This chapter changes POV part of the way through.

RPOV

My heart nearly stopped when I found Peeta lying motionless on his bedroom floor that first night after the Reaping, a clay jar of ointment clutched in his hand. I calmed down a little when I realized he was just passed out and not dead, and he came to as I hauled him up into a sitting position.

"I can't sleep in here," he whispered, rubbing his hand up and down his face. "I can't sleep in here without her."

"All right," I told him. "We'll move you downstairs then. Just until she comes home." He just nodded, seemingly still a bit dazed.

"Until she comes home," he repeated.

He's been sleeping in the extra downstairs bedroom ever since. If you count screaming out in terror or wandering around the house aimlessly for half the night, sleeping. He refuses to take his prosthetic leg off now, even to sleep. I've had to call Mrs. Everdeen over here a couple of times already to rub some kind of ointment into his skin as it's getting all red and sore looking, but he doesn't seem to notice. It's almost like he welcomes the pain and discomfort.

Madge and I have managed to distract him most of the times the TV has clicked on with updates on the Quell. There's been footage of the Victor/tributes arriving at the Capitol, news stories on the betting lines on who's going to win, and recaps of the reapings in the various districts. They've also been replaying a lot of the Games won by the various Quell tributes, but that hasn't been mandatory viewing, so at least Peeta hasn't had to watch his old Games. So far we've managed to avoid him having another complete breakdown, but it's been close a few times. Mrs. Everdeen told us that if he gets to breathing that hard and fast again to have him breathe into a bakery bag for a minute to help calm him down. It sounded ridiculous when she told us that, but we've had to do it a couple of times now and it's worked both times, so she definitely knows what she's talking about.

I've still been working at the bakery every day. Dad has graciously let me switch to the later shift so I can be here in the morning when Madge is at school. Since the Quell is starting earlier in the year than a regular Games, the school is running up until the day that the Quell begins. Madge comes back around 2 pm and I leave for the bakery around 11 am, so we've been having Hazelle come and check in on Peeta during the times when neither of us are here. I've made sure to keep Mrs. Everdeen and Prim well stocked in bread and other baked goods, using Peeta's ingredients for those since he's all but stopped baking himself. The only thing he seems to want to do is paint. He's been spending hours and hours up in his painting studio, so much that we've already had to order more supplies for him.

I can't help but worry about him. He's been like a small child. Madge and I have had to make sure he eats and bathes, we've had to tell him when to go to sleep and when to wake up. Katniss has only been gone a few days. If he's this bad before the Quell even starts, I'm not sure how he's going to stand actually watching it. The Tribute Parade is tonight, so I guess we'll start to find out.

KPOV

I stand staring straight ahead as Cinna puts the finishing touches on my parade outfit. The costume looks deceptively simple at first, just a fitted black jumpsuit that covers me from the neck down. My face is heavily made up, with high arching eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, smoldering eyes, and deep purple lips. He winks at me before pressing a button on the sleeve just inside the fabric on my wrist, and the jumpsuit slowly comes to life, gradually transforming from a soft, golden light to the orange-red of burning coal. I look like I've been coated in glowing embers from our fireplace.

Cinna turns me towards a mirror. "What do you think?"

"I think, this is just what I needed to face the others," I tell him.

"Yes, I think your days of pink lipstick and ribbons are behind you," says Cinna. "When you're on the chariot this time, no waving or smiling. I want you to just look straight ahead, as if this whole thing is beneath you."

I nod. "I think I can try that."

I can act like this whole thing is beneath me, but it's highly unlikely that it will be believable. I'm not that good of an actress, and anyone who has ever seen me with Peeta will likely know that my heart is aching being away from him. I can't think about him being knocked to his knees by that Peacekeeper at the Reaping without wanting to cry, but I really can't imagine how he is faring right now, having to be at home and not knowing what is going on with me until there's an update on the television.

I remember pulling Rye aside at his and Madge's wedding and asking him to look after Peeta if I was the one who was reaped. "He'll need someone to make sure he's taking care of himself," I said to Rye. "He won't say anything though, because he still doesn't think he's worth worrying about, so you have to promise me that you'll look after him."

"Madge and I have already talked about this," Rye had replied. "We've decided that we're just going to move into the house if you get reaped. That way one of us can always keep an eye on him. As long as that's okay with you," he added sheepishly. "I wasn't planning on asking Peet if it was okay with him, we're just going to insist on it."

