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chapter twenty-three
BROTHER'S LULLABY

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tw: character death, violence

━━━━

Ptolemus is fully prepared to confront Sage on what's really bothering her their next public event together. He's practiced everything he might say, how he might word it, how he might bring it all up. Nothing about it is meant to be demanding or angry. He isn't angry.

He's worried. Especially after what Gunnar told him about the quotas rising at his job, bullets upon bullets being made for God knows who. He's known the other Districts are oppressed far more than his, after all, if you beat your soldiers no one will fight for you, but the concept of such terrors are only born from imagination rather than experience.

He just hopes and prays her family is alright.

They were invited to the Pink Chandelier for Cupid's Ball. Another tacky event hosted by another eccentric and guady socialite who has no concept of anything other than the coins in their pocket and the lavish cuisine in their belly. Honestly, Ptolemus is surprised they haven't invited the newly engaged couple from Twelve to come. Aren't they the star-crossed lovers everyone in The Capitol is tripping themselves over?

He's ready to find out what's been haunting her. He just needs the perfect opportunity.

However, over the course of the night, Sage surprises him when she seems her usual self. While she still hates these parties, the veil isn't there anymore, and she seems as present as ever, participating in pleasant small talk with various guests who give her the time of day. It's such a contrast from before that it almost makes him feel foolish for squirming with so much worry the last few weeks.

There's the sharp corners of her smile, the dimple in her chin, even a spark in her eyes when Deverra utters one of her perfectly timed jokes regarding all the ice sculptures of a giant winged baby twinkling throughout the room. She's almost got him fooled.

Until it's time to dance. The most intimate part of every event, where they're pressed so close together and everyone else is too trapped in their partner's gaze to direct theirs in their direction. So out in the open, yet somehow, still the only two people in the room. The curtain is drawn up in her eyes again as she just stares at his shoulder while they dance to another tune.

Ptolemus can barely take it, and he squeezes her hand, trying to draw her out. "What is it?" he asks softly.

She must not hear him, still staring and still dazed. Trapped. His other hand along her waist draws her closer to him carefully as he tries again. "Sage?"

The girl faintly yet still visibly jerks at her name, pulling her head in the direction of his stare. He can see she's struggling to come back to him. "Hm?"

Ptolemus studies her quietly, and he feels himself hesitate. He wants to know what's wrong this very moment, this exact second, selfishly to relieve himself of the nagging worry and selflessly to mend all of her aches. But when she looks at him like that, he knows he needs to be gentle. His gaze drifts to the grandfather clock ticking closer to midnight.

"You want to go home?"

A corner of her lips tugs upward sadly, an uncomfortable twang radiating in her gut at the word. Home.

"You read my mind."

With that, the two excuse themselves discretely but politely from the party, sure to extend their gratitude to their gracious hosts. Deverra fetches their car for them, and he holds Sage's hand as if it were a lifeline once they exit the Pink Chandelier and for the entire duration of the car ride. Even as they navigate the condominiums to their hallway. Whether it's for him or for her, he's not entirely sure. Why can't it be both?

Ptolemus is startled when he hears her voice bouncing against the corridor walls, almost sounding more like herself.

"Ugh, I can't walk in these heels for a second longer," Sage grunts, stopping in her tracks in the middle of the hall. Ptolemus's steps hitch with her, his hand still holding onto hers. She starts to bend down to unclasp one of the straps, raven hair falling into her eyes.

He leans down to beat her to it. "Here."

She stops, sighing quietly as she allows him to help her. It's such a small act, he's just taking off her shoes, but it's a relief to pause for even a moment. Maybe she can't tell him of all the stress and strain weighing on her about life back in Ten, but she can allow him to take care of this.

He grimaces at the red blisters roped around her ankle, and she gratefully slides out of the torture devices they call heels. The carpet of the condominiums' hallway is more relieving than she imagined it. So long as she doesn't think of all the germs.

She holds onto his shoulders while he works the other shoe. "Thank you."

Ptolemus slips off the other heel, wrinkling his nose at the blister throbbing on her pinky toe. "They look like they hurt."

"Tatiana says beauty is pain." She smiles wryly, peering down at her mutilated feet. "I must be stunning."

