Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Since it seems that email notifications weren't working when the last chapter posted (and I guess we'll find out if they are now), I'm leaving the "favorite tribute" poll up until I post the next chapter in case some folks were waiting until the end of the train rides to vote. On that note, if you haven't read the last train rides chapter because you didn't get a notification for it ... that's up, too.

Chariot Rides
Might as Well Enjoy It

Tamika Ward
Head Gamemaker

She always enjoyed this.

Tamika glanced around the room at her fellow Gamemakers, taking it all in. This was it – the Capitol's first chance to really see the tributes shine. Oh, there were the reapings, of course, and a few brief glances of the tributes getting on and off the trains, but this … this was the good stuff. She tolerated watching the reapings, but aside from the Careers and an occasional volunteer who had planned on stepping forward, most of the tributes weren't really prepared at the reapings.

Not really prepared, at least. Oh, most of them had probably imagined what it would feel like to hear their name called, but daydreaming wasn't preparation. Now that they'd had time to come to terms with what was happening, most of them would be ready to make a better impression. And that was one good thing about the audience; it was always willing to give them a second chance. Practically anything they'd done at the reapings could be mended over the course of the next few days. Many a tribute had cried or screamed or cursed or even tried to run during the reaping and gone on to become a favorite once the festivities began, once they'd had a chance to settle down and accept their fate.

Of course, most of them had died anyway. That was how the Games went. But the best of them – the ones who really made a splash – would go on living in people's memories long after their Games had been won by some other lucky tribute. Being killed didn't mean being forgotten. Not necessarily.

Not necessarily. That was what President Brand had said when she'd asked if he wanted her to do something about one of the more obvious potential troublemakers during the Games. Not necessarily. Not yet. Wait and see what he does. And she would. After all, potentially dangerous tributes had a tendency to weed themselves out. Of course, a tendency wasn't the same as a certainty, and she had to be willing to step in if it came to that. But not yet.

For now, her job was to watch.

Aramis Noble, 20
District One Mentor

For now, he just had to watch.

Aramis leaned forward, grateful for the front row seat, as the first of the chariots came into view. Apparently, the stylists had decided to keep it traditional this year. Bellona wore an elegant, floor-length golden dress, and Clive wore a matching suit and tie. Both outfits were covered in small, glistening diamonds. Each tribute also wore a pair of blood-red gloves. That didn't quite seem to fit the rest of the outfit, but there had certainly been worse chariot costumes.

Clive was certainly enjoying himself, waving and grinning at the crowd, spinning this way and that to let the diamonds catch the light. Bellona gave a few twirls, and Clive held out his hand for a high five, which she quickly gave him.

As soon as their hands met, however, the gloves began to glow, the deep red glistening like droplets of blood. One by one, starting from their hands and working their way down their arms, the diamonds began to glow red. From a distance, it was clearly meant to look like blood slowly staining the outfits.

Clive grinning, immediately bunching his hands into fists and raising them over his head as if in triumph as the red glow made its way down his arms and across his chest. The audience roared, and he roared right back. Bellona gave another spin, her arms weaving back and forth as if striking the air around her, her dress billowing as the red spilled down farther and farther, eventually replacing the gold and white glow altogether with the bloody hue.

Jasper nodded approvingly. "Nice."

Aramis nodded. It was good. Not spectacular, maybe, but creative and memorable. Of course, even when the outfits were less impressive, people knew better than to underestimate District One. Still, it was nice to make a good impression.

And they were certainly off to a good start.

Prospero Forge, 19
District Two Mentor

They were certainly off to a good start.

Prospero glanced over at Jasper and Aramis, who both seemed quite pleased with their tributes' performances. And their tributes were his tribute's allies. Or at least, that was certainly what they all seemed to be assuming, and he had no reason to doubt that Lily wanted to be part of the pack. That made them all a team – at least for a little while.

