Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Just a reminder to vote in the sponsor poll.

Training Scores
What They Get

Malchus Fritz
Hunger Games Host

He wished they got something besides numbers.

Malchus drummed his fingers on the table as the timer ticked down. One number for each tribute – that was it. It didn't seem fair, really, without any explanation of how they'd earned that number. Oh, he knew why they didn't do that, of course. If they revealed what the tributes had done, tributes would stop showing skills that they'd hidden in training. That was the standard reason, the one everyone knew.

And he knew the other reason. Telling people exactly what the tributes had done would take away some of the mystery. And the audience loved a good mystery. Malchus glanced down at the scores in front of him. There certainly were a few mysteries in there. Most of the numbers made sense, of course, but a few of them…

A few of them were unusual. And that was good. It would grab the audience's attention. Maybe it would even grab the other tributes' attention. Maybe it wasn't fair, but so what? It was only one in a very long list of things about the Games that were unfair.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

Bellona Harlow, 18
District One

Clive Van Morren, with a score of ten.

Bellona Harlow, with a score of ten.

Bellona relaxed a little as Clive held out his hand for a high-five. She slapped it, and then the pair of them exchanged high-fives with Jasper and Aramis. She'd been worried that maybe the Gamemakers had gotten wind of her plan to leave the pack and would try to stir up some drama by giving her a lower score so that they could pretend she was leaving because she couldn't cut it as part of the pack, rather than because…

Because the pack was falling apart. It was obvious to anyone who had been watching them during training. The pack was going to split sooner rather than later, and she had no intention of being caught in the middle when it happened. Whenever the Careers split near the start of the Games, it caused trouble for the survivors, because no one in the pack was going to go down without a fight. And an injured Career was just as vulnerable as any other injured tribute.

Of course, getting injured was something that invariably happened to most tributes. Only a few Victors had made it through the Games without being hurt at all. The key was to avoid getting badly injured early. If you got hurt in the finale … well, the Capitol could patch you up good as new pretty quickly. Usually. If you got hurt early, you had to deal with that for the rest of the Games. She had no desire to end up in that position.

So she would get out early, and get out fast. That wasn't what she'd intended when she'd volunteered, but maybe it was inevitable as long as someone like Lily was part of the pack. Lily was a loose cannon, and if you didn't know where the cannon was going to end up pointing next, the safest thing to do was to get out of range.

And that was what she meant to do.

Lily Rathna, 18
District Two

Ross Artisan, with a score of nine.

Lily Rathna, with a score of eleven.

Lily beamed, staring at the screen. Of course, they all knew that the score range officially went from one to twelve. In fact, there had occasionally been tributes who had scored a zero. But a tribute actually scoring higher than a ten was unheard of. Finally, she snapped out of it and elbowed Ross in the ribs. "See? I told you they'd like the apples."

Ross shook his head. "Why were there even apples there in the first place?"

"They were with the poisons."

"Why? Apples aren't poisonous."

Lily shrugged. "The seeds are."

Ross looked skeptical, but Harriet nodded. "She's right. The seeds contain cyanide. Not very much, mind you, but they're technically poisonous in large enough amounts."

Ross raised an eyebrow. "How large?"

Harriet shrugged. "About a million or so."

Prospero shook his head. "Are you three listening to yourselves? Lily, you got an eleven. That's … that's amazing."

Lily smirked. "If you think that's amazing, just wait til you see what happens in the Games."

"You don't think it matters that–"

"That I got a really high score? Of course it does. It lets the sponsors know I'm serious. But once the Games start, is anyone really going to remember that? Do you think anyone remembers your score?"

Prospero shook his head. He'd gotten a five; Lily remembered that. She remembered it because tributes from Two didn't normally score so low. Of course, he wasn't a Career, and once he was in the Games, he'd proven that he deserved to be there – and to make it out alive. Once she was in the Games, her score certainly wouldn't be the first thing on anyone's mind – including hers. For now, though … well, she had to admit it did feel good.

