THERE WAS SOMETHING ATLAS HAD KEPT OUT OF THE NARRATIVE INTENTIONALLY. Omitted not out of shame or fear but because it was easier for him to justify how vehemently he needed to protect her. After watching the tape of Alecto's Hunger Games, all the little things he'd tucked away out of convenience seemed to come creeping out through the floorboards of the empty house in the back of his head to haunt him again. Some nights Atlas wondered if she deserved it. He knew what she'd done, what she could do to people, what she did to Iko to achieve her goal. If he allowed such a monster into his home, fed her, clothed her, kept her warm, tucked her into bed every night, what did that say about him? A father must love his daughter, and he did. But did loving her justify excusing her actions? Protecting her like this, constantly sheltering her from consequences, what was he allowing her to become?

As both District 2 tributes entered the ground floor of the Remake Centre in time to join the other tributes and their mentors in the stables, Atlas instantly felt the magnetic effect of gazes gravitating towards them. Only Evander chaperoned them to the opening ceremony. Iko had been whisked away to some fancy Capitol hospital to make full use of their expensive technology to repair her injuries. She'd left them while they were being fussed over by their prep team, and dressed by their stylists, Janus and Rhea. This year, they were dressed as ancient gladiators, gold-plated chest pieces and matching swords and shields to complete the costume. According to Evander, the doctors were saying Iko should be back by tomorrow morning.

In periphery, Atlas spotted last year's victors staring right at Alecto from all the way across the stables. Peeta's face face sheet-white, horror marbling the thinning composure in his gaze. Katniss had one hand on the neck of one of her coal-black horses, her features hardened, hostility sharpening her eyes. They were only two years apart, Atlas realised, with a jolt of unease creeping up his spine. Only seventeen, and Katniss was set to be married—though the wedding was cancelled at the last minute in favour of the Quarter Quell—while Alecto, who'd turned nineteen some months ago, still wouldn't speak one word to anyone. A small pang in his chest almost had him stopped in his tracks. Pushing the urge to hole up in a small closet to fall apart deep down into the abyss of his chest, Atlas pressed on, nodding and waving in acknowledgement at familiar faces as he passed by clusters of tributes and mentors standing by their chariots.

"Atlas!" A familiar voice called delightedly. Atlas turned, and spotted Cashmere in all her glittering and golden glory, rushing over to him with an elated grin. District 1 made its primary living in the manufacturing of luxurious goods. Because of that, Cashmere was quite literally dripping in diamonds and gold chains, light glinted off her parade costume, blinding sparks that burned white spots into his vision when he blinked. Every step she took made an obnoxious tinkling sound, and when she threw her arms around his neck in a fierce hug, the jewels clattered against the metallic chest-plate of his costume, and Atlas couldn't help but wince as the sharp edges of her costume dug into his arms. "Oh, darling, it's been too long! How've you been?"

It'd only been two months since they'd last met up. There had been a massive gala in the Capitol, and one of Alecto's sponsors had invited them to the fancy-dress event. Both dazzlingly young and beautiful, Cashmere and Gloss, inseparable as always, had attended as well. They were a novelty; the only pair of siblings who'd become victors, a truly glorious gene pool. While Atlas and Alecto had no interest in staying until the late hours, and had merely turned up to show face, the pair of twins from District 1 were genuinely having a good time, mingling with all the victors who'd also been invited, as well as handfuls of the Capitol people, flirting with whoever came up to them with drinks and conversation. Atlas chalked their exceptional people skills to their district customs. While District 2 was also a Career district, possibly the most notorious out of the three, their efforts were more heavily concentrated on conditioning their children to be ruthless warriors. Parties, social events, and other non-training activities were considered frivolous and distractions from the big goal. All the District 2 victors tended to be cold and standoffish, albeit, not totally socially inept. They kept to themselves mostly, limiting socialisation to whoever would come up to them first rather than the reverse.

Atlas pulled away from the embrace with a composed smile. "Well enough. Yourself?"

"Amazing," Cashmere said, her voice like silk, tossing her shiny blonde mane, which Atlas was certain her stylists had brushed gold glitter into. Her headpiece, studded with blood red rubies, glinted under the lights. "A little bit of a shame, though, this year. So many old friends we'll never see again. And that Katniss! No wedding for her. Such a pity." Her million-watt smile reeked of faux sympathy, and she gave him a look so syrupy his molars began to ache. Cashmere shifted her attention to Alecto, who'd been lingering next to the horses, half-listening to Evander and Finnick's animated conversation while they popped sugar cubes onto their tongues. Cashmere pouted. "It's not going to be easy, isn't it? Gloss and I volunteered because we thought it'd be fun, y'know, to see who's really the better sibling—" she cut a theatric look over her shoulder, and then glanced back at him, throwing in a devilish wink— "Between you and me, our father has always liked me most."

