Guilt

Even the next morning, Effie couldn't completely shake off the shock of the previous day. After the physical altercation between Haymitch and Alucard Sparrow had gone unnoticed despite the amount of blood, she had hoped to just carry on with the evening as if nothing had happened. But even Haymitch, who had tried to comfort her with his strange sense of humor, hadn't really been able to get through to her. His jokes were rather offbeat and Effie had noticed pretty quickly that he had no experience in comforting anyone.

And even now, with the sunlight caressing her skin like a warm touch, Effie couldn't completely tear herself away from the image in her mind that had already kept her from sleeping. Never in her life had she been in such a situation – helpless at the mercy of a man. Of course, she knew the stories but had dismissed them all as exaggerations or character assassinations. Now she wondered how many of them were actually true. And yet Effie would put herself in that position again. If Haymitch's threat didn't hang over her.

Haymitch. Effie knew that despite his poor attempts at cheering him up, he was still mad at her. For willingly following Alucard Sparrow into that labyrinth, knowing full well what to expect. Effie had assumed that she would be better able to push her emotions away. She hadn't believed that Alucard would go that far. She hadn't believed that her mind would make such a drama out of it if he did.

And now Effie stood in the middle of the sponsors' lounge, a spiked orange juice in her crystal glass to project her usual confident calm. Haymitch had given her a wry look when she asked him about his flask, only to then pour twice as much vodka into his own juice.

The sixth morning of the Hunger Games started even more drearily than the previous one. The number of people turning up at the betting offices had halved since yesterday. There were also usually more sponsors on site at this time of day. Effie had been keeping an eye out for Seneca since she arrived. But he wasn't here. She could guess what that meant. The Gamemakers were probably already working on how to get things back on track before President Snow got to them. There were whispers that if things didn't go according to plan, the President might pay the Gamemakers a personal visit. And this was the second day that started out drearily.

So far, not much had happened in the arena. The Careers had set out to hunt at dawn but hadn't found any trail. With a bunch of now unmotivated allies in tow, Cashmere was wandering aimlessly rather than actually hunting for prey. It almost seemed as if she was giving them a break. Or maybe she was just planning how she would kill them one by one.

Effie and Haymitch stood a little way away from the bustling crowd, with their backs to the railing of the terrace – with the strengthening sun at their backs. They sipped their glasses in silence and watched the goings-on in the light-flooded lounge almost passively as some Avoxes set up the breakfast buffet. None of them made any attempt to mingle with the jostling people.

Haymitch rolled his eyes appraisingly at the spectacle. A criticism that was justified. People were rushing towards the food as if they would starve if they didn't ram their elbows into people who were also heading to the buffet. As if it mattered who got to the golden macarons or the caviar-covered baguettes first. As if they didn't know that there was enough food for at least twice as many guests. Effie could practically read his thoughts in his eyes.

It happened from one moment to the next. Without any great, pompous fanfare – only the cannon as the decisive indicator. It was like an invisible force that made all the heads on the terrace turn. Suddenly everyone was staring at the big screens. Murmurs rose. Realization filtered through to the audience. The voices lost their strength again in boredom when it became clear who had died. Heads turned away again, focusing back on the many, many dishes. Indifference permeated the crowd.

The boy from District 8, who had been bitten by a crocodile two days earlier, had suffered from his injuries and the infection had finally brought him to his knees.

Effie felt Haymitch turn to her. Slowly, as if he was hesitating. Their eyes met and a part of her that hadn't quite arrived in the lounge suddenly switched on. The look on Haymitch's face, as if he had just woken up from a confusing dream, caught Effie's attention. She fought her way through the curtain of trance that the alcohol had thrown over her and analyzed. Analyzed Haymitch's face, which looked incredulous and speechless. Then she counted in her head and opened her mouth as reality caught up with her too.

