+ Thanks for another great review, melliemoo! All will be revealed in good time, haha. For now, we've spent a while back home in District 5. Time to head back to the funhouse. Sorry for the extremely long delay – buncha things came together for a perfect storm of no time to write.

/ / / / /

"At least she keeps her word."

Suleiman grunted in agreement. The sunrise burnt in orange and red over the horizon, light poking at the top of the tallest buttes and mesas surrounding District 5. The sky seemed ablaze. That sight brought up a momentary fear in his mind: Something he had seen? Fire in the sky, the clouds aflame – no, nothing he had seen. Nothing he had seen with his own eyes, at least. Others, ancient eyes, had seen. He had only seen the dreams of the dead.

He shook it off. Arrian needn't know his thoughts. "She has upheld one bargain, more on her inquisitiveness than anything. It proves nothing."

"Questions will abound in the Capitol," Arrian said. He pitched a rock off of the canyon top, watching the stone fall down towards the river below. The morning air was cool up here, free from the heat of the canyon and without the bustle of the district's morning workers heading off for another day on the job. "There is no reason to think she will not pursue them there, as well. Any man wanting answers would."

"You leave too much to chance," said Suleiman. "Perhaps I will meet with her, too. Later. Months from now, when she returns for this year's Games. She can forget for now. There are larger concerns than District 5."

"You have news?"

"Little has changed. Disease wanes in Districts 12 and 11, but the pox victims number more than a thousand in both. In the latter, at least, the district commoners will not forget that the Capitol let so many of their people fall to viruses, easily treated or not. They'll search for answers," he said, smiling. "It's a good thing they have a church there to provide them. Faith. The last refuge for the desperate, and such a conduit to turn an average man into a zealot. Extremism breeds like a rabbit. First fervor, then discontent, then violence. And if, say, that message perhaps found its way to other districts…"

"That may take years."

"I am no rush," Suleiman said. He watched the tiny ants moving about on the dirt roads below, oblivious to his and Arrian's presence so far above them. What would it be like to live as they did? To have no other worries besides where the weekly paycheck would come from, to concern oneself with little more than supporting a family? To have no questions besides those of today and tomorrow? Ignorance must be bliss. I carry a heavier burden. An older burden. A promise.

He stood up, brushing dust off his trousers and watching the sun crest the hills. "Things will be quiet for the next few months. We have time to consider our moves."

"How goes District 4?"

"The Peacekeepers' manhunt has stalled. Rio West hides in Manheim's Gulch. He harbors enough of a grudge to form a resistance now, and last summer's events will give him supporters amongst the district's underground. They will take significant time, maybe a year or two, to come together. When they do, I do not expect outright warfare. They lack the power. Terror, subterfuge, those are weapons they can use. When West raises his head again, we can provide for him."

"If he stays unnoticed that long," Arrian mused.

Suleiman smiled. His protégé doubted him. Good. That kind of skepticism would keep Arrian from falling to any of Panem's other persuasions. Only Suleiman had all the answers, even if he didn't lay them out all in an easy-to-follow line. "He'll stay unnoticed."

"You are so sure."

"I am. Rigel Taira, captain-general of the Peacekeepers, returns to the Capitol on Creon Snow's order. I think the new president wants to consolidate his rule now that District 4 has gone quiet. He seeks to keep his top advisors close. Maybe he sees them less as advisors and more as rivals, and perhaps that's why he wants someone new to keep an eye on them."

"What a suspicious little man."

"Insecurity is a crippling weakness," said Suleiman as he glanced down towards the canyon again. "It should be an interesting month for Terra Pike this summer. I think I will pay her a visit in the Capitol. Different face, perhaps. Different personality."

"Maybe the odds are not in her favor after all," Arrian mused.

"Or maybe they are. She's a benefit of fortuitous timing. A new president, an uncertain future for the country, a victor whose public image already plays into the kind of shadow game the Capitol crowd loves so much. She'll be able to get away with a lot if she's savvy. I don't like missing opportunities."

"Plenty of those to go around soon, I think," said Arrian. "What's next?"

