General Welfare Chapter 1: The Calm, a hunger games fanfic

GENERAL WELFARE
The 53rd Annual Hunger Games
°°°
Part I. The Calm

"Often, not the storm but the fear of the storm beats us."
― Mehmet Murat Ildan

Today is the perfect sort of day.

It's the kind of day where a blanket of silky white clouds has covered Four's cerulean skies, ripples of silver tearing through its seams. Without the sun's natural light shining to its full extent, the ocean water has dulled to a slate hue, only saturated by the occasional luminous specks reflecting off its surface and onto the sand.

With her toes interwoven between the coarse rocks and gravel and a gust of wind blowing through her long brown curls, Nim van Amstel can already tell that today is going to be a great day.

"So, what are our plans for the morning?" her twin brother, Shae, asks. The smile on his face is nearly as wide as the waves slowly heading towards the shore. "Dad's probably going to be back from his trip to the border soon, so maybe it wouldn't hurt for us to take care of some of the chores he set out for us."

"It wouldn't hurt, that's true," Nim says with a chuckle, her voice light like seafoam. "But consider, it wouldn't be very much fun either."

"Getting scolded by Dad would be even less fun," Shae insists.

And though he does make a fair point, Nim wants none of it. "You act like that's a big deal. He's physically incapable of being even slightly upset with us for longer than like… half an hour."

It's true; Corwin van Amstel loves his two children with every fiber of his scrappy, lanky body, one that's traveled over every inch of District Four and chose here to settle down, as far away from civilization as possible. Nim doesn't remember a time when it wasn't just her, her brother, and her father. When she was a kid, he'd tell her and Shae that their mother was a mermaid. By the time they were old enough to figure out that's impossible, neither of them really cared to find out the truth. After all, a life spent mourning or searching for a mother you never knew is far less fun than one where you appreciate your father and every little thing he's done for your family.

Still, he's not a complete pushover. Oftentimes, he goes on his journeys to Four's borders to ensure, per the Capitol's request, that everything is secure, that nobody's tried to escape into the wilderness and whatever else may be beyond. When he does, Corwin makes a list of chores for Shae and Nim to complete before his return. Living in complete isolation from the cruelties of the outside world means nobody's available to fix the shoddy roof on the van Amstel family home that Corwin built himself. It means they can't just buy their food at the grocery store. Instead, they have to go fish for themselves or spend hours upon hours making sure that the garden is healthy and well. As of late, the twins have been putting these chore lists off until the last minute. Both understand it's necessary to do what their father asks of them if they want to survive, but it doesn't change the fact that they'd much rather be surfing or exploring a cave.

"I suppose you make a good point." Shae sighs, kneeling and running his fingers through the water. "The hole in the roof isn't that big, and the water's calm enough that—"

"We can go out on the paddle boards?" Nim cuts him off in excitement. It's been a while since she and Shae last made their way a hundred yards past the shore, laid down on their paddle boards, and taken in the world the way it's meant to be consumed.

Shae scratches the back of his neck the way he does when he's nervous and shrugs. "I was going to suggest going for a swim, but if you really want to…"

Six or seven months ago, when Nim and Shae were doing their whole ordeal on the paddle boards, Shae got caught in a riptide on the way back to the shore. Nim'll never forget the panicked look on Corwin's face as he swam towards Shae's writhing body and brought him back home. She can only imagine that memory's seared even harder in Shae's mind. But it's not as if that's scared them off from going surfing and paddle boarding since then. Their father always taught them that failing something once is hardly a good reason to quit it overall.

"We don't have to," Nim relents. As badly as she does want to go on the paddle boards, she hates seeing Shae so nervous. If he's going to panic the entire time, they might as well not go out. Nim doesn't mind, not too much; there's lots else they can do.

"I'm sorry," Shae says, releasing a disappointed sigh.

"You don't have to be!" Nim sits down cross legged. "We'll do something else instead."

A gentle wave washes over the shore, revealing small holes in the sand. Nim cups her hand and digs underneath one, a tingling feeling running up her palm. Three small crabs rest in her hand when she raises her arm back up to the surface. She reaches up to show Shae, giggling, "Do you remember when we were younger, we used to joke that these little guys were from another planet?"

"I sure do. Dad would get all fussy at us because he'd find at least a hundred of them swimming around in the rain bucket." Shae sits down next to Nim and puts his hand by hers. One of the crabs crawls across Nim's fingers and onto her brother's palm. He laughs. "I forgot how much they tickle!"

"Not as much as this does!" Nim moves her free hand underneath Shae's arm and playfully scratches his skin.

He writhes, his back hunching over and his face turning red. "Hey, knock it off!"

Shae's always been the more ticklish of the two of them. He's always been more sensitive too, and definitely more timid. Still, there's nothing in this world that Nim would give up for her brother. She knows someday it'll be just the two of them, old, gray, and reminiscing about when their posture was good enough they could sit down on the sand. Even then, Nim doesn't think she'll want anything more.

Nim's never seen her father this nervous before. Not when Shae got caught in a riptide and not when she fell out of a tree and broke her arm.

He's been home for five minutes now, but he hasn't said a word, instead striding back and forth in front of their home with sweat dripping down his forehead.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Nim asks him for the umpteenth time. She doesn't want to show that she, too, is anxious. She knows that'll just worry her father even more, but it's getting harder and harder.

"I'm sure everything's fine," Shae reassures her, right by her side as always on the front steps.

Doubtful. In her seventeen years, this has got to be the longest Nim has been in her father's presence without him talking. Normally, he blabbers about his adventures for at least fifteen minutes straight when he gets home.

Another five minutes pass, and Corwin still does nothing but pace. Nim leans over and whispers to Shae, "Do you think I should tap him or something?"

"I'll do it," her brother declares, not giving her time to respond before rising to his feet. He tip-toes over to their father and gently brushes his hand against the older man's shoulder. Immediately, Corwin stops in his tracks.

"Dad?" Shae questions him, his voice breathy even though he didn't seem too nervous fifteen seconds ago.

"I have to warn them," he finally says.

"W-what?" Nim stammers, practically jumping off the stairs to stand beside him. "Warn who? And about what?"

Her father's hands begin to shake, and a small tear forms in his eye. "The big storm. It's coming."

"What do you mean, 'big storm?'" Shae asks with a sense of urgency.

"I mean exactly what I said," Corwin replies. He glances at the sky, now a darker gray, and shudders. "Oh boy… this isn't going to be good. Yeah, I haven't seen one as bad as this since before you were born."

Corwin has always been the sort of man who dances in the rain instead of cowering in fear. His love of storms is something he passed down to Nim, too, the pair spinning in the downpour and ignoring Shae when he warns them they're going to catch a cold. Nim knows she doesn't have to be nervous as long as she's with her father. The fact he's so tense now deeply unsettles her.

"Is everything going to be okay?" Nim inquires, already afraid of his answer.

"I certainly hope so…" Her father trembles. "You two will be fine; just remember what I taught you about storm safety."

He makes a mad dash towards the edge of the sand where his boat sits, prompting the twins to follow after him. Shae calls out, "Where are you going?"

"I have to warn the nearby cities," Corwin shouts back. "Going by sea is the quickest way."

"Is that safe?" Nim already knows that there's nothing she can do to change her father's mind. He's always been just as stubborn as she is.

"It's going to have to be." Her father hops over the boat's rusted green hull and onto the deck. He raises the sail and begins fiddling with the motor. "If I don't act quickly, people will die."

Selfishly, Nim still wants him here. Never once has she been afraid that something bad would happen to her or somebody in her family – at least, not until now. An unfamiliar dread has sunken into her stomach, gnawing at her and repeatedly telling her awful things are on the horizon.

"Stay safe," Shae hollers. He walks next to Nim and squeezes her wrist. "We'll be waiting for you."

The motor emits a buzzing noise, and the boat begins to move forwards. Corwin maneuvers towards the bow and waves his hands in the air. "I'm going to be fine; I promise!"

As the vessel paddles further away, he turns around, looks back at his kids, and shouts, "I love you guys!"

"I love you too!" Shae cries back, his entire body stiff with the same dread Nim feels.

She closes her eyes, inhales, then exhales twice, then opens them to see her father's figure getting smaller and smaller in the distance. Nim calls out to him still, "I love you!"

(If she knew that she'd never see him again, perhaps she would've yelled louder.)

Her father definitely wasn't joking when he said this storm wasn't like anything the twins had ever seen.

Nim's been scrunched into a ball for at least an hour now on top of a vast pile of rocks, her ankles and back beginning to ache.

Though she can't see him, Nim knows that amidst the violent gusts of wind sending her hair flying and the crackling of thunder loud enough to deafen her, Shae is right by her side. He always has been, and chances are, he always will be.

"You doing alright?" Nim asks, gripping the rocks so tight they scratch against her hands as another current blows.

Immediately, she hears Shae's voice amidst the pattering rain, more panicked than ever before. "I'm doing the best I can. How about you?"

"I think I'm fine for now," she replies, her voice shockingly calm despite the rumbling thunder in the distance. "You don't seem fine, you know."

"I am," her brother says. "I promise, everything is fine."

The feeling in her stomach that warned her about her father earlier returns now. In response, Nim calls out to Shae, "Make sure you're holding on as tightly as you can, alright?"

"I'm going to be fine, Nim!" This time, his voice seems frustrated, so Nim decides to leave him be.

She squeezes her core tight as more wind squalls through her hair. Even though her body's as weak and drained as ever, Nim has to stay strong. After all, she promised her father that they'd make it through this. Another round of thunder and then a bright flash of lightning Nim sees only from her peripherals. The rain hits her back like pins and needles, but she pretends it's just sand crabs crawling up her spine.

Even now, as the world seems to be tearing itself apart, the rain smells just as it did when she'd dance in it with her father. That alone is enough to give Nim some sense of comfort.

Just as quickly as Corwin sailed away and just as suddenly as when she fell off her surfboard last week, Nim's newfound solace is shattered by a guttural scream.

"Nim!"

She opens her eyes and looks up to see Shae in the distance, his body small compared to the vast ocean surrounding him. He's managed to slip off of the rock formation, and though he hasn't drifted off to sea yet, he's being relentlessly battered against the rocks. With Shae's face consumed by sheer horror, the same feeling sinks deep into Nim's stomach.

