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chapter six
IN THE LIMELIGHT
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"I told you it would happen, I just told you!" Philo squeals. He sits in one of the barstools of the rented condominium, his short legs dangling and kicking at the height. The deep violet of his skin has faded to a calmer lavender, and his wig is a gleaming silver like a star. Along the island is a plate of various cheeses, grapes, and cured meats, as well as a half-filled champagne glass. He pops one of the grapes into his mouth, speech garbled. "Didn't I tell her?"
Tatiana beams in agreement, side-glancing the giddy Escort. She then returns her focus to Sage, adding the finishing touches to her dark locks. The Victor grimaces when the woman digs a bobby-pin into the flesh of her skull. "You certainly did."
"It's just so exciting, isn't it Sage?" She peers at her Escort through the mirror, pink lips parted to respond. His raspy voice interrupts before she can. "It's like a fairytale! And he's your prince! Your Prince Charming."
"Very romantic," Tatiana quips, another bobby pin poking at her.
"Well, it might be a bit early to tell that, Philo." Sage lifts her fingers toward her mouth, but immediately regrets it, noting her Stylist's pointed glare in the reflection. She drops it back down to the arm of her chair, drumming her manicured nails anxiously instead. "It's just a first date. Don't call for the Wedding Bells yet, please."
The two don't seem to listen to a word she says. Perhaps they hear her, but they certainly don't understand her. Sage doesn't know why she bothers trying. Philo tosses a piece of cheese into his mouth, then takes a swig of champagne, still kicking his legs like a giddy school girl. A satisfied sigh expels from his lips as he points. "Now imagine if Augustus comes knocking at your door next! You're Panem's most desirable woman right now. How sensational!"
"I don't think Augustus would come knocking at my door. Despite what the tabloids say."
"ARRIVING WITH THE FAVORITE SON—LEAVING WITH A LEGACY!"
The press didn't even wait until the sun rose this morning to print their next headline. Someone snuck a picture of Sage walking into the party on Augustus's arm last night, his charming smile perfectly polished. In fact, it was so shiny and pristine that it completely distracted viewers from the shadows in his predatory gaze. Sage looked bored as ever, but Philo insisted she appeared mysterious. In the next image, someone lurking in some bushes must've caught a snapshot of Ptolemus and Sage leaving the maze. Despite the fact they were no longer holding hands, there was something warm between them.
Which makes it feel even more violating. Another moment she hoped would be intimate and between them, is exploited to the entire country. Now her name remains in others' conversations even though with the next Games coming up, they should be anticipating the next shiny toy. She was hoping to be forgotten by now.
Not to mention, she can practically hear her brothers' disgruntled critiques.
Her fingers clench the arms of her chair as she shifts her focus back to a distaste for Augustus. "I'm definitely not complaining, either. He can stay far—" Sage pauses when Tatiana whips out the hairspray, shaking the can almost violently as she hovers a hand over the Victor's nose and mouth. She barely squeezes her eyes shut in time, that artificial stench still burning her nostrils. A cough tickles at her throat, and she straightens in the chair. "—Away. He's an ass."
Philo scowls at her language. He places the champagne glass smudged with his oily fingerprints onto the kitchen island with a clink. "Must you use such vulgar terms? It sounds like you were raised in a barn."
"Fine, he's a pompous ass. Does that sound prettier?" Another sharp look. "And I was raised in a barn, Philo. Probably milked the cow for that cheese you're eating there."
"Do you have this attitude with Ptolemus?"
A nerve ticks beneath her flesh, threatening to blossom flames beneath. Surprisingly, Tatiana comes to her rescue. In her own strange way, of course. "Oh hush, she's probably just nervous. You're making her feel nervous, Philo." Tatiana gestures for Sage to stand, and she does so carefully, smoothing the silky fabric of her gown. Thankfully, she's been given more inches to work with when it comes to the skirt, it falling down to her ankles. However, there is still a rather scandalous slit trailing up her right leg. "He's the one who should be nervous. I've made you look like an absolute gem!"
"Oh my, you have," Philo coos, hopping down from the stool. He approaches Sage as she stands in the mirror and peers at her reflection.
