Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: And here's our next batch of tributes and the end of the second day of training.

Training Day Two – Evening
Free

Jarlan DuMorne, 18
District Four

"Is this spot free?"

Jarlan smiled as the other boy – the older boy from Eleven – looked up, surprised. He was sitting alone, as he had been the day before, silently watching the other tributes from a table in the corner. He nodded slightly, and Jarlan took a seat across from him. "I'm Jarlan."

"Shale," the boy answered. "Not quite what you were expecting, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

Shale gestured around the room. "The Games. The glory, the excitement, the thrill. It must be a bit different than what you were expecting."

Jarlan smiled a little. "A bit," he admitted. "But I'm not in it for the glory. Never was. Training was never about the chance for excitement – that's not what I wanted."

Shale cocked an eyebrow. "Then what do you want?"

"Freedom."

Shale chuckled wryly. "If that's what you wanted, you should have stayed home."

"Should I?" Jarlan leaned forward a little. "There's nothing for me back home. My mother died when I was little. My father abandoned me at the community home – and took his own life not long after. Most kids like me end up working in the shipyards. It's hard work – with very little pay – and there's no way out. No escape from a life of poverty and hard labor. That's where I would be, too, but the trainers … they noticed my potential. They offered me a chance at something better."

"Something better," Shale repeated, shaking his head. "You think this is better?"

"Yes. What sort of life would I have back in District Four?"

"A long one," Shale offered.

"Long and meaningless."

"So you'd rather risk it all for … what? The chance to kill other people who never did anything to you?"

"Other people who would die, anyway," Jarlan pointed out. "Look around you. Most of the people in this room – they're going to die. But that's true no matter what you and I do. Whether they're killed by you, or me, or someone else – what's the difference?"

The boy nodded a little, so Jarlan decided to venture a little farther. "After all, you volunteered for this, too. You're not here because you want to kill, but you know you'll have to – and you can live with that, because that's what it takes to get home. You volunteered to fight, to kill, so that your brother wouldn't have to."

Shale met his gaze. "Because I knew he wouldn't. My parents … they died five years ago. The seven of us – we've managed to stay together, to protect each other, to keep each other going. Asher and Raver … They're always taking care of the younger ones while Karinth and I are in the fields. Always smiling, cracking jokes, still not taking anything seriously." He shook his head. "I couldn't let him … He wouldn't have lasted a day. Not with so many people he would want to protect. People he would get close to without even meaning to. He wouldn't be able to let go – to realize that they would have to die. He couldn't…"

"But you can," Jarlan agreed. "You have what it takes." He smiled a little. "We could use someone like you, Shale."

"We?"

"My alliance. There are four of us right now – Imalia, Mavina, Zachary, and myself." He gestured to the other table, where his allies were sitting. "We'd love to have you."

"Why?"

"Because you understand what has to be done. When the time comes, you won't hesitate. You won't have second thoughts. You won't regret what you have to do – because you have too much to lose."

Shale eyed him curiously. "I'll need to think about it."

Jarlan nodded. "Take as much time as you need. The offer will stand."

"How long?"

Jarlan shrugged. "Well, if we step off our pedestals at the cornucopia and you come running at me with a sword … I guess I'll take that as a 'no.'"

Shale almost smiled. "I guess so."

Sariya Charsley, 16
District Nine

She was trapped.

Sariya glanced around the table at her allies, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. She hadn't meant to end up in such a large alliance, with two Careers and three other tributes, all of whom were older and stronger than her. But after Thane had said yes, she hadn't had a good reason to say no. Not without revealing the truth – that she had been lying to them about … well, about pretty much everything.

Sariya took a deep breath. She would just have to keep up the act. But for how long? How long before they realized she wasn't as strong, as hardened, as ruthless, as she was pretending to be? How long before they saw her for what she truly was?

But were the others really any better? Any stronger? They seemed confident, but was that also an act? Were they just as frightened, just as nervous, as she was?

Finally, the six of them finished their lunch and made their way back to the training stations. Septimus and Liana headed for the swords station, Delvin and Thane for the spears. Sariya followed Audra as the older girl headed for a station with axes and hatchets.

