Again, late update! Very late! I had so many exams this week, I figured it was more important that I prepare for those. Luckily, there's the half term holidays now, and only one exam I can think of off the top of my head the week after.

Disclaimer: As well as the Hunger Games, and anything you recognise from it, there's also a Wuthering Heights reference in this chapter. I do not own any of these things.


-Chastity Everdeen-

Why do I have to have such a slow best friend? Tapping my foot impatiently, I wait by the school gate for my classmate. 'I just need to visit my locker, Chas' he said. About ten minutes ago. Hurry up! We were let out late anyway because Miss Hipp is a demon. Seriously, the woman is evil. Everyone else left ages ago; I could be home already, if she'd just... Urgh!

Pan's sandy head (I'd recognise it anywhere) is visible across the playground as he exits the school building. He waves brightly and I run over, grabbing his wrist and storming towards the exit.

"You took your time." I mutter.

"I had to get my spare pencil from my locker!" Pan replies defensively, tearing his wrist from my grip and rubbing at it. Wow; I never knew my grip was that strong. "Otherwise I can't do the homework tonight, and Miss Hipp would kill me."

"Slight exaggeration." I insist, keeping my eyes on the path ahead.

Without even turning to look at him, I know Pan's shaking his head and- oh, look, there goes the hand to push his hair out of his eyes. "Not really."

We reach the border between the Seam and the Town. Turning to face him, I smile my friendliest smile. "Well, this is my stop."

He laughs. "See you tomorrow, Chas."

"Likewise." He's already turning to walk away. Before I've finished talking to him. Typical. Huffing as loudly as I can, and ignoring the ensuing laughter of the retreating baker's son, I set off into the Seam, heading for home.


As I walk past Hazelle's house, the door opens and my darling big brother jumps off the rickety porch.

"Chas!" He calls.

I stop walking and turn to face him as he runs towards me, skidding to a halt a little way away. "You called?"

"What are you doing back so late?"

I fold my arms as best I can with this old satchel slung over my shoulder. It was our mother's when she was in school, so it's about as old and battered as a bag can get. "Miss Hipp let us out late," I begin to list off the reasons. "Pan had to go to his locker. I had to wait for him. He walks slower than you-"

"Hey!" Herbert cuts in. "I don't walk that slowly."

I turn away from him and begin to tiptoe as slowly as possible down the road. It's a pretty accurate re-enactment of his 'hunting walk', if I do say so myself. Even if I've only ever seen it once.

A pair of arms wrap themselves around me from behind and lift me off the floor. I laugh as my brother spins me round. "That's my special walk; I don't use it normally!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

We continue like this as he carries me to our front door and opens it. It's then that I wriggle free of his grip and dash through into the tiny, tiny 'kitchen' area.

"There you are!" Mum smiles. "Is Herbert home?"

"I brought back dinner!" My brother calls from the main room in response.

She laughs. "Come in here and whack it in the pot."

-Macy Donner-

It's strange, lying in bed in such silence. I can't hear Maysilee's breathing, or her snide comments, and Melody's not there to trill her own sorrows the night through. You never realise how loud a room is until it's completely quiet, it seems.

After an hour of lying sleeplessly in bed, I push the covers away and leave my room, heading into the small living room. My mother's long since gone to bed, but Daddy's still awake, reading on the sofa.

"I can't sleep." I tell him.

He pats the seat beside him on the sofa and I head over, collapsing backwards onto it and closing my eyes. They're so heavy, so tired; why can't I just sleep?

"What're you reading?" I ask him, opening one eye.

"Wuthering Heights." Mum's favourite. "Why?"

I take a deep breath, preparing to ask him a question I haven't in years. "Will you read me a bedtime story?"

I look up at him, anxiously awaiting his response. He smiles. "Of course."

-Haymitch Abernathy-

"Haymitch, Haymitch, Haymitch!" Benn shouts. Before I have chance to even partially wake up, a weight falls from the heavens directly onto my stomach. I flinch involuntarily. The scar may be gone, but the memory of having to hold my intestines inside my body as I run for my life is still there.

"You're too old for this now, Benn." I groan, struggling to push my ten year old brother off of me. "And I don't have to go to school if I don't want to; I'm rich as heck now, without a job."

"That's not what I'm waking you up for!" The dark-haired boy giggles. "You have a letter. Mum said to get you."

You won the Hunger Games, Haymitch; you can push a ten year old off your stomach. Forcing my weight against him, I send Benn sprawling backwards against my bed as I climb out from under the duvet and head downstairs, still clad in a pair of warm, Capitol-style pyjamas and yesterday's socks.

Mum's waiting in the kitchen. She hands me the envelope casually and continues wiping the surfaces with a yellow cloth until they gleam like silver. They could even be silver, knowing the standards of these places.

I take a seat at the table and run my finger under the seal of the envelope, opening it.

"It smells strange." Benn comments as he enters the room. "The letter, I mean."

"Like roses." I agree, not really taking note. What weirdo smells letters?

Mum appears over my shoulder, hovering in the sort of way only she can. "What does it say? Who's it from?"

-Wilhelm Charter-

I'm making the most of my luxury TV. It's pretty jazzy, as far as Victor perks go. It actually is a perk, as opposed to some of the others. Like the asylums. Seriously, how they can be counted a bonus I will never know.

A pounding at me door tears me away from the current episode of 'What's That Question? ' I stand and head over to answer it.

Curly's on the doorstep, quite visibly fuming. He hands me a letter forcefully and pushes past me, into my house. I just stand there for a moment, paper in hand, trying to make sense of the situation. It takes a moment for me to shut the door and follow him into the living room.

He's slumped in a chair, arms folded, glaring at nothing in particular. I resume my previous seat on the sofa and read through the letter. Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

"When did this come?" I ask my young protégé.

"This morning." He replies, still staring holes into my carpet.

That's good. We have time. Hopefully.

"How'd you get out of this, Wilhelm?" He finally looks up. He isn't scared. Most kids his age would be terrified out of their wits. Mind you, most kids his age haven't survived hell, have they?

"By being crazy." It's as good an answer as any.

He stares at me for a moment before grinning. "At least it's not the pills, right?"

"Right," I agree, trying my best to laugh along with him. I'm not actually sure whether just handing him over to the asylum would've been a better option; he'd have escaped this. And now… Now, I don't know what we'll do. Probably something illegal.