Magret Trotter from District 10
Victor of the Thirty-Third Annual Hunger Games


When Magret Trotter was nine years old, in the middle of a normal day of school in the Silver Complex on the coast of District 10, a man burst into her classroom screaming.

"It's in here! It's in here! I can smell it!" he barked.

The man was tall and muscled, with a scar shaped like District 9 on his neck. Magret glanced helplessly at the teacher, expecting her to know what to do, but she just stood in respectful silence as the man stalked through the rows of seats. He left quickly, murmuring nonsensically to himself, but Magret could have sworn he locked eyes with her the moment before his departure.

"In the Silver Complex," their teacher explained later that day, "We live the safest, most comfortable lives of anybody in Panem. Have any of you been outside the Complex before?"

"Only for the reapings," a child replied.

The teacher shivered. "If you saw what life was like outside the Complex, you would never want to leave. There is murder. People fight for food like starving dogs. They even resort to…" She swallowed hard. "Cannibalism."

Every one of the children knew the history of the Silver Complex. Their teacher had related it to them many times. Their leader, a middle-aged man named Callum Jack, was told by God to bet all the money he had on Argus Collymore back in the twenty-fourth games. When Argus won, the man found himself in incredible wealth. And so he created the Silver Complex. A place where people could live free of the horrors that occurred in the rest of Panem.

The adults in Magret's life told her lots of stories. Stories about the ritual where women spent a night with Callum Jack in the name of God. Stories about the construction of the Complex: all the thousands of workers it had taken to create the cement walls. Older stories, too: stories about sacrificial temples and slaves and Job and Jesus.

"But why did Mr. Jack come here today?" Magret asked, her voice trembling in horror. "Why did he look at me?"

The teacher smiled. It was terrifying.

"Have you heard of the Tithing, Magret?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what it is?"

"No." She was in tears by this point.

"The Tithing is our most prized tradition," the teacher explained. The children's eyes were laser-focused on her. "Every year, one young woman is chosen. There are two parts. First, the young woman spends a night with Mr. Jack. It is a night filled with hope and possibility."

Yes, she had heard that part of the story. It was supposed to represent prosperity.

"The next morning, the young woman climbs to the top of the cement wall that surrounds the Silver Complex. The entire crowd gathers to watch her. And then she joins Jesus. And then we are happy. And then we prosper."

Magret grunted with frustration she was too young to know how to express. She just repeated her question.

"But why did Mr. Jack come here today?"

"The choice of which young woman to Tithe is not random. She is chosen by Jesus. Mr. Jack can smell her years in advance."

Magret screeched in horror. The teacher barked for quiet, but the children could not be stopped.

"Quiet! That is enough, class!" she bellowed.

"But I don't want to join Jesus!" Magret whimpered.

"He will take you when he is ready. Now quiet down! We're wasting class time."

The school sat in the very center of the Complex. The Silver Complex covered only a few square miles, but it was Magret's entire universe. The row of shops where she bought flowers and candy and dresses for spring. The line of houses where her school friends lived. The lake that sparkled like polished glass.

Magret grew into a young woman even faster than her family had expected. Her mother was fifteen years older than her and was simply delighted to see her so interested in adulthood as soon as she was.

"You're going to make us so proud," she said every evening at dinner.

Every year the summer came and went. The trucks came and went carrying the next season's supply of food. And every year they watched a young lady climb to the top of the wall. It was dizzying to watch her as she fell. But it was an honor, all of them knew, to fulfill such a crucial role in the well-being of the Complex. Any couple would be proud if their daughter was selected to be Tithed.

When Magret was eleven years old, she hitched a ride on one of the food trucks as it left the Complex. When she was caught, she was whipped so hard she had no choice to believe that it would kill her.

When she was twelve, Mr. Jack burst into the school again. He did nothing but standing in the classroom doorway for ten or fifteen seconds, glaring in Magret's direction with his head tilted curiously. He sniffed once and then left.

When she was fifteen, she witnessed the girl who'd been picked for the Tithing try to kill herself in the school cafeteria using a knife. Her mother begged for Mr. Jack to send her to a hospital outside of the Complex, one with the medical means to heal her, but that was simply ridiculous. By the time she was Tithed, she was half dead already.

When she was sixteen, Magret was beaten half to death by her aunt for asking why she wasn't allowed to leave the Complex.

When she was seventeen, the skeptical, curious girl named Magret Trotter was chosen to be tithed the following year.

When she was eighteen, the month before the ceremony was slated to occur, she raised her hand at the reaping.

"A volunteer!" the escort cried out, overcome with shock. "In District 10? Come up, come up!"

Everyone's heads were turned, their expressions echoing the reaction of the escort. A volunteer, in District 10? This was a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle.

"What's your name, dear?"

"Magret Trotter."

"Why'd you do it?"

She only shrugged, staring coldly into the group of uniformed Complex members packed together at the far end of the square.

