Cecelia:

I wake up screaming.

Cora rushes in, her dressing robe wrapped tightly around her thin waist. She gathers me up in under the cream-colored comforter and silk sheets, stroking my hair and whispering that it'll be alright, it was just a dream, just a dream. I whimper to her about Caesar Flickerman interviewing me in a room filled with roses and lilacs, how he asked me about Rowenna, and then he was Rowenna, and she changed to Loomer, who changed to Luckie, who became Lil. And the girl from 12 grinned at me, her mouth pouring blood, her teeth as sharp as razors under the hot sun.

I calm down enough after a few minutes to sip the hot jasmine tea an attendant brings me. Cora gets off the bed and tells me she'll be back again if I need her. I know she's telling the truth. She's in the cabin next to mine in the Victor's car. She's been here three times tonight.

I try to apologize as she leaves, but Cora just gives me a gently withering look as she pulls the door shut.

I pull the curtains back on the window and watch the dark streaks of wilderness flash by, illuminated for the briefest moments by the train lights. Eventually I fall back against the pillows and drift off to sleep under the weight of sheer exhaustion.

It's only the pleasant female voice chiming that we're two hours from District 8 that draws me out of bed in the late morning sunlight. I pull on a tunic and trousers, leaving my hair down and feet bare. I look in the mirror. I could almost pass for the girl who came to the Capitol a few weeks and forever ago.

I pull my hair back and walk out of the cabin.

Cora and Agrippina are enjoying a late brunch. Well, Agrippina is at least, judging from the piles of food on her plate and her nonstop chattering about all the social events she's been invited to once she returns from the 'backwaters' and wondering if she'll have time to get a full hair-face-body makeover. Cora sits across from her, pushing her eggs around her plate as she vaguely nods at Agrippina's commentary.

"Where's Woof?" I ask as I walk into the cabin.

"With Loomer," says Cora.

I sit. Agrippina asks if I'm excited to be home. I ignore her in favor of heaping my plate with bacon and sausages and hot cakes. Cora reaches under the table and squeezes my leg, then leaves me to my breakfast.

I make the decision as I wipe the last of the maple syrup off my plate with a bit of toast.

"I'm going to see Loomer," I say as I push my chair away from the table.

"We'll be there in just over an hour!" exclaims Agrippina with a touch of disapproval. "We have to get you washed and changed and prepped! There's nothing we can do for your nails, but your hair looks like something nested in it so we'll simply have to-"

"Cecelia," says Cora, cutting across our escort. "I'm not sure that's wise."

I give her a brief smile. "I'm not sure either," I say. I turn and head down the length of the train.

The funeral car is directly behind the engine. It's frigid, not like the chill of a Fog Town winter but a clean, chemical cold. The walls are stark white, lightly dusted with frost. My breath rises in front of my face in a fine mist. I wish I had thought to bring a coat, but I don't plan to stay here long.

A box of white pine sits in the center of the car, polished to a shine but otherwise unadorned. Woof sits on a stool next to it, a half-empty bottle of wine in his hands, a few more empties scattered around at his feet. One wrinkled hand is resting on the head of the casket. His head droops down to his chest, but his eyes flicker up at me when I enter.

"What are you doing here?" he asks in a voice less slurred than I expected.

I make myself look him in the eye. We're both Victors now. "I came to say good-bye. I won't have another chance until he's gone and buried."

He grunts. "Don't know what rights you think you have-"

"I have every right," I say. "He was my district partner, and he was my friend."

Woof pinches the bridge of his nose. "Then say your piece and get out."

I walk to the opposite side of the casket and place a hand on the cold wood.

"Thank you Loomer, for all you did for me in the arena. You were brave, and you were good. You completed the Quest with honor. No knight could have been better."

I lean down and give the lid a kiss. Woof is looking at me with eyes colder than this car.

"Will you ever forgive me?" I ask.

"Yes," he says. "But not for a long time."

I nod and walk out of the car with slow, deliberate steps. Only after the door is shut and I'm safe in the wardrobe car do I sink down around piles of silk and linen and let myself sob.

