+ Big thanks to Obedient Student for the kind review, and for all you readers for the big bloom in viewership last chapter! Book 2's coming to a close soon, and I want to thank everyone who's followed along for the support.

/ / / / /

"I want to see him. I want to see him now."

Julian gritted his teeth. "You can't. Are you listening, Cyrus? He's dead. Dead. Done. A bomb doesn't leave you half-dead when it blows up in your face."

Cyrus wheeled around, his face full of confusion and rage. For a normally soft-spoken man, he filled the greeting hall of Julian's villa. For once, Cyrus's walls has fallen.

"I'm not buying this for a minute," he hissed. "I spoke to the president yesterday. He doesn't just walk out in the middle of the night to be killed. Do they know who did it?"

Julian shook his head. "I only know what Galan told me an hour ago. Two Peacekeepers were outside Calla's estate. They took the blame."

"Where are they?"

"What, you want to question them yourself?"

"Yes."

"Good luck. They're dead already."

"What?"

"Did you think Taurus or Rigel or whoever shut down traffic in and out of the city this morning – without my consent, the bastards - wouldn't use a scapegoat when they found one? Do you think they're going to give everyone the impression they're powerless? There is nothing you can do for Creon. He's dead. You don't have to take my word for it. Turn on any of my televisions and see for yourself what the news says. He's dead. If you start poking your nose around this, you're going to run into all sorts of trouble."

"What do you think this? Damn it, Julian, someone murdered the one we advised. You and I. Part of the blame's on us."

"That is so –"

"If you want to stay and fart in your mansion, do it. I'm going to talk."

"With who?"

"With Calla. It was her estate this all happened at."

Julian caught his arm. "She's not Calla now, and if you keep talking about her like that, it's not going to end well for you, my friend."

"And what does that mean?"

"What do you think? She's going to serve you tea and scones if you talk to her like a normal person on the street? Come on, Cyrus, we've all seen Calla for who she is, between all those fancy parties and wild affairs. She will not be the president her father was. She won't be the president her grandfather was for that matter, although that's a lot closer. Give her whatever stupid reason and she'll have no problem exiling you to District 12 for however many more years you have."

"So what?"

Julian paused and licked his lips. "There'll be an investigation."

Cyrus snorted and waved him off. "And if they find anything beyond pinning the evidence on their dead scapegoats, I'll go into the Hunger Games."

"Careful what you volunteer for. But the last strong president in Panem just died. Calla's more interested in the status and the image of ruling than the intricacies of rulership. Others will be doing that in her place. Last time I checked, we qualify."

Cyrus narrowed his eyes and took a step back. "You're suggesting treason."

"Stop thinking with your ideals for a minute and think with whatever's behind your face," groaned Julian. "We can't stay away from the Presidential Mansion too much longer anyway, so we'd better get our story straight. Whoever murdered Creon, whether it was two lackeys or someone we know or someone we don't – and I wager on the latter, since regicide's a bit obvious for the ones in power – we can't do anything about it if we make a big public stand. But someone has to make the decisions now that Creon won't be, and it won't be our current President Snow. Do you want Taurus doing that? Worse, Lucrezia?"

"You're saying we turn Calla into a puppet. We usurp our president's – damn, that's hard to say – authority. I call that treason."

"Agh, I don't know what to say to you. Is it treason if she's a narcissistic imbecile? Is it really treason if everyone else certainly has the same idea anyway?"

An awkward silence settled between the two of them before Julian pleaded, "Our new President Snow is a loose cannon waiting to fire, Cyrus. Someone has to pull the strings. That won't just go away, even if you want it to go away. We can be those people, or others who we know all too well can be those people. Is it going to be that, or are you going to charge into the Assembly Hall and commit suicide by idealism?"

Cyrus sighed. "This is dirty."

"Well, killing Creon was dirty too. We find them one day, you can tell that to their face. We have to look ahead."

Julian raised an eyebrow. "Are you in?"

"Why not let me commit suicide by idealism?" Cyrus grunted, staring off into the marble steps of one of Julian's spiral staircases.

"Well, your job's a little more prestigious than mine, and you're not Taurus or my uncle."

"That's enough to trust me?"

Julian shrugged. "It is now."

Cyrus frowned. The shock of the news hadn't left him yet. Julian was a good thinker, despite being the glorified head bureaucrat of the city, and what he said made sense – even if it all felt wrong. Cyrus had invested his whole life in Coriolanus Snow's regime, and he had been ready to use the rest of it turning Creon Snow's reign into a successful one. Now that was gone. His life's work was tossed down to the impetuous hands of a thirty-something year-old new president best known for her social activities.

But Calla wasn't the real opponent now. She was little more than a particularly arbitrary roadblock. Try as he might, Cyrus couldn't deny Julian's truths. Others would take advantage of her weaknesses in a heartbeat. The best thing he could do now was fight the internal struggle for Panem's future, even if it meant turning against the man he'd always believed himself to be.

