Thomas Dorian Pov-

The night after the interviews, I hardly say a word to my father. When we get home I just go right into my room, and close the door.

I throw off my shoes, and lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I try not to think about the tributes, I don't want to think about where they're going to be.

And when my father knocks on the door, and asks if I'm okay, I don't answer. Because I can't answer. I'm just too caught up in the games, in the tributes. I sit up, and rip a piece of paper out of my journal and I start writing.

I write down the groups, because if I don't do it then I know my father will, or one of the other gamemakers. And it's better if I do it. Or, at least, it will make me feel better.

I come out of my room just to hand my father the list I wrote.

"You sure you want these groups? Because once I bring in this list, I can't change it for a while."

"I'm sure." I say.