Mia shoved her hands into her pockets, quickening her pace while keeping a careful distance from Peeta. She couldn't afford to get too close, but she couldn't risk losing track of him either.

The town square was alive with movement—merchants setting up stalls, children weaving through the crowd, laughter and chatter filling the crisp autumn air. Banners stretched across the streets, their golden fabric catching the glaring sunlight. A sign for the Fall Harvest Festival reminded her that it was tomorrow. The realization flickered in her mind, a brief distraction from the weight pressing on her chest.

Peeta suddenly stopped to tie his boot, and she barely managed to slow her steps in time. Too close. Her breath hitched as she turned her face away, pretending to study a nearby shop window until he stood and kept walking.

The echo of their last fight rang in her ears, louder than the bustling town around her. She didn't know if she was following him out of anger, heartbreak, or the aching need to know what he was hiding. Maybe all three. Either way, it was too late to turn back now.

A slow, familiar tightening spread across her stomach. She exhaled deeply, pressing her hand against the curve of her belly, rubbing soothing circles as she whispered, "We're almost there, love… I think."

Another hour passed before the gates of the Victor's Village loomed in the distance. Her body ached from the long walk, but she forced herself forward. Peeta was long out of sight, but that didn't matter—his muddy footprints had been guiding her for quite some time now.

Beyond the wrought-iron gate, only two houses had smoke curling from their chimneys. One of them belonged to Peeta.

The sudden sound of geese honking cut through the morning quiet, drawing her attention to the other house. Haymitch's.

A familiar knot of nerves twisted in her stomach. What was she doing here? This was insane. She should turn around and go home, act as if she never followed him, pretend she never saw—

A voice, raised in anger.

She flinched. The sound came from inside Haymitch's house.

Mia crept forward, keeping to the shadows, and peeked through the side window. Her heart slammed against her ribs at the sight inside—Peeta, yelling, throwing clothes at Haymitch.

A second later, the screen door slammed open so hard it smacked against the house, rattling on its hinges.

Mia sucked in a sharp breath, pressing herself against the siding. She stayed frozen, barely breathing as she listened. She could hear his footsteps, heavy and sharp as they crossed the dirt road. Only when the distant creak of a door signaled he'd entered his own house did she dare to move again.

A moment later, the back door of Haymitch's house swung open.

She peeked around the corner and saw him step into the yard, wordlessly grabbing a bucket of feed. Without a care, he scattered it for the waiting geese, their wings flapping in excitement as they swarmed around him.

For a brief moment, she just… watched.

And then, guilt crept in, cold and unforgiving.

What the hell was she doing here? She was imposing upon someone she barely knew and going directly against Peeta's wishes.

She should turn around. Leave before she's noticed. Just pick up her feet and start walking—

But before she could even blink again, Haymitch's eyes were on her.

He set the bucket down and walked toward her. His expression was unreadable, neither welcoming nor unkind—if anything, he looked almost nervous.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I got into an argument with Peeta," she admitted, shifting on her feet. "I followed him here, but—I'm sorry. It was foolish of me. I shouldn't have come."

Haymitch exhaled, running a hand over his face. "Did he see you?"

"No, I kept a good distance. He doesn't know I'm here."

His sigh was heavy, exasperated. "Come inside. I'll grab my jacket and walk you back."

"You don't have to do that," she insisted. "I can find my own way."

"I'm not letting you walk all that way alone," he muttered already turning for the door.

She hesitated before following, but as she took a step, a sharp tightening wrapped around her stomach. She sucked in a breath, stopping short and shutting her eyes against the discomfort. She felt Haymitch's presence near her before she even opened them.

"You alright?" he asked, concern lacing his tone.

She nodded.

"False labor. It's uncomfortable, but it'll pass," she said.

After waiting a moment he guided her inside, directing her to the couch. She let him help her out of her jacket before he disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned with a glass of cold water.

"Here, drink this"

She accepted it, taking slow sips.

"You sure you can make the trip back today?"he asked.

