Back to normal with the updates now ;) If you didn't see Chapter 20 last week when I posted early then you need to go back one before you read this...

Thanks to everyone who did see it and left me a review :)

Chapter Twenty-One

The first thought I have when the prep team arrive is that they aren't my prep team. I don't know why I was stupid enough to let myself believe it would be them, but when the two strangers stroll into my room at first light without having the courtesy to knock, my heart sinks. They're loud, shallow and superficial, but that doesn't stop me from longing for Charis and Callista, because though they're all of those things and more, they also care for me in their own way and I feel fragile enough that I long for the sight of a friendly face. These two look alike enough to be sisters and they're what Gloss would instantly call 'the worst Capitolians imaginable', which in itself is something I find ironic considering what my brother knows of Capitolians.

"I'm Serica and this is Cerelia!" shouts the green-haired woman nearest to me as I sit up in bed, hoping to have time to get up myself rather than having to suffer the indignity of being dragged to my feet by these women. "And we're so happy to be involved in your big day! Isn't it just so exciting? The whole city's talking about the ceremony!"

I look down at my hands as she speaks, attempting to school my emotions and my features before looking back at her and trying to formulate a response she'll find acceptable. Part of me doesn't want to bother. Part of me wants to ask her how she'd feel if she had to choose between her life and her brother's. But I don't, and eventually manage to smile back at her. If I were her then I don't think I'd be convinced, however she seems happy enough.

"What's this?" says Cerelia, reaching for a piece of paper that rests on the pillow next to mine. Her skin is as green as her companion's hair.

I snatch it from her immediately, barely noticing her slightly offended and shocked sounding gasp, and open it to reveal Gloss's familiar neat writing. The note doesn't say much, just that he left because he didn't want Lucretia to have to come looking for him and that he'll see me very soon, but I cling to it like my life depends on not letting go.

Then the door opens again and I don't know what to think when Drusilla storms in, sending her colleagues reeling back without even touching them. They clearly haven't yet learnt that her bark is worse than her bite like Callista and Charis had.

"Go on ahead and run Cashmere's bath," she commands. "Get the room ready. You know what a state they're usually left in and I can't work in a mess."

Serica and Cerelia dive out of the room immediately, clearly terrified, leaving me alone with the woman who ruled my prep team nine years earlier.

"What are you doing here? I don't understand."

"You don't have to understand, girl," she replies, her tone as abrasive as it ever was despite how gentle she is when she drapes a robe over my shoulders. "You just have to smile for the cameras tonight so they all want to sponsor you."

"I'm not a girl anymore, Drusilla," I say, following her towards the door. "Why are you here? You don't do prep for the tributes now."

"You're not just a tribute," she replies, and again her words are harsh but her expression is slightly more forgiving than usual. "Do you really think I'd let Ancilla loose on you?"

I smile at the mention of Ancilla, who is the head of Auriel's prep team. Glimmer hated her with a passion so great that she couldn't hide it, and it took a lot to get Glimmer even remotely close to openly revealing her true emotions from what I saw. I've never really met Ancilla but she must be bad so I'm pleased I don't have to.

"I'm pleased you're here," I tell her, struggling not to laugh when her only response is to scowl at me.

"You haven't got time to be pleased, Cashmere. We've only got a few hours before we have to fit your costume," she says, pointing imperiously at the door. "Bath. Now."

"Yes, ma'am," I tease, and stern, impossibly strict Drusilla actually winks at me and swats the back of my legs as I step forwards.

I sigh with relief when the prep team finally leave me, happy that I don't have to pretend to be dealing with all of this, that I can stop putting on a brave face for their sakes and curl up on the floor in the corner of the room like I've been wanting to do ever since I got here. I'm suddenly freezing cold, but when I look around for something else to put on, I find nothing. I pull my silk robe tighter but it doesn't make me any warmer.

When the knock at the door eventually comes, I barely notice it and don't even look up. I know without seeing it that I won't want to wear whatever Auriel is going to dress me in, but for once in my life I don't have the strength to argue. He can send me out there naked if he wants to. I don't really care anymore. Now this has happened, nothing seems to matter.

"Cashmere? What are you doing on the floor?"

I do look up then, lifting my head in disbelief at the sound of that voice.

"Felix?"

"The one and only," he replies teasingly. "Accept no substitutes."

"What are you doing here? Where's Auriel?"