It was such a mundane moment. Effie had expected it to be more exciting and more celebratory. It was just another death, joining the ranks of many others. Not even a death worth mentioning by any measure. And yet. And yet, in that casual moment, that death had potentially turned the tide for District 12 forever.

Before Effie could say the words out loud, Caesar Flickerman's voice echoed through the lounge's speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen! After six days of the Hunger Games, the time has finally come! The final phase has just begun! We have reached the Top Ten, folks! Is that not exciting?! Only ten tributes left fighting to leave this arena! What a thrill!" While the remaining tributes were presented one by one on the screens, Effie couldn't take her eyes off Haymitch.

Top 10. Top 10! And both tributes from District 12 were still in the running. The last time that had happened ... Effie felt Haymitch reach for her hand. His warm skin wrapped around her fingers with such intensity, as if he never wanted to let go. The last time a tribute from District 12 had even made it into the Top 10 was in his year — the 50th Hunger Games. Fourteen years ago.

"You did it," Haymitch murmured, astonished. For a second he looked suspicious, as if he wasn't sure if this was a big prank. But then the corners of his mouth gradually lifted. Effie couldn't help but smile back.

"We did it." The look Haymitch gave Effie was different. New. As if he was actually seeing her for the first time. As if her face had always been hidden in the shadows until that moment.

A strange feeling of euphoria crept through Effie's veins, replacing the lethargy of the previous day. One moment she felt Haymitch's hand around her own, then they beamed at each other, and she threw her arms around his neck. Now that Caesar's words had completely sunk into her brain, she could no longer control herself.

"We're in the Top Ten, Haymitch!" Effie squealed, jumping up and down with joy.

Haymitch gave a throaty laugh and pulled away just enough to avoid Effie's wig bobbing up and down. Like a child who couldn't contain herself, she clapped her hands and beamed from ear to ear. Haymitch mimicked her smile, though his joy remained inhibited. That he smiled at all was triumph enough for Effie. She pulled him into another fierce embrace, his warm breath only making the heat in her own body rise higher.

But they didn't have much time to celebrate. They were escort and mentor, and they had a job that was now much more important than it had been just a few minutes ago. Being in the Top 10 changed everything. And District 12 in particular – the rising outsider – would be able to use that to their advantage. Haymitch seemed to realize that too, because he didn't complain when Effie pushed him back to the lower level of the lounge a short time later. To the mentors' area.

Effie already had her notepad in her hand and Haymitch gave her a wry look because it had appeared in her hands out of nowhere. She smiled to herself, not interested in enlightening him. Instead, she sat down on one of the couches and crossed her legs. "Aside from Elowen and Ramon, there are eight tributes left," she stated. "Who is our competition? Who are we dealing with?" Haymitch shrugged. He obviously had no idea, but that didn't really surprise Effie. It had been hard enough for him to remember the names of his own tributes. So she typed a command into her notepad and stared at the ten faces that lit up on the display. "District One is complete with Cashmere and Magnus. District Four too. The boy from Three is still alive, the girl from Four. Then ..."

Effie's voice faltered and Haymitch leaned toward her to look at the notepad. "What's wrong?"

"It is so surreal," she finally murmured, letting the tablet fall into her lap. "I believed we would make it this far. But now that we have made it and there are so few children left alive, I still cannot quite believe it."

"Who else is missing?" asked Haymitch.

"The girl from Six and the boy from Seven. That is all of them. Then only Elowen and Ramon remain."

Haymitch was silent, as if he was now realizing for the first time how far District 12 had come. Effie could see the hope that was beginning to grow in his silver eyes disappear before she could even bring herself to see it. She sighed and squeezed his hand. "Our chances are extraordinary, Haymitch. They have not been this good since ..."

"Since my victory," Haymitch finished with a somberness that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Where there had been joy a moment ago, there was now unease. As there always was when it came to the Hunger Games. How could she have expected a number to magically change his attitude? That had been nothing but a short-sighted emotion that had managed to sneak past his defenses.

