Tell me no more stories
And I'll tell you no lies
No one wants to hurt me
But everybody tries

The lights were still on when the younger ones started to show signs of sleepiness. With no clock in the cellblock, it was impossible to tell if it was past the time when they were supposed to turn off, but Robin Hoare had a sneaking suspicion it was.

So, doors all open, lights left on, no field work—had they really been all but abandoned by their guards? Was there even a person charged with delivering their food, or was that hooked up to some fancy, automatic Capitol system?

It mattered little, she supposed. The important thing was that it seemed there would no longer be soldiers entering the cellblock for the near future.

That should have been a happy thought. It wasn't. Robin was seventeen, and seventeen years in Panem was more than enough to learn life here never improved, it was just a turn for the worse disguised as change for the better. At least the guards had been devils she knew.

Up high on the balcony, she could see each and every prisoner beneath her, and her narrowed eyes watched carefully as they interacted amongst themselves. Where others might have seen children, she saw only threats. The younger ones were all right, as were those who kept only to themselves, but the moment they showed a desire to control more than their own lives, Robin added them to her mental list.

Saiph Sarabande was at the top, of course. Obnoxious, arrogant, and an idiot, if his behaviour was anything to go by. Yet he was somehow still likeable, at least to those too blind to see his faults. From where she stood, Robin could see the full extent of his following, which included two of her sisters. How he'd managed to ensnare them was beyond her, but the thought made her fists clench.

Jabez Smithfield followed his new friend. The boy may have been quieter, but Robin didn't like the way he automatically took charge in any given situation, as though it was his birthright. It may have benefited them so far, but how long until Smithfield started throwing his weight around? The self-sacrificial martyr act couldn't last.

Then there was the newest addition: Carlyn Colbert. Re-entering the cellblock laughing, Thisbe Von Patten at her side, Ardelia Reid and Camille Colbert at their backs. The young girl was loud enough to rival the larger group that had formed by the washroom. A move born of a desire to draw attention. She would be one to keep watching.

The game was power, and while there only seemed to be three major players, Robin made sure to keep an eye on Felix Twisp and Glass as well. Both were on their own, and both showed a particular distaste for following. Add to that their natural charisma, even if Twisp was reserved and Glass was an asshole, and they could very quickly become dangerous. Too often those who chose not to follow decided it would be better to lead.

Besides, she didn't like the look of either of them. Twisp, she knew, had already had a complaint filed against him by Thalia Silverlake; the guards, of course, had ignored it, but from the way the girl looked at him over her shoulder, Robin knew she had cause to be worried, and in turn it worried her. The man was the tallest amongst them, and one of the strongest as well, likely able to overpower nearly anyone with brute strength. The moment he realised that would spell doom for all of them, and Robin's palms grew sweaty just thinking about it. Glass, on the other hand, had less muscle, but twice the ego, and an eloquence that could rival Saiph's silver tongue. People like him took pleasure in convincing others they were less than human, and Robin had not run all the way from 9 to find herself stuck with another repulsive, depraved, perverted excuse for a—

"Robin."

There was a presence at her side, and a voice, gentle but firm, a strong, silk rope thrown to her so she might pull herself out of her thoughts. Robin knew what further instructions would come without their needing to be said.

Close your eyes. Deep breath. Reach out and feel your surroundings. Plant yourself in the present.

She followed each step to the letter, fingers wrapping around the top bar of the balcony, grasping for a familiar sensation. But the metal was not cool and hard as she remembered; it was warm, and slick, and smelled of rust.

Blood.

Her hand jerked back, as though burned, and her eyes shot open as she retreated from the bar, straight into the person at her side. That couldn't have been real; was she hallucinating again? Trapped in another waking nightmare?

"Robin."

The same calm voice as before, and this time, Robin looked towards the speaker. Two blue eyes gazed back at her, serene like the still waters she'd dreamed of seeing in 4.

She latched onto that old hope. Maybe now it was less than impossible, but at times, it was all she had. That, and her sisters.

Ashna raised her hand as Robin focused in on her, their silent gesture for may I touch you? Robin nodded, breathing deeply as Ashna took her hand in hers.

"You drew blood," she said, opening Robin's fingers to see her palm pierced by four crescent moon cuts. "Again."

Robin looked at her nails, long and unkempt and coated in red, and she scolded herself for instantly feeling relieved. Hurting herself wasn't something she did anymore, for the others' sake.

But at least the blood hadn't been in her head.

