+ Welcome to the next installment of Veil, Book 3! Now Terra's not only survived the Hunger Games, but also faced off with the shadowy danger hiding in the Capitol. New monsters lie in wait for her in the wake of Creon Snow's death and the Hunger Games take a step up, but we'll look beyond Panem's central city in this book. Follow along to Districts 4, 5, and beyond, where simmering tensions may lead to angry outbursts. Behind it all lies a hidden darkness pulling at the strings of the country as the light of day wanes in Panem.

Thanks to FoxfaceFan1 for the great review, and to everyone reading and following along! Feedback is always appreciated! Also, slight time jump forward in terms of the story. Additional also, I have a feeling this book's going to be a monster in terms of length. Just a heads up.

/ / / / /

Redhammer was no place for an outsider. Peacekeepers especially did not belong.

Rufus's hand twitched on his rifle's grip. Even late at night, a decent crowd still filled the natural, rocky halls of District 5's poorest sector, cut straight into the walls of the canyon. Some watched, their eyes nervous and suspicious, while others scowled and hurried past. None interfered – his weapon and his armor made sure of that. Still, Rufus was eager to get out of here. Two Peacekeepers wouldn't last long if a mob swarmed them.

"I can hear your panting through my helmet," said the Peacekeeper in front of him, a big, burly man named Valens. "Calm down. Everything's alright."

"Place just gives me the creeps," muttered Rufus. A young woman glared at him as she picked up speed, rushing past him with an armful of dirty laundry. "The torches and sputtering light bulbs aren't helping. It's like something out of a horror story."

Valens snorted. "It's not that dark. There're shadows, but there's light enough to crowd them out."

"Isn't that the kind of crap these religious nutjobs talk about? Lights and shadows and whatever?"

"You'll find out soon. Guy whose house we're busting into shouldn't be in. Sort through whatever you want."

"What kinda house are we talking about?"

"Lord, would you relax? You're not shooting anyone tonight. Keep up."

Valens picked up the pace. Rufus slunk behind him, cradling his weapon a little tighter. His companion's confidence didn't inspire him. Valens always had that sort of overwhelming belief that whatever they were doing would work out. To Rufus, the world wasn't so black-and-white, good and evil. Too many shades of gray slipped around these halls, and too many slippery types longed to emerge from the walls and get rid of a pair of Peacekeepers.

"Have you ever been to one of these kinds of places?" he spoke up as they trudged through the rocky passages. "Churches, or altars, or whatever the hell they are?"

Valens didn't say anything for a minute. Finally, he said, "Have you?"

"No. Why would I?"

"To open your eyes a bit, maybe. We've been here how long, eight years each? That's a long time not to get to know the people we're keeping an eye on."

"Really not the time to get preachy, man."

"Just an observation."

Valens held them up at a plain, splinter-covered wooden door. He leaned in to hear, and upon seeming satisfied, kicked it open. A glowing fireplace met the two, with a fresh blaze flickering against the sharp stone walls. It was barren in here apart from a small altar at the far end of the large, high-ceilinged room across from the fire place, beside a second splinter-covered door. Three wood-carved statuettes stood atop it, one the shape of a man cradling an orb, the second a woman clutching a spear, the last a hooded finger holding out his hands, blooms of fire emerging from his fingertips. Whoever had carved them had real talent, Rufus had to admit.

Little else adorned the room apart from a few wooden benches and a brown thatched rug lying in front of the fireplace, an iron casket next to it holding a pair of iron pokers. It felt cozy in a strange, sleepy way.

"What're we looking for?" Rufus asked.

Valens looked around and said, "Check the altar. Tell me if you find anything."

Sure. Rufus didn't know what "anything" meant, but he took the time to run his hand over the third figurine, the hooded one. Rufus laughed, "This little thing kinda reminds me of that guy I dragged in the other day. What was his name? Creepy-looking dude. Suspected him of stealing, but he admitted way more after we hit him around a bit. Confessed –"

Bang!

