When I do manage to sleep, it's not pleasant dreams that wait to greet me. In contrast to the waking dream that I've felt like I've been living in for the past couple of days, what awaits me in my dreams is a barrage of nightmares which feel all too real. There's smoke that's so thick it chokes me, and stings in my lungs. I see flashes of water, and random scorching shimmers. I feel panicked as I run through woods, though I don't feel in control of my body. In these dreams I feel like a passenger, just witnessing things as they happen with no power to stop them.

I wake up in a cold sweat, and decide that it'll be better to clear my head for a bit instead of returning to my nightmares.

I shower and dress quickly - finding an outfit for training which has been hung on the handle of my closet for me - and find that it's just starting to become light out when I enter the dining room. Katniss is already there, holding a mug of something that looks warm. It looks like coffee, something I've only seen a few times back in District Twelve. It's a luxury item, so I've never had the privilege of having any.

"Coffee?" I ask, alerting her to my approach. She looks up at me and shakes her head.

"They call it Hot Chocolate."

She offers me a sip, and I find that it's one of the most delightful things I think I've ever tasted. It's rich and warm, yet sweet all the same. Despite all the grand foods I've had in the Capitol, it seems almost fitting that my favorite thing would be one of the simplest ones. Katniss is deep in thought as I hand the mug back to her. Her eyes dart here and there, staring at nothing in particular. I can tell she's trying to formulate a plan. I wonder what she and Peeta spoke about last night on the roof.

"Did Peeta tell you?" I ask, nodding my head in the direction of the sleeping quarters. "You know, about…"

I trail off, but it seems like Katniss understands what I'm getting at. She nods, and her face twists into one of distaste.

"It's unfair of Haymitch to do that." She says bitterly.

While Peeta seems to feel pity, and concern at Haymitch's unwillingness to help, the thought seems to spark a fuse in Katniss's temper. I don't want her to be at odds with the one person responsible for her life though - not for any more reason than she already has. I find myself doubting that the two won't end up butting heads, and come to a funny realization that they're awfully similar to each other in personality. But I set myself to the task of talking some reason into her. He's not the one she should be upset with.

"It's unfair of the gamemakers to put that extra weight on him." I comment. It's true, and I know Katniss knows this too.

"Still," She says. "You're from twelve. He still has a loyalty to you, a duty to help!"

I'm not so sure Haymitch sees it that way however, and I say as much to Katniss - who scoffs at the thought. In her mind, being from District Twelve obligates him to help all of us, not just the two who carry a twelve on their backs. I wish it was that way. In the minds of many though - including the mentors from District Seven - Cedar and I carry the mark of the Capitol now, absolving them of the responsibility to help us.

"What about the mentors from district seven?" She asks.

I shake my head. Katniss frowns, beginning to pick apart a roll on the table.

"What do you think of Peeta?" I decide to change the subject to something a bit more optimistic.

Katniss shrugs, but her eyes betray her calm demeanor. I can tell she's conflicted about him, like she doesn't want to let herself get too close.

"He's nice." She replies after a long silence. "It's a shame we didn't meet before the games."

If we didn't think so alike, I may have to ask her for clarification. But I've known her long enough to know what she means. I can see her beginning to build walls around herself when it comes to him, closing herself off to any bid of friendship he tries for. It's partly because she's distrusting in her nature, and partly because I'm sure she's got the same thoughts running through her head as I do. She knows that it may come down to her and him in the end, and she doesn't want to let herself get too attached to him in a sort of sick preparation for that eventuality. It's a luxury she doesn't have when it comes to me, and I almost feel guilty for it. It's almost ironic. She doesn't want to let herself get close to anyone here, yet my strategy hinges on breeding a closeness between myself and others. We're opposites in that way - a rare occurrence.

Almost as if on cue, Haymitch and Peeta waltz out of the hallway and into the dining room. Peeta looks cheery, and offers a kind good morning. Katniss however doesn't return his greeting, and her face shifts into a frown of sorts. He bristles slightly, confusion dancing across his face as he sits down. I don't have the heart to tell him about the barrier Katniss has created between herself and him, and I hope I won't have to. He turns to look at me quizzically, and all I can offer in response is a shrug.

