Chapter 5: Survival Smile

I wake up in a panic, feeling slightly disoriented and entirely terrified. My hand goes to my throat, checking for damage, but finding none. Then I remember where I am. The Capitol. I close my eyes and let out a shaky breath. The leering boy from One and Cato have become a part of my sleeping pattern, and I have the feeling that isn't going to change anytime soon. A shiver slides down my spine as I recall them chasing and taunting me, but I quickly force it from my thoughts. I lay still for a moment, trying to slow my breath before rolling over to look at the clock beside my bed. 7:23. I groan and scrub a hand over my face. Training doesn't begin until 10:00, but I know that I won't be able to fall back asleep. Yawning, I force myself to climb out of bed and begin getting ready for today. The outfit laid out for me is basic—a plain pair of black pants and a blue shirt with a black Twelve embroidered on the back—but I cringe at how tight the material fits. It's flexible, which is helpful for training, but it clings to my body in a way that I'm not used to, or comfortable with. I sigh, pulling my hair into a high ponytail, and then putting on the pair of sturdy black boots sitting next to my door.

I can hear people talking as I make my way into the main room. I strain to hear who it is as I walk; eventually recognizing the voices as that of District Twelve's newest victors. When I enter, I notice they're sitting on the plush red couch, deep in conversation. For a couple, they've seemed pretty distant the last two days. I don't know if it's out of the ordinary for them, considering I don't know anything about their relationship. I briefly contemplate returning to my room so that they can keep talking, but decide against it, making sure that my footsteps are loud enough so that they hear me approaching. They both look up at me in surprise.

"Briar, what are you doing up this early?" Peeta asks as I enter the room. "Training doesn't start for another few hours."

I shrug and plop down on the couch next to them. "Couldn't sleep."

I don't tell them about my nightmares, I'm sure the bags under my eyes are evidence enough of my fitful sleep. Both Katniss and Peeta give me an understanding look. Of course they understand. They were in my place a year ago.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" I question, looking between the two.

They answer simultaneously, blurting out a suspicious sounding "No." I raise my eyebrows at them, but don't question further. A silence falls over us as I look between the two teenagers who are now fidgeting and looking anywhere but at each other.

"So training…" I say as I fold my arms across my stomach and lean back in my seat. "Any ideas on what I should do?" I ask hopefully.

The two mentors glance at each before Peeta decides to take the lead. "You should hit the survival stations. Try to get in as many as you can." He pauses briefly. "And don't get sucked into any games with the other tributes," he adds after a moment. I avert my gaze at his pointed look, thinking back to last night.

"Don't let them push you around either," Katniss says. "Careers like to get a rise out of anyone they can. They walk around like they own the place, and they won't hesitate to try and intimidate you."

"What do I do if they approach me?"

I don't think it's likely to happen, but I want to be prepared just in case. Careers are notoriously sadistic, enjoying the thrill of playing with their food before they eat it, and after last night, I can't help but wonder if they've decided that I'm to be their first meal. I make a mental to avoid them at all cost.

"Don't rile them up anymore, but don't walk away letting them think you're weak either. You don't want to be marked as an easy target," Katniss says.

I nod my head at her words, ready to ask another question when Haymitch stumbles into the room. I can't tell if it's from drinking or drowsiness, but I really hope it's not the first. Haymitch may have been able to get his tributes through last year without being completely sober, but I doubt he'll be that lucky again. That last 23 years are enough to prove that. And I really don't want to die.

"Ah, early risers," Haymitch grumbles as he walks towards us. He throws himself unceremoniously onto the couch and puts his feet on the coffee table. I'm relieved to find that he doesn't smell like he's been drinking.

"We were just discussing Briar's strategy for the Training Center," Peeta informs the newest arrival.

Haymitch rolls his head to the side, looking blurrily at Peeta. "I don't recall asking."

I roll my eyes at his sour response, and both Peeta and Katniss give me a look that says not to get offended.

"Haymitch," Katniss says, giving the man a stern look.

After a moment, he sighs dramatically. "Alright, alright. Just give me a minute, and then we can talk about whatever your heart desires."

He gets up and walks towards the dining area, and I hear the clanking of glass from somewhere behind me, but I don't turn around to see what he's getting. We sit in silence until he makes his way back to the couch with a glass no doubt containing some variation of alcohol. When he sits back down, we all fix him with a look, indicating for him to start.

Haymitch looks me over and raises an eyebrow, "Good night?"

I stare at him blankly. He already knows the answer to the question.

