The aroma of animal hide and iron permeated the train like smoke filling a valley mid-forest fire. This was far worse. It was gamey, visceral, and tinged with an indescribable quality that didn’t need to be fully recognized to be appreciated. Even the most na?ve could practically feel the sense of death soaked into every lungful.

  A depression-flavored palette matched the stomach-churning odor. District Ten was coated in as many shades of rusty brown as there were green in Seven.

  Festus half coughed and half gagged beneath the handkerchief currently crammed against his nose. “It is like they are bottling blood sausage and toenail sauerkraut cologne.”

  “Come on, it's not that…. bad,” Indira commented, struggling to hold her elegant, painted face into a neutral expression.

  “I agree, Miss Lovegood,” Augustus interjected, sucking in a deep nostril full. He lounged in the farthest corner of the train car. His arms were draped over the bench, and his legs were leisurely crossed. It was like he was soaking in a luxurious simmering bath.

  “I’ve smelled worse.” Sable gruffly added his thoughts. He was settled into the seat across from Hazel, Bellona at his side.

  “You have certainly smelled worse,” Bellona smiled at the older peacekeeper, “Especially after one of those lovely jogs.”

  Sable grumbled and looked prepared to push her off the bench.

  “You all can speak for yourselves,” Festus grumbled as his handkerchief fluttered for dear life. “I hate this District.”

  Hazel wrapped her arms around her torso as she battled the scent herself. Never in her life had she smelled something so uniquely unsettling. Tapping her nails against her left palm, she wondered if the citizens just suffered continually or became nose blind over time. The latter would be a blessing.

  “Makes you miss the papermill, huh?” Leo murmured in her ear. A restrained laugh colored his tone.

  “I take it all back.” Hazel chuckled. “It’s like they’ve made rancid meat into an air freshener or something.”

  “Fantastic. Not sure I’ll ever be hungry again.” Leo’s face soured.

  Just as she was about to laugh and tease him with a clever joke about pickleberries, she met Sable’s eyes. Though his shoulders were relaxed, his scrutiny was fixed and unblinking.

  She was slightly amazed at how much he could communicate without saying a word. Though the message was still wholly irritating.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t appear to be the only one scrutinizing her. Unlike Sable, however, she refused to meet the tan stare of the blue-haired monster relaxing on the far side of the train car.

  Swallowing down a lump in her throat, she sank back into the plush bench, pressing her thumb even harder into her worn bandage. A satisfying lick of discomfort crawled from her palm up her arm.

  Leo frowned down at her hand with a slight upward slant of his lips, “You keep doing that, and I’ll need to change it again.”

  Hazel stilled her nervous thumb.

  Damn him for being so observant.

  She caught another stony side glance from Sable. Bellona too, seemed to be not so subtly watching.

  Ugh, Peacekeepers.

  “It’s probably about time I start to take care of it myself.”

  “Right.” He breathed out, straightening his posture. A curious look slid over his brow, but he let the conversation fade.

  The group collectively yet reluctantly endured the growing odor until the train began to slow as it entered the center of District Ten.

  Unlike the last two Districts, the place was overflowing with press, cameras, and what appeared to be… Capitol tourists?

  A horde of people lined the streets; many were coated in fine clothing of various shades of the rainbow. Most held outlandish scarves, hats, or handkerchiefs to their noses. Hazel scoffed to herself; they reminded her of the glittering, color-soaked scales of a trout.

  Though she would prefer the scent of trout.

  District Ten citizens skirted the farthest areas in earth-toned, much more humble, patched clothing.

  Bellona leaned closer to the window, “Sort of expected this in Four or One, maybe Two….” The peacekeeper’s fingers danced ever so lightly along the weapon at her hip. Her eyebrows raised as they stared at the widening crowd outside the train’s windows. “I didn’t realize this District was so popular.”

  Indira answered with a wince, “It’s not.”

  “There’s extra interest because we will have a special guest during our time in this District,” Festus answered, practically groaning as he pocketed his handkerchief.

  I’ve just about had it with surprises and unexpected guests.

  Hazel’s scrutiny whirled back to the windows as they pulled into the train station. Fanfare and barely restrained excitement stared back at her.

