Antonius shook with anticipation as he prepared for the family visit and seethed with anger at the warden for not letting them shower more often. Trying to reach any decent standard of cleanliness with only a sink, a bar of soap, and a towel was a nightmare and he had spent at least twenty minutes on his hands and knees afterwards getting the floor dry. He ran his comb through his hair over and over, wishing there was more hair to comb. As it was, with that fresh buzz-cut and worn-out clothes, he would look every millimetre the convict.

At least Grandma would not be there to get upset.

"Line up!"

Antonius felt strange, standing at the door without his file folder but also without the jacket he wore for the walks. The doors opened.

"Cuffs!"

One of his wrists was cuffed to that of a guard. Antonius felt the indignity particularly acutely today - this was how his family would see him. Shaved almost bald, in a sweater that must have had several wearers before him, and in handcuffs. They all were led down the corridor to the visiting room, Antonius feeling his heart thump painfully. His mouth was dry and his feet were tingling.

In the room, families had already arrived. Some had entire family units come to visit them, others - only one person. Thread sat down across from a man who did look strikingly like him. They were like two identical statues where one had stood indoors and the other - exposed to the elements.

And there was his family. Octavia was there with Achilleus, and his parents, and Jo, his youngest cousin, with little Zephyr in their arms. Everyone except Zephyr looked tense, anxiety melting into pity once they saw Antonius. "Hello," he said, wishing he could fall through the floor. He waved with his free hand.

Dad glanced at the guard.

"Oh, do not worry about the guard. He wants to be here as little as I do."

They looked like they could not quite believe it but nodded. The sadness in Mom and Dad's eyes was painful to look at.

"I must say, I am impressed you did not try to bring in all the cousins."

That got Jo to chuckle. "We decided we wouldn't be able to fit, so we drew lots."

Deep down, Antonius was disappointed so few of his relatives had shown up. "Next time, bring them all." They had been promised that visits would be every day when awaiting sentencing, which could not be too far away.

"We will set up a rota," Octavia promised seriously. "Ant, are you alright?" She placed her hand on the glass.

"As alright as I can be given the circumstances," Antonius joked, putting his hand opposite hers. Was it his imagination or could he feel the warmth of her hand? "I have nothing to complain about. I am being fed and kept warm."

Zephyr stood up on Jo's lap and tried to reach for Antonius. "No, no," Jo said, "you can't hug Uncle Antonius. Sorry."

"How is everything going for you?"

"Satisfactory," Mom said mournfully. "Are you following the Steelworks case?"

"Of course."

"It is an outrage. Why I-"

"Please, Mom," Antonius cut in, rubbing his forehead with a hand, "I do not want to talk about that now. It is already the only thing I think about. Achilleus, how is school?"

"We're on break now," his son said, studying him curiously. He had grown since the last time they had seen each other. "It's alright, I guess."

Antonius wanted to chide him for the informality of his speech, but he could not, not when this was their first meeting in a year. "I am glad," he said, smiling. "Are you looking forward to the start of term?"

Achilleus shook his head frantically. "No. I like break."

"Are you doing anything interesting now?"

"Yeah. I'm helping out at the shelter. Everyone says I'm really good with the sewing machine."

Who had taught his son to use a sewing machine? Antonius felt a deep embarrassment at the thought of his son not only doing manual labour, but being happy about it. "The 'shelter' is our home," he corrected him.

"It's everyone's home now."

"I suppose," Antonius said, feeling like he had bitten into a lemon. The others looked just as uncomfortable as him. With Octavia and his parents busy trying to help him, it was the classical situation where Cousin Gina thought Cousin Troilus was watching over Achilleus, and Cousin Troilus thought Cousin Boreus was doing it, and in reality, Achilleus was being taught by some DP to mend socks. "Well, I am glad you are adapting so well to this new world."

Achilleus looked a little bit confused by that, but he nodded nevertheless. "Thanks, Dad."

It felt like only minutes later that Warden Vance called out 'One minute left!' Antonius looked at his family, unsure of what to say. He pressed his hands against the glass, feeling horribly trapped and alone. The guard looked irritated at having to move his arm.

Octavia put her hands against his. "We will see each other soon enough," she said.