"If we have a chance, it is now, Haymitch," Effie said firmly. She had to keep him in the here and now. By now she knew the veil that came over his eyes when he was about to say goodbye to reality. She dug her nails into his palm and he twitched, half-heartedly trying to free his hand from her grip. His head turned, their eyes met. "Elowen and Ramon are counting on us. Look how far Elowen and Ramon have come despite all the odds being against them. Now they have a chance."

Haymitch nodded slowly, as if he was fighting his way out of the clutches of his trance. He freed his fingers from hers and reached for the flask inside his jacket. His expression seemed almost resigned after he had taken a few sips. As if even the alcohol wouldn't offer him relief. "That means we'll be kissing sponsors' asses even more than we already have."

"Watch your language." Effie rolled her eyes, but then shook her head. "The sponsors will come later. First we need to talk to the press. We need to get into people's minds. Caesar will definitely want to interview us, given the situation in District Twelve. In fact, we should already be in the hovercraft back to Twelve to conduct the interviews with the families."

Haymitch raised his eyebrows in surprise, as if he had completely forgotten this part of the Games. Probably because he had never been in this situation himself. "But?" he asked slowly.

"Management has decided to outsource the interviews this year," explained Effie, already getting up from the sofa. "The trip to the Districts costs money, but above all time. In recent years, it has happened more often that something happened in the arena while the mentors were away and so couldn't act in time. This is to avoid that. Whether we or someone else is in Twelve does not really matter anyway."

Haymitch nodded slowly but seemed visibly displeased. "Well, it will be fun for the cameramen from the Capitol to get a word out of Ramon's parents."

"The tributes benefit from the interviews. It is in the families' interest that they participate," Effie replied seriously.

"But that doesn't matter in Twelve."

"But it should, if–"

"Look, I really don't have the nerve to have this discussion right now," Haymitch interrupted, his tone so sharp that it made Effie pause. "Just accept that things are different in Twelve than in your beautiful Capitol. You won't be able to change people, and I certainly can't."

"Maybe you should have flown after all," Effie whispered thoughtfully, not looking at him. She didn't like it when he treated her so condescendingly. As if he knew something that was being kept from her. Even though he certainly knew his people better. She had met Ramon. If his family in District 12 was even half as stubborn as he was, it wouldn't make for a good interview. They needed the interviews to make the tributes seem more interesting. They needed the interviews to keep Elowen and Ramon alive. "Someone has to explain to them how important these interviews are."

"Oh, believe me, sweetheart, the Clangor's hate me more than anyone in this goddamn country. I already killed one of their sons, remember?" Haymitch said it with such ease, with such bitterness, as if he had accepted his words as truth long ago.

Effie came to a sudden halt and jutted her chin at Haymitch. "It is not your fault that Ramon's brother was taken during the Reaping, Haymitch," she stated with every spark of seriousness she could summon. "You are the mentor. You cannot do more than support the tributes from the outside. For the two of us, it was hard enough just to find sponsors for Elowen and Ramon. I cannot imagine Petunia has done much in the last few years."

"I haven't done anything either," Haymitch replied harshly.

"As a mentor, to find sponsors is not your duty. Contractually, that is the responsibility of the escorts, even though a lot of mentors help." Effie didn't understand how he could blame himself for something he had no control over. "The tributes largely influence the outcome of the Games themselves. Ramon's brother was not good enough; otherwise, your support would have increased his chances. Just like we increase Ramon's now."

"Ah, there's that speech about your beloved equal opportunity again," Haymitch snapped, loud enough to get some looks from a few people nearby. "Do I need to remind you of our little talk about Laetitia, or should I just take you right along next time so you can see it with your own eyes?"

Effie flinched, trying desperately to keep her expression neutral. It still felt like a slap in the face. She still had trouble accepting this truth – this part of the Capitol. It didn't make sense. It went against everything the Capitol stood for. At least the Capitol that she knew. A shaky breath escaped her lips and she lowered her chin. "I said largely. We did everything we could to give our tributes a chance. To ensure they were not at a disadvantage."

