CHARCOAL-COLORED WALLS NEVER LOOKED SO DEFYING. I'm staring up at the house with each room twice the size of my apartment and all I can feel is envy. Not nostalgia, not... sorrow, just pure envy.

I'm envious of every damn thing before my eyes. Of this apartment. Of how the door frame is untouched—no wood is being chipped, no paint dull. It's utterly perfect, unlike the home my parents lived in for nearly 10 years. The one I grew up in. There's not a single scrape or wear of tear. No claw marks—not from my childhood dog, or from me.

I wish there was. Then I'd have something to look back on to remember just how hard I tried clinging to that doorway on that night.

Janus in one hand, my other holding on to that blue door. All because the man I loved was back in town.

"Mari, hey!" A voice calls out from behind me—deep and rich but still warm and familiar.

I turn my body just enough to see Festus jogging up the steps of the apartment building.

I manage to surpass as joyful—granting a small smile at him as he surprisingly, embraces me in a brief hug. "I haven't seen you in a while. How are you?"

When I've pulled away from him and actually look up at him, I genuinely smile. It's good to see a friend. It's good to see one when I'm about to experience a snake's wrath. It's good to see him in such a happy light.

"Could be better." I cross my arms over the cardigan clinging to my body, nodding lightly. "What about you? How are you doing?"

"I'm good. You know, managing—not all of our parents are filthy rich so I'm saving up to attend university next fall." He's joking with me, but Festus Creed and I have never been on joking terms, and it's weird, to be honest. "Hey, don't you live in some palace of a mansion? Not here?"

"They moved here a couple of weeks ago." Unsure of how to respond, I shrug. "I didn't move with them."

His brows raise, along with a subtle furrow. "You moved out? Already?"

"Kicked out, more like." I avert my gaze, sudden embarrassment overcoming me. No one wants to admit they've been kicked out of the only home they've ever known by their parents—their blood—no less.

His smile fades. "I'm sorry."

I nod, accepting the apology, but still, not used to any sort of emotion from Festus.

It's silent—nearly deafening until he opens his mouth next.

"How's your kid? What'd you end up naming her?"

I smile at the mention of her. "Janus."

Something behind his brown eyes flash—flinch—and I'm unsure why. He never was close with my brother--disliked him, to be frank.

The front door opens and I'm met with the presence of my mother.

She can hardly look at me, and all I want is to spit in her face and force her to look in my eyes—force her to look at the woman she's made me.

She allows Festus and I inside and I can't help but wonder how my parents have allowed themselves to live here. There's a constant pattering noise in the distance and you can practically smell the mold feeding off the walls.

There's thick tension in the air and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stick up. I look over at Festus, and can tell that he too, can feel it.

He can feel it and he's uncomfortable and so am I.

We follow my mother to the dining room where the chef is placing different arrays of dishes on the long table.

Coriolanus isn't to be seen, and I'm glad. My father isn't either.

They've replaced the chef we--they've--had since we moved to the Capitol. His name was Anatole, he was from some other fancy country outside of Panem where he had been trained professionally since youth in Culinary Arts.

Now, I see a woman with slick red hair pulled back in a bun beneath her long white hat and she's shorter than me.

She offers me a smile as she gives a slight bow, a greeting to Festus and me and it's odd and it makes Festus shoot a confused look my way as he takes a seat beside me.

I've taken my place beside Lysistrata, and she gives me a sympathetic smile when I meet her gaze.

I want to ask her why she's already giving me that look, why she's already sorry for me. Yes, my brother is dead. Yes, it's his birthday, October 22nd. But the look she's giving me isn't one that says, I'm sorry for your loss. No, it's not the look everyone keeps giving me--and has been since the funeral. Instead, it's one that says, I'm sorry for what you're about to endure.

I want to plead and ask her why she's apologizing with her eyes in advance but I don't have time because there are two scruff voices in the distance, growing louder with their footsteps as they near the curved arch of the dining room's doorway.

First, my eyes fall on the ground on the opposite side of this mahogany table. There, I see two pairs of shoes. One, a pair of newly shined brown slippers, and the other pair, matte, freshly shone black LaDucas.

I've seen those brown slippers a dozen times. They're one of the few pairs my father wears, he's worn them to outings for as long as I can remember. I know because I've worn them when playing dress-up with Mia in my youth. They were always far too big on my petite feet but I didn't care. Each time I'd nearly trip I'd let out a loose giggle, one Mia would copy.

But the other pair, I don't recognize. They're clearly new, but who they belong to is beyond me. Or, was.

Until my eyes trail up the velvety Maroon-colored suit and I'm met with piercing blue eyes I recognize all too well.

BLAKELY SPEAKS !

silly me thought it would be funny to tease y'all and make you wait an extra day for the reunion chapter heheeheh