Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE / First Poster

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Evelia stared at Louella's small body in Haymitch's arms, shock washing over her. How did that even happen? How did the Capitol mess up so badly? The horses were supposed to be trained, supposed to be ready for the chariot race.

(Obviously, she didn't agree with it. Horses should be free, wandering valleys, not broken and paraded for spectacle. They were living beings, capable of fear and pain and awareness. But that wasn't the point. And considering how the Capitol treated tributes, Evelia highly doubted they cared about animals' freedom.)

Wyatt stood beside her, Louella's hat clutched in his hands, frozen in place.

Maysilee reached up and pulled one of her necklaces free, a heavy strand of beads woven into purple and yellow flowers. "I was going to give her this. For her token. So she'd have something from home." She knelt and placed the beads around Louella's neck. Haymitch's hands were slick with blood.

Evelia's gaze flicked to Haldin, who was crouched with the District Six tributes. One of the girls, no bigger than Louella, was shaking uncontrollably, staring at the body with tears streaking her face while Haldin spoke to her in a low voice.

"They're coming to get her," Wyatt said.

All four of them looked up. Four Peacekeepers were cutting straight towards them, pushing past medics and handlers, past stunned tributes still trying to understand what had happened.

Haymitch tightened his hold on Louella and started to back away.

"It's no use," Wyatt said. "They'll still take her."

"She doesn't belong to them," Maysilee snapped. "Don't just hand her over. Make them fight for her. Run."

So he did. Haymitch turned and ran away from the advancing Peacekeepers. Evelia watched him go, her heart pounding, anger flaring hot and sharp in her chest. Her hands curled into fists as she looked at Maysilee and Wyatt.

"We have to do something," she said.

Maysilee nodded, brushing dirt from her cheek.

"But what?"

Evelia glanced at the crowd. They were shouting, cheering, as though a child hadn't just died in front of them. Pens and slips of paper were already being thrust forward, people begging for autographs. The idea came to her fully formed.

"Cover me," she said, and slipped away.

She wasn't built for long-distance running the way Haymitch was, but the Academy had made her fast. She dodged white Peacekeeper uniforms, veered around bloodied bodies, pushed past the wreckage of the District Six chariot. Their horses had leapt the barricades and charged straight into the crowd. Medics swarmed Capitol citizens, shouting orders and hauling stretchers, leaving the injured District Six tributes where they had fallen.

Evelia reached Haymitch beneath Snow's balcony. She slowed, then turned towards the crowd. Dozens of faces stared at her, eyes wide.

"Who wants an autograph?" she asked.

The response was instant. Screaming, hands thrust forward, pens pressed into her palm. She grabbed one, a thick felt pen, red, then broke away and ran back to Haymitch. He had laid Louella down and stepped back. He began to clap, his gaze fixed upward.

President Snow. Not on a screen. In front of them. The most powerful man in Panem, and therefore the most brutal. His head tilted, a pale curl slipping loose against his forehead. Evelia froze, breath caught in her chest.

This was the man who had destroyed lives without hesitation. Who had shaped the country into what it was. And he stood only metres above her, untouched, composed.

She shook herself and moved again. Haymitch turned sharply at the sound of footsteps, fear flashing across his face, already expecting a Peacekeeper.

"Evelia," he breathed.

She didn't answer. She uncapped the pen, dropped to her knees in front of Louella, and began to write. The ink bled thickly onto the ground, dark and unmistakable. Her hands moved fast, but carefully. The Peacekeepers would be on her in seconds. Snow needed to read it.

When she finished, Evelia stood and looked down at the words, stark against the ground.

THE ODDS ARE NEVER IN OUR FAVOUR.

Haymitch glanced down at the message. A small smile tugged at his bloody lips when he looked back at Evelia. She returned it before turning her attention to Snow. He had read it. She knew he had. It showed in the way his brows drew together, in the slight tremor of his lower lip that lasted half a second before he forced his composure back into place.

