4.

Silly in the head.

That was what most of the adults had said about Marrow by the time he was around sixteen, that he was silly in the head. That was their explanation for why he would keep insisting that someone had been talking when they assured him no one had and once they had decided and declared that 'this joke [he was] playing on them was not funny anymore' and that still didn't make him stop, that's when everyone started to become concerned. He wasn't sure if being called silly in the head made him feel worse or better than any of the other nicknames he'd garnered over the years.

Long before that, when he was eight years old, he discovered his talent with horses. He started working as a groom in the district's massive stables at a young age, allowing him to bring an extra bit of money home without resorting to signing up for tesserae, at least not for a while. But that had only been a fortunate bonus. He loved the animals. Loved how soft their coats and manes were—to the point where he questioned if they actually were that soft or if it was just his imagination, but then the stable master Chuck had smiled and assured him that they were, in fact, that soft.

He loved how despite how big they were, if you were gentle enough with them, they would just stare at you for a long time with their large dark eyes, almost like they were trying to look into your soul and decide whether or not you were trustworthy. And by some miracle, they always decided that he was, and seemed to all instinctively love him right back.

By the time he was eleven he was riding like a pro, able to tame them in almost half the time it took professional trainers to do the same. He would take a horse and ride around the streets of the district, which no one ever paid much attention to since it wasn't outside the norm, especially when they were breaking new animals in. The horses, in particular, he was taught, had to become adjusted to people quickly—particularly a large group of people making a lot of noise, because they were training them to be sent to the Capitol. He remembered feeling crushed when he was told that the horses, the very same ones that he had become so attached to, were eventually going to be put on a train so that they could be sent to pull chariots for the tribute parade in the games that he watched on the television every year.

He'd thrown a fit, he was ashamed to say. He'd cried and stood in front of the stable doors and demanded that they stay away 'from [his] friends' before he had to be dragged away by not one, but two very strong adult cattle wranglers. Even at a young age he'd been bigger than the other kids, so he'd been able to put up a fight, aided by how much stronger he'd become from his time in the stables.

After being somewhat tamed as if he were an animal himself, he'd been sat down and forced to listen while Chuck and a handful of others explained that this was the job. That was what they did here in Ten. They raised animals for the people in the Capitol. That's what happens, they'd all said.

These animals that he'd gotten so attached to would be sent away and turned into pretty pageant ponies who walked around in a circle once a year and nothing more—That's what happens.

We don't get the freshest meat, that belongs to the Capitol—That's what happens.

Your name is going into the bowl along with thousands of other names belonging to the kids you go to school with, work alongside of, play with, teach how to ride, and guess what, it could be your name getting picked one day—That's what happens.

Your friends and neighbors are going to vote for this year's victim—

But Rex had said no. That's not going to happen. Those had been his exact words. Then he'd gotten himself arrested.

Marrow was trying not to listen to the half a dozen voices that were all talking at once, each fighting for his immediate attention. They all sounded familiar, but he could only name the source of a few of them right away. Not that it mattered who was talking, he was trying his best not to listen to them at all. He had other things that he needed to focus on, and he didn't have time to hear their reasons for why this was the best thing that could possibly happen. That he deserved this, that he would have hurt someone if he'd stayed back in Ten, that he'd already hurt people.

His parents had even chimed in, reminding him of how, long before he was ever labeled 'silly in the head' he would play almost a little too roughly with the other children, it didn't matter that he hadn't meant to hurt them, he'd still hurt them and sending him away now was best for everybody. This year's games were the best thing that could have ever happened to anybody. At least this way he could put his temper and strength to good use.

"Hey, calm down," Rex insisted, placing his hand on Marrow's right shoulder, forcing him to breathe in and out, soothing himself. He still couldn't believe how lucky he was that the peacekeepers who had stood outside his door had decided that they could not watch him on the ride to the Capitol alone. These were special circumstances, they'd said. They needed someone who knew and understood Marrow. Someone who knew all the ways to calm him down whenever his silly head got the best of him. But it was just until it was time to go into the arena, then he was on his own. Again.

