Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A warm summer wind licked along the bare skin of Hazel’s forearms and face as laughter bubbled around her, coating her confused and sensitive nerves. A piercing shriek jolted her, and she sprung to her feet. Her head spun in dizzying circles that encouraged a wave of nausea to flow through her. Her balance was off, and her footing was unstable. She swayed and wobbled severely, reaching out her arms to find balance.

Cool liquid sloshed onto her hand from seemingly nowhere. As she peered down, a wine glass rested in her left palm, sparkling with a vivid blue beverage. The color was wholly artificial yet eye-catching. She frowned at the outlandish concoction. She didn’t drink and definitely didn’t drink anything that blue.

Her gaze then moved from the wine glass to her hand. The skin was soft and peachy, unmarred. Even more strange was the luxurious jewelry. White gold rings with a variety of colorful gems littered every finger. Even her pinky was wrapped in a delicate ring with a deep cobalt bloom that curled gracefully over the digit. A larger one ensnared her ring finger. In the center was a flawless, twinkling clear diamond encircled with snow-white roses crafted from minuscule gems. Blue and white jewels branched out from the center, molding themselves around her skin. What?

A full-body shiver shook her, making the material of her clothing slide over her skin as it loosely flowed against her legs in waves. Her gaze moved from her hands to the rest of her as she inspected herself. It was like looking at a stranger. She was clad in an indigo dress that sparkled and caressed her skin. Something about it echoed with familiarity. It was so similar to the deep navy rose that was currently wilting at the bottom of her bedroom trash can. Where am I?

Another scream sent a blinding chill through her, and she whirled round, spilling more of the wine, if that was even what it was, onto her crystal white heels. The air filled with a sickly sweet scent.

The murmuring of a crowd filtered into her consciousness. She was in a swarm of luxurious-looking people. They were all eating, drinking, and laughing at some kind of outdoor party. Long red cloth-covered banquet tables of food and drinks were set up with a spiderweb of glittering lights strung up above them, more numerous than the stars in the sky. Avoxes skittered between rows of chairs, pouring more neon-colored drinks and passing around trays of various foods in all kinds of shapes and colors. Foreign yet mouthwatering smells assaulted her nostrils.

“Easy.” A deep voice was at her ear, warm breath flowing over the skin of her neck. She jerked again, sending wine sloshing. A spike of recognition surged through her bloodstream.

Her attention locked onto the source of the voice. Blue eyes. Just a few shades lighter than her dress. Slicked back white-blond hair, not a strand out of place. A charming, brilliant smile stretched over his lips.

“Senator?”

Coriolanus Snow’s eyes crinkled as he stepped closer, resting an elegant finger against the teetering glass, stabilizing it. “A bit formal, isn’t it?” His eyes glittered in the garden lights as he contemplated her. His sharp features were both relaxed and yet questioning. “I thought I told you to call me Coriolanus.”

“When did you tell me that?” Hazel scowled at him. She had never referred to him as anything but Senator or Snow, even in her thoughts.

Snow tilted his head at the azure wine, “Have you eaten anything with that?”

“Where are we? What are you doing here?” She spun around, looking at the unfamiliar, decorated faces, “What am I doing here?”

Snow softly chuckled, “You've definitely had enough.”

A roaring cheer burst from the people around her, and Hazel lurched backward again. The spectators raised their hands and pumped their fists, all consumed by the spectacle on the screen. Cool fingers suddenly slid over hers. She nearly dropped the glass as Snow eased it from her grasp. “I knew you were a lightweight, but truly, I underestimated how much of one.”

“I don’t drink.”

“I see why.” He smirked. Was he teasing her?

Another deep guttural cry stretched over the night sky; it was so harsh compared to the party-like atmosphere. Hazel's attention snapped back to the screen. A young boy was lying on the ground, unmoving, as blood pooled over his chest. Familiar horror churned in Hazel’s gut, and she tore her eyes away, pressing her palm to her forehead.

“The show has just begun; come sit back down. And let’s get you something to eat.” Snow urged, gesturing to a luxurious, padded seat she had just abruptly vacated. Snow’s seat was clearly to her right, but an additional figure sat to her left. He laughed along with the others, sipping heavily of the blue drink. Clothed in a refined maroon suit with obsidian buttons and detailing, he appeared grown-up, elegant, and so much older.

“Rowan?” Hazel swayed on her heels.

Rowan turned his golden-speckled eyes to her, “You all right, Haze?”

Hazel blanched, “Am I all right?”

“Listen to Coriolanus; relax.” Rowan frowned at her while he took a long sip, “Have another drink, sis.” He raised his glass to her before an unnerving smile stretched across his face. Was he truly enjoying this nightmare of a party?

“Ro…” Hazel stepped back, terror surging within her as the crowd swelled with a wave of excited humms. Hazel couldn’t help but look out at them but kept her attention purposefully away from the terror on the screen.

Her eyes were drawn to the building that overlooked the outdoor gathering. Elevated above the colorful crowd, sitting up on a balcony, were two figures watching. Like birds of prey, looming above in their nest, ready to pounce. Dr. Gaul and Augustus Trask. Both were dressed in deep red suits, faces like stone. But their attention was not on the screen; instead, they both seemed to be watching her. The urge to escape overwhelmed her senses, and her muscles tensed in preparation to run.

Additional waves of ahhs and oohs made whatever was in her stomach boil up her esophagus. Hazel took a step back when a hand curled around her arm, “What is wrong, Hazel?” Snow’s question was genuine as if it was her behavior that was peculiar. She turned back to him as she pulled her arm out of his grasp. Did he just call me Hazel? Something is completely wrong.

She stared up at him, doing her best to stop swaying. “Everything…”

A gurgling sound pulled her eyes back to the night’s entertainment. The prone boy was still alive but dying. His fingers bore the faintest dusting of charcoal and paint. Hazel unwillingly focused on his face. Delicate yet hardened features, close-cropped hair with a slight curl at the edges. Life was seeping rapidly from his caramel irises. He was not just any boy.

Hazel sputtered, “Linden?”

His face stilled into a rigid mask. Hazel ripped her eyes away and raked a trembling hand through her hair. No, no, no. She was a victor; this couldn’t be happening. Not again. She had already lost Silus. Her attention then shot to Rowan. He seemed to lean back in his chair, taking in another luxurious sip without any reaction. Tears brimmed at the corners of Hazel’s eyelids.

A tap on her shoulder made her jump. A young avox girl was holding out a tissue to her along with a cup of water and a peculiar-looking sandwich. When Hazel looked up to the avox’s face, her blood chilled to solid ice. The usually bright cinnamon eyes were dull. Hazel pitched forward, placing her palm against the girl’s cheek, “Lily, what are you doing here?”

Lily stared back at her in curiosity and fear as she stepped back, holding the items in front of her like a shield.

“Hazel, you’re scaring the staff. Come back and join us,” Snow called. The cheering and murmuring had faded. Most of the citizens had turned their attention to her. Many watched with furrowed expressions as she continued to back away. Their colorful outfits did little to mask the horror of their festivities.

“Hazel,” Snow’s call sent a chill surging through her. His voice grew closer as if she hadn’t really moved far away at all. With that, she broke into a full run.

She pushed and pulled herself through the colorful crowd. Some murmured her name, and others said Snow’s. Several in the crowd ran their hands over the skin of her arms or the swishing material of her gown as she continued to push through. No one moved or attempted to make a path for her. Hazel struggled against the people harder; at one point, her shoulder collided with a woman who had her back turned.

“Sorry,” Hazel mumbled.

As the mystery woman faced her, Hazel’s head became even lighter, and her world tilted on its axis. Fern wore a bright, pink summer dress, her hair was curled and rose-colored feathers were woven between the waves. Across from her, Oren looked concerned; he wore a dark suit with a slick black tie. Sage, in a matching outfit, held his hand as all three stared on.

“What?” Hazel croaked.

“You look unwell, dear. I know it’s not my home cooking, but maybe get a snack or something. The tarts are really quite good.” Fern smiled at her while Sage readily agreed about the quality of the food.

Hazel shook her head, backing away. She covered her eyes with her hands, pressing hard as if the pressure alone could force her consciousness to engage. Wake up, wake up.

“Haze?” Silus's voice echoed from behind her as a hand pressed against her shoulder.

Her trembling palms dropped from her face. “Silus?” She twirled around to see him standing with a confused expression. She gripped his hands in hers as his warm eyes shone with recognition. “You know me?”

He scrunched his brows, “Of course I do. You are acting weird, what’s wrong?”

“I’m acting weird?!” Hazel screeched, “You…” He was dressed in a suit, just as he had been the night of the auction in the Pantheon. The only difference was the crimson streams that dripped from under the sleeves. Blood coated both of his palms, beading off his fingers as if he had just washed his hands in viscous red wine. The same blood that now stained hers. She released her hold on him. “Aren’t real…” None of this is real. It's not real.

“Wake up, Wake up.” Hazel pressed her fingers harder to her temples as she flung herself away from him. She continued to push backward until two solid hands wrapped around her arms. Hazel tensed and jerked hard.

“Relax, it's me.” Snow's words washed over her. While they did little actually to calm her, they did stop her urgent movements. She looked over her shoulder; He was staring down at her with an almost believable unease. Despite his words, his presence was less than relaxing. Hazel twisted around to face him, searching for an escape from the hell she had found herself in.

“Stop, please.” Snow was watching her with a knowing look as she continued to hunt for a way to remove herself.

“I need to get out of here. It’s not real. I need to wake up.”

One of his hands slid to her chin, his cool fingers stilling her for a moment, “I can help you. We can help each other.” He gently held her face, willing her to focus on him.

“I haven’t had that much to drink, Senator.” She emphasized the word senator. I don’t think I drank anything, actually.

“I’m not your enemy.” His voice grew deeper, “But that doesn’t mean they don’t surround you.”

Hazel paused her desperate search as she considered his words.

Snow’s face grew earnest. “If you let me, I can protect you. Protect your family. But you need to stop fighting me.” His voice grew softer as he watched her frantically shake her head. “I can be your way out of this.”

Hazel pushed away any truth that may have lurked within his words. No, this is just another game. “You? My way out?” She pointed at his chest with a bloody finger, “You are the reason I am here in the first place.” She pulled away from him, and he let her go without protest.

“You can’t run forever.” His voice was calm, haunting as it faded behind her.

Just as she made it out of the crowd into the open field, the ground churned beneath her shoes, her ankle twisting as the high heel came loose. She fell forward, and the earth gave way to a churning pond. Instantly, she was plunged into a murky pool of navy water.

It covered her in its strong embrace. She flailed and kicked but only sunk deeper. The material of her dress instantly absorbed the water into its folds like a sponge, growing as heavy as bricks.

A slithering sensation slid past her bare knee. She trembled and stroked her arms as hard as she could to drag herself upward, but her efforts were in vain. The lights continued to grow further away. Above her, a large hand broke the surface of the dark waters, reaching down toward her. Did it belong to Snow? Or someone else?

Just as she was about to reach for it, the glint of an eel's indigo eyes met hers. It converged on her, jaws wide. Its teeth were brilliant white, so much like Gauls's. She let out a waterlogged, gurgling underwater scream as her consciousness came surging back to her.

Hazel sat up from her bed with a harsh inhale, sweat soaking her forehead. Her chest heaved, and her breathing was ragged.

“Marlowe?” A deep voice called from the doorway.

Embarrassment washed over her as she willed her hands to stop shaking, “I’m all right.” Hardly.

Leo silently pushed into the room, his gray eyes searching hers for a moment, “More nightmares?”

“Yeah.” She threw her legs over the opposite edge of the bed, her back to him.

“They are getting worse,” He murmured, his voice drawing closer.

She shrugged him off, “Nothing new. They usually do certain times of the year. Typically around the reaping.”

“But that's not for like seven months.”

Hazel stood and walked to the windows. Glittering frost coated the surface of her porch. She had slept slightly longer as the morning sun was making its tangerine presence known.

Leo was silent for a second as his eyes dropped to the floor. “Oh, right.”

“Speaking of, I need to go to town to get some things,” Hazel strode to her closet and pulled out a set of pants, a flannel shirt, and a jacket. She knew exactly why her nightmares were worse today. It was a special day indeed.

She closed her eyes, willing the terror, the haunting images of her dreams, and the sounds of her own gurgling screams out of her system. “It’s not every day you turn twelve.”

Chapter Text

“Ugg, I don't know how he stands this stuff.” Rowan wrinkled his nose, grumbling as he stared at the shiny tin of pine butter. The shopkeeper’s expression silently soured as he covered it in dark grey wrapping paper.

“It's always been his favorite. I don't think it's that bad.” Hazel shrugged. The butter was thick, creamy, and infused with powdered pine needles, which gave it an earthy, if not dirt-like, flavor as well as a slightly unsettling green tinge.

Leo stared at it as well with a concerned expression. “I think I am with Rowan on this one.”

Rowan's shoulders straightened, and Hazel swore his chest puffed out with the righteousness of his opinion being validated.

Hazel rolled her eyes, moving to another section of fresh produce, and picked out a flat of pickleberries. “What about these?”

Rowan stuck out his tongue, “I’ll never understand where those two got their taste buds. I swear they’re adopted.”

“They don’t look too terrible. At least they aren’t green.” Leo commented, eyeing the berries.

Rowan pointed at the berries as if they were horse dung left over on the street, “Trust me. Those things could curdle water.”

Leo recoiled at Rowan’s description. His face scrunched, and he tugged on the strap, holding a thick woolen patch over his missing ear.

“Wanna try one?” Hazel smiled as she held up the flat.

Leo hesitated, scanning the inviting-looking berries as if a monster was about to pop out.

“I think poisoning a peacekeeper is a crime,” Rowan commented in a dry tone.

“If our eleven-year-old sister can handle them, so can a peacekeeper.” Hazel challenged.

Leo met her eyes, studying her before looking down at the berries once again.

“Come on now, it’s not that bad.” Hazel smiled wider as Leo shot a look at Rowan, who gave him a warning glance.

Hazel flipped open the lid and popped one of the brightly colored berries in her mouth, tucking it in her cheek. Immediately, the sharp bite of vinegar mixed with cranberries filled her taste buds. She fought to keep her face neutral, hoping her eyes did not begin to water.

Leo watched on in clear surprise but also suspicion.

When Hazel's features remained unfazed, he reached forward and plucked several from the flat before setting them on his tongue and biting down. The look on his face went from hesitation to horror and alarm in nearly an instant.

“How are they Private?” Rowan tilted his head, crossing his arms. His tone dripping with the essence of I told you so.

She could barely contain the laughter as Leo continued to chew despite his clear, abject disgust.

“Different,” Leo murmured as he gulped, his skin nearly turning green.

Hazel bent to spit out the berries in her mouth into the dirt at their feet, “The fermenting process really brings out the pickle flavor, you know.”

Leo scoffed with a mouthful of partially chewed berries as he watched Hazel discard the uniquely flavored fruit to the earth. “You said they weren’t that bad.” He protested, bending forward to spit them out himself.

“Just think of it as District Seven initiation.” Hazel wrapped an arm around her ribs as she laughed, relieved when the sensation no longer brought pain or discomfort and grateful that the crutches were nowhere in sight.

“You know it is actually illegal to harm a peacekeeper.” Leo’s eyes sparkled at her as he wiped the back of his hand over his lips.

Hazel eyed him with a smile, “Injured pride is hardly true harm.”

“Tell that to my tastebuds.” Leo searched around them, “I don’t think they will ever be the same. Is there any water?”

“Are you guys going to buy those or just keep spitting out my produce?” The shopkeeper’s smile had faded into a stern disapproval.

Hazel pulled out a thermos of water from her bag, handing it to Leo, “We’ll pay.” She picked up another flat of berries as well as several coins from her pocket. As she did, her fingers brushed against a thicker, more worn coin. She could almost feel the weary sickle and cornflower. She carried it with her most days; she wasn’t sure why exactly. She tossed the payment onto the counter, along with a significant tip, which appeared to ease the shopkeeper’s offense.

The man’s eyes fell on Leo’s sour countenance. “You get used to them, you know.”

Leo’s eyes were watering, and he merely nodded in response.

The shopkeeper seemed to take pity on him while studying him closer, “Say, have I seen you around here before?”

Rowan replied as Leo seemed to be still trying to remove the sensations from his tongue, “Probably following my sister around. He’s part of her new security detail.”

“Ahh, that must be it.” The man murmured, tucking his tip away in his pocket. “Welcome to District Seven.”

“Glad to be here.” Leo choked out. Just as he was gurgling from the bottle of water, a familiar bulky figure shoved past, knocking him forward. Hazel held up an arm to steady him as Leo stiffened.

“Watch where you are going,” Hazel called, releasing Leo and tucking the twin’s gifts into her bag. Leo seemed to be rapidly sobering from his run-in with the berries as a ruddy lumberjack turned toward them. Holt.

Holt’s dark eyes met Hazels and then Rowans, a flicker of arrogance flashing through. “Well, if it isn't my favorite former co-workers.”

Rowan glared back, “What do you want?”

Holt shrugged, “Just came to buy some groceries. Is that a crime?”

“By all means, enjoy yourself,” Hazel mumbled as they moved past him. “The pickleberries are extra ripe right now.”

“Gross, even I know those things are like chewing on rotten mold.” Holt’s lips twisted as he eyed the many flats of berries.

“Can mold rot?” Hazel raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean? Those things are better thrown in the compost than ever placed on anyone’s plate.”

“Hey!” The shopkeeper’s irritated shout called out to the group.

“Sorry, sir.” Hazel held up her hands as they distanced themselves from the pickleberry stand. Unfortunately, Holt followed.

Leo responded as he gazed down at his sleeve; he looked tempted to wipe his tongue along the fabric, “They certainly…linger. I think your brother is right. Poisoning a peacekeeper via foul berries should be a crime.”

Hazel raised her eyebrows at him, a retort fresh on her tongue. But just as she was about to respond, Holt’s eyes grew hard, matching his tone, “Do you know what is a crime?”

Hazel let out an aggravated sigh as Rowan grew stiffer at the shift.

“Your father increasing the quotas and reducing our days off.”

“He’s just following Capitol orders.” Hazel pushed back. It was no secret in the District that the Hunger Games had set Oren “straight,” and he had been diligent in his newfound compliance. Oren had been even more dedicated to his work over the last several months. And Hazel couldn't blame him. He was gone more and more, almost as if he was allergic to the quietness of home.

“Seems your whole family are just their puppets now, huh?”

A flash of anger sizzled instantly within Hazel’s nerves, “If we are the puppets, then why is it you are the one who seems to have something up your-“

Her words died on her lips as Holt’s wide form was in front of her in an instant. His face had grown even redder than usual. Hazel tensed immediately, and she reached for her belt. Her heart rate spiked as her fingers met nothing but the fabric of her pants. Her fingers slid over where her nonexistent axe should have been. Leo pushed forward in front of Hazel and Rowan, a hand poised over his gun. “Whoa. Back up, Sir."

Holt staggered back a step, “You know, I didn’t buy the whole Victor in a white dress and golden rose in her hair routine, anyways. They can put you in some fancy outfit, but you’ll always be District.” Holt warned as he searched her from head to toe.

Hazel’s eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched, but the brush of Leo’s hand over her forearm as he reached behind him centered her. She breathed in several slow mouthfuls of autumn air. “Let’s go.” Leo commanded, “Enjoy your grocery shopping, Sir.”

Holt’s shoulders straightened, muttering as the three moved away at Leo’s insistence, “I thought having a victor was supposed to make the district better.”

Leo guided Hazel and Rowan away once they had moved down the frozen road. Once they were a decent distance and Holt seemed to become reinterested in shopping, Rowan whispered, “He's not completely wrong, you know. “

“I beg your absolute pardon?” Hazel eyed her brother.

“I mean, he’s an asshole, but the increase in food and supplies only goes so far when the workload has doubled. And they have less time to actually enjoy any of it.”

Rowan wasn’t wrong. Neither was Holt, not completely. The District had more food now and more resources, but it came at a cost. And that cost was written in the lines on Oren’s face and in the aching hands of every lumberjack.

The District had rejoiced at the train cars full of food and other necessities that had been delivered not long after she had returned home. Gifts they had been called, the spoils of victory. But within a few weeks, the increased demand for lumber had come. And Oren had not hesitated to comply, even harvesting in areas that had previously been protected and reducing breaks. A month later, the workers were advised they would no longer be allowed two days off, only one. The wave of gratefulness was soon replaced with resentment. And it didn’t help that the foreman in charge sat comfortably in Victor’s village with his family, sheltered from the newly laid out hardships.

“Oren doesn't have much of a choice.” Hazel caught Leo’s eyes for a moment before looking back to Rowan, her voice softening, “You know that.”

Rowan's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. After a few minutes of walking in a cool silence, Rowan paused, “I've got to run a couple of errands before I head back. ”

Hazel scrunched her brow, “What?”

He had a growth spirit over the last several months, and now he towered over her. In reality, he had grown up in more ways than one. “Want to pick up a couple of non-disgusting surprises for the twins. I won’t be far behind you.” Rowan placed a kiss on the top of her head, “Don't worry, sis. I won't be long.”

He winked before he sprinted off down the road. Hazel's gut churned as she watched him disappear into town. She could feel Leo near her shoulder, “Have you told him?”

“Told him what?” Hazel sucked in a deep breath.

“You know…” Leo took in another large mouthful of water as they walked side by side.

“About me hallucinating his mother in the woods or the mystery cassette tape I was so generously gifted?”

“Either or both?”

Hazel shook her head, “Only you, Bellona, and Sable know. And the doctors, of course.”

“You told the doctors about the tape?”

Hazel shook her head. “No, just seeing things in the woods.” She wasn’t due for another visit, but after her encounter, they had shown up three weeks prior to check on her mental status. Dr. Savi and Dr. Calyx had advised her that she had been hallucinating the whole thing. And that it was, more likely than not, a symptom of her time in the games. But deep down, she was still unsure if her reality and her nightmares were truly so splintered that they were overlapping. Dr. Savi had said that only time would tell.

As far as the cassette, she didn’t dare even broach the subject of the tape with anyone but her peacekeepers. “For Your Eyes Only” really deterred her enthusiasm for sharing the existence of the item with anyone else. Her guards were sworn to keep her safe and follow official Capitol guidance, which most likely included the Senator. She figured they would keep the information to themselves.

She ran a hand through her hair, the thick bandage along her left palm caught in the strands. She had to pull a little harder to detach it.

Leo frowned. “That really should have healed by now.” His voice dropped as they walked. The cold air bit Hazel's skin and her cheeks were so red that they matched her ears and hair.

“Ok, Mom.” It was Leo's turn to roll his eyes as Hazel eyed him. An idea formed as she did. “I have one more stop I want to make before we go home.”

Leo raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. She turned and moved back toward town as he followed diligently. The crunch of the crisp brown and orange leaves underfoot distracted her from her racing thoughts for a moment. Ice-coated wind picked up around them, and Hazel pulled her jacket tighter. Despite the coldness, the weight of the cassette felt searing in her pocket. It was as if it were glowing like an ember, and everyone could see it and knew it was in her possession.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the slightest shiver work its way through Leo, and he pulled his hat farther down, covering the silken skin along the one side of his head that was peeking out. Guilt twisted within her gut at the ravaged tissue.

“You probably wish I was from District Ten right about now, huh?”

Leo tilted his head, “The desert does sound really nice.”

“If you can put up with all the sand.” Hazel shivered from the thought more than the cold around her. “How many Districts have you been to?”

Leo’s gaze dropped to his boots, “Trained in two. I did a few assignments in four, eleven, and ten before I was reassigned to the Capitol.”

Hazel caught a tightening in his face at the word reassigned. “Why were you reassigned?”

“The commander at the time thought it would be a good experience for me.”

“Percy,” Hazel mumbled out the name as if it was more pungent than the pickleberries aftertaste.

More silence blanketed the two as Hazel guided them toward the heart of the town. More than a few times, Leo would nod to the other peacekeepers on patrol. Even more often, people would subtly point or stare at her and Leo as they walked casually through town. Despite having been home for nearly six months, people continued to watch her like some prized animal being paraded through the streets. Leo’s presence eased the awkwardness while amplifying the division between her and her people. It was in these moments that she longed to be back in the woods, working a clearing, felling trees with her fellow loggers. But those days were most likely long behind her now.

“Which District was your favorite?” Hazel asked, hoping to distract herself from the people’s gawking and her spiraling thoughts.

Leo’s face lightened slightly, “ I didn’t care much for the smell of Ten. Four is gorgeous. Great food in Eleven.” He glanced at her before returning his gaze to the people and buildings around them before meeting her eyes once again, “But Seven certainly has its virtues.”

Hazel pulled her eyes from his as she did her best to ignore the fluttering in her chest at the genuineness of his features and tone. She sucked in a theatrical breath, “Yeah, that papermill smell really draws in the tourists.”

Leo chuckled and nodded, “Who knew making paper could smell so awful.” His easy smile softened as he continued to keep a watchful eye ahead of them, “You will have your chance to experience all of the different Districts soon enough.”

Hazel sighed and chewed on her cheek. The tour. It was like a deep, dark shadow following her, slowly gaining on her no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. “I would rather have to return to the Hunger Games.”

Leo frowned at her words.

“I don’t even want to think about it.” Hazel shook her head; really, she just wanted it all to be behind her forever. The coin in her pocket and the cassette reminded her instantly that it was far from over.

“Well, we will be with you.” Leo’s tone had deepened.

Hazel’s lip twitched, but she couldn’t bring herself to smile at his attempt to comfort her. His eyes had grown serious, and Hazel almost couldn’t stand the pity she saw there. She shook her head, “Probably going to have to bust out that safeword more than a few times.”

Leo grunted, turning his gaze back to the road before them, and ran a hand over his face, “I told you to stop calling it that.”

“Hey, it was your idea.” Hazel nudged him, and he stared up at the sky.

“So you seem intent on reminding me.”

Hazel let the laughter at his bizarre reaction bubble up to the surface. She also looked up at the sky, “Well, I don’t need it right now. I’m fully here.”

“Good,” He murmured.

“Sky is looking a little gray; kind of matches your eyes,” Hazel said without thinking.

Leo’s stare shot to her face for a moment before dropping back to the path.

“Usually means snow this time of year. Maybe we will get our first storm soon.” She commented.

Leo tilted his head, and his face grew tight, “Where are we going anyway?”

Hazel’s attention drifted from the darkening gray skies above to their destination, which was just within their sight. It was a junky-looking pine-coated shop with decrepit walls and murky windows. Within its rotting walls, it housed an array of random items, some of which looked to be ancient, others run down or in need of repair. Hazel tapped her fingers lightly against her pocket, “To find something to play this tape.”

Chapter Text

Toasted chocolate and vanilla merged as they perfumed the entire home. Despite the darkening skies outside, the house was warm and comfortable.

"It's almost ready, everyone," Fern's voice mingled with the mouthwatering aroma.

As Hazel made her way down the grand stairway, Oren, Leo, Sage, and the twins gathered. An unusual-looking cake rested on the table before them. One half was a pale yellow, while the other was a deep chocolatey brown. Hazel nearly laughed at her mother's efforts to accommodate the polar-like tastes of the twins. Despite what should have been a celebratory occasion, there was a thickened strain in the air that had nothing to do with the heat from the fire or the scent of the sweet dessert.

As Hazel reached the last step, she realized someone was missing, "Rowan hasn't come home yet?"

Oren shifted rigidly as Fern waved her hand, "I'm sure he's on his way."

Hazel met Leo's eyes for a moment as a grimace crossed his lips. He was standing, arms crossed at the edge of the room, keeping watch. Hazel sidled up to him as Oren gathered candles and a couple of matches while Fern layered white and brown frosting over the cake.

He leaned in as she approached, "I can send Bellona to search for him?"

Hazel glanced at the softly ticking kitchen clock. It was nearly time for their shift change. "Doesn't she take over for you at any minute?"

Leo shrugged, "I don't mind a little overtime." A hint of a smile twitched at the edge of his lips as he shot a look at the cake.

"Cake might help you get rid of that aftertaste." Hazel couldn't help but smile at his shudder. She shot a look out at the growing darkness and sighed, "Let's give Rowan a few more minutes."

"I'm not waiting," Linden said as he scooted closer to the table until his nose was practically grazing the icing.

Lily nudged him, "Don't be greedy."

"It's my birthday. I can be greedy if I want." Linden replied, nudging her back

"Our birthday." Lily corrected a hand on her hip.

Linden glowered. "You wait for him then."

"Hold on," Fern commanded as she finished delicately laying out twelve candles around the cake's border. "Let's open presents first."

Linden grumbled while Lily brightened at the idea. Oren smiled and gently wrapped a hand around Linden's shoulder, advising him about the virtues of patience.

As if on cue, the French front doors burst open, Rowan striding through, cradling two sizeable packages. One was wrapped in bright purple, the other in deep gray.

"Ro, you made it!" Sage exclaimed with a wide grin. "Linden was going to eat all the cake without you."

"That's not true," Linden replied.

"Where have you been?" Oren's tone was low, worry evident despite his attempts to mask it.

Rowan shrugged, shaking the packages in his arms, "Present shopping, of course."

Oren pursed his lips and shared an apprehensive look with Fern as Rowan set the gifts before Linden and Lily. It proved to be an effective distraction from the cake. Linden tapped the edges of his gift while Lily ran her fingers over the glossy purple wrapping over hers.

"Trying to take the position as favorite, I see," Hazel teased.

"Not sure I can compete; you got them a new house," Rowan whispered as he gestured to the grand home around them.

A resounding knock on the front doors pulled everyone's attention away. Soon, Bellona and Sable entered, shutting out the rapidly cooling air behind them.

"Did you want to join us?" Oren asked stiffly as he studied the two peacekeepers.

"Wasn't about to miss out on whatever that smell is." Sable's nostrils flared as he relished in the aroma.

"I swear, you could convince him to do just about anything for food," Leo said in Hazel's ear as she suppressed a small laugh.

"That's not true." Sable turned his sharp attention to them, "It has to be good food."

"Only kind we have around here." Fern smiled at Bellona and Sable. Rowan and Hazel shared a look. The statement was mostly true. However, they had still not fully recovered from the trauma of asparagus. Fern continued, "You are more than welcome."

With that, the group gathered around the twins. Each of them was practically twitching in anticipation of opening their birthday presents. Oren's shoulders tightened as the peacekeepers made themselves comfortable on the living room couches, but his face remained passive.

Without any further distractions or discussions, Linden and Lily got to work, tearing open their presents. Both struggled to convey genuine thanks when they opened the finely tailored dress clothes from their mother. Fern didn't seem to notice and insisted that they would look sophisticated when Capitol cameras inevitably came around again. She elatedly tried to persuade them to try on the outfits to show to the rest of the family. They were even less enthused by that idea. To everyone's appreciation, Oren was able to dissuade her eagerness until a later time. There was cake waiting after all.

Next were Sage's gifts. For Linden, it was a drawing he had attempted of a white wolf in a flowering meadow. While the image was not near Linden's level, it contained much more color. For Lily, he had woven a wreath of dried leaves and flowers. The twins thanked Sage, who beamed with pride over his contributions, while Oren presented his own gifts.

He placed a leather bundle wrapped in fine rope in each of their laps. The twins shared a knowing look before they untied the bindings. Unlike their cake, these were identical. In each bundle was a slab of thick, unstained hickory, a hand-forged axehead, wetterings, wedges, and several squares of various grits of sandpaper.

Leo whispered in her ear, "What are those?"

"A gift every child in District Seven gets when they reach this age. All the things they need to make their own axes." Axes were a rite of passage in the District. They would carry the handmade weapon with them for the rest of their lives until, one day, they were buried with it.

Hazel cast a glance at Oliver, resting like a forgotten ornament in the axe rack by the door. It had been weeks since she had even touched it. A part of her yearned to be back in the woods, Oliver in hand. Maybe then she could pretend, even for a short while, that her life was somewhat normal again.

Oren studied the twin's suddenly serious faces. "You two are old enough now. It is time you make your own axes. I will help you, of course."

"What's the point?" Rowan frowned. "They won't ever fell or log."

"Maybe not." Oren rubbed a hand over his chin. A wave of sadness and fear flashed over his face for a brief moment. "It doesn't mean they won't need to know how to use one."

Hazel let her eyes close for a moment, wrestling with the horrid images of her recent dreams.

Fern cleared her throat, "Besides, they deserve an axe all of their own. Just as all of us did, and one day, when he is old enough, Sage will have one as well."

The twins shifted uncomfortably at the dialogue as the family simmered in the implications. Hazel couldn't stand the stuffiness of the air any longer. "All right, mine next."

The twins relaxed as they set aside their axe kits, and Hazel dropped her contribution into their laps next. "Time to cash in that rain check," she murmured.

Each perked up while simultaneously insulting the other when they discovered the pickleberries and pine butter. Leo covered a laugh with his palm over their banter as they made their arguments that the other had a broken palate.

"You two are braver than me," Sable commented as he eyeballed the greenish butter and sour-looking berries.

"You've no idea." Leo groaned.

When they got to Rowan's gifts, surprise surged through the room. Linden's gift was a stained cherrywood miniature easel. In contrast, Lily's was a set of brand-new gardening tools. Each handle was painted purple with little white daisies.

"Thank you, Ro!" Lily squealed, wrapping her arms around Rowan. Linden fingered the easel, and while his reaction was more subdued, he clearly was just as grateful. "I wasn't going to eat all the cake without you."

Rowan ruffled his hair, "I know."

"Where did you get those?" Hazel asked.

Rowan's face settled into a non-chalantness, "Saved up."

Hazel studied him for a moment when Linden called, "Finally, let's get to the good part." he closed in on the cake once again.

"Exactly." Sable agreed, groaning as he disengaged himself from the couch.

With that, Fern lit the candles, and after a short, rough couple of verses of Happy Birthday, Lily enthusiastically blew while Linden's breath barely reached the flickering little flames. Once the candles were removed, Oren cut the cake, dolling out a piece to each.

A collective sigh filled the room as they chewed in satisfied silence. Which was only made mildly uncomfortable by Sable practically moaning with each mouthful, "This has to be the best cake I've ever had."

Fern's face brightened, "Thank you, Private Pytash."

Oren cleared his throat, "Yes, it is excellent, my love."

The rest of the gathering hummed their agreement between bites. Lily daintily chewed on a piece of the vanilla cake while Linden practically inhaled his chocolate one.

"It's even better than that cheesecake you made last year," Linden commented before he caught himself. The chewing of the family ceased almost in unison while the three peacekeepers stared on in confusion. A heavy emptiness filled the space as Hazel swallowed down the decadent bite in her mouth. The sugar soured on her tongue.

Fern's face fell, and she bit her lip. Hazel remembered the day with fondness and also sorrow. Fern had worked diligently for hours on the dessert while Silus had relegated himself to the backyard, refusing to even be in the house with the stuff.

"He would have loved this, Mom," Lily placed her small hand over her mother's.

Fern patted the top of Lily's head, wiping at her eyes as the room fell into a contemplative silence. Any jovialness of the celebration was sucked out of the room at the mention of cheesecake and the collective memory that went along with it.

Rowan studied the twins for a long, quiet moment before he turned his attention to Hazel. "Do you think having a Victor in the family lowers our odds in the reaping?"

Lily and Linden shared a solemn look while Sage pushed a bit of frosting around his plate. Hazel sighed, shivering as she shook her head. She tried to push away the idea of another one of her siblings being chosen. Odds. Hazel nearly scoffed at the falseness of the word. With Oren hard at work and her father off the Capitol's workforce, she prayed it was enough to change their odds.

Hazel met Oren's eyes across the table; his gaze was glistening. His voice was rough as he answered Rowan's question, "The chances of that have never been lower." Oren and Fern shared a pained look, "I promise."

Fern brushed her hand over Oren's shoulder, squeezing it softly.

"Couldn't you ask him just to remove our names?" Rowan asked.

Hazel's stomach roiled, and it wasn't from the excess of sugar. "It's not that simple, Ro."

"Why not?" he challenged, "After everything that has happened?"

"It doesn't just work like that." Hazel implored. In reality, she wasn't exactly sure how any of it worked. A Victor's family had never been exempt from subsequent Hunger Games. At least so far.

Lily wiped away a few stray vanilla crumbs from her lips, "Why hasn't he come here? Or called?"

"Lily," Fern's voice was gentle but stern.

Hazel pushed away the half-eaten cake, Sable's stare following her plate. She hadn't discussed Senator Snow with any of her family members or even her peacekeepers, for that matter. The time never felt right, and even when she thought a moment might be appropriate to broach the subject, hesitation consumed her. Fear, even. She needed to be delicate with the information. Better to avoid the topic than to accidentally reveal too much. Only she, Snow, and Indira really knew the truth about their relationship. Maybe Dr. Gaul had figured it out, but it was unclear. Her three peacekeeper guards seemed to be in the dark as well, as far as she could tell.

While she didn't enjoy keeping things from her family, she preferred they were as far removed from any of the Capitols Games as possible. As she shifted her spine backward in the dining room chair, she could practically feel the tape burning in her pocket. She kept it with her, along with Grace's coin. Too afraid to leave it where someone might inadvertently find it. Its contents were not only a mystery, but they were slowly driving her mad. At least madder than she already was. She so wished the junk shop had what she had been looking for, but so far, her quest had been a bust.

"Marlowe?" Leo's voice broke her out of her thoughts, his eyes raking over her face.

She turned back to Lily, "He's giving me time and space." Hazel chewed on her lips as she let the lie slip from between them.

Fern's gaze was glued to her oldest daughter, studying her with a careful look.

"Well, maybe next time you see him, you could mention that girls usually prefer if their boyfriends don't help send their siblings to their graves." Rowan's eyes locked onto hers, "At least not anymore, siblings."

"Rowan Starling, that is quite enough." Oren's tone had grown clipped and severe, which was rare for him outside of the lumber mill.

Guilt swirled within her. Along with everyone else, she had also not told Rowan the truth. Not that he hadn't pushed the subject over the last several months. Yet, every time, she dodged his questions. Unable to bring herself to give him an answer. Now, she could sense his patience was waning.

"Ro...It's not... He's .... It's complicated." Hazel's voice cracked and trailed off. But she had no words to explain to him what must've seemed like a betrayal. He watched her with glistening eyes. There had never been such a secret between them before, and she hated hiding anything from him.

Another loud knock on the front door startled her, along with the rest of the gathering. Hazel ran a hand through her hair, grateful for the interruption. Get it together.

"Maybe it is more presents," Sage suggested, looking at the double doors.

"Only one way to find out. "I'll get it." Bellona strode to the front of the house and pulled open the front doors. The night air swirled into the heated space, which was refreshing while, at the same time, intimidating. It smelled like an approaching storm.

An unfamiliar peacekeeper stood with a letter in hand.

"Maybe you are right." Lily smiled at Sage.

Bellona took the letter after a few words with her co-worker and quietly pulled the door shut. She made her way across the room as her eyes met Hazels, "It's for you."

Hazel's unease went from a simmer to a full boil. In Bellona's hand was a large, refined envelope with a dark blue seal and a white rose in the center. Leo glanced at the letter and then met her stare. She guessed the concern and curiosity within the dark depths mirrored her own.

Rowan scoffed as he slid back into the chair, crossing his arms. Every eye was on her, and the sound of chewing had faded outside of Sable's, of course, as she took the letter and broke the seal. She trembled as if the frigid night air was still flowing into the room. The words on the page blurred, but the message was clear.

Her head swam, and she pulled her thumb away from the page; it was wet and sticky. Covered in a layer of red. Blood. She sucked in a breath as she pushed her hand under the table.

"Is it from the senator?" Lily asked.

"Yes." Hazel croaked.

"What does it say?" Lily questioned further.

Hazel swallowed, but her throat rebelled due to sudden dryness. "I'm almost out of space and time."

"What?" Rowan asked, sitting forward, holding out his hand. Hazel gave him the letter without a word. But Rowan was not disgusted or seemed to notice the blood at all.

Sweat formed at the nape of Hazel's neck, and her fingers dug into her bandage while she continued to hide the stain. Her heart raced as Silus's voice played through her mind, followed by Cedars. It was as if they were standing behind her chair, whispering into her ears. Leo studied her as she pressed harder into the center of her left palm.

The room's occupants held their breath as they watched Rowan read her letter. Under the table, Leo's warm fingers tapped subtly three times against Hazel's knuckles.

"What color do you think the sky is?" Leo whispered.

She zeroed in on the sensation as she fought to focus on what she knew was reality. "Dark, maybe black..." She pulled her hand into her lap. After a couple of deep breaths, she spared a look at her finger. However, instead of blood, all that met her gaze was black. A streak of ink coated her skin. Hazel sighed, glancing at Leo. He gazed at her hand for a moment before shifting to her face, his eyes shining with questioning.

"What does it say?" Sable asked, shoving the last bite of his cake in his mouth.

Rowan searched Hazel's face, "The preparations for the Victory tour are going to start."

"When?" Fern sat back in her chair, the line deepening between her brows.

Hazel cleared her throat as she tapped back against Leo's hand. "Tomorrow."

"Maybe it won't be that bad," Lily said.

"That's not all," Rowan continued.

"Here." Hazel pushed her unfinished cake closer to Sable, who brightened immediately.

"Tomorrow, the Senator is joining us for dinner," Rowan said.

Hazel wanted nothing more than to vomit.

Chapter Text

Hazel's thoughts swirled like delicate flakes caught in a storm as she stared at the rapidly cooling oatmeal before her. Her appetite was as nonexistent as the morning sun shadowed behind thick grey snow clouds. A snort escaped her. It would snow today of all days. She glared at the cold, sludgy bowl. He can't reasonably take credit for the weather.

"Are you all right?" Bellona watched her with a twitching brow.

"What makes you think I'm not all right?" Hazel could barely swirl her spoon through the bowl.

"You've been staring at that oatmeal for twenty minutes, and were you just laughing?'

Hazel dropped the spoon. "I'm not hungry."

"And the laughing?"

Hazel shrugged, expending much effort into avoiding Bellona's gaze, "Just losing my mind, I guess."

"If you are worried about the tour..." Bellona tilted her head, stepping closer, "A whole squadron will be assigned to your security."

Hazel smiled sadly at the young peacekeeper before her. Bellona couldn't be much older than her. Her features, while hardened by physical training, still held the roundness of youth. She was earnest, and her eyes shone with belief in what she was saying. However, despite being a peacekeeper, she seemed somewhat naïve, though something about that made her endearing.

Pulling at the edges of the bandage around her hand, Hazel finally decided to discard her breakfast before it resembled cement more than food.

As she rose and began to scrape the remnants into the trash, she murmured, "I wish that were all I was worried about, Bells."

The mere thought of the next few days and weeks made her want to run into the woods and never return. She shook her head as a shiver coursed through her spine at the memories of the green cloak melding into the faded, frosty, verdant woods. If she was hallucinating here at home, she couldn't even imagine how her fragile mind would react in more triggering environments. Then, there was the prospect of Senator Snow eating dinner with her family.

Bellona studied her for a moment when the front door flung open, and Sable strode through with a burst of fresh flakes in his wake. A bright smile graced his features. Snow peppered his hair as he cradled a steaming cup. "Morning girls, beautiful day, isn't it?"

Hazel dropped the empty bowl into the sink, "Glad you're here. I think it's time for a jog."

Sable's smile immediately faded as he coughed, "Oh no. Don't do this to me. How come you didn't make Bellony go?"

Bellona smirked as she shot Sable a look, striding to the front doors. "She likes me better." She made a show of looking down at her watch, "Have a good shift, old man."

Sable grumbled as Bellona slid the door shut behind her. He gazed longingly down at his coffee and then at the large flakes falling from the sky. "But it's snowing."

"Like you said," Hazel glanced out at the shimmering snow, "It's a beautiful morning. Besides, never let a little snow stop me before." Hazel hurried up the stairs, mumbling under her breath, "And I am not going to start now."

Sable huffed as he yearned at his cup of coffee before sucking it down in large gulps.

As Hazel rounded the corner, Rowan's room caught her eye. His door was again ajar, with only darkness coming from within. Hazel paused to peer inside. It was dim, cold, and devoid of her brother. She cast a glance behind her as she stepped into the shadowy room.

The space was still mostly bare, and it looked less than lived in. Boxes held the majority of his belongings. His bed was made, the blankets were crisply folded, clearly untouched for some time. It was as if he was frozen in the past or simply rebelling against the future. Refusing to settle into this new life. On his table lay a journal with several pens. Hazel slid closer to it. It was thick, brown, and leather-bound. The cover was worn, and it didn't close properly, as the pages were bent, corners folded in several places.

Hazel ran a finger over it. The leather was soft beneath her touch. She was more than a little tempted to peek inside as her nail hooked the cover's rounded edge. But she paused. Reading it without his permission would be a violation of his privacy. She sighed. Hadn't their privacy been impeded enough? With that thought, she pulled her hand back as if the journal had burned her.

"Ro, where are you?" Hazel decided then and there on her destination as she backed out of the room.

Within the hour, the crunch of snow underfoot, the fog of mouth breathing, and the occasional curse filled the crisp morning air. Hazel's left foot was tender, but nothing she couldn't manage. She did what she could to hide the mild limp from Sable. Lucky for her, the coldness of the air soothed any inflammation that had remained from her injury.

Sable, despite his grumblings, jogged easily. His breathing was steady, his gait fluid. All that adamant avoidance appeared to stem more from annoyance than the physical toll. Hazel glanced at him out of the side of her eye. He was fully the soldier Snow had described him as. Sturdy, muscled, and clearly, he could endure the brutality of a life on the battlefield. But it was bizarre that such a decorated member of the military was here with her, of all people.

"Why are you here, Sable?" Hazel breathed.

"I'm being held here against my will." Sable scowled, "You are forcing me, or don't you remember?"

"I mean, what made you take this assignment?" Hazel asked as they began to descend the last hill before the cemetery.

Sable considered her with a wary eye, "I'm wondering that myself right now."

Hazel shook her head, "Honestly, why?"

Sable looked out at the white-washed landscape, "I volunteered."

"You're messing with me." She couldn't imagine him requesting something so mundane.

"Believe it or not, ma'am."

"Why?" Hazel nearly tripped, thinking of Sable asking for this assignment, "Was District Seven on your bucket list or something?"

"Hardly." Sable glared up at the snowflakes that were readily collecting in his hair. "Did it for the kids-er uh, the Draytons. Served with their Dad, and I promised him I would look out for them."

Hazel cast another side-long look at Sable. She had figured the Drayton's father had passed, but she had never outright asked, and neither Leo nor Bellona ever volunteered the information. "What happened to him?"

Sable swallowed hard, pausing.

Hazel suddenly felt intrusive. "I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Killed in the war." His eyes flickered to her for a moment before sighing, "Rebels."

"Oh." Hazel refocused on the path before them, "I'm sorry."

Sable shrugged, "You were just a wee thing then, as were they." He let out a deep breath, "I've been looking out for them ever since."

"Is that why you are still a private?"

Sable's glance hardened but also flashed with surprise.

Hazel clarified, "No disrespect or anything. It just seems odd that someone like you, hasn't gained a few more ranks by now."

Sable huffed out another cloud of heavy steam, "I was born to be a soldier. Consider myself a damn fine one, not to brag. Never was interested in moving into management." He fought a gruff smile, "But this assignment does have me reconsidering my life choices."

Hazel couldn't help the smile that graced her lips as they arrived at the familiar entrance. Outside of the freshly laid snow, there was something different about the cemetery. A sleek, dark vehicle was parked right outside the gates.

"Is that the mayor's car?" Sable asked as he slowed to a walk.

Hazel stared at the vehicle as she followed suit. The dark car was covered in a fine dusting of white. It was the only vehicle like it in all of District Seven. "Looks like it. Maybe the Mayor is paying respects this morning?"

As the two turned the corner around some thick pines, Sable's stare settled on her, "Don't go running away on me this time."

Hazel eyed him, "No promises."

Sable turned to the gravestones blanketed in snow, and his smirk died. "Doesn't look like it is the Mayor paying his respects this morning."

Hazel followed his stare, and her limbs stiffened. Standing over Silus's grave was a tall, elegant man draped in a deep maroon coat. His black leather-gloved hands were clasped behind his back. A bouquet of winter lilies was in his grasp. Bright white flakes that matched the rose on his lapel coated his shoulders.

A lock of blonde hair fell over his face, blue irises sparkling as they met hers. But instead of surprise lingering in their depths, expectation waited there.

"Sable, I think I'm hallucinating again," Hazel whispered.

Sable straightened, voice deepening as they approached the man who haunted both her day and night. "No, ma'am."

Chapter Text

Something about Senator Coriolanus Snow standing stoically in the empty cemetery, a flurry of flakes whipping around him, made him unearthly, alien even. Yet he seemed at home mired in the frigid tempest, death beneath his fine dress shoes. The Devil himself had nothing on the man before her.

She couldn't tell if she was shivering or if her very bones were trembling. Though it didn't matter, either way, it wasn't because of the weather.

"I thought you weren't arriving until dinner?" Hazel coughed as her lungs burned from the exertion, the biting winter storm, and undoubtedly the sight before her.

A smirk licked along the edge of Coriolanus Snow's lips, "Missed me, did you?"

Hazel bit her cheek to keep herself from saying anything else she might regret. Well, at least until there was one less peacekeeper in the audience. As if realizing her unusual quietness was due to the soldier watching them nervously, Snow's gaze flickered from her to Sable.

"Private Pytash." Snow briefly tilted his head to the peacekeeper.

"Senator Snow." Sable bowed forward from the waist, dropping his eyes in respect.

"You two are sure up early this morning."

Sable blew out a puff of heated air from his nostrils, "Didn't have much of a choice, sir."

Snow's attention shifted from Sable to Hazel, his lips curling at one edge, "I see."

"You are up early yourself." Hazel's attention locked onto the bouquet in his hands.

Snow bent forward, lying the fresh flowers at the base of Silus's headstone. "I thought I would pay my respects."

Petite flakes coated the flowers, blending into the slick pale petals. She wanted nothing more than to chuck them into the river. He shouldn't be here. And he most definitely shouldn't be laying a bouquet at the grave of a victim of his Games. And not just any victim, her Silus. Hazel swallowed down the searing irritation, leaving the flowers where they were. "Those are... lovely, Senator." The river was probably frozen, anyway.

Snow's attention shifted from Hazel to the lilies and back, "Private Pytash, would you give us a moment? You are welcome to wait in the car if you like."

Sable nodded in an abrupt salute, "Yes, sir." He briefly met Hazel's eyes before heading toward the mayor's idling car.

"How did you know I would be here?"

"Lucky guess, I suppose," Snow replied as he slid back from the grave.

Hazel cast a glance over her shoulder until she was sure Sable was out of earshot, "You've been spying on me."

Snow folded his hands behind his back once again. "I prefer to think of it as staying informed."

Hazel murmured, "That's a funny way to pronounce breaking and entering."

"It's hardly breaking and entering when the door is unlocked." Snow leaned back on his heels.

"So just entering then."

A knowing smile tugged at his mouth.

She didn't believe for a moment that he had left the gifts personally. "Who exactly did you have test the effectiveness of my home's door handles? "

Snow shrugged. "Everyone has to pay the rent somehow."

Hazel crossed her arms, fighting back another quiver.

"Walk with me?" Snow glanced around at the setting that should've been serene, but it was very much the opposite.

Hazel ignored his question. "Why are you here?"

"Would you believe that I just wanted to see you?" Snow's gaze settled back on her.

Hazel's arms remained crossed, features frozen in an unimpressed glower.

Snow hummed, "I'll take that as a no." He twisted back to Silus' tombstone. The lilies were rapidly disappearing under the layers of sleet. "The tour is starting soon."

"You aren't a Gamemaker anymore." What did the tour matter to him? Shouldn't he be focused on Senator work? Whatever that even meant.

Snow stretched a gloved hand toward her as he shot a glance at the cars, "Please Walk with me."

Hazel stared at his waiting hand like it was a thorn-covered serpent. She would rather grip a hot fire poker. A sudden urge pulsed within her to run. But with whoever was in the car, Sable and Snow himself, being so close, it wasn't like she could sprint off into the woods again. Probably wouldn't get far anyway.

"Fine." She replied as she strode forward. She kept her eyes straight ahead as she slid past his open palm. The tips of his gloved fingers barely skimmed along the arm of her jacket. She didn't stop as she walked away from him, hiking toward Silus's oak sapling. "We have a lot to talk about, anyways."

Behind her, Snow let out an almost imperceptible sound as his hand curled before dropping to his side. "So it seems."

Silently, they weaved through the snow-encrusted field of graves. Glittering flakes continued to shower down, sinking into the coating that frosted every surface of the District. Apparently, no one was going to escape snow today.

Hazel pushed down the burning sensation in her chest as they passed Cedar's gravestone. Up ahead, another caught her eye, decorated with layered, tuberous flowers along its edges. Dahlia Starling. She stiffened as she fought to not look at it. Even though a grave marker was there, the ground remained empty beneath it. She shuddered, picturing Dahlia's body still out in the woods somewhere, her white bones camouflaged by the falling snow. But then again, maybe she hadn't been reduced to mere bones at all.

Snow walked after her in near silence, arms folded behind him as though he hadn't a care in the world. He appeared to be amused, oscillating his attention between the redhead storming away from him through the graveyard and the peaceful, partially frozen river and white-capped mountains.

Hazel didn't look back as she spoke, but she knew he could hear her, "I know the truth."

Snow's steps crunched behind her without a single falter in their steady rhythm, "Oh?"

They walked a bit further until she reached the top of the incline. Now, behind the cover of several towering pines and a curtain of white, she whirled back to him as her eyes blazed. Her fiery anger no longer hid behind the mask she required when there was an audience.

Though she felt like there were flames in her veins, her tone chilled as cold as the air. "It was planned, all of it from the start."

Snow regarded her, taking in her features almost like he expected as much. "And where did you come to obtain such an idea?"

Hazel kept her lips pressed together. Her stare was unwavering as they locked eyes. She wasn't going to play this game.

Snow broke their visual stand-off first, his attention falling to the plaque beneath the baby oak. "Heath Marlowe is hardly trustworthy... But I don't really need to tell you that, do I?"

The mere mention of her father caused a twinge in her chest. Hazel looked away from him, her own gaze dropping to the snow collecting at her feet. She had stayed true to her word and had not laid eyes on her father since that rainy night she had disowned him.

Snow's features softened as he looked down at her. "I can only imagine how painful it must be to have such a man as a father."

Painful was an understatement at best.

"He's a broken person." She murmured. "Easily swayed by rum and revenge. But I don't really need to tell you that, do I?"

"Hmmm." Snow shook his head as his gaze swept over the woods behind her, his lips twisting at the edges. "I hear he is testing his hand at the sober life."

"I wouldn't know." Hazel highly doubted that, not that she cared any longer. Or at least she did her best to avoid the sentiment. "Is he still on the payroll?"

"Oh, quite the contrary. He seems to have..." Snow caught her eyes once again, testing, probing, "retired."

"Huh."

They regarded each other for several moments, the fog of their breathing mingling together.

Hazel finally said, "So, do you dispute the nature of my victory?"

"It appears that it would hardly be worth the effort." Snow shrugged, his voice nonchalant, as if he was commenting on the brand of cologne he preferred. "However, it is more nuanced than you might think. It is not possible to plan for every scenario." His eyes swept over her face, "In any experiment, there are always unpredictable variables."

Hazel let out a sharp breath. While she knew the truth, hearing his confirmation out loud, no matter how vague, sucked the winter air from her lungs. "Tell me why."

He hesitated, testing her, "What is your theory?"

"I haven't the faintest...Money? Boredom?" Hazel's green eyes shone in the dull snow-covered light as she did her best to restrain her boiling anger.

"Do you really know that little about me, Miss Marlowe?" Snow inquired.

Hazel pursed her lips. While he seemed to have a vast knowledge of her, she knew little of him or his background. While the Snows had always been a prominent, well-known family in the Capitol, there were fewer details about him available in the Districts. Apparently, he was a star student at all levels of his education. He was the winning mentor for the Tenth Games with Lucy Gray Baird. However, it was as if the world had forgotten that game. Afterward, he served a brief peacekeeper deployment in District Twelve before being made apprentice Gamemaker under Dr. Gaul. Not more than two years later, he was elected the youngest Senator in all of Panem. He had said that he had a cousin, and she knew he had a penchant for roses and, of course, games. Outside of that, she knew very little.

Hazel turned her attention to the woods around them. Did she really want to know more about him? What was the point? More than anything, she wished he would drop his interest in their charade and move on to something else, more importantly, someone else.

"What use is the favorite color of the jailor to the imprisoned?"

Snow let out a long breath, "I can assure you, I am not your jailor. If anything, it is much the opposite." His breath hung in the air between them like a cloud of sugar-dipped roses. "I learned a while ago that familiarizing yourself with those in power over you can prove more valuable than you might think."

It sounded an awful lot like he was trying to teach her how to be like him. The thought was laughable, and she nearly let out a derisive snort. She would never become him. "Familiarize me then, Senator."

His eyes shone with something that mirrored conviction. "I'm the benefactor of one of the wealthiest families in all of Panem. I have little use for more money. And even less for gambling."

"How can I believe you?" Hazel scoffed and shivered as she looked at Silus's plaque. "All you've done is hide the truth from me."

"I may not have fully disclosed everything, but I have not lied to you."

"Is that not the same thing?"

He stepped closer to her, eyes flickering to her arms as they tightened around her torso. She dug her hands into the warmth of her armpits as the tips of her fingers began to numb. "In the position that I am in, discernment is imperative. What kind of Gamemaker would I be if I were to disclose classified information to tributes."

"But I wasn't just any tribute, was I?"

"No." Snow's gaze oscillated between her eyes, "No, you weren't." Hazel's pulse spiked at his admission as well as his slow step forward, "But, can you honestly say you wouldn't have sabotaged the whole plan if you had known?"

She most definitely would have derailed the whole thing if given the chance. "You are damn right I would have." She would have burned the arena to the ground if it meant that brand new grave marker bore her name instead.

Snow's face solidified into something that resembled respect tinged with something else.

Clenching her fists, she dug her nails into the fabric of her jacket. "You still haven't told me why."

Snow sighed again, "It is the truth that it wasn't my idea."

"But you went along with it."

Snow shrugged with a slight bend of his head. "Eventually."

"Eventually?" She had assumed he had been in on it from the beginning.

"After I was presented with Augustus's proposal, I was not immediately convinced to participate." Snow's gaze drifted to the woods behind her head as he seemed to become lost in his own thoughts. "I even considered putting sanctions on Augustus and his funds when I found out."

She was surprised that he was actually admitting such a thing to her. "And?"

Snow ran a gloved thumb over his chin, staring at the towering canopies overhead, "I came to see things in a different light."

"Augustus must be quite the salesman."

"He's only partly responsible for my agreement."

Hazel's thoughts swirled like the flakes overhead at his words. Before she could think better of it, she asked, "What else convinced you?"

Snow's arm dropped from his face as his eyes returned to hers. Hazel swore the look resting within them could melt the snow floating around them. "What do you think?"

Hazel stepped back and let her hands fall to her sides as she shied away from the intensity of his attention. She scanned the woods, focusing on the soft sounds of snowfall and her breathing.

Something about his words rang true, but even then, they were shrouded, still not quite clear. But at the moment, she wasn't sure if she wanted more clarity. Without warning, warm leather slid over her skin. Gloved fingers encircled her own as Snow pulled her hands into his. Hazel reacted without thought, jerking backward. He released her without objection, studying the startled twist of her features.

"Easy," he coaxed. He reached toward her again, slower, like he was approaching a cornered deer. This time, when he touched her hands, Hazel let him, kicking herself for startling so easily. Snow's features held none of his typical smirk or smugness. "I want us to start fresh. You are no longer a tribute, and as you said, I am no longer a Gamemaker." He tilted his chin to his chest, reaching for his signature flower.

He detached it with ease. His eyes fluttered closed for a second as he slid it beneath his nose. As he inhaled, his whole body seemed to relax, followed by his eyes snapping open. He guided the bloom into the space between them just outside her reach,, "I will not lie to you if you can promise me the same."

Hazel frowned at the flower, "You? Honest?"

"Despite whatever opinion you have of me, Miss Marlow, I actually do value honesty."

"Do you offer fresh starts to all of your lab rats?"

Snow's smirk returned and he twirled the rose between his fingers, "Only the special ones."

"Like Lucy Gray?" Hazel regretted it as soon as it left her lips.

The rose in his hand froze mid-spin. Snow's eyes flashed, and his grip on her hand tightened almost imperceptibly. Almost. His eyes bore into hers as he answered, "Actually, yes."

Hazel swallowed, "Did she accept?"

Snow broke their eye contact, eyes drifting again to the woods, "She didn't value truth the same way that I do."

From the look on his face, there was so much more to it than that, but he didn't seem keen on explaining further. Lucy Gray tugged at the back of her mind. There had been no sight or sound of the girl in years. Hazel hoped what he was offering wasn't just a path leading her to the same fate. She could go along with this for now, temporarily, until she got answers.

"Ok, a fresh start." She reached toward the rose, gripping its thornless stem. Hazel's still-trapped palm began to thaw in his gloved one as the edge of his lip ticked upward, "Why did you do it? Why did you rig the games?"

Snow's gaze dropped to her ensnared hand as he ran a gloved finger over the edge of her bandage and then traced a path over her knuckles. "I can assure you it wasn't for money."

Hazel stared down at his fingers, fighting to keep her hand from betraying her nervousness. "That is almost an answer."

Snow shifted closer, and Hazel held her breath.

"Do you remember our walk in the rose garden?"

"Avoiding and lying are sisters, Senator."

Snow chuckled, "Humor me."

Hazel let out a long breath and fought to steady herself. Her hand went from warm to like it was on fire. She dug her thumbnail into the stem of the rose. "I remember."

He tilted his head as his expression grew distant. "You said it yourself."

Confusion washed over her at his words. "I what?"

Snow's thumb continued its trail, "You were right. Even back then. I have to admit that caught me off guard."

Hazel shook her head, "I don't understand."

Snow glanced at the flower in her grasp, "My rose. The answer you gave me when I asked you what you thought it represents."

Hazel's memories swirled as she fought to recall the conversation that seemed like a lifetime ago, even though it had only been a handful of months. The rose between her fingers was flawless, a white so pure it almost didn't look real. "Power." She whispered, studying the way delicate flakes began to coat the petals, "Control."

Snow's smile grew sharp, "Precisely." He leaned forward until his warm floral breath coated her face, melting the ice flakes in her eyelashes. "I do believe it represents new beginnings; that wasn't a lie. But that wasn't everything. A rose is merely a symbol." Snow whispered, "It is not a weapon outright. But symbols can be just as powerful, more so even. Perception...That is where the power lies. Same as you."

"I am not one of your roses, and I am no symbol. How could I possibly help you gain power and control?"

A smile broke through his serious expression, "I will show you."

Overwhelm bubbled up within her due to his words as well as the heat from his touch. He didn't protest as he let her pull her hand away. His eyes grazed over the goosebumps forming along her neck.

"How about a game?"

Hazel raised an eyebrow, taking a step back. The branches of the sapling rubbed against her pant leg. "And here I thought you gave up your job."

"We both need something from each other." Snow watched her slow retreat from him, "I need you to trust me. And you clearly have more questions."

Hazel scowled down at her boots. He would make this more complicated than it had to be. "What kind of game?"

"A truth for a truth. I ask a question, and if you answer honestly, I will in return."

"And if you ask me something that I don't want to answer?"

"Then you owe me a favor. And vice versa."

Hazel's stomach churned. "What kind of favor?"

Snow crossed his arms, and his eyes glittered even in the dull gray light. "Anything within reason, preferably nothing illegal."

"Don't you already have all the answers you need?" Hazel analyzed him, "Seems you know more about me than I am even aware of."

Snow's eyes glistened as the storm grew harsher, the precipitation thicker, "Even I have limits, which can be utterly frustrating for someone who is as ...." He paused, staring out at the mighty alpine river, "Curious as I am."

Hazel let out a long, shivering breath. She met his eyes once again, and they shimmered with what looked to be more than simple curiosity.

A part of her wanted nothing more than to refuse his offer to play his sick game, but at the same time, there was still so much more she wanted to know. No. Needed to know. Hazel met his stare for a long moment; neither spoke and merely took in the other as if they were sizing up an opponent. In some way, that is exactly what they were. But who would win?

"Ok then." Hazel relented, "I agree. Now answer me."

Snow laughed, his eyes sparkling with triumph as he raised up his hands, "Hold on, tiger. You first, I gave you several answers already."

Hazel let out an exasperated puff of steam, "What do you want to know?"

"Do you regret saving my life?"

Hazel sucked in a deep lungful of snow-encrusted air. She wasn't sure exactly what question she thought he would ask, but that wasn't it. The gray sky darkened as she considered her answer. It had been an instinctual reaction. She would have done the same for anyone... except Percy and maybe Holt.

Snow's attention washed over her, searching for clues of her answer. The snow crunched beneath his dress shoes as he stepped closer. Despite her irritation and opposition to nearly everything about the man before her, she had enough death to last her a lifetime.

Her lungs burned from holding her breath, and finally, she let it out slowly. "No."

Snow's face seemed to brighten and darken at the same time. He searched her features with a restrained intensity that made her regret not just telling him she should have let a redwood flatten his handsome face into his own arena's infrastructure.

"So, my turn?" Hazel shivered more from the bizarre questioning and the look on his face than the cold. Snow said nothing but nodded in agreement. "Why me?"

"That is a complicated answer."

"I'll do my best to keep up."

He exhaled slowly before speaking. "You, Miss Marlowe, had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

She scoffed out a bitter sound.

"Alas, your brother and you were casualties of your circumstances. Caught between the revenge and reckoning of your fathers. Being the daughter of Heath Marlowe and Oren Starling and the niece of a former tribute placed you in a very ... unique position. And then, to have both you and your brother reaped..." Snow trailed off as he seemed to search for the right way to word it, "Let's just say it had all the makings of an extraordinary story. One that the people would devour and one, unfortunately for you, that Augustus Trask saw the meteoric potential of."

Wrong place at the wrong time. She wanted to scoff at the idea, but the way he described it made sense in a twisted way. It was like her father had said. She couldn't help the tears that stung her eyes as she realized they had been doomed from the beginning like unknowing trees marked for felling.

Snow's voice softened as he continued, "Sometimes in life, we are the victims of our circumstances. One's where we have no control, no matter how much we wish we did." His words, while meant for her, rang with a quality of personal experience. "Once you realize that, you will come to understand the choice you have to make. Run or Adapt."

Run. Hazel's heart quickened, flashing back to the nightmare—Snow's voice calling after her. She fought against the sting of tears, willing them to stay hidden, though she could feel her eyes taking on a faint pink hue. "What circumstances were you a victim of, Senator?" Hazel's question was somewhere between bitterness and genuine interest.

He raised an eyebrow, "Are we trading more answers?"

Hazel shook her head in the negative, not sure she could handle much more of this bartering. Her mind felt heavy as it brimmed with all the new information.

She cast another look at the limp oak sapling. It was wilting along the edges. She hoped the little thing would make it through the winter. However, she wasn't sure if she would survive whatever this was either. Another shiver pulsed through her limbs.

Suddenly, a heavy warmth that smelled as sweet as honey enveloped her. A dense yet luxurious fabric slid over her back, wrapping around her. Hazel flinched, her muscles tensing. Snow loomed over her, his arms outstretched, his coat secured around her shoulders.

Her breath and her skin tingled beneath the fabric, her instinct to resist warring with the biting cold that seeped through her jacket moments before. The storm surged with a rapid, increasing force across the winter landscape. Each flake danced through the wind for only a handful of moments until meeting its destiny. Once it reached the earth, it melted into the mass, becoming unrecognizable. Snow's breath played with the loose strands of her hair, "Quite a bit of snow you all get around here."

Hazel eyed the blanket of white rapidly surrounding them, trying to ignore that he still held the shoulders of his coat. "Too much, if you ask me."

"You know, I have missed you." Snow's eyes flashed with amusement, and she pulled her stare away, scolding herself. She was making this so much worse. As her resistance seemed to feed his enjoyment of the game, they were playing.

As his sweet, cloying, rose-tinted presence filled her lungs, Hazel took a calming breath. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting her lungs fill with the winter air, hoping it would calm the emotions warring within her. Again, her fingers grazed the silken petals of the Snow white rose. Her pulse steadied, and she reopened her eyes, fixing them on the man before her. "I changed my mind. I think that I do want to trade another truth."

Snow's arms dropped, and he watched her closely, waiting.

"What is on the tape?"

Chapter Text

“I think it is best if we put this game on pause for now.” Snow’s teasing gaze settled between her eyes. “At least, before your nose is as red as your hair.”

“You only really need to worry if it turns black.” Hazel shrugged, not wanting him to avoid her question any longer. The man was like trying to trap water in the palm of your hand, easily evading even the tightest grasp with ease.

“While I appreciate the commitment. In a blizzard, no less. It will do little good if I allow our newest Victor to freeze to death or worse…He fixed her with a dazzling smile, “Become noseless.” With a mischievous wink, he turned on his heel and strode away.

“Does this mean you owe me a favor?” Hazel called after him as he descended the incline.

“I don’t think I specified how long I have to answer.” He called over his shoulder, practically gliding away as if he knew she would follow. Not that she had much other choice. She shot one last withering look at the woods behind her. It was creaking and groaning with the pressure of the new precipitation.

Hazel grumbled at the sapling, “This is all your fault, you know.” She huffed and pulled the sugar and rose-scented jacket tighter and started after Snow. Even with his head turned and walking several feet ahead, she knew he was smiling. Undeniably, he was winning this round.

Once he reached the vehicle, he turned back to her. She nearly slowed to a snail’s pace just to annoy him but thought better of it. It was getting quite cold. Her drying sweat was like a housekey, unlocking her core body temperature and welcoming the frigidness inside her very bones. Despite herself and the smirking man before her, she sunk further into the warmth of the heavy garment.

“So, are you just going to keep making up new rules for our game when it suits you?”

He leaned his elbow against the roof. “You can take the Gamemaker out of the game, Miss Marlowe.”

The annoyed shake of her head brought a confident laugh pouring out of him. He smiled widely again as he pulled the door open and waited for her to close the remaining distance.

“Well, at least it appears that I won't be noseless after all.”

“I do prefer you with a nose.” He tapped his gloved fingers on the door

She mumbled as she crawled inside. Sable was nearly comatose in the passenger seat next to the mayor’s driver.

“Breaks almost over.” She called to the front.

Sable didn’t open his eyes as he addressed her. “You don’t exist, and I can’t hear you until we get back to the house.”

Hazel huffed. She was on her own.

Snow slid in beside her and signaled to the driver, and the car rumbled forward.

As she leaned back, the maroon collar slid against her cheeks, and his scent strengthened its hold on her lungs. She was fairly certain it was permeating every crevice of the interior. “Speaking of noses. Are you using a new cologne or something?”

Snow’s surprised stare met hers, and the intensity from the woods suddenly reignited. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re…uh…coat.” She stammered, “It smells different.”

Snow’s eyes sparkled in the dark confines of the car, “As opposed to my usual scent?”

Hazel coughed, running her finger over the sleeve, “Yeah.”

“I didn’t realize you were smelling me, Miss Marlowe.”

Hazel turned her gaze to the window, her cheeks burning, “It’s not like anyone could miss it. You are the only man I know who smells like roses.”

His lips twitched, “I sure hope so.”

Hazel couldn’t look at him, placing one of her cold hands against her cheek.

“I am curious, though, what is different about my….cologne?” Despite his ribbing tone, he seemed genuinely interested in her observation.

“I’m not sure, but it’s…it’s sweeter.”

Snow leaned back against his seat, eyes glittering, “Interesting.”

She squirmed and turned back to the window again. The frozen District rolled by as hot embarrassment washed over her, and a searing blush rose along her neck. She considered the tempting alternative of just opening her door and throwing herself under the tires. “Forget I said anything.”

A gloved hand suddenly slid over the arm of the coat, coming to rest on her forearm, “I assure you that I am not mocking you.” He whispered, removing his hand when she immediately tensed. He sat back again, “I’m just surprised you noticed.”

“So you’ve been shopping in the women’s perfume section, then?”

“I’m evidently not the only one with a curiosity problem.” He smiled wider, his voice dropping, “Does this count?”

She glanced at the front seat. The driver still had his attention glued to the road while Sable continued to rest, eyes closed, fully settled into his bubble of her temporary non-existence.

“Never mind.” Hazel shook her head.

Snow appeared unsurprised by her response. A smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back, tapping a long finger thoughtfully against his mouth.

Sable, Snow, and Hazel endured the rest of the journey in semi-awkward silence back to Victor’s Village. Hazel’s shivering subsided, and she had to admit to herself that she was partially grateful for the overwhelming floralness of the coat. Without it, the car would smell like partially frozen sweat and annoyance. But she would only admit that to herself.

The rough roads smoothed as they reached Victor’s Village’s border. As the mayor’s vehicle pulled up to the front gates, Snow broke the silence, “Lovely home,”

He would know. Hazel’s attention swept over the grand home before falling on the hibernating fountain and rose plants. “Yeah, it appears much effort went into the details of the design.”

Snow’s smile widened, and he nodded. She noted how he didn’t deny it. The imposing house had transformed in the short time they had been gone. Everything was coated in a rapidly growing layer of glistening white. It covered the ground, the patio, and the roof. Even the streetlights looked like they were wearing little pearlescent hats. The home’s interior seemed warmer and more welcoming. All of it was somehow suddenly more charming than before. She huffed. She wasn’t going to admit that out loud, either.

She pushed open her door and tilted her head back, letting the delicate flakes coat her still-warm face. It was soft and light as it fell from the sky. Hazel swore it looked like powdered sugar being poured from the clouds. The first snowfall of the year had always been something she enjoyed, but at the moment, her typically enchanted mood was ruined by the weather’s namesake smirking at her as he rounded the vehicle. She scrambled out before he offered her his hand again.

“It was generous of the mayor to lend you his car.” She murmured as she closed the door behind her, hoping that the way she framed her sentence didn’t count as a question.

Snow nodded, opening his palm, watching the flakes melt to nothing in his gloves. “Kettleberry is an old friend.”

The Capitol and its Senators had several friends in her District, apparently. The flickering of a lamp in the only other occupied house down the street begged for her attention, but she refused, setting her eyes back on her own.

A flash of three red-cheeked faces peeked out from the front room’s windows. Hazel caught Lily’s cinnamon irises with her own, which grew a fraction bigger before ducking out of sight. “Seems you are quite popular around here.”

Snow glanced at Heath’s home, then Hazel, and then he looked out over the entirety of District Seven. She swore she heard him murmur, ‘not as popular as I would like.’

He then appeared to notice the audience from within the house. There was another glimpse of Sage and the twins as Snow offered the three a confident wink, and they all disappeared once again.

Sable mumbled as he neared the door, “Little spies.”

“I have to admit, District Seven is different than the last time I was here.”

A million questions surged through her at the comment. How often does he come here? “How so?”

“It’s more beautiful.” Snow looked back at her. “You know, with all the snow.”

Hazel caught a teasing light in his eyes as she trudged closer to the French doors. “I prefer summer.”

"That’s funny because this morning, you couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful it was," Sable cut in. "If I remember right, you said something about not letting a bit of snow stop you before dragging me out the door."

Snow’s eyes flashed with a mischievous light.

Hazel fought back a surging blush once again. “I thought you couldn’t hear me.”

“My break’s over.”

Snow’s soft laugh interrupted the sizzling death glare she was fixing on Sable.

Sable’s mouth was a straight line, but his eyes danced at her reaction. This was undoubtedly payback for making him run.

A subtle squeak permeated the frosty air as the peacekeepers’ cottage door opened, and Leo emerged carrying a steaming mug. His eyes grew serious at the sight of the Senator, and he bowed forward. “Senator Snow.”

Snow acknowledged him with a tilt of his head. “Good Morning, Private Drayton.”

Sable cleared his throat, “Come on, Sir. Ma’am. Before you all freeze.”

“You go ahead, private. Ensure Miss Marlowe gets warm.” Snow replied. Hazel turned back to him as he stepped closer with a cursory glance at the windows.

“Where are you going?” Hazel whispered.

Snow reached forward, pulling Hazel's hands into his once again. She froze, fighting the way her muscles twitched.

“Going to miss me?” Bending forward, his eyes skimmed over the flush of her skin as he brought her hand to his mouth. His lips brush against her knuckles, leaving a light kiss on her frigid skin.

She could practically hear the muted yet staccato murmuring of her siblings through the walls. Hazel tugged her hands away, whispering, “Feel free to be late, Senator.”

“In your dreams,” Snow whispered back as his gaze lingered on her pink cheeks.

Hazel’s stomach dropped like she had swallowed a handful of stones.

“Oh, right.” He leaned forward until his lips brushed her ear, “I’m already there too, aren’t I?”

Of course, he’d heard her sleep talk. Deep down, she had known, but hearing him say it aloud…Her stomach somersaulted; the weight was like the clashing storm clouds above. “Just my nightmares, Senator,” She breathed just loud enough for him to hear.

“Pity our little game doesn’t have a rule against self-deception.” Snow leaned back with a triumphant smile, nodded to the peacekeepers, and strolled toward the waiting car. As he ducked inside, he called back, "See you at dinner, Miss Marlowe."

Leo and Sable bent dutifully as he disappeared while Hazel stood stationary. As the vehicle began to roll away, she wanted to disappear. Maybe she could just lay down and let the snow bury her. But she knew that if she didn’t start moving, she risked Sable dragging her inside by her ankles.

Leo’s eyes lingered on her as she pulled the coat tighter around her neck, hoping the collar could also shield her rosy face from her rapidly growing audience. His eyes slid over the coat before he turned his attention to Sable, “How was the run?”

Sable fixed him with a rigid look, “What do you think?”

Leo buried a chuckle in another long drag of coffee as the three shook off the snow. Sable practically pushed the two into the entry room. “I know you aren’t on duty until tonight, but can you take over for an hour? This old man is going to take a shower.”

Leo agreed as Sable slipped outside once again while Leo closed the wide doors. Several pairs of eyes, wide and prying, met them upon entry. Sage, Lily, and Linden huddled on the couches as if they hadn’t just been eavesdropping. Heavenly wisps of bacon, toast, and eggs perfumed the space.

“Everything all right, darling?” Fern was almost successful in her attempt at masking her concern as she leaned over the stove with a spatula.

“Everything is fine, mom,” Hazel assured. If fine meant anything but fine.

“Doesn’t seem fine.” Rowan’s voice came from the top of the stairs. He practically glared at the maroon material draped over her, and the white rose in her hand.

Hazel crammed the flower in one of the pockets and pulled off the luxurious coat with haste.

“Seems the Senator is in town early,” Oren called as he entered the room, nursing a cup of coffee and snagging a piece of toast. “Better get down to the mill. Make sure everyone’s doing their best at looking busy.”

“They don’t have to pretend.” Rowan bit out with clear bitterness in his tone, “Not with the quotas now.”

Oren paused mid-sip to lock eyes with his son before downing what was left in the cup.

“Why don’t I come with you?” Rowan asked.

Oren didn’t look at him, “Stay here, help your mother.”

Rowan scoffed, “Why do you go then? None of us have to work anymore, but you go every day. You could just have Pilner take over.”

“Row,” Hazel coughed. He had never been this outright confrontational.

Oren kissed Fern on the cheek before gathering his lunch pail, coat, and mug of fresh coffee before heading out to the door.

Oren shot Rowan a glance, “Stay out of trouble.” His stare drifted to Hazel, “Both of you.”

Without another word, Oren disappeared into the snow while Rowan stormed up the stairs.

Fern’s eyes met hers, and she let her shoulders relax. “I’ll talk to him.”

Her mother breathed out a long, tired sigh as she called the three youngest to the table. It was going to be a long day for all of them.

Just as Hazel stepped foot on the first stair, she turned back to Fern, “Oh, Mom, are you still going to make that dish I asked you about for dinner tonight?”

Fern nodded with a slightly confused smile, “Yes, darling. You know, I didn’t realize your favorite dish had changed.”

It hadn’t.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Leo’s gaze wandered back and forth between Hazel and the breakfast table. He drifted toward her, fingers tapping a scattered rhythm along the sides of his cup.

“Get some breakfast, Leo.”

Leo stepped closer, and the aroma of coffee replaced the floral scent as it encircled them. His eyes flickered to the folded coat draped over her arm. “Are you really all right?”

“Yeah, all good.” Hazel smiled softly, but she knew it didn’t fully reach her eyes.

Leo nodded, but his face tensed like he was on the verge of saying something more.

"Relax. I only try to escape when Sable's on duty. Since you're here, I'll wait till he gets back to make a run for it."

Leo’s shoulders eased a bit, and with a soft chuckle and a playful nudge to her arm, he gave in. Fern had already set a plate for him, and he smiled in thanks as he sat down across from the youngest. Linden passed him the pepper with a grin as he barraged him with questions about the life of a peacekeeper.

Hazel nearly laughed as she made it to the top of the stairs; Fern was scolding Linden for talking with his mouth full. By the time she got to Rowan’s door, it was already shut. She rapped her knuckles against the surface.

“What?” A rough voice called.

“Row, It’s me,” Hazel spoke to the closed door.

After some rustling sounds, the lock clicked as it was unlatched. Hazel pressed the door open. The starkness of the room was still alarming. Yet there was something new resting on the desk. A framed photograph.

Hazel knew the day it was taken well. Rowan was the same age as the twins. His first shift as a lumberjack. Hazel, Silus, and Rowan were standing in a wide clearing, smiles plastered on their faces. A pile of felled trees was in the background, and axes were resting on their shoulders.

“Are you ok?” Hazel started, her heart aching at the clear pain Rowan was desperately masking.

Rowan was tucking several crumpled papers in the journal. “Are you?”

“I know things have been hard. If I could change it, I would.”

Rowan sighed, “I don’t need you to apologize to me.”

Silus’s smiling eyes staring back at her from his picture frame tore at her heart. What was worse was Rowan's bright smile. How different would things have been if Silus had made it home instead of her? “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Haze, don’t.” Rowan’s voice cracked.

“Don’t be so hard on him. He’s just trying to help you, help all of us.”

Rowan snorted, “He can’t undo what he’s done.”

“So you are angry with him for trying to do better?” Hazel sighed. It appeared that Rowan was irritated that Oren had made mistakes to begin with, and even more so now that he was trying to correct them.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“None of us can go back. At least he’s doing what he can now.”

“You don’t have to defend him,” Rowan's eyes were like stale caramel, rigid and yet on the verge of crumbling, “You have more reason than any of us not to forgive him.”

“It’s not all his fault.” Hazel swallowed. While Rowan and her family didn’t know the truth about her Victory or Snow, they did understand Heath had fed information to the Capitol.

“Maybe not, but it doesn’t mean I will ever forget.” Rowan stared at the picture on his desk.
“Now, we have a Capitol Senator at our doorstep and peacekeepers at our dining room table.” Silence stretched between them as Hazel took in his words.

Hazel stepped closer, wanting to wrap her arms around her little brother, but at the same time, she was still covered in a layer of drying, partially thawed sweat. Not to mention practically doused in rose-scented cologne.

“You need to be more cautious around them.” Rowan was still staring at his new picture.

Hazel shot him a questioning look, “They are assigned to protect me, protect us.”

Rowan shook his head, his curls bounced as he did so as if they too disagreed with her reasoning, “Maybe, but their loyalties will always lie with the Capitol.” Rowan met her eyes once again, “With Snow.”

She had grown somewhat fond of her three guards and even enjoyed their company at times. But there was always that invisible wall between them—one at times she forgot about or, maybe, more honestly, wished didn’t exist at all. “You’re right.” She still wasn’t ready to talk about that with him. Not yet. “But I’m not the only one who needs to be careful, though, am I?” She let out a soft breath, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Where have you been going? You’ve always been an early bird, but you’ve been gone before anyone else most mornings.”

“Didn’t think you’d notice. You’ve never been a morning person.” Rowan struggled with the slight smirk at the edge of his lips.

“Can’t sleep,” Hazel replied, pressing a finger against her bandaged left hand.

He tapped the surface of his desk idly.

Hazel dropped her voice even lower, “Where have you been going?”

“To see Silus.” He sucked in a shaky breath.

“Where else?” Hazel picked at the edges of her bandage. Rowan’s eyes found hers as she continued, “I’ve been to the cemetery, and you weren’t there.”

His face tightened, his eyes dropping back to his desk again, “I've been going for walks. I need time to myself sometimes.”

“You’ve been walking in the woods?”

Rowan nodded.

Hazel let go of her bandage and closed the door behind her before turning back to her brother. “Have you seen anything… unusual out there?”

Rowan straightened at the change in her behavior, “Like what?”

Hazel’s voice dropped, “Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when the doctors came here? To evaluate me?”

Rowan searched her face, “Yeah, why?”

Hazel paused, “I saw something…” She bit her lip, pushing away the memory of honey-speckled eyes in the early morning light, “Or at least I thought I did. But I am not totally sure it was real...”

“What did you see?”

Hazel bit down harder on her lip; fear of how he might react coursed through her. Would he think she was insane?

A rapid knock followed by the door opening made Hazel jump. Leo stood in the threshold, “Marlowe, you have company.”

“He wasn’t gone long,” Hazel said.

Rowan let out an annoyed puff of air as Leo clarified, “It’s not the Senator.”

“Who?” Rowan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Leo’s stare flickered to Rowan and then back to her. “Festus Creed and Indira Lovegood.”

Chapter Text

Dying golden light shimmered as it reflected off the several feet of newly laid-out snow. Roasted potatoes, herb-seasoned vegetables, and chicken-scented air wafted through the otherwise stale library. The walls wore varnished rows of wood shelves. Every inch was covered in a quilt of books in all shapes, densities, and colors. Burnt orange leather chairs were clustered about.

The room was like something out of a fairy tale, albeit highly under-utilized since the family had moved in. Hazel sunk further into the chair in which she was currently trapped, breathing in the familiar scents, hoping they would calm the nervousness tickling her limbs. While the chair was comfortable, the elegant clothes Indira had practically forced her into were anything but.

Festus Creed idled past the rows of books, running a finger over their spines. A dull thrum filled the air as he walked.

"Festus," Indira called, arms crossed, "Can you stop that?"

His curly hair bounced as he sighed like a kid waiting for his parents to be done with grocery shopping, "How long is this going to take?"

"Not much longer, Mr. Creed." Dr. Calyx replied, "Maybe grab one of those to read while you wait."

Festus scowled at the books like they were sour milk on his tongue.

Indira gestured to an open seat, "Or at least just sit down and stop fidgeting."

"I don't understand why this is necessary. You two were out here barely a couple of weeks ago, and she looks..." Festus scanned her face, squinting his eyes a bit, "Well tired, but no worse for the wear."

"I would have asked for you to visit sooner if I knew you'd be handing out compliments," Hazel mumbled.

Festus smirked and pushed away from using the books as a makeshift xylophone. He sunk into the seat nearest to her. "You missed me, don't pretend."

Hazel sent him a lopsided smirk. Surprisingly, she had. She'd missed them both. While they were living and breathing reminders of the worst experience of her life, she felt bonded to them in a way.

"Mr. Creed, I assure you our visit is absolutely necessary as well as mandatory." Dr. Savi brought Hazel's bare left palm closer to his face. His knowledgeable eyes were bug-like behind a pair of black spectacles. His lips crinkled but not into a smile but something more similar to disappointment. "Looks like healing is not progressing as much as I would like." Hazel fought to hold herself still under his highly focused scrutiny.

"I've been trying to tell her, doc," Sable mumbled from the doorway.

Hazel scooted even deeper into the too-soft chair. The library should've been a peaceful room, but at that moment, it was more like a nicely decorated, dinner-scented exhibit case. Indira, Festus, Sable, and Leo formed the haphazard audience, watching the doctors' work.

"He just doesn't like running," Hazel muttered as she stared down at the gash. The stitches were gone, and pale, silvery scar tissue skirted the wound's edges. However, the center remained an angry pink. Slight circular bruises littered the surrounding skin, and several drops of blood were peeking out of the open areas.

"You need to take better care of this." Dr. Savi released her hand as he began to dig through his bag. "Let it heal."

"Exactly," Sable replied with a smirk. Hazel narrowed her eyes at him.

"Is it infected, doctor?" Indira inquired, her deep yet warm voice relaxed Hazel a bit.

"Not right now." Dr. Savi didn't look up as he laid out the various bandage items on the table next to Hazel.

"Then why is it not healing?" Festus asked with a tilt of his head.

Dr. Savi met Hazel's eyes, "Overuse, most likely."

"You haven't been like chopping wood," Festus asked. "Or whatever it is you guys do out here, have you?"

Hazel shook her head, and a pang of nostalgia shot through her, "I wish."

"It's all that godforsaken running." Sable pointed down at her feet, "While you are at it, you should check the left ankle."

"It's fine." Hazel shifted her feet backward until her heels bumped against the chair's footrests.

Dr. Savi paused, peering over his glasses at Hazel's feet, "Did you twist it again?

"No." Hazel swallowed.

Dr. Savi gestured to the younger doctor, "Take a look, Calyx."

The younger doctor crouched dutifully, raising the bottom portion of her pant leg.

Bathed in the warm light of the library, it was obvious, even to the untrained eye, that her ankle wasn't fine. It was puffy and a pale lavender color. Hazel failed to hold back a wince as Dr. Calyx manipulated the joint.

"Hmmm, I see what you mean, Private Pytash." Dr. Calyx murmured.

"He's right. You need to avoid aggravating it anymore." Dr. Savi concluded, looking back up at her. "I mean it this time. No more running or vigorous exercise."

Sable leaned against a bookshelf, breaking into a relieved grin. "What a shame."

"For how long?" Hazel questioned.

"I would say no strenuous activity for at least three weeks." Dr. Savi pulled a pair of black nitrile gloves from his bag, stretching them over his fingers with a plasticky snap.

"Thank you, doc." Sable smiled widely as he met Hazel's more than annoyed glare.

"Well, you won't have to worry about that during the tour, anyways," Festus interjected, a glint hovering in his eye. "With all the food, parties, and celebrating. Won't have time for much exercise."

Hazel's stomach churned at the idea. She would rather run fifty miles on a bum ankle.

"Festus, it's not all celebration. There are the families of the fallen and the speeches, of course." Indira replied, apparently trying to curb Festus' enthusiasm with a tad of realistic expectations.

Hazel's stomach acid was on the verge of boiling, and the smell of dinner started to make her feel nauseated.

"Don't worry, dear." Indira's face was soft and understanding. "The speeches have already been written."

Hazel bit her lip as Dr. Savi ran a square of cold, wet gauze over her sensitive wound. "Figures it's all mapped out, just like everything else."

Festus and Indira stiffened at the comment, sharing an uncomfortable exchange without words. Hazel didn't quite mean for it to come out as harshly as it had. The last few hours had been a tense whirlwind of introductions between them and her family, as well as a much-needed shower and, finally, the torturous assessments of the Capitol doctors. The three didn't have much time to discuss what Hazel had learned about her role in her Games or ask about their knowledge of her so-called victory.

"Well, we always welcome your input, of course," Indira murmured.

Hazel wondered how much input the Capitol would allow as she brushed her thumb over her newly cleansed wound.

Dr. Savi let out a disapproving grunt and flicked the errant appendage away. "I need some privacy with my patient. I promise it won't take long."

Sable clapped his hands together. "You all heard the man. It's time to let the doctors do their jobs. Everyone out."

Indira and Festus moved to the door on command, followed by Sable, but Leo lingered. Sable whispered to him, which Leo acknowledged with a barely perceptible nod.

Dr. Calyx appeared to notice Leo's reluctance. "We will have her right out, Private Drayton."

Leo met Hazel's gaze, and she did her best to appear unbothered as she signaled her approval for him to leave. He relented and slid out of the room.

Hazel sighed, and her shoulders relaxed as Dr. Calyx closed the door behind the group. While she wasn't the biggest fan of doctors, she was thankful for the respite from so many watchful, scrutinizing eyes.

"Hold still, Miss." Dr. Savi began to cleanse her skin once again. The chill of the wet gauze centered her, and she welcomed the dull sting of the liquid over the more sensitive areas of her wound. "Now that we have some privacy, I wanted to ask you about the hallucinations."

Whatever tension that had dissipated from Hazel's body at the awkward audience leaving immediately returned. "What about them?"

"Have you had any more since we saw you last?" Dr. Savi placed a thick absorbent pad over her palm.

Yes.

"No." Hazel hoped her tone came across as convincing, but she thought it sounded unsteady even to her ears.

"Really?" Dr. Calyx asked, studying her more closely.

"Really." Hazel didn't look up at him but kept her stare fixed on his work.

Dr. Savi's fingers paused over the pulse point in her wrist as he secured the bandage with a roll of gauze. "And nightmares?"

"Sometimes," Hazel muttered.

"Hmm, that is what I thought." The doctor continued as he held her injured hand in his, "As I said, you haven't been taking care of this or yourself overall. If anything, you've only given yourself new injuries while sabotaging the healing of the ones you already have..."

Dr. Calyx added, "If you don't start taking care of yourself, your hand could become infected."

Dr. Savi continued where his colleague left off, "Even worse, the hallucinations are likely to return—and if they do, the lines between them and reality may blend to a degree you won't be able to determine the difference. And it may not just be seeing an imaginary dead woman running through the forest next time."

She couldn't deny the truth in his words. Pulling her stare away from the two men, she let it drop back to her hands. Both were still clean. No stains or mysterious blood had formed. Not again, at least.

"Your reaction to all that you have been through is understandable, common even among those who have lived through similar experiences," Dr. Calyx said.

"But you need to decide if you are going to let this freeze the progress of your life. It is up to you what happens from here." Dr. Savi advised.

It seemed like very little was up to her anymore. "Do you two give this lecture to all the victors?"

Dr. Savi shook his head in the negative. "No." He dug through the bag near his feet, frowning.

Dr. Calyx paused before meeting her eyes, "We were specially assigned to you. You've garnered much attention, and the Capitol wants to make sure you are in decent condition when the tour begins."

"How considerate." Hazel stared down at her loosely bandaged hand. It did feel significantly better now that it was clean. Even more so that it was covered with a fresh, non-sweat-soaked bandage.

Dr. Savi's wrinkled forehead deepened as he raked his fingers through his bag, pulling open various pockets. He suddenly rose, "Give me one moment; I seem to have left my tape in the other room." With that, the older doctor removed himself, shutting the door behind him.

Dr. Calyx stiffened as the click of the latch filled the library. Hazel frowned up at the jittery man before her. Was he still scared of her?

His eyes fell to her hand, and his voice grew soft like the piles of fresh powder outside, "It's uncanny how similar your injury is to.... your brother's."

Hazel dropped her eyes from the doctor, stretching her fingers. "We always did things together."

"The stitching was impressive, you know."

Was he really complimenting her?

"Is that why you aren't letting it heal?"

Hazel's eyes shot back up to the man peering down at her. Something about his observation shook her; she had to remind herself that it was his job to be perceptive. Hazel's voice sounded like it was buried beneath the mountains of snow outside, "He should be here."

Dr. Calyx shuffled on his feet, "Punishing yourself isn't going to change that."

Hazel fixed her stare on the dipping sun, watching the colors singe the sky in shades of deep orange and magenta. It was as if her very soul was urging her to heed the doctor's wisdom. Oddly, the voice in her head sounded a lot like her favorite uncle's. But that didn't change her feelings. Knowing what she was supposed to feel didn't mean she actually did.

"I think you would be surprised at how many people are pleased that you are alive." Dr. Calyx whispered, still staring at the closed door. The man swallowed, tapping his fingers against his pockets, "Miss, can I ask a favor?"

"Doctor?"

Dr. Calyx paused for a moment before reaching into his pockets with both hands. He pulled them out, holding a thick, rectangular card that was small enough to fit easily in his palm. In his other hand, he held a metallic black marker.

"Um...my daughter... Would you mind signing this for her?" He eyed her bandage, "With your... your good hand, of course."

He extended the items toward her. Hazel reached for the peculiar-looking card and took it from him. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled at the image staring back up at her. It was her own face. Her bright green eyes were stern but determined, not a hair out of place. She was standing in a glowing redwood forest, a vicious black axe in each hand, the Victor's medal was around her neck and a golden rose tucked behind her ear. The image was an uncanny mix of reality and manipulation. Along the bottom edge, it read: "Hazel Johanna Marlowe. District Seven. Victor: 15th Annual Hunger Games." A reflective golden sheen outlined the border of the cardstock.

"What is this?" Hazel coughed.

"A collector's card," he explained. "They are very popular in the Capitol... Especially the Victor's editions."

Hazel hardly recognized the girl looking back at her. It was as if she were some kind of character in a fantasy, a hero in a bedtime story. She turned the object over in her hands, noting the glossy finish and its substantial weight. The creator was quite skilled, but she was no heroine, and none of it reflected reality. It was all just a fabricated tale without a happy ending.

Dr. Calyx swept the card from her before she had a chance to react, whispering, "Maybe another time."

Hazel watched him squirm away from her and pocket the items as Dr. Savi re-entered the room. A thick roll of tape was in one of his hands, and a translucent orange-tinted bottle with a white cap, brimming with green and yellow capsules, was in the other, "The tour will be overwhelming. Your popularity means the crowds will be large and the pressure immense. And nightmares will exacerbate the issue. I recommend taking medication to help you sleep."

Hazel pursed her lips, "No, thank you. I'm fine."

"If you don't let your mind heal, or your body for that matter, your physical and mental health will continue to deteriorate."

Hazel nodded, "Understood." She eyed the bottle in his hands, shivering at the memory of the little purple pills that had wreaked so much havoc before the games.

Dr. Calyx and Dr. Savi exchanged glances before Dr. Savi sighed, putting the bottle in her good hand, "If you change your mind."

Hazel wanted to protest but instead resolved to secretly flush them down the toilet later when no one was looking.

