Dusk Till Dawn: The 53rd Hunger Games

by averyrandomauthor

Dusk befalls upon you and you patiently wait for the arrival of dawn. But little do you know, you may never live to see that dawn arrive, and instead, you will be thrust into a world of hidden secrets and a bewitching arena where only the best shall survive. Nightmares will be brought to life from dusk till dawn in a tranquil enchantment, and only 1 will survive. CLOSED SYOT

49. Final Epilogue: Closure

Warning: This is the longest chapter I have ever written, so buckle up, it's going to be a long ride

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THREE MONTHS LATER

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JOTHAM VELASQUEZ

DISTRICT TEN VICTOR (53RD GAMES)

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Jotham wasn't looking forward to this.

He took deep, shaky breaths as the landscape began to shift, moving away from the pastures of whatever District they were rolling by to the dark, rocky mountains that were the gateway to District Twelve, the first stop on his dreaded Victory Tour. There was one family he was dreading to meet, one clan whose daughter had perished at his hands in a brutal, final battle that must've given them hope that Tamsin would be returning home. Broken, but home.

And Jotham had ruined it all for them.

"You don't have to meet them," John told him. "Just stare at some random object or person in the distance and you won't even notice they're there. That's what I did for my Victory Tour."

Jotham sighed. He knew he should heed John's advice. He, after all, was the more experienced Victor. But if he did, the guilt would eat at him for the rest of his barren days. There was unfinished business for him, somehow, he knew he had to alleviate the pain and misery of the Conroy and Reid families. Because Jotham was well aware that the only reason he was alive and showered with riches was because their children had died a cold and unfathomable death. As the smoke-blanketed towns of District Twelve rolled into view, he squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to steel his nerves. Yet all he could see was her face, tears streaming down her cheeks as she begged him for forgiveness and mercy. The final, choked gasp she'd let out was still freshly scarred in his visions, an inescapable horror plaguing him every time he dared to doze off.

"It wasn't your fault, you know, nothing you could do about it."

Jotham spun on his heels, his eyes widening at the familiarity of the voice.

Sure enough, standing just a couple metres away from him was Ceri herself, the arrow that had taken her life still firmly embedded in her chest as she gave him a disapproving look, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

But it couldn't be, she's dead!

"No, it's not you, it's just…"

"I suggest you offer the families some fucking ray of hope. You know, make them feel less shitty."

Jotham's head felt like it was on the verge of implosion as the ghost's advice clocked into his mind. But before he could thank the apparition of Ceri, she was gone, leaving no trace of her behind, like she was never even there.

They had reached the station. It was time for Jotham to face the music.

The mayor, Theodore Undersee, greeted him, a hollow expression chiselled on his face, as though he'd been numbed by years of sorrow. District Twelve had only ever won twice. How many times had this man watched as his own people were torn kicking and screaming from their families, only to be slaughtered by unruly Careers in the arena and returned home in cold, wooden coffins? Even when Haymitch had won three years ago, three children had returned home dead, more than any other Games District Twelve had been faced with. Theodore led him to the Justice Building, which was considerably smaller than the one in Austin. This was Jotham's first good look at the crowd of District Twelve citizens. There weren't a lot of them, their population was a mere fraction of Austin's. Their dishevelled, dilapidated and soulless faces stared back at him, void of any expression or emotion, as though the events of the world had ceased to even faze them in the slightest. They were so devoid of any hope, of any joy, it made Jotham's blood boil. He'd seen the wealth and excess in the Capitol, he knew just how much the people there could afford to squander on the most useless of goods and services. And yet, in a far-flung corner of their nation, the miners of District Twelve had absolutely nothing.

It was a cruel reminder of the brutality and inequality of Panem.

Jotham was handed a microphone and a small set of cue cards with his speech, one he'd practised countless times already. He held his breath, marching up the stage to face the crowd and deliver his Capitol-approved speech. Mare had told him the Capitol would tolerate a few extra lines of tribute to the families of the deceased, though if he said anything out of line, there would be severe consequences.

And as he looked across the blank, ashen faces, his heart skipped an uncomfortable beat. Plastered on giant screens were the faces of Tamsin and Elris. Underneath the screens, on small, elevated platforms, stood their families. Only Tamsin's father was present, John had informed Jotham beforehand that her mother had died in childbirth, while on Elris's side, there stood his weeping parents, three numb-faced sisters, and a couple of young teenagers who didn't look like they were from his family, Jotham guessed they were his closest friends. Jotham felt like his mere presence was rubbing salt into their wounds, but he had no choice, and neither did they.

He gave his speech, making great effort to make eye contact with one of Elris's sisters in particular, a petite girl with dark blonde hair and glossed-over blue eyes. He knew this was Ellery, Tamsin's girlfriend she had so desperately cried out for in her final moments. She bore the ghost of a smile and Jotham knew that before she'd lost two of the people she'd loved the most in the world, Ellery had been a cheerful, bubbly girl not too different from Elris.

"Elris was brave, he approached everyone with a smile, and though he was only a few months younger than me, was more childlike and innocent than I ever was. He was a bright spark in a troubled world and he deserves far more than to be remembered as the first death of this year's Games," Jotham said, trying to sound as sincere as he could. "And Tamsin-" his voice began to falter at the mere mention of her name. His hands gripped his cue cards tightly, the weight of his fingers starting to crush the thin paper. "Though she was broken mentally by the Games, she never forgot those she loved the most. She was deeply devoted to her father and wanted to return home to afford his treatment. So," Jotham bit his lip. This was his time to break the script and make an unprecedented deal. "I am going to pay for your treatment, Mr Reid. In full." There was a collective gasp from the crowd as the miners of Twelve looked at each other, shocked that a Victor was going to fork out a large sum of cash to help the family of a girl he'd killed in the arena. Theodore frowned at him, raising a suspicious eyebrow. Jotham knew this might not go down well with the Capitol, but he could spin this as a way of 'spreading the love of Panem to the people' if questions were asked. "Furthermore, I will finance the upgrading of the Conroy family's stalls in the Hob. It's the least I can do for Tamsin and Elris."

There was a stunned silence. Then, someone began to clap. And soon, the entire crowd was, for the first time ever, genuinely cheering for a non-District Twelve Victor. Mr Reid looked down at his limp arm, then back at Jotham, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Jotham's attention turned back to Ellery, but in the blink of an eye, she had vanished into thin air. As Jotham was led down the stage by the mayor, he felt someone grab him by the shoulder. He whirled around, and there she was, standing just a little bit taller than him, an urgent look in her eyes.

"Ellery?" he asked. "What are you-"

"Mayor Undersee, do you mind if I speak to him?" Ellery asked. Theodore simply shrugged, as though he frankly couldn't care less what business Ellery had with Jotham. Jotham glanced at the Peacekeepers, almost certain they would drag Ellery away, but they didn't seem to care very much either, a stark contrast with the often abusive lot found elsewhere in the Districts. Jotham followed Ellery to a secluded corner right behind the Justice Building. In the distance, Jotham could hear the thundering footsteps as the crowds began to disperse. Ellery stared at him almost like he was another one of her trinkets that he'd been told her family sold, narrowing her eyes slightly as she took him in. Jotham gulped, not quite sure what to make of this interaction. He was acutely aware that if Ellery decided to strangle him, no help was to be found.

"Why did you do that?" she asked flatly.

"Because I'm truly sorry for what I did and I want to make things right," Jotham told her, backing into a wall as she drew closer, maintaining a frustratingly excellent poker face.

"When Tamsin died, I wanted to kill you," she said quietly. Jotham braced himself, his hands balling into fists as he anticipated her first blow. He hadn't meant to get into a tussle with Ellery, and he certainly didn't want to hurt her more than he already had, but he also didn't plan on dying at her vengeful hands. "But then," she added slowly. "I realised that was exactly how you felt. You loved that girl from Eight, didn't you?"

Jotham's head dipped a little. He'd been hoping to put off all talk of Ceri until he'd reached District Eight, but here he was, cornered into a wall, being forced by Ellery Conroy of all people to discuss his fallen friend. "I did," he admitted. "And I was blinded by my rage. And I'm sure Tamsin also snapped when she saw Quianna- yeah." He didn't have the heart to remind Ellery of Elris's death.

Ellery sighed, gazing down at a small bead necklace tucked into her green dress. "This was from Tamsin," she murmured. "We were on a date and she bought me this with all the pocket money she had left." Her gaze returned to Jotham. "You saved Mr Reid's life, you know that right? By receiving treatment, he can go back to working in the mines or elsewhere, and he won't have to starve when winter comes."

Jotham nodded solemnly. "I didn't want all of you to suffer more than you already have."

A smile tugged at Ellery's lips. "Were you scared when I said I wanted to kill you?"

Jotham raised his eyebrows nervously as she took a step closer. "Please, I'm really sorry for-"

To his surprise, Ellery let out a soft, shallow giggle. "It was just a little trick, don't worry about it. I used to pull those all the time on Elris." She smiled sadly at the ground, her mind lost in a whirlwind of misty memories. "I hope you live a nice life, Jotham. You're a lot better than some of the ones who come over and don't even acknowledge our existence. And thank you for the cash, by the way."

As she walked away, Jotham's gaze lingered on her. In another life, Ellery might've been his friend. He'd seen a glimpse of the fun trickster she'd evidently once been, she really did seem like someone he wouldn't mind hanging out with. And yet, their paths had only crossed because her brother was dead and Jotham had killed the love of her life.

His heart continued to ache even as he walked into the train, past John and Ringo who were conversing quietly with a drunken Haymitch Abernathy. He thought he saw Haymitch slip a note to Ringo, but he figured it must've just been his imagination. He doubted Haymitch had the chops to really be a leading rebel while in his drunken state. Perhaps while sober, but certainly not when he reeked of alcohol.

At the back of the train, he caught a glimpse of a green dress. Blinking, he crept towards it, wondering if it was who he thought it was.

"Good job, Jotham. Now, do that same thing for the rest of the Districts."

Jotham immediately dashed to his room and slammed the door shut.

It wasn't Ceri, it couldn't possibly be.

—-

District Eleven whirled by, Jotham trying his best to avoid collapsing from fright at the sight of tens of thousands of farmers wielding their pitchforks and scythes glaring right up at him. When Phoenix's name was mentioned, there were a few snarls and hisses from the crowd, which Jotham had anticipated. John had cautioned him that the people of District Eleven were not fond of Phoenix due to his past exploits, but Jotham didn't care what the people had to think. His attention was solely focused on a small, young boy, clinging nervously to his father. "Vitis," he said, speaking directly to Vitis Avena. "I want you to know that Phoenix truly loved you and you were one of the main reasons he tried to change his old ways. And no matter what people may think, your brother sacrificed his life to help a friend, and in my eyes, that makes him one of the bravest people I've ever met. He made a vow to be a good role model for you, and I think his time in the arena certainly proved that. And on that note, I want to give your family the funds to buy back your old farm. Trust me, you'll never have to worry about cold nights and going hungry ever again."

