Despite all their hemming and hawing, the stylists delivered Kal's new look in time for the interviews. They had listened to him explicitly; the girlish yellow angle had been scrapped and Kal cut a dapper figure in an olive green dress shirt, black vest, and matching slacks. Their hair was tied up in a high ponytail, with a few loose strands to frame their face. Masculine dress, feminine styling. Nezumi had to admit it was good work. A perfect fit for what they had practiced for the interview.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Kal asked again in a low whisper. They reached up to swipe the hair away from their face, but stopped short and dropped their hands.

"It will do what it needs to do," Nezumi intoned back.

By the nervous look on Rico's face across the room, he was receiving similar reassurances from Gran and Rou. Gran glanced over and Nezumi met her eyes for a second before turning away.

"Just stick to what we practiced," Nezumi told Kal. "Pretend you're talking to me. But don't insult the Capitol."

Kal snorted. "I'm not an idiot."

"Exactly. Don't be an idiot and you should be fine. Just do your best."

Kal side eyed him drily, and Nezumi shrugged a shoulder.

Gregor appeared then, smiling brightly, but looking no less queasy for it. "It's time!" he said. "Kal, Rico, please follow these gentlemen to the stage."

The two tributes flashed pale glances at their mentors, but filed from the room as instructed. Gregor gave them encouragement and well wishes as they disappeared around the corner, then beckoned the mentors to follow him to their seats.

All the mentors were boxed into the first row of the auditorium. Nezumi followed Gran into the row and sat silently by her side. They weren't fighting—at least Nezumi didn't think they were—but he was too preoccupied with the children soon to make their debut to bother giving attention to anything else. Judging by Gran's rigid posture and unerring gaze on Verde Ricci's chair on stage, she was similarly distracted.

The room hummed with chatter, but the mentor's row was quiet. Every former tribute's eyes were glued to the stage, and for once not one of their faces wore a smirk or smile. The cameras didn't care for them right now and the masks had slipped off for the moment.

The Panem anthem blared over the speakers and the stage erupted into spotlight. Verde Ricci danced out onto the stage, glittering like a jewel. Her locks were the color of sunflowers and Nezumi was especially glad Kal had not been thrown out on the stage in that yellow dress; they would have wilted beneath Verde's glow.

Verde giggled and flounced into her plush sapphire chair, shushing the crowd into a more manageable hubbub.

"What a turn out we have tonight!" Verde enthused and the crowd responded with cheers in kind, as if they weren't legally obligated to be there. Or maybe it was just the districts that were mandated. "I am so excited to be on this stage," Verde said. "The tributes this year are killer, am I right?"

More cheers, whoops, claps. Nezumi's head ached.

"But don't take my word for it—let's have it from District 1's own Beryl!"

A snub-nosed girl strutted onto the stage. She flashed her canines at the camera, then Verde, and then sat. The interviews had begun.

A parade of personalities danced across the stage. District 1 was bold and cocky, District 2 was sultry and strong, District 3 evasive. Some pulled off their prescribed persona better than others. 1, 2, and 4 had a leg up, as always, likely because they weren't acting. They had been conditioned to act like self-entitled snobs, so they always played well to the Capitol.

Nezumi kept himself still and impassive as the tributes cycled through. Girl, boy, girl, boy, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…

Nezumi shifted. Verde's mouth made a dainty "O" when Kal stepped out onto the stage. The outfit made the desired impression. Now all Kal had to do was follow it up.

Kal found their way to the chair with reasonable composure and perched on the edge of the cushion, as though preparing for quick flight.

Verde smiled sweetly. "What a darling outfit! Your stylists have really outdone themselves."

Kal merely shrugged. "I guess. Beats wearing a dress."

This received a few chuckles from the audience. Nezumi nodded in his seat. Good.

"Well, they are certainly hard to fight in," Verde conceded. She petted down the skirt of her dress. "What you're wearing is much more practical for the Games."

Nezumi saw Kal tense. Keep it together. Three minutes left.

"You seem like quite the tomboy. Do you always dress like that in 7?"

"I like pants, if that's what you're asking. People take you more seriously if you wear pants. I don't want anyone's pity."

"You sound so fierce! I never would have guessed from the Reaping. It seems like training has really helped you come into your own."

"I've always been like this. I know how to take care of myself." Kal scowled at Verde, and Nezumi knew there was genuine offense in their glare.

Verde too seemed to be able to recognize acting from the real thing. She fluttered for a second, her smile growing to phony proportions. "I see. Well, seeing you now, I'm not surprised. You look like someone who knows what they want." She drew in a breath. "Now, I have to bring up your score…"

Verde winced as she spoke the words, and Nezumi wanted to growl at her. Wasn't it her job to make the tributes look good? Why did she have to place prejudgments in the viewers' minds?

"A five is not the worst score," Verde continued, "but how do you feel knowing you're going up against tributes with sevens and eights?"

