Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My Pa always describes District 12 as a place where “the stoot never settles”. When I was little, sitting and gathering meadow flowers to braid into my Ma’s hair, I would look at him like he was crazy. The air was clear, and the mines had been closed for years, there was no soot save for the fireplaces that sat unused in the summer or bombed out in the winter. As I got older, and listened, and learned I realized what he had meant. The past never went away, at least not for us.

And as I stood beside that same meadow, where I once collected those late summer flowers, feeling the gentle cooling wind beneath the shelter of an old willow tree, the words seemed to be echoing in the back of my brain. The stoot never settles whispered somewhere behind me, as if the ghosts of those buried beneath the ground just a throw stone’s over from where I stood had risen from the dead, haunting the very morning our family was about to endure. It was announced weeks ago on the television, the static barely interrupting so we couldn’t miss what was said. The Capitol had decided that the peace we had been raised in was coming to an end: the first official Remembrance Games were set to begin in less than 2 months, July 4th.

It was explained that rather then forgetting and memorializing those who lost their lives fighting for the pure entertainment of the rich and elite, the Capitol would educate the new generation, by making designing a new version of the Games, where in their words, “No lives shall be lost to entertain us, volunteers who wish to participate may simply put their name on a list at the District’s Justice Building and we shall choose at random one male tribute and one female tribute.”

When the T.V went dark, the silence in the house was dark. The world might not remember, but I recall the whispered bedtime stories, dark berries smashed away from hands in fits of fear, and silent tears that were hidden behind closed doors. My parents thought they could hide their past ghosts, give us the childhood they never were allowed to have, but no child is ever truly shielded from a family’s horror. My Pa tried to sugarcoat it, play into the love story the school forced down our throats, but as we got older the sugar turned sour as my brother and I learned the truth of the terror they faced.

I shifted my stance, and started towards the woods. Since the day I could walk, Ma took me into them, showing the paths that would become my second home, how to find water, food, and make shelter. The birds became my companions, the plants were my protectors. As soon as I could bend my arms without help, I was given a bow and a couple of arrows. Ma taught me how to kill without hurting, to follow the tracks within the dark mud or in the dry grey dirt, and how to survive. There was little conversation, but I could tell it was her way of finding a common ground with a daughter she never knew she wanted. I learned to treasure the woods the same way she did, an escape from the world that didn't always feel warm and safe.

I was named for the meadow, Meadow Everdeen Mellark, or as my Pa would nickname me later, Meadow Lark. Apparently when I was young and people would ask my name I would say it so softly and quickly that it would turn into a mumble that most mistaken as “Meadowlark”. Even in school, the teachers ended up resorting to calling me “Lark” instead of my full name. It suited me well, larks were small dark colored birds that were up early. I would often see them flitting across the tree tops, following me as I made my way to my chosen spot for the morning. As I crossed the wooden boundry, I could spy them already, alerting my presence to anything that was listening. I made my way through the brambles, whistling back the tunes that they sang out.

I reached the small clearing with an old hollowed out tree, where I stored my hunting gear, just like my Ma taught me. But I wasn’t planning on hunting today, instead I grabbed an old, worn, leather journal embroidered with two letters, “M.L”. Anyone who came across it would think it was mine, and they weren’t wrong, but it wasn’t originally mine. I found it in the lakehouse, hidden behind the old fireplace between bricks. Whoever it belonged to kept it there since before me, or my Ma and Pa as they were shocked when I showed it to them. Hidden in the crusted, yellow pages were words that had been softly sung to me at night, beneath the covers or in the shadows of the willow tree to lull me into a peaceful sleep. Whoever owned the journal before me, was the one who knew the songs long before anyone else. I then grabbed the wooden guitar case. A birthday gift from when I turned 9. It was too big for me then, but now I am older and can handle the instrument like I was born with it in my hands. Slowly, I learned the songs, putting the tune to the melody my Ma sang in broken verses. The ones we didn’t know got new tunes, new words, a new life.

I settled my back against the tree, pulling the guitar case across my lap. My hands slid across the hard casing then flicked the switch, pulling out the tan guitar, etched with my lark on the base. The strings were set in polished dark brown, the tuners were a shiny silver. As I tuned it, I felt the world around me slip away, pulling me into the gentle sway of the plucking as my fingers slipped until it found just the right sound, telling me the guitar was tuned. I played a small melody, one I had once heard my Uncle Haymitch absently hum when he would watch the geese roam. I didn’t know the words, he never sang them, but I liked how it sounded. It was haunting but soft, like a dove’s wings against a purple-blue sky. He was a terrible hummer, but when he passed, it was the only melody I couldn’t get out of my head. For as little as I knew him, it felt like he had purposefully stuck around in that one song.

I soon turned my attention to the book, opening it up to a page that had a half-written song scrawled in my less than fine handwriting. My teachers would have slapped my wrist for how messy the writing was, but I was no artist, not like my Pa and brother, and I had other things to worry about in school, when I decided I wanted to go. This wasn’t an old tune, but one I had decided to write after being told to write about my dreams in school for an assignment. “What would your future be?” My teacher asked as she crossed in front of the board, “And how might it affect the world?”. I had pondered that for a while before deciding my future. Then I wrote,

I might have been a miner, with an eye for precious stone,
And find a vein of diamond, worth more than all the town could hold.
Maybe in my charity, the land would come to prosperity,
But with my luck, I’ll still end up in the cold.

She slapped my wrists for that, saying it needed to be an essay and positive. But where was the lie? So, instead, I turned that verse into a song. Problem was I didn’t have an ending.
I had written about a fisherman who saved a princess but didn’t get the girl, a king with a pauper’s crown, a war hero with no medals, so who was left? Who would the world rewrite history for? I sang through what I had written, stalling when I got to the last verse. I kept playing the melody, trying out different words, but none of them sounded right.

“That sounds terrible.” A voice from behind my tree shocked me out of my music.

“Rye!” I grumbled, “You scared me!”

Rye laughed as he crossed around, coming into view. People always assumed Rye was the older one, he had a taller frame, almost by a head, with blonde hair that fell in loose waves just to his ears, grey eyes the color of thunderclouds. His smile was easy, bright like the sun, and he seemed to have gained all the semblance of the day with his character. While he was all sunshine, I was the forest, dark hair, olive skin, and brown eyes. My frame was smaller, lighter, more athletic than his. He was dressed in a loose linen shirt, torn brown pants, and hanging from his shoulder was a large, woven, basket with no cover. I could spy tips of plants poking out the top of it. He must’ve gathered them on his way to my spot.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked, putting my guitar back into its case and closing the book. I wasn’t a fan of performing in front of others, including my family.

He sat down, putting the basket in his lap, “What does it look like?”. He reached in and pulled out a small blueberry, “I found a wild patch of these just on the other side of the path, figured I’d make some scones or muffins with them.”

Rye was a baker. Pa taught us both, but he seemed to pick it easier than I did. He would go with Pa to the bakery we owned, help out behind the kitchen door and learn the recipes our family had decided to hand out to the town. I did too, on occasion, but I hated the stares and whispers behind hands that seemed to follow our family whenever we were seen out, so I tried to stay away as much as possible. I did enjoy decorating the cakes though, and Pa would bring them home so I could frost and ice them to my heart’s delight.

“You gonna sell them?” I asked, plucking it from his hand and tossing it in my mouth. The small berry burst with that sour-sweet taste then was gone.

Rye put his hand over the basket in protection, “Not if you eat them all!” I glared at him and he pulled his hand away, showing off the other things he collected. I spied mushrooms, katniss, wild carrots, more blueberries, and pokeweed. There were also some other things, a shiny rock, a lump of coal, a stick shaped like the letter S, and an old shard of metal. Rye was a collector, and would often return with random items that he found fascinating. He scooped out the blueberries, and spilled some in my hands, taking the rest for himself. We sat in comfortable silence, occasionally whistling to the birds and laughing when they whistled back. Eventually, I pulled the book back on to my lap, tossing words towards Rye to see which ones he liked.

“Maybe make it a kid?” Rye asked, “As if these are all things he was dreaming of but will never get to do because he isn’t any of them?”

I started to try it out but got interrupted. The birds had all grown silent. The air around us darkened as a huge shadow blocked out the sun. We squinted up into the sky, trying to figure out what had caused the forest to suddenly turn. While it was hard to make out, and moved too fast to see the Capitol's symbol clearly, Rye and I exchanged a heavy look before quickly wrapping up our things and making our way back.

Chapter Text

The walk back was heavier than it should have been. Our steps over roots and leaves seemed loud and I couldn’t tell which was what I was hearing, Rye’s or my heartbeat over it. A visit from the Capitol was never good, as it always sent our parents into this dark and depressing mood that the two of us fought so hard to keep them away from.
Neither of us spoke. The fear of what was happening behind closed doors, raised voices of urgent arguments were common when the Capitol came and we learned to keep quiet. Not get involved with it. Ma wanted it that way, and we respected it. Honestly, I rather hated it when I was involved. As the oldest I was seen as the “heir” to the Mockingjay title, the next symbol of hope.
I never asked for that. None of us did.
The house came into view as we crossed the Meadow. Nothing looked different. The windows were still closed, and geese and goats called at us as we passed, and the back door was left open from when I had perched a rock to keep it from locking. But, we spied the Capitol escort vehicles on the side, and Peacekeepers leaning against it, their backs to us. We crept past them, Rye going first so I could gently move the rock and slip the door closed to keep anyone from being aware that we had arrived home.
We froze in the back entry, the kitchen to our left was blocked by a curtain, keeping us out of sight, but the voices were able to get through. Low, urgent, and unmistakably tense. If they had heard us come in, they didn’t stop to call out. So, we didn’t call out. I pressed my fingers to my lips, and leaned against the frame, my body blocked just enough to not be noticed. Rye followed suit, leaning up behind me. The scent of tea and warmed bread lingered in the air, but it felt sour. A warning.

“-and if you think that I would just let them parade my children around like some Capitol novelty, then you are out of your mind!” Ma’s rarely used sharpness cut through the curtain. She was in that quiet moment of rage, like an ember about to be blown on and only came through when the Capitol came for a visit.

“Katniss, I do think that you're underestimating the potential here,” Purlatch Heavensbee’s smooth and sickly sick honeyed voice carried through. “Your children are the perfect choice for this. Not just because of their bloodline, but they are new. They’re untainted by the war, a new hope for all of it. We aren’t asking them to fight, but to inspire.”

Pa’s voice followed, hard, flat, but calm, “You’re making them into tributes.”

Purlatch chuckled, “I’m making them into a legacy.”

I could almost see the scene in the kitchen. Ma and Pa sitting in their respective seats, backs to the fireplace. Ma’s hands on her lap, back straight but eyes lit up with a silent fire. Pa beside her, one hand on the table, as if to keep it in place, the other probably on Ma’s knee, keeping her from jumping across to a smiling Purlatch. That man, the fat, obnoxiously dressed man, with a receding hairline, wrinkled face, and a smug look as if he owned the house. He would be relaxed, leaning back in the chair, most likely Rye’s.

“I’m not saying they will be actually participating in the Games, just that they need to volunteer.” Purlatch continued, “I never claimed they would be reaped.”

I could almost feel the snarl that Ma now directed into her words, “If it was truly voluntary, you wouldn’t be here at all.”

The floorboards creaked beneath Rye when he shifted. I snapped my head to him, pressing my foot against his leg to keep him steady. But it was too late.

“Rye?” Pa’s voice called out, almost too calm, “Meadow?”

I swore under my breath, before pushing the curtain aside and hesitantly walked in, Rye right behind me. I had the scene in my head almost right. Ma was standing, not sitting, behind Pa. Her dark hair was free, framing her face. Her brown eyes were darkened and narrowed, her lips pressed together, body completely tense, hands pressing down on Pa’s shoulders. Pa had both hands clutching the table, knuckles white. His blonde hair was plastered to his forehead, though whether that was due to sweat or from the morning wash I couldn’t be sure, and blue eyes were locked on us, warning us to watch ourselves. His foot was tapping softly, not enough to make noise, but enough to notice his knee bouncing. Plutarch was sitting, legs crossed and hands wrapped around the knee on top. His smug face and round body is a starck contrast and reminder that he had it cushy in the Capitol. He wore a white button up blouse with a purple tie, and he smiled at us through a sad excuse of a beard. It was clear that Plutarch thought the conversation would go his way, regardless of our parents’ thoughts on the matter.

“Ah, just the people we were talking about!” He bursted, the smile growing wider, “How are my favorite chicks?”

I hid my revulsion at that comment. It was the Capitol’s nickname for Rye and me, due to Ma’s “Mockingjay” title. “Hello, Mr. Heavensbee,” Rye and I chorused. We stayed in the doorway, ready to move upstairs in case the kitchen got heated as it often did with Capitol visits.

“Well, now that you're here,” he said, “we can talk about this openly. No more whispering behind curtains. Did you watch the announcement?”

Ma didn’t move, her eyes stayed on Plutarch. She was sizing him up, like she did when a deer crossed in front of her arrow. Pa’s hands tightened, but he moved his eyes back to the man.

“We watched the announcement,” I said carefully, slowly, moving so my body was between Rye and the rest of the room. “The Rememberance Games, right? We heard about it.”

“Did you?” Plutarch cocked his head, eyes scanning between the four of us, “And do you understand it?”

“It’s about honoring the past. You’re throwing a mock Hunger Games.” Rye spoke just as slowly, but he was trying to push me out of the way with his foot.

Plurtarch chuckled and leaned forward, “Not just honoring the past. It’s redefining the past. Showing the world we’ve learned. We’ve progressed. We are giving the Games a new face, and a new victor. And it might just be you.” His eyes were lit up, as if we were now in on some big prize, like we wanted that. When no one spoke he dropped his head and leaned back, “The Capitol decided that if children of the remaining victors, our faces of the rebellion, volunteered then it would seem like you have forgiven the past and are willing to move forward. All you two need to do, my little chicks, is simply write your name on the Reaping List for District 12. I mean imagine how iconic it would be, how inspiring, for a daughter, or a son, of the Mockingjay to choose to want to participate. A representation of a new future.”

“I wouldn’t be representing the future.” I said flatly, “Neither of us would be. We’d be reminders of the past, of a war that was started and finished long before us.”

“It’s educational-” Plutarch started before Pa cut in.

“You’re forcing children to pretend they’re tributes for a lesson no one wants to learn and revisit.” He snapped, “You might dress it up in better clothes, call it new names, but it’s still the same killing game.”

“There will be no killing!” Plutarch stood at this, a flash of unseen frustration crossed his face, “Just a reminder. One generation inspiring the next, that is all. The participants will be prepared, protected, and given a stage to show they are ready to move on.”

The room was silent for a moment, and I almost believed the sincerity of what Plutarch was trying to do. He was looking to prove that the world was ready to move on, that making a mockery of the Games and turning it into a spectacle was going to be worth it. No one spoke for a long moment, not until Plutarch sighed and pushed in his chair. “Look, we’re giving you a chance,” Plutarch’s voice was lower now, “to shape what Panem remembers. Wouldn’t you rather be a part of the story than let someone else write it for you?” He turned and left, no goodbyes necessary. I felt the room relax, the tension slipping out like he did.

Pa sighed, and stood, hugging Ma tightly before making his way to the back. Probably to go feed the geese. Ma just shook her head and made to follow him, but rustled Rye’s hair and patted my shoulder as she passed. Rye put the basket on the table, starting to unpack. Things were returning to normal, but I could still feel it. That weight of something. Like soot in my lungs, refusing to clear. The Games had been changed, sure, but the ghosts and shadows were still here, drifting through the walls of our house, tangled in the roots of the Meadow, humming in unknown songs.

And stoot never settles.
____________________________________________________________________________

I couldn’t sleep. The air was too still, even with my window open to try and let the late spring air in. I had been tossing and turning ever since the conversation with Plutarch, and seeing the reactions of my parents. It had been a few weeks and to say the District was buzzing was an understatement. According to officials, when registration opened, there was a line of willing participants in front of the Justice Building. After the initial screenings for health and ability, the list was at 30, not including Rye and I. There were a few more preliminary rounds of selection before the Reaping, but for now they were just gathering those who wanted to join.

I finally gave up after tossing around again, sitting up in my bed. Sleep was avoiding me and the best thing I could do was get out of bed. I sighed and decided to go down to the kitchen, get a drink then try again. I padded slowly out of my room, softly so as not to disturb Rye in the next room over, or my parents at the end of the hall, especially since their door was ajar. I slipped down the stairs, feet barely touching the wood like I did when I went hunting.

I entered the kitchen, and found my Ma already sitting, knees curled into her chest, sipping something from a cup. In the moonlight, she was bathed in grey, but her features were still the same. Many called me a mini of her, and I do see it, but I didn’t want to be. She was the one who raised me, but not to be her, to be someone different. Her eyes were absent as she started at noting out the window, but when she felt my presence she turned.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asked.

I shook my head, “It was too hot.” I didn’t tell her the truth, that I was terrified of losing her to these Rememberance Games.

Ma uncoiled herself, putting her cup on the table and prepping another one for me. I peeked inside, it was water, with a sprig of something green in it. When she was done, she gave me whatever it was and waited for me to take a sip. I was surprised to find it cold and minty. Ice was a commodity in District 12, so this must’ve been a real treat. The sprig was a mint leaf, nice and refreshing. She then ushered to the chair she was sitting in and pulled one out for herself. I settled down in the chair, feeling it creak under my weight.

We sat in a gentle silence. The only sounds being the croaking frogs and creaks as the house settled. Ma and I were close, closer than I think anyone realized. It wasn’t loud or outspoken like Pa, filled with hugs and words of warmth. It was showing me how to tie a knot or braid my hair. Unspoken appreciation through looks. There was a hardness to it, our silent moments, like she was keeping me at a distance at times, but when we were close, when she let down those walls, I found someone who loved fiercely but was afraid of losing everything. I understood that, I understood that she had lost so much all because of love. So the walls were up, and I’ll take what I can get when they come down.

Ma turned the cup in her hands, fingers moving like they were remembering something. Each rotation, delicate, thoughtful. Then it struck me, not for the first time, but she was remembering. Turning things memories, thoughts, and guilt over and over in her mind.

When she finally spoke it was soft, devoid of any anger she held towards the situation, “Before the Quell, after my first Game, I never slept. Everything felt too quiet, and if I had let myself rest for a moment, I’d lose something. Something important. Or I’d wake up, and everything I loved would be gone.”

I watched her, waiting for her to continue. I clutched the cup tighter in my hands, letting the coldness seep into my fingertips, willing them to freeze as if to freeze the moment. I didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. There were too many things, Prim, Pa, war, us. I had heard all of it throughout the years, bits and pieces pushed together like some complex puzzle. History lessons nestled in with family talks brought together the grief and trauma that had lived in the walls of this house.

Her fingers stilled, eyes trained on the floor, not really seeing anything. She could be seeing many things, a tree, a meadow, maybe whispers of a cat that had once curled up in this place. Or maybe nothing at all. “I thought,” she finally continued, “if I stayed away, I could keep it from falling apart. Keep myself from falling apart.” A bitter laugh escaped her lips, “It never did.”

I finally said, “Will it fall apart again?”

Ma looked at me, her eyes tired and sunken. She wasn’t sleepy, she was worn as if the weight of all that transpired had finally hit and she just discovered how heavy it was. “I think it already is falling,” she whispered, “They’re just dressing up differently this time. New colors. New rules. Same game.”

Her eyes dropped back down, fingers delicately turning the cup back around. I watched her, trying to find the words to continue. “Should I do it?” I whispered, “Write my name?”

Ma’s eyes snapped back up. She wasn’t angry, not scared, but looking at me, curiosity crossed her face for a moment. Ma was seeing my question for what it was, a chance for her to deny this reality. “I cannot make that choice for you. I won’t. But I will do everything in my power to make sure they do not use that choice.”

I stared at her. That was what it always came to. Her immovable, ferocious, love that couldn't be wrapped in warmth. I knew she would fight the whole Capitol again with her bare hands, if it meant keeping her small family: Rye, Pa, me; safe. But, she knew the importance of getting to choose that freedom. Even if it killed her.

Ma reached across the open space, her calloused hand wrapping around mine. “Whatever choice you make, Meadow Lark,” she whispered, “make sure it’s your choice. Not theirs, not your father’s. Not even mine.”

Chapter Text

The Capitol sent a team of stylists a week early. Ma and Pa didn’t ask for it, they never do, and yet like mold on days old bread, they appear.

I sat in a chair by a window in the living room. The prep team fluttered around me like wasps to a pile of candy that was dropped outside. I had my hair washed and cut, then braided this morning in a style similar to my Ma’s but a bit looser, more wild. The dress was a soft blue, landing delicately at my knees. The prep team was currently cooing and picking at my face, muttering something about how lucky I was to get my Ma’s beauty. It was as if they were trying to hide the ruggedness that I expelled for the world to see. I wasn’t going to be in the crowd, but I needed to be seen, and that was the whole reason I was being layered with powder and polish.
“They want poise, darling,” one of the stylists had explained, “They want you to look like choice.”
I didn’t write my name.

Across the room, Rye was being fitted into a brown tailored suit. Capitol sleek, but unlike me, he was meant to look “rugged”. The sleeves were rolled so he could show off his muscles, the tan from the days outside made him look more sunshine-y than usual. Pa was keeping a watchful eye from the doorway, his arms folded across the chest. He was dressed similarly to Rye, but I could tell how uncomfortable he was. Once this day was over, and our parents were off to the Capitol as mentors, Rye and I would burn our clothing, and then Pa’s suit, just as a surprise.

I didn’t write my name.

Ma came in as they finished me up. She looked breathtaking. She always did. She wore a simple green tunic style top, her hair braided down the side, with sleek black pants and tall black boots. A gold belt wrapped around her waist, framing the figure she had carefully kept hidden throughout my life. She crossed the room to me and had me stand. I was unsteady in the small heels they had brought, knowing full well I might fall on my face as I traverse the uneven cobblestones to the Town Center. But she held me steady as I gained my balance.

“Smile you two!” one of the stylists squeaked, as we stepped apart so they could see the handiness of their work, “Today is historic!”

I didn’t smile. I didn’t write my name.

We left the house like a unit, just as we always do. Ma on the right, Pa on the left. Rye and I were in the middle, my arms around his. The only difference this time was our escort of Capitol personnel and photographers, corralling us as if they didn’t trust us to walk on our own. I tried to keep a smile on my face, like we were instructed, but the majority of the time I kept my eyes on my feet, still sure I would fall.

“Did you write your name?” Rye breathed in my ear.
“Did you?” I answered back. Feeling his head shake, I let out a breath, “Me neither.”

Rye chucked, “Wow. Great minds think alike.”

I elbowed him sharply, “I say let them think we did it.” I glanced at the cameras trailing us, gave one a small wave to the mouth of the beast, “Let them spin it how they want, no matter the truth. We’ll look disappointed, ashamed that we didn’t get reaped, and then that’s it, show’s over.”
As we entered the Town Center, we found it already filled with people, pressed together in anxious clusters. A stage was built just in front of the Justice Building, sleek and too-bright under the overcast sky. It stuck out just how Capitol it looked. Too synthetic for District 12’s sooty, earthy, tones. On the stage was a microphone, framed by two tables, with a round bowl that held the names of those who volunteered. Males were written on blue paper, females on pink paper. Those who had written their names down were filed into two sections, one for boys and one for girls. Their faces had the same nervous excitement written across it. The people had dressed in their best, pressed linen dresses and shirts. I didn’t know any of them.

We were ushered into a small roped off area with a bench for us to sit on. Rye and I took our spots, sitting side-by-side in practiced perfection. Pa stood behind us, leaning his one good leg against Rye’s back, a show of silent support. As everyone took their places behind us, giggles turned into mutters as they realized who was sitting in the front row. Those who had written their name down on the “Volunteer Tribute” list were prepared to meet their fate.

The new escort, now that Effie Trinket had retired, stepped forward. She was short and stationed on precarious heels that raised her up almost a foot from the stage. Her platinum blonde hair fell, slicked back and then poofed out into tight ringlets. A crown made of yellow ribbons framed her forehead. Her dress was bright yellow, with sleeves that looked like balloons, almost hitting her face and the color made her seem like she was glowing in the stage lights. It was by far the most gaudy look I had ever seen. She tapped the microphone, and then in a bright and bubbly voice, practically shouting, “Welcome District 12 to the Remembrance Reaping!”

A large round of applause allowed her to pause and bask in the glory for a moment before she continued. “This is a momentous occasion, a historic start. The Rememberance Games are not merely a reminder of the struggles we faced. Oh, no, it is about healing, remembering the lives that were sacrificed in order for us to move on. And, I, Saffron Golliloc, plan on showing that the heart of the rebellion, District 12, has risen from the ashes to help build something spectacular, something new!”

I could feel the skepticism about that last bit, but either Saffron didn’t notice or didn’t care, she continued, “Thirty brave souls,” Her hand swept across the crowd, “will not just be participating for themselves. They are showing our history, for the people who came before them. Those who fought and sacrificed so much for us to stand here today. This year, you are not tributes, the Rememberance Games are.” She paused for a few moments before clapping her hands and squealed, “So, let’s begin!”

She reached into the bowl filled with blue paper first, twirling her wrist around in a dramatic fashion. Pulling out a slip, she unfolded it and squinted at the name, “Our male tribute is… Ardin Greer!”

A shout from the back of the boy’s section blasted through as Ardin made his way forward, waving at the loud cheer that had been taken up. I didn’t recognize him, but that doesn’t say much. He was practically skipping as he passed us, shaking hands with Pa before bounding up the steps to the stage. He threw his arms wide, soaking in the audience’s reaction with the brightest smile on his face. I took him in, Ardin Greer was pale with a shaved head, his eyes were deep set and his nose was broad. He had a big body size, but it lacked the muscle that Rye’s did. I didn’t see the appeal of him, but the girls behind us were screaming like crazy.

He stepped up to the offered spot in front of the microphone, “I’m ready!” He shouted, his voice carrying over the cheers, “I’m going to make District 12 proud!”

As the crowd died down, Saffron stepped forward, reclaiming her spot. “And now, on to our female tribute.”

“Meadow Everdeen-Mellark!”

The name echoed, a sudden silence filled the air. What energy had been built for Ardin, had been sucked out at the announcement of my name. Rye snapped his head towards me, mouth falling open. I felt my parents behind me still, like too still. The silence before the storm.

“But I didn’t-” I tried, but it didn’t matter. The cameras had already turned towards me, Saffron was waving me up. Everything in the world had just stopped and looked at me.

It didn’t matter that I wasn’t the one who wrote my name. Someone wrote it for me.

Rye stood, “She didn’t volunteer! She never wrote her name!”

Someone came rushing onto the stage with the list, and Saffron took a moment to scan it before handing it to us. There in a perfect imitation of my own messy handwriting, at the very bottom, was my name. While the people cheered, the world around me seemed to fade into silence. I didn’t write my name, I was certain of it. Someone forged my signature, making me a part of the Games without my consent. I was the reluctant symbol of whatever healing they were trying to accomplish. Rye was standing beside me, I could feel Ma and Pa pressing forward to try and rectify the situation before the Capitol got their hands on the footage. Yet all of it seemed to be moving in slow motion.

I felt myself moving before I could realize what I was doing. I was not myself, my own body working without me. The world around me was stone dead, as my feet dragged me up the stairs of the stage, slowly moving to be on the right side of Saffron, turning to face the crowd. I could see the cheers, but couldn’t hear them, not really. It was muted, and I seemed to be the only one without volume. Once I firmly planted myself on the stage, the crowd stilled, waiting for me to say something, anything.

I locked eyes with my Ma, her face showing the shock, anger, and confusion all at once. Was this how she felt? This uncertainness of why she did what she did the day of her first Reaping? Before she became a symbol, was she as shocked by the actions that led her to the very spot that I stood at? I couldn’t answer those questions for her, but as she claimed, this was a choice and I had to make it. If the Capitol wants a show, then I’ll give them a show. I pushed my way in front of Saffron and stood before the microphone.

The world crashed back to life around me, all I could hear was the steady beat of my heart and the sound of excited whispers at what I was about to say. I had a choice. I could play into the excitement, show how eager I was to follow in my parents footprints, and make a performance. Or do something completely on my own. As I stared down in the crowd, I could tell them what they wanted, what the Capitol wanted. I took a breath and spoke, “I didn’t put my name in.”

The crowd grew still, almost eerily still. I locked eyes with Ma, and she nodded, giving me the stage to speak my own mind. “But it’s there. Messy enough to pass for mine. Close enough to make it true, I guess.” I wrapped my hand around the stand, maybe to steady myself, or maybe to claim my own words, I wasn’t sure. “But here’s the thing. I walked up these steps on my own two feet. Not because I want to be a part of this… but because I refuse to be pushed off the stage. So, here I am, I’ll speak my part.” I took a deep breath and made direct eye contact with the center camera, “And I’m gonna do it loud enough for the ghosts to hear.”

There was silence. Not even the sound of the wind caught my ears. Everyone was holding their breath for whatever was coming next. Then- as if shocked they were doing it- there was a scattering of applause. A few of the Capitol personnel clapped louder than the rest, with exaggerated enthusiasm, most likely to guide the tone of what I just said. But there were others, the younger ones who knew nothing of the past, that just stood there in silence. Noone seemed certain if I had spoken in rebellion, or poetry, or both.

Saffron put a gentle hand on my back, shuffling me out of the way, “Well!” She squeaked, with a broken giggle, “Such passion already! I knew District 12 wouldn’t disappoint!”

Saffron went on to explain that we had a week to prepare for departure, saying our good-byes to our friends for now. I wouldn’t have to, I didn’t have any. I wasn’t steady yet, but we were ushered off the stage. Ardin went to his group of friends, surrounding himself in hoots and hollers of those who were supporting him. I went down to Rye, who stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands balled into fists at his side, his eyes searching mine. No smiles or sunshine came from him. As I reached the bottom step, he reached out grabbing my arm as I almost collapsed. I didn’t realize how much I was shaking until that moment. Ma came up behind me, spinning me around and searched my face. She looked like she had aged 10 years since this morning, her jaw clenched but as my eyes welled up in tears, she relaxed realizing I truly never put my name down to be a part of this. Pa put his arms up around us as the cameras zoomed in, a physical wall between an intimate family moment and the rest of the world. He guided us home, pushing away the Peacekeepers who were now surrounding us to escort us back home. As we walked, I buried myself in Rye’s shoulders, pretending for just a moment more that I was back in my woods, hiding from the world.

Chapter Text

The week leading up to the departure from District 12 was a whirlwind. The Capitol sent out a team of interviewers, so the blur of rehearsed smiles, the constant presence of cameras, and the weight of knowing what was coming made the seconds stretch and the days blow by too quickly. I didn’t want to think about the Games, the arena, the Capitol, or the show I was being forced to participate in, but they were there; a looming presence, always in the background, just waiting to consume me.

My family was kept busy. Ma and Pa were preparing themselves to step into the mentor positions that they never had to encounter due to the rebellion. Rye kept to himself, wrapping himself with the Bakery and the small farm we had. Often he would disappear to the woods, as if he couldn’t bear to be in the presence of the events that were occurring around him. He avoided me like the plague, his face contorting into confusion or anger- I couldn’t tell- each time we looked at each other.

As the days wore on, we had no choice but to prepare. Mental exhaustion gave way to physical drain on the inevitable departure. Rye still avoided me, I would find Ma on her own more often in the Meadow, head bent as the geese and goats grazed around her. Pa was the face the cameras saw more often, he was better at hiding his anger at the world, claiming our little family just needed some “much needed rest before the big day” to keep them at bay. But we never spoke about what happened at the Reaping. We didn’t talk about how my name got on that sign up sheet, who forged it, or what the Rememberance Games might look like. We simply carried on our simple lives as much as possible, as if we were too scared to admit that nothing was simple anymore.