Prospero turned his attention back to the parade as the next chariot appeared, painted pitch-black and drawn by a pair of milk-white horses. Lily was dressed head to toe in a black robe. Only her hands were visible, and those were holding a scythe that was taller than she was. Beside her, Ross wore a grey suit that had been given a rocky texture, but as he looked closer, Prospero could see small bits of green sprinkled in.

"Clever," Harriet admitted as the green patches began to grow, stretching out, more and more visible between the rocks. Ross flexed his muscles, showing off the growth. Lily, meanwhile, had thrown back her hood. Her face had been painted to resemble a skull, her hair drawn back to let the makeup show better. Harriet nodded. "Life and Death. Very nice." Prospero's discomfort must have shown on his face, because Harriet shrugged. "You're right. Nice is the wrong word. Very apt."

Prospero leaned back in his chair, trying to avoid her gaze. Nice was the wrong word. The Games weren't nice. Yes, he had volunteered, but he hadn't enjoyed the Games. Lily … she was enjoying herself, swinging her scythe back and forth as if aiming for something in the air around her. She wanted to be here, and not just because the alternative was worse. If he was being honest, that made him a bit uncomfortable.

But it wasn't his job to be comfortable.

Miriam Valence, 54
District Three Mentor

She could tell Avery was uncomfortable.

Miriam laid a hand on the younger mentor's shoulder as the third chariot appeared. She had to admit, she was nervous, too. The stylists weren't always kind to suspected rebels, or even to districts recently associated with rebel activity. The year after Avery had won, the extra tributes sent by the rebellious districts had spent the chariot ride chained in place, their heads shaven, outfits disheveled, feet bare, even though they'd had nothing to do with the previous year's Games. With an actual rebel in their hands…

As soon as she actually saw the chariot, however, Miriam relaxed. Elseri was dressed in a black bodysuit covered with strips of glowing lights, the different colors blinking on and off to sync up to the music. Hattie's bodysuit was white, instead, and covered in a white lab coat, also adorned with lights. Glowing vials and test tubes lined the edges of the chariot, which had been painted black and covered in lights.

Hattie wasted no time grabbing a few of the vials and theatrically pouring one into another, then pausing and watching as if waiting for a result. Sure enough, the liquid began to bubble and foam over the top of the vial. Miriam saw Elseri say something to Hattie, who shook her head and thrust the vial in his direction. Elseri shrugged, took the vial, and downed the foaming liquid in one gulp.

Hattie stared. Miriam stared. Elseri licked his lips, grinned playfully, and tossed the empty vial back to Hattie. The audience cheered. Cheered. Miriam glanced over at Avery, who shrugged. "What's he got to lose?"

"Everyone has something to lose." Harakuise's voice behind them caught Miriam off guard, but Avery didn't even flinch. Maybe she'd been expecting him. Maybe that made sense. Harakuise shook his head. "He's got guts; I'll give him that." He turned to Avery.

"Come see me when we're done here."

Imalia Grenier, 30
District Four Mentor

"Come see me when we're done here."

Imalia leaned forward, trying to focus on the parade, trying to ignore Harakuise and whatever he was planning now. That wasn't her problem. District Three wasn't her problem. But she quietly made a mental note to tell Faven to avoid Avery's tribute. She didn't want Faven to end up on the wrong end of one of Harakuise's plans like Thirteen had.

Of course, that hadn't been entirely Harakuise's plan. How much of the idea had been his and how much had been President Brand's, she wasn't sure, but there had been shades of both of them in the final design, and it had proven to be a deadly combination.

Imalia couldn't help a smile as District Four's chariot appeared. Faven and Acher were dressed as fishermen – or at least, as what people in the Capitol apparently thought fishermen looked like. They each wore a long golden-yellow coat, a matching wide floppy hat, and tall rubber boots. Each was holding a fishing pole, which they were holding up high so that the crowd could see what was on the end.

