Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: So I don't usually shout-out every time I borrow a quote or plot point (or an entire religion) from another source. Mostly because it would be a long list and partly because then folks might catch on to the fact that my go-to solution to writer's block is "swipe something from Babylon 5." ;) Anyway. This one's getting a shout-out because I normally don't write songs. So special thanks to the song "I'm Alive" from the musical "Next to Normal" and to "Small Gods" by Terry Pratchett for the inspiration for the song in this chapter.

Interviews
All I Can Tell Them

President Eldred Brand

The secret was not to tell them.

Eldred nodded along as Tamika and Malchus talked, batting ideas back and forth about what Malchus should ask the tributes during the interviews, what to emphasize, what to downplay, and the effects tonight's conversations might have once the tributes were in the arena. Probably not a large effect, in any case, but there was always a chance that something Malchus said might spark an idea in one of the tribute's heads, and they might behave a little bit differently during the bloodbath.

If he suggested, say, that a tribute stood a good chance of getting sponsors, someone else might decide to take them out to eliminate the competition. If he acted surprised that a tribute hadn't managed to find allies – or hadn't managed to find more – then the others might attempt to add a last-minute member or two to their group.

Maybe. Possibly. There was always a chance. But if there was one thing he'd learned from watching the Games – and watching the mentors – it was that there was a chance of pretty much anything happening. You couldn't predict what would happen once the Games started.

But you could anticipate. That was what Tamika would say if he voiced that thought. She'd tried to explain the difference a few years ago, but he'd eventually given up trying to understand what she meant by that. She understood, and that was the important thing. The Games were her responsibility.

And that was the secret – the secret that not every president had understood, but that President Grisom had taught him well. It wasn't his job to run the Games. It was important that he was here, of course. It was important for him to know what was going on. But it wasn't his responsibility to decide what happened in the Games – or even to try to influence it one way or another. That was the key – not to tell them what he thought, what he hoped would happen, what he was afraid might happen.

Because then they would act on it, consciously or not. They would focus on making sure that the Games turned out the way he wanted them to. And that was dangerous. Not only because it was too much power for one person – even the president – but also because it was impossible. There was no way to ensure that the result of the Games was perfect. Maybe there was no such thing as a perfect result, because no Victor was perfect – no matter how you defined the word.

"-nearly killed an avox during their private session," Tamika continued, and Eldred had to fight to keep his head from snapping up in surprise. "Don't mention that, of course, but if you could get them to hint at why their score was so high…"

Malchus nodded. "Done."

Eldred fought back a frown, grateful that neither of them was actually looking at him, and made a mental note to check on the avox later. Maybe Tamika had made a mistake involving them, but it wasn't a mistake she was likely to repeat in any case. Over the last few years, her various attempts to spice up the private sessions had never lasted more than one year. Maybe eventually she would find a format she liked, but he doubted an avox audience would be what she decided on.

"Mr. President?" Malchus asked. "Anything in particular you'd like me to include?"

Eldred shook his head – an automatic reaction, just as automatic as Malchus' question, which he asked now in the certain knowledge that the answer would be no. "Just give them a good show."

Malchus nodded. "That's what I'm here for."

Yes. Yes, that was why he was here. And Tamika was here to run the Games. Neither of those things was his job, and he had no intention of involving himself in their work any more than was absolutely necessary. Eldred watched silently as the other two headed off – Tamika back to her team of Gamemakers, Malchus towards the stage. They had their jobs. He had his.

It worked better that way.

Octavia Arriola, 18
Friend of Bellona Harlow

She wished things had turned out better.

Octavia tried to fight back a wave of jealousy as the Capitol anthem played and the interviews began. It should have been her on that stage, winning over the Capitol audience, chatting with Malchus about what was going to happen in the morning. It should have been her. It would have been her, if not for Merideth's arrow.

Meredith. No one had seen her since the morning of the reaping, and no one Octavia had talked to seemed to know what had happened to her. Presumably, she was being kept out of the way somewhere so she could be dealt with after the Games, when there would be less of a fuss. And maybe that made sense; after all, this was Bellona's moment now. Or Clive's moment, depending on how things went. No one wanted to spoil that for either of them by focusing on that little rat.

Officially, it was being called an 'accident' – for the moment, at least. Everyone knew what had really happened, of course. Rumors spread like wildfire in a district so focused on what happened at the academy. Everyone knew what had happened, except no one seemed to know why it had happened. Meredith had attacked her, but why? Jealousy? Because she'd wanted the spot? But she would have had to work her way through quite a few potential volunteers before the trainers would have picked her to go. As far as she knew, Meredith had never had a grudge against her personally, and had nothing to gain from simply taking her out of the running. It didn't make any sense.

Octavia sighed. If it couldn't be her … well, at least it was Bellona. She finally managed a smile as her friend took the stage, wearing a long, flowing red gown and a tiara studded with rubies. She was smiling as she took a seat across from Malchus. "It's good to have you here, Bellona."

"Good to be here," Bellona answered.

"Especially when you weren't expecting to be even, say, a week ago?" Malchus prompted.

Bellona nodded. Maybe it was better to get it out of the way right away. "You're right. I wasn't expecting to be here. As I'm sure you know, being chosen to volunteer for the Games is quite an honor in District One. With so many trainees competing, only the very best are even considered for the honor, and my friend Octavia was the one who was actually chosen by the academy."

