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Night Before the Games
Great Business

Mae Swenson, 13
District One

"You all did a great job."

Mae looked up from the plate of desserts the others were passing around. Jade seemed to think that the interviews had gone quite well. "Do you really think so?" she asked. "Or are you just trying to be positive?"

Jade chuckled. "A bit of both, probably. It went about as well as we could have expected, considering none of you scored particularly high. Maybe the audience will think it was part of the plan as long as you go out there tomorrow and prove you know what you're doing."

But I don't know what I'm doing. She wanted to say it. She wanted to scream it. She wasn't ready to be in the Games; none of them were. Even Justus and Genevieve were beginning to look nervous now that they were so close. Strangely enough, it was Consus who had already retired to his room, saying he needed to at least try to get some sleep.

Maybe he had the right idea. There wasn't anything more they were going to be able to accomplish tonight, and it wouldn't help tomorrow if they started the Games already exhausted. But Justus and Genevieve seemed to want to stay up a little longer. Maybe they were hoping for a little last-minute advice from their mentors. But what could they say that they hadn't already said? Surely if anything was truly important, they would have mentioned it by now.

"We do know what we're doing," Justus said firmly. "The plan hasn't changed."

Jade shrugged. "I didn't say it should. Just be prepared to adjust it if something happens at the start of the Games that you're not expecting."

"Like what?"

Jade shrugged. "Anything. You know what happened during the last Quell."

"The lights in the station were set to go on and off every three deaths," Genevieve piped up immediately. "So at the start of the Games, everything went dark, but then the lights came on after three deaths during the bloodbath."

"Exactly," Jasper agreed. "And during the 42nd Games, there were two separate groups of tributes on different sides of the arena. Half the tributes ended up separated from their allies right from the start."

"And during the Ninth Games, the cornucopia was on the other side of a mountain range, and the tributes had to figure out how to get to it," Stellar reminded them. "So the point is, anything can happen. It's good to have a plan, but it's also good to be able to adjust that plan if you need to. Understood?"

They all nodded. Mae took another bite of the cookie she'd been nibbling on. They made it sound so simple. Have a plan. Be ready to change it. Be prepared to make all sorts of adjustments in the heat of the moment, while tributes would probably be screaming and fighting and dying. Mae took a deep breath, trying to focus, but it was getting harder.

How could they all be so calm?

Leo Choi, 18
District Two

He hadn't expected to feel this calm.

Leo gave Barlen one more hug as the elevator stopped on the second floor. He could have taken the stairs, of course. After all, he only had to go up one floor. But Barlen was all the way up on the ninth floor, and Leo had figured he could probably use the company.

Barlen held him tight for a moment before finally letting go. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said quietly, a hint of fear finally making its way into his voice. Leo couldn't really blame him for that. He'd expected to be afraid himself. But now that it came down to it, he knew exactly what he was planning to do. He would protect his ally as long as he could. He would do his best to help. He'd never expected to make it out of the arena alive, but at least he could do something useful with his final days.

Just like Barlen had done with his few moments onstage. "I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier," Leo said, ruffling his ally's hair. "I think what you did for Klaudia was very kind. She was scared, and you tried to help. I'm sure she's grateful for that." He hadn't seen Klaudia after that. Chances were, she'd gone right back to her room. But he'd figured someone ought to tell Barlen that he'd done something good. Something right. Something decent and kind and human in the middle of something terrible.

Barlen managed a smile. "Thanks. I'm sure you would have done the same thing if you'd been onstage."

Probably. Chances are, that was exactly what he would have done. What did that say about Barlen and his chances of making it out of the Games alive? If Leo was already resigned to his fate…

Leo stepped out of the elevator and watched the door close behind him. Chances were, they were both as good as dead. They probably had been the moment their names had been called at the reaping. But there were worse things. If he was going to die, he was going to make sure that he did it with dignity, with kindness, that he died like a human rather than a mindless animal performing for the Capitol's benefit.

Vester was waiting for him by the door when he arrived. He clapped Leo on the shoulder, and they headed inside. Annemae and Margo were in the kitchen along with Mortimer and Harriet. Etora and Darian had settled down on the couches with Tosh and Balthasar. "We can find somewhere else to talk if you prefer," Vester offered.

Leo shook his head. "Not much left to say, really. And I should probably get some sleep."

"If you can," Vester agreed. "The more alert you are in the morning, the better."

Right. Alert. So he would be able to see the blood more clearly. To hear the screams of the tributes around him. The thought made him sick.

Focus. He could focus on trying to help Barlen for now. He could do that. He could…

Leo looked up as Vester laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm proud of you," his mentor said softly. There were tears in the old Victor's eyes as he pulled Leo into a hug.

