1.6 : Ashley

I grit my teeth as Blight holds out his hand and scans his thumb over Valeria Dayflight's credit pad.

It's not enough money to buy anything substantial, but Blight's already secured three sponsors today, plus about seven more since training started two days ago. Audiences have taken a liking to Caraway ever since he helped Johanna after the incident with the chariots, and I doubt there's the risk of him going hungry in the arena anymore.

Of course, I know food isn't the priority. That's not what Blight is really saving up for. The truth is that he's going to take the money and try to bargain with the Gamemakers so that, once the Games begin, he can send Caraway just enough of whatever drug he's hooked on in order to stop him from going into complete withdrawal.

Valeria doesn't know this, obviously, but we're under no obligation to tell sponsors exactly what we'll do with their money. Once it's in the Games' accounts, it's gone. Even if it's not used for the tributes, it will be put into a donation pool to fund next year's Games. Blight's not going to tell Valeria that Caraway's an addict. She might pull her donation if he does. Once Caraway's in the arena, I'm sure he'll spin it in some way. Maybe he'll say Caraway's diabetic, and it's insulin, or maybe he'll say nothing, and let the audience figure it out themselves. One thing's for sure, though, and that's the fact that whatever syringe arrives in the arena, it will certainly be unmarked.

If he lives long enough for that.

"I'm sorry," Valeria says to me, once the transaction has gone through. She has to speak up over the garish music. In a booth across from us, there's a couple practically on top of one another. I can't stand Capitol bars. "I'd love to donate to Johanna too, but I want to make sure my money is going to the tributes, and I don't think that poor sweet girl will make it past the first few hours."

That 'poor', 'sweet' girl is most certainly going to make it longer than Caraway, but I don't tell her this either. It's a good thing she likes Johanna, and it's a good thing she's not expecting much, but Valeria isn't much of a pity sponsor. If I'm completely honest, I don't think she'd sponsor Johanna even if there was no act. Valeria didn't sponsor me in my Games either - though as a longstanding sponsor for Seven, she did for my district partner - because, according to her, I was too 'abrasive' in my presentation. I doubt she'd be fond of the real Johanna, who, in the past few days of getting to know her, makes abrasion look casual.

"It's fine," I say, and try to look a bit resigned - maybe a tad annoyed. It's always difficult to put my victor's mask back on, but with the added layer of being Johanna Mason's mentor, it's become even more of a task. "Though I'd wager she'll make it longer than you expect."

"If she makes it longer than Caraway, you have my permission to transfer," Valeria says.

Blight notes this down in his notebook. Valeria will have to confirm this officially, when it comes down to it, but it's easier to keep track of promises like this ourselves. It's at times like these that I wish mentors could have their own digital pads to keep everything in order, but of course, that wouldn't be allowed. God forbid we're given even a hint of Capitol airs.

We finish our drinks - or rather, sit and wait for Valeria to finish hers - and she bids us farewell. I'm sure I'll see her next year. Blight will probably see her sooner, based on the side-eye she gives him. I'm grateful, I'm a bit too young for her - and again, as she stated, a bit too 'abrasive'. I think she likes her men like the statues in her garden: sculpted, strong and silent.

I like women like her far away from me.

"Sorry," Blight says, once she's gone. "I really thought he'd be open to Johanna. I can try to convince some of the other sponsors to split the pool."

I shake my head. "No point. They pledged for Caraway."

"I'll bring it up with the ones I see later, anyways." Blight downs the rest of his drink in a single swig. "Snow's got a busy schedule set up for me."

" Lucky ," I say, dryly. He's not the only one. I've had a good few invitations myself. Thankfully most of them have agreed to meet after Johanna dies. I suppose they've reasoned that when I don't have mentoring on my plate, I will be able to devote my full attention to them. Assuming she dies. I wonder if - on the chance she does win - I can take advantage of the loophole and never see them again. I doubt it. "But it'll die down once the Games kick off, right?"

"Who knows," Blight shrugs. "I've not been to the Capitol in four years. Snow wants me to make up for my absence."

Snow chooses who's absent, I think, but I don't say it. Even in a loud bar like this, you never know who might be listening.

Once we're sure Valeria's long gone, we make our payments and step out onto the streets of the Capitol. It's early afternoon and the brightness of the day is stark against the moody lighting of the bar. Heat beats down on my back, and I feel a bit woozy from the drink. I'm not great at handling my alcohol at the best of times, and it occurs to me that I haven't eaten lunch today. Blight stands steady. I'm not sure even a pint of pure vodka would knock him down.

