"That's a gladius. Short sword, well-rounded, light, good for just about anything. Utilitarian, too – cuts wood just as much as it cuts heads. Stabs, slices, you name it. Better at stabbing than slicing, though."

Sam had performed abysmally at weapons so far – she'd shown a complete lack of aptitude for archery, demonstrated an exercise in futility with spear throwing, and failed in all aspects at throwing knives. Clearly, ranged offense only got one so far; she figured to try a different tactic. Careers had dominated the sword station on the first day, but with most of them spending day two of training moving across the rope course and traversing the Gauntlet, Sam found time to sneak in an attempt at picking up at least some weapons knowledge.

The straight sword she had selected bore a simple and standard design. A number of elegant, curved swords and long, broad blades littered the station with an array of deadly weapons, but Sam figured to start small. After all, she'd found little success so far – might as well begin with the basics. As she walked to the middle of a group of five dummies, the station instructor strolled about the perimeter – eyes grading her positioning, watching her movements.

"Feet just about shoulder-width apart," the instructor commanded, not missing a beat. "Center your balance. Don't hold the weapon with the blade up – you're reducing your reach and ability to defend yourself. Keep the saber at forty-five degrees forward, giving the chance for a parry and a quick stab. The gladius is a light weapon, so speed is your asset here. Don't need to chop a head off to make a kill."

A pair of green eyes fell on Sam as she readied for the next command – Gannet, over at the spear-throwing station. The girl from District 4 had failed to generate any momentum at a weapons station, but she kept her eye on the District 10 tribute who had reached out to her.

"Now, stab!"

Sam jerked forward with the sword, burying the gladius's tip into the dummy's midsection.

"Not so rough," the trainer admonished. "One smooth movement – glide the blade in with strength and control, not just a wild lunge. Again, go!"

The dummy ate the sword this time around – the gladius burying itself beyond the tapered point. Sam pulled the blade out cleanly, allowing herself a smile as the instructor gave a short word of praise. On the next cue, she drove into a slice, taking a limb and finishing with a thrust into the torso.

"That's it, that's it," the trainer approved to Sam's giddiness of finally finding some success with a weapon. It may not have been the heavy blade that Hadrian had whipped about like a whip the previous day, but it was something – and it could more than kill. "You're working well with the smaller blade. Let's try something built more for slashing than stabbing."

The trainer took the straight weapon, hanging it on the wall and handing off a curved, stylized blade to Sam. While still light, this one swished when Sam handled it, knifing through the air like butter and quickly turning and moving about.

"Scimitar. It doesn't stab for nothing, but it'll cut through anything with the right angle and power. Be careful – it's very sharp. It'll go through paper and a car's tires without a hitch. Try wielding it, and when you're ready, have a go at the target – slicing, not stabbing with this one. Controlled, fluid motions."

Sam hefted the next weapon – a good deal heavier, but still well within her physical ability. Wielding the sword came far easier than the other weapons – without a need to throw it or aim, it felt as a natural extension of her arm. On the instructor's cue, Sam swung the weapon in a tight arc – cleaving straight through the arm of one dummy and rounding low to take out another's leg. She smiled with happiness – finally, getting something right with a weapon! It was better than nothing, and the failure she'd been having with arms had done its work to dispel her spirits until now.

"Look at you!" a voice came from behind her, back at the station's collection of weapons – a familiar voice. "You just took out…a fake person."

Sam let the scimitar clatter to the ground noisily, turning to the voice. "Storm, what do you want?"

"Hey now," the boy from 12 protested with a smile, holding up his hands. "That was a compliment. That guy's dead."

"And that's supposed to make me feel great?" Sam fumed at Storm's incessant snooping about her business.

"No," Storm clarified. "But I want to talk to you. Five minutes and they're going to send us to lunch – let's sit together."

"I'm already sitting with someone else," Sam refuted. "Why do you want to talk to me, anyway?"

