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Training Day Three – Morning
Everything They Want

Lily Rathna, 18
District Two

She'd just wanted to have some fun.

Lily stared at Prospero. "You want me to do what?"

Prospero shook his head, then repeated himself. "Apologize to Faven. And then keep your promise."

"What promise?"

"You agreed to let her join the pack if she managed to hit you with her staff. She did. Fair's fair. She's in. If she wants it, that is. Imalia's talking to her, probably trying to convince her that it's the right choice."

Lily rolled her eyes. "It's not. That little twerp wouldn't last two seconds in a real fight. She hit me because I wanted her to."

Prospero looked genuinely confused. "Why?"

"Because then I would have an excuse to fight her, obviously."

Prospero crossed his arms. "You call that a fight?"

Lily shrugged. "She started it."

"Because you goaded her into it."

"And?" She giggled. "You really don't get it, do you."

"I guess not," Prospero admitted. "Is that why you asked for me? Is that why you wanted me as your mentor – because I wouldn't be able to keep up with you, so you could just run around doing whatever you wanted?"

Lily scoffed. "Of course not. I'd be doing the same thing if Mortimer was here, or Harriet, or any of the others. I asked for you because I thought the audience would like it." There. That was at least partly true.

Prospero leaned forward. "They might. But they don't like bullies."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "What Games have you been watching? Tributes beat each other up all the time."

Prospero met her gaze. "In the Games. Not outside of them."

"The tributes from One got into a fight last year. That's the whole reason they're letting us fight during training in the first place."

"And what happened to them?"

Lily shook her head. "They died. In the Games. But you're not really going to pretend they died because they got in a fight, are you?"

"It certainly didn't help. Neither of them was in very good condition at the start of the Games."

"Please. It's not like she could really have hurt me."

"Ross could have."

Lily clenched her fists. "You really think so? You think he could have beaten me?"

Prospero cocked his head. "You tell me. You let Faven take a shot at you so you could fight her. Did you have a reason for letting Ross hit you too … or did he win on his own?"

Lily glared. "Maybe I just let him win because I didn't want him to have to leave the pack. We're already down one member, if you hadn't noticed."

Prospero's eyes narrowed. "I don't think so. You're the one who chose that as a condition. You could have picked something else. I think he won fair and square. Maybe he's a better fighter than you thought."

"Or maybe he just got lucky."

"Maybe. But what if he'd gotten luckier? What if he'd actually hurt you? Or what if he hadn't stopped after he hit you once? What if he'd kept going – like you did?"

Lily shrugged. "He didn't."

Prospero nodded. "You're right. He didn't. Because he knew when to stop. And that's something else the audience likes."

"I did stop," Lily pointed out. "That was the deal. He won, so no more fighting – until the Games, that is."

"That's not good enough. You have to fix this, or the pair from Four will make it look like you were specifically targeting them – targeting their district – for no good reason. That's going to make you very unpopular with the audience … unless you do something to fix it."

Lily shook her head. She hadn't been targeting District Four. Not really. Well, not only District Four. She'd tried to goad a few other tributes into fighting, but only the ones from Four had taken the bait. Why was it her fault if they happened to be the only ones dumb enough to actually fight her?

The trouble was, Prospero was right. The Capitol loved District Four right now. Which was ridiculous, if you really thought about it. The only reason Imalia had been the one District Thirteen had chosen to make contact with was because Four had a rebellious reputation in the first place – a reputation they'd certainly earned. And their reward for those rebellious tendencies had been the opportunity to bring Thirteen down. Whereas District Two, which had remained loyal, had never really had a chance of being chosen by Thirteen. That didn't seem fair.

Fair or not, though, it was a fact that the Capitol was rather fond of District Four at the moment. And it was also a fact that, even though she hadn't meant to target them specifically, she had hurt both of District Four's tributes. Lily sighed. Prospero had a good point, but…

Prospero leaned back in his chair. "Besides, it'll be fun."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Fun? Letting a fourteen-year-old tag along with the pack? How is that supposed to be fun?"

Prospero shrugged. "My ally was fourteen."

His ally. Ariel, the girl from Four. But that was different. "You weren't a Career."

"And I'm still not. And that's why I know that having a non-Career in the pack could be useful. She'd have a different perspective, a different strategy. She'd add a little spice to the group. And she's already terrified of you. Don't tell me you wouldn't enjoy that."

Lily chuckled. He was trying. He really was trying to understand her, to work out what would motivate her. "You should have led with that."

"I figured I should try appealing to reason before I resorted to appealing to sadism."

Lily shrugged. "Your mistake. Well, if it's really what you want…"

Prospero's gaze hardened. "It's not."

"What? But you just said–"

"This isn't about what I want. It's about what's best for you. About what will help you in the Games. What I want isn't important right now."