It was the day before the train that I finally faced the one thing I had been dreading.

I was sitting in my normal spot in the woods, packing the items in the hollow tree to be stored at the house. But I got distracted, fingers skimming through the song journal until it landed on a song that I only recently figured out was supposed to be a dancing song. My fingers strummed the chords as my voice softly rang out the lyrics;
Nothing you can take from me is ever worth keeping,
No, nothing you can take,
-was ever worth keeping.

This was one of the few quiet moments I would have from now on, and I wanted to take full advantage of it. But when a shadow covered my face, I was forced to pause the silence around me and look up into Rye’s face. I hesitated just a moment before tapping my foot on the forest floor in front of me, inviting him to join me. Rye plopped himself down, picking up a dead leaf and ripping it up, confusion still on his face. I waited, seeing if he was going to talk but when he didn’t I strummed the next chords in the song, but kept quiet.

Finally, Rye broke the silence. His voice was rough, devoid of the usual cheer. “You don’t deserve this.”

“None of us do,” I stated simply.

“You could’ve said something.”

“What would I say?”

Rye pressed his lips together, the frustration in his shoulders rolling around like a mining collapse. He looked at me, his eyes intensely scanning my face, as if he was trying to memorize my features. Then a slow exhale, gaze dropping to the dirt again, “I can’t lose you, Meadow. I know there’s no killing, but those Games messed with Ma and Pa’s life in more ways than one.”

I reached out, putting my hand on his, my throat thick with the force of holding back tears. When I first heard about how Ma heroically and selflessly volunteered for her sister, I would often ask if I would do the same for Rye. Sitting here, now, I decided I absolutely would. I didn’t have friends, I couldn’t with who I had for parents, and school was a nightmare that I tried to avoid at all costs. Rye filled that void, despite him being friends with many of his schoolmates. Rye was my best friend, my brother, my second half. We weren’t twins, just a few years apart, but either way, he and I were born of the same blood, the same trauma, making us bonded as close as possible.

“You’re not going to lose me,” I assured him, “Because I’m going to lose the Games, proving to them that the symbolic nature of who our family is needs to die.”

He leaned in and hugged me, wrapping me up tight like it was the only thing that made sense in that moment. His grip was painful, and I am sure the one I returned wasn’t much lighter. Neither of us pulled away, letting the weight of recent events keep us bound.

“We’ll get through it,” I whispered.

“I know,” Rye whispered back, voice cracked but steady.

The next morning, we stood on the platform beside the train, posing for photos for promotional videos and upcoming interviews. Ma and Pa were dressed similarly in black, Ma’s hair braided in its traditional fashion. She was told to wear her pin, but I didn’t see it anywhere. Pa had his arm protectively around her as we waited patiently for the Greer family to finish up. I was dressed in a simple, but nice, looking green top and black leggings with matching boots. My hair was pulled into the loose top-knot, determined to look as little as my mother as possible. Rye was wearing a simple blue top and black pants, but his face held that look you would see at a funeral, at his waist was his gathering basket, though he was forced to remove it for the pictures.

The Greer family finally finished, and Pa moved aside to let Ardin in, smiling a tight lip smile as Ardin grinned up at him. It was finally time to board, and to say our final good-byes. Ma and Pa were going with me, mentors to the two tributes per tradition, which meant the only person that was staying was Rye. He was standing steady, but his face was struggling. I could tell. I let Ma and Pa go first, hugging him tightly, reminding him of the chores around the house and to ensure the bakery ran smoothly. It wouldn’t be the first time we were left behind when they went to the Capitol, so we both knew how to manage without them, but I could tell Rye was anxious to be alone. When it was my turn, we wrapped each other up tightly, as if this was the final time we would be seeing each other.

“Wait,” Rye said as he pulled back. Opening his gathering basket, he pulled out my song book, the initial’s faded in this light. “You’ll want this.”

I took it from him, “I can’t take it into the arena, you know?”

“And it's useless to me,” Rye grinned, “Take it. The arena isn't just under the dome, you know? Maybe actually sing for a change.”

Despite already giving him my good-byes, I reached around him again, wrapping him in a long lasting hug. I breathed in his scent, the forest floor and flour from baking this morning, memorizing as much as I could before I had to leave. “I love you.”

Rye took in a shaky breath, “Love you too.”

We pulled away from each other, taking in one last look. We’d be ok, I knew we would be, it would just be hard until we were together again.

I turned away, keeping my head high for the sake of the cameras watching us. I walked under Pa’s gaze and let Ma escort me to the seating area of the train. I sat near the window, watching the earthy, open lands of District 12 pull away.

This wouldn't be the first time I would be watching District 12 pull away from the station, but it would be the hardest. When I was little, Ma and Pa used to be forced to travel to various Districts for promotional campaigns or to the Capitol for an interview. But when Rye came along that all stopped. Ma insisted that she wanted to raise Rye away from the spotlights, and the Capitol had no choice but to listen. I think they were terrified she would shoot them if they approached the house.

The journal sat on my lap, and ran my fingers down the cover. Rye was right, the arena isn't the only place where the Games were played. If the Capitol was truly designing the Remembrance Games after the Hunger Games there was the parade, the training days, and then the interviews. I have been playing the Games since the moment my name was called, and it wouldn't end until I lost. I had options on how I wanted to play this, but I wasn't sure which one I should choose.

I felt the couch cushion beneath me shift, and glanced over to see Ardin Greer smiling a big, toothy, grin at me. “Hi?” I broached, unsure why he was there.

“Hey. It's Meadow right?” He smelled like overused cologne, or something else artificial, “I recognize you from school, though you don't go often. Can you believe we are in the Games? I mean dreams come true right?”

I raised my eyebrows at him. He couldn't be serious right? This boy was raised by a family who probably lived through the worst moments of their lives but was lucky enough that they were never Reaped. I genuinely didn't have a response, but apparently I didn't need one as Ardin was still talking.

“And to be a District partner with you? That's just… wow! I mean really, wow! To think I'm entering the Games with the daughter of the Mockingjay, there's no way we’d loose right?”

That pulled me out, “I’m sorry, we?”

Ardin laughed, “Yeah, yeah! One boy, one girl, no matter what District they come from, each a winner in honor of your parents. It was in the rule book you got when you signed up. I say, you and I become allies.”

That explains it. Since I never put my name down, I never got rule book explain the Remembrance Games. But being allies with Ardin Greer? That wasn’t an option I was considering. “I-”

I was saved from answering when Saffron and my parents walked in. Saffron had toned down her yellow to a soft butter colored top and navy blue, flowy pants with a golden belt. Her hair was now bundled up to form a large bow on the side of her head. Up close, I could tell her skin was taut, like she had strings pulling it back just enough to be rid of the wrinkles that came with age. She grinned at us, and I realized her teeth were embedded with gems in the shape of bows.

Pa sat down across from us, leaning forward so his elbows were on his knees, “Ardin is right, each of you have a chance at being a victor due to the ruling of one male winner and one female winner. But that doesn't make you automatic allies. You need to see the other tributes first, then make your decision.”

I watched Ma’s face as he spoke, her eyes weren’t meeting mine and I realized, if not for the last time, I was no longer just their daughter but their tribute that they were required to train and sent into a death match. Growing up, it was clear that they never wanted to raise Rye and I that way, as a pig for slaughter. It was even burned into my brain when hunting, I was never to do it just to kill, only for necessity, and I was never to picture a human on the other end of the arrow. Pa was no longer talking to me, his Meadow Lark, but to Meadow Everdeen Mellark- District 12’s female tribute.

“I say, then,” Saffron reached on to the table and picked up the remote, “We watch the other reapings. It should be noted that this year, we have two new pairs; District 13 and the Capitol.” She flipped the T.V on, starting with the Capitol. The two from there looked Capitol. Purple dress for the girl and a dark maroon for the boy, dressed in their Capitol school uniforms that I had seen on my few visits to the place. Both were ecstatic to be on stage, and I didn’t catch the names that were called. To be perfectly honest, if it came down to alliances, I’d avoid them at all costs. The channel District 4 came on. I spied Annie Cresta and Finn, my cousin by choice, standing in a similar setup to what District 12 was, but his name wasn’t called, he was probably too old. A set of relief flooded through me at that. Auntie Annie would have dissolved if she had to send her son into the Rememberance Games, even if there was no real risk. But the two that were picked ran up on the stage to an obnoxious applause. A red-head girl and a blonde boy, again no names perked my interest. Another flicker, and another and another. I had tuned out, starting to blend the Districts together.

Until District 1.

“Career time.” Pa whispered. District One’s Reaping was on display in swatches of gold and turquoise, sleek and glittering- a stark contrast to the dusty area of District Twelve. The crowd was dressed better too, brighter and richer than what I was used to. Their escort, a younger woman, was just introducing the female: Selene Vane. She was pretty, straight black hair, tall frame, a radiant human being. She was dressed in a rich cherry red and marched up the stairs like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment. When she took the microphone, she was charming and flirtatious with the crowd, cooing about how honored and historic feeling it was. But it was the boy, maybe two years older than me, that caught my attention.

Cassain Luxe was the name that was called out. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even hesitate when his name was called out. No nerves but no fanfare either. He climbed the stairs like he was marching to his death, not to a performance. I leaned forward. Cassain Luxe was different.

He was offered the microphone, but he gave a slight shake of his head, still emotionless. He was tall, maybe the same height as Rye, with dark hair and piercing light eyes, though from the screen I couldn’t tell the actual color. He wore a white blouse and black pants, clean and simple. But despite the clean look, he kept his eyes cooly on the crowd, no smile, no pride in being chosen to participate, even when the escort talked about the “honor of healing the country”.

From my minor experience with District One’s people was that they soaked up the attention from anything. They craved being seen, being liked, being the best. Selene was clearly doing that, but Cassain didn’t. It almost looked like he hated it. I told myself that it didn’t matter, maybe it was all a ploy to make the country feel sympathy for him. Still, when it was time to disembark from the stage, he gave the slightest of nods to the crowd, stiff and small, I felt a twist in my stomach. Recognition? A warning? My options of how I was going to play the Games were slowly narrowing. I’d have to remember him, not because he was strong, or lethal looking, not because he was a Career, but because he looked like someone who knew exactly how much was on the line- and what he was about to lose.

Chapter Text

The next morning, I made my way to the dining car, the smell of fried eggs, bacon, and coffee drawing me in despite my strong dislike for early conversations around breakfast. It was already loud in there, I could hear it two doors away. Ardin was boasting about how strong he was, talking about his winning speech and how he was going to “show that District Twelve would be the new Careers”. When I walked in, he didn’t stop, not even when Ma tried to say good morning to me.

“I mean just picture it! Me walking across that stage, a new winner of District Twelve. You two would be showered in prizes I’m sure, Meadow would too since she’s gonna be my partner-”

“No, I’m not,” I sat down, “I don’t know you or anything about you. Why would I ally with you?” I reached forward and grabbed a croissant and some of the richest butter in the world, smiling at the attendant as they poured me a cup of coffee with a rich white cream. I was lucky that the attendants who had served my family previously were the same ones that were currently taking care of us. Before Ardin could give another round of boasting, Saffron butted in, her voice airy but sharp.

“That’s not a bad point Meadow, darling.” She was picking at her nails, seemingly absent from the conversation, “You see, in the Games, trust is a currency. It’s traded, spent, betrayed. Same with emotions. You’ll need to think of yourself, not just as a tribute but a product. Sell your confidence, your sadness, sell fury. Really, emotions will buy you whatever you need.” She snapped her fingers at an attendant, pointing to her empty teacup for a refill.

I wasn’t expecting that response. So far, Saffron had seemed like she was only here for the glory of escorting Twelve, marking historic moments with the Mockingjay and family. I must’ve had the shock on my face because she gave me an amused smile, “Looks can be deceiving, darlings, and emotions are just another kind of weapon. I suggest using them, or get used by them.”

I bit into my croissant, feeling the now melted butter coat my tongue. Saffron was right, physical strength here was not going to win the Games. It was the emotional trauma that made the sponsors pity my Pa when he admitted to loving my Ma in their first Games, and my Ma’s fake “pregnancy” in the second. This was supposed to be a show, and what sold better than when the actresses put on a performance? I couldn’t partner with Ardin, not because I was starting to not like him, but because he didn’t see the emotional pull that the Games had. The Rememberance Games might have different rules, but that didn’t mean they had changed the nature of them. This was still about survival, it was still about a story, who the audience wanted to see succeed and who they wanted to fail.

I looked across at Ma, who was taking a sip of her coffee, hiding a worried glance over the rim of her cup. She was trembling, shaking ever so slightly that anyone else missed it. I saw it, I knew what those shakes meant, I had seen it growing up in the darkest of winters, in the early mornings outside when she thought no one was looking. She was terrified, but tried her best not to show it. I could only imagine the fear that was going through her, how this would’ve been just like when she was on the train for her games, all we would need to do is switch places.

Pa on the other hand wasn’t pretending to hide. His hand was clenched in a tight, deliberate fist against the tablecloth. I had seen that pose too, at night when he’s asking Ma random questions about us, about her, or about himself. His jaw was too tight, but controlled. His stormy eyes, the same ones that had held such warmth only a few days ago, were pinned on the plate in front of him. To the naked eye the two of them were just stressed, but to me it was clear they were struggling with returning to the Capitol.

Ardin was oblivious, practically biting at the chance for some incredible advice from the two winners of the Hunger Games, “So, if we need to be emotional,” he said that like it had a bad aftertaste, “how should we do it?”

Pa lifted his gaze, slowly and steady sweeping up Ardin’s face, taking in the eager look on his face. He conveyed nothing to him, no anger or frustration, no pride or surprise, just a cool, careful look of a predator looking at prey. “If you are going to put on a show,” Pa spoke slowly, lowly, “make sure it’s worth watching.”

Grinning, Ardin pounded his fist into his open hand, like he had just gotten the point of everything, “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Mellark. I’ve got a whole list of ideas. I’m planning on being unforgettable. You might even say, historic.” He gave a wink at Saffron who just gave a small grin. But we were all thinking it, especially as I looked around at the three adults who shared a look at each other. Ardin was naive, eager, to dumb to see the real game that was being played. Ardin stood, “I’m going to get dressed then we can start really talking about being allies, Meadow.”

Once he left, I threw my croissant down on my plate, “How do I lose?”

Saffron spat out her tea, “I apologize, lose? The whole point is to win!”

I didn’t look at her, I kept my eyes on Ma across from me, who narrowed her’s in return. “Saffron, why don’t you go check on your make-up or something?”

Saffron understood the message, and wordlessly, left the room. Clearly, there had been understanding passed between them without me knowing. Once she left, Ma leaned forward, “What do you mean lose?”

“The symbol, the Mockingjay, has to lose to put an end to these Games right? Show that there is no need for these Remembrance Games, and move on.” I said it matter of factly, if they weren’t going to speak to me as their daughter, then I wasn’t going to speak to them as my parents.

They both just looked at me for a moment. Neither one of them moved, I had taken them completely off guard, pulling the idea of losing rather than winning as my strategy was almost laughable to someone who wanted to be a part of this. What was so crazy about me losing?

Pa was the first to respond, grey eyes wide with confusion, “You think getting eliminated will stop this?”

I shrugged, my voice stayed on that flat, steady, rhythm, “I think it’ll take the air out of it. If the daughter of Katniss Everdeen won’t play their game, then maybe they’ll stop staging it.”

Ma set her teacup down with an audible clink, then leaned back and crossed her arms, furrowing her brow. She was seriously considering this, “You think they’ll let you just walk out of the arena? It may be bloodless this time, but they will ensure that the humiliation cuts deep. They don’t want a quiet dropout, Lark. They want their show.”

“And if you think refusal is new,” Pa continued, slowly, “You think that no has tried ‘not playing’ before? Look at history, Meadow Lark. Look at your parents, your Uncle Haymitch, we’ve all tried not playing. These games are about remembering the past, or honoring those who participated, they are about whatever the Capitol spins it to be. And when you lose, when you get eliminated, they will spin you as weak, cowardly. Or worse, complicit, like it was their whole plan you would lose, and someone else will be punished for it.”

“But if I win then I validate it.”

Another long pause. They were thinking it over, trying their best to convince me that I might be wrong, but I knew I wasn’t. I knew that I had to lose and stop the symbolization of our family. It was my choice, regardless of what the Capitol spun it as. Finally, at barely a whisper, Pa spoke, “Then thread the needle. Make it look real. Make it look believable. You’ll need to be strong, but not too strong. Capable, but not too capable. Enough to be remembered, but not enough to be victorious.”

“Which means,” Ma continued slowly, looking at me with complete assurance, “you will still need a plan.”

I nodded. I’ll need to pick the right time to lose and someone to lose to. I needed to take an interest in others, figure out what it was they wanted in terms of winning, and who would be a better symbol for healing than my family. The question is who and how? My mind wandered back to the Reapings. There were plenty of choices there. I could choose District Thirteen’s pair. They were stoic, almost icy as they stood there on their stage, and what would be better than a new District getting the win? Or if that was the case, then the Capitol pair? Two shiny beacons across the board. But they probably would be eliminated in the first few days, they had little to no survival skills as they were academics, if the stereotypes were to be believed. My memories resurfaced to District One’s pair. If I was to help someone win, it would have to be a boy, a classic choice. The girl didn’t matter, I needed to be eliminated separately from whoever I allied myself with. Then I had my pick.

“Cassain Luxe,” I broke the silence, “District One.”

“A Career?” Ma asked, skeptical of where I was coming from.

“He’s not like the past Careers. He didn’t look happy to be there. No smiles or posturing He didn’t look like he wanted to play, he looked like someone acting the part of a sacrifice. He already paid for something that he didn’t want.” I tried to reason. Cassain Luxe wasn’t a volunteer, not in the way he was acting, he was a tribute.

“It could an act.” Pa pointed out.

“It could be,” I agreed.

Ma narrowed her eyes, then nodded, “Careers are natural winners. Peeta, it makes sense. Return it full circle to the original winners, who better than a District One trainee?”

Before either of us could respond, the door opened again and Ardin sauntered back in, wearing a new outfit with a Capitol shine to it, still riding the high of his imaginary victory. He didn’t notice the way the conversation had shifted, didn’t notice the weight of what we had already set in motion. I felt a smug sense of satisfaction that Ardin was as dumb as a rock and oblivious to the plans I had come up with.

“Ready to talk alliances?” Ardin asked as he threw himself on to the couch by the window.

I glanced around the table, my parents giving the slightest of nods. The conversation was over, for now, by my plan had already begun.

Chapter Text

The rest of the ride to the Capitol was uneventful. Ma and Pa talked strategy separately with me and Ardin, only discussing the different District’s strengths when we were together. I knew the majority of it, having visited them and knew people that lived there. Gale Hawthorn, Ma’s friend, was the overseer in District Two and we visited a lot when Rye was a baby. Annie Cresta and her son Finn were the closest I got to family outside of District Twelve. Finn was practically my big brother, and I knew that his prowess with swimming and a trident weren’t just inherited traits. The others I had seen on tours and memorial trips growing up, so I wasn’t taken off guard when I was learning about how each District would’ve prepped or not prepped their tributes.

By the time we arrived at the Capitol, everyone was on edge. Ma and Pa were a bundle of nerves, their anxiety seeping in my bones the closer we inched to a stop. Saffron and Ardin were excited. Saffron talked non stop about what we should do as we exited the train, meanwhile Ardin pushed himself to the glass window breathing little clouds into it, waving excitedly at the crowd as we pulled in.

We dressed in outfits that Saffron chose for us, since we didn’t have a specific stylist assigned to us yet. We would get them when we arrived in the Prep Building. Ardin was wearing a black silk shirt and pants. I thought he looked like a walking piece of coal, but he must’ve thought he looked incredible with the amount of time spent in his room syncing himself up in the mirror. I had on a forest green jacket with a white undershirt, and brown pants. Elegant enough for the celebrity status my family held, but district enough to seem like I wasn’t trying too hard to impress them.

When the train fully stopped, Ardin joined me at the door. We stood in order of departure; Saffron, then us, then my parents. The two tributes were to walk out side-by-side, unfortunately. “Here we go,” Ardin breathed, adjusting the shirt. “The Capitol, home of the winners.”

I didn’t respond.

The doors slid open to a deafening roar, flashing lights, and a velvet purple carpet. Saffron stepped out first, perfectly poised and waited for the crowd to settle slightly, then announced in a loud, pleasant voice, “Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, I give you, your District Twelve tributes: Ardin Greer and Meadow Everdeen-Mellark!”

As I stepped out onto the plush carpet, immensely happy that Saffron did not force me into heels, the lights and sounds hit me like a heat wave. They were hungry for my attention, begging for me to acknowledge their worship. But I didn’t even look at them. I kept my eyes in front of me, locked on Saffron’s bright yellow dress as if it was a beacon. I ignored them all, pretending they were beneath me, as if they were nothing more than empty husks waving in the wind. No smiling, no waving. They wouldn’t get Meadow Everdeen Mellark, the girl raised from two victors. No, they were getting Meadow, the over-it tribute.

Ardin, meanwhile, was throwing finger guns and waves to the hungry crowd. He was eating up the attention, shaking hands with those who dared to reach out. He thanked them for showing up, being a greeter for him. He even at one point paused for a photo with a reporter, wrapping his arm around their shoulder as if they were life-long friends.

The end of the carpet led up to the Tribute Tower’s entrance. The building was redesigned to be a set of apartments with 14 floors, each with a dedication to the 13 districts and the Capitol. We would be living on District Twelve’s floor until the start of the Remembrance Games, just like the others. I had stayed in it before, so the sense of familiarity was welcomed as we entered the lobby. The other tributes who arrived before us, in order of our district numbers, were already milling around, eyeing us as we entered.

The Tribute Tower lobby was a monument to the wealth and power that the Capitol reclaimed after the rebellion. The ceiling was impossibly high, painted with a simulated sunrise and mockingjays that shifted in color as the day passed. A giant crystalline chandelier hung from the center like a frozen flame, casting shimmering light it reflected from the floor to ceiling windows. The floor was a mosaic of the 14 symbols for each part of Panam, including the Capitol and District 13. Like a clock, each section glowed for a moment before passing on to the next.

Around the edge of the mosaic were tables clad in deep purple tablecloths laden with food and drinks for the new arrivals. Attendants stood at random intervals throughout the room in pressed, white, uniforms, gilded in gold buttons. Hover-cams floated about the crowd, sometimes dipping down to catch a tribute who waved at it. Two flanked the entrance to the elevator, almost daring everyone to walk past and be broadcasted to the entirety of Panem.

“Wow!” Ardin breathed, “This is incredible!”

“Isn’t it?” Saffron turned to us, “You have some time to mill out, meet your fellow tributes. Be sure to start planning who you want to ally yourself with.”

Ardin took off, beeling for a table filled with food. My stomach turned. I didn’t really excel in making friends, I struggled at it really. But when Pa pushed on my back, I felt as if I had no choice. I made my way slowly, cooly, towards the table with goblets filled with various drinks. I picked out a clear, bubbly one, and once I took a sip, I was pleased that I chose just a bubbly water. It was refreshing, and my drink of choice when we visited the Capitol. I made my way to a spot on the wall, determined to hide from the cameras for as long as possible and watched the crowd from over the rim of my cup.

It was easy to pick out who was from what district. Tributes were dressed in clothing that resembled their respective homes, similar to me. District 2 was in militaristic grey uniforms, District 7 in browns and greens to represent the trees they worked with, District 10 was wearing broad-brim ranching hats that I had a mimic of from when I visited them at the young age of 4. It was almost laughable at how obvious everyone was dressed.

My eyes scanned the crowds, looking for a face that was approachable and easy to start a conversation with. That’s when I felt eyes on me. It was that same feeling I got when hunting and realized I wasn’t the only predator out in the woods, caught in the crossfire of a meal. My senses were heightened until I found the gaze that was on me.

Cassain Luxe was in the center of the room, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching a cup of his own. He was beside his district partner, who was chatting with someone from District 11. He was dressed in a gold shirt and white pants, clean, sharp, deliberate. He seemed to be doing what I was, scanning for an opening, but each time his eyes sweeped the room, he seemed to pause on me. We held eye-contact for a moment, before returning to our respective scanning. Then when we came back, we paused again.

I wasn’t sure what he knew about me, but his deep blue eyes- no wonder they seemed so piercing on T.V- held some form of recognition. For a breath the room stilled as the two of us sized each other up. Was he deciding that I was competition? Or was he thinking I should be his ally? What was I thinking? Why was I staring at him for so long? The moment broke, shattered really, when he raised his cup slightly, no small smile, then returned to the conversation his partner was having.

“Meadow!” Ardin practically shouted at me, shoving aside a server. I tore my gaze away to take in my district partner who was holding a plate piled high with random foods. “Have you tried anything yet? You’ve got to try these cookies.” He shoved one in my hands, but I didn’t take a bite. I’ve had pretty much everything that was laid out, it was normal welcome foods, but I didn’t want to ruin Ardin’s tasting session.

As he gushed about the various foods, the lights dimmed and the national anthem blared from invisible speakers, hushing the group in the lobby. At the end, a voice came over the speakers, “Welcome tributes to the first Remembrance Games!” It was President Thom Barrow, elected only a few years ago after a peaceful transfer of power from the last President Paylor. A hologram screen appeared in the center of the room, startling the group that had been standing there to get out of the way, the symbol of Panem lighted the room in a blue glow. President Barrow continued, showing highlights from previous games, “Today marks a historic step forward for Panem. The Remembrance Games are not just a tribute to our past, but a celebration of our future. One unified nation, strengthened my memory, honor, and choice.”

He paused as the images changed to show the various reapings across the country, “Each of you has been chosen- not reaped, but volunteered- as a symbol to our nation’s courage. Over the coming days, you will inspire us, entertain us, heal us, and remind us of what it means to fight. Not just against each other, but for something greater than ourselves.” As he rounded out that sentence, my face filled the screen. I looked proud and defiant, not as terrified or shocked as I had felt. “I look forward,” Barrow was finishing up, “to seeing how each of you choose to play, and more importantly, how you rise. Good luck, and may your legacy be remembered.”

The screen went black, the anthem blared again to a round of applause. Ardin whooped loudly beside me, joining in on the celebration. I didn’t react, I just kept sipping my water, glazing over the group once again. Now, alliances were no longer a part of a strategy, they were the performance itself. Every laugh, whisper, and handshake tonight is going to be captured and replayed like some sort of deranged animal.

Saffron approached from behind them, “Right, you two, upstairs. Your mentors are already settled in.”

Mentors, not parents. Not anymore. I almost felt something snap inside when Saffron said it. I know she didn’t mean it but it was just another reminder on how I was no longer in District 12, how I was now on display as a symbol, not even a person. As Saffron escorted us through the crowd, Ardin waving at a few tributes he had befriended, we passed Selene and Cassain. Selene gave me a grin, flipping her black hair over her shoulder. Cassain simply watched our passage, cooly, seeminging uninterested. I nodded at him, but no recognition came across his face.

When we entered the elevator, I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding and leaned against the glass wall. My entire body was shaking, trembling. As we rose, the Capitol’s skyline came into view, which Ardin was enamored with. Saffron was pointing out important buildings to him, to which he kept repeating how much he would “love to visit after he wins”. I tuned them out, wanting nothing more than to take a moment and escape.

When the doors opened, we were welcomed by two attendants who took my coat and helped remove our shoes. I immediately went to the sitting room. Nothing in the apartment changed. Stylized to remind the tenant of District 12, an artificial scent of clear rain hit me. Everything was earth tones- green carpet, light tan walls, brown and black seating- it was as if the Capitol tried to capture the essence of the District but missed the mark completely. Ardin was slack jawed at the bejeweled suite. He kept touching everything and smelling the fake plants just to see if they were real.

“This is unreal,” Ardin said, and for once I agree. This was certainly unreal because to me, it felt like I was in a waking nightmare.

Ma and Pa emerged from the hallway that led to the bedrooms. I knew from past visits there were at least 6, and they always chose the master room at the end of the hallway. It was the furthest and most secluded. Pa gave me a thumbs-up as he walked in. “You two looked incredible in that lobby. Did you meet the others?”

“Yeah,” Ardin jumped in, “I met the ones from Districts 2, 5, 6, and 10.”

“Good,” Pa sat on the chair across from me, “Meadow?”

I shook my head, “Sorry.”

“So what’s next? Training? Interviews?” Ardin asked, excitedly, “Or do we get to meet the president?”

Saffron laughed, “Nothing that drastic, darling! No, no, tomorrow is prep-team day and the parade! So get plenty of rest, tomorrow is going to be historic!”

With that as our dismissal I made my way to the bedroom I had always used when visiting the Capitol. I wanted comfort, to be back at home in my room with knowledge that Rye was right next door, but since I couldn’t have that, then I was stuck with the next best thing.

When I opened the door I was greeted with the familiar, simple but elegant bedroom I claimed as my own. The walls were a deep grey, with windows on one side overlooking the Capitol. The bed was plush and deep, sometimes it felt too soft for what I was used to. There was a closet that when I tapped on the screen beside it, picked out an outfit for me to wear. I was shocked to find a guitar leaning against the wall beside the screen, and my song journal beside it. Someone must’ve brought both for my comfort. I wandered to the far wall and opened the door to the adjoining bathroom, punching the buttons beside the giant shower to turn on and heat the water for me.

Once I was done, I wrapped myself in a plush, warmed, towel and stepped back into my bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. There were cameras everywhere in the apartment, I was sure of it so I couldn’t expose myself too much if I wanted to keep my plan safe. I needed to make it seem like I had come home, but wasn’t pleased to be here. Rolling on to my side, I stared at the guitar. It wasn’t mine, the embedded lark was missing, but it was a temporary replacement. I stood up and grabbed it, pulling it across my lap. It felt unfamiliar, cold and distant, but it would do. My fingers strummed out a chord, a hum pulled from my lips, and softly, so softly that I didn’t even register my voice was working came:

“Are you, are you, coming to the tree…”

Chapter Text

“Good morning!” Saffron’s loud chirp came from somewhere outside of vision. I was in the bathroom, showering last night’s sleep off of me. The one thing that I did like about being in the Capitol was that there was no such thing as too many baths or washes. I could clean myself whenever, and as many times, as I wanted. I emerged, towel fluffing out the wetness from my hair, to find Saffron peeking under the bed for me, as if I was a little kid hiding from her. “Oh!” She jumped when she saw me, “Sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to intrude but we have a very busy day and you need to get ready.”

“Yeah, I know,” I crossed to the closet and tapped on the screen, picking out a loose fitting brown top and a pair of black leggings, “I just wanted to get clean first. I hate the chemicals the stylists use.” I came to realize I had no ill-will towards my escort. She was just doing her job, and I was coming around to her too bright outlook.

“Oh, darling,” Saffron let out a loud laugh, “You don’t need that! You don’t have any bugs they need to worry about.” She nodded in approval as I pulled the clothes from the closet, “Get dressed and come have breakfast. I’ll be taking you and Ardin down in an hour.”

I pulled on my clothes, brushed out my hair but left it down. Most likely my hair was going to be plucked and primed until it was whatever the stylist wanted it to be. I knew that it was a minor chance it would be the same stylist team that took care of my family for the formal Capitol interviews we were rarely dragged in for. Most likely, I got someone new and inexperienced for the Games.

Exiting my room, I made my way to the dining room, where servers were putting plates of eggs and bacon on the table. A cup of coffee and a plate with what they had served were set before an empty chair. Ardin was already eating, rather unceremoniously, his meal, scarfing it down and talking through mouthfuls of food. Ma and Pa watched, each with a slight look of distaste on their face. I wondered if they felt as embarrassed as I was starting to feel about Ardin being a part of this team.