"Well, I'm off to meet with the Gamemakers," he says, holding up his notebook. He must have enough sponsor money, then. "Most of them are at the private training sessions, so I'm hoping whoever's left is amenable."

"Fingers crossed," I say.

Valeria picked a bar not far from the Games Centre for us to meet her, but Blight must be in a rush, since he hails down the nearest passenger car. I think the driver looks shocked to see him. I'm left alone in the sun.

I decide to take a seat on a bench nearby to steady myself. I desperately don't want to seem like a drunk - especially out and about around the Capitol. The streets are busy and it doesn't seem like anyone's noticed me anyways, but I'm not exactly the most conspicuous face. ' Ashley Firth: Drunk On The Job?' would certainly make the tabloids, and I might even lose the few sponsors I've managed to scrounge up. Certainly I'd get a furious call from Sylvia. The Capitol might like me - or, at the very least, they think I have some dry allure - but they can turn on a victor with a certain viciousness when they want to. I think of Halo Peregrine from District One, and how a single drunken night out has ruined her reputation to this day.

The heat is stifling, and I want to remove the cap that I've tucked my hair under, but I know that if I do, I'll certainly be recognised. My hair was quite the fad in the Capitol the year after I won. Red hair colourant was all out of stock, and I even had a couple haircare brands want me as their spokesperson, including for a new line of 'Viola Dye'.

Viola was the name of the tribute I killed, right before that famous shot of me was taken. She was from Two. She'd trained for it her whole life. She had two sisters and a twin brother, and she wanted to learn how to play the violin after she'd won.

And the only way she's remembered in the Capitol is by a hair dye.

I think I'm steady enough to stand, so I rise from the bench and make my way down the promenade towards the street of bars, clubs and restaurants that curves down towards the Tribute and Games Centres. I don't desperately want to be back in another bar, but Finnick did extend an invitation, and I don't have much else to do with Johanna's private training still upcoming, and no sponsor prospects.

It's a nicer bar, by any measure. I've managed to go the whole walk without being recognised - after all, who is Ashley Firth if not for his hair? - but the hostess clocks me instantly. Perhaps it's the number of victors at her establishment already. She tells me that there's a private room upstairs booked out before I even introduce myself, and directs me up the glass staircase that spins up from the centre of the lobby.

A lobby in a bar. The Capitol never ceases to amaze. The only bar is Seven is in an old and rotting building near the outskirts of town proper. It's run by an old lady who's blind in one eye and who spills half the drinks before they end up in a cup. I honestly think that Pliny's the only thing keeping her afloat.

The glass staircase has been programmed to chime in clear, ringing tones as I climb it, which actually makes me laugh. I can hear music from downstairs, coming from behind a set of doors which I assume leads to the actual bar area, but otherwise the place seems quite empty. I'm just thinking about how strange it is for a bar to be empty during Hunger Games season when I hear a descending chime, and notice a woman has started down the staircase. She's surprisingly plain for Capitol standards - pin straight blonde hair, round cheeks tattooed with some kind of flower design. She wears a uniform that I immediately clock as belonging to a Gamemaker's apprentice.

What would she be doing here? Especially at this time of day? Surely everyone involved in the Games will be at the Training Centre by now? The woman looks at me with some kind of recognition, but doesn't give me any further acknowledgement as she walks past me and down the stairs.

I frown, and decide not to think about it too much.

The room is the third down the corridor, and when I try the handle it's locked. This isn't much of a surprise. Victors are vigilant people by nature, and when you put us in a room together, bad habits are bound to double. I knock.

And knock.

It's Chaff who eventually opens the door. I have to crane up to see him - (Chaff is a bonafide giant, and I'm not exactly tall) - and he blocks the door entirely, presumably expecting a bar attendant.

"Firth?" He asks. Chaff refers to anyone by their surname, unless he likes them. I assume this means he doesn't like me, but I don't take it to heart. He doesn't seem particularly close to anyone, apart from Seeder from his district, and Haymitch, from Twelve.

