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chapter five
ALLIES

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tw: mention of forced prostitution, family abuse
━━━━

Ptolemus doesn't sleep much, and when he does, it isn't well. Most of the time, he spends the hours of the night staring at the ceiling, too scared to close his eyes and too scared to think about much of anything. The clock beside him reads three-thirty. He focuses on the sensation of twisting one of his rings along his finger, the metal growing warm with his touch and the friction.

Nightmares have plagued him long before his Games. They started off as the typical terrors of a young child, whether it be dinosaurs running through the streets to devour him or growling monsters with fangs creeping out of his closet. Slowly, as he got older, his recurring dreams slightly shifted. Monsters climbing out of his closet resembled his mother and her cold disapproving looks, while dinosaurs morphed into a father with a poor temper that almost always seemed to be angry. He remembers climbing into his older sister's bed when the nightmares struck. One night, when he was eight years old, his father caught him crying and clinging to Alessandra in the night, and ripped him out of bed back into his own, screaming and yelling like he always did. The nightmare was more than just that, it was his reality.

Nero Pierce couldn't have a son who scared easy, nor one that sought sanction with his older sister. What would the country think?

Now he has no one to seek sanction with. His older sister is gone, dead, killed by the Games seven years ago. Her death plagues his nightmares too. As the years have passed, he's the only one of his family who truly ever mourns her. Ptolemus thinks their lack of care is from more than embarrassment and shame of her failure tainting the Pierce name.

It's because they know they killed her. Finnick Odair may have speared her heart with his trident, but it's the family legacy that was truly her demise.

Ptolemus glances back to the clock. Five minutes have passed, and even though his body aches for rest, he pushes himself up from the mattress, ripping away his sheets. The floorboards creak beneath each of his strides as he exits his bedroom and heads down the hall. His feet pound against the stairs loudly and carelessly. He reaches for his front door.

As he emerges onto his porch, the night air envelopes him in a soothing manner, the slight chill softening the heat that consumes him. He leans against the railing with his forearms propped against the cool marble. Summer is approaching swiftly. That means, so are the Games. This year is his year to mentor alongside Enobaria.

When he glances to his parents' home across from him, all the lights are expectedly out, windows dark and silence deafening. He remembers standing opposite from where he is now, peering at the empty house from their porch and wondering if it would be his or his sister's one day. Honestly, he really had no choice but to make it his own. This is all he was ever allowed to want for himself.

I'm sorry.

Her voice echoes softly in his mind like a sweet lullaby, and he almost feels his rigid bones relax. He remembers the way Sage looked at him. Something about it was validating and healing. She didn't look at him like he was a murderous monster, or a ruthless god born to slaughter for the glory and fame. She looked at him like he was human.

Ptolemus has never had someone say they were sorry to him before. He thought an absence of apologies meant everything that ever happened to him was well-deserved. That this pain was what he was meant for.

Even though his parents hate him for it, which honestly isn't surprising, Ptolemus doesn't regret kissing Sage. He did it to save them both. And partially, because he's always been curious to know what it's like to kiss someone he actually felt a desire to kiss.

It was freeing.

He remembers her Games well. They were only last year. Ryker had been unexpectedly killed by Mutts, and Morta was eventually betrayed by Midas from One. That left just Augustus's tribute and Sage, the girl from Ten who was surprisingly friendly, strikingly clever and seemed to have the hands of a healer. Hands of a healer forced to end life rather than save it.

I'm sorry, Ptolemus thinks.

His eyelids grow heavier, sands of slumber building desperately in the corners. He isn't able to stifle his yawn, and he carefully staggers back to his lone rocking chair. It creaks beneath his weight, and he tilts back his head against the sleek wood. Against his better judgment, he allows his eyes to droop closed. Darkness beneath his lashes is almost soothing.

He hopes to dream of more freedom.

━━━━

Sage had barely gotten off the train before she was carted back onto it like precious cargo, urgently shipped to The Capitol. To Philo's distaste, she smelled like "barn," so he requested the Prep team scrub her down into an entirely new person. Her skin feels raw, the chemicals from the lotion burning her pores and her nostrils with their strong flowery scent. Fatigue weighs at her eyelids as they droop, shoulders beginning to slump.

"Are you almost falling asleep?" an irritated voice demands incredulously. She feels her spine straighten, Philo's tone exhibiting similar effects to a splash of cold water in the face. His stare bores into her as his lips twist into a disapproving pout. "Sage, tonight is important. You need to be at your best."

The Victor barely stifles a yawn, using her palm to prop up her face. "I'm running on like— three hours of sleep, Philo."

