+ Huge shout-out to both ArtemisCarolineSnow and BamItsTyler for the reviews! Thanks guys, feedback's always great to hear, and thank you as well to everyone who's reading!

/ / / / /

When Glenn stepped up to the podium, I felt even worse for idling as Dawn made fun of him earlier.

There was nothing behind his glassy hazel eyes. Glenn's face lacked any sign of a spark, but I doubted it was just because of the Reaping. He looked like he'd been dead inside for a long time, from the way his cheeks stretched tight over his face, to the creases that dug gorges his dust-covered forehead, and to the way his eyes seemed to sink into his face. Even that bright red hair of his didn't look so vivid up close. It thinned in patches, as if someone had plucked out hairs here and there at random.

No one applauded for Glenn. No one in the crowd showed as much as a tear of remorse for his Reaping. When he shook my hand with a clammy, chilly grip, I held on to his palm for just an extra second. My eyes clouded up with a fresh spring of tears, but I couldn't help but feel for the emptiness I saw in my district partner.

We were both in trouble, but from the way he looked at me – through me, even – I guessed Glenn had been troubled for quite some time already.

"Don't waste time out here," Elan whispered to us, ushering Glenn and I towards the Justice Hall's doors. " Go in."

I was grateful to him. All the eyes watching me fall apart on the stage, both in the square and through those probing cameras all around the rooftops, made me want to curl up into a ball. The lights were icy white inside the spartan wood-lined halls of the building, and the air was too cold for mid-June, but at least I was free from all those prying eyes in here.

Free. Free to press my face into the plush cushions of hard-backed couch in this room the Peacekeepers left me in. Free to digest my shock and terrible luck all alone, with my only company the leering gazes of old, wrinkling men frozen in time via blurry pastel portraits hung around the room.

What a morbid send-off.

I sniffed and wiped my nose on the pillow just as the door creaked open. I didn't know who I was expecting to visit me – Flint maybe, or Dawn – but it was neither my brother nor my cousin walking into the room as I looked up. It was my father.

I hastened to wipe the tears off of my face. I didn't want to fall apart like this in front of him.

My father inhaled sharply and sat down in a chair in front of me. He rubbed his eyes with a weary, vein-streaked hand, leaned back, and said, "Terra…not a lot of time. Your mother said she couldn't handle coming in, but you should know that she's not happy about any of this."

I started to reply, but he held up his hand: "No. Just let me talk. Stay there."

"It's the Hunger Games," he said. "Everyone knows the odds aren't very good, so I'm not going to bother talking about how to get out of the arena. I'm a smart man. It's just…"

He paused and glanced down at his hands. Not once had my father made eye contact. "You're my child, and you have my name. You're Terra Pike, not Terra anyone else. That's enough crying. When you go back out there to the train, stand up straight and tall. Be proud of who you are."

"Dad, I –"

"No. That's enough."

My father got up, and for the first time since he'd stepped into the room, he looked me square in the eye. I didn't see remorse or regret in the lines on his face. I didn't see anything but the hardness I'd always seen in my father. The Reaping hadn't changed him.

"Don't let me down, daughter," he said.

The door swung open and my father was gone.

I buried my head back in the cushions. Stand up straight. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything more from my father. Even now I was just an extension from him, and my pleading on the way up to the stage no doubt wouldn't impress the district. There goes another one, I heard them say in my head. We feel bad, but what can we do? That's bad luck.

My eyes threatened to unleash another river, but I held back the tears this time. I didn't relate to my father much, but maybe he was right about this. If I was doomed anyway, maybe I just needed to swallow my fear and clench my jaw. I was scared, but I couldn't change that. Hell, couldn't looking tough even give me a better chance in the Games?

By the time Flint stepped into the room, my face was bone dry.

"Terra?"

I leaned back and straightened up as Flint eschewed the chair, flopping down beside me and laying a hand on my knee. "You, uh," he stammered. "You...how are you?"

Don't cry again. "I'm fine. I mean, I'll be fine. I'm not fine, but I will be."

"Did Dad already come talk to you?"

"Yeah."

He sighed. "You can tell me what you're feeling. You don't have to pretend like you're okay."

My lip trembled. "I bet I looked stupid."

"You didn't look stupid."

"People probably think I'm pathetic."

Flint pulled me towards him. "Stop worrying about what other people are thinking, Terra. You just focus on you."

"Flint, it's the Games!"

"I know, I know. But that doesn't mean you have to feel guilty for doing what anyone else would do. I'd cry too if they called my name."

I put my hands in my face and exhaled. "No you wouldn't."

"I would. Terra, I'm not gonna lie to you and say that everything's gonna be okay. This sucks, and I wish I could change it or something, but I can't. I can't, and I hate it. I hate seeing this happen to my sister."

Flint pulled me into a hug. "But whatever happens, I'll be in your quarter. Okay? You don't worry about what those stupid cameras do. I just want you to come home."

"Everyone wants to go home," I mumbled.

"I'm not them," he said. Flint's face darkened, his eyes flashing as if he'd condemn everyone else in this stupid game himself. "And neither are you. Whatever happens, just remember what's best for you."