The girl can't help but to admire her Stylist's handiwork. The gown is sleek with a halter neckline that ties into a bow behind, as well as with an open back, the green shade of the fabric deep like an emerald. When Sage turns to the side to glance at her hair, she notes the bobby pins have allowed half of her locks to be arranged into a flower of sorts, the rest of it cascading down loosely. A corner of her lips tugs upward, and she bids a respectful nod toward her Stylist.
"It's lovely. Thank you."
She sprays some perfume in the girl's direction, spritzing everywhere without warning. Sage winces as her eyelashes flutter the particles from her eyes over and over again. "Ptolemus won't be able to keep his hands off you."
Sage feels herself flush at that comment, the nerves still rattling beneath her chest bone. She might be more nervous tonight than she was when she was summoned for The Gleam Gala. Partially because she's seeing Ptolemus again, the Victor's Escort calling Philo to make official arrangements for a date, but mainly because of the way everyone else is acting. Between her wary and anxious family bidding her concerned caution, Philo and Tatiana already planning the wedding and their first born's name, and the country watching her more closely than they did when she won, it's all so stressful. Was their kiss in the garden really such a big ordeal to warrant such attention?
Tatiana is adding the finishing touches when there's a knock at the door. Philo almost springs into the air like a rabbit as he squeals. "He's here! He's here!"
"Shh!" Tatiana warns, failing to hide her own giddy grin.
Philo nods, attempting to steady himself. He runs his fingers through his silver toupee and adjusts the jacket of his suit. He clears his throat as he bids Sage a very serious nod. "I'll get that."
Thump thump thump. While Philo's steps toward the door of the condominium are poised and calm, Sage's heart hammers nervously against her chest bone. Again, she doesn't know what to do with her hands, clasping and unclasping them, smoothing the skirt of her dress, toying with one of her rings. She knows better than to bite her nails.
"Ah! Mr. Pierce!" Philo's voice comes out squeaky, and he clears his throat. Sage is tempted to peek around the corner and to the front door, but just lingers near the mirror. "How delightful it is to see you."
"Likewise." The familiarity of his voice tethers her back down. An effect she didn't expect. Suddenly, she feels silly for being so nervous.
She steps out into the hall the same time Philo calls her name obnoxiously loud. "Sage!" Even the volume of his own voice seems to startle him when it echoes against the walls, as he does a little jump on his toes. "Oh, there you are. Pardon me."
Ptolemus straightens in the doorway at the familiar sight of the girl. Clearly, his Stylist Eudora and hers collaborated on this evening's looks, his pocket square a perfect match to the shade of her gown. He's surprised by the way they maintain eye contact with one another as she makes her way to the door. When she offers a small, polite small, he notices that dimple in her chin again. Warmth creeps into his chest slowly, and there's no alcohol burning his throat to blame it on. Philo beams as he peers between the two.
Suddenly, he realizes he needs to say something, so Ptolemus says the exact words from his mind. "You look lovely."
"Doesn't she?" Philo coos.
There he goes again, being a clinger. Sage side-glances her oblivious Escort, gently pushing past him before raising her brows carefully at Ptolemus to pass off a mental message she hopes he remembers from the garden. A corner of his lips tugs upward, and she sweeps her stare across his tall frame. "Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."
"Very handsome!" Tatiana pipes up back in the condo.
"Thanks."
"So where are you two kids heading off to on such a wonderful evening?" Philo asks, raising his bushy brows.
"Not sure." Sage glances back to Ptolemus. "I'm assuming you know all the spots?"
The Victor from Two nods. "I do. We should get going to make it to our reservation on time."
He offers Sage an arm, and she takes it tentatively. Just as they're turning into the hall, Philo and Tatiana's starstruck gazes burning into their backs, the former calls out. "Stay out as long as you'd like! She doesn't have a curfew!"
"Don't tell my mom that," Sage murmurs, squeezing Ptolemus's bicep. The Victor from Two chuckles lightly.
The two stalk down the hall to the elevator, where Ptolemus eventually presses the button, a downward arrow glowing amber. Sage still clutches his arm, and she notes how secure it feels to be this close to him. The elevator dings, silver doors parting. They stride inside, and as Ptolemus presses for the lobby floor, she steals another glance at him.
"So. Where are we going?"