The escort pursed her lips awkwardly and glanced around at the scraggly terrain of District 10. "Just want to get away from this place, do you?"

"You don't even know."

A spark of relief flew in her chest as she was led in to the Justice Building. Whatever happened, she would surely never see the Silver Complex again.


She brought it up to her district partner, a surprisingly healthy- and strong-looking kid named Cleaver. The train ride was hardly halfway over, but they'd already formed a strong connection. Magret stared at him in awe most of the time. He was as fascinating to her as a fish from an alien planet. She'd just never spoken to someone from outside the cement walls.

"Sounds like a cult," Cleaver murmured.

"A what?"

"A cult."

She hated that word. It sounded like stagnant, murky water.

"But we were happy. We had the most beautiful lake, and the most beautiful houses. And Mr. Jack took great care of us. And we…"

"And he raped and killed one of you every year." Cleaver's gaze turned sour. "Say, how long ago did you join?"

"Nine years ago. Right after my father died."

Cleaver's lips curled into a tiny smile, his eyes hardening like he was deep in focus.

"My father had an old sociology textbook. I'm not surprised."

"Not surprised about what?" Magret found herself acting rather snooty. She couldn't bring herself to see eye-to-eye with this boy who dismissed her entire life's dedication so carelessly.

"I mean," he explained, "Not surprised that your mother joined right after the death of your father. A person in a place of vulnerability can be lured into anything."

"My mother is not a weak woman."

"We all are, in our own bad moments."

Magret was going to say something, but she suddenly forgot what she had in mind. She stirred her cherry drink, balancing it carefully between her fingers as the train made a sharp turn. Maybe Cleaver was right.

"I left the Complex once. They beat me for it," she murmured. "But they can't do that to me now."

"No, they can't. Why don't you tell me more about the Tithing? Have you seen it before?"

"Only the second half. We watch the girl kill herself every year. That was going to be me. All my aunts told me it was an honor, that future generations would never forget my name. But…"

An instinctual kind of guilt welled up in her stomach, blocking her throat.

"I think I'd rather die after I've seen the Capitol than after I've seen just over the wall."

He smiled again, slurping his own drink. "Well said."

Still, Magret shivered in revulsion when she looked at him. This was her entire life – her entire life – and yet he shook it off like it was just another transition her teenage mind had to work through.

"You're rushing me," she cried out. "Stop it."

"What?"

"Good luck. It was nice to meet you, Cleaver."

She stormed out of the train car into her private suite. It was the same size as her home in the Silver Complex but much more lavishly decorated. God, she was stupid. She should never have volunteered. She should have stayed in her hometown to fulfil her noble duty. She should have brought honor to the family that would now live the rest of their lives in shame.

She should have let herself be raped and killed.

Glancing out the window, she caught a quick glimpse of the amber fields of District 9 passing by. The place she was going to, she would almost certainly meet the same fate. What was the phrase her aunts used? Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

She tried not to think about them. Surely, they were trying not to think about her.

Magret wondered with vague smugness how they would proceed without their chosen Tithe girl. Would they select another? Skip the ceremony? No, they couldn't do that. That would reveal to all that it wasn't actually necessary to their prosperity. The crops would still grow if a young woman wasn't killed. The lake would still sparkle and new babies would still be born.

A deep ache pounded within her head. This was too much to think about all at once.

At least for now – in this exact moment – she was safe and comfortable. She drifted off into a light sleep as the train moved onward into the shadow of Death itself.


Surprisingly enough, Magret didn't speak with Argus until the afternoon of the tribute parade. She was just too intimidated. As everyone in the Silver Complex knew, Argus was the divine reason why their safe haven had been created. His victory was the very reason Mr. Jack had become rich enough to construct the place.

The first time Magret looked at him, she didn't feel like she was beholding the face of God himself. His eyes just looked a little crooked.

"I'm Argus," he said hurriedly, noticing her staring. "But you already know that."

"I… you…"

"I'm not that scary, am I?" he laughed. "Are you okay, Magret?"

"Old habit, sorry."

Cleaver stumbled into the scene. Despite his intimidating frame, he could be more than just a little clumsy in his movements. Magret constantly felt like he was far too large for his own good.

"Don't worry about her," Cleaver sighed, which rubbed her the wrong way. There it was again. Brushing her off like she was nothing.

She had spent her entire life being brushed off like she was nothing. This – being dressed up and displayed to the entire country – was probably the first time she'd ever been looked at with anything other than disapproval.

"Magret."

But she was nervous. She was so, so nervous. She was about to be seen by more people than had ever seen her in her life. The nerves eased ever-so-slightly when the chariot started moving. Her entire life she had felt the desire to move away from something or other. Now, there was a new feeling: the feeling that she was moving toward something, not away from something.

"Magret! Right now!"

Cleaver squeezed her wrist so sharply she almost cried out in pain. It grounded her in the moment immediately. And it was the right thing for him to do.

