Training, Day 1, Part 3

All alone at the training station, Azolla kneeled over the mannequin, a silly plastic thing with a hole in its abdomen where it was supposedly stabbed. Water leaked all over her hands. Yet as she wound the bandages around the torso, her fingers worked with real urgency and her focused eyes darted between the mannequin and a nearby monitor that showed its "vitals."

First aid. She'd learned the basics when she worked on the fishing boats, but she hadn't ever dealt with serious wounds like this one. It'd been an issue when she tried to write her novel. She had needed information, but high-level medical know-how was not to be found among the common-folk of war-torn District Four. Now that she finally had a chance to learn, this first-aid training was almost fun, only dampened by the knowledge that in a few days, she might need to actually put it into use. The thought spurred her hands to work again.

Bandages applied. Done. She glanced up at the trainer, hoping for a nod of approval, but the man didn't react. The monitor. It had to be the problem. Despite her lack of medical knowledge, the steadily decreasing numbers couldn't be good. What was left for her to do? Clean and disinfect the wound… Apply bandages…

Pressure. The body was still bleeding. She pressed and held her hands to the soaking wet bandages, trying not to think of what it'd feel like with real blood. Now, just to wait until the vitals stabilized.

A frustrated groan swiftly followed by a curse came from the adjacent fire-starting station, where she knew Navarro to be. She glanced up in time to see him kick over his crudely constructed pile of wood. She looked away. He seemed flustered enough; he wouldn't want people to stare.

What was she supposed to do with him? He'd been nearby all day. He'd ignored her save for the occasional snarl, but still nearby. That meant he didn't totally despise her, right? She hoped so. Though his glares made her cringe, he couldn't be totally bad, could he? He'd flinched on the train when she extended the food to him. Such a simple action, but the guy hadn't known what to do with it.

The way he seemed to lash out at everything and everyone almost reminded her of an aggressive, lonely Chihuahua. One that she didn't want to stick around for fear of being bitten, but one she couldn't bear to abandon.

Once the numbers stabilized, the trainer nodded and Azolla stepped back, satisfied with her job well done.

Navarro's voice came from behind. "Wasting time?"

She whipped around, bristling slightly. She might not have been good at confrontations or opinions or any of that, but she did not waste time. "I don't think so."

"Not an operation like that. You can't use it on yourself, and saving an ally might get you backstabbed."

"The ally might save my life later. You never know," she said, smiling at him. If she wasn't going to approach him, she might as well take advantage of the opportunity to show him some kindness. She blushed. "It helps my writing too."

"You loco writers…" he muttered, wandering off. "…gonna get yourself killed…"

She frowned a little. His opinion had no reason to mean anything to her. But it still did. So she looked elsewhere, around the room, where the other tributes were scattered, some of them alone but a decent proportion in pairs. The four trained pairs. Girls from Six and Eight. Boy from Eight, whom she'd seen chatting with several different people though he didn't seem to have an ally yet. Girl from Eleven and boy from Nine. The pair from District Twelve. That came out to a total of fifteen tributes with some kind of partner, yet she was still alone. Not that she couldn't talk to people—what would happen to Navarro if she did? There was no guarantee he'd ever change… she just felt he would. Being lonely for a bit would be a small price to pay.

As she turned back to start on a new injured mannequin, she caught the boy from Five staring less-than-discreetly.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her instinctive secretary smile returning.

"You're a writer?"

Her eyes widened. She always welcomed a chance to talk about writing. "Yes! Are you?"

For a moment, he looked as if he wasn't sure how to respond. But then he snorted and looked away. "That's so stupid."

She stared at him blankly, words choked in her throat. Mrs. Dourne didn't think her writing was stupid, or at least un-stupid enough to take her as an apprentice… though it'd been a while since they'd worked on her story. Was that why Mrs. Dourne had instead turned her into more of a housekeeper?

Though his words had hurt, she chose to smile. The boy had been indecisive; he must have had some kind of internal conflict. She'd almost be willing to bet that he was a writer of some sort, one that hated himself for doing it. How could she blame him for that?

A female voice came from behind her. "Don't listen to him, you know?"

