Capitol Night 4

ALDER PIERCE (18)

DISTRICT ONE MALE

Alder wanted to make tonight special.

He paced around the balcony, hands buried deep within his pockets.

What was taking her so long?

"Maybe she fell asleep," he wondered aloud. "Or maybe she changed her mind."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Geneva called out from the dining room, rolling her eyes as she sipped her nightly dose of chamomile tea. "She's literally right there, checking herself in the mirror. She just had to help Cartier find his watch, that's all. Come on, Alder, you and Fleur share a floor here, how the heck is she supposed to ghost you?"

Alder sighed. "Thanks, Geneva, now I'd really appreciate some privacy."

Geneva shrugged. "Suit yourself." She got up, grabbed her mug and whisked off, muttering something under her breath about Cartier and his watches.

Alder bit his lip. Geneva was right, this was just a friendly, casual dinner, right? Why was he so worried?

Then, Fleur emerged. She'd changed out of her glamorous interview dress and was wearing a simple red t-shirt and blue jeans, her hair let down in messy curls. Honestly, Alder thought this nonchalant, effortless look of hers was much better than her dolled-up interview self. She looked much more natural, and beautiful as ever.

Fleur gave him a wry smile. "Anxious to see me, eh?"

Alder's cheeks flushed but he managed to return the smile. "It's our final night in the Capitol, I think everyone's anxious."

Fleur's smile faltered a little.

Final night in the Capitol.

Their final night of assured safety.

Before the arena.

Where death could- and probably would- befall upon them at any point in time.

Alder was well aware that either he or Fleur had to die for the other to win, so anything that happened now would only be a distraction from the future that loomed ahead of them.

But he didn't care. If Fleur was going to die tomorrow, he was going to make tonight worth every second.

He didn't doubt that if it came down between him or Fleur, he'd fight her to save his sister, but that didn't change his feelings towards her, nor did it alter the fact that he wanted just a tiny peek into the future they could've had in a different world, a different dimension, a different place.

So, he'd decided to take her on a little dinner date.

"Have a seat, hope the cars aren't gonna honk all night," Alder told her, gesturing at the bustling city beneath them, where at a roundabout, multiple bright, flashy cars were busy honking away, perforating the night sky with their booming cacophony, which strangely included the sound of a sheep bleating.

Fleur chuckled as she hopped into her seat, licking her lips at the food laid out before them. "Alright, what've we got here?"

Alder had made a special request to the Avox who was in charge of serving their food, Trace, asking them to bring out a few of Fleur's favourite recipes from back home. Trace had simply nodded, but Alder could've sworn he'd seen them wink.

"Ooh, is that rainbow trout?" Fleur gasped, eyeing the plate closest to her.

Alder flashed her a wide grin. "Yep, most of the rainbow trout here hails from Four, but I convinced the chef to find one from District One. The flavour's slightly different, I think."

"Aww, and chicken-fried steak! With the gravy and roasted potatoes, heck yeah!" Fleur beamed, reaching over the table and giving Alder a peck on the cheek. "I haven't seen this stuff in the Capitol, I didn't think they even knew how to cook 'em!"

Butterflies began to flutter in Alder's stomach as the feeling of Fleur's lips on his cheek tingled through his veins. "I got you soda bread too, even had to write out my homemade recipe myself for the chef, he was almost ready to just dump a can of soda onto some fancy loaf of bread."

Fleur's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh, I love your soda bread! I can't believe you really did all this for me, I-" She fluttered her eyelashes, and underneath the table, Alder felt her hand clasp his. "It's really sweet of you, Alder."

Alder raised his chin proudly. "Glad you're loving it, Fleur. Now come on, let's tuck in, this stuff isn't going to eat itself."

Fleur didn't need to be told twice, she grabbed a fork and thrust it into a piece of steak, wolfing it down in a heartbeat.

Alder raised an eyebrow. "Gosh, a Montgomery eating like a commoner? Sacrilege."

Fleur flashed him a mischievous look. "I live to do what my family thinks is sacrilege."

A laugh escaped Alder's lips. "I'm sure of that, you wander into random gemstone mines for a living, after all."

"Hey, I found a big, shiny diamond on my first try!" Fleur reminded him. "That thing made Finn Ausztral a rich man!"

"Oh right, Finn," Alder recalled. "Not sure how that guy spent his cash, he still lives in his old shack I think."