Right here, right now, all eyes were on them. She wouldn't have another chance to seem strong and likeable like she could in this moment. For a single instant, she forgot all about the Silver Complex. There was only her and her cow print dress and the cheering of the crowd. Even if they weren't cheering for her, which they probably weren't, it didn't matter.

Argus was waiting for them at the end of the track. How he'd gotten there already was a mystery. Maybe there was a subway under the street.

"How'd I do?" Magret asked, delighted she'd brought herself to talk to Argus.

He just nodded.

An angry flush filled her. Again, she was being shaken off. There might have been a sudden urge to say something out loud, but for once she held herself back. If she started talking she would surely get angry for real. And that wasn't worth risking with so many of the other tributes around, especially the careers.

Argus clearly knew something was wrong. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but stopped himself. Maybe he didn't even know what to say. Maybe there were no words at all.


There's stock in that old phrase, safety in numbers.

Oftentimes, especially when there was a large and well-prepared career pack, outliers banded together in order to stay alive. And even if they didn't intend to be together in the arena, it was comforting to have someone to talk to in the training center.

These kinds of alliances happened often. People within days of their death tend to bond over it.

Cleaver and Magret stuck tightly together on the first day in the training center. Cleaver was a little annoying and a little presumptuous, but he was a good companion and he understood her quite well.

"I don't like the way people talk to me sometimes," Magret murmured at one point. "Even when they're just acting normal. It rubs me the wrong way."

"Like what?" he asked, smearing some paint on his hand.

"When they make me feel like my life isn't important. When they're brief about it."

"Brief? We're on the run for our lives, here. Of course we have to be brief."

She went back to her body painting and tried not to think about it anymore. It would fry her brain.

They were just about to wrap up for the day when an unfamiliar voice interrupted their conversation.

"Sagging back there, isn't it?" Magret had murmured.

Cleaver nodded, groaning a little as he scrambled to reinforce the back of the shelter they were working on.

"I got it!"

She jumped so hard she almost screamed.

"Didn't mean to scare you," the voice repeated, almost sheepishly.

"Who are you?" Magret barked, then realized she probably shouldn't have responded so aggressively.

"Well, can I come in?" he asked, ignoring the question.

Magret shared a short look with Cleaver. It wasn't much of a debate. This kid was clearly the last thing from a threat. Meanwhile, the boy crouched awkwardly in the doorway.

"Come on in. What's your name?" Cleaver asked. Magret was glad Cleaver asked because she didn't know she'd ever have worked up the nerve to do it otherwise.

"Brandon McCarthy, District 9," he said. "And I fixed the hole in your roof, by the way."

He stuck around throughout the second day. Magret didn't like him very much. He wanted to make it clear to everyone that he knew things they didn't. In a way that was more rude than practical when it came to divvying up their duties once they went into the arena.

"And we are sticking together," Cleaver assured him before the second day was over. "We make a great team."

It wasn't until the third and final day that Magret brought herself to tell Brandon about the Silver Complex. He shrugged.

She ran to Argus later that day, while he was lounging on the couch in their suite on Floor 10 of the training center.

"Listen, Argus," she murmured. "I'm going to tell you something. And you tell me if I'm insane. Okay?"

He turned the TV off so fast it was almost comedic. "I'm listening."

"Everything everyone says makes me sad."

It was a garbled and immature-sounding sentence. She kicked herself for not being able to express herself more clearly.

"You don't have to explain it in one sentence. My job is to help you. Just tell me what's up."

She breathed out heavily, taking a seat. "Have I told you about my home life?"

"They told me, yeah."

"They what?"

"When you're reaped, they dig up every detail about your family they can possibly find. It's a precaution. You know, ever since Fumer won."

"I hate this!" Magret cried out. "It's like I'm stuck between my old life and my new life. And I'm screaming as loud as I can but nobody can hear me. But hey. I can't say I didn't sign up for this."

"Magret…"

"They were going to kill me! They were going to throw me off the wall and maybe I'd get a little glimpse of the outside before I fell. You know what they told us? They told us, when the girls see what's outside the Complex – you know, when they reach the top of the wall – it's so depressing it makes them want to jump to their deaths. But I've seen outside the walls now. And I'm glad I did that. But I'm going to die and it's going to be even worse than if I would have stayed. Even though it ends the same way. It's like… sort of…"

"I'm right here. It's okay," Argus murmured gently.

"No! I know they don't care about me. I never thought they would. It's just… it's been so sudden, and…"

"And you feel lost?"

"Yes."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not."

"You're right, it's not."

And Magret started crying. She was crying of anger because Argus had brushed her words off so quickly.


Magret found out less than an hour before the bloodbath that a fourth member had been lumped onto their alliance.

"The girl from 12, Rosalie," Cleaver whispered in her ear. "She's vicious."

He was right. Even though Magret hadn't spent much time observing the other tributes, she'd noticed that Rosalie was much hardier than District 12's standard fare.

"Why didn't you talk to me about it first?"

He tilted his head. "Well, you like her, don't you?"

