+ Thanks again for the great review, melliemoo! Thanks all for sticking with me through 30-odd chapters so far! Much more to go, and the 97th Games are getting a-going. This chapter was a bit of a slog to write, but we're laying the groundwork for what comes next.

/ / / / /

This place was familiar, but not from where I was standing.

Time had stood still since six months ago in the lounge car aboard our train to the Capitol. Light still shimmered off of a dozen chrome platters, glimmering all about the cabin in the thousand shades of the rainbow. Blue velveteen carpeting muffled my nervous, heavy footsteps, softening their stomps into whispers. Flaky pastries glistening with eggwhite cream and bright tangerines sneered at the red rocks of District 5 outside the window. Opulence had come to tear me away from six months of sleepwalking, but the shadows cast by the overhead chandelier's hundred bulbs seemed so much more threatening this time.

Finch looked tired already. "You're just gonna make it feel worse if you keep pacing around, Terra," she said, running a hand through her hair for the hundredth time. "Sit down and eat something. You're going to think clearer if you're not hungry."

"Let her get it out," countered Daud, his feet propped up on the once-spotless silver table in the middle of a circle of chairs and couches, his beard more unkempt than I remembered. "Just gonna make it worse bottling it up."

"It's – "

"Normal. Yeah," Daud finished for her. "Don't even know why I'm here to explain it with two of you this year."

Finch sighed. From the way she rolled her eyes, I figured this was something she'd explained to Daud a number of times already. "Same as in '75. It's her first year, so you and I have to do most of the legwork still. She's gonna be busy with all the media people and whatnot."

"Rhetorical question," Daud said, picking up a pastry and pulling it apart layer by layer. "Didn't need to answer."

"You asked. What are you doing?"

"Making a mess."

"That's a really good example for Marigold and Fenton."

Daud pointed a finger at me. "She got over it."

They should get a room, I thought. Our screwed-up family became more of a reality with every argument those two had.

They didn't have long, however: Within a few minutes, Elan stepped through the open door to the lounge car, the two unlucky ones behind him. They looked shell-shocked in their own ways: Fenton's guard seemed to have slipped, his eyes red and his cheeks pale and worn, as if he'd scrubbed at them to toughen up before coming face-to-face with us. Marigold, on the other hand, hadn't bothered to conceal her fears: She looked exhausted, her emotions having already gotten the best of her, her blonde hair now tangled and knotty and her face scoured with sweat.

For a moment we stood off, mentors and tributes, survivors and victims, silence a gorge between us. Finally, Elan stood in: "Introductions, perhaps. Marigold Ellis and Fenton Renner, these are – "

"I know who they are," Fenton interrupted him. "I think she does, too." Marigold paused a second, and from a prompting glance from Elan, nodded without a word.

Elan smiled. "Short introductions this year."

"Tell you guys what," Finch cut in, breaking the awkwardness as the train lurched to a start. "Why don't you two freshen up, alright? You've both got private rooms – Elan, you can show them where – and you might as well take a few hours to do what you need to do. We can get to know each other better over dinner, okay?"

"Fine suggestion," Elan said before either Fenton or Marigold could get a word of dissent in. "Come. Back this way."

Marigold eyed me as she walked past. I felt bad for doubting her – not because I was wrong, which I had a sinking feeling I wasn't, but because it felt heartless of me to strategize and prioritize before I even got to know either of these two as people. I was falling into the very trap I didn't want to succumb to without knowing it.

The door to the compartments hissed shut as the train bucked. In just a few short minutes, District 5's outer perimeter whizzed past the windows, fading into the red desert and out of sight. Ahead was only sand and rocky outcroppings as the desert stretched on for hundreds of miles. Somewhere far ahead lay the Capitol in all its gilded glory, but I had a lot more to worry about between now and then.

"That was a bit awkward," I mentioned at last.

Daud grunted. "Always is. Not so easy to say, 'You're gonna die. Deal with it.'"

"Let's not start with that thinking," Finch said, glaring at Daud. "I'm gonna go check on when we're supposed to get in tomorrow. You two just sit tight. Terra, don't let him get to you."

Daud rolled his eyes. As soon as she was gone, he said, "Self-righteous tit."

"She's probably right," I said, slumping down into the couch across from him. "If our two kids see us acting like we think they're dead already – "

"They are dead already."

