They come at sunrise.

The water is still cold. I sit on the shore, knees tucked in front of me, watching as the current slowly laps back and forth over my bare feet. There's barely any light around — there's only the faint glow from my porch window behind me, and the twinkling lights that Mags installed in her garden years before I was even born. The sun has only just begun to peer over the horizon, and it sends flickering streaks of gold to catch on the distant waves. There's the occasional blinking red light from some of the larger fishing ships in the distance, but most of them are miles away. The smaller night boats have probably returned to the docks around the other side of the district by now. Here, on Victor's Village's private beach, everything is silent.

For a moment.

"Finnick?" A soft voice calls from behind me.

In an instant, time seems to slow. There's the familiar electric shock of panic, and I whirl around, reaching out to grab my trident - (wait, no trident, so maybe a rock will do, if I can find a rock, if I can I get some distance, away from the shore, maybe, maybe I can use the velocity to do some damage) - before my eyes recognise the dark, hazy figure of my older sister, Ness.

My hands loosen, and I find that at some point - maybe in my search for a rock - I've gripped a fistful of sand. I drop it and wipe my palms, sweaty now, on the side of my shorts. My hands are shaking. I don't know when they started to do that.

"Hey. Um - " I start.

I don't know how to go on. I'm not sure whether to acknowledge the fact that I was prepared to bludgeon her or not. Ness almost certainly noticed. This isn't the first time I've reacted badly to being snuck up on. Mags tells me it's normal. She says it will get better with time, or even if it doesn't, I'll get used to it. I'm not sure that's true. It's been nearly exactly a year since my Games, and nothing has changed. If anything, after last week, I think it's probably gotten worse.

"Sorry, Fin," Ness says first, before I have a chance to apologise. Her eyes trail down on the sand, and I know what she's thinking, even if she'd never admit it. A tiny part of her is afraid of me now. Her little brother. "I know you don't like that."

She's still in her pyjamas. Her hair - normally done up in protective braids - is loose, curling down to her shoulders. Everyone says Ness and I look nothing alike. I really don't think they're paying enough attention. Although she's a good four years older than I am, and she certainly takes after our father in colouring - hazel eyes and dark brown hair - we're almost certainly siblings. We have the exact same upturned nose, the same jawline. Even the shape of our eyes mimic one another, especially when we smile.

"I tried calling from further away, but -" Ness continues, but trails off. She seems a bit distant today. I suppose it's not much of a surprise. There's plenty of reasons to dislike today, even outside from the obvious.

"Sea's loud," I say, standing up and brushing sand off my clothes. "It's fine."

"They're here," Ness says. She looks a bit uneasy. I don't blame her for that either. She hasn't had a particularly nice go of it with the Capitol. There's many things I can forgive the tabloids for, but criticising Ness' appearance is not one of them.

"Already?"

"Apparently they're late," Ness says. "Or, that's what your preps said. I don't know why they'd be here so early. It's only an interview."

"Beauty takes time," I say. "Even when you're the most gorgeous man in the world."

I give her an ironic version of my signature smirk, and then roll my eyes.

"Boy, " Ness corrects me, her soft voice suddenly sharp. "Not man. You're only fifteen, Finnick."

"It's all the same," I say, even though I know it's really not. "Come on. If I'm another second, Minerva will have an aneurysm."

We walk up the beach, towards my house, in silence. There's a lot that I can begrudge my new life as a victor, but I will admit that my new home is one of the nicer perks. It's a three story building made up of white stone, encrusted with seashells. There's a porch, then a small garden that leads right onto our own private beach. I live right on the edge of the village, bordered by cliffs on one side, and Peggy Peregrine, who won the 48th Games, on the other. It's usually a fairly busy neighbourhood - there are seven of us, after all - but all the lights inside the other houses are off.

I find my prep team and my father in the living room. My father looks like death, clasping a steaming cup of coffee and giving me the evil eye, as my preps run around, taking in the room and making comments on how 'quaint' District Four fabrics are.

