Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part 2

“Stop!” the woman cries again. “Stop, we’re on your side!”

Samuel is still transfixed with the sight of his mockingjay on the loaf of bread.

“What does that mean?” he demands, gesturing with his head towards the symbol. He doesn’t lessen his grip on the bowstring.

“It means we’re part of the rebellion!” the younger peacekeeper – also a woman – bursts out. Samuel looks at her closely. She looks younger than him, and the uniform she is wearing is far too big. The more he looks at them, the more he notices how haggard looking and injured they are. They both have scratches and burn marks lining their features, which are also covered by a thick layer of dirt and ash.

Whoever they are, they aren’t the peacekeepers currently harassing the inhabitants of twelve.

“What does that mean?” he repeats again.

The older woman looks somewhat troubled by his ignorance.

“Don’t you know, Samuel?” she questions. “We’re part of the rebellion.”

“The rebellion?” he demands. “What rebellion?”

A thought occurs to him. The shock of it is so strong his arms spasm.

“We’re from eight,” the younger girl mumbles, looking like she’s about to collapse.

“From District Eight?” Samuel says.

“We’ve run away,” the older woman volunteers.

“Does that mean your revolt failed?” the instant the words leave his mouth he knows they’re true.

“So, you do know?”

“No,” he replies, then amends, “Not really, anyway. I saw a glimpse of an uprising in District Eight on a television, but I wasn’t supposed to see it. I don’t know anything about any uprising.”

“We can tell you,” the older woman says, right as the younger one buckles and falls to the ground. Without thinking, Samuel moves to help her.

“Come on,” he tells the other girl. “Grab her from one side and I’ll support her from the other.”

They hobble towards the cabin, the young girl fluttering in and out of consciousness.

“I’m Bonnie by the way,” the conscious one tells him. “This is Twill.”

“Samuel,” he replies rather stupidly. Of course, they already know who he is. Bonnie doesn’t say anything about that.

He helps prop up Twill against the wall and sets on taking off her boots with Bonnie helping.

“Looks like she just twisted it,” he says. “She just needs to rest for a few days. Are people looking for you?”

“No,” Bonnie replies. “No, they think we’re dead.”

Samuel lights a fire in the small hearth he built when he was waiting for Rebe a few weeks before. It feels like a lifetime ago. Bonnie watches him intently, and it occurs to him that she probably doesn’t know how to start one herself. His mind flashes to his own recollections of District Eight from the victory tour. There was hardly any nature in sight; just endless rows of concrete buildings and brick. When would either of them have had a chance to learn any survival skills?

Samuel hands Bonnie his waterskin and watches as she gulps it down before lifting it to Twill’s lips. After a while, the younger girl starts to stir. When she’s conscious enough, Samuel sits down and watches them both.

“What happened?” he asks quietly. “Tell me, please.”

It takes a long time for Bonnie to respond.

“Things have been tense ever since the Games,” she starts. “What you did – pulling out those berries, defying the Capitol…” her voice trails off. “It lit a spark in all of us.”

Samuel remembers thinking as such during the tour whenever he looked into the district’s angry, desperate faces. Remembers thinking that no display of love could cool that rage, that frustration.

He listens as Bonnie describes how the rebellion started in Eight. Discontent had been growing ever since he and Carla had gone home. It had always been there, but the berries inspired them into the action. District Eight’s specialty is textiles, so all of the factories are loud with machinery, which allowed them to pass the word without being noticed by peacekeepers. Bonnie was a teacher and Twill her student, and when the school had gone out they spent four hours in the factory that specialized in Peacekeeper uniforms, which is where they got the ones they were currently wearing. It took Bonnie months to collect enough pieces for two uniforms, one of which was supposed to be for her husband.

They’d volunteered to get word out to the other districts about the revolt so it would spread and be successful. The day he and Carla came as part of their appearances on the victory tour served as some kind of rehearsal since they’d all be in the town square. The goal was for them to take over the Justice Building, Peacekeepers’ Headquarters, and the Communication Center to control the district.

The night he proposed to Carla was when those in Eight revolted. They were all in the town square anyway at night since the interview was mandatory viewing. The first few days of the rebellion were successful since they caught the Peacekeepers off guard. But then the reinforcements came by the hundreds if not thousands, and the revolutionaries were defeated with bombs and guns and starvation. Most fled back to their homes, where the whole district was kept in lockdown for weeks. The day they were cleared to return to work as normal, numerous factories exploded, killing everyone inside, including Bonnie’s husband and Twill’s entire family. They weren’t killed only because the leftover debris left in the streets from the bombings made them late walking from the school.

Samuel’s shoulders slump over slightly. Death. So much death.

“Someone must have told the Capitol that the idea for the uprising came from there,” Bonnie tells him faintly, her eyes full of grief.

That was when they both fled after taking whatever provisions they could. Twill twisted her ankle two days ago. Samuel can’t help but be surprised that they lasted this long, seeing as their food ran out a day or two before that.

He looks down at his bag. Samuel had filled his game bag with food. His family had more than enough to eat still because of all of his winnings, so he often spreads food across the starving families. He prioritizes Rebe’s family, Gready Sae, other regulars from the Hob. It’s lucky he thought to do it today.

“Here,” he says, reaching in to pick out some biscuits Carla made. He tosses each of them one. “Eat this. I’ll give you guys the whole bag of food.”

“All of this is for me?” Twill asks him. He can see her hands trembling as she turns the biscuit over in her hands.

His mind flashes to Omar, to his little ally’s amazement at having a whole leg of meat to himself. They’re just starving victims running from the Capitol, these girls.

“Eat whatever you like,” he says, watching as Bonnie devours her biscuit in one bite. “Though I suggest you eat slowly.”

He prepares them some tea as they eat some more.

“I have a question,” he says. “Where are you guys running to? No one in twelve can help you. Not now.” He explains to them briefly the new lockdowns they have found themselves under.

“Thirteen,” Bonnie replies.

“Thirteen?”

Samuel frowns at her. “What on earth are you planning to find there?”

Bonnie and Twill exchange a look.

“There’s a theory in our district, about the ruins of district thirteen. You know the shots they show every year at the reaping during the film?”

He does. In the film they show every year recounting the origins of the Hunger Games and the failure of the rebellion, they showed the ruins and rubble of thirteen.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Everyone has seen the footage. There’s nothing there.”

“We think it’s the same footage they use every year.”

“Really?” Samuel asks, pressing his brain to remember any images he’s seen of thirteen over the years.

“You know that shot of the Justice Building?” Twill says, looking at him.

“Yeah.”

“If you look in the right-hand corner, you can see a mockingjay. Just a glimpse of it as it flies by. It’s the same one every time.”

“The theory,” Bonnie interjects, rubbing her hands together in front of the fire, “Is that the Capitol can’t show us new footage because they don’t want us to know what’s there now.”

A tingle shoots up his spine as he realizes what she’s implying.

“You think they survived,” he says. “You think that thirteen somehow survived the bombs.”

Bonnie nods.

“The Capitol has to leave them alone if they did survive,” she tells him, “Because before the Games, during the Dark Days, thirteen’s specialty was nuclear weaponry. They could flatten the Capitol if they really wanted to.”

“They won’t,” he says. The Capitol has too many resources, and all of the people—

“Hopefully not,” Bonnie allows. “But they’re a threat nonetheless.”

The implication of what this means -if it’s true – makes his heart race and his mind run. If there is a community there, if there is, maybe he could go there and do something instead of just sitting around waiting for his death. But if thirteen had survived, with all of those weapons—

“Why didn’t they help us?” he demands, a twinge of anger in his voice. “If they have so many weapons, why did they just leave us with the hunger and the killing and the games?”

Suddenly he hates this image of the imaginary underground city of thirteen, just sitting by as the rest of the districts suffer. They’re just as bad as the Capitol in his books.

“We don’t know,” says Twill. “We can’t know. All we can do is hope that they’re real.”

That snaps Samuel to his senses. District Thirteen is only dust and rubble. There are no survivors. The two women in front of him are just grief-stricken runaways trying to survive and give their lives purpose.  Wishful thinking and desperation has gotten ahold of them. But Samuel, for whatever reason, can’t quite bear to break the hope lingering in their eyes. He can’t do it.

So he decides to teach them survival skills. He can’t stay long, and he definitely can’t return to the forest to help them, so he tries to be as efficient and clear as he can. He gives them all the food he has in his bag and then takes Bonnie to the woods and teaches her the basics of hunting. She has a weapon, some gun that emits deadly rays of power from solar energy, and she manages to hit a squirrel after a few trial and errors. He skins it for them, teaching them both how to do it. With practice, they’ll make do.

For Twill, he creates a crutch. He peels off the extra pair of socks he’s wearing and tells Bonnie to stuff it in her boots because they’re so big on her. Then he teaches them how to build a proper fire. All the while, they pepper him about what’s going on in twelve, about whether he knows anything about any more uprisings. He tells them about what happened in district eleven, and that seems to excite them.

But by the time the light signals late afternoon, he knows he has to get going. It’ll be a long walk back to the fence anyway. He needs to get back before anyone notices he’s missing if no one already has.

“I have to go now,” he says shortly, standing.

Bonnie does too, and pulls him in for a hug. Startled, he lets her hold on.

“I can’t believe we actually met you,” she says, pulling away. Tears spill from her brown eyes. “You’re all anyone has talked about since—”

“Since I pulled out those berries,” he finishes. “I know.”

He wishes them both luck, casts them one last glance, and then makes his way back, bow and empty bag in hand. The walk seems like nothing now, since he has all this new information to mull over. An uprising in eight. Did any other districts follow suit? He doesn’t know, but suddenly he’s bursting to find out.

He wishes more than anything he could spread the news across as many districts as he can, but even the thought of it makes a lump form in his throat, and it’s not just because he fears for his family. The uprising in eight failed. The Capitol won again. How many people died? How many fathers and mothers and siblings and children? How many?

The image of Omar’s dead body flashes before his eyes. Samuel didn’t run for it because he wanted to stay with Rebe, to help fight like she wants to. Is this the way? He suddenly isn’t sure. His mind lingers on the unlikely but enthralling possibility of district thirteen. If Bonnie and Twill are right, then he can’t help but hate them a little. But still, they would be powerful allies. If he could go to them and fight with them—

He shakes his head. There’s no point in focusing on fantasies. Fantasies won’t save his family, won’t stop the Games. He needs to focus on truth. He’s so preoccupied with his own musings that he doesn’t realize he’s broken through the treeline towards the fence until he almost slips on some ice. He straightens himself and moves towards the fence. He’s late. Too late.

It’s then that a mockingjay sings to him, almost as if in warning. Samuel frowns. He’s about to slip under the gate when he hears it.

Buzzing.

The fence is alive.

Instantly, the words Nano said to him the first time he took him to the forest echo in his mind. Always wait and listen, otherwise the electricity will kill you at once, Samu. Somehow, the new peacekeepers had gotten the electric fence to work for the first time in years.

Samuel scrambles back towards the forest, uses the trees to cover him. They’d turned the fence on. No one could go there to get food or to hunt, including him. Samuel is tempted to go back for his bow, to hold onto one of the few things left he has from his father but he knows it’s a death sentence.

If he’s caught here, it will only mean trouble. They’ll accuse him of trying to run away or hunt or poach and he’ll be killed along with his family for good measure. He looks up. He can’t crawl underneath the fence. The only way he can get over is to jump from a tree. He’s not going to bet on the fence turning off anytime soon.

He finds a tree with a long enough branch and slowly starts to climb it. Memories of the games echo in his mind, the sound of the careers jeering at him as they chased him haunting his ears. He still makes it, even though his arms are trembling by the end.

He crawls forward on the branch. Luckily, it’s thick enough that he doesn’t need to worry about it snapping beneath his feet. When he reaches the end, he uses the branch above to steady him as he stands. He’s going to need a bit of a running start if he’s to have any hope of getting over the fence. He tries his best not to look down. He’s at least twenty feet in the air. One wrong move and he could get tangled in the wire and killed instantly.

He gulps.

He takes a few steps back, closes his eyes, and then runs for it. He jumps off the end without hesitating, and then he’s flying in the air, the world a blur of light. He tries to tighten his legs so they’re steady when he lands but his right ankle twists horribly as he skids against the snow, crashing against the ground.

The air is knocked out of his lungs, but he made it. The pain is so great he can barely move, but he has to. He forces himself to his feet and is glad to find that he isn’t bleeding at least.

The walk back to his house is excruciating. He tries to hide his limp as best as he can lest any peacekeepers see. It’s almost dark now. The lights in his house are all on when he finally hobbles his way into the Victor’s Village. There are a few lights on in Valerio’s and Carla’s house too.

He climbs the steps up to his house, wincing all the while, and pushes open the door.

“I’m back!” he calls out.

He halts at the sight of two peacekeepers standing in the doorway to his kitchen.

“Hello,” he greets neutrally, glad he hadn’t called either his mother or Nano for help. The woman looks impassive, but the man can’t hide his surprise. No doubt they were expecting him to be trapped behind the fence line.

His mother appears behind them.

“There he is, you see,” she says, with a little too much enthusiasm. “Just a little late for dinner.”

He’s very late for dinner, but he doesn’t say that. Samuel pauses for a second, debating whether or not to take off his boots, but he doesn’t want them to see how swollen and red his right ankle no doubt is. He isn’t even sure he could do it without groaning in pain. Instead, he shrugs off his bag and hangs it on a hook, shaking the snow from his hair.

“Can I help you?” he asks politely.

“Head Peacekeeper Threat wanted us to tell you something,” the woman says.

“They’ve been waiting for you for quite some time,” his mother adds, eyeing him anxiously.

In other words, they were waiting around looking for some reason to take his family in for questioning.

“Oh,” he says casually, “must be important.”

“May we ask where you were, Mr. Garcia?” the women questions.

He forces himself to chuckle.

“Easier to ask where I haven’t been,” he says, making his way into the kitchen. He sits himself by the table and looks into the living room. Nano is sitting by the fire, and Carla and Valerio are sitting on the couch playing a game of chess. He doesn’t know if they were invited by peacekeepers or if they were here by chance, but he’s glad to see them either way. They’ll know what to do or say about Bonnie and Twill.

“So where haven’t you been?” Valerio asks in a bored voice, moving his queen across the board.

Samuel can see the stiffness lining Nano’s spine.

“Well, I haven’t been talking to the Goat Man in the Seam about getting Nano’s goat pregnant, because I was given the wrong directions by someone.”

Nano turns to look at him, Lucifer propped in his lap. The hideous cat hisses at him, making Carla laugh.

“No, I didn’t,” Nano says. “I told you exactly.”

“All the hours I spent wandering around says otherwise,” Samuel replies. “You told me that he lives nearby the west entrance to the mine.”

“East,” Nano corrects. “The east entrance.”

“That isn’t what you said though,” Samuel protests.

“No, I said east entrance.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. I’m older than you, and what I say goes,” Nano says, sticking his tongue out at him.

Their mother laughs nervously.

“Ignore them,” she tells the peacekeepers. “They bicker a lot.”

“Nano is right, handsome,” Valerio chimes in. “Last night he said that.”

As if Valerio and Carla had been here.

“They’re both definitely right,” Carla adds, grinning at him, entirely at ease despite the peacekeepers hanging around nearby. He glares at her, and she tries to look contrite. “This is just proof of what I’ve been telling you,” she says, clucking her tongue. “You don’t listen when people talk to you.”