“Morning, Meadow Lark,” Pa smiled at me as I joined them, “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” I took my coffee and sipped it. It was perfectly prepared.

Ma nodded towards the cup with a ghost of a smile, “They always remember how you take it.”

I shrugged, “I’ve always taken it the same way, it’s not hard to remember.”

Saffron took that moment to breeze in, a tablet with the schedule in hand. Her yellow pin-striped suit was a new look for her, making her look like a daffodil trying to pass as a human. “Eat quickly, darlings. Today’s schedule is tighter than a corset before an interview. Your prep teams are waiting, then it’s straight to the stables for your parade. You’ll be expected downstairs in under forty-five minutes.”

“Is it really going to take all day?” Ardin whined, “I wanted to see the Capitol.”

Saffron frowned at that, “Obviously, getting ready for the arena and being presented before all of Panem takes priority. If that is something that you do not understand, then you will never win.”

“She’s right,” Pa nodded in agreement, “A majority of the games is getting the people on your side. You’ll need sponsors, people who want you specifically to win. You’ll need to impress them with your looks, talents, and charm.”

I snorted softly around my eggs. Ardin and charm did not seem to go together. Meanwhile I started coming up with a plan. I was never a performer, I hated singing in front of others. But, I knew that Panem wasn’t going to listen to just some person reciting lines. I needed to give them a performance of a lifetime. I had to be charming, disarming, but also strong and defiant. Easily liked, but not loved. I finished up eating, neatly and quickly, as I knew some of the conversation was going to be reported back to whoever was watching us. I waited patiently, but kept glancing at the clock. I needed to keep up the pretense that I was looking forward to being on display for the world to see, but without fanfare.

“Just wait till you see what your stylist put together for the parade!” Saffron was saying, “It’s very thematic, very historic. Darlings, you will love it!”

Pa leaned forward, “What kind of ‘historic’?”

“Nothing too drastic. Your stylists wanted to honor District Twelves’s legacy while making a modern impression. I think you’ll both be quite honored and pleased.” Her gaze shifted to me, “I especially love your design, Meadow.”

“I’m not wearing wings, am I?” I asked, suddenly worried.

Saffron gave a secretive smile, “Maybe wings, maybe fire.”

I felt the whole room tense up at that. Ma reached over and grabbed Pa’s hand, almost desperately. They were grounding each other, giving a steadiness to the memory that pushed them originally into the position they were in. I recalled the old images of my Ma and Pa holding hands, high above them, as flames whooshed off their back down a parade route. My Ma was radiant, waving and smiling at the crowd, like she was born to it. But I knew. I knew it was all a play, a way for her to get the crowd to love her.

“Right,” I pushed myself away from the table, appetite suddenly gone, “let’s get it over with.”

Saffron clapped her hands, “Marvelous! Ardin, finish quickly please.”

For the most part, Ardin did. The food and coffee were gone in a flash and he scrambled after us to the door. We got in the elevator, Saffron using the pad to punch in the number for the stylist floor. It was sub-level, so we watched the Capitol disappear into a black oblivion before being opened to where we would be remade.

It was huge, with bright fluorescent lights illuminating the area overhead. Obsidian walls were carved into rooms, forming various areas for tributes and stylists to get to work. We were led to the left, counting doors from 7 till we got to a set of doors with a large “12” painted on it. Saffron scanned the pad against a glowing box next to the door, and we heard a mechanical click. Opening the door for us, we found two doors on either side, one labed “D12M” the other “D12F”.

“Right, this is where I leave you.” Saffron turned to us, “Ardin, you go that way,” she pointed to D12M, “Meadow, the other.”

Ardin took off, eager to get started. I went much more slowly, and went to the door with D12F. Pushing the door open, I was greeted with a dressing room. In one corner was a shower, simple and efficient looking. Against the opposite wall was a white lounge chair, a robe thrown over it, and a table. The center of the room had an elevated circular platform, most likely for me to stand on so whoever was dressing me could see me from all angles. With minimum instructions, I took off my top layer of clothing, deciding not to go fully nude and keep my underclothes on, threw the thin robe on, and sat. I wasn’t sure when they were going to walk in, or who for that matter, but I wasn’t looking forward to getting poked and prodded into the model of District Twelve.

As soon as I got settled on the lounge chair, which was cold and uncomfortable, the door burst open. In came three, chatting, people. They pulled with them a rolling metal table and a chair on wheels. They were all dressed in the latest Capitol extreme fashions. The tallest one had sharp angles to her face, swatches of dark blue for her make-up made her literal silver eyes shimmer like stars in the night sky. Her hair was short and dark blue, making her face look too pale to have seen the sun.

“Lovely!” She cried upon seeing me, “Look at that bone structure! And those eyes! You did inherit the best traits, Miss. Meadow Everdeen.”

“Mellark,” I tried not to sound too flat, “Meadow Everdeen-Mellark.”

“Right, right! Of course, my apologies, lovely,” she waved her hand dismissively, moving around the room as the other two started setting up the table and chair. When she finally settled next to the platform, she gave me a dazzling grin, “I am Lysandra, and these two are my amazing assistants, Pax and Jinx.”

Pax was shorter than me, with a perpetual look of distracted delight. He gave me a finger-wave, which showed off the embedded jewels in his nails. He had soft brown hair which held green glitter as if he was born with it, and glitter across his cheek, “We’re here to make you shine, sweetling.”
Jinx, the silent sentinel it seemed, had hard blue eyes and no visible makeup- a first for me. Their black hair was seemingly simple, but when they moved their hair flickered with purples and greens. They nodded at me, eyes doing a quick scan as if trying to figure out what I would look like under the robe.

I pulled the robe tighter around me, but Lysandra laughed, “No need to be shy, we’ve seen it all. Now, sit, we have a lot to do before Venia comes in.”

I crossed to the chair and Jinx took the robe from me, and I sat. The chair wasn’t uncomfortable, but I was. As soon as I sat they got to work, pulling my hair in multiple directions to brush it out and shape it. Pax knelt down and pulled out my legs, clicking in annoyance at the amount of hair on them. He got to work on waxing them, not giving me any warning at when he would rip the paper off. I tried not to flinch, but I couldn’t help the hiss of pain that came out every few moments. Lysandra did my nails, simply shaving them down into a shape that she was approved of giving, then moved on to my eyebrows and hairline with Jinx.

After what felt like forever, the three stood back, “Alright, lovely, I think we are done.” Lysandra smiled, pleased with her work, “And might I say we did a wonderful job!”

“Thank you,” I said weakly. I was hungry, thirsty, and cramped. All I wanted was for them to leave so I could get out of the chair.

Lysandra led them to the group to the door, Pax pulling the rolling table with them, “Viena should be in soon, I’ll send an attendant in with lunch.”

I stood as soon as the door closed and threw the robe on. I felt so exposed, and the air was cold. I knew I was lucky they didn’t ask me to take off my underclothes, but still, it was slightly embarrassing. An attendant came in, placing a silver tray on the table. It held a small lunch, sandwich and some fruit, and a pitcher of some dark liquid. I thanked them as they left, but like all Capitol workers, they were silent. I sat and picked up the sandwich, pulling the bread back to find lettuce, tomato, some sort of meat, and cheese. There was also a layer of yellow liquid that was seeping into the bread. Taking a bite, I found it to be slightly spicy but not overpowering the rest of the meal. The fruit was orange with a green rind, and was slightly sweet. I was pleasantly surprised to find the drink was a cold and refreshing apple tasting drink. The meal itself was simple but delicious.

Once done, I piled the left over rind and empty plate and cup on the tray, so the attendant could easily collect it all. I lied down in the lounge chair, feeling my skin prickle under the robe from the treatments I was pushed through. I trained my eyes on the ceiling as the silence of the room pressed on me. For a Capitol space, it was oddly still, almost reverent. Maybe it was meant to make me feel pampered, but all it did was give me too much space to think.
My mind drifted, and it landed on what Rye might be doing now. He was a morning person, so he probably got up early to take care of the geese and goats. Most likely he drove the small flock out to the Meadow, watching the sun rise into the sky as he gathered herbs while the geese grazed in the grass. Maybe he’d hike out to the old apple orchard, check to see if there are any growing yet. It’d be too early in the year for harvest.

Maybe, he’d be at the rickety table, a cup of tea clutched in his hands as the T.V in the other room muttered about my arrival to the Capitol, trying to pretend that he didn’t care about what they were showing. He was trying to act normal, pretending the family would be back soon. But I knew that inside he was hurting, angry, frustrated over the fact there was nothing he could do. He’d be furious, not at me -never at me- but at the world that kept asking our family to perform.

I’m sure he watched our arrival footage, almost positive of it. The bit would’ve been the first look at the tributes as they entered the Capitol. I hated that I didn’t think of sending him a message through the cameras, that I made myself seem cold to the world. He was too far away to hear me tell him the plan, that I was ok. Too far away for him to tell me that I would be home soon.

The door opened again, and I shot up, pulling the robe tighter around me. A young woman, not much older than my Ma, came in. Venia had simple features, nothing grand. Her hair was a light turquoise color, falling in loose waves around her face. Her eyes were deep blue, warm and understanding. Her face had traces of gold vines on it, swirling with golden rose buds. She wore a white blouse and pale tan pants, with simple white heels. I knew who she was before she even said anything.

“You’re Venia?” I broached, “My stylist?”

She nodded, sweeping her eyes up my body, but it wasn’t demeaning, more like observing, “I was a part of your mother’s team when she was in the Games. You look so much like her. When I was approached to style for District Twelve, I jumped at the chance. I didn’t realize that you would be who I was styling.”

I tried to picture her from what little footage there was of Ma’s styling team. I think she was brighter, more bubbly, but hidden behind the scenes more than on stage. This woman had seen things, and she wasn’t afraid to show her scars. “So, you’re gonna make me into my Ma?”

“Oh no,” Venia gave me a slight grin, “that’s what Panem wants to make you into.”

She stepped further into the room, pausing just before reaching the lounge chair, as if asking permission to sit. When I scooted over to give her room, she sat down, feather light. “They want another Mockingjay, another flame. One more war cry with wings. But that’s not right, not what we actually need. If you are to represent healing, the next phase of the world, then they need someone new. Someone the Capitol can’t claim.”

I took in Venia, my heart jumping into my throat. She understood, without me even saying a thing, this person completely understood the need to move on. I may not have volunteered, I might have been forced into this situation, but she will help me make sure that I wasn’t the Capitol’s. I wasn’t sure what she was like with my Ma during the Hunger Games, but I found that I respected her.

“Would you like to see my plan?” She asked, crossing the room and grabbing a pad from the rolling table. She tapped some parts of the screen, then turned it towards me. I let out a gasp, it was exquisite.

The base of the outfit was a sleek bodysuit of matte black, the color of untouched coal. Not the rough stuff pulled from the ground, but something purer, compressed and refined by years of pressure. Running down the arms and sides were golden lines of something, that looked like it pulsed in the image with lava, and at where my hands would be was something black and wispy. Ash blowing on the wind.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.

“Hold on, you haven’t seen the back,” she slid her finger across the bottom, spinning the simulated model, and I saw why she wanted me to wait before making my judgement. The golden veins that were on the front all stemmed from the design on the back. It was unmistakably a bird, but not a mockingjay. It was bigger, made of swirls of bright silver, like carved rocks in the fire, the golden strands leaking either into or out of the bird.

Venia let me take it in before softly explaining, “Coal is where you come from but pressure makes them into diamonds. Fire.. fire makes something new, giving way to ash. You are not the mockingjay. You are what comes after.” I looked up at her, and I realized she was looking for approval, some sort of indication that what she did was right.

My throat tightened, and I put my hand over her’s. “Let’s do it,” I whispered, “Let’s make me burn.”

Chapter Text

Venia escorted me down to the stable, ensuring that each part of my costume stayed intact on the way down. She ended up pulling my hair to the side and pinning it with a diamond clip in the shape of a bird’s feather, brushing my face slightly with black and silver glitter. I felt like a walking gem. The costume itself was a comfortable pressure around my body, like a tight hug. When we reached the chariot, I was met with Aridn, dressed in a similar one piece, but minus the bird. If he even noticed mine, he didn’t make a comment about it.

“You look…” Ardin stammered when he saw me, “like you walked out of a story.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Is that supposed to be a compliment.”
Ardin laughed, “Of course! I know I look good, but you look great!”

I turned away from him, going up to the coal black horses. I always liked visiting the stables when we came to the Capitol, especially when we were allowed to pet the horses. District Twelve didn’t have any horses, they were bred in District Ten and shipped to the Capitol, but I always imagined owning one. They were big and soft, and often gentle, but always alert.

“District Twelve,” a low, almost velvet voice said behind me. I turned and almost stumbled backwards in shock.

Cassain Luxe stood in front of me. It was clear that his stylist was playing into his attractiveness. His dark hair was swept into a smooth, elegant style, his bright eyes highlighted with turquoise shadow that made his features seem more mature, more elegant. He wore what looked like golden plated armour, with sapphire embellishments across his chest. He was supposed to be emanating wealth and luxury, I knew that, but he looked like a warrior. An sapphire crown ran across his forehead, as if marking him as a king.

“I saw you arrive, you didn’t blink.” He spoke quietly enough that only I could hear him.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Why was he standing here? Why did he choose now to approach me? And why wasn’t I telling him to go away? So, instead of talking, I turned my head back to the horse, focusing on scratching what I had learned was the favorite spot, just behind the ears.

“For a bird, you’re pretty quiet,” Cassain smirks, “But that’s alright. I’ll get you singing soon enough. See you at training.”

He walked away, and I watched him from the corner of my eye. He held himself above the crowd, but apart from it, like he really didn’t want to be here.

“What was that about?” Ardin called over.

“A warning,” I muttered into the horse’s neck, “maybe a challenge.” Then turning to Ardin I responded louder, “No idea.”

The anthem sounded, and I scrambled into the chariot. Within moments we were moving. We didn’t need to guide the horses, they were perfectly trained to carry us along the route and into the tribute circle before the President to be welcomed officially by the public.

As we emerged from the cavern that held the horses, we were greeted with a deafening cheer. What felt like millions of people screamed our names, hollering for our attention. Ardin immediately took it all in, waving and shouting back. As we passed a screen, I saw myself. Ardin wasn’t kidding, I was a vision of the past and the present. Ash flowed out of my wrists forming almost a cape of burning air. The only problem was my face, I looked shell shocked. I quickly turned my face into one of cool air, but raised my hand, waving at the crowd. This must’ve been what they were waiting for, as they seemed to have gotten louder. I then let out a small knowing smile, as if letting them in on a secret that only I knew. The crowd ate it up, screaming my name loudly over each other. I wondered what the other tributes were thinking, if they had the same thought of how crazy everyone was acting around us.

The parade lasted shorter than I thought, and soon we were circling in front of the president and Gamemakers, letting the rest of the tributes come to rest. When President Burrow stood, I was reminded how plain the man looked. He had a receding hair line, beady eyes. He wore a black suit with a red tie. The man wasn’t impressive, that much I could tell. Instead of listening to his welcome speech, my eyes went over the Gamemakers. I could see Plurtlarch Heavensbee, sitting right behind the president with a smug smile. As I went, I let out a shocked gasp. I knew the man on the left, unfortunately.

“What?” Ardin whispered, but I shook him off. We couldn’t interrupt, not at the risk of being caught on T.V ignoring the president.

As he came to a finish the horses pulled us back underneath another tunnel, stopping to let us off. Ma and Pa were there to greet us, a large smile on Pa’s face, Ma looked like she was fighting back being sick.

“You looked-” Pa started but I interrupted.

“Uncle Gale is a Gamemaker?”

Pa’s smile faltered, his eyes darted over to Ma, who had grown ghostly pale. His jaw snapped shut and pressed his lips in a thin line. Ma closed her eyes, pressing her hands to her face.

With a sigh, she pulled me in and slipped her arm through mine, “Not here. Cameras are everywhere.”

We made our way through the horde of tributes, mentors, stylists, and escorts, ignoring the shouts of those who wanted us to join in the celebration of a successful parade. Apparently there was an after party. Ardin and Saffron trailed behind, Saffron leading him so he wouldn't wander off. Ardin kept his pace, wisely staying quiet and not making a scene for once.

Once we were in the elevator, Pa put his hand up to stop Ardin and Saffron from following, indicating that we needed to be alone. Saffron didn't hesitate, pulling Ardin back just as the elevator door closed.

“Talk.” Ma demanded.

“You talk!” I shot back, “Did you know that Uncle Gale was a Gamemaker?”

They exchanged looks, my answer clear on their faces. No, they didn't know, but they weren't surprised. We hadn't seen Uncle Gale in years at this point, not since Rye was a baby. There were reasons, many of them. One being my clear discomfort of being in District Two’s underground fortress but another was Uncle Gale himself.

Something happened. I wasn't sure what, as I was too little to understand. I remember the night when Ma came storming back into our guest rooms, Pa attempting to keep up behind her. She was mad, demanding that we leave right away. Rye was just a baby, so he was in his crib, sleeping soundly under our caretaker’s watchful eye. But at her shouts he woke up screaming. The next few hours were hushed arguments, snippets of “He doesn't even realize what he said” and “As if she isn’t yours!”. The following day we left and never went back. Despite phone calls and house visits from him, Ma refused to talk to him, and Pa would end up telling him to leave.

Ever since, whenever I saw Uncle Gale on T.V, as he was head of security, Ma would point at him and remind me we were not related, and if anyone asks he’s an uncle by choice, not blood or marriage. It got so ingrained in my brain that now I only called him Uncle Gale because I wasn't sure what else to call him. He never had any kids, or married for that matter.

When doors opened to our suite, Pa led us to the master bedroom, a spot where no cameras were watching. We sat, arranged around the bed, and he spoke first. “We really didn't know, but does it change things?”

We considered that for a moment, “No.” I finally said, “Uncle Gale was probably appointed because he was the head of Two, right?” It was a desperate hope, that this was all coincidental. But I wouldn't put it past the Capitol to be doing it on purpose.

Ma pressed her lips together, “We need to steer clear of him. I’m not sure what his game is, but whatever it is, it cannot be good.”

I nodded in agreement. Hopefully I won’t have to interact with any of the Game makers during this ordeal, but I knew it was a long shot.

“Did her recognize you?” Ma asked.

“I don't know. I don't even know if he saw me except on the screen.”

Pa frowned, running a hand along his jaw. “He would’ve seen you. They were all watching the parade. The question is, where does he sit within the Gamemakers? If he’s within the top group of panels, then he is in charge of something.”

The room was quiet for a beat. Then Ma stood abruptly, pacing the length of the room, “Knowing Gale, he’s in charge of whatever nasty mix they planned for these Games. He’s always had an agenda, a violent one, and he isn’t going to keep it hidden. If he so much as acknowledges you-”

“I won’t acknowledge him,” I said quickly, firmly, “He should have no reason to talk to me.” I knew a part of me was lying, Uncle Gale is a Gamemaker, and they do interact with tributes, but I wasn’t sure by how much. Our family’s history was so broad, that it might make him think it was alright to approach me. And based on Ma’s belief, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was pulling strings.

“Just stay neutral,” Pa finally assured, pushing a strand of hair that had blown loose behind my ear, “Stay calm. Be polite if he approaches you, Heavensbee too for that matter. Remember the plan, complacent but not submissive.”

I nodded, reinstating the plan in my head. Put on a show, then bow out when it’s time. Pa leaned forward and pulled me into a tight hug, burying my head into his shoulder. Ma paused her pacing, watching us, then I felt her hand stroke my hair. I took the moment for a chance to forget where I was, what I was dressed as. I wanted to go home so badly. I tried to imagine we were in my bedroom, back in District Twelve, trying to smell the late summer heat, the sound of chirping crickets and old bullfrogs, the soft bleating of our goats. Just for a moment, I wanted to pretend everything was back the way it was.

Our moment was broken when we heard the sound of Ardin loudy boasting about how good he looked, begging Saffron to let him go to the after party. I pulled out of Pa’s grip and wiped the tears that had escaped away before they could be noticed. “I’m going to bed,” I announced, “Training tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, Lark,” Ma smiled, “Get some rest, we’ll talk about strategy later.”

“Don’t forget to eat dinner,” Pa said sternly as I turned my back to them. I escaped into my room and peeled off the parade outfit, dumping the magnificent thing to the floor. I punched in an order for dinner, lamb and plum stew, and threw on a soft grey top and loose fitting black pants. When the attendant arrived with the food, I shooed him away, opened the window that led to the balcony, curled up with a blanket I dragged off the bed in an alcove and ate. I watched the Capitol lights flicker with various colors, showing the many parties that were happening below me. Somewhere down there, people were toasting to the parade, starting their bets, and laughing in velvet and chrome- all completely removed from the history that was about to be repeated.

I let the bowl of stew rest in the crook of my legs, the sweet and savory scent blowing away with what little breeze was up here. My stomach was still in knots, but I needed to eat. I picked at the soft chunks of lamb, chewing it slowly, letting my mind wander.

Tomorrow was where it all hit with the reality of being the Games, I knew that, I just wasn’t sure what to expect. If the Games weren’t about killing, what would I encounter? Survival skills? What would be the point of doing that? Besides, I wasn’t there to just observe, I was there to be the quiet, calculating, submissive daughter of the Mockingjay, the new symbol. I had to give them something to watch without something to fear.

The wind shifted, and I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders. Far below a bust of music erupted from somewhere, a door opening maybe. I shut my eyes, one moment of rest and then I’d go to bed. Just a moment.

Chapter Text

I awoke to the sun hitting me in full force, my back aching. Apparently I fell asleep out here, the blanket still around me, the bowl empty in my lap. Bright bursts of pink and gold washed over me as I blinked the grogginess away. I slowly, achingly, slipped back into my room and showered, finally getting the stiff makeup off my face.

Saffron must’ve come in before I got out, as there was a simple black shirt and pants with red trim on the collar and sleeves on my bed, an arm band with the number “12” lying beside it. I pulled it on, finding it comfortable and light enough to move in. I pulled my hair back into a loose braid. The feather clip that was in my hair earlier was lying on my bedside table, so I slipped it in at the base, knowing it was a risk that it would stay.

As I entered the dining area, I was greeted with the nauseating sight of Ardin tearing apart a fluffy, Capitol pastry like it personally offended him. I sat, trying to hide a grimace and picked at some fruit that was placed on the table.

“Did you sleep in that uniform?” Ardin teased through a mouthful.

I ignored him, trying my best to encourage some form of an appetite. So far, I was able to hide behind a screen, keeping my coolness hidden behind a formed mask. It was easy to do when you didn't have eyes directly staring you down.

“You need to eat, build some strength,” Pa pushed a plate of toast towards me. “Today is going to be a long day.”

“Especially when you're trying to impress the Gamemakers,” Saffron added, “they’ll be watching you.”

“Oh yes!” Ardin spat, “I’m so ready to prove that I can use a sword! Or a bow! I haven't decided yet.”

Ma shot him a look that I’m sure would've killed a Peacekeeper, “I suggest find one thing you're good at, one. Focus on survival skills, especially since they keep insisting this is a ‘no killing game’. Don't show off, don't make them think you're too much of a threat. But don't be weak either.”

“I can be both,” Ardin reached for a second pastry.

“And spread out,” Pa added, “make alliances. The Gamemakers look for those first before scoring, to see if you’ll make it to the end through other means. Be trustworthy, but not friendly.”

“I’m wounded,” Ardin threw a sugar frosted hand across his heart. He had a comment for everything, it seemed.

“I suggest showing some decorum as well,” Saffron tossed a napkin towards Ardin, “Citizens of the Capitol like people with a bit of… poise.”

I nodded, taking this all in. Basically, they were telling me to stay away from Ardin and form an alliance with someone else. Don't show off my skills with a bow, but do make sure that everyone knows that I can outlast them.

“When you are ready,” Saffron said. I stood up with her, ready to move on from an unappetizing breakfast.

We followed her to the elevator, stepping in and letting the glass walls give the full view of the Capitol once again descend into the world above us. Ardin was already muttering about being ready to score a ten before the training officially begun, but I kept my mouth shut. If I said something, it might be something I was going to regret later.

Saffron shifted next to me, and whispered in my ear, “Confidence is one thing, cockiness is another. Just remember what you need to give them.”

I didn’t answer, not wanting to risk having her cover up with a lie to Ardin. Again, the bright, bubbly woman surprised me. I knew the rules weren’t the same, the stakes were different, but the Capitol didn’t change. It was still kindling that was looking for a spark, one they were hoping to get out of me. I readied myself, pulling my shoulders back and lifting my head higher. I needed to look like I belonged, like I was made for this.

The elevator door opened to a wide, high-ceilinged room. The training center wasn’t as far below ground as the stylist were, but it was still hidden from the outside world. The room was the same sleek black rock with overly-bright fluorescent lights. It was colder than I had expected, but I figured as soon as people got moving we’d warm up. Saffron gave us a push, whispering a quick well wish before ascending back to the apartment.

There were already tributes gathered in front of a small podium, chatting excitedly about their first experience in training. I almost gagged, thinking about the fact the last time this room might have been used was for teaching people how to kill each other. They weren’t really sizing each other up, it felt more like a first day of school- just getting to know each other. Ardin took off to somewhere on my left, greeting the boy from District Ten. I simply stepped into the center, as if I owned it, expecting the tributes were already there to move out of my way. I let them stare as I made my way to the front and center, deciding that if they wanted to view me, let them make me into their biggest competition.

“Good morning tributes,” A man stepped up onto the podium. He was tall, well built, and wore a jacket over a pair of Capitol issued leggings. In his hand was a pad, and something that looked like a bracelet. “My name is Crixus. I will be in charge of your training for the next three days. Before you begin, I wanted to explain how the Rememberance Games will work in terms of eliminations.”

He held up the bracelet, “This is your tracker. Each of you will be issued one prior to being sent into the arena. Its main function is to keep track of you in the arena, as the name indicates. However, it will also tell you if you have been eliminated or not. If at any point it glows red, you have been eliminated. Eliminations can occur if you have been voted out by a tribunal of Gamemakers, you’re too sick or injured to continue, or if you at any point declare a ‘tap-out’.”

At the word “injured” everyone erupted into whispers, but not me. I knew that there was no way we would be completely safe in the arena, it just wasn’t possible. Injuries can happen at any point, burns from a fire or a broken leg from a big fall. But it made me wonder, what injury would be too big to continue?

“While you are in here,” Crixus spoke over the group, voice louder, “you will be allowed to train in various survival skills, as well as weapon usage. If you injure anyone in training, you will be eliminated.” His eyes narrowed on me, and I narrowed mine right back. I wasn’t sure if he targeted me because of where I was or if it was due to who I was. “Use the time wisely, at the end of the three days, you will be scored from 1 to 14 on your skills.”

We were dismissed with that, finally given leave to start training. Groups went off immediately to the weapon area, eager to try their hand at spear throwing, or sword play. I didn’t, I pushed my feet towards food identification, hoping it might indicate what kind of environment we would be thrown into. I figured I would save my weapon usage towards the end, a bow out to my fellow tributes and a warning to the Gamemakers.

The food identification was a game, pick the right one you get points, the wrong one you lose. At first, I was doing good, but the further into the game I got, the harder it became. As I tried to focus I felt eyes on the back of my neck, goosebumps pricking proving I was being watched. I raised my head and rolled out my neck, trying to spy who it was.

He was over by the climbing station, his eyes piercing daggers into my backside. Cassain Luxe was once again staring at me. I shook it off, pretending that I just didn’t see him. Let him stare, let him make the first move. He said he would see me in training, but I didn't respond. He threatened me, or warned me, I still wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t going to approach him, not after that encounter. But his gaze was just enough of a distraction and I tapped the wrong leaf, a red light indicating I died.

I shrugged and moved off, heading towards knot-tying. The instructor seemed eager to show me simple knots, but I quickly proved that I was more of a master in knot-tying. They soon grew frustrated as I proved over and over again that I already knew many knots and they moved off to start working with some tribute from District Nine. I felt bad, but how was I supposed to hide the skills that Ma taught me since the day I could walk?

A thunk caught my attention. I looked up. Cassain was in the spear throwing spot, clutching one like he was born holding it. I watched for a moment, and then he threw another. His movements were fluid and easy, calm and precise. The only other time I saw someone move like that was my Ma when she shot a deer. He spun his third in his hand, and threw it, landing it perfectly in the head shaped part of the target.

I looked away quickly. That wasn’t part of my plan in getting him to the end. I needed to regroup, make space between the two of us and figure out the next steps. I refocused on tying the ropes. He was supposed to be weaker than me, that’s why I wanted to carry him to the end. I underestimated him, badly.

“Tying yourself up?” A soft, velvet voice muttered behind me and there he was.

“Here to make me sing?” I shot back, attempting to sound cold. I wanted him to know that I didn't forget that threat, but I also didn’t want to carry a conversation. I tried to keep my attention on the knot, realizing now that I was making a noose. “You were staring at me again.”

Cassain didn’t flinch, instead he leaned against the table, blocking my access to the rest of the ropes, “You noticed.”

I rolled my eyes and tugged the rope free, unraveling the noose, “It was hard not to. You look at people like you're deciding if they would fit in a coffin.”

“That’s generous,” he said, pushing off the table and pulling the rope out from hands, “I don’t look at just anyone like that.”

I forced myself not to react, to let him take the rope from me. “Lucky me?”

“You did well on the food station,” he started copying my noose, “Slipped up near the end though. Was that intentional?”

“You were watching me?”

He shrugged, and threw the noose over my neck, “Does it matter?”

I stared at him, waiting for him to tighten it. But he didn’t move, just stared at me intensely, but the predator-like malice I had grown to expect from him was gone, it was more like interest, a curiosity. That was dangerous. “Does it?”

“I think so,” he tilted his head, “because you matter.”

I scoffed at that, “If this is your attempt at forming an alliance, you are doing a terrible job.”

“Who said anything about forming an alliance with you?” Cassain grinned, “You’ll most likely win with whoever you choose, but you’re also in more danger than anyone else in here.”

I stilled, eyes training up to where the Gamemakers were watching. Uncle Gale and Plurtarch were both watching me, as if seeing what I might do, “I thought you said you were going to make me sing?”

He chuckled at that, “Oh, you will sing. Just not the way you think.”

And with that, he turned and walked off, leaving the noose around my neck. He was acting like nothing just happened, like a threat or a promise wasn’t just made. Cassain Luxe loosened something in my chest, something I couldn’t name. I pulled the rope off from me, and remade it in a perfect fisherman’s knot, with a little more force than necessary.

I moved away from the rope station, jaw tight, fingers burning with the imprint of the rope. If Cassain was trying to rattle me, it was working. Worse still, I couldn’t tell if he was the snake in the grass or the bird calling out a warning. Either way, I needed to make a decision: stay quiet or play my game?

Chapter Text

The next day was the same. I wandered through the less impressive stations, keeping as much of a distance as possible between me and Cassain. I even at one point stuck with Ardin at the fire-starting station, just to use him as a buffer. I regretted that almost immediately, Ardin was terrible at building a fire, and his whines were like a dying cat in my ears.

The Gamemakers still watched me, trying to figure out my gameplan. So did Cassain. I could feel all their eyes following me as I drifted around. By the time the lunch bell rang, I was utterly bored. I wanted to get my hands on a bow, shoot something, but I didn’t want to risk showing off my most valuable talent, not until evaluations.

I sat alone, opening the metal tin to find a sandwich and an apple. I bit into the apple, letting the juice run down my chin. There was an old apple orchard that I used to collect apples from, just outside the town, and those apples were much sweeter than this one. The other tributes had already started pairing off, Ardin seemingly finding company with the District Thirteen girl, who I nicknamed Snowflake. If I gave off cool, she was downright icy.

