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chapter thirty-five
WHAT AM I?

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tw: violence, character death
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The sight of her dead brother breathing right in front of her draws the air out of her lungs. Hundreds of feelings bombard her to the point she can't feel anything at all — masked by the chaos of their colors swirling together. Grief, sorrow, heartache, shock, relief, bewilderment, terror, joy, it all blends into gray. Can gray be a feeling? The edges of the colors bleeding through every now and then and nipping at her heart with their tell-tale bite?

Sage is floating in time and space where all the realities blur together. She doesn't dare breathe or blink, afraid that with one sound or move he'll be gone again like a mirage. All she wants to do is hug him.

Colt grins his goofy grin at her, and the vicious and unrelenting hand of a sob shoots up through her chest and seizes her heart. "Hey Sagey."

A whimper escapes her when she hears his voice. Even his voice sounds like him. Then there's the grin. The curls. The devious glint in his eye. It's him — he's here and he's right in front of her. Every ache that's plagued her heart these last five months threatens to heal, slowly ebbing themselves back together as she lunges at him with teary eyes and desperate arms.

"Colt."

When she expects to sink into his solid form, she doesn't, only latching onto air. Sage straightens in bewilderment, searching through the tears for her brother. The wounds throb again. He's taken three steps back from her. The grin has been wiped right off his face as a grimace contorts his features, and he reaches warily behind his head. Dark crimson shines in the moonlight on his fingertips when he holds them up for both of them to see.

All the relief in her sinks at the sight of her brother's blood. A sour taste plagues the inside of her mouth, and she starts to feel dizzy, knees growing weak. Not again.

Before she can succumb to it all, there's the loud Snap! of a twig to their left in the jungle, and they both whirl their heads to the source. The unmistakable white uniforms of Peacekeepers trudge through the green shadows. They move as reflections of a mirror, and Sage's stomach lurches when they whip out those shining batons with eerie unison.

She recognizes the calluses on Colt's hand as he latches onto hers, and he tugs her with him. "RUN!"

Sage does what he says without hesitation, breaking into a sprint alongside him with her hatchet in tow. She doesn't dare to let go of his hand. At first, he's guiding her, weaving between the trees and thick foliage. The roles swiftly change as Sage now pulls her brother with her, yanking him to safety and cutting down anything in her way.

She can't lose him again. She won't lose him again.

The ominous pounding of the Peacekeepers' boots thunders behind them without slowing. Flashes of white blur in the corner of Sage's eyes on either side of her and Colt, circling and corralling them like a pack of coyotes. The Peacekeepers begin to pinch and squeeze the siblings into a path they want them to take. Metallic glints of batons shine, and she shudders at the thought of them cracking against marrow.

With a jerk of her arm, she hurls one of her hatchets into a Peacekeeper. When he falls, another one merely takes his place. She latches onto her spare and hacks at a curtain of vines in her and Colt's way. They only take a few more strides before she feels her brother's grip on her wain, tugging her heart backwards in her chest with him.

Her pace barely slows as she turns to face him. "We have to keep going!"

Colt tries, slipping fingers straining to cling back to her. Another grimace takes form on his features, and his spare hand reaches back to touch the back of his bleeding skull. Crimson falls from his curls in a permanent crown. He shakes his head at his little sister with a grim and knowing look to his eye as he stumbles.

"I can't."

He lets go of her the same time a white shadow creeps up behind him, and Sage spins on her heels with a jolt. She shrieks as that metallic glint cracks down on his skull like lightning.

"COLT!"

Colt turns to ash at the impact, and she lurches forward to scoop him up. It's no use. He slips right through her fingers.

A scream pops at the back of her throat but was born somewhere deeper as it drives her to her knees. Her heart splits open the same manner it did in that kitchen condo, standing over his grave and on top of Hero racing across the pastures. Tears pool in her eyes when the wind screams "MIJO, MIJO!" over and over in her Mama's voice.

