In the third week of December the Capitol press invades. The Quarter Quell is just around the corner and the nation of Panem wants special features on each of their forty-nine victors. We get a bit of warning as the media circus hits the Career districts of One and Two before us and we see flashes on the news of them being filmed and photographed. Gloria arrives the day before the cameras and brings Dido and a mixed prep team of Lorcan and two of the boy's preps Jania and Atticus with her to polish us all into camera shape.

I worry that things will be awkward between Lorcan and Beetee, and to a lesser extent between myself and the Capitol man, but neither of them says anything out of order and between the prep team machinations and Gloria's constant stream of instructions all three of us (and any of my family members who get caught in the line of fire) are clean and presentable by the time the cameras arrive.

They start on Cupros first and the rest of us are careful to stay out of his way as he stomps around moodily, clean shaven, sober and in a decent suit. His Games were long enough ago that they didn't have all the hype and nonsense around them, such as having a 'talent', though it was suggested that the older victors pick something up. He grudgingly claimed his boardgames like chess and backgammon and plays a round of each against myself and Beetee. I lose badly at both as I only vaguely know the rules, though Beetee puts up a decent fight on the chessboard.

Beetee is next and they film him in his workshop, snap photos of him beside his shelves of patented inventions and pretend to understand him as he goes into a technical spiel that I know no-one else in the room is following.

I get the longest treatment of all, being the most recent of the three of us. Alongside my workshop scenes they film me trying to teach Malcy his times tables, helping mother cook (something I'm not generally good at as my mind wanders and I end up burning things) and even singing a nonsense song with Balia while our brother laughs and claps along. I'm careful not to be caught speaking alone with Lorcan as I'd rather not have it end up on television, unlike Argentum from One and Brutus from Two, both of whom we saw clips of getting cosy with someone in the last two weeks.

I do get a brief moment alone with Lorcan when we duck upstairs to fix a tangle in my hair before the final photo shoot, though there's not time for more than a quick shoulder squeeze as he combs out the errant curls. After three days of exhaustion and partially stammered interviews (though I got a new record two and a half minutes of continuous speech while talking about my upcoming projects) they all vanish, either back to the Capitol or off to District Four, and the silence is as deafening as their presence was.

I expect Clara and whichever friends she's managed to sneak under her mother's radar to tease me about this during my next Capitol visit, but she seems even more distracted than last time and doesn't mention it. After two hours of pointless window-shopping we sit beside one of the flashy fountains eating sweet pastry rolls and feeding the flakes that fall to the nearby birds.

I see Clara glaring at two young men who sit nearby, laughing loudly and hesitantly ask if there's anything wrong with her and her boyfriend Perry. She gives me a strange look and says, "Yes. No, I don't know. There's something wrong with all of us I think."

She glares at the young men again, then at the half-eaten pastry in her hand.

"I mean look at this. How many times did you eat something like this before you won your Games?"

"I...we had something nice on…on…on…birthdays if we could…could…afford…"

I trail off as she throws the offending sweet at the cluster of pigeons, momentarily scattering them. They quickly regroup and start fighting over the scrap of food.

"I bet if I threw that on the ground in one of the districts I'd see people fighting over it like the pigeons do here. It's sick."

Usually she's so fair-minded about the districts that I'm flummoxed. Then she adds, "It's not necessary anymore. The way the government keeps their heel on your necks, makes people work like slaves so that we can live in luxury. It's been fifty years since the war ended. That's enough years of district kids getting slaughtered to repay their grandparents' mistakes. We should be thinking about the future instead of celebrating the waste."

I suck in a sharp breath and glance around, noting with some relief that the two young men have moved on. No-one would ever dare say something like that out loud in Three. Many of the factory overseers get their promotions based on their willingness to suck up and serve, and anyone caught repeating rebellious ideas generally finds themselves out of a job in record time. I've heard some of the hushed stories from my parents, just before Ezra was born about the groups who would meet in the streets at night and sabotage the factories or the warehouses of goods. Most of them were caught eventually and half a dozen were publicly hanged for violent destruction of Capitol property and treason. My mother said a good number of the other dissenters disappeared and the rest of the district learned to keep their heads down and their mouths shut, back in our assigned places.