"I can leave if you like. If you'd prefer to see Auriel then I can go and fetch him."

"No," I reply immediately, pushing myself to my feet and reaching out for him, partly to stop him from leaving and partly as a way of convincing myself he's real. "But I don't understand."

"This Quell has to be the biggest show the city has ever seen," he says, speaking with more than a hint of disgust in his voice. "I am the most famous designer in the Capitol, and who made me famous? Who gave me the break I'd been searching for? Who do people still associate me with after all these years? You, Cashmere. You. It didn't take much to persuade the Games officials that it would be in their best interest if they let me be your stylist."

"But why? You don't need to style for the Games."

"No," he replies, putting one arm across my shoulders and hugging me gently. I feel warmer instantly. "I don't need to style for the Games, but I wanted to style for you."

"Thank you," I whisper, amazed that he'd do that for me.

"Cashmere, I'm so sorry this has happened. I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. There's nothing you can say and talking about it will only make it worse. And you'll make me cry. Which will ruin my make-up. And then we'll both have to face the wrath of Drusilla."

He laughs but soon becomes serious again. "I won't talk about it if you don't want me to, but if you want to talk then you know you can talk to me."

"I know, but I'm fine. I just need to get through tonight."

He looks about as convinced as I feel by that but he says nothing further and pushes me lightly away from him.

"I'm sorry," he says as he unties my robe and pushes it from my shoulders.

I can't help laughing at that. "Why? You've dressed me for nearly ten years, Felix. It's not like you haven't seen it all before."

He laughs with me, but his expression is still sad. "I didn't mean that. It…it feels like I'm dressing you up for their amusement before they send you to slaughter, Cashmere. And if I trusted anyone else to do you justice then I wouldn't have been able to bring myself to do it."

"But you did do it. You are doing it. For me. And I'll never forget it."

He almost seems embarrassed by that, and looks away as he pulls a measuring tape from his pocket and wraps it around my waist.

"You've been training," he says, making a statement rather than asking a question.

"Of course. I won't be much use to Gloss if I can't fight."

His eyes jump to mine instantly and I know he didn't miss the true meaning of what I said, but once more he doesn't comment. He simply pulls the tape tight and shakes his head.

"I let the dress out and I've got to take it back in again now," he says, moving the tape down to my hips.

"What do you mean?"

"Lucretia and I have a plan," he replies, picking my robe up and holding it out so I can put it back on. "That's why I sent you that dress."

"It was the same as my old reaping dress."

"Exactly," he says thoughtfully. "Answer me a question, Cashmere. What were you thinking when you watched the review of the reapings? About the other Victor-tributes, I mean."

I think about it for a minute, trying to recall when really most of what I can remember involves trying to decide which of them might be able to challenge us in the arena.

"That most of them don't look like they once did," I reply eventually. "That winning the Hunger Games breaks a person as much as losing does."

He nods. "Now think about yourself. Think about Gloss. Now what do you see? Tell me how you've changed since you wore the crown, how your brother has."

I'm sure my confusion must be reflected in my expression as I stare back at him. I've spent the best part of ten years wishing Gloss would age and lose his looks, that the mental torment he endures would somehow start to be reflected in his physical appearance, but it never did. And when I look around to see my own image in the wall-mounted mirror, I don't think I look all that different to the girl who took to the stage at the Victory Ceremony for the Sixty-sixth Games either.

"I don't know," I say, breaking eye contact with myself to look back at Felix. "We haven't changed, not on the outside. Not really."

"Precisely," he replies, nodding in satisfaction. "You still look more or less like you did then. I dressed you in a dress virtually identical to the one you wore at your reaping because I knew they'd all remember you as you were, as if no time had passed. They loved you then and they'll love you again."

"So what am I wearing tonight?"

"I think you've guessed the answer to that already," he tells me. "You and your brother will step onto the chariot wearing what you wore when you were tributes the first time. We want them all to really remember who they're looking at."

"I won't have to-"

"No," he replies, smiling sadly once again. "You've got a new dress for Interview Night. If the plan's going to work then it will have worked by then."

I return his smile and resign myself to spending the rest of the afternoon being slowly covered in gold body paint and the rest of the evening forcing myself not to scratch when it starts to irritate my skin. But it's a good plan. The Capitol audience loved Gloss as much as they loved me and if this gets us some sponsorship money then I'm all for it.

