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chapter twenty-one
A SPARK

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The second step of the Navarro family porch creaks once, and Sage lazily turns her head to spy the culprit from her rocking chair. Her mother's weaving sits on her lap as she tries to mimic her quick and delicate fingers to replicate one of her baskets. She can tie stitches and knots with meticulous precision, yet her basket weaving tends to resemble a tumbleweed more than anything else. Inside, everyone else is long asleep, nestled safely in their beds. She swears she can hear her father's snores from out here. 

A lantern's orange glow illuminates her brother's face, his hat casting blue shadows.

Shiloh ducks his head and tips his hat at his sister, dodging the mosquitos that swarm the light as he reaches for the screen door. "G'night."

She quirks a brow at her older brother. "Don't wanna check out the stars with me? I thought you said you could see Mars tonight."

He pauses, glancing back out to the inky night. The full moon shrouds the pastures in silver, all the cows and animals tucked in until dawn. Shiloh turns back to her and shakes his head. "Nah, that's tomorrow."

"Hm." Sage notes the orange speck in the sky, and pats the other rocking chair lightly beside her. "Well before you run off and hit the hay, can you help me with this?" Her lips tug upward warmly. "You were always better at this than me."

Shiloh stands stiffly along the porch, knuckles hanging limply at his sides as he just stares blankly. She can see he doesn't want to. But she just holds his gaze before glancing back down to the empty chair encouragingly. He's been stand-offish more than usual lately, so much so even Zo and Erabelle have mentioned it. She even caught him finishing off extra chores. Chores that are meant to be Colt's.

Her brother sighs, footsteps lumbering hesitantly as he drops to the seat beside her. He takes the basket weaving from her lap, callused and dirtied fingers picking and pulling wherever he sees fit. He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and shakes his head.

"What'd you do to it? Barbed wire is easier to untangle than this."

An amused chuckle vibrates in her throat, and she reaches up to the homemade wind chimes of bones, glass and horseshoes dangling above her head, them tinkling softly beneath her touch. Shiloh mangles with her knots, tugging and yanking as needed. Her stare drifts off the horizon, waiting for his figure to come through the trees down the beaten path.

"Speaking of runaways," she starts, voice low and careful. "Colt's out late tonight."

Shiloh's finger slips on a knot. He doesn't look up at her though, resuming his work, lips forming a tight line. She quirks a brow at her brother and waits. "Shiloh?"

"Hm?" he grunts, pretending to be too consumed by the basket. The tinkling of the wind chime starts to die, and she strums them again to cover up the sounds of their voices.

"He's out late again. Did he tell you were he went?"

She knows he hates this question, his interrogators ranging from their mother, father, Zo and herself. He tensely shrugs in annoyance as he shakes his head. "I don't know. He said he was hanging out with those guys from the Dairy. Like always."

The bones clink and clatter against the iron horseshoes above their heads. Sage feels her stomach knot at Shiloh's response. It's the same every time, and every time, that unease creeps up on her. A shrug as she picks at her pants. "What do they do that they spend all this time together?"

"I don't know, Sage." Shiloh huffs as he leans back from the weaving, meeting his sister's curious gaze now. She can see the nervous tick in his. "Why's everyone always asking me, anyway? Ask him yourself."

"I would if he was here," she quips back. Her brows raise pointedly. "And we ask you because you're the only one he tells when he's leaving anymore."

Shiloh doesn't say anything, just stares past his sister into the night. He's always so suspicious of others, so nosy and curious. It's out of character that he doesn't ask his brother more questions. Sage can see the stress in the crease of his brows and the nervous tick of his fingers.

Like he's carrying secrets that are too heavy to hold.

"You really haven't asked him?"

"No, Sage," he shoots defensively. He rubs the heels of his palms into his exhausted eyes, then scratches at the stubble along his chin, looking even more tired and older than he really is. There's only a three year difference between them, but you would think it's twenty in this light. He shakes his head. "I don't ask because I don't want to know."

The soft clopping of hooves against the dirt fills the air, and a familiar shadow comes trotting over the hill. Both Sage and Shiloh watch silently as Colt emerges like a shadow through the night, nodding in their direction before escorting Hero to the barn. Her brother beside her stands with an exhausted sigh, rubbing his dirty palms along his jeans.

