oOo

Effie still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life.

She'd been a failure at everything she'd tried. Designing clothing? Terrible. Reporting? Her voice was apparently 'too squeaky.' Continuing in school? Her grades were horrid and she disliked school anyway. Acting? Despite numerous auditions, she'd never gotten cast, not even once. Becoming a chef? She could burn water. Politics? She couldn't lie well enough. The list went on and on.

She'd even stooped so low as to consider trying to work in a shop, but her mother had vetoed that idea, stating that it was far too low-class. Not that she really wanted to work in a shop anyway.

And now she was nineteen years old and utterly confused.

She moped around her mother's house, feeling lost. What ever was she to do?

In fact, she was so stuck in her brooding she completely lost track of the days.

The television automatically turning on shocked her out of her sulk. Her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out why it was doing that. Was President Snow giving an important address?

But as the stirring music rang out, she knew he wasn't. No. Today was the start of the Hunger Games.

She'd always loved the Hunger Games. The pageantry, the glory, the excitement of it all - back when she'd wanted to design, the tribute costumes had been one of her goals. Oh certainly, it was sad that twenty-three children had to die, but that was the price the districts paid for their rebellion. It was only just.

And it was so exciting!

Effie watched the Reapings, her eyes lingering on the tributes. The two from One and Two looked as strong as normal, as did the girl from Four. The boy looked a bit young, but he'd volunteered - he might be a worthy tribute. The tributes from Three, Five, Six, Eight, Nine, and Eleven were all quite pathetic, as were the boys from Seven and Ten and the girl from Twelve. The girl from Seven might stand a chance. The girl from Ten wasn't bad. And the boy from Twelve looked surprisingly strong for that usually useless district.

As she cataloged their chances, she considered who to place her annual bet on along with which tribute to sponsor. Usually she'd go for District One - her favorite - but something about the boy from Four…

She also remembered something else. There were Capitol people involved in the Games in ways other than designing.

An escort… that could be the job for her.

oOo

Finnick wasn't surprised when Mags pulled him into a private compartment as soon as they were on the train.

"Why did you volunteer, child?" She held up a hand. "And don't give me that bunk you told Calpurnia about the glory of the Games and not being able to wait." She shook her head. "If you were eighteen and your skills matched your appearance, I'd bet on you. But you're fourteen. No one's ever won the Games at fourteen."

He knew that. It was why Four always had volunteers for the younger kids who were called. They only sent sixteen-year-olds and up, kids who actually had a decent chance.

But he'd volunteered. At fourteen, he'd volunteered before an eighteen-year-old - the usual volunteers - could.

For an instant Finnick considered lying. But Mags was… well, she was Mags. The Victor of the Seventh Hunger Games, one of the few people left in Four who still remembered the Dark Days. The Mayor might officially be in charge, but no one in the district argued with Mags.

And she was staring at him like she could see right through him.

Wordlessly he lifted his shirt and inched his pants down just far enough for Mags to see the pink words which still wrapped all the way around his hips.

*Oh my, it's such an honor to meet you! It's not every day one gets to meet the youngest Victor in the history of the Games - winning at fourteen is simply amazing! I'm ever so pleased to meet you!*

"I've always known I would win."

Mags nodded slowly. "I see. I hope you still want that by the time you…" She gestured at his words.

"I want to meet-"

She held up a hand. "Don't say anything you don't want others to hear, lad. You'd best learn that lesson sooner rather than later."

And with those foreboding words, she left the compartment.

Finnick put his clothes back and followed, a wave of dread just starting to form within him. What had Mags meant? Who was listening?

Was his soulmate worth this?

He shook it off as they entered the dining car. It wasn't like he could change anything now. He couldn't exactly un-volunteer.

"Finnick's mine," Mags said to the group of Victors. She took the seat at the head of the table, gesturing Finnick to the other empty chair halfway down one side. "Who wants Mahi?"

Fisk, Victor of the Forty-Sixth Hunger Games, raised a hand. "I'll mentor."

All of them ignored the way Mahi was glaring at Finnick. Everyone in Four knew Mags only took tributes who had a shot.

The odds had just moved in his favor.

oOo

The Games were even more exciting than Effie had expected. Finnick Odair, the boy from Four, ensnared the Capitol in his spell. He was beautiful, amazing, strong… and certain he would win.

Despite his age, he quickly became the favorite. What a shame it would be to see him die!

And what glory he would bring the Capitol if he won.

Effie couldn't help it; she was swiftly swept up in the drama of it all. Her money went to Finnick, and when he received that glorious golden trident, she knew she'd helped make it happen.

By the end, when he stood victorious, she couldn't imagine the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games happening any other way. And neither could anyone else.

More than ever, she wanted to be involved in the Games. Luckily, there was even an escort slot opening up!

...In Twelve, but still!

The job was hers, the tribute she'd supported had won the Hunger Games, and Effie's life was looking up.

oOo

He'd won the Games.

Killed four other kids, including a terrified twelve-year-old. His final fight, against the girl from Two, still played in his mind.

He'd won.

Just as he'd always known he would.

Now he could meet his soulmate.

He held onto that thought. He could see his future stretching out ahead of him, years and years of mentoring terrified kids. Years and years of returning to the Capitol to once again live through the Games.

But at least he'd have his soulmate with him, right?

Finnick went through the next few days in a daze, barely paying attention to anything around him. He healed from his wounds, went to the Victory Ceremony, watched the recap, managed to talk to Caesar, got through the banquet…

And he did all of it while completely numb.

Mags took him up to the roof of the Training Center after the banquet, pulling him through Twelve's rooms - where Haymitch Abernathy had passed out drunk on the sofa - and up a small staircase. "It's safe to speak up here," she said. "As safe as anywhere is in the Capitol." She looked at him, her eyes sad. "You'll get through this, child."

"I'm not a child."

"You're all children to me."

He shrugged. She wasn't wrong.

"But no, you're not a child, not truly."

"I…" He licked his lips. "Is it worth it? Winn-" No. That was the wrong word. "Surviving?"

Mags's lips quirked, but not in a real smile. She squeezed his hand. "No. And you know that already. But we're survivors, lad. It's not in us to give up and die. You've got us all as family now. Not just the Victors from Four, but all of us. It won't be easy. I won't lie to you. But you'll survive."

He nodded. His eyes were dry; he hadn't cried since before the Games. "I'll survive."

She gently tugged him forward and down to kiss him on the forehead. He suddenly realized he was taller than her. When had that happened? Mags had always been such a personality. She'd loomed so large. But in reality, she was tiny.

But still powerful.

Her kiss made him feel like his parents were there. Or his grandmother, though she'd died five years ago.

He could do this. He could.

He would.

oOo