Hi all! This is an edited version of the chapter; I've kept the AN at the end for nostalgia haha! Ifyou've read before, all of these POVs will be the same except Mal's, which is significantly that said, quick TW for ableism in Linnet's POV, and for mentions of blood and death inSera's. Thanks for reading!
…
"And my destination
makes it worth the while
Pushing through the darkness
just another mile"
Sera Velasco, 16, District Five (She/Her)
There's blood everywhere.
Sera is in the doorway with her favorite polka-dot backpack halfway swung, askew and poised tobe thrown to the floor. There's a book wedged beneath her elbow, the newest crime novelfeaturing her favorite kid detective. She wants to be just like her. She wants to be better. Shewants to absorb all truth and find the right path and—
And there is blood all over the walls, and it smells of iron and tang and salt and she could choke,she could die from the way it stuffs her lungs—
And in the center of it all, her mama and daddy, splayed like they've been under surgery, they'rejust asleep...
Except they're not. Because anyone, even a ten-year-old, especially an aspiring detective, couldsee the truth.
And Sera has always been so very good at seeing. Seeing everything.
She picks up her backpack. Hangs it on the hook like Mama is always telling her to do. Sits nextto them and tries not to see but of course she does and the door is still open, she'll let in the chill...
It's cold. Their bodies are cold.
She sings some kind of lullaby beneath her breath and tries to keep vigil in case someone elsecomes, in case they come back to kill her because...
Because she's read the books. And anyone with a mind like hers knows that murderers don't justvanish. Not with... with a scene like this...
(The kills weren't quick. They were messy and cruel like whoever it was took their time.)
And when the neighbors finally come to peek around the gaping door, when they see the littlegirl with blood soaking her shoes, they cry out.
And Sera's jaw finally relents and everything comes loose and she screams.
She screams and the scene fades away until there's more blood, years later. She's older, calmer,something sparkling having left her eyes. Enzo is next to her and they've finally found him, theculprit. A kid without a home who must've been desperate.
(But if that's the case, why was nothing missing but her parents' heartbeats and the last remnantsof her innocence?)
The boy has tear tracks on his hollow cheeks, prison uniform slipping off his shoulders. He'sbleeding from the gunshot wound, clean and quick. Mouth still open in pleading, telling themhe's innocent. Those haunted eyes staring up at the sky.
Sera looks at Enzo, hoping to find refuge in his gaze, but all she sees is the glittering glaze in hiseyes. The way he smiles, just slightly, the way he always has when the riddle finally unfogs.
And anyone else might've seen her hands shake, but he just nods and says, "That's it, then."
And Sera is half-grateful that she has Enzo, who never asks if she's fine, who just accepts thingsthe way they are. But in that moment, she also wishes that someone would scream, break the damin her mind because she is ten again, watching the life fade from someone's eyes and wonderinghow something like that could be possible. Wondering who ever invented murder in the firstplace.
"Sera."
She's confused for a moment; someone is speaking to her and it sounds like Enzo, but he's stillsmiling with that satisfied look in his eyes, and the dead boy is still dead, but that must mean...
And suddenly she's not in that square where the execution took place. She's sweating andscreaming in her bed, the folds of recollection pulled back until it is only Sera in the Capitol bed,screaming and screaming.
Enzo puts an awkward hand on her shoulder, looking faintly dismayed. "You were loud," he says,sounding genuinely distressed.
She stops abruptly, gasping, pulling herself up to sitting. Watery sunlight hesitates to breakthrough her window. She hasn't nightmared like that in years. Not since she grew up enough tohide her sorrow beneath the promise of absolution for the killer.
But her conversation with President Graymore must've brought it all back. "I'm fine," shemurmurs, voice clogged with tears. She brushes them away, embarrassed. "Really."
Enzo doesn't look convinced.
"It was just a nightmare."
(But that's not really true, is it? The worst part about the nightmare was that everything truly didhappen. And her mind preserved it in excruciating clarity.)
"Want to walk with me?" She stands up quickly, dusting herself off.
Enzo nods, and they don't say anything else. Arms almost touching, they walk in quiet harmonydown the hall. Everyone is still asleep, but training should start in a couple of hours.