Nim shouts, "How did you get over there?"

"I have no idea," comes Shae's reply, his voice strained, "I was holding on just like you said when the wind just… it carried me."

"Shit," she mutters, slowly straightening her back and stabilizing her posture atop the rocks. Her knees still bent, and her arms extended wide, Nim calls to her brother, "Try and stay calm. I'm going to help you."

"I can't stay calm," Shae yells, his entire body flailing intensely. "I don't know what's happening to me!"

The wind pushes Nim back, threatening to send her flying like it did Shae, but she stands her ground. Inch by inch, stone by stone, she gets closer to her brother. She wishes she was calm the way she told him to be, but Nim's mind races a hundred miles an hour, warning her of all the horrible things that could come out of this.

"What if you don't get there in time?"

"What if he hits his head on the rocks?"

"Are you sure you can even lift him?"

She's never experienced such dreadful paranoia, not even when Shae was caught in the riptide, because up until this moment, she's never had to. Up until now, Nim's life has been perfectly normal. A bit unorthodox, perhaps, but it's all she's ever known.

"I'm almost there!" She shouts at Shae, unsure if he can see her when every inch of him shakes and the wind pulls the skin on his face against his skull.

More thunder and lightning, but Nim does her best to remain unfazed. She's just a few feet away now and can see her brother clearly. Unfortunately, this isn't the way she wanted to see him. Large cuts and bruises have painted Shae's arms a sickly color, the biggest gashes gushing blood and dying the water around him crimson.

(Nim can't help but wonder why the wind and the ocean, two of the most beautiful things in this world, decided to wage war against one of the only two people that mean anything to her.)

"Thank you," Shae cries as Nim reaches down for his hand, his fingers mangled and out of place like they were hit by something.

"You're going to be fine," Nim swears. She bends her knees and wraps her hands around Shae's wrist. "Grab onto mine if you can."

"I can't." Her brother's voice quivers. "It hurts too much."

"Then don't worry about it. I've got you." Nim begins pulling him from the sea, doing her best to avoid his chest scraping against the rocks. The downpour and wind do no favors, but she grinds her teeth together and grunts, eventually carrying Shae onto the surface. Nim asks, "Can you crawl?"

"I– I can try," he stammers. He straightens his body, the tears in his shirt exposing even more lacerations and bruises, then tries to inch himself forwards. With every motion, Shae holds onto the rocks for dear life. It looks like his body will give out at any moment, but still, Shae follows Nim as she walks backward towards a spot on the rocks away from the coast.

By the time they arrive, the wind has slightly subsided and the rain's reduced to a drizzle. Shae collapses onto his back and takes a deep breath. Nim uses his shirt to blot his blood and says, "I told you that you'd be alright."

"I know you did," her brother replies. "I didn't doubt you for a minute."

She gets onto the ground herself and lies flat next to Shae. They may not be on paddle boards, and the sky might not be as familiar to them as usual, but Nim has once again proven that when it's her and Shae against the world, the world will never win.

Two days later, there's no sign of Corwin. The skies are blue once more, a double rainbow dividing into parts, but Nim can't relax or rest just yet.

When she awakens from her nap on the beach and spits out the sand that somehow gathered inside her mouth, the first thing she asks is, "Did you see him?"

"I didn't," Shae replies ever so somberly. "I told you I'd wake you up if he came back, remember?"

"Right..." Nim nods her head. "Did you see anything that may give us a sign of where he is?"

Her brother grows quiet, face disgruntled like he's hiding something from her. Nim repeats, "Did you?"

Shae sighs and then walks toward Nim. Based on his sluggish pace, she already knows something is wrong. "So you did see something then, didn't you?"

"Perhaps," he admits. He sits down at Nim's side and takes another deep breath. "Why don't you get up, and I'll show you."

Nervous, she obliges, dusting the sand off the back of her thighs once she's standing. Shae treads in front of her in the direction of the shoreline. Nim can't prevent herself from wondering what exactly he's leading her to. Of course, her mind jumps to the worst possible scenario: her father's corpse lying flat on the sand, eyes closed and skin wrinkled and pale.

(It wouldn't be a comfort to see but then at least Nim would know. The truth will always hurt less than any mystery.)

"So, I just want to preface this by saying I'm sorry I didn't wake you up right when I saw this," Shae says. "You just looked so peaceful, and I didn't want to disturb you. You really did need the sleep, you know."

Nim doesn't have it in her to blame him. She's slept maybe nine hours combined in the past two days; the rest of her time spent searching for her father. Yes, she is exhausted beyond belief, but she refuses to waste any time that could be better spent finding Corwin. The fact that Shae found a sign of something while she wasn't conscious is a bit disheartening, considering just how hard she looked. Nevertheless, it's a sign.

"You're right," Nim admits. When they arrive at the end of the shore, she doesn't see any prominent artifact that may represent her father and his whereabouts, so she asks Shae, "Well, what did you find?"

"Are you blind?" he jests. He stands behind Nim and rotates her body ninety degrees counterclockwise. "Look right there!"

Shae points downwards at two long blue scraps of metal and a dark brown steering wheel. Nim gasps, then tells herself, No, this can't be. This isn't his. It's not his!

"All I see is some junk," Nim says nonchalantly. "I don't get what the big deal is."

"Um…" Shae grumbles. "Are you like, still sleepy or something? Because I thought it was obvious that all of this came from Dad's boat."

Nim sighs. He's probably right —but it isn't from Dad's boat! He's still alive, so it can't be from his boat. He's out there somewhere and he's going to find his way back to us; I just know it!

"I can certainly see why you'd think it's from the boat," she tells her brother. "But it isn't from his boat because that would imply he's dead, and he simply is not dead, so…."

Unless, of course, he swam to the shore when his boat broke. But if he did that, he'd probably have made his way back to Nim and Shae by now, which means it's not his boat. It can't be his boat. Corwin's the strongest person Nim knows; not that that's such an accomplishment considering she knows exactly two people. But still, her father's better than this. He wouldn't get fazed by a storm of all things. He's still alive; he has to be.

(Nim doesn't know what she'll do if he isn't. She's been on her own with Shae on numerous occasions, but it's different when there's no father returning to look forward to. She adores her brother. She can physically survive with just him. But mentally? Nim isn't so sure. She needs her father. More than anything, she needs the man who raised her in his image, who taught her never to back down from being herself.)

"Look, I know you're upset," Shae puts his hand on Nim's shoulder and pats her sympathetically. "I am too, but denial isn't going to do anything."

"What do you mean, denial?" Nim snaps at him, the words coming out of her mouth much harsher than she had expected. "I'm not denying anything, Shae. This isn't Dad's boat; it can't be. He's going to come back to us, and it'll be in one piece."

"And what if he doesn't?" Shae asks. "I'm not trying to be mean to you, but I don't want you to get all riled up over something that isn't true."

"He's going to come back," Nim insists. "And if he doesn't within the next week, we'll just have to search far and wide until we find him."

No matter how long it takes, Nim van Amstel will see her father again. No distance is too extreme if it means she'll see him again.

She swears she hasn't searched this town before. Over the past six months, Nim has dragged Shae away from their home, traveling miles upon miles by foot and stopping at every village or town they see to ask the same question to every single local, "Have you perhaps seen my father?"

Typically, people look at Nim as if she's crazy, but she's not crazy. She knows that her father's out there somewhere, and chances are, he's looking for Nim and Shae just as hard as they're looking for him.

"He's not going to be here," Shae says as the two trudge across yet another unfamiliar beach. "Look, Nim, I know you miss him, but if Dad really was alive, don't you think we'd have found him by now?"

Despite all his complaining, Nim still loves her brother with everything she has. What she doesn't love is his sickening realism. She knows there's a good chance her father's dead, but she'll never be entirely sure until she sees his body. It's that fraction of a possibility he's still alive keeping Nim going.

"I mean, that's a possibility," she replies to Shae. "But you never know. Besides, if Dad is alive, don't you think he'd be disappointed to find out we stopped looking for him?"

Her brother sighs. "You make a good point, but I can assure you, Nim, he isn't alive."

"Did you see his body then?" Nim asks. "Or, do you just want him to be dead because you're tired of walking around looking for him? What would he say if he found out you were too lazy to look for him?"

"Stop that!" Shae hisses, slapping his sister's wrist. "Of course I don't want Dad to be dead, but I don't think we can keep beating around the bush forever. I don't want you to drive yourself insane over this. By the way, I don't appreciate you accusing me of that. I know you're upset, but still."

Nim notices the melancholic expression on his face and grabs onto his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Shae. I really am. I just… refuse to believe anything until there's concrete proof."

"The fact we've looked for half a year and haven't gotten anywhere seems concrete enough to me," Shae scoffs. "I don't want to leave you alone, but it's getting ridiculous."

"You're leaving then?" Nim leaps to a conclusion. "Shae, you can't leave! If I did lose Dad, I can't afford to lose you too. I know I almost did during the storm, but now that you're here—"

She cuts herself off. They haven't talked about the storm and Nim saving Shae, dragging him onto the rocks and sitting by his side until she was sure he was alright. She gets the feeling that it somehow embarrassed Shae. He's never reacted well to his own mistakes.

"Thank you again," Shae says softly. "For saving me earlier. I really should be doing more to make it up to you; you're right."

"What?" Nim stammers. "You don't need to do anything to make it up to me. I was never not going to save you; I just don't want to give up hope with Dad."

She spots a man dipping his feet into the ocean and eagerly runs up to him. "Excuse me, sir, did you happen to see a tall man with narrow brown eyes and freckles at any point in the last six months?"

The man stares at Nim, his eyes red and expression confused. "You need to calm down, bro! Just ride the waves and go wherever life takes you."

"I'll take that as a no, then." Nim retreats from the man and sighs. She returns to Shae and informs him, "He hasn't seen Dad."

"I assumed so," he says.

Nim takes a deep breath and begins walking further along the shoreline. Every person who hasn't seen her father is just one step closer to finding somebody who has.

(She'll tell herself that until the day she dies.)

Nim knew she'd be upset on her first birthday without her father, but she didn't think it'd be to this extent.

