The group this year isn't as good as the ones last year. It's rare that we get two good packs in a row, but it's nice to be hopeful.

"I think we should start hunting right away," says the girl from Two – Enyo. "Only eight dead, that's pitiful."

"Well, I think we should wait, give them time to feel safe. Then we ambush," says Brook. He's a big, tough guy from Four's academy. Training in Four isn't a way to get kids to actively pursue being in the Games. It's more of a just-in-case kind of thing – lots of kids train on the off chance they might be reaped. Of course, lots of kids don't train, and still get reaped. We have volunteers, but it's rarely two a year. We might be a Career district, but we're not as strong as One or Two. Or maybe we're just not as suicidal.

Brook, however, is a Career through and through. The first night on the train, he bragged that he'd been training since he was six. He thought he was hot shit. In reality, he's probably an extra kid of a poor family who couldn't afford to feed him. He probably got sent there young so they wouldn't have to look after him. That's the case with a lot of our volunteers. Andromache didn't train. She's a fisher kid, like I was, so she knows her way around spears, but she's nowhere near the skill level of Brook. She's feisty, though, and I'd much prefer she wins than the boy, who's far too big for his boots.

His allies know it too. The tributes from One exchange a worried glance as Brook and Enyo argue. They know just as we do that the alliance isn't going to last long this year. Not with two equally skilled, equally fiery alphas. No, they know just as well as I do that the alliance is going to implode – and probably sooner rather than later.

"Hey, you. District Eleven," Enyo snaps, tearing herself out of the argument with Brook. She's tough, with dark, angry eyes.

The boy from Eleven stands up straighter, obviously terrified but doing a good job of hiding it. He doesn't say anything, which is probably smart – Enyo looks like she might murder the next person to talk. Hopefully that person is Brook. "Go make sure the little kiddies are dead," she says.

"Go make sure they're dead?" The boy from Eleven repeats, looking doubtful. He shuffles his feet nervously. He's going to want to pull it together if he wants to survive the night.

"Are you deaf or something?" Enyo asks, sneering. "Go make sure they're dead. I don't care how you do it, stab them in the heart for all I care."

"Okay," says Eleven, and to his credit he doesn't stutter. He doesn't look overjoyed with the task assigned to him, but he knows that he's going to be doing their dirty work for a while if he wants to stay in their alliance.

I watch as he makes his way over to the killing grounds, his feet squelching on the blood-soaked ground. He begins methodically stabbing the corpses in the heart.

Brook and Enyo are still arguing. The other four have backed away, and seem to have decided to let the two battle it out. I guess until one of them kills the other. Andromache seems to have made fast friends with the other three, especially the girl from One. That's good. With her district partner off the rails, she'll need someone to watch her back.

The boy from Eleven is still stabbing the corpses. It's a methodical process. Stab, take the sword out, onto the next one. He nearly faints when a cannon goes off – apparently one of them wasn't dead, after all. That's nine dead.

"Brook is a loose cannon," Mags says, and looks at me solemnly.

I nod my agreement – I can't see Four winning this year. "And Andromache is a lovely girl, but that's the problem."

She sighs, and puts her wrinkled hand on my smooth one. "Maybe next year?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

Something tells me that we won't have a win for a long, long time.