I struggle to fall asleep, my head still buzzing with dozens of whispered conversations and plots. After several hours of tossing and turning I give up and switch on the television in the lounge, curling up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate as I flick from channel to channel, hoping to find something mind-numbing enough to put me to sleep.

The last twenty minutes of a drama involving a complicated love pentagon gets me bored, though no more tired and I flip past the ending credits to the news. The main story still seems to be about the mysterious death I saw earlier, now surrounded with suggestions of a brutal double murder, the killer still roaming free. The dead couple, a man and his wife were apparently found mostly naked in their bedroom, both with multiple knife wounds. This included one which involved the removal of a rather prominent piece of the man's anatomy which was left pinned to the bedroom door by a bloody knife. Funny how they don't seem too keen on bloodthirsty killers when it's one of their own.

I hope that this doesn't mean a greater peacekeeper presence on the streets now that I'm going to be out breaking the law tomorrow evening. I mentally remind myself to call home in the morning to let them know I'll be staying an additional day again. Conveniently, there's an awards ceremony and gallery viewing for Capitol architects tomorrow night that Clara and I are theoretically attending. The plan loosely involves her making an appearance there, then sneaking out to meet me after I finish my jaunt in the sewers and for us both to return there, as though I had to leave temporarily for fresh air. Simple, easy, good alibi. I can already see several ways it could go wrong, but it's better than any other ideas we had.

I turn the TV off as they start showing footage of the bloody crime scene and watch out the window at the myriad of lights, bright and still, small and flickering, letting their erratic movements and the thrum of the city lull me eventually into a fitful sleep.

~xXx~

To my delight my companion for my long afternoon wait is a friendly and familiar face. Royan Coulter, who recently lost his job Mr Redfern's construction company after his brother was discovered supplying Clara with false ID cards. Both brothers grew up in the Capitol's "slums" and had lived on the streets in years gone past, stealing or running errands for low-level criminals to survive. Royan had got his job through Clara who he apparently met at some sculpture contest her father was judging. His artwork, built entirely from scraps collected (illegally) from various garbage dumps didn't win the prize but did ultimately lead him to a chance to escape poverty. Until now.

I listen quietly while he vents about the long hours, poor conditions and the fact he wasn't paid for the two months of work before he was fired. The company had been employed to construct the next three Games arenas, and while he'd mostly been working on the underground—a labyrinth of passageways and mechanical controls to allow climate manipulation and insertion of various mutts, as well as the launch-rooms I still find myself in in nightmares sometimes—he had got a chance to look around some of the workings and had overheard more in the planning stages.

He seems almost gleeful to let the highly classified information slip, and I'm just as happy to have it; our district could use any advantage we can get. So I let my mind absorb his comments, that the 51st Games will take place in a swamp-like biome whose foul stinking mud continually seeped through the ceilings into the underground passageways and kept gumming up the machinery. That the 52nd Games will probably be a generic forest that focuses more on interesting mutts than an unusual terrain (not that the builders got any information on the mutts, but he assures me the arena itself will be quite plain). More importantly, the 50th Games, the final hurrah for our current Head Gamemaker, who has already announced his retirement, will be a compilation effort, with tributes to the previous 24 years of Games.

Some of these will be obvious, Royan assures me, while others will be quite subtle, repeated concepts or ideas, alongside the more blatant copies of various mutts, plants, weapons or terrain. He does refuse to go into specifics as he suddenly remembers that telling someone, especially a victor who will be mentoring tributes in these Games could get him in serious trouble. More serious, he thinks, than getting caught in the sewers while sabotaging Capitol property.

As the long shadows I can see through the small window start to fade into the general night Royan stands and stretches out, offering me a hand up. A few deep breaths calms me enough to stop my gloved hands shaking and once I pull the black mask over my face I feel surprisingly ready. A gentle clink and a slow creak break the silence as Royan opens the access cover in the corner of the warehouse and flicks a small flashlight on as he leads the way down the steps. I follow, my footsteps ringing gently against the metal stairs until we reach the hard concrete walkway.

Calling up my mental map, I take the lead, clicking my own flashlight on as we make our way through the dark, foul-smelling tunnels. For the most part it's bearable; neither of us is tall enough to hit the ceiling, the face-masks help block the worst of the smell and there are surprisingly few rats. Twice we have to change routes to avoid workers, though Royan assures me with a whisper that they are almost certainly avoxes and wouldn't be able to tell anyone about us even if they chose to.

