Valerian Ignatia, 18, District 1

The morning drags on.

Val appreciates the moment's rest, though. Ever since he volunteered, he's been forced to stay switched on. He almost forgot what it's like to just be him.

(If he's being honest with himself, he lost that feeling a long time ago.)

No one but a lone Avox stands in the kitchen where he's hiding out. He doesn't know where Choux or Soraya is, and he's okay with that.

(She couldn't hide her shock at his score yesterday. Neither could he.)

He didn't do anything special, per se. Compared to the other Careers, he couldn't have been that remarkable. Maybe they don't want to draw too much attention to him. Both District One tributes getting a low score would be investigated. Holes would be poked into the story of Vitali Ignatia, and the truth would unveil itself so fast.

Soraya did ask about Choux's score the previous night. Choux merely shrugged and said they must've not appreciated her unique display. Val didn't even try to decipher what that could mean.

Footsteps approaching light a fear in Val's stomach. Even once he sees it's only Soraya, it doesn't disperse. She shakes her head at the Avox, and they promptly leave, only adding to the fire. She joins him at the kitchen table, a mug of hot coffee in her grasp.

"I have been instructed to inform you of something…I don't really want to say. I spent a lot of time thinking about if it was worth disclosing, or if it would make you crack under pressure. So I need you to promise that you'll listen to every word I say, and take it to heart. Okay?" Soraya's eyes rise to meet Val's, and it takes everything inside him to focus on his breathing. With a gentle nod, she seems to relax a little.

"The Gamemakers and the President are not too happy with your stunt. But, they're not taking it out on you. As long as…you continue to perform as you have been. They…emphasized the importance of keeping it under wraps, okay?" Val hasn't known Soraya long, and certainly never spoke to her before he volunteered, but he hears the fear behind every word.

"Of course. I understand," he says softly. The weight is semi-lifted from his chest – it's not like it really changes how he approaches the arena.

(Vitali wouldn't be scared.)

In the silence that follows, Valerian can so perfectly picture his brother here instead of him. His brother would know what to make of Choux's score. He would know how to handle Amatus' wrath. He would know whether Eleanora or Dahlia would make for the best Career.

(But Vitali is dead, and the person who brought him back alive might just get him killed a second time.)

"I'm glad you understand. It's for your benefit, but that doesn't make it easier to cope with. And…Klara?" Soraya asks, her words breaking Val out of his train of thought.

"What about them?" Val asks.

"Can they be trusted to keep this a secret?" she asks, bringing a problem to light Val had successfully hidden away in the shadows.

He remembers leaving the clinic, and his surprise when he saw her there waiting for him.

"You…didn't have to wait," he said, hoping it would distract from any questions they could possibly have.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she says with such a serious tone Val has to wonder what drives it. Their eyes shoot daggers into his own, and he feels as vulnerable as he did the day his brother died.

"I…will be. Thank you. We should go-"

"Will your…condition hinder us?" Klara asks. Val instinctively shakes his head.

"Please don't tell anyone. I…I can't become a target of the Careers. Amatus would…." Val doesn't finish the thought. He watches as Klara shifts their weight from one foot to the other, struggling to find her next words. When she does, they're the last thing Val expects to hear.

"Ok. I won't. Just…hold your own out there, okay?" they say, with almost a hint of concern. Val nods, a little too relieved at her acceptance.

(He didn't realize it then, but they might be the first person to accept him for…him.)

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Soraya asks, bringing Val back to the bitter present.

"Can you bring Vitali back?" he asks with a weak smile, unsure how serious he is about his unrealistic request.

"Vitali is back. Not literally but, you have more of him in you than you give yourself credit for," she says so confidently Val almost believes her.

"Vitali wouldn't be in this mess," Val reminds her.

