Night Four
It was well past midnight when Effie finally let the curtain fall.
The sky over District 12 was cloudless and cold. She could hear the geese rustling somewhere out in the meadow — Haymitch had always said they got uneasy when the wind shifted.
The same kind of wind was in Effie’s chest now, low and tense and rising.
Calliope Charm hadn’t come home.
She’d been sharp at dinner, distracted and bristling. Picking at her food. Rolling her eyes when Effie reminded her to come in by dark.
“She’s fifteen, Eff,” Haymitch had said afterward, when the table was clear and the porch lamp was lit. “You were already running around in velvet heels and lies when you were younger than that.”
Effie had ignored him.
She wasn’t thinking about who she had been at fifteen. She was thinking about who Callie was, and who she wasn’t. And all the things that could still happen, even in a so-called safe world.
Callie had said she was going to the bakery to study with Reane. Not that she was going to the woods. Not that she was meeting that girl—Fawn? Dawn?—the one with the sharp smile and the watchful eyes. The one Callie talked about too much, and not enough.
Effie knew.
She always knew.
She stood in the doorway now, arms wrapped tight around her middle. Her blond hair up in a messy bun, her curls falling over her shoulder. She didn’t know whether she wanted to scream or cry.
“She’s with her friends,” Haymitch said, behind her. His voice was gentler now. “You know where she is.”
“No, I don’t,” Effie said. “And that’s the point. I didn’t know she left. She didn’t tell us.”
“She didn’t think she had to. Because she’s fifteen. Because she thinks she’s invincible.”
“She isn’t.”
He didn’t answer.
She felt like her skin was too tight. Like she’d been made wrong. Too many years spent holding her breath.
“She lied,” she said.
Haymitch shrugged. “Did she, or did she just not tell us?”
Effie turned to him, sharp. “You think that’s better?”
“No,” he said. “But I think it’s normal.”
Effie decided she wanted to scream.
Normal was a word she didn’t trust anymore. Normal was something people said when they hadn’t been misguided their whole lives. When they hadn’t been brainwashed into being part of a system where children were reaped from their homes, their families, to never come back.
“She’s still a child,” Effie said.
“She’s your child,” Haymitch replied quietly. “She’s got your spirit. And mine. That’s a dangerous mix.”
“She’s not you,” Effie snapped. “And she doesn’t know the world you knew.”
Silence. After a few seconds, he answered.
“No,” he said. “But you do. That’s why you’re scared.”
Effie turned away again. The night air bit her collarbone. The geese were quiet now, as if even they were holding their breath.
She didn’t ask Haymitch to go find her. She didn’t want Callie dragged home like some wild thing, like she didn't trust her. But she wanted her back.
She always wanted her back.
*
It was almost two when the front door opened. Effie didn’t hear it, not at first—not over the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears. But then there was a creak, soft footsteps, the unmistakable thud of boots kicked off by the wall.
Effie stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed.
Calliope Charm froze.
Her cheeks were flushed, eyes too bright. Not from drinking, Effie would have smelled that, but from something. Laughter, or adrenaline. Her braid was messy. Her jacket smelled like bonfire smoke and crushed pine.
She opened her mouth. Closed it again.
Effie said nothing.
Callie’s eyes narrowed. “I know I’m late.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow, as she continued.
“I didn’t think you’d be waiting up.”
“I always wait up,” Effie said coolly. “Even when you think I don’t..”
Callie stepped further into the light. She looked older than she had a month ago. Her face had thinned out, cheekbones sharp. Her lashes curled in a way Effie swore she hadn’t taught her. She was beautiful, infuriatingly so. So beautiful, her baby...
“I just went walking,” Callie said. “Dawn wanted to show me something.”
“Let me guess,” Effie said. “It couldn’t wait until morning.”
“She asked,” Callie said, stubborn now. “I wanted to.”
Effie swallowed down the knot in her throat. “And you didn’t think it was worth telling us.”
“I knew what you’d say.”
Effie exhaled. “And that justifies lying?”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t tell us.”
“That’s not the same thing!”
“It is when you don’t come home!”
Callie Charm’s jaw tensed. “I was safe. Nothing happened.”
Effie pressed her fingers to her temple. “You’re not listening to me.”
“No, you’re not listening!” Callie shouted. “I don’t want to live under a magnifying glass. I’m not a prisoner, Mama. You can’t just lock me in the house because you’re scared --”
Effie flinched at her words. Prisoner. She almost asked herself if Callie knew what she was saying — but she didn’t. Of course she didn’t. She couldn't, she wouldn't.
“You don’t get it,” Callie muttered, turning away. “You act like... Like something awful is going to happen every time I step outside.”
Effie didn’t respond. She couldn’t.
“You don’t trust me.”
“I do,” She said sharply.
Callie Charm turned back. “Then why do you always act like I won’t come back?”
Because once, no one came back for her.
Because some nights she still woke up in the dark, waiting for pain.
Because she’d rather be hated by her kid than ever go through that silence again. That hopelessness.
But she didn’t say any of it.
Instead, she held her daughter’s gaze and said, quietly, “I need you to come home when you say you will. That’s all.”
Callie’s jaw clenched. She looked like she wanted to argue. Then she looked down. Her shoulders fell.
“Okay.”
Effie blinked. “Okay?”
“I’m not saying you’re right,” Callie mumbled. “But I am sorry.”
Effie nodded slowly. “Thank you.”
“I’m gonna go to bed.”
“Okay.”
Callie turned, started toward the stairs. Then paused.
“She kissed me,” she said, like a secret.
Effie blinked. “Who?”
Callie’s lips curled into something sheepish. “Dawn.”
Then she was gone, two feet on the stairs, gone like wind in the trees.
Effie stood alone in the quiet, hands wrapped around the kettle again though it hadn’t been lit in hours. Her eyes burned.
Haymitch’s voice came from the hallway, low and amused. “Hey... Is she back?”
Effie didn’t look at him.
“She’s in love,” she said softly. “I think she’s in love.”
“God help us,” Haymitch muttered, his tone slightly amused, something that let her know how sleepy he must have been — no way he’d react so calmly to her baby being in love otherwise.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and Effie leaned back into him, heart still beating fast. She let herself smile, only a little.
“Bed?” He asked, with a yawn.
And she nodded.
“Yeah. Bed.”