Agrippa, my hair guy, sees me before any of the others and gives a little cry of horror.

"Finnick!" He runs up to me and clasps my hands. His proximity makes Ness tense up, and almost instinctively, I try to place myself between them. Agrippa isn't the only one who's been not-so-nice about her appearance in the past - far from - but he's the only one she's actually met. I know she doesn't like the say, but I know it gets to her. Especially on a day like today. "You let your hair grow out!"

"Yeah?" I say, a bit obviously, and then, remembering who he is, I flash a grin. "Why, don't you think it looks good?"

"Oh, no, no! Anything looks good on you, obviously," Agrippa says quickly, waving his hands around and very clearly looking for a way to word things delicately. "It's just that - well - the in-look in the Capitol right now is a bit more groomed, if you know what I mean? And we can't have you sporting an old style, can we?"

I look at him and my other two preps, Juno and Vesta. With their outrageous fashioned - toned down for District Four, obviously - and overly quaffed hair, I wouldn't ever describe them as groomed. I give Ness a quick look that says 'this is all really silly, isn't it?'.

She smiles.

"Well, that's what you're here for, isn't it?" I say, though I'm certain that I'm the one unknowingly setting trends. If I were to show up in the Capitol with a green buzz cut, by the end of the day there'd be a sea of tennis balls all over City Circle. "I put myself in your capable hands."

"Yes, our Finnick's positively desperate for a cleanup," my father says, dryly. He hasn't moved from the sofa. "Do be quick, won't you?"

I let the preps lead me upstairs. Apparently my escort, Minerva, won't be here, because she's too busy setting the stage for the reaping later today. It's a bit strange to not be the priority, but I'm honestly relieved. Maybe, come next year, even my preps will leave me alone.

I doubt it.

At first I think they're leading me to my bathroom, but I feel a chill run down my body as they turn to usher me into the study instead. Suddenly, the walls feel like they're closing in, and my breathing comes in fast and hitching. Not here. Lead me somewhere else, but not here. The smells comes, sickly sweet, and all of a sudden my palms are sweating again and I want to run and run and run. Roses. Snow.

All this past week, I keep imagining I can smell the scent, but there's no denying that, in here, it's real. I've kept the door shut, and for good reason. It feels like a contagion in my house. And now they've brought me in here, and it's all been let out, and I'm thinking about what I've been trying not to think about all week.

It was last Sunday. I'd been out on the boat all day with my father. Ness was at her fiance's house - (she's planning to get married in the winter, when their joint housing permit gets approved) - and so our home was empty. When we'd returned sometime around late evening, I'd been shocked to find a pair of Peacekeepers waiting in my living room. At first I'd been terrified that something had happened to my sister, but they had assured me that she was entirely safe, and it was only that I had a special guest waiting for me in the upstairs study. I'm not sure who I was expecting. Certainly not the president of Panem.

I feel like I'm drowning in the smell. It's hot and suffocating, and for a second I'm terrified he's left something in here to poison me. But why would he? He told me I was doing well. He told me I was doing good. But he also knew, he knew what I'd said in private, and who I'd said it to, and I know that all I have to do is be careful, but I'm terrified that I've misstepped again. Have I said something in my sleep? Will he come back? No, no, that's stupid - the smell is just getting to me. I should open a window. I could. But Juno's in the way, and, and, and I have to keep smiling and listening and not cause a scene, because that's exactly what Snow told me to do, and I'm worried that if I don't listen to him - well, he didn't actually tell me, but there will probably be consequences, and Mags did tell me to be careful, and -

"Finnick?"

I look up. Vesta is staring at me.

"Sorry?" I say quickly.

She smiles, a bit emptily. "I asked you your thoughts on wearing wigs? They're very in style right now."

I shake my head, as if drawing myself to attention. "God, I'm sorry! It's just early. I'm exhausted."

"Well, no wonder!" Vesta laughs. "With all that tossing and turning about the Games. You must be so excited!"

"Something like that," I say. "Uh. No wigs."

