Part II.

We Were To Come This Far

The call I am expecting, asking me to come into the Capitol and appear on television with Jack, never comes. This is not to say that nothing regarding Games publicity, or Jack even, occurs in the months following the end of my Victory Tour and the lead up to the next Games.

Instead, I participate by phone on a trivia game show as Jack's partner. He and two Capitol contestants are at the filming in person and each of them gets a victor as a call-in backup. One is a famous fashion designer who partners with Pal. The third is a movie director who picks Hector. I can hardly imagine a worse ally in the game than me. I don't know almost any of the things they ask about, but Jack pleads ignorance and convinces me to make many best guesses, all of which are wrong and some, judging by the response they receive, hysterically so. I take some solace in the fact that Pal and Hector are only marginally more successful players than I am. Jack comes in last place. I suspect that he purposely exaggerated his loss margin for maximum entertainment value. Our consolation prize is a coupon for a lunch for two at some restaurant in the Capitol I've never heard of. I tell Jack that he should just use it with whomever he likes, but he says he'd rather save it to use with me sometime when I'm around.

I think this gives me the impression we will see each other soon, but we don't.

I have a hard time deciding whether I am glad of this or disappointed.

I go on to also be interviewed by telephone several times for magazines. Each exchange is preceded by Nar calling ahead and asking if I'm willing to speak with some particular person for such-and-such a purpose. He vets all of them on his own first as part of his job.

He also sends several packages my way on and following my eighteenth birthday of cards and gifts from fans in the Capitol. None of the presents on their own seem too over the top, but taken as a whole, it's kind of excessive. I give some of the jewelry gifts to Faline and tell her to share them with her friends if she likes.

I wonder how one fan knew my shoe size.

I slowly read through all the cards and letters a few every evening before I go to bed. All the people are very nice, although some of them say things I can't quite understand. Nar tells me just to accept them graciously and issues a blanket thank you on my behalf. I've heard that sometimes celebrities receive strange things from their fans, but if anything untoward was directed toward me, Nar weeded it out beforehand.

The snacks (and there are lots of snacks owing to my love of eating being a heavily publicized characteristic of mine) I spread around everywhere. Papa picks out some he likes, we put together a gift basket's worth for the Armains, another for the Mirandes, the Beaumonts, the Ayus (I've never talked to them much since Aoko died, but I know they pay attention to me), and I still have enough left to share with my casual class, letting home every "student" take home one thing for themselves and one for each of their siblings. I conduct all these group activities with an undercurrent of fear that someone will dub them too close to breaking the rule forbidding training for the Games even though no one ever picks up any weapons or fights.

I receive some further birthday well wishes from the districts via cards from Sunny, Shy, Raisin (I think that Kayta's supposed signature was actually written by her because it resembles her writing so closely), Sophie, and Pal, who also calls me up and sings a birthday song I've never heard before, but gets really embarrassed immediately after and all but hangs up on me.

I'm a bit surprised that I don't hear from Jack, but he's probably too busy for that kind of thing.

No one comes out to visit me from the Capitol (not that I mind), but I correspond a bit with both Aulie and Apple. They both seem happy with the goings-on in their own lives.

The moments when I panic while wading in the ocean or handling dead fish come less frequently. When I fill my days, I'm less likely to dream, so I try to pack my schedule to avoid nightmares. I work on my ostensible weaving talent (I think Faline is better than me); I help Papa and his crew; I go swimming.

'Lito's dad is making him work a lot at the boat shop (I'm not sure if it's just a side effect of their being more work available there or if there's some special reason), but he comes by the house often when he's free. Sometimes I don't want to talk to him, or anyone, really, for that matter, and I carefully peek out of an upstairs window from beneath the curtain and watch as he stares at the place for a while before leaving.

One day when I asked Faline what she liked best about watching the Victory Tour she turned the question over to 'Lito and he said I looked "so pretty."

I don't exactly avoid him after this, but when it's just the two of us, not always, but sometimes, a weird feeling creeps up in me. I like him as a friend, but I don't want him to think of me like…like I'm pretty. Like that.

He is nice and clever with his hands. His dark eyes are very engaging. But I don't think I like him that way. And I know I don't want to be liked. It's not 'Lito's fault. It's not just him and I can't tell him how to feel. But I don't want to be liked that way by anyone.

Soon enough, spring unfolds.

Like a game of hot or cold, it's getting warm, hot, hotter...

