Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games

Note: My apologies for the long wait. Now that NaNoWriMo's starting, hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of updating this regularly. Just a few more chapters before the Games...


Interviews
Welcome


Puck Lancaster, 28
Gamemaker, Tribute Specialist

"And you're sure about all of this."

Puck chuckled a little as Malchus flipped through the document they'd handed him. "I know you're new to this, but trust me. My team and I have been doing this for years now." After the fiasco that had been the 41st Games, Tamika had decided that what the Gamemaking team needed was more insight into the tributes before the Games. So immediately after the reapings, Puck and their team went to work digging into the tributes' histories.

They'd gotten pretty good at it. Each of the tributes had an extensive file. Most of it was meaningless. Everything from family trees going back generations to last week's geometry test. But every so often among the rubble, they found a gem. Those were listed at the start of each file, and, of course, Puck could have simply given Malchus a list of the most relevant information. But they took pride in the work they and their team had done, and it was nice to be able to hand over a complete record to show how much work they'd put in.

Malchus shook his head, flipping through the report. "Wow. With all this, it's a wonder they didn't consider you for my job."

Puck chuckled. "Not my area." They'd always enjoyed working behind the scenes. "Have fun out there."

"You're sure you don't want me to give you a mention?"

"Better to keep it quiet," Puck reasoned. "The second the districts know we're doing this, our job becomes harder. Right now, they don't know we're collecting this information. Even if they suspect it, they don't know how we're doing it. It's better that way; it makes them less likely to try to hide anything." They clapped Malchus on the shoulder. "Looks like you've got some reading to do before the show. Better get to it." They smiled.

"You're on in two hours."


Langston Carnelian, 17
Friend of Justus Freeman

"Welcome, welcome, welcome to tonight's main event!"

Langston settled into his chair as the voice of the Hunger Games' new host, Malchus Fritz, echoed through the room. So far, Malchus had proven to be everything that was expected of a host – vibrant, energetic, and optimistic about even the most hopeless of tributes. That was the job, of course. He was there to try and make everyone look good. To give everyone a few moments in the spotlight before they started to fade into the blood and chaos at the start of the Games.

Langston stole a glance at his younger sisters, already seated near his parents on their couch. Their aunt had also joined them, sitting in a rocking chair nearby, silent. It was an odd silence, a silence that seemed to have come over the whole district when the training scores had been announced earlier that day. This wasn't what they were used to. Even Justus, who had always been near the top of his class at the academy, had only scored a six.

Maybe that was part of the plan. Justus always seemed to have a plan. It was deliberate; it had to be. But what could he possibly hope to gain by scoring so low?

Langston shook his head. He would just have to hope that his friend had a plan. In the meantime, he would just have to sit back and enjoy the show. Just like normal.

It was different this year, though. He'd known a few of the tributes from previous years, of course, but none as closely as he knew Justus. And for years in District One, the tributes had known exactly what they were getting into. It had been years – decades – since a tribute from District One had gone into the Games unprepared.

Unprepared was exactly the word that came to mind when their first tribute, Mae, took the stage. The audience cheered, more out of habit than anything else, as she entered, wearing a white blouse with a black ascot, a black skirt, and a white belt. Her hair was pulled back, but she kept fiddling with it, trying to get it just right, as she took a seat across from Malchus.

Malchus ignored the fidgeting, grinning as the audience's clapping subsided. "Welcome, Mae. What do you think of the Capitol so far?"

"It'd be a lot nicer if there wasn't a chance I was going to die tomorrow," Mae answered matter-of-factly, earning a few laughs from the audience. Mae looked around, confused, as if she was unsure why the audience was laughing. "It … it wasn't a joke."

"Of course not, my dear," Malchus agreed. "We know you Careers take the Games very seriously."

"I'm not a Career," Mae replied flatly, earning another round of chuckles.

"Maybe you're not as experienced as some of the other Careers," Malchus conceded. "But I hear you're a member of this year's pack, if we may call it that."

"You may."

"Pardon?"

"You may call it that." Mae glanced around, confused, as the audience barely contained its giggling. Langston leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. If Justus had let her into the pack, he must have been really desperate. Which of the other Career-district tributes were in the so-called Career pack? How many of them really deserved to be there?

It was obvious as he walked onstage, trading glances with Mae, that Consus hadn't even bothered pretending to be part of the pack. He was smiling a little – more than Mae had been, at least – but as soon as he sank into the chair across from Malchus, the smile faded. Maybe everything was really sinking in now. Or maybe he just didn't like crowds. Consus shifted a little in his chair, trying – and apparently failing – to find a comfortable position.

"Welcome, Consus." Malchus continued to ignore the fidgeting. "I hear you will not be joining the Career pack this year."

"You heard right," Consus agreed, not even bothering to pretend otherwise. "I guess they weren't quite desperate enough to consider taking me. Although it seems a couple people with fives got in, so a four might have been right on the cusp of their requirements."

