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Retrieving the throwing knife from under his bandages without squirming too much was difficult, but Percy managed it.

He slit a hole in the side of the black rubber body bag then hid the knife under him. He breathed in the cool air. It had the odd smell of metal and disinfectant, but he welcomed it all the same. 

He and Annabeth had been picked up separately, which he had known would be the most likely scenario. It meant laying there by himself like a cold corpse, waiting for the hovercraft to land in District 4.

The plan had sounded crazy, but there were no hitches so far. She'd told him about seeing dead tributes getting delivered back home. They were never cleaned, preserved, or put back together. Trackers were deactivated but not taken out, and sometimes tokens or food would still be in the pockets.

He had never seen a dead tribute back at District 4, but he did hear talk that their bodies were pretty much untouched, so he was able to confirm her suspicions. Their bodies wouldn't be examined closely.

Footsteps sounded on the floor, and a voice said: "I got it."

It was his mentor, Mestrius. Since District 4 had no male victor yet, Percy got some twenty-year-old from the Capitol Academy with bleached silver hair. They didn't exactly bond, but he was nice enough. Still, it could be disastrous if Mestrius caught him.

The zipper got tugged down, and light seared through his eyelids, painting them red. Percy made an effort not to move his pupils.

"Good lord," Mestrius muttered. Metal brushed his arm, and there were a few beeps. The tracker had deactivated.

Percy tried his best to be still and continued to hold his breath. His chest ached from the effort. A shame that the universe never wanted him dead when it was convenient.

It surprised him when Mestrius patted his shoulder. "I'm sorry, buddy. We tried."

Mestrius zipped up the bag right as Percy ran out of air. The footsteps faded, and his deep breaths seemed to occupy the entire silence.

Half an hour later, he was hoisted into the air on a stretcher and carried out. The walk felt long, and he watched the outside world pass by through the little hole.

District 4 was the same. The salt in the air, sun on the pavement, and people lugging nets of fresh fish from the sea to the market. Everyone avoided looking at the body bag.

Then they carried him through a doorway, and he was home.

He was dumped onto the kitchen table. Whoever transported him in left, and he saw a flash of the white Peacekeepers uniform.

The whole time Percy had contemplated how he would do the big reveal without giving his mom a heart attack. There was really no right way to do it.

It turns out his mom was already next to him, silent as a ghost. She unzipped the bag and saw him blink —

Mom let out a split-second scream before slapping her hands over her mouth, eyes wide.

"It's okay, Mom," Percy said quickly, sitting up. "I'm alive. I faked my death. And... I'm kind of cold."

"Percy!" she gasped, voice shrill.

He shimmied himself out of the bodybag and stood in front of her. "Everything's fine. I'm okay."

Mom whispered his name again and smothered him the warmest hug he'd ever received. She patted his hair, crying. "I can't believe it."

"Me neither," Percy said, tearing up himself. He missed this so much. The smell of soup, a roof over his head, Mom's soft voice —

A fist slammed against the wall. "I thought we'd gotten rid of you!" His stepfather had stormed into the room. "What nonsense is this?"

"He's still here?" Percy exclaimed, backing up. "I thought he'd be at work!"

Mom sighed. "They gave him a day off to mourn..."

Gabe scowled. "So you're back and without any money. Sally was worried sick all month. What was the point of it all if you still can't pay our bills?"

"Leave him alone, Gabe," Mom said, putting out a calming hand. "Aren't you happy that he's safe?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sally. It's nothing but trouble for us. Three mouths to feed, and it's not like this lazy outlaw can work. And think of what they'll do to us if he's found!"

"S-sorry," Percy stuttered. "I'm going to leave soon. I have a plan —"

"Damn your plan!" Gabe barked. "We don't want you back, and I'm not getting killed because of you! Maybe if I turn you in myself, the Peacekeepers will be lenient!"

His stepfather seized his wrist and yanked him off his feet, dragging him towards the door. Despite never exercising, the guy was big and a lot stronger than him.