Breakfast is served, and I find myself sitting a bit further away from where Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch are sitting. I don't have much of an appetite, probably due to my nerves. We're at opposite ends of the table, and I hope that this will mean Haymitch won't close himself off to helping the two of them for fear that I'll overhear what he says. It wouldn't be fair to the two of them if my being here was the cause of their mentoring being subpar - but I also refuse to be sequestered to my room any time we're not in training.

"Let's get to it then," Haymitch says in a low voice. I notice him take a drink from a flask of sorts - a bit early for a drink in my opinion, but maybe for Haymitch this is a late start.

I hear him ask Katniss and Peeta if they want to be coached separately or alone, and that they need to decide immediately. There are wheels turning in Peeta's mind, I can tell from the way he only seems to be half-listening. It might be better for his plans if Katniss and he train alone - since I'd wager it's pretty difficult to talk discreetly about your secret plans to sacrifice yourself for someone while that same someone is in the room with you. Katniss, however, wonders aloud as to why they'd want to do that, and Haymitch brings up the fair point that there could be a secret skill one of them possesses that they don't want the other to know about.

Peeta laughs.

"I don't have any secret skills. And besides, I've eaten enough of your squirrels to know what yours is." He says, glancing in Katniss's direction.

This seems to pique Katniss's interest, and I can see her fighting the faintest smile. She accepts the proposal to be coached together, and Peeta seems too happy with this display of friendship to realize how this will complicate his plan.

Haymitch goes on to ask Peeta what he's good at, and Peeta replies that he's not really good at much. This isn't true, but I can tell that Peeta doesn't think he's lying. He's always believed awfully little in his own skills, and I wonder where the lack of self-confidence comes from. I could list quite a few things that he's good at, but the conversation has nothing to do with me - a fact I'm very aware of. Katniss mentions how she can hunt with a bow and arrow.

"Are you any good?" Haymitch asks, his voice still low.

The question seems to confuse Peeta, and I forget for a moment that Haymitch has never bought any game from Katniss, Gale and I. It's hard to remember - given the way he comports himself in district twelve - that he has a Capitol allowance due to being a victor. He doesn't live in poverty like the rest of us, and I wonder when the last time he faced true hunger was after the arena. In truth we've always been more than a little wary of trying to sell to Haymitch. He's always had the money to buy real meat, and it's hard to tell if he'd let something slip while in the middle of a drunken stupor. It's a risk that we haven't been bold - or stupid - enough to take.

I try my best to listen in to the sorts of questions Haymitch asks the two of them, but he doesn't make it easy to overhear. His voice hushes even further, and I have to force myself to abstain from rolling my eyes. Does he really not want me to hear him that badly? Maybe he worries that my hearing the advice he gives and following it will make him feel responsible for me somehow. Not that it makes much of a difference, I'm not listening for my own benefit as a tribute. I've been forced to take on the role of mentor, to see to it that Cedar has at least a fair fighting chance. I'm listening for him.

But I can tell when I'm not wanted, and decide to forgo breakfast this morning in favor of getting a headstart on training. Cedar and I have a lot of work to do. It's not like I'll be missed at breakfast anyway, as Haymitch seems to be trying his best to ignore my existence.

"Where are you going?" Haymitch calls after me - ironically having taken notice of my leaving - as I hit the button to call the elevator.

Why do you care? I bite back the angry words before they can leave my mouth, and try to settle them back down into the pit in my stomach where they'd previously resided. It's no use to me or Cedar if I'm at odds with Haymitch. I decide to deflect instead. "What are you, my jailor?"

I'd meant it as a joke, but it comes out more sarcastic than anything else. Haymitch stands up from where he's sitting at the table, yet hesitates to do anything further.

"It's against the rules to leave outside of the allocated times." He says almost dismissively, as if he's a teacher chiding a child for forgetting their spelling.

"Maybe," I say coldly, trying to fight back the urge to say something I'll regret. "But not for me."

He stands still, his face frozen with a mixture of shock and annoyance. I don't give him the time for any further of a reaction as I step into the elevator. My face feels hot and prickly, and I'm fighting my instinct to get angry. I try not to let my feelings show as the elevator doors close, and try to absorb myself into my thoughts as I make my way down to the district seven apartments to see if I can meet up with Cedar. I try to think about what the most important things for me to ask him today will be - aside from what his strengths are. The training lasts for three days, with the last day reserved for a 'private assessment session' which is essentially where we'll demonstrate our skills for the gamemakers. They don't broadcast any of the training that goes on, or what happens in the private sessions, only the scores the gamemakers give us based on our performances. This means I'll need to be strategic in what I ask him, since I don't want to take away from our training time.

