Fun Fact of the Chapter: How the Mentors Won Their Games, Part XIII. In the 196th Games, future Eight victor Penny Hofstader allied with Eleven tributes Joy and John; it became apparent early on that Penny and Joy were in love with each other. On day 12, Joy was mortally wounded by a mutt and Penny was on the verge of killing herself when John intervened, talked her out of it, and helped her flee from the Careers closing in on their camp. Penny has had a soft spot for Eleven tributes ever since.

…..

Bri Geers, District Seven

It's isn't fair, it isn't fair, it isn't fair it isn't fair it isn't fair itisn'tfair—

Calm down. Calm down, Bri. You—you need to—just—just—calm down—

It's pathetic. I can't even keep myself from crying. Not that anybody here would notice. Or care. I thought I saw a pair of eyes staring at me from one of the trees, but it was probably one of the hundreds of wolf-mutts in the area. I'm surprised they haven't killed me yet. No. No. I'm not surprised. I just wish they had.

Bow's broken. Legs are broken. The body of the Raine girl I killed is still right next to me—or rather, pieces of it. At least she's stopped moving. At least she's dead. But even then—I killed her. I killed somebody, I actually—

Calm down. Calm down. Now you're crying again. Calm down.

I wish they would just let me die already. I can't reach any of my arrows, so I can't stab myself with one of them. Could I—could I bleed out by clawing at my wrists? Would that work? Would I be able to take it or would I go crazy?

That's... that's assuming I'm not crazy already.

Time...

passes...

so...

goddamn slowly...

Imagine the Careers finding me here. Wasn't that the little girl who got an eleven in training? And here she is, a sitting duck. Hey, One, you finish her off—

One. Emily. Her body's still here. Dear God, her body's still here.

I wonder... I wonder if I'm going to have to eat it to stay alive, if that's what the Gamemakers want.

I'd rather die of starvation.

But—but—in one of the early Games, a tribute started eating his kills and they crushed him with an avalanche... what would it be in this arena? Another earthquake? Blizzards, what with the snow already falling? Or would they just tell the wolves to rip me apart?

That's all I want. I'm twelve years old. It's not the sky I'm asking for.

Kill me, somebody, quick.

…..

Link Anderson, District Three

I stumble over my prosthetic when I first see it.

My head collapses onto a snow-covered rock in the middle of the trail, doing horrible things for my face and even worse for my brain, so I'm not even entirely sure it's real, what I see when I scramble back up and look closer. But I do see it, plain as day. It's Thalia—Thalia's face, Thalia's corpse. To accentuate this last part, the Six's boy's spear is still sticking out of her blood-coated back.

No. No. This can't be real. Why would they put her body back in the arena? I mean, for the audience, yes, but... what are they trying to do to the tributes? Make us go mad?

I should keep walking. Spare myself the pain. Freaking sponsors would see the emotion as weak, and then my odds would plummet. I'm in the final twelve. I have to be careful that people still think I have a chance...

I grit my teeth and walk past the body.

Seconds later, I turn back.

I at least need to pull out the spear, give her a memorial or something, maybe follow the Katniss tradition—every few years, a contestant turns up who puts flowers on a dead ally's body; it actually tends to help their chances of survival. But there aren't any flowers here, just snow and rocks.

As I deliberate on what to do, a parachute falls in front of me. I scramble to pick it up. It's a small package, all wrapped up in green cloth. I open it. Some oil and a lighter, along with a few District Three biscuits to aid my survival.

Scott or Fromme or both of them want me to cremate her. And so I do.

But as I step away from the sudden burst of flames smoldering in the middle of the snow, I fall once more to the ground, startled, panicked. Because Thalia—her face—she moved. She smiled at me. Her hands trembled as she registered the fact that she was burning. And she shrieked in horror. One long, piercing scream.

…..

Jace Latone, District Nine

"You left me there! What the hell did you think you were doing, Nine?! Eliminating the competition? Standing by as your goddamn ally gets ripped apart by a goddamn wolf?!" Caprice's red hair is vivid against the snow. So is the blood she spilled digging her knife into my arm.

