Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter I
"They told me all of my cages were mental. So I got wasted like all my potential."

Coriolanus looked at the pen in his right hand as if the object deserved his full attention, not because he thought the committee didn't, but rather because the meetings lately had revolved around stupid debates and were more of a waste of time than progress.

The idea of ​​the Quarter Quells had been well received, but, knowing they were some way off the first one, they had forgotten their enthusiasm more quickly than he would have liked.

What mattered were today's Games. And for that, they hadn't yet found anything that completely convinced the Gamemakers. It was either too much or too little; nothing had convinced them.

"I spoke with Strabo Plinth. We had a sort of informal meeting," Jullarus commented, capturing his attention for the first time.
"Talk about?" he blurted out in a tone that dripped with disbelief.

He'd always thought Jullarus was just a braggart, and a liar to boot. He was always exaggerating things to gain praise. He was a stupid boy, but the son of one of the top brass, and that's the only way he kept his position.

Coriolanus felt a deep repulsion for him. Someone like him, who had built himself on his own cunning, couldn't possibly like people who put in so little effort.

"Well, about training," he hesitated a little. "About what you mentioned, Mr. Snow"—this made Coriolanus settle a little more in his chair, almost showing interest—"I thought maybe we could make some weapons available to you. It's not like we're going to give them to you in the arena, at least not so easily, but what if you had some basic knowledge of target shooting? Perhaps it would be an advantage..."
"An advantage? For whom?"
"I-I mean, for us." It might be striking to see tributes firing with high pressure in the ads, wouldn't it? It would make people think even the weakest would have a chance of winning. It would be exciting to know they wouldn't just be playing hide-and-seek, but would actually go hunting. I don't know, the truth is I hadn't worked out the details yet.

Coriolanus looked a little blank; the truth is, he'd been surprised. He wasn't as stupid as he'd thought.

"So what happened to that informal conversation?"
"Well, your industry is still the most capable of providing the trainers and the rooms."
"I could."
"They both said no," he interrupted immediately, disappointment dripping from his voice.
"Both?"
"Sejanus was there. Strabo said he didn't think it was ethical; their weapons are for defense, not hunting."

He could hardly help rolling his eyes. Of course he'd say that.

It was still ridiculous, but Strabo had learned to keep Sejanus trained with those small changes.

When they'd returned from the twelfth, Coriolanus would have sworn that Sejanus would keep his word and carry out his suicide plan, just as he had confessed to him during their reunion at the base. But, surprisingly enough, he had joined the family business and had been in charge of logistics and strategy for years.

And he was good.

He, who, although he rarely mentioned it in public, knew him better than anyone.

What did it matter how? Who was interested in the details of their clandestine encounters? No one.

In the eyes of others, the two simply shared a distant friendship at the academy.
Coriolanus had married Livia Cardew a couple of years after returning from the twelfth, and they had just welcomed their second child. A sweet and beautiful daughter. They were the image of a decent family of superior lineage.

Sejanus, on the other hand, had married a woman without a surname, or at least he didn't hear it often, but she was beautiful: Irena by name. Coriolanus had sometimes passed her in his living room, at the tea parties his wife hosted. Beautiful, yes, and modestly small. He understood her bond with Sejanus.

And his daughter, of course, Sophie.
Brunette, curly hair, and huge brown eyes.

Just like her father, they said around here.

And Sejanus heard it proudly.
Coriolanus didn't have to lie about it; Sejanus was an excellent father.

Dedicated, proud, and perfect.

Nothing that would make anyone suspect they'd been seeing each other in secret for years.

It was a small thing between them, a slip, a whim, perhaps, but nothing to worry about when they returned home.

Sometimes they talked about the Games, yes, especially because it was important to reinforce security in some districts, but no more. No more than necessary because for Sejanus it was still disgusting, although he clearly kept it to himself more forcefully now. It wasn't just him anymore, he had a family to protect, and he did it very well.

