FINALLY this story is finished. I can't believe I finally got off my ass and wrote this final chapter. It took forever but it's here. If you're interested in submitting to my next one, keep an eye out for Honeymoon.

Thanks to Oldflowers for betaing!

Marcelle Agelasta (26)- Gamemaker

Working as Head of Sponsorships was never my dream job. I always wanted to be Arena Master. I spent my time in Gamemaking school studying the history of the arenas and the famous Arena Masters. I still dream of spending my days terraforming arenas, creating new mutts, and meticulously placing every flower, pebble, and blade of grass to create a flawless stage for bloodshed. Bellona, Rowan, and I decided that we would be the best trio of Gamemakers in Hunger Games history. I would be Arena Master, Roman would be lead statistician, and Bellona would be the head of the hydra: the Head Gamemaker herself. When Bellona was appointed Head Gamemaker, Roman and I were left behind — the balance was thrown; the dream was shattered. I was relegated to Sponsor Square, and only a year later, Rowan was forced to resign, frightened into silence. He's never told me the reason why.

So no, being Head of Sponsorships was never my dream job. But it does have its perks. While organizing my second Capitol Ball, I hear whispers. Not actual whispers, of course. Bits of spicy information very few others have. Sometimes I catch them in the form of drunken shouts; other times, they're told to me 'in confidence' with a head thrown back in laughter. But they're whispers nonetheless. Rumors, insults, threats, speculations. Things no one would say in front of polite company. But the sponsors tend to feel safe around me; more relaxed than they would be with anyone else. Really, they don't have much of a choice. I'm the one who takes their money, passes their requests to the mentors, and reassures them all the while that their contribution will be put to good use. They trust me with their fortune, and with it, their whispers.

Organizing the Capitol Ball is perhaps the best way to obtain them. One after another, wealthy sponsors bring me their complaints, wishes, and Hunger Games predictions.

I stand before the President's mansion, tablet in hand, and watch as a group of Avoxes measure the trees to determine how large, long, or tall any number of decorations should be. A scarlet-dressed Avox scurries across the courtyard, leading someone directly to me. Behind her is a wealthy socialite in a lavender dress, draped in a translucent blue shawl that hangs off of her shoulders. Her name escapes me. Dots of white snow decorate her sea-blue bonnet; her sharp bird's eyes watch me from under its rim.

The Avox bows and gestures toward the woman. I nod once, then point her towards the bushes in a silent order to trim them. When the Avox scuttles away, the Capitolite woman sidles up to me, her eyelashes aflutter.

"It's a beautiful afternoon isn't it, Marcelle?"

I don't ask how she knows my first name when I don't even remember her face. "A beautiful day to stand in the president's garden, that's for sure," I say with a tight smile.

She smiles languidly. Her lips are painted a shade of pink similar to my hair. She's certainly a fashionable woman — one who keeps up with the trends. She probably has a front row seat to the fashion shows I no longer have time to attend. "I heard little miss Larston is not accepting clients during her return to the Capitol. Evidently, she isn't even a part of…" She glances around and lowers her voice. "She isn't even a part of the Courtesan Program. May I ask why?"
I turn to my tablet and pretend to review a list of colored lights for the fountain show. "Not all victors make suitable courtesans. You will have to ask for more information from District Two's emissary team. They'll put together—"

"I've already spoken to them; that's how I know about the lack of appointments," the woman snaps. I look up at her to see her bird eyes narrowing. Her sharp nose reminds me of a beak. Her cheeks have been lifted with fake fat, masterfully sculpted but just a tad too high to look natural. The same applies to her eyebrows. Someone who doesn't spend their time laughing with wealthy Capitolites might not be able to notice her desperate attempt to reverse her age, but to me, it's as obvious as the scars on our new victor's face.

I lower my tablet, meeting her gaze. "The cost of a night with a newly crowned victor is already incredibly expensive. Booking one who is not typically available in the first place will be extremely difficult."

"Please," the woman scoffs. "We both know this isn't anything like an Augustus Braun or Tag Nylon situation." She isn't wrong. Some victors present unique cases; mitigating circumstances. Panem's Favorite Son still wears the pendulum of his district partner, who he loved until the end of her life in the 64th Games. The Gamemakers could not sully the image of a devoted lover no matter how much money could be made from selling his body. And despite the many interested parties who contacted me after he won the 78th, Tag Nylon is simply too young. Give it a few years and he'll be a top seller.

The woman tightens her shawl around her shoulders and fixes me with a peremptory stare. "I'll pay whatever Presque wants for one night with Leto Larston. And while you're asking, why don't you tell her to get that stick out of her ass? Saying I can't have a night with Leto— psh!" She waves away the sentiment with a gloved hand.

I fight back a smirk. This isn't the first time I've heard complaints from sponsors about Bellona's demeanor. Her pretentious air has a way of irritating others. So is her achievement of being the youngest female Head Gamemaker in history.

"I'll deliver the message to her and get back to you," I promise. "I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day, Miss…?"

"Cherith!" the woman exclaims as if outraged that I could forget such an important member of Capitolite society. "I was one of Leto's biggest supporters from the start! Others saw her as a promising investment,, but I always knew her for the talented and beautiful girl that she was."

"I'm sure she'll be delighted to hear it," I say sardonically.

Mrs. Cherith fixes me with one more glare before turning away, her blue shawl flowing behind her like a cape. I sigh. The whispers may be nice, but I have a feeling that this job is going to kill me. There's always too much to do and too many people to please.

"Miss Agelasta?"

I turn to see a young woman standing at the iron gate just off the edge of the property. Light blue tattoos sparsely decorate her face, thin and reflective in the gentle sunlight. "Aelia?"

Aelia's false butterfly lashes flutter around her droopy eyes. "Miss Presque has requested your presence. Wow, that sort of rhymes…"

"Thank you," I say loudly. "I'll be there in just a moment."

"She said it was urgent…"

I huff in frustration and turn back to my Avoxes, immediately scanning them with sharp eyes. "We'll postpone this until tomorrow. Go find something else to do inside the mansion!"

The Avoxes each bow their heads respectfully before scurrying up the stairs and into the President's mansion. I grind my teeth as I turn to Aelia. "What could Bellona possibly want from me right now? Does she not realize that I need to finish organizing this Ball before the week is over? Party planning is serious business!"

