Forbidden.

Gabe didn’t so much as flinch as an unforgiving, sharp wind cut through the streets of District 4. Instead, he sneered. The mayor's house was the only place in the district that was nicer than Gabe's own residence.  

Gabe didn't often trouble himself with the throughs of morality, but he would never describe himself as jealous.  

He was simply a man driven by ambition. And when he wanted something—he took it.  

Mayor Straus’ house made him sick.  

A bite of wind was queer in the normally swelteringly hot district. Perhaps it was a sign of the malevolence behind Gabe’s trip to Mayor Straus’ polished brick house. Still, Gabe didn’t flinch. When it came to power, when it came to control, Gabe was the victor. He couldn't be iced out of a game that he never stopped playing. He was used to the cold, the distance, the walls that surrounded him—walls that kept people out and kept him in control. 

Gabe didn’t need warmth when he had his meticulous planning and determination at his disposal. His steps were purposeful and steady. He found solace in the click of his boots as they echoed off the marble steps.  

He made sure to trek some mud into the house.  

Gabe knew his way around the manor, so he potently ignored the servant that Straus had sent to collect his coat. He had made many deals within these concrete walls, and as he had before, he would walk away the victor.  

A summons from the mayor would probably induce fear among the average citizen, but Gabe was overfamiliar with the nature of their meeting. He would not bow to Straus. Not an inch.  

After an exceedingly long stretch of hallway, Gabe finally arrived at the dark, oak door that confined the mayor’s office. He took a sharp breath and made sure to done his usual mask. The door creaked open, and Gabe stepped inside.  

He fished a box of cigars from his coat pocket and offered one to Mayor Straus as a consolation. Gabe was late to their meeting, but time was power, and power was important to guys like them. As they wordlessly lit their respective cigars, they let the heavy, yet familiar, scent of expensive cigars linger in the air.  

Mayor Straus sat behind his desk, the faint glow of a single lamp casting harsh shadows across his sharp features. There was a moment of silence between the two as their eyes met. This was two men who understood power—and understood how to manipulate every inch of it to their advantage at that.  

“You’re late,” the mayor said, his voice smooth as butter, but Gabe didn’t miss the undercurrent of impatience. He offered a curt smile in return. 

“Time’s a luxury neither of us have,” Gabe shot back, feigning the exasperation of a working man. Of course, he didn’t work. Not when he benefitted from the Capitol stipend.  

But he had other past times.  

Gabe Ugliano slouched in the cracked leather chair across from Mayor Straus. He hoped that his massive frame somehow managed to look both at ease and menacing at once. Careful to not be careful, Gabe propped his boots up on the edge of the mayor’s pristine desk, tracking in mud and dirt from the docks. It was a deliberate insult to the mayor’s power and stature.  

He knew Straus hated it. Knew the man had spent hours polishing the wood to a high shine, the same way he polished his fake benevolence when he spoke to the people of District Four. Gabe merely watched as Straus’s lips curled into a barely concealed sneer, and his eyes glistened with rage and something else he couldn’t place—triumph?  

Straus took a long drag of his cigar and placed a yellow manilla envelope at the edge of his desk, signaling Gabe to look at the contents.  

The victor wondered if it was another Capitol summons. He didn’t exactly enjoy that particular “reward,” but it got him away from the tediousness of District life. Gabe liked to think that he was a rule abiding citizen, and he had the honor of serving the Capitol beyond his participation in the Hunger Games.  

He opened the envelope with another dramatic sigh and left the cigar to hang in his mouth. As soon as he saw the contents of the envelope, he froze. This was no Capitol summons. This was evidence, proof. The kind that could condemn his whole household to death.  

The parchment was worn and crumpled at the corners, but the contents were damning. Sketches of the makeshift altar hidden in Gabe’s house. Scrawled prayers in Sally’s unmistakable hand. Symbols of the sea and sky, of freedom and defiance—nothing more than heretical scraps from a forgotten age.  

Memories came flooding back like a tsunami as he thought back to the time he had found his wife praying at a makeshift altar.  

-----------------

9 months earlier 

Gabe didn’t need to see what was going on. He had smelled it the moment he stepped through the door.  

It was a faint fragrance, almost untraceable if you didn’t know what you were looking at. Something he hadn’t caught in years, before the carnage of his Games. Before the Capitol had taken his life, his innocence.  

It was the sweet, cloying, and unmistakable burning of incense. Gabe’s gut had tightened as his heart lept to his throat. His boots scraped against the warped floorboards as he took hurried steps into their lavish living room. 