"Ethical?" What a strange word to use.
"I didn't understand it either, but I preferred not to insist; I thought we'd come up with a better way to convince him."

A soft knock on the door caught everyone's attention at once; the food had arrived.

"Well, a short 30-minute break. I think we've made some progress."

They agreed unanimously. One of the few things they were interested in.

Coriolanus watched them leave one by one, but he remained in his place. He was a little absorbed in the idea; it didn't sound bad... it didn't sound bad, the excitement, the adrenaline, the hunt... the hope.

That was it.
Letting people believe their tribute could return home, that they had a chance to return, to bring pride to their district.

That was better than just hope; it was a way to show them how tributes weren't just killed, but were fighters trying to improve the living conditions in the districts.

Why would anyone try to oppose the Games if it was so heroic?
Why would people miss the spectacle if the outcome meant so much?

It was a great idea.

But Strabo had said no to one of the bases... he had to come up with something to convince him. He couldn't find Sejanus that night and ask him to intervene because he knew it wouldn't bear any fruit. Sejanus would never say yes... at least not on his own initiative.

But Sejanus now had something to lose besides himself.
He had Irena and Sophie...

He snapped his fingers to himself, as if unable to contain the thought within his own head. He cautiously retreated to his office, to take care of the matter without anyone else knowing. Later, he could use that to his advantage: bring the signed proposal, and then finally, finally, after years, his long-awaited place among the guards would be his.

He dialed the number impatiently; his 30-minute break was ticking by, and waited for the ringtone to stop:

"Okay."
"It's me," he declared without clarifying anything.
"Oh, it's been a while."
"Yes, I need to see you in five, it's urgent."
"Where do you always go?"
"Yes."
"I'll be there in three."

And he hung up.

Well, it was a simple plan. And the best part is, he'd get the prize without any effort.
Just a scare, and then bask in the glory...just a white lie. Nothing could go wrong.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Sejanus walked slowly through the city streets. He had left the apartment almost an hour ago and still breathed in Coriolanus's scent.

It was ridiculous, it was, because he chose this every time. But he couldn't escape the guilt.

Irena was an exemplary woman, of course she didn't deserve such a lie, but he was selfish and always chose his own pleasure. He disgusted himself.

It was almost 3 a.m. when he finally reached his street and climbed the front steps. A sudden frost had taken him by surprise, and he had forgotten his coat. As if the urgency to get home tonight was any different.

Perhaps the Games proposal had left him more distressed than he was willing to admit.

He opened the door cautiously, trying to avoid making a sound. It would be a surprise if one of his girls woke up, but he preferred to be safe.

It was strange when the relief he expected from the heating never materialized. The house was freezing.

He was immediately puzzled, and his sense of alertness quickly went off. Although he forced himself to ignore it—because that was just who he was—even though he worked on it, fear always invaded his thoughts.

Too fatalistic, his father used to say.

And perhaps he was right.

He went straight to the kitchen and found the window wide open. It seemed strange to him, not because of the time, nor because his wife hadn't gone downstairs to close it earlier, but because the alarm had activated correctly when he entered the code before leaving. He understood that it shouldn't activate if any door or window was open.

Strange.

He dealt with the matter and retraced his steps to go upstairs, but the feeling remained, inside his chest.
Why was something out of place?

"Irena?" he barely managed to say her name, not too loudly, for fear of waking Sophie.

They were trying to get her to sleep in her own room now; they thought she was old enough. She had a hard time falling asleep without her parents just inches away, but she was managing.

He didn't want to wake her and ruin her night.

He didn't get any answer, but when he reached the first step, he saw it: a stain on the carpet, not too big, but he could still see it in the dim light.

Was that blood?

His heart began to race in his chest, so he simply ran down the rest of the steps, and the sight hit him like a ton of bricks anyway: his wife, lying in a pool of her own blood, sprawled in the middle of the hallway.