"Look, don't focus on any of them, okay?" Rex continued. "Don't think about any of that. Alright, remember what I said, you're strong. And if worse comes to worse, you know how to kill. To use a weapon if you have to. Remember the chickens? You cut their heads off when you were five."

"Yeah, I definitely prefer tending to horses," Marrow grumbled to himself.

"Speaking of which, just think." Marrow looked to his right and marveled at how hard it had always been to feel big next to this guy, despite their obvious height difference. Rex had been bold and sure of himself in a way that Marrow knew he never would be, especially now.

"Remember when you were nine," Rex continued comfortingly. "And Chuck pointed out that your favorite horse, Whiskey—you remember, the one you really threw that massive fit over—was pulling the chariot for the district 10 tributes? He said that he did that just for you. That if they had to send her away, then they would make sure that she would stay as close to home as possible? And during the parade as all the other horses came around the corner and into view you called out all their names, one by one. You recognized every single one of them. Every year you did that. Well, think of this as reuniting with old friends. Alright? You're taking a train to see some old friends? That's gonna be so fun."

"Yeah," he said, nodding, not looking at Rex. "You're right. Old friends."

Marrow conjured up an image of the last batch of horses they'd sent to Capitol three years ago and tried to remember all their names. Aphrodite, Amethyst, Bromine, Circe, Copper, Donut, Mara, November, Pegasus, Rosie, Wesley, Zephyr. He thought those names over and over and over again.

"What are you saying?"

He looked up in surprise and saw a very pretty woman who was holding her long dark hair back in a bun and was looking at him with concern. He recognized her as a victor from ten years ago. Hedy. Hedy Pritchett he was pretty sure her name was. She was speaking to him in a gentle tone, the same tone that he'd used with wild animals in the past when taming them. And it was one that he didn't particularly appreciate being on the receiving end of as if he were one of them. Not that he wasn't used to it, but it irritated him all the same, though he tried desperately not to let it show.

"Nothing," Marrow said, clearing his throat and straightening up, attempting to look as big as possible, even though he was sitting down. "I'm fine."

He looked over at the end of the table and recognized a tanned pixie haired girl who was in his year that he remembered had won all the races in school. She'd beaten everybody, including Marrow. In fact, one time, before he'd been labeled as 'silly in the head' they'd even played a little game where they would once and for all decide who was faster, him on horseback, or her on foot. She had almost beat him, too. And now…was she sitting at the end of the table so that she could be as far away from him as possible? Of course she was. Maybe she'd heard him talking to Rex and was trying to pretend that he wasn't there. Just like all the others. She may not have been one of the people who said bad things about him, but maybe he just hadn't heard her when she'd said them.

Then it occurred to him, he hadn't even known she'd been reaped. He hadn't even heard her name being called. In fact, he didn't really remember anything about what happened before, or much after, his name was called. It was as if he'd been walking in a fog and only made it out because he had someone leading him by the hand out through it.

"Dove?" he asked her, taken aback. "They…they picked you?"

She looked momentarily surprised at his own shock to see her, but then what appeared to be a look of realization, brief as it was, passed over her face and she nodded wordlessly at him. He couldn't really read the expression on her face now, but if he had to guess, not that he wanted to, he would have said it almost looked like pity. Pity for the expert rider who taught her everything she knew…but who was still silly in the head.

"But, why? What did you do?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Dove chuckled darkly at him. "What do you mean? I didn't do anything. They chose me because they thought I could outrun all the other tributes. Maybe they figured that meant I had a shot at winning this year." She shrugged slightly as if this was nothing to her.

"Maybe?" he asked, not sure if this was just his silly head playing tricks on him again or if he was actually hearing this. He liked to think it was a trick. He didn't want to believe the citizens of his district could be that callous, even though he of all people knew better.