Lily studied his expression for a moment. He certainly believed it – that this was the right move for her. But if it wasn't what he wanted, what did he want? She'd thought she had him figured out, but maybe she'd been wrong about him. But that wasn't important right now. Right now, she had something else to figure out – how to convince the rest of the pack to honor the deal she'd made.

That was going to be fun.

Clive Van Morren, 18
District One

This was going to be fun.

Clive chuckled to himself as the group of them headed towards the girl from Four, who was at the daggers station with the girls from Seven and Eleven. She had been watching the five of them out of the corner of her eye, but didn't turn around until the girl from Seven looked up too, gripping the dagger in her hand tightly as if daring them to try something. As if she would really be able to do anything to defend herself if any of them decided to make it a real fight.

But that wasn't what they were here for.

Lily stepped towards the three of them, rolling her eyes at the girl from Seven. "Take it easy, Seven. We're not here for a fight. We're here with an offer."

"Not interested."

Lily shrugged. "Good, because it's not for you. You two had your chance, and you didn't take it. Faven, on the other hand…" She let the end of the sentence dangle in the air.

The girl from Four took a step forward. "You mean because I hit you yesterday…?"

Clive beamed. Damn, she was good. If he hadn't known that she knew what Lily had been planning to do, he probably wouldn't have been able to tell. And the girls with her definitely hadn't expected it. Clive stepped up next to Lily and held out his hand. "Got it in one. A deal's a deal, and you fulfilled your end. You're in … if that's what you want."

Faven hesitated. Or at least appeared to hesitate. She glanced at the Careers, then back at the other two, then back at the Careers. "You said the offer is just for me. Is that … negotiable?"

Clive raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected that. She hadn't even met the other two before yesterday. Maybe she didn't want to be alone in a group full of Careers. Or maybe she was just trying to avoid having to choose between them. It was a pretty obvious choice, if they pressed the matter, but the other two had been options they'd been considering to replace Euphoria.

To Clive's surprise, it was Ross who spoke up. "Everything is negotiable. Galadriel? Anahi?"

Interesting. He'd noticed that the previous day, too, just before Ross had challenged Lily. He'd told the girl from Seven to get the girl from Four out of there – but he'd done it by name. Galadriel. Of course, he'd been observing the other tributes long enough to pick up most of their names, too, but it didn't do to go around advertising that fact. Then again, Ross had already asked her to join them, so maybe it made sense that they'd already introduced themselves.

Galadriel shook her head. "You really expect us to believe you'd let all three of us in the pack?"

Lily shrugged. "Why not? The more the merrier, right? Besides, we already invited you individually. Just think of this as an … extension of the acceptance period." She crossed her arms. "For the next few minutes or so. Make your choice."

The girl from Seven glanced at the girl from Eleven, who said nothing – not with words, at least. But her expression was clear enough. The older girl shook her head. "It's still a no from the two of us."

Lily smirked. "Your funeral. Faven?"

Faven bit her lip, clenching and unclenching her fists. She was clearly frightened, but she also knew what they were offering. Being part of the pack meant an advantage in the Games – for a little while, at least. She wouldn't have to worry about them coming after her in the bloodbath. She would have access to the food and supplies at the cornucopia. She would have protection – for a while. Only for a while, of course – until the pack split, or someone decided she wasn't pulling her weight, or something else happened. But nothing in the Games was permanent. Nothing was a guarantee. And if there was a chance to improve her odds, she had to take it.

That was what Imalia had probably told her. And what Prospero had told Lily. Lily hadn't explicitly said that this had come from their mentors, but it was pretty obvious. Lily hadn't hesitated to clobber the younger girl yesterday, and had only refrained from beating her to a pulp because Ross had intervened. This clearly wasn't coming from her. But that didn't mean it was a bad move. Going after District Four had been a bit rash. Entertaining, but rash. This was a good way to mend some of that image.

Until the Games started, at least. After that, anything was on the table. Anyone was fair game. Once the Games began, it wouldn't matter if she went after someone from District Four, because that was how the Games worked. You went after everyone, sooner or later.

But if Faven was part of the pack, maybe it would be later. That was what the younger girl was clearly counting on, because she nodded, reached out, and shook his hand. "I'm in."

The girl from Seven stared. The girl from Eleven visibly recoiled a little. But Faven just whispered, "Sorry," and followed the Careers away from the daggers station.

Clive clapped her on the back. "Right choice. I'm sure they're nice, but nice doesn't win the Games."

And that was true. 'Polite' could go a ways with the audience, but that would only take you so far. Tributes had to be willing to make hard choices if they wanted to make it out of the Games alive. Faven had just proven that better than she ever could have hoped to by fighting Lily with a staff. Maybe Lily hadn't simply been picking targets at random when she'd suggested asking her in the first place.

Maybe she really did know what she was doing.

Anahi Cassidy, 13
District Eleven

She had no idea what she was doing.

