Mags bolted to her feet.

Dawn light filtered through the ajar door. She pulled her boots on and grabbed her pike, her heart hammering in her chest. Except for the now stirring Fife and Constantine, the creaking house seemed deserted.

"I'm going to the bathroom to check on Gyan. He went there when it was still dark. He must've fallen asleep in it."

She ran her fingers through her hair to remove the heavy dust that coated the floor. Tangles. Just one day and it was already all tangles. They were still four days from - Mags squared her shoulders. She refused to let her imagination run wild.

The stench of mold and rancid water mixed with chemicals made her wish she had taken her scarf. She gasped, her stomach rebelling for reasons other than the smell. Gyan was lying limp, his cheek resting on the corroded bathtub's edge and one of his hands in the filthy water.

Mags grabbed his head, horrified to see drops of water on his lips. His round cheeks were pasty and blue.

She stifled a scream, wiping her hand frantically on her dress. What had possessed him to drink it?

She kicked something light as she stepped back from the corpse. The pack of morphine was half empty at his feet.

Constantine grabbed her shoulders as she stumbled. "He committed suicide?" He said hoarsely, pulling her away from the corpse.

Mags was shaking with shock and fury. "He took too much. We didn't supervise him enough! He spoke of ants. He was already hallucinating before and we didn't pay attention! There was no light, he just felt water and drank. He wasn't in any state to think!"

"What an idiot," Fife said, still in the corridor, her voice the barest whisper. "We need to get out of here, please."

No, they were the idiots. They were in the middle of poisonous ruins and they'd not done anything about one of their companions acting odd. They hadn't even had the sense to hide the morphine from him. Stress wasn't an excuse for such a criminal oversight. Guilt gnawed at Mags' bones. Every other reaped tribute had to die, but not like this, not when she had promised Gyan just yesterday.

"We cannot leave the body to dust and decay," Constantine said, not letting go of Mags' arms. Mags was irrationally glad for the physical support.

"Then wrap him in a cover, say a eulogy and collapse a wall over him, Constantine!" Fife put her face in her hands. "Sorry," she whispered after a few seconds, her voice calmer, "I'll get the supplies."


Fife was the only one crying openly. Mags face was tight, but she had lost too many people to grieve for a virtual stranger. Now that she was over the initial shock, bitter disappointment darkened her features. She should have paid attention.

"Gyan told us everything he knew about this place. He had outlived his usefulness within nightfall. Today we do not mourn a productive member of our team, but an innocent and cheerful boy who was overwhelmed by terrible odds."

The two girls gaped at Constantine in sheer disbelief. Upon consideration, Mags realized it was a pretty clever eulogy. She agreed that Gyan should not be remembered as an endearing tool but as a person who'd once had loved ones and a future.

"For someone raised to keep appearances, you can be brutally honest," she nevertheless said.

Fife laughed, a nervous hysterical laugh. "That was literally a moronic death, Dude," she whispered.

Mags blinked back tears at the other's heartbroken words. She clasped the short girl's shoulder. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice. "Do you trust yourself, Fife, or do you want us to monitor you until you feel better?"

Fife chuckled again, clutching Mags in a brief hug. "Let's just get away from the dead. I'd run the stress off, but here it's suicide. Just treat me normally. It's not the first fresh corpse I see, I'll get over it."

Mags frowned at the revelation, realizing Fife had avoided questions about her home life the night before. This was not the time to ask.

They walked in silence, staying close. Mags couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched.

"If we do not want children to grow up seeing corpses, the Capitol rule must endure," Constantine said after what seemed an age, as if muttering to himself.

Mags felt her temper flare. How dare he even consider accepting the Capitol's travesty of 'peace'! "We are kept poor, the products of our work taken from us to enrich people who don't need it. They decide our jobs for us, where we can live, control all knowledge and monitor our opinions. People die every day in the districts because Peacekeepers can deliver punishments unchecked."

She didn't even bother to name the Hunger Games.

"Beatings are much more frequent than executions."

"Because seeing your loved ones thrashed bloody is so much less traumatizing than seeing a stranger shot!" Mags snapped back sarcastically. Peacekeeper's son. Of course he was blind.

"There would be many fewer beatings if people followed Capitol law."