She still can't believe she had the courage to talk to the President. It's what she came for, after all,but Graymore himself? The more she looks back on it, the more euphoric and shaky it makes 's finally going to find the truth, with the help of the President himself. How her parentswould've smiled...
Part of her wants for that boy to be guilty, just so she can sleep at night again. Another partwonders if that would even justify his soundless, unmourned death. But it doesn't matter that shehas reservations—what matters is the outcome. And she's finally going to find it.
As they enter the elevator, Enzo steps back, looking a bit put out. Sera glances up to find thatanother boy is leaning against the wall, looking exhausted.
That explains Enzo's panicked look.
"Oh, hello! May we ride down with you?" Sera says, hoping the vestiges of tears are gone fromher voice.
The boy nods. "Oh, sure." He leans further into the wall and Sera crooks a beckoning finger atEnzo.
They ride in silence for a minute, before Sera clears her throat. "Couldn't sleep?"
The boy—from Ten, she realizes upon closer inspection—looks like she's just asked him for hishome address and every bit of money to his name. He folds his arms.
"Sorry. I just meant that I couldn't sleep either. Nightmares."
The boy looks a bit calmer, but still closed off.
"I know what it's like to lose someone," she says, speaking more gently now.
The boy sighs. "How'd you know?"
"I deduced from the fact that your sister shared the same last name. Also, she talked about you inher interview."
"Wow. You must be a detective or something."
"We are, actually!" Sera beams, realizing too late that he was being sarcastic. "I'm not the onlyone to puzzle that out, am I?"
"Nah. But you're the first to actually look me in the eye." He shrugs sadly. "I haven't had morethan one conversation here."
"Then maybe you'd consider an alliance?"
Sera gapes at Enzo, standing just a little behind her, silent up until this moment. She hadn'tplanned to take allies. It was just going to be her and her longtime partner.
But the boy is looking a little friendlier. He eyes Enzo and Sera with new interest. And Sera can'tfind it in herself to protest. Enzo looks interested, even happy. To call him antisocial would beunderstating, but if he's suggesting a partnership, maybe he has the right idea.
And maybe she's not so alone after all. Perhaps there is more to her life than bloodshed and silentheartbreak.
She smiles. "Sounds like an excellent opportunity."
…
Malibu Mokarran, 18, District Four(They/Them)
Nothing has ever been quite so enchanting to Mal as Ithaca Dominica Marquesa Sotavento.
And they don't say this lightly either: the Four skyline has always held them rapt, the sparkle offish as they steal through the sea a welcome beacon for their gaze. And Malibu can't deny thatthey are an absolute knockout when it comes to looks—they've learned to cling to self-inflatingplatitudes in the hopes that they will someday feel true. But Ithaca... Ithaca is on a whole newlevel. That's true for a lot of things when it comes to the One girl. Not just the enchantment,though that's obviously taking up most of their focus right now.
There she is, across the training room and still well within sight. And there is Malibu, staring likea creep and unable to move. Mal, who effortlessly garners attention and keeps it like a reservoirto draw from when needed. Mal, who has not been afraid to move, to be bold, in so very long.
But this isn't fear. It's a whole lot of complicated, inconvenient, ridiculously sentimental feelingsthat neither of them have time for right now. And that's ignoring the fact that Ithaca definitelydoes not like Mal back, nor does she likely know they exist.
(Ithaca has to remember… the walks along the beach, the conversations sifting through the hoursas easily as flour through fingers. The feeling of connection, a tenuous thing, which Mal still hasyet to let go of.
How could they, when Ithaca is so utterly dazzling?
And there they go again, repeating like a Capitol advertisement because of course their penchantfor annoyance would spread into all areas, including a crush. Which is fine, of course. It'sperfectly fine.)
It just also happens to be oddly stress-inducing. And Mal's never been hesitant to approachsomeone before.
Ithaca is strangely alone, just like she'd been when she walked into the Shanty Shack that veryfirst time. Mal wonders why she hasn't gone and gotten herself platonically hitched to the otherCareers floating around. The boy from Two swaggers through the stations, exuding that easycharm that boys tend to adopt when they discover everything is going to be handed to themsimply because they're rich. The girl from Two is also pretty nice-looking, though she hasnothing on Ithaca. They stand together, heads bent in strategy. Malibu curls their fingers, dancingfrom foot to foot.
