Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gale's eyes darken, even more.

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I cough and drag the bottle away from my mouth.

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

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

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

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

Her eyes stop right next to me.

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

The boy softly strokes the side of my face.

’Do it already’ grumbles Rowan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Right you are’ he mutters.

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

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

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

Haymitch laughs again and raises both hands defensively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

I feel like prey before the shot.

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Do you understand me?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

Anger gives way to total concern on his face.

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

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

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

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

I see Haymitch trying to turn around.

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

’He is?’ Dad asks

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

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

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

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

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

’ I didn’t say nothing’

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

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

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

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

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

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

'I wonder who she resembles' Haymitch grumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

’I was with friends, you knew that.’

Smart, blue eyes are fixed on me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Of course you do’ Prim nods.

’Of course?’

The little girl raises a golden eyebrow at the question.

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

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

*

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

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

My eyes dart around the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’I don’t know if…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’And you belived him?!’

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

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

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

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

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

My whole body tenses.

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

He bites his lower lip hard.

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

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

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

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

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

’No…’ he tries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

’But he tried to…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Primrose just smiles at him.

'Close your eyes, uncle.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

’What?’

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

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

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

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

I had a thought, dear

However scary

About that night

The bugs and the dirt

Why were you digging?

What did you bury

Before those hands pulled me

From the earth?

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

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask you, neither should you

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

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do

I knew that look dear

Eyes always seeking

Was there in someone

That dug long ago

So I will not ask you

Why you were creeping

In some sad way I already know

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

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

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

'Then what are you good for?!'

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

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

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

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

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

’Why….?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

'This is not a debt'

’Why?’

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

Chapter Text

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

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

Haymitch looks up slowly, his lashes strangely wet.

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

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

'I never should have come here' he whispers.

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

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

’What?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a heartbeat there is silence.

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

’Name them.’

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

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

’All of them?’ I ask, heart punding.

’All of them.’

’Even Finnick?’

My uncle snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’How?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nod. Magde brightens like a spring sky.

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because I’m a coward, that’s why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Enjoy' he hands over the bags.

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

When did I start worrying more about Peeta than Gale?

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

Yeah. I’m trying.

*

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Rowan Kochler!’

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

At least its not Peeta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

’I need a drink!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A faint, tired smile appears on his face.

’A bigger version of your dad?’

’Not the point, Haymitch! Help them!’

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

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

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

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

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

This time I give him a real smile.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Welcome’ murmurs Haymitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't have to say it twice.

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

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

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

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

’What?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Help them, I command myself.

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

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

Rowan raises his red eyebrows, and Haymitch grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t judge, I remind myself.

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

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

He rubs his forehead tiredly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Effie winces at this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Exactly' I lean back in my chair.

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

Haymitch grins.

’Excellent.’

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They both remain silent as Haymitch turns to Effie.

'What do you know about Cassiar, Princess?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then –

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

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

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

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

It happens to be a dandelion, so I smile.

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

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

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

Can't I just join the Carrier Pack?’

Haymitch snorts.

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Look!’

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’I know, I know…’

*

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

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

“Same?” I raise my eyebrows slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’ Varun?’ I repeat, somewhat stunned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Really?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Bring it on!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

Then it happens; Finnick and Gloss are called away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Casmere immediately understands my expression and interjects.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Thanks anyway’ Casmere tells me softly.

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

*

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

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

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

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

'Melark Bakery, how can I help you?'

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

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

’Why aren’t you sleeping?’

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

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

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

'Are you okay?' he asks carefully.

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

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

*

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

’Morning’ I murmur.

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

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

’Whatever for?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he takes a deep breath.

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

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

He nods, darkly.

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

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

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

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

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

Haymitch briefly, kindly touches my cheek.

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

Then he turns around and walks back towards our room.

*

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

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

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

’Ah, shit’ I groan sympathetically.

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

’Auch’ I murmur, but Cas only laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’No, really’ Casmere encourages.

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

Of course I nod, but –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am a flame myself.

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

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

Don’t forget the Mockingjay!

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'You told him repeatedly to avoid arguments!'

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

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

’Exactly.’

I want to break something.

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

’And Olive?’

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

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

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

’Bingo.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Thank you!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Go take a shower!' Then she gently untangles my hair from the usual braid I pulled it back into after Cinna.

I blink, and the next thing I remember is standing in front of the room's only mirror; the flaming, unique dress perfectly hugs my body, leaving my skin exposed at the cleavage with a deep natural slit. My hair also falls freely below, its waves highlighted by Seedeer with a few clever moves.

I hate to stand in front of the mirror, but I'm grateful to Seedeer, for her calm, kind voice as she speaks to me, for her quick movements that make my face shiny and gold-dusted; grateful for the fact that she sent someone to take her own things here, so I can get ready.

Haymitch steps out of the bathroom and I look at him in surprise. The suit fits him perfectly, and it echoes the red of my dress, in the pattern, and on the surface of his silk tie.

'Will it do?' I open my arms a little helplessly; I ask about the dress, I ask about myself.

'You're fucking beautiful, sweetheart, and that bastard doesn't deserve a glance' my uncle growls; his anger somehow calms me, and I smile faintly at him.

'Yeah' I say quietly. 'You've clean up well, too.’

We have five minutes until the appointment when Seedeer gently puts her hand on my shoulder.

'If you need anything afterwards, you know where to find me, okay? But you have to go now. He... hates lateness.'