"Speak of the devil. Looks like you can ask him yourself." Shiloh must hear how cold he sounds, because he sighs, lips forming a tight line. He leans down to place a chaste kiss on the top of his baby sister's head. "If I don't see you before you head out tomorrow—"

"Deep as the canyons," she finishes for him, nodding knowingly.

Shiloh reaches for the screen door in relief. "Tall as the sky."

The door shuts softly behind him, and she turns to note Colt's silhouette stalking out of the barn. He raises his hands in the air, slapping them back down as a dumb smile spreads across his lips. The second step creaks again beneath his weight. "You waiting up for me like Ma now? Don't you have an early morning back to Fairfort?"

She rests her fingers along her temple, nodding. "I do."

Colt blinks at her. Then he glances down to her sorry excuse of a basket, snickering. "Shiloh clean up your mess?"

Sage stretches her arms with a yawn, leaning back and brushing against the chimes again. They tinkle and clamor. "Yep. And how about you? Same thing?"

Colt cocks his head to the side at that, a devious glint sparking in his eyes. Where he sees his sister is completely serious, he isn't— chuckling lightly in response. He runs his tongue along his teeth and shrugs. "I just ask him to let Ma and Pa know I'm with the boys, that's all. Quit your worrying."

"Quit making us worry," Sage quips. "You've got chores in the morning, you shouldn't be running around late at night with these friends of yours."

His eyes narrow as he points a dirty finger between the two of them. "Which one of us is older, again?"

"Colt."

"What?" He shrugs defensively, palms raised in innocent question again. "I was just with the guys, I don't know what you want me to say."

"Is that all? Because you've got Shiloh all wound up."

"He's always wound up. Dude's afraid of his own shadow."

She frowns. "He's worried about you. We're all worried about you."

Another huff. "There's nothing to worry about, alright? Can't a guy get a drink with his friends?"

"You're lucky the Peacekeepers out here don't enforce the curfew. In towns like Mabel, The Horn, Fairfort, you'd be whipped."

"No, but they do whip you for spilling a bucket of cream," he reminds sharply. A low whistle, and he clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, shaking his head. "Happened to Rumen and happened to Hutch's cousin last month. It's barely better out here."

Silence, just the wind chimes jingling softly in the air. The two siblings stare at one another, one trying to stow something away, the other digging right after him to find it. She can see that spark burning in him. It's always been there, but once she came home from her Games, she realized she wasn't the only one in her family who changed. They've all changed in some ways, some subtler than others.

Not to mention these last Games...

Sage would be lying if those two kids from Twelve didn't stir something inside her. She remembers crying when she watched Katniss decorate that little girl from Eleven with flowers, singing that painfully beautiful song. It was so beautiful and angelic, she almost didn't understand why it reminded her of Mateo when Taura died, so wrathful and violent in contrast. It was because of the place of where their actions came. Both born from a similar womb, yet manifesting and exhibiting their spirits in different ways.

Her Tributes were dead by the finale. She could've left the Viewing Room if she wanted. But she just couldn't, the pasture's widening again and her soul realizing there might be more room to run.

Watching them take out those berries, fully prepared to die on their own terms after the prize of their lives was dangled right in front of them. Like an earthquake, the waves of their actions have rippled out of that Arena and shook up something in the Districts.

Something that makes everyone feel a little more powerful than they ever did before.

She remembers that fleeting moment on Ten's Justice Building Stage as Katniss and Peeta turned back to the curtains after their speeches for the glaring crowd. Katniss had looked right into her eyes, and Sage had looked right into hers. It made her want to lead the crowd into a song of their own, echoing like her mockingjays— we're with you, we're with you, we're with you!

But she didn't because she knows she can't. Not with her family to protect. Snow's threat from two summers ago still haunts her.

"Speaking of The Horn," Colt inhales, glancing over to the wind chimes again. Sage takes the cue as she leans back to stretch once more, disturbing them into another song.

"Rumor has it they can't get their beef shipments out." A wry smile. Sage remembers The Horn as where Mateo grew up, it known for its gorish slaughterhouses and brutal Peacekeepers. "First that Avian flu in the Poultry Sector, now they're saying they have to quarantine up there because of a Mad Cow Disease outbreak."