Just over an hour later, my eyes are dry and lined with dark make-up, my hair is piled on top of my head in an elegant swoop of curls, I'm dressed in a sky-blue dress with white gloves dripping with pearls, and we're rolling into District 8.

Cora stands near the door as I walk into the lounge. She smiles at me softly.

"Try to make good memories," is all she says before the train comes to a smooth stop and the door flies open.

The swell of noise nearly blows me backwards. Agrippina walks out first, followed by Woof, then Cora, and then myself. The train station in the Clear is packed with nearly two thousand people. Many of them are waving tiny flags with the number '8' printed on them. They're all looking at me, their voices mingling in a storm of cheers, and I feel like I'm caught in the beams of a thousand spotlights.

The first face I look for is Da's, and his absence is like a disjointed chord in a familiar song. I bite down on my tongue as the crowd pushes forward.

And then none of it matters because I'm on the platform and Kerry is running at me, her screams rising above the sound of the crowd. Cameras are flashing and a microphone is shoved into my face but I ignore it and rush forward, my arms outstretched. And then Kerry in them, my face is pressed into her hair and my arms are wrapped around her little body in a grip that will never, ever let go.

"Celia!" she screams. "Celia, Celia, you're back, you came back."

A massive force from behind nearly lifts me into the air as strong arms wrap around my shoulders and squeeze. Carl is sobbing into my hair, saying something that I can't even begin to distinguish. I wrap one arm around him and draw my brother and sister close, refusing to let go even though the crowd is applauding and chanting my name. It's only when Cora gently touches my arm that I turn and face the crowd in an explosion of camera flashes.

A tall, rigid figure steps out towards us and I face my stepmother. I take one look into her thin, pinched face and go to her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. There's the briefest pause before she returns the gesture, and then her fingers cling to my back so hard they pinch.

"I'm sorry, Della," I whisper into her ear.

"Don't be stupid, girl, we're not out of this yet," she answers.

I choke back a watery laugh. "I can't believe I missed you."

This earns something between a snort and a laugh, but I'll take it. Della breaks away and goes over to Cora to formally shake her hand. There's something darkly significant about the looks they give each other, but I can't place it. Still, it seems off. But perhaps that's just the emotional turmoil from the past three weeks.

I stand with my siblings as the Peacekeepers let other people onto the platform for photo ops. The crowd enthusiastically applauds as each one approaches. I remember Jason's words and wonder briefly if they're truly happy to see me return, or if they're just anticipating the extra food my victory has bought. I decide I don't care. Crinoline prances over to me, twirling around and telling me how 'wicked' I was on television. Dolla is next, followed by a tall young man from school whom I vaguely remember is named Bert. Something stirs in me when I see Paylor approach. I walk over to her, grasping her forearms as she does the same to mine, our eyes saying everything we need.

The mayor is there, dressed in the same suit he always wears at the reaping. He gives a speech and presents me with a plaque and a key to the district. He hands me the microphone and I say some meaningless words about honor and victory and sacrifice. I try not to look towards the middle-aged couple standing at the front of the crowd with Woof, glaring at me with red eyes and lined faces.

A car drives us to the Victor's Village. The Village is a gated community of twelve houses built just outside the Clear. I've never been here before, and television doesn't do it justice. My old flat could fit inside each house ten times over. The garden is in full bloom and a fountain trickles perfumed water in the center of the little green. It's nothing like the rest of the district, but it's not nearly as ostentatious as the Capitol. I should hate it. I think of the face of every child I killed and know I should hate it. But I can't.

There's another speech as the mayor formally hands me the key to my new house. My Victor's house is a sprawling two-story affair, painted bright yellow with white trim. There's a porch and a birdbath where mockingjays are singing. Cora's house is just two down from mine, and I'm relieved to see that Woof's is on the opposite side of the Village.

