One expected side benefit to having Claudius come along on their missions is that with a Victor on their squad, nobody can accuse Selene of avoiding the Victors - which she is most definitely sort of doing. It's not their fault, it's all just kind of a lot more than anything else, they were every kid's heroes growing up in Two, and seeing them now every day en masse is more than a little unnerving.

Especially given that Selene has read all their files; she knows everything from their favourite foods to their most frequented Capitol establishments to their sexual peccadillos, thanks to the level of detail that Snow demanded for his personal dossiers. At the time it had been shocking, the kind that thrills with a secret naughtiness like she was doing something wrong, not dissimilar to the first time she sneaked out of Residential as a young trainee. She'd never expected to have to share a breakfast table with Callista and have her mind helpfully replay the Victor's list of suppliers for specialty club drugs and custom bondage gear.

Not to mention, Selene has gotten this far without anyone figuring out she was runner-up for her year, but if anyone is going to figure it out, it's Devon and his eidetic memory for names and faces. He writes letters to every graduating class of Seniors who makes it to the end but doesn't win the gold bead, Selene included, wishing them well in their future careers. Lachlan kept his, probably took it home and framed it and still has it in his new room in the Centre - he's a trainer now, working with pre-Senior Residential kids, last she heard. Selene, relieved not to be the one hobbling around on smashed bones, feeling guilty for thinking it and working overtime to pretend she didn't care either way, threw hers away as soon as she got it.

If Devon remembers Selene, odds are he'll mention it to Brutus, and then Brutus will wonder why Selene never said anything, and then Selene will have to explain that not only was she his Victor's classmate, but they actually hated each other for a good solid ten years, and - it's complicated, and messy, and this is war, and complicated and messy are the last thing Selene needs right now.

And as for Petra - as much as Selene doesn't want to admit it, seeing her former classmate, knowing that soon they'll rescue her and come face to face and all the careful distance and separation Selene has put so much work into will come tumbling down, it only makes the growing mess in Selene's head a worse jumble. When Selene and Petra were classmates Selene was a different person, sharper and nastier and uncaring, she broke her classmates' noses and snapped their arms in half because she felt like it. She made her first kill and felt nothing, not even a hint of guilt or regret. Selene has come a long way since then, but the war, the fighting, has dragged her back - and when she finally sees Petra and looks her in the eye, she knows full well that Petra won't see the Peacekeeper three years out, she'll see the girl who fought and scrapped for the gold and lost.

Luckily, though, Claudius is just as eager to avoid the others as she is, so the three of them end up hanging out a lot together. Claudius doesn't ask personal questions - he still hasn't figured out Dash is from Four, she and Dash now have a bet going on how long it will take - and he trains almost every spare minute with an intensity that would surprise Selene if he weren't, well, a Victor. She's heard some of the other rebels make bemused noises about it, since to them the Victors killed teenagers years ago and then have been mostly television personalities since, but well, that's the outer districts for you.

"I think it's a good idea," Marius says. "The extra training, I mean."

Selene frowns but doesn't argue, waiting for the explanation. They hardly have time for training, what with being assigned to missions every other day, but she trusts Marius. Unlike her trainers, both at the Centre and the Peacekeeping Academy, Marius always takes the time to tell her why he gives his recommendations. None of this 'because I said so' outside of combat. "They took the stronghold at Eagle Pass but the district is fighting back," he says. "The mining towns and the poorer parts of the district went to the rebels, but there's strong resistance at the district centre and the Peacekeeper boroughs. Not just Peacekeepers, but civilians too, and Coin's people aren't particular about who they're killing. We're going to be sending squads in to keep the Capitol from retaking the district but also Coin's rebels from massacring the civilians. That means the fighting is going to be up close and messy."

For a moment she almost pretends she doesn't know what he's talking about, but the memory of the light pole in her hands - the sharp crack of metal against bone, the twist of satisfaction in her gut as the bodies fell - is still sharp, like the scent of smoke curling in her nostrils. "You need to know I can handle it if I can't use my rifle," Selene says. It comes out professional, even neutral. Her image trainers would be proud.

Marius gives her a sympathetic look, and okay, maybe she didn't quite manage to keep how much she hates this whole mess out of her voice. "Just a few basic drills," he says. "Like back at the Academy."

Selene blows out a gust of air. "All right, sure," she says, because fair enough. If she's going to be fighting Peacekeepers and civilians in ex-Career town - she doesn't let herself think about former classmates - then she really can't be snapping and bashing in anyone's skull with the nearest blunt object.

Dash helps. "Just like old times," he says with a grin, and Selene laughs because it's true, that's how they met. She and Dash had been unarmed combat partners as cadets, and she had been under orders to not kill him. She'd kicked his ass soundly, he'd rebounded from the bruised ego, and they'd become firm friends from the start.

To bring things closer to real-world scenarios, Marius gives Dash a knife and tells Selene to take it from him without harming either of them. The knife doesn't actually make Dash any more dangerous, not when Selene grew up sparring with Petra, and she vividly recalls the absolute futility of trying to separate her rival from her favourite weapon. But the point isn't actually for Dash to hurt her, it's to give him a weapon that an opponent in the street is likely to be carrying, to snap Selene into the headspace she might find herself in out there on the field, and it ... helps. It's not perfect, but it helps. Drilling takedowns helps Selene rewrite the old patterns all over again, provide new pathways for muscle memory in case her brain slips away, and if nothing else the repetition doesn't leave a lot of room for headcasing.

Claudius soon joins them, and he doesn't ask what they're doing, just picks up his weapons and chooses a spot across the room to train. He's borrowed a pair of machetes from Nero, since no one brought any of his swords during the Village evacuation, for close-quarters fighting, and runs through shadow drills at half, normal and double speed.

"I don't know why you think people call you the ugly Victor," Dash jokes that night after they finish training and grab a bite to eat at the commissary. "Have you watched yourself fight? I'd totally make you my exception."

Claudius chokes on his protein slop, and Selene helpfully thumps him on the back. "Go fuck yourself," he says, when he can finally get enough air, and Dash smiles sunnily at him.

Unfortunately, they don't have a lot of time for training, because Marius wasn't wrong about the unrest in Two. For the first time, the Scouts are being sent into open combat.

Not as Peacekeepers this time, though. In the ready room, they trade their battered white armour for rebel-issue fatigues, grey uniforms with a sunburst insignia on the sleeve to differentiate them from Coin's people in a firefight. Selene insists on keeping her rifle no matter what anyone says, damn it, because the nondescript gun the rebels try to foist on her has awful aim. Anyone who sees her with her rifle will think she killed a Peacekeeper and took it from them, anyway.