Or, at least, I don't take it to heart until I notice the group behind him. Seeder and Haymitch, yes, and Finnick, who I expected, but there's also the pair from Three - Beetee and Wiress - Cecelia, from Eight and Vega, from Six. I frown. Some of this makes sense. Chaff and Haymitch drink together all the time. Seeder likes them both, Vega's happy to bar hop whenever, and Finnick will tag along with anyone who doesn't treat him like eye candy - (an unfortunate rarity). But what on earth could the Cecelia and the pair from Three be doing here?

I think Chaff notices my confusion, but doesn't move from the door.

"Hey," I say, casually. I feel a bit put-off, all of a sudden. Contrary to what you'd expect, I've never really felt intimidated by the other victors before. We're all more or less on the same playing field, and I hit it out with my Games uniquely enough that even most of the inner districts respect me. But right now, I'm starting to feel intimidation creep in. "The hostess downstairs said you were up here."

"Did Blight invite you?" Chaff frowns.

Blight? Why would Blight have invited me?

"No, he's, um -" I choose my words carefully. " - he's at a Gamemaker meeting. Finnick -"

"- I invited him," Finnick calls from the back. He's squeezed in between Vega and Haymitch, and gives me a good natured wave, which feels oddly out of place in the chill of the room.

"I thought Sylvia said -"

"Oh, leave him alone, Chaff," says Seeder, and pats the seat next to her. "We're happy to have you here, Ashley."

Chaff looks at me curiously, but steps aside. Sylvia? What could Sylvia have possibly said? I know she and Seeder are friends - they won back-to-back Games - but what could she have possibly wanted with Chaff, unless it was to threaten his life if he ever offered me a drink. I suppose that could be it - but then, why would Chaff use her first name? Not to mention Blight's.

The presence of this entire group is playing at me.

"I invited Ashley -" Finnick says, once I've sat down. " - because I like him. And as far as I was aware, we're allowed to invite other people. Haymitch invited me last year."

"Haymitch discussed it with us before," Chaff says, looking at Haymitch, pointedly. Haymitch, for what it's worth, doesn't seem to care very much.

"Is this some kind of - what - secret drinking club?" I ask. I don't actually believe that it is, based on the people here. Honestly, I'm not sure what this is. I'm looking at Finnick, but he defers the question.

"Somewhat," Beetee speaks up. I've always struggled understanding the accent from Three, and Beetee is no exception. I like him enough, though. "You could call it that, if you like. I don't drink, personally, and neither does Wiress. But it is a group where we meet in places that we won't be bothered in."

I suppose this makes sense. A large group of victors is bound to draw attention anywhere, and the Tribute and Games centres are so chock-full with Games employees that there's barely a moment to breathe, let alone have a chat. Besides, everyone always thinks we're talking strategy. They almost have to eavesdrop.

I raise my hands. "Sounds fine with me. I won't divulge your secrets."

Beetee gives me a look. "Apt. Thank you."

Cecelia, thankfully, drags the conversation away from - honestly, whatever this is - towards some television spot some of the other victors are wanted for, and eventually, things begin to settle towards some form of normality. We don't talk much about the Games, but Cecelia mentions that the male tribute from Eight this year has the same name as her eldest son, and it hurts her chest every time she hears it said. Every so often, I'll notice Chaff looking at me funny or leaning over to say something to Haymitch, but whenever he catches me, he'll slide back easily and casually into conversation. Vega doesn't say anything particularly negative, but I also notice her eyes on me more than once.

"What was that about?" I ask Finnick, when we're walking back towards the Tribute Centre. Beetee is leading us down some covert back alleys - which he tells us he's mapped out in order to find the most inconspicuous route. From the window, I see a maid staring open mouthed at us as she hangs up laundry. At least we're not being mobbed.

"Chaff's just like that," Finnick shrugs. "Apparently, a couple years ago their drinking club location got leaked or something, and now he gets really mad when he doesn't get to vet people. Sorry, I should have given them the heads up you were coming."

"Wiress and Beetee," I shake my head. Maybe Finnick will tell me what's going on, considering he invited me. "Bit random, don't you think?"

Finnick points ahead, to where Beetee is leading us. "Convenient, though."

"Does Blight join you guys, then?"

"Sometimes, yeah," Finnick says. "Mags too, when she's doing well."

"How is she?"

"They want to bring her to the Capitol," he says. "They say they have better doctors."

That bad? The words go unsaid. "At least you'll be able to keep an eye on her."

"More likely she'll keep an eye on me," he laughs. Finnick is always laughing. He's very good at it. I still can't place if it's a real laugh or not. Context tells me no.

