Shock and sleep battled over Hazel’s consciousness. Weariness was her needy companion. Despite the fact that her mind could not stop replaying everything Harla said, it wrapped itself around her, whispering in her ear.

If only I could just shut my eyes for a few minutes…

The blaring train horn burst through the cabin, jolting her into alertness.

We must be close. Outside, rows and rows of almost barren corn fields blurred past, along with several harvest-thinned orchards. Mud and earth shaped into neat rows overlaid most of the land like the ground had been braided by a knowledgeable hand.

Dirt-covered countryside stretched as far as she could see. Most of it was plowed with a random scraggly ear scattered about, like the balding head of an aging man who couldn’t quite shave the last few hairs.

As the train slowed, they passed scattered clusters of shacks patched together from dilapidated cheap slabs of wood and rusted sheet metal. Even from a distance, the shacks made the homes of District Seven seem refined in comparison.

Thankfully, Augustus had moved to another car, making the journey between Districts slightly more bearable.

She purposefully ignored him as she stepped off the train. As she did, her group was met by a wave of damp air, heavier and warmer than the crisp, sharp smells of pine and frost she longed for. Her boots sank slightly with every step as she followed her escorts toward the town square.

Although a few rays of sunlight came through the overcast winter sky, the citizens did not seem to take notice.

Cocoa-colored tones covered the District. The same shade coated the clothes, hands, and shoes of the people gathered to meet her. While they did not look as starved as those in District Twelve, deprivation was written in the dirt lines along their skin and the slump of their shoulders.

Without much ado, she was led to the stage in the center of town; the citizens assembled more out of obligation than interest.

In the front row was a young man and woman stood shoulder to shoulder. While too old for the reaping, they were much too young to be Kai’s parents. Behind them were three younger children shielding themselves. Their clothing was humble and homemade. She swore she caught the familiar taupe fabric of Capitol-issued cornmeal burlap.

The oldest girl did not tremble or shake but remained rooted in her place, a picture of Kai clasped in her hands. Hazel squinted at it, chewing her lip. He was a few years younger than when she had met him. But even then, his shaved head made his eyes more expressive and innocent.

She shuddered as she remembered his precious young life seeping from them, along with his blood, forever lost to the arena.

Besides those who were apparently Kai’s family, there was an elderly man and woman. Each wore matching masks of melancholy resignation. The man leaned to the side, a knotted oak cane grasped in one hand. His much shorter wife had her arm wrapped around his middle. It wasn’t clear which was holding him upright more. They gripped a faded photograph of Iris, who looked barely old enough to reap the fields. They, too, didn’t appear to be the right age to be Iris’s parents, but Hazel knew very little about either of her alliance partners or their families.

Tearing her gaze away from them, she refocused on the speech in her hands, licking her too-dry lips. "Citizens of District Eleven. It is an honor to stand here today as part of this Victory Tour. District Eleven holds a vital place in the strength of Panem. Your efforts fuel not only your district but the entire nation…”

Hazel nearly choked on the fakeness, easily gliding over her tongue. Though she had to admit, she was slightly less nervous this time around. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe it was the fact that she already had one of the spectacles under her belt.

The people of District Eleven listened to her speech without complaint. Merely watching on with respectful attention, though it was clear more than one was wary of her. She couldn’t blame them. In that moment she felt more Capitol than ever before.

Augustus’s words from earlier in the morning rang in her ears. ‘You stopped being District the day dear old dad handed you over.’

She shivered, burying the biting words deep, unwilling to give credence to a monster’s observations. No matter how suddenly relevant they sounded.

As quickly as she could, she sped through the rest of the speech, her voice droning in her ears.

“We should all honor the sacrifices needed to ensure our great nation does not slide back into the darkness of the past,” she concluded.

Again, with a few words from District Eleven Mayor Vick Flemming and Indira, the demonstration was over, and she found herself being steered away from the podium. Iris’s family sent her a solemn glance; turning on their heels, they melded into the crowd. She couldn’t blame them.

Augustus hung back, luring the mayor into a conversation that, while quiet, seemed uncharacteristically uninflammatory.

Leo’s voice was in her ear distracting her from her observation of the two men, “Here, let me.” He gripped her elbow as they approached the stairs.