"O-Oh, Hey!" Azolla turned around again, this time face to face with the girl from Seven. "District Seven, right?" She bit her lip. What did a trained girl from Seven want from her? She glanced over at the other pairs of trained kids as if she'd find answers there.

"Yeah! I'm Liat. I heard that you write and I had to say hi!" She must've noticed Azolla's hesitation because she quickly explained herself. "Please don't be scared. I'm not like the rest of them. I didn't choose to be here either."

"I'm Azolla." She vaguely remembered there being only one volunteer from Seven this year. "At least you already have an alliance waiting for you, right?"

Liat shrugged. "Yeah. It's better than nothing, I guess, even if some of them are a little… off. But I'm so curious about your writing!"

The trained kids were… "off"? The girl seemed unhappy with them, even though her inclusion in the alliance was basically a ticket to the endgame. What about them could be so wrong that Liat didn't wish to stay?

But the girl wanted to talk about her writing. A topic she hadn't discussed in years, even though she was supposed to be the apprentice of a famous author. There was little time for her own work amidst all the housekeeping, but now that someone asked… she didn't quite know where to start.

"Do you write too?" Azolla said.

"Yeah! I'm working on a few stories, but I keep getting distracted by new ideas," She laughed at herself. "It's such a mess, but I love it."

The girl seemed happy to talk, and Azolla almost felt relieved. Talking about others always came easier. "What are you writing? I mean, if you're comfortable, I'd love to hear about the one that excites you the most."

"Oh gosh, it's so hard to rank them… So I have this story about this girl that wants to go to space."

"Space!"

"But no one supports her, so she decides that she's gonna carve her own path in life. That's the basic premise."

Carving her own path… what a scary thought. Her brother sometimes told her she had to stick up for herself, but it still seemed scary. "Does she make it?"

"No, actually." Her voice was soft now, sliceable with a butter knife. "In the end, she decides that she's happier sacrificing her dream for her loved ones than sacrificing her loved ones for her dream."

"That's… poetic."

"You think so?"

Azolla smiled thoughtfully. "It's so good." It always made her happier to please her loved ones too, yet there was something so inexplicably mournful about having to give up one's dream for it. "Would it be impossible for her loved ones to catch the dream too?"

"I never thought about that." Liat stared off. "But the world doesn't usually work like that. She either goes along and hates her life, or she makes the most of what she has and finds fulfillment in it." Her voice hitched. "Even if it's not what she originally wanted."

As she listened to Liat talk, she felt the long-dormant creative juices stirring again, selfish fantasies that hadn't been allowed to express themselves for years. It felt wrong. But so good, like an old friend.

"What if what she wanted…" Azolla found herself talking again, though she wasn't sure who it was directed to. "What if it was what everyone needed?"

Liat nodded slowly, deep in thought. "Wow… I'm sure you're a phenomenal writer."

"Oh, no! It's just what happens when we put great minds together, right?"

"Thanks so much." The girl chuckled. "You just gave me so much to think about."

As the atmosphere of imagination settled and returned Azolla back to the world of training and Hunger Games, her eyes alighted on the new wounded mannequin, long bleeding out from a slash to the thigh.

"I'm doing first aid if you wanna stay," she asked. "I mean, no pressure at all. Only if you want to."

Liat bit her lip and glanced back at the boy from One, who was sparring with a trainer. She must've been paired with him before she wandered here. "I think I have some thinking to do."

Azolla nodded. It had been a little too aggressive of her in the first place. "Good luck!"

The girl wandered off, leaving her alone. Again. Though she turned to the mannequin and tried to focus her mind on the process, it'd been so nice to talk. She hadn't realized how much she missed it, how dull things felt when she worked alone.

But how could she think that way? Feeling dull was such a tiny problem, especially while Liat struggled in her alliance of trained killers, Navarro struggled with some kind of loneliness-induced douchebag-iness. And Five boy… it took some level of insecurity to talk the way he did. She hoped that she'd been helpful to Liat, that she'd find some way to help Navarro, that eventually she might be able to talk things through with Five.

They deserved her brain space. Her own tiny problems could wait.

It took so much self-control for Liat to walk away.

