Katara wriggled beneath the guard's knees as they put on her shackles. Her limbs were already fragile from months of hunger and exertion—if they pressed any harder, they could very well dislocate her shoulders.

She ground her teeth against the sharp pain. "You're hurting me!"

The guards disregarded her completely. They lifted her off the floor by her arms once the shackles had been locked in place, causing her to shriek in pain. Their grip was tight around the bruises on her biceps, beaten into her for improper harem etiquette. Her muscles screamed in protest while the men walked her out of the bathroom.

The bedchambers were flocked with guards—two at the door, one in front of Shila where she stood behind her bed, and three more by the walls. Shila was gaping at Katara in shock, and to the side, a group of maids and concubines had gathered at the door, peering inside and whispering to each other.

The group stepped aside as Katara was hauled unceremoniously out of the chambers and ushered toward the stairs, the rest of the guards trailing behind her. Everyone's attention in the hallway was locked solely on her—the culprit who'd gotten the Heir Apparent arrested.

The unmistakable clinks of a staff on marble sounded from ahead, and a moment later, Madam Lin appeared at the top of the staircase not too far away. The guards gripping Katara's arms halted in their places while Lin charged toward them.

"I will only ask this once, and you will answer in full honestly," she spat without slowing down. "Why was His Highness looking for you?"

"I don't know!" Katara tried to plead. "He just burst in and—"

A firm slap across the face silenced her, hard enough to whip her head to the side. She would've toppled over, too, had it not been for the guards holding her upright. Her cheek burned, and she had to bite down on her tongue to keep herself from making a noise.

Lin took her chin in a crushing grip and stared into her eyes.

"Do you know what we do to liars here, pest?" she snarled.

With her free hand, she conjured a stream of fire and held it before Katara's face to see. Katara went rigid, her pulse spiking. She made to flinch back out of reflex, but the guards wouldn't let her budge.

"Please! I don't know anything! I swear!"

It was her eyes watering from the slap that made tears trickle down her cheeks, Katara told herself. She wasn't crying. Those weren't real tears. They weren't.

Lin's eyes burned into hers, lips curling with revulsion. She snuffed out the flames by closing her fist.

"A few nights in the dungeons ought to loosen that tongue," she grunted, wiping the hand she'd touched Katara with on her robes. She fixed her gaze on the guards in Katara's arms. "I want her kept far away from His Highness."

While they nodded, Lin turned around to lead the way and barked more orders at the maids in the hallway to tell the eunuchs to begin with Katara's arrest documents. The guards spurred Katara forward as Lin started down the stairs.

The main hall was brimming with hundreds of maids and concubines exchanging nonsense gossip and rumors. It all came to an abrupt end, however, the second Madam Lin, Katara, and the entourage of royal guards appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing to scurry away like a pack of rodents and form a narrow path from the stairs to the harem gates, curtsying to their matriarch once they'd gotten to their places.

Katara lowered her head while the guards tugged her along the path, her cheeks wet and flushed. Still, it was impossible to escape the scrutinizing stares following her and the horrors that were being muttered in her face.

"Whore."

"Slut."

"Did you see how he was running for her?"

"—heard she bewitched him."

"Why would he even go near that thing?"

Her tears weren't real, Katara told herself again and again. They weren't real. She wouldn't let these people get to her so easily.

She raised her gaze from the floor when she felt a familiar pair of eyes on her. Up ahead, on her left, the concubine that'd once spared her from Shila's ridicule stood among the front row of the crowd. Lui, she recalled her name was.

Over the weeks, she'd caught Lui watching her work several times, and the concubine had smiled warmly when Katara had met her gaze each time. The warmth and friendliness she'd associated with Lui's features were no longer there, however. Now, there was only pity. Pity, and sorrow.

Katara averted her eyes as she and her guards passed by her. With everything going on, there was no room to think about anyone, least of all a Fire Nation noble.

Nearing the end of the path, Madam Lin stopped a few steps short of the gates and turned to watch the guards escort Katara out of the harem, palms perched on top of each other, resting on the jeweled knob of her staff. Katara kept her head down as she was practically dragged through the palace and down endless flights of stairs, turning a deaf ear to the curious whispers of anyone she came across.