Mags blood boiled at the rationale. Even if there were no beatings, people would still be dirt poor despite producing enough to feed three families. The Capitol would not have burned Four's oceans if they had feared to starve. "You fought against the rebels didn't you?"

Constantine froze. "I was too young to fight," he said after a pause.

"Funny that, I was not."

Constantine raised his chin defensively. "My family fought for Panem. For order. Rebels brought chaos, death and destruction in the name of values."

Mags smiled thinly. He sounded like the TV, but in a prettier package. "Ordered death and poverty when Capitolites swim in surplus is your idea of values."

"Peace comes at the price of submission. Rebellion is a terrible gamble. Either all rebel and endure massive bloodshed in the hope of success, or few dare to speak out at any given time, and children will grow having nightmares of their parents' whipped bodies. There wasn't unity among the District rebels. They destroyed, but what do they know of building?"

'They were never given the chance!' Mags wanted to shout, but Constantine actually looked conflicted, so she didn't interrupt.

"The Capitol offers stability. How are we even sure another government would be better? You blame peacekeepers' cruelty, but they are not ordered to be crueler than what is lawful or advance faster if they are. They are what humans are when given power. When it was the rebels who had their enemies at their mercy, they did not act any more civilized."

Mags shivered at having such terrible thoughts voiced out loud. A rebellion that would never come, a rebellion that would fail to make Panem fair. Her anger fled as she acknowledged the frightening truth in Constantine's words. Her voice was gentle again. "That's why there needs to be laws to keep even the most powerful people in check. Everyone should have a right to be heard by our leaders." She sighed. "It's about what you feel is right, Constantine. You can't predict how people will react, or that what you do will truly make a difference, but you can remember that how we are living now is not right and that we should aim for better."

Constantine looked away, his grasp over his feelings slipping. "I cannot take pride in pointless action simply because it feels noble! The price is too high," he said, his lips twisting in a snarl. "That boy was nothing special. He was destined to die as soon as his name was drawn. I will not remember him for who he was. I never even knew him. I never wanted to care for him, but I will remember him because he died on us!"

Mags felt her heart constrict at the passion in Constantine's words. Maybe Fife had been right about his quest for greatness. He seemed numb, uncaring one minute, but the next he proved he'd thought about rebels instead of just repeating the Capitol's words, and she'd not have expected that from a peacekeeper's son.

"You capture a room's attention just by existing, Constantine," Mags honestly said. "You're smart. People needs leaders, and people like you can be what they need. They would follow you. Even if it is years before anything changes, people need others who talk of hope for a fairer life. We can't lose sight of the alternatives and let injustice" the Capitol, she wants to say, but she doesn't quite dare, "break the spirit of honest, decent, hardworking people."

That's why teenagers in Four needed to be trained. She had left unsaid that Constantine was dangerous, because if he became a Capitol advocate, he would be just as followed.

Constantine had straightened. His expression was distant once more. Mags hoped her words had been heard.

"It was warmer yesterday, no?" Fife said, looking much better.

She had just interrupted them to talk about the weather. Constantine shared a pointed glance with Mags before lifting his eyes skywards. Mags swallowed. Fife had interrupted them because people did not discuss the Capitol, politics or injustice. You kept your head down to survive.

Surrounded by the ruins of District Three, Mags had let herself return to the War, where such talks were commonplace and even a child of eight had been encouraged to form opinions.

She smiled at Constantine, suddenly grateful that he dared. Her smile froze as she finally noticed the clouds.

The blue sky of the day before had given way to menacing dark masses. Mags had never forgotten what true fear felt like. The fear when confronted to a force so much greater than you that all your efforts seemed a pathetic attempt at delaying the inevitable. That long buried feeling was slowly resurfacing, threatening to invade every inch of her being.

"We need to go underground. The rain falling will be poison. It will mix with all the filth we have here. We need to find sewers."

Fife's seemed to shrink on herself in fear. "Isn't that were all the toxic water will go?"

"People used the sewers in every district during the war. They're safer than outside."

Fife failed to conceal her surprise quickly enough. Evidently she had been shielded during the war. To be fair, Mags knew that she was more the exception than the norm. Most families with young children had hidden during the war. What bothered her more was how closed up Fife was, but Fife was the only reaped tribute among two volunteers. Mags couldn't blame her.

