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chapter one
SECRETS IN THE GARDEN

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tw: mentions of sex trafficking/forced prostitution

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Her mother always called her restless. Never accepting a nap when it was time to sleep as a baby, little fingers always reaching for something to hold (usually something breakable and antique, passed down from a million grandmothers), and legs always wandering off somewhere she shouldn't be. Sage was just not one to stay still. When she did stay still, her mind couldn't, always spinning like a clever and efficient machine— sometimes a worrisome one.

Right now, Sage feels restless. She tugs at the hem of her skin-tight dress, picking at the feathers over and over only to smooth them again. Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she peers out through the limousine at the lively streets of The Capitol. She's brought back to the first time she ever saw them, peering down from her floor of the Tribute Center and wondering which ones were rooting for her to live and which ones were rooting for her to die.

"What's the matter, darling?" Tatiana asks suddenly with her clear, crisp voice. Her stylist side-glances the Victor as she adjusts her lip liner with a careful finger.

Sage starts, snapped out of her gaze with a blush blossoming across her cheeks. A shaky sigh as she rubs her sweaty palms along her freshly shaven thighs again. "Oh. Just keeps riding up when I sit like this, that's all."

Her stylist grins, her lips the color of a plum. She pats Sage on the thigh encouragingly. "Don't worry. You've got the legs for it."

Annoyance ripples through the young girl at that, and she forces another hesitant smile, nodding. Neither Tatiana nor her Escort Philo Forbes are known for being the tactful or empathetic type. They're as ignorant and oblivious as the Capitol citizens come. In their own little minds they mean well, but even their good intentions manage to prick and prod at the people of District Ten's thick skin.

It's been eight months since the moment that crowned Sage a Victor, the Seventy-Third Games approaching in a few short months. And despite her Victory tour long being over, she has been summoned to the Capitol once again. For what, she's not sure, but she cannot seem to shake this uncomfortable dread that has coiled in her gut like a rattlesnake. The nerves keep her from settling as she grows weary with anticipation with each roll of the limousine's tires.

Across from her, her Escort Philo chugs another glass of champagne, stifling a burp from all the bubbles. A little glass of bubbly for when you're feeling a little bubbly, as he would say. Sage assumes that means he's nervous too. Their call to The Capitol was a surprise as well, it not being often a Victor of District Ten and their team are beckoned for anything but their Victory Tour and the annual Hunger Games to mentor the next crop of tributes. Although, both Philo and Tatiana seem more thrilled than frightened. Of course they would. They have nothing to fear. Not when they're from The Capitol.

Exhaling shortly through her nose, Sage reaches her manicured nails towards her mouth. Before she can anxiously bite them, Tatiana already slaps her hand back down to her lap. "Mm-mm. They just dried."

Meanwhile, three blocks away, the Gleam Gala has kicked off, Panem's finest jewels on display for all to see. Ptolemus leans over the bar in his gunmetal tuxedo, shoving the empty shot glass away. The burning taste of whiskey singes the back of his throat, and he presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, twisting his eyes shut briefly. He lets out an exasperated breath as he opens them again.

"Another."

There's a loud and hard smack of a palm between his shoulder blades, an annoyingly familiar voice following shortly after. He doesn't have to turn to know who it is as he grits his teeth together. "Whoa there, Baby Pierce. Don't want to turn into that drunk from Twelve, do you?" Augustus Braun taunts, his perfectly white smile glittering with the chandeliers.

Ptolemus makes no attempt to hide his annoyance as he grips his refilled shot glass, lips twisting into a sneer. "If that's what it takes for you to stay away from me, Augustus, might not be so bad."

The Victor from One doesn't even falter in the slightest. Instead, he seems to be fueled by the other young man's frustration, grinning brighter. Ptolemus can't help but think how ridiculous he looks in his amethyst purple tuxedo. Just as ridiculous as his title, The Favorite Son. He slams back another shot steel-faced.

"Someone's in a mood tonight." Augustus cocks his golden head to the side, raising his brows with false curiosity. "What's the matter? Nepo Baby miss his nap time?"

Ptolemus feels the needle of his words poke just underneath the skin, enough to make him roll his shoulders in agitation. His tongue runs along his teeth as he tries to find some restraint. "Very original. Still all Braun and no brain I see."

There goes that supposed restraint.

