Bolt Eisen, District Eight, Aquarius

When Bolt woke up, it took him a moment to remember where he was. The bed was far too lavish for his own bed back in Eight, which was humble and made primarily of straw. The mattress was soft, almost impossibly so and the silk sheets felt cool against his skin.

Yet this wasn't the bedroom he'd been assigned in the Capitol either. The Aquarius dorms had a light turquoise color scheme, with far more decorative water jugs than Bolt considered necessary. While it was dark, or as dark as the Capitol ever got, he could barely make out the splash of dark red on a far wall. A pair of curved antlers hung over the door.

It was only then that he remembered sneaking into Frazier Nelson's quarters, and everything they did before he eventually drifted to sleep. Bolt smiled at the memory. There were few things in this world that he saw as uniformly good, but meeting Frazier was one of them. When he thought about him, it felt like a ray of sunshine blinking briefly through his dark clouded mindscape.

Speaking of the boy, he didn't appear to be in his own bed. Bolt got up and found the career standing out on his balcony, smoking a cigarette. He walked out to join him, shutting the door behind him. Frazier didn't move, apparently too lost in thought to register him.

"It's pretty," Bolt said as he approached, "I'm glad I got to see the Capitol at least once. Despite the circumstances."

Frazier turned to look at him with a dark expression, but he didn't quite meet his eyes. "You should go."

"Eventually." Bolt agreed, "but if you don't mind, I'd like to spend some time with you."

The other boy continued to frown. He wore no makeup, and something about the boy seemed so much more fragile than usual. Bolt felt like he was gazing upon something forbidden, a side to the rock star few were permitted to see.

"None of this is real, Bolt." He said

"So you're saying I made all of that up? I didn't think I had that vivid of an imagination."

If Frazier found that amusing he didn't show it. "This isn't a relationship. I don't care about you. When all of this is said and done, chances are I won't even remember your name. This has been a lovely distraction, but that's all it is."

Bolt didn't think of himself as a particularly angry person, but at Frazier's words he felt rage bubble up like a volcano. "You know, everyone said you were self centered, but I suppose I didn't realize just how much until today."

"I understand why you would feel that way."

"No you don't." Bolt said, loud enough that he wondered if he might awaken Frazier's sign partner. "That's the thing. You legitimately have no idea what I'm thinking. Are you under the impression that I'm in love with you?"

The other boy stared at him, bewildered. "Uh… maybe? At least a little."

Bolt couldn't help but laugh at the boy's arrogance. It was a sharp, dark laugh. The same laugh that caused the other children to avoid him when he was younger.

"Frazier. Do you have any idea how hard it is to win the Hunger Games?"

But of course he didn't. Frazier was a volunteer, a Career. He was a child, told by adults he trusted all his life that a few years of training with a sword would guarantee his safety. This was an actual game to people like him, a business opportunity, anything but real.

And yet… the rock star's face was still grim. It was an expression Bolt recognized, one he'd seen peering back at him in the mirror, countless times. A look of someone contemplating their own death.

"I'm beginning to," Frazier said.

Bolt's anger quelled slightly. He'd been thinking about death for years, since before adults believed he was even capable of such thoughts. Death was so mundane for him that it almost felt like a friend, a grim companion, much closer than anyone dared tell him. But not everyone thought about it so often. This had to be difficult for Frazier, slowly realizing that his odds weren't as good as he thought they might be.

"And that's if you're talented. Unlike me." Bolt said.

"You're plenty talented." Frazier reassured him, "I'm sure you'll be fine."

Bolt shook his head, "You don't have to reassure me. I know my good points. Survival isn't among them. At this point, a lovely distraction is my best case scenario."

"So you don't mind that I'm using you?"

"We're using each other. I feel like ultimately, all that matters is that I don't want to be alone tonight."

Frazier turned away from the Capitol's skyline, finally meeting Bolt's eyes, "Neither do I."

"Then come on. Let's go back to bed."

Ally Thimblewhitte, District Two, Aries

Ally couldn't sleep.

Although, thinking about it some, perhaps that was for the best. If she was actually capable of rest, she was certain that the noises coming from her sign partner's room would disturb it. But as it was, she stayed wide awake pondering a letter she found in her room after the interviews.

'If you're willing, meet me in the kitchens after dark.