With two loud claps, the Escort nearly clamps her nose between his large palms. "Wake up, darling!" Her brows pinch into a deep frown as she glares at him. He hardly seems remorseful, urgency bubbling in his tone. "Tonight is one of the most important nights of the year. It is an honor for us to have even been invited."

Sage stiffly removes her glare from him, boring it into the window instead as a more suburban scenery blurs past her. They've moved out of the heart of the city. "Whose this party for again?"

Philo gasps with disappointment, and the volume of it almost makes her flinch. She watches as they pass through a pair of golden gates, various guards standing on either side. Now she cranes her neck in an attempt to glance up ahead at what waits for them. "Whose party is this— Sage, did you even listen to me while Tatiana was dressing you? This is The Adonis's birthday party. Only the most renowned fashion designer of Panem." Then Philo gestures toward the glittering gown wrapped around her frame. "You're wearing him right now."

She peers down at the fabric. It's basically nude and sheer with a faint tint of blush, blinding jewels arranged from the bust to the end of the skirt near her ankles. It gives the illusion that she's naked with the exception of a light pink bodysuit beneath to cover the important parts. Either way, she feels just as exposed as she did before at her previous Capitol party. The car slowly rolls to a stop.

"Hm. Are his clothes always so... nude or...?" Her daring eyes glance back at her Escort when she doesn't receive a response. He hardly looks amused. Perhaps he needs more champagne just like Sage needs more sleep. "What's his last name?"

Philo shakes his head. "Nothing. He doesn't have one. He's just Adonis."

"Did we get 'Just Adonis' a birthday present?"

That makes her Escort sigh a heavy sigh, glowering at her and wrinkling his nose. "Young lady."

"Even though I had less sleep than you, you're certainly cranky today Philo," she notes, quirking a dark brow.

"I'm stressed, you stress me out, Sage," Philo huffs, and for once, his composed features almost don't seem so composed. Someone opens their car door. An Avox dressed in gold.

Philo grunts as he attempts to slide out of the car not very gracefully, his suit wrinkling and short legs straining to push off the floor. When he finally heaves himself out of the vehicle, he nearly falls into the Avox, staggering along the gravel. His lavender skin flushes a deep violet as he struggles to regain his composure, searching for any watching eyes. When he seems satisfied no one's seen him, he extends a pudgy hand to Sage.

She takes it warily as she studies her anxious Escort. "Maybe there will be some champagne in there."

"I hope so." Philo pulls her onto the gravel, and the Avox carefully shuts the door behind them. The car's tires roll along the gravel to park somewhere else. Once she stands, her heels a bit more forgiving than others, she finally catches a glimpse of the sight before her. Golden lights twinkle similarly to her heavily jeweled dress, the marble building before her standing tall with stunning arches and molding. The longer she stares at it, it actually looks something like a temple. A band can be heard playing somewhere inside.

Philo links his arm with hers, sweeping another gaze across her gown as they start toward the large staircase. "Make sure you talk to Ptolemus tonight. He'll melt when he sees you in that dress."

She feels interest rise in her chest at the Victor's name. "He was invited too?"

"Of course he was!" The Escort's loud and raspy voice causes others arriving to peer in their direction. For someone as nervous as he claims, he doesn't seem to notice. Now his lips curl into a cheeky grin, and he wiggles his brows at her. "What did you think of his Games? Total hunk, right?"

Sage ignores the last comment, biting her tongue to repress the distaste burning in her mouth. Leave it to her Escort to remind her exactly how the Capitol views the District people. Just characters for them to root for on television, idolizing and exploiting all while shaming and belittling them at the same time. It's maddening. Are there people who watched her Games and admired her for killing that boy from Five in the night? Did they think she looked beautiful while she screamed for her life and there was another child's blood on her face? Was there praise for her losing the innocence of her soul while stealing the light of someone else's?

"His Games were..."

"Sage Navarro!" a booming voice calls from behind. It takes her a moment to recognize it, but when she does, she feels herself scowl. She struggles to hide her pout, knowing she'll receive another scolding from Philo, both of them turning to greet the owner.

Augustus Braun's white smile is big and blinding like the sun if you stare at it too long. He's dressed in ruby red this time, the reflective fabric of his buttoned shirt completely sheer. There are etchings of gold sewn into his pants to match his hair. He reaches for her spare hand, drawing it to his lips as he bows.

"Absolutely ravishing."

Philo seems like he might burst from trying to contain his excited squeals. Sage stifles a grimace when Augustus kisses the top of her hand, dazzling eyes trained right on hers. It's more uncomfortable than it is charming. Perhaps that's his goal.

