Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I'm not a very sociable person; I console myself with the fact that it's hard to be when you have to look after your sister. But the truth is that it's not Prim's fault: Primrose is a gentle soul and quiet for a child, and my father does what he can with her. The reality is more somewhere in there that I'm afraid to love people; with any luck, I'll end up just like my mother; frozen in blood and with a newborn baby on her chest.

Every time I think about it, I feel guilty. It's not Prim's fault that our mother died in childbirth. Primrose didn't ask to be born.

But being reserved by nature, even I am surprised to find myself in Victors Village with the others. But as soon as I realize that I am surprised at myself, I am overcome with anger; why should my life be all about survival? Is it so strange when someone likes me? Well, yes; part of the reason I'm here might be the way Gale snorted disdainfully when I mentioned that Magde had invited me to go to the Kiss Maison with some of our other classmates.

There's a strange, dark hatred Gale has for Magde that I can't put my finger on. At first I just think it's because Madge is the mayor's daughter, so she's a lot better off than most in District 12. Madge's golden-blond hair is always clean, and they've got enough money to sort her clothes by color, so that the fabrics bring out her sky-blue eyes.

But for my part, I find her quiet and intelligent, and when I see Gale's dark gaze, I always remember what my father said.

'Try to be gentle with her Katniss; she lost her aunt in the Games. That's partly why her mother is so ill; she lost part of her soul when her twin sister died. Not all wounds are visible, but they still bleed.'

'The same one Uncle Haymitch won?' I ask cautiously. I try to choose my words carefully. Magde's mother is not the only one with bleeding wounds.

And I am right; my father purses his lips and nods curtly. I don't know what happened between my father and Haymitch. All I know is that they haven't spoken since my uncle returned from the Game.

'Mayselee was a friend of your mother's,' my father says quietly.'She was part of her group; one of her best friends. And they were allies with Haymich in the Game.'

So, he didn't kill her - the sentence hangs unspoken between us, but I can hear it clearly.

So, I try to be gentle with Madge, and although I'm not a gentle person by nature, I like her. And Gale hates that fact for some reason.

'So, you're going to go and soften up your father's half-brother a bit?' he asks with some sarcasm as we walk out of the forest. This should be a good day; we've shot four squirrels each, and my bag is full of basil and huckleberries. We'll have something to trade. But at his tone, I pause and give him a sharp look.

My uncle is the only living Victor in the District; as such, he is one of the few who never goes hungry. But, as I think about the mandatory Game to watch, I'm not envious of him. The Hunger Games is always bloody and horrific.

But even though Haymitch would have plenty to give, my father never asked him for anything. Which Gale knows very well.

'His brother' I correct Gale darkly. Whatever the conflict between my father and my uncle, my Dad considers him a full-fledged brother, even though their father is not shared. Which, again, Gale knows very well. But Magde's invitation annoys him so much that he's being deliberately mean.

Gale has got enough decorum to flush red under my gaze. He knows damn well that if my father asked Haymitch for anything, he wouldn't have to tear his back to shreds in the mine, and he and I wouldn't be hunting illegally.

But it's not enough; I hate malice without reason.

'You know that the Kiss Maison is empty, and Haymitch is the only inhabitant in the village' I add. 'We go there for the fun, if you remember the concept.'

It's a bit much from me, and I know it; of the two of us, Gale is the one who finds time to make out in the schoolyard behind the building, and he doesn't have much time now that he's started working at the mine. Which is not his fault. But still; he started this whole topic.

Gale's eyes darken, even more.

'Oho' he says, a little dismissively.'And who are you going to kiss?' As if it's impossible that anyone would want to kiss me. Which may be true, but where is this sudden contempt coming from? There's something odd in the tone, as if he thinks I owe him an explanation. He's wrong.

'What makes you think it's any of your business?' I snap, and the boy flinches as he sneaks across the fence after me. I give him another scornful glance over my shoulder, then start running. 'I've had enough of this conversation.

'Katnip!' he calls after me, and I can feel the regret in his voice, but I don't stop. Now I'm being mean; true, he has half the squirrels, but the blackberries are in my bag and we should have split them between us. But as I get wrapped up in the whole subject, I feel he deserved it.

*

It is early evening when we all meet, and I feel a little guilty about leaving Dad alone. But he doesn't mind that he has to read to Prim in this evening, and he's glad I'm going out. I know he thinks I need more friends, but that only makes it worse; I have a feeling he wouldn't be keen on the kissing part.

'Hey, Katniss!' I turn at Madge's cheerful voice, and though I smile reflexively, my stomach clenches. Madge arrives with a large bunch of our peers, and they're not all Seam kids.

Of course I see Aspen, the schoolmaster's son, and Olive, whose father owns the mill; there's Rowan, whose gossip about his mother makes me blush deeply; Blaze, who's a few years older than us and has just started at the mine with Gale.

But there are also children from families that are clearly merchants; Delly, whose hair is several shades darker gold than Magde's, a redheaded girl I don't know, and - Peeta Melark, with his muscular build, sun-kissed, light hair and kind, river-blue eyes. He smiles at me, and I don’t know what to do.

Peeta, the boy with the bread. The boy I owe my life to. I force away the memory of the stormy, dark night when Peeta saved my life and take a deep breath. I have nothing to be ashamed of; my mother came from a merchant family, and anyway; why shouldn't I be judged if I do the same?

’Hi!’ I say back, softly, and try to smile.

'I think you know everyone but...' Magde gestured towards the redheaded girl with a light wave of her hand. 'This is Tsula Green, her Mum works in the apothecary’

’Hey’ I repeat, and can't stop wondering how Madge knows that I know Peeta. Tsula waves boredly, and her pretty green eyes run over me and then over Peeta. Had I reacted so sharply to that smile?

Get a grip, Everdeen, I scold myself; we start walking, but we've barely walked a few yards when a sharp shout stops us. My blood rushes, but I remind myself that we're technically before curfew, so the Peace Keepers shouldn't have a problem.

’Hey, guys, wait up!’ At the end of the street, Rye Mellark appears, waving cheerfully; the boy is a few years older than his brother, and bears a striking resemblance to him, with broad shoulders, muscular figure, and blond hair; though Rey's hair is spectacularly curly, as if it were made up of golden droplets, and his blue eyes have a certain naughtiness that Peeta lacks.

'How did you think you were going to have fun without me?' inquires Rye with a grin as he brakes beside us; out of the corner of my eye I see Peeta shake his head with a wearily with a half-smile, but Rye ignores him completely.

But the one he doesn't ignore is Madge; his grin turns into a genuine smile as he turns to face her.

'Hey, babe' he says, and without further ado kisses her on the lips; and my jaw drops - I had no idea Madge and Rye were a thing.  But, of course - since when do I pay attention to such things?

Magde is clearly not embarrassed; she smiles into the kiss, and pushes two hands into Rye's hair. Behind their backs, Blaze pretends he's about to vomit, and I can't help it, I feel like laughing; I see Peeta chuckling too.

'All right, people, we haven't got all day,' Blaze says, after a minute. 'We're losing the daylight here, let's get going.'

'It's already evening, B' Madge remarks as she breaks the kiss and moves simply to Rye's side. The older Mellark brother grins again, then picks her up as if she has no weight. Magde cries out in surprise as he sits her on his neck.

For a moment I feel like an outsider: when do I ever have time for this kind of thinngs? But then Blaze winks at me as we start walking, and ridiculously, I feel a little better.

*

The Kiss Mansion is no different from any other empty house in Victors Village; just a big, dusty house, perfectly furnished, waiting for the Victor who never arrives. One of its windows has been cracked open for years, and now, one after the other, we climb in through this opening.

We could turn on the lights; these houses are the only ones that always have electricity - courtesy of the Capitol - but we don't want to draw attention to ourselves, so Blaze brought a gas lamp.

'So, how are we going to do this?' asks Peeta curiously, after we've settled down in a loose circle on the floor in the spacious living room, by the bluish light of the gas flame. In the dim light, Peeta's blue eyes look quite pretty. It's a strange thought.

'Leave it to the pros, baby brother' says Rye, and confidently pulls out a bottle of Moonshine, or what looks like it. I wouldn't really know; my father doesn't drink.

’Oh, so not you?’ asks Peeta, without missing a beat, and Balze, Rowan and Olive laugh; even I have to grin.

’Muhaha’ Rye replies with a straight face, but he doesn't look offended. 'Okay, so, rules; whoever has the bottle has a round; then they spin, and whoever the bottle points to, you make out with. You can pass, but if you pass, your partner picks for the person you passed. Clear?’

Everyone nods and I wonder whether I did the right thing by coming or not. At the same time - why should I always be responsible? Serius?  Suddenly I hear Gale's mocking voice again; I clench my jaw and give a nod.

'Excellent!' grins Rye, opening the bottle and pulling hard on the booze; he shakes slightly, but then closes it back up and swirls.

The glass spins on the floor, then slowly stops; its. mouth. points. towards. me. I look up, dumbfounded; Rye has a laugh in his eyes, then looks at his brother; Peeta is motionless, but something is happening between them, too fast for me to comprehend.

’That can’t be right’ remarks Rye, with a light, almost endearing smile. ’Sorry, flower girl, its a pass, nothing personal’ He presses the bottle into my hand and immediately turns to Magde.

Within two seconds, the mayor's daughter's hair is spilling out over the expensive carpet, and she pulls her boyfriend to her body as they kiss. At least this time I'm not blushing; progress.

’Nothing new under the sun ’ mutters Rowan, and Blaze whistles sharply, with two fingers in his mouth.

’Okay, okay, you impatient fuckers’complains Rye, who is clearly in no mood to pull away from Magde. The girl is sitting up, her golden hair dishevelled, her mouth flushed, but she is smiling broadly.

Suddenly I realise that she has to choose for me, and there's something about her knowing smile that makes my stomach clench. What could Madge know? I don't understand myself today. I am overcome with worry; I quickly open the bottle and pull.

 My anxiety is washed away by surprise; the taste of the sharp, raw alcohol is so strong I almost spit it out.

I cough and drag the bottle away from my mouth.

’Oh, my god ’I squeeze out of my mouth. ’This is terrible’ The others laugh.

’You don’t drink this stuff for the taste, baby girl’ Rowan laughs. There’s nothing wrong in his tone, exactly, but I don’t like this new habbit of everyone giving me nicknames, so I flip him off.  The others continue to laugh, but Rowan falls silent.

Magde's eyes twinkle with mirth as she takes a moment to measure me.

'Who shall I choose, who shall I choose' she sings, and maybe it's the booze, but I start laughing.

Her eyes stop right next to me.

’I pick Peeta’ she declares, and I slowly turn towards the boy. Peeta Mellark gives me a slow, sweet smile and I try to look friendly. I ignore my suddenly racing heart, my throat constricting. Is it because I've never been kissed before, or because - it's Peeta? I have no way of knowing, and I have no time to decide.

The boy softly strokes the side of my face.

’Do it already’ grumbles Rowan.

’Shut the fuck up, Ro’offers Rye, in a surprisingly stern tone. But then my reality shrinks to Peeta, to the way he raises one blond eyebrow cautiously, and I find myself nodding, barely perceptibly.

Mellark gently strokes the side of my neck and leans forward. His lips land barely touching mine, and I'm suddenly reminded of a crisp, early dawn as snowflakes touch my skin for the first time. Everything feels hot around me, and the strange contrast feels good.

His lips speak lightly of apples, as if he had recently eaten fruit. I pull him closer to me; somewhere beyond my periphery I can hear the boys cheering, but I don't care as my arms wrap around his neck. Then suddenly it's all too much, because I want more of it, and I don't know if I can have it; I pull back without thinking, and as soon as I regain myself, I immediately regret breaking the kiss so early.

Peeta looks like he's been struck by lightning, with a slightly dumbstruck expression; but then he lifts his head and gives me the sunniest smile ever, so I can't have been that bad.

’Not half bad, Mellark’ notes Rowan: Peeta doesn't look at him, his gaze still on mine, but without thinking flips him off.

’Katniss’ Magde reminds me, with slight teasing in her voice. ’You suppose to pick somebody.’

’Oh, right’ I murmur, as I spin the bottle; the booze points to Blaze. I smile; as unpracticed as I am, even I can see that Blaze Duncan is a handsome boy, with jet-black skin, dark walnut-brown hair, and a smile that would make most girls die. But not me.

But Blaze was nice to me on the way here, so I steere him towards someone who had been sneaking glances at him the whole walk.

'I have to pass, sorry' I tell him, hopefully kindly; I turn back to Peeta, who is flushed like a spring sky; my lips brush quickly over his; it's not a real kiss, but he seems to like it.

’Delly’ I mouth at him, almost without a sound, but he gets it, and grins.

He gulps down a good shot of Moonshine spirit, and gives Blaze a cheerful look.

’The winner is Delly’ he tells him. The boy's dark eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn't seem to mind the new situation. He stands up and walks leisurely over to the other side of the circle, where Delly smiles shyly, I can see her face burning.

As he is, standing up, he takes her face gently in both hands and kiss her slowly, slowly; Delly has to straighten up in her seat, but there is something touching about it all.

Then comes the sound. The pleading, suffering, anguished male voice that chills my blood. It's coming from at least two doors away, but it's spreading well into the late, deep evening, and I want to die listening to it.

’What the fuck is that?’ slips out of my mouth, and I'm on my feet; I don't know who it is, but I can't stand this suffering, I have to stop it; and I'm not the only one. Peeta is on his feet beside me now, and Delly and Blaze have jumped apart, looking sharply for the source of the noise.

'Let's go' whispers Aspen to Olive, and I see her dark, lovely face pale with fear. The only person who seems calm and particularly relaxed is Rowan. The boy is the only one still sitting on the ground, and he has a slightly contemptuous, smiling expression on his face.

'Guys, relax, it's just Abernathy,' he says, and I pull a lock of red hair out of his face. 'I've spent a lot of nights here, and the old goat always dreams something bad at one point, and then...'

And you did nothing? I want to scream. Didn't you help him? Did you try to wake him up? There's something strange in his calm, which suddenly fills me with disgust.

I spin on my axis, head for the door; the terrible sound continues, so I start running. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I rush down the street, feeling Peeta, Magge and Rye keep up the pace for a while, then break away; I don't stop, the sound grows louder.

The last one to fall behind is Peeta, but I do not have time for him right now; I stop in front of the door, which I think is the source of the sound, and burst through it; I am lucky - it is not locked. I dash down the hall; all the houses in Victors Village are exactly alike, and the sound is getting louder anyway; I follow the strange, terrible pleading into the living room.

Haymitch Abernathy is rolling on a long sofa, his face bathed in sweat; he is locked in some kind of nightmare.

I pause for a moment, struck by the fact that my father and Haymitch are so much alike; both have jet-black hair and olive skin like mine; though where my father is tall and evenly muscled, Haymitch has something brutally bear-like.

Then I'm immediately ashamed; who cares what he looks like if he's suffering?

’Lenore, please, I can’t… No, don’t touch that, that poision… no, don’ go, I can’t…’

I jump towards him; he has his back to me, so I give his shoulder a shake; the pleading dies down and the huge bear lunges at me with surprising speed, knife - a knife! - in hand. I have barely time to spring back; had I not been used to the hunt, it would have left a deep gash in my face.

’Whats wrong with you?!’ I snap at him, with sudden anger. ’I was trying to wake you up, idiot!’

’Wha’?’ confused, grey eyes blink at me, just like my own, and he lets go of the wepon. He is so clearly drunk, fuck my life.

’You were having a nightmare’ I inform him. ’Are you going to be okay?’ Why do I care?

He gives me a slow, unfocused look, then reaches forward; there are bottles of wine on the table in front of the sofa, and he pulls one out, though I think he's had enough.

I should leave; the others must be circling around the house, but there is something in his tired movements that reminds me of Dad, and I stay.

’Who are you again?’ he rasps, after a pull.

’Katniss Everdeen’ Your niece. I didn’t tell him, but I don’t have to; his grey eyes widen in surprise and horror, and the next sip of wine is thrown aside; he begins to cough.

 ‘You shouldn't be here, sweetheart’ he murmurs, and although his tone is a little mocking, there's something else in it too that I can't quite put my finger on.

’And you shouldn’t drink this much, but here we are’ I tell him a bit sharply; he gives me a surprised look and starts to chuckle.

’Right you are’ he mutters.

There is something about this man that makes me feel incredibly protective of him, and it annoys me.

I sit down next to him, turn to him, and pull out the piece of goat cheese I had put away in my pocket in preparation for everyone to bring something to share with their drinks. I hold it out to him, and again, he raises an eyebrow in surprise.

’Eat it!’ I snap. 'It'll do your head a favour'

Haymitch laughs again and raises both hands defensively.

’Okay, okay, easy.’ He accepts the cheese, breaks it in two and tries to return the larger piece.

’The other one’ I order darkly, and he grins, and eats the the smaller piece of cheese before I can do anything about it. Just like Dad would.

’Are you going to be okay?’ I ask after I eat my half. ’That nightmare sounded like hell.’

’Don’t you worry about it sweetheart’ he shrugs, but I do, and it annoys me, because I have enough to worry about.

My gaze wanders to the window and I realize that the sky is completely dark. It must be after curfew.

’Ah, Dad is going to murder me’ I swear. 'He won't even need a bow or arrow, he'll strangle me with his bare hands.’

In a flash, I'm on my feet, handing the remaining cheese in my other pocket to Haymitch. He waves no and tries to stand up, although it is difficult.

’Common, I’m gonna go with you. If Burdie’ needs somebody to be mad at, let it be me’ But he is unsteady on his feet and I have to grab his waist to hold him.

’Hey, hey’ I murmur, and some softness suprises me. ’Its fine. I’m gonna be fine. Dad is never really mad at me too long, you know? Just sit down, and… ’ I help him down, and he doesn’t fight me. ’Just, if you sleep, try to do it on your side, all right?’ I don’t know why is it so important to me, all of a sudden. 'Don't drown on me at night, do you hear? I'll check on you tomorrow, just...' As our eyes meet, I fall silent; his gaze is perplexed and strangely open. ’I have to go’ I finish helplessly.

As I turn out the door, he doesn't call after me.

*

I almost get home without a problem. Almost. I run past the Justice Building and am about to go deep into the Seam when I'm stopped by a mocking male voice.

’Well, well, well’ Cray sings. ’What do we have here?’

I feel like prey before the shot.

Chapter Text

District Twelve is relatively lucky with the Peacekeepers. Darius and Purnia are not short on humanity and try to help as many as possible when no one is looking. And then there's Cray. He's a real rat, and everyone knows he buys the poorest Seam girls just because he can. 

I feel sick to my stomach as I look at his smiling face; he is holding a gas lamp just like the one Blaze brought, and I am terrified that it might be the same one. But I really don't have time to worry about Blaze for long; I want to run, but my limbs are not moving from the dread.

'Oh, Miss Everdeen, there's no need to make that face, I'm not a violent man' whispers the rat, and I know he's lying. His voice may be sweet, but that doesn't mean anything. Cray is not honourable with anyone; but he hates me especially, because my Dad stands up to him whenever he can. My nausea only intensifies when I remember one of their loud arguments in the Hob last month.

'I'm really sorry to bump into you like this,' I say, trying to soften my voice, but I'm a terrible actor. 'I won't keep you any longer, I have to go home'

I try to step quietly away from him, but it's impossible, of course; his smile in the bluish light is even stranger as he catches my arm.

’Oh, but Katniss – may I call you Katniss? You know that’s not a way things go. There's a fine for breaking curfew, and I doubt your father has that kind of money, what with your... little sister and all. But I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement, I...’

There's something slimy in his voice, and disgust breaks through my terror; I yank my arm out of his grasp and backhand him, slap him hard. My fingernail runs across his skin, leaving a thin, bleeding streak across his cheek.

The man staggers back, and there's my chance to make a run for it; just a momentary chance, I'm fast. But the rat stretches out his leg as I slip past him, and I stagger.

'You little bitch' hisses Cray as he strokes his face; the cut stains his fingers with blood. He grabs both my wrists and holds me in place; my chance vanishes; all I can do is raise my head and spit in his face.

But Cray just grins and doesn't care what I've done.

'Come on, slut; you think this is the only moisture you're going to...' He never never finishes the sentence, because there is the sound of heavy footsteps behind us.

Haymitch appears out of the darkness, and steps into the bluish light from a lamp dropped on the ground; he still seems drunk, but suddenly it is easier to see how huge and muscular he is; his dark, curly hair is plastered to his forehead, his grey eyes steely.

He's like an angry mountain bear; suddenly it doesn't seem so impossible that he's won his own Game.

'Take your hands off my niece' he snarls at Cray, and if I wasn't still scared to death, I'd almost find the rapidly changing emotions on the rat's face funny.

Haymitch has been the boozer of the district for years; people no longer afraid of him; but now, as he looms darkly over Cray, I wonder if at least half of that is a disguise, to keep everyone off his back.

'Haymitch, it must be a misunderstanding, I just wanted to escort the little lady back home...' The explanation fizzles into nothingness, because Cray still hasn't let go, and my uncle simply grabs him by the throat and pulls him away from me as if he has no weight.

The Peace Keeper lands with a thud and I finally catch my breath; I try to breathe deeply and lean on my knees. In and out. Easy.

'If I see you around her again, I'll skin you myself, a limb a day' snaps Haymitch, and Cray shakes pitifully, like a leaf in the wind, sitting on the ground. ’And even if I don’t see you, if anything happens to her, I will know. Do you understand me?’

Cray looks up at him with tears in his eyes, and I almost feel sorry for him, but then I remember the slimy smile he gave me, and the feeling goes away.

The man opens his mouth, but no sound comes out of his throat.

’Do you understand me?’

' Yee-yeah’ stammers the man. 'I... understand, Mr. Abernathy.'

’Now its Mr. Abernathy, is it?’ Haymitch murmurs, and turns away from him, towards me; all darkness disappears from his face, and he holds out his arms in a slightly uncoordinated way. This would normally be too much for me; today we spoke for the first time in my life.

But I don't see a bloodthirsty Victor; I see someone who came to my aid without a second thought. I step into his arms, unafraid; he smells of smoky wishkey, but he feels safe and there is something strangely familiar about him. He wraps one hand around my back, and with the other he gently pushes my hair, just like Dad does when he hugs me.

’You okay, sweetheart?’ he mutters quietly. I push my head under his chin, my lips landing on his collarbone. The sense of security is perfect, and for a moment I'm being completely honest.

'You have an exact same aura as Dad' I say, a little illogically, but it's still true. I can feel Haymitch tensing up, his whole body: if I wasn't so vulnerable, I would never have told him this, as he hasn't spoken to my father since I was three.

But he doesn't say anything, just hugs me tighter, and then –

'Will you be all right?' he asks again.

’I’m fine’ I murmur, without letting go of him. ’You were just in time. Thanks.’

’Welcome’ he grunts, a bit tenison leaving his body. Then, against his better judgement, he pulls away from me. ’Common, sweetheart, time to go home. Let your Daddy be mad at both of us.’

I already miss his proximity, which is silly, but I feel vulnerable, like anyone could attack me at any moment. I stroke the base of his neck one last time, which seems to surprise him, but he doesn't pull away, and we set off into the night.

We start walking side by side; I pass Cray, who is still sitting on the ground, whimpering, without looking at him, but Haymitch's hand is protectively on my shoulder when we get close to the peace keeper.

*

'What were you thinking?!' My Dad is out of the house before I can enter, and again I notice how similar the actions of the two brothers, though different, are. My father exudes strength and pulls himself even more out with tension, his grey eyes sharp.

His gaze settles on Haymitch for a moment, concern and anger storming across his face as he hurries towards us.

’What did you do?’ he asks his brother, sharply.  A slightly mocking, defensive expression crosses Haymitch's face, and I sense that they're going to fight in two minutes, so I step between them.

’I run into Cray, Dad, I’m sorry. Haymitch saved my ass, don’t be mad at him, okay?’

Anger gives way to total concern on his face.

’Cray? What did he… Are you okay?’ As I nod, my Dad opens his arms and gives me an almost identical hug to Haymitch's.

'And that's my cue to go' Haymitch grumbles, but my father stirs. Without pulling away from me, he releases me with one hand and reaches for his brother.

’No, wait’ I feel his whole body tense as he looks over my shoulder at him. ’Thank you.’

I hear Haymitch shrug as I pull away from my father. I’m a bit more myself again.

I see Haymitch trying to turn around.

’And where do you think you’re going? You’re staying with us tonight!’ I tell him on impulse.

’He is?’ Dad asks

’I am?’ says Haymitch at the same time. Even their freaking tone is similar.

’Yes, its the middle of the night!’ I snap. ’I know you are a bear, and all, but its not safe.’

’Now you’re telling me’ he is muttering, but he also grins.

’A bear?’ Dad repates, and Haymitch gives him a dark look.

’Don’t you even start’ he warns, and Dad gives him his own grinning back.

’ I didn’t say nothing’

’Yet’ Haymitch growls. ’You didn’t say nothing yet.’

It’s as if I suddenly own two little boys. Great.

’Both of you’ I say sternly. ’Inside the house. Now.’

’Yes, Ma’am’ my father allows, who is okay now, that he has me.

He grabs his brother by the arm and pulls him along.

’Common, Mitch, there’s nothing to do if she gets something in her head. She's stubborn as hell, and a real opponent when she wants to be.’

'I wonder who she resembles' Haymitch grumbles.

’I’m right here’ I remind them, as we enter the house, and I cloose the door with a good feeling.

Prim is still up; the little girl sits awake in the only bed we share, her porcelain blue eyes watching us keenly. While I remind people of my father, with my olive skin, cocoa-coloured dark hair and greyish eyes, my sister looks exactly like my mother once did. Her skin snow-white, and her hair golden and curly.

'Katniss! Are you all right?' my sister asks as soon as she sees us, and springs nimbly out of bed in her thin white nightgown.

’Sure, little duck’ I try to comfort her, as I lean down and kiss her hair. ’Why wouldn’t I be?’

’You weren’t here’ she wishpers, as she briefly hugs my thigh, then lets go.

’I was with friends, you knew that.’

Smart, blue eyes are fixed on me.

'You're late. Late in the evening means trouble most of the time'; Sometimes I feel that, even though she's only eleven, she's smarter than her age.

’Well’ I say slowly. ’I had a bit trouble with Cray, thats true; but Uncle Haymitch here helped me, and now I’m fine.’

I look over my shoulder and see Haymitch's whole body twitch as my sister looks at him. Siblings in this family seems to be a complicated subject. My sister steps in front of Haymitch and gives him a sunny, innocent smile.

’Hi, I’m Primrose’ she tells him clearly. ’Thank you for helping Katniss!’

Haymitch blinks in surprise; he's obviously not used to kids, which is odd since he mentors at the Game every year; then a slight blush appears on his neck and cheeks.

’Don’t mention it, little one’ he mutters, and he looks like a shy bear, and I have to glup down a smile.

’Your uncle stays with us tonight’ Dad tells Prim, as we we take out clean blankets and pillows to make his bed.

’Of course you do’ Prim nods.

’Of course?’

The little girl raises a golden eyebrow at the question.

'If you're here, it means Katniss has adopted you. You belong with us now.’

I don’t say anything to that, beacuse she is not wrong. Primrose is wiser than her years.

*

For all my efforts to convince my sister that nothing is wrong, I wake up at dawn from a nightmare, bathed in sweat as I sit up. Miraculously, Prim does not flinch, still sleeping soundly next to me. But in the half-dawn twilight, Haymitch's grey eyes glint wide awake as he lies wrapped in a blanket.

’How you’re holding up, sweetheart?’ he wishpers.

My eyes dart around the room.

’Where’s dad?’ I ask softly, ignoring his question. I won't go into details about seeing Cray's disgusting smile half the night.

'He said he was going hunting', my uncle replies.

I stare at Haymitch; either its that he's lived in a family a long time ago, and out of pratice, or my father is a better liar than I thought, because this makes no sense. It's very early and so dark that there's no way my father can see anything in the forest.

’What the hell….?’ I start, but I'm silent, because Primrose is waking up. There's no need for her to worry about Dad.

’Katniss?’ She asks quietly, and stretching like a sleepy cat. ’What time is it?’

’Early’ I say shorly. ’Go back to sleep, flower.’

’Nah, I’m up now’ she shrugs. She gets out from under the covers and smiles down at our uncle, who sits up from his pillows. ’Morning, Uncle! Are you hungry?  Katniss brought squirrels and blackberries; everything is quite still fresh, and we have cheese!’

’I don’t know if…’

Haymitch doesn't finish the sentence, but I understand what he means. He doesn't feel it's fair to eat with us; he's a Victor, while we have to work for every bite; and though he'd feel indebted to us if he ate with us,  father wouldn’t accept compensation, because he's too proud. But, he is not here, and while I’m usually stingy with food, if it's not Prim or my Dad, from Haymitch, oddly enough, I don't envy anything.

’Is it because you need a drink?’  Primrose asks perceptively; sometimes I think Prim has inherited my mother's instinctive gift for healing. Only now it occurs to me that Haymitch is also sweating, and I think my sister may be partly right. Haymitch turns a deep red with shame that a child could see through him, and I decide to save him.

’That’s fine, I think Dad has some wine’ I tell them. Probably not the fancy type Haymitch is used to, from the Capitol, but it has to do. And I don’t think he is a snob, not really. ’Set the table, please, flower’ I tell Prim, and she doesn’t seem to mind.

The squirrel is still fresh indeed, and Haymitch generously waters the wine with the well water we drink with Prim. I realize this is his attempt to remain as civil as he can around a child, and I appreciate it. By the time we get changed for school, my dad is still nowhere to be found, and that worries me more and more. I give Prim extra time to pick out the light blue dress she'll wear today, I'm very slowly braiding her blonde hair, but nothing helps.

I waste so much time that I have to grab my own clothes (a faded deep green blouse and black trousers), but Dad doesn't show up.

'Come even when you don't have to rescue Katniss,' Prim says as she hugs our uncles before leaving; my sister has an easier time expressing emotion than I do. Haymitch hums in a low, kind tone, and I know why he doesn't commit; the fight we know nothing about is still strained between him and our father.

Haymitch's hand lands on my arm as I follow Prim.

’Don’t you worry sweetheart’ he murmurs, so only I can hear. ’Burdie will come back; he always stands back up; born that way.’

I feel the edge of my mouth quiver with worry, and suddenly I throw all caution to the wind and hug him. I need all the security I can get, because Haymitch can't be sure of anything he says.

*

’You didn’t see him?’ I ask Gale. I’m not proud of it, but I slip away, after taking Prim to school, and I go to the minds to ask around about Dad.

I console myself that if he did go hunting, however slim the chance, he may have gone straight to work afterwards. I don't think about the fact that he would never actually do such a thing. How would he explain the game, or edible plants he has? Still, I ask.

'Why don't you ask your merchant friends? Gale inquires unkindly; he pulls tobacco out of his pocket, rolls it quickly and lights a cigarette.

It's a new habit and I don't like it, but of course I have no right to tell him what to do. I know a lot of miners smoke, and I assume Gale is doing it partly to fit in with the new environment. I just think it's foolish to spend money on this when you have three little siblings and food is always scarce. And, doesn't the mine put enough strain on the lungs as it is? Not that all miners take up smoking; my father, for example, never does.

I'm so anxious, so worried about my father, that the hidden edge of the question doesn't reach me until later. When this happens, I take a sharp, dark look at Gale.  What the hell is going on with him these days? There is something unfriendly about him, constantly, for no reason.

’I had fun with them’ I say simply. ’But what does that have to do with anything? Gale, my dad is…’

’I bit too much fun, I gather’ he mutters, and my eyes go wide.

’What the fuck does that mean?’ I snap, and he has the heart to wince, at least.

'Cray was running his mouth around the Hob at dawn' he murmurs.

’And you belived him?!’

’Well, you did go out snoging merchants, so…’

I am overcome with anger and straighten up so quickly that the boy reflexively steps back.

’Fuck you, Gale’ I say slowly, and turn around.

It's the last thing I'm doing slowly; the miners are emerging in small groups in the light of dawn; among them is Tom, a man in his early forties, one of my father's best friends among his fellow workers. The man's face is shadowed with concern as he sees me and hastily approaches me.

'Katniss, what are you doing here? You need to go home or to school, but you can't get a misdemeanor, not in light of what's going on with Burdie!'

My whole body tenses.

’Whats gong with… Tom, what are you talking about?’

He bites his lower lip hard.

'Don't you know, girl? Your father is being flogged right now; he broke Cray's nose this morning, and would have skinned him, if he hadn't been taken off the rat.'

Suddenly I have a flashback of Haymitch. If I see you around her again, I'll skin you myself, a limb a day. Blood is thicker than water.

The momentary frostiness shatters all around me and I start running towards the main square, assuming that's where the caning is taking place.

Tom and Gale shout after me at the same time, but their voices are blurred as I run at full speed. As I enter the main square, the sounds overtake the sight, and it's all horrific; the rushing sound, then the thud of the punch, makes my teeth chatter.

My father is tied to a post, his back is bloody and his skin is red, his jet-black hair is matted with sweat. He tries to look up at the sound of my footsteps, his grey eyes widening as he sees me.

’No…’ he tries.

Darius and Purnia are there, but apparently they can't do anything; I push them aside as I burst in front of the pole. Of course Cray holds the whip.

’Leave him alone!’ I scream as the whip strikes again; Dad clenches his teeth, but I can see his tears welling up. There is dry, frozen blood under Cray's nose, and his neck is still red from Haymitch's hand, his skin purple in places already, but the disgusting smile is back on his face.

’Oh, Katniss, my darling, did you come to watch the show?’ he purrs, and I feel sick. Anger tightens my throat and I jump at him without thinking.

’I – said – leave – him – alone!’ I shout, and he jumps back in surprise and repulsion. Darius pulls me back and holds me down, I suppose to keep me from being punished, but it's too late. Cray looks at me with a scowl, waving the whip, just because he can; the end of it hits the edge of my father's shoulder, in front, next to his chin. It's not a big blow, but it must be painful enough for someone who's already had enough. Dad groans.

’You want some as well, bitch?’ he is hissing. The anger freezes around me; I straighten up and force a cold, haughty expression on my face.

’Go ahed, rat’ I hiss back at him; his unofficial nickname only makes him angrier; his face contorts into an ugly snarl, and I hear the crack of the whip as he swings it at full force. I brace myself for the stinging pain, but it never comes; the strike is hard against flesh, but not mine –

Haymitch straightens up, directly in front of me, his body completely covering mine; I fall hard to the ground as he pushes me and...

Chapter Text

....I land on the ground with a painful thud. The whip slams hard into Haymitch's face, and for a moment I can't tell if the Victor is howling in pain or anger.

