The final event on the Victory Tour takes place in the town square, where the Capitol has rigged a temporary plastic cover over the wide stone plaza to keep out the pouring rain. Tall column heaters rise from the ground every thirty feet, and the long lines of tables between speakers boast a multitude of soups and stews, and fresh steaming breads to dip in them. About a quarter of the district turns out, a little over twenty thousand people over the course of the afternoon and evening. Enough to make me want to run and hide. Instead I sit at a table on the stage, my family coming and going around me as they take turns to see the entertainment and fetch more food.

A pair of identical twins set up a fire juggling act that has every person under fifteen mesmerized near the foot of the stage. A group of acrobats manage more and more incredible feats of balance and flexibility, finishing with a girl as tall and skinny as me twisting her body through a fourteen-inch diameter metal hoop.

There's singers and comedians, people we normally only see on television. Aristotle Kent, who hosts a cooking show, keeps a large crowd interested as he makes artful candies and gives them out to his watchers. Linus Perkett, who plays Detective Winter on the mystery show Underground has the district children help him 'solve' the crime of the stolen cookie jar.

More than once I hear the strains of Amazing Grace start up and I have to force myself not to wince. The new re-written version put together by one of my sponsors Yellan Garfunkel is fully Capitol approved, and someone decided to make it my "victory anthem". As much as I hate the desecration of my favourite song, compared to last year's winner I can't complain. Denissa Flow's "victory anthem" was all about getting wet and ready to party.

Finally the night draws down and the people disperse. Over half of the factories were closed today for the holiday, but for the rest, and for those who work the dawn shift in the morning it will be business as usual.

When I visit the town centre a week later to buy some capacitors for one of my hovertoys there's not a trace of the festival remaining. Probably won't be another for a very long time.

The last of the reporters leaves after a fortnight, and two weeks after that I've all but forgotten my scheduled visit to the Capitol until a phone-call the night before reminds me. Beetee sees me off at the train station, where a scowling attendant checks over the paperwork and signals someone to carry my bag aboard the first carriage.

Beetee holds my arm a little too tightly and looks me in the eyes before I get on board.

"Be careful," he says softly. "I wish I could go with you, but...just...be careful OK?"

I promise him I will, and force myself not to look back as I step aboard, shivering from not just the cold.

The train isn't like the tribute transport ones, which run for Games business. All but the front two carriages are for goods transport, and while the padded couch seems comfortable enough for me, the two Capitol liaisons I'm travelling with discuss how barbaric the conditions always are out in the districts.

Neither of them seems particularly inclined to talk to me, so I pass the hours watching the desert, then the rocky wilds pass by, finally falling into a shallow sleep until I feel the steady deceleration that marks our arrival.

Stepping out onto the nearly empty platform, my head still swirling a little from my nap, the world around me seems somewhat surreal. There's a few people passing by, two in the drab white clothing that marks Avoxes, another in a spotty purple suit who is screaming at a cringing assistant about the quality of their last wig shipment. On the far side of the platform, two men step forwards dressed in the black and gold suits that mark out official drivers.

One of them beckons to me while the other leads away the Capitol Liasons to a waiting car.

"Miss Ling? Minister Redfern wishes me to take you to your apartment to refresh yourself, and then I will transport you to your afternoon meeting."

He looks at me until I shrug and step towards him. It's not like I have a choice. He waves over one of the Avoxes to take my bag and leads me to a gleaming black car with gold stripes.

The apartment he drives me to is in a spiralling tower not far from the Training Centre. I'm directed to room 48 on the tenth floor, which suggests that every victor has a room here, even though two have already passed on. I don't remember what happened to the District One man though I have a vague memory of seeing the funeral on the news. The District Six victor apparently suffered a heart attack shortly after the Games when I was eight. For all I know it's even the truth.

The lift runs through the core of the building takes me to a circular brightly lit corridor, painted in garish yellow and orange spirals. The room doors are in the outer circle, equally spaced apartments bigger than our entire family unit was at home.

