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Failures are Forever
The 55th Hunger Games

Prologue
If Nobody Hates You

Prospero Forge
District Two
Victor of the 54th Hunger Games

"You ready, kiddo?"

Prospero whirled around, nearly backing into the mirror, reaching instinctively for the only thing around that might pass as a weapon – the razor blade on the nearby table. It had been a birthday gift from his mentor, Balthasar, who now took a step back towards the doorway, hands raised. "Whoa, easy there. Didn't mean to startle you."

Prospero lowered the blade. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Sneakier than I give myself credit for. Sorry about that." He leaned against the doorframe. "How's the … the whatchamacallit?"

Prospero chuckled. "The binder? See for yourself?" He laid the razor back down carefully, then turned around a few times so Balthasar could see how well the suit fit with the binder underneath. "Just the right size, too. How did you—"

Balthasar waved a hand. "The stylists at the Capitol still had your measurements. I just adjusted a little, figuring you'd be a bit healthier after six months of … well, not starving."

"Thank you." The words still tasted strange in his mouth. Not that saying them was unusual, of course. His parents had enforced etiquette from an early age. Some of his earliest memories were of being forced to thank them for their discipline. But thanking someone for a gesture of kindness – thanking someone and meaning it – that would take some getting used to.

But he had time now – he and his siblings. They would have time to work their way through this, time to figure out who they really were, who they wanted to be, now that they were no longer under their parents' heel. Now that they no longer had to fear being disciplined for the slightest deviation. His family – his real family – was safe. And his parents…

Balthasar must have caught the look in his eye, because he took a step closer. "Kiddo, are you sure you don't want me to—"

"I chose a name," Prospero blurted out before Balthasar could finish.

Balthasar smirked. "About time, too," he teased. "I was getting tired of calling you kiddo."

Prospero nodded. In the days between the reaping and the Games, his mentor's 'kiddo' had been a welcome relief from the barrage of 'miss' and 'ma'am' and 'young lady' that had come with volunteering for the female spot. It had been days into the Games before he'd opened up to his ally, Ariel, figuring that if he was going to die, someone ought to know he was really he.

Except he hadn't died, and now everyone knew. That was another strange feeling – not having to hide. Not having a reason to hide. His parents … they were no longer a reason. They could hate him all they wanted; there was nothing more they could do to him.

"So what's your name, then?" Balthasar asked after a moment.

"Prospero." He'd said the name out loud before, trying it out, but it felt good to say it to someone else. "My name is Prospero."

Balthasar nodded and held out his hand. "Good to meet you, Prospero. I think it's a good fit."

Prospero relaxed a little, knowing Balthasar had understood the message. He'd told Balthasar the story – the one that Ariel had told him in the arena, in the depths of the mines. The story of a man bent on revenge, who relented out of pity and for the love of his daughter. The love of his real family.

Prospero smiled as Balthasar reached over and adjusted his tie. He didn't want revenge. He just wanted to be safe. Wanted his siblings to be safe. His parents would spend the rest of their lives rotting in chains; he didn't need Balthasar to arrange anything more than that. From now on, they were no longer a part of his life. From now on, he could focus on the people who really mattered.

And he had the Games to thank for that.

Imalia Grenier
District Four
Victor of the 42nd Hunger Games

It seemed like people hadn't stopped thanking her.

Imalia glanced around the square, where the district was listening respectfully as Prospero finished his victory speech. The boy was clearly still uncomfortable in front of crowds, but that was all right. This year of all years, he didn't need to be particularly impressive. He just needed to not ruin everything.

And he didn't seem to have any intentions of doing so. He went off-script a little when he talked about his ally, Ariel, but that was normal enough. They had been friends. Imalia had said a little extra about Indira during her own victory tour, after all. There was no harm in paying particular attention to an ally's district.

She wondered if Prospero could feel it – the energy surging just below the surface of the people in the crowd. And for the first time in quite a while, it wasn't the energy of frustration. It was anticipation. Next year, the silent voices seemed to say. Next year, that could be us again.

