Leif Hawthorne.
The name settles like ice water in my veins; makes me feel cold. I only know of one other person with that name and he was sentenced to live out his existence in only the memories my parents have of him. I know him as a lost friend; as a man who made one fatal mistake.
Even with that, though, I know very little of who that man was and what story he left behind. His importance ceased to exist at the end of one fuse that burned my mom's world to the ground.
so who is he? I want to guess Leif is his son or some relative of his, I don't know. I've barely had the time to absorb the name alone before I'm back in the house and helping Rye clean up the last remnants from dinner. I sneak glances of my parents, their eyes drawn worriedly, and wonder if I should tell them.
Do you know who it is?
Does he look like the man who was once your friend?
But I don't. Instead I silently repeat the name over in my mind, holding it like a lantern to a face with grey eyes.
The next morning comes and goes with no indication of what my parents will decide to do. the only thing I catch is mom looking at dad and him glancing back. This is one way they communicate, as if they know each other so well, they don't need to verbally speak in order for the other to understand. I've always found it kind of fascinating but in the days that follow, I begin to find it infuriating.
to make matters even more disconcerting, I've been directed no more hunting trips until the matters are solved and that, if they do intend to take the man up on his suggestion, I won't be allowed hunting privileges until their return.
That doesn't go as well as they probably planned.
"So you're going?" I ask mom, who has her arms folded tightly across her chest, braid swinging down. Dad is sitting at the table with his fingers steepled on the counter. "We haven't made a decision yet."
"It's been four days," I mutter. "Why would you even think to go? It's the Capitol, Dad!" My anger fuels my disrespect but I don't care. I've heard the horrors that existed in the days the Capitol stood in dictatorial power, but my parents were forced to live in it. Through the wars that raged within the arena and out, and the last thing they should do is return to the place that started it all.
"That's why we are taking it into consideration, Willow," Dad says in his usual calm voice. That's who dad is, after all. Gentle. It is something even the Capitol couldnt break.
Mom takes a deep breath. "Lives are on the line here, Willow. Lives have always been on the line when it comes to the Capitol. One war started with me. It would be nice to stop one from happening this time."
"And if it's a trick?" I challenge, raising my eyebrows. "What if this is a ploy to get you back there? A government's morale doesn't just change in a few decades. The Capitol from then could just as easily come back-"
"Enough!" Dad suddenly barks which takes me off guard and my words fall short. His eyes pierce into mine. "Both your mother and I know what we are getting involved with. If we decide to do this, you need to accept that we see it as the right choice."
I try to shield my glower but I don't think it works. I'm not mad at them, after all: I'm mad at the beasts that wrote the rules of the games; at the man in a white suit who once sat at the heart of the Capitol and drove thousands of people to their deaths. I'm mad at the past for being so hellbent on clawing its way back to the present.
But I still manage to bite out, "Fine."
On the sixth day, my parents reach their verdict and to my dismay, I'm handed the responsibility of bringing Leif to the house. I'm tempted to tell them who he is, but I don't need them to undertake anymore jarring news so I keep it silent as I head into town.
My eyes fall longingly on the trees I pass as I go, my hand itching for my bow and arrow. Seven days without the smell of pine and bark puts a physical ache in my heart but I shove it away. If it helps my parents, I'd endure it.
But that doesn't make me any happier.
In town, I check the market I saw him in earlier first, but don't see him. Next it's the smaller shops until I'm left wondering if he is in the forest like last time. I sieze the opportunity and head into the woods, ignoring the empty hand my bow should be in. Today, I'm hunting for something I can't shoot.
It takes about twenty minutes before I see him, shrouded in the brush of the forest. His arms are drawn up where the string of a bow is placed between his hands, the tip flashing in the sunlight. Then there's a snap and something falls to the forest floor.
My eyes land on the bird, the arrow impaling his neck, and I feel suddenly smug. The neck is a much easier target than the eye.
"If it's not Little Everdeen herself," he suddenly says, and I'm struck with the knowledge that he knows I'm here, even having not looked. My footsteps still. "No bow?" he turns to face me. "And why's that?"
The fact I can't read his expression grates on my nerves. Is he arrogant? Or just impassive? I can't tell.
"My parents have made their decision," I state bluntly. "They sent me to bring you by the house."
He lowers his bow. "What is it?"
"If they would've told me, I wouldn't be asking you back to the house," I deadpan.
Leif gives me a dubious look, but slings his bow nonetheless. He stands by me and waits and after an awkward pause, plunges ahead of me, back the way I'd come. I tail behind him, trying to keep up the pace and actually start to suspect he's trying to lose me by the time we break out of the woods. I try to quiet my rough breathing as he starts walking again, out of town and towards my house.
He has a keen sense of direction, I think to myself. I'll give him that.
By the time we reach the porch of the house, I'm sweating. To my annoyance, though, Leif appears unaffected, standing stoic in front of the door as if he hasn't just practically jogged for a mile. But I swallow my annoyance and motion him inside.
My parents come to greet him and then they branch off into the office, leaving me behind to settle matters. I purse my lips and stare at the closed door, steadily burning a hole through it.
Eighteen. I'm eighteen years old, still being forced to hold a glass cup to the surface of a door.
"Whatr'e you doing?" Rye asks me and I jump back, casting him a glare. But then I see him holding up his own glass and motion him over, too.
An hour passes. Maybe more, I don't know. It's enough time that I'm forced to put away the glass and wait around the living room instead.
When they finally do exit the office, I try to read the expressions, but whether grim or not, I can't tell. Mom and Dad just come and join us around the table as Leif stands awkwardly away. Our eyes meet for a moment but I look away first, focusing my attention on my parents.
Dad glances between us.
And I know what they've decided.
"We are going to take the train to the Capitol for a week," he says, and I clench my teeth together so hard, I'm sure they'll chip. "Just to make the broadcasting ame see the results."
I can tell Rye wants to protest, but I beat him to it.
"What if he's lying, though?" I ask, even knowing he's standing only a few yards away and can hear me. "What if he is tricking you and you don't come back?" That's what I'm really worried of. That the Capitol will take away even more from us than they have already; that they'll purposefully show off the leaders of the Uprising just to publicly tear them down.
Before mom or dad can answer, I whirl on him. "You could be just another Capitol puppet. I don't care whether or not you think it changed, but if it hasn't and my parents get hurt, I will hold you personally responsible. And my punishment won't be delivered lightly."
"Willow!" Mom yells, and I snap my mouth shut. But I don't take my eyes off of his that are staring intently back at me.
"That's also part of our agreement," Dad says in his leveled-tone. "You won't have to be worried about him lying. Because he's staying here."
my eyes widen and I stare at my dad open-mouthed. "He's what?"
"He agreed to remain here, to watch both of you until we return."
My jaw drops further. "We don't need a babysitter, Dad."
"He's not," he assured. "You were worried about us being tricked by him, so to make sure he's true to his word, he will stay and only leave when we come back. Safely."
I scoff. Or maybe it's more of a choke, but my eyes stay on dad, glancing occasionally at Leif. Then I shake my head, trying to contemplate having this stranger around for a week and it bugs me; like something threatening has just taken up residence on my territory.
"All right," I say in the most nonchalant tone I can muster.