"He or she can join us, then," Storm insisted. "And the why is the private part. I'll make it worth your while."

Ten minutes later, Sam had filled a small plate in the dining hall with meat and vegetables, more than prepared to blow Storm off and find Gannet instead. The small girl from District 4 sat alone again at a table – the same place as yesterday, not anticipating company. As Sam moved to take a seat with her, however, Storm cut her off – already on top of the game.

"Is she your friend?" the boy from 12 motioned with a nod.

"Is that a problem?" Sam retorted reproachfully. She had never exercised the defensiveness she felt now – while experience told her to solve conflicts peacefully and negotiate with those she disagreed with, Gannet's frame and innocence compared to the other tributes – and Storm's nonchalant way of addressing anything and everything so far – fired up a burst of anger deep within her.

"Nah…she just looks…familiar," Storm suddenly seemed detached, his eyes staring not at the girl from 4, but beyond her – through the hall table and seemingly off to nowhere. "Not her in particular, just her expression. It's nothing, let's go sit down and I'll tell you what I meant to."

The simple unintended gaze caught Sam by surprise and left her with questions. What had that meant? Gannet's typical expression was one of something between loss and confusion; Sam had attributed that to her unexpected predicament and lack of much hope in the Games. It wasn't far from her own melting pot of feelings, but she'd managed to hide hers better. But Storm…he seemed like a kid who hadn't even minded arriving so far. Everything about his prior mannerisms had spoken of a cool and relaxed air. Yet now he had detached just for a moment and spoken more words than Sam had ever heard from the olive-skinned boy from the coal mining region.

"Gannet, this is Storm," Sam introduced the two tributes from vastly different regions. "I've been talking with him sometimes during training."

"Hi," the diminutive tribute piped up in greeting, unmoving from her seat.

"It's a pleasure," Storm replied, taking the cue from Sam that the two girls were, for all intents and purposes, an unspoken team. He'd need to get them both on his side, and time was running. "I wanted to ask you two something. You notice the Careers? All five of them?"

Gannet looked away – Storm had touched the wrong nerve. Sam furrowed her brow, hissing, "She's from District 4. Not a Career."

"Oh, right. I'm sorry," Storm did his best to quickly apologize. "It's just that…there's five of them, and they're pretty much bigger than any of the rest of us. I don't know if either of you remember last year, but the Career pack ripped everyone else apart. That kid from 2, Hadrian? He's a monster. None of the rest of us are going to be able to stand up to him one-on-one, not to mention with his buddies."

Sam laughed, drawing some eyes from around the room that quickly returned to their platters of food. "You really want a team? After you've been bugging me the last two days? Why would I do that?"

"I thought you two were friends?" Gannet asked, confused by the quick proceedings between the other two.

"Not quite," Sam corrected.

"The guy from 7 – his name's Ash – he and I have worked something out," Storm lowered his voice to barely a whisper. "He's over talking to the girl from 8, Kevlar, trying to work something out. Now, look, I know that's not great odds against them, but if he's successful getting her on board and you two come on with us…that's five of us, and five of them. At least the numbers are even that way, and one of us might stand a chance of going home – and not in a box."

Gannet squeaked out a muffled cry to that last word as Sam broke in to dispel the idea. "And what's going to stop you and your buddy from 7 from killing us off right after we've 'teamed up?'"

"Because…" Storm hesitated, as if choosing his words properly. "Because of you, Sam."

Sam recoiled. "Excuse me?"

