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HER hand had felt like it was sizzling several hours after Haymitch's mouth had touched it, and Greer wasn't exactly sure why. She couldn't stop thinking of those dull grey eyes as she rode the train home that evening. Everything seemed to remind her of them. The ocean surrounding the Capitol's edge, the train, the conductor's suit, even her own nail color, which had weirdly been painted a shimmering grey the day prior. Her whole mind was buzzing with the memory of his eyes, his delicate touch, and Greer didn't know if she liked it one bit.
Despite herself, she was intrigued by Haymitch Abernathy, and that was a very dangerous thing. Being anything more than acquaintances with Victors from different Districts was risky. Greer tried to rationalize it as she went to bed that night, curled up in her velvet comforter. She wasn't romantically interested – no way – because she had Leto. Even though she didn't like Leto, he was her boyfriend and that was that.
But she was still intrigued by Haymitch, and the fact that hardly anything was known about Victors from Twelve. Was Haymitch the only Victor? She wasn't too sure, and that's because the President wanted to bury them. Haymitch was hardly ever invited to the Capitol – she assumed, because she never noticed him before tonight – along with Victors from the other poorer Districts.
And Greer was going to find out why.
She had woken up the next morning to Felix and Circe in her kitchen, attempting to figure out how to brew a cup of coffee in her coffee maker. Greer may have been from District One, but she thanked her lucky stars that she wasn't as clueless as these Capitol elites.
"Why are you two here?" She asked, looking out the window above her sink where her dad was watering his flower beds. He kept looking at Felix's expensive car parked right outside of Greer's house. Unlike most Capitol elite who used the train, Felix liked to drive from the Capitol to District One in his fanciest car.
As she filled up the machine with water and turned it on, Felix said, "Why do you always forget your fitting appointments? I swear, you're getting dementia." He plucked a pastry from one of the many gift baskets Greer had piled on her kitchen counter. He took a bite and offered another to Circe, who declined.
