AN: If you've been reading this from the start and think this chapter seems too far ahead, I posted Chapter 6 just before the website went strange last week so try going back one as you may have missed it ;)

Chapter Seven

We sit together again in training, those from the three Career districts. It is expected of us, both by our mentors and the other tributes, and most likely by the Gamemakers too. Therefore there is no real reason for us to change now, even if it is lunchtime on the third day of training and only a matter of a very short time before we are assessed and given the scores that could decide whether we are sponsored or not.

"Did you have fun partying in the Capitol then, District One?" asks Dahlia scornfully. I can tell from the expression on Sheen's face that he was the one who told her, and I narrow my eyes at him, silently promising I will pay him back later. "I hope you did," continues the girl from Two. "I'm not so cruel that I would begrudge you the enjoyment of what little time you have left."

I glare at her briefly before fixing a smile on my face, my eyes never leaving hers. "That was a lot of big words for you, Dahlia. Did you ask Corvinus to explain them to you before you came here today so you knew you would be able to get them in exactly the right order?" She snarls at me and out of the corner of my eye I see her district partner smirk. "I had a very good time, thank you," I continue with a sigh, not seeing the point in denying I had left the Training Centre. "It was nice to see for the first time the sights I'm sure I'll become very familiar with."

"I wouldn't be too confident," she retorts immediately, both her voice and her temper rising rapidly.

"Ladies, please," interrupts Sheen smoothly. "There's no need to fight and argue. Not yet anyway."

"I'm not fighting," I say with a sarcastic smile in my enemy's direction. "It's not my fault she has no manners."

Dahlia jumps to her feet and every tribute in the room turns to look at us. The rattling sound her glass makes when it falls over and rolls across the table is shockingly loud in the silence.

"And she proves my point yet again," I taunt, sounding more like Sapphire than like myself. My sister always spoke her mind. Compared to her, I always used to be positively subtle.

"You'll pay, District One. When we get in the arena you'll pay, very slowly and painfully until you beg me to make it stop."

I stare across at her, realising that she isn't joking or merely talking for effect this time.

"I beg of nobody, District Two. Not ever," I tell her steadily, determined not to back down and to show no fear.

"Not even Falco?" asks Sheen snidely before Dahlia can speak again, and I see Corvinus look up sharply at his words.

"Shut it," I snap, glaring at my district partner, who clearly isn't even close to forgiving me for abandoning our mentors and accepting our Capitol escort's help in my attempt to orchestrate my own victory. However he at least has the sense to obey and says nothing further.

"Do you think it's time for them to start now?" asks Marcia, speaking for the first time today as she twists her hands nervously in her lap.

"Don't tell me you're scared?" snarls Dahlia. "Pathetic," she spits.

"You mentioned fear, Dahlia, not me. I just asked a question."

I look up at her and it feels like I'm seeing her for the first time. I had dismissed her as being too weak to be a serious competitor as quickly as I decided I despised her because of her mentor, but there is something in the fierceness behind that retort that tells me she hasn't given up yet.

"Look," I interrupt, gesturing to the Avox who has just emerged through the double doors that lead back to the gymnasium and the waiting Gamemakers. The man props one of the doors open by standing in front of it and another assistant enters the dining room.

"Sheen Rochester, District One!"

My district partner rises almost unsteadily to his feet and walks slowly from the room. Everyone only seems to breathe again when the door clicks shut behind him. What should I do? Should I go for a high score or let them underestimate me? Every time I think I have made up my mind I find myself changing it a minute later. I don't know what to do. Sapphire would have known. She always knew and she didn't hide from anybody. I had been so proud when her ten had flashed up on the screen underneath her photograph.

"Cashmere de Montfort, District One!"

That was quick. It seems like only seconds have passed since they called Sheen. I stand up as slowly as he did, crossing the room towards the gymnasium and only turning back to glare at Corvinus when he gives me a light shove in the direction of the doors. He smirks back and then I know. He is my best ally and he isn't the type to protect someone weaker. He will work with me rather than for me and if I'm not strong enough then he will let me fall. I have no choice now. I will do what Sapphire did. I will make sure the Capitol knows I can fight as well as smile prettily for the cameras. There's no point trying to hide because the others have already seen me fight in training anyway.

I take a deep breath just before the assistant steps back to allow me into the gymnasium. It looks even bigger now that I am the only one who is standing in the vast space, gazing silently up at the Gamemakers. They don't speak either, but most of them are studying me as intently as I am studying them. The one sat on Seneca Crane's right side is frantically taking notes, but I have no idea what they could possibly be about. I haven't done anything yet.