On the end of each was a very large fish, emblazoned on both sides with the number 13. The crowd cheered as they both waved and held up their prizes for everyone to see. Imalia smirked. She had done that. She had caught District Thirteen in the president's trap. She had won not only a victory for the Capitol and for her district, but also the audience's attention for their tributes.

She just hoped the stylists' choice wouldn't backfire and get the pair of them targeted. But targeted by who? By Thirteen? Both Harakuise and Nicodemus knew better than to tell their tributes to go after someone because of a silly chariot outfit. No, they were no more of a target than they had already been.

She just hoped that was good enough.

Camden Sinclair, 34
District Five Mentor

She just hoped the outfits would be memorable.

Camden drummed her fingers on the arm of her seat. Memorable. That was the key, really – and what a lot of people didn't realize about the chariot rides. It didn't matter – not really – whether the outfits were actually good. The line between a good idea and a silly one often wasn't clear-cut, and sometimes relied on how well the tributes played it off. She had no doubt Euphoria and Leven would do just fine even if the outfit was ridiculous. That wasn't actually the worst thing a chariot outfit could be.

The worst it could be was boring. People remembered the silly outfits – the year District Nine had been dressed as bread, the year District Eight had been pincushions, the year District Four had been starfish. But how many people would be able to tell one of Twelve's coal miner outfits from another? Or which year District Ten had been cows, pigs, goats, sheep, or any other barnyard animals? They all blurred together after a while; it was no wonder stylists sometimes resorted to silly ideas in an effort to do something different.

Camden smiled when Euphoria and Leven came into view. The back of the chariot had been built up to look like one of Five's hydroelectric dams, and Leven and Euphoria each wore a long, blue robe, patterned to look like water falling from the dam, sparkling in the lights. But what was even better was that they were dancing – twirling this way and that to the parade music, circling each other, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd. After a moment, Euphoria pulled out her harmonica and mimed playing along to the music. Maybe she was playing, but there weren't microphones in the chariots to pick it up, so it was drowned out by the speakers.

Later. She would get her chance later. She was preparing something, Camden knew, for the interviews. Whatever it was, she was certain the audience would eat it up.

She knew how to give them a show.

Lana Khatri, 21
District Six Mentor

It was just a stupid show.

Lana shook her head as District Six's chariot came into view. Christina and Rook were dressed as train engineers, each wearing a pair of dark blue overalls over a light blue shirt, heavy black boots, a red bandana, and a silly blue hat. But the outfits didn't fit at all with the large, wooden wagon wheel that sat in the back of the chariot. No, half a wheel, Lana realized, now that she looked closer. And the wood on the spokes and the rim seemed to be stained with–

Oh shit. Lana clenched her fist and glanced over at Nicodemus, but to her surprise, he didn't seem alarmed. He was watching Christina, who leaned over and said something to Rook, who nodded. They reached down and produced a pair of coal shovels from somewhere in the chariot. Christina turned and took a swing at the wheel, which broke immediately in two. Lana raised an eyebrow. Either the stylists had done something to weaken the wood, or she'd severely underestimated one of their tributes.

Then Rook followed suit, and the wheel crumbled even more. Okay, so the wood had been weakened, then. It was still satisfying to watch. Christina and Rook kept chopping away at the rest of the wheel until the whole thing was demolished. The crowd cheered as the pair of them started flinging the bits of wood out of the chariot, careful not to hit the other tributes around them, but both clearly throwing as hard as they could.

Lana's gaze strayed to Nicodemus. Those wheels had been on display above District Six's stage for years. Almost as long as she could remember. It was about time someone got rid of them, but why now? Why like this? Because of what she and Duke had done to help with District Thirteen? Maybe.

But she couldn't help the feeling that she was missing something.

Sadira Summers, 19
District Seven Mentor

She wasn't going to miss the tree outfits.

Sadira breathed a sigh of relief as District Seven's chariot came into view. Most of the years she could remember, their tributes had been dressed as trees – aside from one memorable year when they'd been piles of dirt, instead. After that, almost anything would have been an improvement. Wood nymphs were better than she had hoped for.