I try to tune out the scent of roses and listen to their ramblings about fashion for another ten minutes. Apparently, it's very important that I'm updated on all the trends I've missed in the past six months. Then, finally, I'm led to the bathroom, where they scrub the past six months of District Four from me and artfully reapply their own version of it. My hair is cut, and I'm dressed in a loose, airy, cream coloured shirt and matching designer trousers. Outside my house, on the hill overlooking Victor's Village, they've set up a few cameras, and I'm mic'd and ushered up. The sun has fully risen, and I can tell some of the lights are now on in a few of the neighbouring houses. I wonder if any of the other victors are being dragged out for interviews, but somehow, I doubt it.

It's not a long shoot, at any rate. There are more pressing things to worry about - the Reaping, for one - so it's just a brief retrospective of my year as outgoing victor, and what advice I'd give to this year's tributes. It's over almost as soon as it's begun, and immediately, the cameras are dashing away — most likely to the town centre to prepare. My preps go with them, leaving me to swear on my life that I won't touch my hair.

I pause. I breathe. The air is fresh.

Everything is still again.

I make my way back to my house. It's almost uncomfortably silent in the absence of three squawking Capitolites. Ness and my father are still in the living room. My father must be on his third cup of coffee of the morning, and Ness is weaving together some sort of tapestry from dried strips of coloured grass. She sells them to Capitol tourists, sometimes. There's a private beach resort half a day's trip from Four - down the coast to the south - and sometimes, some of them will come to the district centre to take in the sights. She'll make good money this time of year. Tourism is good, especially during Games season.

"Well, you look the exact same," my father notes dryly, as I come to join him at the dining table.

He doesn't seem to be in a particularly good mood today. I suppose it's not much of a surprise. Reaping day is never a particularly fun time of year, and he has enough reason to hate the Capitol, even outside of it. They stripped his clamming licence last year. Apparently it's because he didn't have the proper paperwork, but I'm certain it's because of the scene he caused at the Justice Centre when they wouldn't let him go home to retrieve my token before I left. They showed him yelling on TV for weeks. It certainly fits their narrative. Poor, poor Finnick Odair, with his dead mother, deadbeat father and ugly, jealous sister.

By any measure, we don't need the money anymore, but I know my father has been going insane with nothing to do. We'll go on the boat and fish for our own pleasure, but there's not much point in it anymore, when we're not allowed to sell. Especially in the next few months, while I'm gone and Ness is preparing for the wedding, he won't have much to fill his time. I've been trying to encourage him to start dating again, but I don't think he'll ever bite. Not that he'll have much trouble, if he does decide to. Despite what the media says, my father isn't hard on the eyes.

"Oh, but can't you tell?" I say, mimicking his tone. "My skin has a sheen to it now."

He makes a show of examining me. "Looks like sweat."

I laugh. Leave it to my father to make fun of the Capitol. He's chronically District Four. I love that about him. I'm going to miss him and Ness desperately when I go. They've been my rock these past few months. Going out alone in the district has been hard. But at the very least, I'll have Mags.

Speaking of Mags, I've just finished breakfast when she arrives. She doesn't even bother knocking before she enters anymore. Her home is three houses down, and I've started treating it as an extension of my own too. Some of the other victors complain - good natured, most of them, but not all - about how unfair it is that we get two houses to ourselves.

She places a basket of almond-crusted biscuits on the kitchen table and goes to give Ness a hug.

"Back at the bakery again?" My father asks. He seems lighter, immediately. Mags tends to have that sort of effect on people. "You'll bleed them dry."

"Not if I bleed them first," she smiles, and comes to ruffle my hair. "New haircut? Preps here already?"

"Come and gone," I say. "Guess they've got better things to worry about."

"Good for us," Mags says, knowingly. "Wait til you get old. You'll be able to be ugly in peace."

"Mags?" Ness asks, from the other side of the table, where she's still weaving. Her hands are moving so quickly, it looks like some sort of dance. "Is it alright if I take some of these cookies to Koi's house? His sister really likes them."

