The Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games is over. The Capitol’s applause still rings in your skull like a taunt. You stand backstage, fingers clasped in front, nails creating little crescents in your skin, chasing a pain that won't make the dullness go away.

Haymitch is swaying beside you, his breath thick with liquor. Effie flutters around Katniss and Peeta, her voice too bright, too sharp. You were in their place years ago. You remember the way your hands shook. You remember the arena. You remember the blood—most of it not yours.

You watch this year’s tributes. Before you can say something, Haymitch speaks up with a humourless smirk, clapping your shoulder like he’s trying to wake the dead. "Ready to prepare the pigs for slaughter?"

Effie gasps, but Katniss’s eyes lock onto you—hard, searching. She’s looking for help. You don’t have any to give. Peeta’s jaw is tight, his hands clenched. You recognize the look. The moment before the horror sets in. The moment before it never leaves.

---

The train hums beneath you now, too smooth, too quiet. The dining car is a grotesque mockery of celebration—silver platters, candied figs, wine dark as blood. You don’t touch it. Haymitch drains his glass and reaches to pour another. Katniss stares at her plate like it’s a threat. Peeta eats, albeit mechanically, his movements precise, controlled. Effie prattles about manners, about appearances, about gratitude. The words dissolve into static in your ears.

The woman drones on, her voice shrill and joyful. "Remember, presentation is just as important as skill! A little charm goes a—" Katniss cuts her off, her voice low. "Do you ever stop talking?"

Silence. Haymitch barks a laugh. You don’t react. You’ve heard this before. Lived it before. The anger, the fear, the desperate, clawing hope. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

It’s Peeta who ends up breaking the uncomfortable silence, "How did you win?" He asks quietly, looking at you.

The question hangs there. Haymitch goes still. Effie’s smile flickers. Katniss looks up, waiting.