Or was it foolishness? No, it couldn't be. She was with the Star Alliance. It was her predestined path, one that made her privileged compared to the girl she'd just talked to. It wasn't right for her to complain about it.

She could be happy with the group if she just tried hard enough. Things would turn for the better. She'd found her fulfillment in logging, even when she wanted nothing but to write stories, and the silver lining in the Star Alliance would come eventually if she didn't give up.

Yet she wandered the room alone. She and Ven had paired up after lunch, but with every moment of watching him and his swordplay overwhelming the trainer, her heart had sunk. Her very best paled in comparison to his skill. Thank heavens he'd been understanding and said that they could split up for the afternoon if she wanted to.

Azolla's thoughts echoed in her head. And when she saw Nevaeh and Adair climbing out of the pool, laughing and slapping each other on the back, their deadly knives lodged in the bullseyes of the targets across the room…

She came to a standstill by the weapon racks. Why was she so keen on sticking with them anyway? This group was determined to kill anyone and anything it came across, and Liat wasn't sure if she could bring herself to attack unless she was attacked first.

"What's your problem, Seven? Don't like your fellow murderous brown-nosers?" The girl from Nine stood nearby with a club in one hand and a sickle in the other. Her eyes narrowed in what could only be described as a contemptuous snarl.

Liat bristled. As if being from Seven immediately made her less of a person! "Right. 'Cause I'm so glad to be Reaped, and I'm so excited for a deathmatch, and I've always wanted to murder kids for the entertainment of Panem. Yeah. Nothing's wrong."

The girl stood her ground. "Really."

"Not everyone that's trained likes to kill, okay?"

"It doesn't make things any less unfair."

"And that's somehow my fault?" Liat snapped. "Don't come for me like that. Waste your time somewhere else."

This time, the girl didn't answer. She simply stared. One that told Liat she wasn't welcome, yet one that hid no secrets.

Liat grinned a bit, hoping to defuse the situation. "Besides… we're all here now. It doesn't matter what we're here for; even you'd kill to go home."

"Not wrong." The girl dragged the club against the floor. "I'd do anything to get home."

"Anything?"

The girl took a deep breath. Liat could almost see the steam pouring from her nostrils. "Anything. If it stands between me and my mom, it's going down."

"Interesting." The firm assertion sent a chill down her spine. It was one thing to be willing to kill to get home, but anything… that was a whole new level. "Is that what you really want?"

"No doubt about it." The girl smiled—was it lively or menacing? "What's your name?"

"Liat."

"Clarke."

Liat scrutinized her bold, blueish-grey eyes. What was the girl thinking? She'd gone from taunting to asking for her name so quickly. Liat didn't know what to make of it, but she could feel Clarke appraising her as well.

"Tributes: You have ten minutes remaining."

From the distant conversations, Liat could hear the Star Alliance regrouping. She didn't want to go back. The Star Alliance required her to act, to pretend like she was on their page when she had so little in common with them and she was so much less skilled than the rest of 'em. Even if Clarke eyed her suspiciously half the time, at least she was honest about it.

"Nice to meet you," Liat said. "I've gotta go. The alliance and all."

Clarke smirked. "Is this what you really want?"

Her gut screamed no, but she couldn't just leave. "What? I—"

"I'm messing with you," she said, though her biting tone spoke the exact opposite. "Go have fun with your killer friends."

Stuck for words, she shook her head and left. With every step closer to the circle forming in the center of the room, she felt the weight of pretense pressing her shoulders down as a forced smile slowly rose. They were talking and laughing. She knew she couldn't.

"Hey," Ven said, also hiding outside the circle. "How was it? Feeling better?"

The words of concern put a smile on her face. Ven was a nice guy, albeit a bit quiet; her issues with the pack weren't his fault. "I'm fine."

He gave her a concerned look. "If you want to talk…"

She wanted to talk. He wasn't exactly happy with the alliance; perhaps he'd leave too if he weren't the only one doing it. But then Ilithyia waved excitedly at him, and he waved back. He was still infinitely more connected to the others than she was.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm good for now."

