Coria Beacon, District 5

I'm woken up late at night by crying.

Granted, I haven't been a heavy sleeper since long before my Games, but even if I were, I may still have been woken up.

It's a girl's crying. I can tell immediately.

Nuray.

I can't blame her for being worried. She's one of the youngest competitors, and she only earned a score of three from the Gamemakers. I don't expect her to do well, and it's easy to tell she feels the same way.

I should go over and talk to her. I probably won't be much help to her later—with her kind of score, she won't get donations, and I'd hate to keep them all away from Odyss.

And... I'm really not sure that she'll even get the chance to receive donations. She'd be easy fodder for the bloodbath. She can't run away quickly. Her only chance is just being lucky. Not being next to a Career's platform. The Careers being distracted by another tribute so she has time to get away.

But I really don't think she'll survive.

I hate to be a pessimist, but... After being in the Hunger Games... After sending ten children to their deaths... I want to be prepared. Because death happens. It's always looming around the corner when one is involved in the Games, and I'd be a fool to try and ignore it.

Just as I'd be horrible to try and ignore Nuray's distress.

I push away my covers and slide my legs around until my feet find their little, fuzzy house shoes. Having the presence of mind not to show myself in my skimpy robe, I grab a more substantial one—I think it's actually a bath robe, but it'll do—and go to my door. I slip the fluffier robe on and tie its waistband before quietly slipping out of my room.

I pad silently through the floor until I near her room. Holding my breath, I knock softly.

"Nuray? Can I come in?"

The sobs break off for a second, and then resume as sniffles. The door clicks open, lending a little light to the hallway. I step inside.

Nuray treads back to her bed and slouches on the foot of it. I shuffle over, take a seat next to her, and throw my arm around her shoulders.

"Why are you crying, sweetie?" I murmur, rubbing her arm a little.

"I'm scared," she ekes out through heavy sobs.

"Of what?" I pry gently.

"Of," she starts, repeating the word a few times before she can finish, "dying." She breaks down into weeping again.

"It's okay," I say, knowing neither of us believes it, but it's still nice to hear. "Don't worry about it, okay, sweetie?"

She looks at me tearfully and disbelievingly, her mouth ready to make a "w" sound, but her lungs not complying.

I smile sadly, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "I know things don't look good right now. And they might not look good for a while. But whatever you do, don't worry about it. Worrying only makes things worse. Do you think dying is bad?" I prompt. She nods. "But isn't worrying about dying horrible, too?" She nods again. "Then don't worry," I say quietly, leaning in close to her ear. "Just relax and do your best. There's nothing else you can do, and there's nothing else I would expect you to do. Okay?" I pull back a little bit, keeping a firm arm around her. It takes a minute, but she finally voices a broken "okay".

I smile at her again. "All right. Can I leave you to sleep, or do you want me to stay until you nod off?"

She looks at me for a second, tries to say something, and then gives up, shakily holding up two fingers instead. The second option.

"Okay. I'll stay."

Nuray takes a deep breath, her sobbing starting to weaken.

"Shall I tuck you in?" I offer. "You'll never get to sleep if you just sit here."

She nods, and, slowly, I coax her to lie down and I tuck the covers in underneath her, leaving her arm out so I can squeeze her hand.

And then I stay.

Because it's all I can really do.