Kal snorted. "Only an idiot would judge a tribute by the score they get. It's all an act anyway. I've got as much a chance as any of them."

Nezumi smirked. Kal had become sufficiently riled up. It didn't seem like he had anything to fear from their performance.

Verde nodded sagely. "Of course. You can never tell who's a real contender until the Games begin. We've had some dark horses in the past."

"Exactly. I mean, Nezumi won last year, and he looks about as deadly as a pond lily."

The crowd broke into a round of appreciative laughter. Nezumi made sure to smile in case the camera found him. Kal shrunk shyly from the attention, but smiled a little in spite of it.

"Anything's possible," Kal finished with a shrug.

Verde smiled and placed a hand on Kal's shoulder. "You're quite right. It's anyone's game. And I, for one, will be rooting for you." Verde swiveled to the audience. "I'm afraid time's up. Ladies and gentlemen, a big hand for Kal!"

Kal rose to the sound of thunderous applause. They wandered back to their seat, looking dazed, but relieved.

Then it was Rico's turn. He greeted Verde shyly and she fussed over how young and cute he was.

"I might be young, but I'm not weak," Rico insisted. "I've been practicing a lot."

Verde's eyes were soft with adoration. "Yes, of course. No one could count you out yet. What is your greatest advantage, do you think?"

Rico stared at her.

He froze up, Nezumi thought fearfully. That's a standard question!

Rico smacked his lips. "It's a secret," he said.

Verde laughed and Rico grinned, proud of himself, but Nezumi felt uneasy. That was too close. Tributes couldn't afford a second of wasted time.

"Well, how about a question that isn't a secret?" Verde said, tapping her chin to think. "What's your favorite thing about the Capitol?"

Rico eyes shone. "The food!"

He launched into an impassioned speech about the dishes, delicacies, and desserts, and by the time he finished everyone was hungry. Rico was played off the stage to applause and watering mouths.

Nezumi replayed Kal and Rico's interviews. Not any major mistakes. They'd held their own.

But is it enough?

Nezumi paced the length of the room, well behind the other mentors. Some of them threw him pitying looks, but most kept their eyes trained forward. Nezumi glanced at the surround screens, but they were still black. He paced faster.

He knew he should sit. He knew he looked very much the newest victor. But what did it matter? Who was there to perform for? The other mentors had been in his place once—were in his place every year since.

This is sick, Nezumi growled to himself, and he might've also growled audibly because a few more mentors half turned to look at him. Rou was one of them. He frowned, his dark eyes sad.

"Nezumi. Come here. Sit," he urged gently.

Nezumi shook his head, but then the screens lit up and he was at Rou's side in an instant. The tributes were rising on their pedestals in fateful unison. Nezumi took in the scene, snatching at anything and everything his gaze landed on.

The arena was cold and damp. Stone. There were four tunnels spread out equidistant from each other. The pedestals rose up in the center of an open atrium, a short sprint away from any of them. The cornucopia lay in the middle, a tangle of sharp, sleek rocks, jutting out from top and bottom like teeth in the maw of a colossal beast.

The weapons lay inside. Nezumi couldn't see what they were before the camera angle changed to show the faces of the tributes. It swept across them in slow panoramic, the sound of the clock booming down from sixty playing in the background. There was Beryl, and Zapp from 5 beside her. Angus from 9…

"Ooh," squealed one of the announcers. "Look at this arena!"

"I know!" crowed his partner. "The Gamemakers really outdid themselves this year. For you folks in the nosebleed section, this year the arena is modeled after a cave—or a cave complex, really. The atrium here leads out to a series of tunnels. The Game will take place in virtual darkness."

"Well, for the tributes, at least," the first announcer said. "The arena is outfitted with night vision cameras, so we won't miss a second of the action."

"The tributes do have low power LEDs on the palms of their suits, though, Felix. So they're not left completely in the dark."

"That's true, Marcus, but do you really want to use that when everyone can see you?"

Nezumi tuned the announcers out and searched the grave faces until he found Rico, and Kal a few places down from him. They both were white faced. Kal's head swiveled back and forth, taking in their surroundings.

Nezumi's parting advice had been to avoid the bloodbath and hide if they could. Running and hiding didn't seem like it would be a problem; the light in the atrium was poor, and the tunnels were pitch black behind the tributes. But they didn't know what lurked in the cave complex.

Kal seemed to have the same thought—they turned and gazed into the open darkness behind them, throat working down a heavy swallow.

The male tribute from 12, Fissure, perked up as he looked around him, and Nezumi noticed the two Careers from 2 seemed equally pleased.

"Fissure looks excited," Marcus murmured.

"I'd be too, if I were him," Felix said. "12 is the mining district—he's probably counting his lucky stars right now!"

"Who knows? This might be District 12's time to shine."

"Literally!"

Felix and Marcus shared a hearty laugh that no one in the mentor room joined in on. Nezumi was, however, vaguely aware of Cinder watching the screen intently, her hands curled into fists. As District 12's lone victor, she was probably feeling pretty hopeful.

