Hey again! The holidays sort of made it hard for me to write, but I know you guys probably don't want excuses and just want the chapter xD. This one is actually about the families and friends of the tributes. A few people were requesting it and I thought it would be a good idea. It was quite fun to write from some different perspectives, so I hope you like reading it as well.

Bellona Presque (26)- Head Gamemaker

It's my first night at my manor since these Hunger Games started. The spacious rooms are empty and smell like mold, and I ring the bell on the kitchen counter to wake my Avox. I wait impatiently for her to arrive, drumming my fingers on the marble counter and gazing around the room. I had always wanted to make this house my own, with my own decor and personal touch, but ever since moving in, I've been far too busy. These countertops are the same ones that were here when I moved in, as are the ugly tile walls and the disgusting pink wallpaper in the living room. I should make it a goal to truly renovate this place after the Games are over.

My Avox steps into the room, rubbing her eyes before quickly standing to attention.

"This room needs cleaning," I say sharply. "Just because I'm not here doesn't mean the house should be left to rot."

The Avox bows in apology and hurries away to the cleaning closet to retrieve her supplies. I hang my jacket on the coat hanger and retire to the living room, where I flick on the television. Footage from the arena is played on most channels some showing live feeds, others playing reruns of exciting moments, others making predictions and offering wagers to viewers, others playing interviews with the tributes, and even with me. I'm pleased to see my face on the screen, confident and cool as ever, my black hair glistening in the artificial light.

"What can we expect in the first Hunger Games after a twelve-year old victor?" Caesar asks me in an expectant voice.

"They will be no different, of course," I drawl. The dark green streaks in my hair highlight the aspects of green in my dress. "Except that some of the betting will be thrown off, I imagine. I think last year's Games were a reminder that anyone can win. Never discount anyone because of their age."

The double meaning of my words were apparent to the audience. I often was criticized last year when I was appointed, being the youngest female Gamemaker ever. Perhaps it's fitting that my first victor would also be an underdog.

However, I must say the sponsors and the Capitol have split opinions on these Games. Some are saying there haven't been enough deaths, others think the amount of tributes is exciting and will make for a longer Games. I can only hope that the remaining time in the arena will make up for the mediocre bloodbath, and that my plans for the tributes will entertain the Capitol enough to stay invested. I feel different than I did at the start of the Games. There has been no more disturbing news about the tributes, unlike during last year's Games, when Rowan had revealed what Tag Nylon had done. I shift uncomfortably in my seat just thinking about it, but I have no reason to be afraid. Livianus' son, the boy Rylex from Twelve, was killed in the bloodbath, making my job much easier. Livianus seemed slightly upset, but he must have known that a boy from Twelve didn't stand much of a chance of winning. He should be honored that his blood was chosen to die for his country.

I switch the television to a live feed of the Games. Claudius Templesmith's voice is soft as he narrates what's happening on-screen. Annoyed, I switch again to a silent live feed. I prefer to see what's happening for myself, thank you very much.

The screen is split, with one side showing the Careers returning to the Cornucopia. The girl from One, Passion, throws down her mace in frustration when she sees the supplies have been picked over. Marlowe agrees and starts pushing for another hunt after the thieves. On the other side, the pair from Eleven hurry back to the beach, grinning and laughing in excitement, water in their hands. The two have been a great ratings booster. Their friendship seemed to have warned the heart of even the most impassive sponsors. These Games, just like any other, are filled with both good and bad things. It's up to the tributes to ultimately make it what it is.

Precious Mavros (10)- D1- Passion's sister

Mom and Dad have been glued to the television screen ever since Passion left home, leaving Pride and I to our own devices at times. I'm pretty sure Pride didn't go to sleep at all last night, and he's passed out with his head on the kitchen table when I come down for breakfast. At least we don't have school later today since it's Saturday. It's a shame- I've been more of a celebrity than usual at school since my sister is in the Games.

"Dominic!" I scream, mimicking Passion. Where are the servants?

"I'm here, child," Dominic steps out of the pantry, his eyes dark and fatigued. "I'll make your breakfast in a moment."

I stick my chin in the air. "It should already be ready."

Dominic bows slightly. "Yes, little mistress."

I grin and skip into the living room, where Mom and Dad are sitting with the television on, Claudius Templesmith's voice hushedly narrating the events onscreen. "She's got to stay focused," Mom says with a sigh as she turns up the volume. She glances over at me. "Precious, come over here!"
I hurry to the television, gazing on my sister's face. Her face is slightly splattered with blood from the boy that she killed, panting hard with anger.

"What happened?" I ask, recognizing that expression anywhere.

"The Cornucopia was robbed," Dad says, coming to sit behind me and hold my shoulders. "The other tributes dishonored her, and now she has to take her revenge. Always remember, Precious, that the Mavros family name is more important than anything."

"If Passion wins, she'll have her own fortune," I chirp. "Then will I inherit the family fortune?"