It's not the end of the world. They've always been a good bartender, never struggled atconversations. Why should this be different?
Ithaca won't turn them away, will she? If it was the Twos, Mal would be worried, but… well, it'sjust Ithaca. They're close, right? Aren't they?
They're a little worried someone might see them having a small crisis—ever so out of characterfor them, mind—which would likely just gain them a new friend... or perhaps someone to tell offfor being judgy. Either way, Mal would take any excuse not to walk over at this point.
Still, Malibu's parents did not raise them to be a coward. In fact, they raised them to be then Mal and Navarro proceeded to trash that conditioned self-hatred and become all themore fabulous for it. And they're not about to let that go, not after all the progress they've made.
So they waltz right up to Ithaca, winking at the outer District kids as they watch Malibu breachthe unseen borders. (Ithaca tends to radiate a little bit of frightening energy, bless her.)
Mal looks up to those inevitable, beautiful eyes. Panem help them, but she is even prettier upclose. Mal clears their throat.
"If it isn't the double-District darling."
"Malibu Mokarran." Ithaca steps closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
"Oh please, the other clowns could never have measured up to me."
"Isn't that the truth..." Mal smiles at Ithaca's polished words, the way they gleam like One's finestgems. Still, what could she possibly mean? Could it be that the barest edge of a smile is liftingthe corner of her mouth?
Ithaca seems to war briefly with herself; Mal watches her closely, trying to understand theintense mechanisms behind her eyes. After a moment, her shoulders relax minutely. "How's theShanty Shack?"
Mal beams. "Oh, it's amazing. Navarrimar are moving along quite nicely. They're moving intogether!"
Navarrimar was the unquestionably horrible ship name Mal had come up with for her brother andhis boyfriend, Larimar. On top of the bar, Mal and Navarro do janitor work at the Career trainingcenter, and though Larimar had once aspired to be a Tribute, that ship had long sailed—makingway, of course, for the most beautiful one of all. Navarro and Larimar are unbelievably cute.
Ithaca gasps, the light of a District Four sunset glimmering in her eyes. "No!"
"Yes! We all miss you."
"Tell them hi for me…" Ithaca trails off. "Mal?"
The nickname. The amount that Ithaca remembers about their time together. It's… it's moreelectrifying than any night on the town Mal has ever had.
"Yes, Ithaca Dominica Marquesa Sotavento?"
"I could use a second." Her eyes are stoic, but there's a lilt of hope in her voice. "Are youinterested?"
Striving to keep cool, Mal strives for a pliant smile. "I don't see anyone else contending for theposition, so I guess I'm all you've got."
"Oh, shut up."
"Now that I'm here, we'll have Careers flocking to us like birds to a bagel."
"Mal."
"We'll be the most unstoppable duo—"
"Malibu!"
"Yes, Ithaca. I'll be your ally."
Ithaca straightens her skirt. "Right, then," she says breezily. "We have training to do."
Something blooms in Mal's chest, warm and swelling like the August waves. Ithaca knows wants them around.
And Malibu intends to embrace Ithaca's generosity for as long as it lasts. They're going to takeeach moment for all that it's worth.
Because Mal is going to outshow everyone else—if not with skill, then with presentation. And ifthey happen to bring joy to a certain inscrutable girl along the way... if she happens to decide thatMalibu is worth her time, lowly as they may be... then the joy in Mal's heart will surpass even thelimitless sea.
...
Donna Waterloo, 18, District Three (She/Her)
It's... peculiar, being in the presence of Sammy again.
That's all she's willing to call this feeling in her chest—entirely peculiar. It gives that parasiticemotion inside her less power. It's peculiar when she catches the flash of his profile, the soft hushof his voice as he speaks with the trainers. Peculiar when she swears she even catches his salty-sweet scent, the scent that cut through the smog of Eight and persisted through the cruel cycle ofheartbreak. That scent she feels so stupid for remembering.