There were a few soft jeers at Jotham's gesture, but he dutifully ignored them as he turned to Wisteria's family. "As for Wisteria, what she truly needed was therapy for her declining mental health. And while her family, Violet and Phoenix did their best, it was her perseverance and sheer resilience that pulled her through. Her love for challenges was exemplified in the arena and she was on the road to turning over a new leaf and becoming a better version of herself, just like Phoenix. I can't bring Wisteria back, but I can help to pay for your living costs so you don't need to worry about starvation or exposure to the elements anymore." That part got a few modest claps, though District Eleven was noticeably still hesitant to approve of Jotham's efforts for the deceased tributes. But as Jotham looked at both Vitus and Amaryllis, Wisteria's sister, he noticed that both of them were flashing him appreciative glances, which made it all worth it.

Unlike in District Twelve, there was a small ceremony Jotham had to attend following his speech, where a bunch of Capitol officials and socialites gathered amongst District Eleven's leaders in the banquet hall of the Justice Building, which was fairly modest for a Capitol-built building. Jotham could hardly bring himself to eat. The food did smell heavenly, the aroma of the stews and fresh salads filling his lungs as he wandered through the batches of gossiping attendees, but the thought of him celebrating while families were starving and being beaten up by Peacekeepers just outside this very building sickened him to the core.

"Good on you for having some fucking morals."

There she was again, standing by a fruit platter, glowering distastefully at the lavishness laid out before them.

"Ceri?" Jotham asked, but then, she was gone.

There was a loud bang from somewhere and for a split second, Jotham's mind raced back to the explosion that had cost Ithaca her life. Instinctively, his hands flew up to his ears, trying to block out Ithaca's final shocked gasp before she was obliterated. Suddenly, the red wine flowing from a large cooler didn't look like just another fancy beverage. It looked more like the gore and grime that splattered over the Cornucopia once the smoke had cleared. The discarded remnants of a former child genius sentenced to death. He glanced around frantically. Thankfully, it was just the sound of someone, a drunken man from the Capitol, by the looks of it, dropping a heavy box on the floor. The man gave a giddy laugh, before stumbling off to find his mates.

In a corner of the room, he saw a young woman with brown skin and dark, curly hair hiding behind a stone pillar, nervously glancing around the hall. Jotham noticed that she hadn't eaten a single morsel of food, which was strange, since even the disgruntled Eleven leaders were at least helping themselves to some fresh fruits. She wore Capitol clothes and for some reason, looked vaguely familiar.

He strolled towards her and her eyes widened in alarm. "I see you haven't eaten anything either," he remarked.

The woman stared at her shoes, her expression a mixture of guilt and sadness. "I-I'm not hungry."

Jotham shrugged. "Neither am I. Have we met before, by any chance? I'm pretty sure I've seen you around somewhere."

The woman bit her lip. "I'm Trish, District Eleven's escort. I'm sure you've seen me with Phoenix and Wisteria before-" She shook her head, closing her eyes for a brief second as though she was trying to rein in her emotions.

Trish didn't look or feel like the average escort. Most of them were loud, enthusiastic, the life of every Capitolite party. Yet Trish shied away from everyone else in this banquet hall and seemed uncharacteristically shy. His eye caught a glimpse of a small, tattered book she held in her hand. Trish followed his gaze and quickly his the book behind her back. "Are you… alright?" Jotham asked, concerned.

Trish shook her head. "I'll be fine, I'm just thinking about things, you know?" Then, her voice turned low, much quieter than it already was. "We'll make sure you visit District Eight last. I know you're not looking forward to that one and I'm sure you'll want to end off your whole ordeal with a trip to see, well, her."

Jotham gave her a dumbfounded stare. "Wait, are you-"

"There are more of us than you think, Jotham," Trish told him. "You just need to know where to look."

—-

District Ten was skipped and left for last, as per the usual traditions of the Victory Tour, which meant that he was due to visit District Nine next. This was the second District he wasn't looking forward to visiting, not least because he would have to answer to Laura's family. He watched as the trademark wheat fields of District Nine whizzed by, wondering how many of those wheat stalks would actually go to the people of District Nine. There was almost certainly more than enough to feed the entire nation, the fields seemed almost never-ending, stretching out for miles beyond the horizon in all directions, yet Laura had told him about the struggles she'd faced just to put food on the table. It seemed paradoxical, the thought of being constantly hungry yet tantalisingly close to an endless supply of food all around you. But such was the cruelty within Panem.

Once he'd arrived at the station, he was greeted by an elderly woman who introduced herself as Amaranth Lee, District Nine's mayor. She pulled him aside, gesturing to a group of Peacekeepers to leave them be as she led him into the Justice Building, a purposeful, determined expression on her face, which only made Jotham's heart race. A part of him wondered if Amaranth was about to assassinate him, but what on earth would be the motive? He tried to politely remind her that the crowd was already waiting for his speech, but Amaranth brushed him off, telling him, "They've waited many moons, Jotham. They can wait a couple of minutes."

She opened a small wooden door at the end of a long corridor and grabbed his hand, dragging him in with her. Jotham tried to resist, but for an old lady, Amaranth was surprisingly strong. Perhaps it was the fieldwork that had strengthened her muscles over the years. Whatever it was, Jotham was forcefully introduced to a man and a woman, both of whom dressed in bottle green cloaks, the same colour as the clothes District Nine's tributes wear into the arena every year. The man's eyes widened when he saw him. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the famous Jotham Velasquez."

The woman sighed. "You can afford to be a little less menacing than that, Barley." She stuck out a hand and offered him a lopsided smile. "My name is Olivia Thornsbury, and that right there is Barley Fernandes. We are the leaders of the Breadwinners."

Jotham racked his brain, finally remembering that Laura had once mentioned in passing a volunteer disaster relief team operating within District Nine that bore the same name. But why had they wanted to see him? And why now?

"The Capitol wouldn't let us attend the banquet after your speech," Barley told him, answering his questions before he could ask. "And Gwen told us you wanted to know a little more about the rebellion." Jotham's breath hitched. This was it, he was finally about to learn the secrets lurking within the circle of Victors. "We'll let Gwen fill you in on most of the details later, but we have some information she isn't fully aware of. First off, have you heard of the Masked Merchants?"

And there was that word once again. Ceri's dying words to him. Jotham quickly nodded, taking a step closer to Barley and Olivia.

"Well, they're essentially an underground network of masked operatives that smuggle people and goods throughout Panem and beyond," Olivia explained.

Jotham's daw dropped. "Wait, and beyond?"

Olivia chuckled. "That part, we'll leave for you to find out on your own accord. But there are several entrances to these tunnels within District Ten. You'll find one in Austin at Jackal Samson's stall in the Austin Market."

Jotham knew that place. Jackal Samson owned a fairly sizeable food stall in Austin's large, bustling market. He wasn't quite sure how on earth a food stall of all places could hide the entrance to a continent-wide tunnel network, but he had to take Olivia's word for it, for now at least.

"You'll need a mask for anonymity," Barley told him. "And when you're down there, only speak when necessary. Gwen says the Merchants can be a dangerous lot at times, which is why she knows so little of them, she's never dared to venture into their tunnels. You never know which ones have good intentions and which ones want to steal your kidneys, after all."

Almost instantly, Jotham wondered how Ceri, a young girl, had been able to navigate her way through the tunnels without getting herself into trouble for being, well, typical Ceri. Suddenly, the fascination he'd held behind this mysterious group began to fade and he doubted whether even venturing in was a good idea. But Ceri had wanted him to do this, and Jotham felt the need to do this for her sake.

The trio began to explain more things about how the rebellion worked in different Districts and how certain seemingly random, unrelated events such as a sudden rise in obscene murals in District Seven and a burglary in District One were more likely than not connected via the complex, intertwined web of rebels that were popping up like rabbits across Panem. Before long though, there came a knock on the door and Amaranth sighed. "Well, they can't wait forever," she relented and ushered Jotham out onto the stage.

Immediately, Jotham noticed far fewer dirty looks and harsh stares from the District Nine crowd, most of whom just looked plainly bored with the whole ceremony. Jotham glanced over his shoulder to where the District Nine Victors were seated. Gwen gave him a motivating thumbs up, Laurel flashed a half-smile and Miller just snored off, a drop of drool dribbling down his chin. He turned his attention back to the crowd in Wichita, craning his neck over the thousands of faces to see the twin platforms set up at the back of the main square. There they were, the families of Laura and Totlen, underneath their fallen children's portraits flashed on big screens. As Jotham carried out his speech as he'd done so in the other two Districts, his gaze lingered on Laura's family in particular. Mrs Ackerman had been given a chair to sit on, her entire body slumped over, as though she couldn't handle the harshness of reality any longer. Beside her, Laura's wayward older sister, Sunset, stared off into space, her skin saggy and weathered down. Her younger brother Sod seemed to be the only one with any strength left to handle this ceremony. He gazed wistfully at Jotham, and Jotham wanted to reach out and give him a hug, to tell him that his sister was in a better place, somewhere safe. But he first had to get through this stupid speech, which he totally planned on diverting from once again.

"Don't forget about Catullus," that eerie, haunting voice reminded him. Jotham glanced backwards, saw nothing, and returned his attention back to the crowd. There she was, standing amidst the farmers of Nine, the arrow still stuck in her chest. "Oh, and give that poor kid Totlen some fucking airtime." With that, a gust of wind blew into the square, and she was gone.

"Laura was my friend," Jotham added once his mandatory lines were over. "One of the kindest, most mature people I have ever known. She worked hard and never complained about anything, no matter how harsh Ceri and I could be on her. If I ever have a daughter, I hope she turns out just like Laura, because she was truly an amazing person who deserved so much better than to be written off as just another dead tribute. But there's something else about Laura that I want to talk about today." He turned to a burly Peacekeeper standing by the side of the stage who was far too busy ogling at some young females in the crowd to be paying much attention to Jotham. "Catullus." Catullus's head swivelled to face Jotham, a scowl on his face upon the mere mention of his name. "You spent years defiling young girls trying to make a living here in Wichita. Laura knew right off the bat that you were a monster, and today, I want all of Panem to know that you are guilty of raping and grooming no less than two hundred and fifty girls who have come under your employment over the years."

He felt someone slip a piece of paper into his hand. "Read it," Laurel's voice whispered. "It's the proof we need."