Percy regained his footing and tried to pull himself back. "No! Stop it! Let me talk to Mom first!"

"Gabe!" Mom protested.

"They're expecting us to bury someone," Gabe growled, shaking him before slamming him against the kitchen countertop. "And for the good of us all, it has to be you."

Gabe raised his fist. For a second Percy was frozen. The hundreds of times Gabe had threatened to hit him came rushing back at once, and it registered that this time he meant it.

Percy blocked the blow with his wounded arm, and it was agony. "Stop it! Stop!"

"Let go of him!" Mom screamed, restraining him.

Gabe shook her off and threw another punch at Percy, this time striking his collar.

Then Mom struck Gabe in the head with a tea kettle. Percy's stepfather collapsed, his head slamming into the kitchen table on the way down.

"Oh my goodness," Mom fretted. "Gabe? Gabe?" She got down and felt for a pulse, but the longer she tried, the more Percy knew that she wasn't going to find one.

"Mom..." he said nervously. This was bad.

The two of them stood there for a long moment, staring down at the horrible man who had tormented them for years.

With luck, Gabe was in a worse place now.

Percy had wanted his stepfather gone for so long. He had imagined a hundred scenarios — yes, some of them fatal — that this felt almost inevitable. No sadness or guilt anywhere.

And while he had hoped the arena was the last time he'd see death, the real world was where the monsters were.

"Are you okay?" he asked Mom.

"Well," she rubbed her arms, "this is not the way I wanted it to go, but I'm... oddly relieved."

"It was an accident," he assured her. "And you were protecting me. Now we need to —"

There was a loud gasp behind them.

Standing in the front door were his slack-jawed mentors. Mestrius backed up into Mags Flanagan, yelping, "Percy!"

There was some scrambling as Mestrius nearly fainted and Mags shut the door and locked it. She gawked at them. "What is this? Percy's alive?"

Mestrius gasped again, pointing, "Is that man dead? Wait, is that your stepfather?"

Percy raised his hands. "Yes, I admit it. I might be alive. And I may have faked my death. And yes, my stepfather might be dead."

Mags pulled at her auburn hair, trying to process. "Oh dear."

His other mentor was on the verge of a meltdown. "I can hear the president calling for our deaths this very second."

"Shut up!" Mags hissed. He quieted, and she turned to Percy, eyes welling up, "Of all the people I mentored in the last thirteen years, you are the only one that came home alive. I, for one, am happy."

She came forward and hugged him tightly. "Oh, Percy. I don't know how you did it."

"It was mostly Annabeth's idea," he admitted.

"Oh, naturally," she snickered, ruffling his hair. "You made a good team. Escaping the arena... that's unheard of. You need to be very careful now."

Mom wrapped a blanket from the sofa around him, then eyed Gabe nervously.

Mags walked over to the body, inspecting it. "Well, I'll help hide him. Come on, Sally. Don't you worry." She turned back, "Mestrius, don't cause any trouble."

So Percy was left alone with his mentor, who had obviously put all the pieces together. "You and Annabeth took out the tracker. You froze yourselves to slow your heartbeats enough to make death from hypothermia believable. And even pretended to be poisoned on top of it."

Percy peeled back a layer of bandage to show him the tracker hidden inside, not touching his skin. "The lion attack made it easier for me. I had to cut it out of Annabeth myself."

"Oh, that's rough. Why didn't you just — you know — try to win the proper way? The odds were in your favour."

"There was no way I was leaving Annabeth alone. And I didn't want to kill anyone. No one ever won the Games without becoming a murderer. Have you ever been forced to murder a teenager? Someone your age or even younger?"

Mestrius scratched his neck. "No. Um, I haven't."

"Are you entertained by twelve-year-olds getting stabbed to death?"

"Wh-what? No. Of course not."

"Because the Capitol is. You thought being a mentor was trying to save my life. It wasn't. It was you telling me how to become a murderer and helping the Hunger Games exist when you had every choice not to."