"You can begin now," says a stern-faced woman from the front row of the stands.

I smile at her in acknowledgement but she doesn't smile back. For some completely irrational reason, I find myself wondering if that is because she doesn't like me or simply because she has had that much cosmetic surgery that her facial muscles no longer move. Then I abruptly shake my head to clear my thoughts, moving swiftly towards the now familiar table of swords.

'Focus, Cashmere, you have to focus,' I tell myself under my breath as I select the long, thin blade I have come to think of as my own. I need to pretend the Gamemakers aren't there, which is most likely the best piece of advice Lace has ever given me, or at least given Sheen whilst I was in earshot. Pausing briefly to touch my hand to Sapphire's pendant, I then raise the sword and step forward to meet the trainer who appears to challenge me.

Following Sapphire's philosophy that attack is the best form of defence, I temporarily forget about the Gamemakers, the other tributes and the sponsors, thinking solely of my sword and that of the trainer. The ringing sound of metal striking metal sounds across the gymnasium as I fight like I have rarely fought before.

When another trainer steps forward and raises her sword to meet mine, I fight both of them for as long as I have the strength, pushing back the memories it makes me recall of how my sister had made Gloss and I attack her together, insisting that it would make her stronger if we did. I can't think of Sapphire and Gloss now, I can't let myself get distracted.

Then, as quickly as they arrived, the trainers back away, leaving me standing there once more, slightly breathless and gazing up at the Gamemakers. They are still watching me, waiting to see what I will do next, and it is then I realise I don't really know what to do next. I have very little knowledge of the survival skills which many of the tributes from the lower districts believe will save them, I can't fight with knives anywhere near well enough to impress my assessors, and I can barely lift the axes that lie on their table only a short distance away. Then my eyes fall upon the row of spears on the other side of the room and I abruptly decide that is my best and only option.

It had begun as a joke on the second day of training, a joke which started when it quickly became apparent that Corvinus has the ability to throw a spear with a level of deadly accuracy that made every tribute in the room stop to stare, myself included. I had been with him at the time and he had dared me to try, mocking me and saying I wouldn't do it because I couldn't when I tried to refuse. After that, what Gloss calls my stubborn and foolish pride kicked in and the next thing I knew I was holding a metal-tipped wooden spear, facing the line of straw filled dummies that serve as targets.

I still don't know how I did it, but when that spear left my hand, it flew across the room and straight through what would be the heart of the middle target with a loud thud that echoed loudly around me. Everyone had stared at me in awe then, but I can honestly say that none of them, not even Corvinus, who had looked at me with a new respect in his eyes that wasn't completely justified, could possibly have been more shocked than I. Not that I would have admitted that to anyone but myself for all the money in the world.

I somersault, cartwheel and back-flip across the gymnasium in a way I haven't done since I was a little girl, until I reach the spear throwing station and select the nearest weapon, hoping desperately that the luck I had with me the first time will have stayed with me for the second.

I draw my arm back and focus on the target. The sound of one of the Gamemakers coughing drifts down from the stands and then everything is silent again. When I release the spear, I know before it lands that I haven't repeated my previous fluke, but it still sinks into the front of the middle dummy's right shoulder and I nod in satisfaction and relief. Not an instant death, maybe, but it would stop the person in their tracks at the very least. If I was lucky enough for my target to be Dahlia, as I had been imagining when I threw, then I can say for certain that she wouldn't be throwing her knives with her usual deadly accuracy as a result.

Deciding that there is nothing more I can do and hoping it will be enough, I cross back over to the stands, making sure that I perform one last back-flip to take out one of the knife targets as I go, in what I hope the Gamemakers will recognise as the symbolic gesture I intended it to be. I come to a halt before them and incline my head slightly. None of them speak but the man who sits on Seneca Crane's left returns my gesture and an assistant appears from nowhere to guide me to the lifts. So that's why Sheen didn't come back to the dining room.

I see nobody as I travel between the gymnasium and our level of the Training Centre, and I don't know if I am pleased about that or not. Part of me doesn't want to be on my own but at the same time I know that the only person I really want to talk to isn't here but back in District One. Thinking of my brother makes me remember his final words to me, and I wish that I couldn't hear his voice in my head, repeating them back over and over again. He had told me to make myself appear weak and I went and did the opposite. As much as I know inside that it was the right thing to do, I can't help imagining what he will think when he sees the training scores as they are revealed on the broadcast later this afternoon. Will he think I didn't listen to him? Will he think I don't care what he says? Will he think I feel nothing for him? I don't know the answer to that, all I know is that I love him more than I could ever say and that I would give virtually anything for the chance to speak to him for one last time before the Games really begin.


