Chapter Two

The reaping is one of the few occasions deemed important enough for us to be given permission to leave the Training Centre to attend. I cannot really say that they are giving us permission, as that would imply that the mentors get to decide whether we go or not, which they most definitely don't, but it increases their feeling of power and sense of self-importance if they pretend that they do. Of course, that is not to say that we stay confined in there all the time throughout the rest of the year, only that on this day we leave through the front gate, rather than over the wall that surrounds the complex or through a gap in the barbed wire fence.

I walk through the huge metal gates and onto the wide road leading to the main square, standing out from the large number of other people all heading in the same direction, both would-be-tributes and regular citizens of District 2, due to the vivid colour of my tunic. I look down at it and smile, all of yesterday evening's doubts having vanished with the dawn to leave only certainty of victory behind. How can we lose? Have we not trained every waking second of every day for this for years? There will be nobody in the arena either this year or the next that can't be defeated, for surely even the other districts that train their tributes will never produce our equals.

I have watched the reapings on the television since I was a very small child, as have the entire population of Panem, everyone following orders issued by the all-powerful Capitol. Therefore I know that there is not another district in the country that has a Reaping Ceremony like ours. I can see the pictures of other reapings replaying in my head now. I can see the starving children who have been forced to take tesserae just to feed their families, which only increases their chances of being chosen. I can see those same families, gathered around the enclosures full of their children, their faces full of joy or sorrow, depending on whose name the Capitol escort draws from the reaping ball. They bring it all on themselves if you ask me. If they trained some of their children to fight and survive in the arena like my district does then they would not have to put themselves through such torture each and every year. If I ever have children then they will learn how to fight. I would never leave them as defenceless as the petrified, hopeless individuals that are going to make it so easy for mine and Cato's plan to succeed.

A District 2 reaping is different. It is truly the image of what the Capitol want all of the other districts to create. It is like a huge party, with the grey and dirty stone buildings of the main square bedecked with banners and ribbons, everyone happy and safe in the knowledge that their children will always be spared, even if their name is called. And they are safe because of us. Called 'Career Tributes' by most of the other districts and universally hated by all, we are just as universally loved by the people of our own, who, even now as I walk through the square towards the seventeen-year-old's enclosure, incline their heads in respect when they recognise the familiar metal square of my district token, which hangs around my neck on a silver chain, engraved with my name and number, telling anyone who sees it that I am in training for the Games.

It is nearly time for the ceremony to begin by the time I approach the correct enclosure, and the square is packed full of people already. They travel here even from the most remote of the district's outlying villages, so everywhere is more crowded than usual.

Despite the fact that they all back away when I walk towards them, there is often nowhere for them to go when they try to clear a path so it takes a long time for me to reach my final destination. As I duck under the rope barrier I glance up at the huge clock that is mounted onto the wall of the Justice Building and see that it is quarter to nine. Fifteen minutes to go.

I subconsciously raise my shoulders and straighten my back as I stare at the crowd of seventeen-year-olds who are already occupying the enclosure in their normal formation of Careers at the front and others at the back. There is no way that I am going to miss seeing the first of what will be his many moments of glory, so I know that I have to be at the front of the group not stuck here at the back. I smile to myself at the thought of seeing the only person I have ever loved standing up on that stage, basking in the adoration of the crowd, and I take a step forwards, pushing my way through the first couple of rows of people before they truly see me. When they do recognise who and what I am, a route through suddenly begins to appear as if by magic. Pathetic, that's what they are. What do they think that I'm going to do to them when the Capitol camera crews are perched precariously on the surrounding electricity pylons and rooftops, watching our every move? Even a lot of the people that I am familiar with from the Training Centre back away, staring at the floor so they don't risk meeting my eyes. How can they even think themselves worthy of representing District 2 in the Games next year when they so openly display their fear?

I have reached the front of the enclosure and am staring ahead of me, waiting for the boredom of enduring the story of Panem's formation for what feels like the millionth time to begin, hoping that our esteemed Capitol escort will arrive soon and just get on with it, when I hear a familiar and much hated voice rise up above the general background noise that surrounds me.

"So you're here to watch Lover Boy go to his death then?"

"Haven't you had enough after yesterday, Lucius?" I reply, matching his hostile words with my own, refusing to show him that his comment has got to me and that only last night I was considering if that would be exactly what I would be doing today.