"Well you are, but that's not why." He pinches the straps of her heels between his fingers, about to stand, then thinks better of it. A devious glint flashes in his gaze as he peers up at her, gesturing toward the long hallway waiting for them. "You want a lift?"

Her lips quirk upward, and so do her brows. For a moment, that veil in her eyes is lifting, grateful for a distraction. "Depends. Are you going to carry me like a lady?"

Ptolemus nods. "Always."

She wraps her arms around his neck, and he scoops her up with ease, offering her feet even more relief. Ptolemus carries her the rest of the way down the hall as well as her shoes, and she just clings to him, resting her head on his shoulder. It's so easy to forget the world when with him. His presence is like a mountain, steady and unmoving, sheltering her from the howling wind that threatens to blow her all away. Fleetingly, her nerves loosen enough to savor this moment.

Then she perks with a smirk, life springing back into her like a daisy. "Sunshine's going to be jealous."

"Make sure you give her my sincerest of apologies."

"A sugar cube will probably do," she grins, kissing his cheek with adoration, faint stubble tickling her lips. Warmth centers in his chest, a soft hum vibrating in his throat.

Their condo door approaches swiftly in their vision, and Ptolemus strains to reach the knob while still holding onto Sage. She allows one of her arms to slip from his shoulders, grabbing it for him instead. He kicks the door lightly with his toe, and it bumps into the wall softly. He carries her through the threshold.

"Speaking of Sunshine," Ptolemus starts, remembering what he's been dying to ask her all night. In the somewhat privacy of their condo (not perfect, given it's still The Capitol— still Panem) it feels a little safer, and maybe she'll feel safer to share. "How is she and your folks doing? I made a teapot for your mom's birthday coming up."

Sage tries not to visibly tense in his arms at his question, all the heavy thoughts coming back. They were always there, she could feel their presence looming and waiting, but for a moment she was able to hold them far enough to breathe. She waits for him to close the door, fumbling to do so with his foot again. It clicks shut, and he glances to her, blue eyes light and curious. She tries to mirror them.

"You made her a teapot?" Her lips curve into a soft and appreciative smile. "She's going to love that, Tolly."

He shrugs. "She mentioned her favorite one cracked, so..." He inhales another breath, lips parting as they stalk further into the condo. The kitchen lights are still on. "But—"

"Sage? Ptolemus?" a familiar voice interjects.

Despite the fact they recognize it, it still startles them, his grip on her tightening while her eyes widen. Once they round the hallway to finally enter the kitchen, they spot Philo's familiar figure along one of the stools. Beside him, of course, is his usual champagne. Sage awkwardly tries to slide out of Ptolemus's grasp, and he lets her, carefully placing her feet back onto the tile. It's when both of them look at him that they realize something is wrong.

Philo glances to Ptolemus briefly, but his gaze lingers along Sage. In one of his ringed hands, he holds his cell phone, palm covering the speaker. Sage doesn't know if she's ever seen her Escort so sullen in her entire experience of knowing him. Her heart drops like lead when his gaze falls to the floor, lips forming a downward droop. It reminds her of a wilting flower.

It's happened, a voice tells her. She flinches away.

Sage gulps, begging to dig up her voice from wherever it's gone. "Philo, what is it?"

He straightens off the stool slowly, still unable to look at her now. He shakes his head lightly. "Your family's on the phone."

Sage feels the walls around her grow smaller and smaller, and the dread chokes her, chest barely moving. His steps are slow and painful, like a hesitant messenger as he goes to hand her the phone. It's as he offers it to her that she can hear the piercing wails of her mother.

"It must be some kind of emergency. They called Shep first. They don't have my number, so he gave it to them..." Philo finally looks at her, eyes shining with tears. "Whatever it is, I'm so sorry, dear."

The rest of the world disappears around her, all of gravity pushing on her tiny frame as she shakily snatches Philo's phone from his grasp. She draws it to her ear, her mother's cries growing louder and louder through the speaker. She can't understand what she's saying.

"Mama?" Her eyes are pricking with tears just listening to her like that. Her heart wheezes. "Mama what is it?"

Ptolemus is deathly still, peering over at Philo for a hint of anything. The Escort can't look, bottom lip quivering as he pours himself another drink. He takes a step closer to Sage, looming carefully behind her in case she needs him, his own heart pounding. She stands stiffly, bones tight and rigid like her voice.

