Haylia Boaz, 17
Training Center, Capitol
D2F
July 4, 329 AEDD

Haylia didn't know what had gotten into the rest of the Pack. Odicci and Nathaniel seemed to have some kind of long conversation expressing concerns about Nikita's capabilities, and then they'd summoned Haylia, Tybalt, and Nascha for a discussion towards the beginning of training. District Two had supported Nikita. Nascha had sided with the Fours. Haylia knew how quickly tides could change in the Games, but she hadn't expected factions to form this early.

She also hadn't expected Tybalt to stick his neck out for Nikita, but then again, he did have a little crush. Tybalt was moody and certainly blamed Haylia for at least some of the discord among the Careers, but he was proving to be a familiar enemy. Nathaniel had been so steady and neutral, and seeing his rapid swing to opposing Nikita had surprised her. It threw her a little off balance, honestly. Nascha had seemed so nice. But then Haylia remembered what she'd been warned of: Tybalt was manipulative, and, Haylia realized, probably not the only Career capable of stratagem. The Pack had a honeymoon, of course. Apologies were made, but in Haylia's opinion, certain things couldn't be undone. The other Careers had expressed that they viewed Nikita as lesser than them, and Haylia was sure that was wrong.

But it was good to be cautious. Allegiances were shifting rapidly, and it would do her well to be especially careful about who she attached herself to. The real problem was Nathaniel's newly established test. He wouldn't do anything if Nascha, Odicci, or himself scored below the mark, but he was probably looking for a reason to boot Nikita or one of his supporters. That meant Haylia needed a rock-solid plan for her private session. She was familiar with the Gamemakers' training score distinctions. It had been an important part of her preparation back home. Being underskilled might result in a nine, or heaven forbid an eight. It would take a real standout to achieve an eleven. Therefore, most Careers were generally shooting for a ten. It was the normal, highly respectable score for a trained tribute. If just one Career ended up below the expected number, the results were usually unfortunate.

In short, Haylia really needed a ten. So did Tybalt, Orpheus, and Nikita. She had never specialized in spears, but she knew that Nikita's javelin work wasn't actually a problem. It was a scare tactic that Nathaniel employed with the goal of getting under his skin, and it worked. Nikita was a little off for most of the morning, and Haylia decided that an afternoon pep talk was in order. She rallied her troops (Tybalt and Orpheus) and found Nikita slouched by the restrooms. She patted him. "Hi there."

"Hey."

"Look, I know you had a crappy morning, and—"

"And I need to step it out or you're kicking me out. Yeah, I know. Thanks for the reminder." There was a bitter twist to the words. Nikita turned away, hiding his red face from her.

"I know you feel embarrassed, but there's nothing wrong with your fighting. He wanted to make you feel insecure and it worked."

"Don't lie to me."

Orpheus stepped towards him. "Nikita, we're just trying to help. You're as good as anybody here, no matter what Four says."

"That's not what Morrow thought."

"I know it's a sore point, but you've obviously proved him wrong." Nikita shook his head.

"Maybe he was right. If I can't take a critique without getting in my head and melting down, I shouldn't be here. And thanks to somebody, yes, I'm aware that my recovery wasn't as seamless as I like to pretend. Go ahead, Tybalt. Eviscerate me. Any minute now." Tybalt looked at him fiercely.

"Do fuck off, Limpy. Dispense with the self-deprecating bullshit and I'll give you what you want."

"Excuse me?!" Nikita's head snapped up.

"Oh, excellent. You're finally paying attention. Don't shoot the messenger, but hey, I'm not a sugarcoat-y sort of guy, so cope. We're sick of the whining. Boo hoo, Nikita feels sad because an authority figure said he did bad. We try to make him feel better by expressing our approval of his work, but no, he needs to get all noble and pitiful on us because he grovels for any jerk who snaps his fingers for attention."

"I do not grovel!"

"You totally grovel. Nathaniel doesn't treat you like a Career because you don't act like one. You're not a Peacekeeper right now, you're one of us, and you need to learn to push back. Like how I pushed back on Nascha today. Nathaniel wasn't putting you down for no reason. Christ. He was testing your mettle. You failed. Now you have to earn your spot back. Don't get soft on me, Limpy."

Haylia was tempted to cut Tybalt off, but her gut told her to sit back. Tybalt had a strange knack for cutting through emotional complexity with shocking ease, despite (because of?) his rudeness.