Sage's heart accelerates with a mixture of excitement and fear. Excitement because she hears the riddles in his words. She knows what they mean. Those waves stirred by Katniss and Peeta have rolled into District Ten, and the people are embracing them openly. But then there's the fear, because she can see that spark in her brother's eyes, him being one of those people.

She doesn't want him to get hurt. Any of them. She won't survive if any of them get hurt.

"Let's hope it doesn't spread down here then," she murmurs carefully, holding his stare. Almost begging.

Colt blinks at her, lips forming a tight line before he gives a pitying and knowing look. Another one of his wry smiles, and he squeezes his sister's shoulder. He gives her a kiss on the top of her head.

"No te preocupes, hermanita." Then he ruffles her hair playfully, strands falling into her eyes as she tries to swat his hand away. Colt snickers before poking at the chimes one more time.

"You're going to those kids' party tomorrow right? Think you can get me an autograph?"

Sage feels her stomach drop like lead, and she just clicks her tongue, shaking her head dismissively. "Go to bed, Colt."

He grins proudly. "Dulces sueños."

━━━━

"It's marvelous! Isn't it?" Tatiana cries, clapping her manicured hands together to gather everyone's attention. The entire Prep Team stops what they're doing, and Philo leaps down from his stool to inspect. They all awe and marvel at the creation her Stylist has conjured up the evening.

Sage just notices how itchy it is.

"Oh, stunning, Tatiana! Just stunning!" Zelia gushes, starstruck. She grazes her fingers along the ivory and gold feathers that swirl up from her hips all the way to her right shoulder. The rest of the gown is a glittery sheer with a nude underlay, creating the illusion that she's naked and decorated in swan feathers. There's another one wrapped around her neck as a restrictive necklace, almost choking her.

She feels more like a chicken.

"This'll show them that Cinna isn't the only one who can think outside the box," Orion chirps, standing taller and prouder.

Right. The man who set two kids on fire, adding a spark to the end of the lineup during last year's ceremonies. It seems that spark has wandered. She remembers the way it shone in one of her brother's eyes, while another brother's remains darkened with worry by its shadow. She feels herself caught between both. Desiring so desperately to reach for that flame too.

She can't. They can't.

Sage tries to fan herself or something, wanting to tug the gown off as it tickles her skin. Philo slaps her hand down, wiggling his brows at her in reminder, and she huffs.

"Well what do you think Sage?" Tatiana prods, still gleaming with accomplishment.

She struggles to wrap herself up neatly like a present with a pretty bow. "I feel like I'm molting."

To her surprise, they all erupt into sing-song giggles, Orion even snorting and blushing fuschia. He pats her shoulder warmly, careful not to ruffle any feathers. "And you molt beautifully, dear."

With that, they add their finishing touches, ensuring Sage's sleek and low ponytail has not a hair out of place and adjusting the mauve lining around her lips. Zelia adds a light dusting of glitter to her cheeks and collarbone. Once she's presentable enough in their eyes, Philo escorts her down to the condominiums' lobby, where Ptolemus and Deverra are already waiting. He turns at the sound of her heels clicking.

"You're late," Deverra reminds pointedly, shooting daggers in Philo's direction. She spins to walk, not even waiting as his short legs struggle to keep up.

The Escort of Ten merely shrugs, raising a finger. "Fashionably late! As they say."

"Which is just late. As I say."

Sage gratefully takes the arm Ptolemus offers her. While she's dressed in plumes of feathers, he's got his usual black suit, gold lines patterned across the jacket like olive branches, the same one's they crowned on the old emperorers and warriors. The sight of him grounds her from her hectic mind still lingering along her family's porch with her brothers.

He kisses her cheek sweetly as they follow their bickering Escorts through the doors and toward the awaiting limo.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too." She squeezes his arm, a soft hum vibrating in her throat. That feather necklace digs into her windpipe with each breath. "Is your condo missing its pillows?"

Ptolemus frowns at her question. He shakes his head, puzzled as he releases her to hold the limo door. He offers his hand to steady her while she tries to heave all of her skirt into the car. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Well you might want to check. I think Tatiana raided everyone's goose-feather pillows to make this dress."

