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chapter fifty-one
BROKEN PIECES

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tw:
mention of torture, mention of abuse, violence, ptsd — mockingjay is heavy :(

━━━━

No matter what she does, Sage is unable to rid herself of the burning sensation. Its seething and unforgiving heat burns into her flesh in the shape of stars and talons, but her back is not the only place that's fallen victim. Now, the heat courses through her veins, hums against her bones, and swirls beneath her aching heart. Sage knows this feeling, as she's felt it many times.

When that arrow pierced Calla's skull. As the Peacekeeper's baton cracked down on that little boy in the market. After they murdered Taura. Slaughtered Mateo. Beat her brother to a pulp in that pasture. Sentenced her to death in another Games, tore apart a man so gentle like Shep in the name of entertainment, and stole half of Tolly's eyesight. This anger's been born from the same womb repeatedly and walked in different ways.

She isn't just angry. Sage is furious.

Erabelle's been subdued now, but she's still haunted by her screams echoing against the four walls of her empty Compartment as she prepares for the next part of her daunting schedule. 18:00 – bathing. She stares at her and Ptolemus's empty bed, the corners crisp and neat from his perfectionist hands. The relief that he's at least safe, even reunited with his best friend, draws some comfort. However, it feels so much smaller besides all that ache that continues to mount in her chest.

The fabric of her shirt slides against the uneven ridges of her skin as she bends down to open the dresser, and for a moment, her own fearful shriek echoes with Erabelle's again. She hates it. She hates how easily one touch took her right back to Dr. Balcom's white room only to spit her back out in time to see them. Those looks. She's never going to be able to forget those looks. Sage clenches her jaw so tightly it might crack.

She can't even think about what the night is about to be like in this Compartment alone. Maybe she can ask Nurse Bryn to sedate her.

There's a signature knock against her door, the person tapping once, then a pause followed by three more quick ones. Even though she recognizes it, she still jumps, wide eyes snapping toward the source. Her taut shoulders remain still as she stares at Almanzo's frame looming in the doorway. He looks just as exhausted as her. He manages a warm smile in her direction.

"Hey," he greets. "Just wanted to run something by you."

Sage forces herself to straighten, realizing she resembles something like an animal caught in a spotlight. She snatches a pair of night clothes and fresh underwear from the drawer before forcing herself to shut it softly. There's still that warmth itching against her bones. "What's up?"

Almanzo takes a hesitant stride through the doorway, eyeing his rough and calloused fingers with a pinch of his brows. Then he lifts his gaze to hers again, starry with memories. "Remember Loft Nights?"

The term draws a nostalgic fondness from her heart, and the corners of her lips quirk upward in dumb amusement at his question. "Yeah, of course I do. Mama would make us swim in the pond to get the smell off us and Colt would tickle my nose with hay while I was trying to sleep."

Her brother chuckles lightly and nods. She's forgotten how rare his laughter is these days, but is sharply reminded when it startles her. You almost can't tell he's been crying. Almost, because there's still the puffiness to the skin around his eyes. "Well, Shiloh and I were talking. We know you're alone tonight..." He gestures to the made bed. "What if we have another Loft Night? Or pretend to. We'll bring our blankets and pillows over, sleep on the floor like we used to sleep in that smelly hay and pretend to look through the hole in the roof at the stars. Shiloh can ramble on about the planets and I could bring my harmonica..."

She remembers those nights well. Mama didn't care for them, but after begging or even some sneaking, the four Navarro children would have a few ceremonious Loft Nights in the summers. Climbing up into the haylofts with their blankets and pillows after filling their bellies with their mother's cooking, they'd race to see who could get up there first. After finding their perfect perch, they'd play games, make hay piles and jump into them, sing songs, find pictures in the stars, listen to Colt's ridiculous ghost stories, and try not to be the first one to fall asleep. One time, he got the devious idea to sneak out before dawn, taking the ladder with him so that his siblings would wake in shock without a way to get down. His karma was waking up in the middle of the pond on a raft the next Loft Night. Sage's idea, of course.