"It's called Olympus's Stairway. The first place my parents took my sister and I to in The Capitol after one of their interviews." He smiles as he glances to her. "Their lobster risotto is really good."
"Sounds delicious. I don't think I've had lobster yet." The small talk grows tiresome quickly, and she bites down on her tongue to pace changing the subject. Just for a moment. She inhales a sharp breath as she peers up to him with dark brows pinched together. The lightness in her tone has darkened. "Did you see them? That photographer who got a picture of us last night?"
The elevator whirs downward carefully. Ptolemus can sense the concern bubbling in her voice, noting the way her grip on his bicep seems to tighten. He shakes his head as he momentarily meets her dark stare. "No. But they're pretty good at that. Getting their perfect shots for their stories."
Sage pinches the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. She tries to rub soothing circles, concentrating on how many times she turns clockwise. Thankfully, her tone is steadier now, even though her heart is pounding. "Is it always like that?"
A corner of his lips tugs upward pathetically. He hopes it looks more convincing than it feels. "It'll calm down eventually."
Unlike the first time, Ptolemus didn't necessarily have the intention of being publicly seen by the paparazzi. However, a part of him is relieved they managed to steal another glimpse of the two of them together. More headlines means more attention. More attention means maybe, just maybe, The Capitol would be willing to trade two desirables for a love story instead. Although, Sage's anxious tone makes him regret telling his Escort to leak a tip to one of the notorious photographers about their plans this evening.
The elevator lurches softly once they reach their destination, another Ding! echoing through the air. Their silver doors part into the lobby, and they carefully stride out, Ptolemus leading. Sage's eyes flicker from left to right, expecting invasive stares. The employees don't even look in their direction.
She almost releases a breath of relief as Ptolemus reaches for the front door. "Well, hopefully tonight we won't have to worry about any pictures."
He doesn't say anything in an attempt to save her futile hopes. Instead, he holds the door open for her toward The Capitol night. She bids him a quiet "thank-you."
There's a limo waiting for them along the curb. Sage stalks out into the evening, heels clicking against the pavement and the cool night breeze brushing against her bare spine. Just when she is about to glance over her shoulder at Ptolemus, she's blinded by a big white flash.
Chaos ensues quickly, and she gasps as a roar of clicking and shouts from various Capitol paparazzi vie for her attention and the perfect snapshot. Cameras and blurry faces swirl with the dark spots that pepper her vision after each flash. Her eyes almost start to water from the blinding light, and she stumbles forward toward the limo. Paparazzi call her name and blurt out questions obnoxiously as they encroach on her personal space.
"Sage! Sage look here!"
"Where's the beautiful couple headed tonight?"
"Sage, have you met the family yet?"
It's all so overwhelming. She squints and tries to hold up a hand to cover the glare. A familiar hand finds the small of her back, his tall figure clinging to her side. Ptolemus leans toward her ear in a hushed whisper. "Just ignore them."
She stifles a scoff. They near the limo with his guidance, and Sage just stares at her feet, blinking over and over to regain her clear vision. There's the click of a door handle, and Ptolemus opens the limo. Sage climbs inside as carefully as she can. The Victor from Two follows after her, shutting the door loudly, the paparazzi's booming calls softening slightly.
The limo's tires roll onto the street. Bewildered, Sage feels her chest heave, eyes still squinting. It's like her Games and Victory Tour, but on a whole new level. In fact, it's almost worse. Once again, she feels watered down to a zoo animal paraded around more than she feels like a human being. Is this what it's always going to be like?
Right now, she wishes she were back home, hiding in one of the pastures where no one could find her except the sunshine and the wind.
Ptolemus studies the girl silently, guilt gnawing at his gut. Before his mind can tell him to stop, his heart draws his left hand into her shaking one, offering a comforting squeeze. When she peers over at him, she sees something different in his blue eyes. They're like glass, and she can't decide if it's translucent or reflective. Either way, she recognizes the sympathy in his soft tone.
"You'll get used to it."
Paparazzi follows them closely the entire ride like a pack of wolves breathing down the back of their necks. The moment that they park in front of the restaurant, shadows swarm around the vehicle, almost violent flashes of more cameras intruding through the windows. Ptolemus notes Sage's stiff and silent figure beside him. She stares at her hands in her lap, picking at her polished nails.