The outfits themselves were long and flowing – Galadriel's a dress, Leif's a robe. Each was a deep brown, covered in red and orange leaves. Their arms were bare, aside from some sparkling glitter. Each wore a crown of leaves and twigs, and a few deep orange flowers had been draped in their hair. A silvery pair of nearly-transparent wings completed the outfit, visible only when they caught the light.

Even the beautiful outfits, however, couldn't hide the fact that they were both clearly uncomfortable, just waiting for the parade to be over, for the cameras to stop, for the audience to leave. They were both making an effort – waving, trying their best to smile, turning this way and that to let their wings shimmer. But the smiles were forced, the waves half-hearted. Neither of them was actually enjoying this.

But they didn't have to. She certainly hadn't enjoyed being dressed up like a tree trunk with a bunch of dead branches in her hair. And she probably hadn't fooled anyone in the audience into thinking she'd been having fun. Maybe a few tributes could hope to make a splash of some sort during the chariot ride, but most of them were just putting up with it. Not being a crowd favorite here wasn't going to damage anyone's chances.

Sadira glanced over at Casper, who shrugged. "Better than trees," he offered, and Sadira nodded.

That was really the best they could hope for.

Kit Rawlins, 28
District Eight Mentor

He just hoped they weren't too embarrassed.

Kit shook his head as District Eight's chariot came into view. "You would think," Lander mumbled behind him, "that with so many fabrics to choose from, they could just put them in some pretty outfits, call that 'textiles,' and be done with it."

Kit nodded. Of course, ties were also made of fabric, and it would have been fine if each of them was just wearing a tie. But Edwina and Diyon were covered in ties. They had been tied with ties. He couldn't even tell whether they had anything on under the ties, because the string of ties, knotted end-to-end, had been wound so completely around their bodies, constricting their arms and legs, making it difficult for them to even keep their balance.

Both of them were trying to make the best of it, standing as tall as they could, back-to-back for a little more support, doing their best to ignore the audience's laughter. Finally, Edwina managed to wriggle a hand free and began untying a few of the knots. She said something to Diyon, who looked around at the crowd and nodded. She undid a few of the ties near his hands, and the pair of them slowly began to free each other from the silly costume.

Kit leaned back a little as more and more of the ties fell away, revealing a shimmering gold bodysuit underneath. So the stylists had meant for them to do that. He wondered if they'd told the two of them or just hoped they'd figured it out. Either way, the intended meaning was clear: District Eight had been trapped by its own stubbornness, its own designs, but there was something shining underneath if they were ready to break free. Kit glanced over at Carolina, who nodded. She understood. Maybe she didn't agree, but she understood.

And maybe they could help their tributes use that.

Barlen Rimmonn, 18
District Nine Mentor

"We could really use some better outfits this year."

Barlen turned to Basil. "What were they last year?"

Basil shrugged. "Wheat. And the year before that. You were a windmill, though."

Barlen nodded. He didn't really remember that – not the costumes, at least. But he remembered the crowd cheering. Well, probably cheering. Maybe they had been laughing, too. "What were you?"

Basil chuckled. "Popcorn. Just a brown bodysuit covered in strings and strings of popcorn."

"Did you eat any of it?"

Basil shook his head. "Never would have occurred to me. I bet the audience would've liked that, though."

Barlen nodded. That was what it was about – what the audience liked. He had to remember that. He smiled when he finally saw District Nine's chariot. It was painted a golden brown, and stalks of wheat lined the sides. But the stylists had been careful not to make them tall enough to hide the tributes, who were dressed in simple off-white tunics that reached their knees. Each of them held a scroll and a quill pen, and the boy–

Barlen glanced down at his notebook. Uriel. The boy's name was Uriel, and the girl was Demeter. Uriel seemed to be writing something on the scroll. After a moment, he held it up for Demeter to inspect. Demeter nodded exaggeratedly, pointed to something on the scroll, then at what appeared to be a random location in the crowd. Uriel looked where she was pointing, nodded, and scribbled something else on the scroll.