There's another photo session as I unlock the door and walk into my house for the first time. It's airy, empty, and smells like cleaning chemicals and the Capitol. Della remains in the foyer, sitting on one of the chairs with a disapproving curl to her mouth. Kerry, and Carl follow me on my first exploration of the house, exclaiming over the fully stocked refrigerator and coffee machine in the kitchen, at the closets full of clothes and shoes, and the massive solar with floor to ceiling windows that look out into my very own garden.

I want them to stay, I want them all to stay, I don't want to be alone in this big house with its grey silk curtains and marble fireplace and echoing walls. I want Kerry to curl up in the master bedroom with me, I want Carl and his girlfriend and baby to move into the lower bedroom and Della to sink down into a warm bath with bubbles so maybe that scowl will wash off from her face. But they can't stay here, not yet. Cora explained it to me. There's a policy that prevents the families of new Victors from moving into the Victor's Village for a month after the Games, or until the Victor has been declared 'stable.' Ever since a Victor killed half her family in a moment of post-Games madness, Cora says. The Capitol tries to keep such incidents covered up, but they spread as rumors always do, and such unfortunate occurrences don't exactly follow the narrative of the glory of winning the Hunger Games.

Still, Kerry weeps unashamedly when it's time for her to leave. I choke back my own tears, forbidding them to fall when I see Della giving me a pointed nod to the cameramen still clustered around the doorway.

The only person allowed to stay is Cora. She busies herself in the kitchen, filling the house with the scents of lemon and cinnamon. I lay on the couch in the solar as she works. There's a rather hideous display of dried flowers and cattails on the table next to me. I break the vase against the floor and tuck the largest shard under my pillow.

Cora wakes me up to come eat about an hour later. She doesn't even complain about the long, shallow cut I leave across her cheek when she touches my shoulder.

I wake up, but this time I don't scream.

My chest is heaving in panic, sweat drips down my forehead, for a moment I'm back in the arena, in a gazebo surrounded by swirling snow. The tree crackles with flame and a hideous wailing is cutting through my mind. I take a deep breath, like Cora taught me, through my nose, slow, slow, until the cool air of my bedroom drives the scent of charring flesh out of my mind.

This is how I've woken up every night for the past week. The cameras are long gone, back to the Capitol for fashion shows and celebrity gossip, the banners have been taken down from the square, the curious onlookers aren't peering through the bars of the gates so much, but the nightmares are just as fresh and vivid as the day they were forged.

But something's different tonight. Something's off. I lay back against my pillow, letting myself remember the Feast, the desperate race to the woods, trying to place the cold finger of wrongness pressing against the base of my spine. And then there's a low shuffling, the slightest disturbance in the night, and I realize it wasn't the nightmare that woke me.

Cora has triple-checked the house for objects that I could turn into a weapon, but she missed the decorative curtain cord I pulled down and hid beneath my mattress. I slide out of bed and pull the cord out from its hiding place before gently opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

I step out to the top of the landing and listen. All is quiet.

And then, another shuffle. Soft, slow footsteps. A bump and a muffled oath. An indignant whisper.

Something moves in the foyer below me. I launch myself over the railing, hanging in the air for the briefest moment before landing on my opponent.

There's a scream of terror and another, higher-pitched cry of shock. I'm on top of a body, it's squirming but he's not going to get away, oh no, I have him now. The cord is around his neck and I'm pulling with all my might. The cries turn to gurgles. Someone is screaming my name, screaming at me to stop, but Rowenna and Lil screamed at me and I didn't stop so why should I do it now?

Someone grabs my shoulders and heaves me off. There's two of them. An alliance. I see the outline of the figure in the dark and the cord lashes out like a bullwhip. The second assailant clutches his face, crying out in pain. I turn back towards the first and that's when the lights flicker on.

A pale, square-jawed face is staring at me with wide blue eyes. I'm about to launch forward to tear out his eyes when recognition hits me like a train out of 6.

"Bert?!"

"Um, hi Cecelia," he says. The fear in his eyes is mingled with something else as he looks at me. It occurs to me that I'm wearing nothing but my undergarments. "You look…fit."

