The night air was thick with the humid scent of approaching rain as heavy oak doors shut with a dull thud behind her.

"Come for a drink, my girl?" A strained voice called out from the darkness. Hazel flinched, spinning toward the nearly pitch-black yet vast dining room, crutches squeaking against the burnished floors. It was identical to the one she had just watched her mother cook in. But instead of the warmth of Fern, a vague chill permeated it, and the streetlights bathed everything in a sallow haze.

"You have never been good at sneaking. Must've gotten that from your mother."

Heath lounged in the dimly lit room, twirling a bottle in his hands. Two tall wine glasses sat on the table before him. He's been waiting for me.

"Maybe we could share the bottle; you've earned it after all," Heath said, tilting his head as his green eyes shone like murky emeralds.

"I don't want a drink."

"Should've guessed." His scrutiny shifted from the bottle to Hazel. "Come to apologize then?"

She had to fight the urge to hurl one of her crutches at him. It was as if pure audacity flowed through the man's veins. "No."

Heath feigned looking over her shoulder, "You didn't bring your little peacekeeper friends with you?"

"We're going to talk, just me and you. I deserve to hear it from my father."

Heath leaned back in the refined dining chair, the wood creaking under his weight. "And what exactly do you think you deserve, Hazel?"

"I want to know what the actual hell is going on. I expected evasion from Senator Snow and the people in the Capitol, but I hoped my own father would have the decency to tell me the truth."

"You want the truth, do you?" His voice was deceptively calm as he set the bottle down on the table. "Ask your questions. Let's see how much you really want to know."

Hazel sucked in a deep breath as the gentle melody of rain began its song against the dining room windows.

"Tell me about Silus."

"Your dearest stepfather brought that on himself, I'm afraid." Heath let out a harsh exhale. "Silus was reaped by the seeds his father sowed. Once the Capitol learned of his... habits."

Hazel squinted, "I'm sure how they obtained such information is a mystery."

Heath didn't flinch at her sarcastic tone. "Oren put all of District Seven at risk with his recklessness. Talking to other districts? Pushing back on quotas and Capitol orders? He was asking for trouble, and he knew it. The Capitol was bound to take notice sooner or later. I just pushed the needle toward sooner."

"How did you even know all of that?"

Heath tilted his head, features filled with taunting arrogance. "Why? Looking to go into the family business?"

"You're barely lucid on a good day." Hazel bit back.

"Let's just say it's amazing what people will tell you when they've gotten a few drinks in them."

"So, you fed them information, and they took Silus as punishment."

Heath leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the bottle. "Essentially, but it's more complicated than that. Oren was getting too bold, too influential. Everyone knows the Capitol doesn't tolerate people like him—they make examples. So, yes, I gave them the information they needed. Better to cut off the diseased, wayward hand before it poisons the rest of the body."

"How noble," Hazel muttered.

"The Capitol needed to be reminded that District Seven knew its place, and Oren, that he wasn't untouchable."

"Why not just punish Oren directly?"

"You know better than most that in our world, we pay for the sins of our fathers." Heath glanced at the raindrops seeping down the windows, "And our debt comes due annually. Hanging Oren would make him a martyr to his sympathizers. Instead, the Capitol has made him an example, a warning." Heath tilted his chair back, "A man with a wife, children, and so much to lose should've been more careful."

"And what about me?" Her voice quivered.

"What about you?" Heath pulled his stare away from the rainstorm.

Hazel scoffed, "Dad..."

Heath paused, the silence between them stretching until it was uncomfortable. His eyes flickered to the bottle of whiskey before he finally spoke. "I was aware that....... you would also be chosen."

"Unbelievable." Hazel's heart pounded, syrupy revolt rising in her throat. Outside, the rain's gentle melody had transformed into a steady strum. "Why?... How?.... You knew?"

Heath's voice dropped to a cold, measured tone. "I was approached with a two-part offer. The first was that if I gave the Capitol the names of those who were communicating with Oren outside of District Seven and reported his misdeeds, they'd make sure Oren received the proper punishment."

Her temples throbbed as she soaked in his words. Bile rose in her throat, and she clenched her teeth so hard she feared they might shatter.

