+ Big thanks again to ArtemisCarolineSnow and Radio Free Death for the great reviews, and to everyone who's reading and following along! I'm a little torn on this chapter…a necessary one, but eh. Got a lil' stuck. I realize more and more that I cannot describe clothes. I'd be the crappiest stylist of all time.

/ / / / /

"What'd he ask you?"

Finch dug her hands into her pockets and bit her lip as Finnick Odair struggled for the right words. It had been fifteen minutes since the Head Gamesmaker had dragged her into the Control Center, where the real work of the Hunger Games went on. As a dozen white-jacketed Gamesmakers punched away at holographic computer images in the circular alcove below, Finch loitered against a railing and crinkled her nose against the sterile smell of antiseptic that lingered in the air. It wasn't like Galan Greene to call victors in for individual questioning unless he had something serious on his mind – and it especially was out of place before the Games themselves even began.

Finnick ran a hand through his wavy bronze hair, just tinged with the first strands of silver here and there. Age lines poked their way through his famous face, but to Finch, he was still one of the most handsome victors. Gloss and Cashmere from District 1 may have prolonged their youth into their fifties through the Capitol's many medical marvels, but Finnick had a natural grace and style that defied time's march.

"He said he'd already had a few others in. Haymitch, Phoebe from 10, Johanna, a few others," said Finnick, glancing over his shoulder at the closed door behind him. "Guy seemed frustrated. He was just asking about my district's two kids competing this year. Didn't even ask anything about Drake."

Finch rubbed her arms and frowned. "You think something happened since training?"

"Psh. Like what? Someone forgot to take birth control?"

"C'mon. You've heard the talk. People say the Games are gonna be harsher with the new guy in office. Y'know, set the precedent that new Snow can run things just like old Snow."

Finnick threw up his hands. "Shit if I know, Finch. We won last year, and I'm not dumb enough to ignore that a lot of people around here don't like repeat district winners. My two kids probably got a fighting chance, but…I'm a little more focused on making sure my son actually lives through his first year as a victor."

Finch looked away. She didn't have a family any more, she'd never had nor wanted kids. She couldn't imagine what Finnick had to be feeling – or what he'd felt the year before. It was bad enough seeing two new kids every year struggle through the arena, but watching your own flesh and blood face unforgiving odds while you were nearly powerless to interfere was unfathomable.

"Is he doing alright?" she asked.

"Who, Drake?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, yeah. I mean, everyone expects him to be the second coming of me, but he's handling it pretty well. He's just not really into talking with all the rest of you guys. Nothing personal, you know – I don't think you're a bad conversation when you're not using big words. But he just wants to stay away from the other victors for now. He's always been the independent type. I don't think he's really looking forward to giving an interview on stage with Cicero tonight before all the tributes go up and whatnot, but hey, that's life. That's life in…'bout two hours. Guess we should all get a move on."

Finnick had been in a good mood considering the Games kicked off in less than a day, but Galan Greene was anything but approachable as Finch walked into his office. The Head Gamesmaker kicked his feet up onto a wide metal desk, with a ceramic lamp lying on its side next to them. He cradled a half-empty glass of wine, pushing it up to his lips every thirty seconds or so to take tiny sips as he scrolled through data on a computer hologram. He didn't even look up as Finch sat down.

"Took your time coming in," Galan grunted, swirling his wine around.

Finch scooted her chair back. "I was talking to Finnick."

"Oh, wonderful conversation he was. Didn't even get a 'Hey, thanks again for my son's life.' Guy was totally checked out."

"Did you call me here just to talk about Finnick?"

"Oh, please no. I've had enough conversations about him over the past few days."

Galan rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "I woke up this morning and realized that I don't actually know half as much about this year's tribute field as I thought I did. Considering the circumstances this year, that's…a little concerning. To me. And possibly others."

Finch nearly leapt out of her seat. Was he giving her a chance to sell her two tributes as victors? It was a good thing he hadn't invited Daud instead. "What d'you wanna know?" she asked, playing it cautiously. "You've seen 'em during training and everywhere else they've been in public."

