I involuntarily jumped when I woke up, unused to the strange comfort of my fancy bed.

I had been having a nightmare, but I didn't quite remember what it had been about.

Probably the usual, I guess. My past, and the Games in my future. Maybe my mentor had been in there too. Zeke and I had spent all evening yesterday talking to Marcus, and I had to say the man was kind of…creepy.

I lay still for a moment, breathing in slowly, thinking. Today was the first day of training. Time to scare some little children. And meet my fellow Careers. I didn't like the idea of working with other people, but at least the skilled ones of the tributes wouldn't be trying to kill me in the arena. Although, they couldn't be much of an asset, being from District One. I had lived there; I knew how obnoxious that entire population was.

I got out of bed and stood at my window for a minute. The Capitol was huge. A fearsome, beautiful place. I thought about what future it held for me. It could hold my death, if I died in the arena in a few weeks. But what if I won? Would my criminal record disappear? Would the asylum workers stay silent? Or would I quietly vanish from the face of the earth after my victory tour? I didn't know.

I went to my closet and pulled out my training uniform. It was a sleek black material, with a 2 stitched into the sleeves and back. Visions of Academy, training rooms, the hospital, and the rest of the district flashed across my mind. Hiding in the basement. Zeke's abuse. Doctor Gaius. His words echoed in my mind, but I quickly pushed them away. That old man didn't know what he was talking about. Sure, he knew my parents and saved my life, but me the savior of the nation? I couldn't imagine a worse candidate.

I pulled off my loose silk nightclothes and tossed them on my bed, then tugged on the fitted, flattering uniform, yawning as I did so. I hadn't slept very well. Being back in the Capitol was terrifying. I had woken up nearly every hour in the night, expecting the police to be pounding on my door.

I went to the bathroom and pulled up my hair into the bunched ponytail my mom had worn in her Games. I stared at my pale face in the mirror for a moment, unconsciously wringing my hands as fatigue set in.

The next moment I snapped alert to find my fist about to punch the mirror. I managed to veer to the side in the split second I had, punching the wall instead.

At least bruised knuckles were better than hands sliced by shattered glass.

I exhaled slowly, looking at the door. I hadn't held a knife in a few days. I needed one. I slipped out into the main room, which was dark and silent. It was probably around 5 am, as the sun hadn't quite risen yet. But I didn't want to wait around for breakfast. I didn't need food. I needed knives.

Moving silently and swiftly across the room, I went to the door to the stairs. The elevator would awaken the others.

No sooner had I turned the doorknob and cracked the door open, when I heard footsteps. And voices. On the other side of the door.

I didn't open the door any further, and I peered out, curious. Two girls came into view, and in the dim light I could see one had fiery red hair in a high ponytail, and the other had long dark hair in a side braid. When they turned the corner on the stairs, I realized with a jolt that I recognized one of them.

The red-haired girl I didn't know. She was tall, maybe around my age, but that was pretty much all I could gather—I could tell she might be from District 5, because she looked a lot like that one foxfaced girl I had seen in the interviews of my parents' Games. But speaking of those games, the other girl alarmed me much more. Her face, her hair, her fierce expression, her rebellious air and her current angry whisper— it was Lily Mellark. Daughter of the girl on fire. The rebel. The Mockingjay. Katniss Everdeen.

The Mellark girl actually looked very young. Perhaps thirteen, but no older. But I instantly hated her. Her mom had tried to kill both my parents, and had succeeded with my dad. She was probably an archery demon too. I had never been great with archery, or any long-distance weapon for that matter except for knives. Who knew what this girl could do? And why was she talking to the redheaded girl at this hour?

I waited for a few minutes to put some distance between us, then I slipped out the door and ran down the flights of stairs to the first floor. I rounded the corner to head down the hall to the lobby so fast that I ran right into someone.

I fell backward in surprise, alarmed, to see the brunette District One guy I had caught a glimpse of at the parade yesterday.

"Someone's in a hurry," he said in calm amusement, his smooth voice laced with faint traces of Capitol accent. He offered me a hand, and I looked at him strangely.

"Why are you up so early?" I muttered, not moving.

"I feel I'd have to ask you the same question."

I reluctantly took his hand, after a pause, and let him pull me to my feet. I then got a sense of how very tall he was. It was slightly intimidating.

"Sorry about that," I muttered, my hands wringing themselves.

