Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Sorry this took so long. I could blame school starting, but it's honestly just the fact that I feel about interviews the way most people feel about reapings. On the plus side, now you get a super-long chapter because there are two districts with six tributes in this bunch. So, without further ado, our second batch of interviews...

Interviews
Remember

Harakuise Swallot, 47
Victor of the 9th Hunger Games

"You can say I told you so."

Harakuise shook his head. "You and I both know that's not why you called me here. Neither of us could have predicted exactly how unstable Misha was. I'm just grateful he acted at night when the training center was empty. You said there were only two fatalities?"

Silas nodded. "One Peacekeeper, and Misha himself. And I think – I hope – this is the end of it. But I need to be sure. That's why you're here."

"How can I help?"

"I need to know whether Misha acted alone. If he did, then the damage he's done should correct itself now that he's out of the picture. But if he wasn't the only one…"

"You want to know about the other Victors."

"I worked with some of them for a few weeks almost twenty years ago. You've known them for more than thirty. Do you trust them?"

"Trust them?" Harakuise chuckled. "Not in the slightest. Aside from Glenn, every single one of us is a cold-blooded killer. But as far as loyalty … I don't think there's much cause for concern. Those who have the means to cause problems don't have the motive, and those who have the motive don't have the means."

"Which ones would have a motive?"

Harakuise leaned back in his chair. "Nicodemus, for one, after what happened last year. But he's not a rebel by nature; he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. And, in any case, he's hardly in a position to raise any support. Vester, certainly, has little love for the Games after all these years. But he's not getting any younger, and no one in District Two is going to listen to a word he says against the Capitol, anyway. Kit and Avery, perhaps, but, after what happened to the tributes' families last year, I doubt either of them will give us any trouble."

"Is there anyone else in District Four who might?"

Harakuise shook his head. "Naomi and Kalypso are trainers themselves; they'll be as upset as their tributes at what Misha did. Bierce just wants to get on with his life, and it's probably better for everyone involved if he's allowed to do so; he's certainly no threat."

"And Mags?"

"Mags is a realist. She may have agreed with Misha on a philosophical level, but she's been around long enough to understand what a full-fledged rebellion would mean. She lived through the last one, after all."

Silas nodded. "As did I. And I have no desire to see another."

"Then that's something the three of us have in common. Mags won't initiate any sort of rebellion, and she won't act in support of one unless she believes it actually has some chance of success. Which it doesn't. Most of the other Victors know that, too – especially after last year's Games. Those who aren't loyal to begin with at least understand the consequences of a rebellion, and won't be willing to take the chance – not for a good long while. Eventually, some minor uprising will happen again … and be snuffed out again, all thought of revolution forgotten until another generation comes along – a generation that doesn't remember what happened the last time. It's a cycle. An unfortunate one, but a necessary one."

Silas nodded. "It would seem so. Thank you, Harakuise."

"My pleasure." He turned to go, but then hesitated. "Are you planning to make this public?"

"I don't seem to have much choice," Silas admitted. "Something this big won't stay quiet for long. I'll be making an announcement after the interviews."

"May I ask what you intend to say?"

Silas smiled a little. "I'm not planning any executions, if that's what you're worried about. Something like this can't simply go unpunished, but I've always believed that the punishment should fit the crime."

"Meaning?"

"Misha burned down the training center. He was trying to make a point, to bring down the Career system, or at least damage District Four's position as a Career district." He shook his head. "Maybe the best thing to do is give them what he wanted."

Harakuise nodded. Perfect.

Natalia Kinney, 16
Sister of Liana Kinney

She would never forget this.

Natalia leaned forward in her chair as the last boy from District Four finished his interview. He had the right idea – trying to limit the damage last year's tributes had done to District Four's reputation, trying to convince the Capitol of their loyalty. It was a good idea, but it wouldn't be enough. It wasn't a good enough substitute for the real thing.

And that was where District Five had an advantage, despite their status as a newer Career district, still struggling to find its place. The other members of the Career pack might question District Five's training, but never their loyalty. And this year, loyalty would be even more important than normal.

She just hoped Liana would have enough sense to take advantage of that.

Natalia shook her head. She loved her sister, but common sense had never been Liana's strong suit. Her real strength was her passion. Her drive. Her willingness to charge in head-first, never mind the consequences. And maybe that would help her in the Games, where over-thinking and second-guessing sometimes got tributes killed.

But would that be enough?

It had never seemed to be enough before. Natalia was two years younger, but she couldn't remember the last time Liana had beaten her in a fight during training. There was a reason Camden had chosen her, and not Liana, as this year's volunteer.

But none of that mattered now. Maybe Liana's determination would be enough.

Natalia clenched her fists. No. Not 'maybe.' It would have to be. Liana would win. She would come home.

And then it would be her turn. Next year. Or maybe the year after. Maybe it was better for both of them that she hadn't volunteered this year, that Liana had taken her place. Now she could wait until she was truly ready.

She just hoped Liana was ready now.

Despite her doubts, Natalia couldn't help smiling as her sister took the stage, wearing a tightly fitted black dress with a grey ribbon around her waist, light grey leggings, and white flats. Her hair was pulled back with a grey headband, and her steely smile matched the rest of her outfit.

Constance smiled back. "So, Liana, District Five has recently been described as an emerging Career District. Can you give us some insight about where you and your district partner fit in the dynamic of this year's Career packs?"

Liana nodded crisply. "Well, I can't speak for my district partner – who's chosen to ally with three of the tributes from District Four – but I've taken a page out of my mentor's book chosen to work outside the … normal Career pack structure."

Natalia nodded. So the other Careers had rejected her. Or she had gotten frustrated with them and left. Either way, Liana had managed to save face by comparing herself with her mentor. Harakuise's allies, after all, had been the boys from Two, Nine, and Twelve. Of course, that was before Career systems had truly come into play, but she was right to remind the audience that loyal tributes weren't found only in Career districts.

Constance leaned forward a little. "Do I detect a little … animosity … towards the tributes from Four?"

Liana scoffed. "Naturally. Look at what happened last year. Those two tributes had the opportunity of a lifetime, and they threw it away for … what? But it's not just them. If it were, maybe we could consider it a fluke, like the district clearly wants us to. But the rebels were chosen to volunteer. Their failure isn't just their own. Their mentors failed to see their intentions – or, worse, were willing accomplices. Their trainers failed – like their mentors, they were either willing participants or simply blind. Their district failed. They don't deserve the opportunity they've been given this year."

