A/N We've made it to Five, people! Five is one of those mysterious districts we really don't know too much about. We know nothing of the people there. Are they loudly rebellious, like in Eleven? Or quieter about it all, like those in Three? It gives a lot open for interpretation. So off I go! Thanks to RuetheDay for her lovely submission. She's one of my most loyal readers and I just have to give her a little shoutout!

Ah. I nearly forgot something important. I'm doing something very different for these next four chapters. You'll see…

District Five Family:

Circe Saffrone (16)

Griffin Saffrone (18)

Hart Saffrone (44)

District Five Mentor:

Nym Joule (29)

Nym realized with a start that she had been just staring at herself in the mirror now for over five minutes.

She shook her head, a piece of plain brown hair falling into her face. She was never herself on Reaping Day. Normally a little vacant, she only grew worse on the days leading up to the last weekend in May. She turned on the tap and warm water gushed out of the sink. She ran her hands under the flow and tried to remember what life had been like without hot water. That would have been so long ago. More than a decade ago.

She turned the water off and leaned against the sink, her hands pressing into the cold tile. The face in the mirror seemed so old. It was strange. She had always been told that she looked so much younger than she was. She had been seventeen in the Games, but most thought she was no more than fifteen. She didn't mind. It seemed to have given her an extra edge.

But here was a woman with lines near her eyes and brown eyes that looked duller than anything she had ever seen. Here was a woman with her hair falling from her bun and a sagged posture that screamed defeat. At that though, Nym gave a little laugh. How ironic. Here she was, having won the most difficult contest ever known and escaped with her life. She had gone through victory tours, had interviews with the most famous people in the country and went on to become an honored household name.

And yet she looked defeated.

Before the Games, as a child, Nym had been wildly confident. The type of girl who walked into the classroom with grass stains on her tights from tackling the boys at recess. The kind of girl who ran like the wind and screamed at the top of her lungs whenever she could. She was proud of who she was and held her head high. It didn't matter that her family of eight was all crowded into a three roomed apartment. It didn't matter that all she usually had for dinner was a piece of stale bread and some weak soup.

She'd had her family. That was enough.

Nym tucked her hair back behind her ears. She smoothed her skirt. It was deep blue in color and very light, with a crisp white blouse on top. The cleaning woman had done a nice job. Nym would surely slip something extra into the girl's pocket. She was hardly a woman at all, that girl. Probably still Reaping age.

Nym made a mental note to increase the girl's pay. Her monthly checks from the Capital, all money from winning the Games and appearing on television shows countless times were more than enough to sustain the Joule family.

The sound of running footsteps thudded across the hall. Nym lifted her head and smiled slightly. She knew the sound of those footsteps.

A running bundle of curly brown hair and a sky blue dress came shooting into the bathroom. The little girl skidded across the tiled floor in her white tights. She barreled right into Nym and thrust her arms around Nym's skinny wiast, giggling and smiling the whole time.

Nym laughed. "Pheobe, you really must be more careful! I don't want you running into anything." She bent down to give the girl a kiss on her forehead. Pheobe smiled sweetly.

"Mommy's got to go in just a little while, sweetheart. It's a big day for her today." Nym tried to make it all sound as simple as possible. As though she worked a regular job, like Pheobe's friends' parents did. And this? This was just part of what she did. Just another ordinary day at work. Except that Nym was only called to work at all about once every three years, due to the fact that there were two other living female victors to mentor the year's tributes. Pheobe had been too young to understand last time. There was a difference in three years, in a young child. Now she was seven and asking questions. Questions Nym just couldn't answer.

Pheobe tucked her hands behind her waist. "How long will you be away for?" She pouted slightly.

Nym tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. "Oh, a little while. It shouldn't be more than two weeks, Pheobe princess. And I trust you will be a very good girl the whole time for Iris, the housekeeper. She's going to watch you while Mommy's away. Can you do that? Can you be a good girl for me?"

Her daughter frowned and crossed her arms. Nym knew some kind of blackmail was coming. She had given birth to such a clever little thing. Most people said Pheobe had inherited her mother's sharp mind. Nym, however, knew that her fiery attitude was something else she had inherited from her mother. She was all Nym. Besides, of course, those lovely blue eyes and the curly chocolate colored hair, so unlike Nym's mousy brown locks. Pheobe's looks were all her father's, right down to her rounded nose.