(That's not true. Any Peacekeeper who sees Selene fight will know immediately who and what she used to be no matter what she's wearing, but they can't help that.)

Selene hesitates before donning her helmet. It's a standard rebel hard-hat, not her full Peacekeeper black glass helmet faceplate, and somehow that drives it home even more. This is it. For the first time, they're going into the thick of things - no more skulking around, no more avoiding fights unless they absolutely have to. They're going to Two as rebels, and they're going to be fighting Peacekeepers, and Selene has to be okay with that.

She is okay with that, or at least she thinks she is, but she also never thought she'd end up reverting back to Centre-mode -

"You okay?" Dash asks, pausing midway through wrestling on a rebel-issue boot. Claudius, tugging on his jacket, stops to give her a curious look.

"Yeah," Selene says, professional, professional. Claudius goes back to cussing under his breath at his jacket zipper, which appears to have jammed halfway up. "I'm good. Let's go."

For this mission, they're dropped off at the main town, where Coin's rebels are trying to take it by force. It's a messy business, according to intel; most Centre alumni live in the ex-Career boroughs in the city, and they're not about to let the rebels march in and take the place without a fight, but nobody learns to fight against guns in the Program. That won't stop them trying, but unless someone interferes, the civilians will be cut down in the streets - and with the Capitol already declaring the district a loss, there will be no one to stop the bloodshed.

It's the Scouts' job to be that someone.

As far as first combat missions go, Selene is fine with this one. It's clear-cut, straightforward - and honestly, she's looking forward to having an opponent she can shoot without any qualms whatsoever. That probably wouldn't look great on a psych eval, but this is war, and at this point she'll take what she can get.

When they get to the main town, the squad splits into pairs. Rigel and Marius guard the rear, while Selene and Dash - and Claudius - make up the core strike force. He wasn't officially tasked with this mission, but he showed up to the ready room with a grim-jawed expression and nobody bothered to argue.

It's difficult, dangerous work, made doubly so by the need to check targets before firing. They're under orders not to fire on civilians unless to defend themselves, but the civilians aren't going to be looking to see whether the rebels are shooting at each other or wearing different insignia. As far as they're concerned, there's loyalists and then there's traitors, and Selene knows uncomfortably well which side she falls into. Luckily most people they run into are noncombatants, eager to stay out of the way and let them pass, and those who might want to put up a fight seem more baffled than anything when Selene orders them to stay inside rather than opening fire.

Coin's people, on the other hand, are all fair game, and since they went into this expecting nothing more than civilian resistance, the Second Rebellion has the element of surprise. As they advance through the city, Selene and Dash fall into enough of a rhythm that they pick up an old game.

"I've got twenty," Dash says in an undertone, flattening himself against the wall as they catch their breath in an alleyway.

Selene grins at him. "Twenty-nine," she says, singsong.

"No fair, you got the good rifle." As the team demolitions man, Dash didn't have his own rifle assigned to him when they stole the hovercraft and ran. He's been making do with rebel-issue gear since they made the switch.

"Oh, cry me a river, fisherboy."

Most of the other rebels are too far away to hear, and Selene had purposely been keeping her voice down to avoid coming off sounding too bloodthirsty to the non-Careers on their squad, but Claudius glances over, an unreadable expression on his face. There's a bloody gash across his forehead, making him look appropriately savage. "You're counting kills?"

"Shots on target," Selene clarifies, and uh oh. "Points for hitting someone, or blowing up something that hits someone. Minus points for getting hit - so Dash has lost, what, two today?"

"One, thank you very much." Dash picks at his sleeve, where a stray shot tore through the fabric. "You've lost two."

Selene shrugs and grins at Claudius. "Two's a good day for me. I usually get hit more."

Claudius studies them for a long moment, and Selene tries not to look like she's holding her breath. He wouldn't be the only one who disapproves of the game, and they probably should have thought twice before mentioning it in earshot. Rigel only rolled his eyes when he heard about it, but Marius frowned so fiercely that they make sure to count score when he isn't with them. They haven't dared bring it up around Brutus at all.

"Not cool, I haven't been counting mine," Claudius says finally, and Selene relaxes infinitesimally. "So it's what, one point per hit?"

Dash nods sagely. "Grenades count for as many as you hit. One-shot kills count for three."

"Grenades are the only reason he's at twenty," Selene points out, unable to help herself. She's not back in the Centre headspace or anything, she's fine, but there's such a thing as professional pride. Dash's bandolier of grenades is half-empty now. "He just chucks bombs at buildings and counts the shrapnel hits at points."

Dash flashes her a challenging grin. "Who's crying now?"

Claudius shakes his head, a long-suffering expression on his face.

Rigel's voice crackles over their earpieces, putting a stop to the impromptu chitchat. "Sitrep, kids?"

"All clear, sir," Selene says, snappy and professional, and Dash rolls his eyes. She shoots him a rude gesture, her voice never betraying her businesslike tone. "Encountering light resistance, nothing we can't handle."

"Roger that. Link up with the right flank and advance on the next block."

"Yessir."

And so it goes. The fight thickens as they get further into town, and - here's the funny thing. Dash is Selene's partner, they complement each other perfectly, but he isn't a killer, not really. Dash doesn't actually enjoy fighting, and he definitely doesn't like killing - no matter what Marius thinks, Selene started the points game for Dash's benefit. She has no problem shooting enemy combatants, but Dash needs the black humour to help him cope with what they're doing.

But Claudius - in Claudius, Selene finds something like a kindred spirit.

Claudius is like Selene. She watches him out the corner of her eye when she can spare a second, and there's no denying that the Victor is enjoying the fight. He's loving every second of shooting at Coin's rebels and he isn't bothering to hide it; the vicious grin on his face only grows as time goes on.

Coin's outfit must have really pissed him off. Then again, bombing the Victors' Village and trying to murder him and his mentor would probably be enough to make it personal for anybody.

He's not doing too badly, either. For all he's relatively inexperienced with guns, he's a decent enough shot, and he has a Victor's situational awareness that means he'll never be a danger to anyone by accident. He even gets to showcase his close-combat chops at one point, when a pair of burly civilians attempts to attack them with crude cudgels, and Claudius is the only one in range. Selene stiffens out of reflex - this is where she lost it, trying to make the switch from guns to hand-to-hand - and sure enough for a second Claudius reaches for his machetes, his hand twitching toward his back, but then he stops, changes tactics, and in minutes he's disarmed both civilians and knocked them out with their own weapons.

And, more impressively, he stayed in his head the whole time, at least as far as Selene can tell. Huh. She'd make a note to ask him about it, if she could ever figure out how to bring it up without it being incredibly awkward.