Mrs. Navarro doesn't answer. Instead, a familiar voice much closer speaks to Sage through the phone. "Sage?" Almanzo asks. "Is that you?" Even his tone is quaky.

"Zo? Yes, it's me— what's going on?" She draws her trembling hands to her lips to keep them from quivering when she hears another wail. She hasn't heard her mother cry like that since her Reaping. "What's wrong with Mama?"

A beat. She feels Ptolemus's stare boring into her warily.  It feels like a century, something crawling up inside her as her intuition strikes. The pounding of her heart in her ear drums makes it almost impossible to hear.

It's happened.

He takes too long to answer, and her voice cracks like a whip, startling even her. "Almanzo!"

Her oldest brother inhales a shaky breath, and when he does, she swears she can hear everyone else's sobs echoing in her family's kitchen. Erabelle is crying somewhere in the background with her Mama, her father muttering soothing words to his inconsolable wife. That cry. It's the same cry all mamas cry when they lose their baby.

He confirms her worst fear, the nightmare finally coming to life. "It's Colt."

She feels like she's been sucked out of time and space as the rest of the world falls so still. A beat passes, his words not registering yet to her mind.

"No," she denies, shaking her head to keep the words from sinking their teeth into her aching heart. As if that could stop it all from coming to fruition. Don't he dare say it.

It's happened, the voice reminds.

"He's gone, Sage."

No. No, no, no, no.

She isn't sure if she's thought it or said it. The sob steals her breath, and she wheezes, shaking her head, warning him again. "Almanzo, no."

But it's after he's said it that she can finally make out what her mother's been wailing in her ear this entire time. She screams for her son, her youngest baby boy— her little runaway colt, always pushing where he could run. "MIJO, MIJO! MY BOY, MY BOY!" Over and over again she howls for him.

Sage chokes.

Tears are streaming down her face, and she jumps, Ptolemus's fingertips grazing her waist from behind. "Sage?"

"No," she tries again, to no one in particular.

"Sage, yes." Almanzo's sob crackles against the speaker.

It's when she hears her oldest and bravest brother break down that she knows that every word he utters is true. Excruciatingly true. Another wheeze, and she reaches out for something to steady her, knees buckling. The earth has been cruelly yanked out from beneath her like a rug. Ptolemus lurches forward for her.

"Colt's gone. We're going to need you home as soon as—" He chokes, and her lips quiver as she closes her eyes, tears still falling down her cheek and off her chin. Her chest rattles. "As soon as possible for the funeral, alright?"

"What happened?" she croaks, words strangled in her throat. She inhales another shaky breath, using all her strength to push the words out of her heaving lungs, about to tear her hair out by the roots. "WHAT HA—"

Sage's sobs turn into a piercing wail, similar to her mother's, the grief shutting her entire body down. It makes all the fine hairs on Ptolemus's flesh stand straight as pins, and he catches her just before her knees hit the kitchen floor, slowly trying to break her fall as he drops with her. "Whoa, hey, hey—"

His arm wraps around her trembling ribs, and she continues to wail and sob a gut-wrenching cry that shakes the ceiling and walls around them. It makes his own heart stop in his chest as he cradles her desperately. She clutches her chest as if there's a giant hole blaring through it. The phone slips from her grasp against the tile, and now he can hear it too. Mrs. Navarro screaming and crying for her lost baby boy. It's bone chilling.

He peers at Sage wide-eyed, desperately trying to find her gaze while shifting her on his lap. But she can't look at him, teary brown gaze fallen deep into an isolating mourning as she curls into a ball. All Ptolemus can do is hold her, brushing her hair out of her face and wiping away the tears replaced instantly by more. She just keeps howling and whimpering, crying out for her brother and pleading the same question over and over again. What happened, what happened, what happened?

Even Philo cries softly as he drowns himself in his champagne.

Ptolemus presses his forehead to hers to remind her he's here, wherever she is. He even tries to murmur soothing words despite the fact he knows they won't do any good. Not with a grief like this. A grief born kicking and screaming.

It's happened.

━━━━

They didn't hang him with the others.

