The silence of the sun-bathed hospital room was broken by the slick sound of gauze sliding over skin and a sharp inhale. The strong but familiar aroma of astringent burned the inside of Hazel’s nostrils.

"My apologies, I should have warned you this burns a bit," Dr. Calyx’s hands trembled as he worked.

Her palm stung, but Hazel welcomed the physical pain like a friend over the turmoil boiling in her soul. Thick black stitches decorated both sides of her left hand as he ran cleanser-dampened gauze over them. The liquid bit at the raw skin between the stitches.

His stiff voice cut through the semi-awkward silence again. "There is no infection, and the stitches hold well. But there is still drainage, and the skin is fragile."

Hazel nodded at his words, but he continued to keep his head lowered and stare devoted to her hand. His nervous shifting contradicted the confidence in his voice.

Once he seemed satisfied with the cleanliness of her stitches, he shot up from the bed and left the room. Hazel frowned and tilted her head at his abrupt departure. Was that it? Do I smell or something? Just as she was about to bow her nose to her clothing, the door flung back open.

In Dr. Calyx’s grasp was a sizeable silver case. He paused as he reached her, staring down at the contents within as he tapped the edges sporadically.

Hazel could not help but be curious. "Are you all right, doctor?"

His gaze flitted towards hers before he returned to the box in his trembling hands. He cleared his throat, "Um...I don’t want to offend you, but I was instructed to use these, Miss."

A wrinkle formed between her brows as she leaned forward, attempting to see what he was so concerned about. Dr. Calyx flinched as she moved closer to him. I really need to shower.

Thoughts of personal hygiene died immediately as her eyes met the contents. Inside the box lay rolls of bandages, all in various pink shades. Hazel's heart almost burst. Ruby’s wide grey eyes flashed through her mind. The stitched palm of Hazel's hand felt sticky and warm as her fist clenched.

"I apologize for upsetting you, but please be careful Miss," Dr. Calyx warned in a hushed tone.

“Who asked you to bring these? ” Hazel inquired; her vocal cords felt suddenly parched.

Dr. Calyx glanced at the door before shifting his attention to his shoes. “I am not at liberty to say. But I can leave it open to the air if that is what you prefer?"

Hazel pressed her thumb harder in hopes of drowning out the images playing behind her eyelids. What would be the consequences if he didn’t use them?"No, please continue. Besides, you are right, there is drainage."

The doctor nodded as beads of crimson drops peeked through the stitches. Taking scissors and tape from the drawer, he dropped the case on the bed. Her eyes remained glued to the pink bandages as blood dripped down her hand.

Silence descended as he wrapped the bright-hued material around her palm. Her stomach soured at the bittersweetness of the situation. She was all but forced to use the pink bandages, which made her instinctually want to hurl the metallic crate out the refined hospital windows. On the other hand, she didn’t want to be responsible for whatever might happen to the doctor before her.

“She was a sweet girl. It was a shame to see her pass,” Dr. Calyx whispered again. Hazel’s eyes darted to his face, but his gaze remained fixed on his own fingers, wrapping her palm.

“She…was,” Hazel spoke slowly. It felt wrong to talk about her in the past tense.

“You did everything you could for her, you know. Her injuries weren’t survivable.” He looped another band between her thumb and her other fingers.

Hazel choked on her saliva, “What?”

The doctor tilted his head but continued to refuse to make eye contact with her, “I assisted with the autopsy.” He paused his work, filling his lungs deeply, “Autopsies, actually.”

Hazel’s mouth grew drier while her eyes moistened at the word. Autopsy. She shivered and tried to push away the vile word from her mind.

“My brother?” she didn’t know why she asked it. She couldn’t stop herself.

He glanced at her face for a moment before his gaze dropped. “Yes.”

Hazel bit her lip and closed her eyes. An unbearable feeling welled within her chest like logs were being stacked on her sternum.

“I’m sorry, Miss.”

“Please don’t apologize again, doctor.” Hazel kept her eyes closed, pushing her eyelids closer together as if she could stop the tears by force. “I don’t hold you responsible.”

