+ Thanks to FoxfaceFan1 and melliemoo for the reviews! Meetings of the minds in two different districts in this chapter.

/ / / / /

"These people are soft. They don't have a fighting spirit, not one that can last more than a few weeks at best! We can't fight on one hand and shy away from any losses on the other!"

Brooke's voice rasped. Her throat hurt, and spit flew from her mouth as she yelled. The Peacekeepers may have burned down the Blue House three years ago, but that didn't stop underground meetings from cropping out in District 4 from time to time. Maybe they weren't full-fledged black market houses anymore, and perhaps these didn't happen often, but when they did, the big players in Panem's westernmost district showed up to speak their minds.

Today's meeting, ostensibly just a dinner among some of the more recognizable people who called District 4 home, had been testy from the start. Maybe it was the building – this old, abandoned, stinky, half-forgotten cannery on the outskirts of Manheim's Gulch had always made Brooke feel overheated and hot-tempered, and the poor attempt at lighting the place up with weak, battery-powered, bare light bulbs and candles didn't help the claustrophobia. Nor did the overcapacity crowd that had shown up, with at least seventy men and women of various ages hunkered around rusting machinery and leaning against splinter-covered support beams to listen, nod, and most often, argue.

However, it wasn't any of that that had done the most to rile up the crowd tonight. The arrival of new hovercraft and the extra Peacekeeper legion that had dropped in the other day had set everyone on edge.

Bandon, a young, thin-shouldered man with a scar running from his right eye to his chin, stood up across from Brooke, shaking his head and scowling. "And what the hell do you have to lose, huh?" he accused, pointing a finger at her. "You don't have no family and you sleep on people's spare bunks! You're not shyin' away from any bloody losses! I got kids –"

"So what's your plan?" asked a grizzled woman camped behind a fouled-up conveyor belt, light flickering off of her weathered face and frayed orange hair. "Talk them to death?"

"Nothin', Isla, that's my plan!" Bandon protested. "Didn't you lose your niece in that fight three years ago? They're ready to stomp us like bugs the moment we do something dumb! Wait it out. Let someone else make a damn move for once, and when they show a little weakness, then act!"

Brooke snarled, "Alarmist tripe."

"I'm captainin' a ship every time you get the offer to go prance about their pretty city!"

"I haven't been there in fifteen damn years and you know that. You gonna start blaming your kids for getting conscripted in their little fighting ring if they get picked this year?"

"If they do, I'll know who the hell picked 'em! You and the Odair shits!"

Next to Brooke, Rio reached out and held her shoulder to keep the clash from escalating beyond a verbal spar. Before she could say anything, however, a short but powerful man stood up at the edge of the meeting. His shoulders made him look almost as broad as he was tall. A freshly scabbed-over gash sliced his thin golden beard in two on the right side of his jaw, another addition to a litany of scars that covered the man's body. A particular notable trophy emblazed his upper left arm, a circular, raised, dark welt with a pock mark at the middle, left behind by a wrestling match with some furious squid years before.

"Got something to say, Seton?" the old woman, Isla, asked.

The brutish man nodded once and glanced over at Bandon. "Guy's got a point," he said, his voice thick and wet. "Lost too many o'mine to the see already, and add losing a cousin in that riot. No doubt those boys in white want to take all of 'em if they can for 'peacekeeping' or whatever excuse they can come up with the moment we fight and back down again."

Seton looked around for a moment, set his jaw, picked up a wooden dinner plate, and hurled it against the wall with a sudden burst of violence. "So the hell of it that I'm going to get to the point of backing down again, or god forbid bending over and letting them take us for who knows how many years to come! This time we don't kill 'em to get them to draw up what's acceptable! We kill 'em to kick them the hell out of our district, out of our homes, out of our lands, and our seas, and our skies, until they don't even dream of setting foot here again for the rest of time! There's no more peace to be kept where I set foot!"

"I want to hear what this man has to say!" he finished, pointing a fat finger at Rio. "He hasn't said a word all night."

Rio stood up, looked around, and walked up to a circular driftwood table at the center of the room and the crowd. He looked down at the flickering flame of a burnt-down candle and pulled out a knife from his belt. It was long, sharp, and bleached white, carved from whale bone like the two Brooke carried. Rio turned it over in his hands, once, twice, before tossing it onto the center of the table.

"Fight," was all he said.

Seton laughed, charged up to the table, and tossed a knife of his own onto it. His was short, serrated near the hilt, and angry-looking, the type that would cut erratically and leave a messy wound. "We fight!"

Brooke stood and lobbed one of her knives towards the table. It landed tip-first, quivering in the wood next to the other blades. "Let's fight."

Bandon frowned. He folded his arms, shrugged, pulled out a knife, and tossed it with the others. "Fight."

"Fight!" shouted someone in the crowd. Another knife joined the pile. "Fight!"

Then another. Then another.

/ / / / /

Only the Quarter Quell's ridiculous twist could make meeting with Pyre York refreshing. It wasn't picking kids to die, at least.