The Victor from One straightens, still holding onto her hand lightly. She carefully slips it from his grasp and back to her side. "Lovely to see you here."

Sage must take too long to respond, because Philo elbows her ribs lightly. She clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. "Thank you."

"Might I accompany you inside?" Augustus asks, cocking his head to the side in a painfully pleasant fashion.

Philo betrays her when he fumbles to unlock their jointed arms at the suggestion. "Of course! Be my guest, Mr. Braun!" He winks at a stiff Sage, almost seeming to applaud her silently. She just clenches and unclenches her jaw.

With a sleek motion, he offers his bicep to the Victor from Ten. Feeling some stares in their direction, she hesitantly locks her grip around him. His arrogance seems to swell. While Philo appears delighted, hardly able to contain himself, Sage just glares straight ahead. Augustus leads them into the temple-like mansion. Music grows louder with each stride.

The birthday party for this famous fashion designer appears normal at first. There's refreshments, tables adorned with food, Avoxes and other servants zipping around, and plenty of room to dance as the orchestra plays. Staggered throughout the main room, it first appears to be just marble statues carved perfectly. However, the longer Sage stares, the more she notices the faint rising and falling of the statues' chests. One of them blinks right at her.

"Adonis always appreciates art," Augustus murmurs in her ear.

Sage scours the crowd of people, some of them looking with interest in their direction. She can only imagine how this might look. Behind the party-goers, she notes tall and open columns that lead out into the night. "And where is the art connoisseur?"

"There."

Her eyes trail up toward the balcony towering above them. The sight makes her skin crawl. He appears to be ancient, practically a fossil and maybe even older than President Snow. Dressed in all black is who seems to be Adonis, lounging along a velvet sofa with other men and women who look like the statues around them. One of them feeds him grapes while another fans him lightly, as if he were an emperor. As if he were a god.

She averts her gaze from the strange man, attempting to stare anywhere but him. She decides to focus on the band playing to the left. "Interesting."

Augustus chuckles lowly in his throat at her stiff reply. He leans down toward her ear again, warm breath fanning her flesh. It reminds her of the coyotes that were breathing down her neck only last night. "Just hope you don't catch his eye. You might join them."

Sage almost jerks out of his grip as her gut recoils. The warning causes the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand, and she glares at him uneasily with fiery eyes. Whatever reaction he was trying to get out of her, it must satisfy him, a corner of his lips tugging upward and a devious glint in his eye as he peers around the room.

"I'm going to get some champagne!" Philo quips suddenly. Before Sage can even think to answer him, maybe even follow him, he's hurrying away and toward one of the Avoxes holding a tray of filled glasses. She debates if she's better off on her own, or if she should still linger around Augustus for now. When she glances back up to the balcony briefly, one of the "statues" dabbing at Adonis's mouth with a napkin, neither option sounds quite appealing.

"Don't drink the champagne," Augustus whispers.

Sage's brows pinch together quizzically. "Why?"

"Adonis likes to add his own little...twist."

It doesn't take her long to understand what exactly he means. The Victor from Ten shakes her head, starting forward to chase after Philo and warn him. "I need to tell him—"

"Don't." Augustus yanks her back toward his chest, his strength startling. Like the bars of a cage, he imprisons her to him, hand on her waist and the other clutching her palm. His lips curl into a smirk as he begins moving them to the music. "It could be fun to watch."

Disgust washes through Sage, and she tries to pull herself out of his grip. It's to no avail. He might even be stronger than her eldest brother Almanzo. "Let go of me."

"Maybe after this song."

"I'll scream."

"And then you'd have Adonis's attention. You don't want that, do you?" Augustus raises his brows as he peers upward and behind her toward the balcony again. "Oh look. He's scouring the crowd now for his newest birthday gift."

Sage has to stop herself from turning to glance over her shoulder. Instead, she remains stiff, begrudgingly following Augustus's lead across the dance floor. The Victor from One shrugs, peering down at her with those dark eyes. What's his title again? The Favorite Son? Cavalier Career? Known for his abnormal patriotism (practically brainwashed) and his perfectly groomed demeanor. It was a shock to see a boy so polished drenched in the blood of those he brutally hunted down in the Arena.

"He won't embarrass himself more than he already does," he shrugs.

A muscle in her cheek twitches, and she shoots him another glare. "You're cruel."

He smiles like it's a compliment. "He'll be fine. Adonis's parties are always entertaining."

"Is that why you've come?"