Sometimes this bothered Nym. Sometimes when she looked at her daughter, she felt deeply sad at the memory of that night. Other times, she merely felt annoyance. A few times, though, Nym had only felt red hot fury.

Pheobe's father was a rich Capitolite with a rather scandalous secret nightlife. He had been number twenty-four. That's how she remembered him. Twenty-four. Why? She didn't even remember the man's name. He was just another body she'd been forced to lie with. Snow had dragged her by the skin of her teeth into this when she was only nineteen, not more than a few months after her Victory Tour ended. The bastard. Whatever childhood she had left was shattered within minutes of her return to the Capital.

Three years she had stayed there. Her days were full of gorgeous dresses, the finest jewelry and luxurious dishes. She amassed a pile of money from those nights. Men payed incredible amounts just to pay a few hours with her, while she herself was barely even conscious. Nym didn't know why. She had always been a scrawny girl with a the face of a much younger one. This only seemed to excite them more.

Eventually, those paper bills meant nothing. Surely, she was now the richest woman in Five and maybe even one of the richest Victors of all, save for the Odair boy who came later. The only thing trying her to those strange men and keeping her locked up in the prettiest prison of all was Snow's threat. He could kill her entire family with one wave of his hand.

Nym had always been a smart girl. She wasn't about to let him do this. So she stayed. Until, of course, something felt very off after number twenty-four. A quick test was all she needed to return home. No one wanted to sleep with a woman with a child. She was old now.

And so, though Nym had been furious with the way her life had turned out, she had loved Pheobe more than anything from the start. Pheobe had been her ticket that let her walk out of hell.

Pheobe knew none of this, of course.

Right now, the girl was peering around the bathroom, admiring her reflection in the polished doorknob. She studied it intently, then looked back up at her mother with those piercing blue eyes of hers. Sometimes they made Nym squirm, the way they seemed to look right into her. "Mommy, where are you going really? You never tell me!"

Nym walked out of the bathroom and into the hallway, which held framed pieces of Pheobe's artwork. She made her way down the stairs, remembering how her daughter had come home from school a few months ago bragging that she was the only girl who had a whole house. Everyone else just lived in tiny apartments. Nym had told her to hush.

"Well, I'm going to the Capital," she said simply. "You know what that is, don't you Pheobe?"

Her daughter nodded, running her hand along the polished wood banister. "Yes, I know. That's where the people are all real rich!" She jumped down the rest of the stairs. Her curls and her little blue dress floating and bounced with her. She came to an abrupt halt at the bottom. "I wish we lived in the Capital."

Nym's breath caught in her throat. She felt her heart flutter and skip a beat. Slowly, she drew a deep breath. "Pheobe," she said clearly. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again. Ever. Those people, oh they are rich for sure. But they are cruel and heartless and…Pheobe you really must be thankful for all you have."

Pheobe nodded tightly, scared by her usually calm mother's tone. "Okay," she said softly. "I am thankful for you, mommy."

At this, Nym broke into a grin. She bent down and scooped her daughter to her chest. Pheobe snuggled in, wiggling her nose in that rabbit-like way she did. She embraced her mother, sighing softly. Nym hugged her close, breathing in the scent of Pheobe's citrus-smelling hair. "I am grateful for you too, little rabbit."

She straightened herself up and looked around the house. The whole first floor was covered in lovely hardwood flooring. There was an open, airy kitchen where Nym's mother sometimes stopped by to make meals. They never said much during those visits. Ever since the Games, they didn't speak much. They just didn't need to.

Nym knew her mom had watched every second of her Games. Everyone had to watch the entire thing. Her mother would have seen her kill that boy. And let that other boy die. And then that girl. That girl who was even younger than she was.

No, Nym was grateful for her mother, who always said exactly the right thing. Nothing at all.

Nym made a mental note for herself. This year, as a mentor, she would talk as little as possible to the child and his or her family. There was nothing she could say or do that could help, save for offering whatever advice she had to keep them alive. Even if it was just putting off the inevitable.

The horrible thing about mentoring was the whole hopelessness of it all. It was so frustrating and so emotionally wrenching to have to mentor children who likely won't live for a few hours after she last them.