Augustus barely flinches while a hearty laugh that makes those nearby wince barrels out from a place deep in his chest. For someone who was just lecturing Ptolemus on his number of shots, he certainly seems to be coked out on something. The younger boy glowers when Augustus clamps an iron hand on his shoulder. "Oh Tolly boy, you are a funny one. A little gloomy for my taste, but kind of funny." He shifts so that he can drape his arm around the Victor from Two, both of them peering out into the crowd. "So, who will you be dreading with your company this evening?"

The dreaded question of the evening. The Gleam Gala is not just an event that showcases the Capitol's most beautiful jewels like rubies, diamonds, and sapphires. It is also an opportunity for the wealthy and alienlike people to appreciate other kinds of precious gems out in the open, and potentially in private.

Victors like Finnick Odair, Cashmere, and Augustus are just a few of the Capitol's wonders here this evening, Ptolemus also unfortunately falling underneath the desirable category. Being the son of two Victors and a Victor himself sparks curiosity on what it must be like to be so close to a powerful legacy, to know the kind of triumph that courses through their veins. He notes three women looking in their direction, the one with spots on her skin like a Dalmatian giving a coy wave with a manicured hand. While Augustus gives them the charming grin, Ptolemus just averts his stare elsewhere.

There's a bit of commotion at the entryway, cameras flashing and Capitol reporters gawking and murmuring once again. Surely the sign of another important guest for the evening. Ptolemus watches as what is a paunchy Capitol man beaming in greeting, his purple dyed skin and cobalt hair nearly blinding. He seems to adore the attention, but judging by the way his smile ends with his teeth grinding together when he glances back over his shoulder, there's someone holding up his grand entrance. He waves hastily at the person behind him to hurry them along. Ptolemus shifts his weight a bit in an attempts to gain a peek.

His purple hand latches onto one that more so resembles a human's, and Ptolemus's eyes trail up the wrist, past the elbow with a beauty mark right in the crease, over the curve of a shoulder, until eventually the owner's figure finally makes it through. He shifts his weight again as he takes her in.

Sage stumbles after her impatient Escort, barely keeping her heels on as she wriggles free from the swarm of reporters. Cameras flash in her eyes, nearly blinding her and making them burn. She just does what Philo told her to do. Smile and smile and smile. Whatever you do, don't pout. The corners of her mouth hurt as she purses her lips together for a bit of rest, clinging onto Philo's pudgy hand to ensure she won't lose her way. Her skin tight leather dress with feather details at the cuffs and low neckline rides up with each stride. She struggles to pull it down.

"Tatiana really needs to have you practice in your heels more," Philo half teases, half chastises. She still remains half a stride behind him, trying to focus on her steps while maintaining his hurried pace. "Are you smiling? Why aren't you smiling? Remember what we talked about, whatever you do, don't—"

"Pout." Sage finishes with a heavy breath. "I can't promise anything with these heels, Philo."

He ignores her last comment. "Yes, and stay away from anything garlic. Or green. We don't want bad breath or something stuck in your teeth."

The two pass a woman with a live snake wrapped around her waist and curved around her shoulder, and Philo squeals in delight as he bids her a wave. "Ooh Octavia, so exotic, I love it!" The snake hisses, sticking out its forked tongue, and her escort chuckles, pointing with a purple finger. "A feisty one, even better!"

Sage's dark brows knit into a bewildered and concerned frown as she glances over her shoulder back at the woman. "She'd be dead if that were a Cottonmouth."

Philo dismisses her with a wave of his ringed hand and a wrinkle of his nose. "Oh, they probably took out his stingers, not to worry. And why would a snake have cotton in its mouth?"

"You mean fangs?"

"Precisely."

"The snake doesn't have cotton in its mouth, it's just what it's called. They're venomous...." A pause as he digests this newfound information and she stumbles after him. "Philo."

"Hm?"

"My feet are blistering." Sage starts to slow her pace, hoping to hold her escort back. Her spare hand reaches at the back of her red and irritated ankle as she winces. "Do you think we could just... take a second?"

Philo's suede shoes squeak along the marble floor as he abruptly stops, spinning on his heels to face his Victor. His lips form a tight line, and he drops her hand, folding his in front of him neatly while he waits impatiently. Sage hooks her pointer finger between her heel and her flesh, grimacing at the fiery sensation that pulses from her ankle. With this movement, she swears her dress rides up even more, cool air finding parts she doesn't want it to. Annoyance ripples down her spine.

"Couldn't Tatiana have given an extra inch to my dress, maybe?" Sage grunts, straightening to meet her Escort's gaze. Multiple stares burn into her skin, or at least it feels like it, causing her to squirm. Her arms wrap around herself instinctively like a shield.