Usually, on her and Shae's birthdays, their father saves up money for at least a month in advance and then bakes the two of them a fancy cake. Because Nim and Shae's birthday is July 3rd, the day before the annual reaping ceremony, it's been spent since their twelfth in a tent on the beach in Havenside, Four's Capitol, where the ceremony takes place. Even if they take the boat, Havenside is a ways away. Because they had to walk this year, it took even longer. While they began their journey at the end of June, they still hardly have had any time to settle.

Even though they're in the same tent they've spent their past five birthdays in, everything is different. There's no fancy cake; Nim and Shae only could afford a small corn muffin from a nearby bar, and instead of the fancy array of candles Corwin used to buy, one for each year for each twin, there's only one in the muffin's center. Nim and Shae did their best to make their last birthday in Havenside special, but even though they haven't said it out loud, they both know it isn't enough and never will be enough.

After two months of looking without any luck, the twins were forced to take a detour so they could make enough money to afford some sort of a birthday celebration and then make their way to Havenside. The reaping is an annoying roadblock for Nim every year, but this year it's fallen right in the middle of an important mission. They wasted a week traveling to Havenside before they could continue on with their journey. Each precious day wasted chipped at Nim's heart - she could've found her father on any one of them.

"Happy birthday," Shae says as he lights the singular candle. "I can't believe we're eighteen already."

"Me neither. It feels like we were turning seventeen just yesterday and Dad accidentally made too much frosting, so he shoved the bowl in your face." Part of why the past year has been so fast but painfully slow at the same time is probably because so much of it was spent on the same journey, getting the same results day after day. "Happy birthday to you too, by the way."

"I'll never forgive him for all the pimples I got after the frosting incident." Shae giggles, then quickly realizes the weight of what he's said. "Okay, maybe I already have."

"Good." Nim nods. "You're lucky the muffin doesn't have frosting so I can't make ruining your precious baby skin a birthday tradition."

Shae continues to fiddle with his lighter until it emits a tiny flame. He presses it to the wick of the candle, then sighs. "Are you going to sing?"

"Do I have to?" she asks. Usually, their father sings them the happy birthday song, and it'd be weird hearing it in a voice that isn't his. On Corwin's own birthday, he still sings happy birthday to himself, almost like he's proud of himself for living another year. He's never let the twins do the same.

"You're right. It'd be weird." Shae holds the muffin up to Nim's face. "Do you want to blow it out, or should I?"

Usually, they blow out their candles simultaneously, but since there's only one this year, that's a bit hard. "We can still try to do it together?"

"Sure," Shae says. "On the count of three?"

Nim nods.

"1… 2… 3…."

They press air out of their mouths until they snuff out the flame atop their muffin. Nim closes her eyes and makes a wish:

I wish for my nineteenth birthday to be spent with both Shae and Dad, not one or the other.

She opens them and breaks off a piece of the muffin. Shae asks her, "What did you wish for?"

"Nothing important," Nim replies. She tries not to talk about Dad much these days, or at least not the possibility that he's still alive. It was severely grating on Shae, so even though she still believes with her entire body they'll find him someday, it's something she now keeps to herself.

Nim chews the muffin, its flavor distinctly underwhelming compared to her father's cake but she tells herself it's okay. Next year, she and Shae will be at their father's side again, and the cake he makes for them will be even better. Nim's sure of it.

She's always hated the line to get into the town square for the reaping ceremony. Because she's spent so much time practically alone, Nim isn't exactly the biggest fan of crowds, especially when everybody's trying to get to the same place at once. Every year, Peacekeepers try to organize a more formal system for lining up, but every year they fail.

This year's especially hectic. Nim never knew much about Four's training academy other than it enabled people to volunteer and made her much less likely to be sent away. However, it caught fire and burnt down last August with many of the strongest trainees inside. There have been rumors floating about in Havenside that whoever's name is pulled from the bowl is actually going to go into the arena, but Nim still isn't particularly nervous. Her father's disappearance has occupied her mind enough so that she hasn't been able to think about the Games much.

Nim's okay with that too. She's a pacifist through and through, and the idea of killing people who could potentially be younger than her sickens Nim to her core. At least having no electricity in their home means Nims's never had to watch the Games in their entirety. The only clips she's seen of what happens in the Hunger Games are the yearly video the escort plays before pulling the names. Nim assumes that the montage shows only the Games' most gruesome bits, but she doesn't want to find out whether or not she's right.

"Are you nervous? Nim asks Shae as she takes a step forward. "For the record, I'm not. I just wanted to ask you because I know the reaping always makes you nervous."

That's an understatement. Her brother's been in tears at least once per reaping for the past six years, and Nim does not doubt that today will be any different. She'll try not to worry too much, though, until his tears do come.

"Not really," Shae responds, and Nim already knows he's lying.

But she doesn't want to bug him, so she tells him, "That's great. I'll see you after the ceremony. I love you," before peeling off to the side of the gates where a Peacekeeper's checking in the girls.

When it gets to be Nim's turn, she extends her finger toward the officer and states her name. The officer pricks Nim's finger with a tiny needle, which she hardly feels, then smears her hand over a sheet of paper.

"Thank you, Miss van Amstel," the Peacekeeper says, voice deep and husky.

Nim nods, then steps away to make room for the person behind her. She makes her way to the front of the reaping pens, where the section for eighteen-year-old girls is. They used to have the oldest people in the front, so there was a longer distance to the stage for younger kids to walk if they wanted to volunteer, making it more likely the designated eighteen-year-old would be able to make their way up.

Even now that there's no academy, she's still forced to sit up front. Nim chooses a seat on the aisle so that she can get up immediately after the ceremony and find Shae, then patiently waits for the escort to take the stage.

Within five minutes, a lady dressed like a parrot in bright green, blue, and yellow stands behind the mic and rings a small bell. It's enough to get everybody in the town squares' attention before she begins to talk. "Hello, hello, and welcome to the reaping ceremony for the Fifty-Third Annual Hunger Games!"

She continues to monologue, though Nim is hardly paying attention. Instead, she thinks about where she'll look for her father once the day's over. Maybe he's even in Havenside because he knew Nim and Shae would be here for the ceremony. She'll have to suggest that idea to Shae after the ceremony.

When the escort begins playing a video, recapping the history of the Games, Nim returns her focus to the stage once more. It's just as brutal as it's been in years past, if not more so: blood and guts splattered on the floor, severed heads and limbs, and now the addition of a boy being inflated like a balloon and then popped. Nim closes her eyes for that one. On the stage, two red-headed women and a boy with curly brown hair, Four's victors, watch with solemn expressions. Nim could've sworn two boys were watching last year, which means something must've happened to one of them. Again, she doesn't particularly care to find out.

"Now, wasn't that exciting?" The escort says, clapping her hands together once the video is over. Nobody claps with her, so she carries on and digs into the female bowl. "As always, it'll be ladies first around here!"

She waves her hand in the bowl for several seconds, pulls out a single slip of paper, unfolds it, then glances at the name. Under her breath, the lady says, "Well, isn't that interesting…."

Nim's stomach twists with nerves the same way it does every year. Statistically speaking, there's a meager chance the escort will pull her name, but math isn't very reassuring in times of immense stress.

"The female Tribute representing District Four in the Fifty-Third Annual Hunger Games is…." The escort takes a moment for a dramatic pause, probably an instruction from the Capitol, then continues, "Nim van Amstel!"

Her stomach drops, and her face immediately turns red. Based on her visceral reaction, the girl sitting next to Nim pats her and gestures toward the stage. Soon enough, everyone's eyes are on her, and all Nim wants to do is cry. But she knows she can't. She knows that even now, she has to be strong.

(For a split second, she hears her brother's voice calling out to her the same way it did during the big storm. He's banging against the rocks again and again, and he needs her help. Something about his voice is so desperate, but this time in her mind, there's nothing she can do to save him.)

Nim steps out of her seat, walks down the aisle, and makes her way onto the stage. She takes a deep breath and stands perfectly still. Though she tries to look for Shae, Nim can't see him.

"Well, are there any volunteers?" the escort asks, and the town square goes dead silent. She seems surprised, almost like she didn't get the memo that Four's no longer training volunteers. "Alright then! Congratulations on getting selected, Nim!"

It takes everything inside of Nim not to scream at the lady. Congratulations? Nim knows that people from the Capitol are historically tone-deaf, but this is the next level.

"Now, moving on to the boys!" Again, the escort swirls her hand into the bowl, draws a name, then reads it to herself. "Alright, the male Tribute representing District Four this year is…."

She pauses once more. "Jardanis Seasbane!"

A boy in the fifteens section spews out an array of profanities, then stomps across the aisle and on stage. Once he arrives, he crosses his arms and pouts.

Completely disregarding his fit, the escort asks, "Are there any volunteers for Mister Seasbane?"

Three seconds pass before a hand flutters in the eighteen section and slowly rises out of the sea of heads.

This better not be… Nim thinks. This better not, I swear…

"I volunteer!" A familiar voice shouts, his voice trembling. "I v-volunteer as Tribute!"

The people around him part, making way for him to take to the stage, all while Nim watches in horror.

"Well then, what's your name, dear?" The escort asks him.

"Shae," he says, still shaking. "Shae van Amstel."

"Van Amstel?" The escort raises her brow. "You wouldn't happen to be related to Nim over here now, would you?"

"She's my twin sister," Shae says, doing his best to remain calm. Nim, on the other hand, doesn't know how to feel. Angry that he was so willing to throw his life away? Jealous that he got the choice? Happy that now she won't be completely alone if- or rather, when she dies? Her brother continues, "Last year, she saved my life. I intend to return the favor."

"Aww!" The escort coos. "Now, isn't that sweet? Mister Seasbane, you're free to go." The young boy pumps his fist in the air and then walks down the stairs. The escort stands behind Nim and Shae then says, "Now, I'd normally ask you to shake hands and introduce yourself to one another, but—"

Shae wraps Nim in his arms, cutting off the lady's speech. He whispers in his sister's ear, "It's going to be okay. I promise it's going to be okay."

Though Nim doesn't feel her brother's tears dripping down onto her shirt as they embrace, she sure does feel her own.

Nobody visits them in the Justice Building.

Is it wrong that a part of Nim was expecting her father to bust down those double doors and wrap her and Shae into a warm hug?

Perhaps, but as the escort led the two of them into the building behind the reaping stage, that was all Nim could think of.

