The atmosphere in the bar is weirdly electric. Emma can practically feel the anticipation crackling off of the residing Capitolites, mentors and escorts. Her ruffled top itches as she pushes her way through the crowds, and she wants to tear her skin off along with it. She raises up onto her tip toes, scouring the room for a tuft of brown hair so similar to her own among the neon wigs and tattooed heads.

She hasn't seen Paul all day - with Pete's arm being broken in the Bloodbath and Steph almost getting killed by whatever blue shit the Game Makers have cooked up for their little horror show, she doubts he's faring all too well. Someone thuds into her shoulder, and she opens her mouth to scold them out before she sees who it is.

"Emily!" Linda Monroe screeches.

"Emma." She corrects with a polite smile.

"Darling, how are you? Enjoying the Games I hope?" Linda puts a hand on her elbow and steers her to one side of the room.

"Yes." Emma lies, eyes still flicking from face to face. "Yes, isn't it such an interesting arena this year?"

"A school! Truly inspired." The woman's nails are sharp and crimson. She brushes Emma's shoulder with them as she puts an arm around her. "Did Jane know about any of this?"

Emma shrugs the arm off again. "I've told you before, Mrs Monroe, that the President doesn't divulge those sorts of things to my sister."

"Of course, of course." She hides her scowl with a flick of her hair. "I don't suppose he divulges anything else?"

"I don't know what you mean." Emma shakes her head.

"I'm sure you do." Linda leans in, her earrings tickling Emma's shoulder. "About the Victors?" She stage whispers.

"In what way?" Emma is afraid she already understands her meaning.

"Well, they all have a price don't they? If you want to get close to one of them. I'm sure they're fascinating people, and-"

"My sister will not pimp a Victor out to you, Linda." Emma snaps, then she starts. She has never let the mask slip like that before. "Excuse me." She drops away into the crowds again, pushing through away from that horrible woman before she can be shouted at or worse. People gasp and argue and point - for a moment she thinks they have overhead her and are gossiping already, but then she realises another tribute has died. She stops only to make sure that it isn't Pete or Steph, and continues on her way to the door. Paul isn't in here and she isn't sure she can stand another encounter like the one she just had.

...

She heads outside for some fresh air. It's dark out by now but still warm and stifling somehow.

Linda Monroe.

How dare she.

That woman is the epitome of vanity - she thinks only about herself, just like the rest of this rotten city.

Emma swallows down the familiar wave of disgust at the notion that she is one of those Capitolites she so hates. She hadn't even questioned the Games until so late into her adolescence, and when she had it'd been like awakening from a nightmare. That doesn't change the fact she had watched children her own age being murdered, for fun.

She and her friends had played Hunger Games at school, running around tagging each other out until only one remained.

Perching on a low concrete wall, Emma pulls out her tablet and flicks onto the screen the live feed of the arena.

She scrolls until she finds a camera following Paul's tributes, just to check how are they are faring.

Pete has removed his makeshift sling and wrapped the shock blanket around the young boy, Daniel, who is definitely in trouble after the boy from 11 got him full force with a machete earlier. Hannah had panicked, bless her, and they'd ended up sheltering in that death trap that the Gamemakers must have engineered especially. That blue goop... it was almost alien.

Steph has Daniel in her arms in a bridal carry and since Pete can't exactly take him, he seems to have settled for guiding Hannah forward with one hand lightly on her upper back as they trudge through the endless corridors.

The place is a labyrinth, Emma thinks to herself and she flicks through the other channels to assess the situation. There are 17 tributes left, 4 of them injured like Daniel and in dire straits. She hesitates when Grace Chastity appears on screen, crouching in what looks like an empty and abandoned indoor swimming pool.

She has a small first aid kit and is tugging thread through a gash on her thigh with a thin needle. She winces every now and again, muttering to herself about dirty dudes or some such. She looks out for blood.

Her wild eyes make Emma think of Melissa, from that fateful finale all those years ago. Her thoughts stray back to Paul, and as if she has summoned him, she finds him hovering in the doorway behind her when she turns to head back inside.

"God, Paul!" She starts. "Don't sneak up on me like that, man."

Paul blinks at her. "Sorry." He says quietly. "Have you been watching? Are they ok?" He shifts a little more into the light and Emma sees how his hair is ruffled, his shirt untucked. There is a smudge of silver glitter on his cheek.

"I have been watching, unlike someone apparently. What is wrong with you?"

Paul takes a step back, aghast. "I'm sorry?"

"I thought you were worried sick, hm? You begged me to help you. And now here you are, off getting laid whilst Pete nearly dies in there!" She snaps, face burning. It stings more than it should that Paul has been off with someone else, someone not her.

"I - it was a sponsor." He stutters, hands clasped nervously in front of him.

"Ah, right. I see." She sneers, shaking her head. "You Victors are all the same. Too much ego." She doesn't know why she says it - Paul is probably the least attention seeking person she's ever met.

"You've got issues, Emma. I don't know what kind of knight in shining armour you see yourself as, but us Victors are not your damsels in distress. We're not playthings, before or after we win the Games!" Paul, in his agitation, has stepped back towards her again - the door behind them has swung shut with a thud.

A gust of wind sieves through her fingers and she clenches her fists against it. "I didn't say that." She sort of did. "I just... nevermind." She brushes past him, but before she reaches the door he says something that freezes her in her tracks.

"I didn't want to."

Emma turns around. The words had been small and weak but she is certain she heard them right.

"What?"

"Don't make me say it again." His eyes are big and he sets his jaw stubbornly.

"The sponsor? Did she make you?" Emma creeps closer like she's afraid he might break.

There's a thin pause and Emma thinks she might explode if he doesn't level with her now.

"She didn't make me." He says slowly, but Emma contains herself because what he says next is: "She said that she'd get medicine for Pete. If I..."

"Paul." The whisper is softer than anything she has felt in a while.

"It's not... she didn't make me, but I didn't want to, Emma."

"Her offering you sponsorship for Pete... it doesn't make it ok." She says, reaching a hand for him but stopping halfway. "It makes it worse... would you have slept with her if she wasn't offering Pete medicine?"

"Don't ask me that." He says sharply. "I didn't say no."

"Ok." She concedes, frowning. "Alright." She moves to sit back on the wall, and after a few minutes he joins her. "I'm sorry for shouting." She says.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm a mess." He laughs bitterly.

"You're kidding, right?" Emma frowns. "You're a Victor, man. I know there's a lot of bullshit about what that makes you, but the truth is it just makes you strong."

"It makes me a monster."

"No." She insists. "You're good, any moron can see that."

Paul lets himself smile then, cautiously.

"Ok." He nods.

"Ok." Emma agrees.

"Thank you, Emma."

She pulls the footage of the Arena back up on her tablet, and they watch in silence in the quiet moonlight.