Morning came with silence — the kind that only follows chaos.
Vince woke to find his suite flooded with light. The city below gleamed like it had never known night.
But the first sound he heard wasn't the hum of traffic — it was applause. Faint, distant, constant.
He stepped onto the balcony. Screens all across the Capitol replayed the parade — two figures wreathed in fire. Him and Katniss.
The crowd below cheered at every replay, their voices merging into a single, hungry chant.
"The Fire from the Ashes!"
He stared down at them, numb. It should've felt triumphant. Instead, it felt hollow — like watching his own eulogy looped on repeat.
The System stirred.
Public Sentiment: Fervent.
Status Effect — "Heroic Aura" (Temporary).
He exhaled through his teeth. "You're turning me into a product."
Correction: Into a narrative.
That single line chilled him.
Cinna found him later in the lounge, scrolling through broadcasts. "You two are the Capitol's obsession," he said quietly.
"Even Snow's smiling about it — and he doesn't smile."
Vince rubbed his temples. "That's not good, is it?"
Cinna's smile was thin. "Attention in the Capitol is like fire. It keeps you alive until it burns you alive."
He didn't need to say more. Vince understood. Later, at breakfast, Katniss sat across from him, picking at her food. She looked tired, eyes shadowed but bright.
"They're calling us the star-crossed flames," she said flatly.
"Effie said it's good for the sponsors."
Vince almost laughed. "We survived one parade, and now we're a brand."
She didn't laugh back. "You don't seem scared."
"I am," he said honestly. "But I think fear's just proof that we're still human. The Capitol forgot that part."
She looked at him for a long moment before saying, "Maybe you remind them."
Something about her tone stuck with him — part admiration, part warning. That afternoon, Haymitch gathered them in the strategy room.
"Listen up. You've got their attention, which means you can't afford a single mistake in training tomorrow. They'll be watching your every move."
Vince leaned back in his chair. "Good. Let them watch."
Haymitch raised an eyebrow. "Careful, kid. The Capitol doesn't love people — it loves stories. And stories don't get to write themselves."
The System pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat behind his thoughts.
Truth Confirmed: Narratives require control.
He felt a shiver crawl up his spine. "What if I don't want to be a story?" he whispered under his breath.
Irrelevant. The story has already begun.
For the rest of the meeting, Vince said nothing. He just listened, nodding when he needed to, all while his mind burned with quiet defiance.
When night came, he stood in front of the mirror. His reflection looked older — not physically, but in the eyes. The System's faint glow hovered near his shoulder like a ghost.
"Tell me something," he said softly. "Why me?"
You volunteered.
It wasn't wrong. But it wasn't the truth, either.
He stepped closer to the glass, staring himself down.
"Then if I volunteered to die," he said, "I'll make sure I live first."
The reflection shimmered briefly, as if the System wanted to respond but chose silence instead.
Vince turned away, exhaustion pressing down on him. But beneath it, something else had begun to take root — not hope, not rebellion. Purpose.
He knew now what the Capitol saw when they looked at him — a story to consume, a fire to parade until it burned out. But if that's what they wanted, he'd give them one they couldn't control.
The System flickered faintly, as if amused.
Observation: Divergent intent detected.
Outcome: Unpredictable.
Vince smiled without humor. "Good," he whispered. "Let's see who's really writing this."
Outside, the Capitol screens still blazed with his image — two figures in fire, waving at a crowd that mistook spectacle for salvation.
And somewhere deep within the code of his second life, the System watched quietly… feeding on every spark.