Stepping out of the train station, Hazel sucked in a lungful of crisp mountain air. The mid-evening sunlight was harsh and unyielding, but the air held the refreshing scent of newly cut timber. Despite the homey sights and smells, panic smoldered beneath the surface of her composure.
Hobbling forward on the crutches, she took in the sheer number of her people. Their faces stretched as far as the eye could see. For a moment, it was as if they all were holding their breath, Hazel right along with them. She stared at them, and they stared right back. Her people bore sun-kissed skin and sawdust-coated hair. Their limbs were marked with the scratches and marks of days spent working under the open sky. Their clothes, though simple, were the uniforms of those who worked with their hands for a living. How different they were from the polished, extravagant crowds in the Capitol, where everything glittered and gleamed with artificiality. Here, there was a rawness, a rough sincerity that made her feel at home yet, at the same time, made her feel like they could see through the fakeness. Suddenly, her golden and white outfit was suffocating, absurd, and out of place, like wearing a costume. Would they accept what had happened? Did they see her as a hero or maybe a monster?
Her stomach churned, and she straightened her shoulders. She pulled herself forward, following the peacekeepers who carried Silus. The crowd seemed to ripple and hum as they parted like a wave, allowing the convoy through.
She bit down on her lip as she looked around her home. Streets she had walked a thousand times seemed unfamiliar, and the people she had known all her life scrutinized her as if seeing her for the first time—or perhaps they were seeing her through new eyes. Uncertainty colored many of their faces as if they tried to reconcile the girl who had left with the victor who returned. Maybe they aren’t completely wrong. I’m not the same. The green flag over Silus’s casket fluttered. I will never be the person I was when I left here.
Her family walked behind her in silence. Oren’s arm was wrapped protectively around Fern, holding to her as if she were the only thing keeping him from collapsing. Oren and Fern each held the hands of one of the twins while Sage clung to Rowan.
Leo, Bellona, and Sable flanked Hazel, a glaring reminder of how the life she returned to had irrevocably changed. They kept a respectful distance but remained close enough that she could practically feel their eyes.
Then, a noise began to rise from the crowd—like the beginning of a song, a few unsteady, unsure notes that grew louder with each passing minute. Hazel froze and frowned as she scanned the sea of faces, her brain reeling as she recognized the sound—applause.
Faces she had grown up with blurred together; many were beaming at her with pride flavored with abject pity. But there were others whose gazes were harder. Yet the applause grew as she passed.
Rowan’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, a whisper in her ear, “Welcome home, sis.”
His words were enough to ground her, if only for a moment. Hazel swallowed, forcing herself to push down the rising tide of anxiety. She wiped the last remnants of tears from her skin, trying to steady her breathing, forcing a soft yet reverent smile onto her face.
As she moved forward, the presence of camera crews scattered throughout the crowd became more apparent. They were like flies caught in a bowl of soup. No doubt present at the command of the Capitol. As her gaze drifted over the press members, a young voice called out her name, and the applause began to wane.
Hazel swiveled her head until a small girl broke away from the crowd. She was clutching a bushel of magenta-toned wildflowers with a few scraggly dandelions poking through. The girl looked to be around seven, with tousled strawberry blonde hair; her eyes were wide as she held out the bouquet.
“For me?” Hazel asked, stepping closer.
The girl smiled with eagerness, extending the flowers toward her.
A warm sensation filled Hazel at the gesture. “Thank you. I … love flowers.” Hazel balanced on one crutch as she accepted the bouquet, burying her nose in the blooms for good measure. A few in the crowd cooed at the gesture, and the girl’s face lit up, glancing over her shoulder at a man and woman who looked on in approval.
“I want to be like you when I grow up,” the girl said, beaming.
Hazel’s heart clenched, the warmth chilled to an icy nausea. She turned her attention back to the young girl. In only a few years, she would be eligible for the Hunger Games. Hazel glanced at the man and woman behind her and a wave of dread washed over her. She wouldn’t wish such a fate on anyone.
“Hmmm,” Hazel hummed softly, pulling one of the bright fuchsia blooms from the bouquet and twirling it between her fingers. Leaning down, she tucked the flower behind the girl’s ear, whispering, “You don’t want that, I promise you.”