When Ada struck the striking rod against the magnesium block, its sparks fluttered down into the metal bowl below. It instantly ignited the tiny pile of roughly ground dust below in a spark and pop that left her coughing.

Ace raised his eyebrows. "Oh."

"It works." She almost laughed, but she was in the same room as their twenty-two competitors and couldn't afford to reveal anything. "I'll explain later."

He nodded. No questions.

"Tributes: You have ten minutes remaining."

She finally allowed herself to catch her breath after a long day of research and investigation. The Gamemakers wouldn't want the tributes to waste all their time in training on useless skills, right? The logical implication then was that by carefully observing the resources available, she'd be able to figure out some details of the Arena. Quod erat demonstrandum.

That then implied that one could develop a coherent, specific, and effective strategy before they arrived in the Arena, and a strategy she had. One minor problem: The two of them wouldn't be enough. The strategy would require some help.

She felt chills all over and willed herself to pay them no mind. It was scary. Everything was. Especially approaching a fellow Hunger Games competitor in the Capitol, of all people and places. But she couldn't let her emotions get in the way. Because they'd sabotage everything, or because they hurt too much to feel? It was hard to tell.

"So… are you gonna…" Ace trailed off, tilting his head in the direction of the District Eleven Male. "You know?"

She sighed. Back home, she could hide in her room with her science books, but her situation hadn't granted her that option. "I said I would…"

"If you'd like, I could do it."

A twinge in her heart, one she quickly squashed. Ace was too good of a district partner in his own reserved way. She knew he didn't like talking much either, and she didn't want to subject him to it. "T-Thank you, but I'll do it."

"Good luck." He gave her a weak smile.

Poor guy. She'd basically dragged him around all day as she hopped from station to station, piecing together the puzzle, and she hadn't even told him what she'd concluded. How could she, in this setting? But that also meant without a doubt that she had to do the talking. If District Eleven Male asked questions, Ace wouldn't have any answers.

She rose and slid the fire starter back on its rack, nodding politely to the trainer. Above, a few Gamemakers had their eyes on her, but for now she'd ignore them. Everything would be revealed during her Private Session.

The Eleven Male sat at the traps station. She'd noticed him there all day, constructing increasingly contraptions as training progressed. A sign of a dedicated person if she ever saw one, someone she could trust with a task. One of the multiple reasons she and Ace had decided on him. As she approached, he lifted his eyes from his work and watched her with caution.

She sat down across from him. "Hello."

"Hey." He cocked his head at her, his face simultaneously polite and as revealing as stone. It wasn't the most encouraging response. She supposed it would do. She wasn't looking for an ally, after all. Just another partner for the job and nothing else. She bit her lip. She just had to remain composed and let the logic make itself evident.

"Scythe, is it?"

"Sure."

"I'm Ada from District Three, and I— well, my district partner and I— we have a plan." She folded her hands in her lap. "And we need help with it."

"Let's hear it."

Through the corner of her eyes, she saw the cluster of trained tributes in the center of the room. Most paid no attention to the others around them, but the District Seven Male watched her with a casual yet definitely suspicious eye.

She focused back on Scythe. The words felt unfamiliar in her mouth. "We… we want to eliminate as much of the competition as we can in the Bloodbath."

"Interesting." His unrelenting gaze searched her expression, but two could play at the emotion-concealing Game. "How?"

Without a doubt, the Seven Male's full attention was on her now. She couldn't afford for him to know—the rest of the Star Alliance would know as well and the plan would surely fail. Yet Scythe didn't seem particularly confident in her.

"I've spent my day gathering data on the Arena from different stations," she said. "I assume you're familiar with potassium nitrate? From the fertilizers, or course."

"We usually use ammonium nitrate, but I know what it is."

"Do fertilizers contain sulfur?" She could see the cogs turning in his head. He was a smart guy; she was sure of it. She just had to hint at the final connection.

"Ain't much, but it's there."

"I'm not familiar with the storage grid of Eleven, but would I be correct to assume fertilizers are usually stored away from crop fields?"

He chuckled. "Can't keep fertilizers near the fields. We burn 'em every year and the fertilizer would…" Though he stared intensely at her, as if questioning her sanity, he put on a smile. "We only light up the fields if we're sure it'll pay off or even work."

