CHAPTER TEN;
reagan

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     The night is starting to trickle away like sand through Vesper's fingers, after the grand reveal of their training scores. The 8 is still burned onto the insides of her eyelids, floating before her vision with phosphenes after she'd rubbed her eyes in disbelief. In Hermia's best efforts, the adults politely sip away at glasses of champagne — Icarus even offers to try some, expertly critiquing his brief taste like a connoisseur of food.

     He's going to have the shock of his life going into that arena, Vesper thinks, watching from the sidelines as she's riddled with discomfort at the whole display.

And she isn't the only one. It's hard not to miss Irma standing in solitude, calmly gazing out of the wall-high windows that frame a dazzling view of the Capitol nightlife. Even from this far away, the sadness in her eyes stings. It doesn't take a psychic to guess what she might be thinking: How am I going to do this alone?

Vesper just wishes she had done something after that night's walk, when she spotted Dale flooding himself with morphling — in hindsight, en route to his overdose. Hindsight doesn't help anyone, she can almost hear her father telling her. You can't control what has been.

Yeah, she scoffs bitterly, staring up at the ceiling, but hindsight sure does make you feel like an absolute idiot.

The air's too tight in here, overpowered with superficial air fresheners and the fragrance of expensive alcohol. Not that outside, in the city, it will be much better — but it's better than nothing. Whatever chance she can take to comfort herself now, replicating the freshest air she'd ever inhaled that sheltered their first home in the rarity of rural District Six... she's going to take it.

This time she doesn't bother announce her leave. Vesper clicks the door gently shut behind her and starts pacing door the corridor, the thump, thump of her ankle boots gradually drowning out the laughter drifting down the hallway. In the elevator, as always, she grimaces through the vertigo that creeps up on her during her descent, making her wish for a lungful of air even more.

     It's only once she's reaches the ground floor and trying to make her way discreetly to the entrance, when she remembers what happened last time:

     "Which one is she?"

     "She's District Six! That one with the little boy."

     "Hey, can you give us a wave?"

Almost as if on cue, that's when she spots the crowds amalgamated outside. She hasn't thought this through. Of course there would be more tonight, and it's not like they're going to disperse any more as the days go by. Separated from them only by a line of guards and the glass doors, Vesper stands frozen like a deer in headlights in the training centre's lobby.

It looks as though her chances of a last peaceful night's walk are slimmer than ever.

"Psst!"

What was that? She's sure she heard something, but it could just be her imagination. Keen to locate the voice, she starts looking around aimlessly.

"Hey! Over here."

The moment Vesper sees who it is, her brows knit together in puzzlement. But right now he's her best escape from the Capitol animals, who are bound to notice her standing there any minute now, so she briskly speeds over to meet Levin standing in the half-shadow of a giant sculpture.

     "What're you doing here?" she asks him in a low whisper.

     "Well I was going out for a walk," says Levin, "but it's a little crowded for my liking. You?"

     "... The same, actually."

     He scratches his forearm under the sleeve of his shirt — teal and collared, the smooth silkiness of it having the Capitol written all over. Although from what she's already seen of Levin, it seems in-character of him to select something so vibrant.

     "Actually, now that you're here, I wanna show you something."

Now she's really perplexed.

     "Unless, that is, you still want me to 'stay away' from you."

     Vesper squints at him sceptically (although now, she did regret her harsh treatment of him before... only slightly). Nevertheless, she still finds herself following him blindly to a hidden side-door leading to a flight of stairs — thankfully, since she can only cope with so many elevator trips at once. There's a strange, almost magnetic pull about him that seems to grow stronger the more you try to run from it. And that can't be a good sign at all. Forming an alliance would surely be her famous last act of stupidity...

     Alliance? Since when had her brain jumped to that conclusion?

     They get about three quarters of the way up, the never-ending staircase starting to take the puff out of them both, when Levin extends his hand down to her; Vesper stares at it reluctantly as though he's cradling a dead animal.

     "It gets steep," he justifies.

     Grumbling, she weakly puts her hand in his, letting him guide her up the stairs. Well, she thinks, if he tries to kill you early, at least you have some tricks up your sleeve now.

     "Are we doing this the whole way up—"

     "Shh."