"Not bad," Basil conceded, leaning back in his chair. "At least they're playing along with it."

"What happens if they don't?"

Basil raised an eyebrow. "During the chariot rides? Nothing in particular. Sometimes the outfits are horrible and it's all you can do just to get through it. Sometimes the tributes are still too scared stiff to do anything. Not doing anything during the chariot rides won't get you into any sort of trouble."

Barlen nodded. But there was something Basil wasn't saying. "But during the Games…"

"Yeah, not doing anything during the Games would be bad." He shook his head as he watched Demeter and Uriel.

"But I don't think we have to worry about that this year."

Tess Wilder, 56
District Ten Mentor

At least they weren't some sort of animals this year.

Tess smiled a little as District Ten's chariot came into view. After years of tributes being dressed as cows, pigs, sheep, and so on, it was nice to see them dressed as humans for a change. And she was pretty sure she'd never seen tributes dressed as beekeepers before. The wide-brimmed hat and netting below it did make it a bit hard to see their faces, and the baggy white outfits weren't the most flattering, but it certainly wasn't the worst outfit she'd seen.

Between Swiss and Lucretius in the chariot was some sort of hive, and flitting back and forth around the hive were … they couldn't really be bees, could they? The stylists wouldn't really put the tributes next to a real hive of bees. And neither Swiss nor Lucretius looked particularly concerned. In fact, Lucretius was reaching towards the hive.

Swiss took a step back as the bees – if that was what they were – began to swarm around Lucretius, who raised his hands and gestured towards the audience. The bees began to spread out, and Tess relaxed a little. Real bees didn't glow, after all. And they certainly didn't form shapes of animals in the air on command. Lucretius waved his hands back and forth as if conducting a piece of music, and the bees formed the shape of a cow, then a horse, then a fish.

Swiss must have said something, because Lucretius leaned down to hear her better. Then he grinned, nodded, and waved his hands again. The bees coalesced into the shape of a crab. The audience cheered, even though Tess was certain they didn't understand what a crab had to do with anything.

They were just enjoying the show.

Elijah Whitaker, 47
District Eleven Mentor

At least the show was almost over.

Elijah rolled his eyes when he saw District Eleven's chariot. It was covered in vines, which was more than could be said for Olly. A few vines had been wound around his body, but he certainly wasn't covered. A few strategically-placed leaves hid very little – probably as little as the stylists thought they could get away with. His body had been coated with something shiny, and glittered as he waved at the crowd, flexing what muscles he had, and even blowing a few kisses.

Anahi, meanwhile, was doing her best to look at everything except her district partner's bare body. She wore a familiar-looking dress covered in flowers – fully covered from her chest to her knees, and then more and more sparse on the way down, with only a few petals touching the floor of the chariot. It was sleeveless aside from two flower-covered straps. She wore a crown of flowers and a pair of transparent high heels filled with flower petals that seemed a bit too big for her.

Elijah raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that–"

Tamsin nodded. "Last year's outfit? Yeah."

"I wonder if anyone will notice."

Tamsin shook her head. "Oh, I'm sure they will."

Elijah nodded. "Wonder why they did that."

He was fishing, and Tamsin clearly knew it. From the look on her face, she wasn't wondering. It was obvious. Anahi was clearly uncomfortable even being in the same chariot as someone wearing a revealing outfit like Olly's. They had probably tried to make her wear the same thing, and…

And what? Had she refused? Begged for something different? But since when had a tribute begging for something else ever spared them from an embarrassing chariot outfit? Maybe her stylist had simply taken pity on her. Maybe they realized it was better to have her in a reused outfit than to have her hiding in the bottom of the chariot the whole time. And they were certainly right about that.

Maybe they were just trying to be kind.

Kyra Presper, 18
District Twelve Mentor

They were probably trying to be kind.

