CHAPTER FOUR

Hazel

A/N: Reuploaded to fix some formatting issues as tweak some of the writing!

I only let out a breath once the doors of the elevator have properly closed. I've never been able to put into words how much I despise the first few hours back in the Capitol. No matter how hard I try, every time I see the distinct shape of the skyline and the silver hues of the metallic-topped buildings, I feel like I'm seventeen again, about to be sent back in as a tribute in my own games. Only this time, once I'm forced to rehash all the gory details, I won't make it out alive.

Part of it is true, in a way. Every year I do relive my own Games; I feel the same jolt of terror when the podiums push up through the ground and into the cornucopia as I did the first time, the same juddering sense of relief tinged with horror at the sound of a cannon. Only this time it's not my own life that's in my hands, but someone's else's. Which is considerably worse.

I'm dizzied for a moment, and it's only when I hear a call of my name that I blink and realise that the doors of the elevator are open and I'm standing in the middle of the Donum Room. It's a wide space located just under the ground floor of the tribute centre, locked off to all but the most high-ranking Capitol officials, and, of course, the mentors. There's not too many of us around, most people haven't arrived yet or are prepping their tributes for the ordeal of makeovers, but there's a few people milling around. Saffron and Queenie from One, who barely give me anything more than a side glance – but I'm not surprised, they've disliked me ever since I poisoned both their tributes four years ago– Porter from Five, and the pair from Eleven. I don't recognise the woman, but the man, Chaff, is the one who greeted me. He waves at me with his stump-arm, and I manage a half wave and a smile back. Chaff isn't too bad, as far as things go, he's nice and when he's sober, he's not a bad conversationalist. But I'm not friends with many of the mentors here, and from my brief communications over the phone with Zip, from Three, I know he won't be coming to the Capitol for these games. It's a shame, really. We made fairly good friends last year. Still, I think of his face last year as he watched his tribute get half-skinned alive by the psychopathic boy from Two, and I can't blame him. At least my pair were spared the mercy of a quick death at the bloodbath.

I make my way to the station for District Seven and get the strange feeling of alien familiarity; like coming home from a long trip away. This is where, in a week, I'll be spending most my hours; depending on how long Johanna survives. There are multiple screens – three, in fact. One that covers a live feed of the Games, another that gives me eyes on my tribute at all times, and a third which monitors sponsorships and bidding. If I wanted to, right now I could look at how many people are betting on Johanna's survival, but I don't. Unlike most mentors, none of that will help me this year. The other two screens are blank, of course, the Games have barely begun. There's no real need to be here, not until the gong sounds and the Games begin, but it's where most mentors spend their time. There's a massive screen in the centre that plays the Capitol's television feed, kind of like the one they have in the central square of Seven, and we use it to view events like the Chariot Rides together. Plus, it's an easy place as any to work out alliances and see if you can gauge anything about the other tributes from their mentors.

I sigh, leaning back and running my hands through my hair. How I wish I could be at home right now, curled up in my nook in Victor's Village with my cat Tiny, without the crushing weight of a girl's life on my chest. Except, I'd have been here even if I wasn't a mentor. I frown and think about the envelope that had been left on the foot of my bed this morning, inviting me to a dinner with another of my 'admirers'. No, I would have to be in the Capitol anyways. At least if I'm here as a mentor, it means something.

Eventually more people arrive, and I begin to catch up with a few of the victors that I haven't seen in a while. I spend a while in conversation with Cecilia, from Eight, whose stomach is flat again, meaning she's finally given birth to her third child. Last year she'd been in the final stages of pregnancy, but as one of only two victors from her district, she'd had no choice but to be here. I let her talk about how excited her two boys were to have a baby sister, all the while thinking about how horrific it must be to bring children up in a world where they might be reaped. But they put a smile on her face, and I remember Blight telling me about empty she had seemed those first few years after she had won her games. Perhaps they are what keeps her sane.