Levin turns out to be right about the staircase. The passageway spirals and narrows, conjuring the disorienting illusion that they're simply going in circles to nowhere in particular. Rays of moonlight burst through a doorway above, a cool evening breeze washing down the steps and their ankles; at last he lets go of her hand and she flexes her fingers, eyes growing wide at the sight.

     They're at the rooftop.

     Taller silhouettes of the Capitol skyline surround them, glittering with light. The murmur of traffic reminds Vesper vaguely of home, only it's sleeker and more efficient — before Levin can even say anything, she strides over to the edge, knuckles gripping the railing in awe as she heaves in a lungful of air that consumes every cavity of her chest. It's not as polluted as she expects it to be every time; it's clean, artificially pure. Dots of traffic swim back-and-forth along the roads below, glinting in their polished finish from here. The last time she's possibly seen any of these vehicles is when they were in manufacture — and now to see them moving, in use...

     Truthfully, she can only think of Blythe scrubbing away at car parts, bleach corroding her skin away. Or the later days when her father would come home with his joints aflame in pain, practically paralysed for long periods of time. Or she thinks of those kids at work who die before they know adulthood — one in particular sticks in her mind, of a boy smothered in fatal third-degree burns from being let out onto the third rail.

     All of that suffering, for this.

     "It's pretty amazing, isn't it?" Levin tilts his head back, having joined her side without her realising.

     Vesper winces slightly, her critical stare burning into the roofs of cars below. "Which part?" she asks, "The view or the air?"

     "Both, I guess."

     "It's just nice to get outside."

     Levin taps his fingers along the railing, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. "You know, it was actually Finnick who introduced this spot to me."

     "Seriously?" Vesper asks incredulously, cracking into a half-smile. She keeps forgetting Finnick Odair is around their age, and likely just as wistful for greater things to happen as they might be. There's something rather human in this piece of knowledge — seeing that tanned, god-like boy of the Capitol's heart, sitting in solitude on a rooftop to be alone with his thoughts.

     "Yeah. He took me up our first night in the Capitol. Said it was the best view in the house."

     "He's right about that, I think," she says. And suddenly, only realising it now, Vesper finds herself slipping into natural conversation with Levin. A pang of distrust makes her fingers slip away from the railing, and she take an instinctive step back. What is she doing here? It's not only a question for him, but for herself too.

After all, he may have taken her up here, but she was the one who followed him.

Before she can even query him on it, Levin's already walked off. "Come on over here," he says, "the other side's less crowded."

     Good idea. Vesper will gladly take any opportunity to stay clear of the freakish, alien Capitol folk for as long as she can. And so she follows him yet again, like a sixth sense that her brain is strangely aware of, round the edge of the rooftop until they get to the back, where there seems to be just as much traffic but crowds in a lesser breadth.

Levin suddenly laughs next to her, having spotted something over the edge.

"What?"

"Look, down there..." She follows his finger to a small cluster of heads below, one of them easily identifiable as Coral by her head of tight blonde curls. Of course, Boaz is there, along with Hero, Hermes and Emerald — who still appears vaguely forlorn from earlier.

"What do you think they're doing?" asks Vesper, raising an eyebrow.

     "Who knows? Conspiring, probably."

     As he chuckles again, a sharper gust of wind blows along the roof and sweeps her hair across her face. Sighing, Vesper parts it in the middle and tries sweeping the strands to either side of her head. When she's able to see again, Levin is slowly sinking into deeper and deeper thought, like quicksand creeping up his legs.

     "So, why aren't you down with them?" She finally gets out the question she's been dying to ask. What is it that made him break apart from the Careers so suddenly, and with such distaste for them too?

     Scratching his light, sandy blonde sideburns, Levin shrugs with self-preservation. "Because I'm not one of them. I'm just not."

     "But you're from District Four..." Vesper challenges him, "you do realise that instantly makes you a Career by definition, right?"

     "Yeah, yeah," he dismisses, swatting the air with his hand as if it were filled with lies, "but it's not so much a label as it is a... predicament." His lips thin slightly with a smile, when Vesper squints at his choice of wording. "Look, the Capitol... they have these expectations, right? It's one thing for tributes like you, stepping into it blindly for a week—"

     "Right, because my life's been so easy..."

     "I didn't say—" Levin cuts himself off, huffing impatiently. "But imagine having that right from when you're a little kid. Having it hammered into your head that, one day, it might be you, and that it'll be an honour..." She can't tell next whether he shudders from the cold or his own words.