"You wouldn't have killed me," he answers, trying to maintain his aggressive tone of voice but failing dismally and making it perfectly obvious that he doesn't believe what he said any more than I do.

"Have you made your choice yet?" I ask gently, smiling sweetly at him on the outside but starting to laugh hysterically on the inside when I see how much my abrupt change in manner is unnerving him.

"What do you mean?" he asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the suspicion as clear to hear in his voice as his fear.

"Well, you have three options; either I can kill you, you can wait for the Games to be over and Cato can kill you, or you can take the sensible and all together less painful option of falling on your own sword. The choice is yours."

He stares at me for a second, and his mouth opens but no words come out. As he takes a step back, I take a step forwards, not really knowing what to do but not willing to walk away from a fight for the second time. However I have no choice when silence falls over the whole square as the clock strikes for nine o' clock. It looks like my target will escape one more time after all.

As soon as the chimes of the clock stop resonating around the square, Selene Fairfax, the person who travels from the Capitol each year to escort our tributes back to her city for the build-up to the Games, strides onto the stage. She is dressed in a fluorescent pink suit, and it is so bright that I almost have to avert my eyes as she approaches the podium at the centre of the stage and begins her speech in her usual way:

"Happy Hunger Games to all of District 2! I am so happy to see you all again!"

I mentally cringe at her high-pitched, screechy Capitol accent just as I do every year, thinking that it will be a huge effort to resist killing her when I am forced to spend great lengths of time in her company next year. Maybe she will have been demoted by then. I can only hope, because I don't think the Capitol would take too kindly to having to find a new District 2 escort at such short notice. Although thinking about it, her accent is that extreme and she is that irritating that, in my mind at least, there is a distinct possibility that at least some of the Capitol people would be somewhat relieved to be rid of her.

Spinning around to face the various gathered dignitaries in a precise way that makes her long, almost black hair fly in the air around her as she moves, it is actually Selene that introduces our mayor rather than the other way around as it is in all of the other districts. If the Capitol had a competition to find the escort with the biggest ego then she would definitely win, as she seems to love her moment in the spotlight more every year. As I watch her prance across the stage, I find it very easy to imagine her practicing and perfecting her movements in a mirror, making sure that the cameras always get what she considers to be her best angle.

As the mayor finally gets his long-awaited introduction and launches into his opening speech, which is identical every year, I once more find myself wishing that they would just get on with it. I wouldn't be at all surprised if I go to the Capitol and find that these people hold a ceremony for the sole purpose of celebrating the fact that they remembered how to breathe when they woke up in the morning.

It seems to take forever, but eventually the mayor stops talking and reintroduces Selene, who abruptly stops rocking from side to side on her high heels and launches herself forwards in the direction of the first reaping ball. She struggles to put her hand inside it without scattering slips of paper all over the stage as the glass ball is full to the point of overflowing. Nobody in this district fears to take as many tesserae as they need, safe in the knowledge that however many times they are entered in the reaping, there will always be someone who will volunteer to take their place if their name is drawn.

I don't even hear the name of the boy who Selene calls as my eyes frantically search for Cato, who I know will be somewhere near the front of the eighteen-year-old's enclosure, waiting for our escort to call for a volunteer. The boy, who is tiny and can only be about twelve or thirteen, is fearlessly climbing the steps of the stage before I spot my lover's familiar broad shoulders in the middle of the sea of people in front of me. I watch as he visibly straightens his back and begins to make his way to the front of the group before Selene even speaks again. The group surrounding him immediately splits to clear a path for him, and I feel a rush of pride as he approaches the boy whose name was called and pushes him back in the direction of the steps and into the crowd once more.

As Cato announces his name and his intention to take the place of the boy, who is currently standing on the steps and waving frantically to both the camera crews, who are only interested in what is happening on the stage so are ignoring him totally, and his friends in the enclosures, some of whom are waving back, I gaze up at him, only having to wait for a couple of seconds before his eyes meet mine. His face is totally emotionless, his body radiating aggression in a way that makes him barely recognisable from the man who left the red tunic on my bed earlier this morning. He seems to be mentally in the arena already. Good. Intimidation is one of a tribute's greatest weapons, and looking at Cato now, I can imagine the effect that seeing him will have on the twenty-two others whose names, with the exception of the pair from District 1, have yet to be chosen. I bet that merely the idea of him will defeat well over half of them by the time they have finished watching the review of the reapings. He looks like a Hunger Games winner, and the response he gets from the crowd in the square is louder than any I have ever heard.

