Ciara lay in bed, disgruntled and wide awake. Taz had sent her to bed directly after dinner despite the fact that the sixteen-year-old girl from District 1 had wanted to watch the replays. Her mentor had also made her eat more than she would usually eat in a whole week at that one meal (though, to be fair, it wasn't like that was extraordinarily much). After complaining about feeling bloated and wanting to watch the replay of her interview, she finally went to her room. She took a long, warm shower, hoping it would make her sleepy, though it didn't. She slipped into a silky nightdress and lay down in bed, swaddled in blankets.

But the sleep refused to come.

She didn't dare to say that she was apprehensive. She had put up the image that she was anything but, and it was time to believe in that. She was supposed to be confident. Okay, so she didn't have an alliance. Whatever. She was going to win these Games. She could probably pick up a couple allies in the arena. Wrap a guy or two around her finger—it'd be easy.

Filling her mind with these images, she let herself think of nothing but her victory. Despite everything, she hated herself. She was a vain slut and she knew that. But she wasn't smart, so how else was she supposed to get guys? No one expected anything from her, and that hurt. She appeared so confident, so comfortable with herself, but she wasn't. No one knew her. They judged her without ever talking to her.

So she had to win. She had to prove that she wasn't just some whore looking for a one night stand. Ciara Westbrook was a real person, and these Games were going to show that to all of Panem.

Thane was dreaming.

He was in the arena. He stood on his plate, the seconds counting down until the Games would begin. He was trying to make eye contact with his ally, Tessa, but she wasn't paying attention. And suddenly, beside him stood his brother.

"Pretty girl, eh?" Lance said with a smile, referring to Tessa. "Smart, too. You have a good ally in her."

Thane was struck dumb. Five years ago, when Thane was thirteen and Lance was fifteen, his brother had been reaped. Thane had painfully vivid memories of those days. He and his parents sat shut up inside, watching the Games intensely for news on Lance. Having a family member in the Games wasn't a valid excuse to miss work or school, but the Absolum family didn't care.

He was in the career pack, being from District 2. Lance was always the more violent one of the two brothers, and the careers valued his brutality. It had hurt to see his brother rip innocent tributes to shreds. But it didn't affect him like it had affected his parents. They were heartbroken. Watching their fifteen-year-old son turn into a monster was torture for them. However, he didn't have much time to wreak havoc before he ate some poisonous berries and died a slow, painful death.

Thane had spent a very long time wondering if Lance would have survived if he were smarter, and an even longer time wondering if he even wanted his brother back.

"Listen," Lance said. "Don't be like me. You have brains, little bro. Use them. Mom and dad need you."

The loud ringing of the gong shattered the dream.

It had taken some convincing for Acton to get Rose to let him watch the replay of his interview, but a promise to go to bed right afterwards got her to cave. He watched the interviews with interest, looking for things he may have missed during the actual event. But his ideas were basically spot on. Ciara Westbrook was still a stupid slut, Conner Doherty was still pathetic, Anja Nadezhda was still smoking hot, Thane Absolum was still super boring, Yuki Sakurai was still aloof, and he was still amazing. He had totally killed the interview. The cheers of the crowd rang in his ears.

"Bed," Rose commanded once Skye appeared on the screen. Acton sighed, getting to his feet. "Don't you sigh at me. You've hardly got a chance in these Games as it is without adding fatigue to the list."

"Thank you for the inspiring pep talk," Acton retorted dryly.

"You could have been smart like Yuki and gone straight to bed after dinner."

"Boo." He stuck out his tongue.

His mentor shrugged and turned away from him. Acton made a face at her back before turning and going to his room. He glanced at the bathroom and shook his head. His stylists would make him shower in the morning, anyway, so there was no point in going through the trouble tonight. He stripped down to his boxers and then fell onto the bed. The thick sheets flew up around him and created a kind of nest for him to sleep in.

The longer he put off sleep, the more he began to be bothered by what Rose had said to him. She thought that he didn't have a chance in the Games. Who was she to say that? He'd gotten an eight in training! Sure, he got it by seducing the Gamemakers, but it wasn't like he was totally useless. He had muscle and he wasn't a total idiot. On top of it, he had Anja as an ally and he'd surely get plenty of sponsors out of his pre-game performances.

Acton Cuthburt was a name that all of Panem would know, and he would live to get out of the Arena and bask in his fame.

Skye couldn't do anything to stop it.

She had done a million things in the last couple hours in an attempt to get the impending games off of her mind, but nothing had worked. She had tried to fall asleep several times but the anxious knots in her stomach made that impossible.

It got to the point where the racing thoughts in her head made her nauseous. She riffled quickly through the room, her actions becoming increasingly panicked with every passing second. She eventually found what she was looking for: a pen and paper. She had to get her thoughts out before they drove her insane.