Dr. Savi quickly taped down the loose edges of her bandage. "Take one every twelve hours and nothing more. And don't mix them with alcohol."

"Not going to be a problem," Hazel murmured.

"Have you changed your mind about a counselor?" He turned her hand over in his, inspecting his work.

Hazel sighed; he had tried to convince her to allow one to treat her during his last visit.

"No."

The older doctor hummed, removing his glasses and tucking them away as he released her. "It would be highly beneficial."

She had enough Capitol staff involved in her personal life as it was. "You said it is up to me, right?" Hazel met the older man's eyes, "I will let you know if I change my mind."

Neither of the doctors protested as they began to pack up their belongings. Dr. Calyx brushed his fingers subtly over his pockets, refusing to meet her eyes.

Just as Dr. Savi was zipping closed his leather bag, the door to the library opened, and Leo pushed through the threshold; his face was a solid mask of professionalism.

"We are about done, just wrapping up, Private Drayton."

Leo cleared his throat as he searched the room and the two doctors before his attention settled on Hazel. "The Senator has arrived for dinner."

Chapter Text

Two worlds were colliding before Hazel's eyes, and she wasn't entirely sure her mind could take it. The sight of Senator Snow standing in her living room was something she truly wasn't prepared for. His coiffed blonde hair, the crisp suit, the ever-present rose, and, of course, those all-seeing cerulean eyes—all of it was out of place. Like a shark joining a family of sparrows for dinner, he didn't belong in her world. Yet, here he was. And it didn't help that her family was gawking at him like he was both a beautiful but terrifying rare creature.

Snow was leaning slightly forward, staring at the picture frame she knew all too well. A maroon coat was draped around him, and it stood out in the earth-toned living room. This one was even deeper in color than the one he'd lent her. Did he have an entire closet full of those?

She stumbled as he straightened and it became apparent there were two packages tucked under his arm.

"I told you that ankle is unstable." Sable's annoying voice called from behind her as she caught herself.

Hazel volleyed a quick glare at the peacekeeper. He was still beaming from his victory with the Capitol doctors."Pytash, I swear to everything that is holy-"

At the sound of her irritated voice, Snow's eyes snapped to hers, and her next words died on her tongue. "Good evening, Miss Marlowe."

While her mind was drowning, her throat had gone as dry as the forest during fire season. "Senator."

Their uncomfortable stare-down was broken by Dr. Savi and Dr. Calyx moving past the two, inching closer to the doors.

"Will you not be joining us for dinner, doctors?" Fern asked

"I'm afraid duty calls, ma'am, and we need to head to the Capitol."

Dr. Savi turned back to Hazel, "Remember what we talked about. We will see you in a few weeks, but if you need us sooner, your peacekeepers can send word."

"See you in a few weeks, Sir." She sent another stern warning glance in Sable's direction.

Dr. Savi's face wrinkled into a small, stiff smile while Dr. Calyx kept his gaze glued to his shoes. The two offered practiced nods of respect in Snow's direction, "Senator Snow."

Snow acknowledged them, "Safe travels, gentlemen."

With that, the two disappeared into the rapidly approaching night. Hazel let out a shaky breath. At that moment, she was no longer the fish out of water. Instead, the outside world and its inhabitants were flooding the nest she called home.

Another round of unease settled over the aromatic space as the front doors thudded shut. The sound rippled through the room like a twig snapping in the woods, capturing the attention of all living things within earshot, none daring to move. The question now became whether a predator awaited them or not.

Snow cleared his throat, jolting Hazel back to the present. They were waiting for her to lead the introductions. "Oh, um, Senator Snow, this is my family." Hazel introduced Oren and Fern, who were hovering in the kitchen, then Sage, Lily, and Linden on the couches. Finally, she motioned to Rowan, seated at the table with his arms crossed and eyes as hard as bricks.

Hazel fixed her attention on the statuesque man. "Guys, this is, well, you know." Was there anyone even left in Panem who didn't know who he was?

Snow bowed slightly, curling his lips in a way that oozed charisma as he surveyed the most important people in her world. "Pleased to meet you all."

Oren's lips were a hardline, a muscle in his jaw jutting at an unnatural angle. Fern rested a tight, white-knuckled hand on his arm, though her voice gave away none of her tension, "Welcome to our home, Senator."

Snow took a long, unhurried step further into the house like he was dipping his toe into a hot bath, trying to determine if he would be scalded. "I've heard so much about you all."

Hazel fought with her bewildered expression but kept her mouth closed. Whatever knowledge he had of her family, it hadn't come from her.

"Funny, we haven't heard anything about you," Rowan said, his tone as rigid as his spine. His eyes wavered toward Hazel before resettling on the Senator.

Snow was wholly unfazed, "Well, tonight, I wish to remedy that."

Hazel's carotid pounded in her neck and the sound of the eels screeching echoed behind her ears. Shaking her head, she dislodged the memory from her current reality. Though, she wondered if man-eating eels would be preferable to this new kind of hell.

"Did you bring gifts for Hazel?" Lily asked, eyeing the packages in his arms.

"Actually, no, Miss Starling." Snow's eyes locked onto Hazel for a brief moment before he turned to face Lily and Linden. The two sat on the couches, absorbing the sight of the Capitol man they had only ever really seen on television. "I have it on good authority that you two just had a birthday."

Hazel frowned as Snow's charming grin only seemed to brighten, "What kind of guest would I be if I didn't bring something special for the occasion."

Rowan muttered 'an uninvited one' under his breath, while Hazel fixed him with a scathing stare. Her brother shrugged, settling deeper into his chair like he was preparing for a long night.

Snow either didn't hear Rowan's comment or chose to ignore it as he extended the gifts toward the twins, giving them a playful shake. The two hesitated, staring at the parcels as if they expected them to start snarling or leaking blood. When nothing of the sort happened, they each took their packages and murmured awkward thank-yous.

Hazel traced her thumb along her fresh bandage, her muscles taut as she fought to relax, edging closer to the twins. Not only was Snow casually walking through her living room like it was nothing, but now he was giving her siblings birthday gifts?

Snow turned his attention to Linden first, "I understand you have quite the talent for art."

Linden's face was stretched into a look of apprehension as he set aside the wrapping next to him in a neat pile. A lacquered indigo case with a golden latch rested in his lap. As he lifted the lid, unease faded into surprise. The scent of linseed oil wafted to greet her as she hovered at Linden's shoulder. Inside rested numerous tubes of paint with shiny silver caps. The pigments were rich grey, emerald, navy, ochre, eggplant, and crimson.

"I thought you'd appreciate the darker colors," Snow smiled wider, his tone smooth, almost brotherly. "These are the finest oils the Capitol has to offer."

Linden's mouth fell open. "Incredible," he whispered, his hand hovering over them, almost as if they were too precious to touch. Hazel's stomach tightened further at the admiration warring with disbelief in Linden's eyes as he stared at the paints.

Beside him, Lily had haphazardly torn open the wrapping with small squeaks. Within her case were several square golden paper packets with various images of flowers printed in colorful ink on the front. Each one was hand-labeled with swirling calligraphy.

"I've heard you enjoy botany more than art." Snow's charm somehow amplified ten-fold, "I have to admit, I am an enthusiast of the topic myself." He pointed a long, gloved finger at the pouches, "All of these are the seeds of unique flowers. Some are even quite rare." The girl's eyes widened as she read the names, all were exotic and completely unfamiliar in District Seven. Lily cradled one pouch that held an image of powder blue bell-like blooms.

"Lily of the valley." Snow mused aloud, "They are rare wildflowers. Though I've always found them to be some of the most beautiful." Snow explained, meeting Hazel's pointed stare for a moment before continuing. "Though more challenging to cultivate than others, I find it completely worth the effort." He let a heavy beat fill the air before continuing, " And these—" he pointed to a smaller packet with a more personal label, "—are from a rose I ... developed myself."

Hazel peered over Lily's shoulder and noted the image of deep blue, familiar-looking roses. Snow caught her eye for a moment with a ghost of a smirk before he turned back to Lily. "With enough time, patience, and guidance, even the wildest of flowers can achieve their full potential. And come spring, you'll have the finest garden in District Seven. When the weather is better, of course."

Lily blinked rapidly, staring at the packets as if they were made of actual gold. "I can't wait until spring."

A posh chuckle fell from his lips. "That is why I have a greenhouse," Snow whispered with a wink. "Maybe someday I will be able to give you and your family a tour."

Lily brightened at the proposal, and Hazel shifted closer to her sister. Over my dead body. "Thank you for your generosity, Senator."

"Quite thoughtful there, Corio." Festus smiled, eyeing the steam rising from the oven.

Indira nervously tapped her long nails against her dress, "Yes, very considerate."

Fern called to the twins, "Okay, you two, thank the Senator. Take your gifts to your rooms, and then get back down here for dinner."

The twins bubbled with genuine gratitude, which Snow accepted with ease. The house practically shook as the two shot toward the stairs with their new treasures. With soft smiles at the twins' excitement, Indira and Festus followed Fern's command and moved toward the dining room.

Hazel stepped in front of Snow, blocking his path to the table. He didn't even flinch as he looked down at her with expectation. She leaned in, her voice a whisper meant only for him. "Did you just bribe my eleven-year-old siblings?"

"Of course not." Snow replied as he watched the twins disappear up the stairs, then bent forward just enough to meet her eyes. "They're twelve."

Hazel let out a puff of air as his face lit up in response.

"Everyone, find a seat before the food gets cold," Fern called, her tone leaving little room for argument.

Hazel fought to keep her thumb from pressing into her palm as Snow's smile widened and he gestured for her to walk ahead. "After you."

The long dining table was set with their best ceramic dishes and silverware— the smell of which filled the room with warmth, though it did nothing to settle the cold knot in Hazel's stomach.

Oren's spine was painfully straight as he sat at the head of the table. Rowan slouched to his left while Sage waited eagerly to his right. Hazel sank next to Rowan. "Play nice," she breathed into his ear.

"Who said anything about playing?" His caramel irises were fixed onto their guest of honor, who at the moment was gliding into the seat next to Sage.

Hazel slid her feet as far back as possible. "Ro, please..."

Indira and Festus sat across from each other beside them. If Senator Snow standing in the living room seemed odd, having him so easily settle at their dinner table was downright sacrilegious.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hazel noticed Leo hovering near the edge of the room, with Sable standing close by. Despite glancing in his direction, Leo kept his eyes forward, his face molded into a soldier's mask. Both men stood straight, arms at their sides, their postures severe, like true keepers of the peace. Though, to Hazel, there was none to be found.

Fern seemed to notice them as well and gestured to a couple of open chairs while slipping on a pair of oven mitts. "You're both welcome to join us for dinner."

Sable looked intrigued, but Leo cleared his throat and nudged him. "No, thank you, Mrs. Starling. We're on duty, and we've already eaten."

Hazel shot another look at him; it was a lie. Leo wasn't technically on duty, though he had hovered around all day, the line etched between his brows never quite fading. He continued to avoid Hazel's eyes while Sable sent a longing glance at the roasted chicken.

Oren cleared his throat refocusing on the Senator. "We are more than honored to have you dine with us tonight, Senator."

Snow nodded, charm once again seeping from his pores like the perfume he wore. If they weren't careful, they would all be intoxicated by it. "Mr. Starling, I assure you the honor is mine. And Mrs. Starling, you didn't need to do so much on my behalf."

"It was nothing," Fern replied, pulling a dish of baked chicken from the oven and setting it on the table before them.

Oren rose to help her, arranging buttered potatoes, carrots, and asparagus in an impressive display. "I can assure you, it's much better when it is hot. Which you'll only get to find out—if those two would hurry."

"I'm sure they're just enjoying their new gifts," Indira replied, casting a glance toward the stairs.

"That was very kind of you, Senator." Fern smiled softly, though her shoulders were raised in clear strain.

"It was nothing, I assure you." Snow's smile widened as Fern seemed to relax at his easygoing tone.

"How has your visit been so far?" Oren's fingers ran over his cuticles as he settled into his seat once again.

Snow sat back in his chair, eyes flickering to Hazel, "It's been quite enlightening. You run a tight ship, Mr. Starling. I was impressed with the efficiency of the lumber mill. From what I understand, you have really outdone yourself over the last several months."

"Not like he has a choice," Rowan muttered, echoing Hazel's words from earlier in the day. It was absolutely not the time or the place. Snow's eyes snapped to her brother while Hazel bruised his shin under the table.

"What was that?" Snow tilted his head a fraction.

"I apologize, Senator." Oren fixed Rowan with a firm look of disapproval, "My son is young and has been cooped up at home probably too long."

Hazel shifted, eyes falling to her empty plate. Rowan had spent more time away than actually at home. But Oren's easy lie made her muscles twitch involuntarily.

"Hmmm. It is understandable, I suppose. But you know what they say about idle hands," Snow smirked at Rowan, his blue eyes sharp on the boy.

The house creaked and vibrated with the sound of the twins barreling down the stairs.

"Thank God," Hazel breathed as their enthusiastic presence eased the tension that had begun to permeate the dining room.

The two threw themselves into their seats which Sage took this as the signal to begin the feast. Just as he was about to start piling food onto his plate, Fern scolded him, "Sage, it's rude to serve yourself before guests. Especially as important as ours tonight." Fern emphasized her point by extending a set of long silver tongs to Snow.

"Thank you, Mrs. Starling. But you all don't have to wait." He winked at Sage, "Growing boys need to eat, don't they?" Snow passed the tongs to the boy, "Dish up, I insist."

Sage smiled and didn't hesitate, excitedly piling the succulent chicken on his plate. "Do you know that grizzly bears can eat up to ninety pounds of food in a day?"

Snow seemed taken aback by the fact, "I did not."

Sage continued, "I bet they eat even more when they are growing."

The table bubbled in surprised laughter at the young boy's earnestness.

"Sounds like a feasible theory." Snow smiled widely.

Sage hummed agreement between mouthfuls of chicken.

"This all looks and smells amazing, Mrs. Starling," Indira commented.

"You could be a Capitol chef." Festus agreed, heaping a pile of buttered asparagus onto his plate.

Fern blushed, "You all are too kind."

"My wife has always had a talent for the culinary." Oren smiled with a hint of pride in his tone that rapidly faded like the sun sinking from view. "And now she has ample opportunity to practice due to the Capitol's generosity."

Not only did the sun fade outside their windows, but the light mood of the room did as well. A heavy quietness draped itself over the hodgepodge of people at the table outside of the delicate clinking of silverware.

Since her return, they had received a weekly delivery of all kinds of goods from the Capitol, mostly food items, but at times, there were utensils, fabric, and a few coins here or there. Fern had taken full advantage of this, not wanting to waste their new luxuries. Yet, the cost of these deliveries was never far from anyone's mind.

Festus, who seemed the most uncomfortable with the sudden quiet, turned his attention to Hazel, "So Seven, Do you cook as well as your mother?"

Hazel nearly laughed at the question, "That didn't get passed on to me, I'm afraid. Rowan is the more talented one in the kitchen."

Rowan handed her the plate of potatoes, "My sister could overcook water."

Hazel huffed in a mock annoyance, "Just that one time."

Rowan's serious façade broke for a moment with a soft laugh that seemed to infect the table.

Fern chuckled as she whispered to Indira, "Nearly burned the house down."

Indira raised her brows at Hazel while Festus smirked as if he could picture the scenario.

"Well, at least we would have been rid of that ugly couch," Hazel argued.

Snow addressed her, "Well, you certainly have other talents."

"And what talents do you have, Senator?" Rowan stared at the man, twirling his fork between his fingers as if he wished to stab it through the man's eye.

Hazel tapped her shoe against his once again.

"I'm not sure I can claim anything specific." Snow placed a mouthful of the tender, golden potatoes on his fork. Hazel didn't like the way Snow was staring at Rowan; it was as if the two were having a conversation on their own. And from what she could tell, it wasn't exactly sociable. Her assault on his leg wasn't getting her very far, and the need to pull Snow's blistering attention away from her brother overwhelmed her.

"No need to be modest, Senator." Hazel took a bite, tapping her foot rapidly under the table. Snow's chewing slowed, and he regarded her with surprise. "You are quite talented at Games."

"You mean making games?" Linden asked.

Hazel chewed on another buttery bite, "Yeah." Snow's gaze locked with hers, "That's what I meant." His lips quirked as he, too, took another bite.

"What is your favorite game, Senator?" Lily asked.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Fern interrupted, abandoning her seat to rush to the kitchen. "Your favorite dish."

Hazel suddenly regretted asking her mother to make it; she had been feeling particularly brave at the time. But that disintegrated as Fern hurriedly pulled on mitts and reached into the oven, removing a broiling bowl. She smiled down at the dish as she carried it to the table, setting it between Snow and Hazel.

Sable sighed from the corner of the room while Leo cast a quick glance. A smirk played on Snow's lips as he took in the sight before him. Covered in scattered herbs and pepper was a steaming heap of flaky brown shredded cabbage.

"Your favorite?" Snow questioned, an eyebrow twitching.

"Yep," Hazel swallowed. He nodded slowly, watching her as he dished himself a portion before handing her the serving spoon. Hazel pulled it from him as she noticed the table had gone still once again. She nearly dropped the utensil as he took an unbothered bite, all while maintaining eye contact.

Fern settled back into her seat, "Her favorite used to be prairie berry pie."

"Mom." Hazel choked, the cabbage nearly falling off the serving spoon as she dished some onto her own plate.

Fern raised her shoulders in innocence. "I just didn't realize your tastes would change so drastically as you grew up."

"I'll say, tastes certainly change," Festus replied, nudging Snow's arm.

"Some change," Snow regarded her, "But some never do."

Festus let out a wet, barking laugh, "You told my mom cabbage was like lettuce's angry, drunkard uncle that had seen too much sun."

Concern flashed over Fern's face as she studied the dish. Snow, unfazed, tilted his head. "Festus, I just told her that so she wouldn't make that sloppy, slimy mess she always managed to whip up."

Festus huffed, elbowing his friend with a warning of speaking ill of his mother's cooking.

Snow turned back to Hazel, watching her place a forkful of the vegetable on her tongue. "Well, this is certainly better, and the company doesn't hurt either." He took another slow bite while continuing the stare-down with Hazel.

"How did you find the time to come all the way out here, Senator?" Rowan asked suddenly, his tone not quite hostile but far from friendly. "I thought you'd be too busy in the Capitol, especially with your government duties."

Snow didn't miss a beat. "Family is important, young man. And Hazel's, after everything she's done for Panem and me, is worth my time."

Hazel's grip tightened around her fork. Rowan's jaw tensed. "Family. Right."

Beside him, Oren shifted in his chair, glancing at Rowan but saying nothing.

Fern cleared her throat, turning to Festus and Indira. "So, how exactly does the tour work?"

As Festus and Indira outlined the plan, Hazel listened without interruption. The Capitol's intent was clear: the Hunger Games were never to leave the districts' collective memory for long. Every winter, around six months before the next reaping, the Victory Tour would start. It would begin in District Twelve and progress backward through each district except the Victor's, finishing with a grand celebration in the Capitol. Only then would they return to the Victor's home District for a final banquet to close the tour.

"Fascinating," Fern commented in a soft tone, though it sounded hollow.

Snow responded, "I agree, the tour will be indeed fascinating. I believe it will be just as unpredictable as...the Games were."

Unpredictable. Hazel bit back a scoff.

"How so?" Rowan challenged, his tone basically seething.

"Ro," Hazel breathed.

"Because of your sister. I, for one, am excited to see how she performs. Considering her actions in the Games and how popular her victory has become in the Capitol and the districts, I think she will keep us all on the edge of our seats or maybe on our toes."

Hazel shifted her spine against her chair, her fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm against her fork as she speared another piece of potato. "Sounds like a challenge."

Snow paused his chewing, "I'm most certain you will rise to it. That does seem to be a talent of yours."

Hazel coughed as a chunk of potato rebelled against her esophagus. She decided at that moment that trying to eat and exchange words with Snow was a risky combination. One of the two had to go.

Festus chimed in. "Hazel is one of the more popular victors, even more so than Mags. And, of course, way more than those meat heads from District Two. The other Districts and the Capitol will be eager to see her. And her brilliant mentor, of course."

Hazel felt the cabbage sour in her stomach.

Snow added smoothly. "Panem does love a victor with... charm."

Hazel eyed him, "Guess you could say their tastes haven't changed."

Snow took another large bite of cabbage, chewing it without even a flinch. He had downed half the portion he had piled on his plate.

Festus laughed, patting Snow on the shoulder, "This is definitely a sight I never thought I would see. Corio eating cabbage, and today of all days."

The words hung in the air, and Hazel's head snapped to Snow.

Snow's eyes zeroed in on Festus, and his friend let his hand drop, his face turning as white as the world outside their door.

"Oh, that is right," Indira dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, "it would be remiss of me not to extend my best wishes, Senator."

Hazel looked between them, suddenly curious. "What do you mean?"

Snow glanced at the twins, "Lily, Linden, and I are apparently birthday neighbors."

It was his birthday? A strange silence followed his words. Hazel felt her heart skip a beat.

"If I would have known, I could've made a cake." Fern commented, looking between Festus and Snow.

"Mrs. Starling, you've done more than enough. And I would have preferred to keep it a secret." Snow cast an irritated glimpse at Festus.

Festus grimaced, mouthing the word 'sorry.'

Oren nodded, his voice careful. "Well, we're flattered to have you join us on such an occasion."

"Why aren't you with your own family?" Rowan asked.

Snow's eyes flashed again, though he shrugged with a superficial non-chalantness. "I don't have much family left. My cousin has been busy lately, and my Grandma'am recognizes me a little less every day. She hasn't remembered my birthday in years." Snow's charm faltered for a moment, and Hazel almost felt a pang of sympathy.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Fern commented.

"No need to worry." Snow's tone became almost wistful. "I assure you that tonight, I'm exactly where I want to be."

"Will you be staying long, Sir?" Oren inquired.

"Unfortunately, no, I head to the Capitol tonight. I've got to get back to work."

"Do you miss being a Gamemaker?" Lily asked with a sudden innocent genuineness.

Snow smirked at the girl, "Sometimes."

"Why did you quit?" Lily continued

"It was time for a new beginning." He glanced at Hazel, "A fresh start, if you will."

"What changed things?" Linden inquired next.

"You two, more eating," Fern commented. "The Senator didn't come here to be interrogated."

"Why did he then?" Rowan grumbled under his breath.

Snow shrugged off Fern's concern, ignoring Rowan completely, "It's quite all right." He smiled between bites. "It's not so much what changed things but who."

Hazel swallowed her throat tight as her face grew warm in an instant, and Lily let out a soft sound while the rest moved their collective attention to anywhere but her.

"Augustus Trask is certainly an influential individual." Hazel wanted to hide under the table, but she wasn't about to let his words lie.

Snow chuckled, tapping his fork against his lips before spearing the last bite of cabbage.

He paused before he placed the bite in his mouth, meeting her gaze once again. "That he is. And I like to surround myself with such people. And to answer your question Rowan..." He scraped the vegetable from the utensil with his teeth. "That is why I am here with all of you tonight

Festus nodded with a small smirk. Indira pushed a potato across her plate as the room fell into a strained silence.

The rest of the meal passed in light conversation. As light of a conversation as was possible given the circumstances. Sage filled the gaps with animal trivia prompting amused laughs and even a surprised hum of interest from Sable. Snow, for his part, directed his questions expertly, asking about life in District Seven, the family's favorite pastimes, and even Oren's work at the lumber mill. He appeared wholly content as he absorbed the information like a sponge in an ocean, happily soaking it all in.

An evil sponge. Hazel spun her fork between her fingers while her foot tapped out an increasingly erratic rhythm beneath the table.

Snow's eyes brushed over her often as though he were observing more than just her eating habits. She kept her eyes on her plate, trying her best to remember how to eat properly. It was like her muscle memory had evaporated in the last several minutes.

Once they had all finished, Hazel volunteered without hesitation to wash the dishes. However, her little escape was thwarted when Snow rose, insisting on helping. He diplomatically settled his charm on Fern, demanding she relax after cooking such an outstanding meal. Fern relented, joining the rest of the family as well as Festus and Indira around the fireplace.

Hazel stationed herself in front of the sink. She turned the handle until the water was near boiling. Once the sink was filled with water and soap, she dipped her good hand into the nearly searing water. The heat turned her skin a bright red, but at least it shifted her focus. She did her best to keep her left hand dry, though her bandage soaked up the fluid around its edges like the cracked rain-starved earth.

The two peacekeepers barely moved from their spots. However, Linden snuck Sable a leftover chicken leg while clearing the table. The older man smiled warmly at the boy, tucking it away before anyone could notice. Leo, on the other hand, was almost like a human statue as only his eyes and the faint movement of his breathing even indicated he was awake.

As the last of the plates were dumped into the sink, Snow slid beside her, a fluffy towel in tow, having abandoned his gloves. His elbow brushed against hers. "I think they like me."

Hazel scrubbed the glass in her hand harder. "You want them to?"

"Of course I do." Snow reached between her hands and pulled away the steaming glass before she cleaned it into oblivion.

Hazel met Rowan's stern eyes as she grabbed a plate next. He hadn't moved from his seat at the dining room table and was watching them, arms crossed. "You'll have to campaign harder than that, Senator."

Snow paused, peering down at her with a strange intensity. "I guess I will." He let out an incredulous sound as he began to dry the glass with a towel. "Though, I have a feeling that he'll come around."

As he reached for the next plate, he paused for a moment, seemingly realizing something. Then his arm surged forward again and ensnared her left wrist with a subtle splash. He dragged it toward him, turning it over; the once clean bandage was now dark, peeling at the edges, and a spot in the center was growing a deep red.

"I see the doctor's orders really stuck." He ran his thumb along her damp, hot, pink-tinged pulse point as she met his eyes.

"Just because someone is a doctor doesn't mean they know everything."

"I agree."

Hazel shrugged, stretching the fingers of her ensnared hand, "A little water or pain isn't going to kill me. I've been through worse."

Snow considered her for a moment before he submerged their connected hands into the simmering water, his eyes fixed on her reaction. "As have I."

She drew a quiet breath as the heat met her wound, though the sting was nothing compared to the feel of his fingers weaving with hers under the surface. His palm settled against hers beneath the frothy suds. However, he didn't flinch or react to the nearly scalding water; instead, he held her gaze with a look that made the water seem ocean-cold in comparison. "Pain is inevitable. It's how we handle it that defines us. Master it, and you can turn suffering into power."

Hazel could practically feel Leo's scrutiny as Snow's palm pressed into hers. Rowan coughed from his seat at the table, and Hazel felt her face grow warmer than the water soaking her hand. She needed to get him out of here—away from her family. He was becoming far too comfortable. She rid her hand of Snow and suds, pulling away from the depths of the sink. "Senator," Hazel addressed him loud enough for the entire room to hear as she dried her hands, "I need to return your coat before you leave. It's up in my room."

She practically tossed the hand towel at him. "Of course, Miss Marlowe," His voice was calm and steady. He even dried his hands and replaced his gloves in a charismatic way that annoyed her to no end. "Lead the way."

She cast one last glance at her loved ones and guided him up the stairs. Leo and Sable watched warily from their stationed areas but didn't protest or move to follow. She didn't dare meet Rowan's eyes as she took the steps, two at a time.

As she ascended the stairs, Snow's breath entangled itself in her hair as he whispered, "To answer your sister's question, my favorite game is hide and seek."

Chapter Text

Partially digested cabbage battled buttered potatoes and chicken. Dinner threatened to reemerge as Hazel watched one of the most dangerous men in all of Panem glide through her lamp-lit bedroom like he was perusing his favorite department store.

He practically floated through, absorbing the sight of the disheveled bedsheets, the lock on her patio door, the pile of fresh bandaging supplies, the bottle of sedatives, and finally, the dead flowers on her table. If her room was a department store, it was the most haphazard and depressing one. But one would never surmise, observing Snow, as he appeared to relish being invited into such a personal area.

The two vases remained; one still filled with the Tigerlily roses, and the other, the faded fushia blooms from her return home. Their aromas had faded weeks ago, though, with Snow in her room, there wasn't a shortage of the scent of flowers.

Hazel ducked her head into the hallway one more time, ensuring none of her nosy siblings were lurking around the corner. Shutting the door, she closed it much louder than intended, and the sound bounced off the walls like an alarm.

If Snow noticed, he didn't show it. He was still hovering beside her desk, a languid gloved finger curled over the crisp petals of one of the wildflowers. They had long since dried out, and she kicked herself for not discarding them before he arrived.

"What are you doing?" She bit out.

"You invited me."

Hazel huffed in his general direction.

"You are going to have to be more specific." Snow pulled his touch from the petal, turning back to her.

"What was all of that?"

Snow's shoulders raised in an almost invisible shrug, "Your family and I are just getting to know each other." The edge of his lips twitched, and she wished to know even a fraction of what he was thinking.

"So you came all the way down here to socialize?" Hazel crossed her arms around herself, "Seems like a waste of tax dollars."

"You can learn a lot about a person by familiarizing yourself with those they spend the most time with." His tone was matter-of-fact, like what he was saying was obvious.

"And who would I need to familiarize myself with to learn about you, Senator?" Outside of Festus, she hadn't seen him have any real friends, or at least she hadn't heard of any.

"You want to learn about me?"

Hazel's fingers tapped against her arm, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation. "Only so I could figure out what's actually going on here and find a way out of this nightmare."

"Now that would be a waste of time." Snow glanced out the windows; a flash of what might have been distaste slid over his features before he covered it with his practiced smoothness, "I have to admit that I'm a bit of an anomaly. I prefer my own company and that of my experiments and garden, of course."

"So you came to Seven to socialize with your lab rats?"

Snow shrugged, "Not everything I do has a secret or elaborate ulterior motive, Miss Marlowe."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

His eyes flashed, "What do you think you saw down there?"

"You, playing more games."

Snow smirked, "Just me?" Hazel narrowed her eyes as he continued, "Be honest with yourself because that is exactly what I was with your family. Though I have a feeling not all of them extended me the same courtesy."

"I told Sage to stop lying about grizzly bear trivia."

The light from her bedside lamp caught in his irises as he flashed her an amused look, "We both know Oren's history. And habits die hard."

Hazel's blood turned to icy sludge, "He's not...I swear. He's following the rules and mandates."

"Hmm," Snow murmured, his eyes pinning her in place, "And Rowan?"

Hazel bit her lip, "He's grieving."

"So you see," Snow continued, "While I do enjoy seeing you, this was more than a social call."

"Sounds elaborate and mysterious to me."

"Would you prefer it had been someone else? Gaul, maybe?"

Hazel shivered and pushed ahead, "You think she would have brought birthday gifts? Or flirted with me in front of my entire family?"

"Was I flirting?" Snow smirked, and Hazel's mouth solidified into a hard, concrete line. He licked his lips, "I've got to keep up appearances, you know."

"Appearances..." The concept ruled the man's life and by default, now hers as well. An exasperated sound escaped her, "How long are we going to continue this charade?"

Snow eyed the flowers again, "We've talked about this already."

Hazel tightened her arms around herself, shrugging her shoulders. "You've just made some vague comments about power and control, but you haven't explained anything. Not really."

"You are going to have to trust me," Snow searched her features, his lips pursed before he answered, "Because, for now, I'm not sure I have an answer that will satisfy you."

"Funny, you seem to have one for everything else."

"All I can tell you is," Snow let out a long breath, "As long as it takes."

Hazel ran a hand over her face though the battle continued in her gut, "As long as what takes?"

Snow paused, appearing to search for the right words in the wallpaper, "I promise the answer will become clear soon. You won't have to wait much longer. Though a part of me thought you might have figured it out by now."

"I've been distracted, and I don't like games as much as you do."

"I thought we weren't going to lie to each other," he teased.

Hazel shook her head, "Don't you have better things to do?"

"Who's changing the rules of the game now? You are getting quite a few answers for free."

"I would argue that you are right; they are unsatisfactory."

"Besting me at my own Game?" He teased.

"You sure you aren't just setting me up to win?" Hazel caught a sparkle shoot through his irises as he ran a thumb over his bottom lip.

"It appears we are trading truths again," he said, a hint of a smile tugged at his mouth as he continued to tap his thumb against it, "even though you owe me several, I'll settle for one."

"How do you figure?"

"Right now, I've answered your questions, even if you feel they are only partial answers. And then down there... You learned more about me than I did, you."

"Now you know I can't cook. That is something."

"Alright, how about you let me ask next because it is my birthday?"

"Was that true? About your birthday and...your family?"

Snow nodded, his eyes dropped to study her damp bandage. "I told you I wouldn't lie to you."

A pang of pity tickled at her heart, which she did her best to dampen. Hazel couldn't imagine life without her big, messy family. It was heartbreaking enough without Silus, but having no one. "I'm...sorry."

"Family can be complicated." Snow turned his attention to the icy night outside her patio windows. The light of the moon bathed his features in a cool-toned glow, though a hint of a warmer light reflected off the deep obsidian buttons on his jacket.

Hazel bit her lip; from her bedroom, she could almost make out the porch lights of Heath's home. What was more dangerous than a villain you felt pity for?

She steeled herself against her softer emotions, "What truth do you want now, Senator?"

Snow smirked, whirling his attention back to her, voice deepening, "In your interview with Lucky, you said your favorite color was blue."

Hazel shifted on her feet, uncrossing her arms so she could tug at the dampened bandage. "I did."

"Was that true?"

"That's what you really want to know?"

"I asked it, didn't I?"

Hazel's stare dropped to the blue rug beneath her feet and then to the matching recliner beside her bed. He already knew the answer. "It's true."

"Hmmm," He hummed. "That is something else we have in common. Though I am very fond of white."

"Never noticed." Hazel deadpanned.

His smile grew wider, and his blue eyes sparkled.

She almost couldn't stand the way he seemed so self-assured. She scanned the less-than-subtle cerulean details around her again. He filled her room with such items, probably less because he thought it was her favorite color and more because it was his. Maybe all of it would go into the bonfire she had been thinking of, along with her crutches and that ridiculous gold and pearl white outfit. Letting out a long breath, she added, "I've recently considered changing my favorite color."

"What would you choose instead?"

What was the opposite of blue? Hazel stared up at the ceiling, "Maybe orange..."

Snow tilted his head as he met her gaze once again, "I've considered a new favorite color myself as of late."

"Black? Or blood red, maybe?"

Snow smirked, his gaze oscillating between both of her irises, "I have grown fond of green."

Hazel felt a blush lick along her neck. Her nails dug into the sleeves of the fine material of her top, "It's my turn, Senator."

Snow nodded as he leaned back against her table, resting his palms along the edge, considering her. "Ask away."

Hazel shifted on her feet, though she remained rooted in the center of the room. "My siblings... what are their odds in the reaping?"

Snow shrugged, "The same as anyone else."

"You are certain?" Hazel fixed him with a hard look.

"I told you, no lying, remember? Their current chances are equal to any other children in this District."

"Current?"

Snow bent forward, "Let me put it this way: as far as I am concerned, they have no increased risk. As long as you don't get on the wrong side of things during the tour or the next several months, they have the same odds as anyone else."

Hazel tapped her fingers against her bottom lip. She didn't believe in odds anymore, and leaving it up to something that didn't exist wasn't good enough. She shivered at the memory of Linden lying in the grass, blood pooling over his chest, and Lily tongueless. "What if there was a way you could change the odds altogether?"

Snow tilted his head, "I am listening."

"Victor's village was your idea?"

He glanced out the window once again, pride colored his face, "It was."

Hazel gestured around her, "Quite the incentive. Anyone would dream of living in a house like this."

His lip curled at the edge, "I'm glad it is to your liking."

"What if you could further incentivize the Districts?"

Snow raised his brows as his fingers thrummed against the edge of her desk, "Are you really giving me suggestions on the Hunger Games?"

Hazel ignored the teasing in his tone as well as the pit in her stomach at the question, "What if Victor's immediate family were exempt from the Reaping?"

A serious flash coursed through his eyes as he contemplated her.

"If they knew they could spare the rest of their siblings or maybe even their future children from being chosen, it might motivate more willing participation." Hazel pushed on, though her own words made her tongue sour, "You might get more people in the Districts willing to volunteer. I know I would..."

"Interesting concept," Snow said as Hazel's pulse thrummed in her throat. "But like you keep reminding me, I am not a Gamemaker anymore."

"You are better." The words fell out of her mouth before she could think better of them.

Snow let out a soft sound, "Trying your hand at flattery, Miss Marlowe?"

Hazel squirmed, "You are a Senator. You could lobby for a new law."

Snow crossed his arms, and his thumb went to work once again, tapping out a soft rhythm against his lips, "It is a thought-provoking idea. A self-serving one, though, if I might add." His attention flickered over her, "Not that I wouldn't try the same thing if I were in your shoes."

"So what is the problem?"

Snow let out a long sigh, turning his attention back to the pitch-black night, "I might have a difficult time convincing the other Senators."

"What about the President?"

Snow's eyes sharpened, and for a moment, she thought maybe she had said something wrong until a soft laugh left his lips. "Maybe, but I can't be sure."

"Could you bring it up to him?" Hazel's heart rate sped up at the sheer hope that surged through her that he was even considering it.

"Possibly." He drew out the word almost like a question, and she realized there was something he wasn't saying.

"For a price."

Snow shrugged. "Naturally."

Hazel shook her head in disbelief, although it was more than believable. "What do you want in return?"

"A favor."

"I thought favors only came into play if one of us refused to answer a question."

"Think of it as a birthday present."

Anything he asked of her would be worth whatever cost if it shielded her siblings from future Reapings. "Ok." Hazel's pulse quickened at the look on his face at her agreement.

"Excellent." Snow let out a soft laugh as he continued, "I believe it is my turn?"

"Go ahead."

He glanced down at the bandaging supplies and the orange bottle. "How was your visit with the doctors?"

"Why ruin the suspense? I'm sure you'll get the reports."

Snow chuckled, "Humor me."

Hazel muttered, "Clean bill."

"Doubtful." Snow hummed as he glanced at her ruined bandage before their eyes met once again, "Let me see."

Hazel froze, coughing out, "What?"

He tilted his chin at her hand, "You may not respect Dr. Savi's advice, but I will not let your hand become infected on my watch." He turned around, gathering the supplies.

Hazel didn't move; she merely watched him arrange the items on her desk. "Come here, Miss Marlowe," he replied in a deep yet soft command.

Hazle fought with the pulse, whispering in her ears, "Since when did you become medically trained?"

"You forget that I was a peacekeeper at one time." Snow ripped open the package of gauze squares and removed his gloves.

Hazel wanted to protest or petulantly tell him she would rather jump out the window, but her better judgment rang in her head like a warning bell. Her legs felt like they were covered in rain-drenched mud as she followed his direction.

Once she closed the distance, he held out his hand, waiting. With a long sigh she placed her injured one in his, palm up. His face flickered with satisfaction as his fingers skirted the edges of hers. His touch was cool yet teasing, much like his personality.

"So, um, what did you mean?" She stammered.

He picked at the tape holding the bandage in place, "You'll need to clarify, Miss Marlowe."

Hazel fought to steady herself, "What you said..." Her face warmed, "when we were washing dishes."

Snow paused his movements, "Not clear enough for you?"

"Since when are you clear?"

The sinkwater-drenched tape gave way beneath his hands. "Suffering and pain can both be wise teachers as well as powerful allies if you allow them."

Slowly, he removed the old wrapping. Her skin warmed, yet it also felt refreshed. She almost sighed in relief as the sludgy bandage was removed. "Speaking from experience?"

"Yes."

"What lesson have you learned then?"

His thumb skirted along the scarred skin of her now bare hand, "The only trees that survive the storms are the ones that have learned to bend. Such flexibility often comes with experience and not without a few cracks in the branches or twigs being snapped."

A splintering trunk, shattering branches, and the sound of her own feet against the arena's floor rang in her ears. His words brought the memory of the falling redwood crashing through her mind like it was the arena itself. Hazel sucked in a deep breath of rose-scented air, "Too bad those trees in the arena didn't have such an advantage."

"Still defending yourself with jokes, Miss Marlowe?"

"No jokes, Senator. How do you know I won't be a failed experiment, like one of your engineered redwoods?"

His jaw twitched, "The difference is, that is entirely up to you."

Hazel let his words sink in. Was she bending with the storm or merely waiting to shatter?

He let out a deep sigh, "When you learn that for yourself, you will realize the power that follows."

"So that is what you have done?" Hazel whispered, glancing at the windows, "Turned your suffering into your ally?"

"I did eat all of that cabbage, didn't I?"

Hazel let out a laugh, "Guess I'm not the only one who has a talent for rising to a challenge."

"I'll gladly await your next one," Snow's voice was tinged with intrigue.

"I'm not sure I can say the same."

"Time will tell."

"Careful, Senator. It makes me think you've been spending time with more than just your experiments when you quote Dr. Gaul. Besides, I think your theory is flawed."

"Oh? How so?"

"If suffering gave you power," She huffed. "I would be the bloody President by now."

Snow's stare was riveted to her face as he paused for a moment before he said, "I think you don't realize the influence you have."

"So much that I can't even leave my room unescorted."

"Your supervision is not to confine you, just to protect." Snow murmured, "And you seem to have warmed up to your security."

Hazel nodded, "I'm sure Sable is just about to ask for a change of assignment."

Snow resumed his inspection of her hand, though his gaze fell on the padlock as he continued, "I've heard you gave him the slip."

"Just the once. Not that I haven't been tempted to run away again."

Snow faltered, "I was tempted once."

Hazel stared up at him, "To run away?"

Snow piled the ruined bandages on the desk. "Yes."

She couldn't picture such a sacrilegious idea. The Prince of Panem, abandoning his kingdom? "What stopped you?"

His features darkened, and his focus was unwavering on her hand, "I realized where I belong, where I was meant to be. Who I was meant to be. Who I was all along."

"And who are you?"

"A winner, Miss Marlowe." His voice rose with conviction, "I discovered my purpose. My power. And maybe, someday, you will find and accept your own."

A heavy silence fell between them, and Hazel was grateful for the low light of the room, hiding her flushed face. What purpose did any of them have in the Districts? Besides keeping her family safe, what else was there? And she was no winner, no champion, no victor. Not a real one.

"So, no more seeing mysterious ghosts in the woods, then?" Snow finally asked, dragging her away from her spiraling thoughts.

Hazel's body grew even more rigid. "No." It wasn't technically a lie.

"I had the peacekeepers search a ten-mile radius from the cemetery, you know."

Surprise surged through her. "You did? Did you find anything?"

"Didn't seem right to dismiss it as hallucinations without doing due diligence." Snow grabbed a clean square of gauze and sprayed a few pumps of wound cleanser in the center. "And no, we didn't find anything."

Hazel looked away, biting down on her cheek as he began to clean the nearly healed sections of her palm. "I appreciate that you at least looked. Sable just assumed I'd lost it." The coolness of the cleanser grounded her, though he seemed to be watching her face more than what he was doing.

Snow's eyebrows shot up. "Did you just compliment me?"

Hazel let out a cotton-soft hiss as the cleanser met the wound's raw center. "My turn again?" She fought against the stinging as Snow conceded with a subtle nod for her to continue, "The cassette."

Snow's expression shifted, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He dropped the now-bloody squares of gauze onto the table. "Ahh, yes. Bothering you, is it?"

Hazel said nothing, but she was sure her face told him everything he needed to know.

"That's an answer better shown than told," he replied, laying a fresh, absorbent, nonstick pad over the center of her wound.

"Then show me."

Snow snorted as he wrapped the gauze roll around her palm, taping it down with ease. "In time, Miss Marlowe."

"So, does this mean you owe me a favor now?"

"I'm not refusing to answer." He gathered the materials he'd removed, his gaze drifting to the garbage can tucked beneath her desk. Suddenly, he bent down, reaching for something. When he straightened, the deep blue rose, which had barely wilted, was cradled in his hands. It was the exact one he had told Lily earlier that he had cultivated himself. "It's just something I'll show you," Snow continued, his voice unnerving yet light as he twirled the damaged flower. "Dinner and a movie, perhaps?"

Hazel forced herself to stay composed despite the unease crawling under her skin. "Fine."

Snow's grin sharpened. "Then, it's a date."

Hazel's stomach churned as he rested the gradient blue rose in the vase beside the deep pink wildflowers. With a contented sigh, he tossed the leftover bandage materials into the garbage.

"When?" Hazel asked.

"Maybe after the Victory Tour. Or maybe during..."

Hazel frowned. "The Tour? Why would you be there?"

Snow's smile widened as he leaned in, "It's not your turn quite yet."

Hazel met his stare directly.

"You know, this has been one of my better birthdays." Snow's blue eyes seemed a few shades darker as he replaced his gloves and walked toward her. "Now, about that favor you owe me." His dress shoes were silent as he closed in on her.

Hazel fought not to stammer as he paused just an arm's length away, "What would that be?"

Snow reached toward her, and she resisted the temptation to flinch. He captured a lock of crimson easily, pulling it closer, gently. His voice deepened as he ran the strand of her hair through his gloved fingers. "From now on. I want you to call me Coriolanus."

Hazel's pulse drummed against the hollow of her neck as her voice weakened. Coriolanus? It felt wrong, too personal, and much too familiar.

"That's what you want?"

He twirled the strand like it was a rose's stem. "It is."

The request was like stepping too close to the shore of an inky pond, where dark, undulating shadows swirled just out of sight. She was teetering on the edge of something dangerous. Repressing a shiver, she brushed it off. It's only a name. "Um... all right."

His face brightened, almost as if he'd won a secret victory. "What do you want for your birthday?"

"It's not until spring." Hazel swallowed.

"Not my question. I know when it is."

Of course, he did. What did she want? There were so many answers to that question. But one word rang through her mind like a trumpet. "Freedom," she breathed.

Snow paused, staring into her eyes as though he was studying her very soul. "Hmmm." He leaned in, hovering too close, scanning every feature of her face. Then, with a faint smile, he murmured, "I'll see what I can do."

Hazel pulled back, struggling to steady her breathing. His grasp on her hair loosened, and he let it fall away. She tucked it behind her ear as she put distance between them. Awkwardly, she moved to her closet, opened the doors, and pulled out his maroon coat.

"Wouldn't want to break up your collection." She held the garment out to him, fighting to keep her hands from shaking. He took the coat from her as she remarked, "Looks like you are right; some tastes never change."

He chuckled, running his hand over the material. "That, and my cousin makes these for me."

Hazel reconsidered the jacket; it was well-tailored—professional, even. "She's very talented."

"She is." His face lit up with a genuine smile. "Tigris designs for some of the most wealthy in Panem. Even President Ravinstill and his family. She even made the outfit you wore for the Victor's parade."

There was absolutely no burning it now. "She has excellent taste. Give her my thanks."

"I will," His smile dimmed as his eyes grew nostalgic, "I'm just glad she makes anything for her dear old cousin anymore, though, as you can tell, her favorite color is maroon. She says the color suits me."

"It does," Hazel said without thinking.

Snow's eyes flashed, his eyebrows lifting. Hazel coughed, practically throwing herself toward the door. "Uh... it's getting late." She snatched the thick, fur-lined navy coat Indira had gifted her as she escaped into the hallway, "Let's make sure you don't miss that train."

As she draped the coat around her, she barely heard him whisper, "They won't leave without me." She didn't turn back. She was already halfway to the staircase.

The entire household paused their chatting, heads swiveling toward the stairs. Hazel held herself back from skipping every other step. Behind her, Snow's politician smile graced his face as he glided down to the first floor like royalty. Once at the bottom, he offered a slight bow.

"It was wonderful to meet you all. Thank you again for your generous hospitality."

Her family wished him goodbye with varying levels of enthusiasm as Hazel threw open the front doors and stepped out into the biting cold. The sooner she got him out of the house, the sooner this current nightmare would end. Snow followed behind slower than she would have liked. Once he slid over the threshold, she closed the doors without another word to the curious crowd inside.

He strode out into the blur of flakes, tightening his coat around himself and tucking his other coat under his arm. As he turned back toward Hazel's frozen form on the porch, she paused. He appeared like an unnatural being. Surrounded by the puffs of ice glitter that were nearly the same color as his hair, he looked like some fallen frost-covered angel.

"Good luck, Miss Marlowe. Try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

"Don't think the odds favor either of us in that regard."

Snow chuckled as he watched her for a moment, her hair whipping along her shoulders as shining particles danced on the back of the wind, twirling around and between them.

"You shouldn't change it, you know."

"What?"

"Your favorite color." He stepped back, still watching her. "It suits you."

"Good evening, Coriolanus," Hazel murmured; his name was like honeyed poison on her tongue. His face shifted at the sound of his name, and the color of his eyes deepened, like the ocean the farther you sank into it.

"See you very soon, Miss Marlowe." With a slight bow and a subtle wink, he strode through the piled snow to a waiting car.

Her heart was racing, and her good palm was damp with perspiration despite the ice in the air. What was all of that? Did she even want to know?

Hazel shook. No. Her fragile mind was already on the edge of crumbling. Maybe she would be one of those trees that didn't master the art of bending with storms after all.

Whispering mingled with the growing wind, pulling her attention back to her more than likely eavesdropping family. As Hazel reentered the house, Sage and Lily scrambled back from the front windows.

Hazel huffed, rolling her eyes as she pulled off her coat. The air inside felt thick and far too silent, with every eye riveted on her. She shook loose the ice crystals trapped in her hair and turned to the little audience.

"What did he say?" Lily asked, peeking over the back of the couch.

Hazel glanced at the axe rack as she hung up her coat. "Uh, he likes the color of my coat."

Lily's face crumpled. "That's not very romantic."

"Thank God for that," Rowan grumbled.

"Lily," Fern scolded.

Hazel spun to face her little sister, who was clearly caught up in the whirlwind of Snow's charm.

Sable leaned against the wall. "He's playing the long game." Festus nodded in agreement, while Leo kept his gaze glued to some middle distant point.

Hazel wanted to melt into a puddle from sheer embarrassment as she fled toward the stairs.

"Oh dear, come join us by the fire," Fern called.

"Thanks mom, but I'm tired..." Hazel murmured as she reached the staircase. "It's been a long day."

"But—" Fern started to protest, yet stopped as Oren leaned toward his wife, resting a hand over hers.

"Let her rest," he said, his gaze softening as he met Hazel's eyes. "She's right. It has been a long day."

Hazel sent him a grateful wince.

"I agree," Indira said, gathering her things and gesturing to Festus. "We will collect you for Tour preparations tomorrow."

"Can't wait. Goodnight," Hazel practically slurred as she bounded toward the second floor.

Her family and her Capitol friends wished her goodnight in unison, with the exception of Rowan, who merely studied her with veiled concern as she left them in the wake of the evening's drama.

Hazel didn't leave the comfort of her bedroom for the rest of the night. Her emotions were ragged, her mind weary. She could hear Festus and Indira saying their goodbyes before leaving. Then, one by one, her family retreated to their own rooms. Leo took his spot in the solid chair just outside her door.

Several hours later, once the house had quieted and the wind howled, protesting against the windows, Hazel still lay wide awake. She memorized the texture of the ceiling as her thoughts swirled relentlessly, like the particles of ice caught in the gusts. The night's events replayed like an embarrassing movie, torturing her as she rethought every word and action. She waded through the agony of it, searching for the answer to a question she knew she should have figured out by now.

Why?

Chapter Text

Chair legs protested loudly against the wood floor, drawing Hazel's attention to her doorframe. Leo's silhouette shifted backward with a less-than-graceful movement. His head lolled forward and then backward like a helpless buoy trying to stay afloat. Or, in this case, trying to stay awake.

Hazel called out to him, "Leo?"

Her voice seemed to break him out of his dance with consciousness. Despite the darkness, she could tell he straightened, "You all right, Marlowe?"

"You should be more worried about yourself. How are you going to make it through the night?" He had spent most of the day with her with little rest, even after Sable had returned from his shower.

The chair squeaked against the floor once again as he pushed his spine hard against it. "I've gone longer without sleep before."

Hazel shook her head, "Come in here. At least sit in a better chair." Gesturing to the plush cerulean recliner next to her bed. It was overwide with more cushioning than it needed, but it was head and shoulders better than the hard, utilitarian chair he was currently perched on.

"I'm on duty. Supposed to be keeping watch."

"Keep watch in here."

Even in the dark, she could tell he was pursing his lips and even caught a shake of his head.

"You're going to fall out of that chair and get a head injury. Then where will we be? Who do you think Sable will blame for it?"

Leo huffed out a sigh through his nose and ran a hand over his face.

"Do me a favor. Do us both a favor." She pressed, leaning out of the bed, patting the arm of the recliner.

He remained still, seemingly arguing silently with himself. Hazel decided to push a little more, "Or, by all means, stay where you are." She scanned the patio doors, "You think I could jimmy open that padlock with a pair of gold earrings?"

Leo muttered under his breath and rose from the chair. "Ok, Marlowe." She bit down on the smile forming at her success, not that he could see it.

He strode across the room and eased into the recliner. Once he was closer, the dark circles under his eyes became more prominent. Several stray, dark amber hairs stuck out of their designated place. Even his hair wanted the day to be over. Detaching the gun from the holster, he set it on the recliner's arm. Finally, he propped his boots up on the footrest. His shoulders sagged, and his exhalation sounded like pressure being released from a boiling kettle. "This is more comfortable."

"Told you." She smirked, sliding further under her covers as he sunk deeper into the overstuffed chair.

Just then, a desperate growling noise reverberated through the room. Hazel turned on her side to watch as he stiffened and placed a fist over his stomach as if it could keep the sound at bay.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"No." He replied, still not looking at her. However, his stomach had no issue with letting loose another round of arguments to the contrary.

"Liar." Hazel eyed him. "You and Sable didn't eat anything for dinner."

"I'm fine."

Hazel pulled the covers from her legs and slid her feet to the floor.

Leo straightened, the furrow returning, "What are you doing?"

"I can't let my protection starve."

Leo held up a hand, "I really am all right, Marlowe."

"Well, then I won't be able to sleep with your stomach growling all night." Hazel slipped out of the door before he could protest any further. She waited for a moment, but he didn't follow her.

She inched her way into the dark kitchen and then to the fridge. Scooping leftovers onto a plate, she did her best to do so quietly. Just as she was wrapping the last dish and placing it back in the fridge, a voice behind her sent white-hot jolts of adrenaline through her.

"Late-night snack?"

Hazel slammed the door shut as her heart rate doubled in a matter of milliseconds. Caleb's eyes flashed at her in the reflection of the fridge's door. His dark irises bore into hers. Cold fury shone from his face while a deep purple and black necklace of discoloration encircled his throat.

His voice was cracked and hoarse. "Hey, Red."

She whirled around with a sharp inhale. But instead of Caleb, Fern was standing in her night robe, palms up; her light blue eyes were wide with guilt and concern, "It's ok, darling, it is just me."

Hazel gripped the material over her heart, trying to steady her breathing. Turning back to the fridge, Caleb, his furious eyes and bruised neck were gone.

"Sorry, Mom," she exhaled.

Fern frowned, shaking her head. Her mother approached her slower, "I shouldn't have snuck up on you."

Hazel sucked in a deep breath, balling her fists so her mother couldn't see her shaking hands.

"Still hungry?" Fern inquired, nodding toward the plate on the counter, heaped with various leftovers.

"Yeah."

Fern smiled, but her eyes showed an understanding that Hazel realized it meant she wasn't completely buying it.

"Darling, I do want to ask you something. About the Senator."

Hazel's heartbeat pounded in her throat, "Yeah?"

"You've hardly said two words about him since you returned home. But we saw all that happened on television and then tonight at dinner..." Fern scooted closer, resting her hands on Hazel's shoulders, "I'm not trying to pry. But I would hope you know you can talk to me."

"I know, Mom," Hazel exhaled, "It probably seems odd, but it just... happened."

Fern watched her daughter's face carefully while she waited for her to continue.

"I don't fully know ... After Silus, the time to talk about it never felt right. And I wasn't sure what to say anyway." Fresh guilt flooded through her at the partial lie. "I think it is too soon to tell where it's going or if anything will come of it, Mom."

Fern's hand moved to brush a stray hair from Hazel's cheek, her expression softening. "You might not know," she said quietly, "but I think he does." Her voice lowered as Hazel finally met her mother's steady gaze. "As your mother, I just want to see you happy, Hazel. Safe and happy. And I hope that's what you want for yourself, too."

"It is," Hazel murmured. She wanted nothing more, though it seemed more and more like a choice between one or the other.

Fern dropped her hands, "I hope so, sweetheart." She placed a soft kiss on Hazel's temple and then turned to leave the kitchen. "Remember, my ears are always open."

Hazel sighed. To be able to tell her mother what fully was going on sounded like a dream. But that is what it was, and it wasn't her reality. "Of course, mom."

Hazel picked up the plate just as her mother called over her shoulder as she ascended the stairs, "Make sure to take pepper; Leo puts it on everything."

Hazel said nothing as Fern disappeared into the darkness of the second floor. A laugh as quiet as Fern's footsteps fell from Hazel's lips. Her mother may have been all sweetness and light, but she was also as sharp as a fresh axe blade. Hazel swiped the pepper shaker and willed her hands to still as she re-entered her room.

Leo's grey eyes appeared darker as he watched her approach with the heaping plate. Hunger clearly was written over his features. "You really didn't have to do that."

"It's leftovers, Drayton. It'll hardly put a dent in my tab," Hazel replied as he took the plate, fork, and pepper from her with a muted smile.

"What tab?" he asked.

The moonlight bathed the shiny, abnormal skin along Leo's head as he began to devour the food. A thick stripe scaled from just behind his jaw, diagonally across the side of his head, disappearing beneath his hair. It was like a rough mountain trail winding harshly against his skin. Hazel slid back into bed, pulling the blankets up to her collarbones.

She scanned his scar before meeting his eyes once again, "You know."

Leo's voice was soft but firm, between bites, "I've told you before. You didn't do this to me."

"Maybe not directly," she said, her voice fading. She propped her head up on her arm as she watched him.

"Don't do that." He insisted.

He chewed quietly, though a sound of appreciation fell from his lips here or there. Hazel asked suddenly, "Why did you take this assignment?"

"There isn't much need for a one-eared peacekeeper..." He slowed his chewing but kept his eyes on his plate, "You heard the Senator in the train station. I was offered the job after ... everything with Percy."

"Because you placed our safety ahead of your own."

"It's a bad habit, I'm afraid. Not the best trait in my line of work."

Hazel tilted her head, "But a valuable one in a bodyguard."

He generously peppered his potatoes, "Yes. That is what the Senator said as well."

"It's not a bad habit, you know." Hazel replied, "It's a rare quality."

"Hmm," Leo hummed through the partially chewed potatoes, "Haven't you heard that kindness is weakness?"

Hazel rolled her eyes. She had heard nearly the exact phrase from a particularly smug Senator. "I disagree."

"What do you think then?"

"Kindness...mercy..." Hazel stared down at her pillow, "especially for those who should be your enemy... Nothing weak about it."

"Are you calling me strong?" Leo's lips twitched as he chewed.

Hazel let out a nearly soundless laugh as the moon's light reflected off his skin. "I guess I am."

Leo's chewing slowed even further, and the smile on his lips died, his gaze returning to his plate.

Hazel tightened her grip on her blankets, "Sorry, I didn't..."

He smiled softly as he waved her off, "Don't get many compliments as a peacekeeper."

"I can imagine..." Hazel shook off the awkwardness she had singlehandedly injected into their conversation. "So...how did Bellona end up here with you?"

"Senator Snow offered the position to Bello as well. Though I have a feeling she would have asked for it if he hadn't. She's pretty overprotective for being the youngest." He cleared his throat, "And then Sable volunteered to come along, for whatever reason."

"He's just looking out for you two," Hazel murmured.

"It was probably more because the pay is good." Leo smirked at his cabbage, peeking at her through the corner of his eye, "Is it just me, or are you warming up to the old man?"

Hazel let out an exasperated sound, "I'm not sure that is possible."

"Difficult, yes. Impossible, no. Forcing him to jog with you hasn't helped."

Hazel's tone grew conspiratorial, "He's funnier when he is angry."

"Bello thinks the same thing." Leo chuckled as he put a mouthful of cabbage on his fork.

"You two have known him a long time?"

"Since we were kids, especially after my father..." Leo's voice softened and then faded.

Hazel's smile faltered, "Sable told me."

He stared into the darkness of the room like it was a mesmerizing abyss for a moment, his jaw twitching.

"I'm so sorry."

Leo shrugged, though his eyes spoke of deep sadness, "I have a few memories of him, but not many. They've gotten foggy as I've gotten older. I know what I've been told about him. He was a dedicated man and a good soldier."

"Sounds familiar," Hazel replied.

Leo turned to look at her in the darkness, searching her face for a second before continuing the inspection of dinner's remnants.

"And your mother?"

Leo looked up at the ceiling, resting his head back against the chair, "She didn't handle my dad's death well. A few years later, she couldn't take care of herself anymore, let alone three kids." He set his fork down, wiping at his lips with the sleeve of his uniform, "She's in a private institution for the mentally ill in the Capitol."

Hazel's heart clenched, and a fresh wave of understanding soaked through her.

"Bellona and I pay for her room and board out of our salaries."

"Do you get to visit her?"

"We try at least once a year, but sometimes our visits..." He seemed lost for a moment in his mind, "Sometimes it just makes her worse. And it isn't exactly easy to see her like that."

"Leo, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked." The memories were clearly painful, and she suddenly felt like she was pressing into someone else's unhealed wound.

Leo set the plate down on the bedside table, "It is what it is. Percy ended up raising Bellona and me after that. And, of course, Sable helped, too."

Hazel frowned. She couldn't imagine Percy as a nurturing figure at all. Something about it made his betrayal even worse somehow.

"How could he do that to you?" Hazel's eyes raked along the side of his face.

"Families aren't always who you want them to be. Or need them to be." Leo's voice grew soft as he returned his eyes to the empty plate.

"The senator said something similar."

"He isn't wrong." Leo turned back to her, "I know your father sold you and Silus out."

Hazel spun toward him. "Yeah, drinking money is hard to come by around here."

Leo shook his head, and pity filled his grey irises.

Hazel sighed, sitting up and leaning back against her headboard. Her hands were wrapped tightly in her blankets as they rested on her stomach. "All of Panem has probably figured that out by now. He wasn't exactly subtle in his hatred toward Oren. I should've realized sooner what he was doing."

"Parents should protect their children." Leo's voice hardened as his eyes met hers. "You shouldn't have even had to consider the possibility.

"And siblings should protect each other." Hazel felt her eyes mist up, "But it's not the world we live in."

Leo sucked in a deep breath, his chest expanding outward before he released it. The edges of his growing hair twirled with the movement as he murmured. "No...but it should be,"

Tinkling sounds spread through the room in waves as the howling wind sent more snow and ice pellets hammering against the windows. Even the weather appeared to be trying to intrude on the conversation.

"We should really hate each other, you know," Leo commented, settling further into the chair. The way his hair fell over his forehead made him look younger, less like a soldier and more like a boy sharing secrets at a sleepover.

"District rebels killed my father, and the Hunger Games took your brother. We are on opposite sides." His gray eyes locked onto hers for a moment as she considered his words. Hazel couldn't deny it. There was little love lost between most peacekeepers and those in the districts. Even more so those who had lost loved ones in the war. Leo turned his attention to the raging storm outside, "And I doubt there have been many friendships between Victors and Peacekeepers."

"At least none that have ended well." Hazel's voice trailed off.

"You think they were just friends?" Leo asked in a nonchalant tone, though his gaze settled on the vases on her desk.

She tried to picture Lucy Gray in her rainbow dress or Snow in a peacekeeper uniform. "I'm not sure. I think their relationship was... complicated."

Leo's grey eyes finally shifted up to meet hers. "Like yours?"

She felt like she had just swallowed a brick. There was only one answer she could give. "Yes."

Leo's gaze washed over the features of her face until he turned his attention back to his own hands, "Let's just hope it doesn't end the same way."

"Don't plan on disappearing anytime soon. Unless Sable baits me, of course." Hazel squirmed, hoping to push the conversation away from Snow. "I could never hate you, Leo."

Leo's eyes met hers in the dark again, and an unreadable look flashed over his face. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it and turned away.

"You saved my life," She clarified.

"I think you are giving me too much credit, Marlowe."

Hazel studied his jagged scar again, "No, I am not."

There was a long pause, and the silence between them was only broken by the insistent ice and wind. Leo seemed to give up on half-heartedly arguing with her and folded his arms over his chest, letting the conversation fade. Hazel shifted herself under her blankets, laying flat on her back and staring up at her ceiling. Seconds turned to minutes, but sleep still alluded her. At the same time, she almost wished to allude it as well. The nightmares would inevitably follow. She feared that tonight, Caleb would be waiting behind her eyelids.

"Can't sleep?" Leo murmured.

"How could you tell?" Hazel turned to him. He was watching her closely, his face unreadable.

Leo nodded toward the bottle on the table, "Why don't you take one of those?"

Hazel scrunched her nose and promised herself to throw away everything on her desk in the morning. "Last time I did that..." She eyed him a moment, and he seemed to realize the night she was referring to.

Leo's finger slid along the side of his head for a moment before he cleared his throat, "Maybe... if I held your hand, it would help you sleep."

Hazel's furrowed brow matched his, "What?"

He let out a long breath, "It seems to help you during the day."

"Yeah, when I'm conscious."

He studied her as he continued, "Well, maybe it works on your subconscious, too?"

"Think so?"

He shrugged, "Only one way to find out."

Hazel hesitated, considering him. She had to remind herself he wasn't Snow, and this wasn't a game.

"And I can wake you up if I notice you are having a nightmare." Leo's face broke into a small smile, "Besides, it'll give me a heads-up if you decide to pick that padlock."

Hazel slid herself to the edge of her bed. His surprise at her willingness was evident, but he didn't comment. Sliding the chair closer to the bed, he adjusted his position. "All right," she said, letting out a sigh. "What the hell."

Hazel reached out her injured hand, but he frowned, his voice dropping, "New bandage?"

Hazel spun the limb, inspecting the slightly impressive bandaging. "Yeah, the other one got ... ruined."

"I noticed," he murmured. Hazel wanted to pull the blankets over her head at the thought of Leo watching her and Snow hold hands in the sink water. "Did you dress it yourself?"

Hazel shook her head, "Courtesy of the Senator."

Leo nodded carefully, "I didn't realize he had the training."

Hazel half-heartedly shrugged, "Neither did I, but he is like you." Leo's eyes snapped to hers, and she stammered another clarification, "I mean, he was a peacekeeper."

Leo nodded as he tapped her knuckles, dismissing the hand, "Probably should be the other one, you know. I don't want to make it worse."

Hazel retracted the limb, "Right, you're right." She extended her unblemished hand, which Leo took easily. His hand cupped hers in an overly careful way as if she was made of glass. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes as he leaned back in the chair. It was such a different sensation to Snow.

If Snow's touch was like an invigorating, ethereal, glittering winter storm, then Leo's was like that of a comforting sun-soaked summer breeze.

Hazel attempted to distract herself from considering it any further. "One day, maybe I'll be able to pay off my tab."

Leo murmured, "Go to sleep, Marlowe."

"I at least owe you an ear."

Leo let out a soft laugh, "Sleep."

Hazel's lids grew heavy as she listened to Leo's muffled breathing harmonize with the beat of the wind and the subtle tap of his thumb against hers. After several minutes, she finally found herself drifting off into an ignorant, dreamless oblivion.

Hours passed until the morning light peeked through her windows. It wasn't the light that stirred her; instead, it was the sound of footsteps and a soft intake of breath. As Hazel opened her eyes, alertness washed over her like a bucket of ice being emptied over her head. Bellona was standing in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the two of them and, more specifically, their connected hands.

Chapter Text

"Ahem," Bellona's sharp voice burst the early morning stillness as well as whatever was left of Hazel's drowsiness. Her attention centered like an axe, finding its target on the peacekeeper staring down at them. Bellona's normally warm eyes were overflowing with thinly veiled alarm.

Heat crept into Hazel's face as she tugged on her arm, but Leo's grip only tightened, his thumb tracing slow circles over her wrist. The gesture, however, did little to calm her.

As Hazel pulled again, attempting to loosen his hold, Leo's grey eyes slid open. His stare was bleary as he took in the figure of Bellona. "Morning, Bello." He mumbled so casually that it sounded like he was commenting on the weather.

Bellona's eyes shifted over his face and then again fell to their intertwined hands. "Leonidas."

That seemed to get his attention. He bolted upright, his spine rigid. Hazel gave another pull, and this time, she managed to slip her fingers free.

"Shift change already?" He stumbled over the words as he raked a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Mmhmm," Bellona's tone was light, but worry shadowed her wide brown eyes. "Long night?"

"Something like that," Leo murmured as he holstered his weapon.

"Well, I'm here to take over. You should get some rest." Bellona sighed. "You obviously need it."

"I... ugh. Yeah." Leo fumbled as he pushed himself out of the chair, gathering the used dishes and the pepper shaker from the bedside table. "Thanks, Bello."

"We'll talk later," Bellona said as Leo shuffled toward the door, the dirty dishes balanced in his arms.

"Right." He bent forward in an abrupt nod before he glanced back at Hazel, "Marlowe."

"Drayton." Hazel saluted him as he vanished into the hallway. The awkwardness was almost unbearable as the room grew quiet. Hazel found herself longing for the relative peace of one of her nightmares. The two avoided eye contact for a few seconds, marinating in the uncomfortableness before Hazel finally couldn't stand it any further and flung herself out of bed.

Striding to the closet in the most normal way she could manage, she continued to avoid Bellona's eyes. However, her stomach was twisting with the pressure of Bellona's stare.

Hazel couldn't imagine how she would feel if she had ever walked in on one of her brothers in such a position. She shook her head. This wasn't some normal kind of awkward sibling protectiveness. This situation was much different. It was completely bizarre, abnormal as all hell, and so far removed from normalcy that it felt like it belonged in a different reality. Shoving the thought away, she ripped open the doors to her closet.

"We should talk about it," Bellona began.

"Nothing to talk about." Hazel tried her best to sound nonchalant as she tore out several items.

"From where I am standing... That seems inaccurate." Bellona's tone was imploring as she glanced toward the blue chair.

Hazel met the peacekeeper's concerned eyes. "Leo just had a long day and was about to fall out of that sad chair in the hall."

"What about the food?"

"Just some leftovers." Hazel shrugged.

"And...holding hands?" Bellona sighed.

"He was helping me get some sleep." Hazel shivered, "You know, the nightmares and all that..."

Bellona turned away as Hazel began to change her clothes. "I appreciate that you're looking out for my brother. I really do." She sighed. "But..."

"I'm sure you would have done the same." Hazel rested a hand on Bellona's shoulder, practically begging her not to continue, "Nothing to worry about, Bells. Promise. Let's not talk about it anymore."

Hazel zipped up her jacket, "Mind going to town with me before Indira and Festus kidnap me and force me into whatever painful tour preparations they have planned?"

Bellona nodded, but her eyes still held hesitation.

By mid-morning, the two were wading through piles of junk. Decrepit toasters, bent sewing machines, and dead electronics of all kinds were heaped in large bins throughout the withering junk shop. Clouds of stale dust puffed into the air as Hazel dug through the items.

The shop wasn't overrun with customers, but it wasn't completely dead either. Bellona covered a cough as the scent of dirt, rust, and old sap surrounded them. "Are you sure what you are looking for is here?"

"Not even a little bit," Hazel replied. She dropped a particularly depressing miniature television into one of the bins.

"What does a cassette player even look like?"

Hazel shook her head, "No clue. I figure if I see it, I will know."

Bellona eyed a particularly hefty pile of weathered knick-knacks and figurines. "Like intuition or something?"

"I guess." Hazel shrugged.

Bellona shifted closer to Hazel, who was rummaging through another pine bin of antique-looking radios. "I watched your Games, you know."

A shiver worked through Hazel's body. The memory of Bellona approaching her in the woods and her bent over Silus's body like she was a rabid animal flashed through her mind.

Bellona pressed on, "You have good instincts and intuition."

Hazel paused her raccoon-like search, peering back at the peacekeeper.

"You are still recovering and healing and everything."

"I guess..." Healing was an ambitious word for whatever was going on at the moment.

"Maybe all of it is clouding your judgment."

Hazel straightened further, fixing Bellona with a questioning stare.

"About this morning..." Bellona whispered.

Hazel sighed, "I told you..."

"Leo's my brother..." Bellona stepped closer. She respected Bellona's sisterly protectiveness. It was something she related to, and Hazel would never fault her for it.

"I would never do anything to hurt either of you. Or even Sable, for that matter."

"I know. I know you wouldn't do it on purpose." Bellona smiled softly, "You have to understand, above all else, we are peacekeepers. We answer to the Capitol and her people. We have a job to do and expectations. I know we all spend a lot of time together, and you and your family have been more than welcoming. But it doesn't change who you are or who Leo is."

Hazel's brows scrunched, "I know..."

Bellona stepped closer, her voice dropping. "Listen. I am not going to tell anyone." The softness of her tone wavered, "But what would have happened if it wasn't me that walked in?"

Hazel searched her face, regret twisting in her gut, "Bells..."

"Hazel Marlowe? Back again?" The sound of Alder, the junk shop owner, calling her name made Hazel flinch. Bellona slid several paces backward.

Hazel shifted her attention to the familiar man standing at the front counter. He was her mother's age, with a thick beard and a warm smile. Alder Holloway was a staple of District Seven and had managed the borderline illegal junk shop for many years.

Hazel glanced again at Bellona before she addressed the man striding closer to the counter, "Still haven't found what I'm looking for quite yet."

"Happens a lot around here," Alder cast a glance over his life's work before turning back to her, "How's the family?"

"As good as can be expected, I suppose." Hazel swallowed, "How's Maren and the kids?"

Alder's expression melted at the edges, "Maren's well. Kids are getting bigger every day. Celtis has doubled in height, and Elma felled her first tree solo this season." His twinkling eyes dimmed, and his face grew subtly solemn, "I heard the twins had a big birthday?"

Hazel nodded, "Yeah, growing like cottonwoods, those two."

Alder laughed quietly as a confused frown crossed Bellona's forehead.

Hazel explained, "Cottonwoods grow faster than normal trees."

"Oh," Bellona mumbled with a twitch at the edge of her lips, sidling closer to Hazel's side. "You all sure know your trees around here."

"Job hazard, I guess," Hazel chuckled, "That does remind me, though." She turned back to Alder, "Those gardening tools and the easel Rowan bought for the twins were lovely."

Alder stared at her as it appeared it was his turn to be confused, "Rowan didn't buy anything from me."

Hazel's heart sank at his answer, "What?"

"What was the easel made of?" Alder asked.

Concern washed over her as she answered, "Cherry, I think."

Alder's voice grew softer, "I haven't had anything come through here as fine as cherrywood."

"Oh..." Cherrywood was rare in Seven or most of the western part of Panem. The harsh environment did not lend itself to the tree's preferences. It was at home in the more eastern and mid-western Districts. She figured it had come from the junk shop, which at times had relics and antiques from different districts, often traded by peacekeepers or Capitol visitors.

Hazel cast a glance around the shop though she knew it was in vain, "Maybe he commissioned Pilner or someone else to make them." Her words felt as hollow as they sounded.

"Possible," Alder commented, though he sounded less than convinced. An awkward silence fell between them until Alder finally cleared his throat, "You know I do have good news; I think I might have something you would find interesting."

With a subtle smile, he leaned forward, pulling out a bundle from under the counter. When he extended his arms toward her, Hazel's heart skipped a beat. In his hands, he held a metallic box with a slot that appeared to fit a cassette the same size as the one that suddenly felt heavy in her pocket.

"Does it work?" She breathed out, staring at the line of buttons along the contraption's edge.

"I don't have anything to test, but it turns on and lights up and everything." Alder's seriousness melted at the clear excitement written over Hazel's features.

"I'll take it," Hazel said, practically bubbling with triumph.

"There you are, dear." Indira's melodic voice filled the cramped space, dowsing her excitement. Hazel peered over her shoulder to see Indira wading closer like a lost angel. Behind her, Festus was following, scowling at the conditions. The two were wildly out of place in the dusty shop.

As Festus and Indira strode further inside, Bellona tensed, hand inching closer to her weapon. The expressions of the District citizens soured, which was not wholly unexpected for a Capitol escort and a Creed.

"Ugh, what could you possibly be doing here?" Festus grimaced, holding his arms and hands close to his body as if he were afraid to have even his sleeve brush against anything.

"I'm antiquing." Hazel coughed.

Indira narrowed her eyes. "Is that what they call taking home garbage?"

Festus wrinkled his nose at the cluttered, dirty shelves. "Charming."

Alder let out an incredulous sound as he wrapped the player in a thin brown cloth.

Indira sniffed, her eyes scanning the room with disdain. "I don't understand how you can spend time in places like this, Hazel. It's filthy."

Hazel turned to Alder with an apologetic look and reached into her bag for payment. His scowl faded at the sight of the coins she laid on the counter. He nodded warmly as she shoved the bundle to the bottom of her bag, requesting that he give her best to Maren and the kids.

As she practically dragged her companions out the doors, she mumbled, "You Capitol people are costing me a small fortune in tips, you know." Festus, Indira, and Bellona stared at her in confusion. "Never mind."

Within the hour, they had made their way to the center of town. Hazel hesitated at the threshold of the Mayor's manor. She hadn't been back since Silus's funeral.

Bellona patted her shoulder, "It's all right."

Inside, Mayor Kettleberry was waiting. He greeted them with a warm, grandfatherly smile. "Good afternoon, young people." His attention settled on Hazel, "How are you holding up?"

Hazel wondered how such a kind man was friends with Senator Snow. "I'm well, sir."

"You are all more than welcome in my home anytime." He smiled softly as he nodded to her Capitol friends.

They acknowledged him before the four made their way up the winding pine staircase to the second floor. The manor had three hallways of guest rooms, which were rarely used by anyone other than official Capitol staff and visitors. While the rooms didn't reach the level of Capitol elegance, they were the nicest accommodations in the District outside of Victor's Village.

Festus and Indira pulled Hazel into one of their suites. Inside, a round lacquered elm table was set up with stacks of fine paper. Several large televisions flashed almost silently as they played the daily news in the background.

Bellona stationed herself outside the room while Indira pulled the door closed behind them.

"Ready to read some speeches?" Festus asked, patting her on the back.

Hazel felt lightheaded just looking at the pile. The first speech was for District Twelve. Her heart ached as she read the cold, detached words meant to acknowledge Ruby and Ethan.

Halfway through, she tore her eyes away from the page. "I can't read this."

Indira sighed, "You will have to. It's what the Capitol considers is best for you to say."

"I thought I had some sway?"

"Well, within reason," Festus answered.

With a frustrated huff, Hazel returned to her less-than-light reading. The three worked into the late evening, reading through and discussing the thirteen speeches she would have to give. One for each district and then finally, one for the Capitol celebration. Most were brief, paying homage to the fallen while also praising the importance of the Hunger Games and the wisdom of the Capitol.

It was all more pretending. The thought of delivering each speech with a straight face felt daunting.

She could barely stomach her disgust reading through the prepared speech about District Two, particularly Caleb.

"I would rather be stabbed in the hand again than read this," Hazel grumbled as she played with the edges of her bandage.

"It doesn't seem that bad." Indira took it from Hazel and scanned it once again.

"The word honorable is in there like three times," Hazel muttered.

"That prick wouldn't know honor if it bit him in the..." Festus grumbled.

"Festus," Indira scolded. "Have some respect for the dead."

"Being dead doesn't suddenly make you respectable," Hazel muttered.

Festus met Hazel's eyes, a smirk lingering on his lips. "Good riddance."

"Attitude," Indira warned Hazel before turning her beautiful but irritated stare on Festus, "Both of you."

Hazel rose from her chair, stretching her arms and legs as she shivered. The memory of Caleb's eyes in the fridge's reflection sent a jolt through her bones. Shaking off the image, she crossed the room to the windows. The view, though less breathtaking than the one from her home in Victor's Village, still pulled at her heart. It offered a more intimate perspective of District Seven.

Almost every home was visible, and her people were preparing to settle in for the night. Street lamps and porch lights flickered on, windows closed, and plumes of chimney smoke grew thicker. Despite her people being right there, they felt miles away.

Hazel pressed her forehead against the glass; the coolness against her skin did little to calm her nerves. Just imagining herself delivering those hollow, scripted speeches sent waves of nausea and anxiety coursing through her. With a deep sigh, her eyelids fluttered closed.

"None of this is easy," Indira's voice cut through her thoughts. "But maybe it would be simpler to just read what's been planned."

"Planned." Hazel turned back to Festus and Indira. They were finally alone, with Bellona guarding the hallway. It was as good a time as any. "Sounds like my Victory."

Festus exchanged a tense look with Indira.

"Hazel..." Festus took a deep breath.

Hazel met his stare straight on, "Did you know?"

"No," Indira insisted.

"Yes," Festus murmured.

Hazel's gaze locked on him.

"Kind of..."Festus tapped his foot against the soft rug, avoiding her eyes. "At first, it was just a rumor, unfounded gossip."

"When have the Creeds concerned themselves with rumors?"

Festus sighed. "I usually don't, but there was talk of the Games being rigged. Nothing solid, though there were hints."

Hazel ran a hand through her hair as she sorted the information alongside what she already knew to be true.

"It wasn't until after..." Festus paused, his face scrunching as if he had bitten down on a particularly juicy, disgusting pickleberry. "And all Trask's bragging..."

Hazel's heart felt like it was made of ice as she stared at Festus as he confirmed the ugliness of the truth. "If I never have to hear again about how he made the Games more entertaining than all the years before—and, of course, the sheer amount of money. Though he never mentioned securing a new job for himself."

"Did you and Augustus share motivations?" Hazel's voice tightened despite her effort to keep it soft.

"Hardly," Festus met her gaze again. "I wouldn't share the man's air if I didn't have to."

"So you being our mentor was a coincidence?" Hazel asked.

Festus shrugged, "I've always pulled for District Seven. And if the rumors were true, it was my opportunity to be the mentor of a Victor and to not come in second place again."

"So this was just a do-over?"

His eyes dropped to his tapping foot, "Maybe at first. I tried to stay...detached, like Coral, but..." Festus glanced up at her, and his eyes fell on her hand and its fraying bandage.

Indira cleared her throat, sending a sympathetic look to Festus, "I think you and Silus affected us more than we anticipated."

Hazel's pulse rate picked up at the mention of her brother. A sudden surge of curiosity wrapped in sorrow pressed down on her chest, "Did Silus tell you his plan?"

Festus's stare dropped to his shoes once again, "He didn't have to."

"I think we all knew, in a way, he would've done whatever it took, dear."

Tears stung at Hazel's eyelids, and she warred with them, finally looking to Indira.

"If I had known about any of it, I would've told you," Indira answered the question Hazel hadn't yet asked.

"Figured it wasn't fair to leave her in the dark," Festus said.

Hazel believed them. While it stung in a way that they knew, it made no difference what the outcome would have been. Hazel walked back toward their table, settling into the chair across from them, "And Senator Snow?"

"I'm not sure," Festus mumbled, still not meeting her eyes.

Hazel didn't buy it for a second. "Festus."

Festus leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his legs, "He's the one who told me after you won, though, to be fair, he tried to warn me in his own way before. But I'm not good at subtlety."

"That's funny because he seems to thrive in it."

"It is unusual that the Senator would become involved in such... activities, especially being a Gamemaker," Indira commented quietly.

"Apparently, he wasn't planning on being one for much longer," Hazel replied. "Though, he told me he wasn't on board initially."

"Well, after the tour of the arena... and the tree." Festus met her eyes.

Hazel slid her thumb hard over her palm, a sudden wave of unease flowing through her veins. It made sense now why he had asked her if she regretted saving him. By doing so, she had unknowingly sealed her fate and Silus's.

"Festus," Hazel's voice dropped as she held his stare, "Surely he told you why?"

"I just told you."

"That isn't the whole answer, and you know it." Hazel shook her head, "He wouldn't risk it all on some District girl and a bet that might ruin his life."

"But you aren't just some District girl, are you?"

Hazel tore her eyes from Festus, crossing her arms around herself. She wasn't at liberty to talk to Festus about how wrong he was.

Festus pulled his own eyes away, his body slumped as he let out a long breath, "Seven, what I can tell you about Corio is that he is ambitious. And like all men of such caliber, they keep their true motives to themselves. Though having known him most of my life, I can tell you that he has a penchant for leaving clues."

Hazel glanced at the bulge at the bottom of her bag. "Hints," She muttered.

"Precisely," Festus agreed, "He probably has already given you the answer. You just have to see it."

Hazel raked a hand through her hair. The answer had to be just within her grasp. But it wasn't clear if she should be seeking it out or trying to escape it.

Indira kept her eyes on her tightly clasped hands as their conversation saturated the very walls.

The darkness of night had almost completely enveloped the District when the televisions around the room began to flash. The harsh change in light caught Hazel's attention as it bathed the room in shades of crimson and gold. A bright red banner shot across all the screens simultaneously with the line "Breaking News" in bold letters.

"Festus, take it off mute," Indira called.

"Huh?" Festus turned, his expression twisting in confusion as he read the screen.

Lucky Flickerman appeared, his usual smile replaced by a more serious expression. His slicked-back hair seemed darker and more severe.

Festus rose from his seat and turned up the volume. The sound burst through the room, and Lucky's flinty voice filled every crevice. Something about it bounced off the walls like the shrill warning of a rapidly approaching train.

"Good evening, citizens. We interrupt your regular programming with breaking news. Just moments ago, it was officially announced: Our honorable President Maximinius Ravinstill will be stepping down from his role as President of Panem."

Chapter Text

Hazel's footsteps were almost silent as she descended the staircase in near-complete darkness. The only light in the entire home was the flickering of warm candles on the first floor. They beckoned to her from the dining room like sunlight at the end of a train tunnel. She frowned at the cozy illumination; everyone should've been asleep.

The tinkling of fork tongs dancing over ceramic was the only detectable sound. Turning the corner, the source of the disturbance became clear.

Silus sat at the table, eyes downcast as he fixed his attention on eating. His hair curled along the edges, swaying gently when he began to hum. The warm light of candles bathed his face in a way that reminded her of the day they buried him. As Hazel crept closer, his chocolate gaze shifted to her.

"Hey, Haze." His features were just as she wished to remember them, full of life. Her heart rate doubled as she treaded through the wave of nostalgia-tinged grief flooding her senses.

"Little brother." She called as she rounded the table, pulling out the chair across from him and sinking into it.

Resting on his plate was a sight she never thought she would ever live to see. A thick slice of cheesecake rested there, identical to the one from the twin's birthday the year prior. It was a toasted vanilla hue with a crumbling crust and little lemon shavings dusted along the top.

"It would take you dying to realize cheesecake is amazing." Letting out a shaky breath, she murmured, "I don't think Mom will ever make it again."

She jumped as the fridge slammed shut.

"What a shame," Cedar called as he strode out of the kitchen, a large plate in hand, two slices of cheesecake piled on top. The redhead licked his lips as he haphazardly threw himself into the chair beside Silus. "The world will certainly be a less delicious place without Fern's cheesecake."

"Yeah," Hazel mumbled as she watched the two, "The world is much emptier now."

Cedar pointed to the kitchen with his fork, "Grab yourself some, Hazelnut."

Hazel shook her head, "Not hungry."

"Still full from dinner with the Senator?" Cedar asked. Hazel sent him a sharp stare. He licked his lips, unfazed, "Or should I call him President?"

"That's not decided yet." Hazel shivered, "Until the election, at least."

"Election?" Silus asked.

Hazel shrugged and nodded. An election was something she had never experienced. None of them had. But it was the official story from the Capitol. It would be the first in a lifetime, though only Capitol citizens would be allowed to vote. At least, that is what Lucky Flickerman had said after the announcement of Ravinstill's sudden retirement. Though the details were fuzzy from the sheer shock her mind had been wading through after the news broke.

"How democratic," Cedar mumbled through another large bite.

Silus paused his chewing to watch her. "Apparently, the drama didn't end with the Games."

Hazel ran a hand over her face, "That's an understatement."

Cedar smirked as he took another bite, and Silus wiped away crumb remnants from his chin. Hazel sighed deeply, "I wish I could just stay here."

The two looked up at her as Cedar cleared his throat, "You think this is a dream?"

She nodded to the cheesecake, "Either that or I'm dead too."

"That's not what he means," Silus corrected as he pushed away his plate. Turning his deep eyes on her, his voice dropped. "It's a nightmare, Haze."

Hazel felt a cool, fluid sensation like icy fingers caressing her ankle. Frowning, she peered under the table. She sucked in a deep breath at the sight beneath.

There was a rapidly growing pool spreading across the floor. Deep indigo water bubbled up from the floorboards and rugs, saturating every surface. Within seconds, it was lapping against her calves. Not more water.

Stumbling to her feet, her chair tipped over with a muted splash. The two men were seemingly unfazed. Cedar continued to eat his dessert while Silus watched her with a solemn frown.

"Why does this keep happening?" Hazel croaked, the pool reaching her knees as she gripped the table. The flood around her swirled, collecting faster than she could comprehend.

"He's tried to tell you before," Silus said.

The sound of rushing liquid filled her ears. Hazel shrieked, "I'm not sure my grief coping is relevant right now."

"More like the lack of." Cedar corrected.

Hazel spun toward the front doors, wading through the waist-deep water until she reached the handles. But as hard as she pulled, the doors didn't budge. It was as if the seams had been sealed with cement.

"Only you can stop this," Cedar called from the dining room as her chest submerged, and she began to float; her feet became weightless, having lost all contact with the floor. Logs from the fireplace rose to the surface, along with a pair of boots and utensils from the kitchen.

"I swear, Cedar if you tell me to let go one more time," Hazel yelled over the roar.

Water was all around, sloshing against the wood-paneled walls. Pieces of furniture floated through what was once the living room, along with a familiar picture frame.

Suddenly, the candles extinguished, and the room plunged into an inky darkness. Hazel treaded in desperate strokes, peering back toward the dining room, but Cedar and Silus were gone. Instead, a slithering sensation slid across her spine, and she lurched away.

"Wait!" Hazel gurgled just as the fluid rushed over her head. She pounded her palms against the waterlogged ceiling when a thick, warm hand gripped her shoulder, shaking her.

"Marlowe, wake up."

Her eyes burst open as she took in a large gulping breath. Clutching at the soft sheets of her bed, she curled in on herself.

Her breaths were ragged, and she sucked in the sweet, dry air of her bedroom. Frantically, she searched the space, but it was quiet, dark, and lacking any hint of flooding.

Who knew Cedar and Silus would have made such a traumatic team in the afterlife.

"I guess everyone needs a friend," she breathed.

"Glad you think so highly of me." A masculine voice centered her. Looming over her was Leo, holding her arm with his wide hand.

She gazed up at him as she sat up, shivering from the fading sensation of the chilled liquid over her limbs, dragging her into their depths.

"Drayton?" She breathed out between sharp exhales. It was early and still very dark. But there was something odd: Sable was on duty when she went to sleep. The bulky figure of her most senior peacekeeper was absent from his post. "Did the old man call off?"

Leo shrugged, "I let him have a little extra shut-eye before we leave for the tour."

Hazel turned back to the peacekeeper, "Why?"

A small smile spread over his lips, and his grey eyes sparkled with a hint of rebelliousness. "I have a surprise. Come with me."

"Leo, I don't know..."

But Leo was not easily dissuaded, "You've got other plans?"

She paused, studying him but not agreeing. On one hand, Bellona's words from the day before echoed through her mind. On the other, it wasn't like she would actually be able to go back to sleep now.

"What about Sable...and your sister?"

"I won't tell if you won't." Leo tilted his head at her when she continued to hesitate, "Unless you want to return to that lovely dream you were clearly having?"

Hazel shook her head as she relented to his insistence. "Ok, fine." She did her best to calm her shivering as she peeled herself out of her sweat-drenched sheets.

Leo moved to her closet with a small triumphant smirk, pulling out her heavy lumberjack pants and the thick navy winter coat. "Put these on."

He strode to the door and turned his back, arms crossed, waiting. Once she was dressed, she followed him out of her room and down the stairs. As they reached the first floor, she cast a glance at the dark dining room. It was bathed in a blinding dimness. There were no candles, no cheesecake, no Silus, no Cedar, and, most importantly, no floodwaters.

"Come on," Leo whispered, appearing to notice her hesitation. She shook off the remnants of her dream as Leo paused at the front doors, nodding to the axes, "Grab Oliver; you are going to need him."

Hazel paused, quirking a brow at the man. "What?"

Leo didn't respond. Instead, he pulled open the doors and gestured for her to follow. Hazel grabbed her axe, reveling in its familiarity for a moment. Without another word of encouragement, Hazel finally followed Leo out into the cold. He strode away from the house to the front gate, pulling it open.

"I heard you found what you've been looking for," Leo said as the two meandered down the snow-covered street.

"I did. Now I just need the privacy to use it," she replied. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Is that what we are doing?"

Leo paused, and she realized they were standing before the gait of a neighboring, empty Victor mansion.

"Not the time or the place. Ensure when you do, you are absolutely certain of both." Leo turned his head up to the sky, "Besides, that's not what the axe is for."

"Then what is it?" she asked, shifting Oliver in her palms.

Leo dug a hand into a cargo pocket, pulling out a key. Without a word, he unlocked the gate and marched inside the front garden. With a small smile, Hazel followed behind. They weaved around the home until they were in the backyard. Despite the moon still guarding the sky, the lamp lights gave just enough illumination to see that something was waiting up ahead of them.

A square slab of particle board rested upright in the snow. It was painted with three red circles around a center matching one. Leo paused, allowing her to catch up as it became clear why he had brought her there.

Hazel stared at the target, her feet heavy, her fingers sliding over Oliver's handle in anticipation. The last game of axe throwing she had played felt like decades ago. Warm tears pricked at her frigid lids. She wiped her sleeve over her eyes as she sucked in another deep breath of winter air.

Leo watched her in the dimness, his brow suddenly furrowed in concern, his jaw rigid. He swiveled his stare from her to the target and then back, "Maybe this was a bad idea."

Hazel trudged through the dense layers of snow at their feet until she reached him. Tucking Oliver in her belt, she wrapped her shivering hand over his forearm. A light smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Though she feared it looked more like a melting grimace. Leo stiffened, seemingly surprised, as he stared down at her. After a moment, his muscles relaxed, and he patted her hand with his. "Ok, so not bad."

His face was carefully masked, and his eyes lowered as she pulled Oliver back into her hands.

"Do they cover axe throwing in peacekeeper school?" She questioned, swallowing down her tears.

"It's called military training." Leo shook his head, biting down on a smile. "And no, it's not a subject they covered."

Hazel aligned herself with the target, "Ok then, Drayton, get ready to be schooled, my friend."

A pearlescent cloud of air escaped his lips as he moved to stand behind her, "I have to warn you, Marlowe..." Leo's breath puffed out around him, tangling in her hair. "I'm a fast learner."

"Then it's only fair that I warn you, Drayton." Hazel chuckled as she stepped forward, pulling the axe over her head and squaring her shoulders. "I'm a lousy teacher," she murmured as she let the axe fly from her grip. Her hands were outstretched, fingers pointing at the target.

A stinging swoosh filled the air as the blade sliced through the frozen atmosphere like a knife through a softened slice of dessert, swift and satisfying. Oliver's axehead connected with the target just to the right of the center with a deeply satiating thwack.

The reverberation was faint, but it might as well have been a birdsong ringing through her soul. Gone were the sounds of death, screams, and blood. All that met her senses was the whistling frozen breeze and the rhythm of her heated breath.

Leo let out a whistle at her ear. "Nice shot."

Hazel's face stretched in an uncontainable smile. "Yeah, yeah." She laughed before crunching her way toward her axe. With a firm grip on the particleboard, she pulled her weapon free. With a dramatic twirl, she extended it toward Leo, "Your turn."

Time passed without notice as they took turns heaving Oliver at the target, Hazel advising him of the proper footing and hand positions. Leo, for his part, held the axe less awkwardly with each turn. Only a handful of times did they have to dig the axe out of a snowdrift when he completely missed.

Her muscles burned, and her hand ached, but the enjoyment of exertion drowned any pain she felt. The tendrils of her nightmare still lingered like ripples following a stone's descent into a pond. Its presence was slowly fading from her senses, not quite gone but lessening with each passing minute and each throw of her axe. She nearly scoffed. They'd be leaving District Seven in just a few hours, and yet, with the crisp mountain air in her lungs and Oliver in her grip, she felt at home.

Eventually, the morning sun bathed them in its greeting. Leo landed another throw dead center while Hazel let out an impressed sound. Their hands met in a high five as he seemed more than pleased with himself.

"You were right about being a fast learner." She commented as he strode toward the target to remove the axe.

"Well, you were wrong," Leo replied as he placed a hand on the target and pulled Oliver's blade free with the other. "You aren't a half-bad teacher,"

Hazel let a calming laugh fall from her lips, and her shoulders relaxed.

"Glad you trusted me?" He asked.

Hazel sucked in another lungful of the crystalline air, "It sure beats nightmares."

As he got closer, he asked, "What were they about this time?"

Hazel's scrutiny dropped to her boots, "The usual."

"Hmm," Leo murmured, "Silus?"

"And Cedar," Hazel breathed, "And drowning. I think the tour is making them worse."

Leo watched her carefully, Oliver resting in his outstretched hands, "And now? Any hallucinations or flashbacks?"

Hazel paused, "No, actually." She pulled her weapon from him, "Is that why you did this?"

He shrugged, his gray eyes sparkling with almost a gold-like sheen in the warm morning light, "Sometimes you have to replace a negative association with a positive one. I was hoping that I could at least..." He glanced at the target, "Give something back to you."

Hazel considered the man before her more closely. She met his eyes once again, "You're killing me."

A bewildered look crossed his features, his face growing serious.

"I'm never going to work off this tab."

