After this morning's events, which I was still attempting to understand, I was ushered by a still dazed Jilley towards the training room along with Tom. I don't know what I'd expected- something resembling a gladiatoral arena, perhaps- but it wasn't this. Once I'd managed to force my nervous legs through the set of glass double-doors, the sight which greeted me was merely a room full of terrified children playing at being warriors.

I'd assumed that Tom would stay with me for the duration of the day, but he'd already darted away to the left to show off his edible plants knowledge. With the loss of my wingman, all I could do for at least ten minutes was watch the other tributes. Apollo had been right; the boy from District One looked like Robin Hood whenever he held a bow.

But I don't need to worry about him...

That wasn't certain. My knowledge of the gods was sadly lacking, but I still knew that they were known for sleights of hand. It could easily be a trick. Besides, the kid wasn't just good with arrows. He seemed pretty good at gutting dummies with hunting knives. Presumptions would only put me in danger, which would almost certainly be lethal.

The age-old vendetta between fight and flight instincts seemed to have been raging in my mind ever since that hellhound had attacked us on the beach, but for now at least, fight seemed to be winning. Shaking legs carried me towards the station which held the spears. The trident was Finnick's weapon- while I was perfectly proficient when handling one, copying such a famed trademark would only lose me sponsors. That left the next best thing: a rack of silver javelins, perfectly weighted, similar enough to the fishing spears we used in Four.

Not caring whether or not anyone was watching, slender fingertips skimmed across the surface of the javelin; taking in the weapon's curves. I'd learned from both mentors that being accustomed to a weapon was essential for success, so it was only after my fingers were familiar with the javelin's surface that they curled around the handle, simply letting it balance for a moment to gauge the weight.

After what seemed like a lifetime, I was finally content with the weapon. Vaguely aware that the tributes from the other career districts were watching intently, I slow lifted the javelin to hover just above my shoulder, held there by my right hand. Left hand forward for balance, I started to step- one, two, three- before the weapon was released with deadly, but not perfect, accuracy. A second javelin righted that error, the throwing movement carrying right through from ny elbow to my wrist, setting the next attempt on a course for a perfect bullseye. Completely unable to help myself, I turned gracefully on my heels to face my audience, taking a low and sweeping bow which was met by applause.

I'd been wrong before. The tributes from One and Two weren't the only spectators: Behind them stood a tall, lithe girl, bearing the distinctive melanic skin of District Eleven. She looked about fifteen and by no means weak; the blade she held resembling something which looked disturbingly like a scithe.

The others eventually dispersed to find some other spectacle, but Eleven's tribute stayed where she was. She had a brow arched as if questioning my ability. Without any kind of introduction, she spoke just one word in greeting.

"Demigod."

It wasn't loud enough for the others to hear, but i couldn't stop my panicking heart from almost skipping a beat.

How did she-

My train of thought was cut short by another, slightly longer speech from the girl, whose soft voice sounded like it was stuck in some kind of requiem.

"I thought I'd win hands down. Apparently, I've got competition."

How was I supposed to respond to that? I wasn't sure whether that was a threat or a compliment, but she seemed to answer that with an outstretched hand and the ghost of a smile.

"Harrow, legacy of Thanatos."

Well, that would explain the scithe and the mournful toll of her voice. Despite everything, I felt rude not shaking the offered hand; which felt as if I'd shaken hands with a hyperthermic snowman.

"Annie. Daughter of Poseidon, if you hadn't already guessed by the district."

Harrow didn't answer that. She merely nodded curtly, then turned abruptly to follow the progress of some other unfortunate kid. I saw her briefly afterwards- we'd both been invited to sut with the already established career pack along with Tom- but she excused herself early, disappearing into the small crowd before anyone could make too much conversation with her.