I go out to observe the pleasant effects of the final Parcel Day my win has gifted to Four's people. Most people don't even pay attention to me, probably because I've been around for the event all but one time, but there are some casual 'thank you's given out, along with an undercurrent of disappointment at the end of their good fortune.

A girl, Maria, who looks to be about my age, though I don't know her (she lives further from town, maybe, or she could have dropped out from school earlier- it's not as if that's entirely uncommon), makes an impression on me with her enthusiasm for the future even though that's it for the Capitol-given bounty. She makes a big fuss over showing me her baby, who sleeps, comfortable and oblivious, in a sling across her chest. "I was able to save more, see," she explains, "Because of the parcels, and stretch things. …If you hadn't won, I don't think I would've been able to afford to keep him."

I'm happy for both of them, but a little embarrassed for the attention. Maria can keep her son for now, but someone in those straits can hardly be sure things are set for the long term. There's only so much my win has accomplished for the district, but, "…Is there anything?" I grasp at the air. I feel like there's no way I can do otherwise.

"We get closer all the time, you know," Maria looks down at the baby, "The more he means to me, the more I'll fight to keep him. I know I'm going to manage somehow."

I admire her optimism. "Yeah," I try to agree with her, "Hang in there, both of you."

Papa is disappointed he didn't come along with me when I tell him about Maria and her son. I tell him he should be happy he doesn't have too many little kids in his life to worry about anymore. I say it in a joking way, but there's something serious about my feelings as well. The more people you love, the more weaknesses you have.

I lie awake worrying about who might be chosen for the next Games. I'm as bad as everyone else, hoping that it'll be someone that I don't know.

So just like that, the season for the Games comes around again, beginning, for me, with a letter from Nar outlining my general responsibilities within the Games structure as a victor and mentor (although he also mentions that Apple should be aware of all the relevant rules and strictures and able to provide me whatever guidance I require along the way).

After that comes Salvador's remark that he might want to volunteer. I can't exactly encourage him, but I can't discourage him either. I try to react as neutral as possible when I tell him the decision is up to him.

"But you'd be proud, right?" he presses me.

"…If it were to help someone who needed it," I relent. I know that pretty much anyone who could possibly be picked as tribute could need it. I just don't want Salvador to do something rash, least of all because he thought it was what I wanted from him. I know I am a horrible hypocrite because I do think a volunteer has better odds than someone reaped, but it's not like those odds are all that much improved. I will not deal that killing blow, but in some way, I am going to be responsible for what happens.

The third signal that the Games are at hand is a package from Erinne. "Spring and I came up with this one for you to wear to the Tribute Selection Ceremony," her note reads, "I hope it's comfortable."

Inside the package is a pink and white dress, two hair clips decorated with very realistic fake flowers in white, pink, and yellow, and a pair of pink and yellow sandals with lots of straps.

I show the outfit to Faline.

"What did you think you were going to wear?" she asks me, "Your same old reaping dress?"

I flush, seeing as she's hit the nail right on the head. "Uh, I guess you have a point," I answer. It would probably be a weird thing to do.

"If Miss Apple is wearing green," Faline pauses, "I'm sure she will be; you'll stand out in this."

I have a nightmare that Faline's name is called again. There's no rule against it that I know of. I don't think it's statistically all that likely since she's taken no tesserae and her name is only in there one time more than last year, but- Even though I can't recall any time that someone's name who was called once was called again and I'm sure they'd mention it if it were… I think of Pal's five living sisters at the time of his victory. I think about Teejay's sister, reaped after him; Luna's little brother whose cousin I killed in his place.

I have no siblings, but they hardly means they can't hurt me if they want to.

I don't tell Faline about the dream.

Some of the kids from "Survival Skills Club" as they've taken to calling it (I don't call it anything in particular) want to spend the evening before the reaping with me. They think it'll be good luck or something, but I don't want to.

I spend the day with Papa.

"You know that most of it is out of your hands, right?" he says, "Whatever happens, you can't beat yourself up over it, okay? You made it this far."

"I know," I say, but that doesn't mean I feel it.

I go to bed early.

The morning is a blur.

It's like I'm lost in some waking dream until I'm snapped halfway into reality: "District Four's first- and so far, only- victor, Mags Gaudet!" District 4 escort Apple Smitt says my name like a cheer.

And that's my cue. I stand up and wave. People who know me wave back. There's polite clapping.

"And, perhaps soon enough, there will be a new victor joining her!"