The silver in Haymitch's eyes lost some of its hardness. The corners of her mouth, which had previously been pulled down vehemently, moved up almost imperceptibly. He must have seen the pain flash across her face. "I drank so much last year that I can hardly remember the Games. Or Ramon's brother. Maybe he would have had a chance if I had cared more." Haymitch shrugged and suddenly it was him who felt a hint of agony flash across his face. "But it seems to get a little more difficult with each passing year not to be broken by it." He paused and his drunken voice wavered, as if he actually wanted to hold back the next sentences. "Some days, I can't even look in the mirror because all I see is a monster. So don't try to absolve me of guilt just so I won't burden you today."

Effie was silent for a split second. She took a deep breath to let his words bounce off her. "All right," she said finally, staring into his grey eyes with such intensity that she could feel Haymitch's sudden tension as if they were touching. "You are to blame. You did not help the boy."

Haymitch opened his mouth to reply, but he was speechless. Surprise flashed across his face. She had thrown him off track. "I'm to blame." Effie wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. The way Haymitch looked at her, he didn't seem sure either.

"You are to blame that you did not make the boy's time in the arena more bearable. But you are not responsible for his death." And when Haymitch started to reply hastily and angrily, Effie continued. "If there were no mentors, would he have died anyway?"

Again, Haymitch had no answer. She could see that he didn't want to accept it. As if he wanted the blame to be placed on himself. "Without the mentors, the tributes would still go to the arena. We, the escorts, would still draw their names at the Reaping. But without you, the mentors, the tributes would be helpless." A wave of nausea ran through Effie as she said the sentence. She had already opened her lips to continue speaking when she realized what she had just said. When she realized the magnitude of the truth in her words. "You are not to blame," she whispered, unable to look at Haymitch. We, the escorts, would still draw their names at the Reaping. "We are."

For a moment, Effie had the overwhelming feeling of falling forward. She could no longer feel her legs beneath her. Her mind was racing, trying to turn the statement around; to make the statement right. Some days, I can't even look in the mirror because all I see is a monster. Monster? If the escorts were the monsters, then she was one too. But ...

Haymitch stared at her. The anger and astonishment were gone from his face. For a brief moment, Effie thought she saw understanding flash in his pupils. As if he had already accepted her role in the Hunger Games and what it made of her. As if she was already a monster in his eyes. Haymitch said nothing. He didn't try to talk her out of the idea of her blame. She was guilty in his eyes; she could see that very clearly. Whether she was as guilty as he felt himself to be or more didn't matter. Guilty was guilty.

Effie had felt guilty often enough in the last few days. Because Haymitch had suffered from the first day in the Capitol and she had no idea how she could help him. Because Haymitch had gone to Laetitia Lowell because of her, to give the tributes a chance. Because she still hadn't managed to find the sponsors they deserved. Effie knew something was wrong. Not just today or this season. In general. Effie could feel it in her bones. But not for a single second had she thought that she was to blame if none of the tributes made it back from the arena alive. Yes, Haymitch had reminded her often enough that, unlike him, she was here voluntarily, but unlike him, she hadn't thought that was a bad thing.

Elowen's fate weighed heavily on her; she felt for the girl and feared what would happen if the unthinkable were to occur. Yet not for a second did she consider that she could be to blame. To blame for Elowen's death if she were to die in the arena. To blame because Effie had drawn her name.

If there were no mentors, would he have died anyway? If there were no escorts, would the tributes still die?

"Are you feeling better now?" Effie asked, tearing herself away from the dark foreboding in her chest that was trying to force its way to the surface of her consciousness. She pushed the questions and thoughts away. There was no point dwelling on them. Things were what they were. And yet. Effie couldn't keep her cheerful voice.