She gulped. The message got across. The reception was a whole different issue. "I'm r-reasonably certain in my current hypothesis, if that's what you mean."

He bit his lip, eyes distant in thought.

"If you'd like to, I'd love to discuss more details another time."

"Well…" he said. "I'mma pass. Sorry."

Her brain struggled to process the succinct response. She'd hoped for a "yes" and expected a "let me think," but what could she make of this? Though she remained at the table, he'd already gone back to his own work, turning his back to her. It suddenly seemed that there was no more uncomfortable place to be in the world than where she was at the moment. She swallowed.

"Then… t-thank you for your time," she said, though Scythe barely acknowledged it.

She bit the edge of her cheek to hold down the bubble of emotion—sadness, was it?—that rose in her chest. Where was it coming from? She had no reason to feel anything. His rejection had been perfectly logical, likely a conclusion drawn from a cost-benefit analysis. Yet it welled up anyway.

There was no more reason for her to stay. She stood up, joints wobbly, and hastened back to where Ace waited. His eyes were so expectant too. She had let him down.

"The answer's no." She tried to avoid meeting his eyes.

"I figured," he said. "I was actually wondering… are you okay?"

Now she tasted a bit of blood. "I-I'm fine. We'll work something out."

Though Ace didn't respond, she could feel his concerned gaze. She almost wished she had just told him, but she couldn't afford that, not here of all places. Anything she revealed would be the property of the Capitol.

"Thank you." She tried to smile at him, hoping it would ease his disappointment. "I'm certain we'll make it work."

Electra had never before been so glad for a day to end. Rationally, she recognized training would be for her good, that she needed to gather essential skills to help her survive since the sleepy cities of District Five provided little in terms of survival know-how. But that didn't make her irrational heart any happier to be here, not just in the Capitol but in this frigid room where every suspicious gaze felt cold and every interaction even colder.

In some twisted way, it wasn't too different from District Five, actually, whose desert environment only reflected its desiccated soul, too scarred by the Capitol's purges and undercover police to sympathize anymore.

She missed the convenience store. She missed the orphanage. There, all she had to do was show up and people would come to her. They told her their stories, exposed their joys and woes, shared bits of their souls that revealed their humanity, that invited her into their lives, that convinced her that her beloved home could someday rise again no matter how much the Capitol had crushed its spirit.

That helped her feel less alone.

Every tribute here had their own story too, but these were stories she was unlikely to ever hear. She'd tried to talk to Kiran on the train. She'd seen the way he cursed yet seemed to wince in spite of himself, the way he stood up to their confused escort but withered the moment the escort started fighting back. What was his story? What made him the way he was?

…the conversation on the train hadn't ended well.

Across the room, she watched the girls from Six and Eight, who'd trained together all day. At first, she'd almost felt envious, yet the Six girl's predatory eyes made her so glad she wasn't with them, though it only further piqued her interest even further. What had driven the girl to such extremes? And what had happened to the Eight girl, that she would seek out someone like Six?

And the Star Alliance! The sight of them made her want to ball hands into fists (though she didn't dare to do it). She knew her Panemian history; Kent's Rebellion would've had a real chance at success if opportunistic Ten hadn't chosen loyalty towards the oppressor. But she couldn't hate them. Not really. From the passionate Two girl to the sleazy Seven boy—their stories were perhaps the most fascinating of them all. What had society done to them, that they would gladly volunteer for an inhumane deathmatch?

She sighed, but then she breathed deeply and forced herself to smile. Things didn't have to be this way. They could change. Somehow. She didn't know what that meant, but she'd hold to it anyway.

"Are you okay?" A male voice, engaged in a conversation not meant for her ears.

A female voice followed. "I-I'm fine. We'll work something out."

The voices came from somewhere off to her side, likely the pair from Three. She didn't turn to look. She didn't want to be weird. Yet those seemingly hopeful words came with a tone that hinted at some kind of repressed pain or frustration. She had sounded like that plenty of times herself. If she were braver, she'd talk to the girl to see what was wrong, but she didn't want to intrude on the two.

