Dearest Diary,

After much thought, I have determined that I have no legitimate complaints about Mr. Crane. Similarly, Sir Darius St. Andrews has no legitimate children, yet Mother's friends have theories about practically every redheaded, freckle-faced child in London. I find this encouraging.

Water sloshed in her shoes with every step she took. Her dress might as well have been glued to her body for how it clung to her, wet and thick and cold. She swore under her breath as she plucked her sleeve away from her arm for what must have been the hundredth time only to have it re-adhere itself an instant later. The hundred and first time, she let even the guise of propriety slip and screamed her curses to the empty street. Why shouldn't she? Nobody was there to hear her, and even if they were, they wouldn't be able to make out her words over the roar of the wind and rain.

She ought to have turned around and returned home. Katniss had no destination in mind, no reason to subject herself to the elements beyond pride and anger, but those were motivation enough to keep her feet moving as the puddles within her shoes swelled into miniature oceans and night descended over the city. Deference to her own safety led her to dig the knife out of her sleeve, clutched at the ready in stiff, near-frozen fingers.

Horrible as it was to think, she almost wished someone would attack her. Katniss could use an object on which to take out her current anger. That said object was the kind of filth that attacked women and therefore deserved worse than anything she could give him did nothing to discourage that thought. Men might have had the right idea when it came to dueling. No clamping down on the anger of the moment, no backing away out of fear of hurting another. Instead, go off somewhere secluded and see which of you had better aim and never face the problem again. Pity they had illegalized it. Women ought to at least been allowed a couple hundred years of fun before they stopped it entirely. Not that she had any idea who she would duel, but she would appreciate having the option.

She did not know how long she wandered. That London, which always seemed a swarm of activity, could be still amazed her. Still, serene, silent but for the patter of the rain against cobblestones and rooftops… Katniss could come to love this side of London. The city could never replace the Seam, but perhaps it didn't have to. The

This general goodwill towards man ended such emotions usually did. Namely, with men. With the downpour drowning out all sound, she did not hear the carriage until it was nearly upon her. Only the driver's shout alerted her to its presence, and Katniss managed to dash out of its way seconds before it would have crashed into her. A monstrous wave followed the carriage's path, soaking her up to her waist with muddy water.

"God damn it to hell!" That Haymitch's favorite curse was the first thing to come to mind reflected poorly on both of them. "Get back here!" The storm swallowed her shouts, and the mumbled threats that came after. Katniss hitched up her dripping, disgusting skirts and ran after the carriage, flinching at the watery filth from the street that splashed her legs with every step. She screamed as she ran, dimly aware that she must look mad, but that would not stop her. Every woman reached a point where she felt as if she were running through a rainstorm screaming obscenities in a too-short soaked riding habit dirtied to the point of ruin. Katniss' situation was merely a more literal interpretation of a common theme.

The carriage turned, and for the first time, she caught a glimpse of its side. Her eyes narrowed when she recognized the golden crest of three birds that adorned it. Katniss had thought the design ostentatious when she had seen Crane's carriage sitting outside the Everdeen's home this afternoon. Now, her opinion dropped even further.

With a dangerous cocktail of anger and curiosity propelling her forwards, she followed Crane's carriage through London's winding streets. Katniss had some idea of where Mr. Crane lived, a mere two houses away from Peeta, and she knew that he frequented Heavensbee's, a fashionable gentleman's club, but never having visited either, she had little clue as to their final destination. For that matter, she had no real evidence that Crane was inside the carriage. Though she preferred to think him a soulless creature no more capable of generosity than the snakes she was reminded of every time she saw his nearly black eyes, he could easily have lent the carriage to a friend. Equally probable was that a relative had a similar carriage emblazoned with the same crest.

She ducked behind a tall marble fence post as the carriage came to a halt and watched as a man climbed out. Even wrapped in his coat and with his hat pulled down low over his face, the man's unusual height removed any doubts Katniss harbored that the individual she had trailed was Seneca Crane. He hurried inside without so much as a word to the driver, and she was left where she started: alone, cold, and entirely without a plan. Not that following him had been much of a plan to begin with, for she had no idea what she intended to do once she caught up with Crane and his driver, but in the moment, it felt like a purpose, a direction she had been lacking since arriving in London.