"What do you say?" Almanzo asks patiently, drawing her out of her thoughts.

Sage stares back at him quietly, lips pursed together. She tries to see if he's giving her that look. The same one from Reflection as he grew pale like the moon. Recreating one of those nights sounds... comforting. But then again, also so sad, because they aren't in their family's barn, and Colt is gone, and Sage isn't hers anymore and her brothers know it because they've seen it now, they've all seen it now –

The anger beneath the sadness boils, just nearing the brim. She forces it back down as she glances at the clock, noting that she's about to be late to her bathing. The rigidity of Thirteen's schedule remains stained onto her skin. "It's probably against the rules," Sage finally says.

Almanzo's mouth forms a grim line, and he shakes his head. "This place's rules are the least of my concerns these days." Here it comes. The look. Her oldest brother takes a few wary steps further into her Compartment as he exhales a heaviness from his chest. "I'm sorry about today, Sage. About Erabelle and..." His voice trails, and she can see in his eyes he's remembering the furious scarlet of her skin. There's a tick to his jaw similar to hers. "I'm sorry about –"

"Please don't do that," she interjects sharply, though her vocal cords tremble at the end. He clamps his quivering lips shut, forcing a nod. Sage shakes her head as she attempts to level her tone. Anger oozes into it faintly, though it's not for her brother. "It's fine. I'm fine. I'm going to be fine."

That's what Dr. Metis says anyway. She just needs time, she says.

Sage doesn't know if she believes it, but the alternative of believing in anything else is too much to bear. Not to mention, that anger. She can feel it growing and growing, herself threatening to blow. The question from her third night haunts her tauntingly with the touch of Erabelle's finger. Her own tremble, and she pinches them together to hold them at bay. She squares her jaw and raises her chin bravely at her brother, whose eyes are growing glassy as he stares at her — his baby sister. So much suffering. So much suffering for them all.

"I need to bathe," Sage says tightly, glancing at the clock again. She's late. She grabs her kit of toiletries. "When I'm done, I'll let you know, alright?"

It'll probably be a no. She's not sure yet. Not after today, and then the thought of waking her brothers with her nightmares as she screams...

They've seemed to have taken everything from her, haven't they? Even the security of moments with her family.

He sees right through her, but she does her best to ignore it as he nods in defeat. "Alright." When she starts toward the door, he moves out of her way, watching her sadly. Almanzo clears his throat. "Deep as the canyons."

Sage squeezes her brother's arm in an attempt to bring him some peace tonight. She wishes she could bring them all some peace. A pained quirk of her lips. "Tall as the sky."

As she leaves, she swears she can feel him staring at her back. The shame returns like a malignant tumor. It's even more noticeable as she walks to the Bathing Rooms, wary gazes falling upon her from the District Thirteen citizens. She's noticed them before, and they've made her just as uncomfortable then. She can already imagine what they're thinking. Along with the brand that labels her as a Capitol piece of meat, there's also her Propo. She didn't ingest anything, simply reading the words off a script while Dr. Balcom loomed behind the camera for "encouragement." And yet, each word tasted like poison on her tongue, practically choking her.

Similar to the heat that chokes her now. Swarming and swirling – waiting to burst.

Her heart is pounding by the time she finally arrives at the Bathing Room. It pounds furiously against her chest bone like a war drum as she tries to breathe through her nose and soothe its pace. All she can think about is those looks. Those looks from the citizens of Thirteen at the sight of a traitor, and those looks from her family as she broke their hearts again. Sage isn't hers anymore, and they know it.

She knows it.

She avoids looking at it in the mirror as she undresses, gaze boring into the tile and her toes instead. There's a scar on her right shin from Dr. Balcom's blade, and she grimaces at the reminder. Turning the faucet all the way over, Sage ensures the water is as cold as ice. Not just to temper a trigger, but also to stifle the heat that's rising inside her. Several other showers hum as they're used, each person allotted five minutes worth of water.

More deep breaths as her chest heaves, jaw clenched and restless fingers trying to busy themselves with a shampoo. Her wet hair glides against one of the arrows, and she clears her throat, working to sink into different sensations. Sensations of routine as she tends and cares for her body. It almost works. If it weren't for her mind.