"Eh, I don't blame him, it's his home, he's probably more attached to it than my dad is to his jewels. Speaking of Finn," Fleur leaned closer, a conspiratory glimmer in her eyes. "I could've sworn I saw a dude who looked exactly like him in the audience tonight, the same white shirt, rugged features, even his old devilish smile."

Alder laughed. "Maybe it's his secret twin or something."

"Or maybe he's a double agent! Or it's a sign of a parallel universe!" Fleur exclaimed, gushing at the possibilities. "Or maybe, it really is Finn, and he's come here on some secret mission, I mean think about him, the guy hasn't been around town since last week, and you know he would never go an entire week without swinging by the blacksmith's!"

That was something Alder always loved about Fleur. She had the craziest imagination and the wildest of thoughts, but those never failed to brighten his day. Cara always loved Fleur's take on One's conspiracies, and if it made his twin sister happy, then it sure as hell livened Alder's soul too.

Cara.

The food tasted bitter in Alder's mouth, guilt wallowing in his chest at the thought of having a date with Fleur while he should be preparing himself for the arena.

His twin sister's life, after all, was on the line.

Eyes on the prize, Alder.

But as Fleur continued to laugh and joke about the most mundane of happenings in One and beyond, Alder found himself mesmerised by her gaze, charmed by her laugh, entranced by the tight embrace she engulfed him in once dinner was over.

"I had fun, Alder," Fleur told him, her voice a velvety whisper. With a subtle tilt of her head, she leaned in closer, pressing her lips against his, the flowery scent of her perfume and the warmth of her kiss sending tingles up his spine. "And no matter what happens tomorrow, I'm glad to have known you for all my life. If I win the Games, I promise, Cara's going to be in safe hands, don't you worry."

Alder gave her a grateful smile, but deep down, he knew it wouldn't be the same. The sheer trauma of losing her twin brother would crush Cara, killing her before Fleur could even return with the right treatment for her. And the Montgomeries could block any transactions to the Pierce family too, as they'd always done to quench any budding relationship between Fleur and Alder.

No, he had to be the one coming home.

For Cara.

And yet, as he glanced down at the bracelet in his hands, a gift from his father, he remembered how he'd gotten the beads from Fleur herself, how they'd spent so much time together wasting the hours away making little trinkets for themself under the northern lights, just the two of them, two outcasts against the world.

In the distance, Alder saw a flash of neon green light. And Fleur saw it too, judging by the sudden look of awe in her expression.

"The lights, but it can't be, it's the middle of summer," he mused.

But perhaps it wasn't the aurora borealis.

Just a symbol of hope, fading and ebbing in the night sky, a faint anchor that tied him to the glistening past he'd once held.

QUIANNA RAFFERTY (17)

DISTRICT FOUR FEMALE

Quianna wanted to make tonight as fun as possible.

Creeping her way out of her bedroom, she glanced at the living room, where Jolien and Willuna sat slumped on the couch, looks of exhaustion scrawled all over their faces as they idly watched the news on the television.

How utterly boring of them.

"What do you think of District Four building a whole new farming sector, Draco?" the reporter was asking.

On the screen, Draco's ugly, troglodyte-esque face snaked its way on camera, leering ahead malevolently.

What the heck is this guy doing on TV? He's got tributes to mentor!

"I think they're being idiots, but what did we expect from this lot of fishers? I've said it for the longest time, Fours are a primitive lot who lack even the most basic of brain development. They're, ah, an uncivilised folk, I should say, a subspecies of our kind. They do not appreciate the gifts we have showered upon them by offering free exports of our vast food and agricultural produce to their snivelling District, where food is wasted by the pound every hour."

Quianna snorted. She'd seen the slums of Four herself, seen the soaring prices in the markets, seen her family trying to manipulate the food imports. Not a single word that had been spewed out of this wannabe celebrity's fat lips held any truth.

"Their construction of mines and a dam are also pretty fucking stupid. Like, Five and One are literally right there, they have the easiest access to our nation's finest mines and energy sources already!"

Alright, Quianna had to admit, Four's construction choices were a tad bit weird. But still, she'd rather die than openly admit she agreed with anything this prat had to say.

Especially since he constantly canoodled with her family, chumming up with them to make life hell for everyone- including her.