     Vesper had never thought of it from that angle before — in fact, she'd never thought of wasting brain power on what the mind of a Career might be like, beyond the assumption of totally psychotic. She still struggles to put herself in his shoes. After all, at least the training they get also gives them a roof over their head and a belly full of good food. Levin's probably never gone to bed hungry a single night of his life. Nor has he had to work for his family from a young age, she presumes.

     Although, maybe there is an element of truth: if you don't happen to settle into the Career life as well as Boaz, it might just be one of the most taunting things ebbing away at your mind,

     "Either way," he adds, "we still end up the same: dead or alive. Right?"

     Well, at least he's right on something. "Right," Vesper murmurs, barely audible over the wind. She wonders of bringing her up here to talk was a tactical decision — the wind roaring over any words they might say, and hopefully not carrying them down to unwanted pairs of ears...

     Now that she's here, and she's starting to think maybe Levin isn't out to get her — yet — Vesper figures there is no better time for the hot seating to commence. Because so far, there seems to be no other way of really assessing whether he would make a good ally yet or not.

     "So have you managed to find any allies yet?" she inquires.

     "Merona," he answers, surprisingly quickly, "the girl from Ten."

     "What about Talon?" Vesper thinks of him, tall and stocky with muscle, wrangling Hermes on the wrestling mat and bearing his bare chest before the whole of Panem in the tribute parade. "He's your ally too? I wouldn't want him on my bad side, the guy's huge."

     "I know," he says, comically widening his eyes in a gesture of awe. "And the truth is, I'm honestly not sure if he is. I haven't been able to get a word out of him. The only person he'll talk to is Merona, and even then he just... whispers."

     Vesper leans her arms on the railing, peering over the side again. She nods down to the Careers with curiosity. "What about them? What are they like?"

     "Do you always ask this many questions?"

     This time, she shocks herself by breaking out into a fully-fledged grin, so much so that the corners of her lips strain. No, she thinks to herself, trying to force herself back into a straight-faced expression. He's doing this on purpose, surely. But she's not going to let that stop her from getting answers.

Luckily she doesn't think Levin noticed her grinning, as he had just bowed his head downwards to scrutinise the Careers from where they were standing up here. "Well, first there's Emerald," he begins. "For someone who's been raised as a Career, you wouldn't think she was so squeamish, but then I guess the real thing reveals everyone's true colours... she's actually pretty decent. Truth be told, I'd say she's the best of the bunch down there."

Well. She hadn't expected that. Levin might be biased, she figures, but Vesper watches who she's identified as Emerald now, her arms folded across her chest and her wispy giggle floating with the wind to the rooftop. Maybe this explains a lot — why she'd rushed out her private session in tears today, and that manic happiness that felt uncomfortably unauthentic during the Reapings.

"Hermes is an egotistical idiot, and get this — Hero is an absolute cheater."

"Cheater?" Vesper echoes. "What do you mean?"

"Well, have you watched her in training? Like really watched her?" Levin throws his arms up in the air. "Yesterday, I saw her fiddling with some of the archery equipment, bending the fletchings on the arrows that weren't hers..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! I wouldn't have been surprised if she did it today in the private sessions, too."

     "Then there's Boaz..." Levin grimaces, which mirrors directly to Vesper. "He's just this ball of pent-up rage, for whatever reason that is. I'm surprised he hasn't murdered someone yet."

     "You're telling me," she tries to laugh bitterly, instinctively backing away from the edge of the balcony, just in case he happens to look up and see them. "So Emerald, Hermes, Hero, Boaz... that just leaves District Four. And since you were very adamant you aren't a Career—"

     "Which I still stand by."

     "— then that just leaves Coral."

     "Yeah..." Sadness creeps into his features, setting them with a cold tone against the warmth of the city lights glowing on his skin. "She and I actually knew each other, as kids. We were in the same Kindergarten." Levin's eyes glow with fondness for a moment. "Coral was much better than I ever was in our training. The problem is, she cares too much about what other people think — meanwhile, I couldn't care less. Long story short, we ended up drifting apart... until now. Now, I just don't know what to say to her anymore."

     Vesper blinks. She hadn't been expecting that. She barely knows this boy, and yet here he is, opening up to her. More importantly, what's he thinking being so vulnerable? Although, there's a part of her that understands where he is coming from — it's not easy looking Icarus in the eye these days, when she knows full well only one of them make it out of here alive.