When I returned to our quarters, I instinctively headed to the dining room, getting myself a drink and curling up on one of the many chairs with nothing to do but wait. It will take hours for the rest of the tributes to face the Gamemakers and many more hours for them to decide what scores we will be given, and I have nothing to do but sit here alone and in silence.

I am still sitting in the same chair in the dining room some hours later, holding the same and now cold mug of chocolate on my lap, staring at the same red and gold wallpapered wall. There is a tiny spot in the very corner by the ceiling where the paper is peeling off and coming away from the wall, and I can't stop my eyes from returning to it, perhaps because it reminds me that this place is real and has it's imperfections like anywhere else. My mind drifts and I wonder if the other rooms have such flaws. I hope it isn't just here, because that might make it symbolic, and with the arena so close, I suddenly find that I don't need such coincidences.

I push myself forwards, swinging my legs around as I go to stand, realising that if I am thinking about the potentially disastrous symbolism of an old piece of wallpaper then I really need to move and find something to occupy my mind. Laughing to myself, I cross the room to the door, only to jump back as it quickly opens towards me.

"How did it go?" asks Falco, smiling slightly and backing me into the room once more, as careful not to touch me as ever since my meeting with Astoria.

"I'm surprised you don't already know," I reply.

"There are some things they won't even tell me," he says, laughing softly. "Well?"

"It was fine. I did what I could, but I think we both know where I stand. Corvinus and Dahlia will score higher."

"Maybe they will, maybe they won't. We'll have to wait and see. There isn't long to wait now, all of the tributes have left the gym."

"Don't pretend ignorance, Falco. It doesn't suit you. You know more about the other districts than I ever will. That means you know Dahlia doesn't spend her time arranging flowers, reading books and learning about the glory of Panem."

"Your strategy is about more than your training score. I won't let you down."

"It isn't about you," I tell him tiredly as I return to my chair and curl up in the same position I was in before. "The arena is unpredictable. Sometimes things happen that shouldn't."

He pulls another chair over and sits down. He is close enough to reach out to me but he doesn't, he just shakes his head. "What happened, Cashmere? Why are you really here? Please tell me, I think you owe me that much."

I owe him? I owe him nothing, I never have. But there is something about the look in his eyes, something about the way he says 'please'. I get the impression it's not a word which is commonly found in his vocabulary, at least not when used in the sincere way he did then.

"When I was a little girl, my sister and brother and I made a pact with each other. You know a little about what would have been my fate if I hadn't volunteered to come here, so you'll understand why we did it. We swore to train for the Games and to win so we could be free, free of our family and their intentions for us. Then Finnick Odair murdered my sister last year. I am keeping up my side of the bargain. For her, for me and for my brother."

"The last time a de Montfort became a tribute in the Hunger Games was over forty years ago, Butterfly," he says softly, passing me a tissue so I can wipe away the tears I didn't know I was crying. "Last year's District One tribute girl's name was-"

"Beaufort," I finish. "Sapphire Beaufort. She was my foster-sister, raised with me when my mother's best friend died, my sister in every way but by blood."

"And you still followed her? Why? If she loved you as you say then she wouldn't have wanted you to risk your life."

"Yes, she would," I retort immediately. "There are worse things than death and Sapphire understood that as well as I do. And if I'm here and I win then my brother won't have to compete. By saving myself, I'm saving him, so I will never regret my choice, whatever happens to me in the arena."

"Nothing is going to happen to you in the arena."

"I'm not a fool, Falco, so don't talk to me like I am. Kill or be killed, remember? Even if I win then I will never be the same again."

I don't know how I expected him to react to my words but I didn't expect him to smile. "You're not a fool, are you? You knew exactly what you were doing on Reaping Day."

"I even got myself some flat shoes so I could run as fast as possible to the stage," I say, smiling back, surprised by how much better I feel now that I have talked to him and there is finally someone here who I don't have to hide from.

He shifts slightly in his chair so he can lean across to take my hand in his. I stare down at our joined hands, his honey-coloured skin a complete contrast to my almost white pallor. After a while he turns my wrist over and trails his finger across my butterfly tattoo.

