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Chapter Text

Katniss and Peeta’s baby was only three days old, and Calliope Charm was already in love.

Effie had never known what it was like to raise a child in a place where the world didn’t feel like it might end tomorrow. She was trying. She was trying so hard. But when Calliope looked at her with those wide blue eyes and asked to sleep over —one night, just one night, please, mommy, I’ll be good, I promise— Effie felt her heart splinter down the middle like a snapped wishbone.

“No,” she said, too sharply. “No, darling, you sleep in your own bed tonight.”

“But why?” Callie Charmwhined, already pouting, already winding herself around Effie’s legs like a goose who didn’t understand boundaries. “I love the baby! Auntie Katniss said I could! Uncle Peeta too!”

Effie crouched, hands on her daughter’s small shoulders. “Because you’re six. And because... Because we have a routine, and your pajamas are here, and your comb, and you like the way I braid your hair before bed--”

“Katniss said she’d braid it!”

Effie flinched.

Haymitch was leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, lips pressed thin. He hadn’t said anything yet, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her spine.

“She’ll be alright,” he said finally. “They live two blocks away.”

The word hit her like a slap. Away.

Her daughter would be away.

No.

She stood up too fast. “I’m not discussing this. Not tonight.”

Calliope’s lip trembled. Effie softened at once. “We can ask them over for dinner tomorrow, yes? You can see the baby then. I’ll make a rhubarb crumble. You like that.”

“But I want to sleep there,” Calliope muttered, turning away, cheeks flushed with small-scale betrayal.

Effie watched her stomp off to her bedroom, her homemade dress—yellow gingham with crooked daisy buttons—flaring out behind her. She left the room, too.

Haymitch followed Effie out onto the porch, the evening warm and soft around them. The geese were already tucked in, their honking quieted, the meadow stretching long and golden under the sinking sun.

“You’re gonna have to let her grow up, darling,” he said gently, nudging her with his shoulder.

Effie rubbed her temples. “She’s six, Haymitch.”

“She’s safe, Effie.”

That was the part Effie could never quite believe.

*

Later, when Calliope came back out with her stuffed bear (way too dirty to Effie's like, but the kid wouldn't let her wash it) in hand and hopeful eyes, Haymitch looked at Effie once, just once, and Effie exhaled.

She smoothed Callie’s curls behind her ear. “Alright. One night. But you brush your teeth. And if you feel scared or cold or... Or if they say no --”

“They won’t say no,” the kid squealed, already out the door, already bounding down the steps.

Effie watched her run, her skinny legs flashing under the hem of her dress, the toy flapping along beside her like a talisman.

How do you explain to a six-year-old that it's not about trust? Not about Katniss or Peeta or the baby. It's about fear that roots itself in your marrow and won't leave. About what happens when people vanish and don't come back. About how many nights Effie spent in a cell, wondering if she'd ever see the sky again. About how silence still makes her nervous.

She didn’t sleep.

Haymitch snored softly beside her, one hand flopped over the pillow she’d pressed to her chest like a life raft. She stared at the ceiling and imagined every terrible thing. Fires. Earthquakes. Rebels bombs. Peacekeepers coming back. Some sick twist of fate, some new evil, some old nightmare.

For all she knew, Snow would raise from the grave —did he even have a grave?— and go after her daughter.

Calliope would be cold. Or the baby would cry and wake her and she’d be too scared to ask for help. Or what if someone broke in?

Effie got up.

She paced the kitchen. She sat in Calliope’s empty bed and held the soft sheets to her chest.

She thought of how they’d taken her, the day the rebellion started. She hadn’t been anyone important, not really. Just a face, barely a name. But she’d known too much. Said too much. Worn too many masks. The cell had been cold. Her skin had cracked. Her voice had stopped working around day two.

Effie clenched the blankets. Not again.

Two minutes later, she shook Haymitch awake.

*

She was on the porch by dawn, pale and shaky, arms wrapped tight around herself.

Katniss came up the road just as the sky began to pinken. Calliope Charm was holding her hand, bouncing slightly with tired excitement.