I swallowed a sob before it could escape my lips and looked up at the ceiling to hold back another wave of tears. "Flint, I just –"

The door creaked open, and a Peacekeeper leaned in. "C'mon, man," he said, pointing to Flint. "I gave you an extra minute, but we gotta keep going. Let's go."

My brother didn't fight it. He got to his feet and pulled me up with him, whispering in my ear, "Whatever it takes, sis. Love you, Terra."

I held onto his hand for a fleeting moment, his fingers slipping through my grasp. Flint looked back one more time before he disappeared through the door. I was alone again – alone, a girl who had probably seen her brother and closest friend leave for the last time. All of the confidence Flint had tried to instill in me washed away as quickly as it had set in.

Don't cry, don't cry – damnit.

I wiped at my face as someone spoke outside my door. Another visitor – Dawn, maybe. This parade of faces that I'd likely never see again was making goodbye so much harder.

But the man who walked through the door wasn't someone I'd leave behind in District 5.

"I only need a few moments with her, sir," the man said to the Peacekeeper as he walked in. "But it shouldn't matter. After all, the visitor queue looks a little light this year."

Elan strode in, pulling his shiny cloak in through the door and shutting it with nary the lightest thump. My father had sat down in the chair and my brother had taken a seat on the couch, but my escort did not sat. He clasped his hands behind his back, lowered his head, and stared me right in the eye.

"You shouldn't wipe those tears away," he said.

I huddled into the side of the couch and replied, "Don't I – don't I get more time for visitors?"

"You have no more visitors, Ms. Pike."

"But – we're leaving already? Just give me a little more time, please – Glenn's gotta have visitors too."

"He had none, but I'm not rushing you. Not as long as I'm the one with the schedule."

I pulled my knees up to my chest and folded my hands on top of them. I'd seen escorts from other districts on previous Games showings, from the patriotic ones to the bubbly and excited ones to those who were just doing their jobs. Elan had always been a bit different, a bit more reserved – and up close, that reservation made the hairs on my arms stand up like Peacekeepers at attention.

"Am I supposed to be doing something?" I asked.

"Oh, no. Nothing forced, at least," he said. "But every year I stop in for a little talk before our departure. Sometimes a little guidance goes a long way, but Mr. Turner wasn't so receptive of my overtures. So, here I am."

"Every year?"

"Every year. Speaking of, I've never liked the paintings in this room. Too gloomy and dark. Dead leaders and politicians aren't very inspiring from my point of view."

"So what's your advice?"

"I'd resume crying, if I were you."

I furrowed my brow. That's your advice? "My father told me to look strong."

"Oh, I know. But your father is a man who likes the sound of his own voice, wouldn't you say?" he said. Elan creased his lips and added, "Not much of a goodbye, I think."

"Were you listening in on me?"

"Of course! I have a penchant for eavesdropping. It's a bad habit I'm in no hurry to kick."

I clenched my jaw. This man, this Capitol escort, made me mad. Who was he to interrupt my last time alone in District 5, even if I didn't have any more visitors coming to see me? For a man who said he wasn't rushing me, Elan certainly seemed like he was in a hurry to dunk me into the world of the Games.

"What do you want?" I said, wrapping my arms around my knees and pulling them tighter against my chest.

Elan looked hurt. "I'm an escort. I'm here to help."

"Why do you care?"

"My motives are just tributaries, Terra. They come from here and there and feed all into the larger whole. But I am not here to poke fun at you, and I am not here to ridicule you. When I tell you that I'm here to help my tributes, I'm telling you the most honest thing you'll ever hear leave my lips."

He finally sat down, sitting ramrod straight in the chair across from me and folding his hands on his knee. "Try to think of something sad," he said. "You might think you made a fool out of yourself after I called your name, but there's nothing sacred about looking strong. Not for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you know how to fight? Are you a trained warrior or survivalist?"

"No."

"Are you proud to be representing District 5?"

"N- I mean, yes, but –"

"You're not. Perfectly understandable. But it's obvious that you're not, and fighting against that is a lot harder than simply picking a more suitable role to play."

I looked away and sniffed. "Aren't my mentors the ones who are supposed to talk about this kind of stuff?"

"They'll tell you the details I wouldn't," Elan said, leaning forward and planting his elbows on his knees. "But every victor has a narrative, and you began writing your story the moment I pulled your name from that bowl. The earlier you understand exactly what kind of game we're playing, the better."

"My brother just said to not worry about the cameras and stuff."

"Terra, please. He's seen life and the Hunger Games through the lens of District 5, and so have you. But the Capitol trades in half-truths and lies of omission. It's a machine you've never seen a real glimpse of. You're not fighting against twenty-three children in an arena. You're building a brand. There's a reason why every victor has one, and there's a reason why those tributes who lacked one are dead."

Elan stood up and strode to the door, turning back just before he grabbed the handle. "I'll give you a few more minutes before we leave for the train. Tears, Terra. It's a human look. It'd be a shame if I waste my efforts yet again on a story that ends too soon."