He cleared his throat, the sound grating in the tense silence. "And second, they told me that you would be chosen in the Reaping." Hazel's head spun at his words, and she wobbled on the crutches as he continued, "Your selection would make it less likely that anyone would suspect I was the one who gave Oren up to the Capitol. My disgust for the man isn't exactly a secret. Not to mention, they offered to double the upfront sum for my cooperation if I agreed to both parts of the deal."

The air seemed to thicken, pressing in on her from all sides, and she felt as though she were drowning. For a moment, she was paralyzed, the world spinning around her as her mind struggled to comprehend the full extent of his words. "You...what?" Abject horror tightened its grip on her heart, and her eyes grew wide and glistening. "You let them take me for money...and to protect yourself?"

"Not entirely," Heath continued, "There was another part of the arrangement."

Tears stung Hazel's eyes, "What could that possibly be?" My father—my own father...bartered my life like a commodity.

"They promised to make my daughter a Victor."

Hazel stared at him, "What?"

Heath stared right back, an almost smug smirk on his face. "A Victor, Hazelbug. They said they would do their best to ensure you came out on the other side of the Games."

She almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity. "And you believed them? Has the whiskey finally pickled your brain?"

"Watch it." Heath hissed.

She pressed a fist to her forehead, struggling to breathe in the stale air. "I watched those tributes, some of them my friends, die in front of me. Silus bled to death in my arms." Her hands shook, as did her voice, "I... killed, Dad."

"Yes," Heath tapped his chin. "All of that comes with the territory, I'm afraid."

"I could have died in that arena myself. I almost did. There is no way they could have promised that I would have been the Victor. What kind of fantasy world do you live in?"

"You can't be that naive to think the outcome of the Games hasn't been tampered with before."

Hazel swallowed; after everything she knew about the Capitol and the Gamemakers, she couldn't argue that it was a possibility.

"And look at where you are right now, where you are standing, where your precious little family is undoubtedly sleeping peacefully in Panem's finest linens while you stand there arguing with me. Who here is really living in a fantasy?"

"Just because I got lucky enough not to be slaughtered, that doesn't change anything."

"Do you really believe that it was simply luck on your side out there?" Heath questioned, running a finger over the lip of one of the glasses.

What? A shiver of disbelief ran through her. Her body shook as she seethed, "Stop playing games with me."

"No, my girl, let's play," Heath leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His words were harsh and bitingly sweet, "You wanted the truth. Use your brain, Hazelbug. Think. Think hard. You really didn't suspect that the odds were stacked in your favor? Or did you genuinely believe you were just that special?"

Hazel scowled at him, tears pricking at the backs of her eyes, "What are you talking about?"

"Do you honestly think those other tributes really came up with the idiotic idea of escaping the Castellan Manor on their own?" Heath's eyebrow arched as he watched her.

The tributes from Districts Three, Six, and Nine appeared in her mind. They were gathered by the fireplace, whispering, while the peacekeepers left them to themselves.

"And the means to do so just happened to end up in their hands?"

She shivered as she recalled the sensation of her spine jarring against the unforgiving surface of the refrigerator while Caleb's dark eyes taunted her as he retrieved the pills from her pocket.

"A quarter of the tributes were handcuffed when the starting bell rang. They never got their interviews. They had no sponsor money to speak of. Never stood a chance. It certainly gave the rest an advantage, wouldn't you say?"

Hazel's head spun, the memories of the Games whirling through her mind. It wasn't outside of the realm of possibility for the Capitol to first create rulebreakers and then punish them for the actions they were coerced into making.

"And what about the rumor that you were spared punishment despite having contraband found in your room?" Heath's voice cut through her thoughts.

"How do you even-"

"Why weren't you handcuffed with the rest?"

Her vision flashed. Leo's screams pierced her skull. Percy's voice reverberated around her-I should leave these on you. And that 'brother' of yours. You both deserve to suffer as the others have... They would have my head if I did. Or maybe my tongue.

She turned away from him, fighting the angry tears that burned her eyes. "Leo took the fall for me. He accepted the punishment in my place."

