+ Thanks for the reviews, FoxfaceFan1 and Obedient Student! Return to District 5 here – we'll be spending a lot of time in the district in Book 3, so I figured it'd be a good idea to clear up the situation going forward, especially since we've had a two year jump since Book 2 ended.

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Five o'clock and the stark autumn sun still hadn't set behind the canyon walls. District 5 baked as the desert air hung in the afternoon doldrums, not a single breeze blowing to cool temperatures that soared over a hundred degrees. The charcoal under my eyes had worn off an hour before, making the sun's brilliant white glare off the canyon river far below look all the more intense. Even the few animals that braved the daylight hours retreated to the shade, with seemingly every other shadowy crag in the rocks home to a lazy Gila monster waiting out the heat.

Only the humans braved the oppressive conditions that made up any average autumn day in District 5. With the noonday rest long since passed and supper still a few hours away, people scurried about on the dusty footpaths and streets below. A lone Peacekeeper all-terrain vehicle kicked up dust as it meandered down one of the larger roads, its drab paint and gunmetal gray roll cage a surprisingly welcome relief from the arid red and brown palette that made up everything else under the oceanic blue sky.

I loosened my head wrap to let a bead of sweat trickle down my face. It ran down past my lip, and I spat out the taste of salt and dirt. Watching the market district below from my perch on a switchback road near the lip of the canyon, I tossed a rock between my hands and kicked my legs over the side of the ridge.

"Terra. Catch."

I looked up in time to intercept a water canteen whizzing at my face. Blaze plopped down next to me, uncorking a canteen of his own and taking a long drink.

"Nice throw," I grumbled. "Are we done up there?"

He held up a finger as he finished gulping water. "Aah. Yeah. Orson told me to go home. Unless you're kicking to volunteer to work the evening shift as well. For no pay. And masochism."

"Har. Funny."

I sloshed the contents of my canteen around and slumped forward. Despite Blaze's tired jokes of why I kept working on the solar energy farms when I obviously didn't need to as a victor, I found something alluring about it. It made me do something, for one. No way was I letting myself go crazy hour by hour inside my lonely house in the Victor's Village. More importantly, however, it kept my mind off of things I didn't want to think about. The six kids who rested in the ground because of what I hadn't done, maybe, starting back with Mari three years ago. Other things too, both close to home and not, things related to the Hunger Games and others decidedly less so.

"What're you doing when you go home?" I asked, taking a long drink.

He shrugged. "Taking a dump, probably. What 'bout you?"

"That sounds like a messy personal problem you should resolve."

"Hey, we all have it. You don't have cute poops just because you're a girl who visits the Capitol now and then."

I frowned. Tomorrow was the end of the week, our day off, and I had a question on my mind that I didn't want to let linger for two days.

"You know people, right?" I said.

He half-laughed, looking at me like I'd said something ridiculous. "Uh, yeah. I heard you do too, along with everyone else who breathes."

Gods. Could he ever have an actual conversation? "Woo, hilarious. I want to meet someone."

"Okay. And?"

"That preacher guy. Pyre York. I want to talk to him again in private."

Blaze stared at me like I had a disease for a moment before laughing and pressing his palm to his forehead. "Do you wanna get in line? It'll be a long wait."

"Come on, you know the guy. You introduced me three years ago."

"Um, yeah. Other people are busy too, Terra, including him. I haven't talked to him in private in over six months, and if I haven't, what makes you think you'll just walk up? You don't even go to church."

"Maybe I want to."

He opened his mouth to say something, scrunched his eyebrows, and looked away instead. It wasn't as if I could tell him why I actually wanted to meet Pyre York. One preacher didn't mean much to me. Still, I had orders from Taurus – and more than carrying out what he said as a dutiful worker drone, I wanted to find out just why he wanted information on District 5's faithful. The Church of the Triad had never seemed much more than a relief from the everyday drag to most people, while others sought solace for past wrongs or tragedies. The latter certainly explained why Daud went there every week.

Taurus, on the other hand, was the exact opposite of a religious man. Did he really think one dead Peacekeeper in Redhammer meant Pyre and his other priests were scheming? That bordered on paranoia. Regardless, I wouldn't leave questions unanswered.

Blaze sighed and pursed his lips. "Terra…look, you don't need to talk to Pyre if this is about your dad. If you want to go to church, just do it. Nobody's going to say anything. We see that other mentor, Daud, all the time at the church downtown."

Oh, this veered into awkward territory in a hurry. "No, it's not about my dad. I don't care about that."

"No, you should. I get it if you do. One of your parents dies and it's a big deal."

"Not for me."

"You are awful at lying. Really. Look, if you can't talk to me about it than go talk to your brother. Keep it in the family if you want. Just don't bottle it up. You have enough of that in the other stuff you do."