The blaring white uniform looms over her now, that baton still raised. Before she's swallowed whole by the grief again, her hatchet swings for Peacekeeper Garrison's heart with a vengeful grunt.

The hallucination evaporates the exact moment her blade connects to flesh and bone. A strangled scream and whimper vibrates through her victim, and Sage jolts back into her body when she sees it isn't Peacekeeper Garrison in front of her. Her spinning mind is brought to a jarring halt.

She wouldn't be able to recognize him beneath all the dark camofalage painted strategically across his features if it weren't for those sullen and sunken yellow eyes. They both stare at one another in wide-eyed bewilderment. But when she looks to her hatchet lodged into Carlisle from Six's stiff chest, the bewilderment washes into horror. Sage chokes at the same time that he whimpers.

"Oh my God."

Carlisle drops to his knees, and Sage's heart lurches to steady his crumpling frame. Each strangled breath he makes crackles as his wide eyes bore into her. There's another set of pounding footsteps breaking into the clearing, but she can't look to see who it is, not now. She has to help him.

But there's nothing she can do.

His wheezing is uneven as he barely clings to life, the dim lights in his eyes dimming even more. Carlisle's dirtied hands reach up to hold onto the hatchet in his heart instead, and the shame surges and drowns her, holding her head under. She wants to close her eyes, to turn away, but she can't. Merciless guilt won't let her, grabbing her head and prying her eyes open.

Look! Look at what you did!

The sound of him choking on his own blood stuns her out of her stupor. Her eyes fall to the hatchet in his chest again, this time looking for solutions. "No, no, no, no, hey."

His body is giving out, and with gravity and his waining strength, he starts to slip from her grasp. Her bottom lip quivers as the sobs burn in her chest. She tries to help him lay down on his back gingerly, trembling hands hovering over his wound with not a clue of what to do. He just watches her in a dying daze. The dim lights that live in his eyes start to flicker now, and she whimpers.

"No, Carlisle, Carlisle wait, it's o— , you're oka...."

The man blinks in recognition at his name as he peers up at her. He's watching her as he dies — as he dies because of her. Tears are streaming down her face now, and she's suddenly eighteen years old again. Looming over her ally from Six that she couldn't save, trying to reassure him he'd be alright. He isn't going to be alright.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sor—" She chokes on another sob and she shakes her head as her vision warps with glass. "I didn't mean to — I — Oh God I didn't mean to."

Her trembling hands don't know where to heal, where to hold, where to help, smoothing his hair one moment then looking to his wound in his chest, the hatchet still buried into bone. She didn't mean to. She swears to God she didn't mean to. She would never, she could never, he wasn't even doing anything, she wouldn't —

But she did. She killed him. Sage has killed him just like she killed Shep, just like she killed Mateo and Taura, just like she killed Axel and just like she'll kill Ptolemus when she fails.

Ptolemus watches Sage sadly as she hovers over the dying man from Six, sobbing apology after apology. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry she wails over and over. If she senses him sidling up beside her, she doesn't show any signs of it, entangled in paralyzing grief and guilt. The man chokes on his own blood, and she tries to wipe the splatters away from the corners of his mouth.

She holds him until he dies, cannon eventually splintering the dense jungle air. Even when Carlisle's life ends, her apologies don't, Sage still crying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," to the point the words run together. Ptolemus pulls her into him, and she doesn't resist, still whimpering the words into his chest. She cries so hard she's hiccuping on her own sobs.

Before the hovercraft comes, Ptolemus gently pries the hatchet out of the man's chest. He tucks it into his belt with the other one she threw as he chased after her through the jungle, grimacing at the blood. They need to get out of here. He doesn't bother to see if she can walk.

Scooping her up, Ptolemus carries Sage away from the body and in the direction of the beach. His knees still wobble, so he moves much slower than before. It's darker now, not only with the inky night above, but also because the glowing flowers have finally closed up. He frowns. Again, the Gamemakers continue to toy with them, torturing the Tributes in fragments.

