+ Huge shout-out to ArtemisCarolineSnow and Radio Free Death for the great reviews, and thanks to everyone reading and taking an interest in the story! You guys are the best.

/ / / / /

The Capitol was an artistic masterpiece at sunrise.

The golden mountain sun had just crested the rocky peaks surrounding the city when I awoke. Soft sunlight bathed the Capitol's wide roads, forcing back the shadows from the night into shady alleyways and lonely side streets. The firefly lights of the skyscrapers blinked off one by one. Late-night stragglers, little more than sluggish ants from my window on the fifth floor of the Training Center, dotted the avenues here and there, but at this hour, the city was at rest. It was too early for the business of running a nation, too late for the revelry that buzzed on every bright corner and in every smoky back room throughout the night.

I wasn't happy to be here, to be facing the Games and an inevitability that awaited me – either victory or death. It horrified me. But this city…this city was an amazing place, even with the shadow that hung over it for a few weeks every summer.

The Training Center was quiet. I was glad for this kind of silence, and not the awkward lull that had hung over the dinner table last night between Glenn and me. I blamed myself for that: He might have overreacted, but maybe I shouldn't have pushed to find out his secrets. In these kinds of times, who knew what was going through his head that a stranger didn't need to know.

Besides, I couldn't focus on that today. Today was training day, and today the reality of the Hunger Games stepped into the spotlight.

Something rustled out in our apartment's common area as I stepped out of my bedroom, clinging a velvet-soft robe around my shoulders. I wasn't the only one up at this hour.

I shuffled down the hall, careful to stay quiet. Finch's snores reverberated from the room to my left. I didn't stay unheard for long, however.

"If you're trying to sneak up on me," Daud called from the commons. "You could use a little practice."

My mentor faced the window out in the den, tightening the straps of a leather vest around his waist. Golden sunlight reflected off of his bald head, and his beard looked far more ragged than it had been the day before. He turned towards me, and from the way the navy blue bags under his eyes carved shadowy depressions into his weathered face, he looked as if he'd barely slept.

He pursed his lips and yanked on a strap. "It wasn't too bad."

"I wasn't trying to sneak around," I said, flopping down on a couch and lying my head on a pillow.

"Maybe you should try. You know the best way to kill a man? Make sure the first time he sees you is when he takes his last breath."

Daud swore as he tightened another shoulder strap on his vest. I wanted to ask him questions, questions about what he was doing, what I needed to be doing, and so many other things, but after Glenn's chilly response, I held back. Elan told me to get him on my side, and I wouldn't jeopardize that to satiate my curiosity.

"Training today," said Daud, pulling on a tight-fitting shirt over his vest. The number seventy-two was emblazed in scarlet on the shirt – his original Games. "Listen to what Finch tells you. She knows her stuff. But don't trust one of those bloodsuckers from District 1 if they try to talk to you. Tell the boy that so he knows, too."

"What about 2 and 4?" I murmured, picking at a loose thread in the couch cushions.

Daud pursed his lips and flexed an arm. "Nothin' wrong with them."

"Aren't they all trained for this stuff? Win at all costs, and whatever?"

"Sort of. They ain't bad people, though."

"So what, the people from 1 are?"

Daud laughed. "Yeah, that's right. Gloss thinks he's man's gift to the Sun, the Moon, and the Flame. Little bastard hasn't worked a day since he won."

That my mentor was spiritual at all surprised me much more than his bias against District 1. I knew he'd turned to alcohol since his victory, what with his coming into my family's cantina every other day, but imagining the brawny man sitting in the pews of the Church of the Triad back home struck me as odd. It wasn't my thing, but for the poor and downtrodden of District 5, the church was a ray of light in the darkness – literally, according to their words. Where did my mentor fit in with that?

"Are you leaving before breakfast?" I asked as Daud tromped off towards the elevator.

He nodded. "Unlike Gloss, I'm actually going to work. Hopefully I'll be back by dinner."