"Why do you care?" I said in a huff, feeling angry all of the sudden. This conversation had gone way beyond anything I had wanted. "We keep each other company six days out of the week up here. Do you have to probe, too?"

"Maybe that company means I think you're a friend."

"Sure. So why do you care about what I feel?"

"Lord. What do you think friends are for? Just to sit around and shoot the breeze with?"

Ouch. I know he didn't mean it, but that hurt. Way to remind me how few people I have to confide in, Blaze. Feeling cold, I stood up, dusted off my trousers, and sniffed, "Whatever. I'll see you in a couple days."

"Fine," he said with a shrug, taking another swig of water and turning away.

Well, I wasn't going to meet Pyre because of him. It wasn't just his comment about friends that hurt me, however.

A month after Roan Hawthorne had won the 99th Hunger Games, my father had died. My brother told me it was in his sleep, a peaceful thing, but as much as I wanted to feel something, I didn't. I didn't care. He'd been happy to toss me out into the working world young and had been happy to let me disappear into the Hunger Games, along with everything that followed.

Beyond that, he'd taught me a fraction of what others had since I'd emerged from the arena, particularly another who I'd seen die. As strange as it felt, I'd have saved Creon Snow's life every time over my father's. As I tromped down the path towards the canyon floor, I wondered what my relationship with Creon would have become had things gone differently. Strange. It wasn't a question I wondered about my father.

Maybe that made me a bad daughter. I didn't know.

The questioning didn't keep me from stopping by my family's cantina – now run mostly by Flint. For everything I'd gone through over the past three years, at least my brother hadn't abandoned me. He'd taken my father's death much harder, and I owed it to him to check up now and then.

A motley crew of patrons crowded the cantina's dusky bar area as I strolled in. I pulled off my head wrap and clipped my canteen to my belt, heading past the smoke-smelling bar where some strumpet Flint had hired served drinks to boisterous revelers. A thick hand grabbed me before I could pass through the doors leading back to my childhood home.

"Woman was asking for you," a husky baritone voice rumbled.

I brushed it off and looked up. Daud slouched over the bar, a vinegar-smelling white drink filling a glass in front of him. Palm wine. Figured.

"Anyone in particular?" I asked.

"Looked from around here," he said without looking my way. "Right clothes and hair. Woulda fooled anyone else. Capitol."

I hurried away without another word. Someone from the Capitol who wanted to blend in to District 5 was looking for me? That could be…plenty of people. Great. What now?

I found Flint in our basement, sitting on his lumpy bed that I'd slept across from night after night when we were little. It felt like a lifetime ago.

He looked up, dark rings under his eyes. The shadows cast by the dim lights of the little bedroom made him look sad. "Hey, sis," he said, his voice gloomy.

I did my best to smile. "Hey. What's up?"

"Whatever."

"Everything okay?"

He shrugged. That means no. "Money's doing fine. Don't worry 'bout me, Terra."

I hesitated, debating pushing him to talk or letting him continue on his own. The latter won out: "Mom's been shutting herself in her room the past week or so," he sighed. "She's not taking Dad's death too well."

"Are you?" I asked. Smoldering guilt built up inside of me, but not because I hadn't been here for them. It was because I didn't feel much for my mother's sadness. She'd never protested my father's decisions once, after all. If anything, she'd felt like a ghost throughout my childhood. I was worried for Flint's sake.

He shrugged again, and silence filled the gulf between us. It hurt, and I turned to leave when he said, "How do you do that?'

"Hm?"

"You just…I dunno. On TV, here, everything. You're just so stoic, sis. Like nothing gets to you."

Today was serious discussion day, apparently. I sat down across from him, the old, creaky springs of my childhood bed squeaking under my weight. Once I'd spent my nights lying on this lumpy mattress, listening to Flint ease my fears of the ghosts and devils that lurked in the dark and my pre-teen mind. Now I was doing the reassuring. "Things do get to me, Flint."

"It doesn't look that way."

"They're cameras. I'm supposed to look all victor-y."

He slumped his shoulders and lay back on his bed. "Yea, fine. You probably think I'm being whiny."

I grimaced. This felt like every time I'd tried to reassure my tributes of what lay ahead. Ugh. It made me feel so…helpless. Horrible. "I don't."

"Uh-huh."

"No, I –" I stopped myself mid-sentence, unsure of how much to reveal to Flint. Screw it. "You remember the last president? The one before the current one?"

"Yeah."

"I knew him right before he died. He was – he was a good person. That and my first two tributes dying, I didn't take that well. I just hid it. That probably wasn't the best idea, and…I mean…just talk to me if you want to, okay?"

Was it guilt that weighed on me? Unanswered questions? Even two years after Creon's death, I still felt an odd vacancy in my stomach when I thought about the harsh but just president whose reign had ended before it ever began. He'd been a tough man to be around, a leader who saw things in black and white and imagined enemies behind every corner. Yet there had been a personal touch to every conversation I'd had with the man, a softness that spoke of an aging leader who'd missed out on watching his daughter grow, on enjoying his middle age, on keeping track of the little things, all in the name of stability and order for the country that was eager to forget him.

