It was almost comical, how Pomponia's mouth hung open in disbelief. Elda Peterson, standing next to her, looked much the same way. She had been resigned to her death and the knowledge that nobody would ever volunteer, and then, at the very last minute, had been saved. It was simply unheard of – at least in District Six.

Iris almost felt bad for the girl. She looked like a trout.

Pomponia's uptight persona faltered as she processed the situation. "Yes, well, alright then," she said, clearing her throat with a delicate cough. "Come on up."

Iris pushed her way through the last few girls in her way, distinctly aware of the Peacekeepers trailing behind her, just as unsure of what to do as the escort who had not called her name.

It was done now. She couldn't change her mind. She'd sealed her fate, for better or for worse she didn't know.

She passed Elda Peterson on the stairs. The girl gazed at her, shock still evident in her eyes, slack-jawed and wondering why on earth she wasn't being sent to her death. Iris took her place on the stage, standing tall in an attempt to emulate the posture of the Careers. They always held themselves with the utmost confidence – like they weren't scared. And maybe they weren't – if anyone was going in the arena fearless, it was the Careers. She smiled at Pomponia. "Iris Paquin," she offered to the shocked escort. "I'd shake your hand but I'm a bit tied up at the moment."

Pomponia seemed to notice, for the first time, Iris' handcuffs and the Peacekeepers standing awkwardly behind her, unsure of the protocol – nothing like this had happened before, certainly not in District Six. "Right. Yes, of course. Can someone please release this girl?"

One of the Peacekeepers reluctantly stepped forward. She recognised him as one of the ones who'd escorted her from her cell. He clicked the handcuffs open, and Iris shook out her wrists, rubbing the bright red marks the cuffs had left behind. She grinned at Pomponia, making sure to show off her teeth.

"Now," Pomponia said, still staring at Iris. "Boys." She seemed to be reminding herself, as if she had momentarily forgotten there was still another name to call. The paper in the bowl rustled, and Pomponia pulled out her hand. "Axel Morey."

Another fourteen-year-old. Iris watched as her district partner made his way up to the stage, prompted by another boy standing next to him. As he got closer, Iris realised immediately that he wouldn't be a threat. Axel showed all the signs of active Morphling use. Dazed eyes, drooling mouth, yellow skin, scratch marks down his scabby wrists. Perhaps Iris had even been the one to supply him with the drug. Had he been one of her customers? It was impossible to know. After a while, the faces had blurred into one big, yellow scab.

"Tributes, shake hands," Pomponia instructed.

Axel didn't seem to realise what was going on. Iris grabbed his hand and shook it, and for the first time his eyes settled on her. They were a pale blue colour, and probably would have been pretty if the whites weren't yellow and bloodshot.

Her eyes met another pair in the crowd. Even from here, she could tell that Jordie was crying.

/

"Why'd you do that?" He said immediately upon entering the room. "Why'd you go and do that? And where the hell were you?" She noticed that her dad wasn't with him. She realised she didn't care.

Iris opened her arms and her little brother fell into them. Well, not so little anymore. He was thirteen, and already taller than her. He'd inherited their father's height. Their father had been tall once, before the drugs stooped him over, made him frail and thin. But Iris knew that no matter how old Jordie was, or how tall he grew, he would always be her little brother. "They caught me yesterday, Jordie. They found me with the drugs."

He punched her arm. "I told you they'd get you at some point!" he hissed furiously. "And that still doesn't explain why you volunteered."

Iris sighed. She reached forward and pushed his hair out of his face. "I didn't have a choice, Jordie. It was this or certain death."

"But this is certain death!" he protested, narrowing his eyes. For a moment, Iris was rendered breathless. He'd looked so much like their mom, right then. It had felt like she was standing there instead of Jordie.

Iris pushed it away, forced herself to breathe. She couldn't think of her mom right now, or she'd cry. And she didn't want to cry when there'd be cameras on her face in the very near future. "Not necessarily," she told him. "Not as certain as the Peacekeepers, or Boris. I still have a shot this way."

"No-one from here's won since Haylee. She's the only one who's won at all," Jordie said, his eyes filling with liquid again. "And everyone knows what she's like."