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, and Hazel added, “I’m sure you are capable of much greater things.” Hazel cleared her throat, “If you don’t mind, I’ll have my little sister carry these for me. My hands are a little tied up with these ridiculous crutches.”
A giggle escaped the girl as she agreed, and Hazel called for Lily. Her sister practically sprinted toward them. Hazel chuckled under her breath at the sheer eagerness, “Would you mind carrying my flowers, sis?”
Lily was more than happy to oblige. She held the bouquet like it was a precious gift.
Hazel turned back to the younger girl, “Thank you.”
The girl nodded, a hint of curiosity coloring her features as she returned to the adults awaiting her. Hazel offered her a wink before she and Lily rejoined the procession.
Leo cleared his throat as he came up beside her. “Nice touch.”
Sable, rubbing a hand over the weapon on his hip, commented, “Seems like you picked up more than just some new clothes in the Capitol.”
Hazel shot a hard look at him, intending to let out a sharp reply, but her crutches caught on the uneven street. She stumbled, and a groan escaped her as her injured hand jolted hard against the handle.
Leo leaned in, arms outstretched to steady her, his warm breath brushing alongside her face, “Ma’am, would you like me to get you a wheelchair?”
“Leo, please, you don’t have to call me that. And no.” Hazel glanced at him before turning her attention back to the winding path ahead. “I want to walk.”
It was a good mile from the train station to the Mayor’s manor, but she would rather walk until her underarms bled than be pushed through her district in a wheelchair. I already look ridiculous enough.
Leo sighed. “Understood.”
After several more minutes of walking, a familiar face framed by silver hair caught Hazel’s attention. Ms. Larkin. She was almost unrecognizable outside of sterile, white walls, peering out from behind a stack of paperwork and various cups of coffee. The woman’s hands were clasped together, her eyes crinkling as they landed on Hazel. Never in all her time at the hospital had Hazel seen the woman cry, yet here she was, her eyes glittering in the evening light. Hazel managed a small nod in her direction, and Ms. Larkin’s lips quivered as she returned the gesture. Without warning, Hazel veered off course and approached her.
“Marlowe,” Leo’s strained voice called from behind her, but she continued forward.
“Hey, boss…” Hazel croaked as she came to a stop before her supervisor. Leo’s presence loomed just over her shoulder.
The wrinkles around her eyes deepened as Ms. Larkin placed a hand on Hazel’s cheek, a tear escaping as she murmured, “I’m relieved to see you, kiddo.” Her eyes flickered to the casket, “I’m so sorry.”
Hazel felt the familiar burn in her eyes before the tears inevitably returned. “It is good to be home.” She looked down at her crutches. “I’ll be back to work soon.”
Ms. Larkin shook her head. “I doubt you will need the job anymore. Not that I will turn down good help.” The older woman’s eyes paused on Hazel’s crutches and her bandaged hand, “ But you are in no condition. When maybe you’re healed”—she paused, as if the word itself were ridiculous—“come see me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hazel responded, throwing an arm around the woman in a small hug. “I’m glad to see you too.”
Ms. Larkin coughed as she pulled away, wiping her eyes as Hazel retreated to the path.
As Hazel hobbled back, Leo neared, whispering in her ear, “You need to be careful.”
Hazel glanced at him from the corner of her eye, “You sound an awful lot like the Senator.”
Leo let out a lingering sigh, “You would be sensible to listen to him. Not everything he says is for show.”
Hazel snorted, casting a side glance at him, “Let’s hope that is not true.”
Leo said nothing, exchanging a look with Bellona and Sable.
Soon, they stood before the steps leading into the Mayor’s manor, the most impressive building in District Seven outside of Victor’s Village. In the Capitol, it might have been mistaken for a plain office, but here it was the grandest building in town. As a girl, Hazel had been awed by it, but now, as the sun's golden rays highlighted the fading wood and worn metal accents, it seemed almost insignificant compared to all she had witnessed.
She hesitated, her crutches pressing into the earth beneath her. As she stared, Bellona moved to her side.
“Let me help,” Bellona offered, placing her hand under Hazel’s arm.
Hazel agreed, and together, they made their way up, step by step. Each movement sent a jolt of pain through Hazel’s ribs.