The last time Nym had mentored, three years ago, the children had both been young. They were the same age and in the same class. Both fourteen years old. The girl seemed to completely shut down, but Nym heard her sobbing at night. Those had been the longest nights of her life, right after those nights she herself had spent in the arena. Oh, that boy was so clever. She could just tell. He hadn't even lasted ten minutes.

Last year's Games captured the district. Fifteen year old scrawny little Finch, whom Nym's friend Cyra was mentoring, was someone to watch. She was quite young, but oh, she had something in her eyes. Cyra had told Nym, in one of their late-night conversations over the strongest liquor they could find, that Finch was different from all of the other tributes she'd mentored. And Cyra had mentored many more than Nym had. Finch, she said, never cried once. She never even looked distressed. "It was like she was just accepting her fate and making the best of it," Cyra said. "She never did give up, that girl."

Well, until she did.

The district had been in shock when it was a handful of berries that finally did their little hero in. Such a clever little thing she had been. She had outwitted the actual victor of the Games several times, like when she showed the girl how to nick some food from those brutish Careers. And clearly, this girl had morals. She never laid a finger on another tribute. Strange thing was, no one had ever heard of Finch. The girl had no friends and seemingly no family either. She had shot up into the spotlight out of nowhere, her name on everyone's lips.

And then it wasn't. She had returned to the shadows. Like she never even existed.

Nym, however, became obsessed with the girl. She watched reruns of that last full day in the arena over and over again. The girl walking up to the tree stump, with the bright berries and scooping them up. She had peeled one. This was what got Nym every time. Finch had peeled the berry and revealed the angry red flesh that would have sent a red flag to any small child in the nation. And yet…she had popped them all into her mouth at once.

She knew what she was doing. She had known the whole time.

Nym wished she had been so honorable a tribute. She wished she had chosen that route, sometimes, lying awake at night. There, curled on a fine down mattress, she thought of what would have changed if she had done what Finch did. Kill herself rather than kill another. Or surrender her life to another. Finch had died free. Not at the hand of anyone but herself.

And Nym often wondered if she should have done the same, especially when pictures of those two children she had killed came into her mind.

But that was only some nights.

This was now. There was no time to be spared to wrack her mind over what should have been. Besides, even though all of this had been hell, she now had some bright light because of it all. She had her Pheobe. She could not sob or tear up or shut down with Pheobe around. That just wouldn't do. She had to focus on "now."

Right now, that meant saying goodbye to her little girl.

She squeezed Pheobe's hand. "All right, honey. Mommy has to go on a little trip now. But I'm going to be home before you know it. You just be a good girl for Iris. Cyra is going to come over and check up on you, too. Please don't feel too lonely, okay?"

Pheobe smiled. "Okay, I won't. But I'm really gonna miss you, Mommy."

"I'll miss you too, Pheobe. I love you."

At that, Nym gently closed the heavy wooden door. The last thing she saw was Pheobe's little face, smiling even though her eyes were tearing up. She was such a tough girl. Nym hoped she never lost that. She hoped her daughter never lost that sparkle in her eyes, like Nym had lost her own many years ago.

It was nearly time for her to meet the family she would be mentoring.

As Nym walked down the street, crowded with people, to the City Square, she thought about what things would be changed this year. Perhaps things wouldn't seem so hopeless. After all, she was mentoring adults as well as children. And surely the adults would have a better chance at survival.

The more she thought about it, Nym realized that having adults in the mix wasn't going to make anything better. She was mentoring a family. A family! There was no way she could stand to witness those parents' reactions when their child (or, or children) was killed.

Nevertheless, she walked with her head held high. I am strong , she told herself over and over again. I won the Games once. I've mentored before. I've seen things no one can even imagine in the darkest of nightmares. And I am still here today. So I must be strong.

Over and over again, she told herself these words.

Maybe someday she would actually believe them.

As Nym walked past the silent families, with their young children in tow, she thought about who she would be mentoring with this year. There were only two men who had ever won the Games, and they were Newt and Blaise. Nym was fairly certain Newt had mentored last year, which meant she was going to be stuck with Blaise this year. Blaise was all right, she supposed. He was a bit of an alcoholic, but then, they all kind of were. He was older than she was, about forty. He could have kids or a wife, but he didn't.