Haylee. Iris hadn't even thought of Haylee. She was renowned for doing absolutely nothing to help their tributes. Iris was positive that her emotions had died in the arena. She knew that if she was going to win, she'd be doing it on her own – Haylee would not be of any significant help.

"What about Haymitch, then?" Iris pointed out. "He won on his own, no mentor at all." Like everyone else, she'd been shocked a couple of years ago when it was Haymitch – the skinny, surly boy from Twelve – who emerged from the arena instead of the girl from One, who they'd all been so sure would hack and stab and scream her way to Victory. Like they all did, in one way or the other.

"But you're not Haymitch."

"You're right," Iris agreed. "I'm not Haymitch." She wasn't particularly athletic, or charismatic, and didn't have anything going on for her in the beauty department. She wasn't brave, or strong, or charming. Even though Haymitch had been an underdog, he'd had all of these qualities in his own strange way. But she did have one thing in common with Haymitch – she was smart. "But it doesn't mean I don't have a shot."

"You're so stupid," Jordie said, another tear rolling down his cheek. He leaned into her, and she put her arms around him. "Don't leave me alone with Dad."

"I won't. I promise." She meant it.

Jordie pulled away from her, and unclasped a locket from around his neck, untucking it from his shirt. Her locket. "I grabbed this from home. Thought you might want it. Just in case. Guess I had a gut feeling you'd do something stupid."

"You were right," Iris said, before frowning. "About me wanting it. Not about me being stupid. Stupid." She shoved him gently, and took the necklace from his palm. "Thanks, Jordie."

Jordie shoved her back. "Bring it home."

"What, you think I'm going to let the Capitol keep it?" Iris said, trying to keep her tone light. "Put it in one of their stupid museums? Nah, this - and me - are coming home for sure." She fastened the locket around her neck.

"You better."

The doors opened. Iris hugged Jordie close one more time, before pushing him gently away. He didn't look back at her. The doors clicked closed.

A minute later, they opened again. Iris was half-surprised – she and Jordie had all but lost contact with their aunt after their mother died. Like their father, she had turned to Morphling to cope with the loss of her sister – however, this was a different woman to the one Iris remembered. This version of her aunt was healthy. Clean. "Emily," Iris said.

Her mother's twin sister smiled nervously."Hello, Iris."

Iris looked over her. She hadn't seen her aunt for two years – she had all but disappeared shortly after the funeral. Iris had looked for her a few times, but it was hard to justify after a month or so – District Six was a big place, and people went missing all the time. She had always wondered, though, what had become of her aunt. "You look… well," she said honestly.

Emily ducked her head."I stopped using."

"Good," Iris said, but part of her was doubtful. It was virtually impossible to stop using Morphling forever. Whatever changes her aunt had made were temporary. "Why?"

"Your mother wouldn't have wanted me to use, not when you kids are struggling."

Iris tried not to roll her eyes. If Emily cared that much, she wouldn't have started in the first place. Her mother had always been loud about how much she hated Morphling, how she looked down on people who used it. How disappointed she would be if she learnt that both her husband and her sister had turned to the stuff after she died. If she learnt that Iris was a distributor. "We haven't seen you for two years, Emily," Iris said, pushing away thoughts of her mother. "She would have wanted you to keep in touch."

Emily sighed, and stared at the ground. "I know, but I'm here now."

Iris shrugged. However much she doubted her aunt's commitment to sobriety, at least she was here now – which was more than could be said for her father. "I guess so. Have you talked to Jordie?"

"Not yet," she said, shaking her head. "I'm going to take him to stay with me while you're gone. Get him away from your dad."

"Thanks."

"We'll both be waiting for you to get back."

"Yeah, well. I'll try."

"You remind me so much of Georgia, you know," Emily said, and smiled sadly. "I think that's part of why I couldn't bear to look at you. You're her spitting image." She sighed, and cupped Iris' cheek in her hand. "She would be so proud of you, you know."

Iris laughed bitterly. "I don't know about that. Feels like I do nothing but fuck things up."

"That's not true," Emily protested. "You provided for yourself and Jordie for years without anyone's help."

"I didn't have much choice."

"That's going to change, Iris," said her aunt. "I promise that I'll be there for him." At least she sounded sincere, Iris thought.