"I'll be fine."

Haymitch scoffed. "Yeah, sure you will." But there was no bite to his words, only mild amusement.

"I'll tell you what," he continued. "I've got some things to finish outside. You stay here, rest. If you get bored, there are books in the other room. We'll leave in an hour."

She nodded, grateful for the reprieve. As he returned to the backyard, she let her gaze wander. The house was worn but not unwelcoming. There was something oddly familiar about it, though she couldn't place what.

She slipped her shoes off and stood up to look around a bit more.

Making her way into the study across the hall, she looked around at a number of shelves lined with books, their spines faded with time. Most of them, like much of the house, were covered in a thin layer of dust.

After a few minutes of searching she came acrossPride and Prejudice,her favorite. It was one of the first books she read after settling into her apartment. She smiled, plucking it from its place.

As she opened the cover, she stilled.

There, on the title page, was a handwritten note:

Dear Haymitch,

Perhaps in reading this book, much like Mr. Darcy himself, you'll find the inspiration required to refine your manners. You have certain charms about you, learn how to use them. I look forward to our continued partnership.

-E

This book was well-worn, handled often—this wasn't just another forgotten relic on his shelf. He had kept it, read it. Whoever 'E' was, she had mattered to him. Mia traced the elegant script with her index finger, her heart catching unexpectedly. She recognized the handwriting, but she wasn't sure whose it was.

Before she could dwell on it, exhaustion crept over her. She took the book back to the couch, flipping through the first few pages. Soon, the words became blurred, and her eyelids grew too heavy until finally, she fell asleep.

She woke to the sound of raised voices outside. One, unfamiliar—a woman's.

Mia sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Cautiously, she moved to the kitchen and walked up the the screen door to take a look at who was out there.

A young woman stood in the yard, dark hair braided over her shoulder, her stance rigid with frustration.

She had a hard time hearing what the two of them were discussing until the young woman raised her voice.

"No one is telling me what's going on and I–" her voice trailed off as she spotted Mia.

"Hey!" the girl called sharply, striding toward the house. Haymitch moved quickly, grabbing her arm before she could reach the door.

"Katniss don't!" His voice was firm, warning.

But the young woman—Katniss—ignored him.

"Who the hell are you?" the girl asked.

"Katniss, back off. I'll explain everything just not here," he said. She could tell he was trying hard to retain his composure, but his voice was growing slightly frantic.

With a deep breath, Mia opened the screen door and took a few steps towards them.

"I'm Mia," She hesitantly offered her hand out, but Katniss simply clenched her jaw.

Dropping her hand she watched as the girl's expression changed from one of anger, to one of shock.

"No," she whispered, her eyes searching over Mia's features.

"That's not possible," She took a step back, shaking her head.

Before she could say a word, Haymitch pulled Katniss further away, murmuring something Mia couldn't hear. But the girl's eyes never left her, even as she was led back toward the trees on the edge of his property.

She walked back inside.

A strange unease settled in her chest, making it difficult to shake the lingering tension from the interaction outside. Searching for distraction, she wandered toward the window, her gaze drifting onto Peeta's house.

The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the trees which lined the back of his home. A soft glow illuminated a second-floor room, and through the thin curtains, she could make out the shadowy figure of someone pacing.

Her eyes traced the structure of the house, taking in the similarities to Haymitch's—both had the same worn wood and sturdy build—but Peeta's had lighter shutters, and a few carefully planted flower bushes softened the edges of the otherwise somber exterior. Among them, she recognized the thick green leaves and delicate yellow petals of primroses.

The sight stirred something in her, though she wasn't sure why.

Shaking off the thought, she returned to the kitchen, pouring herself another glass of water before retreating to the couch. She picked up the book, hoping to lose herself in its pages, but after rereading the same paragraph several times without absorbing a single word, she gave up with a frustrated sigh.

Eventually, the sound of the back door creaking open pulled her attention, and she turned to see Haymitch stepping inside. He looked exhausted, as though the conversation outside had drained him more than he cared to admit.

