A/N: We're over 100 reviews, so special thanks go to stygian-apocalypse, mangesboy01, Ways, boy45, Mercoorio and Vykktor for reviewing! As ever, all support is appreciated.

In Panem, it is often July that teenagers hate, with the threat of the reaping and the Hunger Games hanging over them all month. In our world, we have no Hunger Games, and all of our teenage worries come in a different month; May, the time of end of year exams. As such, I apologise for my lack of activity in the past couple of months due to my exams at school, which at my age are actually now starting to mean something for my long-term future. Although it's been a few weeks since exams ended, I've since been glued to my TV three hours a day watching the FIFA World Cup, although that all of that is over I have time on my hands once more, and hopefully I can finally give you the ending to this story that you all deserve.

Also, in a way to make up with you, I've made this chapter extra long, so that there's more for you to read now that I'm back :)

Now that I hope you've all accepted my apology, let's get on with the story, shall we? :)

Chapter Twenty-Six

POV: Ludovic Robertson (16), Hunger Games Victor

The Hunger Games Headquarters, The Capitol

12.25 pm, Wednesday 31st July, year of the 67th Hunger Games

It is often customary that, as the Hunger Games draw to a close, the mentors of the tributes who have already died return to the Mentor's Room for the end of the Games. I don't know why exactly; nobody has chosen to explain it to me. I guess there's just something about the moment when a tribute becomes a victor that only we can understand. Maybe that is why we all choose to go through it together. Of course, with Alec being in the final battle, I had no choice but to stay, although by then the battle was all but decided.

Still, the twenty-two of us gathered together for the finale of a dramatic Hunger Games, all eyes on the only screen that mattered, the large image projected onto the wall at the front of the room; the best view of the only thing that the nation cared about at that moment in time.

For ten minutes, the world stood still as the victor was decided.

And then it was over.

The cannon sounds and rapturous applause spreads around the Mentor's Room. Many of us are on our feet; celebrating, even. Against all the odds, Blight has done it, and District 7 have their first victor in two decades. Amadeus is stood over his shoulder, patting him on the back enthusiastically while being praised by Indiana and Toby, the mentors of District 10. Haymitch and Chaff have raised a glass to each other and to Blight and are already drinking.

On the front row, the mood is somewhat more muted, especially in our camp. Alec was so, so close to victory. Even he thought he had done it at one point. I'd known from the first day that he'd lost count of the numbers. I'd just expected that he'd be able to adapt once he realised he was wrong better than he had done. For the most part, our strategy was sound, and Alec is still by far one of the strongest tributes District 4 has ever had, although his failure at the final hurdle will undermine his legacy. Soon he will just be another forgotten name in the Games. A reminder of a dramatic finale, nothing more. After all, there's only one name that will be associated with this year's Games.

On the screen in front of us, Johanna Mason of District 7 stands tall in the centre of the clearing, her axe hanging loose in her right hand. She's staring up at the sky, where the hovercraft is waiting for her, a ladder dropping down towards her as she prepares to leave the arena behind her. She's smiling; laughing, even. Seemingly unaffected by it all. I don't know how confident she has felt through the Games, but certainly in the last few days this has felt like the right result. After her first kill in the arena (that of Marline a few days back) sponsor support started swinging towards the athletic, attractive girl from District 7 that the Capitol had ignored before the Games began. She kept herself to herself, hiding her strengths and only revealing them when needed in the arena. This mystery attracted attention from the audience and ultimately won her the lion's share of sponsor support in the final couple of days in the arena.

By the time the feast was announced, she was the best equipped tribute in the arena. If she could play it smart at the feast, she would become the victor for sure.

And play it smart she did.

For both Finnick and myself, the 67th Games was the first time we had lost a tribute to the arena as a mentor. Of course, this is a common occurrence, but having sat through it myself I can tell you that there is nothing like the experience of losing a tribute. The immediate loss, not only of another child but of a young man or woman you have gotten to know rather well, can be almost paralysing for the first couple of days. To know that it was your job to protect them and that you couldn't do anything to save them when they needed your protection most is a harrowing thought.

