When Effie wakes the next morning, it takes her a few moments to remember where she is. Everything about this room, even the quality of the light filtering in through the window, reminds her of stories she used to hear as a child about where people went when they died and what Panem used to look like before the natural disasters struck.

In the dark and desperate nights in prison, she had wondered if there really was a paradise, and if she would go there if the Peacekeepers would do her the courtesy of killing her soon. Those horrible moments where she hung between conscious and not had driven her to numb the pain with thoughts of what it would be like when she died. Surely her grandfather would be there, his crinkly face restored so the zebra stripes on his skin would look as they had in his youth. Surely he would take her on walks in perfect parks and ask her if she remembered the names of all the birds he'd taught her.

She pauses by the window on her way to get her bathrobe. If there is something waiting for her after this life, she hopes it looks like District Twelve.


"Morning."

"Katniss!" Effie exclaims, putting a hand to her heart. "Goodness. You frightened me." Shaking her head, she lets out a shaky breath, then pulls herself together and smiles. "Good morning."

"Sorry," Katniss says, but she still gives a small grin. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No, I only just finished getting ready." As if to make sure, Effie pats down the back of her wig. She has no doubts about how her face looks. Learning to cover the scars had taken her quite a few tries, and always, she triple checks before leaving the safety of the bathroom.

"Good, because Peeta's going crazy in the kitchen, and we're going to need help eating all of that food."

Effie can't help thinking that as far as proper invitations go, it's lacking. But it is wholly Katniss, empty of pretention and snobbery.

"I would love to help."

Katniss' house is identical in layout to Peeta's, but it is very obviously hers. Decorations are sparse, but the rooms all look inhabited: a large, heavy blanket lies crumpled on the couch in the living room, and a large scrapbook sits amid paints and pens on the dining room table. It smells different, too, like the trees in the woods. She has been here before, but it feels all new. Effie loves it the moment she steps inside.

They eat at the kitchen counter, where Peeta places the rolls and biscuits that are cooled and ready. Effie had grown up attending parties catered by the Capitol's best, but none of those extravagant buffets compare to this.

"Peeta told me you're here about a television show?" Katniss asks, ripping a cheese-covered roll in half and watching the steam rise from it.

"That's correct," Effie answers, buttering a plain biscuit. "I'm here to see if there's interest, first and foremost, and also to document what I can of how things are progressing." She takes a bite and chews thoughtfully for a moment. "But also, I wanted the chance to see you both for more than just a day or two."

"I was wondering how you've been," Katniss says around a mouthful of roll. "And I think it's great that you're not just walking in here with a film crew."

The unadorned honesty lets loose a flicker of memory, one in which Effie is watching the screens in the town square while awaiting her cue to start the reaping. Clearing her throat, she reminds herself those days are over now. "That would be unspeakably rude. The people rebuilding should be given a choice in the matter. Everyone should."

"Definitely," Peeta says.

Katniss nods. "We're going into town today with some lunch for the workers."

"Oh?"

"It isn't much," Peeta tells Effie, "but it's a change, and it's less work for them and their families. Even if it's just once a week, it's something."

Effie smiles. "I'm sure it is."

"You could come with us," Katniss says. "It'll be a good way to meet everyone."

That, and being introduced by the Mockingjay herself, will help Effie's case. Katniss and Peeta's implicit endorsement of Effie's task is not something the people here will overlook. "I think that's a wonderful idea," she tells them. "Thank you both so much."

They eat until they are full. Peeta continues switching trays in and out of the oven, clearing cooled breads off some and filling them with raw dough at once. The ease with which he moves mesmerizes Effie for a moment.

"Have you eaten at all, Peeta?" she asks him, the thought coming to her swiftly and breaking the spell.

"He eats before he starts baking," Katniss answers as she and Effie watch him balance a tray in one hand.

"It's to keep me focused while I work," he says. He slides the tray into the oven and shuts the door, giving Katniss a pointed yet playful look. "You wouldn't go hunting on an empty stomach, would you?"

It's very brief, but Effie catches it, the glance they share, the little smile that they can't shake off for those few seconds after they tune back in to the rest of the world. The odds were never on their side, not through two trips to the arena and one bloody rebellion, yet here they are, alive, together.

Effie smiles. Even without the fate of all of Panem in their hands, they embody the hope the nation needs to press onwards.

