Layton and I were separated the moment we reached the landing in the Justice Building, and he shot me one last panicked look before I was herded into a small room. There wasn't much on the inside. A small bed was covered in soft, expensive sheets, and two plush chairs at either side of the window over-looking the square. Barely able to keep my hands from shaking, I crossed to it and stared down at the streets. The other kids were still there, listening to the Mayor ramble on. In the background, I could see people collecting on bets and trying to find their children in the masses.

I didn't bother searching for Eva and Erik. They'd already be heading back to the care centre, preparing themselves for weeks of seeing me in the Games.

Trying to collect my thoughts, I took a deep breath and settled awkwardly into one of the chairs. In one way, it was almost a relief. There'd be no more years where I was stood out there with the other kids, waiting for my name to be called. If by some miracle I did live, I'd never have to take part in the Games again. In another, I couldn't help thinking of all the other twenty three kids in my situation right now.

Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I dropped my gaze to the piece of paper wrapped in my hands. Gulping hard, I steeled my nerves and unfolded the paper. With a jolt, I realised it was the slip of paper for the female tribute.

And my name wasn't on it.

My chest was so tight around my heart, it hurt. On the piece of paper, the name Felicity Moordan was written in loopy handwriting. I even knew the girl it belonged to. She used to date Erik a few years back. She was actually a very nice girl. But it didn't matter anymore. I couldn't stop my eyes flicking backward and forward as my mind whirled, trying to figure out what was going on. Why would Flynn put me in the Games if my name hadn't been drawn?

There was only one reason I could think that would cause someone to risk that. Someone - someone high up in the Capitol - wanted me in the Games, though for what reason, I couldn't possibly fathom. All I did know was that if I'd already managed to annoy someone in the Capitol, I was already dead.

I paced for a long time, wondering what I was going to do next. Having never exchanged so much as a single word with either Seeder or Chaff before, I knew I couldn't tell either of them who I really was. Moving between Districts could get you killed. The thought made me roll my eyes in fear. Was that why the Capitol had taken exception to me? Because I broke the law? How did they even find out?

Someone knocked sharply on the door, and I hurriedly rearranged my expression as it swung inwards with a sharp creak. My eyes widened in surprise as Trey Forge stepped inside, his eyebrows tight and his whole body tensed, like he thought I might try to kill him, too. And yet, oddly, I found him being here strangely comforting. The sight of him made me want to ask a thousand questions, mainly, why hadn't he volunteered for his brother? I knew Trey would have done anything to protect his family, so why not this?

"It's Blake, right?" he asked, his voice low and thoughtful.

I scanned his expression, nodding once. "And you're Trey Forge, Layton's older brother," I replied. "I didn't think you'd be here."

"Neither did I," he admitted.

"So why are you? Going to give me a speech about how your brother doesn't deserve this?" The words tasted wrong in my mouth, but I had to ask. No one in Panem deserved this, but if Trey was here to plead for his brother's life, I couldn't make any promises. It was all well and good holding onto your morals now, but inside the arena, when the Games had actually started . . .

"Would it make any difference if I did?" he snorted, and I raised an eyebrow with a shrug of my shoulder. His lips pursed. "I wanted to thank you."

I scoffed in surprise before I could help it. "I'm about to be thrown into a fight to the death with your little brother, and you're thanking me?"

He scowled. "You aren't here by choice, and neither is Layton. But you did protect Desirae earlier. She hasn't stopped talking about you since. She's never seen anyone stand up to the Peacekeepers like that before. No one has. Kids from District 11 just don't fight like that."

My throat closed up, and I was shaking my head before I could help it. "I didn't mean it like that," I confessed. "It just . . . happened, it was self-defence, I wasn't trying to upset the Peacekeepers. I just couldn't stand back and watch Riley beat up a little girl."

Trey stared at me thoughtfully for a second, then shrugged. "Doesn't matter why," he mumbled. "Desirae thinks the world of you, and I only wanted to thank you for protecting her when I couldn't." And immediately, all my questions were answered. Trey was caught in a no-win situation. If he volunteered, he protected Layton. But that meant Layton would be left to look after their elderly parents and Desirae. That meant they wouldn't last the week. It was a choice between Layton, or the rest of his family.

Ouch.

