Chapter 21: Of Things Unbroken

TW: Brief mention of drugs; minor self-mutilation

Venatrix bristled under the gaping stares of her peers as Morwenna, talons still buried in the future tribute's ponytail, pulled her down the hall, though the Victor didn't seem to care.

The opposite, in fact; there would be no getting away with what she just did.

"How dare you," Morwenna spat, practically throwing her into an empty classroom and kicking the door shut with her boot. "How fucking dare you Pyke; you want to kill him, you wait 'til the goddamn arena!"

Venatrix flinched, steadying herself on a rickety school desk. "I don't!" she protested.

"Oh, really?" the Victor sneered. "Then you'd better start explaining yourself real fucking quick, because I don't give a fuck who your parents are, what you pulled just now? Unacceptable!" Morwenna's face hovered inches from hers; Venatrix didn't back away, despite sensing that the older woman was about a half second from biting her head off. "I swear on the President's left fucking eyeball, you'd better hope that boy's arm isn't broken, because if it is—!" She cut herself off with a growl, her hands making a strangling motion at the air in front of Venatrix's neck before she centered herself with a deep breath.

In her silence, Venatrix took the opportunity to plead her case. "I wasn't trying to kill him, I just— I don't want him in the arena with me." Morwenna's eyes flashed dangerously, but she continued. "I don't want to lose him, okay?"

"That is not your decision to make," Morwenna hissed. "And you're a goddamn fool if you think you won't need him in there."

Venatrix's frown deepened.

Morwenna scoffed at her expression. "Don't think I don't know why your parents agreed to select him, but would you like to know why the rest of us did?"

Somehow, she'd never even thought to ask; Venatrix nodded, slowly lowering herself into the cramped chair attached to the desk and giving Morwenna her full attention.

"Initially, your father—" she spat the word like a curse— "wanted us to choose a dud. Someone who wouldn't have a chance in hell of making it out with you in there." Her lip curled in what could've been disgust or satisfaction. "But Oberon Pyke doesn't run District Two as much as he thinks he does."

Venatrix narrowed her eyes, the gears in her mind turning. "...Did you tell Percy to go after Iago?"

The Victor gave a harsh laugh. "I didn't need to. He was smart enough to figure that out for himself." She frowned. "Or stupid enough."

With a shrug, Morwenna folded her arms, seating herself on top of the desk across from Venatrix. She cleared her throat. "Now, Pyke, you remember the 144th Games, don't you?" Venatrix nodded, unsure where she was going. "Why don't you go ahead and tell me who the District One male was."

Digging into the years of Hunger Games history drilled into her brain, Venatrix eventually came up with the name. "Bleiz Faustin."

"And more importantly, why was he significant?"

He wasn't if he didn't win, Venatrix wanted to say. But there was a reason Morwenna had decided to bring it up. "He was the brother of a Victor," she recalled. "The jewel thief, right? Gaspar Gervaise, 137th Games."

Morwenna hummed in agreement, the sound somehow sarcastic. "Do you remember what happened to Bleiz Faustin that year?"

"He…" She did; watched it live, even. Only eleven years old, but she and her siblings had laughed with glee when her dad's tribute had shoved a sword through the boy's chest. "He died in the Bloodbath. The rest of the Pack betrayed him."

"They did," Morwenna said, her words clipped; if Venatrix thought her father's tone had been patronizing, it was nothing compared to the red-haired Victor. "Because myself, and your father, and the rest of the Career mentors told them to. And do you remember who won that year?"

"District Five."

"District fucking Five. Now, you don't want a District Five victory this year, do you?"

Venatrix ground her teeth. "No."

Resting her elbow on her crossed legs, Morwenna leaned forward. "Do you want to know what I would do, if I were your district partner, and I saw you and your shiny fucking legacy, armed with the knowledge that I was only sent in as your sacrificial lamb?"

Venatrix didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

"Do you understand, now, why you need him? Do you think Perseus fucking Silverhorn would stoop low enough to put an arrow in your back?"

"I get it," Venatrix hissed, coils of burning shame twisting again in her gut. "He wouldn't."

