IMPORTANT NOTE: I updated two days in a row. If you haven't read yesterday's chapter (Training Day 2 Afternoon), go check out that one first!

Nikita Valeta, 18
Training Center, Capitol
D12M
July 4, 329 AEDD

Nikita was not having a splendid morning. The previous evening, Griffin Cadbury had casually asked about Aspen's comment. As soon as he'd agreed that her description was accurate, Griffin dialed up the Head Peacekeeper of Panem, Nikolai Fassnacht, and announced that he was going to come down and talk to Nikita personally. Fassnacht asked some questions with ridiculously obvious answers ("Have you ever witnessed an execution?"), some technical job-specific questions ("What do you know about the Locomotive Operators of Peacekeeping?"), and some strange, troubling questions ("Do you know of any Peacekeeper who goes by the name 'A'?").

Fassnacht seemed particularly interested in one of the L.O.O.P, Tisiphone Bonometti. Bonometti was Vallis Albertine's right-hand woman. Nikita always thought well of her. She was firm, professional, and totally committed to her job, even though she was usually traveling between districts supervising equipment and personnel transport. She was responsible for the District Twelve Peacekeepers' outgoing and incoming mail, and Nikita associated her with the letters he exchanged with his family and friends back home in Two. When another LOOP was in charge of mail, things tended to arrive damaged or crumpled, but Bonometti always delivered every envelope and parcel in pristine condition.

Fassnacht asked if she ever mentioned her family to Nikita. She had. He knew she was from the Capitol and had ties there. She had never discussed her parents, but did occasionally mention siblings. Her sister had been going steady with a man whom she called 'A,' and Nikita dutifully relayed all of this information. He was eventually dismissed, pleased to know that the Head Peacekeeper was so thorough in his investigation and reassured that he was shocked and dismayed by the brutality of District Twelve's Peacekeeping practices. Fassnacht shook Nikita's hand, thanked him for his service, and wished him luck in the arena before departing. Nikita stood still, minutiae swirling through his head, before a thought occurred to him. He ran after Fassnacht and caught up to him in the corridor after a minute or so. "Sir! I had an idea."

Fassnacht stopped and smiled. "Let's hear it."

"I apologize, sir, if this is stupid and insubordinate. In fact, I'm pretty sure it is. But, sir, Head Peacekeeper Albertine's name also starts with an 'A.'" Nikita watched as Fassnacht's expression clouded.

"Thank you. I didn't think of that at all and you're exactly right. That's the answer I've been looking for." Then he paused. "Have you been in contact with Albertine since departing from District Twelve?"

"No sir."

"Excellent. May the odds be ever in your favor."

"Thank you, sir." Nikita saluted. Fassnacht saluted back. And so after another night spent in Orpheus's bed, Nikita was feeling proud of himself. He had impressed the Head Peacekeeper, and that was an honor for any soldier. Something just didn't feel right.

He snapped at Orpheus at breakfast, who didn't seem to take it personally whatsoever. Nikita felt bad about it and apologized, but he worried that Orpheus was still mad at him despite there being zero evidence of lingering hurt or resentment. Then, Tybalt walked into training with a shit-eating grin. "Treek's in town," he smirked.

"Is he now." Nikita dismissed him entirely, privately fuming about not having a Career mentor of his own, let alone one from his Academy. Not that he really wanted Grant Morrow to show up anyhow.

"Oh, he sure is. Fabian caught some sort of cold and can't mentor me anymore so Treek's here. And he said that you were getting interrogated by the Head Peacekeeper last night." Nikolai froze. How had Tybalt found out?

"That's true."

"I suppose he wanted to find out who made you a lieutenant. You know, so he can remind them that Peacekeeping leadership is supposed to be the cream of the crop."

"He was there on District Twelve Peacekeeping business, that's all. And he was very complimentary, if you must know."

"Yes yes, Limpy. Now run along. This is a meeting for real men, not little boys playing soldier."