This might be the most withdrawn he's seen her. Granted, he's only seen her a handful of times, combining watching her Games and their two in-person encounters before this one. But even then, she definitely burned brighter than she does right now.
"You ready?" he tries tentatively.
His voice startles her from where she's hidden herself inside her mind. Sage feels herself fumbling to climb out, dazed brown eyes locking onto his blue ones. Past his shoulder, she can see the wild variations of colored wigs and artificial features peering at her, anticipating the moment they step out of the car. It feels so invasive, and she stifles the urge to sink back into herself.
She's a Victor. She should expect this. Except, she was only supposed to be a Victor from Ten, and Victors from Ten tend to have a short run time in the spotlight. The Capitol should have gotten bored with her by now, leaving her to hide in her empty Mansion like the rest of them, calling her for the Games and perhaps a party every now and then out of formality.
Her lips form a tight line that she tries to paint into a smile as she nods. "Sure."
Ptolemus gnaws on the inside of his cheek, reaching toward the car door. Once he opens it, the loud whir of the hungry Capitol people choruses in the air. Bright bursts of light beam in their direction. Ptolemus does the best he can to block their glares with his body, fashioning that smile his mother had him practice at a young age. It's natural now.
"Ptolemus! Ptolemus look here!"
"Doesn't she look beautiful tonight?!"
"What are your plans for the evening, Ptolemus?"
He ignores their shouts and calls as he turns to Sage, her wide eyes glazed and staring at her feet. He reaches his hand out to her, and she takes it, allowing him to carefully pull her out of the vehicle. Immediately, he recognizes that uneasy cattle-look in her gaze, not from his own tributes, but from the others he'd notice at the Games. The ones who actually understood the weight of their situation, it sinking them like anchors to a place they rarely climb out of.
You got her into this mess.
Ptolemus doesn't let go of her hand. He shifts his figure slightly so that he's almost in front of her, leading her to the open doors of the restaurant, Olympus's Stairway. Sage notices how he offers the paparazzi a few polite nods, waves and even some faint smiles. It makes her feel even more like an out-of-place stranger.
The paparazzi doesn't follow them into the restaurant, thankfully. The doors close behind them as a hostess and usher greet them. There's still cameras flashing through the tinted glass, her name being called obnoxiously. Sage does the best she can to turn it into static in her ears, desperately attempting to focus on her steps as they're lead to a reserved table. Ptolemus takes her chair out for her, and she half-mindedly thanks him.
For the first twenty minutes of the date, Sage struggles to make herself comfortable again. The gnawing feeling of watchful eyes boring into her causes her to loosely wrap her arms around herself, but then she practically hears Philo's scolding. She wipes her sweaty palms along the skirt of her dress instead. Across the table, Ptolemus attempts some conversation, to which she awkwardly ping pongs it back, feigning lightness in her empty words.
This is not what I thought it'd be. Sage wonders what photograph of them will be plastered on the magazine covers now. She probably looks miserable.
Probably because she is.
After the waiter takes their order, Sage abruptly stands, knees awkwardly banging into the table and shaking the glasses. Even though she blushes, she still looks pale. "I'm going to go to the Ladies' Room. I'll be right back."
"Are you alright?"
Sage nods, already turning away from him and toward an aimless direction. "Yep. Just want to freshen up, that's all."
"Sage?"
"Hm?"
Ptolemus points to the right. "The bathroom is that way."
"Oh." She staggers awkwardly as she changes course. Along with the stares from the staff and other customers, she feels his warily bore into her. It makes her knotted stomach bind itself tighter, and she forces a grin in his direction. "Thanks."
His stare burns into her back, and she does her best to ignore it. Instead, she's back to staring at her feet, focusing on the length of her strides and the air-conditioning whirring past her frame. She almost bumps into a server with a tray, pale cheeks flushing again as she utters sincere apologies. The heels of her palms press into the mahogany bathroom door.
Judging by the echo of her heels against the tile, Sage can tell she's the only one in the bathroom. Thankfully. Nevertheless, she still checks beneath the stalls for extra pairs of feet, but comes up empty. When she glances to her reflection in the mirror, she hates how pale she looks right now. She dabs at the shadows of makeup beneath her eyes. Her skin feels clammy. A desperate pinch to her cheeks to return some much needed color.
