The next morning, I slowly make my way to the cafeteria for breakfast, feeling completely alone. I don't know anyone here, bar Shan and Coin, but they're both grown adults and have no business hanging out with me. 

The strangest thing is, though, that here, no one knows. Their stares don't follow me around corners, like they did in Four. Here, I am just another girl, the height of their interest in my personality being that I am new. 

The food doesn't look particularly good, but I'm starving, so I take what I can get. Plus, when I find a seat at an empty table and dig in, it really is delicious--or maybe that's just because of how low I've set my expectations, but either way, I am appreciative. 

A girl sits next to me, dragging two more behind her. She gives me a toothy smile, with the sort of kindness that seems too much to be true. 

"Hi," she begins, her voice somewhat nasally.

"Hi," I respond, slowly.

"What's your name? You're new, right?"

"Yeah. I'm Daphne."

"Well, I'm Owen."

"That's your name?"

"My last name. But everyone calls each other by their surnames around here." She gives me a look, very blatantly saying, 'you know nothing about this place.'

"What's your first name?"

"Circe, but don't you dare call me that."

I consider for a short moment, wondering how anyone could choose to go by 'Owen' when their real name was something as beautiful as 'Circe.'

"Where are you from, then?" Her name sounds Capitol, and I don't think it's that crazy to imagine that someone from the Capitol could eventually end up here.

Another judging look. "I've lived in Thirteen my whole life."

"Your whole... really?"

"Yes. Duh. Why would I lie about that?"

I shake my head, not wanting to answer, and instead, change the subject. "What are your names?" I ask the two other girls, who have been silent thus far.

"Mors," one says.

"Finn," the other one adds. 

Circe ignores my obvious attempt to switch topics, and keeps right on going with our original one. "Where are you from, then, Daphne?"

I take a quick moment to consider that she's not calling me by my last name, and then answer. "District Four."

She wrinkles her nose, and I decide that I do not like this girl. "Ew."

"What's so ew about it?"

"I don't know, it's just like, gross. Doesn't it smell like fish over there all the time?"

"I don't fish, so I wouldn't know."

"What do you do, then? Isn't everyone in the Districts, like, poor?"

"I won the Hunger Games."

She pauses, leaning back just slightly, giving me another look as if finally seeing me in a true light, and says nothing. 

I don't either, and a long moment passes before she stands, her expression unreadable, and walks away, Mors and Finn following closely in her wake. 

I eat my food alone, unbothered by people yet very much bothered by my thoughts. 

What was the purpose of her reaction? Most of the people I've met were honored, proud, surprised, a thousand more adjectives. But she... she didn't even look horrified, just... done. She walked away, like that was that. 

She didn't recognize me, which means they must not air the Games in District Thirteen, so maybe she's simply not as desensitized to the violence as most people I know are? She probably thinks of me as a murderer, not a winner. And who would want to hang around a murderer, justified or not?

It's fine, really. I want friends, but I don't want her to be one of them.

***

After a little while my plate is empty, and having nothing else to do, I assume I'm meant to go find Gallopetal--or, Coin--and figure out the rest of my schedule. 

My tray goes into a slot in the wall, and I set off, following signs on the wall the best I can, and yet still I'm somewhat lost.

A boy turns the corner, and I open my mouth to ask for directions, but then quickly close it again when I see who it is. 

Lathe stares, for a long moment, and then lunges at me, pinning me against the wall. My head hits especially hard, a ringing sound filling my ears and forcing my eyes closed.

"You killed him!" he shouts, and then is violently pulled off of me by two older men, struggling all the while, or so I assume from the sounds of scuffling, but still my eyes are closed tight, very tight.

What just happened, what happened? He hates me, I know that, of course I do. But... god, is he insane? Mentally insane, the kind that gets you thrown in the psychiatric ward, when they existed, if they still existed today?

My breath is heavy, all sounds dampened, but at least the screaming has stopped. It was him, I think, who was screaming, not me. I think.

I'm still pressed against the wall, and it's cold, make of solid concrete that is nowhere near comforting and oh, do I wish I was home. Home, where my father is ruining his own life and I feel completely alone, rather than here, where there is no Aeolus, there is no friendly classmates, there is only hostility and attempted murders.

Was that what that was, really? Attempted murder? If we had been alone, if he had snuck into my room while I was sleeping and tried the same thing, would I now be dead?

Would it all have been for nothing?

I open my eyes to find that he is still staring at me. With faux confidence I meet his steady gaze, finding deep-set emotions there: hatred of course, but sadness, too. There are bags under his eyes, his lips are chapped.