"Why do you think I bought so many?" Mags says. "Oh! Speaking of Takkoi, how is your fiancee?"

This starts Ness on a long, loving tirade. For the next hour, the four of us sit in the kitchen while Mags and Ness trade dating stories. Mags has never married - though she's got a live-in partner called Essy, who she's been together with for the part thirty years - but I didn't know how much she'd gotten around in her youth. I can't quite reconcile the crazy stories with the Mags I know now. Even my father offers up a rare story about him and my mother from before Ness was born, about a turtle that would follow their boat around, knowing that it would lead it to the best catch. It feels so ordinary that we're almost caught out by the chime of the clock, which reminds us that Mags and I have to be at the Justice Building in an hour.

Ness and my father go upstairs to get changed. I'm already in a fancier outfit than anything I personally own, and Mags showed up in a long white dress with a patterned shawl - upscale for Mags, a bit ordinary for the reaping - and so we wait downstairs. There's silence. I'm thinking about the smell of roses upstairs again. I don't even notice when she takes my hand.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

I frown. The truth is that I'm not sure. Everything feels too confusing to put my finger on the emotion. After I'd won, I was terrified at the idea of mentoring. Still am. But ever since my tour, where I met a majority of the other victors, I've been filled with some guilty excitement at returning to the Capitol and joining a community of people who understand me. I don't doubt that it's a common sentiment, but I can't quite reconcile the idea that my potential happiness comes at the cost of twenty-three deaths. Mostly, Snow's appearance has taken precedent in my mind. Whatever I do in the Capitol, he'll be watching me. I need to be careful. I -

"Finnick?" Mags says, softly.

I shake my head. "I'm not sure. I'm mostly just overwhelmed."

"I know," she says. "But I'll be here to help you."

"We're not really on the same team, though," I say. "Both of our tributes aren't going to win."

Mags shakes her head. "It won't do you any good to think like that. We're a team, you and I. I help you, and you help me."

"I don't think I'll be much help," I say, dryly.

"I'm not sure," Mags says. "I think, with a couple years of experience, you'll get quite good at this. Besides -" she pokes my side. "I'm desperate to get my hands on your sponsor money."

I smile despite myself, because Mags always manages to get me to. I'm glad she was allowed to mentor with me this year. I'm not sure I'd be able to do it alone. "Sure. Okay."

Ness and my father come down a little while later. He's dressed in the same suit he always wears for reaping day - a loose, cotton button-up under a lightweight black blazer. It's strange to see him in this outfit. Last year, I was sure it was the last thing I'd ever see him wear. Ness is dressed in something just as flowing, in a green dress with loose, off-the-shoulder sleeves. I'm relieved she's out of the reaping this year. I don't know how I'd manage if she ended up in the Games.

We step out into the sun. In just a few short hours, the weather has gone from mildly warm to scorching. I wish I could enjoy the summer for what it is. In any other circumstances, I'd be enjoying the long days out at sea; the cooling feeling of water against hot skin, the sound of birdsong and the golden sunsets. But instead, we have the Games. And I'll be away for the summer, and every summer after that, forever.

I've got a feeling I'm going to be asked back forever.

Four is always bustling at this time of day, and today - despite the public holiday - is no exception. We have to cross by the market to get to the town centre, and although the stalls are closed this close to reaping time, there's still a fairly large crowd moving about. Things will probably open later, but vendors will have to be careful today. There's a strict legal limit on what type of fishing goods can be sold to the population in Four, and even more of a limit on how much of what's allowed. The waters are the Capitol's waters, after all, not ours. Usually the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye, but today, with so much Capitol attention, the stalls will be far emptier than they usually are.

It's another reason I feel guilty about the attention my win has brought. Cameras didn't leave Four alone for months. The black market took a severe hit. I know a good few people still resent me, and I don't blame them.

Mags and I need to be at the Justice Building earlier, so we bid Ness and my father farewell. This will probably be the last time I see them before leaving for the Capitol, and so I make sure to hug them extra tight and try not betray any worry on my face. They have no idea what Snow said to me before I left, and I really don't want them caught in the crossfire by learning information they shouldn't.

