Sometime in the night, Peeta must have gotten up and locked his door, because we wake to Haymitch banging on it noisily. He's counting down, like my mother used to do to force Prim or me to do something, back when she actually parented. I feel Peeta drawing his eyes over my bare back as I stand and pull my nightshirt back over my body. I look over my shoulder at him and he bites his lip before burying his face in a pillow.
"Okay, we hear you," I say as I open the door. Haymitch stands in the hallway, red in the face from the exertion. He looks almost comical. "Geez, really worried about the wrath of Effie Trinket, aren't you?"
"Get dressed. You have guests," Haymitch says in an even tone. The playful smile melts quickly from my face.
"We'll be right down," I say, and close the door quietly. Peeta can sense the tone has shifted. He sits up.
"What is it?" he asks.
"I don't know. We need to go downstairs. Do I have clothes in here?" I ask, looking around the room. I don't know who is below and I don't want them seeing me walk back to my room in bare legs. "What did I wear over here?"
"Um, I might have some pants you can borrow. Maybe something with a draw string?" he says, digging through his drawers. That's almost worse. I open his closet and find a couple plain dresses hanging.
"Did you put these in here?" I ask.
"No," Peeta replies, looking just as confused as I do. Cinna? Portia? My team? Regardless, I pull one from the closet and throw it on. I pull out my hair and braid it quickly.
Seated at the dining table is a tall woman with dark skin and hair. She wears fitted clothes and leather gloves. While she's obviously not military, she almost looks militaristic in her posture – back straight, shoulder back. Absent is the gaudy hair and make-up of most Capitol women. She looks familiar. I know I've seen her before. Flanking her around the table are at least a dozen Peacekeepers, as if she's being sent in for hostile negotiations and not a conversation with two teenagers.
"Mr. Mellark. Miss Everdeen. Please have a seat," she says, gesturing to the chairs across from her. Haymitch stands a few feet away, his back leaned against the wall. The woman's voice is deep and gruff, but has a feminine hint slipping in at the end of her sentences. She's a serious person, and I feel stupid sitting her in a short dress like a small child on her first day of school.
"My name is Egeria Nunn. I serve as Capitol Minister of Affairs, and also as President Snow's Chief of Staff," she explains, and I swallow hard. I know where I remember her now. Leaning over his shoulder, always a few steps behind him in televised remarks. She's a confidant. She's in power. And, more than likely, she knows. I don't react to her announcement. I'm not sure how to play this, instead, I just stare at her coldly. Any associate of Snow is an enemy. I see Peeta in my peripheral vision, and his back stiffens as mine does.
"We're so pleased you came to visit us personally, Minister," Peeta says cordially, a fake smile plastered to his lips. "It's an honor."
"President Snow wanted to ensure you were looked after during your stay," she says precisely. She chooses her words carefully. Looked after. Watched.
"How generous of him," I add, but less convincingly than Peeta. Aggression loiters in my tone like steam under the lid of a boiling pot. An Avox silently appears and places a cup of tea in front of the traitor. She picks it up with her gloved hands and brings it to her lips, not addressing the servant. The presence of Avoxes in our suite again makes me shift uneasily in my seat. They are a reminder of the power of the Capitol. They are a threat. But mostly, they are a tragic pawn in a bigger game. I imagine being unable to speak ever again. I wonder if Snow might one day cut out my tongue.
"President Snow would like you to know how pleased he is with your engagement. You must be very eager to share your happiness with the people of Panem," Minister Nunn states evenly. It doesn't sound like a congratulatory remark. I can read between the lines. They want a Capitol wedding, and soon. In a way I'm relieved. That Snow is focused on our marriage, and not the riots in the Districts, means we might be doing something right. But it doesn't make the rock in my throat choke me any less.
"Of course," I say quietly.
"I hope your family will be well enough to attend. Your sister. Your cousin," she implies. We are still watching them, is what she means. They are still the chips you choose to gamble if you step out of line. As if it's my choice at all. The reassurance I felt only a moment ago fades.
"Prim will be thrilled," I offer.
"Good," the woman says, and rises from her seat. "I think we have an understanding, then," she concludes, reaching out her hand. Mine feels tiny in hers, the sweat of my palms sticking to the leather gloves like a tell. I'm not as calm as I look. When I meet her eyes, though, for a second I see something flash there. Empathy. Grief. I try to find it again, but as soon as she's exposed herself she's turned to Peeta, the frozen mask of obedience finding its place again.