Aelia raises one dyed blue brow. "I'm just the messenger."

"Of course," I sigh. "Let's get back to the Gamemaking Center."

Leto Larston (19)- Victor of the 78th Hunger Games

District Six is by far one of the most hopeful districts in the Tour. The citizens stare at me with the same vitriol as all the others, but the families themselves don't seem lost without their loved ones. Instead, Logan's girlfriend and his family stand on his podium, faces set with a mixture of pride and dignified grief. Pagani had said in her interview that her family had been homeless for a few years and that her brother was deathly sick, so I expected them to be barely standing on stage, tearful and unkept like so many of the other poor families whose children are Reaped. But instead her family is well-dressed and healthy, standing tall and staring at me as I give my speech directly to them. Below both podiums, a large group of young adults have gathered, dressed in the unmistakable attire of a gang.

I was the one who killed Logan and my alliance together killed Pagani, but Six doesn't seem full of rage like Eight had been. Instead they stand as a united front, proud of their accomplishments. Perhaps even more ready for the next Games than before.

Part of me feels the familiar patriotism and idealistic pride in the Hunger Games that I used to feel before I volunteered, but another part feels sickened. My stomach turns as I turn toward Logan's podium. His charming smile cuts through the holograph, but all I can see is his blue eyes wide with fear, mouth open and bloody and gasping with fear, his entrails spilling over his jumpsuit and staining the snow bright red. I drag in a deep breath as I face his parents.

"Logan had an exceptional performance in the Hunger Games, and he was an incredibly strong and determined tribute. Even though he didn't win, he made his District proud and never thought once about giving up."

Turning to Pagani's family, I gulp once more, blocking out the image of Pagani's head crushed by Passion's mace. Her pale blue eyes, pug nose and dirty blonde hair all screams Six street rat, and so did her performance in the Games. But I don't dare say that. Instead I assure her mother and brother that she was a clever tribute whose plot to take down the Careers was admirable and brave. I wonder why they wrote me such a hypocritical speech. Her plan didn't work and we Careers brutally killed her, yet here I am praising her.

The train ride to Five passes just as uneventfully as my stop as Six. I spend my time on my bed, poring over footage of Celia's and Enobaria's Victory Tours. In all my time training at the Academy, I never wanted to be like any of the other Career female victors. I admired them of course, especially those who don't act like a floozy to earn the Capitol's approval. The sexualization happens regardless of course, but I always was proud to be from the only Career district that didn't play into it. I always wanted to create a name for myself like they did. Celia, the Ice Queen. Enobaria, the sharp-fanged predator who struck fear and reverence into the hearts of the nation. And now me, the tough and sophisticated Leto. At least, that was the way it was supposed to go.

After my icy dinner with Celia and Cato the other day, I realized that was all a fantasy. There's no guarantee that the Capitol will like me for who I am; in fact, it's easy to see that they don't. They want a character, not the boring and dry victor who gave my speech at Six. Cato's charisma and Celia's cool girl facade, once an unimaginable compromise on my values, now seems like an unreachable goal. Celia was right when she said that I will be forgotten by the Capitol if I don't create my own character to play onstage. It's my job to grab the attention of Two and of the Capitol to ensure that I don't fade into obscurity.

The sliding door of my bedroom opens, and I jump slightly, quickly pressing pause on the remote beside me. Cato slides in and I resist the urge to curl inward on myself. He gives me a slight apologetic smile as he plops down on the lounge chair by my bed.

"It's been a crazy week, huh?" he asks. He doesn't stink of alcohol as he usually does, so I return his grin with a nervous smile. We both glance over to the screen where Enobaria's face is frozen mid-grimace. Her unnaturally white fangs are contrasted by her dark skin and long black hair trailing down her back in a sleek ponytail, amber eyes fixed on the crowd with the same sadistic look she had given every tribute she killed.

"Ah Enobaria, vampiric bitch."

I side eye him warily, but he only grunts out a laugh and leans back in his seat. "Relax, she loves it when we call her that."

"Of course," I grumble. At the Academy, Enobaria has a reputation of being a hardass. Whenever she came around to observe the trainees, everyone knew they would have to try to impress her to earn a high spot in that month's rankings.

Cato chuckles a bit at my response, looking back at me. "Taking pointers?" He gestures to the screen, an eyebrow raised, leaning closer to me. His skin is inhumanly clear and poreless after countless Capitol skin treatments, but I can still see the faint lines from stress and sleepless nights that no cosmetic procedure could ever smooth out.

I draw in a breath and turn back to the screen. "Learning how to be a good victor for Two."

Cato grunts. "You know, if you asked me, I would say that you are already a good victor."

"Celia doesn't seem to think so," I mumble, drawing my knees put toward my chest. I feel transported back to my childhood at the Academy where a knowledgeable victor has sat me down for a valuable lesson, and I'm the sheepless trainee who is eager to learn but just as clueless as ever.

"Celia can be a bit hotheaded at times," Cato waves away my concern with his hand. "But she means well. You know that."

"Celia? Hotheaded?" I snort. "Not the Ice Queen. She's always the chilliest one in the room."

"Does she seem that way to you?" Cato asks. The genuine question surprises me. I look up to him, his blue eyes softer than usual.

Slowly, I shake my head. "Not in person…" I've always prided myself in being a good judge of character, but it's difficult to get a good grasp on someone through a computer screen.

Cato shrugged. "And do you think Enobaria spends all her time in her huge mansion thinking about how she'd like to rip out more throats? Or that I actually eagerly await the day I can be in Capitol kickboxing matches again?" he asks dryly.

I blink several times at him. Cato's talent was kickboxing after his Games, but he only participated in a few matches before disappearing back to Two, apparently due to an injury and a 'perfectionist nature'. I always knew the real reason was his love for alcohol, but I never considered that the other victors may feel pressured into their own little boxes after winning.

I sigh, pressing a button on the remote and watching as Enobaria's face fades into black. "I don't want to be fake."

Cato scoffs. "Fake is such an ugly word. Like an insult that teenage girls throw at each other. What we're doing is surviving."

I turn to him with a dark stare. "We've already survived."

He tilts his head, a lost look in his eyes. "Then I guess this is our reward. Deception works."