I felt my chest constrict, and I opened my mouth to argue back, but Trey just turned on his heels and let himself out of the room. As he left, the conversations I had had about the Games with Erik and Eva came flooding back. Hadn't I always said it might've been better that it was one of us orphans than one of the other kids? Hesitating only a fraction of a second, I tore after him, my stomach twisting into knots. "Trey!"

He spun at the sound of my shout, scowling when he noticed the two Peacekeepers holding me in the doorway. I fixed my gaze on his determinedly. "I'll do it," I gulped, and he raised his eyebrows coolly. "I'll get Layton out alive."

His face fell darkly. "You can't promise that. No one can."

I managed a small smirk. "You were right before, you know. Kids from 11 don't fight like I do."

He scowled in confusion, but the Peacekeepers were pushing me back into the room and closing the door before he could reply. My eyes were still fixed on the spot he'd vanished from. My shoulders sagged at the thought of what this meant I had to do next.

There was a small knock on the door five minutes later, and Seeder peered around the door, scanning my appearance critically for a moment before smiling kindly and stepping forward with her hand out. "Hello Blake," she greeted warmly as I took her hand with a tight smile. "I hear you're from the centre?" I nodded without a word. "Well, Layton is still using his time to speak with his family, so I've been given permission to take you straight to the train. Unless there is someone you'd like to request to speak to?"

In that moment, I took a breath to ask for Eva and Erik, but something made me hold it back with a grimace. "No," I said, my voice slightly hoarse. Seeder grimaced. "I'd like to leave, please."

She nodded in agreement. "Of course. Follow me then, and we'll get going."

I followed Seeder out of the room, and shot a glower in the Peacekeepers direction. A smirk grew on my lips as I noticed one of them was from the incident earlier. "That colour really suits you," I grinned at him, pointing to the dried blood around his busted nose. His eyes narrowed angrily, but I whipped around and hurried after Seeder without another word. We moved back through the Justice Building, heading toward an exit at the back of the building where Peacekeepers were waiting to escort us to the train platform.

The whole way there, Seeder walked beside me in silence, shooting me a soft, yet stern look every time I opened my mouth to ask her a question. The problem was, I had so many. What was the Capitol like? What would happen when we got on the train? Was she going to train both me and Layton with Chaff, or just me while Chaff trained Layton? And, more worryingly, when were we going to meet the other tributes?

But I took Seeder's silent advice and continued to walk beside her quietly until we reached the train, my fear siting nauseatingly in the bottom of my stomach. It was rare that any trains actually stopped here, and when they did, they were only ever here for Victors or Politicians. So this was the first time I'd ever actually seen one up close. As far as I was concerned, it was nothing more than an impressively decorated metal can kitted out to make you think otherwise.

"Here we are, Blake," Seeder smiled, glancing back to the Peacekeepers. "Thank you, gentleman. I can take it from here." They nodded once at her, standing on either side of the doors as she led me onto the train.

She waited until we were a good distance away from the door before she saying anything. "Blake," she started with a restrained sigh. "Just . . . be careful what you say and who you say it around, okay?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "You mean like the Peacekeepers?"

She winced loudly, stopping abruptly and scanning the hall to make sure no one else was around. "Exactly," she mumbled, frowning at me. "And I mean talking like that."

"Sorry," I grimaced.

Seeder sighed, lowering a hand onto my shoulder. "Come on. I'll show you to your room. You can get cleaned up before dinner."

We walked for another minute down the hall, passing through a dining area with a long mahogany table and several large, plush sofas and moving past several other rooms, some of which already seemed to be occupied.

"Here we are," she announced, pointing to the third door after the dining room. "Someone will be along when the food is being served." Biting the inside of my lip, I smiled tightly and pushed the door open, stepping inside and hurriedly closing the door behind me.

The room contained a large, king-sized bed, a window that at the moment looked out over District 11 and a chest of drawers filled with clean, expensive clothes. But I barely noticed any of that. Instead, the moment I was alone, my hands began to shake uncontrollably and my stomach jerked violently.

This was really happening. I was on a train to the Capitol, on my way to take part in the Hunger Games. For the first time since hearing my name called out, I allowed myself to slump into the bed in despair and let the tears race down my cheeks.

Two hours had passed before someone knocked on my door, and the train had long since left the station at District 11. By that time, I'd shifted to lie straight across the bed, my tears leaking onto the pillows as I stared out of the window. My chest constricted tightly as I watched the Districts flash past. The longer the train moved, the closer to the Capitol we got.