Anahi shook her head as she watched Faven disappear with the Careers. "What's she thinking?" she whispered to Galadriel. "She has to know they'll turn on her once the Games actually start, right? That's what happened to the boy from Twelve last year, and he had training."

Galadriel shook her head. "Maybe that's what she's counting on. He had training, so he was a threat. He was popular with the Capitol. He was attracting more sponsors than the rest of them. They probably don't see her as a threat."

"But then why ask her to join? They can't really think she's going to be much help."

"Not to them," Galadriel pointed out. "But she would have been able to help us. That's why you wanted to take her up to Imalia yesterday, after all. You knew having her as an ally would be useful."

Anahi could feel her face growing red. That was why she had done it, but having Galadriel point that out felt … shameful. She should have helped Faven because it was the right thing to do, not because she thought she could get something out of it. But this was the Hunger Games. Did it really matter what the 'right' thing to do was?

Yes. Yes, of course it mattered. If right and wrong didn't matter when lives were on the line – if they only mattered when it was simple, convenient, easy – then they didn't really matter at all. And if right and wrong didn't matter, then none of what she'd ever been taught meant anything. If doing the right thing wasn't important, then what was?

Anahi clenched her fists. She had done the right thing. She just … hadn't done it for the right reason. But doing it still counted, right? Who cared about why she had done it? Who would know?

She knew the answer to that, of course. She knew. The Great One knew. And apparently, Galadriel knew too. But she hadn't said it like it was a bad thing. Because this was the Hunger Games. Everyone was doing what they thought was best for themself, because that was the only way they were going to survive. Whatever had made Faven think it was a good idea to go with the Careers, she must have thought it would help her. And the Careers…

"So they're trying to … what? Sabotage us?" Anahi asked.

"Maybe," Galadriel admitted. "They're Careers, after all. They want to kill all of us. The smaller our group is, the easier we'll be to pick off."

"But what about the other groups? They haven't tried to break them up."

"We don't know that," Galadriel pointed out. "Maybe they tried, and it didn't work. They were keeping an eye on pretty much everyone yesterday before they finally decided to ask us, and then Three and Thirteen, and then Faven. I don't think it's us in particular."

"Maybe. It's just…"

"What?"

"Just what the girl from Two said. She said 'your funeral' when you told her no."

Galadriel nodded. "And it probably is. Twenty-five of us are going to die. That means at least one of us. Maybe both of us. It's not a threat. It's just how the Games work."

Anahi shook her head. "How can you say that when–" she started, but then stopped herself.

Galadriel cocked her head. "When what?"

When you don't know what will happen afterwards? That was what she wanted to say. Anahi looked down. She should be the one facing death with calm acceptance, because this was the path the Great One had chosen for her. But Galadriel had no idea about any of that. No idea what was waiting for her after death. And she was still so … so calm.

But she couldn't say that. Instead, she settled for, "When you have a family waiting for you back home. Aren't you worried about … about what's going to happen to them without you?" She knew she certainly was. She'd done her best to prepare Anastasia for how to take care of the others without her, but her sister was eleven. And Galadriel's siblings and cousins were even younger.

Galadriel nodded. "Of course. Of course I'm worried about them. But worrying isn't going to change anything. The best thing I can do for them – and for me – is to focus on what's happening right now, because that's the only way I have a chance of winning. And if I don't win … I asked one of my friends to make sure they go to the orphanage. It isn't much, but it'll keep them alive until they can take care of themselves. Then … well, whatever happens, happens."

Anahi nodded. That made sense. It was practical. There wasn't anything she could do for her siblings right now – nothing except try to stay alive. That was all either of them could do.

But they couldn't both survive.

Anahi swallowed hard. Her family was relying on her. Galadriel's family was relying on her. How many of the other tributes had families who were counting on them coming back, who wouldn't know what to do if they lost the family member who had always taken care of them? Not the Careers, maybe, but so many outer-district families relied on everyone contributing, and if even one person was lost, the whole dynamic shifted.

She'd seen it happen to some of the other younger workers in the fields. A parent or older sibling died, and they had to work twice as hard just to almost scrape by as well as before. It happened so often.

It happened too much.

It wasn't fair. None of it was. But she didn't say that, because that wouldn't help, either. Complaining about how unfair things were … that was wrong. Ungrateful. It meant she wasn't trusting His plan. But if His plan was for her to die, then–

Then she didn't want it. She pushed the words from her mind as soon as she thought them, but they were there. If that was His plan, then it wasn't fair. And if His plan wasn't fair, that meant He wasn't fair. But He was fair. He was just. He was always just. She'd always known that. She'd always believed that.

But what if she'd been wrong?

Acher Ernetut, 14
District Four

What if he'd been wrong?