What's wrong with me? It's fine, it's fine, it's fine. She inhales a sharp breath as she mindlessly washes her hands to burn some time. The water's scalding hot, but she ignores it, shaking her head at her reflection. "You're fine, Sage. Stop it."
No I'm not.
But what did you expect?
Would it be like this if she were on a date with that Talon guy back home? Would The Capitol stick their nose in her business all the way in Ten, even if she's no Career or notable Victor? She's not meant for this. Truly. She's meant for the quiet, the peace, the callings of home that no one really appreciates unless they call it home too. Not having her name and face plastered everywhere for every little thing she might do.
Perhaps she's been naïve. Too naïve for her own good. She's a Victor now, and even if she survived their Games, her old life ended the moment they called her name on Reaping Day nearly a year ago.
Now she's trapped living the one they want her to. The life of a Victor.
The flesh of her palms is pink bordering red from the heat of the water. Sage feels warm tears glazing her eyes, parts of her soul shaking that she didn't know could tremble, and she jerks away from her reflection. The quaking inside her is silenced as if it's been struck by the sting of a hand, and she yanks her own from the sink. Water drips along the tile, and she tugs at a paper towel to dry them. When she glares at her reflection in the mirror again, she's relieved that some color has returned in complexion.
Maybe this won't be so bad. Maybe, she'll be able to get used to it.
Not an ounce of that resonates with her, a pang rippling down her spine as her soul rejects the idea.
Sage huffs, pressing the heel of her palm back into the bathroom door to leave. Just as it's opened, there's a looming figure starting right toward her. She tries to side-step out of their way. "Oh, sor—"
The tall figure pushing himself into the Ladies' Room startles her, and she gasps with wide eyes. She shakes her head increduously as a deep frown sets along her features. "What are you doing?"
"Do you trust me?" Ptolemus asks, blue eyes trained on her brown ones.
Sage sweeps another look of disbelief across the Victor, taking an unsteady step back. "Not when you're barging into the Ladies' Room."
The tips of his ears tint pink, a muscle feathering in his jaw at the realization. "I'm sorry." He raises his palms up to her innocently. "But I have a plan."
She folds her arms across her chest skeptically, still glowering at him like he's a madman. "For what, exactly?"
Ptolemus shrugs. "Do you wanna get out of here?" Her lips part dumbly, and she feels her taut figure slackening ever so slightly. His gaze darts somewhere behind her. When she turns to follow its path, she notices the small window above one of the stalls. "Because I think I know a way for us to get out of here without them noticing."
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An aroma of tarragon and cranberry wafts through the air of his condominium, causing Sage's mouth to water. Her bare feet dangle above the kitchen floor, the red imprints from her heels beginning to fade as she sits along the counter. She watches Ptolemus open the oven, the scent growing stronger and the sizzling of the dish growing louder. With a potholder, he carefully pulls out the hot ceramic, placing it on top of the stove. The chicken is perfectly golden.
"You can cook, too?" Sage smiles with light amusement. "Is there anything you're bad at?"
"Singing." Ptolemus shrugs as he meets her gaze, mirroring the lightness in his own. "And letting go of grudges."
"Maybe Colt and you would get along after all."
"Is he your closest brother?"
"In age, yes. But I'd say I'm close with all of them in different ways." He reaches for the cabinet beside her, but she pulls it open for him instead. There's a stack of plates waiting, and she grabs two to pass off to him. He takes them gratefully as he listens. "Almanzo is the oldest, and the wisest, as stupid as it sounds. He's the responsible brother, already married with a daughter of his own— Erabelle. Shiloh is the serious, yet quirky one. Really smart too. He's super into planets and stars. I bought him a telescope when I first won as a gift. And Colt... Colt is dumb." A corner of her lips tugs upward, and she swears she can hear her brother screaming at her defensively all the way from Ten. "But, also kind of funny."
Ptolemus beams at the return of her light tone, the star in her burning again. It especially burns bright when she talks about her family. He carefully uses a spatula to scoop up one of the chicken thighs onto a plate, going back to scrape up some extra sauce and cranberries. There's some rice waiting on the other end of the stove.
