+ Big shout-out again to Dancing-Souls for another great review!

/ / / / /

The Capitol festivities bored Elan.

It wasn't the small talk, the fake smiles, and the outlandish clothing worn by the city's elite that bothered the escort so much. Not even the obscene amount of food served turned him away, although he questioned some of the cuisine choices. Jellied eels seemed a stretch on the seafood table at the presidential feast.

No, it was the lack of small talk that bothered Elan so much. Every year during this last leg of the Victory Tour, the hushed whispers and darkened gazes in shadowy back rooms disappeared. One mention of a dangerous subject elicited nervous laughs from the bold and sent the craven scurrying for the nearest exit. Even the Head Gamesmaker was hesitant to chat beyond the pleasantries of the Victory Tour. Galan Greene hadn't said more than three words to Elan during Terra's entire stay in the Capitol. Maybe it was all the cameras focused so tightly on the Hunger Games staff like Elan that cautioned people's normally loose lips, or maybe it was the scrutiny of the Peacekeepers to ensure that everything went off without a hitch. Either way, Capitol intrigue dried up for this week every year.

It was so boring.

Elan didn't climb the steps to the Hunger Games Control Center with much enthusiasm on Terra's last day in the Capitol. Coordinating with Galan Greene over the return to District 5 didn't promise to be much fun with the Head Gamesmaker's reluctance over the last few days, especially on Greene's home turf in his hub for all things Games-related. Elan was no fan of this place. He conducted his business as an escort out there, in the streets, in the homes, and in concealed nooks and crannies where one could solicit sponsorships with all sorts of wild, borderline-seditious promises. The Control Center wasn't so concealed – not with its spacious, well-lit central nexus filled with computer terminals, holographic projections, and work stations for dozens of Games staffers, as well as rooms for each district's party. There was only privacy in this place in times like now, when no one was in there to share anything juicy.

He sure didn't expect company as he climbed the white marble steps towards the great bronze doors to the Control Center, stepping into the shade of the building's ornate colonnade out front.

"Another early riser," a dark, heavy voice called out. "What an unusual surprise. I'd have thought an escort in your position would have more work late at night, rather than just after sunrise."

Elan looked up. A tall, lanky man dressed in a long black lab coat stood just outside the doors, a red folder in his hands. His chin's sharply-cut blonde stubble made his jaw look jutting and pronounced, cutting out any of the joy in his tight smile. Elan had only meet the Capitol's science chief, Varno Rensler, once. He was a newcomer to his position, having risen into leadership in Coriolanus Snow's last year in power, but Rensler had already made his mark on the Games. Elan had heard plenty of chatter about the mutts last summer, especially the most dangerous one – the one that had been almost human, the one that had almost taken Terra's life more than once and had kept the arena on its toes.

He decided to play ball with the man. No one was here, anyway, especially not at this hour.

"It's so hard to stand out," Elan smiled, clutching his hands behind his back and walking up the last few steps to the doors. "I can't even stay ahead of the fashions. I suppose I only have my sunrises to separate me from the rest."

Varno's smile twitched. "I can't agree more. Of course, it must be hard to stand out in other ways for a man in your position. Difficult when the district you escort goes more than twenty years without a hint of winning the Games. Must be a bore."

"Oh, I assure you, I haven't been running around as an escort that long," Elan said, throwing in just a hint of a chuckle. "Although even if I had, I'm sure I could entertain myself."

"All the cameras you smile into must be so entertaining themselves."

"Just as much as your…what are they, science projects, do, I assume."

Varno nodded. "What's a job without a little fun?"

"From what I gather, you're having quite a bit of fun in yours," said Elan. "Mutts that look like men? Psychotropic drugs? I can't imagine what you have in store for future arenas after your encore."

"Just getting warmed up, my friend."

"It's so good that we've become friends so fast. Especially since we've barely met. But you probably don't have much time for such things: It's a wonder how we've gone from trumped-up dogs and beasts in the arena to what we had last year – and for such an unassuming Hunger Games. The 96th iteration doesn't seem particularly special. I can only guess at what you say to Galan Greene to win his approval for your projects. Or do. That is, if you're not going above him."

"You said it yourself. Entertainment."

"Oh, silly me. It's always the mundane reasons."

"Of course," Varno said, before Elan could go on. He leaned forward, his smile sliding into a smirk. "I hear I'm not the only one whose job involves a little fun. Word goes around about all the escorts. Effie Trinket in District 4 is the best, they say. But not you. You're the one willing to do what others won't, isn't that it?"

