When I return, Mayor Gallopetal is sitting in my living room, twiddling with her fingers. Her head shoots up when I step inside. 

The door shuts behind me, and I assume she hasn't seen the peacekeepers that escorted me home. 

"I won't ask where you've been," she says, but her tone is less 'understanding mother figure' and more 'parent of a rebellious teenage daughter.' Either way, it's maternal in a way I'm not really used to. 

I sit down on the couch, my bones aching, head swirling. I don't bother to respond to her comment, because I know that anything I say will not be the right thing.

"How are you?" I ask instead, moving through the polite pleasantries one must engage in when chatting with the mayor of their District, a woman with a whole lot of power. 

"Good, thank you for asking," she replies, shifting slightly in her seat. I take a long look at her. 

Guinevere Gallopetal knew my mother, that much I'm sure of. But it's been years since her death, and she's visited many times since then, including when driving me to the reaping--an event I still have no answers about, although now is certainly not the time to ask.

So what would she want with me now? Congratulations, for my winning the Games? It's been months; she's had time. 

The mayor swallows, looking away, nonchalantly hiding the fact that she can't seem to meet my gaze. 

Eventually, she looks at me, the tips of her mouth curling up in a slight smile. "I assume you are wondering why I am here."

'And how you got in,' my mind finishes, but it is something I would never say, and so I don't. 

"Yeah, a bit." An understatement. It's not everyday the mayor shows up in your house.

Plus, I really don't feel up for this right now. I want to take a long, burning hot shower, and then change into clean clothes and climb under the blankets and nap for a while. I want to rinse off everything that makes me feel dirty. 

But I can't, so instead I rub at my arms, as if that will help with anything. 

Another moment of hesitation, and my annoyance grows even further, because really, can't she just get to the point?

"I've noticed that you have been developing friendships with the Theodoros children," she says finally, and I raise my eyebrows. 

"I have."

"You... understand their background?"

What background? "I knew Apollo, so yeah, I do."

"All of it?"

"I... yes?"

A pause, a skeptical expression covering her face, almost as if she is thinking, 'you poor child. I wish I didn't have to be the one to break this news to you.' I am almost nervous. 

"I mean, I know that they were born in the Capitol, but it's not like they were there for a long time," I say, my voice too quick, tone too uncertain. "They must have left when they were like five, right? A bit older?"

"Six," she corrects, and I nod. We have switched places: I am now the one fidgeting with my hands in my lap, and she is the one sitting still, studying my expression as if it is notes for a quiz.

"Okay, and?"

My suspense grows and grows and grows and I decide that I do not like this woman. 

"Did you know of their father's position in the Capitol?"

My eyebrows raise just a bit higher. "...No, I did not. Was he important?"

"Very," she says. "President Snow's advisor."

I let this information sink in for a moment, even though with the way their father looks at me, it's not at all surprising. "And?"

"He was accused of treason," she says, in a voice so casual I find it hard to believe she knows what's coming out of her own mouth. 

Treason? Is that the kind of act that gets you sent down to the slums of the Capitol: District Four's upper class?

"What did he do?" The question may be inappropriate, but at this point, I don't really care.

She gives me a significant look, like what she is about to say next means something, something I should be paying attention to.

"Treason, for supposedly helping the rebellion."

The words slip out of my mouth quickly: "What rebellion? There is no rebellion."

Another look, another nervous churn of my stomach. "Of course not. But if there was, he was not helping it."

"So you're saying he was falsely accused?" That's a bold statement, something most people wouldn't say, even in the privacy of their own homes--and they're not the mayor. 

"Well, are you going to spread what I say?"

It is a threat, not a question. I have two answers as my options, and only one of them is a good one. 

"No, of course not."

"Then I suppose I am saying he was falsely accused."

"And... he's not doing anything to combat that?"

"Of course he is! But you see, the Capitol doesn't like to listen to reason, and Snow in particular despises being wrong."

"Well, yeah. But there's not like, evidence, or anything?"

Another look. She stands, dusts off her skirt. "There was evidence, but the only person it incriminated was him."

I feel like there is supposed to be a message here that I am getting, but as the mayor walks to the door, I am left nothing but confused. 

"Wait!" I exclaim, rushing towards her, just as her hand brushes against the doorknob. "Why are you telling me all this? Aren't you worried I'll share it with someone?"

Her smile is cloyingly sweet, akin to Snow White's poison apple: dangerous, yet incredibly enticing. "Would you?"

"No." There is no other answer. I have already told her this. 

"Then no reason why not to, hm?"

I would like to tell her that there are many reasons why not to, just a few including that I could report her for speaking against the Capitol, for sharing information I'm sure must be classified, and probably for a million other things. 

She leaves. The door shuts behind her. The peacekeepers must be gone. 

I stand in the hallway for a long moment, struggling to process. Eventually a smell wafts over my nostrils and brings me back to my senses, and I turn towards the kitchen to find Shan making dinner, pulling a roast chicken out of the oven just now. 

I walk into the kitchen, helping her with the heavy bird, setting it gently on the countertop. "Have you been here the whole time?" I ask her, repeating when she doesn't hear me the first time. 

Shan is getting older, and it is showing. I haven't known her for long, of course, but she has pointed it out to me herself, and it is obvious enough. I don't know what I'd do without her. 

She looks up, meeting my gaze, and for a moment I think she hasn't heard me once again, because there is no response. 

But then, she just smiles. Like all of her expressions it is indiscernible, and I am lost, even as she turns away. 

Neither of us speak for the entire meal.