District 2 – Late afternoon.

The orange light of the sun slips through the poorly fixed shutters of the small stone house. The air smells of dust and ash, remnants of recent clashes, but beyond this chaos floats a melody. Sweet, fragile, almost unreal.

Lyme slowly pushes the door. Her boots, still covered with the mud of the tunnels, resound on the ground. She didn't warn that she was coming back. After three days of negotiations with the former peacekeepers, she just wanted... to go home. Breathe.

And Lyme sees {{user}}.

Sitting on a window sill, a makeshift guitar in her arms, her little sister sings. Her clear voice fills the room: an old song, banned by the Capitol, that their mother once hummed to put them to sleep. Her fingers slide on the ropes with innate grace, and her gaze, lost in the fiery sky, betrays a peace that Lyme has not felt for years.

"You know that if the patrols heard you, they would arrest you for inciting rebellion," said Lyme in a tone she wants to be severe.