Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Not much to say, aside from, "Here's part two of the first day of training, and our second batch of tributes." So ... here they are.

Training Day One – Evening
Struggling

Paget Astier, 15
District Six

The hardest part was trying not to smile.

Paget glanced around the table at his allies, soaking it all in. Every moment. Every moment of this was a little victory – for him and for his sister. For years, they had been rejected by everyone they met. Scorned. Humiliated. For years, he had watched the satisfaction on other teens' faces as he and his sister were belittled and tormented.

Now it was his turn.

It was his turn to watch while they were humiliated. While they suffered through the same cruelty that he and Cordelia had endured for years. Maybe it was wrong to enjoy the humiliation on their faces. The downcast looks. Some of the tributes were fiddling with their collars. Others ran their hands over where their hair used to be, as if doing so would make it appear again. A few had tried to shape their raggedy clothes into something more presentable, trying to preserve at least a little of their dignity.

But they didn't deserve that dignity. They deserved exactly what they were getting. Every moment of it. Every last one of them.

And if he had to watch – if he had to be here with them – then he was damn well going to enjoy it.

That hadn't been the plan – not initially. His first thought had been to convince the other three to help them retrieve supplies from the bloodbath, then turn on them immediately once they'd made it to relative safety. Watching them die … He hadn't thought anything could be more satisfying than that.

But this was better – better than any death he could have devised himself. So he would let them live as long as they liked, as long as it meant he could watch. Watch them struggle along – pathetic, cringing shadows of the people they used to be. Prisoners. Animals. Barely even human anymore.

Alexi adjusted his collar so that it rubbed against a different part of his neck. "So what's the plan? Do we look for more allies, or…?" He trailed off. Or is this it?

There was a part of him that wanted more. More allies. More people to watch. But there was danger there, too. If their alliance grew too large, others would start to notice them. Enough people, and even the Careers might see them as a threat due to sheer numbers. Five was enough. He would have preferred six – would have preferred that Delvin join them, as well – but the boy had shown no interest. And if he pressed the matter, Delvin might win over some of the others.

Paget glanced around the room, looking for Delvin. Finally, he found him – on the opposite side of the room, sitting with a boy and a girl from Nine. A boy and girl in regular training outfits, with shoes on their feet and hair on their heads.

Paget nodded. Part of him had hoped that Delvin would be unable to find another alliance and would come crawling back to them. But, with forty-six tributes, and with Delvin being one of the oldest, that had clearly been too much to hope for.

So he would have to make do with what he had.

"I think five is enough," Paget said at last. "Smaller than the Careers, but probably bigger than most of the other groups that will form. Probably a good position to be in."

Alexi nodded along. Presley smiled agreeably, as if she was trying to enjoy herself but just couldn't muster the same enthusiasm as before. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it would wear off. Or maybe it wouldn't. Didn't matter much, either way. She seemed perfectly fine with Paget's assessment.

Nadine, on the other hand, wasn't so easily convinced. "Shouldn't we at least talk to some of the others – get to know a few of them? We might find someone else who would be…"

Would be a good addition to the group? Would be better than this? Paget wasn't sure how that sentence was going to end, but it didn't matter. He shrugged. "No one's stopping you." He couldn't afford to appear too forceful. Too controlling. For now, his role was simply to watch.

And he would be watching her.

Gadget Test, 16
District Eight

The hardest part was trying not to stare.

Gadget glanced around the room, her gaze flitting from one person to another. Watching. Taking everything in. Ivira sat beside her, wordlessly doing the same. They had spent the morning together at a few of the survival stations, learning how to start a fire and then a little about plants. That was certainly important – plants. Plants or hunting. Some way of finding food.

But the knowledge they could gain in a few days was no substitute for the real thing – someone who actually knew what they were doing around plants. Someone who could actually start a fire without having to think through every step. There wasn't much need for that sort of thing in District Eight. They needed to branch out.

Branches.

"You think he's a good choice?" Ivira asked, and Gadget realized she'd been staring at the boy from Seven. Actually, she hadn't been thinking anything of the sort. She'd been staring at his feet. Despite his regular training outfit, unshaved head, and bare neck, he wasn't wearing any shoes. He looked different. Out of place.

Just like her.

Just like both of them.

So maybe he was a good choice. Ivira certainly seemed to think so. And District Seven – trees. That was a good start. Gadget nodded. "I think so."