And it was all thanks to her.

Oh, there had been other people involved, of course. A good portion of the Victors had been in on the plan, and up until the last minute, none of them were really sure which of the six candidates would be approached by Thirteen. Personally, she'd been expecting it to be Duke, or possibly Kyra, or maybe even Lana. Oliver and Tosh had always been long-shots, but Eldred had insisted on putting his proverbial eggs in as many baskets as possible.

And it had worked. District Thirteen had chosen her. Made contact with her. Taken her in. Maybe not quite trusted her, but they had been willing to take a chance on working with her. That chance had backfired, and now…

Now the rest was history. She had released the virus the Capitol had created, and within days, District Thirteen had surrendered, desperate for the cure. No shots had been fired, and Thirteen was back under the Capitol's control. The Capitol had won. She had won. Construction on a new training center in Four had begun immediately, and new trainees were flocking to it. They were inspired. To them, she was a hero.

She was just glad it was over.

Well, almost over. Eldred had decided that the final Victory celebration this year would be held in District Thirteen rather than the Capitol, as a way to "welcome them into the fold," as he'd put it. There would be Capitolites there, of course, but the upper crust of District Thirteen – or what was left of it – had also been invited. It made sense, from Eldred's – President Brand's – view. It made a good point. But…

But nothing. Of course the people there hated her, but it wasn't as if it was personal. If it had been Kyra or Duke or Lana instead, then District Thirteen would hate them. They didn't really hate her; they hated what she represented – the fact that they had lost and the Capitol had won.

And in the end, it didn't really matter what they thought. She had restored her district's reputation. She had won another victory – an even more important victory than when she had won the Games. She should be proud.

Instead, she was just tired.

Tired of cleaning up other people's messes. Tired of fixing the problems that others had caused. Tired of putting the pieces back together when she wasn't the one who had broken the damn puzzle in the first place. Maybe now she could finally get some rest…

Someone squeezed her shoulder gently. Mags. Everyone was clapping. Prospero must have finished his speech. Imalia joined in the applause, even remembering to smile and nod at the boy when he turned in her direction. Ariel had been her tribute, after all, and he had been a good ally.

But Ariel had never really had a chance. She had been too young, too inexperienced, too kind to really be a Career. For years now, ever since losing their training center, District Four's Careers had been sub-par, when they had been Careers at all.

But now that was all going to change.

President Eldred Brand

Everything was going to change.

Eldred tried to relax as he made his way back and forth through the crowd, shaking hands and doing his best to smile. There really wasn't much for him to do; he just had to be here, and be seen. He was the one who had made the decision to hold the festivities in Thirteen, after all. He had made that decision for a reason. He just wished…

Eldred shook his head. He wished it didn't feel like he was pouring salt in a wound, like he was rubbing the Capitol's victory in their faces. That wasn't what he'd wanted, but from the looks on people's faces, that was how they were taking it. Maybe that was only to be expected. Maybe he should have known better than to think—

"Rough night?" came a voice from beside him.

Eldred glanced down to see Nicodemus holding out a drink, which he accepted gratefully. "We'll get through it. Stronger, I believe. It'll just take time."

Nicodemus nodded. "Most things do."

"Meaning?"

Nicodemus leaned back in his wheelchair. "I know you, Eldred. You're playing a longer game – even longer than convincing the younger Victors to play up the tension in the districts so you can lure District Thirteen into making contact with one of them. That was a step. It's not the endgame."

"How do you know?"

"Because you asked me for a favor once, and I believe you learned more from the experience than the details of District Thirteen's existence."

Eldred nodded. "Fair enough."

"And now I have a favor to ask."

Eldred raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

"Have you given any thought to the mentoring situation in Thirteen?"

Eldred blinked as he did a mental one-eighty. "I have a few candidates, but no official decision has been made yet."