"I'm not soft."

"Prove it. Hit a bullseye, thirty meters." Trybalt strode over to a rack of spears and selected one.

"That's a pilum, not a javelin."

"Make it work, darling. The arena waits for no man." Nikita flushed pink, then snatched the spear. He concentrated and heaved it. The spade tip hurtled through a target across the training floor with surprising force.

"See?" He looked up at Tybalt smugly. "I can do it."

"Yes, you can. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've had enough human emotion for one day. Life's hard enough without a mouth-breather like you wetting himself every time someone frowns in his direction." Tybalt hustled off, grumbling about "morons," "whiners," and "incompetent pansies." Orpheus and Haylia surveyed him from a safe distance away.

"He's growing on me," Orpheus remarked.

"You're not mad at him for taking a pass at Nikita?"

"If that's taking a pass, I'm the Master of Ceremonies. No, I don't like him, but he's helping Nikita, and that's what matters."

"You're down so bad."

"I won't deny that. But what are you doing, Haylia? I think this means you're the leader. You're solving all of our problems."

"I don't want to be the leader. What's wrong with Nathaniel?"

"Fuck Nathaniel. I want you."

Kenny Michaels, 15

Training Center, Capitol

D8M

July 4, 329 AEDD

Kenny felt good about his alliance. Together, they were strong, maybe strong enough to survive. It had been a little while since Kenny was consistently going to school, but he'd been an above average student. He stopped attending after Travis died. There wasn't exactly a truancy officer around to drag him back to class, and his parents had bigger problems than their delinquent son. They were busy coping with the loss of their dead one, and they understood that Kenny was reacting in his own ways. Still, he remembered how to study. It was almost relaxing to ease back into the old habits, especially with others. The alliance holed up in a quiet, peaceful corner of the Training Center, laid out some notebooks, and began preparing.

The issue was that the Capitol didn't always act as expected. The Gamemakers enjoyed subverting the tributes' expectations. It made for better television. Then there were the surprises. Even as they reigned over the control panel, the Gamemakers were powerless to stop a quick enough, skilled enough tribute before they acted. Most of the time, the Gamemakers didn't particularly care. A Career cutting down an outlying tribute in a few seconds was exciting, and it would happen over and over again during the Bloodbath. Kenny was not fond of the Bloodbath. Travis had died in the Bloodbath. Plenty of smart, high-scoring tributes lost their lives in it.

So the alliance was going to avoid the Cornucopia altogether, even though it meant Aspen couldn't get a weapon. They'd done the math after looking over decades' worth of Games statistics: high-scoring outliers were more likely to die in the Bloodbath looking for a weapon than they were to die from any other cause. This was true even when the records showed the tributes hadn't studied survival skills during the training period.

Kenny hadn't known he was being observed, but apparently the Head Trainers all kept records of what the tributes did and how they performed, so that they could offer tailored guidance to the Gamemakers. He wondered what that meant for his alliance, especially since none of his teammates were exactly loyalists. That prompted a second realization: the Gamemakers knew when tributes fudged their scores.

All throughout Hunger Games history, strong tributes had kept a low profile by deliberately performing poorly in the private sessions, hoping that a mediocre score would make others overlook and underestimate them. And it usually worked, but now that Kenny thought about it, it meant that tributes could hide their skills from the Gamemakers, which the Capitol definitely didn't want. The Gamemakers knowing about the tributes' true abilities shouldn't have surprised him. It was par for the course in the Panemian surveillance state. Still, he found his eyes wandering in search of hidden cameras. Was he being monitored right now, by some child killer with designer plastic surgery staring at a live feed? Were there microphones? If so, the Gamemakers would know that Kenny and his allies were truly rebels, and that was a chilling thought. He flipped to the source notes at the back of the book. Sure enough, it cited Gamemaker video and audio footage. So that confirmed it.

He needed to warn the others, but how was he supposed to do that without the Capitol catching on? He nudged Ash and leaned in, pointing to the Careers, so he had an excuse to whisper. "The Gamemakers are spying on us with cameras and microphones," he hissed. She nodded once and pulled back.