A fond memory tugs at her heartstrings, soon tugging at her lips too. "It's funny. When I was Reaped, he was the only one that didn't seem to take it seriously. He kept making these stupid, poorly timed and out of place jokes about me and the Games. I thought my mom was going to push him out the window of the Justice Building." Sage's feet sway softly and mindlessly in the air. For such a bleak and petrifying time, there was still something golden about it. Thanks to her brother. "Honestly, I think he was just making those jokes so I wouldn't know he was scared. He knew if I thought he was scared, I'd be more terrified than I already was."
The Victor from Two gently offers a filled plate to Sage, steam rising from the mouth-watering food. Warmth radiates to her thighs as she places it on her lap. Another smile. "Thank you."
"Of course." He hands her some silverware too, then making his own plate. She waits until his is ready before eating. "Do you want something else to drink besides water?"
"No, this is great. Thank you again."
"I know it's not lobster, but I promise I can take you out for some another time. Or maybe make it here if you prefer. Just have to order the ingredients in time."
Sage shakes her head, still smiling as she saws at the tender and juicy chicken. "This is perfect, really."
And it is. The tangy flavor of the vinaigrette paired with the cranberries dances along both their tastebuds enticingly. Sage almost has to withhold a moan. Instead, she catches her feet wiggling ever so slightly, toes scrunching.
"My sister was kind of like that too. A little less serious. Always had a way of making a joke that my parents never laughed at." Ptolemus shrugs, taking another bite. "I always thought she was funny though."
"Were you close?"
He answers in a heartbeat. "She was my best friend, honestly."
Sage nods as she studies him carefully. Whatever she's looking for, she can't find it, the shade of blue in his eyes reminding her of a shield. Her own gaze falls back to her plate. "I couldn't imagine ever losing one of my brothers," she admits quietly. "Sounds awful. I'm sorry."
"It's okay." Ptolemus shakes his head dismissively. "She wouldn't want me to spend all this time being sad over her anyway. She'd hate it, actually. Probably haunt me and call me a sap until I got over it."
Sage is surprised when she notices his faint smile. It's small, but pleasant. Eventually, she nods again, turning her attention back toward her meal. Moments of peaceful and content silence pass as their forks and knives scratch along the ceramic plates.
"What do you think you would have been if you weren't a Victor?"
The question is deep, but Ptolemus can't withhold the wry chuckle that escapes him. "Dead."
Sage clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth, rolling her eyes as she shoots his smug form a glare. "Okay, what do you think you would have been had you never been Reaped? What would you have wanted your life to look like?"
He doesn't think about it long enough. He's learned not to allow himself to think about it long enough. "I don't know."
The Victor from Ten doesn't buy it for a moment. One of her dark brows raises skeptically at him as she scrapes at the remainder of rice on her plate. "You never wished for something?"
"Well, I have, but..." His voice trails off, and judging by the look in her eyes, he knows he can't avoid the topic much longer. There's a little boy inside him that's been waiting for a moment like this. A moment to be just a little boy and just dream. He lives in a hollow place of his heart. Ptolemus straightens thoughtfully, a crease between his brows forming. Sage just waits patiently.
"Well, if I never joined the Academy, I'd probably work at the Weapons Manufacturer with Gunnar. He's one of my pals from home. He tried picking up a sword at the Academy and nearly stabbed his toe, so he never came back."
"It'd be that or the mines, or... ending up as another stonemason like everyone else."
"You could be a chef," Sage mentions lightly, gesturing toward their now empty plates. "Probably one of the best, honestly."
Ptolemus smiles as he nods in agreement. "I do like to cook. But I also really like to—"
He hesitates, glancing to her watchful eyes. The reluctance in him causes him to drop his stare to his hands as he carefully pushes his plate away. When he studies them, he remembers what they're for. What they were built for according to the architecture of his parents' expectations. There's flickers of blood staining them, then there's the wet clay. Destroy. Create. Destroy, create. He forces himself to return her gaze again as he clears his throat.
"I actually really like to do pottery. I bought a wheel after I won, turned my sunroom into a studio. It... it feels good to build something with just your hands, ya know? Instead of..."
"Destroying?"
"Yeah."