Ashna let Robin's hand drop, uttering a small sigh. "Twiddle your thumbs. Jiggle your leg. Grit your teeth. Anything else but this."

She nodded. "Sorry."

"It's a reflex, Robin, not your fault. I just don't want you to keep getting hurt."

"I won't. It's just been . . ." Her eyes flitted to the boy in the corner down below, long black hair not quite masking his smug expression as he watched the other prisoners. She looked away. ". . . stressful."

"I could get Ryla and Millet, if you'd like."

Bless her, she thought Robin was only worried about their other sisters.

As she should have been. Robin bit her lip, pain in payment for the guilt she now felt. Ashna didn't fail to notice.

"Thumbs," she said, taking Robin's hands and pushing them towards her chest. "Twiddle them. I'll be back with the others in a minute."

"You don't have to—"

She was already off. Robin had to smile at that. Without her sisters, she never would have lasted more than a week in here.

Speaking of, there was one she had been unforgivably ignoring.

"And how are you doing?" she asked, stepping away from the balcony and back into the cell at the end of the second floor row. Two identical cots sat against the walls inside, one empty, and one filled by a girl who looked up at Robin's entrance.

"Fine," Winnow said, wrapping her arms further around her knees as if that could hide the lie. Before Robin could prod her further, the younger girl's gaze darted to Robin's blood-streaked palms. "Your hands . . ."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, sitting on the unoccupied cot. "I've had much worse."

It was the truth, but Winnow still looked at her like she was hiding something. The girl's dark eyes and quiet demeanor hid a mind far too intelligent for the rest of them to keep up with.

"You're worried," she whispered into her knees. "I though, without the guards . . . are things going to go south?"

Robin opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated. Could she really promise everything would be okay, when their fellow prisoners could be rebels or trained soldiers? They had a few skills of their own, sure, but how could they compare to someone stronger? Like Felix Twisp, or Saiph Sarabande, or even Glass . . .

By the time she thought up a response for Winnow, her silence had already said too much. The younger girl's head sunk lower into her knees, arms wrapped around herself like a vise. Robin thought she saw her shoulders shake.

She bit the inside of her cheek again—idiot, she was supposed to know Winnow was especially sensitive. Her misstep had to be fixed, but the moment she stood to approach her sister, they were interrupted by a much louder, more dynamic presence.

"Winnie!" Ryla entered the cell like a tornado, unsettling everything in her path as she blew past Robin and collapsed on the other cot, forcing Winnow to lower her legs so Ryla could put her head in the younger girl's lap. "Haven't been cooped up here this whole time, have you?"

Winnow flinched at the unexpected contact, but for whatever reason, she had always seemed more at ease with Ryla than anyone else. Still, she couldn't find the words to answer before Ryla shifted her attention, smirking at Robin.

"Mother Hen. Apparently you decide our bedtime now?"

"She didn't decide anything." Ashna appeared, arms crossed and lips pursed, in the cell doorway, Millet at her side. "I wanted you up here before you did something stupid."

"Ash, dear, we all know you don't have a mind of your own. Besides, what if I wanted to do something stupid?" Ryla's grin was devilish as she winked up at Winnow. "Sure, that Nine boy isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but I'm sure he's got a nice set of abs under that jumpsuit, and that's saying nothing of his—"

"Ryla, stop." Robin shook her head as Ashna and Millet came to sit on either side of her. "You don't have to do this. Not anymore."

"I don't have the foggiest idea what you're talking about. Do what? We were just down there to make friends, weren't we, Mill?"

Millet gave Robin a smile, much more cheerful and genuine than Ryla's. "Yeah, it was great! They're all so cool and nice, I—"

"Mill likes a Nine boy too. The little twelve-year-old," Ryla interjected, giggling as Millet blushed.

"He's really sweet!" she protested. "And his sister is awesome, so fearless, you should have seen her confront those older girls. She wasn't scared at all."

"Did she have a reason to be?" Robin asked without thinking, hands already tightening back into fists.

Ryla rolled her eyes. "No. Calm down, Mother Hen. No more guards, remember? You don't have to keep seeing everyone as a threat."

"Then you don't have to keep flirting with everybody."

"Ever think that I might do it just because I like it?"

Ryla was good, but Robin still knew it was a lie. No one with their background could like that. Ryla would never admit it, preferring to pretend she enjoyed doing something she was forced to rather than regretting it along with the rest of them, but there was no need for that now. The guards had gone.