"No, but he would be in his own mess. That's the thing about this place. It brings out the worst in people." Soraya sighs and Val realizes how little he knows of Soraya Laurent, despite her winning only last year. He knows she's the granddaughter of the great Alexandrine Laurent. He knows she trained and volunteered, just like Vitali did.

I'm Vitali, he has to remind himself.

Yet if that's the case, Vitali might die twice, and Val doesn't think he can live, or die, with that guilt following him.

(What's worse, breaking his promise to his parents and his mentor and dying as himself, or killing Vitali Ignatia a second time?)

(As much as it will destroy him, he knows what he prefers. He's just not used to getting what he wants.)

Mishra Erfinder, 17, District 3

Mishra is anxious.

It's an emotion he's grown to be quite familiar with. He wonders what Aadin would think of him now if he could see him.

He wonders if Aadin will ever understand. He wonders if Filo has tried to show him.

Mishra sits alone in a small waiting area. He assumes all the tributes wait in similar rooms until they're all dressed and ready to move backstage.

He doesn't realize he's playing with the button on his until Blythe enters the room. Mishra stands up so fast that the chair almost falls behind him.

"I spoke with Aleida," Blythe's words cut straight to the point. As much as it intimidates Mishra, he appreciates it. "Your concerns are valid but unnecessary. The technology created in the program you and your brother are involved in is quite valuable to the Capitol and has been used to improve the lives of many. Advancing surgical procedures, entertainment devices, and improving the transit system are some of the few ways these advancements have been practically applied. While I understand what you…may have seen would tell you otherwise, do not fear. Those files were outdated when the fear of rebellion was much higher. With the stability we are living under now, those files will never see the light of day."

So many words. Mishra's unsure how long he's silently processing them, but Blythe is kind enough not to show their impatience.

"Th…thank you. That's…reassuring." It's probably not reassuring how long it took Mishra to cough up those weak words, but Blythe just smiles.

"I'd hope it is. Was there anything else you would ask of me?" Blythe asks. Mishra is silent for some time until he knows the one thing he would ask of his mentor.

"Could you…get word to Filo? He's my roommate in the program. And…something to Aadin. I can write it down," Mishra says, glancing around the room for a notepad or something.

"I can repeat it verbatim," Blythe reminds him.

I don't know what to tell him, Mishra's brain wants to say, but he's already too far deep to pull himself out now.

"Tell Aadin that…I'm sorry. That I was wrong to do what I did. That…I hope he takes the top spot for himself. Tell him…I hope to see him soon. And that I love him," Mishra struggles with each word, hoping his sincerity comes through with Blythe delivering the message. He hopes that, after everything he put Aadin through, he can find it in his heart to forgive his naïve brother.

(And he hopes his brother is smart enough to avoid making the same mistake.)

He briefly wonders if, even with the information on what their inventions are being used for, if that will be enough for Filo to stop. Mishra shudders at the thought of Filo digging deeper, alone.

(He shudders more at the thought of Filo pulling Aadin into this mess.)

"N-never mind. I can tell them myself," Mishra says as Blythe moves to leave the room. Blythe looks at him perplexingly but nods.

This is Mishra's mess to get out of.

Eventually, the tributes are called to move backstage. Some of them half-heartedly form a line, but most of them stand to the side in the small groups Mishra assumes represent the alliances. Which means, soon enough, he finds himself surrounded by Ozzy and Reagan.

"You two look nervous," Ozzy says, a little too happy at the moment.

"I would rather die than plea for help on live TV," Reagan says.

I have to do this, Mishra reminds himself. If it doesn't come from me, Filo nor Aadin will listen.

"Well, I'm sure the Gamemakers would prefer if you save dying for the arena. I bet blood would stain this carpet," Ozzy says. Reagan scoffs in response.

Soon enough, they're forced into a line. Only minutes pass before the female from One is called onto the stage.

Deep breaths. Mishra focuses on himself, only himself, as each tribute takes the stage. He doesn't listen to a word they're saying. It doesn't affect him.

