"Nothing captures human interest more than human tragedy"

~Angels & Demons

Every eye watches the flaming tributes as they do their rounds. Finnick laughs one quick, shocked sound. I glance over at him, watching with a smile on his face like only he would do. Only when the chariots turn ever so slightly do I see that not only are they on fire, they're holding hands.

They're nothing we've ever seen before.

I look at the people around me – the Victors, escorts, and stylists. All of them are watching intently with a range of emotions on their faces. Some are confused, some angry, but the vast majority are in awe of the blazing tributes from District 12. That sign of unity is rebellious in nature, but no one can keep from watching.

When the chariots come to a stop in front of Snow, I find myself watching his face. There's always a darkness there, always a black pit in his soulless eyes, but now he has the smallest of smiles on his face. I wonder if he'll kill them for that. Even though they'll likely die anyway, he still has to make a point.

I look over at Derek, then at Finnick. They share almost the same expression, though Finnick still has a smile plastered to his face while Derek's mouth is in a hard line. "What are you smiling about?" I ask him quietly.

He shrugs and shakes his head nonchalantly "I don't know Jo; it just feels right."

He looks at me briefly, before turning back to the parade. He's entertained by it all. I guess we have to get it from somewhere, but something about them makes my stomach clench.

Are they allies? Did they know each other before they were reaped, hence the hand holding? Or is Haymitch actually coaching them towards something? He was sober earlier, so maybe he's realized the value in the tributes this year. Or maybe this is their way of giving a final screw you to Snow before they die.

I turn to leave with Derek, staying staunchly silent as Oliver and Marta get down from the chariot. Even they keep turning to look at 12 as we walk to the elevator. Back on our floor, they hesitate, unsure of what to do with themselves.

Oliver is the one to speak first. "Are they strong this year?" he asks, his voice shaky but clearly he's trying to sound firm.

I turn my attention to him, starring into his face, still round like a baby's. He'll be dead in a few days. Marta, too, turns towards Derek and I, curious to hear the answer. Does she actually think she has a chance? There's hope in her face, and it's extremely misplaced. One look and I know that they're hoping we'll say no, it was all decoration from their stylist and mentor, but we can't say that, because it isn't true.

I know what Derek wants to say; he'd tell them that it doesn't matter, that only their strength is important. But I won't lie like that. "They're stronger than you" I say "you're not going to make it out of the arena."

I give them each a pointed look before pushing past them to my room. I begrudgingly change my clothes. There's still something for me to do tonight, and even the thought makes me want to scream. But, nonetheless, I pull on a short dress and stalk back out to the elevator. Derek and Karina watch me silently, but I don't make eye contact. Derek will know, but she won't, and I'm not telling.

As planned, a car is waiting for me outside the Training Center. The whole ride I keep my fingers wrapped tightly around the innocuous silver bracelet. If anyone ever found out what this was I'd surely be tortured and killed; Nuts, Volts, and Finnick too.

When I get out of the car, there's an avox waiting for me to take me inside. Even by Capitol standards, this man is rich. I follow the avox up marble steps to a grand door, where I'm led into a foyer twice as big as the house I grew up in. I'm staring up at the crystal chandelier hanging above me when I hear footsteps echoing on the floor.

I turn to find a man approaching. He's dressed surprisingly plainly for a Capitol man; a solid black, button up shirt with the collar made out of lace, accompanied by matching black pants. There's a small smile on his face and his hands are clasped behind his back.

"Ms. Johanna Mason" he sighs, stopping a few feet in front of me. I keep my chin up, forcing myself to stare the man in the eye "it's an honor to meet you." He takes my hand, bringing it to his lips. I bite into my lip, making a face at the gesture. "Can I get you anything?"

I furrow my eyebrows at the man, peering at him intently. "A drink" I say roughly. Ideally, the plan is to just get him drunk, let him screw me, then get the pictures and leave. No point in wasting time.

He laughs lightly but nods his head. Andersen, Beetee said his name was, offers me his arm but I stare at him with daggers and he drops it, shrugging. We walk down a long hall until we reach what looks like a den, one wall completely decorated with glasses and bottles. I stay quiet as he pulls down two glasses, filling them each with a dark liquid I can't identify. The bottle is entirely glass aside from a golden harp painted on one side. I take the glass from him.

To my relief, he takes a long drink himself. It's stupidly easy to keep him distracted – he loves talking about himself. While he talks, I keep pressing drinks on him. It takes over an hour before he finally starts inching closer to me, clearly ready to start with the real event. But before he gets his hands on me, I hold my hand up.

"Aren't you going to give me a tour?" I ask innocently, once again topping off his glass.