"Spectacular," I say sardonically. "So can we talk about tactics now?" I'm getting impatient. I never thought I'd be eager to get into the Training Center, but I just want to get this all over with.

He raises another eyebrow at my impatience, but begins speaking. "What have these two told you so far?" he asks, pointing between Katniss and Peeta.

"Survival stations, avoid the Careers, don't look weak," I rattle off.

Haymitch purses his lips and nods his head. "All good advice, but you have to remember that there isn't just twenty-four of you; there's forty-eight. That means twice the amount of Careers to avoid." I groan slightly at that. "Now, the Training Center is brand new, larger than before, but it will still be crowded with tributes and the Careers will monopolize all the weapon stations. If you find out you're good with anything, make sure not to let too many of them see. You don't want to reveal all your cards just yet."

"I don't really have any secret weapons, Haymitch. I probably won't be more than mediocre with anything, if that."

There is no modesty in my statement. Through my years of work I've become used to wielding knives and cleavers, but I know that it won't make much of a difference in the arena. Those skills will only be helpful in hand-to-hand combat, and even that's doubtful. Besides, my size doesn't exactly lend itself to that. I wouldn't stand a chance against a larger opponent. If he's expecting me to be another Katniss, he's going to be severely disappointed, and I'm going to be severely dead.

Katniss shakes her head. "You don't have to be more than mediocre. Sure, weapon skills are useful, but it's a game of survival. How many dummies you can hit with a spear won't always matter in the arena."

Easy for you to say. You actually have a skill.

"Katniss is right. It's the smart competitors who win, which is why you're going to focus on the survival stations. At least for today," my mentor says. "Oh, and one more thing. If those Careers look at you again, don't let them know you're scared, but try not to piss anyone off either. They look at you or approach you; you smile and walk away. Keep them on their toes."

Easier said than done.

The Training Center is nearly full by the time we arrive. It's fifteen minutes to ten and most of the tributes have already formed a large, tense circle in the middle of the room. A few of them glance over in our direction as we step out of the elevator, but I successfully avoid eye contact with any of them, instead choosing to focus on the woman in the center. I pick a spot that looks only mildly intimidating, standing between one of the large boys from Seven and a tiny girl from Five.

The Training Center is huge, and I immediately understand what Effie meant when she said that they had spared no expense for the Quarter Quell. The room is filled with different stations, varying from things like fishing to weightlifting to simulated combat. I've never seen so many weapons in one place. They entire room is filled with different types, the metal shining and creating highlights on the dark interior.

The woman in the center, who introduces herself as Atala, begins to speak when the clock strikes ten. "Alright everyone, listen up. Today is your first of three days of training. But before we begin, there are some ground rules. When all of this is over, only two of you will be left standing, so if you don't want to be one of the other forty-six, I suggest you listen very closely. First and foremost, the instructors are here to help you. Take advantage of it. Second, there will be no fighting with your fellow tributes. There will plenty of time for that in the arena."

I shiver at the ripple of smirks I see break out across the room, but try to keep my attention on what Atala is saying. She tells us that we are free to travel around from station to station as we please. There will be specialists placed in each area to help us if we need it, and there are also assistants to practice hand-to-hand combat with if we wish. I take another glance around at the other tributes and immediately rule that out because of how pathetic I'd no doubt look. Like my mentors had done, the head trainer stresses the survival stations. I hope that none of the Careers follow her advice.

When Atala finishes with her instructions, she leaves us to our own devices. I take a quick look around, watching as the tributes disperse, trying to decide where to head first. Haymitch had suggested that we all work at different stations, so I make sure not to go to the areas that my district partners have gone to. I see that the snare station is practically empty, so I decide to try there first. I've never tried to make a snare, but I figure it could be an extremely useful skill in the arena, especially considering that I don't plan on starving to death. Plus, Katniss seemed pretty keen on knowing how to make one, and she won, so I figure it's good advice.

There's only one person at the station when I arrive. Her name is Lumen, a tall blonde girl from District Three who is apparently terrible at producing snares. Her first few attempts are horribly unsuccessful, and I have to make a conscious effort not to frown at her or ask if she needs any help. Not that I'd be able to do much. My first few attempts aren't much better than hers, but after a little help from the trainer, I complete a relatively good one. I need more practice, but I'm pretty confident that I'd be able to catch something with it. Relief floods me when I find that I'm actually pretty good at snares, picking it up quickly, and even earning a small nod of approval from the trainer. At least I'll be decent at something in the arena.