As Draco continued to gloat about District Two's brand new, Capitol-sponsored, scale-of-the-art training academy (of course, as opposed to Four's 'slimy old fisherman's shack'), Quianna could feel anger frothing inside her guts. The thought of throwing a shoe at his face seemed so freaking appealing, in fact, Quianna decided, that was exactly what she would do once she'd won the Games. Of course, she couldn't do anything before the Games, she wouldn't want Draco complaining to Ruby about a 'rebellious tribute', but hey, once the Games were over, it was free game. What was he going to do, threaten her family? Pfft, as if she even cared.

Quianna snuck past Jolien and Willuna, who barely paid her any mind, then slipped into the elevator and pressed the button to go to the rooftop. In her hands, she gingerly tucked two spray paint canisters, wrapped tightly in sheets of newspaper, into the folds of her shirt, concealing them from any cameras in the elevator. There was one, right above her, Quianna could tell. A small one, well concealed and camouflaged, yet Quianna couldn't miss it. Ronan had, boldly claiming there were no surveillance cameras in here as he began to discuss something with Maximon.

Idiot, he thinks Ruby's going to make it obvious.

There were only two places she considered safe from the prying eyes of Ruby Ashgrove and the Capitol: the bedrooms and the rooftop garden. How did she know this? Well, Willuna had mentioned it herself to Ronan, warning him not to say anything rash anywhere other than these two 'safe zones'.

"Ruby's got monitors in her office," she'd cautioned him. "She rarely sleeps, she's always watching."

Wonderful stuff, Willuna, wish you'd told me too and not just Ronan, you bastard.

The elevator door opened with a soft ding, and outside, the wind howled through the night sky, sending a cold chill up Quianna's spine.

"So this is the rooftop garden, huh?" she murmured, letting out a low whistle as she glanced around. As the moon cast its ethereal glow upon her, the rooftop garden came alive with a mystic allure. Twinkling fairy lights adorned the lush greenery, cascading down like shimmering stardust. Vibrant flowers bloomed in a kaleidoscope of colors, some sealed in little, miniature biodomes, infusing the air with a saccharine aroma. Rows of plants were draped across towering racks, painting a sea of green across the walls, their leaves swaying in the howling winds like a series of whispers. The garden's centerpiece, a shimmering fountain adorned with a statuette of Marina, Hassan, Axel, Sapphire and Ragnar, the first five Victors, danced with silver reflections, its rhythmic splashes harmonizing with the distant melodies of the city below. There were hammocks and reclining chairs all around, allowing tributes and mentors alike to relax under the cosmic blanket.

And it was quiet.

Perfectly quiet.

A secret haven, a nocturnal oasis, tucked high above the chaos of the streets below.

But Quianna wasn't here to simply relax.

Relaxing was overrated, after all.

She preferred to have fun.

Quianna whipped out her canisters of spray paint, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she trudged through a path in a mushroom patch to a small, empty bit of wall near the elevator. She shook the cans thoroughly, humming a soft tune she'd once heard Guinevere sing. Her parents hadn't been very fond of it, slapping Guinevere as soon as they'd heard the song, which was exactly why Quianna loved the song, singing it every time her parents screamed at her for making even the tiniest of mistakes.

In no time, a colourful mural of this year's tributes had been scrawled all over the wall, with of course, Quianna at the heart of the gang, casually brandishing a rapier at a cheerfully singing Elris.

Why would she draw the other tributes, you ask?

Well, she wanted this year to be immortalised in time, for the whole of Panem, including future tributes to remember these Games and her inevitable Victory. She wanted them to know just who she had to come against, and just who she had beaten to rise to the very top.

Besides, these tributes were, in the Capitol's eyes, just little pawns in their ultimate game, faces who would become nameless in no time. This way, they'd never be forgotten, remembered for having taken part in Quianna's Games, remembered for being, well, people, something the Capitol wasn't keen on doing.

And if it pissed people off, then Quianna was going to do it, even if she frankly didn't care for most of them. But hey, some of them seemed like decent folk, it would be a shame for them to go down as simply 'District Six Female', they deserved a bit more dignity than that.

"What the heck are you doing?"

Oh, shit.

ALEA KORAH (18)

DISTRICT FIVE FEMALE

Alea wanted to make tonight as hassle-free as possible.

She tapped her chin thoughtfully, glancing down at the sketch of the Cornucopia that Marie had drawn.

"Ford says the arena might be in a natural setting, he's been eavesdropping on those two chatterbox Gamemakers Aurora and Tempus, those two can't ever shut up. But hey, that's good for us," Marie murmured, adding some rather unnecessary shading and details to the drawing, which looked much better than anything Alea had ever mustered on a sheet of paper. Gosh, she wished she could draw as well as her. It would've made designing clear blueprints would've been much easier.