“Bet people told you where the goat man lives today and you didn’t listen again,” Valerio says.

“Shut up, Valerio,” Samuel says, clearly indicating that he’s right.

Valerio, Carla and Nano crack up, though his brother’s is a little more strained than the others.

“Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up,” Samuel mutters, making Carla and Valerio laugh even more. He can’t help but think that this is why the two of them made it so far because nothing ever throws them.

He glances at the peacekeepers. The man is grinning a little, but the woman just glares at him. She’d probably been hoping she’d be the one to arrest him and bring him in for questioning.

“What was in the bag you brought in?” she asks sharply.

Samuel nods towards where he hung it up.

“Nothing much,” he says. “Feel free to check.”

She returns with the bag moments later and dumps the meager contents on the table. No doubt she’d been hoping for game or wild plants.

The only thing he didn’t give to Bonnie and Twill were some bandages and a bag of peppermints. He can see the disappointment flash on the woman’s face.

Carla comes over the table, places a hand on his shoulder as she reaches for the sweets.

“Ooh, I love peppermints,” she says, popping one into her mouth.

“They’re mine,” he says, reaching for them.

Carla quickly tosses the bag to Valerio, who tosses a fistful in his mouth before handing it to Nano, whose smile grows slightly.

“None of you deserve candy!” he says, shaking his head.

“What, because we’re right?” Carla questions, sitting on his lap and curling an arm around his neck. He lets out a grunt of pain, his tailbone objecting to the additional weight. He tries to muffle it, but he can see in Carla’s eyes that she noticed he’s hurt.

“Okay, okay,” he says, waving a hand in the air. “Nano is right, I should listen to my big brother more.”

“Exactly,” Carla agrees, leaning in to give him a kiss. He accepts it and turns to look at the peacekeepers as if he’d forgotten they were there in the first place.

“You guys wanted to tell me something?” he asks.

“Thread wanted us to let you know that the fence surrounding the district will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day.”

“Oh,” he murmurs, eyes widening dramatically. “You mean it wasn’t already?”

“He thought you might want to let your cousin know,” the woman adds.

At the mention of Rebe, the image of her bloodied back flashes in his mind. He swallows down his anger.

“I’ll be sure to let her know,” he replies. “I’m sure we’ll all sleep much better now that this lapse in security has been addressed.”

Carla’s grip on his hand tightens in warning. He knows he’s pushing it, but he can’t help it. The comment gives him a certain feeling of satisfaction.

The woman nods curtly, and then leaves. She has no further orders. The man trails in her wake. When he hears the sound of the door locking behind them, he slumps against the table, Carla easing out of his lap.

“What is it?” she says, crouching beside him.

“I hurt my right ankle,” he says. “And my tailbone is bruised beyond belief probably.”

Nano and Valerio rush to his side and help ease him onto the couch. His brother takes off his boots.

“What happened, Samu?” Nano asks.

“I slipped and fell,” he answers. Everyone looks at him with disbelief. “On some ice, I think. I couldn’t see it.”

Carla’s face slackens with understanding, as does Valerio. No doubt they understand that the house is bugged and that it’s not safe to talk freely. Nano strips off his boots and socks, the cold metal of his prosthetic hand making Samuel shiver.

“Sorry,” Nano murmurs. “I put my glove away.”

Samuel watches as his older brother probes the bones in his right heel. He can’t help but wince with discomfort. “There might be a break,” Nano informs him. “Though the left one seems to be alright.”

Their mother has re-entered the living room and checks his tailbone, pressing against the bruises to assess the damage. “No fracture there,” she announces. “Just bruising.”

All Samuel can think about is Bonnie and Twill. They didn’t even tell him what his mockingjay on the bread meant. He hopes that the snow has erased his tracks. He looks up to find Valerio and Carla still hanging around by the fire. He catches his mentor’s eye. He needs to tell them about Bonnie and Twill. He must. He won’t be leaving the house soon, not with his leg. So he has to stay quiet.

Nano and his mother feed him medicine, and his brother and Valerio help him up the stairs and into his room. Valerio leaves after a few moments, as does Nano, but Carla enters the room with an ice pack his mother gave her for his foot.

She helps tie it around his bad ankle and wishes him goodnight. Despite the sleep syrup running through his veins, maiing him sluggish and sleepy, he reaches for her hand. The side effect of sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like booze, and he knows he has to control to his tongue. Because he wants her to stay. He wants her to slide under the covers and curl up against him like they did on the train, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight.

But he knows he’s not allowed to ask that.

“Don’t go yet please,” he mumbles, tongue tripping over the words. “Not until I fall asleep.”

Carla sits on the edge of the bed, warming his hand in both of hers.

“I almost thought you changed your mind,” he hears her say. “When you didn’t show up to dinner.”

His mind is cloudy and unfocused, but the meaning of her words still registers. She must have thought he ran away, maybe with Rebe. He tugs her hand up and leans his cheek against the back of it, inhaling in the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla from the breads and good she must have painted today. He wants to confide in her about Bonnie and Twill, about the uprising. He knows she’ll listen, just like she did on the rooftop when he told her about how he knew the avox. But it’s not safe.

“No, I wouldn’t leave without you,” he mumbles.

Carla says something, but his brain is too unfocused to comprehend it.

“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” he asks, the drugs making his eyes droop. “I don’t feel safe unless I know you’re nearby.”

As he slips into unconsciousness, he hears Carla murmur something, but he doesn’t quite catch what.

The next morning, his mother assigns him on bed rest for a few weeks at least. He definitely won’t be leaving the house anytime soon. He feels so lousy that he doesn’t even object, his whole body aching with exhaustion. His mother and Nano take turns doctoring him and forcing food into his mouth. He just lays there on his bed, buried under several layers of quilts, and stares out the window at the winter sky. He thinks about Bonnie and Twill and hopes they’re still alive. He thinks about the pile of tuxedos sent from the Capitol for his upcoming wedding. A wedding no one in his family even speaks about. He wonders if the peacekeepers will come and arrest him, but they never do, probably on orders of President Teo.

He jumps whenever he hears someone knock on the door, fearful that it’s peacekeepers coming to drag him or his family away. A part of him dreams about running away to the ruins of thirteen, but he knows it’s a long shot. No, an impossibility. Besides, he told Rebe he’d stay back and fight. He hasn’t seen her at all these past few weeks since she’s still healing from her wounds.

Carla comes by every day though to keep him company since his mother and Nano are often out. She brings him new baked goods everyday – pastries she calls croissants (she laughs at his pronunciation) and chocolate cupcakes and numerous others – until she realizes that his favourites are the cheese buns.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner,” she says, watching as he pops the fourth one into his mouth and devours it. “I used to pride myself on my perceptiveness you know.”

He laughs a little.

She brings him at least five every day. Like him, she doesn’t have to go to school, so she also has long hours she needs to fill. It occurs to Samuel that she must have struggled as much as he has, adjusting to life in twelve after the Games. Trying to find a routine, a purpose.

It’s during these days that she starts to help him work on the family plant book. His mother took it from her apothecary days, her family having carefully catalogued any plants they needed for medicinal purposes. His father added all the edible plants he knew about, but neither Samuel or Nano are very good at drawing, and they both forgot to leave any extras over the years to press between the pages. It’s crucial that each plant is drawn in exact detail, and that is where Carla comes in.

Some she knows already from their time at the training centre at the Games, and others he has to describe. He instructs her as she draws sketches on scrap paper for practice, waiting for his approval before she draws in the book. Afterwards, he carefully prints all he knows about it, because despite the fact that she draws so well her handwriting is awful. Besides, it’s easier for him to just write it down since he knows more about them, for the most part anyway.

It's quiet, absorbing work, but Carla isn’t there all the time. On the sixth day of his bed rest, Samuel is beside himself with boredom. His mother takes pity on him and returns to his room with a basket full of balls of wool and needles.

“You know to knit,” she tells him, hands on her hips. “Practice.”

He doesn’t know anything beyond crude basics he’s learned over the years trying to mend his old, ratty clothes, so he gets her to teach him some more complicated patterns. After she’s satisfied with his progress, his mother leaves him to his own devices. There are still a swell of patients coming to the house for treatment. He searches through the basket, trying to choose between the different colours of wool, but is unable to make his mind up.

Later, Carla returns to the house before dinner, her cheeks and neck flushed red from the cold.

“Where’s your scarf?” he asks her, watching as she shakes the snow out of her bun.

She shrugs.

“I lost it in the wind.”

“You should get another one,” he tells her. “Before you catch a cold.”

She laughs a little at him.

“I never catch colds,” she says.

The next morning, he chooses a ball of wool that’s a pale orange colour, tinged with pink, and sets to work. Whenever Carla or Nano isn’t around to keep him company, he works on his knitting. But Carla is there more often than not, especially during school hours, where whatever friends she has left after the Games are preoccupied. She never speaks about her family with himor about what she told him during the Games ever again.

Often, they just spend their time in companionable silence, working on the plant book. He likes to watch her hands as she draws. Enjoys seeing the blank pages bloom with her creations of ink, adding touches of colour to the previously black and white book. Her face takes on a special look when she concentrates. When she’s drawing or painting, specifically. Her usual easy or politely blank expression is replaced by something more intense, something that suggests an entire world locked away inside her.

His breath catches a little whenever he sees it, because he’s seen flashes of that expression in the Games. When she stared up at him in the tree that first night, barely making out his body in the darkness. When she attacked Polo on top of the Cornucopia. He isn’t sure what to make of it – how to place it in terms of what he knows about her. There’s a part of him that thinks that this part of her will forever be unknown to him. That despite everything they shared in the arena there’s this part of her he won’t ever know.

He isn’t sure he has the right, but he wants to know about it.

Samuel also becomes slightly obsessed with her eyelashes. Ordinarily, no one would really notice them because they’re so blond. But up close, especially in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they’re a light golden colour and so long he isn’t sure how they don’t get tangled when she blinks. He’s surprised he didn’t notice it in the Games, or during their nights on the train.

One afternoon, Carla stops shading a blossom and glances so quickly in his direction he jumps a little, almost as if he’d been caught spying on her. In some strange way, maybe he was. Carla’s expression is inscrutable as she stares at him, but the only thing she comments is, “I think this is perhaps the first time we’ve ever done something normal together.”

He blinks a little, almost as if he’d woken up from a very deep sleep.

“What?” he asks suddenly, a little transfixed by the sunlight hitting her cheeks. The green of her eyes always looks a little lighter during times like this.

“You know, something normal,” she says. “Where we aren’t fighting for our lives.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, the realization startling him a little for some reason. Their whole relationship has been tainted by the Games and the Capitol. Normal wasn’t ever apart of it. “It’s nice,” he says.

Something flashes in her eyes.

“Yeah,” she replies faintly. “It is.”

It’s then he wonders if she was thinking about whether or not it would always feel like this. After all, they are going to get married, even if it’s something they never talk about. He imagines them spending the next however many years of their lives just like this, and something inside his chest shakes a little. He shoves the thought out of his mind.

But they don’t’ just work on the plant book. There’s one day where Samuel just sits on the couch, exhausted. He’d been unable to sleep all night because of his nightmares. Carla can tell he’s in a crabby mood because she’s quiet too.

“Rest,” she tells him. His mother and Nano are out of the house. “Rest.”

He wants to, but he’s scared of what his dreams will show him this time. As if she can read his mind, the look in her eyes softens.

“I’ll stay,” she says. “I’ll bake a little.”

“I don’t even know if we have the ingredients for baking,” he says stupidly, but he doesn’t tell her to go. It’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t want her to leave. She laughs a little.

“I’ll figure something out,” she replies.

But Samuel can’t bring himself to sleep. He doses off for a few minutes, and when he wakes, he hears her shuffling around in the kitchen. He hobbles over to join her, careful not to rest too much weight on his ankle, which is still tender and sore. He settles into a chair by the kitchen table, right where he fell asleep by Rebe’s side. Rebe. He misses her.

The thought fades from his mind as Carla starts to crack a few eggs. She’s already found all the ingredients she needs, even though he could only have been asleep for a few minutes. It’s a sign of how much time she’s spent at his house recently, even though he’s still never been into hers.

“What are you making?” he asks, wincing as he adjusts his position.

“Just some cinnamon buns,” she replies. “Want to learn?”

“Sure,” he replies.

He only really watches as she works, since he can’t stand up to help her. Her brow furrows as she kneads the dough into intricate shapes. Not once does she falter, as if she knows her hands will never fail her. It’s entrancing, really, watching her work.

From then on, after they work on the plant book for a few hours, Carla teaches him how to bake.

Today, she’s teaching him how to make dumplings. She’s sitting beside him, the ingredients and rolling pins strewn out on the table so he can reach. Flour and eggs yolk covers the entire table.

“You’re thinking about it too hard,” she says. Of course, she’s already finished folding all of hers. The filling doesn’t leak out and the dough doesn’t break on hers. But Samuel can’t get it. He can make fishhooks, snares, knots, but he can’t fold a stupid dumpling. It’s ridiculous.

“I can’t,” he says, for maybe the trillionth time.

“You can,” Carla insists.

Her hands cover his own and guide him.

“See?” she prompts.

It takes Samuel a moment to answer.

“Yeah,” he replies faintly. “Yeah, I do.”

Her eyes flicker up to his forehead.

“You have flour in your hair,” she says, lips twitching. It fades after a moment, and she pulls away. He brushes it out of his hair. Carla has been like this ever since the Games. She touches him as little as possible. She’ll tell him about the flour in his hair, but she won’t move to to take it out herself. She’s a bit distant that way, not that he has the right to expect anything different.

Carla takes half the batch of dumplings on his insistence, and he pulls out his stitching from the drawer he put it in last night. He’s almost done with it now.

“What’s this?” Nano asks when he comes home.

“Carla made dumplings,” Samuel replies, frowning down at the work in his hands. He’s made a few mistakes in his stitching.

“I see,” Nano hums.

Samuel looks at his brother then. The way he said it let Samuel know Nano wants to add something else. Something inside of him twists with discomfort and unease.

“What?” he questions a tad defensively. He isn’t sure if Nano disapproves of how much time he’s spending with Carla or Carla herself.

“Nothing, Samu,” Nano replies, snagging a dumpling for himself. “Nothing at all.”

Weeks pass, and Samuel slowly regains the use of his leg again, though his mother commands him to still spend most of his time resting. She gives him five more days of bed rest, and on the third day Samuel falls asleep on the couch, stitching in hand. He wakes hours later to find Carla sitting in the chair close to the fire, having fallen asleep too.

Her face is always softer when she sleeps, her features smoother. He doesn’t want to disturb her rest, so he carries on with his stitching quietly. The scarf is almost done. Nano returns after a few hours, pops into the living room.

“Who is that for?” his brother asks, gesturing with his chin towards the scarf in Samuel’s hands.

Samuel drops his work into his lap.

“I’m not sure,” he replies, flushing a little.

“It’s a little bright colour for you,” Nano points out.

“I know that,” he replies, a little defensively. It’s become a habit at this point.

Nano hums.

“I checked on Rebe and gave her the food you saved for them,” Nano says. “She should be up and about soon.”

“Good,” Samuel breathes, relief that she’s okay flooding through his chest. “That’s good.”

It’s quiet for a moment as they stare into the fire. He loves Nano so much, loves him more than anything in the world, but there are times where he feels so distant from him, even more so than the past few years, where Nano was barely coherent. He wants to tell him the truth about everything going on in the districts and with the Capitol, but he also remembers how his brother used to be before he lost his arm. The things he used to say about the Capitol, the bitterness and rage that would flare in his eyes as he talked about the Merchants and the peacekeepers. It reminds Samuel of Rebe.