'That's enough!‘ snaps Darius as he steps forward and tries to wrench the weapon from the other Peace Keeper's hand. 'We get it, we got the hint, that's enough!’ he snarls at him.

'You undermine the interests of the Capitol?' hisses Cray. 'You dare obstruct justice!'

’I dare’ says coldly. ’Burdock was punished enough, you wanted to hit Katniss for nothing, and you made Haymitch your enemy the moment you touched his brother and niece, you idiot. Enough!’

I painfully try to scramble to my feet, but Haymitch is faster than I am; although he has a burning red stripe across his face, which is bleeding profusely, I have never seen him so angry. Brutal engergy emanates from him as he tries to throw himself at Cray, but Darius steps between them.

'Enough is enough for you too,' the man's voice snaps, but Haymitch is still visibly red with anger. Pain tears through my back and I sit back down.

’But he tried to…’

’I know’ Darius cuts in. ’Help Katniss and Burdie, Hay.’

Haymitch's whole body shakes, and in the blink of an eye he's in front of me.

'I'm sorry, sweetheart,' he says, and guilt oozes out of him as he looks at me. He reaches out both hands and gently sets me on my feet. I'm shaking all over, which I think is from fear, because although my tailbone hurts, the blow wasn't that powerful.

'Dad' I squeeze out of my mouth. 'We have to help...'

Somewhere beyond my consciousness, I can hear Darius and Cray still arguing; but my reality fixates on my father, still tied to the post, his head slumped forward, his back dripping blood. My hands are stiff as I struggle to untie the knots in the rope, and I foolishly don't expect that I won't be able to release the fucking rope soon enough.

Dad would have fallen to the ground if Haymitch hadn't been there to step forward and hold him up. My father is taller than he is, but strong, and it must hurt terribly as the semi-conscious weight rests on Haymitch's wounds.

But Haymitch doesn't flinch, I can only hear him speaking to his brother in a low, quiet voice;

’Here we go, baby brother, we are all set; now we can get the fucking hell out of here’ he murmurs.

My dad doesn't react, I think he's out of it, and Haymitch pulls his body up over his shoulder and tries to move. I hurriedly step to my father's free side and wrap one arm around my shoulder, which is completely stiff; this fact scares me to death, but we have to go home and I can't be scared until then. The unconscious body is heavy, even though I carry a small fraction of the excess weight.

“And what the fuck do you think you're doing?” hisses Cray, turning away from Darius for a moment as we start off at a painfully slow pace.

’What does it look like?’ growls Haymitch, as he tries with all his might to hold my father up and move forward at the same time.

’Shut up, Haymitch! Darius warns, but its late. I can see Cray reddening, and it's like seeing a scarlet thread snap over the fire; the peacekeeper starts to roar, something animalistic and uncontrollable.

This time he throws himself after Haymitch, and it is Darius who stops him, but he cannot suppress the screaming.

'Out of my way you worm! Get out of the way; I'll tear that dirty worthless dog apart, I...' We don't pause, neither of us react, but the thought slowly finds a home in my mind that Haymitch may be a worthy adversary, but the fact is the fact; my uncle has made an enemy of a peace-keeper.

*

My father lies on the cleared table, still unconscious, and I have never wished so much that my mother were alive. She was the true healer, and despite the hunting, I myself cannot stand human suffering. Not that Bayleaf, an elderly woman from Seam, who is also a healer, wouldn't do her best to make my father better.

Bayleaf's brown hair is held tightly back from her elderly face, fastened in a tight bun at the base of her neck as she gently anoints the wounds with a liquid potion after the bleeding subsides.

Around my father on the table, I recognise several plants in small wooden containers. Feverfew, with its potential anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving properties. Arnica, for analgesic effects. Lavender, for its soothing properties and potential to alleviate pain and anxiety. I know all this and I appreciate it, but my father is still out of it, and it makes me nervous and irritable.

'When will he wake up?' I ask, for the third time in the last hour. Bayleaf looks up from the wounds, her sharp greyish brown eyes calm. I guess I'm not the only one who finds it unbearable when someone I love is unwell. The woman is obviously used to family members who are difficult.

'It's not a competition, little girl,' she says. 'It's different for everyone. Patience.' I'm about to open my mouth to tell her I haven't been a little girl since the moment I found my mother frozen in blood at my sister's birthday , but then our front door swings open and Prim bursts through it.

’Dad?’ she shouts. ’Katniss? Haymitch!’ Primrose pauses in the doorway, her bright eyes sweeping the room; my father on the table, Bayleaf with the medicine, my expression, which presumably hovers somewhere between stubborn and desperate, my uncle pale.

’Hey, little one’ Haymitch murmurs and I jump in shame; I'd almost completely forgotten he was here, and now he's trying to reassure my sister. What good am I?

But Primrose just gives him a quick smile and walks briskly over to the table; I'm amazed at the calmness she exudes, even though she's younger than me. My sister puts a soft hand to my father's neck, feeling the veins there.

'He'll wake up, just give him time,' says Bayleaf, presumably to prevent a similar exchange as with me. But Prim is something different from me, and she nods without argument.

’Can I help?’ she asks, instead, and Bay gives her a smile.

’Go, look after your uncle’ she says. 'Your sister tried to stop your father's whipping and Cray attempted to hit her too. Haymitch stepped in; I haven't got to his wounds yet.’

Prim nods curtly, and I wonder for a moment how Bayleaf knows Primrose has a knack for the wounded. Then again, she is gentle, and liked around the neighbourhood.

My sister steps in front of Haymitch, who awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to the other. I find it very difficult to reconcile this image with the huge, strong bear who threw himself at Cray when I needed him.

'We really don't have to bother with me, flower girl' says Haymitch. ‘This-’ he waves his hand in front of his face, referring to the wide, blood-red line, that covers the right side of his cheek "This is nothing.’

But Primrose just smiles at him.

'Close your eyes, uncle.'

Haymitch's eyes run over Primrose and he purses his lips slightly.

'So, you're just as stubborn as your sister and my brother, huh?'

’ Cut from the same cloth’ she shrugs. ’Eyes, please’

Haymitch sighs, but obeys, and as his eyes close, Prim gently begins to stir the watery concoction onto the blood-red surface.

I'm sure my uncle has suffered harsher injuries during the Game than this, but I can't help but notice the way he involuntarily winces now and purses his lips in anguish. My father groans on the table and moves heavily, and my heart immediately leaps into my throat, but Prim breaks the moment with a glance.

'Katniss, will you sing for us?' she asks.

’What?’

’Would you sing for Haymitch?’ she asks, without stopping her movements. ’I think it would help’

I stare at her; it seems silly, given that both Dad and Haymitch are suffering. What good is a little song? At the same time, I remember how Dad always sings when one of us is sick; he has a deep, velvety, rich  voice, and anyone who has heard me sing says I have inherited his talent. Of course, I'm not half as good as he is, really - but maybe it's a good distraction?

I walk over to Haymitch, watch his eyelids flutter, and take his hand. His skin is sweaty and pale, and he shows signs of long drinking; and yet there is something darkly handsome about him. He looks vulnerable, and my heart goes out to him. Was there ever someone he loved and who loved him? Then I suddenly remember the name of the girl he begged in his sleep yesterday when we first spoke.

I squeeze his hand gently and hum softly as I choose the song.

I had a thought, dear

However scary

About that night

The bugs and the dirt

Why were you digging?

What did you bury

Before those hands pulled me

From the earth?

I love singing, there's no denying it. The lines of reality soften, I can see Haymitch frowning as Prim tends to his wounds, but I can also see the wrinkles in his forehead smoothing out.

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask you, neither should you

I have no right to ask Haymitch about Lenore; it's too early for that. What I can do is sing.

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do

I knew that look dear

Eyes always seeking

Was there in someone

That dug long ago

So I will not ask you

Why you were creeping

In some sad way I already know

Haymitch gives my hand a barely perceptible squeeze; Prim brushes the end of the line and my uncle opens his eyes. I can't help it, I smile faintly as my voice fades. The slow, unexpected, joyous moment is broken in two as my father comes to and groans painfully. He's not fully conscious and visibly in pain, and it makes me go wild.

'Help him!' I rip into Bayleaf, even though I know she's doing her best. Her face remaine expressionless, which only annoyes me more.

'There's nothing we can do at the moment; we have to wait until...' But I am too angry to wait until the end of the sentence.

'Then what are you good for?!'

'Katniss!' my sister snaps, and it's so unusual that I pause for a moment.'Go and get some well water,' she says, then calmer.'It'll be good for his wounds.'I grit my teeth and storm out our door, ashamed of my temper, while my little sister remains calm.

I'm also tired; singing to Haymitch was somehow personal, though I don't fully understand why, and the sudden emotional shift was too much for me.

I draw cold water from the well into a bucket; my back and lower back still ache from the impact, but the physical work helps a little. I'm carrying the bucket inside when Madge's shout splits the air.

’Katniss, wait up!’ The girl's blonde hair is wet as she rushes towards me, then brakes sharply in front of me and pulls a small bottle from her pocket. A golden bird is embroidered on her deep green blouse, but I'm so tired I don't recognize it.

' “Painkiller from the Capitol” she gasps. 'My mother gets it. Make your Dad to drink it in tea.'

’Why….?’

'We are friends, aren't we?' Her smile is tired and bloodless. I figure that no matter what Gale thinks, Madge has her own pain. 'And your father is Haymitch's brother.'

I nodd, and I mentally acknowledge that I owe Madge now.

’Its not a debt’ she says, as if she can hear me. Its interesting – she is more of a townie, not from the Seam, so I’m a bit suprised that she gets it.

And her aunt - they were allies with Haymich in the Game. The memory is so vivid that I feel I could touch it.

’Would you like to come in?’ I ask a bit akwardly. Everything in me wants to give Dad the meds, but I don’t want to be rude.

Madge shakes her head in a hurry; somehow I get the feeling she doesn't want to be in the same room with Haymitch.

'Tell your Dad I said get well soon,' she asks, and when I blink, she's gone.

When I step in, Haymitch looks up; as he sees the Capitol crest on the glass, his hand clenches reflexively at his side.

*

My father's recovery is agonisingly slow and painful. Haymitch disappears, and my father's every movement hurts; he is quiet, and I can see that he is worried about his inability to get up; he is not working, and our food is running out.

But our neighbours are kind; sometimes we find a basket of potatoes on the doorstep, sometimes hot soup in a container. I try to deduce from the packaging what's from whom, because I hate to be in debt, but my father shakes his head pale when I bring it up.

'This is not a debt'

’Why?’

'They don't expect anything in return, and we would do the same for them.' That is true, and it reassurs me a little, but not completely.

One morning I find a large bag of cheese buns on my doorstep; the smell makes my mouth water.

’How is it from?’ Prim asks in passing.

I look down to the tiny card, next to the buns; get well soon. Next to them there’s a small flower; a dandelion.

'I think it's Peeta,' I say quietly, and my heart feels warm.

*

On the morning of my birthday, I find a large bouquet of snow-white, flawless roses on my doorstep. The cream-coloured stationery, emblazoned with the Capitol's coat of arms, trembles in my hand.

Coriolanus Snow cordially invites Miss K. Everdeen to the 73rd Official Hunger Games Viewing Night.

There is something else in the envelope; a solid gold pendant, an openable locket with beautiful roses meticulously printed across the surface. A single strand of hair is attached to the inner half of the medallion; a dark, blackish, deep red hair lock that is slightly bloody.

As soon as I see it, I let go of the jewellery, which clatters to the floor, and without stopping to think, I start to vomit.

Chapter Text

The locket lies in the palm of my hand, and the blank look Haymitch gives me is one of the most painful things I've ever seen. It reminds me of the expression my father wore when my mother's coffin was lowered into the ground.

'I don't know who the lock of hair belongs to' I whisper, and I feel my throat tighten. 'But I'm not sure I want to know. Whoever it belongs to, it's...' Is it horrible? Awful? Words don't seem to be enough. I fall silent.

Haymitch looks up slowly, his lashes strangely wet.

' I know' His voice is raspy.'Lenore Doves. She was the girl that....' He takes a deep breath. 'I loved her. Snow killed her because he thought I'd made a fool of him in the Game. I outsmarted him. He killed our mother and my little brother, Sid.'

The medallion clatters on the ground as I let go, terrified, disgusted. I'm not much of a hugger, but now I jump forward without thinking and hug my uncle hard. He is completely still, as if his body were carved from stone; I slowly let go and look up at him. His gaze is lifeless.

'I never should have come here' he whispers.

Anger flares inside me; anger that I can't help him. Burning, smoldering rage against Coriolanus Snow, who can turn Haymitch into a motionless, lifeless mass.

’Bullshit’ I snap. He killed our mother. So, basically, that man murdered our grandmother. Haymitch blinks.

’What?’

’ I said, its bullshit’ I growl. ’You are family, you saved my ass – twice in two days. And if it helps you with Snow, I will go to the Capitol with you.’

’No!’ My father's voice rattles like a gunshot, which I find somewhat impressive because he's still deathly pale and can't even sit up. But his features reflect stubborn refusal. 'You're not going anywhere. Absolutely not.'

I usually obey him without a second thought. My father and I are the same, only he is a better soul. But now I must oppose him.

'Dad, I'm not leaving Haymitch alone in the Capitol. I imagine he has friends there, but it's not the same. If it helps that I'm going with him, I'm going with him.'

’You don’t have to protect me, sweetheart’ he mutters, but I ignore him. His expression is as stubborn as my father's, and I sigh.

'You can defend yourself, obviously, but you've just demonstrated what happens when the President is challenged; or when he thinks he's being challenged. What happens to you if I'm not there when the Game starts? Or to me? With Dad, or with Prim?'

For a heartbeat there is silence.

'If you come with me,' says Haymitch, in a flat but firm voice, 'you must promise me certain things.'

’Name them.’

'You can't judge. No one. You will meet the other Victors. They're my friends; the personas you see on TV aren't real, but you have to maintain them if you want your loved ones not to die. None of them are there out of charity; they are trying to protect the ones they love. You said it right: if they resist, what happened to Lenore Dove will happen to them.’

My nausea suddenly returns in full force. I bend down and lift up the pendant, closing it. It is objectively a beautiful piece of jewellery, but I put it down on our bed as quickly as I can. Its touch almost burns my skin. I think of Finnick Odair, the young, bronze-haired Victor, with his stunningly alluring sea-green eyes, always on another woman's arm.

’All of them?’ I ask, heart punding.

’All of them.’

’Even Finnick?’

My uncle snorts.

’Especially Finnick. Do you think the boy feels like hanging around women decades older than him? If only they were all women. Snow sells Victors who are attractive. It's a market. Finnick still has his father alive, he's specifically close to Mags, who was his mentor, and there's...' Haymitch suddenly stops talking. 'Finnick has something to lose.'

I clench my free hand tightly into a fist. I'm overcome with self-disgust at the things I've assumed about Finnick. Then I think of something.

’Even the Cariers?’ They are the ones who prepare for the Game all their lives, and claim to bring glory back home to their District. District Four too, where Finnick and Mags from, but Districts One and Two even more so.

Haymitch sighs, walks over to me and squats down in front of me like I'm a little girl.

'Katniss, where do you get your ideas? The things you believe in? That the Carriers are all despicable?'

I open my mouth to reply, but no answer comes. These thoughts are so ingrained in me that I can't even find their beginning. Haymitch nods with a small, bitter smile.

’Exactly. If, on the other hand, you had heard all your life that winning the Game is glory, you would believe it. You and Burdie are close, huh? Daddy's little girl. If you'd heard since you could walk that winning would make him proud, that's what you'd want. Wouldn't you?'

He is right, and for the first time in my life, I am filled with burning shame for this. I glance back over my shoulder at my father, still in bed; pale and unresisting. He just watches, then closes his eyes.

I turn back and nod ashamedly. Here's another group of people I've judged.

'The Carriers are similar to us in this respect. They enter the arena with a certain belief system and it breaks them to pieces, even if they win. And the snake bites them too.'

Suddenly I remember sharp, needle-sharp, white teeth, and I stagger back in shame. Haymitch holds me on my feet and stands up.

'Enobaria...' my voice trails off, and the question is drowned out, but he still understands.

'What young woman wants to get her teeth sharpened? Snow assigns all Victors some sort of role,' says Haymitch sharply. ’Baria is the Beast; even though she is a sweet girl.’

Judgemental, stupid cunt I berate myself. I take a deep breath; I want to ask Haymitch what his role is, whether he's ever been sold, but I have no right to. Instead, I nod.

'We don't judge Victors. We don't judge anyone,' I say loudly, as if I'm delivering my homework to my teacher. ’What else?’

' The Victors are our family. All of them. You may not like all of them, but all of them, without exception, will protect you if I'm not there to do it. You can trust them.  And, if you can help them while we're there - with anything - do it, even if I'm not with you. Understand?'

I'm quietly considering this; I'm bad with emotions, but at the same time... I trust Haymitch, even though I haven't seen him in years. If he says Victors are family, then so be it. It will be hard for me, but I will try.

’Yes, Sir’ I say, and he is visibly more clam because of that fact.

'I have my own rules too' says Dad. I suddenly feel tired, but turn around to face him. I can't get away from this.

’Dad…’ I try regardless, but he lift his hand, and I fall silent.

'I'm not arguing that you have to go. I accept it, even though I detest it' he declares. He's deathly pale, with sweat beading on his lips, but his expression is as determined as his brother's.

'But if you go, you have to promise me that you will listen to Haymitch,' he continues. I can hear my uncle sucking in a surprised breath behind me, but my attention is now solely on my father. Sharp, grey eyes are on me. 'Listen to him. Stay close to him. If he's not there, find a Victor. Help any Victor who needs it, because as your uncle told you, they're like family. Help them. But whenever you can, stay with my brother. Is that clear?'

I am amazed. As far as I know, this is the first time Haymitch has heard my father refer to him as his brother in my presence.

’Katniss?’ asks Dad, and I’m suddenly that little girl again, who wanted just one more song, and didn’t let her father sleep.

’I hear you sir’ I tell him. ’Loud and clear.’

*

It's a strange thing to go to school after all that has happened in the last few days. I'd much rather go hunting because we're running out of meat and that brings a growing fear, not to mention the fact that my father can't work. But I've missed a lot, and the Reapings are tomorrow, so the teachers are even more vigilant to see if we're there.

I'm missing most of the day anyway; the schoolmaster, Emery Blake, Aspen's father, scolds me for not having homework, but I'm too tired to respond. I just look at him, unmoving. How could I be interested in an essay about burning coal when my dad's back was covered in blood just a few days ago? When I have to go to the Capitol soon? The emptiness in my eyes disturbs him, and he quickly lets me go.

During one of the breaks, Peeta and Madge find me; Peeta smiles shyly at me and offers me a vanilla snail; I've never had it before, and although it's too sweet for my taste, the dough is so soft it almost melts on my tongue.

Magde gives me a worried, quiet look and asks about my father. I'm not used to affection, at least not when it doesn't come from my family, and their kindness brings it all out of me.

I talk about the invitation, and Haymitch; about the Victors and how I want to help them somehow, but I know it's impossible, and I feel like a traitor anyway for telling them what I heard from my uncle, because they are suppose to be family. I complain because I am afraid, afraid - afraid.

'Bastards' Magde hisses, her blue eyes icy, and I suddenly remember her aunt who died in the Game, and I feel even worse. I know she's not thinking of the Victors, but of the people who buy them.

The girl's expression turns thoughtful for a moment; she glances around, even though the three of us are standing in the courtyard behind the school building, where there are fewer people around.

Then she pulls out a golden pin from her pocket; a delicately detailed bird in a golden circle. Its a Mockingjay.

’This belongs to my family’ she wishpers to us. ’You guys know how she was born from a failed experiment, right? The Capitol wanted to use them to spy on the Rebels in the Dark Days, and they used her against them, instead. I think they would hate, if you have her on, during your trip there’ she grins, her blue eyes sparkling cheekily.

And I understand and agree. But my throat constricts again; I think of Haymitch's blank expression; of Enobaria, who is considered a monster. Of my father's half-brother, my uncle's little brother, who will always be a boy, and I will never know him. Now that I think about it, I don't even know his name.

My hand, the tips of my fingers, tingle, as if touching the bloody lock of hair again and - I shake my head. I am a coward. Or maybe I just value the lives of those I love more than I value resisting. Is that cowardice?

'I can't accept that, Madge,' I tell her softly. 'I'm sorry.'

Disappointment crosses Magde's face, but before she can speak, Peeta's face brightens - and saves me, again.

'You know,' he says, 'there are other ways to express your displeasure.'

’How?’

The boy bends down and pulls out a notebook and a pen from his schoolbag, which lies at his feet. He sits down, takes the beautiful, deep brown leather bag in his lap, flips to a blank, snow-white page in the notebook and begins to draw.

Madge and I watch in fascination as he carefully draws, from dark ink lines, a meticulous bird that spreads its wings; its perfect. I almost wait for the little animal to move.

’I didn’t know you draw!’ I say quietly, though, of course, I don’t know as much about Peeta as maybe I would like to.

’Its just a hobby’ he says, but I desegree; its much more. The Mockingjay is still here, he writes under the picture, in elegant, drawn-out black letters.

'I could draw several versions' he offers. 'You could take it away, and if I draw on small pieces of paper, you could leave it in different places in the Capitol.'

The next bird turns its head to the side, as if inquiring. Do you really want to live like this? asks the sign next to it.

'That's brilliant!' whispers Madge, as Peeta starts a third version of a bird peeking out from under its own wing. If you've had enough, just look for a victor, he'll help you, the little creature encourages.

It is, brilliant. And maybe more safe? If I scatter the little cards, there's nothing to lead back to me, is there? Or maybe I'm just kidding myself. Maybe I just don't want to be a coward.

’Okay’ I tell them, before I can change my mind.

’Okay?’ Peeta gives me a heartbreakingly sweet smile.

I nod. Magde brightens like a spring sky.

'Welcome to the resistance, Everdeen' she says with a broad smile. 

But I can't help thinking that I'm doing something really stupid.

*

The dawn of the Reaping finds me in the forest, my father protests in vain. He mentions some imaginary compensation after the flogging, but we both know he will never get it from the Capitol.

The forest calms me; we need meat anyway, and I need to take something to exchange with the Baker, so that under its veil, Peeta can give me the rest of the cards.

After that, Haymitch and I are off to the Capitol. Haymitch, the two tributes, and me.

I try not to think about it, just concentrate on my breathing, on the bow in my hand; on the swing of the arrow as it shoots out and hits two wild chicks.

I am filled with a moment of triumph. If Gale were here I'd offer him one, but he's not. I haven't seen him since I asked him about my father back at the mines. I miss him somehow; him and Hazelle his mother who was always kind to me. His brothers, and his little sister, Posy.

But there is something about me that bothers him, and lately he has been nothing but angry with me. Maybe I should run after him, but I just feel like I can't.

Now that I have two birds, at least I'll have something to trade and we'll have something to eat as well.

As I squeeze through the fence that separates the District from the forest, I immediately head for Mellark Bakery. I silently hope that only Peeta and possibly his two brothers, Rye and Cobbler, be there when I arrive.

Their father is the Baker, a nice man, but now I need Peeta specifically if I want to get the cards. And their mother... I instinctively wince as I think of Peeta's mother. There was a fresh wound above the boy's brow when I saw him yesterday. Why didn't I ask him what happened to him?

Because I’m a coward, that’s why.

But luck seems to favour cowards, because when I enter, Rye is at the counter and his two brothers are stacking small, beautifully decorated cakes in the window. On one of them, a small pink marzipan-covered wonder, sits an amazingly lifelike bunny, moulded from marzipan. Primrose would love it, but there's no way I can buy it.

Besides, that's not why I'm here.

Peeta is already wearing an ironed white shirt; everyone is expected to look smart for harvest day. The boy's face lights up when he sees me.

’Hi, Katniss!’ he is smiling. ’Both are for us?’ he means the game, in my hand.

I give him a half smile, because this boy is so riddiculusly kind.

’No, but you can you can choose whichever one you want between the two’ I offer.

His mother would weigh the chickens with excessive caution, and would do anything to choose the bigger one, even if the two birds are pretty much the same - but Peeta just gently takes one without a second thought.

’Thank you’ he tells me. He turns back to the window for a moment and picks out one of the bunny cookies.

'It's too much...' I start, because I know decorated cookies are expensive, but he just shakes his head.

’We are not done’ he informs me. ’This is an important bird.’ He lifts the chicken a bit, but I have the feeling that its not about this bird.

Peeta steps behind the counter next to Rye and pulls out two paper bags full of cheese buns; the smell of them hits my nose and my mouth water; they're my favourite and he knows it. That's certainly a lot, but I won't argue. Besides, I owe this boy more than I can repay, anyway.

The boy wraps the cookie, decorated with a bunny, in plain white paper and puts it in one of the paper bags; I notice that the front of this paper bag has a black pen stroke on it, as if someone has tried to write a price on it, while the front of the other bag has nothing on it.

So, the cards are in this one, under the buns. Got it.

'Enjoy' he hands over the bags.

’Good luck today, guys’ bursts out of me, and I blush with shame; it's not customary to mention the Reaping in the District unless absolutely necessary, but the thought of Peeta going to the Arena makes my heart clench.

When did I start worrying more about Peeta than Gale?

As I exit the bakery, I take one of the cheese buns out of the marked bag. I immediately see a card with a bird singing visibly on it. There are people you care about, the inscription reminds me. Fight for them.

Yeah. I’m trying.

*

Prim squeals with delight when she sees the bunny on the cookie, and Dad and I smile at each other over her shoulder. Peeta is a real good soul, and I wish I had the courage to kiss him again.

*

The sun is burning my skin as I join the ranks of girls my age. It's all horrible, but I remind myself that at least there's still another year until Prim has to come.

I'm wearing one of my mother's old, deep green silk blouses; a little faded, but still remarkably elegant. I pick a black pencil skirt with it, and I'm glad the skirt has pockets because the paper pieces fit inside.

I scan the rows; I see Delly, in her golden coloured bell skirt, smiling sweetly at me. I also notice Madge, whose dress is cherry red, as is the ribbon in her golden blonde hair; she's wearing the gold pin and waves briefly at me.

Haymitch is already sitting behind the table on the podium; he looks totally drunk and I feel a pang of worry as I see him. In years past, I've felt only a passing indignation, but now that I know about his past, I can only sympathise. I really want his forehead to stop tapping on the table.

Effie Trinket, the District Twelve's escort, clears her throat sharply to try to wake Haymitch, but the attempt is dead in the water and my uncle doesn't flinch.

Each district has an escort; he or she is the one who draws the names, escorts the selected ones onto the train, and helps the menotores at the Capitol to get the sponsors. Sponzors can mean the difference between life and death in the game; if you are liked before the game, you can get food, medicine or weapons to survive at the right moment.

At all times in recent years Effie has worn stunningly bright colours, as is the Capitol custom; she has worn a screaming, over-the-top collection of everything that only served to contrast sharply with the poverty of District Twelve, the simpler fabrics worn in the Seam.

But this year is better than the others, in my opinion. It's not that Effie is any less striking than usual, but at least she's pretty now; true, her blonde hair is covered with living, real flowers, completely intertwining her locks, forming an intricate flower petal crown.

The mix of dark purple, snow white, pink, lemon yellow and fiery red flowers is still a stunning display of the Capitol's richness. Even the Merchants cannot afford this amount of flowers in the District.

But I can't deny that I like all this better than the vibrant horrors Effie has worn in recent years; she wears minimal makeup now, apart from her red lip, and I have to admit she is naturally pretty. There's only one lock of hair sticking out of the floral array, but it's dyed a very, very pale shade of pink, and oddly enough I don't hate it.

She wears a long, snowy white linen dress decorated with delicately painted flowers. Somehow it looks like the pattern is covered with water droplets, like looking at those watercolours I saw at school.

I hate the fact that I like all of it. Then, I remember my promise to my uncle. You can't judge. No one. I take a deep breath; okay - perhaps Effie Trinket isn't so terrible after all.

In the next moment, I am overcome with sympathy for her, anyway; a deep concern comes over her face because Haymitch still won't move. Of course, she might be worried that in two minutes there will be cameras everywhere; the Election will be broadcast all over Panem, compulsory viewing after the results; but there is something in her movements, as she walks up to the Victor and shakes his shoulder, speaks to him in a steady, quiet voice, that suggests she is worried for Haymitch personally.

Effie straightens up for a moment, as if she's made up her mind, and then lifts the glass of water on the table next to Haymitch's hand and splashes it firmly in his face.

Haymitch winces, and his hand disappears from the table, presumably to pull a knife from his pocket; but at least he's alive, and I let out the air I seem to have been holding in.

With an irritated gesture, Effie walks back to the two glass balls containing the names on pieces of papers; the glass balls are set up on the other side of the podium from the table, to the right. I find myself sharing Effie's irritation: I understand my uncle, but the fact is; he drinks too much.

 He, however, senses none of this; he blinks with a watery eye; but at least he is conscious.

But my irritation, as quickly as it came, disappears; I don't have time for this much emotion, because Madge's father Mayor Undersee takes the stage and, as always, gives the obligatory speech about the Dark Days.

His words blur beside me as my heartbeat intensifies with the awakening terror. Would I survive if I had to go to the Arena? Then I think of the people I worry about - Peeta, Madge, Delly, Olive - Vick, and Rory. As Gale's little brothers come to mind, I clench my jaw. We may be slowly growing apart, but for a long time we were almost family, like the Victors are to my uncle. I know that Hazelle is somewhere in the back, afraid for her children.

My father would be here too if it wasn't for his injury. I take a deep breath and exhale. No point worrying until I hear my name. I pull myself out, and fix my gaze on my uncle. Haymitch lifts his head and his grey eyes lock with mine; more alert than before. Even if I have to go, I won't be alone.

The mayor's voice fades and is replaced by Effie's slightly sweet, enthusiastic one. Maybe she's not a bad soul, maybe she doesn't mean any harm, but it's as if she can't sense the palpable dread in the air. I completely lose the first sentence because the blood is pounding so loudly in my ears, but I'm present again when she says, smiling:

'Ladies first!' and with a graceful gesture, she reaches into the open glass ball and pulls out a snow-white piece of paper.

’Olive Siber!’ she declares, and I am relieved not to hear my own name, and then I am flooded with self-loathing. Olive was with us at the Kiss Mansion. I know her. True, she was the quietest among us, sometimes I almost forgot she was there, but at least she wasn't condescending like Tsula, or rude, like Rowan.

I find myself breathing faster as Olive slowly steps out of the line; tall, with olive skin and grey eyes just like mine, but her dark hair only reaching to the bottom of her ears. She wears a simple, off-white dress that ends above her knees; both arms are fully covered, but the dress is sheer lace from shoulder to wrist, and the intricate patterns allow only tiny patches of skin to show.

She lifts her head, but tears are already flowing as she stumbles slowly to the podium. I hear someone take a sharp intake of breath; it must be her father, who owns the mill.

I am ashamed to realize that I don't remember her mother's name, only that she is originally a laundress like Hazelle, and yet she married a merchant. Practically the reverse of my mother, who, despite her merchant family, fell in love with my father, a simple miner.

The girl steps up to the podium and I see Haymitch watching her sadly. Effie's smile doesn't falter.

'And now the boys!' she says, almost singing, and moves to the other glass ball.

Peeta. And his brothers, Rye and Cobbler. Vick and Rory. No, no, no, no. Please no.

’Rowan Kochler!’

I curse to myself; of course, the district is a small place, so there was a good chance I'd know whoever's name they were pulling - but still. Rowan was arrogant with me, and insensitive when it came to Haymitch, but that didn't mean he should die.

At least its not Peeta.

Rowan is wearing a pale blue wrinkled suit shirt, but no suit jacket, and his trousers and his shoes are black rather than blue, but he approaches Effie with a raised head and a mocking smile, who has to remind him to shake hands with his district partner. His red hair shining in the sun. I cannot help it, though Rowan is the poorer, yet I sympathise with Olive.

’Common, sweetheart’ Haymitch murmurs after scrambling off the podium with great difficulty; he wants to get on the train to the Capitol as soon as possible, which I can understand in a way. The chosen ones' farewell hour has already begun; that's when they can say goodbye to their family and friends, to anyone who is willing to come to them. Other times I might go to the Justice Building, a few minutes' walk from the main square, to at least say goodbye to Olive, but I'll see her on the train anyway.

'Wait a minute' I say softly; my attention is drawn to the conversation of Olive's mother, who I suddenly remember is called Petal. Conversation is perhaps the wrong word: she is getting into a loud argument with Cray, and slowly shouting so loudly that I can hear the problem from here.

'You can't do that!' she screams. 'My daughter has the right to take it with her!'

'Rights, my dear, are expensive things' purrs Cray, and the disgust I feel for him returns with force.

' Here it goes,' I grab my uncle by the arm and pull him towards the two figures, ignoring his protests.

’I need a drink!’

'You're drunk enough as it is, uncle,' I retort sharply, and two steps later we're standing in front of Petal and Cray.

'Everything all right, Mrs Siber?' I ask. Prim's usually more skilful with people; they trust her instinctively, but now I'm trying too. Petal looks at me in surprise, but I think in her heart she must still be a Seam girl, because her face opens, reflecting sincerity.

'Cray won't let Olive take a token!' I frown; the token is an item from the districts that everyone who goes to the Arena is entitled to. It can be anything that comforts those in the Game, as long as it's not a weapon.

'This must be some misunderstanding' I reassure the woman, even though we both know it's just Cray, a despicable human being as usual.

'Misunderstanding like you after curfew on the street, Miss Everdeen?' hisses Cray, and I can feel the blood draining from my face.

'Do you have a problem, Cray?' inquires Haymitch, who has been by my side without a word, and whoops, the angry mountain bear is back.

Cray would be a fool to pick a fight with a Victor on Reaping Day, right before the train ride, but Cray is a fool, and I can see he's about to open his mouth to say something angry, so I cut in.

'The Peace Keeper is obviously just worried that Olive's talisman will get lost' I say, with feigned naivety. 'But we don't need to worry, we have Haymitch here to mentor her, and he's already the District's Victor. You can safely hand it over to him, whatever it is, Mrs Siber.'

Three pairs of stunned eyes stare at me for a minute; I've outwitted Cray. I pointed out that Haymitch is a Victor, which means he is above Cray in terms of approval, and that as a mentor he will give Olive her due.

If Cray is not willing to admit that he tried to blackmail Petal into paying him to hand over Olive's talisman, he can't say anything.

Haymitch is the first to understand what I've done, and for a moment he looks like a cat that's licked the milk. Then he starts laughing raspily, his strong shoulders shaking with suppressed cheer.

Then Petal comes, and as she understands everything, she pulls out a delicately crafted, thin, silver bracelet from her pocket, with a broad smile. Its pretty; a tiny snowflake pendant hangs from it.