"And what about you?"

"When the volunteer is chosen, a backup volunteer is also selected in case anything unexpected happens. After all, the last thing you would want at the reaping is for the chosen volunteer to back out and have several dozen trainees fighting to get to the stage first, shouting about why they should be the one to go. It would be chaos." She flashed a grin. "District One doesn't like chaos."

"So you were chosen to be the backup volunteer in case something … unexpected happened," Malchus repeated. "What did happen?"

"An accident at the academy." Apparently that was the story they'd decided to go with, too. "A few of the trainees – including Octavia – were getting a little last-minute practice in, and an arrow went wild and hit Octavia."

"How unfortunate. Or perhaps fortunate for you," Malchus mused.

"I didn't have anything to do with it, if that's what you're suggesting."

Octavia shook her head. She was ashamed to admit the thought had briefly crossed her mind – wondering whether her friend had set her up, bribed or maybe blackmailed Merideth into taking her out so that the spot would be hers. But that was ridiculous – and not at all Bellona's style. The disgust on her face at the mere suggestion was genuine; Octavia knew her well enough to know that.

Malchus held up his hands defensively. "Of course not. As you said, this is why One has a backup volunteer. Things happen, don't they."

"Yes."

"And it's always good to be prepared."

"Yes."

"And how prepared would you say you are?"

Bellona's smile was finally genuine. That was the question she'd been waiting for. "I've been preparing for this practically my whole life, Malchus. Even after Octavia was selected, I kept up with my training, because there was still a chance – just a chance – that I might end up here. I'm just as prepared as any Career on this stage, and if there were any doubts about that, I hope my training score has laid them to rest. I'm ready for whatever happens tomorrow."

"And what can you tell us about your plans for tomorrow?"

Bellona shook her head. "You don't really think I'd tell you that, do you?"

Malchus chuckled. "Well, I had to try."

"Of course."

Octavia relaxed a little as they chatted on. Bellona was right; she knew what she was doing. She was just as prepared as Octavia would have been. She hadn't been expecting this – and she certainly hadn't arranged it – but she was prepared for whatever was going to happen once the Games started.

The audience applauded when Bellona's time was up, and kept applauding as she left and Clive appeared, grinning and waving at the audience, soaking up the spotlight. He wore a gold suit flecked with red that glittered in the lights, and he circled around the stage several times before finally settling into the chair across from Malchus.

"Welcome, Clive. I think it's safe to say you're enjoying yourself," Malchus ventured.

"More than you could possibly imagine," Clive agreed. "This is what every kid in District One dreams of, you know." He held out his arm. "Would you mind pinching me to see if I wake up?"

"Oh, I don't know if that's allowed," Malchus teased. "Wouldn't want to hurt a tribute before the Games, you know." He gave Clive's arm a pinch anyway.

Clive smirked. "Well, some of us can take it."

Malchus leaned forward. "Care to elaborate on that?"

Clive turned to the audience. "Well, I'm sure you all remember what happened to the tributes from One last year."

Octavia's stomach churned. She knew, of course. Everyone knew they'd gotten into a fight the night before the Games, but she knew more. Proxima and Maxim had had it in for each other for years. She'd never been sure what the trainers had been thinking, picking them both to volunteer the same year. But they'd paid the price for it, and District One's chances had been hampered before the Games had even begun.

But why was Clive bringing that up?

"See, the Gamemakers learned from that," Clive continued. "That's their job, after all – to adapt to our shenanigans." That got a few chuckles out of the audience. "So during training this year, there was a station where tributes could challenge each other to fight – as long as both parties agreed, and as long as we used staffs so no one got too injured."

Octavia raised an eyebrow. That was their solution? Who had ended up fighting? Bellona hadn't appeared to be hurt; if she was hiding it, she was hiding it well. And Clive certainly wouldn't have brought it up if he'd lost a fight.

"And was there a Career showdown again this year?" Malchus asked, grinning.

Clive shook his head. "Quite the opposite, actually. We had three different tributes fighting to join the pack, though it turned out only one of them was actually up to the challenge. I guess we're quite popular this year," he added with a wink.

"Well, why wouldn't you be?" Malchus agreed. "Quite a streak the Careers have going at the moment, with the last two Games."

"Does last year really count, though?" Clive teased.

Malchus chuckled. "I suppose you'd have to take that up with Prospero."

"I'd settle for taking it up with his tribute," Clive offered. "I mean, who turns down a spot in the Hunger Games, even if you think you might get it the next year."

"I suppose I'll have to ask Lily," Malchus agreed.

"Make sure you do."

Octavia raised an eyebrow. It might sound to the audience like he was teasing Lily, but she knew better. He was giving Malchus a reason to ask about her connection to her mentor – and probably the reason why he was there as her mentor in the first place. He was helping her look good. Why? Was he trying to suck up to her because she'd scored so well? Maybe. Maybe he was just thinking about the sponsors. As long as they were working together, after all, her sponsors would also help him.

"Speaking of your fellow Careers," Malchus continued, "it seems like you've got quite the pack this year. Where would you say you stand compared to the rest of them?"

"Where do I stand?" Clive stood up put his hand on top of his head, and brought it out, pretending to measure. "Oh, I'd say about an inch or two taller than most of them." He sat down again as the audience laughed. "If you're asking what I think of my chances, then don't let this seat get too cold, Malchus. I'll be back to fill it soon enough."