For obvious reasons. The man's house was a disaster and he pretty much refused to let anyone in. But all that aside, the man still had some of his wits about him and could be clever. He had a very serious way of looking at things, but many times Nym swore he was just being sarcastic.

He was a mystery, that Blaise. But he was a good enough mentor and so she was satisfied. Hopefully the two of them could offer at least some help to whatever helpless family ended up in their hands.

She walked onward, not looking pausing to look back at the stares of others. It was true that Nym rarely ventured out of the Village. To her, it was safe there. And going out in the district meant she had to see the staring. That was what had unnerved Nym the most about her Victory Tour. The staring.

Nym shoved her hands into her pockets. She felt strange, wearing simple brown pants and a clean, but simple white shirt. Most people dressed up for the Reaping. She wasn't sure why. She never had as a child and she wasn't about to start now.

As she walked into the Square, she ran almost straight into a large, black camera. For a moment, she stared at it in shock. It had been a little while since she'd last seen once of these. Of course. She had forgotten this whole damn thing was filmed. She resisted the sudden urge she felt to spit right in its lens. Huh. That was surprising. For a moment there, it was like the old Nym had pushed her way through. That familiar old rebellious child who always had to get the last word in.

How she missed that girl.

But this was here and this was now. And so Nym stuck her chin up and offered the camera a little smile. One she only hoped could pass as sincere. The last thing she wanted was for the President to have any idea that there just might be a little spark remaining in her. No, she knew better. Dulled eyes worked and nothing else. She needed to be off his radar.

Or no one could say what might happen to her little girl.

The camera, a metallic thing on a track, followed her movement across the Square and to the stage, where the Victors were taking their seats already. Nym bounded up the stairs and gave a single nod of acknowledgment to Clelia Beryl, the Capital-appointed mentor. Or whatever it was she was supposed to do. Today, Clelia was wearing a magenta ensemble with glittering gold heels. Clelia was a fairly new mentor, which explained why she was in Five. Five was not the most desirable of all the districts.

Clelia had started mentoring in Five just last year. Previously, she had been Six's mentor. Nym wasn't sure what the woman had done to get a promotion because it didn't seem like she did much of anything at all. Still, she didn't seem so awful. Nym hoped they could get along somewhat because Clelia would likely be guiding Five's tributes for a while. A promotion to Four was going to take a while.

Nym walked over to her seat, one of five chairs. The five Victors of Five. She sat down slowly, but was still surprised at the coldness of the metal chair. Newt, the other male mentor whose alcoholism was ten times worse than Blaise's, gave her a thin-lipped smile.

Nym saw a flask poking out of his pocket and nudged his shoulder. "Might wanna keep that away from the cameras," she mumbled to him.

Newt flashed her a sloppy, obviously drunk smile. "Thanks, sweetheart. Honestly, you're me and Blaise's second mother."

She believed it. Nym crossed her arms and watched Clelia flutter back and forth across the stage like a drunken butterfly. It was obvious from Clelia's excited face that the Games were the event of the year. It was scenes like this one that caused Nym's stomach to lurch into knots. Why couldn't someone just give these poor, brainless Capitolites something normal to focus their attention on? Instead of kids murdering each other? The thought made her sick. She had to remind herself that it was that sick bastard President Snow who was behind all of this.

"Nym dear, you may want to smile. The cameras'll be on you."

She jerked up at the sound of the jerky, clipped-sounding voice in that strange Capital accent. Clelia stood above her, a little bird on her headpiece dangling right in front of Nym's nose. Nym swallowed her annoyance that this woman, who looked hardly Nym's own age, had just called her "dear."

She focused on the dancing, bobbing gold bird instead. Strange. She'd seen it somewhere before.

This bothered her throughout Clelia's entire speech. As Clelia showed the video, the one depicting the rebellion and the war, Nym looked out at the faces in the audience. So many children and families. It was all so cruel. Though lately…things were different. Last year, with two victors being allowed and this year with multiple again? What could it mean?

Ah, but she was over thinking this. Snow had picked a random card and that was all. That bird on Clelia's headpiece? What was it called? Oh right. A mockingbird. No, no. That wasn't right either. Nym silently cursed her upbringing in a highly industrialized place. There wasn't a tree in sight, let alone flocks of birds. Anyway, birds were just some Capital fashion craze.