"Oh my gods!" The second figure brushes past me and starts smacking Bert repeatedly. "You are the most single-minded, perverse, incompetent-"

My confusion and shock doubles. "Paylor?!"

"Hello, Cecelia. Sorry we haven't been by to visit. The Capitol delegation only left for good last evening. We didn't want to intrude on your privacy before that. Sorry if we startled you."

Something stirs in me, a seething irritation that quickly explodes into flames. "Didn't either of you idiots watch the Games? I could have killed you!"

Paylor shrugs. "You didn't. That's what's important."

"But what are you doing here?"

Paylor gives me a significant look, and when she speaks her voice is somehow higher and more girlish than I've ever heard. "Oh, we just really wanted to see your new house! It's been so boring without you, Cecelia. I thought you would have liked to see your friends again!"

There's something of Crinoline in the way Paylor pouts at me. But there's nothing frivolous about the glare she gives Bert, who hands over a piece of paper as Paylor continues to exclaim loudly about the wonders of my new house.

Must speak. C.S. says house is bugged. Come with us. Don't talk.

C.S. is obviously Cora, but I can't imagine why my mentor would approve of two teenagers breaking into the house in the middle of the night. It occurs to me that she probably doesn't know.

Still, I make my decision as I stare at the tight handwriting and see the dead serious look in Paylor's eyes.

"Have you seen the kitchen?" I ask loudly. "There are so many neat appliances. There's even a machine that will give you little cubes of ice. Ice, in the middle of summer!"

The ice machine gives Paylor and Bert enough to gush over as I pad silently up the stairs. I pull on a tunic and trousers and a pair of flat shoes I find amongst all the five-inch heels the Capitol is apparently convinced I love. I throw a long cloak over my shoulders like the one Blight wore on the roof of the Training Center. I pull the large hood over my head, pulling it down to cover my eyes.

Paylor gives me a nod of approval when I reach the kitchen. Bert is already halfway out the kitchen window. I'm guessing that's how they got in. I'm about to ask why we can't just leave by the front door when I feel the note still clutched in my hand and remember that the recording devices would hear us leave. Better they don't know I suppose.

Bert lifts me down with surprisingly strong and gentle hands. Paylor ignores his offer of help and leaps down, rolling to her feet.

We walk through the Victors Village under the light of the moon. Woof and Cora's houses are dark, their sleep apparently untroubled by dreams or nighttime intruders. Paylor leads us right through the gates, walking past the Peacekeeper who's stationed here day and night. He doesn't even glance at us.

"How did you do that?" I whisper as we slip down the road into the Clear.

"He's one of us," says Bert.

"What do you mean, one of-"

"Not here!" hisses Paylor and I keep silent for the rest of the trip.

We head down the hill out of the Clear and into Fog Town. For a moment I think we pass my old tenement building, but then I realize that I'm already losing the ability to tell the concrete buildings apart. We slide through allies, around the textile mills and past the massive glass dome where silkworms feast on genetically enhanced mulberry leaves.

We've reached the outer edges of Fog Town when I realize where we're going. The Red looms in front of us, bathed in the crimson light of its many lanterns.

I pull up short. "No," I say.

Paylor glances back at me. "What's the hold up?"

"I'm not going back in there. Not there. Not ever."

She gives an impatient huff. "We're not going in the Red, Cecelia. Well, not really. We're going back there." She gestures to the mass of ruined building behind the corner that the Red utilizes.

My mouth drops open a bit. "But…that's not…there's nothing there!"

Paylor smiles. "Exactly."

And despite my deep resentment and hatred of this place, my curiosity gets the better of me and I follow Paylor and Bert past the crimson-bathed door.

They lead me around the building to a rusted iron side door. It swings open at Paylor's touch, the hinges clearly having been well oiled. We slide inside into a dark hallway. Paylor takes Bert's hand and Bert reaches out to take mine. I flinch but he waits patiently until I can bring myself to clasp his palm. Together, they lead me through a maze of passageways and staircases on what must be memory alone.