Crazy times.

"We'll do it your way," Cyrus said. He slumped his shoulders. "I'm, not looking forward to this."

/ / / / /

An invisible weight crushed against my chest.

I didn't know what the Peacekeepers wanted. The morning after the 97th Hunger Games ended, two soldiers barged into the Training Center's fifth floor. I was alone. It was the smallest consolation I could manage: No sooner had I looked up than one had grabbed me and clamped a hand over my mouth. I struggled, wriggled, and swiped at the air before the other grabbed my hands and looped a band of plastic around my wrists. The Peacekeepers were efficient. No more than a minute passed between their rude entrance and their dragging me out of the elevator and into a waiting black-windowed car.

I huddled into as small a ball as I could in the back seat, pressing my head against the window and biting my lip to keep from crying. The plastic tie was too tight, and my hands ached, each wriggle and pull making it worse. Beside me, the Peacekeeper clutching his rifle didn't look eager to give me any slack. He didn't look like much of anything, what with his helmet's black visor shielding his face.

My thoughts raced. What did I do? I didn't have to think too hard, however: it was obvious. Shouldn't have told Creon about what Suleiman and Arrian said. I'd underestimated the president, I guessed – or overestimated his tolerance for information. Either way, my accusation must have made him mad. Mad enough to drag me out of the Training Center at the hands of two Peacekeepers?

And then what?

I shuddered. Thoughts of Pavo drifted past my eyes. How exactly did they rip avoxes' tongues out? Did they just…yank? Was it some machine? The thought that I'd find out soon petrified me, and my leg trembled on its own accord. I felt nauseous.

Would they even bother with keeping me alive, or would the president just kill me if he was that mad? How did they even kill people here? Even more horrible questions circled my head. Were they going to sell me off like Pavo and have Daud kill me? As much as I had faith in my mentor, he was a broken man. What was killing some girl who'd angered the president to him?

The car lurched. "We're not going in the front?" the Peacekeeper in the passenger front seat asked.

"Cameras," said the driver. "Too much attention on all this anyway. We'll go in the garage."

Too much attention. Shit, had Creon announced to the news that he was going to kill or avox me? The humiliation of that thought alone hurt almost as much as the idea that I might soon be dead.

Bright lights and stark concrete walls greeted me as the Peacekeepers pulled me out of the car. I bent my head low, nearly tripping over my own feet as I stepped out. One of the Peacekeepers clamped a hand on my shoulder and forced me forward.

I knew it. We were going to see Creon. The Presidential Mansion felt so much more intimidating as a prisoner, or whatever I was. I couldn't so much as look at the paintings or statues in the halls. My stomach threatened to throw up breakfast at any moment. Great. Add vomited eggs and scones on the floor to whatever people are angry about.

"Move it," the Peacekeeper behind me grunted. I whimpered and stumbled, catching my balance at the last second before we reached a staircase.

"Don't mess her up," the Peacekeeper in front of us said. "President wouldn't like that too much. Heh."

"Why d'you think she's interested in this chick? Kinda homely as far as victors go. Tiny rack. Not even in the same universe as the girls I was checking out the last few days."

"'Homely?' Coulda just said plain. But man, I dunno. Save it for later. People probably listening."

I pressed my arms against my chest, eliciting a snort from the Peacekeeper behind me. Apart from the heat washing across my face at their comments, I felt confused. Why did they pivot from talking about the president to talking about she – and I figured she meant Calla, if "interest" meant what I thought it did – just like that? Had I misread what Creon felt for his daughter all along, even after all those times he'd claimed to barely know her?

My breath froze in my lungs at the sight of the great doors. One of the Peacekeepers knocked twice, and I buried my chin in my chest.

Creak! I looked up with my eyes. My heart pounded. There was everyone watching me – Calla standing at the head of the table, Taurus to her right, Cyrus to her left, Lucrezia, Julian, Rigel, even the stupid Head Gamesmaker. Everyone but one.

Where was the president?

Calla snorted. "You don't have to tie her up to bring her here. Although I might not mind that in a different setting."

"Precautions, ma'am," one of the Peacekeepers said. "Wanted to be safe with someone dangerous."

"We're not in the arena," said Calla, looking annoyed now. "She's about as dangerous a chipmunk out here. Cut her loose."

I shivered as one of the Peacekeepers pulled out a knife and sliced my restraints. Rubbing my hands together, I shuddered and whispered, "What do you want from me?"

"Hmm?" Calla asked.

"Is there something you want?"

She smiled and looked away. "Terra, talk to me properly. You've been around here long enough."

