Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE / This Was All For You

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It had been surprisingly easy to convince Delta, Haldin, and Griffin to join Ampert's alliance. During lunch, at Haymitch's suggestion, they settled on a name for themselves: the "Newcomers."

(The name came from the mines, a term used for the latest arrivals. Neddie Newcomer, that was the full name.)

At first, most of the tributes had been hesitant about letting the Careers from Four into the alliance. Why would they join when they were the most ruthless tributes in Panem? But Haymitch and Ampert had been firm, assuring them that these weren't like the Careers from One and Two. That they were different.

Wyatt had backed it up, explaining plainly that their odds improved with trained fighters on their side. That logic, more than anything else, had done the trick. In the end, they had agreed.

So far, the Newcomers were made up of tributes from Three, Four, Seven, Eight, and Twelve. Nineteen children in total.

That evening, during dinner, Evelia said nothing about what Beetee had told her about the potential arena's destruction. There was nothing solid yet, nothing she could hold onto, and she didn't trust the others enough to risk it. Besides, mentioning it when cameras were recording them from everywhere in the apartments was useless.

So she kept quiet, ate what was in front of her, then excused herself without drawing attention. Mags looked at her when she left the table, but kept her thoughts to herself.

She went to shower, letting the water run longer than necessary, the heat pressing against her skin until it almost hurt. When she returned to the bedroom, she slipped under the covers and closed her eyes, already still by the time Delta came in, pretending to be asleep to her district mate wouldn't ask her any question.

But, obviously, sleep wouldn't come.

It hadn't been coming for days now. Her body felt heavy, worn down, but her mind refused to follow. It kept turning, circling the same thoughts until they lost shape. She needed rest. She knew that. The arena would demand it from her, whether she had it to give or not.

Maybe Mags had something. Tea, perhaps, or some pills.

Evelia pushed the covers back and slipped out of bed, careful not to make a sound. The kitchen was empty at this hour.

She moved to the window.

Outside, the city was glowing. From this height, it looked endless. Every street lit, every building gleaming as though the night itself had been dressed for a celebration.

The Hunger Games were a holiday here.

You could almost imagine them gathered in their bright rooms, glasses in hand, laughing as they watched it unfold.

Each time a kid dies in the arena, take a shot. Each time one betrays someone, take two. Five shots if your favourite wins.

Evelia clenched her teeth, the tension sharp enough to ache. She needed to remember who the real enemy was.

It would be easy to hate the people in the Capitol. Easy to reduce them to something monstrous and be done with it. They watched children die and called it entertainment. They dressed it up and turned it into something glittering and celebratory.

But they hadn't become this way on their own.

They had been shaped into it. Decades of careful conditioning, of repetition, of stories told so often they settled into truth. Evelia assumed their classrooms were filled with bright colours and neat rows, voices explaining that the Games were justice, that they were necessary. That this was  what the districts deserved after the Dark Days (always the justification, even though every rebel who had lived through them was long gone now.)

Start young enough, say it often enough, and it stops being questioned.

The Capitol wasn't the real enemy, neither were the Careers.

Snow was.

Everything led back to him. Every rule, every death, every carefully constructed lie. He had built this polished, shining world that fed on blood and called it tradition. He had filled it with stories until his people stopped seeing what was in front of them. Until they no longer recognised it for what it was.

Snow had created this.

Snow had fed it.

Snow had shaped them into something that no longer knew how to look away.

This was what Evelia's father had always told her. Even after the Peacekeepers had taken him away, even after his voice had been reduced to memory, he had left something behind that they hadn't managed to strip from her. He had made her see the cracks in Panem, the fractures beneath everything that tried to pass as whole.

He had known what the Games did to a person; his brother had been taken by them long before Evelia was born, and the loss had never really left him. How could it? He had watched his little brother die on his monitor.

When he had given her the mockingjay pin (originally gifted by Maysilee when he had worked in Twelve for a month), he had told her to hold onto it. To never let it go.

Mockingjays were free, he had said. They didn't belong to anyone. They survived. They adapted. And if she worked hard enough, if she refused to become what the Capitol wanted her to be, then maybe she could be like them. She could fly. And one day, she might help Panem fly with her.

She hadn't understood him then. She had just hugged her dad and thanked him, before begging him to go play with her at the beach.

But now she was sixteen, standing on the edge of something that would either break her or remake her, and there was no distance left. No softness to dull the meaning.

Now, she understood exactly what he had been trying to give her.

Evelia slipped the pin from the pocket of her pyjamas (she had never been able to sleep without it) and turned it over between her fingers, watching the faint glint of metal in the dim light. For a moment, everything else fell away.

She wished her father was here.

She missed him with an ache that never dulled, never softened with time. Since his death, it felt like a piece of her soul had been ripped away, leaving behind a hollow space that nothing ever quite reached. It wasn't something that could be filled. She had stopped trying.

She felt it now more than ever.

He would have known what to do. He would have told her who to trust, how to move, how to speak without saying too much and still make it matter. He would have understood how to turn this nightmare into something that meant more. Something people would remember for the right reasons. Not just the Second Quarter Quell. Something larger than that. Something that could last.

Evelia exhaled slowly and reached for the light switch. She flicked it, but nothing came.

A small frown pulled at her brows. She tried again, pressing harder this time, as if that might change anything. The room remained swallowed in darkness. She stepped into the corridor, glancing up at the ceiling, half-expecting the lights to flicker back to life.

They didn't.

Was the electricity out?

The thought barely had time to settle before a sound reached her from the door. Soft, almost easy to miss. Evelia froze, every muscle going still. It came again, clearer this time. Then came the faint turn of a handle.

Someone was opening the door.