The first door, number 46 has an engraved sign on it with the name Whisper Stalk. Around the edges of the metal plate there are several painted wheat-stalks, just like the ones Whisper wove into the grass noose that ended six lives. I hope that mine has flowers, not knives.

The next door to the right is 47, with the name Denissa Flow. There's no painted markings here. Then I remember that Denissa didn't come to the Capitol for my Games, and if she had she would have been with the mentors in the Training Centre. The next door has my name engraved on it, and also lacks any further decoration. I wonder idly if Whisper painted on the wheat-stalks herself, and if some of the other victors have added decorations on the other floors as I press my thumb to the black pad. The door clicks and I step into a well appointed room painted in a much more comforting sky blue color.

The single bedroom has plenty of space for both bed and worktable, with several empty shelves just begging for some books or contraptions. The living room has two couches, one facing the television unit in the wall, the other overlooking the city. A table large enough to seat four and a small kitchen area fill the open space. The other door leads to a bathroom nearly identical to the one I remember from the Training Centre.

The clock on the wall tells me it's a quarter to three, giving me half an hour to get ready. A quick shower and a change into one of Dido's less flashy dresses, with a warm jacket added over the shoulders, and I feel nearly ready to face the Capitol again. I shove the bag into the bedroom and force myself to head back down to the lobby and the waiting car.

The driver takes us back out into the city streets, the shaded windows blocking out most of the bright colors worn by passers-by. He stops by a street cluttered with people seated around tables. The shops behind seem to all be food and drink places. Cafes, apparently. A girl at one of the nearby tables has a familiar puff of flame-colored hair, and smiles and waves as I step out.

"Wiress, it's so good to see you. Here Terry."

She hands the driver some money and grins back as he smiles and tips his hat.

"Call when you're ready Miss Redfern," he says cheerfully as he leaves.

I watch as the sleek black car pulls away, and nearly jump out of my skin when someone takes my hand and pulls.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Clara says with another grin. "Terry's nice, isn't he? His brother is one of my friends, and he was in some money trouble so I got my parents to hire him. Now he's just so reliable and handsome too."

I try not to look too confused, and she laughs.

"This must be very strange for you, I bet. Here, let's get some coffee."

She waves over a waiter and orders two large caramel mochas, whatever they are. She gives me an odd look when I try to pay the waiter; apparently here they don't pay until after they're finished eating and drinking. The coffee is glorious, so sweet and rich that I force myself not to guzzle it all at once. I've already made enough of a barbaric district gaffe apparently.

"Don't you have cafes in your district?" Clara asks as she idly twirls her spoon around her fingers.

"No," I say softly, not adding that if they did they wouldn't trust people to pay up the money after they had finished.

"Well where do you go if you want to get a bite to eat while you're out?"

"Home," I say dryly and she pulls a face.

"It must be so dull out there in the districts. No restaurants either?"

"Two," I say, remembering how exciting it was to actually go as a family and eat there. "Only open on...on...on...Friday and... and...Saturday nights...though."

She winces at my stuttered speech. "I looked up those Limbo flowers, and the records of the drug. Apparently the only thing that works is-"

"Chlorazan," I finish for her. "Twice a...a...a..."

"Day," she says with a nod. "And you're already on that? Well I guess we'll just have to wait for it to start working."

We finish the drinks in silence, or at least as quiet as it gets with the surrounding buzz of people and cars. Clara waves away my wallet and leaves the money on the table, plus a little extra. Tipping, she calls it, apparently the done thing here. She says ten percent, but I realize she's left more like thirty. She sees my frown and smiles as she takes my arm.

"I always give a bit extra when I can. It's not like I need it, and for anyone working here, they probably do need it. Now, do you want to go see the founding museum? It's only a couple of blocks."

We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering from place to place, seeing the sights as Clara puts it. When she realizes I don't mind, she keeps up most of the conversation, telling me all about the school trip to the museum where she snuck off to look at the old paintings and got left behind by the teacher, or the time she and her friends accidentally broke the glass statue of old President Yates in Victory Square. Apparently her parents made her pay for the repairs out of her own pocket money, but she didn't care because she got to meet the glasswork artist and pester her with questions.