He appeared to fight an eye roll as he ran a hand over his brow, "Marlowe."

Hazel spun the axe between her hands, "Maybe we can take Oliver on the tour." Leo raised an eyebrow as she responded, "So you can practice, of course."

"Careful, more practice and your student might become the master." Leo stared at the axe with a soft expression.

Hazel shot him a falsely sharp look, "A couple of bullseyes, and you are practically a lumberjack, huh?"

A genuine smile spread over his lips. "I wouldn't dream of taking your job. But, I doubt Indira would approve of such an accessory."

A familiar yet weirdly shrill sound broke through the morning air. "What in the gem of Panem are you doing out here!" Indira's sharp voice shattered the relaxation in Hazel's bloodstream.

"Speak of the devil..." Hazel breathed.

Indira was holding up a long, daffodil yellow dress as she trudged in the snow toward them, an angry grimace on her face.

She was followed by Festus, who also looked less than enthused, as well as a host of peacekeepers. Flanking the group were Bellona and Sable. Bellona's lips were pressed into an unwavering line, and there was a disapproving glint in her eye.

Leo glanced down at his watch, "Oh shit." He cursed, sending Hazel an apologetic grimace.

Hazel whispered, "Your half-bad teacher's got this one."

She pushed herself between him and Indira, "Sorry, Indira. I asked Leo if I could do something fun and not speech-related before I am tortured for the next few weeks."

"This is considered fun?" Festus looked disgusted at her sweaty hair, Oliver, and the torn-up target.

"Her sense of a good time is lacking at best, Mr. Creed," Sable muttered. "And it seems she has found a way around the doctor's orders." Sable met Leo's eyes, "And somehow convinced Leo to enable her."

Leo swallowed, and his gaze dropped to the snow. "Sable.." Leo started, but Hazel didn't allow him to finish

"Don't be jealous, Pytash; you are still my favorite." Hazel jabbed as she held out the axe, "You wanna have a go?"

Sable scoffed but didn't have a chance to answer fully.

"We don't have time for this." Indira's tone was sizzling. Her heated stare seemed like it could practically melt the snow around them. "You still have to get ready and packed. The train is leaving this morning, and we are already behind schedule."

Hazel glanced at Leo, "Time just got away from me."

"Ms. Lovegood is correct. No more standing around," Sable commanded, and the gathering embarked, moving away from the makeshift target. "Let's get a move on before she convinces someone else to pick up another lame exercise."

"How do you feel about tree climbing?" Hazel replied.

Sable muttered under his breath as the group headed back toward her house. Indira complained to Festus about everything she had to do and all the items she needed to prepare for the entire walk back. Hazel sent her several apologetic grimaces, which seemed to cool her anger, though her escort's annoyance remained.

Hazel walked quietly next to Leo, casting a few glances his way. He intermittently did the same, though when their eyes met, his always dropped back to the path ahead.

Once they were just outside her home, Hazel whispered, "Leo?"

"Hmm?" He murmured, staring forward.

Hazel pulled Oliver closer to her chest as her green eyes met his grey ones, "Thank you."

Chapter Text

The crisp morning air held a few lonely flakes. Several landed on the familiar building, coating its outside surface with a crisp, white crust. As if it were a jam-filled pastry, the inside told a different story. It practically oozed with warmth and activity.

Despite the heat of the interior, the mere sight of the structure chilled Hazel to the bone. The District Seven train station had been transformed from a simple, utilitarian structure to a museum of some of her worst memories. The day she left with Silus and the day she returned with only his casket. They replayed on a loop in her mind, burning through her bloodstream, pressing like a hot iron against her heart.

That was the weird thing about grief. It was like a predator lurking in the corners of her mind, waiting to pounce. She never knew what memory, smell, or sight would awaken it, flooding her senses with a throbbing pain. Hazel fought against the sensations, pushing them down beneath a fragile veneer of neutrality.

The worn wood platform was bubbling with the sheer number of people. It was a startling clash of Capitol and District. Like fish and birds shoved into a single, sweltering pool. The space teemed with uneasy bodies. Neither side was particularly comfortable being so close to the other.

District citizens clung to the fringes, pressed against the chilled walls, while peacekeepers and Capitol elites claimed the near center. If the train station was a target, Hazel, Festus, Indira, and her family were trapped within its bullseye.

With a shattering hiss, the newly arrived train doors slid open, unleashing a tide of Capitol press. Cameras sparked to life, lenses pivoting, and centering her and her companions within their sights.

Hazel shifted uncomfortably in the heeled boots Indira insisted she wear. The matching charcoal dress pants and the flowing cream-colored top suddenly felt odd. To an unknowing outsider, she looked to belong to neither Capitol nor District. She was clearly not impoverished like her people but, at the same time, lacked the extravagance of the Capitol.

Her attire made guilt rise to the surface of her unsettled emotions. The worn, weary expressions of her people sent nausea curling within her stomach. Many were thinner, more bony, with purple-gray hollows around their eyes. Granted only a brief reprieve to attend the gathering, they would return to the mills and logging sites once she departed. Her people had always been hard workers, but seeing them like this now, it was clear the increased load was overwhelming them all.

Worst of all, Hazel was powerless to do anything. She couldn't even share in their misery. Not anymore. Now, she was caught somewhere between the world she knew and the one dragging her further into its clutches with every passing day.

"What I wouldn't give to go for a run right now." She breathed, watching the press wade through the crowd.

"We can't leave soon enough," Sable replied behind her.

Hazel traced the edges of her pink bandage with her thumb. Indira had wrapped it for her that morning, scolding her when she noticed the bruising and slight trace of blood. The woman's warm hand suddenly encircled hers. All the escort's anger from earlier had melted away. "Try not to look so nervous, dear. We haven't even left seven yet."

The press inched closer by the second. Their lenses fixated on her as if they could see beneath the façade she was desperately clinging to.

As Hazel searched the faces of her family members, it was clear she wasn't the only one dealing with skyrocketing anxiousness. They all were in various stages of readjusting their clothing or reconfiguring their body postures.

A beeline of peacekeepers stretched through the crowd as they loaded luggage into the waiting train. The vast majority belong to Indira. Her newly assigned squadron seemed less than enthused with the task.

"Could you have brought more, Indira?" Festus scoffed.

Indira replied with a fake innocent tone, "You think it would fit?"

"I think it is nice that you come so well prepared," Bellona commented while Festus rolled his eyes.

"Thank you. At least someone appreciates my efforts." Indira smiled widely at the peacekeeper, her deep red lips gliding upward, her eyes sparkling in the light of the train station. Bellona watched her for a moment, seemingly mesmerized, while a faint blush colored her skin.

Just then, the Capitol press finally broke out of the swarm. Caught within their ranks was a familiar man with dark, slicked-back hair and a professionally oiled mustache. Hazel recognized him immediately. Lucky Flickerman.

Festus patted her shoulder, murmuring into her ear, "All right, Seven. They are going to interview you. Should be quick and easy, nothing crazy, and then we'll head out."

He outstretched his arms in a theatrical way that would be absurd for anyone else. Hazel swallowed down the knot trapped in her throat as she steeled herself.

"Miss Hazel Marlowe. It's been much too long." It hadn't been.

Hazel smiled as best as she could, "Good morning, Lucky. It is nice to see you again." It absolutely wasn't.

Indira and Festus moved to either side of her, a protective wall as Lucky pulled a microphone to his mouth, seemingly out of thin air.

His wide, toothy grin stayed fixed as he turned to address the camera over his shoulder. "We are here live in District Seven with Hazel Marlowe, Victor of the 15th Hunger Games. Our newest champion is preparing to embark on her Victorious Tour. In fact, it appears she is just getting ready to board the train."

Lucky turned his sharp eyes toward her. His slow once-over drew the cameras' attention like a magnet. "Miss Hazel Marlowe, I must admit, you're looking remarkably recovered."

Hardly. Hazel squirmed. "I've retired the crutches. Let's just say I might just use them to warm my living room."

A faint ripple of laughter stirred the crowd. Lucky's eyes creased at the corners as his grin widened. "And how are you feeling this morning?"

"Honestly?" Hazel pressed into her bandage.

Lucky grinned, "Of course, ma'am."

Hazel sighed slightly louder than necessary, "I'm a little nervous, Lucky."

Lucky let out another chuckle tinged with a false good nature, "Our fierce axe-wielding Victor has a little stage fright, huh?"

She shrugged, "Not all of us are as brave as you, Mr. Flickerman." Hazel fought to keep her smile from melting into a wince, "I would rather have an axe in my hand than a microphone."

The press giggled around them. Indira's face was a calm mask while Festus smiled widely.

"Nonsense," Lucky replied with a wave of his hand. "I think we can all agree—you'll be a natural."

Behind her, Rowan muttered under his breath.

"I guess we will find out." Hazel conceded.

"Yes, we will." Lucky agreed. "Not to change the subject. But if you'll indulge me, I can't miss the opportunity to ask something we're all dying to know."

Her stomach twisted, "And what would that be, Mr. Flickerman?"

Lucky's smile widened, and she couldn't help but think he resembled those toothy bottom feeder fish Sage was always showing her pictures of and telling her stories about. "Why, about our beloved former Gamemaker, of course."

Indira moved closer, and she could tell that her family had ceased fidgeting. Actually, most of the people in the room had quieted or muted their movements and talking. Ears perked up, eyebrows raised, and Hazel bit down on her lip.

"Mr. Flickerman, that is absolutely a subject change."

"You caught me." Lucky straightened his shoulders, eyes glittering with self-amusement. "Surely you've heard the news of President Ravinstill's decision to step down?"

Hazel was somewhat caught off guard by the question. Nothing too crazy? Hazel shot a withering look at Festus, who shrugged, mouthing 'sorry.'

Why did it matter what she thought? The newscast replayed in her head. President Ravinstill's health had sharply declined, and his recovery was faltering. It was announced that he would stay in his position for an undisclosed number of months to allow for a new election, but he would ultimately step down from his position.

"Yes, I'm sure all of Panem did. All I can say is I wish President Ravinstill good health. She shifted on her feet, "So what does this have to do with Senator Snow?"

"Did you not hear the announcement?"

Anxiety sparked through her like a swig of too-strong coffee, "What announcement?"

Lucky casted a glance at his snickering colleagues. "Adorable. His announcement that he will begin his presidential campaign immediately."

She felt her eyes grow in size, which appeared to entertain Lucky even more. Everyone in Panem knew Snow as highly motivated and likely wanted to become President one day, but she doubted anyone realized how soon that might occur.

"Senator Snow is nothing if he isn't ambitious. He isn't the youngest senator in Panem for nothing."

"Good, good. Now, what do you know about the other rumors circulating that Senator Snow's presidential campaign might overlap with your Victory Tour?"

She covered her surprise with a vague, rehearsed smile. Snow's cryptic voice was in her ear and his vague hints of seeing her in the near future became clearer.

"Apparently, I am not as up on current events as I should be." Lucky again smiled widely at her answer. "I can't speak to the Senator's plans. Though I, like most people, wouldn't object to seeing him more often."

Again Rowan's grumble met her ears followed rapidly by Oren's muffled scolding.

The press members bubbled as Lucky paused for a moment, letting her fester before he asked his next question, "And what would you think if he became the next President of Panem?"

Hazel sucked in a deep breath. What would such a world be like? Maybe it would improve. She swallowed hard, but then again, maybe it wouldn't. "I think Panem would never be the same." Her own words were like thick ash in her mouth.

"Sounds prophetic to me." Lucky's voice had grown serious tinged with delighted. The press members again convulsed and laughed while Hazel picked at her cuticles. Lucky seemed intent on asking her more questions, but she needed to beat him to the punch.

Forcing a charming adjacent smile across her lips she replied, "I'll leave the forecasting to the experts." Lucky's chest puffed while Hazel pressed on, "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I think we are going to get this tour on the road. I've already made us quite late."

Festus stepped forward, hand out toward the press. "Our Victor is right, and we do have a tight schedule. You all will have plenty of time for more questions on the tour."

This appeared to be a satisfactory answer, and the group backed away, but the cameras continued to roll. Lucky sent her a fleeting wink before turning back to his crew.

Hazel chewed on her lip as she turned back to her wide-eyed family. Fern reached for her first, taking Hazel's hands into her own. "Take care of yourself, darling." Bending forward, she kissed Hazel's cheek before pulling her into a quick embrace. "Remember what I said, safe and happy, hear me?"

"Love you, Mom," Hazel whispered into her hair. A few members of the press made soft sounds.

Oren approached her next; without a word, he pulled her into his arms. "Come home safe, my girl."

Hazel hugged him back as best she could with her arms beneath his, whispering, "Keep an eye on Ro."

Oren squeezed her harder for a moment as if he agreed before releasing her.

Sage was next. He seemed the most at ease of all her family. "Bring us something cool. District Twelve has some of the rarest butterflies. And Four as hermit crabs," he said excitedly.

Hazel ruffled his hair and gave him a quick smile, "If I see any butterflies or crabs, I promise to bring one home."

Sable groaned somewhere behind her.

Lily watched all the bustle with curiosity while Linden's gaze stayed fixed on the ground. She hugged each of them. "Maybe by the time I get back, your axes will be done, and I can show you the ropes." Hazel shot a look at Festus, "And maybe Festus too, so he can understand what we do around here."

Festus huffed something under his breath while Sable muttered something about paying good money to see such a feat.

Lily let out a light laugh while Linden watched her with a guarded expression.

"Maybe paint me something while I am gone?" Hazel asked her brother.

Linden nodded, "What do you want me to paint?"

"You're the artist." She tucked a stray hair behind his ear, shuddering as she thought of the last time she had done that with Silus, "I trust your judgment."

Linden agreed before wrapping her in a side hug.

Rowan stood back, arms crossed, as he took in the crowd practically steaming with disdain. His face was hard, bitter, and closed off. "I promise we will talk when I get back."

Rowan's face faltered a bit before he pulled her into an embrace of his own, "Be careful, sis."

She rested her cheek on his shoulder as she held onto him, "Why do I feel like I should be telling you the same?"

Rowan pulled away, "Don't worry."

"Don't give me a reason to," she said directly into his ear.

He said nothing but met her eyes as he backed away. She studied his face as she was led backward. He attempted a small smile as the rest of her family waved and backed away as she was led to the train. Her soul wanted nothing more than to stay.

"They'll be all right," Leo whispered in her ear as she entered the threshold. "I've assigned a couple of guards to check in on them, just in case."

"Thank you," she breathed as she settled into the velvety seats. The train stretched into a wide variety of cars, dining chambers, lounges, and private quarters for rest.

All around her, the low hum of the engines purred to life, and with a soft heave, they began their journey to District Twelve. The district was on the other side of the Capitol; it was a trip that, even with the Capitol's finest fastest train, would take nearly 24 hours.

"I'll show you to your room, dear." Indira led her to the car that contained the sleeping compartments. She reached for the golden-dusted handle of one of the many rooms, pulling it open with a sweeping gesture.

Inside was a private suite with a bed larger than she would have imagined, a small mushroom-colored loveseat, and a round oak table, paired with matching chairs. Large oval-shaped windows along the walls displayed the passing landscape.

"Here is where you'll stay, and I will be right across the hall."

"And my guards?" Hazel asked.

"In apartments on either side. You really couldn't be safer," Indira assured.

The hours slipped by in a haze as District Seven melted away. It all was a blur of pine trees and ridgelines transforming into the flattened plains of Panem's interior. Hazel ate a sparse meal with her companions, her mind elsewhere, occupied with the low hum of the train and the occasional attempt at conversation.

When the sun began to dip behind the flattened land they were traveling through, Hazel retreated to her private compartment. They must have been somewhere in the center of the country. The mountains and forests had faded away hours ago. Hazel sighed as she looked around. The closets were packed with clothing items Indira had insisted she would need, and her speeches were spread out on the table.

After she changed into a pair of long, soft pajamas, she settled on the bed, still watching the world whizz past her window. The sound of the engine chugging along and the swaying of the train car was relaxing, and she felt herself begin to fade into unconsciousness when there was a knock on the door.

Hazel sat up straight, "Come in."

Leo's grey eyes met hers as he peered through the doorway, "Have a minute?"

"For you? I've got more than one."

Leo entered and pulled the door shut behind him. His uniform was gone, replaced by black trousers and a copper-hued cotton shirt. He studied her room for a moment before settling into one of the chairs. "Are you ready for this?"

Hazel sighed, tugging at a loose pink thread along her palm. "I'm not sure it matters either way."

Leo nodded, tucking his hands in his pockets, "Maybe not."

"I do have a question for you," Hazel said.

Leo's head perked up, and he looked to be on edge as he waited for her to continue.

"Is the Senator really going to be on the tour?"

Leo let out a long breath, and his attention shifted to the darkened world flying by them, "Yes. Though his schedule is highly secretive."

Hazel allowed a small, humorless smile. "Naturally."

"Do you want him to be?" Leo had turned back to her, leaning forward in his chair.

Hazel chewed on her lip and filled her voice with as much conviction as she could muster, "Why wouldn't I?"

Leo's eye twitched, murmuring, "Right, sorry. I shouldn't have asked." His gaze broke away from hers, landing on his fidgeting hands.

"It's all right." Hazel squirmed, unease thrumming against her nerves. This was ground she didn't want to tread. Couldn't tread.

The silence stretched, heavy and almost suffocating, until Leo stood abruptly and crossed to the bed. "I want to give you something."

He dug into his pocket, withdrawing a slim black leather case.

"You've really done more than enough. Or do I need to bring up my tab again?" Hazel mumbled, looking at his outstretched hand.

"Marlowe, just take it."

Hazel reached forward and pulled the item from him. It was smooth but heavy, much denser than it appeared.

She removed the lid to reveal a black knife the size of her palm with a matching grip. An almost invisible engraving on the handle held the letters "LD." It had a curved blade that came to a drastic point that looked deadly.

"Why?" Hazel met his eyes.

"You can never be too careful." Leo's eyes didn't waver from hers, "And I thought it might give you some peace of mind if you felt less....vulnerable."

Hazel stared down at the weapon, watching the warm, muted light dance over its deadly blade. She could almost hear the sound of Caleb's knife embedding itself in the tree beside her head or see the blood-covered knife lying in the leaves of the arena's floor. Shaking her head, she tried to clear the sensations from her body.

"I know it's not Oliver," Leo breathed.

"It's not that." Hazel shifted, stammering slightly, "Knives and I... don't have the best history."

Leo's face softened, "I'll be the teacher this time." He pulled her hands into his and gently wrapped her fingers over the grip. "Knives can be deadlier than guns. Just remember, if you ever have to use it, make sure you have no other choice."

Hazel swallowed as she allowed him to position her fingers, gripping the knife harder.

"You know what they say about knife fights?"

Hazel shook her head, "The best thing to know is where the nearest hospital is." Leo replied.

"Your confidence in me is comforting."

"I trust you will be discerning." He tugged at her hand, running his fingers over hers, "Now make sure to grip it like this, ensure it's strong and your fingers won't slide. The last thing you want is someone to turn it back on you."

"Fool me once, right?" Hazel shuddered but attempted a smile. However, Caleb's dark eyes flashed through her mind.

Leo's hand settled on her shoulder. Hazel flinched at the contact, her eyes snapping to his.

"Not again," he said firmly. "Not while I'm around."

Leo's eyes flashed as a knock on the door startled them both, and he backed away. Sable swung the door open. "Figures you'd be in here. Move it. Briefing's about to start."

"Be right there." Leo called over his shoulder before turning back to Hazel, "Practice your grip and get used to its weight. We'll work on it more whenever we can."

Hazel arched a brow. "Since jogging and axe-throwing are apparently banned..."

"They damn well are," Sable interjected.

Leo shook his head, slipping past Sable into the hall. "See you in the morning, Marlowe."

"Goodnight," She called after the two of them.

Leo shot her one last glance before Sable shut the door between them.

With a deep sigh, she tucked the knife under her pillow next to the cassette, player and Grace's coin. Despite her inexperience with knives, she was grateful to have it. It was foreign in her hand, the weight bizarre and unbalanced. In a probably unhealthy way, it was comforting to have it so close.

Eventually, the movement of the train car lulled her into a peaceful sleep until golden rays of sunlight woke her the next morning. She awoke to Indira flittering around her room. Her escort assisted in dressing and preparing her in a soft moss green dress as well as the same golden earrings and bracelets from the Victor's parade. When Indira was not looking, Hazel tucked her new knife in her bag.

Outside, the coal-dusted plains of District Twelve whirled by. The train pulled into the station and outside of the press, a solitary man was waiting front and center on the platform. His smart suit and charismatic smile stood out against the grittiness of District Twelve. A sharp jaw, shark-like eyes, and a dark braid with blue streaks rested against his chest.

As the doors slid open with a faded hiss, he glided inside. His attention swept through the train car, raking over the various faces until they settled on Hazel.

A twisted grin split Augustus Trask's lips, and his brilliant white teeth seemed even brighter compared to the grayed-out landscape, "Welcome to District Twelve."

Chapter Text

Words escaped Hazel at the sight of Augustus Trask, appropriate words, at least. Ones that wouldn't leave her tongueless if she let them loose. Despite her voluntary muteness, she couldn't control her glare. Her vision sizzled over the features of the orchestrator of her brother's demise. Co-creator of her waking nightmare. Her limbs filled with a sensation so hot white that to call it hate would be insulting to the word. If Snow was the devil, what did that make the man before her?

In the few months since she had seen him last, Augustus appeared to have taken on an air of authority that hadn't been there before. He crossed the train car as if he owned it. Hell, he probably did in some perverse way.

Hazel's teeth ground as she fought to rein in her reactions. Scanning the faces of those around her, something peculiar caught her eye. They were equally surprised.

"Mr. Trask," Indira started, "How unexpected. We weren't aware you would be joining us."

Bellona shared an unsteady look with Sable, "Neither were we."

Augustus's teeth were almost as fiercely white as Gaul's. His lips stretched a fraction wider as his dark bronze eyes settled on Indira, "Well, Ms. Lovegood. I am here to supervise. Ensure that everything...goes as planned."

"Hobby of yours?" Hazel bit out. Augustus's eyes flashed, and his scrutiny zeroed in on her. He is lucky my new gift is in my bag.

Leo's breath brushed along her shoulder as he positioned himself at her side. The pace of his breathing quickened like he was preparing for confrontation, though it wasn't obvious whose safety he should be more concerned with.

Before Augustus could respond, Festus cleared his throat. Her former mentor seemed to be fighting a glare of his own. "Indira and I are here." He gestured to the numerous peacekeepers, "She has two hand-picked guards, a war hero- they've assigned a legion for hell's sake. I doubt your supervision is necessary."

"Think of it as Doctor's orders," Augustus smirked. Figures. "Besides, she also felt it would be beneficial and informative for me to see the tour, given my new role."

"Sounds like she just wants you out of her hair," Festus replied.

Augustus's mouth twitched as Indira glided between them, "I apologize. Mr. Creed is just a little irritable from the long journey."

Hazel couldn't help herself, "Mr. Creed does tend to get more honest when he is tired."

Festus shared a look of slightly entertained solidarity with her. Indira pursed her lips, sending sharp looks at the both of them.

"Despite how you feel about my presence," Augustus straightened his shoulders, his chest pushed forward like a robin displaying its colorful chest feathers. "There is another reason I am here."

The train car grew silent as he reached into the deep pockets of his jacket. With a twitch of his lips, he pulled free a leather case. It was stained the color of fresh blood.

Hazel frowned at the vague familiarity of the object. Augustus strode several long steps closer and her muscles tensed of their own accord.

Clearing his throat, he stopped his advance when he was an arm's length from her. Raising the box between them, he nodded for her to take it. "For you."

Great, more secret, mysterious, mildly threatening gifts.

"No, thank you." Hazel was as rigid as if she were frozen. Leo's sigh washed over her senses at her refusal. "There is nothing you could offer that I would ever want, Mr. Trask."

"For now, perhaps." Augustus tilted his head at her hostility. "But, not to worry... it's not from me."

Somewhere beside her, Indira let out an exasperated breath. "Hazel dear..." she prodded.

Hazel hesitated a moment longer before she finally pulled the box from him. She flipped open the lid. Resting in a pillow of matching silk was her Victor's medal. Or, at least, an identical replica of it.

"Compliments of Head Gamemaker, Dr. Gaul," Augustus said, studying her reaction. "Since apparently, your other one has gone missing."

"It's not missing." Hazel's eyes locked on to his, her stare so searing it might just melt the blue out of his braid. Close up, the unnatural shade had faded into a sickly turquoise. "It is exactly where it belongs."

Augustus watched her carefully before murmuring, "Either way. We can't have a medaless Victor, now can we." He pointed to the box, "May I?"

Hazel chewed on the inside of her cheek and continued to fight the abject hatred flowing through her.

"Of course, Mr. Gamemaker," Indira answered in her place.

Augustus leaned forward, fingers plucking the medal from its silk bed. As he examined it, his lips curled at the edges. An infuriating expression colored his features... self-satisfaction...pride even.

"Would you rather wear it, Sir?" Hazel asked.

Augustus's face tightened at her brazenness. Leo's murmur caressed her ear in a stern warning, "Marlowe."

Augustus smirked darkly. "Nonsense." He flexed his fingers around the medal tighter as he circled her like a vulture scanning its prey.

She threaded her fingers together as if the gesture could hold her back from doing anything she would regret. Swallowing down a scream, she took in a deep breath as he guided the award over her head, the medal coming to rest against her chest like a brick necklace.

Augustus's voice slithered to her ear, "I wanted you to have it, didn't I?" He swept away the hair from the nape of her neck, lifting the strands free from the strap. "Red."

Hazel's emerald eyes seared into his as he circled back in front of her.

The tension in the train car was thick as coal smoke when Festus finally grunted, "So what is this plan, Mr. Trask?"

Augustus smiled wickedly, "It's showtime." With that, he spun back toward the doors and gestured for the group to follow.

Festus muttered something about theatrics while Indira advised him to calm down. Hazel met the slightly unsteady gazes of her three peacekeepers.

Leo seemed to be willing her to not do anything stupid with his eyes. She sucked in a deep breath as she moved to the train doors.

The District Twelve platform was covered in so much coal dust that it appeared permanently stained. However, worse than the dreary palette was the group gathered to greet her. Cameras littered the platform. They were so odd and out of place in comparison to their surroundings.

Peacekeepers held the citizens at bay, close enough to see her but far enough away they couldn't touch.

Augustus sauntered out of the train first, turning back to her, hand outstretched.

Hazel stared at it like it was a poisonous viper offering her an olive branch. A thorned olive branch, most likely. She wanted to slap his palm away or maybe give him a scar that matched her own. What did you get when you mixed a vulture with a snake? Whatever it was, this man embodied its spirit.

"Easy," Indira whispered. With the world watching, she needed to play along, no matter how much she wished to do the opposite. The cameras were waiting. The crowd was waiting. Her hatred would have to wait, too.

Here goes nothing. Dust and coal filled her lungs as she relented and placed her good hand in Augustus's. His fingers trapped hers in a vice-like grip, pressing painfully into the bones and ligaments.

"Thank you." Hazel bit out under her breath, freeing herself from his touch once she was securely over the threshold.

"My pleasure." The man whispered with another wide, glinting smile aimed at the press.

"No Flickerman?" she asked.

Augustus chuckled, "Not in this District. He's covering a certain popular Senator's campaign at the moment."

"Oh." It would make more sense that it would require heavy media coverage.

"Don't worry. You'll be back in the spotlight in no time."

"I'm not the one flirting with the camera, Mr. Trask," Hazel replied.

"Keep telling yourself that, Red." Augustus kept his attention straight ahead, though a smirk slid over his lips.

Snake vulture was becoming a more accurate description with every passing second. Hazel sent him a hard glance before taking in her surroundings. She couldn't help herself but ache at the faces of those who had gathered. The people were very similar to those in Seven, except for a few drastic differences.

They were much thinner and harder, their bones closer to the surface, and their skin layered in black and brown dust. All of Panem was aware that Twelve was one of the poorer of the Districts. But now, actually observing the coal-covered landscape and its downtrodden citizens, the bleakness of reality flooded through her.

Suddenly, a flash of color in the dreary setting caught her eye. Pink. A young boy had a loop of rose color fabric around his wrist. Then, another older girl had a band tied in her hair.

Her heart clenched at the sight, and she ran her finger over her matching wrapping. Oh, Rubes, if only you could see. Hazel imagined her grinning at so many people wearing her favorite color.

"Miserable place, in my opinion. They don't even have a accommodations for visiting Victors to stay. So you'll be sleeping on the train tonight." Augustus muttered. "On the bright side, your stay here will be mercifully brief."

Hazel eyed the man in her periphery. "From what I've heard, your visits here are anything but brief. But still definitely miserable."

She caught the faintest snort from Sable, though he quickly covered it with what sounded like a false cough.

Indira looped her arm through Hazels, pulling her down the cobblestone streets toward the square. The rounded rocks were slick with ash and uneven beneath her impractical shoes.

Augustus allowed the woman to pull her away, falling behind the group without argument. Though Hazel could feel his irritated stare searing holes in the back of her skull.

"You're treading dangerous waters, my dear," Indira muttered, though her face was a smiling mask.

"She's right, Hazel." Bellona skirted her other side as their group was led further into the foreign District.

Hazel pressed her lips together, resigning herself to look anywhere but the Gamemaker stalking behind her. The District was desaturated, bled dry of color and life, then buried beneath layers of gray.

A forest was in the distance, though the edges of it had been cleared away. It was as if the land itself had been gnawed. The skeletal outline of a budding fence was clawing its way into existence along its edge. The sight of it reminded Hazel of the padlock on her patio doors. The people of District Twelve were apparently getting a cage of their own.

"It is something, isn't it?" Sable scowled, breathing in the slightly burnt smell.

Hazel could hardly picture Ruby and Ethan living here. Or even Lucy Grey, for that matter. But the starved people gathered made her realize why the two had relished the abundance of food at the Castellan Manor.

A surge of guilt rushed through her at the thought of her mother's meals. These people and her two alliance partners probably went days without nourishment. She could imagine they didn't have the luxury of turning down something like cheesecake.

Even before becoming a Victor, her life had been practically wealthy in comparison to those before her now.

In the center of town, a stage was set up with a silver microphone at its center. The crowd parted with gruff encouragement from the local peacekeepers. Her group pressed forward like a parade of clowns at a funeral. They were painfully out of place, and their clothing was completely the wrong palette.

Two sets of people stood apart in front of the platform, holding various pictures of Ruby and Ethan. Their images drew her in. Indira let her pull ahead as Hazel took in the tear-stained faces of this new group. They were a mixture of vaguely familiar yet foreign features. Each one had pink fabric tied to their clothing.

A woman with ashy brown hair and a man with light eyes stood together, hands clasped. The woman was robust despite her starved features. The man beside her appeared calm and collected, as if he was doing his best to ground his wife.

Next to them, another couple with grey eyes and gaunt faces stood shoulder to shoulder. But it was the young girl who stood between them that ensnared her. Her dark hair was plaited in two unruly braids. Despite being years younger and a head shorter, she could pass as Ruby's twin.

"Hello, Hazel." Even her gentle voice was a mirror of her sister.

"Hello," Hazel breathed out. Her heart hammered in her ears as she got closer. "What's your name?"

She visibly brightened at Hazel's question, "Amethyst."

"How beautiful." Hazel's pulse rate spiked as the girl's parents inched closer. "Mr. and Mrs. Hart?"

The two nodded, watching her without speaking. It must be odd to see her standing an arm's length away instead of hunched over their dying child on a television screen.

Hazel held out her hand, and they stared at her for a long moment like she wasn't real. Just as she was about to withdraw, Mrs. Hart reached forward and shook hers. "I am Briallen, and this is my husband, Clive."

"Nice to meet you both."

Whom she assumed were Ethan's parents, shuffled closer. His father had his eyes while his mother's eyebrow twitched in a mischievous way that was all too familiar. "Ivor Black," the man shook Hazel's hand.

"I'm Harla, and I am a hugger, Miss Marlowe." His wife said as she pulled Hazel into a crushing hug.

Hazel stiffened at first, but the warmth of the crushing embrace forced a laugh from her lungs. This woman was inarguably Ethan's mother. Something about her nature made Hazel's eyes burn, and she tightened her grip. Mrs. Black appeared to sense Hazel's shift in emotions and rubbed reassuringly over her spine.

"Thank you all for ... coming." Hazel choked out the words, pulling away. Her eyes sunk to her ridiculously fancy shoes. It wasn't like they had much more of a choice than she did. "I am so sorry .... They were both so....special...I can't... I'm so sorry."

Harla's eyes grew misty while Ivor looped an arm around his wife.

Ruby's mother approached Hazel and placed two gentle hands on her shoulders. Briallen was petite, but her voice carried as she spoke, "We know we aren't the only ones who've paid the price of the games."

Hazel's eyes burned harder, and she battled with the sudden rising tide of grief. An understanding passed between them. These people knew how she felt, and something about it melted her heart.

"Can't have our Victor blubbering, now can we?" Augustus's slimy voice chilled the heat of her burgeoning tears. Turning to her side, Trask was suddenly beside her, his toothy smile plastered in place. The cool air practically boiled between Ruby and Ethan's family members and Augustus.

Briallen's face shifted into a dim stare as she backed away and gripped the hands of her husband and daughter.

The blue-haired man slid even closer to Hazel, replacing Briallen's grip on her shoulder. "She still has a speech to give, after all."

The families before her had clearly no love lost for the man. Even Amethyst slid her body slightly behind her mother's skirts.

But of all the people before her, it was Ethan's mother whose features were the most terrifying. The woman's eyes had dilated, and her features darkened. She looked like a mountain lion, ready to pounce. Her blown-out pupils settled on the hand latched onto Hazel's shoulder. If Harla could set Augustus on fire with a look, he would be in flames.

Hazel slid from under his touch, "Yeah, I would love to talk with you all more. Maybe after?"

The people before her seemed to agree silently.

Sable moved to Hazel's rescue, guiding her away from Augustus's grasp. Within a few strides, they were at the base of the steps. Bellona extended a hand toward Indira as they neared. Indira, though completely at home in her heels, accepted the peacekeeper's assistance.

The stage bore the scuffs and grooves of many years of abuse. It looked to be sturdy Ashwood.- While the woodgrain was familiar, what was unfamiliar—and most unwelcome—were the heels.

Sable extended an arm and she hurriedly grasped it with a whispered thanks. Together, they reached the top, where two figures were waiting. Mayor Lipp stood to one side, he was still squat and still freckled. Though his hopelessly outdated suit no longer strained against his frame. There had been stories of the Mayor's supposed descent into madness after the death of his daughter. His haunted eyes and trembling hands lent credence to the theories.

He was flanked by his wife, a tall, gaunt woman with hollow eyes and a soured twist to her lips. They exchanged no words, merely looking on with resignation.

Indira led the way to the microphone, her shoulders relaxing when she took center stage. Hazel watched as her escort transformed. The woman who had become her friend was replaced by a true Capitol emissary. Indira's kohl-rimmed eyes seemed larger, and when she spoke, her voice carried to the edges of the town center.

"Good afternoon, District Twelve. What a beautiful day for us to be gathered here in celebration."

Hazel scanned the muted sky and colors, as well as the chilling breeze sweeping through the coal-washed landscape. District Twelve could be described in many ways, but beautiful was a stretch.

"Today, we celebrate the Victor of the 15th Hunger Games. Miss Hazel Marlowe from District Seven. She traveled all the way from her home last night to be here with you all. She has a few words she would like to say. Would you all give her a warm welcome?"

A few smatterings of applause hung in the air as Hazel moved toward the microphone. Her stupid heels clicked loudly while her nerves grew closer to the cliff of full-blown panic.

Indira pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket, handing it to Hazel as she leaned closer. "Good luck, dear. You'll do great."

The Capitol cameras zeroed in on her as she held the speech in her unsteady hold. The pink bandage scraped against the paper in an unnerving way.

"Citizens of District Twelve," Hazel began, staring down at the speech like a lifeline in a raging ocean. Her palms had grown damp, and the paper stuck to her skin. "It is an honor to stand here today as part of this Victory Tour. District Twelve holds a vital place in the strength of Panem. Your efforts fuel not only your district but the entire nation. It is my pleasure to be able to start my Victory Tour here." The words felt stiff and stale, like trying to chew dry, old bread when all you wanted to do was spit it out. "This Victory Tour is a chance to honor the fallen and remember the sacrifices made for the peace we now live in. I stand before you today, not only as a Victor but as a reminder of unity and order. Through the Hunger Games, we find peace and prosperity—"

Her throat tightened while her gaze flickered toward the crowd, scanning the faces. Harla Black had her hands intertwined with her husband's, her knuckles pale. Her words churned in her gut like lead. "—that only the Capitol ensures.

She glanced down at the page, then back at the crowd—their faces muddling together, except for Amethyst's. The girl's wide eyes held hers for a moment. And then Hazel saw it.

Over the girl's shoulder, a painfully familiar face took shape. She had innocent grey eyes, chestnut brown hair, and an unnatural pink bandage over her arm, but it was not pristine like everyone else.

A layer of fresh blood had seeped through, dripping down the girl's arm and weaving through her fingers. Her delicate neck was littered with discoloration, which was more prominent as she tilted her head at Hazel's silence.

Hazel went rigid, though her heart rate spiked. The last time she had laid eyes on Ruby, she was folding the girl's frigid arms over her unbeating heart.

And only once before had one of her ghosts penetrated her reality. A sob caught in her throat. Maybe Dr Savi was right... It's getting worse. 'Rosemary. Rosemary.' She mouthed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Leo inching forward. Sable was quick to whisper in his ear, halting his movements. The cameras rolled on, but the speech suddenly felt even more absurd. Indira wrung her hands, and Bellona gave her a reassuring look. Festus raked his fingers through his curls.

What color is the sky?

Hazel tore her attention from all of them and instead studied the horizon. It was a sickly bleached blue, choked by airborne coal dust. The shade was reminiscent of Augustus's fading braid. He watched her like someone amused by a flailing goldfish caught in the shallows. Everything as planned? The phrase soared through her mind, igniting a fissure that split through her restraint.

"I..." Hazel swallowed, the word scraping against her vocal cards.

Hazel breathed in, refocusing on Harla. "Ethan was the bravest boy I've ever known." Her lips quivered as memories of him disappearing under a spider monstrosity filled her mind. Harla's eyes glistened as Hazel continued, "From the little time I knew him, it was clear he loved as fiercely as he handled a bow. He saved my life," she said, her voice louder now. "And Ruby's."

The dead girl's stare met Hazel's again, "And Ruby—" her breath hitched. She held up her pink-covered hand. Her attention shifted to Amethyst and then her parents, "You have every right to be proud of such a girl."

Hazel moved her focus to the rest of the District, "It isn't just their families who should take pride in being represented by tributes so brave. All of District Twelve should. They weren't even my official allies, yet of all the other tributes in that arena, I owe them the most." Her gaze then fell to the golden medal resting against her heart. "I owe them my life. My... Victory even."

A ripple passed through the crowd.

"I swear, I will never forget them." Her eyes met the bleeding girl in the crowd once again. Ruby's face softened, a couple of glistening tears washed down her young cheeks. "Their sacrifices were not in vain, and I promise to the best of my ability to honor their lives." Searching the faces of each of their parents, she continued. "They will remain closer to my heart than any medal ever will." The crowd was like a rusty faucet being turned on. They sputtered in smatters of clapping at first until, given a few minutes, the rest burst forth in applause.

She swallowed down a wave of tears, wincing down at the speech. It was basically unsalvageable. She needed to somehow wrap it up without being hung afterward. Scanning the abandoned words, she skipped to the end and picked up reading, " Ruby Hart and Ethan Black demonstrated extraordinary bravery in the arena. They remind us all that our sacrifices, no matter how great, serve the greater good. In unity, we endure. In sacrifice, we thrive. May we never lose sight of that truth. We should all honor the sacrifices needed to ensure our great nation does not slide back into the darkness of the past."

Hazel inclined her head in a shallow bow and stepped back, tucking the speech away. The people's faces shifted, the hard edges softened, and for the first time, many of them met her eyes without flinching. There was something genuine in the way they looked at her now, a fragile thread connecting their shared suffering. Caged beings recognized one another.

Indira was at the microphone in an instant, thanking everyone for coming out and saying that Hazel would be having dinner with their esteemed Mayor. She ended it with a quick quip about looking forward to next year.

Leo disentangled himself from Sable and Bellona. He was at Hazel's side in moments, his hand brushing lightly against her elbow as he guided her toward the stage steps. A whisper slid from his lips as he escorted her back down to the cobblestone street, "Should've known you weren't going to make this easy."

Hazel murmured back under her breath, "Think of it as job security, Drayton."

His eyes met hers for a split second. "Not my security I'm worried about."

Festus reached her next, gripping her shoulder, shaking it in clear approval, "Bold."

Her group began to move toward the Mayor's home as she turned to him, "Think so?"

Festus winked at her, "Hell yeah." He cast a glance at Augustus, "I think you royally pissed off our new Gamemaker." He turned back to her, "Honestly, I'm jealous."

Hazel shared a smirk with him while Augustus fell into stride beside them, "Well, that was...unexpected."

"I've been told that is my defining trait." Hazel tore her eyes from the steaming man.

Augustus's face grew pointed, "I agree, one of several. Gaul sending me here was apparently more than prudent."

"Let's get you to the Mayor's house for dinner." Indira tugged on her arm, trying to pull her away from the frightening man.

"Wait." Hazel pulled back on her arm, searching for the families in the crowd. Ruby's ghost had dissipated. "I want the Harts and the Blacks to join us for dinner."

Festus and Indira shared a look while Augustus ran a hand over his face. A part of her warmed at the idea of causing the man even a minor amount of aggravation.

"Dear...." Indira started.

"I'm going to have to insist," Hazel replied before Indira could make her argument.

Festus hid a smile behind a fist, tapping at his lips.

Augustus leaned closer, "That isn't typically allowed."

"There's nothing typical about any of this." Hazel challenged lowly, "Besides, we all know you, of all people, could care less about what is allowed."

Chapter Text

Augustus probed her emerald irises with his own. He was like a hunter, searching through a thick, verdant forest. The longer the silence stretched on between them, the more she recognized he was seeking weaknesses or fractures within her. Hazel scoffed. She had plenty to choose from, but at that moment, relenting to his newfound authority was not one.

Hazel continued to hold his bronze stare until he relinquished his eye contact with an exasperated, “Fine.”

Before a smile could even consider broaching Hazel’s lips, Indira practically threw her over her shoulder, dragging her down the pathway. “Great, let’s go.”

Even her peacekeepers struggled to keep up as Indira trudged toward the Mayor’s home. Her escort whispered more warnings into her ear as they neared their destination.

However, Hazel only half comprehended her words due to the distracting stares of the citizens as well as the whiplash of her rapidly shifting emotions.

Just like everything else in District Twelve, the mayor's home was drastically poorer than Mayor Kettleberry’s. However, like most districts, it was still the nicest building in town.

At the heart of the home was a humble dining room. A long rectangular table was set up in the center. It was draped in fraying, threadbare tablecloth. Along the edges were embroidered flowers that resembled delicate cream-colored water stars. Their petals were tapered to three soft points. A crimson teardrop marked the innermost edge, like an errant drop of paint.

A collection of crooked, yellowing candles rested in the middle of the table. A matching set of dishes encircled the perimeter. The mayor’s staff were scrambling to set up five more chairs and place settings around the already cramped dining room.

The new legion of peacekeepers aligned in a neat row just outside the doors while her three guards stationed themselves in separate corners within.

Mayor Lipp stretched his arm as if to give the group a weak embrace. “I apologize for the delay; we weren’t expecting…extra guests.”

“None of us were,” Augustus replied. His braid swayed as he stalked through the room toward the head of the table.

Once everything was properly set, each of the guests found a seat. Mayor Lipp and his wife sat at each end, though they were more like living ghosts than hosts. Augustus lounged into the seat next to the Mayor, visiting quietly with the man about the recent increase in coal production.

Ruby and Ethan’s parents sat together on the opposite side of the table from Augustus. Their chairs couldn’t be far enough away.

Indira and Festus took the two seats beside Augustus, forming a much-needed barrier between the man and herself.

Despite the clear tension between the visitors and the locals, Amethyst eagerly took the seat next to Hazel. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“Absolutely.” The girl smiled up at her, and Ruby’s face flashed behind Hazel’s eyelids. She made a lame attempt at an unstrained smile before her eyes dropped to her plate. At least it wasn’t a crying, bleeding ghost this time around.

“Yes, such a kind-hearted Victor we have,” Augustus replied, watching her from the corner of his vision.

“You are too generous, Mr. Trask.” Hazel fought not to scowl back at him, refocusing on Amethyst. “At least we have some time to get to know each other.”

“I, for one, am looking forward to that,” Augustus smirked. Festus muttered under his breath while Indira nodded politely.

Hazel fought to keep her expression still, unperturbed. Let Festus deal with Indira’s lectures for a while.

Without a word, the mayor’s staff laid out a host of dishes before them. There were plates of potato hash, a steaming bowl of some sort of pistachio-colored soup, and a pile of boiled chicken. A saucer of a grayish gravy rounded out the meal. It was modest but not distasteful. Clearly, it was the best they had to offer, which was admirable, all things considered.

Despite the less-than-impressive portions, Hazel’s heart lurched as she watched the ravenousness with which the families stared at the meal.

Grabbing a ladle, she filled a bowl full of what was most likely a form of lima bean soup. With a small sip her suspicion was confirmed as the nutty, garlicy flavor rushed over her taste buds.

“I have to say, Miss Hazel, your speech was very sweet.” Briallen’s voice tore through Hazel's rising irritation at the Gamemaker.

“It was,” Augustus agreed, his bronze eyes reflecting the sickly dandelion light of the candles, “Wasn’t it?”

Her irritation surged forth like the kickback of a poorly felled trunk.

“Thank you,” Hazel swallowed, “I’m not used to public speaking.”

That could be a good enough excuse for going off-script.

“I think our Victor is being modest,” Augustus replied, taking a large gulp of posca.

“And now it’s our newest Gamemaker’s turn to be too kind,” Hazel replied, though the sweetness in her voice was drastically mismatched with the hardness of her irises as she met his gaze.

August tilted his head as if challenged.

Festus smirked between sips of posca. His attention wavered between the two of them like a show was about to begin.

“Ruby would have loved it,” Clive commented.

Hazel swallowed; the mention of Ruby was sobering. “I can only hope she would have.”

“Sounds like a consensus. You did an outstanding job, Seven,” Festus met the blue-haired man’s eyes without flinching, “I would dare say that speech was even better than the original. You could say it was moving even. Need to hire some new speech writers.”

A glowering scowl spread over Augustus’ face, which almost completely gave away who that might be.

The Gamemaker dragged another gulp from his glass while Indira shook her head, dishing a scoopful of the toasted potato hash onto her plate. “No need to exaggerate Festus.”

“Mr. Creed is right. I, for one, was certainly surprised and moved.” Harla replied with a tilt of her head, her stare locked onto the blue-haired man.

Augustus shifted his shoulders, realigning the aim of his scrutiny in her direction, “You know, I was surprised as well. During the Games, Ethan was obviously quite skilled with a bow.”

Ivor sat up straighter, setting down his fork. Harla went rigid, eying her husband.

“Wonder where he picked up those skills,” Augustus sat back in his chair, “Considering such weapons are illegal.”

Hazel shivered, and by the looks of her dinnermates, she wasn’t the only one who felt the sudden drop in the room temperature.

Harla leaned her elbows on the table, “Can’t be sure.”

“No?” Augustus replied, eyes narrowing at the woman.

“My boy was always good with his hands and quick to learn,” Ivor rested a hand on his wife’s forearm.

“A family trait, apparently,” Augustus’s words were like an iceberg—seemingly benign on the surface, but a mystery beneath, and cold as ice either way.

“You know how kids are.” Harla shrugged, though her knuckles were bloodless. “You have children, don’t you, Mr. Trask?”

Augustus’s eyes smoldered with ferocity, but he didn’t answer. Harla continued to stare forward without flinching while her husband caressed her arm. However, Ivor's coal-stained fingers moved along her sleeve, almost as if coaxing a wild animal.

“Ethan was certainly bright. I don’t think it would’ve taken much for him to pick up a new skill.” Hazel commented, hoping to pull Trask’s seething attention away from Harla. “To be honest, they don’t exactly teach axe throwing in District Seven, either.”

Harla and Ivor turned their curious gazes to her. She dropped her attention, sipping the rapidly cooling soup. She hoped she appeared more relaxed than she felt.

“The legality is probably questionable. But lumberjacks have been doing it for centuries, I would imagine.” She wasn’t about to admit how many times they had snuck away from logging clearings during work hours. “I’m sure it is similar in many Districts, just a way to pass time. Gotta entertain yourselves during breaks and off days.”

She could feel Leo’s eyes searching the side of her face, and she willed herself to keep her gaze away from him.

“Don’t have much of those around here anymore,” Clive mumbled, though Briallen’s eyes widened at his candor. He stuttered, glancing at the Mayor and then Augustus, “Not that I am complaining.”

Hazel shuddered. She couldn’t imagine being underground for twelve hours a day, six days a week. The sheer misery of the concept was overwhelming.

“All of us in District Twelve are happy to do our part,” Briallen said, daintily taking a sip of her own posca.

“The workload has increased in Seven, too. And the hours.” Hazel turned her stare toward Augustus.

Augustus shrugged, “Fences don’t build themselves. Neither do Museums.”

“Or arenas,” Hazel let slip.

“Exactly. And more construction means more labor and more supplies are required.”

“Why the fence in the first place?” Hazel asked.

Augustus smirked widely, “Surprising, you don’t know.”

“Should I?” Hazel questioned. How was she able to know what was happening in other districts? It was illegal, after all.

“Considering whose idea it was…” Augustus swirled his knife as he cut up the chicken on his plate.

Hazel cleared her throat, “What use is a fence to a Senator?”

“Rebel attacks are always a concern, dear.” Indira licked her lips as she swirled the thickening lima bean soup around in her bowl. “And that is something Senator Snow certainly takes seriously.”

Hazel tasted the leftover salt from the soup as she chewed her lip. Based on the newness of the fence, it must have been recently initiated. The knowledge swirled within her like a whispered answer in a too-loud room of questions.

Augustus took a slow bite of the meat, clearly amused with himself.

“Just as concerning as keeping citizens safe.” Mayor Lipp’s wife finally spoke, though her sour expression remained.

“Safe or contained?” Harla muttered under her breath, though it was more a statement than an actual question.

“A bit of both.” Mayor Lipp interjected, having clearly heard the woman. His eyes flashed to the window. “People vanish out there. It has happened before.” His expression was more anger than actual concern.

“Missing?” Hazel questioned. Her conversation with Snow in the rose garden echoed in her ears.

“Can’t be too careful.” Mrs. Lipp agreed the lines that stretched from her mouth to her chin deepened.

“Agreed.” Augustus replied, “The fence will be an excellent way to protect the people.”

“Do you have a fence in District Seven?” Amethyst asked, peering up at Hazel.

“No,” Hazel shook her head, meeting Augustus’s eyes for a second, “Or maybe I should say, not yet.”

Amethyst considered her words for a second before asking another question, “What is it like there?”

Hazel sighed as she looked down at the meager food before her. In this District, it was considered a banquet. The hollowness of food deprivation around the young girl’s eye ridges made her stomach sour. “A lot like here.” It wasn’t a total lie. “More food probably…” Her voice fell off.

“More trees?” The girl asked in earnestness.

Hazel’s eyes crinkled at the question, “Yes, more trees, a lot more, and it’s a bit colder.” She swallowed, “We had our first snow already.”

Amethyst wrinkled her nose, “Ugh. I don’t like snow.”

Hazel held back an inappropriate laugh as a genuine smile pulled at her lips, “I’ve started to dislike the stuff myself lately.”

“We all know that is untrue.” Augustus’s eyebrows raised, and she caught the subtle shifting of Leo’s boots as if he were changing positions.

Hazel scoffed, her cheeks warming, “You’re right. The cold certainly keeps away the snakes—and scavengers.”

Augustus tilted his head, meeting her eyes once again. Indira’s shoe slid against her boot in a clear warning.

Amethyst appeared to accept this answer with a small amount of confusion. Augustus, on the other hand, appeared to be anything besides confused.

The man suddenly grew even more interested in the bubbling posca. However, the slight red tinge to his skin appeared unrelated to the alcohol.

Indira cleared her throat, and the group returned to eating quietly.

“Do you have cool rocks there?” Amethyst finally asked as if she could no longer contain her questions.

She reminded Hazel so much of Sage and his youth-drenched curiosity. The thought warmed her heart yet caused it to ache simultaneously.

“We have more rocks than people.” She met the girl’s questioning stare, “Though I’m not sure about their coolness.”

“We have tons here. All different kinds. Maybe I can show you?”

She leaned in toward the girl, “That sounds like a tour I wouldn’t mind, actually.”

“Amethyst, I’m sure she doesn’t have time to look at your rock collection,” Clive softly reprimanded his hopeful daughter.

Hazel cast a look at Festus, who seemed just as opposed to the idea as her peacekeepers.

“It’s unfortunate you have to leave so soon, Miss Marlowe.” Mayor Lipp said, “We would have enjoyed showing you more of our District.”

Hazel nodded politely, “I apologize. They have me on a tight schedule.” She glanced at the faces around the room before adding, “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, there is one thing I would like to see in the morning before I leave.”

Indira caught her eye, “As long as we leave on time.” Sable’s grumbling about its unlikeliness was barely perceptible.

“And what would that be?” Mrs. Lipp asked.

“Would it be possible to visit the cemetery?”

Mayor Lipp and his wife exchanged a look before he nodded, “It would be our honor for you to visit.” He wiped at his mouth, and his voice grew distant, “I may join you; I’ve been meaning to go up there.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hazel replied. The vague news of the death of the Mayor’s daughter had made it back to Seven shortly after the tenth Games.

“Another reason for the fence.” Mrs. Lipp’s tone was scorching, “If we would have had it before, maybe our daughter would still be alive. Would’ve kept out those filthy vermin.”

“Quite right.” Augustus agreed, a veneer of concern etched his brow.

“Who?” Hazel asked.

“The covey,” Mayor Lipp responded, “And that murderous whore, Lucy Gray.”

Festus coughed on his soup while Indira patted him on the back. Hazel stared at the mayor in utter confusion. “She was a Victor.”

“Some Victor.” Mrs. Lipp spat.

“What a mistake. We opened up our district in good faith, offered them our resources and how were we repaid for our generosity?” Mrs. Lipp seethed almost daintily. “Should’ve just put down the whole lot like the dogs they are.”

Hazel swallowed hard. She had been under the impression the covey had all but been forced into Twelve. The group seemed harmless, just like Lucy Gray herself. From what Hazel remembered, she was merely a slip of a girl who seemed more interested in music than murder.

“I wasn’t aware Lucy Gray was charged with murder,” Hazel whispered, barely able to keep her hand from shaking.

“Never got that far. Ran off before we could.” Mayor Lipp replied, uttering a few more choice names for the girl under his breath.

“She’s missing?” Hazel’s shoe tapped in an erratic rhythm beneath the flower-laden tablecloth. She almost deduced as much, but hearing it confirmed was chilling.

“All I know is she better stay that way because if she ever shows her face around here again, she’ll be swinging from the hanging tree before the sun sets.”

Hazel released her spoon, allowing it to sink into the green liquid. ‘She prefers to live her life away from the spotlight.’ Staying away from the spotlight indeed. Snow knew she was missing, and judging by the unsurprised looks on the faces of the tributes’ families, it was somewhat common knowledge.

Something Snow had said itched her brain like a sneeze that wouldn’t let loose, tickling her senses but completely unsatisfactory. ‘She didn’t value truth like I did’….

Augustus’s annoying voice pulled her back to reality, “She is a disgrace to the title of Victor. Now that I am a Gamemaker, if she ever does show back up, her execution will be televised before the entire nation.”

“Without a trial?” Hazel asked.

“I can assure you none would be needed,” Augustus smirked.

Hazel cleared her throat, “It sure sounds like you are more acquainted with District Twelve than I thought, Mr. Trask.” Not so miserable after all, huh?

Indira shot a warning glance at her while the sound of silverware clinking against plates diminished.

Festus sunk further into his chair, taking a long swig of dark beer, seemingly preparing himself for the unfolding dramatics.

Augustus swallowed down his current bite, “I’m acquainted.” His dark tan eyes shifted over the faces at the table.

“It seems you know the Mayor and his wife.” Hazel glanced across the table, “What about our guests?”

“Your guests, Miss Marlowe?”

Hazel squinted at his pettiness. “My guests, Mr Trask?”

He tilted his chin, and a sliver of arrogance slid along his lips, “In a way.”

Harla was gripping her fork so tightly that Hazel thought it might snap in half.

“And Ethan and Ruby?”

Augustus merely stared without answering.

Harla seemed unable to contain herself, “Mr. Trask is being modest. He is no stranger to our humble District.”

Hazel nodded as she watched the two spar across the table without words.

Augustus broke their stare down first, addressing Hazel once again, “Despite first impressions, this place has a certain… charm that I seem to find myself here quite often.”

“Dear, Mr. Trask is well known in many Districts. He donates much time and money to various projects to aid the Capitol.” Indira commented with a tone that suggested she wanted this whole conversation to end. “He even founded an orphanage in District Eight.”

Festus rolled his eyes at Indira’s words. Hazel wasn’t about to drop it. “So, you knew Tulsi Black as well then?”

Augustus met her stare once again, and if looks could maim, then the one on his face would have laid her out.

“Yes,” Harla answered before Augustus even had a chance. “He knew our daughter.”

The way she said it made Hazel’s skin crawl.

Augustus turned his snake-like gaze to Ethan’s mother. “She was a special girl. Without her, District Twelve is certainly less charming.”

The harsh sound of a chair skidding backward filled the room as Ivor rose from his seat. Both of his palms slammed down on the table, shaking the dishes. His calm, steady composure had shattered, sending shock washing over the room like shards of shattered glass.

“If you know what is good, you’d be wise not to speak of her!” His face had grown rusty, and a cordlike vein bulged from his neck. His body and posture screamed anger, but his irises were like jade pools of the deepest sorrow.

Before Hazel could blink, Sable and Bellona pushed forward, flanking either side of him. Sable’s voice was deep but commanding. “Relax, Sir.”

Leo was at her side, breathing in her hair. One hand on his weapon, and the other gripped the back of her chair.

“Rich of you to speak about wisdom.” Augustus straightened but didn’t flinch away, “At least Tulsi was wiser than her father. If you knew what was good, you would follow her example.”

Ivor leaned toward Augustus, spittle flying from his lips, “You’d best keep my daughter’s name out of your goddamn mouth!”

Augustus smiled wickedly at the heaving man as if he was truly enjoying himself, “Funny, neither of your children could quite keep mine out of theirs.” He leaned forward, teeth first, “And look how that turned out.”

Ivor’s body surged toward the Gamemaker while Sable lunged forward. Leo and Bellona unholstered their weapons. Sable‘s hand slammed down over Ivor’s, crushing it hard against the table.

Beneath their collective palms, Ivor had a death grip on his steak knife. “Drop it!” Sable called, the scars along his neck bulging with his demand.

Harla rose to her feet, “Ivor, stop!”

Leo pressed himself between Hazel and the table. He raised his gun, training it on the man’s chest. Bellona also aimed her weapon as Sable wrapped one of his thick arms around the man’s neck.

The miner was no match for the war hero turned peacekeeper. His shoes slid helplessly against the worn floors as Sable wrenched him backward. Though the knife remained clutched in their connected hands.

With another hard pull, Sable tore Ivor from the table while Bellona pressed the muzzle of her weapon against his temple.

“Wait.” Hazel choked out, rising to her feet.

Sable tightened his arm around the man’s neck and wrenched his wrist behind him. A grunt escaped Ivor’s lips as the knife fell to the floor.

“Let’s all calm down,” Bellona commanded.

Hazel pushed back from the table, her heart pounding hard against her throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Briallen murmured as she scanned Augustus with disgust. “This was bound to happen.”

Harla gestured for Bellona to back down as she approached her husband. She relented, pulling her weapon from the man’s head.

Leo, too, lowered his weapon, sliding backward and gripping Hazel’s arm as if he would need to remove her from the room any moment.

Sable withdrew his arm from the man’s neck and released his wrist. With a stiff nod, he pressed a finger into Ivor’s chest, “Go for a walk.”

Harla rested a steady hand on her husband’s surging chest, whispering into his ear. The wild edge in his eyes settled into a simmer as he listened.

Harla turned, meeting Sable’s gaze. “I’ll ensure he does, sir.”

With that, Ivor allowed Harla to pull him away.

Amethyst wrung her little hands as she scooted closer to Hazel.

Hazel murmured to Leo, tapping the hand wrapped around her arm, “I’m all right.”

Leo’s breath tickled the top of her head as he let out a sigh and yielded.

Kneeling, Hazel wrapped her pink-covered hand over the girl’s under the table. “It’s ok.”

“You are a monster. And one day, you will get what’s coming to you.” Harla glared at the newly crowned game maker as she pushed her husband out into the night.

Augustus merely grinned, “For all this talk of wisdom, both of you seem to be lacking in it. Insulting your new Gamemaker is certainly anything but wise, my dear.”

“You’ve already taken everything.” Harla practically spit at the man.

Augustus's eyes flickered to Amethyst, then back, “That’s not really true, is it?”

Hazel’s stomach dropped like a boulder as she gripped Amethyst's hand tighter. She was certain her expression matched the hatred mixed with the cold horror that colored the features of both Ethan’s and Ruby’s family members.

Without another word, Harla disappeared with her husband, the door slamming shut in their wake.

“Mr. Trask,” Mayor Lipp started, a slight twitch pulled at his eye, “I hope you accept my apology on behalf of my citizens.”

Augustus waved him off, “Apology accepted, Mayor. I completely understand.” Augustus glanced in Hazel’s direction once again, “It is not totally their fault. It has been an emotional day.”

“I think I will skip dessert tonight.” Hazel rose, turning to face the infuriating man. “I’ve certainly lost my appetite.”

Augustus smirked at her as Hazel met Leo’s gaze for a moment. His grey eyes were like stone, but she could see the turmoil brewing like an approaching storm.

Indira gestured to Festus, and the two retreated from the table. “Our Victor is right. We have a long day tomorrow. Thank you all for dinner.”

The Hart’s rose and Amethyst went to them, wrapping her arms around her father. “We must be going as well,” Clive replied.

Hazel met Amethyst’s saddened stare as her parents prepared to depart. “I would love to see that rock collection you were telling me about. How about you show me?”

The Harts nodded in worried agreement while Amethyst’s glum expression warmed at the idea.

As her entourage prepared to leave, Hazel addressed the Mayor and his wife, “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Mayor Lipp said nothing but merely nodded, as did his wife with a slightly perturbed politeness.

Augustus leaned back in his chair, downing the last of his posca before pouring more into his glass. “Train leaves at 9 am, Red. Don’t be late.”

Leo ushered Hazel around the table toward the entrance to the dining room, “We will ensure she is on time, Sir.”

Hazel scowled at Augustus from around Leo’s shoulder, “And if I am tardy?”

“Don’t be.” Augustus's face sparked with a dangerous light, “Or I will collect you myself.”

Chapter Text

Chimney smoke swirled around the bizarre procession as the sunlight faded to nothing. A horde of peacekeepers was being led by a small girl, dragging a tired-looking redhead behind her through the streets of District Twelve.

Amethyst’s hand was cinched around Hazel’s with a surprising amount of strength for such a young, frail girl. She was all but skipping down the dark cobblestone streets. The knobby bones dug into Hazel’s skin with each bounce, almost as if the young girl thought Hazel might disappear if she loosened her grip.

Ahead of the two was a humble dwelling that was barely sturdy enough to call a home.

Briallen and Clive paused at the entrance, stepping aside to let Hazel and her three guards file in. Sable instructed the comically large group of peacekeepers following them to wait outside.

The entire home could have fit inside Hazel’s living room with space to spare. Its ceilings were warped and low. Each wall was uneven and patched with cheap particle board.

Wallpaper was pulling away from the walls, curling back like rotting fruit. Mismatched furniture was scattered about, the upholstery clinging to its last threads.

Bellona whispered, frowning at the depression-colored decor. “Best to keep this brief. We’re fairly exposed.”

Sable’s lip curled as he scanned the area as well. “Yeah, exposed to tetanus.”

Bellona elbowed him.

Leo whispered, “Bellona is right. I think we have had enough fireworks for one day.”

Hazel kept her voice low as she murmured, “Don’t worry. I’ll scream if she draws a weapon.”

Leo shook his head, exchanging a look with his sister. “Just don’t take too long, Marlowe.”

“Yes, sir,” Hazel said as Amethyst pulled her toward a closed door with the letters “A” and “R” carved into thin scraps of wood hanging from a nail driven into its center.

“Better be.” Sable crossed his arms, face completely humorless.

Hazel let the young girl shut them inside the cold, ragged bedroom. It was so uncannily similar to the shack where her father used to reside, that she half expected the smell of crusted whiskey. Winter air entered through scattered gaps in the siding. A solitary steel pot with rusted edges lay in the middle of the floor, collecting errant drops that insisted on creeping through the ceiling.

Against each wall was a mound of blankets folded into the shape of a sleeping mat. One held a stuffed bear with faded purple-colored fabric. The other was neat, folded tightly. It was as if it was waiting for its owner to return. Hazel bent closer to the empty bed, tracing the weave of the thick brown quilt and the embroidered little pink flowers along its border.

“It’s over here.” The young girl bent next to a rickety dresser and tugged open a battered drawer. The clunky sound it made was almost laughable. It was filled to the brim with rocks, stones, and random trinkets of hardly any value.

Hazel sidled up to Amethyst, looking down into the girls’ treasure trove.

“Wonderful,” Hazel’s voice was as threadbare as the home’s furniture.

Amethyst dug into her collection. “I want you to have one of these.” She pulled out a fingernail-sized stone that looked like a sanded pearlescent crystal. It was generally round with scattered divots and minuscule imperfections. “It’s called a poor man’s diamond.”

She surveyed the depressing little space and then the girl before her and then the gem in her open palm. She had that magical quality of children. They could make fantasies and adventures out of even the most dire circumstances. They dug up even small amounts of wonder from ruins, making diamonds out of worthless stones. The best kind of miners in the worst kind of mines.

Hazel suddenly felt so removed from her childhood, along with the innocence that came with it. That kind of magic felt foreign now, like something she’d shed and left to rot in the arena.

“I’ve always heard coal can be made into diamonds.” She petted the rock with her finger like it was a tiny animal in her palm. “Given enough pressure.”

“They aren’t real.” She shrugged, “There’s millions of ‘em down by the lake.”

“You spend much time there?” Hazel questioned.

“Used to.” Amethyst paused, the skin between her brows pinched, “Tulsi, Ruby, and me liked to go diamond hunting together. Sometimes, Ethan would come, too. Said we needed supervision.”

Hazel let out a droll laugh, “Sounds like him.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, though her voice quivered over the word.

“I’m so sorry.” Hazel winced.

Amethyst wiped at her eyes, “It’s ok, it doesn’t matter. It’s impossible to go back… with the fence. Nobody’s su’posed to go out there anymore.”

“Right, the fence…” Hazel leaned in. “When did they start building it? After the tenth games?”

She frowned, “No.” The younger girl ran her fingers over the fraying hem of her sleeve, “After yours.”

Hazel swallowed down a stone-like lump in her throat. “Does Senator Snow come here often?”

“Only seen him on television.”

“And Augustus?” Hazel spoke carefully, watching the girl with rapt attention.

Her dark eyes met Hazels, and even in the poor lighting, it was evident that agony and anger danced as a pair within. “He does. Not as much anymore.”

“What did he do, Amethyst?”

The girl bit her lip and shivered, “They won’t tell me, say I’m too young. But I know it is his fault Tulsi died. Ethan was always angry after that. Ruby cried a lot. She tried to hide it from me, but I noticed.”

Amethyst let out a long breath, “Last time I saw Tulsi, we were hunting for diamonds at the lake. Collected a whole basket of these. But she was tired and said she couldn’t stay long. She went home by herself. Ethan stayed with me and Ruby. Never saw her again. Nobody was the same after...” The girl’s words quivered, wilting on her lips like delicate flowers in winter.

Amethyst seemed to be holding back a whimper. Her eyes brimmed with tears as her gaze settled on the bed across the small room. “It’s just me now.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Hazel sought her hand, enclosing it within her own. “The world never feels quite right, like you’ve put your shoes on the wrong feet. You can still walk, but it’s not the same.”

Amethyst squeezed Hazel’s hand. “Like putting your coat on backward.”

“Exactly.” Hazel swallowed down the knot in her throat.

“You know, Silus was very…brave.”

Hazel blinked against the sting behind her eyes and scrubbed at a tear with the heel of her palm. “He was.”

A rough knock made Hazel flinch while Amethyst only sighed.

Mr. Hart stood in the gap of the doorway. His sad eyes softened as he took in Hazel and Amethyst, kneeling on the ground and holding hands.

“Sorry, Miss. But Amethyst needs to go to bed soon.”

“Five more minutes?” The girl begged, tightening her hold on Hazel.

Clive’s face softened, and he murmured, “Five minutes.”

Beyond him, Hazel caught glimpses of her impatient entourage—peering through the narrow gap in the door.

As it shut again, Amethyst whispered, “We have to work early.”

Hazel turned back to the girl, “We?”

She nodded and shrugged.

“I thought Ruby said she was too young for the mines.” Amethyst was several years younger. Hazel tried to keep the concern from her features. Even in Seven, children didn’t start working in the mills or the woods until at least twelve years old.

The younger girl’s face fell. “Things are different now.”

“Ever since my Games?”

“Yeah.”

The burn of injustice sizzled like frying embers, popping and cracking her bloodstream. Hazel pulled away from her as she pulled off the gold earrings that dangled like beautiful insults from her ears. Mocking the poorness all around her.

“I want to give you something.” Hazel ripped the bracelets from her arms. Pulling the gold into one hand, she presented it to the younger girl.

Amethyst’s pupils dilated as she gazed open-mouthed at Hazel’s palm. “That diamond I gave you isn’t real, you know.”

“It’s priceless.” Hazel countered. She took the girl’s hand, turning it palm up, and tipped the jewelry into it. “But these?” Hazel glanced down at the gold. “Most definitely have prices.”

Amethyst curled her fingers slowly over the items. She had probably never held such precious jewelry before. Hell, Hazel barely had.

“Thank you,” she rasped.

“Don’t sell them all at once.” Hazel caught the tear that slipped down the girl’s cheek with a gentle swipe of her thumb. “Or take them to a blacksmith—have something made. A barrette, a brooch perhaps, or maybe a pin.” She winked through the welling tears in her own eyes.

Hazel leaned in, wrapping her in a hug. Amethyst gripped her hard; a small sniffle fell between them. “I wish I could do more.” As she pulled away, Hazel clutched the crystalline rock over her heart. “Thank you for this. I will keep it safe and treasure it always.”

Another knock at the door filled the room. Amethyst was the one to flinch this time, her knuckles whitening around the gold. She wedged her fist beneath her leg as Hazel rose.

Briallen and Clive were waiting with her group at the door. She needed to get out of there before anyone noticed her missing jewelry.

“Thank you both for your hospitality.”

Hazel cast a teary glance back at Ruby’s little sister, “Take care, Amethyst.”

“You too.” The girl’s eyes shone like damp stones in the fading light, “Bye.”

With that, Hazel scurried to the door. She was escorted back to the train car with much too heavy security. They would spend the night in the station before heading to Eleven in the morning.

Hazel felt an overwhelming weariness overtake her as she stepped back into her bedroom on the train. Her first order of business was to remove the Victor’s medal, chucking it onto the bedside table. Second was the ridiculous, heeled boots. The pair were careening through the air as Leo opened the door.

He flinched as a clunky sound reverberated around them as they collided with the opposite wall. His eyes darted toward the offending footwear before finding Hazel slouched against the edge of the bed. “Not the best day, huh?”

Hazel muttered, “Are you kidding? Highlight of my life. Only hallucinated a couple of times.”

Leo’s grin faded as he closed the door gently. “Marlowe-“

“It’s fine.” But the words came out too brittle.

“Maybe it's too much.” Leo’s features hardened into a serious expression as he slid further inside. “Maybe seeing the other tributes' families is—”

“Too triggering?” Hazel cut him off. Hazel shook her head as she sunk into the cushioned chair across from him. “They aren’t the problem. I am. Though Augustus is a close second.” She rested her hands on the table, picking at the edge of her bandage. “Besides, it is a part of the entertainment value, you know.”

Leo stepped closer. “Wouldn’t hurt for you to dial things back a little. The speeches, the gestures... And maybe avoid provoking any more Gamemakers.”

Hazel let out a scoff as she pulled on a loose edge of the bandage as if she could relieve the pressure in her heart. “Is that what Indira sent you in here to say? Or maybe Sable?” She lifted her chin just enough to meet his stare before her eyes dropped back to her hands, “Or was it Augustus?

“No.” Leo closed the distance between them, “As your friend,” He leaned forward, resting a strong, calm hand over her busy ones. She paused her fiddling to look up at him. “And as someone who understands, to some extent, what you are going through. You are playing with fire, Marlowe—and fire burns.” Her skin twitched beneath his as he continued. “That is something I cannot protect you from. No one can.”

“You have to understand, there is so little I have control over.”

“Is control worth your life?”

Hazel closed her eyes for a moment, breathing out, “Is it even my life without it?”

“I’ve spent nearly all of mine following orders, Marlowe. Doesn’t mean I agree with them.” He swallowed hard, his eyes flickered away from hers for a moment before resettling, “We all have to play our roles.”

Her eyes snapped back open, “Maybe I believe it wasn’t Augustus who sent you here. You sound more like a Senator.”

Leo’s eyes flashed at her comment with an almost alarmed expression that he quickly smothered.

“Sorry. Just ignore me.” Hazel sighed. She was absolutely mentally and emotionally exhausted on the first day of the tour, balancing on the edge of her breakdown but not doubt, also the Capitol’s leniency. Now, she was lashing out at one of the people in her corner.

Finally, her shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I will try to ease up a bit.” Hazel met his eyes, and he watched her for a moment.

“Good,” His thumb brushed against her knuckles before releasing her hands and backing away.

“You best get some rest.” He turned to the door. Just before he gripped the handle, he hesitated. “A word of advice?”

Hazel looked up at him expectantly.

“Lie.”

“What?”

His eyes raked over the bare skin along her ears and wrists, “When Indira realizes your jewelry is missing.”

Hazel’s heart sped up as his eyes held hers once again. The man noticed everything. She could’ve kicked herself for forgetting—he was a peacekeeper, after all. But unlike most at the same time.

His face shone in the orange lamplight. The warm-toned illumination teased out the amber tint of his dark hair. It reminded her of how wood grain came to life with varnish and sunlight. What might have seemed plain before transformed into a melody of colors and patterns wholly unique. And it seemed that as time had gone on, she was slowly realizing how unique the man before her truly was.

“Good night, Marlowe.” He said as he disappeared into the depths of the train, and her door latched shut. She heaved her weary bones onto the bed. Pressing her palms to her eyes, she let out a long, exasperated breath. He is right. I need to pace myself.

It had been overwhelming, and it was only the first day.

Yet her mind was intent on replaying the day's events in excruciating detail. Ruby’s bleeding form danced behind her eyelids. I'm not the one setting the pace.

Letting the quietness of the night wash over her, she willed herself into unconsciousness. After what seemed to be either minutes or hours of reliving the day on repeat, a heavy thud shook her room like something had fallen—or maybe dropped. Hazel shot up, gripping the blankets over her. Her pulse was immediately pounding in her throat.

The space was soaked in darkness. Her lamp light had been extinguished. Any traces of the moon were non-existent behind thick clouds. The furniture was like blobs of indistinguishable grayness. Their shapes were obscured, almost like a suggestion of what they were. Hazel turned to the bedside lamp, considering the bulb within. Weird. Did the light burn out? Don’t remember turning it off.

Hazel twisted over, groping for the knife beneath her pillow with one hand. Her other hand reached for the lamp once again. Just as her fingers made contact with the knob, a squelching came next, like sodden socks sliding over the flooring.

Hazel spun back to the darkness, but it remained the same except for a vaguely familiar yet pungent odor she couldn’t quite place.

“Leo?” She called. “Bells?”

No distinguishable answer came as the lamp burst to life. As light flooded her train car, something became sickeningly clear. She was not alone.

Chapter Text

“Who are you?” Hazel croaked at a human-shaped silhouette occupying one of the chairs. A tattered brown winter coat obscured the back of the stranger’s head. Their features hidden in the depths of its thick folds.

Despite her question, they made no move to address her or even acknowledge her existence.

Hazel curled her sweat-slicked fingers around the knife’s handle. “What are you doing here?”

Her unwanted guest responded with a string of congested coughs. The nature of which was undeniably baritone.

What was the point of assigning an entire legion of infantry if anyone could just waltz into her room?

They didn’t move or acknowledge her. The figure’s shoulders slumped forward as another cough escaped. This time, a fine mist sprayed from his lips, splattering the coat’s sleeves, chair arms, and table.

What was more disturbing than the spittle spewing over her bedroom furniture was the fact that the liquid in question was an unnatural hue. It was like artificially colored berry jam, rich in tone but unsettlingly blue.

Bizarre. Hazel shuttered and detangled the blankets from her legs, “How did you even get in here?”

She slid her stocking feet to the floor and crept around the bed. One hand braced against the frame while the other held the knife aloft.

However, using the thing was still like trying to brush her teeth with her left hand, awkward and uncoordinated.

“Leo?” Hazel yelled, hoping the walls were thin enough for him to hear her distress. However, the intruder's uneven breathing was the only response.

She inched forward until her toe was met with a sickly wetness that nearly caused her to startle. Glancing down, her sock was soaking in a puddle of the jelly-like substance.

What in hell?

Hazel grimaced; the coughing intruder’s face was still concealed within the fabric confines of his coat. After a deep inhale, she pushed herself off the edge of the bed. Reaching toward the stranger, she let out a grunt, followed by a sharp tug, and yanked off his hood.

She flung herself back, her skin pulsing as if she’d pet one of Gaul’s eels, bracing for a strike.

Pushing the weapon higher between them, she hoped it would make her guest rethink whatever plans they might have had, sneaking into her room in the middle of the night.

As she slid in front of the chair, her socks met more puddles, but she hardly noticed.

Without the covering, the stranger’s identity rapidly took shape. Hazel’s own features melted into shock. Light grey eyes met hers. His irises were mirrors of his mother. Raw, reddened cuts and scratches littered every inch of visible skin, but the most unnerving part was the streaks of teal smudged over his skin and hair. On one foot, he wore a solitary boot. On the other was just a sludgy sock stained a nauseating navy, almost purple.

More of the goo dripped from his chin and lips as he finally smirked in an all too familiar way, “Hunting Seven?” He tilted his head, attention falling to the blade. “Or being hunted, maybe ?”

Ethan merely watched her as she dropped the blade and scrambled back. Without looking, she gripped the other chair to steady herself, but it was no match for her rising hysteria.

She was pulled down with it, sprawling on the floor. “Not you too….” She choked. It hadn’t been enough that her mind would torture her with Ruby. This isn’t happening. It isn’t real.

Ripping her disheveled hair out of her vision, she stared up at the boy to whom she owed her life.

“Graceful as ever, Seven.” He winced before letting out another round of coughs, and more teal liquid sprayed out around him. A pungent odor followed; the acid of the spider’s blood assaulted her nose, and her eyes began to water.

Recovering from his coughing spell, he watched her scoot back from him on the floor, the humor fading into sympathy. Finally, he croaked, “Promise me something?”

Promise? Hazel froze at the word, memories drowning her senses.

‘Promise me you'll get her out of here and keep her safe.’ Ethan’s voice played in her ears, followed by the sounds of the monstrous spider’s body crushing Ethan’s beneath it.

A wide laceration snaked across Ruby's collarbone. It trailed along her throat, ending just under her ear; a necklace of dark purple and blue discoloration was just beneath it.

‘Please.’ A sob wracked Hazel’s body as she placed a finger against Ruby's delicate jugular.

Still, no warmth and no pulse of life met her fingers, only the iciness of Ruby's bloodless skin.

This is just another nightmare.

“I’m sorry, Twelve.” She pressed her palms back over her eyes.

Ethan’s grey features steeled, “Don’t let him get away with this.”

What has that monster done? Ethan took down Gaul’s mutation, but it seemed he could never overcome his real enemy. Pity struck her like one of his arrows, which was quickly followed by a rush of helplessness.

If he couldn’t do it, how does he expect me to? I didn’t keep my promise last time. Why would now be any different?

“I can’t.” Hazel whimpered.

Ethan’s sigh filled the room, followed by another cough. “It’s your turn, now.”

Her heart lurched within her at the sharp bite of grief that suddenly overwhelmed her. Wake up.

A light breeze pulled at her hair like a window had been opened. It licked along her skin like a warm summer day, and then it was gone. Stillness settled over everything like all of the air had been siphoned out.

Hazel pulled her hands from her face, refocusing on the seat where Ethan had been, but it was empty. The only remnants of him were the blue-tinged smudges.

Silus's voice met the backs of her ears in a haunting whisper. “Haze.”

Rising to her feet, she spun around, but no one was there. Only the lost weapon and one tipped-over chair. “I’m not crazy.” Her voice wavered. Even her vocal cords were unconvinced.

“It really is getting questionable, though, isn’t it?” She jumped as a new visitor entered her nightmare scape. Her heart rate spiked as her body recognized who it was before her mind did.

Spinning back around, she realized that Ethan’s seat was once again occupied. However, this time, it was by a particularly smug Senator. His suit was his signature maroon one, his white flower pristine as ever. Shiny black dress shoes tapped a subtle rhythm against the flooring.

Ugh. Not now.

“Why are you the only living person who really haunts me?”

Snow reclined, crossing one leg over the other, “Now, that’s a question worth asking yourself.”

Hazel scoffed, “Isn’t that what I’m doing? You are just a creation of my mind.”

Snow smiled for a brief moment before something on his arm pulled away his gaze. Hazel followed his scrutiny. A streak of blue marred his perfectly pressed cuff. “You’re right. You’d never catch me dead in a chair this disgusting in reality.” He plucked a fresh handkerchief from his coat pocket, blotting at the smear. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

Hazel shook her head at the ridiculousness of the entire situation, pressing her fingers against her temples. Wake up. But, no matter how hard she pressed against her own skin, the dream remained solidly in place.

“Think it will stain?” he said as he studied his sleeve.

“One can only hope, Senator.” Hazel let her hands drop to her sides.

A blonde eyebrow twitched, “I thought I told you to call me Coriolanus?”

“Well, you’re not actually him,” Hazel bit back, crossing her arms over her chest. “So I’ll call you whatever I damn well please.”

“Still clinging to the reins, I see.” The man unfolded himself, rising to his full height with another disgusted grimace at the chair.

“Familiar territory?” Who was this ghost to lecture her about control?

Snow tilted his head to the side, taking a long stride toward her, “You’re deflecting.”

“You’re projecting.” Hazel’s eyes narrowed.

A small laugh fell from his lips as he drew nearer, purposefully avoiding the spider puddles. “Why am I the only living person to visit you here with any kind of regularity?” His attention dragged over her like a blade. Slicing over her skin from head to blueberry-tinged toes. “You summoned me. Not your new favorite peacekeeper. Not your escort, your mentor, or either of your doctors. Not your family…” His voice dipped, “Me.”

Hazel matched his next forward stride with a backward one, but it did little to keep space between them. “My dreams are something I absolutely have no control over.”

“No?” Within another moment, he was before her. Clenching her teeth together, she prayed he didn’t notice her pulse dancing against the skin of her neck. He smirked but turned to move past her, his shoulder brushing hers. “Maybe it is because your unconscious understands a truth you refuse to acknowledge.” As he passed, he leaned to the side, whispering into her ear. “At least during daylight hours.”

Hazel scoffed, shaking her head as she subtly shifted, ensuring the man stayed within her line of sight. Even as a ghost, he was infuriating.

Snow’s smirk deepened, his focus falling on the abandoned knife. He crouched and retrieved it, running a gloved finger over the tip of the blade. “That is why I am here instead of them, Miss Marlowe. They don’t understand people like us.”

Hazel blanched, “There is no us.”

Snow tutted softly. “Delusion is one of the most dangerous of poisons.”

“Then you must be drowning in it.”

His eyes snapped to hers, crackling like fissuring ice. “Says the girl who can’t seem to keep me out of her dreams.”

Snow moved forward, circling her like a peregrine choosing his moment. The obsidian blade glittered like a deadly promise as he twirled it in his palm.

“You are acting like it was an invitation instead of an invasion, Senator.”

He raised a gloved hand in a wide, sweeping gesture at their surroundings. The knife in his hand spun, emphasizing his point. “This is your dream. You are acting like it is someone else’s.”

She retreated a step, her damp heel grazing the upturned leg of the toppled chair. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“And yet—” He gestured to his imposing frame, from his polished dress shoes to the pristine flower pinned to his lapel. “Here I am.”

He again matched her backward stride with a forward one. The letters “LD” were practically gaping at her from the handle.

Clearly, he was drawing far too much entertainment from her discomfort. It was only fair to let him have a taste of his own.

“Maybe you are right, at least partially.” She said, “Maybe I just brought you here to practice for your eventual assassination.”

Both blonde brows rose this time, “I would love to see you try.” Snow’s mouth curved upward as well. "I’m at your mercy, after all."

He closed the gap between them so near that Hazel could see the faint glimmer of teal against his cuff where he’d wiped away the spider’s blood.

She started to take another step away when he ensnared her bicep.

Hazel forced herself to meet his eyes. “What…what are you doing?” she stuttered at the strain of his sudden proximity.

He leaned in, the space between them dissolving faster than she thought possible. “You tell me,” he whispered.

“This isn’t real,” she managed.

His grip slackened, his hand falling away as he released her arm. For a moment, she felt as though he may retreat. But his hand rose again, fingertips hovering just shy of her jawline. “Maybe a part of you wants it to be.”

She froze, her breath catching in her throat as his eyes lingered on her. Hazel turned her face away as he leaned in. The scent of flowers, marshmallows, and iron slid along the curve of her ear. It wasn’t quite right, more like a watered-down shadow of his scent. It was a dream. It had to be. But why did it feel so damningly real?

Finding a point on the floor, she stared at it. Each second made it harder to ground her nerves. Wake up, Hazel.

“Look at me,” he murmured against the shell of her ear.

She didn’t. Wake up, damn it!

Snow’s leather-clad fingertips brushed along her jaw, trailing downward until they settled on her chin. She startled, her eyes snapping back to him. He was much closer now. Too close.

His irises were like the Alpine on a summer day when the water turned nearly translucent as it crashed over its many boulders.

His fingers tightened a fraction, applying just enough pressure to tilt her face toward him. Hazel flinched under the touch, her every instinct screaming to shove him away.

He studied her with a probing gaze that she swore that more than one lab rat would have found familiar.

“You want control. So do I,” he murmured, the pad of his thumb tapping a soft rhythm against her jaw.

Hazel’s chest constricted as she pulled her chin from his grasp, “You and your ghost can stop trying to convince me we are the same.”

“I’m trying to convince you that I can give you what you want.” Before she could retreat, his fingers encircled her jaw again like he was holding a delicate vase. Firm enough to still but gentle enough to avoid breaking.

“You think this is what I want?” She breathed.

His eyes trailed downward, the descent of which sent prickles scurrying across her skin. “It sure as hell can’t be a measly pocket knife or tethered life.”

Hazel's heart rate spiked, fingernails carving dainty half-moons into her palms. “Like you said, it is delusional to think that I won’t always be leashed.”

“Hmm, but who do you want holding the other end?” he replied. “I can give that to you.” His crystalline irises bored into hers. “And only I can.”

With a feather-light touch, he replaced the knife within her trembling grasp. He curled her fingers around it beneath his own. “Wager I can even help you keep your promises.”

“Don’t,” she whispered harshly. This isn’t real.

“You can end this whenever you want.” He pulled back slightly, letting his hand fall away from hers. Amusement swam in his eyes as he searched the air around them like he was waiting for the dream to dissolve at any moment. Yet, it remained.

Gripping the knife, she raised it between them, pressing the blade sideways against his chest.

He stilled, glancing downward at the blade poised against him. Yet, instead of bristling with anger or recoiling in shock, an unsettling, amused intensity pooled in his eyes. “Would you do it if you had the chance?”

Would she? She had to admit that sometimes, the thought was tempting. But, it would be a death sentence for them both and probably her entire family. Mutually assured destruction at its finest.

He practically oozed with satisfaction at her lack of response. His free hand suddenly pressed against her back, pulling her closer. The blade’s edge slid upward until it hooked on his elegant collar.

As if she were holding a toothpick against him, he bent closer, the tip of his nose sliding along her cheek.

Hazel's body was like a thousand-pound log, unmovable despite all her efforts. A log on fire. Her limbs rebelled, and her muscles strained, but the knife remained still.

Undaunted, Snow’s lips ghosted over the edge of her jawline, his rose-soaked breath seeping into her skin.

She pressed her free palm to his chest. Her arm felt bloodless yet sparkled with cold fire as the petals of his flower brushed her fingers. Hazel squeezed her eyes shut as her pulse fractured into erratic beats. Wake up. Wake up.

Snow’s voice pressed closer, as did she suspect his body. “Unless…” The aroma of sugar and roses swirled around her. “You don’t want to.” His breath was warm, floating down over her mouth now like he was breathing in the air from her lungs.

He leaned further in, closing the infinitesimal gap. Just as she swore, she felt the softness of his lips graze the corner of her own. She gasped-and her eyes snapped open. Any air left in her lungs instantly vanished along with her dream.

Jolting upright. She was still in Indira’s clothes, lying sideways across her bed. Her hand clutched Leo’s knife. Her room was bright, the lamp glowing beside her.

Peeling herself from the mattress, her heart rate was still pounding away like an axeblade thwacking repeatedly into a sap-drunk trunk. She dropped the weapon on the bed, pressing her palms over her eyes.

I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. She chanted it to herself over and over, raking her shaking fingers through her nightmare-gnarled hair. However, her hesitation to push away Snow unnerved her more than any horrifying imagery. Heat crawled up her neck to her cheeks. Was she pushing him away? Yes, of course she was. It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.

Just when she felt almost convinced, damming the flood of doubts, something out of place caught in her periphery. She settled her scrutiny on the center of her bedroom. Her heart sank, and her hands stilled. One of her two chairs was out of place, lying haphazardly on its side.

Chapter Text

Frost-covered mud crunch beneath Hazel’s boots. Sparse, lifeless grass littered the ground in sporadic patches. Graves, if you could even call them that, lined the cemetery in crooked rows. The District Twelve graveyard was an overcrowded plot of haggard land, a death-colored boutonniere that completed the district’s coal-dust-soaked ensemble.

The white of the morning frost merged with the black and gray, making everything feel and look muddy, dull, and lifeless. Lily would hate it here. Linden probably would consider it inspired.

Hazel felt a weird comradery with the place herself. Not for the depressing color pallet but more because it was as though her sentiment matched the setting. She had, after all, spent the rest of the night wide awake, terrified of what waited beneath the canopy of unconsciousness.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Bellona said as she walked beside her. “But you look like hell.”

Apparently, Bellona recognized the similarities as well.

“Good to know that the outside matches the inside.” Hazel sighed, her breath puffing out in gray steam.

“Restless night?” Bellona asked, studying her out of her peripheral vision.

Hazel pulled her coat tighter, “Something like that.”

“I swear I heard you talking with someone.”

She was grateful for the coolness of the air and the murky morning light as it masked any blush that threatened to break free. “Probably just sleep talking again. Been doing it since I was little. I thought I grew out of it.”

“Oh right,” Bellona’s face melted into pity.

Hazel’s face grew instantly warm despite the frigidness. “Did you watch that part of my games?”

Bellona nodded. Hazel would rather be buried in the cemetery than think about how many others heard her speak Snow’s name in her sleep. She battled her feet to walk normally. “Did I say anything….interesting?”

Her guard shrugged, “Couldn’t tell.”

A small amount of relief filled her. “You have an issue with sleepwalking, too?” Bellona asked.

Relief gave way to a fresh wave of concern. Hazel paused, staring at her with a desperately perplexed grimace, “Not that I know of.”

“Weird,” Her guard faced her, “I thought I heard you moving around in there, but no one came in or out all night.”

Bellona stuttered, watching the harrowed expression filter over Hazel’s features. “I mean, maybe it was nothing.”

Hazel grimaced the image of her tipped-over chair burning in the back of her mind. “Probably.”

“Maybe, I have something that can help.” Bellona tugged on Hazel’s sleeve, “Give me your hand.”

Hazel relented, opening her palm. Bellona reached into her uniform pockets, pulled out her balled fist, and pressed something into Hazel’s open hand.

Hazel shivered. Something about it reminded her of Snow’s ghost giving her the knife. But this was no knife. It was cylindrical, hard, but most definitely plastic in nature. She furrowed her brow, catching a glimpse of the undeniable orange tint of a prescription bottle.

Hazel's voice dropped to a whisper, “Bells, are you giving me drugs?”

Bellona stifled a laugh, shaking her head, “They’re yours.”

Hazel’s eyes widened, looking at the bottle again.

Bellona continued, “You forgot to pack these, and I had a feeling you might need them.”

The only thing I forgot was to chuck them in the trash bin.

“I don’t know.” Hazel started, but Bellona released their hands, moving to grip one of her shoulders.

“I’ve seen how grief can destroy someone, Marlowe,” Bellona said, her stare growing distant for a moment. “Rots a person from the inside out.” She cleared her throat, “You need to take care of yourself.”

Hazel’s shoulders dropped. It must have been a harrowing experience. She tried to imagine a young Bellona, a helpless audience to her own mother’s descent into madness.

“Take them with you.” She sighed, stepping back, “Decide later whether to use them or not, but maybe it would mean at least one decent night’s rest. And you, Marlowe…” Bellona’s features softened, “You definitely need it.”

A full night of sleep without any horrific imagery or weird conversations with ghost versions of Senator Snow did sound suddenly tempting.

“Thank you.” Hazel dropped the pills into her pocket. She resolved to accept the gesture for the time being and decide whether she would flush them later. “I’m so sorry about your mother, Bells,” Hazel replied quietly.

Bellona nodded gruffly before whispering for Hazel to go on ahead.

She acquiesced, returning to her trek through the cemetery while Bellona stayed with the rest of the horde of guards. Hazel was still within eyes sight but at least out of earshot which gave her a small sense of privacy.

Or at least the illusion of it.

Here, there were no flowers and no tokens left in remembrance. Just jagged grave markers with nearly unintelligible inscriptions carved across their surfaces. Despite this, it was clear where the two of the newest rose from the earth. The headstones were simple but cleaner and side by side.

The early morning wind whipped through Hazel’s hair. It carried the scents of dirt and coal instead of sawdust and pinesap.

Ethan’s was to the right, and Ruby’s to the left. Their engravings were unrefined, just their names and the dates of their short lives. She paused as she recognized the engraving on the other side of Ethan’s stone. Tulsi Black.

‘Don’t let him get away with this.” The words were so clear. It was as if Ethan was there whispering them to her.

A shiver shook Hazel’s shoulders, and she tightened her grip on her coat. Hazel clenched her left hand into a hard fist, her finger jamming into the center. But the pain could not stop the overwhelm from dousing her.

There was space for another grave next to Ruby’s. Hazel shuddered as little Amethyst’s face flashed before her eyes. She wanted to promise to protect the girl. Or promise her fallen allies that she would do what she could now that they were gone. But the words died on her lips. How could she protect anyone when she could scarcely hold herself together?

Her pulse throbbed in her chest. She sunk to her knees, hands resting against the frozen dirt, “Forgive me. I’m so sorry. I can’t make any more promises.” She squeezed her eyes closed as she could practically hear the screeching of the spider and Ruby’s screams of terror. Hazel whispered to the stones, “Please, don’t ask me.”

The sound of boots approaching met her ears, shattering her gray bubble of solitude-laden grief. Hazel wiped at her eyelids. “I’m all right, Bells.”

“You don’t appear all right, Miss Hazel.” The voice was not Bellona’s.

Hazel lifted her gaze. Mrs. Black was striding over to her, eyes red-rimmed, wrapped in a deep brown coat that had seen better days.

Hazel quickly pulled herself to her feet and ran her sleeve beneath her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Black. I just…” How could she possibly even begin to articulate what was happening? She’ll think I am insane.

“No need to explain to me.” The woman walked forward until she was shoulder-to-shoulder with Hazel. Harla’s gaze fell to the desolate graveyard, and her lips pressed into a shivering line. The wind swirled around them both as they stood silently for several minutes.

“Sometimes, this is the only place that can convince me it is all real. That they aren’t going to come running in from outside at any moment.”

Pity wasn’t even the right way to describe how Hazel felt for this woman. Her life was in tatters, both of her children buried beneath her feet.

“Mrs. Black…” Hazel murmured. “You think we will see them again? That there is something after all this?”

Harla’s voice was like a pair of worn boots taken on many muddy hikes. It was caked in a thick layer of understanding and clearly had been to the depths of despair Hazel couldn’t even fathom. “I believe there is.” She dug her hands deeper into her pockets, “There has to be. It is the only thing keeping me going. Keep telling myself that they are waiting for me. And one day, when it is my time, I will see them again.”

Hazel swallowed, gaze dropping to her refined shoes, “My brother thought so, too. Said it all can’t be for nothing.”

A small part of Hazel hoped it was true.

“He was a fine young man and apparently a wise soul.”

Hazel’s lip began to quiver, and she bit down on it, “He was.” She ran her sleeve again under her face.

