Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: All right, since it has been a while since I've written a Games where all the districts have a normal number of tributes (or even the same number of tributes), here's a quick rundown of how the pre-Games stuff is going to work:

- One tribute from each district will get a POV during the train rides chapters (four chapters with either 3 or 4 POVs each).

- Chariot rides are from the mentors' POV (one chapter).

- Each tribute will get a POV during training (probably three chapters with either 8 or 9 POVs each, but if that feels too long and clunky, I might split them in half and do six chapters with 4 or 5 POVs each).

- Private sessions are from the Gamemaker's POV (one chapter).

- Whichever tribute from each district didn't get a POV during the train rides will get one during the training score reveal (one chapter).

- Interviews are from the POV of a tribute's family member or friend back in the districts, one per district (probably three chapters with 4 or 5 POVs each).

- Lastly a "night before the Games" chapter, with the POVs of whichever tributes didn't have their family member or friend's POV during the interviews (one chapter).

And that's it. Subject to change, of course, but si non confectus, non reficiat, and it's worked pretty well so far.

And here's our first batch of train rides:

Train Rides
Things That Aren't Important

Demeter Moire, 14
District Nine

It wasn't important.

Demeter folded the letter again. Then unfolded it and reread a few lines to make sure she'd gotten them right. Then folded it again. They were all watching her, but that was her own damn fault. When Basil had told her he'd wanted to speak with her in private, she'd insisted that whatever he'd wanted to say, he could say in front of Uri. So he had. He'd given her the letter. Uri had offered to read it to her, but something about the way it had started off with "My dearest daughter," had told her that wasn't a good idea.

But it wasn't important. Couldn't be important. Because she had to focus on protecting Uri, and this … this was a distraction. That was all.

She could feel their eyes on her. "So what's it say?" Uri asked eagerly.

Demeter shook her head. "Nothing. It's not important. It's probably not even true."

There. That was better. If it wasn't true, she didn't have to worry about it. And it did sound like a made-up story. Almost like something that Uri would have made up for fun. After all, what orphan didn't wonder about who their birth parents had been? The idea that her mother had worked for an underground criminal organization – that was ridiculous. The idea that her father – her biological father – was the leader of that organization, that her mother had been trying to escape, that she'd hidden Demeter in a wardrobe when her father's men had come looking for her, and that was how she had survived … it sounded like something out of a story. It couldn't possibly be true.

Then why not tell Uri? If it was a lie, after all, he'd probably get a good laugh out of it – or try to come up with something even more outrageous. But something held her back. Slowly, she folded the paper again, and then again.

Because that wasn't the end of it. And if the rest was true…

If it was true, then the man who had adopted her, Serge Othello, was her biological father. If it was true, that would explain why he was always gone, why he never talked about his job, why no one in the family would tell her what it was he actually did. And if he knew who she was, then that would explain why he had adopted her, even though he never seemed to care. He had adopted her because she was his.

If it was true.

But it wasn't. It couldn't be. Demeter tucked the letter back in the envelope – the old, faded envelope with her own name written on it. "Where did you say you found this?" she asked, trying her best to give the impression that it wasn't important.

Because it wasn't.

"In the back of a wardrobe," Basil answered. "In an old house on the edge of the district."

Uri cocked his head. "What were you doing there?"

"Looking for books."

"In a wardrobe?" Uri asked incredulously.

Basil shrugged. "You never know."

Demeter set the letter down on the table beside her. "Okay, let's agree not to–"

But she didn't get any further because Uri snatched up the letter and began to unfold it. Demeter yanked it away. "Stop!"

Uri sprang back as if she'd struck him. "What? You said it wasn't important."

"It's not!"

"Then why not let me see it?"

"Because!"

"That's not a reason!"

"I don't need a reason! It's mine. Just leave me alone!" Gripping the letter, she stormed off into the next train car, and then the next. She collapsed on the bed, staring at the letter. Slowly, she unfolded it again, searching the dancing letters for any sign that this was a trick, a joke. A rather mean-spirited joke, but it had to be one, didn't it?

