+ Big shout out to melliemoo for another solid review, along with my lovely guest's feedback! Comments and the like are always appreciated! Yay character building, 'cuz that's this chapter. Also very long.

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"The boy's not gonna starve. Not in that brush. What he needs is a damn weapon, and we need to hold onto our money if he's gonna get one."

"He has a stick," I said, watching as Fenton struggled through the underbrush of the cloud forest. The fog made even watching his slow progress agonizing. It must have been hell to cut through it with little more than a tree branch for supplies. At least he wasn't going to run out of food any time soon: The Gamesmakers clearly didn't want our kids starving our dying of thirst, as water was everywhere in the jungle and food almost as abundant. Seemingly everything was edible, from the bark of the tall, winding trees whose branches criss-crossed in the jungle canopy like a wooden spider web to the fist-sized beetles that walked at a snail's pace along the forest floor. I'd given up worrying about Fenton's food situation after watching him eat his twentieth bug.

Daud was right about his protection, however. Fenton's escape from the Cornucopia may have saved his life, but it left him with nothing but what he could salvage. He'd made do with a knobbed length of wood, but it wouldn't do anything to any nasty beast that crossed his way – and less so if the beast came from Districts 1 or 2.

Finch frowned. "Isn't there something we can give him to make a fire? Everything's wet in there."

"Not much of a point," Daud scoffed.

"There's plenty of a point," she countered. "He's going to catch some nasty fungus or something if he can't keep his feet dry. Not to mention it's a confidence booster."

"It's been less than three days. He's not going to have a damn mushroom growing out of his head yet."

I guessed Finch sent me the blanket in last year's games. "Why don't we just wait a day, then?" I said. "It's almost seven." I felt uneasy opining on how to use our sponsorships given how I now knew how Daud did most of the heavy lifting. I hadn't mustered up the courage yet to tell him what I'd seen.

"Company," Daud growled, nodding at the screen.

I looked up as my heart skipped a beat. While I expected Brocade or the two from District 4 – Finnick's tributes had split off from 1 and 2 since the very beginning – what showed up wasn't any relief. Fenton heard it before he saw it. He crouched down low in the underbrush, hiding in the leaves of a giant fern and squinting up at the sky.

The giant mutt appeared made of shadow against the setting sun. It was a mammoth, scaled, bird creature, its body alone as large as a car, its talons scythes and its beak steel. Two glowing yellow eyes glared down at the rainforest below as its leathery wings whipped up cyclones among the treetops. One of its talons gripped something small and wriggling.

"Is that…" I started.

Finch flinched. "Don't look, Terra."

"Look all you want. Won't change anything," said Daud.

It wasn't over yet, but it would be soon. The girl from District 10 writhed, blood dripping from her side, her chest opened up to the bone. She was a mouse in an eagle's grasp, and no sooner did I press my hand to my mouth in shock than the beast flipped her up in the air, snatched her in its beak, and shook its head.

Boom!

Cicero applauded on a side screen, shouting, "That's the cannon we were waiting for! The big question, folks, is whether or not we're going to find all of Riley once the bird's done with her!"

As if on cue, a hovercraft leapt out from the cloud cover, dropping its invisibility screen and shooting a blast of lightning into the beast. The mutt howled and dropped whatever part of the girl from 10, Riley, it still clung to, turning instead on the hovercraft. The ship took no chances. It shot a flurry of rockets into the mutt, pluming fire across the beast's hide and sending it retreating to the rocky hills that formed the westernmost edge of the arena.

Fenton watched and sighed in relief. If he was horrified, he didn't show it. Tough guy.

I shook off the gnawing nausea of witnessing Riley's gruesome demise. "I have to go. I'll be back later."

Finch perked up. "Wait. If you're doing sponsors, we should coordinate. I don't know if you should be going out on your own for that kind of thing yet."

"Let her go," Daud said, waving off her criticism. "Just let her go."

