Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky was a soft orange mixed with shades of dark purple that closely resembled the bruises on my body from when I would accidentally hurt myself with the farming machinery. There was not even a hint of blue, just orange and purple swirled together to cover the air above me as my father snapped his fingers at me and pointed one of his dirty fingers down, signally me to finish my work. 

"Annona, what'cha lookin' at, darlin'? Finish harvestin' your section. Come on, now," he ushered, knowing all too well how long it would take to finish harvesting the acres upon acres of wheat fields we had for distribution. 

I didn't bother to answer him back, instead opting to pick up my sickle from its place in the dirt where I had dropped it to look at the sunset. The handle fit perfectly in my hand as I went back to cutting down stalks of wheat. 

My entire family - my mother, father, and younger brother Barrick - and our employed laborers have been going at the fields every day since the last week. From five o'clock in the morning until eight o'clock in the evening, we were all out in the fields everyday just hacking away at the mature wheat stalks so they could be winnowed and distributed to the district worker who would then send them to the Capitol to be re-distributed among the other districts. 

"Are you nervous," a voice said from beside me, his frame towering over me as I leaned over to continue my work, "For the reaping?"

It was my 16-year-old brother, Barrick, who was always tense and stiff around this time as if he was waiting for his name to be called up for the Hunger Games. He had a lean build as a result of the physical labor we did on the fields and long hair that was usually kept out of his face with a green bandanna. Unlike our me and our father however, he never seemed to tan from the sun beaming down at us and instead absorbing its rays into his hair which had now turned dirty blonde from his usual brown. 

"No," I told him honestly, "It's the last time that my name will be put in the bowl so I'm hopin' the odds are in my favor one last time."

"Don't joke about that!" Barrick snapped, giving a particularly hard swing at this section next to mine, "What if you actually get reaped this time, huh?"

I shrugged, "Then I'll make a farm up in the heavens to finish this work since you're not going to do it," I deadpanned, briefly pausing my work to look at him. 

He looked genuinely upset, his eyes softening to the point of crying and his lip quivering at the idea of me dying. Maybe I did go too far in joking about my death, but Barrick was normally the more emotional one out of the two of us and no matter what I told him, I knew that he was going to keep worrying about me until another girl's name is called into the microphone. 

Nonetheless, I sighed and put down my sickle in the dirt again and treaded over to his section of the field, "Hey, don't worry about me, I'll be fine," I embraced him into a side-hug and ruffled his bandana, "There are a lot of other girls in District 9 that take tessera rations and their names will be in their more times than mine. My name's only in there seven times total Barrick, if anything, I think the odds are in my favor this year. What are the chances that I'd get picked on my last Reaping Day, huh?"

My words seemed to calm him down, if only momentarily as he continued to spiral, "What if I'm picked?" he asked numbly, "I'd definitely lose against the Darlings - no doubt about it."

I just stared at him, not knowing what to say until I realized that this was the first Hunger Games reaping that Barrick's ever acted like it was the end of the world. Sure he was more emotional and he always more paranoid of being picked, but his behavior this year was more erratic than before.

"Is there something you wanna tell me? You're a lot more worried about the reaping than usual this year."

Barrick just shook his head, launching spare wheat seeds from his bandana onto my clothing as he started to cut down wheat stalks again, "No, I just...I feel like something bad is gonna happen this year. I dunno why, I just do. Like you're going to get reaped...or I will," Barrick shook himself as if to get rid of his thoughts before waving me off, "It's probably just nothing, though. Just usual Barrick"

I hummed in agreement but noticed as he kept mumbling to himself under his breath, thinking I wouldn't notice, "Maybe you're just tired from all the work?" I offered.

"Yeah," Barrick agreed, before repeating slowly, "Just tired."

I walk away soon after that, quickly getting back to my section before our father turned around and started nagging. I bet if he didn't have the wheat fields, our father would have no hobbies whatsoever. Not even something as boring as knitting would be able to keep him occupied if not his labor on this field. He was born and raised in a farming family and took over the farm as the oldest son, I doubt he had any other dreams than to one day be the head of the house. 

It was nearly fifteen before noon when my father called the day and allowed all of the workers, ranging from teenagers like me to elders who could've watched the first Hunger Games, to go home and prepare for the reaping at District 9's square. I shared a few 'Good luck's to some of my classmates as we all trudged through the fields and exited out of the giant gate reading "Springwater Farms".

We all parted ways and I caught up with Barrick as he, took, waved off some of his school friends to join me on the walk back to the weaponry barn.

The weaponry barn was the barn where all of the sickles, scythes, pitchforks, hoes, rakes, shovels, and other farming tools were returned to after a day's work. Each worker was assigned a specific tool with a specific number to ensure that they individually had returned their tool. As the owner of the farm, our father stayed back a few more minutes to take inventory of the farming tools returned so he could report it to the Peacekeepers later tonight. 

Districts who worked with tools considered weapons, such as Districts 1, 2, 4, 7, 9, 10, and 11, were all required by the Capitol to have major employers, such as my family's farm, to check in with Peacekeepers to ensure that those tools were all accounted for and locked away from the public. If nothing else, the Capitol was deathly serious about stopping any rebellions before they began, especially using harsh regulations to keep tools used for labor away from people who could raise an army. 

Our home was a decently-sized building with four bedrooms - one for our parents, one for Barrick, one for myself, and one for our grandma, Nana - and two bathrooms used between everybody in the house. Our father's self-paid wage was higher than average since he was able to inherit the farm acreage and its machinery rather than having to buy everything to start from scratch.

Knowing the drill for the reaping ceremonies, Barrick immediately went into the bathroom upstairs while I dashed to the one just around the corner of the house's entrance. I started the water to the tub, waiting for it to fill up impatiently until I just stripped and got in, scrubbing everywhere from my scalp to my toenails to ensure my appearance would meet the Peacekeepers' standards for the day. I must've scrubbed for about ten minutes until I was sure that there wasn't even an atom of dirt on my body before washing the soap away and draining the tub. I peered into the drain and saw dozens of seeds and spare stalks that had come into the house with me; I cleaned them out before starting a bath for Nana. 

I passed my Nana in the hallway and she kissed my cheek, telling me I worked hard today as she did everyday, even when the only thing I did was feed the pigs some scraps. 

My room was organized and neat since I never spent much time in it other than to sleep these days. On my bed were four articles of clothing that I had repeatedly worn to the reapings for the past two years; a black knee-length skirt, a white blouse with a square neckline, a yellow-brown button-up cardigan that I usually wore unbuttoned, and sheer black tights to wear underneath my skirt. My black Oxford shoes were on the floor next to the bed and I recalled how my mother had fished them out of her old bin of clothes to hand them to me for my 15th birthday. 

My Nana was already dressed and waiting for me in the living room when I walked out and I knew she was just waiting to style my hair. Nana didn't talk much in general, but she always felt the need to praise others, including me, for the things we did. My father said it was her way of contributing to the family since she couldn't work in the fields anymore, but I felt that she just liked being able to see the look on people's faces when they realized that someone noticed their hard work. I looked in the mirror when she finished and thanked her for the inverted low bun she had done on my hair; I looked so prim and proper that I almost couldn't believe that just an hour ago I had been waist-deep in wheat. 

It was one o'clock on the dot when my parents called Barrick and I to the porch and we both took grim steps down the porch to start the walk over the square. Our neighbors and beyond were dressed in their best and for once I felt relieved to be attending the Reaping. This was it, this was my last chance to get put into the Hunger Games and it was statistically low for me to get chosen. Barrick looked lost in thought as he walked looking at his feet and while I would normally be consoling him on the way to the square, I could tell that he just wanted to stay side-by-side without talking today. 

Annually, the square was transformed and the bright banners showcased Panem's logo and the tributes of last year's Hunger Games, though I didn't recognize either of them from the 71st. The only thing that looked the same were the shops and markets, but not even their roofs were unsafe from the camera crews who perched themselves high in the air to capture every moment. From the relief that your name wasn't called to the disbelief of hearing your child's name -  all of the Capitol would be able to see it live on your face if the camera 'happened' to pan your way. 

Barrick and I separated as he went to the boys' check-in and I, to the girls'. My finger was pricked, blood drawn and smeared on a piece of paper, then sent on my way after the Peacekeeper scanned the blood and confirmed that I was, indeed, Annona Springwater. About ten more minutes passed until the square, ever so claustrophobic and crowded, was packed to the brim with children inside of the section-off ropes that made us looked like cattle being auctioned off. I got bored and started to look around, spotting Barrick whispering with a classmate and I kept looking to see if I knew anyone amongst the other 18-year-old girls around me, but I failed to find a friendly face. 

A hand tugs my shoulder back, and I look to see Marlee from school as she comes to stand beside me. She was a big chatterbox and I knew that she enjoyed watching the Hunger Games and secretly placed bets on who would win with the other crude men from our district. We were far from close, largely over the disagreement we had over the morality of the Games one day, but I would still miss her once we graduated from school. I felt her head jerk as she looked to the stage and turned into putty after seeing who was seated up there. 

The stage held five seats; one for Mayor Bushyll, District 9's rather elderly mayor, Maude Manelis,  District 9's escort who came nearly every year for the past five years to pick the tribute, and the last three seats were filled with our past victors of the Hunger Games. I couldn't remember the names of the oldest two victors, a female who looked to be in her early 50s and a male who looked to be in his late 40s, but I could definitely remember the last victor sitting at the end - Ryland Makara. 

Ryland Makara was the most recent victor from District 9 after he won the 66th Hunger Games following Finnick Odair, making him the second youngest victor to win the games. He was only 14-years-old when he was reaped and turned 15 in the arena before he won. It was rumored that he and Finnick Odair had inspired younger tributes from the Darlings districts to volunteer and I can remember was how quick and deadly the 67th Hunger Games were when there was a group of older tributes hunting down all of the little ones who volunteered to be the next Finnick and Ryland and all for nothing; the District 6 tribute had won that year by hiding until he heard the announcement that he was the winner. 

I watched as Ryland looked out into the crowd from his seat, his head held high with the confidence I knew he had after watching his games. I remember being 12 years old and thinking that the tributes chosen were always older until Finnick the year before. There I was on my very first reaping day being scared of hearing my name after knowing that the Hunger Games had no age preference and the relief I felt when 14 year old Ryland Makara from school was chosen instead. He was a sensation here in District 9 and he played the persona of the smart younger brother really well to the point of using it against people in the arena. His alliance members were too intimidated of his popularity in the Capitol to kill him violently so Ryland took upon himself to slice everyone's neck while they were sleeping. The Capitol ate it up; after all, he was just the little boy who didn't know any better.

I continued to study him, trying to remember all of the times I might've seen him in school before the Reaping but I couldn't focus over Marlee's constant squeals whenever Ryland's eyes passed over our section of the square. His popularity in the Capitol could've also been boosted by how handsome he was, especially for someone from District 9. Almost as if he could hear the thumping of teenage hearts, Ryland swiftly shifted his attention towards the boys' section of the square. 

Marlee's watch beeped from her wrist when it was two o'clock and right on time, Mayor Bushyll, with the help of his cane and a few Peacekeepers, made his way out of his seat to address the crowd from the podium. I droned out his words, barely registering his brief Panem history lesson that always included the natural disasters, Dark Days, and the Treaty of Treason of which the Hunger Games resulted from. 

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," Mayor Bushyll said before motioning the hand that wasn't using his cane towards the three victors behind him, reading off their names and stopping briefly to allow the cameras overhead to pan over to Ryland as his name was called. 

My mind wandered off to the small possibility that I was chosen and the even smaller possibility that I would win; what would happen next? Would I be celebrated during my Victory Tour or have it canceled from being too wounded and unstable like Annie Cresta? Would I be forced to have a mini reality show where cameras watched my every move like they did with Cashmere and Gloss from District 1? Would I ever be able to be myself, if only for a little bit? The Capitol entices tributes to win the games by promising money, fame, and a house in Victor's Village where you would have privacy from the prying eyes of your district but as far as I can tell, every Victor is forced to relive their worst, or best, moments every year on camera. What kind of privacy was that? Was it even worth winning if cameras are on you from the time you were reaped to the time of your death which would be as long as the Capitol thought you were popular?

I would never be able to do that. Not even my will to live would be able to overcome that pressure and anxiety that came with winning the games. I would never say these thoughts out loud of course, unless I was talking with Marlee and debating the ethics of the Hunger Games when we were sure there were no microphones nearby. 

Maude Manelis stood up to replace Mayor Bushyll at the microphone and I was taken aback by her choice of outfit; her hair was the signature bright red wig that she wore every year since I was old enough to attend the reapings and her dress looked like a glimmering fabric that reminded me of the grain fields with its beautiful yellowish-brown hues. Usually, Maude wore Capitol-inspired outfits that were most likely made to reassure her wealth to us at District 9, so I was caught off-guard by the outfit that seemed to, dare I say, embrace District 9's primary industry. 

She starts a long spiel about being grateful that the Capitol still finds her useful for something as unimportant as the reapings, which is not what she actually said but is what I retained, before she strides over to the glass bowls on the right. The females.

"As we were taught," Maude started excitedly, almost as if she couldn't wait to see which one of us would be killed on-screen for her pleasure," Ladies first!"

She digs her hand into the glass bowl, though not all the way down to the bottom, and shook it around a few times to draw out the suspense. I was about to walk up to the stage to pick out the name myself before Maude sharply withdrew her hand and walked back over to the microphone holding a slip of paper. She delicately smoothes out the paper as everybody, including me, all draw a collective breath into our bodies as we waited for her to read the name that she choose - the name of the person whose fate she sealed when she choose their slip out of hundreds. 

I lock eyes with Barrick from across the stupidly large and crowded square, and the first thing I notice are his focused eyes; he looked like he was so fixated on pleading with whatever higher power, or lucky force, to not have my name called. I could see his stare fill with worry and anxiety before he broke eye contact to look at the stage where Maude stood, ready to read aloud the name she plucked.  

Her face, caked in so much makeup that her appearance looked pale and unnatural, leaned into the microphone as she reads out the name in her clearest voice.

And it's me. It's Annona Springwater. 

Chapter Text

The square became uncomfortably quiet after my name was revealed. The side-glances and looks of relief from the girls around me didn't make me feel any better about my death warrant. Some of them shifted to make room for me to walk over towards the center aisle where Peacekeepers would escort me to the stage, but I didn't move a muscle.

My feet felt as if they had been rooted into the pavement below me and I suddenly knew what it felt like to be the wheat stalks I harshly cut down during my workday. Seconds prior, I barely felt any emotions that would betray the fear of my name being called out of thousands, and now I felt like the floodgates of District 4 had burst open and I was in the middle of the end of the world as I knew it. 

The crowd feels faraway as I look down at my hands, blistered and scarred from months upon months of working in the fields with my family as I realized that I would never be able to work with them or feel the weight of the farm equipment in my hands ever again. I heard the gasps and murmurs, most likely in relief that me, an 18-year-old, had been chosen over any 12-year-olds, though I almost wanted to agree with them in that sense that it had always felt unfair to see them against the Darlings, tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4. But now that would be me. 

I'm sure that my face is as white as Maude's when I finally find my bearings and stiffly walked through the path already cleared for me. Peacekeepers surrounded all of my sides except for my front as I held my head high, trying to mimic the confidence of Ryland that you could see at any time, and I take a slow pace up the rickety steps leading to the main stage. 

Maude held a gloved hand out, gesturing for me to join her as she smiles into the crowd, "Well, look at this! A beautiful face for a beautiful name. How do you do Annona?"

I want to cry, but I refuse to do so in front of Barrick and with the entire nation of Panem watching me. If everything from here on out is going to be on camera, I won't let them get a chance to get a glimpse of the real me; I'll save her for the few moments of privacy I'm gonna get. Looking into the audience, my eyes ran over everyone I knew and those I didn't yet get a chance to meet and it was then that I decided I was going to leave a legacy behind, something that showed I lived and did something important, even if I died in the games. I put on my big girl overalls, swallowed my tears, and slapped on the 'beautiful' smile that I knew Maude wanted even though I wanted to scream at her to pick another name so that I could go home.

"I can say that I've been better," I said, trying my best to put on some airs and convince the viewers that I wasn't about to pee myself in my sheer tights. 

Maude seemed to like my answer as she gives a high-pitched (and annoying) giggle before leaving me on the left side of the stage as she walked back over to the microphone again with her gloved hands up in the air, "Let's give a nice cheer for such a charismatic tribute!"

A few people gave scattered applauds from the crowd, but they were outnumbered by those who didn't. I was known around District 9 as the 'wheat farmer's daughter' or the 'Springwater girl' or even as the girl who came into the marketplaces to hire workers for a decent wage worth their labor. My father had tasked me with phasing out the elderly workers with newer ones and I took my job serious enough to become 'that one girl who's always needing people'. Others knew me as the girl who helped tutor their kids in math and science since I was particularly gifted in those areas as a result of helping my father calculate wages, payrolls, and the chemical solutions needed for the farm and fields. I tutored for free because I knew that I didn't want to be a manual laborer for all of my life and neither should most of these kids who had the work ethic to improve their school performances. 

Maude promptly moved on when she realized that nobody was clapping, "And now, the gentlemen!"

I took a few moments to study the faces looking back at me and found only a few staring at the stage where I was; Barrick, my father, my mother, and Nana. I gulped down the sob that was rising in my throat as I bore into my sweet, loving Nana who wouldn't be able to kiss me on the cheek everyday. Her hands were clasped tightly around my father who equally looked broken as one of his suspenders slipped off of the shoulder where my mother clasped his other arm. There he was; the family man who had to deal with everything from the farm to his only daughter being Reaped. 

"Graham Tillman."

I was so caught up in what my family were doing that I hadn't even thought of the possibility that Barrick's name could be pulled from the boys' glass bowl, but once I heard that it wasn't him, I admittedly let out a sigh of relief. It's not that Barrick wouldn't be able to hold his own in the games - he was at least 5'11 with a decent amount of muscle from working on the farm - but there was a nagging feeling in my heart that I knew Barrick was too innocent to kill people. He was kind and he was thoughtful and he was everything you would never expect from someone like the Darlings so I wouldn't be able to imagine my sweet little brother killing another person, even if he had to. 

Graham Tillman wastes no time coming out of the crowd of boys like I did and instead speed-walks up the stairs to join Maude on the right side of the stage where she awaits him. I lean over to get a good look at his face before I realize that I don't recognize him from anywhere and deep down I feel like it's better that I don't. I would hate to have somebody that I knew come into the arena with me. Maude doesn't make small talk with him like she did with me, but instead forces the both of us to meet in the middle on either side of her by the microphone. She shows us off to the dozens of cameras overhead that are capturing every moment of our first meeting and I start thinking about what we're giving away; can the cameras tell we don't know each other? Can the cameras tell that I was sadder to leave than Graham who was all but running to come on stage? 

Maude continues to talk and I drown her out in favor of observing Graham, who I realize isn't much taller than me at his 5'9 stature. He didn't look particularly muscular or scrawny and everything from his shoes to his shirt didn't look out of the ordinary; Graham Tillman seemed to be the definition of average. The only noticeable thing that could set him apart from the people of District 9 were his hair and skin color, an abnormal whitish-blonde color that looked too different from the darker hair colors of the majority and a slight tan to his skin tone that differentiated him from us who worked  in the fields all day. 

As Maude stands next to me, I notice that she reeks of patchouli and rosewood - that distinct 'grandma' smell that my own Nana probably had in a perfume bottle on her dresser. I try to keep my face neutral since I know there are cameras documenting my every move when I hear a sneeze come from behind me that interrupts Maude's speech.

I tilt my head back to glance at the perpetrator only to lock eyes with Ryland as he gave a serious bow of his head to the camera station right next to him, "My apologies Panem, please continue Maude."

I stare at him, even when he faces forward after the camera shifts away from him and he must notice because he meets my eyes and subtly tilts his chin down as if to ask 'What?' His stare intimidated me and I promptly turned myself around.

Mayor Bushyll stood up, his cane in hand, and cleared his throat before walking over to the podium to carry out the annual reading of the ridiculously long Treaty of Treason. A few minutes pass by, though it felt like an eternity with everybody staring at the stage, before Mayor Bushyll finishes reading and directs me and Graham to shake hands. 

A moment passes over us before he reaches over first and I follow. Our hands grip each other and shake as we look up and lock eyes for the first time. I judge everything about him again; how his hands don't carry blisters or bruises like mine and how his eyes are dark brown while mine are bluish-grey. His eyes scan my face and I start to feel like our handshake has been going on for too long while we analyze each other so I move to break out of his grip when he squeezes my hand and lets me go first. His face is neutral as we part but he sends me a nod as he makes his way back to his side of Maude and all around us, the anthem of Panem begins to play. 

I try not to think about the idea of leaving my family and district behind to participate in the Hunger Games, nor do I try to look at Barrick who I know must be heartbroken right now, especially after our conversation from this morning.

I try not to think of anything at all. 

Chapter Text

As the Panem anthem starts to dwindle to its end, I notice that a dozen or so Peacekeepers are starting to march onto the stage, their attention more focused on surrounding me and Graham than anybody else. I briefly glance at Ryland and the other two victors behind me to see if they're also being flanked only to find that they are free of Peacekeepers and are talking amongst themselves quietly. 

When the anthem does end, Graham and I are rushed through the Justice Building's front doors and are separated into two rooms directly beside each other. I'm left alone without a single Peacekeeper and start to feel paranoid that a secret camera, or cameras, are recording me right now just to see how I would react after my reaping when I think no one's watching. Again, I want to cry but I can't let myself do it when I think there are camera's around. I can't be vulnerable in front of a camera; I can't be Anonna Springwater. The Hunger Games haven't even started and yet I'm already about to rip my hair out from the paranoia.  

The doorknob rattles and I instantly become stiff until I see Barrick's frame pass through the frame followed by our father, mother, and Nana. Their faces are all ghostly pale and uncharacteristically grim, even my father whose face never showed anything but exhaustion from running the farm. Barrick is the first to engulf me into a hug, crying as he looped his arms around my body and held me tight like I wouldn't be able to whisked away off to the Capitol. He's crying and shaking and he doesn't look like himself as he tries to peel himself off of me, but he chooses to hang on for a few more seconds before he does. I bring one of my hands to rub his back in a comforting way, trying my best to soothe my brother as if he was still a baby that needed to be pacified. He's still visibly upset with tear tracks on his cheek as he parts with me and my parents engulf me in their own embrace. 

My mother, so beautiful with her blue eyes has them shut as tightly as her arms that wrap around my waist. My mother and I were close, not close enough to be best friends but we respected each other and I felt like I could trust her with my deepest thoughts and fears to hear her guidance. I took a deep breath and smelled the faint scent of her diluted perfume that she saved for special occasions and I wonder if she'll throw it out and never smell it again when she realizes that she wore it my Reaping, her only daughter's Reaping. My father's larger figure took us both in his arms and the roughness of his hand callouses on my arms grounded me to the idea that he would need a new bookkeeper with me gone. His beard scratched my forehead and yet I didn't pull away from discomfort, instead basking in the warm embrace like now I'm the baby who needs their parents. 

"I know him," Barrick says while sniffling, "Graham - he's in my year at school."

My ears perk up at this information and my parents let me go as I walk over to Nana who's using the wall for support. I pause my curiosity in favor of receiving my Nana's kiss on the cheek one last time and side hug her facing Barrick to get information.

"What's he like? What does he work in? Are his grades - "

Barrick's eyes shut momentarily like he's trying to remember everything he can quickly, "He's popular - very popular. He doesn't work in the fields, his family owns a liquor store and distillery in the merchant section. I don't know if he's rich or anything but he's always got a few friends around him at all times. I'm pretty sure he only works the cash register at the store, if he works at all," he pauses like he's hesitating to say more but decides to do it anyway, "Danny goes to his family's liquor store to trade some rations for liquor," he flinches at the glare sent his way by our father and the surprise in mine, "He overheard that Graham has an older brother who works for the Capitol and that's why their well off, even by merchant standards."

"You and I are gon' talk 'bout Danny," my father says with a gruff voice, "But good intel kid."

Barrick winces before coming over to Nana and I for a group hug with our parents coming over to do the same. They immediately pull me to them, keeping me as close as I bet they did when they first saw me come into the world and now they're watching me being ripped away from them. When they were eighteen, they passed their reaping years and got married. Now I'm eighteen and I'm being put on a national broadcast to die for something that not even my nana was old enough to remember. The Hunger Games were punishments at first, but now I think they're just a way for the Capitol to keep crushing our spirits, to keep control of the districts when everyone knows that everyone's unhappy. 

A few minutes passed with us just holding onto each other before a Peacekeeper bangs the door open and says, "Time's up." They all let go quickly and I mentally thank them for not creating trouble as I'm left alone once again, though this time it's only for a minute. 

A Peacekeeper pops his head into the room and he startles me without his helmet on; he's young, at least twenty, with his blonde hair cropped short. He simply stands by the door and makes no effort to speak with me and I'm inclined to do the same. I walk over to sit on one of the plush couches in front of a window and start to observe the way the sunlight hits the wheat fields in the distance when the door creaks open again. I nearly hop over the couch to reach them, my friends from school; Marlee, Dagon, and Eithne. 

Marlee reaches me first, grabbing my arm to pull me towards her. She's not shaking or anything like Barrick was, but I can tell she's terrified by the way she clutches me close. Having her so worried, even despite her love for the games, makes me rethink our relationship. I didn't think we were close and yet here she was making sure that I knew she was on my side for once. 

"I won't watch," she whispered so the others wouldn't hear, "I won't place any bets and I definitely won't be arguing in their favor anymore."

"The watchings are mandatory," I remind her, and I squeeze her once more before she lets go, "Don't get yourself in trouble over me, but I really appreciate you saying this."

We part just as Eithne takes her turn for a hug. Eithne was the smartest person I knew in school; she could calculate just about anything you needed and she would be able to outsmart a fox without needing much effort. It was like we were always trying to one-up each other, constantly poking fun of the other every time we received a higher score on our tests. We were just two teenage girls living the life as daughters of important employers in the district; her father owned the flour mill and packaging factory just outside of the merchant section. She knew what it was like to feel like it was your duty to keep your family business running, even if it was just by keeping the books and finding workers.

"You'll be alright, you have to be," she whimpered, tears flowing down her beautiful cheekbones, "We're supposed to be business partners."

The reminder of the little promise we made to be each other's helpline after school nearly makes me sob in front of the Peacekeeper. Usually the oldest child takes over the businesses in District 9 and in my family, it would be me, and in her's, it would be Eithne. We knew we had a long time ahead of us before we officially took over our family businesses, but ever since we were kids we decided on partnering up and doing it together. 

"You'll help Barrick, too, won't you," I ignored the way my voice wavered, "If I...if I don't make it out."

"Don't talk like that," she interrupted, nearly yelling at me, "You're a strong one and you're clever. Don't take anything as the truth in the arena and keep your head on your shoulders," she smiled a sad smile and added, "And you're pretty too, use that."

She backed up to let Dagon come closer. Dagon was the only boy in school who didn't seem interested in making the crude jokes that our grandfathers would have laughed at, he was instead a gentleman among animals and a good friend. He was sarcastic and realistic, a good mix when you're all surrounded by ass-kissing farmers and mothers who sugar-coated everything to be overly polite. He regards me for a moment and I act first in throwing my arms around his waist.

I see him take a glance at the Peacekeeper at the door, but then he wraps his bigger arms around my shoulders in a brotherly hug, "Do you have a plan? Don't go in there without a strategy."

I stiffen and I know he feels it, "It's a little too early for that, no?"

"No," his vocal chords vibrate the top of my head, "You need to avoid what you know and reveal what you don't. Don't be like the others and go around parading how good you are with tools, that's plain dumb; you're practically giving them your wild card. Keep it close to you, practice some stuff you don't know."

Eithne all but whacks him upside the back of his head, "Don't talk about weapons right now, she can worry about that stuff later."

Dagon and I let go of each other and I shake my head, "No, he's right. At some point I'm gonna have to..." I trail off and it breaks me heart to think about Barrick seeing me on the big screen, taking a life that was too young to die, "Use one."

Like a bucket of water was tossed on us, the mood of the room became grim. We were all thinking the same thing; if I wanted to come out alive, I would be a guaranteed murder coming back. I wouldn't be the same person as I was yesterday at school. I wouldn't be the same person as I was last week doing the books. 

"I don't have to," I mumble, an idea slowly coming to life inside of my head, "I could just hide like the ones from District 6 did."

Dagon shook his head, "No, they won't let you. Judging by how boring those games were, I've noticed that the Gamemakers keep pushing tributes towards each other when things get slow. They won't let you just hide anymore," he spits out, "They need the action."

"She can try," Marlee says weakly, knowing he was right. 

"What about maiming instead of..." Eithne also trails off but she catches herself, "I mean, you don't have to go all the way just to get some distance between you and someone else. A cut would do just fine," I can hear the tremble in her voice and I know she's working herself up again to cry. 

Dagon puts a hand on her shoulder and I wonder if I've always missed the way that he looks at her; the way it's softer and more comforting than anything I've ever seen. He catches me staring and clears his throat.

"They have lots of weapons available no matter what the arena looks like, and some of them are guaranteed like swords and throwing knives."

Marlee jumps in, "A sword is really close to the tools you guys use, right? I mean, swinging wise? A sickle or whatever is really just a curved sword, isn't it?"

I nod hesitantly, "A sword and some knives are probably the closest to what I know from working in the fields. Everything else like a bow or spear probably requires some actual skill. I just kinda hack away at stuff."

"All this stuff is in the Cornucopia," Dagon reminds, "Unless you get it from a sponsor, you'll have to go through the Darlings to get it and I don't think that's the best idea."

"The Darlings," Marlee repeats with a glare, "How I'm gonna love watching them go down this year."

"They practically fight each other for the chance to volunteer," Eithne says when she's calmer, "You know, and axe could be pretty useful too. You can be like Johanna Mason and just start using it as a close-range and long-rage weapons if you needed to."

We all knew of the Darlings, a nickname given by our district for the tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 who were trained from a young age to win the Hunger Games. No matter what, they all have an unmatched thirst for blood in the arena. Marlee used to swoon over them, even if they weren't that good-looking, but I doubt she'd be doing that this year.

"You could try to join the Darlings," Marlee suggested, "Make an alliance with them just to get some weapons and then after a few days pull a Ryland."

Dagon and I immediately shot her down, "I think because of Ryland, they'd be more suspicious of entering an alliance with anyone from District 9."

"Plus, no matter how much she proves herself, I think they'll all just stick to themselves anyway," Dagon adds, "There's no point in showing off for them."

A beat passes before he suddenly says, "You should probably try to gain some weight while you're over there in the training center or something."

All of us girls whip our heads to face him and he seems to understand what exactly his words could have meant, "Not that you're not healthy where you are right now, but being in the arena without some solid carbs and proteins in you will make you lose some energy without the extra calories your body is used to."

Eithne especially looked confused, "Excuse me?"

"Eating things like rice, grains, dairy, and nuts and some meat at every meal will help her get some good food and nutrition before going into the arena where food is scarce," he explains, before noticing the stares of disbelief, "What?"

Marlee gave an obnoxious punch to his shoulder, "When did you become a doctor?"

Eithne cooed over him and Dagon blushed as he mumbled, "Basic nutrition and human anatomy, nothing special."

"Thank for the intel," I told him, "So eat a lot of good nutritious food and cut back on any junk food they give me. Got it."

"Don't go for the Cornucopia, be smart," Dagon added. 

Commotion coming from outside of the room made the young Peacekeeper tilt his head as a signal for us to hurry up. We all share a brief group hug and I clutch each of them to me with today being the first time that we've ever hugged each other like this. Eithne bursts into tears when we let go and she leaves after saying good luck, nearly knocking over the Peacekeeper in her attempt to leave. I can't imagine what it would be like if someone I cared about, like Barrick or one of them, had gotten chosen; I'd be just like her. I watch her leave and my heart tugs at my chest with her last words. 

"I really underestimated how much of a best friend I considered you," I whispered to Marlee, "I never liked the fact that you enjoyed watching the games, but I think today has made me rethink a lot of things. I would be friends with you all over again and I really appreciate you coming to see me off."

She hesitates to reach into her pocket, but my words seem to push her off the edge as she breaks down, "You dropped this in middle school such a long time ago," she reveals a small gold band decorated with golden leaves that looks familiar, "I saw it fall off during our physical tests and instead of giving it back to you, I kept it. I'm so sorry, I was just jealous of you back then and then we became friends and I never got the chance to give it back to you with a proper apology because I was scared of what you would think of me."

I'm left there stunned with a ring in my palm as she runs out of the room following Eithne, shouting back one last apology before the door closes. I turn the ring over and see the engraved 'AS' of my initials inside of the band, remembering how excited I had been to receive a real gold ring from my Nana. I didn't even remember anything about the day I lost it except coming home and going to take it off to wash my hands just to find that it was absent from my finger. I had cried myself to sleep out of guilt for a solid week, even when my Nana said she would get me another one and deep down I knew we didn't have the money for another. I had forgotten about it now, nearly five years later, but to find out she had it left me dazed with emotions I didn't know how to process. 

"I knew she had it," my head snapped to face Dagon, "She always talked about how guilty she felt for keeping it, knowing it was important to you. I tried getting her to give it back when I found out, but she would start panicking and get anxious to the point of barely breathing. I don't know why she didn't just drop it off at your house or give it to you anonymously. She just always looked stressed when I mentioned it and I don't think Eithne knows either. Marlee's scared of being seen like a poor thief."

He sighs and also reaches into his pocket, but instead of an object belonging to me, he pulled out a six-faced dice and tossed it onto the nearby table. A large number 1 laid open to our eyes and as he rolled it again and again, each result gave way to the number 1. Dagon picks up the dice, holding it out to me and I take it curiously to examine its sides. Each number had been painted over with a large number 1 so every roll yielded the same thing. 

Dagon taps a pointer finger twice on his temple, a common gesture he made to Eithne and I whenever we were down about our grades. It was usually reserved for reminding us how smart we were, but now it held a more serious meaning; a warning. 

"A reminder," he whispered, still glancing over at the Peacekeeper like he did when he first walked in, "that the odds are never in our favor."

He moved to walk away but I caught the sleeves of his shirt and pulled him for one last hug, "Thank you for everything - the advice. I've been trying really hard not to think about the arena and I needed your realistic view of what I should expect," I pull away and I hold a finger to his chest, almost like I'm demanding him to take my next words to heart, "You tell Eithne how you feel now, alright? You two are perfect for each other."

I can tell that he's caught off guard by my words as his cheeks and ears grow slightly pink from embarrassment, but he collects himself quickly and says, "Good luck," quietly before finally walking out. 

And I'm left alone for the third time today. 

Chapter Text

Following another half-hour or so in solid confinement, the young Peacekeeper re-enters the room to escort me out of the Justice Building and into a car that was waiting outside. It was a sleek black limousine-like car, one I had never ridden before since my family only used heavy pick-up trucks or tractors that my father believed I wasn't only enough to drive yet. I guess I'll never have the chance to either. 

Graham Tillman is silent beside me, stiff even, and I wonder who visited him during our time spent apart. I wonder if his family closed up shop and sent their workers home so they could visit their son and tell them how much they love him. I wonder if he has any siblings who love him as much as Barrick loves me. 

I feel like I've been staring at him for too long and move to turn my head when he suddenly snaps his head to look at me and we lock eyes again. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is ruffled, and his cheeks are stained with dried tears. In short, he looks like an utter mess. 

I'm about to ask him what happened, just out of genuine concern, when he opens his mouth first, "How were the visits from your family...and friends?"

I'm taken aback by his question, and in all honesty, I don't want to answer him. Besides the information that Barrick told me - that Graham works as a cashier at his family liquor store and that his family also owns a distillery - I know nothing else of value about my fellow tribute. Nothing at all. 

"I should ask you the same," I deflected, clearly motioning my head towards his appearance, "The camera crew will have a field day when they see that you've been crying."

I know the last part of my words are harsh and I rightfully deserve the intense glare Graham shoots me before he turns back to look out of the car's windows, "Didn't think you would be one to judge."