Rufus's leg gave out before he realized what happened. His arm flailed, his gun flying from his grip as he collapsed to the ground. Bang! Another gunshot, this one knocking the wind out of him. On instinct Rufus clutched his stomach, only seeing after a moment that blood seeped out from under his hand. A crimson pool expanded under his left thigh.

He reached for his gun, but a white-armored boot kicked it away first. Valens stood over him, his rifle leaned over his shoulder. Rufus groaned in pain: "What the hell are you doin', man?"

His fellow Peacekeeper walked towards the fire, picking out a poker and laying the end into the fireplace. Behind Rufus, the second door creaked open. A simple-looking man, maybe forty years old with short brown hair and soft brown eyes, walked in, carrying a torch and smiling. He looked up towards Valens for a moment before addressing Rufus: "There's no one to raid tonight, unfortunately."

"Wha – who're you?" Rufus asked. "Oh – oh – no, no. I know you. That crazy preacher guy. Leave me alone, man."

Pyre York shook his head. "I can't."

"I haven't done nothing to you!"

"You have," Pyre said, drawing closer and holding his torch aloft. "I know who you are, Rufus val Alin. You're a Peacekeeper, but that is no crime. Your list of crimes is what concerns me."

Pyre circled around him, just out of his grasp. It wasn't as if Rufus could fight him in his state: Pain shot through his waist with every tiny movement he made, and his leg felt as good as dead. "You're a sadist," Pyre went on. "You're an abuser of woman and of power. You revel in corruption, indulging in any misguided method of making money, even when it comes at the expense of the innocent."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Valens! Valens, man, please –"

"He told me about you," Pyre said, holding out his hand towards the other Peacekeeper. Valens kept his poker in the fire, but by now the end was red with heat. "He told me about your vices and your evils. He told me how you two have been here so long after growing up together in District 2, stationed in a faraway land, only to see you fall for the sins of man. Valens, in the other hand, has seen the truth in the world. He first came to me two years ago. Today, he believes. The Moon herself has led him from the Night, and today the Light guides him. He can withstand Shadow's temptations. But tonight we're not here about guidance. We're here about you."

Valens walked back to the two, holding the poker aloft. He pulled off Rufus's helmet despite the latter's futile attempts to cling to it.

"Only one of our watchers can judge us," said Pyre, taking the poker from Valens. "And the Flame has seen your crimes. You have fallen too far for the Light to ever save you."

Pyre aimed the poker at Rufus's eye. The Peacekeeper screamed.

/ / / / /

He was a scruffy-looking kid, brown hair, gray eyes, olive-ish skin. Besides that, average in every way. He wasn't too tall or too short, too skinny or overweight. He'd scored an eight in training, good for his district but not overwhelming for the audience, and certainly not the best out of this year's tributes, although better than either of mine. With that motley mix of attributes, he'd done something that hadn't been done in forty-nine years: He'd won the Hunger Games as a tribute from District 12.

"I bet Haymitch was drunk during the final fight," Drake said on the couch next to me. "He probably thinks Quintus and Lyric's girl won."

The Training Center common floor was empty besides us. It was an all-too familiar thing, but here in the wake of the climax of the 99th Hunger Games, it felt right.

"Lyric's probably pissed," I said, leaning back and watching as Cicero and Caesar oohed and aahed as the hovercraft that had scooped up the newest victor scurried away from the arena. "She actually got really into the sponsorship game the last week. I didn't even have time to talk to her."

"Was she taking that new girl around?" Drake asked. "Lapis, or whatever the hell her name is? I never even met her. Like I feel bad. Boo-hoo, District 1 can't win two years in a row again like Lyric and Quintus did. God that would've been awful. Three straight years of Districts 1 and 2 winning if this new guy hadn't pulled it out for 12. Blech."

I frowned at him. "She didn't come. Quintus said so the day we arrived."