I'm in the middle of working through a more complicated snare when I hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

"You're pretty good at that."

I turn around to see a boy standing behind me, looking over my shoulder at my work. He looks to be around the same age as me, maybe a little younger, with sandy blond hair, big brown eyes, and a square jaw. He has a lanky build, standing almost a complete foot taller than me, but I can see that despite being thin, he's got some muscle on him. He also has a goofy grin on his face.

"Uh, thanks?"

"What district are you from?"

I raise an eyebrow at the question. He's standing right behind me, and with the way my hair is pulled up, I know that he can clearly see the twelve embroidered on my shirt. He just smiles and waits for an answer.

I give in. "Twelve. What about you?"

I mentally berate myself as soon as the words leave my mouth. I shouldn't be getting friendly with the other tributes. No good can come of it.

"District Nine," he says, the smile still plastered to his face. He holds out a hand to me. "My name's Barden."

I'm still crouched on the ground with the snare in my hand as I look between his face and the arm extended towards me. My brows furrow at how friendly he's being, and I continue to glance between his face and his hand while I contemplate what to do. I don't understand what he's doing. Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch had all warned me against interacting with the Careers, but this Barden clearly isn't one, and I'm at a loss for how to approach this situation. On one hand, talking to him could get me in trouble. He could be pretending to be nice in order to make me trust him, learning any skills I have and then using them against me in the arena. On the other hand, he could be useful. He doesn't seem to be overly confident, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have any skills. He could be a potential ally.

I make my decision, standing up and extending my hand out to his. He has a strong grip, so I know I was right about him being stronger than he looks. I pull my hand back and give him a small smile. "Briar."

He nods. "Oh, I know." My eyebrows shoot into my hairline at that, and he quickly jumps to elaborate. "I recognize you from the recap. And the tribute parade, though you're looking a lot less bird-like today," he adds, the corners of his lips tugging up.

He remembers me from the recap. I want to ask if it's because of the reaping— if I looked like actual competition—or if it has to do with Caesar's little spotlight, but something tells me I won't like the answer. I don't want to be recognized for that. I don't want people lumping Cato and me together. I'm pleased with the comment about the parade though, sending a mental thank you to Cinna. If other tributes have cared to learn who I am, it means that sponsors may have too, and that Cinna has done his job better than I could have asked for.

"So," he says, breaking the silence, "you used to making these things? We don't really have a need for them in Nine. Not to many animals to catch in the grain fields."

"No, this is the first time I've ever tried. There really only used for hunting, and that's illegal in Twelve." I don't bother telling him that people still did it, just that I wasn't one of them.

"Hmm, well I guess we'll have to see if I can pick it up as easily as you," he says with a boyish grin. I shake my head but smile.

We continue to work at the snare station for a while. I discover a few things over the period: first, Barden is not as adept at snares as I am, and second, much to my chagrin, I actually like him. He's a got a quiet charm about him, with his droll humor and youthful attitude. His innocence is both enviable and little sad because I know that it can't last in the Games—it never does. But still, his warm personality reminds me of Peeta, making it hard not to enjoy his company. Soon enough though, an hour passes, and I decide that it's time to try my hand at something else, remembering Peeta's advice about going to as many stations as I can. I say goodbye to Barden and head over to the fire starting section.

The fire station is in the farthest corner of the room, which means that much like the snares, the area doesn't attract a lot of attention. It's perfect for trying to remain unnoticed by the other tributes, especially since all of the Careers think they are above survival skills such as this.

I light a fire easily on my first try, which surprises the trainer enough for her to try and test me with different materials. I build them with relative ease, but unlike the snares, this is an area I'm not particularly worried about learning for the arena. The winters are often harsh in Twelve, and no one has fancy technology for controlling the temperature inside their house, so fire starting is a skill that most people in my district develop early.

The simplicity of the activity allows me to relax a little, and I take some time to survey the area, looking for my fellow district members. I roll my eyes when I spot Thalia and Collis talking animatedly at the hammock making station, clearly have decided to forgo Haymitch's instructions of staying away from each other. It's a useless station and to make it worse, they also both seem to be terrible at it. I shake my head and build another fire before looking for Karn.

I really don't want to see his stupid smirking face, especially after breakfast this morning. Almost the entirety of the meal was spent talking over different strategies for the training room, most of which involved focusing on survival stations today, but Karn wasn't having any of it. He gave an impressive imitation of a Career as he smiled smugly, while going on and on about how effective he could be if he got his hands on a weapon. Even Effie didn't seem to be a fan of his arrogance.