"Now wherever would such a rumor start?"

"Wherever indeed. But it's not the only rumor I hear," he continued. Varno lowered his voice to little more than a whisper, lowering his head so that his eyes darkened in the morning light. "Voices here and there have told me many things, but when put together, they say you're taking a particular interest in your new victor."

"And why not? You said it yourself. District 5's gone quite a long time without winning."

"Convenient. Right at the time when Creon Snow welcomes his first victor as well, and right when so many rumors speak about Terra Pike's newfound…popularity…inside Snow's halls. Even more convenient when it sounds as if you're giving more advice to her than most escorts would their victors. Even more than her mentors. Convenient. A fifteen year-old girl new to the Capitol is easily manipulated."

"Oh, the things people say."

"Exactly. The things they say."

Varno moved to leave, but stopped a step after passing Elan. "Of course, it's a good thing we're both so supportive of our new president. One can only imagine what would happen if people around the Hunger Games had less noble intentions in such a time of transition."

Elan smiled.

/ / / / /

After six days in the Capitol and more than two weeks on the Tour, coming home was a welcome relief. It wasn't the Capitol that had bothered me. I would've liked to have spent days, weeks, maybe even more time exploring the place. The Forum, Caro's Gardens, the wide avenues lined with gold and marble sculptures and the alley storefronts glowing in green neon light, all of it tempted me with a more exciting world than the red desert of home that I returned to.

If, of course, I could explore all those things. The Tour hadn't given me the chance. Every night I was there I looked down from my window in the Training Center's fifth floor, watching the revelers on the streets below in their fancy outfits, without a single camera or microphone in their faces. I didn't have that luxury. All the attention bothered me, stifled me, and choked the air so that I couldn't step more than a few feet without someone shouting at me. Now with the president asking favors of me and his council pressing me into their service, I couldn't see any way to find that freedom I wanted.

I envied Finch and Daud. They were average victors. They had famous names, sure, and faces people recognized, but they were old commodities, known commodities. People gave them space. Back here I had all the space I wanted – and nothing to do with it. The sand and rocks of the canyon hadn't changed over the past three weeks. Still, escaping the scrutiny was worth it.

I couldn't wait until someone else won the stupid Hunger Games. I'd be happy to give up the spotlight.

The white winter sun was high overhead as I trudged back to Victor's Village. A burlap sack I'd filled with squash, cornmeal, cactus pears, and a pound of salt pork bumped against my back with each step. The hard earth crunched here on the ridge overlooking the muddy river cutting through the canyon, with the red rock walls looming high above. They barely cast shadows in the noonday sun, and even in the midst of winter, it was hot. The dry air pricked my throat.

Someone tall and well-built leaned against the stone arch in front of the houses. I paused, squinted, and sighed. New kid. Blaze from work apparently was interested in more than just talking while fixing solar panels. Great.

"Are you waiting for Daud?" I joked as I trudged up the walk. It was a poor effort. "He could probably use company."

Blaze snorted. I was right about his looks: When he wasn't wearing mountains of clothing to protect against the sun and the wind up top, he was a handsome guy. For a person who didn't have a family to fall back on for a living besides his work up top, he did made out pretty well – if his muscles were any indication. Even his clothes seemed brighter and cleaner than that of most people in the district. His purple scarf to keep away the sand and the wind seemed to shine in the sun. It put my old, worn yellow one I'd used since I was twelve to shame.

"Doubt Daud, or whatever he is, would talk much even if I knew him," Blaze said. "You talk to him much?"

"Nope."

"Yeah, see? Figured."

"Are you here to talk about Daud? I'm not really a good reference."

"You brought it up."

I rolled my eyes and headed towards my house. "I'm going home, unless you need something."

"I do," he said, following me down the street. Dust-covered windows started down from the empty victor houses all around. "Actually wanted to tell you something."

"It couldn't wait for work?"

"You mean when you decide to show up and make Orson happy for the free labor? If you've got a schedule, I sure don't know about it."

"What do you want, Blaze?" I said. I shoved open my front door harder than I'd intended, letting it slam against the wall with a loud bang. A sheet of dust snowed down onto the floor.

He shut the door without a sound. If Blaze was impressed by my house's fancy interior, he didn't show it. He barely even looked away from me. "Things I heard around town when I was down in the Grottos today. What'd you buy?"

"Food. When are you getting to the point?"

He laughed. "How'd you even get through the Tour? It's like small talk has insulted your honor or something."

"I'll kick you out of my house."