Clelia walked to the center of the stage, her high heels causing her to totter slightly. Nym bit her lip to keep from smiling at that. Clelia straightened herself with a slight huffing sound and walked to the large glass bowl that held thousands of slips of paper in it. As Nym eyed all those slips, she felt thankful that this year volunteers wouldn't be allowed.

Yes, that was the latest display of Capital cruelty, it seemed. Only to Nym, it didn't seem so bad. After last year, with that girl volunteering in Twelve and then skyrocketing to fame, well, volunteering might become something of a craze in the outer districts.

And that was the last thing she wanted. No one ever volunteered in Five. And Nym just didn't think she could deal with a volunteer.

Clelia smiled into the microphone. "This year, we have combined both boys' and girls' slips into one bowl. That means there will be only one tribute. If your name is called, please come to the stage." She flashed a toothy grin, as if being called to the death was some wonderful little present one could receive. Nym snorted, then swallowed her snort so it came out like a cough.

At this, Clelia stopped to look at her for a split second. Then, she continued right on. "I would like to ask that the family of the tribute who is selected come on to the stage as soon as possible. I think Five would like to get to know its tributes, am I right?"

She was met with stone-cold silence. Nym resisted the urge to applaud her fellow citizens.

Clelia cleared her throat. "And now, without further ado, it is time for us to select our tribute." She waved a hand, which was adorned in rings of all shapes and sizes. After a little flourish, she plunged her hand deep into the bowl. Clelia's hand latched onto a single tiny slip. She pulled it out.

"Circe Saffrone!" She called loudly.

Nym scanned the crowd, anxiously waiting for a girl to emerge. She fervently hoped for the girl to come walking out of the eighteen year old's section. An older tribute might make things more bearable.

Her eyes caught a redheaded figure making its way out of the sixteen year olds' section. She let out a sigh. Well that wasn't…so bad. It was better than a twelve year old or something. The girl had a willowy sort of build, very skinny and tall. And what did Nym expect? Some muscular, healthy-looking thing?

And yet this Circe girl caught her attention. She stared straight ahead at the stage, not shifting her eyes once. Circe walked right up the center of the Square, surrounded by people staring at her. She didn't seem to mind. Here was a girl who could stand up for herself, Nym thought.

Okay, okay. Now she was feeling just a glimmer of hope. Between the red hair and the focused eyes, it looked like she just might have another Finch on her hands. Her mind was already churning with thoughts and possibilities. What could she do to help this Circe girl win?

Because the tributes' reactions at the Reapings were what counted. Nym, as an experienced mentor, knew this well. And Circe certainly passed the first test.

The skinny girl stepped up the steps and onto the stage. Clelia led her to the center. Nym noticed as Clelia put her hand on the small of Circe's back to lead her, Circe stiffened under it. Hah! Good for her. The two stepped into the center. Circe's simple green sundress looked odd next to Clelia's loud ensemble. Nym noticed the girl had her hair in a braid pulled to the side.

Interesting. Very interesting.

Clelia made a little "hem hem" sound into the microphone. "Could the rest of the Saffrone family please come forward?"

The previously silent crowd suddenly burst into sound again. Apparently, the sound of thousands of people turning their heads around and shifting to look around them added up to make quite a din. Everyone looked around wildly, anxious to see where the rest of the family was.

Nym felt her stomach clench in shock as a Peacekeeper, who was standing guard near the door of the Justice Building, suddenly stepped onto the stage. What was going on?!

Then, the man lifted his helmet to reveal a worn face with graying hair. He set his helmet gently on the stage and walked toward Circe. He had a proud look about him, despite the fact that he was surely shattering inside from seeing his daughter up here. That's where Circe must have gotten it from. At the same time the man in the Peacekeeper's uniform was walking onstage, a young man walked out from the eighteen year old's section. He was tall and his build was even a healthy one.

Oh, did Nym feel relief at this! Perhaps she really could do this. The boy was eighteen, although he didn't seem to be taking things as well as his younger sister. His eyes were clouded over in fear. But Nym wasn't going to worry over this. The boy had every right to be afraid.

She could really do something with this family, though. Yes, yes she could.

Clelia shoved the microphone in the Peacekeeper's face. Maybe she, like Nym, was shocked to see a Peacekeeper getting sent into the Arena. "Your name and age please, Mr. Saffrone?" She asked, her voice squeaking slightly.