"Deception causes death."

Cato stares at me sadly for a moment. Then ever so slowly he says, "I know that Cyprian deceived you. But he didn't die because of it. He died because he didn't do it well."

The words puncture my heart deeper than any knife or arrow could. My one true friend, the person who I thought I could trust, nearly killed me. Was he ever my friend? How could I ever trust anyone in all of Panem after he betrayed me?

Cato seems to realize that I am frozen, so he continues softly, "I didn't know how to make sense of anything after I won my Games," he sighs. "Clove and I had trained together for years. We both knew we would do anything to win, but somehow… I didn't expect it."

I know what he's talking about. When they made it to the final two, Clove had turned on Cato without any hesitation, nearly taking out an eye with her throwing knives.

"For so long, I didn't understand how she could treat me like just another obstacle in the way of her victory." He sighed deeply, then throws his arms up in resignation. "And then I realized it's because I was."

There's a long silence in which I can't do anything but breathe.

Cato clears his throat eventually and stands with a quiet, "Don't forget to play the Game."

…

I killed both tributes from District Five. Raillen was a bloodbath, my very first kill. Her platinum hair frames her thin, graceful face, sharp blue eyes watching me as I give my speech, those blue eyes that always seemed to know more than she let on. I recall her begging the male Careers for her life before I ended it, my whip wrapped around her throat and pulled tight.

"You and the other guys might be lonely with all these Career women around! They don't know what a man needs, do they?"

"Sure, you're beautiful. But so is Passion, and I don't need two beautiful women nagging at me all day."

Faroud had responded, giving me the go-ahead. Now he's just another ghost on this tour, same as her.

Under her angular face and sharp blue eyes, her platform is empty aside from a young woman who looks to be around my age. Her dark hair is well kept and shines under the bright spotlights. A polite smile adorns her face and her eyes seem shifty and nervous, not grief stricken. Still, she stands still and straight on the platform, and when I speak about Raillen's beauty and skill in the Games, her eyes darken and narrow at me the way I expected.

I'm beginning to get tired of the same bitter and resentful expressions of all the tributes' families when they look at me. It's not my fault they were Reaped or that she chose to go for the Cornucopia during the Bloodbath instead of running away. She played the Game wrong and she lost. Even though this Victory Tour is a cruel and pointless celebration of her death, I'm not the one who organized it.

As I glance at Volt's family and see the look on their faces, I feel my own start to shift. The pair of parents are clearly tearful, barely holding themselves together on the stage. But as I turn to them, they both smile and chuckle mockingly. In fact, the entire District is thick with derision, the crowd jeering at me from down below as if they were the ones who had won the Hunger Games. I realize that they are likely all proud of Volt for dividing the Career team and nearly bringing about our downfall. And beyond that, Volt managed to make a fool out of District Two by sullying Cyprian's and, and therefore my own, name.

My face stiffens with the same coldness I've seen on Celia's, my eyes sweeping over Volt's platform and face with disinterest before glancing down at my card. My lips open and I speak the words with the same practiced effort and nuance, but I punctuate the end of each sentence with a distasteful glance at Volt's family, making it clear I return the spiteful sentiment. It's hard to act like that toward a pair of tearful, grieving parents, but I finally feel like I have no choice.

The character that Cato and Celia have been wanting me to play for so long finally appears, taking inspiration from Celia's cold ferocity, Enobaria's lack of remorse, Lyma's elegant composure, and even Cato's general disinterest in the proceedings, as well as the tough face I was accustomed to putting on at practice back at the Academy.

The aura throughout the Square changes completely. The smug looks disappear from the faces of the crowd beneath me, and they begin to look at the ground instead. Volt's parents no longer seem to be smirking at me underneath their tears, and instead avoid my eyes.

After my speech, I head off the stage and meet Cato's eyes as he stands off to the side. He dips his head to me, looking equal parts proud and regretful. When the latest victor from Five, Jabbock Darlson, shakes my hand as I leave, he seems timid, even submissive under my sharp gaze.

Dinner on the train that night is completely different than the last one. As I quietly slice a tender piece of chicken with my knife, Celia's voice causes me to glance up. "You did well today," she says with an approving nod. "You need to keep this up for the Career districts."

I know that she's right. The Career districts usually support their allies when they win the Games, but the Careers are still rivals. I remember Tours from when I was younger, when victors such as Lavish Crystalbone and Annie Cresta were met with either cold silence or loud cheers for the fallen tributes that nearly drowned out the speech. Until the Peacekeepers on duty reminded their family and friends to keep quiet. Things will be even worse since my relationship with Faroud and Marlowe was rocky, to say the least. Faroud died early enough in the Games that there wasn't much to say about his performance, but Marlowe was their frontrunner after his death and was killed by an outer district tribute after I left the alliance. It had nothing to do with me, but they'll still find a way to blame me.

I thoughtfully chew the chicken, tasting its lemon and cilantro seasonings. There's no sign of any poison or other foul play, so I softly swallow and take another bite. The escort seems delighted that I'm eating normally, even offering to pour me another glass of wine, which I refuse. I need to keep my wits about me.

Four isn't quite as hostile as I expected. There's disappointment in the air, to be sure, but more sadness than anything else. They were so close to victory last year, and probably thought Faroud would turn things around for them this year with his high training score. So much for that.

Annie Cresta greets me as the latest victor, having won the 70th Hunger Games. She shakes my hand, a nervous look in her eye, before I give my speech. I make sure to highlight that Faroud was the only other tribute to score a ten aside from myself, saying that luck simply wasn't in his favor when it came to the encounter with the bear. This isn't entirely true, of course. His own foolishness and arrogance got him killed when he should have been more level headed and thought through everything before jumping headfirst into danger. I'm sure this sentiment shows on my face, because the faces of the crowd seem ashamed, even embarrassed. The only person under Faroud's obnoxious smiling face is an old woman, who is sitting in a chair rather than standing like most family members are required to do. A single tear rolls down her wrinkled cheek as I finish my speech about Faroud and turn to Marlowe's family.

Marlowe's parents seem overcome with emotion, now having lost a second daughter. Their overly emotional reactions tell me all I need to know about why Marlowe was so unstable.