The ensuing argument gave me the perfect cover to slip out of our Control Center office. Thank goodness for Daud. I wasn't heading to gather sponsorships, and I certainly couldn't tell Finch where I was going. I couldn't tell any of the other victors.

A thump from the door marked with a "10" startled me as I walked out into the common area. I had a feeling the girl's death had gutted Phoebe, and I took a step towards her office. If I was late to my meeting with Creon and his councilors, so be it.

A voice from behind stopped me: "That is a stupid idea."

Johanna Mason sat on the floor in a corner near District 7's office, her back to the wall, a bottle in her hand. She glowered. "I'm sure you'll do a great job making her feel better, squirt. 'Hey Phoebe, sorry your kid became bird chow. How about a nice chat? Maybe you can help me instead?'"

"I wasn't going to ask her that," I spat. "Is a little sympathy that painful?"

"You know, maybe it freaking is," said Johanna. "Given how uptight you got over Haymitch trying to crack a joke during the interviews, I bet you'd go in there and tell Phoebe she should've tried harder."

"Maybe I actually care more than just sitting on the floor, drinking, and taking it."

"Listen to me, squirt, you don't have a freaking clue what caring –"

"No, screw you! Maybe if you did give a shit your tributes wouldn't have died at the Cornucopia and you'd be doing something besides sarcastically taking a dump on me!"

Johanna slammed her bottle down, scowled, and stood up just as the District 4 door opened. Finnick poked his head out. He creased his eyebrows and frowned. "Why don't you get out of here, Terra?"

"But –"

"Just go. Please."

I glanced between Johanna and Finnick before hightailing it away from the Control Center. Insecurity ate at me as a rode alone in a private car to the Presidential Mansion. From Drake to Johanna, it seemed more and more that whatever I was doing pushed the other victors away. Quintus and Lyric had acted cordial at best to me, and what if Johanna was right about Phoebe? What if I did only make things worse around her? How long until that annoyance spread to Finnick, Finch, and even Daud?

The Mansion didn't seem quite so bright, despite the spotlights arrayed around its perimeter and the glowing golden lines that ran up the second story to the top of the building's towers. I wasn't going here to look at lights. Creon – and the rest of his posse – wanted a report on what I'd found out about the other victors so far. That task had lingered in my jumbled thoughts since I'd arrived, running in and out between concerns over Fenton and Mari, interviews, and navigating Creon's own suspicions of his inner circle. I hadn't kept up with everything, and I didn't think they'd be happy with the results.

A Peacekeeper just escorted me to the great doors of the Assembly Hall when a stern voice inside called me in. The great room was a crowded place. The lightning helped: In the soft evening glow from the great crystal window, everyone around the meeting table cast shadows that rose as giants along the walls. Even the statues and artwork around the edge of the room loomed large in the milky light. Even with that, however, I felt as if I took the last available seat in the room. The people I'd grown accustomed to around Creon sat about the table in various states of tension, from Julian slumping forward on his elbows and looking irritated to blue-tattooed Lucrezia, as stoic as ever and pursuing her lips as she glanced my way. Taurus and Cyrus sat at the head of the room, to the right and left of the wide empty chair directly across from me. To my left sat a tall, warm-faced man I didn't recognize, a burly, bear-like fellow with a soft smile and slight eyes. He was a stark contrast from my other neighbor, the Head Gamesmaker Galan Greene, who perked up as soon as I entered the room with a look I could only describe as hungry.

The only man not sitting stood at the door to the glass window, one hand on his waist, the other across his chest. President Snow was rigid.

"Sit," he said without turning around. "Before she starts, finish what you were saying."

The warm-faced man sat back on his chair. When he spoke his voice was welcoming, calm yet confident in the face of the most powerful people in Panem. "Little problems out to the east. Maybe we should wait until a more private time?"

"I think Terra has bigger things on her mind then what's happening out east. Go on."

"Little bit of a quarantine scare in District 12. Two new infected. We scrounged up an isolation team before they got around the public and quartered them away. The pox keeps coming back when we thought we've stamped it out. It's not natural."