I had always thought that the Capitol punished the districts harshly, but the more I see of the world, the more I realise that I had no right to complain. Overall, the districts escape the wrath of the Capitol; that is reserved for a select group of sixty-seven. A group of torture victims, a group of slaves; a group of victors. They broke our bodies in the arena, and now that we escaped it they're breaking our minds. Even this whole mentoring thing is designed to destroy us. They let us believe we have control of our tribute's destiny while we remain without any serious levels of influence. There are occasions when we can help but overall, we're as useless as the thousands watching at home in the districts. Only the Capitol force us to feel responsible in some way for our tribute's deaths. I hate it.

The first few days without Alec are tough. I guess a small part of me always thought that being the strong favourite, the darling boy back home, our finest prodigy in years, I would have an easy ride and have a guaranteed victory. I wrong I was.

Despite only knowing him for a week, Alec was a friend to me, in a way. There's something about going through a terrible ordeal with someone that draws you close to them, and I don't exactly know what it is. That's why, in my own hour of need in the arena, I was surrounded by close allies, people who had seen the things I had seen and genuinely wanted to help me. A stellar example of how, even in the darkest of circumstances, compassion can win through. A compassion that Alec neither asked for nor received, and in a way, he paid a price for it.

But life goes on.

The first few days without Alec are long and tiring, and not all because of his loss. It is the lull in activity that separates the ending of the Hunger Games and the presentation ceremony for the victor, where the surviving tribute is stitched back together again so that they have recovered, on the outside at least. That leaves all of us victors hanging around the Capitol for a fortnight or so until the victory presentation. I spend most of that time wandering around the city in the company of the few people around here that I can trust; Finnick, the Adlingtons, my sister Bella. Our celebrity status in the Capitol means that doors all around the city open up to us without hesitation, and we find ourselves in a whirlwind of parties and public occasions, seemingly not costing us a penny. Rich Capitol businessmen and public figures are almost tripping over themselves to be seen with us, for a chance to be in the headlines of the next day's papers. Of course, I don't care for such things, but the parties offer good cover for the first few days, giving us all time to think.

At first, I can't quite get around the fact that Alec is gone; I keep expecting to see him come walking around the corner, that cocky smile on his winning face, telling me there was a glitch with the footage and he got out fine. He keeps reappearing in my mind like all the others I have lost this past year; my mother, Robin and Sophia in the arena, Maddie. Maddie! The pain whenever I think of her almost kills me, still after all this time.

In those first few days, we all have our own pains, our own worries and insecurities to get over. Cashmere seems to be the first to recover, the first to glass everything over and try to enjoy her time in the Capitol. Whether she never cared for her tribute in the same way as the rest of us did or as her tribute died first she's had longer to recover, she definitely seems stronger than the rest of us at first.

Eventually the immediate pain dies, and I break the lonely, monotonous cycle of going out and pretending to have fun. We're in the back garden of the CEO of some broadcasting corporation (he's throwing some sort of party that seems to require inviting the whole world) when I begin to come out of my grief-induced stupor. For the first time in a week, I think of those around me, others affected by the Games, and what I can do for them. With an invigorating sense of purpose stirring up inside me, I lead my sister away from the party, unfinished business on my mind.

We come out to the front of the grand house onto the busy Capitol high street in mid-evening, probably nine or ten o'clock. I'd check but my mobile telephone the Capitol officials provided me with to keep in touch with me is out of battery. There's a hubbub of bright lights, loud cars driving by and the bustle of people with a purpose in their stride, even at this time of night. However, that's not all there is as a couple of passers-by notice my face as I lead my sister away from the chaos at the mansion. A pesky reporter buzzes around is, trying to coerce the latest gossip out of us to grab themselves a scoop for tomorrow's headlines. For a moment I freeze like a deer in the headlights before my sister, who is far more accomplished with evading such people, merely shrugs them off and drags me along behind her.

The first person I go to see is Harrow, practically breaking down his hotel room door so that I can beg for his forgiveness. I told him I would give him my all for Alec to return and try as I might to see otherwise, I know that I failed. Harrow greets me looking more dead than alive; he has not taken the last few days well. There are black rings around his eyes from a lack of sleep, a lack of colour in his face and his long black hair covering most of his expression, as though he wants to hide from the world. Even in my current condition, I cannot help but pity him. Thirty-seven years of age and looking a decade (or maybe two) older. Little of the strong, vibrant young man who won the Hunger Games two decades ago is left; all that is here is a shell. The wreckage of a once stronger being. Crippled by torture, anger and loss.