The concern in her voice deepens my hatred for Snow. What did he do to Seedeer? But I don't have time to ask. Instead, I lean forward, kiss her on the cheek, and quietly thank her.

Haymitch offers me his arm, which comes in handy because I'm struggling to walk in the heels that come with the dress; we walk to the Silver Room, which is at the very top of the hotel, two full floors after the last Mentor Room.

At the door of the room are two armed guards who stop my uncle when he tells them why we are here.

'You can only go this far, sir,' says one of them, his hand on Haymitch's shoulder, who gives him a dark, combative glance.

'My niece is a minor' Haymitch growls at him.

'Your niece has nothing to fear, sir,' says the guard, and Haymitch yanks his shoulder out of his grip.

What a fucking lie. My heart is in my throat. Haymitch can't come with me, arguing in vain.

'The President is waiting for you, Miss Everdeen,' says the other guard, opening the door for me.

*

I try to extricate myself as I enter the room; the door closes almost immediately behind me, shutting out Haymitch's struggles.

I am standing in a spacious room; a white crystal chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, a fire burns in a snow-white marble fireplace opposite me; in front of the fireplace is a long white leather sofa. Around the room are small white marble tables with crystal vases. And in the vases white roses. Roses, roses everywhere.

Coriolanus Snow, whose back is to me, turns at the sound of the door and gives me a long, cold look.

'Miss Everdeen' he says, his smile not reaching his blue eyes. 'What an honour!'

'The honour is all mine, Mr President,' I say quietly.

The President sits down, smoothing his snow-white suit, though he does not touch the blood-red rose at his lapel. He doesn't offer me a seat, so I stand.

'Look at you, what a polite little creature you are,“ he murmurs. 'What a refreshing change from Haymitch.” I don't respond, and the momentary silence echoes through as Haymitch argues with the guards. Then his voice seems to be cut off, and it gives me a dreadful heat.

'You know, it's been a long time since I got to know someone your uncle cared about'

Because you thought you killed them all.

I remain silent again, as the President looks at me and, as if only now remembering, waves.

’Please, sit.’ He talks to me like I'm a well-trained dog. I sit down opposite him, as far away from him as possible.

'It's nice to have someone to care about, isn't it, Miss Everdeen?' he asks, tilting his head to the side a little. I don't know if he expects an answer, but I nod just in case.

I hadn't noticed it before, but there's a tiny remote switch on the sofa next to Snow that he lifts; I only notice the screen mounted above the fireplace when it comes to life.

One after another, the images spin, and I feel sick; Primrose at school, her golden hair in two braids; my father, sneaking through the opening in the fence, a hunting bag slung over his shoulder. Peeta and Magde, in the school canteen, talking.

Haymitch, and Casmere; Haymitch talking to Gloss. Chaff, and Seedeer. Mags, Finnick and Woof, laughing.

Victors everywhere.

'I'm sure you're wondering why I wanted to meet you, Miss Everdeen,' he says softly. 'You know, you present me with a special opportunity.'

’Oh?’ 

'Yes, Miss Everdeen,' he nods as if we are friends and he's not exactly threatening all the people I've ever cared for without saying anything.'You are the perfect tool to tame our dear Haymitch a little. And since you have the welfare of so many at heart, like your family, young Mr. Mellark, and Miss Undresse, and of course, my big bunch of brilliant Victors...'

He gives me a cold, poisonous little smile.

'So I'm sure you won't be a problem' he finishes.

Breathe. In and out. Breathe.

'No sir' I say, heavily.'I won't. I assure you.'

'I thought so' nodded Snow. He presses a button on the remote and I realise with horror that I'm looking at a young version of Haymitch in a hotel room. This time it's a recording; how old can Haymitch be here? Twenty-one?  His hair is coal black, he is radiating strength and resilience, but he's deathly pale.

Haymitch is standing opposite an older woman, his lips pursed; she is wearing a pink silk robe, which she drops to the floor with a smile; when I realize that she is perfectly naked underneath, I fix my gaze on the President.

No, no, no.

'Ah, Katniss, you don't have to be so shy' purrs the President. 'You know, for a while Haymich and I had a similar arrangement. Mr Abernathy, after all, loves his brother.'

Dad. DAD!

'Then, of course, my favourite rascal thought that if he had a fight with his brother, if he ignored his wife, if he never saw his nieces - then they'd be safe. Silly.'

I want to put my hands over my ears; I may not look at the recording, but nothing protects me from the sounds; the woman's purring, the pleading, the... I shake my head. No, no, no, no.

'I wanted to make it clear to you, Miss Everdeen, that this is not going to work between us. If I ask you to do something, you will do it. That is, if you truly care as much about your family, all the Victors, and of course, our favorite Haymitch, as you claim. Do you understand me?’

I have to swallow hard just to try to speak.

'Yes, sir,' I whisper. 'Understood.'

’Good girl.’ The President stands up, walks past the screen and I am forced to look into Haymitch's helpless face for a moment.

Snow carefully takes a single strand of white rose from one of the vases, steps in front of me and holds it out to me. I reflexively stand up, and accept it, even though I am disgusted at the touch of the too-perfect flower.

'It was a pleasure to meet you, Katniss,' he says. 'I knew we'd be friends. Now you may go.' I bow my head and step towards the door.

I'm about to step out the door when he calls after me.

'I look forward to our next meeting. I'll find your first assignment by Game View Night, I promise.'

I rush out the door as if a gun were pointed at the back of my head. In a sense, its true.

Without thinking, I throw myself into Haymitch's arms, who holds me to him with all his strength.