"How would you know? We've just met," I snap back, also turning my head away from him to stare out of the window as the car pulled up to the station.

I might apologize to Graham later for my rudeness, since, as I pointed out earlier, we've just met and I have no particular reason to act so cold to him right off the bat. If we're too busy going at each other instead of using our time wisely to train and hone our skills for the arena, where will we be? If it's not going to be me, I hope somebody other than the Darlings will win this Hunger Games - maybe even Graham. 

The car parks and we are flanked by Peacekeepers again as we're led into the station, flashes of cameras going off in every direction with some specifically aimed at my face. A large television screen on the wall is currently airing Graham's tear-stained face and messy hair live and I almost want to laugh when he realizes that his face is being broadcasted while he's looking like a ticking time bomb. Once the two of us are brought up to the train's doorway, we're ordered to stand still for a few moments as I notice the cameras zoom in closer to capture everything about us; our faces, our bodies, and our expressions in an attempt to catch how we're taking the news of our reaping. 

The door suddenly jolts open behind me and a Peacekeeper motions for me and Graham to enter the train before he, too, comes in and closes the door behind us. I take a quick snapshot of my surroundings from the expensive-looking armchairs and tea tables to the trays and carts filled with food that I've never seen before. 

I study Graham for a moment next to me and I see that he's staring at the Peacekeeper who's taken off his helmet. I almost gasp when I see that it's the same young Peacekeeper who guarded my room in the Justice Building just minutes prior.

I get a good look of him in the light before Graham talks to the man through gritted teeth, "What are you doing here, Henry? I thought they couldn't station you in the district that you grew up in."

I pause, thinking this must be some kind of joke because there is no way that Graham personally knows this Peacekeeper who offered me kindness even though he didn't know me. Or at least, I thought he didn't know me.

The Peacekeeper, or Henry as Graham called him, snuck a brief glance at me before turning his eyes back to Graham, "I'm here to escort the District 9 tributes to the Capitol," he stops to survey the room for any listeners before he waves his hand, motioning for me and Graham to lean in as he whispers, "The Capitol is worried that the tributes might have a go at each other because of what Johanna Mason pulled last year."

I jerk back as I recall the fact that Johanna Mason had fooled the entire nation of Panem, including her own fellow tribute from District 7, by playing a weak naive girl who would be voted 'most likely to die in the bloodbath.' Her act was so good that it lasted until a couple of tributes were left and she turned into a vicious axe-wielding monster who slashed everyone in sight. Despite all of this, nothing had shocked the nation more than when she had killed the male tribute from her district while he lay there blissfully sleeping away on the ground, unaware that Johanna, with the grin of a madwoman, was right behind him until it was too late. 

Graham's eyes darted to me for a second and we locked eyes again before we both looked away at Henry as he continued, "President Snow just wants to make sure that the tributes aren't fighting when they shouldn't. The tributes from District 4 have already thrown a couple of punches at each other in their Justice Building back home and he was furious - sent more of us everywhere to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"I don't think you'll have a problem with us," I blurt out while eyeing Graham, "We've only had a few verbal disagreements so far."

Henry placed a hand on Graham's shoulder, before looking at me and back to Graham, "I doubt you'd win even if you threw the first punch, buddy."

I almost chuckled because he was right; I was shorter than Graham, sure, but what I lacked in height is what I made up in lean muscle from working in my family's business. 

Graham shoved Henry's hand off of his shoulder, "Haha," he said sarcastically, "Very funny."

Henry gave a toothy grin and ruffled up Graham's hair before putting his helmet on and walking out of the train car, leaving me and Graham by ourselves. We look at each other for a few moments, studying each other once more as we had done on stage and in the car. The only difference was that we were alone and able to talk without the pressure of cameras and people overhearing us. 

He was decently good-looking, I will admit that, but my observations are the same as they were earlier; everything about him is too average that I honestly don't know if it would be worth starting an alliance with him. It wasn't like being decently good-looking would help you in the games, not unless your face looked like one of the Greek gods themselves like Finnick Odair.

"You don't like me," Graham concludes before sitting down in an armchair near a window. He doesn't explain himself any further while I stand there, waiting for more to come out of his mouth. 

I'm too stunned to refute his claims even though he's partially right - I don't like certain aspects of him. I don't like that he acts like a know-it-all or that he's made us look weak by showing his tear-stained face at the station. Surely he must've deduced that the image of him crying on national television would signal to the other tributes that we're both weak and then what? We'll both be left without sponsors and people to create alliances with. Nobody wants to team up with a nobody. 

I join him in an adjacent armchair and I, too, stare out of the window as we had done in the car, but this time, we're not talking to each other. Not a single syllable comes out of our mouths as we just sit and watch the speed of the train amaze us since we've never come close to traveling at the 250-and-some miles per hour that the train is pushing. We're not even looking at each other either, both feeling that the other has something against us with either Graham thinking I don't like him and I feeling like Graham is making us look weak.  

I turn my thoughts away from Graham and the train, trying to think about everything that I know about the Capitol from school. It's located in the Rockies. It's more wealthier than any district by far. My mind draws a blank on any more facts because those two things pretty much summarize the Capitol from what I've learned. 

I don't particularly have a bad taste in my mouth when I think about the Capitol, after all, they buy my family's goods for a more-than-fair price that lets us afford our rather nice home in the rather nice section of District 9. Still, I can't help but think of the little boys and girls I saw at the square who could be in my position once they are old enough to have their names entered into the glass bowls. Afraid and angry, they'd be sitting here, sulking while hating the Captiol because their children are never reaped for the games, in fact, the Capitol children would never have to worry about the possibility that somebody they know or love will get reaped. They are beyond lucky without even realizing it. 

The car's door opens and the three victors from our district enter; the older male and female victors )that I don't remember the names of) and Ryland Makara who immediately takes the last armchair available next to Graham and I.

The woman outstretches her hand towards me with a weak smile, "Good afternoon, I'm sorry that this has happened to you."

I'm taken aback for a second by her kindness, similar to the reaction I had towards Henry in the Justice Building, before taking her hand and shaking it, "Thank you, I appreciate that."

I rack my mind to try to remember which games she had won, but if I can't remember her name, how am I supposed to remember which year she won? I can't ask her either since I feel as though the subject of the victors' past games are taboo. 

"Which year did you win the games?" Graham asks her bluntly, not even catching the incredulous look I gave him. 

Lightly shifting on her feet, Marian holds up a pointer finger in the air, "Rule Number One: Respect. You may not like us or what we have to tell you, but one thing we will require is respect, maybe even a small bit of trust as well, so we can help you get as far as you can this year. This rule applies to all of us - myself, Daniel, and Ryland."

The firm and serious attitude she had on was the one I was expecting at first, after all, she was an older lady. Her assurance of authority made me simply nod along with her words and I notice that Graham has sunk into his chair without his answer.

"My name is Daniel," the older male victor prompted, "Thanks to Ryland here," he pats Ryland's shoulders, "I will not be a mentor this year unless I am summoned by him and Marian. Usually, the newest female and male mentors take over the job so I will not be around to monitor your progress."

The new information that winning the games meant the Capitol would summon you every year to mentor the next pair of tributes that might not come back makes me curious about how good a Victor's life truly is if they have to relive their trauma every year. His expression shows no negative reaction, instead, a small smile works its way onto his face as if what Daniel had just said was an inside joke. 

"Nonetheless," Daniel pauses to examine Graham before taking me in as well, "May the odds be ever in your favor." He left without another word, silently leaving his legacy behind for Graham and I to digest while Marian pulled up a stool to sit where we were situated in front of the window.

"I would invite you both to freshen up in your rooms, but I want to get to business first," Marian said, her authoritative tone showing once more, "I need to know of any history that you both have with using tools, knives, or anything that could be considered a weapon. The more information that I can gather about what you have already used, the better advice I can give you on what to focus on at the training center."

"Training center?" I questioned, "I didn't know there was a dedicated space where tributes used weapons before the arena."

Ryland sat up in his seat to answer my question, "The training center," he repeated, craning his neck to look at Graham and I, "Will be your home for the next week and you'll live, train, and breathe it until Marian and I tell you to stop," his natural voice shifted to mimic Maude's Capitol accent, "It's behind President Snow's mansion so you'll have the best view of the Capitol."

Marian waved a hand, most likely to tell Ryland to stop messing around, before she repeated her question, "Again, I'm all ears and filled with advice to give. It's for your own benefit to tell me what skills or background you have with weapons."

"I've never held a weapon before, but I am a fast learner," Graham starts, "If you could suggest a weapon for me to learn during the days of training, I could probably pick it up fast with enough practice and dedication to it."

Ryland shakes his head, "No, no, no. There would be no point if the weapon we choose for you isn't available in the arena. What if we trained you with small knives and they only provide maces like they did a few years ago?"

Graham purses his lips, not wanting to speak anymore after Ryland's words.

I raised my hand as if I was in school answering a question, "I work on my family's farm and grain fields," I started, "I've handled sickles, scythes, axes, shovels, machetes, and a variety of knives while working."

Marian and Ryland both nod along as I talk and I can see that Marian's eyes have begun to sparkle when I list all of the 'weapons' that I've handled in the fields and farm. 

"I won my games using a pitchfork," Marian revealed, though her eyes briefly became vacant before she snapped herself out of her revere, "Farming tools are deadly when used correctly."

I glance at Graham from the corner of my eye to find him staring directly at me with a stone face like he's analyzing me all over again. I ignore him and put my attention back on Marian as she begins to talk again. 

"We can work with that," she says, getting up from her armchair, "Statistically, the Gamemakers have a higher chance of putting some sort of sword or knife collection in the Cornocopia than weapons needing a higher skill set like bows and axes."

"Either way," Ryland butted in, "If you aren't good with any weapon, you won't last long. Guaranteed. At the end of the day, you are one out of 24, and it is more likely that you will have to defend yourself at some point if you survive to become part of the final tributes left."

"What happens when you're part of the final tributes left? How is it any different than the rest of the games," Graham asked in an insolent tone, "I mean, you're still hunting each other down so you just have to outlive the others in a hiding spot or something."

I snickered at his stupidity and concluded three things about Graham that would give him a disadvantage in the games; his lack of experience with weapons, the obvious fact that he hadn't watched any recent Hunger Games (because if he did, he would know about the things the Gamemakers added to keep them interesting), and his arrogance.

Ryland visibly narrowed his eyes at Graham, jaw clenched to intimidate him, "It's not that easy, Tillman, if it were, you'd see more of us victors in this room with you," he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes boring into Graham's, "How do you suppose most of the Darlings get past the bloodbath, huh? Or how they share their food supply until they're the last ones left? Or how they choose which tributes to go after first?"

Marian shifted her imposing figure over Graham's armchair, "Alliances will make or break you. You are who you surround yourself with in the games - from who you spend time with in the training center to who you sit with during lunch hour will give others a chance to see what you value. Strength? Loyalty? Intelligence? Choose the wrong group and you will be a part of the first handful gone in the initial bloodbath for being stupid enough to believe you could go against the Darlings right off the bat," her body noticeably relaxed as did her gaze as she came to stand over me, "Or you can associate yourself with the right group and be part of the last handful left for being smart enough to surround yourself with others that equally hate the Darlings and will kill them for you before it's time for your chance to win."

"Those who go off by themselves rarely, if ever, win the games," Ryland explained, "They'll die of natural causes eventually or they'll be hunted down so the Darlings can go at it amongst each other."

I can see the gears in Graham's head coming to life as he realizes that both of our mentors, Marian and Ryland, already have a favorite out of the two of us - and it's not him. The way Marian described the fate of the tributes deemed 'weaker' by the others, the ones who are sought after first during the bloodbath just to dwindle down the numbers, must've finally lit something in his naive mind. 

"So I have to surround myself with the strongest people in the arena," Graham said seriously, "After we reach the final ten, what happens then?"

"You kill each other," I said bluntly, making all three heads spin to me as if they forgot I was in the room while they were interrogating Graham, "There's only one winner, after all."

One side of Ryland's mouth lifted as sort-of half-smile before he leaned back into his chair and cooled down, "Yeah, there is. When the final ten are in the arena, hell usually breaks loose since people will go for the strongest among the ten to even out the playin' field - if you know what I mean."

"I remember that," I whispered, thinking back to Ryland's games where he had killed the last two remaining tributes from the Darlings alliance before going after the weaker tributes out of the rest left.

"If you watched my games, you'll know that I went after the strongest tributes when we were down to the final five and I was seen as the top dog - it's a double-edged sword that usually never works because after the strongest falls, you become the strongest and then you become the next target."

"Constant vigilance will get you through the last part of the games," Marian advised, "Trust your alliance members in the beginning when it's safe, but never let your guard down unless you want them to have an easy kill when it's your turn to sleep later on."

I was about to ask questions about how we earn the trust of other tributes and why they were stressing the importance of alliances instead of weapons, but, unfortunately, Maude walks in and calls for us to go to our rooms and freshen up for supper.

Graham and I are dismissed by Marian and we part ways to go to our separate living quarters. I'm about to ask Maude which way my room is when I notice Graham is watching me again, not analyzing just staring until he realized that I caught him and swiftly turned around to continue onto his room. 

I can't shake the feeling that something is off about the way Graham stares at me because it's not like anything I've ever seen before; it's not curiosity, admiration, hate, fear, spite, and it's certainly not love. I almost think that he has a habit of spacing out and it just so happens that he's looking in my direction, but I know that's just an excuse because deep down, I don't want to know what he's thinking. 

What I do want to know is if he's a threat to me or not, and even though I know he has a greater disadvantage between the two of us right now, I'm still unsure if I can conclusively decide that he's to be written off. 

What's to say that he'll team up with the Darlings and go after me first for doubting his abilities? Or that he'll pair up with me with the hopes of me letting my guard down so he can get to me first? Or that he'll become a Capitol favorite with his charming persona that can vanish in a heartbeat and he'll be sent dozens of weapons and supplies while the rest of us, me included, are left defenseless and staring?

I fumble into my room, the door's plaque reading my name being the only indication that it was the correct room, and I flop onto the bed, embracing its silky sheets and memory foam-like comfort as I hear the rattling of something dropping onto the floor. I slowly drag myself off of the bed and onto my knees to look for the object, even checking under the bed, before I see it just a few feet in front of the door; it was the die given to me by Dagon just a few hours prior. 

I scramble forward, paranoid that somebody will burst into the room and take it before I can, and quickly pluck the die from the floor, examining the paint for any chips from its fall only to see that it looks the same as when I received it. I let out a sigh of relief and fixate my eyes onto the die, not believing that it had only been a few hours since Dagon and the others had come to see me in the Justice Building. 

The last full sentence Dagon said haunts me, even after I've already stepped out of my room for supper and returned after Marian and Ryland seemed to chew the will to live out of Graham following every sentence out of his ignorant mouth. 

"A reminder," Dagon had said, "That the odds are never in our favor."

What an odd way to bid a friend good luck in a death game that you won't be taking part in. There is no need for an 'our' in his sentence, but a 'you', as in me. That the odds are never in your favor, referring to my luck in being reaped for the games. 

I don't have the ability to stay awake long enough to piece apart his sentence before I'm slipping under the covers of the bed, dressed in silk pajamas that were most likely made in District 1 using material harvested from District 8, and off to sleep. 

Chapter Text

I'm awoken by Maude's makeup-caked face in my field of vision as she abruptly turns on the lights of my room. I mean to scowl at her, but my eyes go blind as they try to adjust to the sudden light source. 

"Up, up, up! Today is the day where we meet your stylist!" she exclaims while waving her hands, coming back towards the bed to examine my face, "I just know that she'll make you look absolutely stunning later!"

"Could you please lock the door behind you?" I asked with a hoarse voice, wanting nothing more than for her to get out of my sight before I strangled her for waking me up. 

Maude seems displeased at my sluggishness as she purses her lips, "I see someone's not a morning person-"

"I see that someone's not a room reader," I say before I can stop myself. 

I almost curse at the fact that I had been trying so hard to look like a 'little Miss Charming' in Maude's eyes since the reaping and now I've blown my persona.  I realize that the sickly sweet and charismatic attitude I put on for her and the other victors is because I don't want them to get too close to me. I don't want them to know that I'm usually very blunt and distastefully witty enough to make a sailor cry from a good back-and-forth bickering. 

Movement from outside my room's door, which Maude didn't think to close when she came, reveals Graham's smug face that is unfortunately awake and freshened up for the day. 

He grins at my sleepy state, yelling "I think the raccoons would like their eye bags back," as he passes the doorway and heads towards the main dining cart for breakfast. 

His childish insult immediately sobers me up and I yell after him, "I think the stores in the Capitol will need a till man, Tillman!"

Maude wants to chastise me, that much I can tell by small 'tsk' noises she makes, but she simply orders me to get dressed before walking out of the room and closing the door. 

The drawers and closet are filled to the brim with expensive-looking trousers, skirts, blouses, dresses, and everything in between from ties to stockings as well. I can hear Maude's voice urging me to pick something fashionable enough for our arrival at the Capitol, so while I ignore the wild dresses, I do try to pick something that doesn't look like an eye-sore. 

I settle for a plain black t-shirt, a pair of overalls, and black work boots that I'm surprised are even an option in such a 'luxurious' closet. Nonetheless, the outfit reminds me of home and working the fields so I put it on and stride to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I notice that my hair is still in the fancy updo my mother put it in so I undo it, wash my hair, and pin it up in a regular old bun that I would be wearing if I were outside harvesting the fields. 

I stare at myself in the mirror and am taken back by how normal I look. How unaffected my body looks by my circumstances compared to my mind that is racing and reeling from yesterday's events. 

I wonder if my parents and grandmother are eating breakfast too or if they've even tried to get out of bed this morning knowing they'll see me in the tribute parade later with my potential murderers. I wonder if Barrick cried himself to sleep last night or if he's drowning himself in work, harvesting the fields so that he doesn't have to look at the TV at home and watch as I parade around the Capitol before my death sentence. 

A loud bang from the direction of the dining cart brings my thoughts back away from my family and I run towards the noise, half-hoping that Graham somehow managed to trip and fall on the flat floors of the train. 

"- I thought we told you to not ask about our Games," Ryland fumes, his body looming over Graham who is on the floor with his palms up to deflect any possible hits coming his way. 

He's stumbling over his words, clearly afraid of the man above him as he sputters, "I-I know, bu-but you have to gi-give me some advice or something. You ca-can't j-just throw us into the a-arena without - "

Marian hushed the two and motioned with a flick of her wrist for Graham to get up from the floor, "Asking how it feels to kill the last tribute before being crowned a victor is not the sort of...advice you need before going into the arena," she said sternly before realizing that I was watching from the doorframe, "Good morning, Annona - didn't see you there."

Her acknowledgement of my presence makes Ryland's head pop up and face me instead of Graham as he gives me a small frown, "Mornin'. You don't have any dumb questions like your pal here, do ya?"

I shake my head and take a seat next to Marian since she's the least angry in the room, "No, but I do have one whenever you're ready."

Chairs rustle as Ryland and Graham situate themselves  at the table again, though I note that Graham is leaning away from the victors and hunching over his food like a sulking sack of wheat.

Ryland picks up a butter knife and waves it around, "Might as well go ahead since milli-Graham here already started the press conference," he said while rolling his eyes until he noticed my hesitance and dropped the attitude, softening his tone, "Give me your question, Annona."

I'm served a big plate of eggs, sausage, potatoes, bacon, sides bowls of grits and oatmeal, and three cups of brown liquids that catch me off guard before I speak. The liquids are all different shades of brown that I can't understand whether they're all the same liquid diluted or different liquids. 

He must've seen my confusion as Graham points towards the cups of liquid, "The reddish-brown liquid on your left is called tea, the middle one is black coffee, and this one on your right," he holds up his cup of the same liquid, "Is hot chocolate."

"You've never had tea, coffee, or hot chocolate? Your family is close to being the wealthiest one in the district," Ryland says accusingly. 

"Well," I shrink back in embarrassment, "Our mother does all of the food ordering and she's never ordered these liquids before. Maybe they're extra expensive or something," I reason.

Graham snorts, "Even my family can afford tea and we're in the merchant class. Your boyfriend, the one that came to visit you in the Justice Building, has a little sister in my grade and she said that they have tea for the holidays."

"Dagon?" I ask, "No, that can't be true. He's..." I trail off because I don't want to out Dagon as someone who hates the Capitol. For all I know, Ryland and Marian could give word to the Peacekeepers back in District 9 and have him arrested for treason. They might even turn him into an Avox that hauls grain carts like those that go around the merchant and farming sections. 

"He's what?" Graham prompted, but I see a small smirk and I know he's just playing with me. 

I put on a nice charming smile and say, "He's poor. His entire family works on my family's farm and fields - he doesn't even have a sister."

Graham's face turns into an unreadable expression as he gulps down some more hot chocolate from his mug, "How silly of me. I was talking about Wesley."

The room falls silent and before I know it, a spoon has found its way into my hand and I'm launching myself across the table to reach his stupid face. I want more than anything to carve out his eyes so his face is unrecognizable, but I'm pulled off and thrown onto the floor by Henry the Peacekeeper whose yelling at the two of us to stop while we're ahead. 

He knows better - Graham. He knows that Wesley, Dagon's older brother, had been reaped for the Games a few years back when Annie Cresta won that year, and decided to drown himself when the dam broke instead of swimming for safety. Dagon was crushed, and so was the rest of his family, because everybody close to Wesley knew that he was an avid swimmer who liked to practice different strokes in the lakes in the northern part of District 9. Everybody close to Wesley could see the exact time that he decided to stop swimming and let the water take him over as the canon rang out loud and clear enough to signal his death. 

How dare he disrespect a fallen tribute of District 9, much less the brother of my best friend?

Henry huffs as he restrains me with a pair of Capitol-grade handcuffs, "I thought you said I wouldn't have a problem with you two, huh?" I stop struggling in his grip and he turns his anger towards Graham, "And you - are you out of your fuckin' mind? You are the last person the Capitol needs to hear about getting into a fight. Being my brother won't make them go any easier on you, if anything, they'll punish you in the Games so that I can watch from the sidelines." 

I freeze and see that both Marian and Ryland have gone stiff too because while everybody can see that Henry the Peacekeeper and Graham know each other, nobody expects the revelation that they're related. 

Henry seems to realize what he said and also freezes while Graham looks angry, his jaw clenching and eyes glaring into his brother, "We agreed to keep that a secret - "

"And I thought we agreed that you wouldn't draw attention to yourself," Henry snaps back as he shuffles me back into my seat and removes the handcuffs before he motions towards me, "Saying stuff like that is gonna get you killed if you set off the wrong person. Mark. My. Words."

Henry goes to pick up the spoon I used from the floor before leaving the cart, spoon in hand, ordering the other Peacekeeper by the door to keep an eye out for any more fights and to call him if any do break out. 

I stare at my lap, hands itching to grab the fork that sits in front of me, but my experience with the spoon already tells me that the Peacekeeper would stop me before I could even get to Graham with it. 

I raise my head to eat my breakfast and see that Ryland and Marian are steaming with fury, both of them glaring daggers at Graham as I realize that they must've mentored Wesley if he was reaped during the 70th edition of the Games. 

"We are going to watch the reapings of the other districts before we arrive at the Capitol," Marian starts through clenched teeth, "Once we've arrived, you'll be taken by your stylist's assistants and groomed for the tribute parade - do not, under any circumstances, question the outfits you are given, just make the process easier and wear them."

Ryland finishes off her to-do list, "After the parade, we'll escort you to the Training Center and the floor you will be living in for the next three days until your time in the arena comes. Usually, Marian and I have already done physical exams on you by now but since we were...sidetracked today, we're going to make up a nutrition plan with a list of the stations that we believe will be beneficial to learn during your time at the Training Center by tomorrow for you to reference if you would like."

"I like to examine the tributes and make custom nutrition and exercise plans for them to follow, but many of them ignore the plan and gorge themselves while they are here," Marian explains, "The last tribute who followed my plan to a 'T' became a Victor," she motions with her head towards Ryland, "So I hope the two of you have the common sense to use them."

We finished our breakfast in silence with both Marian and Ryland too pissed off with Graham to begin a conversation and judging by Graham's face, it seems that he's figured out that messing around with me about Wesley wasn't the smartest idea that he's had so far. Not that he's had many to start off with, anyway. 

Eventually, all good things must come to an end and before we know it, Graham and I are led into a cinema-like cart that is equipped with a large screen that covers an entire wall and five leather armchairs that I assume were for me, Graham, Marian, Ryland, and Daniel, the other male victor from yesterday.

As soon as I sat down on the right-most armchair, Graham was right beside me until Ryland shook his head and pointed at him, "Uh-uh, no. You - that chair," he directed Graham to the left-most armchair away from me, "I wanna make sure that we can deliver the two of you in one piece."

"You'll have plenty of time in the arena to use weapons - " Marian began as she sat next to Graham's armchair, leaving an empty armchair beside Ryland, though she was interrupted by Graham.

"Or spoons - "

I glared at him over Ryland and Marian's shoulders, "Too bad you can't use a big brother in the arena."

That shut him up quickly and he promptly turned around to face the giant screen in front of us with his jaw visibly clenched and eyes narrowing in anger. Ryland struggles to hide a smile from beside me, giving me a brief nod of his head with a thumbs-up before he uses the remote on the table in front of us to kickstart the video. 

Immediately, I notice that the atmosphere during District 1's reaping is exactly what I expected; festive and arrogant as if the reaping is a rite of passage that they know they'll be able to get through. Like District 9, the girl is reaped first and she's a pretty blonde thing that makes the hair on my neck stand up because I know that she'll be lethal. The boy who volunteers alongside her is equally intimidating with his large build that has a decent amount of muscle peeking through his button-up shirt.

"Wow," I muttered quietly, "He's terrifying."

Ryland's head snaps in my direction and he gives me a weird face, "Yeah," he draws out while turning back to the screen, "The Darlings from 1, 2, and 4 will do that to you."

"Don't let that discourage you," Marian says with phony optimism, "Our last winner was only seven years ago!"

I hear Graham scoff from beside her and I almost want to do the same when District 2's pair are suddenly on the screen. 

The boy is bigger than the one from District 1 and I almost feel sorry for any 12-year-old tributes this year who must be peeing their pants at the thought of seeing him in the Games. Of course, I catch his name and it's Victor. The girl is tall, almost as tall as Victor is, but she's not as intimidating to me as the girl from District 1 is. 

"I wouldn't even try to make buddy-buddy with those four," Ryland advises, "Their mentors, from what I guess, will probably tell these kids to stick with the other Darlings. Judging by the amount of muscle on the two beef boys," he pointed towards Victor on screen, "They probably won't even need any more manpower so don't waste your time on them."

I nod and sneak a peek at Graham only to see that his eyes are fixated on the District 2 pair while they shook hands as if he admired them. I look away and ignore the strange feeling that comes with the thought of Graham wanting to team up with these people. If he does, I imagine he'll go after me first.

The pair from District 3 are nothing special, in fact, the girl is so skinny that I can guess she has little to no experience with weapons which calms me as I note that most of the tributes, besides the Darlings, myself, and probably Districts 7 and 10, most likely don't have any experience with any sort of sharp blade. Lucky me. 

"Here are the other two boxers," Ryland jokes before Marian scolds him lightheartedly, "I mean - the District 4 tributes."

I'm immediately enamored by the boy tribute because he's everything that I wished Graham was; lean, with the right amount of muscle, and tall. He's just so slightly above average without actually hitting 'above average' like Victor and the boy from District 1 that the two of us could probably go far in the Games if we partnered up. 

Graham's comment takes me out of my thoughts, "Too bad he's a Darling."

My heart sinks and I realize that yes, he is in fact a Darling because District 4 usually does join an alliance with District 1 and 2. 

"He's a good choice though," Marian admits, surprising all of us enough to look at her, "He's got muscle, charm, and he doesn't look as aggressive as the other boys from earlier."

Ryland agrees with her before talking about the girl, "She is definitely a Johanna kind of girl," he says, "She'll be hacking people down for sure - look at the glare she's sending the boy tribute."

I see that he's right. The girl and boy from District 4 are obvious about the fact that they know each other, not even trying to hide their clear distaste for each other, but unfortunately for them, they'll be stuck together until we're all sent up into the arena.

"How do you form alliances?" I ask out loud, wanting to know how I can get this boy tribute from District 4 to team up with me.

Ryland shakes his head, "I wouldn't worry about the specifics, but I would keep in mind which tributes you want as we skip through these reapings," he says, "Most alliances happen in the Games or during the short time you guys have when lunchtime comes with the other tributes in the Training Center."

"Often," Marian starts, "Tributes will size each other up during the carriage ride we'll be doing later and during the few days in the Training Center to see who's most useful for them."

"It's not about compatibility?" I ask, "Wouldn't you want an ally who can match your potential?"

Ryland thinks for a moment before offering me a scenario, "Well at some point, alliances kind of... die off, ya know. Would you rather be stuck with someone you have to go back-and-forth all day to win against or someone you can get rid of quickly?"

When he puts it like that, I suppose I should team up with someone like the girl from District 3 who is physically smaller and more inexperienced than I am, but I know the weaker ones can overcome the strong. Ryland did it just a few years prior. 

I don't verbally answer him, but I know he gets that I understand what he's saying about choosing allies as the next couple of tributes pass by. None of them stand out to me like the boy from District 4 until I see myself being reaped. 

You can't miss the way I stiffen when my name is called since the cameraman who filmed the reaping is already in a position to capture my reaction. You can see how I look down at my hands before waddling through the square to the stage with rigid robotic-like movements. Surprisingly enough, the way I hold my head high seems to look good for me, making me look like a girl who was determined to win the games despite the fact that I was trying to mimic Ryland's confidence when I did it. You can hear Maude complimenting my beauty which makes me blush a little now as I watch with other people, but the look on my face as I answer her 'how do you do' leaves me breathless because I look more stunning and charming than the blond beauty from District 1. 

"Great job answering that," Marian compliments, "Maude is never going to learn how to read the mood of the crowd. Those people didn't bother to applaud when she told them to and she still kept going with a festive tone. Honestly..."

Ryland grins as he knows that Marian rarely loses her calm demeanor, "Well now the Capitol's gonna love her, Marian. We just need to sell the story of the charming beauty from District 9 who's not afraid to get her hands a little dirty."

Marian nods along excitedly, forgetting about her complaints from a few seconds prior, "I love it, I love it. We can establish sponsors with that sort of persona," she says to me. 

I give them both an awkward nod because I can't match their excitement for my marketing strategy. I know I get a little bit harsh when I get angry, and maybe I'm a little hot-headed sometimes, but I don't know how I'll be able to keep up the confidence I mimed from Ryland or the charming aspect of my personality for longer than five minutes. As soon as I get what I want from the people I need, my princess-like smile immediately vanishes and I become a blank slate again. 

We skip past more tributes from Districts 10 and 11, the only memorable one was the boy from District 10 who was built like a younger version of the other 'beef boys,' as Ryland had called them. Both of the tributes from District 11 are younger than I am, I can tell by their fuller cheeks and smaller statures, and it makes me feel terrible for their rotten luck this year.

"Haymitch should take a bath before these things," Ryland muttered under his breath.

Marian let out a small chuckle but I was left confused until she elaborated, "The victor from District 12 - Haymitch Abernathy - uses unconventional methods to deal with his distress from the Games," she says.

"Not as unconventional as the two from District 6," Ryland butts in before he leans close to me, "If you win, try not to drown yourself in Morphling or liquor - you'll just suffer more as you grow older."

I'm about to ask what exactly Morphling is but the boy from District 12 is being reaped and his name makes me want to look at the face attached to it, "Grimm Sharp."

The camera footage cuts to the boy's face, which obviously shows that he is younger than Barrick but not as young as the kids from District 11. He's taken aback by his name being called like I was, except you see no confidence in his stride nor any emotion on his face. In fact, the most interesting thing about him is the little girl that you can hear yelling his name from the sidelines. You can see Grimm trying not to react to her voice, but the camerawork makes it impossible not to notice how he swallows up his tears and continues to walk towards the stage. 

Almost like the feeling I had with the District 4 boy, I'm overcome with delight and I know that I want him as an ally, too. He might not be as muscular as the other boys, but he definitely has the heart to make the audience fall in love with him. 

"Sympathy," Ryland starts, "If you get the crowd's sympathy early on, you'll be on their radar to sponsor later when they review your clips and are approached by your mentor."

I listen to his advice seriously, filing it in the back of my mind as Marian jumps up from her seat after looking at her wristwatch.

"It's time to go back to the living room compartment," she orders, "Once we come out of the tunnel in just a few moments, we will officially be in the Capitol and I strongly advise the both of you to continue playing the charming and friendly duo from District 9 until I see fit."

She mumbles the last part, but I know both Graham and I still hear it when she says, "Or at least until they find out that you two loathe each other."

He and I take peeks at each other before exchanging fake grins and smiles to get us ready for the Capitol citizens who will, no doubt, go crazy at the mere sight of us coming out of the train. 

Once the train finally begins to slow down minutes later when we're in front of the door that leads to the train's platform, Graham surprises me when he takes my hand in his and says, "Let's make them remember us; the Darlings from District 9."

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry about that," a woman's voice apologizes from behind me, "I know the entire process of showering, waxing, tweezing, and such is too much for you tributes' bodies to handle sometimes. I even told my team to..."

I've just finished coming out of the prep team's care, stark naked on a metal autopsy-like table before the woman walks in and starts talking. I tune her voice out the minute she says "you tributes" because it feels likes she's trying to make sure that she  and I are from two different worlds that couldn't possibly collide unless I was a tribute and her, my stylist. 

She looks like every other Capitol citizen you'll see on television; flamboyant makeup, clothes, and even her skin color is dramatic with its unnatural pink tone. Her eyelashes must be at least a foot long off of her eyes and the other makeup she wears is an unflattering blue that contrasts her skin tone. The clothes she wears are minimal; a thin blue-and-black zebra printed fabric covering her chest, a matching blue-and-black mini-skirt that hangs just under her buttocks, and red heels that match the oversized wig on her head. In short, she looks utterly ridiculous. 

" - But of course, you tributes always love being dressed up and admired, even if it's only for a few days, right?" she finishes as I sit up from the table, covering up the parts of myself that I don't want her to see. 

"What will you be dressing me in?" I ask kindly, trying to erase all signs of displeasure from my voice, "I'm curious to see your work."

She smiles excitedly, "Well, this is only my third year as a stylist, but my past tributes have never been disappointed in me," she pauses to hand me a silk pink robe, "Follow me."

The woman doesn't bother to wait for me to put on the robe before she walks away into a seating area that has velvet couches and a mannequin wearing, what I presume to be, my chariot outfit. 

"What was your name again?" 

I don't know why, but my stylist makes me want to smack the stupid smile off of her face. Maybe the Capitol has already gotten what they've wanted from me at this point; paranoia on the train and anger in the city. Looks like I'm already prepared for the arena. 

I suppress the urge to hit her though, plopping another charming little smile on my lips, "Annona Springwater. District 9."

"Concordia," she responds, adding, "Capitol," in a high-pitched voice to come off as a joke. 

I almost scoff and she gratefully turns her body away from me, walking towards the mannequin to explain my outfit on it. As I stare at it, I realize that my stylist isn't entirely incompetent since the outfit is actually not as revealing or ugly as I thought it would be. A gold chain necklace that lies on the mannequin reminds me of wheat grains linked together and I'm impressed that she managed to find jewelry that makes them look realistic. The top is a gold off-the-shoulder garment with a sweetheart neckline and made out of some material that I don't recognize. It ends just at the waist of the mannequin and I notice that when light hits the fabric, the top's material shimmers like the sun hitting the wheat fields during the summer. The bottom, a skirt that starts at the mannequin's hips and ends at the top of its calves, is made out of wheat stems that are layered to ensure none of the upper legs are able to be seen. I love it.

"I think this is our best piece yet - me and Janus. He's the male stylist for District 9. Handmade matching grain necklaces for you and the boy tribute," she says, pointing to the gold necklace on the mannequin, "He designed them, sourced the metal, cut it, and everything."