It might be a little different here in the Capitol, though I can't imagine Clara's mother, a government minister herself would be pleased at her daughter's ideals. She sees the look on my face and glares at me too. "Oh come on, I thought you of all people here would agree with me. I mean look at you. You're a genius, but instead of letting you work somewhere where you could help make Panem better they threw you in an arena to fight to the death. It's so stupid."

I stop her with a hand on her arm before she gets loud enough to be heard by passers-by. As always when I'm under pressure my mind jitters away from coherent speech, and I manage to force out "I say…I think…different…"

She seems to get the gist and calms down a little. "Sorry," she says softly. "You're right. And I don't want to get you in any trouble."

For the first time all day I see a ghost of her genuine smile, though she still punches a closed fist into the polished marble before she stands. "Come on," she says as she pulls me up by my still shaking hand. "Let's go do something fun and brainless and stop worrying about unnecessary class divides."

She leads me off down one of the wide avenues chattering about some new mystery show I might like on television while I try to calm my heart rate.

~xXx~

I get to stay an extra day in the Capitol to enjoy the New Year celebrations. The throngs of (mostly drunk) people wrapped in bulky woolen fashions by the lake shore is enough cover for Clara to meet up with her less-approved friends and I spend the night with her entire crowd, plus extras, sipping mulled wine and eating sweets while we watch the fireworks.

I get confirmation that Perry and Clara are indeed still together, and the rest of us leave them spending valuable time together off to the side of the conversation. Odelia is clinging to her boyfriend Andronicus, a man in his mid-twenties who looks remarkably normal by Capitol standards. He is quiet, though I notice a lot of the others seem to look at him with some awe. Plutarch Heavensbee and Terry Coulter in particular seem to hang off every one of his rare words. I mostly sit with Helia, not really contributing much to the conversation, though I notice that as much as the others seem drawn to Andronicus Dexter, she avoids him, often shooting mistrustful glances in his direction when he and the others can't see. I'm reminded of watching the Careers during the Games shortly before their alliance collapses. We separate a little before one in the morning and when my chirping alarm wakes me six hours later I feel a little ill.

I spend the entire train-ride home in a half-doze, though I never quite manage to get to sleep as my mind keeps catching on things. I can't quite work it out; my thoughts keep jittering to last night by the lakeshore, the way people were watching Andronicus, Clara's furious outburst as she scatters the pigeons and Beetee standing at a window muttering under his breath, though I can't place when that last one was or what it was he was saying. There's glimpses of my Games, of the girl from Four, and of the recent Victory Tour and our old Escort, the loathsome Carmenius Fallow. I grimace at the last image and try to focus on happier things instead.

~xXx~

My suspicions about the silly gameshow I stayed up watching with Lorcan turn out to be unfortunately true. All 47 living victors are "invited" to the Capitol for a ten-day festival celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Games. There will be interviews, fancy dinners including a gala ball on the first Saturday and a parade through the City Circle that will undoubtedly involve being dressed like tributes in outlandish parodies of our districts. Then, for five days a group of us will be voted in by the public to compete in some of the silliest challenges for the entertainment of everyone watching, and the event will culminate on the final Saturday with the reading of the Quell Card.

I can only hope that the majority of the Capitol audience decides they prefer watching the more outgoing victors, especially from the Career districts, and that I'll avoid any appearances on fashion catwalks or artistic baking challenges. This hope dies when it's announced that only the victors who won after the first Quarter Quell will be eligible for the voting, and that five men and five women will take part in each event. With only eleven of us girls to choose from, many of them more than a decade past their Games, there is no doubt my name will come up at some point. I resign myself to being terrible and getting knocked out of whatever contests I'm in fast.

We leave together on what would be my normal Friday away, and Cupros immediately sinks into his hip-flask, glowering out of the window as the train pulls away from the station where my family are still waving. I watch them until they are completely gone, glad that I talked Ezra into staying home with Laney and my little niece Baliss. I want them as far away from any Games events as possible. Beetee is grumpy too as he is certain that he won't be voted into any popularity contests and will be forced to spend most of the week sitting around wasting time, especially since he had a breakthrough on one of his projects just last week and could be back home working on that instead. I offer to trade him—I'll happily take peace and quiet and let him take the microphone (I have no doubt I'll get tapped if the singing contest gets rolled, at least). He pulls a horrified face and stops complaining.

