Signet Graymore, 18, President of Panem

Back before Signet's life became a threadbare shambles, he wrote poetry. And he baked. And he read every book he could get his hands on—which was a lot of books, seeing as the Graymore library was quite extensive. But most of all, he dreamed.

He always has been a curious soul, despite chidings from his nurses and tutors. He was always trying to get into things that he wasn't meant to discover. And the biggest thing of all was the Hunger Games.

They were a mystery that constantly eluded Signet. Year after year, he'd beg his father to tell him all about the Games; he didn't understand why they were such an important event, and yet he wasn't allowed to know even the slightest detail.

But every year, Alabaster Graymore said no. Said that Signet wasn't ready.

So he'd turned to imagining. Picturing every possibility. Maybe they were a labyrinth full of monsters that people had to defeat. Maybe they were a pageant of talents, gathered from the farthest reaches of Panem. Maybe they were a competition, of beauty or intelligence or whatever was deemed most important that year.

After Signet realized they had a far more grim purpose, he'd pictured executions, or imprisonment, or rigorous routines that left participants exhausted. Others might find it strange that Signet never discovered the true happenings of the Games. But that simply wasn't the way Signet had been. He had dreamed, once.

But now, he lives in a nightmare.

Never, in his wildest dreams, did Signet expect he'd end up in a place like this. Running a country so young, both of his parents dead... and being responsible for the deaths of sixteen children... and seven more, if he doesn't figure out a way to stop this.

He's settled into a quiet kind of hopelessness. Despite the fact that he holds Panem between his palms, he is still held powerless before this situation. No matter how much he insists, pleads, or reasons with his council, there's no getting around the fact that the Games are in progress.

He's finally come to reality. But it's much, much too late.

Besides. There's only so much he can show to his advisors without them discovering he's an utter fool. He needs to put on a brave face, for publicity. Act like all of this is normal, even wonderful. The mere act of living sickens him these days. He can hardly stand himself.

The only thing he can think to do now is plead with Ava.

The woman is almost impossible to reason with. But she's also his last resort.

He walks into the studio, nausea climbing to his chest, constricting his airway. He's forced himself to watch the Games, seeing it as penance for what he's done; what he's subjected these children to, and their families back home. Every death has sent a dagger slicing through his soul. He is only getting to know these children, all with wonderful potential ahead of them, but when one of them dies, it feels like a part of him breaks too.

After these Games, there won't be much of his old self left. He will be shattered, in every sense. Mind and soul.

But he can't think like that. Because there's still hope. There has to be. If there wasn't the slightest sliver of possibility, the chance that he could save at least a few lives, Signet's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the morning, wouldn't be able to handle everything that comes with his new title. And he's still getting used to it. It's silly, really; among all the unfamiliar aspects of his life, his new role is still on his mind.

Avarette is glued to her screen, watching the eight remaining Tributes milling about the Arena. Signet steels himself, readying years of diplomatic training. It's time that finally got put to use.

"Ava," he says, bowing his head in greeting. It's a battle just to keep his voice level.

She huffs. "I can't talk now, Signet," she snips. "The Tributes aren't doing anything interesting, and the Capitol is getting bored."

Really? That must be so hard for the Capitolites, not being able to watch children being murdered every second of their day.

"So, they're already getting... accustomed to the Games?"

"Oh, most of them are eating it up!" Ava says gleefully. "Although... there are a few voices that are rising up in rebellion. But they're being dealt with."

"I see..." he says carefully.

"Well, what do you need?" she says, a note of impatience sneaking back into her voice.

Time for a little bit of subtlety. Signet has never excelled in this field, could never get away with lying when he was little, but... it seems he's changed a lot since then.

"Your Arena is flawless," Signet says. "It's very impressive. I could even say... foolproof. The illusion is quite stunning."

She shrugs. "Thank you. I'm just doing my job. But you're right... the technology is top-of-the-line."

"Indeed. And... if a Tribute were to try and escape? If they strayed from your plans?"

Ava straightens, finally giving Signet her full attention. "First of all, the Tributes are installed with trackers so I know where they are at all times. And second of all, the Arena is reinforced with traps on its borders, should a Tribute get too eager and try anything suspicious. There's no way to get out... or in." She smiles casually, as if this is all just idle small talk. And for her, it probably is. "Well, I must be getting back to work. I'm sure you have very... important things to do, yourself."

Signet tears his eyes away from the screen and the complicated technology that he was just praising, feeling his last hopes dwindle to mere cinders.

"Of course... I need to go. Thank you for your time."

Signet leaves the Gamemaking center and returns to his own office, slamming the door behind him. The force of the movement sends a picture on the wall shaking. He hurriedly moves to steady it, trying to keep his frustration in check.

He can't let anger overtake him. He needs to keep his priorities in mind. Save the Tributes. Fix the mess he made.

But he doesn't even know where to start. His flimsy plan to save the Tributes from the Arena has been reduced to nothing. There's no way he'd be able to pull off an escape without Ava, and the public, noticing.

He puts his face in his hands. What has he done? And how does he get himself out of it?

It feels as if he has no allies. He is merely a lone swimmer amid a sea of hungry sharks, soon to be devoured. And the worst part is, it's all his fault.

...