After the first Career district goes off without a hitch, we head off to Three. After a sleepless night filled with terrifying visions of the final battle, I wake in a sweaty mess of my sheets and get dressed. Behind my eyelids, I can still see my knife embedding itself in Caillou's chest. Pain pulses in my knee.

The air is tense in Three, similar to the mood in Eight before the riot began. Peacekeepers line the Square more than any other district I've been to, clearly sent to intimidate any prospective traitors to Panem into behaving.

The freezing weather reminds me unpleasantly of the arena, but the fury simmering in the crowd is nearly enough to melt the snow. I stand onstage in a gray dress, fur lining the neck and sleeves with a rabbit fur hat to match, holding my cards in blue leather gloves. I meet the eyes of each person in the front row who stares at me, sweeping my eyes over them dismissively before beginning my speech.

"Dylan was a brave tribute whose death will be remembered and I will do my best to honor his sacrifice."

Dylan was a bloodbath who I didn't kill and barely even remember, but his family seems to hate me nonetheless. I guess I can't blame them, but they could at least try to pretend to have sportsmanlike conduct for the cameras. His parents clasp their hands together and don't even blink once when I speak about their son.

Now for the part that I've been dreading. As I turn to Caillou's platform, her dreamy smile haunts us like a spectre. Her mother and brother are easily identifiable. Their eyes look just like hers even from so far away. There's another girl there as well, looking about Caillou's age. Unlike Caillou's family, she has pale skin and bright red hair. Caillou never mentioned a girl in all the Games footage I've seen, but she didn't speak much at all. But I remember her face from the Final Eight interviews that I watched after my victory. She had introduced herself as Jessica before hesitantly saying that she was "best friends" with Caillou. I've had such a friendship with Adrienne for so long that I immediately understood her hesitancy. Seeing her crying on that stage hits me harder than I expected.

"I've known Caillou my whole life… All I want is for her to return."

As Jessica's words ring in my ears, I feel my mask slip for a moment. I have to take a pause in my speech and clear my throat before continuing, and I wince as I read out the next words into the microphone. "Caillou fought valiantly. She won't be forgotten."

These are the final words on the card. I lower it slowly and look out over the crowd, scanning their wretched faces. With a gulp and a glance back at Celia and Cato behind me, I turn to the victors standing on their own platform beneath mine. Three has had six victors throughout Hunger Games history, only four of which are still alive. Wiress stands alone on the edge of the platform, smiling distantly, while Lumena and Aluminum stand in the middle beside Beetee. They all seem a bit surprised that I'm addressing them specifically. Aluminum watches me with a small frown on her face. I speak to her directly so that she can read my lips.

"Caillou may have been my rival, but she's also the reason I'm still here. She tricked Cyprian and foiled his plan, giving the other Careers and I the upper hand. I probably wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for her. She would have made an outstanding victor."

The silence is deafening throughout the Square, but Aluminum only smiles and nods slightly to me, conveying that she understood what I said. I face the crowd and with a small bow, turn away and head back down the stairs.

After the brunch at the Justice Building, Aluminum comes up to grasp my hand, giving me a small nod before walking away, her sign language interpreter following behind.

…

We skip District Two according to tradition. The Tour, this nightmare, will finally end there, and I will be able to be with my father and Adrienne again. But before that, I have to give my last speech at One, then finish it off with the party at the Capitol. I've been wanting this whole thing to end, but only now do I realize that the final stop of the Tour will be the worst. I'm not looking forward to my return to the city of luxury, the thin sheen of neon colors and glittering gold smeared over the pulsing veins of misery underneath.

As the train races toward District One, I'm sitting on the plush couch in the lounge compartment with a glass of wine. Capitolite wine is just a tad too sweet. I can only assume that the Capitol can't consume anything that isn't infused with fake sickly sweetness. I miss the rich earthy wines they make in Two.

The sliding door leading to the next compartment opens and shuts, but I don't bother to look over, assuming it's just an Avox coming to check on me. I'm surprised when Celia walks into my line of sight, wearing a thin blue dress and a shawl around her shoulders, white curls bouncing. In her hands she holds a pack of Capitol brand cigarettes and a tablet. "I just received word from the Capitol."
My blood quickens. "About what?"

"Your schedule for the Capitol stop." She sits in one of the chairs across from me, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. I stare at the glowing tip and take in the smell of the smoke. Smoking was always forbidden for trainees at the Academy, so the scent brings back very specific memories. Particularly my first moments in the Capitol, at the Prep Center, where I smelled the smoke on the guy from Eight. And again on occasional nights on my balcony when the scent wafted down the tower to my room. When I glance back up at Celia, her face looks like Thimble's drawn and exhausted face for a second before morphing back into her own.

Celia's ice blue eyes cut deeply into mine, an elegant eyebrow lifted inquisitively. I sit up straighter and nod, the feeling of deja vu dissipating slowly. "Alright. What is our schedule for the Capitol?"
Celia taps on the tablet in her lap, breathing out smoke. "First you'll have your appearance at the train station, of course. Then the interview on Caesar Flickerman's show where you'll show your talent. We're still trying to decide what dish would be best for you to prepare, but the show will provide you with all the ingredients and the instructions." She takes another puff of smoke, and I feel my nose wrinkle in disgust for the first time before she continues. "After that we'll all attend the Capitol Ball. Prepare to meet every single celebrity in the Capitol. They'll all want to meet you."

I let out a breath of exasperation that she ignores.

"Then you'll end the night with your first private appointment with a client in the Capitol. She's a well-respected woman in the social circles of the Capitol, so make sure to be on your best behaviour."

"Appointment?"
Celia glances up at me from her tablet. "Yes. Cato and I both have one as well. Is that a problem?"
Her tone leaves no room for questions. I quietly answer, "No." It doesn't really matter what she's talking about. Nothing can surprise me anymore.

…

District One is actually not that bad of a stop. The One tributes are always full of themselves, but so are the other trainees. As I give my speech about how Callum and Passion were tributes worthy of One's illustrious reputation, the other Academy students are far too absorbed with trying to get a spot in the front row closer to the cameras. A few of them are blatantly smiling and winking toward the nearest camera lens. I wonder which of them will be the most popular on Hunger Games blogs speculating about future tributes.

