The alarm cuts through the fog of my restless sleep, dragging me from the dark, dreamless void. My head aches as I force myself to sit up, blinking away the remnants of sleep. The room spins slightly, but I know I can't afford to linger. Today is important. It's the last day before the private sessions, and I need to be ready.

I drag myself to the shower, the cold water biting against my skin as I wash away the lingering fatigue. I scrub my face, my hair, and my body—anything to shake off the exhaustion that clings to me. When I step out, I quickly brush my teeth and get dressed. Blue shirt. Green pants. Black shoes. The same outfit as yesterday, but somehow it feels heavier today.

I look in the mirror, the weight of the upcoming training and interactions pressing on me. I've missed two days already, and now I have to face the gym, the tributes, and the trainers. It's all too much. But there's no turning back. I walk to the closet, my fingers brushing over the clothes. I pause when I spot a set of gold-colored bows hanging from a hook. They gleam with an almost taunting elegance.

I pull one from the rack, the material soft between my fingers, and I can't help but think that these are the kind of things that belong to the privileged districts. With a sigh, I put my hair into pigtails and secure them with the gold bows. It's silly, I know, but something about it gives me a strange sense of normalcy—like I'm just a girl getting ready for the day.

The gym is packed when I arrive. It's full of tributes, trainers, and the smell of sweat and iron. My heart hammers in my chest as I walk in, immediately feeling the pressure. There are twenty-three of us, scattered across various stations. Some are practicing with spears, others with knives. A group is at the archery section, a few others are tying knots, and there's a section dedicated to fishing, though I can't bring myself to approach it just yet.

I back away into the corner by the elevators, hugging my knees to my chest. Too many people. Too many eyes. I can't handle all of this. The trainers, the tributes—everything feels suffocating. I try to breathe, but my chest tightens, and I realize I'm holding my breath.

I sit there, still, for what feels like an eternity. Then, slowly, I force myself to get up. I walk toward the knot-tying section, the least crowded area. At least here, there's less pressure. I can't handle being surrounded by too many people right now. The trainer greets me warmly and shows me how to tie a basic knot. It's simple enough, but my hands fumble as I try to secure it. I finally manage, though it's not perfect.

Then, the trainer demonstrates a more difficult knot. It looks complicated, but I watch his hands closely, memorizing every twist and turn. When it's my turn, I hesitate for a moment before I try to tie the same knot. Under, over, through, in. My fingers work quickly now, more confident. I finish the knot with a sense of satisfaction—despite the wobble in my hands.

But then I notice the tribute beside me, his knot tied perfectly in half the time it took me. A jolt of jealousy stabs at me. I glare at him, feeling a strange, burning anger rise in my chest for no reason at all.

I shake it off. I don't need to worry about him. I don't need to compare myself to anyone else. I'm just here to survive.

I leave the knot-tying section and head for the spear station, which is one of the most crowded. The trainer gives me a quick rundown of the technique, and I pick up a spear. I know how to throw. I've done it before, and it comes naturally. The first throw hits the target dead center. Then another. And another. I don't miss once.

But after a while, my hand starts to cramp from gripping the spear too tightly. I set it down with a frustrated sigh. I need to do something else to shake off the tension.

I wander to the fishing section, though I have no intention of trying anything there yet. I don't know how to use any of the tools, so I just observe for a while. A few tributes are tying knots and attaching hooks, but it doesn't seem like anyone is doing anything too complicated. I make a mental note of what I see, but I know that I won't be ready to try it myself until tomorrow.

The knife section is next, and I give it a go. The trainer teaches me how to throw a knife, and again, it's something that feels almost instinctual. I hit the target with a clean throw, right where the heart would be on a human body. I pause for a moment, almost unnerved by how easy it is.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. By the time lunch rolls around, I realize I haven't eaten anything. My stomach growls, but I don't feel hungry. The idea of sitting in the cafeteria with the other tributes makes me anxious. But I have no choice.

I follow the others, eventually finding a seat at a small table in the corner. I don't have food, I don't have a tray—just the clothes on my back. I look around, but I don't make eye contact with anyone. I can't.

And then, of course, I spot Kai. He's at a table with four other tributes, his eyes meeting mine from across the room. My heart skips a beat, and I feel a knot of dread tighten in my chest. He stands up, says something to the others, and starts walking toward me.

