards Liam, but it clattered to the floor of the van just short of where Liam’s outstretched hand was. Harry inwardly groaned. Even in the handing off of important recon information, he still managed to fuck it up. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes. “I hope whatever is on there is worth it.”
“And you left no trace?”
He winced, before adjusting himself and facing Liam. “Not exactly.”
Liam’s eyes darkened. “What do you mean?”
“I was running out of time,” Harry said defensively. “I ransacked the place instead. He’ll think he was robbed.”
“You did what?” Liam exploded. “Harry, I gave you very clear instructions. In and out. No trace. Who the hell is going to rob a professor’s office?”
“It easily could’ve easily been unruly students. Listen, I got the flash drive. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“That’s not the point, Harry. Did you at least not make it totally obvious you found the flash drive?”
Harry chewed his lip, thinking back to the broken open book safe he’d left on the desk. He couldn’t make eye contact with Liam, who just snorted.
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Listen,” Harry argued. “I did my best with what I had, okay? Can you save the third degree ‘till later?”
Liam frowned at him, but eventually his features softened. He dug around in a bag in the footwell before throwing an ice pack at Harry. “Just stay sitting for now. Louis should be back in a few minutes and we can get going. I’d like the doctor to look you over.”
Harry took the ice pack, placing it gingerly on his side. Louis was absolutely the worst person in the world, and his presence was the last thing Harry needed right now. Unfortunately, and despite his protests, they’d been assigned the investigation together. Louis was just so effortlessly perfect in a way that made Harry want to throw up. He had everyone wrapped around his little finger with his totally impractical duo of a worn leather jacket and aviators that, no matter how sunny it was, he left propped on his head pushing his brown hair out of his eyes. He always seemed to saunter in, get the information he needed, and saunter out with no sweat, whereas even the simplest of missions always went south for Harry.
“Alright, Payne,” Louis’ singsong voice came as he pulled the door open and effortlessly threw a brown bag at Liam. “Got you a shitload of flash drives in there.”
Liam caught the bag, his pride for Louis evident on his face. Harry wanted to throw up, but he chose instead to rearrange himself, trying to get the ice pack right to the epicentre of the pain. He involuntarily winced, causing Louis’ startling blue eyes to snap to him.
“What the hell did you do, Styles?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered.
“Aww,” Louis mocked. “Did baby get scared on his first ever mission?”
Harry knew Louis was goading him, but that didn’t stop him rising to the bait, the anger flashing hot through him. “No, dickwad. I got a flash drive too. And this isn’t my first mission.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Boys,” Liam scolded. “Can you save the bickering ‘till we’re back at the office?”
“Tell Louis to stop being such a dick,” Harry retorted. He knew it was childish, but something about Louis made him so angry he resorted to such insults.
“Tell Harry to stop being such a shit spy,” Louis snarked, sticking his tongue out at Harry.
“We prefer the term agents,” Liam reminded Louis, turning the engine on. “Now, both of you, shut up before I pull you from this investigation.”
Louis crossed his arms, his bottom lip sticking out in a childish pout. Harry wriggled in his seat, trying to get comfortable. The pain was lessening, the ice definitely helping, but his anger at Louis was brewing.
Louis and Harry had been partners in Basic Training, and they have hated each other pretty much since day one. Harry hated the way Louis never seemed to have to try. When Harry was up late into the night perfecting his Mandarin for their exam, Louis slept for fourteen hours, before ultimately scoring ten points higher than Harry. If that hadn’t been the final nail in the coffin of a possible civilised relationship between them, Louis gloating about how little he’d studied definitely was.
Harry had managed to avoid Louis reasonably well since Basic even though their offices were on the same floor, and they worked in the same division of MI6. When he’d finally been called up to Liam’s office for his first big investigation, he thought he’d hit the jackpot. Liam was well known for his firm but gentle hand when running his ops, and his word went far in the building. If Liam vouched for him, Harry could practically guarantee a place on any investigation he wanted in on. It had all come crashing down though when he found himself standing next to Louis as he received his mission briefing. The whole thing was total bullshit.
He resisted the urge to pout as the van turned onto the main road before the office. Liam was going to absolutely drag him over the coals once he’d confirmed Harry wasn’t seriously injured. It was just unfair. He was a perfectly competent agent, regardless of what shit Louis liked to chat about. He was positive Louis was going to mock him further, especially when he found out how badly he blew it.