Acher shook his head as he watched the Careers from where he, Swiss, Lucretius, and Leif were huddled around the camouflage station. He'd assumed, when he'd failed the Careers' test, that they'd never meant for him to succeed. They'd never even been interested in letting him join the pack. He'd been sure of it. But now…

Now Faven was with them. The boy from Five was showing her how to hold a sword properly. The girl from Two had just clapped her on the back. She was smiling. Laughing. They hadn't wanted him, but they had gone out of their way to give her a second chance to accept their offer. Acher's stomach churned. It wasn't fair. They were both from District Four, after all. What did she have that he didn't?

He knew the answer to that, though. What did she have? She had what she'd always had – everything, and apparently without having to actually work for it. She had the right personality. She had the right friends. Hell, she even had the right mentor. The Careers had only come to him in the first place because they'd thought Imalia was his mentor.

Not that there was anything wrong with Mags, of course. She'd been kind, but … well, Imalia was the one the Capitol would be watching. She was the one the sponsors would be flocking to. Mags was … well, she was just there, like she'd always been, doing her job but not really as … flashy as any of the others. Just like him. He was just there. At school, at home, even now that he was a tribute, he was still fading into the background. Just another member of a rather unremarkable alliance.

Acher swallowed hard. That wasn't fair, either. His allies were … they were good. Leif had helped them learn how to use an axe earlier. Swiss had shown him how to milk a cow. Lucretius had taken them outside earlier an improvised a navigation lesson with some pieces of wood and some string he'd taken from the fishing station. There weren't stars out now – and there wouldn't be until well after training time was done – but he'd shown them where the north star would be, and how to use either that or the sun to keep track of their directions.

He'd never needed that at home. There were two directions that mattered in District Four – towards the sea and away from it. Oh, anyone who actually went sailing on the ships there learned to navigate by the stars, but the fishermen who stayed on the shore? Or those who never ventured out too far? All you needed to know was how to get back to shore, and which bits of surf to avoid because they'd smash up your ship if you drifted too close. But actual navigation – that had been unfamiliar.

"Acher?" Swiss asked, and her tone of voice suggested it wasn't the first time she'd said it. "Hey Acher, you still with us?"

Acher nodded immediately. "Yeah. Yeah, I was just … thinking."

"Were you thinking about which color you want to put next?" Swiss asked sharply.

Acher looked away. "No, I was … I just …"

"I've got an idea," Lucretius piped up. "Once we're done here, how about we check out the pool? Acher, do you think you could teach us how to swim?"

Acher could feel a smile creeping back over his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I could do that. You don't know how to swim?"

Lucretius shook his head. "Not really, no. There are some watering holes back in Ten, but none of them are very deep. So it's more a matter of wading than swimming if you even go in them. Leif?"

Leif shook his head. "I went in there a little bit yesterday, but that didn't last long."

Acher cocked his head. "Why not?"

"There was a group I was trying to get away from," Leif admitted. "I only went with them because they said they'd leave me alone if I stayed for ten minutes."

"Why?"

Leif shrugged. "Who knows? But at least they kept their word. I haven't seen them since. Probably went to find someone else to bother."

Acher looked away. "Must be nice."

"What?"

"Having people want to be allies with you."

Lucretius crossed his arms. "What are you talking about? We want to be your allies."

"Because you felt sorry for me." Acher swallowed hard. It hurt a little to say it, but it was true. Swiss and Lucretius had felt sorry for him after the Careers had beat him up. That was all there was to it.

Lucretius cocked his head. "Maybe. Maybe at first, at least. But I've enjoyed getting to know you. And I think Swiss has too, even if she won't admit it."

Swiss gave him a look. "Whatever you say, fish-boy."

Leif looked puzzled. "Fish-boy?"

Lucretius chuckled. "Interesting."

"What?" Swiss asked.

"You remembered."

Swiss rolled her eyes and explained. "Just something he said on the train. Something about people being born under certain stars sharing some of the same traits. Apparently I'm a crab and he's a fish."

"I'm surprised you remembered that, though," Lucretius admitted.

"Why?"

"Because of something you said on the train. You said you didn't want to get to know people, because you might have to kill them. What's the point of knowing someone's favorite color, or their best friend's name, or what their sign is, if they're just going to be dead soon?" He smiled faintly. "But you remembered."

Swiss glared. Lucretius smiled. Finally, Swiss sighed. "Okay, fine. I remembered. Your best friend's name is Hilda. Leif has an older brother named Barke. Acher doesn't like early mornings, but he absolutely loves sunsets. Are you happy now?"

Acher blinked. She'd remembered that? He'd mentioned it yesterday at the start of training, because he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep the night before. Swiss had rolled her eyes and said something about wishing they could start training earlier in the morning so they didn't waste so much of the day, and that had been it. He hadn't expected her to remember that he liked sunsets. But she had. And if she remembered that, then maybe other people would, too.

Maybe someone would actually miss him.

Uriel Xia, 13
District Nine

He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this.