Speaking of strategy, I realize that I still haven't fully come up with one for us. It's hard to think of anything, not knowing what Cedar's strengths are and all. But I know he'll ask, and I already pretended I had one yesterday. I wonder what my own strengths truly are, and find myself thinking back to what Lucretia said to me yesterday when we met.

You're good with people. Use that.

It makes me start to think about the way Katniss seemed regretful of not having met Peeta earlier, the walls she's building up between herself and him. Of course she doesn't want to kill someone she feels close to. A glimmer of a plan begins to flutter its way around in my mind.

"Took you long enough." Cedar says with a grin when I reach his floor, looking at an imaginary watch as he enters the elevator. "So…where to?"

It's still early, so I doubt anyone will be in the training center yet. It'll function nicely as a place to talk aside from the garden, so I suggest heading there. Cedar doesn't have any argument against this, and we find ourselves in the training center before we know it. It's a wide open space with various stations that look like they'll be used to teach us specific skills. There's one with various paints, and another with ropes that looks like it'll be to teach us how to tie knots. We opt to sit in the middle of the floor, and Cedar offers me a bread roll that he must have smuggled down with him. I take it gratefully.

"So what's our strategy?" He asks, looking up at me expectantly.

I hesitate, hoping my answer won't seem disappointing.

"Well I was thinking," I say, stalling. "What is it that makes the Careers so powerful in the arena?"

Cedar looks at me like I can't be serious.

"Strength." He says, taking out another bread roll and beginning to pick away at it.

"Right. But what gives them that strength?"

"Muscle."

I sigh.

"Aside from muscle."

"Years of illegal training?" He replies as if I'm not seeing the obvious answer, and I try not to roll my eyes.

"Anyone can be strong."

It seems to dawn on Cedar that I'm trying to get him to think of something deeper than surface level answers, and he furrows his brows in thought for a moment.

"Their alliance?" He asks.

I nod. A strength in numbers, that's part of what makes them so dangerous. Alone, they're still powerful, but not nearly as lethal as they are combined. They have a closeness between them that borders on friendship, and it makes one wonder why they let themselves get so close to each other when they know that only one can remain. I discuss this with Cedar, and we come to the conclusion that they must allow this because they know one of two things. The only way for the alliance to work is that they have to trust that they'll be able to either outsmart or overpower each of the other people within their group when it comes down to it. There's no way to beat them with brute force, but maybe there is another way to protect ourselves from their lethal nature.

I ask Cedar his strengths and learn that he's skilled with an axe, which I already presumed before. I also learn that he's - allegedly - very skilled in knot tying. This isn't so bad, I think. Combined with my pre-existing skills, we might have a fair chance yet at survival.

"What about you?" He asks in return. "What are you good at?"

I hesitate, wondering if I should tell him about my hunting. I decide against it.

"People." I reply instead. "I'm good with people."

The answer seems to be what he was expecting. He nods, and we both sit in silence for a bit while we eat the bread rolls he brought down. He asks what our strategy is once again, and I suppose I can't stall much longer. I tell him my half-baked plan.

I've given us a similar strategy to the greater one I've come up with when it comes to how I'm handling the people of the Capitol, and it's almost laughable how simple it sounds in theory, when in reality it's a much harder task. Right now most of the other tributes think of us as competitors, a name and number - or letter in this case - that they need to eliminate in order to better their odds. But we need to make them see us as the same as they are, as human beings. I'm not entirely sure we'll be successful, but it's the best plan I could think of. And it's better than nothing.

"You want us to make friends?" He asks incredulously. I nod.

We'll already have a couple friends in Katniss and Peeta, and I've come to the conclusion that endearing ourselves to the other tributes could possibly guarantee us a better shot at survival. It's certainly a strategy I've never seen before, and the idea's unconventional nature might just be what'll make it work.

"Won't they think we're stupid though?" Cedar asks in between bites of bread. "For trying to befriend them instead of focusing on training."

I think for a moment.

"We already know our own strengths, right?"

Cedar nods.

"So, we don't need them to think we're threats."

