XIV : Outshone, Outfoxed, Outgunned

I stood where no man goes

Above the din I rose

Life is amusing

Although we are losing

It's our last full day before the arena.

I can't tell if my time in the Capitol has flown by or if it feels like I've been here for years. The idea that tomorrow I'll be going to sleep in the arena sits in my stomach heavy as a stone, pinning me to the bed even as Rhodendra stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently. "Caerwyn," she calls.

"I can't move."

"But you can."

"Physically, yes, but mentally? Emotionally?" I turn my head to look at her, burrowing deeper into the blankets. "Psychologically? Spiritually? Economically?"

Her foot stops tapping, and she sighs. "You're supposed to be the well-behaved one."

I pull the blankets right over my head. "Environmentally? Taxonomically? Mathematically?"

She tears away the covers. "You are going to be late."

"Well they can't very well start without me," I point out, squinting at the sudden brightness. "What are they going to do: put makeup on the mannequin?"

At least Vo doesn't seem to notice that I'm six minutes late. Judging by the glare from Jinno, she does, but I'm not bothered by that. I'm still mad at her for trying to dehydrate me to death.

"There she is!" Awlee squeals, bounding towards me from across the room. "Are you so excited?"

I accept her enthusiastic hug with some surprise. "Yeah, I am," I say, oddly touched by the affection. "Maybe a bit nervous. It's crazy to think we're at this point in the Games already."

I'm really not that nervous—I could do this interview in my sleep—and the tiny part of me with any doubt about the day is concerned only for Cato. Even after all our practise yesterday (and stars above there was so much pracise) I'm not wholly confident he's going to give the performance of a lifetime tonight. Which I would really, really like for him to do.

I mean, I begged, threatened, and bargained with him at every opportunity yesterday, but if he smiles onstage today it will be a miracle.

"Well you are going to just drop when you see your look for tonight," Hollonaos says with a suggestive shimmy. "It's gorgeous. You're going to love it."

"Oh, I have no doubt," I smile up at him. "I'm sure it's a doozy, since it's going to take all day to get me ready again."

"Oh, don't be silly," Vo says with that airy laugh of hers. "This is our last chance to make you over before the arena. We have a lot to cover before we take you anywhere near your dress."

The next few hours show how little she's exaggerating.

It's the return of the smelly substances, with my body being scrubbed, buffed, oiled, and polished with layer after layer of product. I get explanations when I ask for them, each one a shade more ridiculous than the last:

"This will help prevent breakouts!"

"This will reduce your risk for sunburn!"

"This will help you not smell so bad after multiple days of not washing!"

I'm not sure I believe all of it, but I let them have their fun. It can't hurt to try, after all… at least I hope not.

It's one in the afternoon before I'm rinsing off for the last time, having just completed the final treatment—one that's supposed to keep my hair "looking presentable" for a few weeks without a hairbrush.

Hollonaos has a little dish of pills waiting for me when Awlee is finished hosing me down. "What are these?"

"Vitamins," Jinno says. "The healthier you are going into the arena, the better you'll be able to handle the side effects."

"The side effects of what?"

She gives me a strange look. "Possibly starving."

Oh. Right.

I take the pills, though I'm still skeptical of any supposed "miracle cures" that they give me. "This isn't going to dehydrate me to death, is it?"

Hollonaos laughs, while Jinno rolls her eyes. "It's going to help you," she says, already heading for the door. She's spent most of the morning with Vo in another room—apparently my dress isn't quite finished yet.

I swallow the pills with a glass of water, sending up a silent prayer that the cantankerous style assistant is telling the truth.

As usual, the first order of business is my skin. Awlee gets to work applying a cream all over my body, then going over my legs and chest with a spray gun of lightweight makeup that evens my skin tone and shimmers faintly. Once that task is complete, she begins using a darker powder to add shadows to my legs and chest, rounding my breasts while making my legs seem thinner.

I'm curious as to what this costume is—Hollonaos mentioned a dress earlier, but if that's the case, why is Awlee applying makeup to my legs all the way up to my hips?

I remind myself that however naked they plan on making me tonight, it will not be the most naked I've been on-camera these Games. And when the little voice in my brain tries to suggest that naked in a parade is not the same as naked during an interview, I shut it up very quickly with the little bottle of liquor Hollonaos passes me.