She was wearing her bedclothes, and her hands were carefully placed on her chest.

Anguish pierced his chest, hard and deep, but he didn't stop.

Sophie, Sophie must be asleep, right? He couldn't risk waking her and having the little girl discover that grotesque scene.

He knelt beside his wife and stroked her face with the utmost care, almost as if trying to wake her, though it was useless.

She was frozen, as frozen as the house itself.

"Darling..." he spat, but the words meant nothing to her.

He sat up lethargically and walked the rest of the way down the hall to his little girl's room.
Her name was written on the door in huge, bright pink letters. He had helped his mother do that with Sophie in the garden a few weeks ago; they thought it was a good way for her to start getting used to the room.

He opened the door carelessly, certain, too certain, that he would find his daughter sleeping peacefully in her bed...but it was empty.

He was surprised by this...but then he remembered how much Sophie had insisted on sleeping in her bed, with him. It had been difficult, but he'd managed to convince her to sleep in her own room, and maybe he'd bribed her with sweets too...

He breathed a sigh of relief at that and retraced his steps to the master bedroom. He opened the door a second time, incredibly relieved, to find his little girl asleep on her bed...

That's why the sight was even worse.

The smell of the room was the first thing that hit him. How could he describe it? Sulfur? Metal? He choked on it as he took the few steps away from his daughter's body.

He couldn't see the wound, he couldn't find it, he only saw blood... everywhere.

"Sophie," he took her hand, perhaps too tightly, afraid of making her cry.

But the warmth of her skin pushed him back sharply.

Sejanus tripped over a pillow lying on the floor and fell hard on his backside.

"My God," he spat.

And although for a moment she could feel the pain rising through every inch of her skin, she leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut. Trying, in vain, to erase those images from her mind.

...
When she stood up again, the sun was just beginning to rise; she could tell by how the rays filtered through the curtains. It was still too early, as summer was barely over, and the cold was a rare occurrence.

Some people said it was just the weather.

She walked slowly down the hallway, not looking down even once, simply walking to the stairs and descending to the main living room.

Something strange is happening—that's all she could think.

But she felt nothing, as if something was wrong inside her body.

She picked up the phone; her hands were covered in blood. Why? That was strange.

She dialed, more out of muscle memory, because in her head the numbers had no meaning, only shapes, but no sense. She waited, the ringtone giving her a kind of migraine she was just beginning to notice, until someone answered:

"Hello?"

Her father's gruff voice came from the other end; he sounded sleepy, perhaps still half-asleep.

“Can you come to my house?” His voice sounded distant, as if he hadn’t been the one to say those words.

“Sejanus? What’s wrong? Why are you calling at this hour?”

“Come, please,” he pleaded. “Don’t bring Ma, I shouldn’t, she… she shouldn’t…”
“Sejanus…”

He hung up.

He looked back at his hands, bloodied. Was it his daughter’s blood? Or was it his wife’s? It could have been both of theirs.

He sat down on the sofa, his muscles rigid and his back straight.

Yes, the blood was both of theirs. He wasn’t bleeding. At this point, he believed himself incapable of it, because he surely should be dead.

No one who had seen what he had just seen could still be alive.

---

Strabo didn’t think much when he changed his clothes and woke the driver to take him to his son’s house.

How many years had they been working together? Fifteen or more, maybe?

And Sejanus had never done anything like this.
He had a strange feeling.

At first, he thought it might be him, but then his head scoffed at that nonsense. If Sejanus were really in trouble, he wouldn't come to him himself. Maybe Irena would call to let him know, but not Sejanus.

And work? He could tell him at the office.

Something about his son's lack of urgency sent a chill down his spine.

When the car stopped outside the house, the clock had just struck 5 a.m.

He didn't ring the doorbell; he didn't think it wise. Maybe someone was still asleep inside. He had his own key, the one for vacations and taking care of the plants. He never handled that himself, but Vesta had insisted on giving it to him, just in case it was needed someday.