I am grateful when I walk into the room with my sister and find that Harrow is not alone. Sitting on his bed, beside themselves with worry, are his best friend Julian and Mags. Despite not being District 4's first victor, Mags is the oldest of us left alive and has acted as a motherly figure to over a generation of victors. After all, she was in her fifties before either Julian or Harrow faced the arena.

It's clear to see that Harrow's been through a tough week, and hasn't been taking Alec's loss well. I suppose when you invest so much time into one person it is hard to see where to go without them, something I found out last year after I left the arena without the girl I loved. I'm not saying that Harrow ever loved Alec in the same way I loved Maddie, but knowing someone for such a length of time and wandering through life for a decade or so with them will cause a sentimental attraction to them. I know how it feels. I know that, could I go back and change the way my life has panned out I would have altered what I had given Alec with his sponsor support to allow him to defeat Johanna. I admit that I'm sorry for the way things have ended up. I should say all this and more but somehow the more I think about it the more I don't know where to start. In the end I stumble through it and allow my sister to smooth over the cracks for me. She's far more of a people person than I am, after all. I suppose she'd have to be to cope with living in such a bustling place all the time.

I don't know how much Harrow takes in at first and I'm sure deep down he doesn't blame me for what happened to Alec, but I need him to know that he's not alone, that others share his pain. As she has been to Finnick and myself over the past year, it is Mags who manages to calm Harrow, at least for now. She's probably done this countless times for others over the years; maybe even Julian. Knowing when people need comfort and how to provide it may seem to be an unlikely quality in a well-known killer, but we won't complain that she's got it.

I think it's eleven days after the Games end when we're all gathered in the city circle once more to watch Johanna Mason crowned as the victor of the 67th Annual Hunger Games. The crowd is as manic as ever when the young girl is ushered to her dark green velvet throne to watch the recap of the Games, something many of us have been preparing for all day. The District 4 victors who have made the journey to the Capitol all sit together as one group in the stands; I find myself placed between Finnick and Auriel. Harrow is two seats along from me, and I'm glad to say that he seems to have improved somewhat in the past few days, the poor guy. But deep down I know there is little I can do to help him. Sympathy is no cure for a broken heart.

For the first time, the broadcast companies can tell a different story in their three-hour recap of the 67th Games; a story of cunning, trickery and deceit like none that has been seen before. Even those of us on the outside of the arena knew nothing of it. A quiet, shy, seemingly terrified girl dragged to the front of the stage at the reaping in District 7, in the shadow of her physically dominant district partner. A terrified girl who pulled her long brown hair around her face to hide from the public, unnerved at the opening ceremony, timid at the interviews. A training score of four seemingly showing that any hopes the girl had of winning around the public were gone.

And then came the arena.

Johanna's bout with Gabriel at the cornucopia in the first few minutes of the Games is shown in full, showing her hold her own against one of the most promising tributes seen in years; almost certainly a victor had they volunteered another year. But as Johanna fought on through the first day, her courage and will to survive won through as she evaded the Careers on four separate occasions during the first week of the Games, culminating in the moment that she really revealed her true colours. Like her fight with Gabriel, Johanna's ambush on Marline is shown in its entirety, capturing the moment when she was no longer viewed by the audience as a weakling, but instead as a threat.

From there, her ride to victory seems like an easy one in retrospect, helped massively by the self-destruction of all other alliances in the arena and the willingness of the Gamemakers to manipulate others into confrontations, letting the numbers run down before she was in any serious risk herself.

In the end, Johanna killed three tributes in the arena; the boy from District 3, Alec, Marline. Not the highest tally in the arena this year, but a respectable one nevertheless, and in the end it was all that she needed. She won her Games through other means.

The Games recap does focus on other tributes, of course, but only really to reiterate how miraculous Johanna's victory is, given the strength of the opposition she had to face. I have no doubt in my mind that Alec, like Gabriel, could easily have been a victor had he volunteered for a different Games. But he didn't, and so he isn't. That's just something that the people of District 4 are going to have to live with.

Eventually the victory presentation is over, and the attention turns to the victory banquet, which continues way past midnight. At the presidential mansion the party rages on all around me, although this year I decide to sit out the more raucous parts of our celebrations. As usual, the victors have flocked to a corner out of the way to have our own private celebration away from the hordes of Capitol guests. A typical part of our evening is an initiation process of sorts for the new victor into our group; one shot for every kill in the arena. This year the vodka doesn't flow as easily as many would have liked, but three shots in an Finnick's already on the floor, along with a few of the younger victors who aren't as accustomed to alcohol as I might have expected. Harrow's been drinking all evening with Haymitch and Chaff, and Auriel is standing in a corner with a pair of victors just older than him I barely know, both of them former Careers. After my experiences at this party last year, I stay out of the way of the drink. The experience of that night is not one that I want to repeat any time soon. I stand by the side with Julian and Mags, both of whom have chosen to stay sober, amusing myself at the inebriated antics of my friends.

