Song inspiration for this chapter: As It Was – Harry Styles

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As It Was

My heart is still racing in my chest as we enter the elevator, but the knowledge that I will be safely on the surface in a few seconds and never have to enter this place again keeps the fear at bay. I lean sideways against Haymitch, who has his left arm wrapped around my middle. The two soldiers who escort us out are standing at the door.

With each floor we get closer to the outside world, I can breathe a little easier. The elevator doors open and dazzling daylight shines towards us, only interrupted by two figures who step aside to let us through. They must have been waiting for the elevator.

I squint my eyes to adjust to the light. The first thing I see is white. A white uniform. I stiffen in Haymitch's arm. A Peacekeeper. I was hoping not to meet any of them, and even more so, not to get this close to them. The Rebels didn't lay off, arrest, or execute them all. Not all of them committed crimes, most of them just followed orders. Still, I dislike the look of them. I once felt safe around them, but that is long gone.

The soldiers in front of us start moving and Haymitch and I follow them to exit the elevator. My gaze moves to the Peacekeeper closest to me and my eyes slide up to his face. Nothing but a gut feeling. It feels like the world around me comes to a sharp stop. My legs stop abruptly beneath me, my feet seem to be frozen in place and yet I feel like I'm falling into a bottomless hole with no support.

I find myself face to face with a man whose gaze seems distant. He doesn't even notice me, stares past us boredly as we get out. Now that I stop inches from him and look up into his face with wide eyes, he slowly notices me. He looks down and a pair of intense blue eyes meet mine. I hit the bottom of the hole and shatter into thousands of shards.

The Peacekeeper doesn't recognize me, but I recognize him. When I first looked into his face all those months ago, I already knew that I would never forget those eyes. His round jaw is framed by light brown hair and he looks just as strong in the gear as he did back then. Images flash before my mind and it's like I can hear myself screaming from a distance, as if I–

"Effie, what–" I don't hear the rest of Haymitch's question because stir shows on the Peacekeeper's face. He tilts his head a little to the side when he hears my name. A second later, recognition flickers across his features.

I can't believe this is actually happening right now. I can't believe that after everything he's done, this man is still allowed to wear that armor, let alone walk around freely. It's him, I recognize him and now that he recognizes me, I no longer have any doubts. He has a brother. They were both there on the last day before our rescue.

None of us dare move. The Peacekeeper's blue pupils jump from me to Haymitch, who is still standing next to me, but has released his arm from my waist. I hear him talking, but the blood rushes through my ears so loudly that all I hear is a loud, frightening pounding.

The Peacekeeper takes an uncertain step, but there is no sign of the uncertainty on his face. It's probably just my imagination, but I could swear I saw a smile on the corner of his mouth. Something pops in my ears and suddenly his voice is there and it makes me jump.

"Go ahead, I forgot something," he says to his colleague, who gives us strange looks. He wants to escape. He wants to run away. He's taking another step backwards and I know that if I don't act now, I'll never have the strength to come back here to hold him accountable.

Haymitch grabs my arm and pulls me towards him. He knows something is very wrong. His body is tense, alert, as if something is going to get out of hand at any second. A sound leaves my lips and I can't tell if it's a hiss or a sob.

"Why is he still here?" I ask as loudly as I can, afraid that they won't hear me. Or miss me. Or ignore me. To my own surprise, the words are not directed at Haymitch, but at the two Rebel soldiers accompanying us.

The soldiers follow my staring and look a bit perplexed. "We can't replace every Peacekeeper in the system, Miss. Most of them have a clean slate and were ordinary soldiers who had nothing to do with the government's machinations."

He misunderstood my question. I feel like I can't breathe, like I'm going to pass out any second. My pupils focus on the Peacekeeper's face and he returns my gaze, knowing he is lost. Can he read it in my eyes?

"This man doesn't have a clean slate," I say. It feels like I'm speaking from far away. As if my body wasn't really here. "This man tortured people in the catacombs of this prison and he enjoyed it."

The soldiers look so perplexed, as if completely taken by surprise. "That's impossible, we checked them all."