"So you disagree with Jarlan's assertion that their district, as a whole, is loyal."

Liana simply smirked. "I guess we'll find out."

Natalia leaned back, satisfied, as the interview continued. Maybe Liana really did know what she was doing. Harakuise had been coaching her – that much was obvious – but, still, she'd been able to follow through on her own. She'd been able to swallow her rashness, her impulsiveness – at least long enough to make a good impression.

Unfortunately, she'd also alienated her district partner.

Natalia tensed as Zach took Liana's place, wearing a rose-colored shirt under a black suit. A circlet of roses crowned his head, and a bracelet of ivies and pink rose petals circled each wrist.

His expression, however, stood in cold contrast to his flowery appearance, though it was clear as he passed Liana that most of his displeasure was directed at her. Once he'd volunteered for the Games, Zach's history had become common knowledge. His older brother had been killed in the riots following the 25th Games. His best friend had been murdered by rebel sympathizers. To accuse him of allying with potential rebels had been a low blow, but also a daring move. Natalia doubted he'd ever had his loyalty questioned before. How would he respond?

Constance didn't even try to sidestep the matter. "So, Zach, according to your district partner, there seems to be an alliance between you and several tributes from District Four. Care to share why you chose them as allies over the other Careers?"

Zach hesitated, perhaps deciding whether to tell the truth or try to spin some clever lie. "It's quite simple, actually," Zach said at last, hesitantly. "The larger Career pack was, in fact, my first choice, but they failed to acknowledge my potential, so I decided to seek an alliance elsewhere."

"And your … second-choice allies. How would you describe them?"

"Strong. Confident." He glanced out at the audience. "Loyal."

Constance leaned forward a little. "Are they, Zach? Are they really? Can you say that with certainty? Can you – you, who would know better than anyone – tell this audience beyond a shadow of a doubt that your allies are loyal? That they are not planning any sort of rebellion? That we will not have to repeat the tragedy of last year's Games … at their hands?"

Zach hesitated. Not long, but long enough. Long enough for Constance's words to echo in the minds of the audience, long enough for them to begin to doubt. "Yes," he said at last. "I'm certain."

But he didn't sound certain. Natalia allowed herself a small smile. Whatever he said now, whatever he did now, the damage was already done. How could he trust his allies now? How could they trust him? And how could anyone choose him over Liana, whose loyalty they had no cause to doubt?

Maybe Liana had a better chance than she'd thought.

Violan Astier, 43
Uncle of Cordelia and Paget Astier

He just wanted to forget.

Violan shook his head as he squeezed Velion's hand gently. He hadn't even wanted to watch the interviews, but his wife had insisted. This was one of the last times they would see the twins, after all. She had insisted that they owed Paget and Cordelia that much, at least.

And maybe they did. They were still family, after all. Despite everything. Despite the rumors. Despite the mystery. Despite it all, Cordelia and Paget were still children. Still family. They hadn't asked for any of this.

But neither had he. He had done everything he could to distance himself from his older sister. But after her death, he was still the one they had turned to, because they'd had nowhere else to go.

The rest of the family – his family, at least – was long gone. His own parents had died in the rebellion, leaving him and his three-year-old sister at the mercy of the community home. Their time there changed Celeste. Hardened her. She had protected him, and, for that, he would always owe her – enough to take her children in despite his own reservations, to spare them the same fate.

Not that it had helped.

The magic had begun all those years ago as a lie. A way to keep the bigger kids in the community home from harassing them. Even the smallest threat of retaliation worked wonders against children who had plenty of other targets to choose from. And Celeste had always managed to produce enough evidence – just enough slight of hand, just enough of a clever coincidence or two – to convince them that maybe there was some truth to what she said.

It had been enough to keep them safe. But, slowly, it had grown beyond that. Beyond the odd trick or fancy-sounding words. Magic became Celeste's refuge in a world of cruelty and hardship. But while she delved farther into her own world, Violan had pulled away. Even then, he had only wanted to be normal. A normal life. A normal family.

And now he had that chance.

He had never asked for this. Never asked two take in two children he barely knew after the death of a sister he rarely spoke to. It wasn't his fault they couldn't control themselves. It wasn't his fault they had painted targets on their backs.

It wasn't his fault they were in the Games.

He just wanted to forget. To move on. As terrible as it was, this was a chance at a fresh start for him and Velion, without the fear and the shame and the mystery that seemed to follow his niece and nephew.

Now they could forget.

But not quite yet. Violan braced himself as Cordelia took the stage, wearing a flowing, cream-colored dress, white stockings, and plain white shoes. She smiled shyly as she slid into a seat across from Constance.

Constance smiled back sweetly. "So, Cordelia, you and your brother have the distinction of being only the second brother-sister pair we've had the pleasure of seeing in the Games together. Can you tell us a little about what that's like?"

Cordelia's smile didn't fade, but she was gripping the arms of her chair as she responded. "It's such an honor, Constance. And, to be honest, I think it gives us a bit of an advantage. Other tributes have to question each other, doubt each other's loyalty. We already know each other's own capabilities, our strengths and our weaknesses. We'll certainly be a team to be reckoned with."

A lie, certainly – but a well-rehearsed one. And it was enough for Constance to build on. "I take it, then, that the two of you will be working together."

Cordelia nodded. "Naturally. As long as we can, at least. Eventually … well, eventually, you have to make a choice. Your life or … or the life of someone you love. I just hope that … that neither of us actually has to make that choice."

Constance nodded sympathetically. "But if you did…"

Cordelia looked up. "I would choose him."

That much, at least, was probably true. Violan shook his head as the rest of the interview continued without a hitch. Whatever else anyone said about the two of them, Violan had never doubted that the twins loved each other.

Odds were, of course, that they would never have to make that choice. That they would be dead long before it got to that point. Surely the Capitol would be targeting them. Surely neither of them truly had a chance.

Soon, Cordelia's time was up, and Paget took her place, wearing a black suit with dark blue lining. He gave his sister a reassuring smile as they passed each other, then took his place obediently next to Constance.