"I wish you did not have to leave," he whispered.

"What?"

"I wish you could stay," he said, louder. He missed his wife so much, it hurt.

"So do I."

They sat there silently until called to leave. Antonius waved at them, desperately wishing that he could be leaving as well, and not stuck behind this glass panel.

Back in his cell, Antonius sat on his cot and tried not to cry. All of them were very emotional from the isolation, and he had not been the only one to cry because of the radio. Verdant had been reduced to tears by the song 'Captain Wheeler', which made sense, given that he had served on a submarine himself in his youth. Dijksterhuis cried every time a sad song played, which was quite frequent.

Right now, the radio was playing only the news. It was still enough to make one want to weep. Antonius thought about his family making their way home. Despite all the privations of his incarceration, at least he was out of the cold wind, but that was scant comfort when he would next leave his cell tomorrow for half an hour.

"Hey, Chaterhan, is this true?" the guard at his door demanded.

"Is what true?"

The guard waved a folded-up newspaper. "It's an article about you." Did people have nothing better to write about? "'When Antonius Chaterhan was eight years old, his toys were taken away and replaced with a baby cousin.'"

He had expected worse. "Yes."

"Couldn't they afford babysitters?"

"My mother and father told me it was time to learn about responsibility." Cousin Lonnie, or rather Leonidas Wolf, was actually his second cousin. His parents, Dad's cousins, had never spent much time with their children. Lonnie and his siblings had spent most of their childhood in the Big House and were close to Antonius to this day. Lonnie, a lawyer, was helping out with the Steelworks case and Antonius' defense.

"That's crazy. I mean, that's how it went in our village, too, but that's because there was nobody to leave the babies with once they were weaned except the old people and the older kids who were still too small to work in the fields. My parents always said it was good practice for when I had kids of my own."

"Mine said that, too." It was surreal to have something in common with this guard.

"So did you have to spend all your time with the babies?"

"Not all - I went to school during the day. After school, I had to do homework and look after my cousin at the same time. He always tried to tear up whatever I was working on because he was sad I was not playing with him."

The guard giggled. "That's so funny. I'm just imagining an eight-year-old you washing a one-year-old."

"If you want to laugh, imagine a teenage me with six or seven cousins to handle," Antonius blurted out. It was impossible to keep a distance from the only person willing to talk to him. "Whenever I complained, my grandfather hit me on the shins with his cane and my grandmother told me I would never be able to run the Steelworks if I could not handle my cousins. So I had to study for exams without even a second of peace."

"I can't imagine."

In hindsight, it had certainly been odd. Antonius recognized the effectiveness of Grandma's methods, but he had treated Achilleus differently. It felt wrong to put a child to work the moment their brains were developed enough for it.

The New Year's meal was going to be meagre this year, but Dora was just glad to be back with her family. All the kids were going to be here with their families. Keisha and Wesley had already arrived, and the grandkids were tearing up the house.

Bull arrived next, without his eldest son, who was with his wife's family. There was no way to have a massive gathering this year, not with the way the transportation system was still in ruins. "How's Johnny?" Dora asked her son as the younger kids darted off to greet their cousins.

"Still in a state of shock. As am I, to be fair."

The twenty-year-old Johnny was going to be a father next year. Dora had nearly fainted when she had found out a few days ago - she did not feel nearly old enough to be a great-grandmother. "You don't even know how shocked I am," she said lightly. "I can't believe they decided now was a good time to have a child."

"There's still, what, six months? I guess they thought things would be better by that point."

Jack walked into the corridor at that moment. "Ah, there you are, Bull!" he said. "Excited to become a grandfather?"

"The kids are very excited to have a nibling," Bull said diplomatically.

Dora couldn't believe her son was old enough to be a grandfather. But Bull was forty years old - since he had had his eldest at twenty, he could not complain when Johnny did the same thing. "I'm sure they are. I know your siblings were so excited when Johnny was born."

"Was that really twenty years ago?" Bull asked, shaking his head. "Time flies."

"That it does."

At that moment, Ashley walked into the house - and not alone. "Hey!" she said to everyone and began to take off her coat and boots.

"Er, Ashley, who's that?" Jack asked, gesturing at the young man.

