A/N

I hope you are all having a lovely day wherever you are! After my weekend away, I'm back with the final chapter before we reach the bloodbath! This is a little subplot chapter so we can catch up on the story so far with our characters outside of the Games. This has been one of my favourite subplot chapters to write so far, so I hope you enjoy reading!

Scout Summers, Survivor of the 86th Hunger Games

District Seven was busier than Scout had imagined, as he followed Trent from his modest home and through the lightly paved streets. Supposedly, the Mayor had called a half day for workers within the entire District, as the Games were due to launch the following morning. It was a comforting sentiment, the sense of togetherness, as people left their workplaces and headed towards home to be with their loved ones. They mustn't have been far from one of the lumbermills as a large group of people walked up the pathway, holding hardhats by their sides and muttering quiet words between them as the sun beat down on their backs.

Scout found himself reaching for the frayed bracelet around his wrist as he instinctively edged further away from the crowd. Beside him, Trent sensed his anxiety, and offered him a comforting smile.

They had arrived in District Seven a couple of days ago, having left the outskirts of Two shortly after Cascade, Aella, Farley and Linden had left for the reapings. It turned out that Trent did know his way around, as he had claimed, and he had successfully navigated their way across a number of trains to his home district.

Seven was an entirely new world to Scout. Where Twelve was coated in coal dust, the air thick with smog and the only colour besides the dreary grey that set the scene being the deep, reddish-brown of dried blood –District Seven was the complete opposite. There was a fresh smell of pine in the sweet, crisp air, and in the distance all that could be seen was cluster after cluster of tall, lush trees. The outskirts of Twelve were forested, but it was nothing to be compared with the beauty of Seven. Though, even as Scout stared in awe at his surroundings, he still missed home.

"We're here," announced Trent, gesturing to the flower shop in front of them.

A hand-painted sign hung above the threshold of the door, delicate strokes spelling out the name Hesmina's.

Scout felt his chest tighten.

Noticing that Scout's eyes were focused on the sign, Trent nodded beside him.

"Yeah, when Piken's sister, Petra, bought the shop she decided to rename it," he explained. "Hesmina meant a lot to Piken, and she died fighting for his memory. She was a true soul, if ever there were one. Beautiful inside and out, just like a flower."

Scout swallowed slowly, remembering how he had dragged himself from the pool during the Games' finale, watching as both Hesmina and Risa plunged into the waters. Hesmina's auburn hair spreading across the surface of the pool, her body motionless, had been the final sight Scout had seen before the fight for his life had truly begun. As with Piken, Scout had not known Hesmina very well, but all he needed was to see Trent's softened expression when he spoke about her to know that she had been a good person.

It made the guilt inside Scout grow ever larger.

"Shop's shut now, but Petra's expecting us," said Trent, pushing open the door despite the dainty 'we're closed' sign dangling on the inside of the glass door.

The smell of fresh flowers hit Scout as he followed Trent; his nose immediately feeling mildly irritated by the pollen. He sneezed unexpectedly, quietly mumbling an apology afterward.

Trent immediately went over to hug Petra, who was scooping a handful of plant trimmings into her palm. With her hands occupied, she lightly rested her head against his chest, before emptying the trimmings into a small bin.

She looked over towards Scout, a welcoming smile on her face.

"It's lovely to meet you, Scout," she greeted him. "I'm Petra, Trent's closest friend and nearly sister-in-law."

Scout noticed Trent twisting the ring on his finger.

"How are you finding Seven?" asked Petra, leaning against a counter.

"It's erm, a lot more colourful than Twelve," Scout answered honestly, his eyes wandering around the flower shop, taking in all the vibrant bouquets and rolls of ribbon.

"I agree with you there," Trent chuckled lightly. "I've been to Twelve a handful of times and I've always been keen to come back home. No offence, Scout."

Scout shrugged. "None taken."

Trent looked at Petra. "So, is she here yet?"