I was pulled from my thoughts when Cassain sat down across from me. Metal tray hitting the table not loudly, but enough to get me to look at it. “Hello, little bird,” he greeted. He didn’t continue, just pulled the crust off his sandwich and eyed it like a cat with a mouse. He chewed slowly, then let his eyes size me up, “I thought you’d sing for me today, yet all I’ve heard is the silence of someone trying to not exist.”

I didn’t give a response, I refused to stoop that low. I took another bite of my apple again, deliberately delaying a response, “Maybe I don’t perform for people who tie me up with knots.”

“Maybe I don’t play with people who hide behind children playing at being victors,” a teasing grin came over his face as he nodded towards Ardin.

So he was watching me. Even with me being with Ardin, and using my best ghosting techniques. I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest, “Is there a reason you are sitting here?”

Cassian sat quietly. I found him to be comfortable with the silence, almost like he enjoyed it. It made everyone else squirm, but not me. He took another bite of his sandwich, mulling over the taste, as if it was the last thing he would ever eat. Finally, just when I was about to break the silence between us, he said, “I think you should try archery today.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I think you should try archery today,” he repeated, then leaned forward, “You know, remind them who they threw into the Remembrance Games.”

I held his gaze, just for a moment longer than I planned for, trying to find the punchline. But there wasn’t one. He just looked at me, waiting for a response. He was acting like he knew what I was capable of, like he was daring me to stop pretending.

“Thanks for the advice,” I said coolly, dumping the apple core onto the tray. “I’ll put it on my list of things to do that I wasn’t planning on doing.”

Cassain didn’t respond, instead he stood with his now empty tray. He walked around the table, then leaned down, whispering into my ear, “I wouldn’t wait, little bird. They’re already making decisions.”

Before I could make a retort, he was gone. My appetite vanished, the half-eaten sandwich now looking like poison to me. I sat there until the lunch bell rang again, then ignoring everyone else’s chatter, I walked straight across to the archery range.

There were a few tributes who had already arrived, fumbling with the bows. One of them was Selene Vale, the District One girl, but she was a terrible shot, hitting the outer rings of the target. Another was a boy from District 5, but he couldn’t even pull the string back far enough to make the arrow fly.

I sidestepped them all, pulling a bow and a quiver of arrows smoothly from the wall. I stepped into an empty lane, angling my body. The instructor tried to stop me, to teach me prior to shooting, but all I could hear was my Ma’s voice, guiding me through the steps to prep the body. Pull your shoulders back, she would be whispering, only focus on where the arrow is going, not where the target is.

Thwack

Dead center. Silence shrouded the training center.

I loaded another.

Thwack, thwack.

I felt the stares, but I kept going. It felt good, to finally have a place to put my pent up emotions. Shooting always felt nice, but I think I was finally understanding why my Ma would disappear into the woods for hours when she got upset. The world disappeared and dropped out of my mind, all that mattered was the feeling of the bow and the smoothness of the arrows hitting dead center.

Then I spied a dummy, dangling in the back, hidden in shadows. Was it a relic? A reminder of what this place used to be? Or was it a challenge? To see if one of us was a killer? I wasn’t sure, but the last arrow flew, striking it right through the neck. I lowered my bow, feeling the silence and eyes on me.

Tributes were watching me, some mouths gaping, others pale in shock. Gamemakers had frozen, no laughter on their faces. The silence was shattered by a single person clapping. I scanned to see who it was.

Leaning on a pillar near the edge of the station, clapping loudly, was Cassain Luxe. His smile was colder than before, sharper, then he mouthed, I told you so.

After that archery session, I made my way back to the apartment. The elevators opened, and I collapsed onto the couch in the sitting room, hoping that the day’s events didn’t make their way up here yet. Once my Ma and Pa caught wind of what I did, I wasn’t sure of their response, but it couldn’t be far off from a stern talking to.

“What did you do?” Pa asked calmly, emerging from the kitchen. The air was tight with tension, but it was calm, as if the whole apartment was on a ticking bomb.
I sat up, but hung my head. I didn’t have to explain what I did. They already knew.

“You went to the archery station?” Ma sat down next to me, voice flat, but not cold. When I nodded, I felt a heavy sigh come from her, “What did you hit?”

“Bullseyes.”

“How many?”

“All of them,” I looked up at her, “and a dummy’s throat.”

The two of them froze, my Ma’s face palling, “Why?”

I watched her face. What could I say that would smooth out her suspicions of me being pushed into killing a dummy? She did worse, I know she did, but I was supposed to be different. I was supposed to be healing, following the plan of putting someone else in the eyes of Gamemakers as a victor, not me. Could I blame it on wanting to perform? Would they see right through that?

I shrugged, the lie easily falling from my lips, “Had to play their game, didn’t I? The Gamemakers were watching me, the tributes were watching me. I had to do something.”

Pa sighed, and sat down, rubbing his prosthetic leg as if to wipe away the ghosts that put it there in the first place. “That was dangerous. They’re gonna label you.”

“Label me as what?”

“Dangerous,” Ma said, “deadly. A threat to their Games.”

“Or they’ll use that, show that the Mockingjay is willing to return through you,” Pa added.

Silence stretched again, feeling like a bow pulled too tight.

“So, what do I do?” I finally asked.

Ma didn’t answer, not right away. She stood and paced to the fake fireplace, then turned. She crouched in front of me, as if inspecting my face for an injury, like she used to when we were in the woods together. I swallowed, worried she would reprimand me, tell me to pull back on being violent, and show off a not so scary skill. But the words that came from her mouth shocked me.

“The next time you shoot,” she said softly, “make sure they hear what got hit.”

____________________________________________________________________________

The last day of training was a whirlwind. I didn’t go back to the archery range, instead trying my hand again at the food station and ensuring I passed it with flying colors. The air had shifted in the training arena, there was stillness in there. It wasn’t quiet, but purposeful. Partnerships and alliances had formed, Careers had taken their spots in the more advanced training locations, skills were being shown off at a final attempt to gain bonus points and curry favor from the Gamemakers.

Tomorrow, we enter the arena.

I spent most of my morning building shelter out of branches, brushing up snares and how to filter water through moss and charcoal. No one bothered me. When tributes saw me pick a station, they steered clear of it. Even Ardin and his partner gave me a wide berth. I refused to look at the archery range, even though it was wide open. I had no need to go back there, I proved what I was capable of and everyone saw it. It was at evaluations tonight that I would remind them, once again, of the danger that they pulled from that glass bowl.

Cassian also stayed clear of me. I figured he had picked someone less dangerous, less of a threat. I refused to feel disheartened, like he betrayed me. I would be fine on my own, surviving until I can’t anymore.

But eventually, he found me.

I was sitting under my shelter, testing the amount of water coming through, but also hiding from the Gamemakers for a bit. I had stolen a piece of rope from knot-tying, using it to create a tripwire that would collapse the shelter around whoever hit it, when his shadow blocked out what little light was coming through.

“You skipped weapons today,” he used that as a greeting.

“What? Not happy with the performance you saw?” I muttered, not looking up.

“Oh no,” Cassian crouched down and sat beside me, “I loved it. I think I liked the dangerous little bird you proved to be.”

I looked at him, he wasn’t grinning, wasn’t teasing either. He was serious, still, poised like a squirrel waiting to see if the hawk was nearby. “Did you need something?”

Cassian leaned so his elbows here on his knees and cocked his head. “I’ve been watching those alliances out there. It was predictable, those who teamed up. Strong sticks with strong, weak sticks to weak and disappear. Using each other as shields, it’s laughable.”

“I’m not laughing,” I said flatly.

“Neither am I. My partnership isn’t one to be laughed at.” His eyes glittered, and I got the hint.
“No.”

“I’m not asking, little bird. I don’t want a friend or an ally. I need a partner,” he glanced around at my shelter, pushing on it to test its strength.

Partner. That word held weight, an intentional use. He wasn’t looking for a temporary truce, like I was planning, only to betray later on. He wasn’t looking for someone who would allow him to lose, but instead someone to let him win.

“Why would I partner with you?”

“Because you’ll need someone who doesn’t flinch,” he looked at me, but I couldn’t read his expression, “Someone who doesn’t blink when you take your shot.”

“And that’s you?”

Cassain stood, and for a heartbeat, I thought he was going to leave. Call it a failure. But he surprised me and held out his hand, palm open, “I think, you know what it’s like to be hunted before the hunter even starts to hunt.”

I looked at his hand, my heart thundering. This was the moment, taking that deal or walking away. His hand wasn’t smooth, there was a scar running down his palm. I had a choice and I needed to make it. He was hinting at something. Something deadly. I took it, letting him pull me up. Once up, I wrapped my rope around his neck, keeping it taunt.

“I don’t need a sword,” I said as I pressed against his pulse, “But I’ll take the spear.”

His mouth pulled into that stupid, crooked smirk. Cassian nodded, just once, wrapping his hand around my wrist. “Good,” he whispered, “Cause I need an arrow.”

Chapter Text

I couldn’t keep the nerves down. My foot kept tapping against the solid rock floor, making echoes in the empty waiting area. I wasn’t the last one, but Snowflake and her district partner were sitting facing each other, talking in hushed voices. Ardin had one more minute to show off his chosen skill, whatever that was.

I had a plan, shoot some stuff, and walk out. But that seemed too simple, too compliant. I wish Cassian had told me what he was planning on doing, just to align myself more with him in the Gamemaker’s eyes, but when I asked he just smiled as if I already knew. I had five minutes to impress them, to score something good. So, what should I do?

The buzzer sounded, indicating Ardin was done and I was up. I stood on shaky legs, breathing out slowly and made my way in through the double doors. The doors slammed shut behind me, and I was in.

The training center was oddly still without the other tributes. It felt empty, colder than what I was used to here. I had five minutes. Five, stupid, ridiculous, minutes. What was I going to do? I looked up at where the Gamemakers were sitting, their attention completely on me. They were eating dinner, a meal that’s aroma wafted down towards me. It was meant to rattle me, to throw me off. I couldn’t focus on that, I had to do what I came here to do.

Compliant, but not submissive. What does that look like?

I crossed to the archery range, selecting the same bow I had used two days ago. I picked up a quiver and shot a target. Dead center. I glanced at the Gamemakers, they seemed disappointed. I swore under my breath. They don’t get to be disappointed, they started this.

I strung another arrow, but there was no silence as it flew. My throat erupted into the first thing that came to it:

“They hang the man and flog the woman,”

Silence came from above me, eyes turning towards the burst of song. I wasn’t sure if any of them knew the song. Uncle Haymitch used to sing it while he watched the geese, but it seemed so right to sing it here. So I kept going.

“Who steals the goose from off the common,
Yet you let the greater villain loose
That steals the common from the goose”

Mournful, that was the sound that came. For as much as I hated singing to an audience, especially one that didn’t deserve my voice, those Gamemaking bastards needed a reminder. A cry out to the ghosts that once stood in this very room. A reminder of what they did to them. Another arrow hit the target.

“The law demands that we atone
When we take things we do not own,
But leaves the lords and ladies fine
Who take things that are yours and mine.”

Another arrow landed dead center of the next target.

“The poor and wretched don’t escape
If the conspire the law to break.
THis must be so but they endure
Those who conspire to make the law”

I hope they heard that one loudly, the arrow hissing as it flew from my grasp.

“The law locks up the man or woman
Who steals the goose from the common.
And geese will still a common lack
Till they go and steal it back.”

I went mad, I am sure of it now. I turned on that last verse and raised the bow, aiming directly at Plurtarch’s smug face, and fired. It bounced off the protective electro-barrier with a harsh burning sound, like lightning hitting water. The faces, familiar and unfamiliar, dropped. Let them realize who they just released into the arena.

Then turning on my heels, whistling that four-note melody that once called out to me across the meadow, I walked out.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

It felt like a cannon blast, my footsteps coming into the apartment. Everyone was gathered in the sitting room, Ardin boasting about how he was able to start a fire. But he stopped short when he saw me, eyes wide. I cut my time short, I could tell from the clock on the wall. But I kept my face neutral, my breathing as even as possible. I couldn’t let them see how hard I was breathing in that room.

Pa shooed Ardin away, telling him that they will work on the interview after scores come out. His eyebrows rose when I sat down in front of the fireplace, knees up to press my forehead into. Ma was sitting next to him on the couch. The T.V above me was muted, but it felt like it was on full volume. A countdown to when I discover how doomed I was.

“You’re back early,” Pa tried to keep his voice light, but I could feel the tension in it.

“I had five minutes,” I tried to push past that fact, that I didn’t use it. My throat felt dry, but I wasn’t thirsty.

Ma spoke next, “What did you do?”

“Archery.”

“That’s it?” Pa asked quickly. I peeked out from between my knees, he looked skeptical. Ma looked expectant, she knew. She had to.

“And I sang.” I took a beat, “then I shot them.”

Pa let out a strangled laugh, but there was no humor in it, “Like mother, like daughter.”

“What did you sing?” Ma asked simply, ignoring him.

“The Common and the Goose,” I recounted how I remembered it from Uncle Haymitch, how it just felt right to sing it. Then my loose moment of madness, shooting at the barrier. Saying it aloud made it feel almost dreamlike. I messed up, I was sure of it. My score was going to be so low that I wasn’t even going to make it past the interviews tomorrow night. I handed the Gamemakers a performance, but not the one they wanted.

Ma came over, sitting beside me, “In my evaluations, I shot an arrow through the roast pig’s apple and hung a dummy with the name of an old Gamemaker in the center of the room. Your Pa, he painted a mural of a girl who died in my arms in our first Games. Being rebellious in that room…” she paused as if searching for the right words, “it runs in your blood.”

“I didn’t do it to be rebellious,” I felt the lump in my throat, a threat of tears coming up, “I did it to remind them of what they did to you, to Uncle Haymitch, Beetee. Or how these Games destroyed Joanna and Auntie Annie. I did it for the ghosts that haunt you and our home. I had to.”

Ma put a hand on the back of my neck. It wasn’t smothering, it wasn’t choking, it was comforting. A warm anchor kept me grounded, reminding me that I wasn’t alone, not yet. “The world doesn’t like ghost stories, little Lark, they like the stories of happy things. Songs that fit their ideas, not ours. But what did you give them?” She turned my head towards her, forcing me to look into eyes that had seen too many dark things, “You gave them a warning. Ghosts don’t just go away.”

I stayed there, curled up into myself, trying too hard to keep from falling apart. Pa leaned over and looked up at the T.V, scores were being posted. I could see it in the window’s reflection. Cassian’s was on now, and the announcer was talking about how they were sure the District One and Two tributes would sweep the board. I craned my head to look at it.

Cassian Luxe- District One- 12

“So are you getting a zero?” Ardin interrupted, not cruelly, just dumb. He must’ve heard the silence and took it that our conversation was over.

“Ardin,” Pa said sharply, but I spoke over him.

“Are you?”

The screen flashed with a District Twelve’s symbol. We were next. I scrambled to the couch, willing them to just pretend I didn’t exist. Ardin’s name popped up first- 3. His face fell completely. I had to hold back a bark of laughter, so much for being the one who everyone wants to win. A score that low meant little to no sponsors, unless he can really impress the Capitol during his interview.

Then my name appeared, and I held my breath. It has to be higher than Ardin’s, it must be. I was at least capable of doing something to hold the attention of an audience in that arena. Besides, if Ardin really did build a fire, then that 3 was a pity score.

Meadow Everdeen-Mellark- District Twelve- 13

The room froze, no one breathed. A near perfect score.

“What the-” Ardin broke the silence with a shout.

Ma didn’t flinch. Her hand reached out to mine, her eyes pulsing with pride and a mix of sadness. Pa started pacing again, limping back and forth across the floor. Saffron was shouting from her room, praising my score. Meanwhile, I felt like all of my soul just escaped into a void.

“Thirteen,” I repeated, mostly to myself. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry, scream, laugh, or do all three. Thirteen. The realization crashed down on me, there was no way I would be able to lose. That plan was sailing out the window.

No, to raise the dead, I needed to win.

Chapter Text

The living room had been rearranged. Veina and Ardin’s stylist, Dolit, had taken over. Instead of a couch, there was a circular, raised platform, where we were to stand as we got ready. The T.V was showing old interviews that the late Caesar Flickerman called his greatest hits.

I hated it. All of it. Watching tributes be parade with fake smiles, fake glamour, and a scripted charm. I turned away in disgust when my parents were on screen. It was here that we were no longer just tributes, we were stories- wrapped up in gold. It was here, I had to remind the public what happened years ago.

Ardin was being coached in how not to sound too boastful. To spin his low score into a moment of humbleness. If he had any chance of making it past the first week in that arena, he needed sponsors, and based on the preliminary bets, he didn’t have a single one.

Meanwhile, I was in the dining room, hair being swept up into a beautiful, but messy, looking bun, decorated with silver lark feathers. Ma was sitting next to me, giving me advice on how to talk to the cameras.

“Don’t let them tell the story for you,” she was saying, voice hushed to keep Ardin from overhearing, “You want them to remember the past, so tell them the past. Make them listen. Let that silence you caused yesterday in evaluations echo into the rest of Panem.”

“And be charming?” I asked flatly.

“No,” Ma shook her head, “charming is boring, you need to be exciting. Different.”

Different. Not complacent anymore, not submissive but rebellious. Straight up different. I needed to be haunting, that was the goal. Let the rest of Panem see the legacy of the past come back from the dead. Let them see who I was born from and what world I was born into.

“What if I talk about growing up with you and Pa?”

Ma hesitated, “Maybe, but they can spin that back into you willingly being here.”

I sat back, letting Lysandra put a layer of sticky gloss over my lips. How could I control that narrative? I could just not let the interviewer speak, that would be easy enough, but I knew that the moment I was up there I would freeze.

“Right, Meadow, you’re next,” Venia gestured to the platform where Ardin was hopping off. Ardin’s suit was a bright red, with black blouse. It looked like the high end of Capitol fashion and I shivered thinking that I might be forced to wear something similar.

I stepped up onto the platform, letting Veina take the robe from my shoulder. She pulled the curtain back around and unzipped the black bag that held my interview dress.

Venia, once again, out did herself. Once it was on, I could see that my idea of reminding them the cost of how we got to where we were. The color was a silver-black. It was high-waisted, with a full layered skirt that fell unevenly around my legs, barely bruising the floor behind me, but hitting mid-leg at the front. It looked like she got interrupted when cutting the skirt. When I moved, the fabric seemed to ripple, moving like old, worn linen but softer to the touch.

There was only one sleeve, long and gathered slightly at my wrist, while the other side was bare skin from the shoulder down to my hand, as if torn apart in a scuffle. Threaded throughout the dress were faded green, holographic lark feathers shifting in the light. Around my waist was a braided leather belt, and where it dropped the leather formed a broken arrow, silver and jagged as if broken off.

“Stunning,” came the whispered appraisal from Saffron, while Ma and Pa nodded with approval. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself. This wasn’t the same girl who reluctantly walked on stage and hid in the Training Center. This was a walking ghost.

“Thank you, Venia,” I gave her a hug, then stepped into the silver heels they had prepared for me. “I just need to grab something before we go.” I scurried to my bedroom and grabbed the guitar. I had to make them listen, so I would do it the only way that seemed to work so far.

We made our way down to the main lobby, then into a car to take us to the station where we would wait in what they called the “Prep Room”. Ardin kept his eyes pressed on the glass, soaking in the sight of the Capitol’s lights blazing around him. I kept smoothing my hands over my dress, my heart pounding in my throat. I have never performed in front of anyone, let alone a crowd as big as I was about to be presented to. And the song? I wasn’t sure.

When the car stopped, we made our way to the Prep Room, being greeted by photographers and reporters along a velvet purple carpet. I kept my head straight, my eyes only on the doors. I needed to be a walking ghost, a shadow of the past. That didn’t allow for smiles and waves, that meant coolness and ignoring them. I wondered what Rye was thinking, watching me walk on T.V.

When we entered the Prep Room, we found tributes, mentors, and stylists mingling with each other. It suddenly occurred to me that all the mentors, except for my parents, were soldiers or high-class citizens from the Capitol. There were no other willing victors from the past to teach the newest crop of tributes. It was no wonder that my fellow tributes were so excited about being here, they had no idea.

I leaned against a wall, clutching the guitar in my hands, trying to calm the nerves. On T.V the boy from the Capitol was just being introduced. The interviewer was Hermie Flickerman, son of the last interviewer Caesar Flickerman. He had bright orange hair, with a matching dusty orange suit. His skin was stretched back as if he was trying to keep it plastered on to his body. I never met him personally, but he was just as rambunctious and energetic as his father was.

“Are we finally going to hear a song, little bird?” Cassian sidled up next to me. His suit jacket was a dark golden color, fading out to blood red at the edges, like the color was seeping up into the rest of the clothing. It was made to show off his strong shoulders, his built body. The pants were black, tucked into combat boots that had golden buckles. When I took a closer look at the buttons, I realized that they were tiny black spears. His hair was slicked back, but not perfectly, strands fell across his forehead, softening his look just enough. He was oozing this dangerous energy, as if he could kill the entire country with a blink.

I didn’t answer, I felt like I was going to throw up. Cassian must’ve seen it on my face, because in the next moment, I only saw his bright eyes, staring into mine. “Don’t let them see you nervous,” he whispered, “When you sing, look right at me, I’ll be on your left.”

I looked up at him, furrowing my brow in confusion. Where did this softness come from? Why was he suddenly being a decent human being? But when I actually searched his face, I saw it. He was just as terrified, but better at hiding it. “I don’t know what I’m going to sing.”

“Wait till you’re up there,” he didn’t blink, as if he was expecting me to say that, “Sing what feels right when it’s time. Whatever it is, it’ll be exactly what needs to be said.”

An announcement buzzed over the people, “Cassian Luxe, District One, stand-by.”

He winked at me, “You look good, by the way,” and headed off. I watched him go then turned my attention on to the screen. Hermie was escorting Selene Vale off to the left, where we would wait till we were called back on for the final bow. Then he turned to the camera and rang out, “And now, all the way from District One- give a warm welcome to Cassian Luxe!”

Cassian emerged, straight, calm, collected, onto the screen. He gave small waves to the audience, then shook hands with Hermie. He caught the lights that flashed like molten metal, he was stunning, leaking true Career power.

Hermie looked giddy as he took his seat, letting Cassian settle into the chrome chair across from him. “Cassian!” He beamed, “I think that half the audience just fainted. Tell us- how does it feel to be Panem’s newest heartthrob?”

So that was his angle, flirtatious and handsome. I rolled my eyes, gross.

Cassian smiled, slowly, like it needed to be coaxed out, “It feels dangerous,” his velvet voice was smooth and low, “But I don’t mind a little danger.”

The crowd erupted into laughter, the camera panned over a few women who looked like they were swooning.

“You got a great training score, second best at a 12. What did you do there?”

Cassian leaned back slightly, resting an ankle over his knee, “I just reminded them that I wasn’t sent here to be decorated,” his voice darkened, “I was sent to fight and survive. And if I’m going to survive, I make the rules.”

An uneasy smile came across Hermie’s face, but the crowd was eating it up. Screams, cheers, flashing lights for a vague answer that threatened the very existence of the Games. I narrowed my eyes, just what did Cassian do in his evaluations?

“To be perfectly honest, Hermie,” Cassian looked back at his interviewer, owning the stage again, “I don’t play for the cameras, I’m not here to serve as a reminder. I made a promise to somebody. Someone important to me.”

“And who is that?” Hermie leaned in, eager to get the name.

Cassian laughed, “That is a surprise, I think. But just know I promised to keep them alive,” he turned back towards the camera, his eyes narrowing as if searching for someone to speak to. “I promised to make them remember us.”

The music swelled, Hermie stood clapping loudly, “Cassian Luxe, the dangerous, devoted, and dressed to kill tribute from District One!”

The Capitol lived for the unexpected and unknown. They loved a good mystery. He did it, he wrapped them around his finger in one fluid motion. As he exited the stage, he nodded once to the camera, no smile on his face any more and was done. The residual energy bled into the next tribute from Two, who ate her up as well.

I didn’t pay attention to the others, a plan forming somewhere in my mind. I needed to sing, to make them remember me. A tune echoed in my head, powerful, built to be yelled into a void of no one who’s listening, to make people pay attention. Soon I heard my name be called and I went to the stand-by point, letting the producer count me down. At one Hermie Flickerman shouted out, “And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Hailing all the way from District Twelve, daughter of our Mockingjay- Meadow Everdeen-Mellark!”

Applause exploded, and I walked out slowly, like I was shadow draped in silver. My dress shimmered in the lights, making me appear on screen as if I was a walking whisper, ash blowing away on the wind. I held the guitar at my side, away from the audience. I reached out and shook Hermie’s hand, sitting slowly, cooly, into the chair.

I kept my face passive as Hermie settled, my eyes boring a hole into him. I waited, letting him take the lead, just for now. “Meadow, my lovely little Meadow, the last time I saw you, you were an itty-bitty thing!” He let out a loud laugh.

I gave a small chuckle, “That’s true. The last time I was in the Capitol was when my brother was a baby, I can’t say I’ve missed it.”

That startled the crowd, the whispers were starting.

Hermie cleared his throat, “A nearly perfect score! How did you achieve it?”

“I think I simply reminded the Gamemakers what shadows were in that room,” I grinned, savagely.

“Shadows?”

“Ghosts, Hermie. I did promise I would be loud enough to let the ghosts know it was time at my reaping, didn’t I?” I leaned forward, pulling the guitar with me, “Would you like to hear how?”

Hermie beamed, “Are you going to sing?”

I stood, not answering him. I made eye contact with Cassian, who tilted his chin down. He was waiting, and that was all I needed to start.

Taking center stage, my voice rang across a silent audience.

You can’t take my past,

I let that line linger, echoing before continuing,

You can’t take my history

Another pause, let that sink in. I made eye contact with my Pa, knowing that I would need to change the next lines in order to keep rumors away.

You can take my choice,
Cause the next one’s a mystery

I sang that part softer, as if it was a secret, then loudly:

Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping,
No, nothing you can take,
Was ever worth… keeping

I let my fingers work the strings, whipping up the jovial sounds that came from it, my feet tapping beneath me. Hermie started a clap behind me, but every one, the audience, the stage, it disappeared, like when I was shooting.

You can’t take my charm,
Can’t take my humor.
You can’t take our wealth
It’s just a rumour,
Nothing you can take was ever worth keeping,
Oh, nothing you can take was ever worth keeping

Thinking you’re so fine,
Thinking you should have mine,
Thinning you’re in control,
Thinkin’ you’ll change me, maybe rearrange me,
But then again, if that’s your goal

I let it loose there, howling my anger, my frustration at what I was thrown into. The sound that erupted from my lips was mournful, sorrowful, but angry and bursting with emotion. I played a few chords then continued,

You can’t take my sass,
Can’t take my talking.

I paused the music and screamed, “You can kiss my ass!” then continued singing,

And keep on walking!
Nothing you can take, was ever worth keeping,
No nothing you can take was ever worth keeping,

No sir!
Nothing you can take from me is worth dirt,
Take it cause I’ll give it free, you won’t hurt

I paused, taking a breath, letting the audience think the song was over before ending,

No, nothing you can take was ever worth keeping,
No, nothing you can take…
Was ever worth keeping.

Again howls erupted from my throat, keeping the song going for a bit longer. When I played my final chord, I finally looked at the stunned audience, who after a moment exploded.

For the first time, I soaked in the deafening cheers. My heart thudded in a muffled beat beneath their shouts. I looked across their faces. They didn't realize what I had just sung, who I was singing to. Let the Gamemakers and the President hear my voice, maybe the ghosts would haunt them tonight. I pushed the guitar to the side, and bowed low.

Hermie was shouting behind me, gushing about how wonderful, how memorable, I just became, but I didn’t hear it. Instead I walked to the left side of the stage, disappearing into the crowd of tributes who were all applauding me. Let the Capitol wonder what their little songbird thought of her performance, leaving them wanting more.

Adrenaline crashed on to my shoulders as I hid myself once again. The T.V was showing Ardin coming on to stage, but I couldn’t hear what was being said. I put the guitar down at my feet, taking in deep, unsteady breaths. I crouched, wobbling as I made my way down in those heels.

“That was some song, little bird,” Cassain’s voice cut through the thundering in my ears, as if he was shelter in a storm.

When I didn’t look at him, he crouched low, “That was some song, little bird,” he repeated, this time holding out a bottle of water like a peace offering, “They don’t know what hit them.”

“I’m going to throw up,” I mumbled, gripping the bottle tightly but not drinking it.

“No you won’t,” he took the bottle back and uncapped it for me, “Drink.” The demand was soft, but forceful. He watched as I took a few sips, nodding with a pleased smile, as my breathing steadied out, “You just sang like the Capitol owed you something, I’d like to think they do.”

I felt a fledgling of pride swell in my chest, a new warmth blossoming at his words. My message was clear, good. I looked at him, as if for the first time- the flecks of gold in the jacket, the sharp gleam in his buttons. He was dressed for war, and yet he made the whole world feel at peace. I could see something behind his dangerous demeanor, a boy who was just as terrified as I was. I just couldn’t place what he might be scared of.

“I meant it,” I spoke softly, only enough for him to hear, “They’ll never own me.”

He nodded, solemn, “Let them try.”

I leaned my head back against the wall, the backstage buzz now fading into a hum. I glanced up at the T.V screen, Ardin looked like a madman. Cassian followed my gaze and chuckled, “You missed the best part, he called Hermie ‘handsome for his age’.”

I laughed, a clear and honest laugh. Ardin was angling for a fanbase, trying to curry favor with the Capitol people who lived for trash television. “Points for creativity, I guess.”

We watched Ardin end his interview to a smattering of applause, muffled behind the thick studio walls. Then Cassian stood and offered his hand out to me, “Come on. Let’s make the Capitol squirm.”

I didn’t hesitate in taking it.

As he pulled me up, I realized something: I might have come alone, performed alone, but I was no longer fighting alone. Together, we drew a line in the sand, daring Panem to cross it and mess with us. It felt glorious.

We stood behind the other tributes, watching Thirteen attempt to get through their interviews. Cassian never let go of my hand, which I found oddly comforting. At one point, I found myself leaning against him, trying to keep the weight off my feet since the heels were starting to hurt. When he realized that, he slung his arm around my waist, practically holding me up.

At the end of Snowflake’s interview, all the tributes were invited back out for one final bow. Some were crying, other’s ecstatic at being on camera. I kept my face calm and collected, narrowing my eyes as the camera panned on me. Then we were dismissed.

Cassian disappeared into the crowd, being pulled away by his mentor. I went in search for mine, attempting to find them somewhere. Saffron got to me first, and helped me make my way back to the Prep Room where Ma took over and led me to the car.

“That was the most dangerous move I had ever seen on television,” was her opening line. When I didn’t answer she turned her face to me and a smile, proud and small, came across her face, “It was good.”

I let out a smile of my own, “I didn’t do it for me.”

“I know,” Ma’s response was simple, “they needed a songbird to give a warning call. Don’t let them twist it.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

For a heartbeat there was silence in the car. I could see Pa leading Ardin to us. I had only a moment. I reached out and wrapped my arms around her neck, pulling Ma into a hug. She tensed up, as if confused by my actions, then slowly hugged me back.

Chapter Text

I didn’t sleep.

I couldn’t sleep, there was too much nervous energy bubbling inside of me. Despite the harping of a no-killing game, I was still terrified I would never see District Twelve, or my brother again. I wanted nothing more than to be back in my own bed, curled under the blankets in the basking white glow of the moon. The sheets here were too soft, the air too still, to bring me home.

