Ishaan Hodaka-District 9 Male

The Train was late.

After all the notices and orders to be read to meet the Victory Train at the precise time it arrived, they were late. Other trains bringing supplies and sending out grain to fill quotas were grounded to keep them from getting in the way, but the Victory Train was still late.

Rationaly, Ishaan knew there could be plenty of ordinary reasons for the train to be delayed. There could have been mechanical issues, or illness. It had stopped snowing in Nine yesterday, but maybe it was still bad in Ten. Plenty of good reasons for why they were all standing at the South Nine Train station watching their breath freeze over.

There was no specific reason to think the rich Capitolites were holding the train up because they wanted their exact brand of coffee before they left. Or demanding they slow down so the train's jostling didn't aggravate their hangover.

It just felt like something they would do.

In the meantime, they all had to wait. As a positive, a good portion of the community had come out to welcome the train. Even if they were all there because the Capitol demanded there be a visible crowd to meet their Victors, it was still a chance for people ot get together and enjoy each other company. Kids were playing in the snow, people were laughing together. Isshan's whole extended family was present, scattered among the crowd offering warm baked goods and hot drinks.

Ishaan would have enjoyed being there with the crowd, but he had his own important work to do.

"Are you drawing on the windows?"

Ishaan didn't normally jump when Aofie spoke, but her popping up behind him now nearly caused him to slip on the still slick concrete. He must be more on edge than he thought. "Something to pass the time," he replied, trying to keep his voice light.

Aofie looked over his shoulder at his work and squealed in approval. From an artistic perspective, it wasn't much. The train station window had been covered in frost, and he'd drawn flowers on them. They were just a row of small, bell shaped flowers. He couldn't even get in trouble for vandalism, since they'd disappear soon enough.

But lasting wasn't the point right now.

(Aofie didn't know about the flowers. Aofie couldn't know.)

"I actually found out about them, you know."

Ishaan kept his face carefully neutral. "About what?"

"The flowers, silly!" Her voice was too cheerful for her to actually know. If she knew she'd be furious he kept it from her. (Right?). "I finally found out what kind they are! They were buried in that book your mom lent me about natural medicine."

Ishaan's mother. The local doctor. A fine upstanding citizen. One of the people who Ishaan admired the most. But this… "Well, what kind of flower is it?"

"Digitalis purporea!" Ishaan raised an eyebrow. "Also known as common foxglove. It's actually a really interesting plant. It's poisonous, you know."

He did know that, but he wasn't sure it was a good idea to mention thefact. Would Isshan have known about foxglove if things were different? He decided to err on the side of caution and feign ignorance. "Doesn't sound much like natural medicine to me."

"But it is! Or, it can be! It has all sorts of uses! I wrote them down! Look!"

Aofie shoved her sketchbook into his hands. Down the center of the page was indeed a long list of medicinal uses. All surrounded by drawings of the flowers and what Ishaan guessed were supposed to be foxes wearing gloves. All entirely innocent. There was no way she could get in trouble for having that on her. No way.

"Can I keep this? Seems like it's a good thing for a doctor's assistant to know."

"Sure," she replied breezily. Ishaan took the book, and methodically tore the single page out of the book.

"You can just yank it out. Not like you're going to hurt the book."

Isshan ignored her and continued gently peeling the page out. Once it was free, he examined the book.

As he hoped, the removal was seamless. No one would know there had been a page there at all. He took the page, carefully folded it, and put it in his coat pocket, where it would only hurt him if it was taken care of, he offered the book back to her.

She didn't take it back. Her eyes had drifted away as he took care of things, off in her own world like she sometimes did. "It's funny. The book talked about how they are grown in One, but they have to be under a lot of security so no one can take any without permission." She said absently, her mind probably off in a place where flowers grew surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards, Isshan guessed. "I'd like to go to One someday and see them. Foxgloves are so pretty. You wouldn't know by looking at them it could save someone's life. Or kill them. "

Ishaan would like to see One too. Pity it could never happen how things were now. But instead of saying so, he replied, "A lot of things are like that. Plenty of medicines can kill if you take the wrong dose. A knife can be a weapon or a tool. Fire can save lives, or destroy them." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the foxgloves he drew on the window, still shining in the morning sunlight. "What matters is how you use them."

Growing up, it seemed sometimes like he was surrounded by those flowers. Scribbled on the sign that welcomed trains to District Nine. Scrawled on the side of the Brewery.