They finally leveled off after what had to be a thousand stairs, leading to a dingy pathway with old stone walls, similar to the hidden passages she'd memorized like the back of her hand. The occasional torches mounted on the walls provided just enough light to bathe the path ahead in a haunting glow, the walls themselves moist with the humidity and covered in moss.

A thick, barred iron door stood at the end of the pathway, a palace guard behind it. The man quietly juggled a chain of keys and opened the door, stepping aside to allow for the passing of Katara and her entourage. They passed through two more barred doors before turning the corner to a long, narrow hallway. A handful of rusty doors with peepholes, waist-level gaps for food trays, and keyholes dotted the wall on the left. The whole place was empty and deathly quiet, save for another unit of guards locking the door nearest to the entrance.

As Katara's entourage passed by that door, she tried to glance in through the peephole, see if it was the Prince they were locking up in there—but the guard locking it shot her a look and slid the peephole shut.

Her guards led her down the hall, stopped in front of the very last door, and took off her shackles before shoving her in. Katara nearly fell to her knees from the force of the push between her shoulder blades, and the door slammed closed behind her with a clang that thundered in the tiny cell.

Her new home for the foreseeable future was barren of anything but a sleeping mat and the distinct smell of prison she remembered all too well from Ba Sing Se and the ship she'd been carried here on.

Heaving a sigh, she crossed the cell in a few steps and flopped onto the mat. All those beatings, the dehumanizing derisive comments, and endless days of slaving she'd endured, and she'd still ended up right back on square one—in prison. The coarse texture of the mat bit into her arms as she laid down on her side, an arm bent beneath her head, and gazed into the sliver of light oozing in from the gap between the door and the floor.

In the harem, she hadn't had the energy to think about her past, nor was she ever alone with her thoughts, always forced to be around someone. First, it was Ayuki and the concubines, then Shila and her friends. Even while sleeping or bathing, she'd been surrounded by maids and slaves. The only times she'd ever truly been alone was while she was going to or coming back from meeting with the Prince—and even those moments of privacy had been lost to wondering what he was up to this time.

Now, caged in by stone walls, she had nothing but her thoughts.

Today wasn't supposed to go this way at all. She was supposed to be out there, fighting tooth and nail for her freedom. She was supposed to have the wind blowing in her face as she roamed the skies on a stolen war balloon, feel it rake through her hair and dress, cherish her first moment in a month without a collar or shackles weighing down on her consciousness.

It'd all gone wrong. So, so wrong.

What on earth had possessed the Prince to throw their entire plan out the window like that? No, not just their plan—their lives. He'd been so careful to keep their interactions a secret up till then, so why expose them when it mattered the most?

He had proposed a way out for her afterward, but even he hadn't sounded certain it'd work. He'd known as well as her that she didn't stand a chance on her own.

He'd known the truth, but hadn't dared to admit it to either of them—the truth that she was going to die, regardless of whether she made a miraculous escape from the execution site or not. That she wouldn't make it two steps out of there before getting caught.

She'd seen the fear in his eyes as the guards had dragged him away. Seen the regret, the despair. And that'd been all the confirmation she needed.

She was going to die.

Katara rolled over on the mat, facing the wall and pulling her knees to her chest. A weight pressed down on her lungs. The quickening beats of her heart were reverberating throughout her body.

Through having her bending and humanity ripped from her, it was only the far-fetched dream of reuniting with her family one day that'd kept her going. To see their faces one more time, reach a hand out and be able to feel them, make more of the memories she'd exhausted long ago. But she'd never get to see them again. She'd never get to hold them in her arms and etch their scents to her brain like she'd been yearning to.

Because she was going to die, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Her throat tightened, making it impossible to breathe or gulp. She curled further into herself, trying to get her breathing under control to no avail. Her hands were beginning to tremble, and she could feel the heat seeping from her body despite the fairly warm temperature of the cell.

Her escape plan had relied entirely on the eclipse and the element of surprise. Without them, it wouldn't make a difference if she had—

Oh spirits, the eclipse.

The invasion. Her family.

Had they gotten her letter? What if they hadn't? What if it'd been intercepted?

What if she'd been too late?