"You've seen them in private," Galan said. "Start with the girl. Terra, that her name? Tell me 'bout her."

In private. The Head Gamesmaker clearly didn't have a good grasp on narrowing down his victor candidates this year. Well, if all the power were in her hands, Finch had no problem playing this game. "I mean, she's not really a talker. Terra's good at listening."

"Mmm," Galan grunted. "We'll see tonight. I'm not taking what you say as gospel, Finch. I'm just getting your opinion. I know everyone's biased towards their own."

"Oh, I know. But if she gets a chance – if either of my kids get a chance – in the arena, you'll be surprised. In a good way."

"If they don't do something stupid."

"Terra's a smart girl. She might be timid tonight, but she'll do what she has to in the arena."

"Don't know about that. She sucked in her private session, and in training she often just stood around and watched other people."

"She had the idea to watch the other kids. You know, figure them out before the arena. Learn what they were good at and all."

Galan downed the rest of his wine and eyed her. "Her idea? Or yours?"

"Hers. All her. I was worried more about sponsors."

"Mm-hm. I should just bug the whole damn Training Center next year. Fine, then. Tell me about the boy."

/ / / / /

What in the name of Panem had she dressed me in?

Whatever Finch had told Rhea after the parade, it hadn't worked. Rhea had draped me in a long, dark violet gown, the fabric glowing with bright white lines here and there. I'd almost balked when I saw the dark black eyeliner she'd globbed on, and standing in line with the other kids now waiting for my call-up to interview with Cicero Templesmith, I felt even more self-conscious. Glenn had contained a laugh when he'd seen me, and the girl from District 10 kept making faces and staring at me while we waited.

Ugh.

Lights dashed across the crimson curtain veiling the stage as Cicero joked with the audience on stage. He'd already brought Districts 1 and 2 up for interviews, and the man wasn't in any rush: As my stomach threatened to throw up my lunch out of nervousness, the Capitol entertainer performed a skit with his predecessor, Caesar Flickerman, on stage. I wished they'd just hurry up. The crowds, the lights, answering questions in front of every eyeball in Panem – it all made me want to curl into a ball and start bawling uncontrollably.

Tethys from District 4 glanced back and frowned. I thought for a moment that she, too, thought I looked ridiculous until she said, "You got the most creative stylist, huh?"

"The most ridiculous," Delfin, who stood in front of me in line, muttered.

That confirmed it. I did look stupid. "It's, uh, just a dress."

"All glowy," Tethys said, smiling. "It's cool."

It baffled me how Tethys and Delfin were a team. Even though they were from the same district, they looked as far apart as any two tributes here. He folded his arms and leaned against the concrete wall we all lined up against, his expression anything but excited to interview in front of the Capitol and the country. Tethys, meanwhile, looked like a little kid, almost bouncing up and down in her heels as she waited.

The line pushed forward all too quickly. It seemed like a blink of an eye from Tethys's remarks to Cicero shouting, "Give him a hand, ladies and gentlemen – Delfin Ramirez!" It was all going too fast, and when the Capitol attendant in a blue suit at the end of the curtain ushered me forward, I felt dragged along by some invisible force, like a puppet on a string turned this way and that by the salivating audience.

Bam.

Light, so much light! Cicero's shouts, the Capitol's applause, the great spotlights that bore down on me like a predator from above – it all blended into a cacophony that froze me on the spot. My throat tightened. So many people! I tried to smile and look excited as I looked out over the sea of faces and gaudy suits and dresses in the audience, stretching up from just a dozen feet away all the way to the rafters of this giant hall. The best I could manage was a half-hearted wave and a little stumble towards where Cicero Templesmith, long green hair, bright orange suit and all, urged me forward to a shiny ivory chair.

"She's shy, folks, give her some space!" Cicero laughed, stretching out a hand towards me and beaming with an ear-to-ear smile. His eyes, shining as if they were gemstones, transfixed me. "Terra, Terra, welcome. Feeling a little overwhelmed?"