Suleiman scratched his chin and frowned. "District 12, I think, until the Games. There is a widow there, her husband and daughter victims of the pox. She's a good hunter, she has a strong voice amongst their working class and a longstanding grudge against the Capitol – and now, far less to lose. Let's see what we can make."

/ / / / /

Weeks passed into months, winter into spring, sunrise to sunset to sunrise again. Routine won over my doubts over Pavo's demise, Pyre York's words, and my concerns over what awaited in the 97th Hunger Games. Throughout the spring my mind wandered and my spirit relaxed. I called Blaze a friend, and I threw aside my hesitations and rekindled my sibling relationship with Flint, even if I couldn't tell him what I'd done for the family.

For a few months life regained its luster. Simplicity and the comfort of my newfound wealth (and Finch's insistence on taking care of me to the point of stifling) eased my worries. I knew it was all on borrowed time, but for a brief stint, I didn't care.

It had to end. Come the start of summer, it did.

The clap of thunder and a knock on my door woke me on the morning of the 97th Hunger Games's Reaping.

"Open," I half-yelled, half-grumbled at my bedroom door. As usual, District 5 wouldn't choose its tributes until the mid-afternoon. I had all day to stew. The last thing I needed was Finch bugging me about how to show up.

A tromp of footsteps answered me. My bedroom door swished open, revealing my brother, a basket under his arm and a frown on his face.

"You should lock your door, sis," said Flint, rolling his eyes as I bunched up the blankets to hide from the world.

I grunted in disagreement. "Because demons will get me."

"It's just good to do. You should get up earlier, too."

"I get up early when I have to work."

"You don't have to work."

"I get up early when I choose to work."

He sighed. "I brought you breakfast."

I rubbed my eyes and rolled over. "Shouldn't you be, like, getting ready or something?"

"Why bother?" he said, his voice dropping off. "I don't really care if I look fancy for the Reaping."

"You should. All the cameras – "

"So now you care about what the cameras see, sis?"

"No, it's just…Flint, you still have today and two more Reapings before you're done. Just because I got through doesn't mean you won't get picked, and then if that happens, I don't know if I can really do anything to – "

He hurried forward and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "Hey, I'm not going with you today. I'm gonna be right here. 'Kay, Terra? You have enough on your plate. Don't worry about me."

I shook my head and buried my face in my hands. This was stupid. The Capitol awaited with an untold number of new challenges, sure, but I shouldn't have needed Flint to console me. I was alive, a victor, whereas he was still a potential tribute. I'd be right here with him if last year hadn't happened, waiting with all the other sixteen year-olds in the square. He was facing death. I was facing…what?

You're facing mentoring your own brother for death, a sadistic little voice in the back of my head said. True. That, plus whatever Snow and the other Capitolians had in store.

"You should probably go and get ready," I murmured.

Flint backed off of me. "Terra," he said, his voice soft and hesitant. "Can you talk to me?"

I glanced up at him, bit my lip, and shook my head. It was just a little thing, just a flick, but it was enough to cast a pallor over his expression and darken the glow in his eyes. He nodded, but I could see he didn't accept it. Maybe he did on the surface, but underneath it all, he didn't want to.

It didn't matter. I knew things he didn't. I understood possibilities he couldn't. That knowledge spanned a gorge between us, and I couldn't bridge it even if I wanted to.

As soon as Flint left, I regretted that I pushed him away. The lonely house whispered of fear, all red and black in the potential disasters that lay ahead in the Capitol. I built a nest of bed sheets and hid. Around me in the yawning emptiness, thoughts of the failures I could endure circled and cawed. Both tributes dead in the bloodbath. A girl dying, a long, slow, and angry thing. A boy in a pine box, pieces of him stitched together as best as the doctors could manage. Creon and the Capitolian elite, telling me I'd failed in my duties, assuring me I'd never see Flint or anyone else I knew ever again.

Gray emptiness – forever.

My next visitor didn't knock. As I buried my head in my pillow, desperate to keep my thoughts at bay, a loud "Terra?" echoed from downstairs.

"Up here," I moaned. Finch. Bad timing.

Boots tromped up the stairs. "Are you…oh," said my mentor, poking her head in my bedroom. "Oh boy."

I balled up a blanket into my face and turned away. "Hey," she said. I shuddered when she put a hand on my leg, and she pulled it away. "What's wrong?"