Stupid girl, a part of her brain tells her. She wishes she could ignore it. Still so optimistic even though the tides of the world have marked your grave.

She sighs. Of course, she's not pleased with the fact she's been reaped. The Games were always foreign to her, and Nim wanted them to stay that way. But, she'd be damned before she declares her reaping an automatic death sentence. Her father taught her better than that.

(Her father thought her better than to be foolish enough to continue looking for him after nearly a year.)

(It's not like she'll be looking ever again.)

As soon as the Peacekeepers shut the sturdy metal doors behind them, Shae grunts.

"What's wrong?" Nim asks, still so selfless despite death growing near.

Shae sits on a wooden stool and puts his head in his hands. "You're not mad at me, right?"

"What do you mean?" She stands next to him and pats his head. "Why would I be mad at you?"

He sighs. "I thought maybe you'd be offended that I volunteered to be with you. You've always said that you can do everything on your own."

Well, when you put it that way… Nim muses. Yes, Shae volunteering was unexpected. Truth be told, she didn't think her brother had the courage to do something so valiant and bold. Five minutes later, she's still unsure what she should think. Nim is far above making somebody die for her, much less her own brother. She feels bad if she's ever made him think he's entitled to her.

"But everything's more fun when I do it with you," Nim says. "I just hope you didn't volunteer purely because you felt like you had to even the score with me when I saved you because that was never the case."

"No, of course not!" Nim can tell Shae's lying, but she chooses not to get into it with him now. "I just… call it selfish, but I'd rather spend the rest of my life with you –even if that's not much time– than spend it sitting in my misery alone for decades."

She's not sure she's worthy of such a profound compliment. Nim rubs her hand to her eye, already embarrassed that she's cried once today, and takes a deep breath. "We always said we would spend the rest of our lives together, didn't we?"

Shae nods. "You know, Dad's going to be watching us in there, whether in heaven or at a bar. I want to make him proud. He always said we're two peas in a pod, which means going anywhere together, even the Hunger Games."

Usually, Nim's the more sentimental twin. Times of immense peril make people reveal their true colors, and Shae volunteering makes more sense by the second. He doesn't need to say this to her, but Nim knows Shae doesn't have anything without her. He already thinks that their father is dead. There'd not be much else for him to do at Four other than rot.

(She can't help but wonder whether or not she'd do the same thing if she were in his shoes. Would she really risk it all if she knew that her father was out there waiting to be found, and by going to the Games, she would leave it all behind?

If Shae was her, would he even be here right now?)

After a few wordless minutes, Shae says, "Is it wrong that I was sort of expecting Dad to surprise us in here?"

"I was thinking the same thing," Nim admits. "Is this you admitting that you still think there could be a chance he's alive?"

"Not really," he replies. "I just think it'd be ironic."

That's one word for it; the other is fucked-up.

She tugs at Shae's arm, trying to pull him off the chair. "Well, we can't sit here forever, you know."

"Right. Let's get on with this." He bends over and stretches his arms. "We're going to be fine, right? It's you and me against the world and–"

"The world never wins," Nim finishes his sentence.

That's what their father used to always say. She just hopes his words ring true now.

Their mentors waste no time getting to work.

Not even five minutes into their train journey, Nim's mentor, Crista Starlett, asks her, "How much training experience do you and your brother have?"

Shae's on the other side of the car with Mags Flannagan, the middle-aged woman already endeared with him based on the smile on her face whenever he speaks. Nim hopes that Crista will think the same of her.

Based on the question she asked, and what Nim's answer will be, she doesn't think the odds are high. "None, actually. I'm sorry."

"Oh thank-the-fucking-lord," Crista says with a firm exhale. "I was really hoping I wouldn't get another one of those freaks."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nim's eyes widen. Aren't mentors supposed to want their Tributes to be as well-prepared as possible since that makes them more likely to win or at least do well?

Crista sighs. "Don't worry about it, kid. I've just had some experiences with kids from the Academy that were, to put it lightly, interesting."

"Well, I think a pair of identical twins representing the same District is just as, if not more interesting," Nim replies. "Unless, of course, you don't want interesting."

"I don't want anything at all," the mentor remarks. "Not in like a vaguely suicidal way. I just would really rather y'all not have to live through, or possibly die in, what I had to go through. In the Games and after."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Nim says. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't want to go through any of this myself. It just sorta happened."

"Right." Based on their conversation thus far, she still isn't sure whether or not Crista likes her. She isn't sure if it matters either because it's not like Crista's capable of fully saving her when it comes to the Games. She can help and get people to buy sponsor gifts, but ultimately Nim is the only person who can save herself when it comes to the Games. Even Shae can't do anything to ensure that she lives and he dies. "Well, how do you want to do in the Games?"

"What do you mean?" Nim asks, tilting her head to the side. "I mean, ideally, I'd like to not die while also not being forced to kill my own brother."

"That's an incredible strategy; you don't need me," Crista deadpans. Again, Nim doesn't know how to interpret her. "No, actually, I'm glad you have some degree of ambition and aren't a self-destructive tyrant with a savior complex or a…." The mentor giggles to herself. "Sea rat."

"I do my best," Nim says, lightly chuckling. She isn't sure what Crista's referencing or if she even wants to know, but people tend to like it when their jokes are laughed at. "Do you know what I'm supposed to do if I don't want to die, but the only thing I've killed thus far is a fish?"

"Yes, actually," Crista answers, her tone more optimistic than Nim was anticipating. "I was in your same shoes during my own Games. Trust me, just killing a fish puts you in a better place than half of the Outer-District kids."

Really now? As far as Nim knew, all of Four's victors trained at the Academy. Then again, Nim doesn't know much about the Games. "Considering you're still alive, I think yes, I will trust you."

"Oh, you have better critical thinking skills than my girl last year did already." Crista smiles and then stands up, taking a moment to regain her balance. She gestures for Nim to do the same, so she does. "Come with me, Nim. We're going to take a little trip down memory lane."

"Wait!" Before Crista can get too far, Mags gets out of her seat and interjects. "Where are you two going?"

Nim glances at Shae, glad to see the two of them share the same overwhelmed expression.

"I'm going to show Nim last year's Games and explain to her what does and doesn't make a good Tribute," Crista says, turning around to face Mags. "You and Shae are welcome to come if you'd like."

Immediately, Shae springs from his seat and rushes to Nim's side. Once Mags and Crista are far enough away from them, he whispers, "Good lord, Mags is off her rocker. How's your mentor?"

"Excellent, actually," Nim mutters back. "What's yours doing?"

"The most," Shae replies. "I didn't need to know how every District Four Male in Panem's history died, but here we are."

"Are you coming, kids?" Nim hears Crista shout from far away.

"Yes! One second."

Nim races through the train car, a thunk sounding whenever her feet hit the floor. Considering this transportation vessel and its fancy silver draping and functional air conditioning is already nicer than anything Nim ever saw in Four, she's already overwhelmed by whatever the Capitol has in store.

She walks through a drape into a screening room where Crista and Mags sit comfortably on a couch. Her mentor gestures for her to sit beside her, so Nim does, leaving enough room for Shae to join them. Crista presses a button on the remote in her hand, signaling the projector over their heads to display an array of colors on the screen in front of them.

It's a much nicer screen than the one on stage during the reaping. Even that was better than anything Nim had at home. They had a radio once, but never an actual screen. Nim preferred it that way, though. There wasn't anything distracting them from nature and living in the moment.

The screen soon displays the number "52" on the screen, which makes a lot of sense considering they're supposed to be watching last year's Games.

"So," Crista begins. "I'm not going to make you sit through the whole thing, in part because I want to show you other years, but I do want to give you some examples of what you should and shouldn't do. Make sense?"

"Sure does!" Nim exclaims while Shae merely nods.

The first clip Crista shows is of a boy hiding out on top of an underground building. She explains, "His former allies that he just abandoned are looking for him. They don't realize that he's right under their noses. I would've attacked them if I were him, but it was still a good play overall."

Crista fiddles with the buttons on the remote until the next clip plays. This time, it's a girl washing off her face in a lake. "I know it's tempting because you're from Four, but I'd avoid making contact with water in the arena at all costs. She just lost her memory. It ended up killing her, yes, but it's still better than that one year two people went swimming only to learn that the lake was made of acid."

"Oh, they were such a cute couple too," Mags shouts. "What were their names again? Was it… Kallis and Watya?"

"Doesn't matter," Crista says. "The point is, don't go in the water."

Luckily, Crista doesn't have to worry much about that. Ever since the storm, neither Nim nor Shae have been too eager to run into the ocean for no good reason. Nim's not exactly afraid of it, but she's not its biggest fan these days either.

Nim nods, prompting Crista to play another clip, or rather, not a clip but instead a compilation of a redheaded girl doing increasingly horrendous things. Nim nearly asks Crista, "Is that you?" However, she bites her tongue based on how the girl so eagerly strangled a bird and the fact that this isn't Crista's Games they're watching.

"So this here is the most obvious example of what not to do," Crista says as the girl on the screen hands another girl with short blonde hair a rifle and then instructs her to shoot a screaming child. "You saw earlier today where this leads to, I assume."

"Did I?" Nim asks. "Honestly, I can't remember much of earlier today. It's been stressful, to say the least."

"Fair enough," Crista replies. She pauses the video at a spot with the same two girls, their legs intertwined and one on top of the other. The redhead's now covered in so much blood she looks completely unrecognizable, and the blonde no longer looks afraid, instead filled with vehement hatred and rage. "So I wanted to show you this compilation because a lot went wrong here. Hedy from Three was certainly a troubled individual before the Games, and she made the mistake of letting them get the best of her. The Gamemakers aren't above mind games. They put that balloon pump in the infirmary room because they were hoping somebody would—"

"Ah yes, now I remember," Nim blurts out. "I think I blocked that scene out of my memory."

"I won't make you rewatch it then," Crista continues. "The point is, don't let the Games turn you into somebody who you don't want to be. And also, be careful who you trust. Verdigris is unbelievably lucky that they made it out of there alive."

"We're all lucky we made it out," Mags adds. "So much of the Games is luck-based. Like with Calsi–"

"Don't talk about him!" Crista interjects. She then leans over to Nim to explain, "Calsin was Four's Male Tribute last year. He got real close to winning it all but… shit happens, what can I say."