"So you're saying my odds are statistically higher if I run away from the Cornucopia?" Alea asked.

Marie nodded. "Especially if you're near Careers or strong, violent tributes." She drew a couple of lines from one of the pedestals, leading into the Cornucopia. "The angle at which you approach the Cornucopia- and retreat from it- must be precise as well. Statistically, you have an advantage if you run away from any significant items that re likely to be targetted by others. But still, it is safer to run away. Especially if we are to continue with your plan."

Alea chewed her lip thoughtfully. "And what does the Capitol think of my odds? In general, I mean."

"If my memory serves me well, which it normally does, you place at 1-10. Dropped off a bit from 1-8 after the interviews," Marie told her.

Alea chuckled softly. "I like those odds."

"Good. Now, I suggest you spend some time to unwind a little tonight. Statistically speaking, having lower stress levels improves your performance, particularly in the crucial first day of the Games," Marie said. She'd made a habit of emphasising her points with statistics, something Alea could resonate with. Jera had once joked that the best way to her heart was a good old-fashioned sheet of data, which Alea had to admit, wasn't far from the truth.

Alea let out a soft yawn. "You're right, maybe I'll go check out the rooftop garden, seems like a nice place to see some stars, even if the forecasts of a starry night don't bode very well for me."

Marie shrugged. "Never really liked the place, but suit yourself, go ahead. I guess it can be relaxing for you." She flipped the page of her sketchbook, humming quietly to herself as she resumed a half-finished sketch of what looked like a small hovercraft.

Alea stood up. Stretching a little to ease her tense muscles, she headed over to the elevator. Pressing the button for the rooftop garden, she leaned against the back of the elevator, listening to the soft flute melody that whistled out from the speakers. Apparently, Olive Sanchez herself had composed it with the help of Gwen Whitfield in order to create a jingle that was as psychologically soothing as possible. Alea wasn't really in the know about brain stuff, that was more Jera's thing, but she had to admit, it was kind of working. She could feel her braincells slowly relaxing, the memory of the interviews slowly fading into a calm, gentle sense of comfort. Olive's music supposedly had that effect, she was after all, according to popular myths, a master hypnotiser, someone who could bewitch even the strongest of minds with her enchanted flute. Alea didn't believe that nonsense, there had to be some scientific process or tricks behind it all, just that she wasn't knowledgeable enough to figure that stuff out.

The elevator door opened and Alea stepped out onto the rooftop garden. In the distance, the gurgling sound of the fountain pulsated in the night chill. But there was another noise, another sound, one not of any plant or fountain or garden feature.

Was someone… spray-painting the walls?

Alea had regularly dealt with rebellious vandals in her line of work, many of whom were drawing rebel propaganda, portraying recent Capitol executions and exploits. She normally turned a blind eye to these guys, but they happened regularly enough for her to be able to instantly recognise the sound of the canisters spraying paint on a concrete wall.

Someone was here with her.

Another tribute, perhaps? She wouldn't have put it past Omega to come up here and do this stuff, she did seem like someone who loved to have fun and pull pranks. Heck, Omega had disguised herself as a zombie to terrorise the Sixes just the other night, accidentally winding up on their floor instead. Though Alea had to admit, hearing Persey wail and shriek was simply wonderful. The Sixes thought so too, laughing along once Omega finally got to the right floor.

But as she rounded the corner, she realised it wasn't Omega.

It was someone else, a tribute she'd hoped she wouldn't run into.

Quianna Rafferty.

"What the heck are you doing?" she exclaimed, backing away with a stunned gasp.

Quianna whirled around, a scuffled curse escaping her lips as she threw her canister to the ground. "Oh, it's just a little mural I wanted to draw. You know, Iris said it'd be good for my sanity to relax before the Games."

Hang on, she isn't barking at me to go away…

Quianna held her hands in the air, shooting Alea an innocent look. "Hey, I drew you in there as well, even got those freckles on your cheek right," she pointed out, gesturing at her mural, which did, indeed, include Alea, scoffing at a rowdy-looking Persey.

She's acting strangely nice.

This wasn't the rude, foul-mouthed Career she'd seen in training. No, Quianna seemed like a perfectly normal human being, which in Alea's eyes, made her much more terrifying. She couldn't tell which was the real Quianna and which was the masked version of her. Heck, for all she knew, there could be a third side to Quianna, a deranged psychopath who could manipulate her into doing her bidding.