I remember preparation for Opening Ceremony night taking ages before, but it seems to take even longer this time. Between them, Drusilla and Felix gradually transform me into a golden, other-worldly version of myself, until finally they declare themselves happy and allow the other two members of my prep team to dress me in the gold sequinned creation that immediately brings countless memories flooding back.

When they back away I walk across the room to stare at my reflection in the mirror, turning back and forth and examining myself with a critical eye. I looked better last time, I can see that much, but I suppose it's only to be expected. I'd been training for years before I wore it last time. This time it's only been three months.

Felix moves to stand behind me then, and I watch his image in the mirror as he reaches up to unclip my hair, carefully arranging it over my shoulders.

"Still beautiful," he says. "Maybe you can outshine the Girl On Fire."

"Unlikely," I reply, trying not to sound bitter. "She's the one they all want to see. But at least they'll see us first."

"Falco won't let you down. If you need sponsorship money then you'll have it."

"I know that," I say, and my voice shakes as I finally allow myself to think about him. "I've never doubted it."

Then I raise my hand to my face, attempting to wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes before they fall and ruin my gold paint. I wish I hadn't because the first thing I see is my bracelet, hanging around my wrist like it has since Falco gave it to me what feels like a lifetime ago and five minutes ago at the same time. I drop my hand down to rest on the sapphire pendant at my throat.

"Felix… Please…"

He rests his hand lightly over mine. "You don't need to take them off this time, Cashmere. Leave them. It's time. Let's go."

When I see him standing there in the corridor it's like going back in time. The polished black shoes, the bejewelled cloak, they're all the same. Even the look of amused despair in his eyes that tells me what he thinks of Capitolian fashion better than any words is identical to what it was eight years ago.

"Let the Games begin," I say dryly, just managing to get my words out before my composure cracks and I almost run towards him. It's only a frantic shriek from Lucretia that stops him from taking me in his arms as soon as I get close enough.

"She's supposed to be golden, but you aren't," says my brother's stylist frantically. "Don't do that."

Gloss's expression is mutinous but he settles for pushing my hair back from my face nevertheless. When he stops looking at me and looks over my shoulder instead, I spin around instantly. If we both look like throwbacks to Hunger Games of years past then so does Falco. His black suit is pressed to perfection and on him it looks like it's worth more than the entire district that's responsible for the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight. It probably is. The last time I saw him, his expression was one of sadness and grief, but now he looks determined, and he looks at me like he did when I was dressed like this before.

I walk slowly towards him and he watches me without blinking. This time Felix doesn't tell him not to touch me and Lucretia doesn't seem to dare shriek at him like she did at my brother.

"You're beautiful," he says, and something about the way he says it is very different to the way my stylist did earlier.

"And now we match," I reply, reaching up to run my finger down the front of his previously immaculate jacket like I did nine years ago.

"Always," he whispers, staring at me for several seconds before turning me around and gently pushing me back to Gloss. "I'll see you at the Training Centre."

I nod and take my brother's hand as we step into the lift that will take us to the Opening Ceremony. This is it. Time to see the competition. Time to see what I'm up against.

There aren't many people there when we get downstairs. At least not many people I recognise. The Capitolian attendants and officials swarm around the chariots like a flock of brightly coloured birds, but the only Victors there so far seem to be the very drunk-looking male tribute from District Five and Marchessa Denoro, who is glaring disdainfully at everyone around her like they are all beneath her notice. Or that's what I think to start with. When I look at her more closely, I see that she's watching every arrival and departure with eyes like a hawk's. She sees us the second we step out of the lift and it's several seconds before she turns away.

"I didn't think we were that early," I say, returning my attention to Gloss. The jewels on his cloak catch the light, sparkling as he moves. I can see him struggling to resist wrapping the garment around himself and I step closer to him even though I'm wearing even less than he is and am not a lot warmer myself.

"We're not," he replies, smiling gratefully and stepping even closer.

Just as he does, all three lift bells ping simultaneously and the doors slide open. My brother audibly snarls as Finnick Odair emerges from the nearest one, followed closely by his adoring stylist and District Four's Capitol escort, who clearly can't take her eyes off him either. Predictably, he's virtually naked and seemingly as full of self-confidence as ever. I glare at him as he strides past.

"Like what you see, de Montfort?" he says, speaking in that voice that drives virtually the entire female population of the Capitol and not just a minority of the male totally out of their minds with lust.