My mentor disappeared with the elevator car, leaving me with more questions than answers. I supposed he was getting a jump start on gathering sponsorships, as Elan had said, but who in the Capitol was up this early? It looked as if the man was getting ready for battle, rather than preparing for entertaining clients and the like. Somehow, the heavy leather vest didn't seem like the city's latest fashion trend.

Finch wandered out a half-hour later, looking as if she'd slept in fits and starts herself. "Couldn't sleep?" she said, slumping onto a chair across from me. "At least it's a nice morning."

"I slept fine," I said. "I just get up early."

She smiled. "Well, that's a good habit to have. You get more done when the sun's up. Did Daud leave already?" When I nodded, she sighed and dropped her head back onto the cushions. "Great."

"Elan told me he's good at getting sponsors," I said, my curiosity finally getting the better of me."

"He is. I worry about him sometimes, but…right now, we need to worry about you and Glenn a little more."

Finch shifted in her seat and rubbed the back of her neck. She grimaced and said, "Look, Terra, there's something you should know about the Games. I talked to Glenn about this last night after you'd already gone to sleep and he was still tossing and turning, but…the kids who win don't often win by accident. There's some luck in the Games, but there's more that determines who wins."

"It's just the last person standing," I said. "It always is."

"Yeah, but how that person comes to be…is…the Capitol needs something out of every winner, Terra, and our current Head Gamesmaker, Galan Greene, understands that better than most people. Everyone who wins has a certain image around them. A brand, if you will. One thing above all else they're known for, something that can sell to the Capitol crowds. If I mention, say, Finnick Odair on the streets to a random person, they'll know him for his charm, the whole Bad Boy package. He was like that in the Games, too, and the audience ate it up. It's been like this forever."

"Elan mentioned something about that."

"Right, he's in all the right circles. He won't be back 'til this evening, by the way. But that's why I wasn't happy with your outfit yesterday. It didn't really go with what we're trying to do with you."

"What's that?"

"Look, I'm guessing you don't know how to swing a sword, or that you've been striking out into the desert and shooting rattlesnakes with a bow or anything in your free time back home. So, instead of painting you as a warrior or fighter, I want you to know these Games better than anyone else. You need to keep an eye on the other kids down in training today, even more than you need to go around the stations learning things. Learn who everyone is. Watch what they do. If Elan, Daud, and I can make an image of you as the cleverest tribute in the field and the one to outthink everyone else, we have a solid foundation to work with."

I bit my lip. Not sure how well that's going to work. Sure, I did well at school, but outsmarting kids – some of them of them trained for this – in the arena was a whole different beast.

"I don't think I'm really that smart," I said.

"That doesn't matter. It just matters what people believe."

"They're not going to believe it if I can't do it!"

"I know it's hard, but you have to try. It's more than just any normal year, Terra, it's…" said Finch, pausing and letting her voice trail off. "Most of the other mentors aren't thinking like this, but there's a new leader of Panem, and he's not like the old President Snow. He's serious and isn't so into the Capitol spirit of the Hunger Games, according to Elan. If the Head Gamesmaker wants to impress the new Snow, he won't back some sex symbol or brute as a winner. He'll back someone who can prove themselves useful."

That last line shot an icy arrow into my heart. Useful. Forget mentoring tributes and living happily in the Victor's Village. I need to have a use.

"Wouldn't someone pretty or strong be more useful?" I said, glowering at my feet and digging my chin into my knee.

"No," said Finch. "That'd sell to the crowd, but clever can sell, too. It worked for me. And better, someone who's observant, someone who can understand their challengers well, is someone who a new president just six months into his reign needs."

She rubbed a hand over her mouth and gazed off into dead space. "I know it won't be easy, Terra. This never is, and this year's so much different because of the circumstances here in the Capitol. The Games are going to test you. The Gamesmakers are gonna throw you through every kind of hurdle you can imagine. But if you and Glenn can just stick with us, well…maybe we have a better shot than usual this year of getting one of you two home in one piece."