"Oh thank you!" I whispered, throwing my arms around him for a quick hug. "That's perfect. You know, you really are almost as sweet as Peeta."

"Ah," he said, his ears reddening. "I think Peet rubbed off on me. There's no way I could have gotten Madge to marry me otherwise."

I've barely said a word to anyone since Peacekeeper Thread forced me into the Justice Building to be transported to the train bound for the Capitol, my goodbyes dying on my lips as the door slammed shut and locked in front of me. I'd barely had time to feel Peeta's hand around my own one more time before I was torn away from him, his cries of anguish and disbelief tearing my heart into tiny little pieces. I'm not sure how we could have stood saying goodbye to each other, so maybe that part was for the best.

Effie and Cinna are the only other people staying here with me in the penthouse, and I haven't really seen either one of them that much, except for meals. It's really strange how quiet it is without Haymitch and Peeta's bantering back and forth and Effie's clucking over everything in her wigs and high heels.

Oh, and I've realized what happened to Darius. After he tried to intervene that horrible day when Peeta was whipped he apparently was arrested and transported to the Capitol to become an Avox. He's the one who served our dinner last night. I even thought I saw tears in his eyes when he looked at me, but right then Effie dismissed him and I couldn't decide if it had been real or if I had just imagined it.

Effie insisted that we watch a recap of the reapings on the train ride here. "You need to know who you'll be up against," she had said, her voice quiet.

Since then, I've seen a few of them around the Training Center. There's Cashmere from District 1, who volunteered and won the year after her brother Gloss. She's blonde and blue-eyed and busty. And brutal, from what I've heard and seen. There's Brutus from District 2, who must be at least forty years old by now and apparently can't wait to get back into the arena. And Beetee Laiter from District 3, who's a tech geek from what I remember Haymitch saying, and won his Games by electrocuting a bunch of tributes all at the same time. He looks older and a little paunchy with thick glasses.

Finnick O'Dair is the District 4 tribute. I'm actually quite surprised that he was picked, having no doubt that these reapings were rigged and given how popular Finnick is in the Capitol. Maybe that's the problem, he'd gotten too popular for his own good. He won 10 years ago when he was just fourteen years old, the youngest Victor ever. Bronze-haired and green-eyed and deadly with weapons, Finnick is someone I'll have to watch out for.

Johanna Mason is the chosen tribute from District 7, their only living female Victor. She won her Games by pretending to be weak and helpless until the field had been narrowed to only a few remaining tributes. Then she grabbed an axe and turned deadly. She's another one I'll have to watch carefully.

A woman from District 8 who Effie called Cecelia, who looks to be around thirty, had to detach herself from the three small children who ran up to her at her Reaping. Chaff, a man from 11 who I know to be a good friend of Haymitch's. He's missing a hand, and apparently refused the Capitol's offer of a prosthetic after his Games.

Then there's me. Not surprisingly, the part where the Peacekeeper hit Peeta in the back of the head didn't make it into the final footage, but it was impossible to edit out all of his cries of disbelief and the broken looks on both of our faces.

Cinna has a few other things to take care of, so I decide to head downstairs to the ground floor of the Remake Center, which houses the huge gathering place for the tributes and their chariots before the opening ceremonies. Unlike last year, when all the tributes were glued to their chariots, the scene here is very social. All of these tributes know each other. Everyone except me, and I'm not really the best at socializing. That's more Peeta's strength than mine.

I'm standing next to my chariot talking to the horse when Finnick saunters over to me. He pops a sugar cube into his mouth and leans against the chariot, eyeing me up and down.

"Hello, Katniss," he says, as if we've known each other for years, when in fact we only met once before on our Victory Tour.

"Hello Finnick," I say, trying to match his casual tone, when I'm actually feeling very uncomfortable at how close he is to me.

"Want a sugar cube?" he asks, showing me his hand piled high. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but let's face it. They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I, well, if we see something sweet we better grab it quick."

I did have something sweet, and I was torn away from him.

I can't argue that Finnick isn't one of the most stunningly sensuous people on the planet, but I can honestly say that he's never been attractive to me. Where Peeta's boyish good looks and sweet charm are some of the reasons why I find him so amazingly beautiful, Finnick is all man, complete with a healthy dose of swagger. He's almost too pretty.