Effie would never find out if her speech had helped Haymitch. Before Haymitch could react, a commotion suddenly broke out somewhere in the crowd. An excited shout came from the large screens. The people reacted as one, as if they were all part of one big organism. Just moments ago, an oppressive lethargy had hung over the guests in the lounge. But that seemed to vanish all at once. Effie and Haymitch turned their heads almost in unison to the screen that was closest to them. And which they had ignored until now, to talk about the next steps.

A mistake.

Cashmere's golden face beamed on the television, her eyes fixed on a point off camera. Fixed on someone. The camera changed image, revealing a muddy swamp. Dim and gloomy, but the ankle-deep water had made it easy for the Careers to track the boy silently. The boy hadn't heard them until they had closed in on him from behind, driving him into a trap. The boy who was now at their mercy with nothing but a long stick in his hand.

The boy was Ramon.

Effie felt as if she were losing all sense of space and time. She wanted to lunge forward, grab Haymitch's arm and drag him to the nearest sponsors. Instead, she didn't move. Her feet were frozen. Her heart was pounding in her throat. She didn't have to look at Haymitch to know that he had fallen into his usual hopeless stupor. She knew what he would tell her. That it was too late. Four against one. By the time they found a sponsor willing to spend money, it would be ...

Ramon raised his stick. His face was calm. No fear reflected there. The Careers raised their own weapons in response. Thin wood against sturdy steel. Cashmere took a step forward. Slowly. They outnumbered him, there was no need to rush. She hadn't even gotten her arm into position when something silver whizzed past her from the side.

Cashmere dodged in shock and the boy from District 2 ran past her. Ramon moved backwards, straight towards Magnus, but he didn't move. The boy from 2 didn't hesitate as he brought his sword down on Ramon. Cashmere let out an angry curse, but it was drowned out by the crack of wood as Ramon's stick broke in two.

Ramon took another leap back and almost collided with Magnus, had he not also stepped back. So as not to stand in the way of the boy from District 2, who was clearly determined to claim this death for himself. He swung again and Ramon ducked. He must have known that he was lost. Otherwise, Effie couldn't explain why he lunged at his attacker unarmed after overcoming his defense.

The boys staggered and fell into the dark water. Ramon was strong enough to hold his opponent down. His fingers went to the other's weapon belt, because he himself had had nothing but the now useless stick. The boy from 2 spat water. He struggled to free himself from Ramon's grip.

A smile graced Ramon's lips. Not the typical arrogant, smug, hateful smile he had always had for Effie and the Capitol. A regretful, sad smile. There was no anger on his face as he grabbed the dagger and jerked it out of the leather. Guilt. Because he had to kill. Another tribute. He hadn't looked at Effie like that when he tried to kill her. Because this was District. Not Capitol.

And then, when Ramon had raised the knife a few centimeters, he suddenly froze – opened his mouth. Astonished. Finally in understanding. A gasp escaped his lips before the blood flowed out of him.

Cashmere had rammed her sword through his chest from behind. The sound it made as she pulled it out of him in one go was deafening. Cracking bones. Ripping muscles. Suffocating oxygen, like a balloon losing air. Cashmere's golden blade was smeared with blood.

Ramon's eyes widened. He spat blood. Right into the face of the boy beneath him. Red, red, red. The torrent seemed to never end. Then his body went limp. All at once. He raised his head to the sky, his eyes fixed on an invisible point, and fell forward. The cannon sounded the second his body hit the water with a splash.

"And so the fighter from District Twelve falls. That was Ramon Clangor, ladies and gentlemen. What a spectacle!"

Ramon was dead. In the blink of an eyelash. If Effie had blinked, she would have missed it. She looked at the screen. At the corpse that the Careers were crowding around, at which Cashmere was now grinning mockingly. All she saw was blood. Red, red, red. All she heard was the gasp that had just escaped his lips. He hadn't been afraid.