Eventually Johanna Mason comes sauntering over to me, a glass of something or other in her hand, her eyes wild and carefree. She looks like she's had a bit too much to drink if you ask me, but when she speaks her voice is calm and unaltered.

"Not willing to get in on the fun, Robertson?" For some reason, it surprises me that she knows my name. Then I remember that she must have seen me all over TV for the past year.

"No, not me," I reply, shaking my head and refusing the glass that she's trying to force into my hand. "I had a bad enough time doing this last year." She laughs and punches me on the arm with her free hand.

"Don't want to live a little then, I take it?" she dares me, grinning devilishly, punching me in the arm a little harder than what I'd consider playful.

"Not today, thanks," I say, not wanting to offend her, as despite what she might sound like, she's clearly drunk.

"Oh, not even for me?" she says, mock upset, then laughs again as Finnick comes strolling over, putting an arm around her shoulders. I can see from the light in his eyes that he's drunk, too.

"I'm sure we can have plenty of fun without him, Jo," Finnick says teasingly.

I roll my eyes at the pair of them.

"Go on then, off with you," I say, giving them a rough push back towards the other drunken victors. However, they trip over each other's feet and end up in a pile on the floor, laughing madly. In the end, Cashmere has to come to help them both to their feet.

It looks like we have another to our group, then. I guess that on another, slightly less chaotic night, Johanna would be good company for the rest of us. While a little unnerving drunk, she's definitely a better person than I had judged her to be when I had only seen the District 4 perspective of the Games. It makes you think, as you gain a broader sense of understanding, that everyone who enters the arena is worthy of winning the Hunger Games. Of course, such thoughts are not good for a victor, so I choose not to dwell on them, focusing instead on keeping a low profile at the victory banquet.

In the end, I'm pretty relieved when a Capitol official in a black suit turns up at our little gathering and asks for me to leave the party for a few minutes. I'm glad of an excuse to avoid watching my friends make a fool of themselves for a while.

Rather than taking me outside as expected, the middle-aged man leading me away from the party leads me further inside the mansion, through a maze of corridors, up a flight of stairs here and there until we reach the end of an ornately furnished corridor and stop at a thick, polished oak door.

"Where are we?" I ask the man.

"That is not important," he replies vaguely.

"So why am I here?" I try again.

The man grins. "To see the boss," he says, and opens the door for me, ushering me inside.

I enter into a study, possibly twelve feet by ten. Dark wooden bookcases line two of the walls, a potted plant in each corner of the room, a window overlooking the City Circle. In the centre of the room, there is a large wooden desk in the centre of the room, a chair on either side. The one opposite me is occupied but facing away from myself and the Capitol attendant who brought me here.

As the chair swings around, I'm afraid for a moment that I'm about to come face to face with President Snow, an encounter that I most definitely am not prepared for, but the occupant of the chairs turns out to be a man I do not recognise. He wears a grey suit jacket similar to the man who brought me here, but it is unbuttoned and he wears no tie. He appears to be in his late thirties, although it is often difficult to tell with Capitol men due to the amount of treatment that all its citizens have become accustomed to. However, on the face of things, this man appears to have little bodily alterations; the only hints are two gold studs in his ears, and even that is somewhat acceptable in District 4. His black hair is cropped short and shows flecks of sliver in them, his eyes and much of his face covered by sunglasses, even though we are inside in the middle of the night.

"Thank you, Blair," the man says, his voice cold and stern, gesturing to the attendant who brought me here. "I can handle this alone from here," he says. For the first time, a feeling of dread runs through me as the man named Blair exits the room, shutting the door behind me, leaving me alone with this person I don't recognise.

"Please, forgive me," the man says, somewhat more friendly now. "I insist, come and take a seat." He gestures to the chair opposite him. I can tell from the tone I don't have a choice in the matter. Gingerly, I take up his offer, sinking into the comfortable chair provided for me. I rest my arms against the padded armrests, trying to look as relaxed as possible, although the atmosphere in the room still feels tense.

