I can't break the cycle
Am I just a fool?
Falling down like dominos
Hit by family jewels

Everyone wanted to be a part of the popular crew.

The cousins from 9, the girl with the gorgeous silver-blonde hair, and the martyr-in-the-making formed the core group. Loud and proud, of course they drew the eye; their type could never resist the attention, although to their credit, 3 and 10 at least looked moderately embarrassed by the rambunctiousness of their companions.

It made little difference; their following was already expanding. The teary one from earlier who'd broken down was all cleaned up with a nervous smile on her face as she sat by the two girls. Meanwhile, wide-eyed Baley Keene was hanging around the edges of the crowd, as close as his sister would let him get. The breathtaking group of five girls were pointedly ignoring this new gathering, but the youngest and the one with the sultry eyes looked on the verge of breaking away. Their leader, pretty lips curled in a stern frown, did not seem pleased.

Already, there were cliques and rivalries. The bitches were shedding their beautiful masks, the older boys all vying for power and choking on their own testosterone—it was high school all over again.

At least, it was what high school would probably have been like. Carlyn Colbert had only been ten when the war had started, and just under thirteen when 1 had declared its support for the rebellion. When the Capitol had retaliated, schools had started shutting down.

She'd still knew about high school, though. Her sister had told her all about it.

Carlyn gave a small sigh, taking her eyes off the loudmouths to focus on someone a little closer to home. Camille sat on the cot across from hers, head down, arms folded, just as she had been ever since they'd finished their dinner.

Stay in the cell, she'd said. Don't give the Capitol a reason to hurt you. Stay away from the idiots. Follow the rules. I'll keep you safe.

That was all well and good, but it was also what they'd been doing for the entire day. Carlyn's leg had started bouncing a few hours ago, and it hadn't stopped since.

Odd as it was, she was starting to realise she missed being forced to slave away in the fields. It was hard work, but it was good, nothing like the prissy jobs school had been training her for in 1. She wanted to march through the dirt again, breathing in the musky smell of wheat stalks, feeling the burn in her muscles, toughening the callouses on her fingertips, having a hoe held tight in her hands . . .

Or is it a ho you miss holding more?

Oh, that was bad. Panem help her, the 9 boy and his terrible jokes were already having an influence.

Carlyn shook her head, smirking to herself at the thought of what Alycia's reaction would have been. She'd have gotten a slap, at least. Or she would have, if Alycia Riddell was not the most pacifistic saint ever to grace the streets of 1. More likely, Carlyn would have gotten a stern talking-to. And then a pretty little pout, a tear-jerking "Is that really what you think of me?", and the rest of the night would have to be spent consoling the hurt party in ways Carlyn certainly didn't mind.

For a fleeting miracle of a moment, Carlyn could feel the warmth of another pressed against her side. She could see it all so clearly. Alycia's bangs swept across her face, brown and orange and blonde like a tiger's eye gem. Eyes peeking out underneath, kind and tender and crinkled at the edges. Lips pink and full, moving, speaking—

"Carlyn? Are you all right?"

And there went the fantasy. Carlyn opened her eyes, berating herself for ever allowing her imagination to get away from her. It only served to increase the ache in her heart.

Alycia was hundreds of miles away. The only presence that would ever be at her side was her sister's.

"Carlyn—"

"I'm fine," she snapped, more aggressive than she'd intended. "Why?"

Camille stood before her, staring down over a confused frown. "You were smiling to yourself."

"Oh, is there a law against that now?"

There was a miniscule shift in her sister's brows, and for a split second, she looked hurt. The sight sent a hot sting of shame through Carlyn's stomach, but it wasn't quite enough to soften her voice. Alycia's image was still too fresh in her mind.

Camille crossed her arms, and in an instant, the stoic protector was back. "You know it could provoke the guards. I'm just trying to keep you safe."

There it was: the line that finished every argument. Carlyn tried to maintain eye contact this time, but her gut was twisting, her cheeks were turning warm, and her sister was so, so high above her. How symbolic.