I didn't know how much of a shot that was, but I took her advice to heart when I rode the elevator down to the bowels of the building to begin training a few hours later. Without the makeup and gaudy outfits of the day before, so many of the other kids who filed down into the cavernous concrete gymnasium looked even worse for wear. They weren't killers or fighters. I knew the Games were necessary, and I knew I had to fight for myself now – but how was I supposed to kill someone like the skinny, olive-skinned boy with a "3" patch stitched onto the arm of his ash gray training uniform, a worried look plastered on his face as a Gamesmaker read out our rules for the day?

The Games looked a lot different up close. When the dandelion-haired boy from District 1 trotted off to the archery station and hit a target's bullseye with his very first shot, the grandeur of the day before didn't seem so grand.

Keep your eyes open, Terra. Watch. Learn.

A station dedicated to camouflage sat ignored at one end of the gym as my fellow tributes rushed off here and there to spear-throwing stations or shelter-making lessons. I fought my instinct to run off to one of the more practical stations and shuffled over to the camouflage set-up, where a stooped attendant with graying hair and a black circle tattoo on his cheek seemed surprised by his visitor.

"Ah!" he yelled, nearly knocking over a carton of thick scarlet goop. "Someone with half a brain this year! Where you from, girl? Ah, 5. They need to color-coordinate you guys, or something. So, your mentor tell you to learn how to blend in?"

I gave him a half-smile and shrugged. "Something. I just want to learn."

"And a good choice of learning," said the instructor. "When all those schmucks piss their pants in a fight, you'll be avoiding it entirely. When the first time your opponent sees you is when he's taking his last breath, you're a winner."

Funny. Same thing Daud said.

The station teacher turned out to be much more than I'd estimated at first glance. Not only did he teach me the value of smearing mud on my pale skin in the dead of a dark night, but he also pointed out ways to stay quiet and stick under the shadows when another tribute was on the prowl. More and more, I was getting the impression that caution, not the fighting talent that had helped so many victors before, would be my best ally in the arena.

But I was also keeping my eyes on what else was happening in the gym. The two models from District had buddied up to the lithe girl from District 2, but their alliance had stopped there. Delfin, the boy from District 4 I hadn't liked, kept pulling Tethys away from anyone she tried to talk to after a minute or so. While they stuck together, the looks Delfin kept throwing the way of the District 1 kids told me that they weren't on such good terms.

Then there was the boy from District 2. For such a powerfully-built kid who looked much more like an adult than a teen, he sure didn't show off. Through the first hour I was working on camouflage, the boy stuck to tying intricate knots at a station halfway across the gym. Finch was right about this year's group from the favored districts – they weren't as close as I'd seen in past years' Games.

But given the pinpoint accuracy the boy from District 1 fired those arrows with, or how Delfin swung a spear around his body like it was an extra arm, I didn't know how much that would improve my odds.

/ / / / /

The mosquito buzzed off into the salty morning air, its annoying hum lost amid the crashing of waves against the dock.

It wasn't actually a mosquito, of course. The miniature drone only looked like a tiny insect zipping around aimlessly in the warm Pacific breeze. Buried in its steel face was a camera and a recorder, picking up everything that a snoop would need to know.

Arrian de Lange fit the bill.

He was a man who fit in well in District 4, with his long strawberry-blonde hair and his loose turquoise shirt that hung limply around his trim waist. With his iron biceps and a small scar running along his chin, he looked like any young fishing hand on one of the great boats that hauled in the district's daily bounties. He, however, had another catch in mind: Information. His client in the Capitol had offered to pay well for incriminating evidence on one of Panem's brightest stars.

Arrian plugged a pea-sized speaker into his ear and pulled out a tablet computer from his backpack. A few button presses brought him a clear video feed from his drone as it buzzed past an iron gate. The words "Victor's Village" flew past, and two dozen two-story houses, shining with fresh white paint unblemished by the salty air, jumped up in the video.

Right on target. The mercenary had programmed his bug to find a very specific victor in the Village, one who had avoided ever returning to the Capitol as a mentor. Her husband, and now her son, weren't so fortunate.