Etched into the window of his mother's office. Drawn on the siding of their house. They were small, and well hidden, but present. And whenever someone tried to paint over them, another one appeared.

He and Aofie used to look for the pictures when they were little. It was like a game, looking for hidden secrets. Once they started looking, they found other little pictures as well. Spiders, handcuffs, cats. Together, they'd copy the pictures down, and record where they found each one. Try to puzzle out what each meant, why people drew them. Aofie guessed they were everything from clues to a treasure hunt to messages from aliens.

Privately, Ishaan hadn't thought they meant anything. Just that someone liked drawing flowers and cats. Until he was nine, and he showed the sketchbook to his dad. Ishaan's father wasn't one to show much emotion, but when Isshan told him all about the drawing's he'd seen, and how Aofie and him were trying to find out what they meant, Ishaan could swear he saw a flash of fear in his eyes.

The moment passed though, and his father went back to normal. He received a lecture on hwo drawing on other people's things was called vandalism. That it might seem harmless, but it cost people to paint over them, and hurt the community as a whole. The Hadoka family was well known and influential in their town. They had a responsibility to look after each other. Then his father asked a bunch of other questions. Had he and Aofie drawn any of the pictures on buildings? Had he talked about them with anyone else? Had Aofie? Who? Did he know if anyone else had seen them examining the pictures?

Then he went to talk to Ishaan's mother privately. When they were done, he announced that Ishaan and his little sister Chatima were going to be spending the next week at their grandma's house. When they came back, all the pictures were gone.

Ishaan understood all that and answered his father's questions honestly. It still felt a bit silly, but Dad thought it was important, so he tried to listen. He also tried to ignore them when the new pictures popped up in slightly different places, and Aofie started drawing them again. Ishaan didn't want to bring it all back, and he definitely didn't want to give his dad another reason to send him to Grandma Lillia. He loved her a lot, but they mostly seemed to visit her when things were going wrong.

Eventually, Ishaan was able to put it out of his mind, focus on finishing school, and getting ready for a job. He already knew what he wanted to do. His mother was a great doctor, but she didn't like doing all the paperwork and ordering that came with being a doctor entrusted with medicine sent from the Capitol. He could take care of that, and she could have more time to heal the people who needed her. He picked up some first aid, which was useful, but he felt most at home handling the business side. Mainly taking payments and ordering medicine. And in the meantime, he could pick up hours in the brewery or help out in town itself. It felt good, finding his place in the community. He felt grown up, and ready to begin the rest of his life,

Until he turned thirteen. When he found out what the pictures meant.

Never had Ishaan been so happy to hear a train whistle.

"Oh, there it is!"Aofie said. She headed closer to the train, ready to greet the passengers.

Ishaan stayed right where he was. He'd chosen this spot carefully. It was close enough to the rest of the workers he wouldn't look suspicious, but not so close to get lost in the crowd.

His heart started to beat faster as the train pulled in. Despite the chill, he felt himself start to sweat.

He'd done things like this before, just not quite so… publicly. And not with so many Capitol officials around.

That was a good thing, he reminded himself. They were just a bunch of Capitolites on vacation planning on getting drunk. They had no reason to suspect anything.

He just needed his heart to get the message.

Finally, the train doors opened, and the Capitolites began pouring out. First there were people with cameras and lighting gear, rushing to set things up and complaining about delays (although, to Ishaan's disappointment, not explaining what caused the delays.) Then came the staff, the stylists, prep team, and escorts posing and barking orders.

The loudest of them had a little rat dog in a bag, a miniature version of a mutt from a few years back. Without breaking her stride, she shoved it into his cousin Danu's arms. "That dog is worth more than you'll ever see. If there's even a scratch on him, I'll have your heads!" She called over her shoulder. Isshan saw Danu try to follow and ask questions, like where she was supposed to be taking him, but the woman had already left.

Danu stood there, holding the growling dog in her arms in mild shock. Then she met his eyes, and they both laughed. Because what else could you do?

But they didn't have much time to laugh, because suddenly all the Capitolites began moving again. The camera people adjusted their equipment, the prep people got out of the shot. Then, there he was. The star of the whole trip. Hair artfully mussed, a shadow of his famous smirk on his lips. The Victor had arrived.

Logically, Ishaan knew that the Hunger Games were an exercise in cruelty that served mainly to turn Districts against each other and keep them from aligning against the Capitol. He also knew that even the wealthy and trained districts struggled under the Capitol, and that a lot of pressure had to be put on the volunteers to get them to willingly sign up for a death match.