"No, he damn well would not. Not even if I told him to." Rising from her place, Morwenna stalked over to Venatrix's desk to tower over her, the effect even more significant than when they stood level with each other. "And if you don't make it out, who would you rather that be? District Five? District Eleven?"

An involuntary scowl flashed across her features. "Of course not," she spat.

"Then get the fuck over yourself, and stop acting like a goddamn child."

"I just don't want him to die!" Venatrix protested, breaking the Victor's stare.

Without warning, Morwenna's hand shot out to grab her by the jaw, her pointed fingernails almost breaking skin as she wrenched Venatrix's face towards hers. "It is too fucking late for that attitude," she snarled. "Percy accepted the position knowing who he'd be going in with, as did you. Now you can live with that, beg for his forgiveness, and pray to fuck he's not too hurt to go in, or…" Morwenna tilted her chin to look Venatrix directly in the eye. "You can go to Hell and give me my fucking Victor. Got it?"

Venatrix's voice was quiet but steady. "Yes ma'am."

Percy's arm wasn't broken, and Venatrix almost cried with relief. Morwenna had dragged her to the campus hospital where Oberon and the cadets had taken Percy — Venatrix felt another twinge of guilt at that — the former waiting in the lobby with the preliminary diagnosis when they arrived. Oberon barely got out the words "Elbow contusion" before Morwenna barreled past him to see her charge, leaving Venatrix alone with her father.

Bracing herself for another brutal tongue-lashing, Venatrix kept herself pressed against the wall, and—

"Venatrix, what the fuck were you thinking?"

Okay, not as harsh as I was expecting. "You said to kill him," she said, far too blithely.

"Not funny," he growled.

Am I still mad? Yeah, I'm still mad. "Yeah, well. Morwenna already chewed me out for it, so I don't need anything from you."

Angry or not, that had been a stupid thing to say, judging by her father's expression. Come on, nobody ever snaps at Iago when he gives an attitude. That wasn't to say Venatrix didn't know she was in the wrong; Morwenna had pointed that out quite clearly. But she'd held her tongue long enough, and being screamed at never failed to give her the urge to bite back, nevermind the casualties.

Oberon opened his mouth as if to tell her exactly what he thought of her attitude problem when the door to the hospital unit swung open, interrupting him.

Right arm wrapped, iced, and dangling from a sling, Percy slipped through the door that Morwenna held for him, his body going completely rigid when he noticed the two Pykes in the waiting room. Morwenna nearly bumped into him, shooting Venatrix and her father a glare for good measure as Venatrix rose to her feet. "Percy…"

He looked away, ignoring her apologetic tone.

Venatrix bit her tongue again at Morwenna's scoff; though she'd never admit it out loud, the woman had thoroughly intimidated her. Nevertheless, Morwenna nudged Percy towards her. "Come on, Silverhorn. Remember what I told you?" He nodded reluctantly, his eyes flicking around the room. "Let's go, Pyke. Not you, the old one."

With a snort, Oberon followed his fellow Victor out of the lobby, leaving the future district partners alone together. Venatrix tried again. "I'm… sorry, Percy, I—"

He shook his head. "Fuck you for that, Trix." She started to respond, but he cut her off again. "No, fuck you." Venatrix blinked, rawness creeping up the back of her throat. "God, how fucking stupid was I for thinking you still wanted to be my friend, huh? Was all that just a fucking lie?"

"No, it wasn't, I just—" She bit her lip, forcing her breath steady. "I didn't want to hurt you, but—but that's the whole thing! In the arena, we—"

"So you'd rather just ruin my fucking chances, huh?"

"No, of course not!"

"Really?" He was pacing now, frustration emanating from him in waves. No, not just frustration; she could sense the undercurrent of panic. "They said it'll take a month for this to heal. A month. That's four fucking weeks of training that I won't have, all because of you!" In all the years they'd known each other, Venatrix didn't think she'd ever seen him this angry, all wild, one-armed gestures and twisted features, attracting a couple odd stares from the hospital staff. "You really will do just about anything to win, won't you? To hell with anyone you've ever said you cared about; we're all just obstacles on your fucking vengeance crusade!"