The image of Ramon was long gone; long since replaced by Caesar. Still, Effie saw only Ramon. The image of his dead body in the water was burned into her retina. A flood of memories threatened to overwhelm her. All the few moments she had seen him. She had seen him die. She had just seen it there on the screen. And yet ... Even though she knew he was dead, her mind couldn't process it. How could a life disappear so quickly? As if Cashmere had flicked the light switch and enveloped Ramon in darkness.

Ramon was dead and people were cheering. His body was still warm, and they were ... celebrating. Clapping and shouting Cashmere's name.

When Caesar's figure was replaced by the arena again, it was exactly that which shone on the screens. But she didn't hear the screaming her name. Cashmere was still bent over Ramon's body and screaming at the boy from District 2 who had wanted to claim Ramon's death. She cursed and swore while the boy pushed Ramon's body aside so he could get up out of the water. As if they didn't care about Ramon either.

Ramon was now lying on his back. His face turned to the sky again. His brown eyes still wide open. There was no life in them. This face, so twisted and relaxed, didn't look like Ramon at all. The boy who had always looked grim – who had been remembered by the Capitol as an arrogant charmer from his interview – was as if wiped away. This empty look testified to none of that. Looking into his pale face now, you would have thought that Ramon had never existed. Those eyes. That emptiness. As if it had always been there. Effie was sure that she would never be able to get rid of that sight. The goosebumps that had gripped her spoke volumes. She knew she was shaking, but she couldn't find the strength to take an interest in it.

Effie didn't cry. She was withdrawn, so far removed from reality that not even a cold bucket of water would have brought her to the surface. Ramon was dead, and yet his death wasn't reality for her. She simply didn't understand death. She had seen dozens of deaths on television. It had never affected her. And now she had seen Ramon die and couldn't understand it. Because it was just a television show. Because it was just a game.

Everything is fine. When it's all over, the boy will still be alive.

Then why couldn't she breathe if everything was fine?

Effie turned to Haymitch, only to find that Haymitch was no longer sitting next to her. The edges of her vision seemed blurry and far away, as if she was only halfway inside her body. As she blinked to regain focus, Chaff was suddenly standing in front of her. He looked worried. Not because of her, as it quickly turned out.

"He went out," was all Chaff said. He nodded toward the lounge exit.

Effie staggered in the same direction without saying a word to Chaff. Her eyes scanned every person who reminded her of Haymitch. But he wasn't there. So she kept walking until she was out of the lounge. In the hallway to the elevators, a few laughing guests were standing around, paying her no further attention. None of them was Haymitch.

He wouldn't have left without telling her. Would he? Effie could barely keep her thoughts together. Haymitch had seen countless tributes die, but just minutes before Ramon's death he had admitted that with each passing year it was getting harder to bear.

She stopped in front of the Capitol skyline. Unlike the days before, she didn't have a longing look to spare today. Effie stared at the glass and remembered Petunia. How Haymitch had pushed her against it. And suddenly she knew where he was. But even if she hadn't known. Before she had even put one foot in front of the other, she heard Haymitch roaring all the way up to her floor.

Effie stumbled toward the stairs and nearly fell over trying to reach its foot as quickly as possible. Haymitch stood in the middle of the wide, glass foyer. The foyer was lined with display cases and showcases. The glass case that Haymitch had smashed a few days earlier looked like new. Just as new as the Peacekeeper who was pointing his gun directly at Haymitch.

The man wore the white, armored uniform of a Peacekeeper, only the helmet was missing. It revealed a shaved head. Two almost black eyes looked at Haymitch – stunned and focused at the same time. Haymitch stood less than two meters in front of him, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up. The jacket lay on the floor next to the soldier, as if Haymitch had brusquely pushed him away. His shoulders were shaking. The hands on his body were clenched into fists. Not out of fear of the gun that was pointed at him. It seemed as if he couldn't care less. Like the evening he had attacked Petunia, all humanity had left his face. The anger seemed to be from another world. Anger and the burgeoning wildness of alcohol. Not a good mix. Especially not when a Peacekeeper was present. The embodiment of the Capitol government.