The audience applauded. They always did. They liked to see confidence, even if it was obviously bluster. There were six Careers this year, and at best, only one of them would be back on that stage at the end of the Games.

Except … were there six Careers? Clive had said they'd had tributes trying to join the pack. Clive hadn't said who they were – only that one of them had been up to the challenge – but if they were letting other tributes join, was it because they'd lost a member or two? It certainly wouldn't be the first time, but it was odd that neither of them had mentioned it.

She wondered what it was they weren't saying.

Farrah Skarn, 18
Friend of Ross Artisan

She wondered what it would have been like.

Farrah leaned back on the couch between her parents, waiting for District Two's turn. But not her turn. When she'd tested out of the training academy four years ago, she'd been frustrated. She'd had a chance at a better life, and she hadn't been good enough to stay. So she was sitting here, between her parents, safe in District Two – if a bit tired after a hard day's work – rather than sitting onstage wondering if she might be dead tomorrow.

Gradually over the last four years, she'd accepted that it wasn't a bad trade. The quarry wasn't that bad once you got used to it, and all that training meant she'd already been accustomed to long days and hard work. And she knew her parents were relieved that they wouldn't have to worry about losing her – like she was worried about losing Ross.

Oh, she knew he was prepared. But that was the thing. Every Career was prepared. They'd all trained for this for years. And most of them died anyway. They knew the risks, but…

But she wondered if it had really hit some of them – the realization that they might be dead soon. They always seemed so confident onstage, but it had to be an act, didn't it? They couldn't really all be certain that they were the one coming home, after so many others had failed. Even here in District Two…

District Two did have the most Victors of any district. But that number was eight. Eight Victors. Eight tributes who had made it home, in fifty-four years. That came out to about one Victor every seven years. And that was good, of course – better than any other district. But it wasn't a guarantee. How could anyone be certain – really certain – that they would be the next one?

Lily certainly seemed certain as she stormed onstage in a red blouse and knee-length black skirt, plopping down in the chair across from Malchus with a satisfied smile. "Well hello there, Lily," Malchus gushed. "Clive and I were just talking about you."

"Oh were you?" Lily teased, as if she hadn't been listening the whole time. "Was he talking about how lucky he was to be in a pack with me?"

Malchus chuckled. "Actually, we were talking about how you were almost part of quite a different pack – last year's pack. You were District Two's chosen volunteer for the Games last year, am I right?"

"Are you ever wrong?" Lily teased.

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

"Maybe, but not this time," Lily agreed. "I was chosen to volunteer last year, but I stepped aside to let Prospero take my spot. And I think we all know how that turned out."

Malchus leaned forward. "We do. But Lily, I think all of us are wondering – why? Why turn down a spot in the Hunger Games, something you'd been waiting for all your life?"

Lily shrugged casually. "Because he'd been waiting a year longer." That got a few laughs. "Look, Malchus, if you're waiting for me to say it was because I was in love with him or something, it's going to be a long wait." That got more laughs. "Besides, I've got my chance now."

"And you were sure you'd get it? Sure enough to pass up the honor last year?"

"Absolutely. The trainers would have been fools not to choose me again – just like any fools who are planning on betting against me this year."

Malchus feigned surprise. "Strong words there, Lily."

"I think I've earned them. I got the highest score this year – and if I'm not mistaken, the highest score ever."

She wasn't mistaken. An eleven in training was completely unheard of. Elevens and twelves existed in theory, of course, but only so the Gamemakers could claim that a ten didn't mean a tribute's score was perfect. What had she done to actually earn an eleven?

Malchus took the very obvious bait. "Let's talk about that score of yours. Now, I know you can't tell us exactly what you did … but can you give us a little hint?"

Lily shrugged noncommittally. "Oh, a little of this and a little of that. Let's just say it had to do with something red."

"Blood-red?" Malchus ventured.

Lily smirked. "I'd say more apple-red." She pulled an apple from somewhere inside her pocket, winked at the audience, and took a bite.

The crowd was cheering as she left, and kept on cheering as Ross took the stage, wearing a well-fitted grey suit and a blood-red – or possibly apple-red – tie. Ross took a seat across from Malchus and smiled. "She's certainly something," he offered, beating Malchus to the punch.

"She certainly is," Malchus agreed. "Does that worry you at all?"

Ross shook his head. "Not a bit." It was probably a lie, but he sold it well, leaning back casually in the chair and smiling a half-smile. "Should it?"

Malchus shrugged. "Some people might say a tribute scoring an eleven for the first time in the history of the Games is a good reason for the other tributes to be worried."

Ross nodded. "Let's talk about that 'history of the Games,' shall we? There haven't been any elevens, but in fifty-four years, how many tributes would you say have scored a ten? Maybe two or three per year?"

"Somewhere in that range," Malchus agreed.

"So at least a hundred tributes?"

Malchus glanced offstage for a second. Someone was probably pulling up the exact number. "One hundred and forty-seven, including this year."

"And how many of them have won?"

Malchus was ready for that one. "Six."

"Six," Ross repeated for emphasis. "Six out of one hundred and forty-seven. That's about one in twenty-four. Even if you figure those odds go up a bit for an eleven, that's hardly a guarantee."

"Of course, there are no guarantees," Malchus agreed.

