Brea asked immediately, "Ambrose Crow? That's the new Head Gamemaker?" Her father's voice rung in her head. "Find Ambrose Crow. He'll tell you what you need to know."

The prep team stopped what they were doing and stared at her. Brea even heard Brannock's prep team halt through the curtain.

"Yes," Gillette said slowly. "Do you know him?"

Brea hoped the heat warming her cheeks didn't show. She was supposed to lie still and silent, not engage in her prep team's conversations and be interested in the going-ons in the Capitol. She stated, with an attempt at nonchalance, "I think my father mentioned him once."

Brea watched shoulders relax and she resisted following suit. "Ah. That makes sense." He turned to Blue across the table and whispered, "Her father is a victor." Then, his face lit up. "See? Word of him has even spread to District 2. That has to say something about Crow's reputation."

Brea was left to her thoughts as the debate continued. Besides the tributes, he and the other Gamemakers were the hottest topic in the Capitol. Everyone would want to speak to him, take pictures with him, shake his hand. How was she going to be able to get a few minutes alone with one of the most popular people in Panem? Could she even trust that her father was telling the truth or was it just a delusion? Would this Ambrose Crow even help her if she asked?

"He'll tell you what you need to know." What would he tell her? The design of the arena? Gamemakers' livelihoods depended on the shock and awe of the audience, so they were mum when it came to giving hints about the arena's design. Any loss in public approval could mean their replacement. Perhaps there was a secret to the arena that could save Brannock. Whatever he might tell her, for Brannock, she would have to at least try.

When they were finished, the prep team admired their work as they led her to another room. They rubbed strands of her hair between their fingers and traced their fingertips over her skin, gasping and cooing at their handiwork. As Brea walked past several mirrors, she saw that they had succeeded in removing anything that distinguished her as herself. Her nails were shaped, body hair removed, scars erased, and skin so supple, it felt new. She was a blank canvas for Elyria to create her next masterpiece on.

Though surgical enhancements were apparently unnecessary, Brea still wondered if she would be forced to be tattooed or dyed. It wasn't long before she got her answer.

Elyria burst into the room, as seemed to be her fashion, and began hanging sketches on the walls. Brea waited for her to explain, but Elyria was apparently still in her head, organizing her thoughts as she arranged the sketches. After a few minutes of muttering to herself and balling up paper, then smoothing them out, hanging, then ripping them off the wall, Elyria stood back and gestured to the wall with a flourish. "Ta da!"

Brea stepped forward and examined the images. It took a few moments, but she began to make sense of the scribbles and sketches. "Statues."

"Oh! Yes! Isn't it marvelous?"

Brea eyed a paper that had different concept designs for the costumes, ranging from armor to nothing at all. When her eyes fell on a paper full of paint swatches of different stone patterns, tears welled up in her eyes. Her fingertips grazed a marble swatch as she whispered hoarsely, "It makes me think of home."

Elyria launched herself at Brea again, squeezing her and squealing, "Oh! You have no idea how much I was dying to hear you say so!" She grasped Brea's wrist as she faced the wall of sketches. "I cannot believe that it hasn't been done before! Stone. Masonry. Statues. It's so rudimentary, yet so exquisite." She turned back to Brea and gripped her hands as she took a step back to admire her. A concerned frown rested on her face for a moment, as if she was struggling to put her imaginings onto Brea. Then, an expression of realization crossed her face and the smile returned.

"Oh! I need to see what I'm working with here." She tugged on the thin paper gown. "I need this off please."

Brea did as she was told. The room was chilly already, but being under the scrutinizing gaze of Elyria made Brea shiver all the more. It wasn't an unkind or lingering stare, but similar to the way Brea had seen Tip's father inspect a piece of stone before he began carving away at it. Still, she wanted to hide herself, but knew Elyria would be done sooner if she didn't. So, she stood stiffly, staring at the clock on the wall as she counted the seconds away. Elyria began a process of circling her, then make notes in her notebook, lift an arm or tilt Brea's chin, lower it, then write more notes.

At one point, she stopped and said, "You're standing as if you're bracing yourself for a fight." She cocked her head to the side, then continued. "I can't decide if that's how I want to envision you or not."

Brea weighed how she should respond. Finally, she answered flatly, "I am getting ready to fight, Elyria. In the arena."

"Yes", she trailed off, slowly circling her, "but you aren't standing as if you intend to win. It's the posture of a last stand."

Brea stared at her stylist, surprised and slightly embarrassed that she was able to read all of this just from her posture. She subconsciously straightened her back more.

"See!" Elyria traced her hands along Brea's back. "This is the posture of a cornered animal. An attempt at intimidation."

Brea glared at Elyria, wanting to punch her but also run out of the room. She inhaled, then replied, "How should I stand then?"

Elyria met her eyes. "Like everyone in that crowd is in the arena and are coming after your brother. Like it will either be him or them."

Brea didn't have to imagine hard to visualize that. She closed her eyes and saw the faces she had seen outside the train. Only this time, they were surrounding her in the arena. Weapons raised, eyes fixed on her. She could feel Brannock's heavy breathing on the back of her neck. He was scared. He wanted to live. She would grant him his wish.

"Oh."

Elyria's quiet gasp awoke Brea from her vision. Tears were brimming in her eyes and her hands were clutched in front of her, as if pleading for more.

Brea shook her head, shocked at the reaction. "I'm sorry-"

Elyria walked up and clasped Brea's hands again. "My dear, do not apologize. It was everything I could have hoped for." She closed her eyes. "Oh. I am getting chills just thinking about how it will look tonight."

Elyria's eyes snapped open. She whirled around the room, as she collected her notebook and her papers off the wall. As she got to the one with the stone swatches, she paused. She stooped down to grab the paper gown, then handed it and the swatches to Brea. Their eyes met, then she rushed out of the room without another word.

A minute passed before Gillette came back into the room and said, "All right. It's time to make you the talk of Panem."

Brea gripped the folded paper in her hand and followed him out.