Nano doesn’t say such things anymore. When they lived in the Seam it’s because he was too broken, too hollow, at least that’s what Samuel thinks. He isn’t sure what Nano believes in anymore. All Samuel knows is that he wants his brother safe, wants Nano to keep enjoying life as he has ever since he came home.

He’s startled from his thoughts by Carla jerking against the chair. His eyes dart to her, finds her still sleeping.

“Is she alright?” Nano questions.

But Samuel only has eyes for Carla.

“She’s having a nightmare,” he murmurs, using his arm as a support to make his way to her side. The pain in his ankle is only a twinge now as he makes his way over, but he doesn’t even notice.

“Carla,” he says, reaching out to shake her shoulder. “Carla.”

Her eyes fly open, wide and full of fear. She’s so tense under his touch that it breaks his heart.

“You’re okay,” he says, distantly aware that Nano has left the room to give them some privacy. “Carla, you’re safe. It’s okay.”

Slowly, she relaxes under his touch, her breath evening out.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” he says. His ankle starts to hurt a little, so he sits back down on the couch.

Nano reappears with a glass of water.

“For you,” he says, handing it to Carla.

Samuel watches the two of them. Nano is the kind of man he pictures Carla marrying. His brother is much taller than him and much better looking. He carries himself with a confidence Samuel has never been able to replicate. That is the kind of man Carla deserves. It’s a miracle, really, that she noticed him instead of Nano all those years ago.

Nano leaves again moments later, but not before shooting him a quizzical look. Samuel ignores it.

Carla looks at the scarf he’s knitting.

“When did you take up knitting?” she asks, voice still slightly weary.

“Weeks ago,” he replies. He has the strangest urge to hide it away somewhere, as if he’s done something wrong or revealing.

“It’s a nice colour,” she comments.

“Thank you,” he says. A thought occurs to him. “I’m glad you said that.”

“Why?” she questions.

Samuel finishes up what little knots are left and then removes the needles, straightening out the scarf. It’s stupid really, so stupid. His eyes dart to the ground.

“Because I made it for you,” he says quietly.

Carla doesn’t respond. He extends the scarf out to her without looking in her direction.

“It’s not the best,” he says. “But it’ll work.”

Carla still doesn’t say anything.

When he finally manages to find the courage to look up, he’s startled to find tears piercing her eyes.

“Carla—”

“Thank you,” she says, blinking them away, her face losing that intense, vulnerable look. “Thank you.” She wraps it around her neck.

Samuel doesn’t know what to say.

She leaves a little afterwards, and he still can’t help but feel that he’s done something wrong. Something he shouldn’t have.

“Samu.”

Someone is shaking his shoulder.

“Samu.”

Samuel blinks awake, Rebe’s face floating in front of his eyes. She’s perched on his bed, smiling at him widely in a way she very rarely does. The sight of her in front of him, healthy and alive, makes his heart stop.

“I’m back,” she says. “I’ve missed you.”

She moves back to let him sit up, and then she’s hugging him tightly. He returns it, burying his face in her shoulder. Despite the fact that she hasn’t been to the woods in months now, she still smells like the forest.

They go downstairs, Rebe telling him about the current state of the district. The floggings haven’t stopped, and the curfew is still in tact, but people are adjusting to this new normal, even if many are dropping dead in the streets from starvation. It occurs to Samuel that he’s spent the past two months wrapped in a secure little bubble with Carla and his family, largely shut off from the rest of the world.

No longer.

He’s resolved to stay and fight with Rebe, but he hasn’t even told Valerio and Carla about Bonnie and Twill yet. He looks at Rebe as she slides her boots back on so they can go out for a walk. He can’t tell her. No, he won’t tell her. He knows her well enough that this will spur her into a frenzy and she’ll try to lead Twelve into an uprising. It’ll fail. Samuel knows this with a certainty that disarms him. Twelve isn’t ready, not yet. He isn’t sure he trusts her with this knowledge.

His ankle is pretty much healed now, so he slides on his boots and is just about to follow Rebe out the door when something on the kitchen table catches his eye. They’re cheese buns.

“I bumped into Carla as she was dropping this off,” Rebe says. “I offered to bring them in.”

He doesn’t look away from those buns.

“Oh,” is all he says, stomach lurching.

They go out for their walk. They keep a careful distance between them as they walk, careful to keep away from the town square. Less peacekeepers will notice them. He’s a bit wary about being seen out in public with Rebe, considering he’s engaged to Carla, but there’s no harm in just walking. There shouldn’t be.

They walk through the Seam, and they pass a few kids. He recognises them from the orphanage. He stops and does a double take. Wrapped around the smallest kid’s neck is Carla’s scarf. Not the one he made her, but the one she said she lost. He knows instantly that the kid didn’t just pick it up, the Carla gave it to her to protect her from the cold but lied to him about it because she didn’t want to broadcast her actions or make them seem performative.

Something aches in his chest.

“You okay?” Rebe asks.

“Yeah,” Samuel replies. “Just fine.”

They keep on walking.

When Samuel returns home that night, he turns on the television. His mother and Nano aren’t home yet. He flickers through the channels and lands on some news report broadcast from district three, talking about a graphite shortage affecting the manufacturing items in the district. It cuts to live footage of a female reporter covered head to toe in protective gear. She’s supposed to be in thirteen, where she sadly reports that the mines there are still too toxic to use. Before they cut away, Samuel sees it.

What Bonnie and Twill described to him. On the corner of the screen, he sees the flap of a mockingjay’s wings. The news reporter isn’t in thirteen at all. She’s just been incorporated into old footage.

His mind races with this realization. If she’s not in District 13, what is?

The next day, he drags Valerio out of his house at the crack of dawn. He goes and knocks on Carla’s front door, knows she’s already awake because the light in her kitchen is on. She follows him out onto the street without another word.

Valerio leads them to the edge of the Victor’s Village, tucked behind the last house so no one can see them.

“Talk,” his mentor grunts. “I’m assuming that’s what you dragged me out of bed for.”

Samuel had found Valerio dead asleep in a pool of his own vomit, but that’s another matter entirely. He’s seen his mentor somewhat frequently over the past few months, mostly when Valerio dropped by to bring him news from the district. He’d convinced Valerio to hire Sandra as his housekeeper, so at least his mentor’s house is clean.

He tells them both about Bonnie and Twill, about the uprising in District 8, what he saw on television the night before. Neither of them interrupt as he talks. When he finishes, they both look contemplative.

“President Teo wanted to distract us,” Carla murmurs.

He looks at her.

“He knew that nothing we did would alter the mood of the districts,” Carla clarifies. “He knew. He just visited you and scared you so you wouldn’t do anything to encourage them further, to give them a beacon of hope.”

She’s right. Samuel knows she is.

They both turn to look at Valerio.

“This changes nothing,” their mentor says.

“But—”

“Shut it, handsome,” Valerio interrupts. “Twelve isn’t ready for an uprising. It never has been, and it certainly isn’t now with all the new changes. People are still reeling from Thread’s arrival.”

“What about thirteen?” Samuel asks.

Valerio laughs, making him flush like a little kid.

“Thirteen?” their mentor cackles. “Old footage doesn’t prove anything, Samuel. No use in holding onto a fever dream.”

“Then what’s your plan then?” Samuel demands, infuriated.

Valerio smirks and brings a bottle of liquor to his lips.

“Seeing the two of you happily wed before all of Panem,” he replies. “Cayeatana even called to ask if I could give you away instead of your Uncle, Carla, seeing as we’re so close and all.”

Both Samuel and Carla scowl.

Valerio grins at them darkly and shoves his bottle back into his jacket pocket.

“Don’t wake me up for nonsense ever again,” he tells Samuel before walking away.

Carla doesn’t say anything before she walks away too.

When Samuel eventually returns to his home, his chest heavy with disappointment, he finds Nano working at the garden in front of the house, trimming some of the bushes and adjusting the covers on another.

Without thinking, he goes and joins him. The snow has almost melted entirely now.

“You like gardening,” he states stupidly.

Nano glances at him.

“You didn’t before.”

“No,” Nano allows. “I didn’t.”

Samuel watches as he flexes his prosthetic hand.

“The primroses are my favourite, you know,” Nano says.

“I know,” Samuel says. “You brought them into the house all the time in the fall.”

Nano chuckles a little.

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

Samuel looks closely at his brother.

“Are you happy?” he blurts out.

Nano sets down the clippers and turns to glance at Samuel. “Am I happy?” he repeats slowly. Nano seems to consider this for a moment. “I’m more than happy than I was before,” his brother responds softly. “More than I’ve been ever since I lost my arm. But I’m not happy in the district, if that’s what you mean.”

“Nano—”

“Can I say something to you?” Nano cuts in.

Samuel shuts up and nods. His brother reaches out to brush the hair off his forehead.

“You’ve grown so much,” Nano says mournfully, eyes flashing with grief. “It was my job to protect you, to keep you safe. I abandoned you.”

“You didn’t abandon me!” Samuel protests. “They took your arm when you tried to save me—”

“Maybe,” Nano allows. “But I still let bitterness overtake me, Samu. I left you all alone. I swore when I was younger that you’d never know what it’s like to have such responsibility thrust onto your shoulders, and it happened anyway. I let it happen. I was supposed to protect you from all of it, and I failed. I’m so sorry, Samu. It should have been me to volunteer in your place. It should have been me.”

“Don’t say that,” Samuelsays. “It’s my turn to take care of you now. You were younger than me when dad died, Nano.”

“You look like him, you know,” Nano says. “I know you don’t remember him, but you do.”

They’re quiet for a few moments.

“Things have changed since the Games,” Nano murmurs.

Samuel eyes him sharply.

“I can see it,” his brother continues.

Something tightens in Samuel’s chest.

“What can you see?” he breathes. The hopelessness that overtook after Valerio dismissed his revelations ebbs a bit.

“Hope,” Nano replies, glancing at him. “You gave that to people, Samuel. You and Carla.”

Samuel looks down at the ground. He isn’t sure what to say to that. He resolved to stay and fight the Capitol, but he doesn’t know how. He isn’t even sure that he wants a war. No, he knows he doesn’t want a war and all it entails. He doesn’t. He never even meant to defy the Capitol. All he wanted to do was come home with Carla too.

“You know everything I do comes back to you and Mom,” he tells Nano. Samuel pauses. “And Rebe and Carla.”

“I know that,” Nano says. His eyebrows raise a little. “I take it the engagement was the Capitol’s idea?”

“Actually, it was mine,” Samuel says, admitting it to his brother for the first time. “As was the whole star-crossed lover thing.”

Nano doesn’t look at him like Rebe did, full of shock and betrayal.

“Did she really save us that year?” Nano asks him instead. “Like you said she did in the Games?”

Something lodges in his throat.

“Yeah,” he forces out. “She did.”

Nano doesn’t say anything.

“Do you hate her?” he asks. “Because she’s a merchant?”

Nano is quiet for a minute.

“If you asked me a few years ago, I would have said yes,” Nano replies quietly. “I used to hate them all for their privilege. A part of me still does, despite how we live now. But it isn’t their fault. They can’t change things even if they wanted to. And I understand survival. I understand that.” He’s silent again. “And she saved your life in the Games, Samuel. Protected you when all I could do was watch. I can never hate her after that.”

Nano reaches out and pokes Samuel’s cheek, making him laugh. His brother cups the back of his neck.

“Samu, maybe you and I can make a new deal.”

“What kind of new deal?” he asks. He feels like he used to as a kid when he had a nightmare and Nano would comfort him.

“Maybe this time, we can share the burden,” Nano says. “Maybe this time, we can take care of each other.”

Samuel is close to tears. He wants to say yes. He wants it more than anything in the world. But he can’t tell Nano the truth. He just can’t bring himself to do it.

“Okay,” he says anything. “Okay.”

Nano hugs him close, and Samuel lets himself hug his big brother back.

He lets himself just be a kid, even if he isn’t anymore.

A few days later, Samuel wakes up to Ander sitting by his side.

“Surprise!” his stylist says, grinning at him. “Our visit got pushed up a few weeks. President Teo was eager to get your wedding photos out to the Capitol for them to vote.”

There’s going to be a poll sent out to the Capitol residents where they can vote on their favourite dress and tuxedo for them to wear at their wedding. The wedding. Samuel gulps a little. He’s barely seen Carla ever since his foot became fully healed.

Ander reaches out to touch the scar on Samuel’s face, the one he got when he defended Rebe at the whipping post. His stylist’s eyes don’t light up with curiosity. They’re kind instead, gentle.

“Don’t worry,” Ander murmurs. “I have just the thing.”

The scar won’t be there forever, at least not according to his mom. She said it would just take time to fade away. There are a few Capitol underlings that help bathe him and beautify Samuel for the cameras. Creams and lotions are applied to his face, and Samuel just sits there and listens to them mutter amongst themselves. Most of it is just nonsense, but then one of them makes a passing comment about how the Capitol hasn’t been able to get any seafood for the past few weeks.

“Really?” Samuel murmurs. “Why?”

“Why the bad weather of course,” the green skinned stylist replies. “It’s absolutely dreadful.”

Samuel’s heart begins to race. Could it really be chalked up to bad weather? Or was district four rebelling too? He tries to hide his excitement as best he can.

The house is flooded with cameras, and Samuel is shoved into tuxedo after tuxedo, each varying in colour. Red, light pink, blue, red. Some have patterns, others are sparkly and encrusted with diamonds. None that he would ever wear at his wedding, not that he ever would have gotten married if he wasn’t being forced to.

District 12 doesn’t have a fancy wedding ceremony. The only thing someone does to make it official is get a slip of paper from the justice building, but they do have the toasting ceremony. Everyone does it – whether they’re from the Seam or the Merchant sector. The couple wears the best clothes they have – some even rent a tux or dress from the justice building – and then exchange vows over a slice of bread. It’s simple, but theirs. One of the few traditions they have. He isn’t going to share that with any of the people here, except maybe Ander. No doubt the Capitol would want to record and broadcast across Panem too. The idea of a toasting is too intimate to ever share with the cameras, even if the marriage itself is a lie.

“You look handsome,” Nano says, straightening Samuel’s bowtie. He’s been posing for pictures for hours now.

“Ha, thanks,” Samuel mutters.

His mother watches them from across the room, looking a little sad. He knows she doesn’t want him to get married. Knows she wants him to wait, that she thinks he’s too young. Samuel understands it, but a part of him can’t help but think that he’s killed someone for crying out loud. Multiple people. Marriage -however much of a farce it is for him and Carla – isn’t the worst thing to happen to him.

He barely gets any time to just talk to Ander before the cameras are leaving for the Capitol, taking his stylist and the Capitol underlings with him. Before Ander goes though, he hands Samuel an envelope.

“President Teo asked me to give you this,” Ander says softly, brown eyes looking worried.

Samuel holds onto the sealed envelope tightly. He wonders if he’ll find an order for his arrest.

“Thank you,” Samuel tells his friend, hugging him tightly. Ander pats him on the shoulder, and then he’s gone.

Nano and his mom are hovering behind him, so Samuel has no choice but to open it. His automatic reaction is to hide it and open it in private, but he knows his family is anxious.

“What is it, Samu?” his mother asks.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “I don’t know.”

He tears the seal open and looks down.

