CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: HOMEWARD BOUND

"And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."

Khalil Gibran

The summons arrives later that day.

I'm sitting on the far side of a sparkling pool that transforms from an orange-and-red sunset back into a blue-green oasis, the colors bleeding into each other like lines of dripping paint. The back wall of the house dissolves as Feldspar steps onto the terrace, holding aloft a seemingly empty silver platter. But as he draws near, I see that there's actually a stark white envelope on top, which immediately makes me sit up straight. Most districts use holographic technology as their primary form of communication, so anything paper-related must be from a district that can't afford even the cheapest microport.

As far as I know, there's only one district that fits that description.

"For you, Ms. Everde-" Feldspar starts to say, leaning down so that the envelope's within reach, but I'm way ahead of him.

I leap to my feet, snatching up the letter with a voracious sort of elation. "I told you to call me Katniss!" I shout in vain as I run around the terrace, through several spotless rooms, up the marble stairs, and down the never-ending hallway until I find my (still bare) bedroom. Unreasonably winded, I rip open the flap and pull out the delicate piece of specialty District 12 paper.

It reads:

To my daughter, Katniss,

How we miss you here in District 12! I assume congratulations are in order on achieving Victor status for this year's annual Games. So…congratulations, my dear! It was such a shock to see you up there on the television screens when everyone else was already…beaten. You made it seem easy! And to think – there's not one, but two Victors this year! How extraordinary! I do admit, however, that the Career tribute from District 2 seems a bit on the brutish side, but that's unsurprising for a Victor. Your win was the true surprise, Katniss!

Oh, but I digress. I'm writing to invite you back home for a short stay. I know you must be oh-so-busy there in the Capitol, your new home, but Prim and I miss you so, and I fear we won't be able to get in touch with you once you become fully integrated into that peculiar society. So please, come home, if only for a few days. I would much appreciate it, and I'm sure Primrose will be delighted to see you again!

Sincerely and with the best of intentions,

Your mother (and Prim)

My first thought? Someone else wrote this obnoxious letter. My mother would never use phrases like "how extraordinary!" and "oh-so-busy" and even "I miss you so." Never in a thousand lifetimes would my mother say a thing like that. She's not very emotional…or sentimental, or heartwarming, or physical, for that matter…and if she did write a letter by herself, I know she wouldn't dare mention the Games at all. Watching two dozen children get slaughtered by other children…it's not really her thing. Wouldn't you know, she gets curiously upset when that sort of situation arises.

But still, even though the letter obviously had some heavy help from a Capitol ghost writer, I know that she wants me to come home. I'll see Prim again, and Gale (who, oddly enough, wasn't mentioned at all, not once), and Haymitch (not exactly an exciting prospect, but then again, my mentor doesn't really elicit those kinds of emotions in people). I can examine the Victor's Village house that they're living in and see if the furnishings and overall size live up to town gossip. Not that I'm necessarily interested in gossip, but I do want to see that the house is suitable for my family and whatever needs they may have.

For the first time since leaving the Games, I will really be at home, surrounded by people I love in a place I may not be happy about but am fond of all the same.

"I'm going home," I whisper, and smile into my hand.

I'm in the throes of a fantastic daydream, one where the reunion with my family is a reality, when there's a solid knock at my door. I barely have time to stuff the letter under my mountain of pillows before the knob turns and someone enters. My chest tightens when I see that it's Cato.

"I didn't say you could come in," I say tightly, smoothing down my hair.

"Would you like me to leave and come back in?"

An unwelcome smile flickers at the corners of my mouth. "No, you're already here, there'd be no point." My fingers fidget anxiously in my lap. "What do you want?"

"I heard you received a letter today."

My eyes narrow. "Did Feldspar tell you that?"

"Let's just say I persuaded it out of him."

"Ah. Figures. Sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong." I sigh, sliding off my bed onto solid ground, where I feel like we can chat – or argue – on equal footing. "Well, since you're already aware, yes, I did receive a letter."

"From who?" he asks at once.

"Do you not remember how I called you nosy?"

"You did," he replies, moving beside me. We stare out the giant hexagonal windows, neither of us daring to glance at the other. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop."

