Published May 23, 2016. Edited September 30, 2021.

"Burn"

"You haven't committed an Infraction, Cassia. Yet."

She stands up. I keep my eyes on the dry fountain, willing the water back to it. "This is your warning, Cassia. Do you understand?"

"I understand," I say to the Official. The words are not entirely a lie. I do understand her, on some level. I know why she has to keep things safe and stable and some part of me respects that. I hate that most of all.

When I finally meet her gaze, her expression is satisfied. She knows she's won. She sees in my eyes that I won't risk making things worse for Ky.

~ Ally Condie, Matched

Korra ties Mako's scarf around her waist, hoping Amon will not notice it. He knows that red is not a color she usually wears. If he asks about it, she will say she borrowed it from Asami. Of course he must know, from the spy, that she was with Mako today, but loaning items of clothing seems like a gesture of familiarity that could give the wrong idea about their relationship. He will probably be angry enough as it is, after her behavior today, and when she tells him what she learned.

She treads up the flights of stairs slowly, like a soldier trying to keep calm while approaching a rendezvous that could result in either alliance or battle. It occurs to her that Amon might not even be home; he might still be working. But she sees light spilling out from the cracks around the door to their apartment. Once she reaches it, Korra hesitates long enough to wonder out how to address him. Can she pull off being assertive without sounding accusatory? She has always had strong convictions, and never hesitated to speak her mind to those she disagreed with, but that usually took the form of hitting local bullies, or yelling at politicians from a crowd of like-minded dissenters. She has never learned to debate an argument, mediate a conflict, or negotiate a deal. She must be calm in order to get answers and avoid angering Amon.

Korra breathes deeply, bracing herself. She cannot keep him waiting. It is time to wake the sleeping dragon.

She twists the key in the lock, opens the door, and enters the apartment.

The air smells like steam, spices, and cooked vegetables. Noatak comes out of the kitchen area and corners her immediately. "Korra?"

"Hey." She hangs her coat up on the rack and kicks off her slush-spattered boots, leaving them next to the door.

Noatak watches her with his arms folded. "Where have you been?" His tone is calm, for now, but the slowness of his words sounds dangerous.

"A lot of places," Korra answers truthfully.

She says, "I can explain," at the same moment he says, "You better have an explanation."

They look at each other, both of them suspicious, guarded, and not sure how to proceed, until Korra breaks the tension. "I gotta go—then I'll tell you." He lets her duck into the bathroom.

Korra tells herself this is different from stalling—she really did have to relieve herself, after being out and about all afternoon—and she wants to check something anyway. After she washes her hands, she lets the water continue to run, and tries to bend it. Yes: when she brings her fingers together, the water rises up toward them. She drops it into the basin, reassured that she has not been delusional about one discovery, even if the rest turns out to be a misunderstanding.

When she comes out of the bathroom, she finds Noatak standing at the stove, tending a pot of soup. Korra stands next to the table but does not sit down. "We need to talk."

He glances at her. "Yes, I think we do." He continues to stir the soup, speaking over his shoulder. "Would you care to tell me where you were and what you did today?" The words are nonchalant, but his tone has a dangerous undercurrent. Is he testing her honesty, or giving her the chance to pretend nothing happened?

"I will, but … it's kind of a convoluted story, so I think I'd better start at the beginning."

"I'm all ears."

"Well, do you remember that name I thought of the other day?"

"What name?"

"Yakone," Korra enunciates with an air of patience. Could he be playing dumb about this part of the previous Avatar's life? Why?

"Oh, yes, I remember you mentioned it."

"Well, yesterday, after my driving lesson with Asami, I went to the library to see if I could learn more about him." Hearing this, Noatak pauses long enough to turn around and look at her. Both of their faces are expressionless as Korra goes on. "I went to the section where they store old newspapers."

"I see." Noatak turns back to the pot on the stove. "And did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yeah, it was pretty much the same as what you said." Korra does not mention how eerily familiar Yakone's story and pictures were, though now she thinks she understands why they seemed so. "After that I just browsed. But I found another really interesting article. Do you want to know what it was about?"