Suddenly Haymitch pushes past me, stands between me and the Peacekeeper, who looks like he wants to turn on his heel and run away. There is nothing left of the pleasure and superiority that he made me feel back then. "Is he one of them?" Haymitch demands from me. His voice is toneless and dead-quiet and gives me goosebumps. A darkness sparkles in his gray eyes that I have never seen there before. He doesn't have to continue, because I can see the question reflected in his threatening features. Is he one of those who did this to you?

"It must be a misunderstanding," intervenes the other soldier. "I swear by it, we subjected everyone here to a thorough background check."

The Peacekeeper in question presses his lips together and fixes me with a look that sends a shiver down my spine. Haymitch, not missing the gesture, lets out a low growl and takes a step towards him, fists clenched. The Peacekeeper reaches for his weapon.

"He has a brother," I blurt out and the comment makes them all perk up. "He has the same eyes as him. They look so similar they could be twins."

The Rebel soldiers approach the scene, surprise and discomfort on their faces. They have no idea if what I'm saying is true or if this Peacekeeper actually has a brother; after all, they don't know him personally.

"Holy shit," the other Peacekeeper mutters at this moment, who has been standing silently in the elevator doorway all along. His wide eyes fly from his colleague to the Rebels, who look at him expectantly. "She's right."

Haymitch doesn't need any more confirmation. Not a second has passed, but he has already pounced on the Peacekeeper. Weapon or not, he doesn't have time to react because Haymitch's hand has already grabbed his throat and pushed him against the nearest wall. He has no chance against a former victor.

My feet remain on the ground as if they were nothing but thick, heavy lumps of ice preventing me from moving. But the fear is gone. It's replaced by a satisfaction that should worry me. Would a good person feel satisfaction? I don't care. I watch as Haymitch cuts off my tormentor's air and feel relief, satisfaction and justice. Even the soldiers around us hesitate. Most Rebels are happy to turn a blind eye in such moments, happy to leave the Capitols to their fate; they like to practice vigilantism. Up to now, the thought of it made my stomach queasy, but at this moment I'm glad for it. Only when the Peacekeeper's gasp draws the general attention of the entrance hall do they rush forward to push Haymitch back.

They need two men to drag Haymitch away from him and another to keep him from rushing forward again. I continue to stand in place and stare down at the Peacekeeper, who sinks to the ground against the wall, clutches his bruised throat and begins to breathe, panting. His eyes are watering, his fingers are shaking, his body is hunched over. Slowly, what feels like an eternity, he raises his head. Our eyes meet. My lips curl into a smile. His eyes twitch enraged, and my smile widens. Am I going crazy? I feel like I'm going crazy. I wish Johanna was here to see this.

The Rebels who were responsible for us grab my tormentor from the ground, pull him roughly to his feet and drag him away. He struggles but is rendered harmless by a hefty blow from a pistol. I hope I never have to see him again. At the same time, I hope that he will be executed so that Johanna and I can watch him die. It won't fix anything, I know that deep down, but after slowly coming to grips with the trauma over the last few months, the hatred swells through me more and more often when I think back to our captivity; when I think about Peeta because they did so much worse to him.

Someone touches my arm and I jump so hard I have to take two steps back to keep my balance. Haymitch stands in front of me, blocking my view of where the Peacekeeper has disappeared behind a door. Dark anger is reflected in his eyes and his hand trembles against my wrist. His face is twisted into a grimace of concentration, as if he's trying to hold himself back from grabbing the nearest Peacekeeper.

"Let's go," he says through gritted teeth. Let's go before I end up killing someone.

I nod, grab his arm and we leave the prison together. As we step over the threshold and the sun warms our skin, I pray that I never have to set foot in that goddamn building again. We get into the black car, which is waiting exactly where we left it, and lean back in the armchairs. Only now do I allow myself to breathe out the accumulated air.

Haymitch turns and looks at me for a while with his stormy gray eyes, the silver in them frozen to ice. He raises his hand to my cheek and strokes it in a light movement. I stare at his wet fingertip, my stomach clenching because I didn't realize I started to cry.