"Yes. But…"

The tears were welling up behind her eyes again.

"It doesn't matter," she finished. "I don't want to talk anymore."

"You have to talk. We have to communicate; that's part of the deal!"

"Not right now. Now in here."

He nodded ominously. "Understood."


This year, the tributes were greeted with a frigid gust of wind. The fear the tributes felt in the launch rooms was multiplied by two: now, they didn't just have to worry about avoiding death from mutts and careers; preventing frostbite and hypothermia would be a real, constant concern.

Magret eyed the cornucopia field with panicked fervor. Fortunately, the gamemakers had provided lots of methods for keeping warm, coats and blankets and sleeping bags among them. Wouldn't want a repeat of Seeder's games. Hypothermia isn't fun to watch on television.

There was one thing about snow that made the games bloodier: anybody running through it left a noticeable, trackable trail. Almost all of the outliers ran into the cornucopia this year, figuring it was better to be at least partly armed when the careers inevitably found them later on.

She was fairly certain as she ran into the opening scuffle that this was the coldest she had ever felt in her life.

There was a loud beep from deep within the cornucopia, a loud and clear frequency that could be heard from everywhere in the cornucopia field. Moments later, a tiny black spot came hurtling out of the sky. It grew closer and closer, larger and larger…

The enormous boulder landed mere feet from where Magret had frozen in fear. It sent up a spray of snow and mud, knocking down several tributes.

Moments after she resumed her scramble for supplies, the beeping came again. An outlier boy ducked into the cornucopia to avoid the flying boulder, where a pair of careers was waiting for him. The careers figured out instantly that this was the best strategy going forward. Four of them crouched in the darkness of the horn, preying on those who entered to shield themselves from the deadly flying stones.

"Cleaver! Brandon! Run!" she screamed.

The rocks barreled down faster and faster. Magret's blood turned to ice as one of the stones hurtled in Cleaver's direction, almost as though it was aimed directly at him. Magret screamed for him to run, but there was nothing he could do. It crushed him like a bug under the hand of death itself.

She fell on her knees into the snow. No, no, no…

There was a hand on her shoulder. It was tugging her upward. She screamed and whipped her head around, expecting to be face-to-face with a vicious career. No, not a career. The polar opposite of a career. The girl from District 12.

"Rosalie…" she murmured.

"Get up!"

"He… the rock…"

"RUN!"

And she ran. She ran like it would be the end of the world if she didn't. She ran even though her back was bleeding and her fingers were bruised and it was so cold she wanted to do nothing but scream until she died.

The snowy forest grew thicker and thicker as they ran. Soon, the trunks were so tightly packed that it was impossible to run.

"Where are you bleeding?" Rosalie asked. It was so sharp it sounded like a demand.

She placed her hand over the place where she'd been hit. A spear from one of the careers. It wasn't bad – the weapon had only barely scraped her - but it was more than enough to make her bleed.

Rosalie examined the wound. "Does it hurt?"

"Does it hurt?"

"Let me rephrase that. Are you going to die?"

"Probably not."

She raised an eyebrow. "Alright. Should we look for Brandon, or just keep running?"

As if on cue, Brandon burst into the clearing. They reached for their weapons involuntarily, but quickly lowered their hands at the sight of their ally. He was battered but definitely still alive.

"Come on," Rosalie urged. "What do you have?"

Both of them were dismayed at the realization that, while Brandon had headed into the bloodbath, he hadn't taken very much of anything. The only thing Magret saw at first was a plastic sheet, which for the life of her looked like a slip n' slide. Upon further investigation, it was found that he had a pocketknife and a thin jacket.

"Well, it's better than nothing," Magret said, suddenly realizing that maybe she shouldn't have said something so dismissive.

He didn't seem to mind. "Well, what are we doing now?"

Rosalie was getting impatient. "Let's keep running. Now come on, you two."

"Not until it starts snowing," Magret objected. "The careers are probably already following people's tracks. If we're lucky, they haven't picked up on ours. If we're unlucky, they're following us right now."

"And what makes you think it will start snowing?" Brandon put his hands on his hips, siding with Rosalie.

Her face turned so red she thought it might catch fire. "Look around, will you?"

She was being too violent. Too brash, and she knew it.

Then there was the thought that if this was her idea of being profane she was utterly unprepared for the things that would happen before this alliance had run its course. It was all she could think about as they started walking again.

"The boulders. You think they'll happen again?" Brandon asked, changing the subject.

Magret set her eyes ahead, the chill returning to her features somewhat. "I doubt they're done. But we're probably safe for now."

"Famous last words."

"Very funny, Rosalie."

And they continued on their way, blissfully unaware that the careers had been following their tracks since the moment the bloodbath was over.


By Day 2, most of the tributes had realized that the bitter cold was far from the only natural danger this year's arena posed.