Apple, I think, can convince herself to believe in anything. I'm already reasonably sure that we will not be repeat winners. No district has had back-to-back wins yet and I see no reason why 4 would be the first. Unlike Apple, I can't be optimistic so easily. Maybe I have to tell myself right off the bat that we can't win this year to soften the inevitable blow. Of course, that doesn't mean I'm not going to do whatever I can to support our tributes. It isn't going to stop me from getting all torn up inside.

The obligatory film, the obligatory speeches. I think I have earned the right to ignore them, if nothing else. I tune out the words and allow my eyes to scan the crowd. Papa looks solemn and stiff, but I know the hint of relief of his posture- he has one child and she will not die in the arena (all he had to do was watch her kill).

It's like every other Reaping Day. They may blur together, but to a greater or lesser degree, I remember them all. Pretty much everyone is either openly or privately scared. Even old people without any families are on edge. I can't blame them.

I'm not sure if things are better or worse now that people generally go along with the Games and all their rigamarole. I was six years old when District 1's Jack Umber became the most famous district citizen in all of Panem (replacing the previous holders of that title- the leaders of the districts' rebellion). Riots broke out on nearly every stop of his Victory Tour (not 2- perhaps 2 had accepted these things), including the supposedly Capitol-loving district he came from. I've heard that he received a lot of death threats. I don't think it was fair how much people in the districts hated him. Someone had to win. The Capitol would've done everything they could to have their winner. And it had to be someone who killed. The Gamemakers beleaguered the last few pacifist tributes without mercy, even if the Capitol's commentators would never say so. "You play the game our way, or you die." They sent their message.

I don't know if people in the Capitol truly felt differently about Jack than the people in the districts, but the Capitol's television programs certainly loved him. …and still do, I would guess. I don't think it's only being the first that makes him the most visible victor. Jeff Zimmer always interviews him at the end of each Games, asking his opinion about the new victor. "That's a tough girl," is what he said about me. I think that's what's likable about him as a television personality. He's very straightforward.

…The fact that I am spending so much time mulling over Jack Umber is perhaps a sign that I am just as frightened as all the other people present (well, the ones who can't be reaped). They make the ceremony drag on on purpose, I think. There's something terrifying to be found in waiting.

Jack Umber said I was "a tough girl," but I wonder how he meant it. I'm not very tough, but you don't have to be the toughest to win. Just tough enough.

"Shaya Current!" Apple pulls from the girls.

Shaya's mother begins screaming hysterically. I know Shaya, marginally (how strange and horrifying it would be if I were put in the position of having to mentor someone I knew well). We were in the same year in school, though more often than not in separate classes. I remember her as a good swimmer, a volunteer lifeguard who watched over younger children as they played. She's the daughter of the mayor.

I try to picture Shaya as the victor of the 13th Hunger Games. In the movie in my mind, I am hugging her onstage in front of a Capitol audience. I am crying, but Shaya is able to hold herself together. "What a trooper," Jack Umber is grinning at Jeff Zimmer, "And such fine form in the water."

My delusional daydream shatters as Apple directs Shaya to speak into the microphone. She cannot speak her own name without sobbing. Mayor Current is silent but shivering.

"There, there, dear," Apple says to her, "It's okay to take a second. How about a deep breath? I'll pick the boy."

I think about Apple- my opinion of her now, knowing her pretty well (I assume), as opposed to when she was just "the district escort." Everyone here but Papa and me still basically feel that way (though my 'class' has gotten the chance to encounter Apple as the strange and interesting person that she is- foreign and flippant, but with her heart squarely in the right place). She is being as nice to Shaya as she can be, but it won't save her. No one cares. They don't think she's being nice at all.

She reaches into the giant fishbowl and plucks out a name. "Salvador Chavez," she reads with less enthusiasm. And when all eyes dart to Salvador, silently identifying him, I notice a twitch in her smile that likely passes the rest of them by unknowingly. Salvador is one of 'mine.' She's recognizing him.

Yes, Apple, that's what it's like. That's how hard it is when the tribute is just someone you know from around town.

Salvador goes from surprised to grimly stoic. He puts on tough grin for the crowd. If he can keep it up, the audience will like him. I've already seen that he's a strong and determined person. And he has a lot of spunk. My experience speaks to the fact that spunk entertains.