 And then he saw it. 

In the corner of the room, just beneath the smudged Capitol-issued portrait of President Snow, was the altar.  

Small, pathetic, and damning. Just like the woman before it.  

At first, he couldn't believe his eyes. No. Not Sally. She knew better; she was an intelligent woman. And he couldn't deny her sense of self preservation. This was completely out of character.  

But there she was—looking at him like the very picture of guilt. Beside her was a plate with the finest food from their kitchen. A feast in the eyes of some of the lowliest District citizens. And Sally held a match as she prepared to light it on fire. 

Another of his shiniest silver dishes held sea-glass, faded bronze coins, and other water junk, as if she thought the gods gave a damn about trinkets. The incense stick was still smoldering, the faint trail of smoke snaking upward, defiant. It was all laid out like an offering in one of the districts—the way they used to do it before the Games made sure people forgot. 

For a moment, Gabe didn’t move. He just stared at the altar, his hands curling into fists at his sides. 

His chest tightened. His pulse pounded in his ears like the blood-rush before a kill. A reaping. A bloodbath. 

No. Not here. He wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t. 

“You would kill us all, woman!” Gabe had seethed.  

Before he knew it, he was across the room. The plate hit the wall with a wet slap, splattering the glorious food onto the wallpaper. The waste would come out of her damned son’s meals if Gabe had anything to do with it! 

The incense snapped beneath his hand, and he ground it out against the corner of the shrine, smearing black ash into the carpet. The coins scattered across the floor, clanging mirthlessly, as useless as Sally’s deceased gods. His breath was a snarl in his throat. 

And then he grabbed her. 

Her wrist was frail in his hand, the bone shifting too easily under his grip. He pulled her toward him, jerking her face close, and felt a sickening satisfaction when he saw the fear flash in her eyes. Good. She should be afraid. 

"You think you can do this?" he hissed, his voice low, sharp. Dangerous. "You think you can turn our house into some kind of cultist den?" 

“Don’t you know there are eyes everywhere! DO YOU EVEN REALIZE WHAT YOU’VE DONE?”  

She didn’t answer at first. Of course she didn’t. She just stared back at him with those wide, desperate eyes—the same eyes he had seen on too many faces in the Arena. She might as well have been kneeling in the mud with a knife pressed to her throat. They all begged the same way.  

But she wasn’t. And that made him angrier. 

"Let them come take me away," Her voice was small, brittle. Like it might break apart in her mouth. "I can’t live like this anymore. We- I have forgotten who I am.” 

Forget? Forget?  

Gabe laughed maniacally at the absurdity of it, contorting his face into something sinister. She wanted to remember? With the horrors of the Games, forgetting was mercy. Forgetting was survival.  

“Good grief, Sally,” Gabe’s grip tightened, “You’re stupider than I thought.” 

“You’re the worst man I’ve ever met,” Sally rebuttaled with a spitfire breathe.  

Gabe just snorted, “You haven't met enough men.” 

“I wish I never met you,” she spat with such loathing conviction Gabe wrestled with himself not to smash her face into the wall.  

"I’ve given up everything for you, for your damn son!" He spat, lowering his face so close to hers that he could see the faint pulse at her throat, quick and terrified. He squeezed her wrist again, just enough to make her wince. "You don’t even know the horrors I have kept at bay, Sally. But I can show em’ to you. And oh, I think I’ll enjoy that." 

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t fight him. Not yet. She was still too stunned. 

But then he felt the weight of another set of eyes—smaller, startlingly green, and watching from the doorway. 

Perseus. 

The teen was frozen, his hands clenched into small, useless fists at his sides, trying to make himself look bigger than he was. But he wasn’t big. He was small. He was always small. And Gabe could see the confusion in his face—like the kid still didn’t get it. Like he thought his mother’s little altar had been harmless. Like he didn’t understand the danger she had put them all in. 

“G-Gabe, let her go. I put this stuff up, it’s my fault,” Perseus sputtered, his fear evident. It was rare Gabe could get such a reaction out of the stoic boy. He truly only ever feared for his mother. 

Gabe stared at the boy for a moment, considering. Weighing . Then his voice dropped into a growl. 

"Do you think they’ll let him live," he said softly, turning back to Sally, making sure Percy could hear every word, "if they find out you’re teaching him to defy them? Do you even know what they are capable of doing to your son?" 

He watched the fight drain from her face as her eyes flicked to Perseus. 

 
Good. She was learning. 