Regardless, Robin knew Ryla well enough to know giving her orders wouldn't get the anywhere. "Look, you can do whatever you'd like," she said, trying not to sound huffy. "I just don't want you doing anything you don't want to for us."

Ryla sat up, sliding her hand under the mattress. "Funny, that never seemed to be a problem for you before." She withdrew a small, rectangular package from beneath the cot, smiling as she offered it around their small circle. "Crackers, anyone?"

Robin drew a sharp breath, eyes darting to the doorway. No one could see them up there, but still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Put that away," she hissed, even as Millet reached out a hand to take the crackers. "We had dinner tonight. Save them for when we don't."

"You really think they're serious?" Winnow, lap now free, curled back into her fetal position, chin pressed against her knees. "You think the rations are going to dwindle until . . ."

"I just think we shouldn't risk it. Don't worry, we'll be fine—thanks to Ryla," Robin added, an offering of peace to her older sister.

Ryla only shrugged, but Robin could tell she appreciated the words. "Don't mention it. Won't help much anyway, if it really comes down to it. People will kill for whatever they can get, once they start going hungry."

The certainty in her voice and the sudden hardening of her expression was alarming, but then Robin had to take her history into account. Ryla rarely talked about her life before she'd come to the tavern—they never called it home, because that wasn't what it was, and they never called it a brothel, because that was too close what it was—but Robin knew she'd come off the streets, unlike the rest of them. And she'd come willingly.

Ryla had joked about it, and could continue to do so all she liked, but Robin knew it had been bad out there. Bad enough that selling herself to a woman known for turning young girls into prostitutes had been the lesser of two evils.

Oh, but according to Ceres, they weren't whores. They were Hoares, sweet little waitresses for the Hoarefrost Inn, one of the most profitable taverns in 9's north, where "we may harden your wheat stalks, but we also cool your drinks!"

Ceres had thought she'd been so clever with that, when she couldn't even spell her own tavern name properly. But it hadn't mattered, in the end; the 'Frost had all melted away.

Yet here they were, trapped once more, and from the look on Ryla's face, there was still the threat of others taking advantage of them.

Robin didn't even need to bite her cheek this time; the phantom pain on the back of her neck was enough. Skin prickled and stung right below the nape of her neck, where she knew a miniscule "H" had been seared, to be carried with her until the day she died. A brand. A logo, as though they were nothing more than products to be bought and sold.

In her mind's eye, she saw Ceres. Her superior smirk, and the smirk of every man who had ever touched her. She'd rid herself of them, but now there was Glass, who carried that same air about him, and the others—who knew what they'd do?

No. She was done. Seventeen long years she'd waited to take the reins in her life, and after everything they'd been through, she wasn't giving them up now.

"So we don't tell anyone about this," Robin said, gesturing to the mattress under which Ryla had hidden her stash of extra rations. "And if they find out, we fight."

Millet frowned. "I'm sure it won't come to that."

"Maybe not. But just in case."

"We don't know the first thing about fighting," Winnow said.

"No, but Ryla does."

The girl in question laughed, perhaps remembering their few failed training sessions back when they'd been at the tavern. Robin ha been desperate to learn something that would make her feel less powerless, and Ryla had been surprisingly willing to teach her, but Ceres had discovered them too soon, and that had been the end of it. "Nothing fancy. Never did us much good."

"We're still here, aren't we?"

She did pause at that. "I suppose so. All right, Mother Hen, I can teach you all a thing or two, but I'm not going to stop my business with Sarabande."

"Whatever you'd like."

Ryla smiled. "It's not about what I like. It's never been about what I like. It's about what'll keep us alive, and as it stands, he looks likeliest to be the leader of whatever the hell goes on in here. It's good to get in on that early. You could help with that, you know."

"I can't."

The words came out shakier than Robin had intended them, and she cursed herself for it. Now was not the time to be weak. She'd spent enough of her life holding herself back, until Ashna had supported her and Ryla had taught her some tricks. How to fight, and how to seduce, so she'd be ready for any occasion.

She'd done well, for a while. But once she'd gotten it into her head that she had left that life behind, she couldn't go back to it. Not when she still dreamed of freedom.

"I'm not asking you to sleep with anybody. Panem knows I don't plan on doing it—I'm pretty sure, for all his blustering, Sarabande has never so much as held a girl's hand that wasn't his cousin." Ryla nudged Winnow at her side, giggling before turning back to Robin. "You just need to get close."