Passion's family is the most interesting thing about the district. They seem somehow miserable, indignant, confused, and elated to be on television all at once. Passion's younger siblings don't seem to have processed her death yet. The girl is squinting up at Passion's smiling face above her in confusion, while the little boy waves for the cameras with a gleaming smile that reminds me of Passion's signature Mavros grin.

"Passion honorably represented District One in the Hunger Games, and her memory will live on in the Mavros Inc. legacy," I read into the mic. I know that what I'm saying is a lie and I'm sure it shows on my face, but the Mavros family couldn't care less. They probably just like that Passion was able to give their brand more exposure. I don't doubt I'll see her younger siblings at the Academy in the coming years, and that their training will coincide with a sudden realization from their parents about what happened to their eldest daughter.

Callum's family is what I expected. From their quiet and timid demeanor to the bitter glances they gives the Mavros family, it's clear that Callum took after them in lots of ways. Passion was the entire reason he volunteered, after all, and now they're both dead. It was all for nothing. I notice that Clalum's younger sister is wearing the pink bracelet that he constantly wore during training. His token. It looks like his body was able to be recovered and taken back here for a proper funeral, which is good to hear.

I speak more highly of Callum than Passion, noting how he was always strong and calm in the face of adversity and how his death came far too soon in the Games. I must say, if Two couldn't have a victory, Callum would have been the best choice for an honorable Career victor.

After my speech, we head to the Justice Building for a customary brunch with the mayor and the current victors. These brunches are almost all the same, especially in the outer districts where the victors are withdrawn and everyone just wants it to be over. Even in District Four, most of the victors seemed tired of the pageantry, sticking close to each other and barely paying attention to the Two victors.

But here in One, it feels different. The victors don't seem enthusiastic about the meal, but they don't ignore us either. And while I'm not easily starstruck, having met nearly all the nation's victors at this point, even I am thrilled to meet such esteemed victors as the Cavalier Career and the Rosewood siblings. But after kissing my hand upon my arrival, Augustus and Gloss immediately escape to the other side of the table, while Cashmere seems more interested in discussing speech-writing with my escort than talking to me. I resist the urge to sneak glances at the pair of men as I sit at the table in my shimmering dark dress, gingerly cutting up my steak. Augustus looks exactly like he does in the magazines and on the big screen. His golden hair is expertly coiffed and his muscles seem sculpted by the gods themselves, almost inhuman in their perfection. Even his face itself seems molded by the Capitol's ideals. When he smirks I see him back in his arena on the TV, charming his district partner Hypnos or putting his other allies at ease. Slipping the pendant she gave him over his neck, where it still rests as a symbol of his everlasting love for her.

As I place a tiny piece of steak into my mouth, barely registering the rich flavor, I overhear Augustus Braun and Gloss Rosewood whispering to each other.

"I'll see you, won't I?" Gloss murmurs to Augustus. "Tonight."
"You might," says Augustus.

"I will."

"You might," Augustus repeats. There's no small degree of impatience lacing his golden voice. "I'm due on the train at 5:00 AM."

"Then leave on time," says Gloss. Augustus sips from his glass, averting his eyes; seeking distraction. Gloss leans the slightest bit closer, his lips a matter of inches from Augustus' ear, the movement slightly jingling Hypnos' blue necklace around Augustus' neck. "You know how I feel about you," Gloss says softly. "I'll see you tonight, won't I?"

I slice off another piece of my steak, purposefully not looking over at them as the conversation continues. Eventually they both fall silent and I see Gloss nodding toward me out of the corner of my eye. I sit with this new information for the rest of the meal, ruminating over what I heard. At first I don't believe the implication of it, despite how unambiguous it seemed. Augustus has spent the past ten years celibate due to losing his true love Hypnos in the Games. Surely I just misinterpreted the situation.

I still don't look at them, resolutely focusing on my food, but I still see Gloss nod toward me once out of the corner of my eye just as their conversation stops. They both eat the rest of the meal in silence, until the dessert when we are free to roam around the room with our dishes. I settle into a lounge chair in the corner, hoping to avoid everyone else, when Augustus speaks over the sound of the piano. "Leto!"

I look up to meet his glittering eyes and plastic smile. "I'd imagine you're thrilled for your Victory Ball in the Capitol tomorrow. I'll perform and you'll entertain," he tells me. "We'll be the stars of the night."

I nod stiffly, feeling my hair trail over my bare shoulders and back. Nobody had informed me that Augustus Braun would be singing at the Ball. Since his victory, he's been on every radio station and television advertisement, gracing Panem with music famously written by Gloss, the Capitol's most beloved silver-tongued poet himself. I suppose I should have known better.

I instinctively glance at Gloss, who leans against a wall behind him with a glass of papaya chardonnay from One's cellars, a fact I wouldn't know had it not been for my escort rambling about it earlier. His expression contrasts with Augustus' obviously faux-cheerfulness. His brows are furrowed in a way that seems like pity, or even concern.

"I look forward to seeing you onstage," Augustus adds before being nearly interrupted by his former mentor.

"Be careful in the Capitol, Leto," Gloss says solemnly. "Believe me." His face is impassive enough that I can't tell whether it's a threat or a warning. Augustus looks back at him for an instant before backing away from me, over to his fellow victor. They both stare at me for a moment, Augustus still with a remnant of fake charisma in his eyes that slowly fades so that I can see the true pain underneath. His gaze is sad and still distrustful despite the mask falling, one that I've become far too accustomed to seeing on the faces of countless victors throughout this tour.

Augustus glances down at the star brooch on my chest and his expression changes to one of thinly veiled envy. He reaches up to his pendant and tucks it under his shirt before turning and walking away. Gloss follows, placing a hand on the small of his back. I stand and leave the room before I can see anything else.

In the end, even the nation's most respected and patriotic victors aren't who I've been taught to believe they were. They aren't any different than the rest.

Bellona Presque (26)- Head Gamemaker

Seneca always described his interviews with Caesar Flickerman as a necessary chore for the sake of the nation, but I consider them an important aspect of the Hunger Games themselves. The Games didn't end the moment that the victor chokes the life out of their final victim. It continues on through the Victory Tour and onto this stage, where the Head Gamemaker has a chance to reveal the magic behind the scenes. That's what the Hunger Games are after all: magic.