Because if it was true…

If it was true, then the man she'd lived with since she'd been adopted was responsible for her mother's death. If it was true, then it was his fault that she'd never really known her parents, that she'd grown up in an orphanage. If it was true, everything she'd gone through – the hunger, the crowded spaces, the bullying, the lonely nights – it was all his fault.

If it was true, she would make him pay.

There was a knock on the door. Demeter wasn't sure how long it had been, how long she'd been sitting there, staring at the words, willing them to be a lie. "Not now, Uri!" she called, but that … that wasn't right, was it. Uri wouldn't knock – and certainly wouldn't knock quietly. He would have barged in by now, insisting that he just wanted to check up on her. He wouldn't still be waiting at the door. She took a better guess. "Basil?"

"Yeah."

"What do you want?"

"May I come in?"

Demeter folded the letter again. "Okay."

The door swung open gently. Basil stepped inside and closed it behind him. "Look, I'm your mentor. I want to help. That's what I'm here for. But I can't help you if I don't know what's going on. You don't have to tell me what the letter said, but … can you tell me why it upset you so much?"

"I'm not upset."

Basil raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie. "Okay. Can you tell me why you yelled at Uriel? Barlen and I have been working under the assumption that you'd want to be allies, but if that's changed–"

"No!" Demeter flung the letter to the floor. "No, of course not. I just … I just snapped at him, that's all. He gets nosy sometimes. It's usually not a big deal. It's just…"

"Was something in the letter about him?"

"No. No, I would have told him if it was. It's … it's about me."

"Something personal?"

Demeter nodded. "But it's not important."

"And why not?"

"Because it can't be."

"Why not?"

"Because if I let it be important, then I have a reason to come back!" Demeter shouted, then realized what she'd said.

Basil nodded. "There it is. And if you have a reason to come back…"

"Then I have a reason to try to protect myself instead of Uri. But I volunteered to help him. He's the reason I'm here. If I'm worried about myself instead…" She shook her head.

Basil took a seat next to her on the bed. "Look, Demeter. Wanting to live … that's not a bad thing."

"But I promised I'd help him."

"I know. This doesn't mean you two can't be allies."

"But if it comes down to the two of us at the end…"

Basil shook his head. "That's unlikely."

Demeter crossed her arms. "Because we're just two younger kids from Nine?"

"No. Because historically, it's unlikely for the Games to come down to either allies or district partners. Do you know how often it's happened?"

Demeter snorted. "Do you?"

"Yes." He started counting silently on his fingers. "Twenty times."

"You call that unlikely?"

Basil nodded. "Yes. Because of those twenty…" He counted again. "Twelve were cases where both tributes were members of the Career pack, which I think we can both agree increases the chance of 'allies' ending up pitted against each other. Two others were cases where it came down to district partners from Career districts, but one was a member of the Career pack, and the other hadn't been accepted into the pack. So if you ignore Careers – and I think we can both agree you and Uriel aren't Careers – that leaves six: Percival, Avery, Harakuise, Kit, Tobiah, and Tamsin. Although personally, I don't think we should even count Avery, because by the time things went sour, half of the tributes in the arena were allies. Anyway, that's six cases where a non-Career ended up facing a non-Career ally or district partner as their final opponent. Six out of fifty-four. That's about eleven percent. I call that unlikely."

Demeter glared. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"I don't care if you're impressed. But you asked. That's your answer."

Demeter nodded. She had asked. And it was a good answer. And she was a bit impressed. "How did you know all that?"

"I've done my homework the last few years. Barlen sometimes comes out with questions like that, and I like to be ready with answers. Because if I take too long trying to figure out the answer, he'll forget he asked the question. I know that sounds silly, but–"

"No, it makes sense."

Basil smiled a little, shaking his head. "But the idea of it coming down to the two of you at the very end – that's not really what you're worried about, is it."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think you're thinking that far ahead. I don't think you're worried about having to kill him. I think you're worried that if you're in a position where you have the choice to save him, you might think twice. And being in that position … it's a lot more likely."

Demeter snorted. "What, no exact numbers this time?"