"Oh yeah, I believe him. The victor of the 98th Games not coming to the 99th? And a victor from 1 at that? Sure."

"So they say. Quintus told me in private that she's…not taking it well. At least, for a victor from their district. So she didn't come."

Drake laughed. "Bet Gloss and Cashmere took that well."

We were quiet for a moment, digesting the end of this year's Hunger Games. Our club grew a little bit larger. I wondered what kind of a victor Roan Hawthorne from District 12 would be: Would he be like last year's winner, a shiny, gallant girl from District 1 who had trounced the competition and then disappeared? I'd never spoken to her once since the Victory Tour, and then Quintus had told me she hadn't come for this year's games. Would Roan be like Achilles, reveling in the win and drawing the public's love ever since? If he'd become anything, I hoped it wasn't like me.

I had real business this afternoon to attend to, after all. The last thing I wanted was for another victor to be caught up in my messes.

"Well, you think about how you want to talk to our new victor. Roan. Whatever kind of name that is," I said, standing up and dusting off my pants. "I have to go talk to other people."

Drake swatted at me and missed. "You're just leaving me to sit here all by myself? Pshh. You're rude. Like the rudest person I've ever met."

"I know. I hate you too. Tell your dad I like him more than you."

He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Yeah, I bet you go for old guys. I'll just encourage him if I tell him that. See you after the closing ceremonies business. Go get lost, Terra."

I wished I could just get lost, but I was doing anything but.

Sun glittered off the windows of the Presidential Mansion. It was hot, really hot even for a summer day here in the Capitol, and the heat made the tall building look as if it were wobbling. The gate guards knew me well enough by now to let me in without a word, and I went straight past the colorful watercolors on the walls and the glossy white statues to the top floor.

Heavy, bronze-inlaid doors waited for me.

The Assembly Hall was quiet today. Fractals of multicolored light danced on the walls, scattered into hundreds of glittering shapes by the great crystal windows on the far side of the room. The old table stood between me and that colorful kaleidoscope, but it wasn't the only obstacle.

Taurus Sharpe sat at the head of the table. A holographic image of…something…lay open in front of him, red and green dots scattered about it.

"You were on the schedule for five minutes ago," Taurus said, his voice quiet and deep.

I shrugged. He ignored the gesture and went on moving dots around the hologram. Silence filled the gap between us for what felt like a minute, and I squirmed in my chair.

Finally, after I felt on the verge of walking out, I said, "Did you want me for something?"

Taurus continued to shift dots around for a few seconds before saying, "Yes."

"What's the hologram?"

He frowned. "A map of District 4. I don't expect you to understand what that district means to us."

"What're the dots?"

"They are not your concern."

He closed the hologram, leaned forward with his elbows propped up on the table, and said, "For two years Calla has kept you around. Whether she wants you for something meaningful or for her own personal interests, I do not know, nor do I care. But if you are going to be around this table, you should make yourself useful."

I picked at my finger. "I have the Hunger Games to be useful about."

"Losing two tributes at the Cornucopia this year was useful? You're digging a deeper hole."

I scowled at him. I didn't need a reminder about how my two kids this year had fared.

"You're not a child anymore," Taurus said, folding his hands. "You're eighteen. An adult by any district's standards. When my daughter Bera was your age, I had her managing our family finances. You get by with the occasional useless input at these meetings. That might be enough to endear Cyrus Locke, but it is not enough for your station."

"So…"

"So it's time you started pulling your weight."

He stood up, folded his hands behind his back, and stared me down. I had to look away. "When this ceremony for these foolish Hunger Games ends, you will return to District 5. Over the next year, I have a job for you."

I folded my arms and pressed them to my chest. "Sure."

"Several days ago, our Peacekeeper commander in the district reported one of her own dead," he said. "Thrown on the banks of the river that intersects your district, before the poorer part of town."

"Redhammer. I've been there."