After trekking through the remainder of the jungle for five minutes, he hears the soft crashing of waves. Sage is subdued now, just laying in his arms limply while her own remain wrapped around his neck. It's like she's been carved until she's hollow and empty. All in less than two hours, she's lost her District Partner and friend, nearly been murdered by her lover, hallucinated her dead brother, and killed a man she never wanted nor intended to kill.

Maybe she won't make it to Midnight.

Ptolemus emerges through the trees and out onto the damp sand to join three familiar shadows. The other Careers stiffen at their arrival, Cashmere ready to hurl a blade, but their rigid bodies slacken when they recognize their shadowed faces. Enobaria glares at both of them, rolling her eyes at Sage in particular.

Augustus cocks his head to the side coyly. "Take a detour?"

"She got infected." Ptolemus's grip tightens on Sage, and he adjusts her weight in his grasp. He juts his chin at the beach around them. "Are we making camp here or the Cornucopia?"

"Here is good enough," Cashmere says. Her voice is still ragged in her throat, and even in the shadows, you can make out the marks around her neck. "We need food. And we need to actually get a chance to eat it this time."

"Well I'm not going anywhere near that jungle unless for freshwater." Enobaria points with her spear to the ocean conjured by the Gamemakers. "I'll take my chances at some fish."

Cashmere raises her brows skeptically. "Do you know how to fish?"

Enobaria stalks toward the waves glittering silver beneath the moon. "You see it, you stab it. No different than anything else."

Good enough. Cashmere shrugs, seemingly satisfied with that answer. Her stare grazes across Sage and Ptolemus, but doesn't linger long as she pulls out the spile again. She nods toward the trees before diving back in. "I'm going to get some water." Her eyes shoot daggers in Augustus's direction. "My throat is on fire."

"Better than being dead," he quips smugly. Then he glances to Sage still in Ptolemus's arms. He notes the blood on her hatchet hanging from his belt. A dark smirk plasters his lips, the shadows painting it particularly eerie. "Who'd you kill, gorgeous?"

Sage doesn't even flinch as she just stares quietly and emptily at the bowing water. Ptolemus carefully carries her over to a set of rocks shining beneath the moon, and he lays her down softly in front of them. She straightens in a daze, drawing her knees to her chest. She still stares out at the water silently. He can see she's doing it again. Sinking into her mind, a place he always struggles to reach.

Augustus follows after them. He tries to poke and prod harder, and he clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Looks like you have the highest kill count of us all these Games. You might be more Career than you think."

Ptolemus whirls around and shoves him hard in the chest. "Shut your mouth, man."

The Victor from One staggers in the sand, and an arrogant and satisfied smirk splinters his lips. He rolls the shaft of his spear loosely in his palm as he shrugs. "I was just pointing it out. Sweetheart over there did say I need to speak more from fact than... what'd she call it? My fragile ego?"

"Sounds like talking out of your ass to me," Ptolemus snaps. He points his sword at Augustus warningly, then to their makeshift campsite past his shoulder. "Why don't you go stew in your own bullshit over there?"

His dark eyes flit down toward the silver blade looming near his bare chest. They reflect with amusement. "And what are you going to do if I don't, Tolly Boy? Make me?"

"Nah, I wouldn't waste the energy." He shakes his head, lips tugging downward into a false pout. "I'll just kill you."

Augustus barks out a chuckle that makes Sage flinch in her daze, sounding almost like a rabid dog. Malice drips from his grin as he stares back at Ptolemus. "I had you knocked out in ten seconds flat. To save you from killing your sweetheart, no less. You should be thanking me."

The Legacy doesn't flinch as he stares coolly and evenly back. "I doubt it was out of the kindness of your heart." Ptolemus pokes his blade right into the flesh of his chest covering his beating heart warningly. "And besides, I won't need ten seconds for you."

Augustus straightens at the challenge, readjusting his grip on his spear again. Before he can even twitch, Enobaria's voice cuts through the air. She glares over at them as she aims her spear for somewhere in the dark, velvety waves. "Would someone make themselves useful here?"