He chuckles, following in after her carefully. The two intertwine fingers, hip to hip before he shuts the door behind them. Philo and Deverra hardly pay them any mind, still bickering back and forth about everything trivial. The ride to the President's Mansion goes far too quick for both of their taste.

"Maybe you two should kiss on the dance floor. Ooh! Or right at the fireworks!" Philo suggests, sipping from another glass of champagne. "Won't that be magical? I can see the pictures now." His eyes twinkle as he stares at the ceiling, caught in his fantasies.

"Enchanting," Ptolemus grins wryly.

Deverra glances up from her tablet to shoot him a pointed look. He just shrugs, squeezing Sage's knee comfortingly. He recognizes that foreign look in her eye, clouding over like a veil. She tries to pull the feathers even just a centimeter away from her skin for some relief. "But it's their party. Maybe we'll finally get some peace while the paparrazi chases someone else for a change."

The two Escorts look like they might argue with him against that, but are interrupted by the car's tires slowly rolling to a stop. Through the windows, Sage and Ptolemus can see the glowing lights of the Presidential Palace waiting, various party guests already cluttering the courtyards. He opens the door and heaves himself out before turning back for her. She takes his hand gratefully as he pulls her out into the cool evening air.

"Did the guests of honor already have their grand entrance?" Sage asks, peering over at the lively party. Flames spark and flicker in the night while the tune of an orchestra can be heard.

"Yes, because we're late," Deverra huffs shortly.

Philo doesn't lift his foot up enough as he climbs out of the car, almost tripping head first into the gravel. "Fashionably late!"

His toupee falls in front of his eyes, and he scrambles to steady himself. Sage grabs onto his arm, and he straightens. Deverra just rolls her eyes, taking those long and elegant strides again. Ptolemus and Sage exchange glances before following after her into the party. Philo grumbles under his breath, speeding past them and raising his chin high in the air, chasing after Deverra to see which Escort might cross the finish line first.

Ptolemus leans down toward Sage carefully. "You alright?"

A shrug. "This dress is itchy." There's an outcry of cheers echoing from the Mansion. Her eyes drift to the dancing lights. "And you know me, these parties aren't my thing."

Not necessarily a lie.

He doesn't dig any further as he carefully leads them up the steps. She scoops up her skirt with each stride, cautious not to trip. With two years of practice, Sage has gotten much better at walking in her heels. Ptolemus leans down once more, knowing just what might cheer her up. "Ice cream sundaes when we get back to the condo?"

A quirk of her lips. "Definitely."

Despite a new couple stealing the limelight these past few months, there is some recognition in Sage and Ptolemus's direction as they enter the party. The reporters have been chased off after Peeta and Katniss's entrance, fortunately allowing the two to arrive with no pictures taken, a rare event. Philo pouts in the corner with his champagne, his plots to ensure his Victor is back on front page clearly foiled.

Events in The Capitol are always the same. The two dance, dine, make shallow conversation with whoever wishes to speak with them, then when the clock finally winds down, they're finally permitted to leave and retire their masks until the next time. They're quite routine, almost boring. Except tonight, Sage can't help but feel that electrical buzz humming beneath her flesh and the ground beneath her. Others feel it too, it's clear with their giddy excitement and manical smiles. But what she feels and what The Capitol feels isn't to be confused as the same.

Some of the guests are decorated in various mockingjay attire, the bird claiming handkerchiefs, belts, broaches and more. Those interesting birds native to the east. They're scarce in Ten, rare like a four-leaf clover, only the lucky ones fortunate enough to hear them.

However, as of late, their song seems to drift with the wind, chorusing in the Poultry and Beef Sectors first.

She stays by Ptolemus's side while he entertains a disappointed Sponsor, his bets placed on the boy and girl from Two— Cato and Clove. He bids her a pity recognition, insisting he was considering Ten had it not been for Warren's bad foot and Graze's age.

Sage gives him a flat smile as her eyes wander, searching through the sea of Capitol aristocrats to find them. She could've sworn she heard Effie Trinket's squeaking giggle somewhere. When she notes a head of blond hair gleaming beneath the lights, her heart picks up, then falls back into disappointment as Augustus smirks arrogantly at her, offering another sickeningly charming wave by the fountain. Sage just glares.