"You don't even know anything about them."

"Easy for you to say," he said, pouring wine into a gold-rimmed goblet until it splashed over. "You win and you're so full of confidence. Life hasn't beaten you down yet. You haven't had a dozen kids look you in the eye and say, 'Teach me how to survive.' You haven't learned how to tell them it's all futile."

"Yeah? I did it."

"Everyone gets lucky."

"Maybe we will this year too, then."

"Fat chance. I won in '72, girl. Two victors since then, and one was more than twenty years ago. Even if one of them wins this year, what d'you think the chances are of winning again after that? Better get used to it."

"Is that what makes you so bitter?" I asked, welling up a gut of boldness. "You lose so many times and you just resign to losing?"

He laughed. "Bitter?"

'That's all you talk about. Losing. Dying. You're just wallowing in it."

"And what's there to revel in?" he said. "Show me what's beautiful about the world. Go on."

"Well, friends and family – "

"Neither. Go on."

"You go to the church, don't you?"

"You think I'm there for friendship?" he cackled, throwing back his goblet of wine. "I want a little solace, that's it. Nothing's gonna answer me when I ask what pushed me to kill that girl in cold blood. Murder. That's what I did in the 72nd Games to my own district partner. You think you had it bad killing the boy, Glenn? Mercy kill. I gunned down my partner in cold blood. Why? I needed to survive at any cost. Selfish reasons. Didn't care then. Didn't know there wasn't much of a future to look forward to then, either."

I paused, struggling for a comeback. It wasn't often I got Daud out of his shell, much less even learned a bit of his past. "Daud, you've done fine. You got Finch out of the Games alive, and she helped with you to get me out – "

"Wonderful," he snorted, taking another drink. "The cycle continues. When I'm not killing people, I'm helping others kill people. Best of all, I don't have much of a choice in it. All because the odds were in my favor, right. Should've listened to the boy last year. I heard what he believed in. He probably had it right."

For a moment I couldn't say anything. Here was Daud, a victor who was successful by any measure: Not every victor could vouch for having brought out multiple victors themselves in such a short time. Here he was, telling me Glenn, who thought death preferable to winning – or even just living – was right.

Suddenly, I had a burning desire to go ask Elan just what it was that Daud had done to get me sponsorships last year.

"Give me that," I said, snatching the pitcher of wine from his side of the table.

"Might as well get started early. D'you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Killing him. The boy. Glenn."

I frowned at him. "No. He was suffering. He didn't deserve it. It was…you said it. Mercy."

He snorted. "You don't really believe it. I see it in the way you look at me. You should. Not for his sake, but your own. We're bathed in riches for surviving. Time passes, and after a while, dying honorably seems a lot more noble than living to be used for the rest of your life. There's no honor in that."

"What do they make you do?" I said, downing half of my goblet in one swig. "The Capitol. The president. The old one had requests, huh?"

Daud raised an eyebrow and polished off his drink. "Knew they'd get to you. All popular. Dark and mysterious. Well, they make me do what I'm good at. I'm guessin' they asked the same of you. Everything for money and power. Happy memories be damned."

Finch's return cut off our conversation, but I couldn't force Daud's opinion out of my head throughout the afternoon. The way Marigold looked at me, the way Fenton spoke with such resignation, they ate away at my confidence as dinner approached. What hope did I really have of getting either of them out of the arena this year? District 1 had won back-to-back victors just a few years ago, but what were the chances that it would happen again, and to District 5, of all places?

Arrian de Lange's words stung my thoughts. I can help you, he'd insinuated. For a price, I can give you what you want. The offer seemed so much more tempting.

Doubts ran through my head by the time dinner rolled around. The steaming platters of food didn't help alleviate my fears, even with the chinaware loaded with steaming meats and moist, warm vegetables. Red, sizzling, crackling seafood urged me to forget my fears of what lay ahead. A bowl of crisp greens teased me with the delicacies the Capitol offered. Tributes? It questioned, each spear of asparagus and head of broccoli teaming with steaming dew. Who cares? You're doing well.

To their credit, Fenton and Marigold were handling themselves better than I'd expected. Fenton seemed to have put the Reaping behind them, and when he showed up to dinner, he looked no different than any other teenage boy – sullen, indifferent, and tough. Marigold wasn't so bold, but she was at least answering questions.