"Of course not," I huff, watching with vague interest as a hired gardener clips away at the blooming azalea bushes near the estate's front entrance. "That would be too easy."

"Yes, it would," he murmurs, sidling closer. His hand brushes my forearm. "Was it from your family?"

I immediately stiffen and move out of his reach. "How did you know that?"

"Feldspar didn't tell me that much, if that's what you're thinking. He does have some boundaries, apparently." He shakes his head then, as if in exasperation. "I can tell by the expression on your face. You wouldn't be so secretive about this if it was just anyone who sent the letter. But," he says softly, "it's not just anyone."

"You're right," I say, surrendering, uncomfortable with his intimate knowledge of my emotions. Remember when I said that I apparently have a good poker-face? Yeah, not so much. "It's from my mother. She wants me to come ho- I mean, back to District 12 for a few days. Before I start my life here."

"How long's a few days?" he asks, and suddenly I can't tell what he's thinking.

I shrug. "Probably a week, maybe less. It depends, I guess." Glancing sideways at him, I add, "Why does it matter?"

He shifts uncomfortably. "You're just going to fly off for a week?"

"No, not fly. I'm sure a single hovercraft can't manage that distance without several stops, so I'll probably just take the train."

Cato rolls his eyes. "Don't get technical, Katniss, it's unflattering. Besides, you're totally wrong on that point." At my outraged scoff, he adds, "Were you even going to tell me?"

Bewildered, I turn to face him fully. "Why would I do that? I'm not a prisoner here, at least as far as I know. I can come and go whenever I like without asking permission. From you or Snow," I declare indignantly.

"Is it safe for you to leave?"

"I don't see why not," I say with a troubled frown.

He gives me an odd look. "Well, if that's what you want." But then his face hardens. "Run on home, then."

I put my hands on my hips, suddenly very angry. "What the hell does that mean? I've been invited back home, and I don't know about you, but I miss my family. So I will gladly run on home, Cato, whether you like it or not."

He breathes in harshly through his nose and locks his fingers around my wrist, yanking it off my hip. "I won't miss you," he snaps.

"That's great," I say with a derisive laugh. "No one asked you to."

Cato glares at me with undisguised contempt. "You really can't see past your own prejudice, can you? You can't see what's right in front of your face."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say, trying to shake loose his grip.

"No, you wouldn't," he murmurs thoughtfully. Staring intensely into my eyes, he says, "I truly feel sorry for you, Katniss."

This enrages me even more, somehow. "I didn't ask for your pity!"

He pulls me towards him, and although I resist with all my might, he's just too damn strong. Taking me by the shoulders, Cato moves so that our lips are less than an inch apart, and when he speaks, they brush, our breath intermingling. "Don't do anything stupid while you're over there, okay?"

I mean to reply with something scathing or sarcastic, but his proximity has forced my mind into a distant, hazy state that I've only recently become familiar with when in contact with him. I'm afraid my voice will shake; I know my hands are, and my insides. Sticking to safer forms of communication, I nod.

"Good," he breathes, his baby blues roving down to my lips and back up to my eyes. "I hate you for doing this."

"Doing what?" I manage, transfixed by his lips, so tantalizingly close.

"For –" He pauses, clearly unable to say what's on his mind, and releases me. "You'll figure it out, I'm sure."

Clearing my throat, I step back, mentally shaking my head of all the cobwebs put there by his very presence. With my heart somewhere in the vicinity of my mouth and my palms sweating rivers, I call for Feldspar. Somehow, within seconds, the ever-enthusiastic butler appears in the open doorway.

"Call a hovercraft, please. I'm going home to visit my family."

"Of course, Ms. Everdeen," he purrs, bowing extravagantly before retreating.

"It's Katniss," I mutter fruitlessly, though he's already gone.

Cato leaves the room without another word. He does, however, cast an indecipherable glance over his shoulder before softly pulling the door shut behind him.

I fall back on my bed, eyes closed, and sigh. "I wonder where I can find a suitcase in this god-awful place."

There's a loud ding and a whooshing noise, and then a heavily padded bag lands on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. A disembodied voice announces, "Specialty Capitol Collection luggage, courtesy of President Coriolanus Snow of the nation Panem."

"Oh," I splutter, blinking, and begin to pack.