He let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry 'bout all that," he muttered. "Took longer than I thought. Sun's almost down now. Not enough light left to make it all the way back to your place." He hesitated, then added, "You're welcome to stay. Got an extra room upstairs."

She blinked at him, momentarily surprised by the offer, then nodded.

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

"I don't have much in the way of food," he said, already making his way toward the kitchen. "But I was gonna heat up some soup if you're hungry."

"Sure," she said softly.

As he busied himself at the stove, she watched him, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor. He was quieter now, less sure of himself. Their earlier ease had been replaced by something restrained, something weighed down. He was avoiding her gaze, keeping his movements purposeful, as though he was deliberately creating space between them.

She followed him into the kitchen and took a seat at the table, resting her chin in her palm.

The silence stretched between them until she broke it.

"So…" she started, her voice careful. "Who's the girl?"

"Neighbor."

One word. Dismissive.

Her curiosity flared, but something in his posture warned her not to push too hard.

"I thought the other houses here were vacant besides yours and Peeta's," She sat up, shifting in her chair.

He hesitated for a moment, taking a seat across from her.

"She uh– she's moving in to the house next to mine," he said.

She nodded and took a sip of water.

"What did you have to explain to her? She seemed a little… upset."

Haymitch sighed, rubbing his face with his hands before answering. "She and Peeta are… seeing each other. And the other day, she saw you and Peeta together and assumed the two of you were—" he paused, then finished, "—involved."

Mia had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, but the absurdity of it slipped through in the form of a sharp exhale.

"Oh my god," she muttered. "So when she saw I was pregnant, she thought…"

"That her new boyfriend had a secret family on the other side of town," he finished dryly.

That did it. Mia burst into laughter, the sound bubbling up before she could stop it. Across from her, Haymitch smirked, shaking his head slightly as though trying to fight his own amusement.

"I'm sorry," she managed between breaths. "That's not funny. That poor girl."

"Mm," he grunted noncommittally, standing to check on the soup.

Her laughter faded as another thought took root. "Why didn't Peeta tell me he was seeing someone?" she mused aloud.

Haymitch shrugged. "No clue."

Mia sighed, leaning back in her chair. "That boy has too many secrets. I feel like I know everything and nothing about him all at once."

Haymitch grabbed two bowls from the cabinet and poured soup in each one. He handed her a spoon and a piece of bread before bringing both of their steaming bowls over to the table.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "It looks delicious."

"Picked it up from Greasy Sae's this morning," he admitted. "Sorry about the bread. Little stale."

"Even better for dipping," she said with a small smile, tearing off a piece and dunking it into her bowl.

They ate in comfortable silence, the warmth of the meal settling between them. But as the minutes stretched on, Mia found her thoughts circling back to something else.

She hesitated before speaking, but curiosity won out. "Who's 'E'?"

Haymitch froze for the briefest moment, his spoon hovering over his bowl before he finally looked up.

"What?"

"In your copy ofPride and Prejudice,there was a note on the first page. Signed 'E'." She studied him carefully. "The other day, when we met, you said a name… Effie. Was that her?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He took his time finishing the last bite of his bread, washing it down with a sip from his glass before answering.

"You sure ask a lot of questions," he muttered.

"You're the only person who gives me answers," she countered with a knowing smirk.

Another pause. He glanced down, as if debating how much to say.

"I'm sorry if I'm prying into something too personal," she said quickly, sensing his hesitation. "You don't have to talk about it if—"

"She was someone I… worked with," he interrupted. His voice was quieter now, his words more measured. "Then someone I, uh… was with." A beat of silence. "She's gone now."

Mia swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. "I'm sorry," she said softly, reaching across the table to rest her hand over his in quiet comfort.

He glanced down at their hands, then exhaled. "You remind me of her," he admitted.

She met his gaze, searching his expression. "Is that why you called me by her name?"

His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't answer. Instead, he stood, breaking their contact as he gathered their empty bowls.