I glower at the memory as I scan the room, and I scoff when I find him working at the ax station, but my annoyance is quickly replaced by apprehension when I realize that he's actually doing pretty well with it. His hits aren't the most accurate, but his physical prowess makes each swing hit deep, burying the ax far into the soft flesh of the dummy. If it isn't enough to kill someone, it will definitely maim them or slow them down at the very least. I feel sick just thinking about, but something stops me from focusing back on my fire. A prickling sensation between my shoulder blades makes me feel as if I'm being watched as I inspect my district partner.

I shift my gaze to the left to find the boy from One staring at me. Again. He's standing over by the sword station with about half of the Careers, all of which are watching as Cato maims dummy after dummy, oblivious to what One is doing. The fact that he is the only person in the group that is paying any attention to me doesn't make me feel any better. He's leering just like he was at the parade, and it makes my skin crawl in both disgust and fear. One of the girls—Nerissa—tries to get his attention, turning to look in my direction when her attempts fail. I can almost hear her growl from across the room when she spots me, and if looks could kill, I'd be dead before ever making it into the first arena. I keep eye contact though, remembering what Haymitch suggested this morning and pulling my face into a sweet smile. This only serves to make her even angrier, drawing the attention of the other Careers whom all turn to see what has One leering and Nerissa fuming. I keep the smile in place as I stand and thank the trainer before making my way over to the edible food and insects station. I don't look the see what any of their reactions are to my seeming indifference, but I hear the distinct sound of a sword slicing through a dummy and the clang as the pieces fall to the ground.

I take a deep breath when I arrive at the station, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart. I hope that the Careers' strict routine of avoiding anything not deadly or intimidating is enough to keep them from coming to join me. I can't help but wonder what's driving the boy from One to pay attention to me. Is it because he thinks I'm competition and wants to make me uncomfortable? Does he think I'll break under the pressure because of what happened to Amelia? Does he think I'm weak? Or is he really just that much of a creep? I suppose it doesn't really matter though.

I'm wasting my energy thinking about this. It's probably what he wants—to play some stupid mind game that distracts me from learning anything that could keep me alive in the arena. I scowl and set to work memorizing the different plants and insects, trying to put my energy into something useful. There are a lot of them: different bugs and plants that can be found in a variety of climates. I don't know which pieces will be helpful in the arena, so I study all the different items closely, trying to commit them to memory. I remember most of them with relative ease when the trainer comes to test me, although it takes me a few seconds to identify them. Machineel, Cassava, Aconite, Kennelspur, Rhus… Mr. Fairbain always did say I picked things up quickly. Overall, I'm pleased with my performance. I practice for a little while longer, only stopping with the bell rings for lunch.

The meal is uneventful. I find myself sitting at a table full of people I don't know, and none of us talk much. That is until Barden comes to join us.

"So Briar, how was your morning?" he asks. The other tributes at the table look towards us with confusion on their faces—probably wondering why the kid is so damn happy—but they don't say anything.

"It was okay, I guess," I say with a shrug as I pick at my food.

"That's good. Mine was too if you were wondering," he teases. "So I've been meaning to ask you, what was the point behind your whole bird persona. I mean, it looked good, but what did it mean?" His blatant curiosity surprises me, because I can't figure out why any of this information would matter to him, but I also can't find a reason why he shouldn't know, so I don't hesitate to tell him.

"I was supposed to be a canary. They serve as a sort of warning system in the mines to help the miners escape if there's a gas leak… and they stand for freedom and the future," I add as an afterthought.

He nods his heads at my explanation. "Makes sense." He pauses briefly before firing off his next question. "Why aren't you sitting with the other kids from your district?"

I raise my eyebrow at him. He's not sitting with anyone from his district either. With the exception of the Careers, nobody seems too strict about where they sit.

I shrug again. "Why aren't you sitting with anyone from yours?"

"No reason. Plus this seat was open."

He stops talking after that, instead opting to shovel food into his mouth at an alarming rate. I'm sure his manners, or lack there of, would make most people cringe, but I've seen a lot worse in the Seam so it doesn't bother me. Any other conversation we have is idle chatter, which ends when we're all called back into the training room.
The afternoon, unlike the morning, passes without incident. I continue with my tour of the survival stations as my mentors suggested. I try my hand at camouflage, but quickly learn that I'm terrible at it. I also try the hammock station, though I have no idea why that would ever be useful in the Games. Despite my lack of success at the last two stations, I leave the center feeling good, finding comfort in the fact that even if I'm not skilled with any weapons, I'll at least have some survival skills to fall back on.