She doesn't even address Haymitch before leaving the room, her escort of guards following in her wake. I gasp for air once she's gone, and realize I've been holding my breath. I lock eyes with Haymitch. We don't have to speak. Something must be happening somewhere in the Districts. They need a distraction. They need a different narrative.
"Tonight you have separate events," Haymitch says, and my stomach churns. "Peeta, you are going on a tour of one of the most famous Capitol bakeries. Focus on the wedding. Wedding cakes, wedding hors devours, wedding favors. Don't stop talking about it. The wedding and Katniss." Peeta nods solemnly in compliance. Haymitch turns his attention to me. "You are dining with this year's Head Gamemaker."
"Alone?" I ask, almost recoiling physically away from him.
"How does that play into our love story? Katniss out with another man?" Peeta asks, not liking this idea any better than me.
Haymitch ignores us. "You met him already at the earlier event. It's only an hour. You can do this." I realize who he means. The fat man who kissed my hand with his filthy lips. I feel it now, like paste, and I irrationally start rubbing my skin.
"Why don't I do my event in the afternoon, and then I can join them for dinner?" Peeta offers. Yes. I need a buffer between me and that pale Capitol scum.
"Plutarch only wants her," Haymitch says.
"What's that supposed to mean? I don't like this," Peeta insists.
"Actually kid, that's good. Keep up the jealous bit. It will play well for the cameras," Haymitch tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Peeta shrugs him off.
"I'm not jealous. I don't want her alone with him," he says again. I let the two of them argue and hope Peeta wins.
"This will be good for us. The Head Gamemaker always shares intel with the previous year's victor. This will help our kids in the next Games," Haymitch says. And then I realize. This will help Prim.
"I'll do it," I say definitively. Peeta gives me a look, but this is my call.
"Okay," he says with resignation. "When is all this happening?"
"You have a couple hours," Haymitch says. He looks at me and sees I'm still not settled, even though I'm agreeing. He narrows his eyes at me. "You're not a child anymore, sweetheart. You're a Victor. You're about to be a Mentor. Your Games are over. You have bigger responsibilities now."
I can't help but laugh at him, one sarcastic burst of air from my lungs. "Are you kidding me?"
"What is your problem?" he says, standing a little straighter.
"My problem? I just can't seem to follow whether I'm a child you need to protect or an adult that's not living up to your unattainable expectations," I spit back. I think for a second he's hurt, but when I blink his face has hardened. "I can't make a decision, Haymitch, if you keep picking and choosing what to tell me. You can't keep me in the dark forever. I know something is going on."
We're toe to toe, and I'm treading on dangerous ground with the listening devices all around. "This is why I don't tell you things," he says coldly, before grabbing a muffin from the table and leaving the room. This isn't his fault, but I'm so angry right now it's better he goes.
I cross to the window sill where Peeta sat the night before our last Games. Where he told me he didn't want to change in the Arena. He did, though. We both did. We'll never get that innocence back. Peeta joins me, his back pressed against the other side of the window. He hands me some cold toast.
"You need to eat," he says, and I munch on it while I stew. We don't really talk. We watch the people below. We spend nearly an hour in silence, drinking coffee in the window. The anger starts to fade, and I shift to resentment. I look across as Peeta, and his eyes look sad.
"You okay?" I ask, nudging his foot with mine.
"Yeah, I just…" Peeta stops talking and looks out the window.
"What?" I prod gently.
"I know you probably never want to get married for real, but I just didn't want any of it to be like this," he says. I can't comfort him. I don't have any encouraging words. He's not wrong, and this isn't something I can fix. Instead I just crawl across the window and wrap my arms around his neck.
"If I stab Plutarch Heavensbee in the neck with a steak knife tonight, would that help?" I ask in a soft, romantic voice. Peeta chuckles.
"You're a weird girl," he says as he pulls me into his lap.
"You like it," I reply, and he brings his mouth to mine. He's smiling. I feel a small victory. I rest my head on his chest. "I need to apologize to Haymitch," I say.
"Yeah," Peeta admits, but we don't make any attempt to move.
"Later," I whisper.
