After the Storm • The Hunger Games

ONE

CHAPTER ONE
❝More Wicked Games❞

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In that moment, Panem fell silent.

The arrow fled across the sky, racing against time to pierce the force field, to penetrate the dome that entrapped the tributes of the Quarter Quell like lab rats in an experiment. The arrow's delivery was flawless; the shooter had once again outdone herself. Mere moments after it became wedged in the artificial sky, electricity shot up the wire that had been wound around the arrow like a hot glowing snake and the screen flickered to black. Effie Trinket hadn't been breathing as the scene played out and even as seconds passed by and the screen remained dark, she dared not shed breath. The room had become encompassed in a hollow silence; no sirens blared, no static jumped to life on the screen and even the frantic wails of the Capitol residents outside dared not to break the silence that the arrow had created.

She should have been in the Training Centre, up in District Twelve's penthouse watching the games unfold. That's where she watched the proceedings every year. That's where she watched defeated tributes fall to the ground every year. That's where she grieved for the lives she helped snuff out each time she picked up those two small pieces of paper.

This year for the Quarter Quell she watched the games from her Capitol apartment. It wasn't the ritziest or in the most elite part of town but it was ample for the life of a District Escort. The decision to curl up on her own lounge and watch the annual games had not been entirely her decision. Instead it was due to Haymitch Abernathy's pleas to stay away from Training Centre, to stay away from all the action, which she had given in to his wishes. Effie dared not question why for two weeks prior to the games, when he had subtly hinted at the idea before almost locking her inside the apartment until she obliged. After just over a decade of working together, she had learnt that asking Haymitch questions rarely yielded in answers.

Her apartment was pitch black now that the television was off and not coming back on anytime soon. With a sigh to break the silence that had consumed her ears, Effie whispered, "lights," before clapping twice. The action was rewarded with a soft white glow that filled the room. It wasn't too bright that the slight wrinkles around her eyes could be seen but it wasn't so dim that she wouldn't be able to read without squinting. A process, her mother once said, made those pesky wrinkles worse.

She remained seated on the longue, her mind wandering on the idea that the pastel blue leather was only days away from being considered out-dated. She heard rich warm tones like red and orange were about to be all the craze but those colours didn't tickle her fancy as much as the pastel shades.

The very idea of not following the trends like a sheep lead by a fashion Sheppard caused her lips to quirk at the edges with surprise. How very un-Capitol of her. Over the recent years she had been spending more and more time in the outlying districts instead of her home within the frivolous Capitol. Effie was beginning to lose her shiny exterior of want's and need's in favour of the unpopular ideal of keeping what you like: in her case, that was the pastel blue longue.

Effie's eyes led her gaze up to the television across from the longue and her mind lingered on an idea that had been brewing all day. She suspected that a greater game was being played and Katniss' arrow had been the one of the many moves in this hypothetical game. Of course, Effie had learnt quickly that it was best not to ask questions in fear that her wigs may not have a head to sit upon if the wrong words were said to the wrong people.

The Hunger Games may be morbid but there were more wicked games being played around her, the lives of an entire country rested on moves and countermoves of a game Effie was slowly becoming conscious of.