+ Thanks to ScoutMeminger15, ArtemisCarolineSnow, Dancing-Souls, and MyleyHxox for the reviews, and to new followers and old readers alike! Sorry about the long wait – I ended up re-doing about half this chapter to accommodate some later events I added to the storyboard. Questions, comments, concerns – always appreciated! Enjoy!

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Cyrus had never liked District 4.

People in the capitol preened over the sea's bounty. The seafood, the shells, the exotic creatures caught and imported as pets, it was all enough for them. For Cyrus, the place stunk of boat oil and salt water, and the best transportation around was just as likely to give you seasickness as get you to your destination in one piece. The cackling of the gulls circling overhead on the docks made him clench his teeth.

This wasn't a place for a city boy who'd grown up surrounded by the neon-lined towers of District 1 and now walked in the shade of the Capitol's silver spires. Given the circumstances, it wasn't the time, either.

Cyrus had done his best to conceal the Capitol in him. He wasn't much of a public figure among the districts, and he'd gone even further by letting gray stubble cover his chin and cheeks and his thinning hair run off in all directions atop his head. He'd had a Peacekeeper pick up the tawny tunic that covered him from shoulder to mid-thigh from a vendor in Manheim's Gulch, the poor residential zone on the far eastern side of the district home to thousands of cannery workers and machine technicians. He'd even told his Peacekeeper escorts to keep a wide berth, scouting the docks with hidden snipers and camouflaged aerial drones rather than pushing aside crowds in force with all the subtlety of a killer whale. Even with all that, Cyrus felt the sideways looks and hushed whispers from passersby.

Maybe it was his smell: Try as he might, Cyrus doubted even a year's worth of work would scrub out the Capitol's artificial pheromones and aromas that wafted down the city's streets. That, or he was just getting too old to remember how to blend in with a foreign crowd.

An unpleasant cognitive dissonance plagued Cyrus's mind as he walked down the docks. The taverns and storefronts were run-down and covered in silt, adorned with paint peeling from creaking wooden signs and smeared with grease and grime. So many barnacles clung to the piers, it was hard to tell that wood still supported the docks. Yet despite the dilapidation and ubiquitous bird poop, the crowds surged with a youthful energy. Bar patrons clustered around splinter-covered tables cradled mugs of sloppy brown drink and laughed like children. Old men and women argued with each other like they were preparing for a political convention. The people of District 4 were coming alive as the infrastructure crumbled.

Cyrus wasn't looking for just any bar, though. The Western Whale was the last establishment along the largest row of piers among the docks, its tables and chairs much emptier than the other watering holes. Cyrus knew that had to be no coincidence. It was a welcome.

He felt for the pistol strapped to his abdomen. The last thing he needed was to start something, but according to everything Lucrezia's information had told him, this Rio West wasn't a rash man. Hard, perhaps, cynical, influential, but not rash. He'd earned the district's respect through experience and time captaining ships, and a strong leader could go a long way in relieving District 4's tension.

Still…even the most charismatic of men could only hold the mob at bay for so long.

The pub's blue wooden doors creaked as Cyrus pushed them open. A haze filled the interior of the tavern, as if a crowd had been smoking inside just a minute prior. A lonely glass half-filled with brackish grog sat on the damp, dark bar to Cyrus's left, accompanied only by a dirty, wrinkled washcloth. Barstools here and there were pulled out, with one lying on its side in the corner of the room. The groaning aluminum blades of a tired fan overhead serenaded the empty tavern with a droning thump-thump-thump. Whoever had left, they'd left behind the smells of salt water, sturgeon, and sweat.

"You didn't do a good job looking the part."

Cyrus wheeled around. Behind him, a statuesque women with silky, silver-blonde hair kicked her feet up on a table and watched him with half-closed green eyes. "The guys who wear that kinda outfit wear real beards," she said, shaking a glass full of a crimson drink that looked far too Capitolian for this bar. "Longer than the stubble the fishermen and boatmen wear, but not too long that it'll get caught in the factory machinery. You're doing it wrong if the Odairs are your guide."

"Ms. Larson," said Cyrus. He clenched his jaw and a fist. "You clear out this place?"

Brooke Larson laughed. "You were a lot less grumpy when old Snow was still in charge. That was, what, six, seven years ago since the last time Seneca Crane did a Games? Made us all come in every year? I like this new Gamesmaker much better. I can sit here every summer and not give a shit while Finnick goes to see the city. Didn't think I'd ever even see you again."

Cyrus narrowed his eyes and took a step back. She'd been expecting him. Brooke had grown up a lot since she'd won the 81st Hunger Games, but an aura of danger and cunning still hung about her. "Someone told you I was coming here?"