"I'm not supposed to be giving you advice, am I?" she asks incredulously, after the silence lingers for particularly long.

"I don't know. Now you're offering, seems kinda nice."

     She exhales softly through her nose, shaking her head as she leans back. "Well..." Vesper starts, "If you think of something to say to Coral, you'd better hurry up. We haven't even got two days left until we go into the arena. Do it now, because you might never get a chance again."

     Levin nods, as if he's actually considering this — she's aware it isn't the most enlightening pieces of advice, but she's never been the best at words of comfort. Finally, he settles on a witty response: "Forever the optimist, aren't you?" he chuckles. "Anyway, I've been talking about myself far too much tonight. What about you? Which allies are you thinking of?"

     But she isn't listening anymore. Vesper's own words bite her back now, hanging in the air: "You might never get a chance again." That same thought, the insatiable one eating away at her inside, arrives once more and almost knocks her off her feet. Two sleeps, and then she might never really know.

So she makes up some excuse about Hermia yelling at her if she doesn't head back soon — which, in all fairness, is accurate to say — to which Levin bids her goodnight, and goes on his way too. For some reason, she feels compelled to take the elevator back down.

     The polished glass walls around her produce her crystal clear reflection, and just for a moment, Vesper wonders if it bears any resemblance to her mother.

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     It's almost one in the morning.

     And still, Vesper hasn't slept a wink. Tossing and turning in the plush bed, Icarus having moved comfortably back to his own room, her mind races with a million thoughts, images, doubts. The bed's either too stiff or she sinks in like she's sleeping on a cloud, the room's too stuffy one minute and then ice-cold the next.

     Her memory isn't usually so photographic, but she can visualise the box of tapes so clearly — tucked neatly in the shelf under the giant television screen in the living room. She's stared at it longingly every morning when coming in for breakfast.

     There are a million reasons why Vesper wants to get up now, to pull out that box and locate the right tape, and all of them scream closure. It's the only way to ever truly know what happened, but more importantly, just to get one glimpse of her. Then again, there are also a million more reasons not to investigate. What if she sees something she doesn't want to see, or hears something she'd rather not hear? For Christ's sake, she doesn't want to watch Reagan die.

Mom, she thinks. She's your mom, Vesper.

She waits...

And she waits...

The sleek clock hanging on her wall strikes one. Like clockwork, the cogs fall into place in her mind, pushing her to make a decision. With that, Vesper finds her feet haphazardly planting themselves onto the plush carpet, pacing carefully to her door. Without much thought, she tries to open the door swiftly so as to avoid too much creaking, and then shuts it gently behind her.

Now, with the vast open-plan expanse of interior lying before her, it really sinks in.

Suddenly she can feel her heartbeat in her throat. Lightheaded, Vesper treads cautiously over the polished marble floor, stone cold against her feet and somehow heightening the anxiety-fuelled adrenaline starting to pump furiously through her. Through shapes in the dark, she kneels down in front of the screen and fumbles for the box, dragging it out from underneath.

     Her fingers stroke the labels that stick upwards, numbers dating back to at least a couple of decades ago, each filled with twenty-three lives lost. She doesn't have to go to far back to find the one titled, '52nd Annual Hunger Games'  — for a moment, she nearly doubts herself, wondering if she's even selected the right year. Vesper pops open the box and the tape comes tumbling out, her heart lurching for a split second as it almost hits the floor with a loud CLACK. Why couldn't the Capitol at least upload them on some holographic system? Shouldn't they have the technology by now?

     Hands sweating so profusely now, she carefully cradles the tape until she's placed it in the player below, after which she scrambles backwards and reaches for the remote. In the darkness, Vesper tries to stab the right button with her finger — glaring light from the TV suddenly burns into her eyes, and she squints painfully as she turns down the volume to a murmur only she can hear, as a preventative measure. The last thing she wants in this moment is Hermia waltzing in and nagging her ear off.

This is it.

The Capitol anthem gloriously trickles out from the sound system, only just over a decade ago and yet sounding so much older. Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith seem to be sporting matching ensembles of chartreuse that year, both looking only a tad less altered than they do now. They're kicking off with recaps of the Reapings, in a format just like the ones Vesper witnessed of herself on the train. Oh God...