And that was good enough for now.

Elseri Lumenova, 16
District Three

Elseri Lumenova, with a score of five.

Hattie Hespeler, with a score of three.

Elseri glanced over at Hattie, who seemed quite unbothered by her score. Maybe that made sense; she was only thirteen, after all. And he'd only scored two points higher, but…

But that was better than he'd been expecting. It was average. It was unremarkable. It didn't mark him as either an easy target or a threat. In fact, it was probably the best thing he could have hoped for, considering what the Gamemakers knew about him. Tributes they considered too rebellious were usually given either horribly low scores to reflect their actual chances or ridiculously high ones to make sure the other tributes targeted them. The Gamemakers hadn't done either of those things.

Did that mean they were giving him a chance?

Elseri swallowed hard. Maybe. He'd assumed, when he'd volunteered for Vex, that it was a trade. That he was going to die. And even though it hadn't been a condition of their deal, Harakuise had made it perfectly clear that he was certain Elseri was doomed. So certain, he hadn't even made it a requirement. But if the Gamemakers had given him a fair score…

Elseri felt Avery's hand squeeze his shoulder gently, and he nodded. Don't get too carried away. Just because they hadn't gone out of their way to give him a score that would make him a target didn't mean they didn't have something unpleasant in store once the Games actually started. And it certainly wasn't a guarantee that none of the other tributes would target him. After all, eventually, everyone was a target. Still, it felt good to think that he might have a chance.

That was all any of them could ask for now.

Acher Ernetut, 14
District Four

Acher Ernetut, with a score of two.

Faven Aldana, with a score of four.

Acher shook his head, fighting back a lump in his throat. He knew he should have stuck with his original plan. He'd been planning to show off some fire-starting, until he'd walked into the room and realized that the girl before him had done that. He'd figured the Gamemakers wouldn't want to see the same thing twice in a row, so he'd gone with swimming instead.

That had clearly been the wrong move. Was there anything more predictable than a tribute from Four showing off swimming? Acher leaned back on the couch. At least Faven had gotten a four, which wasn't bad for a fourteen-year-old. A two was pathetic.

Faven, though, seemed just as upset. "They'll kick me out for sure," she muttered.

Imalia shook her head. "I doubt it. They didn't let you in because they thought you could match their skills in a fight."

"No, they let me in because you convinced them it would look bad if they seemed to be picking on District Four," Faven snarled. And it was a snarl. Acher scooted a little closer to Mags on the couch. Was Faven blaming Imalia for the mess she was in?

No. No, not really. It wasn't Imalia's fault – or Mags' fault – and they both knew it. Their mentors just happened to be the closest. Acher expected Imalia to snap back, but instead, she was smiling. "There we go. Take that anger and channel it. Once you're in the Games, use it to show the others that you deserve to be in the pack, regardless of your score. Scores don't matter once the Games actually start."

Acher looked away. At least he didn't have to worry that his allies might kick him out for scoring too low. He didn't have to prove himself to them. They wanted him as an ally because … because they wanted him, not because they thought he would give them an advantage. They liked him, and he liked them. Maybe that didn't improve their chances much, but having allies you could trust had to count for something.

Maybe Faven didn't have everything after all.

Leven Gamakatsu, 18
District Five

Leven Gamakatsu, with a score of ten.

Euphoria Fonseca, with a score of eight.

Leven nodded, satisfied, as the scores flashed on the screen. Or at least, he was trying to be satisfied. If he'd asked himself this morning what score he wanted, he would have said a ten. It would never have even occurred to him that a higher score was possible. Of course, everyone knew elevens and twelves were technically possible, but it had never actually happened before, he was certain. A ten was perfect – or at least, as close to perfect as anyone could actually hope to get.

So what had Lily done?

Oliver clapped him on the back. "Don't worry about Lily. As long as you're part of the pack, her sponsors will help you, too."

