Chapter One: Glass House

A/N: Right so, first chapter is here! For those who have already read Dig Up The Bones, this is the sequel to that story. For those who haven't, you should understand this story without having read that, but it'll make more sense if you read the prequel first. Also, to any Forbidden Fruit readers, Storm will be making a few appearances throughout the story! I hope you enjoy this first chapter, please review and let me know what you think!

"We deceive the world with lies

We hide behind the smiles

We can see the home of desperate hearts

The truth has fallen down

The illusion we've become

A fear we can't outrun

We're closing in our emptiness

We're broken."

- Glass House, Red

Elethea's POV

It's that time of year again. My first thought when confronted by the sun seeping through my blinds. I groan and open my eyes, pulling my pillow over my head and wishing I could just stay curled up in bed for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, I'm a Victor, and that means having responsibilities – something I didn't realise when I volunteered for the 69th Hunger Games at the age of fourteen.

I drag myself out of bed and trudge over to grab some nice clothes from my drawers. It's been five years since then, five years exactly. I'm now nineteen years old and supposedly an adult, although often I don't feel like it. I'm too reliant – on Finnick mainly, but on Mum as well…although she relies on me, too. I push aside Leon's death, brushing it away like cobwebs. It was years ago now. Dwelling on the past never brings anything good into the present.

"Elethea! Are you up?"

Mum's voice resonates through the house and I groan again when I hear footsteps down the corridor. I tug my shirt over my head but it catches around my chest, caused me to fumble about blindly and crash to the ground as my bedroom door opens. Unfortunately, it's not Mum who enters my room, but Finnick Odair. He grins down at me, watching as I scowl and straighten my shirt.

"Looking good, Elethea."

"Shut up," I snap without any real heat, pushing myself to my feet. I can't help but look at Finnick and think how bloody unfair it is. How can anyone be that good-looking? He's Finnick Odair – twenty-three years old and my everything. Friend, lover, protector. Of course, the Capitol can't know that. The only other people that truly know are Mum, Annie and Mags.

Today, we're going to watch two more tributes, two innocent young kids, be sacrificed for the Capitol's greed. The thought makes me feel a little sick, but I've become somewhat numb to it. There's nothing I can do to stop it, so what's the point in getting upset about it? I've had to push my horror away. It's irrelevant. All that matters is training the tributes to prepare for what they're going to face.

Finnick is watching me closely. Over the years, he's seen how I've suffered, how I've wilted like a dying flower when we venture to the Capitol. I haven't told him about Hyperion. He's asked, but I've never replied. How could I tell him? I know Finnick would likely do something reckless, and then we'd both be in trouble. All I can do is remain strong and silent. I'm like marble now – unyielding and cold to the touch.

"We'd better get down there." Finnick's voice is grim. We're both thinking along the same lines, but we don't have a choice. We'd been naïve enough to think our suffering would end when our Games did. Unfortunately, things didn't turn out that way. Instead the suffering is drawn out, until the day we die. The thought makes me taste bile.

I examine myself in the mirror. The blouse clings tight to my curves while the skirt billows out around my knees. Five years ago, the girl in the mirror was barely five foot and still had traces of baby fat in her cheeks. I'll never exactly been considered the stick-thin type, but I'm gaunter than I once was. My cheekbones are high and my eyes look somewhat hollow. I nod, deciding I look appropriately Victor-like.

Finnick and I arrive and cross the stage, deliberately avoiding looking at all the potential tributes filing in before us. I smooth down my skirt with shaking hands. Like lambs to the slaughter. They don't know what they're in for. Telling them won't do enough. They actually have to experience the arena to make it real, and by then it's far too late. I take my seat and glance at Jehovah, who has been escort for District 4 since Finnick's Games. His hair is thinning and he looks older than ever.

I zone out when he crosses over to the microphone and starts speaking. I've heard this too many times. Instead I let my hand find Finnick's. He gives it a squeeze and I deliberately avoid eye contact, knowing that we can't draw attention from the cameras. But it's nice to have some semblance of comfort, something to cling onto. Finnick and I are in this together and it's so much better, yet so much crueller, than having to be in it alone.

"I volunteer."

My head snaps up. I hadn't even heard the girls' name being called out, but I watch curiously at the girl walking towards the stage. Everything about her is average. Average age, fifteen years old. Average height, average build. She's got a tanned complexion, dark eyes and dark hair. She lifts her head proudly as she examines Jehovah, and I see so much of myself in those haughty brown eyes.

"Imelda Beauregard."

She's a decent age at least. Of that, I'm grateful. We normally get older volunteers – my heart lurches to think that Leon was among the younger ones. Finnick and I were lucky in that both of us were only fourteen when we volunteered, yet both of us survived. Finnick did out of skill; for me it was just sheer luck. Jehovah calls out a boy's name – Conrad Edmore – but again, there's another volunteer. This one is a small boy from the thirteen-year-olds section with a shock of auburn fuzzy curls.

Oh no, not a little one.

"Jacen Staunch."