"So, Paget," Constance began. "What's it like being in the Games with your sister?"

Paget hesitated for a moment, deciding. Finally, his expression turned grave. "Do you have any siblings, Constance?"

Constance nodded. "I do, indeed."

Paget leaned forward a little. "All right, then, you tell me." He turned his gaze to the audience. "You, too, if you will. Think back to when you and your loved one – sister, brother, close friend – were about fifteen. Now imagine that the two of you are in a fight to the death with some four dozen other teenagers. Only one of you can live, but that probably won't matter. Chances are, you'll be dead before you have to choose between the two of you. And there's a part of you – at least a small part – that's hoping that you'll go first … because then you won't have to see your best friend die right in front of you. Can you picture that?"

"I…" Constance hesitated, not quite sure how to respond to that.

Paget He leaned back in his chair, his hands tucked behind his head. "Of course you can't. But that's what it's like." He smirked. "Obviously, it's the best thing that ever happened to me."

Violan shook his head. "What does he think he's doing? Doesn't he realize what they'll do to him?"

"What can they do to him?" Velion pointed out. "They're going to die, anyway. And he's not like last year's tributes – he doesn't care what they might do to us."

Violan froze. "Or does he?" Was this Paget's revenge – one last attempt to make sure that, if he went down, they went down with him? If he appeared rebellious enough, would the Capitol come after them?

Had they sealed their own fate?

Dr. Abraham Loomis, 56
Caretaker of Presley Delon

She would never be forgotten.

Abraham shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. He had known for a while that this day would eventually come. That his relationship with Presley, his attempts to help her, were temporary at best. She had been lucky enough not to be executed on the spot when the Peacekeepers had found her, but their patience could only last so long. It had only been a matter of time.

He had hoped it would be more time. That he might have more time to prepare her for what was coming. But that had been too much to hope for. The district wanted to move on. They wanted to be able to get rid of her and be done with it.

They wanted to forget.

But he wouldn't. He couldn't. He had known that the first time he'd met her. Where others had seen only a cold-blooded murderess, he had seen a child. A damaged, broken child, but a child nonetheless. And no child deserved this.

He knew better than to say so, of course. Knew better than to voice his objections out loud. Over the years, he had seen many thing, but he had never seen anything good come from voicing or acting on rebellious thoughts. Such things, however well-intentioned, always led to pain and tragedy. The events of the previous Games were merely the most recent example.

Abraham adjusted his glasses as Presley took the stage, wearing a dark blue corset, a black skirt, and a black choker necklace. A wide-brimmed hat sat atop her head, held in place with a black ribbon. Presley was smiling sweetly, almost giggling, as she took her place next to Constance.

And while her behavior was certainly unnerving, it was better than what he'd expected. After she'd been forced through the chariot rides heavily drugged and restrained, he'd been worried the same might happen during the interviews. But Presley was quite lucid – albeit a bit giddy – as she glanced out at the crowd.

Constance didn't waste any time. "So, Presley, I believe it was about a year ago that your name was first heard in the Capitol. Would you like to share a bit about the incident?"

Abraham nodded. Obviously, the entire Capitol would have heard about the murders by now. No point in beating around the bush when there was drama to be had. But Presley was ready. "There's really not much to say, Constance. My teachers hurt me. And I'm sure I wasn't the only one. But I was the only one who chose to act. And now … now they won't hurt anybody again."

"So you don't believe you did anything wrong."

Presley giggled a little. "Of course not. I mean, the reason we're all here tonight is that forty-six of us are about to be thrown into an arena to kill each other. Obviously, no one thinks there's anything wrong with that. So what makes what I did any different?"

Abraham smirked. She had a point. The Capitol could hardly condemn what she had done without questioning what she was about to do. Every child in the arena would have to become a murderer if they wanted to come out alive. She had simply beaten them to it.

Constance didn't seem ready to argue the point, either. "So would you say that your … experience … will give you an advantage in the Games?"

Presley shrugged. "I can't say for sure. The last time, they didn't exactly … fight back." She smirked. "I guess we'll both find out tomorrow."

Abraham nodded. She'd made the right call – trying not to come across as over-confident. Any element of surprise she might have had was gone now. The other tributes would know exactly what to expect from the tiny thirteen-year-old who had managed to outscore most of her district partners in training. She wouldn't be able to catch them off-guard.

But that didn't mean she didn't have any surprises in store.

Soon, Presley's time was up, and the next girl took the stage, wearing a light blue blouse, a dark blue skirt, and a pair of black shoes. A lacy blue veil was draped over the back of her head. She took her seat immediately, trying to smile, trying not to look as frightened as Abraham was certain she felt.

"So, Nadine, tell us a little about your life at home," Constance offered warmly, trying to ease her into the moment.

"We're pretty normal, I guess," Nadine said quietly. "There are six of us – my parents, my brother, my two sisters, and me." She looked around for a moment, not sure if she was supposed to say something else or wait for another question. "We're just … just normal people. I don't have any special 'experience.'"

The crowd got a few chuckles out of that. Abraham shook his head. The girl had no idea just how lucky she was. Presley had never had a chance at a normal family. A normal life. If their lives, their situations, had been reversed, would this girl have ended up any different from Presley? Would Presley have been just as ordinary, just as innocent, as any of the others?

"Can you tell us a little about your siblings? Are they older? Younger?"

Nadine nodded. "They're younger – all three. My sisters – Emmy and Adalie – they're eight and nine. Uriah's eleven."

Constance nodded sympathetically. "Almost reaping age."

"He'll be eligible next year," Nadine said softly. "And that's why … that's why I have to win. To show him that there's nothing to be afraid of. That, even if you're reaped, even if you end up in the Games, it's not the end. Or, at least it doesn't have to be. That everyone has a chance – even me."

Abraham smiled sadly. It was what her family would want to hear – that she hadn't given up, that she still believed she had a chance. And maybe she did believe it. Maybe she did have a chance – however slim.

But it was a small chance. Especially this year. And Presley … Did she even have a chance at all, or would the Gamemakers be targeting her? Even if they weren't targeting her specifically, did any of the 'replacement' tributes really have a chance? Or were they simply there to be punished for last year's rebellion?

Abraham shook his head. He could speculate all he wanted, but that wouldn't bring him any close to a real answer. Presley, of all people, had been right. They would simply have to wait and see.