Nim nods. She glances at Shae and notices just how afraid he is. She trusted that her brother knew what he was signing up for when he raised his hand and volunteered, but now Nim isn't so sure.

Her first real experience in the Capitol is everything but pleasant.

Crista had warned her that her stylists would be judgmental - all Capitolites are - but Nim wasn't expecting them to be downright disparaging.

"When was the last time you showered?" one asks, her voice's shrill cadence already getting on Nim's nerves.

"On the train?" Nim answers, confused.

The lady sighs. "No, I mean… when was the last time you showered back in Four?"

Come to think of it, Nim isn't sure. The water piping in her house was mediocre at best, so typically she only really showered outside using rainwater. But, she doesn't want to admit that to the stylist. Nim has a feeling she won't really like that answer.

Thus, Nim lies and says, "The day before the Reaping; why?"

"To put it frankly, you smell awful," the stylist answers.

Nim sniffs her own underarm. It doesn't smell out of the ordinary to her, but maybe that's because she's just used to it. Lord, has she really smelled bad for her entire life, and is this the first time she's finding out about it?

"I'm sorry," she intones, voice weak and strained. "Would you like me to take a shower. I'd be willing to do that."

"Definitely, but not right at this moment." The stylist wafts her nose, a sour expression plastered on her face. "We'll have to do something about your legs first."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nim asks, not really wanting to know the answer.

The stylist reaches into the bottom drawer on her chest and pulls out a package of thick white sheets of paper. She pulls one out and sighs. "It means they're hairy. The Capitol can't see you like this. They're not going to sponsor somebody with barbarian legs."

"Oh," Nim hums. She was right; she didn't want to know the answer.

As the stylist removes a wax backing from the paper and sticks it to Nim's left calf. The adhesive is already itchy and uncomfortable, despite the stylist rubbing down on it.

When the stylist pinches the paper's edge, Nim asks, "What are you doing? Is it going to hurt?"

"I'm getting rid of the hair," the lady replies. "It probably won't hurt. At least not that much."

What's that supposed to mean? This time, Nim doesn't dare ask her another question. That'd just mean being told one more thing about her body that she's supposed to hate. Until this point, Nim didn't really have strong opinions about her physical figure. But, now that she's been reaped and transformed into the Capitol's glass doll, one they can prod at and poke as much as they want, Nim's disgusted by every inch of her skin.

She wasn't ready for how much it would sting when the stylist removed the wax paper. Nim holds onto the chair's armrest as she winces in agony, grinding her teeth together so she doesn't make a sound.

The stylist holds up the paper, now coated with tiny stands of Nim's leg hair. She never realized she had this much. Maybe the stylist was right to liken her to a barbarian.

"Do you see why that's much better?" she asks Nim.

She touches her calf, its soft and smooth texture making her stomach swirl. As far as she's concerned, this isn't Nim's skin. It doesn't feel like it belongs to her; instead a commodified version of what the Capitol thinks she's supposed to be.

"Yes, most definitely," Nim says.

"I'm so glad you understand!" the stylist enthuses. "Now, I'll grab bigger pieces for when we do the rest of your legs. Oh, and who could forget your arms!"

Nim doesn't bother questioning or resisting her. She knows that nothing she says will prevent the stylist from continuing to disfigure the body Nim's known for eighteen years. Nim's favorite thing in Four was the amount of autonomy she had over herself. She should've known it'd come to an end, like all the good things in this world.

When the chariot finally stops, all Nim feels is relief.

She didn't have anything on the blinding lights and screaming photographers begging her to do something but not specifying what. Nim settled on a startled smile, but even that didn't feel right to her. At least she seemed more secure than Shae with his wide eyes and sheepish grin. However, that's hardly an accomplishment.

"How was that for you?" Shae asks as Nim steps off the chariot. "Personally, I'm a bit nauseous."

"Figures," Nim replies. She holds her arm for her brother to latch onto as he jumps off himself. "Everything today's been so incredibly overwhelming. I wasn't expecting the parade to be the exception, but still."

"That makes sense," her brother says. "I feel like I'm beyond overwhelmed. At this point, more than anything, I'm damn tired."

She's used to seeing Shae with bags under his eyes, but these are more prominent than ever. Nim's not the best sleeper herself, but her brother's always been worse. Or at least, she's better at pretending she's not exhausted at any given moment. Nim's never had time to be tired. Between helping out her father and then looking for him, she's never been able to catch a break. Not that she minds, of course.

"We'll go to sleep soon then," Nim remarks. "We don't have anything else to do today, right?"

"Right." Shae nods. "Thank goodness for that."

Their walk to the Training Center, where their apartment is, doesn't last long before a girl with dark hair covered head to toe in jewels stands in their tracks. As is instinct, Nim grabs Shae and darts to the left, but the girl follows.

"Is everything okay?" Shae asks her. "I mean, do you want to talk to my sister and I about something?"

"If you don't mind, yes," the girl replies, extending her hand. "I watched the recap so I know you're Nim and Shae van Amstel, but I take it you don't know me. Azure Astaire, District One."

Nim gulps. Crista told her on the train that she should avoid interacting with the trained kids since they tend to implode on themselves, but she never said what Nim's supposed to do if they approach her first.

"Nice to meet you," Nim says as enthusiastically as possible as she shakes Azure's hand.

"Minos!" Azure cranes her neck and calls to a boy dressed the same as her. He turns to face her with a dopey expression. The One girl gestures to him. "And this is Minos Durrani, my District Partner."

"Are these the Fours?" Minos asks, his head tilted towards Azure. She slaps him in the wrist, making him flinch. "Oh, yes! You guys must be the Fours. Hence why you're dressed like…."

"Crabs," Azure cuts him off. "You two look gorgeous, by the way."

"Thank you?" Nim says.

Personally, she's not a fan of the large red scales plastered onto her body, but to each their own.

Again, she tries to get away, but again, Azure intercepts her. "So, van Amstel twins, how are you coping with the loss of Four's Academy?"

"We're just fine!" Shae remarks. "Neither of us ever had any intention of training, so it made no difference in our lives."

"Oh," Azure says, her tone undeniably judgemental.

Nim wishes that Shae didn't say that. Of course, she has no intention of joining the trained kids, but now she worries that they'll see her as weak. Compared to them, yeah, sure, Nim's weak, but that doesn't mean she's not strong compared to everyone else.

"Why did you volunteer then?" the One girl asks Shae.

Instinctively, he grabs Nim's arm out of panic. "I wanted to protect her."

"That's so sweet," Azure deadpans. "Well, I have no interest in either of you, so I'll just get going."

When she turns away, Minos whispers, "I'm sorry about her. She's just like that."

Nim nods. When the One boy's gone too, she turns to Shae and asks, "Do you think I played it cool enough with them?"

"Probably," Shae answers. "She was really mean. I'm glad societal expectations no longer bind us to allying with them anymore."

"Right on that," Nim says, continuing to weave through the sea of people.

Even as she reaches the training center, she can't stop herself from being dreadfully overwhelmed. If all the people here make up the ocean, Nim might as well be drowning.

Throughout the first day of training, Crista's words repeat themselves over and over in Nim's head: "Don't trust the wrong people."

Ever since yesterday's interaction with Azure, Nim's devoted herself to being even more cautious regarding who she lets into her alliance with Shae. Honestly, Nim's okay with it just being her and her brother. They've always gotten lots done that way. Unfortunately, Crista and Mags said they'd be best off if they could find a few people to add to their alliance. Despite Nim arguing that if she were anybody else, she wouldn't trust a pair of twins in a death match, the two mentors insisted.

They know better than I do anyway.

Watching Azure train with the Tributes from Two along with the girl from Six they somehow picked up along the way is downright frightening. When they spar, it's with enough precision and accuracy to make Nim tremble. If she dared to get even a bit close to them in the arena, it wouldn't take long for them to slice her head clean off.

She doesn't know how to fight or kill, partly because Nim never wanted to do either of those things. Sure, her work with a pocketknife is nothing to be ashamed of, and this morning's target practice showed that she had relatively good aim, but Nim's nothing compared to the trained kids or even some of the stronger outliers.

The boys from Eight and Twelve seem to be getting along, mordacious grins plastered on both their faces. They, too, have proven themselves good at sparring. Nim doesn't really want to know what either of them gets up to in their spare time. The boy from Eleven's by far the tallest in the training center, and he's following the Eight girl around with wide eyes despite them only knowing each other for a few hours.

"What are you looking at?" Shae asks Nim because she's probably been staring too long.

Luckily, she has an easy answer. "Y'know, just the other Tributes. It's interesting to see that they're already forming groups. It's been less than four hours since we got here, which makes me wonder how long these groups will last."

"I agree, that's interesting. It's also not what I mean," he replies. "I'll be more specific. Why were you looking at the Eight girl for an extended period of time?"

She doesn't really know. Eight has nice brown hair and a wicked smile, both of which are qualities that endear Nim. She can't be remiss to mention the other girl's tattoo as well, the intricate designs commanding attention to her toned arms. The way she carries herself with so much pride is also eye-catching. So yeah, the Eight girl's compelling.

"She seems interesting," Nim says. "Intimidating, yes. But she definitely looks like she's a character."

"Sure you think that," Shae teases. "You're allowed to admit to me that you have a crush on her."

"I do not!" she stammers. "I just think she's interesting to look at; that's all."

"Oh, I agree with that for sure!" Shae enthuses. "I've never seen somebody with tattoos before. They're very well done"

"They're really nice," Nim agrees. She notices her face getting warm and returns to the knot-tying station because that's what she's supposed to be doing now. Tying knots, not making puppy eyes at a stranger.

The two work in silence for five minutes, trying to tie knots as quickly and accurately as possible. They're only interrupted when Nim feels a light tap on her shoulder. A part of her hopes it's the Eight girl, even though that would make very little sense. Nim's not surprised but definitely disappointed when she turns around to see a girl with a seven printed on her shirt.

"Can I help you?" Nim asks, her tone as friendly as possible. After the slight mess up with the One girl, Nim needs to be in the good graces with anybody else who approaches.

The Seven girl nods. "Oh, I was just wondering if you could help me with my knot tying. I'm not quite as fast as you, and I'd like to get better."