He looped several more strands of pink bandage before cutting the tape to secure it. " Have you ever considered a career as a doctor?”

The question caught her off guard, and she opened her eyes again. It was a clunky but not entirely unwelcome and obvious redirection.

He continued, “You might think about it. It seems like you picked up quite a lot working at the hospital in seven. You demonstrated a cool head and a steady hand under pressure.”

“Not steady-handed enough,” Hazel replied, wiggling the fingers of her freshly bandaged hand.

For the first time, a smile peeked through Dr. Calyx's features. “Um..right.”

After he had completed the task, he tidied the items quickly, almost franticly.

Hazel suddenly felt guilty, “I apologize for my behavior earlier. I promise I will not attack you or anything."

Dr. Calyx paused, looking down at his hands before finally meeting her eyes. "Oh no, I didn’t think you…it’s not that—"

A loud knock came at the door, followed by a familiar voice calling out before entering, “Hazel?”

The voice warmed her heart as she turned to the door expectantly. A mop of tight curls and wide shoulders met her gaze. Festus Creed strode through the door without waiting for a response. He looked from the doctor to Hazel, and his face grew soft. Behind him, a freshly re-dressed and decorated Indira followed. Both were clad in elegant black outfits with a menagerie of gold embellishments. Gilded high heels clicked against the white tiled floor. Her long braid was woven with matching beads. Hazel’s spine straightened as she watched them walk toward her.

Hazel struggled to her feet; her cast clunked loudly against the tiled floor. Festus scanned her from head to toe before approaching without a word. Pulling her into his chest, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

She froze in place for a moment. It was so surreal to be hugging Festus Creed of all people. Previously, she would not have been caught dead embracing a Creed. But many things were different now, and Festus had been a lifeline for her and Silus. The warmth of his hug brought the reality of the situation flooding back. Her emotions surged to the surface, and her eyes welled with tears as she wrapped her arms around him, returning his embrace. Dr. Calyx quietly left the room with his items without another word.

“I knew you could do it,” Festus murmured. “I knew it.” His voice sounded odd, much less boisterous than she had ever heard it.

She choked on fresh tears, nodding dumbly into his shoulder. They stayed like that for a few moments before Festus pulled away and looked into her eyes. Inhaling deeply, Hazel wiped her tears away. A flicker of emotion crossed his face that she previously didn’t think he was capable of. "I'm sorry, Hazel. Silus was a fine young man. And a true hero." His eyes grew shiny, "I'm so sorry."

Hazel's gaze dropped to the floor, and she shook her head, fighting to control herself. It wasn't long before Indira moved closer to Hazel and grasped her arm tightly with golden-colored nails.

In a soft tone, Indira scolded, "Festus..."

Hazel never imagined she would see either Festus or Indira again. Nor did she anticipate their presence being both comforting and overwhelming. Amidst the reunion, the pain of losing her Silus gnawed at her heart. She struggled to reconcile the reunion with the profound grief that threatened to consume her. They were a bitter reminder of Silus's absence, a void that seemed determined to expand with each moment.

“It’s alright,” Hazel croaked. "Festus is right." She looked at them intently. “He is a hero. You both did everything you could to save him. We all did.” She sighed, wiping away the tears that started to leak. “But Silus was always going to do things his way. I was just too blind to realize it. And not strong enough to stop it.”

Indira took her turn to wrap her arms around Hazel. She smelled of lavender and lilac. The scent was comforting. Hazel buried her face in the soft, shiny fabric of her shoulder, breathing in more of the floral aroma. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I don’t know what to say.”

Hazel gripped Indira for a moment longer before pulling away. She glanced between the only two people in the Capitol who really cared for Silus and herself.

"You don’t need to say anything. I’m the one who needs to thank you both for everything.” Hazel's thoughts swirled as she looked at Festus; more than once, she had been frustrated with him or annoyed. Her heart held bitterness toward him and his family for using District Seven to line their pockets. But now, a pang of regret hit her for not appreciating him sooner.