Her hand moved before she could think. She grabbed a knife from the counter, fingers tightening around the handle as she forced herself to raise it, to hold it steady despite the way her pulse had begun to hammer. She fixed her gaze on the entrance, her heart beating against her ribs.

The door opened.

A man stepped inside, outlined by what little light spilled in from the corridor. His hair was pale, perfectly in place despite the hour, and he wore a red uniform that caught what little light there was. Evelia recognised him immediately, she had seen him around the District Twelve group often enough.

"Who the hell are you?" she hissed.

He startled at the sound of her voice. His eyes dropped to the knife in her hand, and he lifted both of his, palms open.

"My name is Plutarch Heavensbee. I am District Twelve's cameraman."

"You're on the wrong floor," Evelia shot back, her grip on the knife not loosening. "This is District Four's apartments."

Something shifted in his expression then and a small, controlled smile found its way onto his lips.

"I know," he said. "I wanted to see you, actually. Evelia Vane, right?"

Evelia didn't lower the knife.

The way he said her name settled something cold and unyielding in her chest, something that spread before she could stop it. He wasn't guessing her name, he knew exactly who she was. That alone was enough to make her pulse spike, enough to set every instinct she had screaming at her to force him back out into the corridor and bolt the door behind him. She ignored it, forcing herself to stand still.

"What do you want? You here to fix the power?"

Plutarch gave a chuckle, shaking his head as though she had said something faintly amusing.

"No, no, Evelia. I asked Wiress to knock out the power in the building. The surveillance cameras are down. She estimates we have about ten minutes left, so although it would be my pleasure to get to know you, our time is rather limited. Beetee told me you and Haymitch wanted to break the arena. Is that right?"

Evelia stared at him, her grip tightening around the knife. She didn't trust him. This had all the markings of a trap set by the Peacekeepers to flush out anyone foolish enough to reach for rebellion.

"No," she said.

Plutarch exhaled, dragging a hand over his face.

"I knew we should've sent Beetee to you and me to Haymitch... Listen, Evelia, I understand your suspicions, so I won't force you to say anything. Just listen to me. Beetee told me how to break the arena. He's explaining it to Haymitch as we speak."

The knife dipped, slowly, the tension in her arm easing just enough.

"He has a plan?"

"He does. And you're indispensable to it. For the arena to be shut down, a team is needed, and as you're from Four, you've lived near water your entire life. That will matter more than you think once you're inside."

Her brow furrowed. "What? Why?"

Plutarch stepped closed.

"Because you're going to drown the arena."

The words landed heavily.

"What? Drown it? How?"

"Let me explain it to you," Plutarch said. "Usually, the arena is controlled from the Capitol,by the Gamemakers. But these days, there's also a Gamemaker level at the actual arena to carry out certain orders. An entire sub-terranean floor, nicknamed Sub-A, that they never show the audience. It destroys the illusion of the arena being controlled from afar. On Sub-A they manage manual tasks, like unleashing the mutts or stocking a feast. You'll be launched from there in a few days. But all of that is secondary to the real job of managing the onsite computer system that's essential to the running of the Games. That's our team's target. The arena's brain. This is what you're going to drown."

Evelia nodded slowly as she recalled what Haldin had said during dinner. He had mentioned a tarp station, how a woman there had demonstrated its uses — how to shape it into a poncho, how to angle it to collect rainwater, how to fold it down into something you could carry. It had led him to believe the arena would be wet. A jungle, maybe. Something close to what they had in Four. Maybe he had been right.

"How do you drown an arena's brain?" she asked quietly. "How are we supposed to get water down to a sub-terranean level?"

A flicker of a smile touched Plutarch's mouth. "That's the right question. The arena doesn't need you to bring water to it. It already has everything it needs. Electricity, plumbing, heating, cooling, ventilation... everything required to sustain the tributes and maintain the environment for weeks. I haven't seen the final design, but over a year ago, they had Beetee review Sub-A. According to him, in the northern part of the arena, there's an enormous water tank just below the surface. Arenas require a lot of water for lakes, storms, fires. This reservoir is particularly large."

The pieces fell into place all at once.

"You want us to damage the reservoir so it floods the system," Evelia clarified. "How do we reach it?"

"That's the simplest part. Throughout the arena, there are hatches connecting the surface to the utility corridors below. You'll enter through one yourself. They're used by the Gamemakers to introduce elements into the arena. You'll access them through what's called a mutt portal."

Evelia blinked. "A what now?"

"Mutt portal. There are dozens of them. It's likely going to be a mutt-heavy arena."

Of course it was. The thought settled unpleasantly in her stomach, but she forced it aside.

"Alright. So I find a mutt portal, climb down into the utility corridor..."

"Then you locate the tank and breach it," Plutarch finished. "Release the water. Gravity will do the rest. Sub-A will flood."

She shook her head slightly, something not quite aligning. "Wait. I don't understand how I'm supposed to damage it. That kind of structure has to be reinforced. Concrete, maybe iron. I highly doubt a trident or an axe will be enough."

"It won't be just you and Haymitch," Plutarch said. "You'll have Ampert. He'll help you with the explosives."

Evelia stared at him, baffled, the words settling slowly as if they refused to make sense. SHe immediately opened her mouth to protest, to say that Ampert was a kid and that this entire plan was far too dangerous for a twelve year-old, but it faltered before it could reach her lips.

Ampert wasn't just a kid anymore, he was a tribute.

This sort of danger didn't matter anymore once you were in the arena, did it? Not when people tracking you down to kill you and mutts were released to eat you alive.

"Is Beetee okay with it?" she asked instead.

Plutarch's expression shifted, something heavy slipping through. "Does he really have a choice? No matter what he tells Ampert, once the boy is in the arena, he'll be on his own. Beetee would rather have him with you and Haymitch. Somewhere he might stand a chance."