Leo quickly returned the embrace, fighting back a lump in his throat. Dove always said the same thing whenever they had a particularly hard day at the hospital. She always wanted him to know that she was proud of him. Leo swallowed hard. "Thank you," he managed to get out. He wanted to say something more, but no more words came.

Maybe that was all he needed to say.

Dinah Peralta, 18
District Three

There wasn't much left to say.

Dinah stirred her hot chocolate as the five of them – her, Merrik, and their three mentors – sat around the table. They had all been quiet since the interviews, particularly Merrik. She couldn't help feeling sorry for him, since he'd lost his only ally. But there wasn't really anything she could do about it. Even if she'd wanted to offer to let him join her and Orphelia, it probably wasn't fair to ask her ally to let Merrik join them. Not when they were this close to the Games.

Besides, now he'd caught the Gamemakers' attention, and she and Orphelia had been trying to do the exact opposite of that. She didn't want to do anything that might make her a target, as well. Surely Merrik understood that. He'd been willing to throw his own ally to the wolves in order to avoid getting himself in trouble. He was just as much at fault as Lena was, but he'd been willing to let her take all of the blame. Was that really the sort of ally she wanted?

No. No, he was on his own. And he understood that. Slowly, Merrik got up from the table and made his way to his room. Miriam followed, but, after a moment, she returned. "He just figured it would be best to get some sleep," she confirmed. "He's all right. Well, as all right as any of us can be."

Any of us. Dinah smiled a little. That helped a bit – knowing that the three others in the room right now had already been through the Games. They'd made it out of the arena, so maybe – just maybe – that meant she could do the same. Yes, Avery had had a rough time of it since the Games, but Miriam and Percival had always seemed to be doing all right.

Seemed. They always seemed all right. Maybe she'd never wanted to look too closely. Maybe she hadn't really wanted to know what the Games had done to them. After all, whatever they'd been through, it was better than being dead. And right now, that was the only other alternative. Being a Victor was the only good option now. Everything else led to death.

Thirty-four roads led to death.

Dinah drummed her fingers on the table. "Any last words of advice?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work. The three Victors looked at each other, as if trying to decide on what words would be best.

It was Miriam who finally broke the silence. "Don't forget who's really in charge in there. If you're lucky, there will be times when it feels like you have it all under control, like you know exactly what you're doing. Don't forget that the Gamemakers can take that away in an instant. They're the ones with the real power. Not the Careers. Not any of the stronger alliances. Not even the audience, really. Yes, the Gamemakers want to keep the audience happy, but at the end of the day, the audience isn't that hard to please. The Gamemakers have the final say; never forget that."

Dinah nodded. Remembering that shouldn't be that hard. It was right there in the name: Gamemakers. As hard as she might fight, as much as she might want to get back to District Three, Miriam was right. Her life was in their hands.

And there was nothing she could do to change that.

Arabel Ford, 15
District Four

There was nothing she could do about her alliance now.

Arabel closed her eyes as she lay back in her bed, her head quickly sinking into the pillow. She'd tried to tell herself that Connor and Skyton knew what they were doing, that Klaudia certainly had something to offer their alliance. But she'd completely broken down onstage. She'd made the kid from Nine look like a contender by comparison. She'd only scored a two in training. There was no way she was going to last long.

But how was she supposed to tell the others that? Arabel sighed. Maybe it was best to leave well enough alone. Making a scene would only cause tension within the alliance – tension the Gamemakers could use to tear their alliance apart. Maybe it was better to just go along with it for now. If she was right, she wouldn't have to worry about Klaudia for long. She just hoped the boys would have the sense not to get themselves killed trying to protect her.

If they did, of course, it would be their own fault. Arabel rolled over a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. She certainly wouldn't make the mistake of putting an ally's safety before hers. If the others did … well, that wasn't her problem. She had enough on her plate without having to worry about her allies' choices. They all did. Tributes didn't become Victors by worrying about keeping their allies alive.

Arabel rolled back the other way. Why couldn't she get to sleep? The bed had seemed so comfortable for the last few nights. But now…

It didn't really have anything to do with the bed. In some corner of her mind, she knew that. The bed was perfectly fine – and the last one she would be sleeping in for quite some time. No, that wasn't what was keeping her awake. It was the thought of what was going to happen in the morning.

How did anyone manage to sleep the night before the Games? Well, maybe Careers. Real Careers, not kids who had spent a few summers when they were younger playing around with makeshift weapons in their backyards. Maybe real Careers would be able to sleep before the Games.

Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe the Careers were really just as nervous as the rest of them. They had more on the line, really. Every tribute had the rest of their lives on the line, yes, but for a Career, their whole lives before the Games had been spent in preparation for that moment. When a Career lost, they didn't just lose their future; it meant that their past had been a waste, as well.

