Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Madge's Claim
Peeta’s POV:
I wake up to the faint glow of dawn filtering through the window. As I step out of bed and head towards the washroom, I spot little Prim curled against our mother, seeking comfort. It must have been another nightmare. She's been getting a lot of those recently, as we move closer to the reaping day.
My name is Peeta Everdeen. I am eighteen years old and live in the Seam—the poorest part of District 12. My family consists of my mother and my two younger sisters: Katniss, sixteen, and Primrose, twelve.
Today marks my last Reaping and Prim’s first. The thought coils around my stomach like a tightening knot, leaving me restless and unsettled. Pushing aside my unease, I wash up and head toward Katniss’ room.
“Wake up, Catnip. We have to go.”
Katniss groans but sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Every morning, we slip past the fence and hunt in the woods. It is easy to find food there and really convenient if you have the required skills. It’s entirely illegal, of course, but the Peacekeepers here turn a blind eye. It’s the only way we survive. Our father taught us everything—how to use bows, knives, snares—before he died in the mine explosion when I was thirteen. Our mother shut down after that, leaving Katniss and I to fend for ourselves, while keeping taking care of Prim.
Madge Undersee, the mayor’s daughter, saved us that day. She gave us four loaves of bread, enough to keep us fed for a month. After that, she became one of our closest friends.
Soon after that, Katniss and I ventured into the woods, with our wooden handmade weapons and set off to hunt. That’s when we met Gale Hawthorne. He was thirteen, just like me, and had lost his father in the same explosion. The three of us became inseparable, hunting together and sharing our spoils with the people of the Seam. Madge often joins us—not for hunting, but to help set snares, gather edible plants, and distribute food after we trade at the Hob.
Despite our poverty, District 12 stands together.
“You’re thinking too hard again,” Katniss mutters as we slip under the electric fence—not that it ever works.
“Just thinking about the Reaping,” I admit. “Is Madge joining us today?”
“You know she will. It’s tradition—wake up on the reaping day, hunt, feast in the woods, rant about the Capitol. Happy Hunger Games,” she says bitterly.
“Hey, now. It’ll be over soon enough, and before we know it, we’ll have our post-Reaping feast with the Hawthornes and Madge.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What doesn’t he know?” Gale’s voice cuts through the morning stillness. Have I mentioned his habit of appearing out of nowhere.
“Oh, this should be good. All-knowing Peeta doesn’t know something? Do tell.” Madge teases, stepping up beside us with a basket of strawberries.
I snatch a handful quickly intervening so as not to ruin the few good moments in our lives. “Never mind. Give me those berries—you know I love them.”
“Happy Hunger Games,” she murmurs, though there’s no joy in her voice.
We hunt quickly and then head to the lake our father once showed us. There’s an old cabin nearby, our secret little retreat. It’s the only place where we feel truly free from the Capitol’s tyranny.
“So,” Gale starts as he cleans his knife, “how many times is your name in there? Mine’s fifty.”
“Eighteen,” Katniss replies.
“Thirty-two,” I say.
“Thirty,” Madge adds.
Gale freezes. “Thirty?! Madge, your father’s the mayor. What the hell do you need tesserae for?”
“Not for me,” she says calmly. “Two kids were orphaned last winter. Their mother committed suicide. They’re staying with Greasy Sae’s granddaughter, but she barely has enough for them. I signed up for tesserae to make sure they get food. Plus, it gives me access to the storage room.” She shrugs. “Perks of being the mayor’s daughter.”
Gale scowls. “But why?”
“There’s a lot happening, Gale,” Madge says sharply. “I’ll explain at the feast tonight. We don’t have time for this now.”
Gale crosses his arms. “We have two hours. Plenty of time for storytelling.”
Madge glares. “It’s neither a joke nor a debate, Gale. The sooner you understand that, the better.”
Silence falls over us. Even Katniss looks taken aback. Then, finally, Madge speaks again.