Linnet Llamora, 30, Victor of the First Hunger Games

She's never felt so broken before. Yes, she's had a life of one misery after another, a few weeks of bloodshed and terror she thought would never end, a decade spent as an outsider in a place that could never feel like home. She's had small joys, but those have been ripped away.

They'll always be taken away from her. She has so little left.

She doesn't know why she'd foolishly hoped that Asa and Luz might make it out unscathed, somehow still together after everything played out. But then the Gamemakers concocted evils that Linnet never could've predicted. Watching the plague ravage Asa's body, the boy she'd tried so hard to prepare, had been one of the most difficult things she's ever experienced.

There's a large part of her that knows it's her fault. If she'd only prepared them both better, tried harder to get them Sponsor gifts, maybe he could've recovered. Maybe everything would be okay—or as much as it could be.

But life has never gone as Linnet hopes it will. And this is no different. She should have known not to get attached.

She knows that Luz has upset the Gamemakers, in voicing her anger at the Capitol. But how could Linnet blame her for that? Her hatred for the Games has simmered inside her like a cauldron waiting to boil over. And the fact that all she can do is sit back and watch while children's lives are being ransacked is killing her. Eating her up, piece by piece.

The Arena couldn't leave its mark, but this might be the thing that unravels her.

She doesn't remember her Games being this brutal. Doesn't remember getting so attached to the Tributes that have passed through in previous years. It's heartbreaking, to see them slowly becoming monsters. The girl from Four and the zealot from Two... even the boy from Ten was on a spiral before the plague—and his ally—took him.

But, miraculously, there are also signs of goodness, and friendship, sprinkled in among the terror. Callisto and Luz, the slow bonds that have been made in the Careers, and the girl from Seven's small alliance that's now split in half. If only these things can last. The fact that they will all end before too long is all the more painful.

She goes to visit Mirabelle. It is the only thing she can think of. She's already sought comfort from Rima and her mother, but her own grief is the least of her worries. What she needs to do is find a solution. Stop this terrible game.

When Mirabelle answers, her voice is heavy with weariness, her movements slow. But despite her obvious exhaustion, there's still a glimmer of fire behind her voice, a strength in her grip as she puts a hand on Linnet's shoulder. It's one of the things Linnet admires about Mirabelle—she has never lost that fire. Sometimes Linnet feels like everything within her has been leeched, and she's now only skin and bone. No courage or strength to speak of. But Mirabelle... she gives Linnet hope.

"Come in," says Mirabelle, her voice as weathered as old stone. Linnet follows her inside to a small sitting area, unease prickling beneath her skin.

"You've been watching the Games, I assume?" Linnet says, getting right to business.

"Unfortunately," Mirabelle says.

Linnet leans forward, lowering her voice to a whisper, barely a scrap of sound. "Surely there's something we can do. We can't just let this happen."

Mirabelle lets out a long, shuddering sigh. "I'm not sure there's anything I can do. Not immediately, at least. I've made a bargain with my husband. A foolish one, I'll admit. But it's not so much the bargain, as the fact that I can't see much that we could do, even if we were capable. The only thing I could think to do is assassinate the Gamemakers, overthrow the controls and send the Tributes back here. But even if we did succeed, there would be guards waiting for us. If we have time, though..." Mirabelle falls silent.

Linnet understands. All they've ever had was time. Time to recover from their own wounds, time to mourn all they've lost. But somehow, still not enough time to make any difference.

"I promise you, Linnet, that we will stop this from happening another time. But I fear the Games went too fast and too far, too quickly. We can only let them run their course." She lets out a frustrated huff. "I hate being helpless, watching another group of children die. I'd hoped this would be our year, but I can't... I can't fathom a way that we could escape it."

"So it really is hopeless," whispers Linnet, thinking of Luz. Thinking of Nine, and simpler times.

"Never." Mirabelle grips her hand. "We can never lose hope. No matter what happens. We are the only ones on these Tributes' side. And if the opportunity arises, we will make a move. But for now, all we can do is honor their lives. And plan."

"And plan," Linnet echoes, blinking tears from her eyes.

It doesn't feel like much. More importantly, it doesn't feel like enough. Linnet wants to crawl out of her skin, to rail and scream and shout from the rooftops until these injustices are undone.

But she can't. Because Mirabelle is right. If they aren't patient, they could ruin the small chance they do have.

But it doesn't make things any less unfair, and it doesn't dim Linnet's anger. Her and Mirabelle sit together and cry together for a short while, both longing for change but knowing they cannot yet enact it. Knowing they're both too late.

...

HELLOOOO! It's Monday! And more importantly, it's December! I'm so happy to be back with this story and these characters; I missed them! How have you all been doing? I hope your November was great. Mine... certainly happened. It was not my month, necessarily, but I did write my novel and it was... an interesting experience! I was hoping it would help me grow as a writer but I'm not sure if it did much more than stress me out, lol! That's alright! I'm just super excited to be back and writing the rest of the story! This chapter was mostly just a check-in to see how our Capitol characters are doing (not good.) Some of them we won't have POVs from for the rest of the story, so I thought we should just have a lil chapter to see what was happening with them. Once again, I'm so happy to be back and I missed y'all; hope you're doing well and that you have a great week! I'll see you next week when we'll be back with our Tributes in the Arena.

Much Love,

Miri