"Not her. They told me."

Rio West stepped up to the bar behind them. He clenched the ragged washcloth and ran it over his arm's leathery skin, pausing over his hand to squeeze out a few drops of spilled beer between his fingers. "I know who you are. I'd have thought you'd barge in here with a phalanx of Peacekeepers, dressed in some fancy robe. You get a little of my respect, even if you do have a pair of snipers watching through the windows."

"Mister West?"

"Rio West. Haven't been much of a mister for years."

Cyrus frowned and sat down across from Brooke. "I hear you're an influential man. Informed one, too, by the looks of it. How'd you know I was coming?"

"No one you'd know. I'll tell you my sources if you tell me yours," Rio said with a smile.

"I'll keep my secrets, thanks."

"It's better that way. Every man should keep some secrets," Cyrus said, taking a seat on a dirty tabletop and letting his legs hang off the edge. "We like our privacy here, Cyrus, just as we don't like your formalities. Why don't you skip the rest of the introduction and get to business?"

"At least let the man have a drink, Rio," Brooke interjected.

She grabbed a glass from the neighboring table and had poured it half-full of whatever she was drinking before Cyrus stopped her. "Business is fine," he said, but he didn't trust Brooke's pouring, either. He remembered what she'd done fifteen years ago. He could still see her catching fish after fish from the crystal-clear river in the arena's glen to feed her allies. He also still saw her crushing the tiny red mushrooms into the fish as they cooked…and recalled the bodies of her allies, their faces blue and gasping for breath that never came.

No sane man would accept her offers.

"I'd have thought it'd be obvious why I'm here," Cyrus said, leaning back in his chair and glancing out the window. A glint of glass shined off in the distance from atop a building. Security was still watching. "You had a big commotion the other day. I'm not going to hide from facts. I know tension's been high here."

"A commotion?" Rio said with a wry grin. "Dead little girl washes up on the dock, and someone parks her body out for everyone to see, right alongside a warning to all of us. Little bit more than a commotion."

"And you think – "

"Not even the first time something like that's happened," Brooke cut in. "It's these little incidents. Guy found a couple out on the edge of the Gulch. Bullets in their chest. Didn't have no contraband, nothing illegal. Just shot. Only your people have guns around here. Peacekeepers don't even have the decency to tell us why they're killing people anymore. You think that might make people mad?"

Cyrus paused, held a finger out, and said, "Look, I've already gone over the Peacekeeper records on my way here. There's nothin' in there about any killings recently. They haven't executed anyone, haven't been dragging them about the docks as punishment…hell, by the sound of it, they're trying to play it loose and give you guys some breathing space. They're well-trained. They're not stupid enough to shake a hornet's nest."

"Of course they're not going to record it!" Brooke cackled. "Not when they do it to get their rocks off!"

"Or if it's nothin' but a crazed and sadistic local, looking to make things worse!" Cyrus countered. Heat flashed across his face.

Rio held out his palm in front of Brooke. "Calm down. And Cyrus, I'm well aware of Peacekeeper training. I know they're disciplined. And I know that they can sometimes take things too far, too. I remember District 8."

He sat back, pulling his washcloth between his fingers and closing his eyes. "I was friends with the mayor's brother then. What was it, about twenty years ago? You must've been alongside old Snow by then. Heard it all from my friend, courtesy of the mayor. Peacekeepers take things too far, start seeing everyone else as the enemy, and turn a short jail sentence or a fine into a few hangings. Suddenly everyone thinks they're next for doing something as simple as going out after a curfew. What did you think was going to happen then? Anything but three hundred dead, a third of them Peacekeepers?"

"Now," Rio continued, leaning forward and staring Cyrus right in the eyes. "Way I hear it from Brooke, District 8's not full of the most thick-skinned bunch in Panem. Not so much here. Here, we hallow no man. Not me. Not Brooke. Not the Odairs. Not you. And not the man you bow to."

"Don't push me, West."

"I think you know the game around here, Cyrus," Rio said. His words weren't so respectful anymore, but full of steel and ice. "It's not the kind of games you're used to in your silver towers. Here we speak as family. It's a voluntary hierarchy, captain and crew, not master and servant. When you or your Peacekeepers try to upset that balance, then I find it a little hard to convince everyone to hold back. And that's why you're really here, isn't it? You want me to hold them back?"

"I'm just looking to keep the peace."

Rio frowned and folded his hands. "I respect that you're man enough to listen. Old Snow wouldn't have done the same if he sat there. You already know how to keep the peace, though. We live with your rule. We live with your Hunger Games. But people can only take so much fear before they feel like they have nothing to lose."