Philo smiles at her sweetly, as if she's a sweet and naive little girl asking sweet and naive questions. "Beauty is pain, my dear. And you look absolutely stunning. As always." He leans in to kiss both her cheeks, and she feels her shoulders slump. "Allow me to go get us a drink." He points to her with a cheeky and proud grin. "Some bubbly for when you're feeling bubbly, and you'll feel better in no time. Ciao."

With that, her Escort is off, starting toward the tables adorned with food and filled champagne glasses. Sage feels defeated as her lifeline abandons her briefly. Philo isn't one of the more conscientious escorts, but he is someone she knows, and in this sea of strangers she feels herself beginning to drown in a sense of overwhelming discomfort. She doesn't know what to do with her hands, so she adjusts her skirt, skin itching from the glances in her direction. Sage side-glances, realizing she is standing in the middle of the Gala. Ducking her head, she maneuvers to her left toward a shadowed bar.

Ptolemus watches as the raven-haired girl makes her way toward them, her gaze cast downward. He tries not to stare, peering back at the dance floor instead, but his eyes pull back to her over and over again. Something warm creeps up in his chest, which he dismisses as the aftermath of alcohol swirling. He can sense Augustus looking too, something about his demeanor clearly predatory.

Sighing, Sage hoists herself up to the elevated bar seat, spinning it so that she can look out for Philo along the dance floor. Relief shoots through her now that she gets to rest her feet once more. Not only does she feel blisters forming at her ankles, but also near her pinky toe. She can't wait to go home.

Her summons to the Capitol was cryptic and mysterious. No known reason, other than that she had no choice but to go. She hopes she isn't in trouble. She has been spending more time at her family's dairy farm than her new home in the Victor's Village. Perhaps President Snow perceives her as being ungrateful, but the lot she was given simply didn't have enough acres for her horse to roam. After living in a quaint farmhouse with a family of six, horses to rant to and cows to share her secrets with, she just can't stand an empty mansion as her home.

There is a part of her that tries not to fear the worst. She is a Victor now, and being a Victor comes with some public responsibilities she didn't ask for. If having to show face at Capitol parties is a requirement of her, she'll do it. She just hopes for enough notice.

Ptolemus doesn't think his staring is obvious, but it definitely is. She feels his cool and curious gaze burning in her cheek. Sage turns toward him with a friendly and polite smile, and his heart hiccups in his chest, an embarrassed blush blossoming beneath his flesh.

"Hi."

The Victor from Two straightens and blinks, struggling to recover from being caught. "H-hey."

"I'm Augustus Braun," the blonde interjects, his voice loud and obnoxious. He gives her another one of those big charming grins as he leans over. "It's nice to see a new pretty face around here."

"Oh." Sage blinks awkwardly, still smiling because she doesn't know what else to do. Something about the way he said that makes her spine tighten. "Thank you?"

"Sage, is it? You killed my guy Midas to win, right?"

Her eyes widen like a deer frozen in headlights, and she feels herself pale. She sputters, painful guilty reminders creeping back into her conscience like an eerie fog. She can still hear the cracking of the dead tree following by the deceased tribute's scream that seemed to go on forever, until it didn't.

Ptolemus awkwardly glances down at his shoes with a clenched jaw. Augustus still smiles, as if he doesn't understand the reason for her reaction.

"Oh, no need to get upset. We know it's nothing personal. Just the nature of the Games." He shrugs. "I guess he learned not to underestimate a clever girl."

Every breath Augustus uses to form syllables sucks all the air right out of the room. Sage can feel her lungs clenching in her chest, and she just averts her gaze, boring it into the marble floor in hopes that he will stop talking. The arrogant Victor from One isn't quite done yet.

"You're pretty enough, seems like we'll be seeing you at these sort of things regularly."

Ptolemus scowls with disgust. "You done, man?"

"What?" Augustus asks coyly. "Just a compliment." He gestures toward Sage with his hand. "You feel flattered, right?"

There's a new flame to her eyes as she meets his arrogant gaze. She's done playing nice now, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Yes, you're quite the charm."

They both stare at one another silently. While Sage's features are pressed into a cool, blank but challenging exterior, Augustus clings to the haughtiness in his, those eyes twinkling with devious intent. She doesn't blink first. He gives her a nod, smiling brighter, before sneering at a taut Ptolemus.

"I'll be seeing you around, Sage."