"I'd like it a lot better suspended from the claws of one of those arena hovercrafts in a few days time," I snap back, in no mood for playing games, especially not with the likes of him.

He smirks and for a second I think he's going to retaliate, but then a smile every bit as fake as the one I hide behind when I'm here appears and he walks away. I watch him as he crosses the courtyard, never loosening my grip on Gloss's hand. I'm not sure who I'm trying to hold back, him or myself.

Then the lift bells sound again and when I turn around, the first person I see is Beetee from District Three. He looks slightly pathetic in his garish costume that seems to be covered in light bulbs, and I feel almost sorry for the quietly dignified man I've never been able to bring myself to dislike. He nods politely to me and I return the gesture despite how we're supposed to be enemies. Whether he sees my response or not, I'm not sure, because he immediately hastens over to stand with Wiress and her mentor. I can't help noticing that there's none of Marchessa's usual contempt in her eyes when she looks at him.

"I just need to ask Fortune something," says Gloss, making me look up at him in surprise as he lets go of my hand.

"What?"

"I'll tell you later," he replies, quickly disappearing into the sea of people.

I can't begin to imagine what he could want to talk to Fortune about, but I also can't imagine it being anything good. However instead of thinking and worrying about it now, I'm immediately distracted by watching all of the other Victor-tributes and mentors as they stand in small groups, talking and trying to be subtle about it as they observe everyone else.

Finnick Odair and Mags, who volunteered to take the place of a hysterical Annie Cresta at the reaping, are standing together with Chaff and Seeder from Eleven. Beetee and Wiress are only a short distance away, almost as if they're deliberately remaining within earshot of the others. Perhaps the traditional Career Alliance won't be the only coalition in the Victor's Quell.

Of District Twelve there is no sign, and more importantly to me right now, there is no sign of District Two either. So much for the idea of getting the measure of my potential allies and the woman I see as my biggest threat early on.

"I've seen that outfit before, District One," calls a familiar voice from behind me. "It looks like someone's got a plan."

"Ursala, what are you doing here?" I ask, spinning around to see my friend standing less that a stride away from me in a simple tunic and leggings with her hair blowing in the wind around her, natural and wavy in a way that tells me she hasn't been near her Capitol style team.

"Mentoring," she replies flatly. "Brutus's old mentor's dead and it was my turn."

"Oh," I say feebly, not sure what else to say.

"Or I'm supposed to be mentoring him anyway, but he thinks he knows everything so I don't have to do much," she replies, looking pointedly back at me in a way that tells me there's more to her words than might first appear.

'Thinks he knows everything…'. Overconfident, in other words, which could make him lack judgement in the arena. A warning then. Her way of telling me to watch my back for reasons other than because he might turn on me if we were to form an alliance.

"I think a lot of mentors will be finding themselves slightly redundant this year," I say casually, giving her the merest hint of a smile so she knows I understood. "Did Vikus come with Enobaria?"

"Of course," she says. "I don't think anyone else would dare."

"It doesn't make sense that you're here," I say eventually. "I know your district doesn't hold with the tradition of same sex mentor and tribute, but it's not your year, I'm sure it isn't."

"You're too observant for your own good," she replies, stepping towards me until her arm almost touches mine so she doesn't have to speak any louder. "The official line is that I'm Brutus's choice. He argued that he volunteered so he should get to choose his mentor and I don't think they had the time or the inclination to argue with him."

"And the unofficial line?"

"Where I come from, our trained tributes volunteer to take the place of those who have no skill at fighting. By volunteering for Tiberius, Brutus shamed him in front of the entire district. It was meant to be his year to mentor but they'd have come to blows before the train had even left the station. So I did Tiberius a favour, not that he'd ever thank me for it or even see it like that."

"And Brutus went along with it too?"

"He knows he wouldn't win if they fought."

There's a point to all this, I know there is. Everything she's telling me is telling me something about my fellow tributes, that Brutus is a coward when faced with a stronger opponent and that there isn't a person in the most-feared and notorious district in Panem who doesn't fear Enobaria.

"Thank you," I say, smiling my true smile rather than the one the cameras get.

"I'll see you again, Cashmere," she replies. "Before the end."

Something about the way she says that and about the way she looks at me tells me that she knows I'm not imagining a world where I leave the arena alive. But I didn't tell her that, so how could she possibly know?