With every word, her guilt began to dissolve into anger, raging on the tip of her tongue. Ironic, considering his accusations. "You idiot," she hissed. "You're the one who put yourself in this position. What's your reason, huh? You knew I would be chosen, and you still! Went for it!"

"Oh, now it's my fault you tried to break my arm?"

"Are you even listening?"

"Are you? It's probably hard to hear me with your head so far up your ass."

God, maybe she'd change her mind about killing him after all. But Morwenna's voice in her head was louder: "Do you understand, now, why you need him?"

She did. She's right. But more than that, he's my friend. He's not just a tool, or an obstacle. He's my friend.

Venatrix took another slow breath, forcing the fire in her veins to cool. "Fine," she assented. "You're right! Whatever! I have my head up my ass, and who knows, maybe in three months, we'll both be fucking dead."

Percy didn't say anything to that.

"Clearly, I can't change the fact that we're both going in, and I'm sorry I tried." Venatrix met his eyes, their bitter blue virulence slowly abating. "Turns out, I'm just not okay with the thought of losing you."

"Could be the other way around," he sniped.

"Well, I can't worry if I'm dead," Venatrix pointed out before softening her tone. "Look, I'm sorry. I really am. Worsening your chances in the arena is the last thing I want."

That, at least, was the truth; if she couldn't change the fact that they'd be going in together, then she'd do her damndest to carry him until the end, nevermind her parents' "request" from earlier. Venatrix decided not to bring that up, determined to maintain its irrelevance.

He huffed, though he didn't say anything else; Venatrix took his silence as assent.

"Morwenna made some really good points about us needing to work together," she tried.

"Yeah, no shit."

She shot him an almost-hopeful look. "So we're okay?" His expression turned incredulous, and Venatrix inwardly winced. "I'm not just asking for strategy reasons, I promise."

But Percy shook his head. "I just… don't know what to think right now, okay? I'm not going to kill you in there or anything, but…" Anger had never been a lasting emotion for her friend; underneath it, she saw only hurt. "I don't know if I can trust you."

You can! Venatrix wanted to say. You have to, I'm your best friend!

But the truth was, he didn't. And she didn't have to trust him.

She just wanted to.

Movement at the front of the hospital lobby drew their attention; the door opened to an irritated-looking Oberon. "Are you two planning to sit here chatting all day or what? I'm sure there's still plenty of work for you to do," he said, the latter half directed towards Percy. Wordlessly, they followed him out; as he passed, Oberon clapped Percy on the shoulder, bringing a flicker of pain to Percy's face and earning himself a glare from Morwenna, still waiting outside. "Sorry," he said in response to the boy's sharp inhale. "Hey, Percy, why don't you come on over for dinner after training? Our apology for what happened here today."

Venatrix shot her father a surprised look; whatever he'd discussed with Morwenna must've prompted a change in heart. Percy too seemed taken aback, caught off-guard by her father's almost contrite smile. "I… I don't know if I'm allow—"

"Nonsense," Oberon cut him off. "If my kids want you over, you're more than welcome." The sharp nudge to Venatrix's shoulder clearly said, 'You need to fix this.'

"Please, Percy?" she said, leveling him with a round-eyed stare. He'd always had a hard time saying no to her puppy-dog eyes (and vice versa), unbroken arm or not. "It's been forever." As if we both didn't know why.

The blond-haired boy's eyes flicked between the three of them; Venatrix, Oberon, and his mentor. At Morwenna's nod, he exhaled. "Okay," he said despite the uncertainty in his tone.

At the behest of their mentors, Venatrix and Percy trained separately for the rest of the day, Morwenna dragging the latter off to talk strategy or interviews or anything he could do while icing his arm. Misery practically radiated from him in waves as he went, reminding Venatrix yet again of her role in the situation.

As did her peers; the cadets, it seemed, couldn't keep their fucking mouths shut. The fact that nobody had told them to was besides the point.

Avoiding the combination of Agate and Lancelot's accusing tirades at lunch proved impossible, prompting Venatrix to scarf down her meal as quickly as she could while muttering a pathetic excuse for her actions to stave off the ever-brewing guilt. At least Coquina said nothing, just as Venatrix and Percy had said nothing following her incident during the Mocks.

