"You're up early. I suppose you always are. Although I recall reading somewhere that Drake Odair was the one who supposedly rose with the sun, not you."

I scowled at Elan. The Training Center's fifth floor hadn't changed a lick since six months ago, except for the birds-eye view of posters of Drake and me across the Forum. Mine looked particularly evil in the orange glow of the sunrise as late Capitol partiers stumbled back home on the streets below. Bright confetti and splotches of vomit – or worse – littered the roads.

"I guess Daud and Finch are still asleep," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes and plopping down on a bright, too-cheerful red couch in the den.

"Only Finch," said Elan. "Daud left an hour ago. Attending to sponsorships."

I rolled my eyes. "Great. Glad he told everyone."

"It's not appropriate conversation for everyone's ears," Elan explained with a nod towards the bedrooms. "Victory is a strange thing. It gives poor men motivation and turns rich men into careless gluttons. Other men stop being men at all."

He shrugged, giving me a knowing look. "I should apologize for abandoning you last night. I had my own duties to attend to until the wee hours of the morning. I trust your evening with our two tributes went well?"

"Dinner was quiet," I muttered. That was putting it lightly: Mari and Fenton had hardly said ten words combined over the three-course meal, and Finch had resorted to delving into every unnecessary topic about the Capitol possible to keep things from getting awkward. Everyone knew the chariot parade hadn't gone swimmingly.

"I would treasure your silence, if I were you. You have an interview with Cicero Templesmith in an hour and a half."

That woke me up. "What?"

"Nowhere fancy. It'll be in the rooftop garden right here."

I groaned and planted my face into the couch cushions. "I really don't want to."

"The line between wants and needs can be difficult to cross," chided my escort. "Most wouldn't want to give false hope to doomed children."

I glared at him. "I don't need to give interviews to Cicero to get sponsorships or mentor."

"Oh?" he said. "Then pardon me for asking, but if you pass up opportunities, how do you expect to go about accomplishing these things, again?"

"I'll figure something out."

Footsteps tromped down the hall. "I would figure it out quickly," Elan said, retreating into the kitchen.

He disappeared just as Mari walked in. She looked like death: Indigo circles underscored her eyes, and her blonde hair was a mess of tangles corkscrewing about her face. Her nightgown hung off her shoulders so loosely that I began to seriously consider whether or not I'd need to worry about her starving to death in the arena. I thought this girl was decently well-off?

"Sleep okay?" I asked, faking as much cheer as I could.

She shook her head.

"Er…sorry," I said. It was a struggle to find the right words, especially given the pitiful way she looked at me as she slumped down in a chair across the room. "Breakfast shouldn't be too long. Training starts today. Do you…are you ready?"

She shook her head again.

"Is everything okay?"

"I dunno what to do," she mumbled.

"What?"

"Sorry."

I sighed. "Mari. I don't expect you to know everything. This is just your second day here. I was doing this last year and I didn't know anything, either."

She looked away and crawled into a ball on the chair. I silently cursed Elan for leaving me here alone and moved up to her, debating giving her a hug or keeping a distance. Feeling awkward, I split my indecision down the middle and plopped down on the floor in front of her. "I should be sorry, not you. I'm not doing a real great job of this mentor thing. I…listen. You said you had friends at school back home, right?"

Mari glanced at me like I was crazy, but after a pause, nodded. I probably was crazy, but I wasn't up to date on how to console teens heading into the Hunger Games. It was different on this side of victory. "Well, how'd you meet them? You talked to them, right? First day of class, or whatever?"

"They talked to me," she mumbled.

Welp. "Well, someone had to talk first, yeah? It doesn't mean it can't be you. Look, last year, I didn't really trust any of the other kids at first, but a lot of them weren't bad. I woulda called a few of them my friends if I'd known them longer. When you go down for training this morning, everything will tell you to try and shoot an arrow or learn about plants or whatever. That's all nice, but I really didn't use that stuff much last year. Finch told me to get to know the other kids, and I did. I just want you to talk to one or two of them, okay? Maybe find someone from District 12 or 10 or wherever who might be shy or quiet. Just talk to them and be nice. I bet you can make a friend, too."

"I saw the boy from District 1," she murmured.

"Well, I wouldn't talk to him."

"He's huge."

"And you can't control that," I said. "Listen, Mari. Focus on what you can control and I'll do everyone I can too so that we can both go home together in a couple weeks. Deal?"

She nodded, but her heart didn't look in it. I looked up just to see Fenton listening in from the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He rolled his eyes at me and walked away.

Of course, getting Mari home would mean he wouldn't be coming, and vice versa. I swallowed hard.

Breakfast proved to be another quiet affair, and I left early to get dressed for Cicero's interview. By the time I headed for the elevator, Fenton and Mari were already gone.

