I am woken by Indigo, who comes in with Whytt, Domitia and Althea, and they smile at me. But their smiles are sweet, and overly sympathetic.
I do not smile back.
They don't do much to me. They simply scrub me down, make sure I am completely clean, and take all of the varnish and eyeliner off that I have not been able to remove myself. Whytt's pastel green skin seems a paler shade today, as if he would be an unusually white colour in his natural skin tone. Domitia's cheeks are a dark pink, much unlike her candy-pink hair. Althea seemed pale, sheet white, and it contrasted against her violet eyeshadow and violet lips. It was only Indigo who held strong, smiling, chatting and laughing with - or at - me while they suited me up.
I was dressed in a light white vest top, combat trousers and light boots. I had a jacket, made of thick, waterproof material, but it doesn't go around my shoulders - it goes around my waist, tied by the sleeves. This feels suspicious. But I say nothing.
Haymitch walks with me to the elevator, and we stand in silence as it goes up to the helipad, where the hovercraft is waiting. I can feel my hands starting to sweat, and I feel hot. "Haymitch-" I gasp, but he cuts me off.
"You're going to be just fine, sweetheart." He says. His usual term of endearment doesn't sound as sarcastic as it usually does. It sounds like he means it, like he's come to care for me. It almost relaxes me. "You're going to do great."
The elevator doors open to reveal the hovercraft, and I realise that I'm the last to arrive. Haymitch can go no further. He pulls my in for a hug, an awkward kiss on the cheek, and then sets his hands on my shoulders. He knows. I know he knows. I had never seen him in 13, but I know that he knows that I was there.
I step forward to board the hovercraft, and take my seat nearest to the door. There are no windows, so I cannot see out. "Give me your arm." A woman says, and I hold out my arm to her. The tracker is inserted by a large gun type thing, and I flinch as I shooting pain goes up my arm. Cole sits opposite me, and I can see his fist clenching and unclenching in pain. He gives me a reassuring smile, but I can only reply with wide, sad eyes.
Peacekeepers stand at the end of the rows of seats, and as we take off, the lights go out, with just ultra-violet lights running along the floor and ceiling, so everything is lit by an eery purple glow. I feel us lowering toward the ground, and then the sound of thumping as we hit the dirt. We are each led off by someone, our stylists, in some cases, to the rooms were we will be sent to our deaths.