Dad glances up to the awards and plaques of achievement in the glass case against the wall, the words "Light is out, Black is in!" plastered onto everything. Mom and Dad have always said that the family inheritance would go to whoever proved most worthy of it. I've been hearing about it since I was Pride's age.

"You still have Pride to compete with," Mom says sharply. "When is your dance class?"

"In a few hours," I say. "I want to stay here and watch Passion!"

Dad stands again. "Precious, Passion has her own struggles. You have to focus on your own. You don't want to end up as a nobody, do you?"

"No," I say, downcast.

"Mistress Precious, your breakfast is ready!"

I skip back into the kitchen, sitting at the black marble table and scooping eggs into my mouth. Dominic isn't alone in the kitchen anymore. His daughters have arrived, both of them looking sad and weary. I watch them curiously.

"Look happier," I order them. "Why are you sad?"

One of the daughters immediately bursts into tears and runs out of the room. Dominic watches her with sad eyes. "Poor Colette has been taking Callum's death hard," he murmurs.

"Why?" I demand. "Callum died for the glory of District One and your family."

He smiles sadly. "Yes. Now eat the rest of your food, Precious."

Kaine Thomason (14)- D8- Flux's best friend

I've been spending most of my time when I'm not in school at Flux's house with her parents, who are becoming simultaneously more worried and more hopeful each day. I refuse to let myself be truly hopeful, but I don't want to be cynical. A few days ago some kids were talking during lunch about how Flux and her partner Thimble weren't going to last until the final eight, and I had to control my temper to try to keep calm. I haven't been back to school since, instead skipping to go around graffitiing the abandoned warehouses.

I kick a rock as I shake up my can of paint, spraying another line on the gray wall in front of me. I've been trying to paint to take my mind off of Flux, but every thought I have is of her. My hand seems to automatically guide me to the portrait of the little girl from Seven. Her dark hair and bright green eyes are piercing enough that I can recall them from memory, though she's been dead for days.

I step back and admire my work, listening to the distant sounds of factory emissions and machines clinking, taking in the image of the smiling girl, a halo reminiscent of the victor's crown atop her head.

"Hey you, boy! Stop right there!"

My breath catches in my throat. Two Peacekeepers are standing at the other end of the alley formed between the two warehouses. I quickly grab all the paints I can and sprint away, hearing my breath grow sharper in my ears. I run until my knees give out and I collapse onto the concrete ground. I glance behind me, but it seems I've lost the Peacekeepers.

"Are you the one who's been painting around the warehouse district?"

I look up to see a slender woman with jet black hair and a long nose, wearing an expensive-looking red dress and high heels.

"So what if I am?" I ask, standing and puffing out my chest. I won't let any Peacekeeper bootlicker frighten me.

"You could get in huge trouble," she says, staring deep into my eyes. "Not just a slap on the wrist or even some flogging. I've seen what you've been painting. It's enough to kill you, do you know that?"

"Anything the Capitol hates is worth dying for," I hiss, bristling.

She looks me up and down for a moment, then smiles. "You're a brave one, that's for sure. Say, won't you paint something for Thimble Brier? I think the district could use some reassurance after watching him get stuck on that cliff. And I think he would appreciate it as well."

I raise an eyebrow at her, then snort and say, "Okay. Do you know him or something?"

She sighs. "Not as well as I should. Once you turn eighteen, boy, come down to the Red for anything you desire." With a swish of her dress, she's gone.

Sedrick Wight (22)- D3- Caillou's brother

People have always said that Caillou and I look alike, but I never saw it. But after watching her rise into the arena with a shaved head, I realized just how right they all are. I look in the mirror nowadays to see my own shaved hair and long nose and square face and I see hers as well.

"I have to head to work soon," I quietly tell Mom. She nods in assent and continues watching the television. It's old; a few pixels in the corner burned out, the screen flickering every now and then. It never bothered me before, but now I constantly worry that the screen will go out completely during an important moment for Caillou.

I used to hate going to work everyday after school, even more after I graduated and it became my all-consuming activity. But since Caillou was Reaped it's been like a relief to get to tear myself away from the screen and do mindless work for twelve hours. The factory is a nice monotony that numbs my brain for the day. I'd rather that Caillou die while I'm away than watch it happen and be unable to do anything about it.

I leave the small apartment in my overall uniform, watching as the rest of the district also head out to their jobs. A few apartments are completely dark, people heading out early rather than watch the Games. On my commute, I pass the home of the dead tribute Dylan Bronze. I had no idea who he or his parents were before the Reaping, but the tributes' families become celebrities of pity for a while. A pot of food, probably paid for by several families, is sitting on the doorstep. The apartment is dark and quiet. Who knows where the grieving parents are doing.

The square is also filled with people, mostly gamblers, who are watching the Games on the wide screen. Caillou's face is projected large, her hands stained with berry juice and her eyes tired and lethargic as she wakes up and gets ready for the day. A low murmur flows through the crowd, and a few people notice me walking past and stare. I turn to face the alley in front of me, disappearing into it and taking the long way to the factory. I don't like the others' sympathy no their pity.