I want to ask him more, but the time for that has passed, and he seems lost in his own thoughts about Mags, and probably Annie. We arrive at the Tribute Centre - mercifully unhounded, thanks to Beetee - and slowly, we split off to our own individual floors. I'm left in an elevator with Cecelia and Vega.

"I quite liked your company today, Ashley," Cecelia says, once Vega has been dropped off and we're creeping towards the seventh floor. "I'll put in a good word for you."

"Thanks," I say, and once again, I'm wondering if there's not more to this than a simple drinking club. In fact, there certainly is. I think of the Gamemaker's assistant who passed me on the stairs. Does she have anything to do with this? "Though, I'm not sure I really get the point of it. I'm not really a fan of drinking."

She gives me a warm smile as the elevator arrives at the seventh floor. "Maybe in time you will." The door opens. "Oh. Good luck for this evening."

The Tribute scores. I'd almost forgotten "Thanks. You too."

The floor is empty as I pad into the apartment, and my footsteps echo across the space. I'm thankful for the lack of Avoxes to greet me, but even their absence makes the place feel awfully eerie. It reminds me of what the apartment looks like once the Games have begun. Quiet, empty, and too-often haunted with the absence of tributes.

Blight's probably still with the Gamemakers, but Johanna and Caraway should have completed their individual sessions by now. I call out as I approach the corridor that leads to the tributes' rooms, but I hear no reply. Ambrosia is absent too, but that doesn't surprise me as much. She's not exactly the most hardworking escort, even at the best of times. Still, I try her door, to no avail.

I'm just about to start climbing up the stairs to the mentors' quarters when my gaze, almost morbidly, flickers towards the doors to the tributes' rooms. A chill runs down my spine. I'm grateful that my quarters are upstairs, because I hate it down here. About thirteen years worth of tributes have slept in these two rooms, ever since they rebuilt the Training Centre for the 58th Games. Twenty-four tributes in total, if I don't count Johanna and Caraway. Twenty-four, just like a regular Games. Out of twenty-four, twenty-three have died. I'm the only one who made it.

Twenty four. One victor.

I feel like they're all looking at me right now.

I'm usually very good at wiping thoughts like these from my mind, but there's something about today that's driven them into my head, and I can't clean them out. Faces of tributes are starting to worm their way into my head - involuntary flashes of eyes, lips, teeth. Tess Talloway, who slept in Johanna's room during the same Games as mine. Mersey Aran, from the Sixty-Seventh Games - my first tribute, dead on the fourth day. Cannock Cailley, Sixty-Eighth - at the hands of Bluejay from One (coincidentally, she was that year's victor). Park Ettrick, Sixty-Ninth - cornucopia. Alice Forster, Seventieth - also cornucopia. Other faces start to creep into the fold, too. Blight. Chaff. Wiress. Seeder. It occurs to me, suddenly, why I'm thinking like this. Sitting with the other victors, in that room, it's the closest I've felt to being in the Games since I've left. As if I was back in the dining hall of the training floor, avoiding the eyes of the inner district tributes - the Careers - as they seize me up and discuss plans under their breath that I am not privy to.

I shake my head and turn up the stairs, and think again that I am lucky that my room is upstairs, and has only been used by me in the past four years.

"Where were you?"

My hand is just on the doorknob to my room when I hear the voice. I jump and almost instinctively slide the door open, ready to dive in and put a firm piece of wood between me and my potential attacker. Johanna stands in the landing, leaning against one of the two oak desks that decorate the mentors' study. She's still in her training uniform, hair tied back in a high bun, loose green shirt that sits unflatteringly across her shoulders, slouching her arms.

"God, Johanna," I say, closing the door. "Don't do that."

"Where were you?" She repeats.

"I was just out," I say. "Sponsors. I tried calling for you."

"I thought I'd talk to you up here," she says, and shakes her hair out of its ponytail. "Caraway's in his room. I don't know what he did, but I don't think it went well."

"And what about you?" I ask. "Did yours go well?"

"Sort of a stupid question," she cocks her head to the side. "I didn't want it to go well."

I look at her, obviously. "You know what I mean."

"Are you drunk?"

"What?"

"Are you drunk?" Johanna repeats. She inches a tiny bit closer, and I step away from the door and the wall and turn my back to the office. I don't like being cornered.

"Why would you think I'm drunk, Johanna?"