-G'

So Ally hadn't been seeing things at the parade. Her brother Gregory was here in the Capitol. There was a deep bitter part of her that didn't want to go, wanted to throw every gesture of goodwill back at him as an expression of her rage. He didn't deserve to explain himself.

But if she let him, what would he say? Was there anything that could heal the wound his abandonment left? Probably not, but she still wanted to hear it. So she snuck out of her room and headed down to the kitchen.

The kitchen seemed entirely different at night. Ally had only been here a handful of times and was quickly ushered back to the dining room by an escort or Avox each time. In the light it was a bright and bustling place, dozens of silent workers setting upon their tasks with intense focus.

Now, there was only Gregory. He was sitting on a stool, muscles tensed as he perched in silence with a tablet of some sort in his lap. He looked not just older than the last time she saw him, but more worn. As if the last few years had been particularly hard on him. Ally couldn't bring herself to care. The years had been hard on her as well, and more than anyone else, her brother was directly responsible.

"Ally." Her brother didn't speak- couldn't speak, after all. But he tapped on the tablet and words came out. The voice sounded like a friendly Capitolite, with the software so fluid that it almost sounded like a real voice. Almost. "I'm glad to see you. Though not happy about the circumstances. I never thought you would actually volunteer."

"I didn't have a choice." Ally almost felt outside herself, listening to her own voice, as she spoke in a calm icy demeanor. It was almost like she was her own tablet, punching out mechanical replies to the conversation, "Dad couldn't work any more. Mom needs extra care. We were beyond mere tesserae. Two pays the families of the Tributes if they don't come home, you know. Provided I put on a good show."

"Barbaric," the device on the table still somehow managed to sneer.

"A solution. We didn't have many, after you left." Ally was glad she wasn't fully connected to her body at the moment, otherwise she may have started to cry, "Why did you leave?"

"I didn't leave. I was taken."

Ally paused, despite herself. Obviously Gregory had become an avox some time after he disappeared, yet she'd been assuming that it happened after he left. It was possible, she realized, that it was actually the reason he was gone in the first place.

"Well, you must have done something to end up like that." She said, "What did you do?"

"The resistance paid me rather well to help smuggle materials through Two. I suppose I didn't have many solutions either."

Something broke within Ally. The odd distance between her and her body shattered, leaving her far too close to the situation, too vulnerable. It was easy to blame her brother, to pin all the rage she had on his absence and place all of the responsibility of her family's situation on his shoulders. But Gregory hadn't blinded their mother, hadn't gotten their father injured. He was trying, just as she was, with what limited choices they had. Why were there so few options, and all of them with such terrible consequences?

That was a dangerous question. One that could easily lead her to the same fate as her brother.

"I'm sorry, Ally." the device said, "I'm not sure what else I could have done. But I should have discovered that, and done it. This is all my fault."

Those were the words that Ally had wanted to hear for years. Yet they didn't have the impact she wanted them to. She was still in the Hunger Games, her parents still had no idea what had happened to Gregory. Even the much-needed closure she now had felt like a small prize in the large unwinnable tragedy that was her life. She took a tentative step towards her brother and placed a hand on his face.

It was hard to believe that he was only twenty-three. Ally felt like she'd been keeping her entire family alive ever since Gregory disappeared. Did her brother feel that same pressure before he was caught?

Ally had decided some time ago that no matter what happened, she wouldn't forgive her brother. He'd left too much of a mess, ruined her and her family's lives too much for her to ever think of him positively again. Yet as she stood there in the dark kitchen she realized that forgiveness wasn't always a choice. The twisted knot of blame she harbored for her brother simply couldn't hold up against the truth any more. It melted away as surely as salt meeting sand.

Without a word, Ally hugged her brother. He stiffened in surprise for a moment before embracing her back.

Solomon Cavalier, District Two, Capricorn

Solomon stared up at the ceiling of the Capricorn dorms, willing himself to try to get to sleep. This was possibly the most important rest of his life, after all. If he went into the Bloodbath tired, it would only take one badly timed reaction or mind fog related mistake to end his life and any chance of seeing his family again. Perhaps all of that pressure was why he was still awake, searching his mind for any tricks he'd heard to help someone get to sleep more quickly.