"You're safe," he whispers so quietly that the driver and the other soldiers in the car can't hear us. I know he would say more if we were alone.

"I know," I reply, closing my eyes. But the darkness only makes everything worse. Much much worse. It's not the time to give in to my panic. Even though it's a tough battle not to have an episode right here and now. Part of me wants to burst into tears, wants to scream, wants to curl up and tremble and be overwhelmed by fear. Facing this man makes me feel small, dirty, and scarred – as if I'm back in my cell, as if I can hear Johanna's screams again, see my own blood, feel the panic like a second skin all over my body. Do I really know?

Aurelia. I force my thoughts to think her name again and again. Aurelia, Aurelia, Aurelia.

I force my eyes wide open, even though the world has lost its focus through the veil of tears. There's nothing to see out there, but inside my head, there's plenty. The car beneath me sways to the side as we turn a corner, and Haymitch's arm wraps around my waist so tightly it feels like he's trying to suffocate me.

I try to remember Dr. Jennings' tips. What I can do in moments of overwhelming panic to not drown. Because one thing is certain: I won't regain control — I can only try to meet it with an equally strong emotion.

So I fight panic with fear, anxiety with panic, fear with anxiety. Aurelia. Think about Aurelia.

I have to track down Aurelia and make sure she's truly alive. Caius relieved me of a burden with his confession, but lately, it's been hard for me to trust words.

My heart pounds like the hooves of a wildly galloping horse in my chest as I try to make a compromise with my mind. Then, as I feel like I won't vomit on Haymitch's lap, I look up at him and squeeze his hand. "It's just noon. We still have plenty of time to stop by Caius's apartment."

oOo

After a brief stop at the Presidential Palace, we now stand at the base of a skyscraper on the edge of the Inner Circle. The lower ten levels are made of solid white concrete, and only above them do the first windows of the residential complexes begin. High enough that one can't climb up. The black iron door is thick enough to suggest that the walls have been reinforced with metal. Security has indeed been prioritized here.

Johanna leans against the facade of the building and examines the people who cautiously look at us as they pass. Our little soldier-escort isn't really inconspicuous. Haymitch insisted on taking them with us, so we returned to the palace. And once there, I couldn't leave without telling Johanna about the incident in prison. She thinks I'm crazy just for even entering it again. But I can tell she's a little relieved to have caught one of our tormentors. Given the way she is, she probably wants to smash his skull with her axe in person. At least there's that spark in her brown eyes that wasn't there before. I wanted her to accompany us here. Not because she is very interested in my sister, but simply because the ceiling is falling on her head at the palace. She feels like she's in a new prison, only the cell is a lot bigger and more luxurious. Addiction only makes it worse. I thought she might benefit from some variety.

"Your relatives are pretty rich," Johanna observes, while my eyes slide to the number-window that is the only thing next to the door. I type in the six-digit code Caius gave me and the door starts to whir. Several mechanical clicks sound and I press myself against the flat door, which doesn't even have a handle. Haymitch, Johanna and two soldiers follow me as I enter. A soft light illuminates a square foyer, at the end of which are three elevators. To their right, a display comes to life.

"It's not my family's money," I explain absently. My eyes fall on the dozens of names written next to the numbered apartments. I don't recognize any of the names, but that's the point of it; the purpose of such an apartment: Nobody should know which wealthy family resides here. To maintain privacy and for security reasons. I look for the right name and ring the bell. "Caius's family has one foot in the door of the elite. He's in the government. This all belongs to him."

"Perhaps you've backed the wrong horse," Johanna giggles contemptuously and instead of responding to her comment, I press the bell again, longer this time. This is one of her mood swings. Her last dose must have worn off, the absence is noticeable. She doesn't mean it that way, she's just as malicious to everyone and everything as possible.

"Her brother-in-law is a sleazy guy," Haymitch mutters, and at the same moment the line buzzes as the intercom comes to life. My heart is suddenly in my throat, my body stiff, my stomach upset with fear. The crucial moment.