"Hey," he greets Apple onstage, acting amazingly calm and ordinary despite the situation (it's the same as I was, maybe- the feeling that it's not even real), "Nice to see you again. I don't know if you remember me, but we met at the end of the year in Mags' yard." He looks from Apple to Shaya and then out over the crowd, where his grandmother is clutching her string of worry beads, his mother is pulling at her hair, and his sister has the edge of her dress balled up in her fists. "I'm Salvador Alfonso Chavez, I am sixteen years old, and I will be proud to represent District Four in the Thirteenth Hunger Games."

His bravado seems to perk Apple up a bit. She convinces the people to give him a bit of applause.

Salvador tells some kind of lie about how he was planning on volunteering anyway unless the other boy didn't want him, but I even with what he told me last week, I seriously doubt it. Shaya stops crying, but doesn't speak up. Her father scribbles a note and passes it to Apple revealing that she is indeed Shaya Current and she is eighteen.

This is all a terribly bitter scene. I am glad I am not asked to contribute in any manner but my presence.

My real part will begin soon enough. But if I'm already wondering if either of them can win, I guess it has already begun.

The crowd splinters as Apple and I follow our tributes away. They'll say their goodbyes now and I'll say mine. The difference between probably permanent and obviously temporary is hundreds of thousands of miles.

"There weren't any volunteers," Apple says. Is she disappointed? Did she think someone might from the group that's been hanging around me? For my part, I'm relieved. It would be hard to deal with someone thinking they were going to be like me. The Capitol might like District 4 becoming the great sea of volunteers, but I don't think it would do us any favors in our relationship with the other districts. There have been no back to back wins. My victory is target enough on their backs.

Someone must have told Papa where to find us. "I ran into Aulus," he says. "I gave him your bag."

"Thanks, Papa." I wouldn't have to bring anything along if I didn't want to- the Capitol would see to it that everything I needed was provided. But in my down time, I'd rather wear my own clothes and handle some of my own things. Hopefully it will make Shaya and Salvador feel more at home too. "…You take care, okay."

"I'll be watching you on television everyday," he says. "I'll really be watching every part this time too."

"It's okay, Papa- I don't think anyone's going to call you out for looking away at the gruesome parts." It's my job (my duty) not to look away. Papa should take it easy. My victory should have earned him at least that much.

"Do take care of yourself, Mr. Gaudet," Apple pipes up.

"Could you say goodbye to Faline for me?" I ask. "And 'Lito?" They're not here and I don't want to rush around to find them, particularly not 'Lito. We'll see each other again. Acting too frantic like that might give him the wrong impression.

"Of course, sweetheart," he agrees, looking down at me. "I will," he adjusts his gaze upward to meet Apple's. "Thank you for thinking of me."

Papa is a harder read, but it's enough for me to think that Apple must really have a crush on him. …in any other situation than with the Games bearing down on us, my first impulse would be to rush off and tell Aulie how right we were, but there's little time for distractions now. "Goodbye, Papa. I love you."

I ride out to the train with Apple, Shaya, and Salvador in relative silence. "I'm going to do this, Mags," Salvador tells me. I think he's trying to psych himself up- mind over matter, right? "If I believe I can do it, maybe I can" - a theory that has something to it. But, in the face of these odds, I think to truly believe in yourself for the entire journey, you would have to be sort of deluded. Everyone has their doubts.

"It's my job, isn't it, to properly introduce you?" Apple considers the tributes and I.

"We both know her," Shaya answers. "Not just from TV. Personally, ma'am."

"And I know Apple too," Salvador tells Shaya.

Maybe she knows and maybe she doesn't. I don't think she cares because she doesn't respond to him. She addresses me instead, twisting a small piece of teal ribbon that might be her token around and around between her fingers. "You didn't have any grand plan that let you win. There were basically two things behind it. You stayed away from the other tributes for the first half and you got lucky in the second half."

"Someone's sharp!" Aulie speaks up.

As happy as I am to see him (oh, it's good to know that someone has my back), I am wondering about that. "Are you even supposed to be here?"

"Hmph, what a welcome," he pouts, looking to Apple and the others for sympathy while I slug him in the arm (which doesn't ruffle him any as far as I can tell) and then make up for it with a hug. "I am Aulus Strong," he introduces himself over my head, while he messes up my hair by rubbing his hand on the top between my buns, "Your unofficial co-coach, returning to the position by your mentor's invitation. If you are so inclined, you may call me 'Aulie.'"

"Hello," Shaya says.