"Oh, that's my boyfriend. Everyone, this is Yozef. Yozef, this is everyone."

Dora could only scratch her head. Yozef looked to be around thirty, of average height, thin, and with short wispy dark-brown hair already receding. His rather homely face became pleasant when he smiled.

Ashley had never mentioned having a boyfriend. "Very nice to meet you, Yozef."

"Nice to meet you, too," he said in a lower-class accent. Surprised, Dora looked more carefully at his clothes, but such garments were being worn by many now. He showed no signs of feeling out of place in the much more upscale household.

"We're very glad to have you," Jack said; Dora nearly leapt into the air at hearing him code-switch for the first time in years. His accent was different from Yozef's, but not very much so - they must have been from different neighbourhoods in the city. "But who are you? Ashley never mentioned you."

Yozef hung up his overcoat on a hook. "Oh, we met at work. She's a lawyer at the firm where I'm a janitor." Either Ashley had explained that Dora was the one judge in the world who wouldn't mind a janitor for an in-law or he had no social skills whatsoever. Given that he was dating Ashley, it was most likely both.

"Very nice," Jack said neutrally.

"Why?" Yozef took the statement seriously. Yes, definitely a perfect match for Ashley - though their kids would be the most socially incompetent people in the world. "Who are you?" he asked after a pause.

Dora stretched out her hand. "I'm Dora, Ashley's mother. That's Jack, my husband, and Bull, our eldest son."

"Very nice to meet you," he said, shaking her hand. "Is your name short for something?" he asked Bull.

"I told you not to ask questions," Ashley hissed at the same time as Bull explained that his name was actually Robert. Dora herself didn't remember where the nickname had come from.

"Whoops. Er." Yozef scratched his head. "Who's that? Aww, it's so cute!"

Dasha was delighted to have someone give the only correct response to the toy she was holding, a larger-than-life crochet giant millipede with button eyes and the correct amount of legsies. Dasha had enlightened Dora on these extremely important details in a video call last week.

"Dasha, this is Uncle Yozef, Aunt Ashley's friend. Yozef, this is Keisha's daughter."

"Dasha, I love your millipede so much! Can I hold it?"

Dasha silently handed over the millipede with some reluctance. Yozef fiddled with a little leg before hugging it tightly and perching it on his shoulder. "There, perfect. Does it have a name?"

"Milly, because Milly the Millipede. I also have Arthur the Arthropleura."

"What's that?"

"It's like that, but two metres long."

"That sounds awesome!"

"It is," Ashley said enthusiastically. "It's a prehistoric giant millipede. They lived about 300 million years ago. They ate sporophylls and seeds."

"They lived in the forest," Dasha added. "I wish they were still around. Then I could lie on top of one and it would take me everywhere. I have pictures on Mom's phone. Do you want to see?"

"Of course!"

Dora watched the three of them go, Yozef clutching the African giant millipede. She was forced to agree that it was, indeed, very cute. "Is that what you meant when you said you wanted Ashley to settle down already?" Bull joked. He leaned against the wall, yawning. "Though I can't say I'm shocked. He learned how to read specifically because he was curious about stars."

A match made in heaven, then - or rather, space. Dora felt sad that Ashley had told her siblings about Yozef, but not her or Jack. "I lost the capacity to feel shock thanks to the trial," Dora muttered.

Bull nodded. He was a judge in the local criminal court and had to deal with more than a few functionaries and former Peacekeepers. "Honestly, I can't imagine how you deal with it. Watching the news is bad enough. Did you read about the Charlotte case? I don't even know what to think." He rubbed his forehead with a hand. "Had it been just Sharma, I'd have chalked it up to the work of a maniac, but to have ten very different teenagers all agree that this is a good idea? This is an indictment of our educational system."

"I'll go get everything set up," Jack said, patting her on the arm and walking to the living room.

"Of course, thanks." Dora turned to her son. "I don't know, either," she said somberly. "The Charlotte case is nothing compared to what we're doing." It was still horrifying to think that this was the sort of people middle-class society produced. "The long days would make any case impossible, and that harrowing testimony - all I want to do at the end of the day is cry and drink tea with my housemate."