In his heart, he wanted to ask Cato if he enjoyed watching his district partner tear Amaranth's throat out in front of her family and all of District Nine. If he really thought that brought honor to his district. If he remembered Amaranth Lee at all, or if she was just a number to him too.

Ishaan didn't say any of that. He just clapped and cheered the way the Capitol had instructed them. Enough to blend in, and not a bit more.

Through the noise of the crowd, Ishaan could just barely hear their newest Victor's voice. "Can anyone actually explain why we're staying in this place for two whole days? They just grow corn and stuff here."

The Two Escort, Sibylline, cackled. "You District kids are so precious. Nine isn't just grain. It's also where grain based products are made. Including the finest of those products!"

"Alcohol!" One of the other prep workers chimed in, and the rest laughed along with them. From where Ishaan was standing, he couldn't see Cato's reaction, but he doubted he was enjoying any of the forced merriment at his expense.

Personally, Ishaan was bristling a bit. It was typical of the Capitol, restricting each District's knowledge of each other, and then laughing at them for not knowing something they had know way of knowing. Until he was fifteen, Ishaan couldn't have answered a single thing about Two other than+ that they mined things and produced volunteers. Even now, he had too many questions about the other Districts, and no way of answering them.

At least the crowd was moving on now. The main group meandered towards the center of town, while less important members of the entourage moved along the train, barking orders.

One in particular grabbed Ishaan's attention. Like most Capitolite's her clothes were gaudy and over the top, with a mass of multicolored ruffles almost swallowing it wasn't her dress that drew Ishaan's attention. It was her hat, with a flower pinned to the side, seemingly an afterthought.

A foxglove, to be precise.

The woman strode past the crowd, eyes flitting from one person to another, before landing on Ishaan. Her eyes flicked to the window, with his foxgloves visible in the frost, then back to him. She straightened up and pointed at him imperiously.

"You! Boy! Unload the luggage now! I'm going to need my evening clothes waiting for me at the mayor's house by eight! Mine are the ones with feather patterns on them."

Ishaan dropped his eyes differentially. "Yes'm," he mumbled, before heading over to the back of the train.

Capitolites had to travel with a lot of luggage, even when leaving the train for a two day trip. No one would question their leaving with a load and bringing it to a truck for transport. And as long the luggage arrived on time and nothing was reported missing in between, no one would question where it went in between.

They wouldn't know if, instead of clothes, the bag came into Nine carrying money and rebel penned books like After the Fire and Do Mockingjays Mate for Life?. Or that it would return to the Capitol filled with expensive liquors that had mysteriously not been included in the production reports given to the Capitol.

As he moved to pick up the luggage, Ishaan saw one of the station attendants clearing the windows he had been standing by. Including wiping away the foxglove pattern Ishaan had made.

There was still more work to be done, but Ishaan could breathe a little easier. This would work. Because this was what they did in Nine.

They looked out for each other.

Elena Whittaker-District 3 Female

District Three wasn't a pretty District. This was by the Capitol's design

After all, the people of Three weren't supposed to care about those things. They were scientists and engineers, focused on new ideas and innovations created for the good of Panem. They were supposed to be above such petty things as beauty.

(Or else they worked in the factories, but the Capitol rarely considered them worth mentioning. Besides, they should be working, not creating)

In any case, the Capitol preferred the people of Three spend their time working on technology which everyone knew was the opposite of art. So District Three was built and maintained as utilitarian as possible. It was what the people preferred, they insisted.

This was nonsense. Aside from the scientists who found beauty in their work, and unraveling the secrets of the universe, the people of Three had hid a vibrant and creative spirit that leant itself to art as well as science. And as much as the Capitol had tried to stifle them, there was still beauty in Three if you knew where to look for it. People painted on buildings, performed on street corners, grew flowers on windowsills. Read all sorts of books, and wrote poetry about their lives.

And some danced. Danced on the streets, danced in their homes. Danced at galas given by the elite, and danced at secret parties where they could cut loose from the preconceptions of the Capitol.

That was how it had been for decades, and how it was expected to continue. Until a Capitol program on District Arts decided it needed to include something from each District, and included a five minute clip of a dance recital. And then something about the supposedly boring Threes breakdancing piqued an influential Capitolite's interest. All leading to a small studio and Elena Whittaker pretending to wield a sword in rhythm to music.