"No. My memory's good, but not that good. Besides, how do you even keep track of moments where a tribute might have had an opportunity to save another – to warn them about a trap a split second sooner, to tell them they thought something was a bad idea, to suggest going one direction instead of another – and didn't take it? And how do you tell whether that would really have saved the other person's life? No, that's out of my league."

"So what are you saying?"

Basil leaned forward. "I'm saying that if you have that choice, and you choose to save yourself, don't be too hard on yourself for it. Most people would do the same thing."

Demeter looked away. Most people. Maybe that was true. But most people wouldn't have volunteered for the Hunger Games because their best friend had asked for help. Most people wouldn't be in her position in the first place.

Slowly, she reached down and picked up the letter from where she'd thrown it. "Can you do me a favor?"

Basil shrugged. "I don't know. Let me find out what it is first."

"If Uri does make it out … can you give him this? He'll want to know, and … and if he's a Victor, he might be able to do something about it. And if neither of us makes it out…" She hesitated. She didn't even want to think about that. But it was a possibility. She'd known that when she'd volunteered. There were no guarantees – only chances to improve the odds. She'd improved Uri's odds, but that was still no guarantee that he would survive. "If neither of us makes it, it's yours. Read it or burn it or … or add it to your book collection if you like."

Basil nodded. "I can do that. And if you survive?"

Demeter shook her head. She wouldn't. She wasn't here to save herself. She was here to protect Uri. But if she couldn't…

"If I survive, I'll handle it myself."

Elio Provost, 16
District Twelve

With any luck, the other Careers wouldn't think he was important

Elio nodded to Ellie as the pair of them settled down with Brennan and Kyra to watch the rest of the reapings. Ellie nodded back sheepishly. She'd been practically glued to Kyra's side since they'd gotten on the train. Elio, meanwhile, had taken the time to change into something a bit more comfortable than his reaping clothes. Looking nice for the reaping was a necessity, but now there was no one to impress, and his own train car had contained quite a generous wardrobe. He'd found some comfortable pants and a simple green shirt made of some sort of soft fabric he didn't recognize. Elio leaned back on the couch, trying his best to relax as the reapings started to play.

Districts One and Two, as expected, each had two volunteers. Nothing unusual. Elio smiled a little at that thought. That was probably what they would think of him, as well. Nothing unusual about a kid from Twelve being reaped. But thinking like that … that was a trap. A trap he couldn't afford to fall into, even if they did. Just because there hadn't been anything unexpected about One and Two didn't mean there wasn't anything unusual.

"Would you mind going back over those two?" Elio asked, and Brennan nodded. This time, Elio looked. Really looked. The girl from One, Bellona, was a volunteer, but not the one the district had been expecting. And her district partner, Clive, hadn't been at all shy about bringing that up. Watching her reaction, it didn't look like his words had struck a nerve, but that could just be an act. Maybe things wouldn't be as cozy in One as they sometimes were.

And the girl from Two, Lily, had brought a pair of swords to the reaping and buried the blades in the stage. She was trying to make an impression. Trying to intimidate, maybe, but trying to intimidate who? The other tributes? As if most tributes weren't already intimidated by the Careers. But maybe that was something to watch out for – that eagerness to make a splash, to impress.

Her district partner, Ross, certainly didn't seem impressed. There was no swagger there, no flair – just confidence, keeping it short and simple. Then the tape moved on to District Three. The girl, Hattie, was thirteen, trying her best to keep her composure and mostly succeeding. The boy, Elseri, was a volunteer – their first, the escort pointed out, since the 41st Games. The Capitol would certainly be watching him, and probably not in a good way. Best to steer clear of that sort of drama.

Elio shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't been planning on teaming up with District Three, anyway. The original plan had been for him to join the Career pack. But if he was going to try to hide how well he'd been trained, was that even an option? And even if it was, was it the best option? Maybe he should keep an eye on the other districts. But even in that case, District Three would probably be one to avoid.

