I do not own the Hunger Games. The tributes belong to their respective submitters.

Azura Adele, Victor of the Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games

Darius's eyes drift shut as he rests his face on the counter. I'm sure the bartender won't be happy that he's leaving his oily face prints all over her ridiculously pristine work surface.

"You owe me twenty gold," he mumbles, twirling his empty glass in rings across the wooden coaster. "Lourde's still breathing."

I lean my chin against my interlaced fingers and narrow my eyes. "I believe that there are still fourteen days to go."

"Nuh-uh."

"The deal states 'a year to the day'. He won three-hundred and fifty-one days ago. In order to satisfy the terms of the agreement, we must wait two more weeks."

His groan is muffled by his sleeve. "You're so pedantic."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

The mixologist, far too peppy for one in the morning, pours me another shot of vodka and I give her a grateful nod. In one gulp, I down the entire glass of smooth, subtly medicinal liquid. Maybe I've already had one too many, but it's a lot better than anything I can get ahold of in Thirteen.

"How are you not on the floor?" Darius asks, lifting his head to face me with bleary eyes. "That's the fourth one you've had in an hour."

I hold up the shot glass, almost as a taunt. "This is just a warmup, Maverick. I've sacrificed my sobriety in exchange for the ability to tolerate your presence. You should feel privileged."

He rests his forehead on his arm. "Whatever. It's your liver."

"Perhaps I'm simply more adept at holding my alcohol than you are."

"Sure." His capacity for word formation is starting to falter. "And perhaps Lourde will kill himself by next Friday and you'll win the bet."

I lean back on the barstool and shrug. "It wouldn't even be the most interesting event of the month, either. How disappointing."

He gives me a cold, hard glare. "You're a bitch sometimes, you know that?"

"I'm not the one who turned an off-hand comment into a yearlong bet based around Lourde's mental health."

He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come forth. Upon realizing that he has no witty retort, he simply mutters, "Fine. You win this round."

"Wow," I drawl. "Conceding an argument? You must be drunk."

He doesn't respond. I look over, only to discover that he's closed his eyes, most likely on the verge of unconsciousness. Idiot.

For a moment, I'm struck by the overwhelming normalcy of this situation. Sitting with an acquaintance, maybe even a friend, getting drunk at a bar while we try to avoid thinking about more pressing responsibilities. He can forget about his time in the arena, and I can pretend that I didn't kill eleven people.

I didn't want to. It's not like I found myself in that library and thought, I'm going to make it my mission to kill just under half of these people before the week is up.

I simply did what I had to in order to survive. Books burn incredibly fast, and the process was accelerated by a sponsor gift of highly flammable diethyl ether. And all it took was one match, one tiny little stick, to birth the fire that would claim ten lives. The howling of the inferno drowned out their screams as I hid in the fountain, kept safe by the cold water. When I emerged, I simply had to kill the girl from Eight. She was the last of my opposition, covered in terrible burns and screeching in pain, half of her face consumed by the blaze that I created. I did that to her.

Look at me, so pathetic and full of self-loathing.

Why do I drink, if it only brings me sadness?

"Hey," the bartender says, dragging me out of my thoughts. "Bar closes in five minutes."

I nod in understanding. I place my hand on the back of Darius's neck to shake him awake, but the physical contact sends him reeling. He scrambles off of his seat with wide eyes, suddenly sober and ready to bolt. Yet again, I'm reminded that we're both broken people pretending to be normal, healthy, productive members of society.

Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's Darius's vulnerability, but I place eighty gold on the counter, paying for both of our rounds. "Keep the change," I say, my voice involuntarily catching on the last syllable.

Darius and I head down the ornate, high-ceilinged hallway, our every movement watched by dozens of cameras and eagle-eyed guards. We couldn't escape even if we tried.

"Sorry," Darius eventually says, his gaze glued to the floor. "About back there, I mean. You just startled me, is all."

An uncomfortable silence stretching between us. I shouldn't have touched his neck, not after the girl from Six nearly choked him to death during his Game. It's a phobia of his, and I just didn't think about it. I know that I should be the one apologizing, but I say nothing.

We both file into the elevator. Unlike in the past, where the districts were assigned different floors according to their number, this year every district has been given an individual penthouse at or near the top of the hotel. The elevator ride takes forever, but at least the view is nice.

At the eighteenth floor, the doors open to reveal a deserted hallway.

Before Darius and I go our separate ways, I touch him lightly on the shoulder. "Darius."

He lifts an eyebrow. "What?"

I let my arm fall to my side as I exit the elevator. Turning to face him, I show weakness that I never would if I were sober. "I hope you win the bet."

Sterling Loaker, District Ten Male

Four hours after retiring to my room for the express purpose of getting a full night's sleep, I find myself staring at the ceiling, brain overflowing with restless thoughts.