Not to mention, she could tell Quianna was lying through her teeth. She'd seen Quianna arguing with her mentor, Iris. Alright, it was less of an argument and more of Quianna mercilessly shouting at the poor woman. Alea was fairly sure Quianna would never have listened to any sort of advice Iris had for her, especially if said advice had anything to do with her sanity.

"You're lying," she pointed out flatly, crossing her arms and giving Quianna a challenging stare. Judging by the brief look of surprise on Quianna's face, she could tell Quianna wasn't used to being challenged. But Alea hated liars, especially the two-faced sort that Quianna probably was. And when Quianna started giggling, oh, she was practically begging to be slapped by Alea.

Quianna took a step closer. Alea took a step backwards in response, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to keep her distance. "Alright, you got me there. Hmm, I guess I just wanted to clear my head a little bit. And breaking the rules? That's exactly how I ride." She flashed Alea a brilliant smile. "But I must say, Alea, you're a very, ah, striking person. Most of the cowards here, including some of the Careers, would never challenge my authority. But you-" She moved towards Alea, lacing her fingers around a curl of Alea's dark hair. "You are one of a kind."

Alea flinched. What was this girl doing? "I don't like people like you, trampling on the weaker tributes, lying to everyone, screaming at your mentor. And please, your authority? Whatever keeps you in your little, privileged bubble, I suppose."

She was half-expecting Quianna to swing an arm at her. That would've been perfect, actually. Getting Quianna into trouble before the Games even began? Recipe for success. Not for Quianna, of course, but Alea couldn't care less about her. She knew Draco was probably itching to get this little upstart from Four out of the picture, and while Alea despised that horrible prick, she wouldn't hesitate to bait Quianna right into his hands.

Instead, Quianna did something different. She placed an arm on Alea's shoulder and leaned even closer to her. So close, Alea could practically sniff her hair, allowing the salty breeze of the sea to waft into her nose.

Damn, that smells annoying good.

"I don't like the stuff I do, but it's necessary to stay on top of the pack," Quianna admitted, and for once, Alea could sense that tinge of sincerity in her voice. "Draco's been lording over me, so I don't have much of a choice. As for Iris, well, she isn't as rosy as you'd think. Remember, she has Caesar and plenty other connections within the Capitol. My frustrations just got the better of me, that's all. It's pretty hard on me too, the countdown to the Games." She grasped another lock of Alea's hair and began twirling it around her fingers.

Gosh, why the fuck does that actually feel kind of nice?

"You know, I told Iris you were a queen among the Outliers. Your 'fuck this' attitude during training and the interviews, well, that caught my attention. You remind me so fondly of my friends back home, lovely people they were," Quianna cooed, brushing her fingertips ever so lightly against Alea's arm, leaving a trail of tingling sensations. Her eyes locked with the Alea's, holding a gaze filled with a mix of intrigue and desire. "I would hate to have to fight you in the arena."

"What about a pact?" Alea blurted out, somewhat in spite of herself. She was well aware of the risks of agreeing anything with this girl, but as Quianna gently massaged her shoulder, she could feel her sense of rationality slowly fading away.

"A secret truce, eh?" Quianna pondered over the idea. "Yes, that would be great. You know what? Once I dispose of my Career friends, which I am utterly keen on doing, a collaboration with you wouldn't hurt."

Alea nodded. "Yes, erm, that would be great."

Quianna smiled and once again, leaned closer, until she was just inches away from Alea's face. Her breath smelled like sweet berries, the kind Alea always loved. For a split second, Alea's mind drifted to Quianna kissing her, but as Quianna pulled away, Alea smacked that weird feeling away from her.

Stop it.

"Fantastic. Anyway, it's getting late, I should go to bed. Bye, Alea darling." Quianna gave her a slow wave and a little wink before twirling off.

Alea stared at her as she left, utterly dumbfounded.

"Alright, what the fuck just happened?"

WISTERIA AMBROSE (15)

DISTRICT ELEVEN FEMALE

Wisteria wanted to make tonight go away.

She lay in her bed, silently staring at the glistening, constellation-filled ceiling above her. Her hands lolled lamely by her side, she could hear the clock on the walls slowly ticking its way towards the midnight hour.

Just get this over and done with, I'll be Bloodbath cannon fodder anyway tomorrow.