Jotham obliged and began to read out its contents. "I have here several photos that Gwen and Laurel have, over the years, collected in order to mount a case against you." Jotham winced, diverting his gaze from the crude pictures, which he showed to the cameras, partly because he wanted them out of his sight as soon as possible. "Here, all of Panem can see what you have done. You might think that you are invincible, but when the people in the Capitol see this, you aren't going to have your job for very long, I can assure you of that."

Catullus snarled and to Jotham's horror, leaped onto the stage.

Uh oh, Jotham thought. Is this really how I go, in front of the cameras by some psycho lunatic?

His hands lunged at Jotham, but before he could touch him, out of almost nowhere, a large rolling pin came soaring through the air, knocking him out cold. Jotham gasped, stepping away from the unconscious figure of Catullus. He glanced back at the Victors from Nine, where Laurel sat with a satisfied smirk on her face. "See, Gwen?" she murmured triumphantly. "I told you that would come in handy one day."

Jotham had to resist the urge to laugh. Mare would certainly approve of Laurel's unorthodox tactics, that was for sure. But he still had a few more things left to say to the gathered crowd. "To the Ackerman family, I told Gwen about Sunset's, uhm, situation. She's going to get all the help she needs. Plus, Gwen wants an assistant for some little projects she's doing. And I know for a fact that she'll pay Sunset and Sod very well, so you never have to worry about food being an issue ever again."

Then, he turned to Totlen's much larger clan. Totlen's parents, grandmother and six siblings were all crammed into a platform clearly meant for a smaller family unit, all of them staring coldly at Jotham. He understood their emotions, he was partly responsible for their loved one's demise by the sheer fact that he had won the Games and Totlen hadn't. His mere presence served as a reminder of that reality. "Totlen's biggest wish was to be accepted for who he truly was," Jotham said, not to Totlen's family, but to the crowd, some of whom were already beginning to roll their eyes. "He saw himself as an outsider in some ways and felt people would think badly of him if he revealed his true self. I think that's something everyone can work on, Totlen was a brilliant, creative soul, and all he ever wanted was acceptance. If we couldn't even afford him that, well, that's just a shame, really. He was also really worried about his parents and well, wanted nothing more than for them to be proud of him, regardless of who he is. And I hope that he will leave behind a legacy of love and unity within this proud District. I don't think there's much else I could give or say to you to ease your sorrows, but Gwen told me about some designs Totlen was drawing in the Capitol, and I've made some scarved out of them. They're probably bad but I hope you like them nonetheless."

Most of Totlen's family were still scowling at him, but Totlen's grandmother seemed to soften a little, giving Jotham an understanding nod of the head. Thank you, she mouthed.

At the banquet, Jotham spent most of his time in a quiet section of the Justice Building with Gwen and Amaranth, discussing the rebellion and District Fourteen's plans. It took them a few tries to really drill the idea of a bunch of cabins in a frosty tundra being the engine of the revolution, but eventually, Jotham understood how Fourteen's isolation grew to be in their favour.

"We haven't heard from Fourteen in months," Gwen admitted. "Even Haymitch isn't able to get a word out of them. And District Four, well, they've seceded now and their main contact lines with Fourteen are a little frayed, so they haven't been able to get through to them either."

"Maybe they're just really busy?" Jotham offered.

"Perhaps," Gwen mused, though she didn't sound very sure at all. She also told him about the Victors involved with Fourteen's plans. "Nearly all of us are in on it, except for Draco, obviously, Freya, Julia, Hercules, Brutus, Flash and Miller. Some of us are also in on District Thirteen's plans, although they've been on-and-off when it comes to keeping close contact with us lately, which is extremely frustrating but oh well, at least Atom Huang isn't pushing us to do a bunch of stuff like his predecessors did."

After a while, Jotham left the room to rejoin the banquet, albeit reluctantly so. He wanted to spend more time with Gwen, but she promised they would be in touch soon enough. When Jotham went for a bathroom break, however, someone grabbed his shoulder. Half-expecting it to be Catullus, he whirled around, balling his fists, not willing to go down without a fight.

Instead, it was a pair of women with thick makeup, likely of Capitol origin.

Except, these weren't Capitolites.

They were Taylen Millet, Totlen's younger sister, and Quincy Millet, Totlen's grandmother, both dressed in outrageously flamboyant makeup like something out of Capitol Couture. "Surprised to see us, aren't you?" Grandma Quin chuckled.

"What are you doing here?" Jotham hissed as he desperately checked to make sure no one was around to overhear their conversation.

"It's not like I appreciated the thought of dressing up like this," Taylen snorted, gagging as she examined the fabrics of her neon dress. "Ugh, this is so not my style."

"I've seen how you've treated the families of the tributes with a lot more respect than most Victors," Grandma Quin noted. "I don't think Marie, Kimi or Haymitch even remembered the names of the tributes from District Nine, let alone bother to learn more about their backgrounds. You're different, Jotham, but I suppose you've heard that a million times already." She fished out a pair of colourful gloves and handed it to him. "Jullianna and I made this the other day, it's inspired by one of Totlen's old sketches." The gloves were woven with intricate patterns and designs that seemed to almost come to life. As Jotham examined the gloves, his heart nearly skipped a beat as in the bottom corner, he found three small figures staring off into a golden sunset.

His alliance.

"Th-thank you," Jotham stammered, clutching the gloves close to his chest.

"Oh, and I hear you like the good old 'fuck the Capitol' stuff, eh?" Taylen said nonchalantly.

Grandma Quin hastily shushed her. "A little softer when discussing that, please," she begged.

Taylen rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Anyway, here, have this." She tossed him a cerulean pendant, one Jotham barely managed to catch. "This one's from District Ten, got it from some dude named Joseph Pravda or whatever in the tunnels. It's the rebel symbol for District Ten among the common folk. Anyone who's in on the action will recognise it and you might find yourself having access to some sweet little spots."

Jotham's eyes shimmered with delight. This stop in District Nine had gone absolutely perfect.

—-

The train was approaching further north than he'd expected, which was strange because according to the maps of Panem he'd seen on the train, this wasn't the direction to District Eight. John hadn't given him his usual briefing on Ceri and Levi's personal histories either, which was equally strange because they'd spent the last couple of days on the rails and were due to arrive in Memphis soon, yet as far as he was concerned, he knew next to nothing about Levi apart from the fact that he had a little sister and potentially a girlfriend or a crush. But those nuggets of information had been mixed in with some unnecessary commentary from Ceri, so he took them with a large grain of salt.

Then, the announcement came that due to 'unforeseen saboteur activities' in District Eight, they would have to temporarily skip the District and postpone his visit until the end of his Victory Tour. Jotham's mind immediately returned to Trish's words and how she'd promised he would be able to go through the other Districts before having to go to Eight.

Thank you, Trish.

He didn't know what strings she'd pulled, but evidently, her plans had worked, though Jotham sincerely hoped no one was getting executed for these 'saboteur activities'.

After another three days' worth of travel due to heavy snowfall, they finally reached Vancouver, the mostly wood-based settlement surrounded by thick swathes of forestry. Thick, imposing peaks loomed in the distance as fog swirled around Jotham even as he stepped onto the train station, creating a mystical aura around the haunting town. The mayor, Elowen Nguyen, barely even acknowledged he was even there, grunting the minute she saw him and trudged off into the snow, her hands firmly in her pockets. Jotham knit his eyebrows. Why would she of all people have a grudge with him? He didn't even touch either of District Seven's tributes and he certainly hadn't done anything to provoke the people of Seven.

"Don't worry, she's just always in a bad mood," a young man by the name of Euan Dearing assured him, guiding him to the stage propped up in front of the Justice was a small orchestra gathered to perform when he got up the stage, though they didn't look very enthusiastic about it. The music that echoed from their instruments was more akin to a funeral hymn than a celebratory tune. Jotham began his speech as usual, then turned to face the families of the deceased tributes, neither of whom he really knew much about, but he still had to try and ease their pain.

He had his work cut out for him though, because on Omega's platform stood two girls, neither of whom looked anything like Omega. From John's briefing, he knew them to be Ashley and Amanda, Omega's best friends. Her parents, who John presumed had been arrested and quietly executed after Omega's revelation of their abusive nature, were nowhere to be seen. At the very least, Jotham didn't need to comfort a crying parent, and both Amanda and Ashley seemed oddly calm about the whole thing, which made things a lot easier emotionally for Jotham. "I didn't know Omega very well, but even I could tell she was a joy to be around and a fantastic friend to all those who knew her. She went through some rough times in her childhood, but she came out of the experience with an optimistic, cheerful heart, which speaks volumes about her character. I don't have much to offer to either of you, but I do have some bows and arrows from the Capitol that I want to give you, I suppose as a reminder of Omega's love for archery and hunting."

Amanda smiled a little at that, and let out a high-pitched whistle. "That's how people thank each other while out in the woods," Jill leaned over and explained.

Jotham turned to Kieran's platform, where his foster parents and boyfriend stood, hugging each other as they exchanged grim looks. "As for Kieran, what can I say? I think there was a sweet, loving side to him that we never really got to see, but those who knew Kieran, they knew that despite his sorrows, he was always committed to trying his best. He might not show it very often, but he did love all three of you, and I've brought with me that cello Kieran played while in the Capitol, which Caesar has very kindly given to me to bring to you. I hope it will serve as a good reminder of his musical talents and the boy he truly was underneath his tough exterior."

There were a few polite claps here and there, but District Seven weren't all too moved by his words, as he'd expected. As he got ready to leave the stage though, something weird occurred. A loud trumpet sound blared right into his ear and Jotham nearly leapt out of his skin, stumbling backwards in shock.

"What the-" he yelped, pressing a hand to cover his now ringing ears as behind him, Olive Sanchez flashed him a mischievous smile, a golden trumpet brazenly hidden behind her back.

Now that got a few laughs from the people of District Seven. Right behind Olive, the apparition of Ceri appeared once more, flashing him a sly smirk.

"You really fell for that shit?"

"Oh, shut up, Ceri," Jotham murmured as he stalked off the stage.

—-

The first thing that caught Jotham's attention as he stumbled onto the train platform in Winnipeg was the acrid stench of pollution that hit his nose like a speeding truck. He blinked, trying to see through the thick blanket of haze that hung over the city. Unlike in the other Districts, the mayor wasn't there to escort him. Instead, a middle-aged woman named Jordyn Enekini had been assigned to drive him to the Justice Building, which, unlike in the earlier Districts, was a pretty long drive away from the train station. As Jotham stared out the window, taking in the urban brutalist landscape of District Six, he caught glimpses of people being hurried through the streets, their faces obscured by scarves and thick masks in a feeble attempt to filter out the thick smog. Some tumbled to the ground while giggling uncontrollably, clearly under the influence of some substances, before being prodded along by some exasperated-looking Peacekeepers. Tall towers of housing units loomed like sentinels in the haze, towering to such a great height Jotham doubted even the Capitol's skyscrapers were as tall as these colossal giants. Large platforms of concrete jutted out from several floors, while other floors had large holes blasted through them, creating an unstable topsy-turvy tower of housing flats stacked haphazardly on top of one another.