A hidden, more vicious part of Nim's brain tells her, Don't help her. She's your competition. But Nim ignores that part of her brain and instead says to Seven, "Oh, I'd love to. I'm Nim, and this is my brother, Shae. Nice to meet you!"

Besides, it isn't like Nim has to ally with this girl. She's just doing her a favor, and hopefully, Seven'll repay her someday. If not, that's still fine, though. There's no way Seven will match her knot-tying skills entirely in just three days.

"I'm Viscania," the girl introduces herself. "Thank you so much for helping me out. Truthfully, I was a bit nervous to approach you, but then I saw you guys joking around, and I figured you'd be kind."

"I definitely do my best," Shae says. "Nim here can be a bit cranky when she hasn't gotten much sleep, but she's a good egg ninety-nine percent of the time."

"Oh, you knock that off," Nim jests. She returns her focus to Viscania and grabs a medium-sized rope. "So, what do you need help with?"

"Everything?" Viscania admits with a playful giggle. "I understand if you don't want to help me out. I know it's a high-stress environment here, so don't worry about it."

Nim holds the rope in between her eyes. "No, trust me. I want to help you."

She folds the cord over and puts one finger towards the loop. Then, Nim grabs the two ends of the rope and pushes them through. With a smirk, she tightens the string, then says, "Did you catch that? I can do it again if you'd like. That was just about the simplest knot I know, so I'd love to see you try it."

"Yeah, I think I got it!" the Seven girl enthuses.

Nim unties the rope and hands it to her. "Great! I'd love to see you try it."

Though her hands shake, Viscania is able to tie the knot successfully. The two strands may be a bit uneven, but it's definitely a noble first attempt.

"That was great," Shae remarks. Nim raises her hand, signaling Viscania to give her a high-five, the way her and Shae did when they were kids.

Suddenly, Nim understands how the other Tributes were able to bond with one another so quickly. The extenuating circumstances of the Hunger Games definitely make everything easier. They're all in this together, meaning she and Shae don't have to work alone. If it doesn't work out, nobody is preventing them from running.

Nim has limited time here in the Capitol. It'd be a shame if she didn't make the most out of it.

She hasn't even been in the Training Center for half an hour when the Eight girl and Eleven boy approach her, Shae, and Viscania.

Before Nim can ask them why they're here, the Eleven boy speaks. "I noticed yesterday that neither of you talked to the Career pack."

"Career pack?" Nim raises a brow. That's not a term she's heard before.

The Eleven boy sighs. "The trained kids. Like from One and Two."

"Ah yes, them," Nim replies. "Well, we have fundamental differences, mainly because we didn't train.

"Oh?" Eight puts her left hand over her mouth. Nim can't help but look at the roses tattooed on her slender fingers and the shiny red polish on her nails. "I guess that makes sense since you were reaped."

"That I was," Nim says. "Can't say I'm thrilled about it."

She's not sure why she's being open to Eight, or at least not as closed-off as she usually is with strangers. Maybe there's just something in her spine-chilling blue eyes that makes Nim want to trust her. She sighs. She's better than that; she knows it.

"I wasn't thrilled about it either," the Eight girl remarks.

Viscania pipes up, "Same here!"

"Again, figures," Eight intones. She turns around to the Eleven boy and slaps him on the shoulder. "Not everybody can be excited about being sent to a death match like Sorrel."

"I was not excited," her ally snaps. "I was just indifferent. That's not the same thing as being happy, Yara."

Yara. Nim jots that down in her brain. Yara Yara Yara Yara Yara.

"Sure, whatever." Yara chuckles. "I guess Sorrel's allowed to believe whatever he wants. At least he didn't volunteer like—"

"Shae!" he interjects. "And Nim's my sister's name. Behind me's Viscania."

As they continue to chatter, Nim's mind whirls. She's never been in a conversation with this many people, and it's definitely overwhelming. That's a common theme here in the Capitol, being sickeningly dazed and not knowing what to do about it. She almost wonders if the arena will be less overstimulating, but that'd be a dumb thing to think.

"—So yeah, and that leads me to meeting Sorrel," Yara's voice brings Nim back into the conversation. Whatever was said before, Nim has no idea. Hopefully, it wasn't too important.

"Yeah, she's been great to have around," the Eleven boy says, patting Yara on the back. "I don't have much to live for back at home, as sad as that is, but Yara's presence has given me a purpose in these Games. That purpose is yet to be determined, but I suppose we shall see."

Even though Nim's missing context for Sorrel's statement, it makes her wonder if Shae would say the same about her. Yes, his volunteering was purely for Nim's sake, but a part of her worries that he'll change his mind. That's selfish too. Nim doesn't need her brother to be her keeper. She should be able to fight for herself, and she will fight for herself when push comes to shove.

"Anyway, what do you say we have a little spar?" Yara proposes, hopping off the bench. "Don't get me wrong, talking is nice, but we might as well make our time here more worthwhile."

"Sounds great to me!" Nim enthuses, maybe too much so.

"You're quite the eager beaver, aren't you?" the Eight girl says with a snicker. "If you're so keen to spar, why don't you be my partner?"

She feels her brother's fingers brush against her shoulder, prompting her to turn back. When she does, Shae winks at her and whispers, "Have fun."

"Y-yeah!" Nim stammers, her face warm the same way it was yesterday. "I-I'd love to spar with you, Y-yara."

"Good, good," she replies. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Yara grabs Nim by the wrist and pulls her away from the group towards the sword rack. She hands Nim a broadsword and smirks. "I saw you and your brother training with these yesterday. If you need me to go easy on you, I can."

Why was she looking at Shae and I? Nim wonders. Have Yara and Sorrel wanted to approach her and Shae since yesterday? And is it really because of the Career thing? She feels there's more to the two and their intentions than they're letting on, but like so many things now, Nim isn't sure she wants to know the truth.

"You don't need to go easy on me," Nim says, raising her sword. She takes two steps back and then waves the weapon in the air. Yara lifts her own sword and attempts to swing it upwards, only for Nim to twist her wrist and swipe toward the Eight girl's legs. Yara jumps, avoiding Nim's blade, then striking down onto her shoulder.

Nim ducks, nerfing the weapon's impact, then cuts diagonal, hitting underneath Yara's armpit. Even though she's doing better now than yesterday, the sword still feels unfamiliar in Nim's hands. She was never supposed to hold a weapon, much less use it to attack somebody. Even if the blade she's using now is weighted plastic, soon a time will come when she has to use a real one.

She quickly swerves the blade out of Yara's armpit and strikes against her hip. The Eight girl uses her sword to parry, pushing Nim off her. A smile curls on her lips. "Not bad, Four. Not bad at all."

"T-thank you," Nim spats out. "You're not doing awful either."

Yara rolls her eyes and then strikes at Nim's upper thighs. She jolts backward, avoiding the strike and swinging her sword at Yara's calves.

"Didn't your mentor tell you not to go for the calves?" the Eight girl sneers.

Maybe Crista did, but as of now, Nim's too nervous to remember her advice, much less put it into play. Nim's sword pointed downwards allows Yara to jump and crash down on Nim's shoulder a second time. She falls backward on the mat and rolls over to the side.

Even though she lost, Nim can't stop herself from giggling. Yara lays down next to her and yawns. "I promise you did a good job, Nim. It's not my fault; I'm just better than you."

"Well, you've clearly had more practice!" she argues. "I'm gonna beat you next time; that's a promise."

"Sure you will," Yara scoffs. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Nim makes a mental note to ask Crista what the most effective way of winning a sword fight is tonight.

The next day, while Shae's in his private session, Yara approaches Nim with a tiny knife in her hand.

Immediately, Nim asks her, "What's that for?"

The Eight girl smirks. "I'm going to teach ya' how to hold it properly. It's different when you use it for fighting instead of practical purposes."

Nim blinks. "I didn't know that."

"I know you don't," Yara says. "That's why I'm going to teach you." She hands Nim the blade, though Nim's hand trembles all the while. "You'll want to wrap your fingers around the handle."

She does what Yara says, her fingertips sweating when they touch the plastic. "Like this?"

"Not quite," the Eight girl remarks. "You shouldn't have your thumb around the handle."

"Then where should it be?" Nim asks.

Yara stands beside Nim and covers her hand with her own. Immediately, Nim feels something inside her tingle, though she's unsure what. The Eight girl pushes back Nim's thumb, positioning it over the butt of the knife. When she lets go, Yara finds that she oddly misses the sensation of their hands connecting ever so slightly.

(She's always enjoyed physical touch, whether it be hugs from her father or the way Shae latches onto her arm when he's nervous. It makes her feel safe. Yara's different, though, because despite their skin barely touching, Nim can't control how her stomach churns with a feeling she's never known.)

"Thanks for the help!" She hands the knife back to Yara and smiles. After a pregnant pause, Nim continues to ask, "I don't understand why you helped me, but I still appreciate it."

The Eight girl runs her hand through her hair. Before she speaks, Nim's mind races with a million and one different things she wants her to say:

"I care about you and want you to do well."

"You'd look real badass with a knife."

"I don't want you making careless mistakes in the arena that you can easily prevent, now."

But Yara doesn't say any of those things. Instead, she says, "It was kind of embarrassing how confident you were with a weapon you had no idea how to hold properly."

"Oh," Nim replies, embarrassed that she thought Yara would say anything else. "Again, thank you."

"It's no problem, Four," Yara remarks, walking past Nim and patting her shoulder. The tingling sensation returns, and Nim's just as startled by it as she was before. "You should probably head over to the back room. Your brother should be done soon, and then it'll be your turn."

"Right." Nim nods her head. "I'll catch you around, yeah?"

"For sure."

As soon as Yara's out of her peripherals, Nim's face goes flush. She furrows her brow and sighs. You're making a fool out of yourself, Nim. You're not here to get attached to anybody, remember? You're here for yourself and Shae. You don't even know Yara; you've just concocted some idea of what you wish she was in your brain, moron!

None of the alliances Nim passes on her way to the backroom have the same joy as hers. The Careers are ever-so-serious, the pair of the two youngest kids look afraid, and everybody else seems downright angry.

Does that mean that Nim's lucky? She's unsure. Yes, she did consider herself lucky back in Four, but that was different. Being fortuitous in a deathmatch means something completely different than life amongst nature and isolation.