I heard the door creak, but I didn't turn, worried that the tears had left trails down my cheeks. But when a hand dropped suddenly onto my shoulder, I jerked up in shock and spun to face the intruder with an irritated glare.

"What?" I asked, a little sharply.

The girl, about fifteen years old, was blonde and already almost as tall as me. She was skinny, little more than skin and bone, the sort of person you'd find in the District 11, like she was too poor to afford much food. Though her eyes were wide and her lips trembled as though she wanted to answer, no words came from her mouth.

I hesitated, my frown wavering. Maybe I was scaring her. Trying to relax my expression, I took a breath deep and climbed off the other side of the bed, straightening out. "What is it?" I asked in a softer tone. If anything, it only made her more uncomfortable, her expression tightening like she was about to burst into tears.

Unsure of what was going on, I tried to think of something to say next. Yes or no questions seemed a good idea. "Did Seeder send you?" The girl relaxed a fraction, nodding once. I let out a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding back, relieved at finally getting an answer. "So does that mean dinner is out?" Again, she nodded. "Okay. Is that it?" One last time, she nodded uncomfortably, dropping her gaze. My lips pursed tightly. "Can I ask . . . why don't you-"

I cut off as the door swung open again and Seeder stepped in, looking a little flustered. My chest clenched and a shot of fear rushed through me at the thought of the tears trails down my cheeks, but if she noticed, she didn't let on. Instead, she smiled wryly. "There you are, I was wondering what was taking so long. Are you ready for dinner?"

I smiled tightly, glancing between the girl and Seeder. "Five minutes and I'll be there," I promised. She nodded with a smile, waving the girl out of the door and closing it behind her. Sighing heavily, I shook the thoughts away and slipped into the bathroom to get changed and wash my hair hurriedly. Dressing in a pair of thin material trousers and a white blouse, I scooped my damp hair into a bun and slipped out of the room toward the dining room.

It looked like everyone else was already there. Flynn was sat at the head of the table, talking nervously to Chaff, who didn't look like he was paying attention. Instead, his hand was wrapped tightly around a large glass of wine. Opposite him, Seeder sat with her back to me, asking Layton casual questions about his childhood and how he spent his spare time. Layton was sat beside Chaff, and it irritated me to see he'd actually put a bit of effort into his appearance for the dinner. Next to him was a lean, good-looking man with short hair, glistening amber eyes and an elegant face. A gold ring flashed on his fingers, and I realised he must be the stylist. Opposite, leaving a space beside Seeder, a woman sat with a straight back and delicate fingers that tapped out a rhythm on the table.

"Ah, Blake!" Flynn suddenly beamed as he caught sight of me. "Hungry?"

I grinned back easily. "Starving," I said with a deliberate wink in Layton's direction. He shuffled uncomfortably, but didn't argue. Before I could even take a step closer to the table, however, the woman beside Seeder pushed herself to her feet and swept toward me.

"This is my tribute, then?" she asked with a small smile and a sparkle in her eyes. She was a tall, lean woman in her late twenties - perhaps early thirties - with golden locks that tumbled attractively around her face and fell down to her thin waist. She wore a simple white dress decorated with lace and a feminine pink bow around the middle. Her silver eyes were flecked with an electric blue as she studied me intensely.

Seeder cleared her throat, turning in her chair to smile reassuringly at me. "Yes, this is Blake Hart. Blake, this is your stylist for the Games, Circa. She'll be designing everything you wear while you're in front of the cameras."

"More attractive than last year," Circa commented with a gentle wink at me. I lifted an eyebrow, smirking slightly as she circled me thoughtfully. She seemed to want to say something, but her eyes flicked to the man sat beside Layton, and he closed his eyes with the slightest shake of his head. When he opened them again, he was staring directly at me.

"Klaus," he introduced, pushing himself to his feet and extending his hand over the table. I shook it with a warm smile. "Layton's stylist."

"Circa's husband," Flynn interjected, almost moodily. I tried not to smile too much, but the slight frown Klaus wore and the mildly exasperated look on Circa's face made my lips purse before I could laugh. Layton blinked, but I sat myself down silently as the girl who visited me in my room served me some food.