A guttering light fills the last hall with a welcome warmth. Paylor speeds up and peers into a cell.

"We're here," she said. "And I brought her."

I brush past Bert, ready to demand why my unknown hosts have me dragged to this place in the middle of the night. I stride into the room and this time my mouth really does hang open.

Cora is staring up at me from her chair with wide, dark eyes. Beside her, Della narrows her own eyes in shock and distate.

"What…what are…how do you…"

"What were you thinking, bringing her?" snaps Della over my head. "I thought you had more sense, girl."

Paylor crosses her arms. "She needs to know. She deserves to know."

"What's going-"

"And a fine thing, I suppose, if you had been seen? How would you have explained yourself, out of bed, down here, with a Victor?"

"We weren't seen."

"For all you know."

"We weren't."

"Enough!" I yell. Everyone looks around at me. I glare around the room. "Enough. I'm not here to listen to arguments about whether or not I should be here. I'm here now, and I'm not leaving. Now start talking."

"That's my girl," says Cora softly. Della and I both glare at her, and she gives my stepmother an apologetic smile. "She's right. Paylor. Cora needs to know. She should have been told before this."

"Not more secrets," I mutter.

Della's smile has no warmth. "There are always more secrets, girl. Now sit."

"My name is Cecelia. Not 'girl," I say. But I sit. Paylor positions herself by the door, and Bert stands watch outside. I look between the two older women. "But we're not going any further until I find out what you two are doing here, together, and how you know each other."

The glance my mentor and my stepmother is filled with more sadness and yet more warmth than I remember.

"Do you remember the story I told you, before the interview?" Cora asks me. "About why I was voted into the Quarter Quell?"

I nod, the details springing perfectly to mind as they always do. "Your father was a tax collector. He came to collect from the tailor. The tailor resisted and your father accidentally killed his daughter."

"His daughter," says Spindella. "And my sister."

There's a split second of silence as the words hit me like a brick. "You…you're…"

"You always knew I grew up in the Clear, girl – Cecelia. That's why we moved to Fog Town. My sister was dead and my father lost his shop and three months later I voted for Cora for the Quarter Quell. We all did."

I look between them, not taking it in. "But then how…how did you…"

"Because Della was the only one who could look me in the face after the Quell," says Cora. "Because she walked straight into the Village and told me she voted for me, and why, and that she was glad I made it back. Your stepmother was a very…forceful personality even at the age of twelve."

I raise an eyebrow. "And you, both of you, became friends?"

"Well, not friends so much," says Cora. "More mutual acquaintances. The Capitol watched everyone I associated with, in case I ever got seditious thoughts and they needed someone to use against me. We were careful. My father was dead soon enough. They had little hold on me."

"Until seven years later," says Della. "Until the Thirteen."

"What's the Thirteen?"

Cora says the word like a prayer and a curse, rolling it off her tongue like a fine wine.

"Rebellion."

The breath catches in my mouth.

"So you're?..."

"The Thirteen, yes," says Della. "Or two of them at least. There were actually Thirteen at first, but now there are hundreds. We still call ourselves the Thirteen."

"No one knows who we all are," says Cora. "Not even the Thirteen themselves. It's safer that way."

A horrible, terrible, revolting thought rises in me. "Della…if you're a leader of the rebellion. And they knew. Did they…could they…"

"You weren't reaped because of my involvement," says Della. "We have sources in the Justice Building. We would have known, I think. It was bad, blind luck Cecelia. And they would have taken Kerry, when she came of age. Not you."

My stepmother doesn't look apologetic. She's also right.

I turn instead to Cora. "Cora, you're involved in this? You help lead this? You?"

"Me," she says with the smile that's still filled with a teenager's wickedness. "Little old me. And you too, in your own way."

I have nothing to say to this. She goes on.

"Before I won the Quell, women who sold themselves had to walk the streets in Eight, in miserable and often dangerous conditions. I persuaded the liaison of the necessity of this place, and he persuaded the Capitol. The tax money was an incentive, if nothing else.

