Trigger Warning. This chapter mentions physical abuse, sexual abuse, financial abuse, and other types of exploitation of power. I don't go into too much detail, but if you're sensitive to that sort of thing feel free to message me and I'll give you the cliff notes version of this chapter.

Near the center of the Capitol stood an imposing structure, Wren Manor, constructed from a myriad of complex architectural styles and the most expensive materials money could buy. Wealth and luxury oozed from every brick and slat of woodwork. But a hint of danger hid behind that opulence. A warning seemed to scream at passersby, from the walls themselves, that this place was Not For Them.

Certainly, it was not for Hebe. She was a street rat from District Six, a clever piece of poverty that managed to weasel her way into fame and fortune. Old money like what built the Wren household intimidated her, made her feel unwanted and inadequate, exactly as it was meant to do.

And that was just the house.

Hebe took a deep breath and knocked on the dark oakwood door. Years passed since the last time she had visited this house. Then, she left in an ambulance, and swore to herself that she would never go back. But somehow deep in her gut she knew that was a lie. Someday, she knew, she would need something bad enough to seek an audience with Mr. Wren.

"Miss Dagnus. Welcome back to Wren Manor," said the butler,as he opened the front door to welcome Hebe inside. The Wrens were rich enough to afford a butler alongside the typical suite of avoxes. She still recognized him, Aurum she thought. He was older now, his once brown hair a silvery white. Time was such a strange thing, really. Even though it had been years, stepping through the doors felt to her like no time had passed at all.

"Dagnus? Did you just say Dagnus?" A voice pinged, echoing, down the wide hallways of the mansion and into the entryway. A scuffling sound came only a moment later, and soon enough, Horatio Wren burst from the doorway which Hebe could still remember leading to the dining room. "Hebe, if it's you, say something already. It's been so long!" He held his cane with one hand and reached out for her with the other.

"Hello Horatio." She said, stepping forward and pulling Horatio into a gentle hug. While she tried to hide it, melancholy seeped into her tone.

"Your girl has gotten pretty far. Is that why you're here?" Horatio asked.

"It is."

Horatio held her tighter. "I'm so sorry. Is there... any other way?"

Hebe shook her head, then felt like an asshole, having forgotten that he couldn't see the gesture. "I don't believe so. But don't feel too bad for me. I'm capable of making my own decisions. Which is what I've done. Am doing. Let's change the subject. I thought you were out of the house?"

"I am." Horatio said, "But Mr. Wren still insists on a weekly meeting. Has us beg for our supper, you know how it is. Come, let's go to the dining room. We both know he's going to make you wait. So you can at least wait with some posca in you."

Horatio led her back the way he came, into an ornate dining room. It was easily the size of Hebe's house at Victor's village, with art hanging on every wall and gold filigree wrapping around intricately carved wooden columns. In the center of the domed ceiling was a large crystal chandelier that probably used more electricity than a family of five in District Six. Underneath it was a deep mahogany table big enough to sit a dozen people. Only one man sat there now. He clutched a teacup tenderly in both hands, while an avox refilled it just as Hebe entered; the man smiled sadly when he saw Hebe.

"Miss Dagnus. What misfortune brings you here?" He asked.

"It's nice to see you, too, Ignatius. But the two of you are being incredibly melodramatic." Hebe said, waggling one hand back and forth, dismissively, "I'm just here because I need a sponsorship item is all."

"You're acting like visiting here is the same as an afternoon stroll," Igantius retorted, "Save your denial for the rest of the world. The only people who can hear it in here are avoxes and selfish old men."

"Speak for yourself." Horatio said, "I've still got a long time to go before I count as old."

Hebe sat down at the table as an avox brought her some posca and a warm chicken dish. It was as if the cooks knew she would be there. She waved away the unsettling thought and endeavored to change the subject again. "I heard there was a meeting. How did you do?"

Ignatius Wren groaned, "He's reducing my stipend by half."

"Ignatius here stood up for me." Horatio chimed in, "I don't get anything this week, because Mr. Wren doesn't like my boyfriend. Ignatius said that I'm an adult and could make my own decisions."