"This is how we live," Jordyn remarked with a sigh. "There are whole functioning communities in those buildings. Shops, apothecaries, schools, you name it. It's where the drug trade rules supreme."

"Fucking Capitol, eh?"

Jotham nearly jumped in fright, which would've been disastrous since the car's roof was mere millimetres from his head. Ceri was standing right outside the car, pointing a rude finger at a group of short men with knives in their belts. Then, as quickly as she'd appeared, she was gone.

The car turned a bend, and in the distance, Jotham could see a vast plain, filled to the brim with low-lying slum houses, all covered in a fresh coating of dirt and mud. "That's the other section of the slum areas. That place is ruled by rogue Peacekeepers and drug kingpins. It's a living nightmare to be there," Jordyn commented with a shudder. Jotham grimaced, his eyes peeled at the horrific conditions of District Six's houses. No wonder Ashton had fought so hard for political change, there was no way anyone with a shroud of sanity could believe this was a humane way to live. As the car crossed over a bumpy bridge, the urban landscape changed once more, and the houses became a lot nicer-looking, though some were still rather run-down. There were a few large factories sending bellows of smoke into the dark grey skies and somewhere behind a row of buildings Jotham spotted one of District Six's famous racetracks, where the likes of Ford Hamilton had claimed their fame. Truth be told, the contrast between these neighbourhoods and the slums in the east was truly a sight to behold and Jotham wondered how the Capitol would just leave this District to rot away like this. Then again, he'd seen some awfully shocking things so far, this didn't surprise him that much anymore. He was at least grateful that District Ten's living conditions were almost paradisical compared to that of District Six, which were a crime against humanity.

At long last, they reached the stage, and Jotham noticed how there were people handing out free morphling syringes to some members of the crowd. He could hardly wrap his head around that and as he looked at their faces, he could feel his legs tremble. They were so pale, so ashen-looking, it was horrifying. Zombified beings, walking corpses whose eyes lingered but did not see, whose ears listened but did not hear, whose minds raced but did not think. In the distance, beneath a cloud of smoke, he could just make out the platforms with the families. "Ashton fought for what he knew was good and right and I'm sure that had he not entered the Games, he would have made a fine mayor. He wanted this District to come together as one and there has been some progress on that, but I've been given an impromptu tour of the District and I think there's still so much more we can do. So, with the help of District Six's Victors, I will sponsor the construction of drug rehabilitation centres here in District Six, all with my own money, of course. That should help to clean the east side up a little bit and foster integration between the two sides."

There was a low growl from the crowd and a muscular man with tattoos all over his face gave him the middle finger. A drug kingpin, no doubt, he'd been one of the guys coordinating the distribution of the morphling syringes earlier on. "Bugger off!" he shouted.

Jotham couldn't help but smirk at that. "I've also decided to lobby some of my, ah, connections, to impose harsher punishments for the kingpins and gang leaders that seek to terrorise the people here. So expect some changes around here. This was all part of Ashton's plan, by the way, and I want to end off this bit by asking that you all vote for Trent Fekyu in the next mayoral elections," he added, remembering that District Six was one of the few Districts that had a vote on their mayor, though the final winner was often predetermined by the Capitol. He also wasn't going to let a bunch of Peacekeepers come in and brutalise Winnipeg when he mentioned harsher punishments. John had simply told him that Fourteen's salami tactics within the Peacekeeper hierarchy had allowed some benign ones friendly to the rebel cause to rise through the ranks in District Two, and these guys would be sent here to help rid District Six of their deep-rooted afflictions. In the distance, Jotham had to squint, but he could just about make out Trent Fekyu, Ashton's father, give him a silent salute.

"And of course, let's not forget about Esma," Jotham continued. "She believed strongly in women's rights and did all she could to prove that girls could indeed be just as strong and capable as boys. She was an excellent pilot too and was just all-around the definition of a cool person. I didn't know her very well, but I was always warned to watch out for her during the training sessions, which highlights just how capable she really was. And I think it's only fair that she gets a bit of closure here in Winnipeg, because there is one person who hated her, and that was Tyde Holmes." There was a groan from somewhere in the crowd and Jotham knew his message was getting across well. "Esma knew that Tyde was a hardcore misogynist guilty of assaulting several girls, including Ashton's friend Grenna. And I have it on good accord that there will be more than a few people coming forward to testify in the next couple of days. So buckle up, Tyde, Esma's getting the last laugh here."

There was a small cheer from the sober members of the crowd as a young man was dragged away kicking and screaming by several Peacekeepers, shouting a whole host of profanities in Jotham's direction.

"And Parker," Jotham went on, addressing Esma's brother, who stood awkwardly behind his father on the platform, shying away from the attention suddenly beamed upon him. "Esma knew you were a great artist and I can help you get some of your works published in the Capitol. You'll finally get the recognition you deserve."

Parker's face instantly lit up at that and his brothers reached out to pat him on the shoulder. As Jotham finished his speech and returned to Jordyn's car, he held a triumphant smile on his face, hoping that somewhere, Ashton and Esma were watching, laughing and sharing a high-five as Peacekeepers began to storm the crowd, dragging away several burly men and women who Jotham figured were rogue lords trying to spread their nasty tentacles across the poor folk of District Six.

—-

Jotham didn't know what to expect when he arrived in Las Vegas, but a subtle threat from last year's Victor likely wasn't it. As the mayor, Seolta Cereg, led him out of the train station, he caught a glimpse of a young girl who looked about his age perched on a bench, a crushed scrap of paper in her hand as she glared at him. She raised a finger to her throat and made a slitting gesture. By this point, Jotham wondered how much longer he could go into this Victory Tour without getting himself killed, considering how many people he'd already encountered. But this time, knowing full well what Marie was capable of, he was almost certain this would be it. He couldn't figure out what he'd done to Marie though, he'd been more than respectful whenever he'd come across Persey and Alea in the Tribute Centre. Yet, it seemed like everyone was itching to meet him and Marie was no different, though he doubted she intended to give him a hand-knitted pair of gloves.

"She's just a jealous twat," came Ceri's voice, emerging from a flash of brown hair in a far-flung corner of the station. 'Just get on with your stuff and ignore the fuck outta her."

He carried out his speech dutifully, all too aware that Marie and another Victor, Porter Tripp, were still giving him the evil eye. Half-expecting them to stab him in the back while he wasn't looking, he practically sped through his speech, wanting nothing more than to just get to the eulogies. If anyone did anything to him while he was reading that bit out, it wasn't going to be a good look.

"Persey was undeniably the funniest tribute around," Jotham recalled. "He had an unhealthy obsession with puns that, in the darkest of hours, could light up anyone's mood. Persey might seem like a clumsy, socially awkward kid to those who only met him once in a while, but he was so much more than that. His puzzle-solving abilities served him well in the arena and I think he owes that piece of skill to the time spent with his best friend Stacy, who was one of the few people who took the time to really get to know him well, and I'm sure she has only positive things to say about her time spent with Persey." He turned his attention to a girl on Persey's platform, a sheepish grin on her face as she nodded for him to continue. "Persey had tons of great ideas to spruce things up here in Las Vegas, and if push comes to shove, I'll personally fund the construction of some of his projects. He was a brilliant engineer and deserves to be remembered as such."

There were some cheers from the crowd, though most looked dully ahead. Engineers came and went here in District Five, Jotham wasn't surprised they weren't all too impressed by some little kid's pet projects. Stacy, though, looked absolutely delighted, grinning from ear to ear. She mouthed something to Jotham, who squinted, trying his best to make out what she was trying to tell him. "And, uhm, the fountains?" he guessed.

This drew a lot more attention from the crowd, who began murmuring amongst themselves, suddenly interested in Persey's ideas. Jotham had no idea what Stacy was referring to, but if it got people talking, then he figured it must be something good.

"And now, Alea," he continued, turning to the lone girl on Alea's side of the platforms. He'd been informed that Alea was a lone orphan whose primary source of company was her best friend Jera. Again, it made things a little easier for Jotham knowing that he wouldn't have to look into the eyes of a parent whose child had been killed while he got to live on. "I think Alea was always a wildcard, no one really knew what her plans were. But that was what made her so interesting, the intrigue behind the reclusive girl captivated everyone, though I'm sure here she's better known for her hard work and dedication. She rose through the ranks at a tender age and had she lived on, would've gone on to do incredible things with her life. And she also loved donating to the less fortunate here in Las Vegas, which shows a side of her that the Capitol never saw: her true kindness. So, in honour of her feats, I want to donate a portion of my own Victor stipend to support Jera's charitable causes. I'm sure she'll continue Alea's legacy in supporting the young girls here in Las Vegas in their pursuit of a scientific career."

There was an audibly louder cheer from the crowd this time, probably because Alea was a much more popular figure within District Five. And Jotham was just grateful the people here didn't seem to have any sort of grudge against him.

Except, of course, Marie.

The instant Jotham was left alone in the banquet hall, Marie grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, a furious glare striking cold, electric fear through him. "You weren't supposed to win," she muttered, soft enough so people couldn't hear her. "Alea was supposed to come out of the arena and lead the revolution here in District Five. She had the skills and the reputation to do it. But then you came along and ruined it all."

"Hey, knock it off, will you?" Mare growled, brushing Marie aside and pulling Jotham away from her.

Marie didn't look fazed by Mare's sudden entry into the conversation. She crossed her arms, her lips curling in disgust. "You're not getting any favours from me, Jotham," she called after him. "I don't care that you and Alea never bumped into each other in the arena, maybe if you'd just died earlier on, somehow, she would still be alive right now." She pulled out a pencil, and Jotham could feel his chest pounding in terror. This was the same type of pencil she'd used to stab her ally Morwenna to death in one of the most gruesome death scenes Jotham had ever seen in the Hunger Games. "If you ever cross my path again, you'll find this beauty stuck in your chest."

—-

District Four was skipped entirely for obvious reasons, though Jotham noticed that the seafaring former District remained on the train's maps of Panem. Perhaps the Capitol had yet to relinquish its claims on the territory and still, officially at least, regarded it as nothing more than a rogue separatist state. Of course, the reality was far from that. District Four had barricaded themselves away from Panem and was a fully functioning republic of its own, at least according to Gwen. Jotham wondered if there would be another secession movement on the rise soon, perhaps one in District Ten. Yet, despite his hatred against the Capitol, he wasn't sure he wanted to go down Four's route of totally breaking away from Panem. He wanted freedom, but he also wanted to remain part of Panem. He couldn't really explain why, it just felt a lot more familiar and safe than roughing it out independently. Plus, he'd met plenty of cool people from the other Districts thus far, and he started to yearn more for an interconnected Panem, not a divided one.

