A/N: So, I decided to continue this. It's been bugging me for a while and it felt like it needed more. So here it is.

And if you've got an issue with the kids being named after dead people (Lavinia the Avox and Thresh of D11) then let me assure you, so do I. It's just that I wrote the first chapter before I realized that people don't actually want to hear the names of their dead friends' for the rest of their lives. So we have two kids with awesome namesakes but very improbable names. Oops.

Also, age. If you do the math, in the first chapter it says that the tumor started 53 years ago. Peeta was hijacked at age 17, so that makes them both 70. It says in the epilogue of Mockingjay that they had kids 15 years after the war, so they would have been 32 by that point. 70 - 32 is 48, but I don't want Lavinia to be that old! So I'm going bonkers and taking 20 years off of the kids' lives. But Katniss is still 70!

Sorry. I just wanted to explain so that nobody got mad in the reviews. Which brings me to my next point - please review!

Lavinia's POV

Lavinia and Thresh,

Dad's gone. It was very sudden. I'm so sorry that I didn't let you know, but there wasn't enough time. Hovercrafts can't cross the ocean in two days. He wished you were here, though.

Don't come to 12; Johanna helped me get permission to go to Novus to be with you. I'll be there in a week or two.

I'll be seeing you soon. Is there a way we could have your father's funeral in Novus? The pictures you've sent look so fresh and green. I think he'd like it there.

Love,

Mom

My fingers release the paper and it flutters to the ground. Dad, gone? It can't be! I know I shouldn't be so surprised, because his tumor certainly wasn't anything new, but I hadn't thought that any pain could be this strong, this raw, this all-consuming.

"Vin? What's wrong?"

I look at Thresh, my brother, and my heart crumbles at the thought of telling him the news. He's three years my junior. All my life I've tried to protect him, though I'm not sure I've succeeded. Why now, in the face of tragedy, must I finally let him grow up? I open my mouth to speak, and hot tears roll down my face.

"It's – Dad," I choke out.

His face pale, Thresh snatches up the letter and scans it quickly. I hear his intake of breath and his arms around me, and we stand there on the front walk, trying to hold each other together.

It's a long while before I'm able to let go, and even longer before Thresh will let me. I look at the date on the letter; it's from three days ago. I think back to that day, the day when my father died and I didn't even know it.

It was Wednesday, full of melting snow and blue skies and happiness. I've heard that you're supposed to know when a loved one is gone. You feel a sudden pain in your heart or have a vision or something. But I can't remember anything out of the ordinary. Nothing to suggest that half of my world had been torn away.

I try to write back, but the words don't come. Eventually I have to stop because I'm crying again, and then Thresh is there and we sob some more. In the twenty-eight years I've been alive, I've only felt so lost one other time. It was when my parents told me what they'd done, how they'd amassed the collection of mental, emotional, and physical scars that they both wear. I remember screaming, horrified that these loving people could ever do what they told me. But that trauma was nothing compared to this.

When I finally fall into a restless sleep in my own house, the last thing I remember is a shade of blue, deep and clear and kind.

My father's eyes, and mine.