"Who is there?" A high-pitched voice that sounds cautious. My head falls into my hands and a sigh of relief escapes me that sounds like a half sob as I recognize Aurelia. It is her. She is alive. "Effie, is that you?!"

Now my head shoots up. How does she know– My gaze falls on the small camera above the display. She can see me. Me and the others standing here in the foyer. The field where her face could have been, had she activated her own camera, remains black. Automatically, I adjust my hair and take a deep breath before I begin to nod. "Yes, it's me," I say slowly.

For a long moment the silence envelopes me and I'm already dreading the click on the line. "How do you know about this apartment?" she asks instead, her tone guarded. She's not happy to see me, but not upset either. No How are you or Get out immediately.

"Caius gave me the address."

"You talked to him? Is he free again?" She sounds hopeful. She sounds so different than I remember. The energy that used to lie dormant there has given way to something else; an exhaustion that goes deeper than simple tiredness.

I shake my head. "He remains under arrest. I visited and spoke to him. He's fine. I'm supposed to tell you that he's worried about you." A lie, but I want to calm her mind; want her to let me come up.

"Alright," she replies, and after all this time, I still know her well enough to know that she can see through my lie. "What are you doing here?" Direct and to the point. Like there's no reason for me to come here. As if we were strangers with nothing to say to each other. As if we didn't have dead parents to mourn. As if there weren't a bunch of secrets between us that needed to finally be revealed. She is all I have left of my family. I love her, no less than when we were children. Her question hurts more than I expected and for a moment I don't have an answer. I don't know what she sees on my face that makes her continue. "I have been waiting for you for so long."

That's all. The line clicks and dies. My heart clenches so painfully that the world around me briefly goes black. Then it suddenly pings, and the right elevator door opens. My knees are weak with relief and I step into the elevator before Aurelia might change her mind.

We don't have to press a button, the elevator automatically takes us to the right floor, up to the apartment below the penthouse. Another pinging as the thick metal doors open, only to reveal another steel door. I blink once and the door gently opens inwards. Aurelia's caramel blonde head appears between the thin crack. Her sky blue eyes find my identical pair and I don't even manage to burst into tears, that's how grateful I am that she's standing here in front of me. Breathing. Alive. With blood running through her veins. Even if she slammed the door straight in my face and never wanted to see me again, I would be overjoyed. Her life is a privilege that I swore off a long time ago. I've thought she was dead for so long that the fact has already become solidified in my mind.

The moment passes and discomfort crosses Aurelia's face as she looks at my companions. My lips curl in embarrassment because I haven't given a thought to what it must look like to show up here with two Hunger Games victors and a bunch of Rebel soldiers. I'm about to turn to tell them to wait downstairs when Aurelia fully opens the door and steps aside. "Come in."

The soldiers look more than a little out of place and even Haymitch and Johanna stand back politely, as if they don't really know what to do with themselves. We stand in a wide, long hallway and Aurelia looks at us briefly before slipping into her typical host role. "Please take off your shoes here," she says in a friendly, distant manner. This must be such a strange sight. "Follow me into the living room."

"You can wait here," Haymitch instructs the soldiers, before we follow Aurelia through the richly decorated hallway into a wide, open-plan living room. A wide window front offers a view of the Inner Circle. I can see the Training Center from here, District 12's penthouse. I immediately wonder if she was here when the Peacekeepers arrested me all these months ago. Had she had binoculars, or even just a slightly better camera, she could have practically watched it happen.

The living room is classically furnished, more antiquated than my parents' house, but no less beautiful. A brown sofa ensemble occupies the majority of the room and sits right in the center. To the left of the windows, a fire burns in a fireplace. The dark wood parquet is covered by mocha and beige-colored carpets. A golden cabinet sits in the other corner, a copper-colored shelf to the right of the entrance, and a wide chandelier made of yellow glass brings some life to the room. Unlike at my parents' home, you can tell that someone lives here. Everyday items are scattered here and there, the fabric covering the couch is creased, and the pillows look like someone has flattened them.

"If I had known I was having visitors, I would have prepared refreshments," Aurelia apologizes, then asks if anyone would like a drink. We all politely decline. She stands in front of the back of the sofa and runs her hands over her upper arms as if she doesn't quite know what to do with me or the entire situation.