Effie didn’t wait.

She was down the steps before either of them could speak, pulling her daughter into her arms so fiercely that Callie squeaked.

“I’m okay, Mama,” the kid giggled, surprised. “Uncle Peeta made pancakes!”

Effie pressed her face into her hair. She smelled like syrup and unfamiliar blankets.

“Did you cry?” Her daughter asked, tugging back just enough to look up.

Effie swallowed.

“Only a little.”

Haymitch was in the doorway now, eyes soft with understanding. Katniss gave her a small nod and turned back toward home.

Calliope reached into her little bag and pulled out a smudged drawing. Similar to the ones she usually made; a big man, Haymitch, a woman in a long dress, her, and a little girl. But now there was a baby with big eyes right next to them.

“This is you,” she said, pointing to a figure in a long blue dress. “And this is me. And the baby. I want one.”

Effie laughed through the lump in her throat. “One what?”

“A baby.”

She smoothed her daughter's curls and whispered, “One miracle at a time, baby.”

Chapter Text

Effie had made raspberry tea and laid out Calliope’s favorite hair ribbon — lavender silk, hand-made by her mom, stitched with bees. It was almost breakfast.

The house was too quiet.

She called once, then twice. Her voice didn’t echo, didn’t land. Just hung there.

Effie stood in the doorway to her daughter’s room, one hand on the frame, the other pressed against her mouth.

The bed was still made. Callie’s shoes were gone.

Maybe she’s in the coop, she thought.

Maybe she snuck out early to feed the geese.

She does that sometimes. It’s not unusual. Haymitch always says she's got more goose sense than most people.

But the geese had already been fed. The coop door was shut. No footprints in the dew except her own.

Haymitch looked up as she stepped outside, her robe still hanging open, slippers soaked through.

“She’s not here,” Effie said, voice brittle.

His brow furrowed. “You check the bathroom?”

“She’s not here, Haymitch.”

And something in her voice must have cracked open, because he set his coffee down without another word and walked out into the meadow.

The sun was barely risen. The grass glittered with cold in the February winter. Effie stood on the porch, unable to sit, unable to move.

She tried to breathe.

Tried.

Because the truth was, people vanished.

Children vanished. Effie had seen it. Names flashed in newspapers. Girls gone after breakfast. Kidnapped. Hidden. Used. Gone.

She pressed a hand to her throat and whispered Calliope’s name like a prayer.

*

Haymitch was calling now. Louder and louder.

“Callie Charm!” Effie heard him yell. “Calliope, honey! Answer me!”

No answer. Just the wind.

She couldn't take it anymore.

Effie stepped into the grass.

It clung to her slippers. Soaked her. She moved like someone walking through dream water. Slow, thick, unbelieving.

She remembered the nights. How they’d brought her food through a slot in the wall. How they’d let her hair mat. How her fingers had cramped with dirt. How her voice had gone unused for days. No one had called her name. She had become a silent thing.

She had sworn —sworn— that no one would ever do that to her daughter.

And now she was gone.

It wasn’t until Haymitch turned back toward her that Effie realized she’d dropped to her knees. The world tilted. Her skin went cold.

“I can’t breathe,” she said softly. “Haymitch, I can’t- she’s gone- I can’t--”

He reached her fast, held her upright.

“She’s not gone,” he said into her hair. “She’s not.”

“You don’t know that,” she gasped. “You don’t... I can’t do this--”

“Effie.” His voice was low, firm, grounded. “Look at me. Look at me.”

Her eyes met his. Wide. Wild.

“She is not in danger. She's nine. And stubborn. And probably asleep with her head on a goose.”

And just like that —his voice still warm, still steady, he looked up. Searching. And his eyes softened, his whole expression softened.

“There.”

Effie followed his hand, pointing, her heart still racing, her lungs still fighting her.

At the edge of the meadow, under the willow tree, curled in the grass and flanked by Lemoncello, one of her geese, was Calliope Charm. A nest of yellow curls, a book still open in her lap, sleeping soundly with her head on the goose.