"I don't care where you've been. The corpse's eyes were gouged out, and from what I hear from the garrison, it's a message. I've seen reports from your district. That religion that infests it has been let loose for too long. You'll learn all there is to know about this faith – what they're doing, what they plan to do, and what they aim to get out of it."

Gods, his gaze was intense. "What do you want me to do about it? I can't stop them. I'm just one person."

He frowned and leaned across the table towards me. "Do you think I expect you to put an end to a movement like this? You can't keep your own tributes alive. You won't stand a chance fighting zealots."

"I'm grateful for the vote of confidence," I said, looking away.

Taurus walked away from the table, turning towards the windows. "I know what you think, that I'm suppressing their speech. That's exactly what I aim to do, and I want the information you gather to tell me how. Too much speech and men go wild. I await the day you can explain to me how making an example out of a few miscreants is worse than putting down a district full of rebels."

"Is this what Calla wants?"

Taurus turned back to me, his frown deepening. "President Snow has other matters on her mind. She leaves me with keeping order in our country while she engages in her frivolities."

"She's your boss."

"And yours, by the letter of the law. Do you think that matters?"

I huddled lower in my chair, trying to evade his gaze. "What am I supposed to do first?"

"I'll send someone to keep you on track," he said. "And I expect information on these cultists. If you're more than just a silly player in the Hunger Games, you'll provide some real results."

/ / / / /

Creak!

The hinges on the wooden crate protested as Brooke Larson lifted the lid. Beneath her, the fishing boat rocked to the motion of the sea. It smelled of oil and grease and salt, its thin metal floor and walls too vulnerable to the power of the sea.

Her protégé had done well. Wade Fowler had used the cover of a big fight in the Hunger Games to board a train from the Capitol bound for District 4's Peacekeeper fortress, the Presidio – right on schedule, just as the information from the pale man had said. Now he'd retrieved this crate and nine just like it, full of…well, just look!

"Munitions," Rio West said beside her, reaching his hand into the crate. "Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter?" Brooke asked. "Rio, we've been waiting two years. Two years since they hit us hard and burned us out of our old meeting spots. Look at it! This was all going to the Peacekeepers. Rifles. Grenades. Storm and Sea, this is an RPG! Are you arguing?"

Rio grabbed her shoulder. "Of course I'm arguing! Where did you get this from? If the Peacekeepers were waiting on this, they're going to know it's missing! We've evaded notice for this long, are you that eager to bring them down on us before we're ready?"

"But we'll be ready! Soon!" Brooke protested. "Two years and they've thought we were goners. You and I have built us back up. Maybe it takes a few more months, but it won't be long before we can make a difference!"

"A difference?" barked Rio, sweeping his hand over the crate. He steadied himself as a wave smacked the boat, knocking the two of them off-balance. "We rose up once already, Brooke! Maybe it was just a riot, just a test, but we got nowhere! They're too well-armed. We have to wait for the right moment, and that isn't now! We attack the Peacekeepers too soon, and they'll put us down for good, not to mention what they'll do to our children and their children. You know what happened to District 13?"

"I'm a victor, I know –"

"Do you? Do I have to remind you? Wiped out. To the man. Their district eviscerated."

"I know. We won't make the same mistakes."

"If you want to engage them in open combat, we will make the same mistakes!"

Rio turned away from her, pressing his palm to his forehead. "Damnit, I know you mean well. But think about our ultimate goal – a district free and independent, liberated from the yoke of the Capitol. We don't stand a chance if we run into their gunfire. We have to wait for the right moment."

"So what's the right moment?" Brooke protested. "How long are we waiting?"

Rio sighed, glancing down at the crate full of weapons. It was tempting. "This winter. The Victory Tour before the one-hundredth Hunger Games. It will give us perfect cover for a chance to bolster our supplies and our position. Until then, keep low and do whatever it is you do as a victor. Above all, don't attract attention. When the time comes, we'll have our moment."He was