There's a bit of excitement coming from the entryway, and Sage stands on her tippy toes to peer past Augustus. There's a familiar figure making his entrance. He isn't alone either, two extra pairs of piercing blue eyes coolly skimming across the party. She recognizes them from her television. Nero and Petra Pierce. It seems tonight might be a family occassion.

"Partially for the entertainment. Mostly here to serve my country."

Sage doesn't even try to bite back a scoff at his nauseatingly blind patriotism. Of course, he manages to shove it into conversation, even when there doesn't seem to be a logical opportunity. "Serve your country? By attending another rich weirdo's party while the poor starve?"

"Careful there, gorgeous." He cocks his head to the side at her, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth quickly. Something about his tone almost makes her waver, and she inhales sharply through her nose, finding her strength to stare back at him with an even gaze. When he leans closer to her, she takes an awkward step back. His voice is low and hushed, almost menacing. "And I serve my country the same way all of us Victors do. When they call, I answer."

Silence. Sage just blinks up at him, attempting to decipher his words. They seem plain, but there's something hidden in his tone. Something that makes her uncomfortable. His dark and predatory eyes flicker to the right, lightening in the slightest.

"Ooh. There's Lover Boy."

The nickname stirs recognition in her immediately, despite the fact she wishes it didn't. Before she can resist, she follows his amused gaze, finally spotting Ptolemus. To her relief, he isn't looking at her and Augustus. Instead, he entertains a conversation with another Capitol woman, her skin dyed a cotton candy blue and curled wig a fiery hot pink. The way she speaks to him, almost with urgency— maybe desperation, it seems this isn't the first time they've met. His mother and father loom somewhere nearby.

"You two have made quite the impression."

Sage doesn't say anything to that. She gets the sense that Augustus wants her to offer something, so she does the opposite, holding her tongue. It doesn't take long for him to consume more oxygen in exchange for his arrogant and manipulative nonsense. "What? No comment?"

"None to you," Sage quips, sparks burning in her eyes.

Augustus grins as he nods lightly. "Suit yourself."

Meanwhile, across the dance floor and near the tables adorned with various dishes such as oysters and squid (Adonis has a taste for District Four's cuisine), Ptolemus feels himself being backed into a wall. The woman with the cotton candy skin and bright pink hair refuses to back down.

"It's a new wig. And I just was freshly dyed," she extends a lean arm out to him to inspect, a coy smile curving at her fuchsia lips. In one smooth motion, her manicured claws sink themselves playfully into his shoulder. "Do you like?"

Ptolemus tries to morph his grimace into a poor smile. He nods, eyeing the oysters with deep interest, attempting to find what might be the best one. He hates oysters. "Very nice, Priscilla."

She doesn't release him. Instead, she hooks her fingers around his bicep, sidling up to him so they're hip to hip. She tries to follow his stare. "I missed you at the Gala a few weeks ago."

He feels her gaze boring into his cheek, and his bones remain rigid. He either needs to select an oyster and choke on the disgusting, slimy texture, or find somewhere else to place his attention. He glides down the table toward the shrimp cocktail. Priscilla almost loses her grip on his arm, and she stumbles after him. Nonetheless, she regains her composure, her cheeks briefly flushing cobalt.

"We just have so much to catch up on."

Ptolemus doesn't even glance in her direction, plucking a shrimp from one of the dishes and taking a bite. "Do we?"

"Yes."

She clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth, adjusting her grip from his bicep up to his shoulder, eventually slinking her body in front of his. She drapes her arms around his neck, tilting her head to the side as her bright eyes bore into him. Now he has no choice but to look at her. One of his hands still holds the shrimp, the other hovering awkwardly above her waist, still avoiding her touch the best he can. Her painted lips curve into a suggestive smirk as she sweeps a predatory gaze across his frame.

"Some of our catching up we should save for later though."

Ptolemus pauses with dread. Priscilla is one of his more... dedicated— well, frankly obsessive customers. She's had her claws in him since the moment Snow gave her the opportunity two years after his victory, leaving permanent scars that she never hesitates to reopen at the sight of him. At this point in the conversation, Ptolemus normally sinks below the surface of awareness, not daring to come back up for a breath until he knows she's gone. His body is there, but his mind isn't. It's the only way for him to survive their encounters.

Then his conversation with Snow replays in his mind. It was enlightening and misleading all at once. Perhaps empowering. Empowering because... maybe he might have permission to say no.

His eyes shift past Priscilla's shoulder toward the dance floor, a blur of ruby and blush twirling stiffly beneath the lights. There's that warmth again. Creeping softly into his chest like a golden ray of sunshine that's fought through the thick clouds. Basking in it for even just a moment is enough for him to reach for Priscilla's wrists, resisting the urge to throw them off his shoulders and gently removing them instead.