"Look, let's just focus," Dove said. "Hedy was just explaining how we should look during the tribute parade."

Marrow's ears perked up. "With the horses?"

At the childlike enthusiasm in his voice, Hedy smiled at him. "Yes. I was told that you helped train a lot of them. Is that true?"

Marrow nodded his head, continuing to smile, which she returned in kind.

"Great. Well, then you'll probably have a blast during this parade."

"It's like I'm riding the train in order to meet up with some old friends," Marrow echoed Rex, earning another smile from Hedy.

"Actually, that'll be perfect for later on," she suggested. "For your interview. Talk about that. Talk about your history with the horses and caring for them. And I'm told you like to ride?"

"I love riding," he went on, suddenly feeling more at ease. Rex was right. Just keep focusing on the horses. The horses were the answer.

"Flickerman will just eat that up," she gushed. "Alright. Wow, we're off to a great start. Okay, so for now, the important thing here in the parades is to just smile and wave. Be open, act like the crowd is your best friend. One you haven't seen in a while that you're meeting up with to finally catch up."

She said this with a small smile in Marrow's direction, causing him to feel a little shy as he looked down at the plate in front of him.

"I think she likes you," Rex taunted him playfully.

"That's it?" Dove asked, sounding a little annoyed, almost like she wasn't overly fond of all the attention that Marrow, and only Marrow, was receiving from their only mentor. "Just smile and be…lovable? On our first try?"

"More like smile and don't do anything overly offensive," Hedy responded diplomatically. "Like, I don't know, flip off an entire district on live television."

Dove wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Who would do that?"

Hedy gave a sardonic smile. "These things tend to bring out the worst in people. Of course I don't have to tell you that, do I? I can only imagine what you two are feeling right now and I'm sure it's nothing pleasant. I don't blame you. I remember when I got reaped, I…broke pretty much everything I saw in here. I got on the train, and I actually picked up a lamp and threw it against the wall. The Peacekeepers had to come in and hold me down until I was calm. I was like a wild animal. I just couldn't believe that this was actually happening to me. It just didn't seem real, you know? It still doesn't sometimes. In fact, I won't lie to you, I still don't know how I got out of there. I've wanted to watch the game tape, but I could just never bring myself to do it. I think I was afraid to..."

Then, looking as if she was waking up from some kind of trance, she seemed to realize that she was essentially talking to two strangers about something incredibly personal. Hedy straightened up, cleared her throat, put on a smile and continued.

"I'm sorry. I just…I want you to know that you're not alone here. Either of you. I know this is a tricky situation to say the least, but you have an ally in me. Someone who knows what you're going through and will help you out every step of the way, however I can. Don't be afraid to tell me anything. Whatever concerns you, anything you think I should know, please come to me. You can."

"That's a very kind thing to say," Rex said, gaining Marrow's attention for the second time since Hedy started speaking to him. Marrow nodded in response. "I think you should tell her about your whole thing about being touched. Best to just get it out of the way right now. But, maybe not in front of Dove. Her, I'm not so sure about. She is our competition, old friend or not."

Marrow looked somewhat distrustfully out of the corner of his eye at Dove, then quickly looked back at Hedy and thought about the horses again, causing him to smile once more. He would pull her aside before the train arrived at the Capitol and she would sort everything out.

She would help him. It didn't matter what everyone else was saying. Rex told him it was true, and that was all he needed to hear.

Hours after the tribute parade, Emmer, freshly showered (amazed at the kind of water pressure that the Capitol got here when they were lucky to get clean water at all) sat in the living room, the notebook and pencil he'd requested that the Avox boy retrieve for him practically the minute they walked through the doors of their apartments balanced in his lap as he took notes of the competition.