Cray glares at my uncle, who is still laughing, but there's nothing he can do, I won. He turns and begins to march angrily towards the Justice Building.

Haymitch shocks himself and grabs the bracelet, then puts it in his pocket. Petal takes her leave in a hurry, thanks us, and follows Cray with quick steps.

Still grinning, my uncle wipes his eyes, which are watery from laughter.

’That was brilliant’ he shigs. ’You were a fucking brilliant little shit, sweetheart.’

I grin back and decide to take that as a compliment.

*

The train is something completely new to me. It's modern and streamlined, and as soon as we get going I have to get used to the moving underfoot.

’Later’ murmurs Haymitch, and starts down the long train corridor towards one of the compartment doors. Stunned, I step after him.

I grab his arm and turn him towards me, a little clumsily; he doesn't resist in surprise, but it's still not a perfect idea, as he's unsteady on his feet from the alcohol and almost falls on me.

’What are you doing?’ he growls at me.

’What are you doing?!’ I snap back, giving him an irritated look. I don't understand why we don't look for Rowan and Olive. They should be up on the train by now.

'I'm going to find myself a nice bottle of vodka, go to bed and drink until I realise there's no tomorrow,' he says honestly, with a good dose of sarcasm.

I'm overcome with anger and disappointment, but I take a deep breath and try to hold it in.

'What if it was me?' I hiss at him.'What if they had drawn my name? What would you do then?'

'I'd jump out of a window' he says, quite sincerely, and I think I'm going to explode.

'Which wouldn't help me at all!‘ I shout.’ 'You know what I'd want if I were in their shoes? A mentor! I would want to be around you, ask you questions, look for tips – anything - and not just because you look like a bigger version of my dad. They need help! Go and help them!'

A faint, tired smile appears on his face.

’A bigger version of your dad?’

’Not the point, Haymitch! Help them!’

'I can't do anything for them' he says bitterly.

’Bullshit!' I snort. 'You're smart, and you survived an Arena with twice as many opponents as they'll have. Try!’

This time, he crosses the distance between us and, to my surprise, buries his forehead in my neck. He's very drunk, but that doesn't mean he's not suffering. I put my arms around him and hum tunelessly for a moment, like Dad when we get a cold.

’Just try’ I murmur softly, rhythmically stroking the hair on the back of his head; to my surprise, I feel him nod, and then slowly pull away from me. His eyes are red and wet, but I pretend not to notice.

’Right’ he clears his throat. ’Lets go, give your friend her token, shall we?’

This time I give him a real smile.

*

We find Rowan and Olive in the dining room car with a very irritated Effie Trinket. They are both sitting around one of the central tables, a little intimidated, which I don't blame them for. The table is set beautifully, with real china cutlery, and is almost overflowing with a variety of dishes, some of which I don't even recognise.

 ‘Taking your time I see,’ Effie remarks, with a sharpness that could draw blood, but Haymitch doesn't flinch, just smiles lazily at her as he throws himself down on one of the chairs opposite Rowan, Olive, and Effie.

'Loosen your corset, Princess,' he says teasingly, but not maliciously. ’I’m here already.’

Effie's snow-white skin is suddenly blushing, covering even her neck; she blinks, then her anger returns.

'I'm not wearing a corset, Abernathy!'

Haymitch chuckles, takes a finely cut glass of crystal from the glasses and fills it with wishky, which, with its golden colour, resembles a smouldering fire.

'Okay' he says, after taking a sip. ‘You all know me, but sweetheart here is’ he waves at me, just as I sit down next to him on an empty chair - 'new to Effie. Effie, this is my niece, Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, Effie Trinket, she knows everything and runs everything, be nice to her.'

Effie claps her hands over her mouth in delight, like someone seeing a little girl. Everything about this woman is too much - but the strangest thing is that her joy seems genuine.

'Katniss, what a pleasure it is to meet you!' she exclaims.'How nice of you to come and support Haymitch during the Game!'

’That too’ I nod, with half a smile. 'But President Snow was kind enough to invite me to a private Game Viewing Night' I add, somewhat dryly. Anyone from the Districts would immediately sense the danger in the invitation - Olive flinches by reflex - but Effie's blue eyes sparkle enthusiastically as she nods at what I say.

'He's your uncle?’ asks Rowan, suddenly staring darkly at me. 'So that's why you were so freaked out when we heard he was having a nightmare!'

I feel the anger coming back. What a little brat. I feel Haymitch's gaze on my face, but I don't turn to him.

'If I were you, I wouldn't bring up a memory where I didn't show the faintest trace of human compassion,' I hiss quietly. 'Especially since, if you win the Game, you'll have nightmares too. Who's going to wake you up, Rowan? Because I'm not, that's for sure.'

The boy winces as if I've slapped him, and Haymitch clears his throat again.

'I appreciate you defending my honor, sweetheart,‘ he says playfully. 'But we don't have time for this.’ he turns to Olive and pulls the bracelet out of his pocket. 'Your mother asked me to give this to you, since she didn't have time to do so. The Game Makers will ask for it before the Arena, for inspection, but you'll get it back.'

’Thank you!’ Olive's face lights up as she takes the bracelet and hastily slips it on her wrist.

’Welcome’ murmurs Haymitch.

'Now a few basics; when we arrive at the Capitol, there will be a bunch of people waiting for you at the station.  Journalists, fans, sheeps, all kinds of people. I know they sound annoying' Haymitch raises his hand, seeing the expression on Rowan's face. 'But the teenage girl who will ask to have her photo taken with you might be the daughter of a rich banker who could be your sponsor. Wave and be friendly.’

'What do these people think we are?' asks Rowan, offended. 'Animals on display in a zoo?' I understand his indignation, and I hate that fact.

'And the fence is too low, so some animals got out of their cages' Haymitch mutters, taking another sip.

’Haymitch, really!’ Effie scolds. She smiles at Rowan and Olive. ’We just want to get to know you, darlings. I’m sure that you are both fabolusly interesting people.’

I repress a sigh. Effie seems to be a good soul, but scandalously clueless.

’You can remain fabolusly interesting while eating’ my uncle remarks with a slight sneer, gesturing towards the table. 'Try to eat carefully, because the heavy food might be too much for your stomach at first, but we should try to put some extra weight on you in the next week. We don't know if you will be able to find food in the Arena.’

That sounds like good advice, and I'm quietly glad my uncle is keeping his word and trying.

I turn to the table and, a little ashamed, realise that I shouldn't be eating. It's for the Victors who survived the Arena, or those who have had their names pulled, and for those who have a job here, like Effie. Not for me.

'Eat,' Haymitch growls out of the corner of his mouth. 'You're my family; where there's room for me, there's room for you. I’ve earned it.’

I look at him with wide eyes for a moment; this is the second time today that he has openly acknowledged me as his family. Then I nod briefly.

'You should too' I remark, glancing sharply at the glass in his right hand.

'Why don't you pick something for me, too, sweetheart?' he inquires with a bitter smile, continuing to sip the damn wishkey.

He doesn't have to say it twice.

There are the charcuterie boards with artisan cheeses and meats, and seared scallops with pomegranate reduction. The baked Brie with fruit compote is also wonderful.  There’s something that Effie calls Beef Wellington, with lobster risotto, and those things both seem to be heavy, good to absorb the alcohol, so I dive a big portion onto Haymitch's plate.

I choose lamb with plums for myself, and when I swallow the first bite, I can't suppress a groan.

Haymitch watches me with a cheerful twinkle in his eye, seemingly having a good-natured laugh, and when I turn to him, he smiles.

'Have you seen the chocolate volcano?' he asks.

’What?’

My uncle points his fork towards a secluded table that I hadn't noticed before. On it, on plates, are volcanoes moulded from hard chocolate, and through the opening, dark chocolate syrup flows out.

I fill three deep mugs with the chocolate syrup and place one in front of Olive and one in front of Rowan. Olive smiles sweetly at me in thanks. I notice Effie frowning as she watches Rowan munching away. He ignores Haymitch's advice and is on his fifth scoop of fruit ice cream custard.

’Really, Rowan, where are your manners?' asks Effie.'You can't blame everything on your background, Katniss here was perfect with a knife and fork!'

I'm about to make a sharp comment, because Effie is acting like the usual Capitoline, all District people boorish in her eyes, and Rowan may not care about manners, a week before his possible death.

But then the boy looks up and gives me a malicious look.

’Well, yeah, but what else did you expect from the niece of a Victor?’  he asks as if it's an insult, and I narrow my eyes as I look at him.

'Careful with the ice cream, Ro,' I advise, sweetly. 'You'll get a sore throat before someone has a chance to cut it.'

The blood drains from the boy's face, and I sit back down next to Haymitch and offer him a spoonful of my own hot chocolate syrup. The man takes my spoon and deliberately smears his own face with chocolate, and I have to laugh.

Haymitch waits patiently for everyone to finish eating, then leans back in his chair.

’Now I want you to tell me what you're good at,’ he says.'It could be anything; weaponry, anything survival related, maybe you know of certain plants that are good for wounds, whatever. You'll be allowed to learn new things during the training the following week, but at the end you'll have to give a demonstration to the Game Makers and you'll get points for that. The points are important because until the Sonsors have seen you in the arena, they will judge you on that.'

Neither of them speaks; an uncomfortable silence settles over us. Olive squirms awkwardly in her chair.

Help them, I command myself.

'Rowan often fights at school' I offer. My uncle looks at me with interest, but Rowan's eyes darken even more. 'I mean, you win most fights, asshole,' I add, irritably, seeing this.

’So, hand to hand combat’ nods Haymitch. ’We can work with that. Once we arrive at the Capitol, you will be up against me. We will see what you have, and how to improve it.’

Rowan raises his red eyebrows, and Haymitch grins.

'Ah, are you worried about me, kid? Don't bother, I'll be gentle with you' sarcasm flows out of him, but Rowan just nods coldly.

’What about you, snowflake girl?’ my uncle turns to Olive. The reference to her bracelet is a good start, but she just smiles at Haymitch, bloodless and embarrassed.  But then she speaks, quietly.

'My father wants me to become a master miller' she admits. Rowan snorts, and I can see why.  It is very rare for a girl to become part of the Guild, especially in our district, but the boy is not helping.

’To become a Master, the miller must make a masterpiece' Olive explains, a little animatedly, ignoring Rowan. ’I could be one. I could’ve done it. And now I have no choise, no chence.’ Suddenly she falls silent, and my heart breaks for her.

'Milling is hard work, isn't it, little girl?' murmurs Haymitch, gently. Olive nods weakly, and my uncle, thoughtfully, continues.

 ’In most cases, the flour is passed through the stones two or three times, after the first coarse-stone milling pass. The millstones can be on average a metre in diameter and 20-40 cm thick. You obviously couldn't lift that. But that means you're intimately acquainted with the two-edged, millstone pick, your father used to carve and repair the millstone from time to time?' Haymitch is thinking out loud, and only half notices Olive nodding more vigorously.

Under normal circumstances I would be amazed and proud that Haymitch is so clever and knows such rare facts, but now I'm overwhelmed with joy.

Two-edged, millstone pick. That sounds like a wepon, yes? One that Olive can use? Thats good. Thats something.

Haymitch plays thoughtfully with a lock of my hair and, as if reading my mind, comments:

'It's a bit too specific a weapon to find in the Arena right from the start. Knives, first aid kit in a backpack, maybe, but this? I don't think so.'

'Carriers regularly find full body armours, or even swords' I raise, but I know my argument is flawed, and Haymitch points it out.

’Thats because they are Carriers’ he shrugs. 'Wealthier districts, starts with sponsorshig in the first place. And of course they are…’ He bites off the sentence and I know he was about to say something that is a secret, presumably a dangerous secret.

Don’t judge, I remind myself.

’I can send it in later, if you do well in the game, but weapons are only allowed towards the end, and then everything is more expensive by the moment, because you are few in number' Haymitch muses.

'The flat, double-edged pick is the second main tool of the millers, isn't it?' he raises an eyebrow. 'You use it to shape the smoothness of the stone surface? Maybe I'll have better luck with that. In any case, picks. Noted. If nothing else, they'll give you a demonstration for the Game Masters, which is something.’

He rubs his forehead tiredly.

’The coverage from the rest of the district Reaping will start in about half an hour. We'll watch it and decide on the rest of the strategy. I advise you to rest until then. What we can discuss is - do you want to train separately or together when we arrive?'

'Separately' Rowan responds, and I'm not surprised. There's not an ounce of tenderness in that boy.

’Fine’ shrugs my uncle. 'Don't get into fights and arguments with the others when we arrive at the Training Centre. There will be enough time to talk about alliances this week, which I will discuss with the other mentors. But if you’re making trouble you just make my job harder.’

The mention of this makes my stomach clench. Alliances in the Game are always temporary.

'No fighting each other, either' Haymitch gives Rowan a dark look, who clenches his jaw stubbornly.'You'll have enough opponents as it is, and it'll only put a target on both your backs.'

’All right’ nods Olive, but I don’t think she is the problem in the first place.

Rowan is silent, and Haymitch gives him a burning look.

’No. Fighting. Now that we're talking about it, don't attack each other in the Arena either, unless it's just the two of you left, and you have no choice.’

'There are no rules in the Arena!' protests Rowan.

'No, there aren't,' says Haymitch, suddenly soft. 'If you want to become the animal that the citizens of the Capitol see you as.'

Effie winces at this.

'Not all of us think so,' she protests quietly. Haymitch gives her a sincere smile.

’I know, Princess’ he notes, almost kindly. ’I know.’

He replies to Effie, but his grey eyes are fixed on Rowan's face after a half moment. I see that this is not helping.

'Think about it, Rowan,' I say. 'You win, you can come home. What do we think of our Victors in general, in 12? And no, I don't want a loud answer, because if you open your mouth I'll slap you.'

Haymitch's gaze slides from Rowan to me, then back again, and he starts laughing. Even the corner of Rowan's mouth quivers, and I can see him almost grinning.

'Now multiply the general opinion in the District by the fact that you hurt, possibly killed, your district partner,' I say darkly. What are we going to call that? You can answer out loud now.'

'Traitor,' Rowan says softly, pale, but in the sudden silence as Haymitch's laughter dies away, it too, sounds loud.

'Exactly' I lean back in my chair.

'No fighting between district partners in the Arena,' Rowan grumbles, looking at his mentor in surrender.

Haymitch grins.

’Excellent.’

*

As the recap of the Reaping begins, we settle down in one of the spacious cabins, where a huge screen is mounted on one wall.

Olive is eating cherries as the screen comes to life; cherries are another exotic item I touched for the first time yesterday. Yet I cannot envy the girl, as the main square of the District One appears on the TV.

Ambrosius Vexleigh - the local escort, an angelic-faced man with wavy, golden-blond hair, is drawing the first name from the boys here, too. Maybe it's just because I've got used to the “no judgement” rule, maybe it's because I've grown fond of Effie - but as the boy is called and I see someone volunteer, I notice a look of compassion cross Abrosius' elegant, pale face.

The boy volunteer is called Cassiar Gemmington, and he is as deep blond and blue-eyed as the escort. I'm about to make an acid remark about whether everyone here is being created on a production line, but Effie squeals sharply.

'Oh, Abro's going to be totally devastated, Cassiar's his nephew!' So, that's why they seem similar. In a way, it's like saying it's me and Haymitch has to see it through. I swallow the malicious comment and am silently ashamed of it.

'But they don't have the same surname, do they?' asks Olive quietly.

'Cassiar's mother is Abro's little sister,' Effie replies, sniffling, and Haymitch hands her a handkerchief without a word.  But not all of us have compassion; Rowan almost hisses at the screen.

'Good' says the boy, darkly. 'Let someone else feel what it's like to lose a family member.'

'Shut up,' Olive suddenly snaps, and it's so unusual for her quiet, reserved nature that we all stare at her. ’You've been picking on everyone all day! Haymitch and Effie are here to help, and only the blind can't see that Katniss is trying too, and she doesn't have to, and yet you're a dick to them! Haven't you got a moment of kindness in you? What good is it to you if someone else is hurting as well? Shut your mouth!’

'Oh, I'm so sorry, Snowflake, if my behaviour hasn't lived up to your expectations' hisses Rowan. The nickname Haymitch used out of kindness, which to Olive meant comfort, is an insult from his lips, as if Olive is a spoilt child. 'Not everyone has had such a comfortable life that they don't mind if they die in a week!'

'I've got news for you' Olive retorts without a moment's delay. ’You're not the only one who'll be dead in a week, the only difference between you and me is that at least I'll be missed!’ The end of the sentence is almost a scream, and the argument would continue if Haymitch hadn't yell.

'That's enough' both kids freeze and stare at him, and he continues, more calmly. 'As Olive so cleverly pointed out just now, I'm working my ass off here, so I hope you don't die, especially since Sweetheart here seems to have taken pity on us and helped Effie and I out. But the three of us can get stretched if you can't help us, so let's look at the opponents, shall we? And let me remind you both; no fighting! Not here, not in the Centre, not in the Arena! We don't have time for this.'

They both remain silent as Haymitch turns to Effie.

'What do you know about Cassiar, Princess?'

Effie sniffles for a moment, still wiping her eyes with Haymitch's handkerchief, which is getting more and more gold glitter on it, even though I thought that Effie doesn’t wear any makup, just the lipgloss. I get the feeling that she and Abrosius are friends, and Effie feels she's betraying him; but then she just sighs.

'He's been training since he was five,’ Effie grumbles wearily. 'His mother wanted to win, but she wasn't chosen to volunteer - the best in each year group is chosen in the first and second districts at the Academy, and encouraged to volunteer.'

Effie pronounces the word “encourage” in such a way that I get the feeling that volunteers have no choice.

'The fact that Abro became an escort saved the family's reputation somewhat,' Effie continues sadly 'But Belladonna remained obsessed with the idea of her son becoming a Victor.'

'Because that's such an enviable fate,' grumbles Haymitch, and to my surprise, Effie doesn't scold him, just nods.

'Cass is what we call a classic Carrier' Effie continues sadly.’He's well trained and he's excellent with most weapons we can think of’ she sighs. 'His favourite weapon is the Katana, because a childhood memory I have no intention of sharing with you. He is almost unstopable with that.’

'At least it's also a pretty specific weapon, though, if he're good with the others as well…' Haymitch doesn't finish the thought, his eyes fixed on the screen.

The Chosen in District Two are bloodthirsty looking. The boy and girl of the District Three embrace on the podium; they are cousins.

'Shit, I wouldn't be in Betee's shoes right now either' grumbles Haymitch, referring to one of the district's mentors.

The boy from District Four has one brown eye and one blue eye with brownish gold dots; it's beautiful. Effie informs us that it's called heterochromia, but all I can think of is that this boy is memorable, especially when he kisses his partner's hand. My uncle swears quietly under his nose.

District five is forgettable, thank all forces, as is district six. The district seven pair look frighteningly strong, but the spotlight is stolen by their mentor, Johanna Mason, who flips off the camera as it zooms in on her. The man sitting next to her, one of the male Victors, Blight Jordan, visibly laughs at the gesture.

Perhaps the Victors really aren't that bad after all.

’Your highly regarded Victors, ladies and gentleman’ Haymitch's grin is as wide as Blight's.

In the district eight, two kids' names are drawn; both are twelve years old and have no chance. The resident Victors, a beautiful, red-haired woman, Cecilia, and a rugged-looking, older man, Woof, seem deeply sad. Rowan whistles softly, and I want to punch him.

’Shut up!’ I hiss at him, and he purses his lips and looks away.

'Mags will have a hard time keeping Woof alive' Haymitch grumbles in a desperate voice. I want to ask if Mags, a mentor from Four, and Woof are together, but I don't dare in front of Olive and Rowan.

The contestants in the District Nine are so weak that there is no way they stand a chance, and sadly I feel the same about Ten.

 The District Eleven mentor, Seeder, a pretty, older woman, is talking quietly to her district partner when the camera closes in on them; Chaff, the male Victor, is missing half an arm, and seems to be completely lost in his own mind.

'How drunk is he?' asks Olive, amazed.

'As much as is necessary,’ Haymitch throws it out sharply, as we watch Beauregard Trotter, the district's escort, draw the boys' names.

The camera shows a group of strong, older, dark-skinned men, and I deduce that they are the uncles of the boy who is stepping forward.

When it's the girls turn, Chaf snaps his head up and starts shouting; he's drunk, but even so, he certainly knows her well. Shit.

'No amount of alcohol is going to help that,' Haymitch grumbles; I know from old broadcasts that he and Chaf are friends; I get up and sit next to him on the sofa. He looks at me, says nothing, but smiles, barely perceptibly, for a moment.

And then –

'You were really pretty today, Effie,' I remark quietly as she appears on the screen. This sort of thing is hard for me; Prim usually does it way more easyly. But then, I think about what it must have been like for Effie to talk about the boy from One, when they 're friends with the local escort. And I really think she's lovely, by the way.

Effie gives me a surprised look, then a happy smile appears on her face; Effie's emotions, I can see, are always huge, but I don't mind now.

’Oh, thank you, my dear! I did spend a rather large amount of time coming up with the coposition in the past months, I must say.’

Effie elegantly pulls a flower from her crown, without disturbing the others, and hands it to me.

It happens to be a dandelion, so I smile.

Olive exudes a kind of quiet dignity on screen, even though she has tears, which is not a bad thing. Rowan comes across as arrogant and I want to punch him; it puts a target on his back, but I suppose it's better than coming across as weak.

Haymitch, seems to agree with me; he wearily strokes his forehead as the screen falls quiet.

'Well, it could have been worse' he grumbles. “One and Two will be dangerous as always, and of course as a Carrier Pack, I'd rather not even think about it” he sighs. 'But we have options. Maybe Three, or even Four as an ally? Sure, they're a Carrier District, but more relaxed than One and Two.'

Can't I just join the Carrier Pack?’

Haymitch snorts.

’Are you that good of a fighter, boy? No matter; as you guys want to train separetly, that means, most of the stragey is private as well; I just wanted to watch this together. Now, chin up, smile and wave! Here we are!’

*

I hate to admit it, but the way Capitol comes into view, with its wide, sunny streets, is a truly stunning sight.

Olive and Rowan give it an honest try: Olive's smile is reserved and kind, her grey eyes softer than usual. Rowan's grin is confident and slightly arrogant, but I suppose that's just the style of some; even through the train window, I can hear a group of teenage girls screaming as Rowan waves at them.

Even Haymitch is waving; I have to realize that even though my uncle has worked hard to be seen as nothing but the harmless drunk, the Capitol loves all its Victors. Even the drunken rascal.

'You know,‘ Haymitch murmurs in my ear, ’if we want to help them, maybe we can give the sheeps a little show,’ he suggests.

I'm a terrible actor, there's no denying that. Everything comes out on my face; but I want to help, and I understand what he wants. Let the crowd wonder who the mysterious girl next to the rascal is; let them guess, let them talk about District 12.

I turn to my uncle and nod, and he immediately understands. His eyes soften, and he places his two hands on either side of my face; it's an act, and it's not. Somehow I feel he's using pretence to express something he wouldn't otherwise dare.

I smile genuinely and he kisses me on the forehead. A few moments later he points me out the window.

’Look!’

A bunch of teenage boys are trying to get my attention; there are fewer of them than the girls screaming after Rowan, and even they, obviously, were expecting someone like Casmere Rosseau instead of me, but still.

I feel myself blushing, and reflexively bury my face in Haymitch's shoulder; my uncle laughs fondly. I don't have to feign shyness, because I am indeed shy, but that can still be attractive.

Haymitch wraps an arm around me as we cut through the crowd behind Rowan and Olive; there are a lot of people, including a large crowd of journalists, whom Effie half-heartedly brushes aside, dripping crumbs of information.

For the first time I feel that Rowan and Olive might have a chance. Hope is a dangerous thing.

*

The head of the stylist team assigned to our district is called Tigris, and Haymitch assures Olive and Rowan that they can trust her. At the same time, he warns them not to spread the word about who they've got.

I'd like to ask where that name comes from and why they have to keep quiet about who they've got, but at the same time I can almost feel the danger sneaking around when my uncle talks about it. So I remain silent. Olive and Rowan don't argue; I quietly wish them good luck as they head off to meet their stylist teams.

The Victors Hotel is huge and a bit intimidating; we'll be sharing two rooms, my uncle says as he sends up our bags, then gives me an interestingly twinkly look.

'And now, sweetheart, off to the bar!'

'Haven't you had enough to drink?' I ask, a little tired and irritated; we've been up since morning and it must be around seven o'clock in the evening.

’Aw, Katniss, there’s no such thing as enough! But that's not why we're going in the first place; I want you to meet the other Victors! Not all of them will be there, but some; and I'd like to introduce you to everyone in the coming days. Come on, darling, have some fun!’

I look at him, and his eyes gleam with enthusiasm rather than from the booze; there's something boyish about the way he wants to introduce me to his friends, and I smile back at him involuntarily.

’Fine’ I draw the word out, as if I'm doing him a favour, but I smile visibly and he grins back at me.

’Hallelujah! I'll buy you something! Have you ever had a vanilla shake?’

'No' I shake my head as we walk towards the bar.' 'Is it alcoholic?'

'No, come on, I know you're a minor!'

'Good, because otherwise my Dad will kill us both, I'm just saying'

’I know, I know…’

*

The first person we find at the bar, sitting at a nice brown-wood table, is none other than Finnick Odair. He bows to me in  a flowery, exaggerated style, with a broad grin on his face.

'It's a real honour to meet you, Miss Everdeen,' he says, his sea-green eyes teasing.

“Same?” I raise my eyebrows slightly.

'I've already told her that you're not really an arsehole, Finn, don't bother,' Haymitch notes dryly, and waves to the barman.

'Ah' Finnick straightens up, and it's almost funny how the seductive expression disappears from his features and he suddenly looks completely normal. ’You're taking my toy, Mich! I love it when people realize over time that I'm not really an airhead!’

'I don't have that kind of time, I'm not getting any younger' my uncle grumbles as the waiter puts down a round of Wishky before him.

'Truer words have never been spoken,' Finnick remarks lightly; I sip my snow-white, frothy vanilla shake and almost choke on my laughter at the man's tone.

The dry humour between the two of them is delightful, and reminds me of myself and Gale in happier times.

Finnick gives me a pleased look, obviously glad to have made me laugh; he theatrically pushes aside a lock of his rusty ginger hair from his forehead, and the primadonna's gesture only makes me laugh harder.

’Finnick Varun Odair!’ snaps an older female voice from the direction of the bar's entrance, and all three of us flinch as if someone has found us with our hands in the cookie jar.

As I look up, I see a short, petite, silver-haired elderly woman with interesting, green eyes. I know from the regular Game  broadcasts that she is Mags Flanagan, Finnick's former mentor, and one of the oldest Victors in District Four.

’Someone is in trouble’ sings Haymitch under his nose, and Finnick gives him a dirty look.

’ Varun?’ I repeat, somewhat stunned.

' She's the only one who knows my middle name,’ Finnick mutters, a huge smile blossoming on his face as his mentor draws closer. ’Mags, my love, what can I do for you?’

'You disappeared without a word, boy!' snapps Mags, literally twisting Finnick's ear. My generation grew up seeing Finnick Odair as something of an idol; the sea god, the boy who won his own game at fourteen, who was bloodthirsty, almost artistic with the trident, the most expensive sponsor's gift in the history of the Game to date. So, to see Finnick's ear being twisted by a small, fragile woman is both comical and absurd.

'Auch, I'm sorry!' protests Finnick.'I didn't want to wake you, you need your rest!'

The anger disappears from Mags' face, replaced by tenderness.

'You've got to wake me up even if the world is ending,' she says. 'I thought you were called away.'

Called away - there is some extra meaning behind the words that makes my stomach turn to stone, and I must be right, because Mags' hand slides to Finnick's cheek and he gives her a tender look. The two different shades of green eyes connect.

’I’m fine’ murmurs Finnick kindly, but tension in the air does not dissolve. Haymitch tries to help.

’Mags’ he calls her attention. ’I want you to meet my niece, Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, Mags was one of my mentors during my Game.’

I look at him, suprised; I didn’t know that.

’Really?’

’Yeah. If your district doesn’t have a Victor alive during your Game, you got two from two different districts, where there are several’ he explains.

I nod, my heart beating hard. If it weren't for Mags, Haymitch would have been alone during his Game. What a horrible thought.

’Thanks’ I tell her really quietly, and she smiles sweetly at me.

’Oh, my darling, your very welcome. Haymitch was always one of my favourites.’

’Hey!’ Finnick feigns outrage, his humour is back.

'Oh, calm down, I said one of my favourites' says Mags, with a completely dry, calm face. I feel like laughing again. Mags settles down between us and kisses my uncle on the cheek, who smiles genuinely at her.

The bar is getting more crowded; the next pair to arrive are Casmere and Gloss, twins from District One who have won in back-to-back years. They are both friendly, and again I silently berate myself for my prejudices.

'Would you like another round?' asks Gloss, gesturing at my vanilla shake glass, which is now empty. The drink wasn't bad, but a little too sweet for me.

'I don't know, can you think of anything less sweet?' I ask, surprising myself. Maybe I can make friends after all. Gloss's bright blue eyes glint thoughtfully.

'There's a mocktail here that you might like. It has orange, pomegranate, and lemon. Want to try it?'

’Bring it on!’

I love it, and as the first sip goes down my throat, I grin at Gloss; he winks and orders one for himself.

'So, Katniss' asks Casmere. 'What brings you here?'

I can see Gloss giving her an irritated glance, as if his sister might spoil the mood, but I don't sense any malice in the question, so I answer honestly. Victors are family, I remind myself.

'The President was kind enough to invite me to the Game Viewing Night' I say. My voice is natural, but my expression gives my opinion away.

Casmere's pretty face pales deeply, and she nervously runs a hand through her long, rich blonde hair. Haymitch was right. It doesn't matter which District the Victors come from, if they survive the Game, it will change their view of Panem for the most part.

'You have something to wear?' asks Casmere quietly and seriously.

'Well...' It's a question I didn't expect, and it seems to be coming out on my face, because Casmere exhales loudly.

'For Panem's sake, Haymitch, you can't send the girl unarmed to Snow's lap,' she says quietly to my uncle, who tenses all over.

'I'll go with her wherever she's invited,' he replies, but he doesn't seem offended.

'Maybe you can't,' Casmere shakes her head. 'Maybe he'll want to see her during the Game when your children's lives depend on them having a mentor. Sure, we can watch them, but you know it's not quite the same if we're substituting. It's also possible that he simply won't allow a companion.'

The thought of meeting Coriolanus Snow without Haymitch is deathly terrifying. My hand begins to tremble around the cocktail glass, and Casmere notices. She puts her hand gently on my shoulder.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Everything will be fine. Look, I'm not saying a nice dress will get you out of trouble, but it might help if you present yourself as someone who feels at home in the Capitol and not afraid. I'd love to go shopping with you tomorrow while my kids are at training. What do you think?'

I'm not the shopping type, but I understand the logic, and I'm overwhelmed with gratitude at the gesture; I swallow hard.

’That would be… that would be great. Thank you.’

’Its a date, then’ smiles Casmere, and we are fixing the place and time.

’Thanks, Cas’ murmurs Haymitch, and now I can't decide whether his face is red from drink or worry.

’Don’t mention it’ she tells him softly.

*

Things slow down a bit in a good way; I order myself a bowl of pasta, topped with a strange but delicious blood-red sauce and garnished with a tiny slice of cheese.

Haymitch doesn't want to eat anything, but as soon as I figure out how to wrap the pasta around my fork, I feed him bites at a time, and he eats them, though he keeps complaining, which amuses Finnick.

Then it happens; Finnick and Gloss are called away.

It's just two waiters, with silver trays, and on them, snow-white envelopes just like the one I received my invitation in, with the Capitol crest embossed on the top.

'President Coriolanus Snow sends his regards to the gentlemen’, one says of them, and the other bows formally to both of them. Mags pales visibly, but says nothing, and I see my uncle's hand go white, he is gripping the glass so tightly.

Casmere whispers something to her brother, and Mags stands up and kisses Finnick on the forehead; neither of them says anything, they just walk quietly towards the door.

The evening belongs to hell after that. Haymitch drinks hard for the next two hours, and there's nothing I can do to stop him, so after a while I give up. I want to wait for Finnick and Gloss, because I already like them, but Mags gently points out that sometimes they don't get back until noon the next day, and I'm tired.

'I'd be happy to walk you to your room, we're on the same floor' Mags offers.'I won't be able to sleep, of course, but I'll try to get some rest so Finnick has some use of me when he arrives.'

I'm touched by the offer, and I really want to accept it, but I feel I can't; I cast a worried glance towards Haymitch.

Casmere immediately understands my expression and interjects.

'You go,' she says kindly. 'I'll look after Mich. See you tomorrow!'

'Thank you both,' I say with a sincere smile. As I stand up, I can still hear Haymitch complaining to Casmere.

'I don't need to be looked after!'

’Of course not, big boy' Casmere murmurs softly as Mags and I walk out. 'Drink your round '

We walk through the hotel corridors in comfortable silence with Mags; we're both tired, but we're not awkward around each other.

Then our silence is shattered as an elevator door opens and Gloss and Finnick stumble out. For a moment I think they're drunk, but the reality is much worse. Both of their faces are bloody and covered with stab wounds, Gloss's shirt is ripped open and his arm is bleeding from a deep slashed wound, and it takes all his strength to keep Finnick, who is in the worse condition of the two, on his feet. His head is hunched forward, and I think he's one step away from losing consciousness.

'Mags' groans Gloss, as he can only hold Finnick's body with one arm. With a speed that belies her age, Mags comes to Finnick's free side and wraps her arms around his waist, but it's a struggle.

’What the fuck happend to you guys?’ Regardless, I quickly move to Mags' side and try to wrap Finnick's free arm around my shoulders. Half unconscious, he falls on me, and Gloss is shaking on his feet as Mags releases Finnick.

'Some of the clients have particular requests,' Mags explains fastly.

And you can’t say no.  Pity and outrage storm through me, but I can't concentrate on them because Finnick is heavy.

’They… they wanted a double act…’ murmurs Gloss. ’With…’

'I'll tell Casmere you're here,' Mags interrupts firmly. Then she looks at me. 'Can you take them to your room?'

‘It's not far’ I nod with determination. "We'll be fine’

' We'll be quick' says Mags gratefully. “Thank you, Katniss” then turns and hurries off at a fast near run.

I try to swing Finnick's arm over my shoulder, and we start off in a strange three-way.

' ‘You there, Gloss?’, I inquire. Thanks to all forces, the door to my room is getting closer despite our slow steps.

’Ugh, huh’ That's not particularly reassuring, but at least he's in one piece.

We stop at the door of the room, which is perhaps even harder than getting started. I try to fish out the key with one hand, without letting go of Finnick.