I looked around, confused. What? Of the entire group facing me, Cyrus Locke looked away, his hands folded, a wry frown upon his lips. The Peacekeeper to my left grabbed my shoulder and commanded, "You'll address her as her correct title and name, President Snow."

Uh.

What.

I looked around, my mind reeling. What in the…what…

Sensing my confusion, Taurus spoke up: "President Creon Snow died last night. What do you know about it?"

If I had words, they died in my throat. Creon Snow died last night. What? How? I swallowed hard, trying to digest Taurus's bombshell and managing to whisper, "What do you mean died?"

"An assassin's bomb," Lucrezia said. "Planted in the home of our new president. I believe it was a ploy to wipe out their entire line. What do you know?"

Cyrus glanced at Calla before cutting in: "He trusted you enough to let you in our meetings, Terra. He must have told you something about what he was up to last night."

Oh shit.

Creon wasn't mad at me for what I'd said. Oh no. He'd listened. He'd followed up.

And now he's dead.

I swallowed hard. This is on my shoulders. Oh, what had I done? It wasn't just the guilt falling down like a shower on me, either – it was knowing the president, a man I'd just thought was going to kill me, was dead. He'd been the president, sure, but he'd also been a man who'd taken out the time to talk to a sixteen year-old new victor, a scared girl adapting to the Capitol and mentorship, and treat her like any other human being.

And now he was dead. Because of me. I'd led him straight to his death.

I'd sign my own death warrant if I admitted that here. Time to lie. "I – I don't know," I stammered, trying my best to put on a good act. I knew exactly what he'd gone to find. "I mean, he said things –"

"Things?" Lucrezia pressed.

My eyes felt as if I stepped into a desert, and I blinked rapidly. "He was – the president was – said – he was worried about things happening –"

"What things?"

"He wanted to know who – or what, or things that might have happened – about his father's death."

"We already have the reports on that," Taurus said, his voice grave. "Creon was always a suspicious man. Where did he send you?"

I hesitated. No one would buy the story of where I'd run around to, and if they did, I'd be in even worse straights. "Some of you said to keep an eye on the victors," I stammered. "He wanted me to watch them for assassins instead."

It was the best I could think of as my teeth chattered, but surprisingly, Taurus ran with it as soon as the words left my mouth. "There you have it, Miss President. I don't think Terra Pike can give us anything more."

That baffled me. Was Taurus of all people helping me? "I agree," Julian added. "She's a teenage girl. Let her do her mentorship things. Playing court advisor is a waste of time."

"And resources," Rigel cut in. "Whatever your father wanted with her, Miss President, it was fruitless. We've more important things to deal with. I'll show her out."

Good gods. I couldn't believe my luck. With Creon…dead, how weird that sounds…this was the worst place I could imagine to be. I was nothing here, I had no defenders, and worse, I had no purpose. If anything, they'd use me for who knew what. Settling into being a mentor and focusing on the Hunger Games for the foreseeable future sounded about the best job I could land.

I was just about ready to turn about and march out the door when Galan Greene spoke up. "Let's just wait a minute. Miss Pike worked with the last president. She knows the ins and outs of this…all this stuff. Maybe she's useful. You know. Why throw away something that might work out, huh?"

The way the Head Gamesmaker looked me over told me he had something more than useful on his mind. I shuddered and wrapped my arms around my chest.

Calla – President Snow, whatever – twirled a pen between her fingers. She stuck out her lower lip, eyeing the pen as if it might disappear at a moment's notice and keeping the room waiting. After what felt like a solid minute, she said, "I agree with Galan."

I clasped my hands together and looked down. "District 5 has two decent mentors already," Calla said. "Or at least, they must. Terra made it out of the arena. Do they really need to have three when there's only two tributes every year? I can find things for you to do, Terra. I want you close. Come to think of it, I can think of something right now."

She held up her hands as if framing a picture. "We're only a few years out from the hundredth Hunger Games. This is historic. A hundred years since the Dark Days. What better way to illustrate it than having the right representatives market it? Think. Drake Odair, my grandfather's last victor. Terra here, my father's one and only victor. And now my first victor, Achilles McRath, winner of the 97th Hunger Games. Districts 2, 4, and 5. That's a good mix."

Calla pointed at me with her pinky. "And then if my father thought you were so great at spying, why don't we keep that up, hm? You can spend as much time with your victor crowd as you want. In turn, you tell me everything you hear. I think that's giving us a lot more, Taurus."

Taurus looked as if he wanted to swat her like a fly. "Of course."

Calla walked up to me, swaggered, really, and put a finger under my chin. She tilted my head up and said, "So smile for her once! Go party with your other victors. Tonight I'm going to crown Achilles. Me. Better be smiling by then."

I backpedaled out of the room, scanning the faces one last time. If I thought I had to get to know them before, I really had to now. Everything had changed, and I'd have to do a lot more to keep up.