“For the past two decades, an uprising has been brewing across the districts. People are tired of living in fear, of watching their children be stolen by these barbaric Games.” She turns to Gale. “The same frustration you feel every day, struggling to feed Rory, Vick, and Posy? Every person in Panem feels that.”
Katniss shakes her head. “Stop. Stop saying that. Madge, we can’t afford to think that way. The Capitol will crush us, just like they did District 13. Don’t give us hope. If it falls apart, we’ll be even more broken than we already are.”
“Katniss, think,” Gale interjects. “She’s right. The people will have to revolt someday. They will have to. It is inevitable”
Madge exhales. “Our fathers were part of it. The rebellion isn’t coming—it’s already happening. It just needs a spark. A flicker of defiance to turn it into a raging inferno.”
Katniss stiffens. “What are you talking about? Our fathers—?”
Madge nods grimly. “The mine explosion wasn’t an accident. It was a message. The Capitol wanted to break us, to make us feel hopeless.”
I grip my bow tighter. “How long have you known?”
Madge hesitates, then lowers her voice. “I had suspicions. But yesterday, I overheard Haymitch Abernathy talking to my father. I did some digging.”
“The drunk?” Gale scoffs. “What does he have to do with anything?”
Madge gives him a pointed look. “More than you think. Haymitch isn’t just some washed-up victor. He’s been keeping up appearances. He was the one who nudged me toward helping Peeta, you know. The Capitol killed his family after the Second Quarter Quell. So, he started playing the fool, making himself seem like a non-threat. But he’s been working behind the scenes.”
Gale, Katniss, and I exchange glances, stunned by the revelation.
"What else have you found out, Madge?" I ask, my voice tight with something unfathomable.
“Our fathers… Haymitch… they were childhood friends. Even with their different backgrounds, they were inseparable. And not just them—my mother, her twin, and your mothers were close too. But then came the fiftieth Hunger Games—the second Quarter Quell.” Madge says quietly.
“Four tributes per district. Haymitch and Maysilee, my aunt, were two of ours. They had built something strong—something real—but they kept it hidden from the Capitol. By the middle of the Games, though, the whole world could see it. They became allies. They made it to the final three together.”
"Then she was killed." Her words left a bitter taste in my mouth. "And Haymitch… he won, but not without a cost. He outplayed the Capitol at their own game. A small act of defiance, but back then, people were too afraid to rebel. Snow noticed. He made him pay."
I swallow hard hearing her speak of the horrors of the game. "His whole family, Gale. His mother. His little brother. Gone."
I glance away from Madge, my fingers curling into fists as she continues.
"After that, he became… this. A drunk. A mess. But it’s all an act. A shield, so Snow wouldn’t have any leverage left to use against him."
"What do you mean Snow holds leverage over the victors?" I ask, my voice edged with unease.
Madge exhales, glancing away before meeting my eyes again. "From what I understand… he sells them. Their company, their bodies, their time—to the Capitol elites. For money. For sponsors." Her voice drops, heavy with disgust. "It’s a business, a twisted one. And it keeps the victors under his thumb. They’re not champions, not really. They’re slaves."
Gale exhales sharply. "How do you know all this?"
"I listened in on a conversation yesterday. Then I did some digging… and I found my mother’s diary." She looks up, meeting his eyes. "Everything was in there—the person she was before, the people she loved, the family she made. All of it was taken away. All that is left now is a shadow of that woman lost in ghosts of her past."
A heavy silence hangs over us. Finally, we gather our things and start heading back toward the district. The sun is high now, and the air feels heavier, thicker with unspoken fears. The air feels different—charged, tense, crackling with unspoken fears.
As the reaping looms closer, something shifts. Madge’s words don’t just linger; they ignite. I see it in Katniss—her gaze sharp with something colder, more vengeful. In Gale, whose anger simmers just beneath the surface, waiting to boil over. And in me—this slow, undeniable spark turning into something bigger.
Rebellion isn’t just a whisper in the dark anymore. It’s breathing. Growing. And for the first time, I feel it stirring inside me, too.
May the odds be ever in our favor.