Petra nodded. "She's in the back. I'll see if she's ready to speak with us."

Petra smiled quickly, before slipping through a small door behind the counter.

"Before we go in, I just want you to prepare yourself," said Trent to Scout. "She might not know as much as we'd like. It's just a potential lead."

Scout understood. "I know. But anything is better than nothing."

"Exactly."

The door opened and Petra peered into the room.

"She's ready."

Sucking in a sharp breath, Scout followed Trent as they walked into the back room of Hesmina's, his hands forming loose fists at his sides.

The back room was small, but there was enough space for the four of them to sit on the foldable chairs Petra had set out. Scout sat himself between Trent and Petra, opposite a young woman, who Scout would guess was in her mid to late twenties. Her hair was fair, shaven on one side with the other braided tightly against her head. Several piercings lined her exposed ears, and she pulled a thin jacket tightly across her shoulders.

"This is Ali," Petra introduced the stranger. "Ali tells me that she escaped a Candid prison several weeks ago."

"Where was it?" Scout couldn't stop the words from falling out of his mouth. "Did you see my sister? Is she ok?"

"Whoa, slow down for a second, bud," Trent held out a steady hand. "Let's not bombard Ali with too many questions at once."

Scout mumbled an apology.

"S'alright," replied Ali, with a thick accent Scout did not recognise. "I get it –I've lost people too."

"Why don't you tell us what happened, from the start?" Trent suggested.

Ali shrugged, taking a sip of water from a clouded jar beside her.

"Well I guess it started in Nine, my 'ome," she began. "Shit got pretty bad there, with them cancellin' the Games and that. Less demand for grain without the tesserae. Sure, people still gotta eat, but the Capitol weren't buyin' our supplies to trade back to kids for more reapin' slips. Sick shit, I know, but it kept our farmers above the poverty line. Anyway, so as the riots began, a group of us decided to try and take back what we thought was owed to us. Guess we underestimated The Candid –those fuckers real fucked us up. Most of us got killed –the others got taken away."

"To the secret prison?" asked Trent.

Ali nodded. "Yeah, yeah, the secret prison. Ain't none of us knew this place was real –just thought it were one of them rumours, you know? Scary bedtime stories to make us behave. But nah, that shit was real. So real, they took half my arm."

Scout stifled a gasp as Ali shrugged off the jacket, revealing one of her arms, which stopped abruptly where her elbow would have been.

Scout had his own scars from the Games, but it seemed as though outside of the arena could pose just as much –if not more –danger.

"I'm so sorry," Trent expressed deep concern.

Ali shrugged. "Don't be –it ain't nothin' to do with you. Everythin' that's happened to me has been my own fault for speakin' my own mind. But you know, I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. The Candid can have every one of my limbs if they wanna, but as long as there's breath in my lungs, I ain't gonna roll over."

"Well said," Petra nodded. "It's people like you who give us hope, even after all this time."

Ali shook her head. "Nah, it's people like the ones who got me out who give the hope. If it weren't for Bergamot, well I'd probably be dead."

Ali looked towards Scout.

"You might be familiar with old Bergamot," she grinned. "You remember when you got out the Capitol?"

Scout remembered.

The solid floor beneath his knees as he had closed his eyes and bowed his head, ready for the bullet to enter his brain.

Sorry lad, but you should have died in that arena.

Then the gunshot afterwards, and the feeling of nothingness as Scout had realised that the bullet was not in his own head, but in the head of the one who had drawn the gun. He had never seen the face of the one who had guided him out of the Capitol and onto the train to Two, but now that he knew his name, he felt closer to being able to truly thank him.

"Is… is Bergamot still around?" he asked hopefully.

Ali nodded. "He was last time I saw him a few weeks back. Said he was gonna bust out some lass from Twelve –Shale. Your sister, I presume? That man is made of tough shit, he's been getting' people in and out of jams for years. Man's a hero."