Bull chuckled. "Sounds like a healthy coping strategy."

"I've been on that bench for nearly forty years, I wouldn't have made it this far with unhealthy coping strategies. That one judge we all know aside." Now that she thought about it, the thirteen of them were doing quite well, mentally speaking. Even Daniel hadn't taken to drinking or something else of the sort. The prosecution, of course, was a different matter - Dora suspected that the parties were the only thing keeping them from falling apart. And the defense ran on drained batteries, coffee, and pastries.

"I had to try a deputy mayor a while back. Beals."

"Lucky." Beals, who had been the city's deputy mayor for housing, utilities, and the like had been notorious for his corruption - he had owned three luxury apartments, a villa, and an astonishing selection of automobiles, all on taxpayer money. He was to blame for the working-class pensioners of the city crossing themselves when they saw their utility bills and rushing to sign up for more shifts. Dora would have enjoyed weighing the depths of his crimes and assigning the appropriate punishment. "I'm sure the others were so jealous of you."

Bull looked oddly at her. "Actually, they mostly worry that this has gone on for too long."

"Too long? What do they think we're supposed to do with the old corrupt officials, put them back in their offices? Let Beals steal even more apartments from orphans?" Officially, Community Home graduates had been supposed to get free apartments, but a lot of things had been officially supposed to happen.

"I don't know," Bull said with a shrug. "Honestly, I'm worried about where we're going to get officials from, but I watch the IDC trials, so I know we can't have anyone associated with that in high office, that'll just drag us back into the swamp."

There hadn't been a shortage of officials yet - not only were defectors returning to be handed everything on a silver platter, but young civil servants and the like whose careers had started slow because of their unwillingness to bribe and take bribes now found themselves ascendant. And at the low levels, most people were as willing to work for a democracy as they had been willing to work for a dictatorship. She said as much, and got a shrug in reply.

"Honestly, I don't want to talk about this now - it's the New Year in six hours, why are we talking politics?"

Dora agreed. She needed a break from all that. "Let's go rejoin the others," she said, her son following her into the living room, where the grandkids were tearing up the house.

Leon was not surprised when a group of soldiers sat down across from them. He, Nilofar, Inge, and Sebastian had decided to go out for New Year's, partially for the heck of it, partially because Leon had never gone out like that before, partially because he had had a fight with Marcellus again and wanted to do something that was the exact opposite of what he had always done. The soldiers had also gone out - Leon would have had to be delusional to think they wouldn't. It was still irritating to have them barge in.

"You four look lonely," the ringleader, a woman around Leon's age, said with a smirk.

Leon rested his hands on his beer mug as if expecting it to save him.

"We're perfectly fine," Nilofar said coldly in the strongest One accent she could muster.

Another soldier, a man in his very early twenties, plopped down into a free seat. "You a DP?" he asked in a very rural accent.

"I'm working on the trials."

"You're working on the trials," he said in a mocking voice and stole Leon's beer. He seemed to be on the way to being drunk. "Wow, this is shit."

The ringleader tried Sebastian's. "Damn straight." She raised her hand, flagging down the waiter, and demanded eight much more quality beers.

Four and four, Leon realized. Hopefully they'd back off eventually.

"So," the man said, leering at Inge, "how about we take a nice walk together?"

"Dusk, you need to chill," the other man said.

"Fuck off." He went up to the counter and bought himself a half-litre of vodka. He poured himself a hundred grams and drank it in one gulp.

"Dusk-"

"Fuck off, I said." He gnawed on a cracker. "You, cutie with the tits - what's your address?"

"What's the name of your commander?" Inge asked in a bland voice. "I'm sure they'll be interested to find out that their soldiers spend their time harassing IDC staff."

"I don't have to tell you anything." The other three soldiers decided that joining in would be more fun than trying to stop Dusk. They sat back in their chairs, enjoying the show. Leon wanted to punch all of them in their smug faces.

"You do know that the punishment for rape is death?" That would hopefully soon stop being the case, because the ultimate penalty encouraged perpetrators to kill their victims to stop them from talking.

"Bitch please, you'll do it voluntarily," Dusk said, leaping to his feet.