'Alright guys, we're almost there, just hang on, you hear me? Nobody's going to faint,' I narrate as we stumble through the door; I let the door open, simply because I can't shut it. Finnick groans softly; he's conscious!

’Almost…’ I gasp as Gloss collapses on one of the beds. At least he's sitting, but Finnick lies down, then pulls his two knees tightly together and wraps his arms around them.

'Okay' I pant. 'Now...' I have to tend to their wounds, but I'm shaking all over. Shit.

Chamere bursts into the room, Mags and Haymitch on her heels, and I almost cry with relief; I clench my jaw and look up at Haymitch, who is blinking sadly back at me.

'Gloss? Come on, big brother, can you hear me? Finn!'

Gloss looks up heavily, a blackened bruise under his blue eyes; Finnick winces, and Casmere and Mags hurry to work. Every room seems to come with a first-aid kit, and Casmere pulls it out with a flurry of speed. They are amazingly skilful and the relief of not needing me warms and weakens my limbs.

I stand up with difficulty, move forward to where Haymitch is standing, and fall into his arms; his hands tighten around me, holding me. I press my face against his chest and he hums soothingly, without any meaning, to reassure me.

’Kat…Katniss?...’I wince, but turn at once, hearing Gloss’s muttering.

'I'm here' I crouch down and gently put my hand on his shoulder. He looks terrible, but tries to focus on me.

’You were such a… badass’ he tries. ’I would have… never get here, without you.’

'You've got this' I try to console him, even though I'm not very good at it.

’Thanks anyway’ Casmere tells me softly.

’We are family’ I shrug, and she smiles at me.

*

We decide that Haymitch and I will sleep in the wing that Finn and Mags share, because the boys are harder to move than we are. There is a bathroom attached to the two interconnecting rooms; the bedroom wall is stucco painted, echoing the roiling sea in a storm, with eerie precision as the water swims in lightning. The wall painting is beautiful, though a little on the nose, for the Victorians of District Four.

I'm dead tired, sitting on one of the beds while Haymitch showers; I can hear the water rushing and I'm lonely.

I want to hear Peeta’s voice. I want to talk to him. Almost in a trance, I stumble to the phone and dial. I know the number off by heart; it's outside the bakery window, because the richer merchants can order home, and one of the brothers will deliver the bread. I've seen it in the window a thousand times while Prim was admiring the cakes.

For a moment I'm heart pounding, wondering what would happen if Peeta's mother answered the phone, but I'm lucky and the kind, warm boy's voice answers.

'Melark Bakery, how can I help you?'

'Peeta!' now that I hear his voice my homesickness is even stronger.

’Katniss?’ suprise, happyness, worry is all mixed in my name. ’Are you okay? Did something happened?’

’Why aren’t you sleeping?’

A moment of silence - I don't think that's what he expected.

'I dozed off' he then replies. 'But some breads are baked at night to be fresh at dawn, and someone has to supervise. Today it's my turn.'

’Ah’ Now that I can talk to him, my throat tightens; I want him here because I can't express myself.

'Are you okay?' he asks carefully.

'I want to go home' comes out of me. You are like home.

'Ah, but you'll experience so many interesting things in the Capital! And then you'll come home and tell me all about it! His kindness wraps me in a warm embrace. He talks to me until the phone handset slips from my hand.

*

I wake up pressed against Haymitch's chest, my hair covering his skin; it feels good not to be alone. I don't think I've ever slept alone before, and I don't think we want to now. He is already awake, which I feel is an achievement given the amount he has drunk.

’Morning’ I murmur.

’Morning’ he gives me a half smile. Then he watches me stretch sleepily, unmoving for a moment.

’Look, I’m sorry’ he mutters, and so much for my drowsy, monkey-like laziness.

’Whatever for?’

’I wan’t… I didn’t stand by you. I wasn’t there for you when you had to help Finnick and Gloss. I’m sorry.’

’You are here now’ I give him. Its not enough, but I’m really not mad at him. The serious moment is broken by a loud rumble in my stomach; we both freeze for a moment, then burst out laughing.

’Okay, okay’ Haymitch is grinning after. 'Go take a bath and I'll order breakfast. Anything you want?'

'I'll leave it to you' I shrug, then climb out from under the covers.

Haymitch took a shower yesterday, but I'm completely taken by the huge white marble bathtub. The fact that whenever I turn on the tap, hot water comes out of it, and I can control the temperature, is amazing. I climb in and enjoy the pleasant warmth, sniffing one of the soaps in a holder attached to the edge of the bath. It smells of peaches.

There are several buttons on the wall next to the tap, and I press one at random, and a thin stream of greenish liquid flows from the tap into the water. Soft white foam forms from the liquid under the splashing water, and as I reach a small piece I notice a tiny soap bubble in the water.

I reach towards it before it pops; I have to laugh. I wash thoroughly; although I'm not particularly keen on the smell of peach, it feels good to wash my skin clean. I take a vial from the side of the tub and see the label says shampoo. Lucky me; this is minty, which I prefer.

I'm glad for the distraction; I can still picture Finnick's bloody face, or the catatonic pose as Gloss sits on my bed.

After toweling off with one of the huge, white, soft towels and drying my hair (there's a machine that blows warm air!) I find a pile of dry clothes on one of the chairs. Haymitch must have gotten my suitcase through with an avox. The thought of a tongue-less, mute servant touching my things makes me sick to my stomach, but I'm glad to be wearing my own clothes.

It's just a white blouse, black trousers and one of my black hunting boots, but it's astonishing how reassuring they are. I can feel something in the pocket of his trousers as I tap it out, and as I reach in, I can feel Peeta's cards. I suddenly remember his kind voice on the phone lulling me to sleep, but at the same time I freeze - does this mean my uncle knows about the cards?

As I step out of the bathroom, Haymitch gets up from our bed and changes in the bathroom. There are two silver trays on the bed with eggs, ham, and bread so fresh I can smell it. Suddenly I'm so hungry that I let go of the card issue, settle down, and start eating heartily.

Next to the food are two jugs of various drinks; what I assume to be fruit tea from its reddish colour, and another of orange juice. I choose the orange juice because I've never had it before. After a single sip, I realize that the orange juice is for Haymitch; the burning taste cannot be anything other than vodka next to the fruit.

The alcohol is so strong that I start coughing, and I'm wiping my eyes when Haymitch steps out of the bathroom. His black hair is wet when I look up at him.

'Uncle, your kidneys' I complain, angrily. ’What the hell is this?’ I raise my glass.

'Vodka orange' he says with a grin. 'I intended the tea for you'

'We can share the tea' I say sharply as he sits down on the bed opposite me; but he just smiles at me and sips his orange juice. I can see he's not touching his own plate.

I put a piece of ham on my fork and hold it out to him.

'What’s with you and my Dad? I have to beg you both all the time when it comes to food. Eat!'

Of course, I know their reasons are different; my father eats as little as he can to give me and Prim more; while Haymitch seems to actively want to die, and this is a means to that end. Haymitch chuckles and takes a bite. Slowly, slowly, he eats several pieces of ham when I give it to him. Its not enough, but its something.

After a while, however, he moves away, pulls a simple brown leather wallet from his pocket and holds it out to me. I raise an eyebrow.

'You need money if you're going shopping with Cas,' he says simply. 'I'd like to buy you things too, but as last night's conversation showed, I have no sense for it. If the clothes aren't completely ruined and fit me, it's all the same to me. And for formal events, I'm dressed by a stylist and just wear what I'm told.'

He's right; I have money, but there's no way it's enough for a shopping trip in the Capitol, and I didn't have the heart to ask my father for more, who probably given me all he could as it is. Yet I bite my lower lip.

'It's not a debt' says Haymitch, a little irritated. 'Let's agree on something: between you and me there are no debts, okay? You've been trying to keep me alive for the last few days, don't think I haven't noticed. You think I'm gonna let anybody feed me? Please. So, no debts.'

’No debts' I nod and take the wallet; I feel relieved. I raise my eyebrows. ’But in that case, you really should eat some more eggs as well.’

’Nag’ he complains, but picks up a big chunk of egg and swallows it.

'Bastard' I say, without a moment's pause, lightly, and he laughs back at me.

*

Before the training starts for them, we meet Rowan and Olive.

'What's your stylist team like?' I ask.

'This place is crazy' Rowan grumbles. 'Do you know how our stylist got her name? That woman has a face tattooed like a tiger! She has stripes!'

I didn't expect that, but I'm not as surprised as I would have been before; I think of Finnick and Gloss again.

'Be nice to her' advises Haymitch. 'She's doing me a favour just by being here, and she's a legend. You're probably the last people she'll take on.'

Rowan's expression says a lot about what he thinks about such favours, but he says nothing.

' She has two assistants’ Olive notes quietly. 'Seraphina and Alaric. They are both nice to us; Ser looks after me and Rick takes care of Rowan.'

'You call that peacock Rick?' asks Rowan with contempt.

'It's already a miracle that they are here. They didn't want Tigris to come back, and if she did, she'd have to come alone, even though there are usually two teams of stylists, per district, not one...' Haymitch suddenly falls silent, as if realising he has already said too much, and swears softly.

Then he takes a deep breath.

'Remember, no fighting between the two of you, or between the others during training' he warns them, 'Look for stations where you can learn new skills and don't show anyone what you're really good at. That's for the Game Makers to see, at the very end of the week. Understand?'

’Yes, sir’ they say at the same time, in surprising unison.

He nods, darkly.

’Good luck for today. I'll be here when you're done and we'll discuss how you found the others.’

My uncle sighs tiredly as Olive and Rowan get into the lift that takes them to the Training Centre.

Casmere arrives a few minutes later; she looks tired too, but very pretty in her floral dress.

’How is Gloss?' I ask almost immediately. Casmere's smile turns tender at my interest.

’Holding on,’ she says. ’We've just let the kids off for training. ’Shall we go?'

Haymitch briefly, kindly touches my cheek.

'Buy yourself something nice, sweetheart' he suggests. ’Have some fun!’

Then he turns around and walks back towards our room.

*

Fun isn't the first thing that comes to mind about the whole morning, although I find that I genuinely like Casmere, who entertains me with his endearing and embarrassing childhood stories about Gloss.

'No!' I shout at one point. 'Please tell me he didn't ask her out!'

'Sure did ' nodded Casmere. 'We were fourteen and Minerva was seventeen, and she was just looking at Gloss...'

’Ah, shit’ I groan sympathetically.

'Well, she said, to ask her out again when he grows up, but still...'

’Auch’ I murmur, but Cas only laughs.

’And later she become one of his mentors, so that’s a no. But I’m sure they had a good night or two anyway.’

I'm blushing a little; I'm not used to the Capitol's forwardness yet.

'What do you think of this?' Casmere holds out a delicate, light, powder-pink fabric. Its beautiful and tasteful but somehow too... sweet.

I like Casmere, but the problem is that whatever this girl wears, the dress fits her like a queen; there's an instinctive dignity about her, so she has different options than I do. I am intuitively oriented towards something else; I am attracted to shades of green, the darker, the better. I like browns, rusty reds, tired greys. None of this is bad, says Casmere, who never judges, I need sweaters, trousers, simpler things anyway; but to meet Snow I need something fancy. I’m not good with fancy.

’Its so pretty’ I tell her honestly. ’But…’

’But its a no’ nods Cas, without any problem. ’Look, I think the problem is that we are in the wrong place, honestly.’

I let out a sigh because we've been searching for the last two hours and I think the problem is with me.

’No, really’ Casmere encourages.

'How about I introduce you to a friend? He's about to graduate from the Academy and I think he's going to be a brilliant stylist. See if he's got anything you like?’

Of course I nod, but –

The future stylist - Cinna - is not at all what I think he is going to be. The young man is tall, his skin is pale brown, and he has none of the pomp and circumstance of the Capitol. I can see a little gold glitter in the crinkle of his eye, perhaps, and that's all. I don't know why, but he's likeable.

'Casmere's friend is my friend too' he says simply. 'It's a real pleasure to meet you, Katniss.'

And he makes me talk - not uncomfortably, but somehow things just come out of me in his company. Chilly mornings in the woods, hiding in the bush, watching every movement of the wildlife. The sound of my father singing as I hear him getting closer to the house.

Primrose, who has the bluest eyes in the universe. Peeta's long eyelashes. Haymitch, and the steely glance he gave out of nowhere when he protected me from Cray. My newfound worry for the Victors.

When I stop suddenly, I feel as if I am naked and have revealed too much about myself. But Casmere's smile is gentle, and Cinna looks at me kindly.

'I think you are exactly what we need, Katniss,' he says quietly. I don't quite understand what he means, because I need something from him - but when he appears with the next dress in his hand, I am absolutely breathless.

I've seen enough clothes today to understand that what Cinna has is quite simple and clean, by Capitol standards.

It's sleek, elegant, and understated; and it's the most interesting smoldering reddish gold colour in the world, which changes almost imperceptibly when I move; there's something woody about it, something airy, as if I've just stepped out of the open air. As if I were myself, a trace of smouldering fire.

I am a flame myself.

Casmere gasps behind me as I look in the mirror, and even I can see that the fabric fits my skin beautifully; instinctively I reach back, let out my braid, and my dark hair falls in curly waves.

After I pay with a generous tip - I leave one of Peeta's cards on the counter unnoticed.

Don’t forget the Mockingjay!

*

When we get back, I say goodbye to Casmere, who wants to check on her brother to see if he's OK. It's uncanny that a day can go by so quickly, and I feel guilty that the whole day of mentoring was left to Gloss because of me, but Camere assures me that her brother could use the distraction from last night.

Haymitch is waiting in the bar, of course, and this time he introduces me to two new mentors. Surprisingly quickly, I strike up a good conversation with Sedeer and Chaff from District Eleven, who, with their dark skin and golden brown eyes, could be from the Seam. Maybe that's why I feel so comfortable with them.

Both Haymitch and Chaff drink too much, but at least this time Haymitch has some interesting food in front of him, with tomato sauce and cheese. He calls it pizza, this time he offers me a bite. As I bite into it, the dough crisps; the taste is perfect.

’How was traning day?’ I ask, happily crunching away. The fond smile with which Haymitch watched me eat fades from his face.

'Viondra already wants to kill Rowan, who has had a huge mouth all day. I think he likes her, but that boy's got a big rock for a brain.'

’Vindora’ I repeat, ignoring how weird Capitol names are. 'The girl from District One? Cassiar Gemmington's district partner?' I ask.

My uncle looks at me approvingly for a moment, then nods darkly. Sudden anger flares up in me towards Rowan.

'You told him repeatedly to avoid arguments!'

'I think he was just showing off, but that's bad enough. He told Vindora that he would defend her in the Arena.’

’He – what?’ I stare at Haymitch. 'He said to a Carrier girl, who's more bloodthirsty than a bloodhound, and could presumably break Rowan's neck at any moment - that he'd protect her?'

’Exactly.’

I want to break something.

'Sometimes I see why you drink so much' I grumble. Haymitch chuckles and I sigh.

’And Olive?’

'She's befriended Shem Linet and Dessa Woolsey from District Eight,' Haymitch replies dryly.

For a moment I don't understand what's bothering him, then I'll figure it out.

'Eight' I say slowly. 'The two twelve-year-olds?'

’Bingo.’

I don't blame Olive, but I understand what's bugging Haymitch.

'You could talk to Cecilia and Woof' I say weakly.

’Sure’ my uncle pulls hard on the vodka in front of him.

I lean forward and take a bite of the slice of pizza in his free hand, again, and he gently lets me. So, when the waiter finds me, holding a silver platter with an envelope exactly like Finnick and Gloss, my face is covered in pizza sauce.

'Coriolanus Snow respectfully regards Miss Everdeen, and requests your presence in one hour in the Silver Room of the Victor Hotel for a private audience' says the waiter, with perfect politeness. He hands me the envelope, which shakes in my hand. Chaff's glass hits the table in the sudden silence, and Haymitch glares at the waiter.

’My niece was only supposed to meet the President at the start of the Game. The Game hasn't started yet!'

'I'm just the messenger, sir,' says the waiter, bowing to us all with perfect formality, and when I blink, he's gone.

I blink; I feel my body freezing, I can't move.

'Katniss' Haymitch is again using his distinctly gentle tone, as he did after Cray. 'Katniss, it's going to be all right. I'll be there with you. I promise.'

I blink; I feel my body freezing, I can't move.

'Casmere' I find my voice slowly, though shaky. “I must ask Cas to help me dress” When have I ever dressed for a formal event? Especially one where my life depended on it?

I still feel as if my limbs are locked in ice; certain things are sharpening; I can see my uncle swallowing hard.

’Katniss…’ he starts, but Seedeer cuts in.

'I'm happy to help,' she offers kindly.'If you insist on Cas, I understand, because she's brilliant, but we would need to find her, and I'm already here. 'I've had the honour of a private audience before, I know how you should look.'

Her voice is kind, but the way she pronounces the word ’honour’, it sounds as if she thinks it's poisonous. No Victor seems to be fond of Snow.

I look into Seedeer's friendly eyes, which remind me so much of home, and nod.

’Thank you!’

'Don't mention it, honey,' she says, then turns hurriedly to her district partner. 'C, are you going to be okay?' Before Chaff can answer, relief crosses Seedeer's face as a sharp, blue-eyed, older man with black hair settles down next to the counter.

'Ah, Woof, just in time! Will you look after Chaff? This is Katniss, Mich's niece, she's got a private audience with the President.'

'Fucking bastard' the man curses, then his blue eyes soften.'Good luck, darling, you'll be fine. We'll talk afterwards, okay? And course, we will be all right with Chaff. Hello, Mich!’

'It's nice to meet you' I tell Woof, because despite the dread, I am deeply touched that every mentor I have met so far automatically treats me like family.

’Hey, W’ my uncle hastily extends his hand to the District eight mentor, and gives him an anaemic smile.

'Okay, ladies and gentlemen, it's show time' says Seedeer as the three of us leave the bar in a hurry. ‘I understand you got your dress with Cas, didn't you Katniss?’ I nod and she's already planning ahead, with everything spectacularly well in hand. 'That means, Haymitch, that they must have got you a suit to match Katniss's outfit, because that's protocol, and poor Cas has enough experience, that's for sure.'

I swallow hard. I don't want to know why Casmere has so much experience.

We enter the room that I share with Haymitch, and Seedeer gives clear instructions.

'Alright Mitch, here's your suit, Cas is the best' she says just then, opening one of the snow white boxes we've brought and whistling softly. 'Oh my stars, there's no one more perfect than Cinna’ she observes, and if I wasn't scared to death I'd find it interesting that she knows Cinna.

'Go take a shower, shave and put this on,' she lists, taking the suit out of the box and handing it to Haymitch as carefully as if it were made of glass.

My uncle takes the suit in his hands, but shakes his head.

'I have to be where she is,' he says stubbornly, but Seedeer shakes her head impatiently. 'Listen, I'll look after her, but if the President lets her have a companion, you have to look the part. Go take a shower.'

He stands for a moment, holding the suit - a charcoal and red windowpane three piece suit, with a red and silk floral tie - then nods and says:

’Thank you, Seedeer’, but she just shakes her head;

’Go take a shower!' Then she gently untangles my hair from the usual braid I pulled it back into after Cinna.

I blink, and the next thing I remember is standing in front of the room's only mirror; the flaming, unique dress perfectly hugs my body, leaving my skin exposed at the cleavage with a deep natural slit. My hair also falls freely below, its waves highlighted by Seedeer with a few clever moves.

I hate to stand in front of the mirror, but I'm grateful to Seedeer, for her calm, kind voice as she speaks to me, for her quick movements that make my face shiny and gold-dusted; grateful for the fact that she sent someone to take her own things here, so I can get ready.

Haymitch steps out of the bathroom and I look at him in surprise. The suit fits him perfectly, and it echoes the red of my dress, in the pattern, and on the surface of his silk tie.

'Will it do?' I open my arms a little helplessly; I ask about the dress, I ask about myself.

'You're fucking beautiful, sweetheart, and that bastard doesn't deserve a glance' my uncle growls; his anger somehow calms me, and I smile faintly at him.

'Yeah' I say quietly. 'You've clean up well, too.’

We have five minutes until the appointment when Seedeer gently puts her hand on my shoulder.

'If you need anything afterwards, you know where to find me, okay? But you have to go now. He... hates lateness.'

The concern in her voice deepens my hatred for Snow. What did he do to Seedeer? But I don't have time to ask. Instead, I lean forward, kiss her on the cheek, and quietly thank her.

Haymitch offers me his arm, which comes in handy because I'm struggling to walk in the heels that come with the dress; we walk to the Silver Room, which is at the very top of the hotel, two full floors after the last Mentor Room.

At the door of the room are two armed guards who stop my uncle when he tells them why we are here.

'You can only go this far, sir,' says one of them, his hand on Haymitch's shoulder, who gives him a dark, combative glance.

'My niece is a minor' Haymitch growls at him.

'Your niece has nothing to fear, sir,' says the guard, and Haymitch yanks his shoulder out of his grip.

What a fucking lie. My heart is in my throat. Haymitch can't come with me, arguing in vain.

'The President is waiting for you, Miss Everdeen,' says the other guard, opening the door for me.

*

I try to extricate myself as I enter the room; the door closes almost immediately behind me, shutting out Haymitch's struggles.

I am standing in a spacious room; a white crystal chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, a fire burns in a snow-white marble fireplace opposite me; in front of the fireplace is a long white leather sofa. Around the room are small white marble tables with crystal vases. And in the vases white roses. Roses, roses everywhere.

Coriolanus Snow, whose back is to me, turns at the sound of the door and gives me a long, cold look.

'Miss Everdeen' he says, his smile not reaching his blue eyes. 'What an honour!'

'The honour is all mine, Mr President,' I say quietly.

The President sits down, smoothing his snow-white suit, though he does not touch the blood-red rose at his lapel. He doesn't offer me a seat, so I stand.

'Look at you, what a polite little creature you are,“ he murmurs. 'What a refreshing change from Haymitch.” I don't respond, and the momentary silence echoes through as Haymitch argues with the guards. Then his voice seems to be cut off, and it gives me a dreadful heat.

'You know, it's been a long time since I got to know someone your uncle cared about'

Because you thought you killed them all.

I remain silent again, as the President looks at me and, as if only now remembering, waves.

’Please, sit.’ He talks to me like I'm a well-trained dog. I sit down opposite him, as far away from him as possible.

'It's nice to have someone to care about, isn't it, Miss Everdeen?' he asks, tilting his head to the side a little. I don't know if he expects an answer, but I nod just in case.

I hadn't noticed it before, but there's a tiny remote switch on the sofa next to Snow that he lifts; I only notice the screen mounted above the fireplace when it comes to life.

One after another, the images spin, and I feel sick; Primrose at school, her golden hair in two braids; my father, sneaking through the opening in the fence, a hunting bag slung over his shoulder. Peeta and Magde, in the school canteen, talking.

Haymitch, and Casmere; Haymitch talking to Gloss. Chaff, and Seedeer. Mags, Finnick and Woof, laughing.

Victors everywhere.

'I'm sure you're wondering why I wanted to meet you, Miss Everdeen,' he says softly. 'You know, you present me with a special opportunity.'

’Oh?’ 

'Yes, Miss Everdeen,' he nods as if we are friends and he's not exactly threatening all the people I've ever cared for without saying anything.'You are the perfect tool to tame our dear Haymitch a little. And since you have the welfare of so many at heart, like your family, young Mr. Mellark, and Miss Undresse, and of course, my big bunch of brilliant Victors...'

He gives me a cold, poisonous little smile.

'So I'm sure you won't be a problem' he finishes.

Breathe. In and out. Breathe.

'No sir' I say, heavily.'I won't. I assure you.'

'I thought so' nodded Snow. He presses a button on the remote and I realise with horror that I'm looking at a young version of Haymitch in a hotel room. This time it's a recording; how old can Haymitch be here? Twenty-one?  His hair is coal black, he is radiating strength and resilience, but he's deathly pale.

Haymitch is standing opposite an older woman, his lips pursed; she is wearing a pink silk robe, which she drops to the floor with a smile; when I realize that she is perfectly naked underneath, I fix my gaze on the President.

No, no, no.

'Ah, Katniss, you don't have to be so shy' purrs the President. 'You know, for a while Haymich and I had a similar arrangement. Mr Abernathy, after all, loves his brother.'

Dad. DAD!

'Then, of course, my favourite rascal thought that if he had a fight with his brother, if he ignored his wife, if he never saw his nieces - then they'd be safe. Silly.'

I want to put my hands over my ears; I may not look at the recording, but nothing protects me from the sounds; the woman's purring, the pleading, the... I shake my head. No, no, no, no.

'I wanted to make it clear to you, Miss Everdeen, that this is not going to work between us. If I ask you to do something, you will do it. That is, if you truly care as much about your family, all the Victors, and of course, our favorite Haymitch, as you claim. Do you understand me?’

I have to swallow hard just to try to speak.

'Yes, sir,' I whisper. 'Understood.'

’Good girl.’ The President stands up, walks past the screen and I am forced to look into Haymitch's helpless face for a moment.

Snow carefully takes a single strand of white rose from one of the vases, steps in front of me and holds it out to me. I reflexively stand up, and accept it, even though I am disgusted at the touch of the too-perfect flower.

'It was a pleasure to meet you, Katniss,' he says. 'I knew we'd be friends. Now you may go.' I bow my head and step towards the door.

I'm about to step out the door when he calls after me.

'I look forward to our next meeting. I'll find your first assignment by Game View Night, I promise.'

I rush out the door as if a gun were pointed at the back of my head. In a sense, its true.

Without thinking, I throw myself into Haymitch's arms, who holds me to him with all his strength.

Chapter Text

Half an hour later, I'm sitting in the bar; no sign of my fancy clothes; I'm wearing an old shirt of my uncle’s, with my black trousers and hunting boots, my hair dishevelled from crying, my make-up washed away by water. The bar is notably quiet.

 We're surrounded by all the Victors I've befriended: Casmere and Gloss, Mags, with Finnick, Seedeer and Chaff; Woof.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I am comforted by their presence, but the real security is Haymitch. I act like a little girl, but I don't give a shit; I sit cuddled in his arms and he doesn't protest.

'So he's threatened everyone you like even a little bit' Woof summarised, darkly. I turn backwords on Haymitch's lap to look at him and nod.

’Even us, Victors whom you met a few days ago,' Finnick remarks tiredly.

’I’m sorry.’

Finnick gives me a genuine smile, which makes his sea green eyes even more gorgeous.

'Don't apologise for being our friend' he says kindly.'We all need friends.'

'Snow wants us all dead anyway. There's nothing special about what he said to you,' notes Johanna Mason, a young, short dark-haired Victor from District Seven.

I look at the girl with widened eyes, and I have to take a deep breath to chase away the rising anger. Is she serius?

'Johanna, come on!' sighs Finnick.

'She just meant that we're in danger, no matter what happens, it's not your fault' Blight Jordan, Johanna's District partner, has friendly, chocolate-brown eyes and his words are a little reassuring.

'Which translated as 'there's nothing special about your traumatic evening',' Finnick grumbles dryly. Johanna grins at Finnick, who grins back tiredly, rolling his eyes. ’Don’t listen to her, Katniss.’

I don't know where to put Johanna; she makes me angry at an amazing speed, even though this is the first time I've met her; at the same time, I can't shake the feeling that there is something behind the swearing and the sharp remarks. Finnick, for example, is clearly her friend.

'But I guess we were just a single point on the tour' Mags thinks out loud. 'And I suppose one of the main characters was Haymitch, because you talked about him the least.' Along with Haymitch, the name Peeta has only left my mouth once.

I give a barely perceptible nod and nestle myself further into Haymitch's lap. His arms tighten around me.

'I should never have spoken to you when you came in to wake me from my nightmare. Burdie and Prim... all I'm doing is putting you in danger.'

I lift my head from his chest and give him a hard look.

’Bullshit’ I tell him.

’What?’

’Bullshit! He told me you tried protecting us by doing what he wanted, and then you tried to protect us by ignoring us, but he wants to hurt everybody anyway. Johanna is right - he's going to hurt us either way. I'd rather be in danger with you as my family than with you as nothing more than a stranger.’

Haymitch blinks; his grey eyes are strangely bright, as if two minutes from tears.

But the moment is broken in two as a shouting argument erupts from the corridor that connects the bar and restaurant to the lifts and the Training Centre.

'Are you insane?' screams a girl.'I'm going to kill you, you arrogant, contemptuous, ignorant pig! I don't even have to wait until the Arena, you miserable idiot!'

There is a loud thud; Casmere and Gloss lock eyes.

'It's Vindora' says Cas to Haymitch. 'Come on!

Haymitch slides me into an empty chair in two movements and is on his feet. Vindora, the girl from Casmere and Gloss’s District, who Rowan has a thing for some reason.

Cas and Haymitch are the first to arrive in the corridor, but we all move, myself hurrying out alongside Mags. We catch the moment just as Vindora - a tall, beautiful girl with raven black hair, and sparkling deep green eyes - slams Rowan against the wall for the second time.

Rowan's head snaps back and he bangs hard on the wall; I grit my teeth.

'What the hell are you doing?' snaps Casmere; the friendly, nice young woman I was shopping with, who was comforting me, is nowhere to be found; between them steps the District One Carrier Mentor, tall and lithe, casting a cold glance at Vindora. 'No fighting outside the Arena!'

'What's it to you?' hisses Vindora insolently. 'My mentor is Gloss, you got Cassiar!

For the first time, it occurs to me that the military obedience with which the Carrier kids appear in front of the camera is learned and expected, not sincere.

I feel Gloss move on my other side to step up beside Casmere, but his sister lifts her hand and Gloss freezes motionless.

'How dare you, tribute?' her voice growls, and her tone is so cold that she flinches reflexively. 'Step away from the boy, right now!'

Vindora pales, and his expression suggests where Casmere should go, but she steps back without a word.

'Get to bed, you idiot' Haymitch grumbles, stepping forward and reaching under Rowan's arm.

'Look for me in the Arena, little Red,' Vindora's words drip with mockery. 'You'll die with more dignity than if I hunted you down.'

'Shut up!' Casmere and Gloss's voices crack perfectly simultaneously, like a double-edged whip.

Somewhere behind me I hear the sound of accelerating movement, but I'm too fixated on the scene in front of me to focus on my hunting instincts. The next moment, Vindora lunges forward again, slips out from under Casmere's hand, and slams into Rowan. A long scream splits the air, and Olive appears out of nowhere, from behind Vindora, who yanks her off Rowan in one swift motion.

'Get away from him!' shrieks Olive, which amazes me, but also inspires a certain respect.

'Enough!' bellows Haymitch, which petrifies the three of them. My uncle glances tiredly at Vindora, who gasps and scowls venomously at the pair from our district, then turns to Olive and Rowan.

’Listen up'...

But Rowan ignores his mentor and looks at Olive with wide eyes.

’That was fucking amazing, Livie! Thanks!’

Olive blushes slightly, clearly liking the nickname; she curtsies playfully towards Rowan; their initial quarrel fades.

'At your service, sir,' she replies. Rowan grins.

'Yes, yes, very touching' my uncle grumbles. 'Go to bed, both of you! I don't even want to look at you right now!'

’I’m sorry, Hay’ murmurs Gloss, while Casmere ushers Vindora towards the lifts.

'It's not your fault' he shrugs. 'Damn kids'

*

At this point, I don't even consider using my own bed; Haymitch's double bed is so huge that we have plenty of room. My uncle throws his back against the wall and watches as my hair curls and spreads across the pillow.

'Did he... show you any recordings?' he asks quietly, in the darkness of the room.

I swallow hard. I can't lie to him.

'He tried' I reply, my eyes locked directly on his.'But you did it to protect my parents, and to protect Prim and me. He can go hang himself.’

He looks down in front of him, and I can feel his shame, so I repeat.

’He can go hang himself. And you belong with us. Deal with it.’

The last thing I remember before I fall asleep is seeing Haymitch's eyes close.

*

Our third day at the Capitol is also our first day having breakfast with Olive and Rowan. I eat toast, buttered and topped with cheese, and fill my plate with tiny tomatoes. I 'm packing food on a plate for Haymitch without saying a word, and for his portion I add slices of sweet pepper and sausage to the tomatoes, and top it with a lemonade.

’Whats with you, and that girl?’ he asks Rowan, very irritated.

’I just tought that she would like me’ he shrugs. ’You know, we could’ve some fun before it all goes to shit.’

'Vindora tried to strangle you, man, stay away from her' says Haymitch, darkly.

'Yeah, I can see now that I “ve been focusing on the wrong person.” The only upside of yesterday is that Olive and Rowan have apparently become friends. Olive rests her chin on Rowan's shoulder and he kisses her on the forehead.

’Ah, fuck my life ’Haymitch growls, seeing this as I put his plate down in front of him. ’Thanks, sweetheart’ he ads, as he pulls a silver flask from his pocket and pours something into the lemonade.

’What is that?’ I ask sharply.

’Its rum’

'You're unbearable' I remark as I sit down next to him and sip my own lemonade.

'And yet you love me anyway' he grins, and I just roll my eyes.

'So, is this new... whatever this is, between you two' my uncle waves his hand, turning to Olive and Rowan. 'Does this mean you're willing to do things together now?’

’Yeah’

’Yes, sir.’

’Amazing’ he murmurs. 'Avoid too much PDA in my presence if you can, it's important to my niece that I eat, and nausea won't help' he continues, and his tone makes me burst out laughing, which I try unsuccessfully to disguise as a cough. Haymitch gives me a fleeting grin.

'But all this means is that you can come with us, Snowflake, and see if Rowan is as good at hand-to-hand combat as he claims. I've woken you all up at this ungracious time because it gives us an hour before the official training starts.'

Haymitch leads us into an empty room, closing the door behind us; there's a long table against the east wall of the chamber, but otherwise the place is full of different weapons, targets, a climbing wall, paddles, knives, swords, anything that can hurt someone.

He and Rowan stand facing each other, on either side of what looks most like a wrestling mat.

'Can you count for me, sweetheart?' my uncle asks, his grey eyes glaring at the one opposite him, and I straighten up.

'One' I say slowly, blowing out my breath. ’Two’ my voice becomes tense. ’Three!’ I shout, and Haymitch throws himself at Rowan with surprising speed, who seems caught off guard and is pinned to the ground in a minute, kicking in vain.

The guy has no chance. He may be younger and quite strong for a Seam boy, and Haymitch has done nothing but drink for the last decade. Rowan should have the advantage, but he doesn't; the boy doesn't have Haymitch's brute strength, and I guess once you get out of the Arena, the feel of danger never really goes away.

Rowan is slow, and if they were really in the Game, Haymitch could have wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed the air out of him in no time. But as it is, he just grabs his shoulders and slams his back hard against the mat, and the boy's face shows primitive fear.

