CHAPTER 3

SNOW'S FIRST MISTAKE

The Peacekeepers marched silently, not minding the muffled sobs that came along with the female tribute's family. There was no clearer evidence that it was their first time following the goodbye procedure. No amount of cries or weeping would spike the Peacekeepers' sympathy. Much like the 'Pro-Hunger Games', the Peacekeepers in District Four didn't particularly favour acts of weakness. It was regarded as disgraceful, more so coming from families that had the 'honour' to send their children to the Hunger Games.

In the past five years not much had changed along the tributes' hallway. There were more vases of white roses than before, and their odour was stronger, but nothing major. No changes that could get Dove's attention for more than two seconds. They were all unimportant at that moment, a significant difference from her past self, who couldn't keep herself from being distracted by any minor detail. The situation was greatly different, too. She wasn't saying goodbye to a family friend, but to her brother.

The change of hour declared the start of the tributes' goodbyes. With the Peacekeeper's stern reminder, the two doors swung open for both families, letting them go to their respective tribute's room. Dove didn't waste a minute and ran towards her brother, jumping into his arms without minding the fact that the door to their room was still open. It wasn't until their mother walked through that the Peacekeepers closed it. That was it. Their family consisted of four people, which soon could be reduced to three.

"Hey, hey, don't cry." Melo's shaky breaths were of no help as his thumbs wiped the tears away from Dove's eyes. "I'll be back. I promise."

Dove nodded, blinking the remaining tears away with the same forced smile her brother put on to reassure her and the rest of their family. His ability to keep himself together in such a situation was admirable, yet it made her heart ache. Part of her wanted to see her brother break down and cry, telling her that he would miss them all and that he didn't want to go. Why? Dove wasn't sure. It was one of those intrusive thoughts, those little images that popped into her mind when she least expected it. But she was sure of one thing. The perfect act was more devastating than any thought she could have. More so when Melo was on the verge of tears that he kept on ignoring, somehow pulling them back before they could stream down his perfect Victor's child face.

"You're strong," said Angel, joining in her little siblings' hug for as long as she could keep her arms from trembling, "if you can get a trident or knives, you'll be fine. You can make it back. I'm sure."

A sting attacked Dove's heart at the worst of times, forcing her to let go of Melo to stand idly by his side, a hand folded over her chest. She couldn't help but wonder, could those last words ever be directed at her? If it had been her and not Melo, would her sister have said such things? Would she have told her that she could make it back? Or would they be like the female tribute's family? Wouldn't they be crying, cursing the odds for taking her away when there was still a week until she even set foot in the Arena?

Her own gulp drowned her ears under a sea of worries, infinitely louder than any other sound in the room. Somehow, despite everything she had convinced herself to do, after all her self-talk and reassurances, she could not shake the thought off her mind. Why would her sister ever say that she could make it back? She couldn't, and that was exactly why she wanted to volunteer. Not to prove anybody anything, but to save Angel. Could she make it back if she tried? No, because that was not her mission. She was no Victor, nor a survivor. Dove Ogilvy was a kid, and kids died in the Games. So she could only be the one thing kids could be of any use. She would become a sacrificial lamb.

"Take care of Dove and Mum for me, will you?" Melo told Angel, in a tone a tad over a whisper.

"I would, even if you didn't ask me to," Angel replied, pulling her little brother back into another embrace, one much more sentimental than the previous one.

Dove stood next to her mother, who watched silently as she often did. Her hands were trembling, though. A slight shiver that Dove couldn't quite place in anger or fear. It probably had its own category, some kind of mix between many emotions repressed under a calm front. The one of a kind that could be reduced by holding the area in question. For the first time in minutes, her mother blinked her way back to reality, her eyes immediately snapping towards their hands, intertwined in their own warm embrace.

"Hey, Finchie," Melo called, forcing both his sister and mother's attention to go back to him, "mind singing for me? One last time."