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Festus tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “I’m not shy about taking credit when I deserve it,” he smiled sadly. “But you held your own out there. “

Hazel looked at him dismissively. “If you hadn’t sent provisions, the notes, the food, the water…I wouldn’t be here... I misjudged you. I couldn’t have asked for a better mentor. You truly are a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Festus. Unexpected in every way we needed you to be. Silus and I were lucky to have you on our side.” Hazel’s voice grew quieter at the last line.

Festus looked down for a moment but didn’t answer, seemingly remembering their last conversation.

“I mean, you could’ve been a little quicker about it at the end there.” Hazel attempted to lighten the mood.

A small smile graced his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked on the verge of saying something further but instead pressed his lips together and again let his gaze drop.

“Kidding, Festus.” Hazel nudged his arm, and he seemed to relax a fraction, but his lips continued to be pressed in a thin line.

Hazel turned to Indira. “I am so sorry about earlier. You were trying to comfort me, and I was…”

Indira held up a hand. “What did I tell you before about apologizing?”

Hazel smirked as Indira wrapped her arm around her shoulders, “No more sorries and thank yous. We have a long day ahead.”

Hazel felt herself instantly sober from whatever medications were flowing through her bloodstream.

Indira scanned Hazel's hair, her lips curling into a wry smile, a tangled red strand caught between her fingers. “I have a lot to do to get you ready. I might have to enlist Festus to help with some of these knots.” It was her turn to try to alleviate the heavy atmosphere.

Festus shrank away, raising his hands defensively. “Oh no, that’s above my pay grade. You girls call me when you’re ready to…” He glanced out the windows. “Go.”

With that, Festus slipped out the doors while Indira winked at Hazel. Peacekeepers streamed into the room, carrying several bags. The totes were brimming with lotions, fabrics, and items that were completely unintelligible to someone from the Districts. Indira rifled through several as she set to work.

Next, Indira helped the limping Hazel into the hospital shower. She frowned as she took in the various injuries decorating Hazel’s body. Though she said nothing, her eyes grew harder. Hazel thought back to Indira’s performances at the reapings, struggling to reconcile that image with the compassionate woman before her now.

Indira assisted Hazel in fitting a plastic bag over her cast. As she watched Indira secure the ties, she murmured, “You’re so different from what I expected.”

Indira paused, lowering her eyes, finishing the last knot in the plastic.

“When you started escorting for District Seven,” Hazel shifted her foot, “I hated you and everything you stood for.”

Indira took a deep breath; a faraway look shaded her eyes, “I understand.”

“But now,” Hazel continued, meeting Indira’s gaze, “I could never hate you. I’m more grateful than you know that you’re here.”

Indira’s eyes softened. “We all play our roles, my dear. And I, too, am grateful that you are here now.”

Hazel gripped Indira’s hand, “I know I’m not supposed to say it, but thank you, truly.”

Indira nodded, squeezing her hand before turning away. “I’ll be out here when you’re done. Better hurry; Festus isn’t known for his patience.” She smiled softly, wiping her eyes, and stepped out.

As Hazel shifted under the hot spray, the water burned as it licked along her left shoulder, where deep scratches still throbbed. The bruises and abrasions all over her body pulsed under the relentless spray, and she could feel the bones in her thinner frame more prominently than before. She flinched as the water met the cigarette burn on her clavicle. The stream of water moved further down, sliding along the cut on her right calf from the spider. The laceration on her palm ached as she tried to shield it from the water. Each injury held a memory more painful than the wound itself.

Her hand gripped the water controls, turning the temperature up. The heat scalded her skin. She let the nearly boiling water drown out the emotional pain with the physical.

Time blurred until Indira’s voice called out, urging her to hurry. Hazel jolted, reluctantly turning off the water. She stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel, and limped back into the room.