Malchus chuckled, and Langston glanced at the information that was appearing on the side of the screen – all the tributes who had scored fives, in case the audience at home wanted to take a guess at who he was talking about. Mae, obviously, but he had said a couple. So at least one of the others…

Fives. That was Genevieve, Leo, Charu, Triticum, and Connor. Genevieve seemed like the most obvious choice, but was the Career pack really going to include three of the tributes from One when they had scored so low? That could be enough to give them a majority in the pack, depending on how many members they'd managed to accumulate. Consus had said they were desperate. How much of that was true, of course, and how much of that was him bluffing, they had no way to know.

Langston turned his attention back to the screen, where Malchus was asking Consus about his family. "Of course, my dad wishes Lorinda was the one up here instead of me." He chuckled a little. "I guess we all do. I'm sure she'd be much more entertaining."

"Was she hoping to volunteer this year?" Malchus asked, his tone giving away that he already knew the answer.

"Probably not this year. She's seventeen, so she's still got a year left."

"Ah, so she still has a chance next year."

Consus shrugged. "Well, District One hasn't had back-to-back Victors yet. Maybe this year."

Langston couldn't help a smile. In almost fifty years now, back-to-back victories was a feat only two districts had achieved – and not the ones anyone would have expected when the Games had begun. Tobiah and Crispin had won consecutive years for District Nine back during the 18th and 19th Games. Then, more recently, Adalyn and Oliver from District Five had won the 44th and 45th. Not exactly the most likely occurrence to hope for.

Langston pushed the thought from his head. Right now, he didn't care about whether District One won next year's Games. This year would be good enough for him. His friend coming home alive would be good enough.

Genevieve was next to take the stage, wearing a white pantsuit studded with small gems. An interesting choice, but none of the gems seemed to shine as brightly as her smile. Malchus seemed to relax a little as he realized he was finally going to get someone who acted like a proper Career, even if she wasn't. "Welcome, Genevieve," he beamed as she took a seat across from him. "I hear you're quite the Games aficionado."

"I suppose you could say that," Genevieve shrugged, feigning modesty. "Most of us in District One are."

"To some extent, sure," Malchus agreed. "I suppose it's easier to be a fan of the Games in a district that has a history of winning."

Langston raised an eyebrow. Where was he going with that? But Genevieve didn't miss a beat. "That we do! In fact, the first Games I remember is Jasper's. That Neverland arena was one of the best, in my opinion. And that finale! How often do the Games come down to a battle between three Careers?"

"Not as often as you'd think, considering your training," Malchus reasoned. "Tell me, what do you think it is that keeps Careers from winning … well, more often?"

Genevieve hesitated a moment, caught off-guard. "Pardon?"

"Well, with the level of training the Careers have, you'd think they would win every Games. Or almost every Games. But from the start of Career training, there have been … what? Eighteen Career Victors?"

"Nineteen," Genevieve corrected automatically. "Jade, Stellar, Felix, Scarlet, Amelia, Jasper, Mortimer, Ariadne, Balthasar, Harriet, Tosh, Naomi, Misha, Kalypso, Bierce, Imalia, Camden, Adalyn, and Oliver."

"I stand corrected," Malchus conceded. "But nineteen out of forty nine is less than a majority, even. What do you feel is holding you back?"

He was fishing for something. But what? Genevieve thought for a moment before answering. "I think sometimes Careers forget how important the audience is. They take supplies and weapons at the cornucopia for granted, so they don't need to be as … appealing as some of the outer-district tributes in order to earn sponsor gifts. Until they do. Until suddenly their supplies, their weapons, their allies are all gone, and the audience is already rooting for someone else. So if there's one thing I'd say is important for Careers, it's making an impression early, giving the audience a reason to support them."

"And you intend to do that?" Malchus' smile was enough to tell that was exactly the answer he'd been looking for.

Genevieve nodded. "Absolutely."

She gave Justus a wink as they traded places. Justus grinned back, then practically sprinted onstage and slid into a seat across from Malchus. "Welcome, Justus," Malchus chuckled a little. "Someone looks eager for things to get started."

Justus made a show of looking around innocently. "Who? Me?" That earned a few laughs from the audience, who were happy to see another Career acting like a Career, despite his relatively low training score.

"So, Justus, what do you say we dive right in and tackle the elephant in the room? You've become something of a leader in this year's Career pack. Is that fair to say?"

"I'd like to think so."

"Are you worried that your rather … mediocre training score might jeopardize that position?"

Justus didn't miss a beat; Felix had obviously prepared him for that one. "Not at all, Malchus. See, leading a Career pack is a difficult task in a normal year, but this year is something different entirely. Obviously, a leader needs to be competent, but they also need to be able to lead, and that's something that can't be measured in a private session where you're the only one demonstrating your skills. I think the rest of the pack recognizes that I'm the best choice."