As long as you're part of the pack. Leven nodded. He had been thinking about leaving, but now … well, now that didn't seem like such a good option. Lily would have a bone to pick with any Career who left now. Oh, Euphoria was probably safe – or at least, as safe as she could be. She'd left early enough. She'd never really been comfortable in the pack, and she'd left in time to find other allies. If he left now…

If he left now, he'd have no one. It would just be him. If he left now, he'd have a target on his back. It wasn't fair, but it was true. Now he would have to be patient. He would have to bide his time and wait for the right moment to split away from the pack. He had no doubt that moment would come. He would just have to put up with Lily's antics a little while longer.

He just hoped he wouldn't have to wait too long.

Rook Jubilee, 12
District Six

Rook Jubilee, with a score of six.

Christina Kimetto, with a score of seven.

Rook stared at the screen until the number went away, still not quite believing it. A six. He'd hoped that jumping into the water after climbing would earn him enough points to not come across as completely hopeless, but a six?

Lana seemed just as surprised. "A six? How the hell did you manage that, kid?"

Duke chuckled. "Jealous?"

"Hardly. I got a six too, you know."

"You're not twelve," Christina pointed out. "Nice job, Rook."

Rook froze. Did she mean that? The two of them were competition, after all. But she was holding out her hand with the palm turned towards him. Hesitantly, he clapped his hand to hers, and she smiled. Rook lowered his hand and looked away. "You too. A seven's good."

"Thanks." She turned to Duke. "What did you get?"

Duke chuckled. "I got a seven, too. You didn't remember that one?"

"I was eight during your Games."

"Guess I'm gettin' old, huh?"

"Just be glad you have the chance," Lana muttered.

Duke nodded. "Fair enough. And I hope one of you two has the chance to get old, too."

One of you two. Rook turned his gaze back to the screen. No matter how friendly Christina was being now, in the end, only one of them could live. Odds were, of course, that neither of them would. At least, that was what he would have said a few days ago. What chance did a twelve-year-old really have in the Games?

But the Gamemakers disagreed. They'd seen something. They thought he had a chance. Maybe not quite as good a chance as Christina, maybe, but a good enough chance to give him a six. In fact, the two of them had scored higher than any of the other non-Careers so far. Rook twirled the chess piece in his pocket, trying to let that sink in.

Maybe he really did have a chance.

Galadriel Brinns, 18
District Seven

Leif Rosewood, with a score of four.

Galadriel Brinns, with a score of seven.

Galadriel nodded. No surprises there, really. Physically, she was one of the stronger non-Career tributes. Leif wasn't. She hadn't really been expecting anything else – not from either of them. Sadira had scored a seven a few years ago, after all, with about as much lumberjack experience as Galadriel had herself. And Leif…

Galadriel felt her stomach churn as Capser put an arm around Leif, pointing out that at least he'd scored better than one of his allies. Which was true, but wasn't much comfort when you actually thought about who that ally was. He'd scored better than a fourteen-year-old who'd gotten beat up by the Careers on the first day of training. That wasn't all that promising.

And scoring better than your allies … well, that wasn't much of a goal, really. Or at least, it was only a goal if you were trying to prove to your allies that you deserved to be part of the group. She wasn't. She knew Anahi was glad to have her as an ally. And she was glad to have Anahi, but there was a part of her that caught herself wishing Anahi wasn't her only ally.

Galadriel shook the thought from her head. It was too late for that now. She'd thought they could add Faven to their group, but the Careers had put a stop to that. And she and Anahi certainly hadn't wanted to join the pack. By then, their options were limited, unless they wanted to join one of the larger groups that was forming.

And she didn't. Two was a good number. Three would be okay. Anything larger than that would attract unwanted attention from the Careers. Her score would probably do enough of that already. She'd thought about trying to score low on purpose to seem like less of a threat, but Sadira had talked her out of it. Anyone who was paying attention would be able to see right through that. Better to do her best and take whatever score she got, so that was what she'd done.