"Sure, he did, out of pure chivalry, I'm sure. The same one-eared peacekeeper who is now one of your personal bodyguards?" Heath raised an eyebrow at her, "What a coincidence." He spun the bottle in his hand, "And the girl from Nine? Grace, was it?"

Hazel rubbed at her eyes, "What about her?"

"She gave you that coin, didn't she? How did she know you'd be alive long enough to take it back to her district?"

"She was dying and not in her right mind." Hazel glared at the bottle and glasses.

"Hmmm. Those on death's door are the most honest. Think. What else did she say?"

Grace's voice quivered as she pleaded, her words barely audible. "Hazel, it's not what it seems."

"I wish I could explain it," Grace murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could help you understand why..."

Hazel pushed away the memories as Heath watched her with a curious expression on his face.

"You remember, don't you?"

"She aligned with Caleb and District One."

"Exactly. Why would she give it to you?"

Hazel scowled in confusion.

Heath's expression twisted. "What a disappointment. I thought you were smarter than that, my girl. If they were willing to incentivize me, I'm sure it wasn't hard to do the same to them, especially after the escape attempt. It wasn't like they were going to be allowed to survive the games anyway, and they knew it. A buffer between you and the tributes who were trying to actually win couldn't hurt."

"If I were to believe you. And I'm not saying that I do. Then, apparently, they underestimated how much buffer they would need. Or do you have some way to explain Ian Threader, too?"

Heath tapped his chin, "That urchin from Eight? He was a bit of a wildcard. But he did take out his district partner before the games even began while condemning himself. I figured he eliminated two more from the competition."

Her eyes burned as she stared at her father, "He nearly eliminated me, as well."

"That was a close call, I'll admit."

Close call? It was the grossest understatement she had ever heard. She could almost feel the knife against her skin once again or the raw vulnerability of being a breath away from death. Hazel pressed a hand to her forehead, praying the pressure would anchor her to the present.

"You definitely owe me for that little rescue."

Hazel's eyes hardened, "Silus rescued me. Not you."

"Call it a team effort if you want. Besides, I'm sure they would've found a way to save you."

"I doubt that."

"From my understanding, they had a contingency plan prepared for various scenarios. It seems that even dear Silus had one. I thought if anyone were going to be the toughest challenge, it would have been him. But hell, If I had known his plan, I might have just let him in on all of this from the start."

Hot, simmering anger spiked through her chest. She bit down on her lip, the urge to pelt him with her crutches growing stronger. "Don't. You don't deserve to say his name," she growled.

Heath raised his hands in surrender, "Well, it is a hell of a lot of luck if you ask me. Was it guaranteed that you would survive the Games? No, but the deck was stacked in your favor from the beginning. We just had to hope you didn't muck it up."

The pieces of the nightmare were starting to fit together in a way that made her stomach turn. "What kind of father are you?"

Hazel flinched as Heath slammed his palm against the table at her words, the glasses quaking. "What kind of daughter abandons her father?" Heath glared.

"Abandon?"

"I was wasting away in that shack. Not that you and your family cared or did much to help me. I doubt any of you went a day without food in your bellies. What do you know of hunger pangs so strong they keep you awake at night? Or have you ever been so cold you were sure your toes would freeze off ?"

How could he say that? "I did; I brought you what I could."

"Scraps. Not enough to keep me alive for long." His voice was laced with a razor-sharp bitterness, "I had to do something, and all of this made sense. If you became a Victor, you'd be set for life; we all would. No more worrying about money, food, housing—anything. And if you didn't make it... you'd be immortalized like Cedar. Forever young, forever remembered. You'd be saved from the heartache of life, the disappointment that comes with the mundane existence in this useless district. And either way, Oren would have finally gotten what has been a long time coming."

Hazel turned her attention to the ceiling. Her brain wrapped around itself, trying to make it all make sense. "After Cedar... how could you?"

Spittle flew from Heath's lips. "You don't understand what it's like to lose everything. To watch your life crumble around you while you're left with nothing."

"You told me you hated the Hunger Games. So you fed me to the same wolves who killed Cedar?"

"Don't you get it? The enemy of my enemy, Hazel." Heath's chest heaved, "If you survived, we'd all be better off. And if you didn't... at least you wouldn't have to suffer like I did."