Nikita spluttered angrily.

"You'll never get anywhere on that shoddy excuse of an ankle. You think you're special? You couldn't compete with us so you ran away to District Twelve and got in the Games through the side door." It came out haughty and razor-sharp. "Glitter abs might score you handsome points with sponsors, but I'm expecting some actual substance from you. The rest of us are scoring tens today, I guarantee it. Make the cut or get going."

"Nathaniel's the leader, not you," Nikita pointed out. But Nathaniel had appeared out of nowhere to drive the point home.

"Goddammit, Tybalt, we agreed not to tell him! You are such a moron sometimes."

"Tell me what?" Nikita asked.

"Your javelin work is sloppy as hell. You spend all your time snuggling with your boytoy and don't bother practicing, even though you're the worst Career here. We've decided that if you don't score a ten this afternoon, you're out of the Pack."

"Why didn't you let me know?"

"It was a test. Tybalt wasn't supposed to tattle on us. Jerk." Nathaniel glared at Tybalt. Orpheus scowled.

"Nobody asked my opinion."

"Sorry. Boyfriends don't get a vote."

"Then who voted?" Nikita asked airily. "You and Odicci?"

"Nascha. And Haylia, even though she and Tybalt voted to let you stay regardless." Nikita flashed the Twos a grateful glance. "But Tybalt just had to spoil it."

"What can I say? I'm a real nice guy. Limpy." Tybalt laughed and made an L over his forehead with his thumb and index finder.

"Tybalt's a complete sweetie pie," commented Haylia.

"They must never know my secrets, dear lady. Hush."

"What's got you so peppy this morning?" asked Orpheus.

"I'm not sure," said Nascha. She gave him a huge, toothy grin. "Our friend Tybalt's awfully cheerful for someone with such an unfortunate past. A dead rival, a sudden chance at volunteering."

"Coincidence."

"I'm not so sure. Perhaps our friend here is hiding something. Look at those interesting scars on his arms, how he flinches when I even say 'Milos Caballero.' I wonder what happened in the woods at the beginning of that night, but everyone knows how it ended." The Careers were hanging onto every word, Nikita included. Tybalt casually adjusted his hair.

"Huh," said Tybalt. "That's weird. I could've sworn you permanently disfigured your brother's girlfriend in a 'training accident' after he accused you of trying to ruin his chances of volunteering by sabotaging his scores to frame him for cheating. And of course, the top-ranked girl in your class was mysteriously killed by her boyfriend, and you discovered her corpse, thus proving your innocence and restoring your reputation enough to have a shot at the crown this year. But I don't know, maybe that sort of thing just happens in District One every now and again." Nascha recoiled. "Perhaps Nascha is simply doing what she always does—getting her way at all costs."

Nikita surveyed the arguers. Tybalt had regained the high ground. Nacha was on defense, gripping the hilt of her rapier with fierce indignation. Slowly, Haylia took a step towards Tybalt. Orpheus and Nikita followed. The four of them faced off against Nascha, Odicci, and Nathaniel. "Or perhaps," Tybalt added, "We could dispense with the rumors and baseless attacks and continue preparing for our training scores. If you'll all be so kind as to forgive me for being candid with our dear Limpy, that it." He chuckled indulgently. Slowly, the tension began to disappear and the two factions melted together again. Nikita felt his muscles relax as he and Orpheus turned towards the Twos.

"Thanks for warning me," he said.

"Anytime," said Tybalt. He smiled softly. "Limpy."

For some infernal reason, Nikita's brain decided it was a good time to blush.

Aspen Silvius, 15

Training Center, Capitol

D12F

July 4, 329 AEDD

Aspen got a little more than she bargained for. When she'd taken a dig at Nikita at lunch on the second day of training, she hadn't expected it would result in an interrogation. Well, to be clear, the actual interrogation was reserved for Nikita. Aspen was interviewed with Aileen at her side, which was different. In the evening, the Head Peacekeeper had dropped by the District Twelve suite to talk to Aspen, and she couldn't say she liked it. Nikolai Fassnacht was more concerned than she'd expected. He asked open-ended questions about the living conditions and law enforcement system, and, rather fearfully, encouraged her to recount her family's experience with it.