"It sounds like you're going to tell me either way." His tone is ambivalent, almost teasing, but that could just be a front, unless he really does not suspect any danger.

Korra watches him carefully, ready to gauge his reaction. "It was printed the same year you adopted me. The headline was, 'White Lotus Impostor Kidnaps Alleged Avatar'."

Noatak stops stirring the soup. Korra watches him carefully, trying to stay calm and breathe normally. This is the moment when everything might change, depending on his answer. Then again, does his answer mean much, weighed against all her evidence? If he denies what she suspects, how can she know whether he is telling the truth?

He turns around slowly to look at her, still holding the spoon. Only his eyes show any kind of emotion, something both unsettled and unsettling—she cannot tell if it is suspicion, fear, anger, or something else. Maybe he sees them in her eyes, too.

Finally Noatak speaks. "Why did you find this so interesting?"

She answers slowly, deliberately, her eyes never leaving his. "The little girl who got kidnapped was named Korra."

His face is impassive, his tone indifferent. "Sometimes different people have the same name. 'Korra' is not entirely unique."

"Her parents believed she was the Avatar because she could bend three different elements."

"So?"

"So …" Korra holds up her hand, willing a flame to appear, and it only takes a second for the fire to flicker up in her palm. Noatak drops the spoon, which clatters on the floor without his noticing. His eyes are wide and his mouth hangs ajar, but Korra can tell it is not genuine shock; it is more like dismay.

"I can bend," she states, before lowering her hand and letting the flame go out. "Not just fire, either. Water and earth come easily to me. And I'm pretty sure I bent them when I was little, before you told me that I couldn't."

Noatak's face betrays some genuine surprise. "You remember that?"

"I remember crying because I couldn't bend, and you telling me that everyone is equal. You told me it was a dream. I think I have dreamed about bending, but I thought that was a subconscious fear. Given everything you say benders do, I didn't want to be one. So I chose not to be." In her mind Korra adds spitefully, Because I wanted to please you.

He looks her over, as though appraising a pai sho board or a battle plan, trying to understand his opponent's strategy before developing his own. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want to know how much you know about where I came from."

"You think you're her. The Avatar?"

"I know I am. And I know you know I am. But that's not the question."

"What is, then?"

"I looked at my adoption papers." Something changes in his face, some muscle twitch that betrays shock or fear. "That's what I was doing today. I took them to a professional forger, and he confirmed that they aren't real, notarized documents. Someone faked them, which means my adoption was never official. And I don't know whose fault that is. I think I know why you chose me, but I don't know who did the actual kidnapping."

"Korra—you think—" He does not finish the sentence. Perhaps he cannot. At any rate, he does not need to.

She takes a step forward, looking up at him with narrowed eyes, demanding the truth. "Did you take me away?"

Noatak considers her. "You don't really think so, do you? If you did—if you believed I was a danger to you—you wouldn't have stayed to confront me."

"That means I'm not afraid of you. It doesn't mean I trust you."

"If you're a bender, Korra, then I have good reason to be afraid of you. Or I would, if you were willing to hurt me, but I would hate to think that of you."

She is seething, almost shaking with anger. How can he turn this around onto her? As if she is the one potentially in the wrong? "Don't try to confuse me! Tell me the truth."

His expression turns grim. "You're very smart, Korra. Sometimes, I've thought you're too smart for your own good."

"You're not answering! Say yes or no. Did you take me away?"

Noatak waits a full three seconds before answering, looking in her eyes the whole time. "Yes."

The usual, ambient sounds of pipes clanking and water boiling are drowned out by the pounding of blood in Korra's ears. She parts her lips, breathes through her mouth. Noatak looks at her evenly, not exactly challenging her, but not backing down.

She breaks the silence, when she realizes he will not. She murmurs the first words that come to her mind: a string of invectives she would never have dared to say in her guardian's presence before now. They do not seem to faze him.