It was probably better not to overthink it.

Edwina Rowan, 16
District Eight

Diyon Mendis, with a score of two.

Edwina Rowan, with a score of three.

Edwina glanced over at Diyon, who nodded, satisfied. A two and a three from District Eight – exactly what everyone would be expecting. District Eight's tributes didn't usually score very high. Their mentors looked equally unfazed. Kit had scored pretty low, she remembered. Of course, he'd only been thirteen at the time, but she couldn't remember anyone else from Eight scoring particularly high either.

Not in a normal year, at least. In years without a proper Career pack – like the Quarter Quell five years ago – outer-district tributes usually scored a bit better just because the bar wasn't as high. After all, someone had to score high, or the audience would probably complain. But in a normal year, with a normal Career pack … no, she didn't remember District Eight ever doing particularly well.

"Eight, three, and two," Lander answered, as if he'd read her thoughts. "In that order. Mind you, the eight was before proper Career packs were a thing. I doubt what I did during my session would earn more than a five or so today."

Carolina nodded. "He's right. Tributes from Eight don't win based on brute force, and the audience knows it. They'll know better than to count you out just because of a low score."

Lander shook his head. "You know that's not what I actually said, right?"

"I was paraphrasing."

"You were hope-phrasing."

"And?"

"And that's not what I meant. What earned me an eight then would – at best – earn me a five today, but that would accurately reflect my chances. Do you really think I would have won my Games if I'd been facing a full-fledged Career pack?"

Carolina thought for a moment. "Yes," she decided at last. "I do."

Diyon nodded. "She's right. It's not about brute force. None of you three won because you would have beat every other tribute in the arena in a fair one-on-one fight. And neither of us will, either. But you know that's not the only way to win, or you wouldn't be sitting here." He turned to Edwina and smiled. "I still like District Eight's odds this year."

Edwina nodded. District Eight's odds. That wasn't what he liked, though – not really. He liked his odds. What made him so confident, she wasn't sure, but he certainly seemed to have a plan.

She just hoped he actually had one.

Uriel Xia, 13
District Nine

Uriel Xia, with a score of three.

Demeter Moire, with a score of six.

Uriel nodded to himself as he scrawled another line in his notebook, then looked up and gave Demeter a high-five. "Nice!"

"You too," she answered automatically, even though she knew better. A three wasn't nice, but he hadn't been expecting anything very high. No one would think twice about a thirteen-year-old from District Nine scoring a three. Hell, they'd probably be suspicious if he'd scored much higher. Some of them were probably wondering how Demeter had managed to score a six.

He wasn't wondering, of course. He knew what things were like for Demeter at home. He knew how her adopted sister treated her, and how she'd learned to fight back. He wasn't surprised that the Gamemakers would think she stood a chance in the Games.

Or that they thought he didn't.

Uriel glanced down at the most recent page in his notebook – the one he'd filled during his private session. This wasn't about whether or not he had a chance in the Games anymore. It was about something bigger now. Soon, he would have a chance to make an impression – not just on the Gamemakers, not just on the audience in the Capitol, but on the whole audience in the Capitol and the districts. When he thought about that, worrying about how low of a score he'd gotten seemed a bit silly, really.

It all seemed so silly now. He'd been silly to think that anyone would be able to help him at the reaping. Demeter had been silly to think that she could actually help him win the Games. None of that mattered. None of them mattered. But soon he would have a chance to do something that would matter.

And he wasn't going to waste that chance.

Lucretius Adams, 16
District Ten

Lucretius Adams, with a score of four.

Swiss Galloway, with a score of four.

Lucretius nodded as the pair of scores flashed on the screen. A pair of fours. Another number that they shared. And that they shared with Leif, for that matter. If only Acher had scored a bit higher, they could have had four fours.

He wouldn't say that to Acher, of course. That would only make the younger boy feel bad. Swiss, meanwhile, was already rolling her eyes in anticipation. "I suppose this is more proof that we need to make sure our lives are entwined?"