"Let's go talk to him, then."

Go talk to him. Like it was so easy. Maybe it was, for her. Everything seemed to be so easy for Ivira.

People had never been easy for her. They always seemed uncomfortable. Don't stare, Gadget. Don't stand so close, Gadget. You're too loud, Gadget.

But Ivira didn't complain. She didn't seem to mind. Ivira had wanted to be her ally. Maybe even her friend.

The boy had finished his food and was heading back to the survival stations. Now that he was standing, she could see how small he was. One of the younger tributes. Smaller. But Ivira had said that didn't matter. They already had Gadget's size going for them. People always told her she was too tall. Too big.

But here, she was perfect.

Gadget followed Ivira back to the fire-starting station, where the boy already had a fire going. Why was he practicing something he clearly already knew? Was he trying to show off his skills? Attract allies? Or was it comforting to start with something he was already familiar with?

Or maybe he just liked fire.

The boy looked up, surprised, as Gadget and Ivira joined him. Gadget remained standing, her arms across her chest, but Ivira sat down next to the boy, grinning. "Nice fire."

The boy didn't seem quite sure what to say to that. "Thanks, I guess."

"Can you show me?"

Gadget watched, confused, as the boy talked Ivira through the same steps the trainer had shown them earlier. Ivira already knew how to do this. Why was she pretending not to?

But, soon enough, Ivira had a fire going. The boy was smiling, impressed that she had learned so quickly. Except she hadn't. It had taken Ivira at least a dozen tries to get it right earlier. But now, she had appeared to pick up the skill in a few minutes. "You're good at this," the boy observed.

Ivira shrugged. "You're a good teacher. I guess we make a pretty good team."

The boy nodded. Just like that. "I guess we do. I'm Domingo."

"I'm Ivira, and this is Gadget."

The boy waved up at her, then turned back to Ivira. "Want to see some more?"

By the time they'd talked through a few more techniques with different materials, the boy had agreed to an alliance. A few fires later, they had lost Gadget's attention. Fires were great, and the boy probably knew a bit about plants, but what they really needed was someone who knew a bit about animals. Someone who could set a trap, maybe, or at least had some experience with preparing an animal to eat.

After a moment, Ivira seemed to notice her attention had drifted. She stood up, following Gadget's gaze. She'd been staring again. Ivira smiled.

"You think she's a good choice?"

Calantha Harlyn, 16
District Ten

The hardest part was ignoring her district partners.

Calantha turned back to the snare she was making, trying to focus on that. Trying not to notice Indira and Beckett at one of the weapons stations, trying out a hatchet and a pickax. Trying not to notice Elizabet hovering in a corner by the edible plants station – alone for the moment. She had already ruled them out as allies – or they had ruled her out. Beckett and Indira were already a team; they probably wouldn't want her tagging along. And Elizabet…

No. No, that wouldn't work. Calantha felt sorry for her, but that was exactly the problem. She couldn't afford to have allies she felt sorry for. She needed allies who could help her, not the other way around. Allies who would be useful. Allies who could pull their own weight.

"Mind if we join you?"

Calantha nearly jumped as a girl plopped down beside her. A giant "8" covered the front of her shirt, but that didn't seem to bother her any more than her shaved head, collar, and bare feet. The girl was practically a twig, but she was beaming confidently, nonetheless.

'We' apparently included her and the two tributes behind her – a smaller boy from Seven and a much larger girl from Eight. What did they want from her? The snare station hadn't seemed like the most popular place – which was part of the reason she'd chosen it in the first place. She had wanted to get her bearings with something that looked relatively easy before moving on.

But it was harder than it looked.

The skinny girl seemed impressed, anyway. "Ever make one of these before?"

For a moment, she considered lying. But what would be the point? It was clear she had no idea what she was doing. "Not before today," she admitted. Better not to mention the rest – that this was her fifth attempt.

"Looks good for a first try," the girl said encouragingly. "You catch on quickly."

That couldn't have been farther from the truth, but Calantha smiled, anyway. It felt good to hear a little praise, no matter how misdirected. "Thanks. I'm Calantha."

"Ivira. This is Gadget and Domingo."

The boy – apparently Domingo – sat down and started his own snare, ignoring the rest of them. Gadget remained standing. But Ivira continued. "I saw you during the chariots last night. Clever idea – slicing up the meat."