Tomorrow, they would all find out.

Lenitsky Pavel, 18
Friend of Delvin Flynn

The Capitol would make sure they never forgot.

Lenitsky leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, as the last girl finished her interview. She wasn't wrong. Not entirely, at least. The last two Games had been enough to prove that anyone had a chance in the Games.

But a chance at what? Out of District Six's Victors, one was a drunk who had lost his son in the Games, and the other was a cripple. Not exactly the life of luxury and fame that was promised by the Capitol. And this year, after what had happened so far, what sort of life awaited the Victor?

Lenitsky shook his head. Delvin wasn't Vernon. And he certainly wasn't Nicodemus. Whatever life was in store for him if he won, it was better than nothing. Better than death. Delvin had always made the best of the little he had. He would do the same if he won.

If he won.

It was only a chance, of course, but after hearing from most of his district partners, Lenitsky was beginning to think it was a better chance than he'd originally thought. A pair of children whose own aunt and uncle had agreed to have them reaped. A thirteen-year-old murderer who would almost certainly be targeted by the Gamemakers. And a little girl who had spent her entire interview spouting emotional stories about her family back home. Delvin's chances were starting to look better.

But only compared to the rest of his district. There were still forty other tributes out there – and twelve of them were Careers. Even if Delvin stood the best chance in District Six, the fact remained that District Six had fewer Victors than almost any other District.

And the worst part was, Delvin shouldn't have been there at all. It had been his last year. They had already chosen two tributes. If only the tributes the year before hadn't rebelled, Delvin would be sitting next to him, watching safely as two of the others went to their deaths.

Lenitsky shook the thought from his head as the second boy from Six took the stage, wearing a dark blue suit with light blue trim, black shoes, and a round black hat. A forced smile covered his face as he took a seat next to Constance. "Good evening," he blurted out before Constance had the chance to say anything.

Constance beamed back. "Good evening, Alexi. You certainly seem to be in a good mood."

Alexi shrugged. "Well, I guess when you realize it might be your last night alive, you decide you might as well enjoy it." He smiled nervously, then seemed to realize he'd made a mistake. "I mean, I don't want it to be my last night alive, but … there's always a chance, right?"

Lenitsky cringed. Of course there was a chance – and, for this kid, probably a pretty good one – but that was never something the audience wanted to hear. Constance did her best to backtrack. "Is there anything in particular you've been enjoying about your time in the Capitol?"

Alexi nodded. "I would say getting to know my district partners. One good thing about the Games is they bring together people who … well, who otherwise would never have met, let alone talked to each other and grown close. I've gotten to know most of them quite well over the last few days."

"Some of your district partners have quite a … colorful past," Constance ventured. "Would you say that's had some effect on your relationship?"

Alexi shook his head. "I don't think so. The Games give everyone a sort of … a clean slate, I guess you could call it. It doesn't matter who we were before we came here. The Games give us a bit of common ground, no matter who we are. A common struggle to survive."

Lenitsky shook his head. It was a nice sentiment – the idea that, in the Games, they were all equal, that what they had done before the Games didn't matter. But the simple truth was that some people's lives had better prepared them for the challenges they would face in the Games – better prepared them to fight for their lives. And this kid wasn't prepared at all.

Delvin, on the other hand, seemed perfectly confident as he took the stage, wearing a blue-grey button-down shirt, black pants, and shiny black shoes. A light grey, short-brimmed hat covered his head. There was only a hint of a smile on his face as he took a seat next to Constance.

Constance smiled. "So, Delvin, a seven in training – the highest in your district, one of the highest overall for a non-Career. Can you tell us a little about that?"

Delvin shrugged casually. "I've got a bit of experience, I suppose. Not as much as some, but I've been in a few scraps. I'm hoping that'll be enough to give me a bit of an edge."

"I see. Is there anything else that might give you an advantage over some of the others?"

Delvin nodded. "One simple thing, Constance: I'm not interested in getting to know people better. Unlike some of my district partners, I'm not here to make friends. I'm not here to make the most of what might be my last few days. I'm here to make sure they aren't my last few days."

"That's certainly a good attitude to have," Constance agreed. "What effect is that going to have on your strategy in the Games?"

"I think it's already had quite an effect," Delvin pointed out. "I've found allies who will be able to help me in the Games, rather than the other way around. I'm not worried about finding common ground with them; I just want to win. Period."

Lenitsky nodded along as Delvin's interview continued. Cold. Hard. Uncaring. He was giving them exactly what they wanted to see. His friend would never admit the real reason he wanted to come home so badly. Would never admit just how much his mother and sister needed him. He didn't want their pity, their sympathy. He just wanted to win.

Just as Delvin's interview was drawing to a close, there was a knock on the door. Lenitsky practically jumped. Who would be coming to see him during the interviews? Sasha, maybe, but why would she show up now, rather than before their friend's interview?

Hesitantly, Lenitsky got up and answered the door. There was a man on the other side, dressed in a simple grey suit and black cap. "Lenitsky Pavel?" he asked, his voice low and quiet.

Lenitsky nodded. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Mr. Gordon, but I represent a larger organization that's very interested in obtaining your services, Mr. Pavel. For a reasonable fee, of course."

Lenitsky cocked an eyebrow. "How reasonable?"

Without a word, Mr. Gordon produced a small bag of coins and handed it to Lenitsky. Lenitsky glanced inside; there was enough for at least a month's rent. Maybe more. "There's more where that came from if you're in," Mr. Gordon assured him.

Lenitsky nodded. "Okay, I'm interested. What's the catch?"

"Could be dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

Mr. Gordon stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Dangerous enough that you should give it a little thought, at least. Sleep on it tonight, Mr. Pavel. If you're still interested, meet me tomorrow at this address." He handed Lenitsky a piece of paper.

Lenitsky nodded. "What time?"

"Just as the Games are beginning. Find me and, if you're in, just say two words."

Lenitsky smirked. "What two words?"

Mr. Gordon leaned in close, his voice little more than a whisper. "Remember Byron."

Demelza Trevaille, 38
Mother of Audra Trevaille

She would always remember the way things were.