In an ideal world, I wouldn't be here. I'd be at home with my parents, sleeping in my own bed, or maybe getting ready for field work tomorrow. But this isn't an ideal world. It never was.

I know that I won't be falling asleep anytime soon, so I slink out of my room and cross the penthouse as silently as I can, doing my best to not awaken the others.

Everything looks different at night. Excess light from the city sends eerie, elongated shadows across the living room, and I begin to wonder whether District Zero ever falls asleep. Back in District Ten, people have to get up early in the morning. Once the clock hits midnight, every house is dark. They have too much work to do in the morning to waste their time partying until sunrise.

I step out onto the balcony, suddenly greeted by all of the noises that the soundproof hotel walls block out. Seventeen stories below, cars honk at each other on the still-crowded streets, and the muffled, low thrumming of bass-heavy music drifts over from one of the other high rises. A number of people have amassed at the base of the hotel, apparently fighting each other simply to get a glimpse of us tributes. I narrow my eyes. Anyone who would willingly drag themselves out of bed at three in the morning simply to press their faces against hotel windows has to be at least a little crazy. Maybe a lot crazy.

The sliding glass door opens and shuts. I turn to see Fenby, her hair messed up in a blonde halo.

"Hey," she mutters, staring down at her feet.

I incline my head, before turning my attention back to the glowing skyline. "Trouble sleeping?"

Beside me, she leans against the railing. "Nah. You just aren't as quiet as you think you are."

I smirk. "Ah, well. Sorry."

She interlaces her fingers, and a strand hair falls in front of her eyes. We didn't have much time to talk on the train because I requested to speak with my mentor in private. I hope my decision didn't inadvertently offend her.

"Today has been kind of hectic," she eventually says, articulating each word with great care, "and I didn't get the chance to ask why you volunteered."

"I doubt you want to hear my sob story."

Fenby's gaze meets mine. "But I do." She jerks her head back towards the penthouse. "I'm guessing it's related to why you talked with Chase on the ride over." She lowers the pitch of her voice. "I like to know why people do what they do."

I bite my lower lip and push off of the railing. I'll have to become more comfortable with telling people, especially if I'm going to make it the main point of my interview.

Running my hands down my face, I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a pent-up sigh. "If you really must know, I have early-onset Huntington's disease." I look to her, trying to gauge her reaction, but I can't detect any outstanding emotions. "I volunteered in order to save myself. That's the short version."

"What's the long version?"

"I'm sure you'll hear it at least once over the next few days."

She looks me dead in the eye. "We're district partners, Sterling. We should be working together, not keeping secrets from each other that could jeopardize our performance in the arena."

I stare up at the sky, trying to compose myself. All but the brightest of stars are choked out by the overwhelming city lights. I hate telling this story. "About a year and a half ago, I began having problems with really minor tasks. I'd forget things that I'd learned only a few days before. Basic vocabulary would slip my mind. I started walking into things - my spatial reasoning was horrible. I began acting out. Things would irritate or anger me, things that really shouldn't have, and I didn't feel like me anymore.

"My parents started getting really worried. They finally decided to take me to District Three for testing after I forgot my own name for a solid day." I turn to her. "I honestly couldn't remember. It's like my name was locked inside of a vault, and my own brain refused to give me the combination." I stare down at my hands, not entirely sure that I want to continue with this train of thought. "Twenty-seven tests later, the doctors figured out that I'd inherited the disease from my father, but he hadn't started exhibiting symptoms. If it weren't for me, he might've never known."

Someone at the base of the hotel lets out an excited cry. I cross my arms and let out a sigh. "Gene therapy is the only way to permanently eradicate the disease, and the full regimen costs more than what my parents have earned in their combined lifetimes. The temporary cure is a lot less expensive, but it stops working after a few years because the patient's brain chemistry adjusts to the meds. Unfortunately, I'm at the point where I'm just starting to experience the symptoms again. It's not nearly as bad as it was before, but I know it'll get worse. So, if I win, I'll be able to afford the treatment for myself and my father. If I die, at least I'll avoid fifteen years of progressive physical and cognitive degeneration, which will eventually end in a pitiful, drawn-out death."

Raising my arms in an attempt to lighten the mood, I say, "And there you have it."

She simply nods, absorbing the information. "How long can you go without the meds before their effect starts wearing off?"

I yawn in an effort to keep up an air of nonchalance. "Three weeks."

A beat of silence passes between us, before Fenby squares her shoulders and holds out her hand. "Allies?"

Slightly taken aback by her forwardness, I ask, "Are you sure?"

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't ask."

Hesitantly, I return the handshake. As long as she knows what she's doing, I'm keen on the idea. "In that case, yeah. Allies."

Training Day One

Lapis Maccolade, District Four Male

Azure won't stop messing with the bottom of her shirt. There's a nervous edge to her bright smile, and even though she won't admit it, I'm pretty sure that she's worried about what the other Careers will think of us.

