A/N: Finnick's POV

I watched Ligeia and Luke going off to their stylists with a sigh. Minna would take good care of Luke, which was better than I could say about myself. What would I be able to do for the boy? He may have volunteered, but from the notes slipped to me by his trainer, he probably wasn't half as ready as Ligeia, who was a deadly machine. How was I supposed to keep him alive? How could I convince sponsors to have interest in him, to believe in him, if I didn't have interest in him or believe in him?

Mags watched them go off and said, "Well, she's a fighter, but that seems to run in her family. Pretty girl, too. That–"

"Also runs in her family, yeah," I sighed. "Luke's descent, but nobody's going to notice him next to her. He's utterly forgettable."

She nodded.

"Let's go see some of the others."

Without my even noticing, we found ourselves on the seventh floor, greeting Scarlett and Blight, who would have arrived about an hour earlier, sitting awkwardly on the couches, frowning at the floor before them, not looking at each other, not talking… merely scowling at the unoffending carpet.

"Hey," I said jovially, trying to break the tension in the room. "How was your spring?"

Scarlett glared at me and said, "Fine."

Then she looked back down at the floor.

"Right," I muttered slowly. "Blight, how are you? Feeling good about your tributes this year?"

"They're fine," Blight said roughly. "And I'm agitated."

"Well, at least someone's being honest," Mags muttered, going over to the table to grab an orange. "How's Alyson, Scarlett?"

Blight's scowl deepened, but Scarlett's face looked like a cloud that had been over it moved along swiftly, brightening instantly.

"She's good," she sighed. "She likes that she can afford new dresses. She has her mother's fashion sense."

I smiled at that.

"She's a sweet thing," I said, stretching and letting my arm rest on the back of the sofa, behind Scarlett's shoulders. She twitched a little but didn't move away, but I wondered what the twitching was for.

I had talked a bit on the phone with Alyson a few times, trying to get ahold of Scarlett, and Alyson always insisted that she talk to me whenever I called, calling me her "special friend." Even though it was a bit far off in my future, if I had a daughter, I'd want her to be like that.

It was dangerous to have children, though, as a victor. It was almost a guarantee that your child would be reaped, and then what? In District Four, perhaps, someone would volunteer, but there was no guarantee of that. After all, look at me.

But I wasn't even sixteen yet. It was far too soon to be thinking about things like marriage.

"I have to ask," Mags said, sitting down beside Blight, "what's the deal with Charlotte?"

Scarlett snorted.

"She's a mindless floozy and her mother's an over-ambitious cow."

Even Blight laughed at that one. Scarlett didn't laugh, though. She groaned dramatically and said, "You don't understand! This woman pitted us against each other when we were six years old! We never had any chance to do anything but hate each other! And all my life, all through school it was always 'Scarlett and Charlotte' and 'Charlotte and Scarlett' and 'Look how smart these two are' and 'They're fighting for top of the class' and then I won the Games and everyone forgot about her and the cow probably rigged it so that she could get attention too."

If that had been possible, I wouldn't have doubted it, based on the proud, competitive look in Charlotte's eyes as she had taken the stage beside Scarlett, but as Charlotte hadn't been a volunteer, had been literally drawn out of a hat, it seemed rather unlikely.

"I don't want to talk about her," Scarlett said, pouting a little. "Tell me about your pair, Finnick. What do you think of Luke and Ligeia this year?"

"Ligeia is deadly," I said instantly, "and Luke is probably a dead man."

"Oh, have a bit of faith," Mags insisted. "Just because his trainer didn't gush doesn't mean he's hopeless. Ligeia was bound to have gotten more attention in training for her looks alone. The trainer was a man, like any other, and susceptible to such things. And she is, after all, the cousin of a very deadly former tribute."

"Is she?" Scarlett asked, frowning. "Who?"

"Stella," I said softly, sighing. "She looks so much like her it's going to give me nightmares, I just know it."

Scarlett knew about Stella, of course, about me killing Stella, but she didn't know, I was sure, the fact that Stella still visited me often at night, haunting my dreams with her vengeful face.

"Oh," Scarlett said coarsely. "That's the girl you let bleed out on the beach, yeah? She was awful."

I snorted.

"Yeah, she was, but I feel bad about it now."

"You didn't at the time," Blight pointed out, stretching absently on the couch. "You said in your interview that she deserved to die that way."

He was right, I had said that. And I had meant it. But maybe I had been wrong. Did anyone deserve to die like that? Was it her fault that she had been raised to think that way, to treat people that way, to win the Games?

Of course not. She was just better at it than most people I knew. It wasn't her fault.

"I've gained more perspective. I was just a kid."

"You're still just a kid," Scarlett said, rolling her eyes. "Hey, is the training room open, do you think?"

"Absolutely," Blight said. "You two should go down there and blow off steam. I need to talk to Mags."

I got the feeling that we were being brushed off, like a father telling his children to go play while the adults had an adult conversation, but I wanted to throw things, so I didn't complain.

