ARC ONE: MIND

The Fifth Chapter

Decision

"This is a real piece of shit," muttered Jet. "Every Agni alive is out for my blood." We're sitting together on a low stone wall – waiting.

"Mine, too," I remind him. "If I'd killed him, though, they wouldn't be so slacking."

"Azula will kill you the first chance she gets."

"I'd return the favor," I hiss. "I was sparing."

"Were you?"

I stand up, pushing his arm off my shoulder. "What are you implying?"

Jet shrugs. "Nothing."

Deciding not to waste him another thought, I swivel on my heel and leave.

I'm stepping down the sidewalk of 23rd Avenue, looking for Boomerang, when I hear a clatter. Instinctively, I press myself against the wall of the nearest building. Muffled curses echo from a little alley not more than three meters away from me.

I know that voice.

I'm about to whistle for one of the gang when I see. Torso still bound, he struggles past a stack of junk crates. He sees me, and halts.

We both smell death in the air, and I know it sure as hell ain't me –

But something strikes me.

Something strikes me, deep inside, as the look of utter, understanding fear on Zuko's face is mirrored in a memory.

"Daddy!" I call. "What's going on?"

Sokka rushes into the room and wraps his arm around me. "Katara, shh. We don't want them to know we're here."

I wriggle around in his arms, protesting, "Who? Where's Daddy?"

"They're taking him, Katara. Dad's going to jail."

"He didn't do anything," I whimper.

"They'll be after me, next, Katara. Just be quiet…we'll figure out a way to fix this." My brother, only 11, stands stock-still as I tear away from his arms and rush to the window. The broken blinds split as I look out in horror; my father is being taken away by policeman, hands cuffed. He glances back for a moment – I know he sees me, because three syllables fall from his silent lips like raindrops.

"Katara…"

My knife clatters to the ground. I don't even remember drawing it, nor do I remember striding so close to Zuko. A hand – my hand, I realize – has subconsciously closed around his collar. I release him, and he gasps for breath.

"No more," I say.

"What?" The 19 year-old narrows his golden eyes at me, one lid crinkling beneath that violent scar.

"No more," I repeat. "I'm tired of war. I'm tired of blood. I'm tired of being the Cat."

"Liar," he hisses, taking a fighting stance.

"No." I step away from him. "I refuse to die at the hands of an Agni. I refuse to die at the hands of anyone but myself. Make some small peace with me, Zuko," I beg. "Let me blindly trust someone. Once, I want to trust. Then I'll be ready to die."

He returns to a relaxed stance. Eyes unflickering, he replies, "Trust me."

And I almost laugh. Because I never could trust an Agni.