The van was waved through by the surly looking security guard, and the silence in the van became stifling. No one spoke as Liam parked the van. Once he turned the engine off, he turned back to look at them.
“Alright, guys. We don’t know how important these flash drives are, so let’s keep anything you saw or did confidential for now. If anyone has any questions for you, feel free to send them my way. Louis, you can go.”
Louis smiled a dazzling smile that made Harry want to puke, and pushed a few wisps of his brown hair that had snuck out from under the aviators back. “See you round, Styles,” he smirked, before pulling the door to the van open and jumping out. Harry resisted the urge to flip him off.
“Are you okay to walk?” Liam asked, his voice filled with concern.
“Yeah,” Harry winced, getting to his feet slowly. The pain in his arms had lessened, but his chest was killing him. It felt like he had the weight of an elephant sitting on it, and breathing was causing a twinging pain in his rib he didn’t want to think too much about. “I’m okay,” he hissed as he climbed down. Liam was by his side in an instant, wrapping a strong arm around him.
Harry felt like he was going to expire from the humiliation for a moment. He didn’t want to think about how it would look to have his Operation Lead carry him into the building, but the thought of how badly he’d get mocked was providing a great distraction from the pain.
By the time they got to the lift he was so winded he had to stop for a moment to try to catch his breath. The pain was worsening and he was genuinely considering whether just dying there in the parking lot was the best solution.
Fortunately, before he could think about it too much more, Liam half carried him into the lift. Propping him up with one arm, Harry was aware that Liam was digging in his pocket for something. He could hear the beep of a mobile phone, before Liam began to speak. He was speaking so quietly that, even with Harry being right next to him, he strained to make out the conversation.
“Hi, it’s Liam Payne, from Counterterrorism. I’m bringing one of my agents up now…” Harry strained a little more to try to hear the voice on the other end of the phone with no luck. “Yeah, he’s a bit banged up… No, he can walk…” Harry rolled his eyes. He was fine, he was sure. Liam was just being overdramatic. “Chest, I think… Minor abrasions… Yes, he’s quite winded… We’re just arriving now… Yes, we’ll wait.”
The lift dinged, announcing their arrival at the 10th floor where the medics’ office was. Liam half-dragged, half-carried Harry out the lift door, unceremoniously dumping him into one of the plastic chairs lined up along the corridor. Harry let out an involuntary gasp of pain as his body settled into the chair. He gingerly rearranged the ice pack, which had mostly melted, so it wasn’t doing much, but the pressure he was applying seemed to be relieving a bit of the pain.
“Once I know the extent of your injuries I’m going to have to discuss your conduct on this investigation, Harry,” Liam said, running his hand through his hair and looking up and down the corridor. “With Simon.”
Harry didn’t respond, choosing instead to stare directly ahead at the white wall opposite him. He could feel his shame rushing to his cheeks. Simon was Liam’s boss, the head of the whole Counterterrorism unit. He bit his cheek, willing himself not to cry. Liam said nothing for a moment, before he spoke again, barely louder than a whisper.
“This is a very important investigation, Harry. I picked you because you’re one of the best agents on the books right now, but this is not what I expected from you. Ransacking the room was totally inappropriate, and has likely lost us precious weeks, if not blown the case all together.” Liam let his words hang heavy in the air for a moment.
Still refusing to look at him, Harry dug the watch and cufflinks out of his jacket pocket, dumping them on the chair next to him with a clatter.
“Took those,” he muttered, willing his voice not to break. “Made it look like a proper robbery, y’know?” He stared resolutely at the wall, half expecting Liam to not say anything at all, or to start berating him again.
“You stole these?” Liam said eventually, his voice even and clipped.
Harry shrugged. “It made sense at the time.”
“That was—” Liam sighed slightly. “That was actually really clever,” he said. Harry turned to stare at him, but Liam was looking down at the items on the chair. “That was some quick thinking,” Liam nodded.
“Hello,” a man said, appearing in the doorway to the right of them. “Is this your agent, Payne?”
“Yeah,” Liam said quickly, snapping his attention to the man. Harry didn’t miss Liam’s hands quickly squirrelling the watch and cufflinks away into his pocket. “This is Harry.”
The man smiled at Harry. “Do you want to come with me? I’ll get you checked out.” Harry struggled to his feet, trying to ignore the screaming in his chest. He plastered a fake smile on his face and followed the man through the open door.