Speaking of Blight, I rush to him the second he enters the Donum Room. He still looks weary, and there's the thin sheen of sweat on his brow that never seems to go away, but his eyebrows are no longer furrowed in worry.

"How did it go?" I ask. Ainsley is not technically my tribute, but he's from Seven, and Blight and I are on the same team. If Johanna doesn't win, I'd want him to, even if I know the odds of that are nigh impossible.

"He's allowed two doses a day," he says. "One in the morning and in the afternoon. Obviously, he's not going to get any in the games, but it'll save him from keeling over beforehand."

"That's good," I say, but I think of Johanna's outburst last night. Was she right? Is it immoral for us to be drugging him up when it might hurt him, just to save him the peace of mind? I shake the thoughts from my head, however. He's not my tribute, and therefore not my responsibility.

"How about the girl?" He asks. "Johanna?"

"Oh," I say, and have to bite my lip. Part of me wants so desperately to tell Blight, but I know I can't. If I tell Blight, someone may overhear, and the whole plan would go down in flames. But most importantly, if I break Johanna's trust, I know she would be done with me forever. She's not the kind of girl to break grudges, I know that much from spending a day with her. And I know that, somehow, I've pinned all my hopes on her.

Stupid Hazel, I think. Isn't that what everyone tells you not to do – don't get your hopes up on a tribute. That's the first cardinal rule of mentoring, and you've been doing this for four years. Any sort of hope you have for Johanna, crush them, or you're going to end up shattered.

I realise I've been quiet when Blight raises an eyebrow at me, and I cough to make up for it. I'm not an actor like Johanna is, and it's going to take some effort to convince the others.

"I'm not quite optimistic." I manage, which is so ironically a lie that I almost bark out a laugh when the words leave my lips. However, instead of calling out my bluff, Blight looks sympathetic.

"It gets better," he says.

I nearly have to choke back another laugh. How many times have I heard that phrase? It gets better. Surely Blight knows how stupid it all is. If things get better, then he has some explaining to do. How come I wake up every night with images of Felicis struggling to grasp the arrow in his stomach because of how slick with blood his hands are? How come I watched as he gets skewered through the eye and how come I still feel guilt over the fact that I can't even stay to hold his hand as he dies because if I don't flee, I'll join him? How come, every so often, when it's particularly silent, I can hear the screams of the other tributes as they get caught in the flow of magma behind me? No, Blight, I think. It doesn't get any better. You just get used to it.

"Hazel!" I feel a pair of arms around my neck, grasping me in a hug, and I jolt until I realise who the voice belongs to. Finnick from Four has been making the rounds and has finally made it to our little section of the Donum Room. I breathe a little sigh of relief; I like Finnick, despite the fact that he's from Four and extremely obnoxious. We're both young, in fact he's a year younger than me, and having won two years apart has put us on somewhat a similar standing. Sometimes we'll eat meals together in the dining hall just outside, and more than once we've been escorted to meet some of 'benefactors' together. I think just about anyone could bond over those shared experiences, I'm simply lucky that Finnick is easy to get along with.

"Happy to see me?" I ask, as he gives Blight a good-natured wave.

"With all of my heart, I miss those red locks of yours," he picks up a strand of my hair and I laugh. Nearly everyone in Four has the same sun-bleached golden hair, and he's no exception. "But don't tell the ladies of the Capitol."

I roll my eyes good naturedly. There are a few people that can put me at ease in the Capitol; Zip, Finnick, and Mags. Thinking of, I look around for her, but she's nowhere to be seen. Normally she'd be huddled at her station already, shoes off and perched on her seat like a strange bird. When I ask Finnick about it, he sighs.

"It's Nemone again this year," he gestures at the tall woman who's talking to the mentors from Two, presumably about allies. She's one of those victors that really embody the 'spirit' of the Games; that is to say she's a piece of shit Capitol sympathiser. Most of us don't like her very much.