His District partner is up next and he can only silently thank her for keeping the attention strong on Three. He doesn't even think she's trying to, but every word that comes out of her mouth is more eccentric than the next.

And then it's his turn and if he's anxious he's not even aware of it because he's failed his brother a lot in his mere seventeen years of existence and this may be the last time he has the chance to make it all right.

Now or never.

His interview is a blur. The first minute he spends talking about himself, his score, and his allies. Then, Adrian asks about his brother, and his friends back home. Mishra answers every question carefully, waiting for the moment he can direct his words to them.

"If you could tell your brother one thing, what would it be?" Adrian's question is perfect.

(He wonders if Blythe had anything to do with it.)

"I do," Mishra says, his eyes locking into the camera's lens.

He hopes they're watching.

"Aadin, I know we didn't end on the best of terms. I just want you to know that…I'm sorry. Everything I did, I did for you. I hope…I hope you know how much I love you and how much I care about you. And I hope that when I come back, you've taken the top spot at the academy," Mishra's words flow out with much more confidence than they did with his mentor

"Beautiful, isn't that beautiful?" Adrian allows the audience to applaud, giving Mishra just a moment to catch his breath.

"I'd also like to tell my best friend, Filo, that I haven't forgotten about him. I don't want him to worry either. Everything is okay." He hopes the long emphasis on 'okay' translates to Filo.

(He hopes Filo knows to stop his search into the program, and he hopes the program itself can see how loyal Mishra is to the cause.)

(If all of that fails to be true, he hopes the threat is tapered enough to allow Mishra time to return home and fix it himself.)

Ronan Nieimi, 18, District 4

Ronan knocks on the small room he thinks belongs to Cali. His stylist brought him to his own room, but he can't bear the thought of being alone right now.

(He wants to be there for her. He wants to make up for every moment he's failed her.)

She opens the door and every word of his prepared speech drops from his brain. Her dress is grey at its base, yet adorned with small specks of glitter from the base to her neckline. The dress flows so elegantly, ending just perfectly to cover her feet and make it look like she's floating on water.

She's gorgeous.

Ronan realizes she's as speechless as him and he scrambles his brain to try to make words, but the sound he makes just ends up sounding like he got punched in the gut.

"Hi," she says, letting him enter the room. He does just that, yet doesn't take a seat anywhere.

"You look incredible," he manages to finally say. She moves her hand by her face, instinctively, to cover it with her hair like Ronan's seen her do time and time again. Yet this time her stylist has her hair pulled back in a braid, with the strands weaving in and out to resemble a waterfall.

"You do too," she says softly. Now it's Ronan's turn to run his hand through his hair, yet he stops before he can mess up the style, knowing his stylist would throw a fit. His dark blue suit has nothing on her dress. The pockets have black accents, complimenting the black button-up they threw on underneath it. The lapel of the jacket is stoned with pearls that Ronan assumes must be infused with something to reflect light. He doesn't feel like himself in the matching blue bowtie, but the stylist insists.

"Thank you," is all he can say in response. She pulls her eyes away from him, trying to make her quick glances at his outfit more subtle.

(Ronan doesn't call it out.)

Instead, he finally pulls himself together to tell her what he needs to say.

"I…I know I haven't been the best training partner. I haven't…been there for you. I haven't helped you through any of this chaos we've been thrown into. I'm sorry." He hopes he doesn't sound as nervous as he feels.

It doesn't help that she's quiet for a long time. Ronan can't stand the silence; he's never been able to. His urge to fill the gaps with jokes, with stupid quips, is eating him alive.

"It's okay," she finally says, removing some pressure off of Ronan's chest. "It's been a lot. We've both been distracted since the reapings."

(Ronan's been distracted for a lot longer than that. His focus has always been on what his mother forced upon him. Until Rohan disappeared, he was the 'middle brother,' designated to stay out of the way. Then, he was pulled to the front of the fight, his mother designating him as the Nieimi to volunteer. To finish what Rohan started.)