I nod my head. This is all common knowledge in the district.

"I gathered them here, organized them, employed them, created a system that would keep these girls out of the worst of the danger while creating a source of revenue that could be spread discreetly throughout the district. And when they reached a certain age, I trained them."

I frown. "As Careers?"

"No. As rebels."

It's too much. I bury my face on the little wooden table between us. Cora continues.

"Half the women in the Red are my agents. They listen, search, steal. They know how to get Peacekeepers and liaisons to drop choice information. Did you really think that I took so much of the money you made as a 'finder's fee?' The girls hand over the sesterces, and the information, and I make sure both go where they need to go."

"It's not…" I shake my head. "The Red, it isn't…"

"The most organized center of rebellion in the outer districts?" asks Della. "That's exactly what it is. And it's perfect. Men can come here without rousing suspicion from the Capitol. The Victors from Three have smuggled us technology to block the wires, or feed them false audio. We've been doing this for a quarter century, and it's grown. How it's grown."

There's a long pause as I process through all this information. I make a new compartment in my mind, store it all so I can pick through it later, and then ask the most important question.

"But what does this have to do with me?"

Della and Cora share a darkly significant look. And it hits me.

"No," I say. "No, no, no."

"Cecelia."

"You can't make me. I said never again. Never, ever, ever again."

"You won't have a choice," snaps Della, glaring furiously at Paylor for whatever reason.

"I will die before I work in the Red again!"

Cora sighs. She suddenly looks older than her age instead of much younger. "Not the Red, Cecelia. Worse. Much, much worse."

My voice is small and high-pitched. "Cora? What do you mean?"

"When you arrive at the Capitol at the end of your Victory Tour, there will be a party. But first, President Snow will have a private luncheon, just you and him. He will congratulate you on your victory, remind you of all the generous sponsors who would love to get to know you better, and then suggest how you can repay their investment."

The room is spinning and my stomach is surging and I know exactly what Cora is saying.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Because he does it to most. All the Ones, some of the Twos, and the rest of us if we're desirable to someone. And with the range of Capitol tastes, all of us have been desirable to someone."

There's a hanging second of silence.

"No," I say. "NO!" I scream.

I stand, grab the chair and throw it against the wall. It splinters into a dozen pieces. Paylor moves towards me but the look I give her drives her back to the door.

"They can't make me!"

"You won't have a choice, Cecelia," says Cora. "You've already been sold. The first bidder has been chosen. A group of Peacekeepers who sponsored you. That fool boy, Romano, he was part of it."

"That fool boy is going to find a dirk at his throat one night," says Della with a look as black as midnight and blind pain.

"I'm so sorry, Cecelia," says Cora.

The voice breaks from my lips, harsh and low. "Don't pity her. I'll put Cecelia away safe where she can't remember. I can handle Peacekeepers."

More than anything I've said, this is what makes Cora and Della look at each other with unadulterated fear.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I don't know where that came from."

Cora is still looking at me with deep anxiety. Della, however, leans forward.

"Are you angry, Cecelia?"

"Of course I'm angry!"

"How angry? Raging? Burning? So angry you could tear the Capitol down with one hand while the other sets fire to the rubble?"

I fix her with all the seething rage I can muster. "What do you think, Della?"

"Good! Then use it! Help us! Help us fight them!"

I lean against the wall. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

"By doing exactly what my girls do. What you might have done if your name had never come out of that reaping ball," says Cora. "Seduce them, sleep with them, charm them. Learn their secrets. Give us their weaknesses, from their own lips."

"The Capitol will see you as a possession," says Della. "As a pet."

I snort. "Don't soften your words for me, Della."

"And like a pet, they'll tell you many things that they would never tell a real person. Real to them. They will use you. Use them! There is no greater weapon than to use you enemy's secrets against them."

Everything is pressing, pressing down, but somehow there's a calm, collected part of my brain that keeps talking. "I don't think tricks from the Red are going to impress the Capitol's best."