Calantha nodded along. Actually, it had been Indira's idea. The rest of them had just gone along with it. But she wasn't about to say that. "Thanks. It seemed like a better idea than just standing there."

Ivira nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. That's the right attitude – not just standing there and waiting for something to happen, but going out there and making the best of a bad situation."

Making the best of it. Calantha glanced back at her snare. That's what she'd been trying to do ever since the reaping – make the best of things. Piece together a better image for herself than what she'd shown then. And, apparently, it had worked. Ivira had noticed her. And if she had, then maybe other people had, too. Maybe the audience had noticed. Maybe the sponsors had noticed.

Part of her felt bad taking credit for Indira's idea. But she couldn't afford to be modest. She couldn't afford to be generous. And for all they knew it had been her idea. For all she knew, she may have thought of it eventually. Indira had just gotten there first.

Ivira was still talking. "And that's exactly the sort of attitude that will be useful in the Games. You're not the sort who's going to wait around for things to fall into place – I can tell. You're not going to wait for tributes to come after you. You're a predator – that much is obvious."

Was it? Was it that obvious? Calantha glanced at her snare. Maybe it was. That's what snares were for, after all: preying on the other tributes. Maybe she was a predator.

She certainly wanted to be.

Domingo Ibanez, 14
District Seven

The hardest part would be putting up with them.

Domingo turned his attention back to his snare as Ivira chattered on. Attitude this. Predator that. Part of him was tempted to simply get up and walk away.

But part of him knew he couldn't afford to.

He wouldn't have to put up with them forever, Domingo reminded himself. He would need protection in the arena – at least for a little while – but, eventually, he could strike out on his own. Once they found food and water. Once they were a bit safer. Then he could leave.

Because he certainly didn't trust them. They were a bit too friendly for that. Well, Ivira was a bit too friendly. Gadget didn't seem as interested in chit-chat, which suited him just fine. And Calantha … He wasn't quite sure what to make of her.

She didn't seem quite sure what to make of them, either, but, just the same, it didn't take long for her to agree to an alliance. And it took even less time after that for her to become frustrated with the snare she was making. "Damn it," she muttered, tearing some of it apart and tossing the rest of the remains aside. "No one ever won the Games with snares, anyway."

Gadget perked up. "Actually, that's exactly how several people have won the Games. For example, during the Fifth Games, Tania Fray from District Five hid out in a series of caves for most of the Games – and she won when the last tribute stumbled into one of her traps. Nicodemus did the same sort of thing during the 26th Games. When the last two Careers found him, he killed one with a spear, and the other one followed him into a cave, where he'd already laid a trap."

So … twice. Out of forty-one Games, snares had been useful twice. Not great odds, but Domingo wasn't about to say that. After all, out of forty-one Games, how many fourteen-year-olds had won? If something had worked even once during the Games, then it was a viable option.

"True," Ivira agreed. "But, more often, weapons are more useful. So maybe we should—"

"Oh, absolutely!" Gadget agreed. "But what kind of weapons – that's the thing. Sometimes there are limited kinds of weapons – like during the Ninth Games. They only had knives. Or, during the 37th Games, there were no weapons at all – only what the sponsors sent, or what they could make themselves. The year before that, Presley won with a piece of wood she found after the ship wrecked. And five years before that, Percival won using only a rope. So pretty much anything can be used as a weapon."

Even your mouth. Domingo almost said it. Almost. But he couldn't afford to make enemies. Not when he was supposed to be making allies.

"So what you're saying is we should try out a variety of weapons, because we don't know exactly what'll be in the arena," Calantha reasoned, undeterred by her new ally's sudden outburst of random facts.

Ivira nodded. "Sounds good to me. What would you like to try first?"

Calantha hesitated, as if surprised that Ivira was asking her. If they were going to try a little of everything, of course, it didn't really matter where they decided to go first – not really. But giving the choice to Calantha – maybe Ivira thought that was a good way to win over some of her confidence.

"Let's try some knives first," Calantha suggested.

"Good choice," Gadget agreed. "There are almost always knives. Except for the Second Games, when…"

Domingo tuned her out as they headed for the knife station. Maybe she was right. But did she have to be right so loudly? They didn't need the other forty-two tributes to know they wanted to practice with some knives.

