Everything's quiet in Medical.

Almost forgot that such a thing is possible these past few days. Volleying between fake-polite interviews with reporters and all out screaming matches with doctors hasn't left any time for silence. Not that the weeks preceding all of this have been any less chaotic. It's been nearly a month since I've had anything approaching an adequate amount of sleep, yet my body is crackling with nerves and I couldn't hope to doze off now.

Because the 74th Hunger Games are over. And lying across from me in her hospital bed is Katniss Everdeen, unconscious but alive. For the first time ever, the Games are over and my tributes are alive. Both of them.

And I haven't the slightest clue of how to keep them that way.

It's the quiet, really. That's the thing that gets me. I used to wonder what it was that made Snow wait two entire weeks to kill everyone I loved after I experimented with force fields a bit too much for his liking. Why does the most powerful man in the world bother waiting for anything when instant devastation can occur with just a snap of his fingers?

I know now. Snow waits in order to teach you that quiet isn't safety. You can't presume that all is forgiven just because time has passed since your latest transgression against him. Quiet is nothing more than a space for dread before the real punishment comes.

I've done everything I can think of to soften whatever blow he is planning for these two kids. I've grilled Peeta's medical team to ensure that no accident will be used as an excuse to get rid of the "extra" victor during his complicated recovery. I've pitched fits at anyone who dares suggest that Katniss be physically altered and set up for a lifetime of sexual exploitation. What little time I have left over is spent spinning lies in front of cameras and trying to cement the families of District 12's victors as beloved public figures who must never meet an early demise. Not again. Not like this.

At the end of the day, you can only prepare so much for retaliation that you're only guessing at. Not that my feeble actions would make any difference even if I did know what Snow was planning. In reality, he can do absolutely anything he wants and any effort I expend protecting people means nothing. It never does.

This grim train of thought is interrupted by the door to the hospital room opening. I expect to see a doctor walk in with their latest bit of nonsense for me to holler about. I'm surprised to see Chaff come through instead.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, unable to keep the indignation out of my voice.

Chaff is supposed to be in Peeta's room right now. One of the worst parts of dealing with Medical these past few days has been their insistence on keeping Katniss and Peeta's hospital rooms so far apart from each other. I can't be in two places at once, and even if I could, I've been in over my head since they removed Peeta's leg. Usually brand new victors can only be visited by Medical staff and their assigned mentor, but I bullied my way into a special exception. Chaff is maybe the only person I trust to be with Peeta during his first waking moments following the amputation. Him leaving his post feels like a betrayal.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," says Chaff. "But there's been a change of plans. They've started rounding everyone up. Every victor who's not from 12 was just ordered to get out of the Capitol, effective immediately."

"They can't do that this early. The Victory Banquet hasn't happened yet," I say. It's traditional for every mentor whose tribute made it into the final eight to attend. Hell, even the less successful mentors aren't usually forced out of the Capitol so soon after a Hunger Games finale.

"Don't think that's their biggest concern right now, buddy," says Chaff. His voice is kind, but I feel stupid for having questioned it. The berry stunt has already made this year an anomaly and Snow has no obligation to play by his own rules. If he wants to send away every competent victor who might help us out of this mess, he can. Soon the only one around to help will be me. The person who makes messes instead of fixing them.

Chaff starts to look nervous when I fail to respond. "Hey, you're going to do fine. Peeta hasn't woken up yet so you still have time to get over there. With how long we've known each other you'll probably know more about the amputation than half of these pricks in Medical. You may not be back by the time Katniss gets up, but… she's less injured and seems like an independent girl, so that might not matter."

"Yes it will," I say bitterly. Chaff doesn't argue. Only one of us knows what it's like to wake up after your Games and be completely alone.

"I, um. Also wanted to… apologize? For, you know. The stuff with Thresh," says Chaff.

I blink at him. With everything else going on I had all but forgotten how the two of us were at each other's throats last week. Not everyone was amused by the strings that were pulled to get Claudius Templesmith to announce that two victors from one district was an option. Chaff had been quick to point out how badly this screwed over his own tribute, Thresh, by snuffing out all interest in tributes with dead district partners.

I had dismissed this, of course, The low point by far was when Chaff suggested that I had wanted Rue to die so she couldn't take away focus from 12's star-crossed lovers strategy any longer.

I haven't dared to reflect on this long enough to decide whether he was right.

This fight just happened, yet somehow everything before the nightlock incident seems like it took place more than a lifetime ago. In spite of everything, I manage a small smile as I slip into a mock imitation of Chaff's District 11 drawl. "Don't think that's my biggest concern right now, buddy."

"Still. It wasn't right, me putting all that on you. We all have to do what's best for our own tributes. The Games don't give us a choice."

My eyes linger on Katniss's sleeping form. "We all have choices."

Chaff clears his throat. "By the way, I probably have to get going. I think the Peacekeepers in charge of getting me to the train station will have realized by now that I'm not actually in the bathroom."

"They're supposed to have already taken you? Chaff, things are already tense enough without you ditching Peacekeepers. The fact that you made it over here without them noticing is a miracle."

"Well I couldn't just leave! They wanted Seeder and I to go back to 11 without even telling you we'd be gone. Besides, you'd be amazed at the kinds of arguments you can win against a Peacekeeper when you threaten to piss on them."

Chaff is cringing like he expects me to chew him out for behaving so recklessly, and maybe I should. I surprise the both of us when I pull him into an embrace instead. It's quick and stilted and painfully aware of hidden cameras that even now are hanging on to our every move. But it's far more contact than I'd allow on a normal day and that means it has to be enough.

"I'll talk to you soon," Chaff murmurs, not quite meeting my eyes as I draw back apart from him.

We both know he's lying. I've long since torn my phone from its wall in Victor's Village. Snow likes his isolation mind games too much to allow me to receive calls from anybody I care about. And I'm not enough of an optimist to hope that he will have gotten over this new desire to segregate the victors by the time I visit District 11 for the kids' Victory Tour months from now.

Chaff shuts the door behind him. The quiet returns, and I'm alone.