Finally, he released her wrist, shoving her back a step. Perseus lurched forward to catch her, but her shoulders hit the edge of the table, making the broken remains of her shrine rattle. Her hand went to her wrist, rubbing it while turning to her son. She was trembling. 

"There’s nothing you can do to escape from this life," he said, cold and flat. "This ends now. No more foolishness. No more worshiping things that can’t save you." 

The words came too easily . The same words he had whispered to himself in the Arena, over and over, just to keep moving. Just to keep killing. Hope is a fool's game.  

“This can’t go unpunished. You’ve played a stupid, stupid game, woman,” Gabe said, devoid of emotion.  

He stepped into Perseus and Sally’s space yet again, this time taking the boy by the arm and yanking .  

Sally tried to fight back; she tried to pull the boy back towards him, like he was some rope in a game of schoolyard tug of war.  

He made eye contact with Perseus, giving him an eyebrow raise and a look that said, You or her, kid. He understood and twisted his mother off him with too many “I’m sorry’s” than Gabe could stand.  

Gabe threw his stepson into the hole with enough force to send him stumbling. He followed down the stairs after a short moment. Sally was banging uselessly on the door, but he would make her wait. He had to do this. They didn’t understand; people were always watching.  

He descended the stairs quickly, hoping to catch Perseus before he could get back on his feet, but the boy was quick. The boy’s eyes were bright and illuminated even though there was no light in the hole save for a small inground window.  

“You think I’m stupid, boy? You think I wouldn’t find out? You think you and your mother can just start worshipping things out of nowhere?" 

Percy looked up to meet his eyes, sharp and unwavering. Sickening. But he did not flinch. And he did not back down.  

“It’s not what you think, Gabe.” Percy’s words were calm. Too calm. He looked almost unbothered, and that made Gabe’s head spin. He saw the same arrogance in those eyes that he’d seen in Sally’s. That same, cold defiance. Like the boy didn’t care at all. Like Gabe was just a nuscience he had to deal with.  

Gabe smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was cold, predatory. Measured. 

“I saw the way your mom looked at it.” Gabe’s voice softened, turning sinister.  

“She tried to hide it, but I always know.” He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against Percy’s ear as he whispered, “You dance so close to the edge, you might fall off, son. ” 

Percy’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move. Gabe could almost feel the boy’s resistance radiating from him, like a wall he couldn’t break.  Not yet.  But it was coming. Gabe would make sure of that. 

“This tough guy act means nothing to me,” Gabe pulled back just enough to meet Percy’s eyes again, his voice as venomous as a viper. “Is this what you think makes you strong? Makes you a man? Worshiping dead gods? You’re not even close, boy. You’re just a little boy pretending to be something you’re not.” 

Perseus didn’t respond at first. But when he did, it was with that same defiance, that fire that Gabe hated so much. 

“I’m not your son.” 

There it was—the defiance that Perseus clung to like a second skin. Gabe’s irritation was tangible as he bit his tongue to keep from letting his emotions seep through.  Instead, he took a step back and studied his stepson—really looked at him for the first time in a while. 

Percy was different. He wasn’t the same scared little kid Gabe had controlled so easily. Not anymore. 

But that didn’t matter. Because Gabe wasn’t stupid. He could play this game better.  

“You think you’re a man?” Gabe’s voice was low, smooth, almost like he was coaxing. “Let me tell you something, kid. You don’t know what it means to be a man. You don’t know what it’s like to control everything around you. To have the power.” 

Percy stared at him, his face unreadable, but Gabe could see the flash of resistance behind his eyes. That’s when Gabe’s smile grew a little wider, a little colder. 

“But you will.” Gabe’s words were like a promise. “Because I’m going to teach you. Whether you like it or not.” 

The kid didn’t say anything back. He just stood there, watching Gabe like he was a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved. And that was fine. Gabe didn’t need him to say anything. 

Percy would learn. Eventually. He’d learn his place.  

Adapt or die.  

“You can’t get away with this,” His voice was soft with mock pity, “Not in my house. Not while I’m here.” 

The young boy's jaw clenched and unclenched, and Gabe had relished as his eyes filled with unshed tears. It seems even the most poised of them bowed to fear. 

 Gabe had smiled; he was in control. Always.  

--------------

Present 

Gabe inwardly seethed. It seems she thought herself above his direct commands. That had to be rectified, but it wasn’t something he could think about right now.  

He hoped his reaction wasn’t distinguishable, as he’d hate for Straus to gain the upper hand. Gabe forced himself to chuckle. He looked over the pages once, twice, and then carefully placed them back in the envelope and tossed it back to Mayor Straus with a sort of derision.  