"Did Sapphire have one of these too? Is that why you tell me not to call you Butterfly?"

I shake my head. "No, she had a dragonfly instead. But she did call me Butterfly. It felt strange to be called that again, it made me remember."

"I didn't know."

"Why would you?" I tell him quietly, before abruptly making my voice a lot lighter. "Anyway, I've sort of got used to it now. I've realised you're far too stubborn to change simply because I ask you to."

He laughs at my teasing. "That's probably true, in some things anyway."

Neither of us speak for several minutes then. I stare down at my wrist, the grief I feel for Sapphire rising up again until I once more start to believe it will never fade. Falco must sense the direction of my thoughts because he interrupts by talking of the one person in the world of whom the thought of is guaranteed to lift my mood.

"Your brother must be very special, to earn such unwavering loyalty and sacrifice."

"He is," I reply instantly. "And since Sapphire died, he has been all I have left. If I win the Games, nobody else in District One will have any hold over us."

"When you win the Games," he corrects. "When you win the Games we will get through whatever happens together. Then perhaps you can introduce me to your famous brother."

"And where does Astoria fit into this little plan?" I ask him softly, not able to stop myself from thinking of her even though everything but the rational, sensible part of my brain is fighting to make me forget her existence completely.

"She doesn't," he replies, frowning slightly. "I keep her in dresses, manicures and parties and she stays out of my way. She has her side of the house and I have mine. All she is to me is a drain on my finances who gives me nothing but grief in return. That's how it has been since long before I met you."

I don't know what to say. Combined with the not-so-minor matter of the Games, this is all too much for me to deal with, so this time it is me who shakes my head at him, squeezing his hand before letting go. "Don't think of me. Astoria or no Astoria, there's no point if my cannon fires."

He abruptly stands up and walks to the other side of the room, turning to face the drinks machine so he doesn't have to look at me. When he moves two mugs underneath the strange Capitol contraption, he slams them down with so much force that the wooden stand shudders in protest. As they fill up, he pulls his sleeve up and looks at his watch.

"Only half an hour to go before they broadcast the training scores."

I nod, taking the mug he offers to me silently before settling back into my chair to wait. He doesn't speak either but he sits back down too, leaning towards me just as I do towards him. We are still sitting silently in the same place when I hear Lace calling my name at the top of her voice, shouting for me to be in the television room in one minute or she will be coming to fetch me.


I wait for almost a minute before I walk the short distance into the other room, knowing it's childish to deliberately antagonise Lace but still unable to resist the temptation. Falco follows close behind and allows me to enter the room first, where I find Sheen and Topaz seated in armchairs before the giant television and Lace pacing the room looking very much like she is plotting to commit a murder, most likely mine.

"Where have you been?" she snaps immediately, gesturing imperiously at one of the armchairs.

"The dining room," I answer truthfully, deliberately sitting on the other one.

She looks suspiciously from me to Falco and back again so I stare evenly back at her, daring her to suggest what she is clearly thinking. She looks back to Falco once more, and whatever she sees in his eyes convinces her to remain silent.

"We'll just put the television on, shall we?" interrupts Topaz, hastily carrying out his suggestion before anyone can say anything else, obviously hating the tension in the room. Not for the first time, I wonder if he was always so timid or if it was the Games that changed him. I find it hard to believe it could be the former because I don't see how he could have survived the arena if it was.

The same loud and multicoloured presenter who hosted the reaping review appears briefly on the screen, announcing the programme before quickly rushing on to discuss the training scores to a background of footage from the Opening Ceremony. A subject that seems very dear to his heart is the betting, and he wastes no time in confirming that I am the favourite, closely followed by Corvinus and then by Dahlia. I shudder at the thought even though I know it's only a sign that my plan to win the support of the Capitol is working.

Being the favourite in the betting makes you an automatic target for the rest, and I dread to think about the sadistic plans which are undoubtedly running through Dahlia's head as she watches from just a short distance and the thickness of the ceiling away. It's unlikely that I have half the imagination she does when it comes to such things, but I can say with almost absolute certainty that everything she is thinking leads to my death.

"Favourite to win, Cashmere," says Topaz, struggling to be heard over the noise of the presenter, who is currently interviewing the head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane. "That's got to be a good sign."

"Has it?" I reply ominously, surprised by just how much doubt is in my voice. I wish Lace and Sheen weren't here to hear it.