"Let's talk about that for a moment – the rest of the pack. Two of your district partners – Mae and Genevieve, who we just saw. Two of the tributes from Two – Etora and Darian. And two from Five – Macauley and Elliot, I believe." He knew. Of course he knew. So why was he asking?

"That's right. It's a slightly larger pack than normal, but this isn't exactly a normal year."

"Is there a reason you didn't consider making it a big larger?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, two of the other tributes from Two scored rather high. Is there a reason you didn't invite them into the pack?"

"They weren't interested."

"Ah, I see. Are you sure you didn't just want your district to hold a majority in the pack?"

"Three out of seven isn't a majority." Justus was grasping at straws.

"A plurality, then." Malchus shrugged off the technicality. "If you had four tributes from another district, that might disrupt the balance of the Career pack – and, if I may be so bold, not in your favor."

"That has nothing to do with it," Justus answered flatly.

But not very convincingly.


Trisha Lang, 14
Friend of Darian Travers

Darian was part of the Career pack.

Trisha was still letting the words sink in as Justus left the stage. Maybe she should have expected that when she'd seen his training score, but it still felt strange. Darian had never really shown any interest at all in training – not until a few weeks before…

Before it had all gone wrong. Before Voss had finally crossed a line. Before Darian had challenged him to a fight. Trisha wrung her hands as Etora took the stage. She'd never imagined that he would be capable of actually killing someone. In District Two, of course, it was practically seen as a badge of honor for someone to have blood on their hands. But she had never pictured Darian wearing that badge.

It had been one thing with Voss. But the Games … most of these tributes had never done anything to him. To anyone. This was different. She was used to seeing people kill in the Games, of course. But never anyone she had known. Never anyone who was her friend.

Trisha shook herself from her thoughts as Etora took the stage with a confident smile, wearing a sleek red calf-length dress adorned with gold, a gold bracelet, diamond stud earrings, and black flats. Seeing her now, it wasn't really a surprise that Malchus had named her as a member of the pack. Aside from her age, she was everything District Two had come to expect from a Career. The knowing smile, the confident swagger, the hungry look in her eyes. She wanted this. Maybe she hadn't wanted it quite this soon, but she wasn't about to let anyone write her off just because of her age.

"Welcome, Etora," Malchus began. "How are you feeling tonight? Prepared?"

"Very prepared, Malchus," Etora agreed. "I've been training for this for years."

"Not as many years as some of the others," Malchus pointed out.

Etora didn't miss a beat. "Quality over quantity, Malchus. I've always been at the top of my class. It would only have been a matter of time before I was picked, anyway. How many of the others can say that?"

"Not many, I would imagine," Malchus conceded. "And your training score would seem to speak for itself. A nine is pretty impressive for any Career, let alone such a young one."

"Thank you, Malchus, but once we're in the Games, I believe my actions will speak even louder than my training score."

"And what about your allies? A few of their scores were a bit … unimpressive."

Etora shrugged. "They'll have a chance to prove themselves tomorrow. Those who aren't really up to the task … well, we'll find out soon enough, won't we."

Up to the task. Trisha shook her head as the girl continued, hoping that Darian would be one of the ones who was up to the task. His training score had been pretty good, but she couldn't imagine him being as gung-ho about killing as Etora was.

Soon, her time was up, and Darian took the stage, wearing a red suit with gold trim, black pants, and shiny black shoes. The red and gold matched Etora's dress, almost as if their stylists were trying to give the impression that they were a pair. And, in a way, maybe they were. They were two of the youngest members of the Career pack, both with high training scores, both from District Two.

But Etora had been training for years, and Darian … well, he hadn't. If they were trying to hold him to the same standards, he would fail. He wasn't ready. Couldn't be ready. But now he had no choice but to pretend to be and hope for the best.

Malchus smiled as Darian slid into a seat across from him. "Welcome, Darain. It seems there are a lot of rumors going around about you. Perhaps you can clear a few things up for us."

Darian leaned back in his chair, trying to give the appearance of nonchalance. "What is it you've heard?"

"That you had a bit of a … fight with another boy back in your district. A fight that didn't end well."

"For him."

"Didn't end well for him, then," Malchus corrected. "Is that a yes?"

Darian crossed his arms. "I believe the official report states that he was attacked by a wild animal while he was out collecting water."

Malchus leaned forward. "Yes, I believe the official report does say that."

Darian shrugged. "Why would the Peacekeepers lie? They certainly wouldn't lie for me. Even if you were to suggest that they were bribed, what would I have to bribe them with? I'm not a businessman. Not a politician. I'm just a kid." He smirked. "Right?"

"So it would seem."

"And animal attacks aren't unheard of. In fact, you'd be surprised what even the tamest of animals is capable of if it's backed into a corner. If it's … provoked."