She hoped the boy would keep talking, but he fell silent. "I'm certain we'll make it work," the girl said, and the topic was dismissed.

A different voice from the speakers interrupted all. "Tributes: Your time for training today is complete. Please await your escorts by the elevators."

Gratefully, she glided over to the elevators and waited alone by the wall, where she could watch the others migrate over, some of them advancing alone, keeping a cautious distance from the others, while the large Star Alliance moved en masse.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the Threes approaching, similarly hugging the wall. The girl had her lips pressed firmly together. The girl was distraught. And Electra couldn't bear to do nothing.

She lifted her hand and did a little wave once the Threes were nearby, close enough that she didn't have to raise her voice. "H-Hey."

"Hmm?" The girl's eyes flitted upwards with caution, meeting hers uncertainly. "Oh, hey."

"I hope I'm not overstepping, b-b-but…" That cursed stutter! Electra took a deep breath. "But are you… feeling okay?"

The girl nodded, stiff and formal. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

"District Three, right?"

"Yeah. District Five?"

She nodded. "I'm… Electra." When she uttered her name, it felt as if a layer of protective anonymity had been ripped off. She wasn't just Five girl anymore, she was Electra. And it scared her. Time to send the ball back into the other court. "What's your n-name?"

"Ada. And this is Ace."

The girl stopped there, much to Electra's disappointment. But it was clear. People wouldn't just open themselves up to her here. If Electra wanted to keep the conversation going, she'd have to give up more of herself. That would be asking for pain. So she just smiled, bursting with a million questions she could ask without the ability to verbalize them.

The elevator doors opened, and the District Three escort was here. Ada gave her a wave, a nod, a smile, and then the Threes were gone.

If only she'd said more! Perhaps she would've genuinely gotten to know the girl instead of this shallow small talk. But deep inside, she knew that given another chance, she'd make the exact same decision. The security of obscurity was too comforting to give up.

Was this it? There had to be more… but how?

As the elevator ascended, Clarke felt as if its four walls were about to cave in on her. Her entire frame trembled after a day of immersion in the Capitol's cruel's grasp, so up close and personal, inescapable in a way she'd never felt before. Everything unnerved her, from the escorts and their wild fashion to the training room and its omens of death. She gasped for air; her legs itched to run, but there was nowhere to go into this tiny box.

She knew Mati was worried. That self-righteousness son of a witch; what right did he have to be worried about her? He already chose to side with the Peacekeepers—and now he'd turn back to her as if one could truly care about district citizens while currying the favor of their oppressive overlords!

To make it worse, the Sevens stood across from her. What were the odds, those trained bastards? This had to be some ploy! There was no backroom to duck into to catch her breath and regain her composure. She pressed her lips together to hush her breathing; she balled her hands into fists to still herself.

She looked up and found herself staring into the girl's lively blue eyes, darkened with concern. Liat was watching. Of all people… why did Liat have to be here? The girl was trained; she came from Seven, the district that had followed Ten's example and betrayed its countrymen for some money and a training center. Even the girl's appearance, from her muscular body and sturdy shoulders to her well-defined facial features and dyed hair, spoke of money out of reach of District Nine. And out of reach for what? Demanding basic human rights?

But the girl's eyes were so kind. They sparkled like ponds reflecting the blue sky, beckoning her to take shelter from Nine's summer heat. No matter how she insisted she hated every last traitor from Seven, she couldn't deny that those brief moments with Liat at the end of training… they'd been nice. She still had no idea what had provoked her into challenging the girl, but she didn't regret it.

Is this what you really want? The girl's question still echoed in her head. It had no reason to. She had to win, to give the Capitol a good taste of their own poison, a huge middle finger to everything and everyone that had conspired to kill her.

To return to her mom. The woman had already lost her partner; Clarke wouldn't let her lose her adopted daughter too. Nothing could be allowed to stand in her way.

The elevator doors opened to let the Sevens out. Liat gave Clarke one last look, and then she was gone. Clarke could breathe a little now, though she refused to acknowledge the discomfort rippling under her skin.