Soon, their train reached Detroit, District Three's sprawling urban jungle of a capital city. The air was thick with the scent of exhaust and decay, mingling with the distant hum of generators and machinery. The city itself stretched out like a tangled maze of concrete and steel, with several chunks of advanced technologies Jotham didn't quite recognise scattered among them. He was greeted on the platform by a middle-aged woman who looked oddly similar to Gadget Schroeder. The woman noticed his confusion and laughed softly. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm Delphi Schroeder, Gadget's my sister." She gave him a small hug, then whispered into his ear, "I know it isn't easy being a Victor. But you've got support everywhere you go. My sister and I are on your side." She gave him a knowing wink, pulling out a small cerulean pendant hidden within her shirt.

Jotham's mouth fell open, stunned by the realisation that Delphi was yet another mayor involved in the plans to fight the Capitol. "So, you're…" he muttered.

Delphi put a hand on his shoulder and began to guide him to the Justice Building. "Yep," she confirmed. "A whole bunch of us are here in Three."

Once up on the stage, Jotham scanned the sea of faces, trying to gauge the mood. Thankfully, the people of District Three didn't seem to hate him, save for a few disgruntled scowls here and there. Jotham's eyes fell on the screens in the distance, where Ithaca's face was plastered clearly for him to see. He grimaced, his head suddenly swirling at the sight of her deep eyes boring into his soul. The memory of Ithaca being blown up into smithereens was still fresh in his mind, the face of a girl who'd come so close to coming home lingering in the depths of his consciousness. And he was well aware that Ithaca's family didn't even have a body to mourn over, they'd been given an empty coffin with nothing more than a few scrapes and bits of what might have once been part of Ithaca's body.

It just felt so awfully wrong.

Once he'd finished the lines on his cue cards, he addressed Ithaca's family, trying his best to maintain eye contact. "Ithaca was one of District Three's finest scholars. She devoured knowledge everywhere she went and craved enlightenment. Her wits and quick thinking got her really far into the Games and District Three can be very proud of her. And the cruel circumstances of her death still torments me to this day. So, with that in mind, I want to help her family. One of Ithaca's biggest joys was spending time with her little sister Taylor and I know she wanted Taylor to grow up and be even smarter than she was. With that end in mind, I want to help pay for all her school fees to make sure she gets the absolute best education possible. And if she ever wants anything academic-related, I'll help pay for it. Not directly, but I'll do it through Nikola and Gadget. And her older brother Knox, who is currently a researcher himself, well, I know funding for your work has dried up at times, so I'll personally offer to fund all your subsequent work."

It might have been his eyes playing tricks on him, but Jotham could almost picture the digital picture of Ithaca cracking a smile.

"Coda, on the other hand, wouldn't settle for anything that didn't pack a punch," Jotham went on. "He was an adrenaline junkie who refused to sit still and be a normal kid. I'm pretty sure he's wandered through the entire Tribute Centre and would've made it onto the streets of the Capitol if he'd been given more time. Incredibly smart and gifted in many ways, he actively tried to take out his opposition and didn't want to just run and hide. I think that's incredibly brave and Coda deserves to be remembered for his good qualities. So, Mira," Jotham turned to face Coda's little sister, who was sniffling into a tiny handkerchief. "I can't bring your brother back, but I know just how much he loved you and wanted to protect you from bullies at school. I also know he was eyeing a pretty cool-looking dagger in one of the shops before he went into the arena. So, I'll get the cash and ask Nikola to buy it for you. That should make people think twice before they mess with Mira Jenkins."

Mira let out a squeal, then she clasped a hand over her mouth, but Jotham could see she was more than delighted by that.

"And one final thing before I go," Jotham suddenly remembered. "Neon." He turned to a small girl with dirty blonde hair standing meekly on the edge of the platform. "Coda loved you very much and before he went into the arena, wrote a love song for you. It's not usually his style, but I guess that shows how much he adored you. I'm sorry your relationship couldn't go any further." Neon gaped at him and an uncomfortable silence descended upon them. Then, Jotham could only watch as a tear flowed down her cheek, her entire body shaking involuntarily as she fought back an incoming breakdown. Jotham took that as his cue to leave before he accidentally upset her even further. Quickening his pace, he followed Delphi into the Justice Building for the usual dreaded 'celebrations'.

Once the pleasantries were over, however, Delphi didn't lead him out of the usual exit of the Justice Building. Instead, she led him to a tiny door just behind her office that led into the streets of Detroit. Jotham frowned, a little confused, but Delphi was Gadget's sister and his mentors didn't seem to have a problem with her giving him an impromptu tour of the city. As far as he was concerned, Delphi wasn't about to strangle him in secret. She led him to a parked vehicle and he slipped into the backseat, hoping that whatever he had to show her, it was something to do with the rebellion. The windows were dark, so Jotham couldn't really see what they were driving past, but he could just barely make out an old factory in crumbling ruins as the car crossed a bumpy, poorly paved bridge.

"That's the old Ludwig Factory," Delphi told him. "Coda and Neon were sighted exploring that place right before the Reapings. People say it's haunted, but it makes for a good rendezvous spot for revolutionary activities."

The car screeched to a halt right beside a small, inconspicuous building, perched just a stone's throw away from the looming gates of a Peacekeeper barrack. Jotham shot Delphi a nervous look. "Uhm, you're not turning me in, are you?"

Delphi laughed. "No, follow me." She led him into the building and into its small cellar. She placed a magnet on the floor and unleashed a tiny trapdoor that Jotham could just about manage to squeeze through, all of a sudden concerned that this was a trap to have him cornered.

But as a row of lights flickered to life, Jotham realised he was standing in the midst of a vast, underground library. His eyes widened in wonder, as rows upon rows of books stretched out further than the eye could see, engulfing the room with the strangely comforting scent of ancient parchment and leather bindings. "This right here is the Ruby Archives," Delphi told him. "No real connection to Ruby Ashgrove, of course. Ithaca loved this place because it contains tons of lost, ancient knowledge of the world we live in. The Capitol hates it because, well, they don't want us to know things. But I thought you might want to take a look at some of the stuff on show here. It's a staple of District Three's anti-Capitol folk."

Jotham's fingers brushed against the weathered tomes that lined the shelves, his footsteps echoing softly as he made his way through maps, charts, encyclopedias that dated back to over a millennium ago. One such map was that of a small island that Jotham didn't recognise, with a large star on its north-western shore marked with 'Castries'. It was battered, worn out from years of neglect, yet here it was, standing the test of time and Capitol rule, on display for all to marvel at.

In between a few of the books, Jotham thought he saw a hint of long, flowing brown hair, but he rubbed his eyes and the mirage was gone.

"What are you doing here?"

Jotham's head spun around to face Neon, who'd emerged from behind one of the shelves and had her arms crossed with a large scowl plastered on her face. Her eyes were puffy and red, her feet trembling as she tried to front a brave face.

"I'm just exploring," he said quickly, not wanting to raise any suspicions with Neon, who, despite being shorter than him, looked a little more muscular and could probably put up a fight. "Delphi's showing me around."

"Chill out, Neon," came another voice, this time that of an older girl with dark brown skin. Her lips quirked intriguingly like she was laughing inwardly to herself. The girl gave him a warm smile. "Greetings, Jotham. Or, how do they say it in District Ten, howdy, partner?" She flashed him a finger gun, grinning broadly.

Neon groaned. "Bernadette, this isn't the time for jokes, he's intruding on our library!"

"Dude, relax," Bernadette told Neon. "He didn't rub our losses in our faces and he seems like a nice kid. Let him be, if he tries anything funny, I'm sure I can pull an Ithaca and debate him so hard my voice will be ringing in his head like that one stupid advertisement President Snow was featured in back in the day!"

Jotham raised an eyebrow. "Wait, you guys have televisions?"

Neon nodded. "Yeah, when Wiress won some years back, it was a free treat for everyone. Why, don't you have one?"

"Well, I have one now but no one else in Ten really has access to one," Jotham told her.

Neon scoffed. "Huh, the Capitol trying to restrict the flow of information. Doesn't surprise me." Her expression softened and she let out a wistful sigh. "Fine, come on, I'll show you around. But if you lag behind and get lost, don't expect me to come sweeping up your skeleton."

—-

The thought of going to District Two terrified Jotham. Not just because he was almost a hundred percent certain the people wanted to crucify him for ruining their chances at glory that year, but also because he would have to face Mia's little sister Alyaa.

The girl who had to witness her sister die to save him.

Jotham gritted his teeth as the train screeched to a halt. It was a mercifully foggy morning and he couldn't see the faces that were undoubtedly glaring at him from outside the train windows. Towering peaks loomed above him as he meekly stepped out of his carriage, though this time he noticed that Mare was sticking like glue to him, her face wrinkled with worry.

And soon, Jotham could see why.

Draco Hadley marched towards them, his lips curled into a tight sneer, revealing a flash of crooked, yellow teeth. Age may have taken its toll on him, but he still exuded a primal aura of dominance, forcing Jotham to shrink back into himself at the sight of his muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his tailored suit. His eyes were menacing, wild like that of a madman as they peered at Jotham, sending a chill down his spine.

"Stick with me," Mare whispered. "I'll make sure he doesn't touch you."

"They're waiting," Draco leered. "And they're hungry for some fresh meat." Draco gnashed his teeth, hoisting a can of beer into the air and flinging it in Jotham's direction. Jotham yelped, just barely managing to dodge the flying projectile. Mare shot Draco a dirty look, but even she was powerless against his absolute authority. "Scared of a little beer can, punk? Oh, trust me, you'll have plenty more reasons to be scared once I'm through with you. Go out there, Mia's sister is waiting for you. Remember her, Mia? That slimy little git who threw her life away from you? Aww, wasn't it delightful when the life was stabbed out of her right in front of your measly little eyes?"

Jotham's ears started to ring and he desperately wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and block out Draco's taunts. But he knew that would only make things even worse in the long run.

"Hurry up and get it over with," Mare snarled.

"Sure thing, Miss Murderer," Draco told her in a singsong voice. "Right this way, and remember, don't trip on any steps. Don't want you ending up impaled on some puny little arrow like your girlfriend!"

Jotham took a deep, calming breath, trying to keep his cool in the face of the harbinger of his nightmares.

As he'd expected, he was immediately greeted by a cacophony of jeers the minute the citizens of Salt Lake City caught sight of him. Jotham winced as a few attempted to charge at him, flinging all sorts of items at the stage as they roared in protest. The Peacekeepers were trying to hold them back, but Jotham could tell by the dirty looks they were giving him that if they could, they would let this crowd rip him to shreds.