Nilofar laughed suddenly, pointing to the patch she could now see on his sleeve. "You're a guard at Lodgepole jail? The warden will turn you into mincemeat once he finds out."

"He won't find out," the ringleader said threateningly.

"Are you drunk?" Leon asked. "How do you propose to arrange that?" He didn't feel afraid. There were bouncers posted all over the room..

"If you report Dusk, you won't like what happens to you," she said.

Nilofar stuck out her chin. "Already did. Texted the hotline." That was one advantage of button phones, Leon realized. You could text blindly.

"Look," the ringleader wheedled, "he's been having problems ever since his friend died."

"You think I don't have friends who died?" Sebastian asked angrily. "I fought, too!"

That got them to pause, if only for a second. "He's his family's only breadwinner."

"Look at all the fucks I do not give," Nilofar said, spreading out her hands.

"Then I hope his family gives him a good drubbing for depriving them of their only source of income," Leon added. He realized that the other two soldiers were gone. How had they disappeared like that?

"Dusk, let's go," the ringleader hissed.

"Don't wanna."

She dragged him to his feet by the collar. "Let's go, you fucking idiot, before you get yourself thrown into jail." He still did not comply, so she had to drag him all the way out of the bar.

Leon took a sip of the beer she had bought them. It was good. That didn't make him feel any better.

"Do they package up beer to go?" Nilofar asked, clearly thinking along similar lines. Leon tried to avoid looking at the mostly-full bottle of vodka on the table.

"How would they do that?" Inge asked.

"I guess." They finished their beers in silence and walked back home. It was the shittiest New Year's ever, but Leon was still glad to be with his friends and not back home.

Rye placed the presents, boxes of various sizes wrapped in old newspapers, under a homemade wreath being used in place of a tree. She and Barrow had already exchanged a present apiece - something to spice up videocalls - but the others were the sort of things children could see.

The pile was massive. They were all at Delilah's place - and not just the three of them with their families, but also cousins. Good thing the black market was so good at Lodgepole, and that Rye earned so much money. She'd probably have the best presents this year, aside from possibly Delilah, who as an amateur woodcarver needed only her tools and bits of wood. Delilah was a master of many handcrafts, but it was hard to find things like cloth and yarn now. Woodchips, at least, were available.

"You alive?" her older sister asked, sitting down on a couch next to her.

Rye realized she had been staring off into space. "As alive as I can be under the circumstances."

Delilah nodded sympathetically. "At least the apartment isn't wrecked."

"At least we're not dead." Some of their friends were, though.

"At least the kids got good marks this term."

"At least I still have a few days before I have to go back." Rye took a sip from her cup of beer. "I hope the ones who stayed didn't tear the place to shreds in my absence."

"There's people who stayed?" Delilah asked, looking sad.

"People with no family left or those whose family is in the Capitol. And a few young ones who are that eager."

Delilah's eyebrows went up. "You have defectors on your staff?"

"Yeah - one of the associate prosecutors lived in Thirteen for a quarter of a century. But he's ours, though. The born-and-raised Capitolians are all with Thirteen."

"Good for them," she said seriously. "Oh, and I heard about this scandal-"

"You'll have to be more specific, there's been hundreds."

"The one with the Chief of Counsel and her secretary?"

Rye clapped a hand to her face. "Didn't you hear of the transcript of her call with her husband? You're the one who told Barrow that since I'm talking with him, there's nothing to fear."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me," Rye said dryly. "You know, I'm not sixteen anymore, I don't need to run to you with all of my relationship questions. And neither does Barrow."

"I guess. Sorry."

Rye nodded. Delilah had always been the one to give Rye dating advice and then relationship advice, which soon morphed into parenting advice. "How's work?" she asked. Her sister had been expected by Mom and Dad to become a doctor, but she had chosen to become a nurse instead because she hadn't wanted to be in school for so long.

"Alright. We're better-supplied than ever before, and the diabetic ward's been re-profiled." Before, the hospital had taken in comatose people for free out of the local government's desire to not let deaths become an event half the neighbourhood was privy to. Anatolius Elbow had, of course, made things even worse that way - there had been many instances of relatives trying to steal insulin or simply begging hospital staff for it.