  Taking a closer look, she realized that in addition to the people of the Capitol, there were at least double the number of peacekeepers and press. And along with a slew of hues on display, there were glaring splashes of the richest Crimson.

  Long velvety flags flowed along the walls, shining golden eagles in the center of each. Capitol Flags.

  Up ahead, another train waited on the tracks. It was much smaller, definitely shorter, but no less luxurious.

  It could only really mean one thing.

  “Who?” Bellona asked, sharing a look with Sable.

  “The campaign…” Hazel breathed.

  “Yes, dear,” Indira confirmed, meeting Hazel’s barely restrained grimace.

  Festus let out a chuckle, though it was laced with mild confusion, “No clue why Corio would possibly want to campaign here.”

  “You know as well as I do that he rarely does anything without a reason,” Hazel mumbled.

  “I don’t see what the issue is.” Augustus piped in from the corner. “District Ten is certainly…unique.”

  She didn’t even want to try to figure out what that meant.

  As she caught another glimpse of a fluttering red flag, a sudden chill ran through her like snowflakes falling along her spinal cord. The tour was already difficult enough. Snow had mentioned he would see her on the tour, but she had not anticipated this.

  Anger and panic-tinged pain merged into an unnamable feeling at the thought of the tape and the night before. Again, her mind wrestled with the potential reasons he had given it to her.

  She squeezed her palm again.

  Don’t think about it.

  Though he said nothing, she could feel Leo’s scrutiny graze her clenched hand.

  Indira stood as the train came to a hissing halt. She took a deep inhale and pulled a folded piece of paper from her dress pocket, holding it out to Hazel. “Oh, and dear. You need to know that we made some last-minute changes to your speech.”

  Hazel frowned up at her as she took it. Not daring to unfold it. Changes?

  Indira’s face was oddly solemn. Festus also appeared to be unsurprised, and his attention shifted to anything but her.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Leo stiffened beside her, and neither Sable nor Bellona met her eyes.

  Augustus smirked as he leaned even further back in his seat, flipping his long braid over his shoulder. She inadvertently met his eyes before tearing them away when it seemed to please him.

  Why am I always the last to know?

  “What changes?” Hazel eased out the question, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  Indira took a deep breath, gaze flickering to Augustus, then back to Hazel, “We have been advised to redact all mention of Aaron Shepherd. You are not to speak of him during your speech.”

  Hazel blanched, “Why?”

  Indira’s attention dropped to her wringing hands. Across from her, Festus scuffed his shoe against the floor, eyes locked on the windows where the eager crowd pressed closer, their breath fogging the glass.

  Augustus spoke up, though he studied his nailbeds as if disinterested, “The Capitol is not in the habit of honoring rebels.”

  “He wasn’t—he was the mayor’s son,” Hazel argued, sliding closer to the edge of the bench.

  “The former Mayor’s son.” Augustus clarified.

  Hazel’s stomach practically boiled, “And the Mayor?”

  “In custody,” Augustus met Hazel’s eyes, “Pending execution, tomorrow morning, actually. Nothing quite like a sunrise hanging.”

  Hazel gripped her hands together, her left palm pulsating beneath her bandage. Her heart pounded in her throat.

  No.

  Indira spoke up in the cooling way she did when she was trying to dissolve tension, “Dear, it is the standard punishment for rebels.”

  Hazel refused to let any of the tension leave, no matter how sweet Indira’s tone was. “What evidence was there of rebel affiliation?”

  Augustus’s eyes flashed, and his lips curled in a cruel smirk, “You, of all people, should know.”

  Hazel’s eyes narrowed, and she clenched her fists, “Communication with another District is a far cry from rebellion.”

  “It’s against the treaty, dear,” Indira replied softly, her eyes filled with a somber understanding.

  Augustus uncrossed his legs, leaning forward, “Exactly. And the Capitol, of course, takes such behavior…” His eyes mocked her, “Extremely seriously.”

  A sharp, biting horror filled her. How close had Oren and her family come to a similar fate? A familiar panic began to boil within her, bubbling up her neck in a rising tide. She gripped the edges of the bench as she willed herself to slow her breathing.

  Augustus watched her carefully. His eyes danced with unbridled amusement at her reaction.

  Leo’s voice was in her ear, and his hand came to rest beside hers; his pinky subtly tapped against her skin three times. “Marlowe?”