Like all the other Career tributes who'd won the games, they were proud victors. Neither of them showed any signs of weakness. How could they? They had a brand to keep, an image that couldn't be tarnished no matter how much they fell apart on the inside. Their inseparability had always been a show put on to distinguish themselves from the rest. A facade picked up the moment Cashmere had snapped up the crown the year after her brother had won. In truth, they only stuck together so neither would miss out on an opportunity to gain an advantage over each other, a chance to outdo each other. Competition ran deep in their blood, a toxic bind that kept them both gravitating towards each other, always. Although valuable as allies, Atlas found their company best in small doses.

Naturally, her brother, Gloss, was right on her heels, a grin that might've been a carbon copy of Cashmere's. Beaming, vibrant with mirth, almost blinding with how perfect his pearly-white teeth were.

"The man! The legend! Atlas Heller!" Gloss' voice boomed across the stables as he advanced on Atlas with outstretched arms, his muscular form practically shimmering with enthusiasm. His gaze landed on Alecto, whose expression was carefully blank, albeit her icy stare was fixed keenly on a distant point across the stables. His grin curled at the edges, twisted with a subtle cruelty. "And the Queen of Hearts."

There it was.

At the sound of the nickname the Capitol had coined for her, first by Caesar, then picked up by every news outlet that'd covered her story and hounded her for interviews, Alecto's sharp stare snapped to Gloss, a shadow passing over her composed features. Her spine went rigid, and her hand paused, hovering over the horse's nose. The horse nosed her palm, and she slapped it away in silent rebuke. But her piercing gaze never left Gloss'.

There's a reason why Peeta had paled the moment he spotted the two District 2 victors from across the stables, and why Katniss' granite expression had closed up instantly. It wasn't Atlas who'd invoked such visceral reactions from the pair, but his daughter. His little monster, his flesh and blood made in his image.

All of the most memorable victors in their time were given their own titles. Names exchanged for infamy. Katniss was the Girl on Fire. Finnick was Panem's Pearl. After she'd been crowned the 73rd annual Hunger Games victor, they called Alecto the Queen of Hearts. It might've been a side-effect of the Games, when the arena had configured itself into a landscape inspired by an old classic—Alice in Wonderland, Caesar Flickerman had said—turned deadly. It could've been the part where Alecto had ripped out her district partner's stilled heart from his chest after she'd killed him.

"Good to see you, too, Gloss," Atlas said with a titanium smile.

Gloss smirked, his arms falling to his sides. "Now, isn't this something?" He placed a hand over his chest. "Listen, we're friends, allies, whatever. No hard feelings, yeah?"

Rolling her eyes, Cashmere scoffed, hip-checking her brother. "Don't be embarrassing."

"You know, when they say we start and end with family, I didn't think you fools would take it literally," a scornful voice drawled over Atlas' shoulder, granted, there was no heat in it.

Atlas turned.

Haymitch Abernathy smirked at him, arms crossed over his chest. His dark hair was tousled, but he wasn't swaying on his feet and his eyes were sharp. For once, Atlas was looking at a sober man rather than the drunken mess of a victor he'd run into over the years at Capitol galas or at the Games Headquarters when managing sponsors for previous tributes.

"Haymitch," Cashmere greeted, her voice like venom and her grin so saccharine it rotted fruit.

"I'm only here for you," Haymitch said, looking pointedly at Atlas. "We need to talk—" he cut a glance at Gloss and Cashmere— "privately."

Pursing his lips, Atlas quickly buried the flicker of surprise passing over his face, ignoring Gloss and Cashmere's questioning glances as he turned to meet Alecto's mistrustful stare, and followed after Haymitch, who was already walking away from the group without looking to see if Atlas would pursue. They stopped at a fair distance, just out of earshot from the other victors. Giving Atlas a glancing once-over—taking in the bronze chest-plate, the full ancient Roman suit of gladiator armour, the sword attached to Atlas' hip and the golden sandals—Haymitch crossed his arms over his chest and lifted a brow, jerking his chin at Atlas' hands.

"What, no wedding ring?"

Atlas shrugged, turning over his right hand, spotting the pale strip of a tan line left by his ring, which he'd left at home. "Didn't want to risk losing it." That, and the fact that Atlas has made it a strict rule for himself and Alecto not to bring in anything that might carry any sentimental value at all. District tokens were optional. If they wanted to give their all to the Games, they couldn't bring anything that might distract them from the goal into it. Tokens were counted as distractions.