"All that talk about justice," she says, her voice low, fighting a choking sensation. "And all this time, you …"

He starts to move toward her, extending one hand. "Korra—"

"You liar! You despicable, two-faced—"

There are new sounds: splashing and sizzling. Noatak turns around and cries out: the flames of the stove have leapt up, and the soup is boiling so much it overflows and falls into the stove. "Control yourself!" he yells as he grabs some potholders and moves the cooking vessel. "You could start a fire, or a flood!"

Korra almost wants to disobey just to spite him; right now, she would welcome the catharsis of physical destruction.

When he turns around, she throws more questions at him, building on the information from the article: "You saw my parents?"

"Yes."

"You talked to them?"

"Yes.

"And you attacked them?"

"I knocked them out. It was painless." He is not the least bit apologetic. That is what infuriates Korra the most. She thinks she has never felt true anger until now.

"Painless? You call that painless?"

"I deliberately minimized—"

"You tore my family apart!" Flames come out from between her fingers, and she seriously considers trying to burn him—then she would be the kind of bender he abhors—

He moves before she does; she recognizes the chi-blocking dive, and dodges him easily, moving around to the other side of the table. She holds her fists close to her chest, wondering whether to stifle or release her fire. They look at each other across the furniture, him gauging her wildness, her assessing her advantages. The two of them have sparred, and sometimes hit each other too hard by accident, but they have never truly fought. She wonders if she could beat him, with or without her bending.

"It's not what you think," Amon says.

"No?" Korra holds up her fists and plants her feet in a defensive stance. "You just confirmed everything I found out but didn't want to believe."

"Let me explain—"

"Don't bother. I know why you did it."

"I'm not sure you do."

She gives a cry somewhere between a growl and a shout, and heads counterclockwise toward him. He moves in the same direction, standing where she was a moment ago; now she is closer to the stove and what is left of the soup. She backs up against the counter, and looks sideways at it before experimentally raising a hand. She can sense the water in the midst of the other ingredients—

He guesses what she is thinking and warns, pleading: "Korra—don't do this."

"Don't do what, Amon? Face what you really are?"

He does not look any more surprised than he has been in the past several minutes, but he does look somewhat hurt by this address. "Korra—it's still me—I'm still your—"

"'Dad'? That's a sick joke." On the last words, she swirls her arm in an arc toward him, and the soup follows.

He sidesteps the hot, salty deluge, only thrown off by her own unsteady guidance. He moves with the same agility she saw at the Revelation, closing the distance between them, but unlike the benders, she is ready to meet him with her bare hands.

For the first time, they fight without holding back, not worrying about hurting the other. Korra gives it her all, the same way she would if she were fighting an ordinary enemy. Amon responds in kind, moving faster than she can. Each of them, at different moments, slides on the soup-slick floor and has to recover their balance, giving the other an opening.

She deters a few of his attempts to grab her, but he manages to duck behind her and jab her arm in the right places. Then Korra learns how it feels to have her chi blocked: as though something has been lost, cut off from her consciousness. Now she cannot bend with that arm. But, true to her Equalist mentors' teachings, she does not need bending to fight.

She turns on one leg and lifts the other to kick him away—but the soup under her foot makes her slide, and she falls on her back. She turns this into an advantage by kicking out Amon's legs, knocking him to the floor as well.

For the first time, a noise of frustration escapes his lips; he lunges at her, and she tries to firebend; the flames that come out of her good hand are strong and hot enough to make both of them fall back in fright. He recovers before she does, and the moment the flames have dissipated, he falls upon her, grabbing her wrists and pinning her down until she knocks her head against the floor. Through the pain, she senses that he is heavier than she expected, suddenly straddling her stomach.

Korra has the sudden thought that if Mako could see this, it would look horrible.

Her next thought, even more sickening, is to wonder if Mako's suspicion of domestic violence was not too far off the mark.