Feathers catch the corner of her eye, shining a contrasting obsidian compared to her ivory as they navigate the tables adorned with delicious delicacies. The blond boy linked arm in arm with her is even further confirmation it's them. Sage starts to pull in that direction mindlessly, and Ptolemus feels the tug on his arm, glancing down to her and stopping mid-sentence. The Sponsor tries to wait politely, masking his annoyance as he's become just another ghost to ignore.

Ptolemus follows her gaze, quirking a brow at the table of food. "You wanna grab a plate?" he asks.

Sage nods soundlessly, stare still lingering along the two Victors from Twelve. Her silence feels strange to him, but he doesn't press it, half-mindedly excusing them from the scowling Sponsor as they make their way to the tables.

They're two people over from them, a couple with matching blue wigs feeding each other strawberries in between. While Ptolemus's eyes are trailing the cranberry sauce drizzled over a stuffed quail, hers keep sneaking glances at Katniss and Peeta. Her dress itches, but it's not nearly as tantalizing as the chance to speak to either one of them.

She has no idea what she'd even say. When she overhears one of Katniss's Prep Team members complaining about the storms in Four, causing shortages in shrimp and other shellfish, she thinks about butting in and mentioning the "diseases" plaguing the animals of her District. While something warms brews beneath her heart at the idea, a pang knocks right between the walls of her skull, the image of Colt hanged in the Square sending her reeling away.

Does she know? Does she know what her actions have ignited? She has to, she's visited all the Districts by now, surely Ten isn't the only one itching to fight.

Sage and her brothers aren't the only ones itching to fight.

The blue-haired couple strut off for a dance, giggling and guzzling champagne. There's an opening between her and Katniss, and Sage's instincts take it, that spirit of hers pushing the boundaries to where she can run. She combs the soup bowls in front of her with fake interest. Katniss eyes it all hungrily, unsure of which to devour first.

"I recommend the pumpkin," Sage pipes up pleasantly.

Katniss almost jumps at her voice, gray eyes glaring and suspicious as she peers over. Peeta maintains a warm demeanor, surprised as well but masking it much better when he offers a close-lipped smile in response. Katniss eventually follows suit, cloaking her irritation from being spooked with a cool blink. Her PR training shows when she straightens and nods, looking back down to the soups. She side-glances Sage as she hesitantly grabs a bowl of the pumpkin for a taste.

Sage prods a little more, warm gaze flickering between the two Victors. She glances down to her own feathery gown. "My Stylist is going to be so disappointed when she finds out Cinna's got her beat again."

It's like Katniss doesn't hear her, her focus entirely on that stupid pumpkin soup, scraping spoonfuls as she devours it hungrily. Peeta at least attempts to humor Sage.

"After this year I guess he's the one everyone wants to beat," he says, raising his brows.

"Suppose so."

Katniss side-glances Sage, a crease forming between her brows. Her entire body is taut like wire even though she tries to relax her shoulders and compose her features into something pleasant. She's on edge, that much is clear. That's how Sage knows she knows. Or at least, she knows something.

She decides to leave it at that, reaching back for Ptolemus's arm, and he glances down to her warmly and briefly before continuing to stack his plate with her favorites. When they note him looming nearby, recognition flickers in their eyes, and she sees the puzzle pieces joining together. Finally, Katniss actually looks at her as she bids them farewell.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," she nods, ignoring the girl's blaring stare. It blends with the one on the Reaping Stage. She gives one of her warm smiles. "Enjoy your evening."

Peeta nods. "Thank you."

"You were right," Katniss adds suddenly. Sage tries to mask her surprise at the sound of her voice. "About the soup."

She doesn't say anything more, just gives another smile before turning back to Ptolemus. He acts as if he wasn't eavesdropping the entire time as he offers her one of those lobster dumplings she always likes, the selection scarcer than usual. She takes it gratefully.

"How are your feet?" Ptolemus asks.

They find a place along the outskirts of the dance floor, watching various couples twirl around, some drunker than others, it obvious with their sloppy movements. Sage frowns, plucking another lobster dumpling from their plate.