Augustus saunters off, broad shoulders rocking with each stride as he makes his way toward a herd of Capitol women. They squeal with joy at his entrance, and his loud, boisterous voice nearly drowns out the nearby orchestra. Sage glares holes into the jacket of his tuxedo.

Ptolemus scratches the back of his head. "You'll get used to him. He's a bit of a—"

"Dick?"

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his breath tumbling into a laugh as light as a feather. The boy nods knowingly. "Exactly."

Sage removes her scalding stare when no smoke rises from Augustus's jacket despite her wishes. That's when she catches him looking at her again. Light twinkles in his eyes.

"You never said your name."

Ptolemus blinks wide-eyed, shaking himself out of his daze. "Hm?"

She laughs lightly. "Your name. What's your name?"

"Oh, oh." He scratches behind his ear, silently praying his cheeks aren't flushed scarlet with embarrassment. "I'm Ptolemus."

"Ptolemus?"

"Yeah, Ptolemus."

"That's a cool name," Sage compliments earnestly. She smooths her dress again and inhales sharply. "Are you a Victor too? You look familiar."

There's the dreaded question he was hoping to avoid. Honestly, he's surprised she didn't at least recognize his name, but thankful all the same. Usually when those recognize his first name (which is not easy to forget), they figure out the last name pretty quickly, thus leading to his connections. The Pierce Family is Panem's Favorite Family! At least, that's what Caesar Flickerman makes a point of saying each time they're revisited for the limelight, The Capitol audience always cheering and whistling in agreement.

"Uh, yeah." Ptolemus shrugs nonchalantly, staring at the marble tiling now. He rubs his leather shoe against an imaginary smudge along the floor as he avoids her gaze. "Three-ish years ago?"

Sage studies him carefully at that, doing the math silently in her brain for more clues on the suddenly sheepish boy. Three years ago isn't long at all, but thanks to working on her family owned farm rather than a commercialized one, mandatory viewing of the Games isn't always so mandatory. Either way, she swears the queries of his identity have cured his staring problem, or at least shifted its muse to the ballroom floor. Now she's the one taking him in.

He's attractive. There's no denying that, with his messy sandy blonde hair and cool blue eyes.

Just as her lips part to continue the conversation, a familiar shrill voice interjects. "Oh, there you are!" Philo shuffles over to the barstools, his walk even unnatural as he balances his strides on his tip-toes. In his hand are two champagne glasses, one half full. "I see you went wandering on me. Come now, off that barstool, we aren't resting yet! The night has just begun!"

The Escort practically shoves the filled champagne glass into Sage's manicured hand, the bubbles still glimmering as they rise to the brim. Her free hand fumbles with her skirt that continues to ride up, much to her annoyance. She carefully attempts to slide down from the high barstool as she prays her ankles won't give out on her yet. But with such an unforgiving dress, a relentlessly swiveling chair, and one hand claimed by the champagne glass, it's a clumsy and dangerous descent.

It seems like Sage will come crashing down onto the marble floor (which will only earn her another scolding about her etiquette from Philo) when a large and callused hand latches onto her free one. She's surprised how easily it steadies her, but also exceedingly grateful. She murmurs a thank-you under her breath before she can glance upward, watching her heels meticulously until she feels the smooth marble beneath her weight. The hand holding hers doesn't even falter.

Once she knows she's landed safely, she follows the dark silver sleeve up toward those cool as a breeze blue eyes. Sage smiles a soft smile, nodding. "Thank you."

"Of course," Ptolemus replies, maintaining her stare.

They're holding onto one another's hands for too long. They both know that, but neither of them is quite ready to pull away, admiring the way they feel in one another's grasp. But when Philo's voice barrels through the air again, they release each other, arms falling to their sides.

"Oh! Mr. Pierce. I didn't recognize you in this lighting. Quite a gentleman." The Capitol man presses his hand to his chest, practicing a modest bow that reveals his slipping toupee. "Philo Forbes, Sage Navarro's Escort. It's lovely to meet you."

The boy stifles a grimace at his surname and he grinds his teeth together silently. Ptolemus forces a thin-lipped smile as he nods. "Likewise."

Sage's empty hand is filled with Philo's pudgy purple one again when he gently pulls her toward him. "Now Sage, come with me. There are some very nice people who are excited to meet you!" They link arms, and her Escort absent-mindedly glances over his shoulder at Ptolemus. "Ciao, Mr. Pierce."

"I'll see you around?" Sage asks hopefully, eyes twinkling and heart racing.

Ptolemus smiles again, but this time, it's not forced. Quaint, but still genuine. "I'll see you around," he echoes.