The reminder sent a shiver down his spine.

The air inside the house was hot, as if they'd left the heating on too high and no one had bothered to turn it down when the temperature stabilized. But that wasn't what puzzled him; it was the feeling, the density of the air, and the strange smell of... metal?

He scanned the room and found Sejanus sitting in the living room, his gaze lost somewhere on the wall...

"Son," he turned to him, and as he approached, Strabo noticed the stains on his rose.

Blood?

"Sejanus," he spat out, unable to hide his astonishment, "What...what..."
"Upstairs," he replied.

And although his head told him there was no need to go upstairs, Strabo did. He found his daughter-in-law halfway down the hallway and nearly collapsed when the scene in the master bedroom unfolded before his eyes.

He thought too many things as he ran down the stairs.

He found his son again and held him by the shoulders, studying him carefully.

He looked for some kind of implicit answer in his clothing, but no, Sejanus wasn't hurt.

"Sejanus..."

Then they looked into each other's eyes for a second, short, but too painful.

Sejanus clutched the lapels of his coat, as if it might suddenly collapse, and his eyes watered with such force. As if his father's terror had just been the confirmation he needed.

"Good God, Papa," he fell to his knees, and inevitably Strabo followed. "My God, Papa," he threw himself onto his chest and began to weep uncontrollably.

Suddenly, reality had hit him so hard it was crushing him.

He clung to his father tightly as the sobs erupted from his chest with fury, wildness, devastation, and unbearable force.

He trembled uncontrollably and almost ran out of breath at times.

Strabo remained silent, for he knew there was nothing he could say.

Even if he tried, lies would be useless.

Sejanus had just lost everything.

Chapter Text

Strabo had buried whatever he might be feeling at that moment deep inside, and had done what he did best: take care of things himself.

The press was hard to keep out of reach when things like this happened, and incredibly, they always had some crook on some team.

He wasn't going to let that happen to his son.

Not after everything he'd already been unable to prevent.

The forensic team arrived immediately, impeccably disguised as gardening staff, and the police, harder to disguise, had done their best work infiltrating the mansion. No one should suspect anything, but he needed to check every detail.

"No one can know it was a break-in of this nature," he said to one of the officers, who was holding his cap to his chest in a gesture of condolence. "Or worse, that Sejanus found them. He doesn't need any of those idiot reporters asking questions outside the hospital. Do you understand?" “I understand, but you understand, this isn’t an easy job.”

No, of course it wasn’t.

Not now that the official proposal to involve their weapons in the tributes’ training had been made public.

Everyone would be watching them.

Everyone would be waiting for their approval.

“I don’t give a damn if it’s easy or not. It’s what I want.”

“Sir, we’ll do everything we can.”

“And everything we can,” he demanded. “That’s what I was supposed to be paying your stupid salaries for, and your reinforced weapons. And now my granddaughter is dead.”

The uniformed man’s discomfort was palpable.

No one could explain to him how the cameras hadn’t shown any anomalies.

They had bypassed security flawlessly.

“We’ll find the killer.”

“And no ‘killer.’ Above all. Sejanus needs peace.”

“It shall be, sir.”

He watched him walk away and returned to the lounge to pour himself another glass of whiskey. He still had the shirt Sejanus had soaked with his tears.
It had been a heartbreaking scene, and he'd only been able to let go when his son had no more tears left to cry.

He'd barely managed to stop him from going back upstairs.
Even remembering it sent shivers down his spine.

Sejanus had been taken, fully sedated, to a private room, carefully guarded by security personnel, at Central Hospital. First, to rule out the possibility that he was also injured, and second, to calm the nervous breakdown he'd been experiencing ever since Strabo had hugged him in the living room of their house, with his family's bodies lying upstairs.

And he tried, again and again and again, to piece things together.
The police report seemed ludicrous to him.

