The rhythmic beat of the Capitol train chugging north filled its passenger cars. It had kept a steady pace for the last several hours, skirting Districts Two, Eleven, and Eight. The further north they ventured, the colder it became. An intermittent snow shower coated the world in a layer of white like a freshly laundered sheet had been draped over everything in sight.

  Aside from the sounds of their locomotive, the atmosphere inside had settled into an uneasy quiet. Everyone regathered in the main compartment at Indira’s behest. Sable sat at attention, polishing his weapon with a well-used towel. Bellona lounged beside him, eyelids drooping as she watched him like a child snared into participating in a gruelingly boring adult activity.

  Indira was statuesque as she studied the slurring icy landscape as it whipped by. Meanwhile, Festus was nursing what was likely his fourth beer of the morning.

  Hazel let out a soft exhalation, running her fingers together as she battled to keep awake. The lull of the train, along with a string of mostly sleepless nights, was tempting her to rest her eyes, even if just for a moment.

  Leo’s voice roused her, “No sleep again last night?” He leaned further back against the bench, arms crossed. They hadn’t gotten to discuss much after she disemboweled her cassette player from her new decoration.

  He had made a hurried attempt to convince her to let the matter go. To allow the senator to show her what was on it in time. That and he tried to convince her that another panic attack was going to be less than helpful mid-Victory tour.

  She had barely stashed the player in her bag before Sable had burst into the room. He eyed them with a highly suspicious grimace, scowled at Sabie, and then dragged them back out into the main train car.

  For the last several hours, they had to marinate in the awkwardness, unable to resolve their unfinished conversation. Every few miles, he fixed her with a loaded glance.

  Keeping her observation glued on her hands, she muttered, “Feel like I haven’t slept in months.” She paused. It wasn’t completely true. Shooting him a peripheral look, “Outside of that one night.”

  The night he had held her hand.

  Leo’s fingers tapped against his forearms as he glanced at Sable, “Think you’ll need to find a new insomnia cure.”

  “Going to tell me to take my medication?”

  The corner of his lip ticked. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Though maybe you wouldn’t dream at all if you did.”

  She shook her head, though she couldn’t hold back the tiny smile that followed.

  His voice then dropped to a whisper-like tone, “My mother had the same problem.” The tapping pattern of his fingers stilled as she moved her studying stare from her hands to his features.

  “I’m not sure I saw her sleep at all that last year before she…left.”

  Sable sighed, holstering his now shining weapon and making his way toward the dining car.

  Pity swelled within her. What kind of torture it must have been to watch a person you love unravel into a stranger?

  “I just wish I could’ve helped her,” his voice remained downy soft.

  “You were a child.”

  He shrugged, “I was, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I could’ve done something.”

  “It's not your fault," she murmured gently.

  Leo stared hard at his folded arms. "Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t, then why does it always feel like it is?”

  Hazel felt those words in her soul more than she heard them. Hazel’s eyes met Leo’s, and understanding passed between them.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” She knew exactly what he meant because she had asked herself the same question more times than she knew. However, no matter how many times she asked it herself, the answer never really solidified.

  She'd lost count of the coins and loaves of bread she had delivered, desperately trying to keep Heath alive and hoping one day he would choose her over the whiskey.

  They had each sacrificed pieces of themselves, believing they could hold someone together through sheer force of love, but life had proven otherwise.

  Hazel wanted to reach out and pat his hand and offer some comfort, but she could practically feel their company’s attention scalding her skin with scrutiny.

  “Drayton,” she started quietly but with the firmness of understanding. “You are a good son.”

  His eyes flashed, flitting between hers. His mouth opened once again but shut just as quickly.

  “What are you two gossiping about?” Festus called from the corner, taking another swig, “Don’t leave us out if there’s something juicy.”

  Leo swallowed hard before his attention fell to the floor.

  “Shhh, you’ll wake her.” Indira interrupted, sending a pointed look at Festus. Across the room, Bellona had fallen into a snoring sleep, curled against the bench, baton cradled like a stuffed animal in her arms.

  Festus rolled his eyes and slunk further into his seat.

  “Bello has never had an issue with sleep,” Leo replied.

  Hazel smiled at the snoozing peacekeeper, who looked like a little girl all of a sudden, “Consider me jealous.”

  Indira rose then, gliding across the train car to sit beside Hazel. “Hazel, dear.” Her manicured fingers smoothed the hem of her boldly dyed suit pants. “About your next speech. Well, all of them actually…”

  Hazel exhaled, wishing to escape as easily as Pytash, “I know.”