Moments later, Maysilee and Wyatt reached them and took their places at their sides. Maysilee lifted three fingers to her lips, then raised her hand. Evelia watched as Haymitch and Wyatt followed, uncertainty written across their faces. Haymitch looked to Evelia again and gave a small nod, and without stopping to think, she lifted her hand and mirrored the gesture.

A second later, someone grabbed Evelia from behind. Peacekeepers. Medics rushed in around Louella, hands moving quickly, voices urgent, but Evelia knew there was no bringing her back. They had to know it too. So why pretend otherwise? To soften the image, to reassure the Capitol? It was far too late for that.

She fought them at first, then realised she was wasting her strength. Evelia let herself go slack, her weight dragging as the Peacekeepers hauled her along the long road back towards the stables. They noticed. One of them cursed, another shoved her around, snapped cuffs around her wrists, and forced her to walk on her own.

That was when the noise hit her.

The crowd was still there, still watching, voices rising and overlapping from the stands.

"Hey, blondie, where are you from?""Four, she's from Four.""If she is, what's she doing with the kids from Twelve? What's her deal?""What's your name, Four?"

That made her look up. Her? They were talking to her? Evelia turned her head, disoriented, trying to understand why their attention had shifted so easily.

"Speak up, girl! Can't sponsor you if we don't know who you are!"

Sponsor her. The word barely made sense. Why would they want to sponsor her? Why would they think she wanted anything from them? They had just watched a child die and hadn't looked away. They enjoyed this. Evelia wanted nothing from people like that.

A man at the edge of the aisle lunged forward and grabbed her arm. Evelia wrenched herself free with a sharp twist, sending him stumbling back.

"Fuck you!" she shouted, rage ripping through her. "Fuck you and your stupid friends!"

The crowd erupted in laughter.

"You tell him, girl!""Which one are you, Delta or Evelia?""You're cute. You free tonight?"

That one came from a man wearing moose antlers. He waved his Hunger Games programme in the air, the shiny gold 50 stamped against the Panem flag on the cover. He was old enough to be her father, maybe even her grandfather. Evelia stared at him, disbelief cutting straight through her anger. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Get lost, pedo," she snapped.

"Enough of that," a Peacekeeper snarled, driving his elbow hard into Evelia's ribs.

The crowd cheered. Evelia couldn't even tell who it was meant for. Fed up, the Peacekeepers shoved her into a chariot already occupied by the District One tributes, and Evelia spent the entire ride staring straight ahead, ignoring Silka's laughter.

"Nice one, freak," Silka said, driving her boot into Evelia's ribs before walking off.

"Cunt," Evelia muttered, struggling to push herself upright. Between Silka's kick and the Peacekeeper's blow, her ribs were starting to throb with every breath. A moment later, Delta appeared in front of her, curls slipping over one shoulder as she reached out.

"Evelia, what was that?" she gasped, helping her to her feet.

"A kid died," Evelia said.

"I know, but did you really have to go out there and do whatever the hell it is you did? Panem's going to hate you now."

"Good."

She didn't have the energy or the patience to argue. Evelia turned and walked away, only to be stopped by Maysilee grabbing her arm.

"Wait, Evelia!"

She looked back. Maysilee stood beside Haymitch. He looked wrecked, hands still stained with blood, hair in disarray, eyes hollowed out.

"What's up?" Evelia asked.

Maysilee raised an eyebrow. "Just wanted you to know you gave Panem a decent message tonight."

"Did I? What did I say?"

"That the underdogs from Twelve can team up with the Careers from Four."

Evelia smiled despite herself. Haymitch did too.

Wyatt joined them. "Nice work with the crowd. Might even earn you a few sponsors. Our odds have improved slightly after the crash. District Six is completely injured. Ten's in rough shape too."

Evelia stared at him. He couldn't be serious. Haymitch clearly thought the same.

"And Louella's dead," he said sharply.

"Yes," Wyatt replied, "but it's unlikely Louella would have killed any of us. And as an undersized thirteen-year-old from Twelve, she barely affected the rankings anyway."

