As exhausted as I am, as hard as I try, I can't fall asleep.

Am I going to survive? Should I even be trying to? I already know I'm not going to kill anyone. I can't justify murder for my own sake. Not when I've watched so many Games, been so disgusted by the things tributes have done in hopes of winning. There are a few cases that didn't rub me the wrong way, sure, but... only once has one of those killers been the victor.

What hope do I have if I don't kill a single person? That kind of victory is unprecedented, after all. And what's so special about me? My bracelet? Yeah! Great! I'm going to win the Hunger Games because I can tell when they're lying!

So where does that leave me? Another average kid trying not to die. How many of us does that make? What makes me think I can survive longer than them? Longer than the Careers? What makes me think I can fight any of them off? A few punches, a few sword strokes? I've worked on them for hours; the Careers have had years. Do I really have a chance?

And what if I don't? What do I do then? Just look after the others? If I can't keep myself from dying, how am I supposed to do any good for them? Would I really be of any use in Simon's little coalition to save Athena? Would I even want to be? She seems like a fine person, but I still hardly know her. And there was that bit about calling her "innocent"—but no, I bet that was nothing. I never caught any tells from Simon, so maybe he talks in some way that keeps giving off false alarms.

And why should I have to focus on helping Athena win? What's wrong with Trucy? Juniper? The rest? Who am I supposed to defend? Who am I supposed to let die? Does it even matter when so many of us are going to be killed either way?

I don't want to die...! I don't want to die!

I-I need to go back to the roof. I can't just sit here silently, pulling my hair out over all the ways I'm not fine. It's doing me no good at all.

I start to push myself off the mattress, but my limbs protest to the point of freezing up. I collapse onto my back with a groan. I'm not going to make it up eight flights of stairs in this condition. Am I allowed to ride the elevator to other floors? And can I even drag myself to the elevator in the first place?

Well, I can't start shouting right here. Trucy and Maya are having some sort of "girl time," so the escort and I aren't allowed anywhere near Trucy's room. I imagine that sending my voice through the walls would be violating that contract.

But I have to do something. Ugh...

Thankfully I don't have to flail my arms much to reach the buttons on the headboard. With one set, I order a cup of grape juice that's dispensed immediately. With another, I turn on the television, a set of headphones keeping the noise away from anyone else. It takes several clicks to get away from Hunger Games specials. The factory goods documentary I settle on isn't that interesting, but it's something to occupy my mind. The images are oddly engrossing to watch until they zoom in on a set of sharp, whirring gears.

They've had a trap like that in the arena before. It didn't even tear the entire unfortunate tribute to shreds, but she still bled to death as all of her allies watched. Will they have one of those this year? Who's it going to kill?

Images of me, then Trucy being shredded and ground up flash across my vision before I manage to change the channel. Sports. Normal sports. It's a play by play of amazing catches, apparently made throughout this week. Pretty, uh—pretty incredible leaps.

I'm into the dregs of my drink when I hear a shout. I mute the television immediately and hear screaming.

Trucy? What... What on earth is going on? I mean, she's okay... right?

I think of the trap again and bolt out of my room. Standing outside Trucy's door, I can feel my pulse in my bare feet as I try not to fall over.

"But! But that's impossible! I... She... Daddy..." Is Trucy crying? She... sounds okay, though.

Of course. We're nowhere near the arena. Nobody's in danger yet. What was I thinking...?

Stifling a groan, I put my back against the door frame and try not to let myself slide to the floor. I should get back to bed... if I can...

"No, Trucy! Don't you see? This is great news!"

"But-but if she... Where is she?! Why didn't she come to tell me goodbye? Did I do something wrong? Why... Why would she... Why would everyone... lie?"

Their voices have calmed down now, but I can still hear Maya making shooshing noises. I imagine her pulling Trucy into a hug. "It's not your fault. I'm sure it's not your fault. It's just, sometimes... Sometimes people have to do things like that." She sniffles. "I know she has a good reason. It has to be so hard on her, to stay away from you. But it's probably for your sake, you know? Mothers would do anything for their children. She still loves you, she must be proud of you..."