Lucretius chuckled. She still didn't understand. "It's not about making sure they're entwined," he explained patiently. "It's about recognizing that they already are, no matter what we try to do. Whatever's going to happen in the Games will happen. Our choices … they're already a part of it."

Swiss' eyes narrowed. "So you're saying everything's already decided."

Lucretius shook his head. "Not everything. Not all of the details. Just … the general shape of things. You know how sometimes you can tell by the air that it's going to rain? The way it gets humid and there's a certain smell?"

Swiss shrugged. "Yeah."

"It's like that. If you're really good, if you've been paying attention and have the right tools, you might be able to say that it'll rain in, say, a few hours. But you won't get it down to the minute. And you won't know where every drop is going to fall. You can't. But you can tell when it would be a good time to head indoors. Does that make sense?"

Swiss nodded. "Yeah. It's just … what does heading indoors even mean in this case?"

Lucretius chuckled. "It's a metaphor. Not everything's going to match perfectly."

Swiss frowned but said nothing. Lucretius turned his attention back to the screen. Swiss liked it when things matched, when they made sense and were neat and tidy. But real life wasn't like that. The Games weren't like that. Not everything was going to make sense. Not every decision was going to be practical.

He wondered how long it would take for her to realize that.

Olly Campos, 16
District Eleven

Oleander Campos, with a score of three.

Anahi Cassidy, with a score of five.

Olly rolled his eyes at the sigh of his full name on the screen, but clapped Anahi on the back. "Look at you go, huh?"

Anahi looked up, surprised, but didn't flinch away from the touch, which was a better response than he would've gotten a few days ago. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

Anahi frowned. "You did that on purpose, right? You meant to score low. You're playing some sort of game."

Olly shrugged casually. "We're all playing a game. It's just a matter of how well we're playing." He leaned back. "What's the point of giving us scores, do you think? Everyone knows the Careers are going to score high. Everyone knows a scrawny little twelve-year-old is going to score low. So what's the point?"

Anahi hesitated. "I guess…"

Olly shook his head. "No. Don't guess. And don't stop and think. You just saw twenty-two different scores on that screen. Which ones surprised you? Whose scores are you actually going to remember?"

"The girl from Two got an eleven," Anahi answered immediately. "Careers scoring high is one thing, but that … that's different."

"Good. Who else?"

"The boy from Six. You said everyone knows a scrawny twelve-year-old will score low. He didn't."

"Good eye," Olly agreed. "They stood out because they were unexpected. They were surprising. If everyone's score was a surprise, those two wouldn't stand out. Now … what's the point of standing out?"

"So you get sponsors," Anahi answered automatically.

Olly smirked. "Is it, though?"

"Yes. What else would it be?"

Olly chuckled. "That's the question they don't want you asking, isn't it." He backtracked. "Do you think people are going to sponsor you because you got a five?"

"You think I won't get any sponsors?"

"That's not what I said. You might – but not because you got a five. If you get sponsors, it'll be because you earn them based on what you do once the Games actually start – not for what kind of number you got today." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "So if the numbers aren't actually for the sponsors … then who are they for? Who knows something now that they might not have known before?"

Slowly, realization dawned on Anahi's face. "The other tributes."

Olly nodded. "And not just the other tributes. You know something. You remembered at least two scores that stood out. Whether they meant to or not, those two tributes gave you information. They tipped their hand before the game even started." He turned back to the screen.

"Wonder if anyone else made that mistake."

Ellie Danvers, 14
District Twelve

Elio Provost, with a score of seven.

Elysium Danvers, with a score of four.