She looked down, as she always did, biting hard on her lip as though pain could erase her jumble of feelings. Guilt, remorse, a little bit of awe—and anger, of course. Which only made her feel guiltier, because what right did she have to be mad at her sister? Without Camille keeping her safe, she'd have died along with their parents.

But Alycia . . .

"No one made a fuss during the idiot's story time," she murmured into her lap, feeling every bit like a petulant child for complaining, but the lingering memories pushed her to continue, "Am I not allowed to be happy?"

Camille said nothing, but Carlyn heard the ancient bedsprings creak as her sister took a seat by her side. Fingers crept beneath her chin, gently tilting her head up. Hesitantly, Carlyn looked up into deep grey eyes so like their mother's, and all she could think about was how the young woman before her was a better parent than any others she had known.

"Of course you can," Camille said softly, though she continued to frown as she spoke. It wasn't stern this time, or hurt, but curious. Happiness came so rarely in the cellblock, and in their lives. "What were you thinking about?"

She could lie. She had, more often than not. Camille had enough on her plate without Carlyn contributing to it.

But Alycia. Still on her mind, the one thing that could come between her and her sister.

"Alycia."

The change in Camille's face was instantaneous. Eyes hardened, jaw clenched—small shifts, but for her sister, she might as well have been bellowing in rage.

"Thinking about her isn't going to help you." Her sister's tone was as steely as her gaze. "I told you that. If you focus too much on other people, you won't be able to protect yourself."

Then why don't you mind your own business, for a change?

No, she couldn't say that. To anyone else, gladly, perhaps with an added punch in the face, but not to Camille. Not to the sister that had done so much for her.

But she was also the sister who had left Alycia behind, and Carlyn had spent too long brooding silently over that fact. She wanted to rebel, to show Camille in some way that lying to her at the train station was not at all okay, but how to do that without hurting her sister?

What she needed, more than anything, was to be alone. She hadn't had her own space to sort out her thoughts since . . . well, since their house had burned and her bedroom with it. After that, she hadn't been allowed out of Camille's eyesight. It had been too dangerous, and Carlyn respected that, but was there really still a need for it now? Without the guards, the most threatening person in the cellblock was probably the fifteen-year-old with the bad attitude, and Carlyn had nearly six inches on her. She was rather confident she could take most anyone on if a fight happened to break out—and, to be entirely honest, she almost hoped one would.

"Oi! What exactly are you doing?"

Maybe the hope wasn't entirely unlikely. In the main area, the leader of the Loudmouth Crew had shut everyone up with a shout, directed at the girl from 8, who had a mattress and sheet under her arm which she was currently dragging across the cellblock. Carlyn didn't know her well, but she knew the girl seemed quiet, until provoked. Then a little bit of her inner wildfire showed, as it did now when she spun on her heel to glare at the storyteller with such fierceness even he looked momentarily disturbed.

"If you want to force me to spend another night in those fucking cells," she spat, "Then I dare you to try."

The boy blinked as she resumed dragging her bedding, heading for the corner of the main space furthest from the cells. Weird as she was, Carlyn had to admire her for rendering the storyteller speechless, and for thinking up the idea to move her bed. After all, if the guards weren't there, who said they had to sleep behind bars?

Evidently she wasn't the only one who thought the plan was good. Though still a bit shaken, the storyteller had reclaimed enough of his ridiculous overconfidence to start shouting again.

"All right! Everyone grab your beds, we're going to have a sleepover out here!"

"Don't come anywhere near me," hissed the girl from her corner.

"Grab your beds, we're going to have a sleepover over there," he corrected, hurriedly pointing in the opposite direction.

Carlyn wanted to roll her eyes at the obnoxiousness of the boy and his crew, but she couldn't deny they were on to something. Maybe all she needed to deal with her thoughts and feelings was a little more room to breathe.

As soon as she made to stand, a hand came down on hers. "What are you doing?"

She sighed, looking back at her newly stern sister. "I'm going out there."

"Why?"

"Cam, I just want to spend one night out of this cell." A little bit of begging was starting to creep into her tone, but she'd feel ashamed for that later. "Don't you?"