“Well, my friend,” he drawled, cracking his knuckles deliberately as he stretched back into a relaxed position, “ I guess you caught her.”  

To his chagrin, Straus’ face remained impassive. His hands, however, betrayed him with a twitch. He was waiting.  

“Illegal worship, Ugliano, surpasses any mutualistically beneficial relationship that we may have,” the mayor’s voice was too flat, too measured. The false calm of a man that believed he held all the cards. “Surely, you know the consequences.” 

Consequences. If Gabe could chew a word and spit it out, he would gnash his teeth against that one. His eyes narrowed with a predatory glint. If Straus wanted to rattle him, he would have to try harder than idle threats. How else would the mayor get his late-night street women, if not for their mutually beneficial relationship ? 

If anything, it amused him. He let his eyes drift over the papers again, feigning boredom. His rage at his wife was palpable, but he hit it well.  

Sally and her stupid little gods.   

She actually thought her prayers meant something. Thought that the sea and the sky could hear her pathetic whispers. He wondered what she wished for. Did she beg to be rid of him in the dead of night? That a god would strike him down for his antics? It was all he could do not to laugh.  

Weakness , he sneered inwardly. She deserved to be caught. Let her weep and beg. Let her break. Gabe had little mercy for disobedience.  

“She’s a fool, my wife,” he wondered aloud, picking at a bit of grime beneath his fingernail. “You honestly think I didn’t know about it?”  

He smiled, slow and cruel, letting the mayor believe that he wanted Sally caught, that she was nothing more than a disobedient wife whose recklessness had earned her punishment from the Capitol.  

But Straus didn’t rise to the bait. His hand idly slid over the envelope and flipped it open again, lazily spreading the evidence in front of him. A smear of candlelight illuminated a jagged sketch of an old trident, drawn in the corner of one of Sally’s old receipts. Gabe’s lip curled slightly at the sight.  

She was always too sentimental.   

“You’re lucky,” the mayor said evenly, swirling a brown liquor in his glass, “ That I came to you first. ”  

Ah, that’s it. Straus had finally shown his cards, and they were ill suited. Gabe frowned, he knew the mayor to be a much better poker player. The stench of his subtle threat lingered in the air. If the Capitol had found out first then Gabe, Sally, and her disobedient son would be dead by dawn.  

“ Word of this cannot spread. One whisper, and it’d be over. For you. For your son. For your wife,” Straus breathed, his excitement getting the better of him.  

Mayor Straus wanted something. Gabe could see it in his eyes. It was a hunger for power that only Capitol lapdogs ever wore. And Gabe knew exactly how far the mayor was willing to go, he had seen the same ambition in himself.  

Gabe’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t blink. He was in control here. He always was. “You think I’m worried about that? I’ve got it handled.” 

The mayor’s smile turned darker, more predatory. “You don’t have it handled, Gabe. Not if you want to keep your son’s name off the tongues of the rebels. Not if you want to keep your family safe.” 

Gabe said nothing, just continued to stare at Straus’s pathetic stubble. He refused to break first. The mayor finally leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I could make it go away.” His eyes glittered with the offer. “No record. No execution. No public spectacle.” 

Gabe’s pulse quickened, but he kept his face impassive once again. This was the out that he needed. “What do you want, Straus?” 

Straus let the silence draw out, playing the game. Gabe detested the moment of brief triumph he had allowed the mayor to gain.  

“The cycle needs to end here, Ugliano,” Straus leaned back in his chair, “This kind of disease is... hereditary.” 

There it was. The faintest smirk ghosted across Gabe’s lips, barely there. His key to it all: Perseus Jackson.  

The mayor continued, voice oily smooth, “Just one name,” His fingers drummed on his desk. “One name in the bowl.” 

He didn’t agree immediately, deigning to fold his massive hands in a show of contemplation, and let his mind wander.  

Perseus.   

He had been training him for years, making sure the boy was sharp enough, fast enough, lethal enough. Oh, the boy didn’t know it yet—he still thought it was just Gabe’s cruelty. Well, half of it was.  

The beatings, the drills with knives, the days spent throwing spears in the sand until his hands bled. Perseus thought it was punishment. But Gabe had been making sure he could hold his own. 

Let them think I’m the monster, he thought coldly.  

The truth was the boy had a soft heart. He wouldn’t last in the Games. Perseus had nowhere near the moral countenance that Gabe had. And if by some miracle, the boy did, Gabe would turn him over to the Capitol fanatics and let them crumble the rest of his spirit. Then, he would finally be obedient.  