Eventually Selene realises that Cato isn't going to even look at her, never mind involve her in what already looks like a victory celebration, so she stalks across to the other reaping ball. I can see Rose poised at the front of the crowd and ready to run, desperate to take her position on the stage. I smile to myself as I can't help but notice that the people in the square are still so busy cheering for Cato that they probably won't even notice her appearance.

The second reaping ball is just as full as the first, and once again a mass of paper drifts to the floor of the stage and into the front enclosure as Selene's perfectly manicured hand closes over a single piece that she lifts with a flourish and slowly unfolds. I am staring up at Cato when she announces the name, his face glowing with the same pride that I still feel inside at the sight of him.

"Clove Jacia!"

On hearing those two words my mind abruptly goes blank as the world seems to begin spinning at lightening speed around me. It doesn't register at first, that the impossible has happened and that it really was my name that Selene called. It's virtually impossible that this could happen. I only have six entries. Six entries amongst many thousands of others. I must have misheard. This can't be happening. It's not my time. I am not going to the Capitol until next year.

As my brain tries to process what I just heard and work out what it means, I can hear my father's voice echoing in my head for the first time in as long as I can remember. He is repeating the words that he told my nine-year-old self many years ago when I had asked him why a young girl with a Career's district token didn't go to the Capitol even though her name was drawn from the reaping ball.

'She's only thirteen, Clove', he had said. 'They only go to the Capitol if they're older than fifteen. A young child like her would never be strong enough to win, no matter how well she has coped with her training so far. And you know that winning is everything, don't you?' 'Yes, Father', I had said, never thinking for a second that I would feel anything other than complete confidence if, some time in what seemed then to be a very distant future, I happened to be called before I volunteered at eighteen. Now look at me.

It was my name I heard and now I have no choice. Because she might have won the reaping trials but Rose isn't going to volunteer. Not now. Not when the unwritten rule of our district dictates that fate must have pulled my name from the reaping ball and so nobody should stand in the way. I've known Rose for years and I know she's weak. She can barely summon up the courage to defy the servants who clear up the dining hall so there's no chance of her defying every mentor in the Training Centre and nearly seventy years of tradition.

My lungs seem to constrict so that I can't breathe as I notice that all of the cameras are pointing in this direction and that everyone has turned to stare at me. Looking everywhere but at the stage, I inhale as deeply as I can as I attempt to prevent my current emotional turmoil from showing on my face. I have been trained at the Training Centre of District 2. I most definitely cannot be seen to show weakness.

I'm suddenly pushed forwards, and that's enough to make me lose what little control I had managed to salvage. I obviously couldn't take my knives into the square with me, as the pretence that Career Tributes don't exist has to be maintained at all times for the cameras, but as I spin around to see who it was who dared to touch me, I reach for them instinctively, feeling like my mind has been separated from my body and I am looking down on myself from above.

I can't imagine the expression that appears on my face as I see Lucius standing a short distance behind me, but he must have been able to read my thoughts well enough, because as my eyes meet his, he runs backwards so fast that he stumbles into the people behind him, unable to keep his balance enough to stop himself from falling to his knees. Selene calls my name once more, and I know that I have no choice but to go to the stage. With one final smirk in the direction of a very humiliated Lucius, I turn and walk away.

I am almost as well known to the people of District 2 as Cato, as many them often come to the Arena to watch us fight, with the more wealthy amongst them placing bets on who will win each of the bouts. Even those who work in the mountain fortress join in. I suspect it gives those of them who are from the Capitol the feeling they are getting to watch something that resembles the Hunger Games more than the usual once a year. I daresay that I have made a number of them a lot of money over the years, and the almost deafening applause that I receive reflects that fact well. If it had been this time next year then I am sure I would be loving this, raising my arms to make them shout even louder as I walk to the stage to take my position next to Cato, District 2's newest mentor and winner of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, but while I am still walking to the stage towards Cato, the reality of the situation couldn't be more different. For he is a tribute just like me, and as I meet his gaze for a split second before having to look away, knowing that I will be unable to contain my emotions if I do not, it truly sinks in that only one of us will survive.