Demelza squeezed Freda's hand gratefully as the old woman wrapped an arm around Demelza's shoulders. The pair of them – Freda and Kurt – had approached her shortly after the reaping and asked if she wanted some company. Demelza had been about to politely refuse until they introduced themselves, explained that they had lost their own daughter, Lydia, to the Games thirteen years ago – the same year Casper had won.

So she had welcomed their company, because they could actually understand what she was going through. They had been in her position not so long ago. They remembered. And so they had decided to reach out. Why they had chosen her, Demelza could only guess. Maybe it was because the other tributes had larger families. Families who would comfort each other. Help each other get through this, one way or the other.

She had no one. It had just been her and Audra. It had never been easy, but it had always been enough. They had always been enough for each other.

But there was nothing she could do now. She couldn't be their for her own daughter. She couldn't do anything that would help Audra. The best thing she could do, Freda had said, was take care of herself. But even that had become a chore. Audra had helped her through the last eighteen years. Raising Audra alone had never been easy, but she had always managed to pull it together for her daughter's sake.

She didn't want to think about what would happen if Audra didn't come back.

But it was a possibility. A possibility that seemed more real with every tribute who took the stage. Every tribute who came onscreen was one more tribute who would have to die in order for Audra to come home. Some were younger, weaker. But some were stronger. Well-trained. Ruthless.

Audra was many things, but she wasn't ruthless.

Then again, neither of District Seven's Victors was the definition of a ruthless killer. Hazel had killed only one tribute during her Games, and that was only after he'd been viciously wounded by mutts. What she'd done had been merciful. Casper had ambushed two tributes before the finale, but those kills had been quick. Painless. And his last fight had been against an injured Career. A boy who wouldn't have thought twice about killing him.

That didn't make it right. But it did make it a little easier. It was easier to picture her daughter killing in self-defense, protecting herself or her allies from a cold-blooded killer. The thought that Audra might actually become a cold-blooded killer…

Demelza shook the thought from her head. If that was what Audra had to become in order to survive, then that was the way it would be. She would have done the same, she was certain, if she had ever found herself in the Games. She would have fought. She would have killed.

She would probably have died.

Freda squeezed Demelza's hand as Audra took the stage, wearing a long, forest-green dress, dark brown leggings, and black shoes. She was smiling, and, as Audra took a seat next to Constance, Demelza was surprised to see that her smile looked genuine. Was she acting? Or had she truly found something worth smiling about in the Capitol?

"So, Audra," Constance beamed. "You certainly seem to be enjoying your time here in the Capitol. What's been your favorite thing so far?"

"I've enjoyed having the opportunity to learn something new," Audra offered. "There's not a whole lot of variety in District Seven. But here, you can be learning how to make a shelter one minute and decide to go pick up a spear the next. I've been learning a lot."

"And it certainly shows," Constance agreed. "A seven in training. Very impressive."

Audra smiled modestly. "I suppose so. But, as a few people have said already, numbers only count for so much. It's what you do in the arena that really matters. One of our Victors in Seven got a six. The other got a four. It's important not to overlook anyone, not to underestimate your opponents."

"And there are quite a few more opponents this year," Constance pointed out. "Do you think that'll make it harder to keep track of all of them?"

"At first, maybe," Audra admitted. "But I've managed to find a good group of allies, and, between us, I think we'll do better than any of us would alone. I may not be able to remember much about every single tribute, but, with a group of us, we should be able to keep track of everyone."

Demelza nodded along as the two of them continued. So she had been able to find allies. A good-sized group of them, from the sound of it. That was comforting, at least. Her daughter wouldn't be alone.

Not at first, anyway. No alliance in the Games lasted forever. But it would be good to have a few other people at her side, in case things got rough in the beginning.

Soon, Audra's time was up, and the boy took her place, wearing a white, neatly-buttoned shirt, a dark green jumper, and black dress trousers. Demelza couldn't help but notice that his feet were bare, as they had been at the reaping. But it didn't seem to bother the boy, who slid into a seat next to Constance, smiling up at the interviewer.

It didn't take Constance long to comment on his lack of footwear. "So, Domingo, is this a new fashion statement you're hoping to make?"

Domingo chuckled a little. "Well, it's certainly not any worse than some of the other things we've seen so far. Even you have to admit some of those chariot outfits were a bit silly."

Constance giggled. "Including yours?"

Domingo shrugged. "Mine wasn't that bad, all things considered. Just not particularly creative. Trees, trees, and more trees. I mean, I know Seven's the lumber district, but we have more then trees."

Constnace leaned forward. "So if you were a stylist, what would you do for the chariot rides?"

Domingo thought for a moment. "Maybe little wooden figurines – puppets, or some carved animals. Or maybe squirrels or owls – Why should District Ten get all the animal costumes. Or maybe even books." He shrugged. "So many possibilities, and we keep coming back as trees year after year."

Constance beamed. "Well, Domingo, you'll just have to come back as a Victor – then they'll have to listen to your suggestions."

Freda scoffed. "No, they won't. Hazel and Casper have been making suggestions for years. Does anyone listen? No. Now, if one of the Victors from their precious Career districts were to suggest something, they'd probably listen. But District Seven? Not a chance."

Demelza nodded a little. Freda wasn't wrong. Compared to the other Victors, maybe Hazel and Casper didn't seem like anything special. But they were the only Victors that District Seven had.

And they were her daughter's best hope.

Ace Ladris, 13
Brother of Fallon Ladris

He would never forget her.

Ace smiled a little as Domingo kept listing off every single chariot costume that would be better than trees. At least someone had finally said it, finally decided to tell the Capitol just how stupid the tree costumes were.

He was just glad it hadn't been Fallon. They might take it personally. It might have hurt her chances. But if it hurt Domingo's chances … well, that could only help Fallon's. And that was a good thing.

Wasn't it?

So why did it sound so terrible?

Ace drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. He knew he shouldn't feel bad for hoping that the boy would continue to waste his time making fun of the Capitol's fashions. Anything that was bad for him was good for Fallon. But he knew Fallon wouldn't want to look good by making everyone else look bad. She would want to look good on her own.

But maybe it didn't matter, in the long run. Maybe it didn't matter what anyone said during the interviews, as long as they didn't say anything against the Capitol. Anything that would make them a target. And, so far, at least, no one had. Not really.