"I agree. The Twelve boy might want to go after Aspen. I'll go tell her," Ash said loudly. She rose and strolled over to the sword station, where Aspen was practicing some maneuvers. Meanwhile, Kenny planned a circuitous route around the training floor to reach Pace under the guise of getting water. He slipped them a hastily scribbled note on an index card. After drinking his fill at the fountain, Kenny walked back past Pace. They gave him a thumbs up. He peeled off and started chatting about private sessions for a moment.

He had weighed the pros and cons of doing his best. It was a choice every tribute had to make. Was it better to surprise the others or try to show off for the Capitol in hopes of drawing some sponsors? Ultimately, Kenny, Ash, Pace, and Aspen had all agreed to do their best. Sponsors could be the difference between life and death, and having a powerful Capitolite or two pulling for their survival seemed like it could dissuade the Gamemakers from trying to wipe the whole group out at once. On the rare occasions the Gamemakers acted drastically and killed several tributes, sponsors raised hell. Perhaps a strong training score could create some pressure to treat them well in the arena.

It seemed worth a shot. It wasn't like any of them were going to pull a ten, which would get the Careers on their backs. The Pack was probably worried about people like Jeremiah and Aran, not a small band of outliers with a mostly average performance.

Kenny hated to admit it, but he was getting freaked out. His brother had scored well, been popular in the interviews, rallied a lot of Capitol support, and still died. But before he could face the same thing, he had to brave an audience with the Gamemakers. That was a daunting thought on any day, but he wondered if his rebellious comments in training would inspire them to punish him with an abysmal training score. Maybe they'd seen him warning his allies and planned to retaliate against them too.

Kenny was dubious of adults in regular life. Capitol adults were scarier than most, but being locked in a room with lots of weapons and a bunch of adults who specialized in devising creative and amusing methods of child murder didn't seem like a good time. He planned to swing his axe around a little bit, maybe perform some strength exercises or demonstrate some survival skills. In any case, he tried not to get too optimistic. Travis had scored well, but Kenny had always been lesser than him. He was the cool older brother, effortlessly strong and successful with girls. If he achieved a seven, Kenny was probably looking at a four.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

Xanthe Sparacello, 12

Training Center, Capitol

D11F

July 4, 329 AEDD

The Degenerates around her seemed dubious, but Xanthe knew that the High King had laid out a path for her. He was going to make Xanthe a Victor so she could spread knowledge of Degeneracy and the Elation to the common people. It was a true rags to riches story, the humble daughter of a preacher rising to become a Prophet of the Most Holy. Xanthe had started out burying the dead, holding ceremonies, trying to restore the dignity of the people whose families had abandoned them. Xanthe loved the world so much. She could only hope that everyone else loved her back.

The trouble with the High King (not that worship was any trouble! Xanthe would hate to give off that false imopression) was that His messages could be difficult to interpret. Sometimes, He seemed to urge her to do certain things, drawing her to a particular place like a fish being reeled in. Other times, He seemed to sever the tether and leave her adrift, as though issuing her a task. If she was half the girl He thought she was, she would figure out what course to take.

Clearly, Xanthe had passed His tests. The question was whether she would pass the Gamemakers'. The High King was obviously planning to determine her training score Himself, but Xanthe knew that she could make His job easier by following along with His process. She just had to figure out what His messages meant. Who else had He sent to assist her? Probably her tribute team and maybe her allies as well. Her mentor, Elodie, was difficult. She was a nonbeliever and thus a Degenerate, but she and the escort, Cake, had been clear: Xanthe's strategy would not impress sponsors. And the High King did not seem to have conveyed any warnings about Elodie, signaling that her information was dubious. So Xanthe knew exactly what the High King wanted of her private session: nothing. He would take care of the other tributes by Himself and provide safe passage for His favored messenger.

Xanthe would not obtain an impressive training score because the Degenerate Capitolites were unworthy of her sacred pride. They did not deserve to be impressed by her. That was why the High King had sent Elodie, to help bring clarity to Xanthe's hazy mind. And, now that she thought about it, she was doubly sure. Jeremiah had laid out his plan for Xanthe's role in the alliance: softening their image by appearing weak. Impressing the Capitol would undermine this goal.