A heavy hand landed on Hazel’s shoulder. “Let me tell you the same thing my mama told me.” The woman gently pulled until Hazel faced her. Despite her evident grief, sympathy swirled within her features, “Grief is merely the shadow of genuine love. Can’t really have one without the other. And just like a shadow, it follows you wherever you go. Some days, it is dark and obvious. Others, it is barely noticeable, but it’s never truly gone.”

Hazel nodded, more tears welled, dangerously close to spilling.

“I don’t say this to burden you, Miss Hazel, but to help you see it as it is. You can fight a shadow all you want, but it won’t change its inevitable nature. You can make it your enemy or your neighbor.” Harla tilted her head, and her own eyes glistened as she watched Hazel. “For me, it’s always there—a companion, reminding me that my children lived, that their lives had meaning, and that, in some way, they’re still with me.”

The strength of the person before her nearly took her breath away. Harla held within her a shining hopefulness that was nothing less than shocking.

“So that is how you make it through each day?” Hazel met the older woman’s eyes again.

“That and waiting for Trask to get what is coming to him, of course.” Her irises sparkled in an achingly familiar way. “My son would have given anything to see it for himself.”

Hazel felt suddenly sober, “Mrs. Black…forgive me, but…what happened to Tulsi?”

Harla’s face fell, and her hand dropped from Hazel. She cast a glance over her shoulder as she appeared to be having an internal debate. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but…” She turned back to Hazel, and a deep line formed between her brows. “Maybe it is best you are aware of what kind of man he really is.”

Hazel’s heart sped up at the bitter way Harla spat out the word ‘man.’

“My Tulsi… She was fourteen when we…lost her.” Harla shook her head like she was pushing down a familiar-looking overwhelm, “She was much like your brother….” Her eyes fluttered closed as she sucked in a deep breath through her nose, “Took fate into her own hands. I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve stopped her.”

A coldness settled over Hazel that outmatched the wind whipping around them. How many times had she wished the same? “Why did she…?” The words wouldn’t come, or maybe she just refused to allow them to pass through her lips.

Harla reopened her eyes, tears having given way to a smoldering stare. “There may be three graves.” Mrs. Black let out a long, ragged breath, nodding to the stones before them, “There are four bodies buried here, Miss Hazel.”

Hazel’s gut churned, and her mind spun as Harla continued. “There’s little more dangerous in this world than a father to a child he doesn’t want. My girl just beat him to the punch.” Mrs. Black’s eyes locked with hers. “It’s not often someone seeks out the hanging tree willingly. For most, it is a punishment, but for her, it was an…escape. ”

The stale reality of Harla’s words was haunting. It could really only mean one thing. Hazel could barely contain the shock on her face. She fought the urge to dry heave. “My god…”

“He couldn’t stand that she took even a sliver of power away from him.” She paused, shaking her head as if to clear away a storm of memories. “When he lost hold of Tulsi, he decided to punish those closest to her. So he condemned my boy and poor little Ruby.”

Hazel sank her teeth into her cheek; the sharp iron brine merged with the bile threatening to rise in her throat. The sheer malevolence of the man was staggering, more insidious than she had ever dared imagine. Her vision swam with the brutality of the truth.

“I’m so sorry, Harla…” she murmured in an almost whisper.

Harla clasped her hands together, “Should’ve protected them. I can’t tell you how much I'd rather it was my name on these three stones.”

Hazel slid closer to the other woman, resting her own hand over Harla’s clenched ones, “I know exactly what you mean. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself.”

“Fate is cruel, child. But you’re too young to let something you couldn’t control destroy the rest of your life.”

"It wasn't fate..." Hazel's voice dropped low beneath the wind’s howl, “My reaping was fixed, too.”

"I see..." Harla watched her with little to no surprise as if she suspected as much. “I think you’ll find we’re not alone in that.”

“Marlowe,” Bellona’s voice startled her, and she let go of Harla’s hands. Hazel’s stomach nearly left her body. Bellona was escorting the man of the hour. Augustus was clad in a long black winter coat and making his way across the morbid expanse as he conversed with her peacekeeper guard.

Hazel turned back to Mrs. Black, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think he would come here.”

Mrs. Black pulled Hazel into her arms in a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, Miss Hazel.” Chapped lips brushed against her ear as she whispered. “My Tulsi wasn’t the first and won’t be the last.”

Hazel shivered at the thought of others like Tulsi. “I will, you as well, Harla.”

Augustus was upon them as Harla released her, “Morning, ladies.”

Hazel strained to contain the raw disgust coursing through her bloodstream. Though she was certain a hint of a glare shone in her eyes as she looked at the man with a new sense of perverse understanding.

Mrs. Black shot Augustus a withering look but placed a cold smile on her face, “Mr. Trask.”

Augustus glanced at the three graves, “Paying your respects at an early hour?”

“Best time of day, usually less crowded.” Mrs. Black retorted.

“Doesn't seem to be the case today.” He replied, gesturing to the mass of peacekeepers and then settling his attention on Hazel.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice, Mr. Trask,” Hazel said with as careful composure as she could muster, “considering how clearly you emphasized the importance of remaining on schedule.”

Augustus smirked, “I’m pleased that you’re starting to appreciate the order of things.” He turned to the woman beside her, “Which is frankly something that is sorely lacking these days.”

Before he could continue, Hazel cleared her throat. “You know I am just finishing up.” She shrugged in as nonchalant way as she could manage. “I think it is just about time to head out.”

Augustus nodded, but his eyes were sharp as they oscillated between the two women.

Hazel turned to Mrs. Black, “Give your husband my best.”

Augustus smirked, “Yes, give Ivor my regards.”

Harla ignored Augustus, fixing her stare on Hazel, “Good luck to you on the rest of your tour, Miss Hazel.”

Hazel responded with a sharp nod before she backed up. Their eyes met one last time before she turned on her heel. She all but sped walked in the opposite direction hoping to lure the man away from Harla.

Augustus jogged to catch up to Hazel’s retreating form. Once within reach, he raised an arm to her, offering his elbow. Hazel waved it off. “I’m perfectly capable of walking unassisted, Mr. Trask.”

He let his arm drop as the peacekeepers fell in rank behind them as they trudged toward the train station. “Were you two discussing anything interesting?”

Hazel shrugged, “Nothing much. Just the meaning of life and death.”

“Oh, is that all?” His light tan eyes scanned her, and she pulled her hair over her shoulder, hoping to block out the abhorrent man. “Anything specific?”

She cast a look at the gray sky, “The existence of heaven.”

“A little heavy for me at this hour of the morning.”

She eyed him between her crimson tresses, “Right, it would probably be more appropriate to ask you about hell.”

Augustus scoffed, brushing at invisible dirt along his jacket sleeve as if he could as easily wipe away her barb. “Does it matter? The present is the only thing that truly does.”

Hazel scowled ahead, determined to ignore him for the rest of their walk.

“I wouldn’t believe everything I hear,” he interjected when it was clear she wasn’t interested in engaging with him any further.

“And what is it you think I’ve heard?” Hazel inwardly glowered but outwardly was passive, keeping her attention fixed on the path ahead.

“District folk tend to be … deceitful. Most would say anything to get whatever they can.”

Hazel halted, turning back to the man and utterly failing at a neutral expression. “I am District, Mr. Trask.”

“No, Red,” Augustus countered, his shark-like eyes ensnared her, lighting up with the success of his baiting. “You’re a Victor.”

She matched his intensity with a version all her own, “Do you expect a thank you?”

Augustus straightened his spine, his coat rippling in the breeze as he raised a hand toward the cluster of peacekeepers watching from a safe distance, including a particularly perplexed-looking Bellona. They halted as one, waiting for his signal to restart their trek.

Augustus appeared to mull over his response as though carefully choosing his next words. They were nearly lost to the wind as he spoke them. “You stopped being District the day dear old dad handed you over.”

Hazel’s pulse lit with a sudden, painful fire. “You taking advantage of Heath’s broken moral compass to line your pockets doesn’t change who I am.”

“Sure it does.” He gestured behind him at their little audience, “They see it, I see it. You, however, seem blind to it. Or are you just purposefully ignorant?”

“A gambler turned unqualified Gamemaker’s opinion matters little to me.” Hazel studied the monster before her, all pretense having faded. “Though if I were you, I would rethink my stance on the afterlife.”

His eyes flashed as he breathed out, "So ignorance it is."

Hazel turned her gaze away from the man, unable to stand looking at him any longer. Without another word, she turned on her heel and veered once again toward the train station.

Augustus snared her sleeve. It took everything within her not to lurch back like a slug had landed on her hand. “I may be green, but what I said was no opinion. I know the Capitol and Panem far better than you give me credit for.” His features hardened into a genuinely terrifying intensity. “Victors belong to our culture, our legacy, our history. That’s a fact, my dear. It always has been, and it always will be, Red.”

Hazel warred with a heavy scowl, “I don’t belong to anyone, sir.”

She took a step backward, yanking her arm free as he leaned forward. His dark braid with the fading streaks of turquoise flopped over his shoulder like a beached fish. “Oh, but you do,” he said, his tone dripping with certainty.

She turned away once again, all but running from the man. He let her escape, though she swore she heard his voice carried by the breeze, “You, more than most.”

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🪓 Author's Note 🪓

I know, I know. I never do author's notes. Is that a good thing? A bad thing? Jury's still out. But this time, I couldn't resist. This chapter has been an embarrassingly long time coming—seriously, close to a year.

Mr. Augustus Trask has officially secured his title as the absolute worst, though I'm sure most of you clocked that long ago. Kudos to everyone who's stuck with me this far. Your patience is top-tier. You deserve a medal—or, better yet, a piping hot cup of tea.

♨🍵🍵🍵♨

7777777

Chapter Text

Shock and sleep battled over Hazel’s consciousness. Weariness was her needy companion. Despite the fact that her mind could not stop replaying everything Harla said, it wrapped itself around her, whispering in her ear.

If only I could just shut my eyes for a few minutes…

The blaring train horn burst through the cabin, jolting her into alertness.

We must be close. Outside, rows and rows of almost barren corn fields blurred past, along with several harvest-thinned orchards. Mud and earth shaped into neat rows overlaid most of the land like the ground had been braided by a knowledgeable hand.

Dirt-covered countryside stretched as far as she could see. Most of it was plowed with a random scraggly ear scattered about, like the balding head of an aging man who couldn’t quite shave the last few hairs.

As the train slowed, they passed scattered clusters of shacks patched together from dilapidated cheap slabs of wood and rusted sheet metal. Even from a distance, the shacks made the homes of District Seven seem refined in comparison.

Thankfully, Augustus had moved to another car, making the journey between Districts slightly more bearable.

She purposefully ignored him as she stepped off the train. As she did, her group was met by a wave of damp air, heavier and warmer than the crisp, sharp smells of pine and frost she longed for. Her boots sank slightly with every step as she followed her escorts toward the town square.

Although a few rays of sunlight came through the overcast winter sky, the citizens did not seem to take notice.

Cocoa-colored tones covered the District. The same shade coated the clothes, hands, and shoes of the people gathered to meet her. While they did not look as starved as those in District Twelve, deprivation was written in the dirt lines along their skin and the slump of their shoulders.

Without much ado, she was led to the stage in the center of town; the citizens assembled more out of obligation than interest.

In the front row was a young man and woman stood shoulder to shoulder. While too old for the reaping, they were much too young to be Kai’s parents. Behind them were three younger children shielding themselves. Their clothing was humble and homemade. She swore she caught the familiar taupe fabric of Capitol-issued cornmeal burlap.

The oldest girl did not tremble or shake but remained rooted in her place, a picture of Kai clasped in her hands. Hazel squinted at it, chewing her lip. He was a few years younger than when she had met him. But even then, his shaved head made his eyes more expressive and innocent.

She shuddered as she remembered his precious young life seeping from them, along with his blood, forever lost to the arena.

Besides those who were apparently Kai’s family, there was an elderly man and woman. Each wore matching masks of melancholy resignation. The man leaned to the side, a knotted oak cane grasped in one hand. His much shorter wife had her arm wrapped around his middle. It wasn’t clear which was holding him upright more. They gripped a faded photograph of Iris, who looked barely old enough to reap the fields. They, too, didn’t appear to be the right age to be Iris’s parents, but Hazel knew very little about either of her alliance partners or their families.

Tearing her gaze away from them, she refocused on the speech in her hands, licking her too-dry lips. "Citizens of District Eleven. It is an honor to stand here today as part of this Victory Tour. District Eleven holds a vital place in the strength of Panem. Your efforts fuel not only your district but the entire nation…”

Hazel nearly choked on the fakeness, easily gliding over her tongue. Though she had to admit, she was slightly less nervous this time around. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe it was the fact that she already had one of the spectacles under her belt.

The people of District Eleven listened to her speech without complaint. Merely watching on with respectful attention, though it was clear more than one was wary of her. She couldn’t blame them. In that moment she felt more Capitol than ever before.

Augustus’s words from earlier in the morning rang in her ears. ‘You stopped being District the day dear old dad handed you over.’

She shivered, burying the biting words deep, unwilling to give credence to a monster’s observations. No matter how suddenly relevant they sounded.

As quickly as she could, she sped through the rest of the speech, her voice droning in her ears.

“We should all honor the sacrifices needed to ensure our great nation does not slide back into the darkness of the past,” she concluded.

Again, with a few words from District Eleven Mayor Vick Flemming and Indira, the demonstration was over, and she found herself being steered away from the podium. Iris’s family sent her a solemn glance; turning on their heels, they melded into the crowd. She couldn’t blame them.

Augustus hung back, luring the mayor into a conversation that, while quiet, seemed uncharacteristically uninflammatory.

Leo’s voice was in her ear distracting her from her observation of the two men, “Here, let me.” He gripped her elbow as they approached the stairs.

Hazel nodded, allowing him to assist. Glancing back toward the gathering, she realized that Kai’s group had remained. They watched on with mute stares as she descended the platform.

Hazel shot Leo a pleading look, “Can I just?”

Leo’s sigh tangled in her hair like he was expecting as much.

Sable barked out a dismissive grunt. Though she suspected his opposition had more to do with the dinner waiting for them than anything else.

“He just wants food,” Hazel whispered to Leo.

Her guard fought back a smile of agreement.

“The man just appreciates the finer things in life, Seven, like free beer.” Festus interjected. Sable mumbled something but it didn't sound like disagreement.

“You two will get plenty of both. A few more minutes won’t hurt.” Bellona finally answered; her tone was abrupt, but her eyes were filled with understanding. “Make it quick so we stay somewhat on schedule.”

“Yes, let’s not get off schedule.” Indira met Bellona’s gaze. Though it seemed out of place, a flicker of a smile crossed each of their lips.

Leo cleared his throat, “All right, Marlowe, go ahead.”

She didn’t wait around for any further discussion. She strode toward Kai’s family, who greeted her with reserved politeness. Their gazes were wary, though the spark of deep pain was more prominent than their gaunt features.

Hazel cleared her throat awkwardly, unsure exactly how to start, “Hello, I’m...”

“We know who you are…” the oldest boy replied before she could finish.

Right, of course. She swallowed down the sharp edge of her nerves. “What are your names?” she stumbled over the question.

“I am Vetch,” he continued, then pointed to the girl beside him, “This is my sister, Winnow.” Vetch tilted his head to the three younger children behind them. The two boys looked awfully like twins, and the little girl was wearing a matching patchwork dress like her older sister. “That’s Fennel, Sorga, and Plumelle.”

Their irises were slightly varied shades of familial umber, “Are you Kai’s brothers and sisters?”

“Yes,” Winnow replied in a short staccato answer.

Obviously, Hazel. Who else would they be?

The conversation immediately died as they watched her without much more of a response. Her hands itched to tug at her bandage, but she forced them still. Sorga shifted, his small frame leaning just enough to peek around his brother. His curious eyes landed on the garish Victor medal. It was just as out of place as she was.

She pressed on despite the embarrassment making itself known as it crept onto her cheeks, “Umm, I just want you to know that your brother was very brave.”

“He was a fool,” Vetch replied without flinching.

Hazel blanched. “He… saved Ruby’s life.”

“She died anyway.” Vetch shook his head, his jaw tightening, “Foolishness.”

The bluntness of his reply was jarring, though Winnow nodded in apparent cynical agreement.

“You don’t value bravery?” Hazel asked, perplexed by their responses.

“It’s just recklessness with a fancy name.” He continued, his dark eyes sparkling like polished walnut. “Don’t know ‘bout Seven, but it is only a shortcut to the grave ‘round here.”

“District Eleven has had many brave tributes. Certainly, you don’t think Reaper was a fool?” Hazel remembered the strapping boy with arms as thick as ironwood beams, who looked more man than teenager. He had been the favorite to win his games even though it hadn’t panned out due to a certain songbird from Twelve.

“Reaper,” Vetch repeated, grimness coated his words. “His parents gone and sealed his fate, naming him that. Sealed their own too.”

A cold ripple swept through Hazel’s blood. “What do you mean?”

Winnow grimaced, “What do you think happened to his family after? Or Dill’s?”

Hazel swallowed down a knot in her throat. She hadn’t a clue. Her silence did not deter them. Though the implication was less than comforting,

“At least they could do all the funerals on the same day.” Vetch answered, crossing his arms, his voice dropping, “After they dragged their corpses through the streets, of course.”

His three youngest siblings tightened their grips on their brother while Winnow covered Plumelle’s ears with her hands, “Vetch.” She scolded, though, for the first time, her voice wavered.

“It’s not like we didn’t all see it.” He cast a wayward glance at the peacekeepers, “Or had a choice.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

A dark sensation settled over her heart, along with abject nausea. It hadn’t been uncommon in years past to see a wayward lifeless tribute dragged through the streets of the Capitol …but two entire families? Just because of something their tribute did in the Games? “I didn’t know,” Hazel replied as bile coated her tongue.

“We’re just lucky Kai didn’t do anything to get the rest of us killed.” Winnow said, pulling Fennel and Sorga’s hands into hers, “Not that there are many of us left.”

“Just the day-to-day takes more to the grave than the Games. Between the whippings, infection, or starvin’ despite food being everywhere. It's all arena here.” Vetch’s jaw twitched. “At least our Kai died quickly. Practically a luxury.”

Hazel’s lips parted as if to speak, but the words disintegrated before they could form. Sorry, felt pitifully inadequate.

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and Leo’s voice brushed over her ear, “Better get moving, Marlowe.” Vetch’s eyes narrowed at her peacekeeper guard, and Winnow took several steps backward.

Though quickly, their hardened stares bounced from Leo to something behind her.

“Having another heart-to-heart, are we?” Augustus's deep voice cut through the air.

Hazel itched to grab her knife as she met the man's eyes. Vetch and Winnow moved further away as the new Gamemaker approached. They recognized a predator when they saw one.

“Congratulations,” Vetch commented hollowly, meeting Hazel’s eyes once again. Winnow nodded in silent agreement. Neither was very convincing.

“Thank you,” Hazel all but whispered the sour words. She was even less convincing.

With that, Vetch wrapped an arm around Plumelle, and the group disappeared into the throng of the dissolving crowd.

“No impromptu dinner guests tonight?” Augustus pressed with an arrogant smirk.

“And subject them to your company?” Hazel eyed the man without fully looking at him, as she could practically feel Indira’s dissatisfaction radiating off her. “They’ve been through enough.”

I don’t think they would have accepted.

Dinner at the District Eleven Mayor’s home lacked the theatrics of Twelve. Mayor Flemming was courteous yet detached, his formality more shield than invite. The food was head and shoulders better than District Twelve. The seasonings and flavors were impressive, considering the district's humble means. Layers of earthy spices and bright, vibrant dishes were a welcome change from the bleakness of the day.

Even more welcome was Augustus's choice to remain quiet throughout the night. Disgusted frowns only crossed his features a handful of times as he watched the staff and citizens serve them.

Festus, true to his word, indulged in several tall, dark beers.

As the night drew to a close, Mayor Flemming had his staff prepare a guest room for her. “It’s an honor to host a Victor.”

She didn’t feel like a Victor, but she didn’t argue with the man or refuse his kindness—whether genuine or just strategic flattery.

The accommodations were modest, like everything else in the District, but not uncomfortable. It was a simple room with a utilitarian bed and bathroom. Pictures of flowing fields of golden corn lined the walls, along with lush apple orchards.

Hazel shivered as she ran her fingers over the picture frame. They should have been peaceful images that invoked a sense of country wonder. Instead, she stared forward, waiting for Caleb or Eve to burst from the stalks with blood-cloaked hands or smoke rising from the corn. Worse yet, bodies being dragged behind a churning combine or workhorse.

She pulled the picture off the wall, and her own reflection stared back at her. Maybe if I just turn it around? The opposite side was a solid piece of impressively fine rosewood. Words scribbled along the bottom in hurried, almost invisible writing:

Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.

She imagined Kai’s bony frame or Plumelle or Sorga surrounded by produce but unable to partake. She twisted it back around. What it must be like to be hungry in the middle of an orchard? How cruel, to starve while surrounded by plenty.

“You good?” Leo’s question pushed reality to the forefront of her mind. Shaking her shoulders, she blinked, hanging the artwork back on the wall.

“Sure,” Hazel mumbled, glancing at the art from her periphery. Pointing a thumb at it, she asked. “Think they would mind if I took this down?”

“So not all right then.” Leo sighed, studying the frame himself. “And I’m not sure they would appreciate you redecorating.”

“Hmmm,” Hazel responded. “Probably right.”

“District Eleven not what you were expecting?” Leo asked, taking a few more silent steps into the room.

“Nothing has been,” she whispered, running a hand through her hair. “You were right about the weather and the food…but...Is what they said about Reaper and Dill true?”

Leo’s eyes dropped to the floor, studying the crooked boards. “It is.”

The look on his face was peculiar. He was reliving something, and she intimately knew a flashback when she saw one. Hazel shuddered. “You were there.”

He didn’t outright acknowledge it, but he didn’t really need to. His jaw muscles twitched in a harsh rhythm. “The Capitol, Dr. Gaul in particular, didn’t appreciate Reaper’s….gestures… during the Games.”

Hazel remembered the way he’d knelt by the fallen tributes, arranging their bodies with weary reverence that was practically outright rebellion. Turning deaths into protest.

It had been brave, undeniably so. But bravery didn’t mean safety. The Capitol’s press had jeered, cataloging his defiance for later punishment. Maybe Vetch wasn't misguided to call it foolishness.

Hazel chewed her lip. How close had I come to something like that? Or my family?

Her body trembled, viscerally rejecting any attempts at imagining the fates of her own family if they had met the same end as Dill's and Reaper's. Leo's face twitched as if he were watching that day all over again. The rawness sent another shiver coursing through her. “How could you stand it?”

“No changing how things are, Marlowe.” Leo didn’t meet her eyes right away. Instead, his chest rose and fell in deep breaths as he contemplated her question. “And you just endure. You do what you have to do… You know…survive.”

Hazel turned back to the cornfield in the painting. She did know. The arena made sure of that. “Things are harsher here, in some ways more than Twelve.”

“This district feeds the nation. The more precious a resource, the firmer the control over it. It is why it has one of the highest peacekeeper rates of deployment.” Leo dug his hands into his pockets, voice dropping, “The stronger the stallion, the tighter the reins.”

Hazel met his eyes once again, and she couldn’t help but feel they weren’t just talking about District Eleven anymore.

‘Who do you want holding the other end?’ Snow’s voice played along the edges of her mind.

“What happens when you outgrow your reins?” Leo merely looked at her as she answered her own question. “You end up dragged to death by the stallion.”

“That won't happen.”

“Reins or noose. Guess it doesn’t matter when the destination is the same.”

His face hardened as he took a step closer, “Marlowe, I promise you-”

Hazel scoffed softly, the sound bitter and raw. “Learn something from me, Drayton… Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Leo crossed the room until she could feel the faint heat of him at her shoulder. “I don’t intend to.”

“Neither did I.” she replied, stepping back away from the painting, away from him. “But here we are.”

His shoulders were tight as logging cables. His hands twitched, as if caught between reaching out or letting her retreat.

Her gaze drifted unwillingly back to the walls. The golden cornfields in the paintings melted into flames and smoke. The wind howled through her recollections, carrying Eve’s shrieks. Her eyes slid closed as she could practically smell burning corn.

"Maybe we should talk about something else," Leo offered turning the frames around so their haunting images were hidden, "Like how your knife skills are shaping up or how long you think it will take until Sable realizes Bellona drained his chocolate stash."

Hazel opened her eyes, the absurdity sobering her. “Sable has a chocolate stash?”

"Had." Leo corrected, the corner of his mouth curling.

A shaky laugh escaped her lips. "I knew I liked her."

Hazel tilted her head as she watched him flip the final painting. “You on night shift?”

“No, Sable. He’s helping Bellona and Indira haul Festus back to the train. Needed both of them to carry him the distance. Too many free beers, apparently. Should be back here in about an hour to take over for me.”

An idea sparked in her mind, sharp and sudden, like a candle bursting to life in a dark, desolate room. She needed a distraction from the horrors that had been packed into such a short period. She scoffed at the imaginary Snow behind her lids. Shouldn’t have given me a handle if you didn’t expect me to use it.

An hour? She could work with that.

“Perfect timing,” Hazel murmured.

“What?” he asked, eyebrows knitting together at the sudden shift in their conversation.

Hazel rummaged through her bag and pulled out the cassette player, giving it a little shake for good measure. “Sounds like the right time and place.” She settled herself on the edge of the bed but allowed enough space if he decided to join.

Leo’s face tightened. “Marlowe…” He began to argue.

“I’m playing it either way, Drayton.” Turning the contraption over, she raised a finger over a button, gazing up at him she challenged, “You in or you out?”

Chapter Text

Leo's eyes widened for a moment before an exasperated huff escaped his lips. Striding to the door, he stiffly peered into the hallway before closing it and turning the deadbolt. With a nearly imperceptible sigh, he slid the brass chain above into place as well.

Pushing an errant strand of hair from his forehead, he seemed to resign himself to her peer pressure. “This doesn't mean I agree.”

“Objection noted." Hazel held back a smile.

Despite his tone, curiosity was clearly getting the better of him. He murmured something under his breath as he returned to her side, a line burrowed deep between his eyebrows.

She bottled a triumphant look as he settled in beside her on the bed. His grey irises searched hers, almost pleading for reconsideration. “And about the Senator?”

She frowned down at the contraption. It suddenly felt overly dense in her hold. The warning bells in her subconscious agreed, tolling like the shrill horn of a night train. Burying the sensations, she shook her head. He’s the one who got me on this track to begin with. “He had his chance. More than one, actually.”

Leo let out a soft yet frustrated breath, “So much for your eyes only.”

Hazel eyed her worried-looking guard, finger still poised over a button. “Still time to back out.”

He sighed again, but his body remained rigid as if he was bracing himself for the unknown. Yet he remained perched on the mattress without any indication he was going to leave.

“That’s what I thought.” Hazel couldn’t restrain the twitch at the corner of her lips, “Since he refuses to show me, then I am going to find out myself.”

Leo ran a hand over his neck, a line of faint perspiration condensed like translucent crystals in his hairline. A few even collected on the ridges of the puckered scar tissue along the side of his head. “So, is this bravery or recklessness?”

“Probably a bit of both.” Popping open the player, she dropped the cassette inside. “Relax, what is the worst that could happen?”

Leo glanced at the row of backward-turned frames. “Weren’t we just discussing corpses being dragged through the streets?”

Snapping the machine closed, a little puff of dust floated into the air.

“How old is that thing?” Leo questioned, swatting at the brown cloud.

“No idea, but Alder promised me it works.” Hazel scanned the device; several silver buttons decorated its edge like a row of scales, but the symbols and words had been worn to the point of unreadability. Hazel pressed the first one, and the door re-opened. The tape dislodged with an annoying click. “Ok, so not that one.”

Leo slid closer until the outsides of their knees pressed together. His voice was even, though she caught a faint note of relief in it. “Even that thing knows this is a bad idea.”

She pressed her elbow into his arm with a light jab. “Better not think that is going to stop me, Drayton.”

“Not for a second.” His stare wavered to the locked door and then back.

Hazel jammed the cassette inside and pressed the next button; this time, the machine whirred to life. Inside, the cassette began to rotate properly. Meanwhile, the screen flickered to life with gray and white lines but no concrete images.

“Is it working?” Leo asked.

Hazel shook the contraption, but the state of the screen remained unchanged. She pressed the next button, and suddenly the monitor went completely dark. The tape’s spinning also abruptly stopped.

Trying the rest of the buttons did little to improve the situation. At one point, the tape began to rotate in the opposite direction.

Leo leaned back a fraction, his shoulders relaxing, “I think you’ve been duped.”

“He wouldn’t.” No matter how much had changed, Alder had always been a family friend with a wholesome sincerity. Him misleading her was wholly unimaginable.

Pushing the second button once again, the cassette began to spin once more, but the gray, grainy snow continued to convulse.

With another encouraging jiggle, she whispered, “Come on.” With a harsh hiss the speakers crackled to life.

Hazel froze, afraid that even the slightest movement might undo this fragile bit of progress. Beside her, Leo stiffened, the tension in his frame rushing back into place.

Hazel struggled to believe it was really happening. The answer to a mystery that had consumed her for months was finally within her grasp. Both held their breath as the sounds began to take shape.

“Ugh…”

A string of grunts and groans followed heavy mouth breathing.

Dry sounds of splintering bark.

A creaking of branches. Like wood itself was moaning, being stretched to its breaking point.

A jangling scrape.

The unmistakable sound of metal sliding against metal.

Another deep, pained groan.

Next came an unsettling squelch, almost like pulling a boot free from thick, sticky mud. Except the boot had the telltale twang of metal.

More labored exhales and a few ragged coughs.

Whoever it was had a voice that was undoubtedly baritone.

A male.

“What?” She breathed out, running a finger inadvertently over the screen as if she could force it to show her what she desperately wanted to see.

Leo peered down at her just as confused, though his countenance tightened. He gripped the edge of the mattress, muscles as taut as a bow string.

A piercing moan came next, like the distressed call of an injured bird.

Both of them flinched. The loudness of the voice vibrated the contraption within her palms.

This was a different voice than the first. It was a ragged shriek, sharp and clearly agonized.

A series of whimpers followed, soft, gentle, and obviously young.

Definitely female.

A girl.

The deeper, more baritone panting slowed. Was he holding his breath?

Another feminine sob pierced the quiet.

He was listening.

A singular word came from the male’s lips, “Ruby?”

Hazel's hands began to shake as her blood ran cold.

It can’t be.

Leo’s gaze found hers, and pity filled his eyes.

Her heart rate spiked as a throbbing sensation sliced along her nerves. It was a voice she would recognize with her eyes closed, in her dreams, in her nightmares, in her soul.

Silus.

The icy sensation seemed to suspend her very life force along with her limbs. Her world began to spin around her, and she stared into the fuzz-filled screen without blinking.

“It’s….it’s my … Games?”

Leo’s strong hand covered hers, and she jerked. “Marlowe. Let's stop.”

Hazel pulled her hand from under his, shaking her head but unable to form intelligible words.

Why? Why would he give this to me?

What sounded like running came next.

Heavy boots thundering through the brush.

Silus was …running?

His labored breathing was intercut with Ruby’s cries.

While he ran, it seemed she had crumpled.

A fresh round of Ruby’s agonized whimpers bubbled out like a kettle boiling over. The girl began to ask for her father, her mother, and her little sister, begging to see them again through ragged hiccups.

The running continued, along with a few grunts and the thud of Silus’s boots. “Ruby! Where are you?”

“Silus?” the girl choked out between sobs.

“The hell is this?” Sweat formed along Hazel’s spine and palms. Her nose practically swam with the scent of Silus’s blood mixed with rain and mud. Her fingers could almost feel the frigid temperature of Ruby’s skin beneath her own. Reality and memory collided, leaving her adrift in a storm of sensations she couldn’t control.

It was too much. Their voices were drowning her. Their real voices, not some phantoms of her slumber. No ghosts. No dreams. It was really them. It was far too much and not enough at the same time.

What was going on? I want to see what is happening. I want to see their faces.

She slammed her fist over the screen. “Show them to me,” she cried.

The contraption ceased its rotation. Silus and Ruby faded away, morphing into a muffled scratching electrostatic, like crumpling tin foil over a microphone.

“Marlowe.” Leo’s voice was far away as if he were calling to her from the end of a dark tunnel.

The tremors spread from her hands to her arms as something deep within her screamed at her to run. Run like Silus was running. The machine slipped from her hands, dropping to the floor with a metallic thud.

What is this? Another game? Some kind of test?

She pressed the heels of her palms to her temples, and her erratic pulse pushed up against her skin. Terror ensnared her trachea, coiling around it like a slithering creature. Her inhalations turned uneven and shallow. It was too much—Silus’s voice, Ruby’s cries, the memories burned like wildfire through her.

Leo reached forward, grasping the fallen device from the floor and tossing it onto the bed behind them. The fuzzy static instantly went quiet.

Leo shifted nearer, “Breathe, Marlowe. What color is the sky?”

She couldn’t care less about the sky or whatever the hell color it was. It could be covered in polka dots for all she cared.

“What is this?” her voice was desperate, though her eyes remained squeezed shut, “Why would he?”

What does he gain from giving me this?

Of all the things she had imagined would have been on that tape, a recording of her Games wasn’t even in the same universe.

“I don’t know.” Leo’s soft reply came, his breath washing over her face. “I am sure he has a reason for it.”

Her heartbeat was hammering like an axe blade along her jugular. Her body screamed that she was in danger, though her mind was grasping at the fine threads of reality.

“Look at me, Marlowe.” Leo’s breath coated her face, brushing over her eyelashes. His hand hovered near both of hers for another moment, hesitating before finally settling gently over hers. With a slow movement, he peeled her hands away from her temples, setting them in her lap.

She flinched but didn’t pull away. His sturdy touch was grounding, like the faintest promise of shelter in a raging storm.

Her eyes remained shut as the heaviness of the mattress beside her lightened.

Just as she thought she detected warmth leaving her hands and then lingering just a hair’s breadth from her face, his voice came from in front her, “Open your eyes.”

After another moment of their collective breathing in the otherwise silent room, his palm met her cheek.

She gave in and eased open her tense lids. He was leaning over her, one hand pressed against the mattress, the other gently turning her face toward him.

“Look at me.” He whispered again as his callouses slid along her delicate skin.

His gaze swept across her face, “Breathe with me.”

As he took in a long breath, Hazel’s attention fell from the gray depths of his irises to his chest. She sucked in several lungfuls in line with Leo’s slow, purposeful inhales and exhales. The frostbitten grip on her ribs began to melt, though the edges of her panic still loitered like a distant siren.

“You are ok.” Leo continued, his warm breath washed over her. His voice deepened as he slid closer. The aroma of Capitol-issued soap with the faintest hint of rosemary filtered into the air between them. It was clean, fresh, and held, not even a hint of syrup or roses.

Tremors faded in a prickling sensation that was less than comfortable but at least gave her some control over her muscles again. Eventually, her pulse began to recede to a normal pace.

“You are safe.”

“Safe,” she whispered, the word foreign on her tongue. Her gaze dropped to the fading shivering in her hands. “Are any of us?”

“As long as I am here, I promise you are.” Leo drew himself closer.

Hazel turned her attention from his chest back to his searching gaze. “What did I tell you about promises?”

“What did I tell you?” His thumb brushed a soft caress from the side of her nose along her cheekbone in slow strokes.

To her surprise, it was soothing, though a different kind of warning bell rang in a distant part of her mind. “Leo, you saw…my Games?”

The grey in his eyes seemed to melt as he watched her. “I did. They played it in the infirmary.”

She cast a glance at his scars, “Tell me…what was that?”

“I don’t know.” His finger continued its steady rhythm over her skin, gliding along the delicate curve of her cheek.

“Please,” her voice was on the edge of crumbling, “The truth.”

“Hazel…” His thumb paused. “I’m telling you it, I swear…I didn’t recognize that part of the Games.”

What did that mean?

She swallowed, “Like it was untelevised?”

A loud knock at the door made them both jump.

Had it already been an hour?

Her body and attention were doused in a frigid sobriety in a millisecond. Leo shot back away from her while she wiped at her eyelids. Though it was doubtful, she could mask the remnants of her panic.

He pointed a long, hasty finger toward the discarded player while holding another one over his lips. She understood his meaning immediately and scrambled to tuck the projector under a pillow.

He gave her a look of approval as he silently strode to the door. Just as he reached the frame, Leo glanced back; a soft expression washed over his features for a moment longer. Hazel nodded, and without another word, he undid the locks and opened the door.

Sable was waiting on the other side. His arms crossed over his chest, scrutinizing their clearly flustered features.

Hazel grasped her hands together to keep them from shaking, putting pressure against her injured palm. Sparkling pain shot down her arm, but she welcomed it. Like dipping her toes into a too-hot pool, the pain distracted her from the ache in her chest.

Sable’s mouth twisted in a way that spoke of disappointment, “Drayton, I’m on duty tonight.”

Leo murmured, straightening his cuffs. “Yes, sir.”

Awkward stillness seeped painfully into the small room.

After a few more painful seconds, Sable moved inside and held the door wide for his fellow guard, “See you at 0800, Private.”

“Yes, sir,” Leo murmured in gruff agreement. With a slight bow and a wavering glance back at Hazel, he left.

Hazel couldn’t help but feel a warring sense of both loss and relief at his departure. She pressed harder into her palm. Get it together.

Sable watched him go with a stone-like expression before he turned his attention to her. He seemed to see right through her attempt at shielding her panic hangover. “You should get some rest as well, Ma’am.”

Hazel sighed. “I’ve told you, Pytash. You don’t have to call me that.”

“I may be old, doesn’t mean I’m hearing impaired.” Hazel met his eyes, and Sable was as serious as she had seen him.

Hazel's pulse picked up a few beats at his tone.

Sable walked to a rickety lounge chair, dragging it toward the door. The scrape of wood against the floor grated on her shattered nerves as if he wanted her to feel every second of it. When he finally sat down, he turned back to her, “He’s a fine peacekeeper, you know.”

She pursed her lips, waiting for him to continue.

“Taught him practically everything he knows.” He murmured as he stretched his arms. The fine scars along his neck puckered at the motion.

“I know that is why you took this assignment.” Hazel replied, “But you won’t be able to babysit forever.”

“Well, you’re doing a damn fine job proving the need for me to.”

Hazel’s eyes narrowed at the man. He wasn’t bringing this up to discuss Leo’s performance as a peacekeeper. “I may be young, but I am not dumb or blind, Pytash.”

“Then open your eyes and stop acting like it.” Sable met her gaze without flinching.

“Excuse me?” Hazel slid to the edge of the bed, knotting the quilt in her grasp.

“Now, who’s hearing impaired?” Sable rested his hands on his thighs. His posture was casual, but his tone was anything but.

Hazel scowled, anger and unease wrestling for control. “If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out.”

“Certain lines shouldn’t be crossed,” he replied bluntly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hazel countered.

“No?” Sable’s head tilted to the side, “Then tell me what was just happening here.”

Hazel willed the goosebumps along her forearms to smooth, wiping a finger along her cheek, retracing Leo’s touch. “Nothing.”

“I’m not vision impaired either.” Sable’s gaze washed over her pebbled skin and the faint perspiration along her hairline. “Like I said, lines-“

“Shouldn’t be crossed. I got it.” Hazel huffed, pooling her hands in the blankets, desperately attempting to curb her fidgeting.

“They haven’t,” Hazel sputtered, “No need to worry.”

Sable’s unconvinced expression remained. “I should’ve started worrying so much sooner.”

Hazel let out an exasperated exhale, “Sable, it’s nothing.”

“A missing ear is not nothing.”

A new spark of guilt grated against her sensitive nerves. “Believe me, if I could go back…” Hazel started, but Sable cut her off.

“What’s done is done.” Sable ran a hand through his hair.

“Something we can agree on.” Hazel snapped, her voice cracking despite her best efforts. “Did you teach Percy everything he knows, too?”

Sable settled his boots flat on the floor, leaning even further forward. “Anyone can lose their way. Even more reason to make sure it doesn’t happen to Leo.”

“Leo is nothing like Percy.” Hazel defended.

“I knew a time that is all he ever wanted to be.” Sable’s jaw twitched as a faraway look flashed across his face. He pursed his lips, seeming to shake something off. “But, he’s lucky it was Percy.” Sable exhaled quietly, though his lip twitched. “And, fortunately, you had the favor of the Senator. If it had been any other tribute...” He tapped his boot as he ran a thumb over his chin, “He would be missing more than an ear.”

Hazel scoffed, crossing her own arms to match his. However, the sincerity in his tone itched at the back of her mind.

“Even after all of that, he clearly hasn’t grasped the importance of boundaries.” Sable met her stare straight on as he continued. “Everyone has a role to play in this world. You’d both do well to remember that. Or next time, it might not just be an ear. And it might not just be his.”

“Sounds awfully threatening for someone who is supposed to protect.”

Sable leaned forward, his thick fingers tapping against his knees, “If you’re smart, you’ll see that is exactly what I’m doing. Trying to protect you both. Since neither of you seem to be doing that for yourselves.”

Between  the recording and Sable, she wasn’t sure which had her more on edge. But the worst part—the part that made her stomach twist and her chest ache—was the sting of truth in his words.

Hazel pushed herself to stand. Her muscles were tense yet weary. “You are right-“

“Finally, coming to your senses.”

Hazel threw her hair over her shoulder, “I meant about getting rest.”

This day can’t end soon enough.

“Wise choice,” Sable replied, his fingers stilling their drumming as he settled even further into the chair wedged in the doorframe.

“You could just lock it, you know,” Hazel muttered

Sable scowled up at the locks, “Can’t be too careful. Specially with the likes of you.”

Hazel sighed with a heady combination of exhaustion and frustration. Turning away from the infuriating peacekeeper, she trudged in the direction of the bathroom. “Goodnight, old man.”

“Oh, Ma’am?” Sable called.

I’m taking that Panem-forsaken sleeping pill the second he looks away. “What now?”

Sable’s eyes hardened, and a shadow of the war veteran reflected at her from their depths. “If you care about him at all, you’ll make damn sure those lines are carved in stone.”

Chapter Text

The aroma of animal hide and iron permeated the train like smoke filling a valley mid-forest fire. This was far worse. It was gamey, visceral, and tinged with an indescribable quality that didn’t need to be fully recognized to be appreciated. Even the most naïve could practically feel the sense of death soaked into every lungful.

A depression-flavored palette matched the stomach-churning odor. District Ten was coated in as many shades of rusty brown as there were green in Seven.

Festus half coughed and half gagged beneath the handkerchief currently crammed against his nose. “It is like they are bottling blood sausage and toenail sauerkraut cologne.”

“Come on, it's not that…. bad,” Indira commented, struggling to hold her elegant, painted face into a neutral expression.

“I agree, Miss Lovegood,” Augustus interjected, sucking in a deep nostril full. He lounged in the farthest corner of the train car. His arms were draped over the bench, and his legs were leisurely crossed. It was like he was soaking in a luxurious simmering bath.

“I’ve smelled worse.” Sable gruffly added his thoughts. He was settled into the seat across from Hazel, Bellona at his side.

“You have certainly smelled worse,” Bellona smiled at the older peacekeeper, “Especially after one of those lovely jogs.”

Sable grumbled and looked prepared to push her off the bench.

“You all can speak for yourselves,” Festus grumbled as his handkerchief fluttered for dear life. “I hate this District.”

Hazel wrapped her arms around her torso as she battled the scent herself. Never in her life had she smelled something so uniquely unsettling. Tapping her nails against her left palm, she wondered if the citizens just suffered continually or became nose blind over time. The latter would be a blessing.

“Makes you miss the papermill, huh?” Leo murmured in her ear. A restrained laugh colored his tone.

“I take it all back.” Hazel chuckled. “It’s like they’ve made rancid meat into an air freshener or something.”

“Fantastic. Not sure I’ll ever be hungry again.” Leo’s face soured.

Just as she was about to laugh and tease him with a clever joke about pickleberries, she met Sable’s eyes. Though his shoulders were relaxed, his scrutiny was fixed and unblinking.

She was slightly amazed at how much he could communicate without saying a word. Though the message was still wholly irritating.

Unfortunately, he didn’t appear to be the only one scrutinizing her. Unlike Sable, however, she refused to meet the tan stare of the blue-haired monster relaxing on the far side of the train car.

Swallowing down a lump in her throat, she sank back into the plush bench, pressing her thumb even harder into her worn bandage. A satisfying lick of discomfort crawled from her palm up her arm.

Leo frowned down at her hand with a slight upward slant of his lips, “You keep doing that, and I’ll need to change it again.”

Hazel stilled her nervous thumb.

Damn him for being so observant.

She caught another stony side glance from Sable. Bellona too, seemed to be not so subtly watching.

Ugh, Peacekeepers.

“It’s probably about time I start to take care of it myself.”

“Right.” He breathed out, straightening his posture. A curious look slid over his brow, but he let the conversation fade.

The group collectively yet reluctantly endured the growing odor until the train began to slow as it entered the center of District Ten.

Unlike the last two Districts, the place was overflowing with press, cameras, and what appeared to be… Capitol tourists?

A horde of people lined the streets; many were coated in fine clothing of various shades of the rainbow. Most held outlandish scarves, hats, or handkerchiefs to their noses. Hazel scoffed to herself; they reminded her of the glittering, color-soaked scales of a trout.

Though she would prefer the scent of trout.

District Ten citizens skirted the farthest areas in earth-toned, much more humble, patched clothing.

Bellona leaned closer to the window, “Sort of expected this in Four or One, maybe Two….” The peacekeeper’s fingers danced ever so lightly along the weapon at her hip. Her eyebrows raised as they stared at the widening crowd outside the train’s windows. “I didn’t realize this District was so popular.”

Indira answered with a wince, “It’s not.”

“There’s extra interest because we will have a special guest during our time in this District,” Festus answered, practically groaning as he pocketed his handkerchief.

I’ve just about had it with surprises and unexpected guests.

Hazel’s scrutiny whirled back to the windows as they pulled into the train station. Fanfare and barely restrained excitement stared back at her.

Taking a closer look, she realized that in addition to the people of the Capitol, there were at least double the number of peacekeepers and press. And along with a slew of hues on display, there were glaring splashes of the richest Crimson.

Long velvety flags flowed along the walls, shining golden eagles in the center of each. Capitol Flags.

Up ahead, another train waited on the tracks. It was much smaller, definitely shorter, but no less luxurious.

It could only really mean one thing.

“Who?” Bellona asked, sharing a look with Sable.

“The campaign…” Hazel breathed.

“Yes, dear,” Indira confirmed, meeting Hazel’s barely restrained grimace.

Festus let out a chuckle, though it was laced with mild confusion, “No clue why Corio would possibly want to campaign here.”

“You know as well as I do that he rarely does anything without a reason,” Hazel mumbled.

“I don’t see what the issue is.” Augustus piped in from the corner. “District Ten is certainly…unique.”

She didn’t even want to try to figure out what that meant.

As she caught another glimpse of a fluttering red flag, a sudden chill ran through her like snowflakes falling along her spinal cord. The tour was already difficult enough. Snow had mentioned he would see her on the tour, but she had not anticipated this.

Anger and panic-tinged pain merged into an unnamable feeling at the thought of the tape and the night before. Again, her mind wrestled with the potential reasons he had given it to her.

She squeezed her palm again.

Don’t think about it.

Though he said nothing, she could feel Leo’s scrutiny graze her clenched hand.

Indira stood as the train came to a hissing halt. She took a deep inhale and pulled a folded piece of paper from her dress pocket, holding it out to Hazel. “Oh, and dear. You need to know that we made some last-minute changes to your speech.”

Hazel frowned up at her as she took it. Not daring to unfold it. Changes?

Indira’s face was oddly solemn. Festus also appeared to be unsurprised, and his attention shifted to anything but her.

Leo stiffened beside her, and neither Sable nor Bellona met her eyes.

Augustus smirked as he leaned even further back in his seat, flipping his long braid over his shoulder. She inadvertently met his eyes before tearing them away when it seemed to please him.

Why am I always the last to know?

“What changes?” Hazel eased out the question, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Indira took a deep breath, gaze flickering to Augustus, then back to Hazel, “We have been advised to redact all mention of Aaron Shepherd. You are not to speak of him during your speech.”

Hazel blanched, “Why?”

Indira’s attention dropped to her wringing hands. Across from her, Festus scuffed his shoe against the floor, eyes locked on the windows where the eager crowd pressed closer, their breath fogging the glass.

Augustus spoke up, though he studied his nailbeds as if disinterested, “The Capitol is not in the habit of honoring rebels.”

“He wasn’t—he was the mayor’s son,” Hazel argued, sliding closer to the edge of the bench.

“The former Mayor’s son.” Augustus clarified.

Hazel’s stomach practically boiled, “And the Mayor?”

“In custody,” Augustus met Hazel’s eyes, “Pending execution, tomorrow morning, actually. Nothing quite like a sunrise hanging.”

Hazel gripped her hands together, her left palm pulsating beneath her bandage. Her heart pounded in her throat.

No.

Indira spoke up in the cooling way she did when she was trying to dissolve tension, “Dear, it is the standard punishment for rebels.”

Hazel refused to let any of the tension leave, no matter how sweet Indira’s tone was. “What evidence was there of rebel affiliation?”

Augustus’s eyes flashed, and his lips curled in a cruel smirk, “You, of all people, should know.”

Hazel’s eyes narrowed, and she clenched her fists, “Communication with another District is a far cry from rebellion.”

“It’s against the treaty, dear,” Indira replied softly, her eyes filled with a somber understanding.

Augustus uncrossed his legs, leaning forward, “Exactly. And the Capitol, of course, takes such behavior…” His eyes mocked her, “Extremely seriously.”

A sharp, biting horror filled her. How close had Oren and her family come to a similar fate? A familiar panic began to boil within her, bubbling up her neck in a rising tide. She gripped the edges of the bench as she willed herself to slow her breathing.

Augustus watched her carefully. His eyes danced with unbridled amusement at her reaction.

Leo’s voice was in her ear, and his hand came to rest beside hers; his pinky subtly tapped against her skin three times. “Marlowe?”

Hazel pulled her hands back into her lap. “I’m all right,” she whispered.

Augustus’s gaze stretched to where Leo’s hand was, and his face split open into an even wider grin.

“It’s another reason why the Senator is here. District Ten needs redirection and reminded of their place. You will help get that message across.” Augustus smirked and ran a thumb over his bottom lip as he gestured for her to stand. “Along with the Mayor, of course.”

Hazel bit back a retort as she tore her eyes away from him and back to the platform full of people. As she rose, she ran her hands over a few of the fine wrinkles in her lilac dress. As if smoothing the fabric could ease the ripples of anxiety pushing through her.

Festus scowled at the man as Indira rose to stand beside Hazel. Behind them, Leo, Bellona, and Sable fell into place. The rest of her peacekeeper entourage poured into the train car from the adjacent ones, following dutifully.

With another hissing sound, the train doors slid open. Augustus strode to the front, leading them into the bustling, odorous station.

Camera lenses clicked and flashed like metallic applause.

The colorful people of the Capitol were in the front, some calling her name and others waving. A few had pink ribbons or bands adorning them, while others held familiar-looking collectible cards.

Despite the surge of nausea coursing through her, she raised her hand in a small wave and fragile smile. It was the best she could manage, given the circumstances.

A young Capitol woman broke free from the crowd and approached Hazel. She was draped in a cobalt pantsuit. Bright tangerine threads curled in abstract patterns over its surface. The same molten orange hue matched the tightly styled curls of her hair. All of which was held in place by a bright green scarf.

Her Capitol accent thickened as she stammered, “I can’t believe it’s really you. I’m such a huge fan.”

Hazel swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Um… thank you…” Her words came out more like a question than proper gratitude. “I’m sorry what’s your name?” She was certain the smile she was working on was probably more like a grimace as well.

If the woman noticed, she didn’t betray it. She only rocked back and forth on precarious neon lime heels.

“Rosalind.” She beamed.

Hazel’s gaze flicked over her garish outfit, the colors clashing in ways that made her head throb.

“Nice to meet you…I like your… um…hair,” she murmured, as if pushing the words into existence might ease the awkwardness.

With a sound like a mouse caught underfoot, the woman thrust forward a familiar-looking trading card and a pen. “Would you sign this for me?”

Hazel nodded and took both from her. Popping the cap, she stared down into her own eyes.

The image on the card was too crisp and too vivid. Its golden border mocked her. Brilliant green irises glared up at her in unadulterated heroism as if a stranger was wearing her face.

She shivered and hurriedly signed her name, practically throwing the items back to the woman once she was done.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Rosalind, wrapped in her cobalt-and-citrus ensemble, tucked the items into her breast pocket with the care of someone sealing away a holy relic.

The moment the transaction was complete, others surged forward, a sea of pens and outstretched objects. There were scraps of fabric, more glossy cards, and even a handful of stuffed toys. All of it was thrust toward her like desperate offerings.

Augustus spread his arms. “All right, all right. I know you’re all eager to meet our radiant Victor, but she has a speech to deliver. I promised that autographs will come later.”

A wave of disappointed sounds pulsated through the station. Rosalind At that, her guard legion sprang into action, carving an armed corridor between Hazel and the exit.

Hazel sighed in mild relief as everyone pocketed their items.

Then it vanished.

Something out of place disturbed her vision. Like an eyelash scraping her cornea, it demanded her attention and made her eyes water.

Two figures were deathly still in the back of the gathering, up against the opposite wall. Their heads turned forward, eyes locked onto her without blinking.

The clothes they wore were washed-out fabrics tainted with red stains.

Aaron. Mia.

Her steps faltered as she was ushered closer to the station’s doors, gaping like the mouth of something waiting to swallow her whole.

“Smells like rosemary,” Hazel rasped, turning away from the ghosts, her voice raw as she angled her words toward Leo, just over her shoulder.

“Huh, hardly what I would call that,” Sable grumbled.

Leo murmured near her ear, “Sky sure is blue and clear today.”

Hazel glanced up as they made their way outside. It was like freshly melted snow. The blue shade was so light that it was nearly translucent. It reminded her of the little streams that flowed from the snowpack into the Alpine during early spring.

“It is,” she muttered, letting the sight tether her, however briefly, to something steadier.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tide the panic, at least for a while longer.

“What in the world are you two on about?” Sable questioned, a deep line between his brows.

Festus grinned, winking at Leo, ‘We aren’t the only ones who dipped into the free booze, huh Sabby?”

Sable’s scowl deepened, “What did I tell you about calling me that?”

Bellona, clearly amused, tapped her fingers against her weapon, “He doesn’t like nicknames, Mr. Creed.”

“Right, Careful Festus,” Hazel interjected, not meeting Sable’s eyes, “Private Pytash is all about professionalism and boundaries.”

Sable ran a hand over his face, “I need a vacation.”

Suddenly, a voice carried through the air, piercing their conversation.

“Here she is everyone! Our lovely Victor, Miss Hazel Marlowe.” Lucky Flickerman had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, extricating himself from the horde. His copper-slicked hair glinted almost orange in the bright light of daytime. His chirping voice rose higher than all the others.

“Mr. Flickerman,” Hazel said with the best smile she could muster, casting a backward glance. Mia and Aaron had disappeared.

“Aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes?” Lucky crooned, extending his hand, palm up.

She accepted it, though his grasp barely registered. It seemed to be a gesture made for optics rather than anything else. His fingers barely curled around hers. Holding her at arm’s length, he tilted his head in an exaggerated show of admiration, scanning her as if she were a museum piece.

“Um... Thank you.” Again, her words were more question than response, and she battled an uncomfortable blush.

Lucky hardly noticed as he pressed on, “Welcome to District Ten, my dear. How has the tour been so far?”

Hazel’s gaze flashed to the nearest camera, closing in on her. “Enlightening.”

She could almost hear Augustus’s exhale.

Hazel didn’t look his way. “Unexpected at times.”

Lucky’s laughter rolled effortlessly as he steered her closer to the town’s square. “Well, I think that will be a running theme, I’m afraid. But it keeps things from getting monotonous, you know.”

She caught the flash of a blue braid in her periphery, “Heaven forbid.”

Lucky’s eyes were smiling as if he knew something she did not. He nodded toward the town square.

In the front of the stage were the colorful, elegant Capitol citizens. Gold and red ropes stretched behind them, keeping the District people separate and in the back. A woman swathed in iridescent purple silk recoiled as a District child strayed too close to the rope dividing them. With a wrinkle of her nose, she lifted a perfumed handkerchief to her face.

Hazel’s stomach dropped. Long banners with the Capitol seal flowed from the stage. But next to them was something even more concerning. Stiff posters, painted with bold lines and thick font typed in bright blue and brilliant white: CORIOLANUS SNOW FOR PRESIDENT. At The Highest Peaks, There is Only Snow.

Her eyes darted from the inscription to the man himself.

Up on the stage, Snow stood, his arms outstretched. He leaned slightly forward, lips just above the microphone. He seemed to devour the crowd, District and Capitol alike. They, in turn, hung on his every word and his every move. His deep royal blue coat whipped around him as he spoke. An ice blue, almost white rose glittered from his lapel.

His gaze found hers through the throng of people like a tether pulled taut across the square. The edge of his lips twitched, and it was as if he was staring into her soul. The chill that had settled along her spine seemed to ignite. Her hands grew warm, and she was sure her face did as well.

This is real. No waking up this time.

She did not move. Or perhaps she could not.

Sensing her need for encouragement, Lucky took her elbow, looping his arm with hers. “Don’t be shy, come on.” He chatted a string of unintelligible words as he guided her closer to the stage. Whatever he was saying was meaningless against the drum of her pulse.

She swore she felt herself walking, though the control of her limbs seemed almost out of body.

The crowd followed Snow’s stare, turning to her approaching entourage. The Capitol citizens hummed while the District watched on in reserved curiosity.

But Hazel didn’t look to the crowd. Instead, her gaze remained locked with the terror-inducing man mid-stage.

“Ah… at last.” Snow’s smile brightened like the sun breaking through rain clouds as the crowd followed his gaze. “Our guest of honor has arrived.”

Chapter Text

A sudden wind cut through the square, rushing over the crowd and curling itself around Snow. It was as if the weather itself was a part of the audience. It whipped the edges of his coat like a cerulean flag caught in a storm. A lock of his silver blonde hair slid forward, falling across his forehead, the platinum ends curling ever so slightly. Somehow, the small imperfection made him even more unsettling, more mesmerizing, more human.

“Miss Hazel Marlowe, we’ve been waiting,” Snow called into the microphone, lips twisting. "Join us."

The roar of hands slapping together broke through the air, eventually crescendoing into hollers for her to join him on stage. While the crowds in Twelve and Eleven hadn’t been small, this was another beast altogether. And with nothing more than Snow’s nudge of encouragement, they were practically roaring.

The coaxing breeze pushed and tugged at her limbs as though even the elements demanded her presence on that stage.

Beside her, Lucky soaked in the applause as if it were a steaming cup of rich chamomile. His body relaxed, his eyes fluttered, and she swore he bit back a soft moan of approval.

She shifted her body slightly away from the bizarre man. Despite the south being at least thirty degrees warmer than home, Hazel shivered. Her body was colder than it had been in the District Seven cemetery in the center of a blizzard. Her limbs agreed with the sentiment and refused to cooperate fully.

Lucky’s voice shattered through the surface of her frozen state, “Don’t be shy.” With a soft pull on their linked arms, he guided her forward.

Even her feet resisted, toes curling in the foreign shoes, but his arm was a fleshy hook, dragging her toward the inevitable.

The windowless slaughterhouse loomed in her periphery.

Were cattle just as aware of their fate as she was of hers?

A sudden rush of empathy filled her.

What a familiar yet sickening feeling it was to be led to a fate beyond one's control.

“Nervous?” Lucky whispered. His fingers tapped against her forearm.

“Just…excited.” Hazel pushed out the lie with another awkward smile.

Before them, the crowd hastily parted a haphazard path. Some of their own volition and others with the encouragement of a peacekeeper's baton.

Swallowing down the anxiety taking residence in her esophagus, she allowed herself to be dragged forward.

All along the path, Capitol press swarmed. Cameras flashed and clattered like corn over the stove. Popping so sporadically that she couldn’t tell where the next shutter snap would come from. Each one caused the tightening of the already tense muscles of her neck.

The world blurred around her, reduced to a sticky web with Snow at the center. He continued to watch her be led to him with a satisfied expression. With every step closer, it was as if his smile grew brighter, and the blue in his irises deepened until they nearly matched the rich sea-soaked blue of his long coat.

Her one solace was Leo’s steady breathing, just behind her shoulder. His head was straight and stiff. His fingers hovered just above his weapon. Scanning the gathering in a rigid yet practiced pattern, he whispered, “Keep breathing. We are almost there.”

She did her best to follow his command, sucking in a deep, putrid lungful. Despite the discomfort the odor was at least grounding.

Before she knew it, they were ascending the stage’s steps. One of her lilac-toned heels slid harshly as it met the first one. Her leg wobbled like it was made of damp pasta, nearly dumping her onto her head.

The weatherman’s grip suddenly tightened. Behind her, a large, warm hand pressed against her shoulder blade, solid and steadying. She didn’t even have to look behind her to know it was Leo.

A finger tapped against her ribs three times as he waited for her to find her footing. The barely perceptible gesture sent a wave of comfort that eroded at least partially some of the terror. Once she was righted on her two feet, his strong palm slid away

“Thank you,” she whispered without looking backward.

The weatherman beamed with a too bright grin, “Don’t mention it.”

She half winced and half smiled at Lucky, “Ok, so maybe a little nervous.”

Lucky grinned, eyes flickering to the intimidating man on the stage and then back. “Understandable, my dear.”

With a few more steps, she successfully reached the top of the platform. With a deep sigh and another backward glance, she scanned the crowd. From the elevated position, it was much easier to see the sheer number gathered.

Beyond the flood of Capitol colors, just behind the ropes, they didn’t wave gleaming banners or wear embroidered silks. Instead, their faces were harder, clothing crafted from dull-toned fabric scraps, with the stains of blood and flesh the only contrast.

Two district citizens caught her attention in particular. First, was a beautiful yet gaunt-looking woman. She had to be close to Fern’s age, with long, midnight-toned hair that cascaded to her elbows. Her features were sharp yet feminine. Between shivering hands she held a picture of a girl who could be a smaller version of herself.

Mia.

Beside her was a young man with dark skin, deep-set eyes, and a weariness that made him seem older than he probably was.

Both of his eyelids were raw, with sickly purple hollows just beneath his lower lashes. His clothing was worn, though he did not have the viscera-colored stains like the others.

He also held a photo; this one was of Aaron. Hazel met his gaze for a second.

The boy waiting for Aaron, the one who promised to take care of his father if he didn’t come home…

Brindle.

With another tug on her arm, her attention was pulled sharply back to the matter at hand. Lucky continued to chatter beside her, though his words were mushed into the background of her thoughts.

Just like the rest of the crowd, her gaze shifted as she crossed the platform. She could no longer avoid the inevitable. Once again, she met Snow’s piercing scrutiny. It seared over her, and she reminded herself to keep moving and pray he didn’t notice her trembling. Though the wry smile that graced his lips didn’t instill much confidence in that particular hope.

He stretched his arms in a welcoming gesture, his coat continued to flow around him. It was like she was being sucked into his gravitational pull. Suffocated by the tornado of his presence.

“Miss Marlowe, it has been far too long.” His words were oddly toned, meant partially for her and partially for their captivated audience.

Once she was nearly within arm’s reach, she plastered on a soft but not too bright smile as she faced him, “It has. Congratulations on your candidacy, Coriolanus.”

Snow’s eyes sparkled a fraction at the statement.

“Oh! This is new.” Lucky squeezed her forearm, pressing closer, “On a first-name basis, are we?”

She had hoped Lucky would let it slide. Yet it seemed Snow knew exactly what he was doing.

Hazel swallowed. “It’s a recent development.”

Lucky winked at the crowd, “Sure, sure it is my dear.”

The front row giggled, their eyes darting between the three. Some almost appeared to be holding their breath, witnessing the anticipated reunion in person.

“Don’t give her too hard of a time, Flickerman.” Snow stepped toward the two, “It is only natural.” He smirked down at Hazel, “Between friends.”

The gathering of Capitol citizens gossiped amongst themselves.

Warmth pooled along the skin of Hazel’s neck and face. Snow was here flirting with her in front of the nation while death hung in the air all around them. Both figuratively and literally.

“A few developments indeed,” Lucky cooed toward the audience before addressing Snow once again. “And no need to worry about me, Senator. I won’t tease your new friend too much more, I promise.”

“Um… well…don’t let me interrupt you.” Hazel addressed Snow directly, “I’m sure what you have to say has to be more interesting.”

“So modest.” Snow joked, sending a soft look out to the crowd. “I'm almost certain they have heard enough from me for the moment. I believe they would much rather listen to you, my dear.” He turned his shoulders until he faced the gathering directly, “What do you all think?”

An almost unanimous collective agreement rushed into the air.

Swinging himself back to face her, Snow shrugged, “Seems the people have spoken.”

Lucky released her arm, patting her on the shoulder in a silent, grinning encouragement.

Hazel inched nearer to the microphone and Snow. Varying emotions surged through her as she did. Anger, confusion, suspicion, and curiosity were just some that battled for control.

Once she was before him, his eyes cooled several shades darker despite the sun up above. Without a word, he bent at the waist. Hazel locked her jaw, memories of her dream seizing her. Willing herself away from his touch, she buried her hands in the fine folds of her dress.

His eyes roved over her, charting the lines of her face before drifting downward to her balled fists. With a hint of a smirk, he moved closer.

Not that she could even if she wanted to. And by all means did she.

His scent swallowed her whole; lush, overripe, like rose petals steeped in sugar. It was no longer a shadow in her sleep, but a presence, as real as the man towering over her.

Warm floral breath ghosted over her ear. “Try not to flinch.”

Her insides squirmed. As it seemed did the entirety of the crowd. They fussed over his gesture, whispering to one another.

A rising sense of challenge overwhelmed her, tinged with a hint of embarrassment.

The blonde curl twirled against his forehead

He isn’t the only one who could play this stupid game.

She leaned in, fingers unsteady as they breached the space between them. His stillness was immediate. His shoulders locked though it was hidden masterfully beneath a veneer of tight control. Almost.

Reaching forward, she slid her fingers over the loose blonde strand. It was softer than she imagined. Considering it was always slicked back, she had expected it to have the texture of sap, lacquer or maybe the polish Mayor Kettleberry used on his car. Instead, it was more like the downy feathers of a baby robin.

His scrutiny was blinding as he let her touch him. Merely watching her with hawk like precision.

A part of her immediately regretted the boldness, but the other part reminded her he had started this game, and he was due more than a little payback.

With as steady of a breath and touch as she could manage, she tucked it back into place. Smoothing it down with her fingertips. “You aren’t the only one with surprises up your sleeve,” She breathed just loud enough for him to hear.

He straightened, and she moved to pull away from him. With a smooth yet quick grasp, he caught her retreating hand.

She bit back a surprised sound as his gloved fingers curled around hers.

With a too-deep laugh, he raised the captive appendage to his lips. Without blinking, he laid a hint of a kiss against her knuckles.

The Capitol visitors purred like they were witnessing something romantic instead of a chess move and two people planning their next play.

She wanted to snatch her hand away but resisted the urge. Instead, she kept her face still, though her fingers shivered in his grasp.

All of it stoked the bubbling excitement in the air. “Friends…indeed.” Lucky scoffed and let out a sharp whistle. The Capitol people in the crowd giggled in agreement.

Snow gripped Hazel’s palm slightly harder as he pulled her to the microphone. Finally releasing her as he addressed the crowd, “Everyone, I have the pleasure of introducing to you a very special Victor. Miss Hazel Johanna Marlowe.”

Both sections of the crowd clapped, and there were a few cheers, though the movement seemed to stir up the metallic gritty scent in the air even more.

“Let's see what your sleeves have in store.” Snow murmured in the space between them.

With that, Snow backed away, though his eyes remained locked on her. Murmuring as he passed behind her so softly, an argument could be made that it was just the wind. “I’m quite looking forward to it actually.”

Even as he joined her three guards, Festus, Augustus, and Indira, at the side of the stage, his attention never wavered.

Sucking in a trembling inhale, Hazel pulled the fresh speech from her pocket. She folded it open, leaning toward the waiting microphone. “Good Afternoon. Thank you for your warm welcome.” She glanced down at the page. Thick black lines covered much of the text, making a scattered, harsh patchwork of words that seemed to blend. The more they merged, the faster her heart rate seemed to spike.

Redacted...Right...

A hint of a blue-tinged braid and beady tan eyes flared through her periphery. Beside him was a flash of blonde hair. The errant curl fell back over the Senator’s face as he tilted his head.

She met the slightly worried expressions of Mia’s mother and Brindle. Today, they would watch her speech, and in the morning, they would witness their Mayor’s execution.

From celebrating her life to ending another in such a short time, it was revolting.

Here, she was balancing on a tightrope between the two worlds. In ridiculous footwear, no less.

Capitol or District?

Augustus's words rang in her ears, “You are a Victor.”

She met the grief-drenched stares of her ally's loved ones. Not without them, I am not.

This District may kill all day long, but she knew who the butchers were.

The real ones didn’t wear blood on their hands but neon embroidered scarves, silky lace gloves, and feathered hats.

With the best fashion, they led a new group of lambs to the slaughter every year.

What does that make me?

The last lamb standing.

Her eyes fell on her colorful heels.

They can coat me in gold, cover my bruises in glitter, dress me up like something sacred…but I will never be their idol.

Nor their sacrifice turned pet.

If that is what they wanted, they should’ve chosen someone else.

With a shaky breath, she folded the speech in half. “District Ten holds a special place in my heart. While I’ve never been here before, I feel like I have because of your tributes. They were brave and strong and everything I could have asked for in alliance partners. You all should be proud. Such tributes bring honor to you all.”

Hazel met the stare of Mia’s mother. “Mia….was…”Her voice tightened with a sudden rush of emotion, “Mia was beautiful.”

The woman’s lips quivered, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Even from across the distance, Hazel could see the way her eyes shone with held-back tears.

“She was courageous, strong, and kind. One of the bravest girls I’ve ever known. I like to think I saw myself in her, but the truth is—she was better than I could have ever hoped to be.”

She forced every ounce of conviction into her words as if she were only speaking to the one person she needed to. “I know it doesn’t change what happened but…your daughter was a hero.”

Hazel’s voice wobbled as the memories of streaks of blood and Mia’s screams rushed her senses. “Even with severe injuries, Mia placed our well-being before her own. Through her sacrifice, she saved those of her alliance…She saved my life and that of my brother. I will never be able to repay what she selflessly gave.”

“There are those that would call such acts weakness.” She swallowed hard, refusing to look back at Snow, “They couldn’t be more wrong. To give your own life to save others. Near strangers even? That is not weak. It is the highest and rarest of strengths.”

Mia’s mother’s attention dropped to her feet, and she wiped at her eyelids. Beside her, Brindle seemed to be attempting to console the woman, wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders.

Hazel’s mouth went dry. Her tongue was suddenly welded to its roof.

What I wouldn’t give for some water.

The thought sparked a muted laugh. Water in the desert? The last time she’d wished for that, it had been delivered courtesy of a monstrous falcon. That memory brought her back to the desert, the sand, and inevitably, to Aaron and Mia.

Glancing back up at the curious-looking crowd, she saw them both again. The two had now woven their way into the square, watching her with the same pained expressions.

Not now. Not now.

Hazel closed her eyes.

Desperately, she tried to force away the images and focus on the present moment. She was here, alive and well. Mia and Aaron were not, not really.

They are gone. Forever. Both of them.

I am here, and they are not.

No.

That wasn’t quite right.

Hazel shivered as an image re-carved itself into her mind. Aaron’s lifeless body, draped in black, the waves lapping at the shore where his life had been lost.

I am here because they are not.

Her eyes snapped back open as she crushed the speech in her left palm, squeezing the thick paper into a ball. “Speaking of strength.”

It was as if the entire town square held its breath. A tense hush settled over the crowd.

“Few displayed more than Aaron Shepherd.”

Brindle’s head spun back to her, and his eyes doubled in size. All around them, whispering filtered through the throng of people like falling rain.

Indira swayed back and forth on her heels, chewing her pinky nail. Festus had his arms crossed, hiding a small smirk behind his folded fist. Augustus was rigid, while Snow seemed more than engrossed.

Bellona and Sable both appeared unsurprised, while Leo’s face hardened into a knowing concern.

She glanced down at her left fist, “He was a formidable tribute and a steadfast ally. There were moments when he could have…taken an easier path. But he didn’t. That says more about his character than anything else ever could. If things...had been different, if he had been given the chance, I have no doubt he would have been a great leader.”

Brindle gave a barely perceptible nod, his face drawn, his shoulders squared, but his eyes shone.

Gripping the microphone, she clung to it like a buoy as she held his stare. “Like his father.”

Gasping rushed over the square. The district citizens watched her with bated breath and clear shock. Capitol elite’s shared nervous looks of confusion.

Hazel looked over her shoulder, locking her gaze with Snow for a fraction of a second.

She wasn’t quite done. And the way his lip twitched and his head tilted slightly, he knew it.

“I know Coriolanus shares my desire to honor the vanquished while also upholding our great nation’s rule of law.”

He can't punish me here, not in front of the cameras.

Besides, the Capitol loves a spectacle, and based on how they responded to her so far….

Maybe Snow wasn’t wrong about her having power after all.

A soft smile graced her lips, and he reciprocated the gesture.

Let’s play.

Sucking in a deep breath and pulling her hair over her shoulder, she refocused once again on Brindle and Mia’s mother.

Behind them, acrid smoke pooled out from the slaughterhouse’s chimney.

We lambs need to stick together.

“After a thorough investigation, Senator Snow has determined that the allegations against Mayor Shepherd were found to be unfounded and lacking sufficient evidence.” Hazel let her words settle for a second before continuing, “All charges against him will be dropped effective immediately.”

Chapter Text

Hazel’s very soul tingled, torn between the sudden urge to flee and the opposite instinct to freeze completely.

The uncertainty of her risk's aftereffects clawed at her nerves.

Exclamations rippled through the dazed crowd like a boulder plowing into a tranquil lake. The air shimmered with the force of the shockwaves, spreading outward, reaching deeper into District Ten.

Capitol citizens exchanged unsure glances. Behind them, the District people had a much more enthusiastic reaction. Many clapped and shouted. A few dabbed at the welling tears. Others clasped their hands in gratitude.

Brindle collapsed to his knees. His shoulders rocked as he sobbed into his cupped hands. Mia’s mother knelt beside him, running her palm over his head, whispering in his ear.

Despite herself, Hazel cast a defiant glance at the side of the stage.

Indira had a hand over her mouth, struggling to find an appropriate expression. Festus rubbed at his eyebrows. Though, a wickedly amused look broke through his features whenever he glanced at Augustus. The new Gamemaker was as stiff as a dead trunk, features waffling between a deathly glare and an unconvincing indifference. The latter was surely for the crowd’s benefit.

But it was the man beside him who captivated her attention. Snow’s fingers danced over his chin. His face did not move, the knowing smirk carefully cemented in place. However, something unspoken swelled behind his eyes. She swore it resembled respect but laced with something charged.

It was then that she sensed peacekeepers converging on her. It was doubtful they would allow her to say much else.

I need to convince them to go along with this. All of them.

Hazel tightened her grip on the microphone, “We should all continue in our efforts to make our great country prosper. Mayor Shepherd, I’m sure, will be renewed in his commitment to your District and, more importantly, to Panem. As we all should.” She cleared her throat, the metallic chill of the microphone brushing her lips. “Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.”

Cheers erupted from both Capitol and District citizens, their voices blending into something almost unified.

Just then, a firm hand found her shoulder, and Sable’s gravelly voice was in her ear, “Time to go, trouble.”

With a final glance at Brindle, she tore her eyes from the pulsating, clapping people.

Snow was just behind him, ready to take over the microphone. He studied her like a formidable opponent. She almost swore she could hear him whispering. Nice move.

Snow transfixed the crowd with a pearly white grin. Raising his hands it was as if he could smooth the waves through sheer charm. He leaned into the microphone, basking in the deafening approval.

“She is as right as she is striking, folks. And there is nothing- Nothing more important to me than Panem’s future. What holds us upright, what keeps us from collapsing into the chaos of the past, is rule and order.” His gaze caught Hazel’s as she was pulled toward the stairs, his expression sharp with a challenge all his own. “But order alone is not enough. Justice must be balanced. And I assure you, when I am President, Panem will be governed with a hand that is firm but fair. I will do whatever it takes to guarantee our nation will not be dragged back into the ruin of our predecessors.”

Those in the gathering fed off the excitement, murmuring approval at Snow’s declaration.

The next few minutes were a chaotic whirlwind. Hazel was ushered quite rapidly from the stage through the throngs of elated people. As the news of the freeing of their mayor seeped into the outer parts of the District, the streets erupted in shouting and hollering. Peacekeepers converged down every road and alleyway, working to mitigate any overly enthusiastic demonstrations.

The visiting Capitol citizens also seemed to be caught up in the fervor of the District, though their excitement was notably dimmed when the promised autographing session was abruptly canceled.

Augustus was all but simmering as he announced that there would be another time for such activities. He clearly struggled to maintain his composure as he encouraged all the Capitol visitors to join them in District Four.

With another hot command from him to an unfamiliar peacekeeper, she was separated from her guards as well as Festus and Indira.

The mass drowned out her mentor’s protests and Indira’s attempts to calm him.

With that, Hazel was unceremoniously herded out of the square and into a prepared bedroom within the mayor’s house. Once inside, her strange guards said nothing as the door was slammed behind her. The telltale shadow of peacekeeper boots darkened the gap under the door.

She wasn’t going anywhere. Not for a while.

The room was odd. It was full of simple furniture, including a cheap particle board desk, similar-looking chairs, and a small lumpy sofa covered in black and white cow spots. The handles and various adornments were crafted from pearly white slivers of bone. Thick hides were slung on the walls. A ceramic statue of a giant horned steer stood before a small shelf of leather-bound books. A sheepskin rug furled out before it. Even the bedding was made of a black fur blanket.

Despite the heat of the room, her limbs were shaking like frostbite was creeping in. Dropping into the closest chair, she raked her nails across her scalp.

Did I do the right thing? Maybe I really have gone insane.

After several minutes of trying to calm her nerves, she couldn’t stand her thoughts any longer. Restless energy burned under her skin. She couldn’t just sit there.

With that, she rose and swung open the door.

The two unfamiliar peacekeepers who had shoved her in there immediately turned, fingers twitching over their weapons. A slight expression of surprise colored their features.

One barked out, “Ma’am, I am going to have to ask you to remain in the room.”

Hazel expected as much, but a flash of blue down the long hallway to her right caught her attention. Augustus’s hair was flipping wildly as he spoke.

A sliver of satisfaction coursed through her. He deserved so much more, but it was nice to see him suffering, even if just for a moment.

Standing in front of him was Senator Snow, arms folded, a beautiful mask of indifference firmly in place.

Hazel leaned further outside the room, trying to get a better look.

“Ma’am.” The peacekeeper demanded louder this time.

Hazel flinched at the abruptness.

And so did Augustus. Who was smoldering with irritation, his scowl snapping to her.

Snow followed his gaze, and his eyes met hers with a sparkling yet veiled expression.

Augustus jutted a thick finger at the peacekeepers, “Does no one listen around here? What did I tell you? Keep her in there.”

The guards nodded and again urged her backward. She stumbled into the room, twisting on the lilac heels. Again, the door shut with a deafening thud.

Hazel didn't hesitate, darting to the corner of the room, wedging herself between the bookshelf and the ceramic steer. Flattening against the wall, she pressed her ear to its surface.

Muffled voices. One voice, in particular, was a mix of staccato growls and sharp intakes of breath.

The other was calmer and more collected and sounded like he offered a few words here or there. It was as if he was pouring ice-cold water on an open flame. The first voice shuddered and hissed in protest.

Despite her straining, she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Suddenly, her door lurched open, and Hazel jolted away from the wall. As she did, her lilac heel caught the leg of the ceramic cow. It teetered severely, threatening to fall. She grasped at it, desperately attempting to keep it from tipping.

Boots strode to her flailing form. One hand steadied her. The other gripped the statue’s horn.

“Marlowe?” Leo glanced at the wall and then at the statue, frowning deeply, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Hazel blurted. She straightened, forcing a casual shrug. “I just bumped this.. uh… thing.”

He studied her, all humor absent from his face. His gray eyes implored hers like he was searching for something. “What was that? What are you thinking?”

Hazel hesitantly met his stare, her mouth falling open as another voice joined them in the room.

“Excellent question.” Snow’s tall frame loomed in the doorway, arms folded, watching the two carefully. “One I would like an answer to myself.”

Leo straightened, releasing the steer and backing away from Hazel. “Sir.”

Snow kept his concentration locked on Hazel as he addressed Leo, “You are dismissed, Private Drayton.”

Leo bowed in acknowledgment. “Yes, sir.” Without delay, he stepped back, closing the door behind him.

Hazel tried to ignore the sudden increase in her pulse as she put distance between herself and the fragile statue.

Snow let out an unbelieving soft laugh and shook his head. “When you said you had a surprise up your sleeve.” Folding his hands behind his back as he exhaled, “That wasn’t what I expected.”

Hazel chewed on her lip, “You seemed to recover just fine.”

“I am a politician.” Studying her from head to toe, an odd appreciation settled on his features, “And after that, you might consider such a career for yourself. Or maybe pick up gambling.”

“I know it was a risk, but…” Hazel scoffed, crossing her arms. “You owe me.”

His blonde brow twitched, “Do I?”

Hazel shrugged, “Have you forgotten our game so soon?”

"Definitely not. You can take the Gamemaker out of the game.” Snow mused, his smile unwavering. "But I suspect we’re no longer playing the same one."

Hazel peered out the window, and even from this guest room, the lights of the slaughterhouse glared back. “Not different, just higher stakes.”

Snow nodded, walking toward the desk, “I see. And the source of my debt?”

“Easy.” Hazel crossed her arms. “The tape.”

Snow ran his fingers over the cheap wood, picking at a chip in the surface. “I told you that you will find out.”

She wasn’t about to tell him what had happened the night before. “Patience isn’t a strength of mine.”

Snow nodded, “Mine is not infinite either, and you’ve created quite a predicament just now.”

Her heart lurched, but his face held no anger. That somehow only made her more nervous.

“Are you telling me freeing one innocent man from prison is outside the power of the infamous Senator Snow?” Hazel challenged.

Snow paused his picking at the desk, “What do you know of that man’s innocence?”

Hazel tapped her fingers against her bandage, “Being a part of the rebellion and wanting what is best for your district are two very different things.”

“A fine line that is often lost in my experience.” Snow’s stare moved to the bright white statute behind her. “Though it seems like those are becoming less defined as of late.”

Hazel’s pulse skipped a beat as the door flew open again.

This time, a reddened, steaming Augustus surged inside, followed closely by Indira and Festus.

The blue-haired man lumbered toward Hazel, jabbing a thick finger at her, “What part of our pre-speech review did you not understand?”

Hazel squared her shoulders, unfolding her arms as she mentally mapped where her knife rested in her bag.

Snow slid between the two with more grace than she expected. He morphed suddenly into a polished politician as he held up his palms to Augustus. He tilted his head and murmured like he was reigning in a furious bull. “Augustus, we talked about this.”

A thick finger pointed at her while Hazel continued to eye him over Snow’s shoulder. “I don’t care that you fancy her. She just made you look weak. Made the Capitol look weak.”

Indira wrung her hands while Festus interjected, “Bit dramatic, Trask.”

Augustus whirled on him, “Am I the only one who just witnessed that— that—treason?”

“It’s no more treason than rigging a reaping,” Snow’s voice was frosty, “Among other things I'm sure you aren't familiar.”

Hazel did her best to keep her mouth from falling open.

What?

Augustus seemed to instantly lose the sheer furious energy in his stance, though steam was still coming out of the man’s ears.

Something dangerously close to fear colored the edges of the Gamemaker’s expression.

Augustus looked from Hazel to Snow, “You can’t be serious.”

“Can’t I?” Snow asked with an elegant one-shoulder shrug.

“That so-called mayor is a rebel sympathizer. An enemy of the Capitol.” Augustus' voice had dropped to a boil. “He deserves to hang.”

“He’s an old man who traded a little food for lumber.” Snow glanced over his shoulder at Hazel, “Maybe traded some dreary sentiments with other Districts, commiserating over their shared perceived hardships.” He took a long stride toward Augustus. “Illegal? Sure. But is the man out directing the Districts to storm the Capitol? Hardly.”

Snow smoothed back his hair, “And you certainly ensured he paid the price for his transgressions did you not?”

Augustus crossed his arms, flipping his long braid over his shoulder, his simmering gaze intermittently flickering to Hazel.

At the moment, she was attempting to keep her face as neutral as possible while internally, her mind was flipping itself over backward.

What the hell is happening right now?

“Besides,” Snow continued, “We wanted Ten back in line. You saw how the people reacted. It seems they are now. And I’ve their mayor solidly within my pocket.” He smirked, “Couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

“What does it matter to you what those District rats think?” Augustus practically spat.

“It matters to the man who will be the President of Panem one day.” Snow’s voice cooled to ice, the seriousness seeping in so severely it felt like the room’s temperature decreased at the same time. He took another step forward toward Augustus, “I need them to have just enough hope and faith to keep rebellion as far from their minds as possible. And what could be better if I were the source of such sentiments? While we each have our roles, it doesn’t mean we can’t work together toward a common goal.”

“So that’s your grand vision? Bridging the gap between the Capitol and the Districts?” Augustus let out a hollow laugh. “A girl comes along, and you think we’re all equal now?”

“Unite? No. Equals? Certainly not.” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “But their faith? Their loyalty? Their hope? That should belong to me.”

Augustus huffed, “Never thought a Snow would stoop so low.”

Snow stepped closer, and a flash of what looked to be fear crossed Augustus’s features, “It appears, Mr. Trask. That you don’t know me as well as you thought.”

Augustus took a step back. His own tone grew eerily calm. “You're right as always, Senator.” He again fixed his stare on Hazel before storming toward the door, “I hope it is worth it.”

“I can assure you it will be.” Augustus scoffed one last time as Snow’s stare dropped to his gloves, “Goodnight, Mr. Trask.”

Augustus’s braid flipped wildly, like a dying, flailing serpent, as he slammed the door behind him.

Festus sighed in satisfaction, “Nicely done, Coryo.”

Indira strode closer to Hazel, “Are you all right, dear?”

Hazel waved her off, still watching Snow in amazement, “I’ve no idea.”

Snow met her eyes once again, studying her with a self-satisfied lip twitch. She might have put a point on the board, but somehow, this felt like an interception, if that was even possible in this stupid game.

“So, I am guessing, no dinner tonight?” Festus asked, disappointment filling his face.

“Not tonight.” Snow conceded, shifting to address his disappointed friend.

Hazel stepped forward, “Can I at least talk to them?”

Indira shook her head, “Dear, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You are really pushing your luck.” Snow sighed, studying her. “But since you seem to be on a roll, I’ll allow it. Ten minutes.”

Hazel’s shoulders relaxed, and genuine gratitude filled her. “Thank you.”

“You might want to wait to thank me, Miss Marlowe.” Snow gestured to Indira, “Go ahead and collect the tribute’s families.”

Indira nodded, pulling the pile of clothing closer to her chest.

Snow settled his attention on Festus. “Walk with me, Fest?”

Festus nodded as Snow patted him on the back, wrapping a long arm around the other man’s shoulders, and pulled him to the door. “What’s Livia and Persephone up to these days?” Snow asked as the door closed behind them.

Indira swallowed as she dumped a bundle of pajamas in Hazel’s arms. Gripping the girl’s shoulder, she whispered with a quick backward glance at the empty room. “You can’t do that again.”

Hazel placed her hand over her escorts. “They were going to execute an innocent man.”

Indira’s grip cinched, “Promise me.”

Hazel met Indira’s heavy stare; her face shone with sincerity. “Indira…”

Indira seemed to war with herself before continuing, “I can’t… Please read the speeches the way they are written. We still have Eight Districts to go; that doesn’t even count the Capitol…”

Hazel couldn’t begin to understand what Indira had endured as an escort. Soon, she would. They would walk through that hell together. A thread of sympathy wove its way through her. “I will try.”

Indira pulled away, “You are going to have to do a whole hell of a lot better than that if you want to keep those you love safe.”

“I’m so-" Hazel argued, but her escort raised her hand, effectively cutting her off.

“See you in the morning,” Indira replied, turning on her bedazzled heels and disappearing from the room.

Hazel sank onto the midnight-colored bed, fingers pressing hard against her temples as if she could force clarity to emerge.

Thoughts tangled, emotions meshed-anger, exhaustion, unease. But above all, confusion.

She thought she was playing Snow, but it was becoming alarmingly clear that she had only stepped straight into his palm.

Chapter Text

Mia’Mia's mother possessed her daughter's eyes, or maybe it was the other way around. Plum-grey circles cradled each, undoubtedly the leftovers of hours of sleepless sorrow.

Despite the gauntness of her bone structure, a gentle expression filled her face and she clung to a rounded bundle wrapped in foil. Yet she remained rooted in the doorway. It was as if the connection between mind and muscles was faulty.

Hazel willed her shoulders to relax and mustered up a cotton-soft smile. Even if it was a veneer, she wished to appear at least moderately at ease, welcoming perhaps. The less she resembled a victor embroiled in a semi-hostage situation, the better it was for all of them.

"Hey there..." Hazel ventured gently, not moving toward the traumatized mother.

Nibbling on the flesh of her lip, she continued to hesitate, almost as stationary as the uncanny bull statue.

Annoyance flared over the faces of the two guards, impatiently waiting in the hallway. "Move." A sharp command caused the woman to jolt, crinkling the foil in her shivering grasp.

"I've got her." Brindle materialized at the woman's side. "It's all right, Naii." He addressed her delicately, like she was his own mother. Placing a loose grip on her elbow, he guided her inside. Yielding, she clung to him like a tow rope.

"You've got ten minutes." The unfamiliar peacekeeper announced before sealing them inside. "Courtesy of Senator Snow."

An eerie pause stretched between the three strangers.

Hazel bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She desired to tell them so many things, but now that they were here, the words had abandoned her.

Though it was wholly unnecessary, as soon as Hazel opened her mouth, Brindle surged forward, sheathing her in a crippling embrace. He smelled of grease and peroxide. Smudges that were too brown to be blood smeared his arms and clothing. His lanky body was quaking as he murmured, "Thank you."

Hazel patted his back. Instantaneously, tears burned behind her eyes. She battled to keep them at bay. However, a congested sniffle from him damaged her resolve. "I promised him I would watch over him."

His reaction fed into hers, eroding her already fragile control. "I know," she murmured.

After another quivering squeeze, Brindle withdrew. His irises grew glassy as he studied her. "Why?"

"Like I said..." She choked out, attention dropping to her pale knuckles. "No evidence."

"Of course." He swiped a smudged sleeve under his eyes.

"If things had been different..." Hazel shuddered, her voice failing her, "It might've been my family."

Naii inched forward, tears filtering down her cheeks. Brindle's actions having instilled within her confidence to approach. Now that she was closer, it was evident her fingers and forearms were peppered with anemic slivered scars.

"Thank you, Miss," Naii whispered, offering up the aluminum package.

Hazel crept to her, drawing the still-toasty bundle into her palms, "Kolaches?"

Naii nodded, clasping her hands over her heart. "Apricot."

Mia's favorite.

Hazel coughed out a quiet, "You didn't have to."

"I did." Naii's voice solidified, "My Mia would've wanted it."

"Are you a chef?" Hazel questioned.

"No." Naii buried her hands in her blood-dyed pockets. "Slaughterhouse, like most everyone else."

Hazel shuddered at the brutal reality of the District's contribution to Panem. Perusing Brindle's lack of red-stained clothing, she asked, "And you?"

"Luckily, no..." Brindle let out a grimly relieved exhale, "In charge of maintenance of the Mayor's house and government buildings."

Hazel's ears perked up. "Is that how you met Aaron?"

The young man's eyes grew distant, and he murmured his agreement, though it seemed his words were far away. Another place. Another time.

Hell, another life altogether.

Hazel's stare descended to the tin-foiled treat, basking in the subtle heat that was soaking into her flesh. A dull ache spread through her at the memory of Mia's devotion to her mother's kolaches. It seemed to be decades ago, that first night of the Games.

"I meant what I said..." Hazel finally murmured. "About both of them."

Naii smiled sadly as Brindle whispered, "You have no idea how grateful we are. If he were here, he would be as well..."

A penetrating knock made each of them flinch.

Naii tugged Brindle's hand into her own as the door flew open. The irritable peacekeeper from before barked out, "Time's up."

While the room was devoid of a clock or any timepiece, Hazel was certain he had returned too soon.

"Your watch broken, private?" she protested.

"Time is now five minutes." He countered, beckoning for Naii and Brindle to exit. Each sent her a lengthy look as they were ushered out into the hall.

"Courtesy of the Senator?"

"No, ma'am. Courtesy of Gamemaker Trask." The door closed once again, sealing Hazel in the silence. Loneliness and homesickness surged through her.

Keep it together.

Tightening her hold on the balmy parcel, exhaustion's tears burned the backs of her eyes. A sweet, mouth-watering fragrance suddenly reminded her of the hours it had been since she had last eaten.

Maybe food will help.

Ignoring the sting, she crossed the room and settled the foil-wrapped bundle on the table. Peeling back the crinkling layers, released a sauna of caramelized apricot and toasted pastry dough.

Two kolaches waited within. They were partially squashed ovals with pillowy surfaces. Each had been brushed with a glaze that gave them a candied sheen. An oblong split in the center revealed a peek of gold-orange stuffing.

Despite her mother's creativity in the kitchen, Hazel had never encountered a confection quite like it before.

"They really are the best."

Hazel startled at the feminine voice arising from her right side. She circled toward the disturbance.

Mia's irises twinkled like a reflection of Naii's as she limped toward the table. Her tribute uniform was frayed and bore horrific streaks of red. The deepest crimson stain pooled over her thigh muscle. Leaves and twigs stuck out from her dark tresses. The girl smiled despite her haggardness. Pointing to the kolaches, she explained, "You'll see. Mom makes the best."

"Debatable." Aaron's voice dumped ice into Hazel's veins. He was lounging in the chair to her left, clothing dripping, though he appeared not to notice. Seawater collected in translucent pools at his sand-dusted feet.

Hazel staggered backward.

"Ignore him." Mia stuck her tongue out at Aaron and addressed Hazel, "Try them, you'll see."

Hazel swallowed as she watched the two, pressing a clammy palm to her temple.

No. No. Not again. Stop it, Hazel.

"You all right, Seven?" Aaron asked as if he wasn't a nightmare's shadow, casually breaching her reality

Hazel released a weary scoff, "Never been better, Ten."

"Well, come on then." Aaron signaled to the steaming kolaches.

This is so disturbing. What would Dr. Savi think?

She dug her fingers deeper into her flesh.

He would consider me committable without a doubt.

"We are waiting," Mia teased.

Maybe if she ate them, they would disappear.

Hazel timidly paced forward. "Ok, yeah..."

Brushing her fingertips against the warm surface of the pastry, she contemplated the labor and love that went into making it. Naii had undoubtedly used ingredients she could barely afford. With time, she didn't have to craft them. Just for her. In honor of her fallen daughter.

Again, Hazel wrestled with the swelling guilt before finally lifting the dessert to her lips. The dough was soft but firm enough to hold its shape, yielding under the pressure of her trembling grip.

She sunk her teeth into the golden dough that gave way without difficulty. The texture was fluffy, a smidge chewy, with a flakiness that harmonized with the richness. Warmth, buttery sweetness, and bright apricot filling burst onto her tongue.

It was comforting in an unexpected way. Like slipping into a thick quilt before a warm fire, a cozy calm spread from the inside out,

Hazel's eyes popped open, and she released a satisfied sound. Staring down at the dessert, a fresh appreciation swirled within her, "You do have excellent taste."

"I like to think so." Snow's amused voice resonated from the doorway.

Hazel jerked harshly, practically jumping out of her own skin.

Spinning around, the chair wobbled severely, nearly dumping her. Snow candidly scanned the room. His eyebrow ridge quirked before finally settling his scrutiny on her, "Speaking with someone?"

Chapter Text

Hazel spun away from Snow, scouring for Mia and Aaron.

The sickening ruby glow of the slaughterhouse bled through the windows. All traces of her guests had vanished except for the kolaches, of course.

A part of her wished they were still there. Surely, the conversation with her hallucinations would be more comfortable than whatever discussion she and Snow were about to have.

"Oh, you know, just myself..." Hazel forced her tone to be lax, "And the ghosts, of course."

Snow hummed thoughtfully as he secured the door. The sound was benign, bordering on amused. "More hallucinations?"

Muscling her face into neutrality, she swiped crumb dust from the side of her mouth. "No more than normal."

He browsed the pastry in her hand and then her face again. "I thought this was anything but normal."

Hazel eased her chair back from the table, "Maybe I am just getting used to abnormality."

His head pitched to the side. "Are you?"

Scanning the chair Aaron had occupied, she realized all traces of seawater had dried.

She was doing just about anything but adjusting properly. "No."

Snow accepted her honesty without question. A pulse of curiosity radiated through his eyes as he contemplated the tinfoil and dessert closer. She swore a flare of famish crossed his features.

How bizarre? Did the Capitol really let senators go without?

"Would you like one?" She offered before she could think better of it.

Snow's frame stilled. His hunger-soaked observation dragged from the kolaches to her. His eyes grew detached yet somehow all too present at the same time.

Clearing her tense vocal cords, she fought for a casual tone. "Maybe it's the hunger or stress talking, but it might be the best thing I've ever eaten. Don't tell my mom." Hazel pushed the tin foil-wrapped second pastry in front of the open chair. "Besides, after what happened today..."

He popped out of his reverie, examining the vacant seat. "Breaking bread with the enemy?"