A cannon shot fired on the second morning, startling those tributes into wakefulness who had managed to fall asleep in the rough conditions. The girl from 6, sensing that a group of either mutts or careers was following her, scurried up a tree to escape them. In her haste, she didn't see the Tracker Jacker hive affixed to the lowest bough. The cameras focused intensely as she rocked and rolled on the forest floor, slowly dying amidst the swarm of feverish hallucinations.

Most of the more complicated mutts were also awake by that point. The ice caves which took up a large region at the north end of the arena were inhabited by bears, which left their sheltered homes only briefly to hunt for fish. And for unsuspecting tributes.

"Let's stay away from high ground," Rosalie suggested at the tail end of the second day. "It's usually filled with dangers."

Magret thought that was a little presumptuous, but she didn't say anything. She just nodded. Brandon, though, had an objection.

"You know where the careers will be looking?" he said. "Low-lying areas. River beds. Valleys. The best places to hide. And besides, we'll be able to see them when they're coming. If they're coming."

Magret didn't have the energy to interject, so she followed them uphill. Regardless, the snow was thinner up here, and it was slushier than the soft white blanket they'd seen at the cornucopia, making their tracks harder to follow.

"This better have been worth it," Magret said, wondering if she was whining.

"Oh, it will be," Brandon assured. "But we need to keep on the lookout. Don't get too comfy, Rosalie."

She paused before finishing laying out her sleeping bag. "Wasn't planning on it. But I think we're done moving for today. Care for dinner, anyone?"

Their flow of sponsor supplies wasn't spectacular, but it would have to do. None of them were particularly memorable tributes; their sponsors were most likely charmed by the concept of a sturdy outlier alliance, without the motive of supporting an individual competitor. It didn't matter either way. Food was food.

They didn't move much as Day 2 turned into Day 3. They were far too tired after the first day to do anything but sit around. Without the immediate threat of death, they planned to take the entire day off before continuing their journey

"How many of the careers are left?" Brandon asked at lunch. The trio was snacking over a small plate of cheese and crackers sent to them by sponsors the previous night.

"Four. One died at the bloodbath. And the boy from 1 was in the sky last night."

"How'd he die, you reckon?" Magret asked, munching on a little bite of cheese.

Brandon shrugged. "Tracker Jackers. Mutts. Probably not frostbite. Not until much later. Not until the sponsor supplies run out."

There was an awkward silence as they continued eating their lunch. The suggestion of sponsor supplies running out was scary even to ponder at a distance.


It wasn't until Day 4 that the boulders returned. And when they came back, they came back with a vengeance.

Three of the careers were sleeping inside of the cornucopia at the time, while Dorsal from 4 sleepily stood guard. Dorsal let out a scream as the first boulder came spiraling out of the sky, ducking into the cornucopia just as it collided with the ground. There was a spray of snow and dirt.

The girl from 1 rose and pushed on the rock. It moved only an inch.

"Shit, we're trapped!" she groaned, continuing to pound on the boulder.

The boy from 2, Rocky, shrugged. "Yeah, we're stuck in, but the other boulders are also trapped out." He was remarkably calm and patient for a District 2 tribute. "Let's wait until things settle down before we freak out."

The careers were unscathed. On a physical level, at least. Dorsal wouldn't talk to anyone for the rest of the day.

The outliers were not so comfortable. The boy from 9 was sleeping in the snow when a boulder came flying out of nowhere, felling several trees. One of the trunks fell over him, startling him awake with a splintered trunk crushed over his abdomen. He struggled to escape, but was hopelessly pinned down. If a career or mutt came across him, he would be helpless.

The Magret-Brandon-Rosalie trio, by some miracle, survived the storm of boulders. The closest they came was a boulder missing Brandon's shoulder by mere feet, careening through the forest for a quarter of a mile before reaching a stop. It was the fastest boulder launched yet by a wide margin. Not meant to scare; meant to kill. But it had missed.

"RUN!" Rosalie roared as the boulders came down faster and faster.

There was no alternative. There was nothing they could do to fight back if they failed to dodge one of the stones. They were like ants running under the fingers of a cruel child.

What they didn't know was that the gamemakers were chasing them toward the cornucopia. The careers had been following the trio for several days before they somehow realized they were being followed and got the careers off their trail.

But the disappointed audience would not be disappointed again.


The night of Day 7, a silver parachute drifted down into Magret's lap. The others leaned their heads over the space where her hands were fidgeting with the shiny silver wrapping. It had been three days since any of their mentors had communicated with them through writing. Argus, Izzy, and Canary had been incredibly quiet for the entire games. Maybe they'd jacked up the price of written notes this year. Which was terrifying.

Because it meant that what Argus wanted to say was very, very important.

Careers coming. Tomorrow morning. Be ready.

-A-

"He's not joking," Rosalie said. She'd just told a joke, but her face immediately hardened into the stern fighter they all knew her as. "Let's get ready."

"That's the first time you've instructed us to do anything other than run," Brandon said, a little tint of smugness in his tone.