With that, Sage and her Escort stalk away from the sanctuary of the darkened bar and right into the crowded lion's den, Capitol aristocrats shrieking and squealing with unnerving delight. Their rainbow stained complexions and surgically altered features twist into various animations that reminds her their masks aren't masks, but their true faces. Her stomach twists into more knots as she shakily takes a sip of champagne. She clings to Philo tighter.

Behind them, Ptolemus watches the raven-haired girl get swallowed whole by the relentless gathering. A part of his chest feels light as he recounts the smooth warmth of her palm and the friendliness in her voice. Then it sinks like an anchor, growing heavier and heavier with uncomfortable realization. If she's here, at the renowned Gleam Gala, that means she's here for the exact same reason himself and other Victors are. This is the first time he's seen her at such an event. Ptolemus clenches his jaw at the idea of the poor Victor only being granted eight months to collect her sanity before she's thrown into another trauma of Snow's making.

Then the sinking iron anchor building in his chest morphs into something else as heat rises beneath his heart. Something worth wielding. He inhales sharply, clinging to the idea of salvation from another one of the President's prisons.

Call it a protective instinct. An act of rebellion. Or for once, Ptolemus finally giving into an impulse and a feeling that feels like his own rather than one that's been forced upon him. Maybe it's a combination of it all as he chases that warm feeling that's tugging on his chest. Either way, he makes a silent choice of his own to ensure Sage never endures a fate like the one he has these past few years. 

Perhaps if he can save her from it, she could save him as well.

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One of the worst chores on the farm was cleaning up piles upon piles of cow shit. It was quite literally a shit job, neither Sage nor her three older brothers willing to volunteer to the task. Usually the last one done with their other chores for the day was the one who got stuck with it added to their list of To-Do's, which typically ended up being Colt.

Although after dancing in these torture devices called "heels" and politely making small talk with men and women of The Capitol, Sage would rather shovel cow shit for every day of her life.

She's stumbling after a tall Capitol man with curly green hair and a matching goat-ee as he twirls them rapidly along the dance floor. They're the only pair off pace with the orchestra, and she bids another apology when her shoulder knocks into a woman. The man continues to peer down at her, likely at her chest, the low neckline making her flesh feel bare. His voice is so loud she's sure everyone can hear their conversation.

"So. Do you ride the horses out there in Ten?" He asks.

Sage winces at his booming voice, offering a hesitant nod. "Yes. My horse's name is Sunshine."

He squeezes her hand tightly with his cold and clammy one at that. She's surprised he hasn't bruised a bone. Her feet have gone numb at this point as they practically drag against the tile.

"How funny." His gaze falls back down her dress.

"Have you ever ridden?" she tries, clearing her throat in hopes of bringing his stare back to her eyes. It takes everything in her not to pull away from the man, balling her hand into a fist and walloping it into his nose. Unfortunately, she doubts assaulting a Capitol man will keep her on Snow's Nice List.

"Yes, I have." Then the man purses his lips together in thought, shrugging. "Well, I've ridden on one of those old-fashioned wagons around the Park where horses were pulling them. Quite charming, nonetheless."

Sage nods as she poorly attempts false-amusement. "Mm."

Little does she know, her rescuer is only steps away.

A familiar hand taps the green-haired man on the shoulder. "Excuse me." The two stop dancing to lock gazes with the Victor from Two. "Mind if I cut in?"

Sage wastes not another moment to wriggle out of her dance partner's uncomfortable grasp. It's clear by his sour expression that he certainly does mind, but every Capitol citizen prides themselves on their proper etiquette that ranks higher than those from the Districts's manners, so he quickly tucks it away. He bids a taut and disgruntled nod toward Ptolemus.

"You may."

Relief floods through Sage, rushing from the crown of her head to the very tips of her toes. She smiles, and Ptolemus returns it, extending his open hand. It feels as familiar as a favorite sweater to sink into when you need some comfort in the cold.

Ptolemus is careful with his placement, waiting until Sage seems ready, finally having a moment to gather her breath. When he feels her looking up at him again, he gently falls in tune with the orchestra, slipping softly like the song were a whispering creek. They lock gazes immediately the moment he glances down toward her.

"Thank you," she breathes, a corner of her lips twitching upward. "These people make my head hurt."

"Mine too." He licks his lips, eyeing the dance floor carefully. "I hate coming to things like this."

"Do they send out invitations for them often?"

Bitterness stings his tongue. "More than anyone would like."