By the time they're done, their team has managed to clear an entire town of Coin's people and evacuate civilians to safety, all without killing a single Peacekeeper - and Selene kept her head the entire time. Things are looking up.

Of course, the very next day, they're sent in again. And the next, and the next.

The fourth day, the hovercraft drops them off at an inner town, not next to the mountain but close enough that it's got a radio tower and a Peacekeeper garrison. Selene spent most of the pre-mission briefing trying not to - well, "dissociate" would be the word the trainers use, because she knows this place. The Peacekeepers stationed here back in the day were the ones who used to take her hunting, who taught her how to use a rifle and would ruffle her hair and praise her and tell her she's her father's daughter.

A great time for those memories to surface, really, and so Selene misses half the details because she's determinedly stamping down unwanted ghosts. She got through Centre training by compartmentalizing and that's what she's going to do, and by the time they're done Selene has managed to lock everything away in that part of her mind where she puts unpleasant, intrusive thoughts. She has a job to do and that's not helping, and while Dash gives her a quiet glance on the way to the hovercraft, he doesn't push it and she doesn't let on.

Predictably, they're dropped into a firefight. Against Peacekeepers. Peacekeepers who maybe - no. No. Selene bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood, because the last thing she needs is to lose it again - but her hands don't shake, and when Rigel's order to fire comes through her earpiece she lifts her rifle, pulls the trigger, and takes out three white-uniformed soldiers without blinking. They fall, and her mind doesn't slide sideways, and it's fine.

It's fine. Everything's fine.

They advance, and Selene stays in the zone. Her heartbeat is fast but steady, and her aim is good and true, her hands moving with precision as she reloads. They take out the loyal Peacekeepers and opposing rebels alike, and it's dangerous work and Selene is hyper-aware of Dash and Claudius at her side, fighting right along with her. It's fine, really, even when she stops worrying about killing her fellow Peacekeepers and starts feeling a frisson of satisfaction with each kill, that's just getting into the swing of things, it's fine -

Then an explosion rocks the building next to them.

Dash swears. "Everyone, get down!"

Another explosion, closer this time, chunks of plaster flying everywhere - one clips Selene's shoulder and sends her reeling, another strikes her on the side of the head -

A masked rebel looms over her. Selene surges to her feet, knocks a grenade out of the woman's hand before she can pull the pin. The woman staggers backwards, clawing for the rifle at her back, but Selene presses her advantage. She grabs the woman's wrist and twists - the woman screams - follows it up with a hard blow to the throat that crushes her windpipe -

There's a flicker of movement in a nearby doorway, and Selene spins and lashes out with her foot. The second rebel falls back, and Selene follows up by shooting him in the head with her sidearm. His skull explodes in a mess of bone and blood - it hits her in a warm, wet spray she remembers all too well - then there's a yell and a third rebel appears. Selene whirls and fires, catching him in the throat.

Hot, vicious satisfaction surges through her. Attack her, will they? She'll show them - she's the one to watch, she can take them all, they'll see, everyone will be watching her now -

She fires again, through the heart to make sure, then rounds on her next target -

Claudius stands in front of her, palms out. Selene blinks, wavers, tries to pull herself back. (It's hard to pull back - for a second she doesn't want to, until she remembers.) "Hey," he says, calm and even, as if addressing a wild animal. (She is a wild animal.) "Hey, you got them."

"Uh." Selene wets her lips. She wants to drop her rifle, throw it away from her and scramble back, like those soon-to-be washout kids in Transition the first time their blades tasted blood and they couldn't handle it. She wants to cling to it and never let go. "I -"

"You got them," Claudius repeats, and something clicks in her head. Selene exhales, nodding a little. "They're all dead. Put the gun down."

"Yeah." Mechanically, Selene shoulders her pistol. "Is Dash -"

"Fine," Dash groans. Selene turns to see him struggling to his feet, using the wall as leverage. "'m fine."

"No you're not!" Selene bursts out, alarmed. The right side of his face is a mess of blood, his hair matted to his scalp, and that shocks her back to reality more than anything else.

"Head wounds always bleed the most," Claudius reminds her, still calm. He sounds almost like a trainer. "Still, sit down and we'll put a bandage on it."

Dash, it turns out, is rather less than fine. He's got a decently bad concussion, and shrapnel peppers his right arm and back, as well as the fine grains embedded in his cheek. He's not the only one, either. One rebel trooper has a badly torn leg and another is bleeding from shrapnel, and rather than press on Claudius calls for an evac.

Nobody thought to question him, Selene realizes absently, after he puts the comm away. Must be a Victor thing.

With evac en route, the rest of the rebels play field medic while they wait. Selene takes a seat rather than fuss over Dash when she can't actually help, and she can't say she's surprised when Claudius sits down next to her. "Has that ever happened before?" he asks in a low voice.

"Has what?" Selene shouldn't play stupid, but she tells herself it's because of Dash, who's blinking sleepily, swimming in and out of consciousness as one of the rebels tries to keep him awake by asking him to name as many types of fish as he can.

"That's a stereotype," Dash mumbles, rolling eyes with pupils blown wide.

"Just name the fish, Four," says the rebel, poking him in his good shoulder.

So much for the bet, Selene thinks. She comes back to find Claudius still staring at her, his face pinched.

"Don't pull that shit with me," Claudius says. To his credit he doesn't snap it or anything, but even Selene, who happily mouthed off to trainers her entire time at the Centre, knows better than to try again. "I know a berserker snap when I see one. Has it happened before?"

Selene glances around at the others, but Claudius kept his voice down and no one else seems to have heard. "Yes," she says reluctantly.

"For how long?"

"Only recently. Since the war started." Selene grimaces. "Look, I already got the lecture from Marius. Keep your head, don't get carried away, I'm working on it."

Claudius pulls a face right back, which between the blood and his sharp features looks far less petulant and a lot more scary. "You really think I'm going to give you a lecture? I was going to say, I know what that feels like. Used to happen to me a lot when I was younger. Remember what I said, about that first kid I killed in Residential, when I was eleven? It's like the world disappears, and then it comes back and there's a body on the floor. Am I right?"

"I - little bit, yeah." Selene agrees warily. And the thing is, she could say yes, accept his sympathy or whatever this is and move on, but - she saw him. He fought people hand to hand and didn't twitch, and he actually went into the Arena. By all rights he should be crazier than she is. She takes a deep breath and makes the jump. "But not exactly. The world didn't - doesn't - disappear. I know exactly what I'm doing. It's more like ... I forget where I am."

Claudius tilts his head. "Where do you think you are?"