The boy is a lot smaller than Leon, who had already undergone his growth spurt by the time he entered the Games. This little titch would be lucky to scrape five foot, and I share a concerned look with Finnick. Welcome to the 74th Hunger Games, indeed.

Finnick's POV

"Look at them." I sit on the couch beside Elethea, who speaks in a low voice as she glances across at Imelda and Jacen. The two are over at the refreshment cart, their eyes wide as saucers. They've never seen this much food back home in District 4. Fish is a typical meal, but here on this train, they have a wide variety. It feels wrong. Giving them all these nice things before putting them to their deaths. I wonder if we'll have a survivor this year, but I'll need to look over the tapes of the other Districts' reapings before I can tell for sure.

"They're so young," I agree, knowing that Jacen in particular must remind Elethea painfully of her younger brother. I immediately change the subject, raising my voice to call out to the tributes. "Imelda, Jacen. Come here. There's something you should watch. Let's take a look at your competition."

Imelda rolls her eyes and Jacen bounds over as I flick the television on. All of us immediately lapse into silence as it starts to play, and I take note of Districts 1 and 2 – who will be our tributes' allies, if all goes according to plan. The boy from 1 is tall and lanky, with an arrogant smile. His district partner is blonde and pretty, and that's about all there is to be said about her. I know not to underestimate her though – Cashmere is blonde and pretty, and she's definitely a force to be reckoned with.

The pair from District 2 certainly look more ruthless. The boy is a tall, muscular brute. His district partner is no taller than Elethea, dark-haired and wild, but there's a vicious look about her face that reminds me of Elsa, the girl who killed Leon during the 71st Hunger Games. The rest of the tape goes uneventfully. The tributes from the lower districts are the usual – until we reach District 12.

"She volunteered?" Elethea throws me a disbelieving glance, and I know we're thinking the same thing. District 12 has never had a volunteer. Ever. That alone is enough to make me take note of the sixteen-year-old girl from District 12 who volunteered to save her sister. She's got guts, that much is certain. I flick the TV off and turn to raise an eyebrow expectantly at my two wide-eyed tributes.

"So?"

Imelda just shrugs. "The usual, aren't they? Apart from the girl from 12, I guess."

"Do you know what to do during the bloodbath?" I ask, bracing myself for the ignorance that I'm blasted with every single year.

"You go and get yourself a weapon," Jacen states, displaying that exact ignorance that makes me wince. You'd think some of them would have a sense of self-preservation, but then again, they wouldn't have volunteered for the Games if they did. I sigh heavily, but Imelda steps in to correct him before I can.

"Don't be an idiot. That'll only get you killed. You run."

I'm impressed. It's been a while since a tribute displayed that kind of common sense. I think the last one was Dom, and that was five years ago during Elethea's own Games. I fold my arms over my chest and nod.

"Very good, Imelda. You're right. There's always time to get weapons off tributes later, but at the start, you're thinking about your own survival. The bloodbath is always the time during the Games where the most tributes die at once, so you have to be careful."

Imelda blinks in surprise, but then looks smug. I notice Elethea rolling her eyes at the younger girl's conceitedness. I can't help but watch her, my fellow mentor. I guess you could say we're in a relationship, but it's something we're trying to keep a secret from the Capitol. If there's anything they can use against you, you'll be certain that they'll try to find it. The train lurches and I realise we're slowing down, heralding our arrival in the Capitol. I take a deep breath.

"Make sure you're ready for the crowds, you two. We're arriving at the Capitol now, so prepare yourselves."

I watch lazily as Elethea crosses over the window, pressing her fingers against the glass and looking out over the astounding sight that is the Capitol. I'm flopped on the bed, grateful for some downtime while our tributes are prepped for tonight's chariot rides. It's surprising to me, how a place of such cruelty and selfishness can amaze Elethea so. This is the place that took her brother from her, and yet, she never ceases to marvel at its beauty, while I marvel at hers.

"Come here."

Elethea turns from the window and rolls onto the bed beside me, curling up close and nuzzling at my neck. That's one of the innocent things she retains: her desire for physical contact. Not sex, not all the time, but mostly she just likes to be held, to be reminded that she's important to me. She rests her head on my chest while I lazily stroke her dark hair back from her face.

She overthinks. I can see it on her face, the way her expression has gone blank, but her eyes remain determined. She's thinking about the tributes, how far they'll make it. She thinks too much, and I guess that's probably part of the reason she gets so stressed. We will always be helpless. We can only guide them, but their fates don't rest in our hands. They rest in the Capitol's, and the Capitol is ruthless.

"I want to go home already," Elethea murmurs into my shirt. I completely understand her. It's not long each year that we spend at the Capitol, but even on the first day, it feels like a painful forever. I just want to go back to District 4 with the waves crashing onto the sand, the salt on my skin, Elethea's lips on mine…

But we can't. Not yet. We have to stay here and suffer first. The Capitol might act like they give us riches and favours for surviving their Games, but in truth, the Games never end. Not in your mind. Not when the Capitol continues to toy with you even after you've won. Elethea closes her eyes and tries to fall asleep and I watch her, remembering a naïve young girl a long time ago, and still wishing I could have saved her.