"We can't run." Magret shook her head ominously. "Remember the footsteps we saw on Day 1? They've been following us for so long. They'll make it happen whether we run or not. May as well rest ourselves rather than tire our legs out."

Magret grabbed the only candle they had, holding it under her chin like a little girl telling ghost stories. The light bounced around the inside of the cave like a size-slinking aura of faint yellow light. "Anyone up for a friendly duel?"

And they did it. All they had were knives, but those were more than sufficient. Magret started by dueling with Brandon. For a brief moment, she was sadly reminded of the day she'd spent practicing with Cleaver in the training center. The memory was easily shaken away. The threat of her own death was just too imminent.

Her entire childhood, she'd wanted to hold a knife. Swing it. Hit it against something. Hold it up to a light and look at the jagged edge. All the real metal knives in the Silver Complex were kept stowed away. As a child, she'd eaten with plastic utensils on paper plates. She was told that wielding metal tools would fill her heart with bloodlust. That it would corrupt her beyond hope of recovery.

"You're thinking about home again," Brandon noted.

"And?"

"And I wanted to let you know that I care."

They were sitting cross-legged in the back of the cave while Rosalie stood at the yawning entrance, guarding them.

"What do you mean?" she asked. The idea that someone could care about her past was an idea she'd rejected by the time training was over.

He shrugged. "I can see it bothers you the way I talk about the Silver Complex. Something you do with your eyes. And now that things are so slow, I just thought I'd say it more clearly."

Things were slow. So slow that Magret thought the world must have stopped moving around its axis. The air was glass waiting to shatter.

"That… that means a lot to me."

"Yeah."

She laughed nervously. "Tell me about your home. What was it like?"

He grunted. "We ate dragonflies when there was no meat."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"It's nobody's fault where they're born," Magret whispered, thinking of the tall cement walls surrounding the Complex. "But it's our fault what we make of it."

"Don't get the idea you can make it out of here without being violent," Brandon laughed. "That's not how this works."

"I don't want to die having killed other children. I don't want that to be what I make of my life."

"You broke free of a prison, in more ways than one," Brandon said. "You explored a place nobody around you ever dared to explore. That's what you've made of your life."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she merely sat still and closed her eyes. She was just as still as the stars and the sky and the air without the faintest trace of a wind.

"I'm right, though. Am I not?"

There he was again. The Brandon who thought he knew everything.

She nodded. "Thanks for… for being here, I guess."

"Oh, it's my pleasure."

And the girl named Magret Trotter – the shoddy, mentally unstable, terrified girl who was born into a cement prison – had never felt more free.


The clash with the careers was just as bloody and just as chaotic as they were dreading.

The Magret-Brandon-Rosalia trio was well-prepared, but when the opposing force was something as powerful as three careers, there was no denying that the outlook would be grim. At least one of them was probably going to die, and all of them knew it.

The three of them stood with bated breath outside the cave on the morning of Day 8, gazing off into the forest with terrified diligence. There was a blue flash of movement to their right. They flinched and turned toward it, expecting the careers to appear. But there was nothing.

Magret cleared her throat. "You think…?"

And at that moment, the trio of careers came careening out of the forest.

"Oh, shit!" Rosalie found herself swarmed by all three of them. They'd probably agreed beforehand to make her their first target. Brandon pounced to her aid, slamming his knife into the arm of Rocky from 2. Rocky retaliated instantly, spiraling away from Rosalie and toward him.

Brandon was on the ground before he even knew what had hit him, pinned there by Rocky's powerful limbs. Magret rushed to his aid but was immediately knocked down by Dorsal from 4. He was impossibly fast and viciously powerful despite his small size, and when Magret glanced to the side in hopes of seeing Rosalie still on her feet, all she saw was the girl from 12 crushed helplessly against the ground by Scylla from 2.

This was it. They were going to die.

"What do you say?" Scylla jeered. "Should we cut their throats open, or take our sweet time?"

Amidst Dorsal's frantic attempts to keep Magret pinned down, he made a gesture that Magret interpreted as shrugging. "Let's do both. Tell you what, get the 12 girl out of the way before we do anything else."

Scylla brought her dagger slowly downward. It pierced the skin of Rosalie's neck, sliding deeper and deeper into her skin…

Rocky roared with fury as Brandon slid out from underneath him. They were both on their feet instantly. Rocky tackled Brandon but missed by the breadth of a centimeter or two. He wasn't fast enough to stop him before Brandon threw a fist at the back of Scylla's head. It connected with a bloodcurdling crunch, and Scylla's eyes rolled back into her head.

The tides turned in milliseconds. Rosalie leaped to her feet, targeting Rocky with the knife she'd snatched up from the snow instants prior. He was dead in a matter of seconds, but not without putting up a fight. Rosalie screamed in pain as Rocky tossed a well-aimed fist into her mouth, and she spiraled backward. She was helpless as Dorsal came to his senses and pinned her back down, as a now-again-conscious Scylla forced Magret to the ground with an expert duel move she'd actually seen her smugly demonstrate in the training center.