The man straightened. "Hart Saffrone, age forty-seven." He pointed to the boy. "And my son Griffin Saffrone, age eighteen."

"Very well." Clelia smiled.

Then, she turned out to face the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you your tributes for the 75th Hunger Games! Hart, Griffin and Circe Saffrone!"

She was met by silence.

The Goodbye Room

Circe twisted her fingers over and over again until they throbbed in pain.

She toyed around with the wilted flower in her skirt pocket. It was a little white thing, maybe a daisy. Or maybe a weed. Circe didn't know because her knowledge of plants was rather limited. Living in Five made seeing a flower all the more special. And Circe hardly saw any of the things. So on the way to the Reaping, she had plucked it up from the ground and stuffed it into her pocket, all on pure impulse.

Maybe she had thought it would make some sort of good luck luck charm.

Oh, how wrong she had been.

It seemed the other to members of her family had their ways of trying to control the overwhelming flood of emotions engulfing them all. Griffin sat in the chair next to her, popping his knuckles. Again and again. His knuckles were now turning white. He was grinding his teeth so hard Circe was surprised he wasn't crying out in pain.

Her father was pacing the length of the room on the top floor of the Justice Building. Back and forth and back and forth.

She could only take this for so long. She covered her ears. "Stop!" She shouted suddenly.

Griffin jerked in his seat. His hands fell limply to his sides and his head kind of drooped forward so he was staring at the hardwood floor. Circe had always wanted a wood floor. Even though her father was a Peacekeeper, they still had ugly concrete.

Her father stopped with a halt. "What is it, Circe?" He said. His voice sounded strangely hollow. Circe was so use to the usual gruff, harsh quality it had. His eyes…they had always seemed so steeled against the world. But now they only seemed soft and sort of sad. It was hard for Circe to see. This was her proud, fearless father.

"I-I just couldn't stand seeing you guys looking so scared anymore," she stammered.

Her father ran a hand slowly over his unshaved face. His eyes fell to the floor, just like Griffin's were doing. "I apologize, Circe. I raised you both better than this." He shook his head. "I raised you both to be strong. Crice; you mentally and Griffin physically. That's just how it's always been with you too." He sighed. "I didn't raise you to look away in fear."

Griffin nodded. "Yeah Dad. But, it's different now!" He only barely managed to choke out the words. "Dad, we've been…we've been chosen. This is it!" He threw his hands down. "I don't feel like playing hero anymore!"

Hart Saffrone looked at his son, then collapsed into a chair. "I know, I know. But you're both old enough to carry your heads with dignity. Griffin, you're an adult now. You can look out for yourself and you don't need my help anymore. You're a strong enough young man." He looked his son up and down. "You've got the physical strength it takes to get far in the Games, Griffin. Those weights in the basement? You lift those like they're nothing." He smiled thinly, very thinly. But it was still a smile.

Griffin only looked blank. "Uh huh, I guess. You and I might be able to take on some other tributes, but what about Circe?"

Circe kept out of her seat at this. "What about Circe?!" She yelled. "What about me, huh?" She folded her arms. "Well, I assure you. I can get along just fine. Griffin may be able to lift a weight, but how's that gonna help him survive? He can't strategize to save his life. He'll need me."

Her brother shook his head. "I never needed you before, Circe. I mean, come on. We hardly ever talk to each other, don't we?"

The room feel silent, the stiff sort of silence that makes a heart rise in the throat. Circe only shuffled her feet slightly. She knew it was true. She and Griffin had never been close. He was all brawn and she was all brains. Their father had raised them to be complete opposites. And even without him, Circe was sure they still would have ended up in completely different directions. They were just so far apart from each other that the gap seemed too wide to cross. That was just how she felt with her father. Their relationship was formal at best.

Oh, it wasn't like she didn't love her family. She supposed she did, when it really came down to all that. But yet she never really thought about family. She wasn't a family-oriented person.

Perhaps things would be different if her mother was still alive. Circe and Griffin had lost their mother fourteen years ago. It had not been any sort of catastrophe to Circe because she had been only two years old. Griffin didn't know the woman either, him being only four. She had died in a train accident and that was just about all Circe knew. She did also know that this accident was what caused her father to become so steeled. No one had told her this. But she was a smart girl. She just knew.