Jotham gulped as he fumbled with his microphone, trying to regain his composure as he delivered his lines, though his voice was all but drowned out by the boos and insults thrown at him.

"Now, I want to say a few words about, erm, the tributes, starting with Mia," Jotham shouted out, hoping to ease the crowd's fury so that he could get his message across to Alyaa, who Jotham couldn't really see very clearly amidst the gigantic banners hoisted into the air, depicting his face getting trodden on by Career tributes of yesteryear. "Mia, she-"

"Screw that traitor!" someone in the crowd roared.

"She got what she deserved!" another screamed.

"She besmirched our honour!" a third bellowed.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Jotham could hear Ceri's voice groan. He glanced around, and there she was, standing among the group of Peacekeepers in the audience, tapping her foot impatiently. He blinked, and she was gone.

Just then, as Jotham contemplated giving up and trying to directly locate Alyaa and Maximon's family to have a private word with them, there was a loud rustle behind him. And then, Lyme Sveinsson, one of District Two's most reclusive of Victors, was by his side, hands on her hips. glaring daggers at the audience. Jotham had barely even noticed she was there beforehand, he'd scarcely even remembered anything about her. Yet, in the true spirit of Mia herself, here Lyme was, willing to defend Jotham against her own people. "Oi!" she howled, not even needing the microphone for the whole District to hear her. "Shut up or I will personally sucker punch every single one of you who even so much as makes a sound while Jotham's talking!"

"Lyme, please," her Victor mother, Reyna, whispered pleadingly behind her, not loud enough for anyone else apart from the Victors on stage to hear, but just audible enough to convey the terror in her voice.

"You've been insufferable since the day you were born," Draco grumbled.

Lyme didn't seem to care about either of them. She continued to stare down each and every heckler among the citizens of Two until, at long last, an ear-splitting silence befell upon this rowdy District and all the banners were begrudgingly lowered.

Jotham finally got his first good look at Alyaa.

Her head was tilted to the ground and though her thick hair covered much of her face, Jotham was just able to make out her eyes, kept firmly shut as she swayed to and fro in a trance-like manner.

A pang of sympathy washed over him as the memory of Mia's final sacrifice washed all over him again. And as Alyaa finally afforded him a quick glance, he could see Mia's eyes in hers, that same compassionate look that had made her so different from virtually every other tribute District Two had ever produced, bar Reyna. Jotham couldn't bear to look at her, fearing that he would burst into tears in front of Draco, sentencing him to a life of utter ridicule.

"I don't know why Mia sacrificed her life for me," Jotham admitted. "But one thing's for sure, she was not a disgrace to District Two." He heard a few groans and grumbles at that, but Lyme stomped her foot and the dissent quickly died down. "She fought bravely and stuck to her values, even when she knew they would likely put her in danger. I think that even though she isn't your typical Career girl, she still showed all the bravery and dignity one would expect from a District Two female tribute. Not to mention, she could've easily descended into madness like Tamsin did. She could've easily started seeing red like Alder and I did. She could've easily fallen into the arena's mental traps like Omega did. But through thick and thin, she knew only one thing was certain: she chose to be kind." Jotham forced himself to return his attention to Alyaa, whose back was now turned to Jotham. "As an orphan, Mia understood the plight of those in need more than anyone else. And everything she did, she did with her beloved sister in mind. I know it's not going to be easy dealing with her loss, and I know she was also the main breadwinner around, so Alyaa, I promise to help you out financially. And uhh, I'll give you a lifetime supply of orange juice, I guess?"

There was some modest clapping, not from the audience of course, rather, from some of the Victors. Brutus tapped his chin thoughtfully, seemingly deep in thought. Finally, he murmured, "Could start a charity on her behalf as well."

"That's a great idea," Jotham agreed. "She wasn't content with sitting on her laurels, she wanted to pass kindness along to those who needed it the most. I will personally sponsor a charity named after Mia here in District Two. No orphan should ever be forced into a life of trauma and misery for the mistakes of others."

He tried to glance once again at Alyaa, half-hoping she would give him an appreciative smile or anything, really. But no, she wasn't even looking in his direction, her hair concealing all hints of her expressions.

Jotham sighed, but there was one more grieving family in this District. He turned to Maximon's family, which comprised of his parents and five huge, burly Peacekeepers, probably Maximon's older brothers. Some of Maximon's brothers looked a little bored, yawning as they murmured amongst themselves, their father desperately trying to shush them. Jotham grimaced. He wasn't sure they even cared about Maximon, which honestly explained a lot about his character. "Maximon might've been seen as a traitor as well, but he was doing whatever it took to survive. He played the game and I don't fault him for it. We've seen plenty of others do the same, Calico, Iris and Marie all did it and they're seen as heroes because they were successful. Maximon might not have been the best person around, but he was just one of us, a tribute caught up in the ebb and flow of the Games." Jotham turned to Mrs Vulcan, standing quietly on the edge of the platform, red blotches aross her face as she tried to mask her tears. "Mrs Vulcan, your son did well in the arena and I'm sorry for your loss. The same offer I gave to Alyaa extends to you as well. If you ever need anything, I'll be more than happy to provide it for you, I have the finances to do it, after all."

Mrs Vulcan smiled, gratitude shining in her eyes. Perhaps there was at least one person in this District who wasn't out for his blood.

Jotham was then led into the Justice Building, where a lavish though albeit sombre banquet had been prepared. Mare and John made sure to stand close to him at all times, keeping a watchful eye on Draco. Jotham wasn't certain Draco would be that much of a concern, given the fact that he was having a drinking contest with some of the wealthy socialites from the Capitol and was about to pass out soon enough.

"He's extremely unpredictable," John warned. "One minute he could be out cold snoring on the sofa, and the next he's got his hands on you with that ugly sneer on his face."

Jotham shuddered as he tried to keep a healthy distance between him and Draco's cronies, hoping to blend in within the crowd and just maintain a low profile.

Some of the other District Two Victors greeted him with varying degrees of politeness. Brutus and Hercules shook his hand, offering a few tips on how to survive the Capitol's raunchy party attitudes. Scipio tossed him a chocolate bar, claiming it was really effective for relaxing nerves. Jotham tried it, and though he didn't feel like he had much inner piece, the chocolate was still awfully delicious. Ragnar and Reyna exchanged warm embraces with him and Reyna even gave him a small handmade wooden figurine of him, which Jotham felt a little embarrassed by. The thought of putting a miniature-sized version of his likeness by his bedside to watch over him as he slept felt more than a little unnerving, but he had to admit that it was uncanny in its similarities to the real Jotham. Julia marched up to him, declared that he was a racial impurity that needed to be eradicated and launched into a tirade about half a dozen things Jotham didn't really understand but were more than likely extremely offensive.

Lyme was the friendliest of the bunch, inviting him to a game of chess with her twin sister Blenda. While Blenda wasn't a Victor, Lyme explained in a hushed voice that she was very much involved in the usual Victor proceedings, especially when District Fourteen was involved.

"You're really good at this," Blenda mused, giggling as she moved her bishop right into the line of fire of Jotham's rook.

"Yeah, I've had plenty of practice," Jotham replied, knocking her martyred bishop aside with a triumphant grin. "Checkmate."

Blenda threw her hands up, winking playfully at Jotham. "I've never been beaten by anyone, congratulations Jo, you're one of a kind."

After the impromptu chess match, Jotham excused himself to use the bathroom. John tried to follow him, but Jotham politely declined, pointing out that it was only a couple of steps away from the main banquet hall and Draco likely wasn't going to sneak up on him there while he was still down for the count.

Once again though, Jotham realised all too late that he was foolish to think Draco was the only threat around.

Before he could react, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his neck, sending him flying into the wall with a crushing bang! Jotham groaned, gasping for air as the hands tightened around his neck, cutting off his air supply. Startled, he kicked frantically, trying to let out a scream of alarm as he struggled against his unseen assailant. Panic surged through him, his heart pounding against his chest like a drumbeat of terror.

"We meet at last, Jotham," a girl's voice whispered in his ear.

"Who-" Jotham choked, trying to push the girl off him but she was too strong. A knife materialised, pointing straight at Jotham's throat. Jotham's body instantly slackened as the blade drew closer, deciding that whatever his assailant wanted, it was better to go along with it than risk instant death.

"My sister is dead because of you," the girl hissed. Jotham's blood ran cold as realisation washed upon him.

"Alyaa-" he gasped, desperation clawing at his chest. His vision blurred as the lack of oxygen began to take its toll. "I-"

"Your money doesn't mean anything to me," Alyaa snarled. "It won't bring her back. I've waited six months for this and now, you're getting an express ticket straight to Mia, and I'm sure she'll be more than happy to deal with you once you're up there."

"No!" Jotham managed. "Mia, she-"

"Don't mention her name!" Alyaa snapped. "You have no right to do so."

Jotham could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. In a final, do-or-die roll of the dice, he eeked out, "Mel."

Alyaa frowned. "What?" Slowly, she began to loosen her grip on Jotham. Jotham took a large gulp of air, trying to regain his senses.

"My sister. She died trying to save my life," he told her.

Alyaa rolled her eyes. "So, everyone's just falling over to save you, huh? Plot armour much?"

Jotham shook his head. "I don't know why Mia fought Tamsin to save us. But my guess is that she saw you in Ceri and me. I lost both of my parents at a young age and Ceri lost her dad as a little kid too. You know your sister better than I do, she would never let a poor, defenceless kid who's already been through a lot suffer at the hands of a bully or an attacker. I may never fully understand her actions, but I think she was also trying to set an example for you. She knew the cameras were watching and well, if you saw her ignoring someone in need, she couldn't accept that. Mia had a million reasons to leave us to die, but she chose to be kind. And I'll forever be grateful for that."

Alyaa lowered her knife, her eyes still perplexed, trying to take in Jotham's words. "I don't know what to say," she murmured.

"If I were you, I would never forgive me," Jotham confessed. "And you have no reason to do so. Mia was one-of-a-kind, and I'll never forgive myself for letting her die just like that."

There was a momentary silence as Jotham and Alyaa stared at each other. It was hard for Jotham to believe that Alyaa was the same age as him. Despite the initial compassionate poker face she'd tried to don when the cameras were rolling, Alyaa looked weary, her forehead splattered with creases of trauma and exhaustion. And as she turned to walk away, her footsteps echoing through the corridors, Jotham sensed she too was broken, torn to shreds by the whims of an arena she'd never stepped foot in.

"Everyone suffers," a soft, ghastly voice whispered in the wind. Jotham shoved his fingers into his ears, knowing full well this was nothing more than a hallucination. As Alyaa pulled herself into a tiny window to flee the Justice Building, Jotham trudged back to the dining hall, willing himself to stamp out the lingering voice of Mia in his head.