Katniss stuffed the knife back into her sleeve - for though she had no clue how to proceed, she could immediately rule out murder – and thought. Were she directionless in the thick woods that surrounded the Seam, she would climb a tree and search for some indication on which way to go. Why not apply the same strategy here? Several tall, sturdy oaks grew near the house, and once the carriage disappeared towards the stables, Katniss stole away from her hiding spot and scurried up the tallest of the trees in seconds. Aware that she could be caught at any moment, she crawled out as far as she dared on one of the upper branches and peered into the nearest window. She was rewarded with a view of the back of some rather pretty drapes and nothing else. Shaking her head, she moved to the next window. There was nobody to be seen, but at least this room had not been guarded by curtains. She considered that excellent progress.

Golden light streamed out from the far window, and Katniss crept through the branches towards it. She froze when she saw Crane sitting a desk, his chair positioned so he faced the window. For several long minutes she sat there, barely daring to breathe as she waited to be discovered, desperately searching for an escape route, and when she failed to come up with anything, thinking of any meager excuse for why she would be up in this tree, spying on him. When it became obvious Crane was too engrossed in his papers to bother looking outside, she was disappointed. If she had to spy on someone, she at least should have picked someone interesting. She could watch a man reading anywhere, and from this vantage point, she couldn't make out what he was reading. Who would have thought spying so dull? Katniss moved out of the relative safety of the leaves to get closer to the window, but it only gave her a better view of his frown. Good to know that he was unpleasant even while alone. She would have been more concerned if he wore that cold, calculated smile in private.

Crane moved one of the loose pages aside, and Katniss craned her neck to make out the contents. It looked more like a list than prose. That wasn't helpful. A shelf behind him held dozens of books, and while she could make out a few of the titles from here, they also offered her no clue to the paper's contents, for Katniss doubted there was a male member of the ton who didn't own a book or two on France.

Giving up on finding anything useful, she settled on watching the man himself. The mere thought of him still made her shudder, but as she studied him, Katniss could not single out any particular cause for her discomfort. Yes, he had a focus so intense she felt like a butterfly pinned down for display, but should a man not be driven?

Crack!

The noise and the blinding flash of light came so close together as to be inseparable. The world slowed as Crane's head lifted from his work, and Katniss scrambled back into the dense leaves. Not so stupid as to stay in a tree in a lightning storm, she hurried down to the ground. She could not be sure if the shouts that followed her came from the house or her own imagination, and she didn't dare glance behind her to see if anyone followed.

Katniss' heart beat a wild dance against her ribs. Every step took more energy than the last, as her shoes were now so waterlogged they could have been bricks. She could not run much longer, not when she had nowhere to run to and no way of knowing who might be looking for her. Every step took more energy than the last, as her shoes were now so waterlogged they could have been bricks. She could not run much longer, not when she had nowhere to run to and no way of knowing who might be looking for her.

Except, she realized, she did have somewhere to go. She looked over her shoulder, and seeing no one in pursuit, she stopped. Two houses away, that's what Peeta had said. She pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear as she studied the row of stately townhouses. When he said two houses away, did he mean that there were two homes in between his and Crane's, or that if one walked away from Crane's home, that his would be the second house one encountered? Four possibilities, but she couldn't very well knock on a random door and ask for Peeta without raising questions - and eyebrows.

In the gray of the storm, salvation came in a line of orange. The exact same shade of orange, as it so happened, as the tulips that still sat in a vase by her bed. The pound of the rain could not wipe away her smile as she ran to the door, letting the tulips lining the walkway be her guides.

A footman answered the door seconds after she knocked. Katniss didn't wait for him to acknowledge her. "Hello, may I speak with Mister Mellark, please?"

He tilted his head and opened the door further, and Katniss hurried in. The warmth of the house embraced her, and she surrendered to it, closing her eyes and basking in it as it slowly eased away the cold from outside. The footman cleared his throat. "Who should I tell Mister Mellark is waiting for him?"

Katniss' eyes snapped open, and she hoped the man wouldn't see the color that rose to her cheeks. "Katniss Everdeen, please."

Her name was met with a glint of recognition. "I will alert him to your presence, Miss Everdeen. May I escort you to the parlor? There is a fireplace there that I believe you will have some use for." She could have sworn a smile twitched at the edges of his lips.

"Thank you."

"Nice night for a walk, isn't it?" Katniss turned away from the fire to scowl at Peeta as he entered the room. Seeing her, he took a half step back, a move certain to flatter any woman in his acquaintance. Luckily for him, he recovered quickly. "Are you all right? Here, have my coat."

"Yes, I'm quite all –" His deep blue coat was warm across her shoulders, and she wrapped it tightly around herself. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome." He moved a piece of damp hair back behind her ear. "I had Mrs. Carren put on tea, but I'm not sure tea is going to be enough. Were you trying to catch your death?"

"Not actively." His jacket smelled like him. Katniss pulled it closer to her chest.

"I'm glad." They both went silent for a moment. "I can have Mrs. Carren find you some dry clothes, if you would like."

"I'll be there in just a moment, dear!" The woman's words came from the next room.

"Thank you, Mrs. Carren!" Peeta shouted back. He moved in closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Watch out. She'll mother you to death if you aren't careful, and she knows everything."

"That would be wonderful, thank you." She wasn't sure if her words should be directed towards Peeta or his housekeeper.

"Peeta, the kettle's on, do you mind being a dear and taking it off when it's ready?" She had not heard a servant be so familiar with their master since coming to London, and had nearly given up hope that they existed in this awful city. Mrs. Carren, who turned out to be a tiny woman in her sixties, stopped in the doorway. "Oh, she is just as pretty as you said!"

Katniss blushed, and she studiously avoided looking for Peeta's reaction. "Good evening, Mrs. Carren."

"Found yourself in a spot of rain, didn't you? Come along, we'll get you fixed up in no time." She motioned Katniss forward. "And Peeta, remember the tea!"

"I'd be afraid not to."

She shook her head. "I love that boy, but I swear he'll be the death of me." She kept up a constant chatter as she led Katniss upstairs. "I'm not sure I'll have anything that will fit you, but we can certainly get you dried off." Katniss had been wondering about that herself, for Mrs. Carren stood a good four inches shorter than Katniss, and she could not have weighed more than six stone. She wanted to thank her for the effort all the same, but before Katniss could get in a word, she was off again. "I'm certain I have some of the master's old clothing somewhere – couldn't bear to get rid of it as he got older, you know how it is watching little ones grow up – that ought to work. Never thought I'd have to bring them out for a woman, doesn't seem modest, but we have to make the best out of what we're given, don't we?"

Katniss nodded. It was the closest she had come to actively participating in the conversation so far.

"And in any case, there's not too much of a need for modesty, is there? You should hear the way Peeta talks about you. I can't get in a word edgewise." Katniss bit her lip at that one "Don't you worry, dear, every word of it is wonderful. You couldn't find yourself a more smitten man in England, I reckon, and such a nice one as well. I suppose I might be biased on that point, knowing him for so –"

She couldn't let this continue. "We're not getting married."

Mrs. Carren's mouth dropped open. "Oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed, seeing you together. Right in here." She opened the door to a bedroom and motioned Katniss inside. "If you'll start getting yourself cleaned up, I'll go fetch you some clothes."

"Thank you."

"And please, do know I'm very sorry. I shouldn't have made assumptions." With that, Mrs. Carrens left, and Katniss was alone.

Her stockings were off within seconds. They made a wet sound as they hit the floor. She used one of the rags on the nightstand to towel off her face and neck, and while that worked well, using it to smooth and dry her hair only made it look more of a rats' nest than it did already. Mrs. Carrens returned halfway through her failed attempt with an armload of Peeta's old clothing.

Katniss often wore breeches at home in the Seam. Skirts hindered her ability to ride, to help in the fields, to climb up to the roof on a moment's notice to patch one of the manor house's constant leaks. The clothes Mrs. Carren helped her into would have felt familiar if not for one major difference. After Father's death twelve years ago, all of her breeches had come from his wardrobe. They hung loosely around her legs and ended at her lower shins. These, in contrast, clung to her legs and stopped just below her knees. Even with stockings covering her lower legs, every curve of her body was clearly delineated, exposed for any who cared to see.

That didn't mean she was going to complain. She would rather go naked than put on Prim's soaked riding habit again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear. Now, if our Peeta's done his job like I told him, there should be tea waiting downstairs for you. Can you find your way back, or would you like me to accompany you?"

"I'm sure I can find the parlor again, thank you." Though larger than the Everdeens' rented house, compared to many of the other townhomes she had visited over these last few weeks, Peeta's residence was very modest. She had no issue finding her way back to the parlor – and even less of an issue with the plate of cheese buns that sat there, waiting for her. Katniss grabbed one.

"I thought you might appreciate those," Peeta said.

Katniss waited to respond until she had swallowed her first enormous bite of cheese bun. "You thought correctly." She sat down, and he moved to sit across from her.

"I see Mrs. Carren found some clothes for you. I must say, they look better on you than they ever did on me." Despite his words, he did an admirable job of keeping his eyes from roaming away from her face.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not."