"Why does being a decent person suck so much?" Ignatius whined.

"I'm so sorry, Horatio." Hebe said, "Do you have enough food? I could bake you something."

"That's nice of you. But we both know our situation is better than yours. I honestly don't know why you're kind to us at all. We did nothing when you were here before. We've done nothing now that he's started up again with other victors. I'm starting to believe Ignatius when he says we're horrible people."

"Well. I won't say there's no such thing as horrible people." Hebe mused, "We both know that's not true. But I think most of the time, it's just situations. Systems. The rules we live in. I think it's easier to be a good person when you're lower in those systems. Falling isn't as scary when you're near the ground."

Horatio smiled slightly, then waved his hand at her. "But no, I can figure out how to get food on my own this week. I don't want you getting on his bad side. Particularly not now, when your girl could win. She's something special, you know. Reminds me of you."

Hebe wasn't sure what to say to that. It was true that Astra was special, she knew it from the moment they first spoke to one another. But she had mentored so many special tributes. So many years, so many special children, taught her a valuable lesson. Survival had nothing to do with being special. Spending all this effort on one girl felt almost like a betrayal. Not because Astra didn't deserve it. But because it wasn't exactly about her.

Watching as the girl from Twelve killed not just a career, but the boy from One, gave Hebe a sense of deja vu that was physically palpable. And she knew she wasn't the only one to feel that way. Anthracite's similarities to Katniss had been strange and recurring. Many people were gathering around her in hopes of a new Mockingjay. Hebe understood the impulse, but was bothered by the one thing Anthracite and the Girl on Fire didn't have in common:

Rebellion.

There was nothing wrong with that as far as she was concerned. Hebe didn't think she herself was particularly rebellious in the midst of her Games either. Sure, afterwards, her insistence that she remember the names of all her competitors was an act of solidarity that made the Capitol uncomfortable with her for a while. But she was no Mockingjay, no grand beacon of ideals. She knew it and so did they. Ultimately, Hebe thought that kind of pressure was too much for any one person, least of all children.

But people were beginning to believe in Anthracite, putting their hope in her. If the girl from Twelve was to win, the Capitol would waste no time using her for their own ends. She would have words put into her mouth discouraging and dampening enthusiasm for any truly meaningful change. She would be made into a symbol of the Capitol's benevolence and mercy, offered special treatment, her District's boons for winning the games publicized more than most years. Until everyone who rallied around her came back into the Capitol fold. Panem would return to sleep, and the elites would be that much harder to depose.

A second Girl on Fire to burn down any chance of a third rebellion.

It was brilliant, really. So Hebe needed to present an alternative. Slow down the girl from Twelve's momentum by giving viewers something flashy, a spectacle that could also serve to highlight a tribute who really was defying the Capitol.

It was impossible to put into words just how proud she was of Astra, how much she admired the girl's innovation and sense of right and wrong. So Hebe didn't even try. She merely smiled at Horatio and nodded in agreement.

Aurum appeared at the top of the long staircase, which led up out of the dining room, into the halls of the second floor. The light of the chandelier cast his figure in ominous shadows. "Miss Dagnus? Mr. Wren is ready for you."

It was the entire reason that she was here, but the moment he announced it, Hebe wanted to run. On instinct, she froze for several moments before drawing a deep breath to help her control her body and rising from the dining room table. With those innocuous words, Hebe was back to years earlier, visiting the manor time and time again. Each, in her memory, swollen up like a pus-filled wound until it was worse than the last. People said she was his favorite back then. He had been cruel enough when he adored her. What would it be like now?

There was only one way to find out.

Hebe found a way to make her legs move by focusing on keeping herself steady on her way up the stairs. Left foot, right foot. Concentrating on that helped the knot in her stomach feel less tight and her head a little less woozy.

Aurum was instructing her where to go, but she already knew the way, feet thudding against the floor and drowning out his words as she made her way there. Some things the body never forgot. It was strange, how the same memories that were causing her to shake were the same ones helping her navigate the long corridors of the upstairs area without getting lost. She giggled at the thought, which released some of her tension.