Selene doesn't answer. The words press at the back of her throat, thick and choking. She folds the strap of her rifle over in her hands, twisting the stiff fabric around her palm.

"Look," Claudius says. "You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, and I'm not going to rat you out to anyone. But if this has been going on for awhile, you need to talk to someone, because trust me, it's only going to get worse."

Well, shit.

"I think I'm back at the Centre." Selene says tiredly, scrubbing a hand over her face. Maybe he'll understand, maybe he won't, but he's right about one thing. Pretending everything's fine clearly isn't going to work, and neither is friendly sparring matches with Dash in the training room. "It's like - I don't know. I forget I'm not supposed to enjoy it anymore and then I get carried away. It never used to be a problem! They trained us out of the whole 'wanting to kill people' thing when I left the Centre, but I guess it didn't take."

"Hm," Claudius says, whatever that means. "How long were you in?"

Selene looks over the ruined street, fighting down a splash of pride even as the drumroll of danger sounds in the distance. "Until eighteen."

His gaze is measuring, even in her peripheral vision. "What year?"

"Is that relevant?"

"It is now, yeah."

Shit. Wrong answer, apparently. Finally Selene gives up; he's probably already guessed, or at least suspected, or he wouldn't have asked, and it's clear he's going to push until she tells him. And if she doesn't he'll ask Dash, and Dash will try to protect her and that will only make things worse. "72," Selene says, hands tightening on her knees. "Petra's year. I was the backup, okay?"

After all that, it feels - anticlimactic, almost. Nothing explodes, nothing shakes, nobody bursts from the ground with cameras or screams in shock. Claudius lets out a quiet hiss of air but otherwise doesn't react. "Did you go straight from the Centre to the Peacekeepers?"

"I had a detour through the detox dorms first," Selene says, shrugging. She still feels a little lightheaded, or like she should feel different, somehow. "But pretty much. Like I said, they train us out of everything pretty well. They've had a lot of practice. You can't have Peacekeepers snapping and killing people for fun."

"Have you watched the news?" Claudius asks dryly, and Selene flinches. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. But look, no, this isn't a problem with the Academy - not exactly. You said this only started recently. Right?"

"Right, but so?" Selene frowns at him. "What's your point?"

"I mean, you weren't flashing back to the Centre when you were in the Academy, or they would have trained you out of it. And you said you weren't doing this sort of thing in Residential, either, so it wouldn't be in your file as a look-for."

Selene frowns. "In Residential they used to yell at me for excessive force or for ignoring stop orders, but I always knew what I was doing and where I was. I never had blackouts. So - I guess not."

Claudius grins, only Selene can't figure out for the life of her what he could possibly find to be positive about. "Lucky for you, you're talking to someone with lots of experience in slipping sideways and thinking he's somewhere else. You're basically living the first year of my recovery. And I might not have been at war, but I did learn to fight again after, and they did train it out of me."

Selene looks at him, really looks. Claudius holds her gaze unwaveringly. She swallows, and the knot in her chest unloosens, maybe, just a little. "Can you teach me?"

"For sure," Claudius says, and he reaches over to clasp her shoulder and give her a little shake. The comms chirp, and he wrinkles his nose in a theatrical grimace. "But for now, the evac's here."

They help load the wounded onto the hovercraft, and Selene gives her report, and then it's debriefs and getting checked out by the medics and waiting for Marius and Rigel to get back to start the debrief process all over again. A small part of her thinks that's actually going to be it, a nice gesture on Claudius' part but nothing more, except that night after supper he stops by and jerks his thumb toward the door.

"C'mon," he says. "I've cleared us some private time in one of the workout rooms, just the two of us. Time for some Victor detox training."

Selene lets out a slow breath and tries to calm the flutters in her chest. "Yeah, except I've never been in the Arena."

Claudius stops, gives her a serious look and waves a hand, the gesture encompassing not just the hallway they're standing in but somehow everything. "Look around you," he says. "Where do you think you've been?"

He heads off again, leaving Selene to process that on her own. She opens her mouth, closes it, then gives up and jogs off after him.


When Lyme brought Claudius with her to fight the Capitol, he wasn't supposed to actually _fight_ the Capitol. She always pictured it as an ideological rebellion, waging war from a safe distance, using his mind and his sharp observation skills and talent for making political observations that used to terrify her back in the Village to - well, she didn't know, honestly. She'd never really thought that far ahead.

Whatever Lyme imagined when she pictured the two of them running away together, it definitely had not been Claudius strapping a pair of machetes to his back, slinging an assault rifle over his shoulder, and gearing up with no more protection than a helmet and heavy vest before heading into combat for days on end.

"I'm not sure what you expect him to do," Nero says, the first time Claudius heads out with his new friends and leaves Lyme behind to chew off her own fists. "He's not a people person, he's not gonna be making any new friends trying to recruit anybody. Most of the Victors in the hospital remember him as the one who killed all those twelve-year-olds, so he wouldn't be a comforting bedside presence. He's found kids his age and a place to do some good, finally. Of course he's gonna take it."

Lyme runs a hand through her hair and pulls until the pain spikes through her scalp, sharp and grounding. "I didn't say I don't understand why," she snaps, and Nero chuckles in wry sympathy. "I just - did he have to find a way to help that involves getting shot at? I almost lost him back in those tunnels. Every time I close my eyes - it's all I can think about."

Nero sighs, and he loops an arm around her shoulders. "I hate to say this, honey, but it's probably a little bit of payback," he says. "How many times did he have to watch you running up against that mountain? You were on active duty for weeks and nothing he could do about it. A little late for you to start tutting about playing it safe now."

Lyme glares at him, but Nero doesn't flinch, much too used to her by now after all those tantrums and childish displays of temper during her early recovery. "I feel like that's unfair," she says finally. "I'm the mentor. I'm the one who's supposed to take the risks."

Nero pats her arm in consolation. "And here you thought he'd never get over his attachment issues," he jokes.

Lyme laughs, a sharp, ugly bark of a sound, but then it keeps going, a little too wild and a little too long - and then it breaks, cracks, turns into something else, and Nero isn't teasing anymore. He draws her in against his chest, shields her from the rest of the room, empty though it is, as Lyme cries in shame and fury and raw, helpless humiliation.

"For what it's worth," Nero says quietly, resting his chin on top of her head, "I watched every broadcast they aired of you taking on that mountain. Heart in my fucking throat every damn time. Couldn't make myself care who won, either way seemed like two sides of a shitty coin, but - I needed to see you were still out there, still fighting. Scared the shit out of me every time I saw you up there. But you made it, and so will he."