We made our way down the familiar pathways to the training room, only to find that we weren't alone. Ronan of District Five was already throwing knives. Gloss and Cashmere, brother and sister of District One, were doing some basic fencing with practice swords. I noticed Cashmere glare at Scarlett as we entered, but Scarlett merely stuck out her tongue and Ronan waved happily to me as we came in. He was an all right sort of guy, but throwing knives beside him was a bit intimidating because he was so good at it, even after years of mentoring.

I grabbed a rack of knives and set up next to Scarlett, who had wheeled over a variety of axes and hatchets, some meant to be thrown, others a bit large for that express purpose, but she seemed intent upon it. She also had a few knives, but she grabbed them from my rack, obviously not interested in throwing a large string of knives. I realized after a moment that she intended them as her warm-up.

Ronan tossed a knife, hitting the edge of the bulls-eye. Mine was close to the bulls-eye, but not even remotely as close as I would have liked. Scarlett picked up a knife and tossed it lazily, hitting the bulls-eye right in the center. I raised my eyebrows as she picked up another knife, then hit another target, a little further away, in the same spot. Satisfied, I suppose, that she was warmed up, Scarlett picked up a hatchet and hit an even further target, then picked up one of the throwing axes and did the same, then a larger axe which was a bit bigger than the hatchet to the same result… The other mentors had stopped to watch her, eyes wide with surprise.

Once she became less of a novelty, she continued to throw the axes, and I started throwing knives again, although feeling more inferior than usual between her and Ronan.

"I wish you would teach me how to throw like that," I muttered, envious.

"Like what?" she asked, tossing another chopping axe for a perfect bulls-eye on the furthest line of targets like she was tossing a pebble into a lake.

"Like it's the easiest thing you've ever done," I said with a sigh.

Scarlett laughed.

"It's because I've been doing this since I could walk. Some of it's practice, some of it's skill. I've just always been able to do this."

I shook my head, amused and amazed, but I should have known. Scarlett was just blessed with all the abilities required of a Hunger Games victor. She was attractive, she was a good actress, she could find food, she could kill, she could hide. Of course, if she didn't get some skilled tributes and translate her knowledge and skill into proper mentoring, she would probably be a mentor for the rest of her natural life. Although the same could be said of me.

The main difference was that I was likely to receive well-trained, well-prepared individuals. She was not. She herself was not a trained individual, though she had been quite prepared. I wondered why all parents didn't pass along survival skills to their children, just in case they were reaped, even if they couldn't send them to academies with special trainers for that very purpose. Perhaps people thought if they stuck their heads in the sand, maybe, just maybe their child wouldn't be reaped.

But they weren't doing anyone any favors, except the other tributes, who didn't mind an easy target.

"So, what's it like, being seventeen?" I asked casually, tossing another knife, this time making it a bit closer to the bulls-eye. "Got a boyfriend yet?"

She laughed.

"Why, jealous, Odair?" she said with a smirk and a wink.

If I was being honest with myself, I thought I would be a bit jealous of any guy she dated, if only because I wouldn't have her full attention anymore. She would be the only other mentor close to my age in our little band of victors, possibly for a long time, and if she had a boyfriend, we probably wouldn't be as close.

"Oh, naturally," I said sarcastically as I could muster. "Let me guess, tall, dark, handsome?"

"Well, you've described the man in my life perfectly, Finnick," she said with a snort. I frowned at her, looking up and dropping the knife in my hand.

She had someone?

"My father," she sighed, exasperated at my shocked expression. "That's a perfect description of my father. He's the only man in my life and I sincerely hope it stays that way for quite some time."

The way she said that, with agitation, it seemed as if something was wrong. Perhaps there was some boy giving her trouble in District Seven, following her around, professing his affections. It wouldn't be something unheard of, especially with a pretty young victor. But Scarlett wasn't the sort to take kindly to such things, unlike most girls her age. Whoever he was, I was surprised she hadn't chopped off his hand, at the least.

"What about you, Finnick?" she continued sardonically. "No special girls in your life?"

"No," I said with a laugh. "I'm not even sixteen."

"That's nice," she growled under her breath, and it seemed an odd thing to say, and something that she hadn't necessarily wanted me to hear.

"I will be soon," I said, as if not hearing her. "Next week, actually. Any advice?"

She gave no advice, but she frowned deeply, not trying to hide her discomfort with the fact that I was turning sixteen. What was so bad about it? Perhaps her own sixteenth birthday had been not very nice, but that had been almost a year before she had been reaped. It's not like the memory would have been associated with the Games at all.

But then, I reasoned, there was no decree that all of a victor's worst memories must be Games-related. I knew in several cases victors had lost family members, like Gloss and Cashmere, who had lost their little sister. Haymitch, despite being in his thirties, was all alone in the world. Those must have been sad memories, whatever they were.