He dismissed the thought with a small motion of his hand, but Evelia noticed. She didn't like the way he brushed past it (past a little boy's life!)  but she kept it to herself.

"Anyway," he continued, "I assume you don't know how explosives work."

"Not at all. We don't use those in Four."

"Haymitch knows the basics. He'll show you tomorrow."

Her mind moved ahead of him. "How do we even get explosives into the arena? They won't just be sitting at the Cornucopia."

"We're working on that. Smuggling the materials past security. Beetee designed them himself to be safe, both chemically and structurally. They won't detonate accidentally. You'll need to assemble everything properly and light the fuse with fire."

Fire. That, at least, she could manage. Even in the worst conditions.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Beetee appeared behind Plutarch.

"You need to finish. A repair crew just arrived. It could be any moment."

Plutarch inclined his head. "More to come. Don't tell anyone about this plan. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Evelia breathed.

He disappeared as quickly as he had come, swallowed by the darkened hallway. Beetee stepped forward immediately, pulling off his glasses, his eyes searching hers.

"Did you understand everything?"

"I did," she said. "I'll try to look out for Ampert in the arena."

Beetee went still at the mention of his son, something fragile flickering across his face.

"Don't let him suffer," he whispered.

Evelia held his gaze. "I won't. You have my word."

He nodded once. "That's a great comfort to me. Thank you."

He turned, retreating to the door, and closed it softly behind him.

Evelia remained where she was for a moment, the knife still in her hand, before she finally moved back into the kitchen. She set it down, reached for a glass, and filled it, the faint sound of water the only thing breaking the silence.

Minutes passed, then the power surged back with a rush of cold air, and the lights returned all at once.

What was she even doing... drowning an engine using explosives?

Seriously?

This wasn't something Evelia knew how to do. Or something she had the guts for.

Her best friend Mollie would've known. Mollie would've laughed at the hesitation, already halfway out the door before anyone finished explaining the plan. Mollie was reckless in a way Evelia had never been allowed to be; bold, loud and angry. She never hesitated to run straight into the Trawl, District Four's black market, slipping between crates and shouting warnings when Peacekeepers were on their way. She never hesitated to set fire to their cars, to steal their weapons, to cut through their documents like they meant nothing at all.

Of course, Evelia had helped her sometimes. In the planning. In the cleanup. But Mollie had always been the one to move first, the one to decide.

She had the soul of a rebel.

Evelia didn't.

She exhaled slowly, cracking her fingers one by one, the small sound sharp in the stillness of the room. Her hands didn't feel steady.

She had promised Mollie she would try her best to succeed.

So she would.

She would go into that arena, and she would break the machine, piece by piece if she had to, until there was nothing left of it but ruin and water and silence.

She would do it for Mollie. For her father.

Even if it killed her.

The next morning, Evelia woke early enough to see breakfast being brought in by a man and a woman who never once lifted their eyes to meet hers. It struck her as strange, though she told herself they might simply be shy. They didn't carry themselves like the other Capitol people she had encountered so far. There was no excess in them, no loud display, nothing that demanded attention.

Then Zephyria entered.

She wore a lagoon-blue dress, a sharp yellow jacket thrown over it, the fabric patterned with clashing, almost dizzying shapes. The colours fought each other. So did the rest of her. Her makeup sat heavy on her face and Evelia had to look away to keep from laughing.

The difference between her and the people serving breakfast was almost jarring. They were dressed in crimson uniforms, chokers tight around their necks. Their heads were lowered, hands steady as they placed each dish on the table/

Evelia watched them for a moment, then pushed herself up. It felt wrong to just sit there and be waited on. She had spent too many mornings in her family's restaurant not to move when there was work to be done.

She stepped into the kitchen and reached out, fingers closing around the edge of a plate of smoked salmon, but Zephyria caught her arm before she could lift it.

"What do you think you're doing, dearest?" she asked, her smile fixed in a way that didn't move properly with her face.

Her teeth were unnaturally white. Her skin pulled tight, stretched too far, until there was something off about the way she looked at all. She didn't look like a woman anymore, with all those transformations.

Evelia pulled her arm free from Zephyria's grip..

"I'm helping them set the table."

"It's not your job to do that."

"Uh... yes, it is. I will eat this food, so it's my responsibility to put it on the table. It's called politeness, Zephyria. I know that concept is foreign to the Capitol, but try to keep up."

Zephyria's smile widened into something almost unnerving, her eyes narrowing with a colder light.

"Honey," she said, her voice deceptively gentle, "I couldn't help but notice your... rebellious behaviour. It's endearing in its own way, but you might want to reconsider your strategy."

Evelia's heart pounded, the warmth in Zephyria's voice felt like frost, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Excuse me?"

"Here's a piece of advice," Zephyria continued, her smile unwavering, "it would be wise to keep that rebellious streak in check. Otherwise, you might find yourself regretting it during the games. And believe me, you wouldn't want that."

The air between them tightened and Evelia felt it in the way her breath shortened, each inhale too quick, too shallow. She nodded anyway, too tired to argue. There was no space for it anyway. She had bigger fished to fry.

"Understood," she murmured, her voice barely there.

She set the plates and glasses down with unsteady hands, careful not to let them slip, though her fingers trembled around the edges. Her thoughts were already elsewhere, moving too fast, tangling over themselves as she stepped back, spine stiff, shoulders tight. She turned and left quickly, head lowered.

She didn't see Delta until she walked straight into her.

"Evelia?" Delta's voice caught, confused. "What's happening?"

Evelia didn't answer. She pushed past her, straight into their room, the door closing hard behind them.

"Delta," she said under her breath, "they're all completely nuts here."

"Tell me something I don't know," Delta replied, already slipping her shoes on. "So. What happened?"

