The ceiling texture of her bedroom-shaped cage was much less interesting than that of home. Even then, she could only marvel at it for so long before her mind moaned in sheer boredom and sleep deprivation. Yet, the actual rest felt as distant as District Seven. Hazel repositioned in the foreign bed, but no matter how often she moved, she found no reprieve.

  Whiffs of animal hides and game furs filled her nostrils each time she twisted her depleted limbs. It had her longing for the aroma of wood grain, pine, and a fiery hearth.

  Rolling onto her side again, she gaped at the door. The only benefit of being locked inside was she didn’t have to contend with Sable watching her all night.

  Snaking her hand into the coolness under the pillow, she mindlessly ran her fingers over the stash beneath it. She petted the items like they were her companions, from the sturdy leather handle of the knife to the plasticky surface of the pill bottle, the smoothness of the poor man’s diamond, the metallic edge of Grace’s coin, and finally, the bulky cassette player.

  I am becoming a hoarder.

  A bittersweet scoff escaped her.

  Alder would be so proud.

  The last one toyed with her mind. Its smooth structure was chilly against her skin, but more so, the contents of the cassette secured within made her shiver.

  She hadn’t dared play it again since her panic attack with Leo. Hell, she wasn’t even sure it still worked.

  Dragging it free from the pillow’s underbelly, she toggled the play button. After a lengthy pause, a horrid screech rushed out from the machine. It was an ear-bruising mix of a cat-like shriek and grinding gears. Slamming her finger against the button, the sound died though her pulse was immensely alive. Despite the noise, her door remained sealed.

  Regret prickled at her rash reaction the last time she played it. At least sound had been something. Now, she was left with silence, which meant her mind could conjure its own horrors. Without answers, the unknown would haunt her more than the truth ever could.

  And that was a torture that guaranteed numerous more sleepless nights of ceiling observation.

  The pills rattled against the container as she adjusted once again.

  Maybe Bellona was right, and I should just take one.

  Forget about all of this, at least for a few hours.

  Despite her resistance, they did promise a harbor from her obsessive thoughts. They spun through her mind like a wheel, rotating over and over the same territory: the tape, her ghost visitors, Augustus’s anger, Indira’s disappointment, the day’s events overall, and, of course…Snow.

  He extolled the virtues of truth yet kept it from her.

  He insisted on their little game but became like a cornered wolf when she played in ways he didn’t predict.

  He was hungry but reluctant to eat as if even nourishment had to be taken on his own terms.

  He hated cabbage but ate it anyway.

  He upheld their charade, yet after the kolaches—after his questions and answers—the line between real and fake was fading. Yet he was the one to comment about boundaries being lost.

  The man was a walking contradiction with perfect hair.

  Returning to her staring contest, the ceiling, and the patterned texture, something fiddled in the back of her mind. She memorized the swirls and patches that had been left there by the trowel.

  Rolling to her other elbow, she let out a long exhale, pulling the bottle out from under the pillow. Frustration bubbled up within her as she examined its dull shape in the dark.

  He would want her to take them. Relax, follow his guidance, and wait for ‘Another time’. She might as well relinquish him the reins to her life right then and there.

  To hell with that.

  That something burst into a full-blown idea.

  She all but launched the medication back under her pillow, instead retrieving the cassette player.

  When Oren was contracted to build Victor’s village, she inadvertently learned more than she ever wanted about various aspects of home building. She had been bored to tears hearing about plumbing, framing, and laying flooring, but now that knowledge suddenly seemed like a light in the dark.

  Silently, she crept into the adjacent washroom. Flipping on the fluorescent light, she explored behind the toilet. A ribbed silver pipe that ran from the wall to the base of the porcelain bowl blinked up at her.

  The water supply line.

  Kneeling, she twisted the knob atop it. Stabilizing herself with a few deep breaths, she stood and insistently pressed down on the flusher.

  A clunking followed but there was no water and no flushing.

  With a too loud curse, she strode to her door and tapped. The other side was soundless for several moments until, finally, the threshold cracked open. An unfamiliar peacekeeper slipped into view, his face severe. “What?”

  “I have a maintenance issue,” Hazel replied.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  He barely looked at her, “It can wait until morning.”

  Hazel shook her head, “It really can’t ...”

  “What’s the issue?” His gaze flitted behind her.

  She grimaced sheepishly, “Toilet’s broken.”

  With an aggravated sigh, one peacekeeper barged past her. The other lagged in the hallway, monitoring her nervous form.

  The peacekeeper fumbled with the toilet, the telltale sound of him jiggling the flusher followed. Her heartbeat amplified as he peeled open the ceramic lid to no avail until finally, with a gruff curse, he strode back to his partner.

  “You will have to wait until morning.” He concluded.

  “Not possible unless you have a mop.” Hazel insisted, bouncing on her feet.

  He half scowled, and half grimaced at the implication. His face all but screaming he did not get paid enough to deal with this kind of situation.

  “Can maintenance take a look?” she pressed.

  “It’s the middle of the night, Ma’am.” He began to seal the door when she crammed her leg in the gap.

  “Would you like to wake up the Senator instead?” She tilted her head, “Though, I’m not sure he will be pleased about that at this ungodly hour.”

  The peacekeepers shared a scowl before the one who had investigated the bathroom nodded, mumbling into his radio.

  “Where are the Draytons and Pytash?” Hazel questioned.

  “Getting a break.” Was the curt response. “A much-needed one, apparently.” He pointed a long finger toward the bed, skidding her foot back with the toe of his boot. “Wait inside. Maintenance will be up in a minute.”