"Would you care for a drink?" the man asks me, pulling open a drawer to reveal a bottle of whisky, picking up two glasses between his fingers.

"No, thank you," I say for the third time this evening. "I don't drink."

"Very well, then," the man says, replacing one of his glasses before filling the other and taking a sip from it. Then he places it to one side, leans back in his chair and removes his sunglasses, folding them up and slipping them into the breast pocket of his grey jacket. This reveals a sharp, unforgiving face and a pair of cold, prying grey eyes that seem to carve a path right inside me when I look at him. I can't help but feel intimidated, and grip the armrests of my chair for reassurance.

"I assume that you don't know who I am," the mans says nonchalantly. "And even if you do somehow know, I'm going to tell you anyway. My name is Marcus Crane, and I am the head of Victors' Public Relations here in the Capitol." Now he's introduced himself, I recognise the name, although I wouldn't have been able to have told you what he did. The Cranes are a powerful family here in the Capitol. Three siblings, all incredibly powerful in their own domain. The eldest, Seneca, assistant to the Head Gamemaker. The middle child, his sister Rosalind, a reputable fashion designer. I attended one of her parties last week. One of the more lavish affairs I've been to in my stay in the Capitol. I had heard that the youngest sibling Marcus was involved in politics, but I never expected to run into him here, and now that I have, I'm not sure that I really wanted to, either.

Marcus pauses for a moment as though he's expecting for me to say something in response to this, but after a lengthy pause he continues. "My position means that it is my responsibility to make sure that Hunger Games victors continue to attract attention for the Capitol for years after their Games are over. Of course, this is not possible for every victor - take Haymitch Abernathy for instance, nothing useful will ever come from him again - but we try to ensure for most that they leave behind them a legacy of sorts."

"What do you mean?" I ask him, understanding what he is telling me but unsure what Marcus Crane has brought me up here to discuss with me.

"Well, let's start at the bottom, shall we?" he responds. "How is your talent coming along? Wood carving, I believe?"

"Very well, thank you," I say formally. "I'd like to think that I'm improving my skills in that department, becoming more and more adventurous in my designs. That being said, I've barely done anything for a month or two, what with the Games and all."

"That is understandable," Marcus nods slightly. "And I'm glad the venture is coming along well. We all know you are good with a knife, after all." He smirks at the reference to my time the in the arena, whereas I only respond with a slight nod myself. I don't pride myself on what happened last summer; not at all.

"The problem that I have," Marcus tells me, leaning forward so that his elbows are resting on the desk as he takes another sip of his whisky. "Is that beyond your talent, there is little the public can see about you. How is your life back in the districts?"

I answer as honestly as I can. "Good, but simple," I say vaguely.

"I thought you might say that," Marcus mutters. "The thing is, there's nothing that exciting about you; nothing that attracts the interest of the audience. Nothing to get you on the front page of the papers."

"I don't want to be on the front page of the papers."

"I'm sure you don't," Marcus adds. "But I want you to be. We need to keep our victors in the spotlight here in the Capitol, to keep the public interested in the Games all year round.

"Don't you have enough already?" I ask, slightly annoyed at the prospect of more public appearances or whatever he wants me to do to attract public attention. "You've already got enough victors to get good scoops on. Haymitch and Chaff with their tragic alcoholism. Cecelia and her young kids. You've enough stories without keeping me involved."

"Maybe," Marcus ponders. "Although I'm not sure. You see, those stories are great to re-visit once a year at the Hunger Games, to catch up with everyone and see how they're doing. But we need things we can report on week by week. We need someone more volatile than that."

"Oh, so it's volatile you're after? Haven't you got enough of that already, what with Cashmere getting into bed with every other guy off the street most nights?" I'm raising my voice, almost angry now. So angry, in fact, that I've broken a pact within my group of victors. What Cashmere (and Gloss, indeed) do with their free time in the Capitol is none of anyone else's business, and no matter what the public may say, we must not speak of it. As soon as the words leave my mouth I regret them, but they seem to have a positive effect on Marcus.

"Now that," he says, pointing a finger at me. "Is exactly what I want to talk to you about."

"What?"

"Your friend Cashmere's little excursions, shall we say?" Marcus grins. "How she conducts herself about the Capitol? Well, let's just say that she doesn't do that of her own volition."

"What do you mean?" I ask, fearing the worst.