Her stomach churned. Cold sweat coated her all over. And the chi lurking in her veins leaked through the cracks of her consciousness, slowly turning the air around her as chilly as she felt at the core. The moss on the wall started to freeze over, a sheet of ice blanketing it in white.

Were they on their way here now? Had they been captured already?

No, they wouldn't be captured. She'd never known the Fire Nation to be so merciful.

They were going to die. Her family, her friends—everyone she'd ever loved. They were all going to be slaughtered because she hadn't been quick enough.

Katara's head was a whirlpool, spinning without a center. She tried to hang on to the threads of her fading memories, of her family's faces and laughter and their voices—but they spilled from between her fingers like water, and she was sucked into the maelstrom of her thoughts.

Coarse ridges of a scar skimmed the pads of her fingertips, gold eyes melting into hers. He was warm beneath her touch, and his eyes were so open, so vulnerable, so tired and confused. Those were not the eyes of a monster. They couldn't be.

Aang was lying in her arms, smoke and the stench of burnt flesh wafting from his body, his chest unmoving. She was healing him, but it made no difference at all. She had to leave him behind—him, and her life.

A man dressed in black was standing before a fireplace, holding metal needles above a green fire. She was bound tightly to a high-backed chair, the leather straps around her limbs bruising. "Where's the Avatar?" he was asking. "Where did you hide him?" There was an overwhelming pain in her right hand, a white-hot agony that nearly made her vocal cords tear from screaming. She was begging the man to kill her and end her misery.

Katara couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Her vision was blurry. Untameable tremors were rocking through her body.

Was she dying? Was this what death was like? All-consuming and deranging?

Was she going insane?

Maybe she should die here—reunite with her family in the Spirit World right this instant. Better to die now with honor than to have her death become an entertainment for the enemy.

She shut her eyes. The walls were closing in on her, suffocating her. The cold air was stabbing into her skin. Her ragged breaths were condensing before her face.

This was Ba Sing Se all over again—the cold, the fear, the dread. Another prison cell, another set of deadpan guards. Even the stench of blood and death was the same. For all of their differences and warring, the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom weren't so different after all.

She was back in Ba Sing Se, cool metal beneath her touch, emerald green light bleeding into her cell. She could feel people lurking in the shadows behind her—feel their stares burning into her back, hear the blood leaking from where her ice daggers had speared through them dripping to the floor, smell the stench of their rotting flesh.

Among them, standing in the open doorway, was another figure, face veiled behind a wide helmet that only exposed the appalling smirk on his lips. Then that figure was kneeling on one knee right behind her, sneering down at her, the ghost of his breath brushing her shoulder.

"NO! STOP! PLEASE!" someone was screaming. Was it her? Was that her pleading?

Katara gritted her teeth so hard her jaw throbbed, nails cutting into her arms. Tears were rolling down her face. Her breaths were stuck in her throat, heart pounding like a drum against her ribs.

She had to calm herself. She couldn't let her past consume her—drive her mad. They were only memories. They couldn't hurt her. Not anymore. She needed a clear head for a new escape plan.

She had to breathe. She had to calm down.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Katara tried her hardest to unlatch her hands from her arms and take a deep breath. Her nails, jagged from months of neglect, left her arms with bloodied crescents imprinted on her skin.

She then let go of her breath, chest caving in, before inhaling deeply again. Katara locked in all the painful memories and shoved them to the furthest depths of her mind, never to be revisited again.

Breathe in, and out, she repeated in her head. In, and out.

The tremors gradually died down, and the ice on the moss was melting away.

Her family had gotten her letter. They knew of the Fire Nation's trap.

They were far away. Alive.

They were alive.

They were safe.

She was safe.

She'd find a way out of here. She always did.

-o-

Zuko sat leaning against the wall of his cell, knees pulled up and elbows resting on them. Blood from the reopened wounds on his forearms had long seeped through the sleeves of his shirt, stained them beyond repair. Now, he calmly—almost hypnotically—watched his fingers flexing in and out of a fist in front of him, and winced as the skin around his split knuckles drew taut and the muscles in his hand and forearm burned each time.

He didn't mind the pain, though. Quite the contrary, he welcomed it. After what he'd done that morning, he deserved it. He deserved everything that was coming for him.