"Alright, fine. Yeesh. Rumor I heard at one of those butcher shops in the Grottos where they cut up gods-know-what said your family's having some trouble with the Peacekeepers."

I spun around. He had my attention now. "What?"

"A Peacekeeper, at least. Dunno if more than one."

I frowned. "My brother would've told me if that was so."

"You've been back two days. Also, your brother's not, well…"

"Not what?"

"I think he's a little scared to talk to you, Terra. You're kind of intimidating when you're dragging sacks of food back from town and glaring at everyone. And, you know, the small talk thing. You might want to practice socializing a bit."

I didn't hear him. I spun towards the door and slammed it open again as he called, "You're just gonna leave this food out?"

"Don't rob me," I yelled without looking back. "Actually, go ahead. I don't have anything great."

The Merchant Quarter wasn't crowded by the time I hurried into town. It was typical: Usually business heated up around four in the afternoon, as shifts started to change from the afternoon crews to the evening personnel on the power plants and the workers from topside came back down before the sun set. Mostly night workers strolled about the dusty alleys now, taking care of errands before work began. Merchants assailed them from their stands with sales pitches, offering everything the desert offered and more. Fifty sols a potato! No rot; these are the freshest you'll find! Don't want your kids going hungry. Twenty talents for a pair of boots good enough to last you a year! I've got thirty men who can vouch for them. Doesn't matter where you work, topside, the dam, algae farms, refineries, wherever, they'll serve you good. I'll even throw in extra laces for eighty sols each!

It was worse when they spotted me hurrying through the street. I felt like they expected me to buy everything just to spend my money. I didn't have much to do with the mountain of cash the Capitol gave me, but I sure didn't want to spend it on enough potatoes to fill the canyon.

My father's cantina slouched over the street by the riverfront. It looked more worn-down than I remembered for some reason. Maybe it was the way the stilts that held up the patio over the river seemed splintered and old that gave the image, or the way the roof's red stucco tiles chipped in places, leaving an uneven, blotchy look. Whatever it was, I stopped in front of the slatted wooden doors that led into the shadowy, smoky interior I'd walked through countless times before I'd wandered off to the Capitol. I'd been back only once in the past six months, and that had been more of a formality than anything after I'd returned from the Games.

I didn't have anything to say to my parents. As much as I cared about Flint, he and I hadn't spoken much since the Games. Maybe Blaze was right. Yet I still didn't want to leave things up to chance if some Peacekeeper was bothering them. I didn't even know if I could do anything about it, but I could, could I just leave my family out to dry?

Before I could waffle any longer in front of the cantina, the doors swung open with a bang! Daud strolled out, swinging a half-filled jug of something brown and humming a slow, somber tune to himself. He stopped as soon as he saw me.

"Huh," he grunted.

"Huh," I replied.

A moment of awkward silence passed. "Well go in, then," Daud said at last. "You're letting the cool air out."

"It's never cool inside. It never has been."

"Well, go change that while you're inside. You lived here."

"It's hot so you'll drink more and spend more."

Daud grumbled and pushed past me, muttering something that sounded like, "Thieving whores." I shoved the doors open and stepped inside this place I knew so well. The air was still hazy like always, the bar's wood a little slick, and an old wooden chair topped over in a corner here and there throughout the room. I could still here the dull hum of the yellow lights hanging overhead and mounted on stark iron holders on the wall. The place was brown and dim and smelled like armpit, but it was familiar. It was the closest and saddest approximation of a home I could think of.

There was a difference, however: It was quiet and empty. Not a single soul stirred inside. When I stepped on a loose floorboard, the sound echoed around every corner. Before, even during the morning and midday period there had always been some patrons partaking in a drink, a bite to eat, or an obscene conversation. No matter what this place was to me, it had a reputation as being the best bar in town. Yet I didn't see even a hint of my family in here now, nor even the trace of the two wait girls my father paid to keep customers happy or the old singing bard, Bear, who always came in with his clunky guitar and played sweet tunes that seemed so out of place with the usual crowds.

It was haunting.

A knocked-over mug still lay flat on the bar, dribbling the dregs of a brown ale that I figured Daud had been drinking. When I went over to take a look, one of the doors leading to the kitchen swung open. One of the wait girls – Marianne I think her name was, although I'd never talked much with either of them – walked out, looked up, and immediately dropped a dish cloth upon seeing me.

"Hey, I'm looking – " I started, but I didn't get past three words before she hurried back behind the door without so much as a "hello." I guess she knew me.