Maybe she should've said yes to Almanzo. After all, he and Shiloh are only trying to help. Does she really want to sleep in that room alone tonight? What if the walls start to look like Dr. Balcom's walls in the darkness and late hours? Oh God, she can't even sleep alone anymore. She can't even fucking sleep alone anymore, how pathetic is that? And if they stay with her – then what? She wakes them with her blood-curdling screams and sees those looks again?

Her throat grows tight at the thought, and she shudders. She can't even spend true time with her family anymore. Not in a harmless card game, not reliving a memory that once brought so much joy and comfort, not even just with an unexpected squeeze of her arm or a familiar knock on her door. They took that. They took it all.

Then her niece – her poor little niece's wrathful wails that ring with her dead brother's, "I'm tired of it, I'm tired of it, I'm tired of it!" What's going to happen to her as she carries all this pain and hate? What's it going to do to her? She's only six...

They even took that too.

Sage's eyes brim with hot tears, and she winces, as if the very realization has lacerated her insides like Dr. Balcom's blade. It's a thousand times worse. But before she can sink into the debilitating sadness, the grief that she always feels, there's something else rising in her again. Swelling in its womb like all the other times, just waiting to burst despite the cold water that beats down on her body in a poor attempt to stifle it. Boiling and boiling to the surface until it –

She jumps when the timer buzzes and the water shuts off. The surprise of it annoys her more than anything as she grinds her teeth together. It's as she stares dumbly at the quiet shower head that she realizes she's just been standing here for the last few minutes, suds of soap still in her hair. Her nostrils flare, and she tries to turn the faucet again. It refuses to budge until she scans herself in like before, but she knows that won't work. Her one time is up. Sage's chest heaves, and she smacks the reader out of frustration before snatching her belongings. Some soap threatens to fall into her eyes and burn them too.

Fucking great.

Goosebumps coat her flesh and she's shivering, but the rest of her doesn't feel cold. The shower curtain screeches along the bar as she yanks it open. She steps out, some water pooling onto the tile. Sage is just reaching for the towel when she sees it in the mirror. Really sees it. There's a painful yank of her gut by his gloved fist even when he isn't here.

She saw the shape of the brand as it was coming toward her, glowing and crackling like an angry sun as she screamed. She knew what it was supposed to be. Snow even explained it to her. The Capitol seal. With its eagle and arrows, branches and stars. After that, she's really only felt them bearing down on her with their unforgiving heat and sharp points.

Sage can't help herself when she takes several steps closer to the mirror to inspect. Since it's on her back, it takes an uncomfortable twist and angling of her body to see it all. The outline of it is an angry scarlet, but toward the middle the flesh is a raised pink. The top of the eagle's head stops just back of her neck, and the branches and stars brush between her shoulder blades. The arrows and talons burrow right into her spine, piercing and scratching at her heart and lungs.

For a while, Sage just stares. Stares and stares at this ugly, permanent mark on her flesh that was never there before. While the rest of her is starting to look like herself as she heals, this doesn't.

It's never going to.

She feels herself about to cry again. Tears welling up, throat closing in, chest tightening. Her lip quivers, and she bites down on it to stifle it. The sorrow could overtake her if she didn't lock gazes with her reflection. At the sight, she swears she can hear and see Snow again. He's smiling at her like he did then. Like he did in her grandmother's rocking chair as he said Colt's name. Like he did when he plucked the crown from her head after commending her Tributes' fight. Like he did when he bore his hands down on her shoulders as she uttered his lies to the nation.

"And this is so you always remember who you really belong to."

The strangled sound that comes from her lips sounds like a sob at first. Bursting out of the womb with a vengeance, the rage shoots through her in bolts of rampant lightning. It could kill her. But instead, it fuels her as she lurches for something to break. Something to break, shatter, and mutilate just like they have her. The shampoo bottle soars into a tile wall, and someone yelps in surprise a shower over. Then the conditioner. It isn't nearly enough.