Arabel fought back a lump in her throat. Whatever happened in the morning, at least she was certain that the rest of her life hadn't been a waste. Her family, her friends, the people who knew her back in her district – they would all remember her. They would be proud of her whether or not she came home a Victor.

She just hoped she would be alive to see it.

Macauley Tierney, 17
District Five

They would all be watching tomorrow.

Macauley grinned as she, Elliot, Sabine, and Oliver sat on the couches, enjoying a few last moments of relaxation. The last bit of peace and quiet they were likely to get for a while. Harakuise and Vashti were in the next room, probably deep in conversation. Retro had gone to bed a while ago, and Camden was seated at the table in the kitchen, trying to act like she wasn't eavesdropping on them.

Not that they were sharing any particularly juicy secrets. And certainly her own tribute, Retro, wasn't likely to be their first target. He and his allies weren't much of a threat. Besides, it was an unwritten rule in the Games that district partners usually didn't go after each other without good reason.

There were exceptions, of course. There were tributes for whom district loyalty meant nothing, or tributes who had simply gotten on each other's nerves during training. But Retro had been pleasant enough for the short time they'd interacted. She and the other Careers had no reason to specifically target him. If they happened to find each other during the Games, she certainly wouldn't go out of her way to keep him alive, but there was no reason to seek out a confrontation with him when there were plenty of other targets.

Plenty of more impressive targets. Taking out a couple of younger boys might be enough to keep the audience's interest, but it certainly wouldn't do much in terms of proving that they were a capable Career alliance. No, they needed a better target for that. Justus had suggested a few options during training, but in the end, it would probably come down to which targets were the most accessible during the bloodbath. And at least some of that came down to pure dumb luck.

The rest, of course, depended on how the Gamemakers arranged things. They'd dropped some hints during the interviews that something was going on with District Two. Whether Malchus had been trying to convince the pack to include the pair of them, or whether he was trying to prod them into targeting them, Macauley wasn't sure, but it probably wouldn't be long before they found out.

They wouldn't have to wait long. That was good, at least. That was the worst part, now that it came down to it. At the moment, they had nothing to do but wait. They were as prepared as they could hope to be; the only thing left to do was get a good night's sleep. Yet none of them seemed to want to be the one to say so, to start heading off to bed. Somehow, waiting together was better than waiting alone.

Macauley shook the thought from her head. She couldn't start thinking that way – as if they were a team. That could only last so long. She and Elliot were allies. Nothing more. And their mentors … well, they wouldn't be with the two of them once they were actually in the arena. For the moment, they could give advice. Once they were in the Games, they could arrange sponsor gifts. But aside from that…

Aside from that, they were on their own. That was what she'd wanted for years, of course. The chance to prove herself. To show that she had what it took. That she could do this on her own. And now … now she was about to get that chance.

It was up to her to make the most of it.

Charu Varma, 18
District Six

She'd expected Lena to make the most of the offer.

Charu shook her head. "Are you sure you won't reconsider? I'm sure the others would be happy to have you. Consus and Wes and Aleyn are—"

Lena shook her head. "I'm sure they're all wonderful … but no. It's not a good idea for me, and it would be downright dangerous for you. After what happened during the private sessions, after what I said during the interviews, everyone will be expecting me to go it alone, and that's probably what's best for everyone involved."

"But…" She trailed off, unsure how that sentence should end. She couldn't imagine going into the arena alone. Most years, there were at least a few tributes who did, but she'd always considered it a bad idea. What would it be like to have no one to watch her back, no one to keep an eye out for trouble, no one to keep her company? Charu shook her head, glad she wasn't in Lena's shoes.

"She's right," Nicodemus agreed softly, laying a crooked hand on Lena's arm. "Besides, there are worse things than going into the Games alone. If you don't have any allies, you won't have to worry about keeping them alive – or about them turning on you when things get tough. Everything in the Games has its advantages and disadvantages, allies included."

Charu was about to object, but then it occurred to her. "You didn't have any allies, did you."

Nicodemus shook his head. "No, I didn't. Don't get me wrong; there were times when I wished I did. Times when I would have given anything for a little company. For a kind word or a friendly face. But there were also times when I was grateful … grateful that I wouldn't have to see that friendly face turn against me. That I wouldn't have to hear the last kind words someone would ever speak." Nicodemus smiled sadly. "There's no one right way to play the Games. There's no magic advice I can give you that will bring you through with your mind intact. Once you're in the Games, it's up to you. Duke and I will do our best to help you – both of you – but the hard truth is that sponsors aren't usually flocking to support District Six."

