I push the door open reluctantly. As I expected, it's not a pretty sight.

"What the fuck are we supposed to do with him now, the little bastard?" Screams Sir.

"Shut up! We need to think of some way to explain this to people at the training center!" Growls Ma'am. She's always been more practical.

Illy's head is poked around the door to the kitchen, so I assume that's where us kids must be hiding out for this argument, like it usually is. I inch over to Illusion, back pressed against the wall. Ma'am and Sir don't even pause in their argument. They don't bother acknowledging me.

I quickly slide behind the door, and Illy clicks it shut.

"You just wait till they calm down about Riches. They'll be on your ass like that fatass Harm Bildrow on a cupcake when they do. They're pretty pissed that you disappeared like that," growls Queen.

"What about Richie? He's the one who's going to get himself kicked out of training," I protest.

"They found him wandering around Midway Park in a daze," she dismisses.

I look around the kitchen. It's always been our choice of refuge for the lucky ones of us who weren't in trouble when our parents were arguing about us like this. I knew where Richie was: Locked up in our room. Once upon a time there would have been five of us together. Now there's only four.

"What's he gonna do," Illy says quietly, "if they don't let him go into the Games anymore? The Training Center people, I mean."

We're quiet for a moment before Queen snorts, "It's not even going to matter. I'm going to win next year and we'll be so rich that none of you will ever need to go in ever again."

"That's what Glimmer said," Fame says in a low voice. We all turn to look at him slowly.

Queen's always kind of been his…ringleader. I don't think I'd ever seen them disagree, ever. About anything. Even Glims and I fought sometimes. But not Queen and Fame. To hear him say that, tantamount to saying that he's not sure that Queen can win, is shocking.

They stare at each other for a moment before Queen responds with an impressive (for her, anyway) attempt at patience.

"Well, Glimmer was wrong. She died. I won't," she says very slowly. Fame drops his eyes to his shoes and says nothing.

"I'm going to be famous," Queen says, her voice cracking a little bit, but soon gaining strength as she continues. "I'm going to go down in history when I win the third Quarter Quell. I'm stronger and prettier and smarter than Glimmer, and I sure as hell won't lose the way she did. I'm going to win. I'm going to survive. And no one is going to stop me, you hear that? I will have this. I will."

Her voice is shaking a little bit, but not in a weak way. It's more like there's so much strength and sureness in what she's saying that it's just too much for her voice to handle. I stand in silence. I know how much the Hunger Games matter to her, and I wonder what that's like. What it feels like to want something that much. I know she doesn't care that much about me, or her boyfriend, or our parents. She doesn't care what the Games have done to her sister, or the hundreds and hundreds of kids who have died before her. And I envy her.

I feel so disconnected, so lost. I guess that's the real reason I needed to tell someone, that I went to Silk's house today. I need something, someone, to tether me. I need to have some tie. When your entire way of life is shot to hell all you really have left are the people you can trust. Which, right now, pretty much amounts to Silkiness Harkmer.

I watch Queen as she silently sits down on the counter, staring at her knees as her fingers wrap around the edge of the countertop. I wish I had something that made me feel so much passion. I wish I had something I needed. But I don't. And it's the loneliest feeling in the world.

Ma'am and Sir's bickering cuts off abruptly. Illy frowns and presses her ear up against the door.

"There's someone else coming in," she murmurs. Queen, Fame, and I look at her expectantly.

"It's a man. He's talking about Richie," Illusion reports in a whisper. "He says Riches can't be around the other kids anymore, but they want him to keep training because he showed…in-ish-uh-tib…"

"Initiative," Queen corrects. Illy nods.

"Yeah. He showed initiative, so they want him to keep up with his training. But he'll have to do private sessions and they'll cost a lot."

Us older kids share a shocked glance, for a moment forgetting that we don't get along. Private sessions? They want to give him private sessions? That's a big deal. Like, a freaking huge deal. Queen's auditions for privates aren't even set for until after the Games end, and she's probably going to go in next year. If Riches gets private sessions for the next nine years, damn will he be good. Maybe the best ever to come out of District 1.

"Sir says yeah Riches will do private sessions, and we'll find a way to pay for 'em. He's asking why they're not free though, the way they are for the kids who are about to go in. The man says it's because kids heading in agree to pay a whole lot to their private trainers from their prizes if they win, and anybody who takes Richie on is going to have to wait a really long time for that, and they don't want to waste so much time training someone for free who might or might not die. Ma'am says we'll find a way to pay," Illy finishes.