  Hazel pulled her hands back into her lap. “I’m all right,” she whispered.

  Augustus’s gaze stretched to where Leo’s hand was, and his face split open into an even wider grin.

  “It’s another reason why the Senator is here. District Ten needs redirection and reminded of their place. You will help get that message across.” Augustus smirked and ran a thumb over his bottom lip as he gestured for her to stand. “Along with the Mayor, of course.”

  Hazel bit back a retort as she tore her eyes away from him and back to the platform full of people. As she rose, she ran her hands over a few of the fine wrinkles in her lilac dress. As if smoothing the fabric could ease the ripples of anxiety pushing through her.

  Festus scowled at the man as Indira rose to stand beside Hazel. Behind them, Leo, Bellona, and Sable fell into place. The rest of her peacekeeper entourage poured into the train car from the adjacent ones, following dutifully.

  With another hissing sound, the train doors slid open. Augustus strode to the front, leading them into the bustling, odorous station.

  Camera lenses clicked and flashed like metallic applause.

  The colorful people of the Capitol were in the front, some calling her name and others waving. A few had pink ribbons or bands adorning them, while others held familiar-looking collectible cards.

  Despite the surge of nausea coursing through her, she raised her hand in a small wave and fragile smile. It was the best she could manage, given the circumstances.

  A young Capitol woman broke free from the crowd and approached Hazel. She was draped in a cobalt pantsuit. Bright tangerine threads curled in abstract patterns over its surface. The same molten orange hue matched the tightly styled curls of her hair. All of which was held in place by a bright green scarf.

  Her Capitol accent thickened as she stammered, “I can’t believe it’s really you. I’m such a huge fan.”

  Hazel swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Um… thank you…” Her words came out more like a question than proper gratitude. “I’m sorry what’s your name?” She was certain the smile she was working on was probably more like a grimace as well.

  If the woman noticed, she didn’t betray it. She only rocked back and forth on precarious neon lime heels.

  “Rosalind.” She beamed.

  Hazel’s gaze flicked over her garish outfit, the colors clashing in ways that made her head throb.

  “Nice to meet you…I like your… um…hair,” she murmured, as if pushing the words into existence might ease the awkwardness.

  With a sound like a mouse caught underfoot, the woman thrust forward a familiar-looking trading card and a pen. “Would you sign this for me?”

  Hazel nodded and took both from her. Popping the cap, she stared down into her own eyes.

  The image on the card was too crisp and too vivid. Its golden border mocked her. Brilliant green irises glared up at her in unadulterated heroism as if a stranger was wearing her face.

  She shivered and hurriedly signed her name, practically throwing the items back to the woman once she was done.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” Rosalind, wrapped in her cobalt-and-citrus ensemble, tucked the items into her breast pocket with the care of someone sealing away a holy relic.

  The moment the transaction was complete, others surged forward, a sea of pens and outstretched objects. There were scraps of fabric, more glossy cards, and even a handful of stuffed toys. All of it was thrust toward her like desperate offerings.

  Augustus spread his arms. “All right, all right. I know you’re all eager to meet our radiant Victor, but she has a speech to deliver. I promised that autographs will come later.”

  A wave of disappointed sounds pulsated through the station. Rosalind At that, her guard legion sprang into action, carving an armed corridor between Hazel and the exit.

  Hazel sighed in mild relief as everyone pocketed their items.

  Then it vanished.

  Something out of place disturbed her vision. Like an eyelash scraping her cornea, it demanded her attention and made her eyes water.

  Two figures were deathly still in the back of the gathering, up against the opposite wall. Their heads turned forward, eyes locked onto her without blinking.

  The clothes they wore were washed-out fabrics tainted with red stains.

  Aaron. Mia.

  Her steps faltered as she was ushered closer to the station’s doors, gaping like the mouth of something waiting to swallow her whole.

  “Smells like rosemary,” Hazel rasped, turning away from the ghosts, her voice raw as she angled her words toward Leo, just over her shoulder.

  “Huh, hardly what I would call that,” Sable grumbled.

  Leo murmured near her ear, “Sky sure is blue and clear today.”

  Hazel glanced up as they made their way outside. It was like freshly melted snow. The blue shade was so light that it was nearly translucent. It reminded her of the little streams that flowed from the snowpack into the Alpine during early spring.