As they finally reached the top, the peacekeepers pulled the large wooden doors open, revealing the manor’s interior. The entryway was vast, supported by thick pine beams. The walls were lined with forest-green tapestries depicting the history of District Seven. The floor was made of black polished Riverstone that gleamed under the soft glow of the overhead lights.
Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, the room seemed to close in around her. At the heart of a large display was a photograph of Silus, taken a few years earlier. He was smiling, his chocolate-brown eyes shining with youthful energy. His hair was a bit longer then, and he resembled Rowan more than ever.
Her family gathered around, forming a small, grieving circle as the peacekeepers lowered Silus’s casket beneath the photograph. Hazel stared at the image of her brother, her chest tightening at the sight of his smile, his eyes so full of life. Her vision flashed, and his bright eyes were replaced with dull, empty ones, his sun-kissed skin pale and bloodless. She pulled her eyes closed and chewed on her lip.
“Breathe, Marlowe,” Leo murmured from beside her.
She nodded and pushed down the images of the arena. A glint of a lens pulled her attention to the front of the room. Press members and camera crews were positioned all around the room. The thought of Snow seeing her at this moment made her throat dry. I have no doubt he is watching.
After a few minutes, the doors opened again, and the rest of the crowd began to file in, moving in quiet reverence toward the platform.
As the room filled, from the shadows of the massive manor, Mayor Laird Kettleberry emerged. He was a man who had long been a part of District Seven yet was rarely seen in public. Rumors had circulated for years that his absence was due to a variety of illnesses. Yet no one knew the exact reason for sure.
His silver hair was combed back in a neat, old-fashioned style. Deep wrinkles etched his sun-weathered face with the years he had spent working under the harsh sun. Hazel had only seen him a handful of times in person; each time, his presence had seemed almost ghostly, as though he were an antique from the past rather than a part of the present.
As the mayor made his way to the front of the room, he coughed several times into a green handkerchief. Despite his frail appearance, there was a warmth in his demeanor, a genuine kindness that radiated through the room as he raised his hands to quiet the crowd. His attention moved from the people to Hazel and her family and finally to the casket resting at the center of the platform.
“People of District Seven, today,” Mayor Kettleberry began, his voice rough yet steady, “we gather to welcome home our son and daughter.” He bowed and gestured toward Silus, then Hazel. He paused again, his eyes resting on the casket. “As is customary, I have opened my home to honor the fallen and to give the people of District Seven a chance to pay their respects. I encourage you all to visit, to bring gifts, share memories, and celebrate the life that Silus led and the Victory Hazel has brought home to us.” The mayor's gaze swept across the room, lingering on Hazel as he continued, “In two days, as the sun sets over the Alpine, we will lay Silus to rest according to our traditions,” Mayor Kettleberry continued, his voice growing softer.
“We may have lost our son, but our daughter has become a Victor, our first. As we lay our flowers and tokens, let us remember that we are not just honoring a life lost but celebrating the strength and unity of our district. We will mourn Silus, and yet we will also rejoice in Hazel’s victory. The loss of one of our own is a loss for us all. But also, a victory for one is a victory for all.” Kettleberry glanced at the cameras, “Together, we will show the world what it means to be from District Seven.”
Rippling applause coursed through the room. At the same time, a lump formed in Hazel’s throat as the eyes of the crowd ensnared her—some filled with pride, others with sorrow, and a few with lingering skepticism. But the warmth in the mayor’s voice and the way he spoke made her feel, if only for a fleeting moment, that she belonged.
The mayor stepped back, allowing the people to approach. One by one, they came forward, laying flowers and handmade wooden items beside the casket. Hazel watched as the pile grew, her heart aching with each new addition.
A hulky, ruddy figure moved to the front of the crowd, catching Hazel’s eye—Holt. She wouldn’t have expected him to pay any respects to Silus, yet there he was. When he straightened, his harsh eyes met Hazel’s. They both paused as he looked her up and down, his expression stern but also murky.
The coldness of Holt’s stare stung, and a familiar fear prickled along her nerves. She ran a hand along her waistline, searching for her axe. But her fingers met only the luxurious fabric of her clothing, and she let her hand drop. You are home.