He stuttered, "You get a mansion. Fame. It's supposed — it's meant to be rewarding."

"Oh yes. Twenty-three people get their murders broadcasted on live television, but it's all good because one person gets rich off of it, and you get a family-friendly TV show."

"It was my job," Mestrius insisted. "I didn't —"

"You didn't have to take it."

"I wanted to save someone. I wanted to save you. I genuinely wanted you to live, I swear. Silena, too. Mags and I did everything we could to get you sponsors."

"And I thank you for that. The antidote did save me."

"Yeah. But I get it. I see what you're saying. And I don't know why — why I never realized."

"It doesn't help that people do volunteer."

"You volunteered," Mestrius said quietly. "Why?"

Percy sighed. "Money. We needed it desperately. My father died soon after I was born. Mom married Gabe, who became abusive. We had to leave, but he controlled all the money. And here, well, it's the norm to train for the Hunger Games if you want a better life. Everyone I knew volunteered. It's normal. So normal that a kid, Harley, volunteered. But it shouldn't be normal to volunteer for a death game."

"And it shouldn't be normal for me to... to prepare you for that death game."

"Right."

"Okay, I get it. I'm sorry. I just thought... those were the way things were."

"It doesn't have to be."

He nodded. "Yeah. Percy, I really am relieved that you're alive. And I'll keep trying to keep you that way. I'll do whatever it takes."

At that moment, Mom and Mags came in, wiping sweat from their faces.

"What did you do with Gabe?" Percy asked.

Mom shrugged, looking cheerier than before. "Oh, wrapped him up a bit. It'll be all right."

Mags marvelled at him and Mestrius, "You two had a nice conversation?"

"Yeah," Percy said. "Now the thing is, we obviously can't hang around here. I'm supposed to be dead and my mom's husband is dead."

Mags frowned, "Victor's Village is a no-go. Too much surveillance. We can smuggle you onto the train instead. With no one knowing you're alive, it's not impossible. Sally will be much harder, but we'll figure it out. Where do you want to go?"

Percy couldn't quite believe this was happening. It was going better than he had ever dared to dream. "Annabeth said we should meet at the Capitol. It's hard to get there but it will be easier to find each other. And it's safer than the districts or forests. I'm just not sure what I'll do there."

Mags shot a pointed look at Mestrius. "Why, do you know who that is? He's rich with connections galore. I'm sure Mr. Mestrius Heavensbee can get you a place, or even a job. And don't worry, I'll get word to Annabeth."

◼▲◼

President Clair sipped her martini, studying the lively party from the balcony overlooking her mansion's front yard.

The Victor had arrived a moment ago, following his escort and mentors through the fairy lights and waiters spinning trays of sparkling beverages. His brother Connor was by his side, taking in the sight.

Travis was grinning and greeting guests, and he glanced up and caught her eye. His smile wavered as she raised her glass in a mocking toast.

She walked back into the main dining room where she and her colleagues were holding a dinner party. It was a bore, but at least the tasteful decor wasn't an eyesore.

Zeus and his ever-wandering eyes came wandering over, nibbling on an hors d'oeuvre. He was one of the biggest sponsors in the Capitol, likely here to make another proposition.

"Madam President," he greeted. "May I have a word? It concerns the Quarter Quell."

She scowled, never in the mood for his antics. "For the last time, Zeus, bribes are not accepted."

"No, no. It's a mere suggestion. My boy Minos has worked very hard under you. The mirage was his idea, remember. Now that old Rick was executed, you could appoint him as Head Gamemaker. Who else is doing it like him?"

"Livia Cardew." She pointed her out in the crowd, chatting with the bartender. "I have already done the paperwork."

Zeus made a face. "Oh, come now. She's got connections, brains, and a whole lot of confidence but works by the book. You need creativity. Why not Coryo, by the way? He has all her good traits plus imagination."