Needless to say, Venatrix spent the rest of the day training alone with her parents and Iago, who, predictably, found the whole thing hilarious. "Man, I wish I could've seen his face!"

"Can you, like, shut up?"

Iago only stuck out his tongue, flinging a knife at her face.

At the end of the day, Venatrix stopped by Morwenna's office to collect Percy for the evening. Outside, she found Lancelot waiting for him already, leaning against the opposite wall like he'd reserved the spot; he shot Venatrix a glare but didn't elaborate on his words from earlier.

Their awkward silence thankfully didn't draw out too much longer; Percy stepped out in front of Morwenna, a range of emotions flickering across his face at the sight of his attacker and his crush. "Um."

"You ready, Percy?" Venatrix prompted.

Lancelot narrowed his eyes. "Where are you going?"

"Uh. Dinner."

"With her?"

Percy only shrugged awkwardly.

"Pick another date, lover boy," Morwenna quipped, drawing a light blush from Percy's cheeks and a stiff cough from Lancelot.

"Friday then?" the latter amended, and Percy nodded, a small smile flickering across his mouth before he remembered where he was.

Feeling like she was intruding, Venatrix started to shuffle towards the exit, the motion catching Percy's attention. "Right. See you then. Or, tomorrow, probably, at the Academy…" Lancelot's answering chuckle was somewhat off-put by the daggers he glared into Venatrix's back.

As they made their way to the parking lot, Venatrix gave him a friendly nudge. "I think he likes you back, Perce."

"I know," he said flatly, the good mood disappearing from his features.

Venatrix frowned as they reached her father's car; Dagmara and Iago had already gone home for the day. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yep."

Aside from uncomfortably polite small-talk, he remained silent for the majority of the thankfully-short drive. Iago and her mother had apparently already started on dinner; the smell of cooking rice wafted into the garage through the open door when Venatrix stepped out of the car. Dagamra had the door propped open with her foot as she struggled to bring a stack of containers in from the fridge outside, pausing to lean against the doorframe as the car pulled in. "Your son is out back manning the grill like a champion, if you're curious," she said proudly, passing half of her stack to Oberon.

He grinned. "'Atta boy."

"So far, he's only burned one round of veggies," Dagmara said. She paused on her way inside, noticing the newcomer. "Oh, hello Percy. How's the arm?"

Percy gave a half-grunt half-shrug, motioning towards his ice-wrapped sling as he trailed behind Venatrix. She noticed the slight hesitance in the set of his shoulders as he stepped over the threshold of the side door, as if he were afraid he'd be incinerated on sight; as if he'd never set foot into her home before. As if all of it — the sleepovers, birthday parties, casual hangouts, bonfires, holiday get-togethers, late-night Games-watching nights she and Iago had secretly co-hosted while their parents were at the Capitol — had never happened before; never would again.

Hell, when did she last have him over? She thought back to his birthday in mid-January; they'd briefly stopped by her place to grab her ice skates so the three of them — Venatrix, Percy, and Agate — could go out on the lake. That had been before the Selection Tournament, of course.

"If you need to shower, you can use mine upstairs, if you want," she said as she dropped her bag at the table to start helping with dinner, her every action now a gesture of contrition. "You know where it is." Percy nodded, disappearing up the side set of stairs after a confirming glance from her parents. By the time he returned, Iago had brought the chicken and vegetables in from the grill, clapping the tongs at anyone who tried to touch the food before it cooled down. Having run out of ice from earlier, Venatrix dipped into the garage to get Percy a fresh ice pack, gingerly helping him re-wrap his arm according to the instructions he rattled off from the athletic trainer. She fixed him a plate as well, for which he gave a subdued thanks.

Throughout dinner, nothing she said seemed able to shake the stiff discomfort from her friend's posture; in fact, it only seemed to worsen with the tabletalk, her parents playing conciliatory catch-up on Percy's home life. "How have Hera and Danae been lately?" Oberon asked, referring to Percy's mothers. "It's been far too long since we've spoken."

"They're fine," Percy said quickly, his fork tap-tapping against the edge of his plate before he noticed, setting it down. "Yeah, they're um. Great."