  “Word for word.” Indira pressed.

  “How boring,” Festus said much too loud. He was now leaning against the wall, or more likely, using it to remain upright. The slurring roused Bellona, who sat up suddenly, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

  “You are not helping.” Indira scolded.

  “Come on. Admit it. It’s more fun when she goes off-script. Keeps things interesting. And I don’t think I enjoy anything as much as watching steam come out of Augustus’s ears.”

  Hazel toyed with Grace’s coin in her pocket. “Speaking of, do you know where he is?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “Our favorite blue-haired menace is MIA,” Festus replied.

  “Probably my fault,” Hazel sighed.

  “Oh, it’s definitely your fault.” Festus chortled, “Job well done, in my opinion.”

  “Think maybe you should slow down?” Indira asked, eyeing the sloshing alcohol about to fall from his glass.

  Festus downed the rest and began to pour another. “You could really use one of these, you know.”

  Indira merely crossed her arms with a resigned annoyance.

  “She’s right, Mr. Creed.” Sable replied, re-entering the room with a handful of chocolate-dipped pastries, “I would prefer not to have to scrape you off the pavement later. Or throw out another perfectly fine pair of boots.”

  “What a bunch of buzzkills,” Festus replied, skulking past Sable into the dining car and away from the judgment, not before swiping another whole bottle along with one of Sable’s desserts.

  Leo sighed, “It is going to be a long day.”

  “I’ll watch him,” Sable replied, trailing behind Festus.

  “Probably just an excuse to sneak a drink with him.” Bellona teased.

  Sable paused his retreat, his attention flitted between her and Indira, “Unless you would like to trade places?”

  Bellona hesitated, casting a sideways glance at Indira.

  Sable huffed, disappearing from the car as he mumbled, “Figured.”

  Outside, District Nine’s borders came into view. Yet, they were not met with flowing golden fields but instead endless miles of plowed dirt. Sporadic rows of grain shafts stood lonely in the mostly empty fields. Crows picked at the leftovers. Granaries littered the landscape like polka dots on one of Fern’s summer dresses.

  Just as the locomotive slowed its pace, the station came into view. At the same time, the once-blank black television monitors cemented to every wall erupted in color and sound.

  A sudden live feed of the Capitol blared into view. Lady Justice towered in the frame. Her raised swords pierced the clear blue sky above.

  A pink-haired reporter stood front and center. Leaning into her microphone, she called out, “Citizens of Panem, we come to you live from the Capitol, where we are waiting for an announcement from our newest Gamemaker any moment.”

  Hazel’s stomach twisted so sharply she half-expected to double over.

  The Capitol didn’t do unscheduled. Especially not live.

  Anything unexpected meant danger. Meant change and more likely…destruction.

  She shot a glance at Leo. His face was carved in stone, but apprehension rippled beneath the surface. He released a long breath yet tightened his white knuckle grip on his arms.

  “Ugh, I hate the news,” Festus called as he surged unsteadily back into the room with Sable on his heels. “Slippery bastard, who knows what he is up to.”

  Indira and Bellona shared a concerned glance.

  Leo slid closer to her side, and Hazel whispered to him, “Do you think this is about what happened in Ten?”

  Leo shook his head, his gray irises teeming with concern, “I’ve no idea.”

  Hazel dug her fingers into her bandage, pressing the tips into the sensitive spot beneath. Leo's hand wrapped gently around her restless fingers. The warmth simultaneously eased her restlessness while feeding into it at the same time. Their present company was too engrossed in the sudden broadcast to notice. “Easy,” he coaxed.

  She met his eyes once again in silent acquiescence.

  With that, the train stopped completely, and the doors slid open. Silently, she slid her hand away from Leo’s hold.

  District Nine’s aroma was a significant improvement over Ten. The iron-tinged air had been replaced with a warm breeze that carried a whiff of frozen earth and disintegrating tumbleweeds. Along with the crisp air came something less refreshing: a frenzy of Capitol press. Cameras flashed, and voices lobbied for attention. Lucky Flickerman loitered off to one side, his sharp gaze trying to piece together the unfolding developments.

  Front and center was Senator Snow, clean-faced and donning a sky-blue suit. However, his profile held an unusual tightness.

  With a purposeful stride, Snow entered the train, sending a stiff demand to no one in particular, “Close the doors.”