"No."

Of course not—all Camille needed to sleep soundly was her sister at her side. But boy, did she need that. Otherwise the nightmares came, though Camille had never told her what she dreamt about. All Carlyn knew was that sneaking away for a night with Alycia had been a hellish experience.

There she was again, back on her mind. Thoughts of her girlfriend swelled until Carlyn could almost pretend she could feel Alycia next to her, giving her enough confidence to say, "Look, I want to sleep outside. You can come if you like, but I'm not staying in here."

Immediately, she turned away and left the cell, never allowing herself to look back. If she caught sight of her sister's face, she might lose her nerve and instantly regret leaving Camille behind.

She never had the chance. Not four steps had she taken before her sister was at her side once more, each hand wrapped tight around the corner of a mattress.

"Where are we going?" she asked, because it always, always had to be "we".

She needed a breather. Just one night without Camille hovering over her shoulder. Not that her sister would be pleased to hear that, and for her part, Carlyn would rather take on one hundred Capitol soldiers barehanded than tell Camille directly to get lost.

To put some distance between the two of them, she'd need a plan. Her eyes roamed across the main area, mind whirring as she took in each person present, until finally, she settled on one.

Yeah. She could make this work.

"Carlyn?" Her sister was eyeing her again, frowning. "Where do you want to sleep?"

"Sorry. Lost in thought. I was just thinking, you know what?" She turned to her sister, expression sliding effortlessly into an eager grin. "We can still use the sinks, right? I haven't had the time to give my face a good wash in, jeez, forever. It'll be nice to have a bit of the normal routine back."

"The guards—"

"Cam, if they haven't come back yet, odds are they're not coming at all."

Her sister opened her mouth in response, hesitated, then said, "Fine. I'll come too."

"And drag the mattresses in with you? Don't be ridiculous, just go set them up in a corner. I'm not going to drown in the sink." She gave Camille a reassuring smile, warmer than any expression she'd worn since they'd left Alycia behind. "Pick a nice spot for us. You can even shove the mattresses together, like we had it at Brandon's place."

Normally, her sister wouldn't have budged on the subject, but part of being a great liar meant learning how to manipulate people into wanting to believe your truth. Carlyn had been taught that by the best; surprising then that her sister didn't pick up on the technique now.

Instead, it worked, and well. Now, with a cautious frown and a curt nod, Carlyn was dismissed while Camille set up their sleeping area.

Such a task wouldn't occupy her for long, and then she'd rejoin Carlyn in an instant. It was time to act fast.

Lacking anything to do today besides sulk about Alycia and give her sister the silent treatment, Carlyn had taken to people-watching. In a fight, half the battle was knowing your opponent, and while this wasn't an inherently violent situation, it was good to know her fellow inmates all the same.

Right now, she had her eyes locked on the brother/sister duo from 9, Baley and Laurel Keene. They'd often caught her eye, if only because their relationship was a warped mirror of Carlyn and Camille's. Protective older sibling, idiot younger sibling—sounded about right. Only Laurel was violent and abusive where Camille was simply a bit overcautious. Perhaps that was why Carlyn felt an automatic pang of sympathy every time she watched young Baley get chewed out by his older sister.

Now, at least, she could do something for him. Her observations had largely been casual, but it had been hard not to notice the amount of time Laurel Keene spent in the washroom, always emerging with her hands rubbed raw. Additionally, while her brother welcomed approaches by the six-year-old, Laurel could barely contain her disgust, and stayed a good five feet back at all times, especially whenever the little kid coughed, sneezed, spit, or did anything else unsanitary. Carlyn could use that.

The Keenes were in the perfect location too, hovering by the washroom door on the fringes of the Loudmouth Crew. Carlyn strode forward, letting her gaze drift about naturally while keeping her attention fully focused on the two in front of her.

"Can't I listen? he's telling another story!"

"And it's probably just as bad as the last. It's your bedtime anyways."

"No one else is sleeping."

"And if everyone jumped off a bridge, would you—?"

"Atchoo!"