I grunted. "Can you get out of bed and get dressed?" Finch said, changing tactics. "We only have about an hour."

"I know."

Awkward silence hung in the air. "Look, I get what you're feeling," she said.

"How could you?" I spat, ripping the covers off my face. Fear boiled over into rage, my emotions bubbling over to burn anything in the way. "You act like you know everything! It's been twenty years since you were in my place. You said it yourself. You gave up on getting a victor out. How could you even remember what this is like?"

She sighed and pursed her lips. "Okay. I…yeah. I don't mean I know everything you're feeling. We're different people. I never really thought much about being alone when I was a kid, and all the downtime of being a victor didn't bother me much during those first few years. When I said that I didn't think I'd ever get a victor out of the arena, though, I didn't mean I'd given up, Terra. All those years I felt guilty. I still hoped, even if it seemed dumb. From where you're sitting it probably does make me look stupid: I never had any siblings, didn't really have any friends or any of that as a kid. I didn't have anyone who was at risk of the Games once I'd won. Yeah, you never can get both of your kids out of the arena, so there's that. There's always a little heartbreak. But I think I can at least understand what you're thinking as far as the Capitol goes."

"Psh," I snorted. "Sure."

"You never met the old president," she said, looking off into the corner of the room. Spider webs hid in the shadows behind my dresser. "His kid seems like a reasonable man, but the old Snow was a lot different. He didn't tell me anything until the Third Quarter Quell, and then he dropped the bombshell. I was your age, thought I was smart. He just saw a girl people would pay for, and not because of anything in my head. I just…I know there's bad things in the Capitol, Terra. I know a lot of people don't have good motivations there."

I watched in silence as memories flashed in her face – sad ones, angry ones. For a moment, Finch looked much older than she was, her face streaked with remorse for things she once did at an old man's command. Why didn't she have the same marks that scarred Daud so visibly?

"Are you still…" I trailed off.

"No," she said. "No one there wants a woman like me in her mid-thirties. Just, if you need to talk about any of this, I want you to know you can talk to me, okay? I don't want you to bottle it up. I saw what happened to Daud and me when we both did that."

I paused, hesitant to say what I knew. Creon didn't seem the lecherous type, but one meeting with the man didn't mean I could trust his every word. He still allowed the Hunger Games to run, after all, and what did one girl like me mean when he could toss aside twenty-three other kids every year? "I don't know if that's what they want from me," I said.

"Well, whatever they want, whatever happens, you don't have to go it alone. You can tell me anything, alright? Now why don't you go get dressed? We have a long day ahead."

The streets already were packed by the time Finch led me from the Victor's Village. Dry lightning crackled overhead in the thick cloud cover. Rain was a rare occurrence in District 5, but these dry, dusty lightning storms were a familiar sight. The dark gray skies seemed like a bad harbinger by the time Finch and I ran into Elan behind the Justice Hall. My escort looked gloomy, his hair wetted down and dyed midnight black.

"An important day for you," he said, glancing my way as the crowds gathered on the side streets in front of the dozens of screens that covered the day's events. District 5 was far too large to fit everyone in the city center, and the Capitol's workers had been at work all week setting up the preparations for the Reaping. "First time as a victor. Your dress is lovely, by the way. A slice of normalcy before Rhea turns you into something alien."

My dress wasn't anything special, merely a green, polka-dotted thing Finch had ordered from the Capitol. It paled in comparison to the bright blue suit Elan wore. The cloth almost sparkled despite the gloomy skies above. "You, um…look good, too," I said.

"Furnished by the Gamesmakers," he replied, picking at his suit as if it were diseased. "I understand fashion, Terra, and I hate every inch of the subject. It's a necessary evil for a man in my position. Or a woman in yours, I suppose."

"I thought most escorts liked fashion."

"Mm. Some do. Effie Trinket certainly does."

"But not you?"

"No. I don't like to sparkle."