Uriel leaned back against the wall, watching as Demeter threw a few knives. Beside him, Elseri was talking, and Uriel was listening – or at least trying to – but the truth was, he was only snatching up bits of what the older boy was saying. A word here, a phrase there, something that just seemed to fit with the words he was scribbling on the page. He'd been working with napkins yesterday, but this morning, he'd asked if Barlen had any extra paper. And of course, he did, because he tended to write things down if he needed to remember them, so having paper nearby all the time was important.

"And that's how I met Vex," Elseri continued. "Once we were sure the Peacekeepers weren't following us anymore, he took me back to the others."

Uriel nodded along, his mouth doing the thinking for him. "And you had no idea who he was stealing from?"

Elseri shook his head. "Someone in the richer section of the district. Maybe one of the Peacekeepers, or someone like that. Not exactly a lot of rich people in Three."

Uriel nodded. There weren't a lot of rich people in Nine, either, but he'd been lucky enough to be adopted by one of them. That was different, though. If Emperor had caught someone stealing from them, Uriel was sure they wouldn't call the Peacekeepers. Not that it had ever happened, but he was sure of it, all the same. Emperor wouldn't get someone in trouble over something like that.

Would he?

There was something there – a flicker of uncertainty as he listened to Elseri group anyone 'rich' in with Peacekeepers and the people who supported them. Rich, to Elseri, meant Capitol-supporting, and there didn't seem to be much room for anything in between. But the Capitol was … well, that was a different sort of 'rich' altogether. It wasn't as if he was as rich as the people here were. But Elseri didn't seem to think there was a difference. But there was one, wasn't there?

Was there?

Huh. Uriel scribbled a few more words, looked at what he'd written, then realized Elseri had stopped talking. "What are you writing, anyway?" the older boy asked. "Some sort of journal?"

Uriel shook his head. "Just something I'm working on – for the interviews. I heard the girl from Five singing yesterday, and I figured she's probably going to do some singing during the interviews, so I thought … why not a poem?"

Elseri raised an eyebrow. "You're writing a poem?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Don't you think that's a bit…" Esleri trailed off, as if trying to think of the right word. "Out of place?" he decided. "In a fight to the death, I mean?"

"We're not fighting yet."

"No, but we will be in a couple days. Is that really what you want people to remember about you? Poetry?"

Uriel crossed his arms. "Do you have something against poetry?"

"No, it's just… Never mind."

"No, I want to know."

"Well, it just seems a bit silly to be talking about flowers and stars and rainbows when twenty-five people are about to die. That's all. But if it makes you happy–"

"Flowers? Who said it was about flowers?"

Elseri hesitated. "I mean … that's what poetry is, isn't it? We read some in school sometimes, and it was all about love and flowers and things like that."

Uriel chuckled. "I guess some of it is, but … well, not the one I'm writing." He held out the paper. "I don't usually let anyone see it until I'm done, but … well, tell me what you think."

Elseri took the paper and began to read. After a moment, his mouth began moving along with the words. When he got to the end, he shook his head. "You wrote this?"

"Yeah."

"Just now?"

"Well, I started it yesterday, but … yeah. What do you think?"

"And you're planning to read this at the interviews?"

Uriel chuckled. "No. No, of course not."

Elseri breathed a sigh of relief. "For a moment, I thought–"

"I won't need to read it. I'm sure I can memorize it by then."

Elseri stared. Finally, he blinked. "And you're not worried."

"About what?"

"About what they'll think."

"Why would I be? It's not as if it's anything rebellious." And it wasn't. It wasn't as if he was trying to stop the Games, or overthrow the Capitol, or … or whatever else it was that rebels were usually hoping to accomplish. He wasn't trying to start a fight. He just wanted… "I just want them to understand what I'm feeling. What we're feeling. That's the point of the interviews, isn't it? To help them understand us."

"No." This time, the voice wasn't Elseri's. Uriel turned to see Demeter standing beside him. "No, Uri, that's not the point of the interviews. The point of the interviews is to convince the audience that it's a good idea to sponsor us. That's it."

Elseri shook his head. "But Demeter, look at this."

Before Uriel could stop him, he held the poem out to Demeter, who took it. Read it. Took a deep breath and handed it back to Uriel. "I've never seen you write anything like this before."

Uriel shrugged. "I've never been picked for a fight to the death before. I guess it gets different parts of the brain working, huh?"

Demeter nodded slowly. "Elseri, can I have a word with you?"

Uriel stood up. "Demeter, it wasn't his idea. It was just showing it to him and–"

"Alone," Demeter snapped. "Elseri, can I talk to you alone?"

Slowly, Elseri stood up, then followed Demeter across the room. Uriel didn't follow. He sat back down, leaning against the wall, and wrote a few more lines, chuckling to himself. Flowers and rainbows. Was that the kind of poetry that they were reading in Three?

They certainly had a lot to learn.

