Practicing in the arena is nothing like it was during my time in the Training Center. With no experts around, I have to basically coach myself. Goal observes and tries to offer helpful comments where he can, but he can't give me any kind of direct guidance. As I discovered when I tried to hunt using his crossbow, expertise with one kind of weapon doesn't transfer to another.

"Hit the purple tree," Goal tells me, indicating a garishly-dyed birch only a few yards from me. I throw the knife and it lands, piercing the wood. The trees he points out get progressively further away, and I alternate between my knife and the axe I picked up last night. I take breaks between my throws to cough, which is still rough and scratchy but less painful than yesterday. Maybe I am healing after all. Finally, Goal selects a tree that I am consistently unable to hit. It's a pretty decent distance from where we're standing, meaning I'm probably well-equipped to attack someone from range. I don't know that I'll need to do that, though. I'm confident I will never repeat what I did to that boy from District 12. I will not be offensive again. I won't attack unless attacked first. My knife and axe can be used defensively, too, as long as my reaction time is good. In the end, it's not really your proficiency with a weapon that matters, but your awareness of what's around you and the quickness of your senses. Can you train that to any useful degree during the few days you get to prepare for the Games? I wonder.

When I feel I've done all I can for a while, Goal and I sit down and eat some of the persimmons we saved along with the pine nuts I took from the District 7 girl's supplies. "Let's take stock of things," he says. "This is day six, right?"

I think it over. "Yes, that's correct," I tell him. That means I've been in here almost a week… well, on arena time, anyway. It's probably not too far off from reality, though; from what I've seen, the Gamemakers don't usually start messing with the day and night cycle until later in the Games, when they need to bring a small remaining group of tributes together or the audience has grown impatient to see somebody die. That reminds me. "And how many of us are still alive?"

Goal thinks for a few minutes. "12. Half living, half dead."

After that, we try to work through who's still in the arena. We eliminate the deceased first. We know the girl from 7 is gone – that's an easy one. Goal immediately then remembers his former allies: the boy from 4, killed in the bloodbath, and then the boy from 2, and Goal's district partner, killed by the beasts. Of course, I instantly think of the boy from 12. My deep regret. And then there was the boy from 5, who I don't feel as bad about, since it was self-defense. That's only half the list. "Let's try thinking of who we're sure is alive," I suggest. Naturally, March pops into my head right away. Then Emmer and Annona. The girl from District 3 with the incredibly long hair – Solus, right? She also hasn't died. Goal knows which other Careers are still around, the girls from 2 and 4. That's it. I wrack my brain to try to recall who else died on that first day, but the faces and numbers get mixed up in my mind. The most important things: Goal is alive. March is alive. So I'm OK.

Although we'd slept by the persimmon tree, I suddenly notice that the fruit is no longer present. The tree itself is still right there, but now its branches are completely bare and the whole thing has been dyed an artificial shiny black. "Oh, I get it!" I accidentally say out loud.

Goal looks over. "What do you get?"

I point to the altered tree. "See? That's where we got the persimmons yesterday."

"That black tree? But there's no fruit on it."

"They changed it," I explain. "Probably overnight."

He frowns. "You mean the Gamemakers did something to it to make it stop bearing fruit."

"Right. And then painted it black, I suppose. Or else they just replaced it."

"So then…" Goal's eyes widen, and I see he's come to the same conclusion as I have. "So they're slowly going to do that to all the trees with food in here, then, you think?"

"That's exactly what I think," I answer. And it makes perfect sense. Pretty much in any arena where there is a forested area, that tends to be the place where tributes congregate. The trees offer a sense of safety and places to hide, neither of which make for good entertainment. So, very often, the Gamemakers have to do things to either draw tributes out of the forest or make it less attractive somehow. Spontaneous fires are frequent occurrence, usually only at an intensity meant to scare tributes and push them somewhere else, like they did in those Games that March and Caesar talked about during his interview. Right now, though, they're doing something different: slowly eliminating our ability to find food among the trees. It's probably been happening for a while now, and I just happened to realize it at this moment. Then I have another thought. "I bet that's why they decided to blow up the grassland," I say. "Not just to get us out of there, but to make it so people can't hunt there, either."

Goal nods slowly. "If they take out all the food sources in the arena, our only choice will be to fight each other for the stuff we've collected." So the Gamemakers want to drive us to desperation. It's going to be one of those Games, where they try to bring the audience a side dish of psychological horror to go with the main course of physical violence. "I guess we should try to stock up today," he says evenly.

This new information hits me with a fresh wave of fear. If the theory is correct, and we reach a point where there's literally no more food to be found in the arena and we're forced to starve or fight each other over what little we have in our packs, that could make things even more dangerous in here. The tributes in hiding will be drawn out and made to fight… just like Chaff warned so long ago. To be idle is to die; the Gamemakers can ensure that. If you insist on being too defiant to get involved in violence, no problem: you'll just starve to death. There's no way out. Every second you are in the arena, you are trapped.

Goal and I are used to working together now and we easily slide back into our normal roles, him on the defensive while I look around for food. Today, though, I'm finding it difficult to concentrate. This bond I have with Goal still feels so surreal. This boy I've only known for a few days, who comes from a totally different place than me and whom I only happened to meet, has become my protector. Or partner? Is it fair to say we're equals in our alliance? Goal believed he would starve without my help. Not knowing about plants is pretty typical for a Career, I think, because they always expect to be able to live on the Cornucopia bounty and then sponsorships the rest of the way. It's just as my mentors said: the Careers repeatedly rely on the same strategy, and that can be a weakness. It doesn't seem right, though, to group Goal in with "the Careers." He didn't volunteer for this, and he doesn't seem to take any joy in killing.