I look into the distance beyond the crowd as I take my position on the stage on the mayor's other side, doing anything to avoid looking at Cato. I want to cry, I want to scream. Part of me wants to run from the stage and see how far I get before the Peacekeepers catch me, while the other part wants to push the mayor out of the way and cling to Cato as though my life depends on him, as though he can protect us from the awful fate that we now face. And the worst thing is that I can't do any of those things. All that I can do is stand on this stage in front of the whole district, pretending that I couldn't be happier that my name was drawn today.

My ears are ringing with the continuing cheers of our vast audience as Selene gestures for Cato and I to shake hands, yet another part of the Hunger Games ritual that I know so well that has suddenly become so difficult to recall. His large hand covers my small one completely, and I can feel the familiar calluses on his palm that he has acquired as a result of years of sword practice. I force myself to look up at him and immediately see that the face I recognise better than my own is frozen in an expressionless mask. In all the years I have known my lover I have never seen him so impassive, and that is what shocks me more than anything else that has happened today. A second later he releases my hand and I reluctantly let arm fall back to my side as we both turn to face the crowd. I vaguely register that the anthem has started, but after that I don't hear a note of it.


As soon as the anthem finishes I'm surrounded by about five Peacekeepers, who I know are here to escort me to the Town Hall. District 2 is different to the other districts in this way too. Everywhere else the tributes are allowed an hour to say goodbye to their families and friends before they begin their journey to the Capitol, but who is there to say goodbye to us? They will maintain the façade for the cameras, of course, giving the poorest of the poor a chance to earn a meal by pretending to grieve for people they didn't even know, but in reality there is hardly ever a grieving family left behind here. It goes without saying that I am obviously no exception, especially as the only person I have ever loved is going to be on the tribute train with me. But I still have to wait in the Justice Building for the other Peacekeepers to clear the way to the train station and for Selene to organise the journey. Well, that's what she said she was doing anyway. I actually translated her words to mean scheduling in a few more photo shoots and interviews before she's confined to the train until we arrive at our destination tomorrow.

I walk through the enormous glass doors of the district's most expensive and prestigious building and stop in the entranceway. I have never seen anything like its vast and ancient stone columns before and I stare at my surroundings in wide-eyed amazement. One of the Peacekeepers reaches forwards to put his hand on my shoulder to keep me walking and I immediately lash out, raising my arm violently to knock his hand away. How dare he touch me? I turn around and raise my hand again, intending to use the poor unfortunate man as an outlet for my still barely suppressed rage despite the potentially dire consequences, but he has already backed away, raising his own hands up in surrender.

I'm shown into a small, dingy looking office by a different Peacekeeper and he tells me to wait until someone arrives to take me to the station. I pace around for a few minutes, counting the holes in the carpet in an attempt to distract myself from my thoughts, and am about to give up and flop into the armchair by the window when I hear a loud crash and a very familiar voice shouting my name. I fly to the door and throw it wide open, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the sight that confronts me.

Cato is standing in the corridor surrounded by Peacekeepers just as I was, but his Peacekeepers are currently in varying states of consciousness on the floor at his feet and most of the surrounding furniture is now only fit to be used as firewood.

"Are you crazy? What do you think you're doing?" I snarl at him, trying my best to talk him down from the fit of rage that could end up getting him killed. "I hope you realise you're only still alive because of the effort it'd take them to replace you!"

He noticeably calms as soon as he sees me, but I haven't seen him lose it like that outside of the practice ring for years, and I don't like to admit it but his reaction worries me. He's going to have to control himself better than that when we arrive in the Capitol, because I can't imagine the people there being anywhere near as tolerant of his outbursts of temper. He might have quite the reputation here but that will mean nothing as soon as we get on that train.

"We need to talk. They wouldn't let me see you."

"So you knocked them all out? Not the best choice of possible responses," I reply, as unable to resist smiling at the total carnage that surrounds him as he was when he had interrupted my fight with Lucius.

"There's no way out of this, is there?" he asks, suddenly serious.

"You go to your room and I will go back to mine, then we can talk when we get on the train."

The only other answer that I could think of was 'no, there is no way out of this' but I can't bring myself to say it, not yet. I step back into the office and close the door, desperately trying to think of a way to get out of this but at the same time understanding that there is nothing I can do. The rules of the Games haven't changed in over seventy years. There is no way that they will let us both live no matter what we do. The only option available to us is to wait until we are the last two left and then let the Capitol decide who lives. Whatever happens, one of us will never see District 2 again. My next thought is that the only other thing I can say for certain is that I wouldn't like to be one of the other tributes. I am almost bursting to take my anger out on someone, and if I cannot make the Capitol suffer for this cruel twist of fate then it will have to be them that feel the full force of my rage.