Dagmara hummed in agreement. "Nice to hear that. They must be quite proud of you."

Percy nodded modestly.

"All those brothers too," Oberon said, shoveling a heaping bite of chicken and rice onto his fork. "You must be happy to see some finally out of the house." He chuffed, pausing to chew. "Trust me, I know I was when mine left."

"Yeah, um." Percy pressed his lips together, seemingly searching for something to say. "Hercules, he finally passed his driving test."

Venatrix snorted. "Took him long enough."

With one hand, Percy started absently sawing at his slab of chicken with the edge of his utensil. "Jason and Achilles should be getting deployed soon," he said to fill the silence induced by the meal. "My mothers are hoping they'll, um. Remain local."

"I can cut that for you," Venatrix offered.

"It's fine."

"Hm. Where'd they send Theseus again?" Oberon asked, his tone thoughtful.

"District—um. District Six."

"That sucks," Iago said, ever-impertinent. "Think he's started shooting morphling yet?"

"Iago!" Dagmara snapped.

Percy's fork clattered loudly onto his plate as it slipped from his fingers; he stared at it, subdued, though Venatrix didn't miss the rapid flutter of his eyelashes, his quickened breath before he regained wordless control.

"I am so sorry, Perseus," Dagmara said, her tone sincere but stern. "I don't know what is wrong with my children today."

The glare Venatrix shot towards Iago faltered under her mother's stare; she couldn't help but feel at fault for this, her guilt mixed with a strange sense of mourning for the person sitting next to her, for their easy relationship — god, how she hated the potency of grief. Between Percy and Bellara's empty chair, the helpless sadness settled like a rock in her chest, making it increasingly difficult to ignore her hindsight screaming at her to act while she could, do what she should've done last year (though she wouldn't've put it past Bellara to volunteer with a broken arm).

"I don't think I'm hungry anymore," Percy said quietly.

Venatrix gnawed at her lip before scooting her chair back. "Me neither," she decided, picking up her plate and snatching Percy's from in front of him. "Here, I'll take these. Come on."

Stacking the half-full plates by the sink, Venatrix dragged her friend out of the heat of the dining room. "You're on dishes tonight," her father called after her as the two of them tramped upstairs, escaping to the privacy of their own company.

"For the record," Percy said once they were out of earshot of the others, "this was a horrible idea."

"I don't know why Iago thinks it's okay to be such an ass all the time," Venatrix agreed. Percy, however, only laughed morosely. "What? It's not."

"Fucking unbelievable," he muttered.

Venatrix didn't say anything, though Percy hesitated when she strode right past her room, aiming for the closed door at the end of the hall.

"Attic?" She nodded. "Okay, just— give me a second, I have to..." He motioned to the bathroom and she nodded again, pulling open the door to reveal a wooden staircase.

Venatrix took her time ascending, flicking on the lightswitch once she reached the top. Overhead, dull yellow strings of bulbs illuminated the room, though not as vividly as the blood-red sunset currently waging war against the clouds. The expansive westward window that formed the wall of the attic captured the scene like the frame of a painting, the jagged peaks of the surrounding mountains aiding the sun in slicing the sky to ribbons. Taking her place on the large, comfortable couch that dominated the floor, Venatrix let her gaze wander through the Village, the planes of the other mansions bathed in violent red and evening shadow beneath the heavenly battle.

The lines of mansions continued southwards at an angle; just next to theirs stood the house Dagmara had won following her Victory. It tended to serve as a guest house, as if the one they currently lived in didn't have enough rooms (a laughable thought, really); on special occasions, Venatrix and her siblings had convinced their parents to let them host overnight parties there. They trusted her enough not to breathe down her neck with that kind of thing, though more likely, the idea of having the kids out of their hair was tempting enough.

Morwenna's lay next along the line of succession, followed by the one that used to be Eridan's, the latter a grim overlap between the Victors' mansions and the empty ones. Vaguely, she wondered if they would reuse it for Two's next Victor — herself, if things went according to plan.

God, I hope not. She didn't want to think about what happened in that house.