Counting was a popular method in District Two, but when he reached five hundred and eighty-three he decided it probably wasn't working. There were a few drinks he'd heard could help people sleep, but bothering the avoxes or anyone else in the Capricorn wing seemed fairly rude. Just because he couldn't sleep seemed like a poor excuse to disrupt someone else's.

Lacking inspiration, Solomon walked over to the coat rack by the door. He took a crumpled letter out of his jacket pocket, sat down at his nearby desk, and attempted to flatten the piece of paper out. This was his token: a letter for his brother Judas, never sent.

Judas was in prison at the time. It was a fairly rare punishment in a district that was fond of public beatings and executions, but despite everything, Judas was a Cavalier. Their family owned one of the main quarries in Two, the literal bedrock of the district's economic success. It was a legacy deeper than any of the arms dealers or military trainers could dare lay claim to. So after an altercation with a peacekeeper's son over some drug related dispute, Judas was given the mercy of time behind bars. After that, he was transferred to a rehabilitation program, which he was so close to completing when Solomon left to volunteer for the games.

Their father, David, wouldn't allow Solomon to send the letter, which was why he still had it. It wasn't becoming of a Cavalier, he'd said. Judas may have been the eldest son, but their parents never treated him with anything other than disdain. David looked at him as if he was some sort of bug, while their mother Miriam preferred to never look at him at all.

It was a baffling situation that Solomon never quite understood. Judas was far from the image of an ideal Cavalier, that was true. He was messy, unreliable, and unserious. Far too fond of finding new avenues of self destruction. But Solomon had a keen memory and a talent for seeing things as they were. When their parents began treating Judas differently, they'd both still been children- carefree, slightly naughty, and ultimately very similar. If Judas was everything negative his parents ever said about him, it was because that's all they ever expected of him. It took a will stronger than any Cavalier to withstand such scorn.

Solomon traced the groove of a particularly deep bend in the envelope, thinking about its contents. When he won the Hunger Games, it would be the start of his own legacy, not his family's. He would be the one to decide what was becoming of him, not his father. And the day that he came back from the arena, he would give his brother that envelope. He could almost see Judas grin as he read it.

There was something about the quality of the air or the way the shadows danced about that reminded Solomon of the night before the reaping. He'd been nervous that night too, fitfully tossing back and forth in bed. That was when he heard the noise at his window and found Judas beneath it. It was amazing, really, how Judas always found ways to support Solomon. Even when he was battling his own demons. Even when the whole world seemed against him.

On a strange impulse, Solomon opened up the envelope and took out the letter inside. There was a small amount of blank space at the bottom. He picked up a pen and wrote a small postscript.

'Judas,

I should have sent this to you a long time ago. Hopefully I get to give you this as a Victor. But if I don't, I want you to know that my only regrets are the times I didn't stand up for you. You are my true family.

-Solomon'

He placed the envelope back in his jacket pocket and returned to his bed. With his mind newly cleared, Solomon had little trouble falling back to sleep. As he slept, he dreamed of his brother and the life they would lead together.

Hades Yamaguchi, District Two, Libra

Hades did not make a habit of sneaking out of his quarters at night. While he considered himself an independent thinker, he was also quite fond of rules that made sense and followed them whenever possible. It was difficult enough to keep track of twenty-four teenagers in the daytime. Hades didn't want to give his escort or mentor any additional trouble.

However, there were exceptions to every rule. That was why he found himself crouched underneath the large fireplace in the living room of his sign's apartment. The fire had been out for some time, but he could still feel the heat of the last remaining embers as he reached forward and pressed an embellishment on the front of the mantlepiece. It was an intricate design: an abstract depiction of the Libra constellation. There was a soft click, and a nearby bookcase swung open to reveal a hidden passageway.

Despite the fact that this was the third or fourth time he'd used this route to sneak out of his bedchambers at night, the suddenness of the opening always took him aback. Hades recovered quickly and walked down the corridor. It was a short walk until he arrived at his destination, the library from Exploratory. He'd spent hours in this room, reading the books or having heated discussions with the librarian, Minnie.

Minnie.

It felt embarrassing in retrospect, calling her that. But it was the name she gave him when they met during the first day in Exploratory. Despite what he knew now, it was still the name he associated with her.