"I need someone I can read — someone who will follow orders. Cardew is a straightforward person who thinks of the country, not a charmer or someone who wants to have fun. And your boy is the latter, as Rick was."

Zeus sighed, "President, that Calypso girl was a fluke. A wild card because of her dead lovers. She is not the average citizen."

She internally rolled her eyes at his lack of brains. Calypso Moonlace was not a fluke. Dozens of people like her were bound to pop up and had to be controlled. It was fortunate that the Annabeth girl had died, what with her mother being a rebel. Though it was strange that her family took the loss relatively well... unlike Perseus's parents, who were found dead only weeks later.

Zeus was still talking, somehow. "The districts will never rebel again. Listen to them betting on people's lives, sending gifts like they do anything but prolong the massacre. And look at their obsession with relationships!"

"You are describing the rich Capitol. I mean the districts."

"They are pitted against each other — oh, Merlot! Don't mind if I do."

A waiter was presenting a silver tray of red wine. Clair declined, holding up her half-finished martini.

Zeus swirled his glass and took a sip. "As I was saying —"

"I have other guests to entertain," she said coldly. "Enjoy my party."

Leaving the man grumbling behind her, she was pleased to see that Travis Stoll had come up to greet her.

Travis gave her a stiff bow. "Thank you for graciously opening your house to host this party."

The ring was still on his finger, she noticed. And the skin around it did not look healed. Curious. "And how are you enjoying it?"

"Well," he started, smiling haltingly, "the food is delicious. Give my compliments to the chefs."

"You have something else to say," she noted. "Well?"

He hesitated. "So... the mentor thing. It's pretty new, and the job description is kind of up in the air. There's no telling when my district will get another Victor, so someday will I get to... you know, retire?" He tried to joke, "I thought I could relax in a mansion for eternity."

She laughed. "Games only take place once a year. Not a bad commitment. And what's wrong with a little reminder of your fame?"

He swallowed. "Yes, you're right, of course, but... I'm thinking Victors should get a break if they need it. The Games were traumatic, and I'm not as stable as I appear. I already won, so why can't I be done?"

"Travis Stoll, the next tributes depend on you. You shouldn't abandon them. After all, the next one could be Connor."

Travis's mouth fell open. "I... but that... th-that can't be allowed. Madam President, we've both been through a lot. Surely being a Victor comes with special privileges..."

She shrugged delicately, finishing off her drink. "Don't ask me again about retiring. See you next year, and the year after that."

He wanted to say more, she could tell. But he turned tail and hurried down the stairs, presumably back to his brother.

It seemed like a good time to make a toast. She snapped her fingers at a servant, signalling for some champagne. It was when she bit the olive from her martini that her mouth burned like fire.

Scorching tears filled her eyes. The partygoers screamed as she coughed into her hand and it came away bloody.

Her lungs were failing, but she struggled to breathe anyway. No, this cannot happen. It can't. If she died now, Panem would be thrown into chaos. There was no predicting what kind of power plays would happen.

Livia ran for a medic, and everyone else whispered and worried. The first one to her side was a Gamemaker, his purple clothes flashing. He gripped her shoulder reassuringly.

"Try to relax," the man murmured, low enough for only her to hear. "There's no point in fighting."

The scent of flowers filled her last breath. She struggled to focus, and her eyes fixated on the white rose pinned to his lapel. And then she knew who it was.

Coriolanus Snow.

◼▲◼

Percy shivered in his uniform. It was late autumn in the Capitol, and the temperature dipped further than it ever did in District 4.

The last of the cargo was unloaded off the train and into the warehouse, and Percy's night shift began.

It had been a couple of months since his escape, and he had no idea when Annabeth could join him, so he kept himself busy. One could learn a shocking amount of information about Panem and its goods from socializing with the workers.

His job was to patrol the multi-coloured shipping containers. The overhead lights provided enough light to see where he was going but not much else. His flashlight was more useful, and it could also shoo away rats.

One day those delivery boxes would have Annabeth in it. For sure. Definitely. As long as everything went well...