District Four's tributes, to his surprise, were both reaped. After the role District Four had played in bringing down Thirteen, he'd assumed there would be a Career or two who would want to take advantage of that position, of the Capitol's sudden attention. But maybe they also understood the downside of that. Any volunteers from Four this year would probably have been Capitol favorites, and that was sometimes a dangerous position for a Career. It had certainly been dangerous for Logan last year.

Elio shook the thought from his head. He was in a different position than Logan had been. He wouldn't make the same mistakes. He tried to focus on the pair from Four. The girl, Faven, was helping the boy, Acher, to his feet. Did that mean they were going to be working together? Or was she just being kind?

"My pleasure. You obviously needed the help." Her voice was sweet, but her words … that was a calculated thing to say. Was she trying to make him look bad? Why? He didn't seem to be having a hard time doing that on his own. What was the point in rubbing salt in the wound?

District Five's tributes were volunteers, as expected. What he hadn't expected was the girl, Euphoria, bursting into song on the way to the stage, strumming her guitar and practically dancing her way through the crowd. When the boy, Leven, volunteered, she started playing again, and he twirled and twisted and strutted his way to the stage. Elio almost laughed.

Almost. Because then he caught the look on Brennan's face. His mentor had gone white, staring at the screen – or rather, staring through the screen. His hands were clenched tightly into fists, and not just his right, which always was, but his left, as well. Elio glanced over at Kyra, but their attention was on Ellie, who was trembling, almost in tears.

Elio took the remote from where it lay at Brennan's side and paused the tape. "Brennan?" he asked quietly, reaching over and laying a hand on his shoulder.

Brennan shuddered, flinching away from the touch. He looked at Elio, then back at the screen, then took in the fact that Ellie was crying, that Kyra was doing their best to calm her down. Then back at Elio. "Sorry," he muttered. "Caught me off-guard, that's all. Not something you expect during a damn reaping."

"What?"

"Music." He exchanged a look with Kyra, who nodded. "Let's give them some space," Brennan suggested, rising shakily and heading for the next car.

Elio followed, a bit shaken himself. He'd never seen Brennan like this. Elio shut the door and turned to Brennan, who had taken his glove off his good hand and was flexing his fingers, as if they were stiff from squeezing so tightly. Elio watched silently, waiting. Brennan made his way behind the counter, poured two glasses of water, drank half of one, and held out the other to Elio, who took it. Brennan took another drink, then set the glass down a little harder than necessary. "Okay. You have questions. You deserve answers. Go ahead."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." His voice was calmer now, his hand no longer trembling.

"What happened?"

"The singing … startled me. I wasn't expecting that."

"Looked a bit more than startled," Elio noted.

Brennan nodded. "That's fair. Do you remember what I told you about the mutts during my Games?"

"I remember there was one that sang. Near the end of the Games, the singing led you to your district partner. You killed her."

"Yes. I did. And that music, Elio – it was like nothing I'd ever heard, and nothing I've heard since. But every now and then, there's a … a taste of it. A few notes here and there, a chord or two that are just right, and it's like … like I'm back in that moment, realizing the singing led me to Blythe, staring at that little girl who had been my ally, my friend, about to kill her in cold blood." He took another drink. "It's different if I'm ready for it. The Capitol anthem every night during the Games? No problem. I walk by a pub, or maybe the schoolyard, and I know I might happen to hear someone singing. I've gotten used to that. I see someone pull out an instrument, and I've usually got a moment to prepare. But if I'm not expecting it, if it catches me off-guard like that…"

Elio stared at his drink. "It's been thirty years."

"Yes."

"Is that going to happen to me?"

For a moment, Brennan was silent. "No one makes it out of the Games without some memories they'd rather not have. No one. Not even Careers. I've told you that."

Elio nodded. He had. But hearing it and actually seeing it were two very different things. "How do you deal with it?"

"Generally, by avoiding things that you know will make the memories sharper. Or, failing that, making sure you know it's coming. Now that I know she's a singer, I'll be ready for it." He shook his head. "Even Ajax didn't burst into song at the reaping."

