Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Still plenty of room left to submit. Don't be scared away by numbers; quite a few people have submitted more than one. In the meantime, checking back in with four other districts...

Prologue Part Three
Chance

Stellar Floren, 56
District One Mentor

"They're taking tesserae."

Stellar glanced up from her dinner, surprised. "Who's taking tesserae?"

Jade smiled a little. "All the kids at the academy – the older ones, at least. The ones who know this is their last chance at the Games. They're taking tesserae and donating the food to the kids at the orphanage – so that they won't take any." He shook his head. "I wouldn't have thought of that."

Stellar nodded. "You didn't have to. Back when we volunteered, things were a bit simpler. We trained. We wanted to volunteer, so we did. There wasn't so much competition."

Jade leaned back a little. "Do you ever wish there had been?"

"Sometimes," Stellar admitted. "If there had been more competition to volunteer, then maybe Thea would never have gone into the Games. Or maybe…" Her sister had volunteered the year before her, and had made it to the finale before Carolina had lured her into the path of a dinosaur mutt. "Maybe she would have been more prepared."

"Maybe," Jade admitted. "But we both know preparation isn't everything. If it was, the most prepared Career would win every year. Everyone knows that doesn't happen."

That was certainly true. The last four Games had been won by a girl from Twelve, a boy from Nine, a boy from Six, and a girl from Eleven – none of them Careers. District One's selected volunteers had all been promising. They had all been well-trained. They had all been prepared. And it hadn't been enough. District One hadn't had a Victor since Jasper's Games, already twelve years ago. And this year…

"Do you think it'll work?" Stellar asked. "Do you think taking tesserae will give them a better chance?"

Jade shook his head. "I doubt it. The odds are too small. But if it makes them feel like they're doing something to increase their chances … well, there's no harm in it. But I doubt we'll get four academy trainees out of it."

Four. Four tributes. District One hadn't been required to send extra tributes into the Games since the last Quarter Quell. They'd sent three that year, just like every other district. All untrained. Unprepared. One of them, a younger girl named Elaine, had been allies with the eventual Victor, Brennan. She'd placed fourteenth – their highest placement that year.

District One wasn't used to placing so low.

"So who else is mentoring this year?" Jasper asked at last, breaking the tension. "The three of us, probably, but who else?"

"Maybe Scarlet," Stellar suggested. "She mentored with us during the last Quell."

Jade nodded. "Or maybe Felix."

Thea chuckled. "Right. Uncle Felix mentoring. That'll be the day."

Stellar smiled. She'd often thought Felix would make a good mentor, but he'd always been content to let them do the job. Maybe now that his kids were grown, they could finally talk him into it.

Really, though, she was just happy his children were too old for the reaping. Normally, they wouldn't have to be worried. No one worried about the reaping in District One; there was always a volunteer ready, as well as several backups in case something unexpected happened. There was usually no danger of an unprepared child going into the Games. But this year…

Stellar shook her head. Felix's children were too old. Her own children were past reaping age – Jasper with a victory under his belt, Thea content to avoid the Games and now safely twenty-seven. Scarlet and Amelia didn't have any children. They were all safe, and, for that, she was grateful.

She'd seen what happened to a Victor who lost a child to the Games.

Duke Ballard, 19
District Six Mentor

"So who d'ya think it'll be this year?"

Duke swiped a slice of fresh bread from the oven as Nicodemus set the table, ignoring Duke's question. "Oh, c'mon, Nic," Duke prodded. "You gotta have some idea. We both know Vernon can't keep his mouth shut."

Nicodemus shook his head. "Take it easy on Vernon. It's the twenty-fifth anniversary of—"

"Of the year he lost his kid to the damn Games," Duke finished. "Yeah, we all know. That don't give him the right to pick and choose who lives an' dies for the rest of his life, y'know."

Nicodemus smirked. "Of course not. I don't think you're the one he would've picked to live, if he had the choice."

Duke chuckled. "Same to you."

"Fair enough," Nicodemus agreed. "If anything, I'm the worse reminder of his failure. I won the year after he lost Luke."

"No thanks to him."

"Duke."

"What? It's true. Name one thing he did to help you."

"He ignored me. Forced me to stand on my own two feet."

"Feet jokes? Really?" Duke snorted, giving his peg leg a pat as he sat down across from Nicodemus.

Nicodemus shrugged innocently, tapping the side of his wheelchair. "I think I'm entitled to a few."

"Touche." He helped himself to a large portion of the chicken Nicodemus had prepared. "So, you an' me this year?"

"Unless you think Vernon will want your spot," Nicodemus offered.

"Not on yer life. I want our tributes to have a chance of coming home."

"Oh, so you do care."

Duke fell silent for a moment, pretending to be interested in his meal. Nicodemus waited. At last, Duke nodded. "Of course I care. I always care. Probably too much, Nic. These kids he picks – the kids that get reaped – they're just like I was. No one wants 'em. No one cares. So I care, because I'm probably the first person that ever cared for them in their life. And they deserve that. They deserve to have someone try to help 'em – like you did fer me."

Nicodemus nodded. "You're welcome."

"Didn't say thank you."

"And you'll never have to. Thank me by doing what you're already doing. Thank me by caring."

Duke nodded. "That I can do."

Balthasar Doyle, 36
District Two Mentor

It could be any of them.