Not that he could remember, at least. There were so many of them. How did Constance keep track of all the names? Did she have cards hidden somewhere with the tributes' names on them? Was there some sort of device in her ear that would tell her a tribute's name in case she got it wrong?

Or did she just have a great memory? That was probably the most boring explanation, but it made sense. Because that was pretty much her job – remembering tributes' names, announcing training scores, narrating what the audience was already seeing onscreen. A pretty easy job, now that he thought about it. Anyone could do it.

He could probably do it.

Not that he would want to. What sort of person would want to host a fight to the death? What sort of person would want to be the one who made sure that everyone treated it as a celebration, rather than a funeral for twenty-three tributes?

Forty-five this year, actually. Which should have made it worse. But, instead, Constance seemed as chipper as ever – even though she'd already interviewed the regular number of tributes. She was still smiling warmly as Domingo left the stage.

Immediately, Fallon took his place, wearing a frilly, light green dress, white stockings, and light grey shoes. A single, dark green ribbon was wrapped around her head. Fallon was smiling, her eyes darting from Constance to the audience to the lights and back again.

"So, Fallon," Constnace prompted. "Have you been enjoying your time in the Capitol?"

"I certainly have, Constance," Fallon agreed readily. "Everything's so new – the food, the clothes, the buildings."

"The buildings," Constance repeated. "What about the buildings?"

Fallon blushed. "They're so tall! Most buildings in District Seven are only one or two stories – maybe three. The training center here is twelve stories tall. Even the trees in District Seven aren't quite that tall – at least, I don't think so. I've never really gone out and measured one."

"Well, maybe there'll be something tall in the arena," Constance suggested.

Fallon nodded enthusiastically. "I hope so. I mean, obviously I hope so, because that would certainly give District Seven an advantage. Although I guess it depends on what it is. Climbing trees is different than climbing buildings, which would be different than climbing a mountain."

Ace giggled a little as Fallon continued. She was right – having something to climb wasn't necessarily an advantage for District Seven alone. But it certainly wouldn't hurt. And there would almost certainly be something to climb. Trees, buildings, mountains – there was always something.

Almost always. There had been a tundra arena five years ago; there hadn't really been anything to climb there. And the year before that had been an ark. Not much to climb there, unless a tribute wanted to jump out of the ark and climb back in…

Soon, Fallon's time was up, and the last girl took her place, wearing a short, dark gold dress, a light gold shawl, silver stockings, and white shoes. The hood of the shawl was pulled up, hiding her shaved head.

Constance smiled warmly. "So, Ciere, can you tell us a little about what might set you apart from the other tributes in these Games?"

Ciere thought for a moment, then answered simply. "I'm not afraid."

Constance leaned forward a little. Clearly, she'd been hoping for more than that. "And why aren't you afraid, Ciere?"

Ciere smiled a little. "Because of my family. I know that, even if I don't make it home, they'll take care of each other. They'll pull through it for each other's sakes. And I know they'll never forget me."

Constance nodded a little. "That's certainly a good thing … but wouldn't it be better to make it back to them yourself?"

Ciere nodded. "Of course. But only one tribute makes it home, Constance. So it's good to know that … well, in case it isn't me … they'll be all right."

Ace swallowed hard. He wished he could be as certain about his own family. About himself. If Fallon didn't come home…

Ace shook the thought from his head. Of course she was coming home. She had to. Or, at least, he had to keep hoping that she would. If their positions were reversed, he knew, she would never give up on him.

So he wouldn't give up on her.

Zale Alanis, 16
Brother of Baylor Alanis

He would never forget.

Zale rubbed his hands together as he waited for Baylor to take his turn onstage. He wished he could forget. Wished he could forget how terrible it had felt to hear his brother's name called at the reaping. To see his brother – his little brother – take the stage, knowing that no one was going to save him.

Zale shook his head. No one had expected him to volunteer. Occasionally, when a younger sibling was chosen, an older sibling would volunteer to take their place. But only occasionally. It certainly wasn't expected. No one blamed him for what he had done. What he hadn't done. No one had expected him to step in and save Baylor.

And it wouldn't have been so bad, maybe, if not for the other boy. The one who had stepped in to volunteer, to save not a younger brother, but an older one. If someone else could be that brave, what did that make him? He was sitting here, safe with his family, watching his little brother about to be sent to his death.

His death. Zale clenched his fists. Stop it. It wasn't certain yet. Nothing was certain. Baylor still had a chance – however slim. He had to keep hoping that Baylor would make it home.

Then maybe he could forgive himself.

Baylor wouldn't blame him, he knew. Even their parents probably didn't blame him. Probably. It was so hard to tell, sometimes. Ever since the reaping, they'd been quieter. But their silence hadn't seemed to be directed particularly at him. They probably just didn't want to say or do anything that would hurt Baylor's chances.

Hopefully, Baylor would have the same sense.

Not that he would ever say anything outright rebellious. Zale was pretty sure of that. Sure, the two of them had been hoping that the rebels would succeed. But so had almost all of District Eight. Almost all of every district, probably. Even some people in the Career districts, if District Four was any indication.

They knew better than to say so, of course. Especially after last year. But even so, there were other things he could say. Things that could be taken the wrong way. Anything he said about his allies, for example – anything about growing close to them, about trusting them with his life – could draw comparisons between him and Kit.

Of course, there were worse things. Kit had won, after all. It was only after his victory, during his own Victory Tour, that things had started to go wrong. But the Capitol probably wouldn't make that distinction. Better to avoid being compared to him at all.

But would Baylor realize that?

Zale turned his attention back to the screen as the first girl took the stage, wearing a green-and-brown camouflage jacket and pants and black boots. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her expression all business as she took a seat next to Constance.

Constance just beamed right back. "So, Gadget, I hear you're something of a Hunger Games aficionado yourself. Can you share any little bits of trivia that the audience might not already know?"

Gadget leaned forward a little. "Certainly. Did you know that this year will mark the thousandth death in the Games?"

"No, I didn't," Constance admitted.

"Twenty-three deaths in a normal year," Gadget explained. "Take that times forty, and that gives you nine hundred and twenty. Add thirty-five deaths in the first Quarter Quell, and that's nine hundred and fifty five. Another forty-five this year means the last death in this year's Games will be the thousandth overall."

"Fascinating," Constance grinned. "Care to venture a guess at who that thousandth death might be?"