Ross shook his head. "There is one. Twenty-five of us will die. One will live. And who comes out on top doesn't depend on how well we impressed the Gamemakers by shooting at stationary targets and slicing up dummies that don't fight back. It depends on what we do in the Games. Everything else is just fluff."

"Fluff?"

Ross nodded. "Fluff. Oh, it doesn't hurt, of course. A good score doesn't hurt. Making jokes for the audience doesn't hurt. Having a good time doesn't hurt. But there has to be some substance, something to back it up once the Games start."

"And I take it that's an area where you think some of your fellow Careers are … a bit lacking?"

Ross crossed his arms. "I guess we'll find out once the Games start, won't we."

Malchus rubbed his hands together. "That sounds like a challenge."

"The Games are a challenge. Sure, there are some Victors who made it look easy – so easy that I dare say we've gotten a bit complacent in the Career districts. We've forgotten that the Games are supposed to be a challenge."

Malchus leaned forward a little. "Spoken like someone who's already faced a challenge or two, eh, Ross?"

Ross nodded. "I suppose you could say that. When I started at the academy, I wasn't at the top of my class. I wasn't the strongest, the fastest, the brightest. But I think that helped me, in a way. See, when you start off at that position – when you start out on top – it can seem like there's nowhere to go. No way to improve. I always had something I could improve at." He chuckled, and so did Malchus. "So I kept improving. I didn't get complacent. I kept getting better, while some of the others were content to stay where they were at, because I wanted to improve. I wanted a challenge."

"And that's led you here, then?"

Ross nodded. "The Games aren't just a challenge. They're the ultimate challenge. They're designed to test us, to push us to our limits – and past them. Tomorrow, we start to find out who's actually up to that challenge, who's ready to use it as an opportunity to improve – and who's just been putting on a good show."

Farrah nodded. She wanted to believe it – wanted to believe that the flashier Careers who had been charming the audience wouldn't really be up to it once the Games started, that they would be overconfident and make mistakes, that Ross would be able to outthink them even if he wasn't as smooth and charming.

He'd made it, after all – made it through the test she'd failed, and every test after that. He'd worked hard. He'd fought. He'd struggled. It hadn't been easy for him, but maybe he was right – maybe that was a good thing, in the end. It meant he was used to being challenged. It meant he wouldn't give up just because things got a bit rough in the Games. She wanted to believe that he had what it took to come home.

She just had to hold onto that.

Xavier Lynch, 46
Associate of Hattie Hespeler

He wondered how long she could hold on.

Lynch leaned back in his office chair, his eyes focused on the screen. He was on desk duty tonight, which he suspected Max had intended as a favor so that he could watch the interviews uninterrupted. All in all, things had been fairly quiet since the reaping. The troublemaker Vex being chosen had sent the message they'd intended to send, even if Elseri had caused a little hiccup. Now they could be rid of two of them.

Oh, once the Games began, they would be rid of more. He had no doubt that once Elseri died in the Games, they would get their orders to round up and execute the others. Or at least make an example of them – and make sure they would never be capable of causing trouble again. And Vex was done for as soon as Elseri was dead – that much was decided. He would have been in favor of just getting it over with, but some of the others had insisted on waiting until his friend was dead, too, so it would really sink in that Elseri had given his life to save him – and, in the end, had accomplished nothing.

At least Hattie knew enough to stay away from him. She would probably die, as well, of course. In fifty-four years, only a handful of twelve and thirteen-year-olds had survived the Games, and most of those during years where there hadn't been a proper Career pack. Hazel had won before Career training had begun. Barlen had won during a Quarter Quell without many real Careers. Kyra's Games had been long enough that the Career pack had dissolved completely before any of them had a chance to bother with a little kid from Twelve. And Kit had had the mutts on his side, propelling his little alliance to the final three so the audience could watch them turn on each other.

Nothing like that was likely to happen this year. From what they'd seen so far of One and Two, there seemed to be a pretty standard Career pack. And their current Gamemaker wasn't as prone to choosing favorites as she had been during Snow's presidency. So that left Kyra's method – hoping that the Games lasted long enough for the Career pack to dissolve. But there had been more tributes that year – the last year to include extra tributes from the districts that had rebelled during the 41st Games, an addition that had led to some of the longer Games, including Kyra's, which had been the longest in history.

Still, there was a chance. He wanted to believe that. He'd grown rather fond of Hattie, who had been quite useful at times. Oh, there was probably no fondness on her end, he was sure. She'd seen an opportunity, and she'd taken it. But that alone was enough to make her stand out in a district that largely seemed content to grumble about how rough life was without making any real effort to improve things for themselves. Hattie had made her life better, and all it had taken was a little observation and a willingness to cooperate with the right people.

And she was still cooperating, he noted as she took the stage, wearing a knee-length silvery dress with splashes of color that seemed to shift as the light hit them. A little yellow here, a bit of blue there, a touch of red around the sleeves. A rainbow-colored headband completed the outfit, and simple flat shoes that glowed whenever she stepped.

She looked so young – which was, he knew, exactly what her stylists had intended. Flat shoes rather than heels to hide some of her height. Bright colors and flashing lights to help her look like an innocent child playing with paints or something. It was a simple trick, but Hattie was playing it well, watching the audience with wide eyes and a nervous smile, looking a bit overwhelmed but just a little excited. The audience would like that.

"Welcome, Hattie. Have a seat now; don't be shy," Malchus prompted.