Ptolemus juts his chin in his District Partner's direction, still aiming the sword for his chest. "Sounds like that's your cue."

The Victor from One glares quietly. Then a corner of his lips tug upward as he peers past Ptolemus's shoulder. "And looks like that's yours."

He frowns, but doesn't move. Only warily glances behind him for a fleeting moment, still half-expecting Augustus to lunge forward with his spear. He doesn't, retreating toward the ocean where Enobaria waits. She shouts directions at him to aid in their attempt at fishing for their own meal. Behind him, Sage has stood from her perch, stalking quietly and calmly back to the jungle. Ptolemus straightens and follows after her hastily.

"Hey." He catches up with her easily. He searches for the veil in her eyes, or that hollow wear to her features. It doesn't seem to be there. Instead, it reminds him of determination as the two stalk ten feet into the jungle. "You alright? What're you going back in here for?"

Sage still won't look at him, dark eyes scanning their surroundings with purpose. She only answers once she finds what she's looking for. She reaches for it along the trees and some fallen logs. "I saw this moss in here. Could use it to bandage up our wounds." When she takes what she wants, she glances back up at Ptolemus, eyeing the slash on his bicep from Enobaria's sword. "How's your arm?"

Ptolemus would be lying if he said he weren't taken aback by her composure. While the skin around her eyes is puffy from tears and her voice is raspy from the screaming, she's eerily calm. He recognizes what she's doing. What they all have to do not to collapse into ruin. Bury it somewhere deep and build a wall in between.

"Just stings, but..." He watches her carefully as she inspects his wound.

"Hm." Sage gently grabs him by the hand, tugging him out of the jungle and toward the ocean again. "Let's rinse it off in the saltwater first. Then I can get a better look at it."

Ptolemus just nods and follows her warily. When he peeks back over to the campsite, Cashmere has returned, and Augustus and Enobaria are still fishing for their dinner. Sage instructs him to sit in the water, and he does, stabbing his sword into the sand. He washes the blood from her hatchet while she scoops water over his wound. It stings, and he inhales sharply. The moonlight provides some light as the crimson clears. Fortunately, the cut isn't deep.

He peeks over at her carefully as her stare bores into the wound meticulously. Cool, silver waves lap at their ankles. "What's the diagnosis, Doc?"

"Doesn't need stitches." She tears some fabric from the cuff of her sleeve with her knife carefully. Then she uses it to wrap a piece of moss around his bicep. "Let's keep it covered for now."

Ptolemus quirks an interested brow. "What does the moss do?"

"Soaks up any blood or pus." She ties his bandage neatly, a crease between her brows forming. He just watches quietly. "Can also keep bacteria from growing. They used to use it for bandages."

"Hm." He kisses her temple, a corner of his lips tugging upward. "Thank you."

Before either of them can say anymore, the soft tinkling of a parachute chimes with the soft crashing of waves. Both of them glance up to spy one slowly floating down to them. It's headed for Sage. She just stares at it, hands still clutching her knife and the moss, and Ptolemus gently reaches out to pass it to her.

She just shakes her head. "You open it."

Ptolemus stifles a frown, just nodding softly. "Alright."

He untangles the parachute from around the silver canister, and pops the lid open with a faint but satisfying Click. The ivory card shines beneath the moonlight. There's no message from Barrow, nor even his initial. Sage peeks over uneasily, swallowing the bile back down her throat.

— TEN

Beneath the card is something that makes their mouths water and their empty stomachs ache. Sage recognizes the bread with ease, known for its chewy texture and savory flavor with cheese and eggs inside. Ptolemus holds up the card lightly as he glances over to her stiff figure.

"Looks like it's a gift from your District."

She stifles a scowl. Why? She got Shep killed. They shouldn't be giving her anything. She just forces a tight and small smile that doesn't reach her grim eyes, nodding.