Turn, step, step, step, face front, arms arc slowly, then thrust-

"More forceful! Remember, it's a weapon, not a toy wand! Not so stiff, Smith! Whitaker, stop scowling! Act like you're glad to be here!"

Elena forced her face into a smile but there wasn't time to do more than that. In the actual show, there would be no stopping or do over. And unlike in their normal recitals, which would only be seen by friends (if they had any) and family (if they cared), this performance was scheduled to be an official part of the Victory Tour. Meaning Victors, Escorts, and other important people would be watching them.

Turn stage right and thrust parry thrust step thrust feint-

"Dance like you mean it, girls!"

Elena plastered a smirk on her face as she thrust her fake sword forwards. Her partner, Kara, gracefully fell back as if she'd been killed. Around her, more girls collapsed in faux death.

The dance itself was meant to be a recreation of the Sixteenth Games, the year of Three's first Victor. Grey Lattimer. The unprepossessing man who nevertheless won not through brains, but agility and physicality. Their instructor, Ms. Huang, said it was meant to express the other side of Three: the beauty and brawn beneath the brains.

Brawn, maybe. But Elena had seen the Sixteenth Games, and many others. She'd yet to find anything truly beautiful about them.

But that wasn't for her to say, then or now. Now, Elena needed to step in, as their Grey Lattermier, and squeeze something beautiful out of it anyway.

She strode towards center stage, The other girls approached, surrounding her as Grey. They all turned to face her as they began circling clockwise. From a distance, the effect was supposed to be menacing. But up close, she could see all the real glares on her fellow dancers' faces.

Elena had been facing those glares ever since the casting was first announced.

"Mommy and Daddy bought you the role as a Reaping Present?"

"I suppose it's easy to get parts when you have a private studio and no job or responsibilities.."

"What does a Whittaker even know about the Games. She never needed to worry about a Reaping in her life."

The first Elena was easily able to brush off. Neither of her parents were involved enough in Elena's life to interfere like that.

The second she couldn't deny. But she also couldn't bring herself to feel guilty about it either.

The last, though…

Elena Whittaker. Such a lovely name. Maybe it'll be your name I pull out tomorrow. It'd be exciting, wouldn't it?

Sorry, Elena. Your father and I need to talk about work now. Hopefully he's been good and I don't need to pull your name out of the Ball.

You better watch yourself. I hear little girls who don't say please and thank you go to the Hunger Games.

But as the director of all television production in Three, Elena's father had a lot of dealings with the Capitol. He had entertained all sorts of Capitolites. Including a traditional dinner with the latest Escort for Three. And all of them made that joke.

No, Elena never took tesserae. She never feared the randomness of the Reaping. But since she was little, she feared the day when someone would decide Harrison Whittaker was too complacent, or too sympathetic to his employees over the Capitols demands. That they'd decide that Elena herself was a rebel or not a worthy then there would be a Reaping Ball with only one name in it.

Elena never feared the randomness of the Reaping. That didn't mean she never feared the Games.

But she'd dealt with her fears. She'd deal with this too.

Tonight, she'd be under the eyes of the Capitol again. But for the first time, she'd be facing them as a dancer, not a daughter. As herself, not who they expected to see

So she met her fellow dancer's gazes with a soft smile, and raised her sword. Ready to take them all on.

"Do you feel ready, Elena?"

Elena took a deep breath. "As I'll ever be."

"Then take a look!"

She turned towards the mirror. Normally, Elena didn't have much call to examine herself in the mirror, but this would be the first time she saw herself properly done up as Grey, and Elena couldn't help but be a bit curious. Her long dark hair was tied back in a tight bun, with several sword shaped pins running through it. Her performance costume was a silvery tunic over leggings, studded with crystals and threaded with gold and emerald throughout. On her feet were equally sparkly dancing shoes, and her face was plastered with enough stage makeup to look like she wasn't wearing any at all.

Behind her, her best friend Mimi waited for a reaction makeup brush in hand. "What do you think?" she asked excitedly.

The first thing that popped into Elena's head was that the Sixteenth Games happened before arena uniforms were standardized, and Grey spent his entire games wearing overalls. But the costume itself wasn't Mimi's choice, and it did look nice, if a bit gaudy for Elena's tastes. "You did a great job." Elena replied. That was certainly true, at least.

Mimi squealed a bit, and hugged Elena around the shoulders. "Thank you! And I think you look great!"