All of this reminds me of when our grandfather died, except Caillou had still been here. We still felt like a family, just one member short. We had gotten stares in the streets then as well, and even some food left for us in our hard times by those who could afford it. Caillou had disappeared to her friend Jessica's house more nights than usual, and she spent more and more time at the station with our mother, helping her with her detective work. She had wanted to try and solve crimes in order to feel some kind of agency after grandfather's death, I think. But if Caillou dies in the Hunger Games, there won't be anything we can do. The Capitol is untouchable.

Roselle Everett (10)- D11- Luna's sister

Abella is snoring softly beside me, still peacefully sleeping. Though it's slightly late, and we should both get up to start chores, I don't want to wake her. Instead I listen to the sounds of the birds chirping outside and smelling the faint scent of peaches and wildflowers on the breeze flowing through the cracks in the wooden wall. Abella has been having a hard time sleeping ever since Luna was Reaped. She's too young to understand what the Games really are, but old enough to know she should be scared. At least she still has a few years to be a child. Next year will be my first year in the Reaping, and I'll have just as many slips of paper in the Reaping bowl as Luna did due to tesserae.

Unless Luna wins, in which case I'll only have one slip of paper with my name on it next year. My heart constricts in a similar feeling of helplessness.

The deafening sound of the front door closing puts a halt to my train of thought. Abella stirs next to me. I slowly sit up and slip out of bed, rubbing my eyes. Mom is in the main room in her picking clothes. The Hunger Games usually take place just before picking season. Abella and I will be out with our parents picking fruit in the orchards unless Luna wins and brings us her prize money. This will be Abella's first year in the trees instead of on the ground cleaning the fruits.

"Good morning," Mom says with a tired smile. "The shift master let me come home to check on you."

"That's nice of him," I say. She must have lucked out and got one of the more pleasant shift masters today. But I can hear the underlying meaning of her words- he didn't let her off to check on Abella and I, but rather on Luna.

Mom clicks on the television as she draws me in for a hug with her other arm. We both stare at the screen as the girl from Three paints her skin with berry juice. Not long after, the feed switches to Luna and Thorn sitting on the beach. They're both tired after a restless night, but at least they have water. I feel a flicker of hope begin to spark in my chest.

"The odds are in their favor now!"I say excitedly, turning to Mom.

She smiles at me. "Yes." She leans down so that she's on my level. "Don't lose hope, Roselle. Luna is strong and she'll do anything to come back to us."
"And she has Thorn to help her," I say assuredly.

"That's right. Roselle… won't you stay here and watch Luna to make sure she's alright? I have to go back to work soon."

"Of course," I say with a smile. I plop myself on the floor in front of the television and Mom smiles at me sadly.

"Thank you, Roselle. I'll send Jake over to keep you company."

She leaves, and not long after, our neighbor Jake appears. He sits with his legs crossed beside me and hands me a persimmon. "Where did you get this?" I gasp. "You didn't steal it did you?" I glance around us as if expecting Peacekeepers to burst into the house.

"Someone gave it to me," he says, sounding bittersweet. "A whole basket of them. I think it was someone who knows the other tribute, Thorn. The basket came with a note that said maybe he isn't a thorn in their side like they always thought."

Gaia Thames (18)- D4- Marlowe's best friend

I politely put my hand up to refuse breakfast from the family servant, instead sipping nervously on my tea. My mother is the only one who seems to care about my refusal, giving me a questioning eye, but she doesn't say anything. She really was the only person who ever cared about my deliberate denial of food. Everyone else knew, as I do, that it makes a woman more beautiful and more palatable to be delicate and dainty. Until I was too weak to complete daily training at the Academy, and I had to drop out.

When that happened, Marlowe was the only person who was there for me, because she understood to an extent. She also has trouble with acting normal. While I never say anything, Marlowe lashes out. While I avoid conflict, Marlowe seems to thrive on it. We bonded over our pain. Now I have no one except myself and my mother's slightly misplaced concern. She cares about my health, but not about me like Marlowe does.

"You're going to the doctor later," my mother reminds me. "But before that we're visiting the Baharis."

"Yes, Mom," I say delicately, taking another sip of tea. Personally, I think the family we should be visiting is that of the dead tribute Faroud. His mother is the only living member of his family, who lives alone in a house by the sea. Without her son, she's completely alone. But my parents, Marlowe's, and the rest of our neighborhood doesn't seem to care very much. Faroud failed, and that's it.

After breakfast, I take some time to watch last night's events in the arena. The Careers had returned to the Cornucopia and decided to rest, but I know they won't forgive their supplies being stolen. Especially Marlowe.

Marlowe's parents seem to think similarly when we go to visit them later. "Our girl is making us so proud!" Marlowe's mother exclaims over our slices of cake. I refuse to have any, a moment of self-control that she praises me for, but one for which my own mother gives me a disapproving side-eye.