Congratulations once more on your upcoming nuptials, Mr. Garcia, it reads. I expect you to understand my choice for your honeymoon soon.

And that’s it.

Nano and his mother read the card over his shoulders, and he lets them.

“What does it mean?” Nano asks. “Your honeymoon?”

“I don’t know,” Samuel repeats, frowning a little. “I don’t know.”

The next night, Nano comes home and announces that there’s some mandatory viewing on television tonight. Samuel is surprised. All of their mandatory viewings involve the Games in some way – the Games aren’t set to happen for months now. He tries not to think about the upcoming Quarter Quell, seeing as he’s due to be a mentor in them.

“It could be your wedding photos,” Nano says. “The poll.”

“Maybe,” Samuel allows. “I don’t see why that would be mandatory though.”

Nano shrugs and comes to sit beside him on the couch, turning on the television. Their mother sits on the other end, knitting a quilt. Caesar Flickerman is showcasing the photos they took yesterday. Samuel sees Carla in her multiple wedding dresses. They match in terms of colour, style, and pattern.

“Let’s get the star-crossed lovers of district twelve to their wedding in style!” Caesar Flickerman yells. He tells the audience to get their votes in by noon tomorrow, but to not tune out because the President has an important announcement regarding the Quarter Quell.

“It must be the reading of the card,” his mother says faintly.

Nano and Samuel turn to look at her.

“Guzman’s older sister was in the Quarter Quell, you know,” she tells them.

“I thought Valerio won the last Quarter Quell,” Samuel murmurs.

“He did. Guzman’s sister was a merchant girl, only fifteen when she was reaped. Her mother had her when she was quite young – sixteen years I think --, so she had Guzman around eight years after the Games. By that point, Guzman’s biological parents were quite consumed with grief.” They must have died not long after.

His mother’s expression turns distant, like she’s transported back to a time long ago. Samuel wonders if Guzman knows about this. Wonders if that’s why the Mayor adopted Guzman from the orphanage.

Shaking his head, he turns to look at the screen. The scene has changed to the President’s mansion. President Teo is dressed in a luxurious looking suit, a white rose pinned to his chest. In his hands is a golden envelope. After the anthem finishes sounding, President Teo steps a little closer to the screen, his green eyes glinting under the camera light. Samuel’s throat tightens with revulsion. The President begins to recount the origins of the Hunger Games, the district’s punishment after the events of the dark days, and then the past quarter quells. The Quarter Quells are essentially glorified versions of the Games, held every twenty-five years.

“At the first quarter quell, the tributes chosen were voted by their neighbours as a reminder that their children were dying because of their decisions to rebel against the Capitol.”

Samuel can’t help but shiver. He can’t help but imagine how that would have felt. Picking who had to go. It’s worse to be turned over by your own neighbours than have your slip plucked from the reaping bowl.

“On the fiftieth anniversary,” Teo continues, “as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizens, the district was required to send twice as many tributes.”

Samuel gulps. More obstacles, less hope, and more deaths. More little boys like Omar or girls like May. That was the year Valerio won.

“And now we honour our first quarter quell,” the president says, pulling out a gold-coloured card from the envelope before promptly clearing his throat.

“On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

His mother gives a faint shriek and Nano throws his glass against the wall, groaning with something very akin to agony. Samuel just sits there, feeling slightly baffled. What on earth can he mean? Existing pool of victors?

Slowly, the meaning hits him. More than that, the notes President Teo has kept on sending him about a honeymoon. This is what he meant. Which only means one thing.

Samuel is going back to the arena.

He’s flying out the door before he can even blink. He half-sprints, half-stumbles across the lawns of the Victor’s Village and into the dark night, unable to retain his balance. The ground is wet from the melting snow, soaking through his thick socks. The wind is sharp and cold, cutting at his cheeks and making them a rosy pink, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even know where he’s going.

He can’t go to the woods for comfort or shelter. It isn’t an option. But he smacks into a lone tree, the force of it making the air fly out of his lungs and a throb form from where his cheek collided with the bark. He wraps his arms around the trunk and keels over. The hysteria brewing inside him isn’t quelled by his feeble escape attempt, only amplified. He tries to swallow it down, but he can’t keep it in. He isn’t strong enough.

The noise that escapes his lips isn’t quite a scream. It’s caught between a groan and a yell, something guttural and unearthly. Tears stream down his cheeks. He can taste the salt on his tongue. He is going back to the arena. He will be under the gamemakers mercy once again.

He sinks down to the cold ground, leans his cheek against the tree. The deal is if you win the games, you’re safe. Your family isn’t safe from being reaped, but at least they will benefit from your newfound wealth. You won’t ever have to worry about your name being plucked from the reaping ball ever again. That was the deal. At least, until now. Until him.

Surely this rule wasn’t written seventy-five years ago. It works out too neatly. A perfect way for President Teo to get rid of Samuel without anyone accusing him of murder. But he knew about it. Teo wouldn’t have sent those comments about him and Carla going on a honeymoon if he didn’t.

Honeymoon. Carla. Carla. Her name echoes through his mind. And then, Valerio.

His knees buckle as he stands, but he manages it nonetheless. Carla. President Teo wants him back in the arena, he doesn’t doubt that. There’s a slim chance, however small, that Valerio will somehow wind up in the arena this time around. But Carla—

There’s only one surviving female tribute from district twelve. Carla will be going back to the arena no matter what. The terror and adrenaline that runs through his veins at the thought is enough to propel him towards Valerio’s house. He pushes open the front door without a second thought.

Valerio is sitting alone at the kitchen table, a half empty bottle of liquor in one hand, a knife in the other. He’s drunk. Visibly so. Samuel carefully steps over the shattered glass on the ground. The sight of it reminds him of Nano’s reaction only a little while before, but Samuel can’t think about that now.

“Ah, there you are, handsome,” Valerio greets. Samuel can smell the alcohol on his breath from here. “How nice of you to show up! Let me guess, you did the math, right?”

Samuel doesn’t say anything.

Valerio cackles, the sound echoing through the empty house.

“And what are you here to ask me, handsome? Hmm? To die?”

Samuel slumps down in the chair opposite Valerio and remains quiet.

“I’ll admit, it was easier for the girl. She was here right as I finished throwing that glass against the wall. She asked me to save you over her no matter what. Said that even if we ended up in the arena together she would die so I could live out the rest of my life, miserable as it may be.” Valerio waves a hand in the air. “Not that she said that last part. But what can you ask of me, handsome? To volunteer in your place so you can live? To die so Carla has a chance of coming home?”

For one horrible second, Samuel is afraid that he does want that. He dismisses the thought quickly. Valerio is dreadful, and Samuel is annoyed by him half the time, but he’s his family too. Quite suddenly, he isn’t sure what he came to his mentor for.

“I came for a drink,” he says.

Valerio bursts out laughing and slams the bottle on the table, the force of his laughter making the table shake. Samuel picks it up and takes a few swings, his nose wrinkling with disgust. The liquid inside him feels like fire.

“Maybe it should be you,” Samuel states simply. “You hate life, anyway.”

“True,” Valerio acknowledges. “And I did keep you alive last time, so I do owe her one.”

They are both forever indebted to Carla – brave, beautiful Carla who never fails to surprise him with how big her heart is, hidden as she may keep it.

“That’s another good point,” Samuel replies, taking another gulp.

“Her argument is that since I chose you last time, I now owe her anything she wants. And her dying wish is to save you.”

“She’s not going to die,” Samuel snaps harshly. She’s never breathed a word to him about her feelings ever since they came back from the train, but somehow this revelation isn’t a surprise. She cares about people so deeply. Too deeply. Something else brews in his gut. While he was busy crying and thinking about himself, Carla was here thinking only of saving his life yet again.

Shame isn’t a strong enough word for what he feels.

“You know, you could live a hundred lifetimes and she would still be thousands of miles out of your league,” Valerio tells him.

“Yeah, I know,” Samuel states softly. “Carla is definitely the better catch out of all of us.”

Valerio grunts, and Samuel takes that as agreement.

“No matter what, Valerio,” Samuel says, “You’re not going into the arena.”

“Handsome—”

“I mean it,” Samuel says. “We both know that Teo wants me in there. That’s what he meant about all the honeymoon comments. He wants me to go into the arena. If I don’t, he’ll just have you both killed on purpose and then slaughter the rest of my family.”

Valerio pulls out another bottle from underneath the table since he’s holding the open one hostage.

“What are you asking me, Samuel?”

It’s perhaps the only time Valerio has used his name.

“You save Carla,” Samuel says. “We try to keep her alive this time, no matter what.”

He pauses.

“And don’t volunteer for me Valerio,” he finishes. “Don’t.”

“Carla wants me too,” his mentor replies.

“That doesn’t matter,” Samuel replies brusquely. “We both know it’s what Teo wants more than anything. Me dead. If I killed myself now, he’d just kill and torture all of you out of spite. If I die in the arena, if I die how he wants me to, all of you will be safe. He’ll have no reason to hurt you.”

And Samuel will be dead, passed the ability to know or care. Something flickers in Valerio’s bloodshot eyes. Pain.

“Carla might still have a chance in the arena,” he continues, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “If you volunteer for me like she wants, there’ll be no chance of either you coming back. So let me go back into the arena. Let me keep her alive. She’s going back in there because of the stunt I pulled with the berries, everyone knows it.”

Valerio frowns a little.

“All right,” he replies eventually.

Samuel lets out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, Valerio thank you,” Samuel breathes, closing his eyes tightly. “Thank you.”

He staggers to his feet, clumsily leaving the bottle on the table, and hurries out the door. He should go see Carla now, but he doesn’t want to. Not yet. He doesn’t know what she could get him to agree to now in his current state. He needs to face his mother and Nano now, needs to prepare them for his death.

He stumbles towards his house and up the stairs, the booze making him wheezy. He’s barely reached the porch when someone barrels into his arms. Rebe. He returns the fierce embrace, buries his face in her neck.

“We should have gone when you said,” she whispers. His shirt feels wet, and it is only then that he realizes she’s crying. “We still can, Samu.”

He swallows.

“No, no we can’t,” he replies softly.  He has to save Carla. He can’t run now.

Nano and his mother hover in the doorway, their eyes red with tears, and Samuel makes exactly two steps in their direction before his legs give out under him. Nano rushes to his side and cradles him against his chest like he used to when Samuel was a little kid.

Samuel tries to be strong. He does. But he can’t. He cries into Nano’s chest for so long- his brother rocking him back and forth all the while -- he passes out.

When he wakes up, Rebe is gone. He hurries to the bathroom and throws up into the toilet, the white liquor making its reappearance. It burns twice as much coming up as it did going down. He’s trembling and sweaty when he finishes vomiting, but at least most of it is out of his stomach. Now, he just feels thirsty and sore.

He showers for a long time, almost as if the water could just wash him away. He changes into some pajamas and climbs back into bed. He’s so out of it that he doesn’t even notice his bedroom door pushing open, revealing his mother and Nano. He opens his mouth to make some kind of joke, but just starts crying all over again. They both climb into bed with him, making soothing noises as his mother strokes back his hair.

Samuel drifts back into a fitful sleep and wakes only when the sun is sky high. He’s embarrassed suddenly by his reaction to the Quarter Quell – running away, crying, getting drunk with Valerio. He supposes he’s due one day of indulgence given the circumstances, but he still feels ashamed.

He makes his way downstairs after splashing water on his face, and he trails into the kitchen. Nano and his mother are sitting there silently, as if incapable of speech. At his appearance, Nano stands up and embraces him again, but doesn’t cry. He’s probably trying to stay strong for Samuel. His mother follows Nano afterwards.

“It could not be you,” she whispers, cupping his cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be you.”

It takes him a moment to realize what she means. She still thinks there’s hope – or she’s clinging onto it desperately – that Samuel will just be a mentor this year and won’t have to go back into the arena. That Valerio could volunteer and take his place. She doesn’t want to believe that Samuel will volunteer for Valerio.

“Mom,” he says softly. “Mom.”

She refuses to look him in the eye.

“It doesn’t have to be you,” she repeats stubbornly. “It doesn’t have to be.”

But it does.

Samuel opens his mouth to respond but Nano beats him to it.

“We’ll see what happens,” his big brother says. His features are blank, but Samuel can see the grief in his eyes. Nano knows. Samuel didn’t even have to say anything for his brother to know.

After his mother regains her composure, she serves him a bowl of soup. He asks for another for Valerio, and then he carries the two-steaming bowl’s to his mentor’s house. Valerio is only just waking up and accepts the food without comment. They eat together in silence, almost peacefully, and watch the sun set from his kitchen window.

Samuel hears someone walking around upstairs, and he assumes it’s Sandra, but a few minutes later Carla appears carrying empty liquor bottles.

“There,” she says, with an air of finality. “It’s done.”

Valerio barely even stirs he’s so hungover. Samuel speaks up for him.

“What is?”

“I’ve gotten rid of all the liquor,” Carla says.

Valerio jumps out of his stupor and gapes at Carla unattractively.

“You what?”

“I tossed it,” she replies. “Poured it all down the drain. Got rid of it. Whatever phrase you prefer.”

“He’ll just get more,” Samuel says.

“No, he won’t,” Carla replies crossly. “I tracked down the lady Valerio gets his liquor from this morning and told her I’d turn her in if she sold to Valerio. I gave her some money for good measure.”

Valerio takes a swipe at her with his knife but Carla dodges it so easily it’s almost laughable. Strangely enough, anger rises up in Samuel.

“How is what he does any of your business?”

She lets out an incredulous laugh.

“It’s entirely my business, Samuel,” she snaps coldly. “However it ends up, two of us are going to be in the arena again with the other as a mentor. We can’t afford to have any drunks on the team, including you.”

“What?” he sputters indignantly. “I’ve only ever been drunk once – last night!”

“Exactly,” she snorts. “And look at the state of you.”

He isn’t sure what he’d been expecting from Carla since the Quarter Quell announcement. Maybe some gentleness or a few hugs. Maybe they’d assume that easy closeness that formed between them while his ankle was healing. Maybe he’d get to be her friend again. He wasn’t expecting this.

“What’s your angle with all of this?” Valerio asks, sighing a little.

“My angle is that two of us are going to come home from the arena. One victor and one mentor,” Carla responds. “I spoke to Cayeatana last night. She already sent me videos of the past games so we can learn as much about the other victor’s as possible. We’re going to start training tomorrow at sundown and start putting on weight. We’re going to be Careers. And one of us is going to be victor again whether you two like it or not!”

She looks almost furious, standing there, before she sweeps out of the room and slams the front door. Both he and Valerio wince at the sound.

“She’s more self-righteous than I thought she would be,” Samuel mutters.

“Tell me about it,” Valerio mumbles back, already sucking the drugs out of the empty bottles.

Samuel is silent for a moment.

“You and me. That’s who she plans on coming home,” he says.

“Ha. Well, then the joke’s on her.”

He and Valerio share a look and then go back to working at their soup.

After a few days of resistance, both he and Valerio agree to start training like Careers. After all, it’ll help get Carla prepared for the Games too. Increase her chances of staying alive. She doesn’t use her cane so much anymore now that the snow has melted, but there is still a light limp in her step, even though it’s almost unnoticeable now.

They watch recaps of the old games every night in one of their houses. It’s during this period that he finally enters Carla’s house for the first time. It smells of cinnamon, sugar and honey. In truth, they watch the Games at her place more often, seeing as the one time his mother walked in on a particularly brutal victor from district 2 – and one of their potential opponents – bashing in someone’s head with a jagged piece of rock and almost fainted.