"So how did training go today?" Haymitch asks as we begin our private mentoring.

Over the course of dinner, both Karn and I decided that we wanted to be trained separately. Working together seemed like a bad idea for a multitude of reasons, the main two being 1) if I do turn out to be good with any weapons, I don't want him knowing, and 2) I don't like him. So when everyone had finished with their food, Haymitch and I moved to the main room, spreading out on the couch to discuss today's events and to rethink strategy if need be.

I think back to what happened in the Training Center, before pursing my lips and saying, "It was…eventful."

Haymitch lets out an exasperated sigh. "Am I going to have to force the information out of you every time I ask a question?"

His statement makes me feel a little bad about my silence. I resolve to be a bit more forthcoming with him.

"I spent the entire day at survival stations like you suggested," I say. "I'm good at making snares and at identifying poisonous foods and insects. Not so much at camouflage and making hammocks." He looks at me questioningly when I mention the last one, and I just give him a look conveying my own confusion on the matter.

"Well at least you might not starve to death in the arena. That is, if they give you any animals to catch." He says the last part more to himself than to me. It's not meant to scare me, but my heart still sinks at his words.

It reminds me of the feeling I had when I first walked into the training center, seeing the competition I would have to face in the arena. This makes me think of the incident with the boy from One and Nerissa. I might not have any meals in the arena, but they could definitely make one out of me. I don't say anything to him about it though. I feel guilty about the event even though I know that I didn't do anything wrong. It probably has to do with what he said last night. For some reason, I don't want to disappoint Haymitch.

My dejection and desire to please Haymitch makes me feel a little irritated. I'm the one in danger of dying here; I shouldn't be worried about anyone but myself.

"I just did what you told me to do," I say.

He gives me a droll look. "So that's all that happened? Nothing else?"

He's acting like he knows more than he's letting on, and I wonder if someone has mentioned something to him. Maybe another mentor who got the information from his tribute?

I'm quick to cover though, saying, "Um, I met a boy from district Nine."

Haymitch's eyes widen and he smiles mockingly. "Oh, do we have another love story on our hands?"

I roll my eyes at his childish remark. "I just meant that he might be a good ally in the arena. He's seems decently strong and smart, and I figured since I don't have to kill everyone, an alliance might be worth looking into."

He's silent for a moment, a contemplative look overcoming his face before he nods. "Maybe." He pauses again. "So nothing else of note happened today? If this is going to work, you have to be upfront."

I sigh. He definitely knows.

"The boy from One was looking at me again. It made Nerissa, the girl with Finnick last night, mad. And before you ask, I have no idea why. I wasn't doing anything to draw attention to myself. I was at the fire starting station, which is like, the least popular in the entire room. But I did what you said: I smiled and walked away."

Haymitch leans back in his seat and clicks his tongue. He doesn't seem pleased with the information. "Well, kid, you've been getting a lot of attention in the Capitol." I'm about to ask him why, but he waves a hand at me, telling me to let him continue. "Whether or not you like it, it's a good story—the thing with you and the boy from Two. Not to mention the fact that you made a splash in the parade. The Careers are used to getting all of the attention, and now, for two years in a row, they've been outshined by District Twelve."

My chest tightens at his words.

"It's not fair," I say, shaking my head "I don't want their stupid spotlight."

"Oh yes you do. Whether or not you like the attention, the story is making you popular. It could bring in a lot of sponsors. So I suggest you keep doing what I say: ignore the Careers and focus on your own training, and I'll worry about the media." I blow out a breath and nod. "Good, now I want you to try out some weapons tomorrow."

I'm a bit surprised by the change in strategy, but I assume it has to do with the Careers' newfound interest in me, so I skip the part where I usually question him, and jump to being practical about it.

"Does it matter which?"

"No. Try your hand at everything." He pauses, seeming to rethink his statement. "But save the knives and the ax for a time when there aren't too many people around."

"Okay. I can do that."

The corner of Haymitch's mouth twitches up slightly, and I have to blink rapidly to process what just happened. I didn't know Haymitch knew how to give a real smile. I also don't know what I did to please him, but whatever it was, I'm glad I did it.

"Good," Haymitch says as he stands. "Now I have to go deal with the other kid." The statement comes out as an annoyed grumble, and I can't help but laugh. It looks like I'm not the only one who doesn't like Karn.