I exhaled heavily and slumped down into my seat. Just a little? All these eyes watching my every move in person made me want to curl up into a ball and wake up when everyone had left. "I, uh…yeah."

"Ah, we all do," Cicero said, coming to my rescue without missing a beat. "Caesar remembers, don't you old man? Stumbling all about up here!"

The camera and spotlight raced out to the side stage, where old Caesar Flickerman his face creased with age's fault lines and his sparkling blue suit unable to hide his growing stomach, threw his head back and laughed. I silently thanked the chance to clench my eyes shut for just a moment to collect myself.

"Just like yesterday," Cicero said. "And just a few days ago for you, Terra, the Gamesmakers awarded you a score of five for your training session. Probably not the score you were looking for, so could you shed some light on how that's going to affect you headed into the Games?"

"It won't."

"It won't?"

Ugh. I didn't know why I said that. Stupid, impulsive thing – of course it would affect me! Training mattered; it's what the Capitol broadcasts in every prior Games had always said. But now I'd plowed ahead, and I had to make do with what I'd wrought. "The arena won't be like training," I managed.

Cicero seemed to think on this for a moment, balling up his hand to his mouth as if he were hard in thought. "That's a fair point. Humor us, Terra. With many of the top competitors performing very well, what points the odds in your favor?"

"Everyone has weaknesses," I said. "I just need to take advantage of them. I've seen them."

"Oh? Such as?"

With any other host, I'd have been remiss to expound upon what was going through my head in front of the entire country, or to feel the surge of confidence that jutted up in my guts. But Cicero had a way of talking so smoothly with so few words, his head bowed just slightly like he honestly respected my opinion, that urged me to keep talking. "You had the two from District 2 up here a few minutes ago. They argue a lot. I don't think they like each other."

"Playing spoiler!" Cicero boomed with a bright smile. "Keeping an eye on everyone, have you?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Well, well. I'm going to have to ask you to hold your secrets so we don't spill everything, tonight. And don't we all want to be surprised, huh folks?"

The man knew how to command an audience. Cicero basked in the cheers for a moment before saying, "But we could always use just a taste, Terra. Just a taste. Tell us: What's your secret? What are you holding back that will make you District 5's first victor in more than twenty years?"

A royally stupid idea slipped into my head. Between Cicero's intoxicating aura and the steady momentum I'd been climbing through the interview, however, I couldn't hold it back: "Wouldn't be a very good secret if I told. What's yours?"

Cicero laughed. "Keeping us all in the dark! I like you. I'll tell you what, Terra. My secret is that I cannot wait to see what you have in store for us tomorrow. You're our little mystery, and when the curtain rises, I have a feeling we are going to be impressed. I love it! Ladies, gentlemen, Terra Pike! From District 5!"

/ / / / /

It had been a bit different from what Finch and Daud had wanted, but I could work with Cicero's angle. Mystery. Keep everyone in the dark. Secrets. Sure. If that implied that I only needed to talk less, than I could do it. I didn't know if I could show off that kind of confidence in the arena without Cicero there to urge me on, but taking all those eyes in the audience out of the picture would help.

Of course, the issue of twenty-three other kids dying was becoming a much bigger problem now that the Games were less than twelve hours away – and that came into full view that night, when I walked out of my bathroom to see Glenn sitting on my bed, his hands clasped in his lap. The lights were off, but I see just enough of his long face in the lights of the Capitol shining that it was obvious he wanted to talk.

"Didja get lost?" I said, tightening my night gown's waist cord and leaning against the wall. Outside, revelers gathered by the thousands around glowing holograms of some of the favorites – Tethys, District 1's kids, Acheron. I wished I was out there with the celebrations, happy to live with the Hunger Games as an excuse to party rather than a test of endurance. They were having fun, but the reality of what I was in for had settled in.

Glenn shrugged. "Nah. Finch and Daud took off for sponsorship stuff."

"You're not sleepy?"