"They're wide enough for people to walk while staying mostly clean. The boots should be enough protection," Mags therefore added.

"The rubber gloves might have been for the avoxes but rubber boots aren't adapted to most arenas. There were barely more pairs of boots than tributes. Do you think everyone would have found a pair the right size for them?"

Fife's words made Mags frown. "You think they measured our feet somehow, to send us straight to the arena this year? The Capitol had seemed thrilled by the parade and the interview night last year..."

"Could they be watching us right now? What are the limits of Capitol technology?" Fife said, suddenly meek as a mouse despite the intelligence sparkling in her black eyes.

"I don't know," Mags admitted, aching for directions, for anything to reassure them they weren't already doomed. She vowed never to reveal her reason for volunteering, even if she thought she was safe. Already she regretted the discussion she had just had with Constantine. She had given too much away.

Circe, she ached for freedom. Just the freedom to talk.

"I believe this is an entry," Constantine said, anger evident on his features. He liked the idea of being manipulated as little as Mags did. His eyes were critically sweeping over the mass of what had once been a modest house.

"I'll see if there are tools, those big buildings may have been factories," Fife said, looking thrilled to be able to make herself useful. "I'll whistle every minute unless there's a problem."

The girl vanished, twisting like a snake between collapsed beams. Mags found herself holding her breath, exhaling only when the low whistles resounded in the silent ruins. Soon the two waiting tributes heard clanking amidst the whistles. Fife returned with a bucket full of odd tools and metallic junk, wiping dust off her face with a free hand. She grinned. Mags felt her face instinctively respond. Fife was secretive, but Mags was inordinately relieved to have such competent company.

Mags was astonished to see Constantine elegantly presented his gloved hand to Fife, palm turned upwards. Fife arched her eyebrows but picked a handful of wires from the battered bucket and handed them over. The aristocratic young man shot them a look that could only have been described as mischievous before fitting a thick wire in the lock. Her jaw almost dropped as she heard the lock click.

"Where does the heir of a reputable house like yours learn to pick locks?" She said, eyeing him strangely. She didn't know what to believe anymore. Fife's mouth had split into a wide appreciative grin. Mags had never seen her look so amused. At least the two seemed to be getting along reasonably well now.

Constantine's eyes were far away.


Constantine's POV

Cereus was already waiting for him in the deserted side-street, a large bag slung across his shoulder. His relaxed posture was a sure indication that something was afoot. The blonde had a brittle alertness to him when he wasn't preoccupied. Apprehension and excitement warred for dominance with every step Constantine took. Cereus was not predictable for never seemed constrained by the boundaries that limited others' actions.

The cloth bag moved.

Constantine arched an eyebrow at his best friend.

«It's Leo, » Cereus whispered, a righteous cast to his features. « You know, the child. »

Constantine's lips twitched, awe making his aristocratic features soften. Other people were disappointing, so petty and limited. Kind people predictably turned to cowards when faced with decisions which threatened their miserable mundane lives. They were weaklings who secretly craved power and turned to superficial morals to feel superior. Cereus had none of those faults. He followed what his conscience dictated, no matter the risks. He was a good person, maybe the only one Constantine knew.

Two week before, childish wails of pain had interrupted their stroll on De Medeci Avenue.

Where others would have hushed their fledgling conscience by mourning the cruelty of the world, Cereus had not forgotten. Constantine deeply regretted having missed the sight of his best friend swooping in like a guardian angel and, mindless of consequences, kidnapping the abused child.

"Have you found a good family? Tassel has removed him from the reaping ledger and gave me two days to give him Leo's new name."

Cereus clapped him on the back and flashed him a grin. "I have. Hurry, they'll have peacekeepers on our tracks soon."

He was pointing at the sewer outlet on the side.

Constantine paused, his thin lips twisting in disgust. "Through the sewers?"

« Leo has more scars than those careless self-styled Careers. He can't stay and we can't be seen. »

Constantine straightened. Adrenaline flowed through his veins as the prospect of giving the stolen child to a deserving family. Only fools and cowards claimed that nobility and adventure were a thing of tales. He had been born for moments like these.

He lifted the heavy metal disc and jumped down, soaking his varnished expensive shoes in filthy water. He'd have to give Coraline a suitable excuse. His governess was a mere servant, a gullible one who worshiped him, but she remained deserving of his affection and respect. Cereus gently lowered the wide-eyed silent child down and handed the other boy a set of lock-picks. The large sewer canals were blocked by twin locked steel gate.