He smiles at me, downing the glass in one drink. I fight to keep from smiling. Already his words come out slowly and his feet seem wobbly. Still, he agrees. I tense when he throws his arm around my shoulder, pulling me back into the marble hallway.

The house is enormous, and I almost immediately lose my way. He points out bedrooms, a library, another den, but the only room I care about is his study, the place where Nuts claimed I'd find the information I need. We get to it eventually, but he doesn't spend as much time as I want talking about it. I make a point of remembering the pathway from the room down the next few halls, until his hand drops from my shoulders down to waist.

Immediately all my muscles tense against the touch, but I don't pull away. He reaches past me, pushing open the door beside us. The bedroom inside puts the Tribute Center to shame with its luxuriousness. I stare at the bed, feeling my legs getting ready to buckle beneath me. "I think you can figure out what this room is" his voice purrs into my ear.

His fingertips press into the skin of my hip through my dress, making me even more tense. It doesn't bother him though, because he uses his free hand to wrap into my hair and pull me against him. He kisses me hungrily, his mouth reeking with the scent of liquor. He doesn't wait to push me into the room and take me to the bed. I feel the quivers of resistance flow through me and I have to force myself to swallow them down. The faster I get this done, the sooner I can leave.

Andersen's drunk hands are clumsy as he pulls at my clothes and hair. I clamp my eyes shut for just a moment, forcing myself to breath a few breaths. I swallow down the hate and fear and force myself to feel absolutely nothing at all.

I reach back, batting away the groping hands to reach the zipper myself. I'll speed this along instead of standing here getting groped for hours. Andersen smiles against my mouth, his hands roughly twisting into my hair. I swallow back the pain and let my dress slip off my shoulders to the floor.

I hardly feel it as he pushes me down onto the bed, climbing on top of me as he does so. He runs his hands up my torso, stopping over my breasts to throw my bra to the floor. My hands tremble as I reach up to undo the buttons on his shirt. I can feel the energy flooding out of me with each passing second, threatening to overtake me and leave my lying here utterly complacent.

Anderson pulls off me for a moment, pulling his shirt off as well. He moves over me, pulling his pants free. I brace myself for his weight once again, but he remains hovering over me, his eyes consuming.

"I have been hoping for this for a long time, Johanna" he says, slurring my name. I press my lips together, knowing that opening my mouth would be the end of my composure.

He smiles, wide enough to raise a sob in my throat. On his knees, he presses one of his legs between mine, forcing them apart. My heart is pounding in my chest, waiting for the moment that he stops playing with me.

He leans back over me, his mouth lingering over my collarbone and neck. With one arm to support himself, he uses the other to run down my side, eventually stopping at my thigh to pull my leg up around his hips, giving him unrestricted access.

I can't stop from grimacing when he presses himself into me. It takes all of my effort to stay still and not run. He's so drunk that he hardly notices me, other than the fact that he's currently on top of me. My jaw is clenched tight and my heart hammers wildly in my chest, but I stay still and quiet until, and after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a long, reeking breath in my face, and rolls off of me. I lie frozen, starring at the dark ceiling as he gets comfortable. With his back to me, I can't tell if his eyes are open or not. Instead, I wait. I wait for well over an hour until his breaths become slow and he begins to snore softly.

Cautiously, I sit up. I grimace as I glance down at his face, peacefully asleep and unbothered. Climbing out of the bed is difficult, as I try to move as little as possible and make no sound to wake him. Eventually, I get to my feet. I walk on the balls of my feet to grab my clothes and silently slip out of the room. My heart is beating so fast that I swear he must be able to hear it. As much as I want to lean against the wall and scream my throat raw, I pull my clothes back on and straighten my spine.

Luckily his bedroom is close to his office and I can easily retrace my steps to the familiar oak door. As soon as I'm inside I close the door behind me, pushing the lock for good measure. Sweat beads on my skin as I approach the massive desk in the center of the room and begin riffling through the drawers. If he, or anyone else catches me, I'm worse than dead.

In the bottom drawer I find a thick folder spilling with papers. Immediately I know it's what I'm looking for. I don't waste any time capturing pictures of the elaborate maps. It's all the underground tunnels, I realize after a few minutes; the trains, sewers, and maintenance tunnels are all mapped out, weaving under the Capitol like a maze. All around them are small, handwritten notes. I can only imagine the value these could have. My fingers itch to grab more files, to read everything, but I know that it's too risky. If they wanted more, they would have said so.

I carefully replace the files, doing my best to leave them exactly as I found them. A few minutes of wandering the halls and I find the front door. It's still before dawn when I get to my own bed, and fall asleep with the bracelet securely around my wrist.