But maybe that was a good thing. She would draw attention. Anyone watching their group now would see a tall, burly girl rambling about various Games and strategies. They might even notice the skinny girl egging her on. They wouldn't notice the other girl simply nodding along. And they certainly wouldn't notice him.

Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.

Delvin Flynn, 18
District Six

The hardest part had been admitting he wanted allies.

Delvin watched Sariya and Thane for a moment before joining in. They had found a station of small, bladed weapons that Sariya had suggested would be similar to sickles. Now, with the weapons in their hands, it was clear that neither one of them really knew what they were doing.

But they had the right mindset.

Most of the outer-district tributes were still lingering by the survival stations. Not ready to think about fighting. Not wanting to think about killing. They were wasting time. Maybe knowing how to start a fire was useful, but it wasn't what the audience wanted to see. They wanted to see tributes who could fight.

And he could. He had. He'd fought with his own two hands – and occasionally a knife. But never with anything like this. And never against someone who actually knew what they were doing. This would be harder than any fight he'd ever been in.

So why not get in all the practice he could?

Carefully, Delvin picked up one of the blades. The hilt was long enough for four or five of his hands, the blade about as long as his arm. It was heavy – much heavier than anything he'd swung before – but it felt good in his hands.

It almost felt right.

No. No, it wasn't right. None of this was right. But right and wrong didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was survival. And, for all of his allies' apparent inexperience, at least they understood that. That alliances weren't about making friends or finding good company or being loyal to a district.

Alliances were for survival. Period. Nothing more.

His district partners still didn't understand that. Paget had them wrapped around his little finger. Ever since the train rides, they had moved as one group. What the boy had planned for them, Delvin wasn't sure, but he wanted no part of it. Two witches, a thirteen-year-old murderer, a boy who just wanted to be friends, and a girl who seemed unsure about the whole alliance but didn't have the spine to just walk away. Not ideal allies.

And maybe Thane and Sariya weren't ideal, either. Neither was terribly impressive physically, but Delvin was no Career himself, either. And they were fighters – or, at least, they could pretend to be. And when their lives were on the line, they would be.

Probably.

Delvin shook the thought from his head. If they weren't – if they turned out to be completely useless once the Games started – he was under no obligation to stay with them. No alliance lasted forever in the Games. Occasionally, an alliance lasted until the end, but then what? The remaining tributes – former allies – were left to kill each other. Every time.

But that wouldn't be him. He wouldn't get attached. And neither would they, Delvin was sure. They'd been friendly enough when they'd approached him, but there had been a coldness, a formality, to the offer. They all knew the difference between an alliance and a friendship, and none of them were prepared to cross that line.

Because they each wanted to be the one to survive.

But it wouldn't be them. It would be him. Given the choice between the two, he would choose himself every time. And each of them would, too, he was sure. There was no sentiment, no warm fuzzy feeling to their alliance. They were here for protection, not for comfort.

And it felt good.

He didn't want allies he would feel for. He didn't want allies he would feel compelled to protect. He couldn't waste his time trying to protect people who were going to die, anyway, if he wanted to go home.

If he wanted to go home. It always came back to that. He had his mother to think about. His sister. They were waiting for him. They were counting on him.

They needed him more than he needed a friend.

Fallon Ladris, 15
District Seven

The hardest part was remembering not to eat the edible plants.

Fallon tried her best to concentrate on the plants in front of her. But they all looked exactly alike. All the leaves were green. All the berries were round and various shades of red, blue, or purple. But some of the red ones were okay to eat, and some of them weren't. A certain leaf shape meant poison, while an almost identical leaf shape could be used to make medicine.

Fallon's gaze drifted to a pile of light red berries. They were beginning to look better and better. It seemed like hours since lunch. Would they mind if she ate a few? What would they do if she accidentally ate something poisonous? Would they try to revive her, or would they just let her die? She'd never heard of a tribute dying during training.

"Don't eat those ones." A quiet voice interrupted her. Fallon glanced up to see a girl with a shaved head and a large black "10" on her shirt. "If you want to eat something, try these." She slid a basket of berries over to Fallon's side of the table.

Fallon eyed the berries warily. They looked almost exactly like the ones she'd been about to gobble up. How could the girl tell the difference? Or was she trying to poison her? That would be clever – trying to poison another tribute during training.

