The Victory Tour train was all but hurtling toward District Eight. Thick clouds curtained the morning sun. Sprigs of frost patched the ground sporadically.

  Despite the frigidness outside, Hazel was surprisingly warm. The fabric of her dress brushed against her arms and legs as the bench rocked beneath her. It was comforting in a way. The material was cottony, muted blue, almost dusk-colored, cinched at the waist and falling in delicate folds to her ankles. The sleeves clung gently to her elbows. Paired with matching boots and a simple coat, the ensemble was practically old-fashioned. It wasn’t flashy. Just quietly beautiful.

  She pulled the soft material tight as she leaned closer to the glass. Resting her forehead against the cool windowpane of the main train car, the gentle swaying lulled her mind. Weariness begged her to sleep. But the night had been a heady mix of nightmares and restlessness.

  Her growing collection of ghosts spent it, pecking at her rest like vultures stripping meat from bone. She’d done her best to resist, but it was futile.

  It always was.

  Cedar, Ethan, Ruby, Mia, Kai, Aaron... and of course, there was always Silus. He would stand to the side, watching her torture silently while she ached to be able to speak to him again.

  The real him.

  “Wanna talk about it?” Leo breathed the question from the seat next to her.

  She nearly sprang out of her skin. He hadn’t looked at her, had hardly spoken to her, not since they each had their one-on-ones with Snow. Over the last twelve hours, he’d drifted, like he was trapped in a place no one could follow.

  In a way, she understood. She had been less than talkative herself after her last interaction with the aggravating senator. The mere thought of their last conversation cast shivers down her spinal column.

  Yet, of everywhere she’d been lately, nothing had unsettled her more than her own mind. And she was starting to wonder how much longer it would hold together.

  Swallowing down a litany of questions, she replied, “Not really.” She meant the opposite, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t look at her as she addressed him further, “You’ve been quiet yourself. Maybe I should be asking you the same thing.”

  He stared out the train window. “My answer would match yours, I suppose.”

  “Perfect.” Sable huffed from across the room, “Then let’s just enjoy this train ride in silence.”

  Hazel’s weariness had caused her to nearly forget about their audience. The rest of the group littered the main cabin’s seats, all watching the frozen world whip by their individual windows.

  Leo grimaced but didn’t argue with Sable. Instead, he settled back into himself. Burrowing into his shell.

  “God, this is sooo boring,” Festus interjected. “I thought a Victory tour was going to be more fun. You think they would let us use a freaking hovercraft instead of these ridiculous, archaic trains.” He ran an exasperated hand through his curls, “Traveling is not nearly as great as I thought it would be.”

  “What do you mean?” Bellona looked at the mentor quizzically, “You’ve been drunk like half the time.”

  Festus pointed at her like she’d just passed a test. “Exactly, Private Drayton. It should be at least seventy-five percent. Eighty if we have to keep sharing our ride with Trask.”

  Indira rolled her eyes. “You poor thing. Such hardship.”

  “I know.” Festus sighed dramatically. “Does it really count as a vacation if you don’t go home with mild liver damage?”

  “I swear,” Sable growled, “if you throw up on my boots again, I’ll give you more than liver damage.”

  Leo tilted his head at Sable, “Don’t be offended, Mr. Creed. He always gets like this when he’s low on sugar. Probably just cranky because of his missing chocolate.”

  Indira frowned, long nails wrapping in her glittering dress, “His what?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Beside her, Bellona’s face turned the color of a boiled beet.

  “Wouldn’t you be?” Sable huffed. “I’m starting to think we’ve got a thief on this godforsaken locomotive.” His glare landed squarely on Festus. “Took 'em right out of my bunk.”

  The Capitol mentor sighed, brushing back an errant curl, completely unfazed by the accusation.

  “Please. What am I, a hormonal teenage girl?” Sable stiffened as Festus continued. “What would I do with your stupid chocolates?”

  Sable rested his hands on his knees like he did whenever he was being serious, “First of all, chocolate is delicious. Secondly, when you’ve lived off military rations for thirty years, then come talk to me.”

  Bellona, still rosy, cleared her throat. “Maybe whoever took your chocolates took Hazel’s jewelry too.”

  Indira pursed her lips, clearly contemplating the theory.

  Leo’s eyes flash to Hazel's, “Maybe Bellona is right.”

  Hazel pursed her lips. Was he…teasing her?

  Sable grumbled, “Well, it has to be one of us.”

  “If we are taking bets,” Hazel held Leo’s eyes, “My money’s on Leonidas.”

  Leo’s pupils dilated, and the edge of his mouth moved. She felt a lick of satisfaction at cracking whatever shell he was stuck in.