Balthasar couldn't hide a smirk as he passed the training academy, still bustling with trainees hard at work. With only a week left before the reaping, the clamor at the academy would generally have died down for a few weeks, allowing the trainers to focus on the two chosen volunteers and a handful of backup choices who would continue training until the reaping. But now … now it could be anyone going into the Games. So they all needed to practice.

It was good news for some of them. The ones who would never have been chosen by Mortimer and Harriet. The ones who were perfectly capable – just not quite the fastest or the strongest or the most intelligent. Now they had a chance. The same chance as anyone else in the district.

The same chance he'd had.

He hadn't been Mortimer's first choice, after all. He never would have been. But the selected volunteer his year had fallen ill shortly before the reaping. Balthasar had stepped in, and Mortimer hadn't been able to find a good reason to refuse him. It was dumb luck that he'd gotten to volunteer at all. Dumb luck that he'd been the one to survive. Since then, Mortimer had always chosen a backup or two – just in case.

"Balthasar!"

Balthasar turned back in the direction of the academy. The voice belonged to Harriet, who quickly jogged over to join him. Balthasar smiled. "What's the rush?"

"I have a favor to ask."

Balthasar raised an eyebrow. "I already agreed to mentor with you." Usually, Harriet and Mortimer claimed both mentoring spots – and he was more than happy to let them do so – but five tributes meant five mentors, and he and Tosh had already agreed. He suspected Ariadne would, as well. She'd given up mentoring years ago, content to cede her spot to Harriet, but one last year wouldn't hurt…

Harriet nodded. "I know. And thank you. But we need one more, and … I want to convince Vester."

"Vester," Balthasar repeated. "You're kidding. He hasn't mentored since—"

"Since the last Quell," Harriet finished. "Which is exactly why it would give District Two an edge. The Capitol would love it. District Two doesn't usually need that sort of publicity, but this year – without Careers – we need all the help we can get. Just imagine: the Hunger Games' very first Victor, back to mentor one last time."

"Try that line on him, and he'll laugh in your face."

"Which is why you're not going to use that line."

"Why me?"

"Because Talitha already told me to go to hell."

Balthasar chuckled. He never seemed to be anyone's first choice. "So what do you want me to tell him?"

Harriet shrugged. "That he has the most experience mentoring tributes who have no training, and therefore has the best chance of bringing one of them home."

Balthasar nodded. The first part was true enough. But the second…

"I know," Harriet agreed. "And I don't know if it'll work, but … well, just try. If he still says no, Ariadne offered to fill the last spot, but I'd rather have him. The Capitol would rather have him."

"And the tributes?"

"Would benefit from the Capitol's enthusiasm. It's a win-win."

"Except for him."

"It's one year. Then he can go back to drinking himself to death during the Games."

Balthasar perked up at that. "I have an idea."

"What? You're going to offer him free drinks?"

Balthasar shook his head. "No. Forty-nine years of Victor's winnings are enough for him to pay for his own drinks. But near the end of the Games eight years ago – that year, he showed up in the Capitol." Balthasar smiled.

"And I think I know why."

Avery Bentham, 23
District Three Mentor

"You don't have to do this."

Avery looked away. Miriam was trying to be kind. Trying to protect her. And maybe she was right. Maybe she didn't have to – not this year, at least. They were only sending two tributes this year. And the next. And the next. After years of sending three – and four the year after her own Games – it almost felt strange that they would only have to send two tributes.

And only two mentors.

Percival had immediately offered to take one of the spots. He didn't enjoy the Games any more than the rest of them did, but he wasn't about to lose the chance to spend time with his fellow Victors. Miriam had offered to take the other spot. Repeatedly. But Avery had refused, insisting it was her job.

But that wasn't the reason she wanted to go.

Eventually, she would have to. She would have to mentor without Miriam by her side. Maybe it didn't have to be this year. Or the next. But it had to be sometime. Eventually, she would have to be able to do this on her own.

But that wasn't the reason, either.

She didn't want to be alone. Not during the Games. Not yet. If she stayed in District Three – if Percival and Miriam mentored – then she would be staying alone. She wasn't ready for that yet.

But she couldn't tell Miriam that. Miriam and Percival – they thought she was getting better. And there were days when she was. When she felt almost … almost normal. Almost whole again. But there were other days. Days when the memories came flooding back. Nights when the pain and the guilt came bubbling back to the surface. When it was all she could do to remember two words – the advice Vester had given her eight years ago.

Not tonight.

Those were the words she reached for, on those nights. The nights when it seemed like it would be easier to give in. Easier to stop fighting. Give yourself tonight. You can do that much. Just not tonight.

Not tonight.

But the Games … the Games were the worst nights. But for the last eight years, she had spent the Games surrounded by her fellow Victors. Surrounded by people who understood – in their own way – the pain and the guilt and the loss. She wasn't ready to face that alone.

Avery looked up, about to insist – yet again – that, yes, she did have to do this. But then she saw it – the look on Miriam's face. A look she recognized. A look she'd seen in the mirror.

Oh.

Avery nodded silently. Miriam didn't have anyone, either. Her family was dead. She had her students, but, as far as someone she could lean on, her fellow Victors were all she had, too. "Why don't we all go, then?" Avery asked. "Two of us to mentor, and the third … well, why not? For company."

For a moment, Miriam said nothing. Maybe the idea of anyone going to the Capitol for the Games when they didn't technically have to was just a bit too strange. But, at last, she nodded.

"I think that's a good idea."

"If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me without my stir."