But, before Fallon's suspicions could go any farther, the girl took a seat beside Fallon, scooped up a handful of berries, and began eating them herself. Fallon smiled a little. That was good enough for her. She popped one of the berries into her mouth. Then a handful.

"Hey!" one of the trainers called, glaring. "Save some of those for the tributes who actually want to learn something!"

Fallon couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing. It sounded exactly like something her parents would say. Fallon, stay out of that. Fallon, don't eat those. The other girl didn't seem to understand what was so funny, but, soon, she was smiling, too. And as soon as the trainer had turned the other way, Fallon scooped up another handful of berries, making the girl giggle a little. "I'm Fallon, by the way. District Seven." Probably a little silly – announcing her district when there was a giant black "7" on her shirt. But she hadn't exactly thought through how she should introduce herself to another tribute.

Apparently, the other girl hadn't, either. "Elizabet – District Ten," she answered. "Can I ask you a question?"

Fallon shrugged. "Sure."

"Where'd you get the shoes?"

The shoes. She'd almost forgotten. "My district partner, Domingo. Said he likes going barefoot. They're almost the right size, too – a little too big."

Elizabet nodded. "Domingo. Are you two … allies?"

Fallon shook her head. "I thought so, maybe, when he offered me the shoes, but he didn't seem interested in anything more than that. And now he's over there with them." She pointed to where Domingo stood at the knife station with two of the girls from Eight and another from Ten. "That's one of your district partners, isn't it?"

"Calantha. She didn't seem interested in allying with me, either." Elizabet hesitated. "Maybe we could … help each other?"

Fallon smiled a little. She'd hoped that one of her district partners would be interested. But Audra and Domingo hadn't been, and Ciere didn't seem to want to ally with anyone. Maybe it was time to look elsewhere.

And Elizabet – she could have let Fallon eat the other berries. Maybe she wouldn't have died, but it certainly would have been embarrassing. It would have attracted attention, made the other tributes think she was weak or stupid. But Elizabet had stopped her. Fallon nodded, took off one of her shoes, and passed it to Elizabet. "Allies?"

Elizabet grinned. "Allies." She slipped the shoe on.

It was a perfect fit.

Adelia Luciano, 16
District Eight

The hardest part was trying not to say anything.

Adelia kept her mouth shut as Ivira and Gadget once again dominated the conversation at dinner. Gadget was going on about their two new allies – Domingo from District Seven and Calantha from District Ten. How wonderful they were, how useful they were going to be, how great it was that everything was falling into place.

The worst part was that it did seem to be falling into place – at least for them. They had two other allies – in addition to each other – while she had exactly zero. There were a few people she was watching, but they didn't seem to have noticed her. Or maybe they had, and simply dismissed her. One of the shaved-headed, iron-collared, raggedy-clothed, barefoot girls from District Eight.

But that was exactly what Ivira was, too – and she was thriving. And her allies … Gadget, Domingo, Calantha. None of them were from the group of 'extra' tributes. None of them were 'replacements.' None of them were wearing rags or collars.

Had she planned it that way?

Adelia glanced up at Ivira in spite of herself. Did she have it right? If the Gamemakers were going to continue to show favor to one group of tributes and punish the others, wouldn't it be an advantage to have allies in the 'right' group?

That didn't seem fair, of course, but, so far, none of this had been fair. Why would the Gamemakers start being fair now? It made perfect sense.

Too much sense.

That was too obvious. Too perfect. Too rigged. If that was the case, then, no matter what she did, her chances of getting out alive were even smaller than she had thought. If the Gamemakers were going to continue to show favor to the other group, one of them would probably win. It was that simple.

She didn't want it to be that simple.

One by one, the other tributes headed to their rooms, either finished with dinner or aggravated by Ivira and Gadget's constant chatter. Finally, even the two of them left, leaving Adelia alone with Carolina. Kit had left earlier with Baylor, and Lander had followed Jediah to the other room. But Carolina had stayed…

"Something on your mind?" Carolina asked, offering Adelia another piece of pie.

Adelia accepted the dessert gratefully. "At least they're feeding us the same," she observed wryly.

Carolina smiled a little. "There's that, I suppose." She leaned forward. "You're worried it'll stay this way during the Games – the Capitol favoring one group over the other."

Adelia cocked an eyebrow. "How could you tell?"

"Because it's exactly what I would have been thinking in your place."