"You don't need to be nervous," Audra said reassuringly, picking up a hatchet. "They don't expect you to be a weapons expert or a ruthless killer. They knew what sort of tributes they were asking."

"You didn't seem to have any … reservations … about joining them," Sariya noted. Audra had been the first to accept Septimus and Liana's offer. "Why? What makes you think you can trust them?"

Audra shook her head. "I'm not sure. Maybe it's something my mentor said on the train. Hazel said that everyone was afraid. Even the Careers? I asked, and Casper said, Especially the Careers. He said they were more afraid than any of us – afraid that all those years, all that training, was all for nothing." She shook her head. "Hearing that … it made them seem more human, somehow. As if, deep down, they're more like us than any of us would like to admit."

"Maybe. But they still trained – trained to kill people. People like us. How can we trust them?"

"We can't," Audra admitted. "It's not about trust. Look at us. Do you think Thane trusts you? Do you think Liana trusts Septimus? Do you think I trust Delvin? None of us can trust each other. Not really. Not for long. But that doesn't mean we can't work together – for a while, at least."

For a while. But for how long? She was the youngest in the group. How long before the others decided she wasn't doing enough, wasn't pulling her own weight? If they were in a fight, did they really expect her to be able to hold her own?

Sariya picked up a hatchet and swung, burying it deep in a dummy's chest. Trying to imagine that it was a tribute, instead. Trying to imagine the chest moving up and down, blood flowing as she drew her hatchet out.

The thought made her sick.

Sariya gripped the hatchet tightly. She couldn't do this. She couldn't keep pretending, every minute of every day. She wasn't what they thought she was. She couldn't…

Sariya swung again. And again. She could. She would. She had to. She didn't have a choice – not anymore. She had gotten herself into this mess, and now she would have to find a way out of it. She would have to pretend. Not forever – just a little longer. And then a little more. One bit at a time. She could do this.

She could.

Sariya glanced over at Audra, who was watching her while swinging her own hatchet. She seemed so calm. So sure of herself. But maybe she was right. Maybe they were all afraid. Maybe they were all telling themselves the same thing – to hold on, just a little longer.

She just had to hold on a little longer than they could.

Indira Serren, 18
District Ten

She hadn't expected to feel so free.

Indira flashed a smile at Beckett as the two of them headed back to the weapons stations. They'd spent the first day at the various survival stations, picking up as much as they could. But they had both known that, eventually, they would have to learn how to fight.

She hadn't expected to enjoy it.

Indira turned a machete over in her hands, getting a good grip before starting to hack away at a dummy. It felt good to let out some energy, to be doing something, rather than sitting around tying knots or sorting plants.

"Not bad," one of the trainers remarked after a while. "But real tributes aren't going to just stand there and let you hit them."

Indira cringed. She'd been trying to ignore that – the fact that, in the arena, she wouldn't be facing dummies, but real, living people. Hacking away at a dummy was easy. Trying to imagine doing that to a real person … that was different. But she forced a smile as the trainer took a step forward and asked, "Care to try your luck against a real person?"

Before she had a chance to respond, the trainer swung a blunted blade. She managed to block the first blow, but the second swept her legs out from under her. The trainer held his blade to her throat. "Sloppy. Try again."

Indira scrambled to her feet, her weapon ready once more. This time, she attacked. The trainer blocked her blow, then swung. Indira dodged the blow, then blocked the second. But the third came too fast, and she toppled to the floor again. "Damn it," she muttered as she got to her feet again.

The next time, she managed to block a few blows before the trainer circled behind her, meaning to knock her legs out from under her again. But, just as he did, another blade blocked his. Indira turned, expecting to see Beckett, but the blade belonged to a different boy. He swung at the trainer, who blocked the blow easily, motioning for Indira to join the fight.

Together, the two of them managed to hold their own for a while, first defending, then attacking. The trainer danced back and forth, blocking their blows, keeping them off-guard, not tiring for a moment. Finally, he managed to knock the blade from Indira's hand. Without anyone to help him, the other boy was quickly overpowered, as well.

Indira lay beside him on the mat for a moment, catching her breath. The trainer took a step towards them. "All right. What have we learned?"

"That it's a good thing your blade isn't sharp," Indira offered, breathing hard.

The other boy struggled to his feet. "That there's strength in numbers."