"Just what odds do you think your pa's giving on you winning, Wyatt?" Haymitch asked coolly.

Colour crept up Wyatt's neck. He hesitated, then said, "About forty to one."

"So if you win, and I put a dollar on you, I get forty back?"

"Forty-one. Minus the booker's fee."

"Guess you're a long shot, for your pa to hold you that cheap."

"Never pretended otherwise." Wyatt turned away and headed for District Twelve's van, one of the few still left in the stable.

Maysilee watched him go, then looked at Haymitch. "Boy, that was mean. Even by my standards. You can't choose your parents."

"You can choose not to work for them," Haymitch said.

"I couldn't," Maysilee replied, bitterness seeping into her voice. Evelia saw the shadow cross her face as her gaze dropped. "I was going to spend my whole life behind that candy counter, no matter how much I hated it. And you would've worn miner's overalls until the day you died. None of us ever had choices. Not really."

She followed Wyatt, leaving Haymitch and Evelia alone.

Haymitch let out a short, humourless laugh and glanced at Evelia. "You think I'm mean too?"

Evelia looked up at him. "I get why you said it. The way he talked about Louella, like she was just a number in the Games, that was wrong. But Maysilee's right. You can't choose your parents."

Haymitch frowned, and Evelia knew what he was thinking. That it was easy for her to talk about hardship when she came from Four. She knew she had privileges—an education, enough food, a roof over her head. But she still lived in Panem. She was still district. Peace had never been part of her life.

"If I'd never been reaped, I would've finished my studies and taken over my mother's restaurant," Evelia said. "I don't want that. I don't want anything to do with my family. But I wouldn't have had a choice. Choices don't exist in Panem."

Haymitch studied her for a moment. "Why don't you want to work at the restaurant?"

She shrugged. "My family's a mess. My dad was taken after he rigged the reaping bowls for the Thirty-Eighth Games. Every slip had Snow's name on it instead of the kids'. Someone must've seen him and reported it, because a week later the Peacekeepers came for him. I don't know if he's even alive. Ever since then, my mum's hated me. She blames me for what happened."

"But you were—what—four? Five?" Haymitch said, stunned. "That's not your fault."

"I helped him set up the urn."

"Still!" Haymitch said. "You were a kid."

Evelia simply shrugged. She didn't have the energy to talk about it anymore. She didn't even know why she had brought it up in the first place; it was personal, and she didn't even know Haymitch. She blamed it on the shock, on what she had seen it do to the human brain.

Back in Four, when Evelia was seven, a violent tempest had struck the region. The ocean had swallowed most of the houses in the Buldges, and rescue teams had filled the beaches and valleys, searching for survivors. Evelia had tried to help as best she could, but she had been too small to be of any real use, so the leader had sent her to the healing house, where the wounded were being kept. There, she had seen Otis Wharf, a boy three years older than her, who kept mumbling incoherently after learning that both his parents had been found dead on the shore.

Haymitch sat down against a pillar, and Evelia mirrored him. They watched birds flit through the rafters and horses disappear into the depths of the stable. Peacekeepers overseeing the regrouping of tributes by district glanced their way, then chose to leave them alone.

After a moment, a small boy in electric-blue coveralls approached them, his handcuffs clinking softly as he walked. Another lamb for the slaughter. "Hi guys, I'm Ampert. I'm from Three."

He was so small that Evelia felt something tighten in her chest, but she forced herself to remain composed and offered him a faint smile.

"Hello, Ampert. I'm Evelia."

"And I'm Haymitch. How old are you?"

"Twelve. You?"

"I turned sixteen yesterday."

Evelia turned her head to look at him. "You were born on Reaping Day?"

Haymitch nodded, his mouth twisting. "Yeah. Ironic, right?"

"That's awful," Ampert said. He sat down in front of them and began fiddling with his cuffs. "I could open these in a second if I had a hairpin."

Haymitch smiled. "Or a key."

Evelia scoffed, but Haymitch's smile softened as he glanced at her.