"Priscilla—"

"I love when you say my name." One of her wrists slips out of his grip, and she hooks a finger around his chain. She uses it to tug him closer to her, like a dog on a leash. He clenches and unclenches his jaw as she peers up at him. "But not like that."

Ptolemus searches for patience within. His voice is low, but surprisingly calm. "Let go."

The entitled Capitol woman blinks as her brows crease slightly. He knows he's never said no to her before. Or to any of his customers really. She narrows her eyes and shakes her head incredulously. Just when her lips part, instead of hearing her voice, he hears someone else's.

"Priscillaaa!" an unknown voice sings. Another Capitol woman emerges from the crowd, whiskers wiggling at her nose. She clutches a glass of champagne, sipping it lightly as she grins. "I've been looking everywhere for you! This party is marvelous, isn't it?"

He feels her release his chain, and uses the momentum to carefully slip out of her grasp. Priscilla's lips press into a thin line, eyes darting between an escaping Ptolemus and her seemingly oblivious friend. She turns to greet her, their high-pitched tones squawking formalities and reminding him of busy hens. When she tries tugging at the hem of his jacket discretely, he just keeps walking, avoiding curious gazes in his direction. He spots his mother and father talking to one of the retired Gamemakers by a swan made of ice. When their blue eyes lock onto his, he changes directions again, nearly scuffing the tile with his shoe.

When he turns, he feels a familiar pair of golden eyes peering at him. Unlike the wandering stares that tend to find him, poking and prodding like invasive needles and making his skin itch, hers is soothing. Soothing and warm and... kind.

Sage locks gazes with Ptolemus as he lingers within the crowd. His rigid stature softens ever so slightly. Whatever she just watched happen between him and the woman with the blue skin, clearly, it was unwanted. Similar to Augustus's hands on her waist as he twirls her around like a doll. A ghost of a friendly smile breezes across her lips, one that he mimics. His eyes briefly flicker to Augustus, then back to her. He looks like he's about to start over to her.

But then several Capitol figures swarm him again. Soon, he's swept back up by other obnoxious party-goers who greet and charm him as if they're old friends, to which he has to forcibly mirror. Sage stands a little taller in hopes that she won't obviously deflate. Her stare is removed from him toward another icy blue gaze glowering at her. At first, she's not even sure she's looking at her. After all, how could she offer such a glacial glare to someone who she's never spoken to? That doesn't seem to matter.

Petra Pierce's relentlessness draws goosebumps to her flesh, and Sage realizes the chill in the air must be meant for her.

━━━━

Discomfort builds in Sage's chest as she watches a Capitol woman embrace one of the nearby shrubs, nibbling on one of the flowers like the cows from her farm. Right before the rows of hedges rise into the night, a man with a bright orange mohawk performs a perfect pirouette, tossing his empty champagne glass into the air joyfully. She's the only who grimaces, let alone notices when it shatters along the ground. Back inside, at least half of the guests behave similarly and strangely. When she left for a breath of fresh air, Philo was attempting to get one of the statues to break out of character with odd dances and taunts. Thankfully, one of his sober Capitol friends was nearby to take turns watching over him.

Now she just hovers at the back of the temple where the columns stand and open freely to the indigo night. Adonis's property appears large, his small garden morphing into shadows of hedges that seem to go on forever. The longer that she stares at the horizon, the more she wonders if it's actually a maze of sorts.

She nearly jumps out of her own skin when she feels two cold wrinkled fingers lift her chin. "Exquisite."

Sage is unable to withhold a shriek when she locks gazes with one that loomed over the crowd like a vulture earlier. Adonis hardly seems concerned by her surprise, or even her scream. His cloudy yet beady eyes resemble marbles as he stares at her. Honestly, she's not even sure if he is truly seeing her.

She didn't even hear him coming.

Her chest heaves, and her heart hammers against her ribs loudly. Her chin quivers as she stumbles over her words, tearing her eyes away from his and back to the maze. "You— you startled me."

Adonis smiles, standing only two feet away from her. "Apologies. I grow quiet when I find something to admire." Then he clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he sweeps an eerie glare across her figure. "That gown is from my first collection."

Augustus's words from earlier haunt her, sending a chill down her spine. No matter how hard she tries to steady herself, her breath still shakes. "Hm."

The silence is unbearably comfortable, just like his stare. It's absolutely relentless. What's with everyone staring at her tonight? They're not all the same either. Some radiate green with envy. Others are chillingly cold. Then there's this, wolfish and invasive, mentally devouring her right where she stands.