I sit down slowly. Wow. Almost ten years of privates is going to make my brother…stronger than I'll ever be, for sure. But I'm worried about him. He's already too aggressive. Hell, he almost killed another kid. In ten years of intensive training, I don't think the Hunger Games will be enough for him. I've heard the horror stories of Careers who win the Hunger Games who can't stop killing. Their families go first, of course, what with being around them in closed quarters for a long time, and the peacekeepers just turn a blind eye. But if that's not enough, the Victors roam the streets at night. A lot of them die that way, tangling with streets gangs. Others become serial killers. Some of them hold in their bloodlust and are driven insane by their need to kill. I don't want Riches to be one of them. But how am I supposed to help him? I realize that not only am I in a sinkhole of doomed future, but it's swallowing my family too. And I can't dig any of us out.

My eyes scan across the room, taking in each of my siblings. Queen, who I've fought with so long. Fame, who I've always ignored or dismissed if I wasn't arguing with him. Illusion, who I know is almost as weak as I am, but whom I can't help for fear of damning her to the Reform. Riches, although I can't see him, having his life decided for him by parents who see him as just another shot to get into Victor's Village. Me, the disillusioned Career. The prodigal son. But there's no loving father waiting for me to come back to him in this parable. There's no happy ending in sight, for any of us.

Illy stumbles backwards as Ma'am throws open the door.

"You. Get in here," she growls at me. I hunch my shoulders and stalk into the living room, expecting a beating. And I'm not disappointed. But I don't bleed or anything, so it's all good. Relatively. Some scars might not be so bad in my case. I'm not handsome, so tough is probably the best physical angle for me. The more marked up I look the better, I guess. But I don't really want to provoke Sir and Ma'am enough to beat me, and though I can kill anyone else in too many ways to count there's no way I could cut myself, so I guess-

I go unfeeling for a moment, shocked into numbness by my own train of though. What the hell am I thinking about?

I'm distracted by an elbow connecting with my jaw.

"You're really pushing it lately, kid," Sir growls into my ear, "And you better shape up or I'll beat your worthless ass so hard you can't grow anymore. Now get out of my sight before I get too tired of looking at your ugly mug."

I lie still for a moment, preparing myself. Then I peel myself off the floor, feeling the pounding ache of the bruises I'm sure are going to look like camouflage pattern blobs tomorrow. I push myself painfully up on my hands and brace myself against the wall as I rise to my feet. I sway for a moment before taking a step toward my room. I almost collapse, but all that will accomplish is my parents beating me more. So I fight my way down the hall, unlock the door to our room, and force my way in. I collapse on my cot, not even caring that I'm alone in a room with a homicidal nine-year-old killing machine. Because for the first time I'm really feeling my parents' blows. Before I could always shut it out and just focus on how it was going to help me in the Games, like I almost did today. I just thought about how much tougher the pain would make me, about how accepting that pain was preparation for accepting the inevitable pain of the Games. And to be honest, there's a part of every Career that can't help but love pain, even their own. But that part frightens me so much now that I just shove it away into the back of my mind.

I wonder what other parts of myself I've never questioned. My need to kill, my parents' abuse, the brainwashing of my siblings. Why did I never notice any of this before? I guess…because it was normal. It was just the way things were. Still is, for most of District 1. I let my mind wander as I lie facedown on my cot. How many other kids think the way I do? How many more are just waiting for that slap in the face, like Glimmer's death was to me? Is it only me? Or are almost all of us zombies just going through the motions because if we're caught we'll be destroyed.

I begin to feel a strange almost-tingling at the base of my spine. What if… No. It'll never happen. But I can't quite shake the idea.

Why does anyone who turns his or her back on Career philosophy get crushed? Because so many of its followers are so powerful. But if there are a lot of kids who are just as disillusioned as me, and they're just so afraid of all the other kids they think are loyal Careers, then what would happen if someone came forward? If we could find strength in numbers…

I can feel my heart start to speed up. This is ridiculous, I know. But I can't help it. Maybe, maybe if I-

I stop my train of thought, slapping myself mentally. No way. Don't even think about that, Lightning. That's suicide on your free will. You can't risk being wrong and facing the Reform. Just stick with the plan, stick with the plan.

But…me. And Illy. I mean, I'm not alone in being not quite sure. Of course, Illusion did suck it right back up and go back to training. But I can't help holding onto that little glimmer of hope. Because it's better than facing the alternative, which is that nothing will ever change and there's no hope for my District. Because as cruel as Careers might be, there are good people in District 1. Hell, even some of the people in the Training Center aren't half bad. But they're not the ones who go into the Games, the ones everyone outside of the District sees. Which is how we get our nasty little reputation.

And if I can save some of those kids, those one or usually kids who volunteer to die, then shouldn't I?

No. No. I have to stick to the plan, Lightning. Stick to the plan.