About half an hour later the door opens once more and yet another different Peacekeeper peers rather nervously into the room, indicating that I should follow him. I emerge into the corridor expecting to have to step over the remains of the furniture, but the mess has been cleared away so well that it is as if it was never there.

I see the cameras flashing before I see the reporters and cameramen that stand behind them, and it doesn't take much effort to fix a murderous glare upon my face. If they want stereotypical District 2 Career then that is what they're going to get.

Walking ahead of the Peacekeepers, I stride through the double doors into the bright sunlight as if I fear nothing and everyone steps back to let me through, reporters calling out questions to me the whole time.

"How do you feel about becoming a tribute?"

"Were you going to volunteer if you hadn't been chosen?"

I ignore them all, knowing that everyone in Panem will be watching me now, feeling determined that despite the number of emotions whirling around in my head, I will not bring shame upon my district by appearing in any way weak.

"It's so good to see you!" shouts Selene as she holds the car door open, gushing in typical Capitol fashion. How I wish I had my knives. Well any weapon actually, by this stage I am not fussy. In fact she is the last thing that I need right now and her voice is so grating on my currently incredibly fragile nerves that I could probably make do with my bare hands.

Unfortunately I have no choice but to get in the car, moving as close as I can to the far door as Selene falls gracefully down onto the seat beside me, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. The car moves off immediately and I stare at my hands, trying to fight off the feeling of nausea that rises up inside me due to the unnaturally fast movement. I have never been in a car before and if this is what it feels like then I don't think I will be in a rush to repeat the experience.

Eventually I become accustomed to the car and feel able to look up without my head spinning, so I turn to look at our Capitol escort. Why am I alone with her? Where are the mentors? Where is Cato? I hope this has nothing to do with a few very battered looking Peacekeepers. I will kill him myself if it has.

"Where is everyone else? Where is Cato?" I ask, annoyed to hear more than simply a casual interest showing clearly in my voice.

Selene waits until she has finished reapplying her purple lipstick before turning to look at me with a sickly sweet smile.

"That is a good strategy. Really. A pretty girl like you should use your looks to your advantage."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Cato is a strong and powerful man. If you can attract his attention then it will only be of benefit to you in the arena."

I laugh without humour at her comment. If only she knew the truth. "You have mentored District 2 for long enough and seen enough of these to know that I don't need anyone's protection," I say, gesturing to my district token.

"I have no idea what you mean by that," replies Selene, doing her best to look disdainfully down her nose at me as she speaks. So, the denial of the blatant truth is going to continue even in private then.

The car stops suddenly and I turn to look out of the window to see that we have arrived at the small train station already. It didn't take long to get here as it was only the presence of the reporters preventing us from walking the short distance from the Justice Building. And the fact that Selene might damage her shoes, of course.

I can see the highly polished silver metal of the tribute train from here and I cannot help but feel a slight twinge of anticipation. I have been training for the arena all my life and I am finally on my way. As I feel some of my old confidence begin to return I start to consider that maybe there will be a way out of this. After all there is a first time for everything and if anyone can win the love and respect of the bloodthirsty Capitol audience enough to make the Gamemakers change the rules then it is surely Cato and I. We have to at least try. I just wish I could talk to him without all of these people watching our every move.

I have been ushered out of the car and across the platform onto the train before what is happening really registers. By the time my brain has processed all of the questions shouted at me by the reporters (all unanswered of course), I find myself standing in the middle of what must be one of the carriages, surrounded by a wide range of furniture and soft furnishings that is probably worth more than the entire Training Centre. Never having had any myself, material possessions don't mean very much to me, but I am still impressed by the opulence that I see all around me. And this is only the train. What will the Capitol itself look like?

It is strange to be all alone in here. Selene has disappeared without a trace and I haven't seen Vikus or any of the other mentors since I left the stage in the square. I wonder who the other mentor will be this year? By the time a would-be-tribute is in the position of having a chance of winning the reaping trials they usually have a mentor who takes a special interest in their training, who is also the person who accompanies them to the Capitol if they are successful, but as Vikus mentors both Cato and I, the second mentor could be any one of at least ten of District 2's surviving past victors. I hope it isn't Rose's mentor, Augustus, who I have always hated with a passion that rivals what I felt for Cassius, but given the luck I am having today I can guess that it more than likely will be.