Perhaps they thought they couldn't, with him being the brother of a popular Victor. In fact, her brother wasn't present for Hutch's plan or failed execution to obliterate the Dairy with a homemade bomb in the boiler room. That didn't matter. With enough investigation, he already tied his noose by becoming a common face amongst Hutch and his fellow rebels, meeting all those late nights.

Peacekeeper Garrison and one of his lackeys came out to retrieve Colt under the rouse they needed an extra hand rounding up a runaway herd from a neighboring farm. Almanzo, always the brave one, offered to help as well. But they didn't want him. Not even Shiloh. Just Colt.

They knew something wasn't right when a snorting and whimpering Hero came running back down the trail an hour later, saddle empty and lonely. Shortly after, Peacekeeper Garrison returned with the grim news, Colt's hat in tow.

A snake in the grass sent old Hero reeling up in the air, they said. Colt fell off, they said. Smashed his skull right onto an unfortunately placed rock, they said.

The moment they heard the crack they knew he was dead, they said.

We're sorry for your family's loss, they said.

Sage knows better than anyone that wild but loyal Hero would've let himself die of a snake bite before bucking Colt off his back. They all know that. It's so achingly convenient that her brother only hit his head one time, yet they still won't let them see the body. So to Hell with what they said.

His funeral is scarce. Family only with the exception of a minister and his assistant. After all, who else would come? All his friends are dead anyway. And of course, Ptolemus's request to attend was denied by Deverra's superiors, claiming no one wanted a sad story on their magazine covers.

It's always scorching hot in District Ten. But today, it's the coldest Sage has ever felt, the wind chilling her to the bone. In fact, it's all she can feel. The cold as tears mutely fall down her cheeks, her Mama still sniveling and her father barely holding both of them up, Erabelle glaring through tears while clinging to her mother's skirt, Almanzo watching them prepare to lower the casket, and Shiloh, poor Shiloh, staring desperately up at the sky for some kind of sign.

The Navarro's have decided to bury Colt at the edge of his favorite pasture, the old pear tree that no longer bears any fruit his body's guardian. She doesn't know how her mother is capable of it in this moment, all she's heard the last few days is her sobbing, but she manages to sing.

It's tradition that when someone in District Ten dies, someone— ideally a family member, sings a common lullaby they were once rocked to sleep to as a baby, now telling their soul that it's okay—you can rest now.

Sage has to cling to Shiloh to keep herself from falling to the ground again as she listens to her mother's haunting voice rock Colt back into an eternal slumber. It makes everything feel so painfully final. Both of them soundlessly sob even after she draws out the last note so bravely, barely a tremble to her voice. The strength of not just any mother's love, but Luna Navarro's, the greatest a child could ever feel in life and death.

She drowns out the minister's droning voice as he beckons his assistant to bear the gifts for the deceased. However, her eyes still trail carefully over every single item, the sentimental value of each like consecutive stabs to the gut.

His ratty baby blanket their abuela handmade that he used to run around the pastures with like it were a cape. His first leather boots, holes in the toes from when he refused to part with them even after he outgrew them. The stupid toy teeth he saved up to buy at the Mercantile, always jumping out to scare everyone with them between his gums and hysterically laughing. Even his lucky horse shoe that he was so superstitious about. When she looks at each item, she just sees Colt, laughing and still alive.

Until they get to the hat. The trembling sobs quiver into something else as she watches the minister prepare to gently place it down with the casket and everything else. She searches for a stain of faded crimson, a sign that he suffered, confirmation for what they really did to him.

"Let me see him."

The minister's droning lips slowly dull to a murmur and eventually into nothing as he slowly lifts his head. The air has been sucked right out of the pasture and everyone's lungs, but Sage doesn't notice. Instead, she just glowers at the hole they've dug for her brother. Her upper lip twitches, and she raises her voice so that they hear her clear as day.

"I said let me see him."

"Mija," her father pleads softly, shaking his head. He isn't angry with her. Just sad.

She isn't looking at him. Instead, she's glaring right through the minister and his speechless assistant. They blink at her dumbly, before the former finally straightens, dragging himself out of his stunned stupor. His lips part, ready to deny.

"Young lady, I—"

"I want to see him!" She lunges forward, fully prepared to dive right into the cold hard dirt where he's meant to rest forever. Her grief-stricken screech is strangled like a wounded animal's. "I SAID I WANT TO SEE MY BROTHER!"