Hattie quickly took a seat and smoothed out her dress. "I wasn't expecting this many people!" she gushed. "And they all look so lovely, too! It gets crowded sometimes back in District Three, but never with people dressed up and looking so … so beautiful."

"You look quite pretty yourself," Malchus offered, and Lynch noted that he had said pretty instead of beautiful. It had probably been a deliberate choice. Little girls were pretty. Young women were beautiful. And the younger and more innocent he could help Hattie look, the better. She wouldn't seem like a threat.

The trouble was, she wasn't really a threat. Oh, he'd provided her with as much information as he could, but information was only so much help when another tribute was charging at you with a sword. You couldn't win a fight – not a real, physical fight – with information. But that had been the only thing he could give her, the only thing he could do to help the girl who had helped him so often.

"Yes, it must be quite a shock, coming here after living in Three your whole life," Malchus agreed. "What's been your favorite part so far?"

"Hands-down, it's the food," Hattie answered immediately. "There's just so much of it. Back at the community home, we have to make do with whatever we get."

That earned a few 'awww's from the audience, even though Lynch knew quite well it was a lie. Not that the community home was particularly well-funded, but Hattie was. She was perfectly capable of treating herself and her friends to a little extra here and there. He'd seen her around the ice cream shop, or the various street vendors in the wealthier sections of the district. Oh, that still paled in comparison to the food in the Capitol, but it wasn't as if Hattie and her friends were starving.

Still, it earned her some sympathy from the audience, even though most of them had no idea what 'starving' really meant. For them, 'starving' meant having to wait a minute or two for the avoxes to bring their food. Even watching the Games every year didn't do much to change that mindset, because the tributes who deserved it still had access to the food at the cornucopia and supplies from sponsors. They just had to earn it.

Lynch sighed as Hattie's time ended, and Elseri made his way onstage, dressed all in black leather with silver spikes. Leather pants, leather jacket, leather headband. Spiked black combat boots with a bit of a heel added a little to his height, but couldn't disguise the fact that he was still shorter than Hattie as they passed each other.

After she'd passed him, Hattie gave him a look – a look he didn't see because he hadn't turned. The look was one of disgust, but it hadn't been meant for him. It had been for the audience's benefit. No matter how well his stylists tried to dress him up, no matter what he said in the next fifteen minutes, she knew what he was, and what was bound to happen to him once the Games began. She knew what was in store.

Malchus, meanwhile, was doing his best to make light of Elseri's actions. "So Elseri, I hear you and your friends caused a bit of trouble back home."

A bit of trouble. As if killing a Peacekeeper was something that could just be swept under the rug. What his gang had done before might be considered 'a bit of trouble.' Petty theft was a bit of trouble. Vandalism was a bit of trouble. Murder was something else entirely.

"Maybe more than a bit," Elseri admitted sheepishly. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Malchus raised an eyebrow. "And what could possibly make killing a Peacekeeper seem like a good idea?"

There it was. Elseri was silent for a moment, but he'd clearly been ready for the question – even if he hadn't been ready for it to be asked so soon, so pointedly. "We never meant for anyone to be killed. We wanted to make a statement, let people know just how bad things are in District Three."

"And how bad are things?"

"Bad. There are people starving. You heard from Hattie how rough things get in the community homes, and they aren't any better once people get out. Once you're out of school, most of the jobs available are in the factories. That's ten, twelve hours a day of breathing factory air, struggling to see through the smoke, just to maybe earn enough to buy a little food for the day. And then over and over again – every day for the rest of your life. Can you see why people are frustrated, Malchus?"

Malchus nodded sympathetically. "And what were you hoping to accomplish?"

Elseri looked down. "You're right. That wasn't the right way to go about it. It's like … like we were children, throwing a tantrum because the world wasn't as good as we wanted it to be – as good as we know it could be. But when children misbehave, even if they deserve to be punished – after that punishment is done, they're still children. Children who can learn, who can be shown a better way to create the change they want to see. That's what I want to do if I make it home. I can find a better way to improve things in our district. A more peaceful way. I hope I get that chance, but if not … then I hope someone else takes the opportunity to do the same."

Lynch grunted. It wasn't a bad angle, really. Some of the audience would probably fall for it. But he knew better. Things in Three were as rough as they were because they had to be that way in order to keep the district in line. Three wasn't like One, Two, or Five – or even Twelve. The people here were troublemakers, and if you gave them an inch – if you tried to make things a little better – they would want more and more. They would never be satisfied.

If only more of them were like Hattie. If only more of them saw that there was more to be gained from cooperation than from disobedience. It didn't even have to be genuine loyalty to the Capitol. Lynch had no doubt that Hattie couldn't care less about what folks in the Capitol did. But she knew enough to choose the winning side, and make a little profit off it herself.

If only more people were like her.

Maryam Aldana, 42
Mother of Faven Aldana

If only more people were like them.

Maryam shook her head as the boy from Three finally left the stage. What a pathetic display, really. Oh, she had no doubt that things were bad in Three, but that was no reason to go around whining about them. That certainly wasn't how they dealt with things here in Four. You made do with what you had, and you didn't complain. You took things as they came, and you didn't complain. You cut your losses, and you didn't complain.

Your child got chosen for the Hunger Games, and you didn't complain, because there was nothing you could do about it. Because people that tried to do something about it came to a bad end – always. Just like that boy from Three would, she had no doubt. The Capitol didn't stand for that sort of thing. It was only a matter of time before he got what was coming to him, but until then, there was no point in making a fuss about it. It didn't make him look good, and it wasn't doing his friends any favors, either.