His biggest threat, he knew, were the careers. The ones from 1, 2, and 4. He watched the district 1 tributes in their long golden colored cloaks and their hoods up arrive in front of the Training Center, at which point they pushed the hoods off their heads, revealing that their hair was slicked back with some kind of grease, not a single strand out of place. He observed that they were also wearing dark eyeliner, making the shape of their eyes look much more pronounced. The girl, whose name he took note of being Alexandrite, was wearing her hair back in a tight bun in addition to its being slicked back. She, at least to him, looked almost frightened, like she was trying as hard as she possibly could to keep her composure as she stood up in the chariot. She didn't look like any career he'd ever seen compete in the games in the past. They were usually beaming with confidence, an image that her district partner, a tall, burly, black-haired teenager, lived up to as he raised his arms and encouraged the audience to continue cheering for them, or, Emmer supposed, mainly him.

Both tributes from District 2, whose hair was nice and wavy, were donning laurel crowns and had on metal chest plates and purple capes over their shoulders. They waved excitedly at the crowd as if they were the guests of honor at this whole thing. Considering that they would likely turn out to be the winners, it was no wonder they were so happy. Now these were careers.

The district 5 tributes were something of a mixed bag as well. They were both wearing vests that appeared to be made out of intertwined, multicolored electrical wires over black leotards. The girl, who had caramel colored skin and pretty dark brown hair held back in a maiden twist going down her back, seemed to be looking at nothing, her face stony. She almost didn't even look like she was registering where she was at all. Like she was somewhere else entirely.

The district 8 tributes, the ones wearing what seemed like long sleeved white painting smocks, caught his attention since they had the youngest tribute in the games. The boy, a small, fragile looking thing, whose complexion seemed to be a shade or two darker than the district 5 girl's, didn't seem like he belonged here at all. And he'd volunteered, just like Emmer had. And he was just waving, almost like he was enjoying himself immensely. The girl next to him, meanwhile, was giving a wide, adoring smile to the crowd, blowing kisses at them as they went.

District 10, however, that one was an eye-catcher, particularly the boy, who was bigger than all the tributes combined. The district 10 boy, if you could even call him that based on his size, had his hair buzzed and was dressed in a long sleeve plaid green shirt, brown fur pants, and draped in a long, heavy looking fur cape, same as the girl.

But that wasn't what caught Emmer's attention. It was the fact that they were not in the chariots at all. They were actually riding the horses, and quite expertly from the looks of it, towards the training center. The boy had discarded the cape quite carelessly halfway through, smiling like a young boy out for a pleasant ride, trotting and giggling as he gently stroked the mane of his dapple-grey horse, leaning in and whispering in its ear, almost as if they were best friends and the only two creatures in the world.

That had been all anyone was talking about since. That epic display had blown his and Maizie's costumes away.

Their stylists' original plans had been to dress them up in clean blue overalls and white shirts to give them a sort of 'clean, earthy glow'. It was the same costumes that had been worn when their district had won the games all those years ago. Perhaps those costumes were good luck, they had reasoned. Perhaps Demetria's spirit would see these costumes and smile down at them and bless them, allowing one of them a chance to win.

The mere thought had made his stomach turn, but thankfully the parade costumes wouldn't prove to be an issue, since their mentor, who had finally decided to make an appearance, had put a stop to their stylists' plans.

Earlier on the train

Emmer had fast forwarded through the reaping and saw Demetria's and Fenton's scores. He had scored a 10, her a 3. Not so good for Demetria.

Then onto the tribute interviews. Demetria looked very pretty, wearing a low V-neck floor length gold gown that exposed her copper freckled shoulders. Her red hair, the top of which had been adorned with a crown of tiny yellow flowers, was being held up in an elegant looking bun while a single strand fell very gracefully on her left shoulder. She was very shy in the beginning with Lucky Flickerman who was dressed in an orange suit that was a shade so bright it was almost blinding, even through the television.

"You look very lovely tonight, dear," Lucky said sweetly with a big smile on his face.