Daud and I pushed the jug of wine at each other as Finch questioned them. "So," she said, "You guys figured out the showers alright, I guess."

"We're not watching the other Reapings?" Fenton asked, picking at a plate full of beef and pork.

Finch shook her head. "Don't worry about the other kids 'til tomorrow. Right now, I just want you all to be comfortable. Tough day, I know. Last thing you need to think about is what's ahead."

Marigold shot me another glance, but I responded only by downing the last of my goblet of wine. Maybe Daud was on to something. This was good stuff. It made me feel nice.

"Still in school, Fenton?" Finch asked, moving away from the "Hunger-Games-y" aspect of things. She had a knack of this. "I dropped out a little early. I can't remember what the age cut-off is."

"Nah," he said, pawing at a slice of beef. "I'm eighteen. Solar arrays now. Just making money."

Finch shot me a glance, but I just shrugged. I didn't know him. There were a lot of solar panels providing power, many more than just the ones I watched over to keep me from dying of boredom. "Yeah?" she said. "That kinda experience might come in handy."

"Yeah, sure."

"Did for her. That's Terra's line of work," Finch said, nodding at me. I felt heat flush my face as Fenton raised an eyebrow and stared.

"Not really. Coming in handy, I mean. I do it. Did it," I stammered.

Fenton snorted and returned to his plate as Finch shot me a nasty look. I wasn't lying. Fixing solar panels had nothing to do with stabbing teenagers and beasts. Fenton had to be smart enough to figure that out, and Finch's feel-good rhetoric wasn't helpful.

In my defense, Daud smirked. To keep the peace, I turned the conversation towards are quiet other tribute: "You're probably still in school, huh, Marigold?"

"Mari. And yeah," she said, stirring her fork through a mush of something that had once been potatoes and gravy but now looked like a sea of gray slime. "None of them came to say goodbye."

"They're probably just a little shocked. Don't let that get you down," said Finch.

"Or they're happy they're not dead for another year," Daud added. "Happy you weren't picked last year, Fenton? Terra here woulda been the death of you."

"That's not really fair," I said, setting my fork down and slumping back in my seat. "I didn't – "

"Nothin' about it's fair. It just is," Daud countered before I could finish. "If you two want to know what you're up against, look at each other and know that either you're dead, or the other one is. Or you both are. No going around it."

Finch looked ready to murder him. "Daud…"

"Might as well be honest," he said, taking a long drink.

Fenton looked amused. Mari looked on the verge of crying, and in the middle of it, I watched for what seemed like the first time as anger boiled over Finch's usually calm and upbeat expression. "Why don't you two go wash up for the night?" she said, her gaze never wavering. "Terra, go too. Daud and I need to have a talk."

"It'll be an honest talk, at least," he chuckled.

Mari was gone before I left my seat. I hurried to follow as Fenton pushed past me. The door slammed behind me as Finch rose out of her seat with murderous intent, but as I moved to head to my bedroom car, Fenton stopped me. "They fight a lot?"

"Yeah," I said. It wasn't exactly true, but Finch and Daud were different kinds of mentors. Daud had toughness, Finch nurturing, and expecting them to come together on one strategy to save one of these two seemed a whole lot tougher now that I was thinking about it.

"Great," he said with a wry grin. He didn't seem like the average solar worker up close. Fenton's skin wasn't as worn and rough as the others I'd seen on the line for a while, and his face still had all its youthful curves and lacked the lines and weathering of hard work, even though he was already eighteen. Whoever his family were, they'd given him a decent upbringing, just for it all to fall down.

"They're not that bad," I said, trying to sum up a little helpfulness. "They helped me out."

"From what I remember last year, you got, like, two parachutes. The other kid got none."

"It's not just all that, it's also…advice and stuff."

He laughed. "That sounds wonderful. I don't know how far that went, because it seems like you're just going with the flow. You don't really know what you're doing, huh?"

"Fenton, I want to help you and Mari. I just won last year, and I'm getting a hang of being a victor. I'll do everything I can to get one you back home. Promise."

"Question still stands."

I bit my lip. Now I decided between my two mentors, whether I gave him a white lie in the hopes of comfort as Finch did or laying out the bare truth like Daud. What made me feel better? What had really helped more?

"No," I said after a long pause. "I don't know what I'm doing. Any of it. There."