Effie couldn’t move.

Haymitch stood up.

He came back carrying her, nine years old and far too tall to be carried, but still boneless with sleep. Her arms flopped around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Probably went out before dawn,” he muttered, brushing hair from her face. “Must’ve laid down and passed out. She’s fine.”

Effie reached out, touched her daughter’s cheek. Warm. Safe.

She thought she might throw up.

*

Later, when Callie was awake and drinking tea at the kitchen table like nothing had happened, Effie knelt beside her and took her hands.

“You must leave a note,” she said. “If you leave early. If you go anywhere. Do you understand me?”

Calliope Charm blinked.

“I just wanted to watch the geese wake up.”

“And if something had happened? If you’d been bitten by a snake, or... or gotten sick, or...”

“Mama.” Callie frowned. “I was right there.”

Effie’s throat burned. Yes, but what if you hadn't been?

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered.

Calliope tilted her head. “But you didn’t.”

She leaned forward, kissed Effie’s forehead.

“I’m right here.”

Effie didn’t sleep that night, either.

But Calliope did. And Effie stayed beside her, fingers threaded with her daughter’s, breathing in her quiet, steady dreams.

Chapter Text

Effie hears the latch click and her body moves before her brain does. Up from the chair, across the room.

Calliope Charm steps inside, brushing twigs from her coat, cheeks pink with cold. She looks freshly eleven, all elbows and logic and sharp opinions. 

“Hi, Mama,” she says casually, kicking off her boots.

Effie can’t find her voice.

“I told you I was going to Finn's,” Callie continues, voice patient, like she’s repeating something for the third time.

Effie stands frozen in the hallway. Her hands are cold. Her throat hurts.

The kid frowns. “It’s not even that late.”

It is late. The moon is high, the fire in the fireplace long burned down. Effie had waited at the window, then by the door, then in the parlor with her nails pressed into her palms, trying not to imagine things she couldn’t unthink.

She’d lit every lamp in the house.

“I lost track of time,” Callie mutters. “Sorry.”

Effie exhales shakily. “You didn't tell me before you left.”

“I had already --”

“You didn’t leave a note.”

“I said this morning--”

“That was this morning, Calliope.” Effie’s voice is sharper than she meant. She sees her daughter’s shoulders tense. “If plans change, I need to know.”

“I didn’t change them!”

Callie’s tone cuts. Wounded, defensive. Her eyes flash, not with guilt, but with the confusion of someone being scolded for something that doesn’t feel wrong.

Effie closes her eyes. Her fingernails press crescents into her palms.

“I was with Finn and his cousins. We just sat in the barn and watched the stars come out. I didn’t do anything bad.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“Then why are you...?”

“You were gone,” Effie snaps, then bites it back. “And I didn’t know where you were.”

Callie stares at her. “But I came back.”

Effie doesn’t answer.

“I always do.”

Effie walks past her to the kitchen, turns on the kettle, cups her hands around the sink as the water runs. Anything to busy her fingers. Anything to hide the shaking.

Callie follows, arms crossed now, unsure. “You always get like this.”

Effie doesn’t look at her.

“I’m not a baby anymore, Mama.”

No. No, she isn’t.

She’s taller. Quieter. She says things like ‘I’m not a baby anymore’ and brushes her own hair before school and puts honey in her tea instead of sugar. And Effie doesn’t know when that started, but it’s happening faster than she can hold onto.

Callie leans against the counter, watching her. It's such a Haymitch thing to do, and it always crushed Effie’s heart a bit, how much she acts like him. “You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Then what are you?”

Effie doesn’t answer.

She takes the kettle off the flame before it whistles and pours them both cups. Lavender tea. She hands one to Calliope without a word, and Callie takes it, still frowning.

They sit in the kitchen, steam curling between them. The silence is heavy. Not angry... Just filled with everything Effie won’t say.

Callie glances up.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Effie nods.

“But I don’t get it. You know I’m okay.”

Effie looks down at her tea.