"Thank you, Emily," she said sincerely.

Emily pulled her into a tight hug, before pulling back and looking Iris in the eye intently. "Come home."

"I will," Iris said, and for the first time that day, she somewhat believed that she might. Knowing that Emily was now around for Jordie made her feel a little bit better – hopefully her aunt would stay sober for Jordie's sake. Goodness knew her brother didn't need another addict in his life.

No one else came. She hadn't expected them to. Iris didn't have friends, and didn't have any other family alive. She briefly wondered if Boris might show up, or maybe Tally again, but they wouldn't be that stupid, she knew that. Not with the place swarming with Peacekeepers.

And now she had an hour to kill before she could leave. She wondered if they gave them that amount of time on purpose. An hour to themselves, and only three minutes to spend with their loved ones. The Capitol evidently wanted to start the torture early – to let their victims wallow in their thoughts for an hour, to think about their impending deaths in a matter of days.

Iris felt sick.

She wondered why Emily hadn't asked why she had volunteered. Maybe she didn't care. Maybe she didn't want to waste their little time together with a question Jordie could answer for her.

When the allotted time was up, after what felt like ten years had passed, Peacekeepers ushered Iris and her district partner – what was his name again? – to a car, which would take them to the train station. Iris noticed grimly that the Peacekeepers weren't so concerned about guarding her, not now when they knew she was being sent to her death anyway. But I won't die, Iris told herself. She had to survive. For her brother.

Axel spent the trip gazing out the window, still looking dazed. Iris wondered if he even knew what was going on, and if he did, if he even cared. She'd never tried Morphling, nor had she ever wanted to, but she'd seen firsthand what it did to a person's mind. It destroyed them, poisoned them slowly from the inside out until the rot reached their brains. It was effectively a parasite, targeting the pleasure part of their brain so that when they came off their high, everything seemed a bit more terrible than it had been before. So when someone had been on the drug for years… well, life wasn't something they usually wanted to stick around for. That was why they were known as zombies, in Six. Mindless and desperate, craving something that no longer came naturally to them – happiness.

She hoped, for his sake, that Axel would die a quick death in the Bloodbath – if the withdrawal hadn't killed him by then. She'd seen many zombies on the streets, screeching and howling as withdrawal wracked through their bodies, until they decided to end it quick. A knife, or a gun if they could get their hands on one. She'd watched, once, as a woman threw herself out of the fifth-storey window of a building in the slums. Iris could still hear the woman colliding with the ground below. Hopefully withdrawal would be easier to go through in the Capitol – what would even happen if her district partner died before the Games began?

They were shoved onto the train by the Peacekeepers. Pomponia was already there, waiting for them. Haylee was nowhere in sight. "Well," she said, staring at them both. "This will be interesting." Iris felt a surge of anger. Another Capitolite, finding their deaths interesting. Well, it was nothing unusual.

"It's not that interesting," Iris said, glaring at her. "There's not much to it. We die, or we don't."

"Well, I suppose you're right."

Axel sniffled, reminding them both that he was still there. "Come on, dear," Pomponia said, gently taking his arm. Evidently she had a lot of experience with addicts. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

She led him out of the room. Iris watched them leave, before looking around. The furniture here alone must have been worth thousands. Angrily thinking of the ratty, broken furniture in their grotty apartment at home, Iris resisted the urge to go on a rampage and destroy everything in sight. Noticing for the first time the buffet laid on one of the tables, her stomach rumbled, and she realised she hadn't eaten anything since the watery soup she'd had for breakfast the day before. They hadn't given her any food in the prison, not that that surprised her.

Eagerly loading up a plate, Iris pushed away her anger and focused on stuffing an entire tiny cake into her mouth. She didn't know who had the idea to make cakes small. It seemed stupid to her.

"I see you've found the refreshments."

Iris turned around, half-expecting to see a Peacekeeper there to tell her off. Haylee was the only Victor District 6 had ever had, and she'd won long before Iris' lifetime. She was hardly popular, and so Iris had never seen her Games aired in reruns like some of the Victors, Bobbie and Diamond and Pike. Even Haymitch's Games had been rerun several times, though Iris supposed that was because he was one of the recent winners. Not because he was overly popular. He'd already made a name for himself as an unstoppable drunk. One of the rare times their TV at home worked, she remembered seeing a video of him hurling down the front of his escort's outfit. Twelve had a new escort the year after that.

