Chapter 1: New Peacekeeper Captain

I dig the sharp blade of the shovel into the dirt. The Earth is hard and barely yielding as it scrapes against the metal that invades it. But the soil must submit to me, no matter how much my own heart resists the prospect. For I must bury my husband of twenty years today.

Gale Hawthorne had returned to District 12 a few years after the war. Demoted from his rank as Captain, humiliated and with nowhere else to go, he came to me in my lonely exile in Victors' Village, begging for my forgiveness.

I should not have forgiven him. It was he who built the bombs that killed my sister Prim at the end of the war. I had once closed the door on him forever for this. But I had no one. Peeta - my poor sweet Peeta, the first man I ever truly loved romantically - was dead. The hijacking had plagued his mind enough to drive him mad and take a nightlock pill weeks after Snow's execution. I did not find out until I was released from solitary confinement. Old Haymitch Abernathy, my mentor in the 74th and 75th Hunger Games, was gone too. I buried him here in the Village, behind his house, after booze and grief over Peeta took him at the tender age of 43.

Like I said, I had no one. So I took Gale in. I forgave him for inadvertently killing my sister. And when he asked me to marry him, I said Yes to make him happy. Even if it wasn't what I wanted. I donned Mother's wedding dress to Toast the bread in the fire of my mansion. My wedding kiss was filled with trepidation that life could go on once more. I let Gale take me to bed that night and consummate our marriage...

Wiping the beads of sweat from my brow, I glance back to the house. Two little heads peek out just over the sill. Anna and Bo. It took me fifteen years to fall pregnant with them - a result of my stubborn pride - but Gale wanted them so badly. Anna is five and Bo is three. Carrying either of them was not easy, and my body has changed to reflect my motherhood.

Gale made his living in the mines, just as his father and grandfather did before him. It was dangerous, exhausting work, but he came home to his family - to us - every night.

At least until the collapse.

The collapse of the mine was catastrophic, for a district that had had only 800 people survive the bombs after the Quarter Quell, and then had only a mere 200 return home after surviving the war. We lost twenty miners that day; my husband was among them. District 12's Mayor presented the children and I with a medal, along with Gale's body to do with what we wished.

That was yesterday. And now having dug a satisfactory grave, I must say goodbye to my husband, the father of my children, my first real friend , forever.

I grunt with the effort as I heave Gale's body into the hole and arrange it so he at least is comfortable. Dropping down into the shallow pit, I bend down and chastely peck his lips once. "Goodbye," I whisper. "I'm sorry." Then I climb out and proceed to fill the hole.

It is a dark and stormy night that night. Thunder roars and lightning dances across the walls, creating its own little show amidst the pounding of torrential rain. I stay up in my kitchen downstairs, clad in only a bathrobe. I know the nightmares would be ruthless tonight, so I refuse to face them. Instead, I only tuck my little ones into bed.

It is fortunate that I hear the knock at a lull in the thunder, otherwise I might not have heard it at all. Who could be calling on me at this time of night? Guarded, I creep to the door and open it.

A flash of lightning illuminates the visitor's face, and I recoil in horror at the sight. Did I just see what I thought I saw? Then the porch light turns on, confirming that the storm and my eyes weren't playing tricks on me.

The young man standing on my porch can't be more than 23 years of age. He has fiery-red hair that tumbles down to his shoulders. A muscled, well-built body under a white-plated uniform.

But the one-half of his face... looks badly burned. Grotesquely scarred. Perhaps he was injured in a fire? It couldn't be a Second Rebellion momento; he's too young. I notice his hands and feet, uncovered by any gloves or shoes, are blackened by scarring too.

But, strangely, the most striking thing about him are his eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky... and neither one affected by his disfigurement.

"Who... who are you?" I ask warily.

But the young man does not answer. At least not with words. Instead, he begins to make gestures with his hands. I follow the pattern closely. It's been years, but I still remember how Pollux and Castor used to communicate during the war. Sign language.

My name is Darius. I am the new Peacekeeper Private for District 12.

"Mute. You're an Avox?"

Yes.

"What are you doing here?"

I have been assigned to patrol Victors' Village at nights.

"Well, you're one lucky Peacekeeper then. It's just little old me. And my children." Even so, this is news. District 12, along with the other districts, allowed more democratic Peacekeepers to maintain order in Panem after the war. But it has been months since any have been assigned to guard Victors' Village. And in fact, I grew to prefer it that way. I have always valued my privacy and wished the same courtesy to be extended to my family. Especially since they are relatives of a Victor, a minor celebrity. And the Mockingjay besides.

I mean you no harm, Miss Everdeen.

Once again, I find myself drawn to Darius's impossibly blue eyes. Despite his outward appearance, his eyes tell me I can trust him.

"It's Hawthorne. Katniss Hawthorne. You are welcome to maintain your post here, Private."

Very good ma'am. Goodnight.

"Goodnight." And I close the door behind me.