"Remember what will save you," says Falco in a low voice from his position behind my chair. "You can't have it both ways."

Any reply I might have had is swiftly forgotten when Sheen's photograph appears on the screen. I glance across at him and can't help noticing the nervous expression on his face. He hugs a cushion tightly to his chest as if he wants to hide behind it but can't quite bring himself to look away. Then the number eight flashes up and he breathes a very visible sigh of relief.

"Well done, Sheen," says Topaz, but both Lace and Falco remain silent.

My district partner looks at me and I shrug my shoulders before looking back at the television. We have barely spoken since the night I went to Falco's party and I am in no rush to alter that. In any situation other than this one, we wouldn't be friends or even speak to each other, and as far as I'm concerned, the Hunger Games is more reason than any other to keep things as they are.

Then I find myself gazing into my own eyes, and it is not until a nine flashes under my picture that I release the breath I didn't know I was holding. One less than Sapphire, and as good as I could have hoped for. Falco reaches down to squeeze my shoulder, not needing to speak, and I tilt my head back to look at him before quickly returning to my previous position when Lace loudly clears her throat.

"Are you surprised, Lace? Are you disappointed that I didn't live down to your expectations?"

She scowls at me but doesn't speak, so I focus once more on the screen, suddenly much more eager to see the scores my rivals get now that I am no longer waiting for my own. A ten appears under Corvinus's photograph and I'm not at all surprised. When it comes down to only fighting and nothing else, he is better than me, it's as simple as that. I knew he would score higher. It's only when Dahlia's eleven appears that I feel my heart sink.

"I knew it," I whisper under my breath. "I knew she was holding out in training."

"What do you mean?" asks Falco, looking at both myself and Sheen for an explanation.

"She fought and she was good. Positively scary with the knives, but other than that she didn't do more than Corvinus did. I told you she fought another tribute before the trainers got there and then let him pull her away like she had no choice but to let him."

"Why would she go to all that trouble only to then reveal the truth before she gets into the arena," says Falco. "You either credit her with too much intelligence or too little, Cashmere."

"You didn't go near the knives either," adds Sheen. "I did. I was watching her, and she was a bit more than just scary. She doesn't need a carefully planned strategy when she can kill from a distance like that."

I glare across at him, refusing to outwardly admit that he's right, which I know he is. He smirks back at me, smiling a fake smile I haven't seen on his face before. What was he doing watching Dahlia anyway? He doesn't seem the observant type to me and I find it very hard to believe it could be for her aesthetic value. And if he told her about how I left the Training Centre then he must have been having a conversation with her.

Then it suddenly becomes so clear that I wonder why I didn't see it before. He thinks he's forming an alliance with her, an alliance over and above the usual generic Career Alliance that has happened in nearly every Games for decades. The fool, I think to myself. If he can't see that she will ally with nobody but herself then he deserves everything he gets.

My newfound understanding of what I see as my district partner's stupid plan which is never going to work makes it suddenly very easy to quickly return his sarcastic smile before refocusing on the screen in time to see the girl from District Three score a two. Nobody in the room speaks as the presenter's endless stream of gossip and speculation streams out of the television. My plan had been to try and memorise everyone's scores and match the reaping day photographs that are shown on screen to the tributes I have seen in training, however it all passes in such a blur that only a few stick in my mind.

Octavian scores seven, which is low for a trained tribute but not entirely unexpected. Then his district partner matches my score and I smile grimly. That is no great surprise either. After that I don't really notice anyone else until District Seven, who score seven and eight. I will have to watch for them in the arena because I can't see either of them being reluctant to attack if doing so is the only thing that enables them to get home, especially her. In three entire days of training where we have been held captive in the same room for much of the time, the only time I have heard her talk was in the dining room when she was telling her district partner about her family.

"Is that her?" asks Falco just as Davena's photograph fades.

"Yes," I reply. I had been telling him about the girl who had stood up to Dahlia on that first morning of training and I know he's referring to that.

"District Seven seem to be doing well this year," he says. "And the rumours must be getting out somehow because she's fourth in the betting."

"As long as I stay first," I retort.

"You will," he says, smiling when he sees the look of satisfaction which is my response to his words. "It will be between you and Dahlia now the scores are out."

"I'll have to make sure the interview's good then. Have you spoken to Felix?" I ask, before suddenly realising that we are talking like Lace, Topaz and Sheen aren't even in the room.