"Hey, uh…" Mati's small voice ventured into the silence. It was bad enough normally; with all the frayed nerves about to send her brain over the edge, it made her stomach flip. "You—"

"Go to hell." She couldn't look him in the eyes as she snapped at him; she had no guarantee she'd hold herself together.

The doors opened. She bolted, tearing through the District Nine quarters until she stumbled into her bathroom. Chamois yelled after her. That beastly woman could go die. On instinct, she turned on the sink though there was no one to hear her. It wasn't loud enough. She slammed her hand against the panel of settings in the shower, shooting forth a swirl of hot water and scented liquids from the showerhead that evaporated and stuffed the air with suffocating perfume.

With a defeated groan, she fell back against the wall and slunk down until she could rest her head against her knees. Even here, there was nowhere to run. But she couldn't cry. Those perverts probably had cameras in here, any tears she shed would be all over the nightly Games reports. She couldn't give them the satisfaction of watching her break.

"Clarke?" A gentle knock. Matza. The only person in the Capitol she trusted.

Clarke stumbled to her feet, took a breath to pull herself together, and slowly cracked open the door.

The old Victor stood with a plate of cookies. "Come and sit, dear. You'll feel better."

"I…" Clarke suddenly became aware of the water running behind her and the scented steam that spilled out into the room outside, but Matza asked no questions. "I don't know."

"I baked them myself," Matza said. "There's a cup of hot tea ready too."

A cup of tea sounded good right about now. She breathed in the homemade cookies. "Okay."

Matza led her to a sunny corner of the District Nine quarters, a table with two cushioned seats beside a window, overflowing outside with flowers. With the last rays of daylight on her face, Clarke could almost believe she was back in Nine. She peered outside but quickly recoiled. Instead of wide fields of grain, ugly metal littered her view.

Matza reached for a remote. "I can change the view if you'd like."

"Leave it," Clarke said. "I'm not going to live in denial."

"I like that about you, dear." Matza smiled warmly. "So tell me about training. I'm here to help you."

With every nibble of the cookie, the numbness from her breakdown slowly subsided. Her day in its entirety came back into view. "It was… fine. I trained with a club and a sickle today. Oh! I talked to the Twelves too."

"Are you allying?"

"We'll see tomorrow."

Matza nodded. "I'll talk to Kiera Isenham about them and see what she says. District Twelve is a safe choice, but be careful about being alone with a district pair." She scribbled on her notebook. "Don't mind me; I'll forget if I don't write it down. Go on."

"Well…" Clarke swallowed. The only other notable interaction was with Liat… but she was a trained girl. "I think that's it."

"You can tell me anything; this ol' lady won't judge." Matza chuckled. "But whatever you're comfortable with, dear."

She knew Matza wouldn't judge; that wasn't the problem. This lady was the sweetest person she'd ever met by a long shot, overwhelmingly kind yet unflinching when it came to her opposition to the Capitol, a whole new level she would never reach herself.

But when it came to Liat… how could she allow herself to even consider an alliance with her? The idea ran contrary to the very fiber of her being; it left her squirming in her seat, even as she pictured Liat's sparkling eyes and heard her bright voice and—

"Nothing else."

Matza smiled. It warmed Clarke's torn heart. "That's fine, dear. But don't let what you feel define who you have to be, okay?"

Her blood ran cold. "Of course."

"Get some rest. We'll talk after dinner."

Clarke nodded. Every joint felt stiff as she watched her mentor leave. How much did Matza know? Did she suspect that Clarke was… considering the unthinkable?

Either way, it didn't matter. Liat was with the Star Alliance. Even if the girl wasn't terrible herself, she'd chosen to be complicit with an evil alliance of willing murderers, and that was problematic enough in itself to separate the two forever, from now in training until either one or both of them died in the Games.

Is this what you really want? Don't let what you feel define who you have to be.

Rusk sat on the couch in the living room and stared at the fireplace, waiting for the tributes to return from training. For once, the thought didn't leave him nervous. Mati was a stable boy. He wasn't prone to sudden outbursts like his past tributes often were.

Here, before the fire, he felt as if there were something he had to do, a lingering atmosphere of the past few days. He'd done more in those days than in the past year—what was he supposed to do now? Faridah's killer was locked up. End of story. The only remaining troubles were the nightmares he still had at night, but those were dreams and not reality.