Evelia spoke fast, words tripping over each other as she recounted Zephyria's warning, the servants, the way they had kept their heads down, the way something about it had felt wrong.

Delta listened, then exhaled slowly.

"Evelia, those people are Avoxes."

Evelia frowned. "They're what?"

"Avoxes," Delta repeated. "People who've had their tongues cut out as punishment. Usually for rebellion."

The word settled heavy.

Evelia swallowed as they stepped back into the living room, something cold sliding down her spine. If anyone found out what she was planning with Beetee, they wouldn't hesitate. They'd silence her before she ever made it to the arena. The thought stayed with her. She really needed to carefully choose her words from now on, or her allies would be in danger.

"Since we've joined the Newcomers, I think the four of us should stick together today during training," Griffin started. "Might be easier."

"Agreed," Delta said. "I'll show you guys archery, if you want."

"You just want to show off," Haldin quipped.

Delta laughed, already breaking a piece of bread apart, smearing it with seaweed butter. Evelia did the same, then poured herself a generous amount of coffee. The warmth of it curled through her hands.

She thought back to what Delta had said the night after the parade, about how barbaric it was for the Capitol to serve them home dishes before they entered the arena. As if a last taste of home could soften what was coming. As if memory could be fed and still survive what followed.

"If the arena might be wet like Haldin suggested," Mags said, "this gives you guys an advantage none of the other districts have. We grew up in a wet environment. We know jungles, we can handle humidity. Might be wise to help your allies do the same."

"It's more of a conditioning thing, though, isn't it?" Evelia asked. "There isn't any secret solution to how to handle humidity and the heat that comes with it. We grew up this way, so our bodies adapted themselves."

"There are still a few advices worth giving," Mags answered gently. "Drink regularly if you can. Stay near rivers, there's always a small breeze near them. Wet your clothes as often as possible, and your neck, wrists and forehead. Don't sit under still air for too long as it traps heat. Things like these."

Haldin grimaced. "I don't like how most of these advices rely on water. What if we don't find any?"

Mags gave him a gentle smile.

"Water isn't just rivers, or lakes. It's morning dew. It's shade. It's the air after rain. You learn to see it differently when you have to. Go back to the tarp station and ask them how to collect humidity."

The four tributes nodded.

Evelia finally lifted her cup and took a sip of coffee. It had gone slightly bitter, the warmth fading at the edges, but she drank it anyway. She wouldn't have any coffee soon enough, so she might as well hold onto this last moment of it, even if the taste wasn't quite right anymore.

Before came the call for the second day of training, Mags reached for her.

Her grip was gentle as she guided Evelia aside without force. Evelia turned to her, confusion flickering across her face as she studied her properly. The warmth in her brown hair, the softness in her eyes, the way she stood so calmly, it made something loosen, just slightly. There was something about her that invited trust without asking for it.

Something Evelia wasn't used to.

"How are you doing, Evelia?" Mags asked.

No one had ever asked her like that.

"I'm... alright," Evelia said. "Nervous. Scared, obviously. But... you know. What can we do?" A small laugh escaped her.

"There's a lot you can do," Mags replied.

Evelia kept her face still, but her thoughts shifted instantly. Mags knew about the plan. It was there in the way she looked at her, in the way she spoke, like she was choosing every word on purpose. She knew.

"There is. For the greater good," Evelia said. "I guess."

Mags guided her to a chair and sat across from her, close enough that Evelia couldn't pull away without making it obvious. Then she took her hand.

Her touch was warm and soft.

"I knew your dad," Mags said softly. "We were in the same class at school. You're so much like him, Evelia."

Evelia blinked, caught off guard. "I am?"

"You are," Mags said. "He believed in things deeply. Enough to risk everything for them. He spoke his mind too, even when it got him into trouble." A small, fond smile touched her lips. "He was arrested more than once for it. But he was a good man. Truly."

"I mentored his brother, you know, when he was reaped," she continued. "The Vane family... there's something about you all."

She lifted her free hand and rested it lightly over Evelia's chest, right above her heart.

"That fire your father had... he passed it on to you. I can see it. But you have to be careful with it." Her voice softened further, though it didn't lose its weight. "Believing something is for the greater good doesn't mean you have to lose yourself to it. Your uncle did. Your father did. In a way, your mother did too. Don't follow them down that path, dear."

Evelia nodded quickly, too quickly, her gaze dropping as she tried to hold herself together. It didn't work.

The tears came before she could stop them, blurring her vision, burning at the edges. She tasted salt as they slipped past her lips.

"I just..." Her voice broke. "I miss him so much, Mags. I'm so lost, I don't— I don't think I can— I can do it."

The words fell apart in her mouth.

Mags was already moving. She stood and pulled Evelia into her arms without hesitation, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head.

Evelia didn't resist. She folded into her, the fight draining out of her all at once as the sobs took over, her body shaking against Mags' steady hold.

Mags let her cry, gently running a hand on her back.

Evelia wanted to carry on the rebellion that lived in her blood, the thing her family (on her father'sside) had never managed to let go of. She wanted it, truly. And she would do it.

But the arena waited.

And she was terrified of it.

She didn't know what would be waiting for her inside, didn't know what shape it would take, what it would demand from her. Only that it would end the same way it always did. With death, circling closer and closer until there was nowhere left to run. She didn't know how to prepare for that. She didn't know how anyone did.

She didn't mind dying, but she didn't mind living either.

And that was the problem.

She stood somewhere in between, unable to lean fully into either side, unsure of what she was supposed to hold onto. It left her unsteady, like she had nothing solid beneath her feet. Maybe that was what years of her mother breaking her down had done. Left her like this. Split in ways she couldn't fix.

"I've got you, Evelia," Mags whispered.