"Raw." She glances up at him, noting a drop of cranberry sauce along the corner of his mouth. She wipes it away with her thumb mindlessly, and he stifles a chuckle, ears twinging pink. "I don't think I can manage another dance."

"Thats alright. I wouldn't be able to either." He takes a bite of the quail. "Soon as we finish this plate, we're outta here. I'll make sure Dev calls the car."

Sage leans into him gratefully, both of them silently gnawing on their food as they watch the dancers. There's that gleam of feathers and shine of ashen hair again, and she spots Katniss and Peeta twirling to the music.

They appear in close conversation, features light but eyes grim and serious as they scan their surroundings. She's just noticing the three fingernails Peeta has painted, highlighting that salute Katniss gave in the Arena, when another man interjects for a dance. Sage can't help but pity her— she knows exactly what that's like.

"Hear that's the new Head Gamemaker," Ptolemus pipes up, following her stare.

He offers her the last lobster dumpling, but she's lost her appetite, only shaking her head at him. She stares harder at the man he just pointed out as he dances with Katniss. Ptolemus watches her carefully as he tries to mask his worry with curiosity.

"Wonder what he's got planned for the Quell," she murmurs, anxious fingers plucking and tugging on the feathers of her dress. Ptolemus intertwines her fingers with his to steady her, and to keep her from earning a scolding from Tatiana.

"I can ask to Mentor this year," he offers gently. Unlike the year before, he was unable to attend these past Games and be at her side, it being Brutus and Lyme's turn again. Now for the Quell, it's Petra and Nero's turn. "Could spin it as a mother-son bonding."

Sage shakes her head, squeezing his hand gratefully. "No, it's okay." A brave nod as her voice trails with her empty stare. "I'll be okay. Can we just..."

Ptolemus nods knowingly at her tone, setting aside their half-eaten plate, before turning to lead them to the exit. "I'll tell Dev to get the car."

━━━━

"I think they might be more popular than us."

Sage strains to unclasp the rotten necklace that's been choking and tickling her all night, the final remnants of her feathery outfit. Her sweaty thumb slips again, and she stifles a huff.

Ptolemus enters the condo's bedroom, sleeves rolled up to his elbows after washing the dishes from their ice cream treat. When he doesn't get a response back from Sage, he glances over to her, noting her struggle. She kicked off her heels before they even reached the elevator, and now has shrugged off the dress in the bedroom doorway, one of his t-shirts cloaking her frame instead. He almost trips on the feathers.

"Here."

He comes up behind her, and her fatigued arms drop to her side in a huff. Smoothly, he unclasps the necklace, pulling it away from her neck and tossing it to the dresser. He grimaces at the mark it's left on her skin. It feels more relieving than she thought it would, and she peers at him through the mirror tiredly.

"Thank you."

His hands slink around her waist, pulling her closer to his chest. When he looks at her through the reflection, there's that cloudy veil over her eyes again, and he swears he can hear the gears in her brain ticking relentlessly. She wraps her hands around his as he presses a kiss to the crook of her neck, leaning into him wearily.

"I was just kidding about them being more popular than us, you know," he tries lightly, another kiss against her temple.

Sage shivers. "I know." A corner of her lips quirk upward. "I just..."

She doesn't know if she was ever going to finish that sentence. How could she even put it into words? How powerless and terrified she feels, wanting to protect her family but fight for what's right all at the same time.

Fighting for what's right has a hefty cost.

She knows what Colt is doing. Her intuition is screaming it, and she's trying so hard to ignore it because she just can't stand for it to be right. If her intuition is right, which it always is, that means protecting those she loves requires more than her to stand in line. And taming her brothers, especially him, is nearly impossible.

Colt is doing everything she wishes she could.

Stupid. So recklessly brave and stupid of him.

Then Shiloh— Oh God, Shiloh. How badly has he been roped into this? Has Colt at least been sensible enough to keep his secrets from him too? He looks too exhausted not to kno—

"Is it Warren and Graze?"

Ptolemus watches her fall deeper and deeper into somewhere else, and he remembers her conversation with the latest Victors— Katniss and Peeta— beside the buffet. Two more Victors that aren't her Tributes.

