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This chapter is all about Zuko, and is pretty short as a result.

10. My fault

I had gone to the apartment first, hoping that I would find them there; it had only been a few hours. My heart sank when I saw that the door had been left wide open, I dare not pass the door frame. I stood there, holding my breath, taking in all of the damage that had been done to their home in the past couple of days: nearly everything these people had owned had been violated in some manner. I could see traces of blood streaked along the fibers of the carpet, a trail leading to where I stood; a voice broke me from my reverie, I jumped a few inches into the air.

"You looking for Mr. Adlar?" An elderly woman had her head peeking from her apartment door a couple of rooms down.

"Yes, ma'am." She frowned in response, shaking her head.

"You just missed them. They were in a big hurry, had a couple of bags with them." Her eyes looked me over, scrutinizing everything about my appearance.

"Oh, that's a shame," was all I could think to say. I started to walk back towards the stair well, satisfied with what I had been told; they were smart, they were making a run for it. The girl had really done a number on my sister, if they found her, any of them, they were as good as dead.

One of the guards holding the distraught girl rose his fist in the air, ready to strike out at her if she spoke out again; my sister looked on with a smirk on her lips. The boy writhed in pain on the floor in front of me, the sounds that escaped his lips sent bile up to the back of my throat; this was not what was supposed to happen, my father had said nothing about torture.

Azula continued talking, walking back in forth, pacing in front of the boy's face, her shoes a mere inch from stepping on his nose. "The moonlit stroll through the park was a very nice touch, I must say, Aang." Pitiful, gut wrenching noises gurgled from his lips in response, his eyes tensed insurmountably, his body curled into itself. I should say something, I should stop this.

"I beg you! No more! Stop!" I winced, bracing myself for impact, knowing that she was going to be berated; I had underestimated her tenacity. She lashed out at the men holding her arms, slapping, scratching at their faces, managing to get free of their grasps, but only long enough to touch the boys face for a fleeting second before being thrown several feet backwards. Several men surrounded her, holding her down, another punched her in the face. The sound making me feel more nauseous; it was like watching a bunch of feral children desecrate a porcelain doll; her delicate features ballooned, her skin had cracked on the bridge of her nose, blood ran down the side of her face.

Azula stood over her, her smug smile being quickly expunged by a large wad of spit from the girl; her bravery continued to amaze me. The boy's face wore a small smile of his own and I questioned his consciousness momentarily.

Azula attacked the girl, kicking her ribs several times, cursing her form, her existence, before containing herself, and turning away. The girl cried out in pain, gasped for air; I was sure her ribs had been broken. When her eyes looked over at the sorry form of the boy in front of me, my resolve cracked; the deplorable, hopeless reflecting through her sad, mellow, dark blue orbs drove me out of the room. I slammed the door behind me, ignoring my father's threatening words.

I made it to the end of the hall way before my guilt and curiosity got the better of me; I made a left, opening the door to the surveillance room, turning every monitor over to the main chamber. I watched as the boy reached for the back of his head; everyone else in the room had stopped moving, stopped struggling. He held his hand out in front of him, his fingertips bloody, a small, barely recognizable piece of metal resting in the palm of his hand: the tiny microchip I had had implanted in his flesh, hardwired to his brain, and set to induce intense chemical reactions throughout his entire body the moment he did something my father didn't particularly like. I was responsible for all of this.

The fiery woman leapt to her feet, catching the men behind her entirely off guard; she was already on top of Azula before they had even had time to process what had happened. She was holding nothing back, all of the energy, the anger, the hate she had pent up inside of her poured into her blows; blood erupted from my sister's nose, her eyebrow, her lip; her face was being tenderized, no one made a move to stop it. I almost laughed.

A figure came into view, running in from the corner of the room, pulling the girl off of Azula, yelling at her, telling her to run, placing a key into her scarlet hands. He had barely enough time to help the boy to his feet before my father laid him flat.

My uncle had been the figure, he had rescued the two of them, distracting my father long enough for them to make a run for it. I had done the same, promising myself that I would honor my uncle's actions, and help the family that I had hurt irreparably.

"Was there something you needed from them?" I shook away the shameful thoughts in my head and looked her in the eyes. They were kind, wise.

"No," my tone was sure, firm, "they need something from me, actually. I have to fix something, something I broke, something that I took from them." She considered this for a few seconds, her eyes narrowing.

"I can think of only one place they might have gone to," she said quickly, "Katara's father lives a couple hundred miles south of here, s'names Hakoda. I can't help you with anything else; good luck." She shut the door before I could thank her.