"Well, that, too," Indira agreed, slowly standing up. "I'm Indira."

"Shale."

Beckett stepped in. "Shale. Didn't I see you earlier with one of the Careers?"

Shale nodded. "Jarlan. He offered to let me join his alliance."

Beckett whistled. "And you said no?"

"I said I'd think about it."

Beckett shook his head in disbelief. "I don't think anyone's going to make you a better offer than that."

Shale shook his head. "Depends on what you mean by a 'better offer.'"

Indira smiled. "Well, for whatever it's worth, you're welcome to join us. After that little fight there … I think we make a good team." She was almost surprised by how much she meant it. She hadn't been looking for allies – not really. She had assumed that she and Beckett were on their own. But she and Shale had fought well together. Maybe…

"I'll think about it," Shale nodded, placing his blade back on the rack. "Good to meet you, Indira." He turned and headed off to the survival stations.

Beckett shook his head. "You think that was a good idea?"

Indira shrugged. "Why not?"

"What makes you think we can trust him?"

Indira smirked. "What makes you think you can trust me?" Beckett cocked an eyebrow. Indira chuckled. "I'm just kidding. But, seriously, the guy volunteered to save his brother. How bad can he be?"

Beckett shook his head. "I hope you're right."

Indira smiled. "I hope so, too."

Mavina Perrot, 17
District Four

"He's free to make his own choice."

Mavina nodded as Jarlan led their group over to the shelter-building station. After nearly two whole days, they were still only a group of four. Both Septimus and Liana had rejected their offer, and now seemed to be forming their own alliance. Jarlan had spoken to the boy from Eleven during lunch, but they'd seen him at the weapons station later with a pair of tributes from Ten.

"Maybe we should offer to let all three of them join us," Imalia suggested. "Shale and the two from Ten. That'd bring us up to seven."

"And nearly half of them outer-district tributes with no experience," Zach pointed out. "I don't mind taking on one or two if you really think they'll be useful, but if we take in too many tributes who don't know what they're doing, they'll slow us down."

Imalia shrugged. "Would that be better or worse than having none of them?"

Zach thought it over for a moment. "Maybe you're right. If the other Career alliance decides to target us first, it might be helpful to have a few more people – whether they're experienced or no."

"Extra bodies." Jarlan shook his head. "You want to use them as cannon fodder."

Zach shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't put it like that, but … yeah. Why not? If there are more of us, there are more people for them to target."

Imalia shook her head. "The other Careers aren't stupid. Who do you think they'll go after first – us or a couple of untrained tributes from Ten and Eleven? Even if we manage to recruit a few more tributes, we'll be their target – not the others."

"There's nothing we can really do about that, though," Jarlan pointed out. "We were bound to be their first targets the moment we decided not to join them. So the big question – regardless of whether we have more allies or not – is whether we're going to try to take them on immediately, or whether we should try to avoid them."

Mavina shook her head, speaking up at last. "You think we should run?"

"Not run, necessarily," Imalia offered. "Just not fight them right away. Now, eventually, we'll have to face them – but if we wait, maybe we can do it on our terms, when we're ready. If we let them take the cornucopia, if we manage to get out of there with some supplies and weapons, we can bide our time, wait for the right moment to attack them – rather than trying to do it with all the chaos during the bloodbath."

Jarlan nodded. "Imalia's right. There are four of us. Six of them. Simple numbers. We should wait until the odds are more even."

Mavina nodded. That made sense. But, somehow, it felt wrong. They were Careers. They weren't supposed to run away from a fight. It wasn't that she wanted to take on the other Career group – some of them were their own district partners, after all. It just felt like that was what the Gamemakers – and the audience – would expect them to do. How would they react if one of their Career groups just turned tail and ran?

Zach seemed to be on the same page. "What's the audience going to think if we just run away? Won't they start to favor the other group?"

"They're already going to," Jarlan pointed out. "After what happened last year, they're naturally going to favor Districts One and Two over Four. But you knew that when you joined us. They may have the audience's support initially, but audience support isn't everything. We play it smart, we take the opportunity to attack them when we get it, and the audience will eventually support us. They may be more attractive right now, but we're in this for the long haul. When the time comes, we'll have the support we need."