**
“Just one cracked rib,” Harry said, dropping the paperwork signed by the doctor onto Liam’s desk.
Liam took the paper, reading through it, his face stony. “This says they’re suggesting desk duty for the next six weeks, Harry.”
Harry winced as he eased himself into the chair opposite Liam. “I know.”
Liam put the piece of paper down, massaging his temples. “We were supposed to have an investigation meeting this afternoon. I got approval from Simon for an undercover operation on this,” he gestured angrily to the paper. “But this has totally fucked us.”
“What’s the undercover op?” Harry pressed. “Maybe we can make it work.”
Liam stared at him for a moment, before getting up and walking over to the door, pulling it open. “Tomlinson,” he yelled. “Get in here.”
Harry squirmed in his seat slightly. He was hoping to avoid Louis for at least the rest of the day, if not the rest of his life. Liam came back over, ignoring Harry’s obvious discomfort, and began rummaging through the papers on his desk.
“Alright, Gaffer?” Louis said. Harry tried to shrink inside himself. With any luck he could will himself into spontaneous combustion.
“Close the door, Louis,” Liam said. “Take a seat.”
Harry remained staring resolutely at the papers on Liam’s desk as Louis settled beside him.
“This is highly confidential,” Liam started, pulling out two pieces of paper and handing one to each of them. “Have a look.”
Harry scanned the page, his heart pounding.
Department: Counterterrorism
Operation: Clearview
Operation Lead: Liam Payne
Agents: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson
Disclaimer: MI6 has become aware of some information regarding a person of interest in a separate, but relevant investigation (Operation: Sequoia) that may have ties to Operation: Clearview. For the purposes of this investigation, no agent or lead should communicate any information uncovered to anyone not named in this document due to risk of uncovering complex undercover assignments relating to Operation: Sequoia.
As with all operations, precautions are taken to ensure the mental and physical safety of agents. In the instance of a situation arising that agents do not feel comfortable addressing with named Operation Lead (Liam Payne), agents have the option to discuss the situation only with Simon Cowell, who is overseeing both Operation: Sequoia and Operation: Clearview.
It is not appropriate for agents to disclose their identity to anyone involved in Operation: Sequoia, even if they become aware of the identities of individuals involved in the operation.
With regards to emotional and physical health, agents have access to a 24/7 support line. Although you must not disclose details of the operation, you may discuss physical or emotional issues with this confidential support line. In the instance of the likelihood of serious physical harm occurring, or in the aftermath of serious physical harm, agents must call Operation Lead before calling any emergency services. Operation Leads are able to liaise with emergency services and get help quicker than calling 999.
In the event of emergency services attending a situation where agents are present, agents should ensure Operation Lead is informed. In the event of an arrest, agents should use their call to contact Operation Lead, who can ensure support is provided. Your employment by MI6 does not guarantee an ability to escape from the consequences of crime, and, in the event of an arrest, a panel will investigate all the information to determine whether or not the law breaking was necessary for the operation. Agents found to have breached reasonable law breaking will be suspended pending further investigation.
Target: Leon Spooner. Spooner, a family man who lives in a suburban Surrey neighbourhood, has been known to MI6 for some time. Initially investigated by local police for his involvement in the 2015 major drugs bust (Operation: Snowflake), he was released with no charges due to lack of evidence. It is believed he has been using his job, finance manager, as a cover for smuggling. Initial intel seems to suggest Spooner is smuggling many big ticket items, not just drugs, to various countries across Europe and the Middle East, including weapons and stolen artefacts. He recently purchased a house in the Surrey Hills, where intel suggests he may be running his operation from.
Operation: the initial stage of this Operation is purely information gathering. MI6 has managed to obtain a house in the neighbourhood. The Agents, posing as a married couple, will move into the property and run surveillance on the Spooner property. If possible, the agents will also befriend Mrs Jane Spooner to gather more information. As this is the initial stage, it is expected that there will be no violence, but due to Spooner’s history and connections, MI6 is advising agents be trained and confident using firearms. Agents will be equipped with basic weapons in the unlikely event of needing to use them for self defence.
** This information is strictly confidential. All questions about the Operation should be discussed only in spaces where bug jammers are present. Agents and Operation Leads should be aware of listening devices at all times **
Harry stared at the paper, his stomach churning. “You want us to be a married couple?” He was impressed he managed to get through the sentence without gagging.