As much as Lyme wants to let herself relax into the comfort of Nero's mentor surety, the truth is that they're at war, and they've been incredibly lucky so far. It feels like thumbing her nose at the Gamemakers to stop worrying and trust that everything will be fine. But there's nothing she can do about it here, and so Lyme sits up, scrubs a hand over her face, ignores the decades-old urge to push up her sleeves and dig her fingernails into the soft skin of her wrists, and heads out to find something useful she can do.

As it turns out, that chance comes sooner rather than later. Claudius and his squad are off fighting in one of the inner towns when Lyme and the other Victors get called in for a meeting by a handful of exhausted-looking rebels. "We're hoping one of you can help identify someone," says the woman in charge, queuing up a video and throwing it up on the projector screen. It's rough footage, grainy and shaky, but Lyme makes out what appears to be a mix of civilians and off-duty Peacekeepers - uniformed and armed but no armour or helmets - fighting against a cadre of Coin's rebels. The leaders are a man and a woman, both dark-haired and handsome in that irritatingly District 2 sort of way, who look to be in their fifties or sixties but are clearly still going strong, as they take out soldier after soldier without so much as flinching. Somewhere across the room Artemisia swallows the ghost of an inappropriate laugh as the rebels back off to regroup.

The video pauses on the militia leaders, and the rebel woman - Sienna, Lyme thinks belatedly - folds her arms. "Coin's rebels have encountered resistance from one of the Peacekeeper towns," she says, in a masterful use of understatement. "From what we can tell, this community holds a number of retired or second-twenty Peacekeeper families. These two appear to have convinced a number of them to form a militia."

Lyme grimaces. "I warned them. I told them to stay away from the Peacekeeper communities, I said this is exactly what would happen if they tried. I guess the victory at Eagle Pass made them cocky."

"Well, now we're hoping we can turn this to our advantage," Sienna says. "As far as Coin's rebellion is concerned, these people are a lost cause. You told her this yourself. But we have something they don't."

Devon sits up straight. "You're talking about us."

She smiles. "Indeed. If we can convince even some of these people to come round to our cause, that will mean a great deal to getting the district on our side. And even if we can't - if we can get them to stop fighting, we can evacuate the civilians and get them to safety before the rebels decide to cut their losses and send in another fleet of bombers."

District 1 fell to the rebels right after District 8, and the people - divided by caste and a class system as stratified as the Capitol versus the rest of the districts, between those who wanted to be the Capitol and those who starved and suffered and worked themselves in poverty to support that lifestyle - joined the rebels and tore apart every remnant of the Capitol within its borders. The District 1 Athletics Academy, which lured pretty children from their parents with promises of riches and a better life and stole them if the promises didn't work, was the first casualty of war. To the surprise of many, the rebels included, Capitol's pampered lapdog was one of the first to turn on their master.

But District 2 continues to be complicated, and anything they can do to help reduce the bloodshed, the better. The assault on District 1's Academy left no survivors, the children it had taken apparently an acceptable sacrifice in such terrible times, and Lyme sickens at the thought of the same thing happening here in Two. She kept the rebels away from the Centre as long as possible, but they need to make the people stop, quell the uprisings, get the civilians safe, and draw the rebels out of Two and back to the Capitol where they belong.

"You want us to identify the leaders?" Devon says, leaning forward and frowning at the blurred image. "Can you get a clearer shot?"

Sierra plays with the video a little, inching it back and forth frame by frame until she's finally able to freeze it on a relatively clear shot of the leaders' faces. "That's as good as we can make it," she says. "We can't exactly waltz into town and look at local housing records."

"No need," say Devon and Brutus at the same time. They stop, look at each other, and share a brief grin, then Devon waves Brutus on.

"That's Commander Joseph and Sergeant Adora Seward," Brutus says. Emory nods, and Adessa and a few of the others make quiet sounds of recognition. Lyme has not felt like such a poor excuse for a patriot in a long time. "The Sewards have been Peacekeepers as long as there are Peacekeepers," Brutus continues. "Usually run into them at the annual Peacekeeper Gala, plus they've won the Tour lottery a few times. Petra likes him," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "He never treated her like she was broken."

"Their son died in the Games a few years back," Devon adds, delicately. "He was yours, Calli."

Everyone goes silent, though nobody turns to look at her. Lyme frantically runs through the math, trying to remember the last year that Callista mentored, before - "Creed," Callista says, crisp and collected but with an undercurrent of softness, strange and terrifying coming from her. "You're right, those are his parents. They came to the field to see him interred, with their other son."

"Alec," Lyme bursts out as the pieces finally click. This time everyone turns to stare. "Alec, their other son is - he's a doctor, small practice down below the mountain. I used to - before, when I was - I would bring our soldiers to him, if they got hurt too badly and I couldn't risk bringing them back to base. He didn't flip but he didn't turn us in, either. Maybe now we could convince him."

Sierra's eyes light up. "If you have a connection with their son, maybe we can use that. Family is important in Two, the more relationships we can build, the better."

"The last time I saw him we didn't exactly leave on good terms," Lyme warns. That's a polite way of saying the boy all but called Lyme a traitor to her face, but at the same time, she'd seen the cracks, and she knew how to recognize an argument made on principle rather than true conviction. It might not take much to turn him now. Not as one of Coin's rebels - not after the bombing, no, never - but maybe now ... if he knew there was another way ...

"There's something else about the man," Hera says. Lyme blinks, glancing at her in surprise. "Not her, just him. Something - familiar about his face. Doesn't anyone else see it?"

"I can't say that I do," Adessa says. "He looks rather like a recruitment poster, if that's what you mean."

"No, I see it too," Emory says slowly. "But - not him now, right? Younger."

"Yes, that's it, much younger," Hera says, leaping on the information like an enthusiastic trainee on their favourite weapon. "Reaping age, in fact. Come on, think, picture him without the grey and the lines, but keep the uniform. Help me out, someone has to know. Devon, you're the one with the magic memory, can't you place it?"

Devon spreads his hands, confusion writ across his face. "I'm sorry, I've got nothing. Mish?"

"Nah, same," Artemisia says. "I have no idea what's going on."

"Wait, no, now I think I see what you're talking about," says Nero, at the same time that Callista narrows her eyes, and Brutus says, "Hang on -"

Lyme looks between them - all Victors in Residential between the 30th and the 50th Hunger Games but no one before or after - and suddenly it hits. "Oh holy fuck," she says aloud. "It's the bogeyman."

"Ho-ly shit." Brutus lets out a low whistle. "I'd never thought about it before, but you're abso-fuckin-lutely right."

"The what?" Devon bursts out. "Will someone tell me what is going on?"

