Forbidden.

Sally Jackson sat on the floor of her and Gabe’s shared bedroom, not-so-absentmindedly folding Percy’s laundry. It wasn’t because she hadn’t bothered to teach her son to fold his own clothes—Percy was very capable. Sally engaged in mundane household chores the majority of the time she was home. It was almost an adaptation at this point. A form of pure distraction. She sat on the pink, plush chair in their room, folding a stack of sun-bleached shirts with methodical precision. The rhythmic motion steadied her hands—smooth, fold, tuck—keeping them from trembling. The scent of saltwater and faded soap clung to the fabric, but her throat still felt tight, her chest too shallow. Her pulse thudded steadily in her ears, a low, drumming beat. She could feel it in her fingertips as she pressed each seam flat, as if she could iron the tremor from her blood. 

Her eyes burned from the lack of sleep. Her throat was still raw from where she had choked on her prayer earlier.  

The reaping is in two days.  

Sometimes, Sally swore she could feel her hair going grey. 

She heard him come home before she saw him. The slam of the front door instantaneously creating an atmosphere cut with tension. Her stomach clenched as she remembered she had left Percy in the front living room. She had no doubt the two would get into a confrontation of sorts.  

She continued to fold the laundry, keeping her ears peeled for shouting. After a while, she heard him approach the bedroom door. He opened it quickly but didn’t bother to shut it—probably done on purpose, so her son could hear their conversation. Her stomach tightened again. She didn’t look up from the sun-bleached clothes; she didn’t need to. She knew that gait—the uneven, heavy-footed shuffle. Knew the sound of him wrestling off his belt and tossing it onto the bed. Knew the rasp of his throat as he cleared it before speaking. 

“Hey,” Gabe’s voice was as hoarse as ever, the ever-present stench of alcohol reeking off him.  

Sally didn't deign to answer with words, just a brief hum of acknowledgement. She stared mundanely at one of her son’s fishing shirts, clenched so tightly in her grasp that her knuckles went white. Like she may be able to hold onto his childhood for him. 

Sally was no idiot. She felt the distance between them growing with every punishment that Gabe administered to Percy. It was her fault that his childhood was short and dreary under her husband’s hand.  

He never said it.  

The beauty of her son was his selflessness; his heart of pure gold. Perseus Jackson was loving, kind, and so, so good. He would never tell her that every hit from Gabe put some distance between them.  

But she could still tell.  

Sally used to sneak out of Gabe’s room to hold her son during the throughs of the night. Sometimes they would cry, but mostly they would laugh and joke with each other to ease the stress of the day.  

One day, Percy’s door was locked.  

It didn’t bother her.  

It didn’t.  

What had once been a loud, rambunctious child was now a silent, strong current. Haunting the corners of the house with a lethal gaze. Sally was so proud of her son’s blatant defiance. It was something she couldn’t replicate for herself. 

Her husband sauntered over, stumbling slightly with the whims of alcohol. She did her best not to flinch as he lowered himself, gripping the chair on both armrests. His fingers drummed against the cheap laminate. 

Slow.  

Deliberate.  

Sally almost rolled her eyes as she met his gaze.  

“You got something you wanna say, wife?” His voice was low, menacingly so. Feigning the calm before the storm.  

He had no idea what kind of storms she was used to.  

“I’m just finishing up,” she said, looking down as if disinterested.  

They were used to this dance.  

Sally had thought she could love Gabe once. After Percy’s father, Sally knew she needed to lay low. Find a quiet place, away from prying eyes for her son to grow. She had made a grievous mistake with Gabe. He had been trying to swoon at her ever since winning his Games, for reasons unbeknownst to her. Sally thought him charming in an annoying, persistent way.  

She figured he wouldn’t be the worst person to get married to. Sally was a poor single mom scrambling to make ends meet by working at a candy shop in the wealthy part of the district. It was a miracle she even got that job, but the owner had known her parents before they passed away. She was lucky; there were other women in the districts that had to sell their nights for some measly coin.  

Gabe had won his Hunger Games. He had a nice house in the Victor’s Village. She rewatched his Games after their first date, and while he was brutal and nefarious, she excused it. Gabe’s actions had merely been a product of his dreadful environment. Kill or be killed. Could she really blame him? He was charming and could be funny at times, so when he proposed nearly three weeks after they’d gone out for the first time, Sally said yes.  

Sally Jackson was so inconceivably wrong about Gabe.  

He wasn’t so cruel at first. After their Capitol-showcased spectacle of a wedding, he was almost pleasant. Their first big argument came when Sally had wanted to quit her job so that she could raise her son full-time. Gabe rejected her outright, claiming that Percy was fine under his care.  

(He needs a man to raise him, Sal.) 