"Yeah," Iris said, with her mouth full. "Obviously."

Haylee stepped forward and grabbed an apple. "Why'd you volunteer?"

Iris shrugged. "Just felt like it." She didn't care to share her life story with Haylee.

The older mentor scoffed. "Bullshit." She took a bite out of the apple, crunching it between her teeth. "In all my years of mentoring, there's never been a volunteer. District 6 has never had a volunteer at all. So I'll ask you again. Why did you do it?"

"This is starting to feel like an interrogation."

"Maybe it is."

"I smuggle drugs onto trains," Iris said bluntly. She figured there wasn't any point in lying about it. It wasn't like it was a secret anymore. "Used to. I got caught yesterday with a kilogram of Morphling. Between the Peacekeepers and the drug lord I work for, I figured I had a better chance of winning the Games."

Haylee shrugged. "Fair enough."

"Is that all?" Iris asked, eyebrow raised. After all that pestering, 'fair enough' was all she had to say?

"I don't really care."

"So why'd you ask?" With every passing second, Iris liked Haylee less and less.

"Like I said, I wanted to know why you volunteered."

Iris smirked at her. "So you do care."

"Let me correct myself. I do not care about you. I am not going to help you. I was merely wondering why you're here." Haylee took another bite of the apple, before casually dropping it onto the floor and kicking it away. In the slums, there would have been a swarm of people after that half-eaten apple, but Haylee had wasted it without a second thought.

For some reason, that made Iris more furious than Haylee's blatant statement that she wouldn't help. Knowing that she was so entitled that she would throw food onto the ground like that, when she came from somewhere that never had enough food to go around. "Some mentor you are," she said, regarding Haylee with a look of disgust.

"Look, kid, I'm only here because I have to be. Whether you win or die is up to you."

Iris wasn't surprised. She'd been expecting Haylee to be uncaring and unhelpful. "Got it. Where's my room?"

"Down the hall."

Iris stood up without another word, taking her overflowing plate with her. Before leaving the room, she kicked the half-eaten apple with as much force as she could at her supposed mentor. It hit the back of Haylee's chair, and the woman turned around, shooting a ferocious glare at Iris.

She made her way down the hall. One of the doors was open, and she peeked inside, only to see Axel sprawled across the bed. Pomponia wasn't anywhere in sight, and she wondered if the escort's idea of cleaning someone up was merely to dump them in a room and leave them there.

The door next to Axel's had 'Female' written on it. Assuming it to be hers, Iris pushed it open and walked inside. It was at least four times the size of the bedroom she shared with Axel, and she wondered how wide the train must be for it to fit. Iris only stocked the trains with supplies, she never actually helped with the building.

Sitting down on the bed, she put her plate on her bedside table and flopped backwards. Axel obviously had the right idea. It was the softest thing she'd ever felt. A far cry from her bed at home, which was full of lumps and loose springs that stabbed her whenever she moved.

What would Jordie be doing right now, she wondered? He was probably sitting alone at their three-legged table with whatever food he'd managed to scrounge out of the cupboards. A bowl of watery oats, or maybe a piece of stale bread. Maybe Emily would be with him, if she kept her vow to Iris to look after him. Looking at her own plate of food, Iris found that she was no longer hungry. Knowing that her brother's stomach was probably rumbling while she stuffed her face with luxurious food made her feel guiltier than she'd ever felt in her life.

/

"Iris."

She woke to see Pomponia's face inches from hers, and yelped in fright. At least she'd ditched the hat, or Iris might've woken up and thought she was being assaulted by a peacock.

"What?" she asked. She hadn't meant to fall asleep again, but evidently being locked in a cell overnight didn't do wonders for her beauty rest.

"Dinner is in half an hour. Why don't you have a quick shower and get changed?"

Iris frowned. "Are you saying that I smell?"

"Well, no," Pomponia said, hesitating. "But you do."

Iris couldn't help but laugh. After years of hating the escort from afar, she was surprised to find out that Pomponia was an actual person behind the irritating persona. She was more surprised to realise that she was struggling to dislike her. "Got it."