Mavina nodded. He sounded so sure. So confident. Despite everything that had happened so far – the extra tributes, the embarrassing chariot rides, their humiliating outfits – nothing seemed to faze Jarlan at all. He just kept going, certain, constant.

She wished she had his confidence.

Pan Soya, 12
District Eleven

He would never be free again.

Pan tucked his knees to his chest as he, Philus, and Elani watched the trainer at the first-aid station. She was demonstrating how to splint a broken bone, but Pan wasn't paying much attention. Generally, if a tribute had a broken arm or leg, it was only a matter of time before they were found by another tribute and quickly killed.

Elani and Philus, on the other hand, were eager to try anything and everything for themselves. Soon, each of them was practicing splinting one of his legs. The trainer watched, clearly pleased with their work, as they wrapped bandages and tied knots.

Pan fought back the tears in his eyes as Elani and Philus finished. Silently, he clenched his fists. It was the second day of training. He shouldn't be crying. He shouldn't be feeling sorry for himself. He should be working, learning, training, trying to gather as much information as he could before they ran out of time.

But he couldn't help it. One tear leaked out, then another. Soon, he was sobbing. Elani and Philus were at his side in an instant, their arms around him. "It's okay," Elani was whispering, just as she had at the reaping. "It's okay. It'll be okay."

But it wasn't. It wasn't okay. And it wouldn't be okay. On the train, he had started to think that maybe it was. Or maybe it would be – after a little training, a little practice. But the chariot rides, his hair, these rags, the collar that was scraping his neck – he was going to die the same way his father and sister had. Chained and bound, unable to do anything to help himself or his allies.

His allies. His allies who hadn't had to endure what he had. It wasn't fair to blame them, of course. It wasn't their fault. But they were sitting there, wearing normal clothes, with normal hair and normal shoes, while he looked like a beggar. A prisoner.

"It isn't okay," he whispered between sobs. "It isn't fair. I can't … this … it isn't … why me?" he gasped, fighting to form complete sentences.

Quickly, expertly, the trainer removed the splints on Pan's legs. "You're right," she said softly. "It's not fair. I've been here, helping train tributes, since the First Games, and I've never seen anything like this." She laid a gentle hand on Pan's shoulder. "But that's exactly why you can't give up."

Pan shook his hand off. "Don't! I'm tired of being babied! I'm tired of people telling me I have a chance. I don't!" People were staring, but he didn't care. "You said you've been here since the First Games. In all that time, how many twelve-year-olds have won?"

"One," the trainer admitted.

"One," Pan repeated. "Just one. And there are forty-six tributes this year. Forty-six. And this and this—" He gestured at his collar, and the rags that hung around his body. "Do you really think I have a chance? Tell me. Look me in the eye and tell me you honestly believe I have a chance."

The trainer looked away for a moment, but, slowly, looked up again, turning her warm brown eyes on Pan. "I'm sorry. Truly, I am."

Pan nodded quietly. It wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. But, in a way, maybe it was. Finally, someone was being honest. Finally, someone was admitting what he had known all along: He was going to die.

Pan felt a gentle tapping on his shoulder. Philus. The boy pointed to himself, then tapped his head twice. "What is it?" Elani asked, speaking slowly. "You … you have an idea?"

Philus nodded, then pointed to one of the knives the trainer had been using to cut bandages. Cautiously, the trainer handed it to him. Philus, in turn, handed it to Elaine. Then he pointed to Pan's shaved head, ruffled his own hair, and pointed back to Pan. Elaine cocked her head, confused.

"You want me to … cut your hair?"

Philus Polaine, 13
District Eleven

He had never felt so free.

Philus smiled as Elani knelt beside him, slicing off clumps of hair. She was careful, her fingers quick and her touch gentle, but, even so, the cut came out awkward and patchy. But the look on Pan's face made it worth every second.

When Elani had finished, she handed the knife to Philus and ruffled her own hair. Philus nodded and went to work. At first, his hands were shaking, but, slowly, he got his bearings. His cuts became surer, closer to Elani's scalp. When he finished, he handed the knife back to the trainer, who turned to Elani and said something Philus couldn't make out. Elani gestured towards Philus. The trainer turned to face him and repeated the question. Do you want me to straighten it out?