“Why do you act like I’m not?”

She doesn’t answer.

Because how can she say it? How can she say it's because once she used to trace the names of dead children on news-sheets like they were ghosts? Because there are still nights she wakes up sweating, thinking someone has taken her kid, her baby? Because her quietness reminds Effie of cells? Because her freedom is something Effie doesn't know how to hold without breaking?

Instead, she says nothing.

Callie watches her for a moment longer, then sighs and goes to bed, a little slower than usual. She doesn’t slam the door.

Her mom stays at the table.

She runs her thumb along the rim of her teacup. The fire has burned low again. The lamps need trimming. The night is too still.

But the house is full.

Calliope Charm is home.

Effie closes her eyes and lets herself breathe.

Chapter Text

It was well past midnight when Effie finally let the curtain fall.

The sky over District 12 was cloudless and cold. She could hear the geese rustling somewhere out in the meadow — Haymitch had always said they got uneasy when the wind shifted.

The same kind of wind was in Effie’s chest now, low and tense and rising.

Calliope Charm hadn’t come home.

She’d been sharp at dinner, distracted and bristling. Picking at her food. Rolling her eyes when Effie reminded her to come in by dark.

“She’s fifteen, Eff,” Haymitch had said afterward, when the table was clear and the porch lamp was lit. “You were already running around in velvet heels and lies when you were younger than that.”

Effie had ignored him.

She wasn’t thinking about who she had been at fifteen. She was thinking about who Callie was, and who she wasn’t. And all the things that could still happen, even in a so-called safe world.

Callie had said she was going to the bakery to study with Reane. Not that she was going to the woods. Not that she was meeting that girl—Fawn? Dawn?—the one with the sharp smile and the watchful eyes. The one Callie talked about too much, and not enough.

Effie knew.

She always knew.

She stood in the doorway now, arms wrapped tight around her middle. Her blond hair up in a messy bun, her curls falling over her shoulder. She didn’t know whether she wanted to scream or cry.

“She’s with her friends,” Haymitch said, behind her. His voice was gentler now. “You know where she is.”

“No, I don’t,” Effie said. “And that’s the point. I didn’t know she left. She didn’t tell us.”

“She didn’t think she had to. Because she’s fifteen. Because she thinks she’s invincible.”

“She isn’t.”

He didn’t answer.

She felt like her skin was too tight. Like she’d been made wrong. Too many years spent holding her breath.

“She lied,” she said.

Haymitch shrugged. “Did she, or did she just not tell us?”

Effie turned to him, sharp. “You think that’s better?”

“No,” he said. “But I think it’s normal.”

Effie decided she wanted to scream.

Normal was a word she didn’t trust anymore. Normal was something people said when they hadn’t been misguided their whole lives. When they hadn’t been brainwashed into being part of a system where children were reaped from their homes, their families, to never come back.

“She’s still a child,” Effie said.

“She’s your child,” Haymitch replied quietly. “She’s got your spirit. And mine. That’s a dangerous mix.”

“She’s not you,” Effie snapped. “And she doesn’t know the world you knew.”

Silence. After a few seconds, he answered.

“No,” he said. “But you do. That’s why you’re scared.”

Effie turned away again. The night air bit her collarbone. The geese were quiet now, as if even they were holding their breath.

She didn’t ask Haymitch to go find her. She didn’t want Callie dragged home like some wild thing, like she didn't trust her. But she wanted her back.

She always wanted her back.

*

It was almost two when the front door opened. Effie didn’t hear it, not at first—not over the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears. But then there was a creak, soft footsteps, the unmistakable thud of boots kicked off by the wall.

Effie stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed.

Calliope Charm froze.

Her cheeks were flushed, eyes too bright. Not from drinking, Effie would have smelled that, but from something. Laughter, or adrenaline. Her braid was messy. Her jacket smelled like bonfire smoke and crushed pine.

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

Effie said nothing.

Callie’s eyes narrowed. “I know I’m late.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow, as she continued.

“I didn’t think you’d be waiting up.”