And Sally—well, she’d finally break. She was already halfway there. Desperate. Fragile. The Games would shatter her completely. She would cling to Gabe afterward, willing to do anything, everything, if it meant keeping what was left of Percy safe as his mentor.  

She’d never defy me again, he thought giddily.  

The mayor’s voice roused him back to the present, “I will ensure your son gets reaped. No last-minute changes. No tricks. Perseus Jackson’s name must be pulled...”  

His voice trailed off. Gabe raised an eyebrow, there was something more the decrepit mayor wanted, “I know you, Straus. What else do you want?” 

“You’re sharp as ever,” Straus gave a sharp, but strained laugh. He seemed almost nervous, which Gabe thought was almost cute. He finally had the upper hand, “One year off my produce.” 

Gabe couldn’t hide his shock, “Are you insane? Absolutely not!” 

“Six months.” 

“The young ones are exponentially hard to come by, Straus.” 

“Three months.” 

He paused.  

“Two months, 50% off. Full price on Saturdays,” he countered. 

“Deal.” 

Gabe’s business had to make money somehow. They sat staring at each other at an impasse for what seemed like an eternity before Straus cleared his throat.  

“And the boy?” His eyes narrowed in anticipation.  

With the debate, Gabe had actually forgotten about Mayor Straus’ earlier proposal. He made another careful show of consideration as he let out a slow breath through his nose. When he finally spoke, he let his voice carry just a trace of faux regret. 

“My stepson, my legacy,” his stomach churned. A poor one.  

The mayor leaned in, “Think of it, Gabe. No more struggling. No more worrying about the pain of life. You’ll be free. You’ll have control. But only if you do this. Only Perseus Jackson’s name is drawn.” 

Gabe’s breath quickened, his mind whirling. It was so easy. He had always known what he had to do. Percy’s future had been sealed the moment he had become a threat, a weakness in Gabe’s carefully constructed world. The boy was too soft, too idealistic. He couldn’t be trusted. Percy had always been the obstacle standing in the way of Gabe’s true power. The boy was weak. Sally was weak. They both needed to be controlled. 

But Gabe had one more card up his sleeve. He glanced at the decanter, and then to the mayor’s drink of choice. As his eyes cut back to Straus, he made a show of looking over his shoulder. The Capitol’s favorite drug, morphling, sat half-hidden behind the glassware. A delicate vial, golden and unassuming, but potent enough to drown a man’s nightmares in syrupy oblivion. Gabe’s mouth twitched with need. 

With a casual flick of his hand, he gestured toward the vial. “I’ll need a little something extra. You know. For the trouble.” 

Straus’ hesitation was palpable. His gaze shifted to the morphling, then back to Gabe. And for a moment, he almost refused. Almost. 

But Gabe was leaning in now, his voice low and guttural, more a snarl than a whisper. “You really want to test me on this?” His breath was hot with the challenge. “You want to tell the Capitol you found a heretic and didn’t report it? Hm?” 

That was all it took. The mayor’s face hardened with quiet fury, but he relented. He got up and grabbed a generous supply of the drug. He rolled them across the desk with carlessness. Gabe snatched it up with calloused fingers, tucking it into his coat with a satisfied grunt. 

Finally, he stood, towering over the desk, casting a long shadow.  

Gabe’s grip tightened on the edge of the desk, but his voice remained steady, cold. “What about Sally?” 

The mayor’s grin stretched wider. “Sally stays quiet. No one will know about her little... worshiping. You’ll keep her in line. You’ve always been good at that.” 

Gabe’s lips curled into a smile of his own, but it was more a sneer than anything else. “I’ve got that covered. She knows better than to defy me.” 

Straus gave a low chuckle, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. “Of course, Gabe. You’ve always been good at keeping people in their place.”  

He really smiled then—a slow, deliberate baring of teeth. 

Perseus would go to the Games. He might survive, of course. After all, Gabe had taught him himself. He would fight, he would bleed, and he may learn what it meant to be a victor. 

And when Perseus came home, shattered and scarred, Sally would be his for good. 

The gods would have nothing left of her. 

And neither would Perseus. 

Gabe’s fingers were already trembling with anticipation. He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t wait to slip into that blissful fog, to forget everything. The ache in his chest. The constant hunger for more power. The desire to see Perseus broken. This was the key to it all. His stepson would be the one to sacrifice, but Gabe would be the one to thrive. 

With that, Gabe turned and walked out, leaving the mayor with nothing but the lingering smell of salt and rot, and the knowledge that he had just made a deal with the devil.