—-

When Jotham arrived in Billings, he'd been told that the city wasn't in great shape. District One as a whole was still reeling from the aftershocks of a massive uprising against the nobles that lorded over the lands, and despite the typical perceptions of One being a rich haven, it was anything but that right now. Sure enough, as Jotham was led through the streets by Paladin Montgomery, a haughty, pug-faced man no taller than Jotham himself, he could see the aftermath of the destruction plainly displayed on the ruined, desecrated streets of Billings. Bombed houses, walls covered in bullet holes, a steaming crater of what had once been a cemetery, Jotham was certain the Capitol left them there amidst the rebuilding process as a reminder of the consequences of rebellion. The grinning skulls of skeletons that had been bombed out of the former cemetery had landed haphazardly on the surrounding trees, draped in crumbling fabric, ghosts of a distant past that had resurfaced in District One's darkest hour.

"This is what happens to insolent fools who attempt to question our authority," Paladin declared with an inward chuckle. When they reached the stage in front of the Justice Building, Jotham got his first good look at the people of District One. They were covered from head to toe in scars, bruises and soot, all the hope drained from their faces. He noticed that all of them still bore the typical attractiveness of District One folk and despite their circumstances, still wore relatively fashionable clothes compared to the people of the other Districts.

But what truly struck him were the balloons.

Virtually every member of the crowd carried a small red helium balloon, as though they were about to attend a child's birthday party. As Paladin marched ahead of them to greet the crowd with an opening speech, a man with blonde hair walked up to them, a purposeful look on his face. Cartier Cooper, the Victor from nearly a decade ago who'd won by swinging wristwatches at his enemies. Cartier made a rather unnecessarily huge gesture out of shaking Jotham's hand, which Jotham found a little weird until Cartier leaned in and whispered, "The balloons are a symbol of our rebellion," then played it off with a big laugh, like he'd just told Jotham an inside joke.

Rebellion, huh?

Jotham trotted up the stage, where Paladin was still trying to flaunt his rise to power and the Capitol's chokehold over the clearly furious citizens of Billings. His wife Goldie stood beside him, gently stroking the feathers of a regal golden chicken. It was probably some sort of thing a rich person would do, but one look at the bird's talons as Jotham decided he wasn't going to go anywhere near Goldie and her chicken.

"I must say, that chicken looks fucking delicious."

Jotham's eyes widened as Ceri materialised out of thin air, giving the chicken a wary look as she licked her lips. When Goldie turned around though, she disappeared. "Gloss, Cashmere, Maddie, fetch me my stool, mirror and chicken feed," she ordered as three child servants rushed to get her the items, each of their faces covered in a tapestry of dark bruises.

As Paladin droned on and on about his achievements, Jotham had to practically snatch the microphone away from him before he could get so much as a word in. There were the usual lines of how proud he was to have won the Games and the related nonsense. And then it was time to address the grieving families.

Or rather, family, because none of the members of the Montgomery-Montague clan had bothered to show up to stand on Fleur's platform. A heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach as he gaped at the empty platform, a cold shadow falling upon its pearly white surface absent of any mourners. Shock gave way to disbelief and disbelief gave way to rage as Jotham watched a pair of little kids from Alder's platform quickly hop over to Fleur's platform. Even the Pierce family cared more for Fleur than the Montgomeries. The reality of Fleur's situation sank into him with cruel clarity.

No one in her family had truly loved her.

She had been used all her life as a disposable pawn to become the District's next sacrifice to the power-hungry elite of the Capitol in the Hunger Games.

Crystal Montgomery, another one of the Victors from One who Jotham had been informed was Fleur's aunt, leaned in and whispered, "I wanted to stand there for Fleur, but Paladin wouldn't have it. The rest of her family have all but forgotten her."

Jotham clenched his fists as he began to speak for Fleur. "Fleur was one of the most optimistic people around. She could light up a room simply with her presence. Not to mention, in a world where cruelty reigns supreme, she was friendly to those who suffered from neglect and abuse from the higher echelons in this District."

Paladin scowled. "Careful, Jotham," he sneered.

Jotham ignored him. "I see that Fleur left a lasting impression on Alder and his family. That just shows how much the people who truly loved her appreciated her kindness and her smile. Shame the ones she called family never cared for any of that. Fleur also loved poetry, a talent largely neglected and left to rot here in District One. But I think that's too much of a waste. I want to publish some of Fleur's poems for everyone in Panem to read. She deserves a legacy far greater than being just another fallen Career tribute."

There were nods of approval from the common folk of One. The nobles, especially the Montgomeries, looked like they were stopping short of killing Jotham while they could, but Jotham simply disregarded them like they'd disregarded the cries of their own people and went on.

"Alder, on the other hand, volunteered not for the fame and glory, not out of pressure from his family, but rather as a last-ditch attempt to save his twin sister Cara. He wanted nothing more than to protect his family and I think that's as honourable as it gets for a volunteer tribute. Cara, I'm not letting you die anytime soon, I'll get you the treatment you need as soon as possible, and I'll make sure your family gets three meals a day and never has to worry about poverty ever again," Jotham told the wheelchair-bound Cara on Alder's platform. Cara gave him a weak smile, though her face still bore the mental scars of a broken girl who'd lost her twin brother. She looked more drained than in the photos John had shown him of a weak yet cheerful girl while on the train. Jotham had sometimes wished he knew the feeling of having a twin sibling, but looking at the brokenness in Cara's eyes, he felt instantly grateful he didn't. He wasn't sure he could handle the heartbreak of eventually losing them.

"Alder's relationship with Fleur was a testament to finding love in a hopeless place. They came from two extreme ends of the financial spectrum, yet were deeply devoted to each other. This District can be united. Rich or poor, people can get along, provided there is equal opportunity for them to do so." Once again, the Montgomeries began grumbling amongst themselves, but they soon stopped talking altogether, because the people of District One were releasing their balloons into the sky. Jotham watched in awe as a sea of rising balloons soared high into the air, blocking out the sun in a thick blanket of red. "I believe in District One," Jotham said finally. "The people here are stronger than they seem. And I'm sure you'll fight on until the end." It wasn't an open call for rebellion, but the people could certainly interpret it as such. They let out a resounding cheer as Jotham was dragged away by Paladin, his eyes still glued on the balloons as they pummelled into a colossal statue of Coriolanus Snow himself.

—-

It had to come eventually. Trish had delayed it until the very end, but not even she could prevent the inevitable.

Jotham was headed off to District Eight.

Perhaps this would give him the closure he needed, the final goodbye to a girl who'd been haunting him all this time.

John poked his head through the door. "You ready, kiddo?"

Jotham took a few deep breaths, trying to tell himself that it was going to be alright. "Yeah. Let's go."

He disembarked the train and marched into the same train station that Ceri had never gotten the chance to return to. For years, this had been the place of no return for District Eight tributes, and the latest coffin to have arrived here was none other than the girl he'd befriended in the most hopeless of places.

The streets of Memphis were barren, desolate, save for the occasional Peacekeeper roaming on patrol duty. The mayor, Cindy Cotton, led Jotham to a small car that would take them across Memphis to the Justice Building.

"It's the same car I got into before this whole shebang happened."

Jotham yelped as Ceri materialised right beside him in the backseat of Cindy's car, a bored expression on her face as she stared out of the window. "I hate it here but I still miss it sometimes, you know?"

"Jotham, is everything alright?" Cindy asked, checking the rearview mirror to see what had happened.

"I'm fine," Jotham said a little too quickly. He glanced beside him. Ceri's ghost would usually disappear, but this time, she'd remained in the car, blowing a rude raspberry at Cindy.

"Ugh, her car smells like shit," she complained. "Actually, this whole District smells like shit. Go figure, the Capitol can afford lavish dinners but can't afford to give us one scented candle."

Jotham stared at her, slowly backing himself against the door of the car. 'Why are you here?' he mouthed.

Ceri rolled her eyes. "To see you, dummy. I can't miss your grand speech! What, are you gonna give my family a commemorative cowboy hat because I kissed you?"

"No, I-" Jotham clamped a hand over his mouth. Cindy gave him an inquisitive look. "Sorry, just, you know, Victor trauma and all."

Beside him, Ceri chortled. "Victor trauma? I don't recall you complaining when we were in the arena. What, did my breath really smell that bad?"

Jotham shook his head, a flustered shade of red rising to his cheeks. 'I meant, you're dead, you're not supposed to be here?'

"How do you know I'm here?" Ceri retorted. "How do you know I'm a real ghost and not some figment of your imagination? Actually, let's dial things back for a hot sec. Why do you think I'm here?"

Jotham could only afford her a dumbfounded look. Deep down, he knew that she was right. He doubted she'd been real all this time. Her appearance just as he'd set out on his Victory Tour was certainly uncanny, to say the least. Then, as the car skidded to a halt, he knew exactly what he had to do while in District Eight.

The crowd here was far more welcoming than in some of the earlier Districts. Maybe it was because Jotham had been Ceri's ally and had helped her reach the final three. When Jotham got on the stage, he found himself showered with a neat round of applause and a few encouraging smiles here and there. He forced himself to grin back, trying to keep up the appearance of a grateful Victor. But his attention was focused squarely on the huge screen on the left side of the square.

Ceri.

"Ugh, they used a stupid-looking picture of me, those fuckers," Ceri grumbled.

'You don't look half-bad in that,' Jotham mouthed back, immediately feeling stupid for doing so. To pretty much everyone else, he was mouthing to thin air.

"Whatever, sweet-cheeks. Let's get on with the show," Ceri told him.

Jotham delivered his speech, then turned his focus to the mourners underneath Ceri's screen. Her mother and her two surviving siblings were there, alongside a dark-skinned girl Jotham recognised to be Ceri's friend Maize O'Connell. "Ceri, where do I even begin with her?"

"Say I'm spunky or something," Ceri suggested. "Or a wicked genius. Or the hottest girl you've ever met. Just don't mention I'm a thief. If you do, I will personally re-alive myself and stick this fucking arrow in your face."

"Ceri was the best friend I could have ever asked for in the arena. I think we both knew we couldn't both survive, but we made the best out of a bad situation. She was feisty and always fired up. I knew she had her demons, but she didn't let them get to her and was always unashamedly herself," Jotham said, but even as he spoke them he knew this was nowhere near a fitting tribute for Ceri. "I don't really have much to say, but Mrs Adamos, I'm sorry for what happened to your daughter. I loved her, and maybe that's not what you want to hear right now, but I really did and I'm sorry she couldn't make it back home."