It was funny, how a tough girl like Laurel could let out such a high-pitched shriek. The moment Carlyn stumbled into her, faking a sneeze and a few coughs for good measure, Laurel leapt back like she'd been burned, narrow eyes now comically wide.

"Ew, ew, ew," she muttered like a mantra as she swept her hands across her face, rubbing so violently Carlyn was sure she'd break the skin. "Ew," she added forcefully when she was done, her usual deadly expression retaking her face. "What the hell, bitch?"

Carlyn raised a hand to her mouth, the perfect pose of apology. "Oh Panem, I'm so sorry. I was just going to grab some water, felt a bit dizzy, and I totally didn't see you there. So, so sorry, I think I'm coming down with something, it's making my vision all blurry."

That did it. With the implication of disease, Laurel fell back another step, fighting to keep her glare on her face.

"Stay right here," she demanded, hand already on the washroom door. "I'm not done with you."

"Of course. Again, I'm so—"

The door to the washroom had already swung shut. Carlyn held her sympathetic expression for a moment longer, then dropped it to allow herself a victory smirk.

The change didn't go unnoticed by Baley. "What was that for?" he asked, a bit suspicious but nowhere near as confrontational as his sister. "You really shouldn't do that—in a place like this, bacteria can travel like a wildfire."

"I know. And I really am sorry," she said, giving the younger Keene a genuine smile. "But I need your help, from one kid with an overprotective sister to another."

He kept his face in a frown, no doubt a lesson he learned from Laurel, but Carlyn could see he was interested.

"What do you want?"

"My sister is over there. Long red hair, serious expression, see her?" Carlyn pointed and promptly realised Camille was already placing their mattresses. This had to be quick. "All I need you to do is distract her."

Baley looked over at Camille, brow furrowed. "Isn't she the one who keeps getting caught with shivs?"

"And aren't you curious as to how she gets them?" Carlyn bent down and whispered, "Her latest was made from a dead man's toe."

"Oh, gross. Gross!" But unlike his sister, the prospect of something disgusting didn't seem to put Baley off. He was chuckling, now looking at Camille with the sort of fascination one got from something that was at once sickening and awesome.

"Okay," Baley said, giving her a cute grin. "I've got you covered."

Carlyn smiled as he ran off. So her story wasn't entirely true; Baley didn't have to know, and it would keep the two of them occupied long enough for her to slip away.

She stepped into the washroom just in case her sister turned her way, keeping the door ajar to watch her plan in action. Once Baley confronted Camille, then she could—

"All right, sicko, time for you to explain what the fuck you thought you were doing."

Shoot—she'd forgotten about Laurel. Upon seeing her enter the washroom, the younger girl left the sink to march up to her, and Carlyn couldn't afford to get caught up in a lecture now.

Ah. Actually, she might be able to work this in her favour.

"I'm so sorry. Again. But I think my older sister is the one you want to talk to for compensation. She usually handles these things, more responsible and all that."

It felt odd and just a little embarrassing to talk about herself like she was a useless child to a girl who was actually younger than her, but it did the job. The moment she opened the washroom door to point out Camille, Laurel's eyes zeroed in on the enthusiastic boy by her side.

"Baley?" she breathed, taking in the scene. Then she was off, without so much as another word to Carlyn, her attention fully focused on Camille as she stormed across the main area. Already she was shouting.

The little hub of chaos she'd created brought a smile to Carlyn's lips. She'd feel bad for putting her sister in such a position later, but for a few precious minute, at least, she was free to be alone.

That wouldn't last if she stayed here, though. The washroom would be the first place Camille looked for her after breaking away from the Keenes. There was no way she was hiding out in another cell, but then the main area was too exposed.

That left the yard then, didn't it? Was it still open? She supposed it was worth a check.

As quietly as she could, she slipped out of the washroom doorway and began to make her way around the edge of the main area, keeping as far from her sister as possible. The caution wasn't necessary; Camille had enough people vying for her attention as the Loudmouth Crew approached to see what Laurel was shouting about. It was a clusterfuck of arguments, and her sister was at the centre of it. Good.