Nezumi glanced at the corner of the screen. The timer clicked down: 10, 9, 8, 7...

His heart hammered in his chest. The tunnel is right there. He traded glances between Kal and Rico, measuring the distance to relative safety behind them. Just turn and run.

The cannon boomed and the children were off like shots. Nezumi followed Kal's sprint off the pedestal to the mouth of the nearest tunnel. They didn't cast so much as a glance behind them, but thankfully they needn't have worried. No one paid them any mind. Nezumi released the breath he had been holding and searched for Rico.

Shit!

Rico had stepped off his pedestal but that was it. The cameras were focused on the thick of the bloodbath, Careers hacking at the less fortunate, and occasionally each other as they fought over the choicest weapons. No one had yet noticed Rico frozen on the periphery, but that wouldn't last long.

The female tribute from 2 sliced Zapp's stomach open. He clutched his innards and fell to the stone with a heavy thump. Rico gasped mutely and finally seemed to awaken. He took a step back and stumbled over the pedestal. Six Career heads swiveled in his direction.

"Run, you idiot!" Nezumi yelled.

Rico scrambled to his feet and ran. The Careers' legs were longer, stronger, faster. Rico was fifteen feet from the closest tunnel. The cameras had eyes only for him as the Careers caught up and snatched at his limbs, dragging him down like a pack of wolves. One had a pickaxe. The head of the axe rose and fell in a swift arc and Rico's terrified scream cut off abruptly.

Boom!

Nezumi stared at the screen, mouth half open. His ears rang in the deathly quiet of the room.

The Careers patted each other on the back and surveyed the area for survivors. Then they headed out, leaving the cameras to catalog the dead.

Someone was saying his name. Nezumi half cocked his head to listen. A hand rested on his shoulder and guided him to a seat. Gran and Rou hovered over him, asking him…something. Other eyes were on him. Rico's eyes were on him.

"I'm fine," Nezumi said to the questions. "I'm fine."

Four deaths that day. Nezumi rested against the railing on the rooftop of the Training Center, and replayed each one. Zapp from 5, Zari and Melton from 8…and Rico.

A poor turn out for day one, Nezumi thought bitterly.

He took a few steps back from the railing and threw the bottle cap he was holding. It bounced off the force field and flew back. Nezumi caught it, and squeezed it in his hand, feeling its ridges bite into his palm.

He remembered the pouty noises of the announcers as they closed off the program for the night, comparing the toll of the day with last year's. Any good bloodbath had six or more casualties. The Capitol would be settling in for bed now, unappeased.

"Fuck you." Nezumi whipped the bottle cap over the railing. It ricocheted off and zipped past his head. The high wind howled. Nezumi curled his hands into fists.

Something soared past his side and Nezumi flinched back. The object plunked against the ground, a foot short of the railing and rolled to a halt: The bottle cap.

Nezumi twisted around. Shion stood a few feet back, holding his unruly bangs in place so he could see amidst the gusts. Shion shrugged a shoulder sheepishly, probably to explain his lousy throw.

"Go away," Nezumi growled.

Shion screwed his face up and cupped a hand over his ear.

"Go away!" Nezumi yelled louder. "I want to be alone."

But Shion just shook his head and approached. Once at Nezumi's side, he pointed to his ear, indicated the windy conditions, and made an apologetic hand gesture. Shion tilted his head, but Nezumi had lost the will to repeat himself.

"You shouldn't be here," he grumbled at Shion. "People will notice if we're together too often." He walked to the railing and leered at the other teen. "If you've come to comfort me, save it. I don't need your pity. It's not like I didn't know it would happen."

Shion's brow creased. Then his face went slack. Shion covered his mouth, eyes wide and pained.

"Oh… Well, shit." Nezumi laughed drily. "You didn't know, did you? They don't let Avoxes watch the Games? That's a treat. You get your freaking tongue ripped out, but at least you don't have to watch the Hunger Games."

Shion stepped forward and grasped Nezumi's arm. His grip was hard enough to hurt. It felt like he was trying to wring the answer to the unspoken question from his skin.

Nezumi exhaled through his nose. "It was Rico," he said quietly.

Shion's throat contracted. He dropped his head, his bangs masking the grief he no doubt wore.

"A pickaxe," Nezumi continued blandly. "In the bloodbath of all places. The freaking bloodbath! We told him to run! The clock runs down, and you get the hell out of there. Kal had no trouble understanding, but of course, Rico freezes up. I should have known he would. He's always been…"

Nezumi clenched his jaw. Shion's grip on his arm loosened. His hand slipped off and his arms wound around Nezumi's waist to pull him into a tight hug. He could feel Shion's mute sobs shivering against his chest.

Nezumi sighed into the open air. "Aren't you supposed to be consoling me? Not the other way around?"

Shion squeezed him harder in response.

Nezumi tried to smirk, but it came out a grimace. He tucked his mouth against Shion's shoulder so no one would see.