That was certainly true. "But my allies—"

"Might help you for a while," Duke agreed. "The fact that two of them are from Career districts might help you. But that won't last forever. Eventually, you'll need to give the sponsors a reason to support you, not your allies."

A reason. Charu drummed her fingers on her legs. She didn't have a reason – not really. Certainly not a reason that was better than anyone else's. They all wanted to survive, of course. They all wanted to go home. But what was waiting at home for her? Everything she'd been trying to escape from. Her family. Her fiance. If she came home a Victor, of course, she wouldn't have to deal with any of that. But if she cut them out of her life, what did she have left?

What was left of her?

"You can worry about that later," Nicodemus offered. "For now, I would focus on trying to get some sleep. Get through tonight. Get through the bloodbath. Get out of there alive and away from the other tributes. Then you can worry about the rest."

The rest. The fact that she would have to kill in order to come home. The fact that her allies would have to die. Charu took a deep breath. Nicodemus was right. All of that could wait until later.

First, she had to make sure there was a later.

Thomas Elliot, 18
District Seven

"We just have to make sure we get away from the bloodbath."

Thomas nodded along with his district partner, but it was getting harder and harder to focus on what she was saying. He was pretty sure he'd missed half of what she'd said. Half of what his mentors had said. He was tired. Exhausted. But he already knew that as soon as he lay down in his bed, he wouldn't be able to get to sleep.

"Do you think the Careers will come after us?" Nephelle asked.

Casper shrugged. "No way to know, really. The Gamemakers, the audience, the folks back home – they all want to believe that everyone goes into the Games with a strategy. That everything is planned out perfectly. But the truth is, a lot of it comes down to plain, dumb luck. If you're unlucky enough to end up situated next to a Career around the cornucopia, then they might decide to come after you when they might have left you alone otherwise. Or maybe not. Maybe they'll see something they like closer to the cornucopia and decide that getting their choice weapon is more important than going after you first. There's really no way to know until you're actually in the arena."

Clearly, that wasn't the answer Nephelle had wanted. And Thomas had to admit, it wasn't the most helpful advice. But Casper was right; there was only so much they could plan out in advance. They had no idea what the arena was going to look like. No idea where might be a good place to run once they were in the Games. They would have to make a decision – and quickly – once they were actually in the arena.

"I guess we'll just wing it, then," Thomas offered, trying to smile. "What's the worst that could happen?"

It was supposed to be a joke, but no one laughed. Not even him. The worst that could happen, of course, was that in less than twenty-four hours, he could be dead. Nephelle or Aven could be dead, or both, or all three of them. There were a lot of things that could happen, and none of them were good. Even the scenarios where they made it out alive weren't good, because eventually they would have to fight. Even if they ran straight away from the bloodbath, they would eventually be forced into a situation where they couldn't run. They would have to fight. And then they would either have to kill, or they would be killed. Or both.

Thomas took a deep breath. There were no good ways for this to end. Even if he managed to beat the odds, even if he somehow made it through the bloodbath, through the rest of the Games, and out of the arena, there were no happy endings. There was no version of the story where everything turned out all right. But as long as he made it out alive, that would be good enough for him.

It would have to be.

Mariska Vasile, 16
District Eight

They'd just had to mention Willa.

Mariska pressed the tip of her fork into the table, digging a little deeper into the wood. "Look, it could have been worse," Lander shrugged. "At least you didn't break down crying."

Mariska rolled her eyes. "Not exactly a high bar you've set there."

"Trust me, compared to some of the other tributes, you came out of those interviews looking like quite a contender. You're not a nurse, you can remember who your allies are without having to write it on your arm, you don't have a blood disorder…"

Mariska smirked. "No, I just have an ally who does."

"Didn't say you came out looking perfect," Lander pointed out. "But if the worst thing the Capitol can say about you is that you're a bit stingy when it comes to sharing personal feelings, I think you're doing okay."

Mariska glanced down at her fork. It hadn't been about her feelings. It had been about Willa. She hadn't deserved to be in the Games in the first place. To use her death to try to make the audience sympathize with her was…

What? Wrong? Everything about the Games was wrong. But as bad as the situation was, she simply hadn't been able to bring herself to talk about her friend. Not in front of all those people. They had no right to know about what she had felt for Willa. They didn't deserve to know how it had felt to watch her die.

Because there was no way they could have understood. They sat there, watching the Games every year, and somehow they still didn't understand. None of them had ever lost someone they loved to the Games. None of them had ever had to watch someone dear to them fighting for their lives in the arena, struggling to stay alive from day to day, scavenging for food, killing other children in order to survive. They didn't understand. They couldn't. If they did, then…

Then what? The Games would still go on. Because the Games weren't really about the audience. Keeping the audience happy and entertained was important to the Capitol, of course, but it wasn't the point of the Games. It never had been. The point of the Games was to keep the districts in line. And for fifty years, they had done that job as well as could be expected.