She stared at Holt, waiting for any sign he might approach, inching closer to Leo and Bellona. Holt caught her eyes again but made no move toward her. His gaze, filled with what looked like disgust, lingered for a moment before he turned and vanished into the crowd. Having her own personal peacekeepers became suddenly comforting.
Hazel met Bellona’s eyes, then Leo’s. Both of them looked back at her, their concern evident.
“Know him?” Bellona asked.
“Unfortunately,” Hazel replied.
The crowd began to stir, murmuring as they paid their respects. Hazel let the sound wash over her, hoping it would ease the tension now coursing through her muscles.
“I’m glad to see you back; you fought well,” a gravelly voice commented. Hazel jumped as she recognized the familiar presence settled beside her—Foreman Pilner. His hat was in his hand, and his eyes were red-rimmed and glistening. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He glanced at the casket, then back at her. “I hope... I hope it is good enough.”
Hazel stared at him, the realization dawning that it was he who had crafted it. Hazel felt overwhelming guilt for complaining about him. She swallowed hard, her voice thick. “It’s more than good; it is beautiful, sir.”
Pilner nodded, patting Hazel on the back, a tear slipping down his weathered cheek before he turned to Fern, bowing slightly, then reached forward to grip Oren’s shoulder. He leaned in, whispering something in Oren’s ear. Oren listened, his eyes growing distant but softer. Thron held his shoulder a moment longer before disappearing into the crowd. Hazel watched him go, her heart heavy yet strangely comforted.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
After a while, her arms burned from the strain of the crutches, and she began to sway. Mayor Kettleberry, appearing to notice her discomfort, approached. “I offer my deepest condolences for your loss,” his voice was soft. “And my congratulations, Hazel, I know your victory came at a great cost, as victory often does.”
Hazel nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“If you’re ready, I can have my cars take you home,” the mayor offered, leaning in to whisper with a hint of mischief in his eye. “I can sneak you all out of here right under the nose of the press.
Hazel furrowed her brow and glanced back at Silus’s casket. While she appreciated the gesture, it felt wrong to leave him.
Mayor Kettleberry followed her gaze. “I assure you he will be guarded day and night. He’s in old but capable hands, my dear.”
Sage’s eyes lit up at the idea of riding in a fancy car. “Can we go now?” he asked, his voice filled with childlike eagerness that tugged at Hazel’s heart.
The rest of her family’s faces were tired and worn, and the day’s events clearly had taken their toll. Oren gave a subtle nod in what appeared to be resignation.
“Okay,” Hazel agreed, pushing through the heaviness that weighed her down. “Yes, we can go.” She looked back at the Mayor, who nodded before ushering them toward the back of the manor. He ordered a couple of peacekeepers to ensure they weren’t followed.
Mayor Kettleberry led them down several hallways until they reached a service door. Outside, two black cars were waiting—clean and shiny as if they were barely used. Vehicles like these were a rarity in the district, but it was mostly because they were useless when it came to harvesting lumber.
Hazel watched as her family, along with Leo, Bellona, and Sable, piled into the polished vehicles.
She turned to the Mayor once more. “Thank you for your generosity, sir.”
“Least I can do,” he replied with a smile, gesturing for her to climb in. His grandfatherly face grew harder, “Take care of yourself, young lady.”
Hazel tipped her head toward him as she pulled herself into his car. The interior was quiet and plush, undoubtedly the nicest vehicle in the entire district. The soothing hum of the engine filled the space as they set off. Hazel settled into her seat, her thoughts drifting between memories of the arena and the present reality, the lines between them blurring more and more.
As the car rolled through the streets, past familiar yet distant sights, the smell of fresh earth and faint traces of smoke from nearby chimneys scented the air. They soon approached the gated entrance to Victor's Village, guarded around the clock by peacekeepers. The gates swung open with a creak, and they were allowed through without question or hesitation.
Inside, the village was almost eerie in terms of how quiet it was. Several large, luxurious houses lined up along the road, all empty. Each house was grand, constructed with the best stone and wood District Seven had to offer.
Hazel glanced at Oren, who rubbed a hand over his face. Oren had helped oversee the construction several years prior after a command from Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow to each District. He probably never dreamed he would live here and that his son’s life would be the price of such a home.
As the sun began to dip behind the mountains, the car finally pulled up to the last house that was now apparently her home.