Vo steps in for a check-in once during the process, while Hollonaos is still curling my hair.

"You saw my photos?" Hollonaos asks her, his voice unusually timid.

Vo smiles. "Yes—I love it. You can do exactly that?"

I can't see it, but I think Hollonaos nods.

"Perfect. It will look lovely."

I have to smile. I didn't know the styling team were ever allowed to exercise their own creative license, but Hollonaos's silence speaks to how nervous he is about this high-stakes chance to prove himself.

I'm sure he'll do great.

"I'm excited to see this dress," I say to Awlee, watching as she puts the finishing touches of powder across my chest. "I can't believe it's the interviews already."

"Me neither!" she chirps, snapping the powder case shut and straightening. "It feels like just yesterday we were waxing your eyebrows."

"Well, you did pluck them again just a couple hours ago…"

She giggles.

Vo snaps her fingers. "You all know what you're doing? We're on the clock now, my beauties, and we need this young lady looking ethereal by six." She turns to me. "Caerwyn, have you eaten anything?"

"Uh, no, not yet."

"For goodness's sake, get some food in this girl. Some soup, or something else light; this bodice is unforgiving."

The door slams shut behind her, as Awlee exits through the other door in search of something for me to eat, bringing back soup, as Vo instructed. She also brings a bun, which I eat first and promise not to tell Vo about.

I slurp my soup from a cup as Hollonaos brushes and sprays my hair in a thousand different directions. Once again, I'm not in front of a mirror for the process, but this feels like the most complicated hairstyle yet.

"Is it good?" Awlee asks, fiddling with her makeup brushes.

"Hm? The soup?"

She nods.

"Yeah, it's fantastic. Why, what is it?"

"Oh… it's just my favourite-they make one like it at a restaurant my parents used to always take me to."

It's not the first time Awlee has mentioned her family, but the shy way she glances at me out of the corner of her eye makes me wonder about a few things. For one: how old is she? "Nostalgic food is the best." I put the cup down. "Spearmint tea always makes me think of my mom."

She makes a face. "Spearmint tea? Why?"

"Well, Mom really likes it. Mint is really really easy to grow, so we always have a lot in the garden. And it makes the house smell so nice while it's boiling… plus it's supposed to settle your stomach."

She giggles. "Well, if you say so! Want some now?"

I smile back. "Sure!"

"We will have to dehydrate you again though," she warns.

I shrug. "That's fine. This time I at least know to drink something after."

Hollonaos chuckles from behind me. "Well, we've all made that mistake once or twice and ended up unconscious on the living room floor, haven't we?"

"Some of us more than others," Awlee says pointedly.

He just laughs louder.

Awlee scurries off to fetch some tea, and I resume drinking my soup. It really is delicious, with chunks of sausage and finely chopped vegetables and leafy greens packed with flavour.

"The smell of burnt onions always makes me think of my mom," Hollonaos says suddenly. "She's a terrible cook. Never could caramelize them right."

"Both my parents are great cooks," I say, feeling a pang in my chest. "Although Mom's still been known to burn a dish or two when she's especially distracted. Which it's pretty easy to be, with six kids. Do you have siblings, Hollonaos?" I remember him mentioning a brother, once.

"A twin brother."

"A twin!" I start to turn around before he tut-tuts, stopping me. "Identical?"

"Oh, he wishes."

I laugh. "What does he do?"

Awlee returns with the tea as Hollonaos and I are still trading sibling stories. His brother sounds like his polar opposite, introverted to the point of shyness, but I can tell Hollonaos loves him dearly. Even if his method of showing it is pretty much exclusively playing elaborate pranks.

Well, we spent an entire year dropping hints to Brynn that she was adopted, so I suppose I ought not to judge.

Jinno and Vo don't return until both Hollonaos and Awlee are done with their tasks (and of course, once I've peed half a hundred times from the dehydration fluid). I note the large garment back in my stylist's arms, and my heart rate seems to pick up. Not naked after all!

Vo does a little skip-dance as she holds out the bag, and Awlee can't seem to hold back her squeal of excitement. "It's finally finished!"

Vo mentioned during the long and arduous painting process before the parade that the Games provide stylists with a one-of-a-kind design experience, somewhat akin to an extreme sports exhibition. The other fifty-one weeks of the year she and the other designers have as much time as they could ever need to create unique and extraordinary fashion, but during the Games not only are the design stakes higher, but the time constraints are almost impossibly tight, and you don't know what model you'll be working with until the time to start preparing was yesterday.

Apparently it's quite a rush, if you can handle it.

When I see the dress, it's no surprise she was working on it up until the last minute, nor that she needed Jinno's help. High-necked, long-sleeved, with a long, flowing skirt and pointed shoulders, every bit of the garment is metallic fringe, reflective beading, and tiny, glittering gemstones in intricate, swirling patterns. Despite the high neck, the dress still manages to reveal plenty of cleavage, thanks to a cut-out across my chest which dips down to the top of my stomach.

Jinno helps me into it—all that silver is heavy, but it's surprisingly comfortable. Of course, all the sheer panels twisting through the dress make underwear an impossibility, as do the twin slits over each leg reaching up to my hips. How am I supposed to walk without flashing people?

When I finally get a look at the finished product, I am reminded anew of Vo's brilliance. I am the same girl—or goddess—as I was at the parade, dipped in silver armour and polished to a glow. Hollonaos has accomplished a hopelessly complicated hairstyle, strands twisting and wrapping and looping before being pinned in place at the back of my head by delicate pieces of silver shaped like tiny leaves and flowers, Every single strand is smoothed and shining, and not one is out of place.

My makeup is relatively plain and devoid of colour—lips nude, cheeks almost pale—but as I suspected from the number of times her brush dipped into the black eyeliner, Awlee has gone all out on my eyes. Black stretches from my brow bone down almost to my cheeks, skirting across the sides of my nose and out to my temples. Shimmering silver breaks it up around the inside corner of my eyes, where silver foil and tiny black jewels have been placed to catch even more light. My eyebrows are drawn sharp and fierce, and my lashes are so long it seems they could create their own wind if I blinked quickly enough.

And of course, as per Rhodendra's instructions, my shoes are huge. Platform sandals with a chunky heel nearly twenty centimetres tall, their dark silver surface is etched with intricate designs that seem to grow into the straps which wrap up my legs to my knees. I'll be as tall as Majestie in them.

"Well?" Vo whispers.

I turn around, looking at myself from different angles in the mirrors. "It's incredible. I can't imagine a better look for the final step before the arena."

She smiles. "It is nice to go out with a bang."

Hollonaos grins. "Just make sure if you do go out with a bang, you use protection."

Awlee smacks his arm, but Vo laughs. "Yes, and whatever else you do don't rip my dress. There's been a horrid shortage of silver lamé this year, and I don't have enough to make another to hang in my boutique!"

A shortage of fabric?

I stop checking myself out to look at the four of them. Awlee fiddles with her hands, and she might be blushing, but it's hard to tell when she ducks her head like that.

I feel suddenly overcome with emotion. "Thank you all so much, for everything you've done," I say, my voice soft. "You've been so great to work with, and I'm so glad I got such a great team."

To my absolute shock, Jinno sniffs, and dabs at her eyes. Without warning she rushes forward and gives me a tight hug. She pulls back almost immediately, but while she's still unsmiling, she seems somehow warmer. "We have all agreed that you have been our favourite Tribute to work with. Thank you for that."

I smile so wide my cheeks start to hurt almost immediately.

"Don't cry!" she barks, back to her normal, commanding self. "Awlee hasn't set your makeup yet!"

Saying goodbye to my team is harder than I thought it would be. Jinno's tears have come and gone, but the other two both cry and take turns giving me increasingly suffocating hugs as they wish me luck, telling me they will be cheering for me the whole way.

I swallow back my own tears, hugging them each back and promising to see them again after the Games.

"I'll need you to help get me ready for the recap," I tell Awlee, when she can't stop sniffling. "I want to look fantastic on that stage."

She tries to smile, then just ends up hugging me again. "Please win!" she squeaks.

Vo stays with me until it's time to go backstage, teaching me how to walk so the skirt panel between the two slits stays put, ensuring (as I'd hoped) that I won't flash anyone. It's a bit tricky, since it kind of requires crossing one foot over the other, but by the time we're joining the other Tributes I've got it down.

I'm sure Rhodendra will be glad I got in even more practise.

With a quick kiss on the cheek and an "I'll see you this evening," Vo disappears, leaving me with the others.

Immediately I scan the crowd—not for my Career, but for Prim. I expect not to see her, thinking she'll make another late entrance and wow us all, so I'm somewhat surprised when I spot her standing alone off to the side.

Oh, Cinna.

All of the stylists are good. They're all legitimately talented and creative people, and all of them have had really spectacular designs in the past. But Cinna… Cinna is a genius.

It's the Pairs Interviews-for the first and last time ever. Every other stylist has gone completely over-the-top with elaborate, colourful designs, big hair, and dramatic makeup. Primrose stands out from the rest with simple, haunting elegance, dressed entirely in black and white.

Her hair has been coloured a pale silvery gold, shining like molten metal in the dim light backstage. It's parted simply down the middle, ironed pin-straight, and falls to her waist. Curiously, Cinna has dipped the ends in black, forming a perfectly straight line just below her shoulders where the white ends and black begins.

Her dress follows a similar theme: simple, fitted, crisp white with a high neck and cap sleeves. Long black gloves reach to her elbows, and at her knees the dress explodes in black feathers.

It's not quite mockingjay-like, but the symbolism is there for anyone with half a brain to see it. And amid a sea of bright oranges and greens, tall headpieces and flowing trains, Prim stands in stark contrast with elegant simplicity.

She's in a league of her own. So much so it seems almost like a protest.

She's chatting with Thane, who is dressed in black and white as well, his copper-hair and Prim's cornflower blue eyes the only colour between the two of them. She pauses just long enough to look up at me, offering a smile.

I'm taking a step toward her to tell her how absolutely amazing she looks (again) when a hand grabs my elbow.

"Where are you going?"

I turn around. Assuming the stylists were keeping with the silver and gold theme from the parade, I was a little worried that Cato was going to show up in a suit of pure gold. Thankfully, Sapphire has more sense than that.

He's dressed in all black—black necktie, black shoes, the whole kit and caboodle—but his suit jacket sports a gorgeous design of bright gold thread, metallic beads, and shimmering gold foil. The pattern crawls like ivy across the garment, wrapping around his arms and shoulders as though a golden plant is growing from the fabric itself.

It looks sharp. Eye-catching, but not gaudy. And there's a touch of matching gold makeup around his eyes that makes them seem a richer blue than their normal icy-grey… it almost seems like he's wearing contacts. Or maybe that's just what they look like from up here; we're certainly not eye-to-eye, even with these shoes, but normally I'm at eye-level with his sternum, so this is a whole new view.

"Nowhere," I say. Not anymore, at least. I've no doubt that he would not approve of my fraternizing with Primrose Everdeen, so I don't even try.

As usual, the interviews tonight will begin with District One and finish with District Twelve. In the reverse of the Pairing, however, this time we're scheduled by the female Tribute's District.

Was this all orchestrated so that Primrose could have the final interview of the night? Probably. I have a feeling the moment she was Reaped the Gamemakers called an emergency meeting to capitalize on all the possibilities that afforded.

After all, Peeta dropping the love-bomb at the end of interview night last year has set a potentially unattainable standard for years of interviews to come. If the Gamemakers want to even come close to that kind of an emotional finale, their best shot is having Prim go last.

I watch her and Thane, trying to make sense of the whole thing. While I've become even more certain that these Games are trying to set up another pair of lovers, I haven't quite landed on a reason why anyone thinks that will help.

The people of my District aren't volatile by nature, but after last year… well, there were whispers of unrest, for those of us who paid enough attention to listen. It doesn't feel like a stretch to suppose the same (or worse) was happening across the country, but how is pairing a bunch of teenagers together and throwing them in the arena supposed to fix that? It doesn't change that Katniss and Peeta broke the rules last year, and so long as they're around it's not like anyone is going to forget about that.

Are they just hoping that the second pair will overshadow the first? That they'll somehow be preferred over the star-crossed-lovers of District Twelve? Or that they'll simply act as a reminder that the Capitol is in control, that the Capitol can break its own rules if it sees fit?

And what about Prim?

Why bring her into this? Is she supposed to just die to punish her sister for her stunt with the berries?

I feel suddenly cold, and unconsciously take a step back and right into Cato.

He grabs my elbows, practically lifting me out of his personal space. "Trying to break my foot?"

"Sorry," I say. "I'm not my usual graceful self with these shoes on."

I turn to face him directly, my back to Prim and her partner and all the questions her very presence raises about what the hell is going on. "Do you remember what we talked about?"

He holds out his left hand, raising his baby finger to display the ring. "Yes."

I earn a tiny smile when I lift my middle finger to show him my ring. "Vo protested. She said it clashed with my outfit."

"Same with Sapphire. He said I can't wear a silver ring with a gold jacket."

"Well, I'm glad you made him see reason. Even if it really does make you a fashion catastrophe."

He rolls his eyes.

The noise of the crowd swells, and when I turn to the screen above our heads I see Caesar has come onstage.

"And so it begins," I say, sounding even more ominous than I meant to.

Cato snorts. "Fuck you're dramatic."

As I look around the room, I realise how smart the Gamemakers were to organize the interviews the way they have. Starting with Majestie, ending with Prim? They're sure to get good first and last interviews… which is going to make it very difficult for those of us in the middle to distinguish ourselves. And third last? Could I have been more unlucky?

Maybe I'll flash the audience on purpose. That would certainly distinguish us.

Caesar doesn't waste much time getting the crowd riled up before calling the first Pair on stage. Of course Majestie and Domas are just perfect; they're charming, funny, friendly, and Majestie's exquisite arm muscles are on full display in a one-shoulder gown of chartreuse-coloured satin, reminding everyone that while interesting and gorgeous she is still a Career, and she means business.

I'm giving my plan to flash the audience some serious consideration when Cato's low chuckle draws my attention back to the present.

He leans down, close to my ear. "They stole your move."

I look back at the screen—sure enough, now Domas has his arm resting languidly on the sofa behind his partner, who leans forward as she animatedly talks about how much fun the two of them had training together.

Because of course. "Well, fuck."

"Got a back-up plan?"

I turn, smiling sweetly up at him. "Yes. Either you smile twice or I am going to flash the audience."

For once, the shock is plain on his face.

"What?"

I pronounce each word slowly "I'm going to flash them," I repeat. I grab my skirt and pull the side panels apart slightly so he can see the two cuts—as if he could possibly miss them—and know I'm not bluffing. "It will be a small miracle if it doesn't happen by accident, honestly."

He looks at my exposed legs for a second, stunned, then quickly looks away. "Deal."

"Good. I would hate for Vo to think her design failed for want of underpants."

"I really did not need to know that."

"That I'm not wearing underpants? Well, trust me: I would much rather be wearing them. But here we are—are you blushing?"

He turns to glare at me. It must have been a trick of the light. Or the faint gold shimmer on his cheeks catching the bright crimson of Aidell from Nine's dress. "I've seen you naked before, remember?"

"Oh, how could I possibly forget?"

Applause drowns out whatever reply he's about to make, and I realise I've completely tuned out the rest of the Majestie-Domas interview.

I huff. I guess there's always the replay tonight…

I wish I could tune out for Farley and Logan's interview, which is one cringey moment after the next. Farley does her best to seem ferocious but also somehow mysterious, and Logan can't manage to keep his embarrassment fully hidden. I almost feel bad for him.

Most of the other interviews are actually quite good, however. Even Glint and Elinnor are charming, and Sorrell from Four proves herself quick-witted and sweet as she covers for the shyness of her partner, Willis. He's sweet too, but he's only twelve, and his brave face slips occasionally as he talks about his expectations for the arena.

It's at least somewhat interesting viewing, for which I'm thankful. And no one besides Majestie and Domas distinguish themselves as truly exceptional, which is even better.

It feels like the interviews get shorter and shorter as they progress, and before long it feels like time has sped up to a breakneck pace, bringing our turn closer and closer. Then Caesar is bidding adieu to Aidell and Perth, and as they walk offstage I feel a few little butterflies fluttering in my stomach. It's more than a little alarming—I never get nervous about public speaking, and I can't afford to now.

I grab Cato's arm, actually glad to have him here to offer a bit of stability. I take a deep breath, then another.

Caesar calls our names. I start smiling even before we're past the curtain.

I manage to keep smiling and waving (and manage to not flash anybody) as we make our way to the couch, though it takes more effort than normal.

Why am I suddenly so nervous? At this, the single most inconvenient time?

I feel Cato's mouth once again close to my ear. "You're going to cut off circulation in my arm."

I relax my grip, which, I'll admit, had become rather viselike.

We take a seat on the couch, and Cato immediately—and rather smoothly—puts his arm behind my seat. He also crosses one leg over his knee, just the way Yvain explicitly told him not to.

Thankfully Sapphire is a thoughtful stylist, and even though those trousers are rather tight around his thighs, the fabric holds.

But what a twist that would be; after all my threats of flashing it's Cato who tears his pants in front of everyone—

"Oh my dear," Caesar takes my hand from my lap, kissing the back of it gallantly. "It's such a joy to have you back, and in such formidable company!" He gives Cato a respectful salute. "I hate to get things started by being nosy, but what was that little exchange just now?" He leans forward in his chair, one hand on each cheek as he waits expectantly.

I look at Cato, then turn back to Caesar with an exaggerated grimace. "He told me I was going to squeeze his arm off."

"Oh my," he chuckles. "Don't tell me you're nervous."

I shrug, helplessly.

He gasps. "But… I thought you didn't get nervous!"

"So did I! I can't believe it, Caesar. I'm not sure I've ever felt like this in my whole life!" I hold out my hand. "Look at me, I'm even trembling!"

I put my hand back down on my leg, my finger's brushing Cato's thigh.

Caesar shakes his head. "Oh darling, you know you have nothing to be afraid of from me! And you have such an excellent partner… I'm sure you're very safe with him."

I turn to Cato, smiling. He doesn't quite smile back, but his expression does soften minutely. "Absolutely, Caesar. I'm in very good hands," I say, pausing rather dramatically. "Despite all those times in training I thought he was trying to kill me."

Now Cato smiles. "I wanted to see what you were made of," he says, talking directly to me as if Caesar wasn't there.

I'm impressed. I didn't even teach him that.

"And what did you find?" Caesar asks.

He shrugs, his face once more unreadable. "She impressed me."

I'm not faking even the tiniest bit of the grin that splits my face.

"Ah, I believe that. She certainly impressed me her first time on this stage."

I could melt into a puddle and die. Nervous? Who, me? "Oh you're both just too kind. What's going to happen in the arena when I start telling really bad jokes? Everyone's going to be so disappointed."

Caesar is intrigued. "Will you be telling jokes in the arena?"

"She won't be able to stop herself," Cato mutters.

Caesar laughs uproariously. "Oh, then I hope you do! No one will be disappointed, I'm sure!"

"You haven't heard her jokes."

I grimace. "It's true."

"Well, why don't you hit us with your best one now, and let us be the judge?" Caesar proposes.

The crowd roars its approval.

My half-hearted protests are, of course, completely ignored, and soon the crowd is settling down to listen.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Cato says.

I give him a pointed glare, and as if to prove he's even better than this than I thought, he raises one eyebrow and smirks.

Where has this guy been for the last week?

I turn back to Caesar. "Okay… let me think of a good one… right, what do you get when you cross a dyslexic, an insomniac, and an agnostic?"

There's a long pause. "I… I don't know."

"Someone who lies awake at night wondering if there is a dog."

There's collective groaning from most of the audience—Caesar gives an indulgent smile, good sport that he is—but just as it's getting quiet again there's a loud, screeching peal of laughter from somewhere on one of the balconies.

I point in that direction, feeling like I've found my new best friend. "Yes, thank you! It's a good joke, right?"

The lonely laughter continues, but before too long others in the audience are joining in, and it spreads until the whole audience is cracking up as are Caesar and I. Cato, of course, just shakes his head at me and rolls his eyes.

Of course, they're not laughing at me, but that hardly matters.

"Oh, Caerwyn," Caesar says, slapping his knee. "Your mind must be quite the place, if that's the first joke that came to you."

"I tried to warn you," Cato says.

Another smattering of laughter.

"Well, all I have to say is whoever that was up there," I gesture again to the balcony, where the delayed-laugher sits, "you are my favourite person, and I love you."

Caesar chuckles. "Careful; you'll break someone's heart throwing claims like that around!"

There's more screaming from the audience, but Caesar's face is somewhat serious when the noise settles again.

"Alright, we don't have too much time left, but there's a few more things I'm sure our audience is dying to know.

"You two are tied for the highest Pair score of the bunch, and you, Cato, you have the highest score we've seen from any Tribute these Games. Going into the arena with such promise… how are you planning to make the most of that potential?"

The atmosphere in the room seems to change as a hush falls over the crowd, and I could almost swear I can hear them all sit forward in their seats.

Slowly, I turn to my partner. He nods, as if telling me he can take this one. He clears his throat. I don't take my eyes off him.

"To be straight with you, Caesar, we don't know what waits for us in the arena, so we're preparing ourselves for anything. We've done as best as we can with training this past week, but we're not getting comfortable with our scores. We want to win. And whatever happens—whatever we find in the arena—we're going to do whatever it takes."

Oh, I could just kiss him.

Looking back at Caesar, finally, I smile. I touch the ring on my middle finger, sparing a thought for my family. I'm going to go home. I will. I must. "I couldn't agree more. We don't know what to expect, but we know how important it is to stay on our toes and not get comfortable, no matter if things look good or bad. And come hell or high water, we're going to be sitting on this stage again with you in a few weeks."

Caesar says a few more things to wrap up the interview, gives me another kiss on the hand and clasps Cato's shoulder, but I feel in a daze as the crowd screams and applauds us off the stage. I'm not sure I'd make it backstage still vertical if I wasn't once again holding on to Cato's arm like my life depends on it.

Next thing I know I'm sitting on a plush sofa in a tiny room backstage, squashed between Fra and my Career. Vo hands me a glass of water. She smiles. "I heard you've been worried about passing out."

I accept gratefully, and squeeze Fra's hand when he takes mine. We did it. We nailed it.

I turn to Cato, putting my hand on his forearm. "Thank you. You… you were amazing."

He shrugs. He's not one for false modesty, so it really does seem like he doesn't think it was any big deal. "I thought you were going to bring up the rings," he says instead.

I pull my hand back. "I thought about it. But I didn't want to put you in that position… not after everything."

It's true: I knew that all I would have to do is bring up Cato's ring with some half-spun story about its significance—just like I said I would, on the roof when I gave it to him—and that would be the end of the discussion. I could effectively force him to wear it in the arena by pulling a stunt like that, since the alternative would be making the Capitol feel like we lied to them, and his team couldn't afford that.

But I didn't. I half wanted to, but I didn't. We're partners now, for better or worse. And with all the shit going on with his team, there has to be some give and take.

He nods. "Thanks."

"Does this mean you'll wear it?" I ask hopefully.

He looks up, where Brutus sits on the sofa adjacent ours. But his Mentor isn't paying us any attention, instead talking Yvain's ear off about something or other.

"Maybe."

That feels like progress. I'll take it.

I look up at the screen on the wall opposite. The penultimate interview is nearly finished, and once again I have missed most of it.

It's of little consequence; it's the interview to come that I'm most concerned about.

Sure enough, when Prim and Thane walk onstage, the crowd reaches a volume that far eclipses their fanaticism so far. The Pair smile, waving at the crowd, Prim seeming to glide like an angel across the stage, feathers at her feet rustling. She keeps her head high, but the smile on her face is all the innocent sweetness we've come to expect from Panem's darling.

The crowd screams even louder when she gives one little twirl before sitting down. I wonder how people don't ruin their vocal chords. I wonder how any of us fooled ourselves into thinking the crowd favoured us.

There's a reason I was drawn to Prim despite all the many compelling reasons I had to stay away. She is one of those people you maybe meet a couple times in your life… people who are just good, whose hearts are true, who are kind in spite of all the shit life throws their way.

She's in the Hunger Games. And yet she takes the time to compliment Caesar on his tie, to ask him how he's doing, if he's been enjoying the Games so far.

She's thirteen years old and she's probably a better person than anyone in this entire godforsaken city.

I watch her interview in silence. Actually the entire room goes silent—even Brutus, who clearly loves to hear the sound of his own voice. We do nothing but listen as Prim talks about home, about the advice Katniss has given to her and her partner. When Thane talks about how intimidated he was to sit across the room from Katniss as they prepared for their interview, I find myself liking him, too.

But it's near the end of their interview that Prim shows she has been learning from more than one District Twelve Victor. Of course Katniss did well enough with her interview, but it was Prim's brother-in-law who knew how to steal a show, and who has clearly taught her a thing or two.

"Well, I'm sure you both will do everything you can to make it home to your families," Caesar is saying, after Thane finishes talking about his life back home. "Prim, you'll recall of course that your sister promised that very thing last year. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if winning the Hunger Games is in your blood."

Prim smiles, a small, sad thing. "I hope so Caesar. My family…" she pauses, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. They—they mean everything to me, and with Katniss—" she cuts herself off, and her eyes go wide, like she's almost said something she shouldn't.

Of course, this just makes Caesar more eager to coax the truth out of her. "With Katniss what?" he pries. "Darling, you can tell us."

The crowd—which had been rather quiet as she spoke—absolutely erupts.

Prim ducks her head, her cheeks flushing. "I—I'm sorry. It's not… it's not mine to share…"

The audience disagrees. Vehemently.

"It's alright my dear." Caesar is barely keeping himself from bouncing in his seat. Thane squeezes Prim's hand, offering her a little smile. "What is it?"

It hits me like a punch in the face. I cover my mouth, realising what she's about to say—the one thing she could be about to say—and panic. No…no please…

Tears fill Prim's eyes. "I need to go home," she sobs, looking away from the cameras. "Or… or I'll never get to meet the baby."

There's half a second of stunned silence.

Then madness.

Caesar, try as he might, can't get the crowd to settle down. People are screaming, people are crying, people are demanding Katniss come onstage and confirm.

Beside me, Fra is still as a statue. "Oh," he whispers. "Oh no."

It doesn't matter if it's true or not; the entire country loves Prim. Nearly the entire country loves the star-crossed lovers. The idea that the Games could rob this beloved child of her chance to be an aunt is reason enough for them to plead injustice.

I think back to before the interviews, when I was wondering why Prim was Reaped. If it was to punish her sister… well, that just got a lot more difficult. If Prim dies now, the Capitol may have riots from within to contend with.

But if Prim wins?

Then I'm dead.

I sink back against the couch, my euphoria from our interview completely evaporated.

This is bad.

And it only gets worse. Caesar doesn't get the crowd to quiet down in the little time remaining in the interview, and Prim and Thane leave the stage to sustained screaming.

Finally, finally, they settle. Caesar, normally as unflappable as they come, seems a bit shaken. "Alright, folks, alright we have a few more things on the agenda for the evening."

Wait, we do?

I thought this was the part where he wished us happy Hunger Games…

"There are still a few things about the arena that remain a mystery," he continues, "even to the Tributes.

"As you know, with the special rule accompanying this Quarter Quell, our excellent Gamemakers have had quite a task ahead of them—interpreting the rule within the limits of Hunger Games regulations, and finding the most appropriate way for everything to play out. This is a Quell, after all, and it must not disappoint!" Caesar paces the stage, having calmed the crowd down, he seems to want to rile them up again. "So… who wants to know some more details?"

Everybody, of course.

Cato sits up straighter in the seat beside me.

"Alright, now I hope all our Tributes backstage are paying close attention, because this is important!" Caesar produces a card from inside his jacket with a flourish, pausing before beginning to read.

"In traditional Hunger Games, Tributes have competed as individuals, surrounded by enemies from their first moments in the arena. While this year Tributes have been assigned one partner with whom they may compete and win, we have elected to preserve the longstanding tradition of beginning the Games surrounded by foes."

Caesar looks up at the audience, grinning hugely.

It's a moment before resumes reading. "As a result, there will be not one, but two cornucopias in the seventy-fifth Hunger Games. Tribute Pairs will be split between the two, with female Tributes at one, and male Tributes at the other."

I'm so shocked I almost miss the next part.

"Tributes who are reunited with their partners within the first twenty-four hours of Game time will be given a material advantage over those who do not."

Caesar's words echo in my head, the final blow of the evening.

I turn to Cato, who looks almost as shocked as I feel, and try to resign myself to this new twist:

I'm not going into the arena with him.

6101719: I was determined to get this chap out on November 5th, because that's Caerwyn's birthday. And if I lived on the Pacific coast, it would still be November 5th. So I'm going to go ahead and call this a success.

Happy birthday, Caerwyn, and I'm sorry this chap didn't go quite as much your way as you would have liked!

Thanks to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter. It's so nice hearing from you all! As this is the last chapter of pre-games, I would love to hear what predictions or hopes you guys have for the arena. Feel free to drop by with your wildest theories if you feel like it, or with anything you might have to say. Really. You are all just wonderful people and I love hearing from you.

Also, the biggest, HUGEST shout-out goes once again to DreamsandThoughts, who left a review on every single chapter this past weekend and thus made my entire MONTH. You're amazing. Honestly.