By then, the sobs had quieted, leaving only the ache behind. Evelia pulled back slowly, though the warmth of the embrace lingered, reluctant to let go of her.

"Just focus on yourself, alright?" Mags continued. "That's all that matters. You're the priority."

It was so different from what Plutarch had said.

He had spoken about plans, about risks, about outcomes that didn't include everyone making it out alive. He had said Ampert's name like it was already a possibility, like his death was something to account for, not something to stop.

Mags didn't speak like that.

And somehow, that difference unsettled Evelia even more.

Because how was she supposed to focus on herself when none of this belonged to her?

When every choice she made fed into something larger? When the plan rested, in part, on her shoulders? When one wrong move could cost lives?

Her chest tightened again, the feeling rising too fast. This time, she forced it down. She pushed it back, locked it somewhere deep before it could take shape, before it could spill out of her in a way she wouldn't be able to stop.

"I'll be fine," she said.

It came out quieter than she intended.

Mags didn't challenge it. Something flickered across her face, a brief shadow that didn't quite settle, before she smoothed it away and offered Evelia a gentle smile instead.

Then it was over.

Evelia stood, steadying herself, and left the room just as the call for the tributes echoed through the apartments.

The van ride passed in a blur of voices she didn't fully register. She sat with the others from Four, silent, while Haldin talked them through which stations they should try with the Newcomers.

"Wyatt kind of freaks me out with his odds on people's deaths," Delta said, shifting in her seat. "But he's cool."

"He's so cool," Haldin agreed immediately. "Imagine knowing exactly someone's chances of dying? What sort of brain does he have?"

"A messed up one?" Griffin offered.

Haldin glanced at him. "I was going to say ' a huge one,' but I guess that works too."

The van came to a stop, and they stepped out into the training centre, the air inside the gym already thick with movement and noise. The Newcomers gathered in their usual corner, the space filling quickly as districts regrouped.

Haldin drifted off first, already deep in conversation with the tributes from Three. Griffin moved toward Eight, questions ready before he even reached them.

Delta stayed.

Evelia felt it Delta's gaze on her, steady, lingering a second too long.

A quiet unease settled in Evelia's stomach.

Did she know something?

If word of the plan started spreading, if even one person said too much, it wouldn't just fail. It would end them. All of them.

Evelia forced her expression to stay neutral, to give nothing away.

Movement at the entrance drew her attention before the thought could go any further.

The tributes from Twelve were arriving.

Evelia's breath caught and she choked on it as her eyes landed on a familiar figure among them.

Louella McCoy.

"You have to be careful what you say around her," Maysilee told the Newcomers. "She's not herself. She might repeat anything she hears to the wrong person."

"How did that even happen?" Haldin asked, his eyes fixed on Louella with suspicion.

The girl looked... wrong.

She stood too close to Wyatt, barely leaving his side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders like he was holding her in place. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, darting from face to face with something close to fear. She had Louella's features, the same shape, the same colouring... but there was a distance in her, something missing.

She looked thinner too. Fragile in a way Evelia didn't remember. As if something had been taken from her and not given back.

"When the Peacekeepers took her body, they found a heartbeat," Maysilee explained. "They did what they could to bring her back. But the damage..." She exhaled softly. "It's severe. The fall from the chariot wasn't something you just recover from."

Her gaze flicked toward the girl.

"Call her Lou Lou. She doesn't like her real name anymore. Don't ask me why. It just sets her off."

Maysilee sounded certain, like she had settled on that version of events and wasn't questioning it.

But Haymitch was.

Evelia noticed it immediately. He hadn't moved closer. Hadn't said a word. His face had gone pale, his posture stiff, something held tight beneath the surface. It didn't match what she knew of him, how he was with people he cared about. Especially Louella.

She was his sweetheart, after all.

Something wasn't right.

Evelia turned her head, and caught Ampert's eye. He tilted his head slightly, a signal.

Come here.

She made her way over, Haymitch following without a word.

"My father says we need Nine in the alliance," Ampert said under his breath once she reached him.

They all glanced toward the shelter-building station, where the tributes in yellow were gathered, focused on their work.

"Any reason why?" Haymitch asked. "Five and Eleven aren't committed yet, and they look stronger."

"He just said they were essential," Ampert replied. "I tried yesterday, but they brushed me off. I think they might see me as... I don't know. Stuck-up."

"You?" Evelia frowned. "Why would they think that?"

"Because I'm from Three," he said simply. "Because I understand the tech. Nine works the fields. They don't get the same kind of schooling. Everyone knows we do. People call us eggheads."

"Egghead's not so bad," Haymitch said.

Evelia elbowed him lightly.

"It's not a compliment," Ampert said. "And it didn't help. They barely talked to me."

Haymitch nodded once. "Evelia and I will try. You go speak to Five."

"Alright."

Ampert moved off without hesitation.

The second he was out of earshot, Evelia reached for Haymitch's arm and pulled him aside, her grip tighter than she meant it to be.

"What happened to Louella?" she whispered. "Why do we have to call her Lou Lou now?"

Haymitch didn't answer straight away.

He bit down on his lower lip, his gaze dropping to the floor. Up close, he looked exhausted. More than that. Worn down in a way that didn't come from lack of sleep.

"This girl isn't Louella," he said quietly. She's a replacement. Capitol-made." His jaw tightened. "Probably a kid from a family they labelled traitors. They've brainwashed and starved her."

Evelia felt her stomach drop.

"She doesn't even remember her own name," Haymitch added.

"Oh my..." Evelia breathed.

She took a step back and forced herself to look anywhere but at Lou Lou. Her eyes fixed on the floor, on the movement around them, on anything that wouldn't give her away.

"I know," Haymitch said quietly. "They've put something in her ear. Implants. They can hear us, tell her what to say, how to act." His voice dropped further. "That's why you need to watch every word around her."

