(A/N: I made Dalton be a victor here because I didn't think 10 had any living victors at this time, and I already know a bit about his character. This is different than the series, but he's not a major character here, so I don't think it makes a difference.)

Katja's POV

The Peacekeepers hurried Alamo, who had obviously been crying, and I to the train platform. I hadn't been, because I knew I didn't have the luxury of tears. But who could blame him? He was just a kid, and he knew he would die. 10's tributes nearly always died in the initial bloodbath because the district was too poor for kids to train. Nor did most of us know any survival skills. And there was the unfortunate tendency for a higher-than-usual number of kids in 10 to be crippled. If a steer stamped on your foot, you'd be lucky not to lose it, and livestock accidents were common. I would have felt bad for Alamo if I hadn't known I'd need to kill him for Jack and Abby.

The dust from the high, rolling plains nearly choked us on the platform. The crowd was stirring it up, and 10 hadn't seen rain in weeks. I held my head as high as I could, shoulders straight. This was both to project confidence and try to keep dust out of my eyes so they wouldn't water. We had to wait a moment for the cameras to get us, and I tried for a winning smile. Success! To my surprise, I see on one of the screens broadcasting me that I look somehow glad to have been chosen. It was part of my angle. Sure, I'd tell all of Panem how badly I wanted to get back to my niece and nephew, but I would play their game with enthusiasm, because the Capitol hated people who shrank from their inevitable demise. And the killing.

I hated myself for the game I was playing.

After the cameras, Cleopatra, our oxlike escort, almost shoved us into a train compartment. Even though I was trying to play a "strong" part, I gasped, awed by how luxurious it was. And the food. Everywhere, all sorts. More meat than I'd seen in my entire life, too, and my district's product was livestock. I couldn't help drawing a comparison between myself and an ox bound for slaughter at the moment. I stopped myself. Don't even think it. Just think about getting home to them. I moved towards the buffet to get a plate, figuring I'd need all the poundage I could get once in the arena. Especially because I didn't know much about what to eat in the wild. Then I noticed Alamo still standing, speechless, by the door.

I smiled at him. It was better for him not to see me as a threat. Then if I had to kill him, he wouldn't be on the defensive. "Come on. Eat. You'll need it." He shook his head, but sat down, looking too shocked and sad to function. So I got us both plates, and once he saw his, his hunger took over.

Dalton and Cleopatra gave us a few minutes to start stuffing food in our mouths before Cleopatra spoke. "We'll be in the Capitol early tomorrow morning, and you'll go right to your stylists. Frankly, I never like 10's costumes, but just put up with it. And anything else they do. Katja. Your reaping was powerful stuff, with your niece and nephew begging you not to leave-" at this I blinked a few times, forcing back emotion "-so use that to your advantage."

"I was planning to," I said curtly. "Capitol people are so sentimental."

"But you also need to act enthusiastic. They like that. You've been doing well with how you appear so far. Very camera ready, just perfect. Just keep it up, especially the standing up straight and holding your head high. You look more confident that way. And you're fit enough. Show it off." She turned her attention to Alamo. "I really don't know. You're only 13 and from such a poor district. Try innocent and humble. Compliment everything about the Capitol. Talk about how much you want to get home to your parents. Look awed for the cameras. Try to be cute and likable."

She went on in this vein for both of us for a few minutes, talking on about camera presentation and Capitol etiquette. Dalton hadn't said a word yet. When Cleopatra finally tired, he spoke. His voice was soft for such a tall, impressive-looking twenty something.

"So what can you do? I can ask you separately if you like."

I was about to speak when Alamo blurted out, "You don't need to ask me separately, I don't know anything, I'm going to die in there!" His teeth clamped down on his lower lip in an ineffectual attempt to stop himself from crying. Dalton ignored this and turned to look at me. "You look strong and fed enough. By 10 standards. Try to put on a few pounds though." I nodded and motioned to my heaping plate. I was already feeling uncomfortably full and I wasn't even a third done.

"I work getting the cattle to the stockyards when I needed money for Jack and Abby. I've had to take down several before when they've attacked or broken out. I can use a club. And I guess I am strong." I hesitated before continuing, then smiled again at Alamo, using just the right light, friendly tone. "Why don't you take your plate and go into that next car? I think I saw a really cool TV. Go enjoy yourself before they send us in."