The house before her was grander than she had imagined. It exuded an enchanting charm as the sunset draped it in a golden hue. The two-story structure was constructed with thick oak beams and stained cedar shingles. The rich color of the wood contrasted with its verdant surroundings. Each section of the house featured intricate woodwork, from the decorative trims around the windows to the handmade French doors at the entrance. The front porch was wide and welcoming, with a swing hanging from one end and several chairs arranged around a low table.
There were more windows than she knew a house could have. They reflected the orange and pink tones of the setting sun, making the glass panes glow. Creeping ivy scaled the walls, arching over the main doors. Trees and the iron accents gleamed in the fading light.
It was a far cry from the modest log cabin where she had spent her childhood. Hazel scoffed; it was like something out of a fairytale.
Flowering bushes lined the stone pathway that led to the porch steps. “It’s… it’s beautiful,” Hazel finally managed to say, though the word felt inadequate.
Fern smiled, “I know it’s different, but this is home now. We’ve done our best to make it feel like ours.”
Off to the side of the house, a baby redwood tree sprouted from the earth. It was modest, with a thin trunk and sparse foliage. Its small branches bore soft, needle-like leaves, and the soil around its base was freshly turned.
On the other side, there was a charming cottage. The structure was similar in design, with the same oak and cedar construction.
“That’s where we will be staying,” Bellona whispered before Hazel could even ask.
“Hmmm,” Hazel responded.
The tall trees that encircle the property swayed in the evening breeze. The distant echo of the Alpine River flowing through the valley was soothing.
As she moved through the front garden, she caught the familiar scent of roses. She froze; along the sides of the house were large bushes full of pink, yellow, and orange roses that mimicked the sunset itself. At the very end of the row were several orange and black tiger-striped blooms. Tiger Lily Roses. Hazel glared at the flowers. You’ve got to be kidding.
A soft splashing drew her attention to a small pond, cradled by natural stones, its surface mirroring the sky as the water trickled from a delicate fountain at its heart.
Hazel scooted closer, peering down into the depths; little golden fish swam beneath the surface. She let out an incredulous scoff, wiping a hand over her face.
Hazel wrapped her arms around herself. The light was fading faster now as she made her way closer to the porch; the kids had already run inside to their rooms. Rowan hung back with her as she took in the new world she would be living in.
A flicker of light caught her eye from down the street. One of the other houses had its outside lights on. A figure stood on the porch, and a snaking line of cigarette smoke hung above them. Hazel stared hard at the form.
Rowan seemed to notice her stare, “We don’t have the best neighbor.”
Hazel sighed, “Heath?”
Rowan nodded, “Apparently, Victor’s benefits apply to all family members.”
Hazel let out a bitter laugh, pushing down tears, “Even if you disown them?”
Rowan laughed himself, “Forget him, come on, Haze.”
She followed him into the house, but she could almost feel her father’s eyes on her back.
Her three peacekeepers strode toward their new home. Bellona turned back to her, “We’ll catch up with you in just a bit. Go ahead and get settled. Holler if you need us.”
Stepping inside the house, Hazel was immediately struck by the contrast between the rugged elegance of the exterior and the inviting warmth of the interior. The front room was spacious, with soaring ceilings and expansive windows that allowed the soft evening light to pour in. From the living room, one could see all of District Seven, the tiny lights from the homes below resembling a scattering of fireflies.
The walls were paneled in rich wood, and a log fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth stacked with firewood. A shining, metallic television rested above it. Comfortable-looking couches and chairs, upholstered in soft brown fabric, were arranged around the room, and the scent of cedar blended with the faint smell of the firewood. Despite the improvement, a part of Hazel missed the ugly orange couch, even if it should have been burned years ago.
As she took in her surroundings, a familiar picture caught her eye. It was prominently displayed in the center of the living room, encased in a new frame that shone in the setting sun. Hazel's heart sped up; it was the same picture that was currently stuffed in one of her pockets. Snow’s voice resonated in her mind, and she pressed down hard on the crutch handle, forcing herself to stay grounded.
Linden and Sage’s excited voices broke through her trance, “You have to see your room!”
Hazel allowed herself to be led through the house, casting a lingering glance back at the picture. She could practically feel his breath caress her ear. Details, Miss Marlowe. Despite the warmth of the room, she shivered.