"How-?"

"You love Gloss," she whispers, making me strain to hear her over the noise that suddenly erupts as the Girl On Fire and Lover Boy make their entrance. "I'd say the amount you love your little brother is something close to how much I love my Velia. And I'd die for her in a heartbeat."

I nod once, not knowing what to say to that, and she smiles briefly before looking away. I quickly notice she's staring over my shoulder at the lift doors and I turn around in time to see Enobaria walking towards me. It's immediately obvious that Brutus is trailing along behind her rather than giving her permission to go ahead of him, however much he's trying to disguise it. He tries, but he doesn't have quite the same natural aura of aggression that Enobaria, Vikus and even Ursala achieve without making any effort at all. Or maybe I'm only thinking that because of what the woman who remains at my side just told me.

"I think he's the one with the secrets, not her," says Enobaria in a low voice as she stops a short distance from Ursala. She shifts from one foot to the other as if she can't bear even the thought of being still and it makes the embroidery on her black dress catch the light with every movement. "She's too stupid to hide anything."

I follow the direction of her gaze to see Finnick Odair and Katniss Everdeen standing by her chariot. Though I look away almost immediately, my eyes drift towards them again just as quickly.

I try to fight the anger that slowly rises up inside me as I watch her, the rational, sensible part of myself knowing that it isn't her fault that she didn't share my fate and realising that even if it was then I should be pleased she escaped the Victor's Game. However every move she makes is like rubbing salt in my wounds.

Odair approaches her slowly, totally over-the-top seductive in that way that makes Capitolian hearts race and me cringe, and still she stays where she is, letting him get right up close to her. If someone other than Falco had done that to me a year after my arena and six months after the final night of my Victory Tour then I'd have been on the other side of the courtyard by now and he or she would be on the way to hospital. But not naïve, innocent, unbroken little Katniss. She just stands there while Odair makes a fool of her, and it's only the arrival of Lover Boy that spoils his fun.

"She's making a fool of herself again," I whisper, sensing someone move to stand behind me and knowing it's Gloss without looking.

"It's one of the few things that seems to come naturally to her," he replies waspishly. "Come on, let's go," he continues, gesturing towards the District One chariot and its snowy-coloured horses.

I follow him without protest but I'm looking around the courtyard the whole time, searching for Falco despite how I know he won't be there. But I can't think about him. I can't think about anything but this Opening Ceremony. The only thing that matters for the next couple of hours is the performance.

"I hate this, Cash," says Gloss as he climbs up onto the chariot and holds his hand out to me. "I hate the way they all look at us. And they have the nerve to make us call this a celebration when it hurts so much."

I don't react for a minute and stare up at him instead, taking in his polished shoes, bejewelled cloak and angry eyes. But then I return to my senses and take his hand. He quickly pulls me up onto the chariot beside him and I shake my head.

"Don't talk like that here," I hiss. "You know better than that."

"Sometimes I can't help it," he replies. "They make me so angry that it's like I could burst with it."

"I know, Gloss. I know."

Even as I speak, I watch some of the officials as they group together and head over towards the gates. It's nearly time. Time for the moment virtually the whole Capitol's been waiting for.

I step to the front of the left side of the chariot, pushing my hair behind my bare, artificially golden shoulders, taking a deep breath and starting to replace the real Cashmere with the fake one the mob always sees. I'm almost there, allowing my mind to drift somewhere far away, but then I'm jolted back to reality when the soft material of Gloss's cloak drifts down to cover me as well as him.

"No, little brother. We'll need sponsorship before the end and Felix's plan is a good one. We need to make sure they remember who they're looking at."

"But I can't stand the way they look at you. I can almost see what they're thinking and I can't pretend I don't care."

"Let them look. It doesn't matter now," I reply, and even as I speak, I realise that it really doesn't matter. He won't sell me now because I'm a tribute in the Games and as I'm not planning on coming back… It seems that I've finally found a way to be free.

Gloss moves back, and even though there's still virtually no distance between us at all, I miss his warmth as much as miss that of the cloak.

"Let the Games begin," calls Brutus as he virtually jumps up onto the District Two chariot, scanning his surroundings in a way that tells me he's enjoying this far too much. Then he focuses on us and Gloss's grip on my hand tightens immediately. "I hear we might be allies."

"Perhaps," I reply noncommittally, shrugging my shoulders and looking around for the real boss of District Two's tributes this year.