It isn't enough because they still slaughtered all those children in her care. It isn't enough because they still murdered her brother and shattered her family's hearts. It isn't enough because Shep is still in pieces. Philo, Tatiana, Deverra, Orion and Zelia. Barrow and Tammy – all still dead. She slams her toiletry kit into the reader, barely earning a crack. Her sobs sound more like screams as they echo against the tile.

It isn't enough because Erabelle is filled with hate and the rest of her family with sorrow. It isn't enough because what's happened to Sage has broken all their hearts again. It isn't enough because even when she's surrounded by those who love her she still feels so alone. It isn't enough because every time she thinks she's getting better, she's sharply reminded that she isn't.

Sage doesn't even recognize the girl in the mirror. The madwoman with lips curled into a snarl and tears running down her narrow face. Then there's that ugly and repulsive brand etched into her skin. Staining her. Maiming her. Claiming her. Because even if there's a day where The Capitol falls and its symbol is erased and Snow's been executed, it will always be there to remind her.

To remind her of everything they did to her and her family. To remind her that her mind, body and soul aren't hers anymore. To remind her that she will never be the same Sage again.

They've taken all of that too. And she's more than tired of it. She hates it.

With a jerk of her arm and an anguished wail, Sage hurls her hairbrush like a hatchet into her reflection. Glass shatters piercingly, cascading in glittering shards into the sink and onto the tile. She almost cuts herself on a piece as she stumbles. Sage tries to scream again, but there's nothing left behind it, the insatiable heat blown out like a candle. Instead, that wave of grief surges through her again, and she clutches her aching chest, crumpling to the floor. Holding together all her broken pieces makes her bleed, and for a moment, a terrible thought slips through that she doesn't resist.

"You're going to wish Augustus's blade cut you deeper."

Yes. Yes she does.

A needle pierces her skin, but she barely reacts. Between the pain, the aftermath, and her sobs, she doesn't notice Nurse Bryn and several others looming over her. She closes her eyes in defeat, like the wild horses when they finally break, before the sedative takes her away.

━━━━

Sage knows she isn't alone. That is, in this hospital room, the sedative's effects slowly wearing away. A voice she rarely hears anymore over the terror, anxiety and ache whispers to her softly and calmly. An old friend. Her intuition. Something else she thought they took from her.

The darkness fades as her lashes flutter open slowly, those bright fluorescent lights boring down at her and causing her to squint. Beside her, she can hear her heart monitor beeping rhythmically. When she glances down to her hands, there's IVs in them again for her daily treatments. Someone opens a cabinet in her room, then huffs and slams it shut in annoyance. Sage groggily turns her head toward the sound. She expects a nurse, but the longer she stares at the person, she straightens with recognition.

Sage hasn't seen Johanna since the night they were rescued. Both of them were in bad shape, receiving similar treatments from Dr. Balcom as they were starved, beaten, cut and prodded. The woman still appears frail two and a half weeks later, her nose pointy and cheeks hollow while she swims in her hospital gown. Sage watches her very stiffly and quietly as she rummages through the cabinets and drawers of her hospital room, searching for something with no success. Johanna grunts in frustration.

"What are you looking for?" Sage finally asks, clearing her throat. Her voice is hoarse from all the screaming, and there's still a faint haze from the sedative.

Johanna straightens at the sound of her voice and inhales sharply through her nose, nostrils flaring. "Oh goodie, you're awake." Another slam of a cabinet, and she peers over at her. Dark crescents loom beneath her eyes as she sweeps a dismissive stare across the waiting Victor. A mocking glance to her wedding ring. "Well don't look at me, I'm not gonna spoon you."

Her bare feet pad softly against the tile toward Sage's hospital bed. She tilts her head to the side, gaze trailing from the IVs in her hands up to the drips hanging nearby. She flicks and taps one of them with interest. "What's in this? They plug you up with anything good?"

Sage frowns. Then she shrugs. "Dextrose, vitamins and minerals, all the same things you probably get."