She shrugged, "It's practically a hobby now. Outside of that, today, it seems that we are on the same team."

Snow's shoulders eased as he approached, "You do know that dessert won't cover your little stunt."

"Even apricot?" She teased, pulling the kolaches to her nose, breathing in a deep whiff of the cooling tart.

A chuckle slid from him as he unfastened his coat, swiping it behind him and lowering himself into the chair across from her. "Peach would be more persuasive."

Plucking the aluminum closer, he scrutinized the dessert beckoning from its surface. Despite its inviting nature, he made no move to eat.

"Doubt it's poisoned," Hazel said, taking another bite.

Snow's eyes shot to hers, probing. "Maybe I'll wait and see what happens to you first."

"Suit yourself," Hazel nibbled on another sweet bite, "If I'm dead, does that mean I get out of the rest of the tour?"

"I prefer the breathing version of you. Besides, you're far more entertaining alive." He replied, gingerly removing his gloves, one finger at a time. Dropping them neatly on the table, he then set to work folding up his long sleeves. "There are certainly less peaceful ways to go," he acquiesced.

"Then what are you worried about?"

As he tucked under his pristine cuffs, Hazel caught an imperfection on one of his pale forearms. Along the soft underbelly were two circular discolorations. They were uniform ovals, almost the same peach tone as his skin but a few shades darker.

She had seen such marks before in the hospital. Loggers who had run-ins with rattlers bore identical scars.

Where in the world would he, of all people, encounter such a creature? The only snakes occupying the Capitol were in Gaul's lab and those working government jobs.

"Unlike you, I'm not ready to flatline yet. I've too much I need to do," he answered.

Hazel swallowed down a particularly gooey bite, trying to ignore the telltale kiss of snake fangs winking up at her. "As President?"

Snow's smirk sharpened as he finally collected the kolaches. Pulling them up to his eyeline, he scoured for deception. "Precisely."

President was an absolute upgrade from Gamemaker.

She didn't know how anyone could bear either position. Though Snow, Gaul, and Augustus reveled in their occupations.

Augustus more than the other two combined. It was as if he were born with his boot on the neck of others.

The mere thought of the blue-haired barbarian made her jaw grind.

"How can you stand it?" She blurted between chews.

"Once again," Snow examined the space around them, "You'll need to be more specific."

Fixing him with a bare expression, she clarified. "Working with that shoddy excuse for a man?"

"Oh, I see. You've been getting familiar with my replacement." Snow squinted at the slaughterhouse.

"Your interview process needs improvement." She scowled at the wretched building, "A complete gut job, honestly."

"Though it may seem absurd to you..." Running his thumb over the top of the pastry, he harvested a bit of the filling on his fingertip. "Augustus is a valuable partner."

She grimaced, "How valuable can a monster be?"

"Ahh, yes," He conceded, "But he's a caged one."

Hazel swallowed, "Or leashed..."

Snow's brow twitched down at his forearm, "Best to keep such beasts close but not too close. Enough slack where they won't bite the hands that feed them, but not too much where you lose track of them."

"Spoken like someone who's been bit before."

His scrutiny flared from his arm to her and then down to her bandaged hand, "Seems another thing we have in common."

Hazel shuddered, "But how much slack do I have?"

Snow dipped his fruit-coated finger between his lips, "More than most, even if some of it was taken instead of given." His eyes glittered with charm, "But I wouldn't call you a monster in the least."

She tore her eyes from the man back to her fidgety hands.

"While there are plenty of justifiable reasons to despise Mr. Trask, you certainly put his gambling to shame with the risk you took today."

Her appetite plummeted fully into guilt-laden nausea

Snow bent in toward her, "Don't get me wrong, I admire a boldly-played hand. Even if it was reckless."

Tracing a ponderous circle with her heel against the flooring, she mumbled, "I didn't do it to be reckless."

"No?" Snow's voice was downy as he asked, "What of your family, Miss Marlowe? Were they not a part of your calculations?"

Hazel clamped her lips together for a moment, stilling but not looking away. He was dead on. She had made a precarious gamble with more than just her own existence.

But then again, none of it would have happened if it weren't for her fathers.

"Of course, but my calculations included the Shepherds as well...My family has enough blood on our hands."

His tongue cleaned the edge of his mouth. "Hmmm, balancing the ledger for the family singlehandedly?"

"I figured if something happened to me...or mine... well." She flicked her eyes toward him, watching carefully. "It would cause quite the disruption to your precious tour or, should I say, campaign. Call it playing the odds if you want."

Snow adjusted the kolaches in his hold, "Lucky for you, they are firmly in your favor."

She had expected amusement. Maybe condescension. Instead, there was something like understanding or agreement behind his gaze.

That was so much worse.

"Why are you campaigning in the Districts?" It was a question that had been tickling the back of her mind since their arrival.

"Ahh ahh ahh." Snow tutted, rolling the tart over in his hands. "You can't distract me from our game with pastries. No more freebies tonight." Hazel rolled her eyes as he continued, "Besides, I just answered, so that means it is my turn."

Hazel settled her stare on her confection, "I should've just eaten them both myself."

Snow took a long, slow bite, "Too late." His eyes grew as he chewed, returning his studying stare to the kolaches. "You weren't kidding."

Hazel let the small smirk win the battle over her lips.

Snow chewed silently, savoring the dessert-like he hadn't eaten in weeks. His pupils dilated, and a look of satisfaction eased away the ever-present arrogance.

The way he ate was a perplexing thing to watch. It was too methodical, too controlled, and too much like he was holding himself back from just shoving the dessert in his mouth. Apparently, not even his meals were free from his bizarre penchant for control and mind games.

"You know you are a lot less insufferable like this," Hazel finally murmured.

Snow swallowed, adjusting his gaze away from the silent conversation he was having with the apricot filling. "Oh? Like what?"

Hazel took another bite, "Quiet."

"Careful, Miss Marlowe." Snow regarded her with a light teasing in his eyes, "Sounds like you are starting to enjoy my company."

Hazel fought an eye roll as she licked her lips, preparing for their game to begin. "I think I'm safe from that, at least."

"Are you sure?" He tilted his head. "Or would you like to fix my hair for me again?"

She was thankful for the red fluorescence and prayed it masked her rising blush. "Is that really how you want to spend one of your questions?"

He cleared his throat, watching her carefully before continuing, "Is your favorite dish really cabbage?"

Hazel's face warmed as she focused heavily on the apricot dessert in her hands.

"No lying," Snow smirked between bites, leaning over the table as a couple of globs of apricot fell out. He stared at it for a moment like the kolaches audacity was showing.

Hazel let out a long sigh, "No, it is not."

"What is, really?" Snow asked.

Hazel repeated his previous tutting, "No freebies, remember?"

Snow acquiesced, raising a hand in surrender, "All right, your turn."

Hazel met his eyes, "Why are you campaigning in the Districts?"

Snow seemed unbothered, but she caught a tremor of his foot lightly bouncing against the floor, "You don't believe it was for the food?"

Hazel sent him a stony look.

He leaned back, sliding until his chair was facing her, "Even the Districts should be allowed to familiarize themselves with their next President."

Hazel scoffed, "You seem so certain you will win."

His blue eyes glittered as he chewed, licking the corner of his lips. "More like highly confident."

"Same thing."

"Two very different things."

Hazel steered her unamused green eyes on him, "Oh right, how could I forget? That's how you approach all your desired victories."

"You, of all people, should be growing familiar with my methods by now." Snow smiled as he brought the dessert to his mouth, taking another bite.

"Either way, it seems pointless." Hazel ran a finger over the last few bites left of her kolaches, "It will do little good when we can't even vote."

"Things aren't always what they seem."

Hazel's nail dug into the pastry's crispy flesh, "Now, that is something I am becoming quite familiar with."

"My turn again." He watched her take her last bite before posing his next question, "Have you had a boyfriend before?"

The final chunk of apricot lodged itself in her throat. Hazel coughed and sputtered on the morsel, doing her best to recover. "Including all the fake ones?"

Snow shook his head, thoroughly entertained. "Come on."

She fired him a firm look, "How do you know I don't have one now?"

He raised a blonde brow that was wholly unbothered. Knowing.

"Right," She muttered. Of course, he knew she didn't. "No."

His lip twitched, but he kept quiet. Sliding to the edge of his chair, it was obvious that he desired to prod further into the topic.

She wasn't about to let that happen. Licking the last remnants of sugar from her fingertips, she squared her shoulders.

"You went hungry as a child, didn't you?"

The room felt impossibly quiet. "Why would you think that?"

Her eyes glided over the two circular scars on his forearm. "Once, I was told that in our world, children pay for the debts of their predecessors." Hazel shuddered at the memory of those words slipping from Heath's lips. "Though you might try to mask it with your... methods. It seems that is a truth that even you couldn't escape."

Snow paused his chewing. The weight of his stare was suffocating.

Hazel shifted her feet as she questioned herself why she was even bringing up the dark days. "The districts are educated well of the starvation in the Capitol during the war." Hazel stammered, "And when you've experienced it yourself, sometimes you recognize it."

"Very perceptive," He stared down at what was left of the pastry, "Grandma'am, Tigris, and I lived many years off cabbage soup, lima beans, and a few potatoes. It's the reason I can't stand the stuff. Even the scent of it. Smells like poverty, like hunger ... like my childhood."

"I see," Hazel mumbled. She suddenly felt guilty for her stunt with the vegetable. "And yet you ate it at my family's table."

"I told you before," he licked his bottom lip, biting a morsel of apricot caught there.

"Suffering can be power."

Snow's eyes flashed to the windows, "That and it is best not to allow your enemies to see you bleed."

"Then maybe you are the one who should stop breaking bread with them."

"What would be the fun in that?" he gibed.

Hazel sighed, "Seems our worlds will always be at odds."

His attention resettled on her, "Perhaps."

Maybe they were all doomed to be in opposition for eternity. The chasm was impossibly deep and jagged. She wasn't sure they had better odds than their predecessors at all.

An almost heavy quietude fell between them. Snow didn't move to finish his kolaches right away. Again, he seemed to continue to restrain himself, tightly managing his actions.

She tried to picture him as a little boy with blonde curls, blue eyes watering as he choked down mouthfuls of lima bean soup. In some way, a puzzle piece had fallen into place in the grand conundrum that was the man before her.

After several moments, he seemed to resolve himself to continue their game. Shaking off the solemn intensity that permeated the room like the ridiculous scarlet lighting. "Since we are on the topic of our childhoods, about this lack of a boyfriend thing..."

Hazel groaned, tilting her head back. He obviously was determined to have them both marinate in discomfort. "What about it?"

Snow's smirk returned, his perfected armor firmly back in place, "Has no one ever caught your eye?"

"I don't know...I haven't..." She hadn't really had the luxury; she had fleeting childhood crushes but nothing substantial. Between two jobs, managing to keep Heath from starving, and the family in general, she had neither the time nor the opportunity.

"It is difficult to worry about that sort of thing when you spend your days surviving. Not to mention, my brothers are..." Hazel swallowed, looking out the windows at the harsh cherry glow. Between Silus and Rowan, she had been well looked after, even out in the remote clearings. Along with Oren being their supervisor and Heath clearly unhinged, she was left in peace. Silus would have been fuming if he had been aware of this little chat. Or if he knew of everything that had happened since the Games ended.

"...were...protective."

Snow seemed much too satisfied with that answer. It grated her nerves. "I mean, I always thought Bao from middle school was cute."

He pondered her response, "What does Bao look like?"

She made a show of perusing him from head to toe. She would allow this one follow-up question if only to spite him for his smugness while slightly altering her recollection of Bao's appearance. "He's tan. Short, dark black hair, big brown eyes. She pitched her head to the side, "Hates games. Now that you mention it, I should really see what he is up to when I get home."

"Perhaps I will as well." Snow smirked as he shoved the last bit of his dessert in his mouth. Hazel watched on with unease as he licked his fingers without breaking their eye contact.

"My turn?" she stammered.

"By all means," Snow pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the edges of his mouth. "If you'd want to ask about my past lovers, you are more than welcome. I'm an open book."

His assured smile infuriated her.

Like hell, she had another idea in mind. She felt off-center, and it was only fair if he had to share in the sensation.

"What illness does President Ravinstill have?"

Without warning, the entire atmosphere morphed. His smirk evaporated. Her pulse revved. She'd struck gold.

The blood-red light washing over them deepened. His hand stilled, and his eyes clouded until they were nearly the same purple-blue shade as the night sky. Scratch that. She'd struck an artery. Could the Capitol's marble prince really fracture with one question?

"Hazel." His eyes drilled into hers, "I understand that after today, you may be feeling bold. You played the odds and won." He let the words settle before adding, "But you have to realize that is only because you have the house on your side."

He delicately folded his handkerchief, clutching it in one of his hands.

With a low sigh, he dragged his chair forward. Not in a hurried or unbalanced way, but instead slow and wholly intentional. He converged on her until the fabric of the lilac dress skirted his knees.

It suddenly felt like she was trying to breathe through a straw.

"You need to think really hard before you answer this..." Icy chills rotted her nerves. "Is that a question you really want to ask me?"

Over the last several months, she witnessed a kaleidoscope of Coriolanus Snow's masks and facades. However, his countenance had melted into the same look he had when contemplating his kolaches. It petrified her to the core, but something deep within her persuaded her to hold fast.

He shouldn't have started this Game if he didn't want to play it. Or maybe he should have chosen a different opponent.

"It is, Coriolanus."

Bending forward, his bare hands gripped the arms of her chair, boxing her in without touching her.

Escape was all but impossible.

As the space between them dissolved, Hazel fought her acute impulse to shrink away. Holding her ground, she settled into the paper-thin silence.

When her refusal to withdraw her question became clear, he whispered, "I suppose this means I owe you."

He owes her?

Hazel's heart pounded against her chest. Each beat was loud and erratic as their eyes held each other in a standoff. The lack of an answer was more blood-curdling than anything else he could have said.

"My turn?" He whispered.

Now, she was in for it.

She directed a weak nod at him.

"Do you still dream of me?"

A vivid rose-tinged blush flooded her face in an unspoken answer. Though she knew he wanted to hear her say it. He wanted her to refuse, to cancel out his debt with hers. "No lying," he breathed.

She squashed her spine against the back of the chair. She couldn't lose the advantage she had just unceremoniously gained. Her answer slipped from her like a painful truth she wished to remain buried within her broken mind.

"Yes."

He hummed as he raised the handkerchief between them. His eyes dropped to her mouth and then swept back to her irises. "Wonder what we talk about." Advancing toward her, the cool, satiny fabric ghosted over the edge of her lips, brushing away imaginary crumbs. "Is talking all we do?"

Goosebumps littered her neck, and she shoved her feet hard against the floor. Her chair skidded backward, screeching as the legs protested her harsh reaction.

The delicate skin over her jugular was like the hide over a drum, bounding wildly and painfully visible. "It's not your turn," she croaked.

"No need to answer." He reclined with a dark grin, dropping the handkerchief into his breast pocket.

She chomped down on the inside of her cheek while he folded the tinfoil into a sharp ball. Throwing the remnants of their previously serene meal in the trash, he rose from his seat.

"Coriolanus?" she whispered

His scrutiny warred with hers. "Something you want to ask me?"

"What's on the tape?" She hoped he would finally give her the relief of knowing, even if she melted into a puddle of panic.

He let out a soft sound, wiping his hands with the silk square. "We've gone over this already."

She struggled to steady her voice. "You promised," her words were barely above a murmur.

"So I did." Snow leaned back, the tension breaking as he gestured to the tinfoil in the trash can, "I promised dinner and a movie, didn't I? And this was hardly a proper dinner." Snow replaced his gloves. "Another time, Miss Marlowe."

With that, he rolled his cuffs back down his arms. After buttoning his jacket, he strode to the door. Pausing with his hand coiled tightly around the handle, he turned back to her, "You were right, you know."

Hazel's trachea constricted. "Which part?"

His blue eyes smoldered as they met hers. "The stakes are certainly higher now."

Chapter Text

The ceiling texture of her bedroom-shaped cage was much less interesting than that of home. Even then, she could only marvel at it for so long before her mind moaned in sheer boredom and sleep deprivation. Yet, the actual rest felt as distant as District Seven. Hazel repositioned in the foreign bed, but no matter how often she moved, she found no reprieve.

Whiffs of animal hides and game furs filled her nostrils each time she twisted her depleted limbs. It had her longing for the aroma of wood grain, pine, and a fiery hearth.

Rolling onto her side again, she gaped at the door. The only benefit of being locked inside was she didn’t have to contend with Sable watching her all night.

Snaking her hand into the coolness under the pillow, she mindlessly ran her fingers over the stash beneath it. She petted the items like they were her companions, from the sturdy leather handle of the knife to the plasticky surface of the pill bottle, the smoothness of the poor man’s diamond, the metallic edge of Grace’s coin, and finally, the bulky cassette player.

I am becoming a hoarder.

A bittersweet scoff escaped her.

Alder would be so proud.

The last one toyed with her mind. Its smooth structure was chilly against her skin, but more so, the contents of the cassette secured within made her shiver.

She hadn’t dared play it again since her panic attack with Leo. Hell, she wasn’t even sure it still worked.

Dragging it free from the pillow’s underbelly, she toggled the play button. After a lengthy pause, a horrid screech rushed out from the machine. It was an ear-bruising mix of a cat-like shriek and grinding gears. Slamming her finger against the button, the sound died though her pulse was immensely alive. Despite the noise, her door remained sealed.

Regret prickled at her rash reaction the last time she played it. At least sound had been something. Now, she was left with silence, which meant her mind could conjure its own horrors. Without answers, the unknown would haunt her more than the truth ever could.

And that was a torture that guaranteed numerous more sleepless nights of ceiling observation.

The pills rattled against the container as she adjusted once again.

Maybe Bellona was right, and I should just take one.

Forget about all of this, at least for a few hours.

Despite her resistance, they did promise a harbor from her obsessive thoughts. They spun through her mind like a wheel, rotating over and over the same territory: the tape, her ghost visitors, Augustus’s anger, Indira’s disappointment, the day’s events overall, and, of course…Snow.

He extolled the virtues of truth yet kept it from her.

He insisted on their little game but became like a cornered wolf when she played in ways he didn’t predict.

He was hungry but reluctant to eat as if even nourishment had to be taken on his own terms.

He hated cabbage but ate it anyway.

He upheld their charade, yet after the kolaches—after his questions and answers—the line between real and fake was fading. Yet he was the one to comment about boundaries being lost.

The man was a walking contradiction with perfect hair.

Returning to her staring contest, the ceiling, and the patterned texture, something fiddled in the back of her mind. She memorized the swirls and patches that had been left there by the trowel.

Rolling to her other elbow, she let out a long exhale, pulling the bottle out from under the pillow. Frustration bubbled up within her as she examined its dull shape in the dark.

He would want her to take them. Relax, follow his guidance, and wait for ‘Another time’. She might as well relinquish him the reins to her life right then and there.

To hell with that.

That something burst into a full-blown idea.

She all but launched the medication back under her pillow, instead retrieving the cassette player.

When Oren was contracted to build Victor’s village, she inadvertently learned more than she ever wanted about various aspects of home building. She had been bored to tears hearing about plumbing, framing, and laying flooring, but now that knowledge suddenly seemed like a light in the dark.

Silently, she crept into the adjacent washroom. Flipping on the fluorescent light, she explored behind the toilet. A ribbed silver pipe that ran from the wall to the base of the porcelain bowl blinked up at her.

The water supply line.

Kneeling, she twisted the knob atop it. Stabilizing herself with a few deep breaths, she stood and insistently pressed down on the flusher.

A clunking followed but there was no water and no flushing.

With a too loud curse, she strode to her door and tapped. The other side was soundless for several moments until, finally, the threshold cracked open. An unfamiliar peacekeeper slipped into view, his face severe. “What?”

“I have a maintenance issue,” Hazel replied.

He barely looked at her, “It can wait until morning.”

Hazel shook her head, “It really can’t ...”

“What’s the issue?” His gaze flitted behind her.

She grimaced sheepishly, “Toilet’s broken.”

With an aggravated sigh, one peacekeeper barged past her. The other lagged in the hallway, monitoring her nervous form.

The peacekeeper fumbled with the toilet, the telltale sound of him jiggling the flusher followed. Her heartbeat amplified as he peeled open the ceramic lid to no avail until finally, with a gruff curse, he strode back to his partner.

“You will have to wait until morning.” He concluded.

“Not possible unless you have a mop.” Hazel insisted, bouncing on her feet.

He half scowled, and half grimaced at the implication. His face all but screaming he did not get paid enough to deal with this kind of situation.

“Can maintenance take a look?” she pressed.

“It’s the middle of the night, Ma’am.” He began to seal the door when she crammed her leg in the gap.

“Would you like to wake up the Senator instead?” She tilted her head, “Though, I’m not sure he will be pleased about that at this ungodly hour.”

The peacekeepers shared a scowl before the one who had investigated the bathroom nodded, mumbling into his radio.

“Where are the Draytons and Pytash?” Hazel questioned.

“Getting a break.” Was the curt response. “A much-needed one, apparently.” He pointed a long finger toward the bed, skidding her foot back with the toe of his boot. “Wait inside. Maintenance will be up in a minute.”

With that, the door slammed shut. Hazel scrambled to the bed, extracting the tape player. Rushing to the bathroom, she removed the tape and stashed it away in her pocket.

With another glance backward, she stuffed the machine out of sight behind the bowl.

She had just propelled herself onto the fur-lined mattress, again bumping into the cow sculpture. It was teetering between her trembling hands when the door unlocked and flew open once again.

Hazel stood abruptly, heart rate doubling in pace, gripping the steer’s horns. The two annoyed peacekeepers escorted Brindle inside. His features were weary but alert. In his hands, he carried a tote of tools.

His eyes met Hazel’s, and a soft smile graced his lips, amusement flickering over his features as he soaked in her hold on the steer.

“Lovely décor you all have around here,” she mumbled, releasing the horns when she was confident the thing was stable. “If a little fragile.”

“That’s one of Garth’s favorites,” Brindle smiled.

“Yeah, yeah.” The guard behind them grumbled, “We aren’t here in the middle of the night to discuss interior design.”

“Right, I hear you have a maintenance issue?” Brindle asked.

“Sorry to wake you,” Hazel apologized.

Brindle shook his head, “I am used to it. You wouldn’t believe how many things like to break during the night.”

One of the peacekeepers pointed to the bathroom, “Toilet’s not working.”

“I’ll take a look,” Brindle commented, marching past Hazel to the bathroom.

The two peacekeepers stood in the middle of the room, watching while Hazel stationed herself in the bathroom’s entryway. “I think you might be the only one who can help me.”

Brindle met her stare again in mild confusion before setting down his equipment, “Least I can do, honestly.”

Unfastening the back of the toilet, he studied the inner workings as he joggled the flusher. When nothing happened, he frowned and crouched.

“It might not be what you are normally used to fixing,” Hazel mumbled, fiddling with her bandage.

“I fix toilets all the...” Brindle halted, and his hands stilled, peering at something out of sight of their company. “…time.”

“If it is beyond repair, I understand,” Hazel replied, maintaining an airy tone.

“Right.” He skimmed her and then the two bored-looking peacekeepers, “Let me take a closer look.”

He hid his hands out of their line of sight as he investigated the contraption. “What seems to be the issue with the … toilet?”

Hazel gulped, “Only makes sound.”

“I see,” Spinning the device between his hands, his brows wrinkled. “I’m not sure I have the proper tools.”

“What kind of maintenance man can’t fix a toilet?” A guard grumbled, taking an annoyed stride forward.

“If you can’t, I understand,” Hazel tapped her toe against the floorboards, shielding Brindle from their view with her frame.

Brindle buried the player into the tote, covering it with a ratty rag and several tools.

“Should we get someone else?” the peacekeeper surged into the bathroom as Hazel tensed.

“How many maintenance staff do you think there are?” Hazel shot back with a hard look.

“Just me right now. I will see what I have in my office to help.” Brindle smiled easily.

She whispered genuinely as she backed away, “Thank you.”

He nodded in a mute answer as he rose, sliding past them toward the door, tote slung over his shoulder.

“No wonder this place is a dump.” A peacekeeper muttered as they trailed behind him, locking in Hazel once again.

Wringing her fingers together, she hoped he could fix it. Having it outside of her possession was unnerving, but at the same time, it was useless to her in its current condition.

She appreciated he was at least going to attempt to assist her.

Might as well do something useful and keep my hands busy.

Her fraying bandage was practically begging her for reprieve. Staring at her pillow, she exhaled. There would be no going back to bed now. Instead, she seized Leo’s knife and slunk down at the table to wait for Brindle’s return.

She practiced holding it as Leo had instructed. Tight, solid grip, blade facing out. Every so often, her nails would snag the engraving: LD

It must have been a valuable item, considering the customization. For him to impart it to her was charitable but also somehow... too personal.

She exhaled again. Maybe Sable was right about boundaries. She had aggressively avoided the topic since his conversation with her, but now, staring down at the unique weapon, she realized Leo was probably just as disoriented as she was.

Should she return it? Would that satisfy Sable?

It was doubtful Leo would allow that. Probably won't accept it back even if I begged.

Might as well get used to it like he had advised.

Hours dragged on, and there was no sight or sound of Brindle or her new guards. Her eyelids weakened under the weight of her overtiredness.

Before she realized it, Indira’s voice melted over her unconsciousness. “Dear, wake up.”

Hazel raised her head, the indent of her fingers embedded in her cheek. Indira was hunched over her, clad in a marigold suit with matching heels. The golden light of sunrise drowned out the scarlet bulbs of the slaughterhouse.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Indira questioned as Hazel gazed up at her blearily.

Hazel sat up straighter, “Toilet broke.”

Indira stared at her like she had finally gone mad, “What?”

Running a numb hand through her tangled hair, she mumbled, “It’s a long story.”

“Hmmm,” Indira murmured, “Well, maybe I’ll get you some coffee, huh?”

Hazel nodded dully at the offer.

Indira wrenched open the blinds, calling over her shoulder, “Someone wants to speak with you before we leave.”

“Who?” Hazel leaned even farther back

“Mayor Shepherd,” Indira answered, spinning around to meet her gaze.

Hazel was suddenly wide awake.

Indira’s face softened for a fraction until her eyes fell to the table, and a deep frown overtook her face, “Is that a knife?”

Chapter Text

Hazel’s ankles wobbled in her heeled boots.

What I wouldn’t give to wear normal shoes for one day.

The dew-damp ground beneath her offered no help. She sighed. The last thing she needed was to wrench her fragile left foot.

Sable would never let her run again.

At that moment, Indira's clasp on her arm tightened as if she were going to dissolve. However, her stabilizing effect was the only thing keeping her upright.

There hadn’t been time for arguments that morning, but Indira made it clear the conversation about the weapon wasn’t over. Every jarring step shifted the knife against Hazel's waistband, which she had unceremoniously tucked there, much to her escort's dissatisfaction.

Hazel had been harshly scolded and warned to stash it away before someone noticed. Indira had asked where she’d gotten it, a question Hazel had effectively dodged by practically flinging herself in the shower under the guise of hurrying.

Hazel preferred wobbling in heels to answering that question.

She fixated on her escort’s brightly colored footwear. Somehow, Indira moved even faster and more effortlessly when she was in heels. The woman was, by all means, a marvel.

Two rows of Peacekeepers bordered the path to the District Ten train station, forming a solemn channel to the idling train. Returning was a vastly different experience than her arrival.

Overnight, the district had transformed. All the colorful Capitol citizens had dissipated. Muted tones were all that remained outside the intermittent streaks of red on the clothing of loitering district folk. More than once, she caught a brief smile or subtle nod from one of them.

Despite the absence of pomp and circumstance, the atmosphere was more celebratory than the day before, like an execution-sized weight had been lifted from everyone around her.

Letting herself be led, she couldn’t help but notice a lack of a particular smug blonde politician.

“No Senator this morning?” Hazel questioned.

“He’s gone ahead to Nine,” Indira sighed, glancing at Hazel out of the side of her eye.

Hazel couldn't help but think that was for the best, considering their conversation the night before. Facing him this early would’ve been daunting.

There was also a glaring lack of their newest Gamemaker. “And Trask?”

Indira paused, “I’m not sure, actually.”

So much for not losing track of the beast.

Behind them, her three guards trailed silently.

“Would’ve left early too, If I could,” Sable grumbled. “Can’t wait till we get the hell outta here,”

Well, almost silently.

“Not a fan of Ten, old man?” Bellona asked.

“Would prefer we were somewhere that you couldn’t practically taste the air,” Sable replied. “And the flavor of the day wasn’t always cow shit.”

“Not quite chocolate, is it?” Leo interjected, much to Bellona’s perturbation and Sable’s confusion.

Festus mumbled, “I’m with Pytash; the sooner we get out of here, the better.”

“I think you just dislike the lack of free alcohol here.” Hazel replied over her shoulder.

Festus smiled, “Guilty.”

“Prepare for continued disappointment, Mr. Creed,” Indira responded. “Nine won’t be much different.”

“Aren’t you just a bundle of good news.” Sable shot a frown at Indira.

The group's manure and refreshment conversation died as they reached the end of the peacekeeper line.

Before them waited a small faction. Brindle and Naii stood side by side, along with another taller figure. His modest tan suit was rumpled at the edges, his jaw lined with fading lime-colored bruises, but his posture was sharp. His graying honey-blonde strands were slicked back. Light green eyes met hers.

Mayor Garth Shepherd.

“They insisted on seeing you off.” Indira’s soothing voice was in her ear, “Don’t feel obligated, dear. We need to be on our way soon.”

The man’s spine straightened as she advanced, though his eyes wrinkled in a nearly invisible wince.

“No, it's all right,” Hazel croaked. Indira nodded, relinquishing her death grip.

Mayor Shepherd spoke first, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears, “Miss Marlowe, It was truly an honor to have had you visit our humble district.”

“The honor is mine.” Hazel swallowed, shifting her weight on her tingling feet. Your district has been more than welcoming.” She scanned Brindle and Naii before settling her attention back on him, “My condolences, sir.”

“Mine as well.” The man’s eyes sank. “My son was… the greatest thing I ever did.”

Brindle shielded his face, swiping his sleeve over his eyes.

Her throat grew scratched and coarse, “If I could’ve done something…it just happened so fast.”

Mayor Shepherd raised a wide, weathered hand, his eyes meeting hers once again, “Guilt is a cruel companion, Miss.” The lines around his eyes wilted, “I know better than most. Best not to allow it to make a home within you, or it may never depart.”

Something about his words reminded her of Harla.

“Choose your neighbors wisely,” Hazel whispered.

“As best as you can,” he breathed, his face melted a fraction at the understanding that passed between them.

Indira cleared her throat, “We must be on our way, sir. Thank you again for your hospitality.”

Hazel studied the three, “I guess this is goodbye.”

At that, Naii surged forward, wrapping Hazel in an unsteady embrace.

Hazel choked against the crushing force of Naii’s arms. “Thank you.”

Naii whispered her well wishes as though saying them too loud might ruin them. Patting Hazel’s cheek, she backed away.

Next, Brindle met her eyes with an unspoken message, “I apologize about the maintenance issue you had last night.”

Hazel shook her head, pulse thrumming in her throat. “It’s all right. I’ve got a bladder of steel.”

A few peacekeepers nearby snickered, “Pretty lousy maintenance around here. Can’t even fix a bloody toilet.”

Hazel sent them a hard look out of the corner of her eye while Sable whispered in their direction. Though his words were low and vaguely about showing them something bloody if they didn't keep their mouths shut.

“I assure you, you will not have such an issue in District Nine.” The Mayor spoke suddenly.

Hazel’s attention swung back to the man. The edges of his eyes squinted as he smiled softly.

Brindle must have told him about the player.

She wanted to ask more about it, but they were all trapped by the present company.

Hazel chewed her lip, “Better plumbing?”

Mayor Shepherd shared a savvy look with Brindle, “Much better. Not that our maintenance department is not talented or highly skilled.”

“Right,” Brindle agreed, “Plumbing has never been my strong suit.”

Behind her, Leo’s breathing mushroomed closer, and a judicious expression flitted across his face.

Hazel shivered. If he understood what they were discussing, he didn’t mention it.

Hazel nodded as Mayor Shepherd opened his arms to her, and she pressed forward to embrace him. His hug cinched around her as he whispered lowly into her ear. The words meant only for her. “Find Cress when you get to Nine.” He paused, taking a deep breath, “When you do, tell him: And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow.”

Her brows scrunched as her mind wheeled at the mysterious words.

Was it some kind of code? A poem?

The implications sent jolts of fiery anxiety surging through her. He patted her back, “He’ll know, and he’ll help you.”

As he pulled away, his voice grew louder. “To demonstrate our gratitude, we want you to have a gift that will remind you of your time here.”

Hazel dug at her bandaged hand, “That isn’t necessary, sir.”

The Mayor’s gaze implored hers, “It is the least we can do. We can never fully repay what you’ve done, me in particular.” With that, he beckoned to a crew of peacekeepers approaching. They were hauling something between them. As they got closer, Hazel recognized it as the ceramic steer statue.

“Since you seemed to like it so much,” Brindle explained.

Hazel’s face warmed as the large figurine was loaded into the train beyond them. What were the chances it would actually make it back to Seven without shattering?

About as much as I do.

“It opens underneath.” Brindle’s voice dropped to a whisper as he hugged her last. “Check inside when you’re alone.”

Hazel glanced back as the horned art disappeared inside the train.

“Thank you again, Miss Marlowe.” Garth Shepherd said as he backed away, flanked by both Brindle and Naii. “May the odds favor you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hazel whispered. “Thank all of you.”

The three melted away into the streets, and a part of Hazel wished to see them again someday, but the chances were less than favorable.

Behind her, the train doors hissed open. Hazel sent them one last look before her group was led inside the waiting train. They each settled into their seats, preparing for the journey to Nine.

Hazel molded herself to one of the benches. Her body was overtired yet wired simultaneously. As she willed her bones to relax, a flash of white caught her attention. Up against the opposite wall was the pearly cow statue, staring back at her.

Leo fell into the seat beside her, glancing at the thing himself, “Lovely gift.”

She gripped her hands together, peering at him from the corner of her eye, “Yeah.”

“Doesn’t exactly match your décor,” Leo said, sliding closer.

“I think Sage will love it,” she argued. “Probably will give it a name and everything.” He had asked her to bring something home. And he was the only person she knew who might actually enjoy an awkward bovine sculpture.

“He probably will.” Leo chuckled as the rest of the group entrenched themselves in the train car’s luxurious seats. “What do you think he’ll name it?”

Hazel eyed their group, then settled on Leo, “Maybe he’ll name it after his favorite peacekeeper.”

“Sable does seem like a proud name for a cow.” Leo teased.

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out. “I agree.” She smiled despite herself at the dark cloud flushing over the oldest peacekeeper's face.

Bellona interjected with a wide grin, “We can call him Sabie for short.”

“What a bunch of bull,” Sable grumbled, hissing as he stretched out on the seats.

“I think he's actually a steer,” Hazel said before she could stop herself.

"What's the difference?" Festus mused, clearly enjoying Sable's discomfort.

"Castration," Leo answered.

Sable crossed his arms, glaring out the window, “I want you all to know that I hate every single one of you.”

The group littered the car with their laughter. Even Indira placed a fist in front of her mouth, though her chin quivered with a held-back laugh of her own.

"Lighten up, old man." Bellona chortled, "Maybe pull that stick out of your-"

She was unable to finish due to a brusk shove from Sable, which only had Bellona laughing harder as she teetered in her seat.

Hazel let the change in atmosphere wash over her. It was a welcome reprieve from the intensity that seemed to define her nearly every waking moment. Finally, her scrutiny returned to the figurine. Was the tape player really inside?

“Well, I think I’ll put Sabie in my room for the trip to Nine. Wouldn’t want to confuse the two.”

Sable groaned as Hazel rose. Leo was at her side in an instant. “Allow me to move our fearless leader’s namesake for you.”

Hazel hesitated, but Leo marched forward, gathering the horned ivory package in his arms. He sent her a look that wasn’t quite a command but left no room for argument. She sighed and followed as he made his way toward her bedroom.

“If that thing goes missing, don’t be surprised,” Sable muttered.

Hazel didn’t turn. “Touch my gift, and you’ll regret it.”

“I regret everything,” he mumbled.

Inside her room, Leo set the teetering statue down on its ceramic hooves.

Hazel scoffed as she watched him attempt to stabilize it. Leaning against the table, arms crossed, she murmured, “Sabie isn’t really my style, is he?”

Leo snorted. “It's a peculiar gift.” He turned to her, expression shifting from amusement to something sharper. “Though, I’d say there’s been a lot of peculiar things happening lately.”

“What an understatement, Drayton.”

His stare clung to her as he asked, “Your toilet didn’t really break, did it?”

Hazel’s focus tore from the cow to Leo. “You know, Drayton, you’re wasted as a private. Should be a detective or something.”

Leo exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand through his hair. “What’ve you done now?”

Hazel chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Marlowe.” He crossed his arms as he examined her face.

“I swear, it’s nothing.”

“Right, just like forcing the mayor’s pardon on live television was nothing?” Leo sighed, his gray eyes deepened, “You could’ve gotten yourself hung.”

Hazel groaned, pushing off the table and stepping around him, “I don’t need a lecture from you, too.” Before she could get far, his hand circled her bicep, firm but careful. She paused, staring down at his hand before following it up to his eyes.

His voice was soft yet cavernous, “Is that what happened last night? A lecture?”

Her breath stilled, and her eyes shrunk away from his to the floor.

The night shift's report must have been quite detailed and most likely included a slightly flustered Senator leaving abruptly from her quarters. She exhaled; no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't burden Leo with the details of that conversation. Or anyone else, for that matter.

She was still grappling with the implications of it herself.

“Does it matter?” she finally breathed.

His grip flexed. “It does to me.”

She glanced up at him once again. His eyes held that same intensity they had the night they listened to the tape together. She could practically hear Sable's warning in her ears.

Lines.

“It shouldn’t.” Her voice came out quieter than she wanted. “It can’t.” His scrutiny amplified as she gently curled her fingers around his wrist, peeling his hand away. He let her without argument, though his features fell. “Or has Sable not given you his lecture yet?”

His gaze faltered, jaw shifting. It was as if he was replaying a conversation in his head.

So he had. That answered that.

“Marlowe…”

"Can I trust you?" she asked suddenly.

His eyes flashed back up to meet hers. "You should know by now. I am here to guard you with my life."

"That's close enough to a yes."

His scrutiny narrowed, and he crossed his arms, his forearms flexing beneath his sleeves, "Why?"

"Because you were right about my gift being peculiar." Hazel hummed, stepping back.

Leo exhaled, watching as she crouched next to the cow. Whatever protest he had died on his lips, “What are you doing?”

Running her hands over the smooth ceramic underbelly, she felt a disturbance just behind the back legs.

She dug her nails into the slight groove, prying at the hidden compartment. A small click sounded.

It was there, just like Brindle had said. Her heartbeat skipped several pulses.

"Our Sabie is definitely a steer, and..." Hazel grinned, eyes flicking back to Leo. “It seems Sable and our new friend have more than just their name in common.”

Chapter Text

The rhythmic beat of the Capitol train chugging north filled its passenger cars. It had kept a steady pace for the last several hours, skirting Districts Two, Eleven, and Eight. The further north they ventured, the colder it became. An intermittent snow shower coated the world in a layer of white like a freshly laundered sheet had been draped over everything in sight.

Aside from the sounds of their locomotive, the atmosphere inside had settled into an uneasy quiet. Everyone regathered in the main compartment at Indira’s behest. Sable sat at attention, polishing his weapon with a well-used towel. Bellona lounged beside him, eyelids drooping as she watched him like a child snared into participating in a gruelingly boring adult activity.

Indira was statuesque as she studied the slurring icy landscape as it whipped by. Meanwhile, Festus was nursing what was likely his fourth beer of the morning.

Hazel let out a soft exhalation, running her fingers together as she battled to keep awake. The lull of the train, along with a string of mostly sleepless nights, was tempting her to rest her eyes, even if just for a moment.

Leo’s voice roused her, “No sleep again last night?” He leaned further back against the bench, arms crossed. They hadn’t gotten to discuss much after she disemboweled her cassette player from her new decoration.

He had made a hurried attempt to convince her to let the matter go. To allow the senator to show her what was on it in time. That and he tried to convince her that another panic attack was going to be less than helpful mid-Victory tour.

She had barely stashed the player in her bag before Sable had burst into the room. He eyed them with a highly suspicious grimace, scowled at Sabie, and then dragged them back out into the main train car.

For the last several hours, they had to marinate in the awkwardness, unable to resolve their unfinished conversation. Every few miles, he fixed her with a loaded glance.

Keeping her observation glued on her hands, she muttered, “Feel like I haven’t slept in months.” She paused. It wasn’t completely true. Shooting him a peripheral look, “Outside of that one night.”

The night he had held her hand.

Leo’s fingers tapped against his forearms as he glanced at Sable, “Think you’ll need to find a new insomnia cure.”

“Going to tell me to take my medication?”

The corner of his lip ticked. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Though maybe you wouldn’t dream at all if you did.”

She shook her head, though she couldn’t hold back the tiny smile that followed.

His voice then dropped to a whisper-like tone, “My mother had the same problem.” The tapping pattern of his fingers stilled as she moved her studying stare from her hands to his features.

“I’m not sure I saw her sleep at all that last year before she…left.”

Sable sighed, holstering his now shining weapon and making his way toward the dining car.

Pity swelled within her. What kind of torture it must have been to watch a person you love unravel into a stranger?

“I just wish I could’ve helped her,” his voice remained downy soft.

“You were a child.”

He shrugged, “I was, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I could’ve done something.”

“It's not your fault," she murmured gently.

Leo stared hard at his folded arms. "Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t, then why does it always feel like it is?”

Hazel felt those words in her soul more than she heard them. Hazel’s eyes met Leo’s, and understanding passed between them.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” She knew exactly what he meant because she had asked herself the same question more times than she knew. However, no matter how many times she asked it herself, the answer never really solidified.

She'd lost count of the coins and loaves of bread she had delivered, desperately trying to keep Heath alive and hoping one day he would choose her over the whiskey.

They had each sacrificed pieces of themselves, believing they could hold someone together through sheer force of love, but life had proven otherwise.

Hazel wanted to reach out and pat his hand and offer some comfort, but she could practically feel their company’s attention scalding her skin with scrutiny.

“Drayton,” she started quietly but with the firmness of understanding. “You are a good son.”

His eyes flashed, flitting between hers. His mouth opened once again but shut just as quickly.

“What are you two gossiping about?” Festus called from the corner, taking another swig, “Don’t leave us out if there’s something juicy.”

Leo swallowed hard before his attention fell to the floor.

“Shhh, you’ll wake her.” Indira interrupted, sending a pointed look at Festus. Across the room, Bellona had fallen into a snoring sleep, curled against the bench, baton cradled like a stuffed animal in her arms.

Festus rolled his eyes and slunk further into his seat.

“Bello has never had an issue with sleep,” Leo replied.

Hazel smiled at the snoozing peacekeeper, who looked like a little girl all of a sudden, “Consider me jealous.”

Indira rose then, gliding across the train car to sit beside Hazel. “Hazel, dear.” Her manicured fingers smoothed the hem of her boldly dyed suit pants. “About your next speech. Well, all of them actually…”

Hazel exhaled, wishing to escape as easily as Pytash, “I know.”

“Word for word.” Indira pressed.

“How boring,” Festus said much too loud. He was now leaning against the wall, or more likely, using it to remain upright. The slurring roused Bellona, who sat up suddenly, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

“You are not helping.” Indira scolded.

“Come on. Admit it. It’s more fun when she goes off-script. Keeps things interesting. And I don’t think I enjoy anything as much as watching steam come out of Augustus’s ears.”

Hazel toyed with Grace’s coin in her pocket. “Speaking of, do you know where he is?”

“Our favorite blue-haired menace is MIA,” Festus replied.

“Probably my fault,” Hazel sighed.

“Oh, it’s definitely your fault.” Festus chortled, “Job well done, in my opinion.”

“Think maybe you should slow down?” Indira asked, eyeing the sloshing alcohol about to fall from his glass.

Festus downed the rest and began to pour another. “You could really use one of these, you know.”

Indira merely crossed her arms with a resigned annoyance.

“She’s right, Mr. Creed.” Sable replied, re-entering the room with a handful of chocolate-dipped pastries, “I would prefer not to have to scrape you off the pavement later. Or throw out another perfectly fine pair of boots.”

“What a bunch of buzzkills,” Festus replied, skulking past Sable into the dining car and away from the judgment, not before swiping another whole bottle along with one of Sable’s desserts.

Leo sighed, “It is going to be a long day.”

“I’ll watch him,” Sable replied, trailing behind Festus.

“Probably just an excuse to sneak a drink with him.” Bellona teased.

Sable paused his retreat, his attention flitted between her and Indira, “Unless you would like to trade places?”

Bellona hesitated, casting a sideways glance at Indira.

Sable huffed, disappearing from the car as he mumbled, “Figured.”

Outside, District Nine’s borders came into view. Yet, they were not met with flowing golden fields but instead endless miles of plowed dirt. Sporadic rows of grain shafts stood lonely in the mostly empty fields. Crows picked at the leftovers. Granaries littered the landscape like polka dots on one of Fern’s summer dresses.

Just as the locomotive slowed its pace, the station came into view. At the same time, the once-blank black television monitors cemented to every wall erupted in color and sound.

A sudden live feed of the Capitol blared into view. Lady Justice towered in the frame. Her raised swords pierced the clear blue sky above.

A pink-haired reporter stood front and center. Leaning into her microphone, she called out, “Citizens of Panem, we come to you live from the Capitol, where we are waiting for an announcement from our newest Gamemaker any moment.”

Hazel’s stomach twisted so sharply she half-expected to double over.

The Capitol didn’t do unscheduled. Especially not live.

Anything unexpected meant danger. Meant change and more likely…destruction.

She shot a glance at Leo. His face was carved in stone, but apprehension rippled beneath the surface. He released a long breath yet tightened his white knuckle grip on his arms.

“Ugh, I hate the news,” Festus called as he surged unsteadily back into the room with Sable on his heels. “Slippery bastard, who knows what he is up to.”

Indira and Bellona shared a concerned glance.

Leo slid closer to her side, and Hazel whispered to him, “Do you think this is about what happened in Ten?”

Leo shook his head, his gray irises teeming with concern, “I’ve no idea.”

Hazel dug her fingers into her bandage, pressing the tips into the sensitive spot beneath. Leo's hand wrapped gently around her restless fingers. The warmth simultaneously eased her restlessness while feeding into it at the same time. Their present company was too engrossed in the sudden broadcast to notice. “Easy,” he coaxed.

She met his eyes once again in silent acquiescence.

With that, the train stopped completely, and the doors slid open. Silently, she slid her hand away from Leo’s hold.

District Nine’s aroma was a significant improvement over Ten. The iron-tinged air had been replaced with a warm breeze that carried a whiff of frozen earth and disintegrating tumbleweeds. Along with the crisp air came something less refreshing: a frenzy of Capitol press. Cameras flashed, and voices lobbied for attention. Lucky Flickerman loitered off to one side, his sharp gaze trying to piece together the unfolding developments.

Front and center was Senator Snow, clean-faced and donning a sky-blue suit. However, his profile held an unusual tightness.

With a purposeful stride, Snow entered the train, sending a stiff demand to no one in particular, “Close the doors.”

That can’t be good.

His command was followed in short order, the hissing train shutting out the shocked-looking gathering.

Without another word, Snow made a beeline toward Hazel. His usual charisma was peppery, and he greeted none of her companions.

His presence alone hollowed out the air around her. She resisted the urge to step back.

“Excuse me, everyone, I am going to steal our lovely Victor for a moment.”

Though his tone was deep, there was an edge she hadn’t heard before.

Not good at all.

“What about her speech?” Indira asked, politely folding and unfolding her hands.

“It’s been canceled.” He replied while maintaining unbroken eye contact with Hazel.

Canceled?

Relief washed over her at first, but beneath it, worry blossomed.

Snow didn’t cancel things. He manipulated them.

Controlled them.

And if he was cutting her speech, it wasn’t mercy. It was something else.

“Since when?” Festus asked, clearly as confused as the rest of them, setting down his half-empty glass.

“Since right now,” Snow replied. “Again, it is imperative that I speak with Miss Marlowe…alone.”

Festus and Indira shared a worried look but said nothing.

Leo suddenly seemed to understand something unspoken. With a sharp bow, he turned to his sister. “Clear the dining car, Bellona,” he directed.

“Yes, of course.” Bellona hopped into action, striding toward the adjacent car.

Leo addressed Snow, though he kept his stare lowered, “Follow me, Sir.”

Snow nodded, gesturing for Hazel to follow him.

Wall-length televisions continued to blast the breaking news from the Capitol all around them.

Inside the dining car were rows of tables and benches draped in crimson upholstery and matching tablecloths. Glittering gold eagle centerpieces were set on each one. In the middle of the room was a circular space with couches and recliners like an audience to an even larger wall-sized television.

Bellona ushered out the curious staff, barking orders at a couple of lingering peacekeepers. They emptied the space like sparrows skittering away from a circling falcon.

Once they were alone, Bellona gave Snow a brisk nod and salute and left the car without a backward glance.

“Let us know if you need anything. We’ll be right outside.” Leo reported as his eyes met hers briefly again. There was something there—uncertainty? She couldn't quite tell before he closed her in with Snow.

She spun around to him; her heart was fluttering at the sudden shift.

Snow’s gaze shot from her face to the television and then back. For the first time since she had met the man, an unfamiliar expression slid over his features. It was the look of a poker player with a losing hand.

“Coriolanus,” She whispered as she got closer, “What is going on?”

He ran a hand through his hair before marching to the lounging area. She tagged along slowly, allowing him space.

His self-assured, three-step-ahead arrogance was muted.

“You don’t know,” she concluded.

Snow stared ahead at the television; leaning forward, he gripped the back of the couch, “Despite what you may think, I am not God, Miss Marlowe.”

“Would’ve fooled me.” She looked around the barren room, “And everyone else, apparently.”

“Not everyone.” Snow sighed as he glanced at her over his shoulder. “I think I know what is going on. Or at least I have a feeling my suspicion is about to be proven correct.” His observation washed over her face, clearly contemplating what he was about to say, “There’s something I need to tell you…”

Hazel scoffed, “There are books that could be written of all the things you need to tell me.”

His eyes sparkled, but his reply was cut off as the televisions in the car grew louder.

Hazel chewed on her lip as Augustus’s face filled the screen. His braid was freshly arranged and shinier, but the blue had been replaced with a deep violet.

The giddy pink-haired reporter practically bubbled, “Mr. Gamemaker, we are all on the edge of our seats. Your office reported you have an important announcement.”

Snow straightened, folding his arms over his chest, his gaze hard as ice blocks in the dead of January.

Augustus smiled widely, “Very important indeed.”

“By all means, Mr. Trask, don’t keep us waiting.”

Augustus shifted his focus directly to the camera. His taupe irises glittered with recklessness, and Hazel felt as if he could see right through her.

She didn’t know what he was about to say, but her gut twisted. Whatever it was, it felt like it would be aimed directly at her.

As if he was looking deep into her soul, he smirked as he announced, “I intend to throw my hat into the ring.”

“Bastard.” Snow breathed, leather gloves crackling as he squeezed the couch harder.

He couldn’t mean…

Augustus’s grin split wider, “I want to announce my official candidacy for the President of Panem.”

Chapter Text

The beast was out of his cage, gnawing wildly at the hand that once fed him.

Danger, mixed with abject hatred, rolled off Snow like steam unfurling from a kettle on the verge of boiling. His gloved grip on the couch was sealed tight. The leather was stretching and cracking under the pressure.

His jaw was equally as strained, like the heavy chains that secured a load of lumber, barely holding back the immense weight.

On-screen, the pink-haired reporter was peppering Augustus with superfluous questions, but it was like white noise, drowned out in the wake of the drastic announcement.

She was listening but hardly hearing. Snow was staring at the television like he wanted to embed an axe in its center. Despite his intensity, she suspected he was just as disengaged as she was.

"Someone slipped his leash." Hazel eased her voice into the space between them.

He turned his frozen irises toward her, the look dropping the temperature of the blood in her veins. "Hardly the first time my trust was misplaced."

A wave of conflicted guilt coated her nerves. "Is this because of Mayor Shepherd?"

"Perhaps," Snow exhaled. "But Augustus has always been ambitious."

What had she started?

Clearing her throat did little to make her voice sound confident, "Was this what you were going to tell me?"

An abrupt, thunderous knock made her nearly jump out of her ridiculous heels.

Festus peeked into the room, his eyes clearer than they had been before. "Coryo, the press is about to break down the doors of this train."

Snow ran a hand over his face, his tone frigid, "Keep them out of here, Fest. I will give a statement when I am ready."

Festus nodded, casting a quick look at Hazel. Giving her almost a wince-like smile, he left them alone once again.

"No," Snow breathed.

Hazel swiveled to face him. "No, what?"

"I suspected Augustus was about to betray me, but..." Sending another frosty glare at the television, he clarified, "That is not what I need to tell you." He searched each of her eyes separately as if pressing the point. "It is time you knew why."

A soft scoff slid from her nostrils. "Which, why?"

"The one that matters most."

Her heart floundered, eyelashes fluttering as she processed his words.

Was he being serious?

Was he really going to tell me the whole truth?

Snow released his stranglehold on the couch, "This is not exactly how I wanted to do this, but..." He sent another searing look at the television. "My options are suddenly limited."

Hazel chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I think I am hallucinating again. Or maybe dreaming..."

Snow suddenly smirked as if he couldn't help himself, "Would you prefer that?"

A rosy tinge spread over her face and neck as she wrapped her arms protectively around herself, "Why am I really here, Coriolanus?"

His name sobered him. "Have you ever heard the phrase: two are better than one, Miss Marlowe?"

Hazel emptied her lungs in an exasperated sigh, briefly closing her eyes. "I should have known you wouldn't make this simple or straightforward."

"Name of my autobiography, remember?" He teased for a second before the seriousness resettled on his face. "Now, answer my question."

Hazel shrugged, "Sure, I've heard it. Though the relevance is questionable."

A blonde brow ridge quirked, as did the edge of his mouth, "Tell me, do you know one of the most effective methods for planting ideas into people's minds?"

Hazel tightened her hold on herself, mustering a skeptical tone. "Violence?"

He ignored her petulance. "In the short term, perhaps, but there is something else much more persuasive. Consider this: What unites generations, transcending time, culture, and even war?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Suffering?"

Snow shook his head, gesturing toward the television. "Storytelling. Stories connect. They captivate, distract, entertain, teach us about ourselves, and sometimes, when wielded properly, can become a potent weapon."

"I didn't realize you brought me in here for a history lesson." Easing sideways around the edge of the couch, her skirt brushed against the velvet upholstery.

"Avoidance won't earn you answers," He countered with another languid stride, reducing the space she'd gained. "Think carefully, Miss Marlowe. Of all the stories we tell ourselves, which ones captivate even the most cynical among us?"

"Murder mysteries?"

"Almost," he conceded, tilting his head thoughtfully.

"Certain stories hold people captive, compel them to keep watching despite themselves. Even those who openly scorn them can't seem to look away. Which narratives command such attention?"

"Definitely murder mysteries."

Interesting, you accuse me of prolonging things." Snow's lips hooked into a delicate smile. "Let me be more straightforward: have you heard the tale of Romeo and Juliet?"

A sharp breath escaped her nose.

Romeo and Juliet? Was he serious?

Although she would never admit it out loud, it was among her mother's favorites that she read to her as a child. They didn't have many books in Seven, but thankfully, there had been a smattering of war-worn copies of Shakespeare. Most abandoned by Capitol regimens of old.

Her stare swept downward to the floor, to her heeled toes peeking out from beneath the folds of her skirt. "I'm...aware of it."

"They were two people drawn together over opposing sides. Or possibly because of them."

A warning tickled the back of her mind. She didn't like where he was going with this.

Sweeping his arms behind him, he paused at the corner of the couch, studying her across its length like a barrier neither acknowledged.
"You wanted me to get to the point. Go on, then. Take us there."

Hazel sighed, ripping her gaze from her shoes to the dulled television, "Love."

Snow's eyebrows raised in approval, and a toothy grin peeked out from between his lips.

"Love stories."

"Exactly. Love stories." He repeated a heady satisfaction eased his posture, as if he had gulped soothing spirits. "More than any other type, it taps into the deepest desire within human nature. The universal longing for connection. For ...understanding."

Hazel's head began to shake lightly against her will. She tried to push his words out of her ears. "And you know, all of the best love stories have a commonality."

Hazel clenched her tender left hand. Slowly, it grew sticky and much too warm. "What would that be?"

"Two people going against the odds...together."

Hazel ventured further away from him. "I am not Juliet."

"And I am not claiming to be Romeo." Snow's lips twitched, and he pointed at the doors, "But they don't know that, do they?"

Hazel followed his long, gloved finger. She'd told no one their secret, and apparently neither had he. "No."

Hazel shifted a step backward as she watched him restart his slow approach as if he were advancing on a skittish doe. Rounding the couch, it was no longer a barrier between them. Raising his palms, his eyes implored her to hear him out.

"That ignorance is exactly what keeps them watching," Snow remarked, eyes alighting briefly upon Augustus laughing silently on the screen. "Capitol or District, fascinated or appalled, the people will always hunger for bread and circuses. Offer them spectacle, feed their curiosity, and they'll remain riveted, controlled. After all, what commands attention more than two enemies crossing battle lines, especially when the audience suspects there's something more?"

Enemies seemed too benign a word for what he was to her. And something deep down told her she wouldn't escape her tether as easily as Augustus.

Hazel moved away from him with another backward step, bumping into one of the crimson-covered footrests. The pointed edge dug into her thigh, but she barely noticed through the rush of her pulse in her ears.

Despite their eye contact, his stare caressed the large screen over her shoulder. The anthem played while Lady Justice's swords glittered in the winter sun. He breathed out as if he were wrapping an unspoken memory around himself. "Do you know what an aphorism is?"

Scouring her internal vocabulary, she was empty-handed. "I can't say that I do."

The distant look melted into an all-too-present one. "My family had one we used to tell each other. Especially when times were... uncertain." He let out a long breath, running a thumb over his lips as she braced herself. "Snow lands on top."

Hazel frowned. It was slightly corny, yet surprisingly and bizarrely provoking. "Should've used that for your campaign slogan."

"It is so much more than a slogan." Snow's irises sparkled, "It is a prophecy. One that I almost lost hold of if it weren't for you."

Oily, dark guilt curled within her. What had she done?

Her heartbeat rattled in her ears. She couldn't deny the logic even though the knowledge soured her stomach. "What if I had let your family's aphorism change to 'redwood lands on top '?"

She edged around the couch; once again, the furniture provided a barrier between his advancing form and her retreating one.

"Neither of us would be standing here," Snow responded without hesitation, light dancing in his stare, "When you rescued me, I recognized your potential immediately. Our potential."

He traced the edge of the nearest loveseat, fingertips gliding delicately over fabric as if savoring its texture through the leather of his gloves. "All it took after that were a few well-timed moments: photos of us leaving my lab, a handkerchief offered in front of the cameras, your presence at my dinner table, and one last not-so-secret walk through the Pantheon garden before the games. From there, their imaginations filled in the rest."

"And then there's how you responded." Again, he shot a long look at the screen behind her, "And keep responding..." He paused, expression open, earnest. "Honestly, it all has surpassed every expectation I held when Augustus first suggested this arrangement."

Hazel gritted her teeth. "I thought you valued truth."

His eyes sparkled. "I do but I think you'll find that it is complicated and nuanced. Not so black and white." A long exhale followed. "It's more like shades of ... gray. It bends, shifts, takes the shape of the storyteller. People believe what they see and what they feel. That belief becomes reality. And perception is power, true or otherwise." His voice pitched lower as he continued, "Despite what the foundation may be built upon, what we construct on it can be truth...our truth."

She glanced back at the television, rotating his words and the notion over and over again in her mind. "So if stories are weapons, then what do you gain by wielding this one?"

His smile widened, "Panem, Miss Marlowe." He walked forward until she was effectively caged against the curved back of the sofa. Hazel's hands jittered, and she warred with the remnants of her dream from District Twelve and their conversation the night before. Snow tilted his head, his voice dipping lower, cooler. "You are going to help me win Panem."

A District girl who could barely keep reality straight from delusion?

"But you're Capitol, and I'm District."

"You were district," the last word came out almost curse-like. Cerulean irises chiseled into hers as his voice dropped, "Now, you are so much more."

Hazel shook her head, disbelief pulsating within her.

Snow read the resistance in her eyes and responded with silky confidence, "Don't pretend you haven't seen how the people have embraced you. Those in the Capitol idolize you. The Districts see you as one of their own. That kind of reach? It's rare. And with our connection, my influence has only grown. Together, we're closing a divide everyone believes unbridgeable. Two are truly better than one."

Visions danced like ghosts behind her eyes. Tributes' faces smiling from collector cards whose owners were all rotting in the earth, while magenta flowers curled into brown crisps on her desk.

Could they mend a world fractured by design? Is that what he truly wanted, or was this just another game?

At the same time he closed the divide between them, the tips of his dress shoes scuffed her heeled toes. His persuasive tone overwhelmed even his cologne, muddling her thoughts.

"This is what it was about the whole time?"

A simple, straightforward nod followed, "Yes."

She was the story and he was the narrator.

She recoiled, spine meeting velvet. Her left hand was even warmer now. Slick. She suspected she was bleeding.

"I'm no victor. I'm just breathing propaganda."

He didn't refute her boldness or deny her claim. Behind her on screen, Lady Justice towered over Panem, twin swords aloft. Snow's scrutiny washed from the statue to the trapped girl before him.

"There are worse things for a person to be. I would know..." His gloved hand closed over her injured one, pulling it up between them. She kept her fingers cradled over it. "I've seen what others would turn you into."

Trembling, she couldn't help but believe he was referring to the newest contender for Panem's presidency or the wild-haired head of the war department.

Hazel let out an unbelieving grunt, pulling her hand out of his hold and tightening her grip on herself. "And what of Augustus?"

At the mention of Augustus's name, a glint of contempt deepened his expression. He drew closer still. "Augustus is driven only by his own ego. I thought the adulation of a Gamemaker would satiate him, but clearly, his hunger is unquenchable. He would reduce Panem to ashes if it meant he could rule what remained." He leaned forward, warmth radiating with the scent of rose syrup. "You've seen it yourself. His true nature. What he leaves in his wake. Is that really the future you want?"

Tulsi's bones cried out from their frozen grave. Aaron's glassy eyes, Ruby's bruised body, Ethan's cold, blue-saturated face, Silus's lifeblood soaking into her as she clung to him. She sucked in a shaking inhale, cramming her thumb harder into her left palm. She could practically smell the iron, feel the tremors of trauma, and taste the salt of her own sorrow.

All gone because of the vile monster.

"No," she recoiled. "Never."

"Help me defeat him then." Snow murmured, "Help me spare Panem from a Trask Presidency."

Hazel hesitated. Temptation tugged at her heart. What would Augustus do with unchecked power at his fingertips? How many more Tulsi's would there be?

"How could I possibly do that?"

"You are going to give a speech for me," he told her decisively, hand coming to rest on her shoulder. His hold was light but imploring.

She flinched at his grip, heart rate spiking. "You just canceled it."

"Not here," Snow explained. "We'll frame the cancellation as punishment for District Nine's tribute actions prior to the games. We'll do the same for Six and Three. Call it retribution for their attempt at escape. But when we arrive in District Eight, I want you to go off script again."

"How far off?"

He peered down at her, soaking in her features. His gaze dropped to her medal, the budding crimson of her bandage that matched the couch, and then refocused on her irises, "You are going to announce the people's right to vote."

A single drop of blood beaded down her wrist as she wrung her hand tighter, "Are those in the Capitol not already aware of their rights?"

His eyes brightened with a barely controlled excitement. "Let me re-phrase...the Districts' right to vote."

Chapter Text

The prince of Panem wanted to set his own kingdom on fire, and he wanted to make her his flint striker.

Hazel's heart chawed on her sternum, disbelief rippling through her veins.

I’m not built for this. I’m not a revolutionary. I’m just a girl with permanent blood under her nails and too many dead friends.

The couch dug further into her spine along with something she had completely forgotten. The knife. Tucked into the waistband of her dress, every backward movement made the bulk dig more into her.

Yet the discomfort did little to distract. Instead, she traced his words over in her mind.

The right to vote? Extended to the Districts? Had he completely lost touch with reality?

Snow was all but feasting on her reactions. Devouring her response. She met his stare, hunting for a trick beneath the madness, but found only solid conviction.

“I’m apparently not the only one who's lost touch with reality.” She murmured. “Are you high off your new perfume?”

The edges of his eyes softened, although his hold on her shoulder did not. “I am not insane, Miss Marlowe.”

“Maybe let a doctor decide that.” She kicked back.

The tips of his fingers played her shoulder bone like a piano, “I thought you didn’t trust doctors.”

“I don’t.” Hazel shook her head again as his words swelled in her mind, “But even I can recognize someone who needs one.”

“I’ll admit that, at first, the concept may seem preposterous, but if you truly consider it, you'll see its merits.” His thumb drummed against her collarbone. The cool leather did nothing to combat the frenzied rush of her bloodstream.

Certainly, he couldn’t mean they would actually allow district folk to vote. Perhaps it would all be for show, a farce, or another game?

Hazel narrowed her eyes. “You are asking me to lie then?”

“I am not.” Snow’s thumb paused its beat.

He couldn’t mean…

“So we will truly vote?”

His eyelids lowered gently as he nodded once in confirmation

A shivering breath fell from her, “My recklessness is wearing off on you.”

“One man’s recklessness is another’s inspiration.” A lopsided smile flashed as he scoured her face.

“And you think this delusional idea will head off, Augustus?”

A line cut deeply between his brows. “Being from the districts, I can’t fault you for your ignorance of his status, but Augustus is quite popular in the Capitol.”

Studying the imperfection between his eyes, she asked, “More than you?”

The rim of his lip curled. “A case could be made. He has been around longer and, over the years, has been very generous toward certain powerful causes.”

She didn’t even want to know what causes those might be.

“And you promoted him to Gamemaker. Seems you’ve made your bed.”

“Perhaps you will help me unmake it. The Districts vastly outnumber those in the Capitol, and their participation could overturn any advantage Augustus can secure. Their votes…your vote, could tip the balance.”

My vote….

Hazel never imagined she'd live to hear those words, especially not from a former Gamemaker. He spoke like they were equals. Colleagues. Allies. The thought curdled her pulse. She could practically hear Silus’s voice in her head, full of righteous fury. She was half tempted to pull Leo’s weapon from her waistband.

“Don’t think for one moment that I have forgotten your responsibility in all this. He may have brought my brother and me to the hanging tree, Coriolanus, but you were the noose.” Her tone cut hard. “What makes you any different from Augustus? How do I know you won’t just loop that same rope around Panem’s throat?”

Shifting farther into the couch, the backs of her heels had no more room for retreat. The knife dug further into her flesh. Her balance wavered, and she reached behind her, gripping the top edge of the couch with her bleeding hand.

His grasp on her shoulder lightened a fraction, and he leaned back, studying her.

“Unlike Augustus, I understand that power requires balance. He seeks dominance without constraint. I seek order. Panem under Augustus would be chaos. Under me, it would have structure.” His stare flickered down her hand. “You can cling to your anger toward me, white-knuckle it for as long as you like, but the world is already shifting beneath your feet. What’s done is done. You can stay buried in it, drown in it… or you can shape what comes next. Besides,” he tilted his head toward the now blank screen. “It seems you already started. After all, it was you who got this ball rolling, did you not?”

Her disbelief wavered at his words. The accusation wounded her, but not because it was cruel, but true. Guilt flared behind it. She’d all but chucked that ball. And Snow was trying to use it to his advantage.

Snow, seemingly sensing her internal argument, reached forward, placing his hand over the one she was desperately gripping the couch with. “Do you remember what you asked of me on my birthday?"

Her grip faltered. Of course, she remembered. Immunity for her siblings. And for the families of Victors. “Yes.”

“Do you not think a president could grant such a request?”

Her siblings flashed behind her eyes. A world where Sage, Lily, and Linden never stand for a reaping? Where Rowan was buried in his books and his writings instead of the plot beside Silus?

“But why stop there?” He leaned in, “Imagine what future you might inspire me to create. Or erase.”

There it was. Buried in his words, beneath all of it was something monstrous in its delicacy. Something she never expected from him.

A dangerous flicker of what the world might be if he were telling the truth. Where her siblings grew old. Where the Games existed only in dusty history books.

Where her family would live. And maybe, just maybe, where the Games would die.

The notion nearly brought her to her knees.

Was it possible?

Would she be a fool to believe him... or a coward not to?

She searched his face again for cracks, any fracture in his conviction. But it was maddening how placid he was. Composed, steady, as if he'd already counted on her resistance and was prepared to wear it down.

And, damn, it was working.

If she had the chance to stop more kids from ending up like Tulsi, Ruby, Ethan, or even Silus… could she really walk away?

But the Capitol? Would the people who’d demanded their bloody circuses really allow the animal who entertained them to vote? Hell, they carried the dead on playing cards in their pockets.

Her brow knit, “Let’s say I do this. Won’t the Capitol be in an uproar?”

“That,” he said in earnest, “is exactly why I need you.”

Hazel blanched and let out a humorless laugh.

He pressed on, his gloved finger renewed its efforts to carve shapes into her skin. “Now, their new favorite Victor will be able to vote herself. Influential if you ask me.”

“It is interesting that President Ravinstill agrees with your inspiration.”

His eyes darted down to his hand, though he made a valiant effort to maintain his unaffected composure. “More or less.”

“You are making me think it's definitely less.”

“He’ll find it impossible to object once Panem’s beloved Victor announces it publicly on live television.”

Horror spread across her face. “I… what?”

“Sometimes forgiveness is easier to secure than permission,” he said, as if offering practical advice rather than political rebellion. “Though I hardly need to explain that logic to you, given your recent choices.” His teeth flashed, too white, too smooth. Something about it reminded her of Gaul.

“You are insane.”

“Consider me inspired.”

“All this talk of stories and narratives.” Hazel scoffed, leaning backward. “Did you ever read the ending of Romeo and Juliet? They both die. I don’t know about you, but they’ll hang me for this.”

He stepped closer, fingertips ghosting along her jaw until they found her chin. His other hand pried her bleeding one away from the couch, holding it between them and out of reach of her hidden weapon. “They wouldn’t dare. There would practically be protests in the streets if they ruined their new favorite obsession.”

She felt the tears needling the backs of her eyelids. The first inklings of panic tingled against her skull. They wouldn’t need to hurt her. Not directly. Obsession was fickle. It didn’t protect anyone else.

This was far more significant than saving the neck of a solitary district mayor. The stakes weren’t just high, they were incalculable.

And what if Gaul or Augustus decided she’d overstepped? What if they wanted her punished?

“The things we love most destroy us,” she whispered.

Snow quieted.

Who would they kill first? Her mom? Lily, Sage, Linden... or Rowan?

A tear escaped down her cheek, and before she could corral it. His thumb hooked under her chin, tipping her head upward. His finger stopped the droplet in its tracks.

There is one guarantee I need first.

Her voice dropped to an airy whisper. “I want to cash in my favor.”

Curiosity slid over his brow.

“If I do this. I don’t care what happens to me, but… I can’t go through that again… I can’t. Swear to me you'll protect them…please.”

His face softened a fraction as he watched her war with herself. “Deal.” Releasing her chin, he held out his hand for her to shake, “Work with me, help me win the Presidency, and there will be little outside my reach.”

Fixing him with a serrated stare as she pressed her hand into his, “And our promise not to lie to each other?”

“That's a promise I intend to keep.”

She suddenly felt like a cornered doe, forced to align with the hunter.

Panic melted into weary resignation, “Ok…” She exhaled, “I’ll do it.”

His stare licked over every one of her features as if he could decode a message from her skin. Toweling away another tear, his countenance defrosted into a raw genuineness she had yet to witness.

“I knew we would come to understand each other.” His hand hovered over her flesh, his eyes lighting up with genuine satisfaction. A blush bloomed along her collarbones.

“Hazel, I…”

Festus barreled in, face flushed and flustered. “Coryo, I can’t hold them back any longer. Lucky’s about to have an aneurysm out there.”

Snow didn’t respond right away. Instead, he glanced down at their joined hands and the crimson bloom spreading across his glove. Hazel instinctively started to pull away, but he held firm.

With a quiet sigh, he drew a pristine handkerchief from his jacket and wrapped it around her hand, binding it tight. Too tight. The sting shot up her wrist, but she bit back the sound. Welcoming the pain reminded her this wasn’t a dream.

“Can’t have them see you bleed.” Glancing back, he threaded his fingers with hers, shielding her injured hand from view. The leather stretched vice-like over her skin.

Snow watched her as he addressed Festus, “I’m ready.”

She sucked in a deep lungful of air, rosewater syrup coating her senses.

Her eyes lifted toward the door through which Festus had just entered. The noise beyond it swelled like waves pounding against the hull of a ship.

Ignoring the barrage of warning bells in her mind, she nodded in a silent yet unmistakable: yes.

He let loose another charm-filled smile before he gave her hand a light squeeze.

“We’re ready.”

With that, he led her out of the dining car, through the adjacent one to the doors. Waiting on the platform was the near-feral crowd of Capitol press.

Leo’s gaze locked on her partially tear-streaked cheek. She quickly wiped at them with her sleeve, hoping it would pass for a reaction to the cold filling the car from the open doors.

Snow didn’t pause. He stopped at the threshold of the train, Hazel at his side, still holding her hand.

Lucky Flickerman was practically vibrating at the front of the horde, bouncing on his heels, passing his microphone between his hands.

Festus, Indira, and Hazel’s guards moved in behind them.

Snow was like a shepherd, calming his jittery flock. Said sheep chattered until he raised his free hand in a leisurely downward wave. The buzz dulled almost immediately.

Lucky’s scrutiny scanned their connected hands, and his bouncing intensified.

“Eventful day.” Snow smiled widely as the crowd bubbled with laughter. “Everyone having fun?”

All the nervous anger had melted off him like slush disappearing under the warming attention of springtime. She did her best not to stare at the transformation. He had snapped into his charismatic persona so quickly that she was whiplashed.

Lucky pushed his way in front, microphone extended like a weapon.

Maybe Snow isn’t completely off base about stories…

Hazel shuddered at the notion.

“Senator Snow, can you confirm reports that the speech in District Nine has been canceled?”

Snow’s smile lingered. “That’s correct. In light of the unfortunate behavior from their tributes before the games, the Capitol has chosen to withhold their participation in the Victory Tour. Actions have consequences. The tour is a privilege, not a right. I’m sure even District Nine would agree with that.”

Murmurs rolled through the crowd.

Lucky pressed, “And what about Districts Three and Six? There’s talk of cancellations there, too.”

Snow nodded. “Yes. Similar reasoning applies. Certain boundaries were crossed. It’s only appropriate that the Capitol reassert its standards.”

The murmurs thickened.

“And District Eight?” a voice from the mass called. “Will their speech be canceled as well?”

Snow turned his head, just enough for the camera to catch the mischief in his eye. “On the contrary. District Eight will be receiving something quite special. A surprise, let’s say.”

The press erupted into a frenzy.

Lucky, practically vibrating, called out over the crowd. “Care to share more?”

Snow tutted, “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you now, would it? Besides…” He turned to the nearest camera with mock gravity. “I wouldn’t dream of overshadowing my dear colleague Augustus Trask on such a momentous day.”

“Speaking of,” Lucky was nearly falling into the train as he leaned forward, “What do you have to say regarding Augustus’s announcement?”

Snow’s smile widened, as if it were an amusing question yet wholly beneath him. Yet there was a twitch through the leather of his gloves.

“I must say, I’m slightly surprised, but I’m all for a little healthy competition.”

Lucky slicked back his copper-toned hair with an unsteady palm. “Are you saying you were unaware he was going to campaign?”

“You won’t ever get me to confess to a total lack of foresight, Mr. Flickerman. I think we all know Augustus tends to…” He peered down at Hazel, his thumb sliding over her knuckle. “Follow in my footsteps, if you will.”

What a soft way to say the man was an evil, scheming bastard.

“Well, it seems you have your work cut out for you, Senator.”

“I’ve never shied away from hard work.” Snow’s hand squeezed against hers again.

Flickerman’s dark gaze settled on Hazel, then to her hand, trapped within Snow’s, and then back. “And you, Miss Hazel Marlowe? What are your thoughts?”

Hazel’s hand was swampy, and she did her best to keep her fingers from fidgeting, “Coriolanus has better foresight than I do, Lucky. I wasn’t expecting that announcement any more than you were.”

“I think I can speak for most of us here. We’re still recovering from the shock.” Lucky laughed. “But you seem confident in our Senator.”

“I can tell you one thing for sure, Mr. Flickerman.” Hazel continued, Snow’s hand stilled within hers, “Coriolanus isn’t the youngest senator in our history by accident.”

“He does have quite a bit of ambition.”

Hazel targeted her attention straight into the camera, letting it land like a bullseye. If Augustus was watching, and she had no doubt he was, she hoped he knew the next line was meant for him. “More than most.”

Snow’s hold cinched even further. The leather was so tightly pressed that she was sure the stitches along the seams would leave indents in her skin.

“Careful, dear. Your bias is showing.” He winked before leveling his focus solely on their hands.

Hazel made a show of looking down as well. “Perhaps, just a little.”

“I guess I don’t have to ask who you endorse to be our next leader.”

“Consider it official.” She cast a look out at the gathering. Their eagerness was tangible. They drank her in. Hungry eyes flitted between her and Snow. A range of expressions tidaled before her. Admiration, curiosity, even hints of …jealousy. It was grotesque yet mesmerizing how eagerly they bought it. She inadvertently shifted closer to Snow. His words rang true. They can’t help themselves.

“Level with me, Marlowe.” Lucky leaned in, as if they were co-conspirators. “What do you think his odds are?”

“You were a weatherman once, weren’t you, Lucky?”

He lit up like she’d complimented his suit. “Guilty as charged.”

“Then you, of all people, should know.” thumb shifting against the leather still coiled around her hand. “There’s something special about snow.”

The man was practically and literally sparkling, “What would that be?”

She swallowed, her thumb moved against Snow’s. If this didn’t solidify her part in his plan, nothing would.

“It always lands on top.”

Despite herself, she turned her attention to him. His stare burned cerulean and clear. Beautiful in the way venomous things often were. She’d aligned herself with the devil.

A few murmured unintelligible words around them, but she didn’t have to hear them to understand.

They saw it too. The rawness in his gaze was no longer hidden. Or maybe it was purposefully placed for their benefit. Either way, the press ate it up like candy. Whispers bloomed around them. That single line had done its job.

That look said more than an entire interview of questions.

He was either a superb actor or…

She shoved the thought aside before it could root. Forcing the thought into a box, she slammed the lid down and shoved it deep into the farthest part of her mind where the dangerous things went.

Not possible.

She told herself she was imagining things. Told herself this was all part of the script, that he was simply playing to the cameras. To the narrative.

He was using her, and she would use him back. That was the agreement.

She pasted on the kind of soft smile they expected. Let them think it was chemistry.

Lucky’s remaining questions faded into meaningless background noise. Snow answered each one effortlessly, as if he’d written them himself. By the time the crowd began to disperse, their hunger satiated, Hazel realized she was still holding his hand.

Or maybe he was still holding hers.

Eventually, he released her, eyes thoughtful as he murmured, “You may have given me credit just now, but you rise to challenges better than anyone I know.”

Hazel shrugged, mustering a weak smile. “You’re pretty stiff competition.”

His mouth curved into a satisfied grin. Too satisfied. “Good thing we’re on the same team. And what a formidable one we make.”

It had the shape of a compliment, but it settled around her neck like a necklace made of rope.

Chapter Text

“Coryo, this is absolute madness.” Festus swept toward them. “Never trusted that bastard, and clearly he’s lost his mind. I think the situation calls for a stiff drink and a plan.”

“Agreed.” Snow softly chuckled as he pulled Hazel’s injured hand up between them, untying his handkerchief. In the short amount of time, it had turned a mucky shade of pink, like the innards of a slaughtered animal.

She shivered. It reminded her of Silus and their first day in the Capitol. When she had tried to hide his injury from the wolves. However, Snow’s motivations for hiding hers were less than selfless, and he was one of those very wolves. Might even be their leader someday.

“Miss Lovegood. See that her bandages are replaced,” he commanded.

“Yes, of course, Senator.” Indira straightened, “Come on, dear, let’s get you changed before blood gets on that dress.”

“Get some rest. It is a long journey to Eight,” Snow advised in her direction while letting Festus steer him toward the train’s bar. “You are right, Fest; I think a strategy update is overdue. I also need a campaign manager.”

Festus stopped short. “Was that a job offer?” He paused. “Because if it is, I’ll need a raise and hazard pay.”

Snow’s smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s negotiable.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Snow fixated his scrutiny on Sable. “Pytash, you’ll join us. We need to discuss adjustments to security protocols.”

“Yes, sir,” Sable agreed.

Leo kept his lips pressed together, but she could feel the questioning stare. He stalled a step behind her. She knew he wanted to talk, to ask her all the questions swimming through his stare. In a way, she wanted to tell him equally as much. More than anyone else. She wanted to unload everything. But just because she wanted to, didn’t mean she could. Or should. Both of their safety depended on her silence. However, the concept might be a lost cause already.

Snow’s gaze drifted toward the peacekeeper.

Sable caught it too. “Draytons,” he barked, waving for Bellona and Leo to follow. “With me.”

Bellona gave Hazel a brief glance before she fell in behind Sable without a word.

Leo stayed put a second longer. “And her injury?”

“I promise to keep her alive while you all are gone.” Indira insisted.

“She can handle it.” Bellona agreed.

Hazel coaxed him with the faintest of nods. Go.

“Yes, sir,” Leo agreed as he peeled himself away.

Festus looped an arm around his shoulders with a dry laugh. “Relax, Drayton. It’s a drink, not an execution.”

Snow, calm as the forest after rainfall, glimpsed at Hazel one last time before disappearing down the corridor.

Festus’s commentary about poor decisions and liver function echoed after them.

The low-grade terror within her wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or dissolve into full-blown panic.

“All that preparation and barely any camera time,” Indira muttered under her breath, eyeing her ensemble with disappointment. Cupping Hazel’s raw hand, she led her toward the quiet sanctuary of her room, immediately confiscating the jewelry while grumbling about missing pieces of gold.

After exchanging the dress for a shirt and pants from home, Hazel sank down at the table. She couldn’t ignore her injury any longer.

With the remnants of the evening sunlight soaking in through the windows, she set to work. Inch by inch, she detangled the layers of destroyed bandaging.

“You need assistance with that?” Indira called, stretching as she hung up the clothing. A little frown pulled on her lips as she did.

Hazel shrugged, “It’s about time I started caring for this myself. Won’t always have you around.”

“Or Leo,” Indira replied softly.

Hazel’s fingers paused, and she peered up at the woman.

Indira didn’t look at her. Instead, she continued to push and pull the hangers like she was doing something productive. Yet, Hazel suspected it wasn’t the case. “Asking for help isn’t weakness, you know.”

Hazel bit down on her lip, “Just dangerous.”

Indira peered at her then. “Best to be armed then?”

Hazel dropped her stare back down to her work.

“I noticed your new weaponry was not in the dress.”

Hazel resumed unraveling the gauze but said nothing.

Indira sighed when Hazel didn’t answer, “I just hope it is somewhere no one will find it.”

“Don’t worry.”

“That is all I do anymore. Though complimentary pillow chocolates, the staff leave every night, it does help take the edge off.”

“Didn’t take you for a chocoholic like Sable.”

“Just full of surprises, I guess.” Indira’s sisterly tone made Hazel’s eyes twitch. “Speaking of. What happened today?”

Hazel clenched her teeth. The last of the bloody material pulled away, and she dropped it on the growing heap upon the table. In the center of her wound, a fresh split in the fragile skin stared back. Too much pressure. Not enough rest.

“I feel like I’ve proven you can trust me, dear.”

Hazel met her eyes then. “I do.” The District Seven escort Hazel had once despised was now one of the most treasured people in her life. Which meant she was a living, breathing double-edged sword. And any harm that might come to her would, in turn, injure Hazel as well. “It is not my trust in you that is lacking.”

“Danger, right?”

Hazel pressed her lips together.

Indira resumed her rearranging of the closet. Though Hazel could tell she was studying her from her periphery.

Hazel wetted down several squares of gauze with a bubbling clear cleanser.

“He wants you to campaign for him, is it?”

Indira had known about their ruse from the beginning. She was the first to warn her about it, but that didn’t mean Hazel wanted to endanger her anymore.

“Something like that.”

Indira folded her arms, turning her body to face her. “What else did he ask of you?”

Hazel hissed as she pressed the ice-cold gauze into the center of her angry wound. It was a strange mix of sharp and soothing as she slid it over her flesh. “Indira, please.”

Hazel’s voice wavered as she once again met the woman’s eyes. “I don’t want any more blood on my hands.”

The gauze came away berry colored.

I’ve had enough for a lifetime.

A long exhale from Indira followed as she crossed the room, settling her bejeweled hand on Hazel’s shoulder. “Dear, don’t misunderstand. I’m glad you’re finally seeing how serious this is. The off-the-cuff speeches, the grand gestures… it is all risky.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “I don’t want to add more weight. You’re already carrying enough. You don’t owe me anything. But I need you to know something. If it gets worse, or if you start to fall under it, come to me. Day or night. I’ll help however I can.”
Her tone grew even more serious. “Asking for help isn’t weakness. We’re stronger if we stick together. Understand?”

Hazel stared up at the woman, eyes softening but resolve solidifying. “Understood.”

Indira relaxed her shoulders, “And for the love of all things holy, don’t let anyone see that knife Leo gave you.”

A disbelieving laugh broke down the tension in Hazel’s body. Indira must have caught the inscription. “Yes ma’am.”

She and Indira had another secret to share. Though somehow she knew the woman meant what she had said.

With that, Indira resumed her fussing over the closet. Focusing on a particularly lovely navy dress, lamenting the hours of ironing it most likely required.

Abruptly, the door to Hazel’s room swung open.

Bellona entered but stopped short when she spotted Indira. Her hands slipped into her pockets. “Uhh...sorry, my shift just started. Should I come back?”

“Nonsense.” Indira smiled, “I’m just leaving. This dress isn’t going to iron itself.”

Bellona nodded. “I bet you'll do a great job at that.”

Indira grinned, though a sparkling confusion shot out from her stare, “At ironing?”

A blush colored Bellona’s cheeks, “Uh... yeah. I mean no. I mean...”

“I’m sure Indira’s a pro,” Hazel interjected, winding a fresh gray tone bandaging around her palm. Bellona nearly jumped at the sound as if she had forgotten Hazel’s presence.

“Don’t tease, dear. But the private is right. I am quite capable of ironing.” Indira laughed lightly, folding the garment over her forearm. “Among other things.”

She dipped her head gracefully toward Bellona. “Private Drayton.”

Bellona copied the gesture. Though it was more muscular than graceful. “Miss Lovegood.”

With a sharp wink in Hazel’s direction, Indira whisked out the door. The instant it shut, Bellona seemed to deflate. Her breathing returned to a normal rate. Hazel pressed her freshly bandaged fist against her lips, shielding a grin.

Spinning around, Bellona’s gaze washed over Hazel. Another blush followed, along with an irritated frown. “Stop.”

Hazel shook her head but couldn’t hold back a bubbling laugh.

Bellona ground her fingers over her temple. “That obvious?”

“I think we left obvious back in Twelve.”

Bellona’s cheek color deepened until her face matched the bloody gauze heaped on the table, “All right, all right. I get it.”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Hazel’s teasing tone faded, “It is understandable. Indira is wise, caring…”

“Beautiful, well-spoken,” Bellona blurted.

With another soft giggle, she murmured, “Relax, Bells. Your secret is safe.”

Bellona’s shoulders relaxed.

“That is, until Festus figures it out, and then all bets are off. He’ll never let either of you live it down.”

Bellona’s face lost some of its rosy hue.

Tossing the refuse into the garbage can, Hazel’s eyes settled on the remaining items. Before her was the bottle of sleeping pills, her poor man’s diamond, and Grace’s coin. The tape player and cassette were still buried in the bottom of her bag.

Picking up the medication, she spun it in her hands. The pills inside rattled like a children’s toy.

“You gonna actually take one of those?” Bellona eyed the bottle as Hazel tossed it back and forth.

Tapping her nails against the plastic, she muttered, “Debatable.”

“You need rest.”

“Don’t we all.” Hazel pressed the edge of her nail harder into the side. Turning it over, she mumbled, “Maybe later.”

“Maybe now,” Bellona argued. “It’s been a long, sort of weird day.”

“Understatement, my friend.” Hazel sighed, studying the little bags under Bellona’s eyes. It suddenly seemed unfair that she was on the night shift, considering she had been up all day again outside of the short nap she had accidentally had on their journey to Nine. “You sure were struggling to stay awake earlier.”

“I’m serious, Marlowe.”

“So am I.”

She pointed the bottle at the peacekeeper, “Want one?”

Bellona didn’t answer, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yeah, me neither.”

Bellona eyeballed the door, “I’m awake. Enough to watch you all night.”

The cornflower-adorned coin called to her. Maybe Hazel didn’t know how to win Snow’s game. But she could keep a promise. That much she could do.

“Perfect,” Hazel replied, suddenly rising from her chair. Bottle in hand. Pacing across the quarters, she chucked it into the bedside table’s drawer. “There’s something I want to do before we leave Nine.”

Bellona frowned. “Should I even ask?”

Hazel crossed back to the table and slipped the diamond into her pocket. Then the coin. “You said you watched my Games. Then you know.”

Bellona groaned as Hazel began to put on her coat. “Marlowe, it's unsafe.”

Swinging her bag across her shoulders, she smiled. “Good thing I have my own personal guard.”

Bellona moaned, but Hazel could tell she was about to cave. “You are turning me into Pytash.”

“Hmm,” Hazel said, sliding her bag into place over her head. “Is that why you're taking his chocolate?”

Bellona’s eyes saucered. “How did you—”

Hazel grinned, “I’m sure Indira has enjoyed it, even if she thinks it is the staff leaving them in her room every night.”

Bellona shook her head as she secured the strap on her holster. “Fine, you win. Let’s get this over with.”

Chapter Text

Concrete buildings were scattered about the streets of District Nine. Many of whose paint was flaking away as if they had not been maintained for decades. The air was biting and frigid in comparison with Ten, though still warmer than Seven.

Thankfully, it also lacked the aroma of death. Instead, the atmosphere was a blank slate, smelling of nothing in particular outside of a subtle hint of cement.

Bellona scraped her nails against her temple as she stalked beside Hazel. It was as if she could ward off an impending migraine.

They arrived at a blocky home with a solid wood door. “This right?” Hazel asked, raising her hand to knock, but hesitation took over.

“According to the local regimen.” Bellona surveyed the humble building, “This is it.”

After several shaky breaths, Hazel’s hand surged forward in a series of rapid knocks.

What if no one was home?

A dark notion spread through her as she thought of Dill and Reapers’ fates. And that of their families…

What if no one was left alive?

Suddenly, on the other side of the door, there was a hoarse grumble as well as some clunking thuds like furniture sliding about. A clink of a bottle was followed by several locks being undone.

With another grating sound, a ragged voice called out through a slim crack in the door, “Who’s there?”

A weary blue eye peered out. Half hidden beneath bush-like white eyebrows that resembled the horned owls of Seven.

“Mr…um…Fields. It's… Hazel Marlowe.” She swallowed. “I think we both know why I’m here.”

The lone eye fixed on her, and she swore she saw a hint of water collecting at the corner. With a loud thwack, the door slammed shut between them.

Hazel sighed and glanced back at Bellona.

“Maybe we should go,” the Peacekeeper said, relief seeping from her pores.

Just as Hazel was about to concede, the door swung back open with a gruff, “Come in.”

An elderly man in an out-of-fashion, fraying suit stood hunched at the threshold.

“Mr Fields…I…”

“Come in, I said.”

Hazel and Bellona began to move, but the man's hand raised, halting them. With a jab of a gnarled finger, he pointed at the Peacekeeper, “Not you.”

“No deal, sir,” Bellona argued as her eyes steeled. “Where she goes, I go.”

The look he gave Bellona was so fiery that Hazel could almost feel it singe the hairs on her arms. “No peacekeeper will set foot in this house until I am six feet under.”

“Marlowe, let's leave.”

Hazel pleaded, “Bells, please.”

The guard shook her head, voice softening to a whisper. “The senator gave very specific instructions.”

“He'll get over it,” Hazel argue-whispered back. Placing her unblemished hand on Bellona’s shoulder, she begged. “Please just wait outside.”

Bellona's gruff exterior cracked, and with a curse-filled grumble, she conceded.

Mr. Fields opened the door wider, allowing Hazel to slip in. She cast another what she hoped was a placating grimace at her peacekeeper guard. “Be right out.”

Bellona suddenly shoved the barrel of her gun in the closing door as she met the old man's eyes. “If she's not or if I get any sense she is in danger, it will be more than one peacekeeper in this house.” Her voice deepened to bedrock. “Forget six feet under. I’ll make it sixty. Am I clear?”

Even Hazel shivered at Bellona’s tone. Mr. Fields watched the peacekeeper with disdain tinged with a hint of respect. “Crystal.” He bit out as he pushed her gun barrel from his door frame, flinging the door shut once again.

Hazel swallowed as he relocked five separate dead bolts. Grumbling, he meandered to his fridge, peering inside. It was painfully barren.

“Would you like some tea?” His tone had lightened, though he didn't look at her. He moved to a small kitchen with a copper kettle, filling it with water and setting it on the stove.

“No, thank you, Mr. Fields. I don't mean to take up a lot of your...”

He swatted the air around him. “Miss. Call me Cress. Mr. Fields was my father. God rest his soul.”

Hazel paused, as did her pulse, for a handful of seconds. “Cress?”

This was who Mayor Shepherd told her to find? What were the odds he was the grandfather of Grace?

She ran a hand through her hair. She knew better.

There were no odds. No coincidences.

“And no need to bother with apologies with me.”

A lick of blush colored her cheeks. She had been more than a little harsh with Grace in her last day on earth.

Pulling the metallic disc from her pocket, she turned it over in her hand. “I understand. I know ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t change anything.” She walked across the small house to the kitchen. “I am, though.”

Setting the currency on the counter between them, she exhaled. The man's face fell as his eyes met the trinket she had been carrying for over six months. “As am I.”

Cress picked up the coin, petting and examining it like it was the finest of jewels. Or made of pure gold. “She did it for me, you know.”

“Did what, Sir?”

“Sold her life to those barbarians.”

“How do you know?” Hazel asked.

He pointed his bearded chin toward a pile of coin bags stockpiled in the corner of the living room. There were so many that Hazel realized the man had a small fortune.

“Because they didn't string me up after the games. Instead, they bring me a new bag of those every week.” The man kissed the coin before placing it in his pocket. “Would trade it all, you know. Just to have her back. My Gracie…”

So Heath had been right. Grace had agreed to help Augustus.

Hazel's eyes burned as she watched him. “You haven't spent them?”

“And I never will. I will not spend money earned with my granddaughter's blood. She may have made mistakes, much like her grand-dad, I suppose. But she was all that I had left.” His worn face wrinkled further as he squinted, “Ironic, isn’t it. To be starving yet surrounded by money you won't spend.” He ran a hand through his long white hair, mumbling to himself. “Like a man dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean.”

Water water everywhere, nor a drop to drink.

Hazel sucked in a sharp inhale opening her mouth to ask him more. But suddenly, a shrill screaming burst through the air. The kettle was ready. The sound broke Cress from his reverie.

“You sure you don't want tea?” He asked, wiping at his eyes.

“You’ve convinced me.” Hazel wrung her hands. “There is something else I want to ask you.”

The man hummed in response, awaiting her question as he began to set out two chipped teacups.

“What do you know of Mayor Shepherd from District Ten?”

Cress halted his fussing over a couple of bags of Capitol-rationed black tea. His stare surged to meet hers. “Who’s asking?”

“I am asking for myself.”

The old man's eyes darted to the door and the windows and then back to her, suspicion clouding his irises.

She cleared her throat, desperately trying to remember what Mayor Shepherd had told her. “And the good south wind still blew behind, But no…”

“… sweet bird did follow.” Cress’s eyes widened as he finished the phrase. “And who told you to tell me that? Garth or was it Oren?”

It was Hazel's turn to look on in shock.

Oren?

She had only thought he had contacts with Ten.

He glanced up at her. “My money's on Starling. Word on the street, Shepherd is due to hang.”

“Mayor Shepherd has recently been pardoned.”

“You're kidding.”

“Not in the kidding kind of mood right now.”

He hummed, holding out one of the cups to her. “I see. You wouldn't have had something to do with his sudden turn of fate, would you?”

Hazel didn't answer; instead, she took the steaming beverage from him, wincing as she took a sip of the too-hot, bitter tea. The man before her nodded at her lack of answer as if she had given him one.

A creeping sense of dread gnawed at her. “Have you been in contact with my stepfather recently?”

“No.” It came out as a near whisper. He scrutinized the bandage around her hand with a sorrowful grimace. “Well…not since the Reaping.”

A rush of relief filled her.

“If you know my stepfather and District Ten’s mayor... then you must know our new Gamemaker.”

Cress sighed and drank from the cup without flinching, as if his tongue was made of fire-tested steel. “The fact you are even asking me that tells me you know why my Grace was selected.”

“And my stepdad?”

“I've many business partners.”

“And what kind of business are you in, Mr. Fields?”