Elena smiled at the obligatory complement. Not only had Mimi done the majority of the work getting Elena ready, she was also Elena's longtime personal maid. A part of Elena wondered if father put complements on Mimi's list of duties.

(And yes, Elena was aware of how pathetic it was that her only friend was someone paid to spend time with her. But she still cared about Mimi. And she hoped Mimi felt the same)

Fake or not, Elena was as prepared as she could be for the recital. Nothing left to do but wait and find something to pass the time that wouldn't risk mussing herself up.

Luckily, Elena had plenty of experience with passing time. She turned towards the elegant teak bookshelf that completely covered her wall, and began scanning the titles. She wasn't particularly in the mood for nonfiction tonight. Nothing too heavy either. Games stories, both the real life and fictional, were completely out of the question right now…

"Um, do you mind if I wait downstairs? I was hoping to get a quick bite from the kitchen beforehand."

Elena frowned. She didn't mind being alone most of the time, but right now with her insides still squirming slightly, she could use the company. Not that she would keep Mimi from eating, of course, but- "We'll both go. I'll wait by the fire while you eat."

"Oh, no, you don't have to-"

Elena was already moving though. As Mimi spoke, she grabbed her favorite book of poetry Voices of Three off of her nightstand and exited out the door. It was probably better to go for something comforting and familiar anyway, and Mimi did enough for Elena anyway. She could spend a night downstairs with her mother and sister if she had to.

Elena could hear Mimi following behind her down the halls, as usual. A question occurred to her "Wouldn't you be able to eat at the gala? I heard there's going to be more food there than a factory family sees in a month," she added with slight distaste. There was being rich, and there was being tacky and wasteful. Elena's father may not have been around much, but he'd taught them the difference.

"Oh, didn't you hear?" There was a slight strain in Mimi's voice. Enough to make Elena turn around. Mimi hesitated, but continued.

"Mr. Whittaker asked me to stay home and look after Mrs. Whittaker. She's not feeling well, so he was able to get permission from the Capitol" Elena tried not to let her disappointment show on her face,but Mimi still looked stricken with guilt. "You know I was looking forwards to attending. Nothing else could keep me away. But Mrs. Whitaker, you know…"

Elena did know. Mimi might be her friend, but her parents were Mimi's employers. Elena always cringed a little when Mimi used formal terms to refer to her parents. It reminded her that whatever friendship existed between them, Mimi was still beholden to her parents first.

And her mother not being up for the gala wasn't a good sign. Katrina Whitaker was big on keeping up appearances. "Dr. Langston doesn't think she's getting worse. But the Victory ceremony earlier today took a toll on her, and he ordered rest. She should be-"Mimi pauused, searching for the right words. "More stable tomorrow.

Elena nodded, feelings of relief and frustration battling under the surface. Then, forcing her a casual tone, she asked, "So who's taking me to the gala after I change? Della? Watt?"

A smile flitted on Mimi's face, and Elena knew the answer before she even opened her mouth. "Nope. Tricks."

That time, she couldn't help it. A groan made its way out of her throat. Mimi giggled.

Tricks. Tricks freaking Winters.

Tricks Winters who, out of nowhere, her father brought home three years ago as their newest servant and personal entertainer at parties (Capitolites didn't mind District art when it entertained them). Tricks Winters, who's presence in their house triggered one of the worst arguments her parents ever had. Tricks Winters, who the Capitolites always cooed over, and her father made time to talk to.

Tricks Winters, who never gave a straight answer when asked how he ended up there. The only thing Elena knew for sure was that, after a string of DNA tests, he wasn't her half-brother.

Good thing, too. Because Tricks was also annoyingly good looking and grinned at her like he knew it.

Slowly, Elena pulled herself together. She needed to stay composed, as befitting a Whittaker about to attend an important function, and perform in front of the Capitol. She turned and started to make her way down the townhouse's grand staircase.

"Are you still mad about the books?"

Immediately, Elena stumbled over her feet, sliding down several steps. And of course, her sister Moirah was right there in the living room, and she was looking right in her direction, smirking.

"Graceful, Elena!" she called.

Oh, for effs sake. Yes, she was still mad about the books, because someone decided to open a box marked for disposal, and nearly waved After the Fire under the nose of a bunch of Capitol officials. If a single one recognized the title, they'd all have their tongues out. If they were lucky.