Johanna tilts her head back and groans. She shoots Sage a glare, as if it's her fault her drips are anything but exciting. It's when they make eye contact that she catches herself staring at Johanna closely now. Head shaven, bags under her eyes, sharp cheekbones and a faint yellow hue to her gaze. Not nearly as intense as Carlisle's or Helena's, but...

"I know. Hideous." She rolls her eyes before pinching a strand of Sage's hair. "How come you get to keep your luscious locks and they make me bald?"

The other Victor smacks her hand away, causing her to smirk. Sage glares as she rounds her bed to the other side. "They permanently branded me," she reminds tautly.

A shrug. "Fair enough."

Johanna practically yanks drawers out by the hinges at the other cabinet. There's the tinkering of glasses as she searches. Sage is half-tempted to hit the call button so she'll get the hell out of here and leave her alone. Bitterness oozes from her tone.

"You've always been so tactful, Johanna."

"And I always thought you were full of shit," the woman shoots back. A fleeting glance over her shoulder. "Which, this isn't a compliment — so don't take it as one, but I'll give you credit where credit is due." Sage flinches at the loud Slam! of the drawers, glass tinkering and rattling inside. Johanna spins on her heels to face her. "You're not the naive little girl next door like I thought you were."

Her collarbone protrudes from her hospital gown as she golds her frail arms across her chest. "What you did for the plan? Took guts." Then she glances down to the other Victor's stomach where Augustus's blade carved into her. "Literally."

Sage can't help but raise her brows. She almost doesn't know what to say from her... stunning compliment that's not a compliment. "I'm surprised you thought of me at all," she muses.

The woman ignores that comment.

"So. What'd it feel like?" Johanna tilts her head like a cat. "Taking down Prissy and Psycho from One?"

Her heart sinks with guilt at the reminder. She can still hear the crunch of the woman's back only moments after she had asked Sage to cover her. There are times where the doubt and questions gnaw at the edges of her sanity as she recounts that moment over and over again. Like did she really have to do it? Could she have saved Cashmere too had she gone for Johanna instead of Katniss? Could they have been friends? A part of her believes they really could have been friends... if the circumstances weren't —

Ruby. Will Ruby remember her? And if she does, will she one day learn of what happened to her aunt and become infected with the same rage that plagues Erabelle?

Her voice drops with her gaze as she stares at her hands. "Cashmere was actually a really wonderful person."

Johanna barks out a startling and obnoxious laugh that resembles glass breaking, causing Sage to cringe. Then a sneer. "Yeah, okay."

"I mean it," Sage insists defensively. Her gaze bores into her pointedly, but she ignores it as she returns to the counter, reading the list of her medications. She's already got some guesses on what she might be looking for. "She wasn't mean, she was just..." Her heart constricts when she remembers their conversation at the Hammock Station. The guilt is suffocating, as is everything else. "Sad. Like the rest of us."

That must hit a nerve.

"Speak for yourself," Johanna snarls. The venom oozes from her tone with pure hatred. "I'm not sad. I'm fucking pissed." A jut of her chin in her direction. "And you should be too, with that eyesore on your back."

Sage inhales sharply at the reminder. "Thanks."

"Says here you lost your shit in the showers last night? Broke a mirror?" Johanna laughs as she reads Sage's file aloud. The recounting of it stirs back all the feelings the sedative allowed her to forget for a little while. She's starting to wish they gave her a stronger one, and her solemn gaze drifts to the white wall. The brand burns against her back anyway. "Patient cut foot on glass, no stitches necessary, bandages applied, treatment to resume, blah, blah, blah —"

"They didn't give me Morphling," Sage drones tiredly. She stares at the ceiling. "So you'll have to try another room."

That should be enough to get rid of her. Or at least, Sage hopes. Of course, she feels sorry for Johanna, but she's in no mood for her right now. Especially not as soon as she wakes from a night like the last.

But Johanna doesn't leave yet. Instead, she straightens, studying Sage with a stare that bores into her cheek. She continues to ignore it as she wallows with her aches. Her heart trembles when she realizes her family is sure to learn of what happened in the showers. The looks will return.

