"It was many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea,

that a maiden there lived whom you may know

by the name of…"

Edgar Allen Poe

Landing was brutal. Pearl thanked the pilot all the same before departing the hovercraft. She hated flying, the noise, the tedium. She hated being trapped in the air.

A man waited for her on the tarmac. He was a Capitolite. Even if she hadn't been expecting him, she would have sussed out that much with a glance. The purple silk vest peeking through his black jacket gave him away.

"Mr. Heavensbee, I presume," she said, offering her hand.

"Please do call me Plutarch," he said. She wasn't surprised when he kissed her hand instead of shaking it. The custom didn't bother her as much as it used to. "We're so happy you agreed to come," Plutarch continued. "I wouldn't imagine sending anyone else."

Pearl wasn't in the habit of acknowledging compliments. "I'll do what I can," she said, "for Panem."

"Well spoken," said Plutarch, smiling. There didn't appear to be anything particularly menacing about him. She remembered Annie's advice, however. Don't trust him. Easy enough. She wasn't in the habit of trusting people, either, no matter how harmless they appeared.

Pearl exchanged polite small talk with Heavensbee while admiring the scenery from the corners of her eyes. The mountains of District 2 had looked like brown ink smudges from the hovercraft; now she saw they were giants. No matter the mistakes she'd made, the ones she was sure to make, these mountains didn't care. They would not be changed by her and the thought was strangely comforting.

"I'm sorry you couldn't land closer to base," said Heavensbee. Pearl turned her eyes from the mountains.

"I understand," she said. Everyone knew that Paylor had commandeered the Nut, despite the damage done during the bombing. Plutarch had warned her that renovations were still in progress and almost half the base remained inaccessible. Regardless, the Nut was the safest place for the new government. Everyone was aware of its existence, very few knew how to find it.

After two hours of hairpin turns, Pearl was too dizzy to tell one mountain from another. She didn't see the steel door built into the rock until her face was less than a few inches away. "Impentrable," said Plutarch, rapping his fist against the door. "I should know, given how much time I wasted trying to find a way through. Only someone on the inside can enter the code."

Pearl assumed he'd sent ahead word of their arrival, as the steel door began rise into the rock. Heavensbee gestured her through. She peered into the gloom at a dimly lit corridor of steel beamed walls.

With no clue of what she was walking into, she stepped forward, entering the mountain.

The ambassador was late.

Gale looked to the clocks. There were four of them, one for each time zone, but he only cared about the time here, and everything else he could be doing with his own time rather than wasting it. Ambassador, he thought, disgusted. Despite Paylor's attempts to explain to him exactly what an ambassador was supposed to be, he still didn't get it. She claimed that, traditionally, ambassadors were sent out to cement peaceful relations. Well, the only ambassadors he'd ever known were Capitolites, and they'd never shown an interest in peace.

"This ambassador…" said Gale. "Donner?"

Paylor looked at him through a holographic map of Panem's southern border. She waited for him to continue, only mildly exasperated.

"What do you really know about them?"

"Plutarch speaks highly of her," said Paylor, repeating what she'd already told him. "She's done well in the Capitol. Ridiculously well."

Gale flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. A recommendation from Heavensbee wasn't all that reassuring. He didn't voice the thought aloud. Paylor would merely remind him that they had to work together, whether they liked each other or not. Solidarity is key, he thought, lecturing himself for her. She wasn't entirely wrong.

After the rebellion, it didn't take long for the euphoria of victory to burn out. The Districts were bickering amongst themselves within a year. 7 was now threatening to secede. Everyone wanted something, no one wanted to give. Most of the Capitolites were too stupid, or too scared, to cause problems. Not all of them.

"You think this has a chance in hell of working?" said Gale. "That one woman can unite an entire nation?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," said Paylor.

Gale scowled at the four clocks. He'd worked with Paylor for a long time. She had learned how to shut him up. The faintest allusion to Katniss Everdeen had the power to silence him for days.

There wasn't enough time to shower, or even change, before her meeting with the president, so Pearl made do with splashing cold water over her face and smoothing down her wind-tossed curls. Her reflection was pale, fatigued. She believed in the power of a good first impression. When she smiled at herself, she didn't look quite so worn down. It would have to do.

Plutarch had assigned a private to accompany her. She found him waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall. He snapped to attention as soon as she appeared.

"Ma'am," he said, saluting her. He was awfully young and eager. She was tempted to point out that she was not military personnel, therefore it wasn't appropriate to salute her, but she just smiled.

The Nut was not what Pearl expected. She asked questions as they walked and took in the damage. Even the sections that had been repaired were in poor shape. The lights were weak and flickery. Then suddenly, they were cast into utter darkness.

"Don't worry," said the private. He turned on his flashlight and kept going without pause. "Happens all the time. They'll come back on soon. There isn't enough power to keep everything running all the time. Always have a flashlight on you while you're here. My first week I got stuck in a blackout on level 4. Trust me, it's not fun."

"How long have you been here?" said Pearl, trying not to think about the dark, the tons of earth and rock bearing down on them.

"About a year." He puffed out his skinny chest with pride. "Enlisted as soon as I turned seventeen."

Oh yes, he was young. Did he even remember the rebellion?

"And the president, what's she like?" said Pearl.

"Well, I've never talked to her one on one," the boy admitted.

Helpful. She had never met the president, not one on one, and not in a group. Though she knew a good bit about the woman. She'd watched all of Paylor's speeches. Onscreen, the president was concise, unflappable, more iron than woman. She was also fair.

They turned the corner onto a lit corridor and the private clicked off his flashlight. Time to focus now. Pearl set aside the persona she'd adopted for the Capitolites and searched for another better suited to a woman like Paylor. No flowery small talk, no sugary smile. Those tactics were useless here. She would have to act more like a soldier.