Maryam shook the thought from her head as Faven took the stage, wearing a knee-length, long-sleeved, pale pink dress with a soft floral pattern. Her short beige heels added little to her height, and her hair was loosely curled, the front strands pulled away from her face. She looked lovely – almost like a little doll – and she was smiling faintly as she took a seat across from Malchus. She moved slowly, delicately, as if every movement might ruin that perfect image.

"Welcome, Faven. You certainly look lovely tonight."

"Thank you, Malchus." She smiled sweetly. "You look quite nice yourself."

Malchus beamed. "That's very sweet of you, Faven. Have you been this nice to all the other tributes?"

Faven giggled. "I think my allies would say so, yes."

"Oh, and who might those be?"

"Oh, Bellona and Lily, and Clive and Ross, and Leven too. They've all been so wonderful to work with."

Malchus made a show of putting the dots together, ticking the names off on his fingers. "Bellona, Lily, Clive, Ross, Leven … Are you telling us you've joined the Career pack?"

"No need to act so surprised," Faven teased. "District Four joining the pack isn't exactly unprecedented, you know."

Malchus chuckled. "Oh, I know, but you're…"

Faven smirked. "I'm what?"

Malchus gestured at her, all pretty and pink and delicate, sitting in the chair across from him. After waving his arms for a moment, he decided on "... fourteen?"

Faven laughed. The audience laughed. After a moment, even Malchus laughed. "Yes, I thought I might be a bit young, too," Faven agreed once the laughter had died down. "But they invited me to try out, so I did."

"And you made it? That's certainly impressive, Faven. Clive mentioned that there were three tribute to try out, and that only one of you was up to the challenge. And you're telling me he was talking about you? You must tell us your secret."

"Oh, must I?"

"Pleeeease," Malchus urged dramatically.

Faven giggled, then motioned for him to lean closer. He did. She leaned closer, then answered in an over-dramatic stage whisper. "The secret … is to strike when they're not looking."

There were murmurs of approval from the audience. Maybe they were impressed that a younger tribute would say something so daring. Maryam's gaze strayed to Cabe, who looked just as surprised. Their daughter had joined the Career pack. To say that was unexpected would be quite the understatement, but if she'd managed to do something that genuinely impressed them, then being with the pack promised supplies and sponsors, as well as relative safety. Anyone who wanted to hurt her would have to take on the rest of the pack.

The secret is to strike when they're not looking. Maryam couldn't help wondering what she meant by that. It sounded almost … underhanded, as if she'd cheated somehow to get into the pack. But if the tryouts had something to do with fighting – and the boy from One had certainly made it sound as if they had – then there was no cheating. Or maybe she'd meant it as a hint for what she was planning to do. Maybe she thought no one would be watching her, the youngest member of the pack, the one who clearly didn't have as much training.

Didn't have any training, to be exact. Not that she'd ever wanted to. Of all the silly things Faven had wanted to do as a child – run through the mud, roughhouse with her brothers, keep a pet frog she'd found down by the beach – training for the Games had never once been mentioned. She'd been a bit wild, back when she was little, but never in a way that would have lent itself well to training. She hadn't had the right sense of discipline back then. And by the time she'd learned discipline, she'd also learned to be polite and presentable. Imagining her as a Career was…

Cabe gave her hand a squeeze. "How about that, huh?" he asked, forcing a smile. Trying, like her, to look on the bright side. To put on a brave face. That was what was expected in District Four, after all. Even when the tributes weren't Careers, you weren't supposed to make a big deal out of the grief. It was expected that they would simply move on, content that their daughter had done what was expected of her.

Maryam squeezed Cabe's hand back. Maybe it would be easier if she really was a Career. If this was something she'd been trained for, something she'd chosen. That was what the Careers were for, after all – to volunteer for the Games because they wanted to, and so that someone like Faven who was clearly unprepared didn't end up fighting for her life.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing any of them could do. All she could do now was hope that Faven would make it back somehow, and hope that Imalia's efforts to revive the Career system would be enough to spare children like her in the future. Maybe that wasn't much help right now, but it was something.

Maryam shook her head as Faven blew a few kisses to the audience and left the stage, still smiling and waving at the crowd, still doing her best to do what was expected of her. It wasn't fair, but at least she was trying. At least she hadn't given up.

Her district partner, too, was apparently doing his best to put up a good front. His smile looked nervous as he took the stage, wearing a light blue shirt, dark blue pants, and black shoes. He was fiddling with the buttons of his shirt as he sat down, but apparently realized it and settled for gripping the arm of the chair instead.

"Welcome, Acher," Malchus beamed, probably hoping to ease some of the boy's nerves. "Did I pronounce that right?"

Acher nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you got it right." The escort hadn't at the reaping, Maryam remembered. Faven had corrected him. She'd helped him up onstage, too.

Apparently, though, the interaction between them hadn't gone any farther than that, because Malchus next question was, "So, I hear you haven't joined your district partner in the Career pack?"

Acher shook his head. "No. Not for lack of trying, but … no."

Malchus nodded sympathetically. "Yes, Clive mentioned that three tributes had tried out for the pack, but apparently only Faven made it. Any hard feelings there?"