Elio raised an eyebrow as he put it together. "He sang to the mutts in the Games. Charmed them. The audience loved it, but you…"

"Yeah. Kyra warned me that was coming. They discussed using his voice as part of their strategy, and it worked pretty damn well, too. Wouldn't be shocked if Euphoria takes a page out of his book … which I suppose he took out of District Five's book in the first place."

Elio nodded. But he was putting together some other pieces. "That's what upset Ellie, too, isn't it. The singing reminded her of Ajax?"

Brennan shrugged, poker-faced. "You'd have to ask Ellie."

That was all he was going to get. "Looks like the six of them will all be in the pack," he offered, changing direction.

"Looks like it at the moment," Brennan agreed. "So what're you thinking?"

"Honestly? I think there are enough of them who will be grabbing the Capitol's attention that they wouldn't feel as threatened by me joining the pack as the Careers last year were by Logan. He was the only one who stood out to the sponsors. I don't think I would be."

"I think you're right about that."

"But?"

"But I also don't think it would hurt to watch the rest of the reapings before you make your decision – and maybe even wait until training starts to see how they actually interact with each other and whether you want to join them. If District Four had also been Careers, that would have been a rather large pack, and you would probably have wanted to stake your claim to a spot as quickly as possible. Nine tributes would probably have been too large, especially since there are only twenty-six tributes this year. That would be a third of them in one alliance. But six? I think you can afford to wait and see if you want to make it seven."

Elio nodded. That made sense. Brennan's advice usually did, which was one of the things Elio liked about him. He had a logical, methodical approach that Elio had always found easy to grasp. He was steady. Reliable. Unshakable.

Or at least, that was how he had always seemed. Elio's mind drifted back to the image of Brennan staring at the screen, frozen and shaking, overwhelmed by his memories. Elio shuddered. If that could happen to someone like Brennan, then it could happen to him. Was he ready for that?

He had thought he was. He had been prepared to volunteer. He had thought he was prepared for the Games. But now it didn't matter whether he was prepared or not – or even whether he thought he was. Maybe it had never mattered. His name had been drawn anyway, and he was here now. Right now, he had to focus on surviving. That was the important thing.

Everything else would just have to wait.

Clive Van Morren, 18
District One

"So which of them are important?"

Clive raised an eyebrow as Jasper switched off the screen. That was Jasper's teacher voice, which meant this was a test. But a test of what? A test to see how much they remembered from only a brief look at the tributes during the reapings? Or a test of something else? Clive gave a shrug. "Depends on what you mean by important."

Jasper smiled. "Good. Let's say I'm interested in who's going to be a threat to the Career pack. Who's going to be the most important to keep an eye on? Don't think too much about it. First impressions. Bellona?"

"District Thirteen," Bellona answered immediately. "Two volunteers. Both eighteen. Both rather strong-looking, or at least well-fed and in shape."

"And they'll have the Capitol's attention," Clive agreed. "It's their first year in the Games, and they both volunteered. Having two volunteers from the same district is pretty rare outside the Career districts."

"Rare, but not completely unheard of," Jasper agreed. "Anyone remember the last time it happened?"

Bellona squinted. "You're talking about the rebels during the 41st Games?"

Jasper nodded. "I am. And the Capitol will be, too. They'll wonder if something similar is going on. That was quite a lot of volunteers this year."

Clive nodded, doing the math. "Both from Thirteen. The girl in Nine. The boy in Eight. And the boy in Three. If you add in the six of us Careers, that's eleven. Nearly half the tributes. So … why? What are they doing? That's what the Capitol's going to be asking."

Bellona shook her head. "But not asking us. It's pretty obvious what we're doing, isn't it?"

Jasper leaned back in his chair. "Is it?"

"Yes," Bellona insisted. "We're Careers."

Jasper shrugged. "So were two of the rebels during the 41st Games. District Four ended up joining them, remember? Being Careers doesn't put you beyond suspicion."

"We're not District Four," Bellona reasoned.

"No," Clive agreed. "We're a lot less interesting."

Jasper cocked his head. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, look at what's happened in District Four in just the last … what? Fifteen years. They joined the rebels in the Games. One of their Victors burned down their training center. Then Imalia wins the Games, but that's not enough to convince the Capitol of their loyalty – until she's the one to bring down District Thirteen, and now everyone loves District Four again. And what has District One done in the meantime?"

