The beast was out of his cage, gnawing wildly at the hand that once fed him.

  Danger, mixed with abject hatred, rolled off Snow like steam unfurling from a kettle on the verge of boiling. His gloved grip on the couch was sealed tight. The leather was stretching and cracking under the pressure.

  His jaw was equally as strained, like the heavy chains that secured a load of lumber, barely holding back the immense weight.

  On-screen, the pink-haired reporter was peppering Augustus with superfluous questions, but it was like white noise, drowned out in the wake of the drastic announcement.

  She was listening but hardly hearing. Snow was staring at the television like he wanted to embed an axe in its center. Despite his intensity, she suspected he was just as disengaged as she was.

  "Someone slipped his leash." Hazel eased her voice into the space between them.

  He turned his frozen irises toward her, the look dropping the temperature of the blood in her veins. "Hardly the first time my trust was misplaced."

  A wave of conflicted guilt coated her nerves. "Is this because of Mayor Shepherd?"

  "Perhaps," Snow exhaled. "But Augustus has always been ambitious."

  What had she started?

  Clearing her throat did little to make her voice sound confident, "Was this what you were going to tell me?"

  An abrupt, thunderous knock made her nearly jump out of her ridiculous heels.

  Festus peeked into the room, his eyes clearer than they had been before. "Coryo, the press is about to break down the doors of this train."

  Snow ran a hand over his face, his tone frigid, "Keep them out of here, Fest. I will give a statement when I am ready."

  Festus nodded, casting a quick look at Hazel. Giving her almost a wince-like smile, he left them alone once again.

  "No," Snow breathed.

  Hazel swiveled to face him. "No, what?"

  "I suspected Augustus was about to betray me, but..." Sending another frosty glare at the television, he clarified, "That is not what I need to tell you." He searched each of her eyes separately as if pressing the point. "It is time you knew why."

  A soft scoff slid from her nostrils. "Which, why?"

  "The one that matters most."

  Her heart floundered, eyelashes fluttering as she processed his words.

  Was he being serious?

  Was he really going to tell me the whole truth?

  Snow released his stranglehold on the couch, "This is not exactly how I wanted to do this, but..." He sent another searing look at the television. "My options are suddenly limited."

  Hazel chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I think I am hallucinating again. Or maybe dreaming..."

  Snow suddenly smirked as if he couldn't help himself, "Would you prefer that?"

  A rosy tinge spread over her face and neck as she wrapped her arms protectively around herself, "Why am I really here, Coriolanus?"

  His name sobered him. "Have you ever heard the phrase: two are better than one, Miss Marlowe?"

  Hazel emptied her lungs in an exasperated sigh, briefly closing her eyes. "I should have known you wouldn't make this simple or straightforward."

  "Name of my autobiography, remember?" He teased for a second before the seriousness resettled on his face. "Now, answer my question."

  Hazel shrugged, "Sure, I've heard it. Though the relevance is questionable."

  A blonde brow ridge quirked, as did the edge of his mouth, "Tell me, do you know one of the most effective methods for planting ideas into people's minds?"

  Hazel tightened her hold on herself, mustering a skeptical tone. "Violence?"

  He ignored her petulance. "In the short term, perhaps, but there is something else much more persuasive. Consider this: What unites generations, transcending time, culture, and even war?"

  She narrowed her eyes. "Suffering?"

  Snow shook his head, gesturing toward the television. "Storytelling. Stories connect. They captivate, distract, entertain, teach us about ourselves, and sometimes, when wielded properly, can become a potent weapon."

  "I didn't realize you brought me in here for a history lesson." Easing sideways around the edge of the couch, her skirt brushed against the velvet upholstery.

  "Avoidance won't earn you answers," He countered with another languid stride, reducing the space she'd gained. "Think carefully, Miss Marlowe. Of all the stories we tell ourselves, which ones captivate even the most cynical among us?"

  "Murder mysteries?"

  "Almost," he conceded, tilting his head thoughtfully.

  "Certain stories hold people captive, compel them to keep watching despite themselves. Even those who openly scorn them can't seem to look away. Which narratives command such attention?"

  "Definitely murder mysteries."

  Interesting, you accuse me of prolonging things." Snow's lips hooked into a delicate smile. "Let me be more straightforward: have you heard the tale of Romeo and Juliet?"

  A sharp breath escaped her nose.

  Romeo and Juliet? Was he serious?