"That's why you'll be learning from the best yourself."

I snort again. "You, Cora? Is this just a part of your mentoring?"

"Not me," says Cora. "Jade." Her smile is hard and slightly triumphant.

It's the thought of taking sex lessons from the famous District 1 Victor to seduce Capitolians into revealing treasons that pushes me over the edge. Tears start streaming down my eyes.

"I want to go home," I whisper. "Take me home."

Cora stands immediately. "Come here, love. We'll go home now. You don't need to decide now. It's not here yet. It's alright darling, it's alright."

"I want my da. Can I please have my da?"

"We still have business here, Cora," says Della. "The Thirteen will be here soon. Paylor, take my stepdaughter back to the Village, and for Panem's sake be careful as you go."

"Goodnight, darling," says Cora. "I'll be there when you wake up tomorrow."

"Cecelia," says Della. "You're stronger than I ever suspected. And I suspected quite a lot."

A smile pulls at my lips. "Love you too, Della."

"Go home, girl."

I walk to the door, Paylor goes out first, but I turn and face the two women who are the closest I've ever known to mothers in the world.

"What if I just say no?"

Della's eyes lift, and there's enormous pain and grief and anger under the dead look she gives me. "You should have known the answer to that when they told you about your father," she says.

I leave.

Bert stays at his post, but he gives me soft "Good-night, Cecelia," as I pass.

Paylor grunts as she leads me down crumbling stairs. "What an idiot. Bert, I mean. If he annoys you, just punch him."

We descend in silence.

"Okay, he's not an idiot. That was harsh. He's just…gullible. And forgetful. A good fellow, in his own way."

We cross a few more hallways.

"He might even ask you out," says Paylor as she holds the door open and we're bathed in red light. "Maybe you should take him up on it if he does. It'll get him off my back at least."

"Paylor," I say, my voice immeasurably cold. "Are you suggesting, after everything you heard in there, that I start going on dates?"

Paylor's face floods with horror. "Oh shit. No, Cecelia, I didn't think. I'm so sorry."

I give her a brief nod and she seems to take it as forgiveness. We weave our way through Fog Town, up the hill to the Clear, never speaking as much out of awkwardness as necessity. We walk past the Peacekeeper by the gates who studiously ignores us. It's not until we reach the golden light of my open kitchen window that Paylor turns to me.

"Cecelia. I've had a thought."

She looks nervous, almost furtively guilty. The storm of anger and confusion is still roaring inside of me, but something makes me nod to this girl who decided she was my friend and apparently won't back down from it.

"There might be a way. To stop the Capitol. From…doing what they're going to do to you."

There's no excitement in my voice. "You heard Della. If I say no, everyone I love is at risk. I can't do that to my family."

"You wouldn't have to say no," says Paylor. "And it wouldn't work at first. But…Cecelia, what if you got pregnant?"

I gape at her in the light of the kitchen. "Pregnant?" I can't even process what the word means.

"Yeah," says Paylor. "A couple of Victors have gotten knocked up over the past decade or so. The Capitol always makes a big deal out of it. You know, stupid shows about the best baby formula and fashions and betting on the name and gender. But I've noticed that they focus a lot on the care and bed rest of the mother. Maybe they would leave you alone."

I shrug. "They would just start again after the birth."

"Yes," says Paylor slowly. "But not all of them. You won't be a, you know, a sex symbol anymore. You'll be a mother. Some of them may feel guilty. And others, well, I get the feeling that in the Capitol they don't like to share, and they don't like reminders if they have to."

I lean against the yellow wall of my house. "Paylor. I know you mean well. But can you imagine what would happen? If I got myself knocked up to avoid having to work as the Capitol's newest Victor whore, they would reap my child. There's no way they wouldn't. I couldn't do that. I couldn't make a baby knowing I'm condemning it to a horrible fate just to help myself."

Paylor's face is ashy white, but she just shrugs again. "You're right. It was a stupid idea. Here, let me help you back up."