"Here it is," said the Private. "Command." He held up his wrist communicator to the black screen by the door. A green light flashed, all clear, and the door slid sideways without a sound. The private saluted her one last time before the door closed on him.

Pearl faced the circular room. Paylor sat directly across from her, a holographic map between them. "Welcome," she said. Her voice was warmer in person than on television.

"Sorry I'm late," said Pearl. "Weather delay on the hovercraft."

Paylor smiled and her whole face changed. Years melted away in a second. "Not a problem. Ms. Donner, before we get to it, I should introduce you to someone." Her eyes flicked to the left. Pearl followed her glance and noticed the man. He was standing so still, so quiet, he may as well have been part of the wall. His uniform matched the steel perfectly.

"This is Commander-"

"Hawthorne," said Pearl, finishing for the president. She stared, in disbelief, across a decade of lost time, at Gale Hawthorne.

"Good, you recognize him," said Paylor, unsurprised. He was the rebel hero, after all. Everyone in Panem knew his name, his face. Everyone thought they knew who he was. Paylor was still speaking, but all Gale heard was unintelligible static. There was only him and the ghost in the room.

He never thought he'd see her again, not when he was awake. She stole into his dreams sometimes, less now than before, but always in the back of his mind, sequestered with all the rest he'd tried to forget.

Composing herself quickly, Pearl held his gaze. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head, a warning. He pressed his lips together again. His face was shock white, like he'd seen a ghost, and she supposed he had.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Donner," he said.

"To business then," said Paylor, oblivious to the moment passing before her.

Pearl took an empty seat at the table. Gale remained by the wall. She felt his eyes drilling into the back of her head, but pretending not to, she focused on the president.

"Plutarch's sources report you've worked miracles in the Capitol," said Paylor. "You've converted some of our staunchest opponents. I'm impressed, Ms. Donner. If anyone can negotiate successfully with the Districts, I believe it's you."

"I hope so," said Pearl. She clasped her trembling hands under the table, waiting for Gale's voice to fall across the back of her neck.

"The travel arrangements are in order," Paylor continued. "I won't bore you with the details. I know you need rest. Plutarch will provide you with a full itenary, along with info-packs on each District, which just leaves us with the matter of security." She paused, her eyes once more flicking to Gale. "I've decided that Commander Hawthorne will accompany you.

Pearl dug her nails into her palms. "Excellent," she said.

Gale gaped at Paylor, his mind blown for the second time in half an hour, horrified by her declaration, and then furious. Why hadn't she informed him before the meeting? There'd been ample opportunity. Then again, he knew the answer even as he asked himself the question. She'd waited because she knew he wouldn't dare flaut her authority in the presence of the ambassador. Oh, but he was tempted. He was the rebel hero, not a damn babysitter.

Paylor arched her brows at him, daring him to complain. What choice did he have? Whether he agreed with the plan or not, and he didn't, not even a little, she was still his president, and arguing with her never got him anywhere other than where she wanted him to be.

He looked back to the ambassador's head. Her hair was darker than he remembered, dirty blonde instead of pure gold. The shock was too much. He couldn't think of anything to say other than his muttered consent.

Paylor's communicator beeped and she leapt to her feet. "Commander Hawthorne will show you to the mess hall," she said on her way out of the room, then she was gone, with no more of a goodbye than that. Pearl stayed frozen to her chair and stared straight ahead at the president's empty chair. Another decade seemed to go by while she waited for him to speak.

Then, finally,"You're supposed to be dead."

"I am," said Pearl. She didn't dare look at him now that they were alone. "Whoever you think I am, I'm not." There was so much more she needed to say, but her tongue knotted around all of the things she couldn't.

"You don't have to explain," said Gale. "I'll keep my mouth shut, if that's what you're worried about, Ms. Donner."

Pearl kept staring at the empty chair as she listened to his footsteps recede. Long after he was gone, she still couldn't move, and it didn't make any sense. She should be satisfied. Her secret was safe and she hadn't been forced to confess to anything, or to lie.

Instead she felt...hollow.

All these years, he thought she'd died, and he didn't even care.

Gale contained himself until he reached his quarters. He deadbolted the door and then erupted, smashing anything he laid his hands on, even the cobwebs in the corners. Ten years. That's how long he'd been fighting to build a new life for himself, one that wasn't continually tainted by the past, and now a ghost threatened to bring it all crumbling down around him.

Only she wasn't a ghost. She was flesh, and blood, and she was here.

Exhausted, drained, he collapsed in the middle of the room and reached for the old book broken open nearby on the floor. The leather binding was cracked. The title was so faded it was unreadable, but he didn't need to see. He traced the indentations of the letters, spelling out Romeo and Juliet with his fingertips.

The book was all he had left from home. It had rested buried and forgotten at the bottom of a trunk, untouched for years, and yet he felt he'd only just set it down. He wondered why he hadn't chucked it away with all the rest. After all, the book was never meant for him. It was supposed to have been a gift to a girl he used to know.

He launched the book at the wall. It slid to the floor and lay there, open in the middle, mocking him. She's supposed to be dead. He had gone to her house, the day the bombs dropped, and he'd seen the smoking rubble where the mayor's mansion once stood. No one could've survived.

Somehow, impossibly, Madge Undersee had done just that.

AN: Here it is, 1st chp. to the 100% revised (a.k.a. totally different) sequel to "Rules of Survival". I've quite a few chapters on back-log, but I'm going to space them out (or at least try to), so that y'all don't have such a long wait in between. Buckle up, babes, here we go again.