Wisteria was honestly just incredibly done with the Capitol, with having to put up a good appearance everywhere she went. What was the point of it all anyway? It was nothing more than an expensive extravaganza, blowing away millions in cold, hard cash that would've been more than enough to uplift the entirety of District Eleven out of poverty.

So much wasted by the Capitol, and by her.

She felt like a waste of space, money and time all rolled into one, gigantic lump of human filth. It was better for her to just die quickly in the Bloodbath, perhaps that would mean any supplies she took would go to an actually competent tribute, perhaps that would lift the confidence of a nervous Career, perhaps that would mean the Games end quicker and the nation wouldn't have to waste their time watching this stupid crap.

And perhaps Phoenix would have one less person to worry about. After all, he was their District's best- and only- hope of a Victory this year. If he could fully concentrate on himself and not having to lug her around whatever arena Ruby threw upon them, perhaps he had a better shot at winning, a better shot at coming home to his family, a better shot at delivering some desperately-needed supplies to the District for a full year as the harsh winter seasons approached.

Phoenix has to come home, not me.

The room seemed to carry an unmovable heaviness, the weight of the world having slumped upon the shoulders of a girl lying bedraggedly in a dejected state.

Tick, tock.

Time moved at an excruciatingly slow pace, simmering to a lengthy drag that seemed to go on for eternity.

Just let the morning come, please. Let's get this over with quickly.

Someone knocked on the door, but Wisteria already knew who it was. She didn't respond, resuming her timeless stare-down of the ceiling with stubborn persistence.

The door creaked open anyway, and Seeder poked her head into the room. Her face wrinkled with concern, she took a slow, cautious step towards Wisteria, as if she were approaching a volatile and dangerous animal. Behind her, Phoenix followed her in and for a split second, Wisteria was worried that Trish and Chaff were going to flood in right behind them. Thankfully though, that didn't happen and Phoenix closed the door behind him gingerly.

Wisteria glanced up at them with big, sullen eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words could find their way out and the silence hung palpably over the room.

Phoenix sat beside her on the edge of the bed. "I know you don't really want to talk, but…" He took a deep breath, his kindred, unwaveringly patient eyes locking with hers. "You don't have to say anything, just hear me out, okay?"

Wisteria nodded blankly, letting the soothing melody of his words wash over her.

"You are going to win the Games."

Wisteria blinked. Slowly, she pulled herself into a sitting position, narrowing her eyes at Phoenix.

Win?

Was he crazy?

Delusional?

High on morphling?

He was known for being a former bad boy in the District and while he'd been sickeningly nice so far, Wisteria wouldn't put it past him- or any of the tributes- to engage in a tiny bit of indulgence while they could.

But Phoenix's eyes were crystal clear, steadfast, unwavering. "You're one of a kind, Wisteria. When you scaled that rock wall, I saw a Victor, someone who can bring joy to our DIstrict. Your enthusiasm when faced with a challenge, it's something the world needs especially in today's world."

"What about you?" Wisteria murmured, raising an eyebrow.

Phoenix bit his lip and Wisteria bit back a curse, realising she'd hit a sensitive spot. "I- I have a brother to return to, but I doubt the District is gonna be too happy with me winning. I'm not really popular back home, as you probably already know, and I've screwed up in the past." His gaze hardened, determination etched all over his features. "But not anymore. I wanna do something good for a change, and if that means helping you win, then so be it."

His words hardly registered with Wisteria, but if his goal had been to get her to sit up and vaguely listen, then he'd succeeded.

"You can be something, Wisteria," Seeder interjected gently. "I've seen plenty of sad tributes who thought they stood absolutely no chance winning the Games and making a huge impact on people's lives. Just look at Gwen, she told me she spent the entirety of her final night drowning herself in tears, ready to just give up. But look at her now, arguably the best psychologist in Panem and helping everyone she can with their mental health, from Victors to the poorest of Nine's citizens. And you can be that person too, Wisteria."

Wisteria shook her head. "No, that's impossible, I'm not Gwen. Gwen's a good person, she's hauled people from suicidal thoughts, I on the other hand can barely pull myself out of a hole I've digged on my own."

"That's not true. But even so, who cares? Your past doesn't define you, I learned that the hard way," Phoenix told her. "Just… promise me you'll keep trying and fight on in the arena, okay? It's a challenge, maybe my final one for you. Survive the Games and do something great with your life. You can do this, Wisteria, I believe in you." He clasped her fragile, trembling hand in his and squeezed it tight. The warmth of his fingers rippled through her, sending a newfound shockwave of energy through her soul.