     She doesn't pay a whole lot of attention to the other tributes, only noticing the odd ones in passing — a shocking muscular girl from District Two, a boy from District Four who might as well be a bronzed merman, and two sharp-minded individuals in Dostrict Five who share a sly glance onstage.

     Suddenly the District Six emblem is emblazoned on the screen, and Vesper thinks she might throw up. It's a cloudier day on this Reaping, and the chairs holding previous victors are significantly more empty — Enzo looks at least a couple of decades healthier, and Dale is a surprisingly fresh-faced young man in his twenties. It's strange to see no Irma there, brightening the array of victors with her peaceful, composed aura.

     She can't do this.

     A shot of the escort, Hermia's predecessor who was none other than her own father, Prometheus Winkle. He doesn't possess her same forced enthusiasm as he reaches into the bowl full of girls' slips, but still oozes a kind of understated charisma connoting he's none other than Capitol-bred.

     She can't do this.

     He starts straightening out the paper on the screen, and she clenches her eyes shut.

     She can't do this.

     Vesper has to give in now, and her hand just begins to stretch out for the remote—

     "Reagan Dunnage."

     She opens her eyes. There's a wide shot of the crowd, the camera struggling to focus in on the right girl at first. Soon it cuts to a shot of a girl starting to make her way to the stage, face struck with devastation. It takes a moment to put two and two together; it's actually the dress she recognises first, the off-pale blue Reaping dress swarming with printed cobalt flowers—

     And then there she is. Reagan Dunnage. Her mother.

The video is moving fast, far too fast for her to process any of this, so she desperately jabs buttons on the remote to rewind and pause on a single frame. Vesper can't miss a moment of her, not a single feature, and she tries right now to take in every little bit of her, soak it in like sunlight and commit it to her memory for the rest of her life.

Her mother was smaller than Vesper, that's for sure, since her Reaping dress extends to a longer length halfway down her calves. Her hair, long, deep brown like earth and smoothly brushed, is partly pinned up with loose strands brushing her temples and framing her healthily round face — something she didn't expect considering her living conditions...

     And then there's her face. If Reagan were to be sketched, it would be with the softest pencil strokes — her almond, brown eyes that emulate gentleness of heart; the smooth arch of her nose, which Vesper realises she must have gotten from her; her thinned lips, parted slightly with the shock of her name being picked. Vesper finds her gaze drifting for a moment to the window, where her reflection is just about visible. She constructs her own face, now having both of the puzzle pieces — her father's eyes and presumably his smile, her mother's nose and... that look. It's almost identical to the one Vesper wore when her own name was picked.

     When she presses play again, she notices her hands are trembling. The girl on the screen moves again, taking reluctant steps up to the stage as she bows her head down. It's striking how much of a kid she looks like here. From what her father told her, it was Reagan's last year being up for the Reaping — her nineteenth birthday would have been that November. The moment she steps up and Prometheus moves onto the boys, Reagan starts searching the crowd frantically, although only with her fear-stricken gaze, trying to compose herself otherwise. Once she spots whoever it is, something the cameras fail to follow, her face hardens and she gives a small, gentle shake of her head to the invisible recipient. Prometheus calls the name of the boy, which Vesper fails to pick up on, and her mother's shoulders sink with momentary relief.

     It only occurs to Vesper then that she is most likely looking right at her father. Maybe even her, too — attendance to the Reaping is obligatory for all citizens. Her father would have been wedged between the boys, his name in however many times. And of course there's her Abuela — it wouldn't surprise her if she'd been standing on the sidelines, cradling her on this grim occasion. For the first few years of Vesper's life her paternal grandmother had been alive, and took care of she and her father right up until her death when Vesper was about four. From then on, for a long while, it was just she and her father, them against the world.

     But now she's getting a front seat view of the life she doesn't even remember having, back when two was three.

     Vesper can't be bothered to watch the rest of the Reapings — there is only one tribute she's interested in. She fast forwards to the tribute parades, watching alert until Reagan will appear. Suddenly she can understand everything she went through, all of the alien-like feelings and unwanted attention from crazed Capitol fans. She's never felt closer to her mother than now.

As suddenly as last time she emerges on her chariot with her district partner. "Oh God," Vesper groans quietly, cringing at the sight. Reagan and the boy next to her are both locked inside the shape of what looks like a bullet train, a hole cut in the front for their sad-looking faces to stick through; they're a laughing stock. If only Benedict Whitlock had arrived a decade earlier, she thinks, instantly loathing any Capitol people in the audience who might try and mock them. He would have made her one of the most beautiful tributes that night, for sure.