"Right, but then won't that make them target us?"

Cedar makes a good point, and I think for a minute before deciding that it could actually be an advantage for us. I explain my thinking, how if we're strong in training they could see us as suspicious for trying to befriend them. If they see us not training and see it as a stupid move, it could lend itself to disarming them towards us. My biggest strength is people, but Cedar is right that we don't want them to think that we're so weak that they target us right off the bat. That would defeat the purpose of trying to 'befriend' them.

We talk for a little while longer about ourselves, what we'd be doing if we were back home in our respective districts. I mention my work, and Cedar comments on how he'd probably be bored out of his mind if he had to be a historian. I laugh, and tell him that he might actually find he enjoys it. Some people have awfully interesting stories. He notes how this explains my being good at understanding people, since I must talk to so many throughout the day, and I figure he's got a point.

The other tributes slowly begin to trickle down into the training center, and I see them take note of Cedar and I's presence. I look at the large clock on the far wall and see that it's a bit before ten. We find ourselves standing in one large group, and I glance to the side to see Katniss and Peeta arriving. They look awkward, and I wonder if something happened during their conversation with Haymitch. I'll ask over lunch, I think, but then think better of it. I doubt Katniss would be very willing to open up in front of Cedar, who she likely won't trust.

A woman calls us to attention, and explains what I've already surmised about the schedule we'll be expected to follow - which is all just information the Games Commentators spout out on occasion. She also explains the rules. We can go to whatever station we want, but we can't practice any combat skills with anyone who isn't an instructor. I guess she doesn't want any accidents that could result in a tribute dying before even entering the arena. She tells us that we'll eat lunch in a cafeteria here, but our other meals will be taken in our respective living quarters. She has a no-nonsense attitude that I'd admire in any other situation. In the context of the games though, it's almost frightening.

"We should sit with Katniss and Peeta at lunch." I whisper decidedly to Cedar.

If we're seen with Katniss and Peeta it'll lend itself to us not being seen as totally defenseless, since we'll have the illusion of our own mini alliance. The more people who feel a sense of allyship to us in the arena, the better. I tell Cedar that he's free to do whatever he'd like, but I warn him not to show his prowess in anything physical. It's best if the Careers see him as a pretty face, and nothing more.

"You think I'm pretty?" He asks, grinning and pretending to bat his eyelashes.

"I think the Capitol finds you pretty." I joke back, pushing him away gently.

Cedar and I split up, and he makes his way around the room to see what stations he's most interested in. I clarify again that he shouldn't show off, and he rolls his eyes playfully. I look around, trying to see who catches my eye, and make a priority of talking to them. Clove - the girl from district two - is at the knife throwing station. Most of the careers seem to have taken to showing off their skills at the weapons stations, and I wonder if it's in an attempt to intimidate the rest of us. It seems to work for the most part, since many of the weaker tributes among us look warily in their direction from time to time. Clove is fast, and her throws are almost meticulously precise. It's chilling to watch, knowing she'll likely use these skills to kill a number of other tributes in the arena. I do notice however that she's twisting too far when she throws, which seems to put extra stress on her wrist and shoulder. I'd made that mistake nearly a hundred times myself before I figured out how to correct it. As a result, she keeps seeming to be thrown off balance every now and again.

I wonder how different her technique would be in the arena, without the aid of a calm environment where she has the benefit of standing still. It's strange to be thinking of such things, to be considering how these other kids might kill me in the arena. I wonder to myself what things would be like if we were all outside of the games, just meeting in school or something. I find myself thinking that some of us might even have been friends.

Perhaps my plans should start with Clove, I think, finding myself strangely drawn to talk to her. I approach the station, watching her as she throws the knives for a moment.

"If you lower your stance it'll help you to stay on balance." I say. Clove turns to me. "It'll help you not to overextend your wrist and shoulder, too."

Her face scrunches up in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Just offering some friendly advice." I say, and then: "you don't have to take it."

"You're not my friend." She says curtly, turning her attention back to her knife throwing.

"You're right," I reply. "Sorry."

And she is right, I can't blame her for being distrustful of me. I would be too, given the circumstances. I decide that it's better to walk away, trying to avoid any form of confrontation.

Yet despite the abrasiveness of her tone, I notice Clove lower her stance when she takes her next few shots.