"Looks like you've got your work cut out for you this year," Haymitch said, flicking Alecto a wary look. Alecto remained stationed by the horses, half-listening to Gloss and Cashmere, although her gaze never left the two men.

"Everything that is worthwhile takes effort."

"Always such an industrious man," Haymitch said, lips curling. "What if I told you that I could make things easier for you? Guarantee your daughter's safety." In a practiced move, Haymitch produced a gold band. It flashed dully in the light. Atlas' eyes caught on the tiny mockingjay symbol engraved on two sides of the ring. 

Realisation sunk his gut. Atlas knew what it meant. Everyone did. News outlets had done their best to remedy the eminent rumours of rebellion rising in the poorer districts, but it didn't stop the stirring word of mouth that spread like wildfire. While he hadn't run into direct contact with the sources, Atlas had heard about it through the grapevine from his many visits to the Capitol. The girl on fire had started something that had become bigger than herself.

Wiping his face of any expression, Atlas lifted a brow. "You're not even going to take a knee?"

Haymitch scoffed, flicking his fingers derisively at Atlas. "Oh, stop it. You're making me blush, old man," he said, even though they were probably around the same age.

"Should I be reporting this?"

Haymitch shrugged. "Not unless you want your daughter's safety guaranteed. I know you, Heller. You're not a total lapdog. Neither is Alecto. Deep down, I think you know your love for your daughter is stronger than your loyalty to the Capitol."

Atlas' gaze turned cold. "You know nothing."

Haymitch smirked. "It's just a token, Heller. What's the harm? Y'know, Katniss will stop at nothing to get Peeta home, and vice versa. They're fighters, just like your kid, I'm told."

Johanna's words.

"You know I can't accept the alliance."

"A man of tradition, I can respect that," Haymitch said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "But I'm not necessarily asking for you to break off from your buddies. Just show this to Katniss or Peeta. They'll know what it means."

"Which is?"

"Not to kill you or your kid," Haymitch said, nonchalantly, bluntly. The truth of his intentions laid bare. "Only if you both agree not to kill them. We kind of need them alive."

"How many people have you propositioned?" Atlas mused.

Haymitch shrugged. "A few. They'll make themselves visible to you if you accept this. Can we agree on that?"

"Do Iko and Evander know about this?"

Haymitch grinned. "You can verify the credibility of my offer with Iko once she's back from...surgery. Ask her about her ankle."

Atlas frowned. Her ankle? Alecto had only shattered Iko's elbow and her knee. Unless...

"Just take the token, Atlas," Haymitch said, voice dropping low, muddy grey eyes softening. "There are no good men in this game, but I believe you'd do whatever it takes to get your baby girl home. We can give you that, at the very least."

"You keep saying we," Atlas pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. Already, his resolve was crumbling. Granted, he was still skeptical of Haymitch's offer, even though he knew Iko could verify it. How watertight was this guarantee, anyway? "Who is we? If I agree to be part of this—whatever this is—I want to know who I'll be associated with. forgive me if I don't exactly trust everything you're saying right now. This...symbol—" Atlas narrowed his eyes, blood curdling a little— "it's a risk. You're asking a lot but giving so little, you know that, right?"

The risk, being that, if either of them got caught, death wouldn't be the worst thing that's happen to them.

Haymitch glanced over Atlas' shoulder, no doubt checking to see if Gloss or Cashmere are watching their little exchange. Which, of course, they both were. Without even having to turn around to trace Haymitch's gaze, Atlas already knew. He could feel their stares burning into his back. They'd hound him about it later. Victors spoke amongst each other all the time, no matter from which district they hailed from. But at such a crucial time as this, the politics were a little stricter. They had reason to be suspicious. Especially since Atlas knew, now, for sure, that Haymitch was up to something.

"Just ask Iko about her ankle." He glanced back at Atlas. "Now, you go back to your pack and tell them I made you an offer to let the girl on fire join your little alliance, but you refused."

Plastering on a wry smile, no doubt for show, Haymitch clasped Atlas' hand in a firm handshake, pressing the gold ring into Atlas' palm.

When their hands part, Atlas curled his fingers over the ring.

"Plutarch Heavensbee sends his regards."

Haymitch tapped two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute. And then he backed away, leaving Atlas shaking his head and staring after him, barely repressing a small frown as he held what might as well be either the end of the world as Atlas knew it, or his ticket to let his soul rest in peace for the first time in over twenty years.