Gadget smirked. "Not me. I'll be reaching a different milestone – making the thousandth kill in the Games."

Zale shook his head. At least she had confidence. But the way they casually talked about a thousand children dying … A thousand. And, in the end, it wouldn't matter one bit to their families whether their child was the nine hundred and fifty-sixth death or the thousandth. They would still be dead.

Soon, Gadget's time was up, and Baylor took the stage, wearing a pale rose button-down shirt, black slacks, and black dress shoes. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and there was a friendly smile on his face as he took a seat beside Constance.

Constance didn't waste any time. "So, Baylor, I hear that you specifically requested Kit as your mentor. Can you tell us what prompted such a request?"

Damn it. Zale knew exactly why Baylor would ask for Kit as his mentor. He wanted to do something kind. But at least he was doing something kind for someone who wasn't a tribute, rather than someone he would eventually have to kill.

Baylor, of course, had a different answer ready. "There were a couple reasons, actually, Constance. First of all, Carolina and Lander are great mentors, but they already have their hands full. Mentoring six tributes – it would be easy to get lost in the shuffle. But I've got Kit all to myself."

Well, that much was true, at least. Not that it would help him much, unless the boy had suddenly decided to start speaking again. "And what would the other reason be?" Constance prompted.

Baylor leaned back in his seat, smiling. "Actually, the other reason also has to do with time. Both Lander and Carolina won more than thirty years ago. Which means they have more practice mentoring, certainly, but it also means their memories of their own Games are a bit more distant. Kit's Games were only two years ago. He remembers exactly what it's like to be the one in the arena."

"And you feel that will give you an advantage – even though this is his first time mentoring?"

Baylor shrugged. "Everybody's got to start somewhere. A couple mentors brought a tribute home on their first try. Tobiah. Tess. Even our very own president," he added with a smile. "Why shouldn't Kit and I be next?"

Zale smiled a little. A good effort, certainly. He'd almost managed to convince Zale that choosing a mute fifteen-year-old as a mentor was a good idea.

Almost.

Maybe it wouldn't matter. Carolina and Lander had a reputation for coaching their tributes together, anyway; hopefully, they wouldn't simply leave Kit and Baylor on their own. And requesting a different mentor – maybe that would help Baylor stand out in the Capitol's eyes.

Zale just hoped standing out wouldn't cost Baylor his life.

Sarai Luciano, 9
Sister of Adelia Luciano

She didn't want to forget.

Sarai huddled closer to her parents, her eyes fixed on the screen. It was almost Adelia's turn. Part of her didn't want to watch. Part of her wanted to look away, to close her eyes, to forget – if only for a moment – what they had done to her sister. Her best friend.

But that wouldn't make it any better. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't undo what they had done. She couldn't bring Adelia home safely to District Eight, back to the family that loved her. Only Adelia could do that now.

But did she really have a chance?

Twenty-eight tributes had taken the stage so far. Each one of them believing – or at least hoping – that they would be the one to make it home. What gave Adelia a better chance than any of the others? She was older than some, but also younger than some. Stronger than some, but weaker than some – especially the Careers. Would the audience in the Capitol see her as anything special?

Sarai brushed the tears from her eyes. It didn't matter what the Capitol thought – or, at least, it shouldn't. Adelia was special to her. Adelia mattered to her. Wasn't that enough?

But most of the tributes had someone – someone at home who cared for them, someone who would miss them, someone they mattered to. Some of the others surely had brothers and sisters. Most had mothers and fathers. Families who were waiting for them to come home.

And only one family could get their wish.

Sarai's parents held her closer as Adelia took the stage, wearing a medium grey blouse, a black sweater, a long, dark grey skirt, and black shoes. With the dark outfit and a black, lacy veil draped over most of her head, she looked like she was taking part in a funeral, not a celebration.

Adelia's expression, however, was anything but somber. She smiled warmly as she took a seat next to Constance, who returned the smile gladly. "So, Adelia, we already heard from a few of your allies – as long as Aleron was telling the truth. Aleron and Evander from Three, Nadine from Six, you and Jediah, Myrah from Nine … That's quite the group you've got there. Without giving away too much about your strategy, can you share a bit about the dynamic in such a large alliance?"

Adelia nodded. "It's one of the oldest rules in the Games, Constance: there's strength in numbers. Even outside of Career packs, tributes who can work together as a team tend to last longer."

"And you believe your alliance has what it takes to work together as a team? What gives you that confidence?"

"I would say it's because of the way this group formed. We weren't forced together out of some notion that tributes from our districts have to work together. We – Jediah and I – were looking for people who would be able to get along, work together without the inner tension that we've seen from some of the larger groups tonight. We may not be the strongest group in the arena, but I'd say we're one of the most tightly knit. This isn't an alliance that's going to break any time soon."

Constance nodded. "That's a lovely sentiment. But we all know that alliances don't last forever. What do you think will happen when the time inevitably comes to split?"

"I would hope that we can do just that – split without any conflict between ourselves. There are plenty of other tributes in the arena. The chances of it coming down to just us are … well, pretty slim. But if it does, then we do what we're here to do: fight it out, and the best tribute wins."

Sarai swallowed hard. She made it sound so simple. So painless. The best tribute wins. But they all knew that wasn't true. Wasn't that simple. How often did the 'best' tribute really win?

Too soon, Adelia's time was up, and the other girl took her place, wearing a long, black dress with a layered, tattered skirt and black high heels. Her face was lined with black make-up, and a thin, silver circlet sat on her head. The rest of her head was lined with black ink, streaking in patterns across her head and down her neck. The makeup on her face did nothing to hide her smile, though – a small smile which was probably meant to be pleasant but which came across as unnerving.

Even Constance gave her make-up and outfit a double-take. "Well, Ivira, that's quite the costume you've got there."

Ivira shrugged a little. "What makes you think it's a costume?" When that didn't get an immediate response from Constance, she elaborated. "You've got blue hair, right? Is that a costume, or is that you?"

Constance hesitated. "It's me, but—"

Ivira cut her off. "But what? But you chose it, rather than having some stylist pick it for you? So someone from the Capitol can dye their hair blue and their skin green and turn their eyes pink and no one bats an eyelid. But as soon as someone from the districts shows up with something similar – no, not even as extreme – it must be a costume. What if this is what I would have chosen, anyway, even without a stylist? What if this is simply who I am?"