I guess I'm a little nervous, too, but I can't let the others know. Careers are trained to sense fear. Our anxiety will be nothing more than blood in the water.

"So," I drawl, nudging my breakfast across the plate but not actually eating anything. Finnick glances up at me. "Any tips on unifying the Pack?"

My mentor shrugs. "Don't be afraid to ally with the others. But don't feel compelled to do so, either. Some tributes, especially Carers, are more trouble than they're worth." He turns to Darius. "What do you think?"

Azure's mentor groans, rubbing his temples and hardly opening his eyes. "Why do your words have to be so loud?"

Finnick rolls his eyes and rises from the table. "It wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't gotten drunk at one O'clock in the morning." Flashing a rare smile, he wraps his arm around Darius's shoulder and lowers his voice. "I can cover for you if you want to go back to bed."

Blinking slowly, Darius says, "That would be great."

"Yeah," I say, leaning back in my chair. "I'm sure the Ice Queen would just love to know that you had to take a timeout to deal with your monster hangover."

Darius gives me a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "You wouldn't dare."

"Alright, children, that's enough." Finnick grabs my arm and drags me to my feet. "It's time for you and Azure to meet the other tributes, anyways. The training floor opens in ten minutes."

When Azure and I arrive at the arched entryway, we're greeted by the Careers from District One. Apparently District Two and District Seven have yet to drag their asses out of bed.

"Hello," Amelithe says, immediately approaching me with an outstretched hand. "Would you like to be a member of the Pack?"

High-strung bitch alert.

I return the handshake. "That's my intention."

"How many years did you train before volunteering?"

"Five."

"Are you more proficient in close-range combat or long-range combat?"

Narrowing my eyes, I answer, "Close-range."

Amelithe nods in approval, as if she has the authority to judge me. She switches her attention to Azure, and Adonis stands off to the side, holding his hand over his mouth in an obvious attempt to suppress a smile. He looks at me, and I can tell that he finds his district partner's display of leadership amusing. Apparently this little game of twenty questions wasn't his idea.

Maybe she's on to something, though. Fake it 'til you make it. If she acts like the leader for long enough, there's a higher chance we'll accept her governance once the real fun begins. Unless she does something to piss us all off, which isn't entirely unbelievable, judging by her current behavior. Establishing herself as an interrogator isn't the best first impression to make.

The four of us are effectively blocking the entrance to the training room, so I step aside to let a few outer-district tributes pass by. They're doing everything they can to avoid making eye-contact with us.

Good. Let them be afraid.

The pair from Seven eventually show up, apologizing for their tardiness but offering no explanation. Amelithe doesn't spare them her questioning, of course, but I have to admit that it's convenient to get a little background information from them upfront.

Jorah is fairly quiet, sticking to short answers. Apparently he started training even before Seven became a Career district five years ago. Nice to see we have ourselves a rebel.

Padoa, on the other hand, is about as different from her district partner as humanly possible. She gives long, impassioned responses, placing a lot of emphasis on how excited she is to be a part of the Pack and how honored she is to ally with us. Sure, she's laying it on a little thick, but her pleasantness more than makes up for her sycophancy. It's not like I'm going to stop her from stroking my ego.

But when Amelithe asks her how much training she's had, Padoa hesitantly answers with, "Six months."

I arch an eyebrow, and Adonis crosses his arms in disapproval.

We don't have a chance to voice our concerns, though, because District Two chooses this exact moment to make an appearance.

"About time," I say, offering them both a smile. "We were beginning to think you'd gotten lost."

The guy, I think his name is Sebastian, glares at me like I've done something wrong. The girl, whose name I don't know, remains silent, simply observing our interaction.

Amelithe offers her hand, but neither of them accept the handshake. "Would you like to be a part of the Pack?"

Sebastian's mouth twitches with a faint sneer. "Actually, I'm here to inform you that I have no intention of joining the 'Pack'." Gesturing to the girl, he says, "And neither does Venera."

"Oh?" Amelithe cocks her head to the side, obviously posturing. "Why can't Venera tell me herself?"

"Because I already told you." Sebastian turns away, and Venera follows. Over his shoulder, he says, "Good luck with your little tea party. You're probably going to need it."

I heave an annoyed sigh. "Well, aren't they pleasant?"

Azure shakes her head. "I think it's better that they're out. They'd probably end up causing all sorts of trouble."

Even though Amelithe seems to agree, her expression conveys cheerless irritation. "Yes, you're probably right." Averting her gaze to the rest of the room, she says, "Anyways, I think that some practice will do us all good. But avoid District Two at all cost." She narrows her eyes as a strong undertone of malice enters her voice. "They've made their choice."

Stark Everglade, District Five Male

The pair from District Eleven linger at the plant identification station for quite a while, the girl trying to impart as much of her knowledge to her young district partner as possible. The young boy seems intelligent, absorbing a respectably large deal of information in a comparatively short period of time. I'll remember to watch out for them in the arena.

