#mahlon

His eyes darted about the room, as though they might not be alone, or perhaps that she had laid a trap of some kind. And while Cress did love the theatrics of an orchestrated downfall, her rage was more direct than that now. She wanted to bloody her own hands.

"You know he didn't want to tell me where he got it from?" Cress inquired, letting Mahlon fill in the gaps of who and what. A book rested beside her, and she lifted it, smoothing her fingers across the cover. Structural Splendor: Praise for the First Fifty Arenas. But when Cress opened it, the thing was hollowed out. From within, Cress lifted a vile of morphling. "But I remembered." She offered it out, finger tapping the etching on the vile: barbed-wire, which wrapped around the top of the glass, just as it had five years ago, when he'd sold the same drugs to her. Cress had needed Slate to divulge, to know that he wasn't keeping secrets, protecting others over her, but she'd recognized the signature from the moment she'd pulled the book from the shelf.

"What d'ya want, Cress?" he asked, spine rigid. There was no remorse in the act. Not then, not now. "I didn't force him to buy anythin'. Your boy chose that on his own. Jus' like y--"

"Don't--" Cress hissed. "Don't you dare." She may have bought from Mahlon, but it hadn't been her choice to start.

"He came to me," Mahlon resumed, crossing his arms.

"And let me guess," Cress scoffed. "First one's free, right?"

"Would y' have preferred he go through the tour dry as a bone? Y'think he woulda made it through Eleven like that? Through Twelve?"

"No, which is why I tolerated it then, but it's been months. I'm due any day. He's going to be a father, and--"

"And y'think that baby's goin' to solve everythin'? Y'think you're gonna pop that brat out an' he's gonna be the person you fell in love with again?"

"No--"

"Like he didn't survive an arena? Like his district wasn't fuckin' bombed?"

"No," her tone hardened. "Mahlon--"

"Y'think that kid's gonna make him want to live? Make him get sober? Hate to break it t'ya, sweetheart, but parenthood usually has the opposite effect 'round here. Heard a lotta real sad sob stories, most of 'em about mommy an' daddy--"

"Enough," Cress seethed, pushing herself up, feeling her heart race, breathing uneven with anger. "Just because you are a miserable, unlovable son of a bitch does not mean the rest of us deserve to wallow at rock bottom with you. You want to pretend like you're helping people? Like you're selling them relief? You're poisoning them with the same drugs that ravaged your district, and -- if I've done my research correctly -- killed your mother too."

Mahlon's face flushed, his skin staining red, the rage rising hot to the surface, and his hands curled into fists.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth--"

But Cress' brows arched, that taunting look in her eyes, unrelenting. "Or what? Are you going to hit me, Mahlon?"

His jaw tensed, teeth gritted. Against every desire, he managed, "No."

Which, frankly, was something of a surprise.

"Why not? Because I'm a woman?" Cress' head tilted. There was blood in the water. There would be no stopping now. "No, that can't be it. I've seen your Games. It didn't matter one bit then, did it? And with your bare hands. Honestly, I have to commend you for that. I know Careers who would have been squeamish of what you did in there without even batting an eye." A shrug, a coy grin, perfect teeth shining in the moonlight. She stepped closer. "Is it because I'm pregnant, then? Is that the limit?"

Mahlon's frown deepened, but his silence spoke volumes. There was no answer. The absence of a response was answer enough.

"What about some motivation?" Cress offered, already swinging, the cracking thud against his jaw reverberating, a sickening sound. Was it her knuckles? His face? Cress blinked, and all she could see was Link before her, cowering, clutching her eye. Another blink, and it was Nano, flat on his back, staring up at her from the floor. Another, and it was Mahlon again. But he just stood there, his face turned slightly from the force, but otherwise unmoving, as though it hadn't even hurt.

"I was a child," Cress seethed, hitting the heart of it, the unhealed core of magma that had been congealing for years, concealed beneath. "I was a girl, and you knew--"

"First one's free," Mahlon cut her off, grabbing the fist she'd used, dragging her forward through the threshold and into the hallway. Cress fought for her arm, but it wasn't relinquished until Mahlon willed it, and when she was released, Cress stumbled into the wall. He stood in the doorway, cheek red from impact. In time, it would bruise. The air hung stale and stagnant between them, both of their chests rising and falling, hatred filling the empty space, and there was so much of it in this room.

"And then?" Cress asked, smoothing her hair, straightening.

"Then you pay," Mahlon replied plainly, slamming the door.

Cress threw the hollowed book against it, glass bottles shattering, morphling seeping between the pages and down the wood, pooling at her feet.