The transmission box is exactly where the map marked it and, once I quickly detach the alarm trigger, opens easily to the expected tangle of wires and breakers.

"Three minutes," Royan whispers when I glance at him, little beads of sweat starting to form around the eye-holes of his mask. He counts down the time while staring at his watch and as soon as he says go I slice through the three appropriate wires with a rubber-handled cutter, then quickly pull a plug from one breaker link and jam it into another. He flinches as the box throws sparks, then heaves a sigh of relief as the whining hum of electricity goes silent.

"Ok, good, anything else? Otherwise let's go."

I nod, glancing over my work once to make sure there are no hairs or scraps of clothing left to identify us, then follow his bulk back through the twisting tunnels, nudging him left or right as the necessary turns arrive. Royan insists on going up the stairs to the warehouse first in case the peacekeepers have somehow traced where the blackout started and the possible route through the sewers to here. I try to explain that it would be nearly impossible, but decide to save my breath for keeping up with him as my scarred right lung starts aching from the effort.

We quickly toss our gear into the waiting empty bags, both of which he hefts with ease, and leads me out, down the road to a waiting car two blocks away. The driver, the surly tattooed woman from last night sneers at our relieved smiles and waves at us to get in, jamming her foot on the gas pedal before I've even reached for my buckle.

"So, all good for everyone else Cordenia?" Royan asks cheerfully.

"Silence," she snaps back, glaring at him and me both. "She isn't cleared to know anything more and you would do well to not ask so many questions."

Once she returns her focus to driving Royan rolls his eyes and snubs his nose in her direction, forcing me to mask my laugh with a cough. This earns us another glare in the mirror, and I spend the rest of the ride watching out the window in silence.

~xXx~

I wince as a bag hits my stomach the moment I step out of the car.

"Quickly, don't stand around gaping," the nasty Cordenia hisses, shoving me aside. She grabs the arm of the man who shoved the bag at me and pulls him and Royan away whispering furiously. Curious, I pretend to struggle with the bag clip as I try to listen in, until a familiar voice calls my name.

"Wiress, I'm glad to see you back safe. No, not here, I'll take you somewhere you can change. We need to move though."

Clara's small hand clamps around my wrist and leads me away from the car port, up a narrow flight of stairs into a well-lit hallway and into a bedroom full of animal-print drapes.

"In here, Tessie won't mind."

She helps me change from my plain, practical clothing into the sheer silk dress, then nudges me into a chair and hands me a pair of complicated lace-up sandals while she scoops my hair into some sort of twisted knot.

"I know the blackouts worked as planned," she murmurs as she leans over my head, jamming jeweled pins into my hair. "But I haven't heard from Perry yet and he promised to call the moment he was clear. I just hope-"

She breaks off as a loud hammering echoes through the hallway. We both peer out the bedroom door and Clara gasps, running forward to help Terry Coulter as he staggers in, his eyes wide with fear. As he turns I see a smear of blood across his cheekbone, though there's no obvious wound. Clara reaches out to check it and he grabs her hand so hard that she yelps.

"Not mine," he gasps out. "Where's…Cordenia? Need….help."

The man who came to check on the noise scurries back to find the tattooed woman while Clara helps Terry sit against the wall.

"Is Perry ok? Tell me, please-"

Terry puts a shaking finger to her lips to silence her.

"He's…he'll be fine. It's Gamicus…we should have…been clear."

He takes a few deep breaths and clenches his fists, trying to get his body under control and his thoughts in order.

"We were…well, we were somewhere we weren't legally allowed to be, obtaining something. I won't say more than that. The PKs should have been busy dealing with the smokebombs but I guess they saw us or something, coming out. One of them shot at us, at the car as we were driving away. Gamicus got hit, down here," he gestures generally to his stomach and swallows heavily before continuing.

"I mean, we can't take him to a hospital, at least not yet. And the car, they'll have traced the car"

He sits back upright, arms reaching for support as he tries to stand. Clara helps drag him to his feet and waves me over to help support Terry's other side.

"Do you have the car?" she asks as she unlatches the door. "Can you take us there? I'll think of something. I'll say I was mugged and Gammy tried to protect me. He's my cousin, I have to help him!"

We stagger out the door, ignoring the loud voices coming down the hall behind us. I know they'll try and stop us, and it seems Terry does too as he slams the door shut and kicks a tub full of weedy flowers across the front, before leading us down to the badly-parked car.