I stay in the main area for a while, deciding to turn on the TV as everyone else talks with their mentors. Much to my displeasure, but not to my surprise, everything on has to with the Games: past Games, tribute analysis, Katniss and Peeta's wedding preparations, behind the arena, and so on. It makes me angry, how much these people's lives revolve around the Games. It's sickening that they can find so much pleasure in watching children die—in turning children into killers. I suddenly deflate at the thought. When all of this is done, whether I live or die in the arena, I'm going to be a murderer. There's no getting around it. There's way too many of us for me to hide my way to the finish. And even if I could do that in the first arena, there's no way I'd get away with it twice. Chances are I wouldn't be able to convince my partner of that plan anyway. It's a sobering thought, and one that makes me feel completely and utterly hopeless.

I sit on the couch, staring at the television but not really watching it as I try to imagine what will happen once I enter the arena. Every scenario that comes to mind makes me feel sick. I distantly hear the sound of my name being called, but I'm so out of focus that I can't tell if it's from the speakers of the TV or if it's from someone in the apartment. A hand on my shoulder tells me it's the latter, and I turn to see Katniss standing behind me.

I pull myself up from my slouched position on the plush couch and shake myself from my thoughts. "Hey, Katniss. What's up?" I groan internally at how weak my voice sounds.

"Nothing, you just seemed pretty out of it," she says with a shrug.

"I was just thinking about the Games. About the Capitol."

I look towards the big window on the far side of the room, the one that looks out across the city. I remember what I had thought of the Training Center as we arrived in the Capitol for the first time, and I turn towards Katniss quickly with my next thought.

"Are we allowed on the roof?"

The question seems to catch her off guard, but she nods slowly. "Yeah. Why?"

"Can I go?"

She stands there, staring intently at me for a moment before she jerks her head towards the elevator. "Come on, I'll show you."

I smile at her gratefully and follow her to the elevator. Despite having ridden in them over the past few days, I'll still not entirely sure how they work, so I let her press the buttons. She pushes one that has a large R on it, and the elevator begins to move. The ride is silent and only lasts a couple of seconds before the doors open again.

When we step out of the elevator, I immediately feel glad for having asked Katniss to take me. The wind on the roof whips around, flowing naturally as opposed to the stale, heavy air that fills the Capitol buildings. It's not the same as home, but it instantly brings me relief. I walk over to the railing of the building, and look over the edge as Katniss comes to join me. I notice that I was right: I can see for miles from here, but I don't see the browns and greens of the lush forests of District Twelve, but rather the artificial whites and yellows of the Capitol lights. I can't hear the loud sounds of the cars or the people over the wind.

"Peeta showed me this last year, after Cinna had shown it to him," Katniss speaks from beside me.

The tiny bit of personal information she has just given surprises me: She's not an open person. I wonder if it's because the Capitol makes her feel just as lost as it makes me. I lean my elbows on the railing as I look out at the city and another silence falls over us. It doesn't feel awkward though, which is another surprise to me. I know that she understands better than most what I'm going through, having gone through the same thing a year ago. She knows that there isn't anything to say that can make it better. But still, our situations are different. She had her sister to fight for. And her mother, and Gale. The thought of getting back to them kept her alive in the arena, but I don't have any of that to go back to. Considering that my father didn't even come to say goodbye, I don't think what happens to me in the arena matters much to him. I know that Mabel wants me to come home, that she believes that I can, but it's not the same. The same goes for Mr. Fairbain. He's been the closest thing I've had to family since my mother and sister died, but I know that he'd be okay without me. They'd both be able to move on with their lives. I don't know how I'm supposed to do this—how I can justify doing what it takes to live when others will be losing something if they don't return home.

"They make it impossible for you to jump. There's a force field that goes around the whole thing. It bounces you right back if you try," she says, breaking our silence. I wonder if she could tell what I was thinking.

"How nice of them to be so concerned about us," I say bitterly.

She laughs softly. Or maybe it's loud, but I can't tell over the wind. "That's exactly what I said."

I hear her sigh next to me as we continue to stare out at the city.

"How do you do it?" I ask quietly. "How do you get through the Games? How do you justify killing these people?"

Her head snaps in my direction at my softly spoken question, and she swallows thickly, contemplating what to say. "I…" She shakes her head and takes a shuddering breath. "You…you don't justify it. You can't… But it's you or them. Someone has to come out on top." Both her eyes and tone convey how serious a statement this is, and I'm reminded that her victory came with a price, just like Haymitch's did.