The Victor's Spire is teeming with activity when our car pulls up outside. We manage to dodge the worst of the cameras as the District One contingent arrives just a minute after we do and the media focus shifts over to the more popular and photogenic quartet. We make a dive for the doors and the relative safety of the lobby, where Diya Patel and Nio Krauss are watching with some amusement.

"Good timing," Diya says as she comes over to greet us. "We were here first and they had us talking for half an hour."

I drop my bag—mostly full of sketchbooks and tools as my wardrobe in my apartment is stocked plentifully from various shopping trips with Clara—at my feet and clasp her offered hand.

"So," she says as she turns and shakes hands with the two men, "Are you three ready to suffer the loss of the last of our dignity for the sake of Capitol entertainment?"

Cupros snorts and throws her a wry smirk. "Not me, girl. I'm too old for them to drag into this nonsense. I'll suffer the parade, get drunk at the party and disappear until they send us home."

Not that he would get picked in a popularity contest even if he was eligible.

"Don't laugh just yet," Diya tells him, "They're bringing out the Games stylists for our parade and gala outfits. Wiress might be ok, but from memory your Lucia is pretty…well…she makes our Andromache look subtle."

Both Beetee and Cupros pull nearly matching grimaces at the thought, though Lucia's parade outfit for our last tribute wasn't terrible. I should have Dido back though, which is definitely a far better prospect.

I glance outside, where the District One victors are still posing for photos and answering questions, and suggest that we head for our rooms before the reporter pack gets bored and possibly comes in after us. I'm alone in the lift when it reaches my floor, and probably alone on my floor too, as I doubt Whisper or Denissa would have arrived before us. The crowd from Two might have got here already, but I expect Brutus would be out in the streets enjoying his fans rather than holed up in an apartment.

The last room on my floor is still empty, waiting for whichever tribute survives the horrors of the Quell Games. Given their strengths, it will most likely be another Career, and I wince at the thought of a second Brutus bellowing and pounding his chest. Or maybe another Denissa, arrogant and haughty. Or maybe another me, intelligent and quiet. That would be nice, though I suppose Whisper from Nine is quiet and intelligent, and I don't care for her company one bit.

I settle in my room, smiling at the framed artwork that hangs on the walls (three of my drawings, two of Clara's and a painting of a garden scene that I bought a few months back while shopping). The shelves of my bedroom are already stocked with books, two half-built miniature robots and a basic toolkit. It's familiar enough to almost feel like a second home and I have no trouble settling in on the couch with a book, the television on in the background as they show the arrival of each group of victors.

~xXx~

I wake to the phone blaring and stumble out to catch it before it rings out, head swirling with early morning bleariness. I manage to focus my eyes as I stammer out a greeting and check the clock—half past seven in the morning.

"Hello Ms Ling, just letting you know that your stylist team will be arriving in five minutes. And do you need breakfast delivered?"

I don't feel hungry enough to eat, and decline with thanks, though I do make myself a large coffee. I sip it slowly and watch out the window as the early morning sun scatters off the metal and glass until the inevitable knock comes on the door. Dido, her usual delicate, colorless self smiles up at me. Over her shoulder I see Lorcan, Juliette and a girl who looks my age with bright orange corkscrew hair and wide blue eyes ringed in fluorescent tattoos. All three of the prep-team members look as half-asleep as I am, and I remember that this is early for them. Dido, as always, looks serene and unperturbed.

"Wiress, it is good to see you. This is Eutropia, our newest team member, to replace Marius."

I smile at the girl and she nods back with a tight smile of her own. Her front teeth are set with glittering blue gemstones that sparkle in the morning light. I step aside to let them in and Juliette gives me a brief hug before scurrying into my bathroom to set the taps running. Lorcan grins and tips his fingers to his fringe as he follows, carrying a large bag over one shoulder. The new girl has her arms full of boxes, which she sets beside the couch and stands silently, peering at the pictures on my walls curiously.

Dido glides to the middle of the room as I close the door and beckons me over to the light by the window. I stand still as she examines me, tutting slightly about the state of my hands—one small cut that's mostly faded from a kitchen knife I fumbled while washing up, and two slightly jagged fingernails—but I know I've been in worse shape.

"I have your dress for the parade and ball tonight prepared. Before that, there is a book signing at the library for two victors from each district."