He rocked back in his chair until the seat back rested against the table behind him. "You're a smart man, Cyrus. You wouldn't have lasted so long if you weren't. Things go back to normal, and I'll do my best to temper the crowd. I can't promise anything if your people won't give us the same courtesy."

/ / / / /

The darkness held back at the edge of the city.

My sides burned as I stumbled to keep up with Delfin and Tethys. Those two had sprinted through avenue after ruined avenue, and it had taken all my breath – and a little encouragement from Tethys – to stay behind them. My head throbbed with every step.

"Stop," Delfin growled as the streets turned to black sand and scattered stone blocks replaced the ruined concourse. "Hold up here."

I grasped my knees and winced, thankful for the chance to catch my breath as whatever chased us receded back into the night. Just as I started to ease the pain in my side, however, a rough hand gripped my shoulder and threw me down. Pain exploded through the back of my head like a shot from the arena's cannons.

"The hell was that thing?" Delfin snarled. His face was an inch from mine when I opened my eyes, his teeth clenched and his brow furrowed. "What was that and why the hell were you even down in that pit?"

"Delfin!"

"Tethys, would you just shut up for a minute?"

"Why don't you?" Tethys shouted. She shoved Delfin off of me and kicked sand at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Me? I am looking out for you!"

"And what, you think she's going to kill us?" Tethys laughed and rolled her eyes.

I swallowed my words and looked on as they argued. Tethys clearly wasn't at ease with this whole killing business, even if she looked the part of a Hunger Games star. Now wasn't the time to admit that the arena had given me a crash course on the subject.

"Finnick picked you because you said you were willing to do what you had to do to get out of here!" Delfin snapped at Tethys, waving his finger at her face. "And ever since we step foot in this place, now you're all the sudden so concerned with keeping your hands clean."

"Okay, but at least I'm not afraid of everything that moves!" she yelled back at him. "You keep saying these dumb things. Oh, you're looking out for us. You care. Well, you certainly don't care about anything or anyone else, I guess!"

"Look, this is not the time to get all holy!"

"Holy? That's what you call being a decent person? I didn't spend ten years growing up with you to watch you become some sort of…some beast or something! You said we wouldn't team up with Acheron because he was just like that!"

"And I am not like him, I am not – "

"You've acted just like that the past who knows how many days we've been here!"

I sized up the situation as they screamed at each other. If I'd have felt better, I might have tried to run for it right then. Tagging along with two people who were at each other's throats, even if they were from the same district and supposedly teammates, seemed like a recipe for disaster down the line. And yet…clearly Tethys was trying to hold on to her morals, even if Delfin was taking the pragmatic approach. I could use her, yet I sympathized with him. As much as I hated to admit it, Delfin was probably right about things: About the arena, about killing, about me.

Even so, he clearly cared about Tethys. I'd seen it as early as the chariot parade. I had to take advantage of any opportunity I could find, and his weakness was a big opportunity just waiting in front of me.

"Please," I interrupted just as Tethys renewed her screaming. "Please, I'm just trying to stay alive, okay? Same as you. I don't want to hurt anyone.

They both stopped to look at me, so I took my luck a step further. "Look, my district partner died in front of my face. I just…I can't…" I widened my eyes as much as possible and looked right at Tethys. "You don't have to help me, but please just let me go. I won't bother you, I swear. I'll just run off somewhere. You won't have to worry about me. Someone else will probably just murder me anyway."

Tethys stuck out her lip and glowered at Delfin. "There's what, eight left? Including us?" she said.

"If we haven't missed a cannon," sighed Delfin, closing his eyes and clutching a hand to his forehead. I had a feeling he was powerless to stop Tethys's train.

"I'm gonna do something good before I win or die," said Tethys. "And so are you."

"I'm done arguing with you. Fine."

Tethys scowled and pulled me up by the hand. "C'mon Terra. You can stick with us." She glanced over at Delfin and added, "If there's really just eight or so of us left in here, we'll know when it's down to just us three. Then we can break up, do whatever happens then. 'Til then, we'll be fine together."

"Thank you," I whispered, holding onto her hand just a moment longer than necessary. "Tethys – thanks. Really."

She was a kind girl and she meant well, but I just knew that sometime soon, Tethys was going to run into a cruel dose of reality in the arena – whether it was from another tribute, from Delfin, or from me. I'd cared about Ember. I'd even cared about Glenn. Both of them had died in horrible fashion, and I wasn't going to follow in their footsteps. I'd survived on luck alone so far, but if we really were down to the final eight, I had to stop caring so much and start thinking instead.