"I'll take care of these," he said gruffly, turning toward the sink.

He put everything in the sink and turned back, extending a hand to help her out of her chair.

"I can show you upstairs if you'd like," he offered.

She nodded, following him toward the staircase.

When they got to the top he pointed to a closed door to the left.

When they reached the top, he pointed to the closed door on the left. "That's the spare room." He gestured to the one in front of them. "Bathroom." Then he nodded toward the door on the right. "My room."

"I'll grab some clean sheets—can't remember the last time those were changed," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you want, you can head into my room and grab something to sleep in. Top drawer of my dresser should have some old t-shirts."

"Alright," she said, hesitating slightly before stepping toward his door.

He nodded before disappearing into the spare room.

Mia stood in front of his bedroom door for a moment, her fingers grazing the brass doorknob before she turned it. The hinges groaned slightly as she stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit by the fading light from the window. It smelled faintly of whiskey and something else—something familiar that she couldn't quite place.

As she took a few cautious steps forward, the floorboards creaked beneath her. Her eyes landed on an empty bottle tucked half under the bed, then drifted to the dark-stained dresser against the wall.

Making her way over to it, she stopped. Her fingers reached out to trace the hand-carved flowers in the wood. Irises.

Her breath hitched.

The sense of déjà vu washed over her so strongly that she had to steady herself against the dresser.

With slightly trembling fingers, she pulled open the top drawer. She quickly pulled out a shirt that looked comfortable and went to close the drawer, but something else caught her eye, partially hidden under another shirt.

At first she thought it was a piece of paper, but as she grabbed onto it she realized it was a photograph. Slightly crumpled, its edges worn from handling.

She hesitated before turning it over, this was something Haymitch had intended to keep private. However, she couldn't fight this feeling that she needed to see what was on the other side.

Turning it over in her hands, her breath left her in a quiet gasp.

It was her.

She was in Haymitch's arms, lying on a bed. Smiling. Kissing him.

Happy.

The room around her blurred as memories she didn't know she had pressed against the edges of her mind.

"No way. My camera… my pictures," he had teased.

"Fine," she had smirked, tucking one of the photos into her pocket. "But I'm keeping this one."

"Something to remember me by, sweetheart?" His grin was lazy, knowing.

She rolled her eyes, slipping into her heels and heading for the door. "You'd better be dressed and ready within the hour. I expect to see you there on time."

"Yes, ma'am." He mock-saluted with a sigh, flipping through the rest of the photos.

"You're insufferable," she muttered, stepping outside.

"I heard that," he called after her.

"Mia?"

The voice behind the door startled her, jerking her back to the present.

She shoved the photograph into the folded t-shirt in her arms, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

"I'm fine," she called back.

Haymitch cracked the door open slightly. "I knocked. You didn't answer." His brow furrowed. She nodded quickly, stepping past him before he could scrutinize her any further.

"I'm fine. Just lost in thought."

His hand brushed her arm lightly as she passed, and her breath hitched at the unexpected warmth.

"You're sure?" he asked, studying her.

"I'm fine," she said again, forcing a half-hearted smile. "Just… ready for bed."

He hesitated before nodding. "Alright. Bed's all made up for you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she murmured, practically fleeing down the hall to the spare room.

As soon as the door shut, she pulled out the photograph, inspecting it in the dim light.

Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe this was some big mistake.

But there, on the woman's shoulder, was a small beauty mark—the same one she had.

Itwasher.

A storm of questions swirled in her mind, none of them with easy answers.

Placing the t-shirt on the bed, she opened the door and made her way downstairs as quickly and quietly as possible. Finding her shoes and slipping them on, she approached the front door. Hesitating, she looked back at the staircase.

Perhaps there was a good reason that the truth was being kept from her. A voice in the back of her mind told her to go back upstairs to bed and pretend that she never found the picture, but her decision had already been made.

Opening the door, she stepped outside, her footsteps swift and determined, and headed straight for Peeta's house.