Sage huffs, one of her dark strands of hair falling into her eyes. When she looks up at Ptolemus, she pleasantly notices his never wander anywhere else but hers. "Well, I could probably manage if Tatiana dressed me in something more comfortable. These heels are ridiculous."

At the mere mention of them, her ankle wavers, stumbling awkwardly in the dance. Ptolemus manages to hold her up as he slows his pace. "Do you want to take a break?"

Sage glances over her shoulder, combing the crowd for Philo or Tatiana nervously. "Are we allowed to?"

Chuckling lightly, Ptolemus nods. "Here." He slows them to a stop, releasing her waist and grabbing her hand gently with his. "Follow me."

"Where to?"

The Victor from Two doesn't answer, just shakes his head before he carefully guides her through the dancing crowd. His broad shoulders create enough space for her to slip through as she blindly follows. Curious stares shift in their direction, and Sage forces those polite and false smiles Philo made her practice during her hair preparation. Meanwhile, Ptolemus keeps his gaze steady for the open balcony, Ivy leaves and vines tracing the marble railing intricately. He only dares to glance upward toward the second floor that oversees the ballroom a few times, grateful that the familiar golden head of Augustus is facing away from them.

Once they make it to the balcony, they both inhale sharply, the cool night air refreshing compared to the suffocating atmosphere of the Gala. Inky indigo encases them in a soothing blanket with constellations twinkling above. Goosebumps blossom along Sage's flesh, and she rushes toward the ledge, gripping the smooth marble. It brings some ease to her warm palms.

Ptolemus silently slides next to her, the jacket of his tuxedo brushing against her bare shoulder. Only the faint sound of the orchestra playing can be heard, the bustle of the Capitol streets echoing instead. People laughing, cars honking, tires rolling. It's always so busy. Despite this, neither of them are distracted by the chaos.

Beneath the stars in front of them is a lush garden, emerald hedges standing tall in various shapes of swans, ballerinas— even large stallions. Somewhere toward the middle you can see the top of a glowing fountain as a faint trickling of water sounds.

Sage leans against the railing as she cranes her neck backward to gaze at the sky. "It's pretty out here."

"Yeah," Ptolemus agrees, stuffing his ringed hands into his pockets. "Good place to catch a breath."

"So you're pretty seasoned with these things, huh?"

He shifts his weight with discomfort. "Unfortunately."

"I guess you would be..." Sage rests her elbows onto the marble. She flickers her gaze up toward the looming boy. When she does, she can't help but notice how his eyes look electric in the moonlight. "Being the son of two Victors while also a Victor yourself and all."

Ptolemus tilts his head back toward the sky, letting out a breathy groan at the reminder. "Was really hoping you wouldn't put the pieces together."

One of her dark brows raises in quizzical disbelief. "Pretty sure you're the only guy in Panem named Ptolemus." A corner of her lips twitches upward in a teasing fashion as she straightens. "Wasn't too hard. Plus, it's quite the reputation."

"What all have you heard about my reputation?" he asks, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

Sage shrugs. "Some of it I already knew, your family's been on my television for years. The stuff I asked all my dance partners was new."

He stifles the arrogance that blooms at the mere mention of her asking about him. "Anything you come up with on your own?"

A pause. Both of them study each other silently, his cerulean eyes boring into her warm chocolate ones. They wonder what the other is searching for as they make their own findings. Sage feels hers melting, so she pulls away first, peering back at the shadowed garden.

"I'm still working on that."

Ptolemus feels his lips tugging upward faintly at that. The moonlight causes her long lashes to cast shadows on her cheeks, them flickering each time she blinks. He likes the slight dimple on her chin. Just when she's about to catch him staring again, he stares out at the garden too.

"You wanna go down there?"

The Victor from Two straightens, following Sage's gaze that's shifted just past his shoulder. There's a set of marble stairs cascading down from the balcony into the garden, the Ivy following. He glances behind them toward the ballroom again, the orchestra still playing and the Capitol people still dancing. From here, he can see Cashmere begrudgingly talking with the green-haired man from earlier. The grandfather clock behind them reads eleven-thirty.

Ptolemus eventually nods, instinctively grabbing hold of Sage's hand again. He almost releases it once he realizes what he's done, the naturalness of it startling, but he just waits for her to pull away instead. She doesn't. They're two steps down when Sage slows.

"Ugh, wait. These stupid shoes."

She bends down uncomfortably toward her heels, fingers desperately working to unfasten the tight buckle. It's a bit of a struggle with just one hand, but just like that, he's quickly returning to the rescue.