"I'd like to thank him, one day."

"As would a lot of people," grinned Ali. "I have a feelin' you'll be gettin' the chance to soon. If you're still plannin' on breaking into the prison to help him out, that is."

Trent shifted in his seat.

"Breaking into The Candid's prison?" Trent was shocked. "How? Isn't that a suicide mission?"

Ali snorted. "Hell yeah it's a suicide mission. But I have a feelin' that won't bother old Scout here, right? He's been dead for years."

Scout simply looked towards Ali. Finally, he felt as though someone truly understood him.

Ali chuckled. "You can't kill a dead man, right?"

Ivo Castellanos, President of Panem

Ivo Castellanos could never quite pin down the exact moment he had died. There were a number of moments in his thirty seven years which could have contributed to the feeling of nothingness which he woke up to every day. The death of his brother, the betrayal of his first love, the death of his second. Each mistake in his life was just another nail in his own coffin.

His heart was still beating, but the blood that ran through his veins was cold.

There was a gentle coolness to the rose garden; the glass dome around keeping out the intensity of the summer sun to create the perfect environment to stimulate the growth of the plants inside. It was evening, the sun not having long dipped below the horizon line, leaving a pale blue sky above which would soon melt away to darkness.

Ivo spent a considerable amount of time in the Presidential garden, which had become the memorial grounds for Aurelia Snow. Perhaps it had been selfish of Ivo to insist that her body be moved to the gardens; under Fabian's year of rule, he'd had Aurelia buried beside her grandfather, Coriolanus Snow, but one of the first acts of Ivo's presidency was to secretly request for her body to be moved. Ivo had genuinely believed that Aurelia would have wanted to rest beneath the fertile earth of her favourite escape, though he could not deny that part of his reasoning was for his own selfish memories. This was the place he and Aurelia had truly understood each other; it was the only piece of his memory that he didn't wish to hide from.

"Did I make the right decision?" Ivo spoke aloud. He was sat in front of the small pool in the centre of the gardens, where he and Aurelia had become closer than they ever had before.

Of course, there was no reply. There was never a reply.

"I know you didn't like the Games, not really," he continued. "But you understood their necessity, at least for the time. I know you dreamt of a time when we wouldn't need them, and I thought that I had found that time."

Ivo let out a sigh.

"But I guess that time may never come, at least not in my lifetime."

A rustling as something skimmed past nearby bushes caught Ivo's attention. Hoping that he hadn't been heard, he quickly rose to his feet, brushing off his casual suit.

It was Cascade.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted," she immediately apologised, chewing on her bottom lip. "I can leave you, if you want?"

Ivo shook his head. "No, it's fine. Stay."

"I hope you don't mind me coming here," said Cascade, her eyes wandering around the garden. "Celeste said you were here."

Ivo's face softened. "I could never mind you being here, Cas."

Cascade shifted between her feet, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

"Oh, I erm, I wanted to talk about Frankie."

Ivo let out a breath. "Cas –I'm sorry, it's out of my hands."

"But you're the President," she insisted, stepping towards him. He could see a glimmer across her clear eyes. "There must be something you can do."

Ivo held up his hands. "It's Selene's call now, I'm not Head Gamemaker anymore."

Cascade huffed. "She seems to be on The Candid's payroll; she seems more likely to cut off her own hand than go against their rules."

"Perhaps so."

Cascade shook her head. "Listen to yourself, Ivo! When did you become so complacent?"

He said nothing.

"The Candid say jump, and you ask how high?" she continued to rant. "The Ivo I knew would tell them to fuck off and beat them with their own whip! What happened to you?"

"I lost."

Cascade's eyes wavered. She closed the gap between the two of them, placing her open palm against Ivo's chest. He could feel her soft heat through the thin fabric of his shirt. A lifetime ago this intimacy would have been a part of his everyday life –now, it felt nostalgic.

"I know you've lost a lot, Ivo," she spoke with care. "But you haven't lost everything."

Ivo could feel his eyes stinging.

"What do I have left, Cas?" he said, his voice breaking.

"You have her memory, you have your son…"

"He's not my son."

Cascade sighed. "I only did what I did to protect Linden, you know that. But I never stopped seeing you as his father. Maybe one day, he can learn the truth."

"I'd like that."

Cascade smiled quickly. "I think he would too."

She backed away from Ivo, her hands falling to her sides.

"You know, you have me too."

Ivo's lips broke into the slightest of smiles.

Cascade cleared her throat. "If you can't help Frankie, then that's all I came to say. I'd better go. I'm afraid that Linden may require rescuing from Hina's terrible influence. And I want to do my best to comfort Frankie whilst I still can."

"Cas, I wish there was more I could do to help," said Ivo. "Honestly, I do."

"I know," Cascade began to walk away. "You may think you're a bad person, Ivo, but you're not the villain in this story."

Ivo said nothing as he watched Cascade walk away.

Turning back to Aurelia's memorial spot, he took a deep breath.

It wasn't the best evening of his recent life, but it also wasn't the worst.

Ebon Summers, District Twelve Rebel

It wasn't the worst prison Ebon Summers had found herself in. It certainly wasn't the first, and nor would it be the last.

Ebon had grown used to the feeling of captivity; her so-termed 'rebellious' activities had landed her in numerous compromising positions, from which one way or another she had always walked free from. She knew that even now, sat in the most secure and secretive prison she had ever had the displeasure of being confined to, she would walk free once again.

She was no longer Ebon Summers, the youngest and last surviving child of Sage and Heath Summers -she was Shale; infamous rebel leader and certified badass. And Shale was no quitter.

It was awfully bleak though, The Candid's most secure prison. Ebon had no idea where the prison was located; to most it was just a rumour, with many believing its existence to be entirely fabricated to incite fear and discipline. Ebon knew otherwise. From the moment The Candid had swept across the Capitol, releasing Ivo Castellanos from his near-execution and pronouncing him President, Ebon had known that a new Panem had been born. In this new Panem, there was no justice, no integrity and no hope. The Candid were just as corrupt as the endless governments before them; only their potential for danger was far worse due to their clean facade.

Ebon hadn't always considered herself to be a rebel, though after the eighty-sixth Games she had enough fuel to burn a thousand fires. She had gotten on the wrong side of The Candid almost instantly. Her previous outcries against her brother's disappearance after the Games had caught the new government's attention, as it had done the Capitol's. Where a visit from President Fabian's sidekick Rawlins had sealed Ebon's lips for the year following Risa Delmare's Victory Tour; Ebon was unable to maintain her silence as the balance of power shifted.

But it had cost her.

It had cost her everything.

One afternoon, on her way back from a rally in the Hob, the nightmare that had haunted Ebon's restless sleeps became a reality. Her home; the modest shack in the Seam of District Twelve that she had lived in her entire life; had been burnt to ashes. All that remained in the small space it had once stood were embers, still warm to the touch, and broken memories. Behind the fallen structure stood two wooden posts. And hanging from the posts were the bodies of her parents, rope cutting harshly into their necks just as Ebon had imagined her brother Shale to have looked as he had hung as a child from the central square of the district many years before.

The memories of her parents and her brothers stung, but Ebon's eyes were dry of tears. She had cried her final tears as a child. She was an adult now.

Ebon knew that she was broken -how could she not be after the life she had lived? The scars on her body and the hollowness in her eyes spoke of a shadow of a person, but Ebon believed that just because something was broken, it did not mean it was dead.

Ebon Summers may have died alongside her family, but in her place, Shale had walked from the ashes. Barefoot and naked, she would not rest until the truth -the real truth -was revealed.