Aurelia looks different than I remember her. Our last meeting was a brunch at my mother's house, just days before I traveled to District 12 for the Reaping. I still remember that her cherry red wig was particularly beautiful that day and I could hardly take my eyes off it. While most wives of politicians dress modestly and conservatively, she was always dressed in glitz and glamour; always the latest haute couture, always just so eye-catching that it didn't go too far. I don't remember what she was wearing, only that the seams of her dress glittered in the light.

Now Aurelia is wearing a form-fitting, amber-colored sheath dress with a V-neck. Simple, without embellishments. Her feet are in black pumps with a heel of less than two centimeters. No jewelry adorns her neck, ears or wrists and I think back to the looting of her house in the Government District. She certainly wouldn't have left without taking her most valuable jewelry with her.

It's the first time in two decades that I've seen Aurelia's real hair. My mother convinced her to wear wigs early on and, unlike me, she didn't show hers to the public even when natural hair was in fashion. I can't say if she colored it, but when we were kids it seemed lighter to me; more similar to my own. Now her blonde hair has a slight red tint to it, like a fox's fur. She pinned it up in a tight braid. It highlights her striking cheekbones, which have made her famous across the city. There is no make-up on her features. Her face is barely noticeably sunken. She has lost weight since we last met. Her wide blue eyes, which we both inherited from our mother, scan over my body and I know she thinks the same about me.

Aurelia slowly approaches me and even though she is my older sister, I can't shake the feeling that she seems more lost than I am. She stops a meter in front of me and sorrow mingles with her expression. "What have they done to you?" she murmurs, embarrassed and glum, and then she opens her arms. I approach her without hesitation.

We hold each other for what feels like an eternity. We cling to each other, slowly rocking back and forth, feeling each other's racing heartbeats and when she starts to sob, I can no longer hold back my own tears. "You don't know how relieved I am that you're alive," Aurelia shakily says, pulling away from me enough so that we can look into each other's eyes. In her pumps she is a little taller than me. "After what happened to mother and father ..." She sobs, wiping the tears from her cheek. "When they brought you on stage ... I was just waiting for you to die next."

"You are not infuriated?" I quietly ask, squeezing my hands together to stop them from shaking. "They are dead because of me. If it wasn't for me, then–" Aurelia cuts me off before my tone can reach an even more hysterical octave.

"I know you would have never done that to them on purpose, Effie," she replies urgently and doubtlessly, as if it were an article of faith that she had held on to with all her might. "Whatever you did, whether you are a ... Rebel ... or not, you would have never wanted them to die for it."

I nod vehemently and then stagger past her to the sofa. A look at the door tells me that Haymitch and Johanna have retreated. We are alone. My feet are shaking too much for me to stand upright any longer. Aurelia sits down next to me and reaches for my hand, as if she wasn't quite sure if this was really happening. "Whatever you heard is probably not true."

"Then tell me your side of the story," Aurelia demands and I hear the uncertainty in her voice. How strong is the Capitol's influence still on her?

I look up at her face and a younger image of herself appears in my mind. She was my best friend until I was a teenager. I confided everything in her, from heartbreak to arguments with our mother. There was nothing she didn't know about me. It wasn't until my mother paved the way for her to follow the career path that I, too, should have followed that our relationship cooled down. Suddenly there were things I didn't think Aurelia would understand. Then she met Caius, which further isolated us from each other. When I became part of the Hunger Games, I desperately needed someone, and if he hadn't been there, she might have been the person I would have gone to. But with a husband in the government, it's hard to cry out about the injustices of the Hunger Games.