Hazel nodded, allowing him to assist. Glancing back toward the gathering, she realized that Kai’s group had remained. They watched on with mute stares as she descended the platform.

Hazel shot Leo a pleading look, “Can I just?”

Leo’s sigh tangled in her hair like he was expecting as much.

Sable barked out a dismissive grunt. Though she suspected his opposition had more to do with the dinner waiting for them than anything else.

“He just wants food,” Hazel whispered to Leo.

Her guard fought back a smile of agreement.

“The man just appreciates the finer things in life, Seven, like free beer.” Festus interjected. Sable mumbled something but it didn't sound like disagreement.

“You two will get plenty of both. A few more minutes won’t hurt.” Bellona finally answered; her tone was abrupt, but her eyes were filled with understanding. “Make it quick so we stay somewhat on schedule.”

“Yes, let’s not get off schedule.” Indira met Bellona’s gaze. Though it seemed out of place, a flicker of a smile crossed each of their lips.

Leo cleared his throat, “All right, Marlowe, go ahead.”

She didn’t wait around for any further discussion. She strode toward Kai’s family, who greeted her with reserved politeness. Their gazes were wary, though the spark of deep pain was more prominent than their gaunt features.

Hazel cleared her throat awkwardly, unsure exactly how to start, “Hello, I’m...”

“We know who you are…” the oldest boy replied before she could finish.

Right, of course. She swallowed down the sharp edge of her nerves. “What are your names?” she stumbled over the question.

“I am Vetch,” he continued, then pointed to the girl beside him, “This is my sister, Winnow.” Vetch tilted his head to the three younger children behind them. The two boys looked awfully like twins, and the little girl was wearing a matching patchwork dress like her older sister. “That’s Fennel, Sorga, and Plumelle.”

Their irises were slightly varied shades of familial umber, “Are you Kai’s brothers and sisters?”

“Yes,” Winnow replied in a short staccato answer.

Obviously, Hazel. Who else would they be?

The conversation immediately died as they watched her without much more of a response. Her hands itched to tug at her bandage, but she forced them still. Sorga shifted, his small frame leaning just enough to peek around his brother. His curious eyes landed on the garish Victor medal. It was just as out of place as she was.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

She pressed on despite the embarrassment making itself known as it crept onto her cheeks, “Umm, I just want you to know that your brother was very brave.”

“He was a fool,” Vetch replied without flinching.

Hazel blanched. “He… saved Ruby’s life.”

“She died anyway.” Vetch shook his head, his jaw tightening, “Foolishness.”

The bluntness of his reply was jarring, though Winnow nodded in apparent cynical agreement.

“You don’t value bravery?” Hazel asked, perplexed by their responses.

“It’s just recklessness with a fancy name.” He continued, his dark eyes sparkling like polished walnut. “Don’t know ‘bout Seven, but it is only a shortcut to the grave ‘round here.”

“District Eleven has had many brave tributes. Certainly, you don’t think Reaper was a fool?” Hazel remembered the strapping boy with arms as thick as ironwood beams, who looked more man than teenager. He had been the favorite to win his games even though it hadn’t panned out due to a certain songbird from Twelve.

“Reaper,” Vetch repeated, grimness coated his words. “His parents gone and sealed his fate, naming him that. Sealed their own too.”

A cold ripple swept through Hazel’s blood. “What do you mean?”

Winnow grimaced, “What do you think happened to his family after? Or Dill’s?”

Hazel swallowed down a knot in her throat. She hadn’t a clue. Her silence did not deter them. Though the implication was less than comforting,

“At least they could do all the funerals on the same day.” Vetch answered, crossing his arms, his voice dropping, “After they dragged their corpses through the streets, of course.”

His three youngest siblings tightened their grips on their brother while Winnow covered Plumelle’s ears with her hands, “Vetch.” She scolded, though, for the first time, her voice wavered.

“It’s not like we didn’t all see it.” He cast a wayward glance at the peacekeepers, “Or had a choice.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

A dark sensation settled over her heart, along with abject nausea. It hadn’t been uncommon in years past to see a wayward lifeless tribute dragged through the streets of the Capitol …but two entire families? Just because of something their tribute did in the Games? “I didn’t know,” Hazel replied as bile coated her tongue.