Malchus nodded. "I see. I would say that's a fairly common occurrence in the Games, as well."

"Animal attacks?"

"Being provoked. Or backed into a corner. When it comes down to it, the tamest animals can offer the biggest surprises. Isn't the same true for tributes?"

"Of course. After all, we're all animals underneath, aren't we?"

And there it was. The truth buried in the half-lie. Maybe an animal had killed Voss, after all – or, at least, that was what the audience was meant to think. An animal that had been provoked. An animal named Darian.

Trisha could feel her stomach churning. That wasn't who her friend was. That wasn't who she wanted him to be. But it was who he would have to be if he wanted to survive the Games. Or, at least, it was who he would have to pretend to be.

She just hoped that, once he won, he would be able to stop pretending.


Amber Devereaux, 18
Sister of Margo Devereaux

It should have been her instead.

Amber ran her fingers through her hair as she waited. Waited for the moment that should have been hers. Margo had never wanted to be in the Games, but here she was – and doing quite well, at that. A seven wasn't bad for someone who had never spent a day training in their life. It was a pitiful score for a Career, of course, but Margo wasn't a Career. And from the sound of it, she hadn't made the mistake of trying to join the Career pack.

That was probably for the best, Amber reasoned as the next girl, Annemae, took the stage, wearing a floor-length dark blue dress and black flats. Amber had never seen her at the academy, but she'd somehow managed to score a ten. Definitely someone to watch out for, even if it could have been something of a fluke. After all, someone had to score high, and real Careers were in short supply this year.

Malchus was grinning as Annemae took a seat across from him. "Welcome, Annemae."

"Just Mae is fine, actually, if you don't mind."

Malchus nodded. "Of course, Mae. I think our audience can manage to keep track of two of you."

Mae wiped her brow dramatically. "Well, that's a relief. My mentor seemed to think it would be a bit confusing."

"Maybe if you were both part of the Career pack," Malchus reasoned. "Is that why they decided not to invite you to join them? Because it might be confusing to have two of you?"

Mae chuckled. "Maybe that's it. I haven't been able to think of another reason."

"Well, it certainly wasn't because of your training score."

Mae grinned. "I guess not. I suspect if they'd known my score would be that high, things might have gone a bit differently during training. But what's done is done, I suppose, and I think I've got myself a good ally."

Malchus leaned forward a little. "Ah. Care to tell us who that might be?"

He knew. Of course he knew. The Gamemakers were watching the tributes during training, and they couldn't possibly have neglected to pass it along to him. He was just priming the crowd, and Mae knew it, too. She leaned forward dramatically. "Why, my district partner, of course. Some of us have a sense of district loyalty. I think Margo and I make a good team."

Amber nearly burst out laughing. It was all an act. It had to be. There was no way someone who was actually Career caliber would have picked Margo as an ally. A seven was nothing terrible, of course, for someone who hadn't trained, but it certainly wasn't a ten. And whatever Mae had done to earn a ten, it hadn't been because of her skill. It couldn't have been. There was no way Margo would be able to fool someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Would she?

Amber was still laughing as Mae left the stage and Leo took her place, wearing a full dark grey suit and tie. Just a shade or two darker, and he would have been right at home at a funeral. Probably his own, if his performance at the reaping was anything to go by. Then again, he'd somehow managed to scrape out a five as a training score, so he must have done something right.

"Welcome, Leonardo," Malchus beamed as Leo took a seat. "Or do you prefer Leo?"

"Just Leo is fine," he answered quietly. "I've always thought 'Leonardo' was a bit too … showy."

Malchus chuckled. "Well, we can't have any of that, can we." The audience gave a few laughs. "Leo it is. I hear you've got quite the interesting job back in your district, Leo."

Leo nodded. "I'm a nurse."

"A nurse?" Malchus feigned surprise. "I didn't know they had those in District Two."

Leo smiled. "They have nurses everywhere."

"Well, I suppose someone has to patch up the brave young trainees who get injured at the academy. Any experience with that?"

"Not particularly," Leo admitted. "The academy has its own medical team. I work mostly with people who didn't mean to put themselves in harm's way. Not all of us have a craving for excitement and blood, you know."

Malchus chuckled. "Actually, I suspect there are some people who didn't know that about District Two, considering the sample that most of us see in the Games every year. I guess we're all used to seeing tributes from Two who are a bit more … enthusiastic about the Games."

Leo shrugged. "I suppose so. But I'm not going to sit here and pretend to be excited about killing. Not when all I want to do is help people."

Malchus leaned back in his chair. "Not much call for that in the arena."

"You'd be surprised. There's always someone who needs help."

Malchus nodded. "I see. And I take it you've found someone to help."

Leo shrugged. "I'd like to think the two of us will be helping each other."