She offers to show me around the Games museum, but I can't quite bring myself to walk in the door. She seems to understand, and instead we head back to the restaraunt strip to find somewhere for dinner. Throughout the day I noticed a number of people recognize me, but with Clara beside me none of them approached.

As we sit down to eat at a place called Pizzeria, the young man who serves our table takes one look at my face and becomes very tongue tied. When Clara excuses herself to the restroom he scurries over and asks if I'll sign his notebook. As I scrawl my signature he tells me in a low whisper that he's a mathematics student at the University by day, and was a huge fan. He vanishes before Clara gets back, and when he brings us the bill he doesn't make eye contact. I argue Clara down into letting me pay, pointing out that my victor's salary is plenty enough. She smiles ruefully and says "Mom will be so pleased."

I think back to my conversation with Minister Redfern, and how she described Clara's other friends as money grubbers. From what I've seen of Clara, she probably lends or gives her friends money without prompting, just because she knows she can afford to. I make sure to leave a healthy tip with the bill, earning a nod of approval from my new friend.

She informs me that since the whole nation knows I'm not eighteen yet, and she doesn't have a spare fake identification card, there's no point heading for the clubs. Instead she calls Terry to take us to her house. "If you want to, that is. Don't worry, Mom has meetings until eleven and Dad will be out for cards."

The house Terry drops us at is jawdroppingly beautiful. Clara grins and punches my arm in a friendly way as I stand on the sidewalk admiring the view.

"My dad is one of the best architects in Panem, you know. And since Mom is the Minister for Infrustructure and Technology she got him a permit to build whatever he wanted."

Her room is actually most of the eastern wing of the mansion, with its own kitchen and bathroom and entertainment room. The television is bigger than the one in my victor's apartment, and is connected to a gaming console with a stack of games beside it. Her actual bedroom is all purple and turquoise , the walls covered in framed charcoal sketches of buildings. I recognize one as the Training Centre, and another as the President's mansion. A third looks a lot like the broadcast centre I remember Beetee pointing out during the Victory Tour a month ago.

"They're not perfect," she says with a shrug. "But I'm getting better."

"You drew these?" I ask with honest admiration. "Nice." They're as good as what I could have done.

She grins and flops back onto her bed. "It's so nice actually being able to have a friend over. Mom doesn't like any of the friends I've made in high school. She wants me to hang out with the popular kids, but they're sooo boring. All they ever talk about is clothes and who is going out and singers and movie stars. I mean those things can be interesting for a bit, but there's more to life than that."

I nod in full agreement. She sits up, absently fixing her hair as she asks, "What do you do in your free time?"

"I make things," I say, smiling as she waves her hand to extrapolate. "I design, build...things. Whatever I...I...want...really. Read. Draw. Play with my...my...with Balia and Malcy."

She frowns minutely at the mention of my siblings, then shrugs, sprawling back on bed again. "I wish I could just do that. Make whatever I wanted. It sounds like the best life ever. You're so lucky."

Without thinking, my hand goes to the hidden scar on my chest. Lucky to be alive.

She winces. "Sorry. I guess compared to what most of your district has, my life looks pretty good."

"Yeah," I say honestly. Haltingly I tell her a bit about district life. About the tall gray apartment blocks where we live like tinned fish squished in a can. About the factories, and how your neck aches if you work sitting and your feet ache if you work standing, and how your back aches no matter what, but you keep working without complaint because it means money for food and rent. We talk about my workshop, and how much fun it is to work with Beetee, who Clara says she's always admired. I tell her about the design rooms and engineer workshops I'd always assumed I would end up in. She tells me about the architecture course she's planning on taking at the university next semester, on top of her normal high school classes.