Demetria tried to force herself to smile but just came off looking uncomfortable and even somewhat frightened when she responded lightly with, "Thank you so much."

"So, how do you feel about being chosen for the Games?"

She seemed taken aback by the question, her eyes going wide for a moment. "How do I feel? Well...it's a, well I suppose it's an honor…"

She trailed off, looking out nervously at the crowd. All the other tributes had clearly been coached and had rattled off their answers to Lucky's questions with ease, he'd watched a couple of them to know that much. Demetria must have been coached, too, so why was she acting like this? Was he going to freeze up like that?

"To tell you the truth, Lucky," she continued, sitting up straighter and speaking up more. "I'm a little nervous. I'm a lot nervous, actually. You have no idea how scared I am to go into the Arena. At best, I could make a complete fool of myself in front of the whole country, embarrassing me and my District. At worst, I could die. I may even die at the hands of my own district partner. Wow, it feels so strange to call him a partner considering what we're about to do in a matter of days."

The answer had taken Lucky by surprise, but he said, apparently attempting to make a joke of it, "Well, that is a tough one. So, what do you plan on doing to make sure none of those things happen?"

"I…" Demetria trailed off again. She let out a deep breath and spoke up, holding her chin high, which looked very difficult. "I have no idea. That's the truth. I wish I had a great, brilliant grand plan to impress everybody with, but I've got nothing. What would you do?"

The question had taken him by surprise. He seemed to be fumbling for an answer, but only just a little. "If I was in your shoes? My goodness, I...I have no idea. I—"

"Wouldn't wanna be in my shoes?" Demetria guessed with a small humorless smile. "Yeah, I wouldn't want to be, either. I still don't. But try to imagine it. Being me. A nobody from one of the poorest districts, I don't know anything about fighting. I'm just a farmer, the daughter of farmers. And then one day you learn that you might just die for…for what, I don't know. But everyone around you, who's not you, who doesn't have to do what you have to do, is calling you a chosen one, and it makes no sense. But I'm gonna die and it's not gonna matter to anyone. No one will remember my name. Why should they? All I did was embarrass us all by dying. I don't even have a family that will mourn me. Not really, not anymore. So, my plan, Lucky? I don't know. I just don't know. But I really think that would be an interesting question for the people of the Capital watching these Games. What would you do? Because who knows? One day you just might…"

She was quickly escorted off the stage after that. Lucky tried to laugh it off, but it was a clumsy attempt, and he tried to move on and welcome Fenton onto the stage for his interview.

"Turn that off."

Emmer jumped and whipped his head around, looking for the source of that sullen voice. And there it was. Or rather, there he was. Emmer had made a mental note in his head of who was going to be their mentor for this exact reason, he knew it would be of the utmost importance.

Tiberius Isley Longwell.

Long dark wavy hair that went all the way down to his shoulders, a thick dark beard, and tired brown eyes. He seemed to be wearing blue denim pants and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Emmer might have been mistaken, but it seemed like Longwell had blue clouds painted along his left elbow going upward, and orange flames on the right.

"You must be the brave little soldier throwing himself onto the sword," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "You can call me Isley. And for the time being it seems like we're stuck together. Come on. I've already met that little ray of sunshine in the other room who seems to want to stuff her face non-stop."

"You—you're Capitol?" Emmer asked, sounding stupid to his own ears. But he couldn't help it. He just didn't sound like one of them, he sounded so normal with no over the top, high-pitched accent.

"Yes, and you're District 9," Isley answered in exasperation. "It's a miracle, we both know who the other is, now get a move on. Hurry up."

Emmer followed him back to the dining car where Everett, who was standing on the other side of the table, saw the two of them, or more specifically, Isley, and waved excitedly, which just elicited a groan from the recipient of this sincere show of respect and even admiration. Maizie, on the other hand, was ignoring their entrance completely, icing still on her face from the cupcake she was eating, and it was clear she wasn't going to make any attempt to wipe it off her face.