The house was more extensive than any she had ever seen in District Seven, even surpassing the Mayor’s manor. It had more bedrooms than she could count, along with a study and even a library lined with books.
As she ran her hand over the varnished banister of a grand stairway, she marveled at the intricate carvings of mountains, birds, deer, and trees. Rich rugs in shades of red, brown, and gold adorned every room, featuring finely woven patterns.
Each child had their room. Linden’s was decorated with a host of new drawings strung across the walls. Lily’s room was filled with daisy chains and handmade bouquets, the strong scent of flowers lingering in the air.
Sage’s room was next, with stacks of picture books scattered about, mostly about animals and wildlife. They passed Rowan’s room without much fanfare. The sight of it was somber, simple, and cold, and he had done little to personalize it. Nothing in the room even looked like it belonged to him. Hazel ran a hand over his arm as they closed the door.
“I just haven’t unpacked yet,” he croaked.
When they finally reached her room, Sage turned to her, “We saved the best room for you.”
Hazel frowned, “You guys didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t live here,” Lily murmured.
Hazel stared at her feet. If it wasn’t for him.
Linden pushed open the door, and Hazel paused in the doorway, taking in the sight. The room was beautiful, almost too much so, and she had to remind herself that it was actually hers. A massive four-poster bed dominated one side, draped in a deep emerald quilt that looked handmade. Large windows overlooked the valley and the mountains. A small balcony extended from the windows, offering a view of the familiar landscape below.
The hardwood floors were covered with deep azure rugs, intricately woven with depictions of mountains, birds, and towering redwoods. In one corner, a small desk was tucked away, simple yet elegant. A vase of orange and black roses sat on the windowsill. Next to it, a smaller vase held the pink wildflowers and dandelions from the young girl in town. Unease churned in her stomach as she took it all in.
“I decorated a little for you,” Lily said, running a finger over one of the roses.
Hazel sighed, “It smells wonderful. Thank you, sis.”
The house was beautiful, no doubt, but it didn’t feel like home. Not yet. Maybe, with time. She pulled the medallion off and ran a finger over the design before setting it down on the desk.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Her three youngest siblings were eager to show her around the house, each room more luxurious than the last. Fern prepared a home-cooked meal in her brand-new spacious kitchen. Hazel smiled as she watched her mother’s eyes light up with a small amount of joy. The familiar scents of rosemary and baked bread filled the air.
After dinner, Rowan retreated to his room. Oren left the house to go for a walk. At the same time, Fern and the three youngest children prepared for bed.
Hazel grabbed three plates of her mother’s food and snuck outside. Casting a look back at the house, she abandoned her crutches just outside the front door, opting to limp the distance.
As she reached the cottage and raised her hand to knock, the door swung open. Leo stood in the doorway; his uniform had been traded for a set of loose cotton pants and a long-sleeved shirt. His expression changed from a mix of confusion to mild disapproval as his gaze moved from her eyes to the plates to her crutchless form.
Behind him, Bellona offered a soft smile while Sable sat at the dining room table, sipping a cup of coffee, “What is that amazing smell?”
“I thought you all might want some dinner. It’s been a long day. My mom makes some mean rosemary bread.”
Sable strolled over and took the plates from her hands. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” He brought the bread close to his nose, inhaling as his eyes fluttered closed. “God, that smells divine.”
“Hey, don’t rub your gross nose in it, you barbarian,” Bellona called, trying to pull the bread away from him.
Sable lifted the plates above his head. “I call dibs, Bellony.”
“You can’t just call dibs on all of it,” Bellona argued, jumping to reach the plates.
“This might get ugly,” Leo commented, rolling his eyes before turning back to Hazel. “How about we take a quick walk? Maybe we will find your crutches along the way.”
“Sure.” Hazel smiled as Sable moved further into the cottage, Bellona still trying to grab the plates from his raised hand. Just as Bellona lunged for a broom, Leo shut the door behind him.
“You sure they don’t need supervision?” Hazel asked, waiting for the sounds of fighting or furniture overturning.
“They’ll be fine. Cats and dogs, those two. But Sable is like family. Like an annoying, overbearing, completely inappropriate uncle, but family nonetheless.”