She suggests I try to get a pass to come study at the University for at least a semester or two. I tell her I'll look into it. It does sound interesting, but I'm not sure I could go that long in the Capitol, away from my family. Finally the clock ticks over to 10pm, and she suggests I head home to sleep before her Mom gets back. It sounds like an excellent idea to me.

I manage not to fall asleep in the car, but it's a near thing. Terry helps me out and waits until I'm inside the lobby of the victor's spire before he drives away. He promises to be back at 11 the next morning with Clara. We'll be meeting some of her actual friends, the ones her mother doesn't approve of at the carnival park.

I make it back up to my room and strip down for bed, and even remember to set the alarm clock in case I don't wake at my usual time before slipping off to sleep.

~xXx~

The carnival is so bright and noisy and full of people, it takes most of my concentration not to run screaming. Clara's friends help somewhat with that, and it doesn't take me long after being introduced to see why Minister Redfern doesn't like them. Pearson Gould, Perry he corrects with a flirtatious grin and arm around Clara's shoulders, is a first year engineering student at the university. His best friend is the heavily pierced Gamicus Wilkes, who is actually Clara's first cousin on her father's side, apparently the only reason her parents tolerate him. He works for a branch of Mr Redfern's construction company. Gamicus tries to sling a similarly companionable arm around my shoulders, but Clara tells him of and shoves him away with a grin. He holds his hands up in surrender, laughing as he smooths his bright purple mowhawk into sharper peaks.

Royan Colter, Terry's brother, who has also just started work for the construction company. His Capitol accent is much less pronounced than the others, and he admits he's from the poorer end of town. He also tells me, when we end up sitting together at lunch, that their company recently got the grant for Arena construction for the Games, starting with the Quarter Quell arena for eighteen months time.

I tense at the thought of the Games, but force myself to relax and keep talking. Anyone involved with designing and building the arenas would be very useful to know as a mentor.

Helia Astarol is on my other side during lunch, an odd-looking woman in her early twenties who turns out to be as smart as she is shy. Her accent, in contrast to Royan's, sounds almost overpronounced, and she's completely covered in spiralling fractal pattern tattoos. She mentions quietly that she works for Nikarchus Heavensbee, though she doesn't specify what on.

The last of the group is a girl around my age, which makes her two years older than Clara. Odelia Morganson, the daughter of the glass-artist who Clara had to pay to fix the statue. Odelia does some sculpture work like her mother, but apparently is more interested in using her skills on buildings.

When it comes time to split the bill for lunch, Royan winces as he reaches for his wallet and Perry comically slaps his forehead and announces that he forgot to bring money. Clara covers him, and the tip for the whole group without comment.

We spend the afternoon wandering the carnival, playing the side-show games, or in my case watching as I'm not good at throwing things hard or accurately. I try the darts game after Clara and Gamicus hound me, but my fingers shake so much that I struggle to even hit the board. Gamicus offers to hold my fingers in place with his, and I instead hand him the darts, and tell him to show me how it's done.

He doesn't hit enough points to win a prize, but Royan, who goes next on a dare from Clara wins a stuffed cat toy. He turns to offer it to Clara, sees her wrestling with Perry over one of her hair-clips, and smiles shyly at me instead.

"Want a kitty toy?"

I take it, figuring I can give it to Malcy or Balia when I get home. Gamicus spends the rest of the afternoon teasing Royan about it.

Several of them try the rope ladder climb, though only Odelia makes it all the way to the top, earning herself a giant stuffed lizard toy, which she makes Gamicus carry for her.

I try to beg off the fast rides, but Clara won't have any of it, hauling me into a carriage with Odelia and Helia while the boys argue about who gets to sit next to which of us. The ride zooms off, leaving them still arguing on the platform, and I find I actually enjoy the wind rushing past as the line of carriages spins and twists around. Beside me, Clara laughs freely, her hair unbound and streaming everywhere as she leans her face into the wind. Odelia looks almost bored, and Helia pretends not to be cowering at the back of the carriage, turning greener in the face at every twist.