"She's only had one kill so far, but I think everyone can tell how vicious and determined she is," Marlowe's father says, taking another bite of frosted chocolate cake. "The Capitol knows that the odds are in her favor. She has the best chance of winning and I'm sure the sponsors know that."

"And the most beautiful," Reggie, Marlowe's boyfriend, adds. I glance at him with a smile. Reggie has always been good to Marlowe, always forgiving her when she breaks her promises or cheats or even hits him, which has only happened once. But when he meets my eyes, I can see the worry there. The worry that maybe she has betrayed his trust since leaving Four. Maybe she's slept with other tributes, bad-mouthed him, or done something similar.

I nervously sip at my water, wondering if he would forgive her no matter what she did. If he could forgive her killing young children, then I suppose he wouldn't mind anything else.

Dornan Flint (26)- D12- Terra's brother

I wake to the sounds of the birds chirping outside and the sunlight streaming in through my window. I wordlessly sit up and start pulling on my clothes, preparing for a day at the mines. All I have in the house is a loaf of stale bread, and I tear off a chunk before heading outside. I don't bother checking the television for updates on the Games. I haven't watched since the bloodbath. Who's going to stop me? The mine supervisors give us updates during lunch anyway. Outside, the other miners are getting ready as well, making their soundless journey to the mines in their uniforms. I follow, hearing the screen door creak as it slowly closes. I hate being there. Terra was hardly ever home except for when she was sleeping, just as I was, but I hate knowing that she's not coming back. The small wooden structure is overly quiet and lonely now.

I keep my eyes out for Terra's friends and fellow thieves Lucy and Roman, but I haven't seen them in over five days. They tried to bring me food and some money when Terra was still alive, but it seems they've given up.

As I reach the lift which will take us down to the mines, I notice the boy Siggo waiting listlessly to the side, staring at the ground. I can sympathize with him. I didn't know it before the Games, but he was the best friend of the boy who died, Rylex. Everyone was disappointed and sad after both tributes died in the bloodbath, but we're all used to twelve not lasting long in the Hunger Games. The families are the ones that take it hard; who are easily identifiable by the dark, faraway look in their eyes. I remember the boy Rylex himself having that look five years ago after his brother died in the bloodbath. The cloud of gloom that seemed to follow him wherever he went. I saw it in so many others before this year, and now I'm the one who is in its grip.

I gently move over to where the boy Siggo is standing. He barely seems to take notice of me approaching. I recall Rylex's interview where he mentioned Siggo, and asked if he would want to be more than friends after the Games were over.

"Hey," I murmur softly to him. Siggo looks up at me with unfocused eyes.

"Yes?" he asks in confusion.

"I think Terra and Rylex were good friends," I say, getting right to the point. His eyes widen in realization as he recognizes me. "I'm glad Terra had a friend in her… last days."

Siggo's eyes fill with tears. "Rylex could have made a starving coyote his friend. He just loved everyone…"

I can tell he's about to start crying, so I put an arm around him as the lift starts to move slowly downward. I should have spent more time with Terra, but maybe I won't have to be completely alone without her.

Gregor Lavalée (40)- D7- Raven and Sparrow's father

I harrumph to myself as I watch the kids play outside, their easygoing laughter grating my ears. It reminds me too much of Raven's laughter when he was a child, carefree, running around with the neighborhood kids without a care in the world. His mother and I would watch fondly, chuckling to ourselves. It seems like that was a lifetime ago. I'm certainly a different person than I was when my wife was alive.

I can still see her beautiful blue-grey eyes, sharp and intense, just like Sparrow's. It hurt to look at Sparrow everyday, recalling the expression of fear and pain on her mother's face on the birth-bed, knowing that she was about to die. I could never forgive her. Even when Sparrow died on that screen, I didn't cry. I didn't feel anything, except a slight sense of relief. Only later did I feel some guilt. The love of my life died to give birth to her, and she died anyway. The world works in contradictory ways like that.

My stump leg thumps against the wooden floor as I move painstakingly to the kitchen, pouring myself some coffee. It's a common drink in Seven, but poorer families like my own can't afford it. The rest of the neighborhood had pitched in to buy me some, along with some food and warm clothes for the winter. They suspect that Raven won't make it home, and I'll be left without any means of supporting myself. I should have told them to leave me be; it's not like I'll live longer just because of some bread and milk they scrounged up for me. Come winter, I'll starve here in this little house all alone. It's not like I have much to live for anyway.

I flick on the television and take a drink of strong, bitter coffee as Raven's face appears on-screen. His skin is pale and his eyes are red, and I recognize the illness he carefully hid from me for weeks while he was in Seven. It has several names- the Cough, the marsh disease, the poor man's sickness. He was a fool for working down in the dangerous marshes. He knew the risks and he took them for Sparrow anyway, so she could have a good life. Just like he did in the Games, and look at what happened after volunteering. She died, and now he lives.

A knock on the door disturbs my thoughts. I grumble as I limp over, cracking the door and peering out with a distrustful eye. It's Raven's naive friend Sadie, waiting with a sweet, anxious smile. In her arms is a sweet pastry in a glass dish.