Ellie nodded a little as the numbers faded from the screen. A four was about what she'd been expecting. She hadn't dared to hope for anything as good as Winter and Ajax, who had scored a nine and an eight. Ajax had been her age when he'd been reaped, but … well, she wasn't him, and the Gamemakers clearly knew it. But Elio hadn't scored as high as them, either, or as high as Logan had last year. He'd scored a nine, too. Of course, he'd been a year older than Elio, but still…

"Scores aren't everything," Kyra answered, as if they could tell what she was thinking. Maybe it had been obvious from her expression. "I got a three, you know. Brennan got a six. No one was paying attention to us before the Games started. And here we are."

Ellie nodded silently. Here they were. And Winter and Ajax and Logan – they were all dead. They'd scored well, and it hadn't mattered. The audience had loved them, and it hadn't mattered. So what did matter? What did it really come down to? Luck?

"Highest in your alliance, though," Elio pointed out. "That counts for something, right?"

Ellie nodded. "You too."

"Hm?"

"Highest in your alliance. The other two got what? A five and a three?"

Elio nodded, but his face was oddly blank. Was it something about his alliance? Maybe he'd realized just how low they'd scored in comparison. But that didn't feel right. He knew they weren't as prepared as he was, so it shouldn't have been a surprise that they'd scored low, even if he'd been holding back a bit. So what was it?

Ellie shook the thought from her head. Whatever it was, it probably didn't matter – not to her, at least. It wasn't as if she was planning to team up with him or anything. Once the Games started, she probably wouldn't ever see him again, and that was probably for the best. He'd been friendly enough so far, but that friendliness could only go so far once the Games started. Whether their scores reflected it or not, she was his competition. Only one of them could make it back to District Twelve.

Was there really any chance it would be her?

Karina Wheeler, 18
District Thirteen

Ophiuchus Valdemar, with a score of ten.

Karina Wheeler, with a score of six.

Karina glanced over at Ophiuchus as the lights on the screen faded. There was just a hint, just a flicker of a smile on their face. A ten. That was as high as some of the Careers. Only the girl from Two had scored higher, and that was probably because of how aggressive she'd been during training. Ophiuchus hadn't shown signs of anything like that. They'd spent most of their time with the girl from Three, who had scored … low. A three or a four, she was pretty sure.

Karina tried to shake the thought from her head as Ophiuchus and Harakuise headed into the next room to talk. Her own allies had scored well enough. Euphoria had gotten an eight, Christina a seven. That made her the lowest of the three, but not by much. "Very nice," Nicodemus agreed as he wheeled himself over beside her. "Euphoria was always going to draw some attention to your alliance, but you and Christina scored low enough to balance that out a bit, I think."

"Yeah, it's not like we scored tens."

Nicodemus' gaze strayed to where Harakuise and Ophiuchus had gone. "I'm just as surprised as you are," he admitted. "But the plan's the same. Once the Games start, stay as far away from them as you can. District loyalty usually counts for something, but…"

"But not when we're not even from the same district in the first place," Karina finished.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." Maybe she was going to die. All right, probably she was going to die. But if Ophiuchus was the one to do it, it would undermine what she'd been trying to accomplish in the first place. They'd been born in Thirteen; she hadn't. They didn't have to help each other, but not actively harming each other was a good place to start.

"I meant I wasn't going to say that. I don't think it matters to them whether you were born in Thirteen or not. They'll kill you if they get the chance – without hesitation. Don't give them that chance."

Karina shuddered. She thought of the blood on the floor when she'd walked in for her private session. The missing avox. Nicodemus was right; Ophiuchus was a killer. Of course, so was she, but…

But that had been years ago. She'd moved on. Tried to make up for it. And now … now she'd put herself back in a situation where she would have to kill again if she wanted to survive. She'd volunteered for this because she'd thought it would help her district, and now she had no choice but to see it through.

She just hoped it would count for something.

Aramis Noble
District One Mentor

He just hoped this wasn't a mistake.

Aramis took a deep breath and knocked on the door. After a moment, it swung open, revealing Brennan, who sighed but gestured for him to come inside. The other three were still sitting on the couch. Elio raised an eyebrow. "You too?"