So Aspen told him about Ben. She tried to be as polite as possible, but she couldn't keep the disgust from leaching into her tone when she described the execution, and then her own whipping. He asked her prep team and stylist to confirm the presence of her scarring, which they did. Then, he asked her about the frequency of various punishments and she answered as best she could. The whole thing had gone a lot more smoothly than anticipated, but that didn't mean she felt comfortable in the presence of a Peacekeeper. Nikolai was respectful and seemed surprised by the information she gave him, although his demeanor was difficult to read. When he left, she heard a burst of swear words in the hallway, and announced to whoever else was outside that he needed to speak with Nikita Valeta immediately. For the first time, Aspen felt sympathy for her district partner. She pitied anyone on the receiving end of a scolding from the Head Peacekeeper, no matter how many atrocities they committed. It sounded like Nikita was in for a stern lecture.

Aspen had debriefed with Aileen afterwards. "I've never seen him that angry," Aileen said.

"He was angry?"

"I'm no loyalist, but Nikolai's a decent man. He learned pretty recently that Peacekeepers were abusing their power in some outlying districts, and he's been looking into it. You've just provided him with the information he's been trying to uncover this whole time: how far up the chain of command this goes and who he needs to get rid of. This is the keystone evidence he's been looking for."

"Oh." Aspen was a little bewildered that a simple, accurate recounting of her childhood was about to take down an entire district's Peacekeeping force, but it was certainly welcome information. Bentley and his friends might be dead, but nobody else's brother was going to meet the same fate. That is, if Aileen and Nikolai were to be believed, but Aspen knew that her mentor was on the rebellious side and had no reason to distrust her. "Can I tell my allies?" Aspen asked. She knew that Kenny, Ash, and Pace would be bursting to hear about her meeting with the Head Peacekeeper, and besides, she wanted to talk about it.

"Sure, but you four have to keep it quiet."

"We can do that."

"So let's discuss your progress in training." Aileen had checked in to make sure Aspen was learning at an appropriate speed, since she only had one more day left to fill any gaps in her knowledge. On the whole, she was feeling pretty good. She had decent command of her weapon and knew enough survival skills to feel comfortable. She wasn't quite confident, but her allies knew plenty of things. The biggest advantage they had was understanding how Konstance DuMouchel typically designed her arenas. Hitting the books wasn't exciting, but it was interesting in its own right and it provided her with lifesaving information, which was the whole point of training. She was doing totally fine, was on par with everyone else, but in her heart, she knew that she was going to die in the Bloodbath.

She was going to die in the Bloodbath because Nikita was a Career and he hated her, more so now than ever before because her discussion with Nikolai had gotten him chewed out. It wasn't a great feeling, but Aspen drew energy from her great wellspring of spite and persevered. The grim reality of her future loomed, but that was okay. She was a known rebel, and it was unlikely that the Gamemakers would permit her to live anyway. With luck, one of her allies would win, but Aspen had already made her contribution to District Twelve. Katniss Everdeen, the iconic Girl on Fire, was a martyr of the regime. Her death hadn't brought forth any meaningful change, but Aspen looked forward to a similar legacy. It should have been enough to know that she had vanquished the Peacekeepers, but it wasn't, because Aspen still desperately wanted to live. She had narrowly escaped being hanged with Ben, and she wasn't ready to die at the hands of the Capitol just because she'd gotten the last laugh over his killers.

