CHAPTER 15
THE QUARTER QUELL

SEA-GREEN haunted her dreams, drinking in the entirety of her soul. Bex felt every hair on her body stand up as she dreamed of Finnick's lips pressed on hers. She couldn't stop it. The pure temptation of kissing him filled her mind, begging for release. His mouth was so soft against her own in the dream, and then it was on her cheeks, her neck, and other places she definitely should not have been dreaming about. Everything about him suddenly drew her in, and she never wanted to forget the way his lips molded to hers.

She never wanted to leave this dream. Bex Nassar was completely consumed by him.

But ... it was just a dream. And Bex awoke that morning looking around, wondering if it were real. Her room was empty. A light breeze filtered through the open windows. Finnick had left days ago, but she was still reveling in the memory, overthinking the electricity she felt when his mouth brushed against hers. She couldn't let go of it – clearly, by the dream. Bex had never been one for crushes or getting too attached, but this ... this was something different. Something she wasn't sure if she should be afraid of.

They were just dreams, though, and she found herself saying that almost every morning that she woke up from another dream of him. He was long gone now – back in District Four, she assumed – and she was safe in her home, hiding from the chaos outside. The dreams weren't her reality. Bex could ignore them pretty well as long as she remembered that fact.

However, they did teach her one thing. She could practically feel the soft caress of his voice in her ears. Promise me you'll never allow Snow to rob you from love again, he said. And she promised him. Bex never broke a promise. With the impending revolution on the horizon, the time was now to take what she wanted. She wasn't going to let Snow crush her wants and desires anymore.

She was going to see Angelo today.

After Finnick left, Bex finally came to the realization that Angelo could truly be her perfect match. He made her laugh, blush, and get that insane amount of butterflies in her stomach. He had a job he was passionate about. He came from a good family. He was even from her same District. The type of man her parents would be proud to meet. Angelo liked her, and she felt the same – well, maybe not as much as she used to. But Bex wanted to like him again. She wanted to feel those butterflies when she first saw his smile. She needed to stop living in fear of Snow's repercussions and find happiness with Angelo. She knew she could.

Maybe Angelo wasn't exactly what she wanted right now. Finnick wasn't what she wanted either. Bex didn't need anyone. But the prospects with Angelo ... the future she imagined in her head ... she believed it could happen.

After throwing her hair up into a high ponytail, Bex began to search for the perfect clothes to wear to go see him. She felt herself turning into Iliana as the minutes ticked on. As she dug through her closet, she remembered how little clothes she actually had. Everything she wore to the Capitol was loaned; she kept none of it. All that was left in her closet were the clothes she didn't sell when her family needed the money.

Bex peered down the hall, eyeing the locked door to her parents' bedroom. She hadn't opened it in quite some time. Neither of the Nassar siblings did. Bex chewed on her bottom lip and padded her bare feet down the hall. Her hand hesitated on the golden knob, wondering if this was a smart idea.

Her mother would want this for her. She could practically see her shoving her clothes in Bex's face.

Maybe she'd feel closer to her.

Pushing the door open, Bex coughed at the heavy amount of dust circulating around the room. The bed was covered in a heaping coat of it, the sheets still strewn about. Bex swallowed hard and took in the photo frames hanging around the bedroom, the dead flowers drooped on the bedside table, even the old wicker drawer that was opened slightly. She walked over to the closet, using a tissue to wipe the dust off the knob, and opened the door. There it was: all the clothes are mother refused to sell, the blouses her father bought for their anniversary when he wanted to spend the last of his money on her. Bex almost couldn't believe it.

She delicately fingered through the clothes – what little there were – before Bex studied one of her mother's favorite blouses. It was passed down from her own mother, who died before Bex was born. The blouse was white with short, puffy sleeves and lettuce-edge trim. Embroidered tiger lilies and pink peonies lined the color, tangling together down the sides of the shirt. Bex brought it to her nose and inhaled her mother's scent. It was still there after all these years.

With a smile, Bex closed the closet softly, as well as the bedroom door, and walked back to her room. She made note to dust it and finally make the bed when the time was right. She was ready to make a lot of changes, starting today. After shoving the blouse over her head, which fit surprisingly well, Bex pulled on a pair of leggings and laced up her boots. She was racing down the stairs in no time, eager to start her day.

Hopefully, Angelo would be at his stand alone, but Bex wouldn't let a person or two hold her back from accepting his offer for dinner.

This is a good thing, she told herself for the hundredth time today. She figured if she kept thinking it, it would settle the queasiness in her stomach, or the way her nails were digging into her palms.

She found Keaton in the living room, but ignored whatever he was paying attention to on the screen. Instead, Bex went over to the kitchen and made herself two slices of toast. She listened to the birds sing a foreign tune as the bread heated up. If they were in a good enough mood, she would be too. The sun was bright and warm. She was ready to make changes. This is a good thing, she repeated. This will be a good day.