After the tumult, peace was strange. Welcome, but strange. Though if he felt at peace, why was something still restless inside?

The elevator doors opened, letting in a cold front. First Clarke tore a hot trail in a mad dash to her room from the elevator, followed by Chamois screeching after her to no avail. Finally, Mati shuffled out, his face pale.

Rusk waved him over. "Hey."

"Oh, hey." Mati smiled weakly and settled down in the nearby armchair, sinking into its lavish cushions.

"Rough first day?"

The boy shrugged. "It could've been worse… I think Clarke had it terrible, though."

Rusk sighed. He'd tried to convince the boy to stop worrying about his district partner who clearly wanted nothing to do with him. "That's her business. How about you?"

"Well… I worked on survival today. Maybe I should've tried a sickle or something, but the trained kids were there and…" He rubbed his neck. "Yeah. Just survival. Talked to Iggy too."

"Iggy?"

"District Eleven Female."

He hesitated. The tributes skewed older this year. "That's… an interesting choice."

"She reached out to me. It would've been wrong for me to reject her." Mati leaned forward. His eyes blinked with fear and sadness yet refused to yield. "She's so… innocent. The Games are gonna eat her alive… aren't they."

Rusk nodded. "But it was nice of you anyway."

Eat her alive they would; he had no doubt of it. If his own Games hadn't been evidence enough, he'd been around the Capitol long enough to see too many innocent children brutally killed. Or worse—robbed of their humanity and forced to live with an empty shell of themselves. In that regard, he considered himself lucky. He hadn't lost much because he hadn't had much to lose in the first place.

All the same, befriending a fourteen-year-old seemed unwise, with the fierce competition this year. Or perhaps it was just humane. As Rusk looked at Mati, he couldn't work up the courage to tell the boy no, though the other Nine victors would've undoubtedly told him to find a stronger choice.

"Are you guys allies?" Rusk asked.

"She didn't ask. I didn't ask." His face fell. "I hope she finds someone that can protect her."

"I see."

Was it relief he felt? As long as the two didn't form a formal alliance, Rusk wouldn't have to face the disapproval of the other victors. Really, he hoped the two would each find solid help. Their odds would be higher that way—or in Mati's case, going at it alone wouldn't be a terrible choice either. The boy had enough physical resilience to last if he could avoid trouble in the Arena.

Mati spoke suddenly. "How are you?"

"Me?" Rusk stared at him, racking his empty brain for an answer. He wasn't quite sure himself of how he was doing. "Don't worry about me. You don't have time for it."

"I heard about the Victor death, and… I hope you're taking care of yourself too."

This was another level of failure, wasn't it? He was the mentor here. It was his job to comfort and encourage his tribute, not the other way around. Yet Mati looked so… genuine. He hadn't seen genuine in a long time.

Rusk smiled. This one was real too. "Thanks for asking, but everything's up to the government right now. There's just a few people mad at me; that's all."

"That's hard," Mati said. "I… I get that." Was this why he'd returned pale-faced? No matter how hard the boy tried to just ignore Clarke, it wasn't in his nature to just cut someone out. "I hope reconciliation goes well."

"Thanks. I hope so too." Rusk shifted in his seat, though the simple fact that Mati cared warmed his heart. This was all wrong. His problems were wasting Mati's time when every moment counted. "But back to training. What are you thinking about tomorrow?"

"I'm still not sure, but I'm thinking…" As Mati spoke, Rusk eased again, feeling the focus shift back to what really deserved their time.

But reconciliation. He took a deep breath. That was it, the "something" he felt he needed to do. He wasn't sure where Darah was at the moment—did anyone really know when it came to the Tens?—but Avisa was mentoring this year, working through the pain. He could try again.

A/N Hi… Why does this chapter have six chapters instead of four? I don't know. Either way, the inconsistency slowed down my schedule. But it's going strong! Day One of training is over! As always, if you have opinions on the way I'm writing, please let me know. I'd much prefer that we talk things through instead of having someone complain behind my back.

I'd love to know y'all's thoughts!