I try and fail not to stare as we head further into the ruling city of Panem. The blinding lights, buildings reaching the sky, outrageously dressed people with fluorescent-colored skin- all of it makes my head spin. I've never even been outside of District 7.

District 7, where children as young as eight suffer debilitating back problems from chopping trees day and night. Where we never have clean water or enough food. District 7, where people suffer because no one can pay for a doctor. Not like there even is a formal apothecary for the twelve districts. Why bother?

Despite everything, District 7 is my home. Not here.

The Capitol is a different world, one of indulgence, easy laughter, and ignorance. These people will never be hungry a day in their lives. They'll never watch loved ones die because treatment is too expensive. They grow up with every possible comfort and sit on gilded chairs, their children forever safe from participating in the Hunger Games.

Forever safe from death, from emotional damage.

I grit my teeth hard, trying to block out the Capitol crowd's raucous screams for bloodshed as I hang my head like the cowardly little girl I'm supposed to be. My gaze never wavers from Blight's shoes- I just want to leave all of these prying eyes behind.

Keep walking, Johanna, a voice in my head pipes up, sounding a lot like Kaylie. Don't give these people the time of day! You're better than they are.

Multiple camera flashes blind me right before the 71st Hunger Games caravan stops outside the Tribute Center. This dome-shaped silver building seems to tower even higher than the Capitol city's skyline. With bountiful windows, it looks like an office workplace of long ago. Before the Dark Days.

Shaking away my thoughts, I count the floors- twelve. One for each district.

Awwww, how sweet. I'm living with a bunch of people who either want to kill me or primp me for the arena's cameras.

I grin bitterly, thankful my hair's shrouding the not-so-docile expression. With one last flourish, we're led into the building. Or Hell, or doom; whatever you want to call it.

Everything about the Hunger Games- the grandiose presentation as 'entertainment,' the desensitized nature of Capitol citizens to districts' tributes- is fucked up. And the heart of Panem is blissfully, happily oblivious.

Who's more scarred from the Games? The mentors, the dead, or the victor.

I don't have an answer. I hope I never do, but I know that's wishful thinking.

There's no escaping trauma in Panem, one way or the other.

The tribute pairs and mentors go separate ways in the Center, settling into their living quarters. I stand in an unfamiliar contraption- an elevator, Lola declares- with her, Blight, and Cassius, the tension so thick I could slice it with an ax blade. We soon hear a little bell, and the Capitol woman steps off with Cassius in tow, District 7's other tribute shooting me one last venomous glance.

When the doors slide shut, Blight and I are alone for the first time since our train ride. It makes me feel slightly more secure. I clench my fists together so hard my knuckles turn white, but I can't help the fear bubbling up my throat in a rapid torrent. Soon it all comes rushing out.

"Blight, there's twenty-four tributes. I know some of them are stronger than me. Those stuck-up Careers have trained their whole life for this! Hell, what about the other districts? What about the arena? What if it's in snow, or water, somewhere I can't survive? I don't know how I'm going to-"

The look he gives me, intense but knowing at the same time, causes words to fade away. Blight kneels down to my level, placing his hands on my shoulders in a protective, fatherly way.

"Now, I want you to listen and listen well. You've got a plan, and it's a good one. I've seen how strong you are in 7, how agile and nimble you climb. All you have to do now is act- I'll do the rest."

"How do you know anything about me?" I ask, a little harsher than intended.

"I work at a similar logging industry close to yours. Let's just say all fellow lumberjacks know each other in some way."

"You don't live in the Victor's Village?"

"No."

"But why-"

"So many questions, Miss Mason- for another time. You just need to focus on winning the Games now."

I'm annoyed, but I know better than to press further. Besides, Blight has the right to keep some secrets.

He walks me to my room, making sure I'm settled before telling me I have a little over an hour before a late dinner. For the first time in over two days, I'm alone. Now with no trains, cameras, or homicidal kids, I take stock of the filth caked over my body. The brief wash before 7's reaping seems ages ago.

It takes me a while to figure out the shower, with all its buttons and special settings. I eventually settle on lavender-scented body wash, one of my mother's favorite scents. I dry myself clean and dress in a black sweater and green skirt; the clothes hide any glimpse of muscles. Like Blight said, I need to perform.

I'm still reeling over the clean water here. Another basic human necessity people living in the districts don't have.

Back home, Kaylie and I share a room. She lets me have our only blanket most nights because I easily catch cold, especially in the winter. Now I'm in a spacious bedroom with a large green bed, balcony, and white dressing table complete with drawers. All of this costs more than what my family makes in a year, and it makes me sick to my stomach. Why give us such luxury if we're all going to die?

Oh well, that's President Snow for you.

To distract myself, I turn on a television set mounted above the bed and watch the other districts' reapings. I should know my competition, anyway. The Career districts- 1, 2, and 4- have their typical seventeen or eighteen-year-old tributes. They all look arrogantly or confidently up at the camera, throwing up a fist in exuberation. Nothing new.

The girl from 3, Iris, draws my attention. Although she obviously didn't expect to get picked, she handles the situation calmly. Pretty mature for only thirteen.

There's nothing much of interest in district 5, 6, 8, and I skip over my own reaping. Both tributes from Districts 9 and 10 are so emaciated, a single gust of wind could knock them over. The boy from 11 resembles my brother so I quickly move on, not wanting to sob again.

The very last tribute- District 12's female- stops me dead. Nearly everyone in 12 lives at rock bottom, as is evident from the crowd's sunken cheeks, starved frames, and myriad of injuries.

"Nyathera Aldaine!"

A girl about my age steps forward. She's got glossy black hair hanging down to her waist and a strong, lithe figure. Her piercing violet eyes stare up at the stage with defiance even as the crowd's reactions deepen with devastation. Nyathera takes her place as if she's been reaped thousands of times before, even then holding herself with grace and dignity. Something I didn't do.

I catch a slight smile on her lips before the scene fades.

She's a fighter, that's for sure. Why am I so captivated by her?

Blight's voice sounds outside the door. I don't have time to think about Nyathera Aldaine further because my stomach suddenly turns. The tributes, being away from my family, getting forced to fight for my life in only three days-

I run to the bathroom right before my legs buckle and throw up in the toilet, nausea stabbing my head like a knife. My insides twist, contracting into a painful ball as I vomit bile again and again. I can't suppress a moan, longing for my big sister's loving embrace...

"Here," an already familiar voice soothes. "Lean on me, okay?"

Wracked with intense discomfort, I let Blight carry me to the bed. He offers a glass of water, but I push his hand away.

"Why are you taking care of me?" I snap, sadness coming out as anger. "I'm going to be killed! Just leave me alone!"

I scream the last sentence, burying my head into a pillow. Blight strokes my hair for a split second, his touch gentle.

"Just because you're a tribute, it doesn't mean I should give up on you," he says. "Actually, the opposite is true. I know you think there's only horrible people at the Capitol but let me help you. Let me help you win."

"Will you help me get home?" Barely above a whisper.

"Of course. But drink the damn water first."

I almost giggle, obeying his request. Blight smiles as he covers me with the blankets.

"Good night, Johanna."

The resulting darkness is somehow comfortable, although I don't want it to be. I'm too numb to cry or scream. Hurt, aching in body and soul, I expect to be awake for a while. But the soft sheets cradle me in a warm hug- I'm sound asleep after only a few moments.

That night, I dream of winning the Games, of finally coming home to my family.

Maybe with Blight on my team and a couple other elements as well, that dream will become reality.