     She fast forwards again, this time finding herself at the interviews. She keeps going, counting the tributes left for her to pass in their pairs of districts. By the time she stops, the District Five boy is just finishing up and the nape of her neck starts tingling with anxious perspiration. This is it. She's going to hear her voice.

     "Now folks, we're halfway through our evening, and what an evening it has been!" Caesar does his usual bit on-screen, heavy eyeshadow making his gaze look all the more maddened. "Are you ready for more?" The crowd cheers, and he cups his hand to his ear. "Ha-ha! I can't hear you, are you ready for more?" This time the crowd roars, and he guffaws like a strangled parrot. "Without further ado, please give a warm welcome to our female tribute from District Six, Reagan Dunnage!"

     Vesper holds her breath as the cameras zoom in on the girl walking out from backstage. Reagan carefully lifts the skirt of her sage-green dress, silky and gossamer, as if she's trying not to trip over. Her stylist dealt with her much better tonight, surprisingly with nothing over-the-top and preserving her natural beauty — she wears a bronze garland around her head, almost like a halo, and a corsage of day lilies pinned right to her chest, by her heart. Walking with practised poise, Reagan graciously extends a hand out to Caesar, but instead he goes in for an air-kiss on each of her cheeks, which she reciprocates with a slight bewilderment.

     The white noise of the audience finally dies down, and Vesper leans in so she won't miss a single syllable of her mother's voice. "So how are you this evening, Reagan?" asks Caesar. "How has the Capitol life been treating you?"

     The moment of truth...

     "Well, if anything, Caesar, I don't think I've ever been so thoroughly cleansed in my life. Have you seen the showers here?"

     Vesper's eyes widen, ignoring the incessant laughing of the Capitol audiences with the interview small talk. Two things strike her instantly about it — first and foremost, the similarity. As she continues listening to Reagan speak, she might as well be listening to her own voice with the same tone, pitch and pace. The only difference is Reagan's slightly better eloquence, which adds to Vesper's lifelong suspicions that she came from more well-bred roots than her father did. And secondly, the familiarity. She may not be able to consciously recall her talking to her, but whenever she hears Reagan speak, it's like she has known her for years. She doesn't question it. There's no doubt this is her mother.

     In complete awe she continues to watch, attention focused entirely on her mother. Apparently she got a 6 in training. She's sharp-witted and intelligent, far too much for Caesar to handle with his shallow one-liners. Most noticeable is her aura of wisdom that goes beyond her years, stemming from early motherhood, she assumes. It's nearing towards the end of the interview now, and Caesar's face suddenly drops with a seriousness that seems to catch Reagan off guard.

     "Now I don't mean to pry, Reagan," Caesar says, clearly before he is about to pry, "but we have heard some rumours floating around, concerning your... well..."

     "Motherhood?" Reagan finishes his sentence for him, evoking sympathetic noises from the audience. Vesper freezes, too. She hadn't thought this through. They weren't going to mention her, were they? Is this what Caesar has up his sleeve for tomorrow night? If that's the case, Vesper's glad she at least prepared herself beforehand.

     "That's right! So is it true then?"

     "Yes, it is..."

     More noises come from the audience, a few of disapproval now audible. Vesper's blood boils at the sound. That's her mother they're muttering over.

     "Extraordinary..." Caesar shakes his head, as if he is completely starstruck, ignoring the sadness that has overtaken Reagan's features as she clutches her hands in her lap. "I don't think I've ever come across anything like this, in all my years of presenting the Hunger Games. Have you, ladies and gents?"

     The audience react emphatically, her mother squirming slightly in the armchair.

     "So, how is...?" he pauses expectantly, tilting his head towards her.

     It takes Reagan a moment, but then she snaps into focus, shaking her head conclusively. "No, no names," she insists. The crowd boos in disappointment. "I'm sorry!"

     "Oh, are you sure? We can't get just a little hint?"

     "Nope."

     "Not even the father?"

     "I mean no names. Especially my– my baby, I don't want to subject them to anything so young."