Aspen was still interested in living, but that required trust. She spent the morning of the last day of training reading with her allies, discussing the downfall of the corrupt Peacekeepers, and debating the best private session techniques. She swapped stories with Pace, who remembered a recent execution of a woman named Wisteria Hitchcock, and encouraged them to tell their own mentor. (Aileen was friends with the other rebellious mentors, and Aubrey Jean was one of them.) There was still work that needed to be done, but it was hard to focus when visions of her inevitable demise flashed before her eyes, so she splashed some water face and picked up her shortsword.

Sweating off the stress, Aspen ripped into dummies and pretended they were all Nikita, who'd been noticeably subdued all morning. It seemed that his status as the resident golden boy had taken a hit following his interrogation by Nikolai, and Aspen enjoyed witnessing it. He seemed disappointed in himself and the Two boy looked far more smug than usual, which suggested that the dynamics in the Career Pack were changing.

And that was very, very good for Aspen.

Amy Kawasaki, 16

Training Center, Capitol

D5F

July 4, 329 AEDD

Against all odds, Amy and Aran were quasi-peacefully coexisting. Despite their fight, they had both exhausted all other alliance options and so had formed a sort of truce. They would never work together, but Amy wasn't about to waste energy on killing Aran when there were so many more suitable targets. For example, Maize. Amy was on Aran's side regarding the little bitch, and it would send a nice message if she got to her before Aran himself had the chance. And Amy knew she was a lot better at torture anyway, even if Aran was more disconcerting and therefore was better at frightening his kills before their inevitable demise.

Amy was using a kukri knife. It was large and sharp, both very attractive traits for a weapon, and it extended her reach, which was important because she was rather short and as a result had a shorter wingspan than most of the other tributes. The most important thing in close-quarters combat was hitting your opponent without them being able to hit you, and the bigger the weapon, the further she could reach. A tall tribute like Aran had a huge advantage because of his longer arms, but Amy felt that she could successfully decapitate a taller enemy with her kukri, and practiced doing so on several dummies just to try it out.

She was feeling excited, but also disappointed. She was used to receiving a lot of attention and praise from her peers, but Dot, her mentor, was shunning her. Apparently, Dot thought she was barbaric. Which, though true, did not exactly seem like a drawback in Amy's opinion. Surely Dot was supposed to enjoy having a more vicious tribute, whose little pet feelings of virtue wouldn't interfere with her intentions of winning? But Sturgis, Aran's mentor, also wanted nothing to do with him, and Ravya was doing the absolute bare minimum. "I want sponsors," Amy complained to her. "Do your job."

"You brought this upon yourself. Sponsors support tributes that don't need to be shackled to their Parade chariots." The biggest slap in the face, however, was the Peacekeeper detail. Amy felt that she did deserve her own army of bodyguards to act as an entourage, but the Peacekeepers did not seem interested in conversing with her. Instead, they kept a close eye on their charge, as if expecting her to snap and attack them at any minute. Amy was more patient than that, of course, but their cautious behavior annoyed her nonetheless.

She spent most of her time fighting. She assumed that Ravya was merely bluffing and that she would receive loads of sponsors as soon as she got her first Bloodbath kill, so she didn't bother with the survival stations. They were intended for tributes of a lower echelon than her. Instead, she waved her knife around, killed dummies, and occasionally met up with Aran to mock and belittle the other tributes to throw them off of their game (not that they really had any, obviously). Amy's sportsmanship was, to put it generously, a little lacking. Nothing infuriated her more than a poor performance, particularly if it involved bad dancing. The other tributes had few skills and were embarrassing themselves publicly, bumbling around and trying to figure out how to use a dagger or spear. Were they stupid? If not, Amy had to question why they would dare to display their incompetence in front of their betters.

Still, she was careful to remain innocent-looking and cheerful. She had already blown her cover with Aran, but her manipulations were generally effective and she hoped to wiggle her way into a partnership in the arena. She could probably pin all the blame on Aran and come out smelling like a rose, but that wouldn't work if she was behaving suspiciously during training. She had to play innocent and pretend that Aran had simply forced her to defend herself, and it would be doubly effective, since it would demonstrate to would-be allies that she could hold her own in a fight.