Not perfectly, perhaps. There had been some resistance to the Games. Maybe there always would be. But not enough to stop them. Not by a long shot. Ever since the rebellion nine years ago, most tributes had meekly gone along with what was expected of them, and those who hadn't had been snuffed out quickly and efficiently. The Games didn't work perfectly, perhaps, but they worked well enough. Well enough to accomplish their goal.

Didn't say you came out looking perfect, Lander had said. Maybe that was the point. Maybe she didn't have to play the Games perfectly. Maybe there was no such thing. She just had to play well enough to survive. Well enough to make it back to District Eight. Back to…

Back to what?

Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine

This time, Basil finally hugged him back.

Barlen grinned up at his friend. No, that wasn't quite right. What was the word again? Mentor. That was it. Basil was his mentor. Every other time Barlen had tried to hug him, he'd simply stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do. At least, Barlen was pretty sure he had. But this time, Basil's arms wrapped around him, pulling him a little closer. "You can do this," the older boy whispered softly.

"You really think so?" Barlen asked as the two of them finally let go. Was Basil just trying to be kind? Optimistic? Was he trying to give him hope? Or did Basil really think that he had a chance of making it out alive?

Basil dodged the question. "Just remember to keep track of what's happening. Keep track of how many tributes there are. Keep track of where you are in the arena. Write down any landmarks that might help you recognize where you are."

Barlen nodded, taking a piece of pie from the table and settling down on one of the couches. "I will. And Leo will be there to help me."

"Don't count on that."

"What?"

"Leo's a good kid, but you can't count on him being there to help you forever. Eventually, one way or another, it'll just be you. You have to be ready to play the Games by yourself when that happens."

Barlen took another bite of pie. He'd never liked playing by himself. At home, he had his sister. He had his friends. And in the arena, he would have Leo.

Until he didn't.

Barlen poked his fork into his pie. Maybe if something happened to Leo, he would be able to find someone else. Maybe. Or maybe Basil was right. Maybe he would have to go it alone. If that happened, would he really know what to do? Would he be able to keep track of everything well enough to survive?

"I'm not ready," Barlen said softly, more to himself than to his mentor.

Basil sat down next to Barlen and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Neither was I."

Barlen couldn't help a laugh. "You?"

"Me. When I went into the Games, I didn't have any allies. I had no idea what I was doing. But I found a good place to hide for a while, and I worked it out. And you can do that, too. Once you're in the Games, there's no rush. Not after the start, at least. Get away from the bloodbath and find somewhere to stay for a while. With this many tributes, it'll take a bit longer for the Gamemakers to decide you're worth the trouble of trying to force you to fight. So lay low for a while – but not forever. Eventually, you'll have to fight."

"But Leo doesn't want to."

Basil nodded. "He doesn't want to now. But once you're in the Games—"

"He still won't want to fight. He's not going to; he said so." Barlen hesitated. "At least, I think he did."

Basil shook his head. "I hope he changes his mind, for his sake. But if he doesn't, that just means you'll have to be even more prepared. You'll have to be ready to do what he can't."

Barlen swallowed hard. Basil wanted him to kill. Worse, Basil was convinced he could kill. Barlen dug his fork a little deeper into his pie.

He wished he was as certain as Basil was.

Connor Sawyer, 15
District Ten

He wished he was more certain about his alliance.

Connor sighed as he made his way back to the kitchen. He and Skyton had decided to go to bed a while ago, but, as hard as he tried, he hadn't been able to get to sleep. So he might as well eat something. It was one of the last chances he'd have before the Games, after all.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Glenn's voice caught him off guard, and Connor took a step back from the table. "Sorry," Glenn apologized, turning the lights up a little. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," Connor insisted, his voice trembling a little too much for his liking. "I just … Yeah, trouble sleeping."

Glenn nodded. "You're certainly aren't the first one. I was a nervous wreck before my own Games. But I made it out all right."

Connor looked away. Glenn had made it out by hiding the entire Games. He hadn't fought. Hadn't killed. But that had been years ago. Decades. Since then, no tribute had made it through the Games without blood on their hands; the Gamemakers made sure of that.

Still, none of that was Glenn's fault. He was doing his best to be positive, to help the rest of them keep their spirits up. Even after all these years, even after losing so many tributes, he still hadn't given up.

"What about the others?" Connor asked. "Tess and Presley. Were they scared?"

