The train skims silently through the woods, trees whipping past at unbelievable speed. I stare out the window, trying to think of anything but the weeks ahead.
Of course this isn't particularly fair of me, but if the alternative is to drink as much as Haymitch used to, then it's better for everyone that I simply try and pretend it isn't happening until that is no longer a possibility. I think that might happen any minute now.
The door slides open with a barely discernible hiss and he comes in. His lopsided tread is so familiar to me that I know without turning around who it is waiting for me. The bed sags underneath me as he sits beside me and I lean against his shoulder.
"It's going to be much harder this year, I think."
"Yeah." His voice is low, tinged with experience and the regret of twenty five years. The regret of forty nine lives lost. "At least… at least we get the time to try and prepare them."
"Three months isn't enough. You know that as much as I do. Some of the careers have trained for years."
"It's still better than nothing," he says, his shoulder rising and falling slightly beneath my head. I sigh, because he is right of course. Three months to train the tributes, courtesy of the fourth Quarter Quell, destined to be the grandest Hunger Games ever held.
"I just… I just don't think I'll ever be able to look Madge in the eye again if I can't bring Maysilee home," I stutter. "But there's Jon to think about as well." I bite my lip and feel his arm come to rest around my waist as Peeta pulls me in tight. He doesn't speak at first, just holds me in his arms. For a moment, I feel safe and warmed by his touch, but it can't last.
"Come on," he says, far too soon, "It's nearly dinner."
Effie Trinket barely looks a day older than she did when we first met her, the reaping for the seventy fourth annual Hunger Games. This year, her wig is a bright lime green and she smiles with relief as we enter the food cart. Maysilee and Jon are sat across from one another at the table, each determinately avoiding the eyes of the other. Peeta and I sit opposite each other and beside them, and Effie is at the head of the table. The empty seat makes the absence of our fellow mentor especially conspicuous.
The food is sumptuous, and both Maysilee and Jon are eating as if they have never seen food before in their lives. Even though Maysilee grew up in town and was a regular visitor to the victors village, she has never eaten as well as she can right now, and Jon had probably never had enough to eat in his life judging by the size of him. Three months in the capitol will certainly boost his chances in the arena, I tell myself, if only because it will give him the chance to gain a little weight.
"So," Peeta says, buttering himself one of the soft white rolls liberally before dipping it in the thick orange sauce the duck rests in, "Let's start simply – do you want to train together, or alone." The two tributes finally glance at one another and then quickly away again. "Alright," he says, biting into the soggy bread, "Alone it is then. You've got three months until the games – tomorrow night, you'll meet your stylists and we'll have the tribute parade, but after that you'll be locked in the training centre until interview day. You can choose what to work on, but bear in mind that each of us – all three of us of course – only have our own certain set of skills to work with, so it's probably best if you choose something one of us is good at." Jon is nodding, hanging on Peeta's every word. Maysilee simply stares down at her plate, eating in small bites and focusing on the food.
"Where is Gale?" Effie asks after a moment, breaking the silence. I glance up at the empty chair for a moment and then shrug.
"In his compartment probably. He'll be here later for the recap of the reaping."
"Oh good," Effie trills, "It will be easier to have training discussions if all three of you are present."
All three of us. Gale, Peeta and I. The mentors of district 12. "I imagine it will be a busy year for Gale, what with it being a Quell and all. He is the only surviving Quell winner, after all." I nod, but do not trust myself to speak. Peeta says something, but I miss both his words and Effie's reply.
Three months in the capitol before the games. The tributes will remain in the centre of course, but not the mentors. We'll be expected to mingle with the well connected, to attend parties every day and make new friends. I'd leave it to Peeta if I could – he's so much better at it than I am anyway – but that just wouldn't do. We have to present a united front after all, we star crossed lovers from district twelve. We have to maintain our happy ending.
