News of our engagement has spread quickly, and by the time we arrive in the Capitol, it's up on almost every billboard.

But I'm ignoring pretty much all of it because of the fear crawling around inside me that we haven't managed to convince Snow, and that Prim, Katniss, my mother and Gale will pay the price for it.

Tonight the tour ends, but it goes out with a bang. We're in the Capitol tonight, dancing and celebrating and eating all the food we can possibly dream of with all the dreary guests. Snow will no doubt be there as well, giving an address, and that's what worries me.

I'm wearing a black dress with a deep V neck in it and a slit up my thigh. My makeup is all done, my prep team having taken care of it, and I'm walking in step with Cato right now, who's in a black suit, and just behind Effie and Salcilia, who are of course dressed completely ridiculously.

"The Presidential Palace, the party of the year," Salcilia said, holding her hands up in front of her.

Effie nodded, saying without looking behind her. "Chins up, eyes bright, smiles on," when I don't do any of this, she adds. "I'm talking to you, Sage."

I roll my eyes, putting my chin up but being unable to fix the scowl on my face. I hear a scoff next to me and turn to see Cato, blue eyes simply glimmering in the moonlight as he grins at me. I continue to scowl, despite looking at him, not being bothered to fix my face.

"Now, there will be photographers, interviews, everyone will be here to celebrate you!" Salcilia grins. "Our victors!"

No, I think bitterly. They're here to watch us be in love. Which we fucking aren't.

We reach the top of the steps, looking up at the massive palace before us. It's probably bigger than all of the houses in District Twelve combined.

"Breathe it all in, children," Effie whispers, turning to face us. "It's all for you."

Cato doesn't even look at me, quipping. "It's cosy."

I would laugh if I wasn't angry at him.

Effie sighs. "Attitude."

Salcilia, however, gestures us forwards. "Come, come."

Effie's huge neck piece on her dress is useful for navigating through the crowd that has formed around the palace doors. People that aren't allowed in, probably.

"Excuse us," Effie says, and they separate out to form a walkable aisle.

Cato and I almost bash into each other as we both attempt to head into the crowd first. We look up at each other, and my eyes meet those fucking repulsive (gorgeous) blue ones.

"You go," he tells me, his eyes conveying a cool malice as he steps back slightly.

I take a sharp breath in before following our two escorts, my lover (/ally/enemy) behind me.

I don't want to do this. All around me, people are staring and pointing. Eyes filled with lust rake over my body. A hand reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I speed up before it can get to me.

"Hold hands!" Effie instructs to us, and I have to steel myself again as my warm, clammy hand fits into Cato's cold, calloused one, our fingers locking together.

We are still holding hands when we get inside the palace, and Effie is practically bursting to show us all the various places around it.

"And the library, all mahogany!" She tells us as we sweep through it, waving to people she must know along the way. "Hello, hello! Not yet, not yet, no, no, no! Ooh, curtains!"

I resist the strong urge to roll my eyes and scoff at the sight of her. Between her antics and Cato's cold hand, still in mine, I don't know what to do.

"Everybody who's anybody is here," Salcilia informs us. "And they all want to meet you!"

I don't doubt that. Snow made it very clear that Cato and I had managed to convince the Capitol of our love. This just makes me feel more sick, however, because I don't know how much longer I can pretend to love Cato before I go mad.

"Flavius! Octavia!" Effie calls as we enter a sort of ballroom, with dancing going on in the centre and a buffet to the side. She is talking to two members of my prep team, and gestures us to follow her, so we do.

Our interlocked hands naturally morph into linked arms as we walk, meaning our bodies are pressed closer together. His body fucking radiates heat, as I remember well from the arena from all the nights we shared that sleeping bag, but this time, it does not comfort me. I want to distance myself from him, to unlink our arms, but I can't do that without completely reversing the thoughts of at least a few less dim Capitol citizens.

"Try one of these," Flavius offers Cato some sort of nibble, though I couldn't tell you exactly what it was. "They are divine."

Cato shakes his head. "No, I- I'm sorry, I can't eat another thing."

Flavius sighs, putting down the nibbles and instead handing him a tall glass of pink, bubbling liquid. "Here."

Cato takes it, frowning slightly. "What's this?"

Flavius smirked. "It's for when you're full."

The phenomenon of a full stomach is somewhat foreign to me. It was completely foreign before I got selected for the Hunger Games.

But Octavia just chuckled, explaining to us. "It makes you sick. So you can go on eating!"

"How else could you taste everything?" Flavius chuckled.

I freeze.

I'm pretty sure Cato feels me, but I don't care. I'm too busy focusing on the pure, unbridled rage thundering through my veins.

The majority of District Twelve is starving. Most people don't even have enough food to last them a week. And I can bet it's damn near the same in lots of the other districts, as well.

And here, in the Capitol, they're fucking throwing it up so they can have more.

"I think it's time for a dance," Cato's voice is higher than normal, somewhat surprised. He turns to me, his blue eyes glittering with concealed malice. "Sage?"

I don't hesitate to follow him. Snow is watching tonight.

We head onto the dance floor, and turn to face each other. My left arm goes to his shoulder and my right hand joins with his, while his free hand flies to my waist. I don't look into his eyes.

There is enough food in Two for him to not have a clue what I'm going through right now.

Nonetheless, he murmurs to me about twenty seconds in. "People are starving in the districts. And here, they're just throwing it all up so they can stuff more i-"

"Don't," I snap, my eyes flying to his, narrowing sharply. "Don't fucking say anything."

Cato's eyes widen slightly, but I don't stop.

"You have no fucking clue what it's like to starve," I hiss, remembering those cold, lonely months after my father's death. That time when I had to scrounge for food, when I got assaulted by Jasper. "District Two is practically in the Capitol's pocket. So don't fucking tell me you understand. Because you don't."