"Because of the success of last year, I'm guessing," Blight says, and I watch the easy grin on Finnick's face fade. Of course, last year's victor was not the success story that you want to see as a mentor, but any success is better than none. I remember barely seeing Finnick last year, lost in a haze of paranoia and guilt. It was clear that the girl meant something to him.

"How is Annie?" I ask, gently. I watch a wave of emotions crash over his face, as if he's flashing through the past year in his mind. She hadn't been well at the victory tour when she'd visited us in Seven, and dinner had to be finished early because she'd started screaming in terror at our mayor for no other reason than he'd complimented her dress. I feel my stomach twist. Some of us are lucky.

"Better." Finnick ends up deciding on, and before I have a chance to press him any further, the sound of the anthem plays and voices around the room hush one another. Finnick, to his credit, recovers quickly, and grabs one of the empty chairs from Six to sit next to me. We watch as the screen fades in and we're given the same formal address as every year.

"So, how are your tributes this year?" Finnick whispers to me. Talk like this is common amongst mentors, but we're all very careful not to let anything slip. As good friends as some of us may be, we're still competing against one another to keep our own tributes alive. Just another way in which the Capitol keeps us pitted against one another, even after our own games are over. And this year, I must be very careful.

"I'll be honest," I sigh, using the same tone of voice as I have the past two years. "Hopeless. The boy's a drug addict and the girl is so terrified that even the wind could give her a heart attack. How about you?"

Finnick sighs, and I think he believes me. "They're both volunteers, which is good. Fox is an idiot, he'll get himself killed if he doesn't take things seriously, but Circe stands a good chance depending on the arena." I try to think about which one Circe is. Was it the girl with the close-cropped hair? I wonder how she'd face off one-by-one with Johanna. Without weapons, Johanna would be doomed, but maybe with an axe in her hands she'd stand a chance? I'm not sure. I've never seen her handle one.

We fall silent as the parade begins. The pair from One are rolled out and I keep my eye tightly on them. I have it on good authority from some of my Gamemaker 'admirers' that the Capitol is gunning for a winner from District One this year. Which one will they favour more; the boy, who could be a brutal killer and give them the bloodshed they sorely missed last year, or the girl, who is peppy and beautiful and would make a wonderful addition to our little collection? I look over at Queenie and Saffron, who both smile triumphantly. The pair from Two roll out, looking as daunting as any victor. Finnick's tributes; brazen Fox waves and smiles at the crowds while Circe looks ahead, dead eyed. His instinct is correct, the girl stands a chance. The boy doesn't.

And all too soon it's Johanna and Ainsley on screen. I have to cover my mouth at the look of their outfit; it's hideous. At least Ainsley looks better than he had, the colour has returned to his skin and he's not about to teeter off the edge of the chariot like I was afraid he might. Johanna, on the other hand, looks a lot worse for wear. How much of it is due to the outfit and lighting and how it is much of her acting, I'm not sure. But she's taking these deep, shaky breaths, and once she's sure all the cameras in Panem are on her, she bursts into a flood of tears.

I have to stop myself from gasping. Oh, she's good.

I hear Finnick click his tongue next to me, and I spare a look to my left. His eyebrows are furrowed at he has a pitying look on his face. Yes! She's managed to convince Finnick! And he's notoriously good at picking up a ruse; if she's got him, she's got a good chance of following through!

I try not to let my joy show on my face, and I hope that everyone takes my aversion to eye contact as a sign of despair at the pathetic act of my tribute. Part of me can see the sponsor numbers dwindling into the negatives, but I don't care. The spark of hope I'd fought so hard to supress rises in my chest again, and I have to swallow it down. Not yet. She hasn't won yet.

I sit until the rides finish, and in the dim glow of the setting sun I can see the tears have left marks in Johanna's makeup. It's only once the screen switches off and the murmur of conversation starts up again, that I look around me. Quite a few of the mentors are looking at me, some triumphantly, others pitifully. But inside, I'm smiling. Just you wait, I think. Just you wait…