"That says a lot about everything," Rye said. "No more diabetic ward. Hard to imagine. Didn't you say that your coworker's son was already dying when insulin started to be delivered?" Medicine had practically stopped arriving once the Rebellion began, and a nurse hadn't made enough to buy it on the black market.

"He was." Delilah ran a hand over her head. "He gave him the injection personally. I've seen it before, when a family managed to come up with some money, but it was still something to behold. It was like the boy was arising out of the grave."

"And then I went and prosecuted Lee."

Delilah laughed. "I watched it. He better hang."

"I did all I could," Rye said uneasily. Having spent so much time in the courtroom with him, it wasn't so easy for her to wish for his death.

The silence lengthened.

"Rye? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why were you so afraid of the Hunger Games?"

Rye chuckled. "I was afraid of a lot of things at that age."

"Yes, but you mostly grew out of it." Delilah scratched her head. "That does make sense, though. Barrow's a little ball of anxiety, of course he made it worse."

"Barrow doesn't have anxiety."

"Barrow has a stash of non-perishables and a camp stove in his office at work. As well as a sleeping bag big enough for two."

That was a good point. "I guess that's why. All my childhood I was too afraid of everything from fire to disease to pay attention when they told us that death in the Games was a glorious thing. In hindsight, one of the reasons I liked Barrow was that he said he had been scared during the Reapings. Nobody else did that."

"Because there was nothing to be afraid of."

"Barrow, as we've established, has anxiety, his entire thing is being afraid of the least likely scenarios."

Delilah laughed. "True."

"Wait, why is it so quiet?"

"Oh no." Delilah looked up. "The kids are up to something."

Rye set aside her beer and stood up. "Let's go check on them."

The apartment was massive. There was no other word to describe it. A bedroom, a living room, a bathroom, and a kitchen - why did they need so much space just for themselves? And they lived on the sixth floor, so looking out the window gave Mary vertigo.

It still felt good to live in a place that was theirs.

"What are you looking at?" Rithvik asked from the couch.

"The building across from ours." It was so close, they could wave to each other. "I can't believe they built it so fast."

"Yeah. I like it. I like the sun."

That was the biggest change. Instead of seeing the sun for an hour or so every other day, it was always there, right outside the window. "Even at night, it's still bright. UV lamps can't compare." She sat down next to Rithvik, wrapping her arms around him. "By the way, I've decided I'm not continuing after this trial."

"Oh, really? Why?" He sounded innocently curious, not approving or disapproving.

"Because I've been spending more time politicking than prosecuting. That's not what I wanted to do. It's not what I'm good at. My deputy wants the position as little as I do, but the chief prosecutor from Two is eager to do it." She, Reed, and Isabella had talked it out while skiing a few days before their departure for home.

"Are you happy with that?"

"Happier than I'd have been otherwise."

Rithvik put his head on her shoulder. "Then I'm happy." He sighed and said nothing for a few seconds. "The past few years have been so crazy. I never could have imagined just how crazy the big country was."

"Crazy in what sense?"

"In all the senses. Sometimes I read the news and it's something heartbreaking. Other times it is simply unbelievable - you should have seen my face when I found out Talvian once infiltrated a high school." Mary chuckled. That was certainly unbelievable. She rested her head against Rithvik's and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He did likewise. "And sometimes, it makes me think the sci-fi dystopia already existed, and it was just across the border. Did you hear about the IGR researcher who gave birth to and raised her own clone?"

"Yes." Since the researcher had volunteered for the task, the incident was very low in the priority queue for the prosecution. Was it even a crime to clone yourself? Panem wasn't a signatory to international conventions on the modification of the human genome.

"Apparently, she is very befuddled by her daughter's less pleasant personality traits - where could she possibly have gotten them from?"

Mary had to break the hug because she was laughing too hard. "Hmm," she played along. "Could it be from the person of whom she is a genetic copy? Or the person who is raising her on her own? Oh, wait, that's the same person!"

"The poor researcher can't even blame the other parent," Rithvik added, also laughing. "There is no other parent!"

"Asexuals can rejoice, Cotillion invented human parthenogenesis."

Rithvik pulled her closer to him. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." She pulled her knees to her chest and leaned against her husband.