  Although she would never admit it out loud, it was among her mother's favorites that she read to her as a child. They didn't have many books in Seven, but thankfully, there had been a smattering of war-worn copies of Shakespeare. Most abandoned by Capitol regimens of old.

  Her stare swept downward to the floor, to her heeled toes peeking out from beneath the folds of her skirt. "I'm...aware of it."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "They were two people drawn together over opposing sides. Or possibly because of them."

  A warning tickled the back of her mind. She didn't like where he was going with this.

  Sweeping his arms behind him, he paused at the corner of the couch, studying her across its length like a barrier neither acknowledged.

  "You wanted me to get to the point. Go on, then. Take us there."

  Hazel sighed, ripping her gaze from her shoes to the dulled television, "Love."

  Snow's eyebrows raised in approval, and a toothy grin peeked out from between his lips.

  "Love stories."

  "Exactly. Love stories." He repeated a heady satisfaction eased his posture, as if he had gulped soothing spirits. "More than any other type, it taps into the deepest desire within human nature. The universal longing for connection. For ...understanding."

  Hazel's head began to shake lightly against her will. She tried to push his words out of her ears. "And you know, all of the best love stories have a commonality."

  Hazel clenched her tender left hand. Slowly, it grew sticky and much too warm. "What would that be?"

  "Two people going against the odds...together."

  Hazel ventured further away from him. "I am not Juliet."

  "And I am not claiming to be Romeo." Snow's lips twitched, and he pointed at the doors, "But they don't know that, do they?"

  Hazel followed his long, gloved finger. She'd told no one their secret, and apparently neither had he. "No."

  Hazel shifted a step backward as she watched him restart his slow approach as if he were advancing on a skittish doe. Rounding the couch, it was no longer a barrier between them. Raising his palms, his eyes implored her to hear him out.

  "That ignorance is exactly what keeps them watching," Snow remarked, eyes alighting briefly upon Augustus laughing silently on the screen. "Capitol or District, fascinated or appalled, the people will always hunger for bread and circuses. Offer them spectacle, feed their curiosity, and they'll remain riveted, controlled. After all, what commands attention more than two enemies crossing battle lines, especially when the audience suspects there's something more?"

  Enemies seemed too benign a word for what he was to her. And something deep down told her she wouldn't escape her tether as easily as Augustus.

  Hazel moved away from him with another backward step, bumping into one of the crimson-covered footrests. The pointed edge dug into her thigh, but she barely noticed through the rush of her pulse in her ears.

  Despite their eye contact, his stare caressed the large screen over her shoulder. The anthem played while Lady Justice's swords glittered in the winter sun. He breathed out as if he were wrapping an unspoken memory around himself. "Do you know what an aphorism is?"

  Scouring her internal vocabulary, she was empty-handed. "I can't say that I do."

  The distant look melted into an all-too-present one. "My family had one we used to tell each other. Especially when times were... uncertain." He let out a long breath, running a thumb over his lips as she braced herself. "Snow lands on top."

  Hazel frowned. It was slightly corny, yet surprisingly and bizarrely provoking. "Should've used that for your campaign slogan."

  "It is so much more than a slogan." Snow's irises sparkled, "It is a prophecy. One that I almost lost hold of if it weren't for you."

  Oily, dark guilt curled within her. What had she done?

  Her heartbeat rattled in her ears. She couldn't deny the logic even though the knowledge soured her stomach. "What if I had let your family's aphorism change to 'redwood lands on top '?"

  She edged around the couch; once again, the furniture provided a barrier between his advancing form and her retreating one.

  "Neither of us would be standing here," Snow responded without hesitation, light dancing in his stare, "When you rescued me, I recognized your potential immediately. Our potential."

  He traced the edge of the nearest loveseat, fingertips gliding delicately over fabric as if savoring its texture through the leather of his gloves. "All it took after that were a few well-timed moments: photos of us leaving my lab, a handkerchief offered in front of the cameras, your presence at my dinner table, and one last not-so-secret walk through the Pantheon garden before the games. From there, their imaginations filled in the rest."

  "And then there's how you responded." Again, he shot a long look at the screen behind her, "And keep responding..." He paused, expression open, earnest. "Honestly, it all has surpassed every expectation I held when Augustus first suggested this arrangement."

  Hazel gritted her teeth. "I thought you valued truth."

  His eyes sparkled. "I do but I think you'll find that it is complicated and nuanced. Not so black and white." A long exhale followed. "It's more like shades of ... gray. It bends, shifts, takes the shape of the storyteller. People believe what they see and what they feel. That belief becomes reality. And perception is power, true or otherwise." His voice pitched lower as he continued, "Despite what the foundation may be built upon, what we construct on it can be truth...our truth."