She struggles anew, tries to roll and get his weight off her, but he holds her down firmly. "Korra, hold still and look at me! Look at me!" She stops moving her head and meets his glare, but still tries to move her wrists. "Korra, I can't let you hurt yourself or me. If I let you up, will you please calm yourself?"

He is asking for a truce. She glares at him, unforgiving and uncompromising. When she refuses to answer, he grunts, looking resigned, and holds both of her hands in one of his in order to use his other hand to jab her shoulder. This time, more than just her chi is blocked: her strength seeps away, and the world turns dark.

Mako's neck and shoulders feel lighter without his scarf—not as though a burden has been lifted, but as though a blanket has been pulled off him. He supposes he could have just asked Korra to find her own kind of signal, but some part of him—however superstitious or sentimental it might be—really associates the scarf with luck and comfort and safety. And he does want to see Korra again, as it will hopefully enable her to do.

One thing this night, and the past several weeks since he met Asami, taught him is that danger can threaten anyone, even those he views, or used to view, as ridiculously blessed. When he saw the well-cared-for girl passing out food at a soup kitchen, he saw her as an alien, someone who never knew the kind of stress and hardship and loss that he and Bolin dealt with. Even meeting her again as a teenager, he saw her as belonging to a different world, one soft and, if not luxurious, at least safe. But today, he saw a girl as anxious and vulnerable as any orphan on the street.

Mako usually avoids Butakha unless meeting him is necessary, to pay rent or take a loan or pick up winnings from a victorious match. But when he gets back to the Arena, he goes up to Butakha's office, and asks to use the telephone.

Butakha puts the call through, to make sure Mako is not lying about who he communicates with on his phone. Mako ignores the quip about having a girlfriend, and waits while the Satos' butler answers and then puts Asami on the line.

"Hey, Asami."

"Hi Mako! I thought you guys didn't have a phone?"

"I'm using Butakha's." Mako will have to pay him back later, but he thinks checking on a friend's well-being is worth the expense.

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I think … Korra might be in some kind of trouble."

"What?"

"She came here today, asking for help. She wanted to find out more about her adoption, and she found out some stuff that upset her … I don't understand it all, and she doesn't either. When I tried to talk to her, she seemed scared of how her dad would react, and …" Mako trails off, not sure how to convey the gravity of the experience without making Asami more worried than necessary.

"And what?"

"I guess … it seemed like more than just regular anxiety." He pauses, still unsure how well-founded his concern is, and wondering how much Asami might know about the whole thing. "Do you know Korra's dad?"

Asami does not answer immediately. When she does, her voice is hesitant, doubtful. "I've met him, but I don't know him well … and now that I think about it, I haven't seen him in years."

"Do they get along?"

"They always seemed to, when I saw them together. I don't know if things have changed over time …"

Butakha clears his throat and opens his large pocket watch. Mako hastens, "Listen, I don't have much time to talk. Will you just check on Korra? Try to talk to her? You two are pretty close, so I thought maybe she'll talk more to you."

"I will. Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome. Oh, and I told Korra to hang—something red in her window if she needed help but couldn't tell anyone. Look for it, if you go there."

"Oh. … Okay."

"Thanks, sweetie."

"You're welcome. Good night."

"Good night."

In the space between sleep and consciousness, Korra experiences what seems to be a repetition, or continuation, of her recent dreams. This time she attaches the name Yakone to the sinister man in the courtroom, and recognizes the police chief, Toph Beifong, and the Southern Water Tribe representative, Sokka. She views everything from Aang's perspective—she knows it is him when he sees blue arrows tattooed on the back of her (or rather his) hands.

She wakes up on the sofa, with pillows under her head. She is surprised to find her arms and legs unrestrained; she was expecting ropes or handcuffs. But as soon as she sits up, Noatak is there, jabbing her arms again, cutting off her bending before she can collect enough wits and strength to use it. Then he walks back to the kitchen.

