The night after the evaluation was the night before the games began, and all through dinner Haymitch had drilled her on survival tactics. Katniss had barely paused in stuffing herself with roast duck and vegetable stew—for all she knew, this might be the last time she'd get to taste food again—as he poured glass after glass of rum and hurled advice at her. The kitchen had prepared a flambéed dessert, which they brought out just as Haymitch warned her not to build a fire. He'd started laughing through his hiccups and eventually collapsed face-first into his sweet potato pie. She supposed she should feel sorry for him. His drinking had only gotten worse as the clock ticked down to the beginning of the games.

Nerves, after all.

She hurried down the corridor, almost tripping on her long skirt—one advantage to getting into the arena would be getting out of these clusmy, dysfunctional clothes—walking fast, as the last thing she wanted was to run into any of the other tributes. Haymitch had warned her they might try to intimidate her before tomorrow, and she wanted to avoid them and get to sleep as soon as possible.

But apparently that wasn't going to happen.

"Hey," a voice barked out. "Fire Girl."

She knew who it was before she even spun around. Cato was striding towards her from around the corner. She fought the instinct to back away, even though her heart was hammering in her chest. He looked pretty threatening, but he couldn't do anything to her now, before the games even began. Could he?

"What do you want?" she demanded. She half expected the other Careers to burst out from behind the corner after him, but evidently he was alone.

"I saw your score. What did you do?" His eyes were narrowed. He actually sees me as a threat, she realized. She hadn't forgotten that look from the first day of training.

"That's between me and the Gamekeepers." She managed to keep her voice steady even though she felt she might start shaking, now that she was only a few feet away from him. Involuntarily she took a step backwards. She could smell his scent—nothing she could name, just a not entirely unpleasant aura of maleness. She could sense the strength in his muscles.

"I wouldn't play it coy if I were you," Cato said, his voice low and threatening. She took another step backwards and bumped against the wall. How had she gotten so far down the corridor? He followed her, stopping only a few inches from her body, and rested a hand against the wall next to her head.

"I don't think the Gamemakers would take too kindly to your trying to intimidate the competition before you even enter the arena," she said, but found that it was hard to sound confident with the killing machine from District 2 glaring into her eyes, his jaw clenched.

Standing this close, Cato could see something in her eyes—something firey, something that snapped like the flames that had surrounded her chariot. He had caught a glimpse of that same fire before, too, the first day before training, the first time he had really looked at her. And then he had looked again. Because if there was one thing Cato knew, it was how to scope out the real competition. And to underestimate this Fire Girl would be to make a huge mistake. Even before that maddening score of 11, he'd had a feeling that there was more to her than met the eye.

And it was infuriating. He found himself wishing the two of them were in the arena, right now, just so he could put out that maddening fire in her eyes.

This was looking like it would be an interesting kill.

"If you did show up tomorrow with a couple of black eyes and a limp…who would prove it was me?" Cato raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Would they really take your word for it? Come on, Katniss, think. Their prized tribute from District 2 against a scrawny Seam rat. Which one will they think is more trustworthy? It doesn't take a whole lot of brainpower to figure that one out."

"Good, because otherwise you might have been struggling with it for several hours," she snapped back at him.

His other hand hit the wall next to her head. "You really want to struggle with me, Fire Girl?"

Katniss caught her breath. She was intensely aware of his closeness, of how his muscles bulged, barely hidden beneath his dress shirt, his body trapping her like a cage

Then, much to her relief, he backed away from her, seeming to recover his temper. He said in a low voice, "I can promise you one thing, Seam rat. You won't need to look for me in the arena. I'll be looking for you."

Yeah, gotta make sure you get your beauty sleep, was what she thought, but didn't quite dare to say. At least not until he had disappeared down the hall, and only then in a very quiet whisper.

Peeta found her on the roof. Katniss listened to him talk about how the Capitol shouldn't be able to control them, how he wished he could find a way to show them that they didn't own him. She watched him silently, remembering her conversation with Gale several days—several lifetimes—ago. About how they could run away into the forest together. Madness, of course. But she wished she had Gale with her now.

No she didn't. That was a terrible thought. Because one of them would have to die. That was what would happen.

"I just can't afford to think that way," she said when Peeta was finished. The lights of the Capitol glimmered—what a ridiculous name—against the velvety stretch of blackness. She imagined the streets lit up by huge televised screens, blank now, but which would tomorrow be showing every second of the tributes' struggle to stay alive.

Already she found herself running through survival strategies in her head, much of them based on what Haymitch had taught her. Climb a tree, don't waste arrows, and whatever you do, don't make a fire. The thing was, she was certain Haymitch had won his round of the Hunger Games through more than raw survival skills. He had to have had charisma, cleverness, something that would have won him sponsors. Because no one from the Outer Districts survived for very long without sponsors. Their gifts were precious, and might do a tiny bit to close the gap between them and the Careers who had been well-fed and trained every day of their lives.

Katniss pictured the streets filled with yelling, violently dressed crowds, cheering on their favorites, mocking those who appeared weak. Her stomach turned. Please don't let me be one of those. This whole love story would only get her so far. If she ran across Thresh, or Cato, or Clove, she was as good as dead. Or Glimmer, she reminded herself. Or Marvel.

Stop being such a coward, she thought. Peeta's mother's words came to her then, and though she had never met the woman, she could imagine her clipped, disappointed tone: District 12 might finally have a winner. Instead of making her feel confident, though, it seemed to hollow out her stomach. Because it reminded her of her own mother. And of how she hadn't said anything when Katniss had left.

"I'd better get to bed," she said eventually. "We have a long day tomorrow."

As she went back inside, she just barely heard his muttered reply: "Either that or a very short one."

A/N: If you liked it (or didn't) please review! I do love feedback :)