+ Thanks again to Dancing-Souls! Short chapter today.

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The Peacekeeper problem vexed me.

I pledged to keep it to myself. Maybe it was common knowledge that my family was running into trouble with this Pavo, but the last thing they needed was rumors circling about that District 5's latest victor was interfering with a Peacekeeper at their bar. Things could only go downhill from there. Besides, I'd need to get better at keeping secrets for when I returned to the Capitol, based on the sound of things.

Unfortunately, it left me evading Finch's probing yet again. My mentor meant well, but there was only so much of her pseudo-mothering I could take.

"Terra, you can keep telling me you're fine. I can see when something's upsetting you," she said as I slouched against a kitchen windowsill, my forehead pressed to the glass. "In fact, it'd be kind of obvious to anyone."

"Ha."

"I'm serious. Can you talk to me?"

I sighed. "What do you want?"

"I just want to know what you're thinking. I can relate a little, y'know?"

"No, what do you really want? Why are you always asking things like this? Daud never does. He doesn't care."

She looked hurt. "He does care, Terra. He just doesn't know how to show it."

"Right."

"Come on. We're trying. Look at us: We've never even had anything close to normal lives here at home! Even in the Capitol we're different. Things normal people take for granted, family, love, whatever, those are all mysteries to me. Is it that strange that I want to help someone when I finally, finally get the chance to after all these years?"

"Being a victor didn't stop Finnick Odair from having a family."

"I know. I just…look. I think you can imagine what you'll feel like if twenty, thirty years from now you're standing here in the Village with countless dead kids in your past. You remember their faces. You remember their names. Worst of all, you remember being just helpless as chance or fate or whatever the hells killed them. I spent years thinking I'd never get the chance to watch another victor grow up here in the district. Now someone like you drops into my life and Daud's life and it's like a miracle to us. You've dealt with things so great and you have a bright future, and I don't want you to have to deal with all the things ahead on your own. No one should have to. I've seen what happens to victors who do, and I won't let you turn into that."

My stomach hurt as I looked at Finch. She wore a look of pleading, of want, of someone grasping for something that always strayed an inch out of reach. Her eyes were empty and dull, her frown sad and downcast. I wanted to keep this business to myself, but Finch forced my lips to spill the truth.

I swallowed hard. "There's a Peacekeeper. Some guy named Pavo. He's causing a ruckus in my family's place according to my brother, and it's giving them money trouble. Flint won't accept any help, though, and I just don't know what to do, and – "

Tears threatened to spill out of my eyes. I turned back towards the window to hide from Finch's look, doubts running around in my head. Why did I even care? Did I really even care about my family when they invested so little in me? Why did this make me want to cry?

"Hey," Finch said, pulling me into a hug from behind. I didn't resist. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to fix everything, alright? Sometimes you just have to let things go."

"I can't."

"You tried, Terra. If you offered and they won't accept, there's nothing you can do."

"I have to."

She sighed. "It's…I'll see if there's anything I can look into, alright? I can't promise you anything, but maybe a word to the mayor or someone can help. I don't know." I sniffed, and she hinted at a smile. "Terra – thanks for telling me, okay? Everything's going to be fine. Promise."

I nodded, although I didn't believe it. Victors couldn't turn away Peacekeepers any more than the average commoner could, but I didn't want to hurt Finch's feelings anymore. Seeing her unhappy because of me hurt too much. "Alright. I need to go. Out."

She stepped back as if to interject, thought better of it, and said, "I - okay. Just, try – ah, stop by for dinner, okay? You shouldn't be alone when you're worried."

Oh, I wouldn't be. I intended to go drink myself into a stupor.

The streets seemed busier than usual for the late afternoon as I walked towards the town center. The sun had already sunk below the jagged canyon walls, bathing the district in shadow even as the sky shined bright blue overhead. I didn't know what I was doing. I'd only touched wine on the Tour during the district feasts, and I'd rarely sampled any of the ale or beer or grog that my father and mother served. Still, enough people had always turned to my family's bar late at nights, looking for a lonely companion in a mug of something alcoholic. I didn't have answers to this stupid Peacekeeper dilemma. Maybe booze would have them.

The Red Mudder was one of the busiest taverns in town, busier than my father's place on its best days and a great place to get lost in for an evening. It was clear to see why: The Mudder catered to District 5's lowest common denominator. The unshaven, the drunk, the pugnacious, the immoral, all types called this dingy place home. The bar sat on riverbank on a curve in the canyon river a ways away from the great dam that overlooked the nicest parts of town. Here, the red dust and dirt turned to mud and the cacti and scrub faded away into ragged, thick weeds that grew in clumps from the gunk. Mud brick workers' houses lined the canyon walls, surrounding holes in the stone wide enough to fit four men abreast. Halls and tunnels led deep into the rock to subterranean alleys and caverns lit only by lamps and lanterns, home to cheap housing units and black market and crime dens alike.