I glance back as the engine roars to life and Terry powers us away to see a crowd of angry faces yelling at our retreating vehicle. "They wouldn't save him," Terry mutters dully as he drives. "I know it. Andronicus would use his death to whip up more support, but he'd still be dead."

Clara starts to object, then stops, eyes still wide but starting to lose some of that innocent fervor. I wonder if she's finally starting to realize where people like us stand in the eyes of the rebels she's been helping.

Terry insists on parking a few blocks away just in case someone did recognize the car's number-plate and it takes both of us to stop Clara attracting attention by running. The man at the door refuses to let us in and demands to know why Terry didn't bring Cordenia as instructed. A loud thud and a squeal of pain is followed by the door swinging open and Clara throws herself at Perry, who is rubbing his fist. The door-guard he punched sits up groggily rubbing his jaw.

"You'll regret that Gould," he slurs, but doesn't stop us as we hurry inside. We follow the narrow, brightly-lit corridor to a large open room full of high metal cabinets and round wooden tables. Gamicus is curled in the far corner, a heavy roll of cloth pressed against his stomach. From the doorway I can see it's already soaked through with blood. He moans, his face unnaturally pale as Clara hurries to his side.

"Go, all of you. Go, leave me. They're coming."

"We have to get you out of here, get you to a hospital," Clara counters, trying to drag him upright. He groans again as she tugs on his arm and huddles tighter to the blood-soaked cloth. From what I've seen in the Games, unless he gets help soon he can't afford to lose much more blood. I force myself to walk over and kneel on his other side, hoping that some brilliant thought will jump into my mind that will help save him. I don't look up immediately when I hear a clatter of running feet coming down the hall, assuming it's more of the Capitol rebels come to help their friend.

"Everyone FREEZE!" an authoritative voice commands. Three peacekeepers in their white body armor march in, weapons already drawn. There's a moment of shocked silence before Perry, half-hidden in the darker corner of the room, wrenches something from his pocket and fires. I dive to the floor, clapping hands over my ears as the gunfire erupts, and from the corner of my eye see two of the white-clad men drop. The third, on one knee behind one of the metal cabinets, returns fire, and Perry roars in pain as a bullet slams into his right arm. Swapping hands, he continues to return fire until his gun clicks empty. The peacekeeper, who dived back into cover re-emerges, now the only one armed.

"NO!"

I watch helplessly as Clara dives in front of her boyfriend, arms spread wide. "Don't shoot, I'm-"

Her cry is cut short as three bullets rip through her chest. I cover my face with a scream as Perry's head explodes into a gush of red and gray, spattering me and Gamicus. It takes all my willpower to look up, where three more peacekeepers are standing in the doorway, arguing. I guess they didn't know Perry's gun was empty and that he wasn't a threat. A gasping, gurgling sound draws my attention and I crawl across the floor to Clara, her red-brown hair, lightly freckled skin, and white-and-gold dress drenched horribly in blood. She tries to raise her hand and her eyes, wide with pain, lock on mine as she tries to speak. She manages three gasping, choking breaths and as I bend closer trying to think of some way to stop the bleeding I hear her force out a whisper.

"Free."

I hold her body until strange hands drag me upright and force me against the wall, looping my wrists with painful metal cuffs.

As they lead me out of the building I hear a dull voice behind me say, "No good, he's gone too. Just the three of them."

~xXx~

I finally notice the blood on my hands as they are released from the cuffs and I throw them out to catch my fall against the shiny silver table. Inhaling sharply, I realize the smell of it is all over me, and the unpleasantly familiar panic rises, blotting out everything else.

After some minutes or hours I realize someone is talking at me, or about me.

"I don't know if she's just being stubborn or she really has gone mad, but she hasn't responded to a single question and keeps going on about allies and Careers, bloody knives and weasels running around bushes."

The world starts to come back into focus, a tall man with short, dark hair and cold eyes glares at me.

"Maybe with the right encouragement-"

"No, not yet," another voice replies, also male and cold and strangely familiar. "I don't need this getting any more out of hand."

Dark-hair in front of me sighs and slams his fists into the table, making me jump.

"One last time," he growls at me. "And I suggest you answer this time. What do you know of this group of criminals? Why were you with them? What were they planning? Who else was with them?"

My mind swirls, and to my astonishment an answer falls in place. It was a good alibi after all.