"Sir, please step back," the Peacekeeper told Haymitch. In a tone that suggested it was not his first request. He had probably been posted here after Haymitch had destroyed the box. To prevent further accidents. The way the man looked at him, he didn't seem to know that Haymitch was responsible for the destruction. Good.

"I don't take orders from the Capitol," Haymitch yelled in a distorted voice. Effie flinched. Not from the words, but from the pain. You're Capitol. And the Capitol loves to see us suffer. Effie thought of Laetitia Lowell, of Petunia, even of Seneca. They had all treated him condescendingly, each in their own way.

Haymitch took a shaky step to keep himself upright. The alcohol. The gun in the Peacekeeper's hand twitched, and Effie with it. Yes, she was the Capitol. But she didn't want to see him suffer. Never. The sight of the gun aimed straight at his heart sent a whole new kind of fear coursing through her body. Suddenly, all weakness, all sadness was washed away. There was only Haymitch. Only the gun. Only the guilt.

Effie rushed toward the scene without thinking. She pushed past Haymitch without thinking. Only when she had pushed him behind her and the Peacekeeper frantically turned his attention to her did she breathe a sigh of relief. You're Capitol. But she wouldn't let that be his undoing.

"What do you think you are doing, raising a weapon against a victor?" Effie hissed so shrill, so furious, that the Peacekeeper paused.

Aggression lay in the air. It made the soldier grip his weapon tighter. Effie stared straight down the barrel. If she had leaned forward, she could have felt the cool metal on her skin. Behind her, Haymitch was breathing in gasps. It reminded her of the when Elowen had almost died, and he had freaked out. The overwhelmed emotions. The shaking of his body. His uneven breathing. It hit Effie like a blow. Haymitch was having a panic attack.

"Victor?" the Peacekeeper asked harshly, but confusion was hidden beneath his commanding tone. "He was swearing and about to attack me."

"This is Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the fiftieth Hunger Games, you genius!" Effie jerked her hand up to point to Haymitch's face, to make the soldier understand the seriousness of his mistake.

But the Peacekeeper, who seemed completely overwhelmed by the situation, reflexively flinched away from Effie's hectic movement. They were too close to him. He felt threatened. "Stay still!" he growled in response. "Stay still and step back!"

Effie, unable to grasp the seriousness of the situation, looked at the man's face as if dumbfounded. "Excuse me? How dare you speak to me in that tone? You are not in a position to give orders to any of us! Everyone here knows us and–"

"Step. Back." The Peacekeeper took a step toward Effie and pressed the barrel of his gun directly against her chest. The surprise was replaced by a concentrated calm. "That is an order."

Effie dared not breathe. With wide eyes, she stared at the weapon pointed at her heart. She felt a chill of dread rush through her body, blocking out sound. She raised her hands to signal that she was unarmed. His finger on the trigger twitched in response. How had it all escalated so quickly? What had Haymitch done to provoke the Peacekeeper into such a rage? Before Effie could formulate an answer, Haymitch suddenly grabbed her arm, so forcefully that she would have lost her balance if his other arm hadn't wrapped around her waist. Her legs trembled from shock. A second later, he yanked her toward him.

Effie blinked and suddenly found herself behind Haymitch. His solid frame shielded her from the Peacekeeper — from the gun. His head turned toward her, his breath catching for a moment. The veil on his face had vanished. His muscles had stopped trembling. For a fleeting second, panic flickered across his features as he eyed Effie, as if needing to ensure that she was truly standing behind him.

As if someone had flipped a switch inside Haymitch, the panic shifted. Disappeared. Transformed into hate. Anger. Rage. Bottomless. Serious. Destructive. No sign of his drinking remained. No sign that he wasn't fully present. The silver in his eyes was hard as iron. All of his attention now focused on the Peacekeeper, who was growling something at Haymitch that Effie couldn't make out over the roaring in her ears.