No. He's coming to question me about yesterday. I can't explain what happened. How can I? I freeze, panic flooding through me. I can't do this. There's no way to explain what happened.

Without thinking, my feet carry me out of the cafeteria. My heart pounds in my chest as I race down the hall, my hair flying behind me like a banner. I feel a surge of energy, of speed I didn't know I had. The world blurs around me, and I hear gasps and shouts as I pass the tributes.

I don't stop until I reach the gym. I tumble into the room, crashing into a wall with a yelp. My body skids to the floor, and I quickly scramble into a corner, trying to collect myself. My breath is ragged, my heart racing. I don't know what to do next. I just sit there, staring at the floor, hoping no one will notice.

But of course, they do. When the tributes return to the gym, they all stare at me. I can feel their eyes on me like a weight pressing down on my shoulders. I rise to my feet, trying to appear calm, but I know it's useless. Kai steps forward from the group, and I bolt past him and the others, making a beeline for the elevator. I ride it back up to my floor and lock myself in my room.

I throw myself onto the bed, curling up with my knees to my chest. For the rest of the day and night, I remain in my room, a strange numbness filling me. There are knocks at the door, but I don't answer. I can't.

The next day, I force myself to get up. I take a quick shower, dress, and head to the gym for the private sessions. I sit in the corner, waiting. Forty-two minutes pass before my name is called. I stand and walk out into the center of the gym, my steps slow and measured.

To my surprise, the private session area is set up much like the main gym, with various stations. The Gamemakers sit at a table, watching me intently. My nerves spike, but I try to stay focused.

I head straight for the spear section, picking up a spear. It feels different from the one in the main gym, lighter in my hands. I test it, tossing it through the air, and it hits the target dead center. The Gamemakers nod approvingly. I feel a strange rush of pride.

Next, I move to the knife section. I pick up a blade, and again, it feels natural. I throw it at the target, and it sinks into the dummy's chest, right where the heart would be. The Gamemakers don't react, but I can see them watching closely.

Then, I head to the fishing section. I haven't had a chance to practice here before, but I've observed the others. I grab a paperclip off the table and bend it into a hook. I tie a strand of my hair to it, feeling a small sense of accomplishment.

Now, I need something for the rod. I glance around the room, and my eyes land on the table leg. It's thin and wooden, and without hesitation, I yank it off. The table crashes to the ground, but I don't have time to worry about it. I tie the hair to the leg, creating a makeshift fishing rod. The Gamemakers look at me, puzzled by my unconventional approach, but the Head Gamemaker simply nods.

"Very good. You're excused," he says.

I nod, feeling a quiet satisfaction.

I head back to the elevator, pushing the button for my floor. Once in my room, I collapse onto the bed. The weight of the day lifts off my shoulders, but there's still a long road ahead.

Later, there's a knock on my door. It's Paxon. He doesn't say anything as he leads me to a room with couches and a TV. The other are there, sitting in tense silence. I sit in a corner, staring at the screen as the scores for the to tributes flash on the screen.

My name appears, followed by the number 9. My heart skips a beat. It's a solid score. A score that could attract sponsors.

As the anthem plays, I stand, ready to leave, but Paxon stops me.

"We need to talk," he says.

I follow him up to the roof.

"Do you like flowers?" Paxon asks when we reach the garden.

I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips.

"Good," he says. "We need a system to keep you alive in the arena. With that score, you could get a lot of sponsors, but we need to plan how to get their attention."

A system?

"Gestures," he says. "You make a gesture, we get you what you need. Food, medicine, whatever. It'll catch their attention."

I think about it. My mind races, and slowly, the idea begins to form.

"I can make gestures," I say, hesitantly. "Like stomping my feet or clapping my hands. Each gesture could mean something different. I'll signal for food, for ointment, for anything I need."

Paxon nods, a serious expression on his face. "Let's make it work."

We spend hours working out the details of the system. Each gesture has a meaning—one stomp for food, one stomp for ointment, a certain number of claps for something else. By the time we finish, it's nearly midnight.

"I think this will work," Paxon says with a small smile. "You've got a system. Now, we just need to make sure it catches the sponsors' attention."

As I head back to my room, my tail wags softly. I did it. I spoke to someone. I made a plan. I'm not just running anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll survive this.

I undress, change into a sleeping gown, and curl up in bed. My eyes close, the exhaustion of the day finally taking over.

Tomorrow is a new day. And I'll be ready.