I rolled over, facing the ceiling, hands on my stomach. I refused to greet the sunrise that was currently flooding my room. My heart was racing, as if trying to push itself to the brink just to get out of entering that arena.

A soft knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts, “Meadow Lark,” Pa’s voice was broken sounding, “time to get up. You need to eat.”

I sat up. My hands were cold, the air smelled metallic. I pulled myself to the bathroom, determined to get one last shower in, who knows when my next one was? As I went, my fingers grazed over my song book. I knew I couldn’t take it into the arena with me, it was too valuable. Ma would keep it safe, or Pa would. Whoever was available. I showered and dressed, then made my way to a much too quiet dining room.

Ardin wasn’t eating. He was poking at his bacon and eggs, as if thinking it would jump from the plate to his mouth. I guessed his interview didn’t go over well, and based on his lack of a voice, he had come to realize what exactly he signed up for. Ma and Pa weren’t even trying to coax him into eating.

I sat down, pulling toast and butter my way. I knew I had to eat, I didn’t have a choice. So, I shoveled, almost dry heaving, the toast into my mouth. Then grabbing a few slices of bacon, I ate those too. Carbs and protein, crucial to build energy with. No one spoke, there was nothing left to say. For the first time, the spectacle that the Capitol was building felt like a funeral.

After a bit, Ardin mumbled something about going to the bathroom, and disappeared. I wasn’t sure what was going through his mind, but I felt a pang of sympathy for him. I had my parents till the very end, but he didn’t. He left his family in District Twelve. I looked across at my Pa. He hadn’t slept, I could tell from the bags under his eyes and the gaunt look on his face. He must’ve been going through the same thoughts that once crossed his mind years ago. Ma meanwhile, just looked vacant. I had seen that face before, when I caught her in the early mornings overlooking a bombed out building, or when the Capitol showed images of the rebellion and her games.

The silence stretched, and I waited. What for? I wasn’t sure. Saffron could come in at anytime, waving at me that it was time to go. The clock was moving too fast, but also not fast enough. I wanted to stay here, for as long as it took for one of them to just laugh and say it was all some complex joke.

“I don’t know what to say,” Ma finally whispered, eyes reaching me.

I swallowed, “You don’t have to say anything.”

Her voice cracked as she shook her head, “I thought… we thought we’d never have to see our family walk this path.”

Pa reached over and took her hand, “When we went into the arena, Lark, we weren’t ready. We didn’t know what we were fighting for, and we barely survived.” He looked at me, “But you do.”

Ma reached into her lap, and pulled out a small parcel. It was wrapped in a brown cloth, worn and old, threadbare. She slid it across the table towards me. I took it gently, there was a weight to it and when I opened it, I caught my breath.

I had only seen it in pictures and videos, she rarely wore it these days. There was no need to. But here it sat, the Mockingjay pin. Bright like a flame, a mockingjay in flight, attached to a ring by the tips of its wings. Its gold had aged with the years, darkening in color but it was still bright, a symbol to the past.
I looked up at her, surprised that it was now in my hands, “I don’t-”

“I wore it in my Games, Haymitch in his. This was passed down to us through years of fighting, and it has kept us alive all this time,” Ma interrupted, “It’s more than a good luck charm, Meadow Lark, it’s a reminder. Of who you are and what we already endured. And what they can’t take away from you.”

I looked up at her, her eyes- my eyes- were shining, but unblinking.

“We are so proud of you,” Ma reached across and closed my hand around it, “I am so proud of who you became.”

I felt Saffron approaching me before hearing her, I nodded pushing down tears and stood. I crossed the room, feeling like a little girl who was terrified of thunder, throwing myself in to their arms. I pushed all the love, spoken and unspoken into it. When I stood, Pa pinned the mockingjay to my chest, just over my heart, and I stepped back.

“See you soon?” I whispered.

“Very soon, Meadow Lark.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The metal hum of the hovercraft was so loud it almost drowned out the pounding of my heartbeat. Almost.

I sat as still as possible on the bench, but I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. I was strapped in with thick black buckles over both my shoulders. I was alone, or at least, I think I was. The seat was sectioned off from the rest of the hovercraft, so if there was another person I couldn’t tell. Instead I sat alone in my thoughts.

The wall slid open, and two Peacemakers came in, unstrapping me. My legs were stiff when I stood, and they gave me a moment to catch my bearings before escorting off the hoverboard. We were underground again, similar to the Stylist Prep area. Sleek and simple. They led me to a door with “D12F” written across it and instructed me to go in and wait.

I followed their directions, finding a room with a glass tube on the far side, a bench and a small table. I didn’t need to wait long, as the door opened and Venia came in with a bundle of clothes. “I’m here to get you dressed.”

I nodded, and took off what I was wearing, pulling on the outfit Venia had been assigned to give me. I made sure to unpin the mockingjay and was ready to put it on the table, but Venia took it from my hands, and held it. The clothing was surprisingly comfortable. It was composed of a black long-sleeve shirt, made from a soft cotton, and black pants that were tucked into black hiking boots. Venia then passed me an ashy-grey jacket with patches of faded green seemingly melting into it. A black, braided, leather belt with a pouch was wrapped around my waist. When done, Venia pinned the mockingjay under the jacket then had me sit so she could put my hair in to a simple braid.

When we were done, Venia had me sit, and called for some food. “You need to eat, get as much in you now so you’re not hungry later. I remember seeing too many die of starvation because they thought they would get enough food.” An attendant brought us a plate of simple sandwiches and juice, which I tried to put down, but it was a failure.

“Venia-” I started to say, but she held up her hand.

“I watched your mother and father enter and exit the games as winners. You will too,” her voice was calm and confident, “Cinna, your mother’s stylist, was convinced she would win whatever battle she was in. She never wore that pin like a shield, to her it was a weapon. You are the newest weapon. But you're fighting for something different, an end to the past.”

I looked at her, I felt like I was preparing for a funeral, but I wouldn’t go marching to my death. I would keep my cool, and become the weapon that I needed to be. I couldn’t answer, there wasn’t anything I could say, so we sat there, a silence filled with memories and future worries. This was the final stop. I had to make a choice, win or lose.

“One more thing,” Venia was strapping the tracker bracelet on to my wrist, “Stylists need to explain that since the Rememberance Games is an homage to the Hunger Games, the Bloodbath will be timed. If you aim for the Cornucopia, there will be a countdown on your bracelet, if you fail to leave or get out of there before it hits ‘0’ then you will be eliminated.”

An electronic voice came over the speaker, “One minute till assent.”

Venia stood me up, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “Good luck, my Meadow.”

I stepped into the glass tube, letting it seal behind me. I turned and waved at her as the tube lifted me up. A rush of air, into darkness, then I was rising. A wash of shaded light hit my eyes. The arena awaited as I got my bearings, and I decided, I wouldn’t lose.

No, I will win and bring the entire Capitol to their knees.

Chapter Text

The tube hissed as it brought me up, the platform shifting beneath my feet.

I went up, up, and up. What felt like forever gave way to a grey light, blinding but not overpowering. I squinted into it, trying my best to see what I was just thrown into. The sky above was choked with low, smoky clouds, tinged in a strange bronze haze. It looked like a storm had either just passed or was approaching.

I spun in a circle. The ground was short, stiff, and dead grass, a patch of woods with dead trees was behind me. The field we were in was all ruins.

Massive stone pillars that were cracked and overgrown, stretched towards the broken sky, like fingers reaching from a grave. Vines crept along the jagged remnants of buildings, moss and mildew clung to anything left. The dead grass gave way to a stone courtyard. The other tributes spaced out around it in a wide ring, each rising into place just as I had, all twenty-eight of us in total. There in the center of the ring, twenty paces away stood the Cornucopia.

Unlike past games, this one wasn’t golden and shining, being a beacon of hope for anyone who wanted to slide into its embrace. No, it was made of broken statues, twisted metal, shattered marble, and rusted scaffolding all piled together, forming a jagged looking horn. I spotted backpacks and weapons. A bow and arrow sat just on the edge, taunting me to come and get it. Spare supplies and food were scattered between twisted bars. If I made it to the Cornucopia, I would have to leave just as quickly. I refused to be eliminated so quickly in these Games.

A voice thundered over our heads.

“Welcome, tributes, to the Rememberance Games. May the events here be a reminder of our past!”

Sixty seconds.

The countdown has begun.

I put all my weight on the balls of my feet. I was aiming for the Cornucopia, I didn’t care. I wanted that bow, just to feel something familiar in my hands. I scanned the tributes. To my right, Ardin was three platforms down, stiff, eyes locked forward. Cassian stood diagonally across, still as stone. He was calculating, planning, I could see it in the tilt of his chin.

Five, four, three, two, one…

I took off, the platform being my launching point. I was fast, faster than the two others who flanked me. I pushed another tribute down, praying I didn’t just kill them by accident. When my foot hit the raised bit of concrete for the Cornucopia, my bracelet beeped, warning me I had only a few seconds to get out of there.

I grabbed the bow and arrow, then the backpack I had spied, before sprinting out. I could see Ardin fighting someone for a small hunting knife. A thought of confusion came over me, but I bruised it off, I don’t have time to worry about him. Not anymore. I took off towards the woods, knowing that was where I would feel the safest.

“Meadow!” I heard someone shout behind me, but I didn’t turn back. If they wanted me they could come and get me. The trees swallowed me in a matter of seconds, thick and towering with branches that scratched at me with bony arms. Leaves were barely there, ghosts letting the grey light through. My boots crunched against the dry ground, pushing me further and further into the woods. I kept running, stopping finally when I reached a broken marble column that formed a half-made shelter and collapsed.

My lungs were burning, my legs shaking. I had made it through the Bloodbath, I was still in the Games. My tracker beeped, signifying my safety. I pulled the bag in front of me, deciding now would be a good time to see what I got. The bow fell from my shoulders, the quiver along with it. I gave that a quick count, a dozen. Not enough to use in rapid succession, but I could make them count when I needed a meal.

A twig snapped.

I spun around, ready to move again to avoid any form of confrontation. But the footsteps were slow, careful, not running after me. I stood sharply, arrow notched in the bow. I’d be ready, for whoever it was.

“Woah! It’s me.”

Cassian emerged between two trunks, hands raised, a pack of his own strapped to his back. A spear was wedged between the straps, his eyes were alert, scanning the woods behind me as he stepped towards me. “I saw you take off for the trees. Didn’t you hear me call your name?”

When I didn’t answer, he sighed, “We’re partners, remember? One boy, one girl, for the win. You needed to wait for me.”

“You were able to figure it out,” I spat, and lowered the weapon, “I had to get away from there.”

Silence stretched between us, not even birdsong was picked up on the breeze. I sat back down, letting him choose to join me or not.

“You should know that most made it out before the Bloodbath ended,” Cassain settled next to me, leaning against the broken wall. “Last I saw was Ardin and his partner making a break for it towards the other side of the Arena.”

I rolled my eyes, I really didn’t care. “What’s in your pack?”

Cassian gave me a teasing grin, “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

I ignored that and opened the pack, pulling out what was inside and laying it on the ground in front of us. I found a couple strips of dried meat, dried fruit, and a pack of nutritional bars. There was also a small foldable knife. It couldn’t do any real damage, but it would be handy in cutting rope or small branches. At the bottom of the bag was a sleeping bag and an empty water bottle.

Cassian followed suit and we found similar items, except his water bottle was full. “Here,” he took it and poured half of it into mine, “When we find more water, we’ll fill both of them up.” Another difference was that he had a rope, thick and sturdy, “Perfect,” he grinned at that, “I can tie you up if need be.”

I snorted at that and repacked my supplies, “We need to find water. The ground is too dry here to have any. And we need to get to a shelter.”

Cassian stood with me but let me lead, giving me the choice of direction without a word. I appreciated that, I didn’t want to spend energy arguing about control, especially with the sun still sitting in the sky and I had no idea what the night time was going to be like. I wanted to put distance between us and the rest of the tributes.

We moved deeper into the woods, past clawed roots and jagged stones. The trees leaned towards each other like they were whispering about as we passed. Shadows twisted in unnatural shapes across our faces. I kept my eyes in front of me, scanning for movement, for traps, for cameras I knew I wouldn’t find. Cassian kept his pace behind me, no more than just a step back.

Over time the floor sloped downwards, forcing us to slow our steps to keep from stumbling. Cassian at one point unsung his spear and used the blunt end as a walking stick to keep his balance. As we walked I took in a view of what the arena might be, trying to match it to what I used.

Everything looked dry and dead. The floor was crunching with dead leaves, the trees pale and dying, no sound whistled in our ears except for the occasional gust of wind. The grey light cast everything in an eerie ghostly glow. I was unnerved by it, shaken by the grey silence that encompassed us.

When the floor evened out, my foot hit stones. I crouched down, pulling them up to see the ground underneath. It was mushy, muddy. Water was nearby.

“We need to keep moving,” I stood and wiped my hands on my pants, “there's water somewhere along here.”

“Fine with me,” came the response.

We kept moving, this time moving west through the new rock filled terrain. There was nothing around, no berry bushes or water based plants I might be able to dig up for some food. We would need to be careful with what we got, or hope there's a chance of a sponsor feeling pity on us. We followed the dry bed for a long time, deeper into the woods. The air slowly changed, and I could smell an old scent of water wisping through the air. My brain went into overdrive, pushing further into the deadness, there must be something alive out here, we can’t be stuck in a graveyard forever.

I froze, tilting my head, there it was.

“You hear that?” I whispered, looking at Cassian, “Water.”

I continued for a few feet where we found a trickling stream that was barely an inch deep. But it was flowing which meant it was fresh water, and not too dirty. Dipping my fingers into it, I found it to be the same temperature as the air. I pulled my water bottle free and dipped it into the stream, letting the natural flow fill it up. Cassain went next, filling his the same way.

“It’s not cold,” he said as he took a sip, “but we won’t die of dehydration.”

“I think we should follow this,” I pointed in the direction of the flowing water, “See if there’s a pool it empties into and make camp.”

Cassian didn’t answer, he just pulled his backpack higher on his shoulders and started following the stream. I followed him, keeping an eye out for any animals. We would need food, more than what was just in our packs. I was hoping for a deer, lots of meat on them, but I would settle for a squirrel or fish. We walked for almost an hour, the stream never growing stronger or weaker, the woods grew darker around us. I knew that there were cameras watching us, but we probably weren’t making for good viewing. Unless there was nothing else happening, the two of us were on our own.

Eventually, Cassian stopped. The trees had thinned, but not by much, opening to a patch of dried, brown grass. The pool of water was still, unmoving. No bugs flew over the surface, dead lilies sat half-submerged in the water. It was odd, unnerving. But there was a patch of dirt and an overturned stone that formed a half-decent shelter. I made my way to it, checking for traps before sitting down. We would camp here.

Cassian followed suit, throwing his pack down first and driving his spear into the dirt. He stretched, pushing his hands above his head, which pulled his shirt up just a bit revealing skin beneath. I tried not to look, but he caught my blush. “Problem, little bird?”

I rolled my eyes, and distracted myself by pulling out my sleeping bag. I rolled it out, hoping that there weren't any red ants or other biting insects hiding in the dirt. Cassian smirked but didn’t push it. He dropped beside me, arms draped over his knees, glancing at the stagnant pool. “Is that safe to drink?”

I nodded, “We should boil it before we drink it. It looks… wrong.”

“It feels wrong,” Cassian added, “this whole arena does.” He reached into his pack and pulled out a box of matches that I must’ve missed before when he was showing me the stuff in his pack, “Go look for wood, I’ll start a fire.”

I nodded and stood, taking my bow with me in case I found any fish. I decided on circling the pond, if there were fish this would be where they are. As I reached the far end, I found a path, curving away into a patch of overgrown, dead, bushes. I scanned the trees, seeing if there was any movement. Then turning around I caught Cassian’s eye and nodded towards the path. When he waved at me to go ahead, I slipped into it.

The path cut through the bushes that flowed together over my head, forming a makeshift tunnel. It felt purposeful, manufactured, designed by human hands. As I rounded the bend, I saw what it was hiding.

Stone, a flat slab, darkened by age and exposure jutted upright from the earth. Stepping forward, I found it embedded with seashells and glass, all dull. In the grey light, I couldn’t tell the specific colors, but it was purposeful. I rounded the stone and found a carving, a three-pronged looking symbol, the number “4” just above it. Dirt covered the bottom of it, so I reached out and wiped it away.

“Cassian!” I called loudly, “Come look at this!”

He came quickly, spear in hand, as if expecting a fight. When he found me, he slowed down, “What is this?”

I pointed at the words that were covered by time, “Finnick Odair,” I read aloud for him, “Beautiful, brave, young. May his memory serve as a reminder.”

Cassian dropped to one knee, fingers reaching out to graze the trident, “This can’t be his gravesite.”

I shook my head. Finnick’s body was recovered, returned, and buried in District Four. I had seen it. It was settled by the sea, buried into a thick sand dune. There was a golden trident there, inlaid with pears and sea glass. I remember standing next to his son, squinting at him to try and picture what Finnick might have looked like. I was told he was beautiful, youthful. Pa told me everyone loved him, including my Ma. Auntie Annie said he was as if the sea had a child, playful and joyous. This monument was an insult to his memory. It was too ugly, too… dead.

“Let’s go back to camp,” I whispered, a sudden chill crawling down my back. I didn’t like this, this grotesque monument to a man that never wanted to step foot back into the arena. Cassian nodded, standing. He didn’t ask if I was ok, he didn’t have to. He led me back to our makeshift camp, I gathered sticks as we went. Now that we knew, we could steer clear of that. I wondered what other monuments were inside this arena, and then I decided I really didn’t want to know.

We sat back down, Cassian getting the fire going. I pulled out two of the strips of dried meat and passed one to him. We needed to eat, regardless of the circumstances. We sat and ate in silence, the feeling of speaking not necessary. Eventually, the sun started to set, the grey light inching into a charcoal black.

“You can get some sleep,” Cassian offered, “I’ll keep watch and wake you up when I start feeling tired.”

I nodded, slipping into my sleeping bag. I used my pack as a pillow, but I didn’t close my eyes. The events of the day came crashing down on me. Just this morning I was talking to my parents, sitting at a dining room table with an array of food in front of me. Now, I was here, lying in the dirt with a person who I half trusted.

I rolled on to my side and looked at Cassian. He was sitting in front of the fire, absently twisting the rope between his fingers, the flames casting shifting shadows across his face. I watched him, not even trying to pretend to sleep. My body was still, waiting.

After a few moments, he spoke.

“I don’t know much about him. Finnick.” His voice was rough, uneven, “The school taught us about him as a hero. A tragedy.”

I stayed quiet, but he kept talking.

“They said the Capitol used him, broke him, and then made him look like it was all his choice. Like he wanted to be used as a toy.” He spat out the words, hands stilling on the rope, “They still do that, don’t they? Make our past their personal victory?”

I didn’t answer, not right away. The fire sparked and cracked between us.

“Finnick died saving someone else,” I spoke softly, “Not for glory. He sacrificed his life for my Ma’s and Pa’s. Underneath the Capitol, making sure that they made it out alive.”

Cassian turned towards me, “You’ve been told the truth of everything, haven’t you?”

“Doesn’t make it easier.”

“But it must make the lies louder.” Cassian tossed another stick into the fire, the disgust in his voice loud and clear.

I sat up, letting the sleep bag fall. I pulled my knees to my chest, hugging them tightly, “That monument back there… It felt wrong. Finnick wasn’t just a symbol. He was a person. He has a son, a wife. People who loved him. But the Capitol? They didn’t love Finnick, they loved the reminder of who he was and the power they held over him. They loved the control that he didn’t have.”

Cassian looked at me for a long moment, unreadable in the shadows, “We can’t let them do that to us, can we?”

“No,” my voice was firm, “They won’t get to write our stories.”

Cassian smiled, tired but a real genuine smile. “Good. Because I think… I think the Capitol is waiting for us to win. To see if they can use us and break us. But they should be terrified of us winning.”

“They will be,” I smiled back, the smallest one that I had ever given.

Our trackers beeped loudly, indicating that it was officially night time. We flipped our wrists up to our face, letting the pale light illuminate our faces. It flashed the word “Eliminated” and then started a slideshow of who was out. Five boys: the Capitol, and District’s 3, 5, 6, 7; and two girls: 5 and 2. That leaves twenty out of twenty-eight still in the game, including us. When it was over it showed a small green check-mark then turned off.

He leaned back on his elbows, head resting against the marble, “Go to sleep, little bird. I’ll keep watch.”

“Wake me if anything happens.” I murmured. He glanced at me and nodded. In the stillness that followed, something had settled between us. We were surviving together, remembering, resisting together.

Chapter Text

I woke up with a start. The fire had died to a fading, glowing ember. At first, I wasn’t sure what had pulled me from my dreamless sleep. Maybe a noise? Maybe the sudden drop in temperature? I couldn’t place my finger on it, but something felt off. Cassian wasn’t where he had been before. The rope he was fiddling with, abandoned beside me. I sat up slowly, heart already thudding, eyes sweeping the tree line.

Then from the darkness, a growl. Primal and wrong. My hand went to my bow, notching an arrow into it before swinging the rest of the quiver over my back.

“Cassian?” I whispered into the darkness, no answer came back.

Then a crash. A loud rustle of branches from my left and the unmistakable thump of something heavy hitting the ground. I scrambled up, aiming my arrow in the direction. Cassian came crashing through the trees, spear in hand, breathless and eyes wild.

“Run!” He yelled, “Run!”

I froze, my eyes widening as I took in the thing that came out behind him.

It didn’t look real. It was tall, too tall, with skin stretched tight over an elongated frame. It was on fours, but based on its posture, it would be able to stand at any moment. Its eyes glowed faintly red in the dark, soulless and empty. It had patches of scales and fur, mixed together like some odd patchwork quilt. It looked like a guess of what an actual animal looked like, what would make a monster.

A spear hit it square in the shoulder, and it screamed. It’s mouth opening into a loud, screeching, guttural yell that rattled me through my core. It stumbled backwards, shaking off the hit.

“I said,” Cassian grabbed my arm, “Run! Go! Move!”

I turned and sprinted after him, through the pool, into the bushes that formed the passage to Finnick’s odd memorial. Then out again, the thing right on our heels. I ran for the other end of the memorial, pulling Cassian behind a thicker tree and readied an arrow. The creature was sniffing, loud wet huffs as it tried to pick up our scent. I hoped the water threw it off, like when I would run from the wild dogs that lived in District Twelve’s woods.

“Now what?” I hissed, “We can’t out run it forever!”

“I know,” Cassain panted beside me. He looked around, scanning the terrain in front of us, “Let’s draw it out, get it back to the water.”

“You want to fight it?”

“Do we have a choice?” He shot at me, and before I could answer he pushed off the tree, scooping down and grabbing a rock. He threw it at the creature making it roar again, and chased him back towards the pool. I followed suit, pursuing both back through the brush, pausing as Cassian drew it into the water, splashing at it to keep it interested.

I set my arrow, and shot, hitting it dead center in the head. The arrow jutted out like some deranged horn as it spun around to me. I readied another and shot, but the arrow went wide. It roared, and just as I turned to go back to my hiding spot, I heard it shriek.

Cassian had jumped on to its back, driving the little foldable knife into his neck. Green liquid squirted from the wound, spraying him in it. He reached down and pulled his spear from its shoulder, driving it into the thing’s back, straight through so I could see the tip of the spear coming out from its chest.

“Now!” He shouted.

I loosened another arrow. This time it flew fast and true, striking the creature in the eye. It reeled back, throwing Cassain into the water. It thrashed violently, arms whipping around for the arrow, The mutt let out one final noise- like static bursting through speakers- and collapsed.

Cassian stood over the body, chest heaving, blood that wasn’t his splattered across his shirt. He didn’t look at me, not right away. I collapsed, winded from the adrenaline that was fading in my body. When he finally did, his eyes scanned me quickly, head to toe, just to make sure I wasn’t wounded. His shoulders eased just a bit, not enough to be drastic, but enough to notice.

“That was the first, wasn’t it?” He asked, voice low.

“The first mutt?” I asked, “Probably. The Gamemakers must’ve been bored. They knew we found the monument, they were watching. That wasn’t some random attack.”

Cassian didn’t speak. He looked at me again, longer this time. His expression had returned to that unreadable, killer, piercing look. But there was something underneath it, a hesitation of some sort, like he wasn’t sure what to do. His hands clenched and unclenched at his side. He was holding back, unsaid words keeping him from moving.

“Let them watch,” he finally said, voice steady and smooth. He glanced at me then away, too quickly. His jaw was working like he was biting back another thought. “Let them watch.” He stood over the mutt’s body, now half submerged in the water, its blood turning the water into a murky brown sludge.

It took a long time for the two of us to move. Cassian the longest, he just stood in the middle of the water, breathing hard, watching the corpse sink slowly into itself. The green blood was starting to dry like paint on his body. I finally had pushed myself up to a sitting position, knees still trembling. All I could do was watch him.

“You’re hurt,” I pointed out. And he was. On his arm, a long gash from shoulder to elbow.

He shrugged it off, “I’m fine.”

“It’s not fine,” I stood slowly, entering the water, avoiding the creature to the best of my ability. “Let me see.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away as I inspected it. I was grateful it wasn’t deep, but it would need to be cleaned and wrapped. I sighed, wishing I had some semblance of my woods where medicinal herbs were easy enough to find. Instead, I pulled him to shore and he let me. His eyes didn’t leave the creature’s sinking body.

I opened my pack and pulled out my water bottle, pouring some on his injury, then tearing a piece of my shirt off, I wrapped his arm up. Not tight enough to end circulation, but enough to keep pressure on the wound. His eyes flicked to mine as I tied it off, then quickly away again.

“You keep doing that,” I murmured.

“Doing what?”

“Looking like you want to say something, then not.”

His jaw tightened, “What would be the point?”

“Try me.”

He blinked at me, the killer falling away. His features softened, leaving behind a boy who was covered in something’s blood, confused on how to continue on from this point. I kept my hand on his arm, unsure what was about to come out of his mouth.

“I don’t want them to use you,” he spoke with finality, “You’re better than that. Then them.” Then like he said too much he pulled his arm away, grabbing his pack and picking up the spear from the edge of the pool. “We need to move, there might be more of them.”

I didn’t move. Something just happened, something was charged in that statement. Something dangerous, something worth digging for. But I didn’t, I just followed his movements, collecting my things and stomping out the rest of the fire. In the back of mind, I couldn’t shake what he had just said. Or maybe, I couldn’t shake what he hadn’t.

____________________________________________________________________________

We walked for hours, heading back towards the Cornucopia. Cassian was in front of me, making a steady pace for us. The silence stretched as we walked, my eyes still sweeping for a stray animal. Anything normal.

We reached Cornucopia's cobblestone pedestal. It loomed over us like a monument to everything gone wrong. Metal glinted dully in the grey light, the mouth open as if ready to swallow us whole. Crates had been overturned and ransacked, a mess of torn clothing and weapons were strewn across the floor. It was quieter now, too quiet.

I paused, looking around to see if there was anyone else deciding that this was a good spot to return to. I was proven wrong when no heads or voices came our way. “Cassian, we need medicine for that arm.” I called out to him as he climbed the steps.

“And I want a new weapon,” he started picking through the crates, “Everyone has their own agenda here.”

I didn’t grace that with an answer. Instead I followed his lead, looking through open packs for anything that was of value. I found some more arrows, happily adding them to my quiver. I had just found an open pack of antiseptic wipes when a voice cut through our hunt.

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

Cassian spun around first, spear halfway lifted. I turned slower out of instinct. Selene Vale stood at the edge of the Cornucopia's entrance, tall and straight, arms crossed over her chest, and a deadly knife strapped to each of her arms. Her straight black hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, swinging like a pendulum. Tallon Smith, the boy from Two, stood just behind her, a smirk on the corner of his mouth. He had a militaristic buzz cut, blonde hair. His eyes were a stone grey. He had a wicked looking sword strapped to his side.

“We thought we beat everyone here,” Selene ascended the steps, like a queen entering the throne room, “Clearly we were wrong.”

“No killing,” Cassian snapped, “Those are the rules.”

Selene mockingly put a hand over her heart, “I’m hurt, handsome! If I wanted you dead, you would be bleeding out already.”

Tallon followed her, a silent sentinel, his eyes never leaving me. I kept my cool, returning my face to the neutral demeanor that I kept during training.

“What do you want, Selene?” I asked.

She crouched, picking through a crate with the tip of her fingers, like she was digging through trash, “The same as you. If you haven’t noticed there’s nothing to hunt here. We’re running low on keeping our stomachs full. We didn’t want to start a new day without… options.”

Cassian placed himself between me and her, “We’re not forming an alliance.”

Selene’s laughter cut through the air like glass breaking. “An alliance!” she turned towards Tallon, “An alliance, Tally! Can you believe that?” When she stopped she turned her eyes back to us, “Yeah, no. We just want a ceasefire. You need something, we need something. Let the Gamemakers squirm with anticipation on what our encounter might be.”

I put a hand on Cassian's shoulder, “There’s no harm, she can’t kill us. You said so, it’s the rules. I want to clean that arm.” I showed him the wipes, “Come on. They’ll stay on this side, we’ll go to the other.”

Without meaning to, I slipped my hand into his and pulled him to the other side. We sat between two crates, covered in case Selene or Tallon tried something. I could feel the distrust coming off of Cassian like a heat wave. He kept shooting looks behind him, expecting her to stab him in the back or something.

I unwrapped the arm slowly, wincing as the makeshift bandage stuck to the sticky blood. I pulled a wipe and gently dabbed at it, earning a hiss of pain from him. I didn't stop, I just kept wiping. I reached for a bit of scrap hanging from the crate above us, using it as a new bandage.

“Hopefully that keeps infection away,” I commented, but Cassain wasn't listening. His jaw was hard and his eyes were steely. I paused, looking at where his eyes were set. Selene has found a canister of water, and was sharing it with Tallon. He wasn't jealous looking, it was more of a state of hatred.

“Were you friends with her?” I asked, securing the bandage.

“What?” He snapped back to me, “Absolutely not.”

I held my hands up in surrender, showing I didn't mean to anger him, “Just asking.”

“Selene is vicious, more dangerous than a rabid wolf,” came the grumbled response, “To be perfectly honest, I wish we could kill her. It would make the Remembrance Games easier.”

I nodded, but didn't push. The way he spoke, it wasn't vengeance or some sort of sick idea of death, it was personal. Like he had a grudge that went deeper than just their Reaping. Assuming they were friends was wrong. I needed to apologize but I held my tongue. I can't push him, I shouldn't push him. I’d just have to add it to my list of unsaid words.

Across the Cornucopia, Selene let out another sharp laugh. She wasn't laughing at us, but it stung. I glanced back at her. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, flirty, confidently.

“She's not even on edge,” I noted.

“Because she is the edge,” Cassain leaned his head back against the crate, “If these were the actual Hunger Games, you would be putting all your money on her.”

I let that hang in the air. I gathered from the reaping she was a true Career, raised from birth to be a victor. Those knives strapped to her arms weren’t for decoration, they were her hands. I remember watching a presentation about District One, how they had an academy designed to teach their children to survive any conditions, but only the elite were allowed to attend. From there, only the top performing students could volunteer for the Hunger Games.

I shuddered at the memory, hoping that Cassian would mistake it for chills due to the rapidly dropping temperature. I tucked the wipes into my bag, peeled off the crate I was leaning against to see if there was anything else.

“We leave as soon as it's dark,” Cassain decided, “I’m not sleeping under the same roof with her.”

“Fine with me,” I agreed, I didn't trust her or Tallon either. Cassain nodded, the decision was settled, then pulled a small box towards him and started going through it.