"Not at all. The pack … it wasn't the right place for me. They were rough. If Swiss hadn't stepped in and stood up to them, they might have been even rougher."

"Swiss," Malchus repeated. "And is that who you're working with now?"

Acher nodded. "Swiss, Lucretius, and Leif."

"Strength in numbers, then?"

"Yeah, and I feel less … in over my head."

Malchus nodded. "Tell us what you mean by that."

Acher looked panicked, like he hadn't expected that question. "I just … Look, I'm not a Career. And I don't think there's much point in pretending otherwise. And non-Careers who join the pack … that doesn't usually work out too well. Or less-prepared Careers who join the pack, like last year. They're either a threat, or they're easy pickings. And I'm not a threat, so…"

Malchus smiled sympathetically. "Not a physical threat, maybe."

"Yeah, that's what I meant," Acher agreed.

No. No, it wasn't. He wasn't a threat – physically or otherwise. But at least he knew it. He wasn't in over his head, he'd said. Was that what Faven was doing – getting in over her head? She wasn't a Career either, after all. But the Careers must have seen something in her, or they wouldn't have invited her to join them. They didn't just go around inviting tributes who weren't a threat into the pack just to boost their numbers.

And apparently their numbers had needed boosting. Faven had carefully mentioned five of the tributes from the usual Career districts. Bellona, Lily, Clive, Ross, and Leven. That left Euphoria, the girl from Five. Had she left the pack? Had they kicked her out? And they'd chosen Faven to take her spot? Three tributes had tried out for the pack, but it was Faven they had chosen. She must have done something that had impressed them.

She just wished she knew what it was.

Jesse Ripley, 50
Friend of Leven Gamakatsu

She just wished the bar was quieter.

Jesse shook her head and turned the volume up a little higher. She was old enough to remember when the Games didn't cause this much celebration in District Five. This was better for business, of course, but there was still something a bit … unnerving about seeing this many people excited to watch a bunch of kids who were going to be dead in a week or two try to convince the audience why they shouldn't be. It was disturbing if you thought about it too much.

So she tried not to. Oh, she was watching the screen, of course – most of them were – but once Leven was done … well, then she could tune it out for the rest of the night. The outer-district kids never had much of a chance anyways. Of course, that was what a lot of people had said about Five before Camden had come along and kicked off their Career system. But aside from maybe District Twelve, it didn't seem like any of the other districts were too keen to follow their lead.

Of course, Twelve had an advantage there. It was no secret now that when District Four's training system had been dismantled for a while, their weapons and other resources had been split between Five and Twelve. She'd been a bit surprised when she'd heard that, but … well, good for them, starting to make something of themselves. Good for them, proving to the Capitol that they could be trusted not to take those weapons and do something stupid with them.

The bar finally quieted down a little bit as Euphoria appeared onstage. There had been whispers earlier, when Faven had listed off the Careers in the pack. Even the drunker patrons had been able to work out which name was missing. Euphoria had left the pack. Left or been kicked out. But an eight wasn't that low, and Jesse couldn't think of another reason they would have rejected her, so her bet was on "left."

Not that she was taking bets. That was bad form. Some of the other establishments did, she knew, but she had standards.

Euphoria gave the crowd a huge wave and blew a few kisses, twirling around the stage for a moment before settling into a seat across from Malchus. Her dress was red and gold, reaching halfway down her shins. She wore a pair of ruby-red slippers, and her hair was pulled back from her face with a glittering golden headband.

"So, Euphoria," Malchus began with a grin. "Let's address the elephant in the room."

Euphoria looked around dramatically. "Malchus, I think you should have warned these people if you were going to bring an elephant in here."

Malchus chuckled – and so did several people in the audience. "Well, maybe you should have warned us before you up and left the Career pack."

"And when was I supposed to do that?" Euphoria teased. "I haven't had a chance since the chariot rides, and I didn't know then myself."

"Ah, so it wasn't part of the original plan," Malchus concluded.

Euphoria shrugged casually. "Plans change. That's part of the Games, Malchus. You know that."

"And does that mean you're going solo this year?"

"As a matter of fact, no."

Malchus leaned forward, intrigued – even though he had certainly already known that. "And who did you decide was a better fit than your fellow Careers, I wonder."

Jesse glanced around the room. That was certainly what a lot of her customers were wondering, as well. When a Career split from the pack, it was often because they didn't want to be in any sort of group. Adalyn had taken that angle not that long ago. Apparently, none of the Careers had met her standards. But if that wasn't what was going on here…

Euphoria nodded. "A better fit. That's a good way of putting it. Christina and Karina and I – we're a good fit, and I think you'll enjoy what you see from us once the Games start."

Malchus did the math. "Christina and Karina. District Six and Thirteen. Interesting choices."

Euphoria shrugged. "Didn't choose them for their districts, Malchus. And I'm sure they didn't choose me for mine. We just clicked, and if I might say so, they've provided me with a little … inspiration."

"Inspiration," Malchus repeated. "Do you by any chance have a song prepared for us this evening, Euphoria?"

Euphoria grinned back. "I was hoping you'd ask." She took something from her pocket and played a single note on her harmonica as she stood up and addressed the audience. "Now, I don't have any drums on me tonight, so you're going to have to help." She began clapping rhythmically. A few people in the audience took up the beat – and then a few more. When the clapping was strong enough to continue on its own, she dropped her hands and began to sing.