"What?" Aramis asked, puzzled.

"Where's Clive?"

"Back in his room." Aramis cocked his head. "Were you expecting him?"

"No, I just–"

"What do you want, Aramis?" Brennan interrupted before Elio could get any farther.

Aramis turned to Ellie. "Actually, I was hoping to talk to you. Can I have a moment?"

"Not alone, you can't," Kyra snapped protectively.

Fair enough. Especially considering what his tribute had been up to recently. "The three of us, then? Outside?"

Kyra glanced at Ellie, who nodded shakily. The two of them followed him outside. "Well?" Kyra asked sharply.

"I just thought I should say something."

"Something?"

"To Ellie, if you don't mind."

Ellie looked away. "This is about Winter and Ajax, isn't it."

Aramis relaxed a little. At least she was on the right page, even if he wasn't sure what was going on with the rest of District Twelve. "I just wanted to say…" What? Now that it actually came to it, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. Sorry? For what? He wasn't the one who had killed them. Not that he wouldn't have, if he'd had the chance, but they would have done the same thing to him. That was how the Games worked. But neither of them had gotten that chance. He and his district partner had split from the Careers before the rest of the pack had found the pair from Twelve. If they hadn't…

Maybe things would still have turned out the same way. Or maybe he would be dead. There was no way of knowing. He had survived. They hadn't. That was what had happened, and he wasn't sorry for that. Couldn't be sorry for that. That was how the Games worked. So what had he thought he was going to say? Why the hell had he come up here?

"I just thought…" He tried again, then gave up. "Look, your friends were in my Games. They died. I wanted to … acknowledge that, even if I can't apologize for it. They were worthy opponents."

Even as he said the words, he knew how hollow they were. And Ellie knew, too. "Worthy opponents?" she echoed.

"They played the Games well," Aramis amended. "You should be proud of them."

"I am. I always have been. But that's … it's not good enough. It'll never be good enough." There were tears in her eyes now. "They deserved to win. Not you. They deserved to come home."

Aramis nodded. There it was. Something he could acknowledge. "Maybe." The word caught her by surprise as she looked down at him, so he plunged on. "Maybe they did. I don't know, really, what makes someone deserve to come home. What makes them deserve to live when so many other people have to die. Maybe they deserved it more than I did. Maybe they deserved it more than you do – and maybe that's what's got you so upset."

"People needed them." Ellie's voice was barely a whisper now. "More than they needed me. But Reed needs me, and I…" She trailed off.

"I know." He didn't, of course – not really. His family loved him, but they didn't depend on him the way that families in the outer districts did. "But thinking like that … it's not going to help you. Because once the Games start, you don't get what you need – or even what you deserve. You just … get what you get. Whatever happens, happens, and it doesn't happen because you deserved it. It happens because of choices. Yours and everyone else's. You can't control what happens, but you can affect it." He shook his head. "Does that make sense?"

Ellie wiped a few tears from her eyes. "Are you … trying to wish me good luck?"

Aramis hesitated. Maybe that was what he'd wanted to say. It felt a bit strange, but… "Yes," he decided at last. "Yes, I think I am."

"And what about your tribute?"

Aramis forced a smile. "Well, obviously if it comes down to the two of you, I want him to win. But until then … good luck, Ellie."

"Thanks," Ellie whispered, then turned and followed Kyra back inside. Aramis headed for the elevator, holding back a sigh. The girl was probably doomed, but … well, he wasn't a tribute anymore, so it wouldn't hurt him to be kind.

Besides, now he had another puzzle to figure out. You too? That was what Elio had said. And he'd been expecting … who? Clive? Why? And Brennan hadn't seemed particularly surprised to see him at the door – just a bit … what? Tired? Irritated? Had someone already gotten on his nerves? Aramis shook his head as the elevator doors closed behind him.

It was time to have a talk with Clive.

"People don't get what they deserve. They just get what they get. There's nothing any of us can do about it."