A glimmer of motivation.

"The first part of the challenge is to get yourself ready for tomorrow," Seeder pointed out. "You need to be in a much better mood for tonight."

Wisteria frowned. "And how exactly is that supposed to happen?"

Phoenix gave her a sly smile. "Follow me," he said, grabbing her hand and dragging her reluctant self straight to the elevator.

Great, a trip to that rooftop garden. Woohoo.

But to her surprise, he pressed the button for the Training Centre instead of the garden. Wisteria wrinkled her nose. "Wait, but we can't get in there, it's locked for the night."

Phoenix hollered with amusement. "Wisteria, I've snuck into much more restricted places back in the day. Now come on, let's go climb that rock wall you love so dearly."

CODA JENKINS (13)

DISTRICT THREE MALE

Coda wanted to make tonight worth it.

He sat in the dining room, stuffing his tenth piece of roasted pork belly right into his mouth, letting all the succulent juices flow right down his throat in a cascade of bliss. Beside him, Ithaca was politely munching on some fried corn fritters, all the while hunched over a stack of monolithic books, deeply engrossed in her reading.

That girl's gonna read herself to death.

Across the table, Gadget shifted uncomfortably in her seat, precariously eyeing the small morsel of meat that had been served in front of her. Her fingers drummed nervously against the tablecloth, betraying her anxiety. "Are you going to eat that?" Coda asked, slowly nudging the plate closer to her. He'd seen her devour an entire slice of pizza just moments before, why did a tiny sliver of beef bother her so much?

Ithaca shot him a murderous glance. She kicked his shin under the table. "Ouch!" Coda yelped, recoiling backwards from Ithaca, who'd quickly resumed her fervent study of an encyclopedia. "What the heck? I just asked a question!"

"It's making her uncomfortable," Ithaca hissed. "A little bit of tact might do your little pea brain some good."

"It's fine," Gadget murmured quietly, a subtle flicker of anguish flashing across her pale blue eyes. "Excuse me, I- I have to go." She stood up and swiftly whirled herself away from the dining table, disappearing straight into her room. As she left, Coda could've sworn he heard a faint, choked sob, the only sound that perforated her veil of secrecy.

Was she really this upset over a bit of food?

Ithaca glared at him. "Ugh, I've been trying to figure out what's wrong with her and you've just-"

"Ithaca," Nikola said firmly. "Nothing's wrong with her, just give her space."

"I know," Ithaca murmured. "But I want to fix whatever's going on and I've been doing a lot of reading and scientifically-"

Coda didn't need to hear much else from her. He stood up and with a newfound determination bubbling in his heart, followed Gadget straight into her room.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" Ithaca called out after him but Coda ignored her. He knew full well she would never be able to emphatise with Gadget, nor could she ever fix her. She was far too methodical, too ingrained in her own theories and practicalities that she could never see the human side of things. But as Coda marched into Gadget's room, he soon realised that he probably was no better in that aspect.

Shit. Well, too late to turn back now.

He glanced around. Gadget sat on her bed, holding her knees tightly against her chest, her lips quivering. She kept on swallowing hard, like she was trying to hold a vomit back. Even as Coda began to approach her, she barely acknowledged his presence, her gaze fixed on a tiny spot on her wardrobe in front of her, as if she were trying to anchor herself to anything tangible for fear of drifting away in her sea of memories.

"It's bulimia, isn't it?" he asked, breaking the long silence that had descended upon them.

Gadget eyed him curiously, her gaze shifting to a mixture of guilt and sorrow. Slowly, she gave him an affirmative nod.

"Did the Games- did they do this to you?" Coda didn't even need to wait for her to respond, deep inside, he'd already known the answer.

"I guess you could say that," Gadget whispered softly, her hand lunging to her throat in an effort to keep the vomit down.

Coda bit his lip. He was seriously underqualified to be having this conversation with her. After all, he was no Gwen. But still, he had to try. He didn't really know why he suddenly cared so much, but he just couldn't stand the sight of her suffering while Ithaca tried all the wrong ways to help her out.

And yet, a second concern emerged in his head, If the Games had such a drastic effect on Gadget, could the same thing happen to him? Suddenly, winning the Games didn't seem so appealing anymore. Was it really a life worth living if every day was a living nightmare? Was a demise in the arena simply the better and easier option.