I knew nothing about my partner, other than his name and district and yet… I couldn't place it but I felt drawn to him. Like a moth to a fire, there was something. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, studying his face. His features had become serious and stern, but there was still that boyish look towards him. In this light, his hair came off as a deep bronze, fading back and forth. I wasn’t sure what to make of him. There were all those unspoken looks, the wayward glances, piercing stares. I wasn't sure what those were about, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

Eventually, the two of us found some food. Or, Cassain found some cans of fruit and had used the small pocket knife to pry them open. It wasn’t much and it wouldn’t keep up full for long but it was something. It was sweet and tasted vaguely like apples, but the color was orange. Neither of us really cared what they were, but I could tell from the look on his face that he loved them. I offered the rest of mine, but he shook me off. Insisting I eat to keep up my strength.

Night came on faster than planned, the temperature dropping drastically. I could see my breath forming in the black air around us. Cassain dug through a crate and found a blanket, securing it around both of our shoulders so we were huddled side-by-side. The warmth was welcoming but it was short lasting. Soon we were both shivering.

“As soon as our tracker goes off with the list of the eliminated,” Cassain decided through chattering teeth, “We move. Get someplace to build a fire.”

So we waited, and waited. And waited some more. Just as I was about state that we should go now, we heard it.

Whispers, barely audible as if the wind was just testing us. But they grew louder, layered and wrong- a guitar out of tune.

“Why did I lose?”

“Why did they kill me?”

“Why am I here?”

Cassian stiffened beside me and I saw Selene and Tallon rising to their feet, bodies rigid, eyes narrowed. Tallon slipped his sword out from its sheath. The problem was there was nothing to hit, nothing to kill.

I pulled my bow and arrow to the front, ready to shoot at air, need be. I narrowed my eyes at the back of the Cornucopia, trying to make out whoever was back there. The person shimmered into being like mist, translucent figures with hollow eyes and mouths open in frozen cries. There were at least three I could make out clearly, the others were just hazes of a person’s figure.

The first was a girl, her hair pulled into a tight bun on the back of her head. Her body was small, making her very young looking. Her chin was narrow, almost fox-like. Around her mouth was a dark stain, like she had eaten something that dyed her face a different color. She was clutching something in her hands, a bundle of something dripping. The second was a boy, larger than any of the others. He had burn scars down his leg, out of his throat was the tail end of a dart. He wore an armband with a number “1” on it. He looked so angry, his fingers clenching and unclenching. The last was a small girl, her hair braided down in two long braids, and a sword coming through her stomach. There was a number “10” on her chest. And that’s when it hit me.

These were the dead tributes of previous Hunger Games.

They didn’t attack at first, they seemed to be waiting, expecting us to answer. Their whispers echoing throughout the Cornucopia. Cassian pulled me back a step as they pressed closer, whispers turning frantic. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Selene pull her knives out and Tallon unsheath his knife. When one pushed too close to them Tallon swung, his knife slicing through the arm of a figure. The whispering stopped, as if shocked that he would dare attack them.

Then they screamed.

They rushed at us, not quite touching, but close enough to leave burning cold air in their wake. I shot as one approached me, just out of instinct, and it rushed right through me. I fell, feeling as if I had just been drowned in ice cold water. I couldn’t breathe. I flashed back to when I was in the woods, jumping into the lake before it was warm enough, but this was so much worse. I felt arms pull me up and back. Cassian had pulled me under a blanket, pushing me towards the entrance of the Cornucopia, simply trying to get me out.

We collapsed on the cobblestone, my breath short and wheezy. Cassian wasn’t in much better shape, his arm had opened up again, but the ghosts were no longer interested in us. They had rounded on Tallon and Selene, pushing them into a corner. Selene was swinging her knives wildly, cursing at them as they approached. Tallon was much more controlled, only attempting to hit them when there was an actual opening. Then a child-ghost- a tiny boy with a crushed skull- flew right into her.

Selene dropped her knives. Just dropped them. Her body convulsed and she fell, eyes open, body limp. Tallon screamed, dropping his own sword and pulled Selene into his arms. The ghosts vanished into the air, as if they were never there.

Our tracker beeped, the night time temperature rose just enough to bring some warmth to the arena. I glanced down at it, shivering hard. It was hard to read but Selene’s face appeared, the word “Eliminated” underneath.

Chapter Text

The fire cracked weakly in front of us, more smoke than heat despite both of us using the surrounding fallen branches to build a fire. Cassian and I huddled close together under the blanket, faces turned a faint orange from what little light the fire produced. We had discovered my left side had a freezer burn mark on it, neither of us really knowing how to deal with that, just decided to try and get warm.

“I don’t understand,” I muttered finally, voice raw and low, “They weren’t real. You couldn’t touch them.”

Cassian didn’t answer at first. He poked at the fire with a stick, like he could stab the memory of what we had witnessed into the ash. “Capitol tech,” he grunted eventually, “I don’t know how they did it, but they knew exactly what they were doing making those things. Those ghosts.”

“They were real,” I whispered hoarsely, “Real, actual, ghosts of tributes who died in the Hunger Games.”

Cassian looked at me, eyes meeting mine. He was so close, and smelled like ash and dead leaves. Our breaths were grazing each other, but before he could say anything our trackers beeped again, this time with the signal for the list of eliminated tributes.

Beside Selene, there were three other girls: the Capitol girl, and District’s 10 and 11. My breath caught when the boys came on screen: Districts 9, 8, and…

“Tallon,” I breathed. He was dead too.

Cassian swore, punching the ground in front of him, “We should’ve made him come with us.” I turned my gaze to the fire, anger and frustration bursting through me. If he had tapped out due to the death of his partner, there was nothing fair in that. I felt a complete rage bundle its way up through my throat, but it got caught and just a burst of an angry growl left my throat.

“That wasn’t fair,” I huffed.

Cassian gave me a humorless laugh, “Nothing’s fair, little bird.”

We fell against each other on that note, my head rolling on to his shoulder, but I couldn’t sleep. Neither of us could. The fire was shrinking but neither of us moved. We just sat in our pocket of stillness, broken only by the hiss of the fire.

Cassian shifted, putting his arm tighter around my shoulder, as if to ensure I didn’t get up. I wasn’t planning on moving, but I could feel him relax a bit, so I didn’t fight it.

“I was never supposed to be here,” he said quietly.

I almost snorted, then realized it wasn’t a joke about how I ended up in these Games. I craned my neck to look up at him. His eyes were far away, staring at something that wasn’t actually there. I didn’t say anything, just let him take his time to finish his thought.

“I never put my name on that volunteer list, like you little bird,” his voice was flat, factual, like he was reading from a book, “Yet here we are. Presented like we wanted to be here.”

I didn’t answer him, I didn’t know how.

“My mother died when I was ten. Cancer. It wasn’t even slow. By the time we got clearance for medical intervention, it was everywhere.” He paused for a moment, mouth twisting bitterly, “My father gave up everything to take care of her until she passed.” He sucked in a breath before continuing, “It was just us for a while. Father worked in the Hunger Games Records, keeping track of past arenas, tributes and victors, mutations that worked and mutations that didn't.”

He finally looked at me, eyes hard, “He used to show the whole thing to me, all the unedited bits too. We had all this old memorabilia in our basement. One day, the Capitol asked him to join them in making a new version of the Hunger Games, and they wanted him to help design it. They wanted to make sure it wasn’t a repeat of the past games and to help make sure no one died. At least that’s what they promised.”

He paused, searching my face as if asking if he should continue. When I just looked back, he sighed and kept going, “One night he came home, started throwing the posters and recordings into the fireplace. He was ranting about how they lied, how it wasn’t supposed to repeat. I didn’t know what he meant, not until the announcement of the Remembrance Games. But I was so confused, if there was no death, why was he so angry? I told him I was going to volunteer and that’s when he showed me the Remembrance Game’s preliminary plans.”

“What was it?” I asked, breaking my silence, now suddenly curious.

“It was all right there on this little disc. He found out that the Remembrance Games were really for. That they weren’t just about making a memorial towards those who died in the Hunger Games, they were resurrecting it, recreating it to prove that Panem accepted their past. They would push the boundaries of what could occur in the arena, until elimination simply meant death.”

I stared at him, unsure of how to take this revelation. Finally, I asked, “What happened?”

“He died,” Cassian stated bitterly, “They told me it was an accident. Told me he tripped walking home and got hit by a bus. But I saw him, before the embalmer got to him. There was no injury, nothing that indicated he was hit. He looked perfectly fine. At the funeral, Gale Hawthorn asked if I knew where he kept his work. I lied, told him that it was at his workplace. I went home and hid the disc in a floorboard. On T.V the next morning, there was a fire in his office building. The next thing I know, I was being called up on to that stage, the final piece to ensure that the truth behind the Rememberance Games dies.”

I couldn’t speak, I was stunned. It took me a moment to process what he was saying, “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“What would it change?” his voice was sharp now, “Do you really think anyone in the Capitol would stop watching if I cried about my parents’ death? They’d probably milk it and call it a character arc. Cue the swelling music, the cooing of Capitol citizens. I don’t care if I die, but let them see what the Capitol buried. Every mutt, every ghost, every twisted lie they’ve spun. This arena is a haunted graveyard, Meadow.”

He paused, bitterness slipping out of him, “I’m just sorry you got caught up in it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered, wrapping an arm around his waist, “It’s theirs.”

He didn’t argue. He just leaned back against the tree, tension in his shoulders finally giving way. The silence settled like a shared breath and in that moment I felt it- that strange awareness. Of him. Of me. Of the way the two of us looked at each other as if the other wasn’t watching. Of the way his fingers would linger for just a second too long when he had pulled me from the ghosts. I couldn’t name it, wouldn’t name it. Not with the risk of death so close.

But it was there.

For the first time, I finally understood Cassian Luxe. He wasn’t a tribute or an ally or even someone with a mission, he was just someone who lost everything.

And I planned on doing anything to make sure he got everything.

Chapter Text

We made our camp a permanent base of operations. We were hidden enough from outside sources, and I found a small stagnant pool hidden behind some rocks. Cassian made a lean-to shelter around the tree we had chosen, and for a while it felt almost normal, like we were camping. I had long given up on hunting and gathering, so we made do with the food that we had. Water was boiled, cooled, and divided evenly between us when we needed a fill up.

The days passed like ghosts after a while- quiet, slow, lingering. We didn’t talk much, not about the Games or the Capitol. Instead I would tell him stories about Rye and my family, he would respond with moments with his mother and father. It was a way of easing the tension, despite it constantly shivering in between us with glances and slow moving fingers that brushed each other. I felt it every time he looked at me, when I caught him watching me. I felt it in my stomach, a bowstring that was taunt and trembling.

My injury was getting better. It didn’t hurt to stand as much anymore. Cassain’s arm was slowly healing, though he still winced when I would change the bandage. We both stopped mentioning the cold nights, instead bundling ourselves closer saying it was necessary to keep us warm. But when I woke in the morning, I would find his arm wrapped around my waist loosely, or he would find me drooling on his shoulder, one leg over his. Neither of us pulled away quickly when the other would wake.

During the day, I would catch him tracing lines in the dirt, fragments of squiggles to push off dark thoughts that might've crossed his mind. He would find me curled around myself in our shelter, humming softly unknown melodies to keep the whispers that still echoed in my head at bay. I was starting to understand why my parents were the way they were. This arena, this graveyard, it messed with our heads.

At one point I was messing around the pond, trying to stir up the sediment to see if there were any frogs hiding between layers of mud, when the call of “Little Bird!” interrupted me.

I stood, finding Cassian looking at me. He didn't say anything right away, instead he just shook his head and went back to what he was doing. I frowned, picking my way over to him, “You called?”

He leaned back against the tree, eyes towards the sky. When I approached he rolled his head to look at me, piercing me with a quick search and then chuckled. He looked back up at the sky. For a moment I thought he might somehow poisoned himself, but I had yet to see anything that looked poisonous, let alone edible.

“You can't just call me and not tell me why,” I planted my hands on my hips.

He just huffed out a breath, “I guess… I didn't think I wanted to win until you.”

I sucked in a breath. That was… something. He didn't need to say that, but he did. I pushed, he pushed back. I should laugh, I should brush it off. Instead I settled beside him, shoulders grazing.

“Me neither.” Our eyes flicked towards each other, the weight of what I just said pulling us down a path that wasn't there before.

That night, as the light shimmered in front of us, I found myself wrapped up in Cassian’s arms. He insisted it was to keep us warm, and I really didn't want to argue that the nights had gotten somewhat better.

We had eaten tough dry jerky and another can of that sweet fruit. “Peaches,” Cassian explained, finally naming the smooth orange cubes, “my favorites.”

After moments of silence, us watching the flames and hearing nothing but a whisper of a wind, he broke the silence, pulling me slowly from his grip. “Sing me a song, little bird.”

I furrowed my brow, confused by the sudden request. I wasn't planning on singing in the arena, I really didn't want to. The cameras had already captured the vulnerability that came with my voice during the interviews.

“Why now?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.

“Why not now?” He grinned, “Come on, Meadow Lark, sing for me. Something happy.”

I studied his face, trying to see if there was anything teasing in his expression. Finding nothing, I settle back into his arms, using his chest as a backrest. A song? A happy song? There weren't many of those that I knew of. Whoever wrote the songs that District Twelve kept hidden, they didn't have much light in their lives.

I racked my brains, when a soft melody floated in. A lullaby, one Ma used to sing when Rye couldn't sleep in his crib, right next to my bed. Gentle and soft, Ma would rock him to sleep, her voice brushing over both of us to push the darkness out of the way.

I took a breath and just as quiet as she used to sing, I started,

Deep in the meadow,
Under the willow,
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow.
Lay down your head and close your sleepy eyes.
And when again they open,
The sun will rise.

I felt his arms tighten, not out of tension but to make a more secure hold. His chin lowered and rested on my shoulder, his breath ticking the back of my neck. I shouldn't have pushed deeper to his chest but I did.

Here it's safe,
Here it's warm.
Here the daisies guard you
From every storm.
Here dreams are sweet
And tomorrow brings them true,
Here is the place,
Where I love you.

My breath caught on that last phrase. It was too true, too deep, too personal. It was the few times Ma would utter it, under the guise of a lullaby. Now, singing it, I came to the realization that I never said it. Never whispered it to my parents but openly admitting to not only a complete stranger but the whole of Panem.

I reached up and wiped tears away, trying not to disturb a now sleeping Cassian. I wanted to go home, to my woods where the larks sang, to the smell of goats and freshly made bread. I wanted to sit under my willow tree, song book on my lap, guitar in my hands. I wanted my bed, where the bells from the geese would greet me in the morning. If these Remembrance Games were going to kill me, then I wanted to do it with the feeling of home.

That morning the fog had rolled in thick and fast, covering our camp in an icy grey haze. Cassian and I ventured further than we normally did from our camp, coming to the realization food was getting dangerously low. I argued we should be asking for a sponsor, since we have yet to get anything from them. But Cassian figured if we savage enough, make us look as desperate as possible, as the favorites we might be able to get something good.

I had just started pulling a stone over itself when I heard Cassian call for me to look at something. I stood, brushing the dirt off on my pants, wincing at the injury from the ghosts.

I found him crouching under a dead fruit tree. His knife scraping at dried moss and old dirt that had covered up a bronze plaque inlaid on the tree. Glancing up at the tree, strings of wildflowers, bright and colorful, but almost artificially wrong, hung throughout the branches. They didn't give off a smell, which made me think they weren’t real, but they were breathtaking to see in a land of death.

I crouched next to him, looking more closely at the plaque. Engraved was a ring of wildflowers, fruit, and a small bird that took me a moment to recognize as a mockingjay. My eyes scanned over the words, “Rue. District Eleven. The girl that could fly.”

I knew her. I may have never met her, I knew her the same way I knew Prim and Finnick, through stories and songs, dramatic documentaries about the Hunger Games. She was in my parent’s first game, killed by someone from District Two or One, I could never remember. Survived by her many siblings who my Ma had put money aside for yearly to make sure they had enough to get on by.

Cassian stayed quiet, watching my fingers reach out and trace the engravings. He didn't say anything, but pushed his shoulder into mine. A silent reminder he was right there.

“Ma talks about her,” I whispered, “says I was supposed to be named for her. She ended up naming me Meadow because it was the one place she felt safe, where we could feel safe.”

“Rue Everdeen-Mellark,” He mused under his breath, “Doesn't have the same ring.”

I laughed softly. The two of us fell into a silence that didn't have a need to be filled. That happens a lot more often now, our conversations only occured when we felt the need to talk.

My fingers brushed the dead leaves. Rue didn't deserve to be here, if her body was even buried beneath the ground they were sitting on. She deserved to be sleeping in the sun, flowers guarding her from the darkness that would envelope her, not this grey world. She was my Ma’s friend, a girl wrapped up in a breath of beauty with bronze daisies guarding her.

“She didn’t even get to grow up,” I murmured, “She was a child, she never even got a chance and they’ve turned her into… this.”

Cassian looked up at the branches, his eyes flicking over the fake flowers. He was thinking, jaw returning to the hardness I had gotten so used to. Eventually he turned back to the plaque, “And the worst part, it's all fake. They couldn't even give her real flowers.”

I fell back on my heels, the cold seeping into my legs, but I was already so numb feeling that I didn't even feel it.

“Everyone wanted to be my friend when I was little,” the words came spilling from my mouth before I could even realize what I was saying. “At least, it seemed like it. They would give me presents on my birthday and sit with me at lunch. But when I got older and the stories about what my Ma and Pa did to survive, they stopped.”

Cassian didn’t speak. He just watched me, waited for me.

“I realized they didn't want to be friends with me. Not because of who I was, but because of who I came from,” I felt a lump build in my throat, I swallowed it down, and in a cracked voice continued, “They were fake. I think that's why I turned to music, at least there I could make something real. Something that was completely mine and couldn't go away just because it changed its mind. The songs were my friends, the lyrics were our stories. And when I was alone, I didn't have to feel it.”

Cassian didn't say anything, he simply just slid a hand over mine. I couldn't pull away, I wouldn't pull away. The tears had started flowing freely now. No more walls built up around me in this place. It was clear how the arena changed the tribute.

This place was designed to pull you down and strip you bare. Made to expose all your weaknesses, damn your strengths, force you to admit the darkest parts of your history for the sake of survival. It was no wonder my parents were so cold to everyone besides Rye and I, they had already exposed themselves.

A beep came from above us, pulling us out of whatever was holding us down. Floating down from the sky was a silver container attached to a starch white parachute. Before we could reach up and grab it, it got snagged on one of the branches of Rue’s tree.

I sighed, standing to climb and get it, but Cassian beat me to it. He pulled himself up through the branches, handholds coming easy to him. He worked at untangling it, pulling the knots that kept the canister from us. Once it was free he weaved his way back down, dropping from the lowest branch with a thud.

“Want to do the honors?” He held it out to me.

I gave a smile, pulling open the top to find whatever was given to us. The smell hit me instantly, almost causing the tears to fall again. In an instant I was back at home, coming in from hunting on a rainy day. The same smell would be wafting in from the kitchen, warming me from the inside out. Pa would make them for me when he thought I needed it. I pulled one out, it's sticky glaze immediately getting all over my hands.

“Honey buns!” I offered one over to Cassian. The round bun was small, tannish brown with a white cross on the top. It was dense and filling, and we usually ate them as a treat. “They are my absolute favorites!” ”

Cassian took it gingerly in his fingers, wrinkling his nose at the honey that stuck to his fingers. Then, slowly, he took a bite. It seemed like he melted, his eyes closed and a content smile came across his face. I gave in and took a bite. My mouth was greeted with the sweetness of the honey, the softness of the bread. But the inside, that almost took me out. I couldn’t be sure it was the same as Pa’s but the filling was homemade goat cheese that I would help make. The bitterness of the goat cheese and the sweetness of the honey, it was comforting and overwhelming at the same time. It tasted of home.

“Thank you, Pa,” I whispered to the sky, hopeful that the cameras were on us so that my message came across. I put the bun in my mouth to hold it and counted the rest. We were given 10 altogether, including the ones that we just ate. We could make it five days if we only ate once a day; ten if we split them in half and each ate a half a day. It wasn’t much but it would keep us going in this wasteland.

That night our trackers showed another list of fallen tributes. At this point, Cassian and I couldn’t rule out that mutts had killed them, or, we didn’t dare hope, another tribute did. If Cassian’s father was right, that these games would progressively start looking like another Hunger Games’ we couldn’t risk running into another tribute, and I, personally, didn’t want to. When checking it, we found that District Three, Seven, Eight, and Eleven were gone. I was shocked to find that Thirteen’s girl, who I named Snowflake, was also gone. If she had still been with Ardin, he was now alone.

“I think,” Cassian said after the tracker turned off, “our top competitors are Four and Thirteen’s boy. We will need to steer clear of them if we want to make it out of here.”

I didn’t disagree. Four was a known Career, but I was shocked that they were still in. I had no idea how they were surviving in a place with barely any water. I made a guess that they found a spot to camp out, away from everyone else, but I couldn’t be sure. Hopefully, they tap out before we have to face them.

Cassian stretched out his legs, knife nearby. He offered to let me sleep first and wake me so we could switch in the middle of the night. I found myself using his chest as a pillow, one leg between his. We didn’t make the excuse of it being too cold anymore, we just enjoyed the company. I fell into a dreamless sleep, listening to his haphazard humming of my lullabye from the other night, the scent of smoke and pine comforting me.

I couldn’t tell how long I was out for, but I woke up with a start when I felt a hand over my mouth. Panicking, I went to pull it away when it pressed harder and Cassian’s eyes filled my vision. He put a finger over his lips, then pointed behind me. I nodded and he lowered his head, putting his lips right next to my ear. I won’t admit that I felt goosebumps as his breath tickled my neck, and got a thrill down my back at him being so close like this.

He must’ve heard something or someone, because when he leaned back, he was pressing my bow into my hand. Getting the message, I grabbed my quiver and silently kneeling, a skill I picked up from hunting, drew it, aiming it into the darkness. Behind me, Cassian pulled the knife in front of him, readying himself to attack if necessary.

A snap of a branch, dry and heavy, made me swivel to my left, pulling the bow string back more. There was a second noise that came with it, like a snake pushing through the undergrowth. My hope was that it wasn’t a mutt, I didn’t want to have to face another one, but I also begged silently that it wasn’t a murderous tribute. I didn’t want to have to kill somebody.

Another branch snapped, and into what was left of our fire’s light came a shadow. I pulled back further, Cassian pushed himself into a crouch. I took aim and-

“Meadow?”

The voice was broken, but unmistakable. Ardin stepped forward, an axe dragging in the dirt beside him. There was something wrong with him. He was drenched in blood, head to toe, splattered like paint across his face and arms, but I couldn’t see any injury. His eyes were as wide as saucers and unfocused. His hands twiched, one clenched tightly around a bloody, jagged looking shard. He was unbalanced, one leg bearing more weight than the other.

“Ardin,” Cassian said behind me, cautiously, like he was talking to a wounded animal, “Are you ok?”

He stumbled forward a step, but I didn’t lower my bow. I had only felt this way once, when I encountered a racoon who was rabid. I couldn’t tell, but from the way it was advancing on me, it made me want to do nothing but kill it and drown it in the lake. Ardin was giving off the same energy, that unsure uneasiness that sent chills down my spine.

“What happened?” I asked, just as cautiously.

Ardin fell to the ground, but neither of us moved a muscle. He looked broken, he looked defeated, but something told me to keep a weapon between us. “I told her to stay put.” The response was robotic sounding, “She didn’t listen.” After a moment he continued, “I was with Milka, from Thirteen. We were fine. There was this wall, and she wanted to make camp there. So we did. Then we ran out of food, I told her I would find some and she needed to stay. When I came back she was gone. I found her with Felix, the boy from Thirteen. She was helping him with an injury.”

He started laughing, sharp and broken sounding, like he found all the humor in the world and ripped it to shreds, “All our supplies were gone, so I put a stop to it.”

The silence that followed was nightmarish and unbearable. I glanced at Cassian who had lifted the knife higher, tilting it into a position that when outstretched could stab at anything in front of him.

“How did you stop her, Ardin?” I asked, although I knew the answer.

Ardin raised the jagged metal thing, and stabbed it down, “Like this. Over and over again. They’re eliminated now.” His eyes lifted to mine, “I could eliminate your partner if you want. Then Twelve would have two winners.”

Cassian didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. He just started Ardin down like he was trying to find the innocent, eager to win boy underneath the blood. I felt the bile build in my throat. Ardin had openly committed murder. Cassian’s father wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t the Rememberance Games, not anymore.

It had just become the Hunger Games.

Ardin was looking at me, waiting for an answer. “I think,” I said slowly, “I’m good with Cassian.”

There was no hesitation. Ardin launched himself at me, and I shot, but missed due to him colliding himself with my body. I whacked my bow against his side, earning a poorly aimed stab on my left side from whatever Ardin was using as a weapon. Screaming in pain, I rolled out from underneath him, trying in vain to get away. I tried to stand, but Ardin didn’t give a moment to blink. He lunged again, the jagged shard outstretched.

He was fast, but Cassian was faster.

Cassian collided with him mid-stride, knocking him to the ground, right into our fire. Ardin screeched as what was left of the coals burned him. I scrambled forward to help, drawing another shot, but I couldn’t get a clear shot with how tangled they were together.

Then I heard a grunt, a gurgle, and heavy breathing. Ardin stilled beneath Cassian’s grip, his hands falling limply to his side, burned skin and hair hit my nostrils. Cassian rolled off him, and pulled himself into a sitting position. His hands were covered in blood, the knife now buried in Ardin’s stomach. He didn’t look at me, just stared straight ahead.

I moved first, scrambling to his side, “Cassian,” my voice came out in a whisper. I wasn’t sure what to say, or if I should touch him. My mind was in overdrive thinking that maybe he was hurt, more hurt than before.

When he finally looked at him, it was as if he didn’t recognize me. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, the softness I had grown so used to came back. He reached up, his hand coming close to my cheek before dropping. His eyes fell to my injury, which the adrenaline was keeping me from feeling too deeply on my left leg. “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you again,” his voice was hoarse.

“You didn’t,” I whispered back, my hand placing itself on his cheek. He reached up again, brushing a loose strand of hair from my cheek. His thumb lingered, a warm and secure feeling.

And then, maybe because the adrenaline still buzzed in our veins, or maybe because we needed something real, something human, we surged together.

Our lips collide. Fast and desperate. Hungry and begging. His hand slipped to the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer. I clutched at his shirt, throwing myself into his lap, dying to feel more, somewhere, anywhere. The world blurred, then fell away. We were a fire that was finally given air to breathe.

For my first kiss, it was blissful.

When we pulled apart, we rested our foreheads together, breath mingling.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“For what?”

“For everything. For this. For Ardin. For wanting to kiss you again in the middle of hell.”

I let out a breathy laugh, “I’m not stopping you.”

He leaned in again, this time gentle and sweet. Slowly, savoring each moment. And for one breath, one heartbeat, we weren’t tributes anymore.

Chapter Text

We left as soon as we could.

Cassian took the time to inspect my leg, wrapping it with what was left of the bandages and antiseptic wipes. It was deeper than I had originally thought, but without any real medical supplies, we had to make due. I figured when I was out, I would end up with stitches. Neither of us talked though- we didn’t need to.

We left Ardin’s body behind, figuring that the Capitol would come and collect it eventually. As we slipped into the trees, I took one last glance at the life the Arena stole before it disappeared. We paused on our way at the stagnant pool to get any extra blood off before it crusted up more. Then, with a weight that we couldn’t make disappear, we were gone.

For the first hour, Cassian held my hand, helping me limp along the forest’s floor. However, as the floor got more brambly, I shook him off, not wanting to pull him down if I were to fall.

We stumbled for a while. The terrain grew tender, the fog rolling in waves around us. The light grey haze we had grown so used to was fading into a charcoal color as the tree above us obscured the sky. The silence got quieter, only broken by our misshapen steps.

We stopped once for a bun, which I tried to tear in half but Cassian stopped me, insisting I eat a whole one. When I tried to argue, he pressed his lips to mine. That shut me up.

At one point the terrain changed. The brambles became hard, dense wood, twisting over each other as if to strangle the other. We struggled our way through it, not really aiming to find a path or a destination- just simply trying to get to a place that didn't smell like burning and blood.

Eventually, I called a break when we hit a clear spot between two patches. The ground wasn't soft, but it wasn’t the worst spot we could find. Dead pine needles and leaves crunched as we dropped.

Cassian groaned as he slid himself down, then helped lower me down so I didn't rip my leg up more. His hands lingered longer than necessary on my waist as he helped slide off my pack. Once I was settled, I dug through what was left of the food to hand over to him.

“I think,” he groaned as he pulled off his jacket, “my body is going to start a rebellion with all this.”

I laughed, an honest, breathy, filled, laugh. Its sound rang out across the silence, flickering through the trees like a squirrel. Cassian grinned at that, before reaching out and pulling me into him. Once settled, I responded with, “They’ve already thrown you into an Arena, can't do much more to keep it from happening.”

We settled into each other, his chin on my head. The only thing I could hear was our breathing and his heartbeat. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend I was anywhere else.

“What is your favorite animal?” The question took me by surprise. Glancing up at him, he was watching me with a raised eyebrow, but completely serious. When I still didn't answer, he poked my back with each word, “What is your favorite animal?”

I took a moment to think, “Larks.” when he huffed I looked back at him, rolling so I could lean my arms on his chest and our noses were almost touching, “No seriously. I like the way they sing and disappear into the trees. When I go hunting they’re always the first birds I see, almost like they are expecting me.”

He smiled, “I like dogs.”

“Dogs?”

“They’re loyal, brave, and are the best kind of pet-”

It was my turn for raised eyebrows, “Pet? You keep dogs as pets?” The only experiences I had with dogs were the stray and wild ones that roamed District Twelve, which never made good pets. Some people had them as guard dogs but I stayed as far away from them as possible, they tended to be quite vicious.

“Yeah,” Cassian continued, “You don’t?”

“No,” I shook my head, “We have geese and goats.”

He studied me for a moment, “You have a farm?”

“I guess you could call it that. The goats give us milk, Ma had one when she was growing up and we got more when I was a baby. The geese were my Uncle Haymitch’s. They were a gift and he taught me to raise them. It's how I learned all those songs.” I explained.

“Haymitch Abernathy?” Cassian asked, sitting up slightly, “He was your uncle? He was my favorite victor! The way he used the Arena’s border against that other girl? It was amazing!”

I furrowed my brow. I never watched the 50th Games in full, not after learning about Lou Ella, Maysilee, and Albert. “He would tell you that he shouldn't be. You shouldn't like him at all.”

“Well, I do,” Cassian confirmed, planting a kiss on my nose. Then he moved down to my cheek, one on each before capturing my mouth.

I responded by swelling up into him, arms going around his neck as he lowered a hand to my back. My legs spread to be on either side of his waist, the pull from the stab wound making me grunt. He pushed me closer, mouth hungry. When I lifted my head to catch my breath, he landed on my neck, peppering soft, little kisses down to my collarbone. I gasped at the feeling, my heart skyrocketed into my throat. My stomach twisted, and my grip crawled up to his hair, looking to just grab something.

I had never felt this, this heat that was bouncing around inside me. I never really thought about it. Rye had mentioned girls that he would kiss on occasion, none of them lasting longer than a few days, and I knew Ma and Pa had moments, with their doors locked and us kicked out to wander the woods. But now I got it, I understood. Kissing was nice, touching was enjoyable. I felt like fire and water all at once, that moment of the hiss of steam.

His hands slipped below my waist, landing on my behind, the grip tightening. I leaned into his kiss, begging for more. I wanted to be as close to him as possible, as if I wanted to meld into him. He groaned beneath me, a murmur of something sweet falling with it. His hip thrusted up and I gasped, loudly, vocally.