(Then Rohan returned and Ronan doesn't know where he stands in all of this. If he wins, he can protect both his brothers.)

(If he wins, he loses Cali permanently. How can he lose her when he's fighting so hard for her?)

"It's no excuse. I'm sorry." He steps closer to her, forcing their eyes to meet.

(He can't lose her.)

"We need to…" Cali starts and Ronan knows what she's trying to say.

Ronan pulls away and takes his leave before someone notices them together. And not a moment too soon either, because as soon as he reaches his room, he's being called to the stage.

He moves with a few other tributes backstage, idle chatter filling the halls around him.

(Yet none of it breaks his focus from what matters most to him. His brothers, Cali, he wants to protect them both, but he's only ever been able to focus on one.

Why can't he protect both?)

The interviews start and pass quickly, yet not quickly enough for Ronan's taste. As the boy from Three takes a seat at the front of the stage, he allows himself to focus on her again.

"Please help me welcome District Four's own Caliadne Karpathos!"

Somehow, her dress is even more stunning under the stage lights. The audience applauds loudly for her, and Ronan hopes her confidence holds strong enough to get through it all.

Luckily, scoring an eleven has worked in her favor. Many things she normally would refuse to talk about are second to her score, what she did to earn it, and the skill she brings to the arena. She's just able to start talking about training with Ronan before the timer goes off, much to her relief.

She's off the stage and then it's Ronan's turn to be called to his interview.

Now or never, Nieimi. He imagines Rohan telling him this. With his feigned confidence, he takes the stage with a standard grin plastered on his face. He knows it works as the crowd cheers as loudly for him as they did Cali.

Adrian starts off simple, asking him questions that take no thought, warming him up for the question the audience actually cares about.

"What's your relationship like with the Careers? Maybe a certain District partner?" Adrian not-so-subtly winks at the boy, and then the camera, but Ronan's façade doesn't come close to dropping.

"I am confident in all of my allies, including Miss Karpathos. They've all proven themselves to be quite talented and resourceful, and I have no doubt we will excel in the arena." He's set the bait.

"Wonderful, isn't that wonderful." Adrian allows the audience to drown him out, before pulling at strings yet again. "Would you say your relationship with Miss Karpathos is more intimate than one might think? You two did know each other back home, correct?"

He's ready. "We met once or twice. She helped me a few times when I was struggling. Can I let you in on a secret, Adrian?" Adrian leans in, excited for what he assumes is coming.

"I wasn't supposed to volunteer. I have an older brother, Rohan. He was supposed to be the Nieimi to bring home the crown. Our mother planned that from the beginning," Ronan's words subvert all expectations from the interviewer, and he knows he only has seconds before the timer will cut him off.

"Rohan…disappeared. And I never understood where he went. Yet that didn't stop my mother from wanting a Nieimi victor…so here I am. If I fail, my younger brother Roman will be called to volunteer, and I cannot let that happen to him." Ronan's words fall so fast he's worried he'll trip over them.

"Lucky for your brother, you have a great chance at winning this thing, don't you think?" Adrian stops to allow more applause to fill the dead air, but Ronan doesn't stop.

He can't.

"If I don't, I make one request of my mentors, and of Four as a whole. If Roman Nieimi does not want to volunteer, he should not. There are plenty of others who deserve that chance-" the timer cuts him off and Adrian seems too eager to wrap up his interview. Ronan too, is happy it's over.

His mother will have to face the storm now. Rohan's disappearance, her last son's disinterest in volunteering.

He just hopes it's enough.

As he takes a seat, he finds it hard to miss the concern on Cali's face.

"What were you thinking?" Cali whispers in his ear as he takes a seat.

I was thinking about you.

Davidson Zinaro, 16, District 6

Davidson isn't ready.