Either way, she had spent her life with no females to look up to. Her father being a Peacekeeper, her childhood was one surrounded by men with gruff voices walking into their small house. As a small child, she learned words like "flogging" and "security lapse" before most children learned their alphabet.

She didn't mind this. She had never known anything else.

Lately, her father had been looking more tired. More stressed. Circe knew it was because of all the commotion going on, what with last year's Games causing riots everywhere. Eleven was a complete mess. Circe certainly knew more than most people at her school about this. Of course, she was under tight instructions not to tell anyone. She did, however, know that floggings were to be increased exponentially under the orders of the president. Her father, though, however harsh he was, just was not the type who could flog people for practically no reason at all.

There was a somewhat redeeming quality, if anything, she thought to herself.

In the end though, it didn't matter. Though she knew for a fact her father had let many a citizen escape the flogging pole secretly, it had not stopped them from being chosen. There is no such thing as justice, Circe thought bitterly. It's all bullshit, anyways. She sunk back into her chair.

There was a sound outside the door. Circe sat up, her hands clenching the armrests of her stiff, uncomfortable chair.

In walked Matthias and Jasmine. Circe felt her heart drop in relief. As they walked toward her, a wave of emotion hit her. She felt suddenly limp and was aware of a tear making its way down her cheek. She had barely even stood up before her entire body shook into one large sob.

Matthias nearly jumped back. He was so shocked to see his close friend crying. Circe Saffrone was no emotional weakling. But all of this. All of this was beyond awful. He reached out a hand and grabbed onto hers. Both were surprised to find their fingers lacing.

Jasmine latched onto Circe. She did not say a word, nor did she cry with her friend. She only stood there, embracing her and keeping her skinny form in her arms. This was all she needed to do and for this, Circe was grateful.

Her friends hardly noticed her father and brother sitting in the room. They had never really seen either of them, anyway. It wasn't like Circe could bring her friends home, with all those Peacekeepers everywhere. Matthias and Jasmine were her closest friends, but that didn't mean they felt comfortable around Peacekeepers.

No one did. Not even Circe herself.

"I am so sorry," Matthias said softly to her. The three of them sat on the couch. Circe felt herself collapsing. Her breath felt so short. Like she couldn't possibly get enough air.

"I'm sorry, too," she choked out.

Matthias grabbed her hand. He didn't even think twice about it. Circe knew Matthias to be sort of shy, even more so around her lately. He always seemed to be worried about what she might think of him in such a way it made her and Jasmine giggle. Now though, he looked straight at her. "Circe, you're gonna be okay," he said. But his voice wavered slightly, like he himself needed reassurance on this.

She closed her hand around his. "You're right, Matthias. I am going to be okay." She looked up at her father, who was staring down at her with a strange look on his face. Of course. The man probably didn't even know that she had any friends. Her brother was staring at her and Matthias' hands. "I'm going to be okay because I have my dad and brother, too. Dad is a Peacekeeper, you know. He's trained to fight. And my brother's one of the strongest people I know. So I think we can put up a pretty good fight."

Griffin actually smiled when she said this. "Strongest person you know, huh?"

Jasmine folded her arms around her friend in an embrace again. "Oh, Circe," she whispered. "I'm really sorry for crying, I am. I know you'll put up a fight. You're Circe Saffrone! Remember when we were little and boys used to tease us, you'd wrestle them to the ground? Remember how you nearly got expelled for making Wiley's nose bleed so hard it turned his shirt red?" She shook her head and laughed softly. "Man, I always felt bad for anyone who crossed paths with you."

Circe smiled at her friend. But she could feel her eyes welling up. She swallowed a large lump in her throat and forced herself to put on a brave face.

If not for herself, but for Jasmine and Matthias.

"Do you have a token?" Jasmine asked this suddenly. Her eyes seemed to brighten at a change of subject. There was no use focusing on her best friend's mortality. The truth was, no one in that room on top of the Justice Building in Five knew for sure what was going to happen in the days and weeks to come. No one could control a thing.

This did scare Circe. If there was one thing she loved, it was control. When things just fell into place. Well, she could be certain of a few things. She was certainly going to give every ounce of effort in her and put up the fight of her life.

This was life or death.

