Serra and I are steered toward the train. The sleek metallic exterior gives off the impression of immense speed before the train even moves. As we step into the train, I get my first good look at Serra. I only stand 5'10", but the top of her head barely reaches above my elbow. She has the same ash brown hair that I have, but hers flows down to the middle of her back. I could easily pick her up with one arm. Everything about her reminds me of the word "tiny".

She starts toward the exit of the cart to find her room. The yellow dress she is wearing gets caught on the handrail near the door. I walk over and free it for her. I give her a slight smile; she blushes and runs out of the cart. I can't imagine how she's handling all of this. I'm not doing well with it, and I'm nearly an adult.

The train is remarkably lavish. I have never seen so much gold in one place before. Plump, leather couches line the sides of this first cart. There's a mahogany bar in the corner with a selection of liquors on it. I don't think anyone has poured a drink from the bottles; they are still full. Few people drink liquor back in District 8 because it is dangerous to be drunk around the factory machines. However, I can't imagine making it through this day without a distraction. I walk up to the bar and start to pour myself a generous amount of amber liquid from one of the bottles.

"What are you doing?" asks a voice from behind me. I know this voice all too well. I place the glass back on the bar.

"Nikola," I answer as I turn to face the tall, muscular victor from District 8. His blue eyes are just visible under his blond bangs. They're locked right on me.

"You know I can't stand it when people call me that," he retorts with a scowl.

"Then, you shouldn't have told me your real name, Nick," I answer. I smile at him and his scowl vanishes. I'm unsure if taunting my mentor is wise, but I add, "I don't seem to recall you minding it that much when it comes from the right person."

Nick shoots a glare my way that clearly expresses the need for me to stop talking. I'm taken aback by his sudden mood swing until I see Demetrius boarding the train.

Some districts are blessed with a helpful, even friendly escort. Unfortunately, we are not so lucky. We're stuck with Demetrius. Even by Capitol standards, Demetrius is strange. His body is larger than most in the Capitol. Most of the Capitol citizens are extremely thin. Demetrius is clearly well-fed, though. His skin is stained a sickly, blood red and covered in black tattoos. A black bar the size of a toothpick is pierced through both of his earlobes. In the days before Panem existed, it is said that people believed in a malevolent spirit that corrupted society. Apparently, Demetrius fits the description.

Aside from his looks, Demetrius is just a despicable escort. He never helps the tributes in any way. Since Nick won the games, he's carried out the typical role of escort on top of his duties as mentor.

Demetrius does not stay around to talk. He exits the cart and heads for the front of the train. I watch Nick as he walks over to the bar and grabs the drink I poured. He looks at it for a few moments before sitting it back down.

"So, you think becoming an alcoholic is the best way to win the games?" he asks me.

"I hardly think having one drink on reaping day will turn me into an alcoholic," I respond.

"Some people only need a sip, as I'm sure you recall. You want to be clear-headed as possible from now until you are killed or crowned the victor," he explains. "Silas, you're lucky. You come from a district with a victor; that means you get a mentor. Think about the tributes from 5, 6, 9, 10, and 12; they've never had a winner. They're alone. If you want my help, you will stay away from this stuff."

He is right. I never thought about it from this perspective. In the cruel, unlucky system of the Hunger Games, I have been blessed with a piece of luck. I get a mentor. I get a mentor that survived 30 days with a knife wound in his shoulder. I get a mentor who is the youngest victor yet. I get Nick.

I trust Nick; I met him a few years ago. I was only 14 at the time, and he was 20. I had just left school for the day and was heading to pick up Griffith and Rowan from the old lady who watched them at the time. As I was walking, a few older boys from school pushed me down and started beating me. They thought I had stolen food from one of them, but it wasn't me. I was close to losing consciousness when Nick appeared. As a victor, people tend to fear him. The boys scattered as soon as they saw him.

Nick leaned over me to assess the damage. That was the first time I saw his dark, blue eyes. Looking into his eyes is like staring into the vastness of the ocean; the calming effect was instantaneous. He helped me up and took me to a local healer. The healer patched me up and ordered me to bed rest for a few days. He paid the healer and walked me home.

A few months ago, I ran into Nick again. I was the rescuer this time around. I saw Nick passed out in his front yard. The stench of alcohol was hard to miss. I managed to half carry, half drag him into his house. By the time I got him settled on the couch, he woke up.

"Silas," he said. "You should have left me there. I deserve it."

"You don't deserve that. And, it doesn't matter anyway; I owed you one, Nick," I told him, smiling.

He pushed himself up a little and stared into my eyes. "Your green eyes are beautiful, but do you know what makes them special?" I was too shocked to answer, but he didn't wait for me to respond. "It's the flecks gold in them."

No one had ever talked to me like that before, especially another guy. I didn't know what to say. Before I could figure something out, Nick surprised me again. He grabbed the back of my head, and pulled me into a world shattering kiss. His lips were soft, but powerful. I returned his pressure and melted into him. I hadn't realized my life was incomplete until that moment.

I left quickly that night, but nothing has been the same since. I've seen Nick almost every day since then. Nick is sober, now. I'm sure he isn't aware of it yet, but I trust him completely. He could tell me the best policy for the games is to jump off of a cliff, and I would listen. So, now, when he makes me promise to stay away from the liquor that once plagued his life, I respond easily, saying, "Ok. Nikola, I promise I won't touch the stuff."