She was at the librarian's desk, like always, hunched over a book that she was reading carefully. Minnie was a friendly, well-kept woman somewhere in her forties, with a surprisingly simple fashion sense for a Capitolite. Her brown hair was tied up in a bun held together with a pin made of sapphires. Her only jewelry was a matching necklace and bracelet set with the same shimmering blue stones as her pin. Aside from the quality of her accessories, Hades felt like if she one day decided to sit at a librarian's desk in District Two, no one would pay her a second glance.

People had a strange habit of ignoring what was important, even if it was directly in front of them.

"Good evening, Madame President."

The leader of all of Panem looked up from her book and smiled gently. It reminded Hades of one of his old school teachers. "Hades. Surely we're past such formalities."

Hades was not entirely sure how to measure such things, but could at the very least see her argument. He knew Minnie better than anyone else in the Capitol. The very first day of training, he was so engrossed with the library that he didn't bother to look at any other rooms. His mentor had to drag him out of the Exploratory tunnels when the time was up. That was when Minnie told him the secret of the mantlepiece, so he could come to the library after everyone else fell asleep. It was an amazing discovery, a chance to train beyond everyone else. As a Career, Hades couldn't refuse such an offer. As a lover of books, even less so.

Minnie was there every time he visited the library. She showed him how the place was organized, gave him access to the card catalog, and answered any of his questions. As his nights of exploration stretched on, she started to ask him questions.

He hadn't meant to tell her everything, but she had a way of making him feel safe. As if she would genuinely listen to absolutely everything he had to say. So he told her about his father's time as a Peacekeeper, and how pursuing Capitol corruption left him ridiculed and penniless. He told her his theories about Panem, how it needed strong authoritative leadership to survive. How he suspected District Two should be in charge instead of the Capitol. He even told her about his thoughts of the future and potentially leading a revolution to help put power in the right hands.

It was mortifying, realizing that he openly made his radical intentions known to the leader of the government he wanted to overthrow. Yet she never seemed angry or offended at his implications, merely curious. She challenged him, arguing that given time even his noble home district might crumble like the Capitol if given unchecked power. And as he sat there chewing over the holes in his own ideology she introduced a solution even bolder and more radical than he could ever imagine. Despite who she was, despite who he was, their conversations had shown him that she was an intelligent and awe-inspiring individual. By the time she revealed her true identity, Hades had a hard time seeing her as the enemy. In fact, ironically, he started to realize that she could be the solution to cleansing the rot at the center of Panem.

"Perhaps." Hades said formally, pulling himself out of his memories, "But calling you Minnie seems so… frivolous. Now that I know who you are."

"You've always known who I am, Hades. I've never lied to you. But if it suits you better, you can call me Minerva."

"Very well. Minerva." It suited her, Hades realized. The name had intelligence and dignity. There was a part of him that felt like a fool, trusting her. Another thought he was a fool to doubt her.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" She asked.

"A little. I would be a fool otherwise. I have the skills. But it takes a lot of luck to win the Games, something I haven't had much of in my life."

"Well, you and I were able to meet. I find that quite lucky indeed."

"I am not so dim-witted as to be won over by flattery, you know." Hades said, despite the fact that her words filled him with a comfortable warmth, "You were not waiting for me in this library by pure circumstance. You were looking for something."

"I was." She admitted, "I was looking for a tribute I could work with."

"Work with or use?"

"That depended on who I found, really. But I found you, which was more than I could ever hope for. You are everything that Panem is supposed to stand for, Hades Yamaguchi. Everything it could be again. I very much want to work with you."

Internally, he knew that she'd already won. But he was far too versed in the art of warfare to let her know that. "Then prove it. Try the Harrington family for their crimes. Exonerate my father."

Minerva Thornewood's lips pursed into a tight line, and she tilted her head slightly. Hades had seen her do this multiple times. It meant she was weighing all of her options.

"I believe I've told you that I am in a precarious situation right now. My biggest supporter died recently, the council is primarily more concerned with maintaining their own power than improving Panem. The Harringtons are some of the few allies I have left. So I want you to understand what you're asking from me. Your proof would force me to abandon one of the oldest, most powerful families in Panem in favor of an eighteen year old boy."

Hades tried to not be disappointed at her words, tried to ignore the sting in his heart. It was a ridiculous request, and he knew that before asking. Yet there was a wild, careless hope inside him that thought maybe she valued him enough to try. Such a foolish thought. He'd almost forgotten that despite everything, Minerva was a Capitolite. Why would she ever give up her own power just to do the right thing?