Returning my attention to the circuit in front of me, I rearrange the wires to transfer a portion of the battery's charge to the capacitor's electric field. I then remove the wires and cautiously connect an insulated flash bulb to the cathode and the anode of the capacitor, careful not to look at the bulb itself. The electrical discharge is immediate, and very bright. Good. The circuit works.

As I rearrange the circuit into another working model, I notice the girl from Six edging closer and closer to me. Her district partner is eighty different kinds of messed-up, so she must be looking for other potential allies. And by the looks of it, she's considering me.

Without asking my permission, she sits down at the opposite end of the bench. Our eyes meet, and even though she smiles, I'm not inclined to return the gesture. I recognize the attitude behind her apparent friendliness. She thinks that, simply because I'm quiet, I need someone to offer me their companionship. I've seen the same thing too many times back in Five. None of them seem to realize that my silence hardly indicates a desire on my part to disassociate myself from the situation at hand.

"What are you doing?" she asks, staring down at the circuit.

"Applying my electrical knowledge to make sure I still know what I'm doing." I glance up at the rest of the training floor. "But mostly, I'm observing."

She bobs her head in understanding. "That's interesting."

I'd rather she hadn't chosen me as her charity case. "Yeah."

She waits a moment, expecting me to say more, but when she realizes that I have no intention of continuing the conversation she asks, "So, where's your district partner?"

"Vespera?" I shake my head and focus on the capacitor. "Somewhere other than reality, I'm sure."

I can almost feel Six's disapproval from here. "Why do you say that?"

"If you spent more than a minute with her, you'd understand."

"Oh." Her smile falters, but only for a moment. "I never got your name, by the way. I'm Rion."

I glance up and, in spite of myself, offer her a smirk. "Stark."

"Well, Stark, would you mind showing me how to do... whatever it is you're doing?"

Might as well. I remove the insulated clamps and hold the battery up to show her. "This is the power supply. An electrolyte paste of ammonium chloride and manganese dioxide allows the electrons, commonly referred to as charges, to flow through the battery from the zinc anode to the carbon cathode. This process-"

She shakes her head and lets out a sheepish laugh. "Can you explain it in English?"

I pause, thinking of the simplest terms I can use without sacrificing definitional accuracy. "The chemical process in the battery pushes charges through the circuit. This forces electrons into the capacitor, where the charge is stored between the magnetic field between two metal plates. When the capacitor is completely charged, I can use it as a quick-discharge power supply."

"Why don't you just use a battery?"

"Because batteries are designed to let out a certain current over an extended period of time. Capacitors, on the other hand, can release their entire charge in a fraction of a second. Therefore, they are easier to weaponize." Standing from the table, I slide the circuit to her. "You can experiment with it if you want. I need to become more familiar with the other weapons."

Rion springs up alongside me. "Stark, wait." She waits barely a second before asking, "Do you want to be allies?"

I stare at her for a few moments, simply considering the possibility. She seems sane enough, at least more so than my district partner. And I'd rather not go into the arena alone. "'The whole is more than the sum of its parts', I suppose."

"What?"

"It's something a wise man once said. In essence, we'd be stronger together than we'd be alone. So, my answer is yes."

Her face lights up. "Great! Can I work on the weaponry with you, then?"

I gesture to the weapons rack. "After you."

Nix Sootclaw, District Twelve Male

Who took all the croutons?

It's like someone played hide and seek with all of the baked bread squares and won every single time. I need five croutons. There aren't five. This is completely unacceptable.

"Are you okay?"

I look up to see the girl from Ten staring at me from across the buffet table. She has a smile on her face, but I can't tell whether or not it's genuine. Hesitantly, I answer, "There aren't enough croutons in the salad."

She scrunches her face up in amused confusion. "Well, just eat it without the croutons, then."

"I need five. Otherwise, no salad."

Holding her plate out to me, she says, "Well, if that's the case, then here. You can have mine."

I want to take her up on the offer, but I know I shouldn't. She already took them, and it would be mean of me to steal hers. I'll just go without salad tonight, and get here earlier tomorrow night, before the crouton thief ruins everything again.

"No, thank you," I say, smiling. "I appreciate the offer, though."

Before she has time to respond, I hurry across the dining hall, heading for Ionette and her allies from District Thirteen. My district partner hasn't spoken to me at all, not even on the train or during the chariot rides, but I figure that allying with her is worth a shot. As I approach her table, though, she shoots me a venomous glare, despite the fact that both the male and female from District Thirteen greet me with bright smiles.

Placing my plate on the table and smoothing out the wrinkles in the tablecloth, I ask, "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

The girl from Thirteen opens her mouth to answer, but Ionette immediately cuts her off. "No. Sorry, but we don't want to deal with your ilk."