Korra sits up slowly, wobbling on her arms, and surveys the apartment. Noatak is on his hands and knees, wiping up the last of the soup from the floor. He goes about his work but watches her out of the corner of his eye as she rises from the sofa and walks shakily back to the kitchen.

"What did you think fighting would accomplish?" he asks, sounding irritated.

She does not answer. The truth is that, for the first time since she was very small, she did not fight with a clear goal; it was impulsive, fueled by her emotion rather than any achievable purpose. She might have continued until she hurt him, or subdued him—after that, she does not know what she would have done. She wonders what she should do now. Part of her wants to tackle him; part of her wants to know more; still another part wants to run from the apartment and never come back. She cannot imagine spending another night here.

When he is finished cleaning, Noatak stands up and faces her. "You wouldn't let me explain. Will you consent to listen now?"

She laughs, harsh and slightly hysterical. "I don't have any reason to believe anything you say anymore."

He pulls out two chairs at the table and sits down in one of them. "You want to throw away thirteen years of love and trust, because of one act?"

"It hasn't been just one act. You've been lying to me, controlling me, hiding me away, keeping my powers under wraps so I could never use them against you."

He looks hard at her. "I could have taken your bending long ago, Korra. I can do it now, if you leave me no other option." He is threatening her, and though she will not back down, Korra calculates that he is the one with more power. If she tries to attack him or run away, he can take her bending for good—the thought makes her recoil, because now that she knows she has such abilities, she does not want to lose them.

Noatak is still speaking calmly, trying to placate her in a roundabout way. "I could have kept you locked away in a prison. I could have sent you to an orphanage or sold you on the black market. Don't think I didn't consider every option!" He takes a breath, and she cannot discern whether he is angry or in pain. Perhaps both. "But I didn't do any of those things. I didn't want to leave your fate in anyone else's hands—"

"Yeah, 'cause you didn't want there to be any chance of the Avatar finding out who she was and rising up against your revolution. That's all I've been to you—a threat you turned into a tool!"

"You're halfway there, Korra, but not entirely accurate."

She finally sits down, folding her arms and gesturing for him to continue. "Enlighten me, then."

Noatak pauses, measuring his words. He is good with words, but he usually organizes them into prepared speeches, rather than speaking off the cuff, as he must now. "I have loved three people in my entire life. Before you, I only ever loved my mother and my brother."

This is the last thing Korra expected, and she cannot help being intrigued, because he so rarely talks about his past. She cannot stop herself from asking, "What about—"

"My father had very specific hopes for my brother and me. Hopes that drove him to … unspeakable harshness. If there was any love in him, it was gone by the time I entered my teens. I left home to get away from him. I lived alone … until I found you."

She raises a hand, jabbing an accusing finger at him. "If you're fishing for pity—"

"Listen to me!" She falls silent at his thunderous tone. His face is intense, almost glaring, but trying to remain composed in spite of so many emotions. "I didn't—want—to be like him," he says, his words clipped. "I didn't plan to force you into any life. I wanted to give you the choice."

"You're still limiting me. You're not letting me be the Avatar—"

"Because you already made your choice. You chose to join the Equalists, of your own free will, knowing that if you betrayed them you would be punished." He pauses while she remembers this fact, recalling the conversation they had three years ago, the night she was arrested at a protest. "You knew what you were getting into, when you chose this."

"Actually …" She stops, aware that she is treading on dangerous ground. "… I didn't know I was getting into a potential war. That's what Councilman Tenzin says this will turn into." Her statement sounds like it could be either a confession or an accusation.

"I'm sorry you misunderstood," he answers, making it sound like her fault. Then he moves back to his original point. "There's some truth in what you said, about my hope for you, but that's not the reason I kept you. I was tired of being alone. What I always told you, about choosing to love you—that was the truth."

Korra looks at him, her indignation calm now. "You never loved me for me. You only loved me all these years because it was convenient, because it would make me loyal to you and your cause. The only thing you loved about me was the fact that you had control over me—over the Avatar."