So, she continued working. She still saw her son every day; they went to the beach together, explored where they weren’t supposed to, and most importantly—she taught him about his father. Sally thought the traits Percy had inherited from his father were limited to physical appearance, but she was wrong. When her precious son levitated a ball of water out of thin air, she almost passed out.  

Over time, Gabe got more controlling. His drinking became stifling, his words cruel and sharp.  

(His name is Perseus, not Percy.) 

(If you want that boy to get new clothes, you’re paying for it.) 

(Perseus doesn’t need to eat that much. If he wants more, he can take out a tesserae.) 

After Sally saw the bruises on her son’s body, she seethed. “Training,” Gabe called it. So that he could survive the Games, should it come down to it. She packed a bag for her and Percy and almost made it out the door.  

It wasn’t enough.  

She was all but tethered to Gabe Ugliano, who had the mayor, peacekeepers, and Capitol cronies at his beck and call. They would hunt her down just to put her right back into Gabe’s cruel clutches. Or they’d turn her into an Avox and leave Percy to his own devices on the streets. Or worse, he could get Percy reaped and then mentor him just to let him die. Gabe was a masterful manipulator—he could get her to do just about anything if he threatened her son.  

And when Gabe had found her praying to Percy’s father, their lives got unbelievably worse. They were forced to endure his wrath without question-- out of fear that he would report them.  

She patted the pile of clothes on her lap and made to get up, ignoring the closeness of her husband—but Gabe caught her wrist. 

His grip was firm and calloused from handling weapons, but not bruising. He leaned in with a hot, stale breath.  

“I ran into your brat in the living room today,” he muttered. His lips twisted into a sneer. “Thought he could look me in the eye and threaten me. Thought he was a man.”  

Oh, Percy.  

Sally’s pulse skipped with the inhumane snarl behind Gabe’s words. She was on dangerous ground—if her son had angered Gabe, she would do her best to placate him. Her eyes shot to his face with just a hint of hesitation, doing her best to stay calm.  

Stay pliant.  

She shook her head, “He didn’t mean it,” she whispered. “You know how he is.” 

Gabe’s responsive smile was slow, cruel. He lifted his other hand to brush a strand of curly hair from her face with a gentleness that made her stomach twist into knots. His knuckles dragged over her cheek, then trailed lower, gripping her chin with a steadfast hook.  

“You’re getting real careless, Sally,” his voice scratched. A single look into his eyes told her that he was talking about more than he let on. A small, disastrous amount of panic caused her to blanch, eyes wide.  

“I told you before. You think the gods are gonna save you? Hmm? You think they’re listening? Well, they’re not. You’re all alone in this, Sal.” His thumb pressed against her jaw, making her wince. His voice dropped to a growl. “You should’ve kept your head down.” 

How did he find out? 

(There are eyes everywhere, Sally.) 

Her breath caught. She felt the sharp sting of tears, but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t give him that. 

“You’re playing with fire, Sally,” he muttered, leaning in again. “And you know it.” He reached out, slowly, and plucked the shirt from her hands, crumpling it in his fist. “You want to end up like that widow from last year? The one they dragged through the square?” His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. “Or the father and son from Nine? The execution that they broadcasted to all the fucking districts? Huh? You think they’re still praying where they’re rotting?” 

Her throat tightened. She could still hear the screaming from the last public execution. The raw, gurgling pleas that were barely human by the end. They were all forced into the square, made to watch as they did the reapings. Percy was old enough to understand. Old enough to look at her with wide eyes.  

Is that going to be us? 

No, baby. Never.  

He had trembled against her side, but forced himself to watch. She half expected him to turn into her dress, looking away in mourning. But Percy just watched, weathering the storm like a true son of the sea god. He faced the square with eyes on fire and a heart that had taken too many beatings.  

For one terrible moment, she pictured him out there. Bound. Bleeding. Pleading. 

She had known that he was doing the same.  

Her fingers dug into her palms, nails biting the skin. She swallowed hard. Her hands were trembling now—but only inside. She would be strong.  

Strong, like her son in the face of death.  

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said softly. But the words tasted like iron on her tongue.  

His eyes narrowed as he released her with a disgusted shove, swiping a hand to destroy her folded clothes. He reared back up, poised as if to strike her next. Internally, fear pummeled into her like a tidal wave, and for half a breath, she tensed.  

Then she thought of her son, of the wild defiant storm that was Perseus. Her mind flashed not to the blow she would receive, but to the sound of her son’s voice. Always challenging Gabe, never bowing.  

The obstinance. The venom. The fire.  

Yes, she could be strong. Like her son.  

She slowly raised her eyes to meet Gabe’s.  

Strong. Defiant.  

She did not flinch. Not this time.  