True to his word, the pastor had flagged me down following a church service a week after the Quell announcement. "I see your face so often nowadays, Misty," he'd said. "I'd like to show you something. Privately, between us."

I didn't know what to expect, but I'd been in too much of a slump since the Quell to reject his offer. Being Terra Pike meant playing judge and most likely executioner to one boy and girl come the summer. Being myself meant facing the prospect of incurring the district's wrath if – when – two kids I'd hand-picked to die did just that in the arena. Frankly, playing Misty Saban and keeping up with Taurus and Lucrezia's investigation was welcoming in comparison.

A yellow half-moon topped the canyon walls as I trudged deep down the ravine away from the dam and the city center, towards the outskirts of the urban area. Hewn entrances in the dark rock walls opened up here and there, glowing with hazy pale light from the halls of Redhammer within. It didn't surprise me that Pyre wanted to meet at a tavern out here. Most of the congregation I ever saw in the church had the look of Redhammer denizens, with their plainer clothes, weathered faces, and vacant eyes. Tough lives made for ardent believers. Merchant girl Terra Pike had no place out here as I'd learned the last time Blaze had led me around Redhammer, but Misty belonged as much as anyone else.

The Dirty Ginger was a dump even by dump's standards. Calling it a tavern did a disservice to my father's, now Flint's, establishment: The run-down, aluminum siding-walled shack built into the rock walls outside of Redhammer looked as if it would fall apart at the first strong breeze coming down the canyon. A drunk stumbled past me as I approached the dingy joint, bellowing out the lyrics to "Beth and the Bawdy Bulldog" while scratching his crotch as another patron vomited up an ocean of alcohol out in front of the wooden patio. A squad of Peacekeepers looked on from fifty feet away, content to watch intoxicated men make mockeries of themselves under the night sky. Just the smell of stale beer and gastric distress took my thoughts to angry, late-night drinking sessions with Daud or with the other victors in the Capitol.

Pyre loitered outside the front door, chatting with a staggering woman clutching a glass and looking anything but priestly. I guessed this was bringing religion to the masses.

He waved me down as I drew close. "Misty," he said, excusing himself from the drunk woman. "I hope I'm not dragging you out too far. You said you lived around Redhammer."

"I do," I said with a shrug, sticking to my cover story. "Don't you…like, pray at this hour, or something?"

"Hard to trust someone who prays all the time, don't you think?" he said. "I'm sure you can understand that part of our church and our belief is creating a community. I know you've involved yourself in it. Even a dive such as this can bring people together. Only together we have the power to fight for the Light, after all."

He motioned towards a wide gap in the canyon wall that led into a winding tunnel, curving away towards the left into the hazy interior of Redhammer. "I was meaning to show you something. You've been getting to know the church considerably for one new to belief, so I thought you might want to see more. I live near here."

"You don't just live in the church?"

"I'm not a monk, Misty. I'm a common man like you or any of these patrons. It's not a sin to own property or indulge every now and then. Not as long as we know what to stand up for. Come. Take a walk with me."

Flickering milky lights. Humming exposed wires. Rough rocky halls wide enough for four people at the max. Redhammer wasn't for people looking for creature comforts. This place always struck me as strange being in District 5, one of Panem's wealthier districts. Then again, if the Capitol can have Auburn's Belly, then we can have this.

"There've been a lot of soldiers showing up lately," Pyre said as we walked up a shallow incline, pushing past a gaggle of women chatting in the middle of the passage. "What do you make of that?"

I shrugged. Hells, I didn't know what to make of that even considering what I actually knew about the Capitol. "Training, maybe. Or whatever they do."

"That's a weak guess," he said. "Do they still teach a little science in the school?"

"A little."

"The body produces an immune response to any infection. So a disease sets in, the body produces and sends out cells to fight as a reaction. Panem's a large place. Neither of us can know what's going on around the country when we've lived in District 5 our whole lives, right?"

I looked down at my feet. That didn't sound very priestly at all.

The passage winded upwards, past hovels carved into the rock. "Are you still eligible for the Games this year?" asked Pyre, changing subjects.

I shook my head. "I'll be nineteen two weeks before the Reaping."

"Ah, out-aging it. That's good. The fates of two young people aren't in the hands of random chance this year, after all. Do you make anything of the Quell's announcement?"

This was probing too close to home. I shook my head again, sticking my hands in my pockets and trudging along without a word. "For the best," Pyre said. "I'm sure our victors will make fair choices. I'm sure you've seen Daud Mosely in the pews. I've never had the chance to talk to him personally, but he seems an honest man. A believer, at least. As for the two women who've won in our district, well, we have to trust in faith that they'll come to a good decision."

After two or three quiet minutes of walking, Pyre led me to a door in the rock. It was actual wood, rather than the cheap aluminum that made most of the doors in Redhammer, and when he opened it, I stepped into a much nicer room than I'd pictured. We'd come up higher than I'd thought: A small window on the far side of the room looked out over the canyon maybe half way up the wall. Milky moonlight poured in through the freshly cleaned glass, casting shadows behind spartan furniture handmade from bits and pieces of scavenged wood. A plain, circular red rug added color to the place in the middle of the room, lying before a small altar topped with figurines of the church's three gods of light. Candles burned all along the walls.