(She should have been more careful. Elena wasn't even a rebel, really. She just…wondered if there could be a better way.)

Of course, Elena couldn't verbalize any of that. Instead, she replied icily. "I've said this already If he wants to borrow anything, he needs to ask first." Then, with as much dignity as she could manage, Elena scooped up her book, got to her feet and finished descending the stairs.

Once that monumental task was complete, Elena headed over to the mirror by the doorway. She examined herself to make sure everything was still in place.

"You look stupid, you know."

Elena pointedly ignored Moirah, instead examining her hair. The sword pins were a pain to get into place without poking her, so Elena prayed none had fallen out. No, they were all there. Her makeup wasn't smudged either. Everything was fine.

"But prancing around on stage is stupid. Mother's right about that."

Or not. Elena tried to swallow her growing rage."I am about to perform in front of all of Panem. In front of the President. That's something you'll never say." She slowly turned to face her sister.

Dang, it shouldn't be possible for a twelve year old to look that pompous. She replied loftily, "Someday, I am going to make devices all of Panem will use. And no one will remember you."

"You're making a lot of assumptions there, kid." Elena replied evenly. Or as evenly as she could manage.

Her sister just rolled her eyes and went back to reading her book. Which looked like a technical manual of some sort. Of course it was. Moirah was the poster girl for the best and brightest in Three. She excelled in all forms of science and math, and her teachers loved to praise her "effective communication" which "made her a leader among her peers.

All things Elena wasn't. And they both knew it.

That was why it was important that this night go off properly. If the Capitol liked the performance enough, they might actually provide funding,make the recital a part of the Tour each year. Elena could make dancing into a career, be something other than the family disappointment.

(Ignore that Elena wasn't certain she wanted to dance professionally. The point was, it was something she could do.)

"Excuse me?"

The sudden voice brought Elena out of her reverie. She straightened up and tried to compose herself. Now was not the time for doubts or daydreaming. When Elena accepted the role, she resolved to fulfill her duties with dignity. As befitting a Whitaker.

That resolve faltered a little when she turned to address Tricks. When she saw the strain behind his normal ever present smile. And the small bouquet of flowers he held out awkwardly to her. "I-sorry, Elena," he mumbled, so different from his usual demeanor.

Elena didn't respond immediately. She just stared at the roses.

It wasn't that they weren't nice flowers. One of the new varieties of roses, white shot through with pink and red. Elena could see the had been carefully cut and had their thorns removed. But Tricks, here right now with a small, last minute bouquet only meant one thing.

"Father sent me me flowers to make up for not being able to come?"

The silence between them said it all.

Finally, Tricks cleared his throat. "He said he was sorry."

"Sorry?" To her own embarrassment Elena heard her voice crack. "This is the Victory Tour. Everyone has the day off! All the wealthy people in Three are here. How can he-"

"He said the Capitol called. Insisted on meeting with him tonight."

That stopped her cold.

The Capitol. Of course it was the Capitol. Her mother couldn't attend the recital, so they wouldn't let her father attend either. If anyone of them stepped a toe out of line, the Capitol jerked their leash. To remind them who had the real power.

(Hopefully, they'd be satisfied with this. Elena may not especially like Moirah, but seeing her in the Games would be devastating)

But there wasn't anything any of them could do about that now. So they stood there in silence again.

"You look really nice, by the way. You're going to knock everyone dead even before they see you dance."

Elena nodded absently at the obligatory flattery. Once again, the only people in her life were the ones being paid to tolerate her.

(Mimi sometimes tried to push her to get out of her shell more. Telling Elena she could make friends if she put herself out there. But she never learned how. And it was probably too late for her now)

But there was no real time for self pity. If there was one thing Elena learned at school, it was that no one liked hearing rich girls complain about their problems.

Tonight was just another performance. At the recital, she'd be Grey Lattimer. Then at the gala, she'd be Elena Whitaker, happy and loyal citizen of Three. No sick mother, no annoying sister, no absent father. Perfect little puppet dancing on the Capitol's strings.

There wasn't much point in dwelling either. She accepted the flowers and placed them in a nearby vase. Then she turned back to Trick and forced a smile. "Shall we?"

"Always happy to follow."

Something about the warmth in Tricks's smile eased the tension in Elena's stomach. Tricks might revel in being a mystery, but she at least could trust him to play along in keeping things looking normal. Together, maybe they could handle this.

They were both performers, after all. And there was something beautiful about that