  She glanced back at the television, rotating his words and the notion over and over again in her mind. "So if stories are weapons, then what do you gain by wielding this one?"

  His smile widened, "Panem, Miss Marlowe." He walked forward until she was effectively caged against the curved back of the sofa. Hazel's hands jittered, and she warred with the remnants of her dream from District Twelve and their conversation the night before. Snow tilted his head, his voice dipping lower, cooler. "You are going to help me win Panem."

  A District girl who could barely keep reality straight from delusion?

  "But you're Capitol, and I'm District."

  "You were district," the last word came out almost curse-like. Cerulean irises chiseled into hers as his voice dropped, "Now, you are so much more."

  Hazel shook her head, disbelief pulsating within her.

  Snow read the resistance in her eyes and responded with silky confidence, "Don't pretend you haven't seen how the people have embraced you. Those in the Capitol idolize you. The Districts see you as one of their own. That kind of reach? It's rare. And with our connection, my influence has only grown. Together, we're closing a divide everyone believes unbridgeable. Two are truly better than one."

  Visions danced like ghosts behind her eyes. Tributes' faces smiling from collector cards whose owners were all rotting in the earth, while magenta flowers curled into brown crisps on her desk.

  Could they mend a world fractured by design? Is that what he truly wanted, or was this just another game?

  At the same time he closed the divide between them, the tips of his dress shoes scuffed her heeled toes. His persuasive tone overwhelmed even his cologne, muddling her thoughts.

  "This is what it was about the whole time?"

  A simple, straightforward nod followed, "Yes."

  She was the story and he was the narrator.

  She recoiled, spine meeting velvet. Her left hand was even warmer now. Slick. She suspected she was bleeding.

  "I'm no victor. I'm just breathing propaganda."

  He didn't refute her boldness or deny her claim. Behind her on screen, Lady Justice towered over Panem, twin swords aloft. Snow's scrutiny washed from the statue to the trapped girl before him.

  "There are worse things for a person to be. I would know..." His gloved hand closed over her injured one, pulling it up between them. She kept her fingers cradled over it. "I've seen what others would turn you into."

  Trembling, she couldn't help but believe he was referring to the newest contender for Panem's presidency or the wild-haired head of the war department.

  Hazel let out an unbelieving grunt, pulling her hand out of his hold and tightening her grip on herself. "And what of Augustus?"

  At the mention of Augustus's name, a glint of contempt deepened his expression. He drew closer still. "Augustus is driven only by his own ego. I thought the adulation of a Gamemaker would satiate him, but clearly, his hunger is unquenchable. He would reduce Panem to ashes if it meant he could rule what remained." He leaned forward, warmth radiating with the scent of rose syrup. "You've seen it yourself. His true nature. What he leaves in his wake. Is that really the future you want?"

  Tulsi's bones cried out from their frozen grave. Aaron's glassy eyes, Ruby's bruised body, Ethan's cold, blue-saturated face, Silus's lifeblood soaking into her as she clung to him. She sucked in a shaking inhale, cramming her thumb harder into her left palm. She could practically smell the iron, feel the tremors of trauma, and taste the salt of her own sorrow.

  All gone because of the vile monster.

  "No," she recoiled. "Never."

  "Help me defeat him then." Snow murmured, "Help me spare Panem from a Trask Presidency."

  Hazel hesitated. Temptation tugged at her heart. What would Augustus do with unchecked power at his fingertips? How many more Tulsi's would there be?

  "How could I possibly do that?"

  "You are going to give a speech for me," he told her decisively, hand coming to rest on her shoulder. His hold was light but imploring.

  She flinched at his grip, heart rate spiking. "You just canceled it."

  "Not here," Snow explained. "We'll frame the cancellation as punishment for District Nine's tribute actions prior to the games. We'll do the same for Six and Three. Call it retribution for their attempt at escape. But when we arrive in District Eight, I want you to go off script again."

  "How far off?"

  He peered down at her, soaking in her features. His gaze dropped to her medal, the budding crimson of her bandage that matched the couch, and then refocused on her irises, "You are going to announce the people's right to vote."

  A single drop of blood beaded down her wrist as she wrung her hand tighter, "Are those in the Capitol not already aware of their rights?"

  His eyes brightened with a barely controlled excitement. "Let me re-phrase...the Districts' right to vote."