However, she couldn't help feeling like her ploy wouldn't be very effective. She had chosen a high-risk/high-reward strategy during the train ride and it didn't pay off. Privately, Amy was concerned that no other tribute would trust her based on the reputation she was developing in the Capitol, and it would take an awful lot of simpering to convince some strong boy that she was an innocent damsel in distress, desperate and in need of protection. Boys, not the brightest of creatures, were at their most skeptical during the Hunger Games, which made Amy's job difficult.

Instead, she thought about all the weaselly little weaklings who would die in the Bloodbath. Idiots, all of them. The Threes, the Sixes, the Sevens, the Eights, the Tens, the Elevens, the Twelve girl, and, of course, the Nine girl, Maize. But secretly, Amy hoped that Maize would survive the opening minutes. She wanted to kill her herself. Really, the only tributes besides her and Aran that stood a chance were the Careers and Jeremiah, but Amy figured that if she could bring one of the guys over to her side, it would even out the playing field a little. She was going to win, and then she would receive the treatment she deserved as a celebrated Victor. She would have money and admirers. She could gloat all she wanted.

But first, there was the small matter of the actual Games, and Amy had never been more ready for anything in her life. In the afternoon, she had her private session, and then the day after, the interviews. Impressing Konstance DuMouchel, charming Pandora Mink, and enrapturing all of the Capitolites would be a cinch for a performer as experienced as Amy. As the principal ballet dancer of her company, she knew how to dazzle an audience. This time, though, the stakes were higher than usual. Failure carried dire consequences, but Amy was not ready to die just yet. She wouldn't stop until she ruled the world, and well, the other tributes weren't ready for what she had to offer.

Tom Leary, 16

Training Center, Capitol

D7M

July 4, 329 AEDD

Tom was feeling ashamed. That was strange. He was unused to guilt, but he'd felt like he betrayed his alliance with a lie of omission, and he wanted to come out with the truth. But he couldn't, because then they would dump him and he'd be all on his own. He had done something that his allies couldn't possibly forgive, so when he was discussing his flaws, he left out the part about the killings.

He told himself that he was paying a debt. But really, the intrusive thoughts and suspicion got the better of him over and over again, and he feared that the wilderness would reclaim him if he didn't satisfy its blood covenant. The revelation had come when he spent the night with Brielle. After the pact, he was in a gloomy mood and went over to her room to chat, hoping that her presence would be comforting. They'd had a good conversation, and then he'd accidentally crashed on the armchair in the corner, but when he woke up with a nightmare, Brielle had groggily invited him up on the bed. She asked if he wanted to talk about it, and against his better judgment, he told her everything.

And she hadn't cared one bit. To prove it, she'd rolled over and fallen asleep, and Tom was startled by her unflinching trust in him. Passing out in the presence of a confessed serial killer was a strangely intimate act. Completely platonic, but Tom had been so moved by it that he cried for the first time since Michael died, feeling humiliated, and then went to sleep beside her. When he woke up, he discovered that their hands had somehow become clasped during the night. Then he couldn't breathe and he thought he might be dying, perhaps in some Act of God, divine punishment. A deity sneering down from above, as if to say Ha! You'll never have this again—you feel contrite now, but it's too late. She can't save you. His panic attack had startled Brielle awake, and then she asked if she could hug him.

He accepted. He'd never imagined himself as a cuddler, but resting easy next to someone who cared felt pretty damn good. He didn't deserve it. "I'm a bad person," he told her.

"Yeah. But when you think about it, it's all your dad's fault. Trauma fucks your mind up.."

"Bad dad club."

"Bad dad club. You know, I was so relieved when Kiarra shot my father."

"She shot him?"