"Hello," she says with a wavering voice. "I brought you some pie. Dinah helped make it, but she's still too… she couldn't make it."

Dinah, Sparrow's best friend. I haven't seen her since the bloodbath.

"Thank you," I say gruffly, opening the door wider to grab the pie. "You shouldn't come around here anymore. I don't need your pity."

Sadie looks shocked. "Well, I'm sure Raven would want-"

"Raven is going to die and it won't matter what he would want," I snap, ignoring the shocked look on her face. "And he never cared about me in the first place. Take care of your own family, girl, before they're gone."

I shut the door in her face.

Ciera Rowley (19)- D5- Rai's best friend

I sip at my orange juice, lazily watching the day unfold outside my window. I don't have work today as a manager in training at my parents' factory, so I get to stay in and watch the Hunger Games. Lucky me.

My parents left this morning, off to visit the family of the surviving tribute, Volt. His parents are also a wealthy Five family, and very proud to have a son who outlived the bloodbath. But they've also been incredibly worried, especially his mother. She's been crying while doing her shopping in the market and coming into the factory that her husband owns just to weep in front of all of the workers. She's not the only one who is distraught over Volt. He's beloved by everyone at school, everyone who ever even spoke to him.

Rai, on the other hand, didn't have much of a hold on the people of Five. Nobody cared about her at all until her electric entrance in the Tribute Parade, but even then she was overshadowed in their eyes but charismatic Volt. Her interview was good as well… but then she was cut down in the bloodbath. Hatred fills my veins as I imagine the face of the girl from Two, Leto, standing over her body with a bloodstained whip like she was just taking care of business, not taking lives of innocent people. Everyone was over Rai's death in a heartbeat. No one knew her. She had no family; she grew up in the Care Home. No one knew about her job as an illegal Capitolite escort, and she had no other job where she could make friends. I think I'm the only person in Five who even knew she existed before she was Reaped. I was lucky to meet her

Eventually I tire of sitting around doing nothing. I don't want to watch the Games and see Volt's smirking face reminding me of Rai's loss. I grab some money from the locked cabinet in the library, a place my parents think thieves wouldn't know to look, and head out to the marketplace. It's about the only place in the district that I can stand aside from our neighborhood. The rest of the district is sad, grey, and constantly covered in a thick layer of smoke from the factories.

I avoid the street where Rai lived, taking a longer route. By the time I reach the market, the shops are already full of people shopping on their day off. Some desperately look at the price on every loaf of bread, every half-rotted vegetable for something they can afford. Others are milling around with their purses clutched tightly in their hands. A large projection of the Games are available to watch on the wall of the luxury clothing store, and several people have stopped to watch with rapt interest. I hurry past it and into the bakery.

The place is full of sweet treats, but my eyes zone in on the muffins. There's a plump blueberry one that looks delicious. I step up to pay for it, and the girl at the counter smiles at me.

"You're the friend of the girl who died," she says.

I blink in shock. "How did you know that?"

"I saw you two together sometimes," she says with a sad nod at the window. "She used to come in and buy cupcakes."

Rai did love her sweet food.

"She was a sweet girl," she says. "It's too bad that she died. I was rooting for her."

Maybe I'm not the only one who knew Rai existed. I smile and the girl as I take my muffin, leaving the shop with a spring in my step, and a renewed liking for Volt. It's not his fault he was the one who survived the bloodbath, or that he was born into a rich family like I was. He's the only shot we have left at a victor this year.

Twiggy Urakaka (18)- D9- Blossom's sister

The morning is silent around the field. The wooden houses are dark and unassuming as I walk through them in my plain brown buckskin. I'm not supposed to be out this early without permission from the elders, but I needed to get some air. Lately my dreams have been plagued with visions of Blossom burning to death on the pyre in the fashion the elders intended. The strange part about it, the reason that they have me so unnerved, is that she never screams. The flames lick at her ankles and then crawl up her dress to reach her body and face, even setting ablaze her heretical red hair, and she nevers lets out a peep. I shiver just thinking about it. The elders say that dreams are malicious visions that try to lead us away from the great Skull. I should just ignore the visions, but they rattle my mind more than they should.

I wander to the edge of the forest, where Paresh and Twiggy and I used to play as children. We knew even then that Blossom's red hair was a problem, but we had no idea what would come of it. It seems the elders didn't either, and that's what worries me the most. They were angry when Blossom volunteered for the Games. The great fire and the Skull demand a soul every year on reaping day, and they had no other victim to offer forth. They told everyone that this was all apart of the plan of the Skull. It was foreseen in the fire that Blossom would die in tribute to the Skull in the Hunger Games.

But what if she doesn't? I shiver even harder, rubbing my hands together as I come across a small clearing in the woods where we used to mock-burn Blossom for blasphemy. There's no guarantee that Blossom will die in the Games. She could survive and end up returning victorious, with all the protection in the world from the Capitol and the Peacekeepers. We'll never be able to get near her, let alone burn her.