Ptolemus hands her the bread. Shortly after, Cashmere calls them over to inform them that they will finally dine today, Augustus and Enobaria spearing two silver fish and raking some oysters.

They all sit in a circle of sorts, half-heartedly watching for threats while feasting on their food. Ptolemus hates oysters, but at this point, he doesn't care, slicing shell after shell open with his knife. He passes one to Sage, then to himself, the pattern repeating over and over. She feels the others eyeing her bread, so after breaking two pieces for her and Ptolemus, she offers the others their share. Cashmere is the only one to say thank you, but Enobaria does grunt in her direction. They eat until their bellies are full.

Then Sage takes the time to inspect the other's wounds. She ties some moss around Enobaria's hand, but she just complains it'll get in her way when she needs to fight. She at least agrees to wear it until morning. Cashmere's throat is coated with bruises as well as her jaw from Augustus's fist, but she seems fairly alright for someone who drowned today. Exhausted like the rest of them, but alright given the circumstances.

Sage doesn't bother inspecting Augustus's wounds, only tossing him some moss to cover his lacerations should he wish. He wrinkles his nose and flings it away from him.

Enobaria and Augustus are just starting back to the water for more food when the chilling anthem vibrates through the Arena. Everyone grows still. It still sounds the same as it does in her memory. A sour taste coats the inside of Sage's mouth, and she squirms uncomfortably along the damp sand. She's going to be sick. Ptolemus instinctively drapes his arm around her, pulling her into his ribs.

The first face they show is the man from Five — Wattson. Shep's friend. Ptolemus remembers watching Finnick hurl his trident into the man's chest with wicked speed and aim, as if it were just an extension of his arm. With all the tolling events of the day, it's strange to think that happened only this morning.

Starting with Five answers his question. Finnick is still out there. His hallucination dances in his memory, warring with the man from Four in the jungle as he and his allies from Twelve sieged an attack. He remembers Finnick begging for mercy just as he was about to skewer him to a tree with his sword.

Ptolemus's heart sinks when he realizes who he likely was fighting the entire time. He tugs Sage closer to him, barely fighting off the voices who whisper what the alternatives might've been had Augustus not choked him out in time. Thinking about it makes him squirm.

She's alright. You didn't hurt her.

But you could've.

Before he can slip into terror and self-loathing, he feels Sage tense against him. She hikes in a breath at the image of Carlisle from Six painted across the sky. He rubs soothing patterns into her arm, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head again. Her fingers tremble, but her chest is so painfully still.

"It wasn't your fault," he murmurs. His voice is so quiet he isn't sure if she heard him.

Sage doesn't say anything back. Just exhales a rattling breath, falling into him quietly. He can feel from the way she's breathing that she's trying to hold back guilty sobs. The next are both of the Tributes from Eight — the grandfather and the mother. Enobaria doesn't even flinch at Cecelia's picture in the sky.

After is Zea and Bran. Ptolemus still remembers the violent twist of his neck, then the shudder and crack of his bones just beneath his fingertips. He'd never seen someone's body crumple so limply so fast. He takes no pride in it, but he isn't sorry. It was him or Sage, and he'll choose Sage every single time.

When they illuminate Shep's picture across the sky, she doesn't bother to hold back or conceal her tears. They flow freely down her face as she weeps and stares.

She can't believe it. She can't believe that Shep is just another picture in the sky. No longer a person she can reach out and touch, nor hear the roll of his rare chuckle or the knowing in his voice. When she clutches his token and runs her fingers across the fabric, desperately aching for a semblence of the man, she's only left painfully disappointed.

Nothing will ever bring her those feelings again — not even his memory. They've turned him into just another picture in the sky.

He was always so much more than that.

His picture is gone too fast, immediately replaced with Seeder from Eleven. Sage sobs softly into Ptolemus's chest, and he clutches her closely to him. Neither of the two from Twelve show. It barely reminds her that her efforts have been worth something so far.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow this nightmare will finally be over, and her and Tolly will be rescued. It won't all be for nothing.