"And who's the lucky tribute, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Why would I mind?"

Malchus leaned forward a little. "Well, some tributes like to keep their alliances a secret. Build suspense and all that. But you don't strike me as the sort."

Leo chuckled. "Afraid not. It's not exactly a secret. Barlen, from District Nine."

Amber couldn't help a chuckle. She remembered Barlen from the reapings. He hadn't even made it to the stage on his own. Of course he would need help in the arena, but what could he have to offer in return? Maybe a laugh. The two of them were probably perfect for each other, but not much of a threat.

Amber relaxed a little as Leo left the stage. At least there were some tributes in the arena who wouldn't pose much of a threat to the others. Some tributes who would be easy pickings when the time came. But why couldn't they all be like that?

They had been, of course, before Career training had begun. The Games had been a bit more of a free-for-all then, victory up for grabs for tributes from any district as long as they had the guts to do what had to be done. Career training had been a smart move, yes, but it also meant that tributes were held to a higher standard now – even those who would have no way to measure up, those who would never really have a chance now.

Finally, it was Margo's turn. Amber's eyes didn't leave the screen as her sister took the stage, smiling as she took a seat beside Malchus. She wore a short, dark red dress with a low neckline, black high heels, and red earrings in the shape of drops of blood. The stylists were certainly trying to tick all the usual Career boxes at once. Attractive, confident, and deadly. Margo wore a smile to match – a smile that might have convinced anyone but her own sister that she was completely prepared for what was coming.

But Amber knew better. Even for proper Careers, there was no such thing as 'completely prepared.' She wasn't completely prepared – could never have been completely prepared – for the Games. There were always surprises. Unexpected twists and turns. She just hoped Margo would have the sense not to buy into her own act.

The audience certainly seemed to be buying it. There were cheers and even a few whistles of approval as Margo gave them a wave. Amber could feel her face growing red. That should have been her. Could have been her, if it wasn't for the stupid Quell twist.

"So, Margo, I hear you've found yourself quite an ally," Malchus observed.

Margo was still smiling, but Amber could see a bit of a strain. Her ally had scored higher than her, which was reassuring, but it also meant that she could be seen as the less competent of the pair. The one who needed to prove herself in order to keep the alliance stable. Amber could only hope her sister wouldn't do anything rash.

"I think we both have," Margo answered coolly, and Amber relaxed a little. "I'm just glad we snatched each other up before the other Careers did."

"So you think you would have made good members of the pack?"

Amber crossed her arms. What was Malchus getting at? He'd been playing that angle for two districts so far, dropping hints that Margo and Mae should have been included. Was he trying to expand the pack himself? Or was he hoping that the two of them would try to join, and that the tension would tear the pack apart? But why would he by trying to break apart the pack this soon? The Games hadn't even started yet.

Margo, however, seemed unfazed – almost bored, as if she had expected that sort of question. Maybe she had. "I suppose we'll find out tomorrow, won't we." She leaned back in her chair. "Until then, there's not much point in speculating about who would have made a good member of the pack. Tomorrow's when the real fun begins," she finished with a wink at the audience.

Amber nodded, stealing a glance at their mother. They both had to admit, Margo was good at this. The audience was happy to see what they assumed was a competent, trained Career. Amber just hoped Margo would be able to keep up the act once they were actually in the Games. Bluster was no substitute for preparation, of course, but it might scare away some of the other tributes, and it might win her sponsors.

And in the end, that could make all the difference.


Morana Haims, 31
Mother of Merrik Haims

She couldn't imagine what he could have done.

Morana took a few deep breaths, struggling to calm herself. At least she wouldn't have to wait long to see him. She couldn't help feeling sorry for the mothers of tributes in the later districts. Ten, Eleven, Twelve. They would have to wait hours to see their children for only a few brief moments, and by then the audience would be restless and tired and ready to go home. At least Merrik had a chance of making an impression.

Still, she couldn't help wondering whether he'd already made the wrong sort of impression. What could he possibly have done to earn a one in training? Even in the outer districts, a score that low was almost unheard of, and almost always meant that a tribute was being singled out by the Gamemakers either as a hopeless weakling or as a target. But she couldn't imagine what Merrik might have done to make them think he was either of those. He had always been a good boy, always trying to help out. Sometimes trying a little too hard, perhaps, but there were worse problems to have.

She'd certainly been grateful for the help, once he'd been old enough to really lend a hand. Old enough that she didn't have to lock him away while she was at work for fear that he might accidentally hurt himself. Maybe it hadn't been fair, but she'd been a young mother herself. She hadn't had the money to hire someone to watch him, and she'd needed to work. Besides, he'd turned out all right in the end.

Hadn't he?

This wasn't her fault. That was what she kept trying to tell herself. But she couldn't shake the feeling that if she'd only worked a little harder, if she'd done a little more, if she'd made a little more for them, then Merrik wouldn't have had to take as much tesserae. Maybe that would have made the difference. Maybe he would have been safe.