The cameras flash, the spotlight bores down on me, and the glittering crowd screams as I step out onto the stage. I flash a smile at the colorful Capitolites in the audience, giving them a small wave as I head toward my seat. Caesar stands as I approach and shakes my hand firmly, his signature glittering smile on his face. His hair and suit are deep purple this year, a color that matches my emerald green dress. My own hair is tied into a long black braid and wrapped around my head in a way reminiscent of the ancient myths that inspired the arena this year. Only the most learned among the Capitol will understand the reference, but I've always valued thoroughness.

"Welcome, welcome, Bellona!" Caesar shouts into the microphone, causing even more uproarious applause. I wave to the fans one more time before taking my seat, crossing my legs elegantly and focusing on Caesar with a slight smirk.

"Thank you for the warm welcome."

"It's a pleasure as always, Bellona!" Caesar exclaims after taking his own seat. "This year's Games were simply magnificent! Amazing performances all around. What would you say was your favorite part of the Games this year?"

I smile a bit, tipping my head as I pretend to think about my answer, then smoothly say, "When Flux DuBois and Raven Lavalee ventured from the mainland to the island. Or when Logan Wheeler finally answered the riddle."

Murmurs echo through the studio, some of assent and others of surprise. Clearly they expected me to say the battle between the two alliances at the Cornucopia, the comeuppance of Passion by Flux DuBois, or even the final battle.

"Really? How intriguing," Caesar says pointedly to the audience.

I nod, giving him a small smirk. " While violence is always delicious to watch, it's most interesting as a Gamemaker to see the tributes' internal battles as they come face to face with the arena itself.

"Of course, of course… a Gamemaker's perception is always different than the rest of the public! Now, what a wonderful segue to our next topic, and perhaps the one everyone is most eager to what about! This arena was simply fantastic. So intricate! Many people have said that it takes inspiration from ancient cultures from before the Collapse!"

He leans in comically to hear what I have to say, and I chuckle loftily. "Indeed. Though much of the knowledge of the world's history was lost in the Collapse, the government and our incredible universities here in the Capitol have made it a point of interest to preserve what information we have. The mythologies and histories of such classical civilizations were the blueprint for this year's arena."

Caesar looks impressed, a sentiment that is clearly shared by the audience. He lets out a low whistle of appreciation and stammers a bit as he tries to come up with his next question.

"And- so there are many questions that we all have about the arena and its muttations–" he nods at the crowd so cheers back in agreement– "so I'll have to cherrypick which ones I think are most important. First of all… those mutts at the bottom of the cliff. With those voices!" He wipes imaginary sweat from his brow. "What on earth were those, and why could only a few of the tributes and the audience at home hear them?!"
I slowly smirk. "I can't reveal all of my secrets, Caesar."

Laughter ripples through the audience and Caesar throws his head back with a chuckle. "I must say, the Gamemaking technology is making remarkable strides!"

"It's true, Caesar," I say. "The Hunger Games has driven innovation ever since they were established 79 years ago. Just compare the way they used to be run compared to now."

Caesar nods with a giant grin on his face. "Alright, alright… we can leave a few mysteries for the audience at home. If you won't tell us about those mutts, then what about the others? The muttations seem to have been the focus of this year's arena. Even the feast was based around them!"
"Yes, we decided to help the tributes out a bit with the mutts. So we sent them some… weapons to help them out," I say with a grin. Watching myself in the closest camera, I can see that I look just bloodthirsty enough to play the part perfectly.

"And thank god you did! Surely half of the tributes would have been killed just like poor Luna if they hadn't had those weapons!"
I shrug. "That's the name of the game. But we decided to be merciful."
Caesar chuckles a bit, eyebrow waggling. "A good Gamemaker knows just how far to push things! Now, what about that mountain that Miss Urakaka spent several days on? And those statues… even President Snow made an appearance!"
"Yes, we included some of our own likenesses in the Games as the gods of old, with President Snow as our leader. The mountain itself was like a heaven of sorts, where the tributes could see what their life would be like as a victor among the rest of the godly figures."

Caesar nods seriously. "And now one of those lucky tributes will really stand among them!"

The crowd erupts into applause, and I can tell that they're getting bored of me. They're hungry for the main attraction of the night, Leto Larston herself. I graciously take my leave from the stage and take my seat at the front of the crowd, where the rest of the Gamemaking crew, as well as Leto's stylist and prep team, are waiting.

With bated breath, the entire country waits as Caesar announces the latest victor's return to the Capitol. I watch like a hawk, ready to see how Celia and Cato have managed to shape her into a real victor rather than a sniveling paranoid girl.

"We all know her. We all love her. It's Leto Larston of District Two!"

When Leto walks onstage, I'm immediately put to ease by her expression and her confident stride. Her eyes scan the crowd with easy authority, not a hint of nervousness in her eyes. I see at once the patriotic and humble girl who volunteered to honor her district, as well as a refined and assured victor.

The interview with Caesar is short but sweet. Leto keeps her cool persona throughout while still smiling occasionally, though never laughing. She reveals that she has a lover back in Two, a girl named Adrienne who she was too nervous to mention in her interview before the Games, but who everyone saw in the Final Eight interviews. All of this was approved by me and President Snow, of course. It's not always advisable to have a victor enter a relationship right after their Games, but Leto was never marketed for her sex appeal, so sharing her love story will make her more desirable. The crowd is already cooing at the story of how Leto and Adrienne are already planning on moving in together.

"In fact, I learned my talent so that I could be able to cook for her," Leto says, the first hint of nervousness entering her voice.

"Is that so?" Caesar asks. I can feel the entire crowd leaning forward, longing for more.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I could show you some of what I've been working on…?"

"I think we all would love that!" Caesar raises an arm in the air as the audience razors in approval.

Leto grins. A line of Avoxes appear from the sidestage, each carrying an array of dishes, all encased in silver platters.

"Finally!" Caesar roars. "What I've always wanted to do on this stage! Eat!"

What ensues is a taste test of epic proportions. The crowd gasps each time a dish is revealed, and enviously groans when Caesar and Leto each get to taste the food. From soups to roasts to cupcakes, each dish is carefully created to look delicious to the trained Capitolite eye, while still reflecting their supposed origin: District Two. Muffins that are made with the finest fruits and processed grains, but are slightly misshapen. Roasted vegetables that look homegrown but are drizzled in a delectable brown sugar sauce. I have no doubt that many Capitolite families will be trying to replicate these recipes in the coming weeks.