What are they talking about, anyway? Trucy's mother?

I guess it's really none of my business, and I'm not supposed to be here, anyway. I'm sure I can make it back to my room. Let's get going before I overhear something that I really shouldn't. I'm not sure what else girl time includes, but—

"Ngurk." Head pounding, I try to take a deep breath as I grab the wall to help me along. Come on... It's not that far...!

I'm clinging to my doorknob, trying not to collapse in the threshold, when the other door flies open with a crash. I turn just in time to see Trucy barrel into me.

"Polly! Polly!" She's hugging me tightly, and I can feel the moisture on her cheek against my neck. "She's alive!"

My first thought is that girl who died in the trap, so I stare at Trucy goggle-eyed until she pulls back beaming.

"My mother's alive!"

"Oh?" I stumble back, but the door keeps me from falling on my butt. "Um, that's great." Why is she making a big deal of it all of a sudden...? She must have mentioned her mother before, but I can't recall anything at the moment.

Right behind her, Maya clamps a hand around Trucy's wrist and gives it a tug. Then our mentor smiles at me. "We just heard back from the District. She's been having some difficulties for a while, but it looks like she's going to be okay."

I feel like she's lying... but I haven't noticed my bracelet tightening. Then again, I can barely tell what's going on. "That's really nice."

"All right, you guys." Maya takes a step back. "You should get some rest. Sleep if you can."

"Yes, ma'am!"

I yawn. "I'll do my best."

"All right. Good night!"

I glance at Trucy, who seems a little confused but mostly happy. I'm not sure what else to tell her.

"Night...?"

She gives me another quick hug. "Good night, Polly!"

With that, she hurries back to her room, leaving me to totter into mine hoping I can shut my eyes for a while.

Although I make a point of avoiding the sword-fighting stand all morning, Simon still ends up behind me at the lunch line. He doesn't say a word as we go through, but I can feel his glare. Even when he drifts off to another table, the back of my head tingles.

He doesn't expect me to team up with him, does he? But he hasn't actually given up... I think. Why else would he stare at me? I'm not a threat to him, especially if he has a sword. Is he just disappointed? No, that's not strong enough. Revolted, maybe. Revolted by my cowardice.

But I'm not a coward! Not wanting to die doesn't make me a chicken; it just means I don't want to die! I still have no intention of sacrificing everyone else for my sake, either. I just... I'm going into the Hunger Games. There's nothing I can do, heroic or otherwise, to get more than one of us out. And I'm not a coward for wanting it to be me. I swear I'm not...

The hair on the back of my neck prickles when I hear Simon's voice behind me, but he's looking elsewhere. More specifically, he's eyeing Klavier, who's still standing with his tray in his hands.

"...but it seems another tribute has stolen my image as the man in chains."

Klavier laughs, throwing his bangs back with a jerk of the head, in lieu of his hands. "Nein, I was framed for this robbery—I'm afraid my stylists are the true guilty party here." With all the chain necklaces and belts he's always wearing, I can't say it was entirely their fault.

He leans back a bit. "Although my little motif isn't that prisoner-like. You could always ask for shackles on your next costume. I doubt anyone would confuse the two of us, chains or no chains."

...The deep conversations of trained killers.

I turn back to my food but bump Trucy's shoulder in the process. "Sorry."

"You're fine."

I have a bite of bread in my mouth before I stop and shoot her a look. "Ha, ha."

"Huh?" Blinking, she lifts her chin from her hands and turns to me. It doesn't take more than a second to realize Klavier was in her line of sight previously.

I sigh. "Quit swooning."

"I-I'm not swooning!" She fists her hands. "To swoon is to faint, and I am one hundred percent conscious!"

"That's great." Stifling a yawn, I sip at my coffee.