Maybe. But that was all she had. She would never know for sure whether one or two fewer slips would have made a difference. And, in a way, that was worse than knowing. Morana shook her head as Merrik took the stage, wearing a simple black and white suit and a slim black tie. He looked terrified, but whether that was specifically because of his low training score or simply because he was about to be thrown into the arena in the morning, she didn't know.

Maybe she would never know.

Malchus didn't waste any time. "So, Merrik, I hear there's something you'd like to tell us."

Merrik froze. Either he had no idea what Malchus was talking about, or he hadn't expected him to get right to the point. After a moment, though, he nodded. "There is."

Malchus nodded encouragingly. "Go ahead."

"I wanted to explain to the audience why … why I got such a low training score. And to ask for … well, for forgiveness. My ally Lena and I – we broke the rules during training. I didn't mean for things to get so out of hand, but they did. I should have stopped her, but … I didn't. I went along with it. And I'm sorry."

"So it wasn't your idea," Malchus prompted. "It was hers?"

Merrik nodded emphatically. "I should have done something, but … well, you know how District Six is."

Morana fought back a churning in the pit of her stomach. What was it that he and his ally had done? What could have been bad enough to earn such a low score from the Gamemakers? Bad enough for Merrik to turn on his ally and blame the whole thing on her? That was so unlike him – blaming someone else for … well, anything, really.

Malchus, however, seemed content with how the situation was playing out. "Can we assume, then, that you and your ally will be parting ways?"

"Absolutely," Merrik answered. "I called off the alliance as soon as I realized what she had done. I can only hope to be forgiven for my part in all of this." He shook his head. "I'm ready to play the Games – and to play them well. You can count on that." He turned his gaze to the cameras. "For everyone's sake."

Morana froze. For her sake. That was what he meant. Whatever it was he had done, she had no doubt that what he had said tonight was meant to protect her. President Grisom might not have his predecessor's penchant for exacting revenge on wrongdoers' families, but there was a first time for everything. Whatever happened in the Games, Merrik was trying to protect her. He was still thinking of her.

Morana wiped away a few tears as Merrik left the stage. That wasn't how things were supposed to be. She was supposed to protect him, not the other way around. She was the parent. He was the child. But he had always wanted to help others. He'd always wanted to help her. If he didn't come back…

Morana pushed the thought from her mind as Merrik's district partner, Dinah, took the stage, wearing a long grey ball gown and black high heels. She didn't bother waiting for Malchus to ask anything. Instead, she beamed as she took a seat. "Hello there! Quite an eventful night so far, isn't it?"

"It certainly is," Malchus agreed. "But not nearly as eventful as tomorrow promises to be."

Dinah chuckled. "That's certainly true, I suppose – although in a different way. Me, I'm glad things haven't been so 'eventful' for me so far."

Malchus leaned forward a little. "How do you mean?"

Dinah shrugged. "I just meant there hasn't been as much drama in my little alliance as there seems to be in some. Orphelia and I have been doing just fine, we both got ourselves rather decent training scores, and I'm afraid neither of us has anything to confess to you tonight."

That got a chuckle out of the audience, but Morana's face began to flush. Merrik had only confessed to … well, whatever it was he had done … to keep her safe. And maybe to save his own life, as well. He certainly hadn't wanted to turn on his ally, but what else could he have done?

"Well, that seems a shame," Malchus teased. "You're sure there's nothing juicy you want to share with us?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind sharing some of those juicy desserts that are backstage, if that's what you mean," Dinah offered, and the audience laughed.

Morana sighed, leaning back in her chair. She couldn't really blame the girl for trying to get a laugh out of the audience, even if it was at her son's expense. She was just doing the same thing Merrik was doing. The same thing all the tributes were doing. She was trying to survive.

But in order for Merrik to survive, she would have to die, and so would every other tribute on the stage tonight. Morana shook her head and turned away from the screen. She didn't want to see the rest. She didn't want to see their faces – the faces of the children who would have to die in order for her to hold her son again. She didn't want to remember their names, their faces, their stories.

She didn't want to know.


Eren Tillens, 42
Father of Aleyn Tillens

He hadn't really understood until now.

Eren shook his head as he watched the screen, waiting for his daughter to appear. Any other year, he would have been excited. Eager to catch a glimpse of which tributes might be promising, and which would be easy pickings for the stronger contenders. He may even have placed a wager or two with his friends from work.

But not this year. This year was different, and he had a feeling that, no matter how this year went, it would never be the same again. The Games had always seemed like a good alternative, an escape from the dreariness of everyday life in Four. At least something exciting was happening when the Games were on. And when he had grown up, there had been a steady stream of Careers from District Four, eager to take their chances in the Games. Even in more recent years, after the loss of the training academy, tributes had been careful to act like Careers, even if they were only Careers in name.