Indira's eyes softened as she took in Hazel’s battered, watered-down state. Her skin nearly matched her hair. She said nothing but began to lay out an outfit, pulling out a flowing top, jacket, and thick skirt. The colors were shades of metallic gold and pearlescent white, the stitching intricate and elegant.

Hazel grimaced, “Shouldn’t I wear the colors of Seven? Like Green and Ironstone?”

Indira ran her hand through the fabric. “It wasn’t up to me this time, my dear.” Indira’s wide eyes met hers, and Hazel knew she was in the same position as Dr. Calyx. We all have our roles to play.

Hazel scowled at the clothing. The word costume came to mind as Indira slid the ivory blouse over her head. A high collar was fastened over Hazel’s collar bones, Indira's fingers working the small buttons, the gold embroidery shimmering in the growing sunlight.

Indira next guided Hazel's arms into the tailored ivory jacket. The gold piping along the seams caught the light as she adjusted the fit, ensuring it was comfortable over Hazel's bandaged hand. Hazel flexed her fingers, and the soft fabric settled over her shoulders and arms. She shifted around, almost enjoying the feeling of the material over her sensitive skin. Almost. Actually, enjoying anything seemed perverse.

The skirt came next, layers of ivory tulle and satin rustling softly. The golden thread plaited into the hem sparkled subtly with each movement. Indira straightened the skirt, making sure it fell perfectly.

A braided metallic belt followed, sinched snugly around Hazel's waist. Indira knelt to fit the ankle-strap sandal to her right foot, ensuring it was snug but not too tight.

Dainty gold-plated earrings hung from Hazel’s ears. Indira clasped a simple golden bracelet around each of her wrists. They were stunning, but she shuddered at how similar the sensation was to handcuffs. How symbolic.

Indira paused as she frowned at Hazel’s left hand and muttered something about the colors clashing.

Hazel shrugged, “It wasn’t my choice either.”

Without pressing further, Indira moved behind Hazel to style her hair. She gently combed through the strands to remove any knots, whispering gentle apologies when Hazel winced. She gathered the top half of Hazel’s hair and secured it in a twist, letting the rest fall in soft waves down her back. She wove in a few delicate braids intertwined with gold threads.

Finally, Indira stepped back to survey her work. Hazel caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and felt her head spin. Her features appeared sharper, almost as though she had aged years in just a few days. Despite the cast and bandages, the luxurious fabrics and delicate details had transformed her into the spitting image of a Victor. Any weariness was barely noticeable, drowned out by the elaborate pearlescent and gold outfit. Outside the pink bandages and the dim, rosy skin around her eyes, nothing about her looked like she came from the Districts. She appeared to be the epitome of a Victor, but Hazel felt like anything but.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, her reflection conjured memories of a bride. In some ways, it wasn’t that far-fetched. A shiver shook her bones. Her life was now permanently sealed to the Capitol.

Indira cleared her throat, and Hazel noticed she had shifted her focus to the items on the bedside table. Her gaze lingered on the mangled card. Hazel met her eyes as she pulled it away from Indira’s scrutiny and tucked it in her pocket along with Grace’s coin. Indira gently picked up the necklace, gazing at the purple, orange, and gold gemstone. It glittered mysteriously as she turned it over. In the center of the pendant, a dull, triangular chip marred its surface. Hazel shivered as she stared at the blemish.

“You might need this now more than ever,” Indira commented lowly as she looped the necklace over Hazel’s head.

“I’m starting to learn that you are usually right,” Hazel replied, tucking the gemstone under her shirt. The familiar weight settled against her chest. Under all the layers of fabric, it was invisible. “And I’ll take any luck I can at this point.”

Indira then stared, puzzled, at the gilded rose. “Huh,” she mumbled, raising it to the light. It was even more brilliant in the daytime.

“I should probably take that with me,” Hazel commented, glowering at the flower.

Indira massaged one of the metallic petals, and the deep frown returned. “What did he say to you, Hazel?”

“He congratulated me on my victory.”

Indira’s eyes met hers, and there was a starkly serious look on her features. “What else?”