It must be yet another trick of chemicals, but she's not willing to let them win. She ought topunish herself every time her mind strays to his name, thinks about confronting him... but then,with the amount of times she's transgressed, she'd likely have pummeled herself senseless. Whichwould make it rather inconvenient to fulfill that lovely urge to punch someone.
(To punch Sammy. Sammy, with his infuriating softness, reminding her of what it was to be kindbefore her father drove it out of her like he would a startled rabbit. Sammy, promoting theweakness in her until she actually thought... could've sworn he cared about her...
But of course he hadn't. He'd chosen love and all the shackles that came with it, even if beingunder his parents' thumb made him unhappy as it once had made her, and why should she careanyway?)
He looks fine. Like the freed-faced boy who is just bursting with ambition, ready to join theCareers and leave Donna in the dust, for which she'll honestly be grateful. She much prefers thequiet.
But then... what had that little interaction been about yesterday, when he'd called off the stylistsand let her keep her dress? Perhaps it had just been a moment of vanity for his own gift. But he'dlooked... almost...
No. She slams a fist against the wall, satisfied by the resounding crack—whether from the wallor her knuckles she does not heed nor care. She grunts and punches it again. She was finewithout him. Fine on her own. Never should've let him in anyway, tramping all over her peace ofmind, having the audacity to make her happy! To make her think of her mother's lullabies beforethe fire took her, before the screaming matches and the cruel laughter of children and all themoments when Donna realized that the fairy tales had lied to her. He made her think that perhapslove was real after all, only to give it all up, and Donna has only ever wanted to find kindness inthe world, to be the gentleness in someone else's harsh landscape, to fix it...
"Hey! You okay there?"
Donna whirls, practically spitting steam. "Get out of my face."
The other teenager looks surprised, but does not step back. "Of course! I just wondered if youwould be interested in a vintage Capitol jewel, half-price, for just fifty!"
"I don't have money, idiot, I'm in the Hunger Games."
(She just wants to be left alone... she's so tired...)
The Tribute seems unfazed. "Completely understandable! You don't have to pay up-front! I alsoaccept cuts from your Sponsors—"
"Are you kidding me right now? Are you absolutely out of your mind—"
"You could also take out a loan from your Escort! And I'd also accept an alliance, if that suitsyou better."
Donna throws up her hands. "Has this ever worked before? Has there been a single moment inyour lifetime when this strategy has made you friends?"
They smile. "Friends? Maybe not. But money? You bet."
"I'm. Not. Interested."
Somehow, her grin grows. "No big deal! I can also throw in a custom—"
"—unless it's a custom promise to never speak to me again, I don't want it!" Donna is done withother people talking to her.
(She doesn't want to hurt them. She doesn't want to be hurt.
She's just... done.
Not that Donna Waterloo would ever be defeated. She could hardly live with herself. But thealternative, letting others in, is worse.)
The Eleven tribute narrows their eyes. "What's wrong? Did someone scam you? Because that'sabsolutely the worst thing anyone can do—"
Donna plants her hands on her hips. "Yeah. They scammed me into believing I'd actually have achance in these stupid Games."
Eleven giggles. "Ain't that the truth... the biggest scam of all... least they could do is be open withus."
Donna shrugs. "It's the Capitol."
"Guess you're right." Eleven steps forward, careful, as if worried about scaring Donna. Shestiffens at the implication. "What's your name, anyway? Can't make a transaction without aname!"
"I never agreed to that."
But Eleven doesn't leave. She just waits, patient, bright-eyed. Donna shakes her head. " that'll make you leave me alone."
"Waterloo." The other Tribute shrugs. "Not the worst I've heard."
"Donna," she grunts. "Now will you leave me alone?"
"Nah." The other Tribute sits down, head thrown back, legs outstretched. "Aren't you going toask my name?"
Donna blows out a breath and stares at the ceiling. She notices that... well, he hasn't crossed hermind for a few minutes. It's sort of nice. "What's your name, you little miscreant?"
"Sequoia Cash-money Caishen!" Sequoia strikes an odd little pose. "At your service!"
"More like my expense."
"Ha!" Sequoia smiles. "I like you! You've got... chutzpah."
Donna can't suppress a smile. It sneaks out of her like a bandit.