Her mother's wailing again, and someone's arm knocks into her ribs, yanking her backward. Sage's feet scrape against the unrested dirt as she thrashes against her captor. Furious tears flood her gaze and stream back into her beared mouth, threatening to drown her all over again. In her rage, she notes the scar on the wrist of who holds her back, and she knows it's Almanzo. He tries to soothe her into silence, but it's no use, the thought of her brother beaten senseless sending her kicking and screaming.

"I WANT TO SEE HIM! I WANT TO SEE WHAT YOU DID TO HIM! LET ME SEE MY BROTHER, I SAID LET ME SEE MY BROTHER!"

Almanzo drags her further away from the funeral scene, before trading her off to a trembling Shiloh. "Take her back to the house." Her other brother doesn't move yet, so iron coats his tone instead. "Now."

Sage is ballistic, completely inconsolable as she screams and shouts obscenities at the minister. Every now and again she returns to howling Colt's name, Shiloh wincing at her ragged pitch. The pain is festering, burning her up and blooming across every aching part of her like a brushfire. She clings to its scalding heat to shelter herself from that barren and numb cold again. She doesn't know when she'll ever feel this strong again.

She's still screaming and crying even once Shiloh finally gets her back to the barn. The cows are sullen, the dogs Colt cherished so much whimpering and withdrawn. Her heels drag against the dirt and hay, and she almost stumbles. It startles her so much that her breath hitches, halting her voice just for a fraction of a moment, and she finally hears Shiloh's sobs that were hidden beneath her screaming.

Her older brother clings to her, and she clings back, teary and red gazes peering at one another. His bottom lip trembles, knees buckling while his grip on her shoulders tightens. She isn't sure if it's to steady her or him. Probably both. It takes him to repeat himself over and over again for her to make sense of his whimpering.

"I should've followed him." He wheezes, choking and coughing on a sob. "I should've gone with him."

Sage gapes dumbly, still trying to subdue her own ache. Her breath runs away from her like a spirit of its own as she listens to her brother sob the same words repeatedly. She grows tired of it quickly.

Finally, she shakes her head, still crying. "They wouldn't even let Zo—"

"No, I should've followed him all those—" His shaky and gaping breaths chop up his words, and he almost has to scream it to get it out. "All those nights he was sneaking off."

Tears stream Shiloh's face, his eyes shining with guilt and aching spine about to break from the weight of all his brother's secrets. He splinters and cracks, caving into himself. Should've, should've, should've. Should've's have a dreadful way of haunting someone worse than any other phantom.

He shakes his head again, and he points an accusatory finger into his chest. Judge and jury. "I should've followed him, Sage, I should've dragged him out of those meetings myself, I should've never let him run around with those boys."

Her lips part, ready to dismiss and argue.

"I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to do!" He wails, almost pleading. Begging for forgiveness. "I didn't want to know what he was doing, I didn't want to believe what he could've been doing, and now he's dead!" Another awful choking sound wheezing out of his throat. "I shouldn't have covered for him, I should've followed him and now Colt's dead and I did nothing!"

She can't be angry with him because she simply isn't. She has no room to be angry with another brother. Instead, she just yanks him into a hug, collarbone knocking into his shoulder. They both tremble as they hold onto one another. Sage's body rocks with sobs as she listens to the pain scratching through Shiloh's voice.

"I did nothing, Sage, I did nothing!"

"Stop it," she breathes, gaping for air. Her words barely rise, so she locks her arms around him tighter, squeezing right into his ribs. He tries again, but she silences him with a shake of her head against his shoulder.

She won't hear it. She can't hear it. She won't lose another brother to a monster of helplessness and grief that scolds them for not doing more. If she could muster up enough energy, she'd tell him it's not his fault, but all that comes out is another desperate and firm, "Stop it."

He whimpers into silence, and the ache steals her voice. There's nothing to say. Nothing else they can say right now. No words of comfort, promises of vengeance, admittance of misplaced guilt and self-loathing. All the two siblings can do is just cling to one another, shaking and trembling and mourning the brother they lost. The brother they couldn't save.

━━━━

She thought she knew Death and grief very well. Living in District Ten, a District where life is given and taken on a daily basis, she's certainly no stranger to it all. She's lost family before, a grandmother and a grandfather all of natural causes, simply reaching that final phase of life like the monarchs.