"Yeah. Okay."

They didn't mention the plan as they resumed their walk. They didn't need to, it was understood. Evelia knew he was part of it. He knew she was too. That was enough.

Halfway there, Maysilee stepped in front of them.

"What's going on?" she asked, her gaze flicking straight to Haymitch.

"Just going for Nine," he replied.

"Do they need help with their tokens?"

"Why?" Evelia asked, watching her. "You need their tokens?"

Maysilee nodded. "I'm making necklaces out of them. Easier to carry in the arena. And it gives us something in common. Something that sets us apart." Her eyes moved back to Evelia. "Where's your pin?"

Evelia slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled it out without thinking too much about it, placing it in Maysilee's palm.

For a second, it felt strange.

Like something closing in on itself.

Her father had gotten that pin from Maysilee once. And now it was back in her hands again, passing through Evelia like it had always been meant to.

Maysilee turned it over between her fingers, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"No offence," she said lightly, "but it really is hideous. I don't regret giving it to your papa."

Evelia let out a small laugh.

"Thank you, Mrs Donner. You're too kind to me."

"No problem, Mrs Vane. Come on, let's make your necklace."

Maysilee didn't wait. She turned and walked off, already expecting Evelia to follow.

"Go," Haymitch said beside her. "I'll take care of Nine. See you at lunch."

Evelia glanced at him, offered a small smile, then moved after Maysilee.

They settled on the bleachers at the far end of the gym, away from most of the noise. Maysilee pulled out two cords and began braiding them together.

"Woven necklace," she said. "I have loads of these back home. My twin keeps stealing mine. It's a nightmare."

"Your twin has a pin too?" Evelia asked, watching her hands.

"She did. A hummingbird." Maysilee's mouth curved slightly. "Lost it after we got them."

Evelia tilted her head. "Lost it... or dropped it on purpose?"

Maysilee glanced up at her, something amused flickering in her eyes.

"Whatever you want to believe."

Then she looked back down, her focus returning to the braid.

"You?" she asked after a moment. "Any siblings?"

"No. I'm an only child."

"Lucky," Maysilee muttered. "I love my sister, I do, but I'm so tired of it sometimes. Same clothes, same routines, always together." She exhaled. "Like two peas in a pod."

Evelia watched her for a moment before answering.

"I get that," she said. "But being on your own isn't exactly great either. It gets... lonely."

Maysilee didn't look up this time, but her fingers slowed slightly in the braid, the rhythm faltering for just a second.

"Well," she said after a pause, quieter now. "I guess it would."

"I have my best friend to keep me company, so I suppose that helps," Evelia added.

"Definitely," Maysilee replied. "I love my best friend. Her taste in men is... questionable. Her boyfriend looks like a dead rat, but he's a good guy."

Evelia let out a small breath of amusement. "Oh, really?"

"Really," Maysilee said, scrunching her nose in clear distaste. "Go ask Haymitchy. He's his best friend."

"Burdock?"

Maysilee's hands stilled completely this time. She looked up at Evelia, her eyes narrowing just slightly.

"Yes," she said. "How do you know?

Evelia simply shrugged it off.

She wasn't going to tell Maysilee she had met Haymitch outside their rooms at night. She liked the girl, genuinely, but this wasn't her business. And it wasn't worth the risk. No Peacekeeper had grabbed her arm yet. No one had cornered her. No one had asked questions. She intended to keep it that way.

"Just heard him mention Burdock to Ampert," Evelia said evenly. "Put two and two together."

Maysilee clearly didn't believe her, but she let it drop. Evelia was grateful for that small mercy.

She finished the braid, tying it off with a neat pull, then lifted it slightly between her fingers.

"And done. You'll have that awful pin with you in the arena without any risk of losing it."

"Thanks, Maysilee," Evelia said. "You're really talented."

"Well," Maysilee said, "I've always wanted to be a designer of sorts. I like collecting jewellery back home, and I cut up my dresses sometimes, sew them into something new." A faint smile tugged at her. "Remember my reaping dress?"

"Yes."

"I made it myself. It was terrible at first. Long sleeves, heavy fabric. But I liked the lavender colour too much to change that, so I just... changed everything else." She shrugged lightly. "Made it sleeveless. Added a white band around the waist with a bow on top of it."

Evelia smiled. "You would've made a hell of a stylist. Better than any Capitol one."

That earned her a real smile from Maysilee.

"As if that's difficult," she said. "They're all pathetic here. Our stylist is a walking nightmare."

"So is ours," Evelia sighed, her thoughts briefly slipping to Hephaia, and that ridiculous comment about there being four tributes in District Four this year, like it was some kind of joke only the Capitol would find funny.

"Lift your hair," Maysilee said. "I need to put it on you."

Evelia obeyed, gathering her hair up.

Maysilee slid the necklace over her head carefully, then adjusted it, fingers briefly combing through Evelia's hair to settle it properly. She stepped back a fraction, eyes scanning her work with satisfaction.

Then she smirked to herself.

"There you go," she said. "Mrs Mockingjay."

Evelia's fingers lingered on the necklace, brushing over the woven cords before settling on the pin itself. The texture grounded her like it always did. She was glad she would take her dad with her in the arena. It eased something in her chest.

"You're the best," she said softly.

"I know that," Maysilee replied without hesitation.

The girls talked a little longer before parting ways.

Maysilee headed off toward Nine, where tensions had already started to rise again — Panache had pushed too far, and now their tokens were broken, scattered pieces of something that had once mattered.

Evelia turned back toward Four, and they moved together toward the archery stand, where Eleven was already gathered, dressed in deep green.

A trainer began handing out bows and quivers, and Evelia took hers, the weapon feeling weird in her hand. She had never handled a bow before.

