A hovercraft appears in the sky above Newt and I, and I can see the word 'Berg' written across its side. I look at it with ill-disguised disgust. I want to go home, I do, but the thought of having to travel inside an aircraft made from the people who have killed twenty-two tributes makes me want to run in the opposite direction.
Two ladders drop from the 'Berg', one for me, and one for Newt. I take a hesitant glance at the boy whose arm is still slung around my body, holding me tight, his face drawn and pale with pain. I gulp and give a slight shudder before leading both of us onto the ladders, which both have an electrical current to glue us in position.
The door slams behind us, leaving a deafening ringing noise inside the hovercraft. The second we're both inside, a strong-looking middle aged woman who I don't recognise grabs Newt by the arms and pulls him forcefully away from me.
"Newt!" I protest, struggling against the tight bonds of the arms of the man who's now holding me back.
"Love-" he begins to try and argue, but the woman pulls him away into a different room, away from me, and both of them have disappeared now, as if he were a figment of my imagination.
The man releases me slowly, as if making sure I won't put up a fight, and I run towards the door that the woman pulled Newt through. I hit the door with my fists, again and again, but it refuses to open. I swivel around to face the man, and charge up to him. I'm so close to him I can see every grey hair in his dark beard, every crease in his otherwise pristine white Capitol attire.
"Where are you taking him?" I whisper, my voice dangerously low.
The man blinks. "The same place we're taking you. Back to the Training Centre."
I shudder, and think of being in the same building that held Alby and Harriet and Gally and Aris and everyone else mere weeks ago.
"When will I get to see him again?" I ask, my voice still soft.
"The presentation of the victors," the man says smoothly, and my stomach drops.
"But that's days," I mutter.
"I am aware," he replies. "In the meantime, drink this. I hear you like mint." He hands me a cup of warm mint tea that smells of artificial Capitol sweeteners. I raise the mug to my lips, and then release it on purpose, so it smashes onto the ground, shattering into tiny pieces. The Capitol man purses his lips, and his thinning hair shines with sweat.
"We weren't planning on doing this until the Training Centre, but I think the President would be willing to make an exception," he snaps, a hint of vicious hate present in his tone, and a sharp needle jabs me in the upper arm.
And I'm falling, falling into sleep without Newt beside me for the first time in days.
•••
When my eyes open, I don't recognise exactly where I am. I know I'm in the Training Centre, though, and the thought makes me feel sick.
I sit up shakily, and try to rub my arm, but there are half a dozen tubes stuck into the skin that lead into the wall beside me, plus a restraint around my middle. I push as many bedsheets as possible off my and lift my legs up, and to my complete surprise, the skin there is perfect, shining and smooth. I wiggle my toenails. Sure enough, the nails are a rosy shade of pink, trimmed in a way that only the Capitol can manage.
My arms are also bare, my skin perfect. I run my finger across my cheekbones and find them free of scars and dirt. My hair flows loose behind my head, clean, washed and silky, but I can't find my bronze ribbon anywhere.
I hunt around for it, on the desk by my bedside, around my pillow, but I can't see it anywhere, until a flash of bronze passes my eyes. I reach my hand out for it, almost lazily, and grab it, my fingers stroking the smooth fabric.
"Thank you," I say to the young female Avox, a girl, really, who's handed it to me, and she smiles wordlessly, although even this seems like a effort on her part. She nods and hands me a platter of food that, thankfully, does not resemble the food from the arena. A bread roll, a glass of plain milk, and a peeled orange. I choke it down, and find that I can barely eat.
"Where's Newt?" I immediately ask the Avox, and though she doesn't respond with words, I can see the glimmer of affirmation in her eyes and a wave of reassurance shoots through me before she takes the platter away and I fall into another bout of dreamless sleep.
The cycle continues. I wake, the girl comes in, I ask her about Newt, she nods affirmation, I eat, I sleep. I can't tell you how many times it happens, but when it does for the final time, I wake up to see a dreaded outfit laid out at the foot of the bed. The same outfit we all wore in the arena.
I hesitantly get up and put it on. The fact that no one's stopping me doing this is a good sign, right? Shaking, I hear familiar voices sound out from the hall.