Her words sting, but I'm more shocked than hurt. "Excuse me?"

"You aren't worth the effort," she says, turning her back to me, effectively ending the conversation.

The girl from Thirteen gives me a sad stare, but remains silent. The boy simply looks down at his plate, obviously trying to avoid acknowledging my presence now that he knows what Ionette thinks of me. It seems that even if they are interested in establishing an alliance, they value Ionette's input too much to consider me at all.

Still confused by my district partner's outright rejection, I skulk away to one of the unoccupied tables. Why would she refer to me as ilk? What did I do to anger her? We've barely even spoken to each other, but judging by her attitude, she probably prefers that we hadn't spoken at all. At this point, I kind of wish we hadn't, either.

Was it something I did? Something I said? Maybe if I'd approached her differently, she would have let me sit with them. I just want to know what I did wrong.

Seating myself at the back table, I pull the white tablecloth until it's completely smooth and even on all sides. I steal an extra fork, knife, and spoon from another placemat, and set them on the other side of my plate. I tap each of the six utensils seven, eight, nine times, until it feels right and I know for sure that the symmetry is perfect.

After I remove all of the dust from my plate and my utensils, I pick up my fork and set to work on the mashed potatoes, which have been carefully segregated from the peas and the three slices of steak.

Everything looks nice and clean and orderly.

The girl from Ten spots me eating alone, and chooses to pick up her plate and seat herself right across from me. Her smile is big and this time I'm pretty sure it's authentic, but also a little apprehensive. Why would she be afraid around me? Did I do something else wrong?

"Your name is Nix," she asks, not as confident as she was before. "Right?"

I nod. "Sorry, I don't know yours."

"Fenby. Fenby Frost." She looks at my plate. "That's a lot of forks and knives."

Shrugging, I place my fork down. "I just like everything to be even."

She inclines her head with acceptance. "That's understandable." Straightening her back, she folds her hands in front of her and places her intertwined fingers on the table. "I saw you speaking with your district partner. Were you going to ally with her?"

"Were being the operative word. I wanted to, but she doesn't like me for some reason. I really have no idea what I did to make her hate me, but she does, either way."

Fenby leans back, her eyes never leaving me. "Well, Nix, do you want to join me and Sterling?"

I narrow my gaze. "What's your angle?" I've seen her and her district partner during training. I don't think they need anyone else. "Don't get me wrong, I'd like to join you. But… why me?"

"Because we can use all the people we can get. We have to band together if we're going to stand a chance against the Careers." She holds her hands out, almost in placation. "So, what do you say?"

I stare down at my dinner, before replying with a nod. "Yeah. That sounds like a good idea." It's not like I'll be getting any better offers anytime soon.

Fenby grins. "Excellent. Do you want to come over and eat with me and Sterling, then?"

Even though it'll mean cleaning and straightening-out another table, I agree. It was pure luck that she chose to ask me, so I might as well show my gratitude by getting acquainted with my new allies as soon as possible.

Training Day Two

Lourde Delaplane, Victor of the Eightieth Hunger Games

The glittering skyline stands as a silhouette against the predawn sky. A miserable gray light clings to everything, and a blanket of cold silence lies across the entire city. Even the paparazzi who camped out at the entrance of the hotel seem to have gone home, or at least learned how to shut up.

I bring the cigarette to my lips and inhale, tasting the microscopic ash as it burns the back of my throat. Holding the smoke in my lungs, I wait until the edges of my thoughts begin to blur before I drop my jaw and allow the breath to escape me in a slate-colored cloud. I close my eyes, savoring the temporary calm as it washes over me.

Permanent relief is only one step away, just beyond the balcony. Maybe I'd get to be with her. Even if I don't, at least I wouldn't have to put up with this joke of a life.

Cashmere, my mentor, managed to pick up all the pieces within the first two months of her victory. She managed to claw her way to happiness. She'd never think of ending it all.

Which is why I should be grateful for Trance's victory. Unlike Cashmere, he found himself in a very dark spot after his Game. He may not have been my mentor, but he knows where I'm trapped, and he's the reason why I haven't given up. But unlike me, he was strong enough to drag himself out of the pit.

Katrina keeps me here, bound by the memories of everything I'll never have again.

It's my fault. I volunteered, because I didn't consider the possibility that she'd end up in the arena, too. I killed us both.

Sometimes the knowledge is just too much to bear and I want to rip my own throat out.

Again, I fill my lungs with soothing poison and let my eyes drift shut. My limbs are heavy, but my mind is vibrating and awake and fuck all I just want to stop.

I drop the cigarette and crush it underfoot, strangling the embers until they're nothing more than white ash. It's a terrible habit, but I'm so far past caring that quitting is out of the question. The addiction is stronger than I am.