Hazel swallowed, unsure how much to share. Snow had not clarified that part. She decided to stick to what Indira already knew: “To continue to feed into the rumors.” Hazel leaned forward and took the flower from her grasp, “ To follow his lead.”

Indira bit her elegantly painted lip but said nothing but continued to analyze Hazel’s expression. Hazel squirmed under her concerned observation. She wished to tell her everything, but fear chained her tongue to the roof of her mouth. I want no more blood on my hands.

“I hope everyone is decent. I’m coming in.” Festus suddenly emerged through the door. A smile was spread across his lips as he carried a set of golden-plated crutches and pushed in a matching wheelchair. “It’s time, girls.”

“You can’t be serious.” Hazel scoffed as she stared at the gaudy abominations. “I have to use those?”

“Doctor’s orders. No walking on that left foot for six weeks. Besides, they match your rose,” Festus replied, an innocent expression on his face. He waved his hand up and down her form, “And all of this.”

“Festus is quite right. You must not walk on your left ankle due to the fracture for six weeks.” Dr. Savi entered the room, the silver stethoscope still snaked around his neck.

Hazel stiffened and gripped the rose tighter.

He approached her bed, a clipboard between his hands. He balanced a pair of reading glasses on the bridge of his bulbous nose, examining the documents before him, “Your concussion should be resolving, but you may still experience some lingering symptoms for a while, such as latent dizziness, headaches, and possibly some nausea. The stitches will need to be removed in ten days. All of the rest of your injuries will eventually heal, given time.”

She scoffed internally. Not all of her injuries would heal—not ever.

Dr. Savi continued, “Dr. Calyx and I will be out to visit you in a couple of weeks to assess your condition.”

Hazel's eyes widened at this. “Is that really necessary?”

Dr. Savi gave her a measured nod, though his tone left no room for argument. “We need to ensure you’re recovering properly.”

Dr. Savi closed his clipboard, his expression softening slightly. “I wish you well, Miss Marlowe. It has been a pleasure caring for you.”

Doubtful. Hazel felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, but she managed to nod. “Goodbye, doctor.”

His eyes wrinkled at the edges, “We’ll see you soon, young lady.” With that, Dr. Savi turned and exited the room.

Festus shifted back and forth on his feet while Indira shared a look with him. Hazel ran a palm over her forehead; the first tendrils of a headache began to pulsate behind her eyes.

“Are you ready, dear?” Indira asked, resting her hand on Hazel’s shoulder. Hazel wanted to scream "no." She felt anything but ready, and she longed to have Silus's presence by her side. What other choice do I have?

“What’s going to happen?” Hazel asked, studying the glittering rose in her hands, pushing the pounding in her head to the back of her mind.

Festus replied, “We’ll be escorted from here to the center of the Capitol, where the parade will officially begin. The parade will pause at the grounds of the old arena. The people of Panem, The Gamemakers, and the other victors will be there to congratulate you. The Gamemakers will give a speech, as will President Ravinstill. And then you will be awarded the Victor’s medal.”

Hazel’s grip tightened on the rose as she absorbed the information.

Festus continued, “And you'll need to say a few words as well.”

Hazel closed her eyes and filled her lungs as deeply as she could manage. What could she possibly say?

“From there, you will be escorted to the train station, where you will be taken home.”

Hazel’s eyes shot open. “What about Silus? Senator Snow promised he would let me see him.”

“You will. After,” Indira whispered, exchanging another look with Festus.

Hazel chewed on her cheek and spun the rose in her hand. “I’m ready.”

Indira helped her to her feet while Festus slid closer with the elaborate wheelchair. “Your chariot awaits,” he commented, handing the crutches to Indira.

Hazel sank into it with a roll of her eyes as Festus grabbed the handles. Her expression grew hard as she assessed the stark white room. It would be too soon if she never saw this place again for the rest of her life.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Festus called as he wheeled her out the door. The word show felt highly appropriate; fresh nausea soured in Hazel’s stomach, but it wasn’t because of the concussion.