"More than they'd like to admit, I'm sure," Glenn chuckled. "The only ones who aren't scared are the ones who are a bit too confident, a bit too certain that they know what they're doing. Admitting that you don't know, that you aren't entirely sure … That's a good thing, Connor. And it might end up saving your life."

Connor nodded. That made sense. It didn't make things any better, but it made sense. "I just wish we'd had more time," he said at last. "Do you ever think maybe … maybe the Career districts have the right idea?"

Glenn tilted his head curiously. "Would it have made a difference?"

"What do you mean?"

"This year, for you, would it have made a difference? Even if we had a Career system, even if our training was on par with Districts One or Two, no one would have volunteered to take your place. No one could have. So the only way a Career system would have helped you is if you had been one of the tributes training. Do you really think you would have?"

Connor hesitated. He'd never really given the matter much thought. The idea of a Career system in District Ten was so far-fetched that he'd never really considered whether or not he would have taken part in it. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe if I grew up in a district where it was normal … expected…"

Maybe. Or maybe not. If they'd had a Career system, would he simply have dismissed the Games anyway, taken it for granted that he would never have to participate in them because someone would take his place? That was the position so many of the Career-district tributes had found themselves in this year, after all. That was what had happened to Arabel. Chances were, that was what would have happened to him. "I don't know," he repeated.

But he did know. Or, at least, he suspected. He probably wouldn't have trained – not much, anyway. Certainly not enough to truly be prepared. He had other responsibilities, after all. School. Chores. When would he have had time to train? Even if he'd wanted to – which he probably wouldn't have – he probably wouldn't have had the chance.

It probably wouldn't have made a difference at all.

Wes Bartoshesky, 16
District Eleven

Nothing he could do now would make a difference.

Wes rolled over in his bed, trying not to think about what he could have done differently. Anything that might have given him a better chance. Was there some station he should have paid more attention to during training? Something he could have done better during his private session? Something he should have said during the interviews? He'd done his best, of course – or, at least, he'd thought he had – but was his best really going to be good enough?

Either way, there was nothing he could do about it now. In the morning, he would be going into the Games, and there was nothing he could do to stop that. No extra training he could put in. No chance to make an impression on the audience – not until the Games started. And the sort of impression they would want to see then … Did he really have it in him to do that? Was he really ready to kill?

Maybe there was no such thing as 'ready' – at least when it came to killing another tribute. Maybe it was just something that happened when the moment was right. He couldn't imagine going out of his way to seek out a fight, but if someone attacked him … well, the choice would be between killing and letting himself be killed. Maybe then. Maybe then he would be able to do it.

Wes stared up at the ceiling. He certainly hoped so. Because that was the only way he was going to make it home. It had been decades since a tribute had made it through the Games without killing, and the Gamemakers certainly weren't going to let something like that happen during a Quarter Quell. Not with thirty-five tributes in the arena. That was an embarrassment the Capitol certainly wouldn't stand for. No, if he wanted to go home, he had to kill.

But he didn't have to kill right away. Wes closed his eyes. He and his allies could wait a little while. There were plenty of tributes who would be ready to rush in at the start of the Games. That would be enough to keep the audience occupied and entertained while he and his allies got their bearings and planned their next move. Maybe later on in the Games, it would be easier. Maybe once the other tributes had blood on their hands…

Then what? Would knowing that his opponent had already killed make it easier to strike at them? Maybe. Or maybe not. There was no way to know for sure until it actually happened, and that only made it worse. He had no way of knowing – not right now, at least – whether he would actually be able to go through with killing another tribute. Another person. If he knew for certain that he could, then…

Wes sighed. Then what? Would he really do anything differently if he was certain that he would be able to kill? Probably not. Because even if he was certain he could, he still wouldn't want to. Chances were, he would still put it off as long as he could.

But he wouldn't be able to put it off forever.

David Abadi, 14
District Twelve

He wouldn't be able to put it off forever.

David glanced up at Brennan and Kyra, seated on a couch near his. Orphelia had gone off to bed a while ago, but he didn't want to. The sooner he went to bed, the sooner morning would seem to come. And he didn't want it to.

But he wouldn't be able to avoid going to sleep for long. He could already feel his eyelids starting to droop a little. "You should get some sleep if you can," Kyra said at last. "Morning will be here before you know it."

David shook his head. "That's the problem."

Brennan got up and made his way over to where David was sitting. "I know," he said softly, laying his good hand on David's shoulder as he sat down beside him. "Believe me, I know. But staying awake all night isn't going to do you any good in the arena."

David looked up. "Did you get any sleep the night before your Games?"

"Not much," Brennan admitted. "I don't think anyone gets as much sleep as they'd like. But it's good to be as alert as you can. You never know what the Gamemakers are going to have in store for the bloodbath, particularly during a Quarter Quell."