Philus shook his head. If they were going to look ridiculous, they were going to look ridiculous together. Philus glanced around at the tributes who had gathered to watch them. So much for not drawing attention.

But it was worth it. Nothing they had done had made them look like a threat. If anything, they seemed to have had the opposite effect. The looks they were getting were looks of pity, of compassion. After a moment of watching them, even Shale gave them a small smile and a barely concealed thumbs-up before heading back to the weapons stations.

Philus ran his hand over the stubble on his scalp. It felt good. His hair had never been particularly long, but this – this was a choice. A choice he had made, on his own, for a friend.

And that made all the difference.

Philus and Elani were grinning as the trainer resumed her lesson. Even Pan seemed more engaged, finally trying a few of the simpler techniques himself. Philus quickly lost himself in his work, copying every move the trainer made. Splints and slings. Bandages and tourniquets. The three of them tried the simpler methods out on each other, the harder ones on lifelike dummies.

For hours, they had no company – or perhaps no competition, depending on how he looked at it. First aid probably wasn't the most popular station to begin with, when tributes could be learning to swing a sword or an axe, or how to start a fire or make a snare. But, all in all, he would rather know how to save a life than how to take one.

Which was probably the wrong attitude to have. But what did it matter, in the end? How much was he really going to learn about weapons in three days? How good of a snare could he really be expected to build after a few hours' worth of practice? But this – this had come naturally from the start. It was simple. It was calming.

It was almost fun.

And if he was going to die – if these were going to be his last few days ever – then this was how he wanted to spend them. With his friends. Learning how to save their lives.

He almost didn't notice when Elani started shaking his shoulder, motioning towards the door. The tributes were filing out of the training area, heading back to their floors. Was training over already? Philus turned to Elani, scribbling on his notepad. Can we come back here tomorrow?

Elani quickly agreed, and Pan nodded along. A few guards were moving towards them – the last to leave – but, as quickly as he could, Philus scrawled a message on his pad and handed it to the trainer. What's your name?

The trainer smiled warmly, as if no one had ever bothered to ask her that before. Quickly, she wrote something on the pad, then handed it back. Philus glanced at it quickly as the guards ushered them out of the training area. Greta. It was a little thing, but it was important.

Now he knew who to thank.

Elani Ingram, 14
District Eleven

"At least you made the choice freely."

Elani glanced up at Tamsin as the four of them sat down to dinner. That wasn't the answer she had expected. "So you're not…?" Upset? Disappointed? Going to yell at us? "…mad?" Elani finished.

Tamsin shook her head. "Mad? No. Not about this. Now, if you had picked a fight with the Careers, nearly gotten killed, and had your heads shaved as punishment, then I might be mad. But this? This was brave, even if it was a bit … impulsive."

Elani nodded. "It just seemed like the right thing to do."

"And it probably was." Tamsin smiled a little as she dished out meat from some sort of bird Elani had never tasted before. "And you won't always have the luxury of doing the right thing, so maybe it's best to take those chances when they come." She poured a glass of wine for herself and juice for the three tributes. Elani glanced around at the Avoxes standing in the corners, ready to help. But, as she had the night before, Tamsin had insisted on serving the tributes herself.

Tamsin continued. "A mentor a lot wiser than me once said, Generous deed should not be checked by cold counsel, and, in this case, I stand by his words. What you did was good. There may be repercussions later, but I doubt it. President Grisom is not President Snow. He can tell the difference between actions motivated by rebellion and actions motivated by friendship, even if they may look the same to an outside eye."

"Rebellion?" Elani's voice was shaking. She'd never even considered that Philus' idea might be interpreted that way. "We just wanted to—"

"To make Pan feel better. It's a good thing you three were chosen for this year's Games, not last year's." She shook her head. "But that's not important right now. You've attracted attention – maybe attention you didn't mean to attract – but it's the right sort of attention. Right now, there are twenty-two 'replacement' tributes who will genuinely appreciate what you did. You took their side, made yourselves like them when you didn't have to. That's a rare thing, and you can use it."

"How?"

"There will always be tributes – Careers, mostly – who will kill even the youngest and most defenseless of tributes without a second thought. Nothing you can do will make any sort of headway with them. But if you run into someone else in the arena – someone who saw what you did today and remembers it – they might spare you out of pity, or at least hesitate long enough for you to get away … or to attack."