"Hey, Aulie," Salvador is more enthusiastic. "I remember seeing you on TV with Mags. …Do you think there's any way I can get my arms half as big as yours before the Games start?"

"Ah, don't I wish, kiddo," he smiles, though his first disappointment of the Games comes when he finds out that neither of them have nicknames ("What kind of nickname would a girl named 'Shaya' even have?" Shaya wonders, sort of annoyed). Salvador does volunteer "Sal" as an option for himself, but it's not what he's normally called back home. He's just Salvador.

I feel terribly uncomfortable, so it's easy to imagine Salvador and Shaya only feel worse.

"…Can I look around?" Shaya asks, cocking an eyebrow.

I'm relieved for the break in the pressure. "Feel free," I shrug.

That's good enough for her. She turns and head off through the train. Salvador looks from me to Aulie to Apple and then back to me. "Me too," he half asks, half declares. I can't do more much than shrug at him too.

He moves away briskly, though I doubt he has much interest in actually catching up with Shaya. Though, what do I know? As far as my knowledge extends, until now, they were only just aware of one another.

"Cheer up, Mags, dear," Apple puts an arm around my shoulders, "You'll get the hang of it."

Thinking back on all of Apple's behavior that I've seen up through now, I have to reconsider her (and Aulie, to a lesser degree). Is she amazing or amazingly deluded? What sets a person up to be able to do the job that she does? I know she has feelings just like anyone else. I know she feels sad, or at least disappointed, when 4's tributes die. How does she do this the way she does, year after year? …what can I do to be a bit more like Apple? It's a question I never realized I would stand here and ask.

"This is going to be awful," I groan. I don't see any point in holding back my true feelings as long as my tributes aren't there to hear.

"You never know," Aulie counters, "And you've got to stay on top of your game if you want it to be any other way."

He's right, I suppose.

"Let's go, get a very aromatic snack, sit down to watch the other live tribute selections, and see how long it takes those two to show up," Apple suggests. I don't see any reason to counter her idea.

The Avox with the long blond hair is in the kitchen. I can't exactly say that seeing her makes me feel better, but her presence only adds to the familiarity of the situation. On one level, I know I'm safe- I don't have that deep-seeded fear of dying rushing through me- but on another, it feels like last year all over again, just with friends around me rather than strangers. I'm going back. I'm going back.

At Apple's request, the pretty Avox heats up some kind of pre-baked fruit tarts for us. "Nothing says Capitol like ruining your appetite for regular meals, right?" Aulie jokes.

The tarts do smell good.

"Thanks," I linger to speak with- well, at, the Avox. "Thanks for this and everything before too."

She dips her head and her bangs shift gently across her forehead and over her eyes.

I think about my arrival into 1 on the Victory Tour. I wonder where she came from before all this. Who she could possibly have been for anyone to think she deserved something like this. I'm not sure there's any safe way to ask her. I don't want to cause her any trouble. However hard her life might be, she puts up a good front. I hope she really is happy, in whatever small ways she can manage to be, as people nearly always can.

"Maaaags," Aulie verbally yanks me along.

We sit down in time to see the last bit of District 8's live broadcast. There's a brown-haired boy smiling while tears slide down his cheeks. He has very crooked teeth. There's a black-haired girl in a gray dress and green headscarf who doesn't smile or cry, but breathes through her open mouth. Pal, standing behind them, looks…rather determined, I have to say. I doubt it's what anyone would consider his default expression. What, I wonder, does it mean?

Then again, I over-think things, don't I?

I manage to eat a tart, a plum one, during 9's reaping. It probably helps that I don't have to watch Luna blanch at the calling of a relative this year. The escort, Denia, an acquaintance of Apple's, is wearing a gold dress supposed to look like wheat. Luna looks bored. I think that's the expression she wears as a defense against the world.

"That victor, Luna," says Salvador, "She really scares me."

"Just hope her tributes aren't like her," Aulie grins at him.

Salvador brushes a hand against his cheek. There's nothing there, so I can only assume he's self-conscious about having probably done a little private crying. He comes around to sit with us, fitting into the space between me and Aulie. "Most tributes aren't like their mentors," Salvador concludes after thinking on it for a few moments, "A tribute more like their mentor might win."

"Does that mean you want to be like Mags?" Aulie inquires.

"Well, I want to live," Salvador quips in return. It's part joke, part sincere. I see it as a definite parallel between Salvador and me.