"Finch is already gone, too," Elan noted as I made my way out of the hall. "And I believe Cicero arrived a few minutes ago on the rooftop. I'd hurry up there, if I were you."

"Thanks," I grunted, frowning. "Any more great advice?"

"Just this," my escort said as I boarded the elevator. "When someone else likes to hear themselves talk, let them. There's nothing Cicero likes more than the sound of his own voice."

The elevator doors hissed shut, and with a whoosh, the car carried me higher than I'd been before in the Training Center. I'd played by the rules the last two times I'd been here, never leaving the fifth floor except for training. As the six, seven, and eight buttons lit up with the elevator's rise, I noticed a button I'd never seen before. Commons, it read. Some other floor? A meeting area, perhaps?

I resolved to check it out as soon as I could. After all, what could they do to me for a little exploring?

The roof wasn't what I expected. It was almost serene up here: A small garden fanned out just in front of the elevator, filled with all sorts of plants both domestic and exotic. Flowering trees provided comforting shade from the sun, already hot even as it climbed higher in the morning sky. Bright red plumage exploded from leafy green shrubs below as soft grass twitched with every breeze. The city even seemed quieter up here: Perhaps it was still too early for the Capitol crowds, but the urban ambiance of traffic and Hunger Games revelers seemed much less intrusive.

It would've been a lot more peaceful without the camera crew. And Cicero.

"The guest of the hour!" the bright orange-haired Hunger Games host shouted the instant I stepped out of the elevator. He was flanked by two camera operators, each monitoring a hovering gray sphere that shined with light. Cicero looked especially gaudy today, clad in a knee-length, deep violet coat that looked far too hot for the summer.

"I guess," I said, shrugging and faking a smile. I doubted it looked very genuine.

"Come over, come over," Cicero ushered me towards a waiting seat beside a pink tropical plant nearly the size of Daud. "So good to get you one-on-one, Terra. It's a bit last minute, considering I arranged it with Elan only last night, but we can't let that get in our way."

I twiddled my thumbs and smiled. Oh, thanks Elan. "It's, uh…it's okay. I have time."

"No reason to be squeamish!" Cicero laughed. "Just easy questions today. Nothing hard, and this isn't live. It's not going out until tonight, so plenty of time to cut out any hiccups here and there. The viewers want to see your face, and we're going to give them a little extra halfway through, as it is. Might as well make things fun! Now, are you ready to get this going?"

"Wait, a little extra – "

"Stupendous! Get rolling, guys. Let's go."

I didn't have time to blink before the two floating orbs shined a pair of bright lights in my face. Shaking them off, I sat up as straight as I could and plastered the best smile I could manage across my face.

"Maybe a little less on the smile," Cicero advised. "Give us some edge, Terra. No one's going to buy the chipper schoolgirl act. It looks unnatural even sitting a few feet from you."

Fair enough. I could do surly a whole lot easier, and a little voice in my head chided me for trying to look cheery. They have a poster of you half-naked with snakes and a knife. Idiot. I tilted my head back, slumped my shoulders a bit, and stuck out my jaw. "Better?"

"Ah, loads. You catch on quick. Questions, questions, that time!"

He wasn't kidding. No sooner did the lights focus on me than Cicero attacked with the usual introductions. How are you, how's the Capitol treating you…yadda, yadda. It felt like standard fare, and while I had no trouble listening to the voice in my head and remaining in Surly Terra character, I had a feeling the interview wouldn't just end with that.

After his fourth question, Cicero dove into deeper subjects. "Enough introductions, Terra, we all know you," he said with a wave. "Don't we folks? But you the tribute and you the mentor are no doubt two different things. Give us a little clue. C'mon. Your tributes this year, Marigold Ellis and Fenton Renner…what are you telling them as the Capitol's newest victor?"

I shrugged. "I mostly just tell them to treat everyone else as the enemy. They are, after all. There's only one winner. Not much room for being nice."

"Sage advice!"

"You want me to bullshit them or something?" I scoffed. Something about this felt almost fun. It was acting, sure, but the person I pretended to be growled and clawed for more.

Cicero chuckled. "Maybe I was a bit premature with how you'd change. Still the same lethal victor, aren't you?"

"Why would you think I'd be different, Cicero?"

"Well, some victors have a habit of changing. Take a look at one of your own, Finch Rivers. She was the brilliant winner of the 74th Games, and some say she's now become motherly. Soft, even. How's your relationship with her? Butting heads over mentorship?"

I shrugged. "I think we have a healthy understanding of boundaries. Look, Cicero, I'm gonna take what I want."

"Straight from her mouth!" he laughed. "Oh, I can't wait to see how your sponsors are going to react to that."

"How do you think? I just told you."