He'd felt his inner fire dwindle and flare back up as the eclipse had come and gone, and clawed his nails into his forearm while waiting for lunch and dinner that hadn't come. He didn't protest—he'd gone days without a single bite of food when traveling on his own in the Earth Kingdom. He just wished he had something strong to loosen the tightness in his chest.

One bottle of sake. That was all he asked for before he died. Just one last chance to have sake sear its way down his throat, to be freed from his burdens and lose himself in the drunken haze he'd missed so dearly. If he scratched himself hard enough, though, if he could make himself hurt, maybe the pain would make the cravings go away.

He stopped the flex of his fingers at the sound of a door being opened down the hall. A too familiar female voice roared, demanding where he was, then his door was being unlocked.

Zuko sighed, tipping his head back to rest against the wall. What did she want now?

The door flung open to reveal his sister standing in the hallway, absolutely livid. She stormed into the cell, chest rising and falling rapidly, and the door closed behind her.

"Was it you?" she seethed.

Zuko stared down the slope of his nose at her, brow knitting. "What?"

Azula stopped a few steps away, breathing sharply through her nose.

"The invasion. It didn't happen. No one showed up." Her fuming eyes narrowed into slits. "It's almost as if the enemy knew we were waiting for them. Don't suppose you'd have any guesses as to how they could've gotten hold of that information. You might mingle with Dad's harem, but surely you wouldn't go that far."

The tightness in his chest uncoiled a tiny bit. So they had gotten his letter and backed off from the invasion in time. Zuko might've condemned Katara to death, but he'd at least been able to spare her family and friends from a massacre.

He met his sister's fierce glare head-on. There was no more need to lie—he was going to die regardless if he told the truth or not.

"Actually, I would," he said casually. "I told Katara about the invasion, and she wrote to her family to abort it. I sent the letter to them myself."

Azula puffed a laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Of course you did. You imbecile." Her irate smile dissolved, her eyes two spears piercing through his skull. "Do you realize what you and your harlot cost us today? This victory could've won us the war."

Zuko clenched his teeth at the insult at Katara, hands balling into fists. "Watch your mouth."

Azula scoffed, shaking her head incredulously. "You don't even care about the Fire Nation anymore, do you. Unbelievable."

Zuko averted his eyes, jaw set tight. It'd been quite a while since he'd lost interest in politics—in anything other than getting Uncle and Katara out of here, really. And frankly, he no longer cared about the war—he only cared that Ozai lost.

Azula tilted her head, gaze locked squarely on him. "Are you going to explain how you also managed to get Uncle out while you were locked up? Or did you plot with the enemy for that, too?"

It took a moment for Zuko to register her words.

He blinked. "Uncle escaped?"

"Yes, dimwit. That's what I just said. He broke out during the eclipse and vanished without a trace. You and I both know that miserable old cretin couldn't pull that off on his own, so you're gonna tell me who helped him."

Zuko felt his chest ease further. All this time, he'd been perfecting a plan to break in and out of Uncle's prison without being spotted, and Uncle had just gone and broken loose on his own. Zuko could only hope he'd found safety as well.

"I don't know how he got out," he said. "If he had any help, it wasn't me."

Azula sized him up. She must've seen it on his face that he was telling the truth, as she lifted her chin, and her rage receded behind a carefree guise.

"Oh well." She shrugged a shoulder. "We'll find out who it was sooner or later, and we still have the comet ahead of us to win the war, not to mention all the other traps we can set with your harlot. Bet she'll prove a lot more valuable as bait rather than a servant."

Zuko shut his eyes, inwardly cursing himself. Of course they wouldn't let Katara off the hook so easily. Him, they could make an example of. But Katara—her death wouldn't mean anything to the common folk. It'd be foolish of them to let her worth for the enemy go to waste. And to think he'd made her promise to lay low and hide her powers… She'd be escorted out of her cell thinking that would be the day she broke free, only to have that dream crushed to dust when her family and friends would be murdered in front of her instead.

He truly was an imbecile—the biggest one there was.