"This is a lovely party," Sage starts, forcing a smile that falls flat. Adonis continues to comb his stare across her frame, and she clears her throat uncomfortably, begging for him to look at her eyes instead. "Happy Birthday."

"No champagne?" he queries, ignoring her pleasantries. Then he gestures to the woman who's shifted from eating the petals to covering herself with them. The man with the mohawk does another elegant leap in the air, his toes perfectly pointed as he giggles. "It's usually delightful."

"Not my thing." He takes a small step closer to her, and her fingers twitch anxiously at her side. She has to get out of here and far away from him. Augustus's warnings of catching Adonis's eye draws a sour taste into her mouth as her stomach churns. Perhaps Philo— Philo! That's it. Sage suddenly straightens brightly.

"But my Escort Philo. He loves champagne. He always says a little bubbly for when you're feeling a little bubbly."

Sage notes the manner in which Adonis has shifted his body, blocking the entrance back into the temple. Then she glances back to the dark emerald maze. She could easily shove the fossil right on his ass, maybe even cause him to break a hip and leaving him incapable of chasing after her. But what would that get her? She can practically read the headlines now. "VICTOR ASSAULTS RENOWNED FASHION STAR— WHO'S ALSO A TOTAL CREEP!"

Well, maybe they wouldn't add that last part, but...

"In fact, I need to find Philo. I think I saw him stumbling into the maze. Should really check if he's alright." Her ankles wobble slightly as she quickly staggers down the marble steps, but with enough momentum, she manages to steady herself. Dark strands of hair fall into her face when she dares to peek over her shoulder at him. Thankfully, he hasn't moved an inch. "It was lovely speaking with you."

There's a flash of orange twirling toward her, and she barely side-steps out of the dancing Capitol man's way. Her pace quickens as she darts into the first opening of the maze without hesitation. The ivy towers over her, grass tugging at the jewels at the hem of her skirt. Scooping the fabric up with a huff, she takes a blind left, and then a right.

Somewhere near the east entrance of the maze, Ptolemus makes his own escape, a shrill and obsessive voice calling after him. "Ptolemus! Ptolemus, come back!"

Thanks to his long legs and Priscilla's heels, it isn't hard for him to outrun her, his strides hurried and sharp. Nonetheless, even as her calls seem to sound farther and farther, she remains relentless. His own heavy breathing drowns out the words, but he thinks he hears her ask, "Can't we talk about this?!"

Nope, nope, nope, absolutely nope.

Ptolemus speeds around a corner, taking a sharp right. There's a faint glowing aura wrapped around the temple, fading into the night and illuminating the tops of the ivy hedges. Just as he's journeying further down the path, he skids to a halt at a dead end. With an annoyed grunt, he turns back around and toward where he came from, preparing to dive into another direction.

Sage keeps a steady but hurried pace. Paranoia creeps into the back of her mind, and for a moment, she swears she hears someone panting nearby. She dares to glance over her shoulder as her heart drills into her chest bone. Could the corpse really have caught up to her?

It's like slamming into a brick wall. For a moment, she swears she's reached a dead end, the solid form in front of her unrelenting. She reaches at the ivy to steady herself. Her heart lurches when she comes up with fabric in her white knuckles instead.

Bewildered, Ptolemus's chest heaves, peering down at the girl with wide eyes. One of his hands hovers over her shoulder. Whether it's to steady himself or her, he's not sure. The two just stare at one another as their chests heave. Tremors of nerves slow themselves into steady relief.

"You okay?" Ptolemus asks, sweeping his gaze across her figure.

There's the crack of a twig despite neither of them have moved. Sage doesn't answer his question, tugging on his callused hand instead. "C'mon."

They dive into another open path. She doesn't let go of his hand as she tugs him along, and he doesn't make any attempts to slip out of her grasp. Instead, he follows her lead as they weave throughout Adonis's labyrinth aimlessly. While she captains their escape, his eyes flicker between her and the ivy over and over. The moonlight casts shadows along her cheeks yet sends streaks of highlights in her raven hair, like shooting stars in the evening sky.

His body jerks forward suddenly, toe catching on an oddly raised piece of sod. Sage almost stumbles with him, yet manages to regain her balance. She slows her pace and turns to face him. They're still holding hands.

"You okay?"

Ptolemus nods, still panting. "Yeah." The two linger in the middle of one of the pathways. All that can be heard is their breathing and the chorus of crickets. Even the music from the temple is significantly dull in the air. He peers over his shoulder briefly, scratching at the back of his head, before glancing down to Sage lightly. "Do you think we lost 'em?"