"I-I have a token," she said finally. She pulled out the tiny, pathetic-looking wilted flower. Circe could see its beauty, though. Oh, yes. She could see the brilliance of the white color on its petals was still there. And that little yellow center, like the sun, remained. The flower did not care nor did it know what was going on around it. It just continued with its cycle.

"A wilted flower?" Griffin grunted and rolled his eyes slightly. It seemed he often thought his sister was incredibly dull-minded, when she knew him to be the most narrow-minded boy she'd ever met.

Circe sat up straighter. "It's not just a wilted flower. I, uh, I saw it on the way to the Reaping, just growing between some cracks. And I thought, well, here in Five we don't really get many flowers, you know? It's, um, it's kind of like how we don't get many people coming home from the Games. But here this little flower was and it kind of stood for hope. Like, even though there's nuclear waste all around it and not a blade of grass in sight, it still found a way to grow."

Matthias smiled and squeezed her hand. "Well, I think that's really nice, Circe. Whatever works for you. It's your token. And you're right. It would make me think of home. The happier side of it, anyway."

The Peacekeeper at the door clicked his heel on the ground. "Both of you, out. The family needs to prepare to leave now. Their train is leaving in eight minutes." He walked over to Matthias and Jasmine and gestured for them to follow him. Both stood up on shaking legs. A tear fell down Jasmine's cheek and she threw back one last look at Circe. Circe's chest filled up with anger at the injustice of it all. This man forcing her friends away had probably been friends with her father just the day before. Maybe he had even come into their house to talk about security plans with Hart.

It was just so wrong.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Hopelessness was the worst feeling in the world. If anything, that was the one sort of feeling Circe just could not deal with. And so she clenched her fists and let a tear slide down her own cheek as her only friends were led away.

She was going to see them again. She would make damn sure of it.

Her father was frowning deeply. Like always. All the events of the day could not change that. He cleared his throat gruffly. "Circe, Griffin. We'll need to go now. Remember, both of you keep your heads up and don't look back. Whatever you do, do not look back."

Circe stood up. "Oh, I'm sick of this! You're always telling us to hold our heads up and be strong. Well, you know what? I think I deserve to cry a little, don't you think? I might be dead by next week and so might Griffin. And so might you."

He jerked back in shock at these words.

Circe softened her tone slightly. "Look, all I'm saying is that you don't have to be strong all the time either. No one does. Let's just get it all out now when we have the chance. I know I am and I don't care what you say anymore. Don't you get it? I just had to say goodbye to my only friends for what could be forever." She bit her lip to keep from letting out a wrenching sob. "And if my showing any emotion at all doesn't make me proud, well, it doesn't matter. You're never proud anyway." She sank back, feeling exhausted.

Her father walked towards her slowly. He looked at her, then at Griffin.

"Circe," he finally said. "I am proud of you. And Griffin. You were just as strong as you needed to be. I saw you during the Reaping. You've already made me proud." His eyes suddenly seemed far less steeled. His expression softened and for a moment, Circe could see her father. She didn't care how high he held his head up or how strong he appeared. He was her father."

"Thank you," she said softly.

He took a deep, shaking breath. "This goes for both of you. If-If I don't get out of there and you do, which very well might happen, I really want you to know that I love you." His voice shook from effort at saying the words so long unsaid. And it made Circe smile. Finally, really, smile.

"I love you too, Dad."

A/N Here was a shorter chapter, for anyone who thought those last two got a little long-winded. There's only so long I can hold your attention for.

Important news here! I just saw Catching Fire and am now feeling a little inspiration to write a Johanna fic, a character I've never explored. What's everybody think?

And now….a note on reviews. Ah, reviews. We are all familiar with that twinge of joy when we see a review alert. But, my friends, it is important that we not base our writing on the things. We are writing for our enjoyment and for our satisfaction. So please do not stop writing if you are not getting the reviews you would like. Please, keep going! If you need support or help, I am here for you. Shoot me a quick PM if you have to. But above all else, just keep swimming! Man, I love Finding Nemo.

That said. If you are reviewing a story (and good on you) do make sure you actually read the chapter first. Someone out there has put quite a lot of effort into writing it for you. As a writer yourself, you should be empathetic. Yes, I am directing this to every single person reading this story.

Review whenever you can. And when it comes to your own story, keep writing regardless of reviews. You are amazing!