* * *

UNDER HER STALLED HAND hovering over the horse's neck, Alecto felt its muscles tremble as it whined in protest, finally noticing that she'd stopped stroking it while she watched from a distance as her father conversed with Haymitch. Gloss and Cashmere had been drawn into a long debate with Evander and Finnick about something that didn't really make any sense to Alecto, who was happy to be ignored. Brows furrowing, she strained her eyes to read Haymitch's lips, but her father's head kept blocking her view. Both men were tall, but her father was slightly taller, and more muscularly built than Haymitch. Huffing in agitation, the horse nosed her palm, and the shock of the sudden contact with its damp muzzle invoked the knee-jerk reaction of her slapping its face away in rebuke.

"Now, what'd the poor horse ever do to the Queen of Hearts?" A familiar voice drawled at her elbow.

Instantly, Alecto turned sharply on her heels, her blood turning to slush at the nickname the Capitol had coined for her.

In her leaf-covered headdress nesting precariously over her hair, styled into spikes, and brown tree costume, Johanna Mason looked nothing like the deadly girl who'd mercilessly hacked apart her victims with an axe. She looked ridiculous. And yet, with her arms crossed over her chest, chiselled muscles more pronounced with the stance, the thin smirk on her lips, and her wide-set brown eyes boring into Alecto like she could draw out all her words with a wink, Johanna could easily be the most dangerous girl on the planet.

Alecto slanted Johanna an incendiary glare.

"Oh, apologies," Johanna said, snidely, unfolding her arms and dipping into a mock-curtsey. "Your majesty, please have mercy. Don't take off my head. You already have my heart."

Bemused, Alecto rolled her eyes, but turned her intense gaze back to her father's back. Johanna's words reeked of sarcasm, but it was still a relief that Alecto never blushed. If anyone else had spoken to her this way, she wouldn't have bothered with them for longer than the first second of interaction.

They'd met at an extravagant party in the Capitol, a couple months after Alecto had finished her victory tour. Alecto had been practically glued to her father's side until he'd been taken aside by one of his old sponsors who'd wanted to catch up. Lost in a sea of people who she didn't know even though they all knew her, Alecto stuck to the sidelines, choosing to watch and wait for the entire thing to pass rather than join in on the fun. It was then that Johanna had found her, hanging by the tables on the outskirts of the action.

Why so glum? Johanna had asked, a stunning picturesque of cool confidence, only eighteen, on the verge of nineteen, at the time and already shedding all her teenage skin for a woman's (attributable in part to her stylist and her prep team for polishing her appearance until she looked almost otherworldly), This is your party, after all. They're all here for you, little monster. And even though she'd asked Alecto a question, she hadn't expected an answer. Probably the first person who didn't care if Alecto spoke or not. Just kept her company, filling in the silence, staving off the noise in Alecto's head, by making snide comments about the Capitol people in the party while chugging glass after glass of champagne that was being circulated by Avoxes on silver platters around the event space. Johanna was amusing. Even though she was rude, blunt to the point of cruelty, what did a face built for scorn mean to Alecto, who didn't speak to anyone even if she was spoken to?

There was a reason why she'd shut down Evander's proposal to induct Johanna into the alliance with a flat-out refusal. Allies betrayed each other in this game. If she didn't fool herself into thinking Johanna would work with her from the get-go, then she wouldn't have to deal with the disappointment when it came down to it. Things were just less complicated this way.

"C'mon, lighten up, fighter," Johanna scoffed, lightly punching Alecto in the arm. She followed the streamline trajectory of Alecto's stare to where Haymitch and her father still stood, the expressions on the former's face indecipherable. Johanna hummed. "Oh, worried about your old man, huh?"

Alecto shot her a deadpan look that read: don't push it.

Johanna picked at her nails, painted green by her prep team. "Haymitch might be a total sociopathic loser, but he's not going to drag your father through shit. If anything, I'll bet Atlas has way more juice in his tank than Haymitch does, anyway. He's a Career, after all. You lot outlive the rest of us in every way possible. Plus, I'm pretty sure Haymitch's muscles have atrophied from all that drinking."

Before she could hide it, amusement cut across Alecto's face like lightning.

"There's that smile," Johanna teased, even though Alecto wasn't even smiling. "I knew there was a pretty girl under all that ice." Alecto sent Johanna a withering look, which she returned with a cool smirk. A Capitol attendant called for the chariots to be readied and mounted in three. Johanna's lip curled in distaste. She patted the horse's neck absently as she pinned Alecto with a meaningful look. "Well, better get going. Can't wait to get this stupid outfit off. I'll see you around, fighter."

With that, she was gone, striding off towards her chariot where her district partner waited. As Alecto stared after her, her father returned from his conversation with Haymitch.

"Johanna?" her father asked, lifting a brow. "I thought you didn't want her in the alliance."

Alecto shook her head.

Her father shrugged, because there was nothing he could do but accept her non-answer, like he always did.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.
andddd thoughts!!!!!! how does johanna and alecto's chemistry feel?