"And it never gets better. You either learn to live with it or you don't." She takes one more look out at the city before turning to me. "I'm going to head back. Make sure you don't stay out here too long." I nod and watch as she disappears into the elevator, leaving me alone on the rooftop.

I put my head on my hands as I think over her words. 'It's you or them.' The thought makes me sick to my stomach. It's an impossible situation. I have nothing to lose, but I don't want to die. I can't justify killing these kids, but I can't justify letting myself die either. But questioning whether or not I deserve to survive doesn't feel right; it's not what Amelia or my mother would have wanted for me. And I promised Mabel and Mr. Fairbain that I would try, that I wouldn't go down without a fight. That I wouldn't let them win. And I can't. I can't just give in. I'm not this scared girl the Games have turned me into. Maybe it's selfish, but I won't let them take my life from me so easily.

"You can't jump you know. If that's what you're thinking of doing."

I whip my head around in the direction of the deep voice, coming face to face with the boy I can't seem to escape.

Cato.

His arms are folded over his chest and he's sneering at me from his place a few feet away. For the first time since I saw him on the recap, I find myself feeling something other than fear. My jaw clenches at his insinuation: that I'm so scared, so afraid of him and his friends, that I'd rather kill myself than have to face him. The anger builds in me rapidly, and I find myself snapping at him. "I wasn't going to jump. I'm not stupid. Or suicidal," I say harshly.

He raises an eyebrow in my direction. "Then what were you doing?"

"Why does it matter?" I bite out, already eager to be out of his presence. He's wearing normal clothes as opposed to the training outfit, and it reminds of the arrogant boy that had me terrified on Reaping day with his eagerness to play the game.

He smirks at me with cold eyes. "It doesn't. It'd just be a shame if some of the competition decided to take themselves out early. Where would the fun be in that?"

I narrow my eyes at him, a scowl pulling at my lips. Of course he's concerned about me ruining his playtime. That's the reason he volunteered: to have some fun. It's why all the Careers volunteer. They just want glory, and breaking their competition is just a welcome bonus to them. Well, I'm not here to play this game with him.

"If that's the case, then why don't you go somewhere else? It's a pretty big roof."

It's his turn to glower, and he takes a threatening step towards me. I clench my fists as I will myself to stand my ground. I guess he's not used to people talking back to him.

Unfortunately, his face quickly morphs back into a smirk, and I know I've lost any ground I had just gained. "What? No smile for me? You seemed so friendly with Mace earlier today."

Mace? I wrack my brain to fill in the missing information. There's a flash of the training room, a leer, and a glare, and I realize that he must be talking about the boy from One. I swallow dryly when I think of him and his suggestive gaze, the way he made my skin crawl with a single look. Cato notices my instant discomfort, his smirk growing wider. He's playing with me. It only makes me angrier, and I try to give him my most intimidating glare. I know it won't be very effective though. Guys like Cato practically wrote the book on how to be intimidating.

"Yeah, well, maybe I just like him better than you."

It's a childish comeback, but my anger-addled brain can't seem to think of anything else to say. In truth, I hate them both. I might even hate Mace more because while Cato is intimidating and cold, and no doubt a ruthless killer, Mace is all of those things as well, except he gets to add "repulsive creep" to his list of qualities. I don't tell Cato that of course.

"I'm hurt, Twelve," he says with a mock frown. "And here I thought we had such a special connection."

He puts emphasis on the last word, letting me know just how unhappy he is with the fact that the two of us have been lumped together since the recap. My mind immediately goes to Amelia, a deep ache forming in my chest, and I have an overwhelming urge to slap him for making this personal. I manage to resist, knowing that I'd only end up hurting myself if I tried to take him on in a physical battle.

"I have a name," I snap. "It's Briar."

"Hmmm." He looks mockingly thoughtful for a minute and then sighs as if he's just made a very difficult decision. "I think I'll stick with Twelve."

I roll my eyes at his cruel smirk. "Whatever," I say with a wave of my hand. "Have it your way, Two. It's not like whether or not you call me by name will matter in the arena. Either way, I won't hesitate to kill you if I get the chance." Somewhere in the back of my head I hear a voice telling me that I'm probably going to regret my sudden boldness, but it's drowned out by the frustration, so I don't listen to it.

My comment is a blatant lie. I have no idea what I would do in the arena if I had the chance to kill him. The rational part of me knows that I should kill him, but I don't know if I could. I don't know if I can kill anyone, but I try to cover my doubt with a stoic determination as I stare at the brutal boy before me.