Fact'ry smoke and power lines
Hundreds of people side by side
It's a crowded life in District Five
But it's always been my home

But there's no one now standing next to me
No familiar sights and sounds
So how is it here in this brand-new place
That I've finally found…

She waited a few beats, leading a few more claps – faster now. Then she grinned and belted out:

I'm alive, I'm alive, I am so alive,
And I'll fight like hell for my right to survive
In a few short days, I might well be dead,
But here and now,
I am alive

The crowd was still clapping, mesmerized, as she danced over to a new spot onstage and called out to a different section of the crowd.

Engine smoke and railroad lines
Not another human heart for miles
It's a lonely, beautiful, rolling life
That she's come to know

She whirled around to face the opposite side of the crowd.

Now she stands in an unfamiliar place
After leaving blood and fear behind
A new home gives her a welcoming gaze
And she finally knows…
And we all start to know

We're alive, we're alive, we are so alive,
And it seems such a shame only one can survive
In a week or two, most of us will be dead,
But here and now,
We are alive

Euphoria led a few more claps, slowing down the tempo, and the crowd grew quiet.

So many faces, so many lives
Will you remember us all? Will you even try?
What does it take to leave a mark
While we still have time to show…

Her voice dropped. The crowd leaned in. Euphoria gave a slow twirl and continued softly.

We're alive, we're alive, we are so alive,
Sometimes it's a struggle just to survive
Scraping and scrounging just to survive
Running and hiding just to survive
Dreaming of the day we'll do more than survive…
In a hundred years' time, we'll all be dead,
But here and now,
We are alive

The audience was silent. One second. Then two. Then Euphoria clapped again, shouted out "One, two, three!" and burst into the chorus again – faster this time.

We're alive, we're alive, we are so alive,
And we'll fight like hell to see who will survive
In a hundred years' time, we'll all be dead,
But here and nooooooooow,
We are aliiiiiiiiive!

She held the last note, and the crowd erupted. Some of them were standing. A few of them were crying. Malchus was beaming. Euphoria took a bow, and then another one, until her time was finally up and she waved to the audience, who were still screaming for more. Jesse nodded, glancing around the bar. The girl sure knew how to give a show.

But what would that look like once she was in the Games?

The crowd was still cheering as Euphoria left the stage and Leven took her place, wearing a half-buttoned blood-red short-sleeved shirt with gold accents, red pants with a gold stripe down the sides, and shiny black boots. There were cheers and wolf-whistles from across the bar, as well, as Leven broke into a few dance moves on his way past Euphoria. "Settle down, you!" Jesse called, and cranked the volume again.

"Well, that was certainly catchy," Leven remarked with a smirk as he twirled a few times before plopping down across from Malchus. "Wonder if she'll still be singing tomorrow."

Malchus gasped in exaggerated astonishment. "Do you have something against singing, Leven?"

Leven shrugged. "Not at all. It has its place, like everything else does. I just don't think that place is in the Hunger Games." At the murmur from the crowd, he held up his hands placatingly. "Look, everyone's thinking it. I'm just saying it. What's she doing here? Why not stick to what she's actually good at, have a nice long singing Career instead of maybe dying tomorrow? Wouldn't you rather be listening to her write a new song in, say, ten years? Rather than having a vague fond memory of one performance and then … nothing more?"

Malchus leaned forward. "That certainly is a sobering thought. But that's true of every tribute, isn't it?"

Leven shook his head. "Not at all. What would I be doing in ten years, if not for the Games? I'd be waiting tables, that's what. Most of the tributes you see tonight would be doing something similar. Working in the fields. In a factory. In the mines. For them – for us – the Games are a chance at something better. For her?" He shrugged. "She thinks it's just another gig."

A couple 'ooooh's rang out across the bar. Maybe Euphoria was popular with the younger teens in the district, but Leven knew how to connect with her crowd. He always had. She was flashier; he was edgier. If only they had teamed up rather than working against each other, they could have made that work for both of them.

But that wasn't how the Games worked, Jesse reminded herself. They were treating each other like competition because in the end, they were competition. Only one of them could make it back to District Five, and while the district as a whole would be happy to have either of them back, she would rather see Leven again. And if that meant taking a few shots at Euphoria's image … well, that was just how the Games went.

"From what I've heard, your family isn't exactly poverty-stricken either, Leven," Malchus remarked in what was probably supposed to be a teasing manner.

For a moment – just a moment – there was a flicker of something different in Leven's eyes. Jesse wondered if anyone else would have caught it. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and Leven waved a hand dismissively. "My family's rich. I'm not. For now, at least."

"Ah, so it's the promise of riches that brought you here, then?"

Leven flashed another smile. "I'm a simple guy, Malchus. Give me enough money to live happily for the rest of my days, and I'll be perfectly content."

That got a few laughs from the audience. "That simple, huh?" Malchus asked.

"That simple."

"And I take it you're pretty optimistic about your chances of earning those winnings?"

Leven leaned back in his chair and flexed. "I'd say I have a couple good reasons to be confident."

"Even compared to your fellow Careers?"

Leven's smile didn't falter. "I guess we'll find out tomorrow, won't we?"

Jesse nodded and turned her attention back to her patrons. He was right. They would find out tomorrow. That seemed like such a long time now that they were so close, now that there was nothing to do but wait and hope that he was right about his chances.

That was all any of them could do now.

"All I can tell them is what happened."