It was essential to find humor wherever you could.

Third door to the right, through the study. Turn left and activate the trick bookcase at the back of the hall. She walked through the hidden door, and there he was. Standing with his back towards her. Augustus Wren.

Augustus, current patriarch of the Wren estate, was tall, with a lithe muscular frame not often seen among Capitolites. His hair had been blonde when Hebe had first met him, but had settled into an intimidating, steely dark-gray cut closely to his head. Not a hair out of place. His navy blue suit was so clean it was as if dust was afraid to touch it.

He didn't turn immediately, letting Hebe linger there for a moment. Then slowly, purposefully he faced her, closing the distance between them at the same time in a jarring contrast.

"And here we are again, bee." He said, "Like I always knew we would be." He reached out to brush a hair out of Hebe's eyes and her entire body went stiff.

"Mr. Wren. I know that I'm probably the last person you want to see right now-"

"Nonsense!" He cut her off cheerfully, but Hebe could hear a hint of malice in his voice, "Of course I would want to see you. You know, you weren't the first victor to be in this room. Does it bother you that despite your efforts you weren't the last?"

Of course it bothered her. Hebe remembered laying in a hospital bed as a Capitol peacekeeper told her that Mr. Wren was no longer allowed to have companionship from Victors. It was far less than what should have been done, and she had wished that someone would do more. But it was something, a small sliver of hope in an increasingly bleak world. But like all good things in Panem, it couldn't last.

"I thought you'd be mad at me." Hebe said carefully.

"I am mad at you, bee. Furious even. Which is why this is so perfect."

Hebe stayed silent.

"You're not as unpredictable as you think you are." Mr. Wren said, "I know why you're here. You need a sponsor item for your tribute, and an expensive one, at that. I even know what it is."

"You don't know what it is." The words bubbled up her throat and spat from her lips, unbidden. She wasn't sure why it mattered so much, but something about Mr. Wren knowing that much about her, about how she was thinking, who she was, felt wrong. Like even after all these years he still had some control over her.

"How about we play a game. If I guess wrong, I'll provide you with the money you need. No questions, no catch. But if I guess correctly… we can start with that blouse of yours."

The way he worded it made Hebe uneasy. He was the type to bet only when he knew he could win. For a moment she wondered if Mr. Wren had someone spying on her. But she hadn't told anyone about this, not even Kaenas. He was just that arrogantly sure that he knew her well enough to guess correctly. If the money wasn't already big enough incentive on its own, now, proving him wrong was.

"Fine." She said, "Tell me what you think."

Mr. Wren stepped towards her, and again, Hebe's instincts made her step back until she bumped against one of Mr. Wren's immense and elegant bookcases. He whispered a single word into her ear and Hebe gasped. Hands shaking, she went immediately to unbutton her blouse.

"I don't imagine Director Plume is willing to send that item for anything less than a fortune." Augustus Wren said as he reached past Hebe and locked the door, "Which means you're desperate. Why wouldn't I want the woman responsible for barring me from Victors for years standing in my playroom, completely at my mercy? It's practically my birthday."

Hebe imagined countless scenarios before this meeting, about what would happen when she asked Mr. Wren to sponsor Astra. Each one built on one another, becoming more terrifying than the last. But nothing scared her quite like the look of sheer joy on the man's face.

But what he said filled her with a grim hope. She wasn't desperate, she was determined. Panem needed to change and if she had to walk through hell to change it she would. Desperation implied helplessness. But even though she was shaking she knew that she wasn't the lone teenager from all those years ago. She wasn't just a victor, she was a mentor, a member of the rebellion, a grown woman. Despite the fact that Mr. Wren still terrified her, he didn't know her as much as he thought.

"Then you'll do it?" she asked, careful not to reveal her newfound confidence.

"I'll think about it. Come here. It's going to be a very long and very painful night."

AN: I know, another Capitol chapter. But an important one. We're going back to the arena after this, and things are really coming down to the end. Remember submissions for this story's sequel are open. Thank you very much for reading!