Then after partaking in the Hunger Games, Death staring her right in the face, she'd gotten accustomed to its harrowing glare. Lance. Axel. Calla. Even Midas and Carnelia. Taura. Mateo. Alondra. Graze and Warren. Sage has had Death walk through her so many times, grief trailing right behind, she thought she knew what its fingerprints felt like on her soul.

But this. This is more than fingerprints or a stain. This is a brand, scarring her permanently.

Her father does his best to keep himself busy with chores and taking care of the farm. Not to mention taking care of Mama. It keeps him from confronting himself and the hole from his youngest son's death that's nearly blown him to pieces. Almanzo does the same, the grief aging her oldest brother to the point he truly looks like their father's twin now. She still hears him weeping in the barn before daybreak.

Shiloh avoids everyone, ducking his head in shame and waiting for the family to explode and scream at him that this is all his fault. His grief makes it impossible for him to remember the Navarro's have never been ones to misplace blame. Coretta has to console Erabelle through her nightmares, Sage hearing her niece cry out for her Uncle Colt through the paper thin walls.

Sage? Well, she's barely left the couch the last two weeks, clutching her brother's shirt and trying to imagine him smiling on top of his horse rather than bleeding out in the dirt. Every now and then, she musters up the courage to leave the house, its walls closing in on her with too many childhood memories, navigating to the barn instead. She always finds her brother's loyal horse exactly where she left him.

Hero has barely or drank water since the "accident." Just ducks his head in mourning, sometimes leaving his stall if Sage coaxes him enough. She brushes him, cleans his bedding, picks his hooves, and sometimes manages to get him to nibble on a sugar cube or two. Otherwise, he mostly ignores her. Sunshine doesn't seem to mind the attention on Hero, nuzzling his snout with hers in a sad attempt at comfort.

Animals are always so intuitive.

This morning, Sage gently pats the horse withering away in front of her, glancing over to her brother's old saddle balanced along the ledge of the stall. Even when she changes Hero's water, her gaze keeps catching on it like a loose thread. A massive part of her immediately refuses the idea, but it won't stop calling her in Colt's voice.

Her heart heaves, and before she realizes what she's doing, she's putting her brother's saddle back on Hero. The routine of it is melancholic yet natural. The painted stallion doesn't tense or snort at the familiar weight on his back. Sage swears his head lifts ever so slightly as his tail whips behind him.

Tentatively, Sage rounds Hero's shoulders so that she's standing right in front of him. When she looks into his eyes, one amber and one blue, she just sees a muddled gray. His stare remains casted downward, the soupy and thick sadness radiating between them both. She places her forehead to his snout as she strokes his coat with gentle fingers. It's when she does that that she swears she can feel it. She swears she can feel the ache that's hollowed him out into nothing but fur and bones.

God, what could that poor horse seen out in those pastures?

"I know it wasn't you, boy," she consoles. "I know it never could've been you."

He releases a heavy breath, like a sigh.

Before she can think about mounting the horse, the sound of footsteps slowly come up behind her. Hero stiffens, taking one or two steps away from her. When Sage turns, it's Almanzo, grim lips etched into a tight line. He awkwardly rubs at his overgrown beard, warm eyes bleary. He looks like an old man— not twenty-seven.

"There's an announcement."

The bitterness oozes out of Sage before she can even consider whether she cares. "More floggings?"

Only three days ago, she caught a glimpse of a particularly brutal one in Twelve of a young man, his face hidden from the camera. They failed to cut the broadcast before Katniss Everdeen and eventually Peeta Mellark along with Haymitch Abernathy interrupted the brutal Peacekeeper from continuing his lashes.

Caesar Flickerman gracefully and quickly shifted the topic to how many tiers the love birds might have for their cake. Surely enough for all their guests, of course!

Sometimes she half-expects to see Caesar Flickerman on the broadcast with Colt's picture looming behind him, the words EXECUTED painted in crimson like his blood, revealing to all of Panem that a Victor's brother has been murdered for being a rebel. But they never acknowledge it. After all, he wasn't executed.

It was an "accident."

Almanzo drops his gaze, shaking his head lightly. "No. It's President Snow. Pa says he's reading the card."