“I always wait up,” Effie said coolly. “Even when you think I don’t..”

Callie stepped further into the light. She looked older than she had a month ago. Her face had thinned out, cheekbones sharp. Her lashes curled in a way Effie swore she hadn’t taught her. She was beautiful, infuriatingly so. So beautiful, her baby...

“I just went walking,” Callie said. “Dawn wanted to show me something.”

“Let me guess,” Effie said. “It couldn’t wait until morning.”

“She asked,” Callie said, stubborn now. “I wanted to.”

Effie swallowed down the knot in her throat. “And you didn’t think it was worth telling us.”

“I knew what you’d say.”

Effie exhaled. “And that justifies lying?”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You didn’t tell us.”

“That’s not the same thing!”

“It is when you don’t come home!”

Callie Charm’s jaw tensed. “I was safe. Nothing happened.”

Effie pressed her fingers to her temple. “You’re not listening to me.”

“No, you’re not listening!” Callie shouted. “I don’t want to live under a magnifying glass. I’m not a prisoner, Mama. You can’t just lock me in the house because you’re scared --”

Effie flinched at her words. Prisoner. She almost asked herself if Callie knew what she was saying — but she didn’t. Of course she didn’t. She couldn't, she wouldn't.

“You don’t get it,” Callie muttered, turning away. “You act like... Like something awful is going to happen every time I step outside.”

Effie didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

“You don’t trust me.”

“I do,” She said sharply.

Callie Charm turned back. “Then why do you always act like I won’t come back?”

Because once, no one came back for her.

Because some nights she still woke up in the dark, waiting for pain.

Because she’d rather be hated by her kid than ever go through that silence again. That hopelessness.

But she didn’t say any of it.

Instead, she held her daughter’s gaze and said, quietly, “I need you to come home when you say you will. That’s all.”

Callie’s jaw clenched. She looked like she wanted to argue. Then she looked down. Her shoulders fell.

“Okay.”

Effie blinked. “Okay?”

“I’m not saying you’re right,” Callie mumbled. “But I am sorry.”

Effie nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

“I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Okay.”

Callie turned, started toward the stairs. Then paused.

“She kissed me,” she said, like a secret.

Effie blinked. “Who?”

Callie’s lips curled into something sheepish. “Dawn.”

Then she was gone, two feet on the stairs, gone like wind in the trees.

Effie stood alone in the quiet, hands wrapped around the kettle again though it hadn’t been lit in hours. Her eyes burned.

Haymitch’s voice came from the hallway, low and amused. “Hey... Is she back?”

Effie didn’t look at him.

“She’s in love,” she said softly. “I think she’s in love.”

“God help us,” Haymitch muttered, his tone slightly amused, something that let her know how sleepy he must have been — no way he’d react so calmly to her baby being in love otherwise.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and Effie leaned back into him, heart still beating fast. She let herself smile, only a little.

“Bed?” He asked, with a yawn.

And she nodded.

“Yeah. Bed.”

Chapter Text

Calliope Charm was laughing on the porch again, head tilted back, curls wild in the breeze, a bandana embroidered by Effie with little flowers wrapped around it. The sun caught the edges of her hair and made her look golden, unreal. Untouchable.

Effie stood inside the kitchen, the screen door between them humming faintly with every breeze. She was supposed to be slicing carrots for stew, but her hands had gone still on the counter. Her eyes were fixed on her daughter instead.

Seventeen.

That impossible, untamable age. Not quite grown, but not a child. All fire and secrets and longing.

She looked like Haymitch.

God, she acted like Haymitch.

Same crooked grin. Same sarcasm sharpened into defense. Same way of disappearing into her own head, curling words like smoke, always with a thousand thoughts Effie couldn’t quite reach.

It used to be easier.

Once, Callie had curled up in Effie’s lap in cotton dresses Effie had sewn herself, giggling about goose feathers and asking for more sugar in her tea. She used to braid her doll’s hair while Effie did hers. She used to run barefoot through the meadow and come home with flowers for her mama.