A sharp, biting laugh escaped Hazel's lips. "You think I don't know about suffering? I am more than acquainted. Thanks to you. And thanks to...." Hazel paused, "Who....who made the offer to make me a Victor?"

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Heath's gaze flickered again, but he remained silent, his fingers tightening around the bottle.

Hazel pressed him, desperation rising in her voice. "Who was it, Dad? Senator Snow?"

Heath leaned back, tapping his chin before letting out a long breath, "I'm not going to spoon-feed you. Use that brain of yours, my girl."

Hazel could feel the truth lingering in the periphery of her mind. It was elusive, like a word on the tip of the tongue or the strange familiarity of déjà vu. It was there, taunting her just out of reach. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Concentrate. A flash of lightning streaked across the darkness behind her closed eyes.

Ian's eerily calm voice cut through the howling wind, " I refuse to let those butchers get what they want."

"So, you became a butcher yourself?"

He snorted and shook his head. "I might have blood on my hands..." At that moment, the ground shook as another crack of lightning streaked across the sky above them like electric branches of a tree. He smirked up at the sky before his gaze returned to her, "They are bathing in it."

"If he knew what I know, he would have killed you long before I ever had the chance."

Hazel's chest palpitated, and she stumbled back from Heath, pressing her fist to her forehead. Heath intently studied her, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper, "Come on."

The beating of Falcon's wings approaching chilled her to the bone.

Hazel locked eyes with Caleb. "I'm testing a theory."

"You think you know everything, but you don't. You don't even know a fraction."

Lucky's piercing voice flowed around her, "Oh, my dear girl. Who do you think sent the last bottle of water?"

Warm blood trickling over her palm brought her back to the present. Red soaked the crutch handle as the heavy rainfall drummed its violent song against the roof.

"Augustus Trask." The name slipped from her lips like a curse.

Heath cracked a wicked smile, "There she is. I knew you couldn't have been totally oblivious."

"He was District Two's mentor. His tributes came the closest to killing me."

"Close is the key word. Friends close and enemies closer, my girl." Heath chuckled to himself, "I bet he was squirming when you practically forced his hand."

"I thought maybe he had made a bet on me, not this..."

"The safest bet is one you control." Heath's voice was calm, almost unsettlingly so.

Hazel glowered at him, "Why?'

"Above my pay grade. Trask has always been a man who keeps his secrets to himself. He knows how to work the angles and relationships, and he's got an unusual talent for gambling. I mean, he must have been successful in his aims; he's a Gamemaker now."

Hazel's voice shook with disbelief. "How long has my father been a Capitol puppet?"

Heath's mouth twisted into a sneer. "That's rich coming from you. You don't honestly think I survived all these years on a couple of coins and flats of berries every three days, do you?"

"Right, because all the money I brought you went right to food."

Heath scowled at her and let go of the bottle he had been toying with. "How long really doesn't matter. What does is that for your sake and for my own is that my line of work wasn't completely outed in front of the entire country. Thankfully, they cut the Game's feed before you, and that brat from Ten could give me up during your little fireside chat. Probably have a certain Senator to thank for that."

Snow. A white rose with soft petals. A card with flowing script. The odds are in your favor. Until we meet again. -CS

Hazel's voice trembled as she pressed on. "What about the Senator?" Her heart pounded as she met her father's eyes again.

Heath's finger froze on its lazy circle of the cup's mouth. "That is a question for Augustus Trask and Senator Snow himself. I was never privy to the details of the Senator's interest. Though it is clear, he definitely has that in spades when it comes to you."

Hazel shook her head, studying the rain now pelting the window of his dining room.

The luxury of the Pantheon swirled in her vision. "Do you always dance with tributes?" Hazel inquired as they swayed to the music, very conscious of her palm resting on his shoulder while his hand remained at her waist. Hazel was keenly aware of the many eyes on them, both in the room and through the ever-present cameras. "It might appear odd and like you are displaying favoritism," she added, keeping her tone measured.

Snow adjusted his hand on her waist as they continued to dance, his touch firm but not overly familiar. "No, not typically. Maybe you are just lucky after all," he replied. She couldn't help a small scoff from escaping her lips. One corner of his mouth curled at her reaction. "In reality, I was just saving you really from embarrassment and public scrutiny with whatever was going on between you at Aaron Shepherd," he said.