The ride ends, and it takes me a minute to stop wobbling sideways as we walk out, Odelia and I each taking one of Helia's arms to support her as Clara runs back over to the boys. I hear Helia mutter "She knows I hate the fast ones," and notice that there's not a trace of Capitol accent. If anything she sounds like Diya Patel, one of the victors from District Five. Looks like her too a bit, with the middling brown skin and glossy black hair common to parts of that area.

When Clara asks if we all had fun, Helia answers in her normal, slightly overdone Capitol accent, and I wonder if she's originally from the districts. There's a handful of scholarships each year, for the best and brightest (once past reaping age, of course) to go to the Capitol and become new people. One of them is for science, which I was considering applying for once I reached nineteen, though they only take one person a year, and then only if they think they are good enough. It also means leaving your family and friends behind forever, something I'm not sure I could ever willingly do.

Around 6 we break up to head home, or in mine and Clara's case out to dinner again. Gamicus and Perry rejoin us at the restaurant, where Clara makes a scowling Perry pay for the first round of drinks now that he has his wallet.

He brings back wine, even though Clara and I are underage. I start to ask if it's all right for us to be drinking it, and Clara winks, and says "Why do you think I sent him."

The food is spicy noodles and filled pastry balls called dumplings. Once I get used to the slight burn, I thoroughly enjoy it and clear my plate. Gamicus buys a second round of drinks, and I start to feel a little light-headed. Remembering my victory tour, I stick to fruit juice after that, ignoring both the boys' teasing.

They decide to hit the dance clubs once we're done, and Clara looks forlornly after them for a minute, before shaking her head and announcing that she still has homework to do before tomorrow anyway. Terry drops me back at the Victor's Spire, and Clara gives me a quick hug and says she can't wait until next month.

It's not that late when I get up to my room, so I flick on the television. The main story is about the messy divorce of singer Petra Salles and her manager Cicero Owen. Apparently both are claiming the other was involved in infidelity, running false bank accounts and unlawful business practices. The report moves on to the tragic death of Faustas Kentwood, who had a heart attack in the early hours of the morning, and his three estranged children, wife and mistress who are already arguing about the will while the body is carried from the building. A waterskiing display on the Capitol Lake, the unveiling of a new enclosure in the zoo containing black and white bears—pandas—previously thought to be extinct.

Horror at a fashion show as one model's shoe broke, sending her tumbling off the stage. I don't recognize the name, suggesting she's not well known enough for anyone to care. The man she landed on, a professional photographer says he got some shots of her on an angle never seen before though. A reminder of another fashion show, the Midwinter Collection. The current Hunger Games victor seen out and about with the daughter of a prominent cabinet minister. I stare in shock as the footage shows Clara and I walking about arm in arm, then laughing together on the roller coaster. Even with the Victory Tour and the people asking for autographs, I never really thought of myself as being like the movie stars and singers.

I guess I'll have to pay more attention now to how I look and where I go. With this in mind, I make sure I'm neat and tidy the next morning before leaving the Victor's Spire to take a cab back to the train station. The woman who drives gives me a friendly smile despite looking as scrawny and underfed as I am. As I pause to calculate the proper tip, she shyly asks if I'll sign a bit of paper for her daughter. While she fetches out my bag from the boot I scribble my name and hand over the money, closing the door before she notices I gave her half again the fare, and start to lug my bag across the pavement. One of the white-clad Avoxes hurries over and takes it without asking, carrying it to the waiting train. I try to tip him too, but he waves it away with a shake of his head.

This time I'm alone in the passenger carriage, and while away the hours drawing patterns in my breath on the glass windows. Beetee is waiting for me at the station, and takes my bag without asking as I step off. He looks me over, as if checking to see if I'm in one piece then gestures for me to lead the way to the bus stop.

"I saw you on the news last night," he says with a small smile while we wait for the bus. "Looked like you were having fun."

"I did," I tell him, still half-surprised myself.

"Good. That's very good."

He adjusts his glasses, starts to say something else, then shakes his head and picks up my bag again as the bus comes into view.