I wonder what it's like to die, she wrote. Specifically, I wonder what it's like to die unexpectedly. I think it's different when you can see it coming. You can prepare. You can accept that you're going to die. But what about when you can't see it coming? When one minute you're fine and the next you're just…dead. You could be talking to someone. Laughing.

And then you feel a knife in your back, a bullet in your head, a spear in your chest. You'll panic, I'm sure. Maybe you'll live long enough to pass the panic stage. And then you'll lie there, bleeding, dying. And you'll wonder who, why, and how. Maybe someone will try to help you. To comfort you. But it won't work. You're already almost gone.

But the worst is when you know you're going to die soon, but you don't know when or how. Everyone dies eventually, but most people assume it's somewhere far in the future. Not for me. My face could light up the sky above the arena tomorrow night. Or maybe I'll somehow emerge the victor.

…I won't win.

I'll be dead sometime in the next couple of weeks.

Then I'll be nothing but a memory.

Chester and Willow sat on the roof together. It was late and they both knew that they should be sleeping, but they weren't.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked.

"What is?"

"The Capitol."

"Why would you say that?"

"Not the people in it," he explained. "Or I guess some of them might be. But their ideals and sense of right and wrong are all off. That's not what I meant, though. The city. It's beautiful. With all its colors and shining lights."

"Yeah. It's okay."

"It's fascinating. The technology. I just wish the circumstances were different."

Willow nodded. A silence fell over them and they watched the city. Both of them assumed that they'd never make it back alive. The Capitol was a cruel place. But it was beautiful.

"Chester?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to die."

He turned to look at her. She didn't look back, instead fixing her gaze on the horizon. He tentatively reached out a hand and turned her face towards his. He could see tears in her eyes, and she kept blinking so that they wouldn't fall.

"I'll protect you." She smiled. "I know it isn't much. But I'll try my best."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

And before the moment could pass, he kissed her.

October lay in bed. Her eyes had long ago adjusted to the darkness. She stared at the ceiling. She couldn't figure out why she wasn't asleep. She didn't feel nervous. She wasn't scared.

Perhaps it was pressure.

She had proven herself to be capable. She was a nobody from District 10, but she had managed to score a ten in training, which was high for a tribute from any District. She'd also made her way into the strongest alliance. The career tributes this year had been, well, lacking in career traits, and it was strange to October that the most promising alliance in her eyes consisted of tributes from Districts 3, 10, 11, and 12.

All of Panem knew who she was now, which was just what she needed. That part had been simple. It was what was coming next that would be a challenge: namely, winning the Games.

See, October had known from a very young age that there was something wrong with Panem. Most kids caught on a year or two before their first Reaping, unless they had a sibling that was picked for the Games. But October had raised herself, and she had lacked the innocence that usually went hand in hand with childhood. When you're the only little girl without a mother or a father, you tend to develop a pessimistic outlook on life before the rest of your peers.

At age six, October had made a promise to herself that she would one day overthrow the Capitol.

Of course it was ridiculous. But now that October was in the Capitol, about to enter the Games, it all seemed much more tangible. The only thing that worried October now was the failure of the last big rebellion.

It was unfortunate, but October saw many similarities between herself and Katniss Everdeen. They were both young, strong girls from outlying Districts that had a fighting chance in their Games. Katniss' rebellion had ended in her public execution. The Districts quieted down after this. They had stayed quiet up until now, and October wanted to be the one to remind them that the rule of the Capitol was wrong.

All she needed was to be the victor.

Levi was sitting on the window seat in his room, looking out at the twinkling lights of the Capitol. From his vantage point, he could just see where the lights stopped and the city ended.

He had to wonder how the fishermen in District 4 were kept from sailing out to sea, away from Panem. In District 11, the fence kept the District closely confined. Levi had no clue if the District was landlocked by others or simply contained so that no one would find the ocean.

Most people assumed that Panem was the whole world, but Levi couldn't bring himself to believe that. There had to be more. But then that begged the question of why the rest of the world had done nothing to stop the horrors that occurred in Panem. Did they know? Where they worse?

The only way out of the Games was to win, and Levi wasn't quite sure he wanted that. He'd become conspicuous. He'd never be able to leave. It wasn't like there were great odds of him getting out, anyway, but becoming a victor would solidify the impossibility.

And so the question became would he rather die tomorrow or in decades? Would he rather cut his life short or endure the brutality of the Capitol into old age?

He'd see.

AN: So I may have accidentally taken a super long hiatus.

OH BUT LOOK A CHAPTER.

I've been really busy, but I'm going to do my best to update consistently. It shouldn't be too hard, since we're finally at the Games.

Reviews are always appreciated~