"He came to kidnap me on my birthday like usual and he almost got me, but Kiarra made me hide behind the counter and she got her gun and she shot him in the face. She took the body somewhere so I wouldn't have to actually see any of the gore, but I felt so safe. Like he could never hurt me again. And really, I think shooting him was the right thing to do. And I'm glad the cougar ate your father, even though it inspired you to do some incredibly messed up shit."

"Dead dad club."

"Dead dad club. And happy about it. You know, I don't think Twyla and Beemo would kick you out if you told them."

"Of course they would."

"Hey, no pressure. It's your choice. But I've got your back. Let's head down for some breakfast, yeah?"

"Yeah." And afterwards, when they walked to the Training Center together, Tom realized that he was feeling guilty because his allies saw him as a person, not a monster lurking in the woods. And that made him feel icky because he'd acted like a beast, not a person, and he wasn't sure he could be trusted to refrain from mauling people who mildly annoyed him, and his suggestion had inspired the childlike manners circle about sharing and polite, calm discussion. His allies cared, and that sucked, because they were good people who really didn't deserve to die. They liked him.

Tom was using all of his outdoorsmanship talents to bolster his alliance, but he was holding back when it came to his sneaking and hiding abilities. That wasn't something he wanted the other tributes to know about him just yet, and more of the competition seemed to be paying attention as they observed just how well the Threes and Sevens were working together.

The other thing Tom appreciated was how good Twyla was at leadership. She guided them without being bossy, and he felt so much safer knowing that someone so calm and confident was in charge and ready to step in and resolve any crises that popped up. Beemo was also deceptively innocent-looking, but Twyla, Brielle, and Tom knew just how deadly accurate he was with that poison-blowgun combination. The Careers wouldn't know what hit them. As the morning began, Tom decided to work near Beemo and quietly teach him the basics of evading capture and skulking about. Beemo was a much better sprinter than most people probably expected, but Tom felt strongly that if he could hide in the landscape and target Careers from a safe distance away, the alliance would be much better off. And this was a successful argument, as far as everyone else was concerned.

Twyla had devised a dangerous plan of attack. The alliance needed to be well-equipped in order to track the Career Pack. The Careers had Cornucopia supplies and moved quickly because they didn't need to waste time actually trying to survive, so if the group was to keep up, they needed to be similarly equipped. And that meant going into the Bloodbath. The Bloodbath was also the only way, barring sponsors, that Beemo could obtain the blowgun and darts he needed, and Twyla had volunteered herself for the job. After the Games kicked off, the alliance would meet in the direction of the Cornucopia's tail. If someone was still missing after they waited a half hour, they would be presumed dead and the group had to move on.

Then, they were going to stalk the Careers. This was an extremely risky move, but Beemo felt confident that he could dart them without them noticing. Twyla determined that the best time to attack the Careers was when they returned to camp after making a kill, preferably when they were distracted and tired and had exhausted their bloodlust for the day. Attacking an injured Career at the wound would also probably be successful, since the poison would enter the bloodstream more effectively and they would be less suspicious if they felt pain. Beemo had been practicing with darts so small they were almost invisible, but he had to get close enough for an unobstructed shot without being detected.

Tom was responsible for teaching him how to do that, and he was feeling confident. He was part of a team, and he and his friends had a real shot at winning if he played his cards right.

Rosé Holt, 27

Gamemaking Control Room, Capitol

Gamemaker

July 4, 329 AEDD

Konstance DuMouchel was nowhere to be found. Her presence had become more and more sporadic in recent days, but she hadn't showed up to work at all. It was the third day of training, and the Games would begin in only two days. Nigel had returned from medical absence, which left a full team of Gamemakers without their leader. Fortunately, Jacqueline Muriel was Deputy Head Gamemaker for a reason.

The final days of Gamemaking were reserved for tailoring the arena and its contained materials to the tributes' abilities, something that could only happen with clear guidance from the Head Gamemaker. No other Gamemaker had the temerity to lead in Konstance's absence, but Jacqueline was dauntlessly pushing forward. "We can't put the Games on hold because she's not here," said Jacqueline. "And we can't deliver a lackluster, generic arena."