"Well, you're just going to be a garden tea party for me, aren't you?" Isley asked sarcastically, earning him a glare from Maizie that he seemed to pay no mind to.

Isley sat across from them at the table and Emmer took the seat on the left of Maizie who seemed to scoot instinctively away from him. He tried not to let that hurt his feelings. Because really, why should it?

"So," Isley said with a tired sigh. "I'm assuming you two wanna live."

Emmer and Maizie cast curious glances in the other's direction, then looked back at him and both nodded, seemingly unsure if this was the right thing to do.

"Good," Isley said with mock approval. "Now, let's get to work. So, first thing's first, the tribute parade. I've had a much too long chat with your stylists and we're going to go in a different direction this year. In the past, as you know it's been silver for the color of silos, or gold to represent grain, or some other nonsense. Really it's bright grey or dark yellow, not that it matters, we're not doing that this year."

The two of them gave him concerned, curious looks. He leaned in to explain, and as he did so, Emmer noticed that sounded like he was slowly waking himself up from whatever sleepy stupor he'd been in a moment before. And as he continued talking, something else about him was changing too, even though it wasn't registering on his face, the rapidity of his words seemed to suggest a sincere amount of thought that he'd put into this, and maybe even some enthusiasm, even if he'd never in a million years admit it if he was asked.

"Your district is famous for making grain, obviously, and everyone associates grain with bread. But grain is also used to make cosmetics, oils and especially animal feed. It's used for everything. It's life. The staff of life. That's pretty powerful. So, we'll lean into that."

"And how do we 'lean into that'?" Maizie asked suspiciously.

"Nine is the humble district," Isley answered automatically, not at all deterred by her tone. In fact, he seemed to ignore it completely. "You're the only ones who don't have a single living victor. All the others have at least one on the books by now. Well, except for Twelve, allegedly. But from what I can tell, your district is the one that gets the least amount of airtime, the least amount of excitement. That means there's a lot to work with here because the expectations are not only low, they're almost nonexistent. No expectations mean the sky is the limit."

He almost sounded excited. But again, Emmer continued to wisely keep his mouth shut.

"You're the nobodies," Isley went on. "And do you know what people love to do with nobodies? Project. They like to project this great chosen one destiny onto them, and that's exactly what we're gonna do with you two. We're gonna hammer you to a cross and pull you back down and say to the world 'Hey, look at these two heroes who died for your sins'. Who willingly took this sacrifice, these nails in the hands and feet for, not just their district, but for their country. For you, Panem. They're here for you. We'll turn you into saints."

Emmer wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. "Uh, how do you turn someone into a saint?"

"Please," Isley said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "With the right cue cards, stylist, and lighting, anyone is a saint. And everyone loves a saint. Just like everyone loves mockingjays. You know, as long as they mimic a song that doesn't get stuck in your head. I've already discussed it with your new stylist. Her name is Cassia, you'll like her, she's brilliant. I had to pull a lot of strings to get her, so you're welcome. Now, this whole sainthood thing does not just apply to the parade, this goes on for the next week."

"Screw that," Maizie argued.

Isley narrowed his eyes at her, bored. "I'm sorry, do you have a better idea on how to not die?"

"I'm not a dancing monkey. I'm not 'dying for the sins' of my people, the same people who put me here. Screw them all. Blow them all to hell for all I care."

"Fine," he said ignoring her, then turned to Emmer. "Since she's not going to listen, looks like I'll be nailing you to the cross. The martyr act is more believable on you anyways."

"Uh, it's not an act," Emmer responded somewhat meekly. "I mean, I'm not a martyr. I didn't do this to be a martyr. I just wanted to stand up and show everyone that this was wrong—"

"Oh, that's so cute," Maize groaned. "He thinks that if he gives a different version of the same stupid speech that eventually someone's gonna give him the reaction that he wants."