So many reasons that drove us apart, all of which have now evaporated. Maybe it's too late for her, maybe she's too deep in the Capitol's maelstrom to understand. Nevertheless, or perhaps precisely because of this, I take a deep breath and tell Aurelia everything. Truly everything. My first years as an escort for the Games. My sudden awakening when I looked behind the curtain. The deaths, the intrigues, the celebrations. Caius's behavior over the years. The behavior of the elite, the machinations of the elite. My emotional distance over the years. The situation in the Districts. Seneca Crane's death. The threat of Snow. The emerging unrest in 12, which spread to the other Districts with the Quarter Quell. Haymitch's secrecy. His sudden disappearance. My arrest. My trial in which I was found to be a Rebel. The months in captivity. The interviews. The execution of our parents. Here I start to sob, pausing my monologue for a while to reach for Aurelia's other hand as she quietly cries with me. Then it continues. I have no real control over the words. They bubble out of me like a confused stream in which I get lost because I don't want to forget anything, so the events lose their order. Our rescue from prison is missing. My rehabilitation in District 13. Haymitch and my approchement. My friendship with Johanna. I end my story with the departure to the Capitol and briefly describe that I visited our parents' house and hers to look for her, only to eventually seek out Caius.

We cry and cry and it takes a long time before Aurelia finally clears her throat to take a stand. I expect all kinds of things. I don't expect anything because I hardly know her inner self anymore over the years, and I don't know how she thinks anymore. "I never believed you were a Rebel. That would not have suited you. I have been wondering for months why you still came into the government's focus. Considering they executed all the other Hunger Games employees, you did not have to be a Rebel either. Mother suggested it was Haymitch's fault. She told Caius and me about his appearance after you met in town. In the interview with Caesar, it came out that they had pictures of you together. That was reason enough for them to suspect that you were colluding with him."

"But what do you think about it? Do you think I deserved what happened? Do you think Johanna or Peeta deserved it?" Aurelia sounds so matter-of-fact, as if she had acquired all the knowledge. As if she picked up Caius's words.

Aurelia hesitates and grimaces in pain. "I abhor any form of violence. When I hear what you suffered ... I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even your victors or anyone else from the Districts. After all, they are just children. They are too young to really understand it all."

"Children also fought in the Hunger Games," I say, feeling a little hypocritical. Who am I telling this to? I was an escort for these children for eleven years.

"You want to hear from me that I despise the Hunger Games and that they are something terrible," Aurelia summarizes quietly, staring at her lap where she has her hands folded together. Her fingers are still shaking up and down. "Yet you know that I always found them entertaining. I have no attachment to these children. They are stars. I understand that most of them die, but ..." But seeing someone die on the screen like it's nothing but a movie is different. Or maybe she doesn't care. "I do not not care, but I did not feel bad watching either. I will not mourn or miss the Games, but they were there. There you have the truth. You would see through my lies anyway."

I'm at a loss for words. Not because I'm stunned or dismayed. I knew she was like my mother in that regard, albeit less extreme. I was like them myself until the children were placed right in front of my face. It's just not the same to have them in flesh and blood before you, to see their fears, to take care of them, as it is to watch their death on TV while getting drunk with friends or throwing a garden party to network on the side. I don't want to defend her either, but I know how it is and that this is just the way it is. I'm speechless because I just have nothing to say.

"I believe you, Effie, when you say that the people of the Districts really want nothing but justice for themselves," Aurelia continues, and I can't shake the feeling that she feels obligated to tell me the truth, after hearing mine. "But they destroyed our city, they took it over. Is that justice? The Capitol made mistakes, I admit that, but I fear they will do to us what we did to them. They could if they wanted to."

"Does that mean you would turn back time if you could?"

"My marriage to Caius was only stable on the surface, often not even that," Aurelia admits and sighs. Her copper-blond braid swings back and forth as she shakes her head. "I loved him when we got married, but I was very young then. Nevertheless, I am glad that I chose him. Caius gave me a life that I enjoyed to the fullest. If they do not execute him, they will at least dispossess him and so all I have left is what belongs to mother and father. The standard of living is not the same and I know I sound entitled, but that is the way it is. I am a single person. I could not change the suffering in Panem with my money. Am I selfish if I say that my life is more important to me than that of others? After all, the Rebels are doing nothing other than putting their lives above ours."