Bare feet pad across the tile toward Sage's bed. She doesn't look, but Johanna makes sure she's seen as she forces herself into her vision and scowls down at her deeply. "Looks like I spoke too soon. Augustus carve it all out of you?" A disapproving shake of her head. "Where the hell's your nerve, now, cowgirl?"

"You're closer to it than you think."

Johanna flashes her a crooked grin of amusement. "Thought so." Her dark eyes sweep across Sage's frame in the bed, and an edge of anger seeps into her tone. "Can't roll over now." Her lips part to argue, annoyance rippling down her spine. It's not that simple. Before she can, the woman shakes her head. "Not when that's what Snow wants."

His name sparks a flame just below Sage's diapraghm and in her eyes. Its heat is familiar, blending with the one from last night and all those times before. Johanna notices, because she smirks a wicked and unnerving smirk.

"When we storm his pretty little Mansion, I'll bet ya there's some of that nifty Capitol medicine that could clear that right up. Snow's own personal stash."

Sage blinks at her dumbly, the words taking a moment to sink in. But once they do, they embed themselves deeply into her mind, body and soul.

"Talk about a grand 'screw you.'"

"Hey," a voice interjects at the door. Johanna glances over her shoulder in annoyance at a looming Nurse Bryn. "What are you doing in here?"

A huff. "Just checking on a good friend. You know, since we were tortured together and what not," the woman lies in a painfully sweet voice. She shoots Sage another wicked smirk sharper than her ax before sauntering toward the door. "Glad to see you're feeling better!"

With that, the other Victor leaves her hospital room, Nurse Bryn's suspicious stare trailing her the whole way. Sage watches too, but for an entirely different reason. Johanna's words replay in her mind like a loop, and with each one, she silently curses herself for not thinking of it before.

Perhaps, he doesn't have to win after all. Perhaps, this brand doesn't have to claim her forever. And perhaps, there is more room to run.

Sage isn't allowed to be discharged until she speaks with Dr. Metis again. Fortunately, according to Nurse Bryn, Dalton did cover for her when her brothers came looking, lying that Dr. Warwick wanted to try a new overnight treatment for her malnutrition. She finds herself itching to escape this room, pacing back and forth along the tile as she waits for her therapist to join her. The sole of her right foot burns with each stride, but she doesn't care. Not when she has a purpose again.

Reclaiming herself. Or as Johanna says — a grand "screw you."

She's so caught up in the whirlwind of this empowering revelation that she doesn't even notice the soft knock along the door. From the corner of her eye, she notes a familiar figure striding inside with her clipboard in tow. Sage feels her wary stare at her pacing form, so she stops, plopping herself onto the hospital bed to face her.

"Good morning, Sage," Dr. Metis greets kindly, grabbing onto a nearby stool.

"Morning," she tries, almost out of breath. "I'm feeling better."

A nod. "I see you're up and walking. A good sign."

"My foot doesn't even bother me," Sage agrees. She folds her right leg over her left to inspect the bandages. They're wrapped neatly and unsaturated.

"That's wonderful." Dr. Metis smiles at her again, and Sage can see that she's waiting for her to offer more. She merely blinks back at her, before shifting her gaze back to the clock. She's just about to mention that she's missed breakfast when Dr. Metis clears her throat. "However I'm not here regarding your foot, Sage."

Her lips form a tight line, and she ducks from her gaze. "I know. I'm feeling better," she tries again. "I'm sorry for the mirror, I just —"

"It's not something to apologize for. However, it is something I need to understand. That way I can better help you." She folds her legs neatly across one another, signalling she intends to stay for some time. Sage peers at the clock longingly again. The doctor clears her throat. "What made you throw the brush at the mirror?"

Sage has gotten used to Dr. Metis's questions. They can be uncomfortable and worrisome to answer, but this one... this one feels so much more than that. There are two responses to it. Surface level and one that Sage doesn't want to dive into, too afraid that if she dives too deep she'll never come back up for a breath.

She chooses to skim the surface like a rock skipping across her family's pond.

