"People are saying you won the Games, you know."

The room I am standing in is shrouded in utter darkness. There is filtered light streaming in through holes in the roof, but the light seems to shun me, never one of its beams touching my skin.

I shrug. "Well, you know what they say."

The Gamemaker approaches me. "Enlighten me."

"I didn't win the Games," I say. "Well, not really," I say, dragging out a long drawl on the 'well'. "I suppose, by your terms, I did. I survived."

"Surviving is winning the Games," the Gamemaker informs me.

I shrug again. "As the saying goes. Winning a game isn't always beating everyone else. Winning a game is your own definition of winning a game."

He comes up closer to me. "Is that so?"

I smirk. "Yes."

"Then tell me, Jack, do you believe you have won the Games?"

"No."

"What is your definition of 'winning', exactly?"

"When everybody lives," I say firmly.

He laughs, the sound is cold and cruel and it echoes through the dark room, bitting at my ears. "You know that can never happen."

I scratch the back of my neck. "You know, sir, will all due disrespect, you can do whatever you want with me. That part may be true. You can throw me into the games and slaughter my relatives and my family and my loved ones. You can feed me to dogs, bit by bit. But you can not make me a killer," I say, hissing emphasis on the last words.

He regards me coolly. "Jack, you do realize if you wish to survive, you will be required to kill. Life and death are common parts of life."

I stare at him. "Sorry," I say. "I don't speak 'psycho killer'. Nor do I speak its component language, 'plain insane'. If you wish to speak to someone with similar dialect, please contact Hitler."

He puts a hand on my shoulder.

I look at it.

"You related to that old thing, Frankenstein? Because your facial features are strikingly similar to his," I tell him, swatting away his hand.

"Jack, you're never going to really win," he tells me.

"Oh, I know that," I say. "But even if I don't win, at least I'll know I've beaten you. No, don't give me that look. Okay? Because I'm Jack Jordan. I'm not some pawn of the Capitol. I'm my own person. Yeah, people change. But not me. Because you know what? You all up here in the Capitol might have the power right now, might, just might. But hatred and anger can never win. Hope and courage is what moves us to become something better, something bigger. Nothing lasts forever and I know you and the Capitol will not and cannot."

His face is cold. He's analyzing my expression. I'm furious now. But I take that anger and bury it deep inside my heart and lock it with a thick steel padlock. My expression is completely blank.

"You've been warned," he finally tells me.

"Well, it's like you said before," I say, leaning closer to whisper into his ear. "You know everything about me. And you know that I never listen to warnings."


When I open my eyes from a dream, I look around. It's light. I'm back in my room. It's been two days since the Reaping.

Even if I've woken up from a dream only to be plunged into a nightmare, I know that all dreams, bad or good, will always eventually end.

Always.