“We’re just lucky Kai didn’t do anything to get the rest of us killed.” Winnow said, pulling Fennel and Sorga’s hands into hers, “Not that there are many of us left.”

“Just the day-to-day takes more to the grave than the Games. Between the whippings, infection, or starvin’ despite food being everywhere. It's all arena here.” Vetch’s jaw twitched. “At least our Kai died quickly. Practically a luxury.”

Hazel’s lips parted as if to speak, but the words disintegrated before they could form. Sorry, felt pitifully inadequate.

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and Leo’s voice brushed over her ear, “Better get moving, Marlowe.” Vetch’s eyes narrowed at her peacekeeper guard, and Winnow took several steps backward.

Though quickly, their hardened stares bounced from Leo to something behind her.

“Having another heart-to-heart, are we?” Augustus's deep voice cut through the air.

Hazel itched to grab her knife as she met the man's eyes. Vetch and Winnow moved further away as the new Gamemaker approached. They recognized a predator when they saw one.

“Congratulations,” Vetch commented hollowly, meeting Hazel’s eyes once again. Winnow nodded in silent agreement. Neither was very convincing.

“Thank you,” Hazel all but whispered the sour words. She was even less convincing.

With that, Vetch wrapped an arm around Plumelle, and the group disappeared into the throng of the dissolving crowd.

“No impromptu dinner guests tonight?” Augustus pressed with an arrogant smirk.

“And subject them to your company?” Hazel eyed the man without fully looking at him, as she could practically feel Indira’s dissatisfaction radiating off her. “They’ve been through enough.”

I don’t think they would have accepted.

Dinner at the District Eleven Mayor’s home lacked the theatrics of Twelve. Mayor Flemming was courteous yet detached, his formality more shield than invite. The food was head and shoulders better than District Twelve. The seasonings and flavors were impressive, considering the district's humble means. Layers of earthy spices and bright, vibrant dishes were a welcome change from the bleakness of the day.

Even more welcome was Augustus's choice to remain quiet throughout the night. Disgusted frowns only crossed his features a handful of times as he watched the staff and citizens serve them.

Festus, true to his word, indulged in several tall, dark beers.

As the night drew to a close, Mayor Flemming had his staff prepare a guest room for her. “It’s an honor to host a Victor.”

She didn’t feel like a Victor, but she didn’t argue with the man or refuse his kindness—whether genuine or just strategic flattery.

The accommodations were modest, like everything else in the District, but not uncomfortable. It was a simple room with a utilitarian bed and bathroom. Pictures of flowing fields of golden corn lined the walls, along with lush apple orchards.

Hazel shivered as she ran her fingers over the picture frame. They should have been peaceful images that invoked a sense of country wonder. Instead, she stared forward, waiting for Caleb or Eve to burst from the stalks with blood-cloaked hands or smoke rising from the corn. Worse yet, bodies being dragged behind a churning combine or workhorse.

She pulled the picture off the wall, and her own reflection stared back at her. Maybe if I just turn it around? The opposite side was a solid piece of impressively fine rosewood. Words scribbled along the bottom in hurried, almost invisible writing:

Water, water, everywhere,

And all the boards did shrink;

Water, water, everywhere,

Nor any drop to drink.

She imagined Kai’s bony frame or Plumelle or Sorga surrounded by produce but unable to partake. She twisted it back around. What it must be like to be hungry in the middle of an orchard? How cruel, to starve while surrounded by plenty.

“You good?” Leo’s question pushed reality to the forefront of her mind. Shaking her shoulders, she blinked, hanging the artwork back on the wall.

“Sure,” Hazel mumbled, glancing at the art from her periphery. Pointing a thumb at it, she asked. “Think they would mind if I took this down?”

“So not all right then.” Leo sighed, studying the frame himself. “And I’m not sure they would appreciate you redecorating.”

“Hmmm,” Hazel responded. “Probably right.”

“District Eleven not what you were expecting?” Leo asked, taking a few more silent steps into the room.

“Nothing has been,” she whispered, running a hand through her hair. “You were right about the weather and the food…but...Is what they said about Reaper and Dill true?”