Elani held her tongue. That sounded wrong – taking advantage of someone's compassion like that. But Tamsin was right. You won't always have the luxury of doing the right thing. Elani nodded. "All right. What about the audience? What will they think of … what we did?"

"They'll be split," Tamsin admitted. "Half will be confused. Why would anyone willingly degrade themselves in front of all of Panem? But the other half – they'll respect what you did. Even if they don't see you as legitimate contenders, you'll have their sympathy. And sympathy can be a powerful thing."

Elani glanced at Philus, who nodded. Sympathy was what had made them act as they had in the first place. Sympathy for Pan, a boy they had only met a matter of days ago. In that moment, she knew, she would have done anything to help him. To protect him. To make him feel a little better – if only for a moment. Clearly, Philus had felt the same. And if they felt this strongly about protecting him now…

Elani turned her attention back to her food. It was too late to back out now, whatever their friendship might end up costing her in the arena. She had made a choice, and she would stand by it – no matter what.

No matter the cost.

Shale Avenheim, 18
District Eleven

"Offers like that don't come free."

Shale nodded quietly, waiting for Elijah to elaborate. A part of him was still reluctant to ask for his mentor's advice. But that was what mentors were for. And he was under no obligation to do as Elijah said. But getting a sense of perspective from someone who had actually won the Games – that was useful. Both Jarlan and Indira had seemed genuine in their offers. And neither of them was someone he wanted to say no to without a good deal of thought.

"I was in the same position as you during my Games," Elijah said at last. "Three groups of tributes – including the Careers – asked me to join them. I gave it a lot of thought – just like you – but, eventually, I said yes to the Careers."

"Why?"

Elijah smiled wryly. "Actually, it was because my mentor suggested it. But, to be honest, the decision never sat well with me. It felt like what she would have done, rather than what I should do. But I stuck with it because I figured it was my best chance. Careers had won the last three Games. Those sounded like good odds."

"But when the Games began … I began to doubt my decision. I made it through the bloodbath without a single kill, which didn't seem to sit well with my allies. Whether they actually thought I was useless, or whether I was just being paranoid … I don't know. I probably never will. Because that night, while I was on guard, I packed a bag of supplies and ran – and never looked back. I was on my own for the rest of the Games."

"Seems to have worked out all right for you," Shale pointed out.

Elijah nodded. "It did. And that's the point. I don't know what would have happened if I'd stayed with the Careers – or if I'd decided to join either of the other two groups that offered me an alliance. Maybe I would have won. Maybe I wouldn't have. There's no way to know in advance. And it's the same for you. I'm not Ivy. And you're not me. Do what you think is best, but do it because it's what you think you should do, not because it's what I would do. Whatever you do, do it for yourself – not for any of them, and not for me."

Shale turned his attention back to his food. Do it for yourself. Ever since his parents' death, everything he had done had been for his younger brothers. He couldn't remember the last time he had done something simply because he wanted to, because it was what he felt like doing.

But, by helping himself, he was also helping them. The only way for him to help them now was to survive. To go back home. And he had to decide which group could help him do that.

The Careers were stronger, certainly. More capable. But that was a problem as much as it was an asset. How long would it be before they saw him as a burden rather than an ally? If he joined them, would he end up simply running off, as Elijah had, out of fear that his allies would turn on him?

Indira and Beckett, on the other hand – they certainly seemed more trustworthy. With them, he would be an equal. But it would be a group of three rather than a group of five. They would have a disadvantage in numbers as well as in training.

On the other hand, they also presented less of a target. The two Career groups would almost certainly target each other first. If he joined Jarlan and the other Careers, he could find himself in the middle of a quarrel he had no stake in. Indira and Beckett were less of a threat – and therefore less of a target.

Shale's gaze drifted to his district partners, chatting with Tamsin at the other end of the room. In the long run, none of them stood much of a chance, but, for now, he envied the simplicity of their alliance. They had met. Become friends. Become allies. Simple. But he couldn't afford that sort of simplicity.

Not if he wanted to survive.

"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. Now, I could help it, take my knife, gently widen the opening, and the moth would be free."