Running a hand across my face, I quietly open the sliding glass door and slip into the pristine living room. I hate how clean it is. I can't touch anything without feeling like I'm violating the sanctity of the white carpets and the polished table and the pressed curtains.

Adonis is sprawled across the couch, and as soon as I open the door, he turns his attention to me. Figures he'd be up early. The academy forces all attendees to adhere to a militaristically strict schedule, starting at five in the morning, every morning. To him, this probably qualifies as waking up late. "Smoking is gonna kill you, Lourde."

"That's the point."

He arches an eyebrow, but remains silent.

I sit down on the opposite couch. As his mentor, I'm supposed to help ensure his survival. But I honestly have no idea how to do that. It's not like there's some secret code I can give him. Every arena is different, from the design to the tributes, and I just… I don't know.

"So," I begin. He simply stares, like a snake. "What do you think of the other Careers?"

Adonis fixes his gaze on the ceiling. "I don't think we'll have any use for the idiots from District Two, and they specifically stated that they aren't interested in an alliance, so that decision has already been made. Sebastian can't see past his own desire for power, and Venera is nothing better than his lapdog. Lapis is irritating, but he's on my side, so it'll be worth tolerating him for the time being. Azure is bearable. Jorah seems intelligent, but I'm certain that the allegiance he feels towards his weakling of a district partner will cloud his judgment in the days to come, so I've written them both off, even though they're still technically part of the Pack. And you already know what I think of Amelithe."

I intertwine my fingers and lean back in my seat. "And what of the pecking order?"

He gives a mirthless smirk. "Azure and Lapis aren't incompetent, but they have no power. Padoa is a fawning gnat. Jorah doesn't speak much, but he's willing to play follow the leader. And Amelithe thinks she's in charge."

I furrow my brow. "'Thinks'?"

Adonis's mouth stretches into a full smile, but he does not respond. He's either uncommonly observant or completely delusional. Maybe a bit of both.

Lowering my eyes, I rest my cheek against my fist. Why am I even asking these questions? In all likelihood, he'll end up dead, anyways. "Where do you see yourself in all of this?"

He brings himself to a sitting position. "I like to think that I'm the overseer." As he speaks, Amelithe comes skulking out of her room, holding her hand over her mouth to suppress a yawn. I doubt she heard any of our conversation, but Adonis's face falls blank nevertheless. "But, who knows. Maybe I'm simply an ignorant fool who has no idea what he's doing."

"That's the likely scenario," Amelithe cuts in, rummaging through the cabinets for a glass to pour herself some orange juice.

Adonis doesn't break eye contact with me. He narrows his reptilian gaze, a ghost of a smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Anything's possible, I suppose."

I hope Amelithe knows who she's dealing with.

Barnabas Gringlam, District Nine Male

Maize Chalmers is exactly eight-eight years old, and in the seventy-two years since her victory, she's gone from an addled sixteen-year-old who posed more of a danger to herself than all of the other tributes in the arena to an oblivious senior who can't tell the difference between an apple and a banana. Maysilee tells me that my mentor only really started losing her mind within the last five years. Either way, Maysilee will have to mentor two tributes this year, and every year until District Nine gets another victor.

If only Buckwheat Farro hadn't gone and been executed for involvement with the rebellion. Then maybe Alina and I would stand a better chance at victory.

"You two should probably move on to the training floor," Maysilee says, her eyes suspiciously glued to the Avox that's been assigned to take care of Maize. She spares us only a brief glance. "Start thinking about alliances. You'll need one if you want to win."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Even the Careers have people to watch their backs, Barnabas." She returns her gaze to the Avox. "Only fools go it alone."

"I'm not alone." I lightly elbow Alina's arm. "I have my district partner."

This statement draws Maysilee's immediate attention. She eyes me up and down and arches a questioning eyebrow at her tribute. Though she doesn't smile, Alina does give a brief nod.

For a moment, Maysilee's face remains completely blank, giving no indication to the thoughts running through her mind. A small grin eventually graces her lips, and she inclines her head in a display of approval. "That sounds like a great idea. But don't let it prevent you from looking for other allies."

I roll my eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Alina and I trek to the elevator and descend to the ground floor in a comfortable silence. We never explicitly agreed to be allies. It's one of those unspoken arrangements, I guess. Alina didn't protest and doesn't seem otherwise discontented with the situation, so I see no problem with it.

"What do you want to do first?" I ask, looking around the room. The Careers are scattered across a few different stations, though I'm pleased to find that none of them are currently using the fire station. Perfect.

Alina merely shrugs. "I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"How about fire?"

She thinks for a moment, before responding with a slow, deliberate nod. "I think that sounds fine."

"Excellent."

The trainer tries to give me some pointers on how to properly construct the wood into the most stable configuration, but I wave her off. As if I don't know enough about setting fires already.

