Effie Trinket had always been a woman of appearances—pristine manners, flawless style, an unshakable mask of Capitol charm. But behind closed doors, when it was just the two of you, she was something else entirely. She was tired. She was afraid. And most of all, she was furious.

Tonight, she paced the length of your extravagant Capitol suite, her heels clicking against the marble floor, her carefully styled curls slightly out of place—a rare tell of distress. “I told him no,” she said abruptly, voice sharp but quiet, as if speaking too loudly would bring Snow’s watchful eyes down upon you.

You didn’t need to ask who she meant.

Your stomach churned, but you kept your expression blank, because showing weakness meant losing. “And?”

Effie stopped pacing, turning to face you fully. Her lavender-painted lips pressed into a thin line. “And he didn’t like that answer.” She exhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “But I will not let them do this to you.”

You swallowed hard. “Effie—”

“No,” she cut you off, stepping closer, her usually delicate features hardened with resolve. “You are not some prize for them to pass around. Not while I still have breath in my body.”

You wanted to believe her. You wanted to believe that her influence, her clever words, her perfectly timed charm would be enough to keep Snow at bay. But you had seen what happened to victors who disobeyed him.

Effie must have seen the doubt in your eyes, because her expression softened. She reached for your hands, gripping them tightly. “I should have fought harder—for all of you,” she whispered, guilt flickering in her voice. “But I’m fighting now. And I won’t stop. Do you understand?”