"I'd like to volunteer."

"You?"

"Yes."

Eldred cocked his head. "Why?"

"I think they'd be better off with a more experienced mentor than with someone from the Capitol. They're already at a disadvantage. Their tributes won't be as familiar with the Games. Someone with experience would—"

"Nicodemus, this is me you're talking to. I don't need a sales pitch. I know there's a case to be made for having a Victor do the job rather than a Capitol mentor. But … why you? With Duke and Lana ready to take over on their own in Six, I thought you'd be looking forward to … well, to not having to do this anymore."

"I thought so, too," Nicodemus admitted. "But these last few Games, I've been tagging along anyway, even though the two of them don't really need me there. I want to be somewhere where I can make a difference, where I can do some good. And I think you understand that."

Eldred nodded. "I think I do. There's just one thing."

"You're worried there might be rebels in Thirteen who would try to take advantage of the situation, who might think they could sway me to their side."

"It wouldn't be the first time. I trust you. I don't trust the image some of them try to paint of you."

"That's fair."

"And?"

"And I think I have a solution."

Harakuise Swallot
District Five
Victor of the 9th Hunger Games

"You're the solution."

Harakuise nodded. He'd been wondering how long it would take Eldred to come to that conclusion. "I accept."

Eldred glanced over at Nicodemus, then back at Harakuise. "What, just like that?"

"You were expecting an argument?"

"District Five—"

"—is in perfectly capable hands. Camden and Oliver have been ready to operate on their own for years now." He nodded towards Nicodemus. "We're obvious choices. Experienced mentors whose replacements are waiting in the wings, but who just can't resist finding a way to stay involved."

Nicodemus opened his mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it. Harakuise was right, after all. For all his quiet, unobtrusive demeanor might suggest otherwise, Nicodemus wanted to be involved. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to help.

And it had nearly killed him.

Harakuise took a drink. That was why they had come to him to fill the second position, after all. Nicodemus meant well, but he was impulsive. Eldred wanted Harakuise to balance that out.

And to deal with any rebels who might crop up, of course.

That was only to be expected. Oh, some of the leaders had already been dealt with. The ones who had played an active role in trying to recruit Imalia were either dead or being carefully watched. But they certainly wouldn't have been the only ones with some lingering resentment towards the Capitol. Eldred probably hoped Harakuise's presence – and his reputation – would keep them from getting any ideas. And if that didn't work out, he certainly trusted Harakuise to deal with them.

Harakuise watched as Eldred made his way over to the microphone, stopping on the way to talk to Prospero. Probably to make sure he didn't have any objections to Eldred cutting in on his celebration to make a little announcement. Harakuise could practically see the relief on the boy's face as he stepped aside, grateful to no longer be the center of attention.

Eldred whispered something to one of the people running the spotlights, then gave the microphone a tap. "Hello, District Thirteen." It took a moment for the room to settle down, but Eldred was patient. When the room was finally silent, he continued.

"As the festivities for the 54th Games draw to a close, I have an announcement to make regarding next year's Games. As you know, District Thirteen will be participating for the first time this coming year. To help them navigate this transition as smoothly as possible, two of our seasoned Victors have graciously agreed to serve as District Thirteen's mentors for the 55th Games. District Thirteen, it is my pleasure to introduce your mentors, Harakuise Swallot and Nicodemus Ford."

As the spotlights swiveled towards the pair of them, scattered applause drifted through the room. Harakuise caught a raised eyebrow from Camden, a very concise way of saying that a little warning would have been nice. Harakuise shrugged apologetically before glancing over towards Duke and Lana, who didn't look nearly as surprised. Maybe Nicodemus had already spoken to them before approaching Eldred, wanting to make sure they were ready to handle mentoring on their own.

They were. Just like Camden and Oliver were. And just like he and Nicodemus were ready for whatever challenges District Thirteen might have in store.

It was going to be quite an exciting year.

"If nobody hates you, you're doing something wrong."