The cabin doors swing open once more, startling me away from my thoughts, and I am suddenly face to face with Cato, who rapidly crosses the cabin to stand inches away from me. I stare resolutely at the floor, suddenly frightened of how I will react if I look at him. Whatever I feel inside I cannot afford to lose control of my emotions now, because I know that if I do then it will all be over before it has even started. The only way I am going to get through this is to do something that I have never done, which is to push him away and banish him from my thoughts until I have decided what to do next. That is the theory anyway, a theory that quickly goes flying out of the window.

"Look at me!" he shouts, closing the distance between us even further. I raise my eyes reluctantly and all I can see is him, as close as he can be without touching me.

"Keep your voice down. Do you want the mentors and Selene in here?"

"Do you really think I care about them now?" he retorts, his voice not dropping even slightly.

"There's no need to shout at me. It isn't my fault this is happening. I didn't pull my name from the reaping ball. I didn't create the rules we've known all our lives. I'm seventeen, Cato. It's not my fault Rose saw a way out and decided she didn't want to die! Be rational. We're here. And if we don't keep our concentration then we'll both end up dead."

He obviously doesn't feel ready to discuss anything rationally yet though, and he crosses the small room to the sideboard, quickly and completely unintentionally selecting what appears to me to be the most expensive looking vase on there before lifting it up and throwing it across the room. It smashes into many thousands of pieces with an almighty crash but he doesn't watch it fall. Before I can look away from the remains of the vase and back to him, he strides back across the room and lifts me from the floor by the front of my tunic, still gripped by the rage that is threatening to overwhelm him. He has never scared me and I am not scared now, not for me anyway, but I am scared that I will lose him before the Games have even started, before we even set foot in the Capitol.

"Cato…" I whisper, suddenly unable to make my voice any louder.

Less than a second later I see the look in his eyes change, and he is once more the man that I have loved all these years. It seems very strange to be the one looking down on him rather than the other way around, but he doesn't appear to even notice that I am currently at least two feet higher than I normally am.

"Clove, I'm sorry. I would never have hurt you, you do know that, don't you? I just don't know what to do."

"Stop breaking what I am sure is unimaginably expensive Capitol property for a start. And then you could put me down," I add with a smile.

He lowers me gently to the ground and I lean forwards slightly to rest my forehead on his chest. We stand there for several minutes, neither of us moving or saying a word. Eventually I break the silence to tell him of the only plan that I have, of how we should dispose of all of the other tributes in the most memorable way possible, hope that it is enough to make the Gamemakers let us both live, and if it is not then how we will have to give a convincing show of fighting it out between us before letting the Capitol decide who lives and who dies. The way I feel when I look at him, I cannot decide which of the two final options I would prefer.

He doesn't interrupt me at all, and I take that to mean that he has reached the same conclusion.

"What do we do until we get to the arena?"

"We pretend to the others that we're just working together as part of a Career Alliance. Nobody can know, not the other tributes, not our mentors and especially not Selene. She would have it all over the papers in seconds and then where would we be? The Gamemakers won't let us both live if they think we've planned it all along."

"Why won't they? The Capitol audience won't need their television dramas if they know the truth. It might win us more support."

"And it might not. We can't take the risk. Not yet, not before we see what happens in the arena."

"So we have to pretend to hate each other?" he asks at the same time as he puts his arms around my waist and pulls me sharply towards him.

With great difficulty, both physically and mentally, I step away from him before answering his question. "Yes we do. Well not hate exactly, but you can't be doing that in the middle of a train carriage. Vikus has to believe that we have put aside everything that is between us to compete in the arena. It is the only way."

I nod at the door as I hear the sound of rapidly approaching high heels coming from the corridor outside. He nods in return but as ever is determined to have the last word.

"Just remember I'll remember everything you say against me in front of them and make sure you pay for it later."

"We'll see about that," I hiss back just as the door slides open and Selene flounces in in a flurry of bright pink. Who says that I am not equally as determined?