"I..I was with Clara…we were at…at…architect's gala. She heard…heard Gamicus…cousin…hurt, went to see. Her parents…didn't…didn't want, we snuck out…he was…bleeding and then…guns firing-"

"Enough lies. You were all involved in the robbery of a highly classified military development facility. We traced the car that was seen fleeing the scene of the crime. You were involved in a shootout that resulted in the death of five Capitol citizens, and the severe wounding of another."

"I…not…I wasn't…just went…with Clara…Gamicus hurt.."

He leans forward and snarls into my face, "Who else was involved?"

"I…I don't know."

Belatedly I realize they must have Terry, or at least know he was involved as they traced his car. Probably the man who was guarding the door too. I remember the peacekeeper saying there were three of us, so there's no point trying to protect them.

"I…Terry Coulter…found us…told us…took us there. Other man…stranger…door. Perry-"

The image of his head exploding, spattering me in blood and brains resurfaces and I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms, letting the pain help clear my mind.

"Who were they with before that? You know them, who are their other friends?"

I'm half-tempted to give them Andronicus' name but that would drag Odelia into the mess and I like her too much for that. I let my body heave with another round of sobs, a part genuinely grieving for my dear young friend, while the other part, the darker part helps me find another good answer. I settle on someone they must surely already know about.

"I…Terry's…brother Royan…others….don't know names…didn't like me…didn't like district...district people."

"More lies!" my interrogator snarls again. "I will have it out of you, one way or the-"

"Perhaps she is telling all she knows," the cold voice interrupts, and suddenly I realize why it's familiar.

President Snow walks slowly around into my view. "It's not unbelievable that Wiress here was merely following the young lady she was told to follow. Maybe she does know more, maybe she doesn't. If it weren't for certain events yesterday we might hold her and encourage her to find out more, but as it stands-"

He shakes his head slowly. "No, I can't afford any more victors being seen out of line. You people should be grateful; you only live through my mercy and the mercy of our founders. We give you a chance to better yourselves, to provide an example to the ill-educated unruly masses that inhabit the districts, that even they, with acceptance of our guidance and adherence to our laws, can become civilized.

Instead you insist on throwing it away to pursue your childishly stubborn insistence of freedom and independence. Let me tell you something Miss Ling, there is no such thing as freedom. We all exist to serve this nation. Those of us who understand that better and who have been graced with the knowledge and authority to rule live here, to help guide others to their proper place."

His words echo alongside the whisper in my mind, Clara's last word, gasped out with her dying breath. Free.

He rubs his head again. "I have let you victors have too much leeway. I mistakenly assumed, as part of your transformation through the Hunger Games, you had come to understand a part of this. Rest assured I will not continue to make the same mistake in future. Vivianus, prepare her for release. Have your men take her to the train station and send her home on the first one. I assume you realize you will no longer be returning here for your regular visits."

He turns and walks towards the heavy metal door, hands clasped behind his back, and I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The darker part of me is still holding back the memory of the deaths of my friends, and for now I'm just glad I've escaped any other punishment.

"Miss Ling." Snow's voice, from the doorway crushes down my internal relief. "I trust you will not be mentioning the details of tonight's events with anyone?"

I nod slowly. He turns to my interrogator, who is still glaring at me, grinding his jaw.

"Vivianus, I'm sure if Miss Ling remembered any more details she would, as a good honest citizen of Panem, share them with you. But perhaps we should leave her with a little reminder to keep better company in the future? I believe it is commonly held that a Capitol citizen is equal in worth to a thousand district rabble. If you would be so kind as to contact Pontius Vellum and have him add an additional five thousand entries to the District Three reaping bowl for the name of Balia Ling?"

He paces back to look me in the eye, and to my shame I unconsciously cower from him.

"Perhaps your sister will not be reaped. After all there are a lot of people in your district and I hear that tesserae rates have increased alarmingly since the factory mishap. Perhaps she will be reaped, but some brave volunteer will surface and she will be freed. Perhaps she will be reaped and you will mentor her, likely to her death if your district's record is anything to go by. Regardless of the outcome, I hope this will serve as a reminder to who your loyalty belongs to. I shall see you in a few months for the Games."

With a final nod he stalks out, leaving me afraid and broken once more. As I feared, my actions have brought down the wrath of the Capitol upon the one person I care most about in the world. I have also lost three of the few friends I had here, a good, kind, naive girl who only wanted to make the world a better place and two young men who tried to help her. Staring once more at the red smears on my hands I know that even if someday I find freedom from the Games and the Capitol, I will never feel free of the guilt.