I ignore his aggressive look, because I've faced worse, haven't I? So many people have made attempts on my life, so many people have come so very close, but none have succeeded, so I must be doing something right. 

Instead, I turn to a bystander: an older woman, maybe in her forties or fifties, her hair just starting to gray. "Can you take me to Gallo--Coin?"

Lathe affixes me with a strong glare, and I know that he thinks that I'm going for the sole reason of ratting him out, ruining everything he has here. 

I could, and really, the idea is very appealing. But I'm not going to, because I know how that feels: the rage after losing someone you love, the desire for revenge. I felt it too, when Salacia died. I simply didn't have the means to act on it. 

Or the bravery, honestly. I have never been brave, or really, risky. Unless strictly required, I've always taken the safe routes, steered myself far away from trouble. 

The woman leads me off. It's a long walk to wherever Coin stations herself, through many winding hallways and sharp turns, to the point where I start to believe I'll never be able to find my way through this entire base. But then, there it is, a tall door with a small keypad beside it. 

I give the woman a look. "Do you have a code?"

She just shakes her head. "No, I'm not certified."

I nod and walk up to the keypad, pressing the call button and speaking into the microphone. "Coin? It's Daphne."

"Come in," it says in a very robotic voice, and the doors slide open, modern as everything is in this strange place.

I do. They close behind me. 

Coin stands around a large table that seems to have been converted into some sort of electronic map, with the center of it showing all of Panem, the entirety of the Districts. Unlike every other map I've seen, it includes Thirteen, too. 

Coin looks up. "Hello, Daphne."

"Hey," I say. "Sorry, I know you didn't call for me, but I was just wondering what my schedule's gonna look like here--you didn't mention anything about that last night."

She nods, stepping away from the table. I get a few glances from the other people in the room, all who look important and yet completely unfamiliar, and I wonder if they even know who I am.

"A good question to ask." She pulls a small device from her pocket, pressing it to my forearm, and when she pulls away, I am stamped with blue ink depicting what I assume is my schedule. 

I peer at it for a moment before looking up at her. "So I come to you everyday, and you stamp me again?"

Coin shakes her head. "You will find one of these machines inside of your room, although I assume you haven't explored it thoroughly yet. It will wash off throughout your day, and you'll get a new one with the new day. Understand?"

I nod, again, and then look at my tattoo closely. 'Weapons,' it says, as my first activity. "Where is 'weapons' held?"

"That is not a class, it will be a private session with one of our esteemed experts to help you defend yourself, both inside and outside Thirteen."

Does she know about my encounter with Lathe? "I'm going outside of Thirteen?"

"Of course. We'll send you on missions, just as every other citizen here does, once they're old enough to become a soldier. Although, with your delicate state, your missions will look more like publicity stunts and less like true battles."

"My delicate state?" I ask, because really, she words it like I'm pregnant. 

"It's not easy to replace a Victor, Daphne. With how much press you have on you right now, the simple act of your appearance in one of our battles would shock the Capitol." She gives me a look, as if I should know this, and really, why don't I know this? "Victors don't defy often, you know. And when they do, they're shot down almost immediately, along with most of their family."

Oh god, their family. "Is my dad okay?"

"Your dad?"

"...Yes. Is he okay? You said that... they kill their families, when Victors defect."

"Well, we don't have very much evidence of this, as it doesn't happen often," Coin says, avoiding the topic. My heart beats so fast in my chest I fear it'll jump out and hop out the door. 

"But you've checked in with him, right? He's a Victor too, they wouldn't kill him, would they? The Capitol would be outraged, he was so beloved!" In his prime, not recently, but I don't mention that.

Shan is here too. Shan is here too, and Coin is deflecting my questions, and when was the last time I talked to my dad, anyways? I wasn't even home for maybe a day before I was kidnapped, and I doubt I talked to him for at least a week before that...

I'm going to faint. I'm going to pass out right here, because Coin is looking at me like that, and Shan is here, and they don't know what happened to my dad, but Shan is here, so it can't be anything good, and...

I take a deep breath, a deep, deep, breath, that does practically nothing to circulate air to my brain. 

"He's dead, isn't he?" I whisper. The words feel like acid on my tongue, burning a hole through my skull, painful, so painful. 

She doesn't nod. But she doesn't shake her head, either, and my eyes fill with tears.

He was all I had left in this world. He wasn't much, but he was family.

I turn and rush out the door, walking anywhere, anywhere in this entire building, not even caring where I might end up, because my dad is dead.