  With that, the door slammed shut. Hazel scrambled to the bed, extracting the tape player. Rushing to the bathroom, she removed the tape and stashed it away in her pocket.

  With another glance backward, she stuffed the machine out of sight behind the bowl.

  She had just propelled herself onto the fur-lined mattress, again bumping into the cow sculpture. It was teetering between her trembling hands when the door unlocked and flew open once again.

  Hazel stood abruptly, heart rate doubling in pace, gripping the steer’s horns. The two annoyed peacekeepers escorted Brindle inside. His features were weary but alert. In his hands, he carried a tote of tools.

  His eyes met Hazel’s, and a soft smile graced his lips, amusement flickering over his features as he soaked in her hold on the steer.

  “Lovely décor you all have around here,” she mumbled, releasing the horns when she was confident the thing was stable. “If a little fragile.”

  “That’s one of Garth’s favorites,” Brindle smiled.

  “Yeah, yeah.” The guard behind them grumbled, “We aren’t here in the middle of the night to discuss interior design.”

  “Right, I hear you have a maintenance issue?” Brindle asked.

  “Sorry to wake you,” Hazel apologized.

  Brindle shook his head, “I am used to it. You wouldn’t believe how many things like to break during the night.”

  One of the peacekeepers pointed to the bathroom, “Toilet’s not working.”

  “I’ll take a look,” Brindle commented, marching past Hazel to the bathroom.

  The two peacekeepers stood in the middle of the room, watching while Hazel stationed herself in the bathroom’s entryway. “I think you might be the only one who can help me.”

  Brindle met her stare again in mild confusion before setting down his equipment, “Least I can do, honestly.”

  Unfastening the back of the toilet, he studied the inner workings as he joggled the flusher. When nothing happened, he frowned and crouched.

  “It might not be what you are normally used to fixing,” Hazel mumbled, fiddling with her bandage.

  “I fix toilets all the...” Brindle halted, and his hands stilled, peering at something out of sight of their company. “…time.”

  “If it is beyond repair, I understand,” Hazel replied, maintaining an airy tone.

  “Right.” He skimmed her and then the two bored-looking peacekeepers, “Let me take a closer look.”

  He hid his hands out of their line of sight as he investigated the contraption. “What seems to be the issue with the … toilet?”

  Hazel gulped, “Only makes sound.”

  “I see,” Spinning the device between his hands, his brows wrinkled. “I’m not sure I have the proper tools.”

  “What kind of maintenance man can’t fix a toilet?” A guard grumbled, taking an annoyed stride forward.

  “If you can’t, I understand,” Hazel tapped her toe against the floorboards, shielding Brindle from their view with her frame.

  Brindle buried the player into the tote, covering it with a ratty rag and several tools.

  “Should we get someone else?” the peacekeeper surged into the bathroom as Hazel tensed.

  “How many maintenance staff do you think there are?” Hazel shot back with a hard look.

  “Just me right now. I will see what I have in my office to help.” Brindle smiled easily.

  She whispered genuinely as she backed away, “Thank you.”

  He nodded in a mute answer as he rose, sliding past them toward the door, tote slung over his shoulder.

  “No wonder this place is a dump.” A peacekeeper muttered as they trailed behind him, locking in Hazel once again.

  Wringing her fingers together, she hoped he could fix it. Having it outside of her possession was unnerving, but at the same time, it was useless to her in its current condition.

  She appreciated he was at least going to attempt to assist her.

  Might as well do something useful and keep my hands busy.

  Her fraying bandage was practically begging her for reprieve. Staring at her pillow, she exhaled. There would be no going back to bed now. Instead, she seized Leo’s knife and slunk down at the table to wait for Brindle’s return.

  She practiced holding it as Leo had instructed. Tight, solid grip, blade facing out. Every so often, her nails would snag the engraving: LD

  It must have been a valuable item, considering the customization. For him to impart it to her was charitable but also somehow... too personal.

  She exhaled again. Maybe Sable was right about boundaries. She had aggressively avoided the topic since his conversation with her, but now, staring down at the unique weapon, she realized Leo was probably just as disoriented as she was.

  Should she return it? Would that satisfy Sable?

  It was doubtful Leo would allow that. Probably won't accept it back even if I begged.

  Might as well get used to it like he had advised.

  Hours dragged on, and there was no sight or sound of Brindle or her new guards. Her eyelids weakened under the weight of her overtiredness.

  Before she realized it, Indira’s voice melted over her unconsciousness. “Dear, wake up.”

  Hazel raised her head, the indent of her fingers embedded in her cheek. Indira was hunched over her, clad in a marigold suit with matching heels. The golden light of sunrise drowned out the scarlet bulbs of the slaughterhouse.

  “Why aren’t you in bed?” Indira questioned as Hazel gazed up at her blearily.

  Hazel sat up straighter, “Toilet broke.”

  Indira stared at her like she had finally gone mad, “What?”

  Running a numb hand through her tangled hair, she mumbled, “It’s a long story.”

  “Hmmm,” Indira murmured, “Well, maybe I’ll get you some coffee, huh?”

  Hazel nodded dully at the offer.

  Indira wrenched open the blinds, calling over her shoulder, “Someone wants to speak with you before we leave.”

  “Who?” Hazel leaned even farther back

  “Mayor Shepherd,” Indira answered, spinning around to meet her gaze.

  Hazel was suddenly wide awake.

  Indira’s face softened for a fraction until her eyes fell to the table, and a deep frown overtook her face, “Is that a knife?”