"Not taken part in a rebellion?" Bellona mumbled.

Clive chucked. "Fair enough. But how does the Capitol see District One? How will they see us? Steady. Reliable. Loyal. Outside the Games, that's a good thing. In the Games, that's boring. It's unremarkable. Unless we find a way to turn it into something more interesting."

Jasper leaned forward again. "Good. So which of them are important?"

"Anyone who's a rebel – or who seems like they might be," Clive reasoned. "We single them out. We make examples of them. We back up our loyalty with action, make it something interesting rather than something passive."

Bellona shook her head. "And if they aren't rebels? What if there's no one to make an example of? The boy in Eight said he wanted to represent the district. The girl in Nine was obviously volunteering to help her friend. What if the number of volunteers is just a coincidence? What if there just aren't any rebels?"

Clive shrugged. "Then we create them. It doesn't matter whether they're actually rebels. We just need a reason to target them that the Capitol will appreciate. You can't tell me every single one of them is squeaky-clean."

Bellona's expression hardened. "I don't think the most interesting tributes are necessarily the ones we should be focusing on."

There was a hint of a smile on Jasper's face. "Expand on that."

"Some tributes last longer in the Games just by not getting noticed, not getting targeted by the pack. And sometimes that's enough to win, because they manage to avoid getting seriously hurt while the pack is going after louder, more obvious threats and eventually dissolving. That's basically what Sadira did a few years ago. She avoided the pack, picked up a few kills of her own, and by the time the finale came, someone else had finished off the Careers for her. She wasn't flashy. She didn't get a lot of sponsors. But she went in willing to fight, and she picked those fights well. It's tributes like that we should be watching out for."

Jasper nodded. "And who might be following her lead, do you think?"

"I'd keep an eye on the pair from Seven," Bellona reasoned. "The girl looked stronger than the boy, but physical strength isn't everything. Seven's usually got good survival skills, too. If they can avoid getting in fights they can't win, they can probably outlast quite a few of the other tributes because they won't be so reliant on sponsors sending them supplies. Same goes for Eleven, or even Ten. Working in the fields or on a ranch is no Career training, but it's physically demanding. The boy from Ten looked like he had some muscle on him."

"The girl sure didn't," Clive chuckled. "I think she's the smallest one out there, except maybe the boy from Six." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the face Aramis was making, but his mentor said nothing. Aramis had been the shortest tribute by far in his Games, but he'd had training. "But the girl from Eleven – she looked pretty big for a thirteen-year-old. She was almost as tall as her district partner. The girl from Three was pretty tall for her age, too, come to think of it."

Bellona frowned. "What about District Twelve?"

Clive shrugged. "What about them?"

"The escort seemed rattled when he drew the girl's name."

Clive nodded. "Yeah. I wonder what that was about."

"I know what that was about." Aramis' voice was quiet as he finally spoke up. As a first-time mentor, he'd seemed content to leave the questioning to Jasper. "Two years ago – my year – the girl from Twelve was a volunteer."

"Winter," Clive agreed. "I remember her. The audience loved her – both her and her district partner. What was his name?"

"Ajax," Aramis answered. "They did a good job of using the arena to their advantage. Charming the mutts, luring tributes into traps, avoiding the Careers after the bloodbath until after Soraya and I split from the rest of the pack, then luring the rest of them into an alligator nest."

Clive nodded. "It was a good strategy."

"And it almost worked," Aramis agreed. "Almost. I got lucky. I would probably have been able to beat them in a fair fight, but there's no guarantee it would have been a fair fight. Like you said, the audience loved them. But that wasn't enough." He leaned forward. "Remember that, both of you. No matter how much the audience loves you, no matter how much you impress them … that's not a guarantee. If the Games always went to the audience's favorite tribute, I wouldn't be the one sitting here." He shook his head. "Jasper, on the other hand…"

Jasper chuckled. But Clive shook his head. "But that still doesn't explain the reaping in Twelve."