"Yeah," he whispers back, pressing a kiss into my hair. Peeta leaves soon after to get ready. Our events are consecutive to one another, so I still have a couple hours to kill. I leave the suite and wander down the hall. I know Haymitch is still around here somewhere. I find him and Effie sitting in one of the small lounges off the main hall. He's drinking coffee and she has a hand on his shoulder. When she spies me in the door frame her posture straightens and she moves away from him on the couch. Haymitch looks up at me and then back down to his coffee. Effie rises from the couch and clicks past me out the room. "Good luck!" she chirps under her breath as she walks by.
I make my way over to Haymitch and drop next to him. We are both quiet for a while. We are too similar for our own good. Finally Haymitch gets up and starts to leave the room. He pauses at the door and looks back at me. "You coming?" he asks, and I quickly catch up.
The ceilings in the Tribute Center are high up. "Cathedral" Effie calls them, although I've never heard that word before and I'm not sure why "high" isn't good enough to describe them. We follow a couple corridors until we are at a utility stairwell. The door is marked with an alarm, but when Haymitch pushes the bar nothing happens. We step inside and he closes it behind him slowly.
"They had a fire in here two years ago. Sprinklers drowned all the cameras and listening devices. They haven't replaced them yet, so we can talk in here," he says.
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"Never mind," he dismisses the question. There's only so much time we can spend in a stairwell before it starts to look suspicious. I stare at him, expecting the conversation to start. Expecting him to start explaining himself. Instead, he looks just as expectantly back at me.
"I'm sorry, okay?" I spurt out. Not my sincerest moment. I sigh. "I'm sorry," I say quietly. I am.
"What do you want to know?" Haymitch asks.
"Is there something happening?" I ask immediately.
"Yes," he says.
"And it's more than just you. And Cinna. And Portia," I add.
"Yes," he answers again.
"Are you trying to rebel?" I ask.
"Yes," he says.
"Haymitch, you're going to get yourself killed," I reply, my forehead stitched with concern.
"Probably," he states, as if it's not a big deal. As if losing him won't matter to anyone.
"Are you… in charge?" I ask.
He laughs a little, although I don't think any of this is funny. "I have some influence. I have some control. I'm not in charge, though, no."
"Well then who is?" I push back.
"You don't know them. A name isn't going to mean anything to you, but if you get caught they could torture it out of you, and I'd rather not risk it," he says. After a moment he adds, "For your sake."
"How do you think you can possibly take down the Capitol? They have a military. You saw their bases in Two!" I try to rationalize with him. "What do we have that could possibly stand up to that?"
"You," he says softly, and the room stills. I hear my heart pounding in my ears.
"That's ridiculous," I spit out. It is. It's absolutely ridiculous, and if I'm their secret weapon, I have less faith in this revolution than I did before this conversation.
"You have an effect on people, Katniss. You make them believe," he states.
"Yeah right," I quickly retort. "You saw me spend an entire Tour trying to make them believe I loved Peeta, and no one bought it. We didn't calm any riots. We didn't ease any unrest. If anything, we made it worse," I say, realizing the full implications of our failure. I already know we didn't succeed. "Gale," I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.
"This has been brewing for a long time, sweetheart. This wouldn't be the first explosion in a mine to silence someone," he states, and I let it sink in.
"My dad?" I ask because I can't stop the words from spilling out of my mouth. I think of him complaining about the Capitol in the solace of the woods. I think about him singing forbidden songs, teaching his daughter to hunt, to provide, as if he knew he wouldn't be here forever. I don't want to know that he sacrificed himself for that. That he chose to be part of something that meant we'd be without him. That despite everything he fought for, his daughter was still reaped. Haymitch doesn't answer me. He doesn't have to. "Why are you telling me this?" I cry, pulling away from him. "You think I'm going to risk Gale, risk my sister, for some piss poor idea of a revolution that's been decades in the works and has done nothing?"
"What would Gale want, if he knew?" Haymitch counters. "What would Prim want?"
"I don't care!" I gasp. The idea of Snow killing someone to silence me has been abstract to this point. He hurt Peeta the last time we stepped too far out of line, but now I know what the loss really feels like. It's very very real. He took my father. "He killed my dad," I whisper.
"I know, sweetheart," Haymitch says, resting his hand on my shoulder. I lean into him.
"He killed my dad," I state again, my voice growing colder. Angrier.
"I know," he says, and the words hang around us in the air.
"He killed my dad."