Magret felt grim acceptance crawl over her center. They'd had a brief moment of luck, but now it had run out. She was moments from death, seconds, instants…

Dorsal and Scylla simultaneously widened their eyes, gazing off into the snow with their weapons slipping from their hands. Dorsal fell still instantly, and Rosalie slipped out from underneath him just as Scylla died – not without gently feeling the arrow stuck in the back of her neck.

"That was fast, wasn't it?"

A girl in the blue uniform of District 3 stood among the trees just a few meters away. There was a crossbow clutched in her lowered hand.

Magret just stared at the girl from 3 with confusion and awe. Rosalie fell to her knees, weeping lightly over Brandon's lifeless body. Scylla's knife was lodged so firmly into his neck, not even Rosalie could remove it.

"Thanks. For saving our lives," Magret murmured, feeling very awkward.

A spark flew in her brain.

"Rosalie! The blue flash of movement we saw. Before the careers came. That was…"

The girl from 3 nodded. "The name's Delta. Mind if I stay? There's still one career left."


The ground members found themselves in comfort and quiet as the second week passed. By arena standards, anyway.

Delta was a factory worker from the central zone of District 3 who just happened to have spectacular aim and a knack for moving quietly. Magret couldn't shake the feeling that she was a replacement for Brandon, even though she tried to think of her as a genuine companion.

"How many are left?" Rosalie asked while they sat at dinner at the tail end of Day 11. That day, they'd relocated from the cavernous part of the arena to the flatter, more even regions. There were lots of trees to keep them hidden from sight, but it was still unnerving to be out in the open without any kind of concrete cover.

"Just six," Delta answered. "Us three. The girl from 4, Caroline. And the pair from 5."

The next day, the flying boulders returned. No tributes were killed this time, but they were driven closer together. In fact, the trio was expected to cross paths with the pair from 5 within the next twenty-four hours, according to Caesar Flickerman's estimate. The gamemakers didn't interfere whatsoever as they moved toward one another. The results were certain to be interesting.

They talked about their home lives as they walked. Delta told them about the factory. Rosalie talked about the part of District 12 called the Seam and the division that always came between the Seamers and the merchants when it was time for the reaping.

And Magret talked about the Silver Complex. Her feelings weren't even hurt when Delta shrugged it off. Of course. They all had rough lives back home. She couldn't put a finger on what she'd been expecting.

Sure enough, the two groups of tributes met the next day. They spotted each other from less than twenty meters away. The trees cast such mystifying shadows in the dusky light that it was hard to discern the other tributes from trees themselves.

Of the six remaining tributes, five of them were now within ten meters of each other.

But what could have been viciously volatile was the exact opposite.

"She can't fight off all five of us," the boy from 5, Engie, said with a shrug. "There's still one career left. We may as well band together."

It quickly became clear that they had to execute – no pun intended – their plan immediately. They shared a common enemy, but that didn't mean they shouldn't be suspicious of each other. None of them felt comfortable sleeping or even resting in such a hastily-assembled group, and besides, they were only a couple of miles from the cornucopia anyway.

They never spoke about what they would do after killing Caroline. Thinking that far ahead would have killed them by itself.

The murder plot went even smoother than any of them could have hoped for. Caroline's mentor, Makani, had notified her about the attack. But that didn't make her a match for five tributes who were ready to take her down or literally die trying. At eleven P.M. on Day 13, Caroline's cannon fired. The final career girl fell still on the dirty snow, their weapons lodged in every part of her body, and then there was silence. Silence so complete it was deafening.

"I guess it's just us, then," Magret murmured.

You could cut the tension with a knife. None of them said it, but they all knew it: they were waiting for one person to draw their weapon and start the mass slaughter. But none of them did.

"This is a harsh arena," Engie said. "Let's split up. Go our own ways. Fend for ourselves. Last man – or woman – standing wins."

Rosalie glared at him with fire in her eyes. "The gamemakers won't like that. They won't want us to draw things out."

"They don't have to be drawn out," Engie returned. "You can bet your boots they'll ramp up the cold weather a million times tonight. They'll have their victor by the morning."

It wasn't a pleasant compromise, but since none of them wanted to personally kill each other, it would have to do.

"No supplies," Engie added, making an example of tossing his weapons into the horn. "We have to make this fair."

They shook hands and ran their separate ways.

True to Engie's prediction, the gamemakers heightened the winter chill to such an intense degree it seemed like the world itself had turned into a sphere of ice. Snow came down in torrents, part of a roaring winter storm that was designed to kill. Snow piled high, ice formed on every surface, and all that was left to do was wait.

Less than an hour later, the girl from 5 cast herself down from the rocks and died instantly. She knew her body could not withstand the cold for much longer and she just wanted to make things as fast as she could.