"You sound like my dad," Ampert said with a sigh. "He'll laugh when I tell him that."

Evelia blinked, caught off guard. Did Ampert really think he would be able to tell his father, assuming he survived? Haymitch, who seemed to be thinking the same thing, shook his head slightly before looking back at Evelia. His gaze drifted from her eyes to her hair. He lifted a hand, hesitated, then stopped himself.

"Can I?" he asked.

Evelia startled, but didn't pull away. "Sure."

Haymitch smiled and carefully plucked something from her hair. When he lowered his hand, Evelia saw a small hairpin between his fingers. He passed it to Ampert.

"Try that, buddy," he said.

Ampert's face brightened instantly. He unfolded the pin and began working it into the lock of one cuff. "They don't really teach us this at school. They focus on the technology we use in the factories. But my mother taught me. She's the mechanical one. I know a lot of things that could be useful in an arena. If you two want to be my allies."

"I had an ally," Haymitch said quietly. "She's already dead."

"I'm sorry. I thought she was just unconscious. Louella McCoy, right? She's the one you made President Snow acknowledge."

That earned a small smirk from Evelia. For someone so young, Ampert was perceptive. More than the older Careers from One and Two.

"The truth is, Ampert, I don't think I'm very good ally material," Haymitch went on. "I think you could do better, ask other people. Evelia, though—she's great," he added quickly. "She went to the Academy. She's from Four. She has a lot more to offer you than I do."

Evelia frowned. "You don't know that, Haymitch. And don't underestimate yourself, alright?"

"I've been asking other people," Ampert said before Haymitch could reply to Evelia. "I'm trying to put together an alliance to counter the Careers. I've already got all of Seven and Eight, and Eleven is still thinking about it." He gave the cuff one last twist, and the left bracelet slipped free from his wrist. He lifted the pin, grinning. "Told you."

Evelia and Haymitch gasped at the same time. "How did you do that?"

"I'd show you if we had more time." Ampert snapped the cuff back into place before anyone noticed and tucked the pin away. "If you change your mind, I'll be around." He darted off, and Evelia watched him rejoin the other District Three tributes, who leaned forward slightly, their eyes flicking toward her and Haymitch.

"A large alliance wouldn't be a bad thing," Evelia said as she stood. She held out a hand, which Haymitch took, and she pulled him to his feet. "It would help against the Careers."

"You are a Career," Haymitch said.

"I know, but I don't want anything to do with them. One of them already wants me dead, anyway."

Haymitch smiled.

In the background, Evelia could hear Haldin calling for her, and she took a step back. "I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose," she said to Haymitch. "And... I'm really sorry about Louella. She was a great kid."

Haymitch's gaze dropped, and Evelia could see him struggling to hold himself together. "She won't have to face the arena," he said softly after a moment. "I think she's the real victor."

Evelia nodded slowly and squeezed his shoulder before turning away and walking off. She had gone only a few metres when he called out to her.

"Evelia?"

She stopped and turned back.

"I'm sorry about your dad," Haymitch said. "Don't blame yourself. It isn't your fault. It never was."

Evelia gave him a tired smile. She still didn't quite believe it, but it helped to hear it said aloud, especially by someone who understood, at least a little.

"Happy belated birthday, Haymitch," she said, then turned away again and walked back toward her district mates.

No Peacekeepers, no peace. Or whatever their idiotic mantra was supposed to mean.

Evelia, Delta, Haldin and Griffin were seated around a too-polished table, eating dinner with Mags in the apartment that would be theirs for the next few days—if theirs was the right word. A Peacekeeper had escorted them in earlier, armour gleaming, voice smooth as oil as he explained they ought to be grateful for President Snow's generosity. This year, the tributes were allowed to enjoy Capitol comforts instead of sleeping in stables, like animals, as they had in previous Games.

Evelia had nearly snapped back. The words had burned at the back of her throat. But the chariot incident was still too fresh and she didn't want to get in trouble, so she swallowed them and kept her mouth shut.