This year was different. Aleyn was different. She was no Career, and that had never bothered him. He'd enjoyed the Games, yes, but he'd never wanted to see Aleyn compete. She wasn't cut out for the Games – or so he had thought. But in the past few days, he'd found himself trying to believe differently. To convince himself that his daughter had what it took to make it home from the Games.

He'd almost managed to convince himself by the time she took the stage, wearing a simple, light purple dress and white flats. She looked so young, so … so happy. She wasn't, of course. She couldn't be happy to be there. She'd always been more like her mother, disgusted by the Games and what tributes had to do in order to win. But she was doing a good job of pretending.

Eren stole a glance at his wife. Milena's eyes were fixed on the screen, but he could see tears starting to form. Their little girl was about to be sent into the Games, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He'd always assumed that if she was chosen, someone would be there, prepared to volunteer. Volunteers weren't as much of a guarantee as they used to be, but surely someone would have volunteered in her place, if they could.

If they could. But they couldn't. So instead of a Career, it was his own daughter taking a seat next to Malchus, doing her best to smile and wave at the audience. "Hello, Aleyn," Malchus beamed, as if he hadn't spent the night saying the same words to almost a dozen other tributes. And even more were to come. They weren't even halfway through the interviews yet. Eren drummed his fingers on his leg, waiting for Aleyn to respond.

It took her a moment to realize she was supposed to say something. Maybe it was just stage fright. "Hello, Malchus," she answered at last. "It's good to finally meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine, Aleyn," Malchus assured her. "It looks like it's going to be quite a year, and I'm thrilled to be a part of it."

He'd left the door wide open for her to enthusiastically agree, but instead, Aleyn just nodded a little. "I guess that makes sense. You've probably been waiting your whole life for this."

"Just like so many young hopefuls back in your district," Malchus agreed. "But you got here first. How does that feel?"

Finally, Aleyn caught on. "Good. It feels really good to be here." She didn't sound particularly convincing, but maybe it would be enough for the audience. "I'm really looking forward to tomorrow."

"And what are you looking forward to the most?" Malchus prompted.

Aleyn leaned forward a little, getting a little more comfortable. "I guess I'm looking forward to seeing the arena. I know the Gamemakers must have something special planned. This is a Quarter Quell, after all. I'm sure it'll be the best arena yet."

Eren nodded approvingly. Considering her rather low training score and lack of fighting skills, flattery probably wasn't a bad way to go to try to please the sponsors. Maybe it wouldn't earn her any sponsor gifts right away, but if she managed to last a while…

Eren watched silently as Aleyn left the stage – the last time he would see her before the Games began. What if she didn't last a while? She could be dead in a day, and most people in Panem wouldn't give her death a second thought. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. This was why they needed the Career system – to keep children like Aleyn out of the Games.

And children like quite a few of the others from the Career districts, if the interviews so far were anything to go by. So many of the usual Career districts had sent younger tributes. And, yes, some of them were more prepared, but given four or five more years, they could have been even better. They could have had even more of a chance.

Eren shook the thought from his head. The less prepared the other tributes were, after all, the better things would be for Aleyn. So the sight of the next girl, Arabel, should have made him happy. She was smiling broadly as she took the stage, but she clearly didn't want to be there any more than Aleyn did. That was better for him, of course. And better for his daughter.

But he couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She didn't deserve to be onstage any more than Aleyn did. Their places should have gone to Careers. To tributes who wanted to be there.

Next year, of course, everything would be back to normal. But that would be too late to help Aleyn. Eren shook his head as he watched the other girl, who was wearing a light blue dress, the sleeves and neckline covered in lace. She looked so young – younger than her fifteen years. She certainly looked younger than Aleyn.

Maybe that was what the stylists had been going for, Eren realized as the girl responded to Malchus' compliment about her dress with a little giggle. "Well, thank you, Malchus. I had it made just for this occasion."

That earned a laugh from the audience, and Malchus smiled. "You seem to be taking this quite well, all things considered. A six in training, a good group of allies. It seems like you're all set."

"I certainly hope so," Arabel agreed. "I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous, but … well, who wouldn't be?"

"Who, indeed." Malchus smiled warmly. "After all, it's a big day tomorrow – for all of us, but especially the thirty-five of you actually going into the Games. How do you suppose your alliance will fare at the start?"

"I'm just hoping we all make it out alive," Arabel admitted. "That would be quite the accomplishment for a group as large as ours."

Not a bad idea, really – setting the bar low. That way, even if Arabel and her allies – whoever they might be – didn't make it away from the bloodbath with anything, they would still look like contenders if they all managed to get away. Eren nodded as the girl continued to giggle along with Malchus. She apparently had some idea of what she was doing, and that … well, that could be dangerous.