There was a scuffle at the door as the tiny flap pushed open and a tray was slid across the floor. A pitiful meal sat before Ebon's feet -a mug of lukewarm water, a hunk of stale bread and a bowl of weak soup. But food was food, and Ebon slowed herself down as she savoured each tasteless mouthful, before kicking the tray into the far corner of her cell.

A small knock at the door raised Ebon's eyes from her dirt-filled nails.

"I'm still alive if that's what you're wondering," she snapped. "Although I doubt it will stay like that if you keep feeding me that shit. You should really fire your chef, they wouldn't know salt if it slapped them in the face."

The door opened a moment later, and a thin figure stepped in the room, muttering something to someone behind them -presumably the guard who had let them in.

"Good evening," the person greeted them. In the dim light Ebon could make out a boyish face, though she recognised the signs of abuse that altered his dainty features.

"Is it?" replied Ebon with a smirk. "Got no windows in here so there's no such thing as evening anymore. What's the weather been like recently? Reckon I could get a tan if I sat outside?"

The young man did not appear bothered by her harsh sarcasm.

"You are Shale, yes?" he asked politely.

Ebon shrugged. "The woman, the myth, the legend. To whom do I address the autograph?"

"You can call me a friend, for now," an ominous reply was received.

Ebon was bored with mysterious names and mysterious people.

"What do you want?" she asked, a little snappiness to her tone. "I can't offer much, but if you can find me a few eggs, a pan and a stove then I can rustle up the best damn omelet you've ever tasted."

"How the years have hardened you, Ebon Summers."

Ebon sucked in a sharp breath, unable to return with a witty quip. No one had used her real name in years, not even The Candid, and despite his entrance, the young man who stood before her was no Candid recruit.

"I did tell you that I was a friend," he insisted, linking his fingers together in front of him. "And I would like to help you, Ebon."

Despite the clear knowledge he had, Ebon was not entirely convinced of his claims, and nor was she about to put blind trust into a stranger who had walked into her prison cell.

That was, until he next spoke.

"Scout is alive."

It was a hope that Ebon had clung to for five years, and a fact that she had been so sure was true. But after years of searching and finding nothing, to hear the confirmation with her own ears was enough to nudge her from her precarious position, off the edge entirely and into the oblivion beneath.

She let out a cry.

That cry became another, and another, until tears coated the rough skin on her face with a slick, dewy moisture. Her voice was raw as she cleared her throat, finally wiping the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands as she looked up towards the mysterious stranger.

"H-how do you know for sure?" she asked at last.

"See for yourself," replied the young man, pulling a small tablet from his pocket and holding it towards Ebon. As the screen lit up, a short video clip began to play. It was Scout –it was undoubtedly Scout –his long hair pulled back into a loose bun behind his head as he swung an axe into a piece of wood, splintering it into smaller pieces of firewood. A small smile broke onto his lips as a young boy came bounding towards him, with hair as golden as the sun itself.

"Is that…"

"Cascade Nepeta's son," he confirmed. "When Cascade escaped the Capitol along with Farley Mir, a separate mission extracted Scout a short while later. He has lived with them since."

That made a lot more sense in Ebon's mind. For a moment she had considered the possibility that she was an aunt, though it was somewhat comforting to know that her brother was still how she remembered him to be. Scout wouldn't know romance if it grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him; he was entirely oblivious to matters of the heart, so there was no way he could have fathered a child. For the first time in what felt like forever, a small but genuine smile crept onto Ebon's lips.

"Thank you," she said softly. "You truly are a friend."

The young man switched off the tablet, returning it to his pocket. He looked at Ebon with an understanding in his dark, soft eyes.

"I know what it's like to be separated from your sibling," he said, a tenderness to his tone. "I hope one day I may be able to see my sister again, as you will one day see your brother."

Ebon nodded. "I am sure you will."

There was a gentle knocking on the cell door.

"I must go," the man said, glancing towards the exit. "But you will hear from me again, I promise. Goodbye for now, Ebon Summers."