It had been years since that nickname had last been used. Years since Dove had chosen not to sing publicly in any way, though she did perform on counted occasions in front of her family, mostly her siblings. But those were songs that were safe to use in the vicinity of their home, not in the Justice Building. Who knew if there were cameras prying into their goodbyes to get every little detail about them? Or if they could be heard outside? Peacekeepers could come at any minute, framing her for signs of rebellion, which would at least get her flogged, if not killed.

Still, she could not refuse her brother's request. "Any song in specific that you want to hear?"

Melo shook his head, prompting Dove to let out a relieved sigh. She did not take long to come up with something, though. It started with her humming, an act of improvisation he had heard her do during the night, mostly after her not-so-discrete nightmares. The hums turned into a still wordless melody. One so entrancing he could barely keep himself standing. Not for the melody, but for his sister's voice, the most dangerous weapon she had, even if, to everyone's dismay, not one very helpful in the Hunger Games. Words were placed into the melody, and so her song engulfed every inch of the room until Dove chose to stop. Until her lips found each other, sealing the moment and allowing everyone's safe return to reality.

It took five, ten, fifteen seconds to get all of them to completely tune back to reality. Dove did not understand why, but she attributed it to the difficulty of the day. The remaining time did nothing but place extra weight on their shoulders, pushing them into the mud that they could no longer escape, forced to drag their feet around until it was all over. Either by hearing a cannon or Melo's name through the Arena's speakers.

A creak overtook the atmosphere as quickly as it appeared, stopping all breathing like water was flooding their surroundings. Dove turned around as fast as it took her heart to beat, staring at the door with her eyes widened. The relaxation she felt at seeing no other than Finnick Odair there instead of the Peacekeepers all had suspected was indescribable. If it weren't for his nervous ticks, or his greatly exaggerated deep breathing and mumbling self-talk, she would have even sighed out loud.

"Sorry for bothering, um, I..." Finnick trailed off, clearly nervous. "I just wanted to say that... I promise to do my best as Melo's mentor. He will come back alive."

Although such a statement could seem no more than a friend's desperate attempt at proving his best intentions, Finnick's words were much more. They were a pledge to ignore rules. A mentor could not openly choose between one of the two tributes outside of the Arena. Who knew how a mentor could be punished for that? And yet, Finnick didn't care. He stood there; the door closed behind him, and an absurd number of nervous ticks spreading all over his body, like he was expecting someone to shout at him. It didn't matter why he was there, or why he felt the need to clear his intentions with the entire family instead of just going ahead and doing it, all that mattered was that a mentor was entirely on their side.

If there was a better moment to say her first ever words to the Victor, Dove ignored it. "Thank you." Her arms engulfed the confused boy right away, which he took a bit to correspond. "Thank you so much."

"It's OK." With great indecision, he patted her back twice, then gave up, his arms sliding around her body to return the kind gesture. "I—-"

"Is there anything you need us to do, Finnick?" Librae called, a clarity in her eyes that nobody had seen them have for years.

With increasing reluctance, the two youngest teens let go of one another to face the only adult in the room. While in his sea of worries, Finnick managed to get a hold of himself and straighten his position, facing the Victor completely before giving his answer.

"Watch the Games. No matter how hard it gets or how much you want to turn it off and hide. Watch it until the end. Knowing you're there, watching, hoping, counting the minutes—that alone will give Melo a thousand times more strength than any Sponsor's gift."

There was no doubt in Librae's voice as she answered. "Alright, we'll do as you say."

Another interruption drove the room back into silence, though this time there were audible sighs as Muscida walked through the door. She had eyes flooded with tears, yet carried herself with a grace hardly anybody could even dream to imitate. Her words didn't follow such gracefulness, however. Slurs left her mouth like they would for a sailor, bringing faint smiles to the faces of those present, since none of her frustration was directed at them, but at a disembodied power. One which, to the Non-Victors' obliviousness, had a known humanoid form.

"You're in great hands," Angel told Melo, no sarcasm present in her voice. "You better make it back, OK?"

"I'll be back." Melo hugged her one more time, feeling the time slip through his fingers.