His mustached lip curled. “I'm what you might call a mechanical engineer. At least I was before the war. Now, I mostly spend my days fixing farm equipment.”

“What does a mechanical engineer want with Seven and Ten?”

“Best you stay ignorant lest you be liable for what you know. Considering your...” He shot another suspicious glare at the door. “… connections. Besides, it's in the past.” He ran a finger over his pocket. “Cost was far too great.”

“It certainly was.”

Cress examined her with a softer expression, and each of them took a sip of the acrid tea. Despite the acidity, the heat was slightly soothing as it slid down her throat.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

The man nodded, tapping his fingers against his cup.

Hazel dug into her bag until she found what she was searching for. Placing the tape player on the counter, she asked, “Anyway you can get this screen working?”

Cress frowned down at the thing as her voice dropped to a murmur. “Mayor Shepherd told me to bring it to you.”

“The fact you were asking me tells me it is either quite secret or quite important.” He scanned the still solidly bolted front door again.

“It's both.”

“What do you need it for, Miss?”

“Best you stay ignorant, Sir.” Hazel slid it closer to him. “Lest you be liable for what you know.”

A small crooked smile broke across the older man's face. “Alright. But only because you brought me her coin. I'm done with all the rest of it. Permanently.” He fished out a pair of spectacles and perched them on the bridge of his nose, turning the player over several times in his calloused hands. “And also maybe because you are growing on me.”

Hazel smiled back. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Miss Hazel, call me Cress.” Retrieving a leather satchel of tools from a rickety drawer, he spread it out on the counter. They were dainty and intricate and completely foreign. She had never seen such delicate instruments in District Seven.

“How do you know so much about electronics? I mean, since you work on farm equipment and all.”

“There are quite a bit of electronics that go into farming equipment my dear. But like a true engineer, I often ended up tinkering with all kinds of things. Before my demotion, I worked on drones during the war. Even figured out how to sabotage some of them. I was bolder back then.” He chuckled darkly to himself, peering over the rim of his glasses. “Much like you, I would wager.”

The man was growing on her as well. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” He lifted the lid off the player. A frown formed between the white bush brows as he toyed with its inner workings. “You know, it's quite unfortunate having your own technology turned against you.”

The meaning behind his words settled like stones in her stomach. No wonder they’d taken his granddaughter. She was sure Augustus considered it justified punishment.

Within a few minutes, the older man let out a satisfied sigh. “There you go.”

He pushed a button, and the screen burst to life. Instead of grayscale, there was a deep blue black that projected an image up into the air. It was like a three-dimensional play button. Ready to broadcast an image.

“You wanna pop in your tape? Give it a go?”

“Nice try,” Hazel reprimanded, rolling her eyes.

He moaned as he straightened, a crackling sound of joints realigning filled the space. “Figured it was worth a shot.”

With the confidence of a man who had done it hundreds of times before he replaced the small screws and secured them once again hiding the inner wiring of the little device.

Cress wrapped the player in a cloth and returned it to her. “Be gentle with it. It's practically an antique.” He let out a self-satisfied chuckle, “like me, I guess.”

Hazel bit back a laugh but smiled at the man, “Thank you again, you have no idea what this means to me.”

His diluted blue eyes met hers. “I have a feeling that I do, even if you won't let me see what you are looking to witness.” He tapped his pocket with the clinking Jingle. “You best be on your way before I've got Peacekeepers coming out of my eyes.”

Hazel tucked the player away. Just as she was about to walk toward the door, she turned back to the man. “Spend it.”

“What?”

“Cress.” She eyed the bags in the corner. “Spend it. She wanted you to have it. She did it for you.” Hazel's lip quivered as she remembered the young girl who bled to death in her arms. “She told me as much. The thing that kept her going was that you would be taken care of.”

The man said nothing, but bright tears collected along the rims of his eyes as he strode to the door and began to undo the series of complicated locks.

Before the last bolt gave way, he halted. Still facing the door, he recited:

“Like one that on a lonesome road doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turn'd round, walks on,
And turns no more his head.
Because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread.”

Hazel frowned at the man's back.

“I’m the last person who needs to tell someone else how to live, but if you want to keep living, do keep that in mind. But the fiends don’t always look the way they should. Some smile. Some pull out chairs. Others eat at your table. Or drink from your cups. Meanwhile, you won’t taste the poison till it’s too late.”

He rested his hand on the door, pausing one last time.

“I hope you make it out, Miss Marlowe. Someone ought to.”

With that, he whipped the door open. Outside, a sour-faced Bellona was still steaming. Hazel joined her in the cold.

Cress gave her a solid glare for good measure before settling a much softer scowl on Hazel, and with a short acknowledging nod, he closed the door.

“All done with adventures for the night?” Bellona asked.

“Yes, ma'am.”

The two worked their way back to the train station as Hazel listened to her peacekeeper's numerous gripes about District Nine and the sheer disrespect of the people. She also lamented the local guards' leniency.

Hazel listened, mostly. More than once, her hand found its way into her bag. She stroked the cassette player almost as if making sure it was still there. Tapping a rhythm against it, she tried to decide when would be the best time to attempt to watch the tape again. While also repeating Cress’s words in her mind.

They were rounding the last corner when a voice called out ahead of them. “Ahem.”

Standing in front of the train station doors with a perturbed expression, hands folded behind him, was Snow. Leo hovered nearby, flanked by a few guards and Sable. “I thought I told you to get some rest?”

Bellona snapped upright. “Sir… we were just—”

“It’s my fault.” Hazel didn’t let her voice shake. She yanked her hand free from her bag and stood straighter, clutching the strap as casually as she could manage.

“I don’t doubt that.” Snow’s gaze landed on her knuckles, then drifted to the bulging strap over her shoulder.

He strode toward the two. Each step he took forward brought cold air with it, though his breath came warm. She couldn’t decide which temperature unnerved her more.

“Sir, I can explain,” Bellona started, but Snow lifted a hand as if bored with the noise.

Bellona glanced sideways at Hazel. Her glower could maim. It said, I warned you, mixed with enjoy your funeral.

Sable didn’t say a word, though his eyes dimmed with disappointment. Leo stayed back, watching Bellona and Hazel the way someone might watch a dog about to bolt into traffic.

Snow leaned in until his mouth hovered just beside her cheek. His rose-sweet cologne coated her throat like maple syrup.

“This seems awfully dramatic.” Hazel eyed him, leaning slightly backward.

“Funny.” Then she felt it. His hand was slipping into her bag. “We seem to share a flair for it, don’t we?”

Hazel’s fingers dove after his, desperate. She tried to beat him to it, but she was slow. Far too slow.

His gloved hand latched onto her wrist, dragging it out into the winter air.

“What do we have here?”

Chapter Text

"Nothing." Hazel's voice came out thin, almost flimsy. Though Snow caught it before the winter air swallowed it whole.

"Doesn't seem like nothing." A blond eyebrow rose. He pulled their connected hands closer, tapping his thumb over her pulse point. "What have you been up to?"

"Antiquing."

With his other hand, he undressed the fabric wrapping around the tape player. "Interesting."

"Is that a crime?" Hazel tugged on her arm. But it was too little, too late. The contraption's true form took shape as he worked at the cloth covering.

"Depends." Snow pulled the machine fully away from her. Keeping the bundle close to his chest and still hidden by its wrapping, he turned it over, inspecting the contents. Once satisfied with his perusal, he cocooned it again.

"Pytash, escort Miss Marlowe to her room."

"Yes, sir." Sable marched forward, gesturing for Hazel to follow.

"You promised." Hazel's eyes shot up to his, but he didn't answer her hushed accusation.

"Ensure she actually stays there this time." Snow's eyes skimmed hers as he backed away.

"Yes, sir," Sable answered.

"I'm going to do a little research on...antiquing." A faint smile tugged on his lips, likely for the benefit of their peacekeeper audience.

She didn't move as Sable sighed, finally gripping her arm when she didn't yield.

The peacekeeper implored her to listen as he gently guided her away. She followed suit with a begrudging shift of her feet. Not that she had much of a choice.

All that work to get this far just to have him strip her of her prize in a matter of seconds.

Could nothing ever just be easy or simple?

Bellona and Leo moved to join her and Sable, but Snow held up a gloved palm. "Wait. I need to speak with you, Private Drayton."

Bellona halted, but her eyes sunk in respect, "Sir."

"Coriolanus," Hazel strained against Sable, but she was no match for the boulder of a man. When he didn't budge and instead drew them both closer to the train station doors, she called to Snow. "She did nothing wrong. I all but forced her out here."

Snow sighed, tucking the player away in his pocket. "Let me clarify." He turned his attention to Leo, "I need to speak with you, Private Drayton."

Hazel pulled again, attempting to unearth her arm, but Sable held fast, whispering, "Don't make it worse. For once in your life, listen."

Leo shot her a glance, his eyes sliding over her futile attempts to escape Sable. "It's all right, Marlowe."

Nothing was all right.

"Get some rest, Miss Marlowe." Snow crossed his arms. "I believe you are going to need it."

Hazel squeezed her freshly bandaged palm but let the rest of her muscles laxen. Finally conceding, she let Sable drag her away through the train station doors. The nameless horde of Peacekeepers trailed them.

But on the other hand, Bellona hadn't moved. Instead, she was rooted in place. An apprehension-dipped stare on her brother.

"You are dismissed, Miss Drayton." Snow insisted. "For the moment at least."

The words seemed to send a jolt through the Peacekeeper. She immediately turned her body with an unsteadiness that betrayed her fear and marched away, disappearing through the doors with the rest.

A frail gust of frigid air swirled between the two remaining men. Somewhere in the distance, it howled as it forced itself through unforgiving alleyways and cement walls.

Snow's gaze fell from the now closed train doors back to Leo. His attention slithered over the other man with an eerie sharpness. Assessing, scouring as if he could rub away the skin from his bones and examine what was beneath.

Leo was rigid, eyeline bolted somewhere just shy of connecting with the Senators. The breeze tugged at the nape of his neck, the bare skin bubbling up under a faint sheen of sweat.

"Walk with me private." Snow finally spoke, as he released a breath that puffed out between them. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, sir," Leo murmured.

Without a glance backward, Snow led them through the doors of the station. But instead of the Victory tour train, he veered toward the only other locomotive stationed on the tracks. It was shorter and smaller. Despite it only having a few cars, it was infinitely more refined. The materials were sleeker, modern, and undoubtedly had better aerodynamics. Customary for a government official of Snow's caliber.

The train whispered open as they approached without even a word or gesture from Snow.

The interior was comprised of various shades of deep blue and pearl white. From the walls to the velvet seats to the vases on every table surface. Within them were bunches of roses that matched the snow-kissed cerulean theme. Either blindingly white or gradient blue. After entering the main car, Snow ushered Leo to a set of oak double doors at the back of the room. Golden handles shone from each.

Two avoxes were statues on either side of the threshold. Perched and likely unmoving from the same place for hours, waiting for the Senators' return.

Leo's attention snapped to one in particular. The male to the left stood solidified in place, hands folded behind his back. Despite his head being bowed, his eyes wavered with recognition when they settled on the Peacekeeper.

Leo's steps faltered as he murmured, "Vesper?"

The avox's lip quivered as his stare dropped to his shoes.

"Know each other?" Snow questioned, pausing for a moment.

Leo swallowed as he passed Vesper, who continued to refuse to look up. "Went to school together."

Snow's scrutiny fell over the avox, who shivered and kept his head bowed. "Vesper just recently joined my staff."

Snow swirled a finger at the door, and the two avoxes groped for their respective handles.

Vesper nodded, eyes still trained on his shoes, pushing the door open dutifully. His stare remained fixed on his footwear.

Leo's features flickered with disgust, but he quickly buried it beneath a rigid veneer.

"The world is smaller than you think, you know." Snow gestured for Leo to enter his private office.

Leo withdrew from Vesper and marched dutifully into the room.

Snow prowled across the navy blue carpeting, waving his hand, and the doors slid shut without another word.

Leo sent a harried glance at the now enclosed office.

A massive vase of flowers rested on a presidential-sized desk. Ice white blooms without a thorn in sight. So flawless, they almost appeared to be made of plastic. But the thick rose scent that coated the air suggested otherwise.

Scattered beneath were piles of binders, notebooks, loose papers, and several maps.

"It's been a particularly long day. Care for a drink, Drayton? I noticed that you didn't have anything during my meeting with Festus." Snow nodded to a glass floor-to-ceiling cabinet in the corner that was packed with a diverse collection of liquors that were all different colors, viscosities, and proofs.

"No, thank you." Leo shook his head, "On duty, sir."

Snow thumbed his watch. "Come now. We both know Bellona is on shift tonight." Tapping his nail against the diamond-coated face. "Though after all that, I might need to make some changes to the schedule."

Leo traded his weight subtly between his boots, but his lips remained flush together.

Snow approached the cabinet anyway, withdrawing two lavender-toned quartz glasses. He set them on his desk. In a matching canister, there was a small heap of ice spheres. Slowly, he dropped one at a time into each of the glasses. The sound was obscene against the silence of the room. Finally, he selected a jar with buttery blonde colored alcohol.

After doling out two hefty portions, he pulled a cup into both of his hands. Traversing the office, he presented the drink more like an expectation than a request.

Leo analyzed the offering for a moment before finally relenting and accepting it.

Snow chuckled, twirling his beverage, the ice rattling against the edges.

An uncomfortable quietude settled between the two, and Leo took a reluctant sip. Snow, in turn, downed a large gulp. Retreating from the guard, he leaned back against the desk. Extricating the cassette player from his pocket, he dropped it on a pile of papers.

Leo gripped the glass tighter.

Snow sipped almost leisurely. "Do you remember the day I picked you for this assignment?"

Leo examined the sunflower-toned liquid once again, "Yes, sir."

"So you remember what I told you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then how did this happen, Drayton?" Snow pointed at the machine.

"I-" Leo's jaw muscles constricted. "There are no excuses, sir."

"That we can agree on." Snow sighed, downing the rest of his drink and returning to the cabinet for a refill "I suppose I can't totally blame you." He hurled a steel glance over his shoulder, "I mean, I do hold you responsible, but she doesn't make it easy, does she?"

Leo hesitated before a brisk answer, "No, sir."

"Even after everything, I have to admit she continues to surprise me." He began to pace across the office gradually. "Seems her guards are no different. She escaped from under Sable's nose. Even straightlaced Bellona has been influenced by her."

Leo mashed his lips closed.

"But it is you. Who seems to be the most..." Snow paused his walk just outside Leo's peripheral vision. "...affected."

Leo's pulse set a steady rhythm against his uniform collar. Snow circled the guard until they were once again face to face. "So, I'll ask again. Did I not make my expectations clear?"

Leo's gaze dropped, "You did, sir."

"Then let's see how thoroughly you failed to follow them."

Leo's eyes snapped back to the man, but Snow was already turning away. He moved to the desk, set down his glass, and slipped off his coat, draping it neatly over the back of his leather chair.

With ridiculous slowness, he rolled up his sleeves. Slick twin scars peeked at Leo like eyes.

Snow collected the player, swiveling it between his hands. Reaching into his desk, he removed a cassette, planting it inside.

Leo watched on, muscles compressing in his neck and jaw. Even the scar tissue along his head constricted.

Snow's gloved finger hit a button on the side, and an image sprang to life in a cool-toned hologram floating in the air between them. Sounds rushed out. Wind bleated and rolled through bright green leaves. Something was crunching through the brush.

A beast of a redwood took shape. Then another. And another.

As the camera panned out, trunks were overturned and shattered, strewn about like toothpicks.

With a deafening tap, Snow hit a button, and the images and sounds died down until only the black screen remained.

Leo's eyes were wider as he met Snow's frozen stare once again. A slight tremble shook the contents of his glass. This time, he took a much longer swig. Squinting as the alcohol forced blood into his cheeks, Leo coughed.

Snow matched with a lengthy drag. "I thought you told me you disabled it."

With a disbelieving grunt, Leo stared at the player as if it were a bottomless well. His jaw popped as did the pulse point in his neck. "I did."

Chapter Text

"Does this look disabled?" Snow tapped the glass with his thumb.

Leo's trachea bobbed. "No, sir."

"Care to explain?"

"I did as you instructed." Leo stumbled over his words. "She must've...I mean, I... I have no excuse, sir."

"I expected more from you, Drayton." Snow sighed, caressing the player's screen, "How did she get this fixed without your knowledge?"

He cleared his throat, "She...pushes boundaries. She is...creative... but stubborn, sir."

"Oh, believe me." With painful slowness, he closed in, stopping mere inches from Leo. Snow reached forward, fingertips brushing an imaginary speck from Leo's shoulder. "I'm intimately aware."

A cautious expression shot across Leo's face as he met Snow's eyes for a millisecond. Snow appeared more than a little pleased with himself as Leo's gaze dropped just as quickly.

Shifting on his feet, fingers tapping against the cup, the peacekeeper asked, "Senator, I don't mean to overstep, but why leave the tape all this time if you aren't going to let her watch it?"

"Did you forget all of my directions? Or does having only one ear make your hearing selective?" Snow fixed him with an icy stare. "I distinctly remember explaining myself when I had you plant it in her room."

Leo nodded, muscles twitching along his jugular. "You said it was a gift she'd appreciate later. Something to keep you cemented in her mind."

"At least that instruction stuck," Snow replied evenly, reclining against the edge of his desk. "A little anticipation can work wonders."

"I don't think she's lacking anticipation where your visits are concerned, sir," Leo murmured, eyes steady on the burnished desk.

Snow's head pitched, gaze dismembering Leo inch by inch. "Then it is working better than I could've hoped." He glanced down at the twin scars along his forearm, thumb brushing the raised skin.

"Pain doesn't have to be loud to be effective. Sometimes, all it takes is something small. Sharp. Persistent. Like a ...splinter if you will. She pretends it doesn't bother her. Pretends it isn't there. But it is always at the back of her thoughts. And it will keep burrowing beneath her skin. She craves relief. That moment of deliverance. And against her better judgment, someday... she'll associate that relief with me."

Leo's inflection dipped. "If I may, sir...what exactly is on the tape?"

Snow pulled another overlong sip. "Something of considerable value."

"What would that be?" Leo blurted too briskly.

Snow's eyes flamed. "Her boldness appears to be contagious."

"Apologies, Senator." Leo's chin plunged nearly to his chest.

"The truth, Private Drayton." Snow's voice was deathly faint.

Leo squinted, confused. "Sir?"

Snow once again circled his scars with his thumb. "That is what lies on that tape. The truth."

Leo stared into the depths of his cup, contemplating the Senator's answer.

Snow tilted his head as he continued, "Speaking of which, there are a few I need from you."

Leo's throat muscles tightened, but his face hardened into a soldier's mask.

"Sir?"

"Are you committed to this job?"

Leo straightened, scar tissue tightening over the empty space where his ear had once been. "I am. I believe I have proven my loyalty, sir."

"Good, because I need your eyes..." Snow gestured with his sloshing cup. "And, well...your ear. Your unwavering dedication. The road ahead is going to be a challenging one. I will need more than you, delivering a tape, a bouquet or a spare suture needle." He let the statement settle before adding, "She seems to trust you. Far more than she does me."

Leo didn't nod but didn't argue. He was like a confused fly trapped in a web, being threatened yet complimented by the spider.

Snow continued. "That trust is a tool I intend to use. Until I can claim it myself, I'll continue to borrow it from you."

"With respect, sir, I worry you're pushing her too far. She nearly had a panic attack the other day after..."

Snow abruptly uncurled himself from the desk, eyes transforming into daggers. "After what, Drayton? I don't recall any panic attacks in your reports."

Leo's body turned statue-still, searching desperately for a path out of the corner he'd just backed himself into.

"Tell me." Snow stalked closer, narrowing the distance like a falcon. "What precisely might push her to panic? The last time that I am aware of such an episode was during the Games, and then, of course, that unfortunate event just after, at the hospital."

Leo's gaze slid for a breath to the tape player, though the rest of his body remained frozen as if trying to figure his way out of his slip-up.

"She has seen the tape, hasn't she?"

Leo's eyes fluttered, but his lips sealed shut.

"You will tell me the truth, Private Drayton." Snow's tone had turned noxious.

Leo exhaled heavily, voice rough with admission. "Yes, sir. But only part of it. I honestly tried to stop her."

"And exactly how hard did you try?" Snow's voice was a blade's edge as he drew even closer, dominating Leo's personal space completely.

"Like I said, sir."

"Stubborn, right." Snow examined the scarred side of Leo's skull. "Perhaps, I should've let Percy take the other one too."

Leo's jaw twitched, but he held any drastic reactions at bay.

Snow continued, "It is impressive how she has managed to outmaneuver one of the finest of my peacekeepers."

"You said you wanted her to trust me."

Snow circled him, glass still in hand, swirling what was left. "Yes, but I also need to be able to trust you. I want full reports from now on. No more surprises."

"Yes, sir." Leo met Snow's stare evenly.

Snow's tone turned contemplative as he stopped just behind Leo's shoulder. "You know what is interesting? She never gave you up. Hasn't said a thing about the contents of the tape." Snow petted the rose on his chest, "She has these naïve ideas of the world. That everything and everyone is so black and white. Saints or sinners. I've tried to explain to her how gray things really are."

Leo turned statuesque, though his neck muscles twitched ever so slightly.

"I wonder what she would think if she only knew the truth about... you." Snow met the man's eyes as he circled back in front of him.

Leo's stare fixed on a distant point as if he could see miles away through the wallpapered confines of Snow's office.

"Her opinion is irrelevant. I'm doing the job I was asked to do."

Snow tapped a finger against his lips. Unconvinced. "If that's the case. My next question should be an easy one. Any more secrets between you two? Anything else you've left out of your reports?"

Leo shook his head, "No, sir."

"None at all?" Snow asked again, more baritone this time, as if the question was digging for marrow.

"No, sir."

"Hmmm. Keep it that way, private." Snow turned away from the peacekeeper, gazing out the dark train windows. "Tell me, does Laodamia appreciate the lengths you've gone to, for her?"

Leo's face went rigid, frozen marble replacing flesh. The gray in his eyes darkened like clouds during an approaching storm. "Sir?"

"You're quite the devoted son, protecting her from less... gentle hands. Gaul's imagination can be rather unpleasant, as you know."

Leo was barely breathing, studying Snow as if he were a drooling polar bear.

Snow tutted and gestured to the door, dismissing the other man. "I hope for her sake you keep it that way."

Leo nodded stiffly, "Thank you, sir."

Without a backward glance, he all but fled from the chamber. Just as his hand closed over the gilded handle of the office, Snow called out to him. "Oh, and when you get back to your train, send your sister to me."

At the mention of Bellona, Leo bristled, brow rigid as he found Snow's eyes.

Snow leaned back against his desk, pulling his glass to his mouth and taking an agonizing sip. "Don't look at me like that. You didn't really think you were the only Drayton on my payroll, did you?"

He smiled, savoring the look on Leo's face.

"One thing you should know about me. I always have a backup plan. Always."

Chapter Text

So much for rest.

The sun had set hours ago. Sleep’s allure tempted Hazel as she focused on the encompassing darkness.

It has to be close to midnight.

She lounged as comfortably as she could manage outside Snow’s office. Her nerves, however, wouldn’t let her find any peace. Not while Bellona was on the other side, most likely being grilled about Hazel roping her into extracurricular activities.

Leo and Sable were settled on the benches across from her in the blue-drenched compartment. She eyed the familiar-looking roses around the room. They were comprised of tightly layered petals that were velvety, caught somewhere between midnight blue and indigo. Their outermost edges were lighter, like the sky at twilight, while the inner parts were the darkest, bordering on black. The very same kind that was left, along with the tape.

There were what looked to be hundreds of them.

How subtle.

Sable swayed slightly even while sitting. Undoubtedly, the aftereffects of the drinks with Festus.

Leo appeared utterly sober yet lost deep within his thoughts. His focus was distant, and he hadn’t met her eyes since he had collected all of them and brought them here. Even Sable sent him a worried glance intermittently.

If she weren’t so terrified, she would have laughed at how much the three of them resembled school kids preparing to be reprimanded by the principal.

When the silence started irritating her skin, she finally cleared her throat. “So...uh…either of you ever been to Six? You know, since we’re skipping it?”

Sable nodded while Leo didn’t even acknowledge that she had spoken.

“Sure have.” Sable sucked in a theatric breath, “Largest district by far. Cold as Satan’s balls this time of year. But after Ten? It’s a damn resort. I’ll take gasoline and engine grease over cow shit any day.”

Hazel bit back a small laugh at Sable’s candidness, “Didn’t take you for a gas huffer old man.”

One of the two barely visible Avoxes chuckled. Leo looked up, inspected them, grimaced, and let his stare fall away again.

Sable scowled in her direction. “If it gets me through this assignment and babysitting a particularly aggravating Victor, I’m willing to try anything.”

Before she could volley back, Snow’s office doors swung open. Bellona slinked out like a scolded puppy.

Hazel rose to her feet as Sable and Leo merely watched her trade places with the guard.

“Your turn, Marlowe,” Bellona said, ushering Hazel toward the office.

“You all right?” Hazel whispered, but Bellona kept her eyes lowered and lips sealed as she shut the doors behind her.

And just like that, she was alone with Snow.

The man was all but basking in his leather chair, glass twirling between his fingers. A golden-hued fluid swirled within the quartz cup.

Before him on the desk was the player. Its mouth agape. The tapeless interior having been thoroughly inspected. “Tell me, where might have you found this?”

“I told you.” Hazel crossed her arms, trying to appear confident, though the move was more to give her hands something to do.

“I thought we were going to be honest with each other.” Snow inspected the alcohol, the last word came out slightly muffled, and she wondered how many he had downed before she arrived.

“You were the one who argued that omission and lying were different.”

He let out a breath from his nose, “So I did. But this is slightly more than a simple omission.”

“I didn’t realize our game extended to my hobbies.” Her fingers tugged at the hems of her shirt sleeves.

“Antiquing was it?”

“You should really give it a try. Take a break from world domination.”

A snort escaped his lips. “And here I thought we were finally getting somewhere, you and I. So much for being on the same team. “

“I’m all for teamwork, Coriolanus.”

His blue eyes flitted to hers at his name. Reaching forward, he pet the player, “This would suggest otherwise.”

“Then show me what’s on it and we’ll be on the same page.”

Snow paused the swirling of his beverage. “Ok.”

Hazel stilled, analyzing him. “Really?”

In turn, he quietly regarded her. Inclining back even further in the chair, it let out a leathery squeak. Extending his gloved fingers, he brushed the tips against his lips. A hint of a smirk materialized beneath.

Hazel resisted an eye roll, “I knew it couldn’t be that easy.”

A full-blown grin bloomed at her statement. Raising the lavender glass to his lips, he took a longish swig.

“What are the conditions?” she asked, her toe pattering against the flooring.

“I want to trust you, and I need you to trust me.” He finished the remnants of his beverage, “After you do your part in Eight. I will uphold mine. We’ll have that dinner and movie I promised you. “

Fiery anger rushed through her like sparks flying off a saw. “How do I know even after that you won’t change the rules again?”

“Like I said, you’ll have to trust me.” He set down the cup, bending forward. “Think of it as team building.”

Anger surged harder through her, like a cup overflowing. It bubbled out, and she couldn’t take any more. Not today.

Turning on her heel, she stormed toward his office door.

“Hazel, wait.” He called behind her.

She paused at the sound of her name on his tongue. Something about it sent a wave of unease through her. She shivered but didn’t turn around. “I think I’m going to take your advice and get some rest.”

I’ve played enough games for one day.

His dress shoes thumped loudly in pursuit as she restarted her march toward the exit. Just as her hand closed around the handle that was nearly the same colors as his drink, it creaked. A gloved palm pressed hard against the door above her head, ensuring it stayed latched.

Her pulse suddenly belted against her throat as she peered up at him. A chill prickled across her skin, fingers slipping. He was all but towering over her, and a lick of fear danced down her backbone.

“Do we still have a deal?” he murmured, his face practically seeping with a marrow-chilling seriousness.

Hazel twisted her fingers harder over the handle. “Let me go,” she breathed.

Defiance flamed through his irises. “Answer me and I will.”

Hazel turned her face toward him, shoulders squared, but maintained her deathgrip on the handle, “We do.”

“It’s good to know we understand each other.” His shoulders relaxed, but his hand remained fastened against the wood. “Speaking of omission. Exactly how much of it have you already seen?”

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the handle harsher.

Damn him.

His attention soaked in her features like she was the goldenrod liquor he had just been indulging himself on.

Maybe he was bluffing.

When that sweltering scrutiny leveled lower on her face, she interjected.

“I’ve given you answers. I believe it is my turn.”

“Right as always.” His arm fell to his side, eyes twinkling. “What is your question?”

She ripped the door open. “Goodnight, Coriolanus.”

Without another word, she stormed out of the office. Leaving a slightly flustered Senator in her wake.

Bellona, Sable, and Leo straightened immediately, surprised expressions quickly covered as Hazel all but flew from the train car. The three followed behind her after an acknowledging nod from Snow. Though his eyes never left the fuming redhead who was running from him.

Once she had disappeared into the night, her three guards in tow, he turned back, shutting himself in the depths of his study.

With another golden pour and an exhausted decline into the velvet embrace of his chair, his eyes drifted shut. The liquor calmed in his glass. And he let the sweetened allure of alcohol pull him under.

*******

His clothes were drenched. Plastered to his body like a second skin. But it wasn’t just his outfit. Everything was …damp?

From the drops falling into his eyes to the squish of puddles collecting in his shoes, water was everywhere.

He moved to swipe away the wetness from his lids. But as he flexed his hands, he realized something was in his hold.

It was heavy, bulky, yet familiar. A thick, woody stock. An ebony barrel and a matching muzzle.

A rifle. No.

The rifle.

A relic from a previous life.

It, too, was collecting the drizzle coming from all around him. That was when he took in his surroundings with more detail.

A turquoise green forest hedged him. It was beautiful, but in a way, soul-haunting as if it cloaked secrets within its depths.

Straightening his spine, he caught a glimpse of something in the mushy brown leaves and underbrush beneath his boots.

A sunset-orange scarf. One that smelled of the sweetest roses. Of his mother. Bending, he retrieved it, burying his face within its folds.

Nothing else quite invoked the few memories that remained of her like that scent. One nostrilful and he was a boy again. His mother tucking back his wild curls.

Before everything had changed.

Before the hunger. Before, father never returned. Before, he hated cabbage. Before Tigris stopped coming home every night. Before Gaul. Before Sejanus. Before he murdered three.

But most importantly, before her. The covey girl who loved color more than most.

As if reading his thoughts, a timid rainfall began to play out a gothic melody over waxen ferns. A harmony strummed over moss and bark.

Yet a very real tune fiddled on the wind. He recognized it within only a few notes.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?

It was the same one. Most nights, when he closed his eyes, he heard little else.

Not again.

His dreams dragged him here often. Fencing him within a nightmare version of a memory.

They strung up a man.
They say who murdered three

The song was a never-ending déjà vu that insisted on torturing him. No matter how many times he came here. Nothing ever changed. No matter how many times he tried. And by god, he’d tried.

When he was president, he would ban the song and every other twangy Podunk covey tune, for that matter.

Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree

A twig snapped in the distance. His muscles rang with sudden alertness, the sensation tearing through him like muscle memory.

He’d felt it more during the dark days, when the bombs came down as frequently as spring rainstorms, and then again during his deployment...with Sejanus. It was the song of trauma that his body replayed without missing a beat. Always picking up where it had left off. Like no time had gone by at all.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Where a dead man called out
For his love to flee

Raising his weapon, he scanned the creaking, saturated forest.

Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree

In the distance, the wind made white capped waves over the District Twelve lake’s surface.

He held his breath. Looking down the barrel at the empty, whispering woods.

“Damn it.” He cursed to no one. This was how this always went. It made him want to scream and empty his magazine into the canopy. Again.

Then the sound of feet against the earth called him, as did the song that purred along the back of his neck.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Where a dead man called out for his love to flee

She couldn’t be far.

He whirled toward it, gun first. “Lucy Gray?”

The only answer was the dull clip of someone running.

He sprinted toward it. The ground squished and wobbled beneath his shoes. His footing slipped more than a few times, but he refused to let it deter him.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Wear a necklace of rope
Side by side with me

“Lucy Gray!” he hollered again. Rainwater collected along his lips and dripped into his mouth as he continued to yell her name with no response. It tasted of sky, earth, and a hint of salt.

Damn her for running. Damn her for escaping him. Damn her for always winning this blasted game.

Even his dreams insisted on his failure.

He couldn’t allow that.

This time would be different.

Even as he thought it, his promise felt hollow. Probably because he said it to himself every night.

Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree

Then his heart nearly stopped when he saw a flash of movement up ahead. A flare of out-of-place color. A long, colorful coat whipped behind a running figure. Hood pulled over her head. It was a sunset deep hue, like the pulpy flesh of a blood orange. Whipping behind her, it was a dying flame, drowning in a sea of green.

That only fueled his fire. His legs pumped, and his muscles strained against the confines of his drenched outfit. Pushing himself harder, after a few minutes, he realized he was gaining on his target.

“Lucy Gray!” he screamed again.

The girl's steps faltered at her name, but didn’t stop.

It didn’t matter. He was still gaining.

Snow always lands on top. It always lands on top. It has to land on top.

Their collective breathing and the thumping of their footfalls over waterlogged earth and moss broke the serenity of the surroundings.

He was upon her then, within arm’s reach.

Of all the times he had had this dream, he had never gotten this far.

Lowering his gun he reached forward fisting a handful of the vibrant fabric and pulled as hard as he could.

They both tumbled backward at the drastic speed change.

As he regained his footing, he once again raised his weapon toward Lucy Gray’s face.

“Don’t move-“

His heart skipped a beat, the rhythm thrown completely off tempo by the sight before him.

Instead of warm, spiced dark honey irises, there was a pristine green. Like budding grass after a spring rain, like the lushest, most well-nourished of forests. Tangled locks of sun-kissed crimson fell over her shoulders as she cowered backwards. Trembling hands raised between them. A rose-pink gauze coated the center of one palm.

Hazel.

The girl studied him with that look again. She probably thought he didn’t notice, but he caught her staring more than a handful of times.

He saw the way her leaf-colored eyes watched him for too long, not wary enough for her own good. Seemingly enticed by the perilous side of uncontained curiosity.

Like someone drawn to the edge of a cliff that beckoned with both beauty and danger. He recognized the instinct. Knew the feeling, the temptation…profoundly…personally.

Because he’d been that person once. And Lucy Gray had been his cliff's edge.

Lucy Gray was the opposite of gray in every way. She was a songbird cloaked in any number of colors. A bloom bred for the spotlight, fragrant as lilacs and as sweet as honeysuckle. Yet, she was a mist you chased but slipped too easily through your fingers.

Hazel wasn’t gray, but she wasn’t a rainbow either. She was Earth. She was the forest floor: green, gold, and brown. Like her name. Like the simple wildflowers that dotted the forest, she was rooted, stubborn, and too transparent for her own safety.

Maybe that was the real trouble with wildflowers. They bore a sort of honest beauty cultivated from hardiness but at the same time they were stubborn. Difficult to shape. Arduous to train.

“Coriolanus?”

His name fell from her lips in a way that he could feel in his bones.

Lowering his weapon, he murmured, “Hazel? What are you doing here?”

His fingers curled tighter around the stock of the rifle. He could still hear it. That damned refrain echoing through the trees and the wreckage of what could have been.

“So we’ll both be free…”

“Coriolanus! Coriolanus! Coriolanus!” The grating shriek of Mockingjay’s rained down upon them. They croaked out his name in Hazel’s voice, but it was shrill, sharp, and pained. Nothing like the real thing.

Coriolanus raised his gun toward the sky, casting a furious glance at the squawking abominations.

“God, I hate those birds.” He smirked, lowering his gaze back to the girl.

But she was gone. Every trace had disappeared. The jade stare. The red unkempt mane. How she said his name. The way she looked at him. All of it had vanished into the humid air.

“Hazel!” He called, but the woods had again fallen into nearly complete silence.

Then a voice was in his ear. Sweet, husky, and melodic. Achingly familiar.

Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Where I told you to run
So we'd both be free

Lucy Gray.

Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree

Warm breath toyed with the shell of his ear as did the voice of his tormentor, “Let go, Coriolanus.”

Coriolanus shot awake, tipping over what was left in his tumbler as well as the glass itself onto the floor.

It careened and then shattered into a million glittering quartz particles.

“Shit,” he cursed.

Suddenly, his office doors burst open.

Vesper’s face was full of alarm as he scanned his boss. Coriolanus was bleary, and his glass was utterly destroyed.

“Just an accident,” Coriolanus ran a shaking hand over his face. Leaning over, he reached for one of the shards, but due to either inebriation or the aftereffects of the dream, his fingers slipped.

A thick slice cut through the bottom of his thumb. He let out another string of muffled profanities as Vesper scooted about with a broom.

Coriolanus pressed down on his bleeding hand as blood beaded onto the floor.

“Worry about the mess later,” he commanded. “Get me a damn first aid kit.”

Vesper nodded, abandoning the broom and scurrying toward the door.

The slice curled along his thumb, just below the two little scars from the snake bite.

It resembled a haphazard smile. Like a face jeering up at him. Mocking like those horrid birds. Like her…

‘Let go, Coriolanus.’

Deja vu wasn’t about to get the better of him.

“Vesper. Get me the engineer on the phone who’s building the fence in Twelve.” He suddenly called out while unfurling a map over his desk.

The avox considered him with a questioning frown.

Coriolanus muttered an answer even though he wasn’t obligated to explain himself least of all to an avox. It was already bad enough that Vesper was watching him bleed. “I want him to draw up new blueprints.”

Vesper again nodded before making his escape.

Let go?

He knew what she meant…Let her go…

A harsh laugh bubbled out of him as he smoothed down the edges of the District Seven map. A smear of crimson stained the edge.

Only fools make the same mistake twice.

Chapter Text

The Victory Tour train was all but hurtling toward District Eight. Thick clouds curtained the morning sun. Sprigs of frost patched the ground sporadically.

Despite the frigidness outside, Hazel was surprisingly warm. The fabric of her dress brushed against her arms and legs as the bench rocked beneath her. It was comforting in a way. The material was cottony, muted blue, almost dusk-colored, cinched at the waist and falling in delicate folds to her ankles. The sleeves clung gently to her elbows. Paired with matching boots and a simple coat, the ensemble was practically old-fashioned. It wasn’t flashy. Just quietly beautiful.

She pulled the soft material tight as she leaned closer to the glass. Resting her forehead against the cool windowpane of the main train car, the gentle swaying lulled her mind. Weariness begged her to sleep. But the night had been a heady mix of nightmares and restlessness.

Her growing collection of ghosts spent it, pecking at her rest like vultures stripping meat from bone. She’d done her best to resist, but it was futile.

It always was.

Cedar, Ethan, Ruby, Mia, Kai, Aaron... and of course, there was always Silus. He would stand to the side, watching her torture silently while she ached to be able to speak to him again.

The real him.

“Wanna talk about it?” Leo breathed the question from the seat next to her.

She nearly sprang out of her skin. He hadn’t looked at her, had hardly spoken to her, not since they each had their one-on-ones with Snow. Over the last twelve hours, he’d drifted, like he was trapped in a place no one could follow.

In a way, she understood. She had been less than talkative herself after her last interaction with the aggravating senator. The mere thought of their last conversation cast shivers down her spinal column.

Yet, of everywhere she’d been lately, nothing had unsettled her more than her own mind. And she was starting to wonder how much longer it would hold together.

Swallowing down a litany of questions, she replied, “Not really.” She meant the opposite, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t look at her as she addressed him further, “You’ve been quiet yourself. Maybe I should be asking you the same thing.”

He stared out the train window. “My answer would match yours, I suppose.”

“Perfect.” Sable huffed from across the room, “Then let’s just enjoy this train ride in silence.”

Hazel’s weariness had caused her to nearly forget about their audience. The rest of the group littered the main cabin’s seats, all watching the frozen world whip by their individual windows.

Leo grimaced but didn’t argue with Sable. Instead, he settled back into himself. Burrowing into his shell.

“God, this is sooo boring,” Festus interjected. “I thought a Victory tour was going to be more fun. You think they would let us use a freaking hovercraft instead of these ridiculous, archaic trains.” He ran an exasperated hand through his curls, “Traveling is not nearly as great as I thought it would be.”

“What do you mean?” Bellona looked at the mentor quizzically, “You’ve been drunk like half the time.”

Festus pointed at her like she’d just passed a test. “Exactly, Private Drayton. It should be at least seventy-five percent. Eighty if we have to keep sharing our ride with Trask.”

Indira rolled her eyes. “You poor thing. Such hardship.”

“I know.” Festus sighed dramatically. “Does it really count as a vacation if you don’t go home with mild liver damage?”

“I swear,” Sable growled, “if you throw up on my boots again, I’ll give you more than liver damage.”

Leo tilted his head at Sable, “Don’t be offended, Mr. Creed. He always gets like this when he’s low on sugar. Probably just cranky because of his missing chocolate.”

Indira frowned, long nails wrapping in her glittering dress, “His what?”

Beside her, Bellona’s face turned the color of a boiled beet.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Sable huffed. “I’m starting to think we’ve got a thief on this godforsaken locomotive.” His glare landed squarely on Festus. “Took 'em right out of my bunk.”

The Capitol mentor sighed, brushing back an errant curl, completely unfazed by the accusation.

“Please. What am I, a hormonal teenage girl?” Sable stiffened as Festus continued. “What would I do with your stupid chocolates?”

Sable rested his hands on his knees like he did whenever he was being serious, “First of all, chocolate is delicious. Secondly, when you’ve lived off military rations for thirty years, then come talk to me.”

Bellona, still rosy, cleared her throat. “Maybe whoever took your chocolates took Hazel’s jewelry too.”

Indira pursed her lips, clearly contemplating the theory.

Leo’s eyes flash to Hazel's, “Maybe Bellona is right.”

Hazel pursed her lips. Was he…teasing her?

Sable grumbled, “Well, it has to be one of us.”

“If we are taking bets,” Hazel held Leo’s eyes, “My money’s on Leonidas.”

Leo’s pupils dilated, and the edge of his mouth moved. She felt a lick of satisfaction at cracking whatever shell he was stuck in.

“Drayton?” Sable inquired.

Leo continued his stare-down with Hazel. “A wise thief would try to deflect blame.”

“I’m flattered you think of me as wise, but I don’t care much for chocolate.” She shrugged. “More of a fruit person. Prefer prairie berries myself.”

“So, deflection, it is,” he elbowed her lightly. He leaned in a fraction, voice lowering an octave. “And a hint of guilt, it sounds like.”

Sable let out a groan and looked heavenward.

“Speaking from experience?” Hazel teased, but his face faltered. His gaze flew away from hers, as if she’d touched on something raw. Hazel scowled at his weird reaction. Just like that, she’d lost him again, and the little progress she had captured slipped between her fingers.

Festus waved his hand in the air, “Well, I think we all are missing the obvious answer.”

Sable paused, “Who?”

“Trask, of course.” Festus huffed. “Seems like a man who would have a preference for childish candy.”

“Watch yourself, Creed.” Growled Sable.

Festus muttered, “Never trusted that snake.”

Hazel scoffed, “Who does?”

Indira shot her a warning look. “Careful how you two talk. Augustus is a Gamemaker, maybe more someday.”

Festus and Hazel groaned in unison.

“I’m serious,” Indira chided.

“You really think Trask can defeat Senator Snow?” Bellona asked genuinely, adjusting her holster.

Indira clasped her hands together, “I know the Capitol more than most of you. Augustus Trask has a better chance than you would think.”

Festus barked out a revolted grumble.

“I’m with him,” Hazel replied.

“She’s not wrong, Marlowe,” Leo chimed in without meeting her eyes.

Indira gave him a grateful look. “There’s already talk of pushback against the Senator’s candidacy.”

Hazel crunched her brows, “Aren’t the Snows like Capitol…royalty?” She didn’t want to admit that, in her mind, she had always considered Snow to be the uncrowned prince of Panem.

A ridiculous image of him lording over Panem in a crown made her temples throb. If he were the king, what did that make her?

The cupbearer? Waiting to be served poison meant for him.

“She’s right.” Festus conceded with a sigh, pulling Hazel from her spiraling imagination. “There are those who object to his connection…with you. With the Districts in general.”

Hazel pressed her backbone into the seat.

“It’s a small faction, dear,” Indira added gently, watching her reaction

Hazel’s attention drooped to her hands, not about to admit she would be a member of such a faction if given a choice.

“Not that small. “Festus muttered, “And it’s a faction that most likely includes his grandma’am as well.”

Hazel’s eyes gravitated to her mentor as their train slowed, pulling into yet another station. Snow’s grandmother undoubtedly hated all things district, and the last thing someone of that generation would desire was a beloved grandson mixed up with such a girl like her.

“She’s traditional,” Indira said. “Many become stuck in their ways after a certain age.” Indira smoothed her long hair with her dignified fingers. “There are those who fear the past more than have hope for the future.”

“Like Gaul?” Hazel asked. Outside, the train had completely ceased moving. A growing crowd gathered.

“Yes, in her own way,” Indira answered. “Dr. Gaul is certainly set in her routines.”

“She’s anything but traditional, Lovegood.” Festus ground his teeth, “Even the way she eats is… terrifying. And only she could make a snack creepy. I’ll never be able to eat milk and crackers ever again.”

“That tells me you really haven’t seen Sable with his chocolates.” Bellona butted in, edge of her mouth curving upward. “Would put Gaul to shame.”

Sable scowled at her. “Is that why you stole them, Bellony?”

Bellona’s lips snapped shut, the blush along her collarbone deepening. Indira eyed the guard with an almost knowing expression.

Hazel interjected, hoping to save face for her rapidly flushing guard. “Who do you think Dr. Gaul will vote for?”

The locomotive’s doors suddenly squealed open. Hazel flinched. The woman of the hour was waiting on the other side, her gleaming teeth shining under the lights. A flowing orchid coat draped over her shoulders.

“Don’t think you have to worry about being bored anymore, Mr. Creed,” Sable mumbled under his breath.

Snow lagged just behind Dr. Gaul, stoically peering over her shoulder. His previous suit had been replaced with a midnight black one. Paired with a matching tie and, of course, a pearl white rose, it was all very presidential. Even more so was the mask of professional indifference solidified over his face.

An air of disinterest bubbled out from him.

Hazel knew better. She squirmed as the two convoyed into the already crowded train car.

Mismatched irises latched onto Hazel’s.

“What is it they say about burning ears?”

Chapter Text

Beyond the train station windows, the utterly urban District Eight waited, without a speck of foliage for miles. There was only stone, brick, and metal as far as the eye could see.

“Dr. Gaul, what a pleasant surprise. We weren’t expecting you.” Indira politely greeted, nails tap dancing over her forearms.

Gaul traversed the car, gliding her fingers and eyes over the various objects in her path. Checking for soft spots. Prying for vulnerability.

There was something about being in Dr. Gaul’s presence that invoked the feeling of exposure, like raw, naked skin beneath the edge of a blade. Or a helpless creature trapped in a tank.

“Is Mr. Trask not returning?” Festus asked a little too hopefully.

“Augustus is currently occupied with his newfound interest in politics. Also, it seems this tour has been quite eventful under his supervision, even with my very clear direction to avoid excessive spectacle. So I took it upon myself to supervise. ” Dr. Gaul scanned each person before her like different species of lab rabbits. “But rest assured, Mr. Creed, Augustus will be joining us shortly.”

Festus’s countenance dimmed.

Finally, after being satisfied with her inspection of the surroundings, Gaul honed in on Hazel, advancing until she was within reach. Stubby fingers surged forward, clasping the victor’s medal. Hazel choked down a small gasp of surprise.

Bleach-worn nails dug into the face as if she had the strength to dent it with sheer will and her bare thumb.

A guttural sound filtered out of the terrifying woman. “Lovely, no?”

Hazel nodded as she leaned slightly backward, “Yes, doctor.”

Dr. Gaul hummed. “To the untrained eye, one can hardly discern that it is not the original. Placeholders are interesting things, are they not?”

Hazel swallowed as Gaul’s fingertips gave up indenting the medallion and instead began to poke out a haphazard rhythm. “Yet, somehow, you can still sense the difference.”

Snow cleared his throat.

Dr. Gaul’s teeth flashed as she examined their reactions. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Snow?”

A sinking sensation weighed on Hazel’s chest even heavier than the medal.

Snow perused the thing himself. Clearly, he understood more closely what the mad doctor was referring to. “Don’t be modest, Dr. Gaul. This one is better. Even more than the first. More befitting if you ask me.”

“An opinion you have quite a bit lately.”

Snow ironed his lips together for a moment before evenly saying, “Fact is hardly opinion.”

“And theory is not fact. Speaking of, I’ve a couple that I need to test. You can take the doctor out of the lab and all…” Dr. Gaul’s grip squeezed as she zeroed in on Hazel. “How do you feel about a little tour, Miss Marlowe?”

“A tour of what, Doctor?” Hazel stammered, the tightening straps digging into her neck.

Dr. Gaul leaned in, “Let’s not ruin the surprise.” Releasing her hold, she presented an almost chivalrous elbow to Hazel.

With a shaky breath and a quick rub of her tingling neck muscles, Hazel looped her arm within Gaul’s, letting the woman lead her into the train station and then out into the fresh winter air. The rest of the group reluctantly followed.

Hazel swore she heard Snow mutter a curse.

Gaul’s astringent nails scraped her forearms even through the layers of her clothing as they walked. The District was mostly gray structures and faded brick buildings in rows beneath a dusky, smog-choked sky. The air carried the nostril-burning scent of dyes, chemicals, and smoke from the many factories. Street blocks were filled with warehouses and mills, their faces caked in a matching slate-toned grime. A perpetual burr sound came from every direction.

“Do you hate this as much as I do?” Gaul asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The Victory tour was never my idea. It’s wholly…unnecessary.”

“Why not cancel it if you dislike it so much?”

The few District citizens who were about hurried along with their heads bowed, bundled in threadbare coats that had clearly been mended by hand.

“Too late for that, I’m afraid.” Gaul chortled, turning her attention back to the path ahead. “It seems the whole ordeal has grown quite popular. And if it benefits my games, it is a necessary annoyance, I suppose. Sometimes we have to put up with a little façade to make actual progress.”

Hazel did her best impression of neutral.

The path they followed wound past alleys littered with abandoned fabric scraps.

Gaul sighed as they approached a structure. It was crammed between two clothing factories. The once red bricks were washed out to a lifeless brownish gray and cracking like everything else.

The courtyard was fenced in by metal bars. An ancient-looking swing set was off to the side. Its rusted chains screamed as the wind swung them about.

Windows lined the front, many of them fogged or sporting tape, likely to block out nature’s drafts. A metal plaque hung above the entrance. Time and weather had nearly erased the lettering, but Hazel could still make out the inscription: Trask’s Child Welfare Housing.

Bile suddenly coated her throat. That monster being a benefactor of an orphanage was stomach-turning. A shark building a home for minnows. A holding pen for laborers or tributes.

The entourage was oddly silent. Even Festus held his tongue.

“Here we are.” Dr. Gaul’s voice had taken on the tone of a plucky tour guide. “Let’s take a look inside, shall we?”

Indoors, they were welcomed by a popping fireplace in a wide common room. Around it, mismatched chairs and tables lined the scuffed floors. A television in the corner blared Capitol news on repeat. To the side, a bookshelf housed a few, likely outdated school materials and ancient picture books.

Each wall was washed with chipped industrial paint. A barely hospitable green in some areas and a dreary beige in others. Fluorescent lights spasmed overhead.

Dr. Gaul sucked in a lung full of the stale, cleansed air.

Festus grimaced. “And I thought the outside was depressing.”

“Where are the kids?” Hazel asked.

“Waiting for your speech in the town square, of course.” Dr. Gaul dismissed. With a twirl toward the small group, she announced, “Means we have the place to ourselves. Feel free to look around. I need a private audience with our Victor.”

Hazel’s heart skipped several beats. She was certain the doctor’s words dropped the blood flow to her brain, and she swayed. Gaul held her tighter.

One of Hazel’s least favorite activities was being alone with the semi-insane head of the war department.

“Yes, doctor. Of course.” Sable agreed, clearing his throat. Guiding the rest of the group toward the mess hall that held a distinct gruel scent.

However, Snow lingered, eyes roving over Hazel as she was hauled up the stairs. He had grown so rigid he seemed to be having a kind of seizure.

Leo’s hands twitched.

She met his stare, practically willing him to save her from the monstrous woman. But there was nothing he or anyone else could do. She was wholly ensnared.

“Don’t fret, Mr. Snow.” Dr. Gaul called over her shoulder as they ascended the staircase, “Promise not to crush any wildflowers.”

Snow blanched, letting out a long exhale.

“What?” Hazel breathed.

Gaul ignored her, smile widening, “Be back soon. We girls need to chat.”

Snow’s eyes hardened into cobalt spheres, yet even he had to relent to the will of the formidable woman. His contemplative gaze cut away as Gaul whirled Hazel around the corner of the second floor.

The hallways were simple, made from medium-thickness boards. Cheap pine. Probably came from Seven’s forest.

Despite all the wood, the soothing smell that usually came with pine had been scoured away. Washed clear by caustic cleansers. One with a fake citrusy after-smell.

Gaul’s nostrils flared as she gorged herself on more of the scent. “Mmmm. Reminds me of my laboratory. Nothing quite like the sweet scent of formaldehyde in the morning. It really awakens the senses.”

Hazel’s very organs cringed. Maybe one day, they would be floating in the stuff. No doubt suspended on a shelf in the woman's lab like revolting trophies.

Gaul preened. “It's an acquired appreciation.”

“You are famous for appreciating the unique, doctor.”

Gaul’s preening intensified like it was an honest compliment. “How observant. Although I think of it as seeing things as they are. The raw. The real. There's a sort of beauty in the visceral truth, you know?”

Hazel couldn't keep her nose from scrunching. Both because of the thought of what viscera she might be referring to and because of the pungent odor burning her eyes.

“I'm afraid I don't share your talent, doctor.” Hazel's pores curdled when one of Gaul’s nail tips flitted over her bare wrist. Right where her sleeve had ridden up.

“Do you know the difference between talent and skill?”

Hazel shivered but pretended it was a shake of her head.

“Years of experience.” Her brown eye twinkled. “And a great many experiments.” The blue one dilated.

They collectively turned a corner until they were face to face with a hallway so long that the end was misty. Mirage-like.

“Besides, life’s raw truths and all its savagery should not just be appreciated. It should be protected… preserved.”

Images of jars with indescribable contents consumed Hazel once again.

“And do you know how we go about that, dear?” Gaul’s nail tapped harder. Her mismatched irises scoured the walls.

“Formaldehyde?”

“Ahhh. Yes, well, my personal favorite, but it’s hardly the only one. Not by a long shot.” Sharp white teeth winked at her. “You could say we humans have perfected many different tactics.”

Their feet made a bizarre echo as they continued their walk. Gaul inclined her head to the walls, “Take these pictures, for example. They preserve something special, don't they?”

Hazel didn't want to turn her back on the creaturish woman. Yet the rows of evenly spaced picture frames called to her. Like the children confined within were begging for her eyes.

Ash-toned faces. Bones just beneath thin skin. Eyeballs that were too wide but teeming with a deep-seated hardship that was mature beyond their years. Their faces morphed into exploitative, daunting wallpaper.

It was doubtful many of the children in the stills were actually related, but the similarities far outbalanced the differences. They stared into the lens, wary, untrusting yet caged.

“The press couldn't get enough of these poor, unfortunate souls when this place opened. Especially at the hands of an immensely popular businessman, of course.”

Clearly, each one of the portraits had been another humiliation forced upon the youngsters.

“There is just something about them that I … appreciate,” Gaul hummed a repetitive three-note tune. “What is it you think they represent? What do they preserve about our nature?”

Hazel tilted her head as she stared into a set of hollow two-dimensional eyes.

Pain... suffering? Humiliation maybe?

An involuntary debt, milked for the benefit or fleeting entertainment of others.

Jars, cages, or pictures, in this case. All were just different flavors of the same poison.

“Like what the Hunger Games represent? What they… preserve?”

Gaul seemed proud of her little lesson thus far.

“Very good, dear. Like the arena, this place preserves control, containment, the soft lie of civility, and, of course, government programming at its finest. A social contract required for survival. We cage the chaos so the rest can keep pretending there’s order. And isn’t Augustus just darling for funding it?”

Hazel’s grimace must have given her away as Gaul tutted.

“If this structure weren’t here, what do you suppose would become of these orphans?”

“I can’t begin to imagine…” Hazel trailed off. Maybe they would be handed off to the mad doctor to experiment on. Such a thought made Hazel shudder. The Hunger Games were practically merciful compared to the fates of whoever ended up in Gaul’s lab.

Gaul licked her lips as if to abrade them, as a dry laugh slipped through. “I'm sure the press will be crawling all over this place in the next few weeks. Trask will see to it.”

“Fits his brand.”

“If only they knew the real man,” Gaul said. “It wouldn’t fit at all.”

For once, Hazel agreed with the woman.

"You have to admit he’s simply brilliant at monetizing heartbreak."

Hazel's bloodstream soured.

Gaul suddenly stopped, her attention fixed on a particularly large picture frame at the end of the hall. “You know what's nice about when orphans are chosen for the Hunger Games?”

And just like that, all agreement vanished. Hazel directed her attention to Gaul again, but the woman was utterly engrossed by the largest picture, which seemed to be their final destination.

Hazel reluctantly adjusted her stare to the portrait. It was the only color photo of the bunch. Smiling back at her was a younger, bright-eyed, black-haired Augustus Trask. He was in a deep grey suit with his long hair arranged in two thick braids. There was no gaudy blue streak to be found. He had his arm bent around one of the orphan boys.

Peculiarly, the picture was behind more than a simple wood frame. A dense glass case enclosed it. It was thick and broad. Bulletproof, most likely. A panel beneath was illuminated with bold lettering.

Founder: Augustus Almo Trask.

Several marks blemished the glass. They were jagged parallel lines, almost like claw marks, but too shallow for any animal. They had to be human.

“It's simpler.” Gaul’s voice made Hazel jump. “Less mess. Less drama. No sentiment. No blubbering families.”

Hazel's very soul froze.

“Though Flickerman would probably consider that a downside. It does make things less entertaining for those at home.” Gaul acquiesced. “A bawling mother or two really bumps up the viewership.”

Hazel’s mouth went dry as sandpaper. “For someone who insists otherwise, you seem quite fond of spectacle.”

“Like I said, a little façade can go a long way.” Gaul’s grin turned sly. “Besides, my tastes in entertainment are…perhaps off-brand for most. Affinity for the unusual, remember?”

Whatever Gaul found amusing populated most people's nightmares.

Gaul’s attention settled back on the portrait. She released her snare on Hazel's arm. Slithering forward, she tapped the glass like it was a tank and the two figures within were specimens.

“Why the case?” Hazel asked.

“Have you not been listening?” Gaul tutted. “Preservation.” She ran a long finger over one of the faint scratches. “And protection.”

“Protection from the orphans?”

Gaul leaned closer. Her sweaty forehead was a hair away from smudging the case. “Mmhmm. One in particular. But he was no orphan.”

Hazel followed Gaul’s stare to the boy under Augustus's arm. He couldn't be more than ten. Definitely wasn't smiling. Instead, he had plastered on a strained grimace. A much shorter yet growing braid was slung over one of his shoulders.

Wait.

She knew the boy. And by the way that Gaul was chuckling, she clocked Hazel's recognition.

It couldn’t be. But it definitely was.

Ian Threader’s eyes met hers from beyond the grave. A particularly haggard scratch in the glass caught the light. Ian must have made them clawing at the picture of himself embracing the monstrous man.

“What is the saying about chips and blocks or apples not falling far from trees? The resemblance is uncanny, don't you think?”

Hazel's heart nearly stopped in her chest.

Resemblance? Not an orphan?

Harla's words filled her like she was whispering them into her ear. Tulsi wasn't the first, and she won't be the last.

The braids. The irises speckled with that signature tan color. Ian's utter unrestrained hatred of the man…

Hazel cupped a hand over her mouth.

How had she not seen it before? It should’ve been obvious.

The resemblance.

Harla’s hushed voice ambled within her mind once again as Gaul's chuckling intensified.

There's little more dangerous in this world than a father to a child he doesn't want.

Chapter Text

Hazel clutched her face harder. She wanted nothing more than to vomit. Gaul’s clean shoes be damned.

“And the games?” Hazel managed to choke out.

“Who do you think put him there?” Dr. Gaul chuckled to herself. Amused. Her toothy smirk sharpened. “Bad parenting is truly an epidemic. You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you?”

Ian’s sharp edges, his refusal of food, comfort, or kindness. It had never been just about revolting against the Capitol. He had been rejecting something far more personal.

Someone.

A man willing to send his own child to the slaughter.

Hazel scoffed and stepped back from the portrait, nausea circling her skull. “Why are you sharing this with me?”

“Because, as much as I detest the man, you can’t deny his commitment. It is visceral in its own way.”

“He’s abandoning his post as Gamemaker before he’s even been through a single game. How is that commitment?”

“You have a point,” Gaul shrugged. “But he's a much better fit for a press junket than a lab. The man's got the finesse of a mule. Broken more of my petri dishes than all my apprentices combined. How he gets dressed in the morning is beyond me.”

Hazel faced Gaul more squarely. “You don't want Snow to be president.”

More teeth glittered in Hazel’s direction. “It is a shame you were born District.”

“You really think Trask is the better choice?”

“You don’t know politics much, do you, dear?” Gaul waggled a finger like she was scolding a dog. “Sometimes it's not about the best choice but the least catastrophic.”

Hazel scoffed, completely disillusioned as she found herself in the position of defending, of all people, Senator Snow. “And that would be Snow’s presidency? A catastrophe?”

“Idealism is a temporary benefit of youth, but it is also volatile. He thinks he knows what it takes to rule this country. But the truth is, he doesn’t. Not really, or maybe not yet. He’s too young. Too hopeful. He needs more experience with the realities of this world.” Her curls jiggled as she tilted her head, “With the realities of human nature.”

“And Trask has what it takes?”

Gaul spun to face her fully. “Have you heard the story of Abraham and his son Isaac, Miss Marlowe?”

Hazel frowned but didn’t answer. She was vaguely aware of the ancient tale. A father tasked with slaughtering his son at the command of his God.

“He was a man willing to sacrifice his child to become the leader required. Not confined by sentimental relationships. By attachments." Gaul all but spewed the last word. "He accepted the raw necessity. That is the kind of ruthlessness the position demands. The commitment. Panem doesn’t need sentiment. She doesn’t need weakness. She needs a President who’ll do what’s required. No matter the price.”

Ian’s young face glowed behind Gaul’s shoulder. Hazel shuddered.

She was fairly certain the story of Abraham didn’t actually end in Isaac’s death. Though Gaul conveniently left that part out.

“So, to answer the question you asked your little friends, Augustus has my vote. Snow’s sentiment blinds him. It has before.” She paused, examining the medal for a breath. “And it will again. This world will tear Coriolanus Snow to pieces. And if he’s allowed to rule it, Panem as we know it will be shredded, right alongside him. The question now is, will your fate be the same?”

There had to be a point to this whole conversation besides indulgent intimidation. Gaul seemed like a woman who liked to play with her food before she devoured it. Hazel shielded herself, wrapping her arms around her torso. “What do you want from me, doctor?”

Dr. Gaul stretched her shoulders; a meaty popping sound made Hazel suddenly even more nauseated. Mismatched eyes seared into hers as the doctor clasped her hands before her.

“What is he planning?”

Hazel paused, her heart sinking into her stomach.

Shaking her head, she hoped giving off an air of unknowing would satisfy her, “Isn’t that obvious? To become president.”

The ice blue iris shimmered while the umber one delved into her very soul with a crushing expression, “Don’t insult me, little girl. What is this surprise he has so publicly promised?”

Was it possible her teeth were getting both whiter and sharper?

Hazel trembled. “I’m not privy, Madam Gamemaker.”

“Eight is Augustus’s pet. I can only assume that is why he chose this lovely District to make an announcement. I may not know the exact details, but I know Mr. Coriolanus Snow enough to know that he has something prepared. He doesn’t set a table unless he’s planning a feast.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“We aren’t exactly on the best of terms.”

“You still haven’t told me what you want.” Hazel’s tone was cold yet dry.

“I can only assume his surprise has something to do with you. So what I ask is simple. Whatever task he’s assigned you, whatever favor you’ve promised…” Gaul crossed her arms, eyes slewing up and down Hazel’s form. “Don’t do it. Walk away.”

Hazel wrestled with a mask of confusion, trying to appear as convincing as possible.

Gaul didn’t buy it. Instead, she flexed her fingers. “And if you know what’s good. You will remember that he is not president yet.”

Hazel chewed on the tip of her tongue for a moment before breathing out, “I’m afraid I can’t help you, and if you are curious about Coriolanus’s plans, you’ll need to speak to him.”

“That loyalty of yours. It is almost…sweet,” Gaul’s stare traced Hazel’s slight shiver. “Are you always this defensive of the Senator?” Hazel knew her face betrayed her just enough to amuse the older woman. “Maybe the rumors about you two are true.”

Hazel pressed her lips together and clasped her hands. A hint of red colored her cheekbones.

“Mmmm. Maybe I have been going about this the wrong way.” A smirk licked the edge of Gaul’s cracking lips, “Tell me if you’ve heard this before: It is the things we love most that destroy us.”

Hazel’s breath hitched, and a sudden sharp sensation settled in her chest.

“Ah,” Gaul murmured, eyes brightening at Hazel’s reaction as confirmation. “So you have. And I suspect I know exactly who shared such wisdom with you.”

“You taught him well.” Hazel’s voice came out in a whisper.

“Not well enough, apparently,” Gaul mumbled, licking her lips. “While it is profound, Mr. Snow fails to realize that it is an insight that doesn’t apply to everyone. Certainly not men like Augustus Trask. Some of us are above such base emotions. I believe my reputation precedes me, and you are smart enough to realize the danger in crossing a man willing to destroy anyone or anything in his way.”

Hazel couldn’t look at the young shadow of Ian. If sentiment ruined men, then Augustus Trask was a cockroach. Practically indestructible. And as Gaul was trying to drill into her, obviously even more dangerous because of it.

“But I suppose it remains valuable advice to the majority, and I would wager it is the kind someone like yourself would be wise to heed.”

She suddenly felt as if Gaul’s fingers were tapping up her spine.

“You are threatening me,” Hazel breathed.

“Perhaps.” She grinned, wild curls bouncing as she emphasized her words. “Though if you really don’t know what I am referring to and he hasn’t planned anything… then you have nothing to be worried about.”

“I am not saying that I know anything, but,” Hazel wrung her hands. “Why would I trust you, doctor? Or Augustus for that matter?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t, dear.” The woman’s voice deepened like a churning black well. “Despite what Mr. Snow might argue, do you know what is stronger than hope?”

“Formaldehyde?”

“Mmmm,” Gaul paused, bending forward, mismatched eyes harpooning into Hazel’s. “Fear, my dear. Fear.”

Chapter Text

“You girls had enough gossip time?” Augustus’s voice was oil slick as it slid down the hallway. Hazel wrangled a groan. Hearing him was just about as pleasant as having a vat of the stuff dumped over her head.

A garish amethyst suit cloaked him, its shade identical to the streak in his braid and Gaul’s ensemble. He was wholly unbothered as he crossed the corridor. Traipsing toward them, he browsed the wall of harrowed young faces, lips curving in a disgusting self-satisfaction.

Hazel’s nerves congealed.

“Mr. Trask, we were just talking about you.” Doctor Gaul’s smile was plastic melted over a grimace.

Hazel felt a minuscule amount of satisfaction in their shared hatred of the man, even if the woman was advocating for his presidency.

“Consider me flattered, should I step back out and leave you ladies to it?” He faked a falter, “I certainly wouldn’t want to intrude on such a riveting subject.”

If only he truly would leave, preferably through the nearest window.

“Nonsense.” Gaul forced a laugh that was more like a cackle. “We're all done here. Miss Marlowe has a speech to give after all.”

The older woman once again presented her elbow. Hazel sighed and accepted it with the enthusiasm of someone taking a rattlesnake by the tail. Gaul cinched her close enough that she could smell the byproducts of old milk and partially digested crackers.

Augustus breezed closer to the two, studying their linked arms with a smarmy smirk.

Hazel scowled at his suit and eggplant braid. “Interesting makeover, Mr. Trask.”

“Purple is authoritative, royal.” Augustus adjusted his lapel.

“It suits you,” Gaul commented.

“You as well, doctor,” Augustus replied, appreciating her matching ensemble. Hazel wrestled down an eye roll. Augustus appeared to notice her expression, “I imagine it would flatter you too, Miss Marlowe.”

Hazel didn't bother to hide her stare. “Last time I saw you, you were accusing me of treason. Now we’re talking fashion?”

“I believe no one is beyond reform.”

Hazel swept her gaze down his form before resettling her stare on his. “I can’t say I share that opinion.”

“A harsh stance for someone like you.”

“What kind of someone am I?”

“You’ve spilled your share of blood, or has that slipped your mind?” Augustus goaded.

If only.

Gaul cut in. “All Victors carry blood on their hands. There’s no shame in that.” Her thumb pressed against Hazel’s bandage. The pressure was just enough to make her flinch. “Battle scars deserve to be worn with pride.”

Hazel scrutinized her injured palm. It stung slightly, but no red peeked through the layers.

Pride?

That word didn’t belong anywhere near the image of a tree at her back, or steel sleucing through her flesh and ligaments.

All done by a boy she would eventually kill. One who was doing the bidding of a man who gambled on his death behind his back.

“I think I’ll pass for now, Mr. Trask.” It took everything she had not to spit out the answer.

His stare swept up and down her, “Sticking with blue then?”

“I'm afraid she chose her side a while ago, Mr. Trask.” Gaul smoothed a wrinkle along Hazel’s sleeve. “Though I have been trying to instill the merits of weighing her options.”

“Minds change.” Augustus’s eyes glittered as he looked Hazel over like a merchant inspecting damaged goods. “If you ever do, the offer still stands. I’m sure I could dig up something in your size.”

He reached forward, letting his fingers graze the edge of Hazel’s collar, and she barely resisted the urge to swat him like a mosquito. “No offense, but Indira’s selections are a bit…boring. She tries, but fashion isn't one of her strengths, bless her heart. I happen to know some top-tier designers if you’re ready to get serious about your image.” His tone dipped, “Or if he lets you off the leash long enough to choose for yourself.”

Hazel couldn't help herself. “If it's the same person who does your hair, I think I'll pass. Besides, everyone around you seems to have a short shelf life.” She glanced back at the protected picture behind them. “Bless your heart.”

Augustus glanced at the picture as well. “I think I have an idea what your topic of gossip was.”

“Not gossip, Mr. Trask.” Dr Gaul answered. “More like an education.”

“Ohhh?” Augustus drawled, settling his gaze on Hazel, “And what priceless bit of wisdom has our good doctor passed down today?”

Hazel battled an all-out glare.

Besides, learning you're somehow even more horrific than I already imagined?

“Preservation and protection,” Gaul responded. “I believe I've given our Victor a lot to consider. Maybe she’ll warm up to purple sooner than later.”

“It would be sensible to heed her guidance.” Augustus offered his elbow to Hazel. “As well as mine.”

They were ganging up on her. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

Hazel couldn't bring herself to touch him. Instead, opting to consider the arm like a poisonous frog. Sage had taught her years ago that the colorful ones were the most deadly. It seemed more than valid.

“Is that where Ian went wrong?”

His beigey eyes sparked.

Seizing her limb without asking, he looped it through his. Together, with Gaul on one side and him on the other, they escorted her back towards the stairway.

“No.” Augustus’s breath washed over the side of her face. “His mistake was being too much like his mother. God rest her soul.” His voice bubbled lower. “You remind me of her in a way. And that crazy brat from Twelve. What was her name?”

Hazel glowered, head straight.

“Oh right…” His silky braid slid against the shell of Hazel’s ear as he bent closer, “Tulsi.”

Her fists burned to move, but she stayed still. Doctor Gaul crooned an eerie wordless tune with sickening satisfaction.

Vaguely, she was aware they descending the stairs. It was as if she were watching herself from outside her body like she was miles away.

With that, they were at the landing, surveying the group gathered below.

Since she had been gone on her impromptu field trip, the main living room had filled with the sounds of people, cameras, and noise. Lucky Flickerman waited with clear impatience.

Gathered together at the bottom of this staircase was her horde, along with a spectrum of expressions.

Leo was tense and bracing.

Confusion wrinkled Bellona’s brow.

Stoicism seeped from Sable.

Indira wrung her long fingers over and over.

Festus looked like he was mentally calculating how many drinks it would take to endure this.

Finally, a searing suspicion simmered from Snow. Despite his attempts to mask it, a tremor rippled through the leather in his gloves. He straightened as their eyes met briefly.

Beside her, Augustus hummed low and tunelessly, clearly savoring the undercurrent of discomfort like a fine wine. “Enjoying my orphanage?” He called out to the group below.

“How do you enjoy an orphanage?” Festus grumbled at the surroundings.

“Agreed, Mr. Creed.” Lucky Flickerman commented, keeping his arms tucked in close. As if the dust was contagious, or maybe the misery that wept from the walls was.

“Mr. Trask seems to enjoy it just fine.” Hazel bit her lip the second it left her mouth. “Helping children, I mean.”

“That I do, Miss Marlowe.” Augustus’s hold tightened. “Perhaps one day, we’ll build one in District Seven.” He leaned closer, “Maybe give your adorable siblings a little tour of it, too.”

Hazel squirmed at the veiled threat in his tone.

“Well, I think our Victor had a very enlightening tour. Wouldn’t you say, Augustus?” Gaul’s voice was too chipper once again, as she locked eyes with Snow.

“Indeed.” The other Gamemaker replied as the three came to the bottom of the landing as a trio.

Snow’s eyes were fixed on her. Hazel tried to look anywhere else. At the floor, at the peeling paint, at the existential void.

Anywhere but at him.

“Yes. Yes. Very interesting. If we are done here, I say we get this show on the road. Or at least on stage,” Lucky laughed.

His two cameramen pretended to chuckle alongside him.

“Absolutely.” Gaul squeezed Hazel's arm harder. “I for one am excited to hear Miss Marlowe’s speech.”

“As am I.” Augustus agreed, tightening his hold.

That got Snow’s attention. His full attention. Hazel could no longer avoid the sapphire stare boring into her. He delved into her gaze like he could extract answers. “I would like to speak with Miss Marlowe first.”

Gaul was grinning widely. “We’ve kept the crowd waiting long enough, Mr. Snow. You’ll have plenty of time to chat afterward. Besides, I’m sure I’m not the only one who can't wait to discover whatever this elusive surprise is.”

Snow’s gaze was scalding, but his words came out smooth as ice, “And here I thought you weren’t impressed with the tour.”

“I have to give credit where it's due.” Gaul’s nail traced a vein along Hazel’s forearm. “She’s made things... entertaining to say the least.”

“Right as always, Doctor!” Lucky beamed, flapping his hands to signal his crew. "Alright, let's pack it up, people!"

Gaul stepped forward. Neither Gamemaker loosened their possession of Hazel’s limbs. She was ferried out of the building and into the cold like a traumatized doll. To a passerby, they would look like three confidants indulging in each other's secrets. But Hazel would rather be arm in arm with a couple of rabid bears.

Without a word, Snow fell in step behind the three. At some point, Hazel thought she caught the low snap of Snow barking an order to a Peacekeeper tucked among the noise she was desperately attempting to filter. She didn’t dare turn to check.

Milk-white flakes caught on her limbs and braided themselves in her hair.

Everything around her was vague and distant, like she was experiencing the world from afar or underwater. She barely heard or saw much from the orphanage to the stage, hardly registering the crowd, the numerous eyes, or the faint trickle of snowfall.

Her mind was rapid-fire, thumbing through nightmarish scenarios. More than one involving Gaul’s teeth glinting as her family members were torn to shreds. Maybe by her monstrous lab creations.

A way out. I need a way out.

But nothing reasonable came to mind. She tilted her head to the sky. Maybe somehow or someway, she’d be struck by lightning. It would be a mercy at this point.

Snowflakes continued to coat the wind like frozen confetti.

A disbelieving laugh bubbled behind her tongue. She didn’t let it loose. A thunderstorm in winter was impossible. Or at least in the real world, it usually was. Hazel shut her eyes for a moment.

Memories of lightning dancing with snowfall flashed in her mind. Sand was scratching her skin. Ian’s blade was looming over her heart.

Before she knew it, they were ascending the stage. Indira’s voice was bright and obedient as she announced each member of their macabre little parade.

Hazel reopened her eyes when Indira called her name. Her escort was gesturing for her to come closer to the microphone.

“Good luck.” Dr. Gaul’s voice slithered in her ear, and Hazel fought back a deep shiver. Augustus was full-blown smirking without shame as his arm fell away. Dr. Gaul all but shoved her forward.

Somehow her feet brought her to center-stage. Indira had a wide fake smile cemented in place. But her eyes betrayed her. Handing Hazel the speech, she tapped her hand over Hazel’s as her fingers clasped around it.

“Word for word,” Indira whispered.

Hazel stared at her friend, open-mouthed, but language failed her.

“Wait,” Snow’s voice clamored from behind.

Her limbs grew even colder as if blood was evaporating from her capillaries into the atmosphere. She vaguely considered the possibility that she was going into shock.

She crammed Indira’s speech in her pocket as her escort bowed and backed away, rejoining Festus as Snow took her place. In his hand was an umbrella. A blue and white one, naturally.

The press buzzed.

“Can’t have her turning into a snowman before her sermon.” Snow cooed.

“You mean snow angel, right? Lucky cackled from somewhere nearby.

“Yes, of course, Flickerman.” Snow sent him a chilled smile. Half glancing at Hazel and half pretending to fumble with the umbrella, he whispered, “What did Gaul say to you?”

Hazel shook her head, unable to let the words out. She could feel Augustus and Gaul’s stares melting the air around her with sheer ferocity.

With a sudden pop, the umbrella opened. He raised it above them, swirling it in a circle. With magician-like speed, he slid several loose papers into her jacket pocket. They crunched next to the ones Indira had given her.

His version of her speech undoubtedly.

“Did you mean what you said about protecting my family?” She kept her face neutral, but she knew he could sense the terror in her voice. One of her hands dove into her pocket, playing with the edge of the document he’d just stashed there.

Holding out the umbrella, he whispered again, “What did she say?”

She untangled the handle of the umbrella from Snow’s hold. Her tongue was frozen. She couldn’t possibly tell him.

There wasn’t enough time.

“Come on.” Augustus jeered, “No more pep talks, Senator.

“Yes, yes. Let the girl speak, Mr. Snow.” Gaul added.

The wary crowd chuckled at the Gamemaker’s insistence.

The people of the District watched her with curiosity. So many eyes were on her. More than Twelve. More than Ten. The faces were foreign compared to home. No sun-kissed skin. No musculature from hard labor. Instead, a hollowness and pallor were there. The kind that came from numerous hours under artificial lighting. They were all different shapes and shades. However, they held something in common: the dark circles, the rings of pink and red.

The couple in the front row was paler than the rest. Again, another family watched her. A trembling picture between them of Ava.

No one had come for Ian.

Well…. That was not exactly true. There was one person… Though it was questionable if he qualified as human…What would that man do to her family if he were so willing to slaughter his own?

She pressed her lips together.

“Tell me,” Snow urged, feather soft this time. He examined her for only a moment before sliding closer, fingertips hovering just above her skin.

He said he would protect them.

Could he?

Even from the head of the War Department?

Did he have that much sway?

The President would. But like Gaul had said, he wasn’t President…not yet.

A gloved palm came to rest against her cheek, shifting her focus back to Snow. Even with their massive audience, he seemed not to care. A soul-searching look detailed her features, probing for clues as to what was about to unfold.

“It’s the things we love most that destroy us.” Flakes swirled around the two of them as she finally met his eyes,

“What?” He breathed.

“I’ve a choice to make, Coriolanus.” The words came out as a prayer whispered at the edge of a cliff or the end of a gun barrel. Desperate, soul-deep, and as genuine as words could be.

His blonde brows met between his eyes, and an analyzing concern drowned his features.

They were both drowning in different ways.

She backed away, and he let his hand fall. Snow spun on his heel, retreating to the sidelines. Within moments, his gloved thumb was tapping against his lips.

Venturing to the microphone, she clung to the umbrella like a welcome anchor. Holding it made her feel like reality was within her grasp and not like she was about to make the biggest decision she had probably made in her life.

She groped forward as she reached the microphone, grasping on the cool metal pole like it alone could hold her up. She flashed a glance over her shoulder at the stage, to her guards, Indira, Festus, A grinning Augustus, an imploring Dr. Gaul, and an intense Senator Snow. Capitol banners fluttered behind them.

A fiery whisper to her left startled her.

"What do you think happens when you're a Victor of the Hunger Games? Do you think you belong to yourself?” The words assaulted her ear from the other side of the stage.

She battled to rein in her flinch, but the cameras undoubtedly caught it.

Dark eyes, freckled with beige, bore a hole straight through her skull. His arms were crossed. Ian Threader shadowed her, glowering. More of his skin was purplish blue than any natural tint. Two of Augustus’s favorite colors, apparently.

What a tragedy to have such a man for a father.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Ian bit out. “Killing you would have been a mercy.”

Hazel didn’t argue.

Hard to debate with the dead, and she didn’t totally disagree.

“What is it going to be, Seven?” Ian asked again, outright snarling. “Gaul’s cage. My father’s trophy case or Snow’s leash. A murderer or a couple of sadists? Pick your poison, Seven.”

She scanned the living and the greenless surroundings. Her three guards twitched nervously. Her bones ached from indecision. The snowfall thickened. Wind ticked against her umbrella like a clock.

She fought to keep herself from staring at the hostile hallucination standing at her side. He burned at the edge of her vision like a migraine.

Pulling the crumpled papers from her pocket, she attempted to refocus on the task at hand.

Time was up. There was no more avoiding it. No more being neutral.

Either she read out Indira’s speech and made herself an ally of Dr. Gaul, or read out Snow’s and intertwine their fates.

Augustus smirked.

There’s no way out.

The world was silent outside the cloudy breathing of the gathered and faint tinkling of snowflakes. Everyone was waiting.

Ian whispered, harsher this time. Seething, really. “What will it be?”

Tucking one speech in her pocket, she unfolded the other before her.

The only way forward is through.

With a frost-tinged sigh, she opened her mouth and chose her poison.

*******

Author’s Note:
I know, I know …another cliffhanger!
What do you think Hazel’s about to choose?
I want your theories!

Let me know, and we’ll see who guessed right next week! 😊

Chapter Text

Indira’s speech quivered in Hazel’s grasp.

Her mouth was dry, yet her tongue felt heavy, waterlogged like an overly full sponge.

"Citizens of District Eight," Hazel began. "It is an honor to stand here today as part of this Victory Tour. District Eight holds a vital place in Panem. Your efforts have been woven into the very fabric of the Capitol. Your labor benefits not only your District but the entire nation.”

She did her best not to scan the side of the stage but utterly failed.

Snow was statue-like. His face was a carefully curated veneer. But the strain in his gloves and the merciless tapping of his finger over his lips said everything. It practically screamed it.

Shock. Betrayal.

The delicate papers of his speech were like hot coals in her pocket.

She shivered. She was doing what she had to do. Staying out of Gaul’s cross hairs.

Walking away…Well metaphorically at least…

“The Victory Tour is a chance to honor the fallen and remember the sacrifices made for the peace we now live in. I am honored to stand before you today, not as a Victor alone, but as a living symbol of what loyalty to Panem can achieve.”

Gaul was grinning like she was soaking in a soothing chemical bath. Augustus, beside her, appeared just as pleased, though his excitement was thornier.

Needles prickled up the back of Hazel’s neck as the hollow words left her mouth.

It's just a speech. A plain, milk toast speech. No harm in it. No surprises. No promises. But most importantly, no political upheaval. No rebellion.

“Unfortunately, District Eight’s legacy in my games wasn’t exactly ideal. That being said, this year’s Games reminded us all of the price of disobedience. We do not celebrate destruction for its own sake. We celebrate survival that honors structure. Order.”

Ava’s parents sniffled, and her mother wiped at the corners of her eyes. Hazel paused and waited.

Would Ava appear next?

She swallowed and trudged onward.

Ian was snarling in her peripheral vision. If he were real, she would fully expect him to be spitting on the members of the press. Futilely, she attempted not to react to him but she couldn’t help herself.

To the crowd, she must’ve seemed wholly unhinged, grimacing at empty air.

She shifted her grip on the umbrella, eyes drifting from the document to the couple with the girl’s picture.

A young version of Ava beamed like the sun itself. Another smiling photo of a happier day. A snapshot before tragedy. Preservation of a better time. A brighter one. Now the photograph’s corners warped and curled as the snowfall soaked into the soft paper. Ava’s face began to skew with the crumpling. Her brilliant smile deformed in seconds.

It may be preservation but it was not protected in the least. Just like Ava had not been.

The next words escaped Hazel without warning. “It is unfair. She deserved better. She deserved more than to be forever remembered because of her murder at the hands of her tribute partner. “

Hazel met Ian’s narrowed stare, then shifted back to the faces of Ava’s grieving parents. Finally, she met the eyes of a group of children who watched on curiously from the edge of the crowd. The orphans likely.

“The vanquished, the victims get lost in someone else’s story. Their memory drowned in the spectacle of someone else’s … sins.”

Ava’s mother began to cry fully. Indira coughed too loudly to be accidental.

Word for word.

Hazel tore her stare away from all of them.

Milk toast. Plain. Boring. Right.

This just needs to be over.

She skipped to the end.

“May we all continue to preserve our nation together, through our daily sacrifices as well as through the Hunger Games. And may your tributes have better odds next year.”

Licking her frozen lips, she dropped her arms to her sides.

Snow’s attention was glued onto her. His stony stare sent her pulse racing. She’d avoided one set of crosshairs, just to center herself in another.

Every nerve in her body sent her brain a different message.

Run.

Hide.

Vomit.

Do anything but vomit.

Close your eyes.

No. Keep them open. See.

See what you’ve done.

Hazel felt as exposed as the wilting photograph.

Indira, Festus, and her guards studied each other, seemingly confused at the extremely different reactions to her fairly bland performance.

Ian was seething at her side. “Your brother should’ve let me run my knife through your heart.”

Hazel’s pulse assaulted her very sanity. Gaul was full-blown smiling then. Victorious.

Augustus’s chin was raised in self-satisfaction. She couldn’t look at Snow any longer. However, she didn’t need to meet his eyes to feel the simmering disappointment. It was coming off him like the tendrils of his rose perfume.

Lucky sauntered awkwardly into the void between Hazel and the onstage entourage. “That was certainly something.” Flickerman cooed as his features waffled between smile and grimace. “Not all these speeches can be winners, can they?”

Snow had promised surprises, and her speech had been underwhelming, to say the least. Yet, Hazel barely heard the showman over words only she could hear, burrowing into her brain.

“You’re no better than them.” Ian’s breath pricked the side of her face and ear as he fumed. “Just another puppet like your dad.”

A blade of guilt sliced through her chest. Memories of her last conversation with her father made her knees weak.

Heath’s voice followed Ian’s. “Don't pretend you're any better than me when you were willing to play the game just as much as I did."

The words stung more than Caleb’s blade sinking into her palm.

Her father’s tone was fierce. "You've embedded yourself with our oppressors just as much as I have.”

Ian was right. No matter how she had fought against it, here she was. She was just another one of Augustus’s pawns. A tool for the monster to get what he wanted. What Gaul wanted.

Was Heath watching this back home? Was he satisfied with what he had done? Was he proud of this version of himself that he had shaped her into?

Another district citizen used to keep her own kind down. Too distracted by personal gain or survival to see the bigger picture.

One more district-born traitor, feeding the machine.

The gaggle of orphans shifted closer together, like a flock of young sheep.

How many more like Ian were there? How many like Tulsi? Or Ethan… Or Ruby. How many more would fall victim to him now? Because of Gaul, but also because of her…

‘Someone like her’, Augustus had said. Someone with blood on her hands.

More would come.

No.

Better to be dead or caged than an instrument of a pedophilic monster, following in her father’s footsteps.

Her gaze slid over the ghost.

“I’m nothing like… like him.”

Ian was riveted in place. “Prove it.”

“I’m not done yet.”

“What was that?” Lucky turned to his cameraman with a sideways shrug. “Are you feeling ill, dear?”

In a moment, another decision was made. It solidified within her very soul. Her mind went quiet. Her muscles laxed.

Here goes nothing…No… Here goes everything.

Hazel squared herself in front of the microphone. “I’m not done, is what I said.”

“My mistake, I could’ve sworn…” Lucky trailed off, studying Hazel as if she were under the influence of something.

“I’m waiting for you, Mr. Flickerman.” Tucking the paper sheets in the depths of her jacket, she mustered a semi-calm tone.

“Me?” He asked, clearly surprised.

“I’m waiting for you to ask me a very important question.”

Snow’s tapping fingers paused, eyebrow quirking.

“Uh….” Lucky plastered on a crooked smile, smoothing down his slick hair. “What?”

She met the eyes of the people of District Eight as she responded, “You haven’t asked me who I’ll be voting for.”

Lucky laughed, discomfort melting as if Hazel had just told a side-splitting joke. The press chuckled along with him, and then the guards, with three notable exceptions.

A few in the District Eight crowd sneered exchanging glances like she’d lost her mind. Augustus chortled. Gaul did not. Brows knitted, the doctor’s eyes were as confused as what color they wanted to be.

“Oh dear.” Lucky placed a theatrical hand on his chest. “Someone’s dipped in the posca a little early. Not that I can blame you, seeing as the highlight of the day was an orphanage tour. Would do the same myself.”

A rash of laughter crackled behind him.

Hazel simply stared at the man.

Lucky’s brows straightened. “Oh dear. You’re serious.” He laughed uncomfortably again. “If I recall, I asked you who you endorse.” He play-whispered to the crowd. “Not that it is hard to guess, am I right?”

Collective chuckling followed, but again none came from Hazel.

“That is a different question.” A bit of self-consciousness unsteadied her. “Ask me.”

Lucky faltered under her request, uneased by her sudden seriousness. But like the professional he was, he covered it with charm. “Come on now. We all know district folk can’t vote.”

Hazel plastered on a soft smile, “Humor me, then.”

Off to the side, Gaul was clearly settling into a new realization. Her two-toned irises darkened in unison.

“Ok, ok, ok. Persistent aren’t we?” Lucky rolled his eyes. “You win. Who will you be…” he held up two fingers on each hand, creating air quotations, “ ‘voting’ for?”

His self-righteous cackling grated her nerves.

“What are you going to do?” Ian uttered in her ear.

With unsteady steps, she backed away from the microphone. Then, turning on her heel, she marched away from center stage.

Lucky’s laughter died, and he raised his hands in surrender, like he had offended her. “Hey, you told me to ask.”

Hazel ignored him, eyes locked on her target, closing in on Snow in a few strides. Snapping shut the umbrella, she handed it to Festus. Her former mentor was all but buzzing, despite his utter sobriety, at Snow’s side. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Campaign Manager.”

“What are you doing, Seven?” Festus harshly whispered in response, collecting the umbrella.

“Campaigning,” she answered.

“Hazel…” Indira murmured.

Augustus approached from the side, lips thin, the smile gone. “Think about what you are doing.”

He looked as if he were about to reach out and take hold of her. Maybe, shake some reality back into her bones. However, he didn’t get the opportunity. Leo was beside the Gamemaker in a moment, hand resting on the other man’s shoulder, “Easy, Mr. Trask.” His stormy eyes flashed to Hazel in a questioning look that was quickly buried.

She turned from them and resettled her eyes on Snow. He watched her slip further into his orbit as she asked, “Were you serious about your promise? About my family?”

Snow searched each of her eyes, fingers still pressed against his lips.

“You should know better than to doubt me.”

“I need to hear it, Coriolanus.”

“I assure you,” Snow’s hand fell from his mouth. “Your family is safer than my own.”

A spark of hope thawed the chilling terror within her.

Mystification settled behind his eyes as she held out her hand to him. Her pink, wrapped palm was peeled open and presented.

He laid his gloved hand in hers, sealing her palm with his.

“Bold move, darling,” Augustus muttered, too low for the cameras. “I do hope you understand the cost.”

“Leave her, Mr. Trask.” Dr Gaul’s tone was arctic. “She’s made her decision.”

She ignored them both, tugging lightly on Snow’s hand. She didn’t have to put muscle into making him follow. He did so without complaint, murmuring near her temple, “Nothing the easy way, huh?”

Hazel tapped his hand with her fingertips. “I don’t remember the last time anything was easy.”

Lucky spectated with a sparkle in his eye, though he appeared a bit off balance. Like he wasn’t sure if he was watching an unfolding disaster or history in the making.

Establishing herself along with Snow, hand in hand, they stopped in front of the podium once again.

Ava’s parents watched on warily, though a sliver of concern threaded through their expression.

Hazel cleared her throat, “I can’t say I know much about sewing or factories. But I know hard work. I know toil. I know what it feels like to sweat and bleed, to work long hours but keep going. To be given little say in your own life.”

Hazel’s throat tightened as she spoke, “People of District Eight, years ago our predecessors made choices that doomed us all. Condemned us to this cycle. To this divide. For years, we’ve lived by decisions we didn’t make. We’ve hungered to control our future yet our bellies have been left empty. That changes now.” She paused, locating the nearest camera and gazing deep into its eye, she announced. “People of Panem. I will be casting my vote for Coriolanus Snow.”

Silence followed. A confused, almost pitying silence. Yet, Snow’s hand fastened tighter over hers.

Lucky looked like he was soaking in second-hand embarrassment. Augustus was giddy with derision. Leo’s eyes melted in a melancholy kind of way. Indira was smudging her makeup as she futilely rubbed her eyes. Festus watched on, engrossed and as entertained as ever.

“Isn’t that right, Senator?” she asked as steadily as she could manage.

Hazel whirled toward Snow, wide-eyed. Waiting.

It was his turn to step into the fray with her. Her life and those she loved depended on it. She was putting all the trust she had in him.

Ice swirled around them as his hand squeezed hers again. She hardly registered the stinging cold. His face had transformed. It was as if he were trying to read her eyes like a book or a map. One that confounded yet mesmerized him simultaneously.

Her cold, bare thumb grazed the skin of his wrist, just beneath the hem of his glove.

It was then that he snapped out of his thoughts, stepping forward, pulling Hazel with him. His other hand raised in the air, commanding silence without a single word. The noise slowed like an exhale, a hush falling across the mass of people.

“My friends.” Leaning into the microphone, he said. “What Miss Marlowe is saying is true.” Snow lied smoothly. “President Ravinstill has decreed that if anyone has earned the right to vote, it is Hazel Marlowe, your…our Victor.”

Hazel stared up at him, unsure if she was shocked more by his fluid fabrication or the conviction with which he sold it. Snow’s shoulders relaxed further, fingers caressing hers, almost comforting.

A gasp swept through the crowd.

His eyes sparkled as he turned back to her. For the first time, she really felt like they were on the same team.

“And I am not the only one,” Hazel said into the microphone, not unlocking her stare from Snow’s.

“We hear you.” His smile was keen, and his scrutiny was piercing as he responded, “I hear you. From this day forward, you will have a say. A voice in one of the greatest decisions a country can make. Who will lead us, who will be our next President. I’m pleased to announce that in our upcoming election, every man and woman in the Districts will be given the opportunity to cast their vote for the next President of Panem.”

A thunderous cheer erupted, this time without hesitation. Arms lifted. Then a sound came from a distant corner of the crowd. Then another. And another.

One clap. Two claps. Three turned to four. Five, six, seven followed until the number expanded infinitely. The air practically rang with applause.

Gaul was molten. Augustus was a tangled mess of plum tinged confusion.

Hazel didn’t know what she expected to feel: regret, guilt, maybe panic. But instead, there was only a frozen numbness. Like she’d jumped off a cliff and hadn’t hit the ground yet.

Ian had dispersed into the winter storm. Or perhaps the recesses of her mind.

A chant started to gain leverage.

‘Hear our voice’

‘Hear our voice’

The call seared to Hazel’s soul in both solidarity and crushing terror.

Gaul buttoned her coat up to her throat and descended the stage. The woman dissolved into the throng without a backward glare or flash of teeth.

Augustus was a statuesque purple shadow as he followed behind his boss.

Snow’s shoulders grew broader as did the smile on his face. It was as if his very soul fed from the growing storm. His namesake swirled around him, landing on his hair, his lapel, and disappearing into the heart of his rose. He was basking in the reaction, having not even noticed the Gamemakers’ departure. He raised Hazel’s hand above their heads, calling out, “Together, we build what comes next.”

Everything around them was cloaked in ice white. His hand cinched around hers like he would never let go again, lips brushing the microphone. “Panem Today. Panem Tomorrow. Panem Forever.”

Chapter Text

Glasses clattered together in jarring, sharp clinks. Tangerine brandy sloshed out of Festus’s glass as he exuberantly toasted Snow and then proceeded to do the same to everyone in the room.

Hazel was perched at the too-blue table, doing her best to relax while glaring at the familiar navy roses.

Another midnight in Snow’s domain.

His private train glided gently through the darkness. More than once, her attention had settled on the black void whirling by outside. The day itself had been just as blurry after her speech.

The press had swarmed, peppering him with questions and comments. Even the folk of District Eight had lingered, curiously witnessing history unfold instead of returning to their factories.

Hazel had soaked it all in, stationed at his side. He hadn’t let go of her hand for what felt like an eternity, seemingly intent on keeping his lucky charm within reach.

They had finally departed District Eight earlier that evening. The journey to District Five would be long, and Snow had insisted on a head start, after relishing the aftermath of the announcement for far too long, of course.