'Done!' I shout, because I'm afraid Rowan has peed himself. Haymitch stands up, holds out his hand to the boy and pulls him to his feet. Rowan is shaking all over; I suppose he realised how easily he could die in the Arena, surrounded by his own peers, if an older Victor could deal with him so easily.

My uncle is quietly talking to the boy, and I can't hear what he's suggesting, but my attention is already on Olive, who is pale next to me, and I can hear her breathing quicken.

'Come, let's have a look around' I say to distract her. There is an archery station that draws me to it like bears like honey. I quietly sling the open-barrel on my back and fire; the first one comes wide of the target, and I curse softly. The bow is different from what I'm used to. I close my eyes.

Breathe, come on.

I try and shoot, again and again and again. Slowly I get the hang of the bow, and I have to grin. It works. I know this.

This time the arrow hits the centre of the target and I draw the next one faster. Perfect! I speed up my movements and aim. Bull's-eye. Again, and again – and one more time.

The noise of quiet conversation from Rowan and Haymitch fades; I look to the side, facing my uncle, the last arrow in my hand. Out of the corner of my eye I see Rowan's stunned look.

Haymitch's eyes are tender; his face is a faint smile and concern. What have I done wrong? I release the last arrow, and it hits the bull's-eye.

'Who taught you how to shoot like that?' asks Rowan, and I sense a little jealousy in his voice.

'My Dad did ' I shout back, and the faint smile on Haymitch's face widens for a moment.

'And I can teach you' I turn to Olive with a smile.

The girl looks at me uncertainly, but obediently takes the bow from me.

*

Effie

This whole thing is disgusting. I feel like one of those tiny parasites that eat into expensive fabrics, silks, velvets, light, delicate linens, and destroy them. There's no honour in what I do; it's not what I used to think it was; the strongest or the smartest wins the Game and enjoys the fruits of their hard work.

It is now just a ruse to get information and take it to our Victors so they can help our children.

I straighten up on my chair, cross one ankle over the other, under my skirt, and look around the room.

All the District Escorts are here; twelve of us are sitting around the marble table in a loose circle. Some of us have plates on our laps with biscuits on them, others are sipping tea, but we are all focused on the current Chief Game Master, whether we show it or not.  The Last Tea Party before the Game is a tradition; the Game Master invites Escorts to tea to show his appreciation for our work. Or so the official script says.

Gaius Longinus is the Chief Game Master, is a small, rodent-like, malevolent, and dangerous man, who loves to gather us around him to see who will give what to protect our Victors or give our children a chance. As I said: disgusting.

I catch a glimpse of Abrosius, who is sitting in the loose circle about opposite me, and give him a smile. We're friends; we've been friends since my first day, when I had to jump in so suddenly to help my little sister. I force my mind away from the Fiftieth Game and nod to Ambro.

As usual, he is impeccably elegant in deep crimson, from head to toe. The three-piece set consists of a neatly tailored single-breasted blazer, which he wears with a tailored waistcoat, and billowing wide-leg trousers.  He has an amazing green jewel brooch on the left lapel of the jacket, and a golden chain also swept across his chest in a diagonal style.

His whole appearance should be a triumph; he is one of the most remarkable of us all, in that, and we all love bright colours and we all love to stand out.

Why not; for my part, I wear a strapless gown, featuring shimmering elements and soft pink embroidered flowers. The dress has a muted silver base with the pink flowers adorning the bodice, skirt, and train, creating a contrast. My hair is in a wraparound milkmaid braid, and fasten tiny daisies, and white flowers into my plaits. Katniss likes my flowers, so this morning I decide to keep the flowers as a recurring element.

As soon as I think of Katniss, my temporary cheerfulness over my dress, and my hair evaporates. Katniss is not my Victor, Haymitch is, and it's my job to keep him alive. Him and the two new kids. This is why Abrosius is so nervous; to him, the boy this year is not just a child to keep alive, but his nephew.

Of course, any child is not merely a child you have to keep alive. These kids always manage to get close to your heart, and in the end you don't know who you miss more, the ones you lost or the ones who came back, and still stayed in the Arena.

I think of the strong, dark-haired, polite boy who bent down to pick up my make-up kit from the floor. Stop it, I'm ripping into myself, Haymitch is alive. And he's no good without you, helping his new children.

Abrosius smiles anxiously back at me, and I can almost hear his teacup clinking on the plate as he lowers the drink into his lap.

'Gaius do you have a moment for me?' he asks, and for a split second I see him overcome his fear and drip honey into his words.

Gaius looks up: I swear, this man looks more and more like a fat rat, or maybe a hamster, every year; I almost expect his cheek pouch to quiver.

Closest to the Game Master is Coralina Bellamy, the Escort of District Four. Cory actually has an excellent sense of humour, and everyone knows she's Finnick's rock against the staggering amount of... expectations he has to face.

Cory is beautiful in a gold mermaid gown with an array of blue ombre feathers on the train. The bodice of the gown also feature draped gold beading; she keeps telling everyone that intricate gold embroidery, on the dress took 600 hours to complete, which I’m sure is true, but nothing changes the fact that she is sitting almost entirely on Gaius' lap, and the image makes me sick.

You don't know what we're willing to do to keep you all alive, I say soundlessly to the black-haired, young Haymitch, who lives in my thoughts. The fact is, the Victors consider each other family, but the Escorts are family to each other as well, and we all have the same goal. Do what you can to keep your Victors and your children breathing. Do everything you possibly can. There is no limit.

’For you, Abro, dear?’ purrs Gaius, and I am sick. ’Always. What is it, love?’

He treats us like a bunch of puppies to be trained, and my nausea intensifies. Chin up, shoulders back. I remind myself of Haymitch's nerve-wracking little smiles, meant to be sarcastic but sincere. I remind myself of Katniss' softening eyes when she said I was pretty at the Reaping. I think of Olive nervously playing with the little snowflake on her bracelet. I remember Rowan's clenched fist when he thought no one was watching. . Chin up, shoulders back.

Abrosius pulls a black velvet box out of his pocket; he opens it, and on the white silk cushion lies a gold watch. But not just any gold watch; the dial is sapphire blue, and I wouldn't be surprised if it were made of real sapphire. The indexes are solid gold, albeit thin and graceful, and the gold bezel is adorned with tiny white diamonds. The strap of the watch is made up of tiny plates of different colours, and besides the deep gold, I see emerald green and royal blue; I'm sure they are all hand-painted. There is something directly bohemian about the watch, and I would normally adore it.

But what in most cases is a reminder of the fact that Ambro has excellent taste in everything, now only reminds me of the advantage that his surroundings and family situation give him, his Victors and his children. District 1 is the wealthiest district in Panem, whose primary industry is the manufacture of luxury items for the Capitol; of course, their Escort brings an expensive gift for the master of the hunt.

Abro stands, bows playfully and holds out the opened box to Gaius.

'Just a small token of my admiration', he notes.

Gaius clasps his hands together, and even Cory reflexively pulls away; I can see the disgust crossing her features, which she quickly covers with polite interest. We are all in the same boat.

'Oh, how sweet!' he flutters, and I watch as Ambro bows again to hide his face after Gaius takes the box. How sweet is not the reaction you expect when you give someone an insanely expensive, special gift. But at least Gaius puts the watch on his wrist, that's something. I sip my tea. I don't stand a chance; ours is the poorest district and we've lost everyone since Haymitch. I'll have to think of something...

Abro looks expectantly at the Chief Game Master, and Gaius gives an impatient snort, as if tired of children begging for sweets before lunch.

'Come here, then' he sighs, and actually, physically pushes Cory away, who tries to scrape together what dignity she has left, and stands up, skirt pushed down, flops down on her original chair.

Abrosius knows how the game is played; he leans over to Gaius and puts his hand theatrically to one ear, as if eavesdropping while the Games Master whispers something to him.

My hand tightens on my teacup; the information whispered in front of me to someone else could save my children's lives.

Abrosius is the first to leave the tea; no one expects him to stay; he is the one who has already hunted the game. I put down my teacup and hurry after him; it won't look good, but I don't care. I have nothing to give Gaius, but I may have something for Abro.

’Abrosius, wait!’ I call after him as we emerge from Gaius' private suite into the corridor. The man pauses, his shoulders slump; I know he doesn't want to talk, but again - I don't care.

He turns around.

'Eff, I know what you want, and I understand, but you know I'm playing for Cassiar this year, and only for Cassiar. I can't give you anything, I...'

'Even if I give you something for it?' I interject. Abro raises his blond eyebrows; he knows I don't bargain unless I have something of value. The problem is that anyone can use this information against me. If you have something to lose, it's worth more than gold in the Capitol.

And what if it is used against him? Of course, he doesn't feel the same way. In his heart, there's only room for that other girl, so he's safe.

At least I've made hints to Abrosius, on nights when we've been hanging out on the roof and drinking too much sherry, so I don't need to over-explain. I just look at him, his blue eyes expectant, and ask:

'You know I'm in love with him, don't you?'

*

Haymitch and Katniss are playing a video game when I find them. I'm here fearing for everyone's life, pouring my heart out to get information, and they're playing.

Katniss is curled up on a long sofa, her legs tucked under her, wearing one of Haymitch's torn shirts again, and slaps the controller down in front of her as I enter.

'Eh, sweetheart, you're supposed to be good at this!' he complains, without taking his eyes off the screen.

'It's a hunting simulator!' retorts Katniss angrily; I glance at the screen, and sure enough; the two figures are cutting through what looks like a real forest.  Well, now just one. 'And I'm sure whoever did this has never been hunting in their life! A bow doesn't work like that!'

'Blah, blah, blah' grumbles Haymitch dryly. 'The point is you're dead and I'm winning!'

The next moment a huge bear appears on the screen and Haymitch's character, who has only two knives, dies a bloody death.

'Winning?' echoes Katniss mockingly.

I clear my throat sharply, and they cringe like two naughty children.

’Oh, hey Princess’ Haymitch pulls out one of his half mocking, half endearing, heartbreaking grins. ’Hows your day going?’

''How's my day going?'' I whisper, and feel my temples begin to ache, the beginnings of a headache. ' Its more effective than yours, that's for sure'

'Rowan and Olive are in training,' he says defensively, and I sigh. I can never stay angry with him for long.

’Fair enough’ I give it to him, and I'll sit down next to Katniss. Haymitch puts down the controller and his face turns serious. He senses something coming.

’What is it?’

I summarize the concept of the Last Tea Party for them, and then I just say, without any further explanation;

'The kids need to learn everything they can about poisons and antidotes.'

Emotions change so quickly on Haymitch's face that I can't follow them, but he nods without argument. But Katniss' eyes narrow as she looks at me.

'What did you use to pay for this information, Effie? What did they demand from you?' she asks.

This girl has only been here a few days, but she already understands how the game is played.

'It doesn't matter' I reply too quickly.

'But it matters!' she retorts. 'Whatever you had to do, it matters!' Katniss is as stubborn as Haymitch, and I take a deep breath.

'Listen to me,' I say quietly but firmly. 'An Escort actually has two important tasks. The clothes, the make-up, all this bullshit is irrelevant' I feel Haymitch's gaze burning my face.

'We have two tasks. To defend, and keep our Victors alive, from themselves or from political intrigue, and to get as much information for our children as we can. There is no limit to what we pay for that.'

'I don't need protection' grumbles Haymitch and I want to hit him.

'Of course you need it!' I hiss at him.'You think I want to find you dead in the shower, drowning in your own vomit, you idiot? I've lost all your other District partners from your Game, this can't happen to you!'

A heavy silence falls between the three of us; I blink to keep from crying. Breathe.

'As I said' I continue a moment later to Katniss. 'Two tasks. Political intrigue has always worked well for me, and now that you're here, keeping your uncle alive, just by existing, I have time to get information for the children. I'm happy to pay for that.'

'It's still not fair to you' Katniss grumbles, and I can't argue with that.

*

Later I escape to the roof to smoke. Don't be shocked; even Escorts can have a guilty streak. Haymitch disappears to debrief Rowan and Olive in five minutes, to give them my information, and I need a minute of fresh air anyway. Today was a long day.

I take a drag on my cigarette and look down from the roof terrace, but I can't see the view.

'You know I'm in love with him, don't you?'

'With your Victor? Effie, he's a rascal! He's the rascal!' Ambro's blue eyes widen for a moment, and for a brief flash we're friends again, and he's afraid I'm giving my heart to the wrong one. Then he realises that information is valuable because the more people you connect with, the more Capitol can bring you to your knees. He curses sincerely because he knows that if he sells this fact to the right person, I'm finished.

'Why would you tell me that?' he snarls.'I understand that they're children, but it's too dangerous even for us!’

'I have nothing else.'

'Ah, please, even a shag is less dangerous than this!’'

'I was under the impression that you prefer men.’

'I prefer people of all genders,' he says, and wearily strokes his face.

'Well, the question is irrelevant, because I can't give you that, anyway. I just told you I'm in love with him.'

He looks at me, and sadness joins the tiredness in his blue gaze.

’You are already fucked, aren’t you? Well – tell your fucking rascal to teach his kids about about poisons. Poisons, antidotes, natural and chemical substances, the more the better. Gaius has promised me more information for the last day before the Game, although we know it is not worth much by that point.  Still, if he spits out something useful, I'll get it to you, whatever it is.’

'Thank you!' I feel my smile turn into a thousand carats, then I pause.'Wait, for new information?'

He gives me a faint, frivolous smile.

'We'll see, Miss Trinket. We'll see.'

Suddenly I'm not in the mood for a smoke, and I throw it out of the terrace, however bad it is for the environment. I hear the sound of footsteps approaching, and I let out a sigh.  I'm as much in no mood for the company of anyone as I am for cigarettes.

'Katniss, I appreciate you looking out for me, but there's really no need to...'

'What about me? Can't I look after you?' I spin around and Haymitch is standing in the doorway of the roof terrace.

His hand is on the doorknob, and I see him squeezing it so hard that the back of his hand is white.

’Ah’ I say weakly. ’Did you tell them?’

'Who did I tell what?' he asks, releasing the door handle and stepping closer.'The children? Sure. Effie, are you okay?'

I manage to smile at him; his grey eyes are as tender as Katniss' were when she said she liked my flowers, but his tenderness is somehow harder for me to handle.

'What a silly question, of course I'm fine' I know that my smile is not sincere; I'm so very tired.

’Effie’ He steps closer to me. 'I don't want you to put yourself in danger to help me.'

I raise my eyebrows and try to strike a high tone. He is so very close.

'Just doing my job. Some jobs are worth the risk, and this is...'

'Nothing' he interrupts temperamentally. ’Nothing is worth putting you in danger, you understand?’ I stop in surprise and see his eyes slide to my lips.

'Well, that's ridiculous,' I tell him. 'I just...'

I blink, and his lips are on mine, warm and cautious and firm, and the thought crosses my mind that if this isn't real and I'm dead, then I'm quite lucky. My two hands reflexively graze the two sides of his cheek, then find a home in his hair, where they come to rest.

Illogically, I think about how his hair has grown back again as my hand digs into his locks and I kiss him back with surprising force, because it's never going to happen again anyway, so I have to do as much as I can while it lasts.

And then as quickly as it happens, it's over, and he pulls away like he's been hit; he strokes his lips like he's done something wrong. I blink. What the...?

’I’m sorry’ he murmurs, and he turns around and is gone, leaving me alone on the roof terrace, lips burning.

*

Katniss

The parade in which the children from each district present themselves to the Capitol is amazing. There's a huge crowd in the stands, and as I sit next to my uncle, I lean forward in my chair, trying to remember every detail.

Each couple rides around the stadium standing in an open chariot; Cassiar is in full silver armour decorated with a detailed leaf pattern; the boy wears a helmet to match the armour and carries a spair.

'They want us to think of him as Mars,' Haymitch growls. 'Mars was the Roman god of war.'I give my uncle a sideways glance of recognition and a small nod. Again, and again, I marvel at how clever Haymitch is. Then my attention is riveted on him; Haymitch is pale and sweating; his right hand is shaking on the arm of his chair.

'What's wrong?' I ask with awakening concern. 'Are you all right?'

'Just too much booze, sweetheart' grumbles Haymitch. 'Ignore me'

I actually don’t think it’s the booze this time, though I don’t know what it is, and of course, I don’t ignore him.

I take his hand on the arm unnoticed, which quiets the shaking a little; Haymitch looks down at our hands, then at me, and I get a faint, faint smile.

'And she' Haymitch waves to the stately, winged Vindora, with his free hand, beside Cassiar. 'She is supposed to be Nike, the goddess of victory.'

’Not bad’ I give them.

We identify District 3 with technology; their horse-drawn carriage is surprisingly futuristic, and a different colour from the rest; streamlined, and modern. The crowd loves it, and goes wild.

I don't memorize all the districts; the boy from the fourth district who has such interesting eyes is clearly a mermaid; and one of the most handsome I've ever seen. His chest glitters silver, and his trousers give the illusion of a fin.

My attention is sharpened again when it's our own district's turn; my breath catches in my throat in surprise.

'Haymitch!' I exclaim in surprise: my uncle, who has been trying to look up as little as he can, raises his eyes. In the open carriage, I no longer see Rowan and Olive; I see two strange mining goblins.

’ Drelga’ my uncle murmurs with a tired smile, and for once, I get the hint.

Drelga is an ancient, hunched goblin with a long, silver hair and glowing veins that pulse with magic ore. She whispers warnings to those who dig too deep, appearing in dreams or flickering torchlight. She is a fabled figure known to every child in our district; the thought makes me smile.

Both our children look good; and that is something that almost never happens. Rowan’s robe is made from coal-streaked fabric, stitched with copper thread, and Olive carries a twisted staff tipped with a glowing crystal. He is the one with more gold dust in his appearance; a reference to the fact that some say the goblin guards a forbidden gold vein — others say she is the gold.

The Capitol audience adores them.

'Tigris really is something else, isn't she?' I ask my uncle quietly, who nods.

’And thank god for that. Thank fuck for that.’

*

The night of interviews that makes up the Capitol show feels endless. This time, I'm sitting upstairs with Effie in one of the stands as Haymitch is backstage calming Olive and Rowan down.

I'm aware of the formula: these interviews are about getting the public to like and get to know the people who go to the Arena. The personas that the Capitol puts on them are eternal; Haymitch, for example, wearing the suit he got for my meeting with Snow, has a chipped, half-crown of gold in his raven-black hair. The Rascal; the persona he was given at the time of his own Game.

I'm also wearing the flame dress, and my make-up is stronger and smokier than when I met the President.

The conversations just keep coming and coming; Cassiar is engaging and a great conversational partner; he talks about what an honour it is to be here.

'I will bring glory home to my District,' he declares firmly. 'They are all my family; but family is represented to me here in the Capitol as well; will you allow me, Cesar?'

The host pretends to be surprised, his eyes growing wide as he turns to the audience;

'If I'm not careful, two blinks and I'm out of a job, people! What's going to happen to me?' he asks as he hands the microphone to Cassiar. The audience goes into uproar.

'We'll miss you, Cesar!' someone screams, and he throws her a kiss in return.

'I would like to ask everyone to give a round of applause to the best Escort in Panem, my uncle, Abrosius Vexleigh; I will do everything I can to get back to him.'

The phrase is effective, and the audience goes absolutely insane.

It's all a show; Abrosius stands up in the audience and, with two hands outstretched beside him, bows deeply to his nephew.

It's all a piece of crap, and yet; for a second, I see the two pairs of similar blue eyes connect. Cassiar might like us to think it's all an act, but he's telling the truth, and his uncle is terrified for him.

'Well, that's one way to get your uncle sentenced to death,' Effie mumbles beside me. I cast a sideways glance at her, and for the first time I realise how much danger Abrosius must be in, now that he's specifically pointed out.

My stomach clenches and I'm very nervous by the time it's Rowan's turn. At least, he looks amazing: his unconventional suit features a rugged charcoal-gray wool base with distressed textures resembling worn stone. The lapels are lined with deep forest green velvet. The waistcoat is dark leather, slightly cracked, with small gem-like studs sewn into it — hints of hidden treasures.

The shirt beneath is a muted moss green, slightly iridescent under light. The pants are tailored but have subtle panel stitching reminiscent of miner’s work trousers. He has polished stone cufflinks, which, I’m guessing are obsidian, a pocket square in iridescent green silk, and black boots with brass buckles

But the conversation - it's not right. Rowan answers with half words, he is curt and - forgettable.

It is compulsory to watch our Victors' Games in school in each district, and I have a feeling that he wants to be like Haymitch. But its not working. Young Haymitch Abernathy may not have been particularly polite, but he exuded intelligence and quiet menace. Rowan can't even be a shadow of him.

I swear quietly, and Effie doesn't scold me for it this time. She just looks at me, and her blue eyes are sad. I think she agrees with me.

Olive is luckier. Her floor-length evening gown is crafted from deep coal-black velvet, with subtle streaks of shimmering charcoal silk to mimic coal dust. Gold and copper embroidery winds like veins along the fabric, glowing faintly under light. The silhouette is sleek and elegant, with a high neckline and dramatic open back.

The sleeves are long and sheer, made of smoky tulle, with fine copper thread stitched in rune-like patterns. At the waist, a structured belt holds a large, faceted amber crystal in the center — a nod to Drelga’s magical ore.

And - she's kind of sweet. On her wrist hangs the delicate, thin silver bracelet, which surprisingly matches the dress.

'It was Papa's first present for Mama', she tells the audience, 'and the most beautiful jewellery she ever saw. 'I'd like to give it back to her if I can. ’  If I live.

The audience loves the story of the wealthy merchant and the Seam laundress, and there's something condescendingly cackling about it, and I hate them for it.

But if it gives Olive a chance... I watch as the girl accepts Cesar's hand and bows at the same time as the host, at the end of the conversation; people are going wild.

I feel a glimmer of hope, but it is immediately extinguished by Effie's sad voice beside me.

'It's not enough.'

*

The days blur together a bit, and I find myself realising, that the week is almost over, and Rowan and Olive will have to join the line of those waiting for a private audience with the Game Masters. My stomach clenches; I'm worried for them, but frankly, I'm worried for myself too, because the start of the Game also means I have to meet the President again. I try not to think about that.

There is tension between Effie and Haymitch, and although my uncle never takes his eyes off me and is gentle with me, he also drinks more. Effie disappears for a while, then reappears on the day of the audencia and tells Haymitch that what he asked for will be put in place.

'When you go in, look for something big and familiar,' says Haymitch with a faint smile at Olive. 'You'll find a well-known weapon or two there. When you see them, you'll know what to do.'

Olive is pale as death with terror and a puzzled expression on her face, but she nods without argument. I don't get the hint either; she's acquired some basic knowledge of the bow and arrow, and among other things, is roughly fooling around with a knife, but not much more. I raise an eyebrow, but Haymitch shakes his head. Too many people around, he can't explain.

We wait; there’s less and less people, since our district is, apperently, always the last to go in.

'Good luck' I tell Olive hastily, when she's called, and get a pale smile in return. The door closes behind her and we wait again. Rowan is motionless, fear on his face; Effie elegantly folds her arms in front of her, but her blue eyes are fixed on the door. Haymitch paces up and down like a caged lion.

His pacing is so wild and tense that I have to stop him; I step in front of him and catch both his hands.

'What?' he asks, a little irritated, but when he realises it's me he stops.

’You tried’ I tell him, hopefully gently. ’Its gonna be okay.’

’I tried, but its not enough’ he murmus.

’It is’ I tell him, and I touch his cheekbone in passing; he sighs under my touch.

The door opens, and I am surprised to see Olive step out with a broad smile; then she quickens her steps and starts running towards Haymitch, embracing him gently and quickly.

’Thank you, thank you, thank you!’

Stunned, Haymitch returns the hug, reflexively picks her up and spins her around.

'So, it worked?!'

’What worked?' I ask, and their excitement grips me.

’Your uncle is a genius!’ replies Olive, with a smile still on her face; Haymitch squeezes her once more, then gently sets her down on the ground.

Effie snorts, but then also smiles faintly.

’There was a millstone in the room, Katniss!' explains Olive, her eyes sparkling. 'A real millstone! And steel chisels! So, I could practically show them how we roughen the texture of the surface in the millstone. Maybe what I did wasn't a big deal, but it was all unexpected, so I'll be remembered.'

’Believe me, snowflake, these people have never seen anything like that up close, so it was a big deal for them what you did. A bunch of useless bastards, all with silver spoons hanging out of their mouths' Haymitch growls, and Olive smiles up at him again.

'Thanks for getting it, Haymitch,' she says. 'It's hard to get a miller to take down the millstone; it needs sharpening every few weeks, but even my father always looks like he's having his teeth pulled.'

'It was my idea, but Effie got it' Haymitch murmurs quietly. Olive's eyes go wide, but then she nods, dances over to Effie and kisses her on the cheek without a second thought.

’Thank you, Miss Trinket!’

Effie blushes deeply and smiles genuinely.

'You're very welcome, darling' she says.'Really call me Effie, we're a...'The thought splits as Rowan is called, and as he steps through the door, the nerve-wracking wait begins again.

This time Haymitch flops down on one of the chairs, and I see him irritably picking at the sensitive skin where a small cut on his index finger has torn open. For a while I watch as the tiny wound gradually grows larger as the fingernails on the other hand are sharp; when the wound begins to bleed in a thin stream, I wince by reflex. With a hurried movement, I crouch down in front of him and catch his hand, which he uses to poke at the wound.

’Okay, so, I know for a fact that your mom taught you not to do this with scars, because she was my dad's mom, too, so you have no excuse. Stop it!'

Haymitch looks up at me, his eyes sad, but a smile appears at the corner of his mouth.

'Incorrigible' I grumble, but I'm not really angry. Sure, I don't have any bandages, but I wipe the blood off with the sleeve of my shirt.

This time there is no triumph; Rowan walks out the door as morose and pale as when he entered, refusing to reveal what he has shown the Games Masters.

I see Haymitch and Effie exchanging a worried glance, ignoring the strange tension that's been vibrating between them lately.

'You know, kid, I got a pretty pathetic score, so low I have absolutely no intention of telling you what it was,' he notes. ’These things don't mean shit when it's just you and the Arena.'

Rowan gives him a surprised look and perks up a little. That's good, but if he'd said that to me, I wouldn't be convinced. I can believe he got a bad score, but if he did, it just shows how talented he was when he outlasted twice as many opponents without sponsors.

During the score broadcast, Cesar's hair is sprayed bubble gum pink.

Cassiar and Vindora from the first district both get elevens; not surprising from Carriers, and Cassiar seems to be a very popular player anyway. The bloodthirsty duo from Two, Lysandra and Tiberian are both score twelve, which is the maximum. This means that Lysandra is judged to be more dangerous than Vindora: with a temper like that girl's, she could be a spitfire.

The cousins Quibble and Zinka Faxley receive six and seven, which is high and respectable, but not Carrier level.

Reef, the pretty-eyed boy of Four, gets ten; this means he is not only handsome but talented. This year's Arena promises to be a treacherous one. Maris Thalen, his partner from the district, goes home with a nine.

The next few names slip my mind, but Johanna and Blight's kids, Pike and Briar from Seven, get 8 each. Shem and Dessa, the two twelve-year-olds from 8 whom Olive has taken a liking to, get three and four respectively. Not surprising, and yet, my heart breaks for them.

'Do we still want an alliance with them?' I ask my uncle quietly, but I don't seem to be soft enough, because Olive looks up and gives me a hard, angry Seam look.

'Yes, Katniss,' she says firmly, 'you'll be the first to know if I change my mind in the Arena.'

'Don't talk to her like that' Haymitch growls, and Olive flinches, which makes me feel guilty. Haymitch sighs. 'I've already spoken to Woolf and Cecelia, don't worry. Your children will find you when they survive the Bloodbath, and from there they can be yours.'

He has the subtlety to say ’when’ not 'if they survive.' Which presumably won't happen, and the two kids will die a brutal death around the Cornucopia; but I don't say a word.

’Thank you, Sir’ Olive mutters, and looks back at the screen. The ninth and tenth pair get low scores; this makes me feel a little relieved, but then I hate myself even more. They're just kids.

Haymitch tenses up as Sedeer and Chaff's children turn up. I suddenly remember Chaff's sharp reaction to the name of the boy, Eban Moss. Eban is muscular and rugged-looking; he might have a chance. He gets seven points, which is not bad, and his partner Calla scores six. I blow out the air I've been holding in, and Haymitch relaxes a bit.

We shouldn't do that: we shouldn't worry about other couples, but the fact that the other Victors are inevitably important to us means that we worry about everyone.

And then the image of Olive appears; olive skin, dark, dark hair curling over her ears, and the distinctive grey Seam eyes.

'And last but not least, District Twelve's own Olive Siber - seven points!'

I cry out in surprise, and my voice cracks simultaneously with Haymitch's:

'Beautiful!' exclaims my uncle. Sure, it's not an eleven, but it's a strong mid-range, respectable.

Olive blushes and smiles broadly.

‘Very well done, darling!’ Effie's smile is sincere. 'This calls for a toast' she jumps up and rings for champagne, which I find a bit much as Rowan is still left, but I don't say anything.

’Rowan Kochler - completes the line, with a total of - four points.’

The Avox - one of the silent servants used in the Capitol, whose tongue is cut out as punishment and who is forced to serve - chooses this moment to appear with a silver tray, and five champagne glasses and, in his other hand, a silver bucket filled with ice and two bottles of expensive champagne.

The sudden awkward silence seems awfully loud as the black-haired boy sets the tray down on the glass table in front of the TV, puts the bucket on the floor and, taking out a bottle, pops the champagne with a big bang. Every sound sounds deafeningly loud; the way the alcohol splashes into the glass, for example.

'Thank you' I say quietly to the boy as I take my glass, but I don't look at him; Haymitch says if you're too nice to an Avox, he can get punished.

Rowan got as much as the two kids in the eight. It's hopeless.

'So, I'm done,' Rowan notes darkly, after the Avox leaves without a sound and we're all given a glass.

'Come on,' I say to help, 'Haymitch told you it doesn't matter. And you saw his Game on the fucking compulsory school Game Analysis. If we'd been in an Arena with him, we'd all have been fucked.'

'Is it compulsory?' asks Haymitch suddenly, hoarsely. His grey eyes are bloodshot. Me and my big mouth!

'Yes' I nod miserably, already regretting my words. 'Dad always tries to pick me up early, when its analysis, but of course he can't. We analyse the Arenas in random order, you never know which Game is on. And anyway...' my voice trails off. Why did I speak?

'Anyway?' asks Haymitch, and I know he wants me to continue.

I bite my bottom lip and look at him.

'He doesn't normally pick me up from school. I'm taking Prim, and I don't need him to protect me. He only does it when there's an analysis because he knows I loathe it. It's all dangerous because if he leaves the mine, and they notice, he'll be punished.'

'So, is that why he comes to school sometimes?' asks Olive quietly, and I nod, turning to her.

'Yes, and I told him not to. You know how loud this shit is, and there's no way you wouldn't recognize the sounds if its your sibling in the Arena. He shouldn't be there, its not like he doesn't have night terrors about it, already, and…’ I stop talking and look back at Haymitch. 'Sorry.'

Haymitch shakes his head; I can see the champagne flute trembling in his hand, and then he tips it all in a single gulp.

'If I get sponsors, we can share whatever they send,’ Olive says to Rowan. ’We want to be allies anyway.’ He gives her a pale smile and kisses her on the forehead in return.

'I think it's time you two to go to bed,' Effie suggests in a suddenly gentle voice; she puts her untouched champagne glass on the table and stands up, Rowan and Olive too. I suddenly realise this is the last time I'll ever see them. Tomorrow they go to the Arena; even Haymitch can only accompany them to a point. Then they get their clothes, and tokens, from the two stylists; in their case, Tigris, and one of the assistants; then it's on to the Game.

I stand up, while Effie says:

'It was a real honour to work with both of you. Haymitch and I are getting sponsors; don't worry.'

'Thanks for everything, Miss Trinket' Rowan finds his voice, though hs is still deathly pale.

' Its still just Effie' says the other, and kisses them both on the cheek.

When it's my time, I turn to Olive first; we look at each other. I'm terrible at goodbyes, but I hug her without thinking. She buries her head in my shoulder and I run my right hand through her short hair.

’Don’t forget me’ she murmurs.

’I won’t’ I promise, and I mean it.

When I let go, her face is wet, but I smile at her and she smiles back.

'Where's my hug?' asks Rowan teasingly, and as usual I want to punch him, but then I just roll my eyes.

'Come here, asshole, before I change my mind' I retort. This hug is surprisingly gentle; he rests his head on my shoulder for a moment, then suddenly his grip tightens and he picks me up for a split second.

'You're a fucking idiot, Kochler' I laugh as my feet brushes the ground.

’Yeah, yeah, whats new’ he grins.

I touch the side of his face.

’Give them hell, Ro.’

’Later, flower-girl.’

’Later, asshole.’

'All right, enough of the sentiment' interrupts my uncle. 'To bed with both of you. See you in the morning!'

His voice is firm, but I'm shocked to see that all five champagne glasses on the table behind him are empty, even though the last time I saw them, he was the only one who had drunk his. This means that while Effie and I said goodbye to Rowan and Olive, he finished all five rounds.

As the two kids walk out the door, I see my uncle's bloodshot eyes wearily follow them.

*

Our night is restless. I'm hot, I toss and turn; I worry and can't sleep. When I finally fall into a shallow sleep, Haymitch's nightmare wakes me. His mouth is already bloody, he's been chewing it so much, and I realise he's not really calling out to me, he's dreaming about me.

’Katniss… No…. Take me instead… Leave her be! No!’

’Haymitch’ I say, softly. ’Haymitch, come on, wake up.’ I gently shake his shoulder and his eyes immediately pop open, staring at me stiffly, but I smile deliberately.

'Everything is fine. You're fine and you're safe, no one can hurt you. I'm all right too. See? I'm all good. You were just dreaming. Haymitch?'

He instinctively reaches forward and pulls me hard against him, but I don't protest. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tuck my legs around his waist, because I feel his need to be close, to know that I am alive.

’I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ he murmurs, in a never ending loop.

'There's nothing to apologise for, you've done nothing wrong' I say, stroking his hair with one hand.

Slowly he pulls his head away from me, I can see his grey eyes tearing up; he's trying to put as much distance between us as quickly as possible. He quickly sits on the edge of the bed, so I'm behind him, and suddenly the whole bed is mine.

'I'm sorry' he mutters. 'You shouldn't see me like this.'

I'm usually terrible with emotions, so I'm happy to do something physical now. I put my arms around his back and my left hand slips over his shoulder and slides over his heart.

'How? As someone who gives a shit about me, so has nightmares because he's worried I'll get hurt? How awful of you, really.'