The lesson began simply, the trainer walking them through the basics, like how to stand, how to grip the bow properly, how to align the body so the shot stayed controlled instead of wandering off course.

Evelia listened, adjusting as she was shown, feeling the unfamiliar strain of holding herself still in a way that demanded precision rather than instinct. Around her, the others followed suit, some more awkwardly than others, all of them trying to make sense of the movements.

Every so often, Delta passed through the group, correcting without fanfare.

"Lower your elbow," she said once.

"Extend your arm a bit more," another time.

Small adjustments, given almost gently, like she wasn't correcting mistakes so much as nudging them into place.

Eventually, it clicked for most of them. Their posture steadied, their aim improved. Arrows began landing closer to the centre of the targets, the scattered earlier attempts tightening into something more consistent.

The boys from Eleven stood out, not just because of their height and broad frames, but because of the softness in the way they spoke to each other. They all seemed very kind.

Evelia stepped away briefly, excusing herself to fetch the bottle of water she'd left on the bleachers.

She drank in quick gulps, the coolness grounding her for a moment. Then she lowered the bottle, and felt two presences behind her.

She turned on her heels and Silka and her district mate, Carat, stood there, both of them watching her with sharp eyes.

"What are you doing?" Silka hissed.

Evelia lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Drinking water."

Carat scoffed. "Stop acting dumb. She means, what are you doing with the underdogs? Hanging around Eleven and Twelve won't get you anywhere in the arena."

Evelia's grip tightened slightly on her bottle, but her expression didn't change.

"Why'd you care?" she asked.

Silka let out a short laugh, like Evelia had said something absurd.

"We care because you're from Four," she said. "You're supposed to be better than this."

"You're a Career district," Carat added. "Not... whatever this is."

Evelia's jaw tightened. "Whatever this is?"

"You know exactly what we mean," Silka cut in immediately. "Eleven. Twelve. Three. Acting like an alliance is going to save you. You're just making yourself look weak."

Evelia exhaled through her nose. She really wasn't in the mood for this. The more they spoke, the more she found herself thinking the same thing over and over again; how much she was starting to prefer silence over people like them.

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

Silka's eyes narrowed. "We're giving it anyway."

"Just leave it," Evelia said, already turning slightly, like she could step out of it before it escalated further.

That was apparently the wrong choice.

Carat shoved her.

Hard.

"Don't walk away from us."

The impact knocked Evelia off balance. Her heel caught on the edge of the bleacher step. The world tilted for half a second too long. Her water bottle slipped from her fingers, hit the ground, rolled once, and came to rest on its side as the last of the water spilled out.

A sharp sound cut through the space.

One of the younger tributes from Six (a small girl with dark hair) stumbled back with a startled yelp.

Silka's head snapped toward her.

"What?" she said sharply. "Wasn't me stealing your lunch yesterday enough for you, you little—"

Evelia moved without thinking and stepped between them.

"Leave her alone, Silka," she hissed. "She's a child."

Silka scoffed. "A child who's going to die soon enough."

Her eyes flicked back to the girl, unbothered.

"She won't last a day out there," Silka continued. "And your stupid alliance won't save her, Four."

Evelia didn't think. She pushed Silka hard, violently, and Silka went down onto the bleachers with a heavy thud. The whole gym stopped talking at once, the sound dropping out of the air as if someone had cut it cleanly.

Carat moved quickly to help Silka stand back up, but Silka shoved her away, breath sharp and uneven as she struggled to find her footing again. Then she walked straight back to Evelia.

She pulled out a knife she had been hiding inside her snot-green jacket.

"What's stopping me from stabbing you, Evelia?" she asked, pressing the blade against Evelia's stomach.

Evelia held still. Forced stillness. Her muscles locked, but her voice didn't shake when she answered.

"You'll die the second you do," Evelia shot back, forcing herself not to tremble, even though her blood had already gone cold with fear. "Peacekeepers will tase you like they've tased Panache, then kill you. No maiming allowed during training."

"Oh, really?" Silka hummed, almost amused.

"Leave her alone."

Haymitch's voice cut in from behind them.

Silka looked over Evelia's shoulder, just for a second, and that was all Evelia needed. She twisted free from Silka's grip and drove her foot into Silka's leg. Silka staggered, and Evelia stepped back quickly, putting space between them.

She glanced behind her.

Most of the Newcomers were there now, weapons in hand.

"Put the knife away, Silka," a boy from Nine said — Clayton, if Evelia remembered correctly. "And back off."

The rest of the Careers came in at a jog, weapons already in their hands, closing ranks until both packs stood facing each other. Delta stepped in beside Evelia and pressed a trident into her grip. Evelia took it without hesitation, fingers tightening around the shaft as she shifted into position with the others.

"What do you think you're doing?" a Peacekeeper barked somewhere off to the side.

No one listened.

"Put your weapons down, you're all embarrassing yourselves," Panache said with a snicker, sword loose in his hand.

Haymitch didn't laugh. He shot Panache a look that could have cut deeper than any blade, then spoke without taking his eyes off them, telling the others to hold their positions.

"You do not attack a Newcomer," Griffin hissed. "Back off."

The Careers laughed.

Haldin shifted forward, just a step, the intent already there in his shoulders, in the way his grip tightened, but Evelia caught him, her hand snapping out to hold him back, her head shaking once.

"Last warning," Ringina said. "Put it down."

Silka tilted her head, studying her, then let her gaze drift past Evelia again, landing on Haymitch. The look lingered as if she were measuring something only she could see, turning it over, deciding how far she was willing to go.

"Or what?" she asked quietly.

The tension snapped before anyone could answer.

Peacekeepers flooded in, boots pounding against the floor, voices cutting through the silence as they forced themselves between the two groups, shoving bodies apart, breaking the line.