"So favoritism then." She concluded.

"Something like that, I suppose," Snow replied with a knowing smile, and they continued to move to the music. Hazel struggled to keep up with the intricate steps, her nervousness getting the better of her. She wished she were dancing with Ruby; it was far less pressure and intense. "It also might be that I have a bet on you winning."

He knew from the beginning.

Heath let out a long sigh, "They play their games, Hazelbug. They always have. And they always will. Snow's interest in you wasn't something they discussed with me, but if anything, it was a bonus. A tribute with a direct connection to the Senator? A Gamemaker, no less? Quite the advantage if you ask me. And it seems he has no intention of severing it anytime soon." His attention returned to the bottle as a roguish smile crept over his lips. "You know, I'm proud of you. You played along well."

Hazel's voice withered, "I didn't intend for any of it. I didn't ask for this."

"Really?"

"I did it for sponsor money. So I could save Silus."

"Is that all? Your interviews, your comments in the games, hell, you even saved the man's life. I mean, the whole country knows you were dreaming of him, for god's sake."

Hazel's pulse skipped a beat as she whirled her attention back to him.

Heath smiled as he watched her bewildered reaction. "Ever since you were a little girl, you've been a sleep talker."

Hazel wiped a hand over her face. Her cheeks burned against her fingers. "Those weren't dreams. They were nightmares."

"Are you sure there isn't more to it than that?" Heath tilted his head, tapping his temple, "Unless, of course, you actually developed feelings for him in that short time?"

Hazel froze, her breath catching in her throat as the heat spread down her neck.

"Hmmm. Don't be ashamed of playing the game, my girl. Would've done the same myself if I were in your shoes. I made my decision. You made yours. And here we are. Fight it all you want, but you can't change the past. You have the protection and support of one of the most powerful people in Panem. And now, you will spend your days in unparalleled comfort. You ought to be grateful for that."

Grateful?! Hazel's voice escalated with each word. "Are you kidding? You would have me thank you for betraying me?"

"Did you not betray your District? The masses are too blinded by the spectacle to realize how you have turned your back on them. But I assure you, not all are so deluded. Some truly see what happened, and they see who you really are. You are kidding yourself if you don't recognize that you have all but aligned yourself with the Capitol. Not only that, but you have also intertwined your life with a man who grows more powerful and more dangerous by the day, on television no less."

Hazel glared at him as he continued, "You've embedded yourself with our oppressors just as much as I have. Don't pretend you're any better than me when you were willing to play the game just as much as I did."

"Willing?" Hazel nearly spat the word at him, "You can't compare what I had to do with what you chose to do. And I wouldn't have even been in that position if you hadn't put me there."

"I knew you'd come out stronger. And look at you now, Hazel. You're a Victor. You've got power and influence. You may have been ordinary before, but not anymore. That girl is gone. Embrace what has happened. We both played the game, and we both made our choices."

"I don't want to hear it. Don't you dare sit there and act like we are the same. I would have given my life to save Silus, but you... You sold out—sold me—your daughter for drinking money, a house that doesn't smell like a dumpster, and some twisted sense of revenge."

Heath's eyes grew as cold as emerald ice; leaning forward, he jeered, "You're damn right. I was living in that dumpster because of him. Oren took everything from me—my wife, my home, my daughter. I wasn't going to let him keep walking around living the life that should have been mine."

Tears burned trails down her face. She swiped at them as her voice grew louder, "Oren didn't take anything from you. You did that all on your own. He isn't living your life. You discarded it. You alienated Mom while you marinated your feelings in liquor. And he didn't take me from you. You pushed me away. No matter how much I wanted it to be different."

"Even now, you defend him. I am your father, or have you forgotten?"

A distant rumble of thunder echoed through the house as the rain persisted. Something inside Hazel ignited as if her very heart had caught fire. Hot sparks coursed through her limbs.