Eventually, the anthem dies, and the pictures of the deceased fizzle out of the sky, replaced by the moon. No one says anything. Sage swears she spies Augustus smirking as he stalks back to the water with his spear in tow. As he does so, a parachute floats down to Cashmere.

Both Sage and Ptolemus are stunned to note some kind of pill accompanied by a card from her brother. Medicine is arguably the rarest gift to receive in the Arena. Probably one of the most expensive too — besides a weapon.

Cashmere looks to the sky gratefully before popping the pill down her throat. Whatever it is, it's likely to aid her body as it recovers from drowning earlier. Augustus scowls at yet another expensive gift from their Mentor bestowed to her rather than him. He spears a fish with lethal precision.

They're just getting ready to discuss sleeping arrangements and watch schedules when there's a low rumbling to their left, somewhere deep behind them.

It grows louder and louder to the point it's almost disorienting, and Ptolemus stands sharply, sword wielded. He tucks Sage behind him as they all peer in bewilderment through the night. Cashmere's ready to run. Their fatigue turns to dread at the thought of another horror. The Gamemakers really do want these unpopular Games over with.

He can't tell if it's vicious wind or something else, but he swears the tops of the trees a hundred yards in front of them bow and snap. They recognize the sound for what it is once they see the first rush of water shooting out of the jungle like an outstretched hand. The group staggers backward, and Enobaria and Augustus scramble out of the shoreline, a fish still skewered on one of their spears. The giant silver wave gleaming beneath the moon doesn't reach for them, only floating strangely between two land strips.

Once it crashes into the Cornucopia, a blade of white foam shoots up to the inky sky, then crumples into sparkling fragments. Waves ripple through the ocean, and Ptolemus pushes Sage toward the treeline. They watch stiffly and warily as the water sloshes at their feet, before retreating back down the sand.

Pounding silence. Sage can't stop staring at the two land strips that the wave first coasted through. While she may have grown up in the canyons, she knows that water doesn't behave that way. It should have casted its wings further, daring to swallow them whole where they stood only two sections over.

Then again, this is the Hunger Games. Nothing behaves the way it's supposed to.

"I'm going to bed," Cashmere huffs. She drops herself into the damp sand, knife still in her grasp. She tries to make herself comfortable as she grumbles under her breath. "This shit is insane."

Enobaria stifles an eyeroll. Then her gaze sweeps across the rest of them as the blonde rolls over. "Alright then. Who's got first watch?"

"I do," Ptolemus volunteers quickly. He has no intentions of sleeping at all really, not with Sage to protect. He doesn't trust the others — Augustus in particular — to leave her be while they both attempt slumber.

She has other plans, shaking her head at him. "No, you need to rest. Your brain is still recovering from the lack of blood flow." He parts his lips to argue, but it's no use as she eyes the rest of their allies. "I can take first watch."

A soft hum vibrates in Augustus's throat with mild amusement. Sage ignores him.

"I don't care who it is, but we'll need two awake," Enobaria demands. "One to watch the jungle, one to watch the water."

"I've got it." Shadows curl at Augustus's lips in an eerie smirk. "Let you ladies rest, hm?" His stare hangs on a glowering Ptolemus pointedly.

Sage startles The Legacy when she agrees to the terms. "Fine. We'll wake two of you when it's time to switch."

Cashmere only snores softly in response. Enobaria doesn't seem to object, digging herself a hole into the sand to curve her aching spine into. Augustus takes a place a few feet in front, and he heaves himself onto the damp ground. He stabs at it with his spear boredly as he chooses to peer back at the dark jungle looming behind them. With Sage and Ptolemus right in his line of sight. His eyes reflect the darkness in front of him as he watches them return to the shining rocks from earlier.

Sage lowers herself in front of one with her hatchets in tow, machete still in her hilt as well as her knife. She tugs a begrudging Ptolemus down with her by the hand. He shakes his head at her.