Now...

Now she stood on the porch with one booted foot up on the rail, laughing at something Finn said, one hand loosely resting on Dawn’s arm. Her eyes glinted like she knew exactly who she was and didn’t need anyone to explain it to her.

Effie loved her. Fiercely. Desperately.

And sometimes she didn’t know how to talk to her.

She didn’t know when it had changed. When she’d started feeling like a stranger in her daughter’s world. Maybe it was gradual, like the change in the seasons. Slow at first, then suddenly everywhere.

Callie had started shutting her door more often. Rolling her eyes more easily. Laughing with her friends in ways she didn’t laugh with her mother. Effie hadn’t done anything wrong, exactly. But she hadn’t done it right, either.

She tried. She tried so hard.

She still sewed dresses, though Callie rarely wore them. She made tea, even if Callie forgot to drink it. She asked questions that were met with shrugs. She offered advice her daughter didn’t want, didn’t need, didn’t ask for.

She tried to remember what seventeen had felt like... but her own seventeen was twisted and distant. Parties. Masks. Lies. It wasn’t the same.

She had no frame of reference for raising a child who'd never worn makeup before age ten. Who tangled her hair with wild flowers all natural and didn't have to ‘fix’ herself with surgery. Who kissed girls in barns instead of boys at galas and balls.

Haymitch understood her better.

Of course he did.

They shared this grounded stubbornness, this District 12 grit. They understood each other without words, even when they fought. Calliope Charm didn’t resent Effie, at least not out loud, but she didn’t seek her either.

And Effie couldn’t help but think… maybe she was something to endure.

An artifact from another world.

Sometimes she caught Callie watching her like she was trying to figure her out. Like Effie was a strange kind of animal in a pretty coat. Sometimes she caught herself watching Callie the same way.

Effie was proud of her. So proud she could barely speak of it.

But God, it hurt to feel so far away.

The door creaked as someone came in. Effie startled. She hadn’t realized the girls were gone.

Callie stepped into the kitchen, eyebrows raised.

“You okay?”

Effie nodded. “Of course.”

“You’re just… staring at carrots.”

Effie glanced down at the cutting board. “Lost in thought.”

“Dinner soon?”

“Yes.”

Callie Charm lingered for a second. Her hands were in her pockets. Her eyes searched Effie’s face, and something in her softened for a moment. Like she knew. Like maybe she saw something.

Effie’s throat tightened.

“You could come with us sometime,” Callie said, almost awkward. “To the market. Or the river. You don’t always have to stay home.”

Effie blinked. That was she was doing tonight. Going out with her friends and Haymitch, as he had promised he’d teach her how to fish. Just another father-daughter activity they wanted to share. Something else they would have in common.

Callie shrugged, cheeks faintly pink. “Just… if you wanted to.”

“I’d like that,” Effie said, quietly.

Callie nodded once. “Okay.”

She turned to go, then stopped. Looked back. “I know I’m a lot.”

Effie’s breath caught.

“You’re not,” she said.

“I am,” Callie said. “Dad says so all the time.”

Effie smiled, a soft, worn thing. “Your dad is an idiot.”

Callie grinned. “No, he’s right... And it’s not a bad thing.”

“No,” Effie said. “Not a bad thing at all.”

And just like that, the distance closed by an inch.

Not a leap. Not a mile. Just a moment of quiet understanding.

Callie left the house, backpack in hand. Effie picked up the knife again and began slicing carrots. The window hummed with wind, and outside the geese stirred in the grass.

She watched Haymitch greet the kids, talking to them, probably explaining something — maybe even ‘threatening’ them into behaving. 

Seventeen.

There was still time.

Chapter Text

It had rained the night before. The earth was still soft in the morning, dark and sweet-smelling beneath their feet.

The funeral had been brief.

Haymitch Abernathy wasn’t a man who asked for things.

Not in life, and not in death.

There’d been no Capitol theatrics, like the funerals she had previously attended in her life. No District ceremony, either. Just a pine coffin, a small crowd, and a grave dug beneath the same tree where he used to sit and drink when Callie was still in pigtails.