  “Drayton?” Sable inquired.

  Leo continued his stare-down with Hazel. “A wise thief would try to deflect blame.”

  “I’m flattered you think of me as wise, but I don’t care much for chocolate.” She shrugged. “More of a fruit person. Prefer prairie berries myself.”

  “So, deflection, it is,” he elbowed her lightly. He leaned in a fraction, voice lowering an octave. “And a hint of guilt, it sounds like.”

  Sable let out a groan and looked heavenward.

  “Speaking from experience?” Hazel teased, but his face faltered. His gaze flew away from hers, as if she’d touched on something raw. Hazel scowled at his weird reaction. Just like that, she’d lost him again, and the little progress she had captured slipped between her fingers.

  Festus waved his hand in the air, “Well, I think we all are missing the obvious answer.”

  Sable paused, “Who?”

  “Trask, of course.” Festus huffed. “Seems like a man who would have a preference for childish candy.”

  “Watch yourself, Creed.” Growled Sable.

  Festus muttered, “Never trusted that snake.”

  Hazel scoffed, “Who does?”

  Indira shot her a warning look. “Careful how you two talk. Augustus is a Gamemaker, maybe more someday.”

  Festus and Hazel groaned in unison.

  “I’m serious,” Indira chided.

  “You really think Trask can defeat Senator Snow?” Bellona asked genuinely, adjusting her holster.

  Indira clasped her hands together, “I know the Capitol more than most of you. Augustus Trask has a better chance than you would think.”

  Festus barked out a revolted grumble.

  “I’m with him,” Hazel replied.

  “She’s not wrong, Marlowe,” Leo chimed in without meeting her eyes.

  Indira gave him a grateful look. “There’s already talk of pushback against the Senator’s candidacy.”

  Hazel crunched her brows, “Aren’t the Snows like Capitol…royalty?” She didn’t want to admit that, in her mind, she had always considered Snow to be the uncrowned prince of Panem.

  A ridiculous image of him lording over Panem in a crown made her temples throb. If he were the king, what did that make her?

  The cupbearer? Waiting to be served poison meant for him.

  “She’s right.” Festus conceded with a sigh, pulling Hazel from her spiraling imagination. “There are those who object to his connection…with you. With the Districts in general.”

  Hazel pressed her backbone into the seat.

  “It’s a small faction, dear,” Indira added gently, watching her reaction

  Hazel’s attention drooped to her hands, not about to admit she would be a member of such a faction if given a choice.

  “Not that small. “Festus muttered, “And it’s a faction that most likely includes his grandma’am as well.”

  Hazel’s eyes gravitated to her mentor as their train slowed, pulling into yet another station. Snow’s grandmother undoubtedly hated all things district, and the last thing someone of that generation would desire was a beloved grandson mixed up with such a girl like her.

  “She’s traditional,” Indira said. “Many become stuck in their ways after a certain age.” Indira smoothed her long hair with her dignified fingers. “There are those who fear the past more than have hope for the future.”

  “Like Gaul?” Hazel asked. Outside, the train had completely ceased moving. A growing crowd gathered.

  “Yes, in her own way,” Indira answered. “Dr. Gaul is certainly set in her routines.”

  “She’s anything but traditional, Lovegood.” Festus ground his teeth, “Even the way she eats is… terrifying. And only she could make a snack creepy. I’ll never be able to eat milk and crackers ever again.”

  “That tells me you really haven’t seen Sable with his chocolates.” Bellona butted in, edge of her mouth curving upward. “Would put Gaul to shame.”

  Sable scowled at her. “Is that why you stole them, Bellony?”

  Bellona’s lips snapped shut, the blush along her collarbone deepening. Indira eyed the guard with an almost knowing expression.

  Hazel interjected, hoping to save face for her rapidly flushing guard. “Who do you think Dr. Gaul will vote for?”

  The locomotive’s doors suddenly squealed open. Hazel flinched. The woman of the hour was waiting on the other side, her gleaming teeth shining under the lights. A flowing orchid coat draped over her shoulders.

  “Don’t think you have to worry about being bored anymore, Mr. Creed,” Sable mumbled under his breath.

  Snow lagged just behind Dr. Gaul, stoically peering over her shoulder. His previous suit had been replaced with a midnight black one. Paired with a matching tie and, of course, a pearl white rose, it was all very presidential. Even more so was the mask of professional indifference solidified over his face.

  An air of disinterest bubbled out from him.

  Hazel knew better. She squirmed as the two convoyed into the already crowded train car.

  Mismatched irises latched onto Hazel’s.

  “What is it they say about burning ears?”