The apartment had clearly been decorated by someone with a fondness for softness and burnt orange—sunset-orange, almost warm enough to pretend at kindness. Plush cushions littered the sofas. Shelves were crowded with kitten and puppy figurines, their glassy eyes wide and innocent. It was all deeply wrong, especially paired with the bars slicing shadows across the windows. Cute things were never meant to be cages.

Evelia didn't like it here. The place felt sterile beneath the fluff, impersonal and cold, as though it had been assembled by machines for people who weren't meant to stay long enough to matter.

"It's a temporary rental," Mags said gently, following Evelia's gaze as it traced the room. "They've set it aside for the tributes this year. Last year, all twenty-four of them were kept in barracks. This is... more private."

Haldin snorted. "Wouldn't call the bathroom private," he said. "I had to hang my towel over the camera."

That earned a few grim nods from Evelia, Delta and Griffin.

"They were installed specifically for the tributes," Mags explained. "There's no way of knowing when they're watching. But make no mistake, everything is recorded."

The kitten figurines smiled on from their shelves.

Everyone ate in a quiet rhythm, the clatter of cutlery the only sound. Pan-fried cod rested beside boiled potatoes and roasted carrots, with a few slices of bread sent straight from District Four. The cod had been pressed with seaweed into little fish shapes, the green sheen almost absurdly cheerful. Evelia, ignoring formality, devoured all three fish-shaped morsels in seconds, savouring the taste of home before turning to the rest of her plate.

"Enjoyed your food?" Mags asked when the last bite had been swallowed.

Three Avox glided silently forward to clear the plates. Evelia's fingers twitched to help, but they were faster than she could react; in an instant, the table was spotless, gleaming under the harsh apartment lights.

Delta's fork hovered for a moment. "I think it's kind of barbaric for the Capitol to give us traditional plates when we're stuck here."

"Maybe they think it's comforting," Haldin said, a shrug in his voice.

"This is the Capitol, Haldin. They don't care about our feelings!"

"Alright, alright, I was just saying," he muttered, raising his hands in surrender, eyes flicking nervously to the empty plates.

Mags let out a quiet sigh and rolled her shoulders. "You remember what I said on the train, right? About desires beyond winning. Each of you gave me answers. Haldin—you don't want to die in agony. Delta—you don't want the Capitol to shape people's image of you into something unrecognisable. Griffin—you want to stay true to your values, even in the arena. And Evelia... you want to make an impact. If you guys want your ambitions to happen, you'll need to stick together.  Not jump at the other's throat every time you hear or see something you don't like."

"What kind of impact?" Griffin's voice cut through the quiet.

All heads turned toward him. He wasn't one for many words, usually—maybe shy, maybe indifferent—but now his hazel eyes fixed on Evelia with something almost insistent.

"On the train," he pressed, "you said you wanted to create something that wouldn't vanish when the Games were over. I wanted to ask you then, but I didn't. What kind of impact, Evelia?"

Evelia studied Griffin for a moment. His blond hair was still damp from his bath, curling slightly at the ends, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. But there was no suspicion in his gaze, no judgement. Only curiosity and something sharper beneath it. The same thing Mollie carried in her eyes whenever she stood before a Capitol poster, fingers itching for a match.

Rage.

That alone was enough to steady Evelia, enough to make the words feel possible.

"I want to..." She hesitated, breath catching, then pushed through it. "I want to prove to Panem that nothing lasts forever."

Delta frowned slightly. "You mean you want to find a way to end the Hunger Games?"

"Maybe not end them," Evelia said, shaking her head. "I'm not strong enough. Or smart enough. But—" She faltered, searching for the shape of the thought. "I don't know. Plant a seed, maybe. Something small, but loud enough to make people wake up. To make them see our government for what it is. To realise that all of this"—her hand gestured vaguely at the apartment, the cameras, the bars—"has to end."

No one answered right away. The silence pressed against Evelia, a familiar weight, the same she'd felt every day back at the Academy, after the rumours spread that she was a rebel, like her father. Her mother had forced the Academy to hush it, paid them off, but the damage was done. Not that Evelia minded. She had worn the accusation like a badge of honour.