Kyra shook their head as District Twelve's chariot came into view. The stylists had probably thought they were doing the tributes a favor by not simply reusing the same coal miner outfits the district had put up with for years. Most of the years Kyra could remember, the tributes had been coal miners, and the stylists this year had stuck with the same general idea, but…

"I hope they didn't actually set their hair on fire," Kyra muttered. It certainly looked like they had. In fact, Ellie and Elio looked like they had just barely survived an explosion in a mine. The miner outfits were charred and battered, their hair looked singed, and their faces were covered with ash, some of it glowing a bright, fiery red. "Looks like they were already in a fight to the death," Kyra grumbled.

"And like they survived," Brennan pointed out.

"Barely."

Brennan shrugged. "Barely surviving is still surviving."

Kyra nodded. They both knew that well enough. Both of them had come so close to death at the end of their Games, barely outlasting their final opponent, clinging onto life just a little longer, just a little harder. Barely surviving. But now, years later, that didn't matter. They were just as alive as any of the other Victors. Barely surviving still counted. It had to.

Kyra turned their attention back to the chariot, where Elio was playing the look to perfection, grinning the giddy grin of someone who had just survived a catastrophe, before the horror really set in. He was gesturing towards something behind them, presumably whatever had caused the explosion, and mouthing 'Wow! Did you see that' so exaggeratedly that they could read his lips from where they were sitting.

Ellie was rather less enthusiastic, but was wiping her brow and doing her best to mime being out of breath from running to escape. Occasionally, she gave the audience a wave. The audience was cheering. Maybe they were just glad to see something with a little imagination from District Twelve. Kyra leaned back in their chair.

It certainly could have been worse.

Nicodemus Ford, 45
District Thirteen Mentor

It could have been a lot worse.

Nicodemus nodded approvingly as the last chariot came into view. After District Four's outfits, he'd been worried that maybe the stylists had coordinated and decided to dress Karina and Ophiuchus as fish on the end of fishing lines or something. It certainly wouldn't have been the most ridiculous chariot outfit ever, or the first time tributes had been punished for a district's more rebellious leanings.

Instead, the pair of them were dressed in black leather uniforms with neon green lining. The outfits were probably uncomfortably hot – a thick jacket, long pants, boots, and a cap – but not intentionally embarrassing. Where their skin was visible on their hands and faces, green veins had been painted on their skin. Neon green contacts completed the look, giving the impression of a science experiment gone wrong.

An experiment they had survived. Just like Thirteen had survived for years, when most people in the districts had assumed it had been obliterated. Karina was doing her best to play along, smiling and waving at the audience. It was probably only noticeable to a few of them that she was doing her best not to look at Ophiuchus, who had taken a more reserved approach, their expression neutral, only occasionally giving the audience a wave. Not looking too excited, not drawing too much attention, even though they all knew that merely being from a district that had never participated in the Games before would automatically draw the audience's attention.

And that was it. A few remarks from President Brand, and the chariots went on their way, and the audience began to disperse. Nicodemus turned to Harakuise, who had reappeared behind him at some point. "You certainly don't waste your time."

Harakuise shrugged. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied unconvincingly.

"Should I even ask why District Six's stylists owe you a favor, or should I just say thank you?"

"Neither. If you really want to thank me, stick around for a moment while I have a word with Avery."

Nicodemus raised an eyebrow. "Avery? Why? And why me?"

"Because she'll trust you."

Avery Bentham, 28
District Three Mentor

Could she really trust him?

Avery realized she was holding her breath as she approached Harakuise. Most of the other mentors were on their way to their rooms, but Nicodemus lingered beside Harakuise, watching her. Avery glanced from one to the other, then back to Harakuise. "This is about Elseri."

Harakuise nodded. "Yes."

Okay. Maybe this was her chance, then. "What do you want, Harakuise?"

Harakuise leaned back in his chair. "Do you know why the crowd cheered for him?"

"What?"