Even in her early forties, Annie Odair was still a beautiful woman in a haunting sort of way. Her bushy hair had thinned and spider web creases lined her forehead, but her green eyes still brightened as a holographic screen in the Odair household's den sprung to life with a flurry of bright dots of light. Arrian leaned forward over his monitor and wedged his ear speaker in just a bit further as Finnick Odair's face cleared on the monitor.

It's about time to go about your business, isn't it, Finnick? Arrian thought.

"Hi," Annie said, folding her hands in her lap. She didn't smile. She looked anything but happy to see her husband a thousand miles away. "Is everything going alright?"

If Annie still had hints of beauty, her husband had clung to every speck of the handsome face that had won over the Capitol. His bronze hair looked just as it had when the victor had stepped out of the arena more than thirty years ago.

"I've only got a few minutes to talk," Finnick said with a shrug. "Tell me about you, first."

Arrian groaned. He let his eyes wander about the empty dock as the two victors delved into idle chatter for a minute. It was quiet out here in the absence of the trawlers that had left before the sun had risen. He had only the long green grasses above the beach and the cawing seagulls fighting for food on the dock's wooden planks for company.

"Finnick," said Annie in a worried voice, bringing Arrian back from his sightseeing. "Are you…are they still…"

Finnick frowned and sighed. "Yeah. I'm scheduled to meet with someone in a half-hour. That's why I'm making our chat quick today."

Annie let out a sob. "Hey," Finnick said, putting on his best attempt at a smile. "It's alright. Annie, it's alright. It happens every year. I'm gonna come back soon. We're gonna be fine."

"I know," she said, cupping a hand over one ear. "It's just…they're making Drake do it too, aren't they?"

Finnick's face sagged. For a split second, he looked every year of forty-five. "It's his first year…"

"No!"

"Annie, I tried. I tried to get them to leave him alone, but –"

"He's our son!"

"I know, I know –"

Annie cupped her hands over ears and leaned forward, rocking back and forth on the couch. Give me something, Arrian thought. Come on.

"I hate them for what they're doing," Finnick admitted. "All this crap and they're bringing Drake into it, too. I'd tell everyone in the Capitol to take a hike, the idiot Gamesmaker and the new President and everyone, but I can't fight them Annie."

"Why not?"

"Annie, we've talked about this."

She clenched her eyes shut and nodded, tears pouring down her cheeks. "I know. I just want to leave. I want to leave this place. All of it."

"Annie…"

"I just want to leave."

Finnick glanced over his shoulder. "I've got to go. We'll talk tonight after everyone's asleep, okay? Just hang on. Everything's gonna be fine, I promise."

It sure will be, Arrian thought, grinning and reeling the drone back from the Odair living room. Finally! He'd wanted for Finnick to say something dumb, something that could rile up the more paranoid of the Capitol. Bingo. He could play with that footage and make it sound worse than it did, given how much he'd already picked up from Annie and Finnick's conversations over the past two days.

Why they don't just bug their houses all the time is beyond me, thought the mercenary as he slid his tablet back into his pack. A few high-up idiots are suspicious about some of the victors? You shouldn't need me to dig up some dirt on them.

"What are you doing?"

Arrian spun. A little girl watched him from twenty feet away with wide green eyes. She clutched a miniature wooden fishing rod in one hand, her other playing with her short auburn hair. Had she seen any of that?

One couldn't take chances. "Just preparing a gift. You want to come see it?" asked Arrian. When she hesitated, he ushered her over with one hand. "Come closer. I'll show you."

He slid his other hand behind his back as she trotted nearer. One hand extended an invitation, but his other closed around a leather grip.

"Right down here," Arrian said. "See?"

In one rapid move, he snatched the girl by her shoulder and thrust a knife into her neck. Her eyes bulged and she choked on blood, gurgling her shock. Arrian shoved her off the dock and into the water before her eyes glazed over. She was as good as dead.

Unlike the Hunger Games, these games couldn't afford witnesses.