"Drake, how are you liking the Capital so far?" asks Caesar, who I'm pleased to say is looking a bit shaken.

"It's nice, I guess," shrugs Drake. "But I think it's boring, just siting here waiting for the Games."

Caesar's taken aback. "You're eager for them to start?"

"I'm eager to start winning," corrects Drake airily.

Caesar nods. "You sound very confident. I like that."

"Yeah, I'm gonna kill everyone," he announces, narrowing his eyes aggressively.

"Only a handful of twelve-year-old's have ever been powerful enough to win the Games," Caesar reminds him. "How do you feel about that, along with your 4 in training?

"I just didn't show all of my skills," protests Drake, but the guilty look on his face tells me he's lying.

"Can you give us a hint on how strong you are?"

"Let's just say that, back at home, if anyone needed heavy lifting done, they came to me," he lies arrogantly. The buzzer rings out, and he resumes his seat.

The one-legged boy from 9 is sorrowful and moping. Ama tells of how she'll be strong for her brother. Trisen is quiet and says he hopes he won't have to watch his sister die. Reena grits her teeth and asks why this happened to her, but she plans to go down fighting.

The show winds down and we tributes leave the stage. The Careers huddle in a tight group, maybe discussing the other tributes, but I just follow Drake to the elevator. Inside the small chamber, I don't have the heart to tell Drake what a mistake his angle was, or how fake it looked. Once we're on our floor, Drake brushes past me on his way to dinner, a unexpectedly gleeful look on his face. "I was really smooth, wasn't I?" he calls, bouncing into the room.

Sindaria and Ruben are alone at the table. Cream of mushroom soup lies untouched in their bowls. Drake stops cold at the sight of this dismal atmosphere.

I enter the room. "What's going on?"

Ruben comes and puts his arm around Drake, leading him out of the room. After they're gone, Sindaria brightens considerably. "Sorry for confusing you," she apologizes, picking up her spoon. "I had to seem sad about your failure of an interview."

I grin, ladling out some soup of my own. "Was it that good?"

She smiles back. "I think I can confidently assume you will have zero sponsors."

We enjoy the filling soup for a moment. "What's Ruben doing with Drake?" I wonder aloud.

She grimaces, the happy expression fading from her features. "His was worse than yours. And unlike you, he wasn't trying to make it bad."

I have to agree. "I may not be allowed to ask, but what's the sponsor situation for him so far?"

"None."

I wince. Unlike me, he'll probably need them.

Drake returns when we're nearly done with the apple tarts for dessert. He sits and helps himself the largest remaining sweet, his face stony.

I can't stand to be in the same room with him, this smallish boy who has promised to kill me. "Good night," I tell Sindaria.

"Get a lot of rest," she advises. "You'll need it tomorrow. See you, Johanna."

It's only when I'm snug in bed that the meaning of her words hits me. She was saying good-bye.