"I saw my brand in the reflection," she says simply. However, Sage can still feel the leftover embers brewing in her chest from last night, waiting for the right spark. She tries to keep her voice level as she continues. "Really saw it, for the first time. It made me angry, so I... well..." Sage shrugs, never intending to finish that sentence. What's the point? The shards on that tile floor are evidence enough. She doesn't look at the clock again, holding Dr. Metis's stare, but she can still hear it in the background.

Tick, tick, tick, ti—

"And just the brand upset you?"

She knows she doesn't mean it in that way, but her phrasing still stirs something defensive in her chest. Sage frowns before she can stop herself as her body tightens."Just?"

The therapist picks up on her irritation easily. "I only mean in that there was no other trigger." Sage believes her, but her chest is still heaving and her brows remain pinched. "Are you sure there weren't additional triggers to you seeing the brand?"

"I'M TIRED OF IT, I'M TIRED OF IT, I'M TIRED OF IT!" Sage barely stifles a wince when Erabelle's cries echo with the ticking. In the windows' reflections, she swears she can see the blanched tone of Almanzo's complexion or the ache in her parents' eyes. Her heart thuds heavily against her chest, sinking to the bottom just like the tossed stone once it's lost its momentum.

Sage raises her stare to the clock again. She knows she isn't getting out of here within the next ten minutes like she hoped. A familiar shaved head saunters past her windows, and through the glint she spots Johanna's wicked smirk in her direction again, eyes devious with amusement. The brand seethes along her flesh in the same manner it did when Erabelle touched it, and Sage's fingers twitch in anticipation. What would it mean if she could get her hands on that Capitol medicine?

Freedom. Healing. Reclamation.

"Sage?"

She can feel the veil shifting in her eyes at her name. Judging by the soft pinch of Dr. Metis's brows, Sage knows she thinks she's lost. If only she knew how found she really feels. Found and with direction.

"My family saw it. Yesterday, during Reflection when I bent down to get something and my shirt slipped." Sage clears her throat at the echo of Erabelle and Colt's screams. She can't help but stare down at her trembling palms and fingers. "They were... upset."

Dr. Metis nods thoughtfully. For some reason, Sage feels as if the therapist already knew about this, but she doesn't know how. Perhaps someone heard the fuss in their Compartment, or perhaps Coretta and Almanzo sought her out for help for Erabelle. Either way, there's a sense of recognition in her eyes. "How did their reactions make you feel? Specifically?"

"Angry," she says first. That's the easiest one to come up with, and the most obvious. Dr. Metis waits for more. Sage shrugs sullenly. "Heartbroken. Guilty..."

Another feeling stirs at the source somewhere deep in her chest, branded into her heart long before the brand was burned into her skin. Even before her torture, before the Quell, before Colt's death. She almost doesn't say it, but it suffocates her until she expels it with a sigh. "Disconnected."

It takes a moment for that to sink in for her. Of course, she's been feeling it, but to identify it or name it draws an entirely new recognition to it.

"Disconnected from who?"

"From them." It was almost like they were around their kitchen table again with the crickets singing in the late night air. She could feel it and so could they, until... "I ruined a nice moment."

"Is this the first time you've felt this way?"

No.

She's felt the veil bar her from her family since the very day she was called onto that stage. They're right there, and yet, she feels so alone sometimes. Meant to walk alongside them to replicate proximity and a sense of security, but every time she looks down, she realizes they aren't on the same path and haven't been for a while. There's more shadows on her side, lurking and waiting to take her, threatening to take them too if they come to her aid.

Like they took Colt. Like they're trying to take Erabelle. And like they've taken her.

The ember flickers.

She hasn't answered, so Dr. Metis tries another question. Or perhaps her silence is answer enough as she continues. "What about you?"

She's sunken to the bottom, so it takes longer for the woman's voice to reach her. When she speaks, her own voice sounds distant to her ears as she frowns again. "What about me?"

"Do you feel disconnected from yourself?"

Her body responds with a shiver before she can even think of a response. While she's fully clothed in a hospital gown, Sage feels naked and on display like her raw reflection from last night. She fumbles for something to conceal herself as something burns in her eyes.