The toast popped up suddenly, and Bex hissed as she plucked the burning hot pieces from the toaster, laying them on an antique plate. She opened the fridge and reached for the homemade butter.

And then his voice rang out.

"Bex!"

The container of butter thumped against the floor. Bex groaned, bending down to pick it up, before setting it on the counter. Keaton yelled again, "Bex, you're gonna want to see this!" She rolled her eyes. Whatever it was, it definitely wasn't as important as he was making it out to be. The only attention-grabbing shows on TV at this hour were gossip channels and infomercials.

Bex sighed, bringing the plate of unbuttered toast as she made her way to the living room. She chewed with an annoyed expression, stopping short behind the sofa. Looking up, she planned on asking her brother why he called her in so quickly, but the words fell dead on her lips.

Citizens of the Capitol clapped and cheered. President Snow stood from his throne and approaching the podium, adjusting his gold microphone. Bex finished one piece of toast from chewing so nervously, but the other piece was getting cold on her plate. She watched the President wave to the crowd and rounded the couch, walking towards the TV projection.

His suit was made of onyx wool and a cape of faux fur sat on his shoulders. Bex wondered how many people have to slave over making that one outfit, just so he could parade around in it, that sick smile on his face. He hadn't even started talking and she was disgusted.

She almost forgot why she had gotten ready so early in the first place. Snow's existence seemed to transfix her.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice echoing, "this is the seventy-fifth year of the Hunger Games."

Bex swallowed hard, refusing to meet her brother's wary eyes. Had another year really crept up that quickly? It felt like months ago she was training new tributes to die.

President Snow continued after allowing the crowd to cheer, "And it was written in the charter of the Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell. To keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol."

Goosebumps raised on her arms. Bex narrowed her eyes at the TV, wondering what his motive was. She never experienced a Quarter Quell, having been born before the last one. But they were known to be terrifying, the kind of Games that stayed in your head for a long time, even for the people that watched them. She wasn't sure if she was ready for whatever Snow was going to announce. The shiver that ran down her spine assured her of that.

Uprisings. Riots. Rebellion. Hope.

It is the only thing stronger than fear.

"Something's wrong, Bex," Keaton whispered, but she silenced him with her finger.

"Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance," Snow sneered. "And now on the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell ..." He raised the stack of speech cards in his hands. "... As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol."

Bex's blood ran cold. Snow's eyes were burning into hers through the projection.

"On this, the third Quarter Quell Games ..." The President paused, smiling into the camera lens. "The male and female tributes are to be reaped ..."

She held her breath.

"... From the existing pool of Victors in each District."

The antique plate clattered to the floor, breaking into several pieces.

"Victors shall present themselves on Reaping Day, regardless of age, state of health, or situation ..."

Keaton stood up, tears already streaming down his face. "Bex –"

"Oh, my –" Bex held a hand to her mouth, stepping backward. Keaton walked towards her, but she stopped him by holding another hand out. She could hardly feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Oh, gods. This isn't ..."

She was at a loss for words. Her feet kept moving back until her spine thudded against the front door. Suddenly, her eyes stung, and she pushed Keaton away before yanking open the door, sprinting down the steps.

Bex puked as soon as she got to the front lawn. The smallest amount of food that laid in her stomach came flooding up her throat, creating an acidic taste in her mouth. She hacked and coughed what felt like her lungs, but it was just that smallest piece of toast. She was panting; she couldn't breathe right. Wiping the edge of her mouth, Bex viewed up, tears streaming down her cheeks, and glanced at her neighbors' houses.

Johanna and Nico stood in her same position, heaving and clutching the ground to keep themselves balanced. And then, they were all running towards each other, tumbling towards the center of the Victors' Village. They looped their arms around each other, gasping for air as they tightened the hold. The three Victors cried together. They tasted the salty tears on their lips, sobbed into each other's shoulders.

Keaton watched from the window in the kitchen. He wished he could be holding his sister now, too.

This was what Blight was saving himself from. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he had to know of the Quarter Quell wrinkle. He had to. And he saved himself. The Victors looked off into the distance, analyzing the bullet hole that cut through the brick walls of his house, and they cried. Not just for themselves and their fates, but for Blight too.

And as Bex studied the tear streaks down her fellow Victors' faces, she realized how she never took the signs that seriously. She knew the end had been coming, and she ignored it. She played ignorant, as if it were a friend. It was nice for a while – being happy and naive. But it was all crashing down now.

Hell hath no fury like a Victor scorned.

━━━━━━

A/N: WHOOP! WHOOP! we goin into act ii now!