It was odd, to finally see the relatives Angelo had talked so much about. His parents, siblings, cousins, grandparents - Stephen was glad to finally put a face to a name.

"So you're the boyfriend," Angelo's grandmother, Petra, said, studying him with a skeptical eye. She did look like she would take a slipper to him if she disapproved. "Let's see if you last longer than the other ones. Angelo's congenitally flighty. Angelo, you do understand this might be your last chance?"

Angelo cringed. They had deliberately been vague with the dates, because Angelo felt uncomfortable at admitting that they had gone behind everyone's backs for so long. Stephen was simply confused at how half the world didn't know yet.

Feather wobbled into the room. He was a lot more active now, happily playing with toys and chasing after laser beams, but he was still just a hair under seventeen kilograms. Meowing, he rubbed against Stephen's legs.

"Ah, there's the cat," she said. "Have you met him?"

"I have." Stephen crouched down to pet Feather, who immediately flopped down, forming a puddle of softness. "He's very squishy."

Angelo's younger sister carefully picked up Feather. Nina looked far too slight to be picking up the sack of lard as if he was actually as light as a feather. "I've seen you on television," she said, scratching the cat's cheek.

"I'm impressed you noticed me."

Nina shrugged. "They were talking about how you're a ruthless disciplinarian."

"I can be, if I consider it necessary."

Nina wagged her eyebrows.

"Oh, be serious!" Petra exclaimed. "Is this what you want him to think of our family?"

"He's been at the apartment and seen how we live, so I don't think it can get any worse."

Feather meowed piteously - Nina had stopped scratching him.

"What a spoiled creature," Petra remarked. "We're barely scratching out an existence in the rubble, and this beast is living in the lap of luxury."

"Of course he does," Angelo cooed, scratching behind Feather's ears. "Kitty deserves only the best."

"So," Petra told Stephen, "what sort of black-market tasty treats are you going to gift us to make us want to keep you around?"

"None," Stephen said. "I abhor the sale of food on the black market. I understand the desire of farmers to get the best price for their crops, they have their own expenses to deal with, but the way that food meant for rations is stolen from the most vulnerable makes me sick."

Petra raised her eyebrows. "An MP who doesn't sell canned fruit by the truckload?"

"Yes."

"What do you even see in my grandson?" Angelo rolled his eyes behind her.

The answer slipped off Stephen's tongue before he could think about it. "He is easy to talk to."

"Well, it certainly wasn't his appearance," Petra muttered. "When Angelo said he was dating an officer, I thought he was lying - officers don't go for lumpy-faced and late thirties."

Angelo had explained that his grandmother had stopped caring sometime around Snow's ascension to the presidency, but it was still odd to speak to someone who went beyond honesty and into deliberate provocation. "Many - not all, but many - of my fellows are interested only in a pretty face for a few nights," Stephen said. "I'm looking for a husband."

"How nice," she said evenly. "If you'll excuse me, I need to sit down."

Angelo walked towards him as Petra walked away. "She doesn't like you," he whispered.

"I didn't expect a veteran of the civil war to like me." It was still upsetting.

"I guess. You want to-"

Whatever he had meant to offer was cut off as they were cornered by a tall and broad man. Theodorus, Angelo's younger brother. "So that's the boyfriend?" he asked, smiling.

"I am indeed."

Theodorus grinned wider. "Even here, he's standing at attention. Does he ever unbend?"

Angelo grinned evilly and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. "Only to bend over."

Stephen shook his head. Really?

"Ooh, I knew you had it in you," Theodorus said, chuckling. "Try not to wear him out too much - he needs to have enough energy to terrorize the jail, doesn't he? The dread Lodgepole interrogator-turned-warden."

Hopefully Theodorus hadn't decided it was his turn to be an interrogator - and wasn't the older sibling supposed to be the one doing the threatening? The environment was certainly conducive to that, cornered as he was a good distance from everyone else. "I was a reserve officer and an interrogator, yes."

"Does that mean you can tell when someone is lying?"

Stephen made an ambiguous gesture with his hand. "With some people, I can figure out their tells quite quickly, but it's hardly supernatural. There's quite a few of the criminals who are complete blank slates to me. In day-to-day life, when I'm not particularly trying, I'm only a little bit more perceptive than most people in that regard. And why would Angelo be lying to me?"