She noticed that the plate of food was gone from the bedside table – someone must have come in and cleaned up. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of that – if someone could sneak in on her here while asleep, how would she go in the arena? Maybe I just won't sleep while I'm in there, she thought to herself, dumping her clothes on the floor.

The mere sight of the Capitol shower left Iris confused, and somewhat as slack jawed as Pomponia had been after she had volunteered. There seemed to be a button for everything – but there were no labels, so she had no idea how the hell she was supposed to figure it out. Pressing buttons at random seemed to be her only choice, but on her first attempt she ended up covered from head to toe in some sort of thick foam that smelled – and, bizarrely, tasted – like strawberries. Wiping it out of her eyes – and her mouth – Iris figured out a system. By standing out of the shower slightly and pressing buttons there, she was able to figure out what the buttons did without being some sort of guinea pig.

When she managed to get the water working – simple hot water, although it had a very strong smell of lavender – Iris had savoured it. A night in a cell had not done wonders for her hygiene; she shuddered to imagine the kind of filth she had been laying in.

After an hour, she'd finally showered. Curiously, she opened one of the drawers in her room, and found a selection of shirts, in every colour imaginable. After staring for a moment, Iris picked out a pale orange one, and found a pair of simple black pants in the drawer underneath.

Aware that she'd been sufficiently longer than half an hour, she left the room and headed towards the rich smell of food. Her stomach gurgled in response, and she pushed all guilty thoughts about Jordie away.

Haylee was nowhere in sight – and neither was Axel. Pomponia looked up from her plate and smiled at Iris, who sat down. "I was beginning to think I'd have another lonely dinner."

"Where's Haylee?" Iris asked, though she hadn't expected her to show up.

Pomponia sighed, and had a sip of wine. "I don't know. She's never been very… interested in mentoring."

"Yeah, she told me," Iris said, and began loading up a plate for the second time that day. The sheer amount of food to choose from shocked her – there were three different kinds of pasta, five different kinds of soup, and a tray of steaks piled up so high Iris was surprised it didn't touch the roof. Though the guilt of having access to the exorbitant foods in front of her remained, she realised that she couldn't exactly refuse it. That would be even worse than enjoying it.

"It's exorbitant, isn't it," Pomponia said glumly.

Iris looked up in surprise. The Pomponia sitting across from her seemed almost directly opposite from the Pomponia who'd been on stage. She wasn't acting at all how Iris expected her to. "What's your deal?" Iris asked, suddenly desperate to know the answer.

"What… do you mean?" Pomponia asked slowly – almost carefully, as if she was frightened to answer.

"I mean, you're not acting like someone from the Capitol. You haven't congratulated me once, and to be honest, that's what I expected you to do."

"Maybe once I would have congratulated you, and meant it. But I've been in this position for twenty years. I've gotten to know 40 children who have then died." Pomponia gulped down her red wine, her gaze wavering. "If there's one thing I can't do anymore, it's pretend to be happy that you're here."

Iris was shocked to hear such things come from Pomponia's mouth. Not only was it completely unlike the persona Pomponia presented to the television, it was also downright dangerous. Contemptuous. Rebellious. All things she'd never expected out of the escort.

Pomponia, clearing her throat nervously, seemed to realise the same. "But I've said too much. I really am happy to be here, you know. It's a blessing to be able to watch over you children, and it's truly wonderful to be able to do such important work for the Games."

"Of course," Iris said. She wasn't sure what else to say, and so took a large mouthful of pasta. It was quite possibly the best thing she'd ever eaten – dripping with a creamy red sauce, with what appeared to be chunks of dried tomato. There was cheese on top – Iris had no idea what kind. The only cheese she'd ever had was the mouldy kind she found in dumpsters. "So, if Haylee isn't going to mentor me… what am I going to do?"

"I may not be a Victor," Pomponia admitted. "But I have been studying the Games my entire life. I try to help my tributes as much as I can, and I will do the same for you."

"What about Axel?" Iris asked, though in her gut she already knew the answer. In a year, Axel would be one of many nameless District Six children who had died a nameless death. There wasn't anything anyone could do to change that.