…and I played pretty well, as I gathered over the course of my Tour. But that's not all there is to winning the Games. That's nothing compared to pure luck and a willingness to kill.

The District 10 reaping begins without any sign that Shaya is planning on joining us. Onstage in 10, Emmy Pollack isn't responding to the announcement of her name, but that hard-working escort is undaunted. "And aren't you Emmy Pollack?" he turns away from the crowd to face her.

"Oh, yes," she says, "Yes, that's right. I am." The applause she receives from the audience is rather subdued. What can 10 do with their victor but pity her?

"I think someone should check on Shaya," Apple declares. "Would you rather, Mags?"

"She might prefer it be you," I suggest, although it's a difficult thing to judge.

"You don't mind if she doesn't eat with us?" Apple asks when she returns.

"If she…doesn't want to…" I don't know quite what to make of it. I mean, I'm sure there are tributes who don't want to eat with the entourage, but I don't know how I'm supposed to react to it. Am I supposed to make her? The exact chain of expected events makes me uncomfortable enough. The unexpected is even worse.

"I believe as mentor it's your call," Apple tells me.

I try to get a grip and be more decisive. "She can eat on her own," I say. "But she should at least try and eat something. We'll make her a plate."

Salvador is understandably impressed by the lunch spread. "Did you gain a lot of weight after you won the Games?" he puts his blunt, bright-eyed gaze on me.

"Ten pounds," I confirm. If it hadn't been gradual, it would've been jarring. And is this it or will there be more? I can't say I know. I don't think I eat too much. I just eat…more often? More regular amounts?

"You didn't get taller though."

"I think it's too late for that."

"You'd have to get special hormone shots," Aulie muses.

I would never have even thought of it, though with the Capitol I can't be all that surprised that it exists as a possibility. "I'm fine being short." I pick out a large plate for Shaya so I can put a large variety of things on it in hope that something is to her tastes. I focus on items that aren't too strange or hard on the stomach based on my experience. "Excuse me," I slip off with the finished platter in hand.

I knock on the door labeled with her name. "Hey, Shaya. I brought you some lunch. Can I bring this in?"

She opens the door. "I'm mortified, you know?" she sighs. "I'm going to die at eighteen and soon enough all anyone but my family will remember will be the manner of my inevitable death and how I couldn't even say my name onstage."

"Not everyone," I answer.

"Oh, right. You'll remember. …but will it matter, Mags? Eighteen years, all for nothing?"

I don't know what I can tell her. "Thinking that won't make it better though."

"Yeah, but-"

"You can't stop," I sigh too, "I know."

She takes the full plate from me and turns away. "Thanks for lunch at least."

I hope Shaya enjoys her lunch more than I do.

"There's been more talk about the sponsorship idea," Aulie informs me, "But with no official announcement at this point, I doubt it's going to make it into this year's Games. …Next year maybe. Jack's support seems to have been pretty powerful though. When he talks about it, it gets people talking."

"What kind of things does Jack say about sponsoring tributes?" I mean, he's Jack, so I'm sure he thinks of something, but I can't picture it.

"Well, in person it's just talk, but on television he shows clips of well-received tributes who were in need at some point or other and then gets into 'what ifs' of if they'd gotten a sponsor gift at some critical moment."

"That sounds interesting," Salvador pipes up.

"All tributes who didn't make it, huh," I imagine.

"Ha," Aulie chuckles, "You'd think. And you're mostly right, but you know Jack. He can be pretty tongue and cheek with this stuff. He's shown himself, for one."

"He would, huh?" Salvador nudges me.

I give a forced grin. It would do no good to protest against my role as resident District 4 Jack Umber specialist.

Salvador bothers me for some general Games-related advice, although I have to protest that most of it I've told him before in the days he spent hanging around me after my return home. I fold my hands and look down at my knees. One new thing comes to me. "Don't ally with anyone you won't be happy dying alongside," I say. Not that you wouldn't mind killing- better odds you'll both end up dead anyway. "Don't ally with anyone you wouldn't be happy to see win either, since you'll probably have second thoughts about the alliance pretty fast otherwise."

"…probably go alone then," he posits.

"Oh," I see that we're headed into the tunnel. "Get up," I urge Salvador, "Go look. We're almost in the Capitol."

We are blinded by the rush of sunlight over water and the brilliant city metropolis together.

I feel a tremor run through Salvador as he takes my hand.

...Or maybe it's my own.