Storm let his eyes wander over to Gannet again before drawing closer, so only Sam would hear his plea. As if taking the instruction, the girl from 4 meekly returned to her plate of food, looking dejected as Storm began. "Look, the girl? I've seen that expression too many times to know what it means. Back in District 12, we take more tesserae than any other district besides 11. That look? It's hope, or the lack of it. I've seen the same look in my father's eyes – the same father who lost his best friend to these Games two decades ago, who struggles to feed my family and I with meager pay. That same look is over the starving kids I saw in school who always went to sleep hungry. And you know what? I may have just been bugging you yesterday because you looked pretty on the chariot ride, but I watched you come over and keep her company during yesterday's lunch; something she obviously needed. She's in shock and hurt. That's something none of these other kids would have done. If you have nothing else, you at least showed you have a heart. She has no real strategic value. She's from a wealthy district, which doesn't mesh with any of us from the opposite. Any opportunist would have passed her up as Career fodder. Not you. You ignored all those things and did what your heart said."

"So you're going to try and empathize? To think you know what I'm feeling?" Sam whispered back, angry at the accusations flying her way. "That's not why you're here right now. Quit playing your act."

"Nobody's beating those Careers without numbers and backup, Sam," Storm lowered his head, his eyes like slits – cautioning of danger. "Most of these other guys and girls? They have no chance of going home. Hell, I don't know if we do, but I intend to try my best. I came to you – and to Ash, and he's going to Kevlar – because you and he and she came across as the only people who looked trustworthy. That's what I'm talking to you for. That's why I want your help – and why I want to help you and your friend. On our own, we're all dead. We're all lying in wooden boxes right now as our families cry over us, six feet under. Together, maybe one of us toughs this out. I'll be damned if I see those Capitol lapdogs over at the Career table win again."

Sam was taken back. Storm had professed a logical case, and it made sense – but the last line struck home. So that was the reason – she knew District 12 had more problems than virtually any other district, but she didn't know it ran that far. This kid, Storm – he wanted his shot across the Capitol's bow. The Careers had won six years in a row, after all – and his way of playing the game on his rules spoke of ending their streak.

Possibly even at the cost of his own life.

She had been completely wrong. He wasn't a pragmatist, willing to act a part and do whatever it took to claw out a selfish win. No, the boy from 12 spoke like an ideological zealot, determined with blood to get one non-Career tribute across the finish line, whether that was him or another. Maybe he could be trusted, after all – if not as a person, than at least as a force. He wouldn't stab someone like her in the back when she represented the same "side" as he, even if she could care less about such matters.

Sam nodded slowly at the passionate attempt by Storm, letting all the information settle. "And your other guy? Ash? He's not gonna slit all our throats in the middle of the night?"

"He's tough, but he's not coming off as the backstabbing killer type - and we need a well-rounded team," Storm asserted. "What I've been learning in the gym isn't necessarily skills and survival strategies. I've been watching and seeing who does what, how people react and learn. You've got brains under that pretty little head of yours; it's easy to tell. Your friend, Gannet? She needs someone to stick with, but she'll be loyal to that person if she receives what she needs. Ash is a physical body. Kevlar looks just like Gannet, except older and from a poor district. Maybe it's a ragtag group, but maybe it can also work out."

"You could learn a few lessons in tact," Sam rolled her eyes at the 'pretty little head' comment. "So you're the glorious leader in all this?"

"It was a compliment," he chuckled. "And yea, I guess I am. District 12's…lax on security, after all. The Peacekeepers and Capitol could give less than a nut about us back home. I've been figuring my way around things for several years now."

Keep an eye on him if you run into him in the arena, Sam…

"Alright," Sam finally capitulated, figuring she'd at least be able to outsmart this tribute from 12 – even if he had gotten the early jump with his eyes. If he even survived the Cornucopia. "You want a little army to fight the Careers? If Gannet's fine with it, I am too. I'm not ditching her, though."

"Well, let's present our case," Storm ushered.

Sam noted in the back of her mind how he had used the word "ours" rather than "my" – a stark contrast from Laredo's insistence on me-first terminology. Maybe that was a ploy; maybe it was truthful. He came across like a mystery – where Sam had believed to have seen only a casual and below-average tribute from a wayward district, he'd turned out to have his finger right on the tune of the 98th Hunger Games.

Any way she sliced it, Storm had caught her attention.