I arrange a few of the larger logs into a conical formation and stuff a few pieces of kindling into the middle. Taking one of the smaller pieces of wood, I use a match to light the thinner end, and gently coax the flames to grow inside the house made of dead trees. I smile as the fire takes hold.

I like to watch things burn.

The silver-haired trainer eventually turns to behold my creation and lets out a strained gasp. "What are you doing?"

"Setting fires. What else would I be doing at the fire station?"

"That is a bonfire, you fool! Too big, too big!" She throws a heavy, presumably fire-retardant sheet over the flames, choking them out. Sending me an icy look of pure hatred, she waves me off. "Leave. I don't want you burning down the facility."

I frown, but I'm not particularly distressed. After all, I can always come back later. It's not like the trainer can ban me from the station.

"Maybe that wasn't the best idea," Alina says.

Leaving in search of another station, I shrug. "She never said that there was a limit to the size of the fire I could build. So really, it's her fault."

Alina follows with a put-upon sigh, but otherwise remains silent. My logic may paint me more as a victim than I really am, but it is essentially sound, and she knows it.

Fenby Frost, District Ten Female

The throwing knife hits dead center. I approach the target and rip the blade from the wall. That's my third bulls-eye in a row. No one here know where I hail from, and I'm sure that they don't know the extent of my training. I have no intention of telling them.

For good measure, I make sure to miss my next throw entirely, just in case any one else is watching. I need to look average, maybe even slightly above-average. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

What were the odds that I'd be reaped? Out of all the girls living in District Ten, for my name to be picked… and I'm not even one of them. I might as well have just stayed in District One, where a Career would have gladly volunteered in my place when my name was drawn. But Father and Mother chose to move to an outer district, where our wealth, though average in One, would elevate us to near-royalty in Ten.

Was the jump in class status worth my life, though?

I pluck the throwing knife from the outer ring of the target, and return it to the weapons rack.

Different alliances are scattered all around the training room. So far, I've only managed to recruit Nix and Sterling. I asked the pair from District Eleven if they wanted to join forces, but they respectfully declined. Stark quite obviously doesn't trust me, evident in his definite rejection of my invitation, and Rion, for whatever reason, chose to abide by his decision. The boy from Six is plain creepy, so I'm choosing to exercise discretion in his case and simply avoid approaching him at all. Nieve and her friends all seem uninterested in other allies. Ionette and the kids from Thirteen are all gathered in the back corner, speaking quietly as if part of some clandestine organization, so they're probably out, too.

That leaves Eight and Nine.

Barnabas and Alina sit together at the medical station, fretting over the proper way to administer aid to a burn victim. They look promising.

"Sterling!"

He looks away from the sparring match between the boy from Two and one of the trainers. Seeing that I want to speak with him, he jogs over to meet me. "Yeah?"

"What do you think about the pair from Eight and the pair from Nine?"

"They all seem competent. Why? Are you thinking about asking them to join?"

I nod, thankful that we're on the same page.

"Is Nix okay with it?"

"He said he was fine with any additions we decide to make."

Sterling holds out his arms. "Then go for it."

Tilting my head to the side with a smile, I say, "I'll ask Eight if you ask Nine."

He raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Fine by me."

Julian, the boy from Eight, sits at the weapons assembly table, working on some sort of makeshift spear. He's seated with his legs crossed, quietly whistling to himself as he ties a stone spearhead to the pole. His district partner, Valorie, sits on the other side of the table, sharpening the edges of a five-pronged piece of metal. Her back is rigid, and she's obviously invested in the task at hand.

They look up when I approach them.

"And what can I help you with?" Julian asks, setting his project down and offering me a sly smile.

I take a steadying breath. "I'd like to know if you're at all interested in allying with Sterling, Nix, and me."

Julian raises his eyebrows. "Oh, really?" Turning his attention to his district partner, he asks, "What do you think, Val?"

"I asked you not to call me that." She looks up and furrows her brow. "Sorry, but I'm not really interested."

"Yeah," Julian says, placing his hands behind his head. "I think I'm going to decline, too."

I frown. "Might I ask why?"

"Five people is a lot for one alliance. Too many. And if Valorie doesn't want to join, then I don't, either." His gaze flickers to me, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. "Thanks for offering, though."

I nod, more to myself than anyone else. "I understand. Thank you for your time."

A little deflated, I see Sterling still speaking with the tributes from Nine. He's smiling, though. I hope his luck holds better than mine.

I approach him with a tentative grin, and when he sees me, he gestures to his company. "Fenby, I'd like you to meet the newest additions to our alliance: Barnabas and Alina."

Sighing with relief, I pull up a chair. "That's wonderful news."

"No luck with Eight?"

I shake my head. "Nope. They want to go it alone."

"That's fine." Sterling looks over his shoulder, scanning the rest of the room. "We just need to find Nix. Then we can get down to business."