"How do you want to do this?" Haldin finally asked, breaking the quiet. "Plant the seed?"

Evelia blinked, startled by the eagerness in his voice.

"I don't know. Doing something to the arena seems like the most obvious option," she said slowly. "And the most impactful."

"Outsmart it?" Griffin asked, tilting his head.

"I can't outsmart the arena," Evelia replied, a shadow of frustration flickering across her face. "I'm not a Gamemaker."

"Last year's victor did," Delta reminded her.

Right. Wiress. The black-haired girl from District 3. Evelia remembered watching the feeds during the mandatory hour, heart thudding. Shiny surfaces reflected lakes and sky, clouds mirrored the clouds, boulders and caves and cliffs duplicated endlessly. When the tributes were dropped in, they couldn't tell which way was up. Every turn brought a reflection of themselves—or another tribute—in shimmering tunics. Panic had been instantaneous.

Evelia had assumed Wiress would be just as disoriented, just as frantic. She had been so, so wrong.

Most tributes had gone mad. But not Wiress. Calm, careful, she had taken it all in, maneuvering away from the Cornucopia, finding packs of supplies that didn't exist, moving like a shadow. Eventually, chaos erupted in the form of a bloodbath, but Wiress was already gone, exploring the arena inch by inch until she perched on a rock jutting over a lake, fully exposed, yet unseen. Tributes had raged past her feet, unaware of her presence. She had eaten, drank from the lake, slept curled up like a silent, perfect animal.

When the field cleared, it was just Wiress and a boy from District 6. She finally revealed herself. The boy lunged, misjudged, hit his head, and sank beneath the water. Wiress' hovercraft circled for an hour, searching, until she calmly walked back to the Cornucopia.

"She could have made a real impact on the country," Delta said, picking up the thread. "I mean, she outsmarted the arena and didn't kill anyone. That's... more than impressive."

"Which is exactly why the Capitol buried her Games," Evelia replied. "Have any of you heard a single thing about her Victory Tour? Because I haven't."

"I was there when she came to Four," Haldin said. "She spoke three words. That was it. Then she left the stage. The Peacekeepers said Victory Tours are meant to honour the fallen, and since there wasn't anyone to honour—"

"What?" Delta exploded. "Yes there was! Pristella and Shon, hello? Pristella was twelve!"

"Take it up with the Peacekeepers, not me!"

"Enough," Mags cut in sharply. "What did I say? You don't turn on each other every time something upsets you."

It was the first time she'd spoken since Evelia had shared her idea. Delta and Haldin exchanged a glance.

"Sorry," they said in unison.

Mags inclined her head, thoughtful. "What you're suggesting is dangerous, Evelia. If you're not careful, you could put yourself or your allies at serious risk."

Evelia stayed silent. She didn't say that she was already planning to do it alone. She didn't dislike Delta, Haldin or Griffin. But trust wasn't something you handed out just because you shared a district. The arena made liars of everyone.

"Alright," Mags said at last, rising to her feet with a gentler smile. "It's late. Get some rest. We'll talk more in the morning."

She led them down the corridor to two doors—one for the girls, one for the boys. Evelia stepped into the girls' room. Two beds waited inside, draped in fuzzy burnt-orange spreads, pyjamas folded neatly at the foot of each. Mags wished her and Delta good night and left them alone.

Evelia changed, slipped beneath the covers, convinced sleep wouldn't come.

It did.

In her dreams, the chariot ride replayed over and over, the roar of the crowd swelling, Haymitch steady at her side. Then she saw her father in the stands. He was pointing, but every time she tried to reach him, the distance stretched wider. So she watched his mouth instead, forcing herself to read the words.

Haymitch.

He was saying Haymitch.

Evelia woke with her heart pounding.

She didn't know why yet. She only knew this much, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones:

She needed Haymitch as an ally.

—

Ampert & Evelia will break your hearts this is all I'm going to say