It was frustrating that he had no way to directly contact Annabeth, or even know if she had received their messages. She had promised that she could get out of District 8 on her own, but Percy's brain kept wandering to the worst scenarios.

What complicated it all was that it was too soon after the games to make another risky move. Simply getting to the Capitol had involved a dozen close calls and weeks of planning. The Victory Tour had recently finished broadcasting, and he half-expected someone to suddenly shout, "hey, aren't you that dead tribute from TV?"  And he couldn't exactly say he was a stunt double.

There was a rustle to the side, and he jumped. "Hello?"

"Percy?"

He spun around. Standing in the shadows by the wall was the girl he had been waiting for, her blonde ponytail under a blue cap and her expression full of astonishment.

"Annabeth!" he gasped.

They didn't waste time on questions. The flashlight was left spinning on the floor, and she dropped her duffel bag. Annabeth leapt into his arms, laughing happily. All words left him. He had to restrain himself from picking her up and swinging her around. That might be a little too much.

Percy let go and stared into those familiar grey eyes. "You have no idea how long I waited for this."

Her smirk was endearing. "Four months and fifteen days?"

Oh man, he loved being corrected by her. "Okay, I was wrong. As usual. Now how did you get here?"

"Hid in a shipping container from my district, of course. That one." She pointed and then led him to it, looking rightly proud of herself.

It was a big wooden crate and, judging by the label, was carrying new winter clothes and blankets. "The knife from the arena is really durable, so I used it to pry nails out and hammer them back in. I had to change hiding spots every single time someone did a heat inspection."

Amazement didn't begin to cover what Percy felt. "Jeez, I'm impressed."

Annabeth smiled, "I'm impressed with you! You got a job! Assuming this isn't a one-time disguise, I mean."

"It's my actual job!" He showed off his work ID — no picture, of course. "A fake identity's more convincing if some of it's real. Besides, I figured you might come this way eventually, and now I can sneak you out."

Annabeth squinted at it. " 'Peter Johnson'. Really?"

Percy shoved it back in his pocket. "It's generic and easy to remember."

"Sure." Annabeth surveyed the place. "Anyways, I don't know what I expected, but it was surprising to find so many labourers in the Capitol. Are they from the districts?"

"Actually no, they're mostly Capitol citizens who weren't born wealthy."

She rubbed her hands together, from chill or thrill he couldn't tell. "Very interesting. So even the great shiny Capitol is divided. We can find some allies here."

"Already did." He filled her in about Mestrius and the handful of fed up workers he had befriended during his time here.

"This is very good," she mused, nearly lost in thought.

"Can I ask about your family? My mom managed to get here too, and we have a modest place nearby. But I know District Eight has way more security."

"You're right about that. It's too suspicious if my entire family disappears at once. And, well, they don't think they want to come at all. My brothers are really young, so I kind of knew it would happen."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Yeah, don't get a big head. I didn't leave my family just for you."

They walked down the aisles together, Percy swiping the flashlight beam here and there. "Annabeth..." he said, "I really missed you. I didn't even know if I would see you again. I'm glad you're here with me."

She fixed her hair, trying and failing to hide her smile. "You better be, Seaweed Brain. It took a lot of effort to get back to you."

He stopped, and she faced him. He put his hand on her cheek, mouth suddenly dry. "Can I...?"

She leaned forward and kissed him, and his hopes soared higher than the tides.

Percy pulled back, grinning. "This time, we're staying together. You're not getting away from me. Never again."

Her grey eyes gleamed as she held up her hand, flaunting her rebel mother's gold ring. A series of seemingly random numbers were engraved on it. "Two words: District Thirteen. I have a plan, Percy. Are you in?"

"You know I am, Wise Girl."

THE END.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for sticking by this story until the end. I have had so much fun reading your theories and reactions in the comments. I'm really proud of this book, and I'm so happy that so many people like it too 💗

And be sure to stick around because I'll be posting deleted scenes and other unused content!

— Claire x