"Child, once someone informs me I will be glad to share," Adessa says with crisp asperity.

Lyme exhales. Every year for twenty years, following the disastrous Volunteer-who-choked at the 30th Games and ending after the Second Quarter Quell, each new crop of thirteens who passed their Residential exam would get trotted into the main activity room to watch the traitor be cuffed, beaten, and executed as a warning to anyone who might ever consider making it through training without the intent to follow through. While the blank-faced eighteen-year-old getting black-bagged and shot in the head had obviously been the worst part, one of the awful highlights of the video had been the moment where the first trainee - wide-eyed, clearly terrified, but under orders - had broken ranks with his peers and driven his boot into the side of his classmate's head.

They never told the trainees the traitor's name, or the names of any of his classmates, including the first boy who started the mass beating. Now, thanks to Hera and the power of collective memory, one of Residential's greatest long-running mysteries has been solved.

Lyme lets Nero explain this one, and she sits back and studies the images frozen in projection. The parents of a dead tribute and a boy who refused to turn despite his brother's needless death - a Peacekeeper who was once a frightened tribute trainee who engaged in the brutal, bloody beating of his classmate and sat in silence and watched three officers empty their bullets into his skull - maybe convincing them to join the cause won't be as easy as they hoped.

This is District 2, Lyme thinks, and fights back another ugly ribbon of laughter. Home sweet home.


"The leader's name is Joseph Seward," Marius says, and everything goes blank.

Not completely, of course, Selene is too much of a professional for that. She flickers for a second, a loud humming drowning out everything in her head, but then she forces herself to compartmentalize to make it through the meeting without a hitch. It means that later she'll be able to recall the details of the briefing no problem, even though right now every time Marius says "Joseph Seward" all Selene can think is Uncle Joe.

She knew it was coming. They've been getting closer and closer to Selene's hometown each time they head out to fight, and there's no way that Uncle Joe and Aunt Dora would ever let anyone take District 2 without a fight. Honestly, Selene is just glad to hear they weren't at Eagle Pass when it fell; neither of them work night shifts anymore, but it wouldn't have been out of character for either of them to hare up the hill with their personal sidearms and decide to take on the rebels single-handedly.

Forming a militia with the local neighbourhood watch seems about right, really. Selene would laugh if she could breathe around the fist squeezing her lungs.

Marius finishes the briefing, which includes the plan - their squad is to stay back and facilitate civilian evacuation after the Victors hopefully work their magic and convince the militia to stand down - as well as a quick profile based on whatever information he, Rigel and the other Victors have managed to gather on Joseph and Adora Seward.

"It's not much to go on, but we're working with what we have," Rigel says, looking skeptical. "Honestly, this one doesn't look good. We have no reason to believe they'll lay down their weapons, and certainly not for the cause. Our best hope is that someone can convince them that more death and bloodshed is not the way to go. They have no reason to trust us, and unless Lyme can convince their son to join us, we have no way to give them one."

Selene keeps her face impassive. She could speak up, tell Marius and Rigel that Commander Joseph Seward is basically her uncle, that her memories of him are sharper and less complicated than those of her own mother, but what good would it do? The Selene he remembers is a little girl, young and enthusiastic about the Program and Enobaria and growing up to be a Victor or a Peacekeeper like her father. It won't help anything for him to find out his beloved niece is a traitor now, and Selene's memories, while warm and pleasant, are definitely not filled with all the times when Uncle Joe changed his mind.

Very likely he'd look at her and see all the things Selene's afraid to find if she looks in the mirror, everything she fears she is when she raises her rifle and fires on one of her own people without hesitation. He definitely wouldn't look at her and see the girl who used to sit on his knee and make puppy eyes at him for extra cookies before dinner.

He'd look at her and see a traitor. He'd look at the rebellion and see one more thing he loved taken away from him.

No, it would not help at all for Selene to be the one to try to convince him. If it were her own father leading the militia then maybe she might have a chance, but Rigel plays the footage and Selene manages to look for him without anyone catching on and he isn't part of the fighting. Whether because of his old injury, whether because he has another kid at home to protect, Selene isn't letting herself think about this. Her father isn't fighting, and Uncle Joe wouldn't listen to her, and it's best for everyone if she keeps quiet. The fewer liabilities, the better.

Of course, if Lyme does manage to convince Alec to join and he sees Selene then it's all over, so Selene secretly vows to place herself as far away from her childhood friend as possible.

Everything is terrible. This was so much easier when all they had to do was sneak around and steal things.

"Hey," Claudius says, catching up with her as she leaves the room after the briefing. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Selene says smoothly. Maybe a little too smooth, because Claudius' eyes narrow a fraction, but he doesn't push it. "This whole thing is getting too messy for me, that's all. Home turf and all that. I'll be glad once we're out of Two and don't need to worry so much about friendly fire."

"I'm with you there." He pushes a hand through his hair, which has started to grow out a bit from its military-short buzz cut. "You wanna come throw down with me for a bit? You look like you need to blow off some steam, and I definitely do. All this talk about the Victors being the last hope and inspiration and everything is starting to psyche me out."

Selene gives him a suspicious look, but if this is some kind of secret therapy session, he's very good at pretending it isn't. Besides, he's not wrong about her mood, and sparring with Dash is fun but Selene is also feeling a bit - off, and she'd really rather not worry about losing control for a second and hurting him. He still hasn't recovered from his concussion and needs to take it easy a little while longer. At least with a Victor five years older that's not going to be a concern. "Yeah, why not," she says, doing her best to hide the relief. "No knives today, though, I kinda feel like punching."

"Punching it is," Claudius says, in a grand voice like he's making some kind of magnanimous gesture, and in spite of everything Selene can't help but laugh.


"I am not looking forward to this," Lyme mutters, as they come up toward the small house with its plain wood siding and white trim, the walk-up porch and worn fence with a fresh coat of paint that Brutus would bet his monthly Victor stipend was done by grateful neighbours. "You can laugh, you've never had your principles flung in your face by a self-righteous twenty-year-old when you've been spending every day wondering whether you're doing the right thing."

"Nobody was laughing," Brutus points out. Fewer opponents are more formidable than a young kid just past their Reaping who thinks they know everything, especially in Two. Brutus can only imagine how those conversations went. "It's fine, you've got this."

Lyme shoots him a dirty look, her face a pale smear in the moonlight. "I don't know why they're sending me at all. They should just let you do all of this and have me stay out of it, I'm sure that would work better."

Brutus snorts. "Research says the dramatic reveal is more effective," he says. "I can't believe I've done this enough time there's - what's the Three word? - data for it."