Aramis nodded. "That's the irony, really. You remembered that Winter was a volunteer, but do you remember why she volunteered?"

Clive squinted. "She was a Career, wasn't she? Or at least, she'd been training to be one. That's what she said, wasn't it? Twelve's been training Careers. They had a volunteer last year, too."

"She did say that – at least in the Capitol," Aramis agreed. "She said she'd been training. But I remember sitting here on this train, watching the reapings. She volunteered for a younger girl from the orphanage – a girl whose name was called again this year."

Clive raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Rigged?"

It was Jasper who answered. "Could be, but not necessarily. Twelve is small, and orphans usually take a lot of tesserae, which is why they tend to be over-represented in the outer districts. Some districts allow them to take tesserae for the other kids at the orphanage, you see, whereas normally you can only take tesserae for your family. So it could just be bad luck."

"Or good luck," Clive reasoned. "That's a hell of an angle to play for the sponsors. She lost her friends to the Games just two years ago, and now her name's called again? That'll probably earn her some sympathy."

"Probably," Aramis agreed. "But if admiration wasn't enough to save her friends, I doubt sympathy will be enough to save her. She'll probably be popular with the Capitol, though." He leaned back a little. "Who else might be – even if they didn't necessarily earn it for themselves?"

It took Clive a moment to piece together who he was talking about, and Bellona got there first. "You're talking about District Four."

Clive shook his head. "Because of what Imalia did to District Thirteen? The tributes didn't have anything to do with that."

Jasper raised an eyebrow. "And you think the audience will care?"

Clive hesitated. No. No, the audience wouldn't care, as long as the pair from Four played their cards right. If they had enough sense to play up the right angle, they could probably ride Imalia's success and guarantee themselves some of the audience's favor. Neither of them was a threat physically – both fourteen, neither particularly strong, and the girl had even had to help the boy to his feet during the reaping. But if their mentors helped them…

"Who's mentoring in Four this year?" Clive asked.

Jasper cocked his head. "Take a guess."

"I'd assume Imalia," Clive reasoned. "Even if she'd rather have Careers, she has to know what her presence means for the sponsors. But who else?"

Bellona rolled her eyes. "Mags. It's always Mags. Don't you pay attention?"

Clive shrugged. "To who's mentoring the other districts? Not particularly." Most of the mentors were probably the same every year, anyway. And most of them didn't seem to particularly want to be in the spotlight. There were some exceptions, of course, but mostly, they were just … there. Even the Career mentors didn't really seem interested in helping their tributes put on a show. Everyone in District One, for example, knew the Florens, but how many tributes from the other districts knew what their family name meant in the district?

Clive leaned back in his chair. Once he won, they would know him. He would do better – even better than the Florens had. His success wouldn't just be for his benefit; he would be helping his future tributes shine for decades to come.

But first he had to win.

"What?" he asked, vaguely aware that Jasper had said something.

Jasper chuckled. "I asked, what have we missed? Who else is important?"

Important. He kept repeating that word. Clive had listened to enough of Jasper's lectures to know that wasn't an accident. He was fishing for something – something they hadn't come up with yet. Let's say I'm interested in who's going to be a threat to the Career pack. That was what he'd said. A threat to the pack. A threat to–

"The rest of the pack," Clive realized. "That's what you mean. We're our own biggest threat."

Jasper nodded. "And don't forget it. Because at the end of the day, you're not a 'we.' No Career pack lasts forever. Sometimes it lasts right til the very end of the Games, but even then – even then, the Careers turn on each other. My final opponent was one of my former allies. So was my mother's. So was Imalia's, and Oliver's, and quite a few others. So while you're keeping an eye open for threats from the outside, don't forget that some of your most dangerous opponents are right there in the pack with you. When the pack dissolves – whether you turn on each other or split up before that happens – you want to make sure that District One comes out on top."

Clive nodded. But that wasn't enough. It wasn't just going to be District One coming out on top. It was going to be him. That was what mattered.

That was what was important.

"Only two things you ignore: things that aren't important and things you wish weren't important. And wishing never works."