"I wish it wasn't," David muttered. "Everyone keeps saying that everything's going to be different, that the Gamemakers will have something special planned. I wish I'd gotten reaped during a normal year. Then maybe—"

"No, you don't," Kyra interrupted. "Yeah, Quells are rough, but a normal year isn't exactly a walk in the park, either."

"I didn't mean—"

Kyra nodded. "I know. I just meant … it wouldn't make much of a difference. The Gamemakers are always trying to do things differently. Trying to mix things up and keep them exciting. That happens every year, not just during a Quell. And if anything, the twist this year might play in your favor. Tributes are usually up against a full-fledged Career pack. You won't have to worry about that."

Brennan leaned back on the couch. "No, instead you'll have to worry about a Career pack that's desperate to prove itself. They'll be looking for anything they can do to win the audience's favor."

"Does that mean they'll go after the more threatening groups first?" David asked hopefully. If the Careers and the stronger outer-district packs went after each other, that might keep him and his allies safe for a while. Sure, he'd gotten a seven, but the Careers didn't really have any other reason to consider him or his allies a threat.

"Maybe," Brennan answered vaguely. "But the tributes the pack is planning to go after don't always end up being the ones they find themselves in a position to attack in the arena. I'm sure they'd rather take out a more impressive target, but if they happen to find you and the choice is between you or no one, they'll go after you without a second thought." He sighed. "Sorry. I'm sure that's not very comforting."

"Not really," David agreed. "But it's the truth. And I guess it's better to know that now than to find out tomorrow once we're in the arena. So … stay away from the Career pack?"

Brennan chuckled. "Like that's not what you were planning to do, anyway." He ruffled David's hair. "I'm sure you could have figured that one out on your own. A lot of the Games is going to be like that. Trusting your gut is going to help you more than any advice I could give you right now." He shook his head.

"So you might as well try to get some sleep."

Kyra Presper, 13
District Twelve Mentor

It was a while longer before David finally took Brennan's advice.

Kyra watched as the boy finally headed for his room. He seemed so young, even though he was technically a year older than her. He had no idea what was coming – not really. Sure, he knew what he would be expected to do, but knowing it in theory and really understanding it were two completely different things.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" Kyra asked softly. "Once he's in the arena, I mean."

Brennan shook his head. "There's really no way to tell beforehand who will be able to handle it and who … well, won't. Take you, for example. How many people in the Capitol or back in District Twelve would have thought you had what it took to make it out of the arena?"

Kyra hesitated. "Did you?"

"Yes," Brennan answered without hesitation. "But having what it takes and actually doing it are two different things. A lot of the tributes in the arena have what it takes, but only one of them actually comes out alive. It happened to be you. And it happened to be me. Sometimes it's because a certain tribute is stronger, or faster, or more skilled. And sometimes, it's just because we're luckier. Because we happened to be in the right place at the right time, and someone else wasn't so lucky."

Kyra nodded. She didn't want to believe that, but it was true. It was easier – more comforting – to imagine that certain tributes were simply more suited to the Games. That she'd survived – and that Brennan had survived – because they'd been willing to do what had to be done. But Brennan was right; there were so many tributes who had been willing to do what it took to get out alive.

Now they were gone. They were dead, and she had survived. Not because she'd deserved it – not really. But because … because that was just how things were. One way or another, that was how things had turned out.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Kyra glanced up, surprised. She'd heard that allies sometimes wanted to get together and make some last-minute plans the night before the Games, but both Orphelia and David had already gone to bed. Surely if their allies had wanted to talk, they would have done so immediately after the interviews.

Brennan, however, simply smiled and opened the door. On the other side of the door was Mags, with a few of the other mentors in tow. She recognized Felix from District One, along with Toshiro from District Two. Toshiro smirked when he saw her expression. "Don't worry. The Careers aren't here to kidnap you. We just want to invite you down to our little hangout."

"The Careers' hangout?" Kyra asked, confused.

Mags shook her head. "It's for all the Victors. I just make a point of personally inviting the first-time mentors, and two of the three happen to be Careers."

That made sense. Career districts had more Victors than were usually needed to mentor. District One had six Victors; Two had seven. And the last time they would have needed to send more than two mentors was the last Quarter Quell.

Brennan smiled warmly, patting Kyra on the shoulder. "Glad I finally have someone for you to invite, Mags. Felix, Tosh, you're in for a treat." Brennan and Mags led the rest of them to the elevator, and Mags pressed a button with a zero on it. Kyra glanced up at Brennan, surprised that she'd never noticed it. District One stayed on the first floor, District Two on the second, and so on. She'd never realized there was a floor below that.