Those weren't the kind of thoughts I could share with Flint, however.

"Yeah," my brother grunted, closing his eyes. "You've had kids die and other things. I'm just dealing with Dad. Screw me. Forget I asked, Terra."

"No, I…I want you to talk about it. If you want to. Okay?"

"Well, I don't want to. I know you mean well, sis, but just leave me alone for a bit, alright?"

I sighed, nodded, and beat a hasty retreat. Everything felt wrong around here. My family moved further away from me with every passing day. Daud and Finch were, well, Daud and Finch. I clung to Blaze for friendship, but what were we, really?

Every time I departed the Capitol, I left behind the few people I could really talk to, the ones with whom I felt like a normal girl. I came home to this.

Finch wasn't much help when I tried opening up to her about those questions over dinner.

"You can't get too bogged down in what other people think around here," she said as I pawed at a half-eaten bun. "And – Terra, don't just pick at that. You need to eat."

I bulged my eyes for effect and shoved the entire bun in my mouth. "You have money and fame now," Finch went on. "People are going to try and take advantage of you. I'm surprised they haven't already."

"I'm sure my brother and my friend want to take advantage of me," I mumbled around chewing.

She crossed her arms and scowled at her plate for a minute. Finally, she broke the awkward silence over her dinner table and said, "You know this year's going to be different, right? You haven't gone through a Quarter Quell. Daud and I have."

"Woo. Sure."

"I'm serious, Terra. My first year as a victor was the third Quarter Quell, when they Reaped all twelve year-olds. It's strange, there're twists, the Gamesmakers mess with things, and it feels horrible."

"Yeah, the last three years felt great. Not horrible at all."

"Hey. Knock it off."

I looked down and twisted the fabric of my pant leg as Finch went on: "I know it's a long way off. Still nine months 'til next year's Reaping. But it's not magically going to get a lot better if you don't get anything that's bothering you off your chest before then. If that means talking to your brother, fine. But Daud and I are happy to listen if you can talk to us."

Then why does this feel so exhausting? I excused myself before she had a chance to protest and rushed away from her home. The Victor's Village was quiet, dark, and uncomfortable. I detested this place, its loneliness, its evening shadows before the moon had a chance to rise above the canyon lip and bathe down its light. It reminded me of every bit of alienation I felt in District 5.

Light poured out of every window from my house as I trudged back up the walk. Across the street, Daud's house was dark and quiet except for the downstairs living room. I lingered, debating poking my head in before pushing away the idea and walking up to my door.

I wasn't alone. A young-looking woman sat on the old wicker chair on my porch, her long legs crossed, her arms folded. She had silky golden hair, too light and glimmering for most people I'd seen, and too much a mismatch for her dull brown eyes. Her loose tan clothes could have fit in with the working crew along the solar arrays atop the canyon, but I certainly didn't remember this woman numbering among them.

"It's later than you come back most evenings," the woman said as I approached.

I frowned and stepped away from her as I walked up to my door. "Do you want something?"

"I expected you to arrive fifteen minutes ago."

"Er…do I know you?"

The woman caught my door as I opened it, letting herself inside before I had a chance to protest. "Quaint, in a way," she said, looking about my entry hall.

I opened my mouth to order her out, but at the last second I recognized her voice. Wha. I hadn't recognized her with that hair, those eyes, and most importantly, that skin. She must've been the one Daud had mentioned back in my family's tavern, for she certainly wasn't from District 5.

"Lucrezia?" I uttered, my jaw agape.

Gods. Without her usual blue skin tint and navy hair, the Capitol's spymaster had looked just like anyone else. "Taurus is concerned about you keeping an eye on this district's upstarts," she said, heading for my den and plopping down on the nearest chair. "Religious zealots, so my eyes and ears tell me. All led by a priest named Pyre York. Have you met this man?"

I gaped, still awestruck by the abrupt arrival of one of the most powerful people in Panem to my house. "I – I did. A couple years ago."

Lucrezia frowned. "I assume Taurus didn't task you with your assignment a couple years ago."

"N-no."

"Then you have not met him recently. Fine. What do you have on him?"

"What? I dunno. I mean, I remember him as an old guy. Cryptic. It was a couple years ago."

Lucrezia narrowed her eyes and stood up. "Nothing I didn't know already."

"I don't – what do you want?"

She brushed past me and stopped at the door. "You'll meet me at the Hall of Justice tomorrow at ten in the morning. I already know you have no prior arrangements. We'll discuss what you'll be doing then. Don't keep me waiting."

Lucrezia left before I had a chance to say anything more. I watched her leave, staring out into the darkness, confused, wondering what I'd gotten myself into.