"How do you know what she wants?" Karen had nervously asked.

"I don't. I'm doing what I want." Jacqueline had flashed a wicked grin, which seemed to imply that she was as fed up with the constant micromanagement as everyone else. So Jacqueline had been the one to decide what went into the Cornucopia, not Konstance, and she would probably also be in charge of supervising private sessions in the afternoon and ultimately assigning the scores.

Rosé was feeling excited. With Konstance gone, Rosé could sit next to Karen, and they would talk for hours while they put the finishing touches on their respective portions of the arena and prepared to receive the tributes. Karen always made wonderful coffee and complimented Rosé's work with the mutts, and Rosé always wondered if maybe she should ask her to dinner at some point. Or something more casual. Wanna come over and see my cat? Yes, you've seen her in pictures, but I needed a reason to invite you to my house because you're out of my league and there's no way you would do anything because of me. But maybe you'd come for Sharpay. I sewed her a new dress, by the way.

Of course Karen would want nothing to do with a sad lesbian who spent her free time making fashion accessories for a cat. What was she even thinking? Karen was beautiful and cool and stylish and friends with Nikolai Fassnacht. She probably had tons of equally cool people lining up for the chance to date her, and a dumpy coworker was certainly the last thing on her mind. Still, Jacqueline was in charge, and she approved Rosé's last tweaks, prompting a perky "congratulations!" from Karen. Even her voice was amazing. Jacqueline put Rosé on camera duty, which involved monitoring the live video and audio feeds from the Training Center.

The Careers had a huge argument, which Jacqueline made some notes about. The rebel alliance discussed Aspen's meeting with Nikolai Fassnacht, who was currently occupied with wringing information out of a captured enemy agent and rewriting the entire Peacekeeping org chart for District Twelve. The morning passed quickly. Rose had the time to nip out for lunch, but she stayed behind in solidarity with the other Gamemakers, who were all still working on their projects. Karen mentioned something about being hungry, and Rosé made an offer to go grab everyone a meal from the sandwich shop. She remembered how Karen preferred her caprese and ordered toasted with double pesto even though Karen hadn't asked for it.

When she brought the bounty back, Karen seemed surprised. "You know my modifications?"

"Yeah," offered Rosé, embarrassed. Had she offended her? Was it too stalker-y to track her eating habits? It wasn't like she tried, but everything Karen did just…stuck in her mind. Had she imposed too much?

"Oh." Karen fell silent. "Thank you."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to, you know, make it weird."

"No, really. Thank you. Look, um, maybe. Not to be pushy. But do you wanna go for a drink sometime after work?" Karen cringed.

"A drink? With you?"

"And the gang," Karen finished, rather lamely. She coughed. "You know what, just, um, forget it. I didn't mean it. It was, uh. Presumptuous. Ugh. Sorry, I—"

"No, no. I'd love to go for a drink with you. And, er, the gang."

"Right. The gang. Everyone." Karen coughed again. Nigel delivered a subtle elbow to the ribs. "I mean, um, maybe just you. If you're comfortable with that."

"I'd like that." Rosé sounded a lot calmer than she felt. Inside, her chest was buzzing. Was this a date? What was Karen doing?

"She's trying to ask you on a date," Nigel explained. "Say yes."

"Yes. God, yeah, I was worried I made you uncomfortable. With the sandwich thing. Um. You know what? I'm gonna stop talking. Sorry. About this whole thing."

"The sandwich thing was really thoughtful, Rosé. I liked it. I like you."

Rosé very nearly squeaked with joy.

Hey y'all,
2nd chapter in two days and I'm feeling snazzy. We've only got one more training chapter left (with Haylia, Kenny, Xanthe, and Mare) and I'm happy to be getting more into subplot land. Thank you for reading!

—LC :)