Samuel realizes that it’s odd that they never met any of the other victors during their tour, and when he voices the thought aloud Valerio tells him that it’s the last thing of Teo would have wanted the people in the district’s to see, considering that victors generally hold an influential and popular status. Carla writes down pages upon pages of notes, her green eyes narrowed with interested, and Valerio offers information he’s gathered after years of being a mentor, allowing them to slowly learn about their competition.

It occurs to him one day that some of their opponents may be elderly, which is both sad and reassuring. It’ll be easier to get Carla home.

Every morning, they start off with drills and running through the Victor’s Village. They do sit ups, push-ups, carry weights, do stretches. They work on their combat skills throughout the day – throwing knives, hand-to-hand combat, throwing spear-like objects. He even teaches them to climb trees. No one tries to stop them training.

Even after all these years of abuse and addiction, Valerio is still remarkably strong, though his body stubbornly resists improvement. The shortest runs have him panting and collapsing on the ground. His hands shake so badly from withdrawal that it takes weeks for him to lodge his knife into a tree or the side of a house.

Samuel and Carla excel under this new schedule. It also helps keep his mind from drowning in despair. From focusing too much on the knowledge that the days he has left are dwindling. They spend hours poring over the plant book, memorizing whatever they can. His mother puts them on a special diet to gain weight, and Nano treats their sore muscles. His mother doesn’t broach the topic of him not going into the arena again, but she never outright states that he’s definitely going back in either, clinging onto whatever hope she can muster.

Even Rebe steps into the picture on Sundays, where she teaches Valerio and Carla how to set snares and make fishhooks, her speciality. It’s odd having them both in the same room, talking to each other, but it works. Whatever issues they potentially have, they’ve set it aside.

One Sunday after hours of training, he and Rebe are sitting on his front porch when Carla starts to walk by. Her hair is damp from a shower, and she’s changed into a soft coloured dress, the scarf he made her tucked neatly around her neck.

“Hello,” she greets, face impassive, eyes slowly flickering in between him and Rebe.

“Hi,” he returns. “Going out?”

“Yeah,” Carla replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Dinner with my parents.”

At once, his posture stiffens. Carla notices it, and her face darkens.

“You don’t owe them anything,” he says, before he can stop himself.

“They’re my family, Samuel,” she replies evenly, flickering her hair over her shoulder before walking away. He doesn’t understand why she even talks to them still, after how they treated her. Samuel despises them both on principle. Maybe she’s trying to reconcile with them before her possible death.

Rebe doesn’t ask what they meant. When Samuel glances at her, he finds her expression closed off and contemplative.

“It would have been easier if you hated her,” she says finally. “Back in the first games.”

She’s right, in a way. It would have been easier. If Carla had died in the Games, if he hadn’t gone and helped her, he could have been a happy little victor all by himself.

“In some ways, sure,” he replies neutrally, careful to keep his voice impassive.

“Where would we be, do you think?” she asks him.

He gulps slightly.

“Hunting every Sunday,” he deflects, shying away. Rebe knows he chose her after he didn’t run away following her whipping. But he can’t promise her anything else. He can’t. Especially now. He doesn’t know how to tell her what he plans to do. That he doesn’t plan on coming back. That it’s probably for the best that he dies now because he can’t give her what she wants – what he knows she wants after all the hints she’s given over the years. Marriage. Children.

“It could not be you,” Rebe says quietly but earnestly. “If you’re picked, Valerio could volunteer. And if Valerio is picked—”

“Rebe, stop—”

“You don’t have to volunteer,” she tells him. “You don’t, Samuel.”

“I can’t just let them die!” he bursts out. “Don’t ask me to do that, Rebe.”

“Why? Why can’t you just stay and be here? For me, for your family—”

“That isn’t fair,” he says.

“It’s survival, Samu—”

“She’s going in there because of me!” Samuel snaps. “Don’t ask me to let them go in there and do nothing. Don’t ask it of me, Rebe.”

He stands up abruptly, flustered and upset, and disappears into his room.

He shouldn’t spend his last few days arguing with any of his family. He knows that, and so he tries to be better. Tries to find the words to express to Rebe, to Nano and his mom how much they mean to him, how much he loves them.

By the time the reaping day comes, a hot summer day, he’s almost narrowed down the words. Has practiced everything he wants to say in his mind.

He, Carla, Valerio and Cayeatana are all on the stage.

“Welcome, welcome,” their escort croons into the microphone, “to this very special day!”

But even her voice sounds hollow.

“As usual,” Cayeatana continues, high heels clicking against the stage. “Ladies first.”

It’s useless, anyway, since the only slip in there is Carla’s. Cayeatana rings out her name, and Carla doesn’t even stir, the wind catching on her curls.

“Now, for the men,” Cayeatana declares.

Samuel feels his heart tighten. He watches as she dips her hand into the bowl. Valerio will keep his promise, he thinks anxiously. He has to.

Cayeatana’s features are pinched as she pulls the slip out and walks over to the microphone.

“Valerio Rojas,” Cayeatana announces. The name sweeps over the crowd, and Samuel can hear some muttering. He’s too stunned to figure out what they’re saying. Valerio. Valerio. Why on earth was his name called? It’s supposed to be Samuel. That’s what Teo wants. There’s no doubt about that. Valerio and Carla will go into the Games and Samuel will have to watch them die as his punishment. There’s no saying what will happen to his family if he stays on as a mentor.

Samuel will have watched them both die, and his family may not even be safer for it. No, the safest option, the best option – the only one where he could live with himself -- is for him to go back into the arena and die there. Teo wants him dead, and if Samuel is dead there would be no reason for him to harm Nano or his mom or Rebe or even Valerio. And Carla.

Carla, who is being forced back into the arena because of a choice Samuel made. Carla, who deserves to live a long and happy life. An image floats in his mind of him watching her die on some screen as he sits safely in the Capitol, and it’s so wrong that Samuel just reacts on instinct.

He blocks Valerio from going to Cayeatana and forces him behind with a sweep of his arm, just like he did with Nano.

“I volunteer,” Samuel says. “I volunteer as tribute.”

The words aren’t as frenzied and desperate as they were last year when he volunteered for Nano, but they are certain, nonetheless. Resolute. Carla will make it out of the arena no matter what. His dying wish.

Valerio grips onto his arm.

“I can’t let you do that, kid,” his mentor states, despite the deal they made. Maybe he thought Samuel would have changed his mind about their deal. Maybe Valerio feels guilty about him taking his place.

For some reason, Samuel laughs.

“You can’t stop me.”

“Samuel—”

“Let go,” he says, peering into Valerio’s eyes. “Let go.”

Surely, he of all people will understand why Samuel has to do it. That he doesn’t have a choice. As if he can read his thoughts, Valerio’s eyes darken, and he lets go. Samuel moves towards Cayeatana, who looks aghast despite her best efforts. Past her, though, is Carla. Carla, who is staring at him with undeniable fury on her face, even as tears stream down her cheeks.

Samuel can’t bear to look at her, so he turns towards the crowd. His mother is sobbing against Nano’s shoulder, the only thing keeping her upright being the arm Nano has around her waist. His brother is crying too, but he doesn’t look surprised. He knew it would come to this. Nano knew.

Valerio will take care of them, as will Carla when she comes home. He isn’t worried about then starving to death like he was last year. He knows he should look at Rebe, but he can’t. He knows he’ll see the betrayal in her eyes, knows she won’t understand why he’s volunteered when he didn’t have to. That she doesn’t understand the risks, not really.

“Very well,” Cayeatana says.

Samuel looks at his escort, finds her crying silently as well. Somehow, it’s that touches him most of all. He knows what he wants to say to his family, to Rebe. How to say goodbye.

“The tributes of district twelve: Carla Caleruega and Samuel Garcia.”

Samuel reaches for Carla’s hand without even thinking, is comforted when hers meets it halfway. He looks back at his mom, at Nano, and doesn’t look away until someone shakes his arm.

“Move on,” Thread says, tugging him along. Another peacekeeper is doing the same to Carla. He can hear Cayeatana sputter into the microphone.

“I get to say goodbye,” Samuel snaps.

Thread smirks at him.

“New procedure.”

He’s forced off the stage along with Carla, Valerio and Cayeatana, and ushered off to the train station, all his goodbyes hanging on his lips.

“It’s better,” Carla tells him later as they lounge in the dining room. “You can write letters to them Samuel just in case—” She stops herself, features darkening. Samuel doesn’t miss how she omits herself in this scenario, either because she doesn’t see the point or because she doesn’t think her mom and uncle will want any letters.

Something bitter and angry twists in his gut, but he tries to shove it away. He closes his eyes, pictures letting all of his loved ones go like leaves in a breeze. After a while, the weight of his grief numbs. It’s better this way, he tells himself. Easier. Feeling nothing is better than feeling too much. It’ll help keep him alert.

His eyes dart to Carla. Anything to keep her alive.

Dinner starts soon afterwards, but none of them feel like talking. Even Cayeatana – ever chipper and happy – seems hollow and teary eyed. Valerio is already drinking again. Now that he doesn’t have to worry about being in the arena, Samuel supposes it doesn’t matter too much. He trusts Valerio to stay sober enough to help him and Carla survive.

“All right,” Cayeatana says, taking a sip from her wine. “Before we begin with all the preparations, I’ve had a thought.”

“You don’t say?” Valerio drawls, eyes glazed over.

Cayeatana looks a little ruffled, but brushes past Valerio’s comment like she usually does.

“Samuel has his gold mockingjay pin,” she says. She gestures towards her gold, glittery wig. Her lips are painted the same colour. “I have my hair. I’m going to get you two something gold.”

“Uh, why is that?” Valerio questions, sounding disturbed.

“A token,” Cayeatana explains. “To show that we’re a team.”

Her voice wavers at the end, but she powers through. Touched, Samuel reaches for her hand.

“Thank you,” he tells her genuinely.

Cayeatana smiles down at him.

“We have to show that they can’t just—” she breaks off again.

Valerio sighs a little but offers her his hand too. Samuel stares at his mentor with surprise, and Valerio steadily ignores his gaze. Carla watches them and smiles a little, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. He remembers the fury in her gaze after he volunteered for Valerio but it seems to have disappeared now. Perhaps she understood why he did it.

They eat dinner for a little while, and after the plates are cleared they sit in the living room and watch the television to see who has been reaped.

“Cashmere and Gloss,” Valerio states, staring up at the blonde-haired, stunningly beautiful tributes from District One. “Brother and sister. Won back-to-back games over ten years ago. Wil be lethal.”

An image of Samuel fighting Nano forms in his mind and he shudders at the thought. He doesn’t understand how they can smile so widely when one of them will be dead in a matter of days.

The screen turns to the tributes from district two, both of whom are volunteers, eager for a chance to be back in the games. The male is unbelievably muscular, some guy called Brutus, and the girl, Calliope, has had her teeth fashioned so sharply she can use them as weapons. Apparently ripping out her opponents throats was her signature move in the Games.

The tributes from three are some thin-looking twitchy individuals who look a bit lost.

“Don’t be fooled,” Valerio councils. “The girl – Mencia – killed eight other tributes in her year by electrocuting them all. She’s crazy smart and has been working for the Capitol for years now.”

Samuel watches as she pushes her glasses up her nose through the screen, and wonders if he may have to kill her. Her district partner, some guy called Beetee, looks a bit unstable too, twitching and muttering to himself. But Samuel trusts Valerio. If he’s supposed to see them all as threats, he will.

Things turn more interesting in district four. For the girls, some young girl with dark hair and bangs that fall over her eyes called Silene is reaped. She bursts into tears and starts covering her ears, but she doesn’t get the chance to move forward before an old lady named Mags volunteers in her place.

For the male tribute, it’s Christian Exposito. Even Samuel remembers him. Christian won the sixty-fifth hunger games when he was fourteen, the youngest ever. He’s perhaps the most popular Victor in the Capitol. He’s young, athletic, and incredibly gorgeous. He has curly brown hair that falls neatly on his forehead, and hazel eyes tinted with brown and green, framed by long dark lashes and tanned skin. He’s been fawned over by his numerous lovers for years now, but he never stays with any for long, going from one lover to the next, often within one visit.

Christian grins wolfishly at the camera now, smiling like he knows something all of them don’t.

“He’s one to watch out for,” Valerio says, pointing at the screen. “But he’ll also make a good ally.”

“Ally?” Samuel questions, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Samuel will only have one friend in the arena – only one person he needs to worry about protecting – and that someone isn’t from district four.

“You need allies,” Valerio explains. “All of the other victors have known each other for years, so you both are at a distinct disadvantage. You need to make allies, get sponsors, so they don’t all try and kill you first chance they get.”

“Makes sense,” Carla remarks quietly, looking pensive.

Valerio laughs.

“I wasn’t worried about you, sweetheart. You actually have a personality.”

“Thanks,” Samuel snipes, but he knows Valerio isn’t wrong.

Valerio points at him.

“You need to be somewhat approachable so people don’t hate you. You may even be lucky and attract people like Christian, total preener that he is.”

“Right,” he says. “Does he have any weaknesses?”

“For one thing, Mags,” Valerio says, gesturing at the screen. “The woman is like a mother to him. She mentored him in his first games.”

“He has to know she won’t survive,” Samuel states. “I bet if he comes down to it he won’t protect her.”

“Maybe,” Valerio allows, eyes tightening. Samuel feels something very akin to guilt form in his stomach. “Whatever happens, I hope she goes quick. She’s actually a very nice lady.”

The recap of the reapings continues.  The tributes from five and six are unremarkable. Valerio says they mostly hid until everyone else was dead and then developed drug addictions afterwards, something Valerio can surely understand. District 7 only has one surviving female victor too, Nadia O’Shana. She’s the one who pretended to be some weakling before poisoning the water supply after hiding away for most of the games and then picking off the remaining tributes with an axe. Her partner is visibly drunk during the ceremony, and Samuel writes him off.

Most of the tributes are old, Samuel realizes. Most have families and children. Others have let themselves go, bodies sagging and hair greying. None of them ever expected to go back into the arena.

When the recap finally reaches twelve, Carla turns off the tv. She’s been remarkably quiet all evening. Maybe she is still mad at him after all.

Cayeatana disappears off to bed soon afterwards, and Valerio dozes off in his chair, snoring loudly.

“Going to bed?” Carla asks him.

Samuel, having already stood, nods at her words. Carla doesn’t move.

“Goodnight then,” she says.

Samuel is half-tempted to ask her to join him so she can help him face the nightmares sure to come, but he swallows the words down and goes to bed alone.

Samuel wakes that night on the train screaming and writhing against the sheets, nightmares etched onto the back of his eyelids. His mother and Nano have just been eaten alive by mutts before his very eyes.

He stumbles out of bed, sweaty and cold all at once. He walks down the train compartments, and doesn’t even know what he’s looking for until he finds Carla curled up on the couch, a stack of notes beside her as she watches the recordings of the day’s reaping. He’s arrived just as the announcers start to cry as he volunteers for Valerio, Caesar Flickerman stating that the odds seem to never be in their favour. Then he and some other news anchor launch into a fervent discussion about what the arena could be.

Samuel is sick with it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Carla asks, setting down her mug on the table. She’s dressed in a grey nightgown that falls down to the middle of her thighs, along with a silk dressing robe.

He shakes his head.