"I was just wondering."

Angelo rolled his eyes. "Theo, shut up."

"Oh, very mature."

"Says the thirty-five-year-old who's trying to threaten my boyfriend."

"I'm just trying to say hi!"

Fortunately, the demonstration of how maturity was optional was cut short by the men's father calling them to sit. Stephen held Angelo's hand in his as they took their seats at the table.

The table was laden with what Stephen could now recognize was a pale imitation of a New Year's dinner. Some extra food had been given out in honour of the occasion, but the classic potato salad, without which no Capitol table went at New Year's, seemed to be ninety percent potato and chickpeas.

"I think the chickpeas do a good job of replacing the chicken," one of Angelo's aunts said.

"Back in my day we put bologna into potato salad," someone who looked to be about eighty remarked.

"I always add sour apples to my salad," a cousin said.

"What? No," Angelo's mother protested. "Apples? And mayonnaise?"

"I think the salad is just fine without mayonnaise." Angelo's father ate a forkful. "Why apples, though? The pickles are already sour."

"I like walnuts in my salad," another cousin said.

That was roundly condemned as an abomination against potato salad.

"See?" Angelo said, pointing at something. "It does look like Feather."

Stephen followed his outstretched arm and saw a small dish of something clear with bits of vegetables inside. When someone picked it up, the substance wobbled. "That's aspic?"

"Yeah."

The resemblance was uncanny.

Stephen took himself a little bit of the aspic, wondering how Tiller was doing. Since she had been visited by her parents for the wedding, she had volunteered to stay at the jail when everyone who could would be away visiting family. The atmosphere in the jail was bound to be absolutely suffocating now, and Stephen felt very grateful that he had somebody to spend the holiday with.

Trying to keep the prisoners from completely falling apart during the holiday turned out to be one of the most difficult things Miroslav had ever done. With most of them, it was doable - plenty of time outside and a couple of visits from family members had done them a lot of good, but the mental health staff had still been run ragged trying to console everyone.

With the key criminals, it was much more difficult. Miroslav and Mallow were only able to get them the one family visit, they were not allowed outside, and they didn't have the opportunity to socialize at meals. There had been multiple breakdowns as a result. Falling into bed the night before the trial resumed, Miroslav found himself glad the break was over. It hadn't even been much of a break. His workload had increased due to half the team including Mallow going home, his patients were feeling worse than ever, and his parents were mad at him for staying over. At least Rody was in the same boat and understood. She wasn't even angry that he had replaced their weekly calls with daily texts. She didn't know the reason for that was that he looked skeletal by now.

Much to Miroslav's own surprise, he felt happy about what he was doing to himself. No more guilt about wasting food - if anything, he was glad the food he would have otherwise eaten was now going to the homeless. Logically, he knew that 300 calories a day was suicide, but that thought didn't quite register. Besides, Mallow would do something about it eventually. Did he want that to happen? He didn't want to die. But he wanted the number on the scale to keep going down.

Tomorrow, he'd find out what Mallow thought. The prosecution would return from wherever they had been holidaying and the defense would wake up from their two-week nap. Perhaps Miroslav was too Thirteen for his own good and didn't understand what break was for, but-

He was too tired to think about that for any longer. Miroslav wiggled around and waited for sleep, inane thoughts drifting through his mind like clouds in the sky.

A/N: Cotillion didn't actually invent human parthenogenesis. The researcher went through conventional IVF, but with the added twist of cloning.

If my grandparents have always called me by my mother's name because we look similar, imagine the researcher's poor parents dealing with a child who is indistinguishable from their daughter at that age.

Recipe for Olivier potato salad, a must-have dish for a New Year's table in parts of the former USSR:

1 chicken breast/175g bologna/175g other protein, such as chickpeas, beans, tofu, etc.

6 eggs

350g potatoes boiled in their skins, peeled

6 small pickles

1 can peas, drained (a can with 400 mL of content should work)

Mayonnaise and herbs if desired

Obviously this is more of a guideline and you can add less or more of certain ingredients depending on what you like.