"They turned out beautifully," I say before I can stop myself, "My family owns wheat fields and a farm back in District 9. I work there almost all of the time."

Concordia listens intently before reaching to unzip the back of the top, "Well, let's try on the entire outfit and see how it fits? I can make any alterations necessary, but your reaping video gave me a good sense of your size based on the number of angles there were."

Almost a half-hour passes before I'm standing in front of an ornately decorated mirror, staring back at myself and half-loathing, half-loving what I'm seeing. I have to remind myself that the Annona that I see in the mirror is not me, but the me that the Capitol and the entire nation of Panem will get to view and criticize until my certain death.

Surprisingly, the skirt isn't as itchy as I thought it would be, with the layers of real wheat stems, so the outfit is perfect. I'm almost glad that all of the work done in the fields has given me a toned body to show off as the top doesn't fully cover my midriff. I don't have a choice in my top and I'm not too ashamed of my appearance, so I don't bother telling Concordia that I dislike that part of the outfit. 

"Sit down on the couch over there," Concordia points to one of her luxury red velvet couches, "I'll have food prepared."

I almost think that she's about to cook or even call for a servant instead, but she walks over to the seating area and presses a button on the side of the table in the middle. The tabletop splits and from below rises a second tabletop that holds the food she promised. There is a pot of vegetable beef soup in the middle surrounded by small side dishes of steamed broccoli, dinner rolls, brown rice with peas, and seasoned zucchini and squash. The only unhealthy food is what looks to be the dessert; a plate full of chocolate-covered strawberries. 

Dagon's voice rings in my mind for the second time since I've left District 9, "But don't pig out and only eat junk food like desserts, eat things like rice, grains, dairy, and nuts."

As I eat, I think about how expensive it must've been for the Capitol to arrange this meal for every tribute before realizing that they must have an abundance of wealth to spend. The chocolate alone in District 9 would have taken my mother a decent amount of budgeting to buy. Even if we managed to get it, our mother would have never wasted a fruit like strawberries on it either. She would have rationed the chocolate between every member of our family and refused to give you more if you ran out. 

"Very nutritious food," Concordia states as she puts down her napkin lightly on her plate, "I adored the vegetable beef soup, I might ask to have it again next year!"

I might not even be here next year. I wonder how Concordia and the other stylists feel when their tributes die because I don't feel the same connection with her as I feel with Marian and Ryland. Maybe it's the Victor aspect of being a mentor compared to the stylist aspect of making you look good for sponsors. 

Once I'm done eating, Concordia applies a small bit of makeup to my face to 'Cover up the imperfections' as she had bluntly answered when I asked what it was. I had never worn makeup before back home, but Marlee often asked to do it for me. Now I wished that I had let her. Even once. 

Concordia escorts me to the bottom level of the Remake Center, a gigantic stable housing at least two dozen horses for the chariot parade. I'm the first tribute there, besides the pairs from the Darling districts (1, 2, and 4) and out of me and Graham, so I pet the horses, familiar with them since my family had two for fieldwork. I admire their beautiful gold coat that separates District 9 from the others horses like the snowy-white ones for District 1 or the coal-black ones for District 12 who are not yet here. 

"You want some?" 

I turn around and see the District 4 tribute, the one I had been enamored with since his reaping, standing behind me, holding out sugar cubes in an outstretched hand. 

"Thank you," I half-whisper out of nervousness, taking one to feed the horse. 

I can feel his eyes on me and for some unknown reason, I'm blushing about it. 

"I heard about what happened on the train," he says, "I guess you and I aren't the biggest fans of our fellow tributes, huh?"

"At least we managed to reach the train," I say, not entirely at ease with his carefree demeanor since I'm slightly worried that he's just putting on a facade to charm me, "I heard that you two threw punches in your Justice Building."

He laughs, and to my dismay, my heart melts even more at its sound, "I dodged the first punch aiming for my eye, but I caught the second blow to my stomach instead. My stylist had a fit over the bruise that came from it - messed up her plans to have me shirtless."

I blush again while we make more jokes about our stylists and their lack of empathy for us tributes. Apparently, even his stylist uses the words 'you tributes' when referring to him like Concordia does with me. I don't mind his company, but I'm not entirely sure that he's not using a fake persona or charming words to get on my good side.

His eyes wander behind me and he nods his head at the person there, "Hi there."

It's Graham, I can tell by his voice as he says, "Nice outfit," in his fake kind voice. 

The District 4 boy grins, "I know. Would've worn something more like yours if given the chance though."

I turn around, finally eyeing Graham's outfit, and almost turn back to face the other boy. Graham's outfit is very revealing compared to mine. His entire upper body is showcased with the exception of two gold bands around his arms, the material looking like it matches what my top is made out of, and a gold chain necklace that matches the one I have on. 

Graham gives the District 4 boy a brief sarcastic smile before turning his face into stone as he talks to me, "Janus and Concordia want us behind the chariot to talk."

 I'm about to give the other boy a goodbye wave when he says, "I'll see you later, my goddess," followed by a funny looking curtsy as he leaves. 

I'm left to look after him in shock and amusement while Graham walks back to our stylists. I follow him once I regain my composure because the last thing I need is for Concordia or Graham to tease me about the District 4 boy.

The stylists direct us to get on the chariots, warning us to not push each other off as a joke, but I know both Graham and I were considering it. They give us a few more words of 'wisdom,' basically giving us the rundown of what we'll be doing; riding the chariot for about 20 minutes with a live Capitol audience watching, ending the parade at City Circle, listening to the Panem anthem, and afterward, escorted to our floor on the Training Center where Marian and Ryland are. 

"Hold your head high like in your reaping," Concordia says last-minute, "We loved your confidence!"

If only she knew how fake that confidence was and how hard I was trying not to cry when my name was called. 

"Graham!" Janus reminds, "When you're out there, I don't want you to be shy. I want you to be a peacock! Channel your inner Ryland! Or your inner Annona! Look fierce and desirable!"

I snicker at the cringe on Graham's face because the both of us know that the other tributes nearby can hear Janus telling him what to do. 

Once the tributes from District 8 are a few feet away from the massive doors of the stable, our horses begin to walk out and enter our chariot into the city. I'm on the right side of the chariot and as Graham holds up his left arm to wave to the audience, I do the same with my right. My head is held high with a pretty smile that makes a few Capitol citizens go wild before their attention turns to the other chariots behind us. 

The pounding of the drums fills my ears and I can feel myself relax and become less stiff until I feel Graham tuck his other hand that isn't waving into my free hand. I'm grateful that our hands are covered by the part of the chariot that hides the lower half of our bodies. I give him a brief glance, choosing not to make a scene or change the way my face looks because I know there must be dozens of cameras trained on us throughout the city. 

"It's too loud," Graham half-yells over the music, "I think I'm not used to being overstimulated by the lights and noise."

Comfort. It's comfort that Graham seeks in me at this moment and I decide to let him have it. Maybe I know I need it too because I give his hand a small squeeze like he had done earlier when we left the train. 

We don't say anything more, nor do we look at each other again as our chariot and horses continue their way to the City Circle. We finally reach President Snow's mansion, basically the capital of the Capitol, and file in next to the other chariots in its surrounding loop. 

President Snow gives a brief, albeit boring, speech that I tune out. As he talks, I instead watch the screens and notice that the Darlings, as usual, take up most of the airtime during the traditional cutaway to the faces of the tributes. The two 'beef boys' from Districts 1 and 2 still look as intimidating as they did during the reapings, even if they are dressed up in ridiculously funny outfits for the parade. Their girl counterparts look equally antagonistic next to them, even the girl from District 4 joins them in their aggressive-like pack and I think back to when Ryland had described her as a 'Johanna Mason type.' The District 4 boy's face is then shown next and once again, I'm taken by his features and friendly smile that makes him ten times more approachable than the other Darlings. 

The national anthem begins and complete silence overtakes the entire city until it ends, allowing our chariots to circle one last time around President Snow's mansion and disappear into the Training Center. It's at this time, that Graham finally lets go of my hand without a word. 

I massage my hand, shooting him an unfair glare for making my hands stiff, but he either doesn't see it or ignores it. Graham is approached first by our stylists and prep teams as they offer him a blanket to cover the upper half of his body. Surprisingly, it's exactly how I would have pictured it - average. 

"Your toned abdomen made your chariot look like it was holding Athena herself!" Concordia yells excitedly, pointing to my stomach before she seems to realize something and quiets down, "There's a tribute named Athena this year - almost forgot."

The prep team and Janus laugh at her personality while Graham and I stand there, waiting and hoping that Marian and Ryland would come down to get us away from these people. 

"Thanks," Graham whispers, referring to our hand-holding on the chariot, but he looks around to make sure nobody hears him say it. 

I look at him and lean into him for an uncharacteristic hug that he doesn't turn away from, but I feel his discomfort through the awkwardly placed arms around my bare waist, "No problem, I kinda needed that too. I kind of forget that you're Barrick's age and I would hope that somebody would do it for him if he needed it."

We pull away quickly after my words, both of us suddenly feeling the embarrassment of our hug now and though I don't want to admit it, the hug gave me some warmth from the cold night air entering my body. 

"You really love him don't you?"

I catch sight of the District 4 male running after his female counterpart as he shouts and makes funny faces at her. I watch as he goes through the doors of the Training Center and is immediately smacked up his head by the girl tribute before they walk deeper into the entryway together. Their dynamic is funny, I think. They obviously have different personalities and a bad history together from back home. Maybe she's an ex-girlfriend or something.   

"Barrick?" Graham says, redirecting my focus, "You really love him."

I nod, "I do. He's my baby brother and he's probably the one person I care for the most. When I die, I don't want it to be broadcast or violent, but I know it will be anyway. Maybe I'll poison myself if there's a stalemate or if I have to fight someone to win."

"Don't do that," Graham says angrily, "Don't die just because you don't want to confront other tributes. Who knows? What if you win?"

"And what if I lose?" I challenge, following after the stylists who have motioned for us to walk into the Training Center. 

"Then you won't have to worry about the cameras," Graham mocks.  

I roll my eyes, "Gee, thanks a lot." 

Graham laughs for probably the first time since we've met, but it doesn't melt my heart like the boy from District 4, "Stop worrying about the Games. We still have three days for you to freak out about them."

All I say is, "I guess," before we enter the Training Center. 

Chapter Text

Until yesterday, I had never ridden an elevator before. When I was ordered by Peacekeepers to get into a metal box which then closed after I went in, I was scared for my life. Imagine my surprise when just a few seconds later, I felt the box move up - I had nearly cried out of confusion. I didn't dare to, though, not with the Peacekeepers in the elevator with me. 

When the stylists led us to the elevator in the Training Center, its walls made out of crystal so you could see your surroundings and the people below you, I was less than amused. 

"Oh, wow," Graham exclaims as our stylists enter behind him, "This is...terrifying. Can you imagine riding this glass box with a fear of heights?"

"Yeah," I agreed with a shaky voice, nearly jumping out of my skin with the doors closed and the elevator started to go up higher and higher, "Imagine that."

Graham seemed to get a kick out of me shaking in the elevator, even asking the stylists if we could ride the elevator down and back up again, which they almost agreed to if it weren't for Maude waiting outside of the elevator for us on the ninth floor. 

"My Darlings!" She greets, hugging us to her body, "You looked radiant in the parade! Absolutely radiant! Ha, ha!"

Graham and I gave each other brief glances when she let us go, but she seemed to miss them and continued on with her praise, " - The clothes were sparkling under the lights and your smiles, oh! So beautiful!"

Maude then turned her attention to the stylists, praising them instead as the three adults led the way through the ninth floor. Graham and I were silent, not having anything to say to each other as we took in our District 9 floor. 

Besides the click-clacking of Maude and the stylists' heels - Graham and I were both barefoot as part of our chariot costumes - the floor was completely silent with no sign of Marian or Ryland. The walls were a muted grey and overall, the floor looked like a very luxurious hotel with its grand paintings than a building used to house kids that were about to be slaughtered. For some reasons, I expected that us tributes would be staying in some sort of broken down building that violated numerous health codes. 

"Darlings," Marian greeted once we reached the main living room area with a giant screen, "Welcome to the ninth floor - it's all for you."

"I love the outfit, Annona," Ryland teased before looking at Graham and his blanket, "She has more muscle than you do in the ab area," he pointed out. 

Graham huffed, "Well I work in a store, not the physical labor stuff like the fields back home. I'm gonna go to my room. Night."

He brushed past Annona and Ryland, stomping down the hallway to the bedrooms and even slamming the door shut once he found one. 

Ryland gave a drawn-out whistle as he turned back to face Marian's stern gaze, "Must've hit a nerve there. My bad."

Her eyes narrowed at him, "You found a weakness for him already? They haven't even started their time in the actual Training Center with the other tributes."

"Well, you saw him when we were showing the other Reapings," Ryland started, sounding like he was offended by what Marian was suggesting, "His eyes were trained on the Darlings from 1 and 2. Look at him - no muscles and average looks. Compare him to Annona," he motioned to me, "And you have yourself a tribute who knows he's not gonna win without some beef boys on his side. Muscles are his weakness, Marian, and you bet that he's not going to follow our nutrition plan over the next three days to stay small so he can get 'em."

I look at him and realize that the somewhat carefree and loose Ryland that Graham and I have come to known was not the same one in front of me. It's hard to believe that Marian and Ryland have been studying our behaviors and our actions, predicting what we'd be doing in the arena just a few days from now. It's scary to think that Ryland knows Graham's weakness just by looking at his reactions. He must know mine, too. 

"That doesn't give you the right to antagonize him for a profile," Marian said firmly, "Like them or not, we're here to help both of our tributes. Including Graham."

Ryland walked off to the kitchen area just beyond the room we were currently in, most likely to blow off steam away from the both of us. 

Marian turned to me, "I know that we've led you two to believe that we only look at your strengths - your experience with weapons, your diet, and such - but we look at everything about you guys. Weakness and all," she comes clean. 

Maybe it's because I hate when people hide things abut me or maybe it's because Marian has betrayed the trust we've built up as a part of our natural tribute-mentor relationship by not telling me about Ryland's psychoanalysis, but regardless, I see red. 

"To what?" I uncharacteristically lash out at her like a toddler, "To make a game out of who will survive out of the two of us? To make fun of how we plan on surviving the Games?" 

She sighs deeply, closing her eyes briefly before opening them, not bothered by my irrational attitude, "I'm sorry about Ryland, truly I am. His comment to Graham was not called for and he knows it. We just want what is best for our tributes and we don't want the Games to change you before you've even gotten in the arena. Graham certainly has already. He's going to be unpopular with the people from Districts 1, 2, and 9 if he teams up with the Darling pack and comes after you and wins. His victory tour won't be peaceful or popular."

"It's an unspoken rule to not kill the other tribute from the same district as you," I realize, my heart dropping down to my stomach as I turned to face her shocked expression, "You're trying to avoid a Johanna Mason situation where he kills me and the Capitol citizens hate him for it. Just like what happened with Johanna Mason last year."

"If the Victor is unpopular with the Capitol citizens," Marian starts with a slight uncomfortable edge to her voice, "President Snow will do everything in his power to coerce them to do things that make them popular."

I didn't ask what kind of 'things' she was referring to because, truthfully, I didn't even want to imagine them. I was old enough to think of a few though, and those 'things' weren't something I would wish upon anyone. Even Graham, as insufferable as he could be sometimes. 

"That's all for tonight," Marian says, clasping her hands together, "We're going to skip a team dinner tonight, but you can order food from inside of your room and have a plate served to you if you would like."

I nodded and almost walked away before I paused, "Do you know," Marian tensed, "my weakness?"

She shook her head, "No, I'm afraid not. You aren't exactly an open-book," she chuckles, "and you rarely react to other people besides Graham and the boy from District 4."

My cheeks flared up and I immediately started moving towards my room, "I see."

Minutes later, I'm in my personal living quarters that are almost as large as District 9's square. I almost couldn't figure out how to work the shower because of millions of buttons I had in front of me to control every aspect of my 5-minute shower. Instead of using a towel to hand-dry myself, there was also a mat that activated heaters to blow-dry my body and a box that sent currents through my scalp, instantly untangling and drying my hair.

I talk into a mouthpiece and my dinner arrives within seconds, hot and steamy. I had asked for vegetable soup, brown rice with peas, and dinner rolls again. Maybe for the next few days, that's all I will ever eat if I can choose what I want, but I know that the inner goody-two-shoes in me will follow Marian's nutrition plan. If not for me, I'll follow her directions for my family and friends back home in District 9.

There's a window that covers the entire wall next my bed and a remote that coordinates it. I mess around with it a for a few minutes, casually thinking about my inevitable future in just three days and the stupid wooden box coffin that I'll be shipped home in. I change the view from a zoomed-in view of the Capitol city to a horse stable and finally, to wheat fields. I know the fields aren't from District 9 - the Capitol would never allow tributes to get live feed from their districts while they were in the city - but just the view of them gives me comfort. 

My ears perk up as I think I hear a voice coming from the bathroom and my body freezes. I brush the incident off, thinking that the noise is just the vents, but I hear it again. And again. And again. Now I'm stiff on the armchair, the empty bowl and plates of my dinner sitting in front of me on the table when I hear it again. It's my name. And it's Barrick's voice. 

I'm visibly shaking as I get up and practically sprint around the bed to reach the bathroom, slamming open the door only to find nothing. Nothing out of place and nothing to signal to me that Barrick's voice had ever been planted there. I quickly turn to the wall and switch off the lights to look around, squinting to see if any red blinking lights signal a secret camera or speaker in the room, but find nothing again. 

I must be losing my mind, I think.

I eventually grow tired of being alone in the room, somewhat afraid that Barrick's voice will come back to haunt me, so I decide to go back outside to the living area where I know most of the adults are. I'm hopeful that Marian and Ryland are there because I'm not in the mood to give smiling responses to Concordia and the others from the prep team. 

"Annona," someone whispered the minute I stepped out of my living quarters.

I jump, thinking Barrick's voice is back, and throw a punch in the direction of the voice, not expecting somebody to be right outside of my door, "What the fu - "

"Just me," Ryland says, holding my wrist just inches away from his face, "Just me. I was gonna knock on your door to check on ya - I heard a noise coming from your room. Marian and I wanted to talk about the next three days."

"Okay," I said with a shaky voice, moving to go past him to the living area. 

He seemed to notice it though, "Hey, I know this isn't the best thing in the world to happen to you. I know it might be a lot to stand in front of me and Marian and act like a normal teenager than having to go in front of cameras acting like a whole different person."

I get a sense that's trying to get me to tell him what the noise was in my room, so I look around us in the hallway, making sure that nobody hears me, "I heard a voice - my brother's voice. Calling my name. In my room - the bathroom," I stutter out, "I heard it a few times so I got up, slammed the bathroom door open, and nothing. I even checked for hidden speakers and cameras and found nothing. I think I'm being paranoid. Maybe the Games are changing me."

Ryland looks at me with a worried face, his eyebrows pulled together and his features soft, "Maybe they are - for the better. I heard my mother's name calling me in the arena everyday," he admitted quietly, "I mean, I was 14-years-old. When I killed the strongest people, everybody began to see that the youngest boy wasn't the weakest one after all. I became more vigilant and afraid, so much so that I called for my mom and dad to save me when it was just me and the last tribute left. A tribute, calling for his parents on live television. The Capitol had a field day with me but I was lucky. I was popular because it humanized me, made them see that I was just a young kid like Finnick just a year before me."

I stay quiet as he tells me about his Games - the 66th Hunger Games that followed the spectacle that was Finnick Odair. I realize how similar we are - both of us have people we care about so much that we can only think of them in our time of need. Both of us are in the Hunger Games following entertaining acts; Finnick for Ryland and Johanna for mine. 

"You have nothing to be afraid of yet," he said softly, "We have three days to prepare you and to give you as much advice as you can. I don't know if you've noticed it yet, but Marian focuses more on the physical aspect of the Games while I focus on the psychological aspect. We don't want the Games to change you either."

"Marian said that earlier," I say, adding, "After you left. I was just so, I dunno, angry at you two because you didn't tell us that you would look at the psychological side of us or that you were worried about Graham and I betraying each other. I don't like when people hide things from me, especially when those things are about me."

"If you feel like that, I promise, we won't do it again without you knowing about it," Ryland assured, "Like I said, we just want to help."

I nodded, "Thanks," I said, "For listening...and stuff."

"Of course," he said before walking in the opposite direction to go knock on Graham's door. 

I walked into the living room and was relieved to only see Marian sitting by the large screen, "Hope you already had your dinner, Annona," she said jokingly, "It's going to be a long meeting."

I went over to her before sitting down, making sure that she knew I was going in for a hug before fully wrapping my arms around her, "I'm sorry about earlier, I know you and Ryland were just trying to help. I just...I hate when people hide things from me, it makes me feel angry but I don't really know why."

"Paranoia," Ryland says as Marian and I lightly break apart from our hug, which I can see he is surprised by , "It can manifest in distrust that fuels anger - I can see it in both of you. The only difference is that one of you is more adaptable than the other."

Graham and I sit down on armchairs parallel from Marian and Ryland as he continues, "And the other likes the bark of their bite a little too much sometimes."

"Are you gonna tell us who is who?" Graham asks impatiently. 

He's back to normal, I think, no longer the boy who needed to be comforted during the parade. His bad mood must've come back 

"Not with that attitude," Ryland sasses, "Besides, if I tell you, it just creates more distrust and more anger anyway."

"Are you our shrink or something? How can you tell so much about us by our behavior?"

I furrow my eyebrows, "What's a shrink?"

Marian and Ryland both give Graham matching glares as Marian says, "It's somebody who treats people with respect and listens to them about their concerns. They give you advice."

"Are you our shrinks?" I ask obliviously. 

Graham snickers and Ryland waves his hand to dismiss my question, "Forget about shrinks. We're here to talk about the next three days, which if you know, are the days you will be face-to-face with the other tributes."

"First things first," Marian states, "Would you like to be coached separately or together? Decide now."

I looked at Graham, "I'm fine being coached together, but I don't know much about you to begin with either way."

"I want to be coached separately," Graham says, staring back at me from head to toe, "Let's get back to the reality where I'm at a disadvantage compared to you. There's only one winner and I want good odds, too!"

This is the first time that he's raised his voice at me since the train and I react by rolling my eyes and shrugging, my mood suddenly worsened by his choice as I thought we had gotten past our small rivalry on the way to the Capitol, "Okay, whatever you want then. We'll be coached separately."

Ryland shot a glance at Marian nervously, "This is the first time, since I've been a Victor, that the tributes have decided to be coached separately. If I'm being honest, I don't know how - "

"I want Ryland," Graham interrupts, "He seemed to know my weakness before I did and I want that kind of information to help me in the arena."

Ryland gives him a smile, as if he was going to say yes, "Too bad you're not calling the shots, Graham. I'm takin' Annona."

He grinned as Graham dramatically fell back into the sofa with a groan of disappointment. I chuckled at Graham's reaction as Marian spoke. 

 "I guess I have Graham then," she said with a bit of sarcasm.

Graham gets up from sofa, not bothering to wait for Marian as he ordered, "Let's go to my room."

Her lips frowned at his lack of respect, but she didn't argue with him, following along with his plan. 

"I guess we can stay here?" Ryland asks me but I just nod and watch after Graham as he and Marian stalked away to his room for privacy. 

I thought about Graham's words and his decision to be coached separately. I wondered if he thought that I would use any information I would gain about him in the arena to kill him. Maybe he thought I was one of those people who would try to kill their district partner like Johanna Mason. Or maybe I was reaching for an answer in his actions that wasn't there at all, it wasn't like Graham was the easiest person to read, even if Ryland had managed to get into his head. 

"How do you feel" Ryland's voice makes me take my eyes off of the empty hallway Graham had gone throw just seconds earlier, "About all of this? Getting reaped, pampered, and adored by the Capitol citizens like you're a piece of meat?"

I think only for a moment for an answer as I push back the sudden tears that well up on my waterline, "Overwhelmed," I say silently. Ryland waits for me to continue so raise my voice to be a little bit louder than before as the weight leaves me shoulders, "I feel overwhelmed and I want everything to stop. Just for a moment. It's like I have something to do every hour for the Capitol that I don't have a chance to simply take it all in."

"And why was that hard to admit," Ryland pushes, "It's just you and me here. I'm here to help you and give you advice, but only if you let me. I'll help you."

My cheeks flare up because with him being so close to me, I suddenly understand why Marlee had frangirles over his features, but I push the butterflies out of my stomach, "Back home, I was never allowed to just take it all in. If I didn't have school, I had to work in the fields, and if it wasn't the fields, I had to work the farm animals. If it wasn't school, wheat fields, or farm animals, then I would be tutoring the younger kids from school or helping the poorer families find work at my family's fields. I was always supposed to be doing something so whenever I took a break to calm down and regain my composure if I was feeling overwhelmed, my parents would call me lazy and tell me to get back to work. Don't get me wrong," I added quickly, looking into his eyes, "I love my parents, but I just need to be able to talk to someone without being called lazy or dramatic every once in a while."

Ryland nods along to my story as if he's mentally making notes of my words and how I said them to analyze later, "What about your relationship with your brother Barrick? I see him around District 9 whenever he delivers the farm animals to the butcher," he reveals, "The butcher near the square is my father."

I'm almost beside myself when I remember the butcher in question; the man who constantly asked me questions about my future and what I thought I should do once I surpassed the Hunger Games age limit. The butcher was a gruff man, often dressed in overused flannels and jeans under his apron, but conversations with him were free and allowed me to take a break before having to go back home.

"Your father is a wonderful man," I say, "I think he knew that I needed a break sometimes and he would just strike up a conversation about my future."

Ryland seems equally surprised by this revelation as I had been when he revealed that the butcher was his father, "Really? When I worked at the place, he never talked to the suppliers long - thought they were all 'hags and bastards.'"

"He asked what I would do after I aged out of the Hunger Games tribute pool," I continued, unphased by his language, "He always said that I should stop working so hard and try to become a teacher," I almost laughed at the memory, "I told him no way, that I wouldn't be able to leave my family hanging, but he insisted on it."

"My father is a big ol' softie," Ryland says, "He acts like a robot sometimes - a guy with no feelings or acts like he doesn't like people - but he's just waiting for someone to talk to. Without me around at the shop anymore, he probably feels a little lonely. He talks highly of Barrick, says he's a hard worker too."

I remember the look on Barrick's face when I had been on the stage after being reaped, just hours after I had assured him that I wasn't going to be picked out of the thousands of names in the glass bowl. His eyes had been wide in horror and when he saw me in the Justice Building minutes later, he had been shaking.

"Barrick is a hard worker," I smile, "He's the only boy in the family besides my father so he usually does all of the heavy lifting when I don't feel like it. Barrick actually likes working the fields and delivering the grain supply or animals to your father. He loves being out there and contributing to the food supply of District 9 whenever the harvest or planting seasons start. He says it makes him feel like he's doing 'good work' and all he's ever wanted to do was 'good work' that gave back to the citizens."

"Mr. Model Citizen, huh?" Ryland concludes, looking out of the living room's window to the Capitol city beneath us, "Do people ever compare you two to each other? Teachers, parents, friends?"

I walk over to window and sit in an armchair that faces the night sky, "Yeah sometimes, but it's inevitable when you're siblings I guess. Our parents wish I took school more seriously like Barrick, but he has no friends so our parents wish he took more time for himself. It's always half and half with them, you can never make them happy one way or the other. Either too lazy or working too much," I added under my breath in a snarky tone. 

Unfortunately, Ryland seems to pick up on my tone and backtracks, "I think you have some unresolved issues with expectations and whether you meet them, Annona," he says seriously, "You feel like you can't take a break without being yelled at or scolded, but when you do take a break, you feel like you're lazy and not contributing enough like Barrick does. You feel like whatever you do will never be good enough so you just keep going like a horse with a carrot in front of them."

"I don't have issues with expectations. Look at me! I exceed them" I shoot back, suddenly defensive against his analysis of our conversation, "And I'm not a horse blindly following a carrot."

"But you are," Ryland quips back, standing up to encircle my armchair as he continues, "You're so overwhelmed all the time and constantly stressed out that maybe you want a break but feel like you don't deserve one because you aren't Barrick. Sweet and kind and innocent Barrick who does whatever he's told like the Mr. Model Citizen he is. Maybe he's the horse following a carrot."

I glare at him, my face flushing with anger, "Don't talk about my brother like that! You don't know him."

His face has an expression of what I can only describe as mockery as he continues on, ignoring my warning, "Oh, ho, ho, but I do now thanks to you. He's the golden child of the family, isn't he? The favorite. And that bothers you because you will never be Barrick. You will never have your father's approval like Barrick does because you're Annona, the child who's lazy and never finishes her harvesting section. Annona who's always taking a bit too long with the butcher instead of hurrying back to finish her work."

I start to feel my fists clench and I want more than anything to land a big one on him, but I ignore how his formerly handsome face seems much more puncheable to me now.

I clench my teeth, "Shut up."

He moves closer instead, leaning down to whisper, "Because deep down inside, you envy Barrick. You just don't want to admit it because you're supposed to be the reliable big sis who he can count on. Tell me Annona. Do you ever find Mr. Model Citizen a bit too much sometimes, a crybaby even?"

His last words are personal, I can tell by the way he accentuates them compared to everything else and I lose all reason.

I take off from my seat, turning around so I can instantly charge at him. I tackle him by his abdomen, thrusting my shoulder forward to knock him off balance as we tumble to the hardwood floor loudly like I’ve seen being done during the school wrestling matches back home. 

I'm sitting on top of his stomach now, pulling back one of my fists to take a shot at his face before he catches me off guard with a rumbling laugh. A laugh resonating so low that I can feel him vibrating underneath me as he does it like a cheesy cartoon villain. 

Confused, I sit back on his stomach, effectively stopping his laughter from continuing, "What's so funny, Pretty Boy," I sneer, slowly moving my hand up to take just one blow to relieve the anger inside of me.

Ryland seems amused by my attempt to insult him before giving me a wide grin from below me that makes him look crazy, "Looks like someone likes the bark of their bite a little too much sometimes," he says.

My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach and my anger quickly dissipates as I wordlessly get off of him and sit by his legs, choosing to ignore his groans as he got himself into a seating position next to me on the floor.

"You were talking about me earlier, weren't you?"

We both stare out of the window again, this time sitting next to each other as he answers, "Yup. Graham's anger usually lashes out in verbal insults on whoever he's around at the moment - usually me or you - but he's the type to never instigate an actual confrontation. He's more of a defensive person than an offensive one, always saying something in return like a tennis player."

"You both are on opposite sides of the spectrum," Ryland continues, "Maybe that's why you two clash sometimes then agree on other things like the tribute parade, but you both have a lot of anger that turns into distrust, which as I mentioned earlier, fuels paranoia. Tonight was probably the first time Graham managed to take initiative and act first - he became consumed with paranoia and that made him choose to be coached separately in case you could use whatever you would learn against him in the arena."

I listen to him closely, suddenly more interested in human behavior than I had ever been before like I was student listening to a psychology teacher. 

"But you're a violent one," he chuckles while shaking his head, "Your anger not only fuels your distrust and paranoia, but it clouds your judgement to the point where you don't even know what you're doing until someone snaps you out of your little episode. Your anger is the type that needs action to be satisfied, so you resort to physical violence to relieve yourself of the heavy weight of it. You did it on the train with the spoon attack against Graham's eyes and you did it just now when you were about to punch me on the floor."

"But you instigated it," I weakly argue, not wanting to accept the ugly side of me that Ryland managed to find. 

"So I said some words," Ryland says nonchalantly, "Does it justify violence? If it does, we’ve become no better than the Capitol against the rebels."

I turn away from him, ashamed at my behavior because if my parents saw what I just did, both a few minutes ago and on the train, they would scold the hell out of me for restoring to physical assault. If Barrick saw how quickly my behavior became violent, he would start walking on eggshells around me, I just knew it. 

He stands up from the floor and holds a hand for me to take, which I do as I also stand up and stretch out my legs. Ryland is staring at me as I get up and I know that he's analyzing my response to his mini-therapy session, but I’m not as bothered by it as I was earlier. 

"We all have that ugly side to us, Annona," he reassures with a brief squeeze to my shoulder and a smile, "That ugly truth about our personalities and actions that we don't want to acknowledge and ignore for all of our lives, but I'm afraid that you can't reach your peak healthy self for the Games until you come to terms with yourself. All parts of yourself and how you view them."

He motions towards the hallway where Marian and Graham had gone to earlier and gave me a light shove with the hand on my shoulder, “Now go rest for tonight. Maude will bring you to the training center downstairs for Day 1 tomorrow so just meet her and Graham by the elevator.”

I bid him a quick goodnight and rush back to my room, immediately finding comfort in the privacy of the room. I grab the remote and change the large window back to the grain field image from earlier as I get under the bed covers that feel too expensive for me to have. I’m thankful for Ryland’s analysis, even if he used questionable means to get me angry, because it underlined a key part of me that I think he wanted me to work on; my temper. 

Chapter Text

"Good morning, Darlings!" Maude cheers, her face covered in a blue-themed makeup look that accentuates her unnaturally pale complexion. 

I almost groan out loud when I see her waving me down by the elevator, but then I realize that she said 'Darlings' as plural and turn my head just to see Graham walk past me silently. He didn't even shoot a glare, or even a glance, either. 

The two of us haven't spoken since yesterday when he decided that we would be coached separately. After sleeping off the temporary disappointment I had in his decision, I came to the conclusion that he was only looking out for himself because of the nature of the Games. If there's only one of us coming out from twenty-four going in, I must've known that he would choose to go solo. 

The elevator we ride is the same one made of glass from yesterday and it does nothing to calm my nerves as I watch all of the floors pass by and wonder which tributes are staying in them. The ride takes less than a minute, because of Capitol technology, before Graham, Maude, and I are revealed to the underground  gymnasium filled with various weapons and obstacle courses. 

Maude instantly pushes us out, telling us to "Make friends," before she blows us a kiss from her gloved hand and presses a button to go back up and away. 

I sneer after her, "Of course she wouldn't want to stay with us any longer."

Instead of coming back with a witty response like usual, Graham ignores me and walks towards the other tributes who are gathered in a semi-circle around a  woman. Checking the wall clock just above her, I see that it's twenty to 10 o'clock yet almost seven pairs of tributes are already present, not including us from District 9. 

I look around the tributes and realize that this is the first time that we've all been able to properly see each other without makeup, stylists, escorts, mentors, and everything else that makes us up for the Capitol citizens. This is the first time where we're all just us like we were at our reapings. 

The pairs from District 1 and 2 are already talking amongst each other, having already decided that they were going to form a Darling Pack , but they were also joined by the girl from District 4 with the boy nowhere to be seen. Time passed by while I stood by myself, looking at the different stations offered to us and guessing which ones Ryland would want me to choose when I hear a familiar voice. 

"Good morning."

From behind me, the District 4 boy emerges from the crowd of people coming off of the elevator, and I realize that I shouldn't be so surprised that he and the girl from his district didn't come down together like Graham and I did. 

"Mornin'," is all I say as to hide my nerves, still not used to having this boy in front of me. He is the definition of my perfect ally and yet I don't know the first thing about making alliances or how to create them. 

The boy gives me a small friendly smile as he settles in next to me, not bothering to return the nasty glare sent his way by both Graham and the girl from his district from across the room, "What did you get for breakfast on the 9th floor? We got this nasty porridge thing with no fruits," he jokingly shivers while he talks, "I told Finnick that I would rather eat the raw fish back home than that mess of water and mud here. I thought the Capitol was supposed to have good food."

I kind of side-eye him, unsure if he's putting up a charming facade or if he's actually so aloof to the atmosphere, "Uh, nothing special. Just a a few slices of bread with fried eggs on top and a bowl of fruits and grain."

I was about to ask him his name when the woman in the center finally checked the clock and began to speak, looking down at the tablet in her hands every so often as she did so. 

"Good morning tributes, my name is Atala and I am the head trainer in this training center," she begins, her tall stature naturally towering over some of the younger tributes, "In two weeks, 23 of you will be dead and there will be a lone Victor. Here, there are four compulsory exercises before we allow you to go onto individual training, but you shouldn't ignore the survival skills. About 10% of you will die from infections, another 20% from dehydration, and another percentage from exposure."

I listen intently as she starts to explain the different skill stations around the floor, "Most importantly, there will be no combative exercises with other tributes. Experts in each skill will remain at their stations if you need help and assistants are placed at the fighting stations if you would like to practice with a partner. The stations are archery, axes, camouflage, edible plants, fire-starting, fish hooks, hand-to-hand combat, knives, tying knots, rope skills, shelter-making, spears, swords, weight lifting, and wrestling. Other stations include swimming. climbing, and traps."

After she's done pointing to all of the stations, Atala releases us and announces that lunch will be served in a few hours with everybody in the same room. 

I'm about to wander off towards the knives station - the Darlings have already taken up the archery, axes, and any other good stations - but the District 4 boy grabs my hand and pulls me away from it. 

"No, no, no," He repeats, dragging me away from the station I had started going towards, "You never show off on the first day of training, it only gives the other tributes a chance to know your skills before the Games begin."

Ignoring the heat coming from his lingering hand on mine, I realize that I am unprepared for this part of the training, "My mentor never told me which stations I should start with first."

His hand leaves mine, I can tell by the lack of warmth, but he instead points and walks over to another station where no other tributes are, "Finnick told me to focus on Atala's words and choose what to do from there," he mumbles lowly to ensure nobody could hear him, "Said that she might hide some clues about the arena if I analyzed it enough."

I follow him over to the climbing station where harnesses and helmets are neatly placed on a rack for us to grab as he continues, "Earlier, when she was listing the stations, Atala separated the archery, axes, knives, and all of those regular stations from the swimming, climbing, and trap stations while she was talking. Ending a perfectly good sentence to start a really short one after it isn't common for people in the Capitol because of how educated they are, so I figured she was hinting that the swimming, climbing, and traps stations would help us."

As he's talking, I'm amazed by how alike he and Ryland sound with their over-analyzations of human behavior and speech. Just by listening to a short announcement made by Atala, the trainer, he could already guess the meaning of her words on a deeper level by concentrating on how she structured her speech. The only thing that confused me now was why he was sharing such valuable information with me, a tribute who is supposed to be his enemy in just three days. 

"What?"

The boy merely gives a smile as we finally reach the climbing station, "I want to form an alliance with you...if you'll have me."

I'm rooted in my place because even though I've been waiting to ask him the same thing, I'm unsure why he would choose to form an alliance with me when he could join the Darlings, "Why? You have no idea of what I can do so far and whether I'll be useful to you in the arena. Isn't it a little too early for you to be making alliances?"

He shrugs, almost as if he's dismissing my concerns, "Judging by how toned your stomach and arms were during the Tribute Parade last night, you probably had a labor job back in District 9 that made you carry and use heavy equipment. Since 9 focuses on grain, I'm guessing that you worked in the fields and that you also know how to use sickles and other planting tools that can be deadly if used correctly," the boy pauses like he's unsure to keep going, "Finnick told me to follow my instincts when it came time to forming alliances and, well, you don't seem like the type to betray someone in their sleep."

Once again, I'm left speechless by his words and by is uncanny resemblance to Ryland. Also, the idea that this boy, who had never formally met me before yesterday, was seeking out me specifically to create an alliance didn't sit well with my mind. Even though I know that alliances are important since Marian and Ryland pushed them, I'm not sure that I'm fit to have a group of tributes by my side with the temper I have. I know that if someone betrayed the group, my temper would take over and violence would be the only way I would try to relieve it. 

"I don't even know your name," I say weakly, not wanting to give into his request. I didn't want him to ask about my hesitance because I didn't want to tell him that I didn't trust him or that my temper would cost him in the long run if Ryland was correct about me. 

The boy sticks his hand out, "Hi, my name is Cabe Le'Clare from District 4 and my mentors are Finnick and Mags. I used to work as a fisherman and net weaver back home with my dad so I would be able to help you swim and learn about the different uses of ropes. I want to form any alliance with you...even though I don't know your name either," he teases. 

Letting myself trust this boy, something I would have never done for any other person besides him, I take his hand and give it a small shake, "My name is Annona Springwater from District 9 and my mentor is Ryland, the Victor who won a year after Finnick. I used to work on my family's wheat and animal farms, so I actually can lift quite a lot and use various types of blades and knives," a short pause, "I guess we just formed our alliance?"

Cabe smiles as he lets go of my hand, "See, we're perfect for each other! I'll be Fishboy and you can be Graingirl," he joked before turning serious as he looked at the climbing wall in front of us, "To be frank, I don't think neither of us knows how to mountain climb so we should probably start with this station and keep practicing it at least two hours every day so we can get blisters on our hands - "

" - Which will make it easier for us to climb in the arena since our hands will be used to the rough surface," I finish while nodding, "If we do it at least two hours every day, we'll be sure to master the techniques enough while also preparing our hands and grip strength. Good idea."

Cabe looks over my shoulder and points to a glass wall with an adjourning glass door that leads to a pool guarded by at least 20 Peace Keepers, "I think you should also do at least an hour of swimming everyday, just in case."

I nodded, but wasn't focused too much on his words and instead on the Peace Keepers, "They really don't want us to drown each other in there," I notice, "Maybe the arena will have a heavy focus on water."

Before I can stop myself, I remember Wesley and the giant flood during the 70th Hunger Games that had wiped out almost all of the tributes with the collapse of the dam. I remember when my father had called Dagon out of the fields and how his parents had been waiting for him by the gates, barely standing with tears in their eyes as I watched him walk over to them and see why they would be that upset. 

Cabe doesn't see that I've gone quiet and he starts talking again while pointing out other stations, "While you're swimming, I could do some of the other life-saving skills like fire-starting, shelter-making, and edible plants before we come back together and do other things."

"I already know how to swim, in fact, I'm a great swimmer," I blurt out in a voice that's higher than my usual tone. 

Cabe seems to think my voice is funny and chuckles, "No you're not."

"Worth a shot," I mumble to myself before I speak up, "I know the basic breaststroke."

"It's not about your stroke," he says, picking up a harness and maneuvering it around himself as he talks, "It's about your stamina. What if the arena floods and it becomes a race between those who can swim and those who can't?"

"I'll be fine," I snap uncharacteristically, feeling my annoyance towards him growing as he doesn't let up. 

I'm annoyed at the fact that this boy, a fellow tribute I had pledged to start an alliance with, had already guessed why I didn't like swimming at all. His perfect example of the arena flooding had cut too close to home. 

He stares at me for a few moments, no doubt surprised by my sudden outburst, before he clears his throat and moves to finish buckling his harness, "Whatever you want then."

Ignoring the feeling of guilt that came from not apologizing to him, I also strap myself into a harness as the instructor of the station begins to order us around. As the ropes are strapped to our harnesses, the instructor outlines the basics of the climbing station; keeping our weight over our feet to propel us upwards and changing our hand grips depending on what we deem will have the best grip on a particular plastic handle.

"These handles are different sizes," the fit older man points out, using one of his large hands to demonstrate his next words, "Some are relatively flat and easy to use while others have little to no ledge for your fingers to hold on to and are harder to grip. The key is to be able to change your hand grips and for your fingers to hold onto as much of the handle as possible. Your weight should stay consistently on the balls of your feet and you should try to use all of the edges of your shoes and feet to stay on the handles. One of your arms should always be straight to ensure that you are pushing yourself up with your lower body muscles rather than pulling yourself with your upper body. Saves energy," he finishes. 

Once I get the signal that my belayer is ready, another fit man who seems to be an assistant for the instructor, I place my left foot tentatively on the nearest plastic handle and aim for a handle relatively close above my head that will allow my right arm to be straight as the man said. 

The handle I choose is medium-sized; not entirely comfortable for all four of my gripping fingers to hold on to, yet not too small for me to get a proper grip as I move my fingers around the handle. Once I'm sure that my body is stable against the wall, I move my left arm above me so it can straighten out and find another plastic handle. This next one is more narrow than the last so only the tips of my fingers can latch onto it while my thumb is gripping the underside of the handle for dear life as if this entire exercise isn't a simulation. My right foot had also moved in tandem with my left arm, perching itself on a relatively large handle that had allowed me to push my body upwards as I moved. The process of moving opposite limbs continued until I finally understood the different grip methods of the rock climbing wall; two hours. 

As I let myself take off from the wall and trust that my belayer would be paying attention, I see Cabe already on the ground and covered in sweat from our climbing. We hadn't talked the entire time, not out of pride from our previous spat, but out of the mutual understanding that we both needed to master this skill individually before we could move onto another activity together. 

I watched as Cabe shook the hand of our instructor and re-racked his harness. As my belayer slowly let me come down to the ground, I noticed that he was looking in the general direction of the swimming pool area he had wanted me to use earlier. His eyebrows were furrowed and I stood confused as to why he looked uncomfortable until I saw the District 4 girl standing on the edge of the pool with the other tributes from the Darling Pack, no doubt teaching them how to swim like her. Like Cabe. 

He looked worried and I felt the guilt rise up again until I could no longer take it once I reached the ground. I took off my harness and immediately put it back, taking a few brief moments to thank our instructor like Cabe had done, before I walked to Cabe and grabbed his wrist, pulling him away from the glass wall and towards the shelter-making station he had wanted to do earlier. 

"What are we doing here?" he asked, "I thought you wanted to do the knives station."

I looked across the room and saw that, similar to the shelter-making station, the knives station was empty since the Darlings had all gone into the pool area with the District 4 girl and everybody else was busy trying to learn another skill. 

"I did," I admitted, looking at the pile of twigs and medium-sized sticks in front of us, "But you also looked like you wanted to get out of sight from the pool."

For the first time since I've met him, Cabe becomes uncharacteristically stiff, "Yeah, I guess."

Knowing that he wasn't going to divulge anything so early into our 'friendship,' I changed the subject to get him to ease up, "I think we should make a proper plan for our next three days and then choose a skill that suits us best for the private lessons in front of the Gamemakers."

Still unlike himself, Cabe says, "Well, I already mentioned the swimming station, but you shot it down."

I look at him with an irritation all over my face, "I'm not doing the swimming station, end of discussion. In fact, I thought that we should do the knives station because they are versatile weapons for both offense and defense, unlike swimming."

"I'm not doing the knives station," he says almost immediately, adding, "End of discussion."

We stand there for a few more moments, simply looking at each other with slight annoyance until Cabe breaks it, "Why don't you want to do the swimming station? It's not that hard of a skill to learn if you do it an hour each day like I said - "

"Because one of the tributes who died during the dam flood in the 70th Hunger Games was a friend of mine," I half-yell out of frustration, hurt by the notion that Cabe had either missed the fact that I didn't want to talk about the swimming station or ignored my behavior and asked anyway, "Wesley from District 9 was the older brother of my best friend, a strong swimmer who enjoyed it as a hobby," I paused again and looked away to the pool area, "But he gave up swimming during the flood even though we all knew that he could survived it. He just didn't want to live anymore."

The air is thick and tense between us as I finished recounting Wesley's last moments. I felt a chill run up my spine and I turned away from the pool to look behind us, startling Cabe. There in the distance was the boy from District 12 staring us down like he was thinking deeply about something. 

Cabe also looks back before motioning for me to look ahead and take my attention off of the younger boy, "Don't let them get to you," he says quietly, most likely still thinking about Wesley's story and my hesitance to swimming, "Everybody probably knows that we're teaming up together by now anyway, no point in trying to make them think otherwise."

I nodded, but kept thinking about the boy whose baby sister cried out for him during his reaping. The clip did bring sympathy, as Ryland and Marian had said, yet the boy didn't seem to be thinking about banking out on it. If I were him, I would be milking it for the Capitol citizens who seem to value this kind of tribute. 

I take a deep breath as I reach for some of the twigs in front of me to start a basic fire, "I'll do it," I said, making Cabe's head snap in my direction out of confusion, "I'll do an hour at the swimming station if you spend thirty minutes on fire-starting and edible plants."

His head cocks to one side as he watches the smoke start to rise from the sticks in my hand, "How'd you come up with those two stations?"

As the fire begins to crackle and whip near my palms, I let go of the twig between my hands and allow the fire to burn and grow with the other dry leaves in the station as I answer him, "District 4 is all about water, right? That probably means that you guys don't really pay attention to plants or skills that are necessary for land survival like District 9 does. We're taught how to manage and control fires for the drier seasons and how to tell which plants and seeds are edible in case we see something we don't recognize."

He seems to agree with what I'm saying and offers another idea, "I see your point, but I still think we should each choose at least two other stations to do together."

"Knives," I say almost immediately, not needing to think about my answer, "I know that you don't want me to showcase my strength to the other tributes, but like I said earlier, knives are versatile and we could both learn more from the instructors at the station than if I taught you in the arena."

He hesitates, but in the end agrees, "Along with the climbing station I choose earlier, I think we should also do the traps station, too. I know how to do all of the other rope-tying stations, but like you just said, we could both learn more from the instructors at the station than if I taught you. Maybe they'll teach us traps for both tributes and food sources."

"And the last one should be spears," I said firmly which had earned me a confused expression from Cabe, "If the arena is going to be focused on water, that means that the traps we're going to learn aren't going to work in that kind of arena. We can use spears as weapons to defend ourselves or as tools to capture any animals or fish for food."

After we agreed on the station rotation and schedule for the next three days, in the order of climbing, swimming, spears, traps, and knives for me, we parted ways as Cabe stayed behind at the fire-starting station and I walked begrudgingly on to the swimming station.

As I reached the glass walls, I almost groaned loudly as I had unfortunately forgotten that the Darling Pack was still there. 

Chapter Text

The Gamemakers studied all of us in the swimming station like hawks on the first day, no doubt waiting for the inevitable fight to break out between me and one of the other tributes. Their elegant suits, dresses, and robes clearly separate their kind from ours; the Capitol officials from the district tributes. Throughout the entire three days, they would either briefly scan the gymnasium to check on any tributes they found interesting or eat from the ridiculously large banquet set up for them in their elevated stands. 

"Wonder who they'll looking forward to see in the arena," Cabe had commented during our second day of climbing, "They must have favorites by now."

I reached for the plastic handle above us, but just barely touched the tips of my fingers on it before I slipped and was left dangling by the harness' ropes on the swift response of my belayer, "Thank you!" I gratefully shouted, turning my attention back to Cabe's snickers and amused expressions, "I don't care if they have favorites, I'm just hoping they didn't see that and decide to send a pack of mutts to put me out of my future misery."

"I'm sure they have something better in mind," he joked before slipping off of the wall himself, flailing his limbs around before realizing that he was in a harness, "The arena better have something for me to climb or I'm gonna win just to get a personal meeting with the stupid Gamemakers."

The climbing station was proving to be a lot harder than Cabe and I had originally thought. As our fingertips began to feel raw and overworked from their daily usage, our hands had also started to tremble in pain with each distance we climbed. Our instructor, who I later learned was named San, was constantly pointing out the ineffectiveness of our climbing techniques and yelling at us from the ground to fix our forms. Surprisingly enough, his tips did make my climbing less time-consuming and exhausting, but the new information about my form and different hand grips kept swarming in brain even after Cabe and I left his station for the day. 

Unlike the first day, the second and third days of swimming were in an empty pool with the exception of the Peacekeepers and  pool assistants that were present to ensure I didn't drown myself. The changing rooms nearby allowed me to change out of my workout clothes and into a black tank top with the matching black shorts for swimming. Since Cabe had wanted me to swim to increase my stamina and not to perfect my technique, I usually swam back and forth for as long as I could during the daily hour I was doing in the pool. Despite the constant pointers given to me by the swimming instructor, I ignored him and continued to swim laps back and forth until my arms and legs cramped up. As I result of my hard work, I was now able to swim for at least thirty-five to forty laps within the hour with no breaks - much more better than the fifteen to twenty laps I could do when I began. 

"Your hips should be high in the water to increase your speed," the District 4 girl had told me on the first day of my swimming hour, "Too low and you end up with a lot of unnecessary drag that makes you work harder than you need to for the same result."

I didn't know her name at the time, but even the other Darlings from Districts 1 and 2 looked at her with open mouths and even glares, silently telling her to shut up and help them instead. 

Confused, I  give her a quick, "Thanks," before moving to the other side of the pool away from her gaze. 

As I was nearing the end of my laps that day, I had decided to take her advice and used my abdominal muscles to move my hips higher on the surface of the water. The look on my face once I had realized that her advice had actually helped me would have been priceless. Even more so when I began to question why she had decided to say anything at all. 

The spears station felt like a small break in the intense training Cabe and I were doing in the morning hours. The first day had been spent learning how to properly hold and throw a spear while the last two days were used on targets to perfect our aim over certain distances. We quickly found out that my aim was only good for short distances while Cabe's was better for long distances, most likely due to the fact that I've never had to use any sort of weapon from a long distance, preferring to use small sickles and blades to cut down wheat stalks in the fields. 

After three hours of training in the morning, all of us tributes were led to a dining room off of the gymnasium for lunch, though breakfast and dinner were still being served on our respective floors. The food was arranged buffet-style like the trains we had come here on and we were able to serve ourselves whatever we wanted for the day. As the three days passed, you could start to see the small cliques and alliances forming based on who sat with who during the lunch period. 

While almost everybody knew that Cabe and I had begun our alliance on the first day, others soon began to form their own, including Graham. He sat across the dining room with the tributes from District 5, 7, and 8; tributes who looked like they weren't much of a threat. I had been surprised by this alliance of mediocre tributes because of the way Graham had reacted to Ryland's theory of him wanting the tributes with power to carry him through the games.

Sitting at the table right next to Cabe and I were the Darlings from 1, 2, the girl from 4, and the newest addition to their collection; the male tribute from District 10. Compared to us, the Darlings looked more than intimidating enough to catch the eye of some of the Gamemakers who seemed to already have favorites like we had joked about earlier. You could see how many of them would turn their heads to the stations that the Darlings were using to gauge their skills. 

Lunch on the first day was quiet with the exception of the boastful laughs and chatter from the Darlings beside us, yet Cabe had more to say on the second day. I noticed that he had been scanning the room, almost as if he was looking for something and couldn't pinpoint what exactly he was looking for. 

He ducked his head down as he talked, pretending to gobble down the bowl of meat and rice in front of him, "'Nona," he whispered, using the nickname he had chosen earlier that day, "Do you think we'll be okay by ourselves?"

I looked at him in confusion, "What do you mean?" I asked, "Why wouldn't we be?"

I tried to play his question off with some of my own, but I knew what he wanted. Cabe wanted to add more people to our alliance since Graham and the girl from District 4 were teaming up with a larger group of tributes on their own. 

"I mean," he started firmly while slightly tilting his head to the Darlings beside us, "Our two biggest threats have a group of five under their belt and we're just two. It wouldn't hurt to have more people with us - even just for the first night."

"I bet they'll want to get rid of us quickly," I whispered in agreement, revealing, "Graham and I haven't talked to each other since two nights ago and he won't even look at me anymore either. I think he has it in for me now."

"Swann's had it in for me since we were born," Cabe says softly.

My ears perk up at the sudden vulnerability of his voice and the mention of their history together. It was no secret to any of the tributes or Capitol citizens that the pair from District 4 hated each other with a deep passion. All of the glares, looks of indifference, and just the overall way that heir bodies either stiffened up in discomfort or anger gave away that whatever they were back home had followed them to the Games. 

Cabe puts down his utensils and uses a napkin to cover up his mouth, "We were born just hours apart and she has a twin brother, Heron, who I'm actually really close with. Our parents were friends when they were younger and they had this picture-perfect idea that I would marry Swann and we would all live happily ever after as one big happy family. They got so upset when her and I never...clicked."

"Was it always like that?" I ask, "Or did something happen between you guys?"

Cabe suddenly shifted in discomfort, his eyes scanning the room like he had been doing earlier as he, "Always like that," he says quickly before changing the subject, nodding towards someone behind, "What about him? The boy from District 6 over there? Don't make it too obvious that we're looking at him though."

To ensure that we didn't look suspicious, I scooted by chair closer to Cabe and took a peek at the boy he was talking about. He was a tribute with a smaller build than even Graham, definitely not a force that would scare off the Darlings or even Graham's group of misfits. The boy was younger than me, I had noted earlier that most of the other tributes were, and he had medium-length dirty blonde hair that distinguished him from the other boys who wore short haircuts. He had a strong jaw that was currently clenched as he glared into his food for a reason I could not tell why. In fact, I couldn't even remember watching his reaping or seeing him at the tribute parade just days before. 

"He's a bit on the small side, no?" I commented. 

Cabe shrugged and dug into his food once more, "Beats having one of the bigger guys who could kill us at any moment," he said uncharacteristically. 

I spared him a disapproving side glance as he gave a quick 'Sorry' and we carried on discussing other potential tributes to have on our side. 

As my eyes glassed over all of the other tributes, they kept going back to the boy from District 12, the one who had a younger sister calling out for him in his reaping. Just like Ryland predicted, I could feel sympathy building up and I knew that having him on our side would convince the Capitol citizens that Cabe and I were acting as older siblings to guide the younger kids through the Games. 

"It's a double-edged sword if he gets killed," Cabe notes as he notices me staring at the boy, "If we kill him or we allow him to be killed, they'll go crazy."

"I think it's worth the chance," I argue, "After all, we only plan on being together until we can get rid of Swann and Graham. If he dies after, we won't be blamed for it."

"You're arguing to leave a kid to die after we're done using him," Cabe scoffed, "The Games really do change people because I thought you weren't that kind of person."

For the second time that day, his tone bothered me much more than it should have and I choose to narrow my eyes, "I didn't realize that I was the only one changing, Cabe. I guess you just conveniently forgot that you were arguing to get smaller tributes because they wouldn't be able to overpower us?"

I stood up and took my tray of meat soup and white rice to the table where the boy from District 6 was seated at. Just like the last time I had looked at him, he was still staring intently on his food, most likely thinking about what he could do before the games would start in just a few days. While the only thing I knew about District 6 was that they were a transportation-based industry, I caved into Cabe's choice and realized on my own that this tribute could bring a lot to our alliance if he was so normal enough to not be noticed in the arena. 

The boy didn't bother to look up at me or acknowledge my presence, so I spoke first after I sat myself a few feet from where he was to give him space, "Hi...my name is Annona. District 9."

My voice was shaky now that I was away from Cabe and I suddenly remembered how nervous I was to begin with during the first few minutes of our alliance on the first day. 

"Hey," the boy said quietly, giving me a brief glance before staring at his food again, "What brings you away from Fishboy over there?"

"We're in a disagreement," I say plainly, taking the chance to keep the boy talking, "Over adding people to our alliance."

This peaks the boy's interest and he raises a faint eyebrow, "Was it about me?"

"Sort of," I draw out, making sure that I wouldn't say anything wrong to make him upset, "He wants to help you by proposing that you join our alliance, but I'm not entirely sure of whether you would like to or not so I thought I would come and talk to you."

"So you only want to learn more about me and not guarantee anything in return?" He rolled his eyes, "Not a chance. If I don't join, then you two will have info on me."

I nodded along, but noted the slang he used and the way he talked, "Yeah, you're right, but I didn't want any of that fighting style kind of information," I waved off, "I just wanted to know your name and what you did back home."

I can tell that he's still weary of me, but I can also tell that he's more relaxed as he releases a deep sigh, "District 6. Walker. 'Was a mechanic in my family's shop," he says curtly like if he feels he's given too much information away already.

I give him one of my bright smiles, "District 9. Anonna. I worked as a wheat and livestock farmer on my family's land."

"Wipe that smile off your face, you look like a liar," a voice I recognize says as they sit down next to me with a grin. My heart drops as it's Graham with his group; two boys and two girls.

I glare back at him, ignoring the curious look I get from Walker, "Well someone looks like they're smiling anyway."

Graham leans in, his minty breath hitting my nose as he whispers, "You better start adding some numbers or you and Fishboy won't even leave the bloodbath."

He stays near my head, giving me a smirk I have never seen before as he looks into my eyes and searches for the thing he wants; fear. I'm livid though, because something's happened to the somewhat nice boy from before to turn him into the smug little bastard he was when we were on the train.

"Go sit somewhere else," I seethed with disgust at the new Graham, "You're just giving me more information for me to tell Ryland about later," I threaten, knowing just how deep the hatred runs between the two. I know Graham doesn't want anything he does to go to Ryland, especially when it could help the mentor analyze his behavior. 

Immediately standing up from table, and his group doing the same, Graham steps away and waves to me while his back is turned, "I'll see you around."

"Lover's quarrel?" Walker questioned, looking after the group in mild confusion and amusement, "Thought something was off about the way you two were holding hands at the train platform and during the tribute parade."

My eyes bugged out of my sockets as I unconsciously leaned closer to the younger boy, "That was aired - the hand-holding?"

Thankfully, he shakes his head, "No, only the hand-holding at the train platform was and people took it as a sign of unity between two tributes from the same district. I saw you guys hold hands when my chariot was pulling out of the city circle. 'Got to see the back side of your chariot," he explains.

Walker eyes me for a few more moments before adding, "If you still want me," he starts slowly as if he's nervous, "I wouldn't mind joining your alliance with Fishboy."

I gave him a genuine smile and began to think about how useful it would be to have someone so plain and unassuming in our group, "Glad to hear."

Walker suddenly sits upright and motions his chin towards someone behind me, "Fishboy's comin'," again I note the slang he uses, "Think he still wants me in?"

Before I can answer him, Cabe sits down next to me with his own plate of food and greets Walker with a friendly smile and handshake, "Hey, I'm Cabe Le'Clare from District 4."

Walker skeptically looks at his hand with a raised eyebrow but takes in nonetheless for a less-than-friendly handshake, "Walker, District 6."

The two analyze each other from their faces to their physiques before Cabe continues, "I'm sure Annona might have mentioned it, but we were actually hoping to get a few more people to join our alliance," he said while beginning to eat, "And I thought you would be a great first pick."

"Why?"

Cabe slowed down his movements, but continued to talk, "To be honest, you looked the most useful. Most of the other tributes are a lot younger than we are and I didn't want to have to babysit the entire time. You also don't look too physically bad, maybe a bit on the skinny side, but overall in decent health unlike the kids from the outlying districts."

I nodded along, adding, "And you're naturally weary of your environment. You like scanning the room and not asking too many questions. You're quiet - so quiet that you could even hide for the entire Games and not be remembered."

Walker leans in to whisper,  "You really think so?"

I gave him a small smile, "I do. Cabe and I are already on the Capitol's radar for getting into fights with the other district tributes, but you're a blank slate. We can mold you to be the little brother that we're protecting to bring sponsors and sympathy onto our side."

"Then how do I benefit from this if everybody thinks I'm weak and forgettable?" Walker asks with narrowed eyes, "I think you two just want to use me to make yourselves look better."

Cabe shook his head slightly as his eyes made sure nobody in the room could hear his next words, "If you're forgettable, you'll be able to hide much easier than we can, and if you're seen as the little brother who needs big brother and big sister to help you, you'll be seen as someone worth protecting, which means more sponsors. 'Nona and I want to outlive the other tributes from our districts before anything else. We'll fight if we have to, but we want those two out of our way first and if you want to help us, be our guest, but we know them. They're definitely gonna come after us at some point in the middle of the Games."

Walker seemed to be lost in his thoughts before he responded, "And you're sure they'll come after you first?"

Cabe nodded, "Maybe not a 100% guarantee, but pretty close. We're their biggest threats - the only other ones that will be older and more experienced in an arena full of younger kids. Our Games, statistically, are the most advantageous to those who are older like us than younger like you."

"And the Bloodbath will prove it," I but in, "You heard what Graham said, they'll definitely dwindle down the numbers by going after the stupid kids in the Cornucopia before coming after us."

Walker shakes his head slowly, "You know, the more you two talk, the less I want to join your group...but, you've convinced me. If you really think that they'll go after the younger kids first before coming after us, that could give us time to find high ground or a hiding spot before they even finish the last of their kills."

"It all depends on the arena," I note before turning to Cabe, "Who else do you think would be a good fit?"

Cabe shakes his head, "I don't really know - all of the kids look younger than us by at least three to four years," he says, before suddenly popping his head up, "How old are you 'Nona?"

"Eighteen," I answered before getting quiet, "This was supposed to be my last reaping."

Walker and Cabe were speechless, most likely shocked that I was lucky enough to escape the Games until this year, but I continued to talk, "Though being older and from District 9 does give me the advantage in real-world experience, logic, and overall physique."

"I just turned seventeen three weeks ago," Cabe winced, "Nobody from 4 wanted to volunteer this year - all wanted to see who would win between me and Swann."

Walker furrowed his eyebrows, "Who's Swann?"

"The female tribute from District 4," I explained before changing the subject before Cabe's mood could sour, "How old are you?"

Walker continued to pick at his food, before finally shoving it away from him, "Too young."

"Aren't we all?" Cabe commented bitterly.

"Just turned fifteen two months ago," Walker conceded, "Was a mechanic back at home, too. I've got experience in lifting heavy auto and train parts and some of the technology the Capitol has since my older brother helps code all of their train systems."

"That could be useful," Cabe says, "If the technology they use to build the Games are close to the technology used to power their systems, we could find a way to stop the cameras."

"This isn't a political stunt," I remind him, "If we stop the cameras, they could kill everybody."

"At least it won't be on video," a small boy from behind us says as the Peacekeepers order us to get up and go back into the Training Center, "Showcasing the deaths of your tributes and crying when they get slaughtered by another favorite - it's sick."

We all turn back collectively to face a boy younger than Walker talking to himself loudly, "Acting as if they cared about us in the first place." Again, we all continued to watch the boy as he threw out his barely-touched tray of food and went through the doors leading back into the gymnasium.

"Who was that?" Walker asked with wide eyes.

Cabe's face seemed like he was lost in thought, "His face seems familiar but I can't remember his name."

"Grimm," I say confidently, remembering the video of his reaping I had watched on the train, "District 12. Grimm Sharp."

Cabe eyed me but didn't say anything about me knowing who he was, "Seems nice."

"What if we ask him to join us?" Walker asked.

Cabe gave a chuckle, slapping Walker on the back of his shoulders playfully like an older brother would, "Good one. The kid looks like he'd kill us himself just to prove a point."

I shook my head, "No, I think he's right. Grimm's got all that anger inside him and he wants to win in a way that won't look bad. He won't kill us easily."

"How do you know that?"

I hesitated in sharing what I saw in Grimm's video, but decided to divulge it, "When he was reaped, a little girl was crying out for him and I guessed that it was either his sister or someone that he would hate to see disappointed. If he killed someone violently, I think he knows that the little girl would be afraid of him, and if he gets killed by betraying us, than his death will be shown on every television back home. He doesn't want to do either."

"Doesn't mean he won't though," Cabe pushes, "In the end, there's only one winner out of all of us. One in twenty-four. It doesn't matter how young or small they are," he reminded.

Walker rolled his eyes, "Well, I think it does. Even if he decided to betray us at some point, he'd have a hard time killin' us. You both are two times his mass and I'm a foot taller than him at least," he reasoned, "It wouldn't hurt to use that anger he has and redirect it at someone else - the other tributes, I mean."

"Psychology," Cabe mused, "You've appealed to me now," he said before nodding slowly, "I think he'll be useful, but I think we should make sure that we're all on the same page here. Everybody who joins promises un breaking loyalty to the alliance until the final few tributes are left. After that, we'll go our separate ways and...do what must me done."

"My mentor said my temper is explosive," I admit quietly, making the two boys snap their attention towards me, "That it takes over and I resort to violence to calm down. I don't want to kill someone when I'm not me."

"We'll never be us," Cabe said, "They haven't even started, but the Games have already changed the way we think about each other and how we go about eating, training, and breathing."

"Then I can do anything else but one-on-one kills," I pause, tears welling up in my eyes, "I can kill animals, skin them and cut them to eat, or I can collect plants and berries, too. Just don't let me kill anyone," I beg. 

I can tell the two are speechless by me once more, but Cabe gives me a comforting smile and agrees, "That'll work out if we have that ball of sunshine, Grimm," he jokes before turning serious again, "I can make sure you don't kill anyone, maybe I'll let you go after Graham, but I'll make sure you aren't angry."

Walker chuckles and shakes his head, "You two are crazy. Are we letting the boy in or not?"

We both nod and Walker goes ahead of us to catch up to the younger boy. As we neared the gymnasium doors, I was confident in my decision that Grimm wouldn't betray us. He wouldn't dare to anyway, I reasoned, all three of us were older and physically bigger than him and he seemed smart enough to know that it he did, it would mean an instant death.  

Chapter Text

"I like your picks," Ryland says as he looks me up and down, "But to be honest, I didn't think that you would go for the boy from District 12."

I shrug, "He showed some distaste for the Games so the group thought that he would useful in killing the Darlings - make him think they represent the Capitol."

He chuckled like I just said something funny, "That's a good idea; using his own hatred against the Capitol. The closest thing that he has to the Capitol are the Games themselves and without the ability to call them off, he probably thinks that the Darlings from 1 and 2 reap the most benefits from the city."

I nodded along, "And I decided that I wouldn't kill anybody in the Games," I admit quietly, feeling small in front of Ryland, my mentor who knows me better than I know myself sometimes, "I was thinking about what you said the other night a lot - how I can get violent when I'm angry. I don't want to lose my mind in the arena like Annie Cresta or come off as someone who's too angry for their own good like Johanna Mason. I still want to be me, whether or not I lose the Games. I want to be me - the girl from District 9 who doesn't like to hurt people."

Ryland leaned back and studied me, putting his arms on the kitchen island behind him, "It won't be easy," he said, "If people come for you, and I have three guesses as to who would, I don't see how you would be able to defend yourself without using lethal force. They're aiming to kill you and you're aiming to disarm them. Whoever has a greater will to live and carry out their goal will win, you know that."

"I can cut their legs and leave them behind," I offered, "I've thought about all of the ways I could injure them without killing them. I just don't want my family to see this side of me that'll be on television forever. What they don't know, won't hurt them. Especially if it's not aired."

Ryland clicked his tongue before putting his hands up, "Do whatever you feel is right, but I'm just telling you from my experience; there's only one winner and people will do whatever it takes for them to survive. Alliances are only as strong as the trust between the tributes and even in my Games when I used alliances, I never fully trusted any of the other people I was with. One eye open. Always."

"I trust everybody with my life," I say confidently, "Walker and Grimm wouldn't be able to overpower me anyway and Cabe approached me first because he thought I wasn't the type to betray someone in their sleep - his words. I don't think he's that type either."

Ryland seems unconvinced but drops the subject, instead choosing to give a painful grimace, "And now it's time to prepare for the private session with the Gamemakers. I hate this part every year," he mumbles the last part to himself. 

He leads me to the small gym on our floor that is just off of the kitchen and dining room area, a small room with three walls made up of mirrors and a few practice dummies, dumbbells, and elastic ropes lying around the floor. I had only been there once before when Ryland had wanted to see how much stamina I had gained after the swimming lessons with exercises until I collapsed out of exhaustion. 

Since we still had two hours until I had to go to the gymnasium at 10 o'clock this morning for the session, Ryland had instructed me to meet him in the kitchen for a talk on what I skill I should be showing the Gamemakers. 

"They'll call you guys into the gymnasium by district number with the boys going first and the girls following second," Ryland starts before grimacing again, "Since we're from District 9, you will be the eighteenth tribute they see in a row."

"That's not an odd in our favor," I joke sarcastically. 

Ryland spares me a chuckle as he's dead serious right now, "No, it really isn't. I don't know about you, but if I was a middle-aged man stuck in a room all afternoon watching teenagers show me their 'super cool skill' that they learned in two days, I would be bored out of my mind by the fifth tribute. You're gonna have to wow them, amaze them even, to get them to notice and remember you when it's time for them to assign scores."

I nod along as he talks, "What do you think I should show? I don't want to pick a skill that a majority of tributes can do, but I also want to pick something that I'm good at, too."

Ryland shrugs, "Usually I advise the tributes to go with their gut and choose the skill that they've been practicing the entire time. Something that's tangible and useful like knives, archery, and spear throwing."

I get the feeling that Ryland is holding back information just by the way he's tense and curt with me today, "And what would you advise for me." 

I can tell he's caught off guard by my question, and I'm glad that that it makes him revert back to the Ryland I've come to know, "I would tell you the same thing - go with your gut. You know what the others are doing better than I do, but you also know some skills from home that could make you stand out."

I give him a deadpan look, "I could've read that in a book. Give me some real advice, Ryland."

Surprised by my demand, he blurts out, "Sharp," before turning red from embarrassment and using his words to explain more, "You have a very prickly personality so we could make you memorable by associating you with sharp things that scare them. I want you to showcase your versatility in different kinds of blades - swords, knives, sickles, scythes, daggers - whatever they have for you. You have experience on which angles to cut certain materials so you could ask for a watermelon and pretend it's a human head, cutting it with a scythe to show your strength, too. You could also throw a couple knives and daggers in a variety of stances and distances to go beyond if you wanted to."

I smile, "There we go, now we're getting somewhere. You seem kind of distracted today."

"Just a bit anxious and stressed," Ryland admits with a nervous laugh, "This is the first time that I've felt this way about any of our tributes. I usually save all of my feelings and stuff for when you guys go into the arena without me or Marian to guide you - just sitting with your sponsors and pretending that I'm having a good time watching you all die one-by-one."

He pauses and the softness of his voice makes me listen intently, "Once you're in there, there's only one way out and so far, District 9 doesn't have a good track record in returning you guys. You two are probably the most charismatic and entertaining pair of tributes that Marian and I have ever coached. I don't want to lead you guys into an instant death by my advice like a farmer raising a cow for slaughter."

"Maybe we'll be the first," I say, including Graham in the 'we' part as I'm still not used to the personality change he had undergone during the days we spent separated from each other, "I'll come back."

Ryland doesn't nod or do anything to acknowledge my words, instead clapping his hands, "Okay, okay, that's enough of that. So you'll be showcasing your skills with blades then. Show them you're the charming beauty from District 9 who's not afraid to get their hands dirty."

It's only a few hours later that I'm sitting beside Graham, neither of us talking to each other or even looking at each other as we wait for our names to be called into the gymnasium. As I look around to focus on something else other than the hushed whispers of the groups around me, I realize that I'm stuck between two of my biggest competitors in the Games. 

Beside me, Graham sits on my left talking in a hushed tone with the pair of tributes from District 8, members of Graham's alliance who had come to my group's lunch table with him yesterday. On my right, the newest edition to the Darlings pack, the boy from District 10, is glaring daggers into my side profile without any regard for my discomfort. Even as I try to look away from both of the boys next to me, I can't get rid of the feeling of uneasiness that overcomes in this moment. 

Subconsciously, I shift myself forward so I don't accidentally bump either of them in my attempt to reach Grimm just five tributes down. He notices my attempts to cheer him up, but he gives me a few simple hand movements to tell me that he doesn't know what I'm trying to say. Frustrated, I give up on that idea, too. 

When it's finally Graham's turn to leave the room and enter the gymnasium, he walks to the doors silently until he gives a brief look my way just before the door closes and I'm left to piece apart his intentions. I think about the look he gave me; soft eyes, relaxed jaw, and an overall demeanor that seemed too much like the old Graham that I had come to know just a few days earlier. Part of me wonders whether the night that Ryland gave us a hint towards our similar, yet very contrasting, paranoia had been the event to send Graham into a 180-degree personality change. 

About fifteen minutes pass before my name is also called out by the robotic voice coming from the speaker above my head. Without looking back at Grimm and my other competitors, I walk forward with my head held high like it was at my reaping, even when I realize how bored the Gamemakers look with their ridiculous outfits and plates of untouched food in front of them. 

I'm given no instructions, but my actions are swift and efficient as I go towards the table holding all of knives and other blades. I immediately pick up a sickle and the belt with a couple of knives in it before an idea pops into my head. An idea that makes me grin at my genius. My feet make click-clacking noises as I move towards the climbing station where no instructors or harnesses are, unlike the training days before, and I begin to climb with my legs and arms moving with experience. My form feels perfect and when I stop a few feet higher than the ground, I carefully twist my body so that one of my hands and feet are holding onto the plastic handles while the other hand reaches down to the belt at my hip to grab a knife.

I aim for one of the human silhouettes that seems almost too impossible for me to hit before bringing the knife to my opposite shoulder and using my wrist to snap the hand forward, throwing the knife as hard as I can while still holding onto the climbing wall. I hit the silhouette just a couple of centimeters away from the center of the head target.

Filled with pride, I readjust myself to face the wall before beginning to climb higher again. After repositioning myself to throw another knife, I coil it towards my body before flicking it downward towards the knife practice dummies that are even farther away from the human silhouettes from earlier. Once again, I hit dead-center in the dummy's head; an instant kill in the arena. 

I climb back down quickly to show off my stamina and energy before I take the sickle off of the belt and decide to throw it towards another dummy, hoping my strength is enough to make it decapitate it. Even though my throw was a little bit more off than I would like, I was successful in maiming the dummy, yet the sickle became stuck in the dummy's neck, not fully decapitating it. Slightly embarrassed, I jog over to wedge the sickle out before deciding to finish off the dummy and taking its head off of the body just for show. 

I see a few of the Gamemakers nod after I'm done plucking off the head, but I continue on, thinking of the different ways that I could show the skills I have without being boring to them. I drop the sickle near the dummy and move towards the spear station, deciding to end my little skill presentation with a quick trick that would make me stand out. 

I grabbed one of the many spears off of a nearby rack and snapped it over my knee so the pointy part of it would break apart from the main body. I discarded the rest of the spear and went to the other stations to pick up some rope and twine, attaching the sharp point of the spear on one end of the rope and using one of the knives left in my belt on the other. Lashing it around a few times to get used to the weight distribution, I quickly get the hang of my new toy and tie some of the loose rope around both of my wrists to make it easier to handle. Standing in front of the targets used for the archery station, I take the spearhead in my left hand and whip the rope, aiming to hit dead-center, smiling when I did. I take the same stance in front of another dummy and do the same with my right hand, hitting the chest target with no problem. Taking a deep breath, thinking about the times when Barrick would practice his aiming on the barrels of hay behind the family barn, I take both the spearhead and knife in my hands before launching both of them towards the dummy. Incredibly, the spearhead thrown from my left hand hits the chest target while the knife thrown from my right hand hits the head target. 

Overcome with a bout of confidence, I turn to the face the Gamemakers who all have their full attention on me. I see the disbelief in their faces, the way their mouths are hung open like the fish sold at the markets, but I also see how impressed they are with their eyes giving me a sense of…respect? It’s hard to tell being so far away from them, but I can see that I’ve made myself stand out from the tributes before, if not, the tributes after, too. 

One of them stands up and motions towards a back exit lined with Peacekeepers, “Thank you for that display of raw strength, skill, and resourcefulness. You are dismissed, District 9.”

I nod in acknowledgement to both the man and the rest of the Gamemakers with him, before another idea that would make both Marian and Ryland proud pops into my head, “Thank you for your time and attention,” I say in a polite and sweet voice that immediately softens their gazes. 

With a hidden smug grin that would rival the one that Graham gave me yesterday, I walk out of the Training Center and towards the elevators. 

Chapter Text

The elevator ride back up to the 9th floor was quiet, a sense of peace and tranquility that I was beginning to miss. Even if my muscles felt like they were going to fall off at the end of a workday, I would give anything to be able to go back to my family's farm and fields to work again. 

My mind trails off elsewhere as I think about home in District 9 - about my family. I wonder if my father is working himself to death to avoid thinking about me or whether my mother is sitting in her home office staring into the wall instead of working on the finances. I wonder if my Grandma Nonia is mulling over the idea that her only female grandchild could be dead in a few days or whether she was working her frail hands to their limits in the mills. I wondered if Barrick was in school and paying attention to his classes or if he was thinking of me as much as I had been thinking of him. I began to wonder a lot about home and what had changed in my brief absence if anything had changed at all. 

The box-like elevator dings, finally allowing me to step off of the frightening ride and walk slowly to where both Marian and Ryland are waiting for me in the living room area. Surrounded by cushions himself, Graham is also lying in wait at the farthest sofa in the room. 

Marian, who was uncharacteristically anxious, stopped pacing around the room, "How did it go? What did you show them?"

I shot a glance at Graham in the back, not truly comfortable with the fact that he was waiting for me to answer, and Ryland must have picked up on it, "I think it went well," I started slowly, careful not to reveal anything that Graham could use against me later, "They seemed to be engaged in what I was showing them."

Before Marian can ask what skills I had shown again, Ryland interjects, "Why don't we let her burn off some adrenaline before we bombard her with questions? She's probably still pumped up from having to show everything she's got, right Annona?"

I don't hesitate to agree, pretending to move my arms and legs around as if I still had an abundance of energy coursing through my veins. Though she seemed skeptical of our behavior, Marian didn't stop Ryland as he began to lead me away from the living room and to my bedroom chambers. 

Once the door was shut, and he was sure that nobody was listening to us, Ryland turned around to face me, "So what did you show them? Did they really pay attention to you?"

I sat on my bed, my legs barely aching from the climbing I had done earlier, "They did - stopped eating their banquet to nod and compliment me every so often."

Ryland nodded and began to pace around my room like Marian had done in the living room, "That's good, that's good. They're usually bored by the time our district is called up for them to judge. What skills did you show them?"

From the climbing wall with the throwing knives to the decapitation of the dummy with a sickle, Ryland was silent as I told him what I had done to gain the prized attention of the Gamemakers. He became more interested in what I had done last though - the creation of a double-ended rope dart - and his surprise was evident in the way he had stopped pacing. 

"You never mentioned being able to build weapons," he noted off-handedly.

I shrugged, not knowing what to say, "My brother Barrick taught me how to make one of those as a game. We used to make 'em and practice our aim on the hay bales back home."

"Oh really?" he asks out of pure curiosity, "Aim for what?"

I look at him weirdly for he must know the answer, "For the animals," I say obviously, "My family's farm supplies some of the chickens, cows, and pigs that your father sells. It's one of Barrick's jobs to kill them without hurting them too much. He uses the rope darts to do an instant kill through their hearts or brains; he has to be really accurate, or else the animal will bleed out in a painful death."

"I used to hate skinning and deboning the animals back home," Ryland admits, his eyes starting off like he's lost in a memory, "My father taught me the gist of it and let me try it by myself once, but I couldn't bring myself to look at this dead animal in front of me and bring a knife to do more damage to it."

I'm looking at him as he talks, watching the way his lips move with his words and how his breathing starts to speed up a little bit as he talks more, "And one day, my favorite chicken that I had in the yard behind the butcher shop died unexpectedly and I became so afraid that he was going to make me debone the only pet I had."

"Did he?" I ask quietly, holding my breath and hoping that the nice butcher I had come to know wouldn't turn out to be a father who had no regard for his family's emotions.

Ryland smiled and shook his head, "No, like I said the other day, my father is a big ol' softie. He let me do a little funeral procession and everything before I had to go back to work the next day. After the funeral, I felt less guilty about packaging the animals so I started to bury the extra unused parts out back next to my chicken like they were all having mini funerals in exchange for their meat."

His eyes came back to life, the daydreaming look in them slowly fading as they come back to look at me instead, "It gets easier, it really does, but it doesn't get any better. At the end of the day, I killed people and won the Games, but at the start, I was just doing what I needed to do to survive."

"I leave flowers out for them once their days come around though," he adds, "In Victor's Village back home. On the anniversary of the day I killed them, I leave out purple hyacinths in a vase I made for that specific tribute. I remember all of their names and the districts they came from. I don't think that I'll ever be able to forget."

I sat there on my bed, listening as Ryland poured more of his heart out to me for the second time since yesterday's conversation. It felt weird to have my mentor, a man who I saw as so capable and knowledgeable about the human mind, break down what it truly meant to be a Victor. Suddenly, a glamorous life in Victor's Village and the tons of money the Capitol allotted the Victors no longer seemed appealing to me. 

"You shouldn't want to forget either," I say slowly, afraid that my words might rub him the wrong way, "If you forgot, it would mean they died for nothing. That they died for no reason other than to be entertainment for the Capitol citizens."

Ryland's eyes caught mine briefly before he looked away to the window behind me, "I guess," was all he said on that matter, switching back to the original conversation with nervousness in his tone that wasn't there earlier, "So you really think that they liked what you showed them?"

I stood up from my bed and went over to the tray on the dresser where I had placed my ring and dice from my friends in District 9. I took the dice and rolled it in my hands, just having the memento was calming enough for me because when Ryland got anxious or nervous, I also followed in suit. 

"I hope they did," I say, "They saw my strength, resourcefulness, and versatility in just that small room so I'm kind of hoping that they were paying me enough attention to like what they saw."

"The results will be out soon," Ryland reminds, "It's almost time for us to go back to view the scores together with Marian and Graham," he must have seen the discomfort in my face when he mentioned Graham and immediately addressed it, "Speaking of Graham, what was that in there? I know you two might have a little bit of a thing because of the separate training, but that was an awkward minute when you saw him."

A subconscious glare sets itself into my face as I picture his smug face in the dining room area of the Training Center a few days ago, "He's changed," I say with a bitter tone, "He's just like how we started - immature, irrational, and mean. I hate it. I'm missing the Graham who I joked around with, the one who made me feel like I wasn't doing this entirely on my own."

Ryland's eyebrow quirks up at the personality change, "You don't say?" He crosses his arms in deep thought, "Maybe that's his coping mechanism - am automatic a-hole mode. People have different reactions to stress; some people get quiet, some make themselves the center of attention, some use substances to cope, and others, like you, hold it in until it all comes out like a floodgate. Except your floodgates come with a nasty storm."

"Still doesn't change the fact that I know he's planning to kill me," I add, suddenly remembering the conversation Cabe and I had the other day, "I can see it in the way he stares at me and Cabe and the way his group tried to intimidate us during one of the lunch hours - he's gonna come for me first. He said so himself, he's at a greater disadvantage when I'm around."

Ryland walks over to me and grasps my arms to calm me down, bending down to my eye level, "And you're going to run, and climb, and do whatever you can to make sure that he, and anybody else, can't catch you. Remember, you're the girl who isn't afraid to get a little bit dirty."

"We're also the 'Darlings from District 9'," I mock Maude's Capitol accent, "The pair who get along surprisingly well in front of the cameras."

"Then keep it," Ryland dismisses the thought, "It's too late to change your story in a way that'll keep sponsors, but if Graham does go after you in the arena, the sponsors are more likely to support you than him if he attacks first. Why fix what isn't broken yet?"

I nod as a knock on the door startles me, quickly making me put down Dagon's dice on my nightstand as to hide it from sight as Marian's firm voice on the other side reminds me that I'm still here in the Capitol awaiting my score, "It's time."

A short while later, I'm sitting in between Marian and Ryland in the living room area in front of a large television screen. Caesar Flickerman, the eccentric TV personality hired by the Capitol to host the Games, seemed to never stop talking as the portraits of the tributes were shown followed by the flashes of their numerical scores afterward. To nobody's surprise, the average score of the tributes in the Darlings pack was, according to Ryland's quick scribbles of math on the nearby napkin on the coffee table, an astonishing 9.2 between all five of them. Two of them, the District 1 boy and the District 10 boy, had gotten 10s. The lowest score for their alliance was an 8 for the District 2 girl, Athena. 

Once the shock had worn off, I cringed visibly when I saw the score of the boy tribute from District 3 as he had earned the lowest one yet; a depressing 4 that made him stick out like a black sheep. I almost felt like praying for his quick death in the bloodbath. 

Then came Cabe's score. 

He  was on the higher side as well, his raw athleticism and talent could have landed him an alliance with the Darlings if the girl from his district didn't join them first. A solid 9 was displayed after his portrait, a candid photo that made me breathless  by the beauty that I had gotten so used to seeing every day. I felt like a schoolgirl going through her first crush all over again whenever I realized how far our relationship had gone. From stares across the television screen to alliance members, Cabe and I were an amusing pair to see. 

Walker's score soon followed, a decent 6, though all of our group members knew that he and Grimm would be receiving scores on the lower end of the spectrum. I can imagine him shrugging  off the score, his long hair tied back as he recalls the fact that a tribute a few years prior had won with a lousy score of 3. 

Next were the members of Graham's alliance; the girl from District 5, the boy from District 7, and the pair of tributes from District 8. The first girl got an 8, a relatively high score, though not as coveted as a 9 or 10. The boy from the lumber district also received an 8, and so did the girl from District 8. The boy from District 8 was assigned a 7; a score that just barely proved a tribute's worth to sponsors. 

If Graham showed any reaction or distaste towards his alliance members' scores, he didn't show it. His face was as still as stone and as unamused as the Peacekeepers that lined the Capitol buildings. I figured that he was trying to save his reactions for later with his private time with Marian to talk, but I could see him not talking to her at all if it meant that there was no possibility of his information getting to me by accident. 

Our scores were next, and per tradition, the men's scores were released first. I almost wanted to jump out of my chair and run to my room when I heard Graham's score; a big fat 9 that displayed after his portrait showing the smirk I had begun to hate. Unlike his reactions to the other scores, Graham actually cracked a tight smile that made me want to sock him in the face for being so smug and annoying. I turned away from him to see Ryland staring at him as if he were deciphering his very mind and tearing it apart to truly look at what Graham was thinking. I could only hope that he would figure him out before I was sent into the arena with the other killing machines. 

"Oh, fantastic!" Marian exclaimed with excitement coursing through her voice, "Just fantastic! I believe my physical exercise plan was working just as I'd hope," she said. 

Graham gave her a nod, most likely in thanks, before he recollected himself. He and the entire room waited for my score, wondering if he had actually beaten me in something for once. 

A portrait of me in the Training Center, a photograph that had been taken without my knowledge, displayed on the large screen and I was suddenly thinking about District 9 again. I looked at my face and saw the features of everybody who made me; my mother, father, grandmother, and even Barrick, for we had the same parents and thus, similar features. I wondered if they were all cramped inside the living room and watching the live television to see what their sweet Annona had gotten and whether she was fairing well against those who scored 10s and 9s and 8s and all the other good scores. 

I was not prepared for my own; a double-digit that placed me higher than both Cabe and Graham, a 10. A large 10 flashed across the screen, replacing my photo and showing off that I, a girl from the labor-intensive District 9, was the only female in the history of the Hunger Games  to get such a valuable score without hailing from one of the Capitol-favored districts. 

Instead of putting on a smug smile or a look of modesty, I was truly shocked and my mouth was left open like a gaping fish until Ryland's shouting broke me out of my reverie. 

"Yes! I knew you could do it!" he shouted, jumping out of his chair and throwing his math-ridden napkin from earlier out of his lap to do so, making his way over to me for a rib-cracking hug, "I knew you could do it."

I wrapped my arms around the mentor that I had grown to care for so much over our brief time together. With his uncensored advice on both the skills I should hone and the behavior I needed to fix before the Games, Ryland was a true asset to me getting such a score. 

Marian smiled, her eyes twinkling in a way that they hadn't been when Graham's score had been shown, "Congratulations, Annona! The girl who isn't afraid to get her hands dirty, indeed! The highest scoring tribute from District 9 overall and the highest-scoring female in the Games so far."

I gave her a close-lipped smile back from Ryland's shoulder before he and I broke away, sitting back down so he could calm himself down from the adrenaline pumping through his veins. I looked at the expression on his face - the grin that wouldn't shrink and the eyes that showed his mind was racing at a thousand thoughts per second - and could tell that while he was proud of my score, he seemed to be just as surprised as me. Maybe he was thinking about my words the other day, 'I'll come back.' Maybe he thinks that I actually could win the Games, now. 

The other tributes following us had no attention paid to them by us here on the ninth floor, all of us too busy reeling from our high scores and what they meant sponsor-wise for the Games. Even after it was revealed that the boy from District 10 had also gotten a 10, a score already guessed by Ryland earlier, nobody paid him any attention. The only person I was waiting for was Grimm, but I knew that he would be the second-to-last tribute to have their score revealed since he was the male tribute from District 12. 

Once his score was revealed, a mediocre 7, I felt my shoulders drop and all of the week's anxiety fade away. Tallying up all of our alliances' scores to find an average, I did some quick mental math and was pleased when our average score turned out to be an 8; not too bad for a group made up of younger and older teenagers with different and varying skill levels. 

Now, the only thing left to worry about was the tribute interview with Caesar Flickerman in front of the thousands of Capitol citizens, all of whom were eager like vultures to know more about this year's batch of tributes. As much as I hated to indulge information about my personal life, such as information about my family and friends back home, I knew that I would be asked about Barrick; but I would also be asked about Graham, given our public image as the 'Darling pair from District 9.'

The brief moment of peace in the room had turned awkward when Graham had wordlessly gotten up from his armchair and strutted down the hallway to his room. I almost snickered at his childlike temper-tantrum over his score being lower than mine, but I didn't want to rub salt in the wound unless he was there to witness it personally. 

Marian clapped her hands together, "Well, I guess that was all for tonight," she paused to briefly glance at the hallway Graham had gone down before she whispered to me, "Congratulations, Annona. You deserved it." She straighten herself out soon after and walked away from Ryland and me, leaving us alone once more.

Ryland had his arms crossed in front of him while standing, the expression on his face showing how deep in his thoughts he was as usual. I had begun to notice that more intimately recently; how often Ryland seemed to think about the world around us and the people we interacted with. His interpretations and analysis of those things gave me a newfound curiosity for the field of psychology that I had never thought much about before. 

I broke our silence, "I didn't think that our scores would be so close together," I admitted shamelessly, "Makes me wonder what he did to be on the same level as Cabe."

Ryland's eyes snapped to my face and I felt my cheeks heat up briefly before I calmed myself down as he said, "I was thinking the same thing, actually. Funny."

The air between us became even more uneventful and stiff as I could see the gears in Ryland's head coming to life with theories about Graham's private lessons and skills. Unfortunately for me, I had a feeling that he had also caught on to the slight blush of my cheeks earlier and was not mentally prepared for the idea that I might be developing a crush on Ryland, or anybody for that matter, when I should be thinking about survival first. Even if that butterfly-like feeling had only happened with Cabe for me so far, and Ryland still was an attractive older boy that I shared common interests with, I was afraid of being too obvious with my internal struggle. 

I did have to admit though, that I was beginning to think about boys more now that I was about to die in a few days. After our talk earlier about the anxieties and worries he had of the past tributes before me, I had begun to see Ryland in a new light and I knew that he had also picked up on the change in our relationship after today. Seeing the vulnerable side of him and allowing him to see my biggest struggle, my anger, in its fullest ugly form a few days prior made me feel more bonded to him in a way that I could not explain, yet I knew right away that it was not the kind of love that my parents had described when they first met. 

No, having Ryland by my side to talk to about anything was not a rich romantic love, but a trust-filled platonic love that made me feel safer and less alone with Graham out of the picture. My hierarchy of needs was almost fully met with him as the love and belonging piece that I had been missing since Graham's personality change. While Cabe, Walker, and Grimm kept good company, our friendship was built on trust, but also on the foundation that the Games only had one Victor and that at some point, we were to go up against each other...to the death. 

Giving Ryland a pat on the back with a small whisper of 'Good night,' I trudged back to my room, took a shower, and changed the screen from its prior wheat fields to a beautiful night sky filled with different constellations. All of sudden, I wasn't feeling as homesick as I was earlier and thought that the guidance of the stars would help me in the future - an odd thought for me to have out of nowhere. Nonetheless, I tucked myself into bed after checking that Dagon's dice was still on my nightstand, and drifted off into a blissful sleep. 

Chapter Text

Breakfast the next morning was unsurprisingly awkward as Graham refused to acknowledge anybody in the room besides Marian. No number of glares and looks from me would make him break his silence as he sat eating his stupid fruit bowl and protein shake quietly across from me. 

Ryland, who must have noticed my growing frustration, cleared his throat, "Busy day," he said to change the mood, "It's time to prepare you guys for the interviews with Caesar Flickerman tomorrow. Trust me when I say that these interviews can, and will, make or break your life in the arena. The Capitol citizens live for these interviews and their money goes to whoever captivates them the most. Show them who you are - your talents are and feelings about this event - but don't wander far from the 'District 9 Darlings' thing we have going on already. Remember, all they want is a show so just give them something to watch and keep up with."

He paused and Marian continued, "You will each have four hours with Maude to discuss your presentation and overall mannerisms as well as four hours with one of us for tips on what topics to talk about," she slipped a glance at Graham to make sure he was paying attention to her words. 

He gave a nod towards her before resuming his previous indifference towards the group, "Fine with me," he said plainly before scrapping his chair on the wooden floor to head to his room. 

"Fine with me," I mocked under my breath, ignoring the pointed look shot at my by Ryland. 

Fortunately for me, my session with Maude is after my session with Ryland, allowing me a break in the morning to get comfortable with the idea of an interview before Maude flaunts me around like a dress-up doll. Still, the mere idea that I may have to indulge personal information to the Capitol about my family keeps me on edge. I wasn't as opposed to talking about myself and my own hobbies, but my family and life back home in District 9 had no place here in the Capitol where the games could change my perspective of them. 

"Well," Marian drawled, putting down her own utensils to follow after Graham, "It's better if I go and make sure he doesn't fall asleep before Maude gets to him first."

Ryland and I let her leave with waves of goodbye before we, too, finish our breakfast and move into the living room area for our session. I pulled one of the folded blankets on the couch over myself for warmth as Ryland immediately got into character in an armchair across from me.

"Needless to say that these questions will be downright personal and invasive," Ryland starts seriously, "Caesar himself doesn't particularly like prying into your life, per say, but he is an entertainer so he'll run with what he gets from you. He'll start with small questions to get you comfortable - stuff like 'What's impressed you most since you arrived here.' Then he'll ask questions about your feelings during a specific moment or two when you captured the audience's attention - "

"Like my reaping" I interrupted, "Is that a moment he would ask about?"

He nodded his head, "Considering your charisma turned a lot of heads - most definitely. I would also bet money that he would ask about the time you and Graham got off the train holding hands in quote-on-quote 'solidarity,'" Ryland put up quotations with his hands, "So be ready for a question or two about your relationship with Graham - no extravagant love-story lies or anything, but stick to the story; two tributes who wish the other good luck and good fortune for the Games."

"I wish a certain kind of luck," I said with a wince on my face, "but it's not the good kind."

Ryland cracked a smile before getting serious again, "Look, I'm not here to judge," cue the funny look on my face that made him wave his hands in dismissal, "Okay, I am here to judge, but as long as you keep whatever it is you two have against each other under wraps and out of the eye of the citizens, I'm turning a blind eye to this mess. No amount of good publicity can change what'll happen in the arena at this point."

"But..." he drawled, leaning over in his armchair to have his face leaning into mine, "You're already associated with good publicity on your own anyway. Citizens liked your charm during your reaping, they thought it was refreshing to see someone so lighthearted about being reaped even though you and I both know that you were scared out of your mind. They liked seeing two kids from the same district hold hands and they liked it even better when you guys did it again during the Tribute Parade. You also have a good training score that puts you in the same category as the Darlings and to be completely objective..." his words made my face instantly heat up with red across my cheeks and neck, "You are really pretty."

I stumbled over my words as he backed up and sat straight in his chair, regarding my reaction, "I...well...Thank you? I mean, there are other pretty girls like the girl from District 1 - Flaire."

Ryland shook his head, taking what I said seriously as he put his thinking face on, "No, you're unique compared to the other girls from the Darlings Pack. You've got this rich dark brown hair that flows like a chocolate river from your scalp and your eyes are like needles in a haystack; you might never find them again but it doesn't stop you from looking for 'em. Your eyes are a rare color that I've never seen before and I know some Capitol citizens who feel the same way - they love the pretty tributes."

I threw my hands in the air as I get up from my comfortable perch on the couch, staring Ryland down with a glare, "What are you trying to do? You're making me feel like a product on display and I know I'll be treated like one, but the last person I expected to say something like that was you."

Ryland looked surprised and confused, as if I had woken him up from nap, "What?"

I simply stared at him, my face even redder from both embarrassment and the rising anger of my temper and patience being tested by the man in front of me, "Why are you treating me like prized meat all of a sudden?"

Ryland's gaze softened immediately before his eyes looked away from mine in a look that I couldn't decipher, "Sorry, I didn't realize I had upset you while I was talking. I was just trying to make you feel better about your looks 'cause you were stumbling over a compliment I gave you. Thought you had some insecurities about your looks that I could try to alleviate."

"I wasn't - " I stopped myself before I could deny the fact that I had been bumbling over my words earlier and instead took the pause to calm myself down, "I appreciate the compliments, I really do, but I don't like being praised for something I can't control and I especially don't like the way you phrased it either. I'm not pretty because I put effort into it like I do with the fields and my schoolwork. I'm pretty because my parents were a good match and my family is wealthy enough to have enough food on the table."

"I'm sorry," he said, finally locking eyes with me, "Didn't mean to make it seem like I was dehumanizing you or anything."

A few beats of awkward silence passed over us before he started up again, "However...I was thinking that you could bring out Mrs. Charming for the interview and pretend like you're talking to me," he saw the surprised look on my face and immediately backtracked, "Or Marian - whoever you feel like you're more honest with! I know you don't really want to rely on your looks, but I just want you to be your most charming self. Maybe add a nice smile here and there, but just be you, Annona, and I know they'll love you."

"I don't want them to love me," I say childishly and even I know that I am just picking fights at this point, "I just want them to like me enough to sponsor me without getting too caught up in my personal life."

Ryland sighed deeply, his annoyance showing in the way his tone shifted, "Trust me, Annona, I know how you feel, but we just have to deal with it unless the Capitol suddenly decides to not hold the interviews. This might seem harsh, but you just have to face the reality that you're going to be viewed as 'prized meat.' At some point, they'll see beyond your face and realize you are worth the money, but for now, we have to make sure you catch their attention first."

In return, I sighed too and wondered in the back of my mind if my friends from District 9 were going to be watching the interviews later, "Fine, I understand," I paused to catch his eyes, "And I'm sorry for my attitude, I don't really feel like myself today. Guess I woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something."

He hummed in acknowledgement to my apology and offered a small smile, "Well now that the elephant in the room has been addressed, let's get down to real business."

The next hour is not as bad as I expected, yet that isn't to say that it was a walk in the park for both sides. Ryland was trying to get me back into the 'darling little girl' act and for some reason, my facial expressions were too stiff and forced for his liking. I don't really know what crawled up my ass during my sleep last night, but I could only hope that it would be gone by tomorrow or else I was in trouble. 

"Be yourself," Ryland reprimanded for the billionth time, his patience slightly wavering again, "Just add some more charm and a dash of cheer to your voice. Pretend you love them, even when they say or do something you don't like. Gush...compliment...you get the gist."

I composed my face, adding a charming smile that showed off my dimples as Ryland started to ask the next question, "Now Annona, I heard that your family owns a wheat and poultry farm in District 9. Do you also contribute some time and hard labor for the good of the nation?"

I made my voice sound the same, but added that 'dash of cheer' Ryland had advised, "As a matter of fact, I do. No labor or work is too hard if it's for the betterment of Panem and especially, the Capitol."

Ryland nodded, "That was good, here's another one. Annona, I was wondering if you could describe the morning where you and your fellow tribute were seen holding hands? Is there a budding romance in the making?"

I gave a fake laugh that wasn't too forced for his liking, waving my hands in a way that would make the audience melt at my 'shyness', "I hate to disappoint you all, but Graham and I simply wish each other the best in these year's Games. If one of us is crowned Victor while the other dies, it'll still be a Victor for District 9."

Ryland burst into laughter at my statement, rubbing delusional tears from his eyes, "Oh god, that was perfect! With that attitude, all of Panem is gonna fall at your feet."

I gave him a toothy grin, "As long as my sponsors believe it, I'm golden," I paused, thinking about the other tributes of my alliance, "Are sponsors affected at all by the alliances we make in the arena?"

Ryland thought for a moment before answering me, "Not particularly. They usually don't care about the alliance as a whole since they're only sponsoring you specifically and that's usually the case unless you team up with the most unpopular tribute."

"Who do you think is the most unpopular tribute this year?"

His face suddenly had a shadow casted over it and his expression turned serious, "The boy from District 12 isn't too popular with the sponsors already," Ryland seemed to be struggling on whether he should continue before deciding that he should, "The Gamemakers have been talking, and this might be a rumor so take it with a grain of rice, but apparently he's been muttering under his breath around Peacekeepers and it's negative stuff about the Capitol."

I winced, "He is very outspoken about his views -"

"I think you should talk to him about keeping a low profile at some point tomorrow," Ryland said, "If he's bashing the Capitol in front of Peacekeepers, what'll stop him from doing a stunt in the arena? Not only are you going to be associated with him since you're in the same alliance, but this is the kind of stuff that makes sponsors withdraw. The only reason he's getting sponsors at all to begin with is because of his reaping and the little girl that humanized him."

I nodded as I thought about Grimm's words in the training center when Cabe, Walker, and I had first seen him, "You're right. If he's bold enough to criticize the Capitol here, he might do something that'll affect the group's chances at survival."

Ryland, satisfied with my answer, clapped his hands, "Well that's the end our session. Just remember to be yourself with a nice smile and I think you'll do great."

I heard the clicking of heels on the floor and I subconsciously rolled my eyes with a whine, "No..."

Ryland chuckled as Maude rounded the corner with Graham, and the look of dismay on her face told me that their session had not gone as smoothly as she had hoped. Once she spotted me, however, her expression and body language immediately changed into the familiar cheery-and-naive personality that I had come to known over the past couple of days. 

"Annona," she greeted breathlessly, moving far too close for my comfort as she scanned me from my feet to my head, "It seems our session will not be lasting an entire four hours unlike this one."

I caught the subtle twitch in Graham's eye when she had called him 'this one,' and raised my eyebrows at Ryland in a nonverbal way of asking whether he had noticed it too. A faint nod was thrown my way before he motioned for me to not talk about it. 

Maude then takes my hand in hers and I know my fate is sealed when she leads me away from the boys and into my personal bedroom for the start of our session. Awkwardly, I perch myself on the corner of my bed, once again sitting criss-crossed, and wait for further instructions. 

“Now, I’m going to request that you undress yourself down to your undergarments so that I can see your natural posture,” Maude smiles.

Dumbfounded, I ask her, “Why would you need me naked to see my posture?”

“To see your spine alignment and ensure that every part of you is as regal, elegant, and beautiful as your personality,” she retorts before her hand motions towards me again, “We are both women here, Annona, and there is nothing to be ashamed of. I will not be critiquing your body itself, just your spine and posture.”

As I lazily get up from the bed and start to unbutton my trousers, Maude, thankfully, goes outside of the room and leaves me to myself. A full-length mirror across from my bed allows me to see myself in my glory for the first time since the Tribute Parade. I scold myself for looking too long at the fat of my thighs and the small roundness of my bloated stomach even though I know that I am already too lean enough to worry about my weight. In fact, I also scold myself for the sudden pang of pride that clouds my mind as I see some of my upper abdominal and chest muscles flex as I take off my shirt, remembering that District 9 rarely has full-length or even half-length mirrors for people to stare at themselves in. It was a new feeling, seeing myself half-naked, though it did not feel as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. 

A knock at the door has me half-running to fit behind it as I hear Maude’s voice telling me that it’s only her and to let her in. I carefully open the door as to ensure that no one else on the floor can see me. Once she’s in the room, Maude sets down a large luxury bag with a brand label I do not recognize onto my bed, twirling away from me to open it and dig out a pair of black closed-toe heels with ankle straps. 

She smiles, wiping off the imaginary dust from them as she hands them over to me, “If you could please put these on.”

Sitting back on my bed, I followed her instructions and went to stand up only to be surprised by the lack of support they give despite the ankle strap and chunky heel.

“I need you to walk on the balls of your feet from wall to wall,” she instructs, the look on her face almost as serious as Ryland’s earlier, “I want to see how you do without any prior knowledge.”