"It never happened. Where you headed? It's a bit early to go to training, isn't it?"

I looked up at his face, my eyes fixing on his deep, ocean blue ones.

"I need to. I haven't held a knife in ages and I need to let off some steam."

"Well, if it's open, mind if I join you? I'm trying to escape someone."

I raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"My district partner. Lacey. I'm sorry, but she's awful. She's talkative and loud and so flirtatious it's enough to kill someone."

I snorted. "Sounds like a nightmare."

"She kind of is. What about you? Your partner bearable?"

I laughed. A single, mirthless, sharp sound.

"I don't find a single human being on this planet bearable, District One."

"Not much of a people person, hm?"

"No," I said crisply.

"Shall I leave you alone then?"

"I don't care."

"Well, then I will join you, Miss Mystery. I could use a little warmup before it's time to intimidate small children." I actually cracked a genuine smile. Small, but it happened.

"Let's go then. Oh, and we may not be alone," I murmured, as we started walking down the hall toward the lobby.

"Well there will be the staff and some gamemakers around I suppose."

"No, other tributes. Two girls headed this way a few minutes before me. District 5 and District 12."

"District 12 being…Mellark." His voice was flat and full of dislike.

"Yeah. Daughter of the rebel who killed my father."

"And my uncle," he mused, "My father won the Games five years later, but his brother Marvel was killed by Katniss Everdeen. But your dad was Cato, right? How are you… alive? If your mom was Clove? Both parents gone before you could've been born… ?"

"I'm not telling you anything, District One."

"Fine, fine. Stay a secretive people-hater."

"Oh, I will."

We went down to the training center, which was dim and empty. The lights were already in the process of flickering on, revealing a massive training room that bore a striking resemblance to the training centers at Academy.

The guy seemed to notice my expression and said, "What, look familiar? Obviously the Careers cheat a bit, the victors come home and tell their academy all about what the training room and the equipment are like so future generations can practice with exactly the same thing. Gives us even more of an edge, you know, to know what we've got to work with to get good training scores."

I was quiet a minute, looking around as we walked through the room.

"So what're you good at?" I asked him.

"What?"

"Like, in here. Your weapon."

"I'm decent with most things, but javelins are probably my specialty, if I had to pick one. What's yours? Or are you going to keep that a mystery too," he asked in amusement.

I barely heard his words; I had finally located the throwing knives station and was on it in an instant. My fingers brushed over the blades of the row of knives, and I felt myself relax, smiling even, to finally have knives back.

I took the entire selection out of the case, fitting each knife into my belt, before walking into the middle of the targets. My hand gripped the sturdy hilt of one of the knives, and I sent it flying at a target.

And the whirlwind began, as my hands never stopped moving, one hand always retrieving a new knife as the other hand threw one, until I was out ten seconds later, and a knife sat squarely in the center of each target.

The only noise after that was my brief panting, until a voice said, "Not bad." I turned around, having pretty much forgotten the District One kid was there.

"Not bad? I got every target."

"Mm. I do find your strength impressive. The knives are all up to the hilt in those targets. Most girls I've seen, their knives often barely stick."

"Psh. Let's see you hit one."

"Okay." The tall boy walked toward me, and pulled a knife, with some effort, out of a target. After taking careful aim, he threw it, and it hit a couple inches to the left of the center.

"Not bad," I echoed him sarcastically, and he chuckled, retrieving the knife and trying again.

"You know, it helps if you relax your wrist more," I said, "You're bending at the elbow, but for the shorter knives you've really got to flick your wrist to get it spinning right."

He tried again, and it hit the very mark where I had sunk the blade previously.

"What? Mystery Girl giving me helpful advice?" he joked with a smile, pulling out all the knives now and helping me put them back.

"Don't count on it too often now, Golden Boy."

"Golden Boy?"

"Don't act all surprised now, District One gets life served on a gold platter and you know it."

"Platinum sometimes, actually." I gave him an incredulous look, but his expression told me he was joking. "I kid. So your real name is Blaze, right? Not Minerva?"

"Why on earth would you think my name is Minerva?"

"The parade, silly," he chuckled, "Have you not seen how obsessed they all are with you and the other guy? Miss Roman Goddess of War. You made quite an impression, it seems."

"Just blame my stylist, he's a nutcase. Anyway, yeah, my name is Blaze. What's yours?"

"I'm Axel. Axel Carter."