A pause as she listens. Whatever she expects to hear, she doesn't. Sage nods as she quirks her brows. "Who were you running from?"

"Her name's Priscilla," he sighs, barely stifling a grimace. "She's relentless." Ptolemus takes a tentative step forward, waiting for Sage to follow. She does. "What about you? Philo clinging again?"

"Adonis, actually. The creep with no last name."

His ears prick at that, and he warily side-glances her as they slowly walk down the corridor. He's not oblivious to the nature of the fashion designer. After all, he's been invited to his annual birthday party ever since he won his own Games.

"The good news is I don't think he could've made it this far. Not without going into cardiac arrest first."

Ptolemus chuckles lightly. "No, probably not."

"Everyone at this party is bizarre," she huffs. Then she straightens, side-eying him apologetically. "Not you, but—" Relief washes through her when he smiles knowingly, and she releases a breath of a laugh. "I just hope I'm not invited to more of these. It's exhausting. I don't know how you do it."

"Lots of practice." They slowly and leisurely turn another corner that reveals a long walkway. Ivory flowers intertwine with the cascading ivy. The petals almost look like pearls in the moonlight. "Eventually you find ways to make it bearable."

"What are some of yours?"

Sage peers up at him carefully, his figure still tall and looming even in her heels. Tonight, he's decked out in satin trousers and a matching jacket that are as dark and blue as the inky sky above them. Instead of a button-down beneath, he sports a sleeveless top that seems to be made of sapphires rather than fabric. It makes the cerulean in his eyes pop.

The Victor from Two pauses in thought briefly, peering down at his feet. Then he shrugs, scratching at his cheekbone with a ringed finger. "Mostly I just try to find places others might not notice me. When they do, I try to zone out the best I can."

"Make any allies at these things?"

Ptolemus straightens at the term. His brows knit together quizzically, but when he glances to her, she's only staring straight ahead. "Only one, really."

"Hm," she hums coyly, a light spark burning in her eyes.

The memory of their agreement in the garden returns. His hand squeezes hers lightly. "I'd been meaning to steal you for a dance."

"It's okay." She squeezes his hand back as her gaze falls to her feet. "We might've ended up with more pictures of us in the magazines."

Guilt pangs in his chest at her tone. He waits for her to look back up at him, but she doesn't, seeming to shy away. For someone as warm and bright as a star itself, it's clear she isn't one to savor the spotlight. Then again, neither is he. But he's no star. If he ever was, he's one that collapsed into itself a while ago, morphing into a gaping black hole.

"I'm— I'm sorry about all that."

Sage pinches her brows together at that, halting in her tracks. She shakes her head as she cranes her neck to lock gazes. "Don't be. You couldn't have known that was going to happen." His lips part, while hers curve into a mischievous grin. "Besides, if there's anyone you should apologize to for that, it's my brothers. They've still been scolding me for it."

Ptolemus freezes, which causes her to grin brighter. There's that dimple in her chin again. The Victor from Two runs his fingers through his hair awkwardly. "How many brothers again?"

"Three." She clicks her tongue to the roof her mouth. "Colt is probably the one you'll have to watch out for the most."

"Good to know."

A pause. Sage almost forgot how tall Ptolemus was, but now that she's before him now, there's certainly no ignoring it. The way that he looks at her sends the flutter of a butterfly wing against her beating heart. When he latches onto her other hand with his, blue eyes falling to her lips again, she knows something is about to happen. Rosy pink taints her cheeks as she tears her gaze away from his, starting to slowly but rhythmically move to a silent tune in her mind.

"You still owe me a dance."

Ptolemus nods lightly, adjusting one of his hands back to a respectable location along her waist. "Of course."

"So how do you know Priscilla?" Sage follows his lead as he guides them to another silent song. "Was she the woman from earlier?"

"You saw that?"

A shrug. "Only a glimpse. She seemed... determined."

The Victor from Two bores his stare into the ivy behind her, fixating on one flower in particular. The sensation of his chain being tugged, digging into the flesh of his neck, along with the sinking feeling of her piercing nails returns. Then of course there was her tone. She'd been claiming him since Snow first gave her permission. And tonight, he finally was able to tell her no.

He inhales sharply when he realizes how long it's taking for him to respond. His blue eyes lock onto her patient brown ones. "She's just... another one of those. The obsessive, entitled kind. Thinks she owns me, I guess."

"That's horrible."

Ptolemus parts his lips to deny her claims, not because they aren't true, but mainly because he doesn't know what to do with her validation or empathy. He's never gotten much of that, either. Something inside him quivers, and whatever his instinct was, it's foreign to him now. Finally, he agrees.