"There would've been no reason for you to notice," Brennan assured her, as if he knew what she'd been thinking. "Caught me by surprise, too." The elevator door opened, and Mags led them around a corner.

There, at the end of the short hallway, was a large room. On one side, there was a bar with an assortment of stools. Chairs and couches were spread across the room, many of them facing several large screens on the walls. The words "Alistern's Presidential Lounge" were painted in bright red letter's over the doorway. "Who's Alistern?" Kyra asked.

"Our old bartender," Mags answered. "He retired a while ago, but when we decided this place needed a name, it seemed natural to name it after him. And as for Presidential…" As the five of them entered, she gestured to the man behind the bar.

Kyra took a step back when she saw him. A stocky, balding man in his fifties, with steely grey eyes that quickly found the newcomers. To her surprise, Vice President Brand gave a little wave, as if encouraging them to come over. The other Victors in the room – which seemed to be all of them who were mentoring – didn't seem to think it the least bit odd that the Vice President of Panem was tending the bar.

Beside him was a young woman in her twenties, quickly mixing drinks and grinning from ear to ear. Her skin was darker than her father's, but up close, she shared his piercing gaze. She whispered something to the older man, who clapped her on the back before heading over to say hello. He shook Felix's hand first, and then Tosh's. Then he held out his hand to her. Kyra hesitated a second before shaking it. "Vice President. I—"

He chuckled a little. "Not in here. Here, I'm just Eldred, regardless of what it says above the door."

"So this is what you do during the Games?" Tosh asked with a grin. "The Vice President of Panem is down here with the Victors, serving drinks?"

Eldred smiled. "When I can. And when I can't be here, Ellery is." He gestured behind the counter, and his daughter gave a little wave before returning to pouring a pair of drinks for Lander and Carolina.

Kyra glanced around. In one corner, a few of the Careers were rolling dice. A few of the older Victors had a card game going at one of the shorter tables situated between several comfortable couches. Nicodemus sat with a few of the younger Victors, watching two of them play chess.

Almost immediately, Felix and Tosh headed over to join the group of Careers. Kyra lingered by Brennan's side, watching. Taking it all in. Eldred clapped Brennan on the shoulder. "Well, I'll get out of your hair. Holler if you need anything."

"Will do," Brennan assured him. He gave Kyra's shoulder a squeeze. "Are you all right?"

Kyra nodded. "I think so. It's just a bit … much."

Brennan chuckled. "It takes some getting used to. The games were Eldred's idea. Thought we might want something to focus on besides drinking and … well, besides the Games." He smiled. "So he gave us games to distract us from the Games, if that makes sense."

It did. At least a little. But one thing didn't. "But why is he here? Shouldn't he be … well, somewhere else? Doing something else?"

"Something a bit more presidential, you mean?"

"Well … yes." It was no secret that President Grisom was stepping down soon, and that Vice President Brand had been named as his replacement. What was he doing here?

"Maybe he should," Brennan agreed. "And I suspect we'll see less of him once he takes on his new job, but … well, you could say this is how he got that job in the first place. He was President Grisom's secretary after President Snow died, and Silas … President Grisom assigned him here to … keep an eye on us, I suppose. Make sure that nothing like the 41st Games was going to happen again." He shook his head. "I guess he's worked his way up since then, but for a few weeks a year, this is where you can find him."

Just then, a younger Victor with a peg leg made his way over to them. "Well, Brennan, are you going to talk her ear off all night, or are you going to let her have a drink?"

Brennan shook his head, smiling. "Kyra, this is Duke. Don't listen to a word he says."

"Right back at you." Duke gave Brennan's shoulder a punch, then smiled down at Kyra. "Drinking is optional. Relaxing is mandatory. Want to see a card trick?"

Kyra glanced up at Brennan, who shrugged as Duke returned to where he'd been sitting beside Nicodemus. "He means well, and he does do a mean card trick. But hold onto anything you don't want him to swipe."

Kyra smirked. She'd lived on the streets for years before the Games. "I know what I'm doing."

"So does he." Brennan ruffled her hair fondly. "Have fun."

Fun. That wasn't a word she had expected anyone to use during the Games. Not a Victor, at least. But the others did seem to be having fun. Kyra hurried over to join Duke, who was expertly shuffling a deck of cards. "Just in time," Duke called. "Kyra, this is Nicodemus, and the two jokers playing chess are Basil and Oliver." He held up an ace of spades, showing it to the rest of the group before tucking it back into the deck.

"Now watch closely."

"Your face, my thane, is as a book where men may read strange matters. To beguile the time, look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't. He that's coming must be provided for: and you shall put this night's great business into my dispatch; which shall to all our nights and days to come give solely sovereign sway and masterdom."