She stands at the door to the back room, not waiting long before Shae steps through the doors and immediately wraps his arms around Nim.

"Is everything okay," she asks, instantly worried.

"Everything is fine," Shae assures her. "I did better than I thought I would. I just wanted to give you a good luck hug."

(This is how she's supposed to feel when she's around another: comfortable and not nervous in the slightest.)

"I appreciate it." Nim smiles and then pulls away. "I'm glad you did well, by the way. I'll see you when I get out."

She wraps her hand around the door handle. The last thing she hears before she steps inside is Shae calling, "Go knock 'em dead, sis!"

Nim wasn't nervous beforehand, but her stomach sinks when she steps into the room. Various weapons are lined up in one corner, and a few computers are against the wall that Nim can only assume are for running identification tests about plants and poisons. In another corner, ropes and garrotes sit, ready to be used.

"Good afternoon," Nim says, tilting her head upwards to make eye contact with the red-haired woman sitting behind a window. "I hope you're all doing well today."

"We are," the lady speaks into a microphone. "You'll have seven minutes to demonstrate what you've learned in training for us, and after that, you are free to go."

Nim nods. "Got it!"

Last night, she went over her plan for the session with Crista. Her mentor discouraged her from spending too much time practicing combat or identifying plants, instead telling her, "This is your opportunity to show them why you're different. You want to show them something they've never seen before."

She likes to think that she's taken Crista's advice to heart.

Nim dashes to the corner of the room with the ropes and grabs a strand, plopping it in the center of the room. She then picks up a two-pound dumbbell and some twine, which she also takes center. Lastly, she calls to the people sitting behind the glass, "Is there any chance I could have a horizontal metal bar to attach things to?"

"Would a pull-up bar work?" A husky male voice asks.

"Sure!"

The man presses a few buttons, and seconds later, a metal bar lowers from the ceiling. When it's ten feet above the ground, Nim says, "That's good!" and it stays still.

Nim picks up the rope and tosses one end over the metal bar and onto the other side. She then places that same end over the other side of the string in the shape of an eight, then wraps it in two coils before looping it through the top hole.

She grunts, tightening the rope until the knot sits on the metal bar. Nim loops the twine through the top of the dumbbell and pulls it to the shorter end of the rope. After swinging the device once and then twice, Nim realizes there's something else she needs.

Again she runs, this time to the fire-setting supplies, and she grabs the longest, sturdiest piece of wood she can find. She wraps the free side of the rope around the log three times, then braids the end under and over. Nim tightens the knot, then wraps the remaining bit of the rope's end in a circle, only looping once before she pulls.

Nim pushes the wood, pleased that nothing has fallen off or broken, then catches it in her hands. Carefully, she sits on the wood and straddles the rope, holding on with both hands. She kicks her feet backward and then wraps them on top of the wood.

Before she knows it, she's flying through the air on a device of her own creation, just like she did when she was younger and her father wanted to teach her that tying knots could be fun. As she soars, nothing seems to matter to Nim anymore. As far as she's concerned, she's back at home, and nothing can go wrong.

The rope swing stopping is a rude awakening, a reminder that she's still here, and in just two days, she could be dead or without her brother.

A man in the office calls out, "You're done! Thank you for your time today."

Nim sets the rope aside and yawns, wanting to hold onto the moments where she flew forever.

Even though she thinks she did well, Nim can't help but be nervous as she and Shae sit on the couch in Four's apartment with Crista and Mags, eyes glued to the television as they wait for their scores to be announced.

As expected, Districts One and Two did relatively well, each of them scoring either a nine or a ten. District Three was a different story, the boy scoring a five and the girl a four, but they both look relatively scrappy, so Nim isn't too surprised. It does, however, make her wonder if at the end of the day, what she did was good enough to make a lasting impression on the Gamemakers, as she's now been told they're called.

"And now for the scores from District Four," Caesar Flickerman, the Games' Master of Ceremonies, says. Nim and Shae's faces appear on the screen behind him as he reads from a teleprompter.

Shae grabs Nim's wrist and whispers, "I'm nervous."

"Me too," she gently responds.

Overhearing them, Mags shouts, "There's no need for either of you to be nervous; I'm sure you did great!"

"But she can't know for sure," Shae says, this time even softer so the mentors don't hear.

"Now matter what happens, I'm proud of you both," Crista remarks. "I mean it too."

Nim takes a deep breath as Caesar speaks. "Starting off, we have Miss Nim van Amstel who's earned a very impressive eight."

Immediately, a smile blossoms on her face. Shae, Crista, and Mags all clap, and it's like Nim's still on the swing, flying through the air.

Shae nudges her. "See, Nim; I told you you'd do great."

"Thank you," Nim says, still over the moon. "I know you'll do great as well."

"Next, her District partner and twin brother, Shae van Amstel," Caesar continues, Nim's nerves returning in full force. The angle Shae's been portraying to the Capitol has been that of Nim's valiant protector. It'll probably reflect poorly on both of them if he doesn't get an eight or better; it'll probably reflect poorly on both of them.

(Not to mention, Nim's eight automatically makes her a target. She already dismissed the Careers at the Parade, and now they see she's capable without them. What if that leads to them tracking her down and killing her the moment they get the chance?)

"Not quite living up to his sister, Shae has earned a score of six."

Despite Caesar's enthusiastic tone, the mood of everybody in the room shifts. Just seconds ago, they were clapping in celebration of Nim, but now they're again trapped by tension you can cut with a knife.

"I'm sorry," Shae says, his tone heartbreakingly genuine. "I thought I did better than that, I swear."

"You're fine," Nim assures him, knowing it probably won't work. "Six is still better than what the Threes got. And I'm sure it'll also be better than many other Tributes."

Mags, however, is less than thrilled. "Well, Shae, you're just going to have to promise me that you will do an exceptional job during your interview. Is that something you're capable of?"

He nods. "I'll try my best – definitely!"

And once again, Nim is nervous. Not because she doubts herself, but because she doubts her brother's ability to protect her.

As Nim stands in the wings, waiting for her own interview, it's hard not to panic as Caesar grills Shae about her.

"So you volunteered to protect your sister, is that correct?" The Master of Ceremonies asks in a scathing tone. Before Shae can even answer, he continues, "Do you still think you'll be able to do that, considering she got a higher training score than you did?"

"I'll just have to p-put my b-best foot forward," Shae answers, his voice shaking. "S-she knows t-that I can d-do it!"

"I'm glad for that, then." From Nim's perspective, Caesar seems to be feigning sympathy. Nim's got a feeling he doesn't care about Shae or any of the other kids, for that matter.

Nim sighs loud enough that it gets Crista's attention from behind her. The mentor asks, "Is everything alright, Nim."

"I'm worried for him," she replies. Nim wonders if Crista's gotten sick of her saying that she's concerned about her brother by now. Lord only knows how many times she's said it before. Or maybe Crista understands because she, too, has lost someone. Winning the Hunger Games must have collateral damage for every victor.

"I know you are." Crista rests her hand on Nim's shoulder. "I could tell you not to worry because everything will turn out in the end, but we both know that's not true. So instead, I'll tell you this. When you go into the arena tomorrow, you're your own priority, not Shae. If he's able to help you, that's great. But ultimately, you need to put yourself first. I know it sounds hard, but it's the only way you'll make it out of there alive."

(Her advice stings, mainly because Nim knows it's true. These are her Games, not Shae's.)

"Thank you," Nim says, and she means it too. "I just want the best for him, but I imagine everybody wants the best for their twin brother."

"That they do," Crista remarks. "Now, try to take some deep breaths before your interview. You're going to do great, Nim. I just know it."

Unlike when Crista talks to Shae, Nim actually believes her.

She inhales as the sound of haphazard applause leaks through the curtains. On the exhale, Shae's shoulder brushes against hers. Nim glances up to see his disappointed expression and whispers, "Don't worry. None of this matters in the grand scheme of things."

(But it does matter. Because a good interview performance means more sponsor gifts which means more of a chance of going home. It means finding Corwin and feeling safe once more. The Games aren't won by fighting hard; they're won by fighting in a way that makes people like you.)

Nim's stomach flutters as she hears Caesar call out from the stage, "And now, let's put our hands together for Shae's twin sister, Nim van Amstel!"

If the lights from the parade were overwhelming, this is a thousand times worse. Rays of brightness illuminate Nim's shadow as she steps onto the stage, gives her turquoise dress a delicate twirl, then sits in the seat across from Caesar.

"Thank you for having me today," Nim says, her voice higher pitched than usual. Earlier today, Crista gave her the advice to talk like a Capitolite. They tend to root for those who they can see as one of their own.

"The pleasure's all mine," Caesar replies, his tone notably friendlier than when he was talking to Shae. "Now, I'm sure everyone here is wondering, what is it like to be here with your twin brother."

Ah, of course he wastes no time getting straight into it. Given that each Tribute has limited time for their interview, it makes sense, but it still hurts. Nim sighs and then says, "Shae and I have always said that we'd go everywhere together. While I wasn't necessarily expecting us to go here, he's been a great source of comfort for me."

"Adorable," Caesar coos. "You know, I get the feeling that you and Shae are atypical for District Four. I've conducted a lot of interviews over the years, and I've watched even more. Usually, the Tributes from Four ally with those from One and Two. Is there a reason you haven't?"

"Many, actually." Nim knows that she has to choose her next words carefully. If she slips up in the slightest, her head will be on Azure Astaire's sword come morning. "They're all very sweet and lovely people, but admittedly, I'm not as gung-ho on the Games as they are. When we spoke, they seemed to have a great deal of experience with weaponry, and Shae and I simply don't. We didn't want to hold them back.

She takes a deep breath. Hopefully, that answer was sufficient enough to both please Caesar and not make the Careers want to kill her.

"You must've learned quickly these past few days then," Caesar remarks. "Getting an eight is impressive for somebody without combat experience."

"I'm just as shocked as you are," Nim says. "I will say, though, my talents don't lie in fighting."

That's only half true. Yesterday afternoon, Nim and Yara sparred once more. She knocked the Eight girl down relatively quickly and has felt warm ever since.

"Would you care to tell us what such talents are?" the Master of Ceremonies asks, leaning forwards in his chair.

