I sit in silence on the train, next to the boy. The Peacekeepers led me here after Aden and Lecta left. I vaguely remember there being a crowd at the train station, but the memories feel distant, unreal.
We're in the third compartment of the train, as far as I can tell. There are tables down the centre of the room, laden with food and drink, but neither of us touch any. I avoid the boy's gaze, staring out of the windows that line the walls of the train.
The door to the compartment slides open, making me jump. Humar strides in, wearing a different suit, green instead of blue. With him are two other people, a man and a woman, both dressed in plain, dark clothing.
"Welcome again, my dear Tributes!" Humar smiles widely - did he ever stop? - and gestures to the figures behind him. "Allow me to introduce Deran and Jedda, your mentors. I'll leave you all to get acquainted." He bows slightly, waves at our mentors, and leaves.
The woman speaks first, her voice low and raspy, "We're training you separate this year." She points at me. "I've got you, girl, and Jedda here's going to be your mentor, boy. This carriage is mine, so you two feel free to leave."
Jedda grabs two bottles of what I assum is alcohol from the tables. "C'mon, boy," he says, his words ever-so-slightly slurred. After they leave, the woman collapses into a chair opposite me.
"It's Deran, girl." Her voice is almost the opposite of Humar's, without a trace of Capitol accent.
"Solaire." I'm sure I should say more, but she cuts me off.
"Strengths." The word is a demand.
I stare at her, confused. She waves her hand impatiently. "What are your strengths?"
I didn't expect to start so early. "I'm not sure—"
"Now, girl."
"Running," I said. Running is my first reaction to most situations, born out of my instincts to shy away from danger.
"Hiding." There are many places in District 5 in which to hide, if you look.
"Obser- observance? Observation?" I stutter slightly, "And I'm smart."
Deran smirks at me. "Offensive skills? I didn't win my Games by just running, hiding and looking at things."
I feel a surge of anger, which is quickly replaced by despair. Offensive skills were, essentially, killing skills. And I have none.
"Weaknesses, then," she continues, watching my face, "No offensive skills at all, no survival experience, no strategy. Easy prey for Careers. Easy prey for any Tribute."
I stare at her. "Aren't you supposed to teach me? Help me?" I hate how vulnerable I sound.
"Fine. Tell me your plan."
"I don't— how can you expect me to have a plan?" My mind is still a jumble. The Reaping, my good-byes, how can anyone expect me to still think?
Deran leans closer and looks me in the eye. "In a week's time, you will be fighting to the death, girl. You need to prepare."
I could accept that logically, even if emotionally I'm a mess. So I start to think, focusing on my years of watching the Games, distracting myself from the thoughts of home.
"I think..." I begin, "I think that I won't be able to match the Careers in fighting skills."
"Excellent," Deran says dryly, "So what are you going to do about that?"
"Four days of training won't help much."
"You can get basic skills. I'd suggest knives - versatile, small."
I remember back to last year's Games. "I'll run, hide, stay away from the others. Let them kill each other."
"And when the others come for you?"
"Keep running."
"Interesting. Do you have any survival skills?"
"You told me I didn't."
"I was generalizing. I'll take that as a no, then." She pulls out a notebook from inside her jacket and looks up at me. "If that's the extent of your plan - running, hiding, staying out of the way - you'll want to go to the survival stations, not the weapons. But as I said before, knife skills wouldn't hurt either."
She begins to write in the notebook.
"We can discuss more strategy later, girl. For now, personality." Deran studies me, and I glance away quickly. "You'll want to be memorable, to attract sponsors, but not too much, to avoid being targeted."
"Do we need to do this now?" I ask, watching the landscape flash by through the windows. "Surely there's enough time later on?"
"We do this now." Deran's tone is firm. "We start at the beginning. You need as much help as we can give you."
I switch my attention back to her. "The odds are that I'll die anyway," I say bluntly. As I speak the words, I feel them sink in. In a week's time, I could be dead. I probably will be dead, or dying, or forced to kill others.