Creon turned at last, frowning. "That's enough. Speculation we can save for later."

I bit my lip. District 12 didn't sound like it was in good shape, even for its standards. I'd heard enough about Panem's smallest district from Ember, Haymitch, and Elan, not to mention seeing it during the Victory Tour, to get a grasp on the place's everyday hardships. Still, I couldn't imagine some unknown disease ravaging District 5. That, however, was a train of thought I definitely wouldn't bring up around these people.

Creon sat down across from me, sitting back and folding his hands in his lap. "Terra. You're familiar with most people here. To your left's Rigel Taira, Captain-General of the Peacekeepers. As long you're here, you might as well get to know everyone."

He gave me a subtle smile, a small thing, but one that felt more legitimate than the other expressions staring my way. For a Peacekeeper – for the number one Peacekeeper, at that – he didn't give such a bad first impression.

"I'm sorry about your loss at the Cornucopia," Creon went on. "It's a hard thing to stomach when someone dies on your watch."

"More of a natural thing really. Not like we're taking sides or anything," Galan Greene interrupted. "What a great fight it was at the Cornucopia though, wasn't it Terra? If I have to say one thing over these past few days –"

"Galan," Taurus said, his voice at once softer and so much more thunderous than the Head Gamesmaker's. "Save your recap for the press."

The Head Gamesmaker rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "Well, now that we have someone else in here who actually has a stake in the Games, unlike you –"

"Then you can now find plenty of things to talk about once we're through with business," Taurus finished for him.

Galan gave up as Lucrezia started at me: "Has your little on-air spat with the Odair boy led to anything?"

My words failed me, and when I finally summoned my courage to speak, my voice cracked. "I – no."

"Why?"

"He – doesn't want to talk to me, I guess. We haven't gotten off to a good start."

Lucrezia lowered her face. "He hasn't give you any reason to correct that? Nor his father?"

"Finnick? No, Finnick's fine."

"How has he convinced you of that?"

Something about the long, formal way Lucrezia phrased things made me anxious. "He's always been nice to me. Nice enough, at least."

"He's been nice to a thousand other women in this city, too," said Julian, smirking.

"Why are they so important?" I blurted out. I regretted it immediately, fearing Taurus or one of the others would smack me down.

Cyrus glanced towards Creon and spoke up: "District 4 needs a softer touch. Have you met District 1's mentors?"

"Lyric and Quintus? Yeah."

"They're not the only ones from 1 here. The siblings Cashmere and Gloss, several others, they're all here. 2, 6, the other districts that win a lot, they also send most of their victor contingent every year. 4 doesn't. In fact, they only ever send two mentors. Most stay behind, and back home, they're hard to track down."

Rigel coughed. "There's two victors in particular I never hear about from my commanders in District 4. They might as well not exist, they do such a good job staying under the radar. One's Annie Odair, FInnick's wife."

"Well, wonder why," Galan laughed.

"Madness is an excellent cover for a schemer," Lucrezia rebutted. "The Odair woman has had more than twenty-five years to get over her Hunger Games. I hardly think we can believe she is still 'mad.'"

"Some things are hard to get over," Cyrus said, shrugging.

"And some prey on that sympathy," Lucrezia said. "She was savvy enough once to emerge from the 70th Hunger Games."

"Beg pardon, but I wouldn't call what happened in there savvy."

"The point," Rigel said through gritted teeth. "Isn't if Annie is faking whether or not she's insane as some cover-up for a conspiracy. The point is that another victor in District 4's managed to show nothing at all. Her name's Brooke, Terra. Brooke Larson, won ten, fifteen years ago. I've had people search her home while she's been out. Bug it. Nothing. She's very evasive, and she's never once showed up to the Capitol, not even the year after she won. Even I don't know anyone who she talks with, except one family. When Drake was still a young boy in the few years after Brooke one, she took turns with Annie taking care of the kid during the times Finnick would be out. Drake's here. Finnick's here."