"You stick with Mags, won't you?" my father says. "She's got your back."

"I've got his front too," Mags gives him a grin. I'm not sure that Mags always makes sense when she speaks, but at least the sentiment is always strong.

"Stay safe," I say. "Love you."

"Love you too, boy."

Inside the Justice Building the air is cooler, and I breathe in a sigh of relief. I'm sweating again, and not just from the heat. I don't know why I feel so shaky. Nothing's actually happened yet. I think the rhythm of things just has me thinking about last year.

Except I haven't actually thought about my Games at all, and I'm not going to start now.

Minerva is waiting for us with District Four's mayor - a tall, long-haired young man who was voted in a couple years ago. She brightens at the sight of us. Minerva might be, in my opinion, the best thing about the Capitol. She's a woman in her early forties, maybe - ( though I'm not sure I can tell) - with a bit of an eclectic sense of style that's not really much more than a very expensive, exaggerated version of what some of the richer, more artistic types wear around Four. Today she's got her golden hair spilling out over her shoulders in a dramatic swoop, and she's dyed the front two strands purple. She's got cat-rimmed green glasses that match her blocky jewellery, and yellow fur shoes. She must be boiling alive.

I'm sure my preps would probably laugh at Minerva's fashion, but maybe that's part of the reason I like her so much. She's just herself. She's also just a lot of fun. She's always kind to the tributes - she has a habit of baking for them, which Mags selfishly loves - - and she's obsessed with her son, a little seven-year-old boy called Apollo. He stays with her sister when she's away during the Games. At first I was surprised that she'd be willing to part with him for so long, but on my victory tour, I learnt exactly how much a mentor's salary pays. I don't think she was doing too well financially before this.

It's why I can forgive her on days like today.

"Finny!" she cries, and comes to give me a hug. She smells like lemon soap and icing sugar, just like she always does. "Look at you! You've gotten taller!"

I smile, actually genuine this time. "Good to see you."

"It's been too, too long," she agrees, giving Mags just as much of a forceful hug. She and Mags are as thick as thieves. We're a good team, by any measure. "How are we feeling? Nervous?"

"A bit," I say.

"Well, first year as a mentor! Big year! Must be daunting! But don't you worry, Mags and I have done it a million times over. We'll take care of you. Well. You and the tributes, of course."

"I don't doubt it," I say.

"Speaking of -" Minerva turns to Mags. "Are we expecting any volunteers this year?"

Mags gives the Mayor a look. He looks a bit bored with this conversation. "We wouldn't know."

It's true. Volunteers aren't exactly uncommon in Four, but certainly not as common as in One or Two - where there'll be a pair of takers every year. Unlike them, we don't exactly train our tributes. Not in academies, like they do, at least. There's the occasional bootcamp that goes on - I know there's a middle-aged-man around the north of the district who charges good money for anyone willing to learn how to use a weapon properly, and he's not the only one - but most of the time, any volunteers from Four come from a sense of personal honour, not a well-oiled academy machine. I'd wager it's about fifty-fifty on any drawing whether someone will volunteer or not. Nobody did for me, but the girl my year - Alexas O'Reilley - was a volunteer. Four tends to do pretty well in the Games either way though, and classically we're invited into the inner-district alliance of One and Two, because we're usually handy with tridents and spears, and we know how to stay alive.

Usually, if someone's planning on volunteering, word will go round, but Mags and I have made it a point not to know anything. She tells me it's better that way.

"Well, I'll prepare for it, in any case," Minerva says. "Alright. Finnick, has Mags told you what you do during a reaping?"

She hasn't, but the plan seems pretty simple. Previous victors are announced one by one, in order of victory, and this year's mentors - so, Mags and I - are invited up to the stage while Minerva draws the names. We're expected to be on-call just in case any of the tributes' families want to talk to us, and then we'll be ushered onto the train, which should arrive in the Capitol sometime early tomorrow morning. Four is the furthest district from the Capitol, and so we're one of the first of the reapings to occur. In the Capitol, right now, they'll be getting up and preparing themselves a day of drawing names. I can't imagine anything worse.