"Why would it be anything else? I like to think I'm very pretty." She had to laugh at that. "Don't choke!" Peeta warned. "We're already going to have to figure out some excuse for your coming here alone. I'm not sure I could explain away why you'd died in my parlor."

"And here I thought you might miss me."

"While I would, I doubt that missing you would involve me being hanged." Peeta went silent for a moment as she took another bite, and when he spoke again, his voice was serious. "Why are you here, Katniss?"

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hello."

"No, why are you really here?"

She set her cheese bun aside and met his eyes. "I fought with Prim and needed some fresh air to calm down." Not exactly the truth, but it was hardly a lie either.

He nodded. "I often end up three miles away from where I started when I'm taking casual walks."

Fine, if he wanted the truth, he could have it. "It's rather a long story, but I ended up in a tree in Mister Crane's yard. For obvious reasons, I didn't want to stay there during an electrical storm, so I came here. Your tulips are beautiful, by the way."

"Miss Everdeen, what would you like me to do with your knife?" came Mrs. Carrens' voice from upstairs.

Peeta sat straight. "You went to Crane's house with a knife?"

"It's a long –" Katniss shook her head. "If you could leave it in the pocket please, Mrs. Carrens. I'll take care of it once I get home!" She turned back to Peeta. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I assure you that I mean Mister Crane no harm. I was a young woman walking through London alone after sunset. I'm certain you can understand why I might have wanted to have some protection."

"Were you spying on him?"

"It wasn't what I was planning when I left my house, but I did try to, yes."

"Tried to?"

"I didn't see anything interesting," Katniss explained.

Peeta laughed at that. "You didn't see anything interesting, and therefore it doesn't count as spying. Miss Everdeen, I like the way you think."

So she was Miss Everdeen again. She ought to be pleased at that, for though she didn't have the heart to tell him to stop, Katniss really was too informal considering their relationship, but Miss Everdeen now felt detached and cold coming from his mouth. But that wasn't the matter at hand. "I'm not sure I do," she replied. "It seems to get me into trouble."

"Coming alone to see a bachelor like myself, you mean?"

She shrugged and busied herself with another bite of cheese bun.

"You know, for someone who doesn't want to get married, you have an odd way of showing it."

"I should've thought before I came here. I apologize for inconveniencing you, and I'll leave straight away." When had she ever been so formal around Peeta? He had become a friend - her only friend, at least here in London – within minutes, and now she was treating him like a stranger again.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't go out in this weather. Wait until the storm subsides, and I'll have Edgar take you home. My carriage is unmarked. No one will have to know where you were."

"Thank you for your hospitality."

"Thank you for letting me be your host." He grinned, a light coming to those blue eyes that she hadn't realized she missed. "After our conversation this afternoon, I thought I might never have the opportunity."

Of course he would have to mention that. "If you always have these," she lifted the tiny sliver of cheese bun she had not yet finished, "I'm afraid you might have some difficulty keeping me away."

"Ah, so now I know how to bait a trap for Katniss Everdeen."

"I trust you won't use this newfound power against me."

He leaned back in his seat, the devil's own grin upon his features. Were this any other man, she would be concerned, but though she had no evidence to support her conclusion, Katniss doubted Peeta could hurt so much as a fly. "I'll be sure to wait until you've let your guard down."

"It'll never work."

"Until then, you'll just have to tell me what you saw in Crane's house."

"Nothing interesting, I'm afraid."

"Then perhaps you should make up something interesting."

"The fourteen snakes he keeps in his bedroom." She wasn't sure why that sprang to mind, but on second thought, snakes and Seneca Crane seemed a natural pairing.

"You looked in his bedroom?"

"Of course not!" Her cheeks flamed. "Just his office."

"Until we have evidence to the contrary, I'm going to assume he does have those snakes. Fourteen, you said?"

"If you're going to believe it, you might as well increase it to twenty. I find round numbers far easier to keep track of."

"Twenty it is then." Peeta grabbed a cheese bun for himself. A wise move, considering she would eat the entire plate herself if nobody stopped her. "Anything else you would like to add to his menagerie? I think some spider would suit."

She pretended to give it serious consideration. "Bats."

"I'm rather fond of bats," Peeta said.

"Then you and Mister Crane have something in common. You might make great friends."

"Heaven help me."

Katniss grinned. "With this being Mister Crane we're discussing, I'm not sure that's the direction you should be looking."