My mind has been racing since the Reaping. I know it's horrible to think these thoughts. I should trust in the elders and the will of the great fire, but something doesn't seem right. I'm starting to wish I had gone to see Blossom after the Reaping to say goodbye. I shouldn't have been so distant after the elders proclaimed her a heretic.

"Twiggy?"

I turn to see my other sister Paresh standing with her arms crossed behind me at the edge of the woods. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I was just bored," I say.

"Doesn't mean you can be out here," she says impatiently. "And we have planting duty today. You better come do your morning dedications."

She's right. We head back to the house together, and eat our simple meal of unleavened grain and some goat milk with our parents. We perform our morning rites to the Skull god and light the hearth fire. The whole time, I think of Blossom.

The television in the Circle at the center of the village is on, blasting the Hunger Games. I watch it with interest as we pass on our way to the fields. The boy from Nine, Alder, just died yesterday. It was an emotional moment for me, and only me. The others couldn't care less what happens in the Hunger Games, as long as Blossom dies viciously. But I had grown attached to Alder, imagining him keeping Blossom company at the Capitol. They were both untrusting and shy, but I'm sure they got along. I wonder if she's sad about his death. I wonder how his family feels after losing someone so tragically who was supposed to live a long happy life outside of the cult. All I have is my imagination, because unless Blossom wins and is able to help me escape, I'll never know what it's like to exist outside of this place.

Homer Ventus (18)- D2- Cyprian's best friend

The Training Academy is busier than ever during the Hunger Games. There's something about watching the death and action on-screen that makes everyone foam at the mouth for some blood. The trainees are constantly packed in the training gym, watching the Games on the big screen on the wall if something interesting is happening, and otherwise sparring with each other. There was cheering last night when the Career pack killed Jeremy and Alder, especially when Cyprian finished off Jeremy. It was a popularity boost that he desperately needed. People have been confused and upset about his secret alliance with the guy from Five, Volt.

"Hey, Homer, will you help me spar?" a fifteen-year old trainee shyly asks me, offering a dull training sword. I take it with a smile.

"Of course! Let's find our own corner."

Though I don't have any more chances to volunteer, given that this was my last Reaping, I'm somewhat of a celebrity right now among the trainees. Everyone knew that I'm Cyprian's best friend, and all of the younger trainees want to train with me. It's the same with Leto's best friend Adrienne, who is only sixteen. She's been training with all of the younger girls, chit-chatting and laughing amicably with everyone. The word in the locker rooms is that Adrienne is set to be the volunteer two years from now, but I have to scoff whenever I hear it. The volunteer for each year isn't chosen until weeks before the Reaping. There are so many trainees that drop out, even in the months leading up to the Games as their training gets harder.

The boy and I spar for a few matches. I win most of them, but he catches me off guard a few times. He's a smart kid, and might have a future for him here in the Academy. Adrienne comes over to talk to me afterward. Her smile is blinding. She's the perfect Two girl, heiress to the Starlet fortune and a trained killer.

"Leto and Cyprian are doing well," she comments, glancing up to the screen where the boy from Eight, Thimble, is shivering on his cliff ledge. It makes me snort.

"The Gamemakers have a weird sense of humor."

"I don't think it's that funny," Adrienne says, watching with a frown on her beautiful face. Now I know she definitely won't be chosen as the volunteer two years from now, unless she changes her mindset. You can't be sympathetic toward the other tributes, even your allies.

Of course, Cyprian might have fallen into the same trap. I seem to be the only one who wasn't surprised when he seemed to have bonded with Volt. Cyprian was always so desperate for love, the love his parents didn't give him and the love he was too afraid to seek in romantic relationships. He never told me about his preference for boys, but I always suspected. I could tell he was ashamed, like it clashed with his Two tough guy image.

"As long as he dies," I respond, setting down my sword on the rack.

She sighs and returns her attention to me again. "Are you going to spend the day here?"

"I think so." I would sleep here if I could. Cyprian and I would spend all of our time here avoiding our families, their glares, their shouts, their fists. Adrienne seems to have a similar philosophy, but I think for different reasons. She doesn't like being rich or spending time in her giant nasion with her servants and crystal cups and chandeliers. So she spends her time training for the Hunger Games, as if winning would change any of that.

"Me too," she says. "I want to see how the day pans out." She nods toward the screen again. "I think we have a good shot at another victor this year."

Wench Chevy (22)- D6- Pagani's brother

It's difficult to admit that Pagani getting Reaped has made our lives slightly better in the meantime, but I can't deny that the free food and medicine hasn't been helpful. The only problem is that Mom has been returning every night with more and more morphling than usual. I don't want to know how she's getting it, since we don't have much money. I know why she's using so much, though. The thought of Pagani dying in a painful, bloody way haunts my dreams.