She holds her hands out and I step into her palms. She boosts me up and I crawl through the window back into my spotlessly clean kitchen.

"Goodnight Paylor," I whisper as she fades back into the night.

I'm exhausted, I'm overwhelmed, but I don't go back to sleep. I might never sleep again. Instead, I go to my sprawling master bathroom and blast the shower as hot as it will go. I scrub and scrub, feeling the hands on me, the mouths, the hot breath on my back, scrubbing until my skin is red and raw and starting to bleed.

What if you get pregnant?

Selfish.

It could save you, Cecelia.

I won't condemn an innocent child to die just for me.

We killed ten innocent children to save us, Cecelia.

Not ours. Never ours.

The Capitol will never know.

The Capitol probably has ways of stopping it from happening.

Then we'll need to do it here.

I won't.

You will.

I WON'T.

By the time I step out of the shower, Cecelia is tucked away safe and I'm free to dress in something light and fancy. I pick grey silk. I love the feel of silk. It's soft and beautiful and smooth and I could rip it apart with my bare hands and strangle them all.

I clasp the opals around my neck, check my appearance in the mirror, and walk out of house without a glance back.

You shouldn't have forgotten to take your medication tonight, Cecelia.

There's an abandoned warehouse in Fog Town that's become a sort of community hall and bar mixed into one. It's for some of the seedier elements of the districts, the black marketers and drug users. It's apparently very popular among the off-duty Peacekeepers. They used to tell Cecelia about it when the poor little thing worked in the Red. I know exactly where it is and stride right in.

There are fifty or so people inside. They fall silent the moment I walk in, their eyes fixing on me in stunned disbelief. I ignore it, scanning the crowd for the face I'm looking for. I see it in all its bruised and battered glory and glide past tables and booths where men and women are drinking rot-gut liquor and playing cards.

"Hello Britannicus," I say when I reach the smallest table.

Five men look up at me from their poker game. Four are staring in unflattering awe. The last keeps his head down.

"Something we can help you with, Miss Cecelia?" asks one of the younger men. His eyes are wide and bright, and he looks like he'd want nothing more than to fall on his knees and beg for an autograph.

I give him wink instead. "I'm just here to see my old friend Tanni."

He still won't look at me. "Go away Cecelia."

His companions make sounds of disbelief and anger. I pout prettily. "Is that all you have to say to me? I was hoping we could talk. Like we used to."

One of the men makes an appreciative whistle. Tanni finally raises his eyes to mine. They're filled with such hurt, such fear and such longing that it would almost make my heart break. If, of course, I had a heart.

"Tanni," I whisper. "It wasn't your fault."

"Cecelia," he whispers. "I can't."

"I know," I say. "Not yet. I understand. Maybe you can come around my place for dinner someday, and we'll get to know each other better. But for now, deal me in?"

The rest of the men hoot with appreciation and Tanni finally gives me a small smile. One of his companions pulls up a chair and I take my place at the game. I feel Tanni move closer to me, as if drawn to my warmth like a moth to flame. I give him a soft smile as the cards are dealt. I reach under the table and briefly squeeze his hand. He doesn't pull away.

"We're playing District Twelve rules," says one of the men. "So you don't have to put anything in the pot yet, Miss Cecelia."

I flutter my eyelashes a bit. "You're too kind, sir."

I pick up my cards and look at the hand I've been dealt.

And somewhere deep inside me, Cecelia is screaming.

I smile at my new friends.

Silly.

Little.

Birds.

And that ends the story of Cecelia's Games. There will, however, be an epilogue, so we're not quite finished yet. Thanks for your continued support, and let me know what you think of the end of Cecelia's arc! That means you should review. *PANDERS BLATANTLY*

Thanks to my reviewers from the last chapter: Anla'shok, Kiliflower, TigreMalabarista, Mellieemoo, Kiko, God1801, and Annabeth-the-Tribute-That-Lived!

Oh, and Jason's Parcel Day story got a shout out in 'Checkmate' by Anla'shok, so y'all should check that out.