"No thanks," I say to the sugar. "I'd love to borrow that outfit sometime though."

Finnick scoffs, as he's dressed in a strategically knotted something that resembles a fishnet, covering just enough for him to not be technically naked.

"You look absolutely terrifying in that getup," he says. "What happened to the pretty little girl dresses?"

"I outgrew them," I say firmly, glaring at him through my heavy mascara.

Finnick just stares at me for a few seconds, then moves closer, leaning his head over to whisper in my ear. "How are you doing, really? Without Peeta here with you? You must miss him."

Something in his tone, like he's insinuating something mean or untrue about Peeta, infuriates me and I snap my head back and raise my hand as if to slap him. Only the realization that we're probably being filmed somewhere causes me to stop.

"Don't you dare mention his name to me!" I hiss at Finnick, trying hard not to let the tears fall and ruin my makeup. "Don't you dare mention him right now trying to make me look weak!"

Finnick just looks at me, his expression unreadable. "All right, girl on fire. All right." He leans in closer again. "Just remember, not everything in the Capitol is exactly how it appears." Then he tosses one of his sugar cubes in the air, catches it in his mouth, and walks away.

Damnit Finnick trying to rattle me, I think as I stroke the mane of my horse, trying to compose myself and wishing desperately that Peeta was here to hold my hand again. The last thing I need is for President Snow seeing me looking anything but stoic right now. And where have I heard that bit before about the Capitol?

"Tributes mount up! Tributes mount up!" an announcer is heard booming throughout the chariot area. I climb quickly up into my chariot and reach inside my sleeve for the button to turn on my costume. As I begin to glow, I can see people pointing at me and chattering, and I know that just like last year, I'll be the talk of the opening ceremonies.

The voice of the crowd rises into one universal scream as I roll into the fading evening light, surrounded on both sides with hundreds of huge drums beating. I don't react, simply fixing my eyes on a point far in the distance and try to pretend that there's no audience, no hysteria, no absolute loneliness at being here by myself. I catch brief glimpses of myself on the huge screens along the route. I look dark. Powerful. Unforgiving.

As I curve around into the loop of the City Circle, I can feel the eyes of the other tributes on me, just like last year. The tribute from District 6, a known morphling addict, seems especially riveted. Even President Snow, when he begins his customary speech welcoming the tributes, has his eyes fixated on me.

The next few days are spent training, if you can call it that. Three of the tributes don't even bother to show up, and a few others just spend the training time talking. I move automatically from station to station, trying to concentrate on things I need to practice on rather than spend the time shooting, which is what I'd rather be doing. I learn how make fish hooks and knots and practice my fire-starting. Cecelia from District 8 tells me a little about her kids at the station for knot-tying, while demonstrating to me how to braid vines into a strong rope. Beetee from District 3 strikes up a conversation with me about the new force field protecting the Gamemakers up in their balcony, presumably to avoid another incident like last year when I shot the arrow up at them. I can see Plutarch Heavensbee up there, watching the tributes intently but completely avoiding eye contact with me. The rest of the Gamemakers seem more preoccupied with their food and drink than paying any attention to the tributes.

Finally it's time for our evaluations. I wrack my brain all night before the evaluations, trying to decide what to perform without getting too high of a score. With these Victor/tributes, a high score would just put a huge target on my back and put me immediately on the defensive in the arena.

But as l sit here in the little room off of the evaluation area watching all of these people chattering nervously to each other, my aura of invincibility that I've been trying to project starts to crumble. Most of these people are really a lot like Peeta and me. They won their Games, either by chance or by force, but they won nonetheless and then thought they would be left alone to pick up the pieces of their lives, only to be thrust into the arena once again. Right now I don't know if I can actually kill them. But I made Peeta a promise. The night before the Reaping, we promised each other that whichever one of us was reaped, we would try as hard as we could to return home. I promised him I would try my best. How am I going to do that if I can't find it in myself to actually kill these people?

When they finally call my name, I end up not showing off my skills at making fish hooks or braiding ropes or shooting arrows. What I end up doing is taking a nearby Peacekeeper uniform and painting it with my fingers to look like Seneca Crane. And then I demonstrate my knot-tying skills and hang him. I want these Gamemakers to know that even their lives are potentially dispensable, and again, just like last year, I've managed to stun them silent.

And most likely just put a huge target on my back with my awarded score of twelve.

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