I feel Peeta's leg brush against mine and when I look up there is concern in his eyes. I smile weakly and return my attention to the food. When we've eaten we move to the television. I curl up beside Peeta, while Maysilee and Jon sit as far apart from one another as is possible. The screen lights up and I recognise the gleaming justice building of district one.
One by one we watch as tributes are reaped, or volunteer, for the 100th annual Hunger Games. Peeta is the studious one, recording names in his little journal. He'll keep an eye on the other tributes and learn as much as he can about them. I just watch, focusing on the few who stay in my mind.
The careers are always a danger, and the boy from district two has an almost familiar edge to his face, and it takes me only a moment to place it. He looks decidedly like Cato, the district two male tribute from my own Games. I glance at Peeta and see that he too has noticed the similarity.
District four will be trained and mentored by Finnick, of course, which will give them some advantage, but the boy is already strong and muscled and to put it lightly the girl is… well she's beautiful. There's one, I think, who won't struggle to find any sponsors. Young and slim with waves and waves of soft curling brown hair, large eyes the same sea green as Finnicks, she will have the capitol drooling at her feet.
I wonder, for a moment, if it might be kinder for her to die in the games than to survive to live the way Finnick did for so very long. They almost broke him in the Capitol.
From district six, a thin reedy boy with sharp eyes catches my attention, and from seven there's a boy almost as huge as Thresh had been.
Everyone is quiet when a pair of twelve year olds are reaped from district ten. No one outside the Capitol likes the Games, but everything seems so much worse when the tributes are so small. Something catches in my throat as I watch the little girl stumble up to the stage, and Peeta's hand grips mine tightly, keeping me present.
I hear someone shifting behind me and turn to look. Gale is leaning against the wall, looking not a day older than he did the day he was reaped. Of course, Peeta and I look barely older than twenty either, but that's just what the Capitol does these days. Very few victors are permitted to look their age anymore.
"Looks like there could be a few contenders this year," Gale says calmly, eyes moving from Maysilee to Jon. They both jump at the sound of his voice. "There's a bad start," he says. "Listen. Pay attention to your surroundings. Anyone could attack you from any side at any moment. Always be ready for an attack. Use your ears." He pushes himself up from his position leaning against the wall and leaves the compartment. In the silence that follows, my eyes fall to the slim gold band across my finger that drew the first line between Gale and me. He didn't attend the wedding, though of course he'd been invited. My whole family had been there, except my fake cousin.
I can still see, almost perfectly, how beautiful Prim had been in the soft yellow dress Cinna had made for her, how rosy her cheeks had been as she waited for the ceremony to begin. I can remember Haymitch, actually sober for a change (it didn't last) as he took my arm and supported me down the aisle. And Peeta, waiting for me at the other end. Peeta taking my hand. Peeta becoming my husband.
We go back to our room together and lie silently beside each other in the darkened compartment. "I'll be here for you," he says, "Whenever you need me."
"I know," I whisper. He always has been, but this year I think I'll need him more than ever. As his breathing falls into the regular cadence of sleep, my mind wanders over the faces of the tributes we've mentored together over the years. The Games are the only time Gale and I ever talk anymore, which I suppose could be considered ironic, for it was the Games that changed everything between us, and the Games that left both of us unable to look each other in the eyes.
The seventy fourth Games were one thing, but it was the third Quarter Quell that destroyed any hope of repairing my friendship with Gale. That year is imprinted upon my mind more harshly than anything other than my own Games, from the reading of the card right up until the moment Gale was crowned victor.
"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them never emerge unscathed, the tributes shall be reaped from the families of all current victors. For the purposes of these games, volunteering shall be prohibited."
Of course I knew what it meant. The Quell was designed to break me in the way my own experience in the arena had so spectacularly failed to do, but even I never saw the twist we learned on the morning of the reaping.
My family; rather, my family as the Capitol knew them.
Prim and Gale, tributes in the Seventy Fifth annual Hunger Games.