I don't know whether he looks surprised or angry, but I know for sure that if anybody around us overheard that, we've already failed at convincing Snow.

I lower my eyes from his, being unable to look into those blue orbs for much longer, and continue to dance around the room with him.

I hate this. I hate every step, every move, every moment where he is touching me. Because his touch is something I dread to think I might want, something I dread to think I might crave. And if I start to fall down that slope, I may never be able to climb back up it.

"Sage! Cato!"

Effie is back, and this time, she's with a man who looks to be in his mid fifties, with greying hair, a weathered face and a smart blue suit on.

"This is Plutarch Heavensbee," Effie says, gesturing to him. "Head Gamemaker. Successor to Seneca Crane."

"That's a tough act to follow," Cato speaks of the gamemaker that didn't blow me to bits in the arena, the gamemaker Snow executed because of me and him.

"Cato!" Effie hisses, because what he's said is laughable, but realistically, who is going to punish him for it?

And Plutarch just laughs, his face splitting into a grin and his eyes brightening slightly.

"May I?" He asks, pointing to me.

"Oh-" Cato starts, his blue eyes faltering, letting in a bit of emotion-

"Of course," I say, stepping forwards immediately and positioning myself far too close to him.

I didn't mean to do that, and I realise it as Effie and Cato leave and we begin to dance. I can feel his breath on my face, and I vehemently avoid eye contact as we waltz across the floor.

"So how'd you like the party?" Plutarch asks me.

"It's a little over the top," I reply honestly. "But what else is to be expected?"

I know I am talking too honestly here, but I can't help it. However, Plutarch doesn't seem to care. In fact, he agrees with me.

"It's appalling," he tells me. "Still, can be fun. If you abandon your moral judgement."

"Fun?" I demand, raising my eyebrows. "Are you having fun?"

Plutarch shrugs. "I'm the Head Gamemaker. Fun is my job."

I scoff, because this conversation is laughable in my eyes.

"Wasn't that how Seneca Crane got killed?" I ask. "Too much fun?"

Plutarch sighed, his eyes straying from mine. "Seneca decided to... stop breathing."

"Decided?" I echo, raising my eyebrows. "If I were President Snow, I wouldn't give him much of a choice."

"It was that or poison berries," Plutarch tells me.

"Ironic," I slip in, because oh how fucking ironic it is, for him to meet the end we threatened him with.

Plutarch nods. "Being Head Gamemaker has never been the most... secure job in the world."

I am done with this shit. "Then why are you here?"

He's toying with me, reminding me vividly or Cato in the arena, back in that goddamn cave, and I hate it.

"Same reason as you," Plutarch shrugs. "I volunteered."

I scoff, because this answer is laughable. I volunteered because I didn't want my youngest sister to die. Plutarch probably volunteered for the free wine.

I try to confirm this as I utter one word. "Why?"

"Ambition," he replies. "The chance to make the games mean something."

I scoff again, even going as far as to roll my eyes this time.

"Good luck with that, the games don't mean shit," I tell him. "Their only purpose is to scare us, and to punish us for a war none of us fought in."

Plutarch sighs. "Well, maybe it was you who inspired me to come back."

I stare at him, my eyebrows pinching together. "Me-?"

Before I can get the word out, the Capitol anthem begins to blare all around the room, and everyone begins cheering.

"Ah, the Presidential welcome," Plutarch says cheerily as we part, both turning to face the balcony above us, where Snow is about to appear.

"I'm sure we'll meet again," says Plutarch, looking down at his watch. "But for now, I have a meeting to attend."

"A meeting?" I can't help but utter, because why would he be attending a meeting at this time of the night?

"Mm-hmm," the man nods, before flicking his eyes down towards his watch. "It starts at midnight."

And then he's gone, and I am left to wonder what the hell he's is talking about.

"Sage, come on!" Effie is soon beside me with Cato, pushing me towards him. "The President awaits!"

I don't really give a shit if President Snow is waiting. I hate that man more than death itself. But I cannot say that here, next to Cato, my supposed fiancee, in the midst of a crowd of Capitol citizens.

"We better have convinced him," Cato's voice is husky and full of malice as he hisses in my ear. "I'm not finding out my family's dead tomorrow morning because you can't play a part well enough."

I want to fight back, to slap him, even, but I know I can't. I'd only be proving his point.

President Snow saunters out of the palace above us, people clapping and cheering him all the way. I am not prepared for my eyes to hit him, given that the last time I saw him he threatened to kill my family and Gale. He holds his hands out, soaking in the applause, and I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

When the anthem ends, he begins to speak, and I don't want to listen.

"Tonight," he begins. "On this, the last day of their tour, I want to welcome our two victors. Two young people who embody our ideals of strength and valour."

And have blown up the peaceful city of Panem in a matter of months.

"And I, personally, want to congratulate them on the announcement of their engagement," he continues. By the way he says it, I know he knows it was our last resort in convincing them. "Your love has inspired us. And I know it will go on inspiring us every day for as long as you may live."

The crowd goes up in cheers and fireworks rise from behind us, exploding with a loud CRACK! and showering sparks of glitter everywhere. Everyone, including me, turns to stare at them.

But I turn back.

Snow's still standing on the balcony, holding up his glass of champagne. I don't have to tey to catch his eye from the front of the crowd, because he stares at me intensely from the second I turn round.

He probably knows what I want to ask, anyway.

Did I do it? Did Cato and I convince them? Is my family and Gale safe? Is his family safe?

And Snow has an answer to all of them.

But not the one I want.

Because slowly, he lowers his glass ever so slightly, and gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.