It's happening, a voice whispers to her.

She struggles to cover up a wince, only blinking at her brother stiffly and quietly. He sees it, but doesn't say anything, and she ducks her head as she follows him back inside the farmhouse, second step creaking twice.

Once she's on the porch, she can hear the vivacious roar of the crowd crackling through their television. When she comes inside, it's as if the entire Navarro family has been frozen in place, the Panem Anthem pausing time.

Her mother stands stiffly in front of her cutting board, weary stare boring into the potatoes she's been slicing with her knife hovering in the air. Right by her side is Santiago with his cup of freshly brewed coffee in front of his lips. Shiloh was lacing up his boots for chores— one still undone and Coretta fails to finish Erabelle's braid, the little girl finally ceasing her furious scribbles with a red crayon to glare at the TV.

The sound of President Snow's voice in her house makes Sage want to reach right through the screen and wrap her fingers around his wrinkled throat.

It's happening.

The crowd is ravenous with excitement, hooting and hollering like the rabid wolves they are, cloaked in the skin of brightly colored sheep. Just listening to them makes Sage's head throb, temple beating in tune with her anxious and furious heart.

The wind blows through his white hair and the faux fur of his black coat he's been swaddled in. President Snow peers back at the crowd like a false god, raising a gloved hand to eventually silence them. He smirks at how easily they're subdued.

"Ladies and gentleman," he starts, bellowing voice booming through the microphone. She feels it ripple out to all the Districts, finding her even in Ten. The sparks brewing beneath her heart keep her from shivering, so she lets them burn. "This is the seventy-fifth year of the Hunger Games."

It's happening.

The crowd cheers at their victory. Seventy-five years feels like a blink in history when you think about it all. A blink that's seen so much bloodshed, blinded by it even, crimson curtains staining everyone's vision. Sage feels a sourness coat the inside of her cheeks as she thinks about how they'll torture her Tributes this year.

After a pause, President Snow continues. Always so damn dramatic. "And it was written in the charter of the Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell. To keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against The Capitol."

There's the screech of chair legs against the kitchen floor, and Sage hears Coretta's soothing voice murmur to her daughter. "Come, Mija," she tries, prepared to scoop her out onto the porch.

"No," Erabelle refuses. Her angry stare burns into the television, aging her too. Sage hates all the hate she hears in her little niece's voice, a rock lodging into her gut. "I wanna hear, Mama."

"Erabelle," Almanzo tries tiredly and weakly.

President Snow's voice interrupts the family's attempts, beckoning them back to listen. He starts to pull out a card in his gloved hands. The six-year old doesn't budge, jaw clenched and brows furrowed into a merciless scowl as she glowers at President Snow. Some of Sage's family has slowly inched closer and closer to the screen like moths to a flame.

"Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance."

Sage has never been alive for a Quell, Almanzo only being two for the last one, but she knows the stories, The Capitol always inventing new methods to teach the Districts a lesson.

First, pitting the Districts against each other and forcing them to vote for who will die, reminding them that their own blood is on their hands— not The Capitol's. It's never The Capitol's fault. Then the second. Double the Tributes, double the gore. Your odds are never in your favor.

So what will it be now? What lesson will they try to teach the Districts now?

The first thing that Sage thinks of is the fire catching across the Districts.

It's happening.

"Now on this eve, we celebrate the Third Quarter Quell." Sage clenches her jaw as she watches him open the card to read. You could hear a pin drop in the otherwise noisy Navarro household.

"As a reminder, that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol..."

"The strongest?" Shiloh breaks the silence first, peering nervously to no one in particular. Then his gaze falls to Sage. "What does he mean the strongest?"

She doesn't answer. Her intuition whispers something back to her in her dead brother's voice.

It's happening.

"On this, the third Quarter Quell Game..."

Sage feels her body reacting before her mind can, almost revolting with a cursed knowing. Her bones try to beat themselves out of her flesh, and her lungs squeeze. The spark licks a scalding flame against her heart to center her.

It's happening.

"The male and female tributes..."

Colt's voice screams in her memories. Things are always going to get worse! Whether or not we fight back, it's always going to get worse!