He chuckles dryly, I can feel the sound running through his body.

'Like someone who is totally useless' he whispers. 'I couldn't go with you to Snow's, even though I should have been there.  I should’ve protect you. My little brother has nightmares about me. And it'll be the same with Rowan and Olive, I won't be able to protect them, I...' Suddenly he stops, and my throat tightens.

'You're protecting me,' I whisper back. 'Which is a big fucking deal, Haymitch, because I don't need anyone to protect me. Dad has nightmares about you because he cares about you, which is understandable. If Primrose ever goes to the Arena, I'll never sleep again. And you did what you could for Olive and Ro, and you will continue to do so with the sponsors, and the gifts and all. You did well, so far.’

’You would be better off without me.’

’No!’ My arms tighten around his shoulders. ’No.’

’ Stubborn’ he murmurs, but his voice is warm.

’Just as stubborn as you are’ I wishper back. ’Which is why you will never win about this. Its Dad, and Primrose, and you, and me now.’

’Is it?’ I have a feeling he is smiling, even though I can’t see it in the dark room.

’It is’ I wishper. ’Now come back to sleep, tommorrow will suck, you need your rest.’

’Yes, Ma’m’ he crawls back under the covers without a word; normally we leave plenty of space between us, but now I nestle into his arms and he loosely hugs my shoulder. I feel his hand relax as he falls asleep.

*

I awaken when he quietly crawls out from under the covers at dawn.

'Don't go' I mutter sleepily, and without realising it.

'I have to sweetheart, I have to be there for Olive and Rowan. Go back to sleep.'

'I'll wait for you,' I promise, in a hoarse voice, and then immediately I'm lost in sleep.

*

A short while later I wake up again; it's still dark and half asleep I stumble out into the corridor, where I bump into Effie. Unlike me, she's already dressed, wearing a pale blue, stiff, corset-like wonder with a deep neckline and pale pink roses. Her hair is completely untouched, straight as a line, and this is the first time I've seen it loose. She's pretty as ever.

'Good morning, darling,' she says. 'Everything all right?'

'Well' I don't know why I'm suddenly so tense. 'Are Rowan and Olive on their way?'

'Haymitch accompanied them as far as he could. From there, Tigris and Alaric will hand them the clothes.’

’And their tokens?’

'Well, yes' nods Effie. 'The plane that's taking them to the Arena is still here. Though only Olive has a token, Rowan has nothing like that, poor boy.'

I'm filled with pity for Rowan.

'He needs something to cling to!'

Effie turns her head to the side in thought, like a little bird.

' If you have any ideas, my dear, we can still get it onto the plane’ she offers hesitantly.

I stare at her for a moment, my mind racing. Like a little bird. Thats it!

’Hold on!’

I rush back to our room and open the small bedside table next to our bed; I keep Peeta's cards in the front drawer. I flip through the large stack of snow-white, hard, tiny pictures drawn on card stock.

I stop at one, where the Mokingjay spreads its beautiful, detailed wings as if ready to fly.

Remember those who are waiting for you at home!

Its perfect.

I hurriedly push the drawer back and run out with the card in my hand, panting and braking beside Effie. The escort nods hastily as she sees what I have in my hand.

'Come on, come on, straight down this corridor' she grumbles. 'I hope the plane hasn't taken off yet...'

We run with all our might.

Chapter Text

'Wait! Don't take off!' screams Effie as we brake in front of the plane; I gasp, but through the fog of throbbing fatigue I temporarily think the screaming is a little unnecessary.

The plane clearly hasn't taken off yet, and three people are talking in front of it. A woman in a golden cape turns towards us at the sound of the voice and I have to take a deep breath to hide my surprise. Her face is tattooed perfectly tiger-like, thin, fine black lines intersecting golden-yellow skin, which accentuates her green eyes even more.

'Nothing to be anxious about, Effie dear,' she says, and her voice is low and silky.'What do you need?'

'We... wanted... to give you Rowan's token' gasps Effie. I guess it can't be easy running in heels.

Tigris lifts a thin, elegant, black eyebow, but she has no objections.

’Alaric, my darling, if you would be so kind’ she asks.

The boy who steps forward to take the card from me can't be much older than me; maybe twenty-one. He is wearing a white suit with gold cuff links and white leather high heels, and his blond hair is gelled up in waves.

I'm trying very hard not to judge, but I understand why Rowan doesn't trust this boy. He's so horribly Capitol-like.

’Thanks’ I murmur.

’It’s my plessure, Miss Everdeen’ he answers, supsingly kindly. I want to ask how does he know who I am, but I remain silent.

'Rick will tell Rowan that the token is from you, and that you thought of him,' says the third person, a young woman with short hair dyed brilliant light blue. She must be Seraphina.

’I appriciate that’ I tell her, because it’s true. She smiles at me for that.

’Off we go’ Tigris notes, and somehow her voice lacks any enthusiasm one would expect from a capitol stylist.

Rick waves as the plane takes off, and as they glide out of the hangar, they disappear from sight.

There is something bitterly funny about walking back to my room with Effie, the immaculately dressed Escort, in my pyjamas.

*

Rowan

Stockyard. Stockyard. Stockyard. Stockyard. Stockyard. Stockyard. Stockyard. Stockyard. That's the name of the Launch Room in the districts, and the word repeats endlessly in my mind in a nervous circle. The chamber where a tribute is to be prepared by their stylist one last time before being launched into the Hunger Games arena is a metallic, clean and austere space; at the end of the room there is a glass tube that I have to enter, and like an elevator, the mechanism will take me up to the Arena.

I have to give it to Alaric, he's right on time. If I weren't scared to the bone, I'd be annoyed to see Rick's blond hair licked up. But I'm all shaking so much with terror that Alaric has to help me into my clothes, which he does without complaint and with surprising tenderness.

I must wear thick black trousers with a red stripe down the black sides, raven black boots that Rick ties double without saying a word, and a matching black, thin long-sleeved sweater with the Capitols crest embroidered on the front left side. On top of the sweater, I have to wear a black, light but thick jacket, also with the Capitoline coat of arms on the front and the number 12 in snow white on the back.

'This suggests that it may be cold in the Arena, but it is certainly not freezing. I don't see any fur, and this is not enough for real cold. Anyway, I don't think the management ever wants to replicate the tundra-like Arena' the boy remarks as he helps me up with my jacket.

I nod unblinkingly; there was a year when they created a real blizzard in the Game and players froze to death one by one.  It was no fun, even by Capitol standards.

'Miss Everdeen thought you might like to take a token with you,' the assistant continues. He holds up a small, stiff, white card. It has a beautiful, detailed drawing of a bird on it, and my heart aches at the writing on it.

Remember those who are waiting for you at home!

Sometimes I think that no one gives a damn about me, no one is waiting for me at home, especially not my mother, the only parent I've ever known. But Katniss - Katniss was thinking of me, and she didn't want me to enter the Arena without a token.

'Tell her that I'm grateful, please,' I ask as Alaric slips the card into a hidden, small inside pocket of my jacket, and then buttons the pocket; the card fits perfectly and is placed just above my heart. I swallow because my throat is tight.

'I'll tell her,' Alaric promises, and pulls the zipper up to my neck.

There's a blank moment when we glance at each other; during my time here Rick annoyed me to death, but I have to realize now that despite where he's from, he's not emotionless.

'Two minutes' warns the automatic voice. We will start in two minutes.

Alaric puts his two hands on my shoulders and looks at me sincerely; his blue eyes are kind.

'Good luck, Rowan' he says quietly.'You can do it. You can come back. You can make it.'

I don't believe him, but I believe he does believe what he tells me. His blue eyes are gentle; I strain and smile.

’Thanks Rick. Thank you for everything.’ Its the first time I call him Rick, and he grins at me.

’Your very welcome.’

He walks me over to the pipe, and the belt goes up, and I step onto the high platform. The glass slowly descends and closes around me. It's airless, and the dread continues.

 Then the platform slowly begins to rise; I glance at Rick, who smiles encouragingly. The platform rises; then stops, and a sharp, blinding sunlight shines in my face.

3…..2….1…

*

Katniss

The mentor headquarters is a streamlined, modern space, complete with desks and wall-mounted screens, and a full control desk for each mentor. Haymitch shows me where he will be able to see Rowan and Olive's vital signs and an analysis of their possible injuries, where he can set up on the screen to be with them at all times. In principle, there's even a channel where he can talk to the other mentors, but everyone in the room is close enough.

’Here we go’ murmurs Cecelia, to the right of us. Next to me, my uncle's eyes are fixed on the screen. The Arena is a vast, enchanted forest maze shaped like a giant spiral. From above, it resembles a clock face; it reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.  The Cornucopia is a giant Mushroom Ring, set in a clearing, surrounded by giant, glowing mushrooms.

’What the fuck is this place?’ asks somebody, maybe Johanna. The countdown begins. Rowan is in the middle and pale as death, Olive is in the back and I see her standing with her fists clenched.

9….8…7….6…

Rowan turns around on his platform and spots Olive. She nods briefly towards him, her eyes teary. The boy returns it, then quickly turns around. Inside the Cornocopia, items are wrapped, with tiny inscriptions written in cursive letters. Eat me! Drink me. To protect you. Something is scratching the surface of my mind; the solution is right in front of me, yet I can't see it.  There’s something in there. I see bladed playing cards as well, on the table, and I don’t understand why.

5….4…3…2…

As I look at the small packages with labels next to the backpacks, I suddenly realize.

'It's Alice!' I exclaim, proud of myself for a moment, then overcome with dread. Haymitch's eyes flash at me.

’What?’ he asks.

'The book' I explain temperamentally. 'Alice in Wonderland? Your mother read it when you were little, and Dad read it to us with Primrose! The strange land with the cat and the... With the Hatter and everything?'

Understanding, then horror crosses my uncle's face.

'The mushrooms' he whispers anxiously.

'Most probably toxic' I nod darkly.

'If the Arena is Alice-themed, it's totally unpredictable' grumbles Haymitch. 'Illusions...'

1!

Rowan jumps off his platform and starts running full speed towards the Cornucopia. Why would he do that? Haymitch advised them to seek shelter as quickly as possible and try to stay away from the Bloodbath. In comparison, the boy almost runs headlong into Lysandra, who already has a sword.

Suddenly, a huge cluster of pale pink rose petals falls from the sky.

'They're toxic!' Woof realises, somewhere behind us. And indeed; where the rose petals hit the players' skin, they leave bloody, instantly festering wounds.

Rowan has good reflexes to jump back from Lysandra's darting sword, but I'm afraid he won't be able to leap for long, and she's right between him and the table.

'Leave the fucking backpack and run!' snaps Haymitch. And he's right: this is one of the largest and most detailed arenas I've ever seen in my life; I can see the edges of a forest on the side. This means that there is somewhere to hide, even if the forest is visibly strange. It’s sprawling, and hedge-like and I feel like the paths are mirrored, which makes no sense.

I watch, heart pounding, as the little boy from District 8 tries to pick the sticky, pink rose petals from his skin; but there are more and more, leaving deep, festering scars. Shem becomes more and more desperate, spinning around himself and screaming more and more painfully. I see Cecelia looking at him, pale and clenched teeth, tears welling up in her eyes.

'Rowan!' cries Olive. Just as she did during the training week, the girl no one has been paying attention to quietly moves near the table. Olive picks up a small but spectacularly sharp hammer and with surprising force tries to smash Lysandra's skull in.

The blow isn't hard enough, but the sound of the cracking, crushing skull is still horrible; blood runs down Lysandra's face and she screams and falls backwards.

’Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck’ my uncle repeats over and over again.

'Is he frozen?’ I ask, staring in horror at Rowan, who is fixated on Lydandra, who is suffering on the ground.

Olive picks up two backpacks from the table, stuffs the hammer into her jacket pocket, and with her free hand grabs two coloured bottles.

’Move, asshole!’ Olive snaps at Rowan. ’Move, move move!’

'Thank you!' Haymitch snarls, and Rowan, as if hearing his voice, flinches; he accepts one of the backpacks, and they both start running towards the edge of the woods.

As the two of them enter the woods, I realise that this forest is even wirder than I thought: it is a tangled jumble of living mirrors, where the paths are constantly changing.

'Are you okay?' asks Olive.

’Thanks to you, yes’ Rowan nods. ’You are the best, Livie’

The guy gives her a pale smile, then continues to scan the steadily, slowly moving trees.

’Not really’ notes the girl. ’I promised to meet up with Shem and Dessa, and then, when the moment come, all I could think of was to run.’

Shem is still alive, though his skin is covered in wounds, and somehow he's got himself stuck in an area of the Arena that resembles a giant chessboard and its the other side of the place. My guess, looking at the screen, is that Mirror Forest is to the left of the chessboard, northeast of it all, as the center is the starting point, with the mushrooms, tables, and the Cornucopia. The two are separated by a winding path and a branching hedge partition, as far as I can see.

I have a feeling that if he steps in the wrong place there will be an explosion, but so far he's lucky. Dessa, on the other hand, is still at the Cornocopia, screaming; Reef, the pretty-eyed boy of Four, is wielding four graceful and spectacularly sharp fishing knives; when one of the blades plunges into Dessa's eye, I reflexively turn away from the screen and bury my face in Haymitch's chest.

’And thank fuck for that’ replies Rowan darkly to Olive.

’Yes, yes, wonderful, now shall we get on a fucking tree, and check the fucking backbacks?’ asks Haymitch, and if his voice weren't so strained, I'd enjoy the dryness of his tone.

He keeps gently stroking my hair with one hand, while the other holds me on his chest, but never takes his eyes off Olive and Rowan.

Dessa's horrified screams echo; I hear Woof begging Reef to stop, and when he punctures both her eye sockets with all his might and she stops writhing, I breathe a sigh of relief. I hear the canon go off.

The Carrier pack is assembled as it does every year; Cassiar and Vindora, Reef, Maris, and Tiberian. Maris is tall and quite muscular for a girl. Where Rowan's hair is a rusty red, Maris's is a flaming scarlet, and normally reaches her butt; now it's tied in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Although the quartet is incredibly well-armed, for a moment I feel sympathy for Maris; it must be hard to be a girl in a boy dominated alliance. Sure, there’s Vindora as well, but that girl is as unfriendly as it comes. My sympathy evaporates immediately, however, as Maris attacks the boy from Seven, Pike, with the Harpoon spear.

'Stay away from him, you dirty little mongrel!' screams Johanna, and throws a glass at one of the screens at full speed. The glass is shattered, and of course, that doesn't help Pike; Blight grabs Johanna's hand and starts talking to her, but too quietly for me to hear.

Pike looks like a strong opponent; the harpoon spear is sharp and surprisingly long, but Pike, despite being strong, is also fast and dodges vicious jabs. That's the difference between him and Rowan; you could say their tactics are the same, but while Rowan would plainly have lost to Lysandra without Olive, Pike stands his ground and dodges the stabbings again and again.

Then, as if getting bored, he yanks the weapon from her hand; the edge of the weapon cuts her hand, but gives him a momentary advantage. Pike then runs; he knows, I suppose, that he and his partner really have only a momentary advantage. While Rowan and Olive are ended in the woods, the pair from District Seven find themselves in the Mushroom Garden. It's also northeast of Cornucopia, but to the right.

This part of the forest is full of giant mushrooms, moving spores and grotesque plants. The mushrooms come in a wide range of sizes - some with tall canopies, others barely above ankle height. The ground looks dimply on the screen, some mushrooms seem to glow in the dimness of the trees, others pulsate as if they are breathing.

'I'd really rather not touch those,' I note, looking at a mushroom with golden yellow ooze dripping from its hat.

The camera returns to Rowan and Olive walking through the forest. They move silently along the path lined with broken mirrors.

Suddenly, a laugh—rasping, gurgling, childlike—echoes in all directions at once.

’That wasn’t me… but it sounded like me’ Olive wishpers.

A flicker. Her own face grins back at her from the bark of a tree—wide-eyed, grotesquely smiling, with hollow sockets where eyes should be.

’WHAT the fuck is that?’ Haymitch exclaims.

Rowan spins, spotting floating yellow eyes and a massive grin, suspended midair. Before he can strike, it vanishes.

’Its a mutt? But its too early for that!’ Usually the Game Makers use mutts, halfway in the Game, when things get a bit slower. But now, the Bloodbath is still going on, with horrible, constantly echoing screams, so it's strange that the Game Masters chose this. It's not even really a physical opponent; the strange, cat-like, grinning creature who always appears with the player's face on it just keeps them in constant fear.

Or is it? Is it really only a mental fear and not a physical opponent? The cat has claws. Olive doesn't realize it, I suppose in terror, but as Rowan spun around trying to hit the creature, the cat clawed deep into his shoulder; the claw tore through the fabric of his jacket, leaving a bloody mark. My eyes are fixed on the slightly bleeding cut.

'Do you think its serious?' I ask nervously.

'I don't know, but the fact that he doesn't whine about it to Olive is disturbing. If it wasn't serious, Rowan wouldn't shut up about it.' I cast a puzzled look at my uncle. He is absolutely right; he's gotten to know Rowan surprisingly well over the past week.

'Can't we send medicine?'

Haymitch glances wearily at the screen; he enters some code on the keypad and a digital body image appears, representing Rowan; I can see from the captions that he has lost little blood, but the amount of poison in his system is surprisingly high.

'Not this early,' he says wearily. 'If it were Olive, we'd have a chance; she's already got into a fight with someone and survived, and in the process helped her partner and brought two backpacks and some bottle of whatever they are. But Rowan? Rowan had to be rescued, and he got hurt.'

Haymitch has the subtlety to say 'got into a fight and survived' rather than 'Olive killed someone'. Lysandra is dead, and Olive is the reason. I have no idea how she lives with that. I look at her on the screen; Olive is pale as she walks through the woods, and quiet.

’Fuck it all’ my uncle murmurs;  he easily picks me up, as if I had no weight, and settles down with me in one of the leather armchairs in front of our screen. Without looking, I put my arm around his shoulders and turn back towards the screen.

Olive and Rowan finally settle on a tree, the branches covering them safely. I exhale. The backpacks are a mixed success; Olive's has several colorful vials, dried fruit, and two knives. Not bad, but for my part, I would have preferred a first aid kit, especially considering Rowan's wound, which Olive still hasn't noticed.

'What's in the bottles?' I ask, frowning.

'I have no idea, and that's the problem,' Haymitch says, chewing his lower lip.'It could be anything; drugs, poison, meds, who knows. Dangerous...' I watch the fine skin on his lips split open, and swear.

'Uncle, you're bleeding, come on' I had to get dressed in a hurry; I had just enough time to take a shower and Haymitch came to pick me up; I had to tell him about my adventure with Effie almost at a run. But I wasn't complaining; I really had no authority to go to the Mentor Centre with him, but Haymitch snuck me in.

I'm wearing long black silk trousers and one of my hunting boots, and a thick black turtleneck that Casmere and I bought; I don't mind now. The mentoring center is heavily air-conditioned, and I'd be cold if it weren't for the turtleneck.

Still, no matter how much of a hurry I've been in to rush, I always have a clean handkerchief; a reflex that countless hunting wounds have instilled in me. Now I pull out the handkerchief and carefully soak the blood from my uncle's lips.

Haymitch lets me do it, watching my movements and softening his gaze.

'Bastard, bastard, bastard' I grumble, because the bite mark is surprisingly deep and bloody.

My uncle laughs, and I snap at him;

'Stay still!' but I smile at him.

In Rowan's backpack are two canteens full of water, which is very valuable because I don't trust anything in this deliberately eccentric Arena. Next to the water, in a plastic pouch, are tiny potato petals; Rowan gives Olive one of the canteens, and she gives him one of the knives, because she still has the hammer she used to attack Lysandra.

'You son of a bitch!' snaps Mickolas, who Haymitch quietly remarks is a Morfling addict, but otherwise a nice boy. Mick's bloodshot eyes are glued to the screen just as Cassiar beheads the girl from his district.

'Is that the Katana?' I ask. I look at the curved, single-edged blade, and long grip, which Cassiar uses quickly and elegantly.

’It is’ my uncle replies darkly. 'So much for it being too specific a weapon to get right away.’

'I'm sorry, Miko,' Gloss's face is shining with guilt as he looks over at the other Victor, but Mikolas just shakes his head.

’What happens in the Arena…’ he starts, and almost all of the Victors finish with him, including Haymitch.

’Stays in the Arena’ I look at the faces; everyone is pale, some are visibly distressed, others seem angry, but no one blames Gloss. What happens in the Arena stays in the Arena. I quietly memorize the rule and tuck it away in my brain, like the others my uncle beat into me before departing.

The Bloodbath is slowly coming to an end and the sky is darkening in the Arena. I look out of a window in Mentor Control and am amazed to realise that this is not one of the usual illusions the Game Masters use to confuse the players' sense of time. It really must be around six in the evening.

'We should get something to eat,' I remark, but Haymitch doesn't respond; his eyes never leave the screen. The anthem plays, and one by one, the fallen players appear in the Arenas sky.

Lysandra, with a fierce expression, a sneering little smile at the corner of her mouth. Shem, looking tiny even in the picture, with his mouth clenched. Dessa, her hair in two thick braids. The girl from Miko’s District, the sixth, whose name, as I find out from the inscription, was Vira Lenne. I am overwhelmed with guilt that I felt her so insignificant that I couldn't even remember her name, and now she is dead.

 Haymitch quietly remarks that Lenne's partner, Dashon Vale is still alive, but I feel that's not enough. I cast a worried glance at Miko, who sits curled up in a chair, shaking slightly as he watches the events in the Arena. I don't know him well, but Haymitch says he's a good soul, and the thought that it's all Snow's fault, Miko's constant shaking, his bloodshot eyes - it makes me hate the presindet even more deeply.

Both children from District Five; both victims of Cassiar and his Katana. By the end of the anthem I'm nauseous again, and I try to convince myself that it's because I haven't eaten all day, not because I've just watched six children being brutally murdered, and almost all the others injured.

Rowan and Olive are temporarily safe on the tree, and I'm about to suggest to Haymitch again that while we have two minutes of quiet in the Arena, we should go find something to eat, but then the black-haired Avox boy who brought the champagne earlier stops by our table.

My stomach clenches as I notice the silver tray in his white-gloved hand. The boy bows soundlessly, holding the tray between us. On it lies the almost customary cream-coloured, elegant envelope, and next to the envelope, a single sprig of snow-white white roses awaits me.

I feel Haymitch tense up all over, but he takes the envelope; it's not the boy's fault. The Avox has brown, intelligent eyes, and as the light falls on him, there are what look like golden dots in his irises; his expression is fearful, and suddenly I understand. I must take the rose or be punished.

’Sorry’ I murmur and rather disgusted, I lift the plant from the tray; the rose has an unnaturally sweet smell, which only adds to my nausea.

'We have to go, sweetheart' Haymitch apologetically murmurs, briefly showing me the invitation; both our names are now on it; I am selfishly relieved not to have to face the President alone; then comes self-loathing. Does my uncle not have enough problems? Why does he have to bear this burden?

 The Avox bows again, then turns on his heel; I understand more and more how this game is played. This time the President is sending a servant with his tongue cut out; who wants to argue with someone who cannot speak? The message is clear; there is no room for debate.

'I have nothing to wear' I say nervously as Haymitch gently removes me from his lap. What I already know about Snow is that he's a control freak, and there's no way he'd find it acceptable for me to wear the same thing I wore when we first met. I realise how petty that is, but I don't want to do anything to make him angry. Not to mention the fact that I wore the flame dress to Olive and Rowan’s interwiew with Cesar again, and Haymitch had his flame suit on the same evening.

’We will figure something…’ starts my uncle, but Cecelia, who is close enough to hear us, cuts in.

'Actually, you do have something to wear' she gives me a faint, sad smile.'Cas mentioned that since you liked Cinna's style, she ordered some clothes from him, we hope you don't mind. I have a key to her room - I'd be happy to help if you like. Unfortunately, nothing keeps me here anymore.’

She glances bitterly at the screen; of course - Dessa and Shem are both dead. I, however, am filled with gratitude and smile happily. I still can't get used to how the Victors are so close-knit and supportive just because Haymitch is my uncle.

'That would be fantastic!' I say sincerely.'Thank you very much! Honestly? I have no idea what I'm doing.'

Cecelia smiles at me, and I suddenly realise that, although older, she is a beautiful woman with her real red hair, freckles and mesmerising green eyes.

'Don't worry, love,' she says.'I'm twice your age, and I still get the shivers when I see that envelope.'

'Thanks, Cece,' Haymitch growls, and I can sense him feeling ashamed that he's not solving the problem. ’I’m horrible at this.’

’You’re going to be okay, golden boy’ she remarks, and Haymitch actually grins at her. I want to know where that nickname comes from, but I don’t dare to ask.

Woof takes a seat at our table without being asked to watch Olive and Rowan while Haymitch is away, and my uncle gratefully gives him full authority if either of them needs medication or anything else during that time, and thanks the older man for his kindness.

On the way out, I smile gratefully at Cas; she's pulled me out of a trap again. She waves at me with a pale smile, but then turns back to her own screen. I don't blame her; Cassiar and Maris aren't getting along, and a fight is developing between them about who should lead the wolf pack.

As we arrive back in Casmere and Gloss's room, Cecelia makes her way firmly to a wardrobe beside the bed, and pulls out a dress, which she says is made to fit me. Its a black velvet gown this time, with an asymmetrical neckline, and flowing drape. The fabric’s gentle sheen plays with the lamp light around it, and to my great relief, Cece pairs it with understated black heels, because of course I still find it difficult to walk in such shoes.

The woman secures my hair in a simple updo at the nape of my neck with a silver pin, and  she demurely smooths it down, then places a single, simple silver ring on my hand. I wonder how is it, that every single Victor knows what it means to meet Snow.

Don't be naive, I scold myself, they all know - probably because they are all being blackmailed.

The look is sleek, statuesque, and elegant, but not too compliacted. I understand it; we want to say that I am too young for all this. But honestly, I don't know if my age will deter the president from doing anything, or if it will just make him more enthusiastic.

'You can't wear white because it's always the president's colour,' explains Cecelia. 'But take the rose you've been given with you.'

When disgust crosses my face, the other smiles at me, understanding and dark.

'I know it's disgusting' she nods. 'But the President will expect you to thank him for the... gift... and to have it with you all night.'

She pronounces the word gift as if it burns her tongue.I nod with a slight sneer and take the rose in my hand.

Haymitch chooses this moment to step out of the bathroom that belongs to the room. This time he's wearing a simple black suit that perfectly matches the style of my dress; his trousers and shoes are both raven black, but his suit jacket is open with a casual sportiness, revealing a white shirt. He is not wearing a tie. Cecelia pulls out a silver rose brooch from Cas's dressing table drawer and pins it on my uncle's suit jacket to match the white rose in my hand.

'I'm sorry,' Cecelia murmurs shyly, and I've been here long enough to know what she means. The rose is the symbol of Snow, and as such, is despised and avoided by all Victors like the plague, and Haymitch must wear it.

'Are you kidding? You're helping us' my uncle says, and I smile gratefully at Cece in agreement. 'Anyway... I'd dance in my underwear if it helps Katniss.' The joke falls on deaf ears as it echoes too much of what Snow is doing anyway. We both stare in disbelief at Haymitch for a moment.

'So, it was too soon' Haymitch states dryly. 'Never mind. We have to go, sweetheart,' he looks at me and I nod with a dry mouth.

Before leaving, Cecelia squeezes both our hands and I kiss her on the cheek in return, thanking her once more.

*

This time we're invited to a place called the Golden Hall, and the guards at the door let us in without a problem when Haymitch hands them our invitation. With one hand I hold on to my uncle and with the other I cup the damn white rose to my décolletage. I'm happy that even though the dress is low-cut, I'm not wearing jewelry because the flower would get caught in it.

The Golden Hall is vast and airy, with a high ceiling and a golden chandelier hanging from it, giving the illusion that each separate branch of the lamp is holding a candle. Each candle is in the structure of an open, golden rose. The room is set up like a theatre, Haymitch explains to distract me, even though he knows I've never been to the theatre.

'We have to go upstairs,' he says. 'We are invited to the Golden Box, through the generosity of the President.'

I look at him in surprise; his tone is neutral, but his style is more respectful than I'm used to. He looks at me with a half-smile and I suddenly understand: they can hear us. The theatre is full of fancy-dressed Capitolians; this is the lion's den.

I nod wordlessly, and we climb the velvet-covered stairs that run high up the middle of the room; people sit on either side, and Haymitch nods his head occasionally to a familiar face.

Snow's own box emphasizes a richness I can hardly comprehend. When we arrive, two guards lead us through the box door, and without a word they are gone. The President turns back in his chair, as if surprised that we are here. On his lap is a theatrical telescope, made of gold.

’Ah, Haymitch! And the lovely Katniss Everdeen! Come, come!’ Snow waves jovially, but my uncle is unaffected.

’Mr. President’ he says, colourless, and polite, and bows deeply; I am suddenly grateful to Casmere for having taught me how to curtsy, and I do so. I’m not graceful, but its something, and it has to be be enough, because I can’t do better.

'My favourite people from District Twelve' purrs the President. 'Come and sit down!' So we do, and Coriolanus Snows' snake-like gaze is first fixed on my uncle.

'I must say, Haymitch, you disappoint me,' Snow remarks, like some kind-hearted grandfather.

'Did I do that, sir?' asks Haymitch curtly, without flinching. We'd be best suited for looking at the movie screen from the private box stretched across the room, and I can hear the shouting of those trapped in the Arena, but I can't tear my eyes away from the conversation.

'Yes,' smiles the president, with what looks like blood on one of his teeth. 'You know, like you forgot to mention that you have a half-brother with a different last name from yours.'

'I'd rather not talk about Burdock, Mr President'

'But I do, Mr Abernathy,' hisses the other coldly.'I'd love to talk about Burdock, Primrose, and dear Katniss here.'

My uncle doesn't say anything, just looks at Snow with a cold look on his face. I can feel my hand trembling on the arm of my chair. Someone in the Arena screams in terror, and the rest of the audience roars. Please tell me that's not Olive, not not Olive, not Olive.

'The question is no other than what you are willing to give me in exchange for the safety of your brother and two nieces,' the President continues, unwavering.

I see Haymitch clench his jaw and I plead with him, without a sound.

Don't answer, don't answer, don't answer.

'Anything, Sir.'

The air rushes out of my lungs, and Snow gives us both a sharp smile.

'Excellent. Your first appointment is tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock. You'll find details in the usual invitation. I know you've done your best over the years to be seen as nothing but a drunk, but the Capitol is merciful. You still have fans, especially among the ladies your age. Show them a good time.'

The nausea hits me so fast that I'm afraid I'm going to be sick right here and now. He did it here, in front of me.  Before I can think about what I'm about to say, the words are out of me.

'No, Sir, please don't do that' I beg. 'I'm happy to take Haymitch's place, I'm sure we can discuss the details, I...'

'Katniss, shut your mouth - now' Haymitch growls at me with such force that I am silenced at once. Tears burn my eyes.

'How touching' Snow remarks lightly, but there's something in his eyes that makes my whole body shiver.

’Mr. President, please, ignore my niece, she's just a child and she doesn't know what she's talking about' Haymitch blurts with such speed that the words blend together. 'You and I have an agreement, this is our deal, I'm at your service, just please...'

'No, Haymitch,' interjects the President, almost softly. 'Katniss disobeyed me, and as you know, disobedience has a price. Ask your mother, and - what was his name? Sid.'

My throat tightens. No, no, no.

Another desperate roar splits the room in two, and Coriolanus beckons to one of the guards I hadn't noticed before. The man disappears, then returns, carrying a large, golden cage. Inside the cage coils a huge snake, the size of which I have never seen.

'It seems to me, Miss Everdeen,' the other observes, chatting, 'that you don't value your own life, your own body, anything about yourself. So, I must punish someone you clearly value.'

I watch in horror as the guard sets the cage down in front of us, opens it, and with a gentle, gloved hand, lifts the snake out, placing the huge animal on my uncle's shoulder.

’Mr. President, I beg you’ I start, but Snow lifts a hand; the words immediately stick in my throat.

'I don't recommend talking out loud, Katniss, dear' he informs me.'You know, this isn't just any snake, it's my own invention, you might say. This little boy is a curious mix between the Inland taipan and the Malayan krait. The inland taipan, or Oxyuranus microlepidotus is considered the most venomous snake in the world. Bites from this species have a mortality rate of 80% if left untreated. But, sadly, species is known to be a very shy, reclusive and a laid-back snake that will nearly always slither away from disturbance. So, did I poke at his nature, with a little aggression? I did. A little aggression is always good, don't you think?’

At this point my tears flow, soundlessly, as I see the huge snake slither over Haymitch's shoulder towards his neck.

’Please Sir’ I wishper. ’I am increadbly sorry for what I said I…’

’Shhhh, my darling! We don’t want your uncle to get hurt, now do we?’

The snake wraps slowly, almost gently, around Haymitch's neck. I see my uncle trying to stay as still as possible, but it's not helping.

'Haymitch' my mouth moves, no sound comes out, but my uncle turns to me and sees it.

'It's all right, sweetheart,' he says, barely audible.'Everyone has to die somehow, don't they? I don't mind if I have to go, if I leave you safe.'

'You're not going to die!' I hiss, but I'm too loud; the snake lifts its head and digs deep into my uncle's neck. I clasped both hands over my mouth to stifle my cry, but it's too late, too late, too late.

A layer of yellow is forming on his skin at a terrifying rate, blood is oozing from the bite, Haymitch is deathly pale.

'It's...all right..' groans Haymitch. 'What was that you said? You and me, right? You and me. Will you stay here with me?'

'I'm not going anywhere,' I promise, stuttering, my face blood-red and tearful. I stand up, cross to his chair and kneel in front of him, my hands on both knees, my eyes fixed on his eyes.

He tries to smile, but I can see he's breathing hard. The snake literally squeezes the life out of him.

’Haymitch, I’m so sorry!’

’Not your…’

’Shhh.’

Someone clears their throat next to me and I jump. I’m so ompletely overwhelmed with horror that I forget that the President is still here.  I loathe, loathe, loathe this man.

The President quietly whistles a short tune, and I watch in amazement as the snake slowly releases my uncle and slithers gracefully across the President's lap.

'My advice, Miss Everdeen, is to contact the Victor Control’s medical team as soon as you can, which we have... in case of... accidents...' he says, as if to wish me a good morning. 'Have a nice evening', he adds.

I stare at him, blink - and when I come to, there is no sign of the President.

Chapter Text

My momentary black-out is replaced by a deep dread, which immediately pulls me to my feet.

'Haymitch? Shit! You all right? Uncle? Can you hear what I'm saying?'

Haymitch is shaking all over, but he opens his eyes with difficulty. How will I get him up? I can't... Okay, that won't help. Do something!