He leans forward, his expression earnest. "The spirits chose me to be the equalizer, and they chose you to be the Avatar. It seemed only right that you and I should work together."

"You could have done that without kidnapping me."

"You really think so? You and your parents were all benders. From what I heard, your"—his mouth twists, and he enunciates the word pointedly—"biological father prided himself on his waterbending—he built an entire military career on it. I didn't imagine any of you would want to help me. I'm sure that, had you grown up as a bender, you would want nothing to do with me. You would probably prize your bending so much you would want to stop me at any cost."

At some level, Korra can see his point, but she stands firm. "None of that makes a difference. You attacked my parents, you took me—their only child—and you lied to me every day for over a decade. Can you even comprehend how messed up that is?" She takes a breath, feeling she has said everything she wanted to, and wanting to get out of there. "Well, it's not going to be like that anymore."

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Do you plan to leave me, Korra?"

She stands up, pushing her chair back. "Maybe I should." She might as well be lighting a bomb, but if she is quick and clean she might get away before it explodes.

"And just where will you go? To the South Pole?"

She would like that, but she cannot let him know that, since he might try to track her down there. "I haven't decided. All I know is that I can't trust you, and the world has been waiting for its Avatar to come back."

He stands too. "If you reveal yourself now, you'll be forced to fight against us."

"Against you, you mean."

He ignores the correction, and points a finger at her, then at the table. "Three years ago, we sat at this table, and you made a promise. You pledged your loyalty to the Equalists, and swore that the secret of my identity would never leave this apartment."

"Why should I honor a promise made to someone who was lying to me? You—you pulled me into this revolution under false pretenses."

"You'll keep quiet, as you always have. But you won't do it for my sake; you'll do it for the Equalists. For all non-benders. They need me to lead them."

"What if I don't care?"

"I don't believe you're so selfish as to—"

"Selfish?" Her voice is shrill with incredulity. "Who's the selfish one here?"

He glares at her, a challenge in his eyes. "Do you want to see me put on trial? Sentenced to life imprisonment, or exile, or death? Hundreds of brothers and sisters in the ranks sent to prison?"

Korra almost falters, but regains her resolve when she makes a comparison in her mind. "You're planning to hurt hundreds of benders. How is that any different?"

"If you don't care about scores of non-benders—do you care about those two benders Asami calls her friends?"

Korra freezes at this, and Noatak knows he has found a weakness. He goes on, in a tone both challenging and contemplative, "How would Asami feel if they suddenly disappeared? Of course, they'll lose their bending eventually, but how and when is undecided. We could use some practice partners for the novice chi-blockers, and test subjects for Hiroshi's new weapons …"

"You. Are. Sick." Korra feels sick herself, as she can barely get the words out.

"That's not the worst I can do … Avatar." There is no joy in him, but no regret either. He means it, and Korra knows better than to test his sincerity on this point. He only has to make a phone call and the Arena will be surrounded by Equalists within the hour. The boys could be captured sooner than she could reach them or the police.

Feeling defeated, she sinks to her knees, showing her compliance.

"Good. We have an understanding." Noatak resumes his seat, and drums his fingers on the table. "You're right about one point: some things will have to change. You're a liability, not only to me but to everyone who has worked for our cause. I can't betray them by giving you the chance to turn us all in. So until further notice, you are confined to this apartment."

"You're grounding me?"

"Unless you'd prefer a cell! That could be arranged!"

She almost agrees to it; it would feel more fitting to be treated like a political prisoner. Maybe that is what she is becoming.

"Obviously, you can't use your bending. If I have to, I will personally block your chi."

"Why don't you just take it permanently?" she spits. "It'd save you a lot of effort."

He tilts his head slightly. "There may be a way you can use it for good. For our cause."

This surprises her, and raises her suspicion. "How?"

"I can't tell you yet."

"You're not making any sense. If you want me to use it, you have to let me practice it."

"We'll see. Good behavior may merit some rewards."