"I just want to talk. Y'know. Before tomorrow."

I sighed and slumped down onto the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest and leaning against the wall. "'Bout what?"

"What'd you want to do back home?"

"What'd I want to do?"

"Like, you know. Job. Life."

I fretted and looked back out at the Capitol's neon honeycomb. Those streets looked like something I'd like to do right about now. "I wanted to run the dam. Engineering and all that."

Glenn laughed. "Really? I don't even know half a hump about that damn thing. It always just stares down at us all day. I guess it has to do something useful."

"Water pushes the turbines. It makes electricity. Always just seemed cool to me."

"Pff. Kinda geeky."

"You really wanted to talk about the dam?"

He scowled and clenched his hands together. "I didn't really want to be anything."

"Well, I mean, you had plenty of time to figure that out. We're teenagers."

"No, nothing even seemed possible in the future. My parents died way before I ever started picking my nose, Terra. Nobody ever gave two humps about me, and I decided a long time ago that I didn't care, either. I just wanted to get away from all that. That's why I said I would've volunteered. I know District 5's home to you, but it's just a dump in the desert to me. Being trapped there forever is…I'd never make it."

I recoiled. "You want to die?"

"The hell else do I have, Terra?" Glenn snapped, his voice breaking as he said my name. "I got hollowed out when I came into this stupid world. Boo-hoo, huh? At least when I'm here, going into the Games, I'm doing something good for once in my stupid little life. Some other schmuck doesn't have to be here."

I didn't know what to say. "I – Glenn, there's always an option. If either of us win, we have our whole lives ahead of us."

"Oh, swell, to do what?" he said with a smirk. "Get your head out of what you've seen on the broadcasts, Terra. You think Daud's happy? Or Finch? Heh, by the looks of it, Daud's life is a trainwreck just as much as mine has been. I've always been terrible at school. I never would have been much at any of the power plants besides some dumb wrench-puller, and I've never even sniffed money. The hell's the point of going through the motions for forty more years or however long? Nobody's gonna remember me anyway."

"You don't know that. Things can change."

"Yeah, there's a whole helluva lot of evidence pointing to that."

I glanced back out the window. Suddenly, the streets didn't seem so festive. While everyone out there was celebrating, in here, Glenn poured out the contents of a life crushed again and again under a hammer I couldn't understand. It was as if he'd come from some corner of District 5 I'd never seen, a corner where kids were thrown naked into the sand at birth and expected to run. My father and mother had considered me a burden, but at least they'd put a roof over my head and given me the opportunity to have dreams. Glenn had never even gotten that far.

A poisonous little tendril reached into my head. "Why didn't you just jump from the cliff, then?"

He snorted. "Stupid thing. I felt the urge to so many times, but I always remembered what those dumb church guys always said. Killing yourself, oh, it sends you to the Dark Hell. Oblivion claims you and makes you relive all your worst moments forever. Die fighting like the guys back in the Dark Days did and you at least go to the Flame Gates. I didn't even really believe in that crap, but it still stuck around in my head. Hey, if they're right somehow and I die in the arena, at least I don't go to either of the two Hells."

"Glenn, you don't – aren't you even going to fight for yourself in the arena?" I said. It was too late now to convince this boy that he had hope, too late to fight against a life that had forced his face in the mud forever. Still, I tried. "Whoever wins, we still have a chance. I know Daud and Finch aren't the best futures, but it's better than dying."

"Psh. Why even bother caring, Terra? We're both screwed. I know you're a decent girl, but let's face facts."

"Maybe I care about someone who's hurting. You said you were doing something good by coming here. Why can't I do the same? We're all just people here, Glenn."

"Well, go for it. Dunno how much good it'll do you," he said. "It's funny. I wonder what kinda victor you'd be. I don't think you'd be Daud or Finch."

"Maybe I'd just be me, and you'd be you."

"Maybe. Huh. I hope you find out. I'll let you sleep, Terra. Only a little while before we figure out what this whole week of faking it's worth."