My first mental response to that thought is to ask myself why I should care. Lace has certainly thrown her lot in with Sheen right from reaping day and I can't see Topaz helping me to achieve anything but my own execution at the bloodbath. Even if I know deep inside that there is more to my decision to rely on Falco for support than a basic survival instinct, doing so really is my best option.

"No," replies the subject of my thoughts, "not since the Opening Ceremony. He said he'd come and see you tomorrow though."

I am about to reply when Topaz's rapid intake of breath stops me. I turn in his direction to see him staring at the screen, and when I do the same, I see the previously non-descript girl from District Nine whose name I don't even know. I also see the number seven flashing up beneath her.

"What did she do in training?" snaps Lace instantly, making it clear she is as shocked as I am.

"Nothing," I tell her when it quickly becomes apparent that Sheen isn't going to respond. "She hovered around the survival stations and that's it."

"Maybe she can kill people with camouflage paint," adds Sheen, laughing at his own suggestion.

"Stop being facetious," Falco tells him immediately, his silkily dangerous tone of voice returning.

"You might have to explain that one in simpler terms so he understands what you said," I add, unable to resist even though I know it's childish.

Falco smiles almost imperceptibly at me in subtle agreement before moving to sit on the last remaining vacant armchair. I preferred it when he was standing behind me.

"Just make sure you watch her. In the interview as well. She might give something away without meaning to."

I nod, trying to recall anything I might have known about District Nine and not coming up with much. The rest of the programme runs on in the background, but no tribute scores higher than a five so I pay them little attention.

"Time for bed then," says Topaz as soon as the closing credits start. "We'll have to be up early to prepare for the interviews."

"I can't wait," I reply sarcastically, my tiredness making me forget myself and that I had promised not to let my feelings show in front of my mentors.

Lace hisses at me so I glare at her. I can see Falco is trying not to laugh, though that is probably more because of the ridiculousness of this situation than for any other reason. Topaz seems determined to do what he usually does and pretend that what's going on around him isn't happening, so he continues as if I had remained silent.

"Do you want to be trained together or separately?"

"Separately," say Sheen and I at exactly the same time as soon as he has finished his sentence.

None of them look surprised, but I see them exchange glances.

"Very well," continues Topaz. "We'll start in the morning."

He then manages to get up, announce he's going to bed and leave the room without meeting anyone's gaze even once. That leaves Lace, Sheen, Falco and I all sitting in silence. The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees as soon as the door closes behind him.

"Until tomorrow then," says Falco eventually, rising to his feet and looking directly at Lace.

If anything he looks mildly amused by the atmosphere in the room, and when he turns to me, raising his eyebrows questioningly and gesturing to the door, I can tell he's treating this like a big game. I laugh to myself, relieved that he's taking my journey to the arena a little more seriously.

"Cashmere?"

Lace looks so scandalised that I can't resist playing along. I rise to my feet and slowly cross the room to walk out into the corridor as Falco holds the door open for me. Before it closes behind him, I can hear Lace and Sheen speaking to each other in low, hushed voices.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist," says Falco as we walk towards the main door.

"Try," I reply flatly, annoyingly unable to hide my smile.

"I do," he says, a lot more serious this time and clearly no longer talking about antagonising Lace.

I sigh deeply and he makes no move to leave even though we have reached the door.

"She's on his side, you know. They're working together."

"Let them," he says. "She can't save him any more than he can save himself. And leave it with me. Remember what I told you about the television room."

As the meaning of his words hit me, I jerk my head up so my eyes meet his. "Falco, that must be illegal," I hiss under my breath.

"Only if anyone finds out."

"They will. They see everything. I don't want you risking your life for me. It doesn't matter what they're planning. I'll find out for myself soon enough. I mean it. Don't even think about trying to listen to that camera footage," I tell him fiercely, standing on my tiptoes so I can whisper into his ear.

"If it helps you then I'll do it," he replies quickly, leaning down and brushing my hair back so he can whisper to me in the same way.

"No!" I say firmly. "Promise me you won't."

He sighs. "OK, OK, I promise." He reaches out to push my hair back from my face once more. "I have to go, but I'll be back tomorrow. We have a whole day to terrorise Lace," he finishes jokingly.

"Why do you think she hates me so much? It's all your fault."

He laughs. "Goodnight, Butterfly."

I stand in the corridor for several minutes after he has gone, and only when I hear the sound of the television room door closing do I return to find it as empty as I had hoped. At least two hours pass before I feel ready to go to bed.

If you've read this far then let me know what you think. Please...