He shrugged, stopped to look for the right words, and said, "At least you're upfront about it."

I smiled, but the thought unsettled me. Being truthful might have pleased Fenton, but I knew I'd need to start spinning half-truths and lies if I wanted to succeed against what really awaited me in the Capitol. That, at least, I could hide from my two tributes. They didn't need to know how deep this hole ran.

After Fenton left, I hurried down the hall. The shadowy glow of the train car's hall running lights made me shudder: Outside the long windows, only darkness zipped by at two hundred miles per hour. Thick cloud cover veiled the moon, and I could barely make out the black hills and mountains outside. I turned away. I needed to be strong now, not to let my stupid fears ran rampant.

I stopped at the door to Mari's room. For a moment I considered walking on past, letting her have the night to herself to work over everything she'd been hit with. Instead, after a pause, I knocked.

A sniff and a "Hm?" answered me. Mari was backed into a corner of the room when I walked in, her knees tucked to her chest and her face pressed into her forearms. Her blonde hair was a chaotic mess draped around her in tangled knots, the blue ribbon she'd worn at the Reaping holding on to a clump of hair by a thread.

"Hey," I said, closing the door without a sound. "Sorry about dinner."

She looked away without a word. I sat down on the bed next to her, looked down at my lap, and said, "Daud and Finch are like that. They're old. Are you okay?" After a glance from her, I knew the answer. "Sorry. I know it's not okay. I didn't feel okay last year either."

"You won," said Mari, her voice cracking at the end.

"Yeah. But I didn't know anything coming in. You're just as good as I was this time last year."

She shook her head and stared out the window. I could already hear her thoughts: District 5 will never win two years in a row. My fate's sealed. The sentiment was hard to argue with: What were we, with only a handful of victors, compared to the power players in Districts 4 and 1? Finch's comforting fibs weren't going to smooth things over for the girl, I could tell. "It's not easy," I said, twiddling my thumbs and glancing up at her. "I, um…tomorrow night's the chariot parade, and you'll see all the other kids. A lot of them are gonna be bigger than you. Most were bigger than me last year. But I –"

"I don't stand out," she blurted.

"Huh?"

"Last year," Mari went on, her voice gurgling as she spoke. She didn't look at me as she talked, but only stared out the window. "The guys on TV said you stood out. You killed the boy early and they said it. Then on and on. You got out of that pit thing."

"Mari –"

"I can't do that."

She looked on the verge of tears. After a moment's hesitation, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her away from the window. "Hey. It's hard, I know. I know. I won't say it's not. But you're still here now, and you have a chance, okay? Just take things slow. I'm going to do everything I can for you. You're not going to be alone, even if it feels like it."

"Nobody volunteered for me," Mari mumbled into my shoulder. "We all said we would. All my friends and me. We said we'd volunteer for each other if we got picked, and none of them did. Lyla, Rose, none of them volunteered for me. They didn't even come to say bye. They just left."

Something strange gurgled up inside of me. It wasn't hurt or sympathy, but anger – anger that someone backstabbed my tribute, the girl I was tasked with protecting. It felt like all these friends of hers – if one could even call them that – had struck not only her heart, but mine. "Mari, I'm not going to abandon you, okay?" I said. Her tears darkened the purple silk of my shirt sleeve. "Whatever happened back home, I'm gonna stay with you and Fenton. I know I'm not used to this, but you're both my tributes, and I'm going to fight, alright? I'm used to it by now. I just need you to fight as well. If we both give it our all, we can both go home in a few weeks."

She nodded as she cried into my arm, but I could tell she had her doubts. I did, too. I hadn't lied: I would fight for her and Fenton, and I wouldn't stop until I had no one left to fight for. But I knew what the road ahead had in store, and it wasn't just the Hunger Games. I was in over my head with all this, between Creon Snow's games of intrigue, the Hunger Games, and whatever else lay yet unseen. I was only sixteen. I was too young for this labyrinth of twists and turns that threatened to choke me and the ones I had to care for.

Unfortunately, I no longer had a choice in stepping away from it all. It was too late to turn back. Maybe Glenn had seen it last year, but I'd been too slow. Now I was committed, and now lives hung in the balance, teetering on the strength of my efforts.

Like Mari, I didn't know if I was strong enough to succeed.