     Vesper smiles bittersweetly. She really cared. Caesar straightens his coat, giving the audience a look over his shoulder. "Well," he shrugs comically, "I tried, everyone. I've been told you were a stubborn one to crack... ha-ha! Although, could you at least tell us if it's a boy or a girl?"

     Reagan considers this for a moment, staring off into the distance. Her eyes glaze over with pondering, and the corners of her lips curl up into a fond smile. "... She's a girl," she finally replies.

     Right on cue, a chorus of 'Aww!'s ring out from the audience, making Reagan blush self-consciously.

     "My, my," Caesar smiles, "a little girl. How precious she must be! And surely this must be an awfully strange situation, because you'll be wanting to get home to your... your little family, am I right?"

     "You are."

     "Is there anything you'd like to say? Anything you'd wish for your daughter this evening?"

     Vesper freezes. As does her mother, on the screen. Before Reagan can even agree or disagree to it, Caesar is directing her gaze to the nearest camera, which zooms in on her face to capture every twinge of her muscle in what they're setting up to be a powerful speech. Vesper shuffles closer to the screen, sitting cross-legged and so close to the screen that it's less than an arm's length away now.

     Before she's prepared, her mother makes direct eye contact with the lens — and they're staring at each other. Vesper doesn't know who's going to speak or act first, as her surroundings dissolve and she melts into this moment with her, whatever she is about to say.

     "Um... well..." she glances down at her lap for a moment, lost for words, before bringing her gaze back up again and unknowingly locking it with Vesper's. "I suppose... I just wish that she grows up into an independent, compassionate woman, who... who has more opportunities than I did... and maybe made less mistakes than I did..."

     Reagan's face is quickly disappearing before her blurring eyes, and Vesper rubs them fiercely to try and clear them again. She can't get over the fact that a girl of only eighteen is talking about her life with the perspective an elderly, experienced woman should have.

     "But I'll have her know, she was never a mistake —"

     No point. Vesper's fists clench at the fabric of her pyjamas, tightening with the lump in her throat as they squeeze out droplets brimming at her eyelids.

     "— Never. Having her has been the highlight of my life so far. And I can only pray that I make it out of here alive, so I don't get to miss a single moment of hers."

     The audience applauds, the anthem fading in again to welcome the District Six boy, but Vesper isn't paying attention to that as she leaves the tape running quietly. She hugs her knees to her chest, staring off at a point on the polished floor in complete shell-shock. Every limb feels heavy, unable to drag them up again. She can't even pinpoint what this feeling is. Did this even help at all? Can she call it closure?

By the time she looks back up at the screen, the TV displays a massive expanse of land punctured with hot geysers surrounding the Cornucopia. All of the tributes glance around nervously, unsure how to navigate it. Upon the horn sounding, they flock in, dots from above closing in on the centre. No, she doesn't want to see this, STOP— Vesper scrambles for the remote desperately, fiddling in the dark for the buttons. On the screen, Reagan sprints along the Cornucopia having managed to snag a small backpack; the last glimpse Vesper hauntingly gets before she switches it off is her mother skidding to a halt in front of a tribute with a raised sword above her.

Chucking the remote to the floor, Vesper runs through the pitch black dark, uncaring of who might hear her. A light pours out from underneath one of the doors at the end of the hall, which guides her to her own room. She slams the door shut and lets her back fall against it, sliding weakly to the carpeted floor with her head in her hands, still trembling. Vesper can't say whether what she saw tonight was a good thing or not...

But at least now her nightmares have a face.

▬▬▬▬▬▬

A/N;

this chapter is one i've been looking forward to for so long. levin AND reagan content? yes please. but HOOO BOY, this one also felt like a lot of pressure to write, because it was both very important scenes, one of them highly emotional, so i'm here writing this author's note feeling like:

you may have noticed i added a song at the top of this chapter, which is from iron: the score (you can listen to the whole thing on spotify *wink wonk*) and it was to play during the scene where vesper watches reagan's interview at the point where she is talking about her baby... i listened to it while i was writing it, and 'the train' by james newton howard + vesper seeing her mum = TEARS

by the way, if you're interested, i imagined vesper's mum to look like a young lisa jakub (i.e. based off her role in 'independence day'!)

next chapter kicks off interview night! now THIS i'm really looking forward to... expect to learn a few extra details about other tributes, fabulous interview outfits and more!

thank you for reading, and hope you have a wonderful day <3

[ published: 24th april, 2021 ]

— Imogen