"Newt?" I shout, cupping my fingers around my mouth as I walk into the room at the end of the hall. "NEWT!"
"Not Newt, y/n/n," I hear a voice say behind me, and I spin around to see Minho standing there in all his glory, his arms extended for a hug. I leap into his arms and shake in his brotherly embrace.
"I'm so glad to see you, ya shank," I smile at him, and then turn around to see Ava standing behind him. I launch into her arms after only a second's hesitation, but it's rather awkward when I detach myself from her. Behind Ava stands Thomas, a green ivy wreath on his short, dark locks.
"Thomas," I breathe, and throw my arms around him, too. "I've missed you."
"Missed you too, Greenie, but I think you've had enough fun with Newt, by the looks of it," he grins.
I blush at his brotherly sort of comment. "The Capitol televised all of it?" I mutter, picking a piece of fluff off my green jacket.
"Pretty much," Thomas answers, and I look down at my feet in mortification, and look behind my stylist.
"Speaking of Newt, is he safe? Where is he? Did he get taken away? Is his ankle alright? What happened to him?" I ask when I don't see either Brenda or Newt himself behind Thomas. Pain shoots through me, red hot and ice cold at the same time. What if he didn't make it?
"Relax, y/n/n," Minho drawls. "They want to show your reunion at the ceremony, that's all."
"Oh. Okay," I reply, and try to shake off the worry. "So when is the victor's ceremony?"
"Soon," Thomas puts in. "In fact, I'm supposed to take you to your prep team now."
I sigh. "More costumes? Makeup? Capitol people?" I mutter, and roll my eyes.
Thomas smiles. "I'm afraid so, Greenie."
I follow him into a different room, then up an elevator, leaving Minho and Ava behind with a final hug each. "By the way, Thomas, where did 'Greenie' come from?" I ask, putting air quotations around the word 'Greenie'.
"I don't know," he answers, furrowing his brow. "I used to be called it when I was new to being a stylist, and I've passed it on."
I shrug my shoulders, and he elbows me. "What would you prefer to be called, Greenie? Love?"
I send him a death glare and nearly choke on my own saliva. "I would prefer it if you didn't call me 'love'."
"That's for Newt, right?" Thomas says, and I death stare him again. "Relax, Greenie. We're here."
The elevator door slides open to reveal three Capitol citizens standing there, before they all charge towards me, squealing and giggling. When I finally manage to extract myself, I recognise, first, Sereia, her sliver skin and red eyes glinting, then Evrin, her young-looking eyes twinkling as she grasps Locliel's hand.
They continue to giggle and congratulate me as they lead me into the dining room, teasing me about Newt as we take our seats. Evrin leans over, her chin resting on her hand, and proceeds to try to worm every detail of the Games that they didn't watch out of me. As I swallow down clumps of pumpkin soup and Capitol bread, all they can talk about is the Games, and Newt and me.
It only takes a little while, by which I mean hours, to get my body to look like it did before the Games. Even after a dozen showers and hundreds of lotions across my body, face and hair, my broken frame, skinny and hunger-ruined body is still visible. Still, as Evrin paints the last coal-black design to my cheekbones, the three of them stand back and examine their newest piece of work, me, with satisfaction.
"You look beautiful, y/n," Sereia says, and smiles a genuine smile. "Now smile! You've just won the Hunger Games!"
I try to work my features into a smile, but it's hard when all I want to do is go home, see Newt again, and sip mint tea with my father, Chuck, and Newt.
"Perfect," Locliel puts in, "now, let's get Thomas!"
They come back, with Thomas, who's holding a small black dress in his arms.
"Close your eyes, Greenie," he orders, and I obediently do just that as he slips the material over my body, and sandals to my feet. "Now, open."
I open my eyelids and look in the mirror at my reflection. A black dress similar to the one of the interviews, but it's ankle-length this time. Coal-black sandals cover my feet, and my hair is styled, curled over my shoulders with two braids held in place with the bronze ribbon. Across my cheekbones are grey, black and white designs, although the rest of my face is relatively free of makeup.
"Thank you," I tell Thomas genuinely.
"All good, Greenie," he says with a smile. "Now, let's go and show the Capitol the female victor of District Twelve!"