The Mudder didn't seem so different from those places inside. Dozens of patrons in various states of intoxication bantered and bartered over games of dice and smelly drinks. A broken ceiling fan with only three blades groaned, wobbling with each revolution. The lights were pale, dim, and flickering, matching perfectly the stale smell the seemed to come out of the very wooden walls themselves. A pair of wild-haired older women served drinks at the bar, snarling at an unruly man who made clumsy advances each time one passed.

I got looks, but I had a feeling they were more because I was fifteen and female and less because I was a victor. Daud had probably frequented the Mudder many times before.

"Watcha want?" one of the barkeeps grunted as I plopped down on the first stool I could find.

"Just gimme something."

I chucked a coin on the bar for good measure. Good enough for her: The barkeep grabbed a mug, filled it with something brown, and pushed it in front of me with a smirk. It smelled like dirt.

Before I could drink, a man sidled up next to me, sitting down on an open stool and nodding at the mug. "Perhaps a little strong for a small girl, no?"

"I don't care," I grunted.

"Such hostility. I am not here to take advantage of you, although in a place like this, some might. A juvenile decision to come to this establishment of all places."

I glared at him. He wasn't a bad looking man, really: In fact, the intrusive stranger looked just as out of place in the Mudder as I did. His brown coat and rugged black trousers fit the mold of a power plant machinist, but I couldn't tell if a single speck of dirt called his long, strawberry blonde hair home. His high cheekbones almost radiated in the dingy light, and a pair of grey, almost silver eyes and a slight scar along his chin complimented a fine face.

Too bad I didn't want his company.

"That's alright," I said, trying my best to lose him. I glanced down into my mug, doing laps around its rim with my eyes.

He sidled closer. "Perhaps a rush to judgment on my behalf. Teenagers are known for their rash decision-making. In some places, children kill other children for sport. And in other places, I hear they treat in swanky soirees, capped off by private dealings with Creon Snow. What a world we live in."

I glanced at him again. Something was off about this guy, from the smooth, warm way he talked to his taunting, thin smile. "I think the whole world knows I went to the Capitol, yeah."

"But does the whole world know of Creon Snow's suspicions of his closest counselors? Just you, I think. And a few others. Certainly no man who calls District 5 home, of course."

I started to regret coming here. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you, Terra Pike."

I tossed another coin on the table and pushed my drink away. "Have fun. I'm leaving."

"Will that solve your Peacekeeper problem?"

That stopped me. I sat back down, scooting my stool as far away from this man as possible. "What're you talking about?"

The man looked around, frowned, and said, "This man. Pavo. His actions are no secret. It is no secret either that his subordinates think him unforgiving, but he is a good yes-man. His Peacekeeper superiors at the garrison are happy no matter how many fights he picks in your father's bar, as long as his reports are clean. It would be a shame if his career took a drastic turn."

"I don't know what you're talking about – "

"You fear reprisal. Wise, but unnecessary. The Peacekeepers cannot touch you for now, not while Creon Snow wants your help, and not while the Capitol crowds still find you novel and attractive. Of course, you need help with your assignment too, do you not?"

I stared. I hadn't told anyone about my talk with the president, especially not any random strangers in District 5 keen on spreading the word. Yet here was this man, talking about what had happened as if it were common knowledge.

Before I could say anything more, the man held up a small silver globe, no larger than a thimble. "It is not a concern that we speak in the open like this. Unfortunately, it appears that Peacekeeper listening devices seem plagued by static, and the other customers are hearing much more noise than normal. A mystery how that happens. But I see you do not trust me. You think me a plant, an informant, perhaps an agent of Snow's coming to test your loyalty. It is no matter. If I cannot tell you what I can offer you, I can show you."

He picked up my mug and drained the contents in one swig. "Your Peacekeeper. Pavo. If you come to the town square tomorrow night at ten, you will find his career ending on a very depressing note."

"No!" I cut in. "Don't kill someone! I don't want that."

"Girl, you will have to deal with much more killing if you're working with the Capitol's elite," the man smiled. "But so be it. Pavo will not die. Of course, you may wish you had chosen otherwise after you see his face tomorrow night."

"Why? If I even believed you, why are you telling me this?"

"It is simple. I am a trader: I offer services for payment. My services are well-tailored to your duties as Creon's proxy, and to your role as a victor. I do not ignore opportunities. For a price, I can grant you many things. Information. Access. For a high price, even death. Or life, which seems much more valuable to you, I believe. But I ask only something minor for Pavo's downfall. I need you to take a letter to someone in this district. That is all."

I folded my arms and frowned. This was a trap. This man clearly wasn't from District 5, and he knew far too much about me to be some common criminal, but that didn't stop him from being a danger to me. "I still don't believe you."

"Smart, or paranoid. You will do well in the Capitol. So be it," the man said, shrugging and turning back to the bar. "Then I will prove it to you and take it on faith that you are a woman of honor. Come by the square at ten tomorrow night. You will see."

"I'm not falling for your trap."

"I'm only a trickster when the job requires it, girl, and this one does not," he said, throwing a coin on the bar for another round. "Sometimes I am a rogue, sometimes a soldier, sometimes a petty criminal. I have many names to many people. When we meet again, you may call me Arrian de Lange."