This time she grins a little and knocks their shoulders together. "Don't worry, caveman, soon everything will be back to normal and nobody will give a shit about you being alive anymore. Just like old times."

"Thanks so much," Brutus says, punching her in the arm, but then they're at the house and he cuts it out before they ruin the effect by waking the kid with their bickering. He chooses a dark corner against the wall, out of range of the orange glow cast by the porch light, and waits while Lyme raps on the front door.

The kid opens the door in his clothes, way too fast to have gotten dressed, which means he must have slept in them. Most quarry doctors do, in case of late-night accidents, but the funny thing is that the mine's been closed since the bombing so this is habit more than anything else. Brutus takes him in, the mussed hair and dark, shadowed eyes, and he doesn't look much like the Commander in the videos until he takes in the visitor at his door and his expression hardens.

Ah, Brutus thinks. There he is.

"I thought you were dead," says Alec Seward in a measured voice. "Pretty sure that's the official story."

"I'm hard to kill," Lyme says, matching his tone. "Look, I'm not here for a repeat of the old game. We need -"

"Did you know?" He cuts her off, words sharp as knives and heavy as a blow from a mace. Brutus, safe from his vantage point, allows himself the wince that Lyme can't. Leaving one tunnel open for the miners and risking her life to help the trapped civilians escape is not going to win her absolution in the face of so many other deaths.

Lyme exhales. "Alec -"

"Did — you — know?" He waits, and when Lyme doesn't answer, he hisses out a long breath, sucks it back in through his teeth and shakes his head. "No. Whatever it is, I don't care, we're done. Take your speech, take your promises, take your twisted fucking ideals and get off my property. Next time I see you I'm calling the Peacekeepers."

He goes to shut the door in her face - not slam, still polite even when he's fucking pissed - but Lyme shoves her foot in the gap just in time. "I'm trying to save your father," she says, and the kid freezes. "I'm sure you've seen the news. He's going to get himself killed, or arrested and then killed, whichever comes first. We're trying to get him to stand down before that happens."

"You know what," Alec says, his voice shaking at the edges, and uh oh. Brutus has seen this before, tributes who last three weeks before the Arena finally takes its toll. "I've had enough. I have a lot of respect for you, really I do, and even after everything I mourned your death, but this? You already tried my dead brother, now you're using my father against me? I can't believe I'm saying this, but fuck you, Lyme. After everything you've done, you want me to believe that those people are going to just let him walk away if he puts his weapons down?"

"No, I think Coin's people are going to keep him alive until they can make an example of him on live television," Lyme says grimly, and now it's Alec's turn to flinch. "But the people I'm with have something else in mind."

To his credit, the kid stops before launching into a new tirade. "What? What are you talking about?"

Lyme glances over, and Brutus slides off the railing. "Time for the dramatic reveal," he says, and he should probably not make light of it at a time like this, but his coping mechanisms involve either dark humour or alcohol, and the rebellion is all out of booze. "Hey, kid," he says. "Do you have time to talk about the Second Rebellion?"

Alec staggers against the doorway, but catches himself before his legs give out. "Hang on one second," he says, his voice a little higher than usual but otherwise keeping it together not too badly. "I have some moonshine I use as backup anaesthetic that's about to make good on its double-duty." He turns, pauses, waves vaguely at them. "Come on in, make yourselves at home, I guess."

Lyme shakes her head as Brutus closes the door behind him. "I told you I should have stayed home," she says under her breath.

Brutus punches her shoulder. "You're doing great," he reassures her, only a little bit forced, and they follow the kid into the house.

All told, it doesn't take that much to get him to change his mind. The kid's furious at the rebellion for the bombing, wracked with guilt over being complicit when he could have said something earlier, but he ain't happy with the Capitol either. He's never been a loyalist like his parents, not even like his brother, and it started back before he watched his brother bleed our for hours on live television. Just as they'd hoped, having an option that isn't Coin's rebels and isn't the Capitol gives him a lifeline that eases some of the tension from his shoulders, though the kid has seen too much death, too much bad luck, to allow much hope.

"I can't promise my being there will do much," Alec says. He tugs at his sleep-rumpled hair and makes a face. "I guess your intel wouldn't have this, but my parents and I don't talk anymore. They cut me off - and I walked out, I won't pretend it wasn't mutual - when I didn't want to be a Peacekeeper."

Lyme says nothing, but Brutus can't help it. He frowns, looks around the combined home/doctor's office, obviously handed down over several generations. "Doctor's a good profession," he says. "Ain't no shame in that."

Alec's mouth quirks a little. "Thanks for that," he says with a hint of wry humour. "I don't think it was really about me being a doctor. He'd lost my brother, and I'd been lying to him, and - I don't know. Neither of us handled it well. And then I flung a few other things in his face, and he didn't take that well either, so I left and I never came back. Honestly, having me with you might make him start shooting."

He's kidding, mostly, but not entirely, and Brutus just feels tired. They should be leaving this kid alone, not dragging him back into painful family drama, but if they have any hope of ending this conflict without more blood and death, this is their best shot. He doesn't need to look at Lyme to know the look on her face, to know she's two seconds away from walking out of here and saying fuck this altogether. Her fingers are leaving indents on her biceps already.

"Don't underestimate the power of regret," Brutus says finally. "Nobody's expecting you to hug it out on the battlefield. All we need is one of them to put the guns down long enough for us to talk, that's it."

Alec sighs, then drags a hand down his face. "Yeah, fine, okay," he says. "I mean, they can't disown me twice, right?"

"That's the spirit," Brutus says, and Alec gives him a baleful look that turns into a soft snort of laughter.


Brutus' first thought about the militia is that he'd love to meet whoever's in charge of their supply chain, because they're holed up real good. Food, weapons, basic field medicine, it's clear that any attempt at trying to wait them out will be pointless. Too bad they're on the other side, the rebellion could really use people that good at shaking down supplies.

His next thought, though, is a hard jolt, because even without Devon's magic memory for faces, Brutus looks across the crowd of soldiers peering above the top of the makeshift barricade and recognizes half of them. Not only the Peacekeepers couples themselves but also the scattering of civilian husbands and wives, familiar from a dozen Peacekeeper galas or fundraising events, Victory Tour lotteries or other Program-related gatherings. Most of them he knows through Petra, whose grassroots efforts in Two over the past few years have been almost entirely Peacekeeper-related.

They haven't noticed him yet. The Victors are in a line behind the Second Rebellion soldiers, with Rigel's squad guarding the rear, waiting to handle the civilian evac. The Scouts have been quiet, and Brutus doesn't need to ask how they're feeling. At least they're all too young to have former colleagues among the retired and second-twenty Peacekeepers forming the militia.