Carlyn snuck along the row of cells, keeping low until she reached the yard door. It was already cracked open as if waiting for her. She grinned as she slipped through, leaving the stuffy, oppressive air of the cellblock behind and stepping outside to take her first fresh breath.

Her lungs filled, crisp and cool, and then she promptly choked upon exhalation as a voice interrupted her.

"Yard's taken."

She blinked, eyes trying to adjust to the sudden lack of light to find the speaker, but all was covered in shadow. Even the camp's streetlamps didn't extend all the way out here; they only had the stars and the moon.

Stars and the moon . . . She'd seen them plenty of times, of course—they were often kept late in the fields—but this was the first time in weeks that she'd actually had the chance to enjoy them. Usually she'd never have stopped to think about such trivial things, but Alycia had always loved dragging her up to the rooftops to count constellations or watch sunsets or—

"Kid. Did you hear me? Go back inside."

Carlyn shook her head, dragging her mind back into the present. Now, she was beginning to make out shapes surrounding her: the bars of the yard, the camp's fence just beyond it, and the two humanoid figures sitting on either side of her.

It was the one on her right who had spoken, definitely a girl but with a rough, husky voice that was surprisingly pleasant on the ears. Carlyn stared at her, waiting for her features to emerge from the darkness.

Broad shoulders, strong arms, long hair—her eyes took in more as they adjusted, until she could be sure it was one of the 3 girls looking back at her. Which meant the other girl, the quiet one, was likely the third from 3. They were the only two Carlyn couldn't remember seeing inside.

The girl she was watching groaned, raising a hand to her forehead. "You deaf? Or dumb?"

"What?" Carlyn frowned. "No. I just wanted to be alone."

"Well, that's not happening here, clearly. Go back inside."

"It's not happening in there either, trust me," she muttered, sinking onto the concrete ground and crossing her legs.

"Uh-uh. Don't get comfortable."

"Why can't I be out here?"

"I wanted to be alone first."

Carlyn jerked her head to the right, at the girl silently watching the exchange. "But you're not."

"'Delia doesn't count."

"Why?"

"Because she's quiet."

"I can be quiet too."

"Then by all means, give us a demonstration."

Carlyn considered it. She really did just want some alone time, but even if the two girls from 3 were quiet, that didn't mean they weren't there. More than not wanting to talk, Carlyn wanted to not be watched, though apparently the only way that would happen was if she locked herself in a washroom stall and refused to come out. Even then, Camille would probably find a way to her.

Still . . . this didn't have to be a total loss. She couldn't think, sure, but she could get the next best thing, and that was an outlet for all her pent-up energy.

She laid back across the concrete, stretching out so that her head was pointed towards the pissy girl. Upside down, she gave her a smile. "So, I'm Carlyn."

"Fuck's sake, I thought you could be quiet."

"Aw, come on, what's the harm in a little conversation? What's your name?"

"Fuck off."

"Hi, Fuck Off. Nice to meet you." She raised her head, looking over at the other girl in the corner. "And you were Delia?"

The shadowed figure shifted, and out came a tentative, "Ardelia."

"Ardelia and Fuck Off. Very nice."

"Her name is Thisbe."

"Damn it." Thisbe rose to her feet, pointing first to Ardelia, then to Carlyn. "Don't let her rope you into this. Now, you, get out."

"You two seem to hang out a lot together," Carlyn continued, ignoring her altogether. "You sisters? Friends? Girlfriends?"

"We're soldiers," Thisbe said before Ardelia could respond. "And if you don't leave, you'll be getting some proof."

"Oh?" Perfect. Thisbe looked ready to snap, and Carlyn was practically vibrating with energy. She hopped up as well, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she gave Thisbe a grin. "What a coincidence. I'm a soldier too."

"No you're fucking not."

"Commanding officer, in fact. Of One's most powerful regiment. We heard that in Three, the only drills you had to do were math exams. Is that true?"

Ugh, even she was starting to hate herself. Cocky idiots never failed to piss people off, but then, when that was the intention, it was best to play the part. And Carlyn played it very well.