"With Smithfield?" The thought turned Robin's stomach. He seemed decent, sure, but it was always those ones that were the worst. She'd almost rather take her chances with Twisp or Glass.

"No, I'm pretty sure he's under Sarabande's thumb—at least, for now. Let me worry about them. But did you see the new group that cropped up?"

"Carlyn and Camille Colbert, Thisbe Von Patten, Ardelia Reid," Robin recited without hesitation, a hint of surprise in her tone. If Ryla had noticed them too, she was more observant than she let on.

"They might be worrisome."

"I'll keep an eye on them, then," Robin said, giving Ryla a small smile of thanks. She didn't trust that group much more than the others; all of the girls looked ready for a fight, and judging by the way Robin had occasionally caught Carlyn and Thisbe glancing their way, she might not be entirely safe from the same unwanted attention Ryla got from Sarabande, but it was still the better alternative. Sometimes, her older sister surprised her with her thoughtfulness.

"I can help as well." Ashna, on the other hand, was no surprise as she chimed in, straightening protectively at Robin's side. "Camille Colbert and I are the same age, she might be more willing to talk to me."

"And what can I do?" Millet asked, bouncing slightly on the cot.

Robin smiled at the younger girl's eagerness. "Just keep doing what you're doing. Make friends with the younger ones, see what they think of all this."

"And don't forget to mention we've got the more competent leader, if they've yet to pick a side," Ryla added, winking at Robin. "Numbers can make or break a fight."

At her side, Winnow stirred, pulling her head out of her knees long enough to murmur, "I'll help, too."

Robin could feel her expression softening just looking at the tiny girl. Winnow may have been sixteen, but she had always been considered their youngest sister; Millet was a completely separate case, bouncy and bubbly, untouched by the hardships of their lives, more of a best friend than a relative. She'd had her fair share of suffering as well, but not to the extent of the rest of them, and none had reacted more strongly than Winnow. Robin would rather seduce every prisoner in this cellblock before she made her younger sister step out of her comfort zone.

She opened her mouth to say as much, but Ryla beat her to the punch. "You, my dear Winnie, have the most important job of all. You have to stay here."

Despite looking like she'd very much enjoy that, Winnow swallowed hard and said, "I'm not a kid, Ry."

"Would I give a kid the most important job?"

"I can . . . talk to people too."

"I know." Ryla shuffled closer to Winnow, putting her arm around the younger girl's shoulders. Robin marvelled at the sight; even she couldn't do that without making Winnow jump. "But Winnie, someone's got to stay here to watch our stash. We can't have anyone rooting around and finding it. You've kept quiet up 'til now, no one will think twice if you stay in here. If Millet stays, she'll attract friends like flies."

"Are you saying I'm not friendly."

"I'm saying you're an antisocial little hermit and you like it that way. Or am I wrong?"

"Ryla," Ashna said, her tone meant to scold, but, to everyone's surprise, Winnow uttered a quiet chuckle.

"Yeah, okay. As long as it helps."

"Excellent." Ryla clapped Winnow on the back, looking over at Ashna with an eyebrow raised. The older girl shook her head and turned away, much to Ryla's amusement. She was smirking as she turned back to Robin. "So, have we missed anything, Mother Hen?"

"Just keep yourselves safe," Robin said, looking at each girl in turn as they faced her. "And don't be afraid. You're the strongest, bravest girls I know. We got ourselves out once—we can do it again."

Ryla smirked, though her eyes were lit with genuine appreciation. "Remember, you can't go burning this place down until after we're out of it."

Robin gave her an identical smile. "That's the plan."

Ryla clapped her hands. "Wonderful. Firecrackers on three?"

It was her silly team name for them, but Robin appreciated it, especially as each girl put her hands in the middle of their circle, giggling as they whispered, "Firecrackers!" No one flinched as their fingers brushed against each other; on this night, they weren't Hoares, or whores, or anything else Ceres and District 9 had made them. Ryla's words had imbued them all with an optimism Robin hadn't felt since she'd stood basking in the warmth of flames on that dark night so many weeks ago.

They'd freed themselves then; they could sure as hell do it again.

For this freedom
I have given all I had
For this darkness
I gave my light
For this wisdom
I have lost my innocence
Take my petals
And cover me with the night

Note: Thank you for reading. I decided to put this update out early since my schedule is changing once more. My weekends are shifting from Saturday/Sunday to Wednesday/Thursday, so updates will be coming every Wednesday or Thursday instead. Sorry for the confusion.