Ophiuchus Valdemar, 18
District Thirteen

They certainly had a lot to learn.

Ophiuchus watched curiously as the girl from One helped the girl from Four adjust her grip on a bow. It didn't make any sense. They'd been so certain that the Careers would turn to them – and consequently to Harakuise – for help with their problem. They'd antagonized District Four, after all, and Ophiuchus had been sure that the mentors from Four would respond in kind. Didn't they want to help their tributes, after all? This didn't make any sense.

Except … Harakuise had known. Or at least, he'd seemed to know that something might happen. He'd advised Ophiuchus to wait and see what the Careers did about the situation before making their move. And to Ophiuchus' surprise, what they had done was re-extend their offer to Faven, who, to their greater surprise, had taken it.

Ophiuchus drummed their fingers on the spear in their hands. They'd been waiting with Hattie at the spear station, right by the staffs, hoping that the Careers would come back. But they hadn't. And apparently, they weren't going to. It didn't make any sense.

They weren't used to that.

"I think I've worked it out." Hattie's voice was low, but almost made them jump, all the same. Ophiuchus eyed Hattie curiously. She had worked it out? Interesting. What did she know that they didn't? Well, probably quite a bit about the Games, if they were being honest with themself. But they'd thought they had a pretty good handle on how the other tributes would react, and the mentors…

"It's the mentors, isn't it," Ophiuchus agreed.

"Probably."

"They arranged for Faven to be invited into the pack."

"Probably not at first. But today? Yeah, they're probably behind it."

"But why? What do they get out of it? It doesn't help any of them – not really. She's not going to be useful to the pack. And they aren't going to let her live long enough for this to help her. It doesn't make any sense."

Hattie shook her head. "The Games don't take place in a vacuum."

"What?"

"On the first day of training, you said that my mistake was assuming that the other tributes were all thinking like me. Like us. Your mistake is assuming that all the mentors are thinking like Harakuise."

"Meaning?"

"Harakuise can afford to focus on helping you because for him, there isn't anything else at stake. He already has what he wants. Do you know what things are like in Five?"

Ophiuchus cocked their head. "No."

"Things are good. The district is rich. The people are … well, they're probably not all rich, but they're well-off. They have time to relax. Time for things like music and art, because they're not working double shifts in the factories just to scrape by. You heard the girl from Five singing yesterday. You think anyone from District Three has time to focus on something like that?"

Ophiuchus nodded. So life in Five was better than life in Three. And that … what? Impacted what the mentors would do? The Games don't take place in a vacuum. Nicodemus had been talking about how the tributes needed to recognize that outside forces could impact the Games. Now Hattie was suggesting that one of those outside forces – their own mentors – could be influenced by even more distant factors. "What are things like in Four?" they asked.

"Unstable. I assume you've heard a little bit about what happened."

"There was a rebellion – and Four played a role. One of their Victors burned down their training center. Then Imalia …" Well, they all knew what Imalia had done. And the sort of person who would do something like that…

"It's not about helping Faven at all," Ophiuchus realized. "It's about the district. She thinks it'll look good if Four is part of the Career pack, even if the alliance isn't going to last very long at all." Hattie nodded, and Ophiuchus continued. "Even if the alliance is probably going to get her tribute killed." They shook their head. "I thought a mentor's job was to try to keep their tribute alive."

"Wrong."

Ophiuchus blinked. "Wrong?"

"Yeah. Their job is to help us give the audience a good show. Their job is to do what's best for their district as a whole. Usually, those are the same things that will keep their tributes alive. But not always."

Ophiuchus nodded. "And Harakuise knew that."

Hattie shrugged. "He knows the other mentors. He probably had a good idea of what Imalia would do."

Ophiuchus studied Hattie, who was still watching them, a hint of a smile on her face. Who was her mentor? They weren't sure Harakuise had mentioned the mentors from Three. "And yours?"

"Miriam."

"And what did she have to say about your choice of allies?"

Hattie chuckled. "She said it was risky. Something about District Thirteen being a wild card. But that's the thing about the Games – everything's a risk. And the greater the risk–"

"–the greater the reward?"

"Sometimes."

Interesting. So Hattie thought that having them as an ally was worth the risk. Because of District Thirteen's position? Because of Harakuise's influence? Or because she thought they would be a valuable ally, even without the rest? They weren't sure. Maybe it didn't matter. After all, they certainly hadn't chosen Hattie because her district was in a good position, and they hadn't even considered who her mentor was. They'd chosen her because she was … what? Observant? Adaptable? Willing to learn?

And she was learning – quickly. And she had access to information – information that, at least for now, they didn't have. For now, she was valuable. For now, she was useful. So for now, they were happy to indulge her. Ophiuchus turned away from the Careers. Maybe it was for the best that they hadn't come back. Maybe that risk wouldn't have been worth the reward.

Maybe the two of them were better off on their own.

