Lillen Ketch, District 10, 18

People aren't that different from animals. Fenris is a little closer than most, is all.

I volunteered before the chariots to help the stylists with Fenris. Really, it would be more accurate to say they threw his clothes at me and fled the room. I don't blame them; this shit isn't exactly within their pay grade. Not that it's in mine, either. Fenris likes me okay, but he sure as hell doesn't like formalwear. Getting a button-up shirt on him took an hour, lots of patience, a few quick dodges, and a conciliatory bag of beef jerky. The tie was a no-go.

Really, that's the key. You can push. You just have to know when to stop, and you have to know it before you've already gone too far. It's true of bulls and Fenris and everything else. Pride is all well and good, but there's a point where you have to know where you stand and what you're capable of, and not pick a fight with something five times your body mass with pointy bits of bone attached to its skull. Or with Fenris.

Better to do a good job at your own pace than break everything fast, my grandpa used to say. He used to say a lot of things, actually. Like if it looks like it'd burn for more than two minutes, don't eat it. And doesn't matter if it's farm equipment or livestock births: when in doubt, more lube.

He was a smart guy, my grandpa. Didn't take any bullshit. What would he do if he were here now, lying in a cushy bed in the Capitol, staring at the ceiling and wondering what to make of any of this? Try to survive, I think. But only as long as he's got a right to, and not a bit longer. Know where he stands. What the rules are, even if the Capitol doesn't understand the rules of their own game and never will.

My stylist, Kieri, wakes me up the morning of the Games, and I ask if they need help with Fenris.

"Yes, we do," she grumbles. "But it can't be you today. You're not allowed to see each other. Not until you're out there, anyway."

"How come?"

"That would be telling. Just come with me."

I follow her into the hallway. It feels weird not to get dressed and wash my face and that kind of thing, but I guess that's her job today.

"Lillen?" she says quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Can I do something that might put you at risk?"

"I think I'm already at enough risk that it doesn't matter. Go for it."

She nods and ducks into a narrow side hallway.

"Doesn't this look kinda suspicious?" I point out.

"No cameras out there. There are microphones, though," she says, mouthing the words more than speaking them as she pulls me into a little storage room.

I find myself crammed against a rack of the District Ten costumes for the last few years. I vaguely remember some of them. The neon pink cowgirl outfit from two years ago stands out in particular. I had a class with the girl who wore that. She made it to the top five, farther than people from my District usually do, but in the end a Career got her.

"Are you…?" Kieri whispers. "Okay. About the Capitol. If I told you…?"

"I'm down for fucking up the Capitol's shit, if that's what you're asking me."

This could be some kind of trap, but I doubt it. They can't honestly expect me not to feel that way. And they've got me flying headlong into the Arena; why would they bother executing me for treason or something when they can just send me out there and drop a big rock on my head?

Kieri's face lights up. Literally. She's got LEDs installed in her eyebrows. "Oh, wonderful."

"What do you need me to do?"

"This," she says, handing over a smooth black plastic shell the size of an orange. It's heavier than it looks. "It needs to go in the Arena."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Nah, I've read enough spy novels to know that's how secret stuff works, it's fine. What do I do with it?"

"Just put it somewhere. Anywhere the other tributes won't mess with it and no one will notice."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"At the Cornucopia, you need to go down the hatches."

"Huh?"

"When you start, there will be a hatch in the ground directly in front of you. Go down there and lock it. Don't try to grab anything from the Cornucopia. Then hide this as soon as you can, for in case…"

"So I don't die with it in my clothes and it gets taken out with me."

"Exactly."

"I'll try."

"Thank you."

"Oh, anytime."

She gestures in midair. "Oh dear, we're running late!"

I follow her mad dash back out into the main hallway. Do they have contacts that tell time? Is there something implanted in her eye? That's… ew. Cool. But ew.

Kieri throws open the door to my dressing room. "Ta-da!"

My jaw drops. "Damn."

"Right?"

"Damn."

The Arena outfits are generally respectable, but this is better than respectable. This is badass. A long black coat. Serious-looking combat boots. Loose jeans. Gloves. A fitted bodysuit under everything. Everything black. Someone went a little overboard with the zippers and straps and buckles, but whatever; I can definitely work with this. It's very… post-apocalyptic.

Wait.

Uh-oh.