"Thank you," she replied, watching as the door slowly pushed open. "Will you tell me your name now? I think it's only fair, seeing that you know mine."

He smiled, accepting her point.

"It's Muriel," he replied simply. "Muriel Zwei."

A/N

A few revelations there! And a few references back to CoT, for those who have read the previous story.

Scout and Trent have arrived in Seven, and the flower shop has been bought and renamed after one of the tributes from CoT, Hesmina, who was Piken's district partner. For those who have read CoT, I hope you liked the reference, and for those who have not, trust that Hesmina was one of the loveliest tributes! Anyway, they then meet up with a new character, Ali, who claims to have escaped from The Candid prison where they believe Ebon/Shale may be being kept. Another CoT reference is made to Scout's escape from the Capitol following the arena, and big reveal number one is that the man who rescued him was Bergamot (who for those with keen eyes and recollections from the last chapter, is Peach's father). Another piece to the musterious puzzle that is Peach and Beau's family's past... Bergamot plans to help Ebon/Shale escape, and it is suggested that Scout will lend a hand. Is it a suicide mission, and will Scout and Trent make it out alive?

A shorter pov from Ivo next, as he is struggling with his internal emotions. He still feels the loss of Aurelia heavily and he feels as though he no longer exists, despite his Presidential role. Cascade then enters, and the two have a rather emotional discussion. Ivo is unable to help take Frankie out of the Games, suggesting that perhaps his power as President is weaker than people think. Cascade gives hope that Ivo may be able to be involved in Linden's life, and implies that she will still be there to support him. What does the future hold for our President?

Finally, a surprise pov here for Ebon. It is confirmed that she is alive, and is being held in The Candid's secret prison. More about her past five years is revealed, such as learning about the death of her and Scout's parents, and her trouble with the law. Ebon seems to have shed her previous self, instead becoming a stronger persona named Shale (after her oldest brother, who died when she and Scout were young). A mysterious stranger then enters her cell, who seems to know her real name. He then tells her that Scout is alive, showing her video evidence of him living outside of Two. The second big reveal of this chapter comes at the end, as the stranger is in fact Muriel, Celeste's brother who we last saw at the end of CoT being kidnapped. What has happened to Muriel during these five years, and what does he plan to do to help Ebon?

This is going to be a little longer for an A/N as I will share the list of predicted placements, as decided by the Capitol. These placements will also be available on the blog, but here is a handy list if it's easier to read! Please note, these are entirely based on the Capitol's thoughts, and do not necessarily reflect what will happen during the arena.

Capitol Predicted Placements:

1st: Peach Bellini, d1
2nd: Riddle Robello, d2
3rd: Beau Ducreme, d1
4th: Ragnar Hellstorm, d2
5th: Matthew Kwon, d3
6th: Valak Vatican, d10
7th:Circe Sirona, d4
8th: Logan Brightberd, d11
9th: Anise Montague, d11
10th: Accel Hayes, d6
11th: Velaris Axar, d12
12th: Kazimir Ilyushin, d12
13th: Sayuri Novem, d3
14th: Angora Winchester, d8
15th: Phoenix Cameron, d5
16th:Zoei 'Aida' Jones, d5
17th: Anri Astellin, d9
18th: Olivette 'Livvy' Beauchene, d7
19th: Moonshine le Gris, d6
20th:Cephus Sirona, d4
21st: Lunete Vinter, d10
22nd: Frankie Ellsworth, d1
23rd: Cathedrite 'Cathy' Zhuang, d9
24th:Cameron Alcatraz, d7
25th: Aldo Giotti, d8

So yes, next chapter will be THE BLOODBATH! I am very excited, but also very nervous to reach the arena. I don't have a current schedule for when the chapter will be released, as a few people have told me that they'd like some extra time to catch up before the bloodbath, but it should be within the next couple of weeks! Any predictions, or thoughts on the story so far?

Until next time!

Firefly