"Yeah." It still feels strange to say. He swallows thickly as he carefully stares down at her. "That's why— well, you know. Just be careful at these kind of things. If there's someone you don't want to talk to..." He shrugs sheepishly. "You can always come talk to me. Okay?"

"Same with you," Sage assures within a heartbeat. The corners of her lips curve into a comforting grin. "We're allies."

There's that warmth again. It's starting to become addicting, and Ptolemus savors it, basking in it. Sage wonders if he'll kiss her again. She's not sure if she's ready to kiss him again. Just when it seems like he might speak, there's a hush of voices approaching as well as a cluster of shadows to the right.

They both notice it at the same time, but Ptolemus is the one to act first. He tugs Sage to the left soundlessly, and she scampers after him, the skirt of her dress dragging. She scrunches it up in annoyance, the heaviness of it weighing her down. They duck into another nearby corridor. However, to their dismay, it's just another short dead-end. The high-pitched voices of the Capitol guests grows louder and closer.

"They've got to be here somewhere. Lucretia said she saw both of them come in here."

"Did she get a shot?"

Sage's nervous gaze ticks across the ivy, scouring the walls desperately. Her voice comes out in a worried, hushed tone. "What do we do?

Ptolemus pats against the foliage carefully so that the leaves don't rustle. It's thick, but surprisingly freestanding, no concrete acting as a foundation to the hedges. This could work. Or it could just be futile and stupid.

"Wouldn't it be sweet if they were sneaking away for another rendezvous?" a Capitol man asks. He's easily where they were just dancing, if not past it.

"Pretty scandalous, if you ask me. Imagine that in print!"

They lock gazes again. In one smooth motion, Ptolemus tugs Sage toward him, pulling her spine right into his chest. At first, she's afraid he might kiss her again, just in time for the approaching reporters to catch a glimpse. She almost questions if that's his goal. Instead, he carefully sinks both of them into the foliage, ivy leaves, vines and twigs poking at his back and into her hair. Sage yanks at her dazzling skirt with mild frustration.

Their footsteps grow closer and closer. Sage clings to Ptolemus's arm, noting how even though his ribs rise and fall against her spine, his breaths are soundless. She swears it'll be her heartbeat that gives them away, it thundering in her ears. His chin rests on the crown of her head as they both wait.

"This labyrinth is massive. We'll never find them."

"Don't be so negative. They're close, I can feel it."

"That's what you said fifteen minutes ago. What if we never get out of here? You do know how to get out of here, right?"

"AH-HA!" One of the reporters cries. Both Sage and Ptolemus flinch at how close his booming voice is. Likely just at the opening of the dead-end they're hiding in. He's had to have found them.

More footsteps. "What is that?"

"What does it look like? It's a crystal from her dress!" Sage silently curses her gown, briefly glancing down to her skirt for signs of the lost gem. "I told you they were here."

"Yeah, they were. I don't see them now." An annoyed huff as footsteps stalk further away. "Let's just go. I can't work when I'm hungry, and we're probably missing the cake. Maybe we can get a shot of Augustus or something for the next issue."

The other one mumbles something under his breath that neither of them can make out, but judging by his tone, he's barely compliant. Nonetheless, his footsteps follow his partner's, echoing further and further away from where the two Victors hide. Both of them hold their breaths as they listen. Ptolemus begs his heart rate to slow. Surely, Sage can hear it pounding fervently against his chest and right in her ear. Having her this close makes him realize a part of him is dreading to let go. It's unnerving how natural it feels.

A minute passes. Then two. When they reach three, their rigid figures slacken, but they still hold onto each other.

"I think they're gone," Sage breathes.

"Yeah." Ptolemus licks his lips. "I think so."

They still don't let go. Neither of them know exactly why the other hasn't. But they do know their own personal reasons for maintaining the proximity. Ptolemus remembers something else he's been meaning to do. Or ask, really.

"Question?"

Her ears perk at his tone curiously. "Hm?"

"Do you think allies go on... dates sometimes?"

Sage nods. Neither of them can see each other in this position, but like mirrors, they both smile.

"I think so."

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

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

This chapter took me forever to write, I must've rewritten it ten times. Please tell me what you think! Do you feel like the characters are balanced well? Sometimes I'm afraid I'm only giving Ptolemus depth. I'm also always afraid their interactions are choppy or unnatural. However, I did write some scenes from the quarter quell already (I'm just too excited) and these two are seriously adorable!!!

Please please let me know what you think :)

Word Count: 7486