Pomponia sighed, and looked at Iris sadly. "I have met many children like Axel. None of them survived the Bloodbath."

Iris nodded, unsurprised. "I will. I'm going to win."

"You sound very confident."

"It's not like I have the choice to be anything else," Iris said, as flippantly as she could. She forced herself to meet Pomponia's unwavering gaze. "If I can convince myself that I can win, maybe I can convince others too."

"Deceive until you believe."

Iris nodded, glad Pomponia knew what she meant. "Exactly."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Not really," Iris said, shrugging. She hadn't thought that far ahead. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, I'm not sure," Pomponia said, scrunching up her nose as if she were thinking. "I would suggest trying a bit of everything in training until you find something you're good at – and then practise that until you can defend yourself."

Iris laughed. "For someone who's not sure what to do, you seem pretty confident."

"It's just what makes sense to me."

"You said before that you studied the Games," Iris said, tilting her head. "Do you mean actually study, like in a class, or have you just watched them a lot?"

"I went to the University of Panem," Pomponia said. "I have a degree in Arena Psychology."

Iris scoffed, spearing a piece of pasta with her fork. "Of course that's a thing." Of course people studied the Games, as if there were more to them than senseless Capitol brutality.

"Laugh all you want," said Pomponia, shrugging. "I know as much as any mentor."

Iris narrowed her eyes. Pomponia, no matter how surprising, would never understand the fear Iris felt right now. She'd never have to worry about being murdered on live TV, or starve to death while others watched. Of course, Iris didn't know what all of that was like yet either. But she knew a hell of a lot more about it than Pomponia did. "Except what it's like to fight to the death, of course."

"Yes, apart from that," Pomponia admitted graciously. "I will not pretend to understand what being inside an arena is like. However, I understand what the Capitol wants to see, and it is in this area I can help you." She stared at Iris for a moment as if scrutinizing her, before clapping her hands. "Now. The Reapings will be airing soon. Shall we relocate into the sitting room?"

"Sure," Iris said, picking up the bowl of pasta which she still hadn't finished. She intended to put on as much weight as possible between now and the arena. She'd never had much to eat – and from watching the Games all her life, she knew that a few extra pounds could save her life.

One and Two were as typical as they usually were. All of them volunteers, all of them tall and strong and beautiful. Iris felt a pang of nerves as she realised they would easily kill her with their bare hands. The same could be said about the tributes from Four – although interestingly, there seemed to be an altercation between the successful volunteer and another boy. "Maybe he wasn't supposed to volunteer," Pomponia murmured, more to herself than to Iris.

Iris wondered what the selection process for Careers was – she hadn't given it much thought before. Did they fight it out beforehand? She always assumed that it was a first in, best dressed situation.

Districts Three and Five didn't have much to be said about them. But Iris was happy to see that she had managed to look calm and confident – the announcers speculated about the handcuffs, wondering if she was a convict of some sort. "Perhaps that is why she volunteered," Caesar Flickerman speculated. Iris was amused – he wasn't too far off, after all. They didn't have much to say about Axel, and did a poor job of disguising the pity and disgust in their voices.

The only other tributes who stood out to her was the girl from District Nine and the boy from District Ten. They shared a look in their eyes that Iris knew was present in her own – the glint of cool determination. They were confident. They weren't as scared as the others, and if they were, they each masked it well. She looked forward to observing them both in training; they were definitely going to be interesting enemies to watch.

She had wanted to rewatch the Reapings in order to pick up on any additional details she might have missed – but Pomponia quickly put an end to those plans.

"It's late," she said, pressing the off button on the remote. "We will arrive in the Capitol at around five in the morning – I suggest you go and get some sleep."

Iris nodded. She was full anyway, and very tired. She'd eaten as much as she could. But the food was rich, and she felt dangerously close to throwing it all back up. Sleep would hopefully make the nausea go away. "Goodnight, Pomponia," she said, standing up. There would be time to rewatch the Reapings later. But she knew she would need all the strength she could get for tomorrow.

Although she had already had a nap a few hours earlier, Iris found that it was easy to slip into sleep. A night of restlessness in a dirty cell and a belly full of good food was apparently all that was needed to cure insomnia.