“Told you I’d make you sing,” Cassian murmured as his lips pressed to my ear. A thrill went up my back, like dragonflies dancing on water. My back arched as he ground into me, and I felt it. I wanted nothing more than to feel it closer, and for some stupid reason, inside.

A loud beeping noise from above us made us stop. We pulled apart in a huff, panting and found a silver parachute with a silver container floating down to us. I reached up and collected it, prying open the top to see what was inside between the two of us.

Clean bandages and some sort of medicinal cream. I furrowed my brow, ready to throw it to the side and go back to the heat, the kissing, and touching. Then it dawned on me.

“Oh for-” I shouted and rolled off Cassian, dumping the sponsor gift in his lap. I covered my face, which I was sure was turning beet-red.

Cassian pulled out the cream and was trying to find some sort of label on it. When he came up with nothing he looked at me, “What?”

I pointed to the sky, “They’re watching us!”

Cassian looked at the sponsor gift then at the sky, and back at me, I could see the realization coming across his face by the way his eyes widened and his hands dropped to his lap. His face slowly turned pale, his mouth opening into a small “o”.

I got the message loud and clear, my parents made sure of that. We were being watched. All the moments that would've made T.V ratings soar were being broadcasted to all of Panem. On top of that many parents were watching! They had seen everything, and I am pretty sure that when I get out of here, I would be told that everything we did was inappropriate.

“Well,” Cassian sighed, “at least they know who I am.”

I peeked out from between my fingers. Cassian was side-eyeing me, a crooked smile on his face. He held up the cream as a peace offering and said, “And they know I'm good at taking care of you.”

I run my hands down my face, trying hard not to smile. But it didn't last. The smile that stretched across my face was wide, toothy. “That’s so dumb sounding.”

He shrugged then motioned for me to start unraveling the bandages, “Never said I was smart.”

I pulled the bandages off, letting Cassian have access to clean it. His movements were slow and careful, like he was trying to memorize each part of me. His hands were rough, but he was gentle with it.

When he was done, he pressed his lips on last time to mine, slow and savory. I responded in kind but made sure to pull back before the heat came on again. I was not risking another reprimand while in the arena.

“My parents are going to literally kill me.” I commented as we settled back against the brambles.

“Oh come on,” Cassian wrapped an arm around my shoulder, a crooked smile on his face, “I think they would be proud, you getting a romance like they did in the arena.”

I smacked his chest, “How much do you think was shown?”

“All of it.”

My face reddened again and I buried it into his shoulder, attempting to hide from his laugh. My first kiss was right on camera, broadcasted for the whole country to see. It was humiliating and embarrassing.

“I'm actually happy they showed it.” Cassian said.

“Why?”

I felt him shift, pulling me tighter into his arms, “Because it was real and honest. No more fake niceties or weird charming conversations. Just us, what we want to feel, how we want to act.”
I didn't say anything, I didn't really have a response. I knew that while we were in the arena we were safe from the Capitol’s need for a performance. It was hard to act when you're fighting for survival. But as soon as we won, as soon as we were out… I couldn't be sure what that would look like.

The sky had started to darken, the grey light fading away to the charcoal black we have all grown used to. My thoughts joined it. Thinking about the future, no matter how far ahead, seemed grim. There were steps that we needed to take before even dreaming about a life outside of the arena, like out-lasting the rest of the tributes. At any moment, we would get the beeps to let us know who was left, and my hope was no one. I didn’t want to think about what we might have to do in order to get out of here.

Then once we were out, what would that be? Rules stated that we would return to our respective districts, but I didn’t want Cassian to go back to One, and I didn’t want to leave Twelve. Would he want to come with me, live where the comforts of District One didn’t exist? I couldn’t ask that of him, I wouldn’t ask that of him. I wouldn’t even expect it. He deserves a happy life, even if that’s nowhere with me. I hoped that he wouldn’t ask me to leave my home behind either.

Our trackers went off once the sky was completely dark. Glancing down, we found that two more districts were eliminated, leaving only us and District Four’s pair. We didn’t talk for a while, instead just sitting and enjoying the company we had with each other. Our hands reached for holds on each other, but that was it.

“We need to figure out what to do,” Cassian finally broke into our thoughts, voicing what we were probably both thinking.

“I don’t think I’d be willing to kill them,” I replied, “If that’s what you're saying.”

He shrugged, “I’m not sure what I’m saying.”
We fell back into silence after that. I wasn’t wrong. If this leads to us killing two more people, I wasn’t sure I could do it. I was barely able to kill Ardin, hesitating on what to do while he and Cassian wrestled in the fire pit. In the end, I didn’t even shoot my weapon, Cassian gave the killing blow. That was a District One’s job, that was what they were trained to do, so it left one option.

“We might have to hunt them down.” I said flatly. When he didn’t respond I continued, “Not to kill them, I don’t think it should be that dramatic. But we need to discuss with them what the Capitol wants us to do. Your father was right, this is the Hunger Games, but I’m not sure if they know that. We need to tell them.”

I could tell he was considering that from the low hum he gave, “What if, when we tell them,” he started slowly, “they attack us? They try to win.”

“Then we fight back,” the words tumbled from my mouth. I looked up at him, his eyes were narrowed. “I’m not losing you. I am not going to win this stupid game without you. We either talk them into losing, or we fight them to win.”

“We could just choose to tap out,” Cassian pointed out, “That was one of the options.”

“But does that mean we live?” I was thinking aloud now, the idea forming faster than I could keep up with, “We haven't seen any proof that tapping out means we live. Elimination means you are out of the game, but how? I haven't seen a single hovercraft or Peacekeeper in this arena like in previous Games. I genuinely think, there is no tapping out or choosing to not play anymore.”

Cassian shifted, turning over what I had just said. I was right, I knew I was. The Gamemakers were sniffing us out, trying to push towards the edge and make us into murders that would stop at nothing to win.

“Then we move in the morning,” he finally decided, “they must be someplace we haven't seen yet. If we keep following the brambles, we might find them.”

I nodded, rolling back so I was supported by his shoulder again, “I can't sleep yet. I'll wake you up when I get tired.”

Cassian nodded and closed his eyes. For now, we can rest because tomorrow might be the last day we have.

Chapter Text

The morning brought us to the edge of the brambles. My leg had gotten a lot better and it was easier to maneuver, although I was sure to be left with a nasty scar. Cassian had fallen behind me, letting me set the pace and to make sure I didn't trip and stumble.

Breakfast was the last of the honey buns, which was a bit of a disappointment. I tried not to let it show when I took my last bite how much I would miss it, but I couldn't help the one tear that slipped out. My little bit of home was gone.

For now.

I was determined to make it out of the arena alive. And then to make it out of the Games in one piece, damn the Capitol’s wants. This show has gone on long enough, and I wanted my peace. I wanted my life back in District Twelve. To see my brother and my hollowed out tree that hid my guitar, to smell the goats and hear the geese in the early mornings. And maybe, do it all with Cassian.

Eventually the trees and brambles started to thin out and a dusty, cobblestone path, lined with a broken wall formed around us. We kept moving. I was sure we were heading to a new fallen tribute’s macabre memorial. I could place which one, there were too many to choose from, but this path was no coincidence.

The further down we went the more formed the wall became, the cleaner the path grew. Then I heard it, soft, almost like a sigh of wind above me.

Music.

“What was that?” Cassian asked.

“I don't know,” I looked up at the trees. And there in the branches a flicker of movement. I swung my bow and shot, hitting it with a thud and it fell to the ground.

We both crouched next to it. It was a bird, the first living animal I actually recognized and not mutated. Cassian picked at the wing, lifting it and I caught my breath.

The bird was a glossy black, larger than a lark, smaller than a raven. It was sharp and angular, nothing soft about it, contradicting the song it was just giving us. The underside of the wings were the dead give away - greyish white.

“It's a mockingjay,” I whispered, then looking up in awe I whistled the four note melody Ma taught me. It echoed right back in a chorus of what sounded like hundreds of mimicking birdsong.

Cassian dropped the wing, tilting his own head up to watch and listen. “We don't have those in District One.”

“Their mutts,” I explained, “hybrids of a jabberjay and a mockingbird. We have them all over the woods in District Twelve. It’s what my pin is.” I tapped it.

“They’re beautiful,” he breathed. I smiled at that. I had an appreciation for the bird. They did provide great vocal back up when I was singing. But I preferred my larks. My favorite thing about them was if there was a good enough singer around, they would stop and listen, just to pick up the song. Ma and I were the only ones who could do it out of my family.

“Wait, check this out.” I stood up and sang out a tilting upbeat melody, the first one that came to me. The birds immediately picked it up, seemingly cheering the dead forest up. Cassian grinned and motioned for me to keep going, so I did.

Well,
A fox went out on
A chilly night
He prayed to the moon to
Give him light
Plenty of miles to go
That night before reached the town-o
Town-o, town-o!
Many a miles to go that night
Before he reached the town-o!

He
ran til he came to
A great big pen,
Where the ducks and geese
Were put there-in
“A couple of you are gonna
Grease my chin
Before I leave this town-o!”
Town-o, town-o,
“Couple of you gonna grease my chin,
Before I leave this town-o!”

So, he
grabbed the grey goose
By the neck
Threw a duck across his back
He didn't mind the
Quack, quack, quack,
And their legs all dangling down-o,
Down-o, down-o!
He didn't mind their
Quack, quack, quack,
And their legs all dangling down-o!

My walk turned more bouncy, joyous. It was infectious, as the mockingjays around us took up the tune that came from the song. Cassian grabbed my hand, swinging me in to a spin as I picked up the next bit.

Then,
Old Mother Flipper Flopper jumped out of bed
Out of the window she cocked her head.
Crying “John, John, the grey goose is gone!
And the fox is on the town-o”
Town-o, town-o,
“John, John, the grey goose is gone!
The fox is on the town-o!”

Then, John,
went to the top of the hill,
Blowed his horn loud and shrill,
The fox he said, “Better flee with my kill!
Or they’ll soon be on my trail-o!”
Trail-o, trail-o,
“Better flee with my kill!
Or they'll soon be on my trail-o!”

So, he
ran till he came to his cozy den,
And there were the little ones,
Eight, nine, ten.
They said, “Daddy, Daddy, better go back again!
It must be a mighty fine town-o!”
Town-o, town-o,
“Daddy, Daddy, better go back again!
Must be a mighty fine town-o!”

Then,
He and his wife without any strife,
Cut up the goose with a fork and a knife.
They never had such a supper in their life,
And the little ones chewed on the bones-o,
Bones-o, bones-o,
They never had such a supper in their life,
And the little ones chewed on the bones-o!

When the song finished, I swept into a bow as Cassian applauded. When I came up, he pulled me in and kissed me, breathless and hard. The birds kept the melody up, ushering us along the path with a quicker gait than we’ve used in the past. For a moment, I imagined the two of us walking in the woods behind my house, making our way to the lake house, dancing and singing. Occasionally, we would stop, pressing ourselves against a tree, or a rock, sharing a deep kiss, and then moving on.

We walked further, hands clasped between us, swinging, now that the path was wider. Cassian was soon to start playing a game he knew from his childhood, called “Eye-Spy”, where he would give me a clue as to the color of the object, and I would have to guess it. It soon resulted in him picking out rocks that we passed, because there was nothing new to pick.

When it was finally my turn, I mused for a moment on what I could pick but stopped short. We had reached the end of the path.

In front of us was a huge, old and dead tree. It's branches twisted upwards like hands, empty and clawing, black against the grey sky. There were no leaves, just empty grey skies backing it. Around the base was an old wooden, worn, platform with large steps leading up the back of it. A lever stuck out from the floor of the platform.

Hanging from the bottom most branch was a rope with a noose at the end.

The moods between us darkened. We didn't drop each other’s hand, instead I tightened my grip on it. “It's a hanging tree.” My voice came out softly, as if to keep the silence from breaking. But it still felt too loud.

I knew these trees, what they were for. District Twelve’s hanging tree was still standing in the back of the district. It never bloomed or filled with leaves, the trap door has long rotted and fallen, leaving an open, empty window in its platform. Almost everyone swore it was haunted. They claimed that late at night, you could hear calls from a man who died in that tree. No one dared go near it to cut it down, for fear of being cursed by the ghosts that lived in it.

I let go of Cassian’s hand, circling the base, “Does District One have one of these?”

“No,” he called back. I heard a wooden thunk and found him standing on the platform. I wanted to shout at him to get down, but instead, I climbed the stairs. He was surveying the opening area, looking for any sign of life besides the birds that had grown silent. He shrugged when I came up to him, “Doesn’t seem like anyone’s here and there's a path over there. Want to keep going?”

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to move on, but there was something about this tree that called me to stay. At least for a while, “Can we rest?”

Cassian nodded and sat down, swinging his legs over the platform’s edge. I sat down behind him, leaning my back against his. He offered me his water bottle, but I waved him off, using mine instead. I took small sips, not wanting to use too much of it. My eyes scanned up the tree, silently willing the mockingjays to come back so I could cheer the place up. As my eyes hit the base of the trunk, I spied a carving in it. “What’s that?” I stood up, crossing to it. I found an exact copy of my mockingjay pin. I ran my fingers over it, tracing the bird’s wings.

“What’s what?” Cassian followed me over, crouching behind me. His eyes glanced at the carving before looking at my pin. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

I shook my head, “No, someone put it here. Nothing in this game is a coincidence.”

We both stared at it, the silence closing in again like fog. The carving was intentional, there was no doubt in my mind. Someone put it there for me to find, which left me with two questions; who and why? If it was simply Gamemakers with their stupid design ideas, then it find, but this didn’t feel like just a design choice. Someone wanted me to find it, someone is trying to send a message.

I took in the marking a moment longer, unable to look away. The lines were clean, not weathered like the rest of the tree. Fresh. Maybe only days old. Whichever Gamemaker thought of this joke, they knew exactly what they were doing- down to the soft curve of the wing, the feather etched just slightly askew, just like the one on my pin. It was mine. I touched the center where the bird’s eye should’ve been. The bark was peeled here, the wood underneath paler, as if to say: We see you.

I wanted to scream, to take a knife and carve it out. Carve an ‘X’ right through it. They had distorted everyone else in these stupid Games, I’d be damned if they distorted my family too.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I exhaled, slowly and shakily. Cassian placed a hand on my back, whatever he was saying was muffled in my mind.

“It’s not just a message,” I finally stood up, rubbing my palms on my pants, “It’s a warning.”

Before Cassian could respond, the scrape of footsteps snapped both our heads toward the forest. We shared a glance before drawing our weapons, aiming them at the sound. Two figures stumbled from the woods, their faces dirty but similar enough to point to the fact that District Four has arrived.

The girl was shorter, rust-colored hair braided into two short braids, ending her cheekbones. Her skin was tanned, similar to what I had seen on my visits to the Cresta family. She wore a similar outfit to mine, seeing as we all got the same thing. Gripped tightly in her right hand was a knife, the blade pointed towards the ground, but she looked ready to swing it at us with no hesitation. Judging by the roundness in her face, the angles of her eyes, and the pout in her lip, she couldn’t be older than 13. The boy was a head taller than her, paler in skin tone. The same rush colored hair was messy but clean cut. He had a net tied around his waist, fingers tapping at the knot as he took us in. I judged him to be closer to my age, just based on his height and glare. Both had a silver pin of a fish on their shirts.

“Cassian Luxe,” the boy pointed at us, “Meadow Everdeen-Mellark.”

It wasn’t a question, it was barely a statement. It was like he was introducing us to his friend. Cassian stepped forward, lowering himself down and holding out a hand, “You have us at a disadvantage, we don’t know your names.”

“Mira,” the girl took his hand, sheathing the knife before approaching, “That’s Siodon.”

“Were you watching us?” I asked. I didn’t trust them. I didn’t know them and after what I had seen, what we had to deal with, I wasn’t planning on being friendly.

“Just long enough to know you’ve been allies since the start,” Mira grinned, “We have food. We’ll trade you for a night’s rest without killing each other.”

Cassian and I shared a glance. So they knew. They knew that the Games were rigged. I wondered what they had seen, who was killed in their line of sight, if they had killed. Trust was hard earned in the Arena, especially now. If we were truly the last two teams, then I really didn’t want them anywhere near me.

We exchanged another look. I could practically feel him weighing the same risks I was. But when he gave me the slightest nod, tightening his grip on his own knife. We needed a night. One night without having to risk any dangers, though with District Four and the hanging tree… I shook my head. Whatever warning the Capitol was trying to send our way, I refused to listen. I just wanted one night.

“Fine,” I pointed to the other side of the platform, away from the stairs. “You stay on the other side. Try anything overnight, and consider your night’s rest permanent.”

Mira’s eyes widened, but Siodon nodded, “Right back at you.” He moved off to the other edge, hoisting himself up. Mira hesitated, then dug into the pack on her shoulder. She pulled out two fish shaped loaves of bread, flecked with green algae, and two tin, square cans with a picture of a silver fish on it. Cassian took them, sniffing the bread once before handing it over to me. Satisfied with the trade, Mira followed her partner and started setting up their camp with him.

“Smells…” he raised an eyebrow, “fishy.”

“Shut up,” I hissed.

Cassian smirked, breaking the tension just enough to let a breath slip from my chest. Sitting down on the steps, I took a bite. The bread was exactly as I remember it- dense, a little salty, with that hint of seaweed stuck to the back of my teeth. The fish in the cans were oily and cold but went down easy enough, especially after days of rationing food that I genuinely enjoyed. Then, it was quiet for a while. The kind of quiet that hummed like it did before a storm. The air was too still, the whispers from the other side of the platform were too loud. We decided on not lighting a fire, but still wound ourselves together, weapons in reach. Just in case.

“They didn’t even look at the carving.” Cassian commented, his voice soft.

“Why should they?” I murmured, “To them, it’s just a symbol of a rebellion.”

He sighed, tightening his hold around me. We listened to them, as if trying to decipher what they might be saying. “Do you think it’s safe?” he asked, like the question was purely academic, “Letting them stay?”

“No,” my voice came out blunt. I sounded too much like Ma. “But, I think it was safer than making them leave.”

That earned a nod, and for a while, we watched the sky turn from that light gray to dark gray, then black. I closed my eyes and leaned back against his chest, simply listening to his steady heartbeat. For a moment, I could picture us in Twelve. Hidden beneath my willow tree, goats somewhere in the distance, geese ambling around us. That was the picture of paradise to me. I just had to make sure we lived to see that day.

“Have you ever seen the ocean?” Cassian asked, pulling me from my fantasy.

“A few times,” I answered, “My family is friends with Anne Cresta and her son. We visited each other when I was little.”

“My mother was from District Four.”

I turned around, brow furrowed. “I thought you were from District One.”

“I am,” he looked up at the sky, as if hunting for something that he couldn’t see. “My mother, her name was Cordiliea, she moved there after the rebellion. She worked with the orphaned kids, helped educate them and all that. That’s how she met my father. He showed up to do a lesson on the Hunger Games for the older ones and… you know the rest.”

I didn’t, but I could guess. They fell in love, they had Cassian, then they died. Tragedy wrapped with the Capitol’s bow.

He kept talking, “She used to take me to the pool in our apartment building, it’s how I learned to swim. In the days before she passed, there was this book with all these fish in it, she would tell me the names of each one as I sat on her lap. My mother told me about dolphins and seagulls-” Cassian shook his head, “Doesn’t matter anymore.”

I reached for his hand, guiding it so it settled on my chest. My other hand went to his cheek, “It matters to me.”

He smiled, leaning in and pressing his forehead to mine. I could feel the tension that he wanted to talk more, but then-

“Are you, are you, coming to the tree?”

Our heads snapped up. I recognized that voice, I grew up with that voice. But it was distorted, wrong, wrapped up in something sweeter than my Ma’s. Birdsong and death all at once.

“What was that?” I heard Siodon ask.

We stood slowly. I scooped up my bow and notched my arrow, Cassian gripped his knife, holding it out and pushing me behind him. The voice came from somewhere around us, but I couldn’t see anything. It was too dark. Then on the edge of the trees, a wisp of something yellow, or maybe red, slipped through.

“Where the dead man called out for his love to flee.”

A new sound came along with the song, shifting beneath us, under the platform. I had to strain my ears to hear it, it was so soft. I squinted into the darkness, peering down the stairs as a writhing root slowly made its way up. By the time it reached my shoe, I had an arrow in its head.

“Is that a snake?” Cassian asked, disgust in his voice.

“Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be…”

I readied another arrow. We hadn’t seen a single animal besides this one-

Another one made its way up, moving faster this time. Cassian lashed out with his knife, but a third then a fourth took it’s place. We were backed up now, against the tree. Mira and Siodon on the other side, Mira using her knife to stab at any that tried to strike at her. More made their way up, like spilled oil, slipping over each other to corner us. I was not taking the chance.

“Climb,” my voice was weak, “Cassian! Climb!”

He hoisted himself up to the lowest branches, then reached down for me. I threw my bow away, using both hands to follow him up. Siodon and Mira were doing the same, although Mira went up first, using Siodon as a step. The snakes weren’t climbing after us, but they were forming a pile of themselves, the first to reach the tree building a mound for the new ones to make their way up. Our boots scraped at the bark, hands scrambled for holds. One snake reared at my leg, but I kicked it hard enough to make it fly backward.

“If we met up at midnight…”

Cassian pushed me ahead of him, throwing his pack to the pile beneath us. His knife was gone, he must’ve dropped it. “Go higher!” he demanded, pushing at my knee to make me find another branch. I followed his command, shaking with adrenaline as I pulled myself up to another branch. Once I settled, ready to reach down to help him, I felt a sharp cut on the side of my face.

I looked up, MIra had her knife. My blood dripped from the point.

“In the hanging tree.”

I glanced back down, Siodon had Cassian up against the trunk of the tree. Both pushing and shoving as they tried to keep themselves on the branch. The snakes had stopped building up higher, but they were moving across themselves, as if waiting for one of us to fall.

“Don’t do this,” I put a hand out, “We don’t have to do this.”

Mira took another swipe, but I ducked, feeling it instead cut through some loose strands of hair. “Unless you want to tap out,” she sneered, her voice sharp, “then I suggest you fall.”

Tap out.

The phrase rang hallow. There was no tapping out. Not here. There never was. The snakes were there the whole time, waiting for each tribute to fall into their venom of whatever the Capitol was thinking with these Games. This was never a fight to the death. It was a culling.

Mira lunged again- this time I caught her wrist.

Her momentum nearly pulled me off my branch, but I twisted hard and slammed her forearm into the trunk. Her knife clattered, tumbling downward into the pit. She shrieked, trying to dislodge me by wiggling hard. But it was too late, the knife was the snake's newest gift. She spat in my face, which almost made me gag. I fell backward, letting go. Mira tried to stand, but fumbled, slipping over, grabbing the branch at the last second.

“Mira!” Siodon yelled, looking away from Cassian.

Cassian took the distraction. A brutal shove sent Siodon slamming backwards on the branch. He twisted his legs, kicked at Cassian, but my partner shoved his legs out of the way. Pushing him closer to the edge.

“Siodon!” Mira screeched, kicking wildly as a snake took the leap to get a bite at her. “Help!”

“Are you, are you, coming to the tree?”

The singing was louder now. But I didn’t take the chance of looking for the source. I leaned forward, reaching for Mira’s hand. No one deserved to die like this. It wasn’t right. Mira reached for it, but it was just a fingertip away, too far for her. I shimmed closer, still reaching. Her hand clasped mine, tight and hard. I almost fell forward. No longer was this girl willing to kill me, her ocean green eyes were too wide and wild for that, she just wanted to survive this hell.

“Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me…”

I heard Cassian swear, and I looked down. Siodon had hit him again, this time slamming his head backwards into the trunk. I could see the blood on the back of Cassian’s head, my stomach twisted. In my grip, Mira was squirming around, trying to find some way to get herself up on the branch. I could feel her hand slipping.

“Stop squirming!” I tried to tell her, but it was too late. With a scream, Mira fell, her hand slipping from mine. I couldn’t tell if the scream was her’s or if it erupted from my throat. The last I saw of her, was her hand reaching out towards me, fingers extended as the snakes swooped and clashed around her.

“No!” Siodon roared, forgetting Cassian and trying to grab my ankle. I kicked away, scrambling to get closer to the trunk. But his reach landed and he yanked. I yelped, wrapping my arms around the branch. I kicked with my free leg, but that was useless, I had no leverage, no real fight left. My eyes fell on the snakes, their oily bodies floating over each other as Mira’s hand disappeared. My tracker bracelet beeped, Mira was gone.

“Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be…”

Siodon’s grip tightened, pulling at me with desperate strength. Cassian was coming back, shaking his eyes free of the blood dripping into them. He lunged forward with a raw roar, his hands clamping around Siodon’s wrist, wrenching it off me. Siodon twisted, trying to avoid Cassina’s hand on his throat, cursing the whole time. His own movements betrayed him and he fell.

“If we met at midnight…”

I didn’t scream, but my breath was gone. The snakes leaped up as if excited for their next victim, one latching on his Siodon’s arms. The boy fought, trying to rip each one off of him as they found their prey. I closed my eyes, and covered my ears, trying to ignore the sounds that came from his throat. Cassian was calling my name, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to hear anything.

When it was silent, I opened myself back up. The snakes writhed for a moment longer, then answering some unspoken command, they slipped away- sliding and pooling into cracks of the platform before vanishing into the roots and darkness beneath the tree. The sky had started to lighten again, the blackness eeping away into the gray mornings I had come to grow used to, except this time, a golden light game with it, the rays shining down on the hanging tree, illuminating the forest in a soft glow.

The branches creaked with a soft wind, and I glanced down.

Mira was motionless, her mouth open in a silent scream, eyes glassy and unseeing. Her arms were twisted around her, one hand still reaching out, as if hoping for someone to come and help her. Siodon was a few feet away, dark blood oozing around him, puncture wounds ruining his skin. His eyes were open too, blood dripped from his mouth. His net tangled around his feet.

“In the hanging tree.” I finished the song. Cassian caught his breath as he stared down at the lifeless form. The heavy silence stretched between us as the trees absorbed the final echoes of the final night in the Arena.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Panem!” The announcer came over our heads, “I present the winners of the first ever Remembrance Games! Cassian Luxe of District One and Meadow Everdeen-Mellark of District Twelve!”

We were winners.

Winners.

I let out a strangled gasp. Cassian reached up for me, helping me down slowly. We avoided Mira and Siodon’s bodies, tiptoeing around them like avoiding a plague. I collapsed against the trunk, Cassian knelt beside me, blood crusting his hairline. “It’s over.” he rasped, as if saying might make it real.

I wanted to cry, but a laugh bubbled up in my throat instead. It was hollow, empty of emotion, but it was the only thing I could do. How was it over? How did the death of twenty-six other people make us winners? I knew what winning meant. I lived with the evidence of what being a Victor was. We didn’t win, we lost. My plan actually worked in the most twisted way.

Up in the trees, the mockingjays began to sing again. A hum from an old song in District Twelve. I recognized it, a mourning song. The one we would sing at funerals, so old that it mentioned the aftermath of death, the Therebefore. A whisper among the birds picked up and lowered my eyes to the tree line. My eyes scanned the shadows, trying hard to find someone, anyone that could win instead of me. I didn’t want this. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. But then, in the shadows I saw her.

At first I thought it was my Ma. The girl was her height, a braid going down her shoulder. She was wearing what looked like a black one piece suit, a gold circle on her chest. As she moved, the image rippled, and instead was a younger girl, her hair falling like water through a pipe, her dress a rainbow of color. She wasn’t walking, she was floating. Two beings stitched together, one definitely was my Ma. There was no mistaking it. But I didn’t know the other, it was familiar in the way a dream was. She looked… haunted.

The girl stumbled around the edge of the treeline, each shadow made her shift from one to another. We just watched her avoid the golden light that came down from above us. Her movements were wrong, fractured and broken. When she was finally cornered, she stopped and looked at us. The light ran over her and she faded away, like dandelion dust on the wind.

The device on my wrist blinked green, soft and final. The words read, “Winner Confirmed”.

But there was no winning, not really.

Because survival doesn’t end when everyone else is dead.

Chapter Text

I don’t remember much of the ride back. I was numb, overwhelmed, and exhausted.

The hovercraft appeared not long after the announcement, as if it was waiting for hours for our win. Capitol medics came flooding through the drop-door, completely ignoring Mira and Siodon, instead rushing to pull me to my feet and force me to change into a white robe that smelled like chemicals. Cassian had gotten the same treatment, forced to leave Mira in the dirt, staring up at the grey sky. He didn’t say anything but pulled back when they tried to separate us. I ended up leaning on his shoulder, with his head on mine. Silent comfort. Silent protection.

When I had woken up next, not realizing I had fallen asleep, I found myself in a hospital room. My right arm was strapped to the bed by a cloth handcuff. I couldn’t lift it more than a few inches off the bed. I guess it was to keep me from leaving or wandering around.

The room was bleach white, various medical equipment was around me, none of which I recognized. One was plugging into the arm that was strapped, pumping me with who knows what. I reached over and yanked it out, ignoring the new, needle sized puncture wound in my arm that started to drip blood. To my left was a silver table, too bright, too clean. On it was a crystal goblet of water and a note:

“The Capitol congratulates you on your win.”

I growled and shoved the tray over, relishing in the sound of broken glass exploding on the floor.

Then I called out, “Cassian?” When no answer came, I called out again, more frantic. I hadn’t been without him in what felt like a lifetime. I pulled against the cuff, trying to find a weak spot but none came. I would need to be cut out of it if I wanted to get up.

The wall in front of me slid open, and someone I had thought I would never see again came in. “Hello, Meadow Lark,” my Ma smiled at me, then frowned when she saw the spot that I had pulled the wires from.

“Where’s Cassian?” I asked, or rather demanded.

“He’s in another room,” Ma crossed over, side-stepping the broken goblet. She pulled open a drawer and picked up some gauze, pressing it into my arm, “Your Pa’s with him.”

I knew from documentaries that we were in the healing stage at this point. It would be a few days until I was cleared to leave. Until then, I was stuck here, while the Capitol doctors did who knows what with my body. I wanted to check myself, make sure I still looked the same. To ensure that nothing was bigger or smaller, like I heard from testimonies. Then there would be the victory parade and interview. Then we go home.

“Did anyone else make it?” My voice was broken, I already knew the answer.

Ma hesitated for a moment, then sighed and whispered, “Just you and Cassian.”

The tears came out quickly, all the pent up emotions that I kept hidden flooded from me in waves. Sobs built up and exploded into loud gasps. Everyone else went in voluntarily, willingly, to a Capitol built death trap. None of them expected to die, to never see their homes again. It was unfair. It was wrong! But there was nothing anyone could do about it. All of Panem watched us survive while others died.

Where was the justice?

I let the sobs wreck me, Ma simply holding me like she used when I was younger. I think she was crying too, I could feel the wetness on the top of my head. The roar of my grief ripped from my chest. I wanted to kill someone, to find the Gamemakers and make them pay.

Eventually the tears ran dry. I stopped shaking, but I still felt hollow. Like the arena carved me out and left a shell of the person I was behind.

“When can I see him?” I whispered, “Cassian?”

Ma pulled back and brushed loose hair away from my face, “I’ll go find him. He should be awake too.” She left the room, the wall stayed open. I heard voices, my Pa’s filled with a venom he never usually had and a harsh, gruff voice who was most likely a Capitol doctor or escort for Cassian. I didn’t care, I hated them.

Not for what they did, but for pretending, for lying. They gave the Hunger Games a new name, a fresh set of clothes but it was still the same.

The soot never settled, and I was the living proof of it.