"I get what you mean." She reaches for her water, taking a careful sip. Then she just holds the glass in her hands between her legs, one of her manicured fingers tapping at the edge softly. She peers toward the living room of Ptolemus's condominium mindlessly. "I think I would've been a veterinarian. My mother showed me how to take care of the cows and horses on the farm at a young age, even taking me to our neighbors to help them with their own animals when they were sick or hurt."
"That doesn't surprise me about you, actually," Ptolemus admits, straightening with interest as he listens.
"Did you know when a horse breaks its leg it usually has to be put down? You'd think with all the technology of The Capitol it could be avoided more often, but.... Happened to Shiloh's old horse three years ago. He was devastated." Sage gnaws on her bottom lip, shoulders deflating in the slightest. When she speaks, she realizes this might be the first time her dream starts to feel like only that. Just a dream. "I would've loved to find a way to keep that from happening. To nurse them back to health so they could run again."
"I think you could still do it." The sincerity in his voice is comforting and empowering. The vitality in his gaze gives her a strength she didn't know she could feel just from a look. Another one of those soft smiles. "You're really clever. And I remember how you tried to save that boy, your ally from Six. You knew exactly what you were doing."
The reminder of him suddenly steals any sense of confidence or self-belief she just felt. Even when her hands worked quickly, even when she was calling out commands to Calla for what she needed next, even when she kept reassuring Axel that he was going to be fine, he still died. His cannon still shattered the atmosphere and the hope in her chest that quivered as he cried for his family. She tried her best. She really did. There was just so much blood, and there were so many wounds from so many different places, and the damn Sponsors, the fucking Sponsors weren't raining anything for them so they could save him. No one else tried to save him.
And yet, his blood stains her hands.
Ptolemus recognizes the look in her eye, and he takes a tentative step closer to her. Her voice is a broken whisper as she stares down at her open palms. "I still didn't save him though."
"You tried. That's all you could do, Sage."
The darkness in her eyes pools like sad puddles after a long and cold rain. "I'm going to be a mentor this year, you know. I'm going to have two more kids to try and save, and even then, I'm only allowed to reunite one with their family." She gnaws on the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. "If I can even bring any of them home."
Ptolemus stands in front of where she sits on the counter now. He tentatively splays his palms on either side of her, the cool granite soothing to his warm palms. The sadness in her tone does something to him. Something to him that wants to morph himself into a shield. Not for him, but for her.
Pain wells in her chest again. Scabs that haven't healed to scars split open and ooze their heartache once more, and Sage feels her eyes burning with glass. She clenches her jaw as she averts his gaze in shame. Her voice is low so he won't hear it shaking. "I still get nightmares. How am I supposed to save someone from a nightmare in itself when I'm still haunted by my own?"
With his height, he looms over her by nearly a foot. Still, he leans forward, ducking his head carefully into her vision, desperately trying to meet her eyes with his. When they do, the steadiness in his gaze startles her and soothes her all at once. Inside, parts of her war with one another, desperately trying to subdue the pain and draw back the friendly, happy and collected warmth she normally sports. It's so much easier than this.
"I still get nightmares too," Ptolemus admits softly. "It's impossible what they ask of us. It's unfair."
She scoffs, not at him, but at who he's referring to. It covers up the sob that's tickling the back of her throat. She clings to the serene ocean in his eyes like a prayer. "But I'm gonna be a mentor this year too. So you're not alone in this. Okay?"
Sage now realizes how close he is. She bites down on her bottom lip just when it starts to quiver, forcing another shaky nod.
Ptolemus's gaze sweeps across her again as they hover close together. When she reaches for him, he reaches for her too, arms wrapped around one another in an embrace. The way that they cling to each other, you wouldn't be able to tell who really needed this hug more. Ptolemus closes his eyes when the warmth radiates through his form again.
"I promise."
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Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!! Feel free to comment, I love hearing from you!!!
AHHH MY BABIES!!! They're so soft I can't :') let me know what you think!!! I was hoping to add more depth to Sage and her own troubles as well as have them get to know one another without too much boring small talk. I always stress about dialogue. Honestly, when I got the idea for this story, my original plan was for the first chapter to be a prologue and then I'd just skip to catching fire itself, but I'm so glad I didn't do that and am adding more of a buildup to how they fall in love.
Ugh, such sweeties. :) feel free to share your thoughts!
Word Count: 6171