He isn't ready to take the stage. He isn't ready to talk about Harleigh, or himself, or his mother, or what he thought of last year's Games. These are all the questions that Maude prepped him for, along with more in the same vein.

"Answer as honestly as you can. The more vulnerable you appear, the more heartstrings you can pull. I know it's not ideal, trust me I know, but it'll work out in your favor," she tells him.

She's right about one thing: none of this is ideal.

Yet there's nothing he can do to escape it.

As he watches Exa clench her fists through the stupid questions, he's reassured by how well-composed she keeps herself. She continues to impress Davidson with her resilience.

If she can do it, I can do it.

The timer rings for the young girl and the sigh of relief she gives as soon as she steps off stage makes Davidson think she held her breath the entire time.

"Good job," he whispers as she takes a seat in front of the stage.

"Thank you, Exa! It was wonderful to hear from you." Adrian lets the applause fade out before he calls for Davidson.

(Davidson tries to make the seconds last forever. He would do anything to escape the hand he's been dealt.

He would do anything to make this all go away.)

"Please help me welcome to the stage, Davidson Zinaro!"

Davidson releases the breath he didn't know he was holding and walks onto the stage. The lights and the noise are more overwhelming than he anticipated, and he hopes his anxiety isn't as obvious as it feels.

"Please, have a seat!" Adrian helps guide him to the chair and Davidson tries to find words to say, but nothing comes and he's worried he's already ruined the interview.

Thankfully, Adrian comes through with a question, "Welcome, welcome! How has your time in the Capitol been?"

"It…it's been great. The people are kind, and our mentor has been taking really good care of us," Davidson fumbles, successfully, based on the positive reaction from the audience.

"That's great to hear. We certainly try to be accommodating! Now, Davidson, I have to ask, are you by any chance related to Harleigh Zinaro?"

This is what we prepared for, Davidson has to remind himself. Answer honestly. Answer honestly…

"Yes, yes. She's…my sister," Davidson tries to find more words to spare, yet nothing feels right.

(The District shunned her, and the Capitol took her away from him. What do they expect him to say?)

"Ah, I'm so sorry to hear that. She was a favorite here in the Capitol, wasn't she?" Adrian asks. The audience cheers loudly in response.

(It grabs ahold of Davidson and rattles him in a way he doesn't expect. A favorite?)

His confusion must be palpable because Adrian is quick to continue, "She fought very hard, and she made it clear everything she did she did for you. For you to be here so soon after her, well, I know we'll be rooting for you as much as we rooted for her!"

Davidson might be sitting in the Capitol as applause and support surrounds him, but all he can see is his sister.

He sees her as a kid, himself beside her, running and playing around the schoolyard by themselves. He sees her the day before she's reaped, reassuring him. He sees her in this same interview stage, saying there's nothing she wouldn't do to see her brother again.

He sees her on the bloodbath pedestal, moving her lips inaudibly.

"I love you, Davidson." That's what she said then.

Every moment of Harleigh's life, she was thinking about Davidson. She put aside their differences like no one else could, not even Davidson, and she fought until the end.

"I hope I can make her half as proud as she made me," Davidson says. "And, "I'm proud to be going into this with her by my side. Those who support her, I hope they offer me the same generosity."

Davidson doesn't know how he spoke those words, yet he's glad he did. He never realized quite how strong support for Harleigh was here. The trainers, his mentor, and even his District partner tried to give him some idea.

(At some point in his life, Davidson might have seen this as a failure on his part, another way he let his sister down. Today, though – today he's pushing past all of that.)

Davidson Zinaro will not go down without a fight, and no longer is he fighting this fight alone. He's fighting alongside her, for her.

It'll be his greatest honor this far.

Oswaldo "Ozzy" Moquette, 17, District 8

Ozzy stands with Mishra and Reagan, surrounded by the other tributes as they all anxiously await their interviews.

Although, not all of them are anxious. As expected, some of the Careers display excitement over fear. A handful of outlying tributes are the same.