"Of course." He said, "I understand."

Minerva smiled at him again and it made him feel slightly sick. "You should get some rest soon." She said, "There's no telling when you'll be able to again."

It didn't take much intellect to know he was being dismissed. So he bowed his head and left back through the fireplace passage, hiding the wound in his chest.

Helios Nicolby, 17, Capitolite

When Helios was invited to take an internship with the Head Physician of the Hunger Games, the last thing he expected was to end up in a bar.

"You know I'm eighteen, right?" He asked tentatively.

"One drink isn't going to kill you. Probably." Dax Heavensbee, said head physician, told him, "There's a part of me that hopes you never have to come to this place again. But if you need it, it seems best that you know about it. So hop up on a stool and try to enjoy yourself. We've got a few days before there's a Victor. This is the closest thing I get to off season."

Helios knew that the man was an alcoholic, of course. It was one of those rumors that circulated around the Capitol. The once proud Heavensbee family, now a line of rebels and drunkards. He'd spotted the man taking hangover medications a couple times before shifts. But he never seemed to drink on the job, and through the course of the week Helios had started to respect Dax as a strange but ultimately dedicated man. He even grew to respect the man. Heavensbee was a doctor, after all. One of the noblest professions in the world.

So Helios found it difficult to respond to the situation. Dax was still frowning in that overly serious way of his, as if this was still a part of the internship. But that didn't make any sense.

"Uh. Sir?" he began, "This is nice and everything. But is there any particular reason that we're here?"

"You're a sharp one." Dax said, "Which makes sense. You need to be sharp in this profession. Victors keep you on your toes."

"I don't know if I'm going to go into Victor's specifically, though. Not that I haven't learned a lot during this internship. I just haven't even gotten to University yet. I have time."

Dax silently waved to the bartender, who placed two glasses in front of them without any regard as to Helios' age. "Some, but not a lot. Listen, Nicolby. I can't tell you everything. But like I mentioned, you're sharp."

A lump began to form in Helios' stomach. Dax's voice took on a low controlled tone that he had heard his brother use when talking about his job in the Capitol. This was about politics. It felt like he couldn't escape it, no matter where he turned. All he wanted to do was heal people. But people heard Nicolby and they instantly thought of his brother. Helios knew he looked like a pawn to most people, he'd just thought maybe Dax saw him as a person.

"I'm listening."

"I have a daughter. Lysistrata. When she was young, she and her mother were sent to District Twelve to repopulate the area. She's eligible for the Hunger Games for about five more years. My position seems illustrious, but it's a difficult job with long hours and a load of traumatized patients who aren't allowed to get all of the care they need because it may detract from their usefulness to the Capitol. No self-respecting doctor takes this job. Do you understand?"

Helios did. He never felt like he was exactly the smartest person, but he had a hunch for understanding what people wanted and how they tried to get their way. Dax was confessing that he did not perform his job willingly, but because he feared his daughter may be reaped otherwise. But time would make that piece of leverage irrelevant, eventually. So the president needed a replacement in about five years.

"But I don't have a daughter." he said. Dax laughed.

"How is your family doing financially? Can you afford medical school?"

Helios nodded, "Perhaps not at the top academy. But I'll make it I think."

"There may be a scholarship in your future."

Helios' blood ran cold.

Dax had already finished his glass and was halfway through a second, "Although hopefully none of this matters. Your brother is in politics, right? I have the feeling that you're less me in this scenario, and more Lysistrata."

"So you think President Thornewood got me this internship as a way to control my brother?"

"I didn't say that, did I?" he asked, but something about Dax's grim expression confirmed it for Helios.

Glumly, Helios understood for the very first time why someone might want to drink a lot of alcohol. He grabbed the glass in front of him and took a drink. It burned all of the way down, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. The bitterness helped him think of things other than his predicament.

AN: Hello again, and thank you for reading this chapter! There's a lot of patterns in this chapter. A lot of careers, a lot of sneaking out, a whole lot of brothers. I'm not sure I realized it when I planned it out, but I find it kind of funny now. And we now have only one more chapter (the morning of) before the bloodbath. We're actually getting there, guys! So thank you so much for sticking with me and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.