"As for you," Azula continued coolly, a hint of amusement in her tone, "all of your titles have been revoked, your assets and personal belongings have been confiscated, and your execution will be held publicly tomorrow at noon. Your final meal will be served in the morning. And before you ask—no, you can't ask for sake. Dad's already seen to it that you won't have access to alcohol."

Zuko scoffed. He'd be surprised if Ozai had forgone his last opportunity to torture him.

"Why today?" The question slipped from him before he could stop it. He lifted his chin to stare at her. "Why did you have to do this today? Why not yesterday, or tomorrow?"

Azula arched a mocking brow. "You have to ask?" She let out a snicker, shaking her head in disappointment. "I see I've been giving you far too much credit."

Slowly, she lowered herself onto one knee so she could be at level with him.

"Well, for one, I wasn't certain where your loyalties lie and couldn't risk you compromising the invasion, so today was the latest I could wait till you showed your true colors. Then you met that peasant last night— for the second time, might I add—and I knew you were either screwing or plotting our demise with her, and that you'd be too tired to notice me setting you up this morning. Truth be told, it was a coincidence that everything aligned so spectacularly."

Zuko pinned her with a glare. "You were spying on me?"

Somehow, that wasn't very surprising.

"Of course I was spying on you," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's a war zone out there. I did what I needed to do to survive."

"Why'd you have to get Katara involved, then? What did getting her captured do for you? You could've turned me over to Father for something else."

Her lips curled into a cruel sneer. "But then it wouldn't be as much fun, would it? Seeing you so desperately try to protect her was awfully entertaining. Loads better than I'd imagined, honestly."

Zuko's face twisted into a deep scowl, his eyes narrowed. "You're sick."

"Yes, you've been saying that for years."

Azula rose to her full height and stared down at him. "Funny thing, life, isn't it? You never know where it's going to lead you." She turned and began heading for the door in long, languid strides. "Of course, I've known from the start that yours would end much sooner than mine. We never could coexist, you see. One of us had to go—and, you being the weaker one, it was always quite obvious who it was gonna be."

She knocked on the door once and turned to cut him one final, sinister half-smile. "Don't beat yourself up over it, though. That's just how nature is. Nothing personal."

The door opened with a screech and the cell filled with light once more. Zuko squinted against the brisk beam of the torch hung directly opposite from his cell.

Even with her face shrouded in shadows, Azula's eyes were shining.

"Farewell, brother," she drawled. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She stepped out into the hallway with a smirk on her face—and halted abruptly as another pair of footsteps stopped just outside the cell.

Azula looked the person over, glanced at Zuko, then walked away without saying a word, all but shouldering past the person. A moment later, a silhouette appeared in the doorframe, long robes swishing. Jet-black hair glistened in the torchlight, gathered into two buns at the top, the rest let loose.

Nose high, the person stepped in, and the door swung closed.

"Mai," Zuko muttered and scurried to his feet, wincing as his injured hand and forearm revolted sharply against the sudden movement.

"Hello, Zuko."

Although he still couldn't quite make out her face, Mai's tone was as poised as ever.

"What're you doing here?" he couldn't help but wonder.

Her face gradually gained detail as his eyes adjusted to the dark again. Her expression was tight, contrasting against her typical stoicism, the corded muscles of her neck taut.

"Azula invited me and Ty over to stay the night and go to your execution together tomorrow," she explained, hands folded before her. "I wanted to talk to you before that."

Zuko hung his head, unable to look her in the eye.

He kicked a pile of dirt with the tip of his boot. "Where's Ty Lee?"

"In the palace infirmary, asleep." Mai lowered her head and swallowed thickly. "She's been crying all day, so I had her pumped up with sedatives. The healers say the effects should wear off in a few hours."

Zuko's chest tightened. He wasn't just going to die tomorrow—he was going to kill Mai and Ty Lee's only true friend as well.

He really should've killed himself when he'd had the chance. No, scratch that—he shouldn't have even been born in the first place. Certainly would've saved everyone a lot of trouble.

"How're you holding up?" Mai asked, raising her head.

Zuko shrugged. He felt her taking him in.

"What happened to your hand?"

A bittersweet feeling squeezed at his heart. That was one of the first things she'd asked him in Ba Sing Se, why his hand had been bandaged. He turned his injured hand over so the three horizontal stripes marking his palm faced him.