No, don't think that way, he scolded himself. He was Coda Jenkins, one of the brightest kids in Detroit, Chicago and some might even say Lake Michigan, he would never die, not unless it was on his own terms. He would simply deal with whatever pain came with winning the Hunger Games, and in doing so, he could possibly help Gadget out a little.

"You know, my sister Mira, she was showing signs of bulimia at one point," he admitted. Gadget's eyes widened. Her hands shifted, gesturing for him to continue. Coda took a deep breath. Mira's past troubles weren't things he liked to discuss, but if it meant his mentor would be in a better state, he figured, why not? Mira wasn't here either, so there was no harm in it. "She was being bullied by some jerks. Started throwing up after meals, but luckily my friend Aaron's uncle is a psychiatrist, he managed to help her out. But I could see the anguish in her eyes every damn day, the way she slowly crumbled, the way the life seemed to be sucked right out of her…" He sighed, glancing back at Gadget. "Not so different from you, I suppose."

Gadget lowered her head. "Mira, the name rings a bell. I think she went for a dance class, that's where I must've seen her. I could tell by the way she ran to the bathroom quite often and had toothaches that she had some issues, didn't realise it was bulimia though."

Coda nodded. "That's her. Dancing really helped her get along with other folks and forget about her worries, you know? I hear you like dancing too, wanna do a little jig now?"

Gadget raised an eyebrow. "Can you dance?"

Fuck no.

Of course, Coda couldn't say that, so forcing a smile and deeply regretting his decision to even ask his question in the first place, he lied, "Yep."

Gadget didn't seem convinced. Peering at him with an odd stare, she hunched over and pulled out a tiny music player from underneath her bed. She pressed a button, and instantly, a strong, energetic song blared out, an assortment of instruments combining to form a joyful fusion of pop, funk and a distinct folk sound. "Dance it!" the singer screeched and the chorus began, an even louder and more dynamic blend of tunes jammed and fused in the liveliest of manners.

Gadget reddened. "Oops, I think I've got the wrong song-"

"Nah, this song's perfect!" Coda declared, hopping to his feet and getting ready to absolutely humiliate himself on the dance floor.

This song sucks, he thought, but he also sensed an opportunity to cheer Gadget up. With an exaggerated flourish, he launched into a series of dance moves that would've given any real choreographer a heart attack. His body convulsed in a dance that defied all conventions of grace and coordination, surrendering to the beat as he flailed his limb to and fro with abandon, spinning around in a feeble attempt at some of Gadget's more refined moves in her past dance performances (which Mira had thankfully dragged him to watch when they were younger).

Thank goodness Neon isn't here to see me.

Gadget stared at him, her numb look contorting into a shocked bewilderment, her mouth agape as Coda did a sort of chicken dance. Then, a small smile began to curl on her lips, then a giggle emerged, until eventually she was overcome with fits of torrential laughter. She cackled, letting out a holler of mirth as she sprang to her feet and twirled around, her movements infinitely more graceful than Coda's yet still embracing the sheer ridiculousness that the melody entailed. As her laughter echoed through the walls, Coda's heart skipped a beat.

For once, he'd cheered someone up instead of outright pissing them off.

Gosh, how he wished Neon was here to see him now.

The pair danced on, losing themselves to the rhythm, letting their fears and woes vanish into the depths of the night. Even when Ithaca barged in, demanding an explanation, Coda showed no signs of stopping, instead grabbing her by the arm and hauling her right into the thick of it, the stubborn girl howling in fury all the way.

"Let go of me, you uncultured swine! For heaven's sake, Coda, you're more annoying than Persey!" she howled, but ultimately, the music got the better of her and she reluctantly swayed her arms from side to side with some extra prodding from a laughing Nikola, arguably the only joyful time in her life when she wasn't buried in a stack of books. Coda grinned at the sight of it, wishing he had a camera so he could torment Ithaca with the image of her dancing to an anthem of campiness for aeons to come.

Actually, he wished he could put a stop to time and revel in this moment for aeons to come.

Because tomorrow was going to be much different.

But hey, tonight was definitely worth it.

ALLIANCES:

Alder (D1M), Fleur (D1F), Maximon (D2M), Ronan (D4M), Quianna (D4F)

Tamsin (D12F), Elris (D12M)

Elris (D12M), Levi (D8M)

Jotham (D10M), Ceri (D8F), Laura (D9F)

Omega (D7F), Esma (D6F), Ashton (D6M)

Ithaca (D3F), Persey (D5M)

Quianna (D4F), Alea (D5F)