"You're the one who's forgotten! Forgotten that you didn't lose everything—you had me. Everyone else left you, but like an idiot, I stayed. I was there. I helped you home when you were too belligerent and drunk to stand. Cleaned you up when you were covered in your own vomit. Grieved with you every year on Cedar's death anniversary. You're so wrapped up in your own victimhood that you've been blinded—blinded to the fact that I've always been right here. Did you not realize that all I ever wanted was to be your daughter?" Her voice wavered, tears streaming down her face, "And for you to love me?"

Heath crossed his arms, tilting his head. All warmth drained from his face, leaving behind only hollow, self-righteous indifference, "Could've fooled me."

Hazel nodded in disbelief, squeezing her eyes shut. Her breaths came in short, angry bursts as her mind drifted to a memory that felt like it belonged to someone else. She was perched on her father's shoulders, her tiny hands gripping his auburn hair. Along with Cedar, they strolled through the winding woods. Cedar excitedly recounted his day at work, chattering on about how he would sneak away to work on his carvings instead of logging. Heath's laughter was deep and warm, and as Hazel gazed upon him, his jade eyes sparkled with unbridled joy. In that moment, he embodied everything she loved about him. The world felt complete, just as it should be.

But that man, the father she remembered, was gone—he had morphed into the monstrous person before her. Devoid of warmth, a mere shell of who he once was. As absent as Cedar, perhaps even more so.

Tears spilled over her cheeks and lips. She wiped at her mouth; something warm and thick coated her skin. Blood, her own. She let out an incredulous sound as she nodded, glancing at his darkened, luxurious, empty home.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I should thank you." Heath watched her warily. "Thank you for making me realize how delusional I've been. Thank you for showing me that you're incapable of loving anyone but yourself." She moved closer, tears streaming down her face. "After Cedar passed, I held onto the hope that one day my loving father would return. But it's clear now that the man I knew died with him in that arena." She took another unsteady step forward, their matching eyes locking in the darkness. "You should be grateful he isn't here to see what you've become."

Heath rose to his feet, swiping the bottle and glasses off the table with the back of his hand. They careened to the floor between them and shattered. The smell of alcohol exploded into the air, along with shards of glass that coated the flooring.

Her heart raced as a memory slammed into her mind with the force of an axe. She tried in vain to push the haunting images away. Glass shattering on a glittering gold surface. The sound of falcon wings, the rush of wind as Caleb was dragged into the night. She screwed her eyes closed. Not now. Rosemary. What color is the sky?

Heath's seething, dark voice called out to her, "What now? Going to kick me out of Victor's Village? Ashamed of dear ol' dad, are we? Not that I'm surprised. Wasn't good enough for your mother either."

Hazel's chest heaved as she opened her eyes. He stood there, breathing heavily, fists clenched at his sides, glaring at her.

She had always known her father was deeply flawed, but this was beyond anything she could have imagined. She had forgiven him so many times before, excusing his behavior and rationalizing his decisions as the consequence of profound loss and trauma. But this—this was too much. He had blood on his hands. Silus's blood. Precious blood. Irreplaceable blood. Silus was gone because of her father, and no amount of forgiveness could ever change that. Snow's words echoed in her ears: It's the things we love most... Clarity began to form. I can't undo the past, but I can damn well control what happens next.

Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she shook her head, her resolve solidifying. "No," her voice was hollow. "I'll let you stay. Live the life of the father of a Victor until your last day. I hope you enjoy everything it has to offer—the food, the wine, the whiskey, the luxury. I hope you relish every last bit of it."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but suspicion lingered.

"After all, you've earned it, haven't you? Who am I to take away what you worked so hard for." She stared down at the pool spreading over the floor, bits of glass shimmering like little islands in the liquid. "But do not mistake my kindness for weakness. You have wounded me more deeply than I ever imagined was possible." Her fingers were almost numb as she reached beneath her shirt, finding the familiar weight of the necklace. The cool pendant was smooth except for the rough edge of the chip. Pulling it out, she held it up to the yellow-tinged light. The damage seemed deeper now, as if it mirrored the fracture in her heart. With a hard yank, she loosened it from around her neck. "From today forward, you are no longer my father. You're just a man who shares my name. A neighbor who I don't talk to. The town drunk who lives in a mansion. Even if I pass you on the street, I won't give you a second glance."

He crossed his arms as a deep line formed between his brows.