I have only worn heeled shoes about once or twice in my life - both times being the smaller Mary Jane-like shoes that a child wears to school. I was unfamiliar with a taller shoe that required me to balance and not look like a baby giraffe learning how to walk for the first time. 

When I’m nearly halfway to the other wall, Maude stops me and instructs me to walk back to the starting wall, “Your back isn’t straight,” she notes sternly, exaggerating her stance to mock me, “It looks as if you are carrying the weight of Atlas on your shoulders.”

She walks towards me and her hands find themselves on my collarbones, applying pressure on them to make me roll my shoulders back as she also lifts my head, “If there is one thing you need to remember, it’s this; never look down at your feet. Make sure the audience feels as though you have the confidence to get whatever you desire whenever you desire it.”

I hummed in response and brought my chin up, her last sentence reminding me what Ryland wanted to ‘package’ me as, “Okay.”

I walked back and forth for another half hour, stopping every so often for Maude to comment on how my posture was improving yet my knees were still bending like a baby mammal. 

She took a stance next to me and demonstrated a walk, “Think as if you are throwing a ball; you must follow through with the motion. If you simply stop extending your leg mid-walk, your knee will stop at an awkward angle that isn’t pretty to look at and you will feel stiffer than if you simply allowed your leg to continue through the motion of walking. Now try again.”

Another ten minutes of this pacing back-and-forth continued until she clapped excitedly, “Okay, you have mastered the art of walking in heels and it only took us less than an hour. We are making progress.”

She reaches into the closet of the bedroom and pulls out a long slip dress for me to put on, “Your dress for tomorrow night is still with Concordia for a few last-minute adjustments,” Maude explains, “I just need you in some sort of long dress so that we can see how you do with a longer skirt covering your view.”

Without the heels, the slip dress would have definitely been on the floor, but with the heels, it sat just about three inches away from it instead and did a good job in making sure that I couldn’t slip into the habit of looking at my feet when I walked. 

Aside from a few times where I accidentally snagged the dress in my shoes at the beginning, I managed to successfully complete this portion of Maude’s examination as well.

The next hour was not what I had expected at all; calm, interesting, and informative. I had assumed that having Maude as my etiquette teacher would mean that she would be using her normal cheery attitude to scold and nitpick me throughout our session, yet her attitude didn’t seem to bother me at all today. In fact, she seemed more mellow out and down-to-reality than I had ever seen her and I felt a tinge of guilt for judging her earlier. The small notes she pointed out for my sitting posture helped me realize just how curved my spine was from the constant field work of having to stay hunched over the ground for hours at a time. Even her little tips and tricks during the brief body language portion of her ‘program’ was interesting to me, fueling my desire to study psychology and behavior even more now that I could understand what a certain motion was supposed to convey to an audience. 

When we were finished, Marian and Graham meet us at the dinner table for a few last moments together before Graham and I are to be sent into the arena in just two days. It was crazy for me to think about how my performance in tomorrow night’s interviews would affect my survival or even worse, how Graham’s performance would affect the sponsors interested in either of us. My thoughts ran back to Cabe as well, wondering if he was sitting at dinner like us now and whether he was nervous about his interview. 

“Annona made wonderful progress in her posture, elegance, and everything in between during our session,” Maude brags once Concordia, Janus, and Ryland join us at the table, “She had no problem walking in a very long dress in very tall heels for a beginner,” she smiles with pride. 

Concordia, sporting her usual pink skin tone with an outlandish orange jumpsuit that clashes with her bright blue shoes and wig, gushes and praises me, “I knew she could do it - a tribute finally worth all of our efforts!”

Her unashamed tone of degradation towards the tributes before me from the past years instantly sours my mood until Ryland speaks up, “And just like every tribute before her, we all wish her the best of luck in her interviews tomorrow.”

When I turn to give a look of thanks to Ryland for his words, I realize that he isn’t looking at me, but rather, the person just two seats down from me; Graham. I face the boy I had come to hate, love and hate all over again and recognize the face of anger and embarrassment that was etched in the growing traces of red trailing his neck up to his cheeks, the way his teeth were grinding together as if he was trying to contain himself, and the clenched fists resting on his placement on the table. 

Marian, who conveniently moves the conversation from me onto the other tributes from the Darlings Pack, glares at Ryland over her glass of water that she leans to sip. I happen to catch the shrug that he gives her in return, though I also catch the small smile he is trying to erase from view at his small victory in making Graham agitated. 

The night finishes without any specific mentions towards me or Graham and everybody parts ways at the table except for Marian and Ryland who seem to have a lot to discuss with one another once they bid us two teenagers a good night. 

I allow Graham to go into the bedroom hallway first since his room is farther down than mine, but as I stop at my door, I realize that he’s stopped in his tracks just a few feet away from his door. His form is unstable as if he’s deciding whether to turn around or continue walking, but it must be a figment of my imagination as he continues to walk towards his door, slamming it shut with a great thud. 

Once I’m in the comfort of my room again, I change out of the slip dress and into a pair of sweatpants with a t-shirt - an outfit that reminded me of what I would wear for pajamas back home. I lay down under the covers and snuggle close to one of my many pillows to have something anchoring me even in sleep. Before I fully close my eyes, I check the nightstand for Dagon’s dice as I do every night and am relieved by that fact that it’s still there. 

Even though Dagon had reminded me that the odds are never in us tributes’ favor, the constant praise from everybody made me start to believe that maybe it wasn’t the odds that I was hoping to get, but instead relationships. If more people liked me than I got sponsors to help me live longer, but if I was unpopular, than I wouldn’t be missed in the even of my death. 

I end up falling asleep to my thoughts connecting Dagon’s words and their true meaning because having known him for nearly a decade, I knew that there was always a secret meaning to whatever he said. If only I could figure it out quickly since it had taken me nearly a week to even fathom the idea of his last words containing more than their surface value. 

Chapter Text

Instead of being awoken by Maude's face looming over me as I had expected the next morning, I wake up from the sound of my door unlocking and multiple footsteps  making their way inside of my chambers. I instantly react by sitting up and reaching for Dagon's dice to have with me before I realize that it's only my prep team and Concordia who have snuck their way in. I relax and place the dice back on the nightstand to avoid their questions. 

Today is the day of my interview; the day when the entire Capitol will be able to judge my personality and looks to see whether they would like me to live in the arena. The day belongs to them. 

Concordia is the first to talk, ordering around the prep team to ensure that I am properly bathed, noting that, "District 9 does have a lot of laborers who often become dirty and sweaty and smelly. It's a wonder how you tributes shower without running water in some of the other districts." 

I bite my tongue as I'm led to the bathroom and scrubbed until my skin is raw before they rinse me off and do it once more. I'm 'treated' to a nice nap just before noon as I sit in the living room with a robe on as the team had brought a massage chair for me to sit in while my feet are scrubbed, my nails are done, and my face is plucked free from hairs and stray acne. 

By lunchtime, after a quick 5-minute break for the team to eat their finger sandwiches and a glass of purple liquid, my nails have been painted with rich shimmering gold polish and a thin black swirl design on each finger and toenail. My hair, done by a woman named Juno, is swept up into an intricate low bun with a side braid on one side and a few strands of hair let loose around my face. When I look in the mirror, I'm surprised by how much I love the hairstyle so I thank her quietly, to which she responds by smiling and adding about ten layers of hairspray to ensure it does not come undone. My makeup consists of a gold glitter eyeshadow that matches my nail polish and a little bit of black eyeliner to match the swirls on my nails as well. Looking at Concordia, I am pleased that she has spared me the discomfort of adding eyelash extensions. My entire face has been color corrected to a single shade that matches the rest of my normal skin tone and my lips look more plump than usual with a light brown lip gloss that accentuates their fullness. In short, I look fantastic even though I am still only wearing a robe. 

Concordia is already back in my room, unzipping a black garment back when I am led there from the living room. Once the door closes, leaving the two of us alone for the first time in the entire day, she reveals my dress and I am, once more, left speechless by her talent. The dress has a nude base layer with a high neckline and a top layer consisting of embroidered golden wheat leaves with black stems to add contrast. As your eyes travel up the length of the dress, the wheat stalks stop after my collarbone and this lack of design gives the illusion that the dress has a sweetheart neckline, yet I know that the nude base layer continues to provide support and modesty. 

Once Concordia reveals the nude pumps she had brought with her, I internally thank Maude because after I have them on my feet, I realize that they are the same height and feel as the shoes she had me practice in the day before. Concordia helps me into the dress gently, as if she were afraid to ruin her masterpiece before she adds a thin black belt around the thinnest portion of my waist to add attention to my 'womanly figure,' as she had explained. To top it off, she pulls out the same gold chain wheat-like necklace that Graham and I had worn to match during the tribute parade and fastens it around my neck before she steps back to admire me with a glint of pride in her eyes. 

"Marvelous...truly marvelous," she says breathlessly, "You will be the talk of the Capitol for hours," she comments, "I really have outdone myself this year."

She leads me over to the full-length mirror and I realize why she looks at me like a piece of artwork - I look like a valuable piece of art that should be in a museum. I look both feminine with my hair and makeup done, but also strong and capable because of the black accents surrounding my glittery nails and eyes. I look like me.

After a final once-over and a nod of approval by Concordia, she escorts me back to the living room area where everybody else seems to be waiting for me to finish. I hold back a cringe when I notice that Graham and I are matching once more; his entire tuxedo is all-black with gold accents on his lapels and handkerchief. He, too, has the necklace around his neck as well. 

Marian is the first to comment on my appearance, a warm motherly smile quickly working its way up onto her face, "You look so beautiful, Annona."

I give her a shy smile and a meek 'Thanks' before the other stylist gush for a while too. They point out the small details they added themselves like which assistant did the nails, what the other did for my lips, and how hard it was for one of them to find plain nude shoes in my size and whatnot. 

Eventually, Maude hassles everybody towards the elevator for us to ride down to the interview stage and before I know it, Ryland has made himself at home on my right side as I am somewhat squished to one corner of the metal box. 

While we wait for everybody to get themselves situated, he leans down slightly to ensure I hear him over the constant chatter around us, "You look amazing - love the dress."

I spare him a playful eye-roll as I hear the slight teasing in his voice, "It's a bit itchier at the top now that I have it on."

"My tie is killing me, too," he comments as I notice that he is, indeed, wearing a nice suit with a golden tie, "I think Marian wanted to strangle me when I asked her how to tie one."

I look at him with an eyebrow raised since I would think he would have learned how to tie a tie during his Victor tour as a teenager, "You never learned how to tie a tie?"

"I had bigger fish to fry," he jokes bitterly, "Not everybody wanted me fully clothed when I was won."

His sudden change in attitude and the confession he said out loud startles me for a moment as I check his face for any sort of discomfort or anger, but if any was present, it had been wiped off before I could catch it. 

Ryland and I had never talked deeply about what exactly happens after somebody has been crowned Victor of the Hunger Games, but I can distinctly recall Marian's allusions towards what the Capitol could do to make you more popular with the citizens and how I had taken her statement to be referring towards sexual acts. Could the Capitol make an underage boy do such things and had Ryland been forced to do them? The only tribute I had ever heard of doing such things was Finnick Odair, but I only heard gossip and rumors that came from the once-a-year broadcast of his face during the reaping ceremony of the District 4 tributes. I had taken Finnick’s rumors with a grain of salt, but hearing the way Ryland had talked about them as if they were real made me want to rethink some of the gossip. 

I never got a chance to respond to him as somebody had decided to press the button of the elevator and the uneasiness I felt on the machine came back as we started moving. I held on to one of the handlebars behind me and silently thanked Ryland when he scooted over as much as he could so I could grasp it better to ground myself. I was 99.9% sure that if I ruined some part of my ensemble in this elevator, both Maude and Concordia would kill me themselves before allowing anybody in the arena the chance. 

Seconds later, the elevator doors gradually opened to reveal the other tributes dressed up and beautifully arranged in pairs according to their district number except for a few who seemed to mingle with the others. Maude takes the chance to compliment some of their stylists before she, Concordia, Janus, and the rest of the prep team go to find their seats in the audience. 

She leaves me with a few stern reminders, "Sit with your shoulders pushed back, your spine straight, and your chin held higher than normal. Follow-through when you walk. Good luck!"

Graham silently snickers from beside me and she immediately turns around to nag him as well, "And you! Do not swing your arms when you walk or take wider steps than normal to appear intimidating! No tightening your jaw on Capitol television and do not, under any circumstances, sit with your chest pushed out like a preening peacock! You are a tribute to be admired not criticized."

"Shame," he says nonchalantly, yet I can see the tinges of red line his neck where the embarrassment is creeping in on him, "They might just take your job of criticizing people."

"And no smug looks expressions either," Maude adds while motioning toward Marian, "I've been told that you're going for the boy-next-door approach and your style of behavior is not suited for such an act," she finishes. 

The four of us - Graham, Marian, Ryland, and I - all watch her leave before Ryland claps his hands and raises two finger guns towards the line of tributes being prepared to go on stage, "Go get 'em tigers."

He's met with a small snort of mine, "Oh, yeah. I'll have them begging for me, you'll see."

I wave goodbye to our mentors as two of the Capitol staff usher me and Graham away from the elevators and into our proper places in line. All twenty-four of us will sit in a big arc on stage behind the main event; Caesar Flickerman and the tribute being interviewed at the time. Per tradition, I will be interviewed before Graham so I will be seated between the boy from District 8 and Graham once we are on stage. Lucky me. 

"Remember," Graham whispers from behind me as I hear Caesar crack a few jokes from the stage to warm up the audience, "District 9 Darlings. We have a mutual liking towards each other."

"And we wish the best for the other in the Games," I finish, keeping back the tone of distaste and annoyance in my voice, "As long as we both stick to the metaphorical script, I think we're going to be alright."

Graham merely hums, "No surprises."

"No surprises," I agree before the conversation drifts off as we're being told to walk onstage. 

I try to keep my mind off the negatives - how my walk must look like, how my makeup looks under the light, and whether I might trip - and instead focus on the prospect of gaining sponsors. As the interview for the girl from District 1 starts, I remember that each interview only lasts three minutes, a thought that comforts me as this entire event will be over before I know it. 

I tune out the interviews from the District 1 tributes as the stories they are telling and the skills they are bragging about are already common knowledge to me. The only thing interesting about them is the fact that I've finally caught the boy's name - Valor. His name finishes off the list of tributes from the Career pack; Flaire and Valor from 1, Athena and Victor from 2, Swann from 4, and Butch from 10. I similarly tune out the interviews from the District 2 tributes too because their stories and skills are practically identical to each other. In fact, it isn't until Swann is in the interview chair that I tune back in.

"And next we have the beautiful Swann Meyer from District 4, but you all know her as the girl who packs a mighty punch!" Caesar jokes to ease the crowd. 

I was thrown off-guard by his reference to the numerous arguments and physical altercations between Cabe and Swann before remembering that her punch back in the Justice Building of District 4 had been broadcasted live on their reaping day. I had almost forgotten that we were being watched at all times since our reapings. 

Nonetheless, if Swann looked ashamed or bothered by his joke, she didn't show it. Instead, she gave a proud smile as if she were saying 'Yes, I did fight with my fellow tribute' and 'No, I will not apologize' in one go. 

Caesar gave one of his hearty laughs and he spoke into his microphone, inching towards the crowd off-stage, "The girl from four is fierce, indeed! Tell me, is there any bad blood between you and the boy you came here with? Forgive my prying, but we are curious as to what started the...when...altercation."

Swann gives a sickly sweet smile that bares her pearly white teeth and dimples, "Cabe and I have never seen eye-to-eye about a lot of things; school, friends, jobs, and such. Our parents were best friends when they were young and expected their children to marry and whatnot. Needless to say, we've never met those expectations," she finished with a high-pitched giggle. 

Caesar, like most of the crowd, seemed surprised by the lack of venom in her tone when talking about Cabe, "Oh, really? Now that is gossip!" Cue a pause of laughter from the crowd, "Now, seriously; do you have a boy back home? Anybody you would like to win for?"

At this, I noticed that Swan's posture had stiffened as her back became noticeably straighter and her legs had uncrossed themselves only for her to cross her ankles instead. Her voice became timid, yet her words remained crystal clear, "My twin brother, Heron - he is my everything. If I want anything to come out of the Games, I want him to be proud of me in the end whether I win or not."

The crowd gave numerous 'oh!'s and 'awe!'s in response and even I felt my heart melt at her genuine words and at the fact that she, too, had a brother to live for back home. From beside me, Graham shifted slightly and he grasped the arm of his chair with a tight grip that turned his knuckles white. His eyes were hard as I glanced at him and I became slightly amused as I noticed that he was making a conscious effort to not look at me, almost as if he was worried that I would figure out some secret of his just by looking into his eyes. 

And he would be right; Graham was an open book when it came to his emotions and thoughts. 

I'm brought back to the center stage when loud applauses overcome the City Center, the sounds of palms hitting palms reverberating across the expansive room. They had loved Swann. 

With a quick wave of acknowledgment to the audience, Swann confidently walks back to her seat, passing Cabe who had already begun to make his way toward Caesar. Subconsciously, my eyes trail them and the fleeting look they give one another, the brief and subtle motion making my stomach twist in some sort of way. As I watch Cabe walk, however, I realize that it's the first time in two days that I've seen him in person and, just like the first time I saw him, I'm left speechless and captivated by his appearance. 

His pale skin is beautiful under the harsh lights and I'm amazed at how they don't seem to wash out his lighter skin tone, instead making him look like a valuable piece of porcelain china. Unlike the other times I've seen him, his usual fringe is brushed back to reveal his forehead, a slight detail that actually works to accentuate the strong jaw I never realized he had. Once more, he makes me feel like a schoolgirl with her first crush as I blush at the realization that I was doing more than just staring at him; I was taking in every little minuscule change as if I were a sculptor about to recreate him out of marble. 

"And the other half of our dynamic duo - Cabe Le'Clare of District 4!" Caesar introduces, standing up to give Cabe a handshake before he encourages the younger man to sit across from him, "What a fine grip!"

Cabe gives a shy smile that I've seen plenty of times before as he leans forward, "You as well."

"I've had practice," Caesar cracks, obviously alluding to his 40-year career as a host, and the audience laughs with him, "Now, down with the wall; What is really going on between you and Swann?" He pushes, ignoring the way that Cabe's smile has faded from his face and turned into a fake expression of deep thought that, while I knew was an act, still looked elegant and regal on his features.

"We honestly dislike each other," Cabe says to the shock of the crowd as gasps are heard around the audience, "Our values are not the same and we do not have a lot in common to be more than classmates at the same school," he offers, the regurgitated words not stopping Caesar from running with what he's given. 

"Such a standard answer," Caesar says to the crowd, leaning into Cabe as he continues to press, "Is there no hope for any sort of romance? Any chance that this strong hate could turn into a passionate love for the both of you? A surprise twist in fate that could become more in the arena?"

Cabe laughs, most likely realizing how bad the crowd must think of him without any interesting gossip to share, "Unfortunately, we've tried to date once and it did not go as smoothly as our parents had hoped," a breath gets caught in my throat once he reveals this and that tugging sensation in my stomach begins to buildup again while he continues, "Our personalities clash a lot more than we would like to admit and to be honest; we bring out the ugliest part of each other. I don't know about you, Caesar, but I wouldn't want to be around someone who continuously makes you feel guilty about yourself."

Caesar tuts, bringing the microphone in towards himself to muffle his next words, "I suppose I agree...but what a great let down!" with that, the tension is cut off as he begins to ask questions about Cabe's favorite weapons, his job back home as a net weaver, and his ability to problem-solve in a way that replaces any sort of negative feeling the crowd might have about his relationship with Swann. 

The crowd, contrary to their attitudes about him before, almost seems disappointed and upset when Caesar says it's time for Cabe to leave as the two share another firm handshake before the younger boy saunters back to his seat. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding and relaxed, glad that, despite the Capitol citizens’ initial impression of Cabe, his interview went well. 

I don't pay much more attention to the interviews after, except for Walker Ford’s. He played the part of the 'younger brother' so well during his interview that he also manages to squeeze in how 'thankful he is towards Cabe and Annona for mentoring him' during training, a lie that makes both Caesar and the audience audibly melt. I spot his smug grin as he walks back to the semicircular arrangement  of the tributes behind the main stage — a sign that he's pleased with his performance. By the time he sits down and leans forward to catch my eye and give me a thumbs up, we both know that he's gotten a portion of the Capitol wrapped around his finger. 

Soon enough, when I see the boy from District 8 — his name being Henley, I gathered — coming back to reclaim his seat next to mine, I know that it's my turn to stand up and walk down. 

Using the chair to propel myself up without wrinkling my dress or losing my balance, I hear Graham's low whisper as he reminds me, "Darlings from District 9 - no surprises." To his great displeasure, as shown by the frown he had put on, I ignored him and instead focused on walking to make sure that I wasn't too stiff and that I didn't run into the District 8 boy coming up. As we pass each other on the walkway, he throws a condescending sneer that earns him a sweet smile back, the action taking him by surprise judging by the way he tripped over his own feet. 

Nearing the center stage, I become slightly self-conscious of my appearance as Caesar stands up, one hand extended to gracefully grasp my hand and the other wrapped tightly on his microphone as if he were afraid it would be taken from him at any moment, "The girl who isn't afraid to get her hands dirty and Miss Top Training Score out of all of the female tributes, let's welcome Annona Springwater from District 9!" 

Like they did for the Darling tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4, the Capitol citizens actually looked excited for my interview and I could tell that they were astonished by my gown. 

Caesar notices their excitement and he runs with it, "How could we not fawn over this...this work of art!" He manages to convey with a slight pause, "Your stylist has certainly outdone her Tribute Parade outfit without trouble! And those beautiful necklaces! I would bet my brooch that the boy you came here with is also wearing his tonight," Caesar adds slyly.  

I remember to keep my face in check for the cameras that must be filming me from all angles, but now that I'm sat down across from Caesar, I feel uncomfortably warm and hot, my skin turning a slight tinge of red from both my nervousness and the heat of the lights above us. The thought that the cameras might pick up on any of this scares me and I instantly recall Ryland's directions to act confidently, as I did during my reaping, and as sweet as I could to win their support. Thankfully, the crowd seemed to like me well enough without me actually having to do anything yet, a good sign that I wouldn't have to resort to gushing about the Capitol tonight. 

Slowly, I reach my hand up towards the gold necklace, just slow enough to have the cameramen know that I wanted them to pan on it for a bit, before putting my efforts back into the interview itself, "You would be right, Caesar," I say, confirming his prior guess that Graham was also wearing his matching necklace, "And my stylist, Concordia, always does a fantastic job of balancing the natural beauty of District 9's grain fields and the elegance of the Capitol's clothing," I praise with a pearly white smile that could have rivaled Swann's. 

A few 'awe's' from the crowd lets me know how I'm doing in terms of popularity as Caesar continues the flow of conversation, "Speaking of District 9's grain fields," I internally thank Ryland's foresight and interview prep as I know what Caesar's going to say, "I hear that your family owns a wheat and poultry farm back home," I hold back a snicker as I realize that Ryland had gotten the question down almost word-for-word, "Do you happen to contribute some of your own time and labor to help supply the nation with a reliable and stable food supply?"

I nod, pretending to be interested in the topic, "Of course, I do!" I twist my face to look timid, "But no amount of labor and hard work will ever show my entire dedication to the betterment of Panem."

The crowd awe's again, some of them even giving applauds of approval as Caesar calms them down with a hearty laugh into the microphone, "I love it! We all love rooting for a tribute that helps the nation! Now," he turns to the audience, "do forgive me for asking the same question twice in one year but — is there something brewing between you and your fellow male tribute? The Capitol and I would like to know more about the nature of your relationship after the display of affection on the train platform."

With all eyes on me, I felt a tad embarrassed at the fact that they interpreted our hand-holding as 'affection,' but I answered the question anyway, "Then forgive me for giving another disappointing answer of unfortunately not. While Graham and I do get along and share tips on how to survive the arena regularly," I wondered if I should become an actress by how easy it was for me to lie so shamelessly in front of a lot of people, "We have a more platonic love for each other rather than a romantic one. We have a mutual respect for the other's abilities and we equally wish the best for the other in the arena," I pause before adding the line that seals the deal, "No matter if one of us wins while the other dies, it’s still a win for District 9.”

The crowd goes wild with some giving a round of applause while others give shouts of encouragement and delight at the unity portrayed by me and Graham. I give them a genuine smile because their support seems to brighten my mood significantly, even if it’s under the condition of me being my sweetest self at all times. 

Caesar seems satisfied by the crowd’s reaction to my line and ends the interview with one last question, “And lastly, how confident are you in your abilities? We all know a 10 is hard to come by, and we know that you can’t share any details of the training session, but what weapon do you think will allow you to get through the games?”

The question made me think, but only for a brief moment, “I wouldn’t say that I’m overly confident in my skills themselves, but rather in my real-world experiences. I’m one of the oldest tributes of the batch this year so that means I have more knowledge about which plants are good to eat, how to prepare animal meat for consumption, and how to use certain types of blades from my work in District 9. I believe my training score was a combination of both my determination to be at the top and my physical strength overall. I believe I have the ability to adapt to whatever situation is needed, weapon or no weapon.”

Caesar gives me a fatherly smile, one that portrayed a hidden sense of ‘don’t tell anybody, but I’m rooting for you,’ before he helps me up from the interview chair and raises my hand slightly up in the air to show me off one last time in front of the Capitol. 

I’m dismissed shortly after and as I enter the walkway to go back up to my seat, I pass Graham as he makes his way down. Again, he makes a conscious effort to not look at me at first, but for the sake of the cameras most likely, he drops the act and gives me a brief smile and nod of acknowledgment. I returned his gesture and sat down, waiting for his interview to start. 

The first part of the interview is a repeat of mine; Caesar asks the same sly question about a ‘budding romance’ and Graham is quick, but not too quick, to shoot the idea down before Caesar finally gives up on finding a romantic pair this year and instead chooses to talk about Graham’s life at home. I learn a few things about him that Barrick had forgotten to mention a few days ago, mainly how Graham’s parents not only owned a liquor store and distillery, but that they also owned an herbal apothecary that was run by his older sister, Mildred. Strangely enough, I found it odd that Graham didn’t mention Henry the Peacekeeper during his owl spiel about his family, though I doubt it would have done him any good in the arena if he did. I also learned that while Cabe, Grimm, Walker, and I had focused on rounding our skills on most of the stations during the training days, Graham and his alliance had solely focused on weight training and sparring to get physically bigger. 

“As Annona mentioned earlier,” Graham had said, “There is a gap in skill and real-world experiences in this year’s batch of tributes, but also a gap in physical strength because of the odd split of the ages this year,” he seemed to have everybody’s attention as he went through some logistics like a mathematician, another part of him that I never would have guessed, “I’ve calculated it, actually. The average age of this year’s batch is 15.1 years old with the most tributes being 16 years old, or 25% of the tributes, or 14 years old, or 21% of the tributes.”

“Fascinating,” Caesar says, completely invested in Graham’s words as he motions for him to continue, “I’ve never heard of a tribute that’s not from District 3 doing this kind of statistical analysis,” he jokes. 

Graham smiles, but looks somewhat irritated at the insinuation that District 9 tributes wouldn’t be able to do some math, “I’m sure,” he says curly before continuing with a more cheery tone, “Contrary to what Annona said, however, is that the two groups in the most danger are actually those who are 18 years old or 12 years old, as they are about 8% of the tributes respectively. Despite having more practical experience, who’s to say that all of the 16-year-olds wouldn’t try to band together and kill the older tributes off early as a precaution? Who’s to say that the 12-year-olds could join that alliance and then hide once the older kids are taken care of so that the other older kids can go at it by themselves? The Hunger Games are not based on logical, statistical, fool-proof odds,” I hold my breath and hope that he chooses his next words carefully.

 “They are based on a variety of factors; the arena, the weather, the natural resources, the background of each tribute, and these factors can all have different weights in practice. Overall, the odds truly do rule over our favor,” he finishes with a cheesy smile. 

While a portion of the crowd seems blown away by his mathematical analysis of the tribute group, the majority of them are excited and amused, clapping as he stands up with Caesar for a final send-off. He takes his seat next to mine and immediately begins to avoid my eye and general direction again. 

The rest of the interviews go by as a blur of mixed faces and stories with the only one worth paying attention to being Grimm’s. Based on Ryland’s insider info that most of the Peacekeepers thought he was notorious for being anti-Panem and anti-Hunger Games, Caesar continued to treat him like every other tribute; worth showing off. Grimm’s attitude itself was a lot more polite than I remembered and I could almost bet that it was at the advice of his mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, that he had decided to tone down his anti-Capitol speech tonight. Surprisingly enough, his interview ended with some of the audience murmuring amongst themselves in content like they approved of him even more after he talked about his sister back home, the girl who was seen screaming for him during his reaping. 

Down the line, I saw Walker shoot Grimm a thumbs up, similar to what he had done for me earlier, and as Grimm passed my chair, I copied the action, making the younger boy chuckle a little bit before he sat down.

After we all stand for the playing of the anthem, we file back into the Training Center lobby where the elevators are and are left to mingle amongst ourselves until our mentors take us back up. Almost immediately, I find myself being enamored by Cabe’s presence as he makes his way towards me with Walker in tow. Grimm is nowhere to be found. 

Walker’s grin is unmistakable as he chuckles at something that Cabe’s just told him, “I think we’ve got this in the bag,” he jokes, “Everybody loved us!”

I smiled, half-tired and half-ready to just get the entire event over with, “Yeah, they did. We can’t let our guard down though, them liking us just means that more tributes will want us out at the beginning like Graham mentioned. We don’t if they’re all secretly plotting with each other.”

Despite this, Walker’s mood stayed positive and he continued to ramble about his ideas for the arena, albeit more quietly as to ensure no one else overheard, “What if they put us in a desert biome? Or a rainforest where all of the water is poisonous? Or make us fight 1000 feet above the ground? Or —”

Cabe cut him off with a friendly clap to his back as he said, “I think it’s time you went to sleep, give your brain some time to rest and all.”

Just as he was about to complain, Walker groaned and briefly tried to hide behind, “Stupid mentor and his curfew,” he grumbled, “He’s looking for me just a few feet ahead.”

Cabe and I laughed before I sidestepped him, showing him off to the very mentor that he wanted to escape from, “Oops,” I said innocently. 

Just before he could walk too far away, Cabe said,  “Remember, don’t run into the Cornocopia tomorrow - just run north and we’ll find each other somehow.”

Walker nodded at him and stuck his tongue out at me as he left for his mentor, “‘Oops’ my butt,” he said before finally walking out of sight. 

Cabe, in all of his glory and beauty, turned to give me an award-winning smile, “I guess it’s time…”

I smiled up at him, trying not to show how tired I was because I wanted nothing more than to talk with him, if only for a little bit longer, “Yeah it is. We’ll be in the arena and then…”

“And then we’ll try our best to make it back home,” Cabe finishes, his hair that was swept up coming back down to rest over his forehead, “Trust me Graingirl, we’ll get far as long as we’re together.”

He must be doing this on purpose, I think. There’s no way that he doesn’t know the double-meaning of his words and their effect on me at the moment, or at least, I hope he does so I’m not just standing there like an idiot reading too deep into his lines.

I feel the color red creeping up my neck and before Cabe can see it on my cheeks, I turn the other way and pretend to scan the tributes who were still left. My eyes fall on Swann who’s also watching me and Cabe talk, our eyes briefly meeting before she averts her eyes and motions with her head for Cabe to come to her near the elevators. For the third time tonight, a burning sensation pulls at my stomach as I watch her cast one last look at Cabe before she walks off towards the elevator’s entrance. 

Cabe tilts his head backward and lets out a childish groan of protest, “I don’ wanna goooo,” he whines uncharacteristically, his eyes closed as he does so, “Just wanna relax without her bugging me for a few hours.”

I chuckle, shaking my head, and shove him playfully, “What’s with the whining, huh, Fishboy? Never heard you do it before.”

One of his eyes peeks open to look at me, his head still tilted back as he says, “Wanna spend more time with you,” he gages my reaction and I guess I must have done something right as he closes his eyes, “Don’t wanna wake up tomorrow and be forced to kill other kids.”

“I don’t want the Games to change me either,” I admit despite my red cheeks, “That’s why I swore not to kill and that’s why I made you promise me that I wouldn’t have to. I don’t want to win and have my brother feel like I changed into a killer or lose and die a murderer. There’s no win if I kill someone.”

Cabe, sensing the change in mood, popped his head up and started to talk in a small voice, one of his hands coming to rub my back in small circles, “And you won’t have to kill someone,” he confirmed, “It’s not like I’m going to enjoy killing people or that I’m going to brutally murder each person,” he said, “But if it’s either me or you and them, I’m gonna choose us.”

“I‘ll choose us, too,” I say, “And I’ll kill if it really really comes down to it, but if there’s another option, I’m going to choose that option.”

Cabe nods and takes his hands off of me, smiling again and I know he’s about to start whining, “I don’t wanna gooo…”

I motion towards the elevators with my head, “Finnick’s going to be mad if you miss the elevator. Go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He groans again but starts to walk off facing me, “Fine, but only ‘cause you said so. See you tomorrow, Graingirl.”

I wave to him and he waves back as he turns to walk normally. I watch him as he enters the elevators and is immediately nagged by Finnick and Swann, his smile noticeably flickering off of his face as they begin to rise up and up until I can’t see them anymore. 

I spot Ryland, Marian, and Graham coming together by the elevator and know that I should be going back as well. With one last wave, I say, “See you tomorrow, Fishboy,” before joining the group. 

For the first time since the beginning of my stay here in the Capitol, I sleep soundly.  

Chapter Text

I wake up in a dark room; the moonlight scene I had changed my digital wall to does nothing to bring natural light into the room. I roll over to look at the nightstand, the clock letting me know that it is a little bit before 4:30 in the morning, but surprisingly enough, I'm not tired. I feel eerily calm, even though the Games are today, and I decide to make my bed and sit down on the hard, cool floor of the room to stretch. 

Since I know that I won't be alone for the rest of the day, or perhaps even for days to come, I swiftly go into the bathroom and take a long, hot steamy shower that cleanses me of any worries I have about my odds. I'm delighted with this free time to myself for the first time since I got here. I feel like a Capitol house cat when the in-wall blow-dryer works its magic on my wet hair, perfectly drying it to perfection while also giving it a nice texture that feels nice and warm on my neck. 

When I come out of the bathroom, I remember where I am as I see Concordia reading a magazine on the armchair in front of the digital window. Today, her skin is no longer pink and is instead, a fair complexion that I believe suits her better. She's wearing the most conservative outfit I have seen on her yet; a glittery golden cocktail dress with long sleeves and a pair of black chunky-heeled boots that rise to her calves. It always amazes me how talented she is in coordinating the most random pieces into a stunning everyday outfit. 

"Good morning, lovely," she greets, marking her page before setting the magazine down next to a small black purse that must also be hers, "I was surprised to see you up already. Did you have a good night’s sleep?"

I sort of side-eye her as I walk to turn on the lights of the room, somewhat taken aback by her motherly tone that sounds similar to Maude's, but I answer, "I did, actually. I feel calm — well not calm per se — but just...content."

She nods along but I know that she's not truly listening as she stands up and hands me a ghastly plain white dress with a look of disgust, "Good. As much as I hate having to travel, the final dressing and preparations will be under the arena itself so for the time being," she motions to the unflattering linen, "You will be wearing this on the hovercraft."

Unlike Maude, she doesn't try to make me feel more comfortable as I undress before her eyes and despite myself, my cheeks turn warm at her looking at my naked form even though she must have seen it the most as my stylist. I close my eyes to make the whole thing less awkward for me and when I'm done, she merely smiles, commenting on how it doesn't look as bad as she thought it would before she guides me to the roof. Just as promised, a hovercraft appears and she instructs me to climb the ladder without her first. Without much effort of my own, the ladder glides me into the flying machine but doesn't allow me to step out. 