Hazel chuckled as she limped beside him. Leo paused, gesturing to her arm. “Since you refuse to follow your doctor’s orders, how about a little help?”
He held out his arm, and after a moment, she relented, wrapping her arm around his elbow.
Together, they walked through the gardens surrounding the house. The evening air was cool, and the fragrance of roses grew stronger as they passed the brightly colored bushes. Hazel rolled her eyes at the blooms.
“The house is beautiful, but I think the garden needs an overhaul,” Hazel muttered.
Leo scanned the bushes. “It’s your house now. I’m sure you can change anything you like.”
Hazel scoffed, staring at the roses, “Well, a few things definitely come to mind.”
They walked in silence for a few more steps before Leo’s voice broke through. “How are you holding up?”
Hazel hesitated, her eyes tracing the lines of the moonlit garden. “I’m… I’m not sure. Everything’s so different. Sometimes, I feel like I’m not really here. Or that I shouldn’t be.”
“Hmmm, I know the feeling.” Leo nodded, his expression understanding. He stopped walking and turned to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I noticed you were having a difficult time in the train station and the manor… seeing things that weren’t there, right?”
Hazel swallowed hard and looked away, gazing out at the sleeping valley below them. “That obvious?”
“Maybe just to those of us who’ve experienced it.”
Hazel’s eyes drifted back to him as he continued, “It happens to a lot of us who’ve been through… things.”
She glanced at the bandage on the side of his head. “I can imagine that’s true.” Leo brushed a hand over his bandage as she continued, “How do you stop it?”
“I’m not sure that it ever really stops. Time will tell, but when it happens to me, I try to focus on something real, something I know is there. It helps bring me back.”
“Something real…” Hazel closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, the scent of roses filling her lungs. She exhaled the aroma with a little too much force. “That is easier said than done. I think I’m losing the ability to tell.”
A firm grip on her shoulder made her reopen her eyes. “If I notice it happening, I can help. If you’ll let me.”
“How?”
“If you give me the signal, I’ll do this.” Leo gently grasped her uninjured hand, and Hazel’s pulse quickened at the suddenness. His hands were warm and smooth with the occasional callous, so different from the gloved texture of Snow’s. She scolded herself for even thinking of Snow. Leo tapped the top of her hand three times with his fingers, pausing briefly between the first and second taps. “I’ll ask you the same question: What color is the sky today? It’ll help you refocus and figure out what’s real. It will be our secret.”
“Secret?” Hazel almost laughed but saw how serious he was. “Do we need a special like safe word?”
Leo blinked, nearly choking as he dropped her hand, “What?”
“A code word,” Hazel said, raising an eyebrow at his sudden flustered appearance, “You said we need a signal? A word that would be safe to say in public, like not suspicious.”
“That’s not what safe -.” Leo shook his head. “Yes, a word would be good.”
“What word?”
Leo thought for a second, glancing back at the cottage. “Maybe… rosemary?”
Hazel let out a too-loud laugh, her tender ribs protesting. Leo frowned but was clearly holding back a smile. “Unless you have any better ideas? It’s the first thing that came to mind.”
“It’s alright, private Drayton; creativity isn’t everyone’s strong suit.” Hazel chuckled.
“If you’re going to mock me, I’ll take back my offer of help,” Leo replied, trying to sound stern, but the smile he was fighting gave him away.
“No, no, no, rosemary it is. You couldn’t change it now if you wanted to. I won’t allow it.”
Leo ran a hand over his face. “I’m going to regret this.”
Hazel patted his arm. “Next time I’m on the brink of a breakdown, I’m sure the mere mention of herbs will ground me in reality.”
Leo shook his head, rubbing his temple, but his eyes were alight with her gentle teasing.
“I promise to give it a try. Thank you.”
“Of course.” He coughed, looking away. “It’s my job.”
“Right,” Hazel murmured, looking out over the valley. “Well, all the same, it feels good to laugh. I’m so tired of crying.”
Leo sighed, a shadow crossing his face as a knowing look filled his features. A conversation she had been wanting to have nagged at her. Now seemed as good a time as any.
“Leo,” Hazel’s smile faded as she met his eyes. “Can I ask you something?”
Leo froze, his gray eyes locking onto hers as she took a deep breath. He nodded, “Ask me what?”