With a disbelieving sound, she held the pendant away from her, opening her fingers and letting it fall from her grasp. It spun as it descended until it hit the puddle of whiskey with a muted splash, sending tiny ripples through the amber liquid. Hazel's voice was as hard as steel. "I'd rather die than ever owe you anything again. My debt is more than paid."

Heath's eyes followed the necklace as it rolled, but he didn't move to pick it up. Anger flickered in his eyes, along with something darker- regret perhaps?

"Oh, and one more thing." Hazel straightened her shoulders as she noticed his knuckles whitening.

"What might that be?"

"You've just entered early retirement."

Heath scoffed, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "You can't be serious."

"If you don't, if I even suspect you're feeding information to the Capitol again..." Hazel's tone grew so cold that the temperature in the room seemed to drop, "I will use the power you so generously helped me attain."

Hazel moved toward the door, but just as she reached the handle and pulled it open, the fresh smell of rain filled her lungs, and she paused. "You know it's ironic, isn't it?"

Heath stepped back; the emerald in his eyes had nearly disappeared. Instead, they matched the darkness of the room, and she suspected it matched his soul. "What is?"

"You said Oren lost his child because of the seeds he sowed." Hazel met his eyes one last time, "Seems like you have that in common." He said nothing, but his eyes never wavered from her. "Goodbye, Heath."

With that, she hobbled out of the house, the door creaking shut behind her. The warm rain hit her immediately, soaking through her clothes and plastering her hair to her face. The droplets mixed with the tears that still burned trails down her cheeks, washing away the salt and the blood. But it did nothing to cleanse the throbbing pain in her heart.

In the past, every time she and her father would argue, she would run to Silus. He would always listen and let her cry on his shoulder. He was her anchor, her rock, and now she was adrift without him. She paused, her eyes wandering to the street that led to her new home. The thought of going back there without him made her chest tighten with a sense of loss so deep it threatened to suffocate her.

She turned away from the warm glow of the mansion-like house. The rain-soaked streets were slippery under her foot. Her left hand throbbed, more blood oozing from the grip. Her cast was twice as heavy, soaked with mud and rainwater.

Eventually, Hazel reached a lone section of unguarded iron fence separating Victor's Village from the rest of the district. With a grunt, she tossed her crutches over first, then awkwardly hauled herself up, the metal slick under her fingers. Her balance wavered, her injured leg protesting, but she managed to swing over and land heavily, letting out a moan as she hit the ground on the other side. Stumbling, her soaked foot sank deeper into the mud, but she pressed on.

Wandering through the darkness, the familiar streets twisted into a maze as her mind drifted. The world around her blurred into a disorienting mix of water and shadowy silhouettes. Her heavy breathing nearly drowned out the splashing of her crutches, the faint rumble of thunder, and the distant murmur of water cascading from the rooftops.

When she finally reached the familiar log house, the sight sent a fresh wave of melancholy crashing over her. The place was unchanged. The warmth light of a lamp flickered in the window. The worn front door was cracked like it was waiting for her.

Hazel pushed inside, the rusted hinges squeaking in the quiet. Her eyes fell on the burnt orange couch, and a soft smile tugged at her lips. But it faded just as quickly when her gaze shifted further into the room; a shadow of a figure was seated, staring into the empty fireplace.

He didn't turn when she entered, but she could tell he knew she was there.

"What are you doing here?" Hazel asked, her voice low and wary.

Oren finally looked up, his eyes meeting hers. "Probably the same thing you are."

Her wet cast squelched with each step further into the house, leaving a trail of muddy water. She steadied herself, her hand brushing the log walls.

He studied her, his gaze lingering on her red-rimmed eyes and the way her hair clung to her face. "Went to see Heath, didn't you?"

She didn't answer, but the look on her face was all the confirmation he apparently needed. "He doesn't belong in Victor's Village," Oren said with a sigh, his shoulders sagging as he looked away. He placed a couple of chunks of wood in the hearth. "He doesn't belong in a home I built."

Hazel studied him, "It's not your decision."

Oren nodded slowly before inhaling, running a weathered hand over his face before igniting the fire. "You're right." Oren's expression softened, his eyes glistening in the growing light. "It's not. We can't always control the decisions our loved ones make, even when we don't agree. Can we?"