Not that she really knew; only vague but poignant memories of that cold, January night registered in her mind — the sheer panic on her parents' faces, fresh from the Capitol; how her father hadn't returned from there until the early hours of the morning, tears in his eyes and blood staining his hands.

Of course, she'd learned about the accidents later on, attended the funerals. Phaedra had only been a couple years older than Venatrix (nine years old at the time); she remembered seeing the Victor's sister at the Academy a few times back when she first started training. The older one, Mycenae, had been on track to volunteer in a few years' time before her untimely death. Gone, all of them, and the parents to boot. As for Eridan, well...

Nobody asked. Nobody wanted to.

The creak of footsteps on wooden slats drew her attention back to the present; she turned around to find Percy's head poking through the entryway as he climbed up. He shot her a brief glance before his gaze moved to the window, tracing the fiery sunset in tandem with hers. Venatrix patted the space next to her, but he remained by the exit, leaning against the railing.

After a beat he spoke. "Remember when you kissed me up here?"

Recoiling, Venatrix grimaced at the unexpected reminder of the awkwardness of her early teenage desires. "'Makers, of course you'd bring that up."

To his credit, he gave a huff of quiet laughter, taking a seat almost gingerly on the opposite end of the couch. "Feels like ages ago, but it was only, what, two years ago? Three?"

"Three, I think."

He grinned, the expression refreshing after everything. "The fact that we immediately broke up with each other and swore never to do that again…" Venatrix joined in with his laughter now, half-embarrassed, half-amused at the memory. "Seriously, please never kiss me again."

Her lips curled into a sardonic half-smile. "Is that what you're worried about?" Percy shrugged in a way that said the thought had crossed his mind, and Venatrix raised an eyebrow. "I love you Percy, I do, but not like that."

"Yeah…" He trailed off, the smile fading. "You've got a funny way of showing it."

Right. It was a fair point, she supposed. Venatrix coughed awkwardly. "Well… What about Lancelot?"

Percy shot her a look. "Please don't kiss him either."

Venatrix snorted; his immediate reaction was telling, if one thing. "Did you?" she asked, remembering the interaction with the boy in question before the two of them had left the Academy.

This time, he blushed, mumbling a quiet "yeah," before turning his head, though Venatrix didn't miss the smile pulling at his cheeks.

"Percy!" She nudged him lightly with her foot. "When? Tell me!"

"It was, uh, a couple weeks after the Tournament. Y'know, back when you wouldn't talk to me." Venatrix bit her lip, wanting to point out that that had very much been mutual, but she held her tongue. "I don't know. It was nice. Lance, I mean, not you not talking to me." He huffed, still smiling. "Turns out he's liked me for a while, even after the whole arrow thing."

"So, are you guys, like, actually dating now, or..?"

Percy shrugged. "Um. I guess?"

"You don't know?" she exclaimed. "Percy!"

"I mean, we never explicitly talked about it; you know how he's always so chill." Absently, Percy fiddled with the wrapping on his arm, adjusting the ice pack. "Plus, I… You know, 'cause I'm volunteering, I don't know if he wants to… take that risk."

The risk — emotional investment. In case Percy didn't make it out. "Don't be ridiculous," Venatrix said, crossing her legs on the cushion. "He's not that— cold."

"Yeah." Still, he fidgeted with his bandage, eyes fixed on the twilit mountainscape.

Venatrix let out a breath. "Does it hurt?" she asked quietly.

"Hm?" He glanced at his arm. "Oh; a little. Not as bad as before, though, that— yeah, that hurt like hell, Trix."

The nibbling guilt returned as he looked away again, unwilling to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know I said it before, but I really am."

"Then why?"

When she didn't speak, he looked at her finally, his round eyes begging for an answer. "I was thinking about it," she said hesitantly; hell, if there was anybody she needed to talk to about this, it was Percy. "And not… just about you. About Bell, and how if I could go back in time and stop her from volunteering…" She glanced away from Percy, sure he could read the raw grief that twisted her up inside. "I'd do anything for that. Hell, I'd even snap her legs so she couldn't walk up the Reaping stage." Venatrix huffed. "She'd hate me forever for it, but at least she'd be alive."