I couldn't argue with that, but I didn't have much time to debate the subject. Time ran quickly, and Finch hurried me through the Hall to the stage. I'd been here just a year ago, down in the square where hundreds, thousands of children now stood. They milled about, some chatting, most quiet and lost in their thoughts, watched over by Peacekeepers and crimson banners and the cameras, the sentinels that watched our every move for the public's entertainment. It all seemed so different from up here, facing down on where I'd once stood. The brown and tan brick buildings melted away as I looked over the scene, blending in with the high red rock walls of the canyon beyond. Only those faces remained, so many mournful, so many fearful. What must they think? District 5 just won. If I'm picked, I have no chance. Perhaps, Please not my sister or my brother. It's alright if I'm taken, but not them. Or, Not this year. I can go next year, but Dad just died and I need to help out for now. Not this year.

So many concerns I couldn't help assuage. Maybe it was that that I feared so much – not what awaited me in the Capitol, but awaited those I couldn't help. I could withstand my own fate, bear it with whatever strength I had. For whoever the poor boy and girl picked to travel to the Capitol with Finch and Daud and me this year, however, I could do little but offer encouragement and try to pick up sponsors. I was powerless beyond that.

Disturbing.

Daud slouched down in a chair as Finch and I took a seat to the side of the stage. "Late to the fun already," he grunted.

"What's happened so far?" Finch asked.

"The mayor called Elan an idiot. Elan answered him with some flowery words. Then a bunch of kids filed in. I never would've guessed."

I scanned the crowd as Finch and Daud bantered. I couldn't find Flint in the crowd. Really, I shouldn't have been so worried: The chances that any one of the kids in front of me were Reaped were tiny. But if the Gamesmakers wanted Flint Reaped, I knew it would happen. I wanted the boy from District 3 to win, Creon had said. So much for random chance.

"Our glorious host," Daud grunted as Elan emerged from the Justice Hall. "At least they don't play their special videos anymore. D'you remember when they did that?"

"Ugh," Finch groaned. "'A widow, a motherless child…' yeah, those were fun. When did they stop those?"

"'84? Maybe a few years later. Been a while. We're gonna be old soon. Terra will have to remind us when our memory goes."

"I'll just laugh at you," I said.

"Damn kids."

Everything seemed to rush forward as soon as Elan started speaking. It hadn't moved this fast when I'd been down there in the crowd, but it seemed no sooner had I taken my seat than he was fishing around in the girls' Reaping bowl. Out came Elan's hand, and with it, a single slip of paper. Upon it, a name – and most likely, a dead girl.

"Marigold Ellis," read Elan.

I couldn't blame the girl when she broke into tears. Marigold shuffled out of the fifteen year-olds' section, clad in a dull yellow dress and with a bright blue ribbon in her hair. It was the only bright thing about her: Marigold's face sunk as Elan called her forward, and her blonde hair seemed to sink a shade or two as she trudged ahead towards destiny. She was small, smaller than me when I'd been called from those very same ranks to fight. I wanted to rush out of my chair and tell her things would be okay, that I'd succeeded from that very same beginning, but I couldn't. I didn't know her. I'd sound no better than Finch and Flint earlier, telling me everything would be okay. I knew better than that.

To his credit, Elan was efficient. No sooner had Marigold reached the stage than he was digging around the next Reaping bowl, giving the cameras as little time to focus on the girl's tears as possible. It was a small blessing.

"Fenton Renner," called Elan.

My thoughts changed with Fenton. He was a boy who seemed…capable, if nothing else. Stepping out of the eighteen year-olds' section, red-haired Fenton was a big, mature kid. He looked more of an adult than I did, by any glance – and his broad shoulders and sharp jawline made him a looker. He didn't shed a single tear walking up to the stage, and despite the grim way he frowned as he shook Marigold's hand, I couldn't help but let my imagination get the better of me. He looked the part of a fighter.

Gods, I thought. This is probably the same kind of thing Daud thought of you last year. "Terra. She looks pathetic."

One thing relieved me: My brother wasn't up for death. Neither was Blaze, although I figured he was too old for the Reaping – I hadn't seen him amongst the crowd, and he'd never clarified just how old he was. Come to think of it, he hadn't told me a lot about himself.

Blah. Stupid thoughts. I had two kids, two real tributes, to think about now. No longer was I the only life on the line. The 97th Hunger Games were underway, and I couldn't let myself be sidetracked. People were counting on me now.