Hazel felt fresh tears sting her eyes, "No."

They both stared in silence at the crackling flames until Hazel finally asked, her voice hoarse, "If you could change the ones you made. Would you?"

He hesitated, "What did Heath tell you?"

"Everything."

Oren exhaled a long, weary sigh, "Probably that it was my fault all of this has happened?"

"Among other things."

"For once, there is something Heath and I can agree on." Hazel found her attention glued to him. Oren's voice was low and filled with remorse. "I was reckless and arrogant. Thought I could challenge the Capitol. But I was wrong. So very wrong. So, my answer is absolutely. I would change absolutely every decision I've made if I could."

Hazel's breath hitched, and she looked down at her feet. Rainfall harmonized with the popping fire as they each seemed to lose themselves in their thoughts.

After a few minutes, Hazel broke the quiet. "How long have you been here?"

Oren cleared his throat. "Not sure. A few hours, maybe? It's where I feel closest to him. The new house is great, but it feels..."

"Incomplete," Hazel finished, her voice gentle. Oren nodded, wiping away a stray tear.

"Besides, I miss this ugly old thing," Oren said, gesturing to the lumpy, burnt-orange couch.

A small laugh escaped Hazel. "It's almost as ugly as these dumb crutches."

A soft, sad smile stretched across his face. "They are pretty bad."

"Maybe we should have a bonfire," Hazel suggested. "Get rid of two abominations in one go."

"Silus would be proud," Oren replied.

Hazel laughed quietly. "He always did hate that couch." But as quickly as the laughter came, her face fell, and grief swelled within her like a rising tide. Her voice trembled, growing softer. "I tried to protect him, Oren. I really did. If I could... I would trade places with him."

Oren stood up from the chair and crossed the room to stand before her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "No. You should have never been in that situation. If anyone should trade places with Silus, it should be me. It was my job as a father to protect my children, and I failed. I failed you both." Hazel looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears. Raw, untethered guilt swam in his eyes. It was a look she knew all too well. She had seen it in the mirror.

"I don't blame you if you never forgive me. " Oren reached out, wiping away one of her tears with a calloused thumb. "I will never forgive myself."

Hazel's throat grew too tight to speak as the crackling fire's warmth flickered over his face. He seemed to be fighting tears of his own. "Don't stay here too long," he murmured. "Your mother will worry."

Oren gave her shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before he pulled back and strode to the door. He paused, "Remember, Hazel, the Capitol always wins. Don't make the same mistake as I did." He hesitated like he wanted to say more, but instead, he opened the door and disappeared into the night.

The rain pulsed against the roof, a steady rhythm that matched her heartbeat. Oren's warning echoed through her, and she suddenly felt all of her energy drain from her body as weariness flooded her system. This had been one of the longest days of her life, and she was more than ready for it to be over. I just can't take anymore.

She moved to her bedroom door, her hand hesitating before she let it brush over the surface. It was worn from years of use and still bore the faint marks of her childhood. For a moment, she considered collapsing into her own bed. But instead, she shuffled down the narrow hallway, hand trailing along the wall. Her fingertips slid over old nail marks and scuffs until they reached the familiar grain of Silus's doorframe. After a deep breath and a moment of hesitation, she pushed it open.

His room was exactly as he had left it—the checkered flannel sheets on his bed were faded, worn yet soft from years of use.

Slowly, she bent down, pressing her nose into his pillow. His scent hit her with a force that made her knees buckle. Her lips brushed the fabric as she whispered, "I did it, Silus. I cut him off for good."

The thundering of the storm was the only response.

Dripping wet, she climbed onto the bed, curling up as she breathed in more of the familiar scent. Here, there were no observers, no crowd, no peacekeepers, no piercing blue eyes—just her, the rain, and the lingering smell of her brother.

Sorrow washed over her like the rain cascading down the cabin's walls. Her father was wrong in many ways, in almost every way, but there was one thing he was absolutely right about. The girl she had been when she had left this house was gone. Sobs she had been holding back finally broke free, and for the first time since the Reaping, she finally let herself grieve—truly, fully grieve.