Graciela Purdue, 28

President of Panem

Graciela settles into the chair behind her desk, setting her glass of wine down in front of her. There's a full moon shining through the window behind her, and Graciela glances back at the shattered pane. Apparently, fixing it has not been on the top of anyone's list of things to do.

She waves a greeting to the Avox standing against the wall. He looks young. The young ones always pain her.

The holograph screen on the desk is playing an interview. Alastair McKinley is discussing Graciela's announcement with one of her ministers. The general reaction Graciela got from the Capitolites was positive; it seemed that they were all excited for how this twist would change the Games.

Even McKinley and the minister seem happy. It's good. Graciela feared that there would be outrage. That the Capitol would see this change for what it is: the beginning of the end of the Hunger Games.

It doesn't matter. The general public doesn't matter. The Capitolites will get excited for the Games whether two tributes win or not.

The only concern Graciela has is that her plan will take a long time. Several decades. She wants to ease Panem into a world without the Hunger Games—it has become so ingrained their culture that she fears what might happen without it. But it needs to happen. The Games have gone on for long enough. It's time to move on.

But the Panemian government has always been…unstable. Graciela may not get the next thirty years in office that she needs to carry out her plan.

The first step to making sure it will happen needs to be getting a new Vice President. Ezra no longer scares her like he used to; Graciela has it all figured it out. Ezra is just a child, Snow or not.

Graciela already has a list outlined of possible candidates for her successor. But what really matters is that she needs to get Ezra out of office. He's a danger while he still has power. Once she strips him of his title, it won't be an issue anymore.

Many of the Capitol elite think Graciela is a pushover. Well, she'll show them that she can be just as ruthless as the Snows who came before her.

She can't just oust Ezra from office—she has to destroy him. She'll cook up a scandal that will make even Ezra's most loyal lackeys turn against him. She will do away with threats just like Ezra does. There's only one way to get anywhere in the Capitol, and Graciela is no exception.

There's a knock at her door, and she calls out, "Who is it?"

"Renius."

"What do you want?" she says.

Ezra pushes open the door without her permission. "I wanted to speak to you about your announcement."

Graciela picks up her wine glass and swirls it idly. "Oh?"

"Yes." Ezra steps into the room and shuts the door. "I think it's wonderful."

"Do you?" Graciela says, still looking at her wine glass. She doesn't believe him for a second.

"Yes!" Ezra says. "It's just what the Games needs—something to freshen it up, change the way the tributes will play and the viewers will bet. It's genius, Madam President."

She glances at him, searching his face for malice. She doesn't find any, but that doesn't mean anything. "Well, I'm glad to have your support. But, Renius, it's good you came by. I have something I need to tell you."

"Oh?"

"Unfortunately, Renius, it's been discovered that you were lying about your age, and attempting to rig the Victor of the Games," Graciela says. Ezra's face pales ever so slightly. "And, because of that, I'm going to have to remove you from office."

"…you can't do that."

"Yes, I can," Graciela says. "I am the president of Panem. You cannot stop me."

Ezra clenches his hands into fists and says, "You would do well not to underestimate me, Graciela."

"Then prove it to me, Snow," Graciela says. "Prove to me that you are a threat."

There's no hesitation—Ezra whips a gun out from his suitcoat and points it at her chest.

Graciela looks at the Avox across the room, whom Ezra seems to have not noticed. He's watching them like he doesn't know what to do, if he should intervene or run for help.

She turns her gaze back to Ezra, and a breeze finds its way through the tarp over the shattered window pane.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Graciela says. "You were the one who killed Euphemia."

"Yes and no," Ezra says. "But it doesn't matter. I'm not going to assassinate you."

"Well, I figured as much."

Ezra's flexes his hands around the gun and grins manically. "I'm not going to kill you. You're going to kill yourself."

A spike of fear charges through Graciela's chest. "What?"

"It's so simple, isn't it?" Ezra says. "Assassinating Silas created too much hubbub. Too many people looking for my man. But if you kill yourself? It will be a tragedy, wrought by a job with too much stress…and the Games will continue. Sure, I'll have to keep your little addendum so the Districts don't riot…but your little plan will never see the light of day."

"You're insane."

"No. I'm a Snow," Ezra says. "I'm just taking after Grandma."

Keeping the gun trained on her, Ezra walks around the desk and produces a paper and pen from one of the drawers. He thrusts the pen into Graciela's hand and says, "Now, now, what would Graciela Purdue write in her suicide note? What do you think?"

Graciela looks again to the Avox, who is now creeping toward the door. She gives him a pleading look. She knows that Avoxes hate the Capitol for enslaving them, but she's always tried to treat them with kindness.

Please, she thinks. Don't just run.

Ezra follows her gaze, cocks the gun, and shoots the Avox where he stands. The Avox crumples to the ground with a wounded, animalistic noise. He's not dead, and Graciela can't tell where the bullet hit him in the darkened room.

She turns on Ezra and attempts to wrestle the gun from his hands, only succeeding in knocking her wine glass over. Red wine spills over the desk, and in her momentary lapse of focus, Ezra presses the barrel of the gun to her forehead. "Now, here's what you're going to write."

I'm sorry.

This job is too much for me. Please, whoever finds this, take care of my cats.

I'm sorry about the Avox. He wanted to stop me.

"There, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Ezra coos. The gun shifts against Graciela's temple, and she tenses in fear. "Bet you regret underestimating me now!"

The Avox makes another guttural noise. Ezra yells at him to be quiet like he's supposed to.

As Ezra stalks back around the desk, Graciela slowly opens one of the drawers. She's not stupid. She's the President of Panem. Of course she has enemies. She carefully removes the knife, wishing she'd hidden a gun instead.

Never bring a knife to a gun fight, or however the saying goes.

But it will have to do. She knows nothing about fighting, but she's seen enough kids with no experience win the Games to know that anyone can survive if they're motivated enough.

She glances at the Avox and wonders why no one came running at the sound of a gunshot.

Ezra laughs at the sight of the knife in her hand. "Really, Purdue? A knife? Who do you think you are?"

Graciela lunges across the desk, ignoring the wine staining her pants, and swipes at Ezra's face. He dodges easily, as if he isn't even trying. Graciela goes for another swipe, and he catches the knife with his right hand. Grabbing the blade, Ezra tears the knife out of Graciela's grip and throws it across the room.

"Well, it was a valiant effort," he says.

He leans across the desk, places the gun under Graciela's chin, and says, "Long live the king."

Ezra pulls the trigger.