Effie wore black. Maybe for the first time in her life.

Not because anyone expected her to, but because she didn’t know what else to do. She hadn’t known what to do in days. In weeks, really. Since the coughing started again. Since the doctor had called it liver failure. Since Haymitch, her Haymitch, had looked her in the eye and said, “I’m tired, darling. I think I’ve been tired since I was sixteen.”

Effie had said nothing. She had just pressed his hand against her cheek.

And now...

Now the house was too quiet.

Now the geese wandered through the yard like they were looking for someone.

Now Calliope Charm didn’t come home after the funeral.

She didn’t storm out, didn’t make a scene. She just slipped away sometime after sunset, silent as breath.

Effie waited.

She sat on the old armchair in the living room, the one Haymitch always said he was going to fix but never did. A cup of untouched tea sat cooling in her hands. She didn’t drink it. She didn’t even cry.

She just waited.

Calliope had inherited her father’s silences. His fierce love, buried deep. His refusal to say goodbye unless it was already too late.

Effie had seen her in the morning, stiff-backed at the burial, jaw clenched like a fist. She hadn’t spoken a word until the final shovel of dirt hit the coffin.

Then, through gritted teeth: “I thought I’d have longer.”

Effie hadn’t known how to answer that.

She didn’t know how to answer anything anymore.

She only knew that grief was heavier than anything she had ever worn, even in the Capitol. Heavier than sequins, than silk, than blood. She had been many things in her life —escort, prisoner, survivor—but now she was something new.

A widow.

And worse, she was alone.

Because Callie, her wild and sharp and stubborn daughter, had vanished into the night. Just like Haymitch always used to, when the pain got too much.

Effie didn’t light a lamp. She just let the dark wrap around her like wool. Somewhere outside, the wind moved through the tall grass. A goose honked low and mournful.

Then, footsteps.

Not loud, not urgent. Just the sound of someone walking barefoot through the meadow. Effie sat up. Her heart stuttered.

The door opened.

Calliope stood there, curls damp with mist, a smear of dirt across her palm. She looked young again. Not a child, not quite. Just… tired. Raw.

Her mother didn’t move.

Calliope Charm stepped inside, wordless.

Effie opened her mouth, but nothing came.

And then, without a sound, Callie crossed the room and knelt beside her mother’s chair. Rested her head against Effie’s knee. Wrapped her arms around her like she used to do when she was small and tried to imitate the geese.

Effie dropped the tea. It thudded on the rug, spilling everywhere. She didn’t care.

Her hands flew to her daughter’s hair. She curled around her, arms trembling. She didn’t speak. She didn’t ask where she’d gone or why. She didn’t say a word.

Because Calliope Charm was here.

Her daughter was here.

That was all that mattered.

The house stayed silent except for the wind and the geese and the soft, shuddering breaths of two women who had lost the same man.

Eventually, Callie whispered, “I sat by the grave until the stars came out. The geese were all around me.”

Effie ran her fingers down her daughter’s back.

“He’d like that,” she said. Her voice cracked. “You know how he loved those ridiculous birds.”

Callie laughed, just a little. A wet, hoarse sound. “I kept waiting for him to say something. Yell at me for being out too late.”

“He probably wouln’t have, anyway,” Effie murmured.

“I didn’t want to leave him.”

“I know.”

“But then… I thought of you. And I knew you’d be alone in the house.”

Effie closed her eyes. “I was.”

Callie lifted her head, eyes red-rimmed, lashes wet.

“But I’m home now.”

Effie nodded. Her arms wrapped tighter around her daughter, pulling her up into the chair with her like she used to when Callie was tiny and all curls and bruised knees and storybooks. They barely fit anymore. But somehow, they made it work.

Effie tucked her daughter into the curve of her chest.

Outside, the meadow shifted in the dark.

Inside, the grief held steady, but so did the love.

The night was long. But Callie was home.

And it was the one thing Effie needed right now.