"Sage, I'm fine," he argues. He sits beside her, hip to hip, still gripping his sword. His eyes are combing the treelines around them for threats, but he knows the closest one is only fifteen feet away. "Let me take first watch. You need to rest."

"No." She doesn't budge, barely glancing over at him as she watches the ocean again. "Besides, it's only for a little bit."

Ptolemus huffs at her stubbornness. He can feel the weight of Augustus's eyes watching them while the other Careers give into their exhaustion. "I'm not going to sleep."

She turns toward him sharply, her tone even sharper. "You are, Ptolemus. You need it."

While her voice is unyielding, her hands are gentle as she runs her fingers through his cropped hair at the nape of his neck. He just stares at her evenly, lips in a tight line. She notes his gold chain peeking out from the back of his wetsuit.

Her tone softens as she studies him warily. "How's your head?"

Hurts. While the food in his stomach has helped with the throbbing, there's still an ache across his skull. He just glares at the sand beneath them with a scowl.

"Fine."

Sage snorts at him. In this moment, he reminds her of a child, particularly her niece when she refuses her bedtime. She clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth knowingly. "Liar."

It's difficult to see in the moonlight, but she's sure the tips of his ears are twinging pink at being caught. She scratches her fingertips gently along the back of his neck and head in a mindless pattern, and Ptolemus shivers at the soothing sensation. It could put him to sleep.

"You can't protect me if you're sleep-deprived and dizzy. Rest and then we'll switch."

He hates that she's right. He hates that while his instincts are at high alert, the rest of him is completely and utterly exhausted, his body betraying him. And he hates that she's doing that thing with his hair that she knows can knock him out like a baby. He peeks over at her, blinking away the fatigue for a moment longer.

"Just for a little bit. Alright?"

Sage nods. He leans down to kiss her lightly on the lips. "Goodnight," she murmurs.

His blue eyes bore into her brown ones desperately. "Promise to wake me if he tries anything?" She knows who he means without even saying his name. "I mean anything."

"I promise."

He knows she means it, but it does little to settle his nerves. He kisses her again, tasting the seasalt on her lips. Another kiss to her cheek as he tucks her dark hair behind her ear. "Goodnight."

She nods again, patting her thigh lightly and encouragingly. Ptolemus sighs as he slowly drops his aching skull into her lap. She keeps playing with his hair, and his knuckles remain wrapped around his sword readily. Even just closing his eyes offers some relief to his ache. While a part of him tries to stay awake, bones and muscles rigid, the exhaustion is much stronger.

Sage watches his features soften after a few more minutes the way it always does when he's sleeping. Augustus smirks tauntingly at the sight of the two — particularly Ptolemus, but she just ignores him, maintaining her meticulous stare across the beach.

She looks to the night sky above them, Shep's picture stained into her memory even when it's gone. A silent tear rolls down her face, and she wipes it away quickly with the back of her hand. She's honestly shocked District Ten was willing to give her anything at all after she let him die.

Her restless mind returns to the unanswered question, the weight of Ptolemus sleeping along her lap reminding her of the weight of every choice she makes. She's his only hope to get out of here whether he knows it or not. She doubts that Finnick and his friends will come looking for them if they aren't in attendance tomorrow at Midnight — as if rounding them up for a field trip. If they want to get onto a hovercraft out of this Arena, it's up to them.

It's up to her.

So how will she know it's Midnight? A parachute? That seems way too risky. While darkness envelopes them, there's no hints or cues to tell her what time it is up in the sky. Her eyes fall to the Arena instead.

It's unique, of course. She wouldn't expect anything less for a Quarter Quell. It resembles a wheel, spokes of land jutting out from the Cornucopia and toward the beach. She can't see all of the sections from here, but when she notes two pedestals per slice, she counts that there must be twelve. Twelve sections for twelve Districts.

Sage can sense there's more to it, her intuition poking and prodding her to dig further. But there's so many webs tangled up in her mind she just feels herself getting caught. She stumbles through it for at least another hour.