“I’ve been wanting to know for a while.”
Leo waited, his gaze steady on hers. “Why did you do it?”
Leo let out a long breath, almost as if in relief. “I told you I needed to face the consequences of my actions.”
“No, not that.” Hazel tilted her head. “That first night in the Capitol—the suture kit. Why?”
Leo’s gaze drifted away from her to the valley below. In the soft light coming from the porch and garden lights, his skin looked less bruised, less harsh.
Hazel pressed when he didn’t answer right away. “I mean, when we first met, and you were searching me and Silus. I have to admit, you were the last peacekeeper I’d expect to try to help us.”
Leo’s jaw tightened as he shook his head. “You’re right. I probably was the last one who would help someone... who was District.” He turned his attention back to her, his eyes dropping to the bump under her shirt where her necklace rested. He seemed to be debating with himself. “But I saw you protecting Silus. I saw how you held his hand, hiding it from the people.”
He glanced at the cabin. “I couldn’t help but think about what I would’ve done if it had been me and Bellona.” He shivered and brought his eyes back to hers. “I can’t even imagine…”
Hazel felt tears prick her eyes, and she stared down at her shoe.
Leo continued, his voice low. “So, I did what I would hope someone would’ve done for me. For Bellona.”
“You didn’t have to do it.” Hazel raised her eyes again. “You risked… well, everything.”
He let out another long breath. “Didn’t make a difference. Well, not a positive one. It just led to disaster.”
“How do you think Ian Threader got ahold of it? How did he even know it was there?”
Leo stiffened, searching her face, his jaw tightening. Hazel tilted her head as she studied him. He knows something.
Just as she was about to open her mouth to press him further, Sable’s voice called from a distance, “Hey, you two. Time to head in, Leo. You need rest. As I’m sure does our Victor.”
Leo’s shoulders relaxed. “He’s right. My shift starts in twelve hours,” Leo said, stepping back. “Goodnight, Marlowe.”
“Goodnight,” she replied, disappointment washing over her as she watched him walk back toward the smaller house, where Bellona waited, chewing on a piece of rosemary bread with a triumphant grin. “Enjoy that rosemary bread,” Hazel called after him.
“You better have your crutches when I see you in the morning.” He yelled back without turning.
Hazel couldn’t help but smile as Sable approached her; she asked, “How was it?”
“Heavenly. I swear if your mother wasn’t married...”
Hazel sent him a deep scowl, and he raised his hands in defense. “Kidding, but I am a sucker for a woman who can cook.”
Hazel turned away and began walking toward the house. “Do you really need to watch me all night?”
Sable grinned, “Orders are orders, Miss Marlowe. But I promise you won’t even know I’m there.”
Hazel sighed, realizing there was no arguing with him. “Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.”
Sable grinned. “No, ma’am.”
Sable retrieved her abandoned crutches from the bushes, and she bid her family goodnight and retreated to her room. She changed into the new pajamas she found in her closet, the fabric soft and luxurious against her skin. And most importantly, not gold. Grateful to rid herself of the ridiculous outfit, she briefly wondered if anyone would notice if it ended up in the fireplace. The thought lingered for a second, but sneaking it past Sable might be tricky. With a huff, she tossed the clothing into the bottom of her closet. On the desk next to her Victor’s medal, she laid out Grace’s coin, the golden bracelets, and the crumpled duplicate of the photograph from the living room.
But as she lay in an unfamiliar bed that was too comfortable and too soft, staring at the ceiling, sleep refused to come. Her mind raced, thoughts chasing each other in endless circles. She was afraid to close her eyes, fearful of what might await her in the darkness.
After what felt like hours, an idea began to take root, one she couldn’t ignore. Hazel gave up on sleep and instead pulled herself up and crept to the door, peering underneath. Sure enough, the shadow of Sable’s boots darkened the gap. His soft breathing met her ears.
She crossed the room to the balcony doors and pushed them open, letting the cool night air wash over her as she steeled herself. Moving as quietly as possible, she tossed her crutches into the bushes below and paused, listening for any sign that Sable had noticed. The door remained silent. Taking a deep breath, she slid her tender body over the railing, biting down on a groan as her left palm burned. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her as she let herself drop into the darkness below.