Chapter Text
Sonya
Sonya lay on a makeshift stretcher, the rhythmic hum of the engines a constant, soothing backdrop. Her gaze fixed on the unconscious boy across the room. Thomas would pull through, she told herself. That’s what the woman who’d tended their injuries had assured her.
The cut on Sonya's leg was deep and throbbed with every heartbeat. It was painful but the stranger had said it would heal quickly, provided it didn’t get infected. Sonya wanted to trust her, not only because she seemed knowledgeable but because she had to. She needed something to hold onto.
“When we’re in District 13, I’ll take care of you properly,” the woman had murmured, bending over Thomas one last time before turning to Sonya. “Pressure bandages will have to do for now. I’d offer you painkillers, but they’re scarce, and I’m forbidden from carrying any.”
Sonya managed a faint smile, despite the pain. She appreciated the offer, even though she longed for some relief. The woman’s face remained sombre as she cut open Sonya's trouser leg to assess the wound. “It needs stitches,” she had said, her voice steady as she bandaged Sonya's leg. The procedure to remove their tracking devices was uncomfortable without anaesthesia, but she managed.
Minho and Newt entered the room, both with clothes pressed against their necks. Sonya surmised they had undergone the same procedure. Newt’s eyes met hers, apologetic, before he sat down on the floor next to Thomas’ mattress. He took the boy’s hand gently, his face etched with worry.
“He saved my life again,” Newt whispered. Sonya ached to get up and hug her brother, but she was too weak. Newt was covered in blood—Thomas' blood, she noted, as her brother didn’t appear to have any injuries of his own. The welts on his face, where tears had cleaned away the grime, were the only marks of the struggle he’d faced. “But he hardly knows me.”
“You'll have time to get to know each other,” Brenda’s voice came from the doorway, where she stood with a sombre expression. “Vince would like to discuss our next steps,” she said to Minho, who looked relieved to escape the emotional scene.
“I’ll check on you later,” Minho said to Sonya before following Brenda out. Sonya watched them leave, relieved to see Minho had escaped the chaos unharmed, aside from the fresh wound on his neck. She turned back to Newt, still crouched beside Thomas, holding his hand.
“He’ll be alright,” Sonya repeated, echoing the doctor's words. But Newt’s silence was a heavyweight. It was strange to see him so concerned for someone else. “I’m fine, by the way,” she said weakly, regretting it as guilt flashed across Newt’s face.
“Sorry, right, I should—”
“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve got a secret stash of Morfix, there’s nothing more you can do for me,” Sonya said, trying to ease his concern as she slumped back onto the stretcher. “Stay with Thomas.”
“But I can’t do anything for him either,” Newt said, brushing a finger gently down Thomas’ cheek. Sonya looked away, giving her brother the privacy he needed.
The overhead lights blurred, and the pain in her leg reminded her of another time—years ago—when Newt had been injured.
It had been the day they lost their parents, the worst day of her life. Though she was too young to recall all the details, she knew it was supposed to be a special day. Their father, usually working long hours in District 9’s grain mills, had been given a rare day off. They had planned to spend it together as a family.
They had picked Newt up from school early, which excited Sonya almost as much as spending time with their father. She had been so naive, thinking the day would be perfect.
The four of them had just arrived in the centre of Nine but their outing was cut short by the sound of flying machines. Sonya could never forget the moment—the glass in the shop window shattering as strong arms grabbed her, pulling her away from her mother’s smiling face reflected in the glass. A moment ago they were admiring a sundress with yellow flowers on it, one they could never have afforded, but the sight of which had made Sonya so happy with childish joy, that their mother had smiled. The smile had been fleeting but beautiful, a rare sight.
Explosions shook the street, and Sonya clung to her father as he ran with her through the chaos. The noise of missiles and the roar of the machines was deafening. Her father dropped her off under a bridge with a hurried promise to get her mother and brother. “Stay here. Everything will be fine. I’ll be right back.”
But he never returned. The attackers, resistance fighters targeting the Capitol’s granaries, had destroyed many innocent lives in their wake. Peacekeepers later found Sonya hiding under the bridge and took her to the overcrowded orphanage in District 9.
The following two weeks were a blur of hunger and fear. The orphanage was overwhelmed, with barely enough food to go around. Sonya slept in a dark hallway, shivering from the cold, with no one to comfort her.
Then one day, Newt had appeared on crutches, his face blank but alive. To Sonya, he seemed so grown-up then, though she now understood he was just a child himself. At nine years old, he had been thrust into the role of caregiver for his younger sister. It didn’t matter to those in charge—they had given Sonya to Newt without much thought, probably relieved to have one less mouth to feed.
Their parents’ home had survived the attack, and their savings, though tight, supported them until Newt’s leg healed. He took a job at the grain mills to provide for them, insisting Sonya continue her education while he cooked and cared for her.
Eventually, their financial situation forced them to sell their parents' apartment and move to a smaller, less expensive one. Despite the hardships, Sonya felt proud of what Newt had managed to provide. They hadn’t resorted to begging on the streets like many other orphans did these days.
She feared she hadn’t told her brother enough how proud she was. But when she tried to get up to make amends, she found him asleep with his head resting on Thomas' bed. If it wasn't for all the blood, the two boys would have presented an almost peaceful sight.
Sonya settled back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the steady hum of the machine. They had made it through so much. Whatever came next, it couldn’t be worse than the Hunger Games.
Little did she know, this was only the beginning.