"On your knees! Now!"

Hands grabbed, yanked, forced compliance. Weapons were torn away and thrown onto the bleachers in a careless pile, metal clattering against wood. Tasers were already out, raised, fingers tight on the triggers.

"Move and you're down!" one of them barked, sweeping the weapon across the group.

Evelia lowered herself to her knees slowly, her fingers tightening around the trident before a Peacekeeper wrenched it from her grasp and tossed it aside with the others. The loss of it left her hands feeling suddenly exposed.

Around her, the others followed.

Some dropped immediately. Others hesitated, earning a shove, a hand at the back of the neck forcing them down. No one resisted with the tasers hovering inches away, not with the memory of Panache still fresh in everyone's mind.

Evelia kept her eyes forward.

She could feel Haymitch somewhere behind her. She didn't turn to check on him, but the awareness of him settled there anyway, steadying in a way she refused to examine too closely.

"Pathetic," Loupe muttered under his breath.

The crack split the air before the scream.

Loupe's body jerked violently as the current tore through him, the spear slipping from his hand as he collapsed sideways onto the floor, muscles locking, then giving out all at once.

"Anyone else?" the Peacekeeper said coldly.

No one answered.

Evelia swallowed, forcing her breathing to stay even. Her heart hadn't slowed, still hammering too fast, each beat loud in her ears.

Across from her, Silka remained on her knees, but she hadn't lowered her gaze. Her eyes stayed up, fixed, burning with something reckless and uncontained, something that hadn't been beaten out of her yet.

Evelia dragged her gaze away before it could linger.

"Listen carefully," one of the Peacekeepers said, stepping forward, his shadow stretching over them. "This is training. Not a battlefield. You don't get to settle scores here. The arena is in three days. You can kill each other there. Do you understand?"

Silence.

"If we see this again, we won't stop at tasers."

Time dragged after that until the Peacekeepers finally stepped back, returning to their posts as if nothing had happened.

A robotic voice called announced it was lunch time.

Haldin helped Evelia to her feet. Delta and Griffin were already beside her, asking if she was alright, checking on her, looking for any bruise. Evelia nodded, forcing a small smile onto her face, something convincing enough to pass.

This had only been a glimpse of what was waiting for them in the arena.

Now more than ever, the Careers wanted the Newcomers dead and gone.

The thought of the bloodbath pressed in at the edges of her mind and she pushed it back down before it could take shape. She didn't let herself dwell on it.

She then felt a hand settle on her shoulder and she turned.

The tributes from Eleven stood there, a little apart from the others. They must have watched everything from a distance.

"We really liked how you defended Wellie," one of the boys said. "And how... how all of you have each other's backs."

Evelia gave a small nod. "We're allies. We have to."

The boy glanced at the others, then back at her, a flicker of hesitation passing over his face before he spoke again. "Me and my district mates talked, and we were wondering if the offer was still up. If we could join the alliance."

For the first time since the confrontation, Evelia felt something shift, something lighter breaking through the tension.

She smiled, genuine this time. "Yes. Of course. You're more than welcome."

She held out her hand. "I'm Evelia."

The boy's expression eased as he took it. "Hull. And these are Chicory, Tile, and Blossom."

Haldin, Griffin, and Delta greeted them warmly, and together, Four and Eleven moved back toward the others.

Ampert spotted them first.

His face lit up instantly, and he ran over, practically bouncing with excitement. "You convinced them!" he said. "Haymitch got Nine! We're complete!"

"Wait," Delta cut in, glancing around. "What about Five?"

Ampert groaned, kicking at the floor with his foot. "I tried to talk to them, but Panache got there first. Convinced them to join the Careers. Probably to make up for losing you guys."

He shook his head, frustration clear. "It sucks. They seemed nice."

Everyone settled onto the bleachers with their lunch boxes. They weren't as filled as yesterday, probably as a punishment for what happened. Evelia grabbed the small sandwich and took a bite, then lifted her head slightly when Haymitch sat down beside her.

His face was still scorched from the parade, the marks raw against his skin, though the cuts had begun to close, healing slowly.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey. Thanks for having my back down there."

He turned his head toward her, a small smile pulling at his lips, easy despite everything. "Of course, Evelia. Don't mention it. That's what allies do, right?"

Evelia let out a chuckle. "Absolutely."

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The noise around them blurred into something distant, voices overlapping, metal clinking faintly as someone shifted a weapon on the floor below. Evelia kept her gaze forward, but she was aware of him, of the heat of him at her side, the steady rhythm of his breathing, his heavy gaze on her.

She realised she wished he would sit closer to her, and immediately cursed herself for the thought, as if it had slipped out where someone might see it written on her skin.

"Nice kick," Haymitch said after a second, teasing. "Remind me not to annoy you."

Evelia laughed. "Too late."

Haymitch laughed as well, before he turned back to his food and took a bite of his sandwich.

Evelia lifted her hand to her necklace and started playing with her pin, turning it between her fingers without really looking at it as a faint smile lingered on her mouth.

She was happy she was about to break the arena.

But she was even happier that she would do it with Haymitch Abernathy.

—

lack of haymitch content my apologies. but I really needed Eve to interract more with the Newcomers, to show how much she cares about them already. she protected wellie from silka!!!!! she should do that too in the arena sigh. sigh sigh sigh.

evelia accepting to be a part of beetee's plan to make mollie and her father proud... nettles by ethel cain started playing guys. idk.

(and yes, the Vanes are the Coveys 2.0. some people are just born with the rebellion in their blood, and the Vanes are the perfect example)

mags NEVER beating the mother figure allegations. evelia basically never had a mum guys, so mags taking care of her like this is so heart warming.

evelia and maysilee being gossip bitches together is very dear to me. they're my girls I love them so much