She glides towards the chariot, trailing a hand along the neck of one of the black horses that pulls their chariot as she does. It sidesteps slightly, its innate sense of danger so strong that it even manages to overcome all of the training the creature's undoubtedly had before the officials allowed it to be shackled to one of the tribute chariots. Enobaria only smirks in response, the expression not reaching her cold grey eyes.

"Move over," she says to Brutus, and I notice straight away that he jumps to obey her without questioning, giving her over half of the space despite how she's a lot less than half his size. "Cashmere," she says, inclining her head ever so slightly to me before looking over my shoulder to Gloss. "Pretty Boy."

"That was a long time ago, Moreno," replies my brother. He's always hated that nickname but he's never been able to shake it. "The girl who called me that is long dead."

"But the name lives on," says Brutus, laughing to himself and making me think I may go insane before I even get in the arena if I have to spend too much time in his presence.

Gloss says nothing and looks away, turning his attention to the gates ahead of us as the officials throw them open and the music doubles in volume. I know a lot of those outside are waiting for District Twelve, and I can see them on every one of the massive wall-mounted screens visible from where I am. However I don't look back. I'm sure there'll be no escaping them for the next few days and I have no desire to increase the amount of time I have to spend looking at them out of choice.

The parade through the streets of the city happens around me without requiring me to do anything other than stand on the chariot and smile. But it isn't as easy as it sounds when I suddenly wish I could throw every last one of those watching me into the arena and pick up my sword.

When we first leave the Remake Centre, I wave to the brightly coloured people who seem to occupy every available space and they wave back, screaming for District One and Cashmere and Gloss. However after a while I can't carry on. They call for us like we're on our way to celebrate something good, but in reality twenty-three of us will be dead within a couple of weeks. They claim to love us and have made us famous, and yet that won't stop them from cheering as we fight and die in the arena. I hate them all.

About halfway to the City Circle, Gloss steps forwards to stand behind me, taking both of my hands in his so I couldn't wave even if I wanted to. I still don't.

By the time we reach the gates of the Training Centre and the shouting of the massive City Circle crowd fills my ears, I'm clinging to Gloss like my life depends on not letting go.

Just as they did at the Remake Centre, a lot of the Victor-tributes and their mentors congregate together here, showing no sign of wanting to go upstairs. Beetee smiles sympathetically at me when he walks past, but other than that we are largely ignored. Whatever the circumstances, we're still the Career Tributes, and that means we're still hated and feared in virtually equal measure.

"Cinna's done it again," says Felix as he appears by my side. "They're the centre of attention this time as well."

I follow the direction of my stylist's gaze to see the pair from District Twelve, their costumes still glowing like the embers of a fire as they wait for a lift to arrive to take them upstairs.

"And you know what being the centre of attention before the Games makes you, don't you? A target."

"That's Falco talking, isn't it?" replies Felix instantly. "He's told you to kill Everdeen."

"And he's obviously told you his plans already," I say, the surprise I feel that Falco told anyone else what he told me three months ago plain to hear in my voice.

"No," he says softly. "I just know him. And I know how hard he's trying to think of something that will save you."

I don't know what to say to that so I stare over his shoulder instead so I don't have to look into his eyes. That's when I see her, styled to perfection and standing a short distance from the gate to the City Circle. She smirks at me and nods in Gloss's direction, and her expression doesn't change when I shake my head. I sigh deeply and glare back, but she only nods again.

"Gloss," I say, tugging his arm. "You've got a visitor. I'm going upstairs."

"I'll just be a minute," he replies.

"You won't," I say, sighing with not-quite-genuine disapproval. "But I don't feel like being a hypocrite tonight."

He smiles softly and kisses the top of my head before weaving towards Narissa through the groups of people still gathered in the courtyard. I watch the Capitolian woman exchange a few words with one of the officials before both she and my brother slip away through what I assume is a side door.

"I'd go upstairs if I were you," whispers Felix. "Word will get round that everyone's still down here and the reporters will descend in their thousands."

I do as he says straight away, letting him guide me to a lift and then pressing the button that will take me up to Level One. Falco's bound to be there waiting for me. Isn't he? I can't think of anywhere else he'd have gone.

I walk into the dining room without thinking, seeing the sliver of light through the gap at the bottom of the door and assuming I'll find Falco there, watching the ceremony so he knows when I'll be back. However the person I find there is someone entirely different and a lot less welcome.