Demeter Moire, 14
District Nine

They would be better off on their own.

Demeter clenched her fists as she and Elseri headed outside. At least there, people were less likely to overhear them. That was kindest, wasn't it? After all, Uri had invited Elseri to join them after the boy from Seven had rather loudly rejected him. If she was going to convince him to leave, it was better to do it quietly, so he still had a chance of finding someone else.

Sure enough, there was almost no one outside with the mutts. Most of the tributes had apparently decided that rabbits and squirrels weren't all that exciting after all, or that there were better places to spend their time now that there was less than a day of training left. The only other tribute who apparently hadn't come to that conclusion was the boy from Eleven, who was setting a snare on the other side of the field. Demeter took a deep breath and turned to Elseri. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Elseri asked, but his expression gave away that he already had a good idea of where this conversation was going. He just needed someone to actually say it, so that it would really sink in.

"About Uri. About the effect you're having on him – and what it means for his chances in the Games. He's … impressionable." That was a mild way of putting it. Uri tended to latch onto things – and people. It was what made him a good poet. He took bits and pieces from here and there and created something new and beautiful and–

And dangerous, if one of the bits and pieces he picked up was too rebellious. She'd never seen Uri write anything like that before. And while he was right that it wasn't openly rebellious, it was … provoking. Thought-provoking, certainly, but also emotionally provoking. And as far as the audience was concerned, that was probably the more dangerous of the two.

"And you think I'm giving him the wrong impressions."

"I don't think either of you is really thinking about what will help you survive in the arena. And I think you're making each other worse."

"I'm not going to survive in the arena." Elseri's voice was flat. Not sad, just … certain. He wasn't going to survive. She'd known that, of course, as soon as he'd admitted to helping start a riot. Tributes like that didn't survive the Games. But the fact that he realized it…

"You're not," she agreed, trying to keep her tone level, just like his. "And if you stay with us, neither will Uriel."

"And what about you?"

Demeter shook her head. "I didn't volunteer because I thought I had a chance. I volunteered to give him a chance, and I know what that means. It means I have to die. It means you have to die. And if we're both going to die–"

"–then we should give him a chance," Elseri finished. "And you think that means I should leave."

"Yes."

"What are you going to tell him?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. I don't want him to think…"

"What?"

"That I'm leaving because of him. That it's his fault. That he shouldn't have written what he did, because what he wrote was…"

"–was the truth," Demeter agreed quietly. And it was. And that was the trouble. Uriel didn't have a dishonest bone in his body. "And he's right. The Capitol might see it that way. They might see it as harmless. They might see it as just him expressing what he's feeling."

"But not if I'm connected to it."

"Exactly." Come on. Please. He understood. He had to understand. Demeter's stomach churned. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that all of his allies had left him – or turned him down in the first place – because of what he'd done. But it wasn't fair to Uriel to drag him down, too. It wasn't fair to anyone.

Elseri took a deep breath, his fists clenched tightly. For a moment, Demeter thought he was going to hit her, and shifted her weight, ready to duck out of the way. Instead, Elseri took a step back, shaking his head sadly. "You're right."

"I know. I'm sorry. I know it's a bit late to find anyone else."

Elseri nodded. "A bit late for you, too."

"Yeah. But at least we have each other."

"And is that enough?"

Demeter could feel her face growing red. Yes. It was enough. It would have to be. She hadn't really wanted any other allies in the first place. They would only get in the way. They were just more people who would have to die if she wanted to protect Uriel. They didn't need anyone else. Or at least, she didn't need anyone else. Uriel…

He would get used to it, once the Games began. Once they were in the arena, he would realize that the Games weren't like life back in Nine. He couldn't just go around making friends with everyone. That didn't work here. Once he won – once he was back in Nine – then he could go back to thinking of everyone as a friend he just hadn't gotten to know yet. For now, it was better if she kept him away from people who would take advantage of that.

Demeter turned to go. Elseri didn't follow. She didn't have to look back to know that. She didn't stop until she was standing next to Uriel again – right where she belonged. Maybe the only place she'd ever belonged. And that was where she was going to stay until … well, until she couldn't. Until her job was done.

Uriel looked up. "Where's Elseri?"

Demeter put on her best poker face. "He decided he would have a better chance alone."

A flood of emotions crossed Uriel's face. But to her surprise, he didn't say anything. He didn't shout at her. He didn't beg her to ask Elseri to come back. He didn't even look particularly upset, once his face settled on one expression. He simply turned back to his paper and scribbled a few more words. Demeter stared for a moment, then turned her attention back to the knives she'd been learning how to throw.

One of them needed to focus on what was actually important.

Elseri Lumenova, 17
District Three

He had to focus on what would help him now.

Elseri took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. Demeter was right, of course. She was just doing what was best for her and her friend. Leif had done the same. And he'd been the one to leave Christina and Karina. It wasn't their fault that Harakuise had made that the only condition of their deal.