"Here." Ptolemus releases her to reach downward as he prepares to help her with her heels.

They nearly bang heads when she lifts hers up, smiling while her brows pinch into a bewildered frown. "Philo was right, you are a gentleman." She clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth as she undoes her left shoe. The skin where the strap once squeezed is red and blistered enough to make Ptolemus grimace. "But I'm not helpless you know, I can handle shoes."

Taking the hint, he straightens to back off. He clears his throat as he peers back out at the garden waiting for them. "Of course."

Sage huffs as she finishes her other shoe, finally freeing her swollen and raw feet from their fashionable but impractical prison. The marble stairs are cool and soothing to the heated flesh. A faint smirk creeps onto her lips as she pokes Ptolemus's chest lightly with her heels.

"The gentleman thing is cute though. Would you carry them for me?"

He nods, pinching the straps of the heels together with his fingers. Meanwhile, his other hand still reaches back for her. He half-expects her to chastise him for that too, but she doesn't, letting them link back together as they descend the elegant stairs. Behind him, Sage bites down on the inside of her bottom lip to suppress a girlish grin.

"So what about you?" Ptolemus calls over his shoulder. They finally reach the base of the stairs and emerge into the garden. The marble turns to pretty cobblestone paths that lead into grassy wedges. "What's your family like?"

"Big. Loud." Sage chuckles lightly as she sidles up next to him. They work their way through the hedges, following the glow of the moonlight toward the trickling fountain. Soft, plush grass slips between her toes with each stride. "I've got three brothers and the two hundred cows are still quieter than them."

"Older? Younger?"

She shakes her head. "Older. My mom really wanted a girl." She shrugs and raises her brows. "Plus, lots of kids means more labor for the Dairy Farm."

"So that's what you did before the Games?"

"Mhmm. What'd you do over there in Two before you were reaped?"

"Trained for it." There's nothing hidden in his voice to interpret as he speaks plainly. Simple, matter of fact, honest. No sarcasm, annoyance, or patronization. Either way, Sage still silently kicks herself for asking that question. Ptolemus doesn't seem to mind though.

"Then I volunteered. With two Victors for parents it was expected I'd do it eventually, and even if I didn't want to, The Academy would still make sure I did before I aged out."

They pass a set of rose bushes, ranging from shades of scarlet, pink and snow white. Sage grazes one of her fingertips carefully along the soft petals as they walk closer toward the fountain. Golden lights flicker with the water shooting melodically from two dolphins sculpted with their backs pressed to each other.

"And did you?"

Ptolemus's brows knit together curiously. "Did I what?"

"Want to volunteer?"

Silence. Just the sound of two heartbeats, two held breaths, and the soft trickling of cool fountain water. Ptolemus and Sage face each other now, the former biting his tongue as he wavers. He peers behind her where the balcony stands, shadows from the ballroom still dancing and twirling. When he looks back to her again, she's waiting with an unreadable gaze.

"I wasn't taught to want anything else," he sighs. His heart pounds against his chest bone as he waits for the judgment to flicker across her warm brown eyes.

But it doesn't. She doesn't let go of his hand either. Instead, she gives it a firm and gentle squeeze that makes his heart flutter.

Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it's the most genuine and sincere thing he's ever heard.

"I'm sorry."

Ptolemus doesn't know what to say, so he just nods. Even after his reaction, he still feels her two simple words washing over his brain like a cool and refreshing wave, nourishing parts that have starved and cracked over the years. He doesn't know when the last time someone apologized to him, actually. If ever. Shifting his weight uncomfortably, he clears his throat.

"Would you want to try dancing again?"

Light twinkles in her eyes similar to the constellations above them at that suggestion. Sage smiles and nods. "Now that I'm free of those shoes, I'd love to."

She snatches them from Ptolemus's grip, tossing them loudly into the bushes nearby, the leaves rustling in response. Without hesitating, she clasps one of his empty hands with hers, feeling the cool metal of his silver ring, while she strains to reach his shoulder with her other. His hand naturally finds a respectable spot along her waist.

From this distance, the orchestra's tune isn't as clear, so Ptolemus leads to a different song in his mind. Sage follows, her steps far more graceful without those painful heels.

"I'm surprised Philo hasn't turned the party upside-down looking for me," she comments, glancing over her shoulder briefly.

"I'm surprised too, actually. He seems like a clinger."

"Yes, he leaves me alone when I need him, but hovers when I don't want him to." She shakes her head and frowns. "Not very intuitive."