It feels like no time has passed before Minerva is on-call with the camera crews, and we're ushered outside to sit under the stage with the other victors. The crowd has started to fill in. A lot of them are staring at me. So are the cameras.

"Let's hope your tributes don't get jealous, eh?" says Rusty Rolland, who's sitting next to me. He's a good natured man in his mid-to-late twenties, and Four's most recent victor, aside from me. I like Rusty, but he's always a bit too chipper for my tastes. Mags says he never quite got over his games, and he compensates by pretending everything's sunshine and rainbows. I suppose it's a good coping mechanism, at any rate.

The Mayor comes up and starts the proceedings. Mags and I are invited onto the stage. There's a good deal of applause. Most of it must be for me - it's strange that I've gotten used to it - but I know that the district is pleased that Mags is mentoring again this year. She usually chooses to. She's very good at it. She's got about five victors under her belt solo, which is nearly all our winners, bar herself and one other. You stand a good chance with her, and they know it.

I hope they don't think I'm in too deep. I certainly do.

There's no volunteer for the female tribute this year. Instead, Minerva calls a sixteen year old called Maia Kelby to the stage. She's pretty, with freckled skin, short, choppy brown hair and clever eyes. She tries her best to smile for the cameras, and based on the magnified version of her that they're projecting on the screen, she's photogenic. I'm not an expert at predicting the audience yet, but I think they'll like her. I'm feeling good about her - not hopeful, but good - but then I remember that this is Mags' tribute, not mine. The female tribute will only ever go to the female mentor, unless the gender divide is uneven amongst mentors that year, or unless a mentor requests a particular tribute. I don't see that happening.

Mags' face is unreadable.

My tribute is an eighteen-year-old volunteer called Leander Murdoch. He's tall, with close-shaven dark hair and toned olive skin. He exudes an air of arrogance, and breezes on stage with such confidence, it's as if he hasn't realised that all of Panem will be watching him. He seems a bit bored with the proceedings, and keeps fiddling with the hem of his shirt - (which he should really stop doing) - but apart from that, he seems alright.

I feel nothing towards them. I wonder if that's usual or not.

Neither of their families want to meet, and so Mags and I retire to the train almost immediately. There are cameras at the station, and I'm held up for nearly half-an-hour, at which point the cameras literally have to let me go, because the tributes have nearly arrived. We're barely in our compartments a minute - mine is in the same layout as the victory tour - before Mags is ushering me out to meet our tributes.

They're in the dining car when we find them. Minerva is explaining exactly how a meal in the Capitol works - starter, soup, pallet cleanser, main, cheeses, dessert - but stops once she notices us. Maia stands close to her. She's got wide eyes and her posture is straight. She forces a smile when she sees us, and even though I can tell she's terrified, she's holding herself together well. Leander stands at the back of the compartment, arms crossed. He seems even more bored than he did on stage. His eyes lock on me once we enter, and the look he gives me is sharp and judgemental.

Oh. Great.

"Ah! Here are your mentors!" Minerva says.

Maia holds out her hand. "Pleasure to meet you," she says. Mags takes her hand gently, and Maia seems to relax a bit. "Thanks you for taking the time to-"

"They didn't take the time, they had to," Leander interrupts. His voice is low and gruff, and desperately bored. "So, who have I got, then? Odair or Flannigan?"

"Well, usually the female tribute will be mentored by the female victor, and so -" Minerva starts nervously, but Leander cuts her off.

"Great, so I've got the kid ," he says. "What's he going to do, train me to smile? I can just ask the girl to help me with that." He gestures to Maia.

"Finnick will help with sponsors," Mags says. "Which is very important."

"I don't need his help," Leander says. "I'll prove myself. I'm going to score a twelve in training."

"Good," I say, because I feel like I need to say something. "But that will put a target on your back. You don't want be mowed down in the first few hours."