With a subtle push, Finnick forced Dove to move forward, making it look as if she was planning to join in the sibling hug. She had no time to say anything, nor turn around to even look at the Victor, since her older siblings immediately took one arm off of one another to leave a space just for her. Defeated, she gave in and hugged them back, hearing the hushed whispers the Victors exchanged as a background melody. There was some secret the Victors didn't want them to know, but she wouldn't pry so soon into it. Her brother had yet to leave for the train, where his unofficial training would begin. She could spend the little time she had with him in the vicinity of her own worries. Those would have to wait.

"Muscida and I should leave. We've wasted enough of your time," said Finnick, grabbing hold of Muscida's wrist to ensure she wouldn't try to stay.

"Finnick," Librae called, "when the games are over, no matter the result, come to our house more often. You're part of our family now." There was no physical way to snap the surprise away from Finnick's expression, which seemed to amuse more than one person. "And, Muscida..."

"It's OK." Muscida shook her hand away from Finnick's light grip to hug her friend, sharing a tight embrace that neither wanted to end. "I'll get him back to you alive. That's a promise."

"I'm sorry I couldn't do the same," Librae mumbled, a couple of tears leaving her eyes.

"You did what you could." Muscida let go of the hug, yet kept her hands on Librae's shoulders as if to comfort her. "It's not your fault. I never blamed you. Not one time."

The two mentors were gone shortly after, leaving the family down to ten minutes left of goodbyes by themselves. None had a better idea of what to do than hug. There wasn't much chatter, mostly reassuring words that came from the kids' mother. It all added to the surrealism of that day. And it was time to snap back to a more grounded reality.

"Mum," said Melo, "you can't shut off like you did five years ago. Next year Dove will be alone. You have to be there for her." He let go first of the hug first, closely followed by Angel. "You have to promise you'll take good care of her, OK? Promise, mum. Promise me you'll do it."

"I will," replied their mother. "I'll protect her, I promise."

No appropriate comment appeared in Dove's mind, only sarcastic remarks, which weren't all too helpful in such a situation. She chose to bite her tongue again, the easiest way not to have a useless confrontation. Years of practice had prepared her for that moment, for that apparently simple decision, to keep her mouth shut. It was rather hard to do so. Her family was talking about her like a wounded puppy that could not live on its own. She could understand that she wasn't the most reliable person in some aspects. However, Mags' intense teaching had left her with no other way but to know most plants by heart. Still, her siblings wouldn't know anything about that. They had always been too busy training how to use weapons with Muscida to notice something as unimportant as that.

The door creaked once more, signalling the end of the hour.

"I love you all!" shouted Melo, watching as Peacekeepers marched into the room to drag everyone out.

Dove jerked her arm away from the Peacekeeper's grasp and jumped into her brother's arms one last time, whispering to his ear like her words were meant to be kept a secret. "We love you too."

It was over. The Reaping, the Goodbyes, all that was left was the Games in itself. First it would be the Tribute Parade, less than twenty-four hours away, but, after that, practically a week would go by until they could see Melo again. In a Capitol interview, no less. Once that was done, the Games would officially start, and the first deaths would taint the Cornucopia's ground.

From that point on, nobody could delude themselves. Their loved ones, the tributes, were to come back home in either of two options: in a coffin or as a Victor. For a Victor's child, it would be an understatement to say that being a Victor was not the life the Capitol promised. Yet, was it worse than coming back in a coffin? Or was it Dove's own wishful thinking which didn't let her see the good side of it? Could death truly be better than being a Victor? If it were, why were all the Victors she knew still alive? Why had none taken their own lives?

She was just being selfish, Dove kept repeating to herself. That answer was better than none, even if, deep down, she knew there was more than selfishness in her desire to believe that being a Victor wasn't so bad.

"Dove, breathe." Angel took Dove's hands gently in her best attempt to get her little sister to concentrate back on reality, accomplishing only to get her to blink a few times and copy her paused breathing. "That's it, you're doing great. Everything will be alright, you'll see."

"You don't know that," Dove snapped back. "No one knows that. Don't say it to make me feel better, 'cause it doesn't. I'm not eight years old anymore!"