Constance thought that over for a moment, then smiled sincerely. "Then I think that's wonderful."

Ivira fell silent, surprise creeping over her face. "Really?" When Constance simply nodded, Ivira regained her composure. "Well, thank you, Constance. And I think it's safe to say that, come tomorrow, the whole audience will know who I am."

Sarai clung tightly to her parents as the interviews continued. Maybe the whole audience didn't know who Adelia was, but she knew. She knew her sister. Even if the worst happened – even if Adelia never came home – she would always remember. She would remember who her sister was, and what the Capitol had done.

She would never forget.

Bryson Bouvier, 18
Brother of Jediah Bouvier

He would never forget how he had felt.

Bryson shook his head as he, Rogelio, and Nerissa huddled closer together, waiting for Jediah's turn. It still didn't feel real. He was safe. After seven years of reapings, of dreading the idea of hearing his name called, he was finally safe.

But only because Jediah had stepped in. Only because his brother – his younger brother – had chosen to take his place. What right did he have to be sitting here, safe, while Jediah risked his life? He was the oldest. He was supposed to protect the others. That was supposed to be his job.

But, in his own way, Jediah had been right. Rogelia and Nerissa still needed him. He still needed to protect them. And he couldn't do that if he was dead. No matter what happened now, he was safe.

And part of him felt relieved.

He hadn't wanted to admit it at the reaping. Hadn't wanted to admit that maybe Jediah had made the right choice. That maybe he had a better chance in the Games. But, even then, part of him had known it. He hadn't done anything to stop Jediah when he'd volunteered. He had been too startled. Too relieved. Too grateful.

He would always owe his brother for what he'd done. But the best way to repay him – regardless of what happened in the Games – was to take care of the others. If Jediah came home, he would need them more than ever. He would need something familiar, stable, secure. And if he didn't…

If he didn't, then Rogelio and Nerissa would still need him. They would be looking to him, watching to see how he would respond. And what would they see? Bryson swallowed hard. No matter how he felt, he had to hold it together. For them. He had to be strong.

And he had to trust his brother to do the same.

Nerissa huddled even closer, squeezing Bryson's hand. Bryson held his younger siblings tighter as the second boy from Eight took the stage, wearing a plain white button-down shirt tucked into a pair of black pants, a loose black tie, and a pair of shiny black shoes. The boy smiled nervously as he took a seat next to Constance, fiddling with the black and grey checkered cap that was now askew on his head.

"So, Louis," Constance smiled. "I understand you knew one of last year's tributes."

Immediately, the fidgeting stopped. Louis froze for a moment before finally mustering an answer. "I wouldn't say I knew him. I met him. Once. I had no idea he was a rebel. I mean, it's not like it's obvious. They're just like—" He caught himself before he could finish the sentence. "I mean…"

Constance leaned forward. "What? What do you mean?"

Louis hesitated for a moment. "It's just … he didn't seem like a bad person. He was kind to me. And when he volunteered at the reaping, I thought he was just being brave. And I suppose he was, in a way, but that bravery … it was misdirected. Misguided. Which is what makes it hard to tell if someone is a rebel, I suppose. Most of them don't realize that they're on the wrong side. They've just been misled."

"Misled."

Louis shrugged. "Sure. I mean, just look at last year's Victor. Avery. She went along with the rebels because she was swayed. Misled. Misguided. But once she realized the truth of what was happening, she changed her mind. And that's the opportunity we've been given this year in District Eight – the chance to show that we've changed our minds. We're not going to rebel anymore."

Bryson nodded a little. Not a bad act. And, chances were, it wasn't all an act. In a way, Louis was speaking for all of them – for all of District Eight. None of them wanted to repeat what had happened the year before. They just wanted to move on. To go back to the way things were.

Because, as bad as the Games were, it could always be worse.

Soon, Louis' time was up, and Jediah took his place, though, for a moment, Bryson wasn't sure it was, in fact, Jediah – or that there was actually anyone under the ridiculous costume. He was wearing a pair of red rain boots, bright yellow-and-green checkered pants, a striped yellow shirt, and a bright red bowtie. On top of it all, there was a colorfully patched, multi-colored jacket and a long, striped scarf. Perched on top of his head was a bright red, tall, flat-topped hat with a bright gold tassel.

Nerissa giggled a little. Even Rogelio was smiling a little at the silly outfit. The audience in the Capitol was laughing, but Jediah was taking it all in stride, grinning as he took a seat next to Constance. Constance made a show of blinking rapidly, trying to take it all in. "Well, Jediah, that's quite the outfit you've got there."

Jediah smiled. "It certainly is. I'm not really sure what the stylists were going for, but I figured they know best. Maybe it's a hint – maybe the arena's a giant fabric factory or a circus or something." He shrugged. "Or maybe they were just having some fun. That is the point of this, after all."

Constance grinned. "It is, indeed. And it's good to see a tribute who's not afraid of having a little fun. Is that why you volunteered?"

"You mean, could I just not stand to see my brother having all the fun?" Jediah's smile faded a little. "No. Bryson, he … he would probably be the first to say that I shouldn't have done it. That he should be here, instead. But it's just the four of us now – Bryson, Rogelio, Nerissa, and me. If one of us is going to be sitting here … it should be me. And since I am here … well, I might as well enjoy it."

Constance nodded sympathetically. "And what part would you say you're enjoying the most?"

"My allies," Jediah said without hesitation. "Adelia already said it, but we've got a good group. I would trust them with my life, and I think – or, at least, I'd like to think – that they would do the same." He leaned back in his chair, smiling. "I guess we'll find out tomorrow."

Bryson swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Jediah was giving him too much credit. If he hadn't wanted Jediah to take his place – if he had thought it should be him in the Games, instead – then why hadn't he done anything? Why hadn't he tried to stop Jediah from stepping forward at the reaping? Why hadn't he said something?

Bryson shook his head. There was a simple answer. As much as he loved his brother, as much as he knew that he was supposed to protect him, as much as he knew he shouldn't have let his little brother risk his life for his sake … he didn't want to die.

And this year, more than any other, the Games meant death.

"What I am is trapped. And I've been trapped for so long that I don't even remember what it feels like to be free."