A woman in a white coat carrying a menacing-looking syringe in her hand walks over to me, warning me in a voice that tells me how experienced she is, "This is just your tracker, Annona. The stiller you are, the more efficient I can place it." 

I know that she's only doing her job, but I glare at her as she pierces my skin, a sharp stab of pain following as the needle inserts a metal tracking device inside of my forearm. Once she walks away, I clutch my arm with my other hand and, after looking around to make sure the coast was clear, curse loudly in a way that would tarnish my image with the Capitol citizens if they had heard it. The ladder releases me afterwards. 

Concordia is then escorted into the hovercraft as well before a blonde boy wearing a uniform-like outfit leads us into a room serving breakfast foods buffet-style. He says nothing through the entire walk there and simply leaves us there to wander and eat. 

My stylist urges me to eat and while I'm not feeling too keen on vomiting it out during the first few hours of the Games, Dagon's voice pestering me to eat a mix of carbohydrates, proteins, grains, nuts, etc... so I fill up two plates and eat silently. The French toast impresses me with its unique taste, but the oatmeal and grain salad mixed with fruit makes me rethink everything I knew about grains. Concordia looks out through the window, trying to make small talk about the clouds looking fluffy before realizing that I wasn't in the best mood to talk today. I wasn't even in a bad mood, I just honestly did not want to talk. 

Soon enough, the hovercraft lands and we're both led down the ladder and into a tube underground that Concordia tells me lies underneath the actual arena I will be competing in. She had called it a 'Launch Room.'

"You will be the only tribute to ever use this Launch Room," she exaggerates as if this was some honor that I should be thanking her for, "And after the Games finish, it'll be part of the 72nd Hunger Games museum for others to visit and think of you!"

Unlike any of the previous times that she's dressed me, Concordia gets the honor of showering me from head to toe for the first time and I silently bite my lip as I feel her scrub my skin raw to get rid of the nonexistent dirt on me. She repeats the lathering, scrubbing, and rinsing cycle a few more times before she finally hands me a towel and begins to pluck my eyebrows and the area above my upper lip to make me 'camera ready,' as she says. If it weren't for the fact that today was the actual first day of the Games, I would have said something to make her shut up, but I didn't want her to blab and push away any potential sponsors. 

"Every tribute gets the same clothes for the arena," Concordia starts as she opens up an unmarked package that had been recently dropped off by a group of Peacekeepers, "You'll get to know what kind of terrain you will be in once I open it," she says.

I'm eagerly looking over her shoulder, now sporting a base layer of compression shorts and a compression bra that she had taken out of the box first, and watch as she pulls out the rest of the pieces of my arena outfit; a pair of nylon khaki pants with a zipper running through the underside of the knees, a nylon light purple button-up shirt, a hooded brownish-gray fleece jacket, and a pair of wool socks and black boots that looked to be very expensive. 

The clothes feel like plastic on my skin, obviously because of the nylon material that makes them up, yet they provide a cooling sensation throughout my body that makes me feel more awake and alert. I wonder out loud if the clothes can also keep me warm in the arena by keeping my body heat in. 

"They will keep you warm, that's for sure," Concordia says, scaring me as I wasn't prepared for an actual answer, "But nylon itself does not have insulating properties to trap warmth. This jacket is water-resistant and non-flammable so it'll only melt instead of catching on fire if it were to become a concern. Nylon is also quick to dry in the case of a heavy storm or water environment."

I blankly stare at her for all of the useful information she just gave is going to be a lot more helpful than she seems to realize, "I...thank you?"

"It's my job as a stylist to understand different materials," she states cockily before moving to pull something out of the small purse she had been carrying with her all day. 

A small white cloth wraps an even smaller object and she unveils the material to reveal Dagon's dice - the same one that I had been sure was left on my room's nightstand. 

I suddenly felt clammy and sweaty in the nylon clothes and I struggled to rack my brain for an excuse as to why the dice only showed a '1' on every side, "Oh, is that the toy I left in the room —"

"It's your district token," Concordia says slyly, unzipping my jacket to then unzip a secret pocket on the inside before placing the dice inside of it and zipping me back up again, "When I asked Ryland what token I should submit to the review board — they ensure that tokens can't give an unfair advantage to their tribute — he only instructed me to take a small trinket that you couldn't have gotten in the Capitol. Smart man, he is. I thought he was talking about the small gold ring on your dresser but I figured 'trinket' meant your token would be a toy."

I was taken aback by the fact that Ryland could even guess that I would bring something so small and seemingly insignificant from District 9, but the rational side of me realized that it wasn't so far-fetched. Still, I was surprised that the one thing I wanted to keep personal — Dagon's dice and its unconventional sides — was simply guessed by Ryland. I can only imagine how much more he knows about me that he hasn't had the chance to tell me about. 

Concordia walks backward a few steps and looks me up and down, "Even though I feel as though I should do something fancy with your hair, one last appeal for them to look at you if you will, I think it'll be practically better for you if I simply give you a few hair ties and let you do want you when in the arena."

She reaches to hug me, and I don't know if it's because I need the comfort of an older woman or because I realize that the last hug I received was from Ryland's burst of pride at my training score, but I allow her to pull me to her glittery chest and I also wrap my arms around her. I can feel her stiffen in surprise when I reciprocate the hug, but she soon softens up and rocks us back and forth like I was a baby that needed to be consoled. 

The weight of the day was finally catching up to me and a small pull of my stomach, one that was a great deal different than the one I got from seeing Swann and Cabe together, allowed me to finally face the one thing that I tried to hide; fear. 

I had never truly felt fearful of anything in the entirety of my life; not my reaping, not on the first day of training with the other tributes, and not at any of the other anxiety-inducing events that I had been forced to attend. Even at home, the only thing I had ever been afraid of was drowning because of Wesley's death. It had taken me a whole year after his Games for me to finally join Dagon at a nearby lake to swim, but even then, I stayed close to the shore. 

"Do you need anything?" Concordia asks, her voice breaking ever so slightly that I thought I could've missed it if not for the deafening silence around them. 

I knew that she didn't mean material items like food (they were forbidden to bring in such advantages) and that she was instead referring to what I needed her to be; a friend, a sister...a mother, but I shook my head and we mutually released each other from the hug. 

"Annona, I want you to know that we're all rooting for you," she says, her voice definitely shaking now, "Ryland, Marian, me, Janus...everyone is rooting for you."

Those were the last words I heard before she leads me to a circular metal plate in the room and instructs me to stand on it and to not be afraid when glass encases me. Even though I could no longer hear her, she brings two index fingers to trace a smile on her face and I recognize that she was telling me to smile; to keep smiling. 

I don't get a chance to give her one last smile before the glass cylinder begins to rise me into a seemingly endless darkness where my thoughts begin to cloud in fear before my own voice surprises me as a sentence leaves my mouth. 

"Then who's rooting for him?" 

The entire reason why I'm so afraid is because of the uncertainties of the Games this year. According to Ryland, the 72nd Games are the first time in history when alliances have been made with actual groups of five or more tributes compared to the usual pair or trio that were seen before. In short, I'm afraid of what Graham's capable of, especially now that he has at least four other strong tributes to back him up when needed — the support he never got from Ryland and the support he just barely got from Marian. 

The cylinder suddenly pushes me out of its encasement and into the open, crisp, and cool air of the arena. Wind from all directions blows and messes with my hair and before I become too paralyzed with fear to do anything, I take a deep breath and use one of Concordia's hair ties around my wrist to pull up my hair into a comfortable, but strong ponytail to keep the hair out of my eyes. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Second Hunger Games begin!" a familiar voice booms out. 

—   —   —   —   —

Given the barbarity of the Games and the central idea that it was only there for the Capitol's entertainment, I wondered why the Gamemakers made us wait for 60 seconds before we were allowed to step off of the plates. When Ryland had mentioned how an early step could lead to your instant death via land mine, I had to hold myself back from laughing at his face because of how Capitol-like it was.  

"Did you not know about the 60-second countdown before the tributes are released?" he had asked. 

"No," I shrugged, "Usually the district sets up large screens for us field workers to watch the Games as required, but we're usually too caught up in our work or too far away from the screen to actually pay attention," I had explained, "But we're usually done working by nighttime when the Capitol replays their favorite clips of the day."

It was these 60-seconds that allowed me to fully take in my environment. The Cornucopia, which was equidistant from the circular and random order of us tributes around it, held everything that a tribute would need to survive from matches to full-size tents and medicine. Its golden gleam mocks our hope to get anything from it, but even I know that I shouldn't be so stupid as to believe that I would make it out alive from there; only the Darlings ever do. 

The biome seemed to be a mixture of the past few games; mountains surrounded us on all sides but right in front of them were acres and acres of trees and woods dusted with snow that would work to keep us enclosed and more likely to meet each other — nobody would want to reach those mountains anyway. I notice that certain portions of the arena were more heavily coated with trees and snow than others; it made me wonder what lie at the center of the portions that seemed to be missing patches of forestry. I faintly hear a body of water and I turn slightly to catch sight of a river running behind me, one that flowed calmly from one end of the forest to the opposite of it, though it disappeared into the trees on my right with a sharp turn that seemed to beckon me over. 

I looked around me, hoping to find a familiar face, but all I saw were tributes I had no impression of or  tributes from the Darlings pack who seemed to be eyeing the Cornucopia hungrily as if they couldn't wait to start. I almost cursed out loud because if I couldn't see Cabe, Walker, or Grimm, it must mean that they were positioned on the opposite side of the Cornucopia; and from there, how will they be able to get past the Darlings and see where I go once the Games officially begin?

I didn't have enough time to think of a plan as the eerie sound that signaled the beginning of the Games had just rung out from the sky; the Games have started. 

I saw tributes to my right and left immediately dive for the backpacks around our platforms, but instead of retreating into the safety of the woods and mountains, they stupidly rushed into the Cornocopia. They all seemed so young and it took everything from me to look away as a red-haired girl no older than twelve, who had been on my right coming up from the cylinders, was slaughtered by Flaire, the 'Blonde Beauty,' with a hunting knife. She didn't even give her the chance to cry out for her mother or anybody; just a simple slash across her throat before she dropped the younger girl from her grip and ran after another young girl who was closer to the Cornucopia. 

I was running away from the action now, going as fast as my trained legs could carry me despite the few inches of snow that began to coat the ground the deeper I went into the arena. I knew that some people had run into the forest immediately after the sound echoed out, so I made sure to keep my eyes on the ground, for shoe impressions in the snow, and on the trees, in case any of them decided to climb up and hit from above. 

Surprisingly, I met no one as I ran until I hit the area where the trees turned into mountains, a small creek being the only other land marker that such a change was happening. Besides me, the creek was also the only other thing making any noise as I tried to catch my breath, turning my back towards the mountains and instead focusing on the tree line for any sneaky followers. None came. 

My hands seemed to twitch as thoughts raced through my head, including the thoughts that were tempting me to run back and start hunting down the other tributes before I caught and checked them. Instead, I shifted my focus on staring into the trees, wondering just how far away I had run from the action and if the Gamemakers were about to push me back into the radar of the other tributes just for fun. Just then, I had a grand idea that would show my sponsors — if I had any — what I could do. 

I crept back into the forest, purposefully stepping on fallen tree branches or logs to hide my trail, and picked up a branch that looked to be as long and thick as my forearm before scurrying back to the mountain line. I crouched down by the creek as if I were a catcher playing the bat-and-ball game back in District 9, waiting for signs of running or panting from any other tributes nearby before window-shopping by my feet for a long flat rock and a round one to match it. 

I heard the crack of a branch from a few yards ahead and ran forward with my branch and rocks to hide behind a fallen log just in front of me; that's when I saw her. It was Swann, except she was by herself without the other Darlings and she looked like she had just been in a fight judging by the snow on her clothes and the way her hair was sticking up in all directions. And that's not even mentioning the small cuts on her hands and cheeks that I could see were scarlet red against her pale complexion. 

I studied her, waiting for her to follow my footprints in the snow to the mountain line but she only paused just a few feet away from them and abruptly turned the other way shouting, "They're not over here — no prints either," before jogging back in the way that she had come. 

I was dazed — had she really been too lazy to walk a few more feet to inspect my shoe prints in the snow or had she really not seen them at all? Nonetheless, I heard a few more pairs of feet join hers as they ran west away from me, letting me know for sure that the Darlings weren't nearby as I rolled onto my stomach and began to chip at the flatter rock using the other stubbier rock to make a sharp blade-like edge. 

I'd feel better in leaving the safety of my mountain line spot alone with a weapon, even if it was simply a sharp rock. The only problem was the noise; even if the Darling Pack was moving west, I still had to worry about...

My thoughts trailed off as I heard the cannons begin to shoot off, signaling the unofficial-yet-official end of the Cornucopia Bloodbath for the year. They were equally spaced apart with only a few seconds of silence before the next one echoed out into the abyss of the arena. At the end of the procession, only eight cannons had gone off when, in the other Games, there had always been at least half of the tributes gone by this point. There were four more tributes to fight than average, I figured, four more lives to come across or four more lives to see die in front of me like the red-haired girl. 

I jerked myself out of the tunnel of self-pity that I was about to go in to instead chip at the rock as quietly as I could, still thinking of ways that I could subtly meet up with the others. Running around the arena with a handmade weapon and no allies would be like putting a big fat target on my back for the Darlings or Graham to find me, especially with the snow being too fresh for me to not leave marks wherever I go unless I get closer to the Cornucopia and only God knows how many people are lying in wait over there, too.

If I could only find some string or wire to tie my sharpened rock onto the branch, I could have a homemade ax instead of a sharp tool that could only be used for hand-to-hand combat; something Cabe was always better than me at. It would be a miracle though, and I wasn't too keen on banking my entire hope of survival on a piece of string. 

The sun was beginning to set by the time I decided to go with my instincts and head east in the opposite direction of the Darlings. I positioned the sharpened rock sideways in my palm as if I were holding a real dagger or knife and used my other hand to hold the thick branch in front of me like an unlit torch as I slowly crept into the woods. The sky was streaming purple and orange hues from the cracks in between the trees and I made a note to crouch down to avoid my body casting shadows as I stepped on logs and patches of the bare ground without snow or leaves to avoid making too much noise. 

It was officially sunset by the time I had reached the eastern part of the arena where the river I noticed earlier started at the waterfall right in front of me. Its water flowed into a shimmering pond before breaking off into a small creak, no doubt the one I had just come from, and into the river that moved south towards the Cornucopia area. Even from here, just behind a large boulder that bordered the waterfall, I could see how it would entice a thirsty tribute into drinking it, but I knew from the past games that something beautiful could be equally deadly or poisonous. 

A pebble hit the side of my head and I whipped around to see where it had come from only to find a few birds scattering from the mountain where the waterfall was streaming from. There were other boulders surrounding the body of water, and just as I was about to peek over the ledge, a larger rock struck my foot which was then followed by a small whisper of my name. 

"'Nona," the raspy voice called out softly, "To your right."

I looked right but only saw the waterfall again, "What?" I muttered, thinking I must be crazy from dehydration or heat or a combination of both. 

"Cave in the waterfall," another voice directed as I cautiously walked closer to the mountain, "Zip up your jacket and crouch down," they instructed. 

I followed their words before walking through the waterfall, my rock held out in front of me for what little protection it could offer. The veil of water provided instant relief from the heat of the arena, which was out of place since half of the biome was covered in inches of snow. When I finally made it through the water, I had to crouch even lower than I had been to fit in despite how large the area seemed to be. 

The cave was damp, as to be expected, but it was also formed in the shape of an amphitheater with smooth rocks or mountain formations creating rows of natural seating on which I found the other boys of my alliance. Walker had his hands cupped over his mouth, and I figured he had been the one instructing me towards the cave, but he quickly put them down to instead wave me over to him. Grimm was at the opposite side of the waterfall where I had come in, holding a canister to the edge of the water in an attempt to collect it without giving away our hiding place to any onlookers outside. 

Cabe was watching me from his position on the lowest row; his shoulders were slumped forward  and he was frowning as I neared him and Walker. His face was scratched on his left side near his jaw and his clothes were wet, too. It looked like he’d been fighting.  

I matched his frown, "She went after you first, didn't she?"

Cabe and I locked eyes, but he quickly looked away and grabbed a dark blue backpack from behind him, "Yeah…Did you fight her, too?"

His tone isn't at all what I'm used to hearing from him, especially after last night when we were so calm and collected with each other before we had to say goodbye. The change made me feel small and insignificant, but I know that I have more things to worry about than Cabe’s tense attitude towards me. These were the Hunger Games and there was no time to be fooling around with any kind of feelings besides loyalty and betrayal.

"No, I didn't," I say curtly, somewhat relieved when his face eases up from its stern expression, "But I was near her. She and the other Darlings went west by the way — "

"What do you mean 'near her'?" Walker interrupts, "Did you two spot each other or what?"

I took a glance at Cabe's sudden interest in my words and answered his questions, "Not really, well, here’s the thing; I'm sure that my footprints left tracks in the snow — just two or three miles west of here was where I ended up after I ran — and I guess the Darlings were looking for us because I saw Swann running up to where I was hiding,” even Grimm had come back to our circle to listen by this point, “I was just a few feet away, hiding behind a log, but I was lucky enough that she was either too lazy to look closely for prints or lucky enough that she didn't see them at all," I finished. 

Saying it out loud made another explanation for Swann's actions pop into my brain; the chance that Swann had seen my footprints, but lied to the others about seeing them. She had helped me before in the training center without needing to be repaid, but I figured that time in the pool encounter was a one-shot instinct for someone in District 4 who was around water and swimmers all day. Even if she decided to help me in the Games, which she shouldn’t be seeing as we were part of different alliances, there was no reason for her to do so, at least no reason clear or unclear to me so far. 

“She wouldn’t be too lazy to do that,” Cabe says, “If anything, she would be overly cautious in checking things out. But at least we know one thing,” he pauses to add into his effect, “the Darlings are all waiting to stab each other in the back. Once they get rid of me and ‘Nona, it’s a fair game between them and whoever’s left; that’s why they let Swann off on her own to find ‘Nona. They know her and I fought so they already know which direction we went in, but they couldn’t find ‘Nona since they were too busy with the Bloodbath.”

“And that makes this perfect,” Grimm has a haunting smile that would’ve unnerved me if I wasn’t too focused on his words, “They think she’s still alone in the west so they’ll be all over that side of the arena. We’re in the clear as far as they go, at least for a couple of hours — ”

“Or even a whole day if they decide to split up and explore the arena,” Cabe finishes. 

Walker looks nervous so I pat his knee, “Whatcha thinking about?”

His eyes look around us before he looks down, “I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but besides the Darlings, we still have to worry about the tributes who aren’t teaming up with anybody — we don’t know who they are.”

“Well let’s think,” I say, “There’re six Darlings — Flair, Valor, Victor, Athena, Swann, and the beefy kid from 10 — ”

“Butch,” Grimm offers.

“Butch,” I repeat, “And then there’s four of us, so ten tributes there. Adding in the tributes from Graham’s alliance — Graham, the pair from 8, and the girl from 5 — ”

“And the boy from 7, I think,” Walker reminds, “On the first day, Graham was sitting with the pair from 7, but I don’t remember if he ended up teaming up with the girl or not.”

“Counting the boy from 7, we only have fifteen tributes accounted for and if we count the eight who died in the Bloodbath, they only make 23,” Cabe says, obviously frustrated given the harsh tone, “We should’ve paid more attention to the other tributes during training, at least we’d be able to list off the ones who we think died instead of the lone one who didn’t.”

“But nobody else posed a threat besides the Darlings and Graham,” Grimm said obnoxiously, “What’s the point of watching everyone if half of them are dead now.”

“Eight,” I correct firmly, “That’s not even half right now and according to the past Games, it’s the first time in a decade where more than half of the tributes have survived the Bloodbath. Us not knowing who that lone tribute is could cost us if he ends up being the kind of tribute who fakes being bad at fighting or the kind of tribute who hides away for the entirety of the Games. He could be in the mountains now, surrounded by food and water from sponsors while we’re here stuck with the others.”

Everybody fell silent, suddenly sensing the endless possibilities that came with not knowing who that one lone tribute was; especially in our Games where everybody else seemed to be traveling as a pack. Our cave was dark now, which didn’t help to lift our spirits. 

“We should start a rotation,” Grimm suddenly proposes, “In case someone else stumbles across the waterfall and stays for too long.”

I nod and move to stand up before a hand wraps itself around my wrist, effectively stopping me from taking charge. I try to look at the owner of the hand, but it was too dark to make them out. 

“I’m the one with the weapon,” I argue to the person.

“You mean that rock?” Grimm snorts, “I admit that it’s sharp and well-cut, but it’s not going to do much in terms of protecting.”

Even though I can’t see him, I shoot a glare in the direction of his voice, “I don’t see you with anything.”

A ruffling of what sounds to be a bag is all we hear until it’s zipped back up again and I see the gleam of metal shining from what little light is being let into the cave, “Wrong; I have a knife,” I hear Grimm’s cheeky voice say.

“It’s my knife,” the voice that belongs to the hand on my wrist corrects as I shift myself closer to its owner; Cabe, “After Swann came after me, I took the chance to grab a backpack that was still lying around. It’s got four knives, a bungee cord, a water flask, and some bandages if you’re interested,” he offers.

Funnily enough, the bungee cord and knives pique my interest and I tell Graham to hand them over before he leaves, which he reluctant whines about before doing it anyway. 

“Be safe,” I whisper-yell when Grimm finally does leave the cave to take the first watch. I’m met with a dull hum that’s ever so him that I end up dismissing his response and focusing on my tools. 

“What are you making?” Cabe asks.

I can hear the sleepiness in his voice, but I can also feel his leg bouncing up and down as if he’s too anxious to fall asleep or trying not to give in to it at all. 

Nonetheless, I indulge him, “I don’t know exactly what it’s called, but it’s one of the things I showed in my private session with the Gamemakers. I connect knives to the ends of a rope and use the body to whip the knives around — it’s good for keeping people with good hand-to-hand combat skills away and for defending myself against the other knife throwers.”

Cabe leaned to lay his head on my shoulder, an action that made my fingers stumble while trying to connect the last knife onto the rope before I caught myself, “Sleepy?”

He shook his head, “No,” liar, “I don’t know how to act now that we’re here.”

I check to make sure that Walker’s sleeping, and since I only hear his breathing I assume that he is, before responding to Cabe, “Just be yourself like you’ve always been,” I whisper the next part, wary of any cameras hidden in the cave, “Don’t let the Games change you, remember?”

I can feel him smile based on the movement of his cheeks, “I know,” he says out loud, acting coy to mislead the audience’s perception of what was just said, “It’s kinda weird with the cameras though.”

My cheeks flare up and I lightly shove him away, “Don’t say it like that.”

Our joking is promptly cut short when a familiar cannon sound rings out, and even though it’s muffled from inside the cave, Cabe and I both stiffen because we know that each other’s thoughts are only thinking of one person; Grimm. 

Chapter Text

My mind was spiraling again with all kinds of possibilities to explain why the canon had sounded; what if Grimm died, what if Grimm killed someone else, what if I killed Grimm by not taking the first watch, what if the lone tribute had killed Grimm? It all happened so fast and before I knew it, I was clutching onto my newly-crafted weapon and stumbling through the darkness to reach the cave's waterfall curtain. 

Again, Cabe's hand caught my wrist and I could tell by the somewhat harsh tug that he wasn't sleepy anymore, "Stay, I'll go."

I wasn't in the mood to be sheltered or held back because the only thing on my mind at the moment was the idea that if I had gone to take the first watch, Grimm could still be alive right now so I shook off his hand "No, stay with Walker. Don't wake him up unless I don't come back in five minutes," I order, "Give him some time to sleep before it gets hectic."

I couldn't see his face, but I knew him well enough to know that he was probably frowning so I said, "Please, Cabe. If the Darlings went west then it's probably Graham or the lone tribute; I just want to know that Grimm's not dead because of me."

He let me go, but just before I crossed the veil of the waterfall, I heard him whisper, "Come back, okay?"

I froze, and I don't know if it was the adrenaline rushing or if it was just the timing, but I said, "Only for you," before tugging up my hood and letting the waterfall gush over me as I carefully walked out of the cave. 

The bungee cord drapes in a U-shape over my thighs as both of my hands each wield a knife to protect myself against any surprises. The small pond in front of the waterfall is illuminated by the moon and while it looks very beautiful in the light, my thoughts are elsewhere as scan the nearby area for Grimm. He's nowhere to be found. 

In fact, nobody is to be found. The tree line gives no sense of life as the leaves stay eerily stiff, unmoved by the small breeze made by the waterfall nor the chill of the snowy mountains I know must be nearby. The area was quiet, unbelievably quiet when accounting for the rush of the waterfall and the potentially-deadly situation I was walking myself into. 

I waited for at least a minute or two before deciding to check in on Cabe and telling him that I would be going out longer to look for Grimm. Just as I turned around, a familiar knife skimmed my cheek as I was turning, drawing a thin, yet painful, line of blood from my skin.

I saw the knife fall to the leaves in front of me but ignored it in favor of having my back not facing the assailant whose figure was also familiar to me. The figure's build was on the smaller side but because they were so far away, I couldn't make out their face to bring a name to mind.

The figure stood defensively with their fists up for a few seconds, as if they were ready to brawl with their bare knuckles, before I saw them loosen up and walk toward me. My hands, still holding the knives up in case of an attack, slightly drooped downwards in disregard as I finally recognized the figure. I quickly placed both of my knives in one hand and walked towards the figure, not daring to yell out his name in fear of attracting too much attention. 

Grimm simply stared at the cut on my cheek, but there was no immediate reaction from him to apologize or explain himself as I neared him. He had a small metal box-like thing in his hands, but it wasn't brought to my attention span as I got closer.

Despite the lack of warmth from him and the way he shifted the box away, I forced him into a brief hug, "I thought the cannon..."

The mention of the cannon firing seemed to get him back into his usual self as he pushed me away like a younger brother pushing off his sister and confirmed, "No, it wasn't me. I don't know who it was."

I nodded and began to walk us back toward the cave when Grimm stops us and looks around, "Why are we going back inside? I still have to keep watch."

I look at him like he has ten heads, "You think after the cannon sound that I'm going to let you stay out here alone? We're all going inside of the waterfall and you can keep watch from inside of it. I don't want anything to happen to any of us outside of it," my voice softens as I confess, "If something happened to you or Walker because of Graham, I don't know how I'd be able to live with myself."

He looks at me with an unreadable expression before he nods, "I guess."

The response was so...lacking in warmth and familiarity that I felt the need to ask him where he was at the time that he was not directly outsides of the waterfall. I had assumed that he would be keeping watch in the space between the waterfall's entrance and the rocks surrounding the pond, but when I had come out to find him, he had been in the trees. Dead silent. 

It occurs to me that he would have been watching me look around the area and I stop the both of us before we cross the water threshold. There was a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, a small suspicion that I knew had to be crushed now before it consumed my thoughts. 

"Why'd you throw the knife at me?"

To his credit, and to my great relief, Grimm looks confused at my question, "I heard a beeping noise coming from the trees right as I came out so I went to look for it and I found this...thing with a white parachute. I think it's from the sponsors," he adds, holding out the metal box-like thing that he had yet to open, "And right after, the cannon went off. I didn't want to make too much noise by running back to the waterfall so I was balancing on some logs when I saw you near the pond. I couldn't see your face and, to be honest, I couldn't see your body clearly from the trees."

He hands over the box, awaiting my response to his version of what happened and I quickly ruffle his hair to reassure him, "Get in the cave, Grimm. Thanks for getting the sponsors' gift before someone else found it."

He again shoves me off but with a small smile as he enters first, and while I know that I trust his words, I still had a nagging sensation that compelled me to look once more towards the tree line before crossing the water's curtain. I enter the cave soon after. 

I just barely have time to collect my thoughts and shove them down when a male figure encases me in a damp, yet warm embrace. I stiffened for a moment before realizing who it was and wrapping my arms around him too. 

Cabe's voice is in a higher pitch as he says, "Only for you."

I hear chuckles, which I know are from Grimm since he doesn't laugh, and real laughter that I recognize as Walker's. Instead of being focused on the fact that Walker had woken up and was now well-rested enough for us to move while it was still dark, I shoved my heated face into Cabe's chest with a groan of frustration.

"This is the worst."

The rumbling of Cabe's chest tells me he's laughing before he loosens his grip on me, "Only for you."

I slap his shoulder but it only gives me a toothy grin before I face Walker's own annoyingly smug grin as he says, "So...you guys wanna talk about it?"

"I thought you would've noticed earlier," Grimm says from his corner near the waterfall's other entrance.

Grimm wasn't much of a talker so his off-handed comment surprised Walker as the fifteen-year-old gawked at him with an accusing finger, "I thought you only talked about your...endless trivia and knowledge about the Capitol."

Grimm entertains him with a shrug and a cheesy smile that vanishes as quickly as it had come before he looks at me, "Can we open the gift?"

"What gift?" Cabe questions as he finally seems to notice the awkwardly-shaped metal object in my hands as I go to sit down on a rock. 

"Sponsor's gift — we think," I correct in case we were wrong, "Grimm said he heard the parachute coming down and he got to it before the others heard it. We also don't know who set off the canon or if it was nearby either," my tone lowers and I'm almost ashamed by the lack of information I had to report to the group from the few minutes I spent outside of the cave. 

Cabe seems to sense my disappointment and sits down next to me, squeezing my shoulder before holding out his hands to take the object. He throws the parachute behind us, as Grimm and Walker had also come to sit at the rocks nearby, and popped open the metal box like it was a watermelon being split into two halves. 

I didn't have time to marvel at his strength, however, as I was more focused on the contents of the gift; four small folded notecards with each of our names on them, a pair of night-vision goggles, a pair of gloves, a rolled-up piece of stiff material, and a small belt with an attached pouch dangling from it. The gifts were all so expensive, yet very much needed that I had half a mind to just go out there and confront any tributes since we had all of the necessary elements to fight and track them down. 

"Huh," Walker says, leaning over to get a better look at what we were given, "I have a lot of questions."

"You and me both," I say with a weird look towards the stiff material, reaching to take it out and expand it just as Cabe does it.

Once he unrolls the strange piece, it reveals itself to be some sort of body armor vest made out of thick material, yet not so thick enough that somebody would be able to tell that you were wearing it underneath our Capitol-issued jackets. 

"It's anti-blade," Cabe points out, looking at the tag and running his hands over the sleekness of the vest, "Do the cards tell us who gets what?"

Walker is the first to pick up his card and he takes a moment to read it before shaking his head, "No, they don't — well, at least mine didn't. Mine just says 'Think about their different applications and usages, think survival— J.' Like that's not cryptic, thanks Justin," he deadpans into a camera behind my shoulder that I hadn't noticed was there. 

I send the camera a weary look as I lean back to secretly peek at mine out of its videoing range. The message is uncharacteristically sweet and thoughtful that my eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when I see who it's from as I was expecting the words to be from Marian.

"'For the calluses, I know you will get. And for the knives, I know you might encounter — R,'" I read aloud after a few moments, "From my mentor, Ryland. He's usually more...blunt than this," I say to the eyebrows that have raised themselves after I say who the message is from. 

"You two must be close," Cabe mentions offhandedly before he reads his own message like a lord reading a proclamation, "Finnick likes to add a bit of humor into his; 'A nice little matching set with Annona — F.'"

"I'm guessing those gloves are also anti-blade or cut-resistant too," Grimm says, "'A matching set.'"

"They sound like old friends marrying off their son and daughter," Walker jokes, laughing to himself as he gets awkward silence from Grimm and a pointed look from Cabe, "Kidding, of course."

"What does yours say?" I ask Grimm, trying not to make it look like I purposefully asked him for a reason other than curiosity.

Grimm shrugs and turns over his card for the rest of us to strain our eyes to read in the dark, "Just says 'Be careful — H.' Haymitch isn't the nurturing or humorous type," he winces clearly before reaching into the box and taking out the belt with the pouch. 

He shakes it and nods to himself before handing it over to Walker, "I'm guessing the tool belt without the tools is yours since you're a mechanic or something."

Walker takes a look inside of the pouch and lights up like a kid realizing he's not been reaped this year, "It's got everything I need to create some simple snares and traps for food...and people; a roll of conductive wire cable, zip ties, pliers, and some other general supplies."

"We'll probably need to get food first thing in the morning," I say, "It's almost been half a day since we've all eaten and we're gonna need some meat to keep us traveling throughout the arena."

"So that leaves the night vision goggles to you," Cabe concludes as he hands over the said goggles to Grimm's awaiting hands, "They'll be really helpful if we decide to do some overnight moving or something."

Grimm hums, seemingly uninterested in Cabe, as he tries on his gift and adjusts a few straps and knobs before he smiles in satisfaction. That catches all of us off guard again because, among the other things Grimm doesn't do, he doesn't smile. 

"They have heat vision, too," he sounds impressed by them and looks around for a few more moments in the dark cave before he takes them off, "These are great. All of our gifts are great."

"How much do you think it would've cost them to send all this at once?" Cabe says as he continues to admire his vest.

I do the same with my cut-resistant gloves, slipping them on and noticing their high quality by how they feel like a second pair of skin instead of like a pair of scratchy knitted gloves that my grandmother would make for everyone back home, "Not to mention their idea of packaging them in a small box so others wouldn't be tempted to immediately take them before we could."

"Sponsored gifts usually cost more as the Games go on, maybe they just wanted to give us all of their support before it got too late," Grimm reasons, nodding along with what I had said about the packaging. 

Just as we all began to settle down for the night a few minutes later, Panem's national anthem begins to play from outside of the cave; a tone so familiar that I knew what was waiting for me when I began to walk over to the waterfall's entrance. The rest of the boys followed suit, all of them cramming their heads out of the waterfall alongside mine to get a better look at the sky and the portraits being broadcasted in order of their district's number.

The first face was a boy from District 3, a large disappointment to all of us since it meant that the cannon that had gone off earlier was not from the death of a Darlings alliance member from Districts 1 and 2. He was followed by the male tribute from District 5 and the female tribute from District 6, a face that led me and Cabe to sneak glances at Walker to see his reaction. 

He noticed our looks, however, and cleared his throat quietly, "Her name was Audi. I saw her around the marketplace a few times...her father is District 6's former mayor. We weren't that close, but I still feel some kind of way after seeing someone I know up in the sky."

I gave him a brief shoulder rub, somewhat unsure of whether he wanted to be comforted right now, before going back to watching the slideshow of tributes. 

Both of the tributes from District 7 were no longer in the arena as well as the pair of tributes from District 11. The girl from District 10, who looked somewhat younger than the other tributes before her, was also shown in the sky's memorial. The very last tribute to be posthumously recognized is the female tribute from District 12, Grimm's fellow tribute from home. 

Once again, Cabe and I snuck glances at Grimm, but we both received blank stares in return as Grimm shrugged for the nth time tonight, "I also didn't know my other tribute that well besides knowing that her name was Ember and that she was in the same class as my younger brother in school. She was only twelve," he added bitterly, all but backing away from the waterfall to reposition himself on his rock from earlier. 

I didn't know if Cabe could see it, but Grimm seemed to be less interested in his Capitol-sponsored goggles than before. I could only hope that the small talk I had with him before we left for the Games would stay in the forefront of his mind; the talk where I reiterated the importance of him not saying or doing anything to make the Gamemakers mad at us or think that we were anti-Capitol sympathizers. Even though I could guess that all of us were anti-Capitol to an extent, what mattered most at the moment was our collective survival which depended on how entertaining and likable we were to the Capitol citizens.

"We can figure out the lone tribute now," Walker speaks up after a moment of silence, "We know which districts have fallen tributes so we can figure out who isn't in an alliance."

"The six Darlings are from Districts 1, 2, Swann from 4, and Butch from 10," I recall, noticing the way Cabe's hands froze in their counting when I mentioned Swann, though I decided to push the information away for later.

"And we have Cabe from 4, me from 6, you from 9, and Grimm from 12," Walker counts off. 

"Graham has himself from 9, the girl from 5, and the pair from 8 —," I continue before Grimm interrupts.

"And the boy from 7, but both of the tributes from 7 were up in the sky earlier," he points out.