Discussion seemed to avoid the Hunger Games for a while. Flynn, who after a cheerful greeting wouldn't look at me anymore, seemed content enough to keep quiet and listen curiously to what we were talking about. Klaus also appeared to be a man of few words, though he occasionally offered an input when he thought it would help the conversation.

"So what about you?" Seeder asked me, almost hesitantly as she turned to face me properly after she'd finished grilling Layton about his parents, his childhood, his hobbies, his education, his siblings and anything else she could think of.

I hesitated for a second, hurriedly thinking through my options. "I grew up outside town with my parents, they were killed in a fire, and I moved to the centre," I shrugged, fixing her with a determined stare. "Nothing to shout about." I ignored the awkward looks from the others around the table, and tried to take small bites of my beef stew, but it was so good, I worried I might be acting a little savage like.

If I was, Circa didn't seem to mind. "You seem awfully . . . upbeat," she commented. I was pretty sure it should have been a thoughtful, nice comment, but it didn't feel that way to me. Everything I seemed was an act. I smiled and made sarcastic comments because it was easier than showing people the truth; that all I wanted to do was hide away and curl into a ball.

"I suppose I do," I smiled back politely. "And Chaff does an excellent impression of sober." He shot me a surprised look, stunned I so easily saw through his act, and I grinned back at him with a glint in my eye.

"I heard you were in some sort of trouble with the Peacekeepers?" Circa rushed uncomfortably, eyeing my expression cautiously.

I winced audibly, lifting a hand to the back of my neck as my eyes slipped toward Layton. He dropped his gaze immediately, frowning at his hands. "Nothing major," I dismissed with a smile. "Just in the right place at the right time, I guess."

Flynn scowled. "Right place? Young lady, you really need to be more careful! You are a Tribute in the Hunger Games now! And you must behave as such."

"I am doing," I smiled back, lifting my drink in the air in a mocking toast. "Like every second in my last."

Layton gawped at me while everyone else shared a stunned look. I continued to eat, mopping up the gravy on my plate with a bread roll. "Well," Seeder started cautiously. "It's going to take us four days by train to get to the Capitol, so it gives us some time to get things sorted and in order. Flynn, you had the schedule?"

He cleared his throat, straightening suddenly and nodding with an enthusiasm that made me queasy. "Yes, the schedule. Tomorrow morning is allocated for the prep teams to groom the tributes-"

"Prep teams?" Layton interrupted in panic.

"Groom?" I added in disgust.

No one paid us any attention, but I saw Circa and Klaus exchange a mildly amused look.

"After that," Flynn went on with a slight frown. "Lunch will be served, and each tribute will have the afternoon with their mentor to discuss talents and possible strategies. Dinner will then be served, and tributes will be rewarded with the night off."

I decided I didn't like this man. He spoke about Layton and I like we weren't really here. Maybe it made it easier for him. I found I didn't really care.

"The morning after will be for fittings and measurements," he continued, indicating toward Circa and Klaus. They nodded once, but I could tell they'd already heard all this before. "Again, the afternoon will be for mentors. The third day will be entirely devoted to the stylists, and the fourth will again be for mentors. The fifth, of course, will signal our arrival at the Capitol. Tonight, however, I thought we could look at some of the past Games? You know, inspiration."

"Yes, I find watching kids die very inspirational." The comment was out of my mouth before I could stop it, and suddenly, everyone's eyes were fixed on me.

"I think what Blake is trying to say is that the day's been a little stressful," Klaus said slowly, frowning at me. "Perhaps the videos can wait for a night or two."

Flynn shook himself. "Yes, yes! That sounds like a good idea, it does seem she needs some rest." I didn't change my expression, swirling my water around my glass carefully.

Circa's hand fell lightly on my shoulder. "Go rest," she instructed softly. "You'll have a busy morning tomorrow."

I felt oddly aware that no one else was leaving the table, but I nodded all the same and muttered a quiet goodnight, smiling tightly. They didn't say anything, but Chaff was watching me with an odd look in his eyes, his eyebrows tight. As I slipped out of the door, I swore I heard him say, "Might be hope for the girl yet." Seeder simply sighed in response.

I tried not to over-analyse anything, but it was beginning to get difficult. Peeling my clothes off for bed, my last reassuring thought was that I had four days on this train before it all kicked off. Then there'd be training sessions, the opening ceremony and interviews before twenty-four of us were locked in a big arena and told to kill each other.

Four days. I wondered if this was how it felt to be waiting for execution.