Like a fool, he bought it. I smirked as he left. Then turned back to Dalton. "As you may have guessed from what I just did, plus my performance for the cameras at the reaping, I know how to deal with people. I'm smart. I manipulate people back home when I need to, to feed the kids. I can play whatever angle I think will work on a person. Emotions, logic, bargaining, whatever. I could get sponsors that way. And what's more, I know how other people think and feel even without being told. From the smallest glimpse. But what will help the most is that I can predict what people will think and do. For example, if I was in the arena with a weapon, I might do something to draw the other tributes to an area I was holding. Like a fire or a noise. If that turned up a single tribute, I'd just leap from a hiding place and kill them. If it brought the Career pack, I'd either do something that would start an argument between them, which would force the pack to split early and let me take them on one by one, or hide and then track them back to their camp so I could spy on them. Bottom line is, I can strategize. My best weapon would be to out-think."

I had no intention of hiding any talents from my team. I needed those sponsors if I was going to get home. "So do you want to play a sly angle?" Dalton asked.

I shook my head. "No. As I said, the Capitol loves sentimentality. I'll play smart and determined, and tear at people's heartstrings whenever I can. My niece and nephew are almost like weapons here." He and Cleopatra agreed that it was an excellent idea, and Dalton looked happy at the thought of mentoring someone who might actually have a chance. "The Cornucopia," I continued. "Should I figure out what to do with that now?"

Dalton looked grim again. "No, it wouldn't be much use. Wait until you see your competition."

He, Cleopatra, Alamo, and I all watched the recap later that day, as the sun set ominously bloodred through the large windows. 1 and 2 were all volunteers, and three of them were so huge and vicious-looking I felt terrified just seeing them on-screen. The girl from 2 was not as physically intimidating, but I know how to read people. She was nothing more than a psychopath.

Then I saw and heard something that jolted me out of my numb terror of the Careers. It brought me from terror to a simultaneous feeling like my heart was being ripped from my chest, along with the odd feeling, stronger than ever now, that I'd felt once before, for the only crush I'd ever name was Tegan, and her time on-screen showed me everything about her. I read her every step, every expression on her face. She was visibly, obviously queer too. Something leapt in my chest at this. Maybe we…don't. Never mind it. She'll die anyway. She actually wants to. Before her face turned fierce, before she attacked her district partner, her green eyes were absolutely dead-looking. i didn't miss her long sleeves in the desert heat either, or the scars inadequately covered. I also didn't miss that split second of complete hurt and terror that flashed across her face when the boy's name was called. I figured out what must have happened between them in about three seconds.

But what made my heart break most was that dead look juxtaposed with her unorthodox, damaged beauty. Soft, short dark brown hair, wiry and well-built, with fine features that looked like a Renaissance painting. I couldn't stop staring at her. When her dead eyes caught the camera, I felt like I'd been hit with a cattle prod.

Those eyes seemed burned into my brain even as the show moved on to all the other districts. Distracted, I barely noticed anything about the others, beyond noting to watch out for 4 and the boy from 11. Luckily, Dalton took notes.

I was exhausted when the recaps were finally done, and went straight to my compartment, an over-the-top bedroom with the softest sheets I'd ever felt in my life. Despite the comforts and my tiredness, I had a lot of trouble sleeping, and not because of nerves about the arena. Tegan's dead look haunted me.

Finally on the edge of real sleep, the answer came to me. The Careers were all so monstrous that there was no chance of my getting into the pack. But to win, I would do much better with an ally. Tegan was from Three. Three was always known for its smart tributes and unusual arena traps. In addition, she looked fast and strong for her small size. Tougher than the Careers would think. Combine that with my understanding of how people act, and perhaps, just perhaps, we could design the perfect traps. And I wouldn't have to feel too much guilt about killing her, I firmly told my guilty brain. She wanted to die. I couldn't ignore that strange feeling I felt for her, too. It made me want to protect her somehow.

I fell asleep at one a.m. debating how to get her to ally with me when all she wanted was probably to go off alone and die quickly