"Me and Beetee?" I guess and she nods.

"I have several options for you to wear for that, but first-"

Juliette sticks her head out of my bathroom and trills, "We're ready in here."

Dido nods in her direction, and I hand myself over to them for cleaning and preparation of what is going to be a very long day.

~xXx~

I like all three options Dido gives me for my midday appointment and end up asking Lorcan to choose. He immediately goes for the blue and black tartan and tells me with a grin that he has the perfect eye-shadow palette and hair accessories to match it. He flicks one of my curls behind my ear as he says this and I smile up at him. Over his shoulder I see the new girl Eutropia giving us a dirty look. He follows my glance and immediately her face brightens and she hurries over, offering to do my makeup herself.

"You're on outfit duty today," Lorcan reminds her, one eyebrow raised. He taps my earlobe which is still bearing the same small green stones as when I got it pierced three months back. "Why don't you go see if there's some nice earrings in a matching color."

She goes, but doesn't look entirely happy and throws one last reproachful glance over her shoulder as she stalks back out into the living room.

I raise an eyebrow of my own at her retreat and he closes the door with a quiet snick before turning to me, rubbing his head.

"She seemed the best choice when I was interviewing, and she really is a good hand at clothes and make-up but it seems someone…well… she clearly heard a few things about you and me. And I'm starting to suspect-"

"She likes you." I tell him bluntly. He winces. "Yeah, I think she might."

There's no might about it. I've seen the same jealous look on Pella's face whenever my parents were praising me about my academic achievements or talking to Ezra about his work and happy new family. I've seen it on the faces of most of the girls (and some of the boys) I went to school with. I've even seen it on a few faces out in the Capitol, people who saw something they wanted but couldn't have.

"Maybe she should wear…" I trail off, but point to the green outfit beside the tartan on my bed. He snorts, kisses me on the forehead, and mutters that we probably should hurry up and get me dressed.

I at least have clothes on when I have to face her again and she has, to her credit, dug out a set of dangling earrings set with glistening blue and black gemstones. Lorcan praises her choice as well, and she gives him a simpering smile. I hold back a laugh, barely. She continues to hang off him as he combs my hair into a high style, fastened with a clip that's covered in blue silk ribbons and outlines my eyes in delicate shades of blue-gray. Juliette and Dido return—they went to reinforce the teams scrubbing up Beetee and Cupros—and both heartily approve. I get a few seconds to glance at myself in the mirror and decide that I don't mind it either. Not something I would do to myself, but as long as I'm being dolled up in the Capitol, it's quite bearable.

Dido sends me downstairs to meet with the other sacrifices from each district, and I find that Beetee hasn't quite been so lucky. He's wearing a shiny silver jacket and pants with sequins sewn into the cuffs, and a horribly bright turquoise silk shirt. I glance around at the other victors and see half a dozen more wearing shiny sequins, and two others in tartan like me. One of those is Seeder, whose green and gold cross-hatches nicely highlight her eyes, though the less that can be said about her wilting plant-wrapped hat the better. She's joined by Chaff, whose wrist stump is covered in a knitted woolen sock that matches the puffy jumper he's scratching at.

"Whose stupid idea was this," he mutters as Diya and Jackie Ledger from Ten wander over, both sporting sequins as well. Diya's hat, a fuzzy white lump liberally speckled with silver beads nearly covers her eyes and she glances around for her stylist before tucking her shoulder-length hair up under it to keep it out of her face. "Not mine," she says bluntly.

"At least you'll be warm," says a sullen voice behind us and we turn to see Denissa Flow, the strikingly beautiful victor from Four, who has on a figure-fitting dress in the same blue as Beetee's shirt. The sleeves don't reach her elbows and the skirt stops at her knees, showing off her bare legs all the way to her high-heeled sandals.

"It's practically snowing out there," Jackie says, glancing out the doors, where the line of photographers is already waiting. "Does your stylist really have no sense?"

"Apparently not," she replies.

I'm just glad that mine does. When old Marcie from Twelve finally hobbles out into the lobby wrapped in an awful brown and black tartan overcoat the production crew start ushering us outside into the waiting cars. The icy wind gusts just two steps out of the building and I see Morstan, the male victor from Four wordlessly remove his suit jacket and hand it to Denissa. She scowls, but takes it as they climb into the car ahead of me.