It all made sense, and Xanthe had just needed a little peace and quiet to sort it out. The High King had clearly been in Jeremiah's ear, offering His wisdom and guiding Xanthe's protector towards choices that would benefit her most. And in return, Jeremiah and all the rest would ascend to the Elation. If they couldn't be heroes themselves, they'd surely be honored to valiantly die for one. And Xanthe appreciated it. The High King required pious acolytes in the Better Sector, but sometimes, when Xanthe was tired or lonely, she wondered why, out of all the worshipers in the world, the High King had chosen to take Luiza Sparacello instead of her even more religious husband. She told herself that it was a perfectly reasonable thought, that although she could never understand His intentions, it was her privilege, no, her duty as a prophet to try and parse them anyway.

Jeremiah obviously understood Xanthe's position, but she was less sure about the Sixes. Vica and Danny were dubious individuals, no, Degenerates. She was fighting hand in hand with Degenerates for the Holy Land, but she remembered how her father often discussed courage in his sermons. Nothing divinely precious ever came easy. It took a figurehead to inspire every conversion, every repentance, and to rightfully damn every wretched, recreant Degenerate who had strayed from the Word.

Xanthe really did try her best. Despite her own reservations, she dutifully pretended to train. She ate the opulent Capitol meals because no appropriate austere food was available. She felt terrible about putting on the image of Degeneracy, even in service of the High King, so she prayed often.

Prayer was her only escape throughout childhood. Her own parents were either ascended to the Elation or wrapped up in their own petty troubles of politics and social disagreements. Both were their own little deaths, but at least Xanthe had the comfort of knowing that Luiza was right over yonder, at the High King's right hand. Photographs were symbols of vanity if taken in large volumes, but Xanthe had a few pictures of Luiza at different points in life. Her favorite was one taken when she was in her late teens, a lanky, pretty girl with gleaming dark skin and a perfect smile.

In the picture, she's mid-giggle, so in Xanthe's mind, she's always laughing. Luiza wearing her coils in a huge low ponytail with a half-twist, Luiza with long lashes, her eyes half-closed. Luiza in a cropped tank top and cargo pants, with chunky boots. She wears a woven flower crown of swamp lily and lavender wild petunias. She's sat next to a furrowed dirt row where plant leaves protrude. Harvested plants are heaped in a wheelbarrow, rhubarb, with bushels of strawberries.

Xanthe knows she's only supposed to have one token, so she brought a pocket paperback copy of her favorite chapter of the Book, the one on Degeneracy, Penance, and Elation. But she snuck the photo in as a bookmark. She showed it to Elodie the previous night, when she was trying to figure out what the High King wanted her to do in her private session.

"She was going to bake a pie," Elodie observed.

"What?"

"She was going to bake a pie, probably. With the strawberries and rhubarb. She seems happy."

Xanthe realized that her mother probably did bake a pie at some point. Probably did a million of the other mundane things Xanthe did from time to time. Xanthe was above foolish indulgences, so her baked goods always went straight to the altar for the High King's enjoyment, but she could easily imagine her mother as a young woman, enjoying the mundanities of life.

Xanthe pictured her mother post-Elation, eternally happy pre-pie baking, perched in the heavens and counseling the High King while she reclined on a cloud. That would be Xanthe someday. She still missed Luiza, but it was enough to know that she wasn't gone. Her mother was backing her up from the stars to the horizon, with all the blessings in the world.

Mare Duster, 18

Training Center, Capitol

D10F

July 4, 329 AEDD

Mare hadn't planned on getting attached to Fahad, but she had somehow tumbled into a crush at the worst possible time and she figured that abandoning him would be the corresponding worst possible move, so she was sticking with him.

Neither one of them had a very good shot at the crown. They were poor fighters with limited survival knowledge. Mare had always depended on raiding settlements and robbing inebriated Peacekeepers, and Fahad mostly scraped by doing hard, dangerous factory work for shit pay in a huge meat packing plant, living in his grandmother's paid-for house and relying on charity groceries from Conall and the occasional five-finger bonus from Dyani when she could nab one. Mare knew that their chances of surviving the wilderness weren't very good.

She was hoping for a desert arena. Born and raised in District Ten foothill country, Mare knew how to make it through the southwest with a little foraging and good sense, but she'd be lost just about anywhere else. Hope wasn't a good plan, so she and Fahad trained hard. The withdrawal pills he'd been prescribed were working, which was a great relief. There was no way Fahad would make it if he was actively experiencing symptoms. Mare had her reservations about the Capitol, but they weren't throwing Fahad to the lions completely. Mare felt like she had a good read on the other tributes, but she worried that it wouldn't matter.

