We've been nominated for "Best SYOT" in the 2012 Winter THG Awards! Thank you to all my readers. I couldn't have made it this far without your support—and, of course, without your wonderful tributes there wouldn't be a story. So, without further ado...

Fun Fact of the Chapter: How the Escorts Got Their Names, Part II. District Two's escort, Wilder Cain, who has white hair and eyes and skips everywhere, is named for 1) Laura Ingalls Wilder, the author, and 2) Cain, the biblical character. Don't ask me why.

…..

Kirby Knightly, District Twelve

My mentor said that the roof was the best place to go if you wanted a quiet place to think, so it's there that I find myself, rolling Fawn's ring along the ledge with my fingers and briefly wishing that there were no forcefield keeping me from the busy street below.

It's not that I don't want to go into the Games—I've accepted that fact, at least. It's just—this whole process, the opening ceremonies, the training, alliances, interviews, everything leading into these horrible death matches—it's just so hard, knowing that I'm following her exact same path, that I'm tracing her footsteps, conversing with her killers—

Look at me. I can't think. Half of the time, I can hardly move, hardly breathe. I'm dying inside. I'm not even trying. I know it's pathetic, and that Fawn put up a much stronger fight, but she was always a better person than me. She was my life. Without her, what do I have to live for? What do I have to... What do I...

It's a disgrace to her memory, this whole place, these whole damned Games. I wish the arenas could be torn to shreds, burned to ashes, flooded with rainwater and lava. I wish everybody in the Capitol would be sent into their own Hunger Games, or at least this hell I'm living, or the hell everyone's living back in Twelve—

But I'm not a rebel. I can't change anything. Fawn tried, she did. She tried to do one small act of kindness and unity, and everyone around her died. The Gamemakers don't want kindness, and the Gamemakers are the ones who control the arena.

I wish I could find it in my heart to hate the Gamemakers. I wish I could hate the world, or even myself. But in my heart, there's only a soft, sad pile of mush that was once called love.

I think Panem hates love. Why else would a nation like this exist?

I hear footsteps getting louder, coming from the stairway. Another tribute, coming up to reflect. Here's to hoping they'll come to better conclusions than I do.

…..

Marius Sheer, District Two

The boy from Twelve is the only person in sight. I would have preferred to come up here alone, but I guess that was too much to ask for. At least there are no other Careers I have to socialize with. I walk over to the ledge.

"Hey," says the boy. His voice is crackly and there are noticeable red spots under his eyes.

"Hello," I reply cautiously.

There is a pause during which the boy fiddles with a wooden ring, presumably his district token. I draw out Armen's chain and spend a little while staring at it, letting my thoughts drift.

"I saw you in the Training Center. You were really good with the spears," he says.

"Thanks." I was never good at conversation; then again, I never had to be when training for the Games. "So... what are you doing up here?"

"Thinking." He bites his lip. "About my girlfriend, mostly." My thoughts turn to Callia, how she's doing back in Two.

"Is she, uh, waiting for you to, uh, come home?"

"No. She's dead."

My eyes drift down to the necklace again. "Oh. Uh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"She died in the Games."

"Last year?" I can't even remember the girl from Twelve that year, as with most years.

"No. Two years ago. She made it to the final eight. Fawn Rivers." I vaguely recall the name. The girl who jumped in front of our girl's arrow to protect her ally. She was the laughingstock of the training center.

"There's a Career this year named Fawn, though she likes to be called Emerald. She may look sweet, but she's nothing like your Fawn." I've said the completely wrong thing and I know it, but the boy just continues staring into space. I think some more about Callia, wonder what it would be like to lost her to the Games. Somehow it's not the same as losing a best friend. It cuts deeper, even though I could barely call her my girlfriend.

This is why I don't like to wonder about things.

The boy interrupts the silence once more. "Kill me in the bloodbath, please."

"Sorry, what?"

"Make it quick. Just a stab. With that spear of yours. I want to join Fawn as quickly as possible." He glances at me with pleading, too-blue eyes. "It's not like I would make a difference anyways.

"I-"

"Please. You have something to look forward to, while I have nothing. Please, Marius." He knows my name?

I nod curtly and turn away, too embarrassed to ask what his is.