"So you want me to ask them about some mysterious victor?" I said. "Who…I don't remember?"

"What you need to do," Taurus said. He'd been too quiet through this whole thing. "Is earn their trust. By the sound of it, you have a lot of work to do there."

I clamped my eyes and mouth shut. "I'm trying."

"Do a little more than try. If you can do more than try for your tributes, you can do more than try for real responsibility."

"That's enough," Creon said. "She understands."

Silence settled over the table until Julian finally, mercifully broke it: "I had an interesting conversation with Phoebe Dustin from District 10 two days ago. In between her yammering over sponsoring her children, she mentioned she's gotten to know you. Anyone else interesting who doesn't come from a district that reeks of fish?"

"Phoebe?" Galan snorted before I had a chance to reply. "I didn't think she'd go for your type."

"Oh, I didn't sleep with her, you depraved lech," said Julian. "We don't all worship in the bedsheets like you. Wasted money, though. I saw what happened earlier."

My gut dropped. Julian had money, and that still hadn't done a damn thing for Phoebe. It made me think of Daud all the sudden: How many times had he done something horrible for an eager Capitol audience, all in order to rake in sponsorship money wasted on tributes who died from a bit of bad luck or circumstance? It made what Taurus had said sound even more real: I could go about gathering sponsorships all day and still fail to do anything meaningful. At least here I was in the know. No matter how much Lucrezia's smirk or Taurus's stony glare unnerved me, these were people making real decisions of real impact.

Something stirred inside me with that thought.

"I met with Johanna earlier," I said. Anger still stirred when I pictured her jeering at me after Riley's death.

"And?" Creon asked.

"I think she was going to fight me. Every time I've talked to her, she's made out everything here – in the Capitol, yeah – to be a joke. I wouldn't put it past her to be up to something."

"That is no evidence," Lucrezia scoffed. "That is nothing we did not know already."

"Johanna has more reason to be mad than most," Creon said softly, turning away. "My father had her family killed."

He glanced back at me and set his jaw. "If he were still ruling, you wouldn't be here. You'd be sleeping with some rich man tonight, making my father money and influence. That's what he wanted Johanna to do. When she refused, he responded. It was an arbitrary decision from a shortsighted ruler."

I sat back in my chair as far as I could. Suddenly I felt bad for jumping down Johanna's throat. What in the hells.

"Still," Creon went on. "The man Johanna should be mad at is dead. She's had decades to stew on this. Like 4, District 7's an easy place to get lost in. Keep an eye on her." Creon waved his hand at the table. "We're done for tonight. Leave me."

I moved to hurry out of the room, but Creon stopped me. "You. Stay."

When the others filed out and the doors closed once more, Creon turned back to the table. He looked less in charge now and more tired, his shoulders slumping just a bit and the lines on his face more pronounced. "I meant it when I said I'm sorry about your girl. Mari, her name was, right?"

I nodded, unsure of what to say. By now I didn't doubt his honesty in such an admission.

"When I was younger and administering District 2, I knew the name of every Peacekeeper officer under me," Creon went on. He stared down into the table, his gaze fading off into dead space. "One in particular had connections. His name was Aemillius, and he had a rather famous family connection. He'd trained for the Hunger Games his whole life in District 2's academy, and his sister had actually been Reaped. She won. I don't know if you met Enobaria, but if you have, you've met Aemillius's younger sister."

"He was envious. I don't know if I could blame him, but he did a good job as an officer, and I was happy with his work. I recommended him to take over the spot as the lieutenant captain of District 8. Three months later, the district rioted."

Creon grinned, a wry, hard, harsh smile, not a grin of happy reminiscence but one of veiled regret. "A lot of people died in that riot. It was the worst in a generation. It was worse when the rioters overtook one of the garrison's outposts and commandeered a mortar. I don't know how they learned to use it, but they did, and Aemillius got caught by the very first shell. After it was all done and my father sent me to 8 to supervise the cleanup, I saw his body. Couldn't even recognize him. All bits and bones and parts most would rather never see."