“Want to talk about it?” she asks, standing. “I ordered enough hot chocolate for two of us.”

Sometimes that can help, but he doesn’t have the strength to do it. All he can hear now is the echo of his mother’s sobs as he volunteered for Valerio.

When Carla opens her arms, he doesn’t hesitate as he walks straight into them. Ever since they came back from the tour, Carla hasn’t touched him unless she’s absolutely had to. Since the Quarter Quell was announced, even before that, the steady closeness, the easy companionship they had formed in the weeks as his ankle heeled had vanished. She’d been abandoned any pretense of being his friend.

He wraps his arms tightly around her waist before she can pull away and distance herself from him again. He’s missed her. It’s only now, holding her in his arms that he realizes how much. Warmth blooms on his neck where her lips brush against the skin, slowly spreading through the rest of him. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that he knows he won’t be the first to let go.

And why should he? He will never see Rebe again. Nothing he can do can hurt her now. If he kisses Carla now in front of the cameras, she will think of it as an act. It is at least one weight off his shoulders.

Slowly, they break apart.

Samuel gestures with his head towards the tapes piled next to her.

“Which one were you planning on watching next?” he asks, plopping down on the couch.

She sits beside him.

“Not sure,” she says, passing him a few. “You pick.”

His eyes dart across the tapes and land on the number fifty. Valerio’s Games.

He reaches out and holds it in his hands.

“Is this the only quarter quell we have?” he questions.

“Yeah. The victor from twenty-five is long dead so I didn’t see the point in getting them.” A moment of silence. “Why? Do you want to watch it?”

For a second, Samuel hesitates. During their months of training, they hadn’t rewatched Valerio’s games. Somehow, it felt like an invasion of privacy. After all, Samuel hardly wanted to see his Games again, so he understood Valerio’s hesitance. But Samuel is also unbelievably curious despite himself.

“I don’t think Valerio wants to watch it,” he murmurs.

“I get that,” Carla says. “I certainly don’t want to rewatch ours. But I think if we don’t tell him, it won’t hurt.”

She slides in the tape and they tuck in.

At once, Samuel is overwhelmed by the sheer amount of tributes being reaped. So many kids being sent off to their deaths since tribute number was doubled because of the quarter quell. The rest of the reaping passes by quickly until it reaches district twelve, which makes sense considering that’s where the victor is from.

Samuel hates to admit it, but Valerio was very much a looker those days. High and sharp cheekbones, tanned skin, dark eyes, a thin but muscular frame. He had the Seam look that Samuel had most his life. From the girl’s side, one girl is from the Seam and the other looks Merchant with her blonde hair and blue eyes, or at least she would if it were not for her raggedy clothes.

“That’s Guzman’s sister” Samuel blurts out, remembering what his mother told him. He squints. “She’s wearing my mockingjay!”

Or he’s wearing her mockingjay. That must have been why Guzman gave it to him.  With a chill, he realizes that his pin must be the only thing they had left of her when she returned from the Games.

She looks like Guzman too, with her light brown hair and light blue eyes.

The chariot entrance comes and goes, with the costumes from district twelve  looking particularly embarrassing – a coal miner’s outfit. And then the interviews fly by too. Valerio is arrogant, cocky, but almost casual about it in a way.

“He didn’t have to try hard for that, did he?” Samuel mutters.

Carla makes a sound of agreement.

By the half-hour mark, they’re watching Valerio enter the arena. It’s a remarkably beautiful place, almost idyllic. Samuel is awestruck himself, and every tribute reflects his expression. Even Valerio looks pleased by his surroundings, though it immediately fades into a scowl. It’s breathtaking, really. The field surrounding the Cornucopia is covered in patches of vibrantly coloured flowers and the sky is a clear, bright blue, lightened by a golden sun. Songbirds flutter around in the trees, whistling sweetly. An aerial shot shows that the meadow extends for miles. In the distance, in one direction, there seems to be woods. In the other, a snowcapped mountain.

When the gong sounds, many of the players are struck still with disbelief. But not Valerio. He’s already at the Cornucopia before many of the players even step off the platform and leaves armed with weapons, food and supplies. Eighteen tributes die during the bloodbath, but even more die in the arena. It soon becomes clear that everything there is poisonous – the fruit dangling from the trees, the water in the crystal clear streams, everything. Only rainwater and the food provided at the Cornucopia is to be trusted.

Valerio has his own issues in the woods – he fends off attacks by carnivorous squirrels and butterflies whose stings bring tremendous pain if not death.  But he keeps on moving forward, keeping the mountain at his back.

Guzman’s elder sister – Marina – is a surprisingly resourceful girl herself, especially since she only leaves the Cornucopia with a small red backpack filled with a blowgun filled with darts, bandages and some dried turkey pieces. She transforms the blowgun into a deadly weapon by coating the darts in poison found in the arena and directing them into her opponents flesh.

Things pick up for Valerio when he stumbles into three Careers in the woods. He manages to finish off two of them before being disarmed by the third, and Valerio is just about to be killed when the third career drops dead, a dart in the back of her head.

“We’d last longer with two of us,” Marina says, stepping out of the shadows.

“I guess you just proved that,” Valerio replies, rubbing his neck. “Allies?”

She nods, and just like that they’re trapped into one of those pacts anyone would be hard-pressed to break. They sleep better, eat better, and just generally do better together, covering each other’s backs. Valerio keeps on insisting on carrying on, until Marina demands a reason why.

“The arena must end somewhere,” he replies, looking ahead at the seemingly endless meadow and woods. “It can’t go on forever.”

“What do you even expect to find?”

“I don’t know,” Valerio says. “I don’t know.”

They reach the end of the arena after a few days, bloodied and bruised from a fight with another Career.

“This is it,” Marina says. “This is it, Valerio. Let’s go back.”

“No, I’m staying here,” he replies. Samuel almost thinks his voice breaks.

“Okay,” Marina murmurs. “There’s only five of us left. May as well say goodbye now. I don’t want it to come down to you and me.”

“Alright,” Valerio says, shrugging. That’s it. He doesn’t even look at her or offer her a hand. Samuel glances at Carla from the corner of his eye. He could never have done that to her – or to Omar for that matter.

Marina walks away. Valerio skirts along the edge of the cliff as if trying to figure something out. He sits down, legs dangling over the edge, and tosses a pebble in front of him as he thinks. A minute later, it shoots back at him. Samuel can see the puzzlement on Valerio’s face before his mentor bursts out laughing.

That is when Marina begins to scream. She’s the one who broke off the alliance, so no one would blame Valerio if he ignored her, but he goes for her anyway. He arrives just in time to see the poisonous swarm of butterflies she stumbled into fly away after stinging her to death. Unlike the tracker jacker bites, these ones seem barely visible, so while he holds her hand as she dies she still looks like herself.

Samuel is reminded of Omar and something twists in his chest.

The days dwindle by, and soon only Valerio and a girl from district one are left to vie for the crown. She’s bigger than he is and just as fast, and the fight that comes is bloody and awful. Both sustain what could well be fatal wounds before Valerio is finally disarmed. He stumbles through the woods, covering his stomach with his hands to keep his intestines in, while she staggers after him. He leads her towards his cliff as she drags the axe that should deliver his death blow. Valerio has just reached the edge and collapses just in time to miss the axe she throws at his head. Weaponless, the girl stands there, hands pressed over her empty eye socket where blood is pouring, perhaps thinking she can just wait him out, when the axe comes flying back and lodges itself in her head.

The canon sounds and then the trumpets are blaring, declaring Valerio the winner of the Games.

Finally, Carla clicks off the tape and they sit there in silence.

“You were right,” Samuel says. “In the arena. What you said about Valerio winning because he outsmarted the others. You were right.”

“It’s more than that though,” Carla says. “He found a way to turn the force field into a weapon. No one expected that to happen – the tributes, the victor’s, anyone. It made them look stupid that he figured it out.”

Samuel starts to laugh then.

“It’s almost as bad as us with the berries,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Almost,” Valerio interjects from somewhere behind them.

Samuel and Carla whip around. He’s afraid Valerio is going to be angry with them, but his mentor only smirks and takes a swing from his bottle of wine.

Samuel stares at Valerio, and some new kind of confidence forms inside of him. After seeing how he won the Games, he thinks he finally understands who his mentor is. How clever Valerio is underneath all the booze and bluster. And surely two people who have caused the Capitol so much trouble can think of a way to get Carla home alive.

This year for their costumes Ander and Alexis have upped the ante. Last year Ander left him mostly alone in terms of makeup, but this year Ander applies some substance that accentuates his features, makes them look sharper and chiselled. His outfit is a fitted black jumpsuit that covers him from the neck down. Ander places a half-crown on his head, like the one President Teo gave Samuel when he was crowned Victor, but it’s made of black metal not gold.

Ander then presses a button on the inside of Samuel’s wrist. He looks down, fascinated, as his ensemble comes alive. First it’s a soft golden light but then it transforms into the orange-red of burning coal. He looks as though he has been coated in glowing embers.

“You’re incredible,” he tells Ander gratefully. He reaches for his hand and squeezes it. “You’re incredible.”

Ander grins.

“I know,” his stylist replies cheekily, making Samuel laugh.

Samuel stares at himself in the mirror. He looks like some dark, unworldly creature. He looks dangerous.

A few of the underling stylists burst into tears when they catch sight of him, no doubt certain that he is going to die. He is, but their emotional nature annoys him.

“How come you aren’t crying?” he asks Ander, slightly jokingly.

“I channel all of my emotions into my work,” his friend replies. “That way no one else gets hurt.”

Samuel hums slightly, and lets Ander work his magic.

Like last year, Ander leads him to where the chariots are being held. Samuel starts petting the black horses pulling them, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as the rest of the tributes talk amongst themselves. He doesn’t have the courage to face them without Carla.

“Hey boy,” he whispers, petting the horse’s mane. “How did we get here?”

Samuel is distracted by a large crunching sound echoing by his ear. He turns to find Christian Exposito standing mere inches from his face, holding a bunch of sugar cubes in his hands. Instantly, he rears back, uncomfortable with his proximity.

“Samuel,” the other man greets, smirking.

“Christian.”

“Do you want a sugar cube?” Christian asks, waving one of the small squares around in the air. “They’re supposed to be for the horses but who cares about them, right? They’ve got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I…” Christian throws one of the cubes in the air and catches it deftly with his other hand. “Well, if we see something sweet, we better take it fast.”

“No thanks,” Samuel replies coolly, gritting his teeth. “Though I would like to borrow that outfit someday.”

The only article of clothing Christian is wearing is some net wrapped around his private regions to protect his modesty. Other than that, his muscular, tanned frame is exposed for all to see.

“Ha!” Christian says, laughing. “You look pretty terrifying in that get up. What happened to the whole boy next door persona?”

“I outgrew it,” Samuel says, feeling quite strongly that he’s being made fun of it.

“You must certainly did,” Christian grins, hazel eyes flashing with false mirth. Samuel’s insides squirm uncomfortably, but he forces himself to stand tall.

“Shame about the whole Quell thing,” Christian continues, licking his lips. “You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you want. You could have been worshipped.”

“Well, I don’t like jewels and I have more money than I need, so,” Samuel shrugs, trying to feign indifference. “What did you do with all your money, anyway?”

Christian laughs again.

“Oh honey, I haven’t dealt with something as common in money in years.”

Annoyed at the endearment, Samuel tries not to scowl.

“Well then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?” he asks bitingly.

Christian steps so close to Samuel he can feel his breath grazing his face.

“With secrets,” the elder boy replies. “What about you, boy on fire? Any secrets worth my time?”

“No,” Samuel says, trying not to flush and failing. He isn’t really attracted to boys, but even he can’t help but be overwhelmed by Christian’s presence. “I’m an open book. Everyone seems to know my secrets before I know them myself.”

“Unfortunately, I think that’s true.”

Christian’s eyes flicker behind Samuel, and he turns to see Carla walking towards them. If last year she looked otherworldly, this year she looks like something that shouldn’t exist, and he means that in the best way possible. Her makeup is dark and dramatic, highlighting her cheekbones and making her green eyes all the more noticeable.

“I’m sorry you had to cancel your wedding,” Christian says. He pauses a moment. “Though maybe it’s best we didn’t become friends. I would have hated stealing Carla from you.” The other boy laughs a little. “If you need any girl advice, boy on fire, let me know.”

And then he walks away.

“What did he want?” Carla asks him.

Samuel just manages to regain the ability to speak after staring at her.

“Nothing much,” he says. “He threatened to steal you away, so be careful.”

Carla laughs, and then they’re being waved onto their chariots.

“Remember, no smiling or waving this time,” Ander says, helping them both onto the chariot. “I want you to look straight ahead as if this audience and the whole event is beneath you.”

They don’t smile or wave as Ander asked, but they do hold hands. Of course they will go into this as one. Samuel can’t help but wonder if part of Carla is glad it’s him beside her instead of Valerio. Wonders if he can offer her some comfort in all of this misery. In truth, if she did, he wouldn’t blame her. She’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

The crowd goes thunderous at the sight of them, and Samuel knows just like last year they will be the talk of the show. This year he doesn’t bother with pleasantries or trying to look friendly for sponsors. This year they are scornful, angry, unforgiving. The star-crossed lovers whose love story was ended tragically long before its time.

And he loves it.

He even thinks for one moment that President Teo watches them both from where stands on the balcony at the President’s mansion, but he can’t be sure. They’re all supposed to wave at the President as the carriage rolls by, but Samuel and Carla don’t bother.

Soon, the chariot entrance is over, and they’re free to step off the chariot behind closed doors. Some of the victor’s have disappeared already, others are drinking heavily, and some are talking. He and Carla walk over to Valerio, who is talking to the tributes from district eleven. Samuel knows he’s friends with the male one, Chaff, from years of seeing them drink together on tv during the Games.

The woman seeder is older than both Valerio and Chaff, and Samuel can’t help but think of the children that clung to her waist when her name was called. She hugs both him and Carla as Valerio introduces them, and before he can think twice about it he whispers in her ear, “The families?”

Referring to Omar’s and May’s of course.

“They’re alive,” she breathes back, pulling away.

Chaff bumps him so hard on the chest he coughs and presses a kiss to Carla’s lips in greeting. She jerks back, startled, and Samuel goes with her as she walks away. They’re directed towards the elevators by the Capitol attendants, who seem uncomfortable with the camaraderie amongst the victors. Samuel remembers last year, how almost every tribute stuck to themselves, and imagines that they must be unnerved by the difference too.

They’re joined in the elevator by Valerio, who had stumbled after them, and the girl from seven, Nadia O’Shana, who tries to tuck the curly hair out of her eyes.

“Nadia,” Valerio greets.

“Valerio.”

She doesn’t look at him or Carla.

“I like your costume,” Carla says.

Finally, Nadia acknowledges their presence, but since she does so by huffing and rolling her eyes Samuel doesn’t think Valerio is too impressed with either of them.

“Right,” Nadia snorts. “I’m sure you like more poofy dresses, like the ones they showed for your wedding. Sorry you two had to cancel that, by the way.” The way she says it makes it clear she doesn’t mean it at all.

The elevator dings, and she steps out onto her floor without another word.

“What was that about?” Samuel says.

Valerio shrugs.

“Just ignore it,” he advises. “Go and get ready for dinner when we get back. You’ll need all the rest you can get.”