Goal stops suddenly. "I saw it," he says, sounding alarmed.

"What?" I look around but don't see anything of note.

"I saw the tree change. Right in front of me."

I move from behind Goal and stand next to him. He's stopped in front of a fluorescent orange-colored tree that appears as though it might be made of plastic. It certainly doesn't look like anything that ever did or could bear fruit. "This one?"

Goal nods. "Yeah. Before it was just regular, with some kind of berry growing on it. And then as we got close, the entire tree suddenly started to glow for a second, and then there was this flash, and then it was… like this. The whole thing took less than a minute."

So, my suspicions were correct. Obviously, this has been going on for a while, but this is the first time that it's happened right in front of us. "Now that they know we know what they're doing, they're just toying with us," I figure aloud. This is not a good omen. In theory, it's possible that this particular tree just happened to change as we were approaching it, but I think it's more likely that this is a message from the Gamemakers. You may have discovered what we're doing, but we'll always be one step ahead of you.

"Could be," Goal says, looking upward and around. "Think there's any chance that maybe they'll stop doing it now that we're onto them?"

It's certainly a nice thought, Faustine Sweet and the others just tossing up their hands and going, "Well, they figured us out! Onto plan B," but it's not very realistic. "It's unlikely," I answer him. "Even if it's obvious that we're aware it's happening, the entertainment factor of food becoming more and more scarce still holds."

"Right."

There's nothing else to be said, and in fact, Goal and I don't exchange any more dialogue at all until he stops me again. "There's a normal tree with some stuff growing on it, but I don't know if it's food," he says, pointing out a tree that stands out from the others. It's shorter and wider, and after a minute or two, I realize it's an avocado tree. They're a rarity even in District 11, so I wasn't expecting to see one here of all places. There are several types of produce that we grow that are reserved for Capitol consumption only: pomegranates, lychees, and avocados are a few. I've never held one of these in my own hands, let alone tasted it, so its inclusion in the flora of the arena is kind of shocking. It's virtually impossible that any tribute other than a District 11 citizen would even recognize an avocado. Either this was placed here just for me (and March), or else the Gamemakers thought it would be amusing to watch the tributes walk right past a food source unaware.

I climb up into the tree and start searching for ripe specimens while Goal sits on the ground, inspecting his crossbow. From this high distance, he looks like little more than a child. No doubt the days of malnutrition and intense stress in the arena have eaten away at his muscles. Not that I look any better – whatever weight I gained during my few days on a Capitol diet, I'm back to my old pre-tribute figure by now. And I can only imagine what my face must look like; covered in soot? Scarred up? A quick finger-through of my hair confirms that the magic Atia did to it has long since departed.

After I collect a ripe-feeling avocado each for Goal and myself, I hop back down and show him what I've got. I have to stop him from biting right through the skin. Although I've never eaten avocado before, I do know you have to peel it first. Goal watches with interest as I slice away the black covering, revealing gooey green flesh underneath. Strange. It doesn't really look like a delicacy. Once I've finished preparing both the avocados, Goal and I bite into them together. The flavor is… well, lacking.

Goal makes a confused face as he chews. "It's not bad, it's just…"

"Tasteless?" I offer. "Slimy?"

He laughs. "Yes. To both. You said these are normally for the Capitol only?"

"Yeah… they must do something to them," I propose. Of all the negative things I can say about the Capitol, the food is the one aspect to it I can't really criticize. Whatever secrets are needed to make avocado be amazing, the chefs there clearly have them. For now, it only has a very mild vegetal taste, but it feels really fatty in my mouth – this is a good thing, because fat will keep us full for longer. On the other hand, the lack of juice means they won't do much to quench our thirsts. That won't be a problem, though; I've still got plenty of iodine.

Even though neither of us is exactly enamored with the avocados, we decide we'll camp by the tree anyway. In any case, there's a chance that by the time morning breaks, it will have been changed into one of the fake trees. I want to do some more thinking, so I take the first watch while Goal settles down. I'm still worried about the possibility of permanent damage to my lungs; my coughing hasn't stopped. Thankfully, it doesn't hurt anymore, but I'm concerned about the sound I'm making. And what if we have to run away from something? Will I be able to do that? Goal hasn't said anything about it, but I don't know what that means. Maybe he just expects to be able to protect me… that was our original agreement, I suppose, and I haven't yet lost my ability to hold up my end of the bargain.

After a while, I find myself wondering about the other tributes. The two remaining Careers, the girls from 2 and 4… they're still out there. What I'm unsure of is how they're surviving, seeing as Goal needed me to find food. It could be that they were out in the grasslands too, hunting. Or perhaps they have an enormous list of sponsors keeping them full. An awful idea crosses my mind: what if his mentors redirected his gifts to the girl from 2? No… no. Being unhappy with your tribute's choices, I can see that, but giving up on him? I can't see a mentor doing that. And even if they are displeased with some of what Goal has done, that won't change the fact that his friends and family and everyone else back in District 1 will be cheering for him, just as my loved ones in 12 are doing for me.

When Goal awakens and readies himself to take over the watch, I fall asleep with thoughts of the faces I miss. My mother and father; Carissa and Clover; the others who work alongside me in the fields; the kindly shopkeepers; and Mayor Glenn, still so warmhearted even after losing his wife and daughter to disease. All these people have been watching me, hoping for me, wanting the best for me.

My eyes jolt open to the sound of a horrible scream.

"Seeder! See–"

The voice cuts out and is replaced by a terrible sputtering noise.

I hop to my feet and run toward the noise. I spot movement eventually and can detect two figures. I slow down and come to a standstill. It's dark, but I can see what's happened.

It's Goal, lying on the ground. A dagger in his throat.

And there, standing over him, is March.