Elseri stared at the door that led back inside. When he'd accepted Harakuise's offer, he'd assumed that he would be able to find someone else. But maybe this had been Harakuise's plan all along. Maybe he'd known that no one else would want to join him. Of course, maybe it didn't take a genius to figure that out. Maybe he'd been stupid to even think of trying to find someone else. Maybe he was better off alone.

No. No, he wasn't. But everyone else was. Allying with him meant accepting all the baggage that came with his actions, and he didn't have anything to offer that would outweigh that risk. It just wasn't worth it…

"I think you've got the right idea there."

Elseri whirled around. The boy from Eleven was standing behind him. How long had he been there? How much had he heard? Elseri clenched his fists even harder at the thought. Of course, it wasn't as if anything Demeter had said was a secret. Not as if any part of his life was a secret now. But the boy from Eleven was … grinning. Elseri took a step back. "What do you mean?"

The boy shrugged. "Taking a moment to yourself. A bit of fresh air. A chance to unwind."

Elseri shook his head. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"No, but it's what you could be doing. You can either stand there and mope about the fact that a couple of little kids decided they didn't want you as an ally … or you could see it as an opportunity."

An opportunity. Elseri glanced around, letting that sink in. "You don't have any allies either, do you."

"Let's just say I've been waiting to make my move."

"And is this it? Your move?"

"Could be."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Elseri chuckled. "Why not? Do you have any idea why no one else wants to work with me?"

"What, you mean the Peacekeeper thing?"

Elseri blinked. The Peacekeeper thing. "You … don't have a problem with that?"

The boy from Eleven shrugged. "No. I don't. You know why not?"

"Why?"

"Because the audience didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard them during the chariot rides. They were cheering for you. I was too far back to see what you were doing, but I asked my mentor later, and he said you'd drunk one of the vials that were part of your costume. The audience liked it." He smirked. "So do I."

Elseri stared. The chariot rides. That already seemed like a lifetime ago. But he did remember drinking one of the strange mixtures. "I didn't even think about it," Elseri admitted.

"Good."

"Good?"

The other boy smirked. "Yes, good. You think about something like that, you'll wind up talking yourself out of it. You'll get so far inside your own head, it'll paralyze you. I reckon that's what's been happening with you and your allies. You've been trying to think your way out of this when you should be going with your gut. What does your gut say?"

"That I'm going to die."

"No, that's your head."

"It's the truth."

"Maybe. But almost every tribute in the Games is going to die. But they don't just step off their pedestals and end it quickly. Why?"

"Because they want to live."

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Do you want to live?"

"Of course."

"So why did you drink it?"

"What?"

"The potion during the chariot rides. Why did you drink it? It could have killed you."

"No, it couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because they wouldn't kill a tribute during the chariot parade."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely sure?"

"Yes!"

"But were you sure then?"

Elseri hesitated. Had he been sure? Now, in hindsight, it was obvious that the stylists wouldn't actually put something deadly in the chariots with them. But in the moment … No. No, it hadn't been obvious then. Hattie had refused to drink one of the vials, after all – and had seemed positively shocked that he'd gulped one down. He hadn't been thinking. He'd trusted his gut. And now…

"No," he admitted. "I wasn't sure. And the audience wasn't, either. That's why they were cheering. They like it when people take risks."

"Yes. They like it when people give 'em a show. I think the other tributes are wrong about you. I don't think you're a liability. I think you're worth the risk." He held out his hand. "I'm Olly."

"Elseri." He shook it.

Olly clapped him on the back. "Want to head back inside?"

Elseri hesitated. "I think–"

"Stop thinking. Gut reaction. Want to go back in?"

Elseri managed a smile. "No. Not yet. Let's … take a moment. A bit of fresh air. A chance to unwind."

Olly nodded. "Works for me. I should probably check my snare anyway, see if I've caught anything."

In fact, there was a squirrel in the snare, chittering away, trying to shake itself free. Olly reached down and scooped it up, then slipped the snare off its leg in one quick movement. "Think fast!" he called, and suddenly, the squirrel was flying straight towards Elseri. He didn't even have time to duck. He barely had time to raise his hands and catch the screeching thing as it hurtled towards his face.

What were you thinking? Elseri almost said it as he set the squirrel down gently on the ground. But he didn't. Because Olly hadn't been thinking. And neither had he.

And maybe … maybe that was what he needed. Everyone else seemed to be trying to outthink each other. He couldn't out-plan them all. But maybe he didn't have to. You couldn't plan for what you couldn't predict. And you couldn't predict what someone was going to do next if they didn't know what they were going to do next.

Do you want to live? Of course he did. His mind, of course, knew he wasn't going to, but his gut … that was telling him something different.

And he knew which one he wanted to believe.

"Everybody does stupid things. It shouldn't cost them everything they want in life."