Ptolemus stirs in her lap, eyelashes fluttering. Her thumb rubs soothing circles into his cheekbone as she cradles his face. His life is truly in her hands. She feels more helpless than she should. Frustration and terror builds into something bitter but fatigued, and she clenches her jaw, stifling tears. With each ticking moment of the night, the rattling of her nerves amplify, waiting to explode.

Why couldn't they give her more? Just something with a little more direction? Something to ensure that she will get them both out? Telling someone Midnight on the second day with no place in mind nor a way to tell time is vague and simply cruel.

Maybe they just don't care if they make it out. Simply needed to offer something in response to such a looming request to sweeten a daring deal.

Her mind keeps showing her the eerie manner of the wave. With all its force and power to bring down an entire jungle — it refused to burst out of its sector until it crashed into the Cornucopia.

When a cannon shatters the silent air, everyone jumps, Ptolemus and the others snapping out of their light sleep. His hand instantly finds hers, desperately searching for her in the dark. His breathing is still ragged even when he feels her there and beneath him.

Before anyone can investigate a threat or source, another cannon echoes, and Sage's blood runs cold. Then another right on its heels. Three dead consecutively? Ptolemus straightens completely out of her lap with his sword ready, still blinking away sands of slumber. An even more petrifying thought rattles through Sage.

It's not the kids from Twelve, is it?

It's when there's a fourth cannon that she notes its distinct tune. In fact, it isn't a cannon at all. Almost like a gong, reminding her of the chime her creepy Grandfather clock would sing before she ripped it out of the wall in her Victor's Mansion. Sage stiffly counts the times it chimes while everyone squints through the dark warily.

Augustus speaks everyone's minds with a simple and irritated, "What the fuck?"

Suddenly, there's a strange humming and whirring in the distance. Dark clouds brew above four sectors to their left, and there's a blinding flash. Jagged and violent lightning strikes down onto a large and ominious tree over and over. It never catches fire. It's when she watches it zip across the sky — again, only in its sector — that Sage straightens with dumb realization. Ptolemus clutches her hand as he peers at her with bleary eyes.

The quicksand suddenly stopping despite having them in its clutches. The Jaguar Mutts growing bored at that ledge when they could've easily torn Ptolemus and her apart. Another horror chasing right after them as they traveled east, those flowers blooming then closing even with the moon still boring down onto them. They could never catch a breath — it was like clockwork.

Because they were traveling clockwise.

She counts the sections again. Twelve. Twelve like the gongs that ring in this Arena and ring from a Grandfather clock at Midnight. The lightning four sectors over cracking at Midnight.

Her heart threatens to burst out of her chest when she remembers Prospero's riddle before he revealed Plutarch Heavensbee's latest accessory at Adonis's party. A riddle that simply wasn't just a riddle.

"I have numbers on my face, but can't find thirteen any place. What am I?"

Chills run down her spine, the answers electrifying her entire being.

"A clock."

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

Ahh thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!!! Please feel free to comment, I love hearing from you :)

Big chapter!! Sage figured out the arena!!! Our poor girly has been through a lot so far and is under so much stress :(

Also, I gave the two from Six names because I thought it was so dehumanizing that they were only referred to as the Morphlings by others — which also was a point Suzanne was trying to make that people struggling with addiction tend to be dehumanized and yeah but in this house their names are Carlisle and Helena!!! Sage killing Carlisle was an accident of him being in that sector at the wrong time as she was hallucinating, and his death was particularly impactful because her ally was from her first Games was from Six.

On a bit of a lighter note, let's talk about Ptolemus acting like a little kid when it's his bedtime lol. He is the shameless epitome of that Tik tok sound/trend where people show their big bad boyfriend cuddling up to them: I want mommy, I want to be held, I want to be comforted! We love our loud and proud lover boy 🥰

But please feel free to let me know what you think!! Thoughts? Favorite parts? Worries and concerns or predictions? I love hearing from you and interacting with you!!!

I'm sorry to all my characters that I have maimed and traumatized

Word Count: 6537