Marcus sighs. "Cashmere Adlington's evenings are often spent in the company of a number of important Capitol figures, who have paid for the pleasure of her company. She sells herself to them."

"She what?"

"You hear me, Robertson. It's under our orders, of course." Marcus grins again, leaning across the table towards me. "We expect, in exchange for our allowing you to leave the arena behind you and begin a life in the lap of luxury, for you to follow in her footsteps."

"No way," I snap, leaning back away from Marcus and shaking my head. "Absolutely no way."

"Come now, Ludo," Marcus says, leaning back and opening his arms wide in an open, supposedly reassuring manner. "Do you really expect it to be that simple to decline our offer? After all that the Capitol has provided you with, you are indebted to us. Think of it as returning the favour."

"No. I refuse."

Marcus' face clouds over.

"I am sorry that it has to be this way, Ludovic," he snarls, raising his voice. "But you will conform! Have you not forgotten who you are making an enemy out of?"

"I have to say that I never considered the Capitol among my group of friends." I speak calmly, in a way that I know will only infuriate Marcus more. I'm angry myself, both for what I now know explains Cashmere and Gloss' mysterious disappearances over the past fortnight and the rumours in the media, and the fact that I'm not being coercing into joining them. I will not back down.

"If that is the case, then I'm sure you have underestimated what we are capable of doing, Master Robertson," Marcus threatens me.

"I'm sure it can't be any worse than sending a fifteen-year-old into a desert armed with nothing to fight twenty-three other kids for the right to their life."

"Now, listen here, kid," Marcus thunders at me, grabbing me by the collar and lifting me off of the ground. I can see the veins standing up in his arms, fuelled with rage. He pulls his face close to mine. "At the push of a single button, I can kill you, your whole family, your friends, destroy everything that ever meant anything to you. Do you think it is wise to stand up against power such as that?"

"No," I shrug, or at least the closest thing to a shrug that I can manage in Marcus' grasp. "But I believe in doing the right thing, and let's face it, I've gotten myself out of sticky situations before, haven't I? And anyway, I'm a victor. You can't do anything to me."

"You'd be surprised what we can and can't do, kid. What we can make look like an accident. Yeah, you might escape punishment yourself, but we'll make life hell all around you, don't you worry."

"You know, your threats aren't making me any closer to agreeing with you. You're wasting your breath. These negotiations are over."

Reluctantly, Marcus sighs and releases me, and I fall back into my chair.

"Fine," he says, glaring at me. "Go. But know fully well that this isn't the end, boy."

"I look forward to seeing you soon," I say as professionally as I dare, then turn away from Marcus Crane and stroll out of the room.

The man Marcus called Blair is waiting for me outside the door, and he escorts me back down to where the party is. I don't say a word to him on the journey back. I don't even look at him. Just to glance at him reminds me of Marcus, and of the terrible things he has threatened me.

But while he may have the key to everything else, he will not take my dignity away from me.

The repercussions may be severe, and this may just be the start of something else, but for now I am out of harm's way. I bet Marcus Crane had it all planned out, how he was going to convince me, or if not, threaten me into co-operation. But for now, I have one over him. I guess I'll just have to wait and see what hand he throws down next.

When I return the party with Blair, he seeks out Finnick and asks for his attention for a few minutes. I can only assume what for. I try to grab Finnick's attention with gestures to warn him about what is coming, but he just raises his eyebrows at me, seemingly confused. In the end, I'm helpless as Blair leads him away from the party, and upstairs for a meeting with Marcus Crane.

I don't see Finnick again until the following morning, just as we are about to leave the Training Centre (where we have been staying since the day that we first arrived in the Capitol - it feels empty here now though, without the tributes) for the train station. However, I don't get a chance to talk to Finnick about his meeting the previous night as Flavius returns for the final journey of his duties as escort, to return the pair of us to District 4. I said goodbye to my sister at the party last night so I have little to do except follow him as we make our way through the Capitol for the last time in eleven months. After all that happened yesterday, I can't say I'll be missing the place, not that it matters now.

The only place that matters now is home.

A/N: Well, I hope you all enjoyed that chapter, seeing as you've had to wait so long for it. If you did, please feel free to leave a review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)

I promise to have the final chapter of this story up by the end of this week. None of you deserve to be waiting that long again, and it will be good to finally get this story completed and move on to the third instalment chronicling Ludo's life.

Hopefully, you're all looking forward to it as much as I am :)