"President Snow won't miss a Peacekeeper," was all Haymitch had to say. The explosive violence in his tone was in stark contrast to his lack of self-preservation. It was as if he was hoping the Peacekeeper would pull the trigger. It gave Effie goosebumps.

"Haymitch," she said. Her voice was shaking as much as her legs, and she felt tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't tell if it was from Ramon's death or Haymitch's penchant for conflict with the Capitol.

Haymitch glanced at Effie. The abyss in his black pupils should have made her step back. Something in his head had snapped. Because of Ramon. Because he was dead. Because in his eyes the Capitol was to blame. Some days, I can't even look in the mirror because all I see is a monster. Instead of escaping, she raised a shaking hand.

"It's not his fault," Effie whispered, barely able to bring herself to continue. She almost choked on her sobs. She shook her head vehemently. "He isn't to blame." We, the escorts, would still draw their names at the Reaping. Something like realization flashed across Haymitch's face. Perhaps he had read her thoughts.

There was a thundering sound of footsteps coming from the stairs. Effie knew she should have wiped away her tears and put on a happy, bubbly mask of cheerfulness. As so often in the last few days, she was unable to do so.

"Hey, hey!" called a familiar voice. Chaff. When he saw the weapon in the Peacekeeper's hands, he slowed down. He raised his arms, just as Effie had just done, to demonstrate his peaceful intentions. "We're all friends here!"

"And who are you now?" the Peacekeeper replied, not seeming happy about being outnumbered three to one.

"The victor of District Eleven at your service, sir," Chaff said calmly and coaxingly, standing respectfully far from the Peacekeeper. "I'm just trying to keep my friends here from getting shot and you from losing your job. I'm just pointing out that you'd probably lose your life in the process. Abernathy's the only living victor from Twelve and while I sometimes want to kill him myself, I advise you not to. President Snow is quite vindictive when it comes to his victors."

Insight appeared on the soldier's face, but his lips twisted in contempt. "Victor or not. He insulted me and wanted to get physical."

"I never said he was smart." Chaff smiled slightly. A winning smile that was as inauthentic as his courteous tone. He was just trying to help Haymitch out of a jam. "Look, those two just lost a tribute and are a little out of sorts. I assure you, it will never happen again."

The Peacekeeper gave Haymitch a disapproving look, but finally lowered his weapon and retreated. "Next time I will file a complaint. Then Mister Abernathy can explain himself to the Head Peacekeeper. Understood?"

"Understood. Clear and concise. Thank you, sir." Chaff sounded genuinely relieved, bowed his head respectfully, and then turned to Haymitch and Effie. He grabbed his friend's arm and dragged him along. Effie followed them on unsteady legs.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Chaff pushed Haymitch away and politeness finally gave way to irritation. His brown eyes darted contemptuously from Haymitch to Effie. He shook his head in disbelief. "Are you mad? Do you have a death wish? Wait, don't even answer the question, I already know the answer." Haymitch mumbled something incomprehensible, but Chaff interrupted him again, looking back and forth between him and Effie again. Annoyed. "You two really deserve each other."

Haymitch and Effie watched in silence as Chaff abruptly turned on his heel and left them standing there. Effie wiped away the last of her tears with the back of her hand and then turned to Haymitch. His face was still fixed on the corridor in front of them, but his eyes darted in her direction. The charged emotions seemed to have evaporated. All that remained was a sad, tired facade.

"You know we have to go back in there," Effie said quietly, almost choking.

"I don't want to," Haymitch replied, sounding almost frightened.

"I'm so sorry." She reached for his hand. He intertwined their fingers.

"Elowen still needs us."

-

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. A lot has happened. We have now lost our first tribute from 12, Ramon. Do you think Effie and Haymitch will recover quickly from the loss? Or will the wound remain open for a while?

Skyllen