"I think that was the point of the brand," she says quietly. A wry shrug even though she feels her chest caving with a looming sob. The water seeps into her lungs. "So that I can't go back, but..."

Not hers. Sage isn't hers anymore —

It's as if Johanna is looming over her again, shouting right into her ear with her grating voice. "When we storm his pretty little Mansion, I'll bet ya there's some of that nifty Capitol medicine that could clear that right up. Snow's own personal stash."

The ember sparks like the dawn — lighting her way from the depths and to the expanding horizons her spirit has always been meant to find. More room for her to run instead of break. She's suddenly exceedingly grateful Johanna scoured her room for Morphling.

There's still some strength to her as she straightens, inhaling sharply and forcing her gaze to lock onto Dr. Metis's again. "I know the medicine in Thirteen isn't advanced enough to heal my back. But The Capitol's is."

She briefly glances down to her IVs pumping her with fluids and nutrients. She's gained six pounds back since her rescue — how much could she gain with training? "I'm hoping I'll have my strength back up in time for when we go."

The therapist just stares at her for a while. When her lips part as if to question or refute Sage, they only quirk into a soft smile as she nods. Her pen moves across the paper.

"Sounds like you've got an idea. Some hope."

It doesn't feel like that, but Sage agrees with her anyway with a nod of her own. Dr. Metis finishes jotting down what appears like a lengthy note in her chart. It makes Sage shift uncomfortably along the mattress. She's not going to keep her admitted, is she?

Probably. She must sound like a madwoman, and after her performance last night —

Paper rips shortly, and Sage flinches. Dr. Metis reaches over to hand the slip to her. "In the meantime, until you're able to attain that goal, I want you to make a list. You can write it down or keep it in your head."

She glances down to the paper. It just has her name written across the top — the rest of the lines blank.

"But I want you to make a list of every time you recognize something about yourself that feels familiar. Whether it be a witty joke, or a gesture of kindness, or even an old habit like biting your nails. They don't feel like much, but those are small victories. They're proof that you are resilient, and you are still you, no matter what." Dr. Metis annunciates that last part very clearly, and Sage peers over at her warily. "Big or small, a victory is a victory."

Sage hears the reasoning in her task, and while she can see its value, she still can't get Johanna's words out of her head. She just stares down at her name dumbly.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Dr. Metis says, standing from her chair. She offers her a smile. "You're free to go. I'll send in Nurse Bryn again to discharge you. I'd check in with your brothers when you get the chance, they've been lurking."

Of course they have. The guilt burns sourly in her gut. Sage forces a tight smile and a nod as she watches Dr. Metis approach the door. It's halfway open before the therapist freezes, glancing over her shoulder at the girl another time. Perhaps she's changed her mind.

"One more thing for today." Her kind eyes beam. "I want you to remember he hasn't taken it from you."

Sage frowns. Of course he has. She's not even sure what she means, but she knows who, and what hasn't he taken from her? She still asks anyway. "Taken what?"

Dr. Metis smiles at her as if it's so obvious and simple.

"He hasn't taken your heart from you, Sage."

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Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!! Feel free to comment, I love hearing from you!!

Wow it was almost a month since I last updated — what???? Sorry this chapter took so long, again I've got so many moments I want to do that are crucial for both my characters that they just can't fit in the way I wanted (so battle of two is still being dragged out I'm sorry) and I want to make sure I do it Justice and my characters Justice.

But please feel free to let me know your thoughts or reactions!! Worries, concerns? Are we picking up what Sage's big internal struggle has been? Thoughts on her character and what she's going through/been going through?? Predictions???

I like to put my own personal flaws into my characters so one of Ptolemus's big ones is his grudge holding/inability to let things go and Sage's is blaming herself for things out of her control/trying to control the uncontrollable so yeah

My life has been hectic lately so I'm sorry if updates slow down but I am going to finish this story most definitely!! I've got a lot planned and one of my goals after returning from a huge hiatus was to finish writing something I'm genuinely proud of!!

Word Count: 6743