"Didn't you score an eight?" Leander rolls his eyes. "Sounds like you're just trying to make yourself feel better."

"I hid my skills," I say. "I don't doubt that you're good at what you do -"

"The best."

" - But don't underestimate the others."

"What, like her?" Leander gestures at Maia. "Yeah, right. I'm getting changed."

There's a bit of a shocked silence as he leaves the dinner car. I'm not sure what to make of him. I would understand this kind of behaviour - acting up, I guess - from someone who was reaped, maybe, but Leander chose to be here. Maia is looking at him go with apprehension, and maybe a bit of judgement. I wish she was my tribute. I like her. But I guess maybe it's a good thing she's not, then

"He's in my older brother's class," she says. "He tells me Leander is always picking fights other boys. I think he's probably trying to prove something to himself."

"Well, you don't worry about him," Mags says, and places her hand on Maia's shoulder. "If he doesn't want any help, that's his problem. Why don't we show you around the rest of the train?"

I end up trailing after Mags and Maia for the rest of the afternoon. I'm not really sure what else to do. Maia seems nice, and we end up having a fairly pleasant conversation, though she seems to naturally drift towards Mags. She's smart, though, that much is clear, and she's pretty good with a fishing spear, so we can probably get her in with the inner district alliance, which is a relief. I'm not sure they'll even want Leander, based on his attitude, but according to Maia, he's been training since he was twelve.

"It's probably why he doesn't like me," I say, once Mags has sent Maia to get changed for dinner. "If he's been training since he was twelve, he probably only had half the skills he has now at the age I won."

"Yes, but you won," Mags says.

"It doesn't feel like much of a win right now," I say. "I'm feeling like a bit of a spare part."

"He's got a chip on his shoulder. He'll lose it sooner or later, you'll see."

By the end of dinner, I'm not sure he will. I try my best to make conversation with him, but he seems intent on ignoring everyone else around him and shovelling as much food in his mouth as he can. Dinner's an awkward affair, though Minerva tries to make up for it. She's immediately fond of Maia. By the time dessert has rolled around, Maia knows all there is to know about Apollo. She's very complementary of Minerva's pictures, and seems impressively diplomatic. She'll do well on Caesar's stage, I decide.

After dinner, we sit down to watch the reapings in the other distict. I decide to make a specific note on every tribute. I might not have been able to in my own games - I had far too much on my plat worry about - but now, I decide that I want to make sure that I can pick apart exactly who my tributes need to worry about. Especially if Leander isn't going to worry about anyone else at all. He probably doesn't even think One and Two are a threat.

By the looks of them, they are. The female tribute from One is Lux Payton, and she's a sharp, dark-eyed thing that dashes up to the stage so quickly I don't notice she's there until she's in front of the microphone. I don't doubt she'd backstab at a moment's notice, by the look of her. She's different than your classic One tribute, and that certainly makes her stand out, both to me, and to the audience.

The boy is far more classic. He's named Azure, and he strides up to the stage with easy confidence, as if he's been on camera for years. He he assures the audience that he'd much prefer to be called by a different name.

"Call me Aussie," he says, smiling and waving at the camera. "All my friends do."

"Mimic, much?" Leander says coldly, and I realise he's looking at me. I look at the cameras. I suppose I could see it, but Aussie and I don't look much alike at all. He's broad-shouldered with such light hair that it might be white. Not ugly, though. He'll be popular.

District Two proves another pair of volunteers. The girl is called Viola something-or-another. She's eighteen years old, and she doesn't even smile as she steps up on stage. She's got tanned, strong arms, and her hair is buzzed short. It's the kind of look a specific contingent of Games audiences love, and there's not been a winner like her in a few years, so I've got my eye on boy - Griff - is fairly young for a volunteer from Two, at sixteen, but he looks much older. He also winks at the camera, and it really doesn't suit him. I actually nearly laugh.

Three provides two skinny seventeen-year-olds. Harriett Brion and Ueue Mosseri. She cries all the way up to the stage, and he looks like he's somewhere else entirely.