And it seems she can't seem to shake it loose. But it feels nice to know that Sequoia is, above all,honest about her intentions—however unsavory they may be. It makes her feel almost she hasn't felt that way in a while.
So call her weak if she gives in, just this once.
…
Linnet Lammora, 31, District Nine Mentor
She's never actively disliked her Tributes before. She has no idea what to do with this newburning anger beneath her sternum, spreading through the roots of where she's been. Remindingher of days she wishes to forget.
She's never been fiery or hateful—that's Mirabelle's job, the woman who keeps the flames ofrevolution raging. Linnet is the softness to Mirabelle's determination, the flexibility to Rima'ssteadiness, the stillness to Yomi's vitality. Joy is its own revolution; that's what she's alwaysbelieved. But right now, joy is like a skipping stone disappearing into the lake and Linnet isbereft, cloaked in this foreign feeling.
Perhaps it's been waiting, tight-coiled, for its time to strike. And maybe she's tired of beingpeaceful all the time, when she's been given no reason to be content.
They scoffed when she told them she'd be mentoring them. Willow and Leland, bitter as barley,hollowed all the way through. She could feel it, the mockery rolling off them like waves.
"You?" Willow had said, voice a husk. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"How did you win the Games anyway? They must've felt bad for you and faced you off with agroup of bunnies."
"Nah. It would have to have been cotton balls."
They'd been very real bodies, her competitors, flesh and blood so easily broken. Her newTributes can't possibly understand the way it feels to be faced with the idea that there is no otherway to go on but to hurt someone else. That when faced with the question of sacrificing yourselfor pushing toward survival, you will almost always choose the second option. Even if that meansdamaging someone beyond repair.
People act as if she's only been blind for a few days and she's still growing acclimated to it, a foalon shaky legs. They know they would fail in her place, so they turn her into a token to be slottedinto their machine of pity.
But Linnet's victory doesn't fit in the Capitol's narrative. She was expected to be a good girl anddie at twenty-fourth place so that the ferocity of their Games could be further emphasized. Whycouldn't she have just had the good sense to become someone else's tragedy? An ornamentationto another person's success?
But Leland and Willow don't know that. They've not seen the home she left behind, simple andloving and woven with sweetness. They could never know the war inside Linnet's heart, how shegrapples with the question of whether she even deserves her Victory.
But it doesn't matter, because she is still here. And her story is no one's but her own. Surely thathas to mean something.
Linnet Llamora stands at the edge of the Training Room and listens to the bustle and joy, thefrantic pursuit of knowledge and the buzzing hum of life.
"Pandora! Scout! You are not to use the camouflage station for finger painting!"
"What about face painting?" comes Scout's mischievous reply. The Trainer huffs with exhaustion,and Linnet smiles softly.
The Capitol has always dared her to take up less space than she deserves. And for a long time,she believed their version of the story—that she should be ashamed. That she would never bringin a Victor. But as she listens to the Tributes, she realizes that life is about overflowing theborders of others' expectations. She remembers what it was to be young and dauntless and scream at the sky and say 'I love you' a million times a day and to be angry for no reasonexcept that she just was.
And for the first time in a long time, Linnet allows herself a scrap of entitlement. Perhaps Willowand Leland will fare better without her. Maybe she would only impede them.
But it doesn't matter, because they are not her concern anymore. She is a revolutionary and astory keeper and a blind woman in a world desperate to smother and consume her.
And for once in her life, she allows herself to be contrarian.
She will not let them.
…
I Have A Dream- Abba
HI lovely humans! Welcome to the ABBA CHAPTER! I'm on a new device so if the italics don'twork or if there's a way to format stuff that I just don't know about please let me know! Butbeyond that, thank you so much for reading and it's so good to post again! It's summertime, soI'm going to try and write as much as possible before college happens. But how have you allbeen? I'm sorry for being behind on all your stories, I promise I will read soon lol! Life wascrazy there for a minute, but things are finally starting to calm down which is great!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I don't know what to say this time other than that I loveyour kids and also my Linnet, and I'm sorry if this caused you all as much emotional damage asit did me, but I tried to keep it at least semi-hopeful! Anyway, I think that's all for now! See yousoon for Concorde, Flint, Sammy, and Sequoia!
All the love,
Miri