Samuel showers, changes, and goes to the dining room. Everyone else is there waiting for him, including Carla, who is now bare faced. He sits next to her, listens as Cayeatana praises their appearance, claiming that everyone in the Capitol is raving about them. Ander and Alexis’ talents are unquestionable but considering the fact that more than half of the tributes have let themselves go in terms of drink and drugs, that’s no difficult feat.

Everything is going well enough until Cayeatana looks up midway through the meal and frowns slightly before shaking her head.

“Well,” she says brightly, “I suppose they got you a matching set this year.”

Samuel turns his head to see the same red-haired Avox boy from last year, before his eyes dart to their new avox. His utensils clatter on the table as he stares, gaping.

Their new avox is Daria.

Carla reaches out and holds onto his hand, as if trying to hold him back. No doubt she recognises her too from the square the day that Rebe got whipped. Samuel hadn’t known what happened to Daria since he saw her laying there, unconscious in the town square, being carried away by peacekeepers.

And here she is now. No doubt President Teo was delighted with the arrangement, something personally designed to unhinge him.

Samuel forces himself to look away. If he does anything, says anything, it will result in punishment for Daria. Valerio’s features are dark too. He must also recognize Daria from the Hob, where she was at frequently, smiling and teasing, genuinely pleasant to be around.

The meal continues, if somewhat more quietly than before. At some point, Samuel drops his utensil on the ground and dives down to pick it up before anyone can say anything. Daria is there, clutching his hand underneath the tablecloth, and they don’t let go until Cayeatana calls out, “That isn’t your job, Samuel.”

Afterwards, Carla follows him into his room before he can shut the door. He wants her there, that’s true, but he doesn’t deserve it. This is all his fault. All of it. Daria. Rebe. That old man in eleven. Omar. And now Carla.

But she’s still here anyway, helping him onto the bed. She helps tuck him in.

“Samuel,” she says, her voice just barely audible. “Samuel, this isn’t your fault.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can only picture Daria getting her tongue cut out – his mother crying herself to sleep.

He doesn’t deserve her comfort. He doesn’t. But Samuel isn’t a good enough person to ask her to leave. Maybe he can blame that on the damage done by the Games, but truth be told he isn’t sure.

In the end, he doesn’t have to ask. Carla slips into the sheets beside him and opens her arms. He scoots into them willingly.

“This isn’t your fault,” she whispers again, almost as if trying to convince him.

Maybe she’s trying to convince herself.

The thought makes his stomach constrict.

“It isn’t.”

He falls asleep to dreams of bloody tongues, his mother, Rebe and Nano staring at him, mouths open, blood pouring out from the wounds.

Unlike last year, Valerio advises that they split up to cover as many stations as possible.

“Make friends,” he tells them, scowling as he ushers them out the door.

Carla easily walks off and integrates herself in a conversation with the tributes from one. Samuel watches her, slightly envious over how easily she carries herself, and sets off to the survival skills section. In truth, the training room is pretty empty, especially compared to last year. Most tributes haven’t even bothered to show up, at least not now.

He practices making fires by himself until he’s distracted by the tributes from three. The girl, Mencia, is frowning deeply as she twists a twig laughably slow over a small pile of pine, trying to get it to light. Her partner, Beetee, is giving her instructions, but he seems at a loss too.

Seeing the opportunity, Samuel reluctantly approaches them.

“You need to move it faster,” he tells them, gesturing with his hands. “And lower.”

Unbidden, a memory of Nano teaching him to light a fire years ago pops in his mind. Then, an image of Rebe, bent over a small campfire, her face narrowed in concentration. He shakes it away.

Mencia follows his advice and soon the pine needles prickle.

“Ah!” she gasps, eyes wide with delight.

Samuel suddenly realizes that she can’t be that much older than him. Her Games took place the year Nano lost his arm, so he didn’t pay attention all that much. Must be why he forgot about her. Beetee is older than them both though. He may have even mentored her.

The thought of becoming allies with them – with anyone, really, besides Carla – makes him distinctly uncomfortable, but they’re better than Nadia, who is testing her knowledge of poisonous plants and knocking every single test out of the park, or Calliope, the girl from two, who is fighting the Capitol trainer viciously, as if she’s in the games already. Carla is in the centre of an avid knife throwing circle, talking to the tributes from ten. He forgets who they are.

“A little brute force is always helpful,” Mencia continues, grinning a little. Her glasses are almost too big for her face, though she is quite pretty. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” he murmurs, nodding a little.

Beetee’s expression turns a little vacant as he stares off into the distance.

“By the table,” he says out of the blue.

Mencia and Samuel turn to look. He can see Benjamin – the new head gamemaker – standing with the rest of the gamemakers. They look more professional and attentive this year compared to last year.

“What?” he asks, right as Mencia lets out a sound of acknowledgement.

“Look,” she says, directing his gaze. “At the corner of the table.”

Samuel feels a bit like an idiot, but he squints his eyes until he spots it. The slight shimmer of the force field.

“It separates us and them,” Beetee mumbles.

“Probably my fault,” he offers offhandedly. “I shot an arrow at them last year.”

“Hmm, electromagnetic,” Mencia says, more to herself than anyone else.

“How can you tell?”

They both start giggling like little kids, as if he’s asked the dumbest question on earth.

“What, is it obvious or something?”

They keep on laughing.

“They might as well have a sign,” Beetee snickers.

Mencia’s laughter dies a little.

“Look around you,” she says. “The lights, the holograms. They flicker every now and then. Why?”

“Because the force field is taking up too much energy,” he answers after a moment.

Mencia smiles at him, and the look in her eyes is almost approving.

“There’s always a flaw in the system,” she tells him.

He chats with them for a little bit more before moving on to another station. He dabbles in snares for a bit, brushes up on his knowledge of edible plants, and then moves on to the knot tying station. He works there for a bit before broad arms encircle him, easily reaching out and finishing the knot he was agonizing over. Of course it’s Christian, who has probably spent most of his childhood wielding tridents and manipulating ropes into nets to catch more fish, seeing as the main focus of district four is fishing. He watches as Christian manipulates the rope into a noose and pretends to hang himself for his amusement.

Samuel rolls his eyes and walks away before Christian can make some playful if somewhat insulting remark, and heads over to the fishhook station, where he finds Mags, the old woman, working hard. The trainer tries to assist him for a bit, but when Samuel realizes that she can make a better fishhook he mostly just tunes in to her and follows what she’s doing.

The words that come out of her mouth aren’t intelligible, but she gives good advice, until he can make a fishhook pretty well on his own.

“Thank you,” he tells her genuinely. “I saw what you did for that young girl. Volunteering for her. It’s very brave.”

She reaches out and pats his chest.

“Nano is my brother,” he says, sadness gripping his heart. He shakes his head to clear himself of it. “Would you like me to show you how to use a bow? You just spent so long teaching me this, it’s only fair.”

Mags grins at him.

Samuel goes over to the archery range and shows her the basics of how to hold it and aim, before she urges him with her hands to practice. The trainer quickly sees that the standing targets are not really a challenge for him, so he starts to launch these silly fake birds high into the air for him to hit. At first he feels a bit stupid, but it soon turns kinda fun. Mags applauds him everytime he strikes one down, and seeing as he strikes them all down he hears an endless clapping for at least ten minutes.

After the trainer runs out of birds, Samuel realizes that the entire training station is quiet. He turns to find all of the tributes staring at him, their faces showing everything from envy to hatred to admiration.

Later, Valerio pounces on them at dinner.

“At least half of the tributes want you guys at allies,” he says. “What on earth did you do? I know it wasn’t your shining personality, handsome. And even you aren’t that charming, Carla.”

“They saw him shoot,” she says, smiling a little. “I saw him shoot too, properly, for the first time. I’m about to put in a formal request myself.”

Seeing as he’s planning to die for her, that’s a bit of a moot point, but he keeps that thought to himself.

“You’re that good?” Valerio questions, almost incredulous.

Samuel shrugs.

“Good enough that even the siblings want you?”

“But I don’t want Gloss or Cashmere,” he says. “I want Mencia, Beetee and Mags.”

Valerio scowls at him.

“I’ll tell them you’re still making up your mind,” he says, tucking a bottle of wine in his jacket pocket and disappearing to his room.

Samuel sits there for a moment.

“How are we going to kill these people, Carla?” he asks softly. Even getting to know them today was hard enough. At least last year he didn’t know whether or not any of them had families or friends or loved ones waiting for them. At least, except for Omar and Carla. Now, he knows a little about each tribute, and he’s expected to get to know them more.

He looks at Carla, finds her looking perplexed as well.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “I don’t know.”

The days slip by.

Samuel goes to the training centre with Carla each day and mingles with the other tributes as best he can. Some days it’s even fun, getting to know them, but it also weakens his resolve. How can he kill Seeder, for example, when he knows she has three kids at home waiting for her? How can he kill Mencia when he’s seen her laugh so hard she snorted water up her nose?

He doesn’t know how he’ll be able to do it.

Actually, he does know how.

He has to, to keep Carla alive. Whatever it takes. He holds the thought of her growing old and gray close to his heart, a guiding light through all the moral turmoil. Carla dying old and warm in her bed is the purpose for all of this. There is no other way.

The day of the private session rolls around quite quickly. Samuel isn’t too concerned about what to do for them. After all, he isn’t fighting to get home this time around. He’ll just shoot some arrows here and there.

“Do you know what you want to do?” he asks Carla.

She shrugs.

“Not really,” she admits. “Figured I’d just do the same as last year or something.”

“You should do some camouflage,” he suggests. “You were incredible last year.”

“Maybe, if the morphlings have left me anything to work with,” she says wryly. “They’ve been glued to that station since we started.”

They sit in silence for a while as the tributes disappear into their sessions.

“Have you made any more thought about allies?” she asks him quietly.

Samuel frowns.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I wish Valerio hadn’t asked us to do so. It was hard enough last year, though I don’t think I could have killed Omar, anyway. He reminded me too much of Nano.”

Carla looks at him closely.

“His death really was the most despicable, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” he replies. “None of them were pretty.” He thinks of Glimmer’s and Polo’s gruesome ends, both at his hands and shudders.

Carla is called for her session around an hour later. She’s in there for at least forty minutes, long enough that he’s worried she’s hurt herself or something. When he’s called in, he smells some strong scent of cleaning detergent. The floors near the camouflage station are wet, but he can still see the faint outlines of whatever Carla drew on the floor.

He nears it and when he sees what it is he lifts a hand to his mouth.

She’s drawn Omar. Omar, after Samuel had covered his little body in flowers. He’s shocked, stunned, touched. Tears pierce his eyes. His death really was the most despicable, wasn’t it?

And suddenly Samuel is angry. No, he is furious. All of their deaths were despicable. Even Lucrezia and Polo’s and all the other kids who died in the Games. He turns to look at the Gamemakers, none of whom will meet his eye, including Benjamin’s. He feels a pang of worry too. Carla will have upset them with this, and it’s his job to draw attention away from her, to help keep the line of fire directed solely at him.

You have no idea how much I loathe you,  he thinks, staring at all of them.

And suddenly he knows exactly what he’s going to do. Something that will blow what Carla did out of the water. He flies to the knot tying station and makes a respectable noose before dragging one of the target dummies out into the middle of the room. He uses some chinning bars to dangle it by its neck. He hurries over to the camouflage station, dips his fingers in the bright red colour, the same as blood, and paints the name on its body, concealing it from view until he’s done.

He moves out of the way so the Gamemakers can read it.

Malick Daou.

At once, a few of them let out a few shrieks. Some faint.

Only Benjamin looks him right in the eye, though he doesn’t look pleased.

“You may go, Mr. Garcia,” the older man says.

Samuel mockingly bows and then leaves.

Both he and Carla make history that night by scoring twelves.

Unlike last year, none of them feel like celebrating.

“Why would they do that?” he asks, to no one in particular.

After they’d told Valerio what they did for their private sessions, their mentor had turned and thrown his glass to the other end of the room.

“So the tributes would have no choice but to hunt you,” their mentor says dispassionately. “Just go, both of you. Get out of my sight. At least you didn’t pick allies, so you won’t kill any of my friends with your stupidity.”

Carla and Samuel head to bed then, curl up in each other’s arms like they have been doing the past few nights. At least being in the Capitol has brought back this, and with it the only chance Samuel has of getting a decent night’s sleep.

For some reason, neither of them have nightmares that night.

They wake the next morning to find out that the day they spent training last year for the cameras they now have free since Cayeatana and Valerio have deemed them trained enough for the cameras.

“This means we have a whole day to ourselves,” he says to Carla.

At first, they aren’t sure of what to do, but then they order some food from the kitchens, put it in a basket along with some blankets, and head out onto the roof, the same one that he told Carla the truth about the red haired avox boy a year ago.

They spend the day eating and talking to each other quietly, but most of all they’re just silent. Just soaking in each other’s presence. No one disturbs them, and Samuel is glad for it. It almost feels like it did during those weeks in winter when his ankle was injured, when his mother and Nano would be out for hours and Carla would keep him company.

“Samuel,” she asks him in the middle of the day. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he hums, eyes closed. His head is in her lap, her fingers running through his hair.

“What did you mean during your proposal when you said that we bleed the same?”

At that, his eyes fly open. He hadn’t even realized that she’d noticed his abbreviation from the script that Cayeatana gave them. It had been the only thing he said that had been entirely his own. He fidgets a little as he tries to find the words.

“We’ve been through so much together, right?” he says. “We understand each other. Our nightmares. The things that keep us up at night. You understand. No matter what happens or where we end up, that isn’t going to change. We went through similar things in the Games. We kept each other alive.”

“We bleed the same,” she finishes quietly.

“Exactly,” he says. “Exactly.”

Something probes his heart, something warm and fluttery, but he shoves it away. It’s nice to just be.

At some point he must drift off because Carla is soon shaking him awake.

“Look,” she says, pointing to the horizon. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss the sunset.”

“Thank you,” he tells her.

Since he can count on one hand the number he has left, he is. They sit there and watch the sky turn a brilliant orange imbued with purples and yellows, and don’t say anything at all.

For the moment, they don’t have to.

“It’s heavier than I remember it being,” Samuel tells Ander, looking at the suit in the mirror.

President Teo had personally requested that he and Carla wear the wedding outfits voted most popular by the Capitol population. Apparently, the poll had still happened despite the Quarter Quell announcement.

Samuel is dressed in an all-white suit, the kind the grooms wear in the Capitol here.

“I had to make some adjustments for lighting,” Ander replies.

Samuel nods, but he doesn’t quite see what that has to do with anything.

He glances up at the television screen, where Gloss and Cashmere are in the midst of doing their interview with Caesar Flickerman. This year, they seem to be pretty lax about which tribute goes first or second, so long as the districts go in order. Seeing as they are brother and sister, it makes sense.

“You guys have become part of our family,” Gloss tells the crowd, wiping tears from his eyes.

Samuel scoffs.

“Does anyone actually believe this stuff?” he says.

Ander lets out a small chuckle and gestures to the other side of the room, where Cayeatana is wiping her face with a tissue.

“They’re pretty convincing to me too,” Ander says.

Strangely enough, it’s only then that the full extent of the Victor’s feelings of betrayal hit Samuel. He’d assumed that most of them – especially the Careers – would just accept their lot and move on. It’s only as he watches each interview that he sees how angry each of them are at having to go back in the arena again, at being denied their chance to live out the rest of their days despite being promised safety after winning the Games.