I close my eyes. "Caprice-"

"Don't make excuse, you bitch! You were going to kill me—and you knew I made a promise, you knew I wouldn't try to kill you back, well, I'M THROUGH WITH THAT PROMISE!" She grabs my shoulders, slams me against the tree.

"Caprice-"

A thrown knife scrapes my cheek. "I found your mother, for God's sake, AND YOU WERE GOING TO LET ME DIE?!"

"CapriceIwasasleep." It all comes out in a whisper, a choked-down sob, barely discernible.

"You what?" You can tell she's trying to hold back the fury, the vengeance she's due, if only for a moment. And I'm thankful for that.

I drop my knives into the snow, raising my hands into the air. "I was... I was asleep."

"How the hell can you fall asleep while being chased up a-"

"I have no idea!" It comes out angrier than I thought it would be. "I don't know, ever since you told me about my mother, all this time, on watch, when you thought I was just resting, when you thought I was awake-"

"Your eyes were open, Jace!"

"That's exactly it! It's like I'm sleepwalking all the time—is this reality, is this the dream, is this me going mad—I'm going mad! Stone cold crazy!" My hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? I try to pull the knife out of my arm, but I can feel the blood draining already, black speckles dancing across my eyes. In the back of my head I can hear the voice of... the voice of Noaa, of all people... I'm dying, for God's sake! Why am I hearing my district partner's—

The scene around me melts.

I'm not dying. Caprice never even stabbed my arm. I was just... dreaming.

Again.

…..

Chantelle Jacobsen, District Ten

My family is dead. This I know from the parachute.

It's funny, no mentor yet has ever exploited the system of being able to send notes into the arena along with parachutes. There have been plenty of smugglers in sponsor gifts—last year the Eleven girl got sent a knife hidden in a pickle jar—but no convenient notes, no "GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW"s or "YOUR ALLY'S GOING TO BACKSTAB YOU AT THE FEAST"s. That's how I know this one is real. If there's a precedent for sending potential threats fake notes to weaken their resolves, I don't know of it.

The wording was vague, but the meaning was clear. STAY STRONG, CHANTELLE. WE'RE THE ONLY ONES LEFT. BUT YOU NEED TO STAY STRONG. FOR GRAMPS. – A & L.

My family is dead, all except for the twins, and I'm trapped in an arena where people think the entire point of my existence is to die in battle. I'm tired and starving and cold. The Careers would think me an easy kill. Most likely, I have a total of two sponsors, and they're back in Ten mourning the mass execution of the people who raised me.

But I. Will. Not. Break.

It's all I have left, survival, being alive. If I stop even trying to buy myself another day, then—then what do I have left? What will people remember me as? A hollow shell of a girl? I am never going to be a shell.

If they're dead, which they probably are, I can use the anger to keep me going. I can avenge them. But if for some reason this is all a lie, I will strangle the bastard who thought it up with my bare hands.

I'm the impossible girl. I'm the survivor. I'm the one who stabbed her blind district partner—I know how the Gamemakers think; I am a Gamemaker. I'm the one out of twenty-four that's going to make it out of this place, back to District Ten. And no one's going to stand in my way. Cross my heart.

…..

Emerald Honeycomb, District Two

"I promise." Two of the easiest and worst words to slip out of my mouth. "We'll do it tomorrow night. You catch them all off-guard by volunteering for watch tonight, instead of the day we're actually going to kill them."

It's all a lie, of course. But Luka Saroque is easily persuaded—after all, what does he have to lose? He's careless with things, even with his own life. And that's what makes him an easy target.

I promise. Tomorrow night. It isn't that hard to say. But I know what it means. Death for him. And I'm not entirely sure that's a bad thing.

Luka volunteers for watch. Everyone settles into their sleeping bags, tenser than ever before. I lean back and close my eyes, keeping up the facade for just a few more minutes...

I roll over and stab Marius straight through the heart. And so the battle begins.