He trembles, and opens his eyes, yes, but no sound comes out of his throat. The yellow, festering, bleeding wound on his neck looks horrible.

'Okay, okay, okay' I say, but, of course, nothing in this situation is okay. 'Can you stand up? Okay, you can't - I'll help you.'

I scramble to my feet, stand next to his chair, and wrap one arm around his shoulders, trying to pull him up. He's taller, stronger, and heavier than me, and the effort makes me want to scream. I'm not weak for a girl - especially a Seam girl who knows hunger - but I don't stand a chance. My uncle is having a visibly difficult time staying conscious, but somewhere, in a trace, he realizes what is happening; he grabs the arm of his chair with his free hand and tries to push himself to his feet.

It doesn't work; he's on his feet for a moment, but he wobbles; I grab his shoulders with all my strength, to hold him up, but I hurt him. I see that if he could, he would scream in pain, but he cannot.

’I’m sorry, I’m so, so, sorry, Haymitch’ I say. How the fuck are we going to get back to the Mentor Control Centre? How are we even going to get down the stairs?

A guard appears at the door of the private box; this time he is not wearing the traditional peacekeeper's helmet and is surprised to see a young man in his late twenties, perhaps. He has jet black hair and to my shock I see compassion in his brown eyes.

There's a lift by the door I came in,' he says quietly.'Use it. The Medical Centre is on the third floor.'

'Thank you' I gasp, because I'm having trouble keeping my uncle on his feet, whose head is slumped forward and I can't decide whether he's conscious or not. Without a word, the Peace Keeper steps up beside us and pulls Haymitch's free arm to him. More than half the weight is suddenly lifted off me and I can finally catch my breath.

'My name is Katniss' I tell him, to fill the silence as we start to walk out at a painfully slow pace.

'I know' he nods, and that gives me the chills. Why does everyone here know everything about everyone else?

 'I'm Owen' he adds. The lift has a glass door and I see it approaching as Owen presses a button on the control panel.

'Why are you helping us?' I ask, as the boy pushes my uncle into the narrow, plastic-smelling space.

'You're not the only one who has a Victor for an uncle,' shrugs the other. 'And you know the rule; that makes all the other Victors family too.'

’Who?...’

'Tell Uncle Woof I said hi' Owen gives me a quick grin, presses the right button again, and nimbly steps out of the lift.

The door closes in front of him and the lift starts before I can react.

*

Olive

I wake up to a strange sound; I come to suddenly, and fear immediately strikes me; I am in the Arena. The sudden movement causes me to almost fall from the tree, but at the last moment I manage to grab hold of a branch. When I realize that the whimpering sound is coming from Rowan lying next to me, I am suddenly furious.

'What's the matter with you, man?!' I hiss, and his eyes pop open, and he looks as terrified as I was. It makes me feel a bit guilty, but at the same time his increasingly loud moaning was terribly dangerous.

’Do you want a list?!’ he is hissing back, dryly.

He flinches at the sudden sound of my voice, just as I just did, and I have to grab his shoulders to hold him to the tree. My grip makes him cry out for some reason, although I'm sure it wasn't that strong.

’Whats wrong with your…?’ My voice suddenly trails off as Rowan hastily raises his index finger to his lips, then beckons me down into the mirror clearing under us.

As our luck would have it, the Career Pack appears in the clearing. There is clearly some sort of argument between the two main leaders, Cassiar and Maris; they are not even trying to be quiet.

'Don't be stupid' Cassiar shakes his head 'This place is totally fucked. Why would you eat that thing?'

' It's because, genius, although we're well equipped in terms of weapons, I don't know if you've noticed, but we're low on food. I'm hungry!'

'What kind of Career are you?' asks Cassiar as they pass under our tree, and I hold my breath.'It's the second day, and we have dried fruit anyway!'

’Dried fruit is not real food!’

’Oh, but candy is? Come on, Mar, you can’t be serius! And in a fucking hat? Thats not weird at all.’

'The shape of the parachutes this year is a strange hat' she shrugs.'If you had mentors like Mags and Finnick and you'd have been given something, you'd know. And maybe I want to save the fruit for later.’

'Don't insult my mentors,' Cassiar growls, his voice suddenly deep. 'Casmere, Gloss, and Uncle Abrosius have made sure the Katana is waiting for me at the Cornocopia.'

'Panem, if I hear one more word about your uncle I swear I'll kill myself,' Maris mutters, but that doesn't seem the right thing to say, because Cassiar's blue eyes flash coldly.

The boy suddenly leaps forward, grabs her by the throat, and pushes her hard against the tree we are hiding on; the tree shakes beneath us.

'If you have the audacity to mock Abrosius, one more time, I'll be happy to help you with that, understand?' hisses Cassiar.

I lean forward on my tree branch and feel Rowan following me; I look down and see Maris's hands wrapped around Cassiar's and she tries to pry his hands off her neck, but fails. The boy takes her by the neck and slams her against the trunk of the tree again, and again. The tree shakes harder with each blow, and I cling to it as if my life depended on it.

'Do you understand what I'm saying?!' snaps Cassiar, and I'm overwhelmed with amazement. Gone is the attractive, bright boy I saw during the interviews; the one who chatted quietly in the corridors with his uncle, who always seemed polite to Vindora. This is a predator who has found a weak spot to protect.

Maris, of course, doesn't respond, which I understand, as she can't breathe, but Cassiar sees so much red that he doesn't connect cause with effect. Honestly? The only trace of a similar reaction I've ever seen in my life was Katniss' when it came to Haymitch. That girl stormed out of the Kiss Mansion so fast I didn't have time to blink when she heard her uncle in agony. She threatened to hit Rowan if he insulted him. Still, there was always a tenderness in Katniss that I see no trace of in Cassiar.

The next strong impact shakes the tree at the roots, and everything happens so fast I can't even react. Rowan is only holding on with one hand, his other hand is for some reason clamped on his shoulder, and that's not enough. The boy falls from the tree and I scream out of reflex. Shit, shit, shit!

Cassiar leaps back to avoid Rowan's falling body, releases Maris, who coughs for air and leans forward with both hands on her thighs to catch her breath. Rowan falls directly into the middle of the Carrier Pack, his back hitting the ground hard.

What should I do? What the fuck should I do?

'Look at that' purrs Vindora, eyeing the heavily shifting Rowan. 'Could it be my birthday already? What are you doing here, little Red? Did you miss me that much?' Rowan's eyes widen and he slumps back to the ground. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

’Can he be mine, Cassi? Pretty please?’

Vindora's voice is almost sing-song, strangely sweet, and it gives me the creeps. They're all crazy. Cassiar casts a disgusted glance at his district partner, even though Vindora's gleeful preparation to kill is no worse than the boy's earlier sudden outburst of rage.

’Keep him’ he gives it to her, as if to allow her to keep a stray dog. He casts another dark look at Maris, still deathly pale and strangely silent, then turns away.

’You are the best, my darling’ sings Vindora and draws from the sling on her back the sword that Lysandra had chosen for herself earlier. Rowan is haunted by that fucking sword. Vindora throws her legs over Rowan's two legs and smiles as she leans over towards him.

’Well, hello, baby’ she purrs. ’You wanted to play?’

What should I do? Am I evil for worrying about myself? I screamed, they know I'm here, don't they? But I can't leave Rowan alone.

What would Haymitch do?

Haymitch would never be in this situation; he would outsmart them and kill them all, as strong as he was when he got into his own Arena.

What would Katniss do? She would stay. And fight. And win.

I can't let Rowan die, can I? Oh, shit.

The moment Vindora raises the sword high to stab Rowan in the stomach, I jump screaming from the tree.

’Hey, bitch, I told you to leave him alone!’ As luck would have it, I land in Vindora's neck, and her shoulder bones hit me hard. I grip the girl's dark hair with all my might, suddenly glad that she is arrogant enough to leave her black locks loose, unlike the other female players.

'What the hell?' growls Cassiar, but then watches in amazement as Vindora whirls around, screaming. I yank her hair back with a force that makes her scalp bleed. I wrap my legs firmly around her shoulders and neck. I'm not heavy enough to do any real damage, but maybe...

'Just shake her off!' snarls Maris' partner.

’I can’t!’ screams Vindora, hysterically: it's all unbelievable, and ridiculous, and disgusting, the way the others are watching what's happening but not helping either of us. I jerk her hair back again, this time with such force that she falls backwards; it doesn't help me, because I get underneath her effectively.

I have the presence of mind to wrap my legs even tighter around her neck, so she can't flip on me... maybe I could...

Vindora screams, and screams, and screams, and screams, high and long, and reaches back, and with two hands on my shoulders, tries to lift me over her and throw me off her, but she can't, her neck bends painfully.

No one is helping her, but Rowan is finally slowly, slowly getting on all fours, while no one is watching, while everyone is staring at the fucking show, and out of the corner of my eye I see him struggling to untie the knife I gave him earlier.

I squeeze Vindora's neck with my two thighs: just don't give up, just don't give up, just don't give up! The girl grunts and kicks; I see Rowan slowly crawling towards us; tears burn my eyes. I understand that they don't pay attention because the girl and the boys above me don't care; it doesn't matter which one of us dies, in fact, it would be best if we killed each other.

I blink: Rowan is kneeling at Vindora's legs, gasping, and plunging his knife clumsily, full force, into her groin; Vindora's scream grows hoarse to a halt, and I push her head forward with my feet and hear the sickening crack that indicates her neck is broken.

I fall backwards, Vindora's suddenly still body seems even heavier on me. Vindora is dead; we killed her. In the sudden silence, the sound of Rowan gasping can be heard sharply, followed by the sickening, slithering, wet sound of him pulling his knife from its victim. I can't keep my eyes open, even though we are not safe: Cassiar, Maris, Reef and Tiberian are still here.

I hear Cassiar huffing, as if disappointed.

The boy pulls Vindora off him in one motion and I am suddenly face to face with him. The Katana hangs harmlessly on his back, securely fastened.

’Well, thank you for your help… Olive, was it?’ he asks, and his stlye is a grotesque caricature of the polite, polished courtesy I saw from him at the Capitol. ’You are one of Haymitch’s little ones, yes? I’m sorry – my unlce is quite found of you guy’s escort, Effie Trinket. Its really unpleasant, but you have to understand, there is nothing personal about this.’

I stare at him in horror; this boy has tossed aside his own district partner like a butcher tosses aside a piece of meat, and he's running polite circles around me before he kills me because Abrosius and Effie are friends.

Cassiar calmly releases the Katana from his back and elegantly lifts it –

*

Haymitch

’Haymitch? Uncle, please, open your eyes! Haymitch? Can you hear me? Uncle? HAYMITCH!’

The scream pulls me out of the milky white fog and my eyes pop open. I'm lying in a bed and Katniss is standing next to me, her face fiery red from sobbing.  Slowly, painfully, I understand that I am in the Medical Centre and by some miracle I am alive.

No - no miracle - Katniss.

The girl is in tears, and although I'm terrible at it, I want to comfort her. Nothing that has happened is her fault. It is simply that Coriolanus Snow is a snake. But the fact that I am alive means that Katniss saved me. I owe my life to my niece, however worthless my life may be. I open my mouth to tell her all this, but no sound comes out of my throat.

A cold fear fills my body, but I don't even really realize what's wrong when my gaze is fixed on the wall behind Katniss. On the wall - directly opposite my bed - is a TV screen.

On it I can see both of my kids, surrounded by Carriers, squirming. Rowan is kneeling on the grass, Olive is on her back; and above her is Cassiar, Katana in hand, blade raised for a strike.

I howl soundlessly.

Chapter Text

Effie

When Cassiar raises the Katana, I'm in the Escort Clubroom, a section of Mentor Control reserved especially for us during the Game. I swear so colourfully that Adriana, the Escort of Seven, looks at me in amazement.

’And just what the fuck are you looking at?’ I hiss at her. Its not like she is not used to this. One of the main Victors of Seven is Johanna Mason, for Panem’s sake.  Adriana purses her lips and looks away. I'll have to apologise to her later, but I don't care.

’I’m sorry’ murmurs Abro, who stands on my right side.

’What happens in the Arena, stays in the Arena’ I answer with the rule the Victors use. ’Not your fault.’

The door to the Clubroom opens and a very tired-looking Coralina enters. I only look at her for a moment, but my heart is already pounding harder. Of course; Finnick is in particularly high demand during the Game.

'What did I miss?' she asks, stopping on my other side. Olive swings away energetically from the first blow and leaps to her feet.

'They're ripping my heart out right now' I note dryly. She lunges at Cassiar on screen, the stupidest decision in the world; Gammington dances elegantly aside, untouched by Olive's hammer.

'I'm surprised you're here' Cory murmurs, rubbing her forehead wearily. She stares, as Rowan rushes to Olive's aid from behind - I suppose his plan is to stab Cassiar in the back of the neck, but that won't work with this boy.  Vindora was obsessed, but Cassiar always keeps a cool head in a fight. He spins around and in one move, pushes the knife out of the other's hand.

'What do you mean?'

"Didn't you hear?" Coralina frowns. "Haymitch was bitten by a snake during his... meeting with the president."

Suddenly the sound of the battle dies down next to me, the world shrinks, my throat tightens, my hands start to shake. 

My Victor. The black-haired boy who was nice to me when no one else was. The Rascal I kissed. Haymitch got bitten by a snake. A fucking snake! My ally during the Game, the Victor I must protect, the man with his bitter jokes and clever remarks, has been punished. Its Haymitch of all people.

Haymitch!

Without thinking, I turn and head for the door. I feel guilty for leaving Olive and Rowan alone, especially now that their mentor is injured, but all I can think about is Haymitch. There's nothing in my soul but fear as I run down the hallway, to the elevator, and press the button for Medical. I open the appropriate door with such a bang as I arrive panting, that the door slams against the wall.

Haymitch lies in bed opposite the door, deathly pale, but with pillows piled up behind him, a tray on his lap. His eyes are tired, and out of the corner of my eye I see Katniss sitting next to him, feeding him bite by bite.

The man's neck is tightly bandaged with gauze, and on the tray I see what looks like pudding; I think he's having trouble swallowing. It all seems very serious, but the fact that Haymitch is—well, alive—fills me with such relief that I almost cry. I swallow hard to keep from doing so, and my fear warms up  to anger.

'What the hell were you thinking?' I snap. 'To contradict the President!' because that was the only thing that could possibly deserve such a punishment. Haymitch grins, clearly enjoying my reaction, his gray eyes twinkling with amusement; I assume it’s because I swear so rarely. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe he’s not answering because he can’t. Katniss, on the other hand, has no such restraints. The spoon lands on the tray with a clang as the girl jumps to her feet.

"Don't talk to him like that!" she growls, and if I weren't so angry, I'd be terrified, because Katniss Everdeen is clearly a real opponent. But I am angry. I'm so angry I can barely see because I almost lost this idiot over something as small as a presidential meeting.

"I'm afraid I'll have to," I hiss. "Your uncle was irresponsible, and that is..."

"You don't have to do anything," Katniss yells. "The problem wasn't Haymitch, it was me, okay? I told President Snow off, so don't talk to Haymitch like that, all right?!"

An icy cold terror sweeps over my body. The foolish girl!

’Why would you…’

’Enough’ That word leaves Haymitch's mouth so raspy, so heavy, that we both look at him. My anger is blown away by the wind, and the worry that has been eating away at my soul returns. Haymitch is sweating and panting. Katniss and I look at each other, and worry blurs our bickering.

"Uncle," Katniss says quietly, and I look at her in surprise. There's always something firm and tough about Katniss, but not now. She packs so much tenderness into that single word, and it has an effect.

Haymitch opens his arms, and Katniss climbs onto the blanket without resistance and snuggles between them. Normally, I would find it scandalous for someone to approach the bed in shoes, but now I simply sit down in her empty chair next to said bed.

Katniss quickly places the tray on the floor before hiding back with Haymitch, complaining softly as she does so;

'You should eat the rest of the pudding, you know? I still have half of it.'

Haymitch makes a peaceful guttural sound, but I don't think it's consent. Its more like a ’whatever you say, sweetheart’, in my opinion. I watch as Katniss gently runs her hand through Haymitch's hair, and he closes his eyes under the touch, and I suddenly feel lonely.

'What did the doctor say?'

Katniss turns her face toward me, on Haymitch's chest.

"The venom attacked his vocal cords," she replies quietly. "The problem is, the snake is the president's... own, so we don't know exactly what the side effects will be."

"At least it's not deadly," I mutter, swallowing to remove the bitter taste from my mouth.

"It could have been," Katniss replies bitterly. "If we don't get here in time. Right now, they're mostly worried about the side effects, and about his vocal cords, because we don't know how permanent his voice loss will be."

I see Katniss' hand tighten in her uncle's hair, but strangely, Haymitch seems to like the gentle tug and grunts contentedly without opening his eyes.

The thought of never hearing his voice again scares me to death.

"'Have you talked to your father?' I ask Katniss, and she nods.

"Yes, I called while Haymitch was unconscious," she replies, and his uncle's eyes pop open; the gray eyes are frightened and protesting.

'Don't look at me like that,' the other one shakes her head. 'He's your brother, and he wanted to know what was wrong with you. He waited with me until you came to so I wouldn't worry so much.'

The gaze softens, but Haymitch's eyes widen again as Katniss continues.

'I promised to call him again in a little while. I should tell him what's going on now.'

Haymitch shakes his head wildly. This is so out of character for him, that I can’t tell what the real problem is. Is he in pain? Maybe he doesn’t want to be alone? Or more like – without Katniss?  Maybe he doesn’t want Burdock to worry? It’s obviously too late for that, anyway.

Katniss runs her hands down his cheeks. The love between them somehow sharpens my loneliness, and when I realize it, I hate myself for it. Don't I want Haymitch to be loved? And Katniss is his family.

"You know Dad won't sleep until he knows you're okay," she murmurs, quietly. "Please, Haymitch - I'll be back soon, I promise."

Haymitch sighs, then nods slowly, blinking rapidly. The message is clear. Hurry back.  He's much more emotional now that he can't speak. I guess because we have no way to prove to him that what he's trying to express is actually true.

"I'm practically back already," Katniss promises. She quickly kisses her uncle on the forehead, then sits up, and jumps to her feet.

'Dad spends the day at the mayor's, there's a phone there,' the girl tells me.

"Haymitch must have a phone," I reply, frowning. ’All Victors Houses have one.’

’Dad seemed to say that it was ripped from the wall.' My eyes widen.

’Haymitch, really, how barbaric!’ At least I get a pale grin for this.

“Will you watch him until I get back?” Katniss asks as she looks at the door. Haymitch groans deeply, and we both understand that one; I don’t need help.

Will I watch him? Really? What do you think I've been doing for the past decade, little girl?

’Of course, dear’ I say out loud, instead.

Katniss gives me a quick, grateful smile and hurries out of the room.

Haymitch and I are left alone. I sit back down in the chair next to his bed. He opens his eyes and stares at me. I don’t understand what he’s trying to say, but something is scratching at the surface, and it bothers me. Something stings my eye and I feel the corner of my mouth start to tremble, I can't stop it. My black-haired boy, bending down to help me. A faint smile appears at the corner of Haymitch's mouth, apologetic.

‘Don’t ever fucking do that again, you hear me?!’ My voice cracks at the end of the sentence, and I lay my head on the blanket that covers his legs.  When I feel her gently stroke my hair, my tears start to flow freely.

*

Olive

I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna fucking die. I want my mum; I want my dad. I want out of here right fucking now!

I swing out of the path of the rustling blade. I still have the hammer: fear beats alongside my heartbeat, but at the same time I feel a terrified, exasperated anger. If I have to die - and let's face it, I will - I won't do it without a fight. I struggle to my feet - I spend only a moment in terror reflecting on how strange it is that Cassiar is letting me stand - then I lunge at him with the hammer.

I thought I wouldn't stand a chance due to the difference in strength, size, or weaponry - but my opponent simply dodges me. This boy doesn't even put in the effort to finish me with honor. I have a moment to catch my breath - Rowan gets behind Cassiar - I think he wants to stab him in the neck, but he's too slow. The blond boy spins and kicks the knife out of my partner's hand. Rowan is unarmed, but at least he's standing now.

Of course, this doesn't help us much. We are surrounded; Cassiar has the Katana, Maris has two long fishing knives, Tiberius is clutching a sharp harpoon in both hands. The three of them form a loose circle around the two of us, neither in nor out. My back bumps into Rowan’s as we both start to back away. I raise the hammer and see Rowan clenching his fists, ready to fight.

’I’m so sorry, Mama’ I murmur.

I rush at the boy screaming, but before I can reach him - I freeze. My body doesn't obey, only my eyes can move, and I can roughly see the people around me frozen in their own movements. The part of the forest where we're standing is surrounded by mushrooms. Either I haven't noticed them before - who pays attention to plants when they could be dead in two minutes? - or they weren't here before and their sudden existence is the work of the Gamemakers. Whatever it is, they are certainly here now - and I can vaguely see a strange, sickly yellow vapor rising from them. I try not to breathe - whatever this gas is, it's not good, but I don't stand a chance. The sweet-smelling stuff moves into my nose, and I watch in horror as the hammer falls to pieces, then the gas bites into my hand.

Then the yellow nightmare attacks my hand, gnawing at my skin, opening it up, I see blood oozing out from under it. I see veins, pulsating circulation, wet, white bones, I watch as everything that makes me human slowly, cruelly, shatters to pieces. I scream as the unpleasant, sweet gas rips apart my jacket and climbs up my arm with a slimy touch.

Then the cool, slobbery touch turns hot, and through my tears I can see a candle flame. That seems even worse, if that's even possible. I know it's not real; there's nothing actually on my skin, but it still feels like the flame is burning my exposed bones.

I'm sobbing so much I'm starting to choke. My eyes are burning, my head is pounding, I don't want my parents to see me like this.

Beyond the pain, I suddenly remember my mentor. The huge, strong man, with the excessive booze - and the fact that he's already survived an Arena. No logic remains in my mind, I just want help, help, - help.

'Haymitch!' I scream pleadingly. 'HAYMITCH!'

*

Haymitch

'HAYMITCH!' Olive is sobbing, and my whole body twitches in response. ’Haymitch, help me please, tell me what to do!’ The aggressive move makes everything hurt, my throat burns, and I want to die. What use am I to the poor kid, bedridden?

I even have a hard time getting Effie to turn on one of the screens on one of the walls of the Medical room. I know Woof and Cecelia are trying to help the kids, but I doubt we've raised enough money from the sponsors to send them anything. I’m useless. Useless, useless, useless.

“What’s happening to them?” Katniss asks, tense. My niece stands by my bed, her gray eyes sharp as she watches the screen. I open my mouth to answer, but of course it doesn't work, the burning feeling only intensifies. Damn it! I take the little notebook with the pen from the bedside table that Effie (the prudent soul...) had put there.

Illusions, I scribble on the first page and show the notebook to Katniss.

"Because of the mushroom gas?" she asks. I nod.

"But how come they all react differently?" the girl frowns. She is right: I think Olive is in physical pain, as if she's seeing injuries that aren't real; the hammer falls out of her hand. She keeps begging me, her mother, her father, Effie, Katniss, anyone she can think of to come and help her. Strangely enough, she's not the only one who's a prisoner of her imagination.

Cassiar - hard, cold, mad Cassiar Gemminton kneels on the ground, begging his uncle to stay with him.

'Everything will be fine, uncle,' he says, but in reality tears are flowing. 'I'm good at wound care, remember? Thank fuck you insisted on... No, no, there's too much blood....'

"Does he think Abro is dying in front of him?" Effie whispers from the other side of my bed. The answer is yes.

’No!’ he screams. ’No, keep your eyes open, do you hear me? Don’t leave me here alone, I can’t do this with that bitch, alone, please, uncle, don’t go!’ I see Effie bite her lower lip hard and lower her head. Katniss, on the other hand, starts shaking all over, and in the blink of an eye, she climbs back onto the bed next to me, wrapping her arms around both of my shoulders.

The pain that still burns in my throat makes me feel a little illogical as I look at the girl. Her reaction is too strong considering she doesn't really know Cassiar. Maybe she took the 'don't judge' rule to heart?

“Uncle, please!” Cassiar screams, and suddenly I understand Katniss’s sharp, gray gaze as she looks at me intensely. My heart aches for Cassiar, especially since I know his District will interpret his behavior as weakness and despise him for it.

"You are not allowed to die," Katniss tells me quietly, "Do you hear?" I grin at her, but she doesn't seem convinced by my gesture, so I pull her closer, and she snuggles up to me without protest. It's still weird for both of us, but it feels good.

’Poor bastard’ Katniss murmurs. ’So, different fears, means different reactions, basically?’

I nod, and her hair tickles under my chin.

"I have to go," Effie says tensely, and although I can see that her face is dirty with tears, she's almost out of the room before I can do anything.

Today she wears an ellobarate dress, which, as she told me, is wholly made up from 500 flowers, or around 150 stems. The top of the dress starts with a bunch of dramatic dark red hellebores, to highlight the little cutout in the neckline with a bold color. The whole dress has an ombre color palette, whatever the hell that means.  She has a headpeace, an avant-garde, organically shaped crown, without it being a literal crown; its made up from hellebores from various stages of bloom.

 Its base itself was made from rustic wire covered in silver bouillon wire, and the hellebores were simply glued on; yes, before Katniss got back, she spent half an hour talking about this. But still, it was easier for me than see her cry; I want to hang myself seeing her in tears every time.

As I watch as Effie hurries out, sad, deep red and deep purple flower petals fall in her wake.

*

Effie

I refuse to accept that this is all life is: that I must silently, with clenched teeth, watch Haymitch suffer. I gave everything to this system – everything! This system – this glittering, elegant LIE – owes me. There has to be some kind of Capitol medicine that speeds up the healing of his wound, that gives him back his voice. His deep, unique voice that I love so much.
I press my lips together. And of course, there's Olive and Rowan too. If they die directly at Cassiar’s hands, then sure, I can’t do anything. But the freezing gas – as I call it – has bought us a little time.

However horrible it is, when its effects wear off – and they will, once the Gamemakers have squeezed enough drama out of it – maybe everyone will be confused enough for our children to escape, to hide. But even then, they won’t come out of it unscathed, and it’s my job to get medicine, to find a solution for them.

I burst through the door of Gaius’s private suite without announcement, which is unheard of, but I don’t care. I’m done with polite smiles, bows, ceremonies. Ceremonies never gave me anything –  nothing but pain. I’m done. I’m done!

Gaius is sitting in one of the red velvet armchairs in his living room – I’m not even surprised anymore that the Head Gamemaker couldn’t care less about the Games and leaves everything to his lapdog, Seneca Crane. The toad is holding some kind of magazine, but I’m too furious to care.

A look of astonishment flashes across Gaius’s face, and he’s already opening his mouth to scold me, but I beat him to it:

“I need medicine for my Victor, and for his children,” I declare. “Antidote for the bite of the President’s snake, and whatever that gas is that freezes the kids – for that too. Right now, Gaius.”

A nasty, calculating smile spreads across the Head Gamemaker’s face, and I have to remind myself to hold my head high and thrust my chin forward. I am a Trinket, after all.

"Really, darling?" he asks, and I want to claw his eyes out. "And what would you be willing to give for it?"

I don’t claw his eyes out.

I think of the dark-haired boy who became the man with the gentle gaze, whose hands always, always hold that damned bottle.

The man who shouts in his sleep for a girl long dead. Who pretends not to care about the children whose names I read out, but then fights beside me to keep them alive anyway. I think of Haymitch watching the Game, gently stroking Katniss’s hair so his niece won’t be afraid. I clench my teeth.

I am a Trinket, – and a Trinket always finds a way.

’Anything’ I tell him. ’I will give you anything you want, Gaius.’

The deep purple petals of my skirt fall to the ground uncontrollably as I lower myself into his lap.

Chapter Text

Rowan

Its almost like everybody here is crazy, and I don’t understand why. I get that the gas plays with their fears, but I’m a bit suprised, that mostly I feel the same. Maybe I’m already in the constant state of horror, that it doesn’t matter to me. Maybe I can’t possibly be more terrified. Or maybe I’m so used to being afraid, its acutally an adventege in the freaking Arena.

Suddenly I think of my mother's red hair, of that rich, real colour, of the room I sat in the corner of while she entertained her 'clients' on the rayon-covered bed. Even here in the Arena, the thought makes me nauseous, but I like to think it's actually because of the fungus.

I shake my head violently. There's no time for this! I freeze for a moment, but for a different reason than the others. What should I do? This is an advantage that won’t occur again in the Game.

I turn around and find the knife in the grass that Cassiar had so easily knocked out of my hand. For a moment, a bittersweet triumph overwhelms me; who is at a disadvantage now?! I look in disgust at Carrier on the ground, pleading with his uncle.

Maybe I'm just jealous because no one loves me so much that losing them fills me with dread.

I raise the knife high, but I can only use one hand because my other arm still hurts, which I don't like to think about. The blade slips, and instead of stabbing Cassiar in the neck as I intended, the weapon lodges deep in his back.

The boy screams in a deep voice; behold, I have caused him pain, but it has not helped. I have not killed him, I have not eliminated another opponent. I release the handle of the knife, which is stuck in the wound, and I lock my arms around Cassiar's shoulders, his neck. I bring as much strength into the grip as I can, but I do not believe I can kill him myself. He's still a Carrier, much stronger than me, and I'm nothing more than a Seam boy. We wrestle, but there is nothing glorious or honorable in this fight; as my arm tightens around his throat, I hate myself.

'There are no rules in the Arena!'

'No, there aren't,' says Haymitch, suddenly soft. 'If you want to become the animal that the citizens of the Capitol see you as.'

The memory stabs me in the stomach, and it suddenly weakens my grip on Cassiar's neck, who immediately seizes the opportunity and, despite the knife and the gas, throws me off him. It's all just - strange. As soon as Gemminton has nothing to distract him from the gas, his gaze returns to the grass.

Fuck this. Like really, really fuck all of this. I’m not just an animal who they can put into a cage.

If I had caused Cassiar real harm, it might have been worth wasting my knife, but now I am unarmed. I pick up Olive's hammer, still lying in the grass, and walk over to the girl, who at this point is just weeping quietly, curled up with her arms wrapped around herself. All my instincts urge me to run away, alone, so that I don't have to pay any attention to anyone else but myself—let's face it, I'm just as much of a rat as Cray. What can we expect from a Seam rat whose mother picks up clients from the Slag Heap and takes them home to earn a few coins? I am worthless and value nothing but my own survival. If nothing else, the Arena was good for forcing me to face this fact; now I don't even blink.

But the fact that I come from Seam also means that I don't like being indebted, and I owe Olive a thousand times over now. I wouldn't have survived the Training Centre, or the Bloodbath, let alone falling from a tree. So I won't leave her behind. Instead, I bend down to her, look her in the eye, and try to speak to her kindly and softly.

'Come on, Livie,' I murmur gently. 'We have to get out of here while no one is coming to their senses.'

The girl tilts her head back so quickly to look up at me that even the thought of the movement causes me pain.

'Ro...Rowan?' she mumbles confusedly, her face streaked with tears. 'Did you come to help me?'

"Yeah, sweet girl," I reply gently. "Can you stand up?"

She shakes her head and the corners of her mouth tremble; I am struck by a momentary flash of anger; I know she is not physically hurt, I know she would be able to stand up, and yet she is unable to do so. We are wasting time, and at any moment, any of our opponents could get the better of us, and then we're screwed. I take a deep, quick breath; I remind myself that none of this is Olive's fault, that she probably thinks her body is covered in open wounds.

I remind myself that pain isn't always physical; if Olive thinks she's bleeding, then it's as if she is bleeding. I remind myself that the only thing the districts agree on is that we don't attack our district partner in this fucking game, unless we have no other choice. Everyone has that much honor.

"It's fine," I murmur, pinning the hammer to my belt. "I'll carry you." The thought is easier than the reality; Olive isn't heavy, but my shoulder still burns painfully, and she screams bloodcurdlingly when I lift her.

"It's okay, it's okay, don't cry," I keep repeating as I set off with her.

"It hurts!" cries Olive, and my heart breaks for her. Maybe I do have a soul after all. "Ro, everything hurts!"

"I know, baby, I'm sorry," I reply breathlessly; it doesn't make any sense, but it seems to calm her down a little. She buries her face in my shoulder, and her tears continue to flow, but she sobs more quietly now.

My heart pounding, I step out of the circle of our enemies, but none of them pay any attention; everyone is locked in their own personal hell.

Still, I have no idea how long the gas will last, and the moment it wears off, we'll be at a disadvantage again. Our backpacks are gone from the fight, and we only have one hammer. I don't even want to think about what will happen if any of our opponents come to before Olive does. That would mean we'd die together. The fact that I'm carrying her and her weight is taking up both my hands means I'm just as defenseless as she is. We need shelter.

Mentally, I recall my mother's face: bright, intelligent blue eyes, thick, blood-red hair, a pretty face, a slightly pointed nose, which makes her features a little fox-like, but that only makes her more interesting. Her colours are unusual in the Seam; they are more typical of a Townie; of course, my mother may have been a Townie before I was born. She refuses to talk about her past.

"Leave that useless little witch behind," my mother's voice hisses in my mind. "Leave her behind, she's only holding you back!"

"Shut up, you stupid bitch," I growl. "You don't have a shred of emotion in you!"

"What?" Olive lifts her head from my shoulder, confused. Of course, she thinks I'm talking to her.

"Nothing, sorry," I reply quickly. "We need to find somewhere safe where they won't find us," I add, because Olive seems more alert. The girl nods and leans her head back on my shoulder: she may be feeling better, but she doesn't offer to stand up.

"Leave that useless little witch behind," my mother's voice hisses in my mind again. 'What use is she to you?!'

’Shut up, you fucking whore, she's my district partner!’ I snap, and the words are already out of my mouth when I realize I'm talking to someone who isn't there.

"Rowan?" Olive wraps both arms around my shoulders and shivers all over. But her voice seems to be clear. ’Are you okay?’

’I’m…’ Am I? Okay, I mean? I was so sure that the gas has no affect on me, but is it really true? My mother is not here; the only good thing in this hell, really, and here I am, talking to her anyway.

"I'm sorry," I say instead. I take a deep breath. Focus on the facts, I tell myself.

My name is Rowan. My mothers name is Inola, and I’m nothing like her.

This exercise doesn't help as much as I would like; I can still hear her voice, but I pretend it's not there.

"I think I can stand up," Olive remarks, carefully pushing herself away from my chest, then spreading her arms wide to keep her balance and standing upright. Thank fuck.

"Welcome back," I tell her, and she gives me a faint smile.

"'Thanks for helping me," she says. "Where are our backpacks?"

'We lost them in the fight.' Now that I have my partner back, I am suddenly overcome with fatigue, and my shoulder hurts even more. 'Come on, let's find a place to hide.'