She takes one look at the remains of the vase, shrieks in that special way that is unique to Capitol people, and walks back out again, muttering under her breath the whole time about how the rule of having no Career Tributes should really mean no Career Tributes and not bothering to close the door behind her. I am tempted to point out to her that nearly anyone, Career or not, can smash a vase, but I decide that such a comment wouldn't do much to improve the situation so I say nothing.

She returns a short time later with three Avoxes, all young and dressed in pure white tunics, who immediately proceed to clear the broken glass from the floor. I look from them to Cato before turning to Selene and speaking for the first time since she appeared.

"I had an accident. I lost my balance when the train started to move and knocked the vase off the sideboard."

She looks at me suspiciously but I am relieved when I see that her denial extends to situations like this too. It is not that I think Cato would actually be punished for breaking the thing but after the Peacekeeper incident I don't think it's worth taking the risk. Everyone knows that the Capitol has the power of life and death over us all, and as they exercise that power without needing a reason with such frequency, only a very stupid person will go out of their way to provide them with an excuse to hurt those they love.

A short time later Vikus strolls casually into the cabin and looks around disinterestedly. I suppose that in the forty years since he won the Games he has been on this train so many times that even something like going to the Capitol has become routine and boring for him. He looks sharply from Cato to me and then to Selene, who is still standing by the sideboard supervising the Avoxes. What is it with these Capitol people? They never complete even the simplest of tasks themselves but they always remain totally convinced that nobody else can do anything unless they are constantly being watched and instructed.

"In all the years I have trained you, Jacia, I have never known you to lose your balance in such a dramatic manner."

Damn him, does he miss nothing? "But I have never been on a train before. I didn't expect it to move as quickly as it did." I answer hastily.

He doesn't reply but raises an eyebrow at me in a way that I have seen maybe thousands of times over the past five years, each time to let me know that he no more believes what I said than I do. I seem to get away with it though, because the sound of footsteps comes from the corridor once more and everyone turns to witness the appearance of our second mentor.

I guessed that it would be Augustus, simply because the appearance of the arrogant and sadistic man who I have hated since way before he returned from the Capitol, victorious and desperate to begin abusing his newfound status and power, would be the perfect end to my perfect day. Predictably I am not disappointed.

He only won the Games a couple of years ago, making him only about two years older than Cato, but despite his youth and relative inexperience, he already thinks he can control what happens in the Training Centre. I have seen him with my own eyes, bullying the young trainees in ways that even Cato and I consider extreme, never hesitating to take advantage of the large number of young women there who are a lot more naïve than I. I feel my earlier sorrow return as I recall myself telling Cato only days before that Augustus would be at the top of my hit list next year when it is all over. Now it will never be over and I might not even get the chance to make him suffer for his arrogance.

Our two mentors stare first at Cato and then at me, as if they are trying to decide what to do next. I suppose they are. My name being drawn from the reaping ball will have ruined more than one set of well laid plans, as now that they are looking at me and not Rose, the mentors will have to have a very quick rethink of this year's strategy.

"Are you going to be a liability to me, Clove?" asks Vikus, seemingly randomly, but I suspect that I know full well where he is going with this.

"Why should I be? You said yourself that I can fight better than almost anyone in the district. I have waited for this moment for years."

"In that case you will remember that winning the Games means that you will have to kill every last one of your fellow tributes," he replies, looking very pointedly in Cato's direction.

"Of course. Do you genuinely think that I fear any of them?" I answer, not being strictly honest with him but not lying either. After all, what I said is true, I have never feared Cato.

"And how about you?" Vikus asks, abruptly switching his attention to the man beside me.

"I can feel the crown on my head already," Cato replies without hesitating, his voice once more full of his usual casual arrogance.

Our mentors continue to gaze unwaveringly at us and I stare right back at them. If they are waiting for me to drop the act then they are going to be waiting for a very long time. It seems that they reach the same conclusion, giving us the benefit of the doubt in favour of moving into the next cabin, and when I follow them, the first thing that I see is a huge table laden with food.

Unlike most of the other tributes, who will probably all also be on their way to the Capitol by now, I have never lacked food, have never actually felt truly hungry, so the table doesn't hold my attention for long. What I do notice is the huge wall-mounted television screen, and when I look in the direction of the adjacent wall at an ornately carved clock, I find myself wishing that it would hurry up and be three o'clock so that I can watch the first replay of the summary programme showing the other district's reapings. I long to know, as I have done for years, the identities of the twenty-two people who will laughingly be called my competition.