Samuel is angry too, but he imagines it’s worse for them. Them, who have spent years if not decades healing from the wounds the arena left and expanding their families. The siblings set the ground running. There are a few tributes – like the man from two – who are either eager to be back in the Games or too incoherent – like the tributes from six – to add onto the fire, but the rest do. Mencia, in that twitchy way of hers, questions the legality of the Games. Christian recites a love poem he wrote for his dearest love, making most of the crowd scream in a frenzy.

A few of the tributes even say that the Capitol must believe that the audience doesn’t care much about them at all to put them back in the Games, and that surely no one could have expected the Victor’s and the Capitol to form such a close relationship, could they?

By the time it’s his and Carla’s turn, the audience is a wreck. People have been weeping and collapsing and calling for change.

Carla appeared near the middle of the interviews, clad in a white if overtly poufy wedding dress covered in pearls, her eyelids covered in a silvery glow.

“Really?” Nadia had said, staring at Carla in disbelief and disgust. “A wedding dress?”

“President Teo said I had to wear it,” Carla had replied. “Alexis didn’t have a choice.”

Like him, Carla wouldn’t let anyone say anything bad about their stylists.

Nadia had done something strange then. It had been the first time Samuel saw something close to a smile flicker on her plump lips.

“Make him pay for it, okay?” she said to them both, reaching out to straighten Samuel’s tie.

Now, Carla gestures for him to go first, looking at the crowd’s reaction. The rest of the victors, instead of being allowed to leave and return to their apartments like last year, are now expected to sit on a platform at the back of the stage, slightly elevated.

The sight of him in his wedding suit practically causes a riot. No more star-crossed lovers, no more wedding, no more happily ever after. Even Caesar, ever the professional, has a hard time keeping a straight face.

After a few minutes of chaos, there’s a lull.

“So, Samuel, this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there something you’d like to say?”

His eyes search through the crowd for a familiar face. Finally, he lands on Ander, just like he did last year. His friend is smiling at him encouragingly and discretely lifts his finger and twirls it around, indicating for him to spin.

Samuel’s voice trembles a little as he speaks.

“Only that I’m so sorry you’ll never get to be at mine and Carla’s wedding… you should see her, really. She’s beautiful. I’m glad you got to see me in this suit, at least. Isn’t it wonderful?” He slowly turns around in a circle, extending his arms out so everyone can see the intricate patterns stitched on the back.

When he hears the screams of the crowd, he thinks it’s because they’re emotional. Then he notices the smoke surrounding him. Smoke. From fire. This isn’t some flickery stuff like he wore last year, but something very closer to the real deal. For a second he thinks that President Teo has ordered him burnt to death on stage, and he begins to panic as the smoke thickens. But the pain doesn’t come, so Samuel keeps spinning, charred bits of black fabric swirling into the air. Ander must be behind whatever is happening. He trusts his friend not to hurt him.

Then, quite suddenly, the fire is gone. He slows to a stop and hopes he isn’t naked, wonders why Ander put in so much effort for some theatrics.

He looks down and gasps.

His white suit is gone. He’s still wearing the exact same design, only it’s the colour of coal and made of tiny feathers. Stunned, he lifts his long, slowing sleeves in the air, and then he catches himself on the television screen. He’s clothes in black except for the white patches on his sleeves. Or should he say wings.

Because Ander has turned him into a mockingjay.

“You’re like a bird,” Caesar says, reaching out to touch the feathers.

“A mockingjay,” he clarifies, giving his wings a small flap.

A shadow of recognition flickers across Caesar’s face, and Samuel knows he’s aware of what the mockingjay has come to symbolize for the districts.

“Well hats off to your stylist,” Caesar declares. “Ander, please stand up so we can give you all a round of applause!”

Ander rises, and makes a small gracious bow.

Suddenly Samuel is terrified for his friend. What has he done? Something unbelievably dangerous. Something unforgiveable. And he’s done it for Samuel. The audience breaks into wild applause and then he’s lead to his seat with the rest of the Victors and watches as Carla comes onto the stage, a vision in her white dress.

The crying starts again, the crowd borderline hysterical, but they seem to ease somewhat as Carla and Caesar resume their charismatic partnership that they started last year during her interview. They effortlessly make a few jokes here and there, but soon enough it becomes clear that Carla is preoccupied. Caesar soon turns the conversation right into the subject that is on everyone’s minds.

“So, Carla, what was it like when you found out about the Quell?” asks Caesar.

“Shock,” she replies quietly, shaking her head dramatically. “I mean, one moment I’m trying on wedding dresses and am about to be married to my true love and then…” she trails off.

“You realized there was never going to be a wedding?” Caesar prompts gently.

Carla pauses for a long moment, as if deciding something. She gazes out into the starstruck audience, and then finally looks back at Caesar.

“Do you think everyone here can keep a secret?” she asks.

A few in the audience laugh. Keep a secret from whom? The whole world is watching.

“I am quite certain of it,” Caesar says, patting her hand reassuringly.

“We’re already married.”

Samuel has to look down at his lap to hide his confusion. There’s still smoke drifting from his suit, so it helps makes his eyes water, adding to the whole emotional appeal.

“But.. how can that be?” Caesar asks.

“It’s not an official marriage,” Carla explains. “Our parents never would have allowed that. But we have this ceremony in twelve. This marriage tradition.” She briefly describes the toasting.

“Were your parents there?” questions Caesar.

“No, no one,” she says. “Not even Valerio. Neither of us wanted to wait any longer, you know? We just love each other so much. And in our minds, we’re more married than any piece of paper or party could make us.”

“So this was before the Quell?”

“Of course it was before the announcement,” Carla says. “I don’t think we would have done it if we knew. It would have hurt too much.” She starts to get upset. “But who could have seen that coming? No one. We won the Games, we got to be victor’s for a little while, and everyone seemed so happy for us. It was like nothing could go wrong, you know? How could we have expected that?”

“You couldn’t have, Carla,” Caesar says comfortingly. “But I’m glad you guys did it so you had a few months of happiness together.”

To everyone’s surprise, Carla laughs bitterly.

“I wish we hadn’t done it,” Carla says, sighing into the microphone.

“Why?” Caesar can’t help but inquire. Even Samuel can hear the relentless curiosity in his tone. “At least you had a few months together as man and wife.”

“Maybe I would feel that way too,” Carla allows, rubbing her stomach. “If it weren’t—if it weren’t for the baby.”

With just a few words, Carla has outshone them all. Samuel can’t help but let out a gasp too. It takes a few seconds for the audience to fully process what Carla has just said. What it means. She is pregnant.

“Samuel volunteered to help keep me and the baby safe,” she continues. “I can’t help but love him for that.”

The shrieks that erupt from the crowd make him want to cover his ears. People are sobbing hysterically, groaning. He can hear cries and demands that the game be stopped. Some are even calling it barbaric. Because apparently, it’s unfathomable for an unborn child to potentially die instead of one that’s already living.

The crowd is incoherent and borderline rebellious. They’re so loud the buzzer signaling the end of Carla’s interview can’t even be heard. She returns to Samuel’s side, tears streaming down her face. How much of those are real, he wonders. Is she mourning the future she thinks she won’t have?

But she will have it, he resolves. Carla will grow old and have as many kids as she wants. She could never have kids too. Whatever she wants, so long as she is alive. He reaches for her hand, lets her place a kiss on his lips.

Without thinking, he reaches out to hold onto Chaff’s stump, meets the older man’s gaze. And then slowly the impossible happens. Each of the Victor’s reach out and hold hands. A united front against the capitol’s cruelty. The injustice of the Games. His heart skips a beat as he looks up at the cameras. No doubt they’ll try to break off. And they do.

Only they’re a moment too late. The lights cut out, but not before the crowd sees. Not before the cameras showcase at least a glimpse of the Victor’s holding hands.

They’re ushered off the stage by peacekeepers, and Samuel can still hear the crowd screaming and protesting as he and Carla ride up the elevator to their floor.

“Is there anything I need to apologize for?” she asks.

“No,” he replies, still holding onto her hand. “Not at all.”

They leave the elevator to find Valerio and Cayeatana waiting for them in the living room. Ander and Alexis must have been caught in the crowds.

Valerio starts to clap lazily, smirking at Carla.

“Good job, sweetheart,” he says. His face darkens a little. “But you do know they won’t cancel the Games, don’t you?”

Carla shrugs.

“I know,” she replies. “It was worth a shot.”

Valerio nods, as if to say, fair.

Cayeatana is crying, borderline incoherent as she takes in their interlaced hands. She reaches behind her and then gives Carla a box.

“The medallion we talked about,” she explains.

Samuel watches Carla’s expression tighten slightly as she holds the box in her hands.

“Thank you, Cayeatana,” she tells their escort genuinely. Samuel can see her eyes soften. Samuel is surprisingly emotional staring at the elder woman too. He’s grown fond of her, despite everything.

Cayeatana hiccups.

“You both deserved so much better,” she whispers, the closest thing to disapproving Teo that she will probably ever say.

“Thank you,” Samuel murmurs now.

Cayeatana pulls them both in for a hug.

“I am so proud of my victors,” she whispers, perfume clogging his senses, and then pulls away, disappearing to her room. He will never see her again.

It’s only him, Valerio and Carla left.

Samuel can feel his throat close with emotion as he stares at Valerio. He never could have imagined caring for his mentor so much.

“Stupid kids,” Valerio smirks, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Carla moves forward and hugs him loosely.

“Thank you, Valerio,” she says, loud enough for Samuel to hear. “For everything.”

She pulls away.

“Any last advice?” Samuel asks.

Valerio chuckles.

“Stay alive,” the other man replies, his golden bracelet shining under the golden lamp light.

Wihtout thinking, Samuel leans forward and embraces him.

“Remember our deal,” he whispers in Valerio’s ear. “Keep her alive.”

Samuel pulls away before Carla can get suspicious. Valerio’s features have tightened slightly, but he nods nonetheless. Their mentor has just turned around when he stops in the doorway, scowling slightly.

“Handsome,” Valerio calls out, making Samuel stop in his tracks.

“What?” he replies a tad defensively.

“In the arena, remember who the real enemy is.”

Valerio turns away before Samuel can question him further, not that he’s dying to or anything. He knows what to do. Keep Carla alive. Protect her at any cost, and then die when the time is right. This isn’t like last year.

“Come on,” Carla murmurs. “Let’s go to bed.”

They head down the hallway, but Samuel refuses to let her go to her room to change. He has clothes in his room and a shower. He’s terrified that if he lets her go the doors will lock and keep them apart. He needs her to help face the nightmares, and he isn’t courageous enough to do it alone, especially with tomorrow.

Carla follows him into the room and disappears into the bathroom after snagging a t-shirt from his drawer and a pair of loose pajama shorts. Samuel gets ready for bed as well, and soon they’re in bed, limbs tangled together, her head on his chest, her hand stroking up and down his stomach.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else in there,” he hears himself say. “Just you.”

Carla peers up at him. He can only faintly see the greenness of her eyes from the moonlight pouring in from his window, open just as she likes it.

“Okay,” she replies simply. She understands his mistrust of the other tributes, understands how difficult it is to kill someone after getting to know them.

They press closer against each other, and don’t say anything else.  He isn’t entirely sure they sleep that night, holding each other. They exist in some halfway land between dreams and reality, resting and yet awake all at once. They don’t talk, as if afraid that they’ll disturb the other’s attempt to store up a few precious minutes of rest. This is the last time he will ever sleep in a bed, he thinks to himself. He runs a hand through Carla’s hair, gently smoothing out the blonde strands.

She snuggles further into his chest and hums a little. Something tightens in his stomach at the contact. He drifts in and out of sleep, and when he wakes he feels a familiar tightening in his boxers, the stiffness of his morning wood. Carla must feel it too. She lifts her head up. There’s a soft glow from the rising dawn that seeps through the window.

Samuel, as if entranced, reaches out to tuck a curl behind her ear. She leans into the touch, and something warm slivers up his stomach, his spine tingling—

They’re interrupted by a knock at the door. Carla pulls away, her lips smacking together.

Samuel does not want her to go. Does not want to leave this bed at all. Wants to stay here with her forever, the sun never rising.

“I’ll see you soon,” she breathes, tiptoeing out of bed.

Ander tries to get Samuel to eat something, but he can only stomach a few bites before he gives up. He follows his stylist’s advice and drinks as much water as possible, thinking about how he almost died of dehydration in the arena last year.

It’s a quiet, almost comfortable silence as they make their way to the rooftop where the hovercraft awaits them. Ander holds his hand as the doctor injects his tracker into his arm. Now they’ll be able to locate him anywhere in the arena. The hovercraft takes off soon afterwards, and Samuel looks out the windows as the Capitol grows smaller and smaller beneath him, thinking that he’ll never see the outside of an arena ever again.

Ander gently presses him to eat more, and for his friend’s sake he manages a few bites. He’ll need his strength to keep Carla alive.

Soon enough, they’re in the launch room at the arena. Samuel takes another shower, brushes his teeth, tugs on some simple underwear.

Ander is quiet as he helps Samuel dress into his tribute outfit.

“It’s a wetsuit,” Ander states, examining the thin, blue fabric. “So water.”

Samuel processes the news as stoically as he can. Water. It’s lucky he knows how to swim. He looks down at the shoes provided for him. Nylon, with rubber soles. He wishes he knew what it meant more.

“It’ll offer little protection from cold or water,” Ander continues, zipping up the back for him.

Samuel hums in acknowledgement. He hopes it isn’t some kind of barren desert or something. They had a desert in a Games a few years ago, and many of the tributes suffered severe enough sunburns that they died from heatstroke.

“Ah,” Ander says, right as he finishes straightening Samuel’s suit. “I almost forgot.”

Samuel watches as Ander pins the gold mockingjay pin Guzman gave him last year to his chest.

“We can’t forsake your token,” Ander smiles. “It’s your good luck charm.”

“My tuxedo was fantastic last night,” Samuel says instead. Fantastic and dangerous. Ander must know that.

“I thought you’d like it,” Ander replies.

They sit down, hand in hand, waiting for the voice to tell him to prepare for launch. Samuel can feel his heart trembling in his chest. The voice comes sooner than he would have liked.

“Remember,” Ander says, helping him up. “I’m still betting on you, boy on fire.”

Ander presses a quick kiss to Samuel’s forehead and lets him step into the launch pod. Samuel jolts with surprise as the glass closes in around him. He raises his hand in farewell and whispers a thank you to Ander, just for being his friend. He waits for the plate to rise. But it doesn’t. He waits some more. It still doesn’t move.

Ander looks around the room, perplexed as him, and that is when the door leading into the launch room bursts open, revealing three peacekeepers. They spring onto Ander, beating him viciously with their clubs and gloved fists.

Samuel throws himself at the glass, banging and scratching at it, trying to break free. But it won’t budge. He watches helplessly, shrieking at the top of his lungs as the guards beat Ander again and again, until his face is nothing but a bleeding canvas, his features crushed in.

They drag Ander’s unconscious and bleeding body away only when Samuel is being lifted into the arena. He bangs his head against the wall, hysteria still brewing in his chest, his vision blurred. All he can see are the red smears of Ander’s blood on the floor as the guards carried him out of the room.

He steadies himself just as the breeze catches his hair. The sun is blinding, so Samuel can barely take in his surroundings. He stares down at his metal plate to relieve his eyes and finds that he’s surrounded by blue waves that lap at his launch pod. Slowly, he lifts his head and takes in the water spreading out in every direction.

He can only form one coherent thought.

This is no place for a boy on fire.

End of Part 2.