He seems amused by my comment, his eyebrow raising and his lips twitching. It's incredibly unnerving. It almost looks like a real smile, but I don't think Cato's actually capable of that so I decide it must be a trick of the light.

He laughs harshly. It makes my skin crawl, and I decide that it's a sound I never want to hear again. "Well, I've got to admit, I'm surprised. You've actually got some backbone." It's not a compliment, and I don't take it as one. "Not that it makes a difference. Look at you. You don't stand a chance." He doesn't walk towards me again, but I'm forced to take a step back as the teasing drops from his voice and his tone suddenly becomes a low growl. "I'm going to win this thing; we both know it. Doesn't matter how much fight you have, or who you are. If I see you in the arena, I will kill you."

I shiver in response to his words, thankful that the wind is blowing so strongly that he can't hear my sharp intake of breath. Unlike me, I know he's not lying. He's trained his whole life for this, and he's more than prepared to do what it takes. Humanity means nothing to him. He's a ruthless killing-machine.

I can't think of anything to say in reply, but I'm determined not to look weak. I stand there, trying to think of something to do to show him that I'm not scared, even though I can feel the terror clawing at my insides. The only thing that comes to mind is Haymitch's words from this morning, so I tilt my face up in his direction and give him as much of a smile as I can muster under the circumstance.

He looks taken aback for a moment, and I'm momentarily pleased that I've managed to catch him off guard. But then he snarls and takes another step towards me. Whatever he planned on doing or saying never happens though, because even over the wind, we both hear the sound of a ding. Both of us snap our heads in the direction of the elevator as the doors slide open.

The blond boy in front of me straightens quickly; shoulders and jaw suddenly tense as he looks at who's just arrived. Cato's form is too big for me to see around, and I feel temporarily frozen, as if I've just been caught doing something I shouldn't have been. I don't move, instead opting to stare at Cato's back as the person begins to speak.

"What are you doing, Cato?"

The voice that asks the question is masculine, deep like Cato's and holding a note of reprove. The boy in question doesn't reply, but I think they must be having some type of silent conversation because he steps aside so that I'm in the line of sight of the newest visitor.

My eyes widen slightly, and I go rigid as I take in the person before me. Dark hair, muscular build, cold blue eyes. I know instantly that it's Demetrius Hadley. For a minute all I can see is his face as him and his district partner plot to kill my sister, and I suddenly feel sick. I bite down on my cheek to break myself from my thoughts. He looks me over once, but much like with Cato at the parade, I can't read the expression on his face. His eyes meet mine for a minute before he turns to his brother.

He gives him a hard look, his voice low and unnerving. "We need to talk."

Cato's eyes flit to me quickly, his expression cold. He nods once at his brother, and I take that as my way out.

"I'll just be going then," I blurt out, my feet already walking swiftly towards the elevator. I can feel both of their eyes on my retreating form, but I try my best to ignore their presence. I jab the button, eager to be anywhere but here. The car arrives quickly and I step inside, not looking back in the direction of Cato and his brother as the doors slide shut, and I begin my descent.

I lean heavily against the wall as the elevator takes me back to my floor, my heart pounding and my head reeling from my conversation with Cato. He's going to kill me if he gets the chance. He may even target me specifically. It should be terrifying, and on some level it is, but I can't help but feel something else at his words. I know that I must be losing it because for some reason that actually makes me feel better. Relief, that's what I feel. I bark out a short laugh. I'm actually relieved that Cato, the biggest threat in the entire Games, said he would kill me. Unlike the people in the Capitol, he doesn't care about whatever "connection" we may have, just like I don't. We're both here to win, and that's the end of it.

Unfortunately though, my brain also recognizes that my actions on the roof were reckless. I'm supposed be staying out of the Careers' way, not drawing attention to myself, and I go and get into a less than pleasant conversation with the boy—killer—who will most likely be the head of their pack in the first arena. I berate myself as I think about my hostility and my possibly empty threat. I have no doubt that I've just made things worse for myself. I'm as good as dead in the arena.

Author's Note:

Another chapter down and Cato has finally spoken. Ahhh, hope you guys liked it. I think I'll be updating every Friday, so keep an eye out!

SlyviaHunterOfArtemis: Thanks for the review. Glad you liked it!

WhiteEeve: And the typos strike again... Thanks for pointing it out (: The idea for Cinna took me a while to come up with, and I was a little afraid to use another bird, but I got kind of attached so that's that lol.

Thanks again for reading. Please continue to review and let me know what you like/dislike!