As the night slowly draws to a close, the Gamemakers are given a few final moments on camera. I ascend the stage to shake Caesar's hand before returning backstage to where the others are waiting. I see Marcelle loitering around the changing rooms and I swiftly turn the other direction. I have no reason to speak to her. Everything that needed to be said was said in our last meeting. We made it clear that she shouldn't have been speaking to Rowan behind our backs and that she should drop the matter.

As I turn back to look at her one last time, I see the listless look in her eye, that dead stare that I know I caused, and I feel remorse for the first time in a long time. None of this is my fault, but I still feel guilty for not telling her the truth. We were best friends at one point, after all.

I turn back around and stare forward, trying to get my head on straight. The past doesn't matter. All that matters is my future as the best Head Gamemaker who ever lived, and if Marcelle will get in the way of that, then I was right to dispose of her.

Leto Larston (19)- Victor of the 79th Hunger Games

Dancing Capitolites swing by the table, hanging off each other and laughing raucously. I nervously sip on my champagne and watch the scene unfold before me like a classical painting. The chandeliers above the party cast shimmering lights on the feast, giving the room a dizzying effect. Above the dancefloor, a famous Capitolite celebrity is DJing. The loud song pounds into my eardrums. I'm sitting by myself at a small circular table, one hand holding a glass of champagne and the other gripping the shimmering white tablecloth. A plate of buttered lobster sits before me, but I ignore it despite my hunger. My so-called 'paranoia' has been acting up again since returning to the Capitol, but I don't think I'm being entirely irrational. If there's anything I learned through my time here, it's that no one in the Capitol can be trusted.

The pulsing dance song finally ends, and I breathe a sigh of relief as the DJ grabs the microphone. "To end the night, let's welcome the Cavalier Career himself, Augustus Braun!"
I sigh again, this time in exasperation. The rest of the party shrieks in excitement and hurries to the dancefloor to hear the victor's performance, but I stay seated, clutching my glass and staring at Augustus. Purple light illuminates his face as he gives his signature charming smile to the audience.

"I'd like to premiere a new song written by my fellow victor Gloss Rosewood," Augustus announces, raising a glass in Gloss' direction. He oozes charisma, but for once I can see through the mask of a victor to the pain underneath. His smile seems less charming and more wistful. When he begins singing, I don't think of his lost love from the arena, but two star-crossed lovers who can only express their love through a ballad with lyrics sweet enough to give even a Capitolite a toothache.

Won't you take me away and into the blue?

Relieve me of my insanity

Give me your love and humanity

And if ever I stray or betray you

Toss me out with no further ado

'Cause I know you've witnessed it too

Everyone in the Ball is entranced by the song. I can imagine it will be at the top of the Capitol charts for weeks, but I just wish this night would end. I keep waiting for Celia to come get me for my first "appointment," whatever that means. I hope it comes soon so that I don't have to put up with anymore of this pageantry.

As an Avox passes past my table with a large platter of sugared fruits, I quickly cover the top of my champagne glass with my other hand, watching her suspiciously. There are too many strangers here. Avoxes, celebrities, other victors, government officials… none of them to be trusted.

As Braun's ballad draws to its dramatic close, his honeyed voice echoing throughout the mansion, the enchanted partygoers applaud and cheer. Just as the noise reaches its crescendo, a hand clasps me on the shoulder. I jump and nearly let out a yelp, spilling most of my champagne over the tablecloth.

Celia looks at me without a word, not at all perturbed by my exclamation. She's wearing a floor-length blue velvet dress and reaches up to her neck and her usual cold stare. "It's time to go."

I stand a bit too quickly, hearing my chair squeak loudly and slam my champagne glass down on the table. Those around me who weren't already startled by my reaction earlier now all turn to stare at me, which makes my ears and cheeks feel a bit warm before I remember to slip on my mask. I stand up a bit straighter and try to channel the energy of my father, tall and proud.

Celia leads me through the party as I stare at the back of her crushed blue velvet dress, resolutely avoiding the eyes of everyone who watches us as we pass. A few people try to get my attention, one even grabbing my shoulder, but I just keep moving. Celia waggles her fingers at someone nearby as we get in the elevator. I glance over and see Tag Nylon sitting with Woof, Haymitch, and Cato. Cato straightens his tie and waves back at Celia. My heart jumps into my throat at the sight of Tag, who watches me with sharp eyes.

We walk through the main foyer, the presidential gardens and finally reach our car. The chauffeur opens the door for us to climb in, then shuts it behind us, shutting out the party and its noise. I breathe a sigh of relief as the car begins moving. We fly through the Capitol streets, the buildings and lights blurring together as I watch out the window.

"Your appointment is Madame Cherith, a wealthy socialite. She has the respect of Capitol society, so she better have yours as well."

"... Alright," I say, not completely understanding.

"Be prepared to stay the night, but if not, I'll have a car waiting for you outside. She lives in the penthouse." Celia hands me a keycard. I take it gingerly, noticing that the inflection in her voice seems more melancholy than usual. "I might not be back in our apartment by the time you're finished. I have my own appointment tonight."

I don't dare ask any questions. There's a sinking feeling in my stomach that only gets worse when the car stops outside a tall skyscraper and I'm escorted to the elevator by the chauffeur. The elevator doors close, and I suddenly feel trapped in this small metal box. A familiar voice softly croons to me from the elevator radio. It seems I can't escape Augustus Braun no matter how hard I try. That dishonorable liar.

The elevator doors slide open and I hurry to the only door on the floor, made of dark wood and completely plain. My heart is pounding like a drum, my skin prickling. I swipe the keycard by the lock and it clicks open, revealing an opulent dining room lit only by a few flickering candles on the long white table. An older woman stands by the table, lighting the last candle as the door opens. She smiles widely when she sees me, and I'm beckoned inside. I feel my feet move against my will, my heels clicking on the marble floor.

"Oh, Miss Leto," the woman grins, the candles casting sinister shadows on her face. "We're going to have so much fun."

Rowan Loukios (29)- Former Gamemaker

The Capitol Ball was one of my favorite occasions of the year back when I was still a Gamemaker. My job mostly consisted of sitting in an office poring over statistics reports, and I love math and statistics, but I also love talking to people and networking. The annual party was one of the few occasions in my career when I interacted with people other than my underlings.