Mrs Adamos gave a long sigh, and Jotham could see the emptiness in her gaze. She'd lost so many of her children, not to mention her husband and plenty of her close friends. This was a woman who'd long since made peace with Death and was almost desensitised to loss.

"Words can never describe how much I miss her," Jotham croaked, his voice starting to get a little hoarse. "Just as I miss Laura, Ceri will always be my friend, in this world or the next. And as a tribute to our friendship, I will personally see to it that your family gets a nice new house and never has to worry about starvation ever again. Mrs Adamos, you will never again have to worry about losing another child, I will see to it that all your needs are met and that Connor and Felicity are well-fed with great futures ahead of them."

A few cheers erupted from the crowd and Mrs Adamos gave a halfhearted smile, raising a thumbs-up to Jotham in an appreciative gesture.

"Thanks, Jotham," Ceri whispered, and this time she seemed sincerely thankful, without a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Now, do the same with Levi."

Jotham turned to his right, where Levi's family stood, alongside a few of his childhood friends, including Riley, Levi's romantic interest. Levi's little sister Twylah gave Jotham a hard glare, instantly reminding Jotham of Alyaa and the hatred she'd had towards him for living while her sister died. Jotham imagined Twylah felt the same about her brother.

"Many people were quick to write Levi off right from the start," Jotham said, choosing his words carefully. "And few even tried to get to know him on a personal level. I didn't have much contact with him, but from the few times we crossed paths, Levi seemed like a sweet kid who loved adventure and just needed a friend who he could count on. He found one in Elris, and for the brief time they spent together made the most out of their final days. Levi didn't deserve to die, he was a normal kid trying to live his life to the fullest. He saw beauty in many things people often threw away as junk and was constantly curious, traits that I think are severely underappreciated here in Panem. He loved his family, especially his sister Twylah, loved Riley and cherished all of his friends. I'm sorry for your loss and while I can't do anything about it, I spoke with Cindy while we were driving over and she's looking for a secretary. Mrs Versace, if you're keen on it, I promise it pays really well and gives you a lot more time to spend with Twylah. As for Twylah, Levi wants you to know that he would have been more than happy to see you and Quilter together and thought you two would make a great couple. Don't wait until either one of you is Reaped for the Games, I'm no love expert but you two should probably tell each other how you feel while you still can. Levi made that mistake with Riley, and I doubt he'd want you to do the same."

—-

Jotham gazed up at the steel gates of the cemetery, gripped with trepidation. The air felt heavy, as if the weight of the entire Victory Tour had settled upon his shoulders, the culmination of all his experiences leading up to this final moment of closure before he could return home. Each step he took, the gravel crunching beneath his feet, felt like a spiralling journey into the depths of his own grief, a lonely path of loss and sorrow. The gravestones of long-deceased District Eight tributes loomed like sentinels in the misty darkness, each engraved with the names of an innocent child sent to die a most harrowing death.

There, at the edge of the cemetery, he found what he'd been looking for. The newest grave in this cemetery. The sight of her name carved into the stone sent shivers across his body, reminding him that she was gone, nothing more than a fading memory. He knelt before the grave, his hands reaching to touch the cold, weathered surface of the gravestone. Tears welled in his eyes as his heart ached for a tribute who would go down in history as nothing more than a statistic, a nameless face amongst many who'd come before- and will come after- her.

The apparition of Ceri knelt down beside him, pensively staring at her own grave. "Well, looks like I'll be staying here for the long haul," she murmured, laughing mirthlessly.

A fat, ugly tear rolled down Jotham's cheek. "You deserved better," he choked out. Glancing over at the identical gravestone that bore Levi's name, his lips trembled as he fought back the urge to cry, even in this solemn privacy. "And so did you, Levi."

Perhaps it was just his mind playing more tricks on him, but the image of Levi suddenly shimmered into view, his messy blonde hair obscuring the scars that dotted his forehead. Levi squatted beside Ceri, a wistful, longing look on his face. "You have your entire life ahead of you, Jotham. Don't waste it away in fear or thinking about the past like we did. Don't let our deaths be in vain."

Ceri nodded. "It wasn't your fault, Jotham. It was the Capitol. So, what are you gonna do? Collapse and live your life in misery and alcoholism? Or will you fight back?"

Jotham tapped the gravestone gently. "You're both right. I promise, one day, we will all be free. And if they ever give me a microphone at our victory speech, I'll mention all twenty-three of you by name. None of you will ever be forgotten, none of your stories will ever fade. None of you will ever really die, people will always remember you. I will always remember you."

His mind must truly be on the cusp of insanity, because he could've sworn he saw the shimmering, faded figures of Mia, Laura, Tamsin, Elris, Evie, Alea and many more tributes smile at him through the mist. He had accepted their loss and was ready to move on.

From somewhere behind him, Jotham could hear a spattering of footsteps. He turned and saw the hooded figure of Maize O'Connell walking up to him, a large bag slung over her shoulder.

Ceri gave him a sly wink. "I think she'll fill in the rest for you. Goodbye, Jotham. I have a feeling the next time we see each other, you'll be old and grey."

She blew him a kiss, and walked off into the sunset alongside the other twenty-two fallen tributes of the Fifty-Third Hunger Games. Their bodies glowed white, and then, they were gone, dissolving and becoming one with the mist.

---

MAIZE O'CONNELL (15)

DISTRICT EIGHT RESIDENT

---

Perhaps it was fate that brought her here.

Maize didn't know why she felt the sudden urge to visit the Tribute Cemetery that evening. She'd paid her respects to Ceri and had devoted one day every fortnight to clean her gravestone.

Today, though, wasn't one of those days.

Yet, it was as though a voice inside her was pulling her towards the site where her fallen friend lay. And who was Maize to argue? She was bored anyway, exploring uncharted locations just didn't feel the same without Ceri. Months had passed since her last venture out on her own, trying to shake off the feeling that something, or someone, was missing. So, she found herself lying in bed on most evenings, staring up at the ceiling, contemplating how she was going to get her life back together.

That evening, she was out of her bed, dressed in a thick purple hood, and headed straight for the Tribute Cemetery. She passed the Versace family's new house along the way, the one Jotham had bought for them. She could see the silhouettes of Riley and Twylah having a pillow fight through the bedroom window, the former having been adopted away from her abusive aunt a few weeks ago. Maize sighed. She knew she should probably search for new friends, but no one in District Eight quite clicked as well with her as Ceri had.

Sighing to herself, she trudged into the fog-covered graveyard, trotting along the same path she'd trodden upon for the last six months without fail.

To her surprise, someone else was kneeling by Ceri's grave.

Jotham Velasquez, fancy seeing you here.

She cleared her throat and Jotham turned to face her, his eyes red from crying. "Thought you'd already be heading off by now," she said nonchalantly.

Jotham shook his head. "Train's been delayed due to heavy snowfall on some of the tracks that we have to go through."

Maize chuckled. "Well, that's fortunate. You get to spend more time with her."

Jotham's gaze shifted back to Ceri's gravestone and a dark cloud passed over his eyes. "I guess so."

There was an awkward silence for a while as neither of them knew quite exactly what to say. Maize shuffled on her feet, tinkering with the masks that she always carried in her bag, just in case.

"Did Ceri ever tell you about, erm, some special merchants around here?" Jotham asked at long last.

Oh, that tattletale told him.

"You mean, the Masked Merchants?" she asked, trying to sound as though they were merely a fringe group of ordinary merchants.

Jotham's eyes widened and his head bobbed up and down vigorously. "Yeah, them! Please, do you know where I could find them?"

Maize narrowed her eyes. She studied Jotham carefully. He didn't seem like the type to be involved in rebel stuff. Heck, he looked like just an average Victor who might well be too scared to even openly call out the Capitol. "How do I know I can trust you?" she questioned.

Jotham pulled out a small, cerulean pendant. Maize stared at it, squinting through the mist. It looked familiar, like one of the trinkets the traders from the Bahamian Isles would often sell. Apparently, they were quite popular in District Ten, but they could only be found within the tunnel networks, which meant…

She pulled out a mask, one depicting a baby tiger. A pretty stupid design, but she figured it would disguise his status and identity well. "Take this," she ordered. "And whatever you do, don't take it off."

Jotham obliged wordlessly, donning the mask. Maize had to stifle a giggle. He did look absolutely ridiculous wearing it, she had to admit. She donned her own, purple, flowery design she and Ceri had made together. Then, she grabbed Jotham's hand, put a finger to her lips and dragged him to the nearest entrance to the network of the Masked Merchants.

Somehow, she felt that this was exactly the sort of bullshit Ceri would've wanted her to do.

---

THE END

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A/N: And just like that, Dusk Till Dawn is finally over. I started this journey as a naive fourteen-year-old child, thinking this would be easy and I could juggle this well. Back then, I was surrounded by online friends, my submitters, and I had the energy to power through, but at the same time, I felt pressured to put forth a polished, final product and it was tampering with my mental health. Now, I'm eighteen, all grown up, most of my submitters are no longer present and are no longer in contact with me, and sometimes, I did wonder what the point was, writing for an audience that at most consisted of one or two people (shoutout to Finn and Void for still reading, by the way!), and with no reviews coming in, I felt demotivated. I think it was at that point that I told myself that this was my story, not that of others', and if I was going to do this thing, it would be for me, not to please others, but to make myself feel happy with my written work. And I always held out hope that some of my submitters would return, even after all those years. After a couple of years of waiting and radio silence, Joseph and Ruby returned to read and started leaving tons of reviews, and chcolate left a review of her own as well. Naturally, I was over the moon and thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me until the very end. It's been a long, painful journey and I've learned many a lesson from this foray into SYOT writing, but I think it was a crucial step in my development as an author. It is sad knowing that I have to say goodbye to this little Duskverse, but I hope I've done the characters justice. It is also with a heavy heart that I know this may be the last chance I have to interact with my readers, all of whom I consider dear friends of mine, and for everything you've done for me, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. If this is the last fic of mine you read, I hope you enjoyed it. But I'm not going to say goodbye. I promise that you'll see me around again someday (I will continue to publish smaller-scale fics here as I mentioned earlier), in a bookstore near you. I learned the value of patience and persistence, and I will carry that on as I hopefully attempt to embark on an independent writing career. But for now, I would like to thank a few special people: Willuna, Trish, Evan, Ruby, Chcolate, Tia (Credits to Tia for Maize, btw, Maize was in Ceri's tribute form and I decided to give her a surprise POV here), Void, Trace, Marie, Maddie, Rune, Cartier, LCS, Joseph, Gomex, Silver, Matt and Remus, my dear submitters, without whom this story would not have been possible. I don't know how to end this off, so I guess I'll say, see you later. Save a spot for me on your bookshelves though, will you?

May the odds be ever in your favour,

Rafa Jarvinen