"I've bought a map. Rebels used these all the time." Cereus' lips twitched. "I'll buy you a drink if you open the door first."

Bought a map of the sewers. As if it was of no more concern than buying new clothes.

Constantine chuckled, accepting the challenge. Cereus gave a whole new dimension to existence.


Constantine locked the sewer door behind them. The two young women were still eyeing him expectantly.

"Coraline told me stories when I was a toddler. Maybe we will sleep more fitfully if we share tales tonight," he said.

Mags was very comely when she wore that soft expression. It was almost as if she wanted to apologize. Constantine straightened with polished elegance, not letting his satisfaction show.

"Cool," Fife said, "don't worry, we won't get lost." Her lips twitched. "I won't at least, so don't lose me. Let's go."

Constantine raised his eyebrows slightly. He hoped Fife wasn't boasting. They had no map and who knew what dangers lurker in the sewers of a ghost town.

"Set the torchlights on minimum," Mags instructed.

Yes, Ma'am. Constantine found it more and more difficult to remember the girl from Four was younger than he. It seemed nothing could distract her from her goal. She never failed to keep them, with a stern word or by constructive action, from getting sucked by the horror of their situation. Few of the girls he knew would keep their dignity, let alone their authority, in such mismatched attire, although the azure dress hugged Mag's feminine form quite pleasantly, not that he'd ever be so crass as to be caught watching.

He turned back to Fife, who was much less charming in her carefully soot-covered avox uniform but who had proven there was more to her than a plain figure. He kept his voice low despite the rumble of running water. "Is your sense of orientation an innate talent?"

"I have spent over half my life on the city streets."

Constantine frowned in interest. He liked the unexpected. "Aren't most of Nine's workers machine operators? What kind of job would have you in the streets?"

Fife smiled thinly. "Few people choose the streets. I render what services I can. Some of us inherit the responsibility of financial empires, Aquila, but others have to build their own lives brick by brick, from scratch."

Constantine straightened defensively; angered that all would presume to know how he would live his life. His father could never find out how skeptical his sole heir was about following his footsteps. While Constantine never tired of listening to his father narrate his masterful political achievements, he hated trivial concerns like managing wealth and lost his appetite just at the thought of wasting his days ingratiating himself to the insipid arrogant men who fancied themselves One's elite.

"You do not speak like a street urchin," he coolly pointed out. He would not be taken for a fool.

Fife's thin smile grew but failed to reach her eyes. "I do hope not. I was raised by literate people. Life is full of surprises and situations change."

Constantine grew silent, searching for a sensitive way to inquire further. Had she been recently orphaned?

"Can you two settle your issues when we're in a safer place?" Mags said, a hand on her hip.

Constantine met her striking green eyes and granted her a nod. She was right, as usual.

He spared Fife a last glance, highly irritated by her curious expression. An expression directed at the winding tunnels and swirling waters, not at him. Mags was obviously used to male attention but Fife was plain and poor, surely she was not used to have men of his caliber express interest in her, and yet the short brunette made Constantine feel he had to beg for information. It was highly irritating. He hated being ignored.

Soon he felt a hand squeeze his arm. "You know what I think?" Fife whispered. "I think either your family is abusive and this is your escape, or your life was on the line already somehow. If I'm wrong, please explain to me why you truly volunteered."

Abused? Coerced? Constantine stared, and watched Fife's narrow-eyed confusion grow. She was a stubborn slip of a woman. Constantine hadn't even told Cereus why. He had not planned to volunteer, exactly. He had stood there, before the escort, one nameless boy among many and he had wanted to stand there instead. With Vicuña, the woman who had created her own destiny. He could not afford to regret his impulsive decision. "I told you. I chose. Now memorize the paths we're taking."

She was a rather interesting person, Fife. A puzzle. And not the kind of girl he would risk losing his head over.

Mags pointed sigh reached his ears. Constantine's eyes widened innocently.

"Don't exhaust each other with your mind games," Mags warned, a smile belying her tone. "We have a long way to go."

Constantine didn't deign to answer despite the twitch to his lips. Mags' smile was a warm sight but he resented being called immature, no matter how charmingly.