This morning I sit in the alley with Mom like usual, Mary gone somewhere to find some food, maybe beg for some money. Pleading that our other main caregiver is off in the Hunger Games is an effective tactic to wring coins out of people. But even if it doesn't work, we won't starve until a few days after the Games are over, when everyone forgets about Pagani and starts worrying about next year's tributes. That is, unless Pagani wins, in which case we won't have to worry about money ever again.

I eat an apple for breakfast. I don't think I've had fruit since we were kicked onto the streets years ago. Yesterday the Warrior gang gifted us a bag of them, all pristine and juicy. I bite into it deliciously. The Warriors have even scrounged up enough money to pay for some pain medicine for me,

Mary revealed to us the night of the Reaping that Pagani was actually planning to volunteer at her last Reaping when she was eighteen. The news shocked me at first, but it shouldn't have. That's the way Pagani is. She would do anything to protect us and provide for us, and she would see volunteering for the Hunger Games as a necessary gamble.

I hear a familiar sound approaching us in our alley. Mom stirs in her restless sleep and I stand attentively. Dante and Lance appear in the alleyway, both of them smiling. They approach and each shake my hand. It's pleasant to be treated like a human being again. It's a shame that Pagani being Reaped was the way it happened.

"We have a surprise for you," Dante says. With Logan gone, he's the leader of the Warriors. And while I know the boys must long for Logan to win more than anything, they've been nothing but kind to us after seeing that Logan and Pagani allied in the Games. They respect his wishes even when he's half the continent away. His girlfriend Natalie has been particularly insistent.

"What kind of surprise?" I ask skeptically. When you're homeless, most surprises end up as pranks or staged gifts that really don't help anything aside from the ego of the giver.

"Come with us," Lance insists excitedly. He and Dante help Mom stand, and we all stumble out of the alley. We walk toward the territory of the Warriors, but I look back nervously at our little alley home. It's become something of a safe haven this past few months we've been staying there.

We head to a block of apartments on the outskirts of the Warrior territory. Mary is waiting outside with a grin. "Here," she says, tossing a key to me. I catch it and examine it with astonishment.

"What is this?" I look around desperately for an answer. Everyone grins at us knowingly.

"Everyone pitched in a little for a down payment on an apartment," Dante chirps. "Mary is our first official female member of the Warriors, and she has a job at Lance's dad's auto repair shop. She's good with machines, you know."

An income and a place to stay? The apartments look cheap and dank, but it's still a place to live. I feel tears well up in my eyes as I hug Dante and then Lance, then my mother. She seems confused, but I can tell this will be the start of something better in our lives. All at the cost of Pagani. Her absence still grips my heart even as I hug Mary. I can tell she feels it too.

Sultan Oramo (18)- D10- Caiden's boyfriend

Each morning ever since Caiden was Reaped has been a struggle, but after the bloodbath, I barely have any motivation to get out of bed. Being with the Clawfords is the only thing that helps, but eventually all of our grief molds into a monster than none of us can stand, and I have to get away for a day or so. But going to work is worse, watching the faces of the other farm hands as I ride up, their pity as they try to talk about anything except the Hunger Games. Now that both our tributes are dead, everyone seems to be almost relieved that they no longer have to worry about winning, but Caiden's death still weighs on me.

Her face swims in my vision as I slowly rise out of bed and methodically start to put on articles of clothing. My father is giving me a break from working, at least until the Games are over. I'm grateful. I can't stand to keep my mask on when I'm around the farmhands any longer.

I leave our house and watch them round up the cattle at the other end of the property. The Oramo Ranch is large, which is partly why my father wanted me to work as a ranch hand before I inherited the ranch itself; to get hands-on experience with the animals and the land. That's how I met Caiden, and how I thought we would live the rest of our lives together, but I was wrong.

I head to the stables to grab my favorite horse Snowball, who is named after a round blotch of while on her nose. We ride out of the Ranch and past the Clawfords house. Despite their loss, they can't afford to miss a few days of work. Lance is probably out in the fields and their father is likely still sleeping or watching the Games on their small television. I promised them I would help by giving them some extra money each month now that Caiden is gone, but I wonder how long my father will allow that. He didn't like me being with Caiden anyway. She was too boyish and loud and worst of all, poor. I feel tears well in my eyes thinking about her and I wipe them away.

Ten is a large district and the town is right in the center, with the ranches spread out along the perimeter. Snowball and I arrive at our destination at about noon. I slip off her back and tie her to one of the post s outside the building. I can hear the rumbles of a distant audio of the Games playing in the Square. I open the door with a jingle and smile at the young boy at the counter, not bothering to examine the meats in the freezers that line the walls.

"Is this the home of Jeremy Caulfield?" I ask politely. His face falls a little, but he seems used to the question.

"Yes, it is," he says with a sad smile. "Well, it was."

I suddenly recognize him. He's the boy that Jeremy volunteered for, just a small boy of thirteen. "He was your brother," I say with dawning realization.

"Yes," he says very quietly.

"Who is this, Timmy?" a good-natured voice asks as a large man emerges from the freezer behind him. "What can I get for you ,sir?"