"Because I saw you, when I was going up the elevator. You were coming back with a bunch of other victors," she says, and then wrinkles her nose. "And you smell like booze."

"I was -" I pause, and then shake my head. "You know what, I literally don't need to explain myself to you. You should trust me enough to know that I'll stay clean for you, and if I am drinking, it's because I have to."

Johanna rolls her eyes. "Have to? Nobody's forcing you."

"If you want sponsors, I need to drink every once in a while," I say. "I don't like it any more than you do, but it's what's done."

"Have you gotten me much money, then?"

She's techy today. "I'll be honest, no. Not as much as I'd like."

"So you're obviously doing something wrong," Johanna prods.

"Jesus, Johanna," I say. "It's more complex than that. What's up with you?"

She pauses, and I see a flash of guilt in her expression, though she tries to mask it with a look of defiance. She's lucky that I'm not someone else's mentor. She's a great actor, but once you catch her tells, she's as clear as crystal. "Caraway said you gave him advice yesterday."

Oh. That. I shake my head. "He asked me what to do in private training. That's all."

"Why would he go to you, though?" She says. "He's got Blight. You're my mentor. Are you secretly training him or something? Do you think - do you think I'm going to die before him, or something?"

"Johanna," I almost want to laugh, but I'm too tired, and I know she'd take it the wrong way. "I told him to do whatever looked most impressive. That's all."

"But I'm your tribute."

"It was a question," I say. "He's not my tribute, but he's still a tribute from Seven. Blight would have done the same, if you'd asked him. You're still my priority, Johanna. I promise you, I didn't even give it much thought."

She mulls this over for a moment. "He made it seem like you'd given him some big secret or something."

"He's psyching you out," I say. "It's a clear tactic. Don't fall for it."

Johanna steps back. "Okay," she says. "Sorry."

I run my hand over my face. I feel foggy and exhausted, and I realise I haven't shaved in a few days. I probably look like a mess. "It's fine. It's getting stressful. I'm there with you too. Just remember, I'm on your side, Johanna. I'm the only one who is."

"You're the only one who is," she echos.

"What did you do in your private training?"

She's just telling me about the fire she started when we hear footsteps climbing up the stairs. Heavy. Blight. I give her a look, and she continues onwards, only this time, her voice is softer, her additions less contrarian. I'm leaning against the door to my room when he makes it up the stairs.

"Oh," he looks surprised to see Johanna. "Is training over?"

She nods, quickly, and Blight gives a glance downstairs. His brow is lined, and his shoulders slouched. "Sorry," she offers. "I know I shouldn't be up here."

"No rules against it," he says. "Ashley, can we -" he gestures to his room, and I know that whatever he's going to say, it's going to be bad news. I give a look at Johanna.

"Gamemakers?" I ask. He nods. "Okay. Johanna, can you -"

She nods, eagerly. And then she says something completely unexpected.

"Did they say no to the Finch?"

Blight pauses. I give her a warning glance from behind his shoulder. Shut up, I try to say with my eyes. She avoids my gaze.

"How do you know about that?" Blight asks. His voice is unreadable.

"I didn't want to say," Johanna keeps her voice so convincingly childlike, I could mistake her for younger than her seventeen years. "I know the marks. He tried to hide them, but I saw, at the reaping."

At first I'm sure Blight's going to call her bluff, but it's not exactly a bad cover. I'm just questioning the reasoning of her comment when he speaks. "Fine. She can stay."

Johanna gives me a look of genuine surprise. I decide to act like this is her searching for approval. "You can sit," I say, gesturing to the desk. She does, softly. I join Blight at the armchairs. "Well?"

"Firm rejection," he says, glumly. "Crane is a royal pain in the arse. He's got a whole slew of new Gamemakers under his thumb. Last year, my request would have gone through like that. "

"What are you going to do, then?" I ask.

Blight shakes his head. "He won't make it far without anything."

"He's already not doing too good," Johanna pipes up. "I think he was ill during training yesterday."

Blight frowns at her. "You don't want to ally with him, do you?" Johanna tries to appear like she's searching for an answer, but he cuts her off. "No, you wouldn't. Bet Ashley told you not to. I would too."

"But you want me to?" She asks.

"I was going to ask," he says. "But you're not a stupid kid. I just wanted to tell you - he's got sponsors. I've gotten a few to agree to let me transfer the money to you, if he does go. That's not any incentive to kill him, by the way. He'd best you in a fight by a mile, even in his condition. But I wanted to let you know, I'm not rooting against you."