"Right, the pair from 7 and the pair from 11 are both...gone," I pause, not knowing how to phrase their deaths respectfully. 

"And so is the girl from my district and the girl from Grimm's," Walker adds on lightly, his voice softening at the mention of Audi and Ember. 

"The girl from 10 was also eliminated," Grimm says curtly before apologizing, "Sorry, that sounded a lot more insensitive than I meant it to be."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but that just leaves the girl from District 3," Cabe says in an unsure tone before he asks, "Are we sure that we counted everyone off?"

I nodded and went through the list again, "We should have; all four of 1 and 2 are still alive, the boy from 3 is gone, both you and Swann belong to alliances, the girl from 5 is with Graham and the boy from her district is gone, Walker is here with us and Audi has passed away, both from 7 are gone, both from 8 are with Graham, Graham and I are with our own alliances, Butch from 10 is with Darlings and the girl from his district is gone, both of 11 are gone, and Grimm is alive and Ember has passed away," I recounted quickly without error, "The girl from 3 is the only tribute left without an alliance unless someone broke apart from the Darlings or Graham without us knowing."

"Does anybody remember what her training score was?" Cabe asks.

Grimm shrugs, "I don't remember."

Walker also shakes his head, "It couldn't have been more than a 6, I memorized all of the tributes who got scores of 6 or higher just in case."

I racked my brain, trying to remember her score as I clearly remember feeling bad for the boy tribute from her district, but I found nothing, "I only remember the boy from 3 having a score of 4. Maybe hers was a 5?"

"Maybe," was all I got in response and I could tell that Cabe was going into one of his 'I Must Plan Everything' moods. 

"I doubt anybody will see us through the waterfall at night," I say, taking my jacket off to spread it on a portion of the cave where it was somewhat flat enough to sleep on, "We could all probably sleep and then wake up early in the morning to start getting some coverage. I think we should move away from here and follow the stream to the other side of the arena."

"Aren't the Darlings over there?"

I look at Walker, "Do you really think that they'll stay put? I think they're the hunting type, I don't think that they would want to wait to wheedle out some of the other tributes."

"We could try that," Cabe agrees in the same unsure tone from before, "I'm more worried about someone spotting us near the mountains in case someone has already gone there and set up camp for a higher view or something."

"Maybe we could set up snares and traps for food then come back here," Walker interjects, "Most of our stuff is better for nighttime walking anyway; you two have cut-resistant stuff that'll work better when the enemy doesn't know you have it in the dark and Grimm has those night vision goggles to use. I could probably set up some good snares and collect some food while you guys scout the area or something."

"We'll figure it out in the morning," Cabe resigns, taking his jacket off to lay it next to mine, effectively creating a larger area of coverage from the mist of the waterfall, "We should all get some good sleep and we'll be up by the early morning to scout and do whatever."

Everyone agrees as we all lay our jackets down side-by-side like one big family on a camping trip without sleeping bags. The mist of the waterfall cooled us off from the hot temperatures that came with the cave's lack of ventilation, but we all should have been glad to be surrounded by people we trusted — or trusted more than half of the time. 

Chapter Text

Hello! I know you all have been waiting for the next chapter of Annona’s story and while I had one VERY good chapter planned out, I forgot to save it and a decent portion of the text was no longer available for me to publish when I went to copy and past it into AO3 :( 

I will be rewriting the chapter to include the missing text so I am going to humbly ask y’all to be patient. I tried my best to rewrite it in two days but I did not have the chance to finish it between work and other important things (heh-heh adulting). I sincerely promise that this new chapter will be out before next Sunday so I’m sorry to keep you waiting again!

On the bright side, I have started on two other chapters for the behind-the-scenes companion book; one in Cabe’s POV and another that will be released after this book ends as an inside view into the post-Games life immediately after the Games. The one that will be released after this book ends is a little…spicy (wink wink)…with a hint of trauma from President Snow :)

(If only I could include emojis to show y’all how I feel writing this lol)

So look forward to next Sunday’s chapter! After that, I promise that I will be uploading every other week instead of this once-a-month thing I’ve got going on this summer. (I have college classes in the summer with work that make it hard to find time to write when I’m feeling it lol)

Enjoy the rest of your summer before some of you go back to school or a job or whatever your heart desires out of life! Stay safe with this monkey pox sh*t going around and make sure to eat well! 

Bye!!!!

Chapter Text

"So the girl from District 3, do we know anything about her?" Cabe asked, slinging his knife this way and that as he walked at the front of our single-file line.

After taking a vote, the result had been to ditch the cave and abandon any thoughts of coming back to it in case Graham or the Darlings decided to explore our side of the arena. We walked along the small creak that stemmed from the pond as it turned into a river of gushing water that muffled the sound of our footsteps. According to the position of the sun, we were heading west into the Darlings' territory. 

"Nothing about her was memorable," Grimm shrugs, "I don't even know what she looks like."

"She was probably on the smaller side," Walker says with his eyebrows knitted in concentration, "I don't remember any of the other girl tributes standing out to me as a threat because of their build besides Flaire, Athena, the girl from 5 with Graham, and Annona."

"The girl from 5?" I question, racking my brain for any details of her, "What'd she do to get your attention?"

"She was always training at the stations with blades or sharp edges — swords, knives, axes, and stuff like that."

I stop dead in my tracks, an action that causes Grimm, who was walking in front, to look back at me curiously, "What's wrong?"

"She was always at the stations with the blades," I repeat, as if it were obvious. 

She was always at the stations with blades, I think to myself again before I start to recall every minute I spent at the Training Center to see if I could find a pattern in Graham's training. I can feel my brain creating a 3-D rendering of the area and I almost smirk when I realize that I've found a flaw in Graham's alliance. I'm too busy being giddy at my realization that I don't see the look of confusion on Walker's face or the way that Cabe seems half-worried and half-excited to hear what I'm about to say.

"Graham assigned stations to his alliance members," I say with a wide smile, too excited at my discovery to continue explaining why it was so significant. 

"What's so special about that? We did that too," Grimm points out. 

Cabe's face suddenly lights up, "'Nona, you're a genius — an absolute genius!"

Walker glances at Grimm and for the first time since they've met, they seem to be on the same page as they both stand still and wait for an explanation, "Can I ask you to elaborate...purely for Grimm, of course."

Grimm, per usual, does not give him a reaction.  

"When Cabe and I were first deciding which stations to master, we both did four stations together; climbing, traps, spears, and knives," I started, "And then I choose one station for him to work on depending on what I already knew and what he didn't know."

"And I did the same for her," Cabe continues, "We choose stations in a way that would make sure that we both had the same skill set as each other; I already knew how to swim so 'Nona did the swimming station and 'Nona already knew how to recognize plants so I did that station instead."

"I still don't understand what's different," Walker comments, looking completely lost. 

I'm a bit confused as to how Walker, as street-smart as he was, could not understand what we were saying, "We're at the same level of offense and defense as we could generally be, but neither of us has the upper hand in anything defense-related like archery or axes since we didn't do those stations at all."

He continued to look confused until Grimm rolled his eyes, "If they were to fight, it would be an uncommonly even fight since they're both equal in skill level."

"Oh."

I continued on with a smile at Grimm, "If my memory is correct, which I hope it is, Graham did all of the stations that were close-range in nature; wrestling, hand-to-hand combat, and weight lifting. Ever since we were reaped, I had a feeling that he would go for the stronger tributes since he was always weary of me having an advantage because of my job back home," I add carefully, hoping that my words didn't sound too distasteful to the Capitol citizens who thought Graham and I were friends, "The girl from 5 did the stations with blades — swords, knives, axes — basically anything that would be able to be thrown or used in her hand. The boy from 8 did the long-range stations — archery and spears — and the girl from 8 did the survival-based ones — camouflage, edible plants, and fire-starting."

"The girl from 8 is their gatherer," Walker concludes, "If we get rid of her first, the others won't know which plants are deadly or what food is good to eat in case this thing drags out."

"Exactly."

It was almost guaranteed that Graham would want to fight me personally than give anybody else the chance to kill me first if we ever crossed paths. That being said, it left a free-for-all for his alliance members against mine. While Walker and Grimm were smart and resourceful enough to wait out the Games on their own, their defensive skills were definitely weaker against Graham's team. 

Grimm seems to think for a moment and disrupts the air of satisfaction around us, "But shouldn't we go for Graham and the girl from 5 first? They have the deadlier skill set out of the group."

Cabe shook his head, "I don't think that's a good idea, honestly. This is the first time that the Games have large groups of alliances instead of the usual small partnerships so I have a feeling that this'll last longer because of that. I don't want them to have the ability to collect food and pick us off from a distance."

"Plus, if we target Graham and the girl from 5 first, there's a higher chance of our own alliance taking a few hits," I state bluntly.

Grimm scoffs but doesn't say anything to refute what I'm saying so with my words, the group begins to walk again. Slowly but surely, we become more dehydrated as we continue blindly walking through the heavily tree-dense area. It had been almost two hours before we stopped and began to search for water, still in disbelief at the fact that we had managed to not come in contact with a single other tribute. 

"I'm just saying that it's suspicious," Grimm urges, his eyes extremely alert to our surroundings, "What if they're waiting for us?"

"I think we should be more worried about whether we'll be able to find another poison-free water source," Cabe says as he puts his hands on his hips, "For all we know, our pond and waterfall were the only good and untampered sources. We were lucky to stumble on it as it is."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up but instead of immediately alerting the group, I decided to wait for a few seconds in case it was nothing. As Cabe and Grimm continued to go back and forth, Walker and I took out our respective gifts from our sponsors and began to create traps together on the forest floor. 

Neither of the other two boys spared us a glance as Walker began to tinker with his fishing lines and a nearby branch, "How big should I make it?"

I took out his pliers and began to shape my own trap, creating a loop with my fishing line to fasten it around a hook nearby, "Don't make your loop too big or small animals will be able to jump through it without triggering the trap — make it a little bit bigger than the palm of your hand."

As I created a notched trigger to ensure that the trap would keep its tension until an animal came by, I began to listen in to Cabe and Grimm's arguing. 

"Why don't you take out your goggles and use their heat vision feature to make sure there's no one nearby if you're so paranoid?"

Grimm audibly scoffs, "My vision's fine enough without them — and I'm not paranoid. We have to be careful on the west side; we don't know who's still here and who isn't, whether traps have been set, or what the terrain looks like — nothing! We have no intel whatsoever!"

Walker and I finish setting up our traps — a total of five — so I stand up straight, "Enough. You guys arguing is going to draw more attention than anything else we'll ever do. And if you're going to argue, at least be smart enough to not yell," I snap

Cabe stares into Grimm's eyes as if he trying to intimidate him, but the younger boy was unbothered until a harsh snarl sounded from a distance. Annoyed as I was, I still wanted the two boys alive and began to prepare myself for an ambush that never came. Instead, the trees rustled from where we had come from and there was an undeniable sense of dread as the snarls and groans became louder and less humanistic. 

I locked eyes with Cabe who immediately slung his backpack around to toss me the makeshift weapon I had made yesterday while simultaneously pulling on his blade-resistant vest over his sweaty clothes. From the tree line behind us, Walker pointed to three large black figures that seemed to be moving on four legs instead of two. 

His face was bleached white, "Are those what I think they are?"

Grimm grabbed his wrist and began to run ahead with Walker in tow yelling, "Do you really want to find out? Run and don't look back, damn it!"

Cabe and I seemed to get the message at the same time as we, too, were off sprinting behind the younger boys. The black figures behind us were on our tracks and I knew that we needed to find higher ground or a body of water to throw off whatever was chasing us through the woods. Hopefully, these figures wouldn't be too hungry to speed up or we'd never get the chance to live another night in the arena. 

Cabe risked a full look back before I noticed that whatever he saw had made him want to run faster, "Muttations," he yelled at the boys ahead, "They're mutated bears!"

"Follow the river and pray there's a lake ahead!" I shout, "Don't look back — it'll slow you down!"

I felt the adrenaline course through my body and I pumped my fists up with each sprint, holding on to the small hope that these genetically-enhanced bears wouldn't be able to catch up to me. The handles of my knives were gripped tightly in my hands; so tight that I was glad to be wearing blade-resistant gloves or else I knew that I would be having raw palms. By the time we had been running for at least three minutes, I began to silently thank Cabe in my head for forcing me to increase my stamina by swimming laps. No regular fieldwork on my parents' farm contained a cardiovascular workout so I should be happy that I felt less tired than usual anyway. 

Cabe seemed to be doing fine, only a few strides ahead of me, but Walker looked like he was having the most trouble keeping up after Grimm had let go of his hand to run better. The boy was falling more and more behind from Grimm as he came into line with me, chest heaving and mouth coughing with every second that passed. I silently prayed that he didn't have a chronic condition like asthma that would affect his breathing at this life-or-death moment. 

It was only for a split second, but I heard a familiar voice yelling from afar just as we ran past a section of land containing rocky terrain; a tell-tale sign that a lake could be nearby. The voice I heard was later drowned out by the grunts and rumbles of the muttations behind us, but, in believing that our odds were better against other tributes instead of the wild and crazed bears behind us, I ordered Grimm to go toward the voices. 

"Grimm!" I called out, very much out of breath now than before, "Turn right! Now!"

Grimm didn't respond, but I knew he had heard me when he took a sharp turn right. I had to quicken my pace and all but shove Walker ahead of me just before a snout snapped at him from behind when we took the turn. Surely enough, the rocky terrain slowly leveled out until a glistening body of water came into view.

The lake wasn't the only thing present though as Grimm quickly warned, "Seven tributes ahead fighting in the water!"

His yelling quickly garnered the attention of the said tributes who stopped momentarily to see what the big fuss was about, some of them standing completely frozen when the muttations came into view. Funnily enough, I saw one of the girls make a hand motion, most likely a sign for her alliance members to start running, that caught my attention. 

Grimm quickly produced a small white package from his pocket and chucked it behind him so Cabe could catch it. The boy from the fishing district looked confused but wasted no time in striking a small match and lighting a fire so large that it spooked him enough to send it back towards the mutts, effectively delaying their chase as we all continued into the water without stopping. They, however, stopped at the shoreline and looked at us as if waiting for the action to start so they could watch. 

I shook my head as it was clear to me that the Gamemakers had decided to make things interesting for the day by sending muttations after us to make sure we would finally meet other tributes. I'm sure the Capitol citizens weren't too pleased with waiting two days for another violent encounter since the Bloodbath.

"Don't wade out too far," Cabe instructed Grimm, who was going dangerously close to the other tributes nearby, "We don't know the specialties of the Darlings — "

"Only Flaire, Swann, and Butch are here — none of them with long-range expertise," Grimm says offhandedly. He nods his head towards the girls who were currently glaring daggers into us from afar, "It's only Graham and the girl from 8 that are here from his alliance — I don't see the other two nearby," he grimaces. 

Walker and Cabe walked with breaths heaving over to me while Grimm continued to study the others in the middle of the lake a few feet away. 

Cabe lowered his voice so only the three of us could hear his voice, "Where'd he get those matches from?"

I hadn't even bothered to think about that since I had been too busy running to care, but the more I thought about it, the more I couldn't think of any situation in the past two days where he could have found them just laying around, "They weren't from that backpack you took during the Bloodbath?"

Cabe shook his head and threw a sly glance towards Grimm, "No...they weren't."

 I hummed in response before I began to think back to Grimm's behavior throughout the few days that we had all known him. Looking back, nothing he did seemed to be overtly suspicious other than his extreme hatred for the Capitol and the altercation he and I had yesterday by the cave. One thing that did pop into mind was the fact that Grimm claimed to have poor eyesight yesterday, but was able to tell the group exactly how many tributes were in the lake and who they were from a distance. There was a clear difference in those two situations though; he was probably scared out of his mind patrolling the area by himself yesterday so combined with the sheer amount of trees blocking his vision it made sense for him not to recognize me compared to today when he was able to recognize the people in the lake with a clear view.

If I was suspicious of Grimm, the hairs on the back of my head would have stood up immediately when I remembered all these things; but they didn't. I had no clear reason to distrust Grimm and while he wasn't my favorite member of our alliance, I still had no problem with how he's helped us prepare for the Games and his usefulness in the arena. 

Cabe suddenly uncrosses his arms at my hesitance to catch on to what he wants to accuse Grimm of and wades towards the boy in question as a few tributes start to walk closer to us, "I'm just saying that I never liked him...we should keep an eye on him."

Walker looks at him incredulously, but I give him a pointed look to not say anything as we all begin to catch up to Grimm. The last thing we needed was for the other tributes to sense something was up and use it against us while we were distracted. 

Just a few yards away, Graham called out to us, eyes watching like a hawk, "Look who else came to the party!"

Cabe and I simultaneously glowered at him while I put my double-ended weapon out in front of me, "I'm surprised you're still alive...but I guess I've got your lackeys to thank for that."

The insinuation that he brings nothing to the alliance does exactly what I thought it would; Graham became angry and straightened himself up like he was trying to make himself more intimidating. To be honest — with all of the caloric bulking, wrestling, and weight-lifting he had been doing in the Training Center - he did look intimidating, but not enough to have me shaking in my Capitol-issued boots. 

"I think you should thank Ryland for that," Graham sneers, "Stupid shrink."

If I wasn't in the middle of the Games, I would have laughed at the thought of Ryland's reaction, but I focused on Graham's figure instead. He was starting to walk over to our side of the lake and it was clear who exactly he was trying to reach; me. Meanwhile, there was no overlooking the way that Swann was doing the same to Cabe and how the other Darlings were eyeing Walker and Grimm like they were pieces of meat. 

Cabe and I spread out away from the two younger boys in an attempt to keep Swann and Graham away from them. The two other tributes mimicked our movements until the calm of the water was disrupted by Graham's sudden running; he had kicked off an all-tribute warfare in the water. 

Before I knew it, I was bracing myself for impact and was still taken by surprise when I found my upper body being slammed underwater. Graham's heavier-than-before body was looming over me, his hands clutching at my throat in an attempt to hold me under. 

Anyone who said that dying is peaceful was lying; it's the complete opposite. Drowning is painful. I can feel my eyes burning as I try to keep them open in the water while my nose is equally trying its best to prevent more water from entering my body.  My hands have lost their grip on the homemade weapon and I weakly try to search for it with the hand that isn't scratching at Graham's face. I don't remember Graham being this strong and I almost have the curiosity to ask him how he changed his figure and strength in a matter of three days without me noticing. 

The water splashes all around us as other tributes fight amongst themselves, but my focus is entirely on Graham's eyes. They're surprisingly hesitant after everything we've been through and I know that while my scratches are doing damage to his skin, he could've drowned me by now just with his strength. It's almost alarming just how much his build has changed since we last spoke to each other as somewhat friends just five days before. 

I can feel my mind becoming dizzy as I finally get a firm grasp on Graham's hands around my neck. My hands turn into fists and direct hits on his knuckles, the brief pain making one of his hands completely let go of my throat. To hell with hesitance, I think as I use my core muscles to bring a knee to my chest before extending my foot as hard as I can to kick his sternum. His body flies away from mine and lands with a great splash. 

His absence above me finally lets some oxygen into my lungs, "What the fuck?" I curse in an ugly voice. My throat is clearly dry from the lake water that had entered it moments before and I have half a mind to drag Graham back over here to drown him and see how he likes it. 

"Annona!"

Cabe's voice is nearby to my left and I turn to see him yielding a spear to keep Swann's own spearhead away from his jugular vein. His stance is wide enough for him to flash me a quick once-over before he goes back to thwart Swann's attempts at un-aliving him. 

"You okay?" He shouts without looking. 

Swann, obviously annoyed that he's more worried about me than her at the moment, takes another step forward and swipes at him with her spear. He just barely misses the head of it and I recall that we never even bothered to try the spear station so Cabe must be having a hard time against her refined skills. 

An animalistic growl from a few feet ahead signals Graham's return as I see him standing up to his full figure again. Unlike last time, he doesn't charge, but instead inches over with his hands open wide in front of him like he's preparing to wrestle and pin me. I copy his movements and study how he shifts his weight off of his left leg — he must be injured there. Or he could be faking it. 

"Just peachy," I yell back to Cabe, knowing we're both too preoccupied now to continue talking. 

With my weapon long gone in the depths of the lake, I holler to Graham, "How's your day been?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he growls.

"That's why I asked."

His face is confused, but he's a better fighter than he was before in that he doesn't let his guard drop as I continue to stall. I wasn't much of a wrestler back home and while I had a decent amount of hand-to-hand combat skills from rolling around with the pigs, cows, and sheep on the farm, none of it would compare to a teenage boy running on pure adrenaline and survival instincts. 

Graham is annoyed now, his hands impatiently taunting me to come closer, "Come on. Take your best shot. I'll let you have a few seconds before I try to hold you off."

"I don't know, I'm not much of an up-close-and-personal type of fighter."

"For some reason, I doubt that."

After his words reach the air between us, I run towards him and am disappointed to see that my sudden movements hadn't phased him at all. His hands grip my hips and suddenly I'm over his shoulder in his failed attempt to throw me to the side as I manage to hold on and use my legs to kick and kick until he howls in pain. Funnily enough, I've hit Graham Jr in my blind kicking. 

He backs off for a little bit to recover from the blow and just as we're about to line up across from each other to wrestle again, the sound of a canon rings out and I can't immediately check who's died because Graham is now alive and very angry. 

"No matter if one of us wins while the other dies," he mocks with a wild look, "It's still a win for District 9. I wonder if Barrick will see it like that when I go on my Victory Tour."

Despite every warning I've ever gotten from Ryland about my temper and the amount of work I put in to keep in check; I go ballistic. I yell out like a barbaric animal and take off in his direction, my feet disturbing the peacefulness of the surrounding water as I try my best to reach him before he can get away. I should be lucky that he's not hiding a knife or something in the layers of his clothing, but I don't even think of the possibility until I'm already knocking into his body with my left shoulder and using both of my hands to wrap around his knees. His lack of balance, along with my solid hit, sends him into the rocky water back-first. Hard.

"I'm the up-close-and-personal type," he spits, wriggling around like a water snake as he tries to get away from my right foot on his thigh that is dangerously close to Graham Jr and my hands that are itching to wrap around his throat. His words don't register in my mind. 

Since the mention of Barrick, I can only think of him as I let my hands cling to Graham's unusually thick neck, believing Barrick would want me to do whatever needs to be done to come home. I can feel his pulse under my fingers. The position I'm in makes it awkward to choke Graham's strong body so I instead move behind him and bring one arm around his entire neck, using the other arm to brace it as he tries, and fails, to escape my grip. His legs uselessly kick, but I don't bother telling him that he's only wasting his energy. I let my arm slowly constrict his airflow as we float chest-to-back in an open lake with the fighting around us. 

Graham's hands have begun to thump thump thump at the arm holding his neck, but I keep it steadily constricting despite it. His mouth sputters as water enters it and oxygen doesn't, but he's still alive; I can tell that it will take about five minutes to kill him. 

Kill him, I repeat in my head. My eyes stop seeing red and instead look down to see something that horrifies me; my arms dangerously wandering the line between life and death as Graham continues to fight for air. I abruptly shove him forward and he, once more, splashes into the lake face-first before re-emerging and coughing like he's been hit with a sudden illness. I don't focus on him though, I instead focus on the tree line and wonder if the cameras could see what I was doing to him — if Barrick could see what I was doing to Graham, his school classmate. I wonder if Barrick is staring at the screen and stiff from shock or if he's tending to the fields like a good boy and not even paying attention; I secretly hope it's the latter. 

My gloved hands begin to shake because of what I almost did as the moment crashes down on me; I almost killed someone. I was minutes away from hearing the sound of a canon on my own terms and the thought of taking a life made me disgusted enough to let out a shriek that I didn't even realize was mine until I noticed that all of the action had gone to the lake's shoreline a great distance away. I was still processing what my own two arms had been doing and to the extent of how close I was to following through. How close I was to taking something as precious as a life away because of a few words. It was exactly what Ryland had done to provoke me before and I had fallen for it again; hook, line, and sinker. 

Tears were coming down my cheeks, and Graham must've noticed because, in all of the chaos of me shoving him away and going through my inner turmoil, he hasn't tried to kill me...yet. He was still coughing, but it was beginning to die down as he straightened himself up, though not without a visible lack of confidence and strength that wasn't present before. I must've been holding onto him tighter than I thought, though our past fighting must've lasted ten minutes before that so we should both be near our physical end in terms of fighting power by now. 

I hesitated, but quietly called out, "Are you...are you okay?"

My question takes him by surprise and I imagine the viewers are confused as well. After all, who asks if the person they tried to strangle and drown was okay? They must think that I'm a psycho who enjoys playing with the tributes before killing them like a cat with a mouse. 

Graham doesn't respond verbally but instead gives a sort of half-confused nod before taking off to the shoreline where the others were. I take a moment to myself before following, scared that he might say or do something to set me off again. I'm more scared of Graham than ever before; he knows what makes me tick and now he's reminded himself of what I'm capable of doing in the heat of the moment. This is the second time that I've almost hurt him, the first time being in that train car oh so long ago when I yielded a spoon in an attempt to take his eye out after he mentioned Wesley. Now he's gone and mentioned Barrick. 

As I near the other tributes fighting, I'm overwhelmed by the number of things going on that I can't quite grasp everything. In one spot, I see Cabe and Swann still going at it with spears, though I can also see that Flair is trying to sneak up on the two. 

"Cabe, watch your left!"

He doesn't give me a sign that he's heard me, but does look over and position himself in a way that puts both Swann and Flaire in view. I want to go help him but I'm still shaken by what happened just a few moments ago and just need a few more seconds to look around before I jump into action again. 

Another spot has caught my eye; the girl from District 8 is looming over a familiar body with dark hair that I recognize as Grimm's. The two wrestle around with each other since they're both equally terrible and weaker than average tributes, but eventually, the girl from 8 wins again as she regains her place on top of my boy. I know what's about to happen.

I look away, still crying from before, and take a deep breath as I make my way toward Cabe, Swann, and Flaire's little triangle of doom. I side with Cabe and tell him, "Grimm's pinned underneath the girl from 8 — the gatherer."

He doesn't take his eyes off of the two deadly girls in front of us, "Why would Graham bring his gatherer to a fight? I would've bet on one of the other two who know how to use weapons."

"He probably told them to get food while they're gone..." I trail off and find myself hesitating on asking for his help, "I can take care of this."

The girls are still on guard, not exactly hesitant about attacking, but more or less trying to figure out a way to attack without being caught off-guard. I imagine that the two of them have different styles of fighting and while Cabe and I have our own signatures when we fight, we also work great together. Not to mention that Swann and Flaire have different goals in the arena despite being in the same alliance; Swann wants to get rid of Cabe as quick as possible and Flaire wants to get rid of the strongest tributes that pose a danger to her alliance. 

To Cabe's credit, he doesn't question my disheveled appearance and looks around for a sign of Graham, only to find that the other tribute is lying on the shore away from everyone else without a care in the world as to who could kill him at the moment. I shoot a hand out to stop him from going over to him and shake my head; I don't tell him why, but he gets the message to leave Graham alone for now. 

"Annona!" Grimm's voice pierces the drawn-out peacefulness of the shoreline. 

It's only his call for my help that makes me alert again as I turn to Cabe, "Help him, please...I can't do it — I can't kill someone. Please."

He doesn't stop to think and instead takes a small step back and, ever so awkwardly yet endearingly, throws the spear so it hits his target in the back. The spear has dug itself into the girl's back and she spits blood at Grimm's face before falling forward just as he rolls out of her way. A canon signals the end of her life.

I'm standing still now, in shock at what I've just witnessed. It was one thing to order someone's death and to carry it out, sure, but to witness it being done was also another thing. 

Cabe had done the one thing I promised myself not to do in the arena and he did it without questioning me. Of course, we'd talk about my lack of ability to kill another person unless it was absolutely necessary, but I never imagined that we would actually have to carry out that plan in real life. Cabe could've hit any part of her body in defiance of my request, but he hit her straight-on to kill her because I said to. 

Despite my inner conflict of the importance of life and loyalty to my alliance, I find myself thanking Cabe in a gush of thank you's that float out of my mouth in relief as I see Grimm stand up and wipe the blood from his face and neck. There's only relief when he's back to his frowning self and looking around for another danger to conquer. Naturally, that relief is short-lived when I notice Swann take a few hidden steps back and I quickly shove Cabe out of the way as the spear comes flying, though it feels like it's in the sky forever. 

Unlike every past Hunger Games clip where a tribute sacrifices themselves for someone else in a messed-up cliché, I instead dodge the spear's blade and catch its shaft before it hits the shallow water. I smash it over my knee and I'm back in business with the sharp edges of the wood pieces that are now in each of my hands. I can feel Swann's stinging glare from destroying her spear, but I take in Flaire's own look of contempt as she's about to step forward and begin the four-way fight when a blood-curdling scream followed by the sound of a canon interrupts us. This time, I look around to see who's been killed. 

For some reason, I immediately look to Graham's spot on the shoreline and find him completely gone and swimming to the other end of the lake where Cabe, Walker, Grimm, and I had come in from earlier. I look away to check on the others and slightly panic when I can't find Walker; I scan the shore and find Grimm safe on the rocky edge away from the dead body he had been near before and then...I stumble back. 

There, on the edge of a small rock cliff by the shoreline, is a large body slumped over and bleeding heavily. I look away immediately; both out of respect for the fallen tribute and out of the disgust I feel when looking at their dismantled and graphic body. The scene was too graphic for me to look at, but I know that the tribute's death will inevitably end up on a big screen in the Capitol with citizens flocking to see who the body belonged to. Blood is leaking like a waterfall from the corpse and flowing into the surrounding water, staining it a murky red. Right next to the body is a large boulder — the only object nearby that could have caused such a prominent concavity of the tribute's head. 

I look up to the cliff, assuming a random rockslide accident had caused the boulder to fall, only to find Walker's crying figure. He's sitting on his knees and even from below, I can tell that he's rocking himself in an attempt to calm down. He has just killed his first — and most likely his only — tribute of the Hunger Games at the ripe age of fifteen. 

I'm so focused on Walker's rush of emotions that I barely have time to dodge Flaire's incoming pair of knives. One skims my right ear, just lightly nicking the top of it, and the other cuts a thin, but sharp line into my left shoulder through my clothes. I don't holler out in pain because, quite frankly, I don't feel it. I can only feel the momentary surprise of having knives thrown at me for the second time in two days, but that quickly dies down once the looming sense of death invades my mind again; there were two tributes dead in the lake and their corpses were still around. The Capitol can't take their bodies until we all leave the area. 

Flaire's movement in the water creates a loud noise and she's almost to us before Swann suddenly grips her alliance member's wrist, "We're outnumbered," she says simply. 

Flaire's nostrils flare out and she tries to violently shake herself away from Swann's grip but fails to free herself. The two have a silent staring contest with more words being shared in their looks than with their mouths until Swann speaks.  

Swann's eyes are narrowed and with a firm voice she says, "In case you haven't noticed, they're the only alliance with all of their members still intact from today. We've lost Butch and Grainboy's lost the girl from eight," she repeats once more, "We're outnumbered."

Flaire stands still, two more knives in her hands as she internally debates what to do next. It's clear to me that the only person willing to fight now is Cabe, and maybe Grimm if he gets over here fast enough, but I know that the trauma from almost killing someone has affected me and that the aftermath of actually taking a life has affected Walker. But Flaire doesn't need to know this to make her decision. 

Swann lets go of her wrist and just before we let the two walk away safely, she sends a pointed glare towards Cabe that he reciprocates. She then sends me an unreadable expression; eyebrows furrowed in what is either anger or distaste — I can't tell — and her lips are pursed like she wants to say something. Despite the look on her face, she leaves right after with no words and no more looks over her shoulder when Flaire isn't looking. 

The water moves with them and Grimm is taking equal steps in the lake to ensure that he stays a safe distance away from their knives as he passes them. I can feel and hear the water as he comes to stand nearby. They disappear behind rocky cliffs, located on the opposite end of where Walker currently is, and leave their wet footprints behind on the sun-dried rocks. I doubt that we'll follow them; we would be ambushed by the other Darlings before we got a chance to see them again. 

A whistle from the shoreline behind us brings back our adrenaline for a brief moment with Cabe being the first to move as he extends the spear in front of him as if it's a third arm. I merely straighten up and put my hands out, looking for the origin of the noise. 

Graham is standing there, clothes wet and sticking to his body while he brings both of his hands to cup around his mouth. In a moment of pure disbelief from me, he warns, "The river water is poisoned. Don't drink it." He stands there for a few more seconds before bringing his hands back down and walking away from us and the lake. He doesn't even bother to mention how he knows the river is poisoned or how he was going to take revenge on us for killing his alliance member, but somehow I'm still relieved when he simply turns his back on us. 

Gradually, Graham's lone figure retreats into the tree line, but not without one last look in my direction. I choose to ignore it and instead bring Grimm, who's just behind me, into a wet, exhausted hug that makes me think about how Barrick must be feeling at the moment. He must be worried out of his mind and I doubt that the end of the lake's conflict was calming him down. Even with the three tributes gone from today, there were still eleven more left beside me; I have an 8% chance that I could be the one to go home. 

 Cabe's deep sigh as he used the spear as a cane to walk towards the shoreline broke me away from my thoughts. I let Grimm go and he followed behind Cabe, not quite saying 'Thank you' to acknowledge how Cabe had saved him earlier, but not quite as snappy and dismissive as he was towards him before the mutts came. It looks like Grimm finally gave some respect to Cabe...and it only took him saving his ass before he drowned to do it. 

I solemnly splashed ahead to get in line with them until we reached the wet rocky beach of the lake. I know that the three tributes who died today weren't my greatest allies — with Butch being one of the most-anticipated tributes for this year because of his age and size — but a life taken was still life taken. I don't pretend to be sentimental about life and enjoying it, but when I notice that the Capitol hovercrafts still haven't come to pick up the three corpses and ship them back home in unmarked wooden boxes, I feel sad for their lives being cut short so soon. They died to be entertainment. 

"I'll get Walker's stuff and put it in my backpack," Cabe spoke, making me realize that he did all of this fighting with his stupidly dry backpack on. I was more amazed by the fact that he hadn't lost it while I was there weaponless after losing my double-ended bungee cord thing. 

I nodded and saw that Walker was still on the edge of the rock cliff where I assumed he had thrown the boulder from. I walked with purpose now, wiping off any look that would make it seem that I was upset as I told Cabe, "I'm going to Walker."

More than anything right now, Walker looked like he needed someone to tell him that he was okay. That he wasn't a monster for killing someone in an arena where everyone wants to kill you. He needed an older role model to show him that no matter the obstacles we faced in the arena, he was still a young kid who needed to be taken care of. 

I carefully placed my feet on the rocky terrain until I reached the flat cliff that rose over fifteen feet above the water below. I allowed myself to look at it without being disgusted since Walker was right there looking with me at what he had done. 

"Walker?" I approached carefully, studying his movements in case he suddenly decided to jump, "Do you need my help?"

I gave him a choice because I didn't want it to seem like I was forcing him to come with me in case it made him even more upset. The poor boy was still shaking and frantically looking back from me to the red-stained water below us. 

"Why did I do that?"

"You just wanted to help," is all I can manage to say before I lead him away from the ledge in my arms. 

We don't watch the viewing of tonight's fallen tributes in the sky. 

Chapter Text

Hello! I have been very busy with school and other stuff, but I am slowly getting back into the writing rhythm, especially with Haymitch's book coming out. 

I wanted to let you all know that I am in the process of re-writing this story to better suit my found writing style and the original story that I wanted this to be in the first place. I've gone back and reflected on my storyline and I've found some parts that I didn't like or didn't realize I left open-ended, and I wanted to start fresh with the same characters, the same story, and the same themes. Especially now when the themes are more real following the US election and the current climate. 

As I release the new chapters, I will keep this old version available and published for those who enjoyed it. I hope to finish this book by the beginning of the summer and to start the timeline where Katniss comes in and becomes the Mockingjay. I have a good story planned and I hope you're all ready for the revamped version of this. 

Thank you, and stay safe. <3