The Bloodbath claimed lives every year, and Mare knew that she and Fahad needed supplies. There was only one place to get them, and that required her to make some difficult choices. "I'll go," Fahad had offered.

"No. You might get hurt."

"It's fine. Really."

"What's fine? The you dying first part? Or the me dying later part?" Fahad had flinched at her tone and she'd instantly softened. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not upset. I just want to be safe about this."

"The Games aren't safe."

"I know. It can't really be helped, but I don't want you charging into scary situations without planning ahead. It gets dicey. I'm just concerned that if you get hurt, it'll be worse than if I get hurt. You're so malnourished. It doesn't seem like you'll heal very well." Mare flexed a toned bicep. "I'm not any better at fighting, but I am stronger and healthier. It seems like I should take the lead in the Bloodbath."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I can run faster than you too." Thankfully, he accepted this explanation without further argument. Sometimes it seemed to Mare that Fahad didn't believe he deserved a life of his own. Mare disagreed. Fahad was obviously a kind and generous person, whereas she was angry and bitter. He still had something reminiscent of a will to live, but he spoke as though death didn't concern him. Mare could understand that, but she had higher aspirations for her own life. She wanted to survive, punish the Capitol, maybe even do something good for her district. Was the good thing Fahad? He was a nicer person than her, but she didn't feel like dying, so self-sacrifice was off the table.

For the time being, she was content with holding his hand while they lay on their backs on the cool metal floor of the Training Center, their legs propped up against the wall. Her hair pooled beneath her head. The ground felt soothingly solid under her body, like it was taking care of things so her spine could relax. The cold was refreshing against her sweaty skin. They'd been practicing on the agility course for a while, and it felt good to rest. Her chest heaved as she ran through private session possibilities. Should she use a weapon or would a poor performance just lower her score? Was it better to display good survival skills or would the Gamemakers get bored?

And what would the other tributes do? Nothing was as interesting the fifth time you saw it, and Mare knew that an uninterested Gamemaker would probably just give her a three and call it a day. A bumbling attempt at swordplay might not go over well, but it might at least be more captivating than another bland display of fire starting or knot tying. Either way, she had plenty of time to decide. There were only five minutes of training left, and most of the other tributes were either also taking a few minutes to compose themselves before the private audiences began or frantically cramming, trying to rush through a final lesson on some almost-forgotten skill.

Mare's gaze drifted over the Careers, all looking satisfied and relaxed. Each one radiated confidence. They obviously had nothing to fear. On the other hand, the Threes and Sevens were checking a few last points at various stations. Slowly, the trainers began falling into formation, assembling in two parallel rows. A catwalk smoothly extended from the wall, sliding perfectly between them. Orion Zenobia appeared at the far end and began walking towards the tributes. Mare and Fahad got to their feet.

The second hand on the wall clock struck the large embossed 12. Orion gave a piercing whistle. "Weapons down," he ordered. "Training is over." The twenty-four tributes clustered around him, awaiting further instructions. The trainers began marching the group towards the double doors, then led them out into the hallway. Orion silently shepherded them along a winding course of hallways and unlocked a far-flung room. Once all the tributes were inside, the trainers spilled inside, incrementally stationing themselves along the perimeter. Orion left. His key slid into the lock from the outside, imprisoning them like cattle.

There were several minutes of quiet. Eventually, someone whispered, and Mare and Fahad sat down on a comfortable leather sofa. An Avox appeared out of nowhere with a banquet tray and began passing out glasses of sparkling water and small chocolate rosettes. The atmosphere of waiting blanketed the room. Even the Careers seemed subdued in advance of their assessments. Then a man's voice came over the loudspeaker.

"We cordially invite District One Male Orpheus Adello to report for his private assessment at this time." A wall slid open, revealing a pitch-black hallway. Two trainers peeled off from the perimeter and flanked Orpheus as he approached the vestibule. They shadowed him as he crossed the threshold, then stalked back to their posts as the wall snapped shut behind him.

Judgment Day had come.

Antonius Treek, 44

Center of Peacekeeping, Capitol

Victor

July 4, 329 AEDD

Antonius Treek was a seasoned veteran of the Games world. He'd won the 301st at only sixteen years of age, mentored by Ethan Floy, then brought back a Victor of his own the following year in Dana Aragon. Together with Floy, Aragon, Polyhymnia Slate, and Grant Morrow, he'd taken over a shiny new Academy named in his honor and began training would-be tributes for glory. Tybalt had always been one of his star students, but Treek had his own opinions of him. Tybalt could be a little prideful, stubborn, defensive. He didn't play well with others.