Alec stands next to him, hands splayed at his sides in the old Centre trick to combat sweaty palms. "This is a terrible idea," he says in a low voice. "But too late now."

"You got this, kid," Brutus says, laying a hand on the back of the boy's neck like he used to do with Devon when he panicked. Alec lets out a long breath and settles, squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine.

To their credit, the militia didn't immediately open fire when the rebels approached, weapons shouldered, under a flag of parley. They weren't naive enough to leave their barricade, either, but at least no one had to shoot their way in. Their leader raises himself up head and shoulders above the barricade, hands pressed flat. Brutus tries very hard not to imagine him at eighteen, kicking his classmate to the ground, but it's hard not to with the hard light of fanaticism in his eyes.

"We're not interested in your terms," Joseph Seward calls out. "Leave our district and the fighting will stop, but not before."

The rebel commander doesn't bother to argue. She nods, and the rebel lines split down the middle and move to the side, giving way to reveal Alec in the centre, flanked by the line of District 2 Victors. A ripple of surprise runs through the assembled militia, including Commander Seward, but a moment later his expression hardens.

"Alec," he says, neutral.

"Dad," Alec says to match. "I'm here to ask you to put your weapons down. Let these people evacuate the town, get everyone to safety. The quarry towns have already joined the rebels of their own free choice. More fighting only means more people will die."

"You mean like at Eagle Pass," Commander Seward says. "Good men and women died in that mountain because these rebels thought it more convenient -"

"I know, I was there," Alec snaps. "I went in when I heard the explosion and I bullied them into letting me past the blockade and I spent all night pulling people out of the mountain and putting them back together. I spent the next two weeks digging survivors out and trying to stop the bleeding. So don't lecture me about -" He stops, nostrils flaring, and takes a deep breath. "These aren't those people. The rebels aren't a monolith, there are factions, just like anywhere. They have Peacekeepers, our Peacekeepers. They saved Brutus from the Arena, they saved Enobaria from Capitol interrogators, they saved our other Victors from the Village bombing. They want to help save the district. But they can't do that if you and Mom and Uncle Ramon and all the rest of you are determined to go down with Two."

Commander Seward clenches his jaw. "And what, exactly, do you propose we do?"

This time it's Callista who steps forward, Callista who refused to fight for the rebels or aid in the cause because she can't make herself turn on the Capitol. Callista who mentored the Sewards' son in the Arena and tossed seeds on his grave after the undertakers lowered him into the ground. Brutus holds his breath.

Joseph Seward turns pale. Beside him, his wife scrambles up to join him at the barricade, eyes wide. "Callista -" Adora Seward says, choked and almost reverent. Joseph's eyes are traitorously bright.

"Of course you want to fight," Callista says, clipping the words like a mutt tearing flesh from bone. "This is our district, our home. You gave your son to the Arena for the love of it, and he sacrificed his life so its children could be safe. And those - invaders - they come and they trample the ground with their unworthy boots and think they have the right."

Brutus exchanges a nervous glance with Lyme, who shakes her head. Wait, she signs, flicking her fingers in mentor-signal, and there's nothing else to do and so he does.

"But." Callista raises her head. "There is nothing that woman would love more than an excuse to come in with her hovercrafts and her bombs and raze us to the ground. We're animals to her, and she is looking for an excuse to treat us like animals. See what they did to the Athletics Academy in District 1. Right now they're content to lock our children in the Centre and wait, but do you think they'll be patient forever if the rest of the district is in uprising? How much do you think they'll tolerate before they decide to punish you by dropping a bomb on the Residential building?"

They flinch, and Callista waves a hand at the silent wall of rebels behind her. "I'm not asking you to change sides. What I'm asking you to do is make the choice that will save lives. We sacrificed our children for seventy-five years so our people could live in peace. All you have to do is put down your weapons. The district has fallen. We need her alive to rebuild when this is over."

"Dad," Alec says, the professional demeanour cracking for the first time. "Please."

"Joseph, you can't possibly -" says Adora Seward sharply, but then she looks back at the Victors - at her son - and something in her expression breaks. "Alec, are you well?"

Alec swallows, hands curling into fists at his sides. "Yeah, Mom. Doing great. I just want this to be over."

Adora laughs, bleak and humourless, and runs a hand across her face. "Don't we all," she says, then turns to her husband. "Joseph?"

"This would not be a surrender," Commander Seward says, his voice a warning. "I am not giving my men up to be arrested and imprisoned. This is a civilian evacuation in exchange for their safety. Is that clear?"

Alec turns to the rebel commander, who nods. "Agreed," she says. "If you disarm now and come with us, that's the end of it. No charges, no arrests, we take you to safety and that's it. I can't promise that Coin's outfit will make you the same deal when they come back.

Joseph pauses, then nods once, sharp and decisive. "Soldiers, weapons down," he calls out, and Brutus wonders what the rebels think when every one of the militia step back and set their guns on the ground.

Behind him Brutus hears Selene stop one of the rebel officers, saying, "Make sure you evac medical people to look after the wounded, otherwise they'll probably insist on staying behind." A good point, and he wonders how a Junior Peacekeeper came to think of it, but then she disappears and he doesn't get the chance to ask.

Alec sags, and Brutus reaches over to clap his shoulder. "Good work, kid," he says. "You got them."

"I think Callista got them more than me," Alec says, looking over at her with open admiration and not a little awe. "But - yeah. Even if they never speak to me again, I'd rather they not be dead."

"Well, now a whole lot of people are gonna not be dead," Brutus reminds him. "There will be time for philosophical discussion after this is over." The war has spread, and Beetee's updates have made it clear that Coin's forces are spreading thin. They want to finish in Two as soon as possible so they can start their assault on the Capitol full-force. With the militias out of the way, that leaves District 2 safely in rebel hands with no more bloodshed on the horizon.

"Let's hope so," the kid says, but then one of the rebels leads him away to join the evac and that's the end of the conversation.

With the rebels the Scouts handling the evacuation, the Victors head back and wait for the hovercraft. Brutus takes a moment to look around, the peaceful country community scarred by gunfire and shrapnel, posts torn up to erect hasty barricades, the ground a mess of hundreds of bootprints and indentations from fallen bodies, and exhales.

"We did it," he says to no one and everyone in particular. "We did what we came for. We saved the district."

"Next stop, the Capitol," Claudius says, with not a little relish. He reaches over and takes Lyme's hand, lacing their fingers and holding on with a steady grip. "No pressure or anything."

"No pressure at all," Lyme says, her eyes hard. "I've been looking forward to this one."