"I sent him out there and he died after my recommendation. I imagine it's no different training children to face death. I can't say I know what you're thinking or feeling, but I understand the impact. Death is death, and when it's our responsibility to make sure it doesn't happen, it's worse. The failure's on the one who put someone in a position to die."

He smiled again. "So maybe I do know. Or maybe Galan does. I guess we're the ones who put all those children in a place to die. Nothing like a bit of morbidity to keep you grounded."

I wringed my hands and nodded. I didn't know what to say. While I couldn't really blame Creon for Mari's death, he did let the Hunger Games go on. Still, I found it hard to condemn a man so willing to be open to me.

"I heard you met with Rensler," Creon said. "Anything interesting?"

"He figured out you sent me," I said in a small voice. "He said to go talk to Taurus's kids, that they might know something. He was cagey."

Creon sighed. "Follow up on that advice. Varno's too smart a man to approach directly, I suppose. The Sharpes? I always liked Bera. Taurus's daughter, good girl. My granddaughter's a big fan of hers. I don't know what Rensler wants you to find, but don't tip him off that you know any better. Give it a look."

The air had cooled by the time I stepped out back onto the street outside the Mansion. I felt too uneasy to go hunt down sponsorships after all that. As much as I feared stepping in front of all those people, those questioning, probing eyes belonging to the rulers who had the real ability to hurt me in so many ways, it was a thrill. I could look around at the other victors and see sad faces, expressions of despair and histories of failure and depression. Drunk Haymitch, sarcastic Johanna, whatever Daud was – they were all wearing the veil of victory to cover up the darkness inside. None of them had ever gone beyond tromping for sponsorships and hoping for maybe, maybe, a chance to bring someone home to join them in their misery. How many had ever done what I just had?

If this was circumstance, maybe I wasn't so unlucky after all.

"Terra," a voice popped up from behind as I trooped down the street. "In such a hurry after that?"

I whipped around to find Galan Greene shuffling up. "I probably should get back," I stammered. The Head Gamesmaker was the person from around that table I least wanted to see more of. "It's a good time to go out."

"Maybe you want company?"

I recoiled. Ick. "I don't think – that'd probably be biased, right?"

"Oh, who cares?" he laughed. "It's all entertainment. Your boy's doing just fine in the arena, if I remember right. Lots of fun coming up. I'll make sure he's around for a while to see it through. Why don't we just make something happen tonight instead of you going off to shake hands with some strangers, huh? I mean, we know each other…"

"Galan. Not exactly appropriate," said a thick voice from behind me.

The Head Gamesmaker forced a smile. "Cyrus. Right now? You know what that is?"

"A little human decency?" Cyrus said, coming up behind me and putting a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure Cashmere or someone is lonely. You might even have a game to attend to."

Galan waved him off and retreated down the street. After he was gone, I let out my breath and said, "Thanks."

"He likes you," said Cyrus.

"I think the Head Gamesmaker likes anyone without anything between their legs."

Cyrus chuckled. "Not him. Although you're probably right. But the President. He likes you."

"I don't know why."

He pointed up to a poster on a nearby skyscraper across from the Mansion. It was another one of me, tagged with some stupid slogan and snakes curling around my half-naked body. It made me feel violated just looking at it. "You could've ended up like that," Cyrus said. "Or you could've ended up like Annie Cresta. Odair. But you didn't. Here you are, intact, sane. Your tribute died at the Cornucopia, your first one, and you're still able to handle meeting with the most powerful people in the country."

"Lots of victors could do that. I just got the chance."

"Lots of victors? Beg pardon, I've seen lots of victors. Lots of them are shells. No people inside."

"For good reason."

"Not arguing the morality of the Games. I'm no fan of them either. Come."