Cassian came in, awkwardly pausing at the door. His hair was loose around his ears, I hadn’t realized how long it had grown, and he wore a hospital gown similar to mine. A jagged scar ran down his arm, remnants of our time fighting. But he was real. The Capitol didn’t clean him up, his eyes were dark and puffy, hands shaking with the effort of keeping his fists clenched, face hard and set. When his eyes found me, everything in my body screamed.

I tried to get up, to run to him but was pulled back by the restraint. “I- They-”

Cassian crossed the room wordlessly. Leaning over he showed me a scalpel that he had clenched in his fist, as well as a new cut from the blade. It was a swift, smooth movement; the cuff was cut free and my hands were around his neck, pulling him in. He buried his head into my neck, muttering “Little bird” over and over again.

When we finally separated, Cassian sat on the edge of my bed, a hand on my knee. “We won,” he whispered.

“Did we?” My voice still sounded hollow, “Doesn't feel that way.”

Cassian just nodded. He must’ve already gone through the same emotions I had just let out.

“I wanted to see you as soon as I woke up two days ago,” he explained, his eyes on the floor, “To be the first one you see. They wouldn't let me. Instead they made me start prepping for our interview, giving me rehearsed lines on how to discuss the deaths in the Arena as accidents.”

I turned my head away. So that was the plan, to make twenty six deaths look like an accident, a big old whoopsie. It was laughable, but only because I couldn't express anything else. My emotions had run dry, the well was tapped out.

This is why my parents were the way they were. This guilt over surviving when there were so many others that should've. The dark corners they kept lit was to protect the world from the horror they had seen and had been celebrated. It was a reality they hadn't wanted to face, and now one I was forced to face.

Cassian's hand slid up to my face, guiding back to looking at him, “We can't lie. But we can't tell the truth either. What’s the plan?”

I thought for a moment. Looking at him, his bright eyes now back to piercing stared me down.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, “I don’t know what the plan is anymore.”

I was lost, adrift in the ocean of confusion and rage, unable to find something steady to cling on to. The Capitol had stolen so much from me, so much hope, and wanted to turn our pain into a show, a spectacle. They wanted us to pretend we were happy about everyone else's death, a happy little accident.

I looked at Cassian, jaw clenched, free hand that was not touching me wrapped in a tight fist. He was just as broken as I was, but here we were still finding a way to fight. To survive.

But at what cost? To be paraded around? Become polished trophies? To pretend that the ghosts we encountered in the arena didn’t still haunt us? That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what my parents fought so hard to keep us from.

“I’m not going to be their puppet,” I spat out, the venom in my voice surprising me, “They aren’t going to control me, I won’t let them. I refuse to be a poster child for death.”
Cassian’s fingers gripped my hand, a fire building in his face, “I don’t want that either, Little Bird. We can’t play their game, but we could take something from it. We can make them know we are not just survivors, we aren’t their pawn.”

“But we’ll need to be smart about it,” I was thinking aloud now, the thoughts tumbling through, “I’ve seen what the Capitol does to those who don’t follow their directions. I won’t let them hurt us, hurt you. The Capitol may have made the weapon, but they didn’t make the soldiers holding them.”

“So we hold on to them,” Cassian said slowly, understanding what I was saying, “and wait until the right time to fire.”

He leaned in, forehead pressing against mine, and for a moment we just breathed. I took a shaky breath, the weight of everything still pressing on me. The anger, the pain, the grief, it was still there waiting to be released, to explode. The storm inside would need to build, and it would take time. And for the first time, I let myself think about how to actually kill.

Chapter Text

The dress they had chosen for my Victor interview and the after-party outdone itself. According to Venia, when she learned I was in the final four, she got to work immediately, already designing a dress that would remind Panem of what I was. 

The dress was floor length with a slit running up to my waist, a soft shade of silver grey, that shifted it to a silver white as I walked. The bodice was embroidered with fine gold and rusty red colored threaded wildflowers, blooming poppies and thistles. When the light shifted, the flowers seemed to transform into larks flying. There were no sleeves, at least at first glance, but instead I got painted thin rose gold lines down my arms and around my wrists, swirling vines with blossoms. The shoes were the same rose gold, high heeled and laced up my leg. 

My hair was loose around my face, bits pulled back enough to look wind blown. A crescent of silver, rosey, and white flowers crowning me. My make up was simple, just enough to make me seem like I was glowing. Venia had stated that she wanted the world to recognize me, but also see that I am no longer who I once was. 

Cassian wore a rust gold suit, with small bright gold threads running down his arms as well, but they were sewn into the sleeves, rather than painted on. His hair was brushed into loose curls, since he refused to let his stylist cut it anymore than just above his ears. He looked handsome, regal, but at the same time like the blood spilled the arena had seeped into his clothing, permanently marking him. 

We had been deposited in the waiting room that we stood in before, watching the interviews of our teams before we went on as the grand finale. The table was laden with untouched food and drinks. The two of us were sitting on a green velvet couch, at my feet was my guitar. Cassian had his arm across the back of the couch, hand resting lightly on my shoulder as I leaned into him. 

This was our first time being in the same room as each other besides the hospital. When we were finally allowed to leave, we were sent back to the same apartments we were originally assigned. Despite protests from my parents and I, we hadn't been allowed to even see each other until now. So, we were relishing this private moment before we were going on stage before all of Panem again. 

Cassian nodded at the guitar, “You gonna sing another song, Little Bird?”

I made an affirmation into his side, where I had curled up like we did in the arena, “I have one more song to sing before flying off.”

I felt him sigh and shift, “What are we going to say up there? About the accidents?” 

I pulled myself from his side, the cold air hitting me immediately, “The truth.” My voice was plain, forceful, “They try to frame it as an accident, we tell them that it wasn't. They tell us it was a choice, we tell them we were forced.” 

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. 

I curled back up, tucking my feet under my dress. We sat and listened to Hermie asking Cassian’s mentor, some senior Peacekeeper from District One, questions about his training. My parents had already gone, their interview painfully quiet despite Hermie’s best efforts. Cassian’s was going far better. 

“Have you thought about after this?” Cassian asked, “Going home?”

I didn't answer. Of course I had, but I wasn't sure what the cost might be or where home for him was. 

“I’ve thought of it,” Cassian continued, “I think I’m going to go to District Twelve. See that sooty, cozy, place where everyone knows everyone.”

I shot up, pushing on his chest, “Really? You don't want to go back to District One? Be with your-”

“Family?” Cassian raised an eyebrow, but there was a small smile on his face, “What family do I have in One? Everyone I care about is in Twelve.” 

I didn't stop myself when he came in and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him for a breathless kiss, laughing into it. I would never ask him to do that, but I can't stop him if he’s choosing it himself. 

It's his choice, I wasn't going to question it and I wasn’t going to make him change it. 

Saffron found us moments later, me describing to him everything about District Twelve and my brother, the house, and the geese and goats. Cassian listened to my rambling and didn't interrupt, except to cover my mouth when Saffron cleared her throat. 

“Your turns!” Her brightness sounded forced, Like she had already used up all her energy, she led us to the stage, heels clicking against the smooth flooring, “Remember what we rehearsed. Big smiles!” 

We stood in the wings, one of my hands gripped the guitar, the other gripping Cassian’s. Hermie was just escorting Cassian’s mentor to his seat behind the interviewer's seat, where everyone else was sitting. Meanwhile, a couch was being placed for us to sit side-by-side. I sucked in a breath, readying myself. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Hermie shouted, although I felt it was unnecessary due to his microphone, “The winners of the first ever Remembrance Games! Cassian Luxe of District One and Meadow Everdeen-Mellark of District Twelve!” 

We came out hand-in-hand, Cassian saving to the crowd for the both of us. I held the guitar loosely in my other hand, trying my best to muster a proud smile, like I was instructed to do during our rehearsals.

Saffron had drilled us on prewritten lines to help prepare for questions that Hermie might ask. To help explain all the deaths, the Gamemakers gave us lines to feed to the audience. While I had them in the back of my mind, I had no actual desire to use them. And I really wasn’t planning on it. 

We sat on the couch, legs touching. I was closer to the edge of the stage, which made it easier to put the guitar down beside me. Once settled, Cassian threw his hand over my shoulders, and I finally acknowledged the crowd with a small wave and smile of my own. 

As the crowd quieted, Hermie flashed his signature grin, slick and rehearsed. “What a stunning pair the two of you make! And those outfits! Panem, are we seeing this? You are a vision, Meadow! Your stylists have outdone themselves!” 

The audience cheered their agreement, and someone screamed “wedding dress” at us, which I promptly ignored. I gave a small smile of appreciation but my fingers tightened around the skirt of my dress. 

“So,” Hermie leaned forward like he was begging for secrets, “It's been quite a journey. The whole country watched with bated breath. How are you both feeling?” 

Cassian shifted beside me, “It honestly doesn’t feel real,” he said, using one of our only pre-approved that the two of us agreed would be alright to use, “But we’re grateful to be here.” 

I tried not to frown. Grateful .

Hermie turned to me, probably sensing that I had something to say, “And Meadow, the people are dying to hear from you- literally! Like mother, like daughter, eh?” The crowd cheered with laughter at that, his joke at how my Ma wasn’t good in her interviews, “What secrets did your parents pass on to help you?” 

I shrugged, “I guess it just runs in the family.” 

Hermie laughed, “Well, either way. The first Victors of the Remembrance Games! Tell me, has that title sunk in yet? The arena’s behind you, the crown is yours, the Capitol- all of Panem- adores you! What is really going on in your minds?”

Cassian chuckled softly, squeezing my hand. “Honestly, Hermie? We’re still trying to figure out how we managed to make it out of that place in one piece.” 

Hermie kept his grin, but now it seemed forced, pained, “Yes, I am sure that there were some… accidents. Fate? Dumb luck?”

We looked at each other, “What do you think, Cassian?” I asked, “Fate or dumb luck?”

“I think both, Little Bird.” Cassian responded smoothly, “It was messy in there, Hermie, lots of blood. Lots of things that went… wrong.”

Hermie nodded gravely, the smile dropping. “Let’s take a look at that shall we?” 

We turned towards the projected video behind us, where the “accidents” were broadcasted for the world to see. Edited clips of the “accidents”- all carefully sanitized. Fights looked chaotic. Deaths framed as tragic missteps. No mention of monsters. No ghosts. No snakes. Nothing that would cast doubt on the Capitol’s control. Our first kiss, though that was there. But my wounds were cleaned and brushed away. The audience sighed at that.

Then us winning. Nothing else, not even the deaths that didn’t affect us. 

“I’m sure those were difficult to watch,” Hermie said when the screen faded. “But you endured. What helped you through it?” 

“We survived,” Cassian said. “We remembered past Games. We used what we knew. But we didn’t cause those deaths. They weren’t accidents . We just want to know why.”

The audience fell silent at that. Hermie glanced at the cameras and then back at us. We made our accusation live, in front of the whole country. We didn’t need to name who did this, we already knew. Panem already knew. 

“Well!” Hermie clapped his hands, breaking us out of the silence we just put ourselves in, “It made for some excellent television! But you want to know my favorite part? The fox song. Am I, right?” The projected video changed again, to me making the mockingjays sing and us dancing along the path. I just wanted to go back to that one moment, only that moment. Singing and dancing. 

“I spy a guitar on stage,” Hermie continued, “Tell me you are going to give us a song?” 

I grinned at that, “How’d you know?” I pulled the guitar on my lap, angling to face the audience and cameras, “One more song for Panem.” 

Cassian leaned in, helping me set my dress and giving a quick kiss to my shoulder, “Sing them the truth, Little Bird,” he mumbled into my ear, “and make it pretty.”

The lights softened, and the crowd hushed. I played the first notes, getting the guitar tuned. 

I had written the song while I was stuck in the apartment. Words and thoughts stuck in my mind that were itching to get free. The melody came easily, mournful and sad. 

“The battlefield’s quiet, the storm’s rolled away, 

The silence, it has 

Too much to say. 

No drums are sounding

No trumpets did call

Just the shadows and footprints

With their names on the wall.

For when the lark sings, 

She sings for the dead

Perched on the stone with a tear that she shed. 

She weeps without weeping, 

Crying without sound. 

Her song is a shroud, 

for those in the ground. 

She won’t sing for glory, 

Can’t sing with pride, 

She’ll sing for those children 

Who never got wide-eyed.

For hands that went still, the voices now gone, 

For their stories half-written, 

Cut off mid-song. 

For when the lark sings, 

She sings for the lost, 

For the blood that was shed,

At a terrible cost. 

Her tune is requiem, soft as a sigh, 

A hymn for the broken, 

Too stubborn to die. 

She’ll watch the stars with dust in her wings, 

She’ll sing in the dark, 

Though no bell will ring, 

And no one will notice, 

No one will care-

But the lark keeps on singing, cause the weight she bears

So when the lark sings, 

Don’t ask her to stop, 

Her song is the headstone

Where the stories have dropped

She sings for the justice, though there is none-

Cause when the lark sings,

Their names linger on.” 

Silence. 

I wasn't expecting any, I didn't want any. When I looked up, the accusation of their blood being in the Capitol's hands was loud and clear. Damn the consequences, I wanted it known that I was still alive, and I wasn't going to stop . 

For a heartbeat longer the fading echo of the song was all anyone could hear, but then a smattering that turned into a roar came from the audience. Hermie was wiping tears from his face, Cassian’s hand pressed down on my shoulder, pride in his grip. 

“Stunning, Little Bird,” he whispered as I put the guitar back down and faced Hermie once more. 

“That was…” Hermie cleared his throat, “That certainly was haunting, Meadow. Beautiful, but haunting.”

“I did say, I would be loud enough for the ghosts, Hermie.” I reminded him of the reaping, “And there were plenty of ghosts.”

I didn't need to specify who the ghosts were, that wasn’t needed. I smiled slightly, giving away that it was all intentional, our half-lies, our fake confidence. That is a finger, pointing directly at those in charge.

People across Panem, watching from districts and living rooms, wouldn’t just see the Victors. They would see the cost. The loss of their children. The illusion of safety and peace was broken. That song is going to air in schools, in factories, across the Capitol on televisions- over and over again. Rebellion wasn’t always fire. Sometimes it was a song that made people finally see the blood. 

Hermie tried to move on, trying to get the audience to laugh at a joke. 

But it was too late. The ghost of Panem had already started to sing.

Chapter Text

The after-party dropped in Capitol style fever. We were driven to the president's house, where almost anyone who was anyone was waiting for us, glasses of gold colored drinks held in their hands. The whole affair was gaudy and too bright, glittering like a thousand jewels were stuck in one room.

As we walked down the purple velvet carpet that was rolled out to us, the party goers called out our names with forced warmth, hands outstretched as if to touch something sacred- or dangerous. I flinched when one grazed my shoulder, feeling more like an expensive pet than an actual person. Cassian didn't look as uncomfortable as I did, but I could tell the amount of people was a little much.

Personally, I was just grateful that when we stepped off stage, there were no Peacekeepers ready to grab us and drag us to who-knows-where. We seemed to have gotten off easy, our mini act of rebellious behavior brushed to the side. But there was still this underlying murmur, a current pulling along the throngs of people. The Capitol didn’t seem sure what to do with us. Our defiance hasn’t been punished. Not yet. It had been… clapped for.

Well, at least that was the hope.

Inside the president’s home we found a large ballroom, already filled with people. Foods piled high on tables around the room, in rainbow order. Drinks came from a fountain in the center of the room, bright purple and fizzing with lilac bubbles. I planned to stay clear of that. If it was anything like the white liquor in District Twelve, it would be a nightmare tomorrow morning. Music thrummed from invisible speakers across the room, making my blood jump with the beat. I hated it.

Parties in Twelve were a much quieter affair, simplicity being the key. Music was played live on instruments, dancers were wild and free, drinks came from bottles, food was homemade. No one pressed too close or whispered behind your back. No one disappeared into restrooms to puke their brains out just to enjoy more food. I wanted that kind of party, not this.

By the time we had made it in, we had already greeted what felt like millions of people. Their comments about the accidents, my songs, our bravery, grated on my ears like nails on a chalkboard. Their compliments about our “chemistry” and “performance” made my skin crawl. They didn’t know if we were rebels or lovers or Capitol darlings playing the long con. With the loud music and push from the crowds was overwhelming, and I was ready to bolt, run until I got to District Twelve.

“You want some air?” Cassian muttered in my ear, a hand on my lower back. When I nodded gratefully, he guided me through the crowd out through a door that led to a balcony.

He kept pushing us until we found a secluded shadow beneath some vines, away from the crowds and prying eyes. The sounds of the party were muffled in our hiding spot, music now just a hum. Once we were sure that there was no one watching, Cassian pressed me into the wall, lips latching on to me, heated and filled with unspoken need. It felt like he had been holding it in all night. We didn’t need to perform tonight. No Capitol cameras watching our every move. Just us.

I kissed back just as heated, hands clutching his suit jacket, leaving wrinkles as evidence I was there. His breath was warm when we finally parted, steady and comforting against my temple, where he pressed a second kiss.

“I’ve been dying to do that, Little Bird,” he whispered, a chill running up my back despite the warm air.

I rested my forehead against his, “Think we got in trouble tonight?”

“Probably,” I felt his smile, “but let’s be honest, it was totally worth it.” He pulled my chin up, kissing me again. “Tell me a story, Little Bird..”

“A story?”

“Something funny, that's not about this place or the arena.”

I pulled back, tilting my head against the stone wall and looked at him. He was smiling, hands running down my arms, interlocking his fingers with mine, leaning into my body with his. I thought for a moment.

“I told you we have goats right?” I asked, a smile tugging at my lips, when he nodded I continued, “My brother tried to ride one.”

Cassian laughed at that, “Explain.”

So I did. I remember it clearly.

I was maybe 12, my birthday just passed and the leaves were starting to turn into the bright reds, oranges, and yellows that lit up the morning sky. Rye was 10, and I was in charge of teaching him how to handle the goats and the geese. He was pretty good at it, patient and easy going, but always energetic.

We had a herd of fourteen at the time. One of them was a big billy named Acorn. He was the biggest one we had, brown and tan with almost topaz colored eyes. At one point, Rye had seen a picture of a goat pulling a sled in the snow and he wanted to make one of ours do the same.

Rye took one of our cookies sheets and punched two holes in, tying a piece of chord to make a loop for the goat’s chest so he can pull it. Problem was, it was too small. The chord was only long enough to make the tray sit on the back of the goat, not behind it. So, in the afternoon, while we were taking the goats out to graze, Rye attempted his little project.

He slowly approached Acorn, then jumped. He was able to get the rope around the goat, and the tray on his back, but when Rye tried to actually sit on the goat, he took off.

Acron bucked and kicked, throwing Rye all over the place. Eventually, the poor animal made his way to where the geese were grazing and the goat jumped, throwing Rye head over heel, into the flock. The geese were so mad that Rye got pecked and squawked at by the whole of them. When he stood up, he was covered in geese droppings and feathers. The bruises took until midwinter to heal.

Cassian and I were breathless with giggles and laughter. When we recovered he grinned, “I have to see this goat, and then see if Rye would be willing to try again.”

I shook my head, “Acron passed last year. But you can definitely ask Rye to try with Gretchen, she’s much meaner.”

Cassian pressed another kiss on my lips, sweet and lingering. I wanted more, but this wasn’t the place. “I think you and Rye will get along, you two are similar.” I decided.

“How so?” Cassian murmured as his lips made his way down my neck and slowly onto my bare shoulders.

I almost couldn't remember why, my brain was growing fuzzy, “Because you’re both filled with light that I just don't have.”

Cassian pulled back, grabbing my head between his hands, eyes narrowing and his brow furrowed, “You are the brightest thing in my life, Little Bird.”

A hush fell between us, heavy with the weight of his words.

I swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to meet his eyes. I gripped his wrists, but didn't try to pry them off, “You don't know-”

“Are you kidding?” He asked fiercely, “I do know that! Meadow, you don't see it! I see it! I see that quiet fire that you refuse to put out! The way you stand when you're told to kneel, when you stand for what's right, for life, not death. That’s all you! That’s the light that I see.”

My heart clenched. Not because I didn't believe him, but because I did. A dangerous, reckless, absolutely crazy part of me did believe that someone out there could finally see the good in me when all I’ve been putting out there was blood, death, and ash.

It was then that everything dawned on me. These feelings that I had were no childhood crush, no minor infatuation that would pass by as soon as we left the Capitol.

“I love you,” the words slipped from my mouth before I could think.

For what felt like forever, Cassian didn't speak. He just stared at me, eyes searching my face. I could feel myself heating up and turning red, starting to regret what I just admitted.

“Meadow Lark,” Cassian finally whispered, soft and reverent, “You have no idea how much I love you.”

This person, this human being that has seen me at the weakest, the honesty that was in his voice was so clear, so much more than anything can put forward.

I leaned in for a kiss, no urgency, no heat, just simply us being together. A promise, a future that was finally shaping in my mind.

When we finally parted, the noise from the party muffled beneath the Capitol vines, I sighed, “We need to go back.”

Cassian groaned and lowered his head on to my shoulder, “If we could go home right now, I’d throw you over my shoulder and take you there.”

I laughed, a hand going around the back of his neck and stroking the hair there, “Oh come on, I want to try that rainbow cheese, or sparky meatballs, or whatever they're serving up in there.”

He looked up with a grin, “Then let's get you a sampler, shall we?”

I laughed and slipped my fingers through his, pulling him back into chaos.

Chapter Text

When I got back to the apartment my head was spinning. I felt giddy and light. The pain from the heels I was wearing, a faded memory in the back of my head.

Ma and Pa listened patiently when I told them that Cassian was coming back with us, whether they liked it or not. Pa said he wasn't surprised, and welcomed the extra help if Cassian was willing in the bakery. Ma argued he should at least live in another house, just until the two of us were older and the Capitol turned their attention to some other group. Honestly, I didn't care what they thought.

I wanted to build the rest of my life with him next to me.

I spun around when I entered my room, hopeful that the night events would disperse any nightmares that had been plaguing my dreams for just a bit. I wanted to trap this feeling inside me like a rabbit in one of snares. It would be better if Cassian was in the room with me, but we're still not allowed to be in the same apartment.

I was so distracted that when the lights turned on, I jumped at finding a man sitting on my bed, my song book in his lap. My breath caught in the back of my throat.

Gale Hawthorne didn't say anything at first. He just sat, flipping through the pages, half reading them before moving on to the next page. He wore a simple black suit, clean white shirt underneath. His dark hair was neat and cropped in the militaristic fashion from District Two.

“These are good,” he said simply, “Handwriting is messy, but the lyrics are good. Did you write all of these?” He looked up at me. I was struck again with how he could pass as my Ma’s brother, how he could pass as my own blood.

“No,” I said flatly. I didn't like how he was looking through it, it felt too personal, too intrusive, “What do you want?”

He set the songbook aside gently, before crossing his legs and cupping his hands. His face had no emotions, nothing I could read. He seemed cool, collected, and hard, “Your performance out there was inspiring. It really sounded like you learned from your parents. So brave, so honest.” he paused.

“Yet, much like your father, so, so stupid.”

I narrowed my eyes, not enjoying how he was talking about my family, “So what? Sometimes stupid gets the message across.”

“I used to be like you,” Gale stood, crossing the room to look out the window, “I hated what the Capitol stood for, the glamor hiding the blood. The bright lights blinding the death that rolled across Panem. But, now… I get it.”

“Get it?”

“Why they need the glamor, the bright lights, the distraction from all the ugliness that we grew up with. It works surprisingly well. Hold a violent spectacle and suddenly the people remember why we need the Capitol, the point of the control. Sure the people claimed that life was boring, but the reminder was more important.”

He turned to look at me, “I still hate it, but sometimes, we need to do the things we hate… to keep the things we care about alive.”

I sat down. So, here it was, the consequence of telling the truth on live T.V. I was ready for whatever the punishment was. But based on his words, I could tell that I wouldn’t like it. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did I,” Gale said quietly, “Neither did your mother. But truth, in the Capitol, is always dangerous. You reminded them what the Games really are. The people are angry, the rules were broken. Someone needs to beg for forgiveness.”

He paced once, slowly. Calculated. “We need to fix this. Not just for the cameras. For the long game. I don’t want another rebellion, Meadow. No one does. I didn’t become a Gamemaker to build more cages. I joined to decide who gets out of them.”

My stomach dropped, “Where is he?”

“Cassian will stay here, safe and secure- our esteemed guest of the Capitol, cleaning up the mess the two of you made. At least, that’s what Plutarch is telling the President. Whether he actually believes it or not, who knows? But I wouldn’t count on begging them for mercy.”

The air in my lungs was gone, I felt like I was drowning. My body went still, frozen, except for the trembling in my hands.

“No,” my voice was shaking, “No. We won. We did what was asked of us and more. He’s coming home. With me.”

Gale tilted his head, a shadow flickering in his expression, “Winning doesn’t mean what it used to anymore. It’s not just surviving the arena. Now it’s about what comes after. Making sure Panem doesn’t fall in to that endless cycle of burning.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping, “The people believe in you, Meadow Everdeen-Mellark. Real relief stirs rebellion. But if we spin you right- tragic, beautiful, reformed- we can calm them. You’re the antidote. A lullaby.”

“I’m not going to lie-”

“But you already have,” Gale said softly, almost pitying me, “Every smile, every song. Every time you held hands with Casssian in front of the cameras. You’ve been lying since the moment your name was pulled. All I ask is that you keep doing it.”

I stamped my foot, “This isn’t mercy! I am not letting you keep him like some bird in a cage-”

“Better a pet than a corpse,” Gale snapped, patience cracking through, “There are people who are calling for you to get punished, for his punishment. You embarrassed them, reminding them what the Games really are. I’ve talked them out of punishing you, keeping you here too, just because of who your mother is to me. So be happy, take it and leave. Or let Cassian feel the pain of your disobedience.”

My hand clenched, I wanted my bow. I wanted an arrow. A knife to drive straight through Gale Hawethorn’s chest. I wanted to shoot his stupid eyes, his ugly face. But I couldn’t, not if I wanted Cassian to stay safe.

Gale went over to the door, opening it before looking back at me, “Stay obedient. Smile on command. Keep singing, LIttle Meadow, and maybe you’ll have that life you’re so desperate for with him.”

He left, and I collapsed, sobs ripping from my throat. My heart was breaking into a thousand pieces, shattered beyond repair. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. They didn’t need a whip, or a cage, or a threat against my family, they found my leash.

Cassian.

____________________________________________________________________________

It’s been two months.

Two of the worst months of my life.

To the Capitol, my song was simply a song paying tribute to those who died. Nothing more.
To the Capitol, Cassian and I were still in touch, wrapped up in a long-distance love, exchanging letters like we were still just two kids.
To the Capitol, I called him almost every night. We whispered promises. We smiled for the cameras. We healed.

But in truth, that never happened.

I only saw and heard from Cassian in interviews. I could tell that he was reluctant to do them. The lines they were feeding him forced cheerfulness, forcing the Capitol’s agenda. There were times where he was just a body, no voice, eyes vacant, letting his escort talk for them both. Forced smiles, grimaces in hesitations, flinching when a hand moved in the wrong way. He didn’t look like the boy who whispered in my ear during the parade. He didn’t feel like the boy who promised to make me sing.

Pa said he looked drugged. Ma said they were most likely controlling his voice, his words, maybe his thoughts too. Both promised that whatever they did to him, we’d undo it. Somehow.

Ardin’s body was delivered three weeks after I arrived home.

The coffin was plain. Not Capitol-branded or glass sealed. Just raw pine, the kind that rimmed the forest around District Twelve. The kind that we used for fences, houses, kitchen tables. Our district number was etched on the lid, his name below it. The Capitol wasn’t giving him back- they were returning their property.

His mother screamed when she saw it. Loud and cracked, like something inside her was shattering open. She collapsed on the box like she was trying to hold it together, but it was too late. His father didn’t cry. Just kept whispering “Not my boy. Not my boy.” like some repetition could make it true. His brother glared at me as I stood nearby, hands clasped as the cameras soaked in the image in front of them.

When it was over, when the body was ready to be moved, I didn’t speak. I walked past them. Didn’t even stop to offer any condolences.

It should’ve been me in the Capitol. It should’ve been me in that box.

The Capitol planned the funeral. Claimed it was protocol. They even sent me a dress to wear- black silk, too smooth, too expensive. This wasn’t a mourning dress, it was for a show. A costume to wear. The sleeves wouldn’t stay up on my shoulders. No matter how many times I tried to adjust them, they fell back down, like fabric reused to pretend I belonged in it.

Looking in the mirror, I tried to pull up the off shoulder sleeves, to give me some sense of Twelve. My hair was pulled back too tight into a bun, my makeup too heavy. I felt wrong, out of place, owned.

But my eyes were mine. The exhaustion, deep and sunken, those were all mine. The nightmares of ghosts, torture cells, and blood seeped in to my dreams.

I couldn't count the amount of times my Pa would wake me up, because I was screaming. Sometimes I smelled the snakes. Sometimes the ghosts came from the shadows of my room, claiming I should’ve fallen with them. Sometimes I was simply alone, wandering the wastelands of a graveyard.

“You ready?” Rye was in my doorway. He was wearing black linen, not silk. It looked softer, lived-in, like something from District Twelve. Something real.

I wanted to say no, but there were cameras watching for me at the funeral. Wordlessly, I turned away from my reflection and led us down the stairs.

Rye tried. He really did, to bring some sunshine into my world. He would try to tell me funny stories, join me in my mindless wanderings through the woods. He even tried to get me to sing with him. Nothing worked. I only spoke to the birds and ghosts now.

I felt guilty turning my back on him, but how could I pull him into this? I can't let the Capitol get their hands on him too. I refused.

Pa led us all to the burial site. I didn't feel the rain as it fell, though I wasn't sure if it was because the umbrella Rye tried to keep over my head, or if it was because I was too numb. It was lucky I didn't need to smile. I didn't think I plaster even a fake one on.

When we arrived, we stayed in the back of the crowd, hands clasped as Ardin’s family spoke through their tears. Goodbyes were given, dirt was thrown, shovels were used, and then it was done. Quick and efficient. Like they were trying to end it before anyone asked questions.

Once the crowd left, Rye and I stayed.

I looked down at the wet dirt. I didn’t know what I was hoping for. A sign? A voice? A way to believe any of it had meant something?

I don't know what caused me to open my mouth, perhaps the grief of losing innocent lives. Perhaps it was because I wished it was my funeral. Perhaps it was because I felt like a ghost of who I once was, but the song came. Loud against the silent world, soft within my mouth.

“You're headed for Heaven,
The sweet old hereafter.
And I've got one foot in the door.
But before I can fly up,
I've loose ends to die up,
Right here in the old Therebefore.

I’ll be along,
When I finished my song.
When I've shut down the band.
When I've played out my hand.
When I've paid all by debts,
When I have no regrets, right here,
In the old Therebefore,
Where nothing is left anymore.

I’ll catch you up
When I've emptied my cup,
When I've worn out my friends,
When I've burnt out both ends.
When I’ve cried all my tears,
And I've conquered my fears, right here,
In the old Therebefore,
Where nothing is left anymore.

My feet started moving closer to the grave, my body jerky and cold. I turned my face up to the rain, hoping that my voice would carry all the way to the ghosts, to Cassian, to anyone who was willing to hear it.

I’ll bring the news
When I’ve danced off my shoes.
When my body’s closed down,
When my boat’s run aground,
When I've tallied the score,
And I’m flat on the floor, right here,
In the old Therebefore,
Where nothing is left anymore.

When I'm pure like a dove,
When I've learned how to love!

Right here in the old Therebefore,
Where nothing is left anymore.

I stared down at the earth for a long time. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t feel my fingers. The song was over, but I wasn’t finished yet. We weren’t at war yet. But soon.

Because stoot never settled in District Twelve.