  “It is,” she muttered, letting the sight tether her, however briefly, to something steadier.

  It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tide the panic, at least for a while longer.

  “What in the world are you two on about?” Sable questioned, a deep line between his brows.

  Festus grinned, winking at Leo, ‘We aren’t the only ones who dipped into the free booze, huh Sabby?”

  Sable’s scowl deepened, “What did I tell you about calling me that?”

  Bellona, clearly amused, tapped her fingers against her weapon, “He doesn’t like nicknames, Mr. Creed.”

  “Right, Careful Festus,” Hazel interjected, not meeting Sable’s eyes, “Private Pytash is all about professionalism and boundaries.”

  Sable ran a hand over his face, “I need a vacation.”

  Suddenly, a voice carried through the air, piercing their conversation.

  “Here she is everyone! Our lovely Victor, Miss Hazel Marlowe.” Lucky Flickerman had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, extricating himself from the horde. His copper-slicked hair glinted almost orange in the bright light of daytime. His chirping voice rose higher than all the others.

  “Mr. Flickerman,” Hazel said with the best smile she could muster, casting a backward glance. Mia and Aaron had disappeared.

  “Aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes?” Lucky crooned, extending his hand, palm up.

  She accepted it, though his grasp barely registered. It seemed to be a gesture made for optics rather than anything else. His fingers barely curled around hers. Holding her at arm’s length, he tilted his head in an exaggerated show of admiration, scanning her as if she were a museum piece.

  “Um... Thank you.” Again, her words were more question than response, and she battled an uncomfortable blush.

  Lucky hardly noticed as he pressed on, “Welcome to District Ten, my dear. How has the tour been so far?”

  Hazel’s gaze flashed to the nearest camera, closing in on her. “Enlightening.”

  She could almost hear Augustus’s exhale.

  Hazel didn’t look his way. “Unexpected at times.”

  Lucky’s laughter rolled effortlessly as he steered her closer to the town’s square. “Well, I think that will be a running theme, I’m afraid. But it keeps things from getting monotonous, you know.”

  She caught the flash of a blue braid in her periphery, “Heaven forbid.”

  Lucky’s eyes were smiling as if he knew something she did not. He nodded toward the town square.

  In the front of the stage were the colorful, elegant Capitol citizens. Gold and red ropes stretched behind them, keeping the District people separate and in the back. A woman swathed in iridescent purple silk recoiled as a District child strayed too close to the rope dividing them. With a wrinkle of her nose, she lifted a perfumed handkerchief to her face.

  Hazel’s stomach dropped. Long banners with the Capitol seal flowed from the stage. But next to them was something even more concerning. Stiff posters, painted with bold lines and thick font typed in bright blue and brilliant white: CORIOLANUS SNOW FOR PRESIDENT. At The Highest Peaks, There is Only Snow.

  Her eyes darted from the inscription to the man himself.

  Up on the stage, Snow stood, his arms outstretched. He leaned slightly forward, lips just above the microphone. He seemed to devour the crowd, District and Capitol alike. They, in turn, hung on his every word and his every move. His deep royal blue coat whipped around him as he spoke. An ice blue, almost white rose glittered from his lapel.

  His gaze found hers through the throng of people like a tether pulled taut across the square. The edge of his lips twitched, and it was as if he was staring into her soul. The chill that had settled along her spine seemed to ignite. Her hands grew warm, and she was sure her face did as well.

  This is real. No waking up this time.

  She did not move. Or perhaps she could not.

  Sensing her need for encouragement, Lucky took her elbow, looping his arm with hers. “Don’t be shy, come on.” He chatted a string of unintelligible words as he guided her closer to the stage. Whatever he was saying was meaningless against the drum of her pulse.

  She swore she felt herself walking, though the control of her limbs seemed almost out of body.

  The crowd followed Snow’s stare, turning to her approaching entourage. The Capitol citizens hummed while the District watched on in reserved curiosity.

  But Hazel didn’t look to the crowd. Instead, her gaze remained locked with the terror-inducing man mid-stage.

  “Ah… at last.” Snow’s smile brightened like the sun breaking through rain clouds as the crowd followed his gaze. “Our guest of honor has arrived.”