It's when he says her Tributes' names that she realizes tears are pricking her eyes. She looks to her reflection to see if it's obvious, and sure enough, it is, Ptolemus's features etched into concern as he watches her carefully. While the thought of them and their deaths draws an ache back into her heart— Graze bludgeoned in the bloodbath by Marvel and Warren failing to outrun the remaining Careers with his foot— that isn't why she's so disheveled.

But she'll pretend it is, for now.

She nods, then glances to the bed. "Can we go to sleep?"

"Mhm." Ptolemus releases her, and she shifts past him toward her side of the mattress.

While she crawls into the covers, he slides off his shirt and trousers, settling for a pair of fleece sweatpants instead. He slips into bed beside her, laying on his side and tucking her hair out of her face. He rubs soothing patterns into her scalp with his fingers as she stares quietly at the pillow case, playing with the chain of his necklace again.

Her worries claw at her throat and scratch at the brim of her mind, begging to break the surface. She wants to tell him her fears, but she doesn't at the same time, afraid that if she speaks it that'll make it true.

Maybe it won't be true, and maybe her brother will stay far out of trouble, perfectly safe and reasonable.

When pigs fly.

"Can you turn on the radio?" She asks carefully, gesturing toward the side table behind him.

He leans back behind him to turn the dial. "You want the crickets?"

"Yes please." A beat passes, and the harmony of crickets chirping starts to fill the air, reminding her of summer nights in the pastures, tracing constellations with her family. He tugs the cable of the lamp, and their room falls into a bluish darkness. Thankfully, he turns the volume of the radio pretty loud, and she shifts closer to him so he can hear her whispers. "Thank you."

Sage kisses his warm collarbone, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their legs knit together like a woven quilt, and he goes back to playing with her hair. She closes her tired eyes. She's careful to maintain her voice in a measured whisper.

"Tolly."

"Hm?"

"What's it been like in your District the last few months?"

His brows furrow at her odd question, and he peers down at her through the darkness. Her eyes appear closed, and he feels her fingers tracing patterns along the back of his neck. A corner of his lips tug upward almost quizzically.

"Uh... same old, I guess?" Ptolemus knows that won't satisfy her inquisitive and restless mind, so he thinks harder. A shrug. "When they came there were some glares, but Two always glares when they lose. Especially like that."

Sage assumed as much, coming from a Career District. Yet Four is a Career District, and they're still havocked with "hurricanes."

"Have shipments been coming out alright?"

"What?"

"You know, like is Two, sending out their... bricks and stuff?" She feels herself fluster at her lack of articulation again. Speaking in riddles— riddles with answers as dangerous as these ones— has her heart racing. There's so much to lose. "No avalanches or explosions or..."

Ptolemus straightens, trying to find her eyes in the darkness. He almost laughs at the brick comment, but stifles it due to her tone, squeezing her waist comfortingly. "Not that I've heard of." He shakes his head. "Sage, are you alright? You've been off all night."

"I don't know," she admits, the first full-blooded truth she's given this evening. "I— I think I'm just tired. I had a bad dream last night and..." Back to the lying. She can feel Ptolemus waiting for her to tell him more.

She kisses him goodnight instead, light as a feather. When she pulls away, she sighs.

"I'm just going to go to sleep. I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning."

He feels her shift against the pillows, burrowing into him even more, signaling she's done with the conversation. Ptolemus just wraps his arms tighter around her, kissing her forehead before tucking the crown of her head beneath his chin. He tries to shake the feeling that there's something more, and she tries to relieve herself of the terrifying scenarios replaying in her head over and over.

For that, neither of them sleep well. Just do what they can do. Close their eyes and hold onto each other tighter.

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

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

Thoughts?? Opinions??

There's going to be a few chapters in act 2 that take place prior to the quell itself, so buckle up! I love writing Sage and Ptolemus as a couple that have been together for a bit, they're so comfy with each other 🥰

Also, I plan to follow book and movie, taking some aspects from the movie that I enjoyed as well as aspects of the books I wish would've been kept in the movies, etc.

Predictions and worries? I'm always interested to hear what you're thinking!

Thank you again for your love and support, I'm so glad you love these two as much as I do ❤️

Also, here's a loose imagination of how I picture Sage's family, I still need to add Erabelle and Coretta but I pictured Coretta as Melissa Barrera!

Word Count: 5937