"When he drank that vial in the chariot, the crowd cheered – despite the fact that they almost certainly know his background by now. The Peacekeepers haven't been shy about spreading their side of the story. But the audience still cheered. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because for a lot of them, his less reputable actions are only as much of an issue as he chooses to make them. Right now, they're seeing what they want to see – a daring young man who fell in with the wrong friends. Not a bad angle for him."

"Thank you."

"He seems willing to play the Games."

"He is."

"But I think we both know that won't save him. Rebels don't survive the Games."

"I did."

Harakuise nodded. "You're no rebel."

"No. But what if I had been?"

"What do you mean?"

Avery's gaze strayed to Nicodemus, who nodded encouragingly. Avery took a deep breath. "You know what happened at the end of my Games – the deal we were offered. The first one of us to turn on the rest of the rebels would be spared. I took the deal, but what if I hadn't? What if one of the more rebellious tributes had been the one to cave first? What if it had been Anders, or one of the other volunteers – one of the ones from Six or Eight? Would the Gamemakers still have held up their end?"

Harakuise nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think they would have. That was the deal. One spared. Eleven dead."

Avery clenched her fists. "More than eleven people died. Our families–" she started, but then stopped. This wasn't about them. Or rather, it was about them. It was about making sure that didn't happen again. She took a deep breath, then started again. "The Peacekeepers in Three arranged for Vex to be reaped."

"Obviously."

"Would it have ended there? If it had been him in the Games instead of Elseri, would that have been example enough? Would the rest of the gang have been spared?"

"I suspect that would have depended on his actions in the Games."

"And if he had cooperated? Played along? Not mouthed off to the Capitol and tried to incite the other tributes? Would that have been enough?"

Harakuise leaned forward. "One Peacekeeper was killed. I believe one life would have been sufficient payment, provided there was no further trouble."

"Then let one life be sufficient. We both know Elseri is going to die. Let that be enough."

Harakuise cocked his head. "You're here to bargain for Vex's life."

"Yes."

"Have you told Elseri?"

"No. I didn't want to get his hopes up if it turned out you couldn't help – or weren't willing to. I know you have some influence with the Peacekeepers, but–"

"I can help."

Avery blinked. She hadn't expected it to be that easy. "Really?"

"Yes."

Avery glanced at Nicodemus, who nodded. Was that why he was here? To reassure her? "What do you think?" Avery asked softly.

Nicodemus glanced at Harakuise. "I think he can. And I think he's already laid the groundwork. The fact that Elseri's chariot outfit wasn't deliberately humiliating, the stylists in Thirteen deciding not to dress our tributes in a way that emphasized their district's defeat, the tributes in Six smashing that wheel … it's all symbolic. A sign that the Capitol is willing to put the districts' rebellious tendencies behind it. Not to overlook them or forget them, but to move on from them."

Avery shook her head. "I don't think District Four's stylists got the message."

Harakuise waved a hand. "It's the best angle they had. With no Careers this year, they need any advantage they can get."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Where's the advantage for you? What do you get out of this? What do you want?"

Harakuise raised an eyebrow. "You don't believe I'm simply offering to help for my tribute's benefit? After all, it's in Thirteen's best interests if the audience is willing to let bygones be bygones."

Avery shook her head. "No, I don't believe that."

"Fair enough." He glanced briefly at Nicodemus. "As for what I want in return … I'll get back to you." Avery opened her mouth to protest, but Harakuise raised a hand. "And I'll do it soon. Tomorrow evening, at the latest. But I can promise you, it won't be anything unreasonable. I'll stop by after training and present the offer to Elseri, and then … well, what happens next will be up to him." He held out his hand. "Deal?"

Avery hesitated. This wasn't how she'd expected this conversation to go. She'd expected to have to convince him. To offer him … something. It won't be anything unreasonable. But what did that mean, coming from … well, him? But what other choice did she have? Avery nodded and shook Harakuise's hand.

"Deal."

"We're all playing [this] game. Might as well enjoy it."