An unknown intruder, bypassing security cameras, using blind spots, entering the house on the very only night Sejanus had spent the night away. It didn't seem like a coincidence to him.

There were too many convenient coincidences, too much meticulousness for him to be just a jewel thief. And besides, a jewel thief who hadn't taken anything.

Well, nothing but his family.

That hadn't been a robbery...not for him, it had a different feel, a different hue...
It wasn't a robbery, it was a message.

A settling of scores?

Sejanus had no enemies.

He thought, and thought, and thought...and suddenly an idea flashed through his mind. A somewhat vague memory, because of the little importance he had given it.

A young, small, and enthusiastic, flattering young man, above all, trying to convince him of the incredible idea of ​​Plinth Ammunition providing training to the tributes before sending them to the arena, and Sejanus, answering for him in a firm voice:

"No. It's not ethical. Our weapons are for protecting citizens, not for hunting innocent children."

The memory replayed endlessly, but it wasn't just that which disturbed him; it was the certainty, perhaps foolish, that it had something to do with it.

Or perhaps, everything.

*

Coriolanus had barely stirred as he walked down the corridor. He'd had a good night, even though for a moment he'd almost succumbed to paranoia when he hadn't received immediate news about the plan's progress.

Luckily, he'd buried it deep in his mind. It was just a scare; there was no reason to make such a big deal out of it.

He slept well afterward.

He approached the dining room, recognizing his mother-in-law's unmistakable voice responding in monosyllables to what Livia was saying:

"Coriolanus used to be your friend, at the academy, I think."

"Yes?"

"It was a long time ago."

"Friend of whom?" he asked, going to the table to pick up a breakfast biscuit.

“Oh, darling,” she smiled at his presence, but her eyes seemed distant.

“Who were you talking about? I heard my name.”

“Sejanus Plinth,” she replied.

For a brief moment, he felt bewildered. He had never heard his mother-in-law mention him, not at all. Not even considering that the arms trade and the justice system seemed so intertwined. They never spoke of the Plinths.
"Sejanus?" She nodded, trying to downplay it. "What's going on with him?"

It was bound to be about the new agreement regarding the Games; it was incredible how quickly rumors spread among these people.

"It seems it happened in the early hours of the morning," his wife explained. "Someone broke into the house, they think trying to steal."

"Really?" She sat down in her usual chair and picked up a piece of toast to spread grape jam on it.

"Something went wrong," she continued, and then she had his full attention. "It seems Irena discovered the intruder."

She stopped mid-movement.

"What?"

"She killed her. No further details have come out yet..."

"And the little girl?" her mother-in-law said with a tone of genuine distress. "She was only five, wasn't she?"

She dropped the bread she was holding and could barely swallow the bite.

"Are they dead?" "Sejanus was the one who found them in the early hours of the morning. I wasn't home when it happened. It seems Strabo is trying to keep too many details from leaking, but anyway, my father is the prosecutor in charge and he's been with them since dawn. They're trying to keep the press at bay, but some journalists have already started overhearing whispers."

It was impossible, impossible.
It was just a scare. How could a scare end up like this?

He couldn't help but imagine the scene, even though he wanted to, of course he wanted to. The image of Sejanus with his little girl in his arms assaulted his thoughts, and he felt completely nauseous.

"Isn't it ironic?" Livia asked. "The arms magnates, the security... and their house ends up being raided like that."

"Livia, please," her mother pleaded.

"What?"

" Coriolanus began to feel detached, as if the conversation had suddenly drifted so far away that he could barely hear it over the sound of his own heartbeat.

God.

It was impossible.

How could Wis have made such a grave mistake?

"Daddy," his daughter's voice brought him back to the room, and everyone in the living room turned to look at her.

Eme was standing in the doorway, that awful teddy bear Tigris had patched up from when they were children dangling from her right hand.

He choked on his own saliva, and now all eyes were on him.

Good God, what had he done?