"Ugh!" Korra does not even know what angle he is going for: a father disciplining a difficult child, or a jailer conditioning a prisoner. Either treatment seems humiliating.

On the other hand, the fact that he is taking measures to control her indicates that he is afraid of her. This entire situation—the fact that he has gone so far to prevent her from opposing him—proves that he fears her abilities. She has the power to—what? Defeat him in combat? Rally opposition to his revolution?

The word counterrevolution enters her mind, and she finds herself liking the sound of it. But it sounds like a double negative, like siding with the original enemy. Is that what she is doing? Is that what she wants? The pain pulsing in her head intensifies when she starts to think about the two sides of the war that is brewing.

Noatak is still outlining the details of her confinement. "You won't go on missions, or outings with your friends—don't look at me like that, I'm only being prudent while you're in this emotional state."

She snorts. "There's some irony: you don't trust me now that I don't trust you."

He looks at her with a pensive expression. "I want to trust you, Korra. I would rather be your father than your captor."

"So you want everything to stay the way it's been?"

"What would you want to change?"

Korra does not dare to voice the possibilities she thought of over the past twenty-four hours. I could look for my real parents. I could meet bending masters and learn to use my powers. I could help keep peace or whatever the Avatar is supposed to do.

"If you made yourself an enemy of the revolution, I'd have to treat you like an enemy—keep you tied or chained, and locked away. Neither of us want that."

She glares at him. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"If you defied me, and I had to physically stop you, then yes, I would. I will do whatever it takes to keep the revolution alive. So, knowing that, will you cooperate?"

Korra is silent for a long moment, glowering. She has always hated the idea of being silent in the face of unfairness. (She now wonders how much of that was her own nature and how much was his brainwashing.) But retreating means staying alive, gathering strength to fight on another day. She will not surrender, but she cannot win tonight.

"You always said the only people you can trust are your family. But you also said we get to choose our family." When she pauses, Noatak reaches for her hand, but she stands and pushes her chair aside. "I'll cooperate to protect the family I chose." She did not choose Noatak or even her biological parents, but she did choose her friends, as much as they chose her.

She strides out of the kitchen. Noatak does not speak until she is almost out of the room. "Korra." She stops, almost against her own will, but she does not look at him. He speaks to her anyway. "I love you. Don't doubt that."

Korra clenches her fists. She refuses to look at him, but she turns her head sideways so he can hear her response. "Even if that's true," she says, "you love your revolution more." She walks away before he can coherently refute her assertion, or, more likely, affirm it with his silence.

Once she reaches her bedroom, Korra slams the door shut and leans back against it, fighting the urge to cry. Tears leak out from her eyes, but she will not let Amon hear her sobbing.

She looks around the room she calls her own. During all their years together, they never changed residences. The same furniture is there, with a few additions fished out of trash piles and flea markets. In one corner is a small chest with an array of valuables and mementoes, trinkets she found or received as gifts. On her walls there are posters, some bearing Equalist slogans, others advertising trips to exotic places. Next to the window hangs a sheet of cork with news articles and magazine clippings pinned on it.

Korra storms over to the wall, tears down the Equalist propaganda posters, and rips them apart. She curses Amon's revolution, his ability, his idealism, his pragmatism—everything that drove him to take her and lie to her. She wishes her chi was flowing so she could burn the posters, incinerate them with her bare hands, but for now she rips them up beyond recognition, beyond utility.

Finally she sits among the shredded paper and looks up at the now blank spaces on the walls. This is her room, it has been since she was a little girl, newly arrived in the city. Noatak made it nice, let her personalize it, made her think it belonged to her. But really, she belongs to it. To him. This room may be hers, but it is—and has always been—meant to imprison her.

It is still early evening, but Korra feels too restless to do anything productive. She would like to sleep, to temporarily escape this nightmare, but she doubts she will be able to sleep well tonight.