“That was the plan,” Liam said. “Until you broke your rib.”
“Wait, what?” Louis asked, putting his piece of paper down and staring at Harry. “You broke your rib?”
“Cracked it,” Harry corrected. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. Besides, cracked meant broken. But it felt important that he clarify that.
“His cracked rib is going to blow this whole operation?” Louis asked, raising his eyebrow. “That seems like poor planning.”
“I wasn’t expecting my agent to throw himself at a tree while suffering a temporary lapse in judgement,” Liam muttered. Harry blushed, glaring down at his hands in his lap. Beside him he could feel Louis’ shoulders shaking as he tried to contain his laughter. The man really was a dick. He didn’t care much what Louis thought, and as far as he was concerned, his cracked rib was the one thing saving him from having to play house with Louis. He was almost beginning to wish he’d cracked more ribs.
“What are our identities?” Louis pressed.
Liam produced two identical brown folders, handing them over. Harry took it slightly reluctantly, opening it up. Inside was a photocopy of a licence and passport. Both bore his picture, but on both his name read Harry Ackers, and his birthday was in the middle of May. His driving licence showed his address as a house in the village of Sheer. He flipped through the other pieces of paper as Louis and Liam restarted their conversation.
“So I’m in finance,” Louis nodded. “That makes sense. The same bank as Spooner?”
Liam winced slightly. “It’s all been pulled together a little last minute. Deadlines got shifted in case people started to get suspicious.” He didn’t direct it at Harry, but nevertheless Harry squirmed slightly in his seat. Liam was about as subtle as a brick in the face sometimes. “We have you as a finance analyst at HSBC.”
“What am I doing?” Harry asked, his eyes dancing across the document trying to find it.
“At the minute you’re a builder,” Liam said, staring directly at him. Louis snorted, but attempted to disguise it as a cough. Harry could feel the heat of embarrassment on his cheeks.
“Respectfully, why am I a builder?”
“We were looking for jobs where it wouldn’t be unreasonable for you to be around during the day. You can tell people you’re between jobs,” Liam said.
“I could’ve been a nurse on the night shift?”
Liam fixed him with a stare. “Do you know how to be a nurse?”
“Do I know how to be a builder?” Harry countered.
“You’ll muddle through,” Louis said, waving his hand dismissively at Harry. “So what’s the problem with the cracked rib?”
Harry swallowed the anger rising in his throat as Louis dismissed him. The way he was treated by him was total bullshit. At least Liam was about to blow a hole in the whole operation meaning he didn’t need to spend his evening watching YouTube tutorials on how to build a wall.
“The doctor has Harry off active duty for six weeks.”
“So? The mission brief says this won’t be a busy one. It’s just surveillance. We can say Harry injured himself on a job. I’ll keep him out of trouble.” Louis turned and winked at Harry, who immediately wanted to throw hands with him. He clenched his fist in his lap, before turning to look back at Liam.
“This is insane,” he argued. “You can’t possibly approve this.”
Liam looked between the two of them, then sighed, picking up the phone on the edge of the desk and dialling a number. Harry averted his gaze, staring determinedly at the ceiling above them. He could feel Louis shifting next to him, but he was too busy willing the roof to cave in and end the horrible nightmare to care.
“Hello,” Liam said into the phone. “It’s Payne in Counterterrorism, you just saw one of my agents, Harry Styles?… Yes, that’s right… Well you understand my position I’m sure, that I’m not at liberty to disclose much, but I’m wondering, what qualifies as desk duty…? Ah, right… Okay, yes… So if he were able to take his medication and rest he’d be okay in the field?… Yes, of course, I understand he wouldn’t be in a position to do much practically… Yes, if it were more surveillance type?… Great, thanks so much… Speak soon.”
“Sounds like it’s not a problem,” Louis chipped in, turning and grinning at Harry.
“Well, obviously it’s Harry’s choice,” Liam said. “I understand Harry if you feel you need to rest. Although it’s not ideal it wouldn’t be impossible to get another agent involved.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Liam had handed him his excuse on a silver platter.
“What’s the matter, Styles?” Louis snarked. “Are you scared?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Grow up, Tomlinson. I could run rings around you and you know it.”
“You’re not doing anything with that cracked rib. Remind me how you got it again? Was it before or after you almost blew the mission?”
“I’ll fucking show you just how good of an agent I am,” Harry muttered. He took a deep breath, his hands shaking. “I’m in.”