Cyrus led me into Caro's Gardens. It was a strange place here in the evening, empty except for us. The reflecting pool was dark and mysterious, no longer glistening with beauty but inviting actual reflection. The many strange plants loomed so much higher in the shadow and darkness, their leaves no longer green and red but black and ominous. The gravel walkways weaved between foreboding blackness beyond, but the loneliness, the silence, made me want to stay here longer. It was peaceful, even in its darkness.

"President Snow's a tough man to relate to," Cyrus said.

"I think I get him."

"Do you?" Cyrus said. He stopped me in front of a giant flowering tree, full of flowers larger than my head, turned into spindly, misshapen, dark specters by the night "You know your father?"

"Yeah."

"Was he a good man?"

"Well, I mean – maybe. Not to me. He didn't really want me."

Cyrus nodded. "I knew Coriolanus Snow better than anyone. He had good ideals, and he treated me well. I wouldn't be here if not for him. But he had enough bad ways in going about things that anyone could think him a monster. I know that. He was also the most powerful person in the history of this country. He crushed two riots. He ruled over forty years. And he's been dead a little over a year and a half. That's how long Creon's had to follow in his footsteps, to learn who to trust and who not to after spending most of his adult life in the field managing the districts. He's stepped into the shoes of a giant, shoes he wants to change, and he's had barely eighteen months to turn them around. Maybe luck did put you here. I know it put me here, because I'm just another boy from District 1. But we're here regardless, standing here underneath the Snow family's palace, both of us sitting at the table of a man who's trying to follow in his father's footsteps, even if he hates the steps taken already. Creon's blunt, but he's the best thing we have to making a better country. If that means he trusts you, then you can do some real good. Not just by attending to victors and tributes and whatever else Lucrezia would tell you to do, but by actually diving face-first into the mud here in the Capitol."

I shook my head. "Look, I don't mind having to do this, but I want to keep my tributes alive. That's the number one thing. My boy, Fenton, is still in the arena. That's what matters to me."

"That so?" asked Cyrus. "Then why aren't you sleeping with every man in town for a buck? Some victors do that."

"That's – I'm not going to do that."

"You said it. The number one thing is keeping your tributes alive."

"Not if I'm going to kill myself to do it! I mean, yes, I'll do what I have to, but –"

"Think!" Cyrus said, gripping my shoulders. "How many years will you live? Eighty? Ninety, given Capitol medicine? More? How many times will you win in the Games? District 5's won seven or eight times overall in the ninety-six past years. Even if you turn your home into the best of the districts, you'll witness so many more failures than successes in mentoring. That's a crapshoot, Terra."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Act! It's been forever since we've seen a leader with real vision for the long-term future for the country. Now we have that. You're in the center of it, you, me, all of us. If we just focus on what makes us feel right, we won't solve anything."

"And what's this future?"

Cyrus sucked in his breath. "Creon will end all of this. Not just the Hunger Games. The Districts. The partitions. Everything. He's a smart man, smart enough to realize what the best method is for growing Panem from a country that treads water into one that will recapture the glory of whatever came before. As much as I respected Coriolanus Snow, he never had this vision."

"All I hear him talk about is laws and stuff."

"And where do you think the foundation comes from? The Hunger Games? Executing people like Johanna Mason's family? When there's real law, real rule in Panem, a system that everyone knows and can believe in, that will be the day we don't have to have this kind of talk any more. If the president trusts you, Terra, you have to understand the kind of responsibility you have. Every great leader needs support."

"And what do you want?" I burst out. "You keep putting it all on me! What about you? Or Julian or Taurus or whoever else?"

Cyrus paused, rubbed his chin, and said, "I can't speak for them. But I'm an old man. I never had a family. Wanted one at one point, but I thought it'd be better not to have that risk. Before I die, I want to see someone like me who feels comfortable to take a few risks in life."

I stepped back. "I don't think the president's a bad man. But there are actual lives depending on me. Not just hypothetical ones. If you tell me to do something I'll do it, but right now I have to worry about Fenton. He's in the arena. For all I know, he could be dying right now. I have to worry about him. I'm sorry."