"Oh, I just wanted to offer my condolences," I say with a smile. "I understand Jeremy was your adopted son, or something of that sort. I'm Sultan Oramo of Oramo Ranch. I believe you buy some of our meats from time to time."

"Yes, Oramo takes good care of their animals," the man says, perfectly professional. "Thank you for stopping to see us."

"My father wanted to offer you some deals for the upcoming year. We know this must be a hard time for you."

"You're very kind," he says, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder. "Not everyone puts their profits above their humanity."

I leave the butcher's shop with a genuine smile on my face. The family seems pleasant, and clearly missing their other son. And it was nice to connect with people who are going through the same thing that I am.

Rowan Loukios (29)- Former Gamemaker

I keep my sunglasses on as I sip my coffee, watching the parents pull their kids along to the bar, the couples sitting at the high tables, the old men and women ambling along with their cups in their hands looking for a place to sit. I avoid everyone's eyes just in case anyone recognizes me. Not many would know the face of the former head of statistics for the Gamemaking Center, but there are a few Hunger Games fanatics out there who know every player in the Games, tribute or not.

It will be more dangerous for Marcelle once she arrives. She's on the television all the time asking for donations and sponsor money for the Games and her pink hair is a dead give-away. Still, she was the one who asked to meet me in public. I know exactly why- this is Marcelle's favorite cafe, a place she can go during her breaks without arousing any suspicions from Bellona.

The door jingles as Marcelle enters, and I nervously cross my arms and look out the window. A family of five are walking past, one of the boys crying loudly about his favorite tribute, Jeremy, dying the previous day. The city is alive with activity, everyone in quite a high mood as always during the Games. A low bloodbath death count was disappointing to many at first, until they realized it meant there were more contestants for victor, and a longer, bloodier Hunger Games. The tension is palpable in the air, even though the Games are only casually playing on a small screen in the corner of the cafe. No one is watching avidly, only occasionally glancing up from their own screens or their coffee or their conversations, but I've spent enough time observing people's reactions to the Games for my prior job to know that everyone is dying to see who the next kill will be.

Marcelle comes over to sit at my table with her cup of tea. It's a bright purple one, smelling of lavender and sparkling like it came from a magical fairy world. Marcelle has always like pink and purple things. She's wisely wrapped a scarf around her tell-tale pink hair, and sets her sunglasses on the table to take a sip of tea. Her eyes examine me closely, all while smiling in her distinct, friendly, Marcelle-like way.

"It's good to see you, Rowan," she says.

"You too," I say, not sure if I'm being honest. We haven't spoken in person since I was fired, when Marcelle told me about how she thought Bellona was scheming against the two of us. I squirm uncomfortably in my seat as she searches my eyes.

"Why did you ask to meet me here?" I ask before she can talk control of the conversation.

Marcelle takes another sip of tea and gives me a reassuring smile, not missing a beat. "I just wanted to revisit the subject of your employment," she says sweetly. "It kills me to know you're sitting at home doing nothing. You don't deserve that."

I stay silent. I agree, but I don't want to tell her. I can't tell her the real reason I was fired. President Snow likely had something to do with it, as well as Bellona. And I can't tell her that I haven't tried getting another job because I'm too afraid. President Snow has never been kind to those who displease him, or those who have knowledge that could destroy the tradition of the Hunger Games. I would never reveal to the world the true identity of Tag Nylon, but that wouldn't stop Snow from neutralizing the threat.

Marcelle sets down her teacup and sighs. "Rowan, I care about you. Bellona might have abandoned us both, but we can still stick together."

"And abandon her?" I ask sharply.

She raises an eyebrow. "What does that mean? She's already proven she doesn't care what happens to you."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I snap, turning to the window. A fountain in the middle of the shopping square erupts with water and a few children squeal in excitement. An advertisement flashes with images of Passion Mavros in her interview outfit, followed by Mavros Incorporated products, all sleek jet black.

"You shouldn't be angry with me. I'm on your side." I can see Marcelle out of the corner of my eye, sipping her tea again. "Don't you want to hear what I have to say?"

"As a matter of fact, I don't," I say, suddenly standing and grabbing my coat.

She looks taken aback, and it takes everything in me not to sit back down and explain the situation to her. I don't want to push her away, but it's for her own safety. I leave my coffee behind, storming out of the cafe with my heart beating fast. I hope I don't burst into tears in the middle of the shopping center. Then my face would definitely be plastered all over the city. Former Gamemaker breaks down in public after resignation! The reporters would have a field day.

It's better this way. I don't want to drag Marcelle into this. If I knew that becoming a Gamemaker would cause all of my friendships to crash and burn, I would never have done it. I wonder if Bellona and Marcelle feel the same.

Next chapter, we'll be back in the arena. Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Did you like getting the perspectives of the families, or would you prefer to only have chapters about the tributes themselves? I'm planning to write more SYOTs after this one so I like receiving a variety of opinions about what I should do.

Thanks so much for reading!