That made her feel a little better. "Will they?" she asked. "Are the twenty-two of us 'replacements' just here to be humiliated while they favor the other group?"

Carolina leaned forward a little. "What do you think?"

"I think … Well, that would be unfair, but…"

"But it lets you off the hook."

Adelia looked up, surprised. "What?"

"You heard me. If it's their fault – if they mean for you to die – then you're off the hook. If it's inevitable, if it's just fate that you die in the Games, then whatever you do, however hard you try, it doesn't mean anything. It's easier that way, isn't it."

"Yes. No. I—" Adelia faltered. It would be easier, certainly. Easier to blame it all on the Capitol. On the Gamemakers. Or maybe on fate, the way Gadget wanted to. But she didn't want to. She didn't want to accept that. "Maybe it would be easier," she said at last. "But that doesn't mean it's better."

Carolina nodded slowly. "Now you're getting it. So … what do you think? What do you really think they're doing?"

Adelia hesitated. All the while, she'd considered their treatment a punishment. Retaliation for what had happened last year. And that made sense. But what if it was more than that? What if it was better than that? "What if it's not a punishment?" she asked at last.

"What if it's a clue?"

Septimus Drakon, 18
District Two

The hardest part was waiting.

Septimus sat silently on the couch, the lights turned down low, long after the others had gone to bed. Naella had turned in first, wanting to get as much sleep as possible. Maybe he should have, as well, but even if he went to bed now, he knew, he still wouldn't sleep. Not for a long time.

So he might as well be awake.

The silence didn't bother him. It never had. He had grown up in silence. Maybe he should have hated it. Resented it. But, instead, he had grown to appreciate the silence, the stillness, in a way that most people didn't. Even the tributes earlier – most of them couldn't sit still. They rushed about this way and that, racing to find allies, racing to learn as much as they could.

Waiting was harder. But it was worth it.

He could have pursued Naella's alliance. Could have insisted that he would be useful, begged them to let him join them, showed off for them like the tributes from Four, desperate to prove their worth. He could have accepted Jarlan's offer, despite the target it would have painted on his back. If he was trying to prove he wasn't a rebel, allying with one of the districts that had instigated the rebellion last year probably wasn't the best way to go. Not when there might be other options.

So he was still waiting. For what, he wasn't quite sure. But something would happen. Something would—

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Before he could open it, however, the door slid open on its own, and a man stepped in. "Septimus Drakon," came a voice. "Son of Lucius and Octavia Romayne. Mother fled the Capitol when you were one, attempting to help the rebels. On her way through District Two when she was caught and executed. Raised in Peacekeeper custody ever since."

Septimus recognized the voice before the man stepped into the dimly lit room. "Harakuise Swallot. Son of Odenn and Verana Swallot, a family dedicated to eliminating the remaining rebel force in the districts. Took over the family business at the age of twelve when your father died. Entered the Games at the age of fourteen. Took in your district partner's brother, Jai, who's become your … partner … and helped you raise yet another Victor."

Harakuise settled into a seat across from him. "Is there a question there?"

Septimus shrugged easily. "Your personal life is none of my concern."

"Your personal life, on the other hand, is about to become everyone's concern. Military history training. Weapons training. Weapons design. According to your instructors, you're quite a prodigy. And here you are, a volunteer for the Hunger Games." Harakuise leaned forward a little. "Why?"

"I want my life back. The life I should have had. The life I would have had – if not for my mother. I was a baby when she fled the Capitol, but she chose to take me – to risk my life as well as her own – instead of leaving me in the Capitol where I belonged. I had no say in the matter. I was a child."

"I know." There was something odd in Harakuise's eyes – almost regret. "It's a pity your mother was arrested in District Two. Had she been found in District Five, instead … things may have proceeded differently. Not for her, of course, but for you. I've always had a soft spot for children. With the right influence, you could have been a valuable asset."

"I still can be."

"I don't doubt it."

"But first I have to get out of here."

"Out of a position you put yourself in."

"Out of desperation. What would you have done?"

Silence for a moment. "The same," Harakuise admitted. "I was fortunate to be born into a family that chose the right side during the rebellion. You were not. But neither of us is defined by our past, Septimus Drakon. It is the future that we should consider." He leaned forward a little.

"I think I can help you."

"You see this little hole? This moth's just about to emerge. It's in there right now, struggling. It's digging its way through the thick hide of the cocoon."