We didn't get much information about victor's families in the districts. This was all information I had picked up in the Capitol, as a mentor. We heard about them while they were tributes in the Games, then saw a bit on the Victory Tour, but then we only saw the parents if the victor did something important, like get married. Not very many victors got married. It wasn't surprising. Their children were almost always reaped, and most marriages resulted in at least one child.

I tried to picture Scarlett as a mother, but the thought seemed almost as ridiculous as Haymitch as a father. Maybe they weren't meant to have families. I mean, I knew Scarlett was brilliant with Alyson, but actually having and raising her own child… That seemed to be beyond the limits of her capacity for tenderness and compassion. But perhaps I was underestimating her because I knew of the stark contrast between her on-screen personality and her true self.

We continued to throw, and Lyme, from District Two came down, situating herself on the other side of Scarlett.

"Hello," she said. "Good to see you, Finnick."

Lyme was an incredible specimen of strength and discipline, still able to hit any target with her spear from nearly any point in the training facility, which was better than even Ronan with his knives, although Scarlett could probably match her with axes.

"And you, Lyme," I said. "Good year?"

"As well as usually, thank you," she sighed. I noticed that she barely looked at Scarlett, which I thought odd, but I realized they hadn't been introduced.

"Oh, Lyme, have you met Scarlett?"

She shook her head, holding out her hand to the skeptical Scarlett.

"Pleasure to meet you," she said kindly to Scarlett.

"Likewise," Scarlett replied, pulling her hand away, everything about her part in the interaction saying she found no pleasure in it at all.

I had no problems with Lyme, despite the fact that she was District Two. She had worked with me quite a lot the previous year, working out gifts for Anya and Aidan and the other Careers.

"How's Luke?" she asked.

"Good enough, I imagine," I said. "What do you think about Catriona?"

"Similar to Anya, I expect," she said. Scarlett just ignored us, continuing to toss axes and knives.

"What do you think about Sebastien, Gloss?" Lyme called to the District One male, who was a few years older than myself.

"He's probably going to win," Gloss said, tossing a spear leisurely. "Tell Ligeia to stay out of the way if she doesn't want a painful death, Finnick."

I gritted my teeth. Gloss made me want to punch him in the face, most of the time.

"She looks a lot like Stella," Lyme said casually. "That was the first thing that hit me when I saw the reaping in your district.

"Cousins," I said without further explanation.

"Ah," Lyme muttered, grabbing a spear. "Do you think she's as deadly?"

"Probably," I sighed. "From what her trainer tells us, she's possibly even better than her cousin. She got glowing reviews. Doesn't hurt that she's gorgeous."

"No, it never does," Scarlett muttered bitterly.

What was her problem?

"Think she'll be a better ally than Stella was?" Cashmere called. "I don't want to tell Violet that she's not allowed to sleep at all."

I was fairly certain that Ligeia wouldn't do something so stupid, or at least, wouldn't get away with it, after what Stella had done, but I didn't mind having Cashmere on edge, so I said, "You know, I don't really know. You should talk to Mags about that, if you think it's a legitimate concern. I'm dealing with Luke, not Ligeia. I don't think she would work with me if her life depended on it."

Lyme, Ronan, and Scarlett laughed darkly, and Cashmere nodded, satisfied with my response. I went back to watching Scarlett throw, thinking about her behavior. I didn't know her well enough to know exactly what normal behavior was for her, but I certainly knew that the way we found her and Blight that afternoon hadn't be normal in the slightest. In my experiences with her, as well, her behavior wasn't so typically…antisocial. She was becoming a bit more like Haymitch in all the ways that weren't good. It was a strange thing to say about someone I hardly knew, but I was worried about her.

We threw for about two hours, and my arms grew tired long before Scarlett's, who seemed to be spurred on by some sort of fury. Lyme and I took a break, sitting to the side, watching Ronan and Scarlett go, never seeming to run out of energy.

"She's incredible," Lyme muttered. "It's a shame."

I frowned.

"What is?"

Lyme looked at me, confused for a moment, but then she smoothed out her expressions.

"She'll tell you when she's ready to," Lyme said slowly, but there was more than that. There was something she almost seemed to keeping from me, and the way she said it didn't seem like it was just some story of Scarlett's.

But Lyme hadn't met Scarlett before that day. How was it that she knew something Scarlett had yet to tell me when she hadn't even met her? And why wouldn't she just tell me what it was? Was it the answer to Scarlett's odd behavior toward Blight, and others, but mostly Blight?

But I didn't have too long to dwell on it, because we had to get cleaned up and changed for the chariot presentation that evening, and women took longer at that sort of thing, so I walked with Scarlett back to the seventh floor, where Mags and Blight were still talking urgently about something, which they quickly cut off when we entered.

Something very strange was going on, and I wanted to know what it was.

A/N: THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO mcgonagiggles, who added it to their alerts. THANK YOU MCGONAGIGGLES, your attention has been noted, appreciated, and also inspired me to finish up the end of this chapter. I hope you continue to enjoy this story, and the rest of the series, when they come along.

-C