The ball is one of the few events during the Victory Tour that is not completely televised, so I can't even relive it on the television. Instead I sit in the bar near my apartment, nursing a sweet-berry wine drink. Everyone around me is getting drunk and having a grand time making their predictions for next year's Games while I sit alone reminiscing on my life. My failed career. All for trying to do the right thing.

After watching Bellona's interview with Caesar earlier today, my mood has been darker than ever. I've finally come to terms with the fact that not only have I lost my job, I've also lost my entire reason for living. The rumors of embezzling have ruined my whole career. Even my parents believe that I betrayed Bellona and Snow, and refuse to speak to me. Only Marcelle seems to think something is amiss, but her snooping around will only lead to her own downfall as well.

After several hours at the bar, I stumble home in the snow. When the door shuts behind me, I'm alone in the dark again, just like I have been for months on end. I lean against the door and close my eyes, silently contemplating. Should I just end it all right now? Maybe find a rope or even just keep drinking until I end up in my bed with a bottle in my hands instead of a pulse.

As I impassively think about my options, I hear a small sound coming from my living room. My eyes fly open and I peer in the direction of the noise, feeling fear climb up my throat. My fingers search around the nearby counter for anything I could use as a weapon, but then a familiar voice issues from the darkness.

"Rowan."

"Marcelle?"

I reach over to flick the lights on. Marcelle is sitting on my couch in my abysmally small living room, her legs crossed. She stands as I sigh loudly.

"How the hell did you get in here? And why are you just sitting in the dark?"
"I didn't want anyone to know I was here," she whispers, her eyes flicking to each of the windows. She's still dressed in her Capitol Ball best, a brand new pink gown fluffed with flamingo feathers. Her eyes are lined with white, the irises themselves pink tonight, giving her an ethereal air. But her platform heels look dirty, as if she walked all the way here, and the tail of her designer dress is wet with melted snow.

"What's going on?" I ask, taking in her frantic appearance.

"It's Bellona," she says with a sigh. "She actually threatened me. She said she would fire me if I kept consorting with you!" She huffs. "As if you're some kind of… enemy of the state!" She shakes her head scornfully.

I shrug. "According to them, I am."

"According to who?"

I open my mouth, then stop myself and gulp. I can't reveal too much or she will be in danger.

"Bellona's power has gone to her head," Marcelle says earnestly, leaning in closer to me. "You have to tell me the real reason why you were fired. We can use it to take her down! Then I can be the Arena Master and you can be Head Statistician again. Or even the Head Gamemaker if we wanted!"

Marcelle has always been the idealist, the one who could be a bit naive at times. But even this surpasses her usual glibness. I shake my head at her. "Marcelle… it's more complicated than that."

She huffs quietly. "You don't want revenge for what she did to you? Really?"
I'm at a total loss for words for the first time. "I…"

She does have somewhat of a point. Bellona screwed me over and blamed me for something that wasn't my fault. If anything, she's the one to blame, as well as the Peacekeepers in Eight that day.

I swallow hard, then lean in closer to Marcelle, placing a hand on her arm. "It has to do with Tag Nylon, the victor from last year."

She raises a pink eyebrow, clearly not expecting that answer. "What about him?" she pries eagerly.

"Well, he's not Tag," I say simply. "He switched places with his twin brother after the Reaping."

Marcelle's eyes widen dramatically and she takes a step away from me, my hand slipping from her arm. "What? How is that possible? And-and what does that have to do with you?"

"I'm just the one who discovered it by analyzing the betting statistics."

She shakes her head, collapsing onto my sofa with her head in her hands. "This is… incredible!" She looks up again, this time smiling brilliantly. "This is exactly what we need to take down Bellona! Once everyone realizes what a horrible mistake she's made, she'll have to step down!"

"Marcelle, you don't–"

Suddenly I feel a prick in my shoulder, and I look down to see a small dart embedded in my skin. I look back up at Marcelle once and she shrieks in fear, trying to flee into my bedroom. My limbs spasm and I collapse on the linoleum floor. I'm unable to turn my head, but I hear the sound of the door opening and the click of heels approaching. Bellona steps into my view, her dark eyes boring into mine. She takes a long look at me, her face impossible to read, before turning to where Marcelle had bolted. She disappears into the bedroom and in a few moments Marcelle comes running out again, screaming and tottering on her heels. Bellona flies into the room and grabs a fistful of her pink hair.

"Having a nice chat, are you?" she snarls, throwing Marcelle onto the ground. "Pity I don't have another dart. Maybe I should invest in some better self-defense."

"Bellona, please…" Marcelle whimpers.

I try to open my mouth and speak, but I can only drool over my own chin.

"You're trying to go behind my back and ruin me?!" Bellona stands over her like a dark angel, her hair braided around her head like a crown.

Marcelle tries to stumble to her feet but Bellona kicks her back to the ground. Bellona stares at her with explosive fury in her eyes, taking in Marcelle's sobs.

"Please, just let me go, I won't tell anyone—"

"Bullshit!" Bellona hisses.

"Remember when we were kids?" Marcelle tearfully pleads.

"Of course I do!" Bellona sneers. "We said we were going to be the best Gamemaking team in history, and now you're trying to undermine my authority!"
"You were the one who ruined it all by firing Rowan!" Marcelle says, her tears starting to subside. Her voice hardens with rage. "You want all the fame for yourself!"
"...Is that what you think?" Bellona asks after a pause. "You think I have a choice in all this?" She laughs maniacally as Marcelle begins to squirm underneath her heel. "You've given me no choice."

I can only watch helplessly as Bellona gets onto the ground and wraps her hands around Marcelle's throat. Marcelle's choking noises and gasps for air are horrifying, but Bellona shows no sign of stopping. Her eyes are glazed over, sadistic, hungry. Eventually Marcelle goes still.

Bellona slowly stands, sweat beading on her brow. She turns to me with a wicked grin. "So that's how it feels to kill."

My throat feels tight. I can't tell if I'm still paralyzed by the dart or by fear.

"Let's see if it feels different the second time."

Thanks to everyone for reading! I'll see you in Honeymoon ;)