Ozzy is one of those tributes.

It isn't because he's overly prepared for his interview; he's not. He just can't imagine what Adrian might bring up that he's not prepared for.

He lives with his sister. His evil father kidnapped her. Ozzy swears he'll come back and free her.

He's run through slight variations of the story, but the results are the same. If Ozzy can threaten his father on national television, he can offer Scarlet some protection until he returns.

Ozzy stands behind Dahlia and waits. He finds her copper and scarlet colored dress adorned with sequins, topped off with a beautiful ruby gemstone at the front. Ozzy doesn't know how she moves so comfortably in matching heels of that height, but good for her.

He pays little mind to each tribute as they take the stage, only noting a few interesting reveals. The girl from One expertly dodges questions and prying about her low score. The boy from One stumbles through a few questions, but the audience eats up his words. Two, Three, Four, then Five, and Ozzy hears raving from the girl from Five about the odds stacking up against her.

They stack up against most of us, Ozzy quietly decides.

Six, Seven, and Dahlia gets called to the stage. Ozzy does find himself enthralled by his District partner's performance.

He knows she's talented, he just never realized how talented she is.

She raves to the audience about how she's always dreamed of taking the Capitol stage and goes on about her stage act back home. She asks if Adrian would allow her to perform, and he doesn't get an opportunity to respond before the crowd answers for him.

Ozzy has never been in love, so he can't say he fully connects to her song or her performance. A quick glance at the audience tells him he might be one of the few who can say that, as she seemingly has everyone else wrapped around the performance. Ozzy gives her credit for a good performance, and, well, that's about all he can offer.

(He does wonder if her tears are real or fake as her performance ends.)

Soon enough, Adrian is calling his name, and he adjusts his collar before stepping into the blinding light. He's glad Adrian is there to guide him through the time it takes for his eyes to adjust, allowing him to just smile and wave at the cheering audience.

"Welcome to the Capitol, Oswaldo!"

"Ozzy is fine," Ozzy says, still waving to the crowd.

"Of course, welcome Ozzy. Have a seat." Ozzy does as asked, and Adrian sits beside him.

"So, Ozzy, you seem to be doing well for yourself here in the Capitol. What set you up for success?" Adrian's question takes Ozzy slightly off guard, but he's prepared to answer it well enough.

"Oh, well District Eight trained me well. I worked in a factory, pretty typical I think, but my sister always kept me on my toes. She taught me everything I know, including my charming personality," he says with a cheeky smile at the audience.

Good. Keep them reeled in.

"A little brother, I should have known!" Adrian says.

"Twins, actually. But, yes, Scarlet is the greatest. I miss her a lot, you know. I selfishly wish she could be here to help me, instead of back home with our father, but obviously, I don't want that because there's only one Victor. If either of us were to end up here, I'm glad it's me," Ozzy speaks into the camera for this one, hoping his father can hear him.

(The Capitol will be there in a week or so when they reach the final eight, and they will want to interview the Moquette family. They will ask for Scarlet, and their father will have no choice but to release her.)

"I know she misses you too!" Adrian says. He leans in, and continues, "Say, Ozzy, I heard a rumor from a rather reliable source in Eight. Would you care to speak on its truth?" The words take Ozzy aback, yet he nods in agreement regardless.

"I hear, you're a fighter. I hear you may come into this with some…experience." Adrian's words cut through Ozzy and it takes everything inside him not to lash out.

What the hell is he implying?

"I would say all of us are fighters, Adrian. We're all forced to fight in the Districts." Ozzy glances around, looking for an indication of how much time is left. It can't be long, right?

"Are you forced to kill?" he asks quietly, like he's trying to keep it a secret.

The world spins around Ozzy and he knows there's no way anyone in the Capitol knows about…that. The knowledge falls on two people only.

(And one of them is sitting in front of Adrian Goldsmith with a gun to his head.)