"Shut up," Emmer fired at her without looking at her.

"Seriously, save that dog shit for the interviews, they'll eat that up," she went on, going back to taking large bites of her cupcake.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Emmer demanded, turning to face her. She just looked at him with a bored expression. Then he turned to Isley, whose expression matched hers. "With both of you. You're walking in here, acting like we're trying to sell ourselves and not like our lives are on the line—"

"That's exactly what you're doing," Isley responded, not raising his voice. "That is exactly what you two are doing. That is how you charm this city. I've got news for you kids; this is a city of people who are bored and pampered all day and are always looking for their next little scrap of mindless entertainment. For you this is life or death, for them this is how they forget about their personal problems with their spouse or their kids or their friends or how they're not the envy of any of them. Your job, that is if you want the supplies necessary to stay alive, is to entertain them. And my job is to tell you how. I know what I'm talking about, so listen up and listen carefully, both of you. I don't care about your personal feelings towards me, the Capitol or the games or the Quell. I. Don't. Care. I do care about winning, and I'll do whatever I can to help you win, but only if you stop with the whining and do what I say."

The two of them looked at him, dumbstruck. Maizie turned to Emmer and said calmly, "The saint thing does actually look better on you. I don't know what all that cross and hammer stuff was about though."

"Oh, damn it all to hell," Isley grumbled, rubbing his temple in frustration. "Did they burn all the reading material in the districts? Never mind. I've made my point and now I'm going to finish my dinner in my room. My train car? Whatever."

Isley stood up and loaded a plate with bread and cheese. Then he turned to Emmer and said, "She won by hiding. Which is more about luck than stealth. And I guess a little bit about your preparation skills. But these games change exponentially every year. The Arenas, the winners, the other tributes. My advice, look at them, see what you're up against. Find out who to avoid, who to play nice with, and don't underestimate anyone, even when it seems like you should. Alright?"

All Emmer could do was nod in acknowledgement as Isley walked out of the room with his plate. Maizie just took a fork and picked up a large slice of turkey and ham. Emmer wrinkled his nose at her, "You're gonna get sick."

She looked at him in disbelief. "And then what? I'll die?"

She chuckled darkly at her own joke. Then, before Emmer was able to tell her just how disgusted he was with how little she was taking this seriously, she beat him to it.

"Do you know why you didn't get that precious applause that you wanted so badly?" she asked, not looking at him as she took a brief break from eating. Her tone was indifferent, not even mocking anymore. "Because they're just happy that it's not them. It's just like any other games. Luck of the draw. And much to their luck, some idealistic idiot decided to put his head through the noose and spare their son, brother, nephew, or best friend. Plus, it meant that they didn't have to be honest with themselves about who they wanted gone once and for all. They wouldn't have to make a decision. They're not gonna think about what you did and be grateful that they're alive or think about how awful the Capitol is, they're just gonna do their best to forget about you so they don't have to feel guilty."

Emmer felt what little he ate threaten to rise up in his throat. She actually looked at him with what appeared to be the slightest hint of…sympathy? But that couldn't possibly be right.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But that's the truth. That's life. People aren't moved by symbols or saints or sacrifices, they just wanna live. They don't care at what expense. Not really. Not if they're really being honest with themselves."

He thought about her words for hours after she said them and wondered if there was any truth to what she'd said as he looked at the two of them on screen standing in the chariots wearing their parade outfits—the long white, simple robes, giving them the appearance of humble farmers who also could have been brilliant prophets. Was that really true? Were they just puppets here for other people and nothing they did mattered?

He felt something snap in his hands. He looked down and saw that without meaning to he had broken the pencil in half. He cleared his throat, gathered up the pieces and threw them in the waste bin nearby. Then he called the Avox back in and asked for another pencil. After all, he still had some work to do, deciding who the greatest threats to his life were and all that.