"Nothing," he answered, just as he had then.

They fell into silence. Zuko actively avoided her gaze, brushing his fingertips over the scars on his palm.

"Why'd you do it?" Mai finally broke the tense quiet, a touch of strain in her voice.

Zuko let out a laden breath and ran his unharmed hand through his shaggy hair. He wished he had an answer. He truly did.

"Fighting the guards and breaking into the harem?" Mai asked as she took a step toward him. "What were you thinking?"

His mouth shaped words as he searched for the right answer, though no sound came for a few moments. "Azula said Katara was in danger and I just—I don't know. I panicked. I didn't know what I was doing."

Mai was still for a moment. "Who's Katara?"

Ah. Right. Mai wouldn't know her name.

"The Avatar's friend," he clarified.

He saw from the corner of his vision that her mouth fell slightly ajar. "You did all that because of her?"

Zuko pressed his lips into a line at the blatant accusation in her question. She was right. He couldn't disagree.

Yet there was no feasible way for him to explain why he'd done everything he'd done. Not to her. She was a close friend, yes, but it was precisely her difficulty with empathy that'd led to the downfall of their brief romance. He didn't blame her for it—it was her parents who had made her lock up her emotions for her entire life, after all—but she wouldn't understand the responsibility he bore for Katara's well-being. He'd put her in here, and it was his duty to get her out in one piece.

So he remained silent, dropping his head lower to stare at his boots.

"You could at least look at me when I'm speaking to you!" Mai's words stung like acid—but, more than that, it was how she'd raised her voice that made him raise his gaze from the stone floor. Even when they'd argued, she'd rarely outright yelled at him.

The facade of apathy she put up unfailingly was starting to wither. Through the cracks, she let slip the furrow of her brows, the scowl on her lips, and the light quivering of her chin. And her eyes… Sorrow, fear, and anger swam in their depths.

"Mai…" he breathed, but she ignored him.

"You finally get your life in order, and then you throw it all away for her?!"

Zuko's heart shattered into a million pieces at the tears lining her eyes and the waver in her voice.

"Mai," he said again, gently holding out his arms to her as he stepped closer. "Please don't cry."

She closed the distance between them and shoved him by the chest with a snarl on her face. "You IDIOT!" She shoved him again. "YOU'RE GONNA DIE!"

Zuko stumbled back half a step each time she struck. "Mai—"

She shoved again and again without giving him the chance to speak. "HOW COULD YOU LET AZULA DO THIS!"

"Mai, please—"

"—ALWAYS TRYING TO PROVE YOURSELF—"

"Mai, I'm sorry—"

"WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST WALK AWAY FOR ONCE!"

When his back hit the wall, she switched the shoving for punching him in the chest with the outside of her fists. "WHY'D YOU HAVE TO BE SO DAMN STUPID!"

"Hey. Hey," Zuko kept repeating calmly, hoping to soothe her. He grabbed her wrists to refrain her from punching him and tried to catch her eyes, but found them shut, tears flowing freely from her face.

"Mai…" He couldn't hold back the slight tremble in his voice. "Please… I'm not worth your tears."

A whimper came out of her, and she sagged against him, arms tucked between the two of them. Her punches became no more than feeble thumps against his chest, and she broke down entirely.

Zuko let go of her wrists and wrapped his arms around her. He felt his own eyes burn and throat close up as Mai sobbed her heart out in his embrace, curling the front of his tunic in her fists. He caressed the hair at her nape and rested his cheek against the top of her head, glazed eyes locked on the door behind her. He'd never seen her be so sentimental before, never seen her cry, and it hurt all the more.

She kept slurring out inaudible words through her sobs, tears wetting the fabric over his shoulder. Zuko did the only thing he could to calm her—tightening his arms around her and murmuring into her hair that it was okay, that everything would be alright.

He didn't have the heart to tell her he hadn't been planning on living for long anyway.

Zuko held her as she broke free of her restraints and let herself feel. He held her through her heart-wrenching weeping, whimpers, and the somber silence that followed once she ran out of tears to shed. She hung onto his tunic as her sobs subsided, head tucked in his shoulder.