"It's not much," Pyre admitted. "Any place where one can rest is a good place, though. Wait here. I have an adjoining room where I keep personal effects. What I want to show you's somewhat large. I'll need to go drag it out."

Fair enough. I idled as Pyre pushed open a side door past the altar and tromped off into the other room. It was a nice place by Redhammer's standards. It wasn't the Victor's Village, sure, but the priest took care of his home. I had the feeling that some of the donations he received every church day might have gone into furnishing the place, but probably not enough that Xanthia and Lucrezia would be interested.

Creak. Someone walked about outside in the passage. I didn't have time to wonder just who, however, as Pyre stepped back into the room, dragging a large, gunmetal gray create with him.

"Here we are," he said, setting it down on the rug and popping open a pair of metal latches to spring free the crate's lid. "I think this is something you might be very familiar with, Misty. Give it a look. Tell me what you see."

I stepped forward and took a peek. Whatever I expected – idols, maybe, religious tomes, artifacts, historical documents, things from the Capitol, whatever – I didn't find them. Instead, I found the last thing I figured a preacher would have.

A stark white suit of armor lay at the bottom of the crate, light glinting off its ceramic plate. A white helmet lay neatly in a corner of the crate next to it, its black visor spotless. I recognized it immediately – Peacekeeper equipment, and not just any run of the mill uniform. Black bands circled the shoulders of the armor's vest. Whoever had worn this had been high-ranking indeed.

"Did you steal this or something?" I forced a laugh, my voice almost breaking. This didn't feel right at all. "I dunno why I'd be familiar with it, though."

Pyre shook his head, a sly smile creeping across his lips. "No, no theft. That's not my crime. My crime's desertion. That armor's mine." I backpedaled as he continued, "I'm sure you're familiar with the punishment for that in the Capitol. After all, you're there once a year, every summer."

Heat flashed across my face as the door to the passage opened up. In strolled the man from the church, the one who'd laid claim to no name, the lighter of candles and repairer of church scaffolding who'd first told me about the youth group. He leaned against the wall as the door shut behind him, looking far less like some caught-up follower of the faith and much more like a danger.

"You know Valens," said Pyre, pointing towards the new arrival. "He's on active duty here in District 5. Like me, he found more meaning in what's not so easily seen in this world as opposed to our daily drudgery. Also like me, he can see through a good disguise. He told me he'd seen you snooping around at the church one night, Terra. I thought I'd play along. After all, the whole time I've been preaching, I'd never seen you once in the pews. There wouldn't be a need for a disguise if you'd just had a crisis of faith, so…"

I backed up to the wall, pressing my back to it and flicking my gaze between the two. If they were Peacekeepers – and I had no reason to doubt that, given the evidence in front of me – I had no chance of escaping here. The big man, Valens, could flatten me all by himself, let alone any hidden feats Pyre had up his sleeve. "What do you want?" I breathed.

Pyre shrugged. "It's an interesting game we're playing. We might as well keep playing it. I assume you're not here in any of this on your own volition."

"N – no. Sort of."

"Mm. Someone probably recruited you. It doesn't matter who. It's no surprise to me. I hid for a few years here before you would have ever know who I was, making contacts, learning, believing in something more than what the earth could provide. By the time I came out into the open again, your handlers couldn't just arrest me. It'd provoke too much backlash, riots even. Letting desertion slide, on the other hand? Not their style. So, here we are. You, recruited into some game ever since winning another, and Valens and I, soldiers of the Darkness who saw the Light. Between whoever tasked you with this job in the Capitol and who you are in the district, where do you put your faith, Terra?"

I froze. Maybe if I'd been stronger or more confident in the ruse I could have denied it all, called Pyre crazy, dismissed his allegations as some wild guesswork while downplaying any connection to the Hunger Games. He'd dropped it all so suddenly, however, a coordinated strike that he'd clearly been planning for some time. If this Valens guy had really recognized me through the makeup and wig and contacts back when I first met him in the church that night, then they'd had the advantage all this time.

"I can see enough surprise on your face to tell me the facts, so answer me this," Pyre said as I struggled to reply. "Between me and whoever sent you to spy on me, who's given you the truth? I guarantee whoever you're working for, they know exactly who I am."

Valens chuckled. "Bein' played like a drum, pretty flower."

Pyre motioned for Valens to move away from the door. "I think you know how to find me by now. I'm being honest with you, Terra. When you're ready to do the same, we can talk. I think there's a lot you might like to find out about. Until then, go ahead and go. Whoever's sending you about on little jobs for the Capitol, think about how honest they're being with you, and whether that's worth trusting."

I wouldn't pass up an opportunity. My head spinning, I dashed out of the room, looking back to see Valens's eyes staring me down as I hurried away from Pyre's home.