She hears Amon's voice down the hallway. She opens her door slightly and listens as he talks on the phone, informing the Lieutenant of her indefinite leave of absence and arranging for surveillance around the Arena. Amon's tone is adamant, he makes no attempt to keep his volume low, which makes Korra think he wants her to hear this. "I don't care, I want people watching at all hours, on all sides. Rent boats if you have to." Now the boys will be watched, all because of her.

Korra wonders if Amon will assign guards to their own apartment building, to make sure she does not leave; but then, that might be too close for Equalists to be near their leader when he is not incognito. Their presence would make it difficult for Noatak to leave in order to act as Amon. But, from what Korra can hear, he does not give such an order. The threat of harm to her friends is enough to keep her in check.

She wonders if she has only made things worse, not only for herself, but also for her friends. Before tonight, Amon did not care one way or another about them, but now they are his leverage over her.

Korra feels cold, so she doffs her soup-stained clothes, dons winter pajamas, and wraps Mako's scarf around her neck. Sitting among the pillows on her bed, Korra wraps each end of the scarf around her hands and buries her face in the fabric. It smells like Mako, and as her tears stain the fabric, she wonders how much of his blood, sweat, and tears it carries. She thinks about everything they did today, all the words that passed between them. He did not understand her situation, but he tried to help as best he could. Korra wishes he, or any of her friends, could be with her now—anyone who might give her consolation or advice or company.

She has heard of praying, appealing to spirits who have power over certain parts of nature. Do the Avatars work the same way? Can she pray to people she used to be? Would that be praying to herself? Or do her past incarnations exist as separate entities, in the spirit world or on some other metaphysical plane? The reincarnation thing barely makes sense to her. At this moment, she feels alone, and would very much like to believe that someone can hear and see her now.

Aang—Avatars—whoever you are. Help me protect my friends. Help me do the right thing—whatever that is.

While she lies in bed, willing the dark hours to go by, she thinks about her parents, and repeats their names in her mind. Senna. Tonraq. What did she call them when she was younger? Mommy and Daddy? Mama and Papa? She tries to recall what they looked like, and attaches the titles Mom and Dad to the dim pictures in her mind's eye. She should have tried looking for more information about them at the library; now it may be weeks before Noatak lets her out of the apartment, if he ever decides to trust her with that much freedom.

Korra wonders if Senna and Tonraq had any children after they lost her. Did they pin all their hope on her return, or did they move on with their lives? And which is worse? She does not know what to think of these phantom children who may or may not exist. Having siblings might be nice—she would like to have the kind of camaraderie Mako and Bolin share. The closest thing she has, she supposes, is her friendship with Asami.

She wonders if she will ever see them again. Mako left his scarf with her so she would have an excuse to see them, but of course Amon will not let her do that now. She holds the fabric against her cheek and neck, tucking it between her skin and her pillow, and imagines that her friends are close by. She wishes she told them more, enough that they could deduce her situation, if only so that they would understand why she cannot be their friend anymore. No, that is not quite accurate. She is being their friend by staying quiet. She is doing this to protect them. She is their friend. The hard part is that they will not know it.

Korra hears the familiar sound of Noatak's footsteps on the wood floor approaching her bedroom. She pushes the scarf under her pillow so he will not see it. When he opens the door, Korra pretends to be asleep, even though he can probably tell the difference. She grips the scarf in her fist, forcing herself to be still.

Instead of calling out her bluff, he kneels by her bed on the side that she is facing, strokes her hair, and kisses her cheek. He has done this hundreds of times, but now his lips and hand linger, as though it might be the last time. Perhaps he is afraid that it is.

As he stands and leaves, Korra wishes she knew whether the gesture was genuine fondness, or an attempt to guilt her into forgiving him. She will never again know what level of sincerity he is showing. The trust that she has placed in him for thirteen years is gone, forever.

Music: "Stay With Me" from Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim, "Burn" from Hamilton by Lin-Manuel Miranda

Acknowledgments: Thanks to iruka-2013 for reading and giving feedback on my work!