"I…I wouldn't…"

The timer goes off and Ozzy has never moved so fast in his entire life.

(Not since his crime.)

(Ozzy thought here in the Capitol, he could get away from his father's influence. He could put behind him the crimes he committed under the hand of his father, and the mistakes he made to protect his sister. He thought here of all places he could be offered a fresh start, to turn the tides the way he wanted them to go. No more, no less.)

(How could he be so wrong?)

Hem Herringbone, 17, District 9

Hem's anxieties rise as the seconds pass by. By his tone, Ozzy seems eager to end his own interview, while Hem wishes for exactly the opposite.

She keeps glancing over her shoulder. Where is Luca?

"Excuse me," his voice barely breaks through the whispers of the tributes around her and the amplified interviewer, yet as soon as she hears it, she can feel most of her anxieties slip away.

"You made it!" she says as he approaches her with the instrument case. He sets it on the ground and she kneels, shifting the bottom of her dress as to not rip it.

"I'm sorry it took me so long. My colleague wanted to make sure it was properly tuned," he clicks the case open and as he pulls the lid back, Hem is speechless.

"It's…perfect," she says, a tear threatening to fall. She holds it in, reaching for the violin.

"It's a Lyre Herringbone original. One of the first to be crafted and sold to the Capitol, one of the first to give your mother the recognition she deserves. She'll be so happy to see you with it," he explains as Hem stands up, setting the instrument on her shoulder.

It's perfect.

"Thank you, Ozzy!" Adrian Goldsmith's voice echoes backstage and Hem knows she only has seconds to prepare.

Yet she doesn't need it. She's been preparing for this her whole life.

"Break a leg, Hem," Luca says as the interviewer calls for Hem.

I'm ready.

She holds the violin behind her back as she steps onto the stage. The lights blind her, and all she can focus on is the friendly face of Adrian Goldsmith. She brings one hand out from behind her back to shake his hand, ignoring his subtle glances at the instrument she's poorly hiding.

"Welcome, Hem! It's a pleasure to have you," he says genuinely. He starts to shift to take a seat, but a gentle shake of Hem's head tells him to wait.

"The pleasure is mine, Adrian. The Capitol is more gorgeous than I could have ever imagined," Hem says as her eyes fall to the crowd. The light blocks her from seeing details and faces, but she hears the applause all around her.

"Hem Herringbone, a sweetheart you are! Now, I've heard rumors your family is quite established in the Capitol. Would you care to elaborate?" Adrian might as well be winking at her.

"My mom, Lyre Herringbone, she crafts instruments of all kinds. Her specialty is the violin, which just so happens to be my favorite instrument. I always dreamed of playing for the Capitol one day." She hopes the audience can't see her tremor ever so slightly as she shifts the violin from behind her back. "This is one of my mom's hand-crafted violins. Is it okay if I play for you?"

Through a handful of cheers, Hem's eyes fall to Adrian.

"Please! We would love to hear." Adrian steps away ever so slightly, giving Hem the full spotlight.

She imagines her mother's eyes falling on the screen. The awe in her eyes. She imagines her uncle in the mayor's mansion, smiling at a similar screen.

She imagines Iggy at her own house, looking up at her friend, teacher, and mentor.

All while visualizing all the eyes falling on her here on stage, not even considering every other person watching. Capitol citizens, District citizens, the tributes that were interviewed prior to her, and those that will come after.

(Many would freeze under that pressure. Hem blossoms.)

The movements come naturally to her as the music flows around her. It's a piece Hem composed herself, one of her favorites she's ever created. She's run through the composition with Iggy time and time again. Even playing on an instrument she's unfamiliar with, every note comes out perfectly.

(All the eyes that fall on her are inconsequential to the joy that fills her heart. This is what she's always wanted. This is the moment she's always pictured.

And it's perfect.)