"So, Cashmere," says Lace, uncurling her legs from underneath her and turning to face me, her pale blue eyes shining in the dim light. "How are you enjoying your final days?"

"What have I ever done to you?" I reply, her comment cutting more deeply than it would have done before all this happened. "What did I do to make you hate me so much?"

"You really have no idea, do you?" she says, laughing softly to herself. The sound isn't a happy one. "You really don't remember."

I shake my head, feeling more angry than hurt now. I honestly have no idea what she's talking about and am starting to think this is some cruel joke of hers, designed and planned with the sole purpose of trying to make me even more miserable than I already am.

"That's because there's nothing to remember, is there, Lace? You just get some perverse pleasure out of hating me."

"I don't just hate you, Cashmere," she snarls. "I hate your whole family. Your father destroyed mine and he didn't even notice."

I'd been storming across the room towards her, intending to be close enough for her to look into my eyes when I tell her what I really think, but her words make me pause. Back when he was at the height of his power, my father took control of many of District One's smaller workshops and associated businesses, overpowering those they belonged to by sheer force of will and not a little support from wealthy clients in the Capitol. It's possible that Lace's family was one of the ones he destroyed in the process, but even so, I don't see what that has to do with me.

"I'm not my father, Lace. My family isn't one man, certainly not any more."

She looks at me, staring unblinkingly across the short distance with such emotion in her expression that I eventually find myself having to fight the urge to turn away. I make myself hold her gaze though. I despised my father but I'm still a de Montfort. I will never bow down to the likes of her.

"Cast your mind back nearly thirteen years, Cashmere," she says, her voice little more than a whisper which I have to strain to hear. "It was a bright, sunny day in District One, and there were three young people walking along together, laughing and smiling with not a care in the world. Two young women, one blonde and one dark, and a boy who was well on his way to becoming a man even though he still seemed the youngest."

"Where are you going with this?" I snap, my heart sinking already even though I can only just about begin to guess a very tiny portion of it.

"Patience," she replies with false-sweetness that would put Narissa to shame. "Patience. As I was saying, eventually they came across an old workshop, and because they knew their father had just taken control of it they thought they'd have a look around."

I take a reluctant step towards her so I can lean against the back of one of the sofas, my eyes never leaving hers.

"'Look at this place,' said the dark-haired girl to the others. 'I'm surprised anyone could bear to work in here. I've never seen such a mess.'."

When I hear Lace say that, I'm suddenly transported back into a memory that I'd forgotten until now. I remember the old workshop, the way I strode down the central walkway of the main hall with Sapphire on my one side and Gloss on the other. I remember the snobbish disapproval I affected because it always made my siblings laugh, the way I wrote my name in the dust on the supervisor's table. But what I don't remember is the presence of anyone else.

"Now you remember, don't you? I can see it in your eyes that you do."

"There was nobody there but us," I say. "We were alone in there. Or we thought we were."

"That's right. You thought you were. You didn't see the girl sitting in the corner behind the boxes that contained the last jewels my father's workshop ever cut. You didn't see her as you so casually mocked the father she loved more than anyone and anything in the world and everything he'd spent his whole life trying to preserve."

"I didn't know. I was little more than a child. And you can't hold me responsible for the way things are done in District One. Are you seriously telling me that your father wouldn't have trampled over mine if their positions had been reversed?"

"My father's a good man!" she shouts back, showing more emotion than I thought her capable of. "And he didn't deserve what happened. He didn't deserve to watch me fight in the arena because it was the only option I had to prevent my family from having to work like slaves for someone like your stupid father."

"You had a choice, Lace. I didn't destroy your family and I certainly didn't make you race for the stage on reaping day. But you go right ahead and believe what you will if it helps you sleep at night. But I want you to make sure you remember what you've said tonight when this is all over. Make sure you think long and hard about it when you take my body back to District One. And make sure you decide to never utter a word of it to Gloss. He's been through enough without having someone dump something else on his conscience."

She stares at me then, perhaps struck dumb by my revelation that I have no intention of leaving the arena alive, and by the time she opens her mouth to speak I'm already turning away. I spin around and race out of the door before she can speak a word, sprinting down the corridor and straight into the person who was coming the other way. When I realise who that person is, I hold onto him like I'm never ever going to let go.