Percy didn't respond.

Outside, street lights flickered on, illuminating the Village in a warm glow. So much gentler than the violent sunset. "I know it's not an excuse for anything, but—"

"Please." Percy cut her off, distress evident in his tone, his face. "Please don't use her to… to manipulate me like this."

Venatrix recoiled in shock. "What? Percy, I— How could you think that?" What happened? It was so close to almost normal. Percy shifted uncomfortably under Venatrix's stunned glare. Since when does he think so little of me? "I'm not trying to manipulate you, I'm just telling the truth!"

"You really are just like your dad."

What does that mean? "What, that I'd do anything in my power to bring her back? Because I would!"

"Yeah." He didn't elaborate.

"Of course I would," she insisted. "Wouldn't you?" Percy didn't answer, and she shook her head. "You wouldn't understand."

Percy's jaw was clenched, his discomfort clear. A bitter silence settled between the two of them, neither willing to break it, nor abandon each other to the solace of the attic.

I need him. He hurt me, and I hurt him. I don't want him to die.

Finish it. Break his arm, and break it again.

Shut up. I need him.

"Y'know," Percy started, an odd edge to his tone. "After the Tournament, I made a promise to your father. That I wouldn't kill you unless it came down to us."

Venatrix blinked in surprise. "That's…" She cleared her throat. "Kind of you."

"Honey, promises like that don't last in the arena."

"You didn't have to do that."

Percy scoffed, his gaze locked with a streetlamp. "Of course I did. Your dad, he really cares about you, Trix. Must be nice."

That's what dads do, she almost said, but she hesitated. Now was not the time to rub it in his face; Oberon Pyke wasn't the man who abandoned his wife to raise five kids on her own, only to come crawling back when he ran out of whiskey money.

Venatrix fixed her friend with a stare, unflinching. "I made the same promise to you."

It wasn't one she intended to break, no matter how hard they hit each other. Rising from her seat, Venatrix stalked over to one of the cupboards lurking in the corner of the attic; digging through the top drawer, she pulled out an old hunting knife, the leather-wrapped handle peeling from disuse. She spat on the blade, cleaning it with her shirt as she walked back over to Percy, aware of the way his eyes curiously followed her movements. She jerked her chin towards him, and he stood, frowning.

Superstitious? Perhaps. But her mother had told a similar story of a similar pair, not-so-long ago.

Brandishing the knife between them, Venatrix looked her partner in the eye. "Clearly, words aren't enough for us." The knife was firm in her grip, Percy's stare apprehensive. "But I meant them, and I still do. Until the final two," she said, repeating the words of her vow. She brought the blade to her palm, slicing quickly before she could change her mind. The pain sprouted like a spring bud, a promise of something delicate, yet unbreakable; tender yet exquisite; and she clenched her teeth around the gasp that wanted to slip through her lips. Handle-first, she passed the knife to Percy.

"Until the final two," he said without hesitation, splitting the palm of his injured arm with a quiet wince, and they shook.

Their blood mingled together in a covenant; between the two of them, and whoever else was watching.

true vengeance 151 . weebly . com
Filler submission form: bit . ly / 3ljFrOB

A/N: Don't try this at home ! c: Also man, what the heck is up with that Eridan guy ? :v (Also lol I updated the relationship tags and good luck figuring out what that means kids jhdhjd) ...For more information on District One's resident jewel thief, bop over to my profile and check out Victory's Entitlements: The 137th Hunger Games c:

Percy: "your dad, He rEaLly cares. i made a ProMisE."

Anyways, um. The next chapter..? (: I'm curious what your guys' thoughts on these characters are, mainly Venatrix, Percy, and Oberon. Because based on what I've got planned for Ch 22... things May Change. In a fun way of course. For me (: But yeah, like. Favorites so far? Least favorites? Anyone who you'd chuck into a boiling volcano if you could? Take a bullet for? ..Ok those last two are a little extreme but point stands ! I'd love to know Opinions c: I am hoping to get that one out by.. around this time next week, I guess, but. If I don't, it's because Ch 22 is Important and I want it to be Perfect. So.. See you maybe then !

- Nell