The end of her composition coincides with the timer indicating her interview has concluded. Adrian gestures for her to take a bow, but she doesn't need it. With the applause around her, it comes naturally to her.

(Staring death in the face in twenty-four hours intimidates Hem, yet knowing this could be what's awaiting her at the end allows her to embrace it. With support from her parents, the Capitol, and her allies, she can do this.)

The applause around her doesn't fade as she takes her exit from the stage.

(She pockets the moment, storing it for when she might need the inspiration most.)

Grey Thornton, Victor of the 106th Hunger Games

Grey sits mostly encapsulated in dark, only one lamp illuminates the space around him. It's just enough for him to see the empty pages in front of him.

He's filled so many before, yet it's always the beginning that trips him up. How does he start a story still being told? What are the most important details the reader needs to know right away?

(How does he make them want to keep reading more?)

These questions are always the hardest to answer, yet only ever the beginning of it all. There's structuring the middle, keeping the reader engaged, and, worst of all, the ending.

(Grey doesn't write about their time in the arena. He's tried, he's never been able to. Not with the ones who entered the arena alongside him, not the ones he's mentored.

When he thinks about his District partner in her final moments, thinking about how he was the one she asked to put her out of her misery, he can't remember her like that.)

Aizen and Mori both gave him a lot to work with, though, and he really wants to get a jumpstart on his work before they're in the arena.

(Before he loses all sense of protection over them.)

Footsteps snap him out and he's surprised to see Zara Volkan join him in the living room. Victor of the 52nd Hunger Games, and someone who has never forgiven Grey for winning.

(Grey has come to terms with that. It's not his fault Kalara Volkan was reaped alongside him, and it's not his fault a mutt attacked them.)

"You should be asleep," she says.

"I know," he says, reluctant to pull his eyes away from his notes. "I wanted to get started."

"I don't know why you bother. They'll be dead in a week," she scoffs.

(Comments like this cut deep into Grey, and he knows she knows that.

After his Games, he spent weeks trying to get her to share anything about Kalara that would help him write her story. He didn't know her before the day they were reaped, and Kalara didn't tell him many stories in the arena. He's been able to finish other stories from that year.

Except hers.)

"You know why. You choose not to care," Grey says, letting the notebook fall shut. If she's not going to let him work, he might as well move to his room.

"I choose to stay detached from the kids that don't have a shot. It makes their deaths easier to process when they come. Haven't you learned this by now?" Zara's voice is cold, and Grey can't believe she once was a human with a soul and feelings like him.

"I guess I prefer to be the one they look up to. The one that has their back when no one else in this forsaken country does." Grey doesn't intend to raise his voice, but he doesn't pull back when he does.

(He's tired of having this conversation, year after year. He and Zara are forced to interact twice a year, and she's never had the decency to make those interactions anything but as painful as possible.)

Silence fills the room, yet neither Victor moves to leave.

"I want us to be cordial, Zara. We can't continue to mentor like this. We'll never get any of them out alive." Grey's words are softer than they were previously, and Zara's face shifts in confusion.

"I want my granddaughter to be here instead of you. We don't always get what we want, Grey." Her words cut deep, and Grey couldn't believe he expected anything more from her.

(He needs to learn to let go of the things he can't control and focus on the things he can.)

Like his stories.

"I'm sorry. That I can't change." Grey picks up his notes and avoids looking at her as he disappears into the darkness.

Zara Volkan may never accept Grey for winning instead of her granddaughter. She may never accept what he does for the tributes reaped for District Twelve, yet when he thinks about all the lost lives and all the lost stories, he knows what he's doing is right.

(She can't take that away from him, no matter how hard she tries.)

second to last pregames chapter! i hope you enjoyed this one :D

big thank you to rising-balloons for beta'ing! i appreciate you much :heart:

next chapter in two weeks and bloodbath on Feb 18th! no I'm not ready :c

next set of povs: astel, chaffinch, becca, cali, klara, and aizen!