Perhaps a little too well. Thisbe was certainly not holding back as her foot swung up and slammed into Carlyn's stomach.

In the instant of contact, there was pain, but worse than that was the shame. Idiot, she should have seen that coming! It had been too dark to keep focused on the girl's legs and face, and now she was paying the price.

Carlyn fell back, stomach throbbing, arms out to slap the ground as she hit it hard. Her chin she kept tucked in, head inches above the ground. One concussion was all it took to teach her how to fall better the next time.

Yes, she'd been here before, in so many fights like this. In fact, she'd had far worse. Pain she could get used to, but the thrill of that adrenaline rush never went away.

Thisbe stared at her as she rolled back up into a standing position, smiling like she was none the worse for wear. "Well then. The princess from One can take a few hits."

"You should see what I can dish out."

Immediately, she dropped low, hands rising to make fists. Thisbe's arms flew to her stomach, covering the area she thought Carlyn would hit in payback and leaving her chin perfectly vulnerable to a fierce uppercut as Carlyn bounced back up, throwing all the momentum of her jump into her punch.

Thisbe's head snapped back, and she stumbled away, swearing. Carlyn had once knocked a girl out with that hit, but she didn't want anyone unconscious now. Then the fun would end.

Though it might nonetheless. Ardelia was on her feet now, eyes on Carlyn as she stepped forward. Her posture was rigid, with none of Thisbe's languid movements; if there was anyone she believed had been a soldier, it was this girl.

"No, Ardelia." Thisbe stopped her with a simple gesture, though her gaze was focused on Carlyn. "Please, allow me."

Carlyn raised her fists, grinning. "Bring it."

And Thisbe did. Once more, her leg came up, swinging around to slam into her opponent's side. Carlyn was in fight mode now, though, and she saw the blow coming a mile away. A quick step back, then a leap forward—straight into Thisbe's second kick.

Her stomach muscles tensed, but it still hit her like a truck. Maybe there was actually some truth to the whole soldier thing.

Or not. A smart fighter would have snapped their foot back immediately, but Thisbe was slow, just slow enough for Carlyn to wrap her arm around the girl's leg. Like a dancer, she glided forward, grabbing the girl's prison suit in her free hand and yanking her back. Thisbe wobbled on her one foot, off-balance, then toppled as Carlyn slid her own leg in behind Thisbe's knee, straightening it and forcing the girl to buckle.

It was clear she'd never had training on how to fall either. Her arms weren't straight out, but windmilled wildly; Carlyn would have laughed, if Thisbe hadn't managed to catch her off-guard. The girl's scrambling fingers found home in Carlyn's own jumpsuit, dragging her down as well.

They fell, panting, Carlyn on top of Thisbe. Air left them both, but Carlyn recovered faster, pushing herself up over Thisbe's chest to find the two of them almost nose to nose.

She grinned. "Hi."

In response, Thisbe threw a punch at her nose. Carlyn caught her arm and rolled over, trying to get herself in a position to force Thisbe into an arm bar, but they were on the ground now, and that was where the bigger, muscular opponents thrived. Thisbe managed to hold her back with her one arm, wrapping her other one around Carlyn's throat.

Oh, no. No way was she going to be forced to tap out.

Thisbe pulled back with her arm, trying to choke her, but Carlyn went with the movement, slamming her head backwards into Thisbe's face. It was a risky move, and painful, but completely worth it as she felt something hot wash over her hair.

Thisbe released her, and she scrambled away, turning back to see her handiwork. What she expected was a girl on the ground clutching her bloody nose.

What she did not expect was said girl lunging for, completely ignoring the blood running over her lips. Apparently 3 made them tougher than she'd originally anticipated.

Carlyn raised her arms, but her last attack had rattled her brain, and she misjudged where Thisbe's hit would land. Instead of hitting her face, the older girl went for Carlyn's already poorly treated stomach. One solid punch knocked Carlyn onto her back once more, and then it was Thisbe on top, smirking through a mouthful of blood.

"Hi."