The Mockingjay. The Avian flu in the Poultry Sector. The floggings. Quarantine in The Horn. Executions. Spilled milk in Mabel and her brother beaten to death in a pasture. Hope doused with more fear, acting more like kerosene than a blanket to snuff it all out. She feels it. She feels it rising and burning up in her too.

"Are to be reaped..."

Sage suddenly has the overwhelming urge to run, submerging her mind and causing her ankles to wobble. Her fingers twitch anxiously at her sides as she tries to hold herself steady in the middle of her living room floor. The entire house is just starting to spin when Snow's cold eyes stare right into the camera. Right at her.

A corner of his swollen lips tug upward when he says it.

"...From the existing pool of Victors in each District."

Someone screams a ravaging and wrathful scream, and Sage turns, barely dodging the red crayon sent hurtling at President Snow's face, bouncing off the wall sadly. "I HATE YOU!" Erabelle screeches before erupting into angry sobs. Everyone else is slowly pulled out of their shock.

"Victors shall present themselves on Reaping Day regardless of age, state of health, or situation..."

Luna Navarro is sent reeling into her husband's chest, clinging to his shirt to hold her up as she wails. Coffee spills to the floor, and Shiloh can be heard stuttering at the news, his stare boring into Sage's retreating figure. She has to get the hell out of here, and all she can think about is that saddle.

Shiloh shakes his head. "What—"

Coretta's teary stare bores into her as Sage breaks past her, almost busting her elbow through the screen door. It slams hard against the wall, the sob crawling up her spine and threatening to take control all over again. She fights for the reins, and Almanzo's fingers graze her arm. It's no use, her footsteps pounding, second step creaking again.

Everything else happens in flashes. The darkness of the barn and coos of the livestock. Almost tripping over one of their Heelers, Indigo. Swinging up onto Hero's saddle. Someone shouts her name the same time she breaks out of the stall doors, dusty air of a barn replaced by the crisp aura of the sky. Hooves pounding in rhythm with her heart as she flies across the pastures. Sage doesn't know if she ever intends to stop, not even if she makes it to the end of the world, the tears streaming across her cheeks and falling into the wind. Hero almost seems relieved at the chance to run again as he faithfully carries them wherever their fury might take them.

It's when she spots her brother's tree that she draws Hero to a stop, almost jerking his reins when they nearly pass it. The horse takes the redirection with stride. More flashes, her boots pounding against the grass and dirt as she swoops down from the saddle.

One minute she's standing, the next, she's on her knees, crawling to the base of the trunk, its empty branches bearing over her like broken wings. Her lungs heave as she chokes on soundless sobs, pressing her aching spine against the bark for support. It's when she stares up at the sky that she feels that eerie sense of deja vu from her first Games. Laying right at Death's Door, waiting to be collected, imagining her picture in the clouds. She screams and cries so loud she doesn't even hear herself.

Sage is almost positive she's hallucinating or reliving a memory when she sees the flutter of the wings. They cast across the cerulean sky above, and the hawk's eyes watch with an intensity that reminds her of flames. Just when she thinks about screaming or crying again, her father's words echo like an enchantment.

"Seeing a hawk means that we are protected, Mija. It's letting us know that it sees everything, and it will protect us, one way or another."

Then comes Mateo in the wind and the tremble of the branches. The sobs jerk into stillness as she flinches. So many voices coming alive inside her at once.

"Fight like it."

Another grimace, and she tilts her head back, almost slamming the back of her skull into the tree trunk. It writhes in her like a venomous snake.

And finally, the last voice. Her brother, her retching body cradled by his grave. Her palm fists the dirt that weighs him down.

"I'm tired of it."

She shivers when the hawk cries something that reminds her of a war cry. Almost calling her to battle with him.

To finish something her brother didn't.

"And I know you are too."

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

Omg this chapter was so HEAVY

I'm so sorry for the tears if you cried!! I bawled writing this entire thing.

Well... please feel free to comment your thoughts, experience, predictions, etc. Colt is gone and the Quell's announcement is here.

Interested to hear your thoughts! I struggle sometimes writing Sage's family because they're such a big family and I try to show all the brothers different personalities. Sage loves each and every single one so dearly and I hope you do too!

Next chapter you'll have Ptolemus's reaction to the announcement as well!

Oof. This sucked man.

RIP Colt Navarro, our reckless little rebel baby.

Word Count: 7020