Mai withdrew from him only after a long minute, sniffling and wiping away her tears with the back of her sleeve. She cleared her throat and clasped her hands before her, swollen eyes glued to the floor.

"I should go check on Ty Lee," she said quietly, voice thick with tears. "She'll be worried if she wakes up and I'm not there."

Zuko gave her an understanding nod, lips pressed tight.

Mai raised her head to look him in the eyes. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

It really was, wasn't it. Next time he'd see her, she'd be watching him kneel over a marble block in front of hundreds of people, his nape bared to the executioner's sword.

"I guess it is…"

Zuko resisted the temptation to draw her into another hug. She'd never been the physical affection type. Instead, he bid his farewell the only way he knew how.

He inclined from the waist and placed an open palm perpendicular to his fist—the highest form of respect one could receive in the Fire Nation, especially coming from the Crown Prince. Former Crown Prince.

"It was an honor making your acquaintance," he said, head bowed. "I hope, one day, you can forgive me for all the pain I've caused you."

Mai's throat bobbed as she swallowed and swiped away another tear. She bent her knees in a curtsy.

Her tone was reserved when she spoke. "Likewise."

They rose from their bows and their gazes met. Behind her eyes, Zuko could see her rebuilding the mental walls she'd broken down, laying brick after brick around her feelings, locking them up so she never showed emotion again.

"Goodbye, Zuko," she muttered, her voice finally back under control, though the sullen edge to it still persisted.

Zuko forced a small, sad-tinted smile to his lips. "Goodbye."

Exhaling sharply to brace herself, Mai turned around and strode toward the cell door like nothing had happened, chin high, spine straight, shoulders pushed back—an epitome of nobility. The only indications that she'd been crying at all were her bloodshot eyes, and the flush on her cheeks and nose.

Zuko watched her raise her hand to knock, then pause for a moment while she took another deep breath and released it. Then she knocked on the door, and left without looking back.

-o-

Katara twirled a tiny stream of water she'd drawn from the moss on the wall, weaving it between her fingers in an absent-minded loop in front of her face, her back turned to the door.

She'd imagined her first bit of waterbending in a month would be raising the oceans rather than tossing this puny bubble around, forced to hide it from view, but she'd take what she could get. Anything to feel a part of her old self. And to find an ounce of release from the power tingling beneath her skin, slithering through her veins in search for an outlet, and pretend that the walls of her stomach weren't sticking to each other from hunger.

Katara ceased waterbending when the screeching of a cell door far away grated on her ears, letting the bubble hang suspended in the air. The shouts of a man commanding someone to stand up ensued.

The only thing she'd heard outside all day was an inmate receiving two visitors back to back—though, considering one of them had called the inmate 'brother', she could make a guess at who they'd come for. That, and she'd know Azula's voice anywhere. The current noises seemed to be coming from a similar distance, although it was difficult to tell with all the echoing.

From the commotion emerged two, heavy footsteps approaching her own cell, and Katara dropped the bubble entirely, letting the water splash onto her sleeping mat. It couldn't be a coincidence that both she and the Prince were being called upon at the same time, least of all in the middle of the night.

Were they being taken to the execution site already? But… wouldn't it make more sense for their executions to be held during the day, when lots of more people could attend the ceremony?

Her door unlocked and swung open. Katara turned over to face the door, blocking the light with a hand before her face. A figure stood tall in the doorway, casting his shadow over her.

"Get up!" His command boomed off of the walls.

Katara raised herself onto her elbow, squinting. "What's happening?"

"What's happening is you were given the opportunity of a lifetime." He surveyed her from head to toe. "Tidy up. And be quick. You've been summoned by His Royal Majesty, Fire Lord Ozai."

A/N

UPDATE: Hello, loves. I'm really sorry to be informing you of this, but I've decided to take a little break from writing because it's become mentally draining. I love writing and reading your wonderful reviews, but I simply cannot sit in front of a computer and write for hours atm (that, and I've been very busy as of late). I truly am sorry about all this. On a positive note, though, I will be finishing this fic. Wouldn't leave you hanging after that cliffhanger. I just don't know when it'll be—might be a few weeks or another month.

Hope you can understand. Love you all xx