"Of course not," Nim replies, pressing her lips firm into a line. "You'll just have to wait until tomorrow."

"Excellent, excellent," he rubs his hands together with anticipation. "I'm excited to see what you get up to, Miss van Amstel."

"Excited is the wrong word for it, but I'm really hoping that I don't die," Nim says. The remark earns a round of laughter from the audience, making Nim smile. "Who knows; maybe we'll be sitting down to talk about it in a week or two."

"There's only one way to find out," Caesar teases.

Yes, and that one way involves Shae, the person she cares for most in the world, tragically dying. She knows she isn't her brother's keeper. She knows she needs to prioritize herself, but lord, is it difficult.

Staying loyal to Shae is all Nim's known from the moment she was born. If he dies, Nim's breaking a promise to the universe.

The rooftop of the Training Center makes for an excellent place to decompress after sitting through twenty-three other interviews. It's also the ideal location for Nim to get better to know Viscania, Sorrel, and Yara as the sun sets and neon lights replace its glow.

"I hope you weren't worried that tonight'd be a dry event," Yara says, her arms wrapped around a large leather satchel. "My mentor, Ramsey, gave me a twelve pack of beers, and it'd be a shame if they went to waste."

The Eight girl opens the bag to reveal a dozen clear bottles with a brown liquid inside them. She grabs one, flips off the top, and then sets down the rest of the bottles. As Sorrel enthusiastically claps, Yara downs the entire bottle without taking a break. Once she's done, she rhapsodizes, "Alright, I'm going to need everybody to grab a bottle and sit down in a circle."

Naturally, Nim's nervous. Based on Shae's expression, he feels the same. They've never had strong alcohol before, just their dad's fermented kombucha. She thinks Yara's beers are safe, though, since they're sealed. Her hands shake as she reaches for the bottle, struggling to open the cap.

"I've got you," Shae says, twisting off Nim's lid and throwing it to the ground.

She sits between him and Yara and watches as the Eight girl explains. "Alright, so how this is going to work is… I'm going to spin the bottle, and then whoever it lands on, I get to ask a question to. Then, you get the choice of either answering the question truthfully, or taking a sip of your beer. Or, you can just drink anyway because it's fun. After I go, we'll go counterclockwise so Viscania next, then Sorrel; you get the point."

Nim nods and watches as Yara spins the bottle on the ground. It stops on Viscania, who recoils.

"There's no need to be afraid of me," Yara snarls. "I only bite sometimes!"

The Seven girl takes a sip of her drink and chuckles. "I'm not saying that I'm not answering the question, but rather that it might take a bit of liquid courage for me to talk."

"Good shit!" Yara enthuses. "What I wanted to ask you was… hmm… what's the worst thing about District Seven?"

"Oh, that's an easy one," Viscania says with a smirk. "It's easily all of the bird shit. Having trees is nice, yeah, but having birds make nests in them and then poop on your head is substantially less nice."

Nim lets out a laugh. "I think there are birds in every District."

"Well, how would I know that?" Viscania raises her eyebrows. "I will say, I haven't seen a single pigeon since we got to the Capitol."

Shae murmurs, "That's probably because they aren't real."

Catching onto him, Sorrel shouts, "He's right! My father told me that the Capitol sends pigeons to the Districts to spy on us and that they're secretly robots."

"If they're robots, how do they keep shitting on Viscania's head?" Yara scoffs, unable to hold in her laughter.

"Hey! They don't always shit on my head," the Seven girl says. "It was just… two times. Okay– maybe three… Fuck, it was four."

Viscania grabs the empty bottle away from Yara and spins it herself. When it lands on Shae, she laughs.

He immediately downs a sip of his beer. "The answer is no thank you."

Nim playfully slaps him. "C'mon, she hasn't even said what the question is."

"I was just going to ask you if it ever gets boring living with just your dad and Nim," Viscania remarks.

"Oh," Shae replies. "Well, it does get boring when our dad makes us do chores, but never because it's just us three. Or, well, it was just us three. It isn't boring with just the two of us either, though; Nim always makes things interesting."

"Why, thank you," Nim says with a smile. She looks down at her bottle and realizes she's the only one who hasn't drank from theirs. Wanting to change that, she takes a long sip, the fizzy liquid bubbling against her tongue before being pushed down her throat. She isn't sure she likes the taste of it.

Sorrel grabs the bottle and spins it; this time, it lands on Yara, which makes him grin. "Yara, my dear…"

For reasons Nim can't explain, the word "dear" makes her sick.

"Lord, what do you want, gayboy?" Luckily, Yara's response makes her feel better.

"I just wanted to know why you trusted me so easily," the Eleven boy asks. "I mean, I gave you my whole underground rebel schick in less than five minutes, and you haven't left me since."

"It's not that deep," Yara replies, taking a sip of her beer. "I just thought you seemed cool enough, and I didn't want to be on my own."

"Yet you call me the gay one?" Sorrel sneers, sending Yara into a fit of giggles.

Unamused, Shae asks, "Is it my turn?"

"Sure is, big guy," Sorrel answers, handing him the bottle. Shae spins it on the ground, shocked when it lands on Nim.

"That's cheating!" Yara shouts. "They already know everything about each other; they're twins!"

"Shut the fuck up," Sorrel says, chugging down his beer. "It's truth or drink; it's not that serious."

The Eight girl crosses her arms and pouts.

"Alright, Nim," Shae begins, his smile stretching ear to ear. "What's one story about you that you'd never want me telling the others?"

Nim sighs. There are so many embarrassing things that have happened to her. However, based on the conversations that have already happened tonight, she knows exactly which story Shae wants her to tell.

"Well, it all started when I was five, and I was convinced I was a pigeon," Nim says, everybody in the circle already laughing. "I would sit in the tree by my house for hours until one time, I really had to use the bathroom and well…."

"Go on…" Shae wraps his hands around his stomach to suppress a laugh.

"I pooped on his head."

"You what?" Yara spits out her drink, a drop of beer splashing on Nim's nose.

"I said what I said," Nim intones, taking another sip of her beer. She reaches for the bottle, "Give me that; it's my turn."

"No, no," Sorrel tsks, "I want to know, if you were convinced you were a pigeon, how did you shit? Did we not just establish that pigeons are not real and therefore don't have bowel movements?"

"How would she know that; she was five?" Viscania asks.

The Eleven boy replies, "She could just… I don't know… be smarter."

"Is smarter even a word?" Yara raises a brow.

Shae laughs. "Um, yeah…"

"My turn!" Nim repeats. She spins the bottle on the ground, crossing her fingers in hopes it lands on Yara. Even though she doesn't know what she'd ask, the idea of getting close to her thrills Nim.

However, the bottle lands on Shae, and the Eight girl immediately calls out, "I told you the twins were cheating!"

"You can't even cheat at truth or drink," Viscania says.

Nim hates how easy it is for her to come up with a question for her brother. It's one that's been on her mind since the moment he volunteered.

"Shae?" she asks. "Why did you actually volunteer for me? Was it because you wanted to protect me, or was there something else?"

For a brief moment, the entire rooftop goes quiet. Nim's eyes dart back and forth, examining her allies' nervous and confused expressions before Shae finally speaks.

With a tear in his eye, he admits the one thing Nim was so desperately hoping wasn't true, "It's because, after the big storm, I felt indebted to you. You saved my life; it's about time I return the favor."

That night, Nim dreams she's back in Four, and the sky is crying rivers.

"Nim!"

She turns around to see her brother in the water, his body scratching against the rocks.

"Nim! Please come save me!"

Despite how desperate he sounds, Nim stays perfectly still.

She stays still as rock tears through his skin, still as his head hits the stones and bleeds. No, Nim doesn't dare move as the waves completely ravage Shae.

Even when he says his last words, "Why did you fail me?" Nim doesn't move at all.

(But he's no longer indebted to her. He's no longer a burden for her to carry through the Games.)

She hates that she smiles when she wakes up.

Nim's already exhausted when they arrive at the actual arena. Last night's dream didn't do her any favors, nor did her and Shae's discussion before they went to bed.

She screamed at him with words she didn't know the meaning of, only knowing she was frustrated and, more than that, afraid of what'd soon happen to them. Despite the rumbling voice in her throat and the tears in her eyes, Shae stood there and absorbed every word.

"Why did you come here? I could've done this by myself."

"Who the hell is going to find Dad now?"

"Do you really think I'm going to let you die for me?"

"If you wanted to protect me, you should've actually tried during training."

"I don't need you to be my meatshield."

After every god-awful sentence, all Shae could say was, "I'm so sorry."

It's the same thing he says before they part ways and prepare to enter the arena.

This time, Nim replies. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry I lashed out at you. I love you."

Nim doesn't speak when her stylist makes rude comments about her body. She doesn't even bat an eye when she pulls out a metallic teal tracksuit and instructs Nim to put it on.

No, Nim can't talk when guilt is the only emotion ruling her body. She never meant to let the words that only existed in the back of her mind fall off her tongue. She never meant to hurt Shae, to see him so upset, and know it's all her fault. Even though he says it wasn't, Nim knows the truth.

And now, if he dies, Nim will never have the chance to redeem herself in his lifeless eyes. They're running on borrowed time, yet she still found a way to ruin it.

(She's sure Shae hates her. She's sure that if her father's dead and watching over her, he hates her too.)

Nim never should've asked Shae that question. She already knew the answer and that hearing it out loud in his voice would only make things worse. There's so much Nim knew yet chose to ignore, all for the sake of a silly game that never mattered.

She knew she'd get mad at Shae if he said he was indebted to her. That's the one thing Nim never wanted to be.

But then again, Nim doesn't have a choice about what she is in this world anymore. She's a Tribute, and her only job is to entertain the wealthy who don't give a damn about her. They don't care about her inner turmoil or how her palms sweat whenever she thinks about the moments ahead. They only care whether or not Nim can give them a show. She has to; there's no other choice.

(But what about Shae?)

(There are so many questions Nim van Amstel doesn't know the answers to and so little time for her to figure them out.)

Her stylist opens the glass door to her launching tube. With a short wave, she says, "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Before Nim can thank her, her pedestal lifts into the air. She looks above to see thundering red skies, mangled palm trees, and black sand.

The best she can do now is hope she sees Shae as well before it's too late.