She briefly caught the silvery moon overhead, flanked by murky clouds. Sleep called to her, even though she doubted she'd be fortunate enough to enjoy it.

The official Victory Tour train trailed several miles behind, set to rendezvous at a satellite station near District Two before long.

Now they were all gathered in the lobby car, roses and sweet brandy thick in the air. Everyone seemed to be attempting to unwind.

Indira studied her warily, nails nervously tapping the crystal cup in her hold. Bellona, weaponless, lounged on a couch, indulging in cheap beer. Sable even seemed somewhat relaxed as he stretched his shoulders, chewing on a chocolate chip muffin.

Leo was the least at ease. Opting to remain stationed in a corner. His hand lingered just above the holster of his weapon. Once again, he was caged within himself.

“You are a genius!” Festus slurred too loudly for the close quarters. “A bloody genius!”

Hazel’s attention soared back to her mentor, who was toasting Snow again.

“Ambitious, Fest, just ambitious.” Snow smiled over the rim of his glass, something unnaturally vivid and probably expensive. Despite his half-hearted deflection, he absorbed the praise like the purest oxygen. His coat had been stashed away, tie loosened, posture relaxed, though his rose remained peeking out of his vest pocket. Pride radiated off him like heat from damp grass. “I couldn’t have done it without help.”

He was contemplating her steadily, but she kept her gaze fastened to the swirling murkiness outside.

“Man, I would pay good money for a frame of the look on Trask’s face,” Festus sighed, satisfied.

Hazel swallowed. Gaul and Augustus had disappeared many hours ago. Seemingly long gone from District Eight. They took their sour expressions and threats with them.

Was Gaul already on her way to Seven? Maybe she would send Augustus instead. Or a legion. Or hell, a bomb.

Hazel reclined further into the seat.

“Got’em running. Tail between their legs.” Festus downed his drink. Whirling toward the television, he grappled for the remote.

“Do we really need to watch anymore?” Indira moaned, pushing away the remnants of her beverage.

Festus ignored her. The Capitol news was fervently covering the events in District Eight. Debates had already started. Arguments and counterarguments were made. All of it centered on Snow and now Hazel and, of course, the concept of District voting rights.

One of the avoxes edged closer with uncertainty, a note between his fingers. Snow sipped from his drink as he took it.

“Thank you, Vesper.” Snow half smirked at the paper scrap. “Will you all excuse me? I’ve got an important call to take.”

“Who?” Festus asked.

“President Ravinstill.” Snow met Hazel’s stare. Her pulse sped up, numbing her eardrums.

“You all enjoy. I’ll be right back.” Snow swept toward his office.

Sable stretched. Leo’s eyes flitted from the avox apparently named Vesper to just above Hazel’s head.

Indira sank onto the couch beside Bellona. After the Peacekeeper took a long swig, Indira reached out and wrapped her hand around the one still clutching the ale. Concern creased the space between her eyes. “Take it easy. Do you drink much, Private Drayton?”

“Not...not really,” Bellona nearly spilled the alcohol.

Indira smiled softly, “No shame in being a lightweight, dear.”

Festus turned to them. “Lovegood is right. You’ve got a wicked flush.”

Bellona abandoned the beer on the nearest table, covering her cheeks. “I am not.”

“Leave her alone, Festus.” Hazel chided.

“Still living the sober life, Seven?” Festus spun toward her. “You, out of all of us, deserve a drink.”

“I’ll pass,” Hazel mumbled.

“Come on, there is much to celebrate. And you did so well. Even if I’m a bit hurt, I was left out of this little scheme you and Coryo had. You know, being campaign manager and all.”

Hazel picked at the edge of her bandage, “Next time I commit treason, I promise to include you.”

Festus grinned, “That’s all I ask.”

Hazel expelled a long breath. Leo caught her eyes for a flash before turning away.

“You think it will actually happen?” Bellona asked.

“Seven committing treason more than once?” Festus slurred. “Definitely.”

Hazel scowled at him.

“No, I mean, do you really think the Districts will vote?” Bellona clarified.

The room went quiet for a moment. Each member contemplating the reality of such a proposal.

“I can assure you, they will.” Snow was in the doorway, hands tucked into the black vest. He looked as if he could hardly contain his smile. “Per President Ravinstill’s official order, just now.”

“Ravinstill….didn’t know before?” Festus asked, mouth agape.

“And he agreed?” Indira butted in.

Snow’s lips split wider. “Didn’t give him much of a choice.” His smile washed over Hazel, “Did we?”

Hazel’s face reddened. Leo’s fingers twitched, and there was the slightest tremor in his neck.

“Bloody genius and ballsy.” Festus was bouncing. “You weren’t kidding about treason, Seven.”

“One man’s treason, Fest.” Snow couldn’t hold back the megawatt grin. “Is another’s ambition.”

Behind him, the television was dimmed, but flashes of Snow, Hazel, and then clips of the reactions of the Districts filled the screen. There was a quick clip of Gaul and Augustus exiting the festivities via hovercraft. Minus interviews, naturally.

“As much as I would love to continue our celebration.” Snow started, “I believe I owe Miss Marlowe a date.” Hazel’s eyes met Snow's. “I’m a man who keeps my promises after all.”

Indira locked her stare on the floor. Sable sighed in acceptance. Leo watched on intently, though he pretended not to.

Festus chortled despite his clear disappointment at the end of the celebration. “You owe her more than that.”

“I certainly do,” Snow agreed.

“Just don’t make any more brash political decisions without me.” Festus swiped a bottle and the remote, flopping onto the couch to bask in more of the coverage.

“Promise,” Snow teased.

Festus grunted, unconvinced.

“Sir, do you want my assistance?” Leo asked, moving closer to Snow. “I’m on duty tonight.”

Hazel swore she saw Leo wince as Snow whispered something unintelligible about splinters.

“If you insist, station outside the door.” Snow patted the guard’s shoulder.

With another brilliant smile, he curved toward Hazel, presenting his upturned palm.

“Ready?”

He was really going to do it?

Though her mind and body were threadbare, she had to know.

Taking his hand without a word, he led her down the corridor toward the rear of the train. A secluded dining car awaited. Inside, there was one round table draped in white silk, two plates already set, and a trio of goldenrod candles flickering at the center.

Hazel frowned at the setup. “It’s a bit much.”

“Hardly.” Snow sauntered toward their destination. “Considering what happened today. It should be a full-blown banquet.”

He released her to pull out a chair. She shakily dropped into it.

“I’d trade it all, as long as you uphold your promise about my family.”

“How about I give you both?” He stretched out his arms as he circled the table, “Your family’s safety, of course, and a feast so large the lumberjacks of District Seven won't be able to handle anymore.”

Snow draped his coat over the back of his chair. He was practically giddy. High on his Victory. Drunk on Power more than anything else.

“Really?” She asked skeptically, though his enthusiasm was more than genuine.

“Absolutely.” He lapsed into the chair across from her.

Hazel tilted her head. “I’m not totally sure what to think about seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” He removed his gloves.

Hazel scoured his face. “Like…happy….or whatever your version of that is”

He let out a bubbling chuckle. “Is it that perverse to you?”

“More like generally disturbing.”

He laughed again. “I suppose you’re right. I do feel particularly…satisfied.”

“If that’s the case, let’s skip the food altogether.” Hazel folded her arms, attempting to relax into the elegant chair.

“Nonsense.” He summoned the avoxes to bring out their dinner.

Their empty plates were swapped with overfull ones. At the heart of the feast was a glazed poultry of some kind. Too lean to be chicken or turkey. Bordering the meat were purple mashed potatoes and a thick slice of brioche, smothered in butter and speckled with herbs.

The aroma of the delicious-looking meal coated her nose. Yet it did little to curb the nausea sloshing in her gut. A hangover of anxiety blended with waning adrenaline.

Probing the slices of protein with her fork, she finally asked, “What kind of meat is this?”

“Mockingjay.” Snow didn’t even glance up as he carved into his portion. “They might as well be useful for something.”

Hazel scowled at it while Snow took a pleased bite. Ignoring the bird entirely, she tasted the potatoes. Creamy, herby, and just sweet enough. Their purple hue reminded her of Augustus’s ridiculous hair.

“I can’t help but notice you don’t share in my enthusiasm,” Snow said, chasing down the songbird with a swig of neon brandy.

Hazel took a half-hearted nibble of the warm bread. “Hard to celebrate when Gaul is probably burning my house to the ground right now.”

Snow stopped chewing. He set down his fork, steepling his fingers. “Is that what she said to you at the orphanage?”

Hazel took another bite, letting oregano distract her taste buds. It was infinitely better than the gruel and cleanser-scented memory from earlier in the day.

“You can tell me,” he coaxed. “Same team, remember?”

She set down the bread, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. “Not outright. But she wanted me to ally with her and Augustus. Told me not to do what you asked, to walk away.”

Snow’s face blazed at the edges, though he was clearly masking it. “How bold. Even for her.”

“She threatened me and…my family.”

His eyes flashed. “I imagine she did.”

“She basically threatened you, as well.”

That made him pause, just for a second. Finally, his fingers unclasped, and he collected his fork. Twirling the cutlery, he chuckled. “She’s been threatening me for years.”

“She hates that you gave Augustus your job,” Hazel said, watching his reaction.

“Oh, I can imagine she loathes it. It was a less-than-collaborative decision.” Snow hummed. “Besides, she thinks he’s an incompetent showman. Probably can’t stand sharing a workspace with him. And she’s right, of course. But Gaul is the past. Augustus temporary. The future belongs to those who can seize it.”

Hazel frowned. “And you think we’re the ones to do that?”

He turned his head slightly. “We can be.”

Her fingers curled harder around her fork. “And what exactly does that future look like, Coriolanus?”

At that, he smiled. “A new Panem. A better one.”

Hazel’s fingernails dug into the metal of her fork. “Better for who?”

“For all of us,” He responded slowly, “In time.”

In time. How much time?

“You’re trying to trust me,” Snow murmured, regarding her carefully.

“I am.” Hazel swallowed, still studying the designs her fork prongs made. “Gaul said something else.”

“Oh?” He asked, eyebrow quirking.

“She all but implied that you would be the end of me.” She twirled her fork around in the potatoes.

His amusement faded. “She underestimates you.”

“You mean she underestimates you.”

Snow studied her hands. “And yet, despite her warnings, her lessons, here you are. You aligned yourself with me.”

Hazel reached for her glass. But no amount of cool, clear water could wash away the creeping dread. “I did.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

She exhaled. “Because you promised to protect my family.”

“I am.” Snow’s smile barely flickered, but there was something beneath it-something quiet and knowing. “And I will continue. But you and I both know there is more to it than that.” Snow hardly moved. “Tell me, why did you change your mind today?”

“Not enough sleep, I suppose.” She abandoned the water and began rubbing at her temples.

Suddenly, the warmth of Snow’s hands clutched one of hers, pulling it from her head. “Why, Hazel?”

She chewed on her cheek.

Snow continued, “Believe me. You really had me convinced you’d switched sides. Not reading the speech I gave you and all.”

“Just a flair for the dramatic, remember?” She tugged lightly on her hand, but his grip held.

“You’ve a talent for deflection,” he murmured.

“Something else we have in common.”

Snow laughed, still holding her, pulling her closer to him. “Answer me.”

“If I am not mistaken, it is still my turn, Coriolanus.”

“You are correct. But do ask a question instead of running away this time.” His thumb dragged over one of hers.

She eyed his finger as she asked, “You keep saying it, but is my family really safe?”

“I have not lied to you.” Snow sighed. “You’ve nothing to worry about. I’ve assigned a squadron. Hand-picked guards surround your home as we speak. As well as the entirety of Victor’s village and the district. Gaul can’t step foot within a hundred miles of Seven without me knowing. That goes doubly for Augustus.”

Hazel sighed, muscles relaxing at his easy confidence.

Snow curled his fingers snug against her skin. “Whatever threats Volumnia made are unfounded. Your family is probably the safest in all of Panem. If you want, I can even set up a call so you can speak with them if you wish to confirm what I am telling you.”

Hazel’s eyes saucered. “You would do that?”

He inclined his head. “I would.”

For a moment, a strange sensation settled over her, one so typically foreign in relation to Snow.

It was something similar to gratitude.

She found herself squeezing his hand in return as she murmured. “I…I…believe you.”

Swallowing at the way his gaze flickered at her, she blurted, “Ian Threader.”

Snow’s seriousness crumpled into confusion. “What?”

“He is why I changed my mind.” She stammered. “He was there…during the speech…”

He studied her for a moment, probing her for truthfulness. The way she winced in embarrassment seemed to convince him she was being honest.

“Good to know that just like your dreams, your hallucinations are on my side,” he gently teased.

Hazel centered her stare on his, “Wouldn’t make sense for him to be on Augustus’s now, would it?”

Snow’s smile faltered for a second. He knew. Of course he did.

“No. I suppose it wouldn’t,” he said carefully.

“I would rather my family and I be dead than be like my father or help the man who took my brother from me.” Hazel stared down at the steaming plate, “Better the devil you know…”

Snow’s lips pushed together.

“It sounds crazy, lack of sleep...” She suddenly lost her nerve.

“It doesn’t.” His grip stiffened as his cool voice washed over her. “Even we devils can be haunted.”

She glanced up. His eyes caught the light like still water. There was something quietly familiar there.

He did know.

“And who is haunting you, Coriolanus?” She asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

His eyes fell from hers at her question, as did his hold. She pulled her hands to herself.

Raising a napkin to his mouth and wiping away invisible crumbs, he said, “You know, you are right. Let’s skip right to dessert.”

So that was how it would be.

Deflection, clear as day.

“So another favor then?” She questioned.

“Whatever your heart desires, Miss Marlowe.” He leaned back with a grin. “Just say the word.”

She let the promise hang between them. He seemed to know she would.

Hazel settled her hands into her lap as the avoxes scrambled, replacing the dinner plates with smaller, sparkling clean ones. They then laid out in the center of the table a bubbling pie. A deep scarlet filling was peeking through the hatching over its dome.

Hazel breathed in the succulent scent of prairie berry pie. It was so homey it nearly stole the breath from her lungs.

“I had this made just for you. But it is not exactly the dessert I was talking about.” Snow drank in her reaction. “Vesper,” he called out.

The doors to the car opened. Vesper skittered closer, another note in his hand and the tape and player in the other.

Hazel frowned at the avox's hand. “My tape?”

“You aren’t very good at hiding things.” Snow winked at her, “Under the mattress is so cliche.”

Snow held out his open palm to Vesper. With a jittering breath, the avox laid the cassette and player within the Senator’s grasp. Snow popped the tape inside and then laid the little machine on the table before them.

“What now?” Snow huffed as the avox held out the note.

Vesper trembled as the scrap of paper fluttered between them. Abandoning his stare on the tape, he tore the note from the avox. Devouring the words on the page with searing scrutiny, all the joy and giddiness bled from his face.

He grew slightly pale. “You are dismissed.”

The avox fled.

Rising from his chair, he pocketed the cassette player as he strode to the television on the far wall.

“What is it?” Hazel questioned. “President Ravinstill, change his mind?”

Groping for the remote, Snow turned it on. “Not exactly.”

The news blared. Faces flashed over the screen.

She rubbed her temples, eyes falling to the untouched pie, “Haven’t you had enough-“

“BREAKING NEWS. An earthquake in District Twelve has caused a massive mine collapse. Thirty men are missing, feared dead.”

Hazel’s attention snapped upward.

A much too peppy reporter accounted the horrid details as if merely telling a scary bedtime story. An unexpected earthquake had obliterated an active mineshaft, destroying all routes of escape.

Hazel slowly rose to her feet, following closer to where Snow stood. “I didn’t know there were fault lines in Twelve.”

He was glaring at the television like a military commander readjusting his strategy. “There aren’t.”

As Hazel got nearer, faces and names began to scroll across the screen. The images of the miners trapped in the Earth.

Men from Twelve. All different ages. Some young. Some old. All likely lost forever.

But two particular faces that rolled up the screen sent her heart plummeting to the soles of her feet.

Ivor Black and Clive Hart.

Both were tombed in the mines. Probably dead.

Hazel’s hand flew to her mouth. A small gasp slipped between her fingers.

No.

Harla, Amethyst, and Briallen’s faces blazed through her mind.

Were they even alive?

She gripped both hands over her eyes as tears stung along the edges.

Snow crumpled the note in his palm.

The news cut back to the curly-haired reporter. “That’s not all, folks! It has been a wild day. Now let's go to Tekke, who is covering a wildfire that has spread quite rapidly from District Eleven to District Ten. So far, it has burned hundreds of acres and claimed ten lives in between the two districts.”

Hazel’s hands dropped from her eyes. “A wildfire in winter?”

“As natural as an earthquake without fault lines.” Snow exhaled. “I should’ve known she’d do something like this.”

Hazel’s arms trembled as she stumbled backward. Tears pooled down her cheeks.

This can’t be happening.

What had become of Kai and Iris’ families? Brindle, Naai, or Garth?

She felt like an idiot. Gaul couldn’t get to her family, so she did the next best thing.

No. No. No.

This is my fault. All of it.

Snow’s focus shifted from the screen to her. Orange-red flames and billows of thick smoke filled the television over his shoulder. “Hazel.”

Guilt and dread were like boiling tar, bubbling up from her toes, coating every inch of her.

“Easy,” Snow murmured from nearby. She hardly registered him due to the rising overwhelm clouding her senses.

She’d done this.

She’d made her choice.

And it was excruciatingly clear these were her consequences. More blood on her hands. More ghosts to haunt her day and her night.

She hadn’t even heard him approach, only focusing on him when his hands closed around her biceps.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the train shrieked all around them, a horrible metallic wail, before lurching violently. The cabin groaned and shuddered as it came to a sudden halt.

They hit the ground hard. Hazel’s palm slammed against the floor, Snow’s arm flung across her as the train’s groan swallowed everything else. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. The floorboards bruised her ribs and rattled her bones. Her head was spared as she was drawn to Snow’s chest.

Then, without warning, the spasming television over his shoulder went dark. Every light in the train followed. The entire car dropped into near-complete blackness.

Chapter Text

Backup generator lighting was the only source of illumination in the sudden darkness. The candles were gone, flung somewhere across the car. The cassette player lay belly-up near a pile of shattered plates, broken glass, and what was left of the prairie berry pie.

Floral breath washed over Hazel’s face, tangling in her disheveled hair. The scent was candied roses with a hint of copper. A bruising grip drew her closer. Her cheek brushed the fine material of Snow’s shirt.

The two of them were sprawled on the ground.

“Are you alright?” he asked, straightening the vest that had half-slid from his shoulder.

Her body ached, but it was also singing with a fresh rush of pain-numbing adrenaline.

“No permanent damage. You?”

Snow tilted his head, propping himself up on an elbow as he peered down at her. It was then that the double doors burst open. Leo rushed in, rifle first, scanning the darkness.

“Senator?” He called, “Marlowe?”

Hazel carefully peeled herself away from Snow just as Leo rounded the table.

His steps quickened as he spotted them in a heap on the floor.

Snow grasped Hazel’s arm to help her to her feet. Once she was steady, she untangled from him.

“Senato-“ Leo started.

“Check her,” Snow demanded, as he backed away, frowning at the pie. He then bent with utter disappointment and scooped up the tape player and tucked it away into his vest.

“Marlowe?” Leo lowered his weapon, sliding closer as he scrutinized her from head to toe.

“I’m alright,” she murmured, brushing down her hair, though it made little difference. “Physically, anyway.”

Leo met her eyes, and they softened at the edges. “We saw the news.”

More dead. Because of her. Now this? Whatever was even happening was her fault, too. No doubt at Gaul’s decree.

“This is all my fault,” Hazel whispered.

Sable stormed in, flashlight slicing through the dark, rifle raised. Indira and Festus stumbled close behind, followed by the two avoxes.

“Senator Snow?” Sable surged forward.

“Here,” Snow called.

“You injured?” Sable asked.

“We’re alright,” Snow scowled again at the destroyed dishes and pie.

“We need to barricade everyone in the kitchen car.” Sable barked, pointing to the silvery metal door on the far wall.

Bellona set to work shuttering the windows of the cabin, her boots crunching through the remnants of glass and ceramic.

Festus and Indira were at Hazel’s side in a moment. Indira grasped at Hazel’s arm, pulling her close.

“Pytash, explain to me what’s happening,” Snow commanded, briefly scanning the room and the dead television.

“Can’t be sure, but the engine car reported a possible track obstruction before the comms went out. Then the power. I sent half the Peacekeepers to the engine car. And the other half to try to flag down the Victory Tour train behind us.”

“Where are we?” Festus asked, peaking out a window.

“Somewhere between the southern border of District Two and the boundaries of Five,” Sable's gaze fell to the middle distance as he shoved Festus away and closed the blinds again.

“We’re sitting ducks.” Snow surmised.

“What makes you think that?” Festus’s tone was similar to a child whose party had been rudely ended.

As if on cue, gunfire broke out, pealing from the direction of the engine car. Indira trembled beside Hazel, moving closer to the kitchen compartment.

Snow glowered at Festus.

“Ok, ok,” Festus groaned.

“Probably rebels or…worse,” Snow’s face turned grave.

Festus backed himself into a corner.

“What could be worse?”

“We don’t have time for this.” Sable slid open the doors at the rear. The culinary car was claustrophobic without power. Stainless steel that reeked of lemony polish covered nearly every surface. A rolling shelf stood near the center, crammed with cans and dry goods. An emergency sconce overhead pulsed. Gold and silver pans hung from the ceiling rack. Several of the kitchen staff were huddled together on the floor, shivering.

“You’ve got the keys to this door?” Sable asked. One of the chefs rose to his feet, placing a set in Sable’s palm.

Approaching Snow, again, Sable delivered the keys to him. “Like I said, we need to barricade everyone in the kitchen car. Senator, that includes you.”

“Pytash,” Snow held the keys aloft for a moment before stashing them. “Do you know where the weapons cache and communications room are on this locomotive?”

“Cache is three cars forward. Control room is five, the one just behind the engine.”

“That’s a place to start.” Snow returned to the table, grabbing his discarded gloves and slipping his hands into them once again. “Take me to them.”

“Sir,” Sable argued, eyes roving over Leo and Bellona. “Our priority is your safety.”

Snow straightened his collar, sliding a hand over his curls.

“Your priorities are my orders, private. I may not be a peacekeeper any longer, but I am no civilian, and I will not ask you again. Get everyone in the kitchen car.”

“Yes, sir.” Sable’s head dipped.

Leo patted Sable on the shoulder before holding his palm out to Hazel and Indira.

“Come on.” Hazel gripped Leo’s hand, and he tugged them toward the silvery kitchen compartment.

“So, what? You’re just going to leave us?” Festus’s eyebrows vanished into his curls.

Sable gripped Bellona’s shoulder, giving her a lecture with merely a look. She nodded in silent understanding.

“Bellona will stay here and guard you. Leo and I will get the Senator to the weapons cache,” Sable answered. “Then we’ll see about getting the comms back online.”

“Why the kitchen?” Festus asked.

“Fest, do as he says,” Snow snapped, rolling up his sleeves and plucking the flower from his vest.

“No windows,” Leo answered Festus’s question.

“And because you’re a terrible shot, Fest.” Snow’s lip twitched.

When her mentor didn’t move, Bellona grabbed Festus by the collar and hauled him inside. Festus sank behind the stovetop in a put-out heap.

Her fingers were going numb within Leo’s as she and Indira crossed the threshold.

“Picture your mom’s rosemary bread,” Leo murmured. “And the way the sky looks in Seven. Just hang onto that until we get back.”

Distant yells split the air.

“Time to leave, Drayton.” Snow appeared at Leo’s side, his hand landing between the man’s shoulder blades. Leo’s posture stiffened, and his grip reluctantly slipped from Hazel’s.

Leo fell in rank with Sable. Snow’s eyes swept over her face with an unsettling expression.

“Keep your head down. Do not open this door unless it’s one of us.”

Hazel nodded stiffly. Snow’s fingers brushed hers as he tucked the rose into her palm along with the keys to the kitchen. Yet, he didn’t release her. Slowly, he raised her arm and pressed a kiss to the center of her knuckles.

Leo didn’t move, but Hazel caught how still he had become. The rest of the group averted their gazes.

“We aren’t going to let her get away with this.” Snow's words soaked into the skin of her fingers. “I’ll be back for you.”

Would any of them come back from whatever this was?

“Remember, Miss Marlowe, I’m a man who keeps his promises,” he assured.

Hazel gave the only answer she could. “I’ll be here.”

Snow’s eyes wrinkled for only a moment before he let her go. A metallic crack followed, closer than before, as gunfire bit into the outer panels. The farthest window in the dining car exploded into thousands of pieces of glass. Indira let out a frantic yelp.

A biting wind whipped in through the shattered window.

Bellona raised her weapon toward it, waiting for someone or something to appear.

The two avoxes slid in close beside the kitchen staff without hesitation. Though, Vesper kept his eyes on Snow, still holding the other avox.

“Drayton. Pytash. Let’s go,” Snow commanded, with one last glance at Hazel before surging away from the kitchen car.

“Yes, sir,” Sable responded.

Bellona caught Leo, wrapping her arms around her brother’s shoulders in a fast, desperate hug before releasing him.

Leo whispered something calming that earned him a small smile from his sister before adjusting the strap on his rifle. His eyes passed over Hazel once more before he turned and trailed Snow.

With that, the three of them disappeared into the dark.

“Find something heavy,” Bellona said, keeping her gun attuned to the busted window,

Indira sat up and looked around the small compartment, pointing to the rolling metal shelf full of cans. “How about this?”

“Perfect,” Bellona agreed.

She stepped toward the entry, a hollow look in her eyes. “Now do as the Senator said. Do not open this for anyone. If they breach this barrier, there’s nowhere else for you to go.” The kitchen was the caboose of the train and the end of the line for any entrance or exit. Bellona’s tone was solid stone. “So keep it shut unless you're damn sure it's us.”

“Understood.” Indira nodded.

“I’m not opening shit,” Festus slurred from the floor.

“Be careful, Bells,” Hazel murmured.

Indira met Bellona’s eyes, backing away a step. “Godspeed, Private Drayton.”

Bellona paused with a rigid nod. She met each of their eyes. “Don’t forget the shelf.”

Indira sighed in agreement. With a final backward look, Bellona closed them in. Hazel twisted the key in the lock until the bolt slid into place.

Festus, Hazel, and the avoxes hauled the shelf in front of the threshold. Soup, beans, and corn were scattered all around them.

The two avoxes huddled into the farthest corner with the kitchen staff. Festus collapsed beside a cabinet teeming with dry goods.

Indira gnawed her bedazzled manicure.

Hazel sat beside her, running her nails over the soft bloom and rigid key. She could hear Bellona shoving the table against the door.

Gunfire speckled the silence. Some was distant. Some was less so.

Every so often, a bullet licked the metal walls, scraping and prying, trying to gain entrance.

“What is happening?” Festus murmured, scraping his fingers along his scalp.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hazel whispered.

Payback. Punishment… Consequences.

“Gaul can't get away with something so bold,” Festus replied.

“Can't she?” Indira interjected, crossing her arms over her chest.

A round of screams lit up the night, much closer now. The kitchen staff shuddered and huddled closer together.

“It will be all over the news,” Festus said in a harsh whisper.

“Sure,” Indira replied flatly. “Maybe as a derailment. Unfortunate mechanical issues. But nothing more.”

“Another coincidental earthquake or wildfire,” Hazel rubbed at her temples.

Indira hummed, “Precisely.”

Festus slumped, and they let the eerie noises all around them drown out the silence. For several minutes, only distant, random volleys of gunfire and their collective breathing could be heard. The nameless avox chewed his nails. The sconce above continued its dreadful flickering.

“Halt!” Bellona’s muffled command suddenly rang from the other side of the barricade. Hazel's stomach flipped over backward.

Indira covered her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Festus’s irises had grown wide as dinner plates.

“I said halt!” Bellona barked again.

Popping followed, hammering against the walls and licking the door. Hazel and her companions crumpled closer to the ground. At any moment, she expected a bullet to whiz through; instead, on the other side of the barrier, a strangled cry rang out. Something about it resembled Bellona’s voice too much. Hazel’s hands started to shake.

There was the scraping of boots, another volley of rifle fire, cursing, and grunting. Something hit the ground in the distance with a weighty thud.

Then, silence for a few moments until there was the slow shufflin of bootsteps. More than one pair. Someone was getting closer.

The handle of the kitchen jiggled. The door shook with deep, resonating knocks. Each one of them froze. Hazel didn’t breathe for what felt like hours. No one else did either.

Whoever was on the other side paused for a few more moments before eventually retreating, and everything went quiet again. There was no more discernible movement from Bellona, at least from what Hazel could tell. Panic soared through her.

When all noise vanished, Hazel finally released her breath.

“We have to check on her,” Hazel whispered, whirling toward Indira and Festus.

Indira still had her eyes closed, and her breathing was ragged. Festus was rapidly shaking his head. Vesper watched her curiously.

Without another word, Hazel stood and began rummaging through various drawers. When she got to one full of knives, she removed a handful.

“Are you insane?” Festus bit out.

“Probably,” Hazel tucked a particularly large knife in her waist. “You all should take one of these, too,” she muttered, gesturing to the cutlery.

“You shouldn't go out there,” Festus sank further into the floorboards, crossing his arms.

“I’m going to check on her. She would do the same for any of us.” Hazel stared at the door, praying an assurance from Bellona would follow, but none came.

“He’s right, dear,” Indira added. “We should do as Senator Snow said,”

Hazel ignored them both.

I’ve tried that. Look where it got me. Clive and Ivor buried in the Earth. Ten and Eleven on fire. And now with Bellona possibly dead or injured on the other side of that door.

I have to go.

Indira sighed and reached up, taking a steak knife without a word, seeming to realize the pointless nature of arguing any further.

Vesper also accepted a knife. His companion refused to take any weapon. The staff wouldn’t even look up at her.

Moving to her mentor, Hazel held out another blade. With an aggravated humph, Festus snatched it from her.

“And to think I’m the drunk one in this room.”

Turning back toward the door, she wrenched the metal shelf, sliding it away.

“Re-lock it and put the shelf back.”

Closing in on the threshold, she pressed her ear to the surface and waited. Holding her breath, she listened for any signs of movement. None came. Only the wind whipping through the shattered window and the distant volleys of rifles.

After unlocking the door and entrusting the key to Indira, she curled her fingers around the cold metal knob. The warmth of another hand startled her. Vesper stood beside her, nodding once. He was joining, apparently. She didn’t argue. Two was better than one.

Even Snow would agree with that.

Tucking the white rose into her jacket pocket, she shifted the knife into her right hand and clutched the handle with her left.

With another deep breath, she pulled the door open.

Darkness waited on the other side. An empty, lifeless darkness. Bellona was gone, along with their visitors. The table had been discarded, heaved onto its side.

Hazel slipped out, shadowed by Vesper, who quietly shut the door behind them. She faintly registered the lock re-engaging.

Even in the bizarre lighting, scarlet streaks caught her eye. But it wasn’t the color of the squashed berries that made her stomach turn. It was the streaks of a different kind of red, leading toward the broken window.

Hazel waved for Vesper to accompany her. He nodded and slunk closer to her shoulder. They crept forward. A crimson trail led to one of the far doors.

Maybe Bellona was on the other side?

Glass crunched beneath her soles. The sound was minuscule, but it felt deafening.

Finally, she reached the next set of door handles. Taking hold of one, she peered back at Vesper. He gave her a smile that didn’t quite solidify.

Good enough for now.

With a deep breath, she coaxed the barrier open. More wind poured in, colder now. A breeze ripped through the corridor from the main lounge. Yet it wasn’t the only sound. Breathing mixed with the rushing air.

Cloaked in the poor lighting and dark clothing, two masked figures were waiting. Before she could utter a word, the cold bite of metal kissed her neck. Vesper’s hand clamped over her mouth.

“Geez, Vesp.” One of the figures called out. He was terrifyingly unperturbed as he sauntered closer. “Took you long enough.”

Chapter Text

***TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR BLOOD, DEATH, AND VIOLENCE***

Hazel swallowed down a lungful of cold air. The motion forced the knife blade nearer to both her delicate skin and hammering jugular.

Vesper’s hand tightened over her lips. Clamminess and fine tremors surged from him.

Her act of defiance was child’s play compared to Vesper’s all-out treason. A death sentence waited for the avox, or worse, if his betrayal were ever to be found out by the Capitol.

The two men waiting in the shadows were both armed with guns. Each winking barrel was trained squarely on her.

One of the strangers wore thick black fabric that shrouded all of his features outside of his eyes. But even they were hard to discern the color of. Unlike his partner, the other wore no disguise. Likely mid thirties with palloric skin and a wide, if a little bony jaw. His eye sockets and cheeks had matching hollows.

He had to be District. It was likely they both were. Even more likely, they were rebels.

How did Vesper get involved?

“Drop it.” The masked man barked, his deep eyes locked on the knife in her grip. She’d nearly forgotten the blade. Letting it fall, the weapon clattered to the train floor.

In turn, the sharpness at her neck eased, and Vesper’s hand slipped from her mouth. One of the gun barrels lowered a fraction. However, the sight of the unmasked intruder’s rifle never wavered from her heart.

“Who are you?” Hazel asked, keeping her hands open, fingers spread.

“Quiet,” the bare-faced man snapped. “Anyone else here, Vesp?” He stared past her.

Vesper shook his head, scanning the eerie, empty car for a moment. A faint red streak trailed from the dining doors toward the main lobby.

“Let’s get out of here then,” the pale stranger said, taking the lead. “We’ll head to the rendezvous point, then radio the others.”

Vesper acknowledged by taking hold of one of her arms and twisting it behind her before shoving her down the corridor toward the entrance.

Their shrouded cohort brought up the rear.

The lobby was lifeless and empty, nearly every one of the vases of blue roses had tipped over. Loose petals littered the floor along with a multitude of shards.

The glass crackled and splintered as Hazel was lugged forward without a word until the group paused at the threshold of the locomotive. Before them in the darkness, the wedged-open train doors waited.

Up above, the midnight sky was a smear of somber clouds and starlight. The wintry air whipped through a bizarre gathering of trees. Crooked shrubs swelled in every direction. Their branches were bare and spindly.

Gray-green trees rose around them with bark that peeled in papery strips. Instead of leaves, they were bursting with fragrant needles that were vaguely medicinal. Snow coated everything. Yet, not in thick layers, but just enough to powder the ground in a feathery crust.

Unlike the forests of Seven, this was a combination of mountain and desert plants attempting to co-exist. She had no idea how to gauge exactly where they were. It was likely how Sable had described it. Possibly within the very southern boundaries of District Two or Five, but it wasn’t easy to discern. The landscape was mostly flat with a few budding mountains to the north.

Within the fine layer of snow, there were clear networks of overlapping footprints and scuff marks. Ones that led to and from the frozen train. The engine car waited too far ahead to discern, and in the opposite direction, the tracks disappeared into the night and the brushy forest. Despite the fact that only the last couple of cars were visible in the foggy darkness, it was clear the locomotive itself was no longer aligned properly on the tracks. The last car veered at a harsh angle, and the wheels of the caboose were completely off their mark.

There was no sight or sound of the Victory Tour train. If it had still been moving, it would have caught up to them by now.

It was likely stalled not far behind.

Dropping her gaze lower, she shuddered. Splatters of pink and red swirled within the white. A nightmarish sight awaited further out in the darkness.

Bodies. Lying in the winter snow, unmoving. Both peacekeeper and not.

Despite desperately searching the outlines of the ones with uniforms, she didn’t recognize any as Bellona. A figure in all black was crumpled several feet beneath the shattered dining room window.

Maybe Bellona had made a run for it?

Hazel hoped that was the case, and she was long gone from the danger.

“Hurry!” one of the men swore, tugging her closer to the edge of the opening.

The train floor sat about four to five feet above the ground. Without ceremony, the unmasked figure fumbled down first. Turning around, he reached toward Hazel. Vesper removed the knife from her throat and handed her off to the stranger. She was all but ferried the distance between the doors and the ground below.

The veiled man and Vesper scrambled down after them.

Once they were safely out of the locomotive, Vesper took hold of her once again, and the four picked their way through the night, curving around several dead. Instead of venturing toward the engine, they appeared to be headed deep into the twisted woods.

Despite the snow under her feet, a trail of sweat beaded down her spine.

“What do you want?” Hazel asked the unmasked man ahead of her.

“Shut up,” he grumbled as he continued to lead the group, rifle first.

“Why not just kill me, if that’s what you came to do?” Hazel questioned.

“I don’t care if you are a Victor, I will gag you. Do you understand?” The unmasked figure’s gaze grazed her over his shoulder. He huffed and continued further into the grove. “And the fact you are still alive should tell you that isn’t what we came to do.”

Vesper’s hand tightened twice in quick succession around her bicep. An obvious warning.

Keep quiet.

Hazel enveloped her lips together.

Just as they made it several yards into the treeline, a flash of dove gray appeared in the distance. That almost white shade, only commissioned by the Capitol. Peacekeeper gray. A telltale blink of light reflecting off a rifle barrel caught her eye.

“Halt!” an authoritative voice called to them.

The leader of the little rebel group didn’t hesitate, immediately opening fire on the guard.

Hazel barely had time to register Vesper pulling her to the earth, before gunfire chewed up the trees around them. It pulverized the fine shrub branches and sent puffs of snow up into the air like smoke. They all dropped onto their stomachs, and Hazel stumbled down to the frozen ground with them.

A wayward bullet suddenly shredded the calf of the masked one behind her. He grunted loudly and collapsed to his stomach.

Another volley slid across Vesper’s shoulder, and a fine red mist billowed into the air.

The unmasked one marched toward the nameless peacekeeper, vigorously returning fire. Within a few moments, a pained cry followed, and the shooting ceased.

“Bloody peacekeepers,” he cursed, retreating to them when it was clear the other party was no longer a threat.

Vesper and the other masked man moaned in response.

He whirled toward them, suddenly aware that his companions were injured. Scanning the shrouded rebel first, he asked, “Vetch, where are you hit?”

Hazel’s blood froze in place, despite her not being that cold.

It can’t be.

“Vetch?” she whispered, shifting toward the masked figure writhing in the dirty snow. His eyes met hers for a moment, and it was then she recognized Kai’s brother. Less from the color of his irises, but more that steely conviction

“Calf,” Vetch groaned. “Vespers hit too.”

Hazel slid closer to the familiar man, his voice suddenly more recognizable now that his name was out in the open.

“Can I look?” she asked.

“Thought I told you to shut up.” The unmasked man growled as he gripped her arm, pulling her to her feet and away from his companions.

“I can help.” Hazel pressed, tilting her head to Vetch’s leg and then scanning Vesper’s injuries. “Work as a nurse’s aide in Seven.” She faltered, tugging on her trapped arm. “Or at least… I did.”

Vetch grimaced. His eyes met hers. More blood oozed from his leg.

“You need medical attention, and I suspect Vesper does too,” Hazel said again, testing the grip on her arm.

“Easy Ohmric.” Vetch sighed and nodded down at his calf. “Don’t think I can make it to the rendezvous point.”

Ohmric released her.

She dropped down next to Vetch and pulled back the pant leg. Despite the darkness, it was clear the laceration was serious, yet non-life-threatening.

But they didn’t seem to know that. It probably hurt like hell, and that was an advantage she could use. “It needs to be cleaned and dressed; he won’t get far without medical intervention.”

“No shit.” Ohmric bit out. “Don’t need to be a nurse's aide to know that.”

“I can get the supplies,” Hazel argued, looking back at Vesper, who was gripping his seeping shoulder. “For both of you.”

Ohmric’s fingers tightened over the gun. “And how are you gonna do that?”

“We have everything we need on my train. I have proper medical supplies.” Holding up her pink, wrapped hand, “Use them on myself.”

“You think I believe you?” Ohmric’s eyes narrowed.

“It is your decision, but soon it won’t matter,” she lied partially. It was technically possible that they could be in more serious peril if the wounds continued to bleed. Pointing to Vetch’s mask, she probed, “No need for that now, can you take it off?”

He watched her quietly as he unwrapped the fabric from over his head. Handing it to her, he sighed, yet didn’t meet her stare. Silently, she proceeded to secure it around his leg as tightly as possible. He moaned. His companion stiffened.

“Needs to be as snug as I can make it. But it won’t be enough for long. If you get me to the Victory Tour train, I can get more and even suture it.”

Vesper met Ohmric’s eyes, and a grimace creased his features.

“Let’s go.” Vetch finally said, shifting himself up off the ground, placing most of his weight on his uninjured leg. Vesper shuffled closer, wrapping his good arm around Vetch’s middle.

Ohmric circled toward Hazel, pointing a dirty finger at her.

“Fine, but if this blows up in our face. I’ll blame you.”

“You’ll need to get in line,” she bit out.

He couldn’t possibly blame her more than she did herself.

Ohmric held onto her as they picked their way along the treeline, working slowly toward the second train on the tracks. Intermittent bouts of gunfire would ring out, they would pause until it passed, and then they pressed onward. Finally, after about a quarter mile behind, the Victory tour train took shape. On the tracks before it lay several sturdy out-of-place logs that clogged the pathway. It was completely still. Just as desolate and just as powerless.

The exterior was dark and pitted with bullet holes. Scattered bodies were prevalent on the ground around it. The engine car was empty, and the door hung open as if it had been blasted off its hinges.

Their group inched parallel to the nearly abandoned train. A couple of cars down the line, the main lobby car waited.

Two peacekeepers guarded the open entrance, eyes keenly scanning the woods.

Ohmric waved a hand, gesturing for them to get low. His two companions followed suit as he yanked Hazel to her knees beside him. Tilting his head, he studied the two through his scope.

Her pulse pounded in her throat. He was going to shoot them just like the last peacekeeper.

“Maybe I can talk to them?” Hazel whispered.

Maybe she could distract them. Dissuade them. Maybe not everyone needed to die because of her.

“Don’t speak,” Ohmric mumbled, peering at the two guards through his sights. “Stay here.”

Hazel gripped his sleeve, “Wait.”

“That albino snake really has you wrapped around his finger,” Ohmric whispered, ripping Hazel’s hand away. “Vetch.”

Vesper let go of Vetch as the District Eleven boy raised his gun at Hazel.

“Be still, Seven.”

Hazel let her hands drop.

Ohmric picked his way forward until he was within striking distance. Hazel squeezed her eyes shut as his weapon fired. A grunt followed. Then a piercing yell. Return fire, and then the thwang of Ohmric’s weapon firing. Once, twice, three times. A final thud came next.

A rough hand seized Hazel’s arm. She blinked her eyes open to find Ohmric manhandling her toward the train.

“Hurry up.”

Certain that the coast was clear, they rushed the doors. Hazel tried to keep her eyes away from the two guards who lay in a heap at her feet.

I’m sorry.

Ohmric hoisted Vetch up into the train first, then Vesper, who clambered upward, dragging Hazel in after him.

Once they were all inside, Ohmric seized her collar. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Hazel held up her hands in mock surrender. “It’s in my room.”

“Watch the doors,” Ohmric barked to the others as Vetch and Vesper slumped onto the benches.

Ohmric followed Hazel, rifle flush to her spine.

“A rebel on the Capitol payroll is a tad contradictory, isn’t it?”

He grumbled as she opened the door to her chamber.

“Can’t shut up for five seconds, can you?”

“Wonder what your price tag was,” She said as she made her way to the closet.

“It’s beyond me how you ever won the Games.”

Ignoring him, she groped for the handles.

“Hey, don’t get clever,” he chirped. Pushing her to the side, he slid in front of her and pulled it open himself. Scanning the contents for a moment, he relented and let her retrieve the plentiful supplies stashed on the top shelf.

Turning to him with her arms full, she asked, “If you aren’t going to kill me, then why am I here?”

Ohmric hesitated for a moment before seeming to realize she wasn’t going to stop. “You ever go fishing?”

She frowned, studying him for a beat. “Rarely.”

The edge of his lip twitched, just once. “Even an amateur knows you don’t waste good bait before the fish bite.”

Surging forward, he gripped her arm once again and hauled her back to the lobby. “Chat’s over.”

Vetch and Vesper looked up expectantly as they re-entered.

Ohmric leveled his rifle at Hazel’s heart.

“Patch him up.”

Hazel settled down with the two injured rebels. Spreading out the materials, her fingers were shaking as she directed Vetch to put his leg up on the bench as she rolled up his pant leg once again and removed the blood-soaked face covering.

“Thought bravery was foolishness.” She said, spraying a clear cleanser on the gauze. The bleeding was waning. No vital arteries were damaged.

“Mmmmph.” He moaned as she wiped the site until only raw, clean skin remained. “Bravery is one thing. “But survival with a side of revenge? Whole different game.”

Vesper seemed to exhale in agreement.

“Revenge for Kai?” Her voice dwindled as she reached into the box, pulling out the suture kit. Popping the latch, she laid out its implements.

“Among other things,” Vetch grunted, avoiding the sight of the needle. “I doubt he’d be proud.”

Hazel smiled sadly, remembering the soft-hearted boy with the wide, innocent eyes.

“We can agree on that.”

She faltered, attempting to conjure a picture of Kai that wasn’t haunting. Instead of him bleeding out in the District Seven tract, she focused on that ridiculous bow tie he wore that night at Pantheon. Or the way he spun Ruby like they were the only two in the room.

Kai and Vetch were so different, but then again, she wasn’t like her brother either. She vaguely wondered what he would do in this scenario. Mentally scolding herself, she refused.

If Silus were here instead, none of this would have happened.

Clearing her throat, she gripped Vetch’s leg firmly and met his eyes.

“Deep breaths, Eleven. No numbing spray.”

He nodded once and looked away as she set to work anchoring her first stitch.

“What are the other things?” She asked, attempting to distract him as well as possibly glean a nugget or two of information.

“What?”

“You said, among other things.”

“You've seen the news?” He said between his teeth, his fists curling tightly.

Hazel sighed, looping the next stitch and pulling the wound edges closer. “A glimpse.”

“You glimpse what they said about Eleven?” his voice cracked.

Her fingers faltered. “I heard about the wildfires.”

“Arson’s not wild.” His lip quivered.

“Your siblings?” Hazel’s gut boiled.

“Unscathed, for now.” His jaw ticked. “Though, I’m sure your family is safe and sound, tucked in their warm beds, no?”

Hazel’s lip quivered as she tied off the last suture. “Probably.”

“Well, either way, Snow’s not going to be able to get away with it forever.” His irises were molten amber. “That is what I meant by other things.”

“Snow?” Hazel coughed, and she stopped working. “He didn’t…. it wasn’t him...”

“Are you certain?”

She set back to work, looping a plush layer of clean gauze around the now-closed wound.

“Why would he? He has been advocating for the District's right to vote.”

“He might be now, but he will always be a Gamemaker.” Vetch’s tone was frigid. “Don’t know what it's like in Seven. But we can’t stay much longer in Eleven. Only a matter of time until we are the ones burnt to ashes or our bodies carted through the streets.”

“You might not believe me, but Snow didn’t set the fires. Whoever did is the same one paying for this…” She gestured vaguely, “…ambush or whatever this is.”

Vetch leaned in as he shifted his leg away once she smoothed flat the last piece of tape.

“Your bias is showing, Seven.” Despite his shoulders sagging in relief, his young face looked decades older in a matter of seconds. “Besides …I… I need the money. Without Kai’s income…” He ran a sleeve over a lip quiver he was desperately trying to cover. “Can’t complain how I get the funds. It’s the only way to get us safe passage out of Eleven.”

Hazel frowned, searching Vetch’s face though he kept his eyes averted.

“Safe passage? How? To where?”

Leaving any District was a suicide mission, let alone one as heavily guarded as Eleven.

“Quiet!” Ohmric said. Vetch slid fully away from her, and she reluctantly set her sights on Vesper. The avox pulled his shirt over his head as she got to work on his shoulder. It probably would need stitches as the slice had run deep.

His back was tracked with old scars that slid up his spine, coiled around his wrists and neck.

“Revenge for you, too?” Hazel whispered.

Vesper stilled.

“What the hell did I just say? “Ohmric rose to his feet, staring daggers at Hazel.

Hazel licked her lips and raised her hands in surrender.

Then, with a crackling, ear-splitting sound, Ohmric’s head exploded in a burst of bone, blood, and brain matter. Scarlet sprayed the floors and walls. He crumpled. Dead before his body stopped moving.

Hazel jumped, and a squeaking, surprised sound came from her.

Vetch scrambled for his gun. Vesper let out a haggard gasp.

Standing in the train’s entrance was Leo, rifle leveled squarely at Vetch. “Either of you move, and you’ll get the same.”

Chapter Text

“Leo,” Hazel exhaled. A wave of relief saturated her senses at his sudden presence, though it was tainted with the fresh horror of Ohmric’s head vaporizing.

His attention flickered to her, scrutinizing from her head to her toes. His lips twisted upward, seemingly appeased that she wasn’t dead or maimed. However, his eyes remained intense, like a thunderous storm raged beneath.

“Marlowe, get behind me.”

Vetch’s fingers twitched, his arms frozen in an awkward stretch toward his weapon.

“Don’t,” Leo’s command could solidify boiling water.

Vetch grunted but obediently scooched back.

“Hands up. Both of you.”

They accepted the rigid direction as Leo approached. His rifle was still squarely targeted on Vetch’s chest. “I’m not exactly surprised to see you, Eleven, but …” His scrutiny slid to the avox. “Why Vesper?”

Vesper kept his hardening stare averted. Vetch levelled his shoulders, chest puffing out as he answered for his cohort.

“Even the dogs who seem the tamest can only take so much. Some of us bite back, eventually.”

Leo returned his stare to Hazel.

“Get behind me,” he pressed, taking another wide yet silent stride. Something about the rawness in his voice set off warning bells.

Hazel stood, thrusting herself into the space between the peacekeeper and the two injured rebels.

“What are you going to do?”

Leo didn’t even flinch.

“Put down a couple of rabid dogs.”

More deaths would come. All because of her. She had to try to deter him.

“Wait,” she pleaded.

“So help me, Marlowe.” Leo’s neck muscles pulsed. “Don’t think I won’t drag you out of here.”

“Don’t kill them,” she implored.

Leo hesitated, and Hazel seized the pause, hurling possibilities at him.

“We can cuff them. Barricade them in a closet. Tie them to the train. Please…just don’t, don’t kill them, Leo.”

Leo didn’t budge, but his eyes flared at his name.

Vetch and Vesper spectated silently, hands still hoisted.

Hazel inched forward, Ohmric’s blood pooling at her boots. Leo watched her carefully, eyes sliding over her features like he was searching for something. Finally, his shoulders dipped. His grip never slackened, but a battered sigh escaped him.

“There’s a set of handcuffs in my left pant pocket. Grab them.”

She obeyed instantly, rushing forward, plunging a hand into his pocket and yanking out the cuffs.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Secure their hands together,” he breathed.

Vesper shifted, attempting to slip his shirt back on.

“Hey.” Leo lunged closer. “I said, don’t move.”

The avox quaked, hands jerking back upward, gaze dropping submissively.

“Remove their weapons.”

Hazel collected Ohmric’s gun, then snatched up Vetch’s rifle too. Pooling the weapons on a nearby table, she approached Vesper next. Ransacking his pockets until she encountered the kitchen knife. After concealing it inside her jacket, she slipped his shirt back over his head. Finally, she clamped the two men together.

Leo marched forward, close enough that she caught the fading scents of gunpowder and earth. He nudged Hazel’s arm.

“Take this,” he murmured, easing the rifle into her hold.

She turned slightly, brow furrowing. “What for?”

“Cover me.”

Hazel faltered. She told herself it was because the rifle was heavier and more awkward than she expected. Though Leo didn’t let on that he noticed, he didn’t let go either.

“You ever use one before?”

She shifted the gun slightly, giving him a half-hearted once-over.

“You don’t happen to have an axe on you?”

“I’ll take that as a no.” He almost smiled. Circling, he positioned himself behind her, one hand on the weapon, the other ghosting over her bicep. He adjusted the stock against her collarbone, slowly dragging her fingers into place on the grip. The rifle reeked of charred oil. His hand was warm and calloused as it slid over the bare skin of her wrists.

“Brace yourself, Marlowe.” Leo's breath was just behind her ear. “If either of them so much as twitches, shoot.”

Her pulse thudded beneath his touch. She nodded, and he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly before pivoting toward their captives.

Her arms strained under the bulk, but she kept it steady.

He scooped up the abandoned weapons, stashing Ohmric’s sidearm in his pocket.

“You might as well tell her to kill us,” Vetch sneered.

Leo ignored him, swiftly hoisting the second rifle into his belt. “If it weren’t for her, you’d be dead already. I have no sympathy for rebel murderers.”

“Funny, coming from a man enlisted to butcher in the name of the Capitol.” Vetch snarled. “In the name of Snow.”

Leo poked Ohmric’s rigid corpse before bending to rifle through his pockets.

“Are you so deluded you don’t recognize your hypocrisy? How many Peacekeepers did you execute tonight?”

Hazel’s heartbeat galloped.

“No more than you’ve probably killed of ours,” Vetch frothed. “Don’t dare compare yourself to me.”

Leo’s attention snapped to Vesper, whose face remained lowered. The peacekeeper rose to his full height as he advanced.

“And him? He serves the Capitol, same as me.”

“Used to.” Vetch jerked on the wrist cuffed to the avox. “The Senator made sure to ruin any loyalty to the Capitol he had left. Then that blonde monster went and set Ten and Eleven on fire.”

“Snow didn’t set the fires,” Hazel interjected. “Dr. Gaul did. Who’s more Capitol than that?”

Leo seized Vetch’s forearm.

“That’s your theory. There’s no way his hands aren’t dirty here,” Vetch continued, letting Leo drag him across the room. “And even if he didn’t…money is money. Revenge is revenge. Matters little to me whose pocket it comes from. And I’m sure Vesper here just wanted a chance at a shot.”

“What was your goal?” Leo loomed above the captive. “To kill a Victor? To get back at the Senator?”

“No.” Vetch’s scrutiny skittered briefly toward her. “Instructed to use her only as leverage, if we managed to get our hands on her.”

“You were going to assassinate him,” Hazel breathed.

Vesper and Vetch exchanged wary glances.

Leo hauled the pair roughly closer to a sturdy metal bench.

“You’re right. Should’ve let her shoot you.” He clamped a second set of handcuffs around Vetch’s free wrist, fastening the other cuff securely to the bench’s metal stanchion. “Would be merciful compared to whatever awaits those who would attempt to murder a sitting Senator.” Leo’s irises slid over Vesper, “and treason, of course.”

Their complexions drained.

Hazel lowered the weapon, muzzle sagging toward the floor. “Say you managed to kill him, how were you planning to escape?”

Vetch curled his fingers into a defiant fist. Vesper jerked urgently on his ally’s sleeve, head swiveling in objection.

“We’re dead men already,” he muttered grimly to Vesper. “Besides, they probably already know about the channel.”

“What’s a channel?” Hazel asked.

“Likely some trick. We’re hundreds of miles from the ocean,” Leo scoffed.

“Shows what you know,” Vetch sank onto the floor, stretching his wrists. “How do you think we got here? Didn’t take the train now, did we?”

“So what is it exactly?” Hazel wrung her hands together at the idea.

“It's like a network of routes or roads.” his eyes flicked pointedly around them, “Some above ground and some not.”

“Where else do they lead?” Leo pressed.

“Don’t know all the logistics, but all over, I 'suppose.”

Oren and Garth Shepherd flashed through Hazel’s mind.

“Does the channel go to Seven?” she suddenly asked.

“Sure.” Vetch shrugged.

“So, you are rebels.” Leo straightened as if his point had just been proven.

“An opportunist. A true rebel would guard this information to the grave.” Vetch waved a finger at them. “Two can be on the same road, even if they don’t share a destination.”

“Not a rebel either, Vesper?” Leo challenged.

The avox lifted his chin, meeting Leo’s stare before shaking his head.

“He’s more like a disgruntled employee,” Vetch clarified. “But can you blame him? Snow’s the one who took his tongue.”

Hazel’s stomach tightened. “Why?”

“That’s one thing he won’t say …” Vetch shifted awkwardly, wincing at Vesper. “….or… You know what I mean. Something about a secret for the Victor’s eyes only.”

The avox’s scrutiny was solidly attached to his shoes. Hazel squirmed.

Vetch studied Vesper. “It was his tongue or his life. Quite the choice your boyfriend gave him.”

Hazel ignored the barb. He could really only be referring to one thing.

“You’ve seen the contents of my tape?”

Vesper’s expression melted into pity, and he nodded.

What could be on the tape to justify Snow making Vesper into an avox? Horror slid through her bloodstream like tarry sludge.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Vesper merely watched her before his eyes finally fell to his binds.

Outside the train, a faint, distant popping skittered through the woods.

Leo raked a hand through his hair. “That’s enough chit chat for now. You two stay put.”

He reclaimed the rifle from Hazel and steered her firmly toward the furthest corner. His eyes swept over her like he was searching for damage he hadn’t noticed before.

“Where’s Sable and Coriolanus?” she questioned before he could utter a word.

Leo’s attention shifted briefly to the darkness.

“We made it to the cache mostly unscathed. They went on toward the front of the train. Knowing Pytash, they’ve probably reached the communications car by now. Not without heavy resistance, I’m sure.”

“Why’d you double back?”

“Convinced Senator Snow to let me. Had a bad feeling, and apparently, I wasn’t wrong. Got to the kitchen car and it wasn’t exactly how we left it.” His voice wavered ever so slightly as his stare settled firmly on her face. “Where’s Bellona?”

Hazel’s eyes descended away from him. “I don’t know.”

Leo’s expression turned distant, concern pooling beneath the surface.

“Just after you left. There was shouting, gunfire…maybe a fight. Then it just went quiet. Vesper and I went to check on her, but she was gone,” she admitted, turning her attention to the crumpled Ohmric, then to the avox, and finally Vetch. “That’s when they found me.”

Leo shook his head. “You should’ve stayed put.”

“Like you did?”

Leo locked eyes with her again. “Point taken.”

A tortured gurgle ruptured the quiet. Hazel’s focus shot to the gaping train door.

“What was that?”

Scooting closer, with Leo on her heels, her scrutiny landed on one of the nameless peacekeepers Ohmric had shot. The man was prostrate across the icy earth. He appeared all but lifeless, except for a subtle spasm. His fingers twitched, and a faint groan filtered from his lips.

Hazel leaned further. His chest rose in a faint flutter of respiration.

“We need to help,” Hazel urged, lunging even closer to the entrance. Before she made it another step, Leo blocked her pathway, gently capturing her bicep.

“Marlowe, wait, I need to secure you. Senator’s orders.”

She lifted her face to his. “You really can’t just expect me to stand here while people are bleeding out ten feet away?”

He didn’t budge. “You aren’t a soldier.”

“No, but I started this. You know I did.”

Leo’s jaw clenched.

“I need your help. Stay with me. Guard me. The Senator doesn’t need to know. Let me do this, and I’ll even let you lock me in my room afterward. Promise.”

He stared at her for a long moment, something breaking apart behind his irises.

“Alright. But I’m not taking my eyes off you, so don’t try anything reckless.”

Hazel nodded.

“I won’t if you won’t.”

His hand dropped from her, and she didn’t wait. Vaulting from the train, she hit the frozen earth running. Behind her, Leo cursed under his breath yet followed, watching her like his life depended on it.

Hazel dropped to her knees beside the wounded soldier. “Where are you hit?”

“Leg, arm…and…” he rasped, wavering at consciousness’s edge. He didn’t quite meet her eyes. It was more like he was looking at her through a screen or fog. Like she was a part of some awful dream.

Hazel examined him swiftly, noting the crimson frost glazing his sleeve. It wasn’t as dire as the injury to his leg or the streak of red along his flank. However, his lips had taken on an alarming plum hue.

Removing his belt, she cinched it securely above the gravest lower extremity laceration.

“Leo,” she called over her shoulder. Instantly, her guard sidled up to her. “Help me lift him. We have to get him inside.”

Leo complied with a quiet grunt, heaving the peacekeeper over his shoulder.

Together, they settled the man horizontally onto a bench within the lobby car. Hazel elevated his feet and tightened makeshift tourniquets around his wounds.

As soon as his eyes fluttered shut, she spun toward the entrance again.

Leo snatched her wrist, immobilizing her once again. “Where now?”

“To find others.”

Leo shook his head firmly. “Marlowe, no.”

“What if it was Bellona injured out there or Sable? Wouldn’t you hope someone would help them?”

He peered reluctantly into the darkness and, with a weary sigh, surrendered.

Vetch smirked from his restraints on the bench.

“Quiet,” Leo barked.

Drawing his sidearm, Leo shadowed Hazel as she hurried toward the next wounded man.

She palpated his neck, breathing out a puff of frozen air. His skin matched the temperature of the winter atmosphere. Frigid. Waxy. Pulseless.

Shivering, she crept to the next figure. Distant gunfire fissured the night, and her heartbeat quickened.

Another corpse. Gone. Then, finally, she spotted the crumpled silhouette of an assailant clothed in all black. Venturing closer, she pressed two fingers to his wrist. A pulse fluttered beneath her touch.

“He’s alive.”

“Better if he weren’t,” Leo muttered, eyes on the treeline.

“That’s not ours to decide.”

“Exactly.”

“Drayton, please,” she faltered. “Please.”

It was his turn to be unbalanced as he met her eyes. Without another word, he relented, and soon he had his arms wrapped about the man’s torso while Hazel carried his legs.

One by one, they retrieved the salvageable, arranging them across benches and binding what injuries they could. Hazel then raided the linen cabinet and returned with armfuls of blankets, draping each motionless figure to blunt the frostbite. One that was particularly dark and heavy, she lay over Ohmric’s stiffened corpse.

Leo didn’t protest when she cleansed and stitched Vesper’s shoulder wound. After that, she slipped back into the cold, searching for more. Leo was dutifully at her side. Sweat carved a path down her spine despite the frigid air. They had to roam farther and farther with every search.

“One more,” Leo finally said as they crouched near the open doorway again. His breathing was slightly labored. “Then we wait for backup.”

She offered no disagreement as they set out one last time. He moved ahead, weapon raised. Sheathed within the forest, they reached a cluster of three fallen bodies.

Two unmoving rebels were soaked in blood, and farther off, a smear of gray. A Peacekeeper lay among the branches.

Hazel knelt beside the first. His skin was a roadmap of lacerations. No breath. No pulse. She shifted to the second. The same story.

Leo suddenly released a sound, sharp and guttural. Something about it chilled her to the bone. She spun to witness his arms going limp, and he swayed.

Abandoning the two dead rebels, she sprinted toward him, half-expecting a bullet to tear through her spine or perhaps screams of attackers. But everything remained sickeningly quiet.

“Drayton?”

He had dropped to his knees, sidearm slipping into the brambles.

Falling to her own knees on the ground beside him, she gripped his shoulders. He barely seemed to register her as she scanned his shivering body, but there were no obvious injuries.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his pained stare remained locked ahead.

Hazel followed the path of his eyes.

The peacekeeper on the frozen ground had transfixed him.

“No,” he choked.

Hazel’s heart plummeted as she soaked in the scene.

Sprawled before them, laced in snow, was a bloody, broken Bellona.

Chapter Text

Bellona’s pale lavender eyelids were motionless. Matching mauve lips were just as still, yet slightly parted. Dirt and blood streaked her cheeks. Old leaves and splinters netted in her hair.

Each limb was stretched out in a haphazard pose. Her left arm was curled up near her temple, and the other was cradled awkwardly against her side. A much too dark scarlet stained her right arm sleeve.

Hazel crawled closer, nearly slipping over the snow-coated earth.

Bellona can’t be dead.

She can’t.

It is not possible.

Behind her, Leo’s spine bowed under the pressure of his reaction. His shoulders heaved. He hovered in his spot, remaining several feet away as if he were afraid to get closer. Terrified to confirm what he was seeing was real.

One word fell from him like a repetitive, desperate prayer.

“No. No. No.”

Hazel swallowed her own terror as she grappled toward the prone figure, whispering, “Bells?”

As her knees brushed against Bellona’s uniform, her injuries became clearer. Scrapes crisscrossed every inch of visible skin. Cuts merged into lacerations and those volcanoed into hematomas. Most concerning was the deep orchid bruise that necklaced her throat.

Someone or someones had tried to take her down, and naturally, she had refused to go easily.

“Hell of a fight you put up,” Hazel whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

Her murmuring seemed to stir Leo, and he stumbled forward until he was flanking the opposite side of his sister.

Hazel groped around Bellona’s collar. Her fingers met the sticky yet velvety flesh of her bruised neck. The temperature was all kinds of wrong. It was much too waxy. Too clammy. Too close to that of the foliage. Of the frost. Of the dead they had already passed over.

Digging her fingertips deeper toward the jugular, she waited. Willing herself not to confuse her own jackhammering pulse with that of the peacekeeper.

Leo’s breathing sounded like he’d run miles without stopping.

“Bello…Don’t you dare leave…”

The gravel in his voice sandpapered Hazel’s heart like rubbing too hard on a freshly healing wound. She looked up at him. His irises were like a bottomless slate well of devastation.

“Leo,” she started, but her next words died before she could give them life, as a shallow shifting snared her vision.

The edge of Bellona’s parted lips twitched. Barely. The movements were so faint, for a moment, Hazel considered the possibility they weren’t real.

Maybe I am imagining it? Another hallucination, perhaps?

At the same time, a dull rhythm met her jittery fingertips.

Not imagining that.

“Drayton,” Hazel let out an exhale. “She’s got a pulse.”

“What?” Leo croaked. Demoralization giving way to a glimmer of hope. Like a candle being lit in a dark room.

“It's weak, but it's definitely there.” Hazel pushed her voice out harder.

Leo’s eyes scoured his little sister. A gash barreted her hairline but it was superficial. The color of her neck and her sleeve was the most concerning. But Hazel needed to get a better look to know what they were dealing with.

“Help me get this off her…gently.”

Leo didn’t hesitate to unbutton his sister’s uniform. As he did, Hazel sat up straighter, easing her hands on either side of Bellona’s head, ensuring her neck didn’t move or twist.

Once Leo peeled open the material. More red greeted them. Hazel released Bellona’s throat and set to work curling up the sleeve of her undershirt.

A wretched track carved through her right bicep. It was canyonous, vulgar. Wine-toned blood trickled from its deepest parts. Only the most oxygen-rich blood was such a bold color. The blood of life. Arterial.

Even if the wound were survivable, the limb was likely unsalvageable.

Hazel scrambled to remove Bellona’s belt.

Leo pulled his sister’s uninjured hand upward, hugging it to his chest as he bent forward, mumbling into her chestnut hair.

“Come on, Bello. Stay with me.”

Something about his words and the way blood pooled down Bellona’s limb jolted Hazel. Suddenly, the copper smell was suffocating. Overwhelm drowned her senses.

The belt nearly slipped from her hands as a breath-stealing flashback blindsided her, sucking the air from her lungs, like a punch to center-gut.

She was suddenly in a different forest. A faker one. Silus was before her. Eyes more numerous than the stars in the sky watched as she experienced the worst moment of her life. Her brother’s bleeding wrists burned her retinas and daggered her heart.

No.

Not again.

Not now.

A frantic panic coursed like a wildfire on a windy day through her bloodstream. Her arms were burning as she held his hands up. Rain was pelting them both while his lifeforce drained into the mud. She gripped each of his wrists as firmly as she could manage, staring at the damage he had inflicted on himself.

Her brother was in her ear.

"It's too late, Haze.”

Her own voice rang in her skull next.

“I’ll never forgive you.”

Silus’s response danced on his lips, "I know."

It was then that the belt dropped. Hunching forward, she pressed her trembling palms to the forest floor.

Her senses cried out as she attempted to center her focus on the present. The cold earth. The copper stench. The rasp of Bellona’s breath. Leo’s hushed pleas that could’ve been her own, not even a year ago.

The wind stirred the canopy above, and Hazel tilted her head up toward the stretch of sky. No stars. Just crushing, inky blackness.

“Rosemary,” Leo’s voice stirred her, cooling the hysteria like throwing a boiling tea kettle out into the snow. “You are here. You are with us.” His words centered her rising terror and partially grounded her in their current reality.

She drew in one long breath, steadying her spine. The panic eased, not completely dissipating, more like a forest fire that had dimmed to molten coals. When she looked back down, her hands were no longer shaking; instead, they dug into the earth like claws.

“We are here.” Meeting Leo’s eye, she nodded once. “And we’re not losing her.”

Without another word, she gathered the belt and looped it around Bellona’s arm. She tourniqueted it beneath the guard’s armpit, until she feared the torque would snap her humerus. A breathy moan escaped Bellona’s lips.

Leo jolted, hunching forward and cradling her cheek.

“Bello? Can you hear me?”

He received no answer, but the puffs of warm breath in cold air were now much more visible as she stirred from the pressure of the belt. A fresh rush of hope-infused adrenaline crackled through Hazel’s veins.

She’s definitely still alive.

Still with us.

Still fighting for her life.

Hazel felt vaguely proud of the peacekeeper’s tenacity.

“Whoever it was that did this. She gave them hell.” Hazel commented, eyeing the two dead rebels just a few meters away.

Leo swiped a bit of blood from Bellona’s temples, and a frail, exasperated laugh fell from him.

“Bello’s always been ornery.” Leo’s tone faded, “Just like mom.”

If Bellona and Leo’s mother were even a fraction like her daughter, she must’ve been a formidable woman.

Hazel eyed her purple neck more closely. It wouldn’t be as simple as carting her through the woods. She’d seen similar wounds before. Lumberjacks who’d fallen from trees were often at greater risk of dying at the hands of their own crew. Even when they meant to help, she’d witnessed more than one life end after someone moved a friend with a neck fracture that hadn’t yet severed the spinal cord. Not until they tried to help.

“We need to get her out of here,” she whispered. “But we have to stabilize her head first. We have to get to the supplies on the train.”

As if on cue, gunfire lit up the air. Closer than before.

A bullet grazed the trees above them, slicing leaves and twigs. It didn’t seem purposeful, more errant than anything, but it didn’t instill confidence in their safety evacuating Bellona.

“We’ll need help.” Hazel mused.

“From who?” Leo asked, tucking Bellona’s good hand back over her chest.

Hazel met his eyes.

Their options weren’t great. He knew it, and he seemed to read her wince in the dark.

“They won’t.” His voice had turned to stone.

“You don’t know until you ask,” Hazel pressed, “We don’t have the best options.”

“I can carry her myself.”

A barrage of bullets licked a cluster of nearby saplings as they ducked lower into the frigid underbrush.

“You’ll have your hands full.” Hazel hesitated as a shiver worked up her bones. She reached forward, covering Leo’s hand with her own, “If she has a spinal injury and we move her wrong, she could die instantly.”

Leo huffed from his position on his belly but didn’t squirm from her touch. Instead, he studied the dirt, contemplating the logic of her argument.

Hazel squeezed his fingers within hers.

“Let's go get the supplies we need and come back. We’ll get her to the train and go from there. One step at a time.”

Leo didn’t answer. She slid closer to him, moving her blood-stained fingers from his hand to his face. Gently, she turned him to look at her.

“Leo. We can’t do this ourselves, and you can’t just man-handle or drag her. She’s too fragile and we don’t know how seriously injured she is.” Her other hand slid up, curling over his forearm. “I understand…”Her voice crumbled at the edges as she whispered. “I understand what you are feeling.”

Imaginary coals flared at her admission, and tears stung her eyes as the words settled between them. She glanced at the void of the night sky.

Rosemary. The sky is as black as coal tonight.

“I promise you, I won’t let the same thing happen to her...to you…”

Leo watched her for only a moment longer before relenting, sliding one of his own hands over the one on his cheek,

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get her out of here. Whatever it takes to save her. We will save her… Together,” Hazel slid her thumb beneath his eye. She swore a tear met her skin.

“Ok…” Leo’s voice dropped, but was still tinged with alarm. “So now what? We leave her here?”

Hazel grimaced as she pulled her hands away from him.

“Only temporarily.” Spinning, she began to collect armfuls of leaves and brush hurriedly.

“What are you doing?” Leo grimaced.

“Trust me,” she implored. Crawling closer to Bellona, she cocooned her in the bloody jacket once again. Then, she set to work camouflaging Bellona with the crisp foliage.

Leo followed suit, piling leaves and frozen ferns over his sister. Once she was effectively hidden beneath, they both slid backward on their stomachs until they’d made it several yards.

Leo’s attention remained glued to where they’d left his sister, even when she was just a nearly invisible mound.

A flash of light and a voice echoed in the distance.

With a few more slides, they’d cleared the vision line. Leo pulled Hazel to her feet and gripped his rifle in front of him. Together, they sprinted to the train, as silently as they could.

Leo hopped in first and, with an outstretched hand, he hoisted Hazel in behind him.

Moaning and blood assaulted her senses as she crawled inside. Most of the wounded were exactly as they had left them, though some were much stiller than before.

She couldn’t worry about them right now. Instead, she zeroed in on their two captives, handcuffs jangling as they sat up at their captor’s sudden reappearance.

Pushing closer to them, she said. “We need your help.”

Vetch laughed, “You’re funny.”

“She’s serious,” Leo frowned.

Vesper studied the haggard look on Leo’s face, then leaned backward. “And why the hell would we help you?”

Hazel swallowed, meeting Leo’s eyes, which screamed. I told you so.

She glanced at Vesper and then crouched before Vetch, matching his stare squarely.

“Because if you do. We’ll let you go.”

Chapter Text

“What?” Leo and Vetch’s voices collided in unison.

Both gaped at Hazel as if she’d misplaced her sanity. Not that an argument couldn’t be made for her derangement. If anyone knew how unstable her reality was, she’d have been locked up by now.

She hadn’t yet broken eye contact with Vetch when a strong hand clamped around her bicep.

Leo’s voice was calmer than she expected.

“Excuse us for a moment.”

Vetch and Vesper watched on, confused but utterly engrossed. If any of the injured were even slightly coherent, they too were likely watching the drama unfold, even if they couldn’t fully hear it.

Patiently, she rose to her feet as he ushered her toward the far corner.

“What are you doing?”

Hazel raised her chin.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Leo’s tired eyes narrowed.

“Obvious treason. I can’t believe Festus was right, and this is becoming a pattern.”

She leaned in, voice low. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” Checking their two captives, just out of earshot. “And they’ll be long gone.”

He exhaled a fraying breath.

She proceeded to make her case, “It’s not ideal, but we don’t have time for deliberation or arguments. Bellona won’t survive the cold much longer, let alone those wounds. We need to get her out of the elements. I promised you I would do whatever it takes.”

Another deep sigh, and his eyes drifted closed as Hazel placed her palm over the one still curled around her arm.

“I trust you,” Hazel continued, and she swore she caught a flinch. “Now you have to trust me.” Her voice wavered, “I had no chance at saving my brother. I don’t want that for you or Bellona, and we still have time.”

He opened his eyes, though the torment behind them stayed.

“Okay.” His hand fell away from her.

“Good,” Hazel offered a mournful smile. “Now let’s go get her.”

As she turned back, there was a distinct murmur under his breath. He wasn’t particularly satisfied with the arrangement, and she had to admit it was precarious, but Bellona would die if they weren’t willing to risk it.

Together, they returned to their detainees, and Hazel addressed Vetch once again.

“Offer still stands.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Vetch smirked, eyeing Leo, “Seems to be some debate.”

“Like she said,” Leo replied coldly.

“So do you accept?” Hazel urged.

Vesper was nodding while Vetch narrowed his eyes at Leo. “Fine. It’s a deal. But only because you’re offering to set us loose. Otherwise, I wouldn’t lift a pinky for a Peacekeeper.”

“Try anything,” Leo growled, fingers twitching closer to his rifle, “and I’ll drop you where you stand.”

Hazel stepped forward, tapping his shoulder. “We don’t have time.”

With haste, Leo crouched and unclipped the cuff shackling Vetch to the table’s frame. After undoing the first set, he didn’t reach for the second.

“These stay.” Leo grasped the chain and dragged the two toward the center of the room. “They’ll come off once you’ve done what you promised.

Vetch dug his heels in, “Fat chance. This is all some typical peacekeeper manipulation. Go ahead and put that restraint back on.”

Hazel held up her hand to Leo, easing between the two again, “Give me the key.”

Leo didn’t move at first.

“If it helps you trust that we will keep our end of the bargain, I’ll hold onto the key, and I promise I will release you once she is safe.”

Both Leo and Vetch remained closed-mouthed.

Hazel turned her attention to Vetch, “Your brother was my alliance partner in the Games. I wouldn’t dishonor him by lying to you.”

Vetch faltered, considering her until finally relenting, “Fine. But only if she has the keys.”

Leo retrieved the set from his pocket, laying them within Hazel’s hand, “Better? Now follow me.”

Together, the three men stripped a beefy cushion from one of the benches and broke off all four legs of a tall chair. Leo cut down several yards of thick gold and blue rope from the window curtains. Using it, Leo tied two wooden legs to the sides of the cushion, forming crude handles. The other two were secured beneath, to give more stability to the makeshift gurney.

Meanwhile, Hazel gathered what supplies she could, stuffing rolls of gauze, bandage wrap, and tape into her pockets. Her fingers hovered near her lips as her eyes swept the train car.

I need something else... something to immobilize her neck. Her gaze landed on the plastic box that had been holding the wound care materials, and an idea struck.

Without a word, she turned and jogged down the hallway toward her sleeping quarters. Leo called after her, but she didn’t stop. In her room, she retrieved the knife she’d stashed inside her pillow, grateful she hadn’t hidden it under the mattress where Snow might have found it. Snagging several towels from the bathroom, she headed back toward the main car.

Ignoring Leo’s furrowed brow, she got to work. She dumped the contents of the plastic box and set it on its side. Pressing it against the floor for leverage, she sawed out a broad “U”. Peeling her carving out, she tested its sturdiness. It was solid, with minimal give, warping just enough when she bent the edges. Perfect. Fetching a spare blanket and what was left of the rope, she nodded to Leo.

As they neared the exit, a barrage of shouting and gunfire rattled through the air.

Leo froze, turning back to Hazel. “You said you were a lousy shot?”

“Never touched a gun in my life. Axes only, I’m afraid.”

District folks weren’t allowed to touch, let alone own, firearms.

Snagging a shotgun from the confiscated weapons, he inspected its chamber for shells.

“Here,” he said, snapping it shut. “Hard to mess this one up. Don’t need to be a marksman, just close enough and motivated. All you have to do is aim and pull the trigger. But only do so if absolutely necessary.”

Hazel swallowed and nodded once, tucking the supplies under her arm and holding the shotgun in the other. The weapon was bulky and wholly foreign. Yet it gave her a small amount of confidence, even if it terrified her at the same time.

Once they’d hauled their items off the train, easing the two bound men down with the least amount of awkwardness possible, they began to stalk the darkness like a mismatched group of ragtag hunters.

Leo led. Vetch and Vesper shuffled behind him, holding the stretcher between them, and Hazel brought up the rear.

The frozen ground was rigid beneath her boots, and their breathing made puffy steam clouds as they moved, but Hazel didn’t register the cold. If anything, the rapid beat of her heart and the fire of her adrenaline made her skin sweat.

As they retraced their steps to Bellona, gunfire chattered randomly in the distance. Leo kept marching. When they finally reached the rebel corpses Bellona had dispatched, Vesper stumbled, and Vetch muttered a curse.

Hazel surged to the front, setting her gun on the ground. She tore away the sticks, dirt, and leaves to reveal Bellona’s form. Palpating her cool neck, Hazel sighed. A pulse was still present, and it was clear she was breathing from the wisps of fog that puffed from her open lips.

“She’s here, still fighting,” Hazel whispered.

“That’s my Bello,” Leo’s lips twitched.

From the small stash tucked beneath Hazel’s coat, she retrieved the towel, the plastic “U,” and a coil of rope. After slicing off several short lengths, she rolled the towel into a thick band and wrapped it around Bellona’s neck. She fitted the plastic brace over the padding, then used the segments of cord to cinch the collar at even intervals. Once everything was in place, she wound an elastic bandage over the whole assembly in overlapping loops, anchoring it beneath Bellona’s jaw and across her collarbones.

“It’s not perfect,” she murmured, adjusting the layers, “but it’ll stabilize her neck, so it won’t move when we pick her up.”

Quickly, she secured several loops of gauze over the laceration to her arm, just beneath the tourniquet.

When it all seemed to be as structurally sound as it was possibly going to be, Hazel signaled to Leo and motioned for Vetch and Vesper to step closer.

“We need to roll her onto one side,” Hazel instructed. “Slow. One motion. You slide the cushion under her. Then we’ll lay her back down.”

She carefully cradled Bellona’s skull. Leo got to his knees, bracing his hands behind his sister’s shoulders and legs.

“On my count. One… two… three.”

Leo rolled Bellona gently onto her side while Hazel kept her head stabilized. Vetch and Vesper wedged the cushion beneath her. The peacekeeper let out a pained sound, but her head remained straight. Once the carrier was secure, they guided her to a prone position.

Hazel checked the brace once again, then draped the blanket over.

Retrieving the shotgun, Hazel shoved it into the tight belt of her dress. “Now we pick her up.”

“With our hands chained together?”

“You better believe it,” Leo grumbled.

Vetch sputtered while Vesper stared down at Bellona almost regretfully.

Leo brushed a finger over his sister’s temple, tone as hard as steel. “Drop her, and I’ll shoot you.”

“Yes, sir,” Vetch replied.

Leo stood, rifle raised, sweeping the tree line while Hazel faced the handcuff men. “You two grab that side, and I’ll get the other. Go slowly.”

Vesper moved without question. Vetch gave her a look but obeyed.

Hazel crouched, wrapping her hands tightly around the chair-leg handle, “Lift.”

They hoisted her. Vesper moaned under the weight. No doubt it was tearing at the fresh stitches. Holding the gurney just above their waists, the three began to march back to the train.

A muffled moan fell from Bellona even as her eyes remained shut.

“Easy Bells. Let’s get out of here,” Hazel whispered. Leo slid closer, bending toward her ear.

“You got it?”

The field stretcher was heavy and graceless, still a tad too soft, but good enough if they moved fast. Despite the burning in her arms and pressure on her injured palm, she wasn’t going to let Bellona remain in the cold.

“I’ll manage.”

Leo squeezed her shoulder once again before taking the lead.

They’d made it a handful of feet when a flash of light, small and circular, broke through the darkness. It was on the other side of the forested expanse, but not far enough for any comfort. Another light followed.

“Stop,” Leo whispered harshly, holding up a hand and pointing to the ground. “Kneel down.”

They sank slowly to their knees as a unit, settling their patient in a patch of ferns.

Voices mingled with the reflective flashes. Multiple. Hazel strained to see ahead, but the figures were too far to discern.

“Are they friendly?” Hazel asked.

“Can’t tell fully, but unlikely.” Leo stared down the sight of his rifle. “Stay here. I’m going ahead.”

“Wait,” Hazel called, but he was already tracking forward toward the disturbance. He cast her a reassuring glance before returning to the mission at hand.

“Some of yours?” Hazel asked Vetch.

He shrugged. “Too dark. Maybe.”

Leo stalked frontwards like a cougar, until he melded into the darkness. Hazel held her breath, waiting for clues as to the identity of the unknown group.

An abrupt crunching noise behind them made Hazel flinch. She squinted but could see nothing. A twig snapped.

“Leo?” she breathed, but he was already too far.

Were they surrounded?

Hazel glanced back at Bellona, and the white tendrils of breath continued.

We have to get her out of here.

They couldn’t wait. Releasing her grip, she crept to the other side, removing the key from her pocket. Grabbing Vesper’s hand, she wormed it into the first cuff lock.

“What are you doing?” Vetch whispered.

“I need you both to carry her, and these are just getting in the way,” she answered.

“What makes you think we won’t just run?” Vetch asked as the restraints fell free from Vesper.

“Nothing,” she murmured as she set to work on Vetch’s arm next. The handcuffs fell to the earth with a soft thud.

For a moment, the three of them stared at one another until Vesper clasped Vetch’s shoulder, eyes roving from his companion to Bellona’s trembling form.

Leaning forward, Vesper wrapped two hands around the gurney’s rudimentary handle.

Vetch groaned, “Ok, ok. But then we are out of here.”

Swinging himself into Hazel’s place, the two of them raised Bellona once again.

Hazel dislodged the shotgun from her waistband and held it in both hands as they restarted their journey. Inching their way through the darkness, they set their sights on the train.

Leo was still gone. The voices and flashlights had drifted deeper into the woods.

Maybe he was luring them in the opposite direction?

Then came another crunch behind her. Hazel whirled around. Shotgun first, but the murkiness swallowed every discernible shape. She met Vetch’s eyes as if to ask, Did you hear that? He nodded in confirmation.

Hazel waved for them to continue, as she desperately studied the twisted woods. They complied, but as Vesper shifted his grip, the stretcher jerked and Bellona let out a wretched sound. The movement behind them halted for a second, then grew louder. Closer.

Hazel cursed under her breath. She shot a glance toward where she had last seen Leo. She couldn’t yell for him. It was too risky. Vetch and Vesper still held Bellona, but Vetch had his eyes fixed solidly on the woods behind them.

She prayed he wouldn’t call out himself. It wouldn’t endear him to his party to be caught red-handed helping a Peacekeeper, even under duress.

The crunching footsteps were upon them now. Too loud. Peacekeepers were trained to walk quietly.

She knew it before she laid eyes on their pursuer. Rebel-affiliated. District.

How strange, to be advocating for District rights one minute and hunted by them, the next.
She sent Bellona one more glance. Her lips were parted and tinged a sickly purple, breathing still shallow.
Hazel waved at Vetch and Vesper to keep going. They again obeyed, casting a few curious glances back toward whatever, or whoever, was approaching.

Hazel sighed, squaring herself as she eased backward, still facing whatever threat was about to break out into view.

Pressing the gun stock into her shoulder, she pointed the barrel ahead of her.

Maybe he will move right past us.

Another moan from Bellona dashed any hope of that. Vetch and Vesper hadn’t gotten far, and she was still creeping behind them.

Hazel took another cautious backward stride. Peering around at the blue black forest. That was when she saw him. A rebel, cloaked in all black. The bottom half of his face was covered in the same shade.

A long-barreled rifle was poised in his hands.

He searched fervently, surging closer. Then he paused. Something in the dirt had caught his attention. Hazel examined it as well. The light-colored uniform of a peacekeeper lay not far from where Bellona had fallen.

The stranger adjusted his rifle, pointing it downward, taking his time to aim.

Hazel couldn’t close her eyes fast enough. He pulled the trigger.

The blast sent a gut-churning horror through her.

A horrid, involuntary gasp cascaded from her lips.

The distant voices soared louder. They had to have heard the shot. Maybe Leo had too.

But how far apart were they now?

The stranger spun and locked eyes with her through the darkness. A flash of recognition crept over what exposed flesh she could see.

“It’s you.” He said. His voice sounded younger than she expected as he stepped within arm's reach. “What are the odds? Where’s the Senator, huh?”

Hazel pressed her lips together.

“He can’t be far.” The man tilted his head, scanning the area before returning his attention to Hazel. “You know you’re a lot shorter in person.” He glanced at her gun. “No need for that, not here to hurt you. We are on the same side, really.”

“I’m no rebel.” Hazel croaked as he closed the distance. The gun was heavy in her hands.

“All District folk are in their own way. Some of us just accept the reality better than others. So, keep telling yourself whatever it is you need to.” He took a step closer. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

His gaze slid to the frozen figures of Vetch and Vesper. Then Bellona. He raised his gun, eyes glittering with sudden excitement. “Go ahead and step back, boys. I’ve got this.”

Vetch and Vesper set the rig and Bellona on the ground as instructed, scooting backwards.

Hazel tightened her hold on the shotgun. “Leave her.”

He scoffed, taking in her disheveled dress, wild hair, and the shotgun trembling in her grip. “You aren’t seriously going to shoot me over a lousy peacekeeper, are you?”

He stared at her arms, which were quaking like a baby aspen in a windstorm. It must’ve been painfully obvious she didn’t know how even to hold the thing.

The once distant lights and voices were much less distant now.

Leo, where are you?

He disregarded her, gesturing for Vetch and Vesper to back away, and they followed suit, easing away from Bellona. “Seems friends are on their way.”

He noted her hesitation and continued his approach, “Come on, Seven, we are on the same side. From Five myself.” Shouldering his rifle, he aimed at Bellona’s helpless figure. “It’d be good for you to remember who the enemy really is.”

“Stop,” Raising the gun, she centered it on the man before her.

She was rapidly running out of choices. Out of options. Out of ways to avoid staining her hands with more blood.

“Don’t be like that,” He glanced at her, disappointment in his eyes, his finger poised a hair’s breadth from ending Bellona’s life, “I’m District. You’re District. You’re one of us. Or have you forgotten?”

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” Hazel whispered—and then fired.

Chapter Text

In an instant, all sorts of chaos broke loose. The shotgun’s thunderclap deadened Hazel’s ears. A burst of pellets spewed from the barrel, chewing up the chest of the rebel. Pink mist coated the air as the man flew backward.

The butt of the weapon clobbered her collarbone, sending sharp tingles soaring down her arms. Hazel’s pulse battered her chest, and along with the sensations surging through each limb, it made holding onto the gun near impossible.

There was a gurgling gasp from the prone stranger before silence followed.

Hazel’s heart felt like it was going to stop as well.

Had she really just…. Was there another choice? There wasn’t.

Her sensitive nerves were on fire. At the same time, the sensations were wrapped in a vague numbness, like being underwater or watching everything play out from the treetops.

He would’ve killed Bellona. He would’ve killed Leo. He would’ve killed people she cared about.

Faraway rifle popping crescendoed. As did whooping and hollering. The flashlight flares were gone, yet the gunfire was anything but absent. The foreign group was rebels through and through. And they were coming.

Counterfire burst out next. Something or someone was attempting to hijack the insurgents’ progress.

“Leo,” Hazel breathed.

A whimper from Bellona sobered Hazel. Her peacekeeper guard was clearly in pain.

At least she is still living.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled as deeply as her lungs would allow. The cold air was like a soothing, icy compress on her feverish skin, her whole body having been doused in another round of searing adrenaline.

Swallowing down the fresh trauma and severing her focus on the person she’d likely just killed, she commanded the dazed men across from her.

“Pick her back up.”

After exchanging glances with one another and the crumpled corpse, each nodded and complied.

Bellona moaned again when she was hoisted upwards.

Shouting mixed with branches breaking, all of which was background to the thwack of peacekeeper rifle fire.

If the ferocity of the weapon was any indication, Leo was holding his own.

But what if he weren’t? What if he were injured? Or worse? Pinned down by enemies without any hope of rescue?

In their own way, each of the Draytons was embroiled in dire circumstances, though it wasn’t clear who had the worse cards.

Hazel couldn’t let herself imagine Leo losing to the rebels or facing him if she lost Bellona to her wounds.

Once I get her to safety, I’ll find him. His voice was in her ear, reprimanding her for even thinking it, yet she shoved the imaginary warning away.

She’d never forgive herself if either were to slip from her grasp. It would be all her fault. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, they put distance between themselves and the rebel she’d shot.

I can’t have just killed a man for nothing.

Driving away anymore thoughts of the life she’d just ended, she kept her eyes on the woods as Vetch and Vesper stumbled in the dark toward the shadowy train. Once they’d arrived, she wasn’t sure she’d seen anything as welcoming as the warped, propped-open train doors in her life.

Hazel bounded inside first, tossing the shotgun to the side, and helped drag Bellona the rest of the distance.

Vesper and Vetch followed wordlessly. Closer now, a fine spray of scarlet was visible on both of their clothes. She likely had a coat of the viscera herself. Ignoring the horrid thought, she routed the men to her room.

“This way.”

Tearing the comforter and sheets back, she directed them to lay Bellona on the mattress.

“Here.”

They eased her down while Hazel cupped her head. Once she was secured, Hazel moutained blankets over Bellona’s shivering frame and propped thick pillows beneath her knees. The more blood feeding her brain, the better.

Taking a step back, Hazel, Vesper, and Vetch grew quiet. For a minute, there was little sound at all outside of a few now very faint pops, the heaving breathing of the three, and the soft groans from Bellona. Catching the stares of Vetch, it became apparent that he was waiting for her, watching to see what she’d do next.

Of course, he was wary. She’d just killed a man in front of them.

“You don’t have much time,” she murmured.

Vetch didn’t take his eyes off Hazel, while Vesper continued to contemplate Bellona. A trace of regret in his features.

“We'd better get out of here, Vesp.” Vetch finally tugged on his companion’s sleeve. Vesper relented, and Hazel followed them to the main train car.

Blood and putridity were starting to perfume the once luxurious cabin. The injured remained in their places, mostly. Vomit puddled near the shoulder of a peacekeeper with a skullcap of gauze. Others’ fresh bandages were already darkening.

“Where will you go now?” Hazel asked.

Vetch perused the collection of fallen rebels and peacekeepers, “Planning on sending your overly protective bodyguard after us?”

Hazel sighed. “The last thing I want is more graves dug because of me.”

Yet it seemed she was destined to add ghosts to her collection.

Vetch regarded her longer. “Thirteen.”

Thirteen?

She scanned his scalp for injuries she hadn’t noticed before, “Eleven is so bad, you’d rather die in a nuclear wasteland?”

“Seven, I’ll give you advice you should have learned long before now, and you of all people need to take to heart.” He turned deadly serious. “Don’t believe everything you hear and only a quarter of what you see.”

She’d had countless questions, but there wasn’t time for a single one. Collecting a confiscated pistol, she presented it like an offering to Vetch, “Take this with you.”

Vesper picked up a peacekeeper’s file from the pile, then nodded to her in a gesture that seemed to say: goodbye.

“Take care of yourself, Seven.” Vetch sighed, studying her face as he accepted it. “Barricade the door when we leave. Do yourself a favor and actually stay put.”

Vesper patted her shoulder as he moved past her. Helping each other, the two vaulted out of the train and dissolved into the waning night.

Panic tickled the back of her neck.

The outside was deathly silent. Glancing up at the stars, they blinked down at her. The gunfire and shouting had faded into nothing. Somehow, that was more disturbing than all the commotion.

What time is it?

Past midnight once again? Well past.

There wasn’t a sign of a single living soul.

“Where are you?” Hazel whispered to no one.

Unblocking the entrance, she slid them closed as Vetch had advised. Hauling a couple of chairs in front, she set to work checking on the injured.

Two of the rebels had succumbed, and one peacekeeper as well. She shut their eyelids and tugged up the blankets, veiling their faces.

Finally, gazing down at herself, she shuddered. Blood had merged with the blue of her dress, forming sickly deep purple splotches. Like Augustus’s braid. Or Gaul’s suit.

The hypocrisy of her actions soured her stomach. One moment she was bandaging wounds, and the next she was creating them.

“I’m sorry,” She breathed as the last of the deceased was covered.

So much for no more graves.

She couldn’t imagine Bellona coming to the same fate. Rising to her feet, she all but ran back to her room to check on her guard, collecting her shotgun from where she’d left it.

Bellona was shivering, and her breathing had taken on an edge. Peeling back the blankets, she assessed her arm injury. It had finally clotted, but her fingers had paled.

Hazel caressed her jugular. Instead of a faint beat, her pulse was in overdrive. Compensating. Fighting off death’s seduction.

Her bloodstream needed volume. Fluids at least, though a transfusion would be best. Something to stall her deterioration. Without anything, Bellona wouldn’t last long. Hours would be generous.

No.

Hazel rocked on her heels. She couldn’t allow it. Wouldn’t allow it.

Leo had said there might be a stash of additional medical supplies in the rear of the train.

She needed those supplies.

The power being out made opening the doors between train cars nearly impossible. She would have to access it from the outside.

Maybe I can get in through a window…

Piling the rest of the blankets she could find over Bellona, she whispered in her ear. “Be right back, Bells.”

Ensuring Leo’s knife was snugged against her waistline, she returned to the main train car. She eyed the pile of weaponry and shook her head as an image of the rebel’s chest exploding filled her vision. Tearing the blockages from the entryway and using all her strength, she pried the doors back open. It would be fast. In and out. She’d be back before anyone even knew she’d left. Then she’d search for Leo.

Just as she was wedging the door with the broken table leg, a voice called her name.

“Marlowe.”

Hazel jumped, whipping the knife from its place.

Melting out of the darkness was Leo. A bulging pack was slung over his chest. He was hauling a cuffed rebel in front of him.

“Drayton?”

His uniform was drenched, but not in sweat or dirt or mud. It was scarlet.

Her heart beat spiked, “Are you injured?”

“No.” He slung off the bag, propelling it into the train. “Where is she?”

Hazel frowned at the package.

“My bed, what’s this?”

“The medical supplies from the rear car.”

Hazel exhaled, a smile nearly broke through her grimness.

Leo shuffled the rebel before him, “Figured if I didn’t, you’d try to get them yourself.”

“Read my mind.” She hummed as she unzipped the duffel.

Inside were dandelion yellow bags of intravenous fluids, along with needles, tubing, and an abundance of bandaging. The cache was more beautiful than diamonds and more valuable than a satchel of gold.

“Not a mind reader, I just know you.”

Hope sparked in her chest like a candle flame.

Bellona would make it.

“And it seems I’m not the only one who does,” Leo said, pushing the rebel in his hold closer.

Hazel had nearly forgotten the stranger’s presence.

His frame was slight and his spine hunched. No match for the muscular soldier dragging him through the woods. Maybe Leo had taken pity on the older man because of his age. The stranger looked up at her then. Something about him was familiar.

Hazel froze as Leo pulled down the face covering.

Sky blue, tired eyes. Thick white brows arched over them like wings or curtains.

“What are you doing here?” She croaked.

“What’s his name?” Leo peered at the man’s profile, “He wouldn’t tell me.”