Then again, for all he knew, she might be one of Aleyn's allies. Neither of the girls had said anything about who their allies were. Was Aleyn part of the larger group she was talking about? Maybe. Maybe the two of them were staying tight-lipped on purpose. Or maybe it was a coincidence that neither of them had brought the subject up. If there wasn't anything particularly remarkable about either of their alliances, there would be no reason for Malchus to focus on the topic, and they only had a short amount of time.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before Arabel's time was up and Emmett took her place, settling stiffly into his chair and glaring at the cameras. "Good evening, Emmett," Malchus beamed, unbothered by the tribute's hard stare. "I hear you're one of the few tributes who's decided to go it alone this year. Is that right?"

"Yes."

Malchus waited a moment, as if hoping for more of an answer. When nothing seemed forthcoming, he continued. "So tell me, what made you decide not to seek out an alliance, especially with so many options? Was there no one who met your standards?" he asked with a wink.

"No one who would have made a good ally, no," Emmett answered vaguely.

"I suppose sometimes alliances are more trouble than they're worth," Malchus reasoned. "At least this way, you won't have to worry about an ally turning on you in the middle of the Games." Nothing. No response. So Malchus decided to try a different angle. "I hear that you were quite the trainee once. Care to share what happened that made you decide it wasn't for you?"

"No."

"Pardon?"

"No, I don't want to share."

Malchus smirked. "Are you sure? I'm sure the audience would love to hear it. Would you like me to tell them?"

Emmett sprang to his feet, his hands clenched tightly into fists. "Don't you dare, you little—" he started, but then froze, catching himself. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at Malchus, who sat, unflinching, little more than a foot away. Maybe he was trying to figure out whether he'd be able to make a move against the Capitolite before the guards who were waiting offstage took him down.

If that was what he was thinking about, he apparently decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stormed off the stage, leaving the audience wondering what Malchus might have been getting at. For his part, Malchus shrugged off the outburst, motioning offstage for the next tribute to join him.

Ronan was shaking his head as he took Emmett's place, wearing a dark blue suit and a matching light blue tie with something sticking out of the top pocket. Eren couldn't quite tell what it was, but Malchus didn't seem concerned about the possibility that it might be a weapon. "Well, that was exciting," Malchus remarked as Ronan took a seat beside him. "What do you say we save any more surprises for the arena tomorrow?"

Ronan chuckled. "That's fine by me, Malchus. I promise not to try to throttle you if you ask me the wrong question."

"Good to know, good to know," Malchus agreed. "So I won't get in trouble if I ask you what you've got in your pocket there?"

"Not at all." Ronan reached into his pocket, still smiling as he removed a pair of glasses. "What do you think?" he asked as he put them on.

Malchus smiled. "Not exactly what I was expecting. I take it those are your district token."

Ronan nodded. "Usually, I only use them for reading. When I first got them, my little sister Brynn didn't even recognize me. Thought I was a complete stranger at first." He shrugged. "In her defense, she was barely two years old at the time."

That got a few chuckles from the audience, as well as a few "aww"s. "I don't suppose they'll be much help in the arena," Ronan admitted. "But I didn't really have anything else I wanted to risk losing in the arena. And I figure maybe they'll help me see who's a friend and who isn't."

That got another round of laughter from the audience. "I hear you've found a few friends already," Malchus observed. "Care to tell us about your alliance?"

Ronan nodded. "Sure. Not exactly a secret. I'm working with Shanali and Kilian from District Eleven. Between us, we got some pretty good training scores, so I'm hoping we'll be able to do well."

Eren nodded. 'Pretty good' was an understatement, especially considering none of them were proper Careers. Ronan had earned a nine, and his allies from Eleven had earned a seven and an eight. Not bad at all for outer-district tributes, and some of the highest scores even among the so-called Careers.

So-called Careers. That was the tipping factor, really. In a regular Games, Ronan and his allies would never have scored so high. But with so few Careers to outscore them, someone had to score high. The Gamemakers had to set the bar a little lower, or everyone would have scored low. That was something they couldn't have if they wanted the sponsors to participate.

Eren shook his head as Ronan left the stage. The fact that the bar was lower only made Aleyn's three even less impressive than it already was. Sure, she was one of the younger tributes, but there were younger ones who had managed to outscore her. What sort of chance did she really have against tributes like Ronan? Against tributes like Emmett, who had been ready to attack the host of the Games? What chance did she really have of making it home again?

Eren turned his attention away from the screen. There were tears in his wife's eyes. Maybe she was wondering the same thing – wondering how slim the odds were that they would ever see their daughter again. But there was nothing they could do – nothing but wait and hope that Aleyn would be up to the challenge.

Nothing but hope that she would be able to surprise them.


"Your face, my thane, is as a book where men may read strange matters. To beguile the time, look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue."