Rayla wondered if she would ever be satisfied with the person staring back at her in the mirror. Shame tinted her cheeks as Tide and Runaan strided into her thoughts. Did they feel that they had to watch the interviews today, because she was in them? Or would they continue in the communal agreement of their Kin to not pay mind to these Games?

If they watched, they would not recognize her.

Untameds did not have pontifical attire nor frivolous emblems, despite what her stylists believed. Purple bands lacking any essence were now pressed onto her skin. They spiraled around her arms and down her legs, dotting her back up to her neck.

"They're temporary tattoos, or emblems, as you call them," one of her stylists had informed her that morning.

"Emblems are no' tattoos," Rayla snapped.

Her words had no effect.

"We're going for intimidation," Claudia had briefed Rayla during the interview training. "Intimidatingly abstruse, I suppose. Something that makes people feel unfulfilled, but not threatened. That way they'll take you seriously and - thanks to human curiosity - they'll remember you." She'd stopped pacing the room and stared at Rayla purposedly. "They'll want to know more about you."

"Won't they know that these tattoos are racist?"

She thought she saw Claudia stifle a laugh before she turned around, impressed with Rayla's audacity.

"You'll be the first Untamed ever televised, Rayla! The audience doesn't know what your outfits and emblems are supposed to look like."

"I've told ye it's Kin, not Untamed. An' what's the problem with the way I originally dressed?" When Claudia faced Rayla, the volunteer glared. "Dinnae say this is more memorable. It's embarrassin'," she sulked.

"You'll be tremendous, Rayla. No more complaining, we've got sponsors to steal."

As she looked at herself now, this glimmering, artificial starlet she now was, Rayla pushed down the festering anger in her chest. Before she walked out, a prayer to stall her uncles from witnessing her interview hung in the room.

Meanwhile, Callum was twiddling with his thumbs, glancing up at a preening Soren and dreading the blazing lights that would soon melt off his foundation.

"You're not even going on air. Are you?"

"No." Soren folded down the collar of his shirt. "Haven't you learned anything about presentation in this district? It always counts." Once he was satisfied with his reflecting grin, Soren faced his back to the mirror and looked Callum over.

"That haircut did you good. You look older now, more qualified."

It was nice for Callum to not worry about his bangs obstructing his view like they used to.

"Are you nervous? Don't be nervous," Soren said, pulling the volunteer up from his seat.

Callum tried to shake him off. "I just-"

"I taught you to make the audience eat out of the palm of your hand. No other mentor can do that, and I'm not even your mentor! You'll have the best interview out there."

"Soren?"

"What?"

"Before I die-"

Soren glared at Callum, his vainglorious facade evaporating. "Hey-"

"Don't," Callum snapped. "Don't bother trying to console me." His voice softened. "Before anything happens, I want to know what happened to you, Soren. After tomorrow . . . I could never see you again."

There was an unsteady silence. Both wanted to interrupt each other, neither wanted to be the first to talk.

"Winning was something you trained your whole life for. Being Victor seems like something you expected of yourself. Are you really happy, though? How can you . . ."

. . . live with yourself?

A scoff, a turn of the Victor's head.

"I won't ask for anything else. Ever."

"No, of course you won't," Soren chuckled bitterly. "Leave that to Rayla." He peered down at Callum, reserved disappointment and annoyance in his gaze.

"Why did you want to win so badly, Soren?"

"You can't repeat this."

"I won't! Ever."

Only the buzzing of the lights in the room could be heard. Callum wasn't quite sure if he'd presented his side of the argument well enough, and was going over better pleas in his head.

"My mom left when we were young," the Victor halfheartedly said.

Daring to sit back down, Callum watched as Soren leaned back against the mirrored dresser. His hands found the edge of the shelf and he gripped it until his knuckles paled. The tribute had never noticed the white, elevated scars on his hands before. He'd never thought of Soren to withdraw from eye contact either, but here they were.

Soren stared straight ahead into nothingness.

"Dad was beside himself for a really long time - she really hurt him. But then one day he just . . . got over it? His new focus was on training me and Claudia for the Games. I thought he was just distracting us, like teaching us to dream big or something. I didn't get it." He looked at Callum. "I'll spare you the next decade or so. You already know what happened." The corner of his mouth twitched, "I won."

Callum nodded.

"Being Victor rewards you a lot of things. I didn't come from a lower district, so my sum was mainly money. Fame and fortune too, but money most importantly."

Callum could hear the fake smile in his voice.

"Dad used my winnings to run for president. He won, but without me he never could've become president. Without me, he wouldn't be where he is today." Another scoff. "Or who he is today."

Steady silence, this time.

"He used you?"

"He used both of us," Soren vented. "Me and Clauds. I was just, y'know, the first born. If I hadn't won, it would've been up to Claudia."

There was still no eye contact as Callum leaned farther off his seat. "Did either of you think about refusing?"

The question genuinely stuped Soren.

"No. We were doing this for dad. Not - not to make him president, but to make him proud. We did it to make him happy again."

Callum wondered what he would soon sacrifice to make Ezran happy again.

Before the lobby of tributes was divided up into districts, allies split into their respective groups. There was still some time before the interview began.

"Are you nervous?" Callum and Rayla asked each other in unison. They half smiled at each other, amused.

"I'm terrified," Callum told her.

"It feels like everythin' I want to talk about is off limits."

"Same here. They're just looking for a way to root against us." Callum nudged his ally hearteningly. "You're smart though, Rayla. Tell them . . . well, tell them what they want to hear."

"Not what they need to hear."

"Never what they need to hear."

With only minutes remaining, Rayla squeezed Callum's arm before finding her seat.

To calm himself, Callum counted the seconds between every breath he took. His fingertips were trembling already, eyes glued to the flatscreen mounted above the tributes' chairs. He tried to channel those he'd lost too soon, aching for his mom, desperate for his step dad.

Roaring hands steered both Callum and Rayla to face a long-dreaded threat. All Careers copied the volume of the rest of the tributes: silence. An announcer materialized from the shadows of the television.

"Oh stop, oh stop! I've missed all of you incomprehensibly!" Nyx, the annual announcer for the Games, pranced to the very edge of the stage. People's hands outstretched to hers, voices chimed sharper, Nyx's semblance blazed. "And I can see how much you've missed me, too!"

Callum thought he could remember Nyx hailing from District 4, which was a rather odd occurrence. Most influential people in the Capitol were from the first two districts.

Then again, her energy and mannerisms were unique, even to the Capitol. Each eye was naturally a different color, something upper district dwellers often sought after through contact lenses and surgeries.

She's a natural, in every sense of the word.

"This is going to be a memorable year, folks. I know I say that every year," Nyx laughed, then altered her expression in a deceitful sort of serious. She stared straight into the main camera lense. "But I can feel it this time."

Everyone's breath caught. Each tribute believed she said this because of them, each Career and volunteer and sponsor believed the same of themselves.

Rayla's exterior hardened, vowing to Nyx that this year would be different. This was going to be the first year Kin would win. After this Game, the term "Untamed" would be taboo.

She didn't notice Callum looking at her.

The first tribute mounted the bar as high as the skyscraper that had housed the remaining tributes for the past two weeks.

Nyx absolutely loved Fury. For the entirety of the interview, Nyx was trembling like a child in impulse as Fury introduced herself as this year's Victor.

"Another Victor from District One? How many houses does your Victors' Village already have?"

"Not enough," Fury insisted. "I'll tell them to get started on mine right away!"

In Rayla's opinion, Fury was a more-realized Career than Olympia, the Career she'd sparred with on their first day in the Capitol.

Perhaps a fully-realized threat.

It was hard to tell a lot of the Careers apart. All of them seemed nice enough on screen, promising their victory and stifling their bloodthirsty tendencies for the time being. When non-Careers began their portion of the interviews, buried emotions began to show.

Rozalina, the twelve-year-old tribute from District 6, was the girl who revealed to Rayla the effects of cinematography.

On air, the camera angles towered over Rozalina, only shooting as low as Nyx's line of sight. The volume of her voice proved to dwindle further every time she spoke, no doubt a (somehow live) editing trick. Before she could conclusively finish whatever question she'd been asked, Nyx created a habit of cutting her off and powering through to the next question.

Rayla knew Rozalina not to be a shy, diffident tribute. She was stealthy and quick and most importantly, she knew when she could hold her own. She knew when to back down. But this . . . this timid cherub that was on the television in front of her spooked Rayla.

The Capitol was revising Rozalina's personality to better fit her popularity tactic: a shy, scared twelve-year-old. And Rozalina wasn't even aware of it.

This time Callum was the one who failed to notice Rayla staring at him.

Surely he saw what was happening, too. He'd probably realized it far sooner than Rayla.

She was still scared, though. What if the Capitol made her out to be a ruthless barbarian? That's what people believed Kin were, anyway. It probably wouldn't be hard to portray.

How would they depict Callum? How could she protect him from it?

When Callum's name could be heard chanted from the television and throughout the hallway, he rose and exited quickly. He plowed out into the blinding lights and failed to hear the audience over his thrashing heart.

"Callum!"

Nyx's enthusiasm was not as contagious as Claudia's. He tried to call his mind back to Soren's instructions.

Simultaneously, Callum's interview seemed significantly longer and shorter than the time permitted. His family's Coalition was not referred to as a coalition, but as a benefaction.

Amaya was not brought up.

"What do you bet you'll win, Callum?"

Nyx's question staggered the volunteer. In the audience, Soren's gaze hunted Callum down.

Callum shook himself of his nerves, plastered on a righteous smirk, and looked right into the camera. "I bet my life I'll win."

As Soren and Claudia advised, Callum went on to "tug on heartstrings" by going into the detail of how he came from a family who dedicated their lives to helping other people. It felt wrong, though. Deceptive.

But then it was over.

Callum's eyes failed to adjust as he walked back into the waiting area. Suffocated in darkness, he leaned against the wall. All he wanted was Amaya, Harrow, Ezran. His mom. When he looked up, he saw Rayla.

"I couldn't even tell you were nervous."

Is she lying?

Trembles still afflicted Callum. His ally wrapped him up in a hug and didn't let go until he lost count of how many seconds he'd counted between breaths. Strength was fleeting in both of them. By the end of the embrace, their hands felt numb.

"You're next," Callum said when they parted.

"Aye, but not for a bit. Go up to your room now. Relax."

Callum hesitated. "I'll see you tonight." His eyes flickered up towards the ceiling.

Rayla dipped her head, understanding wordlessly.

Although she would not admit it, Rayla wished Callum could have stayed for her interview. Moral support would have been more than enough.

"The moment you've all been waiting for." Nyx's voice rang out after Rayla had been sitting alone in the waiting room for a few minutes.

Rayla stood up. That was her cue.

"How lucky you all are! You're the first ones to see a real-life Untamed!"

Rayla thought her teeth might shatter. She whispered one more prayer for her uncles before she stepped out into the light, unclenching her jaw.

The audience's applause swallowed her up whole. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw their awed expressions clearly. For some reason it felt like she was falling, but when she looked down at her feet, they were still rooted in place.

Nyx tapped Rayla's shoulder, pulling her from her trance and landing the volunteer in the seat beside hers.

"Are these real?"

Rayla quite literally caught Nyx's hand as she went to poke her cheeks. The audience gasped, either surprised at her reflexes or astonished at daring.

Somewhere in the crowd, Rayla knew Claudia was flinching.

"These are real emblems," Rayla chuckled, bringing Nyx's hand closer to her cheek. Then she pointed the announcer's hand farther down her arm. "These are decoration, just for tonight."

Everyone got a kick out of the interaction between Nyx and Rayla. The interview prevailed less awkwardly than Rayla had intended. By the time it was over, she'd relaxed some. Waving with the hint of a smile, the last tribute strided off the stage and didn't stop until she reached the top of the roof.

Callum met her with a smile.

"You were a different person up there."

"Was I?" She swung her legs over the edge of the building and tilted her head in Callum's direction.

"You're learning how to acculturate, Rayla. It's not a bad thing." Callum shrugged while he spoke, acting indifferent in spite of his proud expression.

"Well, it's not somethin' I want to get used to."

Rayla still ached for the moon. Callum followed her gaze and pointed out where the stars would be if not for the pollution.

"No, the brightest star is always here," Rayla corrected him, adjusting his hand to point in the correct direction. When Callum pretended to look hurt, they both chuckled.

"Can you tell me more about Kin life?"

For reasons she couldn't grasp, Callum was always asking about Rayla's past. How he could be so genuinely interested in her family, her way of life, was beyond her.

"What? I doubt you'll be able to talk about it once we're in the arena, with the cameras and all."

He made a fair point. Rayla wouldn't be caught talking about her Kin while the people behind the cameras could play with her words.

"We didn't sleep outside as much as I would've liked. Runaan was always pesterin' me about how I'd catch a cold if I kept sneakin' outside to sleep."

"My mom would've done the same thing," Callum said. He was smiling fondly in no particular direction.

"What was your mom like?"

"That's not fair." Precipitously, Callum's voice wavered; Rayla was surprised when she didn't see tears in his eyes. He shook his head and laughed it off.

"You never talk about your mom, Rayla. Why do you want to hear about mine?"

This time it was Rayla's turn to laugh her emotions off. "Whenever you talk about her, I can hear about how much she meant to you. She sounds sweet and carin'."

"Was your mom not?"

"Not at the end."

"Oh, Rayla . . . I'm sorry. I didn't know-"

"No," Rayla cut him off. "That's no' what I meant - she's still around. After my da died though, she lost touch with herself. It was hard for her to take care of me, so I left to go with Runaan and Tide."

"How old were you?"

"Eight."

They lapsed into silence, both their eyes blank.

"Ezran was a baby when mom died. He never even knew her." A tentative breath. "He got her sweet tooth, though."

"Yeah?" Rayla was grinning mildly, and it prompted a small smile to alter Callum's expression.

"Yeah. Rayla?"

"Hm?"

Callum began fidgeting, picking at his nails and avoiding Rayla's gaze. "Do you worry about . . . dying?"

Rayla simply stared at him. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't think I'm scared of death. I don't even know, really, but I'm more worried about what I'll leave behind. I've been left behind so many times," he whispered. "There's so much Ezran doesn't know, there's so many people he's already lost. I thought it was up to me to share the memories I have of our mom and his dad with him." The volunteer's voice was low, full of questions that would never be answered. "But now I'm gone, too."

Rayla wasn't sure if she should speak. If she told her ally that she thought he would make it back to his brother, she might be lying. She wanted to believe herself, though. She wanted desperately to believe Callum.

"I left Ezran. I left my aunt and her Coalition. Who did you leave behind?"

Again, Callum's question left Rayla staring in silence.

"My uncles. Dhara's Kin."

"What about . . . your mom?"

The idea of her ma finding out what she'd done failed to sadden Rayla. She didn't know how to explain that to Callum, who still missed his ma with all his heart.

"There's a sickness in my family, Callum. It eats away at your mind, drains the love from your heart and the fight from your spirit. My ma's long gone, but Runaan isn't. Not yet." She leveled with him, no room for remorse in her actions, no trace of sympathy in her temperament. "I have to save him."

"What about you?" He inched closer, sounding so sympathetic it made Rayla sick. "What if you die?"

"What if I don't?"

"Aren't you worried," Callum murmured, "That the sickness will come for you if you live?"

No, Rayla hadn't been worried about that. Not until now.

"It won't come for me, not with you by my side." Ridding herself of the soddened realization that just dawned upon her, Rayla smiled at Callum half humorously. "You know a way we can both be Victor, right?"

"Y-Yeah, but Rayla-"

"No, I don't want to hear it. I trust you, Callum. You're the brightest one out of all of us and I'm lucky to have you as my ally. When this is over, Ezran will have you back." She leaned back, crumpling the interview outfit she'd failed to change out of as laid down on the roof. "Tell him everything you can remember about your ma and da, he'll need it after this."

Callum remained sitting, looking out over the skyscrapers alongside them. What she'd said sat wrong with him. How could she follow him so faithfully? He didn't think he'd done enough to earn her trust yet.

"Have heart, Callum," Rayla said, jolting him from his thoughts.

She sat back up, closer to him this time, though not on purpose. Their expressions ebbed, their fingers skimmed atop one another's. Both could feel tears building behind their eyes.

Neither wanted to face the reality of tomorrow. Nobody could admit how terrified they really were.

"And please, Callum, get us out of this."