"We can change the odds." She scribbles something else down in her notebook, "Memorable, yes, but not a threat. Or not much of a threat?" She frowns down at the page.
I glare at her. How can she be so… so cold?
She notice my look, and meets my eyes. "Dwelling on the fact that you could die soon won't help you to live, girl. Better to accept it, move on, and plan to live. Trust me."
Trust me.
I run a finger around the bracelet that Aden and Lecta gave me. I have to do this. For them, for my parents, for everyone. They expect me to be strong.
"Fine."
"Personality." Deran returns to her notebook. "You'll have a stylist, a prep team, of course, and they'll decide what you wear, how you look. That's not my decision, but if they're the same as before, I can… influence them."
If they're the same as before. I wondered how many Tributes Deran has mentored.
"Looking at you, I think we'd go with... shy, or… elusive. Not strong, or powerful… you don't have the skills, you're not believable."
"I'm not useless," I mutter.
"I never said that. But based on what you've told me, girl, you're not gonna be able to pull off being a fighter."
"So I'll be a… thinker?" I try to find a word that sounds less stupid, less juvenile.
"Exactly. A thinker, a strategist. We can work with that." Deran begins to write again. "Elusive, as I said before, mysterious, yes…"
"Is that all?" I ask quietly, feeling abruptly tired. Outside, the sun is getting lower in the sky, shining on trees and fields that are so different from my home in District 5.
Deran stops writing and closed her notebook. "Almost." She seems almost hesitant. "Some advice, girl. First, forget."
"Forget what?"
"Everything. Your home, your family, your friends… your old life. Don't dwell on it. No matter what happens, you'll never get it back. Not even if you win."
Not even if you win. I shake my head. "No, that won't… if I'm a Victor…"
She sighs. "I'm not going to argue with you now. Just remember that victory doesn't mean that you're free. Second, don't learn their names – they're just Tributes to you now. Enemies, not people."
"But that's…" I trail off, shocked again by her coldness.
"It's what you need to do to survive, girl." Deran stands up, and I rise automatically as well. "Think about what I've told you. We'll talk again tomorrow, once we're in the Capitol."
Deran stalks out of the compartment and I sink back down into my chair. The Capitol. I stare out of the window, watching the sun slowly sinking behind the clouds. Twenty-four tributes will enter the Capitol, but only one will leave after the Games. I shiver, and glance down at my bracelet again. It will be my token in the Arena, I realise, my one last link to District 5. I wonder how Aden and Lecta had gotten it. Did they… no, I can't think of that. That's gone, in the past.
I'm still watching the sunset when Jedda and the boy enter the compartment. They ignore me, grabbing food from the tables before settling down in the corner of the room opposite from me. I follow their example, reluctantly rising from my chair to fill a plate with food. Everything looks delicious, but slightly off, somehow, the colours too vivid to be natural. I return to my chair with a full plate and begin to eat, gazing out the window as the light fades from the sky.
I've finished eating when Jedda and the boy stop talking. "You, girl!" Jedda calls, and I turn to face him. "Are you done there? I'll show you and the boy to your rooms."
I nod and follow the two of them into the next compartment. Jedda holds open the second door for me. "This is yours."
"Thanks."
I walk in and he closes the door behind me, leaving me alone. I look around the room. It's fairly basic, with just a bed, a table and a wardrobe, but everything is richly decorated. I suppose some people would call it elegant, but it seems wasteful to me.
I pull off my shoes and lie down on the bed, too tired to change out of my dress. I wonder what my parents are doing, how they were coping. My eyes begin to fill with tears. No, home is gone, I remind myself, I can't think of them, not now, not anymore. I turn off the lights and close my eyes, hoping that I'll fall asleep quickly. I need to be rested for tomorrow – for the beginning of my time as a Tribute in the Capitol.