Ptolemus lowers his voice a bit more as he leads them closer to the rushing fountain. "Not many of The Capitol people are."

"I can't wait to go home," Sage sighs. "I hate entertaining all these strangers."

He adjusts his grip on her waist at her words, a sour taste forming along his tongue. Did they tell her yet? Or will she receive the speech later in the evening, right before she's locked in a room with another alien-like stranger? At least his mother and father were able to warn him about what would be expected of him until he would be arranged into a marriage that entertained the public more than his other services. That's how Nero and Petra managed to break free from that particular cage, at least.

One that Ptolemus is desperate to climb out of too, secretly hoping he can prevent Sage from ever entering along his way too. He thinks about how many minutes have passed, and realizes he doesn't have much more time before the Gala will take the darker turn it always tends to. The Capitol people are never just satisfied with pretty rubies, hours of dancing and fine dining.

Greedy bastards.

Something about his silence makes Sage uncomfortable, so she clears her throat. It knocks him out of whatever world he seemed to be trapped in behind those pretty blue eyes.

"Will you be at these sort of things again?" she inquires carefully.

Ptolemus nods, a bitter smile forming on his lips as he shakes his head. "Always am."

"Maybe I can put up with it then." A devious glint sparks in her eyes. Instead of chocolate, they now look like molten gold. "It'll be nice to see a familiar face besides Philo's."

Now his smile shifts to something smaller, kinder, more genuine. That stony, hard and warriorlike mask he's been taught to wear slowly slips with each passing moment. He raises his brows mischievously. "Do you think you can put up with being my permanent dance partner at these sort of things too?"

Sage does everything she can to physically suppress the grin on her face, but she can't, her cheeks tinting a rose's pink in the pale moonlight. This is embarrassing. They've only met this night, and he has her heart beating faster than a wild stallion can run. She can practically hear her brothers annoying and childish taunting that they do every time she even looks at a boy. Nonetheless, she decides to give this one moment to herself after an evening of pure discomfort. Her secret is safely tucked in the garden anyway.

"I think I can definitely put up with that."

This is it. This is when Ptolemus decides this is the moment. He barely glances at the balcony, but just from the mere glimpse, he already knows there's figures rushing forward with curiosity. His blue eyes fall to her lips. When he does that, she realizes what he's about to do, and finds herself leaning into it.

Perhaps love at first sight isn't real. Merely a romantic fairytale that the lovesick poets write about for all their skeptical but secretly lovesick readers to cling to. But whatever it is that Sage and Ptolemus have been feeling all night is the closest anyone may come to to the famous trope. Their brown and blue gazes melting into one another. The warmth created each time their fingers touch. And finally, the way that their lips mold together perfectly like a new artistic muse for the poets to add to their sonnets.

Whatever it is, it's something that comes once in a lifetime.

And also makes headlines.

Squeals and gasps erupt from the balcony, and beneath their closed eyelids they can sense blinding flashes that beam like shooting stars. Startled, Sage pulls away breathlessly, clinging to Ptolemus as she whirls around. Several Capitol reporters and aristocrats have crowded along the balcony, even staggering down the marble stairs for a peek. Camera lenses continue to snap and flash in their faces. All to capture their moment and spread it like wildfire across the country. She spots Philo's purple figure standing next to the woman with the snake from earlier, sipping his champagne wide-eyed. He gives her an enthusiastic thumbs-up!

Ptolemus pulls Sage a little closer to him to hold her steady as her chest heaves. She looks back up at him with a wide gaze. Terror wrenches at her core. "Are we in trouble?"

"No, I don't think so." He rubs her back gently. "Quite the opposite, actually."

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

AHHH IT'S HERE!!! MY BABIES! I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to comment what you think, I love hearing from you :)

So here is Sage and Ptolemus and how they first met! What do you think? What do you think of Ptolemus? What do you think of Sage? I can't wait to continue writing for these characters. This first Act is going to follow how their love story begins and grows and the second Act will be Catching Fire.

I hope what I envisioned for Ptolemus to do came across how I wanted it to. I didn't want it to seem like what Katniss did with Peeta, where she went with the love story just to survive at first. While Ptolemus does seek out Sage in hopes of saving both of them prostitution, he also does this because he has genuine romantic interest about her.

Also, below you'll see an additional cast of who I imagine as some of the additional characters!

Thank you again :)

Danny Devito as Philo

Lady Gaga as Tatiana

Glen Powell as Augustus Braun

Word Count: 7110