Gods, I needed to thank Elan. Just like with the chariot parade last year, something about the spotlight gave me a rush, even if it intimidated me so much beforehand. Cicero was lacking on brains, but he knew how to keep the conversation going – and I was happy to pretend to be something I wasn't. It was a nice change of pace from worrying over Fenton and Mari's chances and fretting over how to keep the Capitol's elite happy. For once, I could just say whatever sounded fun, and my host welcomed more.

"Well, we've got a bit of a treat for you all today," Cicero said, turning towards the camera. "Terra here spent a lot of time with District 4's tributes in the arena last year. Keeping a handle on those partnerships was a big reason she came out alive, even. So to get a better view on this, let's take a look at the other side of the coin. Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the 95th Hunger Games, Drake Odair. Drake, welcome!"

My eyes bugged out and I spun around in my seat. Gods no. Unfortunately, Drake came trotting up from the elevator, strapping as ever, flashing a winning smile to the camera as he sat down on a stone block across from Cicero and me. Something told me I wouldn't be able to half-ass my way through the interview with him here – not if I wanted to stay cordial with him, at least.

"It's been too long, Drake," Cicero said, turning away from me. "And the spotlight's moved on now that a new victor's in town. Jealous of Terra here?"

He glanced over at me and smirked. "Nah, I'm not jealous of her. We're different."

"You've probably had your eye on her for a while. She teamed up with your two tributes from last year. Give us a little insight, Drake. What were you feeling when you were watching Terra here tag along with District 4's team in the arena, especially given how long you lasted?"

I narrowed my eyes. Suddenly the fun vanished from this interview. Drake felt less like the partner in crime that was Cicero and more like an opponent, an enemy clashing not just in this year's Games, but in last year's, as well.

He laughed. "Tell you the truth, I was a little more focused on my guys, Cicero. Everyone wants to win. Deflin and Tethys, they were great kids. Best fighters in the arena. Either of them should've won."

"Delfin didn't do a good job proving that," I interjected, rolling my eyes. Heat flared up inside me. Some angry part of me wanted to hurt Drake all of the sudden.

"Would have, should have. It was a great fight between him and the guy from District 2. He didn't murder him as he slept," Drake fired back.

"I didn't charge Acheron like a raging idiot, either."

Cicero held out his hand. "A bit of a rivalry revving up between our two latest victors, folks! Alright then, Terra. It's been a year. Tell us. What did you really think of your two allies from District 4 in last year's arena? Did you really, honestly, look out for them? Or were they just allies of convenience?"

I sucked in my breath and stared Drake straight in the eye. I could tell Cicero the truth. I could tell him I wanted to help Tethys, that I wanted to stay on Delfin's good side and figure out something, anything to keep us going in the arena. I could tell him how I craved another sufferer in the darkness of that arena to stand beside in those horrible hours.

I could, but I wouldn't.

"Twenty-four of us went in," I said, raising my chin. "I was the only one coming out, one way or another."

Cicero wrapped us up there, but I was still fuming towards Drake. That bastard. He certainly had no problem saying what he thought me. Well, fine. I didn't need him. I didn't even want him. He could go on being pretty for all his adoring fans.

"I've got to hurry on out of here," Cicero said as the cameras darkened. "Interview with President Snow himself in an hour. No time to waste, you two. You handled yourselves wonderfully."

That drew my attention away from my raging at Drake. "You're meeting with the president?"

"Not as glamorous as it sounds," Cicero said. "He's too serious. His father was a great interview, but him…not so much. I had a fantastic interview with his daughter just last week, though. I'm looking forward to her party tomorrow. Calla Snow always throws great ones."

"She hosts?" I said, drawing closer. "So she doesn't live at the Presidential Mansion or anything?"

"Calla Snow? Oh, no," Cicero laughed. "She has her own estate. Wealthy girl, obviously. Future president and whatnot. She knows how to make an appearance and keep us entertained. I'm looking forward to that one. Maybe I can get another exclusive with her if I push hard enough tomorrow night."

My mind tossed aside Drake for a moment. Suddenly, I wanted an invitation to this party too. If I wanted to keep Creon Snow happy, I had to understand the man better – and what better way to understand him than to hear all about him from his daughter?

I'd have to figure out some way to finagle my way in.

Before I could dive into planning, however, Drake caught me at the elevator. "Fun, huh?" he said. "Doing anything? I am really not looking forward to sponsorship gathering."

I scowled at him. "Thought you'd want to go prove who should win this year? I don't know why you'd want to waste time on someone who murdered kids in their sleep."

"Huh?"

I pushed past him into the elevator. "Go have fun with someone who cares."

"Terra, relax," he said. "This was an interview. Sheesh."

"Sure. Bye, Drake."

The elevator door shut in his face. Some remorseful part of me rebuked me for being so aggressive towards him. After all, it said. You were faking everything with Cicero. He's right. He doesn't mean it. He's just playing it up for the cameras. It was a quiet part of me, however. The loud, angry part of me told me Drake Odair wouldn't be anything but trouble.