Delta and Engie were the next to go. They'd curled up in the most sheltered areas of the arena they could find, desperately hoping they could keep their body heat high enough to survive the night. They couldn't. BOOM! BOOM! Two more tributes dead.

Rosalie knew from her days in the woods of District 12 that snow is an insulator. She piled it around herself, burying her body in a thick solid layer of the stuff. It was remarkably effective. The direct touch of the cold snow on her skin was so painful she had to stifle an unending scream, but it was much better than being exposed to the barren cold air.

All Magret could think about as she rocked pitifully back and forth in her cavern shelter was the burning sun of District 10 and how quickly dehydration can kill you. Just a day without water, and a person drops dead. That's what their teacher told them. Their teacher had also told them that a special force field covered the top of the Silver Complex, preventing temperatures from climbing too high. Outside the Complex, she said, it was so hot that people's skin melted straight off their skin.

Magret hated herself for only realizing now that she had been lying.

The reason Magret survived longer than Rosalie was because she kept herself hydrated. By the time Rosalie got to the point she couldn't move her hands and her entire face was numb, drinking water was the last thing on her mind. But Magret kept licking the melted snow off her hands even when it was so difficult she thought she might rather die than keep going.

That was how the thirty-third Hunger Games ended. Two blue-skinned girls grunting nonsensically, loopy from hypothermia, clinging to their lives with the only ounce of willpower they had left.

Magret felt her eyes closing slowly. The once-cold air turned into a comforting warm flush. There was a cannon shot, Rosalie's, but Magret could hardly even hear the announcement or the fanfare of trumpets.

The only thought that crossed her mind was how mad Callum Jack would be. How mad he'd be that a woman had slipped out from under his finger into a world where he couldn't control everything she did.

When she woke up in the hovercraft, all Magret wanted was a glass of milk. The drink they'd never been allowed to drink in the Silver Complex.

"I'm never going there. Never again," she told the nurse with a grunt of both exhaustion and triumph.

"Haven't you heard?" the nurse responded.

Her heart jumped into her throat. "What?"

She shook her head. "No. It's best you find out later. Not right now. Not when you're like this."

"Tell me! What is it?"

But she felt a cold flush in her veins, and the world went dark again.


"Argus!" Magret barked. "I want you to tell me what happened at the Silver Complex."

They both fell into silence. The only noise, almost imperceptibly faint, was the rushing of the train as it moved hundreds of miles an hour through the wilderness of the Capitol. The entire ride from the hospital back to the central city, dread had festered in her stomach like an infection.

"What do you know?" Argus asked. "You need to tell me you're ready to hear what happened."

"I don't know anything. I've asked a million people. Just tell me!"

She hoped he could see the desperation in her eyes.

"There is no more Silver Complex, Magret," Argus murmured.

"They were dismantled?"

"Your leader, Callum Jack. One of his cronies somehow figured out that peacekeepers were coming to tear the place down. Kick them out. And…. Magret, you have to understand…"

"Oh, come on!"

"He ordered everyone in the Complex to climb the wall and jump to their deaths."

The place where her stomach had been moments earlier had been replaced by a black hole. A small part of her wondered if he was joking. She looked straight into his eyes. He was doing anything but joking.

"They're all dead, Magret," Argus said ruefully. "Your family. Your friends. All of them."

And Magret fell into a dark place she would not leave for an entire decade. When she left that place, she was one of the most cooperative and patriotic victors in Panem.

Everything she knew of her home had been destroyed. The Complex was dismantled, the bodies carried away and cremated, the space flattened and turned into a ranch. Magret had nothing, but she had the Capitol. They had given her life and they had given her wealth.

She would bow to them forever.


List of Victors

District 1 (5 Victors): Luxor Dodge (1st), Citrine Whitacre (9th), Peridot Partridge (18th), Vintner Aphelion (23rd), Riletta Esteban (30th)

District 2 (5 Victors): Tyrell Crowley (3rd), Lancaster Percy (6th), Ajax Mathers (15th), Maximus Decimus (21st), Ether Driscoll (28th)

District 3 (3 Victors): Lumen Orlaith (12th), Cobalt Thindrel (19th), Beetee Latier (32nd)

District 4 (3 Victors): Mags Flanagan (11th), Ripple Hart (16th), Makani Lee (26th)

District 5 (2 Victors): Electra Wilty (4th), Fumer Griffin (25th)

District 6 (2 Victors): Jaguar Stratton (7th), Annley Benz (27th)

District 7 (3 Victors): Rowan Dobson (2nd), Willow Merrick (13th), Ebony Merrick (14th)

District 8 (3 Victors): Georgio Bronte (8th), Burton Flax (22nd), Stitch Elrod (29th)

District 9 (1 Victor): Izzy Mayfleet (17th)

District 10 (2 Victors): Argus Collymore (24th), Magret Trotter (33rd)

District 11 (3 Victors): Bluebell Singer (5th), Crow Kensington (20th), Seeder Woodstock (31st)

District 12 (1 Victor): Canary Roselock (10th)