Treek knew what had happened with Milos. He just had bigger things to worry about, like Tybalt not dying brutally because of it, so he started off with a little detective work. It took only a few questions before it came out that Nascha's tribute team had provided her with the key information. He approached Admira about it diplomatically, hoping that there'd been a misunderstanding. She was just looking out for her tribute, and if she didn't understand how it was affecting the Pack, that was alright. These things could be fixed.

After he got the information he needed, he went up to the District Two suite, where he had a talk with Fabian. Fabian had been a trainer for only a year, taking a position at Morrow well after Nikita had departed for Peacekeeper boot camp. Treek trusted him completely, but he understood why Fabian had summoned him. This was a big situation for a newer mentor to handle, so he was happy to take over while Fabian faked a cold in a luxury villa several buildings away.

Treek was there when Tybalt came home on the second day of training. He sat in the kitchen, hoping to prevent any further wine-based escapades. Tybalt stopped in his tracks when he saw his Academy head. "Treek!"

"Hi there." Treek gave him a quick side hug. "How are we doing?"

"Not great. I've been waiting for news all day."

"I'm here now. You've one more day of training to deal with this, so let's make a plan. First of all, the trainers, Gamemakers, and Nikolai Fassnacht are all very aware of your history with the Caballeros. No, don't panic. It's fine. They know everything about all the tributes. There are some known rebels and convicted criminals in the tribute pool this year, it happens. Nothing bad is going to happen to you because of your record of infractions, but Nascha doesn't know that. So I'm going to tell you what to do, and I need you to follow directions."

"So I shouldn't be worried about mutts?"

"No more than any of the other Careers. Now, let's clear something up. What Nascha and her mentor did was normal. I promise you that Haylia knows just as well what's going on, and probably at least one of the other Careers too. It's pretty standard for mentors to dig up dirt on the rest of the Pack. If Nascha decides to use that for ill, she's not going to succeed unless she can convince the other Careers that you're dangerous. But everybody's got their secrets, Nascha included, so if she tries to turn the tide against you, you'll have the last word." He told Tybalt what he had learned.

"So when do I pull this little gem out?"

"If she's trying to get you out of the Pack, she wants to do it before training scores. When you grab a ten, it'll be harder to convince the rest to drop you. Be on guard tomorrow."

"About the ten, uh, Nathaniel did a thing today." Tybalt slumped. "He held a vote with just me, Haylia, Nascha, and Odicci about whether we were gonna give Nikita a training score requirement or not. Haylia and I said no, but we were outvoted."

"So you can't change the requirement. What next?"

"I tell him about it ahead of time?"

"Yeah. Don't freak out about it, I don't think Nathaniel meant it in a mean way. I've discussed him and Odicci with Lura and Kaylee. I'm sure he was trying to address a legitimate concern somebody brought up and it just came out wrong."

"Really?"

"If you were trying to discreetly figure out if one of the other Careers was going to weaken the alliance, you wouldn't let them know what you were doing. I'm not saying Nathaniel did the right thing or anything, just that I understand why he'd want you to keep it quiet."

"And you think I should disobey him? He'll get suspicious if I'm too nice to Nikita. I mean, even Nikita would get suspicious."

"Then do it your way. But also, even if Nikita couldn't get a ten on his own merits, which I know to definitively not be the case, I've made some arrangements. Just in case."

"Is that what you did for me too? To make sure I didn't get in trouble with the Peacekeepers for my, um, lapse in judgment?"

"I have business to attend to. Go eat dinner with the people, then get yourself to bed early. You have a big day tomorrow."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Oh dear, I hate running late. I need to scoot." Antonius Treek gathered his things and made his departure, leaving a confused tribute in his wake. But he hadn't been lying. He really did have an engagement to attend to, one even more pressing than his young protegé's plight.

Hey y'all,

I'm back! That's the end of training. Private sessions should go up later today. Thanks for dropping in to let me know what you think of the kiddos and the intersecting subplot! I've been having lots of fun with Nano and you can expect the content to keep coming.

—LC :)