Leo’s eyes dropped to the floor, studying the crooked boards. “It is.”

The look on his face was peculiar. He was reliving something, and she intimately knew a flashback when she saw one. Hazel shuddered. “You were there.”

He didn’t outright acknowledge it, but he didn’t really need to. His jaw muscles twitched in a harsh rhythm. “The Capitol, Dr. Gaul in particular, didn’t appreciate Reaper’s….gestures… during the Games.”

Hazel remembered the way he’d knelt by the fallen tributes, arranging their bodies with weary reverence that was practically outright rebellion. Turning deaths into protest.

It had been brave, undeniably so. But bravery didn’t mean safety. The Capitol’s press had jeered, cataloging his defiance for later punishment. Maybe Vetch wasn't misguided to call it foolishness.

Hazel chewed her lip. How close had I come to something like that? Or my family?

Her body trembled, viscerally rejecting any attempts at imagining the fates of her own family if they had met the same end as Dill's and Reaper's. Leo's face twitched as if he were watching that day all over again. The rawness sent another shiver coursing through her. “How could you stand it?”

“No changing how things are, Marlowe.” Leo didn’t meet her eyes right away. Instead, his chest rose and fell in deep breaths as he contemplated her question. “And you just endure. You do what you have to do… You know…survive.”

Hazel turned back to the cornfield in the painting. She did know. The arena made sure of that. “Things are harsher here, in some ways more than Twelve.”

“This district feeds the nation. The more precious a resource, the firmer the control over it. It is why it has one of the highest peacekeeper rates of deployment.” Leo dug his hands into his pockets, voice dropping, “The stronger the stallion, the tighter the reins.”

Hazel met his eyes once again, and she couldn’t help but feel they weren’t just talking about District Eleven anymore.

‘Who do you want holding the other end?’ Snow’s voice played along the edges of her mind.

“What happens when you outgrow your reins?” Leo merely looked at her as she answered her own question. “You end up dragged to death by the stallion.”

“That won't happen.”

“Reins or noose. Guess it doesn’t matter when the destination is the same.”

His face hardened as he took a step closer, “Marlowe, I promise you-”

Hazel scoffed softly, the sound bitter and raw. “Learn something from me, Drayton… Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Leo crossed the room until she could feel the faint heat of him at her shoulder. “I don’t intend to.”

“Neither did I.” she replied, stepping back away from the painting, away from him. “But here we are.”

His shoulders were tight as logging cables. His hands twitched, as if caught between reaching out or letting her retreat.

Her gaze drifted unwillingly back to the walls. The golden cornfields in the paintings melted into flames and smoke. The wind howled through her recollections, carrying Eve’s shrieks. Her eyes slid closed as she could practically smell burning corn.

"Maybe we should talk about something else," Leo offered turning the frames around so their haunting images were hidden, "Like how your knife skills are shaping up or how long you think it will take until Sable realizes Bellona drained his chocolate stash."

Hazel opened her eyes, the absurdity sobering her. “Sable has a chocolate stash?”

"Had." Leo corrected, the corner of his mouth curling.

A shaky laugh escaped her lips. "I knew I liked her."

Hazel tilted her head as she watched him flip the final painting. “You on night shift?”

“No, Sable. He’s helping Bellona and Indira haul Festus back to the train. Needed both of them to carry him the distance. Too many free beers, apparently. Should be back here in about an hour to take over for me.”

An idea sparked in her mind, sharp and sudden, like a candle bursting to life in a dark, desolate room. She needed a distraction from the horrors that had been packed into such a short period. She scoffed at the imaginary Snow behind her lids. Shouldn’t have given me a handle if you didn’t expect me to use it.

An hour? She could work with that.

“Perfect timing,” Hazel murmured.

“What?” he asked, eyebrows knitting together at the sudden shift in their conversation.

Hazel rummaged through her bag and pulled out the cassette player, giving it a little shake for good measure. “Sounds like the right time and place.” She settled herself on the edge of the bed but allowed enough space if he decided to join.

Leo’s face tightened. “Marlowe…” He began to argue.

“I’m playing it either way, Drayton.” Turning the contraption over, she raised a finger over a button, gazing up at him she challenged, “You in or you out?”