Hazel held the older man’s gaze, “His name is Cress. Cress Fields.”

Chapter Text

“Any reason a grandfather from Nine is mixed up in this mess?” Leo asked, heaving Cress into the train. The older man answered with an unintelligible curse about the general lack of IQ among peacekeepers.

Snapping out of her shock, she reached out, aiding Cress to his feet inside the locomotive. The elderly man was wholly out of place in the ongoing skirmish, but it was no accident that he was present. Despite his age, his eyes were razor-sharp, brimming with intelligence, cunning, and a deceptively youthful defiance.

“He’s an engineer.” He had to be the one who disrupted the power and communications. Meeting Cress’s stare, she uttered, “It’s a shame when one’s technology works against them.”

Cress’s eyes danced. “Good to know you were listening.”

Leo pulled himself up into the train, withdrawing the blockage and barring the doors before collaring his new prisoner.

“Let’s go see Bellona.”

“My room,” Hazel answered, collecting the weighty duffel.

Leo propelled Cress an arm’s length ahead, “You’re coming with me.”

Once inside Hazel’s quarters, Cress was shoved into a chair, and his hands were secured to a table leg.

Hazel rifled through the materials, while Leo approached his sister, surveying her lavender-toned face. Stretching out a hand, he brushed his fingertips against her temple.

“Shame your little girlfriend was caught up in all this,” Cress blinked with recognition at Bellona’s horizontal figure.

“Shut your mouth,” Leo growled, whirling back to the rebel.

Hazel stepped between them, holding up a tightly packaged intravenous insertion kit. “She needs fluids. Can you start an IV?”

Leo refocused on Hazel and the plastic in her grip.

Tugging it from her, he mumbled, “Ok.”

Once Leo had settled into his task, Hazel poured the duffel’s contents onto the table, spreading out the supplies over its surface.

“His sister,” Hazel whispered as she took stock of every item before her, “And my friend.”

The edge of Cress’s lip twitched, and he leaned back into the fine seat.

Plucking one of the golden, pillowy bags, she asked, “How do we get the power back on?”

“You don’t.” Cress studied the woodgrain.

Leo scoffed, still hunched over Bellona’s uninjured bicep. “It’s pointless, Marlowe, head as hard as bricks this one.”

Cress didn’t even flinch at the insult.

“Why are you here?” Hazel asked, unsheathing the fluids from their plastic. “We both know it's not for the money.”

“It's complicated,” He replied without moving his attention.

“After what Grace sacrificed…” she trailed off.

Cress glanced up then, furry white brows creasing.

“Got it.” Leo sighed as he sank the needle into a vein in Bellona’s midarm. A flash of red confirmed his success.

Hazel connected and primed a snaking set of plastic tubing to the bag of fluid before handing it over to Leo. He linked the solution to the newly placed port. Raising the IV bag over his head, the golden liquids trickled into Bellona’s system.

Cress studied them both as he answered the questionless accusation.

“I’ve no one left. Figured it would be better to die punishing those who took her from me.”

“By doing Dr. Gaul’s bidding?” Hazel scoffed, “Or Augustus Trask’s?”

“Some of the most vicious creatures eat their own eventually. And Gamemakers are as vicious a breed as they come. A Gamemaker is a Gamemaker. It matters little to me if the monsters are hungry, as long as they are feeling cannibalistic.”

Hazel set to work, unwrapping and prepping several more bags, “And what of those who are caught in the crossfire?”

“Each side is familiar with sacrifices, are we not?” Cress tilted his head, free hand brushing over his chest pocket.

“How vicious. And what of avoidable sacrifices?” Hazel’s hands trembled at the memory of killing the nameless rebel.

“Avoidable is not the same as purposeless,” Cress questioned.

“How are they not?” Hazel caught a reflection of her wild yet weary face in the surface of the golden liquid. “You did not even achieve your goal.”

“Perhaps we didn’t. But perhaps we did.” Cress shrugged. “Any word from the Senator recently?”

Hazel shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Hmmm.”

“He’ll be here soon enough,” Leo answered, squeezing the sides of the liquid pouch. “And when he does, you’ll be reunited with your granddaughter again.”

“Looking forward to it,” Cress replied smoothly, but when he leaned forward, he inhaled a pained groan, wincing.

“What is it?” Hazel asked.

When he didn’t answer, she drifted nearer. A patch of red bloomed over his flank. Without asking, she took a seat across from him and began to undo the buttons of his jacket.

“You truly are conflicted about what side you’re on, aren’t you? That’s why there’s a curious mix of both sides in the lobby.”

“Leave him be, Marlowe,” Leo called. The bag in his hand was almost a quarter empty.

A slice surged from Cress’s hip to just below his rib cage. No real depth to it, but still, it was seeping slowly.

She reached for a pack of gauze, piling several layers in her hands.

“Don’t bother. I’m dead anyway. Better to bleed to death honestly,” Cress grunted.

“Listen to the man. Don’t waste supplies on him,” Leo agreed.

Hazel ignored both of them, pressing into the wound with fresh bandaging.

“You’ll have to choose a side someday,” Cress sighed, leaning back once again and letting her attend to the wound.

“I’m not like you.” Hazel’s voice dropped, and a bead of his blood smeared her knuckles as she worked.

“You are, and always will be.” He groaned as she added more compression. “Run from it all you want, but you cannot escape that you will forever be District.”

“I’m not running from anything.”

“Aren’t you?” Cress's eyes were knowing, filled with numerous years of witnessing the world and its patterns.

“You sound strangely like someone else I know. And you wouldn’t like who it is.” She cast a glance at Leo and Bellona, “Haven’t you ever hoped that maybe we can bridge our worlds someday?”

Cress placed his free hand over her fervent ones.

“You forget, I was there when the divide was created. Idealism dies eventually, Miss Hazel, just like everything else does. Just like my granddaughter or your brother, or even your peacekeeper friend in that bed over there.”

“Why don’t you just be quiet?” Leo called, stretching his arm.

“How can you stand them?” Cress whispered, eyes following Leo to Bellona. “Bloody peacekeepers.”

“They are my guards.” Hazel urged. Leo met her eyes, “My friends.”

“Pity.” Cress leaned in. “I was wrong. You don’t suffer from idealism. It sounds like delusion.”

“Was it not delusion to think you could actually kill the Senator?”

“More like motivation.” Cress’s eyes examined her before settling on Leo. The peacekeeper met the older man’s gaze carefully, attention oscillating between his sister and Hazel. “Miss Hazel, do you remember what I told you the night you came to my house?”

Cress’s baritone voice recited the words in her mind; Like one that on a lonesome road doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turn'd round, walks on,
And turns no more his head.
Because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread.

“I do.”

Cress kept his stare on Leo. “So, have you figured out who sabotaged your tape player?”

Sabotaged?

The notion pushed a shiver through her limbs. Hazel paused just as she was about to place a pad over the wound bed.

“It was broken.”

Cress returned his eyes to hers, “Not broken, disabled. That was why I could fix it so quickly.”

Leo shifted on his feet behind her, “I should’ve just shot you in the woods.”

Hazel stretched the gauze over his wound, taping it down, “You’re lying.”

“Dead man remember?” Cress chuckled, “No reason to.”

Maybe he was lying, but what would be the point?

Leo met the older man’s eyes, “Mr. Fields, either you be quiet or I will gag you.”

Hazel rose and dove into the closet, fishing out a hanger. Returning to Leo, she held out her hands, “Let me take over. I’ll stay with her until it is finished. Three of the injured need IV access in the lobby. Would you mind getting them started?”

Leo glowered at Cress, “And him?”

“He’s shackled.” She nodded to the shotgun waiting against the wall, “I used it once already tonight; if I have to, I will again.”

He frowned at the gun and then studied her face, “I heard the shots fired, that was you? What happened?”

“That’s a discussion for a different time and a different audience.” Hazel placed a hand over his and slid the IV bag away, “I’ll watch him.”

Leo stood unmoving, for a moment longer, before relenting and backing away

“Later then.”

Glancing at Bellona once again and sending Cress another hard glare for good measure, Leo gathered the supplies and left the room.

Cress scrutinized the space Leo had just occupied. “Guess that answers that.”

“You really should stop while you are ahead.”

Hazel looped the IV bag over the neck of the hanger and hung it from the headboard.

“You really don’t see it?”

“Trying to bait me, Mr. Fields?”

“I’m trying to educate you.” Cress leaned forward, the handcuff jangling. “So tell me, who sabotaged your little machine?”

Hazel chewed on her lip, needlessly adjusting the bag.

If someone had truly disabled it, there were only a handful of options, and none of them were good.

“I don’t know.”

“You do,” Cress replied. “You’re a witty girl. You see the signs even if you choose to ignore them. So tell me what fiend doth behind you tread?”

Hazel tore her eyes from the man, staring down at Bellona’s fluttering breathing.

She didn’t want to believe it. Alder had insisted the player was functioning when she bought it. He wasn’t one to lie to her.

It would make more sense that someone had…intervened after the fact. And very few had access to it before it was broken.

“Or is it not a fiend at all?” Cress shot a glare back at the door. “Maybe you need to re-evaluate who you consider your friends.”

It would have had to have been one of her guards or her family members. She shook the thought away, though she couldn’t deny the doubt it left behind.

“I suggest you heed my guard’s advice, Mr. Fields, and be quiet,” Hazel replied, tucking the blankets tighter around Bellona.

“You helped me, and I’m trying to help you,” Cress tilted his chin, patting his new bandage. “I’m trying to open your eyes. To clear away the snow blindness, if you will.

Hazel set to work preparing another bag of fluids, muttering, “I’m not blind to Snow.”

“If that were true, you’d see that man has everyone under his thumb or in his pocket.”

“If that were true,” Hazel crossed her arms, “Neither of us would be here right now, would we?”

“Perhaps, but you still don’t see the deception staring you in the face? Or are you going to keep avoiding it forever?” Cress studied her for a beat before staring at the door again. “It must be a difficult place for him to be. Trapped between deceiving you and being in love with you simultaneously.”

Hazel let out a rough exhale, almost a laugh.

“We’re both delusional, then.” Marching to the table, she compiled the supplies into smaller groups of gauze, tape, and tubing.

“Are you denying it?”

She couldn’t, not if she was going to keep the secret intact, even if it was to a handcuffed old man who seemed insistent on antagonizing her.

“I’m not going to discuss the Senator with you.”

“No need,” he said calmly. “I’m not referring to Senator Snow.”

Her breath caught. She turned slowly, her eyes finding his again. Cress’s stare was firm but not cruel. Not mocking, just steady and solid.

“I may be closer to the end of my life than the beginning,” he said, giving a slight shrug against the cuffs, “but I was a young man once. I know that look when I see it, and it might as well be written on your so-called friend’s forehead.”

“What?” Hazel caught herself before she dropped the bag.

“You heard me. Not that I am fully convinced that peacekeepers are even capable of love,” Cress mumbled, staring daggers at the door once again.

Leo?

Love her? Certainly not. That couldn’t be. He was a peacekeeper, and she was District, even worse, a Victor. It wasn’t possible.

“He’s not…he doesn’t. He’s doing his job.”

“And maybe he is losing track of where the professional ends and the personal begins,” Cress tapped his thumb as he considered her, “That is a line where razor-thin can become non-existent if not kept in check.”

She stumbled over her words. “You’re wrong.”

“Stay blind if you want, keep walking ahead in fear and dread,” Cress murmured. “But that means you’re in danger.” His gaze shifted toward the still motionless Bellona. “I wager far more than most.”

Before Hazel could reply, the door slammed open, a sharp clang of metal that made her flinch upright.

“Marlowe,” Leo said from the threshold. His eyes were imploring. With Cress’s words clouding her mind, his expression made her heart rate double despite her body being still.

She straightened too fast. “Wha…what?”

“The Senator is here.”

Chapter Text

“Marlowe, you alright?” Leo tilted his head at her wide-eyed stare.

“I…” she started to answer, but her words trailed off. Her mouth opened again, but nothing came. The weight of what Cress had said chained her tongue in place, and her thoughts splintered under the pressure of trying to sort it all out.

I don’t even know where to start.

“She’s got a lot on her mind,” Cress reclined against the chair, seemingly satisfied with his work.

“What did you say to her?” Leo demanded, searching her with an interest that was too genuine.

The corners of Cress’s lips twitched upwards as he looked between the two.

“Just opened the blinds, boy.”

Hazel barely had time to register the words when a pair of glacial irises caught hers over Leo’s shoulder.

“Coriolanus,” she whispered.

Ice blond hairs stuck to his forehead. Rosiness brightened his skin, the cold burn from running around in the raw winter air. A smear of black stained his elbow along with a smattering of red on one shoulder.

Relief swam in those sapphire pools as he soaked her in. Though the briskly buried expression, along with the whiplash of Cress’s conversation, flogged her nerves.

It would all have to wait.

A small smile blossomed on Snow’s lips. One which immediately wilted when he spotted Bellona and the man chained to the table.

“Who’s this?” Snow asked, surging past Leo.

“Cresswell Fields,” the older man recited too calmly, though his smile had disappeared.

“Ah, the tractor mechanic from Nine. Guess some lessons just never stick,” Snow crossed his arms.

“Thick skull, I’ve been told,” Cress tapped his temple.

Snow moved further inward, “Unfortunately for you, it won’t be thick enough.”

Sable appeared in the doorway. Sweat dotted his brow, and his normal ruddy skin tone was like a fully ripened tomato. Even in the poor light, it was clear he was layered in dirt and grime and, of course, blood. His haggard gaze fell on the unconscious guard cocooned in Hazel’s bed.

The look that settled over Sable’s face made Hazel’s heart throb. The dauntless guard’s ever-present armor was pierced. It was something soul-deep and uncontainable even to the jaded soldier. He’d likely seen plenty of death and destruction through the years, but the girl he’d known since her birth, broken before him, seemed to shake him to the core.

“Bellony?” His words were almost too deep and too soft to hear. The way her name cracked over his vocal cords was dreadful.

Sable’s arms went slack as he stepped closer to the bed, eying the nearly empty IV bag. “Is she?”

“Alive, Pytash,” Leo trailed the older guard, patting Sable’s shoulder. “Just barely, but she’s fighting.”

“She needs to be evacuated immediately. She needs a hospital,” Hazel interjected, pulling her gaze away from a crumbling Sable.

Snow sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We were able to send an emergency communication out to the Capitol. If the signal got through, they should be on their way.”

“Impressive,” Cress piped in. “How’d you all manage that?”

“Drayton,” Snow’s ferocity centered on Leo, “Get this rebel out of here. Now. Secure him with the others.”

“Gladly,” Leo answered as if he’d been waiting for a reason. He quickly unshackled Cress from the table. The older man’s attention flew to Hazel as if trying to ensure she’d consider what he’d told her. Keeping herself as neutral as possible, she merely watched on as Leo ferried him out of the bedroom.

Across the room, Sable had inched within arm’s reach of Bellona, petting the matted baby hairs at her temple, murmuring low enough it was difficult to hear. Still, one of the words sounded oddly like a name. Laodamia.

Snow drew back to Hazel, approaching while perusing her. His stare moved from her face to the blood-blemished dress. “Are you injured?”

Hazel shook her head, eyeing the similar splatter on his shoulder and forearms where his skin peeked out of his rolled-up sleeves, “You?”

“Just my pride,” he responded. Gesturing around the room, he added, “Though I was naïve to think this wouldn’t happen. Or that you would have stayed where I left you.”

Hazel flitted her gaze away. There was too much to say, and her energy stores were tapping fast.

“Care to explain why?” He insisted.

“Does it matter? I’m alive, aren’t I?” Her chin dropped as an involuntary shiver shook her.

He idled closer, slowly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and effectively turning her attention from the floor back to him. “So that chronic death wish of yours then, or just basic recklessness?”

She was immensely grateful Cress wasn’t present. She couldn’t imagine what his opinion would be of this. Or Leo’s, for that matter, if what he’d said was true. Forcing away the thought, she answered Snow’s accusation.

“We heard someone attack Bellona, and then she disappeared. I couldn’t just stay put, so I went after her. Leo found me.”

Snow’s eyes fell to her dress, “And the blood?”

“From the injured, mostly, but I also…” She stuttered. “…I…I killed one of them.”

Sable turned to look at her at that.

“At least I think I did,” she corrected. “He was going to shoot Bellona…” She chewed on her lip as the image replayed in her mind: a bloody explosion, a gaping chest wound, and then the silence.

Who was she kidding? He was long dead by now, and she’d likely never get rid of her new collection of horrid images from that night.

“I couldn’t just let him.” She murmured, purposely leaving out any mention of Vesper or Vetch.

“The headless one in the living room?” Sable asked.

“No.” Hazel thought of Ohmric’s sudden demise at Leo’s hand. Was it duty or, as Cress had said, something more? “That one was Leo. Bells killed at least two in the woods and another outside the other train.”

“Good.” Sable smiled like a sad but also weirdly proud father. “You get any of the assailant’s names?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. Despite Cress’s lessons, she hadn’t chosen a side.

“No,” She murmured, glancing at Sable and quickly changing the subject. “How are Festus and Indira?”

“I’ve sent a team to collect them and regroup here. We were able to flush out the rest of the rebels and get to the engine car. The power should be back on any minute now.”

Outside, the first hints of the sleepy morning sun were starting to expel the deadly darkness. The small hope that their current nightmare was possibly coming to an end momentarily distracted her.

That was until Snow’s thumb dabbed a spot of blood from her face. “From the looks of the living room, you’ve been busy.”

“Did what I could.”

“Noble.” He drank in her expression.

“Just guilty,” she countered, craning her neck to meet his eyes.

His fingers hovered a fraction away from her cheek, and he squinted down at her as Leo’s voice suddenly jolted the room.

“Senator.”

Pushing back from Snow, she pulled his hand away from her face, though he didn’t let her get far, trapping her palm with a firm grip.

Leo’s gaze slid over their joined hands and Snow’s proximity before it dropped to his feet. “The secondary unit has returned with Mr. Creed and Miss Lovegood, Sir.”

“Excellent.” Snow spun, heading out the door, her hand still cupped in his, carrying her with him.

Leo flicked a questioning look to Sable, who insisted on remaining at the bedside. The older guard assured him he'd hang a second bag of fluids before Leo finally followed Hazel and Snow toward the lobby.

Moving down the hall, Snow bent toward her, speaking low enough so only she could hear,
“Even if I do wish you’d stayed put, I am glad you are unharmed.”

“I don’t believe I was the target, Coriolanus,” she whispered back.

“A strategic error,” he mused, bending closer to her as they broached the lobby, “if they truly wished to dissuade me.”

“Coryo!” Festus called as he practically tackled his friend in a tight hug, pulling him away from his hold on Hazel. Indira and the lone avox hovered behind with a slew of peacekeepers.

Snow coughed, “Hey, Fest.”

Indira moved toward Hazel, frowning at the stained dress.

“I’m so glad you are alright, dear.”

Hazel hugged her, viscera stains be damned, and Indira responded in kind. Not a hint of disgust on her beautiful face.

“Thought you were all dead. Took you long enough to come back.” Festus complained.

“Next time rebels ambush and nearly slaughter us, I’ll work on my response time,” Snow answered, gripping Festus’s shoulder good-naturedly.

Suddenly, the train’s lights burst on, bathing everyone in warm, welcome electricity.

A wide smile formed on Snow’s lips while Cress scowled at the bulbs. Along with the electricity came the revelation of how wrecked the lobby really was. A wine-red puddle pooled over a large portion of the floor beside a human-shaped, fabric-covered lump. Vomit, dirt, and mud peppered the rest. The dozen or so injured were each huddled beneath what were once puffy white blankets that now resembled a repulsive rainbow of shades.

“Did you find Private Bellona?” Indira questioned with caution, like she knew the answer but still feared asking it.

“We did,” Leo acknowledged. Indira seemed to read his expression, and her features grew grim.

The nameless avox tapped on Indira’s shoulder. Festus cleared his throat, scanning the dead and injured scattered all around them. “Oh, right, where’s the other one. Vest or something?”

Snow’s eyes sharpened, “Vesper.”

Festus turned to Hazel, “Where is he? Last time we saw him, he was with you.”

Snow’s gaze was darkly curious as it returned to her. Hazel’s tongue was heavy once again.

“Ran away,” Leo spoke up, squaring his shoulders. “Took off into the woods. He’s probably long gone by now.”

Snow’s scrutiny flicked between Leo and Hazel, but he said nothing. She wanted to send Leo a grateful look but didn’t dare. She could all but feel Cress’s eyes, watching curiously from the corner, re-shackled to a different table.

Indira addressed Leo.

“May I see her?”

“Of course,” Leo agreed, face softening at the request. Waving for Indira to follow, he said, “I’ll take you.”

Snow approached Hazel. It was clear he wasn’t going to be distracted from his curiosity. “You didn’t happen to convince my avox to defy orders and go with you, did you?”

Hazel shivered. That wasn’t even half of it. “He came of his own free will.”

In a way, it wasn’t a total lie.

“Hmmm,” Snow murmured. “He say anything to you?”

Hazel tilted her head and frowned.

Snow inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a breath before saying, “You know what I mean.”

Hazel studied her hands and the bandageless wound to her palm before looking up at him again, “Was there something he wasn’t supposed to?”

Snow exhaled as a rapid knock came from the train doors. Leo rejoined them as the rest of the guard readied their weapons. Yet they relaxed just as quickly when the metal doors slid open. A muscular female peacekeeper with a taut honey blonde bun and stony features was waiting outside. She scoured the space until she locked onto Snow.

“Senator, we found something.”

“Do tell, Private Merrick,” Snow responded.

The peacekeeper jumped up into the train as she barked orders to the rest of her crew, “Get him up here.”

A bloody figure with a dark hood over their face was dragged in and then tossed onto the floor of the train. He landed with a gargling huff.

“Found him trying to sneak onto your private locomotive, sir.” The guard said as she tore the hood off.

Leo rejoined the group, brushing against Hazel’s side as the man’s face was revealed.

“What are the odds? We were just talking about you.” Snow leered. “Vesper.”

Chapter Text

Why on Earth had he gone back?!

Vesper kept his gaze still and downcast, yet he didn’t seem to be able to stop the rest of his body from shivering.

Hazel whipped her head toward the outside. Thankfully, Vetch was nowhere in sight. Just more peacekeepers piling in. She hoped he was gone; whether he’d made it back to Eleven or if what he’d said about Thirteen was true, it didn’t matter, as long as he was miles away from there.

The other avox sank to the floor, devastation, pouring off him.

That had to be why. He had to be. Vesper went back for his friend.

Snow stretched his shoulders, studying the cowering figure. “Aligned yourself with those murderous rebels?”

“Maybe he was just returning?” Hazel intervened.

Leo’s arm brushed hers, “Marlowe,” he warned into her ear.

“Let’s ask the man himself, shall we?” Snow responded, circling the hunched figure. “Were you coming back to your job? Back to the Capitol? Back to me?” Snow volleyed the questions like bullets. And each hit their target.

Vesper’s eyes went from brick to coals as they finally lifted, meeting Snow’s. He didn’t need to utter a sound for it to be clear what he was communicating.

“What a disappointment.” Snow bent toward the avox, fingering his bloody collar. Peering down at the neat row of stitches snaking along the avox’s shoulder, Snow smirked. “Though I should really be more surprised. What did Gaul promise you? Money? Luxury? Preservation?”

“That was hardly all,” Cress interjected.

“Something to add, Mr. Fields?” Snow stood, targeting the older man.

“Everyone has their price.” Cress's gaze slid over Vesper. “Some revenge, others money, and still others something more valuable than any monetary gain. All of it you brought upon yourself, Senator.”

Snow seemed unmoved by the interruption, entertaining it for the time being.

“And what do you seek, Mr. Fields?”

“Freedom,” Cress concluded.

A couple of peacekeepers laughed while those among the rebels who were conscious enough to respond considered the man speaking for them with solidarity.

“I’ve heard that before,” Snow’s attention skimmed Hazel, “What do you need to free yourself from, Sir?”

“From you, of course,” Cress answered, face hard. “From a Panem where you would be President.”

Snow’s features turned practically feral. He circled to the windows, peering out.

The adolescent sunlight was turning everything a muted, cool-toned navy. Frost was giving way to a hazy early morning mist.

“You want freedom?” Snow’s voice was colder than an ice block in the dead of January. “Far be it from me to withhold it from you.”

Hazel shifted forward. Whatever Snow was about to do, she had to intervene. Yet, a sensation distracted her, a soft yet fervent warning warmed her ear, “Don’t.”

Leo’s fingers tapped against Hazel’s, and she paused.

“Everyone of them, outside. Now,” Snow demanded in Private Merrick’s direction. She gave a stern order, and the peacekeepers all around the car jumped into action, scrambling like bees at the direction of their queen.

“What are you doing?” Hazel asked, incapable of holding herself back any longer.

Snow ignored her as he continued to direct Private Merrick. “The injured, too. I want them off this train.”

IVs were ripped out, wounds disregarded. Some of the insurgents were bleeding, others barely conscious, all she had tried to save, but none, she was coming to realize, would be so lucky. Her efforts were for naught, and her hands felt sticky despite being clean.

Hazel’s eyes slid over to Cress as a guard undid the shackles. “Wait.” She attempted to approach Snow again, but Leo’s tapping had morphed into a full-blown snare around her forearm.

“Marlowe, you’ve done all you can do,” he whispered, desperate to get her to listen.

Cress peered at Leo’s hand around Hazel’s arm before meeting her eyes. “Remember what I told you, Miss.”

“Care to share more insights, Mr. Fields?” Snow asked lazering in on the older man.

“Our Victor heard me, and that is all that matters,” Cress said before he was roughly shoved forward.

Snow hummed, waving a dismissive hand, ordering him to be removed like the others.

“Wait,” she breathed.

“Don’t fret, Miss,” Cress murmured while being jostled through the threshold. He met the frozen ground in a groaning thud.

Vesper was hauled away, and the man went without argument, resigned to what was about to happen next.

“Him too.” Snow pointed to the nameless avox, still cowering. A peacekeeper grabbed each of his arms, scooping him up like a bundle of laundry before he, too, was withdrawn from the train.

A rising panic filled her limbs.

“Senator.” Private Merrick called. “Your next order?”

“Please don’t do this,” Hazel tested Leo’s hold; it wasn’t bruising, but it wasn’t loose. There would be no slipping out of it, and at the same time, it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Leo, please,” Hazel met her guard’s eyes, yet he didn’t release her.

“I’m sorry,” Leo breathed.

“Festus, go wait with Indira and Private Pytash,” Snow instructed, and his friend did so without complaint. Snow took Hazel in for another moment before ordering every other guard to wait for him outside of Leo and Private Merrick.

Snow twisted his lips, circling back to her, “Justice must be served.”

“What of mercy?”

Snow pointed at where Vesper had cowered before being hauled out of the train and then to the wreckage all around them. “This is what such sentiment gets you. I bestowed it upon Vesper, and look where it has led us. Death. Destruction. Chaos.”

“Please, whatever you are about to do, please don’t,” Hazel begged.

“There is something you desperately need to learn, and judging the quality of those stitches, you’ve yet to do so.” Snow slowed his approach. “Unchecked compassion, especially towards one’s enemies, jeopardizes those you care for. It gets your family killed. It gets your friends injured, maimed, or slaughtered.”

Snow glanced at Leo’s hand enveloped around Hazel’s arm, considering it for a moment before meeting her eyes once again, “You care for the Draytons, do you not?”

Hazel’s pulse spiked, and Leo’s hold suddenly felt white hot. She swore his hand went as still as stone at the question. Her voice faltered, “Of course I do.”

“Those insurgents are responsible for Bellona’s condition, aren’t they? Would they not have murdered her without a second thought if given the chance?” He searched each of her eyes.

Leo’s breathing quickened, his thumb sliding over her skin as if he was trying to soothe himself as much as her.

“Why did you kill the rebel in the woods?” Snow urged.

Hazel dropped her stare away, not wanting to relive the moment she’d shot the man, but her mind had other ideas.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice. You did what had to be done. That is justice,” Snow swept closer as she argued, “But they are unarmed. They could be prosecuted for their crimes.”

“Attacking peacekeepers, let alone a Senator, is a death sentence. Do you honestly believe they'd make it to trial? The ones who survive the trip to the Capitol will be dragged straight to Gaul’s lab. Do you know what happens there? Do you think she’ll handle her mess quietly? Gently? Quickly?”

She shivered, nausea boiling. Unimaginable acts likely happened in such a place.

“You may not see things the way I do for now, but I assure you I am not like Gaul.”

Her eyes rose to challenge his, “No?”

“I may be many things, Miss Marlowe, but wasteful is not one of them.” His finger tapped softly. “Like many things in life, mercy is not always so straightforward. Justice can be mercy. A mercy that does not absolve our enemies but instead holds them accountable, all while bestowing compassion upon ourselves and those most important to us.” A tear broke free, flowing over her cheek. Snow swiped at it. “Sometimes to protect what is important, you have to hurt those who would hurt you. Be the first to strike. Before someone else destroys or steals what is yours, that is what you did to save Bellona, and that is what I am doing now.”

There would be no dissuading him. Squeezing her eyes closed pushed another tear down her face.

“Private Merrick,” Snow ordered, studying the drop with disappointment. “Prepare your unit to execute the prisoners on my command.”

The blonde guard saluted, then vaulted out of the train.

Hazel wavered on her feet.

“It may not be today.” Snow’s rose breath washed over her as he whispered, “But one day you will realize I am right.” He brushed his thumb beneath her eye once again before backing away.

With that, he strode to the doors, casting one last look over his shoulder. Snow regarded Leo when she still didn’t look at him.

“Drayton, secure her. She doesn’t leave your sight until you hear from me. And only me.”

“Yes, sir,” Leo answered, tightening his hold on Hazel’s arm.

Some of the rebels' sobs filtered into the train, curdling her stomach and tilting the world around her. Her legs wobbled, balance threatening to give way,

“Easy, Marlowe.”

Her eyes reopened as Leo’s other hand circled her waist, guiding her down the hallway to an unfamiliar compartment.

“This is all my fault,” she choked.

“Everyone makes choices, Marlowe.”

“But mine keep killing people.”

He drove open the door. Inside was a plain bed with tightly tucked white sheets against a wall. A bedside table that matched beside it.

“Where are we?”

Leo cleared his throat softly, “My bunk.”

Despite the simplicity, an idyllic light bathed the space. Approaching the windows, she stared out into the morning sky. It was haunting and offensively beautiful. Golden light spilled through pink clouds. The mist was a mix of colors as it refracted the burgeoning sun.

Yet, her bloodstream turned arctic at the row of bowed rebels, awaiting execution.

Vesper held hands with his fellow avox. Cress had Grace’s coin against his lips. Hazel’s palm met the glass, as if she could press pause on the horrid scene playing out in the charming morning light. But she was powerless to stop anything.

Peacekeepers aligned themselves behind each. Snow stalked down the row, hands folded behind his back, shoulders high. Merrick trailed him, her directions sharp yet muffled.

Cress looked up, meeting Hazel’s eyes. He smiled a warm, knowing smile that told her he’d been right all along. Cress had won his game, and he didn’t look afraid in the least to collect what he’d come for.

Another bark from Merrick had guards aligning their rifle muzzles to the rear of each rebel skull.

“No. No. No.” Hazel backed away from the window.

Leo was at her side in an instant, grasping her arms and easing her down until she was sitting on his bunk. Coiling her hands in her hair, a rush of blood swarmed her senses.

Leo kneeled until they were face-to-face. He breathed, “Close your eyes.”

Hazel shook her head, mind unraveling like a spool of thread hurled downhill. Leo’s hands wove past her trembling fingers, coming to rest on either side of her face, palms sealing over each of her ears.

She looked at him then, really looked. A pained stare met hers, yet a deep concern also waited there, something profound, something he had never spoken aloud, but that had been there since her Games. Something she had ignored, dismissed, or possibly misunderstood, until now. It was the same look he had given her when he had taken Percy’s vengeance in her place, or when he’d handed her Oliver before the tour, when he stood too close, when he offered her safe words and touches, when they laughed together in Seven, when he reached for her first, always.

Leo had been protecting her, but it was not just out of obligation, not just because it was his job. Now she couldn’t ignore it. Not with his forehead pressed to hers, not with his hands over her ears like he could somehow shield her from what was coming.

The lights in the darkness of her mind burst to life. It was as if a switch flipped, and she was seeing for the first time. What Cress had said wasn’t a guess. It was the truth staring her in the face. One Sable had warned her of as well.

And yet there was the tape. It had to have been Leo. It hadn’t broken on its own. That part was clear. She knew it now, though the reasons were murky.

He was likely, as Cress had said, trapped. They both were.

Her chest ached with her newfound knowledge, and she almost wished she could return to sweet oblivion.

“Leo?” Hazel murmured, “Cress… he….he said….he told me something…”

“Later,” he mouthed, oscillating his stare between each iris, guilt swirling in his gray ones. “Close them.”

She relented to his insistence. But despite solid hands clamped over her ears or the bass drum of her pulse droning through her skull, she still heard it. Felt it.

Merrick’s final command and the sickening volley of synchronized gunfire.

Chapter Text

Hours passed in a bizarre, hazy blur. At some point, a speechless Leo freed her from his room and escorted her back to her own. A cloud of numbness enveloped her mind like a barrier or a safety net, protecting her from her own thoughts. She settled into a chair beside Bellona while Indira and Sable conversed quietly.

Not long after the executions, a fleet of medevac hovercraft descended, confirming the SOS had reached its mark. At Snow’s order, Bellona was evacuated first. Capitol medics whirred around her like a swarm of bleach-white uniformed insects. Eventually, the reluctant yet resigned Sable and Leo allowed Indira to escort Bellona to the Capitol personally.

Leo said little, merely kissed his sister’s cheek, then her hand as she was loaded via gurney.

“I won't leave her side. I promise,” Indira assured them, trailing the stretcher with her hand fixed on Bellona’s.

Hazel had seen the glistening in Leo’s eyes as the medical hovercraft ascended into the morning light.

“She’ll be alright,” Sable hushed. “Tough as they come, our Bellony.”

Hazel nodded dully, eyes burning, yet she was certain her body was too dehydrated for any more tears.

Beyond the growing cluster of Capitol citizens tending to the wounded Peacekeepers, the rest of the grounds were hushed. The bodies were gone, buried quickly as if the truth could be smothered with shallow graves. Evenly spaced blood stains told a grimmer story than whatever would be fabricated for polite society.

Hazel absorbed it all in silence and long, faraway stares. Leo stayed close, monitoring her quietly and assisting to pack her bag with whatever items she wanted to take from the soon-to-be-abandoned train.

Snow, on the other hand, kept a wide berth, but she still felt his eyes every so often. The rest of the rescue vessels arrived soon after. The remaining wounded went first. Then Snow signaled for Hazel, Leo, Festus, and Sable to join him.

Their gunmetal gray hovercraft waited at the far end of the clearing. The entire thing rose higher than a two-story house on broad landing struts. Golden eagles marred its side panels. The cockpit windows were tinted to a near black. The air beneath the craft trembled with the hum of its engine.

It made train travel seem archaic and ridiculous by comparison.

Once inside, Hazel sank into a chair, bag slung over her shoulder.

She nearly scoffed as Peacekeepers unloaded the ivory District Ten bull statue.

“What would you like us to do with your gift?” Snow asked, hovering several feet away, studying her reaction.

Hazel didn’t look up. “Can you take it back to Seven and give it to my brother, Sage? I promised him I’d bring him home a present.”

Snow’s façade broke, and a small smirk formed. He sauntered closer, watching as four peacekeepers balanced the awkward statue between them. “Fitting. Garth’s gifts are certainly unique. Though it seems like a small reward for a life.”

“One life saved, but how many others lost?” Hazel breathed.

Snow leaned over her, “You can’t know for sure. Sometimes the sacrifice of the few leads to the salvation of the many.”

She pressed her lips closed as he pushed away from her and the craft began its ascent. Higher up and in much better light, the devastation was evident. Burly logs clogged the tracks. The two askew trains were coated in bullet holes and skirted with shattered glass.

Hazel hardly moved, still taking in the scene until warm hands slid behind her shoulders. She flinched but quickly settled as Leo murmured, “Seatbelt, Marlowe.”

She sighed as she strapped herself in, and he backed away.

Snow signaled for Leo to follow him, leaving Hazel alone with her thoughts and a just as silent Sable, who stared out the windows himself. He would never admit it, but regret steamed from the man, and she did not press him to talk. He afforded the same courtesy to her.

Festus had wandered away immediately upon entering the craft, seeking out spirits to forget their horrid night. At the moment, the concept almost sounded tempting.

What would happen now? Would the tour continue? Would they take her home or to the Capitol?

Her mind was too weary to contemplate the slew of questions for long.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the upper cushion of the high seats. Having been awake well over twenty-four hours, her emotional and physical wells were sucked dry.

Eventually, the buzzing of the hovercraft's interior and its subtle rocking lulled her into unconsciousness.

Everything was damp. Every inch of skin, every hair, and every pore was waterlogged. Hazel’s eyes snapped open.

She was standing motionless within a turquoise-tinted forest where it seemed even the air itself was blue-green. A twangy wordless song played on the cool wind. It sounded familiar to the one Gaul had been humming in the District Eight orphanage.

She sucked in a lungful of humid air.

Pines, ferns, wet earth, and…copper?

The time of day was indistinguishable. It could be the birth of an early morning or a quickly aging evening. Either way, it was monsooning, and water was everywhere. In her hair, her eyes, and pooling in her boots. It had even washed the blood clean from her dress.

A voice from somewhere in the woods hollered, “Haze?”

She spun until she found the owner. Silus stood straight, rainwater soaking his arms and legs and dripping from his hair.

“Silus?” she whispered. “You know me?”

He frowned like she was speaking nonsense, “Of course I do.”

She waited as she watched him. Waited for some inexplicable horror to appear, but when none came, she finally approached him, “You were wrong, you know.”

He sent her a questioning grimace.

“It should’ve been you,” she said, coming within an arm's length. “You should be the Victor, not me.”

“Everything happens for a reason.” He stepped closer. “You are where you should be.”

“Not without you, I’m not. Not alone,” she scoffed.

“You aren’t alone, though, are you?”

“Not right now, I’m not,” she shot back.

“You know what I mean, Haze.” He watched on, waiting, unblinking.

He was right. He usually was. But she wasn’t about to admit it, even to a dream version of him.

Her heart ached at how realistic he looked.

“You’re still wrong.” She reached for his arms, running her fingers over his wrists. They were wet, cold, but intact. “I’ve made so many mistakes, Silus,” her voice throbbed. “So many… More in the Districts are dead now, because of me. If you were here instead, none of this would’ve happened.”

Sadness colored his chocolate irises as he pulled her into a hug. She clung to him so tightly that if he were real, it would likely bruise his ribs.

“You are stronger than you think,” Silus whispered in her ear. “You aren’t a failure. You are a Victor, Haze.”

“Ugh, not you too.” Locking her grip on him. “I’ll love you always, even if you are wrong.

He laughed. That laugh. His laugh. That beautiful, imaginary sound that melted her heart.

She intertwined her fingers behind his back. “Going to tell me to let go like Cedar?”

His laughing faded. “No. That’s not what I'm here for.”

“What would that be?”

“We’re not in my mind, are we?”

“I’ve got little control over that anymore,” she mused, still gripping her brother like she could keep him there forever. “Maybe it is just trying to comfort me by sending you.”

“Maybe, or maybe it is trying to warn you. To open your eyes,” Silus said.

“That’s been popular lately,” Hazel squirmed at the thought of Cress and that satisfied look he’d given her right before…

“You can’t hold on forever, Haze,” Silus’s voice shook her with its depth.

She rested her head against his shoulder, not caring that it was slightly cold and damp, much like everything else.

“Watch me.”

His long exhale pressed against her embrace, but he didn’t try to extricate himself.

A thick raindrop plopped on her cheek. But unlike the rest, it was not cool or refreshing, but viscous and cloying like room-temperature soup. Another one landed in her hair.

Relaxing her grip, she reached toward her head, running her finger over her cheek. The texture was peculiar and wrong.

Since when was rain…sticky?

Straightening, she peered down at her hand. It was streaked with wine-deep scarlet.

As if on cue, another lukewarm drop fell into her palm, blooming outward from the center like a bright red rose. Pungent iron coated her nostrils.

Blood.

More red poured from the sky until it coated both limbs and leaves.

Silus dissolved beneath the syrupy downpour.

“Silus!” She called, but the heavy, heated rainfall coated her tongue.

It was then that she did the only thing she could think of.

Run.

As she sprinted, she heard footsteps following.

No. Not following. Chasing. Chasing her through a bloody rainstorm.

Red was everywhere. The unsettling soup chilled her skin and congealed in her dress. It burned her eyes and clogged her airway. She tried to glance behind, but it was impossible to discern the pursuer in the tomato colored onslaught.

Whoever it was didn’t sound like Silus. She’d recognize his stride even in her nightmares. So, she ran harder, through the blood-clogged ground, pushing her limbs faster despite her drenched clothing slowing her.

Just when it seemed there was no end to the bloody mess, there was a flash of blue in the distance. Clear baby blue water waited ahead. The Alpine river bubbled like an oasis, surrounded by lush green grass.

She sprinted toward it, as did her pursuer. She could practically feel their breath on her neck.

Who could possibly be following?

Was it Cedar? Or Ethan? Ian Threader? Maybe Ruby? The dead rebels or Cress?

She all but dove into the refreshing waters. The invigorating cold whiplashed her. Pure relief soothed her as she scrubbed at her face and dug fingers through her hair. Blood oozed from every inch of her form, washing downstream in winding ribbons. Holding her breath, she waited for the waters to carry her away or at least to the shores of unconsciousness.

But instead, a large hand broke the surface, punching downward. She tried to move, but her limbs were leaden. Her resistance was pathetic as most of her strength had melted away with the blood. The foreign appendage clamped around her hand, dragging her toward the surface.

Sputtering, she surfaced involuntarily, sucking in the naked air. The copper tang was gone, and the blood rain had ceased. Grappling with the water still clouding her vision, her gaze sank to the hand clasped around hers. It was strong, calloused, and familiar.

A softening gray gaze grounded her.

“Leo?” she breathed. Letting him pull her up, her eyes fluttered closed in relief; it was not one of the dead pursuing her. “I’m glad to see you.”

Maybe Silus was wrong, and her mind wasn’t completely trying to torture her. Or instill any warnings.

It was then Leo’s grip changed, subtle at first, then strained. His breath hitched.

“Are you?” The question rumbled against her, but not in Leo’s voice.

Pulling away, she stared down at the hand still holding her. It had changed. The skin was smooth, callouses gone.

Following the tailored, blood-free sleeves, she met a pair of eyes that could compete with the depths of the Alpine. Snow was spying down at her, soaking her in.

“Coriolanus?”

She stumbled as he brushed a red lock back from her face. His other arm slid around her waist, shifting her nearer to him until they were in the shallower waters of the river’s shore.

“Why can’t you just let me go?”

The grip around her waist cinched. His other hand released her, moving to her face, cupping her cheek. His skin was as cool as the river and, in a way, a soothing change from the heat of the blood.

“Do you always ask questions you already have the answers to?”

“Even in my dreams, you can’t manage to be straightforward.” She huffed as he swiped a bit of blood from her eyebrow.

His voice had sunk deeper, and the look in his eyes was shifting darker as well.

“Then let me remedy my error,”

Her brows scrunched as his mouth suddenly dipped until it met hers. The contact startled her, downy where she’d braced for severe, warm where the cold should have been waiting. It sent a jolt of electricity straight to her chest, where it blossomed into something warm, unfamiliar, and worst of all, something that wasn’t wholly unpleasant, the shock of which sprang her from her trance.

Waiting for her in raw consciousness and a humming hovercraft was a familiar set of sapphire eyes. Loitering over her was Snow. His stare was probing, knowing almost as if he’d been watching her long before she woke.

Leo and Sable studied her from over Snow’s shoulder.

“Pleasant dreams?” Snow drawled.

Chapter Text

Hazel was certain her face was redder than when it was caked in blood.

“I wasn’t dreaming,” she stumbled over her words as she burst from her seat.

Snow answered, “That sleep talking really is a headache, isn’t it?”

Hazel’s face went even more strawberry at the comment.

What had they heard?

“Can I get some water?” Hazel coughed.

Snow smiled, commanding over his shoulder, “You heard her.”

A brand new set of avoxes brought her a clear bottle as the hovercraft's movements stilled so rapidly it was evident the vehicle was landing.

Snow grinned as he shifted his scrutiny to the windows. Leo hovered shoulder to shoulder with Sable, eyes averted

“District Five has generously lent accommodations. At least until a new train can be sent.”

“We’re in Five?” Hazel asked between sips. “We’re continuing the tour?”

He spun back to her, a rebellion all his own clear in his tone, “The show must go on. Though, because of our delay, your official celebration will be tomorrow.”

Hazel nodded, gripping the bottle harder. The landscape outside was less green, yet the winter sun made it seem also less depressing in general. Columns of steel and cement towered in the distance. Instead of hills or mountains, the bizarre structures fenced the heart of town.

It wasn’t a long walk before they’d reached her apparent home for the night. Sable and Leo trailed a healthy distance. Behind them, a near entire legion guarded the rear.

The District Five justice building was identical to the others.

Inside, Snow paused before a solid steel door, one of many on the second floor.

“Do you want me to have food brought to you?”

Hazel shuddered, unsure if a normal appetite was ever going to be in the cards for her again. “No, thank you.”
She kept her eyes down, reaching for the handle.

Snow’s gloved hand paused her movements. His voice was low but quiet, “Wait.”

“Avoid me all you want, but you have to stop looking at me like that.”

She swallowed, “Like what?”

“Like I’m some kind of monster.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m starting to think I have better luck in your dreams.”

She flinched, and he let his arm drop. “What did….I say?”

“You weren’t dreaming, remember?” Snow looked like he wanted to stay, but didn’t. “Get some rest, Hazel. And when you do go to sleep tonight, send my regards to Private Drayton and myself.”

Sheer, unadulterated embarrassment gave her a head rush.

She answered by closing the door hard.

Not caring to register the details of her newest cage, she groped for the medication bottle. Taking out two pills, she only considered them for a moment before ripping open the water bottle with her teeth. Chucking the meds to the back of her throat, she chased them with several large gulps.

Dropping her items in a heap on the floor, she shuffled to the slate gray bed and fell atop the sheets and blankets.

With a ragged sigh, she waited for a sweet, medicated sleep to claim her, and it did.

*******

District Five was warmer. But the temperature was not the only distinct feature. Electric lighting was everywhere. Powerlines that crisscrossed the air were more numerous than the stars in the sky. The air wasn’t offensive but quite sterile, metallic really, as if even the atmosphere possessed a charge.

At another time, Hazel might have been fascinated by the foreignness, or perhaps she would have insisted on having dinner with the fallen tribute families. Instead, throughout the day, she kept her head down. Followed directions. Listened.

Her hallucinations weren’t absent in total, but they, too, were subdued. A medication side effect, undoubtedly.

She considered whether she’d taken them earlier, maybe more people would be alive.

Her speech was textbook. She said what had been prepared for her without deviation. Not a single word was out of place. The people did their part, clapping on cue, even though the town square was practically barren.

It was just as well.

The press was consumed with other matters. More than once, she’d caught a glimpse of the news on a random screen. There were many of those in this District.

The coverage was just as Indira had predicted. The Victory Tour’s delay was played off as unfortunate mechanical troubles and downed trees. Several engineers were missing and feared lost in the wreckage.

Nothing about rebels or gun battles. Nothing about the fallen or injured peacekeepers. She vaguely wondered what story they fed their families when their bodies were returned.

She’d gotten word that Bellona had made it through surgery, but Indira reported that it was questionable if her arm would be fully salvaged. It would be months of recovery and possible amputations if healing didn’t progress. Overall, she’d ended up with a severe concussion, a hairline c-spine fracture, a couple of shattered ribs, a fissure in her trigger finger, and numerous lacerations. Outside of that, her injuries were deemed survivable.

Hazel felt a small sense of relief, but it was quickly trailed by crushing guilt.

The District Ten and Eleven wildfires claimed fourteen lives, while the buried miners from Twelve had been officially declared dead.

A new train arrived shortly after Hazel’s speech commenced. She sat silently through the subsequent banquet and pleasantries from the District Five mayor and his wife.

Leo loitered closer than he had before, though he was noticeably more twitchy. Sudden sounds or movements immediately claiming his attention.

Even Sable was quieter, and Festus was oddly dimmed, toying with his glass without actually consuming anything.

Snow, on the other hand, conversed easily with the Mayor, like the unbothered politician he was, though he too watched her carefully.

“Such bad luck with your train. Mechanical issues never come at convenient times, do they?” The Mayor asked between bites.

“Yes, quite bad luck indeed,” Snow agreed.

“You know, one of my best electricians was caught up in it, too. He was among those who were working on the tracks when the trees fell. I’m starting to think he won't be returning home.” The Mayor continued.

Snow didn’t react in the least, while Hazel glanced up from her untouched food. The train had “broken down” outside of Five's borders.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Snow grimaced as a proper Senator should.

“Do your electricians always work on the train tracks in the middle of the night?” Hazel asked, setting down her unused fork.

The room grew quiet. Snow’s eyes flashed to hers. It was the first word she’d uttered in hours.

“When necessary, Miss,” the mayor answered.

“He must have been special,” Hazel continued unabashedly, and she could sense Leo closing in. “Such job commitment is rare.”

The mayor frowned, “He was, though it was partially due to the hazard pay.”

“Hazard pay,” Hazel repeated. “Didn’t realize Five had such stipends.”

“You ok?” Festus whispered at her side. She didn’t answer, eyes fixated on the Mayor she hadn’t even bothered learning the name of.

The man exchanged a look with Snow. “We received a special addendum to our budget from the Capitol for railway maintenance for the Tour.”

“Was it a recent addendum?” She questioned, still intent on answers.

The Mayor laughed uncomfortably. “I’m a little surprised, Miss Marlowe. Certainly, there are more interesting subjects than our annual budget?”

“Our Victor is highly curious,” Snow murmured into his wine.

Hazel pressed, “What was his name?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your dedicated electrician?”

“Oh,” the man cleared his throat, and his wife grimaced. “Ohmric Tripp.”

“You are right,” Hazel hummed, locking her eyes with the mayor.

“About?” he asked.

“He won’t be coming home.”

Snow rose to his feet, wiping his mouth, “I think our Victor needs rest.”

Hazel rose herself, “Coriolanus is right. Thank you for your generosity, sir.” She held up a hand to Snow, who narrowed his eyes just a fraction, “Don’t let me ruin your evening, please enjoy your meal. Festus can walk me back to the train.”

Festus’s eyebrows rose, but he sprang up, just as ready to be done with the dinner as she was.

With that, she made for the door. Sable and Leo following close behind. Snow watched her leave but didn’t argue.

They walked in silence until they met their replacement train.

It was no hovercraft, but it was sleeker, shinier, and longer than both of the previous locomotives combined. And now there was just one. They’d all be sharing.

Great.

Yet she could hardly appreciate the luxury as she couldn’t shake the Mayor’s words.

Two thoughts tickled the back of her mind. One, Seven had never received any hazard pay addendums, despite logging being one of the most dangerous jobs in Panem. Two, living with Oren for so long, she knew budgets came from one place, the President.

Maybe Gaul and Augustus weren’t the only ones vying for a Snowless Panem.

Finally addressing her oddly quiet mentor, she asked, “Festus, do me a favor?”

Festus quirked a brow, “What Seven?”

“Drink with me?”

Chapter Text

All three men paused. Even Sable’s stoicism wavered for a second.

“You’re serious?” Festus asked.

“You said I…” The words were ash in her mouth, “earned it, right?”

Festus considered her closer.

“More than earned it, but are you sure that is what you want?”

“Absolutely,” Hazel assured.

A toothy grin dawned when he realized she was serious, his eyes flooding with his signature mischief.

“Hell yeah, Seven. Let’s do it. Give me a minute to see what I can find.”

With that, her mentor ventured toward the front of the train.

“Marlowe…” Leo started.

“Drayton,” Hazel cut him off, “Can you show me to my new room?”

Leo nodded after a grumbled agreement from Sable.

The replacement train sported numerous cabins as if it could easily hold thirty overnight guests. The largest suites were in the caboose, likely intended for only the richest or most influential.

A solitary chair was stationed outside the second-to-last compartment, giving away which was hers.

“Where’s his?”

He stiffened and gestured to the massive oak doors across the wide hallway.

“There.”

Snow would again be too close for comfort, not that her nights had been anything like it for a long time.

Without another word about it, Leo opened the door to her new quarters.

Like everything else, it was bigger and better than its predecessor. A king-sized bed, a two-seated round table, three overstuffed chairs, a cavernous bathroom, and finally a shiny silver refrigerator. The space was larger than her family’s entire old log home in Seven.

As the door behind her closed softly, she realized Leo hadn’t left. He was hovering, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Marlowe, you sure about this?”

She shrugged, “No, but doing what I thought I was sure of has only led to disaster. Figured I’d try the opposite, and see where it gets me.”

Leo crossed his arms but didn’t argue; instead, he continued to linger.

“Something on your mind, Drayton?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Hazel’s panic spiked, “Is it Bellona? I thought she was recovering?”

“No. I mean, yes.” He faltered. “I mean, she is. Indira sends updates every hour. That’s not it. I never thanked you.”

Hazel scoffed, shaking her head, “No need.”

“You saved my sister’s life.”

“Does it count as saving when I'm the reason she was in danger in the first place?” Hazel’s gaze dropped to her feet.

“That’s my fault, not yours,” Leo commented. “Danger comes with the job. I know that. Bello does too. But I’m the reason she is in the service.” His mouth twitched at some unspoken memory. “Bello has always followed in Percy and my footsteps, even when she was little; all she wanted was to be like us.”

He paced to the windows. “But when she got older, we couldn’t afford room and board anymore. Not with my and Percy’s salaries alone. Not for both of them.”

Hazel exhaled. “Your mother?”

Leo nodded, “So, I recruited her, knowing she’d jump at the chance. And now she’s…” His voice cracked, and the thought faded from his lips. “She always wanted to be a sniper, you know.”

Hazel grimaced. The severity of Bellona’s injuries had probably killed her hope of returning to peacekeeping. She’d be lucky if she kept her arm.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I should be the one thanking you for saving my life. Lost count of how many times over now.”

“Just doing my job,” Leo concluded, his face turning distant once again.

Hazel studied him as she asked, “Is that all you’ve been doing?”

Leo’s grey eyes went wide, though he tried to mask it. His reaction gave even more legitimacy to Cress’s claims about him.

The beginnings of a blush crept up her neck.

Hazel fiddled with the strap of her bag, her nerve briefly weakening. “I’ve been blind to many things.”

His eyes surged to hers then. She couldn’t ask him everything. Not when the answers could end with him buried in an unmarked grave. So, she chose the least dangerous truth.

“You disabled my tape player.”

It wasn’t a question, and he appeared to recognize that fact instantly.

Leo swallowed, lips sealing closed. Guilt was written all over his face, and he didn’t bother trying to deny it.

“You did, didn’t you?”

His shoulders straightened, and his eyes fell from hers.

“Yes.”

Cress had been right. The confusing guardedness, the guilt, why Leo had tried so hard to dissuade her from watching it, all of it was clearer. Not that it didn’t sting hearing him admit it.

“Why?”

A muscle in his face twitched, and his lips pressed closer together. Seconds stretched to minutes, and it seemed he might not answer until he inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Don’t watch it.”

“What?” Hazel scoffed. There wasn’t a chance in hell she wasn’t going to see its contents, one way or another. “Do you know what’s on it?”

“Don’t have to.” He contemplated his next words for a considerable amount of time. “I know the Senator.”

“And?”

“And whatever is on it, he’s going to use it.” Leo’s breathing was heavier, “to get what he wants.”

Hazel backed away a step while he examined her reaction like he was testing a theory. She’d never seen or heard him defy Snow so outright, so blatantly. The conversation was veering into precarious territory.

Maybe their most recent near-death experience had emboldened him. Or something else had.

“Beat him at his own game, don’t watch it,” he insisted, taking a solitary step toward her. “You protected Bello. Let me do the same for you.”

“Isn’t that what you are always doing?”

Emphasizing each word, he said, “I do my job.”

“There’s a difference?”

An internal storm raged behind his eyes.

“Yes.”

Her mouth dried at the way he said it. Rowan's warnings rang through her mind. He’s a peacekeeper, Haze.

Peacekeepers do what they are told to do. They fall in line, and most importantly, they follow orders.

And her three guards got their orders from one person, and one person only.

“He had you disable it.”

Leo didn’t answer, but his silence was all she needed.

What kind of new game was this? Snow gifted her the tape, then inhibited her from watching it?

Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around herself, coming to the next obvious question.

“And who told him I bought it from the junk shop?”

His eyes flitted to his boots.

“I did.”

“Doing your job then, too?” She asked.

“Yes.”

Her chest ached at Leo’s betrayal, yet in a way, within the depths of her soul, she understood.

Was she not lying at Snow’s request? Was she not taking her direction from him?

Chewing her lip, she asked, “Before the tour, us throwing axes in Seven, did Snow set you up to that?”

His stare moved back up to her face.

“No.”

There was a sense of relief that one of the better moments of the last six months hadn’t been fabricated by Coriolanus Snow.

Leo cleared his throat as he continued, “You asked if my job is all that I’ve been doing.”

“I did.”

“It’s not.”

Her heart felt like it was in her throat. They were truly treading treacherous grounds. She needed to kill the conversation, keep her mouth shut. Keep him from admitting something that would put them both in danger. She needed to do a lot of things, but against her better judgment, she asked, “And now?”

Leo’s voice dropped to a whisper, yet his words were like flood waters he was desperately trying to keep at bay.

“Off the clock.”

“Drayton? Pytash? Joining us?” Festus sauntered through the door while Hazel flinched.

Outside, Sable was waiting, a suspicious frown cemented in place.

“No,” Sable answered abruptly.

Leo studied her for a moment before he turned on his heel, relenting.

“You two have…fun.”

“Suit yourselves,” Festus replied, a bright blue liquor bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other.

Sable gripped Leo’s shoulder, “Shower and get some sleep. I’ll keep watch tonight.”

“I’m alright.”

“You’re not. Been twitchier than a caffeinated Flickerman on reaping day. Do as I say, Drayton.”

Leo relented to the older guard, shutting the door behind him. With him gone, Hazel willed her heart rate to calm. That was usually easy around Festus.

Settling at the table, Festus set out the cups. They clinked harshly as a tremor passed through his fingers. Hazel settled opposite him. The familiar smell of sugared roses perfumed the room as he poured. It was oddly soothing, smoothing the edges of her nerves from her conversation with Leo.

“Where did you get this?”

He placed a finger to his lips.

“Raided Coryo’s private stash.”

A small laugh escaped her, though it faded as she stared into the vivid beverage. It was beautiful in an eerie, artificial sort of way.

She tapped her fingers against the glass.

“You sure this is what you want?”

Festus sipped, wrinkling his nose as it met his taste buds.

She did want it. Or at least the idea of it. Numbness sounded like the purest bliss. Freedom, even for a few hours, would be enough.

“I’m not sure what I want.”

Festus grew quiet, taking another sip.

She regarded him as his tremors eased.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want out of all this, Festus?’

Festus stilled, curls shifting as he focused on the liquor.

“Thought I knew once. But now… haven’t gotta clue.” He swirled his alcohol. “Guess it’s true what they say about being careful what you wish for.”

Her voice quieted, “Is that why you’ve been pickling yourself?”

He winced. “Easy read, am I?”

Hazel continued tapping, “Familiar story. And you aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Fair,” he exhaled. “Could’ve been friends, your old man and mine. Not that anyone knew about my dad’s drinking problem besides my mom, me, and Coryo.”

Festus met her eyes.

“I know you two are on the outs right now.”

Her tongue was heavy. “We— it's complicated.”

What an understatement.

“Coryo is complicated. Always has been. Probably always will be. He’s stubborn, harsh at times, but he’s tenacious when devoted to something or someone. Sometimes to a fault.”

She pressed her lips together until she thought her flesh would split.

Festus continued, wholly unbothered, “But you know, he’s the only one I could talk to about my father, and he always listened. Though my dad would’ve killed me if he found out I said anything. Would’ve brought shame to the family and all that.”

“I’m so sorry, Festus.”

“He’s the one who should be apologizing, but he’d rather be six feet under than admit he’d ever made a mistake.”

“You’re right, they could’ve been friends.”

Festus laughed.

“Told myself I would win the Hunger Games. I’d prove myself to him. Be my own man and all that. I would be powerful, influential. ” He scoffed, taking in another mouthful. “Yet here we are, and I’m more like him every day.”

“Do we all become our parents?”

“God, if I know.”

The alcohol rippled as she tapped the glass wall. “I’d rather be dead than be like mine.”

Festus considered her for several long beats before he chugged the remnants of his blue wine.

“Can’t have that, can we? As your mentor, I won’t allow it.”

Swiping her drink right out of her hands, he rose.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Hazel argued.

Festus continued without looking back, tearing open the fridge and collecting a bottle of water. Sitting back down, he dropped it in front of her.

“Here. One of us should rebel against the inevitable. If anyone is going to alter history, it isn’t going to be me.”

Hazel couldn’t help but sadly smile as he toasted her with her own drink. She curled her fingers tight around the bottle.

“Don’t worry, Seven. Being boring isn’t the worst fate.”

She chuckled, fixing him with an unconvincing scowl.

“Guess the mentoring doesn’t stop with the Games. And you’re wrong, Fest. You changed history, mine at least.”

He rolled his eyes and downed the rest. “Don’t go soft on me.”

Hazel reached forward, placing a hand over the one he was holding her drink with. “Festus, promise me something?”

“Hmm?” He eyed her quizzically.

“Stop before it's too late.”

He sighed. “I promise to try.”

She squeezed lightly.

His seriousness melted into a teasing wriggle of his eyebrows, eyeing her hand over his. “I know it is difficult, probably impossible, but don’t go falling in love with me, Seven, I’m more or less spoken for.”

She laughed, eyebrows raised, releasing her hold. “Oh, really? Is she more or less imaginary?”

“Funny,” he deadpanned as he moved to get up.

“Oh, come on. I have to know now. Is she some sweet Capitol girl?”

He guffawed. “Capitol, yes. Sweet? Hardly. Always had a thing for the scary ones.”

“I knew it.” She smiled wider, “It’s Gaul, isn’t it?”

“Teach me to let the sober District girl get me drunk.” He collected the glasses and bottle.

Hazel let out another laugh. “Come on. I want details.”

“You’ve gotten too much out of me already.”

“Not even a hint?”

His eyes narrowed, “Tell me who is stealing Sable’s chocolates, and maybe I will.”

Hazel took an overlong drag from the water bottle.

“That’s what I thought. Good night, Seven.” He slurred, barely able to open the door without veering sideways.

Sable escorted a stumbling Festus toward his bedroom, reiterating his warning about the consequences if vomit got on his boots one more time.

Just because she couldn’t quite push herself to drink didn’t mean she wanted anything to do with the inevitable nightmares. Swigging from the water bottle, she swallowed a couple more pills, chasing numbness the way Festus did with his liquor.

With the lights still on, she sat upright, spine against the headboard, knees to her chest, knife snug beneath her pillow. She’d given up on the alcohol, but even with Leo’s earnest warning, she couldn’t do the same with the tape. Instead of considering it or the look in his eyes before he left any longer, she studied her door and opted to try to guess the identity of Festus’s Capitol sweetheart. At last, a sedated oblivion took hold of her.

Chapter Text

Salt-soaked air awoke Hazel from her dreamless unconsciousness. The fragrance was uncontainable, as if the sea itself was trying to saturate the locomotive.

It could only mean one thing: they’d arrived in District Four.

Swinging her legs off the bed, she massaged the sands of sleep from her eyes and the stiffness from her neck. A cheery sun was bursting behind the blinds. Hazel rose and parted them.

The train tracks skirted a sheer cliff. Down below was a bubbling, wide-awake ocean, stained the peachy colors of the rising sun.

There was not a cloud in the sky, just horizon and waves as far as the eye could see.

It was more beautiful than she would have ever imagined.

Yet her head throbbed, and muscles protested despite the scenery, likely due to her unnatural sleeping position. After deciding that movement and a bit of caffeine would help, she was motivated enough to leave her compartment.

Throwing on a cotton soft robe, she slid into the hall.

The honey-haired blonde from the train attack was perched in the chair.

“Oh.” Hazel stuttered. “Um… where’s Sable?”

“I’m on shift until seven tonight, ma’am.”

“What’s your name?” Hazel shifted awkwardly on her feet. She should remember it, but was drawing a complete blank.

“Private Merrick, Ma’am.”

“Your first name, Private?”

“Private Anterra Merrick, ma’am.”

“Well, Private Anterra Merrick, I’m going for a cup of coffee. Care to join?”

“No ma’am, but I’ll follow.”

Hazel exhaled, “Of course.”

Wading through the unfamiliar train, she finally stumbled upon the dining car.

Staff scrambled at the sight of her. When she asked for a cup of coffee, one was promptly delivered before she could even slide into a booth. It was perfectly hot, dark, and rich. Its aroma alone rid her of sleep’s remnants.

The beverage was quickly followed by three different kinds of sweeteners and four exotic flavors of Capitol cream. Five avoxes shadowed the table, thirsting for her approval.

Every time she looked at them, she couldn’t help but think of Vesper and his nameless friend.

Did they know their cohort’s fates?

She shuddered as she considered her satisfaction likely directly impacted theirs.

Cupping the warm beverage, she did her best to sip while ignoring the way they spectated. They were like the broods of curious chipmunks back home. On warm days, they would watch the lumberjacks until one got too close. That would send them scurrying in all directions, hell bent on escape. However, unlike the inquisitive creatures, her current audience had no such options.

Though she did her best to mask it, drinking coffee with a silent, overly attentive crowd was incredibly unnerving.

“Lovely, thank you,” she said, plastering on the best smile she could manage. They seemed to get her hint, and they retreated a fraction.

Sighing, she took in another hot, soothing mouthful as her attention moved to her apparent new guard, who was supervising the dining car like a statue.

After another sip, the doors banged open, and a puke green Festus stumbled in.

He met her concerned stare as he melted into the seat across from her.

“Morning sunshine.”

He grunted, rubbing his eyes.

“I thought you might take it easy after our talk yesterday.”

“Thought I did. That shit from Coryo’s office is crazy potent or something.” He burped and grasped his temple as Hazel waved down a much too eager avox, requesting a coffee on Festus’s behalf.

“Didn’t even drink anything else after I left your room. I like to think I have a decent tolerance, but Coryo’s on a completely different level.”

A vat-sized mug was abruptly pushed before him. He ogled it like it was a sea in the desert, and he downed it just as fast as a man dying of thirst.

“Another, please.” Festus groaned, wiping his lips with his sleeve.

The nearest avox nodded and flittered back to the kitchen.

“I’m no lightweight, but Coryo must have the tolerance of a God.”

“What was that, Fest?” A familiar voice called over Hazel’s shoulder. She couldn’t stop the startle that surged through her fast enough. Snow was fresh-faced, in a stunning dark blue-black suit, gliding toward them like he hadn’t missed an ounce of sleep his entire life. “All I heard was my name and God.”

Festus rolled his eyes.

“I’m too hungover for you.”

Snow slid in beside his friend.

“Strange. You didn’t seem too keen on drinking at dinner last night.”

Hazel met Festus’s drooping eyes. Snow frowned at their silent exchange, tilting his head.

“Something to say, Miss Marlowe?”

Hazel hesitated, and Festus gave her a headshake as if to warn her: Don’t tell him.

“Tell me,” Snow demanded. His attention sizzled between the two.

She sighed, staring down at the little tendrils of steam coiling up from her cup.

“He’s going to find out anyway, might as well be…” She dug her fingers into the ceramic. “…honest.”

“I would prefer that.”

Even without looking at him, she could hear his smug smirk-smile.

Festus grumbled something unintelligible, resting his forehead on the table.

“I asked Festus to drink with me last night,” she confessed.

Snow raised an eyebrow. Clearly, that was not the answer he was expecting. She swore a flash of jealousy slid over his face before he rapidly buried it.

“Oh? And?”

“Remind me never to tell you anymore secrets.” Festus’s voice was muffled, face still glued to the table.

She grimaced at her suffering mentor before meeting Snow’s probing stare.

“He may have raided your liquor cabinet.”

Snow’s eyes grew dark and wide at the same time. Spinning toward his friend, he snared his shoulder.

“What did you drink?”

“Apparently, the equivalent of lighter fluid.”

“I’m serious,” Snow urged.

“It was blue, smelled sweet,” Hazel answered. Snow’s attention whirled back to her as she continued, “Sort of like your…cologne.”

“Damn it, Fest,” Snow breathed. A severe yet foreign look rolled over his features. Something akin to…fear?

How bizarre.

An avox set another pair of coffee cups on the table, one before both Festus and Snow.

Festus lifted his head and lunged for it, but Snow grasped the forearm surging past him before he could seize the coffee.

“Bring him a glass of milk.” Snow barked.

“Ugh,” Festus mumbled. “Don’t want milk.”

“The largest one you have,” Snow didn’t break eye contact with the quivering avox until they were all but tripping over themselves to leave his presence. “You will drink it.” Snow’s voice allowed Festus no room for argument. “I promise you’ll feel better.”

“Since when did you become a doctor? Being a Gamemaker and a Senator weren’t enough?”

Snow ignored Festus’ perturbed ramblings and returned his scrutiny to Hazel.

“Did you drink it too?”

“Lost my nerve.” She fidgeted with the cup, though her curiosity was bursting beneath her attempt at disinterest.

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

Snow sighed, and some of the intensity waned.

“What is it exactly?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

Snow pressed his lips together, but his irises delved into hers.

“I’ve lost track. Is it your turn?”

Hazel wanted to bang her head against the table like Festus. Of course, he would deflect and make this a part of their game.

“And if it is, are you going to answer?” she responded.

“What are you two on about?” Festus looked like he was going to make another break for the coffee.

“If that is an official question, I owe you another favor, Miss Marlowe. And that would make it my turn next.” Snow’s stare was practically painful to meet.

Another favor? What in the world was in the alcohol?

“Deal.”

A pitcher-sized mug was suddenly placed on the table. Snow pushed it in front of his friend, finally releasing his forearm.

“Drink all of it, Fest.”

Festus looked like he wanted to puke right then and there.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Do I seem like I’m joking?”

“No.”

In Seven, they’d resorted to milk as a quick remedy for upset stomach or even a bit of insomnia, but she doubted that was the reason Snow was so insistent. His concern for his friend seemed genuine.

“Listen to him, Festus,” Hazel interjected. “Drink it.”

Snow met her eyes again, and he tilted his head. That peculiar expression returned, the one where he stared at her like a puzzle.

She shook it off and refocused on her mentor. “Come on.”

Festus relented under the intense peer pressure, grabbed the glass with two hands, and began to gulp.

Snow’s shoulders seemed to relax as Festus took in more and more. Though his gloved hand found Festus's shoulder once again, and the leather crackled as he tightened his grip.

“You may be my oldest friend and even my campaign manager, but you need to listen to me when I tell you this: never do that again.”

Festus paused, sporting a white mustache.

“Do you understand?” Snow said, squeezing the other man’s shoulder.

“Alright, alright.” Festus returned to the glass, skin color already improving.

Hazel wasn’t sure she’d heard such an oddly caring threat in her life.

“Pretty intense for the first thing in the morning, don’t you think?” Hazel sipped her coffee, taking a glance out at the idyllic scenery passing by. “You would have thought he drank poison or something.”

Snow’s attention once again surged to hers.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

Hazel set down the cup. Without Indira there, she’d forgotten all about preparation. She’d practically sleptwalked through Five, but she knew District Four would be different.

Festus shook his head.

“Don’t look at me, Seven. I’m lousy with any of that fashion stuff.”

“I can help you,” Snow offered, his eyes sunk to the pajamas she was wearing. “If you would like.”

His lips curled, and she was certain her face was turning cherry once again.

Snow picking out her clothes? Dressing her?

The image was jarring, and mixed with the memory of her recent dreams, she didn’t dare ponder it long.

Instantly, she was out of her seat, coffee abandoned. Caffeine was no longer required as she was wide awake.

“I’ll manage, thank you.”

Just as she was shielding her face with her hair and spinning to leave, Snow called out, “Oh, and Miss Marlowe?”

She only half turned.

“We’ll be having a do-over of that dinner I owe you, tonight.”

With Private Merrick in tow, she flew back to her room.

Chapter Text

After a much too long and likely too hot shower, Hazel emerged from the bathroom. The ambient temperature could pass for a spring day in Seven, and even inside the train, the humidity was tangible.

Contemplating the rainbow slew of colored ensembles in her closet, she settled on a flowy turquoise sundress. Forgoing anything fancy or complicated, she tied back her hair in a simple rope braid.

Merrick was silent when she stepped into the hallway, eyes fixed forward. Hazel was getting the distinct impression Bellona’s replacement was the tight-lipped, stoic type.

In the main lobby, Sable, Leo, and a healthier-looking Festus and Snow waited. On the other side of the wall, the world was abuzz. Schools of people merged to form a crowd. Bizarrely, District and Capitol were not separated; instead, they were crammed together in the District Four train station. Barriers, strict lines, and boundaries enforced at the end of a barrel were all Hazel had ever known.

While this District lacked such structure, it was still evident who belonged to Four. Their clothes, while well-made, were duller; their faces were sun-kissed but still held a thinner edge.

It reminded Hazel of a fact Sage had told her when he had been in a particularly intense phase of obsession with underwater creatures. He had taught her that when two oceans attempted to merge, they never quite did, even when they were touching. A separation remained that not even the mightiest forces on earth could overcome. Though she wasn’t sure how accurate that could be, considering that outside of the Alpine and the dam, District Seven was about as far away from the ocean as you could get.

In a way, separation was familiar. It was comfortable. But then again, she was like a fly stuck in a closed windowpane. Not inside but not truly outside either, powerlessly trapped between two worlds.

When she looked closer, she noticed she wasn’t the only one. There was still a solitary boundary in place amongst the gathering. A half-moon of peacekeepers flanked two people, shielding them from the rest.

A flash of golden-brown waves and a soft smile snagged Hazel’s attention as the train doors squealed open.

Mags Flanagan.

Hazel had only seen her from afar and on television during the 11th Hunger Games. Even during the lead-up and aftermath of her own Games, she had never actually talked to the sole Victor from District Four.

A pale seafoam pantsuit hung from her long, thin limbs, not bulky or unflattering but graceful. Her caramel-streaked hair was half pulled back, while the rest was loose around her face. Her eyes were warm, not the cool blue of the sea but more like a calm pond, teaming with aqua green life, and in the center a faint ring of golden brown.

Yet Mags didn’t seem to take in the crowd or the guards. She was distracted by the man hovering too close, whispering in her ear. His bright purple-streaked braid coiled like a serpent over his shoulder.

Augustus’s chin was high, and he appeared to be oddly proud despite having failed at his mission to kill Snow. His smile sharpened as the two groups drew together.

Mags didn’t react besides a faint dip of her mouth.

Snow was bristling as he laid eyes on the man. Beside him, Festus’ hands fisted. Sable and Leo flanked them, not pressing but merely present.

Hazel gave a sideways glance to Leo, who blinked back at her with as reassuring a look as he could without being obvious.

“I know you are still cross with me,” Snow’s breath was in her ear. “Still on the same team, right?” Holding out his arm, Snow waited for Hazel to take it.

Meeting the vicious stare of Augustus once again, she inhaled deeply. Despite the damage Snow had inflicted, here and now, a true enemy waited, in an eggplant suit no less.

She hadn’t forgotten who was really responsible for the demise of the miners in Twelve, those lost to the fires in Eleven, or all who perished in the train attack.

“Same team.” She looped hers through, resting her hand on his bicep.

Hazel didn’t miss how Mag’s eyes dropped from Snow to her strappy sandals.

Was it fear? Or pity? Or disgust?

Certainly, she must not have a high opinion of Snow. That would be reasonable. Understandable, really. A natural reaction of a Victor to a Gamemaker. Walking arm in arm with one was anything but.

Instead of speaking to Augustus, Snow addressed Mags.

“Miss Flanagan, lovely to see you as always.”

Mags bowed, voice soft, reverent even.

“You as well, Senator.” It was then that she turned fully to Hazel. “Welcome to District Four.”

“Thank you,” Hazel managed.

Snow tilted his head toward Hazel, “I think you’ll find District Four more hospitable than most of the others we’ve been to. Certainly, more than our trip to Five.” He settled a hard look on Augustus. “Didn’t realize you’d be joining us, Trask. Considering our unfortunate delays.”

Augustus smirked at Mags, then Hazel.

“So unfortunate indeed. You never really know when you are going to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, do you?”

“No,” Snow answered, tone bordering frigid despite his outward nonchalance.

“But, since you mentioned it, that’s the reason I’m here.” Augustus matched Snow's smile as he continued. “Even though we are rivals, it is only right that I show my support. Publicly, of course.”

Hazel’s finger thrummed against Snow’s arm, holding back from fixing Augustus with an outright glare.

“Well, I certainly feel supported,” Snow’s eyes blazed, though his smile didn’t dim in the slightest.

“Supported like a noose,” Festus grumbled.

“Let’s get on with it then, shall we?” Augustus smirked, taking the lead, he guided them toward the entrance, followed closely by Snow. Festus and Mags followed, along with a slew of guards.

The crowd seemed genuinely excited. Hazel couldn’t help her grimace. Mobs of District Four folk pressed inward. Many sporting familiar-looking cards and a variety of other items.

“Something wrong?” Mags asked.

“I thought that they might…” Hazel stumbled. “Didn’t expect such a warm welcome.”

“Ha,” Festus spoke up, voice as sober as she had heard it. “You all in Seven really are out of touch. Our last three stops before the Capitol are going to be different. They have more appreciation for the games than the others.”

Hazel internally squirmed at the sentiment but gave her best expression of neutrality.

“He’s right,” Snow interjected. “Four, Two, and One are friendlier.”

“Friendlier to the Capitol?” Hazel asked.

“Yes, but also to Victors,” Snow clarified.

“I see,” Hazel murmured.

“It's true,” Augustus responded as the guards parted the people, so a semi-straight path formed to the doors of the station. He continued his education as he crossed through the bubbling crowd. “Being a Victor is becoming quite the prize in such Districts. There are rumors that some are starting to train to win the Games and that being reaped is considered an honor.”

How could the games ever be anything but punishment?

The concept was as foreign as everything else in the beautiful but backwards District.

Hazel chewed on her lip. Snow seemed to notice, patting the hand curled over his arm with his own in some bizarre reassurance.

Augustus let out a chortle, “They’ve even coined a little nickname for themselves.”

Hazel swallowed. She could imagine someone like Caleb, Eve, or Elara being proud enough to label themselves as better than the other Districts.

“What is it?” Hazel asked.

Her words were lost in the blinding sunlight that hit her full in the face as the doors to the District Four train station opened. A salt-drunk breeze lifted any loose strands of her hair into the air. The aroma was brine, heated stone, and budding azaleas. Low to the ground were stucco buildings in faded buttercream with orange-tinged clay tile roofs that were speckled with sea birds. Children perched on the shoulders of their parents, vying for a better view.

Peacekeepers lined either side of a path that clearly was meant to guide them toward the Justice Building. Farther off, the ocean glittered like glass.

“Careers,” Mags answered over Hazel’s shoulder, actively crafting a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Dreadful, isn’t it?”

“More fitting than dreadful, I would say, Miss Flanagan,” Augustus hummed with authority. “Come to think of it, many of those District kids were inspired by none other than yourself.”

The concept was unimaginable. Undoubtedly, the Capitol would eat it up.

Mags looked out, eyes seemingly pausing on the spectating children. “Inspiration,” she murmured under her breath, like it was a dirty word.

“Don’t consider myself one either,” Hazel whispered.

“Either way, you non-inspirational figures will need to put on your best smiles and sign autographs.” Augustus was closer now; she could practically feel his breath. Even Mags seemed to flinch.

Augustus’s voice lowered as he faced Hazel, “I have to admit that I also came to Four because I was curious to see if our newest Victor has any more surprise announcements for us.”

More like he was curious to see if any more punishment was justified if she stepped out of line again.

“Fresh out,” Hazel answered.

Snow’s hold on her tightened.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to surprise us,” Augustus responded. “It’s a talent of yours after all.”

“Miss Marlowe has many talents,” Snow eyed Augustus.

“You would know, wouldn’t you, Senator?” Augustus's tone dipped.

“I certainly have one for being at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Hazel couldn’t fully hold back the intensity in her gaze. “But you already knew that, right, Mr. Trask?”

Augustus’s smirk deepened, and his tan eyes flashed.

Snow rigidified, and his fingers slid fully over the hand on his arm.

Mags strode to Hazel, smiling at the two men while fishing her body between them.

“Who’s ready for autographs? Would you lead the way, Mr. Trask?”

“By all means,” Augustus cooed, once overing Snow before taking the lead again.

Snow acquiesced to Mags’s insistence, allowing the other Victor to take Hazel from him. Mags’s hands were warm. Despite their leanness, Hazel could sense a wiry strength likely bred from years of perfecting knots and lures.

Once at the Justice Building, there was a wide table set up on the top step, with two chairs and an array of various colors of ink pens.

Hazel did her best not to stutter under the other girl’s scrutiny. She’d killed both of Mag’s tributes, and she half expected resentment or disgust, but she could find none. Only a sure-eyed, judgment-free contemplation.

Hazel considered for a moment that the only person in Panem who understood how she felt or what she’d done was the girl before her.

“I apologize…about your tributes,” Hazel murmured once they were alone and out of earshot of the others.

“Don’t. We’re on the same side now, Miss Hazel.” Mags guided her toward their destination. The girl leaned in, whispering, “We Victors need to stick together.”

Chapter Text

Crisscrossing lines of people branched out from the justice building steps. They stretched so far that they curled around the corners of alleyways and other buildings. Even when elevated and squinting, the ends were completely invisible.

In the hands of the burbling crowd were the familiar trading cards, along with stuffed animals, clothing, books, magazines, and posters. Children and adults alike jittered in anticipation as they moved up the line.

Hazel and Mags set to work dutifully penning their signatures on whatever they were presented. Though some of the reactions of the people as they did were perplexing. Most showered them with praise and accolades, while others asked questions. Those ranged from benign to invasive.

What was it like to be a Victor?

Who was their favorite ally?

Who was their strongest opponent?

What was Victor’s village like?

Were their homes as refined as those in the Capitol?

What did they think the arena would look like next year?

If you didn’t win, who do you think would have?

Naturally, Hazel was bombarded with questions about District Seven. One child even asked if there were really monsters, twice the size of a normal man, roaming the northern woods. Despite sharing a continent, each District was mired in mystery and folklore to the others.

But more often than not, people offered their own input, their feelings, their thoughts, and even their theories on how things may have gone differently. Often, these were levelled at them by the Capitol visitors. At least, the people of District Four had the decency to avoid such lines.

Mag’s ability to smile and answer without even a hint of anything other than gratitude was admirable, and Hazel did her best to follow the lead of the older Victor.

Working his way up one side of the row, Augustus was canvassing with vigor, smiling and shaking the hands of various patrons. He was easy to spot with his ridiculously vibrant suit. Every so often, he would pause his performance, and his tan stare would slide over the two Victors before returning to his task.

Mags kept her head down while Hazel squirmed, though having Leo hovering behind her gave her a sense of security.

Despite appearances, none of it was overlooked by Snow. He’d made fewer waves, settling into a corner with a select group from the Capitol and Festus.

If Snow was bothered by Augustus’s presence, he didn’t give it away in the slightest. What he did give away, however, was the attention he openly bestowed on Hazel. A side smile, a tilt of his head when she made a child laugh, and worst of all, the light pattering of his gloved fingers against his lips whenever their eyes met. The cameras devoured all of it like a fatty feast.

He was putting on a different kind of show than Augustus, but it was no less of a production. No less of a strategy.

Hazel might have been impressed if she hadn’t been the one caught in the middle of it.

Without fail, questions were leveled at her about Snow. A bubbly young woman blushed as she asked what he smelled like. Another inquired about how she managed to articulate sentences around him with those baby blues. Hazel’s face would flame as she dodged such statements, offering vague or coy answers instead.

“Oh, you know.” Or “He makes things interesting.”

At times, she could get away with a simple bashful smile and no words at all. The people seemed pleased all the same. They would grin knowingly while Hazel’s stomach churned, convincing herself she was only playing her part.

However, at one point, an older lady with rainbow braids leaned over the table, locked in on Hazel, Capitol accent heavy, as she asked when she and Snow were going to come clean about their relationship.

Hazel’s head spun, and her face returned to a berry tone that was rapidly becoming her baseline.

“Uh…well,” Hazel stammered.

It made sense; an announcement would be the natural next step. Snow would probably be more than happy to do it, and the fact that he hadn’t yet was creating questions amongst those in the Capitol.

Even Mags quieted, turning her ear, like she wanted to hear the answer for herself. Without glancing over her shoulder, she could hear Leo’s boots abrading the concrete as he repositioned himself.

“Next in line,” Leo leaned over Hazel as he ordered the woman away. The woman huffed yet left with a wilted frown.

Shooting a grateful look to her guard, Hazel resettled into signing her name over and over until her hand ached.

Eventually, the probing crowd mixed with too much caffeine, no food in her belly, the incessant sunlight, and salt made her balance waver and her head feel too light. At one point, a pen fell from her hand as she was once again signing a trading card of her own face.

"You alright?” Mags murmured beside her as she bent to retrieve it.

“I’m not used to,” Hazel licked her too dry lips. “Sea level.”

“It’s said with time and patience, you can get used to almost anything,” Mags mused, voice quieting, handing her the pen before refocusing on another flowy signature.

“You think that’s true?” Hazel frowned.

Mags answered solemnly, “I sure hope not.”

“Me too.”

A fresh wave of fans approached them next. One young Capitol boy in particular was eager to approach Hazel, ignoring his mother, as she scolded him not to run once it was his turn.

With a wide smile yet trembling hands, he presented something she had not seen yet. Another trading card, but this one had an all too familiar name printed along the top edge:

“Silus Starling, 15th Hunger Games, 2nd Place.”

Her brother’s stare met hers from the glossy surface. One of his strong hands was curled around the handle of an axe. A thick red blade rested on his shoulder.

The air was suddenly more viscous, and the heat was no longer the only thing rashing her skin as she battled to remain neutral-faced.

They actually made cards of Silus? Monetized and plastered his face on a product for children?

“A strong tribute, wasn’t he?” Mags interjected, focusing her warmth on the boy, who nodded in agreement.

“The strongest,” he responded.

Hazel’s flush cooled as she met the eyes of the hopeful boy before her. He didn’t know any better, and it was evident that something about Silus inspired him.

Not that it made it any easier to sign the thing or even reach for a pen.

“Quite handsome, too.” Mags eased her voice into Hazel’s ear. “Reminds me of someone.”

Mags tapped a card that was before her. A lean boy with a mop of strawberry blonde curls wielded a fishing spear. Something about him was distantly familiar.

“My district partner,” Mags said. “Was a lot like your brother. I really thought he would be the one to come home.”

Hazel searched her memories of the Eleventh games. There had been a particularly strong bond between the District Four tributes that year. They had worked closely up until the very end, until only Mags remained.

She, too, had escorted home a casket. Hazel’s chest stung at the memory and the unique, harrowing nature of their shared experience.

Mags smiled down at the image, as if his face reminded her of a joke. However, it wobbled as she spoke.

“Fate is fate. It doesn’t care if you agree with its course.”

Hazel gazed down at Mags’s hand. “You think it's impossible to change it?”

Mags smiled at the fan before her and signed the card. With the graceful flip of her wrist, she handed it back as if his image hadn’t bothered her in the least. Hazel had the overwhelming sense that it did. Mags let them melt into the throng before answering.

“Depends. Some wish to craft our destinies for us, and will if given the chance. On the other hand, I believe some currents run so strongly that no dam, no stone wall can keep them at bay. Not forever anyway.”

Mags’s eyes drifted, and Hazel noted a peculiar young avox waiting at the edge of the crowd. He was lanky, yet held himself with a similar fluidity that the people of this District had inherently. He stood separate, observing, but instead of watching the mass, the guards, Hazel, Snow, or Augustus, he only watched Mags.

Mags smiled softly for a breath before her stare dropped to her hands.

The boy waiting for Hazel was growing antsy, though he seemed to be reveling in the opportunity to spend so much time with the two Victors.

Hazel scratched her name across the bottom near Silus’s shoes and slid the card to the waiting boy.

He ogled it with pride before beaming up at her.

“He’s my favorite.”

Hazel pushed down the lump in her throat, leaning forward.

“Mine, too.” She glanced at the card one more time, running a thumb over her brother’s face. He was heroic in a storybook sort of way, but they hadn't gotten his expression quite right. His brow was too hard, his eyes not intelligent, determined, or mischievous enough. “Take good care of him for me.”

The child accepted the answer resoundingly before returning to the crowd and his scolding mother.

“Can’t even imagine…” Mags’s voice was hardly audible.

Hazel willed herself not to grimace and instead smiled at the next person in line. After several more awkward interactions, Mags' foot brushed Hazel's.

“You're learning fast,” Mags said, swirling her pen over a magazine that had photos of her victory. A younger version of Mags was standing proudly, eyes locked on the camera, her golden brown waves flooding over one shoulder. She looked so young yet so heroic. It was no wonder the Capitol loved her.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been watching your tour.” Mags again broke through Hazel’s line of thinking.

Hazel wanted to groan with embarrassment.

“I have to say I think you are adapting well,” Mags continued.

Adapting seemed like the wrong word considering her current mental state.

“Not well enough. Can’t really sleep anymore.”

“Was it hard to sleep in the arena?” a bubbly Capitol teenage girl interjected, handing Hazel a cotton shirt.

Mags stepped in again, “It wasn’t a walk in the park.”

Hazel sent her a thankful grimace, signing her name quickly.

Silence settled between them as they both got back to work, hurriedly scribbling. Mags would pat Hazel’s hand or intervene when a question was too personal. As the afternoon wore on, Mags closed the distance between them, sliding her chair even closer. Eventually, their knees brushed against one another, and Hazel’s dress swirled with the wide legs of Mag’s pants. Turquoise and sea foam swished into one another, like two seas meeting.

Over the next several hours, Mags never left Hazel’s side, not after they finished signing countless autographs or even when Hazel gave her obligatory speech about the virtues of the Capitol and the Games, not that District Four needed reminders.

Mags even went with Hazel to meet the families of her vanquished tributes.

Marina and Flynn’s families embraced Mags like she was a dear friend. Hazel hung back, respectful yet watching curiously and contemplating how closely her future would mirror Mags’s.

Attending annual funerals and offering condolences to people she inevitably failed.

Finally, Mags sat beside her at the fish-filled feast within the Mayor’s house that evening. She said little, but Hazel had a keen sense that Mags absorbed it all and rarely missed much.

Unlike the other mayors’ homes, this one had countless windows. In a way, the design made sense for the District. Who wouldn’t want to stare out at the sea all day long if it were in their backyard? The waves and sunset bathed the room in an almost peaceful atmosphere that shouldn’t have been there considering who was all gathered.

“It’s beautiful here,” Hazel murmured.

“Seven is quite lovely from my experience. Never seen so many trees in my life,” Mags mused.

Hazel vaguely remembered Mag’s Victory Tour. Though she should have, since it was the first of its kind.

“Well, the winters aren’t like this,” Hazel responded, still marveling at the warmth and the waves.

Mags considered her words as she gazed out at the sea as if it were a friend.

“You’re right, you all certainly get more snow,” Mags licked her lips, eyes fluttering over the Senator for a second before surging back to Hazel. “Not sure how you in Seven deal with that.”

“Time and patience, maybe.” Hazel took a long drag of water. “But I think I would prefer it here.”

Mags didn’t look away, and Hazel caught that same pitying expression once again.

“Beauty can be deceiving, even at sea level.” Mags stared down at her plate, voice softening, “You know, the nightmares get better. Time eventually wears down the intensity.”

Hazel cleared her throat, trying to ignore the growing scent of fish in the air, “You have them too?”

“Used to be every night. Especially that first year.”

Leaning in closer, Hazel whispered so no one else could hear, “Yours ever cross over into your reality?”

Mags' eyebrows cinched together at that.

“I can't quite say they have, but...” A slight tremor worked through her fingers. “Certain sounds. Certain smells. That’s all it takes, and I'm back there. It's like my brain doesn’t believe that I'm home. Or that I have been for almost five years.”

It was a melancholic relief that filled Hazel. It was odd to feel such a way, but it didn’t change that hearing Mags say what she felt out loud warmed Hazel’s soul. Who knew she’d find common ground in the District that was half water.

The two let the words lie for a few minutes, listening to the rest of the conversation taking place around the table.

Mags' voice was in her ear again. “Grief is weird, complicated, and personal. The worst wounds don’t leave marks or scars. Can’t really heal them without help.” Mag’s hand found Hazel’s beneath the table, “Take it from me, Hazel, I've learned that I can't do it on my own.”

Hazel squeezed the girl’s hand back, warmed by her words.

Mags had a comforting quality that was rare. Her voice was so genuine, so sincere, it was becoming obvious that disliking Mags Flannagan was an impossibility.

An avox tapped Mags’s shoulder, smiling and gesturing to her poorly touched plate. His wide eyes brightened when Mags looked up at him. Her face rosied as she whispered her thanks, releasing Hazel and handing over her dishes. Hazel realized he was the same one who had been so intently watching Mags earlier.

Turning to Hazel, the avox eyed the plates before her, next. She scrambled to gather them, but her nervousness hadn’t quite waned, and a fork tumbled to the tiles at her feet.

“I’ve got it,” Mags said, bending to collect it. In the process, her elegant arm-sleeve rose, revealing a sickening purple-blue braiding her wrist. The modest outfit on such a warm day suddenly made sense.

Hazel couldn’t help but stare a fraction too long, whispering, “Mags?”

Mags tugged her sleeve back into place.

“What are you two gabbing about?” Augustus inquired, tan eyes fishing.

“Just girl talk,” Mags answered, though there was a quiver in her usually strong voice. She handed the fork to the avox, and he slid away.

“Miss Marlowe has had a lot of that lately,” Augustus answered.

Hazel settled back in her seat, meeting the man’s eyes.

“I think I prefer present company this time around.”

Augustus’s attention never wavered.

“Well, if it is advice she is giving you, let's hope you take it more seriously than the last time you had girl talk.”

Snow rose, addressing the group.

“I think you’ll all have to excuse me and Miss Marlowe.”

Mags sent her a muted yet concerned look but said nothing. Hazel wanted to ask her about the bruising, but the opportunity had vanished.

Snow rounded the table, watching carefully, and extended a hand to her.

“I promised her dessert, two stops ago.”

“You must stay and try the caviar ice cream.” The mayor’s wife interjected.

Hazel successfully buried a gag and vowed never to complain about Fern’s creativity in the kitchen ever again.

Snow didn’t flinch. “I promise I won’t leave without a rain check, my dear.”

After a whispered goodbye to Mags and Festus, she laid her hand within Snow's. He led her outside, though she could almost feel Augustus’s glare searing into her spine.

Snow guided her to a path that wound to a ship-plank chalet on a soaring bluff, overlooking the water. Her three peacekeepers lagged, just out of earshot.

Hazel sucked in a deep lungful of the salty-sweet air, enjoying the break from the aromas of salmon eggs and sea bass stew.

“Not sure I’ll eat fish again for a while,” she murmured.

Snow hummed in agreement. “More of a poultry person myself.”

“Is he going to be with us the rest of the tour?” Hazel asked; she figured they both were marinating in their mutual dislike for Augustus. It was one of the few commonalities they shared.

Snow’s chin twitched in irritation at the thought, “I hope not for both our sakes.”

A cooling wind licked between them, tugging at her hem.

“You seemed to get along well with Miss Flanagan,” Snow observed.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“I’d wager. She’s one of the most popular of the Victors after all.” Snow met her eyes. “In the Capitol, at least. They can’t seem to get enough of her there.”

Hazel hesitated, considering how much to confide in the man.

“Doesn’t she live here in Four?”

Snow paused, seeming to consider what to say himself.

“Miss Flanagan spends the majority of her time in the Capitol now.”

Hazel itched to dig at her palm.

Majority of her time in the Capitol? How awful.

She was wondering if it was safe to ask about Mags’s bruises when Snow’s voice interrupted her thoughts, opening the door of their destination.

“Here we are.”

Inside the chalet was a private room that was half-floor to ceiling windows. Each one housed a breathtaking view. A pearl white cloth was draped over a small oval table. The chairs on either side waited with matching cushions. Seabreeze swirled from the open glass doors, and ivory drapes fluttered gently.

All of it was illuminated in soft candlelight.

It really could only be described as romantic, and Hazel was grateful for the poor lighting.

Her three peacekeepers stationed themselves outside while Snow shut the door. As she settled into one of the chairs, he approached. His hand disappeared into his vest, re-emerging with her tape player.

Her heart raced as anticipation drowned out the rest of her thoughts.

“No more delays. No more distractions. No more interruptions.” He leaned forward. Setting the device gently between them, his eyes glowed in the light of the setting sun.

“It’s time I kept my promise. It’s time you knew the truth.”

Chapter Text

Truth.

The candlelight glowed, dancing over the projector’s surface, almost like a taunt or a challenge. Yet, Hazel couldn’t look away.

Truth.

She carouseled the word in her mind until it was gibberish. Just six disjointed letters mushed into meaninglessness.

An avox snuck in, setting out two pitchers with matching glasses. Hazel hardly registered the presence of either.

Snow eased into the seat across from her, resting his elbows on the table. If his twitching eyebrow was any indication, her lack of response was not exactly what he was expecting.