Then it's us. On stage, Leander looks even more bored than he did in person.

"You'll have to work on that," I tell him. He just rolls his eyes and sends an incredibly rude gesture in my direction.

District Five calls up a girl called Savannah, who seems determined from the moment she steps on stage. She looks her escort dead in the eyes, and there's some kind of muffled rage in her voice, as she confirms her name. Maia leans in.

I start to lose track around District Six, which produces a thirteen year old girl and a fifteen-year old boy. The names are starting to get muddled in my head and we're only halfway. I'm suddenly remembering exactly how hard it was to keep on top of everyone last year.

I try harder to focus with District Seven. The girl is Tess Tallowfield, and she's a willowy fourteen-year-old, with big green eyes and a nearly skeletal frame. She seems to be drowning in her hair. It hangs over her eyes and curtains her skinny shoulders, making her look smaller than she actually is. She's silent as she walks towards the stage, and her gaze seems to phase through the cameras. Her escort asks her how she's feeling about three times, but there's no reply. It's shock, classic.

Leander says he thinks she's simple.

There's a bit more entertainment with the boy - a sixteen year old called Ashley Firth. He's on the slighter side, with deep red wavy hair and eyes that are so dark they almost look black. It's actually quite striking. He trips up the stairs on the way to the stage, which makes Leander laugh, but holds himself steady once he gets next to his escort. For her own part, she decides to try the question that never landed with Tess, and asks him how he's feeling.

"Practically tripping over myself to get here," he says, deadpan.

Mags laughs. We look at her.

"What?" she says. "It was funny."

I completely lose track after that. Most of the names pass in a blur, but there's a few tributes that stand out. The boy from Ten is huge, and stares down the camera like a bull. The girl from Eleven is called Larkspur, and she's genuinely beautiful. Both from Twelve are skinny and look like they're on the verge of passing out.

The camera cuts.

"Same as usual, then," Leander says. "Not much competition."

"The others might be thinking the same about you," I tell him. "It's not good to -"

"What, you're scared of a couple of twiggy sixteen-year-olds?" Leander spits in my direction. "Course you are. Bet you'll want me to hide, too. Come to me when you have an actual strategy."

He stands up, and storms out of the car again.

"He'll have to work on his manners if he wants a shot," Minerva says. "Of course, I don't have to tell you that, Finnick."

"Let him go, whatever, " Maia shrugs. "Anyone I should keep an eye on, Mags?"

"The usual," Mags says. "One and Two. The girl from Five -"

"- I noticed that. She seems smart. An ally?"

"Stick with One and Two for now," Mags says. "There'll be a target on your back if you deny them. But don't discount her."

"Who else?"

Mags thinks. "Boys from Ten and Seven. And the girl from Eleven too."

"Eleven?" Maia frowns. "Why?"

"She's beautiful," Minerva chimes in. "Beautiful people are known for getting what they want."

"Just ask Finnick," Mags says.

I want to roll my eyes at her, but I can't bring myself to. I'm thinking about Leander. What have I done to him? I wish I had Maia. I wonder if I'll even be able to get him any sponsors. Suddenly, it occurs to me that Snow will be looking at my sponsors to see how we'll I'm cooperating. What if I find nobody? Will he do anything?

Mags gives me a worried look when I don't reply, and doesn't hesitate to send Maia off to bed. She gets Minerva off our trail by walking me to my compartment, and for a moment, I'm wondering if that's all she was planning, before she stops at my door.

"Tell me now," she says. "If you want to swap tributes. Because I'll do it."

It's inviting, but I shake my head. "Maia likes you. And you're good with her. I just don't understand why he hates me so much."

"You've switched up the game, Finnick," she says. "It's not just about talent anymore. You've got to be a commodity now. He's intimated."

"Well, whatever he is, it's not very easy," I sigh. "I don't know what to do."

"You'll work it out," she says. "I told you. He'll come around."

"And if he doesn't?"

Mags pauses, and then shrugs. "There's always next year."