Johanna seems genuinely surprised for the second time. "Thank you."

There's more, and I can tell by Blight's gaze, but he won't say in front of her. "Go get changed out of your training outfit and meet us for dinner," I tell her. She nods to assent, and practically dashes down the stairs.

Blight waits until her door shuts to speak. "She's smarter than she lets on."

"I'm not a shit mentor," I say. "Track record notwithstanding."

"You've been doing this for five years," Blight shakes his head. "It's hardly a trial run. Good on her, though."

"What is it?"

"Gamemakers are gunning for One or Two," he says. "Hardcore gunning. There's not been an inner district win since the Sixty-Eighth, and Two hasn't had a winner since the year before Finnick. Their boy - Cassius - is a serious favourite to win, and I don't trust these new Gamemakers not to rig the Games."

"They can't rig the Games," I say. "If they got caught, it'd send the Capitol into a frenzy."

About ten years ago, five years before my Games, the Gamemakers were accused of rigging the arena to favour the female tribute from One. That year was mutt central, but she remained mysteriously unaffected, while all the other tributes seemed to be getting mauled left, right, and centre. As it turned out, the Head Gamemaker was secretly bidding under a false identity, and it turned the whole media circuit into a shitshow. Eventually, in some form of penance, their own mutts did her in. There wasn't anything she could do. It was awful, because all that aside, she very clearly had the chops to win it.

Ever since then, the Capitol's eyes have been sharply pointed to detect any perceived form of rigging or favouritism. Finnick was accused of it a few times during his Games, but sponsor gifts are a whole can of worms. They've hiked up the prices since the Sixty-Fifth Games, though. According to Sylvia, even getting me a bottle of water the year after was a monumental task.

"Not so obviously," Blight says. "But they're always going to have their tricks."

"I hope you're wrong," I say. "I suppose we can ask around, and see if anyone else has seen anything."

Blight gives a non-comical shrug, and starts to head off to his room. He's just about to close the door when I remember something.

"Oh yeah," I say. "Do you go drinking with Chaff and Seeder and some of the other victor's sometimes?"

Blight gives me a very particular look. "What do you mean?"

"Um," I pause. "Finnick invited me today. Chaff mentioned that sometimes you -"

"Sometimes. You said Finnick invited you?"

I nod. "I think it was just on a whim.""He should have run that through me," Blight says, quite firmly. "You're really too young for that sort of stuff."

"Drinking?" I frown. "I'm twenty-one."

Blight's face tells me for certain that this is not about drinking. "Not during the Games, Ashley."

"I'm not stupid," I say. "I'll see you at dinner."

He doesn't even look at me as he closes the door.

Dinner is an awkward affair. Ambrosia is late and frazzled, and doesn't make much of an effort to keep up conversation, so the job falls to me and Blight. Blight is very obviously not in the mood, and I'm awful at anything that isn't one-on-one or one-liners, so we mostly eat in silence. Johanna was right about Caraway. He looks ill. He's half falling asleep into his soup, and Blight has to nudge him awake multiple times. Johanna is the only one with a healthy appetite at the table. I decide to take this as a win.

We sit down to hear the training scores. As we move, Ambrosia makes a pointed comment under her breath that I'm looking a lot more 'District Seven' than usual, which I take to mean that I look positively scruffy by Capitol standards. Johnna hears this and rolls her eyes at me while nobody is looking. It manages to make me smile, even though my mind is a million miles away, trying to figure out that damn drinking club.

Both tributes from One score a nine. So does the girl from Two, though Cassius - the apparent favourite - scores a Ten. Blight looks at me pointedly. There's an eight and a nine for District Four, and both Five and Six land in the five to six categories, respectively.

Caraway scores a six, which is better than I expected.

Johanna hits the mark right on the head with her target of four.

She also does a brilliant job of seeming incredibly disappointed.

Most of the other scores don't stand out much. The pair from Eight score a five and a seven, and the girl from Twelve manages an eight. The newscaster promises that official odds will be recalculated for tomorrow, and that there will be a gap in scheduling as the tributes are being prepared for their interviews before the Games.

A silence settles over the room as it occurs to all of us that the Games will start in two days' time.

Nobody says anything.

I can't tell if she's acting, but I think Johanna might even seem a bit afraid.