  That can’t be good.

  His command was followed in short order, the hissing train shutting out the shocked-looking gathering.

  Without another word, Snow made a beeline toward Hazel. His usual charisma was peppery, and he greeted none of her companions.

  His presence alone hollowed out the air around her. She resisted the urge to step back.

  “Excuse me, everyone, I am going to steal our lovely Victor for a moment.”

  Though his tone was deep, there was an edge she hadn’t heard before.

  Not good at all.

  “What about her speech?” Indira asked, politely folding and unfolding her hands.

  “It’s been canceled.” He replied while maintaining unbroken eye contact with Hazel.

  Canceled?

  Relief washed over her at first, but beneath it, worry blossomed.

  Snow didn’t cancel things. He manipulated them.

  Controlled them.

  And if he was cutting her speech, it wasn’t mercy. It was something else.

  “Since when?” Festus asked, clearly as confused as the rest of them, setting down his half-empty glass.

  “Since right now,” Snow replied. “Again, it is imperative that I speak with Miss Marlowe…alone.”

  Festus and Indira shared a worried look but said nothing.

  Leo suddenly seemed to understand something unspoken. With a sharp bow, he turned to his sister. “Clear the dining car, Bellona,” he directed.

  “Yes, of course.” Bellona hopped into action, striding toward the adjacent car.

  Leo addressed Snow, though he kept his stare lowered, “Follow me, Sir.”

  Snow nodded, gesturing for Hazel to follow him.

  Wall-length televisions continued to blast the breaking news from the Capitol all around them.

  Inside the dining car were rows of tables and benches draped in crimson upholstery and matching tablecloths. Glittering gold eagle centerpieces were set on each one. In the middle of the room was a circular space with couches and recliners like an audience to an even larger wall-sized television.

  Bellona ushered out the curious staff, barking orders at a couple of lingering peacekeepers. They emptied the space like sparrows skittering away from a circling falcon.

  Once they were alone, Bellona gave Snow a brisk nod and salute and left the car without a backward glance.

  “Let us know if you need anything. We’ll be right outside.” Leo reported as his eyes met hers briefly again. There was something there—uncertainty? She couldn't quite tell before he closed her in with Snow.

  She spun around to him; her heart was fluttering at the sudden shift.

  Snow’s gaze shot from her face to the television and then back. For the first time since she had met the man, an unfamiliar expression slid over his features. It was the look of a poker player with a losing hand.

  “Coriolanus,” She whispered as she got closer, “What is going on?”

  He ran a hand through his hair before marching to the lounging area. She tagged along slowly, allowing him space.

  His self-assured, three-step-ahead arrogance was muted.

  “You don’t know,” she concluded.

  Snow stared ahead at the television; leaning forward, he gripped the back of the couch, “Despite what you may think, I am not God, Miss Marlowe.”

  “Would’ve fooled me.” She looked around the barren room, “And everyone else, apparently.”

  “Not everyone.” Snow sighed as he glanced at her over his shoulder. “I think I know what is going on. Or at least I have a feeling my suspicion is about to be proven correct.” His observation washed over her face, clearly contemplating what he was about to say, “There’s something I need to tell you…”

  Hazel scoffed, “There are books that could be written of all the things you need to tell me.”

  His eyes sparkled, but his reply was cut off as the televisions in the car grew louder.

  Hazel chewed on her lip as Augustus’s face filled the screen. His braid was freshly arranged and shinier, but the blue had been replaced with a deep violet.

  The giddy pink-haired reporter practically bubbled, “Mr. Gamemaker, we are all on the edge of our seats. Your office reported you have an important announcement.”

  Snow straightened, folding his arms over his chest, his gaze hard as ice blocks in the dead of January.

  Augustus smiled widely, “Very important indeed.”

  “By all means, Mr. Trask, don’t keep us waiting.”

  Augustus shifted his focus directly to the camera. His taupe irises glittered with recklessness, and Hazel felt as if he could see right through her.

  She didn’t know what he was about to say, but her gut twisted. Whatever it was, it felt like it would be aimed directly at her.

  As if he was looking deep into her soul, he smirked as he announced, “I intend to throw my hat into the ring.”

  “Bastard.” Snow breathed, leather gloves crackling as he squeezed the couch harder.

  He couldn’t mean…

  Augustus’s grin split wider, “I want to announce my official candidacy for the President of Panem.”