It wasn't more than a minute before the door opened again. It wasn't Marianne this time but Flint, his hair a little more disheveled than the last time I'd seen him, his face seemingly a little more gaunt, but still the brother I recognized. A brown blotch stained the front of his shirt from chest to navel.

Neither of us said a word for a moment. He looked confused, his eyebrows scrunched as if he expected me to be anywhere else. "Terra," he said at last. "What're you doing here?"

I didn't know what to say. Suddenly I felt stupid for never coming back here and for retreating into my shell of a house for the last six months. This place I called home felt like an alien world. Flint sounded like a stranger. Suddenly I felt I recognized Finch more than I did my own brother. He'd told me my parents hadn't wanted to see me, and I believed him – but how much effort had I put in, really? I hadn't even bothered to try and bridge the gap between me and them.

"Hey," I said, giving a half-hearted wave and leaning against the bar to avoid looking to formal and awkward. "I just…came." How was I supposed to say, This one guy I know from work says a Peacekeeper's giving you trouble?

"Are you looking for something?"

"This one guy I know from work says a Peacekeeper's giving you trouble."

Flint reacted like I'd attacked him. He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the side door that led to the rooms we called home, the rooms where I'd ran around barefoot as a little girl and poked sticks at spiders on our old woolen rug in the living room. Flint didn't stop there, though: I didn't protest as he led me down the stairs, past our washroom, and through the wooden door on the right. I knew what was in there before I walked in. A pair of beds with old, creaky mattresses lined the walls parallel from each other, both covered in limp, gray cloth blankets. Splinters lined the side of a squat wooden desk beneath a slit window that looked out over the river. Years ago my homework from school would've covered that desk – if Flint hadn't knocked the papers off to do his own work. In the corner of the room still sat an old wooden rocking chair with a brown stuffed animal on it, a frumpy-looking dog the size of a large melon covered in shaggy brown fuzz. The stuffed dog, Shep, I'd named him, had called this room home almost as long as I had and spent far too many nights in the stranglehold of my arms during thunderstorms.

Flint wasn't in the mood to reminisce by the looks of things. "Where'd you hear that?" he said, shutting the door before he finished his sentence.

"I told you," I sighed, leaning back against the door. "Just a guy I know."

"You just 'know' him?"

"Look, I just wanna see if I can help."

"Why?"

His face dropped as soon as he said the word. It still hurt, and I looked away. "Sorry," said Flint. "Just don't worry about it."

"Can you just tell me if there's anything going on?"

"Fine. Yeah, there's some cocky Peacekeeper who comes in here three or four nights a week. Skinny guy, but he picks fights and no one can really fight back because, well, yeah. Dad can't throw him out, either, and it's driving people away. He's probably gonna fire Marianne in a few days and money's getting a bit tight. More than a bit, really."

My stomach lurched. I had more money than I knew what to do with and here was my brother complaining about the very lack of cash. "I can give you guys some," I said.

"I'm not asking you for a handout."

"Flint, I have all this stuff and I don't use it. It's not a handout when you're my family. What am I gonna do, light money on fire?"

"You have enough to worry about, sis."

"Yeah, but – I mean, no. I'm fine."

"What?"

"Nothing."

He bit his lip and gave me a suspicious look. I couldn't talk about what worried me with him, especially not here. My secrets had to stay that way.

"Just don't worry about it, Terra," Flint said. "We'll figure something out. I can go work at one of the refineries if need be."

"You don't want to do that. You don't even like that stuff."

"Doesn't matter. It pays."

"You'll take their money but not mine?"

"I'll take what I earn."

"I'm not trying to make you and Mom and Dad feel like beggars, Flint! I don't hate you. I'm trying to help. I know I've shied away since I came back last summer but I don't want us to be strangers. You're my freaking twin brother!"

He paused, biting his tongue as if on the verge of admitting something before saying, "Mom and Dad might be a little cold right now to you, but we know you're going through a lot. It's fine. Just don't – "

"At least tell me this guy's name. You don't have to take my money. I can try and see if I can make him stop somehow."

"His name's Pavo. But Terra, please don't so something dumb. I don't know what you do in the Capitol but Peacekeepers are still Peacekeepers."

"I'm already doing enough dumb things," I said through gritted teeth, shoving the door open and making to leave. I stopped when I saw my stuffed dog again. For a minute I considered picking it up one last time, even taking it back to the Village with me. I didn't hate this place, as much as I thought about times in my childhood with loathing during these long, lonely nights in my house when I had too much time on my hands and not enough to do. I could use a friend.

But I didn't take it. Terra the little girl was gone. Terra the victor had enough to deal with.