"I've got to go look through my things so I'll be ready for when we go into town later," she tells them, standing. "I'll see you in a bit!"


It takes her under half an hour to get her notebook and pencils ready and jot down what little information she has. The questions she'd like to get started with take up a few more minutes. Peeta and Katniss haven't called by the time she's done. With at least another hour to kill, she wanders downstairs. The late morning light brings the whole house to life and lends it a warmth that makes it feel like home.

Except this isn't home. She is only a visitor, and she is only here as long as she has a job to do.

Grasping her elbows, she steps outside to see the sky. A few clouds drift lazily along, but bright blue dominates overhead. It's the same sky wherever she goes, a constant comfort in the face of an ever-changing world.

What did that sky look like on the day of the bombing? She pictures black smoke and burning trees, smells the singed leaves and the acrid scent of incinerated wood. Or maybe the smell is still in the air somehow, and the smoke still hangs on the houses in Victors Village, untouched since the last Victory Tour.

These houses, and the people's bright spirits, are the only things that remain the same despite the brutality of the old Capitol's final acts against them. The words come to her unbidden; she repeats them to herself under her breath as she rushes off to search for a notebook. Once she's written them down, she heads back outside with a destination in mind.

If she didn't remember which house is his from before, she would have found it by way of the faint sounds of honking and flapping feathers. She spots the gaggle of them spread out behind the house, having their fill of bright green grass, while their owner sits in a chair on the porch, slouching and unkempt, a large, clear bottle in his hand.

"So it is true," she says once she's near enough to not have to shout. He frowns up at her as she comes to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps. "You and the geese. I never would've pictured it."

He lifts a shoulder in half a shrug. "Never would've pictured Screeching Beauty herself visiting poor, decimated District Twelve of her own free will."

Her jaw drops, and even her gasp catches in her throat. She isn't sure which is worse: the allusion to how she used to be or the epithet and all it implies. "Pardon?"

Haymitch gestures with his chin to Peeta's house. "Heard you clear as day last night."

Not for the first time, she is glad her make-up covers the blush that rushes to her cheeks. Goodness, had it taken her so long to wake up? She knows her neighbors in the Capitol must have heard her, but here, so far from the other houses- unless Haymitch had been awake at that hour-

"I'm here on a job," she says instead. "One I asked for."

"If it's about getting interviews, save yourself the trouble and leave on the next train. Unless- wait. Do you come bearing gifts?"

"No, Haymitch, I did not bring any alcohol with me. I'm not much for drinking, and I doubt Peeta and Katniss are, either."

He sighs loudly and shifts in his seat so he is leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees. Meeting her gaze with a frown, he asks, "This isn't some sick ploy to sober me up, is it? I told Heavensbee I'm not doing a single show for him."

"It isn't about you. It's about the district, and I'm going to ask people's opinions before we commit to anything."

"Was that your idea, or did Heavensbee script it for you?"

"I only came by here just now to say hello, not to be insulted!" Somewhere between seeing him and now, she had balled her hands up into tight fists. She feels her nails digging into her palms. Breathing slowly, she counts until at least some of the tension passes. Really, what helps the most is that he allows her the time to do this, where before, this would have won him any given argument.

But she can't find anything more to say, and he doesn't offer anything to fill the silence either.

Luckily, Katniss comes to her rescue. She says a quick hello to Haymitch and leads Effie back to her kitchen, where Peeta has readied the breads for transport. Effie takes a tray and follows Peeta outside again, walking slowly on the unfamiliar terrain. Her heeled boots do not agree with the stray stones and the sometimes uneven ground, but it's too late to change now. None of the shoes she could have brought with her would be any better, anyway.

Her uncertainty on her feet doesn't come close to the misgivings in her mind, because it's entirely possible that Haymitch is right. The best decision might be to pack up and go home, saving herself the trouble. She will be no closer to her goal, professional or personal, than she is now.

She glances at Peeta, who has slowed in his walk so he isn't too far ahead of her. Behind her is Katniss, footsteps silent. If they had persevered against the odds and won, surely Effie can manage the conversation that is ahead of her. To do otherwise would be to dishonor the sacrifices made for the rebellion.

Effie has too much guilt on her shoulders to add another ounce. She will do what she has come here to do, even if, for the first time in her life, it threatens to harm her more than anyone here.