In all the years that we met for brunch at my mother's week after week or attended various events together, I always thought that she was more liberal than Caius. I thought she would understand the suffering out there. But perhaps she really needs to walk in the shoes of me, or Johanna, or someone in the Districts, to understand how many lives have been saved simply because individuals like Cinna, Portia, or Plutarch Heavensbee chose to put their own privileges aside.

Do I love Aurelia less because she doesn't share my opinion? Part of me wants to, but I can't. I don't want to hate her. Maybe she'll learn with time. She is my sister, she belongs to me, come what may. I'm sure she wouldn't have abandoned me in that prison if she had seen me there. I know my story torments her. I hope she will reflect on this.

"How have things been for you the last few months?" I then ask. I want to know more about her life, now that I've been out of the picture for so long.

"It was terrible, Effie," she whispers, reaching for my hands again. "When it became public that District Thirteen was not destroyed but the base of the Rebels, mother was so sure Haymitch took you there. I do not think anyone was as off track as she was when Caius found out about your arrest and trial. Everything happened so fast. Yesterday we were with mother and father and Caius told us all the known details and the next day they were gone too. Even Caius knew nothing. The next and final sign of life was their execution." Aurelia starts to cry again and I wrap an arm around her shoulder to comfort her. "It was terrible. It was ... they did not deserve that." She sobs and shakes and squeezes my hand. "But who am I telling this to?"

After an apologetic look, she continues. "I thought ... Caius and I both thought they would execute you after the first interview. Caius did not know what else they could have done with you. But then there was a second interview, and a third, and I had hope that you had talked in prison and that they would pardon you. Back then, we still thought that the Capitol would win the war. But then they dropped the bombs on District Thirteen and there was no further lead on you. Only now through you do I know that the Rebels broke into the prison to free you. The months that followed were pure chaos. Most of the time I tried to go about my usual routine to distract myself. The Peacekeepers visited us several times to ask me questions about you, but I knew nothing. The pressure on Caius grew and he had difficulty finding justifications for my family. The fact that we rarely saw each other in private apparently saved me."

"I'm sorry that Caius and you got involved in all of this. I wish they had left you alone. Every day in Thirteen I was afraid that they would execute you too." My voice cracks and it becomes difficult to keep the dark images of my cell out of my brain.

"I wish they had left you alone," Aurelia replies. "No matter what accusations are in the air. You are a human being. You served the Capitol. You have rights. The fact that they did this to you is unforgivable."

"Why didn't Caius accompany you here?" I ask instead of responding to her words. They remind me too much of a similar conversation I had with Haymitch a very long time ago. Remind me that I was just like her once.

"I wish it had been possible," Aurelia sighs. "He could not neglect his government duties. We still tried to win the war, even if it was ultimately in vain. That was when he dropped me off here. Luckily I still have my own money, so I was able to continue ordering food after Caius's accounts were frozen."

"You have food delivered here?" It amazes me that the entire economy hasn't actually been dragged into the abyss. At least that's what the Capitol looks like.

Aurelia shrugs. "There is hardly any food here and our employees fled to their own families when the war became serious. Prices have skyrocketed, but hardly any food seems to be coming in from the Districts."

"They are only slowly beginning to restore the supply chains to the Capitol," I explain monotonously. "It will take a while until everything is back to normal. If at all."

"So it seems to go in war," she murmurs, staring out the window at the destroyed city. The orange sun slowly sets behind the roofs of the skyscrapers and makes the glass towers light up like sparkling diamonds. The skyline emerged unscathed and continues to represent what the Districts came together to achieve.

"What happens next?" Aurelia asks after minutes of silence.

Her question leaves a lump in my throat and opens a new hole of fear in my stomach that has only recently formed and that I haven't quite gotten used to yet. "The city will recover. The country is being rebuilt. There will be elections after all the trials are over," I say, my voice wavering. "We'll take care of everything else once my own judgment is made."

Aurelia turns her head towards me, her plucked eyebrows raised in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I was a Hunger Games escort, whether it was for District Twelve or not." Now it's me who shrugs. As if it doesn't affect me. Like I don't care. "The Rebels have charged me with crimes against humanity. My trial is one of the first to take place next week. They may execute me."