“You can trap us in this house, smash every shell, lock my son in that forsaken pit, but we will make it out. You can’t stop me,” her voice was apoplectic with a steady fury. “And you can’t stop him.”  

Gabe’s eyes just narrowed in search of a higher meaning. In truth, Sally hadn’t known why she said it, something within her just knew that her son would overcome where she could not.  

“Enough of this righteous martyr crap, Sally. From both of you! You think they can’t smell this cultist garbage? You’re going to get us all killed!”  

“Nobody’s dying tonight.”  

Gabe picked up a faded T-shirt, one of Percy’s, and threw it against the wall with a resounding crack. He turned away in a furious rampage, showing a hand into his jacket pocket and pulling out a cigar. Sally watched him light it with one snap of his lighter, frantic with frustration. Out of the corner of her eye, she say Percy sneaking around outside the door, listening.  

Ready to step in if need be, to defend her from the man before her.  

“You listen to me, woman,” Gabe said, taking his first drag. His eyes were cold, dead, and flat.  

The eyes of a killer.  

“You want to keep praying to dead gods and putting this family at risk? Fine. But you’re not the one that’s gonna pay for it.” 

She knew Percy was listening in as he stiffened imperceptibly. He’d taken too many punishments for her out of his own volition. She couldn’t let him anymore.  

Sally’s heart pounded against her ribs, but she remained calm. A phantom breeze—smelling like the sea—like her son, floated through her. It gave her strength, “You can’t threaten my son anymore, Gabe. He doesn’t fear you. He will never listen to a word you have to say.” 

His answering smile was dreadful, malicious, and taunting. As if she were merely a stupid schoolgirl that answered a history question wrong.  

“You’re going to wish you listened,” he muttered, almost to himself. He turned towards the door, and Sally’s heart palpitated as he took in Percy. “Both of you.” 

He crossed the room swiftly but stopped at the threshold of the door in front of her son. Percy stood unflinchingly underneath Gabe’s weighty gaze. Sally made a move to get up in his defense, but she didn’t need to. Gabe just flicked the ashes of his cigar onto the floor by Percy’s feet and then walked out.  

Neither Jackson moved until they heard the front door slam shut again. 

Percy was staring at the cigarette ash on the floor with an intensity she didn’t think possible. She wondered if they were thinking the same thing—that the stain on the clean, white carpet reflected the stain Gabe Ugliano was leaving on their lives.  

With little more than the tilt of his chin, a small puddle of water rose from the carpet and put out the smoldering ash. 

Despite the gravity of their situation, she tutted quietly, “Percy, honey, not here.” 

At her indignation, he merely shrugged.  

“What more could they do?” His gait was weighted, sad.  

“Don’t tempt them.” 

“Tempt who?” 

“Fate, my darling.” 

Percy stood at the threshold for a moment more, analyzing her with that gaze that broke the normal boundaries of intensity. His eyes reflected the shifting of the tides, just like his father’s.  

“Well, they sure hate us,” he said jovially, cracking his trademark sideways grin. Percy had always been an attractive teenager—his father had gifted him with great features—but Percy had been maturing into a beautiful young man.  

It worried her. A little bit.  

The Capitol was not kind to beautiful people.  

But Percy was not just beautiful on the outside. His morality and gentleness were resplendent with the good in his heart. It made Sally’s heart swell with love.  

She responded with a smile of her own, just for her son. Another thing he had mastered was the ability to make light of any situation.  

“We should set up a meeting,” she said, feigning thoughtfulness.  

“I could solve it all with a very descriptive letter.” 

At that, she threw her head back and laughed. Sally loved her son’s wit to the ends of the earth. When she was done, she found him smiling fondly, but she didn’t miss the glint of sadness in his eyes.  

“Mom,” he said slowly, “Are you alright?” 

She didn’t do him the disservice of an immediate reply; Percy was too smart for that. He would see through the cracks in her smile. For a long moment she just stood there, contemplating. Gabe’s words had shaken her, but he had left.  

He left without raising a hand to her or her son.  

She supposed she could count that as a victory.  

“Yeah,” she breathed, like she couldn't believe it. “Yeah, I think I am. Are you ok?” 

“Yeah,” he said tersely. “I just can’t shake the feeling that something back is about to happen.” 

She propelled herself forward and took her son’s face in her hands, “Whatever happens. We go through it together. Just you and me.” 

His eyes searched hers with the gaze of a desperate man. He shook his head silently, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. 

She couldn’t help her heart cracking, just a little bit.  

He didn’t trust her.  

And she knew she didn’t deserve his trust.   

So, when he pulled away, Sally didn’t try to drag him back into the safety of her arms. She watched as he gave her another sad smile and turned away, shoulders tense as he walked.

Back to his room. Back to hers.  

She heard the lock click.