Adonis Belmont, District One Male

Sebastian and Venera are nowhere to be found. I'm sure they're off plotting somewhere, convinced of their own magnificence and intelligence by choosing to break away from the main Pack. Their absence leaves no mark. If anything, it's better that they're gone. Sebastian's constant power-playing would have threatened the stability of our alliance.

I stare down at my empty plate, wondering just how much longer our little façade can last. Eventually it will come down to blood and broken bones, but for now, we're all smiles and laughter. It's morbid, really. Make friends, earn their trust, and then kill them when their back is turned.

Padoa makes some joke, and everyone cracks up. I allow myself a smirk, trying to conceal the utter loathing I feel towards the girl from Seven. Everyone seems to love her, and I can't bring myself to understand why. She's clingy, she's emotional, she craves acceptance, and she's constantly smiling, which means that at least some of the time, it's a fake gesture. Worst of all, though, she's weak. She hardly trained for half of a year before volunteering.

I suppose I don't hate her. I hate her weakness. But the two are mutually inclusive, and in order to keep our alliance strong, she needs to go. Preferably of her own free will.

"You okay?" Azure asks, nudging my shoulder.

I nod lightheartedly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking, is all."

"Uh oh," she jokes. "About what?"

I raise my shoulders with a shrug. "Bloodbath strategy, I guess."

Amelithe shifts her focus to me. "Oh? Do share, Adonis."

She thinks that, as our nominal leader, she needs to make sure that we all voice our opinions and thoughts. Whether it's to keep the alliance content or to keep us all in line, I really can't tell. Probably both. Amelithe isn't stupid.

Even though my ideal plan doesn't include Padoa, I speak as if it does. "I just think that we should have three people stake out the Cornucopia, while three others go out and take care of the tributes."

Narrowing her eyes, my district partner sighs as if I'm some maladroit who never learned basic battlefield tactics. "That limits our potential kill count, though. And we need to eliminate as many tributes as possible early on."

"If we prevent them from getting ahold of any weapons, then it will curb the damage that they can inflict on us. Therefore, we are likely to live longer."

I allow myself an inward smile as Amelithe struggles to find a diplomatic response. Either she admits that her plan is inferior, or she admits that she doesn't really care about the safety of those who follow her.

"It's not the most creative idea," I admit, "but oftentimes the best plans are the simplest ones. There are fewer things to go wrong."

"We'll take it under consideration," she says, even though I can tell she isn't interested in the idea. After all, her survival is more likely if some well-armed outer-district tributes manage to kill off the rest of the Careers. We are our own strongest competition. But admitting it out loud would set the rest of the Pack against her.

I love watching her squirm. Walking on all of these eggshells, she's likely to crack one sooner or later.

"Well, I think it's a bad idea," Padoa says. Of course she'd disagree with me. "Splitting up would make us all doubly vulnerable. Why not stick together as one big group? We'd be a juggernaut."

"Because," I say, actively keeping my voice amiable and respectful, "having too many people in one spot reduces our effectiveness as a whole. We can't just have six people focusing on one area, because then the other tributes will simply have to avoid us in order to survive. If we split up, we'll have half of our forces defending the Cornucopia, and the other half chasing after the tributes. If we cast a wider net, we'll catch more of them. And even then, I'm sure that most of the tributes don't want to deal with three Careers at once."

Jorah nods his head with obvious reluctance. "That actually makes a lot of sense."

Padoa's eyes grow wide. She isn't receiving the approval she needs. "What about you, Lapis?" she asks. "What do you think?"

The boy from Four simply shrugs. "I don't really care either way. As long as we get to have a bit of fun, any plan sounds good. But I do get what Adonis is saying, what with the net analogy. Wider nets mean more fish."

Padoa is getting desperate. "Azure?"

"I kind of like the idea of splitting up," Azure says, twisting a bit of hair around her finger. "It's not like we'll be split up forever. Plus, it ensures that we'll have control over the Cornucopia, and that's what I'm most concerned about." She looks at Amelithe. "That being said, I'd like to be one of the three who gets to go around chasing the tributes."

Padoa visibly deflates. "Oh." No one supports her, and now she feels ostracized. How convenient.

Amelithe gives me a toxic glare. This is supposed to be her party, not mine. I shouldn't be filling her little soldiers' heads with ideas that aren't hers.

I shrink away from her gaze, pretending that I didn't want or expect my idea to be so popular. After all, I wouldn't willingly disobey the Pack leader. It was a simply an accident.

And as long as Amelithe believes that, our little charade will stand a chance.

And there you have it, the next seven tributes. The blog has been updated with the explicitly stated alliances.

For clarification, Azure is the girl from Four, and Azura is the mentor. I hope the coincidental similarity isn't tripping anyone up.

From this group of tributes, who did you like/dislike the most?

What interaction did you find the most interesting?

Thoughts on the alliances (both confirmed and unconfirmed)?

That's it, I think. Happy New Year, everyone!