Carlyn tensed as she reared back, but the fist she formed never landed. There was a furious cry, a blur of motion, and someone had tackled Thisbe right off of Carlyn.

It wasn't hard to guess who it could have been.

Shit.

Carlyn struggled to her feet, one hand clutching her still-spinning head. Her vision was a bit blurry, and the dark was an added challenge, but she could still see the scene frozen before her. Thisbe was back on her feet, fists up and brow lowered, like she wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation. Directly across from her was none other than Camille, who had her own hands raised and murder in her eyes. The only reason Thisbe wasn't currently on the ground with her brain leaking out of her skull was Ardelia, who had somehow managed to step between them and stop them both with a hand on their chests. The girl was taller than the others, and held herself with the sort of discipline that made others listen, but Carlyn could tell it was only a matter of time before Camille snapped.

"Cam, enough," she said hurriedly, hobbling forward to reach her sister's side. "It's okay."

"She hurt you." Her sister was actually shaking. "She hurt you."

"Look, it's not what you think. It was just . . ."

Actually, what was it? For Carlyn, it had been a way to let off steam, the same way other people might take up jogging, but with fights, there was so much room for error. And it did look like she'd broken Thisbe's nose. Maybe the other girl had been hitting her with much darker intentions.

Carlyn could certainly believe that, looking at her now. Tall and intimidating, with eyes narrowed over a blood-splattered face—maybe she had gotten herself in over her head.

But then, just as Camille tensed to pounce, Thisbe threw back her head and laughed.

"Whew. Haven't had that much fun in a while."

Camille and Ardelia stared, but Carlyn broke out into a beaming grin. "Oh? Enjoy getting your ass handed to you?"

"Please. I'm not the one who had to call in backup." She chuckled, turning her gaze on Camille and her fists. "At ease. I wasn't trying to kill your sister."

"You hurt her."

"Rest assured, she paid me back." Thisbe reached a finger up to her nose, grimacing as she gently prodded it. "I'll admit, you got some good hits in. Does One really teach you to fight like that?"

Carlyn smiled. "The streets do. How about you, you a real soldier?"

"Would have been, if I'd made it to Four. I was heading there to enlist. You?"

Carlyn glanced at her sister. In her mind, the memories flashed. Fire, screams, the streets, Brandon Haller and his crew of orphaned pickpockets, the soldiers, the takeover, the train. And above it all was Alycia, her image glowing clear as day before Carlyn's eyes.

"Just running," she said firmly, to Camille as much as Thisbe. "We did a lot of that. Too much."

Camille tilted her head, trying to understand her meaning, but Carlyn had already turned away. Now, her eyes were solely on Thisbe.

"I'd like to stop that now."

Thisbe shrugged. "Not hard here—nowhere really to run." She sat back on the ground, still fingering her nose as Ardelia followed suit. Then she looked back up at Carlyn and grinned. "But you're welcome to stay, if you can learn how to shut up for five seconds."

Camille took her hand. "Carlyn, we should go."

There it was again: the choice between her sister and another. How many of those had they had in their lives?

For Camille, the answer had always been simple. Carlyn, Carlyn, and Carlyn again. She'd run to her room when the looters had set their block aflame, she'd hurried her away instead of fighting with Brandon when he'd been caught, and she'd lied to her about Alycia to get her on the train. Her decision had always been Carlyn—and it had always been to run.

Caryn had never been able to do that. How selfish had she been, for choosing others over her own blood?

But Alycia had said that was all right. She'd said siblings should still be allowed to have lives outside of each other, and she had five, so didn't she know what she was talking about?

Carlyn looked from Camille to Thisbe, both watching her carefully. She gave them each a smile.

And she sat down in the yard.

Oh, don't you find it strange?
Only thing we share is one last name
Did I beat you at your own game?
Typical of me to put us all to shame

Note: Thank you for reading. Apologies for the late update; occasionally I'll have plan that will prevent me from updating Saturday, in which case, expect an update Sunday instead. Additionally, the blog has been updated slightly, if you're interested (main changes are Rust has a new picture, and some information has been added to Carlyn and Carly's posts).