"'How about that?' Olive points ahead, and I only now notice the cave peeking out from among the trees, its entire roof covered with a thick layer of deep green moss and red mushrooms dotted with white spots. I hope they're not poisonous. However, even if they are poisonous, the mouth of the cave is open, so we can block it off and be safe for the time being.

"Perfect," I grin. "It's good to have you back."

The cave is cool inside, but that doesn't bring me much relief; my fatigue is growing, my shoulders ache terribly, and I curl up on a cleaner patch of ground while Olive gathers leaves to hide the entrance. I feel guilty for not helping her, but I'm hot and cold, shivering, and my eyes are burning. All I want is to sleep; suddenly my muscles start to sore. Maybe I'm just as useless as my mother said.

"Rowan!" Olive's voice rings out excitedly, and through the feverish red haze, I realize that she is too loud. I need all my strength to push myself into a sitting position with my elbows as Livie bursts into the cave. For a moment, I don't understand what the object in her hand is.

’Is that…?’

’It’s a parachute!’ Olive smiles broadly, and as always, the smile softens her pretty gray eyes. Its the strangest parachute I’ve ever seen, even though I was forced to watch the Game my whole life. The parachute resembles a top hat, with tall, cylindrical sides, and a wide brim that doubles as the parachute canopy. The brim is the functional parachute, made from shimmering, patchwork panels of tea-stained silk, checkerboard fabric, and playing-card prints.

The crown is slightly puffed and padded, I assume, as a protective function, so when it lands it could even act as a cushion for supplies. I blink; I realize that we received not one, but two gifts; Olive is holding one in each hand.

The second parachute is deep emerald green for the main body, but with chaotic streaks of candy-apple red, lavender, and gold.  Its trim lined with pocket-watch chains, and a bunch of withe ribbons.

’When they drifted down, they released a trail of glowing confetti’ notes Olive. She is still glowing with excitment, but there’s worry mixed in her voice now. I get that; as spectacular and absurd as this arrival may seem, it is just as conspicuous as it is dangerous.

"It's a good thing no one else saw that," I remark wearily. "In any case, we're grateful, Haymitch," I say, and nod.

"And Effie," Olive adds with a sweet smile. "I have a feeling Effie is helping us with the sponsors.” She's more than likely right.

"Thank you, Miss Trinket!" we say in unison.

"Can I have the one with the white ribbons?" Olive asks, and I give her a nod. I'm barely alive.

Inside, we find two clean injection syringes, both filled with a fine, transparent liquid. I can't even imagine how expensive this gift must have been: Capitol-quality medicine, and two doses at that.

I don't quite understand. I didn't do that well; in Olive's case, I can get it; after all, she survived the Bloodbath, killed Lysandra, got a backpack, then got with the weird cat attack, and saved me in the process. Then, when I fell off the fucking tree, she decided to help me, even though she could have stayed hidden.

Sure, the gas weakened her, but she also played a part in Vindora's death and found us a hiding place. The audience likes brave and resourceful players. But me? I constantly needed to be rescued.

"'Would you help me?" Olive asks, and her usual shyness shows on her face, which makes me laugh. She's saved my ass countless times in the last few hours, and yet she's shy when she has to ask for something. Without a word, I draw the liquid into the syringe, and she takes off her jacket and rolls up her sleeve. I try to gently prick the flawless, coffee-brown skin, but my partner still flinches.

’Sorry, sorry’ I murmur, but she just shakes her head.

’My turn’ she notes, once her dose is used up: Olive already seems livelier, and I hope the injection will have the same effect on me, because everything hurts. The girl administers the medicine much more skillfully and gently, I hardly feel a slight sting. The fog lifts from my mind, but my shoulder continues to ache.

But the fact that she's better also means that Olive almost immediately realizes that there's still something wrong with me.

’What is it?’ she asks, taking back her jacket because the cave is quite cool. ’Whats with you?’

For the first time in my life, its hard for me to admit that something hurts.

"Do you remember the cat?" I finally ask. "The one with the… claws?"

Olive's eyes narrow, and her stern expression suddenly reminds me of Katniss.

’What about it?’

Instead of answering, I drop my jacket and this time pin the sleeve on my other shoulder; I feel a kind of shame as Olive's gray eyes widen at the sight of the festering, deep scratch. But instead of tenderness, I get a reaction I don't expect.

"You fucking bastard!" the girl screams, swinging at me, and I jump back in shock.

"What's wrong with you?!" I snap, and even I am surprised at how much her reaction hurts me. I don't make friends easily; some would say I'm too arrogant for that, but I had started to consider Olive my friend.

It even crosses my mind that if sponsors have rewarded my loyalty to my district partner so far, then the conflict is hurting my chances; then I immediately hate myself for being so superficial.

Why didn't you tell me you were injured?!

'And when? When I fell out of the tree, or when you saved my ass, or when you were hallucinating?!’ Actually, I was ashamed that I was slow and injured, but she doesn't need to know that.

Olive's face shows pure concern, and I feel even more ashamed.

’Oh, Rowan’ she murmurs gently. I’m not used to gentleness; I don’t know what to do with that.  There is a moment of stillness between us.

"All right," Olive then says with her usual enthusiasm. "We'll figure something out, just..." Before I can point out that we have nothing but the clothes on our backs and a hammer, and that I absolutely do not trust anything that comes from this strange Arena, an energetic male voice cuts through the air.

’Attention tributes!" Cesar Flickerman's disturbingly cheerful voice calls out to us, and we both flinch reflexively. We expect an average announcement, but instead the presenter begins singing a rhyme in a clean voice.

"Come closer now, join our play,

at our table fate will stay,

sip and feast, but use your head,

for every bite could be your last instead!"

Then he falls silent, and his voice does not return. We stare at each other in stunned silence. Suddenly, I feel simple; I'm not good at interpreting things with hidden meanings at all. I've spent my whole life just surviving. Food. Hiding from my mother. Sometimes a girl. But not this. My inadequacy heats up into anger.

'What the hell does that mean?'

 "Come closer now, join our play’ murmurs Olive, and slowly begins to walk around the cave, deep in thought. "As if we had any choice but to play," she notes dryly. This makes me grin, even though my embarrassment doesn't go away; at least this girl is trying to figure out what the rhyme means, while I'm throwing a tantrum like a baby. ’Sip and feast, but use your head..’ Olive suddenly stops and stares at me.

"He's inviting us to a feast!" Her gray eyes widen. "The rest is basically just threats - anything could be poisonous, blah, blah, blah, but this is a feast, we can get the medicine your shoulder needs, and maybe more weapons, and food too! I'm starving!’

Olive is clearly right; every Game has a feast that gives players the opportunity to get what they need, and the audience loves it because more players in one place always means carnage. Still, I don't share her enthusiasm; I still feel stupid, and I feel the opportunity is dangerous.

"I don't want my injury to put us in danger," I say cautiously. Olive stares at me in astonishment for a moment.

’Ro, this is the freaking Hunger Games, we are in danger’ she says.

’Yes, but…’

’No but!’ She shakes her head. "Of course, we need your medicine, but Rowan, we need food, we need weapons, we can't survive with just a hammer—we have to go! I'm going—the only question is, are you coming too?"

I stare at her for a moment, unable to articulate what's wrong with me. I'm in pain, shouldn't I want it to go away? And the feast is my only chance to make that happen... maybe I'm just a coward? Maybe my mother's hissing lectures about how only my own survival matters have finally found their purpose? I feel ashamed.

"We just received gifts," I note weakly. "Do you think we have enough sponsors to get anything at the feast?"

’Have some faith in Haymitch and Effie!’ Olive claps her hands energetically. Remember how brilliant they were with me when I had to impress the Game Makers? They'll help us!'

And they didn't pay any attention to me, it crosses my mind, but I don't say anything.

"And Katniss is there too," the girl continues. "She wouldn't let us get nothing. Come on, Rowan, come with me!"

I sigh wearily. I wouldn't let her risk her life alone, I'm not like my mother.

"You and me," I nod. "We'll do it."

In response, I receive a heart-wrenchingly sweet smile. Well, if I die, at least I won't be alone.

*

Katniss

’Have some faith in Haymitch and Effie!’ Olive claps her hands energetically. Remember how brilliant they were with me when I had to impress the Game Makers? They'll help us!'

Haymitch shudders at this: we're back at the Mentor Center, to relieve the now truly exhausted Woof, and my uncle is slowly sipping the tea that Effie insists he drink. Effie won't reveal what's in the tea or where the medicine comes from, but Haymitch's voice is slowly but surely returning, and I am quietly grateful.

"And Katniss is there too," the girl continues. "She wouldn't let us get nothing. Come on, Rowan, come with me!" Suddenly, I feel stones in my stomach; what use am I to my friends here? Can I really help Haymitch and Effie, or am I only there to get my uncle's neck bitten by snakes?

Effie can obviously sense that I'm stressed, because she smiles kindly at me. She has changed her clothes since I last saw her earlier in the day, and she won't tell anyone what happened to the previous one. She told Haymitch that she "spilled something on her dress," but considering the deep snort my uncle made in response, I don't think he believes her. I don't dare ask Effie if she's lying, and if so, why.

The new dress is a „floral illusion gown” as Effie calls it; features layer after layer of pink organza, cut to mimic delicate floral petals. It has a strapless bust and a leg-baring side slit that extended into a carpet-grazing train.

Personally, I liked the previous dress better, but I don't dare bring it up: I've never been the girly type, and anyway... I feel like this is more than just a dress. There's something behind the dress change that has made Haymitch tense and quiet, even if he doesn't know exactly what happened. All we know is that Olive and Rowan received antidotes for the spores, and the sponsorship didn't come from Haymitch’s deals, nor was it a favor from the other Victors.

"We have to give them something for the feast, uncle," I murmur softly, though I feel I have no right to. "If nothing else, for Rowan's wound. And if they don't eat soon, they'll be sick."

Haymitch looks at me tiredly and nods briefly, and I immediately regret speaking up.

"I might have an idea," Effie remarks thoughtfully, and my uncle immediately growls in response.

'Eff, whatever you did for the previous sponsor's gift, don't do it again, you hear me?'

The escort gives my uncle a sharp look.

"I don't recall you being able to tell me what to do, Abernathy," she notes icily. Then, seeing the expressions on both our faces, her blue eyes soften. "Haymitch, it's my job to help. In any case, don't worry, I don't want to do anything you don't like. Can I invite you both to lunch?"

’Lunch?’ my uncle repates. ’Effie, our kids are going to go to that fucking feast in a couple of hours, and we have nothing to give them, I can’t just…’

’You need to eat!’ Effie cuts in. ’Soft things, the doctors tell me, because you will have a hard time swallowing for a couple of weeks, but still.’

’You asked my doctors…?’

’Well, duh, of course I asked, you are my Victor’ There is something intangible about Effie's tone that makes my uncle blush and forces me to hide my smile. It's official: I like Effie Trinket.

"Would you like to join us, Katniss?" the woman turns to me. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

I open my mouth to answer, but I sense Haymitch shifting uncomfortably in his chair next to me.

’Effie, I don’t know if that a good idea or not’ he rases.

The escort raises her blonde eyebrows.

"You don't think I'm taking your niece to a dangerous place, do you?" she asks. "Trust me!"

So, we do.

*

Blight is generous and takes Haymitch's place, watching over Rowan and Olive while we eat lunch. The two Players are dozing in the cave anyway, waiting for the Midnight Feast, which is still half a day away, but it's better to be cautious.

The small place we sit down in is a café, called the Golden Crown, as Effie informs us, with tall white marble tables and dog-shaped white porcelain salt shakers.

The thick onion soup I order is served in a huge, hot loaf of bread, a kind I never seen before, and my first thought is that Peeta would be just as keen on this as I am. The soup, full of thick onion chunks, is one of the best things I've ever tasted, and I can feel Haymitch's mood improving as he discreetly watches me eat happily. I feel slightly guilty that my stomach is full while Olive and Rowan are hungry, but I try to remind myself that we are here to meet a sponsor who will help them.

Haymitch clearly has no appetite, but he gives in to the stern double glare that Effie and I give him at the same time. He orders mashed potatoes, with a very soft shepherd's pie, but he doesn’t eat as much as I would like him to. Effie asks for orange juice in a tall glass and impatiently scans the café's crowd.

About halfway through lunch, a lovely woman, perhaps a little older than Haymitch, appears in the café: her long hair is a deep magenta color, and there is something familiar about her gaze that I cannot quite put my finger on.

As Haymitch looks up and their eyes meet, surprise flashes across his face, and I see his gray eyes soften. Oh—so whoever she is, we like her. That's good to know.

’Are you fucking kidding me?’ he asks Effie, with a huge smile.

’Language!’ the other protests, but her features are gentle. The young woman approaches our table, and Effie jumps up and they kiss each other on the cheek.

"Katniss, I'd like to introduce you to my little sister, Proserpina Trinket," she says enthusiastically, and now I understand why the other woman's demeanor seems so familiar."My dear, this is Haymitch's niece, Katniss Everdeen," she adds.

"'Nice to meet you,' I say quietly. I still find it difficult to meet new people, but Prosie smiles kindly at me.

"Oh my stars, so she's like your female version, Haymitch," she exclaims, her voice enthusiastic and friendly.

"Don't insult the poor girl," Haymitch scolds, but a smile lurks in the corner of his mouth.

"No, seriously, she has those gorgeous hard gray eyes, I love them!" replies the younger Trinket sister.

"Good to see you again, Prosie," my uncle remarks, standing up, leaning across the table, and allowing her to give him a brief hug.

As Proserpina settles down next to Effie and Haymitch takes his seat, my uncle turns to me.

"Miss Trinket was part of my... styling team, during my Game, let's say," he explains, and that makes sense, so I nod.

"Thank you for helping him, Miss Trinket," I say, looking at Prosie, whose eyes open wide, just as blue as her sister's.

"Oh, aren't you the sweetest?" she asks, and I conclude that both sisters have strong feelings, apprenetly always. "But there wasn't much thanks in it, I really messed up, and Effie had to save my shapely ass."

Haymitch tries to disguise his laughter as a cough, and I have to grin too.

"You didn't mess up," Effie mutters. "You were just inexperienced, that's all."

"So, do you have anything to say in your defense, Haymitch Abernathy?" Prosie asks, suddenly serious.

’What…?’

"You almost died, you bastard!" complains the younger sister, and out of the corner of my eye I see Effie smiling faintly. "I didn't sleep! Do you know what this does to my skin?!"

Haymitch's mouth twitches, and he clearly has to force himself not to laugh, and I realize that I like both Trinket siblings.

’I’m really sorry’ he mutters, and Prosie exhales angrily.

’Well, I guess, the point is that you are alive’ she allows. ’So, Effie here tells me your kids need a bunch of things. I sponsor 12 every year anyway. Do you have a list of what you need?’

"You do sponsorship every year?" Haymitch's gray eyes widen; astonishment pours out of him.

"Well, of course, I choose your district every year, if the kids survive the Bloodbath," Prosie replies, as if it were obvious, frowning at her sister. "Sometimes I try to donate before the Games so they have a better chance, but it's hard. Didn't you tell Haymitch?"

"The point of sponsoring anonymously is that nobody knows it's you," Effie counters Prosie.

'Sure, but I'm only doing it anonymously because, in principle, escorts' families can't bet, or sponsor, which is silly, of course. I'm doing it for you, but also for Haymitch. Which means that as long as you don't mention it to anyone else, you could have told him.'

The woman turns toward me.

"If you would keep it to yourself that I am sponsoring, I would be grateful," she remarks, and her smile suddenly becomes shy.

"I have no idea what you mean," I reply with a half-smile. "We only met because you missed your sister, didn't we?"

She laughs.

’I like you’ she tells me simply, then, she looks at my uncle. ’So, what do you need?’

'P, you don't have to feel like you owe me anything,' says Haymitch, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Prosie raises her eyebrows, and there is something about the gesture that is completely Effie-like.

’Haymitch, I am perfectly capable of deciding which district to sponsor, and I have been able to make that decision since the fifty-first Games, since the fiftieth was the last one in which I participated professionally, as you know. Has it ever occurred to you that I sponsor you because I consider you a friend? But if you don't need me, please let me know. I like Mags and Finnick as well, for example, so, I can ask them if they need anything.’

My uncle blinks, and I see Effie trying to stifle her laughter.

’I have a list’ says Haymitch shortly.

’Excellent.’

"It would help a lot if we knew how much money we're working with," says Effie gently, who has clearly taken pity on my uncle. Prosie nods and pulls something out of her pocket that looks like a transparent piece of glass, but I guess it's actually advanced Capitol technology. The girl turns on the keyboard and types something on it. In the blink of an eye, her sister has just such a device lying in front of her.

"Is that enough?" asks Posie when the device jingles, presumably indicating that the amount has arrived on Effie's screen.

Effie's blonde eyebrows shoot up high.

’Panem, Prose, Papa is going to murder you’ she notes, but she doesn’t sound really woried.

’Nah, he always told us that you are his favourite’ remarks the other looking at Haymitch. ’He perfers Victors who won with their mind, instead of their strengh.’

’Good to know’ my uncle mutters, a bit dry.

But when Effie lifts the screen and we see the number, both of our eyes widen. It's an amount I've never seen before.

’Are you sure?’ Haymitch asks, a bit weakly this time.

’Friends, remember?’ Prosie counters, and Haymitch gives her a smile. ’Now the list please.’

Haymitch chooses medicine first, for Rowan. Bandages, painkillers, a first aid kit, fully stocked. Dry, long-lasting snacks that are easy to hide. Protein bars. A small hammer set for Olive, short, easy-to-use knives for both of them. The two packages are incredibly expensive, but this time that's not a problem. Dried fruit, small pieces of dry ham.

By the time we reach the end of the list, I feel dizzy at the thought of the long checklist and try to restrain my joy; I am afraid that Rowan and Olive will not get all of this, no matter how silly it may be.

I even manage to sneak one of Peeta's cards into Olive's box, although it takes a lot of persuasion because Haymitch considers it incredibly dangerous. The bird spreads its wings on the card, and underneath are Peeta's neat letters: you are not alone! But the card finally makes it into the package, and I am quietly happy. I want them to know that I am thinking of them.

Prosie insists on designing the parachutes, and as generous as she has been, Haymitch has no intention of denying this loopy but harmless request.

The first parachute – Rowan’s – is circular, canopy shaped like the face of an oversized pocket watch. The outer rim has gold embroidery, and the inner segments are pieced together like clock hands frozen at 12o’ cloock. The hands are ivory white with antique gold and black detailing.

The second one – Olive’s – is a petal-shaped canopy panel, and when fully open, it looks like a giant blooming rose. Each petal is layered, giving a three-dimensional flower effect. The petals are deep crimson in colour, the petals fading to white tips, with thorny vine patterns embroidered along the seams. The vine patterns will draw a number twelve, Posie informs us.

She also says that the first reference is to the White Rabbit's Pocket Watch from the book, while the second is inspired by the Queen's Rose Garden.

Prosie is planning a special Wonderland Effect for both: in Rowans case, when the parachute descends on the table of the Feast, the canopy slowly spins like a ticking clock, creating the illusion that time is being wound backward. Faint ticking is going to be heard.

For Olive, the petals will occasionally shimmer with dew-like sparkles. As it descends, a faint scent of roses will be released.

This whole thing is a bit silly and pointless, since no player will see the gifts arrive. The essence of the Feast is that all players arrive when the Parachutes are already on the table, and the Players must obtain them without getting hurt. The effects are entirely for the entertainment of the Game Makers and the audience. Of course, I shouldn't be surprised that someone who worked on the Game would think of something like this, and I am still infinitely grateful to both Trinket sisters.

But the fact remains—for them, it's just a Game, while Olive and Rowan are fighting for their lives.

*

Olive

The Game Masters conjure up a cloudless starry sky in the Arena, and Rowan and I are hiding in a thickly bushy area. Rowan has my hammer, and the plan is that, since I'm faster, I'll run to the table, grab the two Parachutes, and run back, while Rowan stays behind me and protects my back with the hammer.

Honestly, I know the plan is full of holes; as I said, I'm faster than Rowan, so I'm not sure he can keep up with me, especially with that terrible wound on his shoulder.

And even though he's protecting my back, I'm still unarmed in front... Maybe it would be better if I kept the hammer and Rowan stayed hidden in the bushes, but the boy is unpersuadable.

There is a long table in the clearing, covered with an elegant snow-white tablecloth. Various absurdly shaped parachutes are lined up on the surface of the table. The two that interest me are an oversized pocket watch with golden and black hands pointing to twelve o'clock, and an unfolding rose with a pattern forming a twelve, located at two corners of the table, equidistant from each other.

I don't know what angers me more: the fact that the two parachutes I need are not next to each other, so I have to cover a greater distance, putting myself in greater danger? I guess Haymitch had no say in their placement: our mentor is many things, but he's a practical man. Or does the shape of the gifts bother me more? I have to spell out the number on the parachutes. This is nothing more than another unnecessary obstacle.

But I guess mentors are required to maintain the Arena style. Among the other parachutes, there is one where the box is shaped like a delicate teapot, and another where it is four-sided like a dice box, with walls like a deck of cards. There is also a huge hat with a seven embroidered on the front and multicolored ribbons on the sides of the top hat.

I even see a fucking blue caterpillar sitting on a mushroom – the dome is the mushroom cap, and the parachute cords lead to the caterpillar. Of course, this only makes me want to swear. We are fighting for our lives, and our Mentors are forced to shape our parachutes into ridiculous styles.

"Let's go!" Rowan grumbles, and I take my anger out on him, even though he doesn't deserve it.

"Shut up!" But I do what he says, running toward the table with all my strength, and I feel him following me.

I grab the watch, but its strange shape slips in my sweaty hand. With my luck, more people appear around me; Pike, from District 7, Cassiar with his fucking Katana, Maris, who throws herself toward her colorful vial shaped parachute. There are too many of them, and my partner is an idiot. Cassiar lunges toward Rowan, and instead of trying to dodge him, Ro swings the hammer at him.

Cassiar has no time to mess around this time—he elegantly swings the weapon above his head—and decapitates Rowan right before my eyes.

Chapter Text

Katniss

I am proud of the fact that I am tough.  Maybe I'm too reserved, I have a hard time letting anyone close to me, and when they finally get close to me, I'm afraid of losing them. But I'm tough. I'm my father's partner, in this hell we call life, I don't cry easily, I look for solutions, and I protect the ones I love. But when I see Rowan's head fall to the ground and his body sprawled, I start to scream.

'Where's my hug?' asks Rowan teasingly, and as usual I want to punch him, but then I just roll my eyes.

'Come here, asshole, before I change my mind' I retort. This hug is surprisingly gentle; he rests his head on my shoulder for a moment, then suddenly his grip tightens and he picks me up for a split second.

'You're a fucking idiot, Kochler' I laugh as my feet brushes the ground.

’Yeah, yeah, whats new’ he grins.

I touch the side of his face.

’Give them hell, Ro.’

’Later, flower-girl.’

’Later, asshole.’

The memory of our last conversation seeps into my mind like poison, and I scream. But then Haymitch appears at the edge of my periphery, and I reflexively press both hands to my mouth, muffling the sound. The other Victors don't judge me; I feel some of them turn towards me: Mags sends me a gentle smile.

Tears prick my eyes, but I remind myself that this is even more terrible for my uncle. He was Rowan's mentor, he felt responsible for him, and now the boy is dead. Not to mention the fact that Haymitch has lost so many children over the years. Rowan is now one more for him to mourn.

“Uncle?” I ask, hopefully gently; even I can hear my voice shaking. Haymitch looks at me, his gray eyes sad and empty. Then Haymitch stands up, turns around, and starts walking out of Mentor Control. I am overcome with amazement and confusion. What is...?

I jump up and want to run after him; but if I leave, that means that no one pays attention to Olive. Of course, I'm not worth much, I've never done anything like this before, but I can't leave the girl from my own district alone.

"Katniss," a soft female voice calls from behind me. I turn to see an older, tall, graceful woman with short, dark hair. There's something unfathomably strange about her, but I don't show it. Whatever's going on with Haymitch, he's done well to teach me not to judge.

’My name is Wiress’ she tells me. She speaks so quietly that I have to step forward to hear what she says. ’I’m from district 3 – I was Haymitch’s other mentor during his Games, with Mags. I will look after his girl, if you could look after him for me? I’m… – I’m better when I need to use my mind, then when I need my emotions.’

This is a statement I can completely empathize with, and I am filled with gratitude for this weird woman. I smile sincerely at her but then I start to worry.

’But your own kids’ I rase. ’You have to….’

’My partner and mentor, Beetee will look after them’ she cuts in, suprisingly gently. My feeling of gratitude returns with great force.

'Thank you very much, Wiress!' I say. 'We'll be back as soon as we can, I promise.'

The woman avoids my gaze, but her voice is noticeably kind.

"Take care of Haymitch, if you can, please. Once your child, always your child." Her voice trails off, but there's something about that sentence that touches me. Wiress clearly loves my uncle, and that makes me like her.

"I'll try," I nod and start running, but I can still see Weiress settling into Haymitch's vacated seat and fixing her smart gaze on the screen.

Of course, I find my uncle at the bar. There are already three empty whiskey glasses on the counter in front of him, the sight of which makes my throat tighten. I sit down next to him and with a soft thank you, I refuse the bartender's request to drink something, before the man turns away. Haymitch looks terrible; his eyes are already bloodshot and he's in the process of raising his fourth glass.

"What are you doing?" I ask, and my voice is strangely a mixture of seriousness and tenderness. I'm worried for him, but anger is building inside me.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he asks, sarcasm oozing out. "I'm trying to drink enough to join Rowan."

I'm so angry at him that one of my hands starts shaking, which the man notices, but he doesn't say anything, he just raises the fucking glass higher. Okay. This. Stops. Now.

I quickly snatch the glass from his hand and down the rest: there's only a sip of whiskey left, but even that burns my throat.

As I lower my glass, I see my uncle smirking faintly and motioning for the bartender to ask for another round, but I cut him off.

’Oh, no, thanks – thank you, but we are good.’

’We are not good’ Haymitch growls, and for the first time in my life, his tone is mean. I try not to take offense: I know that if someone is not nice to me, I will immediately become sharp, and that wouldn't help right now.

’We are’ I murmur, and I try to be gentle. ’We are good. You are still here.  You're still breathing. I’m lucky.’

Haymitch's gaze turns tender for a moment—just a moment. He drops his head onto my shoulder, and I instinctively run my hand through the hair at the nape of his neck.

’Go away, please’ he murmurs. I don't expect this, and my hand stops. What? My uncle grabs my waist and, without lifting his head from my shoulder, gently lifts me off the chair; he turns me around and stands me up, then turns back to the counter, so I'm practically standing behind him.

I understand what he wants. I understand that he feels guilty and his desire to die is stronger than ever, but anger burns inside me all of the sudden.

'Of course!' I snap. 'Because that solves anything, right? You think you're the only one grieving Rowan? What the hell is going to happen to Olive, can you tell me?! Do you remember the girl from our district who's still alive?!' I shout.

Haymitch doesn't respond, he just asks for another round of whiskey, and that turns my anger into despair.

'Uncle, please, I can't help her, I've never done this before, but Olive is there alone,' I almost beg him. 'You can do it!' I still don't get an answer, but Haymitch shudders and then downs another round of alcohol. My tears are flowing. I step forward and put my arms around his neck, resting my head on his back.

"Wiress took your place because she's wonderful, and because she still thinks of you as her own. But she's not you, Uncle, and Olive needs you," I murmur. 'Please, you promised to try!'

Haymitch's whole body shakes and he throws my arms off of him with one strong movement. Its so powerful that I almost fall backwards, and it takes all my strength to stay on my feet. But it's enough to make me give up. I feel the wind of an approaching headache in my temple, and I pinch the bridge of my nose wearily, closing my eyes, for just a minute. There's nothing I can do to help here.

"Find me when you pull your head out of your ass," I tell Haymitch, then turn around and leave.

In the hallway leading to Mentor Control, I meet an Avox—this time, a blonde girl with her hair tied back in a tight bun—and I ask her to bring us some hot chocolate, one for each Mentor. We need all the help we can get.

*

Olive

Rowan is dead. The boy who was my first kiss, who came from the same district as me, who understood my ways, who made my last night in the Capitol bearable, who thought I was smart and brave and beautiful and said so, is no more. Rowan is dead, and the last thing I told him was to shut up.

The only humane thing that happens in this fucking Arena is that when one of us dies, the hovercraft picks up the body almost immediately. The dead person is then placed in a simple wooden coffin emblazoned with the Capitol crest, and the coffin is sent back to the child's District. Every District is different, but each has an official Tribute Cemetery where Players are buried. The headstone has their name on it, and along with the dates, the number of Games they participated in and how high they came. It's all disgusting, but at least the Player can rest in peace.

That peace is not granted to Rowan Kochler, at least not yet. There are too many of us to pick up his body; we are swarming around the table like a swarm of angry bees.

I watch in horror as Finnick Odair's pretty-eyed boy knocks both of the kids from seventh, to the ground with multiple stabs; I bend down with shaking hands and pick up the fucking clock-shaped parachute from the ground, and I force myself to turn to Rowan. No one is paying attention to me; people are dropping like flies.  My axe lies there next to his body. I grip the handle of the wepon, and think for a moment about his annoying, cheeky half-smiles.

’I’m so sorry, Rowan’ I wishper, though I hope that whereever his soul went, he is no longer here. ’Goodbye.’

I realize with disgust that everyone else is slowly dying – its just me, whos left, and the Career Pack. There are sprawling, writhing bodies lying in the grass everywhere, and Cassiar – he is fucking bored, so he turns against his own.

The boy is like a fisherman at sea, fishing with a large net, spinning around in the water. Only wherever Cassiar turns, heads fall. Geminton elegantly beheads Maris, who has no chance to defend herself, the boy's movements are so fast. No one pays attention to me; I am considered so unimportant that I think everyone has forgotten about me.

No one pays attention to me; I am considered so unimportant that I think everyone has forgotten about me. I quickly strap the axe to my belt and, clutching the watch under my arm, I run to the end of the table. The fucking rose is easier to hold, and before anyone can blink, I'm running towards the forest. I run, every step faster, I can barely breathe.

I reach the forest unharmed; the trees hide me, but my heart remains behind with my partner, lying by the table.

*

Katniss

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I'm biting my nails until they bleed, sitting next to Wiress as I watch Olive make it into the trees.

'Drink some hot chocolate,' Wiress's voice rings softly and quietly next to me, yet I jump so hard I almost fall out of my chair.

’Thanks’ I murmur. As I look at her, she doesn't return my gaze; she's still looking at the screen, but I can see a smile lurking at the corner of her mouth. Slowly but surely, I'm starting to like Wiress.

The hot chocolate is thick and hot, burning my tongue, but I don't mind; I'm surprised but pleased to find that it's not as sweet as the chocolate fountain on the train. Wiress mumbles that it's because it's made with dark chocolate.

'Katniss,' Cecelia calls for me, and I turn to her in surprise. Concern shines from her face. 'Haymitch is completely drunk at the bar, and I can't get him up on my own. Can you help me?'

’Corse’ I nod, fastly. I feel terrible that Cece cares more about Haymitch than I do, but I'm still angry at my uncle. "I'll be right back," I say apologetically to Wiress, who nods without taking her eyes off the screen.

Haymitch sits at the bar with his head on the counter, and when we approach him from either side, he flinches.

’Come on, golden boy of mine, its time for you to go to bed’ Cecelia says kindly, and I feel a pang of guilt that I gave up so quickly.

I step to Haymitch's free side and gently touch his shoulder.

’Up with you, uncle’ I tell him, We slowly, painfully, get him up while he keeps complaining.

’Thanks for helping Cece’ I pant at some point.

’Ah’ shrugs the other. ’Your uncle was really kind to me, when noone else was.’

’You shuld both just leave me here to die’ he murmurs, and I don’t know if I’m mad at him, or just want to help him.

’Shut up!’ I growl, because I have to remind myself, that to some extent, he did this to himself.

We stumble up to our room with awkward slowness, and Cecelia helps Haymitch lie down on his side, and my uncle falls into a shallow, feverish sleep.

"Send an Avox for me, if you need anything," Cecelia says, kisses me on the cheek, and leaves. I pull a chair up next to the bed, curl up on it, and keep a quiet watch over Haymitch.

It must be dawn when Haymitch wakes; his gray eyes look wet as they open, and he groans deeply.

’Ah, fuck.’

’Serves you right’" I say dryly, but secretly I'm happy that he's conscious.

Haymitch winces, starts coughing, and I think he’s nauseous. I have to fight the urge to comfort him; but I don’t move.

’Hows… hows Olive?’ he asks with difficulty, once he can breathe.

’Oh, now you care?’

’Katniss.’

’She is alive’ I answer him darkly. ’Wiress looks after her, and would tell us, if anything important is happening. She said she was your mentor with Mags.’

’She was. She is special.’  Suddenly I feel like I can't do this anymore, just watch Haymitch suffer while I'm still angry at him. I jump to my feet to leave, but before I can get away from the bed, Haymitch grabs my hand.

"Don't go," he whispers, and there's something so vulnerable in his voice that stops me. I stare at him. His eyes are definitely wet now. He blinks.

"You just gave up!" my voice is soft, but I feel like, he can tell I'm angry. My uncle flinches.

’I know.’

"You left Olive alone, and you're her mentor!" I hiss.

’I know. I’m a good for nothing bastard.’

'You left me alone too, even though I needed you.'

’I know. I’m sorry, Katniss.’

I look down at our clasped hands and my eyes burn.

You should know how hard this is for me. Emotions. But you're the exception, and you just disappeared!'

To my horror and astonishment, tears well up. What the...?

Haymitch squeezes my hand even tighter, then pulls me closer to him, and I don't resist.

I find myself in his lap, my legs wrapped around his waist, my hands on his shoulders, my head on his chest, and I sob.

’I’m so sorry, sweetheart’ he murmurs, his voice dark, and deep. ’I’m just an idiot, I’m sorry.’

My arms tighten around his shoulders, and without lifting my forehead from his chest, I shake my head. He is an idiot; and while its not okay, per say, I understand it.

I lift my head and give him a wet, if possible friendly look before he kisses me on the forehead.  His lips are cool against my skin.

"I'll keep you anyway," I say briefly; it's not an acceptance of the apology, but he grins broadly. He's almost palpably happy.

But the peaceful moment is shattered; the door to our room opens quietly; I turn around - Cecelia is standing in the doorway. There's something about her face that I don't understand, but it makes me uneasy.

’What is it, Cece?’ my uncle asks, and he must feel what I do, because his voice is worried.

'There's been a mining accident in your District,' the woman says palely. 'Burdock is missing.'