Angel froze, perplexed at the sudden yell. Her little sister was not one to shout for no reason, not even when mildly angered. She could attribute it to the situation, and how difficult those next days would be for everyone in their family, but it was clear it wasn't only that. There was something changing. She could see it in Dove's eyes, a determination that sent shivers running down her spine. Not out of fear of immediate physical pain, but for an eventual emotional breakdown.

"No, you're not. That's exactly why I need you to eat, get some sleep, and keep on with your life. As always. We won't see anything about him until the parade, anyway." Angel let a couple of seconds pass by to analyse Dove's expression, which remained the same, unconvinced. "Remember what Finnick said? We have to be there for him. We have to give our support in our own way, OK? But we can't forget about our own health."

It took a while for Dove to answer in a barely audible whisper. "So... sit and wait."

"Yeah." Angel nodded encouragingly. "Sit, hope... and wait."

Not another word was uttered during their entire walk back to Victor's Village, where silence reigned in every house. Their mother walked slightly forward, her eyes glued somewhere ahead of them, while the two walked side by side, their hands intertwined. The hold was so strong Dove almost had to accept her theory that Angel didn't want her to escape from her side.

Almost was the key word. It was as soon as they were right in front of their own house, their home for many years, that a new feeling made them tear their hands apart. There was something wrong. The house felt empty. Like their own had been swapped for a gloomier version during their time in the Town Square.

Everywhere she looked, Dove could see nothing but her brother's belongings. Some were on top of the chimney, others at the entrance, and a couple of things laying forgotten on the tables around the living room. Melo's forgetfulness was all but welcomed at that moment.

"Dove," Angel said, claiming her attention back to a makeshift reality, "Mum and I will make dinner. Go and have a shower, alright? Today's been a long day for all of us."

"If you and mum make dinner the kitchen will burn down for sure," commented Dove in an apathetic tone.

"Mags will be here in a second," replied Angel. "She'll make sure we don't, don't worry."

Dove doubted but ended up accepting. The shower felt nice, almost refreshing. However, it gave an excessive amount of time to think. Too many possibilities were running around her head without her permission or control. It was at those kinds of times that her mother's and Muscida's addiction to alcohol became easy to understand. Sometimes even giving her the desire to imitate it. If getting drunk was all it took to dial down her thoughts, she wouldn't mind getting drunk from time to time.

By the time she got back down, already changed into her pyjamas, Mags received her into the kitchen with a hug. The three male Victors left in Victors Village followed with their own boundaries of closeness. It was surprising for Dove to see the three of them. If they were still in District Four, it meant only Finnick and Muscida had gone to the Capitol as mentors, and that meant two mentors less than usual for the tributes.

"We asked the Head Peacekeeper," said Ron, a man in his mid thirties that insisted on always wearing clothes that were as dark as his skin, a complete opposite to his Capitol-usual-fashion, which consisted of only white clothing, "your mother can't be a mentor since she's emotionally involved with a tribute. They couldn't change mentors at the last moment and having three go seemed 'unbalanced' to them, so I got told to stay, too."

"Oh," was Dove's reply.

"I really wanted to go, Dove. Melo's like a son to me. All of you are like my own children to me. I hope you know that."

"...Yeah."

Ron caressed her arm and walked back to Rhett and Theo, the eldest married couple left in Victors Village. The two elders were not joking like they usually were. Instead, their faces were serious, and their full attention was not on one another, but on Dove's and Angel's mother, Librae, whose attention hadn't been as good in years as it was at the moment. She followed instructions, managed to help cook without burning anything, and found the time to check on her daughters from time to time, though they weren't in the kitchen, but on the sofa by the living room.

"What now?" Dove asked, burying her head deep in a pillow that her arms had taken prisoner for what seemed like hours.

"Now we have lunch. Tomorrow we'll see." Angel hugged her sister's side, giving her a reassuring pat on her shoulder and a kiss on her forehead. "Whatever happens, I'll be here."

Dove raised her head from the pillow only to let it fall back moments after, mumbling so softly that her sister could never decipher her words. "Not for long, or that's your plan."